MDI half: a race report and retirement party

You know that moment when something that seemed like a good idea months back is right before you and you question the wisdom of your plan?

This is what race plans have become for me.  I think that I like the idea of myself as a distance runner but the ongoing issue with my right leg and losing some of my distance running mojo have been getting in my way. 

In my opinion, if you are going to run 26 miles (or 13 for that matter) you have to really have a thing about running.  Perhaps you need not love it but the scale must tip into more gratification than consternation. 

I signed up for the Mount Desert Island Half-Marathon sometime last year when the registration opened (it fills quickly).  It is the only half I planned on doing this year and I was counting on my base fitness to carry me through. I knew I couldn't do too many long runs because running over 7 or 8 miles bothers the inside of my right thigh down to into my knee.

I have run 3-4 miles many of the early mornings this summer, mostly because I was limited in exercise choices and you can run in the dark but you can't bike in the dark.  I rarely got the coveted runner's high and mostly had a sense of well there that's done when it was over.  Running has been more a way not to lose my sanity, rather than practiced out of love for the sport.  I attribute some of my rocky relationship to running on the injury and the fact that discomfort/fear of permanent damage takes some of the fun out of it.

As the race approached I considered not doing it.  My friend Mindy said, "You might regret it if you don't but you probably won't regret it if you do."  Good point. 

Ella has had a very difficult transition into school this year and has been very homesick and needing me around.  I considered not going for this reason but in the end she felt okay with it and Sandi spent the whole morning playing with the girls. 

I stood at the starting line thinking well, I certainly don't feel on fire to run 13.1 miles.  I had two friends from the gym, Melissa and Judy, who I met up with and it was nice not to be entirely on my own.  Then I ran into my friend Wendy and her son Adam, who was running his first half marathon.  I was very close to Adam's dad, Bill, who passed away from prostate cancer a few years ago.  It was wonderful to see him looking happy and getting ready to run a race.  (Thanks Wendy for the picture.)

 

Also at the starting line I ran into Tia, a young woman I had met while running the Sugarloaf Marathon in 2011. She is a sweetheart and we  amicably chatted away the first 6 miles of the race.  I ran alongside her feeling good and grateful to have the distraction while my legs warmed up.  I find that the end of long run is way easier for me than the beginning and that period of time while I search for my stride makes me kinda sorta despise running.  But hanging out with Tia made me literally say at mile 5, "What we are already at mile 5?"

The MDI half is the only half marathon in the country that goes through a national park.  It is a beautiful run through dirt carriage trails, mostly shaded, around Eagle Lake.  It is a stunner of a run. 

My legs were finally warm and ready for the 1 mile climb from mile 7-8.  Tia and I each put our music on and I fell into stride right behind her as we climbed.  When I hit the sight-for-sore-eyes water stop at the top of the hill I began to lengthen my stride for the cruise downhill. My body literally opened, my inner runner emerged, I picked up speed and I felt the run take hold of me.  This would be a good race.

Except that about 30 strides in pain shot up my leg through my knee.  It was a gasping sort of pain that made me shorten and hop a bit, a pain that intends for you to actually stop.  I kept running, hoping to "run it out."   What I experienced for the next many miles was somewhere between dull pain and the seizing pain that takes your breath away and makes you perseverate on the names of knee injuries that require surgery.  The flats were easier than the downhills but at one point the pain was so intense I had to literally stop and try to stretch it out.  I didn't want to walk the 5 miles to the finish. I cursed myself for not taking Ibuprofen before I left as I usually do.  I didn't freak out, but I did start bargaining with my body.

Let's just run to the finish and I won't make you do this again.

You can run 4 more miles, right?  It's only 4 miles.

If you do this I will get you the best iced coffee money can buy.

There are no spectators to speak of on the carriage trails but as we neared the 10 mile mark where the course turns onto paved road, there were some tourists milling around.  I began to ask random strangers for Ibuprofen.  I saw a lady in a group of casual walkers with a purse and my hope soared.  No go.  I hobbled along another minute or two and felt a tap on my arm.  A man said, "Are you the one who needs Ibuprofen?"  YES!  He had run in the opposite direction of their group to give it to me.

Oh stranger of mercy, I do not know you but I thank you.

I'm pretty sure that Ibuprofen carried me through the last 3 miles.  I didn't walk.  As long as you don't consider the near crawling I was doing up the last hill walking.

