margaret edith

April 30, 2012 · 8:39 am

what it means to run a marathon relay

I ran in the Big Sur International Marathon this weekend. And before you get all zippy about that, I ran it as a relay with 4 other people. Which really just means that I did a simple, short 5 mile run.

I’ve never done a relay before and I was full of questions about what it would be like

I knew that our team would be running our legs independently, so I logically knew that I would be alone, but still… the vision in my head looked mostly like this:

TEAM!

The reality was a lot more like this:

ALONE.

From my experience of one race, here’s what I now know and impart to you…
-Because it’s happening simultaneously with the actual marathoning, a relay marathon must suffer all the same hoopty and brouhaha. This means I had to wake up at the grotesque hour of 3:20 am. For a race start of 6:45 am. So that I could run 5 miles.

-Leaving The David and Vinny, the 2nd and 3rd legs, to get on the bus to take me to the start was a super strange feeling. We’re all in this race boat together, and now it’s “so long chum! see you in 8 hours!”

-As the runner of our first leg, I had to contend with the actual race start and thousands of marathoners. I could write a whole other blog post (stay tuned, maybe I will) or possibly even a scathing treatise of hate just about this race start. It took an hour to get through the porta-potty lines and bag check. Just so I could run 5 miles.

-Finishing my leg, seeing the exchange point and sprinting up to The David to pass off our relay slap bracelet was fun and exciting. That was a pretty cool 15 seconds of “Hooray! I’m doing a relay! I’m passing my baton! Go team go!” But then he ran away. Another 5 miles away. Leaving me alone with the other Leg 1ers. So that he could go run 5 miles.

-Finishing leg 1 meant that I was 21 miles away from the finisher’s village and was currently just stuck on the side of the road. A very beautiful road, granted. There were bananas and gatorade, but other than a promise of a bus ride back in another 3 hours, that was all I got. Possibly another sort of marathon, one that’s not taking place on such a scenic, yet inaccessible and remote course, wouldn’t have this problem. But being stranded for hours and hours of forever is a big fat dislike.

-So I went ahead and walked the next leg, and found The David at the end of leg 2. On my team, I ran one leg and walked a second. The 3rd legger went ahead and ran the 4th leg, as well, and then ran/walked to the end (for a total of 16 miles!). The 4th leg runner also ran the 5th leg. All the extra running wasn’t about wanting to do a longer run, it was about wanting to get to the finish, rather than be stranded somewhere along the course. Except for me. I travelled 10 miles and was still el stucko.

-We had to be at the shuttle pick-up point to be carted off to the start at 4 am. The bus dropped us off at the finisher’s village around noon. Not counting the next shuttle ride we had to take to get back to the parking lot where we’d left the car that morning, that is 8 HOURS of time for the sake of running 5 MILES. Which kind of means that I had a pace of 96 minute miles.

2 Comments

Filed under Running, the bitch goddess, Uncategorized

April 18, 2012 · 10:39 am

old people

Senior adults is currently the fastest growing segment of the world population. For the first time in history, there are more people aged 65 or older than there are people aged 5 or younger.

And while many seniors have the financial or familial means to care for themselves into their old age, there is still a need to support and to care for those who don’t have those resources.

Certainly, there are many, many different populations of people who need help from those of us who can offer it, and as individuals, we can’t donate time or money to everyone.

Senior support services are often overlooked when it comes to charitable giving. Possibly in some part because old people aren’t as cute as babies.

Oh really? These guys are pretty darned cute in my book.

So my little PSA for the day is to urge you to consider a charity that services the elderly when you’re thinking about the kinds of organizations you want to support. They are always in need of volunteers and donations.

If you’re local to the Bay Area, check out my friends at Curry Senior Center, which provides all kinds of essential services to seniors in the Tenderloin district of SF. They’re having a 40th anniversary fundraising gala at the Fairmont next Friday, April 27. Like them on Facebook and get a chance to win two tickets to the gala, or pony up and buy a pair of tickets for $300 – money that will go towards meals, medical care, housing and bingo.

Thanks for reading and I will post something more ridiculous tomorrow.

1 Comment

Filed under these are the days of my lives, Up to Stuff

April 17, 2012 · 8:56 pm

smuttery

I can only tolerate so much buzz before I must read the book. Even if the buzz is erotic buzz.

You know where this is going.

I read Fifty Shades of Grey and it’s subsequent cohorts. It’s the Twilight fan fiction that, instead of being all eye-rollingly chaste, is eye-rollingly porny!

The dynamic between Christian and Anastasia is uncannily Edward and Bella-like, except that instead of wanting to murderfy her, Christian wants to hog-tie virginal Ana up and beat her senseless with whackers and then do the sexing. He’s bossy, unreasonably wealthy, super hot (no sparkle, though), and into BDSM. Gasp.

