Showing posts with label dreams. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dreams. Show all posts

Friday, June 1, 2012

Too hot to handle...

"Too cold to hold..." C'mon, guys: Finish that lyric!

This is very long post that has NOTHING to do with writing. Feel free to move along if you don't have time/care to read about running. I promise it won't hurt my feelings.

Instead, here's the race recap from the Green Bay Cellcom Half Marathon, which I ran on Sunday, May 20th. The race was called mid-run due to excessive heat. I, and the 50-75 runners around me, never got the message. 

Starting line area
Starting around Wednesday prior to the race, I received a number of emails from the race director talking about the projected warm temps, the need to hydrate, and how no one should use this race for a PR (personal record). Me, in my infinite arrogance, laughed. How hot can it be? It's Green Bay, Wisconsin. Home of the Frozen Tundra and all that jazz. I figured I'd be just fine, but brought 3 extra 48 oz water bottles for the road trip on Saturday to hydrate anyway. I'm glad I did.

I woke up around 5:30 on Sunday morning. I planned to meet my friends at 6am and hop on the school bus shuttle from the hotel to Lambeau Field at 6:15. I toasted my bagel thin, forced down my breakfast, and tried to drink my water. My nervous stomach didn't want food, but I knew I had to eat. I ran the same half marathon the year before (my first ever half marathon) and had a sneaky itch to try and PR this race. I knew I was in better shape than last year and really--I just wanted to beat myself.

We hopped on the bus and were naturally surrounded by the "good" runners. You know, the ones who were talking about the weather and how they were going to "force themselves" to slow down and run at a 9:30-10 min/mile pace. HA! I figured if I could average 11:30, I'd be in good shape.

Lots of standing around, stretching, bathroom lines, nervous sips of water, double checking gear, retying laces, and overall just trying to get my head in the game. It was hot and sticky at 6:55am. I didn't want to even THINK what it would be like two and a half hours later.

My two friends lined up with me. One had decided the night before that she was going to try this race (she was signed up, but hadn't trained since Jan due to knee injury) and the other one had serious medical issues and also decided the night before that she was going to give this race a shot. I was worried about both of them, but we all had phones.
HM course. Green arrow is the start, blue dots are water stops, red dots
are medical stops. It went counter clockwise.

The gun went off and we shuffled our way to the start. I hit "Start" on my iPhone's GPS program and started running. I crossed mile marker 1 (MM 1) and the woman's voice came on to tell me I was averaging a 9:45/mi pace. Whoa, adrenaline! I had to slow down! Unfortunately, I had roughly the same pace for MM 2, so I simply forced myself to stop and walk for a minute.

MM2-MM4 were really hard for me. I was incredibly hot and sweating like mad. I was also quickly figuring out that my GPS was ahead of the miles, so when it told me I was at MM4, I still couldn't see the banner on the course. I ended up turning it off later in the race.

Just before MM5, my friend April texted me (the one with medical issues). She was going to drop out. I knew there was a church party right after MM6 and I texted back that I was going to make a decision at that point. I wasn't feeling good about the race and knew I was spending a lot of time walking. I had also watched the first ambulance come up from behind and stop a few blocks ahead on the course. By time I reached the vehicle, they were lifting a female up on a stretcher. She looked to be in excellent shape and was about my age and she was out cold, complete with mask on and everything. It was pretty scary. I said a little prayer and kept going.

The church party was actually a few blocks past the official MM6 banner. At that point, I started grabbing two cups of water. I'd drink one and dump the other on my head. I love the church party. They have a full gospel-type choir complete with a band and microphones. I turned off my music, high-fived the kids along the street, grabbed the waters, and enjoyed the moment. I was essentially half way there.

MM6-MM9 I was having an absolute BLAST even though I saw an alarming number of runners down due to the heat. I don't know how, but I was running with a smile on my face and thanking the homeowners who put their sprinklers on the course for runners to go through. My runner's high was happening mid-race. I loved it. LOVED it. Here's a great pic of a sign I saw. HA!
If you can't read it, it says
"You trained longer than
Kim Kardashian's marriage!"