There is something I am really proud about in this race and it has nothing to do with my running or my time.  As I watched people pull out ahead of me as I slowed to accommodate for the pain, I didn't feel envy or bitterness.  I lost Tia who I'd hoped to stay with and didn't get down on myself.  I really just wanted to run the whole race.  As I saw people around me start to break down, I did what I have always done at the end of a race, the thing that makes me most proud to be a runner among runners:  I began to cheer for and encourage the people around me.  I love to give a whoop out and shout, "Yay! Mile 9!" in a crowd of people that look like they might prefer death over running.  High fives, telling people they look good and encouraging them to run instead of walk distracts me from my own pain and suffering and gets the gritty feel of a race under my fingernails. I love it.

When I crossed the finish line in 2:19 (6 minutes slower than my best time and 5 minutes faster than last year's MDI half when I had been intentionally running slow to preserve my leg) I was proud to be running.  My favorite part of a race is about a half mile from the finish and, knowing this could be my last long race, I milked it for all it was worth.  I was cheering and hooting and carrying on and as I came through the woods into the finish line shoot I felt like, instead of the finish line of a race, I had arrived at a funeral.

A handful of the spectators were clapping mildly and the volunteers were distractedly talking to each other and I had to all but say, "Umm, do I get a medal?"  when I arrived at the actual finish line. There were no water bottles to be found, but giant water jugs you had to pump into a cup yourself at a table with a line 30 people long.  Because no one I knew was there cheering for me (a first) I found myself, sweaty and thirsty, wandering around the crowd. It was the most somber finish line experience I've ever had.

But, being the big girl I am and having prepared for this, I went to the car and got my extra water and my bag and went in to get a shower. I missed my family for sure but it just made me appreciate how supportive they always are of me. 

When I was heading back outside to find Melissa and Judy, I ran into my endocrinologist.  She has been hearing of my running escapades for the past few years and helping me manage the erratic effects on my blood sugars.  This would be the same doctor who called me when I was on the bus leaving for the Trek Across Maine last June and all but told me not to do the 180 mile bike ride because of my elevated thyroid levels. I knew that she ran a little but I had no idea she was a distance runner as she stood before me sweat soaked and medal sporting, I felt that once again, running was the great equalizer.  Fast or slow, doctor or patient, we were both out there for the challenge. 

Time for a quick picture and then home to my girls.

Departing thoughts:

There are few feelings that can beat the humming contentment of hard worked muscles and the sense of accomplishment you possess on the ride home from a hard run.

I think it's pretty damn cool that, despite having only done two 8 mile runs and one 10, that I can still go out and run (hobble) 13.1 miles.

There's a chance my contented ride home pounding the water, and eventually the iced coffee, eating salty tofu jerky (you heard me right) was actually my retirement party.  I think it will be short distance running and long distance biking for these legs.  At least for a while...

Last first day of preschool

Maya has officially embarked on her final year of preschool.    This is actually her third year of preschool- not because we don't love her, but because she has always been the kind of child who craves activity.  And because I also needed some work time.  And running time.  And time to cultivate my sanity.

But this year it's three days a week, instead of two, with Fridays as a half day. 

The morning of Ella's second day of school, Maya said, "Ella how about if we play spies and this can be your house and Momma and Mommy's room can be mine?"  Ella sighed and said, regretfully, "Maya, I have to go to school ALL day."  Maya said, "Uggggghhh. AGAIN?"

And within a few days she was asking when she could go to school.

In my mind, this is what happens in a perfect world.

One good parenting strategy I have learned:  don't let the kids wear or use their school stuff until school.

Maya couldn't WAIT to get her hands on this bag.  The one that was just like Ella's that is bigger than her but she HAD to have. 



We can understand.

It has always been hard for Ella to be apart from us.  The book "The Kissing Hand" was especially helpful to her and so we (probably Sandi) came up with the idea to put a matching heart on each of our hands so we could think about each other throughout the day.  We did this a lot Ella's first year of kindergarten. 

Maya wanted to do it for her big day, but she and Ella decided on stars instead.

The sun hadn't quite reached the sign for the perfect photo op.  Plus she really had to pee.

Maya and her buddy Jackson looking much too grown up.
(For the record, I could literally feel my heart splintering with the knowledge that this would be the last time I would ever do this.)

 Ella asked her before we left:  "How are you feeling Maya?  Are you okay or are you nervous?"  (I think she secretly was hoping for the later just so Ella herself wouldn't be alone in this emotional experience.)  Maya said, "Yeah, I want to go to school.  But I'd rather stay home with Mommy and Momma."  

Your kids might not like your cooking.  They might not like your rules.  But, man, they can dole out the flattery when they want.
























When it came time, she was good to go. 

