Zelda the Christmas cabbage: A story of rebirth

It was 2014, nearing Christmas in Indiana. Snow was a regular occurrence, and the Polar Vortex was a miserable, wretched presence. I was waiting out my last holiday season in the Midwest, busily packing boxes and (somewhat unsuccessfully) trying to purge stuff. The apartment was in total chaos, and decorating for Christmas was not high on the list of priorities.

Then I cleaned the fridge.

I found Zelda tucked into a far corner, forgotten and abandoned, quietly awaiting rescue. Some weeks previous, I had purchased a head of purple cabbage with the intention of actually eating it. Apparently I had cut it in half and shoved one half back into the fridge, where it was promptly forgotten. December 4, I found a remarkably well preserved half-head of cabbage nesting back behind the beer and other essentials. Zelda was placed in a plastic pan of things-to-be-thrown-into-the-woods-to-compost next to the sink, along with some soggy cat kibble, coffee grounds, and other unfortunate produce.

The next night, I noticed something quite odd. There was a not-unattractive growth from her center! She was beginning to sprout, or bolt. Is this temporary? What happens if I just let her go? Will she keep growing? Why isn't this thing rotting?

By day 4, Zelda had been moved to her own container, along with the kibble. I watered her, and the cabbage runoff fostered a festive relationship with the kibble. The resulting mold resembled a snow-covered cobblestone walkway. Her stalk continued to gain height, and by day 10, she exploded with green buds. The cats finally noticed her, and tried their best to ignore this strange new plant. It was clear that some small Christmas decorations were in order. I found some tiny ornaments and sparkly garland. Begrudgingly, Paula agreed to let me move her to Seattle, if she was still around by moving day in a month.

By day 19, the green buds had bloomed into a riot of yellow flowers. She was definitely more holiday-like, with her purples and yellows and ornaments and garland, but something was missing. She needed lights.

I found some cheapo lights and cut a string down to Zelda length. The first attempt promptly blew the entire string, but the second attempt worked beautifully. By now, both cats were throwing her lots of side-eye and giving her a wide berth. They were spooked. Remarkably, her scent hadn't reached human-detectable levels, but it was obvious that her developing aroma did not appeal to felines.

Zelda's beauty peaked on Christmas eve. She was now sporting a spectacular Gene Simmons tree topper, and was in her glory. However, it was clear that her base was beginning to break down. Her perfume was mildly pungent, now noticeable by humans. Paula enthusiastically rescinded her permission to move Zelda with us. The cats were nervous around her. The end was near.

Christmas day, Zelda was relegated to the deck. I apologized as I carried her out. Paula showed the proper amount of grief. The cats were relieved. The cursed Polar Vortex returned, and Zelda was frozen by nightfall.

Though Zelda's second life was brief, it was spectacular. She was an intriguing experiment in resurrecting produce. Subsequent attempts have failed: the banana found at the bottom of a backpack was impressively mummified but quite dead, and the orange in the back of the desk drawer is in month 6 of shriveling hardness, but shows no signs of afterlife.

Merry Christmas, Zelda!

Just a cat

Why does this hurt so much? You were just a kitty.


True, you were the most charming little creature ever, making up for your lack of smarts with a personality that was always open to love, both giving and receiving. You would purr madly if someone simply looked at you, and really turn up the volume when you were directly addressed by name. "Hello, Sally!" would launch you into a blissful fit of tail-twitching, purring, and loving, wide-eyed looks. You about exploded when you saw a brush, and would purr so hard you chirped. I will always miss hearing your fan belt slip.

And no, you never did figure out how to meow, though you could scream if put in the shower. You tried and tried, and never mastered the art of the meow. That mouth would open, a barely-audible grunt would come out, but no meow. Seeing that pink mouth silently open wide always made me laugh. Except when it made me cry, during your last ride to the vet.


You weren't the brightest kitty around. We would joke that it took you two days to notice when we were gone on trips. Yet you dictated the play rules of the house: when, where, with whom, and for how long. You gave Harry a slap-down after you had finally had enough of him trying to hump you (despite him being more than twice your size), and you controlled him ever after. Later, when the decrepit adoptee Pandora tried to push you around, you didn't give an inch. You did this with class, by simply holding your ground and refusing to budge. She misses you, you know. She is currently wandering the house, meowing for attention (completely unlike her).

When you fell in love with Meerkat Manor, I fell even more in love with you. Watching you watch the meerkats was supremely entertaining. Realizing that you didn't like to watch repeat episodes was a mind-blower.


