I Am An Athletic Supporter

And they're off! Austin Marathon Start. Go Erik, Go!

So, we just got back from Austin, TX (FABULOUS city, by the way) having traveled there this past weekend for the Austin Marathon. No, smart-asses, I didn't run it, my athletically-inclined husband did. Me? I just tagged along for the chance to experience a city I haven't seen before and get the hell out of Clovis for awhile. Oh, and to play my role as Athletic Supporter. Yea, there was that.

Taking my life in my hands to get this picture

Let me clarify this title. I'm going to start with what it is NOT. It is not "wake up at a leisurely hour, take a shower and feed yourself, then head downtown to grab a latte before the start of the event." It is not "pick a scenic and comfortable-for-the-temperature spot along the route, settle in and cheer as your designated athlete runs/cycles/kayaks/swims by". It is not "find a good spot at the finish line, get comfortable, gab with your friends or other cheerleaders near by and wait for your designated athlete to run/cycle/kayak/swim across the line". It is NOT "just cheerleader".

One of Erik's many sports.

Nope, being an Athletic Supporter is a whole different animal. What it IS is "being awakened before the crack of dawn by an over-anxious, amped-up person, frantically packing the car with sundry athletic bits and pieces, being rushed out the door without one or more of the following: breakfast, coffee, a shower and/or the chance to hit the bathroom, and a nervous adrenaline-fueled drive ending in an argument over the best place to park." It is "being pack mule, pit crew, shuttle van driver, first-aid station, race coordinator, transition set-up, food station, lost and found, and sport psychologist all at the same time". It is "being expected to be at the start to cheer and take pictures and still make it through crowds and closed streets to the transition area before the athlete to make sure all gear is set-up and waiting, then pick up all rapidly discarded items that are cast off as your designated athlete flies by, repeat (sometimes more than once), and make it to the finish line to once again cheer and take pictures". It is "lugging a 17 foot, 70 pound kayak half a mile as fast as your little legs can carry you and it, then somehow miraculously and with much swearing hoisting it onto the roof of a van, strapping it on and STILL managing to make it to the next leg in time" I'm still traumatized over that one, by the way. It is "being sports photographer while doing one or all of the above and STILL managing to stop and capture the requested "action" shots of your designated athlete and his competitors".

Transition at the Desert International Triathlon

My nemesis. The 17' kayak.

It is frustrating, stressful and sometimes painful. But it is also hugely satisfying. Take the Austin Marathon. Erik has trained so hard for it, through gale-force winds, negative degree temps, sun, rain, snow. He runs. He runs because, for him, it's more than just a way to get exercise, it's a crusade. He was bound and determined to beat a certain time. He knew the marathon course was going to be hilly and here in Clovis there's not an incline within 150 miles. It didn't deter him. He ran. Sometimes his running drove me crazy. Christmas Eve? Too bad, gotta get my miles in. Need help with the dogs? Too bad, gotta get my miles in. Still, most of the time, I admire his dedication to the cause, his drive, his athletic prowess. I don't quite get it, but I do admire it.

Austin Marathon bridge crossing. See? I made it.

But the morning of the marathon found me grumpy and chafing at the confines of my supporting role. Yes, he's worked so hard for this day but, damn it, all I really wanted to do was find a coffee house, grab a latte, and wander stress-free through the festive city, casually making my way to the finish line to cheer him on home. I just didn't want to be dragged kicking and screaming into the drama. Heck, I'm not running the race! Instead, I was rushed out the door at the crack of dawn, no coffee, no shower, no bathroom break, argued with over where to park the van, stressed out at having to rush to drop off his gear bag on 6th St and run to get to the start line at 16th. He's in running shorts and a tank top which weigh, hmm, a few ounces? Me? I've been outfitted with my marathon support gear: big camera to capture said "action" shots, bag containing chapstick, extra GU, wallet (that's 5 pounds, right there!), long lens for my camera, race map, pace card, keys to hotel and van, and I'm holding a water bottle and, at the moment, his gear bag. It's early, I'm tired and chilly and there are too many damn people looking at me and bumping into me. I'm worried that he hasn't had any time to warm up and my stress is fueled by his nervous orders to me. "Ok, so you're going to get pictures of me at the start, right? And then if you could get over to mile 8 to take pictures of me as I cross the bridge that would be great". (He has his own blog and all his athlete friends will be checking in to see the report. No pressure, though). "But just make sure you get back to the finish on time, ok?". Hrrmph, as if I ever let him down. I am now feeling quite resentful. I want a shower, I REALLY wanted to sleep in. I want a latte. But, frankly, it doesn't really matter what I want, now does it? I feel like bitch-slapping the next happy, endorphin-laden, lycra-encased freak that, in their pre-race haste to get to the starting line, bumps into me.

My thought exactly. At the Austin Finish line.

