What a lovely shade of yellow…covering everything. The pollen is incredible. It is so heavy my dogs track it in the house. When anyone walks onto the porch, they leave footprints in it. I have to rinse my car off to see out of the front and back glass. I walked into the yard to pick up Girl’s soccer ball and my black shoes were covered in yellow dust. I picked up papers on my desk and there was a fine coating of yellow on them.

I don’t remember it being like this when I was a kid. Does anyone else remember it being this way when they were growing up?

Yesterday I was a guest speaker in an 8th grade Language Arts crowd. Lemme tell ya — THAT’s a tough crowd. They were boisterous but not rude. I at least had the good sense to simply make a couple of points and then let the kids ask questions. Thank goodness most 14-year olds are curious. :thumbsup:

“Do you base your characters on real people?”
“Have you ever met Steven King?”
“Who wrote Romeo and Juliet? Have you ever met him?”
“How do you get paid?”
“My friend is writing a book, would you be interested in reading it?”
“How do you choose your character names?”
“How long between when you sell a book and it gets published?”
“When did you know you wanted to be a writer?”
“Do you ever get tired of the book and the characters you’re writing?”
“Do you single-space or double-space?”
“What’s the longest book you ever wrote?”
“Do you write children’s books?”

There were lots more because they kept me talking for 45 minutes. I was pleased they seemed so interested. I told them at the beginning they could ask me ANYTHING as long as it wasn’t obscene. (I’m not stupid and I do have an inkling as to what 14 year olds are like :twisted:)

The best comment was at the end. A girl who really hadn’t said too much and I wasn’t sure if I really had her attention said, “Could you come to 6th period class? The time went by really quick.”

I think that meant I wasn’t boring.:cooldance:

For those of you who have been following or if you’re just stopping in, I’ve been trying to train for a half-marathon. Repeated foot/knee issues have interfered. Made the decision to go for it anyway.

Sunday
2:30 a.m. The alarm is set for 4 a.m. but I’m now wide awake after a decent night’s sleep.

3:15 a.m. Give up the ghost of sleep and get up. Dress, but dither a moment or two over which socks to wear. Make my tea. Breakfast is open faced sando of toasted sprouted bread, peanut butter with flax seed, sliced banana and drizzle of honey. I’ve got the extra time so I even put on eye make-up.:happy2

4:45 a.m. Leave my house and head for the train station to take me to Underground Atlanta. Listen to my daughter’s favorite hip-hop station on the way to get me pumped up. (Shhhh. Don’t tell her that I now listen to it when she’s not even in the car and I don’t have to. What’s up with THAT?)

6:15 a.m. Off the train and among the THOUSANDS of people milling around. There are 15,000 people signed up for this race and that doesn’t include the volunteers. Good grief do I have to pee. Long line of porta potties and long lines to get in them but you gotta do what you gotta do. I finish my porta potty business and Stephanie Bond and I hook up.

7:10 a.m. I’m hugging the left side of the street near the sidewalk. Masses of people ahead of me, masses behind. Steph and I have been chatting with a man from Cincinatti, Ohio who I’d guess is in his mid-forties. He’s a social worker and he’s running the marathon, not the half. His goal is to run a marathon in all 50 states. We ask him how he got interested in running. He used to smoke 3 packs of cigarettes a day and when he stopped, he had to find an outlet for all the energy he found. :thumbsup: He’s now run 14 marathons in as many states.

I like talking to Steph and this guy. It keeps me from being nervous about taking on something I haven’t properly trained for– I’m trusting my body will hold up for this. And then the conversation’s over as someone talks over a loud speaker and a murmur rolls back over the crowd like a wave. “The race has started.”

I start moving forward, hugging that left side of the road. Faster runners pass me. I weave my way around the walkers. Tall buildings soar on either side and approaching dawn is lightening the dark sky. I’m approaching the starting line. Load speakers blast the theme from Rocky. Spectators line the sidewalks with noisemakers, holding signs, yelling encouragment — “Go, runners, go!” It was an incredibly moving moment, an intense feeling of being part of something bigger than myself, a collective energy.