No amount of change or chaos fazed you. You just went with the flow, never freaked out, and stuck close by. We thoroughly enjoyed taking you and Harry on our 2400-mile road trip. While Harry lived in one lap or another, you found the perfect spot between us to curl up and snooze, and accept offerings of love. We never had to worry about you bolting when we got in and out of the car. You trusted us to keep you safe.

I know we teased you about your girth, but you were the cutest road kill ever, and we loved rubbing your ample belly. When that belly evaporated, it broke our hearts, for that meant things were very, very wrong. I prefer to remember you in your tubby glory.



You have left a far bigger hole than I anticipated, my little Goober kitty. You were my Peanut, The Goob, my wide-eyed cat that always looked a bit surprised, and very kitten-like. I will miss sliding my legs under your slumbering (and heavy) body, while you slept so deeply you didn't budge. While losing you is horrible, I know you are far more comfortable now. I'm so glad that your ashes are joining Harry's over an apple orchard in Yakima. Run free and happy, and without pain, my precious little friend.

Half Marathon for Climate: Magnificent Fail

This blog post was originally going to be about running three half marathons in three weeks, but after Saturday's race, it's now much more interesting. The first two races, the Snoqualmie Valley Half (beautiful) and the Rock n Roll Seattle 5K and half (fun), were enjoyable and well-organized.

Half #3 of 3 was the Half Marathon for Climate. I chose this one because it was close to home, was a nice course, and the finish was a couple of blocks away from our favorite local brewery. This one was such a stunning implosion of failures that it's hard to know where to begin. The spectacular scale of the cluster-f**ked-upness makes this post run long. It might be faster to list what went right.

• Shirts were there.
• Food truck was there, and the food was free, as promised.

Here's the short version of what went wrong.

• No bibs. Didn't matter, there was no way to time anyone anyway.
• No information about anything.
• Four water stops, unmarked. The temperature was pushing 90 after a season of low 60's.
• No crossing guards or course monitors.
• No course markings.
• Where the hell is the finish? Not where advertised, and not marked.
• No promised free beer (or I couldn't find it).
• No medical staff.
• Website jacked up on Monday following the race.

Here's my theory. A group of 20-somethings (who are arrogant enough to think they already know everything, because the 20's are worse than puberty) are sitting around drinking and bitching about politics. Someone says, "Hey, why don't we put on a race to raise funds for an environmental cause?" OK, that's a laudable idea. Only problem is, no one in the group has ever run a race. No one in the group has any runner friends. No one in the group has seen a running magazine. No one in the group has ever even spectated at a race. No one in the group has the slightest clue. They throw together a decent, if information-lacking, website, set up a way to take people's money, find one (only one, of the many) available websites to advertise on, print shirts, and think they're done.

Seriously. That's what it felt like. I would put more thought into planning a block party.

I found this event on the biggest local running calendar, seattleruns. It looked reasonably legit, but I wasn't going to pay $75 for it. I contacted the organizer, and asked if she could use some pre-race help in exchange for a discount. Sure! Paypal $40. That's a little odd, but it's a donation, and I figured I'd register in the morning. (Usually they send you a promo code and you go register online using that code; other times you register with paper forms the day-of.) Just show up at 8:30 for a 10:00am start.

But.

I get dropped off, and there's one small canopy set up, some piles of shirts on the ground, and a totally-lost friend of hers who has zero idea about anything, but is friendly enough. I don't know if he was simply kept completely out of the loop or if he is extraordinarily inattentive, but whatever. After we stand around for ten minutes or so, the organizer comes screaming up with a tire that is hissing air and quickly going flat. Her passenger (who seems to have it together more than she), hops out and trots off with another volunteer to find water for the water coolers. What happened to the tire? Apparently she hit a curb on the way over. WTF. Ummm. Ok. She runs off to a mechanic to get the spare put on the car, but is gone forever, with less than an hour and a half before the start and nothing set up, and no one there that has any idea what's going on.

Meanwhile, there are no water sources to be found. We are at a city park, and the water spigots require some sort of key tool to open, and no employees are around. Friend-With-A-Clue and Volunteer load some of the coolers into Volunteer's car, and take off for friend's house (3 miles away) to fill the coolers. They also are gone forever.

