Lazy W Marie

marathon monday: what’s your worst outfit?

May 19, 2015

One day last week I finished up a hectic afternoon of running errands by stopping at that one-mile loop track that’s sort of near the farm. I sprinted for three sweaty, desperate miles, making eye contact with nobody, then hurried back to my Jeep and made a beeline for home. Once there I kissed my husband, who was working on his Camaro and thankfully didn’t need a lot of eye contact, then made a second beeline to the shower and then my closet for fresh clothes. I’m not always in such a hurry to shed my running layers, but on this day my running layers were embarrassing.

I was wearing third-day, baggy yoga pants, full length ones with wide bottom legs that went swish-swash with every stride. Also the kind with a wide elastic flap at your hips that when flipped over reveals a super classy word, etched in sequins. Totally appropriate for a woman my age. Oh, but I tend to wear these pants wrong side out because I hate the way those sequins feel against the small of my back if that flap flips up. Which it often does. So, third-day, baggy, wrong-side-out yoga pants with bell bottoms that could start a campfire.

I was also wearing a lavender-colored stretch cotton pajama top, some ill-fitting Winnie the Pooh number from I cannot fathom what chapter of life (it looks like a maternity top but isn’t), and my husband’s athletic socks. Picture, if you will, the heel contour landing somewhere north of my ankle and near my calf muscle. Not that you could see that. On account of my super classy yoga pants.

I looked less like a runner and more like a person who had just awoken from a coma that had started long ago, while nursing a baby during a Britney Spears video.

My only semblance of normalcy was that pair of new blue and turquoise Brooks that still looked pretty fresh. Those shoes alone carried all the heavy burden of making me look like a legit runner at the track that day. Apparently I care about this now.

Why such shoddy attire? Because I hadn’t done laundry in several days. So all my workout gear was used up. Nor had I showered very recently.

These were facts of life because our septic tank was near capacity.

This was because Oklahoma has been enjoying a deluge of steady rainfall for weeks now.

Our water table is full. Our well is full. Our pond is full. And so, as things go, is our septic tank. Or at least it was last week, and I was exercising an abundance of caution. Trust me: not showering and not doing laundry is not my thing.

Anyway, the next time you see a badly dressed person at the running track, resist judgement and assume that he or she has a good reason for it. Things happen.

After all, color-coordinated spandex and witty racer back tees are for the drought.

The End.
XOXO

marathon monday: a week later

May 4, 2015

Hey friends! Thanks for checking in!

We are one week past the 2015 OKC Memorial Marathon, and all I’ve written about it was The Pretzel Story. My wonderful husband and close friends have already had to listen to so much jabbering about that whole day, but for posterity’s sake and for any readers even considering marathon training, I just want to lay down some thoughts and feelings about this year’s experience. It’s taken a week for my thoughts and feelings to settle and clarify a bit, so thank you for indulging me. xoxo

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I was kind of a mess last Sunday after what ended as a really difficult, sloppy, not awesome feeling race, at least compared to the year before. The 2015 race will go down in my personal history as “The Crying Games” or “The One When I l Learned a Lot By Doing Everything Wrong” or maybe “Shark Week 26.2.” Okay.

First, let me say that the beginning of the run was great! With just one exception, I felt strong, fast, and happy for the first 18 miles. The one exception was that I was in the middle Shark Week (sorry, errant male readers, that’s just TMI but crucial to the story) and it was necessary to take several porta potty breaks much earlier than I would have liked. Well, naturally those lines were all very long. So I lost not just time but also momentum. Womp-womp.

But I kept running and running, without music for about 12 miles, just listening to the thunderous footfall around me and eavesdropping on all the silly, energetic conversations between running groups. Admiring the firemen for running in full gear while carrying large American flags. Thinking of the reason we run. Allowing swells of pride for my home state. Everyone seemed to feel good! I played celebrity look-alike in my head, trying to catch up to my pace group after breaks. I craved the hills and took them and it felt like flight! Generally I was smiling and happy. My body felt good. I was loving the sparkling clear, warm morning with cool breezes. Such a pleasant contrast to last year’s weather. With that one uncontrollable physical exception, the early part of the race was charmed. Lovely.

Even Lake Hefner was fun this year! I circled the route there while listening to Miranda Lambert and even called my favorite guy to report how strong I felt at the point where last year I was beginning to wonder. He laughed and cheered me on. Anything felt possible.

Unfortunately this magic did not last.