I was Tweeting with Sarah Ahiers (because, who doesn't update Facebook and Twitter while running a half?) just before MM9 when I suddenly snapped out of my runner's high and looked around. At that exact moment, I saw three runners lying down in the shaded lawns of the course. Something clicked in my head and I realized that I needed to pay better attention. For lack of a worse cliche, "It was gettin' real out here." As in, real dangerous.

I passed MM10 at 1:51, or almost 6 minutes better than my time last year. I was still feeling FABULOUS. I knew if I kept my easy pace for the next 3.1 miles that I would easily PR this race. I found some runners ahead of me to pace and tried to get into a groove. At the same time, I was nervous that I felt so good. What was I doing that other runners weren't? Or was this the early signs of dehydration and I was about to pass out any minute? It seemed like every time I looked up, I saw more runners down on the ground.

Shortly after MM10, a state trooper who was directing traffic was yelling something to the runners. We pulled out ear buds to hear the news. Up ahead at MM12, where the HM runners turn left to finish and the full marathoners turn right to go another 14 miles, the race director had closed the split. The full marathon had been cancelled due to heat. It was a half marathon only. At my next walk break I texted my friends to let them know what was going on. They were approx 2 miles behind me and from what I understood, they were seeing more and more runners down as well.

After MM11, the remaining 2 miles were in a zero-shade industrial park area. I knew it was going to take everything I had to PR. I could feel chafe burns on my back from my sports bra and on my hips from my capris from the sweat and waters over my head. I got to MM12 and saw that yes, the turn off to the right was in fact closed. A race official with a megaphone kept repeating, "All runners must turn left. The full marathon has been closed due to excessive heat. Left turn ONLY!"

Thankfully, the organizers mobilized a water station at MM12.5 and I passed a number of bike medics on this part of the course. I remember feeling incredibly grateful to the guy who worked at the sheet metal business. He pulled out his office's 10-gal Culligan water dispenser and was apologizing to runners for running out of cups! No one cared. We took scooped handfuls, splashed our faces, gave grateful smiles, and kept running. Major high-fives to that guy. He was just being nice. Man, I love nice people.

I remember the volunteers at MM12.5 yelling encouragement. "Keep going, half a mile and you're done! There's plenty of water at the finish line. You've got this!"

Suddenly, my phone rang. Who the hell is calling me? And more important--why am I answering the phone while on the literal home stretch of my HM? It was April. She was almost to MM11 when the race director decided to shut down the entire race. All runners were being diverted back to Lambeau field. She found our other friend and together, the two of them walked the 3 blocks back. I told her I was a few minutes out and would meet her at the finish.

I put my head phones away and put my phone back on my arm. From here on out, I needed to pay attention. I was with a group of exhausted, sweaty, and jubilant runners. We were looking around at each other like, "I can't believe we just did that!"

We crossed Oneida St and turned to enter the Lambeau Field parking lot, no more than 100 yards from the finish line. Unfortunately, race officials had pulled a gate across the course, preventing anyone from finishing. When the race director decided to call the race, that went for anyone still on the course. I thought it meant for any runner on the course before a specific cut off mark, like MM11 or MM12 where my friends were--not for runners who were on the home stretch!

That's right, I'm throwing deuces at the camera lady
because I'm THAT happy. And yes, I'm buying one.
Man, we were FURIOUS! We busted our butts to finish in horrible conditions, just to find 100 yds from the end that we weren't allowed to finish? Group mentality kicked in. We all stormed forward, ran around the guy, climbed over the fence, and ran like hell. Somehow, somewhere, I found the remaining energy to put every last bit into that stretch and cross the finish line with a smile on my face.

I grabbed my medal, took 2 free waters, posed for a pic, then stumbled around in a post-race fog. It was TOTAL chaos. A woman in the medical tent was screaming "I DON'T WANT TO DIE!" and I saw a number of runners simply collapse in exhaustion. It didn't help that the post-race area was too small, fenced in, and in direct sunlight. We had to get out of there and find shade. ASAP.

That was about it. The busses to the hotels were busy out on the course picking up runners, so we had to wait another hour and a half before we could even get back to our hotel. The shower should've felt wonderful, but I had too many random rub sores all along my waist and back that the water stung.