By now it's approaching 9am, and people are starting to show up. Lost Friend then informs me that some email went out the night before about bibs not arriving in time. She had suggested to him that we randomly assign numbers to people, write it on their hand or something, and collect times that way. It's unclear to me what any of this was supposed to accomplish, as I see zero evidence of any timing mechanism. Sigh. I have already concluded that the day was going to be a massive cluster, and that the best I could do was calm folks down and have them join me in a no-pressure training run.

I spent my time informing people about the lack of bibs, and if they cared about their time, they should just keep track of it (most of us had phones or watches), and inform (whoever) at the (wherever) finish. Legitimate questions are being asked, and Lost Friend is deer-in-the-headlights. Is there a gear check? [What's that?] Are there timing mats? [Huh?] Is the finish marked? Is the course marked? [I don't know.] How many water stops are there? How are you getting people back to the start (it was a point-to-point)? [Blank stare.] Are.You.Shitting.Me?

After about a half hour of foolishness (and by now many more people are standing around confused and annoyed), I finally tell Lost Friend to call the organizer and find out some of these things. Her car has a flat, but her phone should be working. Sheesh. Answers are somewhat insufficient, but we get a little more information. Finally, the organizer shows up, all atwitter. She is just beginning to realize she has massively screwed up, but it's unclear to me that she fully understands the magnitude just yet.

In addition to all of this insanity, the weather was a major concern. It's been a cold year here in Seattle. Highs have been in the 60's. I can count on one hand how many days we've had over 70. Today it was supposed to get up to the 90's, and the run didn't begin until 10am. Not only hot, but also a lot of non-heat-conditioned runners. Between the 10K and the half, about 200 people had signed up. Water is a serious concern on a day like this. I was grateful that I had brought a (full) water bottle with me. Many people had done the same, but many had not, and it was a major issue. Four stops in 13 miles was nowhere near enough hydration for a day like today.

Finally we are rounded up into a gaggle, and told to start. Ummm. Ok. May as well be out for a solo run.

The course was wonderful, and could be a very nice event, if properly done. It was along a Rails-to-Trail path that runs along Lake Washington, and though it is urban, it's beautiful with plenty of trees and scenery. It's a shared path, with cyclists and pedestrians alike. At least it's hard to get lost…until the finish, or the split if you're running the 10K. I have no idea when the 10K course branched off. Shrug.

The day is heating up, so pacing is very important. I started out slow, and never sped up. Three miles go by. Where the hell is the water?? If I didn't have mine with me, I would be suffering by now.

Somewhere after 4.5 miles, I see the organizer and someone else standing by the path with some bottles of water and Gatorade. Of course, they're on the other side of the bike part of the path, so runners have to get in the way of cyclists if they want water. I'm not sure many people even saw her there. I still had plenty of water, so I kept going.

Just before mile 7, I spotted some random coolers stacked by the side of the road, with some paper cups. Of course there was no trash can, so people were trying to at least keep all of the empty cups in a pile. I drank up, filled up my bottle, shook my head at the incompetence, and got on my way.

I don't remember if there was another stop before mile 11, but by then it was really heating up. I had passed a beautiful public pool a few miles back and seriously considered trotting over there and jumping in, but had refrained. Now I was eyeballing the private boat launches into Lake Washington and considering a quick dip. Instead, I just reminded myself that I was only two miles out and slowed down more, still shaking my head.

I never did see any course monitors at any of the road crossings (required by law here in Washington state), or any course markings anywhere. There was no indication of where we were supposed to leave the path and head toward the still-mysterious finish. I guess it was asking too much to go get some chalk powder and draw some arrows or write "Climate runners this way" on the pavement. There was another runner standing around there, waiting for her son, and she told me to leave the path and turn right onto the street. (I really hope her son wasn't lying somewhere with heat stroke, but it wasn't out of the realm of possibility.) I exited the path, and headed towards the advertised finish, which was at the Community Center.

Got to the Community Center, and no one was there. Crickets. What in the holy f**k. Walked across the street to a local brewery, drank a large glass of cold water, and sat down in the shade, totally pissed off. Two other runner-looking types walked by, and said something that made it clear they had participated. They had somehow missed all of the water stops until mile 11 -- I honestly don't know how they finished. I commented that I couldn't find the bleeping finish, and they said, "Oh, it's right back there a block or two." Seriously? I walked right by it? Went back a couple of blocks and sure enough, there was a food truck parked in a business parking lot (NOT the Community Center), and a few stray runners standing around. Absolutely zero signage. Of course, there was NO medical staff anywhere at any point during the day. Didn't see the organizer, Lost Friend, Volunteer, or Friend-With-A-Clue either. I don't know where they were. Never did find the promised free beer, but as hot as it was, I didn't even care.