Around mile 18 Handsome made one of his wonderful appearances with a sign that both drenched me with love and triggered so many emotions. ALL the feelings. Good, bad, ugly. You name it: I was feeling it. I started crying and couldn’t stop. And by this point in the run I was so annoyed by those inconvenient porta potty breaks that I was stubbornly refusing to accept regular water or Powerade, which would have necessitated more breaks. So I was sweating, crying, and not replenishing fluids. Really smart!

Miles 18-22 were not terrible, but by now my chosen pace group was no where to be seen, and this, plus the crying, had a deteriorating effect on my attitude. Also an older gentleman in a wheelchair passed me and I just about lost my mind. No offense to him, but I’d been running so much faster lately! At the time it was really hard to wrap my dehydrated mind around that little defeat. I did some math in my head (badly) and estimated my pace was about a quarter mile per hour. I was on the verge of an emotional melt down, friends. Not kidding.

Around mile 22, right at the end of the street of my childhood home, I hugged and kissed my family (I love you guys so much!!), and laughed because my husband showed up there in his Batman costume. Ha! This all should have had a much better influence on my feelings than it did. It’s no one else’s fault that I was in such a bummer state of mind! My fault totally.

Despite everyone’s loving efforts, I then started feeling really bad. I ran south on Classen to eventually collide with my book club girls. They showed up for the second year and melted my heart! Near the gold dome (locals know this area) I just collapsed in their arms. They were all festive and sweet, in celebratory moods and sipping mimosas, probably expecting me to be happy at that point just like last year, but I was a mess. When she saw me up close, Melissa’s face fell noticeably, Oh my, and they all wrapped their arms around me (Eww super sweaty, gross! Sorry!) and asked Are you okay? and Why are you crying? About all I could say in reply was I’m just so sad!! And then I started sobbing. I wasn’t sad exactly; I was dehydrated and completely empty of glycogen and feeling weak mentally because I felt bloated and slow and loser-ish.

Okay, I was sad.

From there, in that state, three-point-two more miles seemed perfectly impossible. But I kept running. Sloppily, I’m quite sure. I cried a lot as I ran which is weird because usually I am grinning like an idiot when I run. Even at twenty miles I usually feel amazing. I learned this year that sometimes there is a vast difference between twenty miles and twenty six. One lady stopped to check on me. I waved her on but she kept pep-talking me over her shoulder as she sped off at the thin, toned, sparkling speed of light. I loved her and hated her all at once.

As I meandered painfully through that last big, shady neighborhood with lawn parties and sprinklers and generous encouragements, Handsome texted me the most beautiful love note. I looked at it like five times to keep going and also felt completely guilty for having a hard time running. I felt like a complete waste of a person in those last miles.

About nine years later I saw a wide vinyl banner strung across the street that said “Half Mile Aisle” and there might have been a band playing. I was excited because of this thought: Oh good, a half mile left! Just like 4 minutes to go! (Training pace lately had me pumped up beyond realistic marathon pace expectations) Umm, two appropriate responses to myself here: a) That was not my pace that day. At all. b) Even if 4 minutes to cover a half mile was possible, at that point I was so crazy spent physically and mentally that four minutes was still a lot to give. No longer easy-breezy. No more running hard to catch up whilst playing celebrity look alike in my head. It was an eternity left to run.

About seven months after the Half Mile Aisle, I finally crossed the finish line at a pathetic jog. Not a strong, glorious, Chariots of Fire burst of energy, not even the giggling elation I felt last year. Just, finished. Quietly. And it was enough for me. I walked immediately and stretched my legs then walked some more. Someone hung a finisher’s medal around my neck and said sweet things that made me cry again. Someone else took my picture which turned out looking like I’d gained about twenty pounds. I found water and Powerade (that I still wouldn’t drink). I went for a half banana and the guy said, Hon you look like you need chocolate. WHAT!!! HOW DID HE KNOW?? I accepted the chocolate-almond protein bar and tore into it like a velociraptor.

The rest of Sunday was blissful, thanks owed completely to Handsome for all of his love and attention throughout the day and into the evening. We went immediately for steak fajitas and salty tortilla chips, at a place near the farm where my sweaty clothes, pronounced limp, and weird mood would not be noticed. Actually, by this point my mood had lightened considerably. Being with my guy again and just being finished was such a relief.

Big thanks are also owed to my wonderful friends and family for their notes, text messages, and sweet social media comments that I read later that night. (My husband had been posting race updates on Facebook in excruciating detail, complete with photos. LOL) But all over again I felt guilty for receiving so much support for such a poor showing. I felt super lame and embarrassed.

