I love our little city

It almost looks like D.C., doesn’t it? Time to run after the littles again. Never a dull moment. As rewarding as it is, it can be challenging to hang out with the 3.5 foot tall crowd all day, especially when they are fully armed with an assortment of dazzling water guns. If you stop by, leave me a comment! Anything at all! Beautiful day that it is, I could still really use some love, amigas.

Friends

We met another little Ethiopian girl just Zufan’s age, and she is also learning Chinese! So cool. They are adorable. As a bonus, her mom is pretty awesome, too. I think we’ve found some new friends.

Duluth pictures, Grandma’s Marathon weekend

We are home, not unpacked, but here. I haven’t been online much for almost a week. Strangely, I didn’t really miss my computer. Sometimes it is good to get away. Now, it is HOT around here! Wow. My car just told me it is 101 degrees. Really, I think it is about 95. At least it is easy to decide what to wear, unlike in Duluth, where you are guaranteed to be either too hot or too cold at some point in the day, no matter what you choose.

Here are just a few pictures from the weekend. First of all, the kids’ races. The 3 younger ones ran 100 yards, and the big girl did the 1/4 mile. You can see them below getting ready, with the mascots (my 3 plus one more):

Zufan hasn’t stopped talking about the kiddy race. She wants to wear a race number at all times. I’ve let her run around wearing my marathon number, just for fun. I’m sure people think it’s a little odd, but she is in her glory. It is too cute. Here, below, is the little guy in red, getting a bit of a head start:

Then, my mommy-on-the-rocks photo, on the way to packet pick-up, further proof that, no matter how far foward I lean in a v-neck or whatever other goofy thing I might do, I am only capable of being one kind of  “racy” (Paige).

Then, below, my dad, Mr. 2214. He decided to run, on a still-injured foot and not much training, but he’s looking pretty good here at mile 2.5. He said there were two shirts he saw along the way that he liked. One said, “Pass the weak and hurdle the dead,” and the other said, “Someday you won’t be able to do this; today is not that day.” I love both of those. Awesome, huh?

Then, Zufan hanging out with my littlest brother, waiting for mommy to run by at mile 25. It took me a LOOOOONG time to get from 13.1 to 26.2. This is the first marathon where my second half has been way, way slower than the first half. Partly, it was the weather; 92 degrees recorded at the finish, 99% humidity at the start but falling to about 80%, and full sun, no breeze. But the truth is, I don’t think it was the heat that made me fall apart. My training just wasn’t there to back me up. Partly because of the triathlon training, partly just because of poor time management, I didn’t do many long runs this spring. By mile 8, even though I was ahead of pace, I could tell I wasn’t feeling right. At mile 13 I was exactly on, but really hurting already, and by 15 I totally let it go. No Boston.

After mile 15 I “ran,” if you can call it that, really slowly, took water and ice from the littlest kids, gave high fives to the babies, talked to people and smiled at everyone. I felt pretty miserable but the crowd, including other runners, was great. One guy caught up to me at mile 20 and said I had been his inspiration for the last 15 miles and added “you look really nice.” Then he dropped back again. Ha! More inspiration? That totally cracked me up, despite that it could have been a bit creepy under other circumstances. Another motivational speaker on the sideline at mile 22 called me “honey” and said I was just floating on in, and when I smiled and thanked him instead of the high 5 he reached out and squeezed my hand. I soaked it up like rain in the Mojave. Funny, how suffering wipes out any inhibitions, whether it’s peeing in the street or appreciating total strangers.  Then at 24, I had a nice surprise, a girl from my running group was there cheering, and by 25.5 I saw the whole family watching, including the kiddos.

When I finished, though, I couldn’t stop the tears. I wandered around and cried, and cried, even while I smiled, because all that pain and effort and months of training, and no Boston. I wasn’t even close to qualifying, after missing it by only 3 minutes last October. What am I doing, just moving backwards? Getting older and more out of shape? Anyway, back to the photo story. Here’s that picture of my little brother and Zufan.  

Here, right after I went by (nobody took any pictures of my miserable self), my brother’s friend from high school came along and he hopped in and ran a few yards. Looks like they are moving at snail speed, kind of like I was at this point.

After the race, the 4 kids at the campground, on the rocks, before campfire time.

And finally, with Zufan and my dad, sunburned, still a little bummed out about my time, but really glad to be done and glad the kids have had such an awesome trip. I don’t have pictures of them with their papi, but he was there, too, taking them mini-golf and swimming and reading Harry Potter out loud for most of the 7 hour trip home. All in all, a very nice weekend.

