A Love Song For My Dog.

My dog is a very fine beast. She is small and strong and very wild. She wears her domesticity like a coat of oil on her fur, something tenuous and slippery that could give in a strong rain or a quick scuffle. We take to the streets at night and her wildness reflects a beast hiding inside of me somewhere, we bounce a savagery back and forth with the rhythm of our legs and our breath and I am sure that if I dropped her leash she wouldn't leave my side, at the same time sure that she'd light out running as fast as her legs could turn over. The purest form of joy she knows is movement. When we're reunited after long separations we race down the hallway and turn sharp turns and leap high, spirited leaps off of the furniture and over all obstructions. We growl fiercely guttural sounds that terrify the uninitiated but just mean play to us.  We tear cast off t-shirts ragged in our frenzy of excitement. She knows exactly the time to pounce and can hear my clumsy human movements before I make them. I know her strong and short temper and give in to her pulls before she grows frustrated. I imagine she thinks the same thing about me. We collapse onto the floor in a pile of motion and then stillness. She lays her head on my legs and I use her as a pillow and we breathe in the same slow time when we succumb to exhaustion and finally sleep.
 If I were less human and more beast, if I were a wild thing, I would want to be this dog, in a more doglike state. We would leave the muzzles and smiles we wear to put others at ease behind. We would discard the protocols and conformities of domesticated life and run when we wanted to run, walk when we wanted to walk, kill lesser things to fill our bellies and take long leisurely rolls in tall grasses and freshly dug earth. We would chase the things that could outrun us, for the sheer pleasure of speed and the respect it garners. When we caught them, we'd thank them with a quick death, ready to submit to the same fate if our legs and lungs should fail us. We would die old, clever deaths, with many stories and scars and our names spread far and wide on the lips and tongues of those we'd crossed. We are content, for now to run forever, in the middle of the race, no start and no finish line in site. The place where we are the happiest is before the turn to home comes into view, when the highway looks endless and we can imagine ourselves from far above, joyfully striding long brave strides through the night.

Showers Bring Me Joy

Have you ever gotten dirty? I'm not talking like, forgot to shower yesterday, have some funk. I mean like, you took a shower and the floor of the tub turned a different color. So dirty your dog licks you when you come inside because you're a salty salt lick. Or that post party alcohol sweat that leaks off you after a really drunk night, still have last night's make up and probably at the very least someone else's saliva on your face, just going commando, cuz I didn't bring another pair of underwear to work kind of dirty.
And then, at some point, you get to shower off. And you know that feeling when you get out and your skin's all squeaky and your pores are freaking huge and you can't see your hand in front of your face because you live in a shitty house with bad ventilation? That feeling right there? Even the healthy bacteria cowering in fear, whole new person kind of clean.
That's how I feel after a solid workout. Except it's like my insides have suddenly stepped out of that shower and are now breathing in that air and feeling like Mitt Romney's bank account(s). I feel like I've had all the bad bits burned off and filed down and regrown new ones.
  Then, a load of endorphins spreads through me like Aquaphor after 4 hours in the pool. Moisturizing my brain, if you will. And it's that reason, partly, why this mediocre, front of the middle pack, awkard form and even awkwarder running outfit chooser keeps running.
   It's not the runner's high, per se, it's this intense joy that comes after it. And when everyone has left the track, I can bust out some hundreds, the fine finish of a distance workout, and dance around to something ridiculous in my ears and feel the joy of pure speed coming out of me. Time slows down and I exist somewhere outside of it, outside of the burn of pure effort, inside the screaming on a mountain top, totally in love, driving 150 mph, just won the lottery, came so hard you almost blacked out, heard the perfect drop in your favorite song, will fight the whole Spartan army by yourself bubble. It's fun for the sake of fun. It seems counterintuitive that pain should precede that, but who am I to argue with science.
  And in that moment, the world slides away and I feel like, for all my other functions, there's this one thing that I was absolutely, higher powered, intelligently designed, harder-better-faster-stronger, totally fucking made for. (I can do that in races, but it's usually at the end and then followed by puke. ) It's this feeling that negates the pressure of the world around me. It makes my bank account (or lack thereof), my bills, the gay haters, the gays, the family, the voting, the economy and the Facebook all stretch out across the event horizon and dissapear.
  It's just as bad as drugs. I should be locked up for a junkie, for shame. So high right now!~