Mile 3. I’m feeling good, enjoying the run. Pleased with my pacing. Muscles feel good. Breathing is good. Bottom of my feet hurt a little, but I can deal with that. Running makes me feel POWERFUL. I don’t know why. I’m not fast. My pace actually earns the jogging label. I’m not a pretty runner. I’m twenty pounds overweight and I just sort of plod along, but I feel powerful when I’m out there. (Uh, losing those 20 or 30 pounds would probably help that plodding pace :doh: but I digress.)

Mile 4. I feel it starting. The slight discomfort on the outside of my left knee that means my foot and my tibia are now out of alignment. NOOOOOOOOO! I’m going to ignore it. I’m strong. I’m going to do this. Half a mile further and there is no ignoring it or willing it away. It’s more than a slight discomfort. It’s a nagging ache. Damn it to hell. Muscular aches I can deal with, stretch through. Leg out of proper alignement with foot? Not good.

New plan. Walk a minute, run two minutes. This works for a while. But the running part is sucky cause my knee is just getting worse. New plan. Walk two minutes. Run one. Better for a bit.

Mile 6. The first marathoner laps me. That’s right. I’ve gone 6 miles, this guy has gone a little over 19 in the same amount of time. He’s all muscle, focused, doesn’t look left or right as we all cheer him as he passes on the left side. In-fricking-credible. I find out later that he’s from Kenya, as is the guy that come up quickly behind him.

My walk two, run one is no longer working for me. My knee is somewhere this side of excrutiating. I’ve now regressed to mostly walking with intermittent burst of running. I can walk pretty fast without it hurting.

1.5 miles left to the finish line. The hospital where I had my surgery two and a half years ago is on my right. I grit my teeth and dig in and run that part. It feels symbolic to me (but then again, maybe I’m just a nut).

.5 mile left. A spectator yells, “Come on, you’re almost there, let’s see a sprint.” I’m planning to run over the finish line on principle but I can’t manage half a mile on my knee. I manage not to yell back that she can bite my butt.

It’s there. The finish line. Right ahead of me. I dig in and run over that line.

3 hours, 5 minutes.

A half-marathon. I’m not fatigued. I’m not winded. But then again, I walked most of the last 7 or 8 miles. Someone puts a medal around my neck and I keep moving because I don’t want my leg to get stiff and now I realize the bottom of my feet, just below my toes hurt like a …well, a lot.:bat:

Not the finish I wanted. Not particularly the run I wanted, but by God, I’ve done it. I’ve completed 13.1 miles.

Advil, ice and Biofreeze are all beautiful things. I’m actually in good shape this morning. And I’m already planning/looking for a fall half-marathon.:mrgreen:

Here’s a post-race photo, courtesy of Steph’s husband, in front of the ING hot-air balloon. The cut-out to the left is where Brenda Chin will be next year when she joins us on this run :wave:, Stephanie Bond, and moi.

Per yesterday’s blog, I’ve had some issues the last couple of months that have hindered training for this half-marathon. I’d pretty much given up the idea of participating. Yesterday I was thinking I’d at least pick up my packet and then show up to cheer on my pal, Stephanie Bond.

Screw that! I’m going for it. :mrgreen: I’m running it to the best of my abilities without injuring myself and then I’ll walk it if I have to. It won’t be fast and it won’t be pretty but neither of those two were ever the point anyway. It’s a point to be made with myself. Without boring you with details suffice it to say running is a proving ground for me, something other’s did that I never thought I could do.

So, think of me on Sunday at 7 a.m. est. Send me positive thoughts and energy to propel me along.

What’s your proving ground? What do you do that you never thought you could?

