We're in. With the exception of the little details that make a house a home, we're in.
This whole moving process, I was in "go mode". Moving, sorting, opening, closing, cleaning, and hussling up and downstairs and more often than a gym boot camp aerobic class. I rarely sat down and surprised myself in more often than not in forgetting to even eat. At the very end of the day I would collapse like a child, using all my energy to the very last drop.
It hadn't even quite hit me that I live in Iowa. I still talk to the same friends I did before, and I've been so busy I haven't even escaped my new house longer than a trip to the grocery store.
Tonight I made myself dinner and sat alone at my kitchen table. The house was quiet. I stared out my kitchen window into the wooded backyard, the light slowly changing it's daylight warm hue to late afternoon blue, then gray, then evening black. The trees became silhouettes bending in the breeze.
Incredibly desolate compared to the rushing sounds of Chicago. The brown line el train just outside our window, the barking of dogs and the chatter of people coming and going from happy hour. All I heard was now was the light whistle through the leaves and the random acorn smacking onto the deck with a sharp, cracking thud.
Suddenly my body felt heavy and tears filled my eyes. I tilted them back, and quickly searched for an verbal explanation of what was happening to me. I switched my gaze to the browning bananas in the bowl in front of me, then to the new TV in the room across from me, back to the cookbooks and their new home on the shelf in the corner. New places for new things in a new world. A world that is supposedly mine and I don't recognize it yet.
My Mom teased me recently that I am like my father, always moving. I'm old enough and humble enough to realize it is true. If I don't keep moving I don't know who I am. What's next? I fucking don't know. I'm scared. I'm really scared. I can keep myself busy, unpacking boxes and moving this picture to that wall and that picture with this frame and run myself into a circle of madness so that I don't have to feel this way and maybe I can keep myself in a frenzy long enough till Eric comes home and saves me. Shit.
Earlier this month, when I was writing from my cozy leather chair in my swanky Chicago apartment and this move was too far away to take seriously, I proudly stated that I would just "be" the rest of this year. I promised myself that I would devote the rest of 2010 to just enjoying my surroundings and reconnect with my husband and family. I also told myself that I would take next year to "discover" Iowa, to see what is out there for me. Make an effort.
So then what about these days when all I hear is the wind through the trees and the slow chomping of my dinner and my nervous brain? How do I escape that? How do I just "be"?
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Some people call it "magic". The culmination of every element that it takes to run a successful marathon. All the right training, rest, strength, endurance, etc., etc. Take six months making sure every step is right, and then hope....pray....that all the elements on the actual race day - the things you can't control; weather, other people, random acts of God, etc., etc. - work out as well.
Today, for this race, I was not trained at my best. I was not as strong as I was at the starting line of the New Orleans Marathon in February, where I was at my superhero-est. I was a little bit stronger than I was at the starting line of the Boston Marathon, but not nearly as trained. All that considered, I had fresh legs and a good attitude on Sunday morning at the starting line of the 2010 Chicago Marathon.
This was my "Goodbye" to Chicago. Just four days from now, movers are scheduled and boxes are packed. Soon I was out of here. To be honest, I have a tendency to get nostalgically melancholy over big changes in my life, but now I'm focused. Things needed to be done and I was in go-mode. This 5 hour trek was intended to be reflection time.
Heading to the train at 6am, the temperature was race running ideal, which is bad. The day is only going to get warmer from here. While running, the average runner's body temperature is 20 degrees warmer than the actual number on the chart. So an 80 degree day is going to feel like 100. There will be no records broken today.
That just solidified my goal - to have fun. I was not going to focus on my time, because I was already destined to fail. My experience had told me that I was not going to continue at a strong pace in this weather for more than 10 miles. Might as well enjoy myself. I packed my small digital camera into a old school tourist waist pouch, complete with sweat rag, cell phone and gu packs. Sunglasses resting on top of my head, tight ponytail through my brand new 2010 Chicago Marathon black cap. I felt good, a combination of gratefulness and an eagerness. I repeated a quote in my head, reminding me to "stay in the moment" and enjoy this.
47,000 entrants all joined together in Grant Park, blanketed by the early morning skyline of downtown Chicago. I felt powerful and calm at the same time, taking in the crowd. A couple of larger guys stood behind me, and their chatter told me this was their first marathon, no doubt a challenge they half-drunkenly accepted a year earlier and now perhaps wish they hadn't. They joked about how they were going to "open'r up" at the halfway point of mile 13. An older woman stood next to me and we struck up a conversation. She was in her late 50s from Vancouver. Her first marathon. She came with friends who were sub-3 hour runners and was in awe of them. She was a "regular runner" as she called it - this was her first marathon distance. She was a more anxious than nervous, like a kid about to meet their favorite sports hero. We wished each other good luck and once the gun sounded, I never saw her again.
Truthfully, you never really hear the official gun go off. You just slowly begin to walk forward towards the START LINE. That process took roughly 20 minutes or so. Then a faster walk, then a slow jog, then your foot strikes the timing pad and you are off and on your way. U2's "It's A Beautiful Day" blasted through the loudspeakers and people were screaming, cheering, and running.