But then it happens like it happens every time I tell myself that THIS time I will NOT get sucked in. He smiles at me with that goofy, excited, hopeful, expectant expression on that damn face of his and says those magic words, "Kiss me and wish me luck". I see the nerves, I see the hope and I see the need to have me...grumpy, rumpled me, as his supporter. Shit, here I go again. So I kiss him, and I wish him luck and I watch anxiously as he jets off to conquer his demons with the sparkle of the lights of the State Capitol shining down and the pink hope of a new day glowing softly on the horizon.  All that passion, all that drive, all that expectation....And I am resolved, once again, to slip into my supporting role and do my best not to let him down. Because, damn it, I AM an Athletic Supporter....and proud of it.

How can you say no to that face? At the start of the Austin Marathon.

A Blister for Valentines Day

For Valentines Day. my husband gave me a blister. Yep, no roses, no romance just a blister. And, quite frankly, I'm still wondering how it happened.

I'm usually much more savvy and wary than that. Look, when living with a mutant superhuman who thinks nothing of going out and running marathons before breakfast, one develops a keen sense of self-preservation because the mutant superhuman is ALWAYS trying to talk their normal and sane partner into doing extremely ridiculous and dangerously uncomfortable events....like hiking to the top of Mt. Whitney with a 40lb pack strapped to your back ("because it's there and wouldn't you like to say you've been to the top of the tallest peak in the lower 48?"), or doing the Australian Wobbly Wine Cycling Tour ("See, it clearly states "no fitness required"". For the record, those Australians are lying bastards! I swear it was like racing Lance Armstrong up Mont Ventoux in the Tour de France....tipsy) or zip-lining through a Central American rainforest with a couple of local teens who had strung some wire up in the canopy and thought it was fun to go balls-out wearing nothing more than a climbing harness and a leather glove they had found in the barn hoping against hope today was not the day the line would snap and send us all crashing to the forest floor at least 1/4 mile below us....oh wait, that was my idea. Shit, well, that was only because my mutant superhuman husband must have spiked my drink and the heat and humidity had muddled my brain. Let's move on.

So, the blister. I vaguely remember him excitedly jabbering about all the races he was going to enter in the next few months but, since this is a weekly conversation, I was distractedly answering yea, yea, yea while painting my toenails and trying to watch the next contestant on American Idol make an ass of himself. I also do remember the words "5K" and "Walker friendly" being bandied about but I absolutely do NOT ever remember hearing "you are going to run a walker-friendly 5K...on VALENTINES DAY" Nope, I distinctly remember NOT hearing those words. He might have said something like, "I'm sending in the entrance form for you, ok?" But again, no mention of Valentines Day. None.

So, imagine my surprise when I finally got around to asking, "So, when is this 5k? and hearing the sheepishly mumbled reply, "Um, Feb 14th". Notice he didn't say, Valentines Day. Nope, he was hoping his normal and sane partner wouldn't recognise the date to which I say, "Are you effing kidding me?" I don't care what all of you haters out there say about good ol' V Day. I happen to think anyday that celebrates love....and the mass consumption of chocolate! should be celebrated EVERYDAY! In fact, I'm off to have some chocolate in St. Valentines honor right after this rant.

The fact that I didn't wring his neck goes to show the considerable restraint I've developed over the years. There's an Olympic event for you. And on February 14th, I found myself woken up not with breakfast in bed, not with a loving caress. Oh no, I was woken by my loving spouse yelling at me to get my butt up...at 5:15 in the MORNING...on a SUNDAY. Grrrr!

It always amazes me how many people are willing to wake up at ungodly hours to run around and punish their bodies. You can always tell the mutant superhumans because they're the ones stretching and jumping and running around to warm up and slapping each other on the backs and excitedly chattering about how fast they're going to be able to run. Take a valium, would ya! By contrast, the normal and sane people who have not had their coffee, shuffle around, avoiding eye contact, and huddle miserably together and grumble if anyone asks them a question.

Notice the mutant superhuman in the foreground. They're easy to spot.

And that's how I found myself in a park with a bunch of lunatics before the sun was fully up with an electronic monitoring device attached to my foot. Funny where life takes you, isn't it? So, since I was up, I went ahead and ran the Palm Springs 5K. And I had a good time. I think this was due to the fact that I wasn't awake yet.

Erik told me that if I made a break for the car, they'd track me down

It really was a beautiful morning and since the 5K course winds through the old Movie Colony neighborhood of Palm Springs, I had a great time looking at all of the houses (and of course the landscaping, as I'm crazy like that) as I huffed and puffed along.

And, as is usually the case when I get roped into these ridiculous and dangerously uncomfortable events, I learned a few things along the way . I discovered that irritation is a great motivator and that I could run quite fast to escape the bullshit yammerings of my fellow competitors (if the guy in the fluorescent yellow running shorts had told his wife to "pick it up" one more time, I would have clobbered him!). I discovered that it was the 4 year olds you really had to watch out for. They'll take you DOWN!

My competition. Notice he's in front of me but the kid was quick as lightening!

I discovered not looking at the race route map before you start running could add quite a lot of distance to your run!

Aren't we only running 3 miles?

And I discovered that if you just keep going, you'll eventually make it it to the finish line.

Me in my snazzy Skirtports capris.