 

It's true, I wanted to cry when I left.  I can't believe my girls are this big.  Next year will be kindergarten for Maya and the big 3-5 school for Ella.  I love them so much like this.  I don't want them to change anymore.

 

Yet...around each corner I get a new part of them to love, a new part of life I can experience with them.  I would never trade these moments to stay in the ones from two years ago.  So it stands to reason that I wouldn't want to freeze these moments if it meant forfeiting the ones down the road.  As if I could.  But I think  I wouldn't even if I could.  I guess...

 

I drove home in a quiet car, an experience I haven't had for months. I did some back patting that I had not just survived this summer of single parenting, but really embraced and enjoyed it.  And then I got on my bike and rode 38 miles and went to work., all the while thinking  you gotta love preschool. 

'Aye for love!!! (and an unexpected race report)

This weekend we made the three hour trek back to Eastport, Maine to march for marriage equality in the Pirate Festival.  We had gone to Eastport to march in the  Fourth of July parade which had been my favorite parade to date. 

(Some of these pictures I took.  Many of them I have stolen shamelessly off Facebook.)

Well, Easport was at it again.  This time busting at the seams with pirates and wenches.  The streets of Eastport were lined six deep with costumed people shouting and cheering and hooting in support of marriage equality. 

As Krisit said, if ever there were a time that we felt like a rock stars this would surely be it.

Sandi's grandmother's health has been poor lastly and Sandi felt called to spend the day with her on Beals which is on the way to Eastport.  It turns out her instincts were right and she ended up taking her grandmother to the ER in the afternoon and hopefully sorting out some solutions to her recent declines.

I met up with Sandi's sister Kristi and kids at the head of the peninsula to Beals Island, they switched cars and Kristi and I and four kids headed to Eastport for the day.

The pridemobile was decked out in pirate fashion for this final parade before the election as were the willing marchers which had swelled to five times the number we usually have.  It was incredible to look around and see the momentum, evident in sheer numbers of people, that Aunt Suzie and Uncle Buck started back in June when they decided to get the word out in Washington County.  Their passion, energy, motivation and vision was a spark that has ignited the area and has created a living, breathing community of gay people, equal-minded people, and those striving for change in a place where there really wasn't one. 

And they haven't done it by force or hate.  They have done it with love, enthusiasm and joy.


The family of activists looking like they stepped off the set of Pirates of the Caribbean.
 

 

 My friend Ashley and her family suited up and  made the three hour trip to support the cause.  Even their dog Lily was dressed like a pirate!



Ella took this picture of us and I'm pretty sure I'm telling her to watch out about her finger on the lens and not saying a 4 letter expletive to my seven-year-old.
 

 

Ella and Kaylee



Kristi made new signs to make the float sea worthy.



Noah, looking totally awesome, won first prize for his costume and received this cool sword.

I bought Maya a wig to wear with her outfit and she looked hilarious with a capital H.  And while she liked the idea of being funny, in practicality she didn't like the idea of all this hair.  I couldn't let it go unused, although it was regrettable when it came time to push the bed uphill and I had a steady stream of sweat trickling down my spine. (Maya also refused any photos this time around.  Who can blame her?)

 

Our group was so big this time, it took two pictures to fit everyone!

 

 

 



Aunt Suzie and Uncle Buck won "Most Thrilling" by the festival committee!

 

I love the faces of activists.

 

 

There was one small group of 3-4 spectators who gave us some thumbs down and some boos when we were stopped on the corner.  We all turned to him and just cheered loudly and held up signs. I gave him the peace sign.  There was no fighting, is no fighting, with someone like this.  Only love can really prevail when water meets stone like this.

It was hard to really see the expanse of our group while in it and it wasn't until after when Uncle Buck said we took up about a fourth of the parade that I understood the presence we had in Eastport.

 

Pushing the bed full of candy throwing kids.

 

Now, about the race report.  Aunt Suzie thought it would be fun to enter a team in the "bed race."  Uncle Buck designed this bed with old bikes he got at the dump.  I tell you, this man is brilliant.

 Our team was supposed to be Uncle Buck, Dwight (Sandi's dad), Kristi and me pushing and Sandi riding.  Because Sandi's parents had a funeral to attend and Sandi was with her grandmother we made some changes, our friends Katie and Alex graciously watched Kristi's and my kids, and we were at the starting line stretching our quads before we knew it.

In the front running were Uncle Buck (left) and Dwight Jr. who I'd never met and was full of steam (right) and in the back Kris and I.  Kathleen, donning a motorcycle helmet was the rider/flag raiser.