The Bad: I’ve been really frustrated in my attempts to train for this week-end’s half-marathon. Foot and knee problems have hobbled me to 5 miles. 5 miles is a far cry from 13 — it ain’t happening. But it’s been equally frustrating over the past two months as an answer, and therefore a solution, to why I’m having these problems have eluded me and my doctor. Bought new expensive running shoes. Nope. Not the answer. Bought expensive orthotics to correct over-pronation. Still a problem. Tried a kallasy foot brace (also expensive). Didn’t help.:wallbash::wallbash:

The Good: My doctor sent me to see a guy that specializes in extremities yesterday. Bingo.:thumbsup::cooldance: Scar tissue from surgery a couple of years ago on the inside of my leg right above my knee. Adhesions have grown down into the long adductor, affecting it’s ability to hold the leg and subsequently the foot properly in place. Marked difference in the range of motion in my left and right leg. A massage therapist working the adhesions loose and me doing some long adductor specific stretches should fix me up. I was ecstatic. This guy looked at my excitement with something akin to pity in his eyes, “You don’t understand. Working those adheshions loose hurts. Hurts bad. I had it done and I took a swing at the guy.” I took him seriously because even with him just poking around in that area, it didn’t feel good.

The REALLY Bad: He wasn’t lying. My message therapist (I’ve seen her off and on over the years for different problems) had a cancellation yesterday and I got the spot. Let’s clarify. Sue, the message therapist isn’t a “let’s relax with a feel-good massage” kind of therapist. Sue does deep tissue work. :bat: I consider myself a pretty tough gal and I can honestly say NOTHING HAS EVER HURT THAT MUCH! Don’t get me wrong. I’m sure there’s lots that hurts worse. I’m just saying in the realm of my personal experience — not the c-section, not my root canal or the subsequent dental implant, not the needle biopsies, not the actual surgery on my leg or it’s aftermath. I tried visualizing myself in a kayak on the Sea of Cortez. I tried controlling my breathing. The pain was so intense, both were ineffectual. She suggested I scream. I did. Mercifully, no one has ever plunged a white-hot knife into my leg and then twisted it around, but I’m pretty sure that’s what it would feel like. I get to go back to her tomorrow morning.:evil:

An all-time low has been reached. I heard it last night at kick-boxing class. A guy robbed a Girl Scout selling cookies in front of a grocery store. She was there with her mom, doing her little fund-raising gig and some gnat brain took her money!

It wasn’t as if he ripped her off a couple of boxes of Thin Mints cause he wanted some real bad and was broke and those things are kind of addicting and you could almost forgive him if he was ovewhelmed by the urgent need for a Thin Mint. No. The aforementioned scumbag ripped off her money.

That’s just wrong.:evil:

Somebody needs to share the old adage “Pretty is, as pretty does” with Naomi Campbell. Apparently she missed that memo. :evil:

Something’s wrong when a grown woman goes around hitting people that work for her. Temper tantrums aren’t particularly attractive when pitched by a three-year old, but somewhat understandable. But a grown woman? Downright ugly. And we’re not talking about an isolated incidence. “You can’t find my sweater? Take this!” Whap. There goes the cell phone up side their head.

I think she’s now signed up for her second anger management class. I’m thinking it would be more effective if the next person she brained with her cell phone turned around and coldcocked her. Right hook.:fryingpan: Of course, she’d probably then sue them senseless and penniless.

I used to think she was beautiful. I can barely stand to look at her now.

I’ve had newspaper articles written about me a couple of times and it was fairly flattering. But I got a phone call last Friday and the kid down the street wants to do her 8th grade literature assignment, a report on a Georgia author, on me. :mrgreen:

She’s researched me via my website and today after she gets home from school she’s coming by to interview me and get some photos of me at my desk. Hey, I’m going to have my very own posterboard dedicated to me. I think this is so cool. Really, it’s more exciting than the newspaper article in some weird way I can’t quite pin down in my head. She even asked me if I’d come in next Monday and speak to her class. 8O I said ‘yes’ but I’m thinking this class of 35 8th graders may be a tougher audience than addressing a group of 200 conference attendees at National.

So, I’ve cleaned up my office a bit in preparation for my afternoon interview and I suppose I’ll dust off my pants suit in honor of my school appearance next week.:thankyou: