The watch tells no lies.
There is that moment,
Less than a moment even.
The split second that hangs in the balance
Between crossing the line and looking to the teller of no lies.
Baited breathe, you hope for good news,
Slightly anticipate bad…
You pause…
Toeing the line between wanting to know and not
Unsure if you do, indeed, really want to know the truth.
All in less than that tenth of a second…
The decision is already made,
Because deep down you know
that you HAVE to know.
A baby sits on the track and watches his mom run in circles. To the infant it’s nothing more than splotches of color, the reds and greens, the lights and darks, the shadows growing longer as the sun sets.
As a three year old, this child now plays in the long jump pit while his mom runs in circles. This time though he is more concentrated on the shovel in hand and the sandcastle he’s building in the ‘sandbox.’
As a nine year old this boy waits eagerly for his mom to finish up running those fast circles, the part she calls her ‘hard running.’ He watches her cross the line of her last interval, her slender form bends forward for just a moment before she again stands upright. He rushes towards her, she looks to him and smiles, “Ready?” He merely nods the approval and then they both take off running a few circles together.
Now a twelve year old, this boy has his first pair of ‘real’ running shoes. He’s even been able to run a whole mile…which seems like an epic distance in his mind. He now looks to the track not just as a blur or reds set to green, but with dreams and goals stamped between those lanes. He likes to look at the big number ONE in lane one; he likes to think that number is meant for him alone.
At fourteen he’s learned that this running in circles is hard business. There is much more to it than merely wanting to win, and to carry out those ‘secret messages’ calling to him from lane one he’s got to be willing to run even when he maybe doesn’t feel like it all the time.
By seventeen he’s had tastes of success, they’ve made him only hungrier for more. The victories are sweet, the PR’s even more-so but his eyes are focused ahead on what lane one has in store for him.
At twenty this man has moved through the usual levels of running; college has treated him well. He’s not the fastest on the team, but he’s not the slowest either. He is unsure of what the future has in store for him, but with running he is sure. The tracks are always the same regardless of where he is, what he is, and whatever ‘life’ has him doing. Track and running are nice constants.
By thirty this man has been world traveled; though he’s always had his running shoes packed as carry-on. Yet his favorite place to run is the very same track he used to sit and watch his mom run circles around; his home track. When he can he goes there and can still watch his mom run circles, though now at a slower pace. He joins her and does his own ‘hard running’ but they always convene for a few circles together at the end.
Now forty-three this man runs circles around a track; there is the beginning of a paunch on his stomach. When that actually appeared is still a bit lost on him, it seemed like it wasn’t there last year; though he knows this is in ‘runner’ comparison and he still gets called string bean by his work friends. He pants his way through the last interval, crosses the line, bends forward slightly for just a moment, rises and casts a glance at his baby girl sitting on the track.
He is now 80. He runs in circles around this home track of his; he doesn’t run with a watch on, he doesn’t care about the time, just the action. He is drifting far into the outer lanes, it seems over the years he’s felt more comfortable in lanes five through eight, he reserves lane one for the faster runners. The young bucks with dreams in their eyes and heck bent fury in their legs; he likes to watch them and remember what it feels like to be chasing. But he’s the only one at the track tonight. He closes his eyes and then he’s not alone; his mom is running circles around the track, his daughter is zealously chasing after him with shovel in hand, and they are all home.
1) Do any of your parents run, or anyone else in your family?
2) How old were you when you were able to run a full mile without stopping, and did you think it was a distance of epic length?
I was probably in Junior High before I could cover a full mile, and I honestly thought that if a person ran a WHOLE mile a few times a week they could win the Olympics. đ
3) Today’s Olympic Trials related fodder…so it sounds like the tie-breaker for third place in the 100 meters is coming down to a coin toss. What say you, and how would you be feeling if your Olympic Team dreams were dependent on the flip of a coin?
Seriously, a coin toss? In my mind this seems pretty wonky, one of the things I really love about running is that usually you can’t ‘luck’ your way into something like a win, a PR or the Olympics…but dang if you were waiting for a heads or tails in that position you better HOPE you’d have luck!
There once was a little running shoe, no not one of those dorky Vibrams, an actual running shoe and he felt a little lost. It wasn’t so much that he felt confused about who he was, he knew he was a righty, meant for swallowing up miles for breakfast, some strength training for lunch, and dinner might be either more miles or a side of cross-training.
But he knew he was missing out on something…oh, that’s right, it was his left. He knew he had to have his left match out there, he dreamed of what left would look like. Maybe he inherited some of his own designs from lefty, did he share her roomy toe-box, did his arch support come from her? Finally the day came when he could stand the wondering no long and so he set out on a quest to find his lefty.