The kuncho

Reading Cutting for Stone a couple of weeks ago, I ran across this passage, which describes the hairstyle I saw occassionally on kids in Ethiopia: 

A toddler with railroad tracks of snot connecting lip to mouth watched with envy. Its head had been shaved to leave a traffic-island tuft in front; Hema was told when she first came to Ethiopia that this strange haircut was so that if God chose to take that child (and he took so many), the tuft gave him a handle by which to lift it to heaven.  

Right after reading this, by one of those strangest coincidences — you know, when you have something on your mind or first learn about something, it seems to pop up everywhere — I was arranging my bookshelf and randomly flipped open my Amharic dictionary to the page that had following definition:

“kuncho:” hairstyle, shaved with tuft on top (on children)

There. Cool. Suddenly, right after reading about it, I knew what the style is called. I wonder, though, did I notice this word because I had just read the passage in the Verghese book? But still, how did I happen to open to that page with “kuncho” when I moved the dictionary? The interconnectedness of it all is fascinating. 

I took these two pictures outside of Awassa. On the top picture, looks like the baby’s mom perhaps has twirled the hair into a little “kuncho.” The boy on the bottom picture has the whole deal going on.

In others news, I’m running Grandma’s Marathon on Saturday. Both of my brothers, my parents, and a collection of relatives will be there, as it is always a big family event. My dad injured his foot falling off the ladder a couple of weeks ago (the ladder fall is nearly a yearly event as well), so he’s been advised not to run this year. Too bad. The kids are SO excited to go camping, eat some s’mores, roast hot dogs, hang out on the rocks of Lake Superior and listen to the foghorns. I’m very nervous about the run, of course. I’ll check in after the ‘thon. Have a great weekend!

Race report, part 3 (Sprint distance triathlon)

Here’s the follow-up to Part I, and Part 2.

Once balanced precariously on the bike and out of transition, I started passing people. I wasn’t riding the greatest bike in the world but it was a pretty good road bike, faster than any bike I had ridden before. It was borrowed, but set up to fit me. I stayed slightly out to the left to pass, one by one, whoosh-whoosh-whoosh, through the 15.8 mile ride, so far behind that no one passed me back. (Because of a construction route change, the bike ride was 8 tenths of a mile longer than it was supposed to be.)

I watched the wave numbers on the calves in front of me (just as Filoli advised ): 12, 11, 8, 3. I knew I was cold, and I was vaguely aware of how the warm aroma of manure hovering over the fields was making me think of my childhood, but other than that I didn’t do a whole lot of thinking during this stretch. I had no idea how far I had left to go or how long I’d been riding. The drizzle soon turned into a pretty good downpour so the tires whizzed along making a buzzing noise on the wet pavement. I forgot any fear I had of falling and just rode as fast as I could. At the corners there were volunteers shouting at all of us to “slow it down!” I didn’t have aerobars so I rode resting my forearms in the drops, with my elbows below the drop and my body low enough so that on every pedal stroke I’d lightly touch the top of my leg to my chest. It was comforting in a way, and I almost felt protected from the rain. Resting on the arms also took some weight off of the horribly uncomfortable, pencil-wide, unpadded saddle that came with the bike. Although it didn’t bother me at the time, my arms were almost as sore as my butt the next day. I think I need some aerobars — not to mention a new saddle – next time around.

Near the end of the ride a car driven by an elderly couple turned onto the rode, cutting me off. It followed the cyclists right in front of me so I was stuck, and frustrated. I couldn’t pass and had to slow down. Inches from their back bumper I waved at them to move over, but it was hopeless. The only good part of this was that while following the car I almost didn’t have to pedal – it just sucked me along, slowly, for what felt like an eternity but was maybe a mile or so. I was almost ready to scream, anxious to get back to my business of passing people, when it finally turned off into a driveway. I was quite delusional, thinking I was Lance or someone by this point. After the race I calculated my speed and ended up with an average of 19.3 miles per hour, which I guess is good for me, although significantly slower than the top placers who ride over 25 mph.

It felt SO good to leave the countryside behind and pull into transition, where I managed to get off the bike without falling. I got the bike racked, helmet and dripping wet shirt peeled off, new shoes and race number belt on, then started running when I felt something in my shoe. Oops, I had a mini-tube of anti-chafing gel in the shoe, so I stopped, kicked that off and threw it to the side. The run felt horrible. I was miserable through the whole thing and didn’t even have a little sprint-to-the-finish in me. My feet were numb from cold and my legs were exhausted from getting carried away on the bike. All I wanted was to have it be over, even if I ran 10 minute miles. I stopped to walk at the water station and let myself get passed without caring a bit.