I was actually quite surprised how easy it was to run and take pictures at the same time. I would just strap my camera to my arm, lift it up, and press. Through the tunnel, under the underpass, past Nordstroms on Michigan Ave, over the bridge. With a few cooler days in previous weeks, all the leaves in Chicago have changed. Heading through Lincoln Park was a sea of green, red, brown and gold. The crunch of 47,000 pairs of shoes on freshly fallen and vibrant leaves. Beautiful.
Running north on Sheridan road and curving onto Broadway and through Boys Town, my friend Kat joined me. She was so pumped up and excited by the moment, screaming and arms flying as if she was a kid at play. She ran ahead of me and with her fancy iPhone camera took video of me running and Twittered the account.
Boys Town is always a party. A neighborhood known for it's strong gay community, you can always expect fantastically colorful and supportive crowd. Cheerleaders, Carmen Miranda singers, SNL's Ambiguously Gay Duo and various random super hero characters. Their are even performing stages and homemade floats. The crowd is easy four people deep and thrilled to be there. An instant rush. With Kat by my side, we screamed and cheered ourselves for the two mile visit. She left me at North Ave., and Sedgwick, where I continued on and where she took the train to meet girlfriends for brunch.
At the 10 mile point I realized that indeed my fears were correct. It was going to be hot. By mile 15, I was feeling the first signs of struggle, searching for small pieces of shade to run in and always taking water. The idea of taking a much needed sugary gel pack disgusted me. I pressed on.
Between 15 and 21 were tough. There was little shade and not a cloud in the sky. The road ahead was an endless mushy pattern of gatorade cups, water sponges and squished gu packs. I began to hear and feel the stickiness under my feet - like a bad movie theater. Mostly though, I felt HOT....I just could not cool myself down. Whenever a water sprinkler was coming up, I ran for it. Nearly drowned myself trying to keep cool. That was my downfall. I ran the remainder of the race with this tiny, lingering feeling that I could black out at any moment.
I kept taking pictures to block it out. When I did walk I repeated endlessly, "don't regret this, don't regret this."
At mile 21, I was discovered by my friend Carolyn. Carolyn is a phenomenal runner, finishing Boston in 3:30. Long, lean and young, I begged her to "carry me" to the finish from this point, roughly in the heart of Chinatown. She happily agreed. I gave her full warning that not only would I be slow, but at the point where she got me - I'd be pooped. She still agreed.
Fresh as a daisy and bringing along another friend with her, a culinary genius named Brooke, the two girls flanked me and kept me running. Carolyn wanted a rap, a free riffing rhyme that I would bust out during our winter Boston training days. This time my rapping was more intense. My main chorus was "Where the fuck is the finish line" and took it from there. I stopped and walked a couple of times and they led me forward. Carolyn would run ahead and waves her arms in the air to get the crowd cheering. She whopped and hollered like she was at a NBA game. The crowd followed her.
At the ONE MORE MILE TO GO mark, the crowd was thicker, and they had music blasting. A announcer would see you approach, quickly look up your number and shout out your name. Nike had inspirational posters scattered through out this part of the course, stating, DIG DEEP, YOUR MOMENT and ALMOST THERE. I took a few pictures.
There's a small hill just before the finish, and at the base of the hill an official is there to wave off un-official runners. I said goodbye to Carolyn and Brook, and painfully charged up the hill to my final moments. Pulled out my camera for a few shots, than quickly placed it bag in the hip bag for me to pump my fists in the air in triumph over the finish line. Done.
One of the most amazing things in living in such a large city is to be a part of something this big, only to reach into my side pocket of my shorts, pull out my CTA pass, and within a half hour of completing one of the largest marathons in the world - I'm at home. So weird.
I drew an ice bath, made a frozen pizza, and spent much of the remaining afternoon looking over my photos with a huge grin on my face. Thank you Chicago. No, I don't regret a thing.
Today, for this race, I was not trained at my best. I was not as strong as I was at the starting line of the New Orleans Marathon in February, where I was at my superhero-est. I was a little bit stronger than I was at the starting line of the Boston Marathon, but not nearly as trained. All that considered, I had fresh legs and a good attitude on Sunday morning at the starting line of the 2010 Chicago Marathon.
This was my "Goodbye" to Chicago. Just four days from now, movers are scheduled and boxes are packed. Soon I was out of here. To be honest, I have a tendency to get nostalgically melancholy over big changes in my life, but now I'm focused. Things needed to be done and I was in go-mode. This 5 hour trek was intended to be reflection time.
Heading to the train at 6am, the temperature was race running ideal, which is bad. The day is only going to get warmer from here. While running, the average runner's body temperature is 20 degrees warmer than the actual number on the chart. So an 80 degree day is going to feel like 100. There will be no records broken today.
That just solidified my goal - to have fun. I was not going to focus on my time, because I was already destined to fail. My experience had told me that I was not going to continue at a strong pace in this weather for more than 10 miles. Might as well enjoy myself. I packed my small digital camera into a old school tourist waist pouch, complete with sweat rag, cell phone and gu packs. Sunglasses resting on top of my head, tight ponytail through my brand new 2010 Chicago Marathon black cap. I felt good, a combination of gratefulness and an eagerness. I repeated a quote in my head, reminding me to "stay in the moment" and enjoy this.