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Okay, the detailed account could go on and on. Here are some things I learned this year, which I am determined to carry over into my next marathon training, which maybe be Spring 2016 and may be sooner:

Dieting for weight loss is not something you should do right before a big race. It’s silly and possibly dangerous. In those middle training months I had been making so much progress with speed and endurance and also making small improvements with body fat loss that I thought, Well, if I just slash all carbs now I will be so skinny on race day! The opposite happened. I gained a little weight (our bodies are smart and know when we are trying to kill them) and had no energy. Terrible result. One pasta meal in the week leading up to 26.2 is not enough glycogen. Lesson learned.
Especially in those final eight miles or so, hydration and energy supplements are crucial. I won’t neglect them ever again. Even if you have to pee later, those little sips are worth it. But chances are, really, you won’t. Your body will probably use every ounce of hydration you offer it. Take the water! Take the electrolytes! Eat the sports beans every ten or fifteen minutes! No matter what you consumed yesterday, after a couple of hours you have spent it and need more.
Pacing is not a guessing game. I could have done so much better at this, and this coming season I will. Pinky promise.
Also, negative splits are good. Running hard at the beginning and then faltering at the end is positive splits, which is actually a running negative. I finally understand the value of running negative splits (saving energy for the end of the race) and plan to practice this a lot.
The wall is a real thing. This year I discovered The Wall, and it was about five miles thick. I’ve felt tired before in long practice runs, and last year’s marathon gave me a challenge here and there, but nothing compares to this year! For the first time I hit the wall really hard and was stunned. It’s as real as a runner’s high, and it hurt my feelings. But I’m actually glad to have experienced it. Now I know how it feels and can train against it, not take those happier runs for granted.
The mental game is real, too. So real. The more I concentrated on how poorly I (thought I) was doing*, the worse I did. The more I indulged in sad thoughts about loved ones lost or disconnected, the sadder I felt. It was only in those early miles when I chose to focus on the lightness in my legs or the wonderful purpose of the day that running felt glorious.

So that’s it! My 2015 recap. Stories abound, so if you’re ever bored and want to be even more bored, let me know. I am so glad to have this under my belt, even as rough and ugly as it was. I learned a LOT and that’s valuable life stuff, right? Thanks again for checking in, friends! Have such a beautiful day.

XOXOXOXO
~Marie

*Perception: My sloppy running and sloppy head math made me think I was running about a 17 minute mile.
Cue the emotional break down. I actually averaged out to about a 12 minute pace,
which is much slower than I had been training but also not quite so terrible.
I am really excited to set speed goals this coming year!

marathon monday: the pretzel story

April 27, 2015

I have in my own head a million stories from the whole experience yesterday, but I realize most of them may only be interesting to me. What follows is a relatively short anecdote, something that happened around mile 20 maybe? And it pretty well exemplifies my marathon personality. Specifically, my level of awkwardness that I can’t even shake during a big event like this.

Keen on not drinking any more Powerade because it makes me feel weird in mah belly, I approached an aid station and accepted a plastic cup that from a distance seemed to be clear. I assumed it was water, my desired refreshment, and snagged the plastic cup with clumsy thank yous. A few yards away I realized it was actually filled with mini pretzels, which I also didn’t need in mah belly. Sooooo… did I just toss them? Nope. That would have been wasteful. I jogged back to the same aid station volunteer (why??) and tried to return the snack to him. He looked at me like I was off my rocker crazy and said, at least I think this is what he said, because I was listening to music by now, Shakira at that moment, “You don’t want them?” He was truly perplexed.

“No, thanks though! Thanks! I appreciate it but I thought it was water, you can have it back and give it to someone else who wants them.” I rattled the cup as if to demonstrate to the guy that water doesn’t make this sound, mmkay? And I was actually shouting those long, unnecessary sentences because, you know, Shakira. He took a very long time deciding to go ahead and accept it back from me, then there was an awkward moment of eye contact between us. Really weird vibe. I finally shouted again at the poor guy, “I didn’t touch them!” And ran off.

My god. I am embarrassed to be seen with myself.

The End.

okc marathon expo 2015

April 25, 2015

Hello, happy Saturday! It’s finally race weekend in Oklahoma City, and it seems like about half the state is all revved up and participating in one way or another. Such an incredible community feeling, and that includes visitors from all over! I love it. I am so proud to be an Okie.

Happy to be home and refreshed from a week in New Orleans, today I drove downtown to the Expo to pick up my bib, t-shirt, and more goodies (including so many free samples of food!) and thought I’d share a few snippets.