When I did finally finish, the familiar faces of my race buddies – long done and changed into warm, dry clothes by now – were laughing, talking, smiling, and hugged the bad attitude right out of me. The endorphins then took over for most of the rest of the day, and I once again understood WHY we do these things. When I finally grabbed the bike and headed back to the car, I noticed I had a flat front tire on the bike. Whew. That was a close one. It must have either been a really slow leak, or happened at the very end, because I sure hadn’t noticed.

Final result was a 1:28.17. According to the website, I ended up placing 43^rd out of 200 women. I was shocked. I had thought I was at least in the bottom half. So now, I’m plotting how to get faster – but saving my next triathlon for a vague “someday.” Right now, off to pack up the kids for the trip to Duluth, to go camping and see all the relatives, and run Grandma’s Marathon on Saturday. First things first.

Pool — Summer is really here!!

No race report today. Too busy at the swimming pool! Once again, it’s the 3 + 1 neighbor-girl combo, which made for four kids, including 3 non-swimmers for mommy to watch. Not for the faint hearted, perhaps, but doable.

Zoo’n it again

Zufan LOVES the cabras (goats) at the zoo. Loves feeding them, and then especially loves talking about it nonstop afterward. It has been an incredibly beautiful weekend, and we’ve make more than one trip to “darles de comer a las cabras.” She’ll put her hand right in the goat’s mouth, then scream with glee “the cabra bite me!!!” She is an expert goat feeder. To make the feed last, she’ll put just one piece at a time in her palm. Then, the cone goes, bit by teeny-tiny bit. We can spend quite the chunk of  time in the goat area.

(Yes, they did wash their hands — so no comments about sanitation are necessary. )Next up: Part 3 of the race report. I need to get it done before it slips into the murkiness of ancient memory, and then I’ll regret letting it go without writing it down first.

Happy boy

*** Edited to fit Friday. Because no matter how sore-throaty and tired-of-housecleaning one is, it is just not right not be cranky on a fresh-smelling bird-chirping Friday. :) Hope you are all doing well, and have a great weekend. I look at this picture of my little boy from two summers ago and can’t believe how time flies. Babies grow up. Make the most of it; it is always gone too soon.

Race report, part 2 (Sprint distance triathlon)

Here’s part 2. I’ll wrap it up with part 3 later. Read part 1 first.

I had gotten quite a bit of conflicting advice about where in the crowd to line up for the swim start – back, outside, near-back, near-front. So, being indecisive, I started sort of in the middle. The crazy-loud whistle (sounded like a basketball buzzer) went off for the ¼ mile swim and the group moved forward. I started swimming, slowly, in a little more than waist-deep water and immediately found myself swimming nearly on top of someone else. I stopped to let her get ahead, then tried again, did a few good strokes and was trapped in the crowd. I couldn’t get through to find some space, so I just tried to keep going forward when I started getting kicked by the ones ahead of me. I tried to breaststroke to safety but just gulped lake water. By this time I was having a very hard time staying calm. I had forgotten all about trying to swim fast; I just wanted to get out of this frothing minnow bucket alive.

When we got to the first giant yellow buoy, about 100 meters out, I resorted to the sidestroke, facing away from the crowd, to stay calm. A few times I tried to go back to freestyle but I was too panicky to get the breathing under control, so I just made my way very, very slowly at the outermost edge of the crowd to the next buoy. I decided, during the swim, that I was doing the most incredibly foolish and reckless thing of my life and that if I could just avoid drowning and make it out of the water that I’d forget the rest of the race and go home. I told myself: shore, then you go home, shore, then you go home. When I finally got to the second buoy and was about 100 meters out I realized there was no one blocking my way anymore – they were nearly all out of the water already. So with the coast clear I switched to fastest freestyle I could come up with and swam blindly until my hand touched the sand, and finally got my pathetic self out of the swim portion – alive.