The so-called finish wasn't at the Community Center, but it WAS across the street from our favorite local brewery, so I grabbed my free food and shirt, and wandered over to the brewery to lay on their sofa before puking or passing out. By now my calves were completely seized up due to lack of electrolytes, and I really didn't want to pass out on the sidewalk. After laying there for a few minutes, I cooled down, the legs stopped seizing, and I felt pretty good after using their restroom to wash the crust of salt off my face.

I was extremely grateful that all I had to do was call my sis-in-law, who lives about 1.5 miles away. My car was parked at her house, so she came over, we enjoyed a beer, went and got some more food, then went home. The people who had parked at the start (13 miles away, remember) had to find the organizer (or someone, I have no idea how it worked), and call Lyft for a ride back to their car. Completely half-assed.

Oh, and I never registered, so haven't been on any of the follow-up mailing lists. Go figure.

Course: Outstanding.
Event: On a score of 1-5, zero.

The Importance of Kindness

Today brings two seemingly unrelated items:

• I am blessed to live with one of the kindest humans out there.
• Our plumber died suddenly last night.

Paula is now the facilities manager of the house and in her duties as such, she ran across Chuck, who was a friend of the random landscaper that she had found.

Serendipity being what it is, Chuck came along just as we were discovering major plumbing issues. Between clearing stubborn sewer clogs, replacing cracked sewer pipes, installing toilets, and other miscellaneous whatnot, he has saved us thousands of dollars. He was temporarily unemployed (he'd worked for some major industrial company, like a shipbuilder or something, I don't even know), so we came along at the perfect time for him as well.

I never met Chuck, but he and Paula spent several long days working together at the house. Apparently they bonded more than either of us had considered.

This morning, Paula received a text at 6:20am or so. When she loudly exclaimed, "Oh NO!", I knew it wasn't good. It was Chuck's wife, informing her that Chuck had suddenly passed away at 2:50am this morning. She told Paula that she (Paula) had made his week last week, and that he was very fond of her. He had been working with his son on some jobs, and she told Paula that the son would finish whatever Chuck had started. She also said that there would be no funeral, as that was not Chuck's style, but there would be instead a BBQ to celebrate his life, and that she would let Paula know the details.

I am struck by the power of a seemingly unimportant connection. While I was thrilled to have a good (and affordable) plumber to call, I never met him, so I never made a human connection with him. Paula, being Paula, immediately befriended him somehow, and the two developed a bond that meant more than probably either of them realized. He obviously sang her praises to his wife; she spoke very highly of him to me. I am pleased and touched that Paula can be a source of comfort to a total stranger: Chuck's wife felt compelled to reach out to Paula and wants to meet her, at what has got to be one of the worst times of the woman's life.

I have two takeaways from this:

• Never underestimate the power of humanity.
• Don't be an asshole and squander a potential opportunity to add a bright spot to the world.

Peace.

Half #75: 3M Austin Half Marathon

There's a reason this one is called "Down hill to downtown" – the overall elevation gain is negative. Oh sure, there's some slight inclines, but nothing that qualifies as a hill. The declines are equally mild, but pleasantly noticeable. It's a good race if you want to set a PR.

I had no such ambitions; I just wanted to see how it felt to do 13 miles on a couple of months of decent training. I haven’t been remotely prepared for an event since the end of 2014, and was anticipating a pleasantly suck-free race. Even though I did a number of events in 2015 (a marathon, six half-marathons, and a few shorter runs), I was woefully under-prepared for almost all of them. It was time to actually enjoy one, start to finish. It was encouraging that the 12K's of Christmas run in December had gone very well, even though I was wearing a "borrowed" pair of test shoes. (FYI, Brooks Ghost running shoes feel great!) I was in town to visit my elderly mother and other family, so a Sunday morning run fit in nicely.

Typical of January in Austin, the weather was great. 30-something to start, warming to low-50s by the time I finished. Perfect running weather! There was no strategy for this one. I have misplaced my Garmin, and in my morning grogginess, forgot to even put on the FitBit. I was taking a risk by wearing my Newtons, which I had only run in a couple of times in the past year. As I was crawling into bed the night before, too tired to go out again, I realized I had forgotten to buy any food for a pre-race breakfast. Dammit. Scrounged around and found a protein bar in my luggage, so that was breakfast. My training runs had only been 3-5 miles, so I didn’t know how I would feel after that. Just gonna take it as it comes, since I was already half-assing it anyway.