I was feeling just this side of nervous and unprepared for tomorrow until I walked in through these cheerful balloons. And then everybody started talking about the fun stuff and wishing each other well and asking what event you’re running. Just the best vibe!! I picked up my packet in about thirty seconds, snagged a shirt, and browsed the vendor booths.

Overall the feeling at the Expo is very upbeat and joyful, but lest we forget why we’re all gathered in the first place, there is a display of 168 race bibs, one number reserved for each of the victims of the Murrah Building Bombing. It will hush you and give you chills just walking past. We run to remember.

While at the Expo I took the opportunity to meet Olympic gold medalist Joe Jacobi. I listened to him speak to the crowd about the spirit of service, personal growth, and taking accountability for your life. I’ve been following his inspirational writing (it’s about sports but much more than sports) for a while and was just delighted to finally meet him in person! My mind is swimming with ideas and I’ll be sharing this great stuff with you guys soon. By the way, he’s running the full marathon tomorrow too! When an accomplished athlete wishes you well on your run, friends, it’s awesome.

Oh listen, Brooks shoe company wants us to run happy okay? Run really happy. Okay. Done! I have my cute new Brooks Pure Flows all broken in, and around 6:30 tomorrow morning I will be running very happy indeed. Because tapering is making me crazy. Not running is for the birds.

I bumped into Lisa, a woman who has been SUCH a running inspiration to me these past few years! She was also my girls’ Science teacher way back when, and I have a ton of affection for her in my heart. We did not take a photo together, and now I’m sad about that. So good to see her though! She is a member of the Landrunner’s club and has accomplished every single one of the Memorial events over the years! This year she is serving as a finish line volunteer. So cool. Seeing her really gave me such a boost.

Big news, little brother Joey. I am now the proud owner of a foam roller!! Let the muscle punishment begin. And look at this cute shirt! 2015, twenty years after the bombing, marks the fifteenth Memorial Marathon.

I bought a million packs of sports beans in two flavors because I am out of control. Ate a free, cozy silver-dollar sized pancake because I finally started carbing up today. Tried a KIND bar but didn’t like it nearly as much as Kashi. (KIND is too low protein for that many calories, too.) Smiled at everyone and enjoyed 100% smiles back. I tried to purchase a buffalo-Oklahoma t-shirt for Handsome to thank him for all the marathon prep support he’s provided, but the vendor’s credit card machine wouldn’t work. It’s cool, though, in retrospect, because I remember the guy saying that despite living in OKC he’s not a Thunder fan. What the heck?? Sort of happy to not have given him my business. ((haha))

I had really hoped to finally meet my reader-Facebook friend Marcella and her beautiful running daughter today, but our timing was off. My fingers are crossed that we can find each other around the corrals at sunrise!! xoxo Hello ladies!

Several other community events are happening this weekend leading up to the actual race, and I hope if you’re here to run or support a runner that you join in! There’s a shoe blessing, a pasta dinner, a pancake breakfast, and more. Lots of wonderful speaker events as the Expo continues, and truly the vendors are so great. Surprisingly good prices. My plans are to rest at the farm tonight, eat a heaping bowl of pasta with chicken breast and veggie marinara, hydrate for sure, and go to bed early.

Thank you for checking in, and if you are running tomorrow RUN HAPPY! Enjoy every mile. If you are cheering for a runner tomorrow, BLESS YOUR HEART!! It almost makes me cry just thinking about my sweet people.

Over and out, see you tomorrow after the race!!

XOXOXOXO

P.S. One more time, just for good measure, tapering sucks.

just an average night of magic in the quarter

April 21, 2015

On Tuesdays I like to share stories or recipes from the Lazy W kitchen.
But this week, let’s talk about New Orleans some more.
She certainly deserves the attention.

Our dinner plans last night included a long, slow walk from our downtown hotel, along Bourbon Street, past Canal and past Toulouse, the cross street where you’ll find the Saint Anne-Marie. (Next time you have about three hours to sit and listen, ask me about this place.) We strolled easily hand in hand, in zig-zag lines from the uneven brick sidewalks to the open streets and back again to the sidewalks. We dodged the craziest revelers but enjoyed the atmosphere. People watching in the French Quarter is a measurable spectator sport, and we are skilled. The weather continued with such pleasant mildness. I was comfortable in my sundress but also happy to have my denim jacket when the cool breeze kicked up or a retail shop’s open door gushed out icy air.

Our destination last night was my choice, a place we’ve now visited twice, and it’s taking hold as one of our favorites. Right there in the middle of all the action, Bayou Burger on Bourbon has incredible food with excellent service and all the views. We were happy to wait maybe fifteen minutes for a balcony table, and everyone from the host to the server and management made us feel welcomed and not the least bit rushed.