Some odd hoppy, runner-strides later he was off down the road on his quest. After about 1.34 miles (thankfully Garmin came along to keep him company) he came to a halt; he looked at the shiny, red object in front of him. Now it didn’t exactly look like his mirror image, but there was a roundness to it that make him question if that could be the same roundness he inherited his toe-box from. “Are you my lefty?” our lost running shoe blurted out.
“Say, what?” the tall, cylindrical object replied.
“I’m looking for my lefty, are you her?”
“Sorry, kid, I’m not anyone’s lefty,” the red thing stated in a gruff tone, “oh crap, here it comes again.” At that, the red thing groaned as a huge pit-bull sauntered up, lifted its leg and proceeded to spray a long stream of yellow onto this red thing.
The right sided running shoe took off again and some 2.05 miles later he stopped again. Seeing a white item laying on the ground he got a bit excited. Here was something that looked to be a case of some sort, could it too be meant to encase a foot? “Are you my lefty?”
“Say what?” this flutterly case drifted a bit closer when some wind blew it over; obviously if it was his lefty it was a lightweight trainer or racing flat the right running shoe thought.
“Are you my lefty?” he asked again. “You seem to be meant to hold something, is it a foot?”
“Sorry,” the stranger replied, “I am indeed empty, but its because someone ate a hot dog…they are also a liter bug it turns out.”
It was then that our running shoe noticed the smear of yellow as mustard, he had at first thought it was just a cleverly placed Swoosh. He motored on for another 3.43 miles until he came to yet another object of potential. “Are you my lefty?”
“A lefty?” a female’s voice questioned, coming from the long roll of bright purple that was lying on the grass. By this point our lost running shoe had come to the park and there were lots of other people out running and playing; he felt a pang of loss as he saw all the other running shoes going along in pairs. The voice continued, “I’m not sure what a lefty is but I don’t think I am one.” As she finished a woman came over and pushed the purple roll, the roll then flattened out and the woman stepped on and into some kind of twisty pose.
Our lost running shoe knew this wasn’t his lefty and had almost abandoned hope of finding her. He hopped over to a nearby bench, only .07 miles away, and got on it. He started to really feel sorry for himself and thought, “I guess I’ll never know my lefty, I’ll forever be a one-sided running shoe. I know I could find my way to a fulfilling career and brighten the stride of a one-legged runner, but I thought I could find lefty.”
Just as right running shoe was about to leave a flustered man perched next to him on the bench and shouted, “Thank goodness! There it is!” The man scooped up the running shoe and in a flash had our righty down on the ground and was shoving one heck of a gnarly running foot into him. Righty felt his laces drawn taut and the warm heat of the toes in his toe-box, this was a joy unlike any other.
The man didn’t waste a second and went straight into a runner’s stride. Right, left, right, left. With an elation he couldn’t even put into words our right running shoe looked to his left and there she was! She was all he imagined and more, she was perfect, he didn’t even have to ask because he knew…he had found his lefty. So he did all he had to do, he smiled and put his sole to pavement again, and again, and again, and again…
————–
Happy Mother’s Day! For the holiday I thought I’d put a bit of an Arty Runnerchick twist on the classic ‘Are You My Mother?’ My own mother used to read a book to me nearly every night as a child and this was one of my favorites. I’m thankful to my Mommy-O for many a things, but among them is of course for passing along an addiction affinity for running.
————–
1) Did you read, or get read to, as a child? What were some of your favorite books?
2) If you were a running shoe, what would be an object you might mistake as your lefty?
3) What are your favorite pair of running shoes?
4) What are you up to this weekend? Did you do anything special for Mother’s Day? If you are a Mom what was your favorite part?
London, England
A Tree Just Outside the Olympic Stadium
A mamma bird and a pappa bird sit in their nest. “Move over, Hal, your wing is in my side,” chirped an annoyed Lydia.
“Sorry, Dear,” a belittled Hal answered as he hopped outside the nest entirely and onto the branch. The look of a defeated husband just tossed outside of his bed house splayed across his face. Between them and the three eggs there really wasn’t all the much room in the nest at all these days.
“And what in the world is all that noise?!” shrieked Lydia. It was to be one of those mornings established Hal to himself.
“I was curious about all of the hulla-ba-lub myself,” remarked Hal.
“Well, don’t just sit there and dally the day away,” started Lydia, “they don’t come up with those stupid ‘the early bird gets the worm’ sayings for nothing, do they?”
