http://www.nytimes.com/2010/01/29/books/29salinger.html?pagewanted=1&hp
J.D. Salinger lived in the same small town in New Hampshire as my college buddy, Noah. Noah worked at a bookstore through which Mr. Salinger ordered reading material. I always thought that was cool. I love The Catcher in the Rye, but Franny and Zooey is my favorite.
It’s cold and rainy out. I’m sitting in the office, slightly bored listening to Django Reinhardt and reading Julia Child’s memoir, longing for France.
I have never really had a serious list of things I would like to do before I die, perhaps because I have irrationally exhausted immeasurable amounts of energy worrying about death and disease instead of thinking about how I would like to live my life. But the other night I started reading Sue Monk Kidd and Ann Kidd Taylor’s dual memoir Traveling with Pomegranates which opens with a mother/daughter trip to Greece. I want to travel among the Grecian aisles and study the country’s ancient history and mythology but I now long to run a lightning fast 400 meters on the ancient Olympic track!
Today I finished Barbara Kingsolver’s new novel, a Christmas gift from my mother. I have read almost everything Ms. Kingsolver has written and she is one of my top five favorite authors. The Lacuna has received lackluster reviews, but I felt a strong emotional connection to the work. The story takes place primarily in Mexico and Asheville, NC, a place I long to visit and my beloved hometown. A child of a Mexican mother and an American father, the story’s main character, Harrison Shepherd, spends his youth in Mexico. He becomes a cook in the Rivera/Kahlo household and ends ups as Leo Trotsky’s secretary in the turbulent household until the Russian revolutionary’s assassination. As those close to me know, and as evidenced by my Halloween costume, Frida Kahlo is my favorite artists. I have had a visceral connection to her art since my mother read me her biography as a young girl (thanks Mom!).
Harrison Shepherd moves to the States and works for the Civil Service during WWII, transporting artworks from the National Gallery to the Biltmore House in Asheville for safekeeping. Many of the landmarks Ms. Kingsolver mentions are still staples in 21st century Asheville: Pack Square, Riverside Cemetary, Tunnel Road, the Grove Park Inn and Montford (Montford is one of my favorite neighborhoods and many of my highschool friends lived in the area’s beautifully restored homes). Mr. Shepherd becomes a bestselling author of novels about the Aztec and Mayan civilizations, but his work becomes blacklisted during the Communist witch hunts. His associations with Frida Kahlo, Diego Rivera, Trotsky and the Mexican workers revolution bring him under suspicion as a Communist sympathizer by the House Un-American Activities Committee.
Ron thinks I should write a letter to Barbara Kingsolver to tell her how strongly I connected to her book. I do not know what to say without sounding corny. Harrison Shepherd received a plethora of fan mail before his work became scrutinized, letters he found burdensome . He hired a secretary to deal with the correspondence. I can’t help but wonder whether this plot detail is a reference to Ms. Kingsolver’s own struggle with fan mail. She lives on a farm not far from Greensboro in southern Virginia, her experiment in raising/growing her family’s food supply documented in the fabulous non-fiction work, Animal, Vegetable, Miracle. I have heard a rumor that she opened a restaurant featuring local ingredients. Perhaps I can make a pilgrimage.
Yesterday I ran my first legitimate long run with the crew since Thunder Road. I picked one hell of a day to push myself back into the routine of a weekly long run; 15 degrees with a nasty windchill. The thirteen mile course was one of the more challenging routes in our club’s course roster, made up of a series of grueling hills with little recovery between. My legs felt likes shit and I knew I was in trouble when fatigue set in within the first four miles. I finished but I finished frustrated. I’m still amazed how I could be in such good shape less than a month ago and now feel like a running rookie. I feel defeated. I guess all I can do is just keep running with the faith that my endurance and strength will return within time and maintenance of a regular schedule of speedwork, intermediate distances and long runs.
I’ve been a delinquent blogger since the marathon and I really have no excuse other than post-race depression and holiday blues. However, I am recommitting to semi-regular posts today, my 25th birthday.
Recovering from the marathon took a lot longer than I thought. I felt slow, heavy and pained until about a week ago. Of course, as soon as I get back into my running groove we’re engulfed in an arctic blast that makes being outdoors pretty unbearable. I’ve managed to muscle through, dressing in many layers and becoming one with the numb. It helps that I have a new toy to play with: a Garmin Forerunner 205. My dear Ron got me the GPS watch for Christmas and I am thrilled with all the bells and whistles. I’ve given up one piece of technology for another, as I’ve indefinitely put away my iPod. I think the thing was screwing with my posture and its benefits are not worth the hassle (and hazard).