I enjoyed eavesdropping and watching the sun rise while we all waited to start at 7am. A chilly breeze was threatening to kick up and become uncomfortable, but thankfully it never took hold. I put myself in the back of the 2:20 group, and tried to wake up. At some point I realized I had checked my sunglasses with my jacket. Sigh. The half-assery continues. At least I had remembered to put on pants.

Finally we were on our way. And it felt great. I was passing a lot of folks, but figured that would come to an end before too long -- it always does. But it felt good to start that way, especially when the vast majority of people that I passed were obviously at least twenty years younger than me!

Passed the 5K mat and course clock, and was pleased. Since I was gadget-free (due to my own incompetence), and there were almost no course clocks, I had no idea how I was actually doing, only that it felt good and I was still passing people. 5K in 31:something... I'd overheard someone earlier comment that it took six minutes to get to the start line, so I was doing pretty close to 10-minute miles. My treadmill runs had been considerably slower, so I was pleased with that pace.

The race is point-to-point, beginning up in Northwest Austin and finishing just shy of the Capitol building. The course isn't particularly scenic, but it's pleasant enough and well-supported. The neighborhoods are fun, with locals offering up anything from bowls of Gummi bears to small cups of Shiner Bock. I gave the Shiner some thought, but decided against it. That was around mile 6 or so, and I just wasn’t awake enough to find it appealing. Guys, can you move the beer down to mile 11?

Hit the 10K mat at an hour and a handful of minutes, deducting six, hmmm, pretty close to an hour (1:01:31). Maintaining the pace, great! Not long after that I caught and passed the 2:15 pace group. Can I possibly catch the 2:10 group? Not likely. Took a gel around mile 8, and choked that down. It was stiff, like it had been out in the 30-degree weather all night, so was the consistency of thick paste. Eating it, I was a squirrel with peanut butter and it took a few tries. But it's calories.

The clock at 9 miles was under 1:30. Seriously? How is that happening? Well, I guess I AM still passing people...consistently. Is it possible that I will PR today? Not gonna kill myself trying, but will push a little harder than I had planned and see what happens. Was noticeably tired by now, but still felt good, didn't hurt anywhere, and was still passing people. Why not? By mile 11 I did have to start taking walking breaks (until then I had only walked at aid stations), and was very very tired for mile 13. Tried not to walk, but was just running out of gas. Was still passing people when I did run, but needed those breaks.

Wonder how I'm doing for time? Never did catch the 2:10 group, but...

Rounded the last corner, and saw the finish clock getting close to 2:15…which meant I MIGHT break 2:10. Awesome! Forced myself to trot it in, and finished with a very respectable time of 2:09:35. Just under 10-minute miles. How did that happen? Couldn’t remember exactly what my PR was, but knew I was close. Didn’t beat it, but was close. Hey, I'll take it! Not a bad result for a no-expectation day!

Collected the medal (which is pretty cool), obligatory banana, water, etc., and found Shirley. Wandered into the nearby Starbucks with all the other finishers and relaxed a bit. Spent the rest of the afternoon yelling at my mother (she’s deaf as a post sometimes), then caught my flight back to Seattle.

The next day, I verified that my current PR is 2:07:56, so I missed it by a minute and a half. Not too shabby. This was half-marathon #75, but only my third under 2:10.

Overall: Course is easy and pleasant enough. Event is very well-managed, with about 6500 runners. Swag is interesting: an eclectic assortment of 3M products. Plenty of water stops, Nuun for electrolytes (not any nastier than other drinks of that ilk), gels around mile 8. Where there are spectators, they're laid-back and fun. The finish is very nice, in front of the Museum of Texas History with the Capitol as a backdrop. I didn't take the shuttle back to the start, but it looked like there were plenty of buses, and I didn't notice any long lines waiting for them. If you happen to be in town, do it!

2015: Moving On

I've been intending to write a retrospective on 2015 for some time, but have struggled to work up any enthusiasm about it. Why? Though off to a rough start, it was far from a crappy year. Overall, it was reasonably balanced between good and bad, and had many lessons to offer. My soulmate and I had finally accomplished our long-term dream of moving to the Seattle area: I should be ecstatic, right? There was much good about last year. So why my reticence to reflect, and great happiness to see the departure of 2015?