That night my friends all left for their own homes. I ordered a pizza from Old Chicago and ate every last bite of the mushroom pineapple deliciousness. And I didn't even feel guilty. I earned that grease. :)

Like I said, this is super long. My apologies. However, I know there are a few writer-runners out there. If you have any questions about being a non-runner in a runner's world, please don't be shy--ask away! I'm more than happy to help anyone realize that you can run a half marathon. True story. Even this drinker-sometimes-smoker. If you can write a book, you can run a HM. Actually, I'd argue running is easier and has quicker payoffs, but we can discuss that another day.





Monday, May 21, 2012

MMGM: A Monster Calls

My Marvelous Middle Grade Monday post is going to skirt around the meat of the book for one simple reason: I'm not sure if I'm ready to talk about it yet.

As some of you read in my post last week, my cancer took my father when I was 10. And I had this great idea to read Patrick Ness's A Monster Calls last week, during the time when my father was most on my mind.

News flash, people. That was a bad idea.

Title: A Monster Calls
Author: Patrick Ness (from an original idea by Siobhan Dowd) with illustrations by Jim Kay
Date published: September, 2011 from Candlewick Press

From Goodreads:

"At seven minutes past midnight, thirteen-year-old Conor wakes to find a monster outside his bedroom window. But it isn’t the monster Conor’s been expecting — he’s been expecting the one from his nightmare, the nightmare he’s had nearly every night since his mother started her treatments. 

The monster in his backyard is different. It’s ancient. And wild. And it wants something from Conor. Something terrible and dangerous. It wants the truth.

From the final idea of award-winning author Siobhan Dowd — whose premature death from cancer prevented her from writing it herself — Patrick Ness has spun a haunting and darkly funny novel of mischief, loss, and monsters both real and imagined."

If you've read this book, you can understand why I'm at a loss for where to start.If you haven't read this book, you're probably wondering what the big deal is about it.

To be honest, this book has been on my radar for a while. First, Phoebe North reviewed it here. And soon I saw Sommer Leigh talk about it here. Then, Kiersten White talked about it here and Suzie F wrote about it here. And finally, Matt MacNish talked about it here at Project Mayhem.

By this time, I knew A Monster Calls was on my TBR pile but I was scared. I had just read a number of blogs written by respectable people who all acknowledged that this book was devastating, but also on many people's Best of the Best lists. I knew I wanted to read it, but I checked it out twice from my library before actually sitting down to open it up. I was afraid to read it.

I remember buying the last Harry Potter book the day it came out. I read each page slowly and forced myself to put it down after 50-60 pages so I wouldn't read it all in one sitting. I wasn't ready to get to the end.

I had the same experience with A Monster Calls, but for a different reason. I wasn't ready to get to the monster's end game where he forces Conor to tell the truth. I knew what the truth was because I felt it myself. But when the time comes, it is written with such power and emotional force that when I finished the story, I had to just sit and breathe.

This book is a tough read, not because the language is challenge, but because the topic is. In sticking with my regular MMGM question, "Do I think my nephews would read it?", I will say yes. It's scary, but if you have a MG reader who is dealing with a parent stricken by cancer and all the fear and anger that comes along with that diagnosis, chances are this book isn't any more difficult that that reader's life. Kids can handle this book. It reminds kids that they are not alone and validates their emotions.

It's tough to always be "fine" when you're really scared and confused. A Monster Calls isn't fine. It's real.


Wednesday, May 9, 2012

In Remembrance

24 years ago yesterday, a terrible spring storm rolled through Wisconsin, complete with ominous claps of thunder, bolts of lightning, and strong winds.

That morning, my mom, my grandma who was visiting from Virginia, brother, and I went to church. It was Mother's Day, 1988. We had bought mom flowers and drew homemade cards with smiling suns and big hearts in pink crayon. Anything to make her smile.

Later that afternoon, the clouds darkened and the winds grew intense. I was sitting downstairs in the ever-darkening play room when my grandma yelled, "Trish, your mom wants you to go outside and grab the hanging basket off the mailbox!"

I begrudgingly put on my shoes and did as I was told. I dawdled down the driveway as only a 10 year old could do, dodging worms and hopping over cracks, not really paying attention to the world around me. I was wrapped up in one singular, powerful emotion. Fear.

I knew it then. I just didn't know how I knew it.