I couldn’t stop reading it, in spite of the absolutely awfulness of the writing. No shocker there. I’ve gotten totally hooked on crap before, including the actual Twilight series.

A huge part of the suspense was waiting to find out just exactly what sort of kinky business Christian is into.
And will Ana consent to it?
And will she like it?

And I’ma tell you now, so stop reading if you don’t want it spoiled for you:

-Not that kinky.
-Yes, she goes for it.
-Yes, she likes everything.

So once it’s clear that yes, Ana is a secret horndog, there are new plot elements, like bad guys out to get her and miscommunications resulting in pending break-up, to keep the story line going. Always peppered with graphic sex scenes throughout.

It was all just so unrealistic, it pissed me off. The over the top, adolescent, vomitrocious, can’t-live-without-you love. From two people who have never actually experienced romantic love before. How everything just works out so nice and perfect in every way, getting everything they want. And you can now add to that list: being constantly and instantly in the mood for business and ALWAYS having simultaneous happy endings, every time, multiple times a day.

Scoff.

2 Comments

Filed under Book crave

April 13, 2012 · 1:36 pm

sing out loud. sing out strong.

you know how mostly people don’t sing out loud?

except for some people who think that they are awesome possum singers and will happily (for no reason) belt out “my heart will go on,” like for realz style, with full on vibrato and commitment. those people gross me out. i ralph on their heads. they can just go back to my bad dreams of being shunned by the high school show choir.

but regular, every day, i’m happy and you know and i-can’t-get-this-song-out-of-my-head-so-i’ma-sing-it-for-you? more people should do that.

I have Oh Sheila running on a perpetual loop in my head. At all times. But I only know “oh! oh sheila! let me love you til the morning comes.” Which will sometimes escape from me at random times.

https://embed.spotify.com/?uri=spotify:track:6NCQ4F3fPiqgTilD1t4rrU

And lately, I’ve had a hankering for Sara, that old Starship song. This version is slightly suck, but still. With fire and ice, the dream will come true.
https://embed.spotify.com/?uri=spotify:track:6V775dYuMO5BKjo9C3nhqL

2 Comments

Filed under Tidbit

April 12, 2012 · 7:42 pm

replacements

So, yesterday I told you all about my destructive jeans behavior.

Which was a precursor to telling you about having to get some new jeans, because I had none. Zero. The very last pair, of any size, busted open this past weekend.

Having no jeans to wear would mean too many instances of tights. Or certain doom.

So I walked to the Levi’s store on a lunch break this week.

I picked out a pair of jeans, mostly based on the color, and grabbed it in 3 different sizes. After trying them on, I handed the 2 smaller ones to an enthusiastic fellow named Deon, and told him I was going to take the 3rd pair.

He glances at the label on what I’ve picked, grabs my wrist and says “Oh, no. These are not for you. I’m going to find you the right pair.”

You probably know that they’ve got this whole Curve ID thing going on now, where they’ve got 4 different styles of jeans made to fit different body types. And by different, they mean differing waist to hip ratios.

Deon put his hands on my waist and made me lean from side to side, I think to assess my love handles.
And then he did some measuring business and scurried off to get more appropriate jeans.

He sent me into the dressing room to try several more pairs, insisting that I come out after each one for him to consider.

I was made to turn around so that he and a coworker girl could check out my lumpy rumpus.

I told him that I thought the skinny jeans accentuated my hips too much and he cried with glee “you shouldn’t try to hide your curves! we should celebrate them!”

Oh, Deon. Where on earth do you think I could hide all this?

But eventually, I had a pair that was deemed acceptable by all parties.

I think they look pretty much like the first pair that I had picked out myself. Except that these were a waist size smaller, so that’s nice.

So, the Levi’s Curve ID thing?
They’re not the best. jeans. evar. But they fit and I’m mostly sure my ass crack is covered.

5 Comments

Filed under Uncategorized

April 11, 2012 · 3:14 pm

the plight of jeans

I like to wear jeans a lot. In the world according to me, you can just wear the same pair of jeans every day and that’s completely normal.

I’ve tried a gamut of brands and styles. Old Navy jeans. Gap jeans. 7 for all Mankind. Joe’s Jeans. Despite having owned many over the year, I don’t have a stock pile at all. I have no tucked away pairs from high school or college. No jeans that are too big or too small, squirreled away for later. None, even, that never quite fit right or didn’t look good that I just crammed on a shelf.

Because eventually, the inner thighs of all my jeans wear out and explode.

First it gets a little grubby and pilly, like an old sweater.