Ok, so I didn't get roses and chocolate for Valentines Day this year. Big, fat bummer, yea, but what I did get was my sweaty high-five at the end of the not so grueling but still unnecessary run...and the satisfaction that my very own mutant superhuman was proud of me and happy that I was taking part (albeit small and begrudgingly) in something he loves more than I love chocolate (I told you he was a mutant!). Oh, and, of course, let's not forget that blister!

Love you, baby!

It's Fun to Run in Different Places

I found the above advertisement for JetBlue in one of my husband's running magazines and I liked it so much that I pulled it out and hung it on my closet door. And you know what? It IS fun to run in different places! I know it's been almost a year since my last post so let me catch you up to date.

Alas, the marathon never happened as we were assigned to Ketchikan, AK rather than the Anchorage area but I'm happy to report that I've continued to run. I am nowhere near gazelle status, in fact, I've hesitated for a long time to call myself a runner at all since, to watch me in action, you'd think I could probably make more progress at a fast walk but, screw it, I AM a runner. I wiggle into my skirtsport capris, strap on my running shoes, grab my visor...and I run...in different places...and, most of the time, it's fun!

Old US Hwy 2, Libby, MT

I've run on trails in the mountains of Northwestern, MT...

Salvage Trail, Ketchikan, AK

I've run on trails in Ketchikan, AK....

Beach off of Pierpont, Ventura, CA

I've run on the beaches in Ventura, CA....

Palm Desert, CA

And I'm currently learning to run on the streets in Palm Springs, CA.

Riley leading the way

I've run with my dogs, without my dogs, with bears, with seagulls, with eagles, past dolphins and orcas, surfers and golfcarts and cacti and pine trees and totem poles. And there are days when I'm just downright discouraged in my ability, my body, my...running. But through it all I've learned alot about myself and the beautiful thing is I'm still learning. Who knew trail-running would be a passion of mine, that I can get rid of a side stitch by concentrating on my breathing and taking deep breaths, that when I'm miserable and all I want to do is sit down...I can actually keep going, that even though I'm "not built for running", I'm doing it, that my legs are strong and the rhythmic crunch, crunch of my feet on gravel is a wonderful meditation in itself? So, I might not be winning any races anytime soon, and I still have to slink over to the "Large" clothing section in the running store but, so what! I'm a runner and I'm proud of myself and I'm going to keep running in different places because, damn it, it's fun!

Marathon Training (aka What the Heck Am I Thinking?)

I’ve always admired runners. Real runners, the ones that gallop along covering mile after mile with spines erect and toned arms pumping. Those sleek gazelles, muscles contracting then stretching out in a ballet of mechanics, making the effort look almost…well… effortless. My husband is one of those gazelles and he has a multitude of friends just like him who think nothing about going out for a quick 20 miler….up the mountain…in the snow (and if you think I’m exaggerating, just check out his blog http://www.fishbikerun.blogspot.com/).

I have to admit, I have always enjoyed hanging out with these superhumans. They have this camaraderie, this connection, that’s infectious and yea, ok, I have secretly hoped that by just hanging out with them maybe some of their athletic prowess would seep into me, like osmosis. But, alas, to no avail. They’ve always been more than willing to include me in their after-run breakfasts, the after-race BBQ’s, or the night-before-the-marathon carbo loads. Unfortunately, they could then go off and burn 600 calories by sneezing while I’m left holding the caloric bag (or saddlebags, to be exact).

So, with summer coming and a desire to squeeze into a bikini at least once more before things start sagging so low I’d need a crane to get them back into place, I have decided to really get serious about exercising. Wow, you might think, you are so lucky to have access to all of these athletes and all of that knowledge but you, I will point out, are forgetting one simple fact. They are not mortal! What is a warm-up to them would land me in the hospital. I waddle, they fly. I jiggle, they stride. I wheeze and hack, they breeze and whack…palms together in a high five after completing that 50 mile trail run and then head off to get pizza and a beer. Do you see my dilemma?

Erik's Exercise Log I’m sure you can then understand that it was with some trepidation that I mentioned to Erik, after he told me that he was planning to run the Mayor's Marathon in Anchorage, that I might, and I stress, might, want to run the half-marathon. Having been married to me for awhile, unfortunately he has become wise to my ways and knows of my aversion to any sort of athletic endeavor, and the first thing he said was, “You know you’re going to have to train…and that means running”. Hrrmph! But, once he was sure I wasn’t drunk and just spouting off, he actually got excited and came up with a training program for me. Gulp!

So, here I am, on the brink of becoming a member of a group I’ve so long admired…a runner. Ok, wait, let’s not get carried away. More, like, a jogger. Yea, a jogger. I can embrace that for now. And I’m happy to report I made it through 2 days of Erik’s training program….and I didn’t die, or cramp up, or collapse on the trail. My dogs did wonder what new game this was as I tentatively strugg…I mean, strode, down the trail, but, heck, I was doing it and I believe there was even a slight breeze in my hair and a trickle of sweat on my brow. Now, I certainly won’t be high-fiving anyone anytime soon and I do still have 10 weeks and 5 days of his torture training left to go but I will cautiously admit that my first tentative foray into this scary new world was, dare I say….fun?