I think it starts with trying to define things as either "good" or "bad". The "good" things can be incredibly stressful, and the "bad" can be incredibly bittersweet. When either is a significant life event, it's often so stressful that it's hard to sort out exactly how to feel. I spent most of 2015 puzzling on this, and have concluded that the only possible way to feel is...alive. I feel like I have emerged from a not-unpleasant cave of emotions and turmoil and aimlessness. And while it wasn't totally unpleasant, it wasn't in the least bit gratifying or life-inspiring. It just was part of the typical set of a first-world 50-something life's challenges.

I've been extraordinarily lucky for many, many years. For most of my life, actually. For the most part, gain has outweighed loss. I've been able to merrily go along my way, not sweating the losses because there simply wasn't that much to deal with. Oh sure, the typical nonsense, like failed relationships, lousy jobs, fender-benders, other whatnot, as well as the more important losses that come with living on this planet. Losing dear friends over the years has been hard, but acknowledged as a price to pay for living long enough, and is the only truly crappy thing about getting older.

So what was different about 2015?

Ya know that popular "top ten" list of life's stressors? Those major life events that most of us experience at one time or another? Yeah, that one. Some items on that list are harder than others but, one at a time, can be managed. Not so easy when you blow through half the list in a six-month period – even if they are the least stressful items on the list.

• Unemployment? Check.
• Major move across the country (and lose social network)? Check.
• Death of a loved pet? Check.
• Death of a revered parent? Check.
• New job? Check.
• Run through the wringer by a mortgage company? Check.
• Moving into new (purchased) home? Check.

Whew. Not all bad, not all good. All very stressful. And yes, all first-world problems. I had to keep reminding myself of that.

I wish I could say I handled it all well, and didn't let it throw me into a not-so-great place, but that would be lying. I lived in a weird place of bittersweet: sad but grateful to have experienced such an amazing father; torn between throwing a pity party and realizing how ridiculously lucky I am for so many things; thrilled to be living in the Pacific Northwest but not feeling at home; excited about meeting new people while being socially isolated; equally excited about running and biking in this beautiful place yet not motivated to train.

That bittersweet place enveloped me like a fog. The emotions were a thick, viscous mess that swirled unpredictably (Is this what depression feels like? PMS on steroids?), and sadness (but not pessimism) permeated everything. I knew my father wasn't going to live forever, but had a minimal support system in which to grieve: no routines, no social outlets where I could just forget about it for a while, no distracting job. My Seattle family was wonderful, but what I was feeling was too much to dump on anybody. Paula was extremely patient with me, and we churned through it.

After completely blowing an interview for a job that was mine for the taking (because I'd had a meltdown that morning and was too foolish to reschedule), I decided enough was enough. Time to wrap up the grieving and move into a more positive place: that's what my father would have wanted. Time to apply the weird-ass energy generated by the maelstrom of mixed emotions towards something more productive. Signing up for some runs or triathlons would have been perfect, but I had no income (yet) and those things aren't cheap. Aaargh. What to do?

Well let's think about this. Living in the present is free. Enjoying the company of my mate is free (or close to it, depending what we decide to do with ourselves). Enjoying the year-round green and the glorious sunsets literally steps from my door is free. Getting outside is free. Being optimistic about finding a job is free.

And I got a job! After a 20-minute phone conversation, no less. Funny how that positive thinking stuff works, huh? Still wasn't doing so great about exercising and eating properly (and feeling it – bleah), but hey, at least I could afford to do some things that were good for the soul. Did some races, enjoyed being active around other people, fantasized about getting my running mojo back.

Fast-forward to the Labor Day half-marathon. Ooooh my running shorts are WAY too tight – they've never been this tight. And my thighs are rubbing together. What the hell? And this flat low-key half-marathon is KILLING me. The photos are dreadful. I look like I'm wishing for a technical issue, perhaps a shoe blowout or massive bout of diarrhea, so I can quit. OK that's it. No more.

Found a great CrossFit gym (where they are all about finding workarounds and aren't a bunch of meatheads), bought a good rowing machine and used it, and started forcing myself to do short, pathetic walks/trots/jogs several times a week, hating every minute and loathing my pathetic-ness. After a couple of months, CrossFit got easier and a lot less exhausting. Rowing became less torturous. Running still sucked, but hey, one thing at a time.