Hal flit off the branch as instructed, secretly not all that displeased with the opportunity to get the he** out of the nest.
* * *
Three days later two little baby birds had emerged, one little egg remained, and the hulla-ba-lub had been upgraded to a melee.
“Feed me! Feed me!” the everconstant din from the twins’ mouths.
“Hal, what in the world is going on over there! This is driving me INSANE!!!” Lydia’s temper had been upgraded as well, Hal hadn’t found a word that really could fully describe her mood…it seemed no word could give this kind of mood justice.
“I’ve spent a lot of time watching, Dear,” Hal attempted to placate her today, “and I do have to say it’s been rather entertaining.”
“Entertaining is it?” Lydia seemed on the verge of being slightly interested or headed down the road of a volatile explosion.
Hal proceeded with caution, “Well, yes. It seems these bi-peds are having a contest of some sorts. The rules are a little wacky but I think I’m starting to get the hang of it.”
“Do tell,” Lydia seemed to be on the side of interested.
“What they do?!” squeaked two chicks.
“Looks like they have rounds,” started in Hal. “Over there is where you start, way off in the grass fields over there. When one of the really big bi-peds has to find a rock. They chuck the rock as far as they can and try to grunt as loudly as possible. I assume the louder the grunt, the stronger the person, and the more points they get.”
“But the ones who can’t find a rock to throw get a penalty and they are corralled over there to that red oval. This is their first shot to try and make back some points. They line they up on one of those straight-a-ways and a man fires a gun into the air. The gun gets fired once and they run the full length of that straight-a-way to get away. I assume the guy who makes it there last gets shot as punishment.”
“Humph,” Lydia prompts Hal to speed up.
“The ones who didn’t get there first or last get shuffled on to the next round. They go into the middle of the red oval and start doing jumps. They really look like a bunch of trained circus dogs, you know, we saw those come to town last year…what fun was that?! I really thought Fido…”
“HAL!”
“Sorry, back on track. They jump into a sandy pit and get as dirty as possible and then they try and jump up over this beam thing. The funniest part is that in the end they try and fly…you know it’s sad really how pathetic those land walkers are. I feel bad for them, but at some point they really just have to accept they aren’t meant to fly.”
“How are they trying this time? I hope not as ridiculous as those metal birds, or those balloons! The big balloons are the best, I’d like to just pop one one day!” Lydia cackled laughed.
“They use this big long pole and hoist themselves into the air. It’s a pretty lame attempt as they don’t even really make it very far and land on a pillow.”
“See, they already knew they would fail.”
“I suppose. Well, by this point the bi-peds have been given lots of chances to try and win some kind of event. The person who wins an event of course doesn’t have to go through the humiliation of the next round. There are still a few pathetic ones that even after the throwing, gun dashing, hopping, and fly-trying are still coming up short.”
“Those must be some real losers,” remarks Lydia.
“Losers, losers, losers!” echo the twins.
“Losers indeed. They get punished though. The last round is where the bi-peds have to run around and around the red oval, some of them until they collapse.”
“They just fall down?” asks Lydia, a little glee in her voice.
“Maybe they are just dizzy from running in circles? I’m not totally sure, or maybe their weak little legs are tired.”
“But how do they find out who wins in that event?” asks Lydia.
“Aha, this one, well, I told you these bi-peds are a little kooky. The same guy from earlier shoots the gun, they make them run all these laps and suddenly one of them rings a bell…”
“Bell, bell, bell!” chant the twins.
“Well, the bell means that they have to run one more time around the red oval. That’s their last shot to try and make it around the red oval and they all seem to be pretty motivated to pick it up if they can…I even saw a few of them shove the other one with their featherless wings. Sometimes their skinny legs get tangled up and they fall…”
“Why are the ones running in circles so skinny?” asks Lydia.
“I think by this point going through all the rounds tires them out. Anyways, the bi-ped who makes it to the white line after that final lap wins and is safe.” finishes Hal.
“What happens to the rest of them?” asks Lydia, she is the most entertained Hal’s seen her in months.
“Well, they look pretty glum, I think they all get tossed into a pit of fire.” says Hal.
“Fire? Really?”
“Yea, they bring in this blazing torch at the beginning of this game thing. They keep it there burning in the corner I think as an incentive, or twisted reminder for the bi-peds to try their hardest. The losers must just get torched,” observes Hal.
Char-broiled.
Before Lydia has a chance to return a comment one of the rocks the bi-peds had been hurling goes long, much longer than any of the rest. It slams into the bottom of the tree. The third egg cracks open and a third chick pops out. He immediately starts screaming for food. Lydia starts screaming at Hal to get food. Hal flies off in search of more worms…he thinks to himself, “Oh well, sometimes it’s better outside the nest…maybe I’ll even get to see this big pit of fire.”
