Fine, Be That Way

Thirteen days to the half marathon.  Training continues though we've taken a week to work through some nagging pains.  Time to get back to work.

My wife and close friends will be the first to tell you that, since the first day of owning our house, I've been a crotchety old man in his late 20's.  Within the first few hours, even as our volunteer moving crew of said friends were trudging furniture and boxes through the near-freezing rain, I was complaining about people driving fast on our street.  When spring came in that first year and the kids next door and all around started tromping through our yard with Nerf guns, I worried about the plants coming up through the soil and asked the boys not to climb in our tree as visions of lawyers and insurance documents flashed through my head.  I guess a switch flipped the day I got that key in my hand.  If I could find it again, I'd turn it off.

Two days ago I was washing dishes and watched as two boys stalked each other in the trees at the back of our yard.  From my viewpoint I could see everything and wanted to scream "NO! He's got the drop on you.  Come around the other way!"  Before I could join in the fun they took a detour through our fledgling garden and I found myself opening the sliding glass door with a dish towel slung over my shoulder to ask them not to run through the garden.

Later on, as we drove to dinner and past the houses where the kids were safely tucked away eating dinner and watching TV, I thought about when I was their age.  Did I tromp through people's gardens and climb trees I had no business climbing?  The short answer is no, but not because I was a paragon of politeness and did everything my mom and my friends' moms told me to do.  I climbed trees and crashed through bushes and gardens and fell into creeks and streams all the time.  I just had the luxury of huge yards and unclaimed "common areas" to explore and damage without fear of wagging fingers and angry adults whose names I did not know.  I was lucky to have the freedom and space to create my own understanding.  The kids in my neighborhood now can't help but cross into other yards.  A Nerf battle, after all, must run its course without overly constricting boundaries.  To suggest otherwise would be to suggest that a tornado must abide by the local zoning ordinances.

When it comes to our street, I admit I am a bit crotchety.  I worry about the kids next door who play outside each afternoon.  Though they are incredibly careful and well-conditioned not to venture past the sidewalk, I know it only takes a moment for something horrible to happen.  The last thing I want to hear is the sound of tires squealing and bicycles--and worse--being crushed under tires.

My feelings towards the kids running through our yard are more complicated.  While I love the flowers and the bushes that will bloom in the coming weeks and months I think I'm more jealous than anything else.  I want nothing more than to don a bandoleer of Nerf darts, hold the plastic stock in my hand and crouch down in the bushes waiting for my prey.  If I can't join them, they can't play in my yard.  If you aren't going to play by my rules, I'm taking my ball and I'm going home.  So there.

Ryan

Spring Has Sprung

18 days until the race.  Training continues and the extra week we unintentionally built in will be welcome as life and minor pains get in the way.  We rode the bike at the Y last night for a change of pace and to keep any pains at bay.

We walked to the Y last night and it felt so good to be outside without feeling a chill from the air or the wind blowing by.  The warm air was filled with the smell of spring: flowers, grass, trees and my nose was the first to pipe up and say "Spring is here! Get out the Claritin!" So, as it goes, I will be sneezing and sniffling for a little while until my body adjusts to all the junk flying through the air.  Odds are my beautiful and understanding wife will want to post something like "How is this a change from the rest of the year?" but she won't because she loves me and I beat her to the punch.

You see, I love the outdoors and would spend every waking minute outside if I could.  I worked at a summer camp for 10 years and suffered through all kinds of allergic reactions from old, dusty mattresses and all manner of pollen falling from the sky.  I don't mind the allergic reactions...most of the time.  A little sneezing and sniffling and wiping my nose every minute or so is a small price to pay to be outside.  As you can probably tell, I'd be better suited as a hermit or a solo hiker with all the bodily functions going on.

And this is the trouble: I've learned to cope and deal with hayfever that won't succumb to any over-the-counter or prescription medicine.  I've learned to manage the sniffling and sneezing and eyes so red you'd think I'd been up to no good.  But other people aren't accustomed to it and feel the need to worry and fuss over the freak show I become when there's something in the air my body won't abide.  Katie knows better now and gives me a sympathetic frown, a hug and tells me to ask for something if I need it.  Usually the only "cure" is a long nap and a few hot showers with plenty of fluids to replenish me.  Nothing else seems to work.

On a staff retreat last year we went to Camp Seafarer for a few days.  I was really looking forward to being in the camp setting with fresh air and the water nearby.  I lasted about a day before my eyes swelled up and my nose turned into a faucet.  My co-workers--wonderful people all-- had no idea what to do with me.  I plugged along and did everything with them, sometimes from a comfortable distance, and managed the best I could.  Medicine was offered and suggestions were given and I politely took what was given and informed them "This happens.  I will be fine.  It looks worse than it really is, promise."

The second night, I took a nap before the low country boil hoping to let it run it's course.  I gained enough time to sit and eat my food before throwing in the towel and the used tissue and went to bed before the sun fully set.  I woke up the next day feeling near-perfect and ready to go.  I kept away from the freshly mown fields but otherwise enjoyed the rest of the trip.