Roots Rock Runs, or How to Add 5 Minutes to Your 5k Time

I'm pretty hot shit. I'll admit it. I'm pretty fast and I look foxy in spandex. I have enough age group hardware to melt down into bullets and fire lazily at zombies or raiders until kingdom come. I can usually make the top 10 in big races, and at least the top 3 in smallers ones. Sometimes higher in races I'm familiar with.
Last year, with a hangover so bad I should have been pulled over for being stupid, I attended the Roots Rock Run Series' Forest 5k. Say that shit five times fast. I brought a few friends and my chain-smoking, alcoholic brother for effect, and because I love all those bastards and want them to be healthy. We all made a good showing; my brother and my buddy the Ceej did fantastically given their physical condition and my friend Athena the warrior goddess who shall never run a 5k again unless it's in the water because she hates running so Goddamn much, even placed in her age group. I threw up everywhere. But, I was throwing up after finishing third overall and second in the age group, so it was more of a congratulatory dry heave. Shit, I even got a high five from the race directors for it, and a verbal callout during awards.
This year, I was determined to do better, so I practiced my hills and thought really hard about running on dirt and gravel and all the places I would push the pace or relax. I told people I was going to try for the course record, 19:50, or some such nonsense. And I was. I meant to, I really did. I even turned down what was probably an awesome night full of tequila to get to bed early. (after a romantic 9 pm walk to the park with my lady friend)
I got up early, did some yoga, drank some protein shake (still gross) and got my stuff together. We left on time, if that tells you anything. I registered, distributed fruit snacks and did my warmup. I jiggled and jumped around during the prerace meeting, dude, I was gonna pwn this course so hard.
And then...
they changed the course.
No big deal, I thought. I'm in pretty good shape, have been doing some ass-kicking workouts with all those lean triathlete marathoner types down at the track. I'm set. Plus, here I am looking all foxy in my spandex.
Brooke sent us off with a cross-fit inspired cheer and I immediately got dropped by the Ceej. I fixated on a foxy lady in short shorts who had the foresight to wear spikes. I didn't even bring my flats, but what the hell? I figured at least-at the very least, while Foxy McShortShorts was busy kicking my ass, I'd get a workout with a view...of the beautiful marshes and forests of Port Gamble.
She didn't exactly drop me. I stayed about 10-25 seconds behind her. The thing is that I haven't run on a trail since...the last time I ran on a trail. Maybe, oh, I don't know, exactly a year ago? So switchbacking and mudding and loose rocks and tiny slippery "bridges" made of split wood and boom, some tall 30's something drink of water looking exactly like a Harmless Soccer Mom* flew past me and Short McSpikesOn, to eventually take the win. The course record was a distant memory, as were the finely muscled calves of my friend in the extremely revealing shorts by the time I made the final push up what amounted to a mud wall. Right before the finish line, no less. You devious bastards (Chris and Brooke and Johnathon at Poulsbo Running. Not really bastards, mostly just awesome people). Then, a short but still mildly exruciating sprint across mud cleverly disguised by grass to the finish line. I arrived, muddy, sweaty and with my spandex-clad ass thoroughly kicked. I did not vomit the puke of the freshly third placed, but it wasn't too far from possible. This time, thanks to the abscence of mid-shelf whiskey, I kept my guts in my body and walked it off.
Now, I love this race. It's small and fun and everyone is friendly, especially the race directors. You might infer from the previous few paragraphs that it was miserable, since it was mostly uphill and mud. Don't get me wrong, it was miserable, but that ecstatic, crazy grin miserable that comes with extreme exertion and fun. Like snowboarding. It's fucking freezing and if you wipe out you'll break your neck. You can hardly see anything or feel your fingertips. ISN'T THIS FUN? It totally is.
The best thing though, aside from Brooke calling me out as the most homeless-looking finisher (thanks grandpa sweater) is the awards ceremony. Top three, top three age group and then a whole shit load of swag raffled off, just for fun. So Foxy ShortLegs and Big Mommy LongLegs and I all got our hardware, but the 45 year-old lady who was worried about getting her shoes muddy got a new tech shirt. And the hungover soccer dad who did puke at the line got a pair of new socks. And the mediocre runners with the beer guts and the awesome runners with calves you could split hairs on all got the same prizes. Brooke knows how to work a crowd and does so with aplomb and raw hilarity while still managing to move the show along before we all start thinking about how our workouts are done and now we can drink beer.
All this awesome, which I challenge any of you Survivor Mud Run Princesses to try, is only a whopping $25. An extra $10 if you want an awesome tech shirt. Yeah, price, ass-kicking course, fast people, awesome prizes. This is My Favorite Race Ever.