Finally, sometime in December, I ran 5 miles, and IT DIDN'T SUCK. OMG. It actually felt good. How is that possible? Thank gawd. I was beginning to worry how much longer it was going to take to find that errant mojo. I'm still not getting on the bike trainer, but it's set up and ready to go. That'll happen...not sure when, but soon. CrossFit is now my run warmup: go to CrossFit, then go run a minimum of three miles. When not preceded by CrossFit, run at least five miles. And while I'm still not at pre-2015 running pace, I'm getting closer all the time. The heart rate isn't maxing out anymore. It. Feels. Good.

So. I head into 2016 in a much more positive space, even though some things are still seriously lacking. I still need to make friends here (but I now have a plan), I still need to get my butt back on the bike saddle, still need to do more exploring of trails, still need to improve the eating habits (sigh), but...it'll happen. Meanwhile, I'm still absorbing the many more lessons of the past year, from a much healthier place.

It's all good. 2015, you can suck it. 2016, let's go kick some ass.

In Memoriam: Austin Marathon 2015

I had absolutely no expectation of running a marathon any time in the first few months of 2015. The year had already been quite busy. The first two weeks of January were consumed with packing for a long-distance move. The rest of the month was filled with driving from Indianapolis to Seattle and unpacking, along with searching for a job. In addition, my eldest kitty finally reached the end of his year-long decline, and we had to say goodbye January 31.

The first weekend in February I decided it was time to get down to Texas to visit my parents. I hadn’t been since Thanksgiving, and I knew my ailing father (congestive heart failure and COPD) had been struggling more than usual lately. He was getting ever nearer the end, but he had already held on far, far more longer than any doctor would have dared dream, so I was feeling only a little more anxious than usual. The plan was to fly down there mid-week, depending on availability of seats. My dear brother, who has been looking out for both parents for years, sent some concerning texts early in the week, so Wednesday afternoon I went ahead and purchased a ticket to Austin. By this time, I knew my Pop was likely having his last ride on the downward side of the roller-coaster he’d been on for so long, but still didn’t expect to lose him for another few days. I landed in San Jose early Thursday morning to find a text from my brother.

Ugh. Now it’s a race to say goodbye. Dammit. Of course the flight was 20 minutes late and we had a never-happens Easterly headwind, so I just had to cross my fingers that I wouldn’t miss him. Thankfully, Pop was still alive, and was keeping his promise to hold on until I got there.

He was clearly miserable, laying in his recliner, covered in blankets just trying to be as comfortable as possible. By now he was too weak to speak with any voice, but he was completely present and aware of his surroundings. He was able to rouse and open his eyes, and we said our goodbyes. He told me he was proud of me, and said “I love you” many times, to everyone. His mind was there until the end.

He gave up the fight and died at around 6:30pm Thursday. He had defied the odds for many, many years and had far surpassed many doctors’ expectations. His will to live was extraordinary, and we had benefited from that will for a very long time. He never stopped smiling and finding joy in being alive, no matter the circumstance.

So how does this relate to the marathon? Well, Friday I decided to do the marathon, after the following conversation with my brother.

Me: I don’t know which to do, the full or the half.
Bro: Are you trained for a marathon?
Me: [Laughing] Oh heck no!
Bro: But you can do a half, easy, right? Isn’t that like a long training run?
Me: Yeah...I can get through a half without too much trouble.
Bro: Well, a full would probably be really good at burning off stress. Would give you more time.
Me: Oh what the hell. Gonna hurt anyway.

I had packed a minimal set of running clothes, in the hopes of getting a training run in, but no fuel belts or gels or any other typical racing items. The route is laid out such that if, by mile 12, I was severely hurting and needed to bail, I could simply turn off and finish the half. Given that my “training” had essentially consisted of 4-5 30-minute or so trots around Seattle and zero bike training for two months, my expectations were quite low. I just wanted to finish. My father had always enjoyed my spontaneous (lack of planning) nature, and got a kick out of the fact that his baby girl does endurance events, so he would have loved it that I just decided to do this race to remember him and try to burn off some grief.

Somehow I survived, resisted the urge to turn right at mile 12, and trotted to the finish line. My slowest marathon ever, but I finished. I had five hours and 44 minutes to reflect on how lucky I was to enjoy my father’s presence for 53 years. The day was pleasant, I was surrounded by several thousand people who each had their own story, and it was easy to enjoy being alive.

This one was for you, Pop. I love you.