Will Run For Chocolate

Running can be an opportunity to spend some quiet time alone with yourself. A time to meditate, a time of mindful awareness. Whether alone, or at a crowded race, it's just the runner and their thoughts.

Some people may use this time to reflect upon their lives and make meaningful plans. Some people may think deep thoughts and build their character. Some people may get in touch with their spiritual side.

Not me.

For me, a 5k is really just an excuse for me to spend 30 minutes pondering any and all random thoughts that wander through my brain. For example, during this morning's Lagomarcino's Cocoa Beano 5K in East Davenport, my thoughts were a mix of highs and lows, goods and bads, just like the “moderately” hilly course.

The Bad: In a crowd of 3,750 plus, it is possible (I suppose) that a few people didn't read the multiple emails requesting walkers line up towards the back of the crowd. It is possible they missed the multiple signs towards the back of the crowd that said “Walkers Line Up Here.”

It is possible they didn't realize that your “pace” refers to how fast you intend to run the entire race (or most of it), and not how fast you plan on running the first three whole blocks before stopping abruptly to bend over, hands on knees gasping for breath in the middle of the road. Directly in front of me.

These people should be slapped.

The Bad: People who complain – even if they just think about complaining – about people who run three whole blocks before abruptly stopping to bend over, hands on knees gasping for breath in the middle of the road. Directly in front of me.

I should be slapped.

The Bad: People who get to the race at the last minute, find the small parking lot already stuffed to overflowing, yet insist on shoehorning their cars (and gigantic Escalades) into any semi-open space they can find, regardless of how that affects, or, ahem, almost completely blocks off traffic flow after the race.

These people should be slapped.

The Good: People who take the time to help other motorists maneuver their 72-inch wide vehicles through the 74-inch wide gap left between the back bumper of the shiny, new, black Escalade, and the driver's side door of the fragile, white Toyota Prius.

Those people deserve medals. Because if it weren't for them, I would have gotten out and hit those cars even if I didn't hit those cars.

The Bad/Not Inspirational: The runners who cross the finish line and then turn around and run the course backwards as a cool down, or to double their mileage. Especially if I meet them before I reach the half-way point.

These people deserve to be slapped.

The Good/Inspirational: The runner with the perfectly coiffed bun, designer sweats, aviator-style sunglasses and perfect running form. I want your hair and your style. If I can't run fast, I should at least be able to look good doing it. (Although I did pass her, so there's that.)

The Good: My music playlist for this race was amazing. I don't think many people would put Sammy Hagar, The Kinks, and Steve Winwood (and Billy Joel) on the same playlist.

The Bad: I MAY HAVE HAD THE VOLUME TOO LOUD. Wait? Is that even a thing?

Good, Better, Best: It's not called the Chocolate Beano for nuthin'. Runners got a piece of Lagomarcino's candy and hot chocolate at the end of the race. The only better way to end a race would be to have Billy Joel at the finish line. The only thing better than that? Billy Joel waiting at the finish line with Lagomarcino chocolates.

The Bad: People who think Iowa is flat. These people should be slapped and forced to run a 5K in a river town.

The Good: West Branch isn't near a river, but it has plenty of hills. I eat hills for breakfast. I love powering past others on hills. (I should probably be slapped for that.)

The Bad: Ending a 5K route with a long incline. You could hear the roar of the crowd, but you couldn't see it. That last quarter mile up hill was a real spirit breaker.

The Good: My spirit doesn't break that easy.

But I am going to lie about my pace next time.

Take the Long Run Home

It was a beautiful morning for a run.

Sunny and cool, with a slight breeze. A mostly-flat route, with a potential hill-filled detour if I was feelin' cocky.

Perfect for letting my mind wander. Luckily it sent postcards from the road....

Mile 1

My old buddies the cows have stopped grazing to watch me. It really creeps me out when they stare like that. Wait a minute, they're turning... turning... and Holy Crap! They're out-sprinting me! Damn show offs.

Now they've stopped to wait for me. Have you ever heard a cow laugh?

Not cool, cows. It's a marathon-ish, not a sprint.

Cows suck.