*You really have to watch out for them. Last year, I talked with this lady at the Run Wild 8k, she was blah blah blahing about how her kids loved Northwest Trek and then casually slipped in that she finished 3rd in the Black Diamond Long Course Triathlon...yes the same one it took me 5 or 6 Goddamn hours to finish. I may have beaten her in the short, fast, 26 minute battle, but that lady won the fucking war. No joke. HSMs are DANGEROUS.

Not a lot of set up.

Lots of snacks.

Lots of pretty.

Lots of single track.

Lots of mud.

Lots of Parking

Apple Blossom Festival, or Redneck Mardi Gras

I'm from Eastern Washington state. We really like spring over there, a lot. All kinds of festivals, the Lilac Festival, Bloomsday, Apple Blossom. Lots of festivals about flowers. In particular, I enjoy the Apple Blossom Festival, partly because it's the closest and also partly because the road race before the parade was the first non-school road race I ever competed in. And finally, because the whole first mile is pretty much downhill. If that's not awesome, I don't know what is.
It does require you to race conservatively, otherwise you'll burn out right as soon as you get to the pedestrian bridge over the train tracks. Otherwise it is a sweet, flat, fast run. All on pavement, with the exception of the pedestrian bridge and the turn around for the 5k.
There's a lot associated with Apple Blossom in Wenatchee. It has a rich and delicious history of orchard production and was/maybe still is the Apple Capitol of the world. The area produces pears, apples and peaches of many varieties, as well as a buttload of produce. (At one time, a young me knew more than 30 varieties of apple and their characteristics, thanks to the now-organic Prey's Fruit Barn.) This festival is an excuse to shake off winter and celebrate...well, the blossoming of the apple trees. And your beginning of the season fitness.
Wenatchee is a reasonably fit city, as evidenced by the fast people running this race, as well as the general number of outdoorsy options for the area. If you don't like road racing, you can cycle, mountain bike, kayak, raft, rock climb or do whatever else you can think of. If you plan on staying the weekend, Osprey Rafting offers awesome river tours and Das Rad Haus in Leavenworth can get you set up with a road or mountain bike.
Lodging options are pretty extensive in an area that relies on tourism, but watch out on Apple Blossom weekend, since bands, princesses and any number of other paraders have come from all over the state to participate. Nearby Cashmere, Leavenworth and East Wenatchee are a drive away, but can offer a little less crowded options. If you want to get really fancy, Leavenworth and Cashmere offer some swanky bed and breakfasts, but there are also any number of Motel 6s and Hotels of varying comfort and quality.
The festivals begin Friday night with music, a food court and a celebration of the local and regional high school junior miss winners. The real fun starts Saturday morning, with the race and the parade.
Participants can register online or in person the day of. The race fee is $15 and includes 5k or 10k, with a 2.1k option for younger kids. Finishers get a t-shirt, cotton, usually, and a delicious Washington apple. (Gala, most often. Sweet, crisp with just enough juice and tang to make it a great after race treat. Forget those Red Delicious, they suck.) Day-of registration is a little crowded, and it can be difficult to locate Triangle Park and find parking around it, but it's worth it. Runners get treated to the pre-parade lineup, a Pancake breakfast ($10) if you're so inclined, and most importantly, more porta-potties than you can shake a stick at.
The race starts at the not-too-late, not-too-early hour of 9:30am, usually. Runners get sent off with a cheer from most of the parade preppers, directly down the parade route. It's directly downhill, and people line the streets in anticipation, since the parade directly follows the run. They aren't really there to cheer for you, but it's exciting to pretend they are.
The course follows the parade route downtown through the main drag and then turns towards the river, following the trail through Walla Walla Point Park. It finishes by the historic structure referred to as the Boat House. The 5k turns around about a half mile after passing the Boat House, while the 10k continues to a turn-around point just outside of Confluence State Park. The 10k cruises through some industrial areas, and opens onto some gorgeous views of the Columbia before doing and out and back.
