30. Run 30.

My long standing complaint with blogging is that there is not enough time to do it.  I cannot sit at a computer screen after having spent all day looking at Twitter and Facebook and getting paid for it.  So I’ve adopted Tumblr which allows me to post quick, pithy updates on training, races and other running related things.  You can follow me here.  And I will also be long form blogging on Hilary and Natalie’s site Whose Idea Was This on the weekends.  Happy Running!!

To My Dear and Loving Husband

If ever two were one, then surely we.

 


If ever man were lov’d by wife, then thee. 


If ever wife was happy in a man, 


Compare with me, ye women, if you can.
I prize thy love more than whole Mines of gold
Or all the riches that the East doth hold.
My love is such that Rivers cannot quench,
Nor ought but love from thee give recompetence. 

Thy love is such I can no way repay.
The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray.
Then while we live, in love let’s so persever
That when we live no more, we may live ever.

Poem by Anne Bradstreet

 

30 Races. 30 Years (Or How to Fail a Marathon)

In November of 2011, I was looking for my next big race. I hadn’t raced since the Inaugural Wine and Dine Half Marathon in Disney World in October 2010 and I was itching to get back in shape and train for something big.

As a confident half marathoner, I always joked to anyone that would listen after my races that I would never ever run a marathon. Twenty six miles and three hundred some odd yards that make up the race seemed ludicrous. Why would I ever, ever do that to myself?

Because I wanted to, that’s why.

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Friends with Kids

Full disclosure:  Our friends with children are amazing parents, successful human beings and an all around joy to spend time with. Any accidental expression of the contrary in the following is the express mistake of my editor, MB, who will not ever read this and therefore can be blamed for all things that upset my readers.

Last Friday night was one of the rare nights this summer that MB and I weren’t smashing all our worldly possessions into the back of our old lady colored Hudanyi and zipping around the Eastern seaboard.  Confused about what to do with all the extra time on our hands we clicked over to the movie section of our Apple TV and picked the first movie that had nothing to do with sex with pies or the over glorification of Jonah Hill’s manorexia.

Friends with Kids started out to be a hilarious, honest look at the complexities of being married to someone, love and maintaining any semblance of a former reality while raising a kid.  Then it took this really awful turn into this super sappy, overly feminine take on neediness and sex.  I loved it and hated it.  MB loved it.   What really struck me throughout the entire movie was that the exposition of that last set of childless people in the room who are not covered in vomit, not fighting tooth and nail with a toddler to eat their dinner and not chuck it, not shooting daggers at their partner and {got forbid} not talking nonstop about junior’s most recent bowel movement when they make the very ill-calculated decision to procreate.  In short, I’m afraid, we too, are going to do something rash.

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Hey, Check This Out.

I’m currently this tan but much less sparkly

When my boss has something to say, usually in the form of dropping the hammer, he swings himself around in his chair, throws his forearms on his surfboard table, looks up at you through his eyebrows and declares, “Hey, Check this out.”

Trust me, it’s a lot more ominous in his slight, lilting southern drawl, his suit coat off and a look on his face like could literally kill a person.

{In full disclosure, he’s usually pantomiming how one of us, his team, are going to drop the hammer, or how he, himself is going to make someone squirm, but {lamentably, in my opinion} in a very polite fashion}

I know that when anything starts with the phrase, “hey check this out” it’s going to be good.  And serious.

***

This week, MB and I spent 5 glorious days on Hilton Head Island.  We did nothing of any merit.  We slept late, ate expensive breakfasts, lounged, swam, walked on the beach, ate, shopped for brightly colored women’s clothing, slept.  We also drove there and so I had over 20 hours to contemplate everything.  I have a lot bouncing around in my skull and I really wanted a means, cheaper and less bizarre than therapy, to get it out and move on.  Hopefully to a tasty Mexican dinner.

See, nothing has changed.

I won’t apologize for my absence and sudden reappearance.  I stopped reading a lot of blogs because frankly, I don’t have time and double frankly, I realized that the things that I was reading weren’t that interesting {not you, Gina, not even close}.  Women I’d followed for a long time had no more interesting lives, or things to say about them than I do.  I just don’t have time to write my thoughts down.  If you want an apology for my inconsistency or why I leave and come back to the blog please see here here and here.  My new reason is I was busy and I didn’t want to write and now I do.

So, you know, what have you been up to?

 

 

 

Rest and a week off

In 1 hour and 15 minutes we’ll be in a cab on our way to London.  After much hemming and hawing I decided NOT to pack my running gear and brave the other side of the street while we’re across the pond.  Mostly because we ran out of space.  I’m back on a Wednesday night and have every intention of jumping right back in.  And probably embracing the suck for about 2 weeks while I get back in shape.

2012: The year of the marathon?

Mmm K. So when last we left off, I was doing ridiculous things like declaring New Media to be my version of being on a SEAL team and generally trying to quit blogging.

I want to be clear.  I meant all of it.

Except maybe the blogging part.

Well the lady blogging part.

I’m back and I’m back with avenegence so I can start one of the most annoying forms of blogging in the WORLD:  RUNNER BLOGGING.

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Death and All of His Friends

This weekend I took myself to my parents’ home for our monthly visit. The highlight would be seeing my cousin’s youngest daughter perform in my high school’s musical. I arrived in the J late Friday and was relaxing with Jan when my cousin called. There was an accident. The musical had been postponed. A girl, a senior, was dead.

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