It’s so easy to take people for granted, that they will always be there. This applies to pets too. Dogs have a way of working their way into a family I think that is unlike other pets…though this is admittedly coming from a ‘dog person.’
When I was little I was dead-set on being a vet…that was until about the age of nine when I realized how much schooling was involved. Later, being that I really can’t stand vomit (blood not so much, I think I would have enjoyed surgeries and such) I know it was the right choice…I really can’t stand vomit, and poop too.
IÂ always begged my parents for more pets, when I was just starting high school we got our first Boston Terrier. We named him Kikko, after the soy sauce, because my dad is half Chinese-Hawaiian and we had rice about every single night for dinner and the Kikkoman Soy Sauce was as much a staple on the table as a fork. (Yes, we stink and don’t go ‘all the way’ and use the chopsticks…lol.)
Kikko started the Boston Terrier ball in motion. My dad was adamant with: ONLY ONE DOG. But he fell in love with Kikko off the bat and it was then him talking my mom into letting us have more. Three more dogs later, and yes by now I’ve moved out and away.
When I was up in Portland those visits were actually pretty far and few between, so come Christmas or whenever and I did step foot into the door this was the usual scenario: dogs rush up in a stampeded of paws, snorts, sneezes, gas attacks, and barking, trying to asses if this was a stranger or not. Not Kikko though, he didn’t bark like the ‘stranger’ kind of bark, it was more like a bark of recognition and greeting, like, “Hey you, it’s been awhile.”
The others realized it was me after a bit and plenty of pets. We called Kikko the ‘old man’ and he was getting up there in age for dog years. He got slower, didn’t put up too much of a fight if another dog wanted the ball; he reminded me of the old soul who watched from the deck in his rocking chair, content with life and watching over his brood.
Every time I came home to see them I felt a lot of guilt. Guilt over the fact that I didn’t see them more, like I abandoned them. Those first ‘stranger barks’ only exacerbated that.
When I moved out I got a cat, Baily; like I said I’m actually a ‘dog person’ and wanted a dog but I lived in an apartment that allowed no pets at all and getting a cat was a stretch. When I moved back to Cali, I’d be lying if I didn’t harbor fantasies of getting a dog; my sister was the one who got the fourth Boston and I was asking all up and down about where she got hers.
Kikkoman was the old soul in the rocker, but I still never really thought of the day his chair would stop rocking. Sort of like it would be on an infinite pendulum; it’s easy to take people for granted and feel like they’d always be there.
A week ago my dad texted me that Kikko was at the vet’s; he hadn’t been eating or pooping for awhile. Back and forth to the vets, it ended up that he had a very serious infection and had to have surgery on his intestines to remove 4 growths and 4 inches of intestines. He was put into ICU and as of yesterday at 5pm my dad let me know that he’d seen him, that he was doing better, but had to stay at the vets for another 3-4 days.
I think we all though, started to breath sighs of relief, as it looked like the trooper would pull through. A little over an hour later my mom let me know that the opposite was true and Kikko’s rocker had stopped rocking.
They always say that when anyone dies to remember the good times and focus on those. Looking over pictures has helped, but it hasn’t killed the guilt. I’m guilty I wasn’t able to really say ‘good-bye’ and that’s my fault.
When I was up in Oregon there was an excuse for not seeing him, but now I’m only miles away and I should have gone to visit him. Yes, he was in the vet’s some of those nights/days. An excuse. Yes, I was in the midst of a fight with my mom and that’s why I really didn’t want to go to the house. An excuse. Yes, we kept getting ‘good news’ that he was getting better after every time back from the vets and thought all would then go back to normal. An excuse.
I deal with things a lot with words. I talk too manically fast and scattered to make much sense sometimes, but writing I am able to be more concise, get to at least some of my points, and express a bit better what I’m thinking or feeling. Is a blog the best platform for this, I don’t know, but I tend to write about enough other things on here (farts, gurgly guts on runs, random tangents) that I needed to pay tribute to my little guy.
Kikko, I’m sorry. I hope you know that I love you, always have, I never failed to notice that you never forgot who I was or thought I was a stranger if months and months went by and you never saw me. Your departure hit me hard; this sounds horrible and I hope PETA doesn’t come after me for saying it, but your loss I think hurts more than if my cat died…we aren’t supposed to admit favorites between pets I suppose.