Mile 2

The farm dog has a better memory than the cows. He takes his own sweet time, meanders out to the edge of the driveway, sits down, yawns, scratches, takes out a Thermos of coffee, opens up the paper, shakes his head at the grain futures report, and gives a half-hearted “Woof” as I run by.

Then another “woof” just for good measure.

Not cool, dog. I'm running as fast as I can.

Smart-ass dogs suck.

Mile 3

Running downhill! Yay!

On a rutted, washed-out dirt road!

Dirt roads suck.

It's a long, slow decline with a short, steep incline. Steep like "climbing out of a ditch" steep. Like "where's the ladder" steep.

Morris Day launches into “The Bird” on my playlist (Honest. I couldn't make this up):

“Last call for alcohol/ If you ain't got what you want/You got to get the hell up outta here!”

Thanks for the boost, Morris!

Popping up over a hill rocks.

Mile 4

Finally get to leave the gravel roads behind.

Gravel sucks.

I have to make a choice. Should I take the flat, shady trail, or the sunny, quarter-mile-long hill?

Hill it is.

Hills suck.

Mile 5

The good thing about going uphill is that eventually you get to go down hill.

Yay!

Forgot that this side-route has more hills. Lots more hills.

Uphill sucks.

Downhill. Yay!

Up. Suck.

Down. Yay!

Suck.

Yay!

Mile 6

If I finish six miles, I can have a cup of coffee and half a monster-sized cinnamon roll.

Another freakin' hill?

Make that the whole cinnamon roll.

Cinnamon rolls rock.

Mile 7

I have a cramp in my ass. Who gets a cramp in their ass?

How can my ass cramp up when it feels like it's bouncing around back there like a basketball?

Wait a minute, it's only the left side that's cramping and bouncing. The right side feels... nothing.

Holy Crap! My ass cheeks have merged into one giant, lop-sided, crampy basketball.

Ass cramps suck.

Mile 7.5

One more.

Hill.

Suck.

The end is near.

Yay!

Not near enough.

Suck.

This run was too far.

It's taken too long.

I've outlasted my playlist and my iPod has switched to shuffle. It's like musical Russian roulette at this point.

And the winner is (I shit you not): Billy Joel's “I Don't Know Why I Go To Extremes.”

Me neither Mr. Joel. Me neither.

I DO know finishing a 7.5 mile run ROCKS!

HARD!

I'ma hava cinnamon roll!

And a steak!

Take that you smart-ass cows.

Fun and Photos in the Chili Chilly Extreme 5K

Last November when I ran the Chili Chilly Extreme 5K (Nov. 30, 2014, post) I got so caught up in trying to cover it for the local newspaper that I forgot my number one rule for running:

Have fun.

I mean, I did have fun.... But I was so worried about everyone else finishing and leaving before I could take pictures or get quotes that I didn't really have fun.

So, when they moved the Chili Chilly to March, I had to try again. But this time I wanted to focus on having fun instead of focusing on photos.

Which is a really good thing, because now I'm thinkin' pictures during a race – especially an “extreme” one – might be a really bad idea. Or a really, really good source of blackmail material.

For example...

The Chili Chilly starts on semi-solid ground before going off-road through a field. The established trail quickly turned into a slippery, slidey, bog of sucky, sticky mud, so I decided to blaze a new, more solid route by doing a “high, wide knees” run to straddle the corn stubble next to the trail.

The only problem is that I am about as graceful as a water buffalo when running on dry, solid surfaces. Add in the slippery-slidey mud and high, wide knees and I was about as graceful as a drunken water buffalo.

Then, just for kicks and giggles, let's say there were cockleburs mixed in with the stubble. The stubble that I was straddling.

There I was, trying to run and pick cockleburs off my crotch when I looked up and realized I was quickly approaching a volunteer who was directing us out of the field and into the woods.

And laughing. Really, really hard.

I was really, really glad he did not have a camera.

Half a mile later I looked down and saw a gigantic spider climbing up my thigh. My forward progress was eclipsed by my skyward progress as I flailed about trying to dislodge the... mass of cockleburs.

“Not. A. Spider.” I explained to the policeman who was directing traffic on this portion of the course.

And laughing. Really, really hard.

Really, really glad he did not have a camera.