Finishers collect their shirts and get cheered on by a small group, since there isn't a lot of parking, and the parade begins, most opt to meet up by the end of the parade route, a short walk from the end of the race. If you want to stay for awards, you'll miss part of the parade, but it's worth it. First place collects a cash prize and awards go three deep in High School, 20-29, 30-39 etc. Then, it's a quick walk up to what's probably undeniably the best part of this whole affair, the food court.
I personally stuck around for awards and then took off for some lunch at Casa de Grandma and some quality chill time vegetating in the park in Leavenworth with some Humboldt Fog, a Landjaeger and a beer. (The Cheesemonger's Shop in downtown Leavenworth. Pretty much everything you'd ever need for a picnic. A-mazing.)
The Apple Blossom run is flat and fast, and can start a weekend of awesome spring celebration (and a Saturday night you'll probably never forget) off right for just a few dollars and 20-60 minutes of your free time. 19, if you're fast. I totally recommend it if you like road trips or apples or fun.

In Which I Demonstrate a Total Lack of Understanding of Planetary Physics

There are a bunch of people in my house. Mike goes to yoga, sometimes. David looks kind of burly, but I think he's just built that way. Kaitlyn said she doesn't like getting her "running" shoes dirty. Amanda is glowering in the corner. Nameless boyfriend goes out for a smoke every few hours. My wonderful flying, breast-stroking, almost-under-a-minute Sloth is not here. I'm here, though. And I feel out of place. Really out of place.
I'm not opposed to hanging out with non-athlete people. Some of my best friends describe their most athletic exploits as the "Lawrence Avenue Bus Chase." Or "If we run, we can make it to the Portside for last call." I used to date a girl who would ride about ten miles and then smoke afterward because she liked how it felt like the first time she smoked.
I'm starting to think that there's some creedence to surrounding yourself with people who have similar goals. Although the overwhelming immersion into the lifestyles that surround me now (or at least a little port window into them, God forbid I join the McDonalds and chain-smoking party.) is inspiring me to be that much more dramatically opposite. The feeling of "don't want to end up like that," isn't anywhere near as powerful as "let's do this hill repeat/20 mile run/ bike to x distant location" or "come on, we can do two or three more IM sets."
We.
It's elusive. It's difficult to make happen. I've been too close to the collapsible neutron star of a team. Sucked across the event horizon of balancing personal needs and team dynamics. I've been too far from it, orbiting the meetings and the team get-togethers like a distant ice planet, dropping in every so many lightyears.
I've been suspicious of teams since my senior year of high school and the subsequent college competitions. In high school, the idea of a cohesive we worked really well. But my senior year I spent juggling two a day workouts and a job and college and high school. As a result, I shot past my teammates, even those superstar sophomores whose genes by right made them much faster than me.
College sucked. Personal lives meshed with team expectations blended with obligation and a certain narrow-minded focus. Just never live with your teammates, problem solved!
It seems like all those people I knew then, or know now are different. They've either drifted away from sport as a focus of any magnitude, or have only recently gravitated on a collision course with it due for sudden impact and inevitable incineration.
So where to stand? I'm not in any danger of having kids to compromise my life. A certain God-given talent springs forth occasionally, frequently, even. My life has been left open, by design, to pursue something with that disgusting passion that makes eyes too bright and work too brutal for your average mortal. I'm not the fastest, the fittest or the most talented. But I'm still here, and after all this time, having seen the comings and goings of other celestial bodies, that counts for a lot.
I'm still competitive too, which counts for more. I'm hardly the Quenton Cassidy, springing back from a life of law to conquer the Olympic Trials marathon in my old age (I feel like he was about 25 in that book. Again to Carthage, for those of you not in the know). Still, there's desire, and as it seems to happen in most of my workouts, the second half is when I really come to life.
So. Where do I find other planets like me? Ones that orbit the same star? And how do I get close enough to share a common gravity without ending up like Earth in Melancholia? (I want my two hours back, Lars Von Trier!) Before I get my hopes too far up, it appears that after today's ridiculous hill workout, I might have. For the first time in my life, I might owe Facebook a sincere thank you. We'll see.