47,000 entrants all joined together in Grant Park, blanketed by the early morning skyline of downtown Chicago. I felt powerful and calm at the same time, taking in the crowd. A couple of larger guys stood behind me, and their chatter told me this was their first marathon, no doubt a challenge they half-drunkenly accepted a year earlier and now perhaps wish they hadn't. They joked about how they were going to "open'r up" at the halfway point of mile 13. An older woman stood next to me and we struck up a conversation. She was in her late 50s from Vancouver. Her first marathon. She came with friends who were sub-3 hour runners and was in awe of them. She was a "regular runner" as she called it - this was her first marathon distance. She was a more anxious than nervous, like a kid about to meet their favorite sports hero. We wished each other good luck and once the gun sounded, I never saw her again.
Truthfully, you never really hear the official gun go off. You just slowly begin to walk forward towards the START LINE. That process took roughly 20 minutes or so. Then a faster walk, then a slow jog, then your foot strikes the timing pad and you are off and on your way. U2's "It's A Beautiful Day" blasted through the loudspeakers and people were screaming, cheering, and running.
I was actually quite surprised how easy it was to run and take pictures at the same time. I would just strap my camera to my arm, lift it up, and press. Through the tunnel, under the underpass, past Nordstroms on Michigan Ave, over the bridge. With a few cooler days in previous weeks, all the leaves in Chicago have changed. Heading through Lincoln Park was a sea of green, red, brown and gold. The crunch of 47,000 pairs of shoes on freshly fallen and vibrant leaves. Beautiful.
Running north on Sheridan road and curving onto Broadway and through Boys Town, my friend Kat joined me. She was so pumped up and excited by the moment, screaming and arms flying as if she was a kid at play. She ran ahead of me and with her fancy iPhone camera took video of me running and Twittered the account.
Boys Town is always a party. A neighborhood known for it's strong gay community, you can always expect fantastically colorful and supportive crowd. Cheerleaders, Carmen Miranda singers, SNL's Ambiguously Gay Duo and various random super hero characters. Their are even performing stages and homemade floats. The crowd is easy four people deep and thrilled to be there. An instant rush. With Kat by my side, we screamed and cheered ourselves for the two mile visit. She left me at North Ave., and Sedgwick, where I continued on and where she took the train to meet girlfriends for brunch.
At the 10 mile point I realized that indeed my fears were correct. It was going to be hot. By mile 15, I was feeling the first signs of struggle, searching for small pieces of shade to run in and always taking water. The idea of taking a much needed sugary gel pack disgusted me. I pressed on.
Between 15 and 21 were tough. There was little shade and not a cloud in the sky. The road ahead was an endless mushy pattern of gatorade cups, water sponges and squished gu packs. I began to hear and feel the stickiness under my feet - like a bad movie theater. Mostly though, I felt HOT....I just could not cool myself down. Whenever a water sprinkler was coming up, I ran for it. Nearly drowned myself trying to keep cool. That was my downfall. I ran the remainder of the race with this tiny, lingering feeling that I could black out at any moment.
I kept taking pictures to block it out. When I did walk I repeated endlessly, "don't regret this, don't regret this."
At mile 21, I was discovered by my friend Carolyn. Carolyn is a phenomenal runner, finishing Boston in 3:30. Long, lean and young, I begged her to "carry me" to the finish from this point, roughly in the heart of Chinatown. She happily agreed. I gave her full warning that not only would I be slow, but at the point where she got me - I'd be pooped. She still agreed.
Fresh as a daisy and bringing along another friend with her, a culinary genius named Brooke, the two girls flanked me and kept me running. Carolyn wanted a rap, a free riffing rhyme that I would bust out during our winter Boston training days. This time my rapping was more intense. My main chorus was "Where the fuck is the finish line" and took it from there. I stopped and walked a couple of times and they led me forward. Carolyn would run ahead and waves her arms in the air to get the crowd cheering. She whopped and hollered like she was at a NBA game. The crowd followed her.
At the ONE MORE MILE TO GO mark, the crowd was thicker, and they had music blasting. A announcer would see you approach, quickly look up your number and shout out your name. Nike had inspirational posters scattered through out this part of the course, stating, DIG DEEP, YOUR MOMENT and ALMOST THERE. I took a few pictures.
There's a small hill just before the finish, and at the base of the hill an official is there to wave off un-official runners. I said goodbye to Carolyn and Brook, and painfully charged up the hill to my final moments. Pulled out my camera for a few shots, than quickly placed it bag in the hip bag for me to pump my fists in the air in triumph over the finish line. Done.
One of the most amazing things in living in such a large city is to be a part of something this big, only to reach into my side pocket of my shorts, pull out my CTA pass, and within a half hour of completing one of the largest marathons in the world - I'm at home. So weird.
I drew an ice bath, made a frozen pizza, and spent much of the remaining afternoon looking over my photos with a huge grin on my face. Thank you Chicago. No, I don't regret a thing.
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