It's that time of year for me and a lot of people. So, in the spirit of embracing all that life throws my way, I raise a hankerchief to you and yours at the outset of this beautiful and terrible season. May this spring bring you all that you desire and then some!

Ryan

Gonna Be Some Changes Made

After a while all my running routes get a little boring.  You can file this one under “first world problems.”  I try to vary them and I’ve sought out the back roads and corners of subdivisions nearby.  Google maps and good old-fashioned exploration keep new and different sights in front of me as the runs get longer.  Katie and I are up to 9 miles this weekend and it’s getting tougher to find routes we have not run before.  While I am comfortable to head out and explore, Katie would rather stay closer to home and I understand why.  It can be mentally taxing to remember long routes with lots of turns and to cope with the distance we need to cover if we want and need to get home quickly.  All mental energy better spent on pushing through the last two miles when the tank nears empty.

Running high mileage routes close to home means overlap and repeats.  I pass people running in the opposite direction, sometimes at multiple points as our routes intersect.  I run past yards in various stages of mowing, watering, weeding.  I run past kids creating sidewalk murals with Day-Glo chalk and try not to ruin earlier works with my shoes.  Since last fall when my commitment to running began in earnest, I’ve seen more gradual change as well.  The seasons come and go and houses decorated for Halloween turn to Christmas, Valentine’s Day and now Saint Patrick’s Day.  “For Sale” signs grow “Sold” stickers while some houses grow foreclosure notices overnight.  With the weather warming up people gather outside and kids play in the yards breaking in tennis rackets, soccer balls and baseball gloves from winter storage.  While all this change speaks of growth and the inevitable cycles we go through, there are other changes I see which remind me that running tends to induce warm and fuzzy reveries which rarely coincide with the reality around me.

On a recent run we crossed an intersection two or three times as we looped through the neighborhood.  I saw the graffiti sprayed on the white blocks of the crosswalk and street signs on our first pass and seemed to see more and more instances each time we passed.  The tags were amateurish: initials and crudely rendered line drawings of male genitalia, clearly the work of twelve to eighteen year-old boys.  While I got into my fair share of mischief growing up, I never felt the urge to tag things with symbols and profanity.  The potential repercussions were never worth the short-lived thrill promised by the hiss of the can and the resulting “work of art.”  With each pass by the markings I got more and more upset.  My wife had to look at this stuff.  Kids crossed this street daily on their way to school and moms would face the awkward question “Mommy, what’s that?”

On our final pass by the intersection my thoughts turned from those who would have to look at the scrawled initials and crude drawings to those who created them and their parents.  Somewhere a dad who works too hard to keep his family in the too-large house with the beautiful yard and the two new cars is missing cans of black spray paint he uses to paint over the rust on the fence that keeps his family’s Goldendoodle from interacting with the Portuguese Water Dog next door.

It will be weeks, maybe months before he notices it’s gone.  Maybe he will go for a run to blow off steam from a long week at work and come across the markings made by his fourteen year-old son who seems to be drifting away more and more as the months pass by.  Maybe he will laugh as he remembers the days when he was young, never thinking of his own son.  Or maybe he will draw his eyebrows down and sigh wondering what kind of parent allows their children to run rampant through the neighborhood at night with cans of spray paint.

As I went farther and farther down that particular rabbit hole I realized I needed to quit or I would drive myself crazy.  But not before I fantasized about staking out the scene of the crime just to see that some justice was done.  As the scenes played out in my mind like a third-rate revenge film I realized this was not the path of a mentally healthy individual.  It was also incredibly hypocritical of me. Though I never scrawled bad graffiti all over my neighborhood I was surely no angel.  In fact, what struck me as I wrenched my thoughts back to the run was the internal change I made at some point in the last two years.  Between changing jobs, getting married and buying a house, I altered the way I process the world.  Graffiti is now a scourge upon my neighborhood and I am planning on how I would deal with the hoodlums if I ever caught them in the act.  Where did I come from?

By the time I run by that intersection again I’m sure the markings will be gone.  We all have to get that out of our system early on before it grows into something more sinister.  I might have to look at a bad drawing of a penis for a few more weeks but at least my mailbox remains unmolested and the magnolia tree in the front yard is free of soggy, torn toilet paper.  Fingers crossed.

Ryan

Running in the Rain and Pushing Through

8 miles this past weekend with Katie. While we ate breakfast and I read the paper, we kept looking out the back door at the rain coming down. We couldn't afford to miss an 8 mile run a month before our race and the thought of pounding on a treadmill for a while seemed a terrible punishment.  Thankfully the rain let up for a bit and we managed to get ourselves outside.  The run went well and the rain held out for 7 miles.  By that point we welcomed the cooling shower even if we did pick up the pace a bit. One month and a day to go before the race. No turning back now!

4 miles yesterday evening with Katie.  She felt great and my foot was killing me for some reason. So proud of her for sticking with it and pushing through the tough spots. So happy to be able to share something with the one I love the most.

Ryan