A few hundred yards later the trail ran smack-dab into a huge, fallen tree tagged with a sign indicating we could go over or under.

“This one's for you!” race course designer and evil mastermind Jerry cheerfully announced. Note to self: Quit taunting evil mastermind race course designers.

Faced with the option of hard or harder, I, of course, chose harder. Placing my hands on top of the log (about chest high), I gave a mighty jump, hoisted myself up, and flung one leg over. Relieved to have more or less made it to the top, I lay there straddling the trunk.

Then I realized I still had to get back down... before Jerry could quit laughing and grab a camera.

I managed the dismount with all the grace of a drunken water buffalo and scrambled off up the trail. A couple of twists and turns and 30 yards later the trail circled back to a small rise beside the Sequia obstacle. I was just about to call out to Jerry and tell him how glad I was that he didn't have a camera when SCHWA-LIP my feet shot out from under me and I slid down the trail on my cockelbur.

Really, really glad.

The final, big obstacle involved sliding down a creek bank to wade across the Mississippi River... or maybe it was just a creek. A really, really cold creek that was ankle deep on one side and chest deep on the opposite side.

The drunken water buffalo was finally in her element.

I am really, really glad there were no cameras to prove otherwise.

After the race I was trying to clean off the worst of the muck when a chipper girl from the youngest age group asked if I had gone through the creek.

“Of course!” I answered. “That was the best part!”

“I know!” she said, excitedly. “Some people skipped it, but me and my friends sprinted to get there!”

An ear-to-ear smile lit up her mud-covered face and she laughed really, really hard.

She really, really had fun.

And I really, really wished I had a camera.

Fear and Loathing in the Chili Chilly Chill

Runner's high is real.

Any doubt I had of that vanished when I tried to interview a bunch of runners post-race at the Chili Chilly Extreme 5K in West Liberty last weekend.

It was like trying to talk to a bunch of drunks.

Focus, people. Focus. Bunch of Chatty Cathys, all talking at the same time and none of them finishing their...

“Oh look! A picture! You gotta see this! And I was all runnin' and then it was muddy.... And the water was so coooold.... Only up to my knees they said.... I didn't expect that much shrinkage...”

The drunks/runners parallel only hit me when I tried to read my interview notes. They looked suspiciously like the checks I used to write at the bar at 1 a.m.

After the run I was too busy scribbling illegible notes and trying to keep up with the 7-minute-mile pace talk to work off my own post-race energy. So the Princess got it all (and then some) when I took her to lunch. After I had taken a warm shower and finally quit shivering, that is. Not only did she get my race-course recap (the same as my interviewees'), but I got to share their stories with her as I organized my slowly thawing thoughts.

“There I was, finally changing out of my wet clothes in that tiny bathroom stall, shivering so hard I coulda' been twerking, wishing I could have had a bowl of chili while I was asking questions because it looked so good and everybody else was enjoying it while I was scribbling and dripping all over the floor and my paper was all wrinkly because my sleeve was still wet. Still wet! But anyway, I thought “What's that awful smell?” And I realized it was me because we had to go though the creek  and the culvert once -- and I don't know what died in there! -- and my shoes REEK, and I mean REEK like you wouldn't believe! And then I wondered how I managed to sweat so much because my bra was still wet and I realized I SLIPPED in the creek and the water was up to my pits and it was SOOOO COOOOOLD, but I only brought dry sweat pants AND why does my thumb hurt? How could I have hurt my thumb running?”

The Princess: “Yeah. You know, with this mix-and-match thing I could just order eight pieces of bacon.”

She has quite the way of putting things into perspective.

Speaking of perspective, some of the race participants and organizers said they hoped the event could some day draw closer to 100 runners. The numbers were way down this year (only about 30, being generous). It's a fundraiser for the Muscatine County Fairgrounds and it was a lot of fun, so I can see where they're coming from.

But.

I managed to place first in my age group.

I kinda like that. In fact, the last three races I've participated in, I think I've placed first in my age group. Granted, I've been the only one in my age group each time. There is something to be said for being old, decrepit and stupid enough to run in November.