The day went on. I brought the basket in. My mom got home late--I imagine my brother and I were already in bed. One more day over, just like all the others.

12:30am: Monday May 9, 1988.
The phone rang, pulling me out of my sleep. I figured it was a wrong number, but then my mom screamed. Not a scream of fear, but more like a loud, guttural moaning that drove the fear right back into my heart.

Over and over. I knew. Again, I knew.

I somehow went to bed and woke up on time for school the next day. Mom and grandma said I didn't have to go, but I didn't know what else to do. On my way to the bus stop, I re-hung basket on the mailbox. I looked up and saw a beautiful rainbow fighting against the clouds, gathering strength from the sun's rays. The rainbow gave me hope. I figured God put it there for my dad.

I tried to keep it together on the bus ride. My brother didn't go to school--in hindsight, I can't figure out why I felt like I would be the tough one. I walked into 5th grade terrified someone would know my secret. That my classmates would see me as "different."

The school counselor soon came for me and asked where I wanted to go.

"The library," I said. It was the safest place I could think of, surrounded by characters who would never know my truth but who could understand my fear. How does a 10-year old girl wrap her head around cancer? Around death? Around the truth that she would never see her father again?

The doctors told my mom they believed my dad fought throughout the evening so he wouldn't pass on Mother's Day. I agree. Unfortunately, every Mother's Day since then has been different. It's like Mother's Day* in my house, where the * is the awful reminder of what happened in 1988. It's getting better though. My mom rebounds faster from her blues and I can do things like type this story out without crumbling into a sobbing mess.

So Dad, this one's for you. I have faith that I'm not walking alone.

I remember you.
I could never forget you.
I just wish you were still here.

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Quick inspiration

I came across A Wordplayer's Manifesto over at K.M. Weiland's blog, Wordplay. I read it, immediately saved it, and now I'm sharing it with everyone.

This is step one in how I'm breaking the habit of calling myself an "aspiring" writer. If you haven't yet read Chuck Wendig's "25 Things I Want To Say To So-Called 'Aspiring' Writers", then go here. Now.

Back to the Wordplayer's Manifesto.

Read it.
Love it.
Pass it on.

I'd type more, but I'm a writer who hasn't been writing. Must do something about this. Immediately.

Source: K.M. Weiland's blog



Monday, February 20, 2012

Hanging with the "artsy" kind and a dream

Last Sunday I attended MinnPost's Book Club Blast at the Loft Literary Center in Minneapolis, MN.

I arrived early to grab some lunch and secure a parking spot, then made it up to the second floor where author Kate DiCamillo was speaking. I took my token seat in the back row and watched the predominantly older crowd file in while playing Whack-A-Mole with my insecurities.
Source

I shouldn't be here.
Whack!

I'm not a real writer
Whack!

I don't belong here.
Whack!


My inner writer soon started overpowering my inner critic and I pulled out my notebook and pen. This place was a people-watching GOLDMINE!

I was surrounded by men in black turtle neck sweaters and women with knee-high boots, leggings, and matching black shawls or brightly colored scarves. These women wore fascinating jewelry: chunky rings, abstract necklaces, and large, dangling earrings. They sported colorful rimmed glasses with pink, glossy lips and perfectly colored hair--except for the token strand of grey hair in the front. Yeah, real natural.

I quickly realized why I felt like I didn't fit it. I had jeans with a hole in the knee, my running shoes (was heading to the gym directly after), a Rockband t-shirt, and my hair in a pony. Clearly, I didn't get the "Dress artsy" memo. I will consider this a very early lesson learned and will dress accordingly at my next writing event, whenever that may be.

But when I finished people-watching, I had an even bigger realization. Here's the direct quote from my writing journal:
"If I ever have a book release party, I want it to be at The Loft. I want to have the Target Theater for a reading. I want it to be a special event where my mom flies up and my friends sit in the seats, eager to share in my excitement. But first, I write."
The $10 entry fee, the self doubt, the hidden seat it the back... it was all worth it for that one moment when I visualized my dream coming true. The reality will likely be much smaller. If the day comes that I have a book release party, I'm pretty sure it won't include a reading in the Target Theater.

That's okay, though. Dreams are free.

How about you? Have you attended an event just to realize you were under dressed? Or do you dress differently for writing events?
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