Then it gets a bit threadbare.

And eventually, it just rips.

And because that inner thigh area is just so soft and squishy, there’s a fascinating fleshy protuberance that comes through the rip. When I say fascinating, I mean that I can’t stop myself from touching it. It’s like a weird hernia, all soft, but firm from being squished through an opening where there should be no ooze.

{I seriously considered posting a picture of the fleshy protuberance. I may not be ready for crotch shots just yet.}

So, then I usually get a patch sewn on at the dry cleaners when the first thigh blows out. And then a second one.

But the erosion continues and there are new rips. New fleshy protuberances.

And eventually, I admit that yet another pair has been defeated by the unyielding friction of my inner thighs.

3 Comments

Filed under Chubby girl

March 26, 2012 · 7:55 pm

running readiness

I completed my third half marathon on Sunday.

And I wasn’t ready.

My last run was 11 miles, about a month ago. It was a pretty crappy run, with a lot of walking. The 10 miles before that was pretty poor, the 9 before that and the 8 before that. I can’t even remember when the last good long run was and none of the week day training work was helping me to get it together.

The David was gone, far far away and I’d fallen into a pit of not giving a shit about anything good.

So I threw up my hands and blew off my training. I knew I’d still do the half, but knowing that I had no hope of beating my best time – or even meeting it – took off the pressure to complete the scheduled workouts.

In my mind, it would be leisurely. I would jog a little, walk a little. Enjoy the festivity and the people. I would stop and dance with the bands along the way. I would smile and wave and high five. It would be casual and fun.

I wasn’t nervous. I was looking forward to it. The start of the race was exciting. Pressed into the throngs of people, listening to the national anthem, and then “Sexy and I Know It.” Passing by the mayor cheering us on across the starting line. It was awesome.

And then.

It was not awesome.

The first time I stopped jogging to walk was at the 2 mile mark. And as much as I was willing to take this race easy, I wasn’t willing to just walk it. So the stop and start continued. After 5 miles, all the bits that might be hurting, were. The hot spot I usually get on my right foot. My feet, in general. My hips, knees and ankles. My legs felt like leaden lumps every plodding step. My whole everything just felt like a squeezed out toothepaste tube.

I wished for over.

But time passes. And it just gets done.

I didn’t have it in me to sprint, or even speed up, but I did jog through the last quarter mile and across the finish line, holding The David’s hand.

I got my medal, scarfed a quarter of a bagel, and gulped down two bottles of water.

And then we walked the mile to get home. Srsly? Yah. Streets were closed all over the place for the race course, so public transportation was all weird and unfigure-out-able.

I’m definitely suffering today. Far more than I have for the previous two races. I have some serious aches and pains – not proper injuries, but swelling and tenderness and not ok.

One of my coworkers, who also kinda shirked his training, pulled or tweaked something in his calf at mile 7, where he was on pace for a pretty good time, then hobbled for 3 more miles and then bailed. So I’m really grateful to have finished.

And I do really love this event. There is just a ton of civic spirit. People who live along the route hang out on their sidewalk and bang on drums. A local church was outside on their front steps clapping and just calling “good morning!” Some dudes from Raider Nation, who I will – for lack of a cleverer idea – believe were actual Oakland Raider professional football players, had a cheering station. They high fived and one of them said “You’re making Oakland proud.”

It was a huge motivator for making me think I could do this crazy thing and signing myself up for my first half marathon last year: I wanted to be a part of this big thing in my community.

So while I’m glad that I did it, I did learn a big lesson. 13 miles is not nothing. You can’t mess around with that business. You can brush off your training, but that doesn’t mean that you’ll be able to brush off the event. Not that I would have wanted to go into it full of dread, knowing that it was going to be a heinous wretched. But maybe I’ll remember this and won’t be so cavelier about the next one.

Because, obvi! Who doesn’t want to do that again?!

Countdown to the Seattle Rock ‘n Roll on June 23….

2 Comments

Filed under Fitness and/or Fatness, Running, the bitch goddess

March 14, 2012 · 1:17 pm

Little Facts (scholastic)

1. Despite believing that I had magic powers of verbosity, I did significantly better on the math section of every standardized test I ever took.

2. When I started college, my declared major was journalism. Then I switched to pre-med. Then I flunked out! But they let me back in after some summer schooling. And I finished with degrees in Psychology and Public Health.

3. I have no compulsion to pursue an advanced degree, despite coming from two PhD parentals. The idea of volunteering for years of *homework* makes me shudder and phbbbt.