Of course next year I'll be one of the youngsters in the really old age group, so I may still have a chance to place in the top-ish for my age group. It brings to mind that venerable quote from Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe: “Face it honey, I'm older and I have more knee cartilage left than you.” At least I think it went something like that.

Then there's the fact that this Xtreme run involves a lot of narrow trail running – in other words, single-file. Once you've established your running order it's tough to move up the food chain (and unless you're the lead dog the view never changes).

Not that I would know about moving up. I was pretty well occupied just trying to keep the runner ahead of me within view so I didn't veer too far off course. But I did feel sorry for the poor soul (souls?) slogging along behind me.

And I need to apologize to them and all of the south end of West Liberty for the foul language I used when I fell. And when I crossed the really, really cold creek. And when I climbed up the really, really muddy creek bank. And when I realized we were no where near the end of the run. I can either control my feet or my mouth, but not both at the same time.

One good thing about being at the back of the pack: the trail is well established. One bad thing about being at the back of the pack: the trail is a well-established smooshy, wet, slippery, mud fest. And the creek banks are nothin' but a sheet of slime, which makes for fun sliding down but not so much fun trying to crawl back up.

I did manage to improve my position early on in the run when I sprinted out ahead of a pack of runners so I could take pictures to accompany my newspaper article. Unfortunately that burst of energy – and stopping a couple other times to take pictures – ruined my planned pacing-strategy. I was just never able to get my head back in the game, and I think my time really suffered because of that.

Yep. I can explain my slow time and frequent walk-breaks.

Runners also have a lot in common with fishermen.

And did I mention that I hurt my thumb?

Just wait until next year.

The One Where We Promised to Laugh

“You can write about this. Just make it funny.”

That might take a while, Honey. Today I cried while I waited for my pizza. Now I'm known as “Crazy Combo Pizza Lady.” On the up side, they moved me to the front of the line.

You're right. Some day we will look back and laugh.

But today we cried.

And we worried, asked unanswerable questions, and made plans. Tonight, and for as long as it takes, we will hope, and smile, and trust, and believe, and support, and pray.

And love.

In other words, just another day with the girls.

***

I had the amazingly good fortune to spend time this weekend with some of my best friends – one group of girls I've known since grade school and the others I went to college with.

How was I lucky enough to become friends with so many funny, smart, caring, supportive, level-headed, take-charge, just plain bossy, stubborn, loud, brave women? How could people with such different backgrounds, interests, experiences and personalities be so similar?

They knew me at different times and they knew different versions of me. They've seen me at my best, and helped me through my not-so-best. Their influence, nurturing and encouragement made me who I am.

In other words, now you know who to blame.

***

These are the type of friends you can go years without seeing, and just pick right up again like you were never apart. The friends you reminisce with and make new memories with. These are the memories you hold on to, the times you remember, and the friends you rely on when life knocks the breath right out of you.

These are the friends you promise to call more often and visit again soon. These are the ones who understand when time slips away. And they're the ones who are still glad to see you when the stars finally align. These are the friendships that remind you to cherish the time you spend with the people you love.

In other words, they are much better friends than I deserve.

***

These are not the type of girls who sit around like bumps on a log. These are not the type of girls who watch everyone else dance and stay glued to their seats. These are not the type of girls who wouldn't know fun if it bit them in the ass.

These are the girls who bite fun in the ass. They lead the conga line. They don't sit until they're ready to drop.

These are the girls who whisper in your ear “if you want to fight her, I'm right behind you,” when someone needs an attitude adjustment. No matter what the odds are, or what you're up against. Together you're invincible.

These are the friends who know where the bodies are buried. The friends who know the stories. The stories our children could use as leverage to get out of doing chores for the rest of their lives.

In other words, the friends you want to keep close.

And hug even closer.

***

“I need a girls' day.”

I started to worry as soon as I got the text.

She wanted to talk to all of us at the same time.

I thought of several possible reasons:

1. Someone's pregnant (a standing non-joke as we approach middle age).

2. Someone's ambushing us for a Tupperware party.

3. Someone has cancer.

So I ordered the complete burp-to-seal baby food storage line in both pink and blue, because you just never know what life is going to throw at you.

In other words, you do whatever you can to keep it funny.

Even when you don't feel like laughing.