I also got some beautiful new cooking equipment, inspiring experimentation in the kitchen. So far I have learned that there is no room for substitutions and improvisation in baking from a lemon-almond cake. Le Creuset and Cuisinart pots have reaffirmed my love for cast iron.
The dogs are good. Frida got fixed and the spade/neuter clinic gave her a rad tattoo of a female symbol on her belly. Now Ron is the only being left in the house with virgin skin!
And today is my birthday. No big plans, just a run and beers with friends.
I did it. I ran my first marathon this past weekend, Thunder Road in Charlotte. I qualified for Boston with a time of 3:30:03 and placed third in my age group, 15th woman overall.
I am so appreciative of the community that supported me through the training process and on race day. I can’t say thank you enough to Ron for putting up with me. I know I got pretty crazy towards the end and he is my rock.
My eyes welled up with tears when the starting gun went off; my body was overflowing with energy and adrenaline and I was ready to run! I had to remind myself to take it easy the first few miles and let the half marathoners pass me. I had a target pace of 8:20 per mile (to complete a 3:35 marathon) which felt slow compared to what I usually run in training. I actually ended up running a negative split, speeding up in the second half of the race.
The first 19 miles were great. I felt relaxed and was able to enjoy the neighborhoods, fellow runners and all of the supporters. I saw people I knew every five miles or so and Dad and Betsy met me at miles 15 and 16/17 (?). It’s amazing how much energy I get when I hear someone yelling my name! At mile 16 or so I caught up with the 3:30 pace group and was able to hang until mile 21, when I dropped back some. Mile 20 is when I started to struggle.
There are no words to describe the last 6 miles of a marathon. They are a test of sheer will power. Legs and brain turn to jelly. Part of me wanted to quit while I knew in my core that I would crawl to the finish if I had to to. Running the last 6 miles of the race was probably the hardest thing I have ever done, physically or mentally. I found myself repeating “Hale Mary, full of grace, Please just get me through this!” (it was Guadalupe day !).
At mile 26 I saw the finish line and started crying. The finish was emotionally overwhelming…I was exhausted, overjoyed and proud! Any my legs really hurt. My friends and family and Ron were all there to share my accomplishment and I could not have asked for a better experience.
Two days later: I can’t make it up and down stairs because my legs are horribly sore, but I can’t wait to start running again. I am a little depressed that it is over…I will never have a first marathon experience again. But there are many more races in my future.
Last night at the track I did the classic marathon training workout: Bart Yasso’s 800m repeats. 10 800s at goal marathon time translated from hours:minutes to minutes:seconds with equal rest. This workout takes FOREVER!!!!!! It tests mental endurance just as much as physical endurance. I ended up shortening my rests to just a lap around the track to get the thing over with.
I wanted to run 3:35 repeats and found that time to be too slow. My 800s fell between 2:27 and 3:31, the majority landing at 2:28. Perhaps this is my magic number? I hope it’s my magic number!
Tomorrow is my last 20 miler before taper-time, and man am I relieved! Don’t get me wrong, I’ve loved training: the gradual increase in distance each Saturday, the accumulating weekly mileage, and the commradary (or commissary) amongst my running friends. But I’m pooped! My whole life revolves around when I can squeeze a run in. My back and legs ache. I haven’t ridden my mountain bike in months. I am super excited about the marathon (which is 3 weeks from tomorrow!) and I want to savor these last training runs and the overall anticipation…but I’m about ready for a rest.
On Saturday night I went with friends to the Cat’s Cradle in Carrboro to see Dan Auerbach from the Black Keys. Though nursing the flu, Dan rocked and was well supported by his bandmates. However, I felt the musical highlight of the night was Dan Auerbach’s opening act, Justin Townes Earle. Steve Earle’s son, Justin Townes has a non-affected performance style and mannerisms reflecting close study of the country greats like Merle Haggard, Hank Williams and of course, Townes Van Zandt. And Justin Townes Earle is a sick flatpick guitar player. I mean, he is seriously good. I can’t wait to get to a record store that sells new vinyl, because I need his new album “Midnight at the Movies” and I don’t think digital mediums will give Justin Townes Earle’s sound justice. I have not been this excited about an artist in a long while; Justin Townes Earle’s songs have been steadily running through my head since Saturday night and I am not complaining.
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