Once out of the water, I completely forgot that I was planning to go home right then. I got partially out of the wetsuit on the move (pretty much the only thing I’d done correctly so far), and jogged to the transition area. In transition, I yanked the darn wetsuit off. Good. I put my helmet on. Good, I congratulated myself. But then I realized it was FREEZING cold and maybe I should put a shirt or jacket or something on over the wet trisuit for the windy, rainy ride. I hadn’t planned on an extra layer, but after standing stunned for nearly an entire minute wondering what to do, I found something in the backpack. I put it over my head, then remembered I had the helmet on. OK, helmet, off. Attempt to get tight long sleeved shirt on my wet arms. Look like a comedy routine for another whole minute. Helmet back on. Ooops, forgot the bike shoes. Get shoes on wet, sandy feet. By now, more than 3 minutes had passed. Lift the bike off the rack. Find the exit.

I was nearly the last one leaving the bike transition area, having been in the last wave, nearly last out of the water, and then taking a record-breaking long time in transition. However, at the sign that said “Mount Bike Here” I had a screaming fan club of five of my running buddies who were there to watch. I was beyond being embarrassed at this point and started to laugh, deliriously amused at how ridiculous it was to tell me – coming in at what I thought was LAST PLACE – how great I was doing. Laughing was a huge improvement over my mood just a couple of minutes back. I wasted another few seconds commenting on the obvious, and started the bike feeling like quite the athlete.

Sorry this is dragging on! I’ll be very concise with the bike and run. Hope you are all doing well!  

Race report, part 1 (Sprint distance triathlon)

By popular request, here is the beginning of the race report. I don’t think it is all that enthralling, sorry. I’ve had a hard time finding a free minute to write so it is just the start. More later, if little princess takes a snooze.

Part 1:

First of all, it was hard. Harder than I expected, and I was expecting it to be tough. I got up at 4:00 am (race start was 7:00 am), did all the usual race-day morning prep including hot shower (illogical since I was headed straight for the lake, but oh-so-necessary to open my eyes at that miserable hour), pot of coffee, ½ piece of toast w/pb, ½ a banana, and checking my bag 15 times over to be sure I had everything. I got on the road right on time, 5:15, for the 45 minute drive to the race start. The only other cars I saw going in the same direction at that hour were also carrying bikes so I was reassured that mapquest had gotten me on the right road. Even after my obsessive bag-checking routine at home I kept startling myself as I drove down the freeway, sure that I must have forgotten something. Luckily, this time it all ended up being there, and then some.

It was cloudy and 50+ degrees but not raining, thankfully. The first thing I did was find the transition area and get my bike in the rack, as close to the center walkway as possible; then, straight to the porta-potty line, otherwise known as the hang-out-and-socialize zone. The line was a good 25 people long already at 6:15 am and I had someone to talk to from the time I hit the line until I got to the stall. I was feeling uncharacteristically like a social butterfly, jumpy, wired, floating on coffee, fear, and excitement. Suddenly, I remembered that the transition area was set to close at 6:45 and I hadn’t even picked up my race number. About all I had done in more than 20 minutes was talk. So I scurried around, checked-in and picked up my packet, got body marked with my bib number on my shoulder and my wave number on my calf (maybe for life from the looks of it), and got the transition area set up.

The first event is the swim, so I began the 10 minute process of trying to get the wetsuit on. It is an ordeal, sort of like trying to fit a balloon into a straw, and would have been embarrassing except that we were all doing the same thing. I had help zippering and velcro-ing everying into place and then, looking and feeling like a chorizo and doubting that I’d ever get out of that thing – let alone fast – I headed to the shore.

They started us in waves, groups of 40-50 people 3-5 minutes apart. I was in wave 12 so had 45 minutes to shiver on the shoreline. It had started to sprinkle but the wind was light so the lake wasn’t too choppy. I was shaking so badly from the cold and fear that near-strangers were hugging me to warm me up. (It was sort of nice. I may have to put this to future use. ) I had many friends doing this race, so at least I had lots of company to share the freezing misery as we waited for our waves. When I observed that I wished I had signed up for the novice category (first-timers only, in wave 3) to avoid the wait, one of the veterans said, “Don’t worry. You can be a novice next year.” Ha, so much handy advice. When there were only women left (elites, relays, novices, and men went first – what kind of thinking goes into that system?), I got in the water to “get used to it.” It was incredibly, miserably cold, painful even in a wetsuit. I swam around (OK, really, I did about 3 strokes and called it a warm-up) and calmed down enormously, so that when it was finally time to cross the timing mat and line up the shaking had disappeared. I felt calm, and fairly confident that I’d be just fine. As it turned out, I was not fine, by any stretch.

But gotta run now! Kids are waiting. More later.