A Descriptive Body Chart for a Dedicated Athlete

On her refrigerator, my mom has a giant chart full of cartoon faces. They're all characterizing different emotions. Presumably, this is so she can look in the mirror and determine which one she looks the most like. Maybe so she can differentiate between the degrees of one larger emotion, or make little blanced equations out of them. If I had one, it would have at least ten different varieties of sore, and fifteen kinds of tired.
Some examples:
 
Long run+fast swim= full body morning stiffness

 Light weight lifting(fast track intervals-adequate recovery time)+/-appropriate calorie intake=grumbly stomach(leaden legs)

Killer speedwork+long runs(2 weeks)=Post Race Podium(elated feeling of success)+mild temporary cognitive function loss.

Maybe it would be better in this case to print off thousands of those body diagrams you find at the doctor's office so I could just color in where I feel sore or tired. Maybe my niece could loan me some crayons and we could establish a color legend. It would all be very complicated.
  If I had that chart, though, half of it would be dedicated to the feeling of joy. Physically, my legs and arms and definitely my core might disagree with that, but "deleriously happy" applies to almost every post-workout evaluation.
  Some examples:

 Butt kicked in track workout by faster older people+long, grueling uphill ride home=exhaustedly happy

Interoffice competition for most yards swum in a month/burning desire to win EVERYTHING(free time)=feeling of joyful accomplishment(mild loss of cognitive function+inability to hold things steady in hands)

I can't tell if it's because I haven't seen the fruits of my labors demolished by faster, more experienced folks, yet, that I feel so elated to be so regularly brutal to myself. Maybe it's a state of constant fatigue producing these sensations. But I suspect it's probably that I finally have the chance to quiet down all the other voices clamoring for attention in my life (my favorite visual is a jar full of loud, angry mice, with a volume control on the outside, courtesy of Anne Lamott) and two or three times a day outrun, bike or swim them to some sense of meditative satisfaction. I encourage you to do the same, however it comes for you.

Sorry for the lapse!

It has been a great stretch of time since I last posted in here, and there's much to update on. I was injured shortly after my last post, and didn't attend the race in Shelton. It's a lingering back strain, it's been haunting me since I gained some weight back in December. I'm working on it though, and part of that training involves doing the Saint Patty's Day 5k in Seattle.
As part of this blog, it's my duty to tell you all about this race, and all the things you might need to know in order to attend it. Next entry!