Life intervenes

My blogging was sporadic all summer, but there is more than laziness and busyness behind the month-long hiatus since my last post on Oct 18. On Monday, October 19, my dad had a serious fall while working at Qualcomm Stadium in San Diego and he passed away early the next morning, October 20.

While I was home in San Diego for two weeks, I tried to run. I did run, a few miles here and there. There's a trail near my parents' house that circles the canyons around their neighborhood. The dry air caught in my throat and I stopped on the path to sob and take deep breaths and try to make sense of a new reality in which my dad is suddenly gone, and I am still here, trying to go for a run.

I haven't been running since I've been home in Vermont. I haven't even seriously thought about it. I imagine being a few hundred yards down the road from my house, wondering if I really have it in me to be out for 5 miles, 3 miles? Would I be able to keep my breath and mind in check, to not double over in frustration and sadness and cry on the side of the road? After staying awake too, too late and thinking pointless thoughts, could I find my way outside while there's light in the morning?

I had dreams of running and doing strength training all through fall and hitting January in top shape, ready to start training for VCM and finally run the marathon I think I'm capable of. Now, I'm muddling through the fall and hoping that January brings a fresh start.

Foundering, in need of perspective

My dad died two weeks ago. He fell in an accident Monday afternoon, and died in the hospital early the next morning. In the intervening hours, I booked a one-way ticket to San Diego and stuffed a bag full of clothes. Most of what I packed was thoughtlessly tossed in; the only things I took care with was a suit of clothes appropriate for a funeral and plenty of running shorts and socks.

I thought running would be a respite, a way to shake off the grief for a short while. The hilly canyons of San Diego's suburbs smell of eucalyptus and scrubby chaparral. Last week, the air was as dry as one could imagine, skin-itching, nose-stinging dry air. Breathe in, breathe out dry fragrant air and try not to think, just concentrate on footsteps, vistas, pace. That is useless advice. The air caught between my throat and lungs, and I felt the full misery unyielding, exhausting grief.

A flat dirt trail encircles the housing development where my parents live, but you have to choose between two extreme downhill routes to reach that trail: one is a long hill, a paved road with sidewalk; the other is straight down, gravelly and treacherous but very short. Coming back up either hill after a run offers two different experiences. The long hill is an endurance effort - you grind away it and it grinds away at you; it feels insufferably long but you look up occasionally and see that you've gained elevation and you're making progress toward the top, toward home. The short hill offers little and demands a lot. Descending it is dangerous, even in mincing steps and grasping the timber fence posts. Ascending it is futile. There is no maintaining a run, there is barely a possibility of hiking the path. Scaling it with the aid of hands and feet is required, it's exhausting and when you get to the top... you are exactly where you would be if you had taken the more methodical, long-term approach. And you have no energy or capacity left to appreciate how far you've come.

Islands marathon, scheming

Saturday was the GMAA Green Mountain Marathon in South Hero and Grand Isle. Cold, beautiful day for race, with bright orange and red leaves still hanging on to the trees on South Street. I had never volunteered at a race before and it was pretty fun to drive water around to water stops and yell maniacally for the runners on back roads where spectators were few and far between. I was at the finish line with time to kill before the first finishers would arrive, so I went for a jog down to Langdon Road, and followed the race course for a couple of miles. I cheered wildly for the first few runners who came by far ahead of the rest with lots of space between them. And then realized that I better start running back to the finish area before the pack comes through -- it would be right to be 'out for jog' among people who are trying to finish a race. (Not to mention super embarrassing to get passed by people who've already run 25 miles.)

Good fun to see Chad and Thao (hi guys!) who both had spectacular times -- 3:05 and under 4:00:00, respectively. And this was just a training run for them! (Jerks.....) Have great races in Philly, both of you!

I had considered running the Islands race to redeem Montreal. I did 16 miles two weeks after the Montreal marathon and had a good schedule of weekday runs. But I got sick that following week and ended up at Dr. Hobbs office the following Saturday morning. Even the teeny, tiny office of Keeler Bay Family Practice has Saturday hours, AND they have rapid Strep tests. Impressive. Dr. Hobbs was jubilant when he announced I did not have strep and I should go home and wait it out. "If you aren't better in a week, come on back and we'll take a second look. And watch that swollen lymph node." Actually the better answer would have been, "Yes! Strep throat! And here are the antibiotics to make you right in no time flat."

I stayed home, and rested, I drank fluids, and waited. The scheduled day for my last long run (20 miles) came and went, and still I felt crummy. All that pissed off, fiery, "I need one more chance!" determination I had after Montreal disappeared into the pile of Ricola wrappers strewn around the house.

The current plan is too keep in shape this fall, maybe run a 1/2 marathon and begin training for Vermont City Marathon in January. I'm going to hit 2010 in the best start-of-training shape I've ever been in. Boo-ya.