Okay, the food. Remember how I told you that this week I’m indulging in local foods selectively? Trying to enjoy the trip but not sabotage my nutrition before the marathon? Well, last night’s meal was a great example. I ordered something decently healthy but also something you just can’t get anywhere else: I had a Gator Burger, and it was amazing. This thing was a thick, succulent patty made from a mix of ground alligator and lean pork. It’s cooked but still pink, served on a small brioche bun with almost dry jalapeno cole slaw. Very little dressing, just lots and lots of flavor. I chose sweet potato fries as my side, and they were not greasy at all. Perfect. All these flavors and textures together were like magic. Sweet and salty, savory and spicy, hot and meaty, cool and crunchy, soft and chewy, crispy… My gosh. This is the kind of meal that makes all mediocre restaurant meals and afternoons of deprivation worth the wait. And it actually filled my cavernous runner’s belly, which my closest friends will tell you is no small feat!

This is website photo obviously. And for a change, the real thing looked even better. I had mine sans onions and no chips, sweet potato fries instead. You guys. So good.

While eating and talking and laughing and flirting, thoroughly enjoying the balcony view, perfect weather, and eerie rooftop landscape of the French Quarter, Handsome and I noticed a police-escorted black SUV on the cross street. We assumed it was Michelle Obama, as we’d heard the First Lady was in town to pay commendations to the NOLA police department. (They have been successful in eliminating homelessness here among their veterans. Wow!) Immediately behind that quick scene was a small, sudden jazz parade!! This is one of the many benefits of balcony seating: A bird’s-eye view of unplanned parades!

The parade was small in size but not in spirit. They overtook the area with joy! The group was led by a man wearing a much-sequinned black tuxedo, white and silver feathery plumes, a sparkly white derby hat, pageant sash bearing words I couldn’t read, and tap shoes. He danced out front with abandon, frothing up every spectator and sending the energy all around him up to the clouded sky. The band played smooth white instruments, and they were followed by a large group of people wearing business clothes and convention name tags. Everyone was on cloud nine, including us. The party turned a corner in front of our balcony and we took our seats again to watch them pass. We could hear their music for several blocks, not to mention the wake of celebration they left.

As we returned to our delicious meals, I felt a twinge of happy-sad. I looked up at my husband and recognized the same expression in his green eyes. As I’ve said many times, this city has a hold on us. She draws us in and toys with our emotions. She makes us feel like we belong then reminds us that we are outsiders. Embraced then rejected, over and over. So weird. Do other people have such odd connections to foreign places?

After dinner, both fully satiated, we walked back up Bourbon and stopped in at the Jazz Garden to listen to Steamboat Willie play. An older couple was dancing before a tightly packed crowd of maybe 200 people. Some standing like us, some seated at little iron tables bearing paper plates of beignets and powdered sugar. When I say this couple was dancing, I do not mean they were swaying timidly; they were lost in the moment. Twirling, spinning, trading the spotlight, dipping and circling each other. Wow! Wearing sensible shoes and tourist clothes, they moved quickly and with complex and perfect coordination, a beautifully fluid harmony between them. For much of the interlude her eyes were even closed. Watching them, I felt tears well up in my own eyes. Handsome stood behind me, holding me, and we swayed in our own way, just amazed. Eventually I felt someone watching us. The patio lights blurred. The banana trees dipped down to embrace us all as one pulsing, weeping group. When their dance was finished, they took an exaggerated bow and the intimate crowd rewarded them with such applause!

The very next song was “What a Wonderful World,” that Louis Armstrong classic. Willie crooned into his microphone and Handsome crooned into my ear. Chills. We held each other and soaked up every vibe. I wept for happy reasons and sad ones and suspect he did too. A few times when the song approached key lyrics, the singer invited the crowd to join in. So he sang Friends shaking hands, saying how do you do? They’re really saying… Then the crowd, in a hushed but muscular voice, I LOVE YOU!! I got the tightest squeeze around my middle from the best arms in the world. Then at the end, slowly, Willie sang, And I think to myself… and the crowd, so softly, What a Wonderful World…

We kissed and danced in our small, timid ways in the undulating banana tree shadows then left for the short walk back to our hotel. My heart finally agreed with my head that this place is meant for such moments of magic, for nights of refreshment and connection, not for living. We got that magic last night, all of the refreshment and connection, and still a good life waits for us. A very good one.

And I think to myself…
XOXOXOXO

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