3 Comments

Filed under Little Facts

March 12, 2012 · 10:12 am

permission to be rad

On Saturday, I attended Girl Crush San Francisco, a project dreamed up by Danielle of The Jealous Curator and hosted by the talented artist/illustrator/collector Lisa Congdon in her studio space.

I wasn’t sure what I was in for when I signed up for this, and it’s a little hard to describe what actually happened, but it was a day of loving-it. There was something magical in the art, or the baked goods, or the people themselves, that I inhaled in happy gulps.

There were 12 ladies, of varying pursuits and backgrounds, but all of equal neato, plus Danielle and Lisa, and the very helpful Taylor. There was copious coffee and scones. And there were stories.

Lisa told us her tale of professional artist-ness… how she had other sorts of un-artsy jobs and how all the lines and dots of her universe came together, without ever having gone to art school, and formed a career that she palpably loves. Lisa’s grin when she talks about her job is the facial equivalent of a joyful “Whoop!” Totally infections and inspiring.

And Danielle told us about her passion for curating art and how her blog came to be. She told us about her insecurities about her own art. Faced with the prospect of beginning a new painting, she was afraid to mar the perfect, blank canvases she had piled up. And then how she got herself some nice sketchbooks to use instead. But how even their nice-ness was daunting and kept her from going. And then how she bought an old 50¢ cookbook, painted over its pages and was free to start working.
She sweetly wanted to share this freedom to fantastically mess-up and gave everyone their own cookbooks to take home.

Faced with other people’s amazing accomplishments, I’m so often inclined towards “Oh, I could never.” But this was a dreamy, beautiful snow globe filled with “Oh yes, you fucking could.”

We all told a bit of our own stories and shared small secrets of jealousy and hang-up. There were whiffs of self-help wafting through at times, but in a gentle way that kept my cynicism from baring any fangs. In fact, somehow in the spirit of the thing, I got a little bit weepy just thinking about the things I would write down to myself in defiance of my inner critic (a homework assignment for later.) *You are a special little snowflake, Margaret Edith!*

There was a lunch of wonderful nibbles and salads and sandwiches, all full of vegetables and chick peas and quinoa. Perfect nourishing fodder for a time of being kind and open and ready for greatness.

There was a tour of some local art galleries, where I imagined being a person who could gracefully spend a thousand dollars on a wonderful piece of art.

There was tea in a collection of fancy, floral tea cups. There were some gifts of art from Lisa, who seems to never stop giving away something… her space, her book, her enthusiasm for what’s possible.

I am holding on to the message: Just Try. And Be Patient.

So I’m still figuring out what exactly it is I’m trying to do. But I will try anyway.

If you want a prod to go try something yourself, go to Girl Crush. They’ll be in New York, Seattle, Los Angeles, Portland, Minneapolis, Austin and Philadelphia. If you have geography in your favor (although there was a lady at ours from West Virginia!) I would insist that you go.

Or just tell me about what it is you’re afraid to try and I’ll be prod-ful. I shouldn’t be the only one to benefit from this wave of of good.

Lisa in her studio

4 Comments

Filed under Up to Stuff

Tagged as "Danielle Krysa", "Girl Crush", "Lisa Congdon", "The Jealous Curator"

March 9, 2012 · 2:15 pm

where the david was

The David is back home again! He’s a little tuckered out after the 8 hour bus ride to Santiago, the red eye into Miami, the 6 hour flight to San Francisco and the 5 hour time difference. Not to mention the billion days of hiking and camping.

Acancagua is the highest mountain outside of Asia. The climb is not technical (so no belaying and climbing up cliff faces with ropes and harnesses and stuff), but is still highly challenging and not for everyone. The altitude definitely contributes to the difficulty; they had to get prescription meds to combat altitude sickness.
On this trip, they went up about half way up, but had to come back down to camp at the base of the mountain for a few days due to high wind storms. One day was spent entirely sitting inside tents. The David described this as “not so fun.” In fact, he dubbed the whole thing as “Type 2 Fun,” which means it was only fun in retrospect.
After waiting it out for 4 days, the winds abated and they did make the trek up to the top of the mountain, but had to extend the trip by an extra day to do so.

But home he is, and all is right in the world again.

26 days without him, most of them without any sort of contact at all, was far too many. During all of the pathetically sad missing, I was having some very stern “Never again!” sort of thoughts. But he’s just so pleased with having done it, the accomplishment of reaching the top of this 22,829 foot mountain, that I’m not sure I could really say no.

Now that it’s all over, I’m actually quite proud of him for doing it. He really is pretty awesome.

On the way up.
Little orange tent and lots of mountain.
Tent near the top.
David at the top. He got a little teary up here, a bit overwhelmed with having made it.
Back down again at the end of the trip, looking at back at Mount Acancagua.