The race is a sprint to the flagpole pushing a bed, the rider dismounting and running to hoist our flag up the pole, running back to the bed and a sprint pushing the bed back to the finish.

None of us had ever done it or seen it done before.

Now here is where I pause to give you an exciting piece of information.  Apparently the Travel Channel was in Eastport filming a segment about the Pirate Festival.  There were men carrying professional grade video cameras crawling all over downtown near the start and we were making jokes about getting on TV.  The race goes in heats, two beds at a time, and we were in the last of four heats.  (And then the fastest two beds race off for a winner.) Who do you think we were racing?  Yup, the guys from the Travel Channel.

The rider must have been the star of whatever show they were filming for because there was a camera mounted to the front of their bed to capture his experience.  They had an ultra fancy bed fashioned to look like a pirate ship.  As we lined up at the start the pusher closest to me said, "Please don't make fools out of us." I told him we had never done it before, had no idea what we were doing and we were smiling and joking.

And then, just before the cannon fired to signal the start, the rider/show's star, took his water bottle and, in true pirate fashion, threw it all over me.  It soaked my face and down my clothes.  Right in front of the camera filming the whole thing.

I think I might be on TV.  And damn if I didn't have a single witty comeback to throw at him.  But before I knew it the cannon had fired and my irate energy funneled into my legs and we RAN.

Because I have a half marathon next weekend, I had squeezed an 8.5 mile run in before I leaving home that morning.  Now I feel embarrassed to even call what I had done in the dark dawn running because clearly what we were doing in the race was really what running is.  I'm surprised I don't have bruises from where my feet were kicking my ass with my heels.  I was sucking wind moving my (much shorter than my teammate's) legs just as fast as they would go, whilst pushing a bed on bicycle wheels.

And, despite the incredible craftsmanship, check out the angle of my wheel:

 

Flag up the pole and time to run back.  I was definitely at the peak of my anaerobic threshold.  I was honestly afraid I wouldn't be able to keep the pace and would have to let go, but I put my head down, told myself it was not far and ran hard. 

 

Clearly, all my previous experience with race mentality- digging deep at the brutal finish of a marathon- helped me finish strong in this most important race.

 

(See the TV crew?)

 

 

 

 

 I have to say, this was the most fun I'd had in a while.  It made me wonder why I would ever do any other sort of race ever.  It's official: bed races beat the pants off of marathons. 

We won our heat handily (take that Travel guy!) but didn't win the race.  However, the bed, as a nod to Uncle Buck's brilliance, got the "Most Creative" award and we each got a bag of gold  ($20 in dollar coins) in a pirate bag.

When we found this kids Ella said, "MOM! I didn't know you could run that fast!"

Me neither, sweetie.  Me neither.

When Sandi asked Ella what her favorite part of the day was and she answered: "The bed race."  Then she said, "Wouldn't it be fun to go back next year and not need to march for equality, but just to go for fun?  Maybe we could have a different float!"

I don't know if Aunt Suzie and Uncle Bucky fully know the gift they have given this rural, closed-minded patch of Maine.  It is a gift that will continue to give long after the pridemobile is stripped and their trailer put back to everyday use.  This is a place where people were afraid to come out still, afraid to live openly and didn't have a space to just be who they are.  Aunt Suzie and Uncle Bucky have infused it with love, with permission, with acceptance.  I marvel at all they believe and how they put their money and time where their mouths are.  I am proud to call them my family and am certain they have changed me, how I think, and what I know to be true about change. 

All of this leaves me with one resonating thought:  while it is kind of sucky to have to fight so hard for basic rights, it has been really fun, unifying and celebratory as well.  Turns out, if I can not get too upset over the slight of being treated as unequal, I really relish working hard toward a goal.  Especially with others who are motivated, impassioned and dedicated.  I will miss so many of these people I have come to know this summer.  Beautiful people, gay and straight, with hearts of gold and love that knows no bounds. 

A thousand thank yous to all who have helped the cause this summer.  I have no words to really tell you what it means to me, to our family, to our state.  And from here every converstation, every story and photo shared will continue the momentum created here and push us foward toward real change on election day.

wedding cake practice

One of my strengths is my willingness to take on a challenge.

I'm pretty sure one of my weaknesses is my willingness to take on a challenge.

Last year my friend Melissa generously taught me how to make a real cake.  Ella wanted a fairy house for her birthday and Melissa walked me through making it for Ella. I learned about fondant, shaping cake, having the right cake recipe and all the secrets that go on underneath the pretty colors and decorations to make a polished finished product.




It was such fun I decided at Christmas to try one on my own.



I'm really not sure why I thought that making these two cakes (and only one by myself) made me feel qualified to offer to make Tricia's wedding cake for her at the end of this month.   Honestly, looking back at the bumpy, lumpy Christmas cake, I don't think I had any business making such a grand offer.

Trish and I have spent hours designing and discussing cake- layers, ribbon, shape, flavors, etc.  I have tried to be realistic about my skill level and knowledge. I have also practiced a lot.  I made my birthday cake in part because I wanted to play with the cake recipe, the stacking and freezing of the cake and the fine art of smoothing butter cream. 

New to my house: this bag of flour and 17 pounds of butter in my freezer.

My birthday cake: two pans of pound cake stacked and filled to be wrapped and frozen.

When the cake is frozen you then trim it and carve it into what you want.  This is actually very tricky for me because straight lines aren't my strength.  The key here is to have a very dense cake (read: lots of butter and eggs).  Forget Dunkin Hines and Betty Crocker. You need pound cake. 

For this cake I didn't use fondant but rather smooth butter cream.

 

I had an issue with one of the rectangular pans overcooking so instead of using it as a layer, I made petit fours instead:

I tried a few different cake recipes and had Trish and Brock decide which they liked best.  I have had an obscene amount of decadent leftover cake at my house.  This round was a reject that I had in my freezer and, in the spirit of practice makes perfect, I frosted it and put some flowers on it to give to some friends. Plus, I have two more stacked and wrapped rounds in my freezer awaiting their destiny.

But the most important practice I have gotten was this weekend when I made Tricia's bridal shower cake.  I made the cake weeks ago and took it out of the freezer to bring to Beals Island. Once there, I froze it again and took it out when I was ready to frost it.  I got set up in the (amazing) church kitchen the night before to get the base layer on the frozen cake.

 

Here is my nephew and cake tester, Brevan:

I did this step the night before because I wanted to do it on frozen cake but didn't want the cake to be frozen the morning of the shower.  I applied the first base crumb layer to each round and then left them in the fridge overnight.

In the morning I went for a beautiful 8 mile run on the island to get my nerves out, showered, drank some tea and headed over to the quiet church to work.  Because this skill is not entirely established in me, I really needed a quiet head and space to think and work. 

Smooth butter cream is essential to smooth fondant.  My friend Melissa lent me any and all cake decorating supplies I needed including this spinning cake stand and a tool for smoothing that made this much easier.  Plus lots of consulation and moral support and the offer to actually help me decorate the wedding cake. (Thank you Melissa.)

 

Another secret to smooth frosting?  A wet paper towel.

 

One thing I definitely realized is that you can hide some discrepancies in the cake with frosting (building it up to hide a gouge for instance) but the more level and even the cake, the better the end result.  I had a lot of unevenness to contend with and at some point had to stop shaving the cake because I was afraid I was doing more harm than good.



Slightly uneven, but ready for fondant.



Rolling the fondant is not so bad.  Picking it up to drape it squarely over the cake is nerve wracking.

I was really excited when I got tier 2 secured onto the bottom.  A cake this size doesn't probably need dowel stabilization but, because I will need to do it on the wedding cake, I wanted to practice.  I measured and cut the dowels to just barely poke out of the bottom layer and then attached them to the bottom of the plastic cake plate that separated the layers.  The top of the plate has spikes onto which you place the next layer (that is already covered in fondant).  Once I got tier 2 plunked onto those spikes, I breathed a big sigh.  I was super scared at messing that up.

Thankfully, Sandi and her eye for symmetry were around and could help pin the ribbon on.  (It's possible she did some muchly needed cheer leading as well.)

 

All finished!

 

 

Oh, yeah. And there was actually a shower associated with all that cake making. 

 

Tricia, the beautiful bride-to-be:




I think someone took a bucket of nieces and nephews and dumped it on her. (Ella is in the back peering through the balloons.)




sisters

Kristi made these beautiful hydrangea centerpieces.

Cake decorating things I need to work on:

1. Having a more consistent hand with piping and etching.

2. How to make the cake underneath even smoother so there are no bumps in the fondant.

3. Finding the right consistency of royal icing so as not to get carpal tunnel while piping.

4. How to make everything more level.

5. How to make finer etching for the wedding cake (I used a #3 tip here and it was still pretty thick) because the design of the wedding cake Trish picked calls for a very delicate, wispy etching.

6. How not to eat so much of the cake scraps. No joke.

 

A wedding cake.  No pressure, right?