But I will remember the good times; picking you out as a pup, posing with you for our Christmas card, taking you on that one awful walk you reeaaaallly wanted to stop so you just laid down on the pavement but the momentum of the other two dogs still dashing forward made you sort of drag along before everyone stopped, herding you into the crate at night, and hearing your not-so-soft snoring.
It’s easy to take people for granted, that they will always be there. Your rocking chair may have stopped but it will forever still be sitting out on the porch right where you left it.
<3 you Kikko.
 
There once was a little runner out for some mischief one night. She waited in the dark until the last three workerbees at the running store locked up and left before she crept out of the shadows. She tiptoed to the back door of the shop and carefully worked the doorknob.
Success!! âBwahahaâŚthat little tape on the doorthingy she learned back at running camp years ago still worked! So much for trespassing staying current with the latest decade.â
A runner getting into some mischief!
Inside, there were odd shadows cast on the walls; she could make out the ones that looked like prison bars, but she knew they were just the racks and racks of clothes. All the shadows were gone though when she flipped on the lights and headed over to the shoe racks to get down to business.
âAlright, gotta get a new pair of shoes,â she thought. She picked up the first one, âWhoa, way too heavy for this girlâŚthis shoe is a clunker, Iâd sound like a Clydesdale tromping down the street!â She laughed inside and put that Beast back on the wall.
The next one she picked up was much lighter, âI wish I could run in these Pegasus ones but alas Iâm too much of a pronater.â With a little sigh of remiss she put the shoe back.
âAha!â she finally delighted, âthese are perfect! Iâve been waiting for them to finally bring back the Structure Triax of many years past, before they did all those wonky changes, and hereâs a pair!â She nearly squealed but didnât want to make too much noise; instead she grinned and slipped on the shoes.
âWatches, watches, watches,â she hummed as she did a few lunge walks over to the watch case. Opening the door she picked up the first one she saw, âMy word, this thing would barely fit on my bicep, and look how many thing-a-ma-jiggys there are on here! GPS, current pace, overall pace, projected pace, calories burned, heart rate, target heart rate zoneâŚsheesh, talk about information overload.â She shook her head and put it back in the case.
âThis one looks like fun!â the next watch she pulled out was in fact just that, âBut, Iâd probably get some odd looks wearing a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles watch.â She put that one back in the case as well.
âThis one should do me just fine,â she picked up the third watch and put it on her wrist. âNot too big, gives me time and distance, thatâs all I really need to know, perfect!â
She did a quick dash over to the racks of clothing, âWell, I will treat myself to one new outfit as well, why not?â She picked up a brightly colored article and stuck her tongue out, âI will never be caught dead in one of these running skirts, I donât care what everyone else thinks about them.â She put the pink, frilly skirt back on the rack; actually she buried it in the back.
âThis thing looks like a tent!â she exclaimed in her head at the second piece she picked up. Indeed the shirt was an XXXXL, âHey, you gotta give the runner donning one of these some credit though, power to you, Sumoman!â Back on the rack the mondo shirt went.
âI love this color!â was the first thought that came to her mind when she picked up the lime green tank. âMy size, and oooh, here we have some Tempo shorts to match.â She scooped up the set and had just wriggled into them when a noise made her stop.
âHoly crap!â she looked at the front door and could see that the three workerbees had returned to the store.
Afraid sheâd get caught, she flicked off the lights and relied on that one half of a fast twitch muscle fiber she had in her body and high tailed it towards the back door. The last thing she saw as she slipped out the back was one of those fuel belts with eight fuel holsters and four water bottles attached; the sight of this gave her one last grin as she recalled the runner she had seen just the other dear donning just such an accessory. There were so many things on that guyâs belt it was a wonder his shorts didnât fall down.
Once out the door she tore off running down the street. As she disappeared off in the distance the three workerbees had made it out behind the store in hopes of catching her, but to no avail. All they could make out of her disappearing silhouette was a quick lime green flash as she passed under one of the streetlamps. The lime green flint got smaller and briefer and finally vanished.
***Disclaimer: The Arty Runnerchick does not condone shoplifting; this was a tale purely for childish entertainment.
Lane 1 was the baby of the family. Her siblings liked to remind her of this fact as often as possible, mostly because they were jealous. The story goes that when she was paved, Papa Grand Stand put a little something special into her mix. It was a golden spike that he had carried with him and saved special for his baby girl.
Whether or not this was in fact true didnât really matter to her siblings, they didnât like it one bit and Lane 2 especially. Of course we all love our siblings, but if love had a color for how Lane 2 felt towards Lane 1 it was puke green laced with envy-lime.
The reason for this jealousy isnât fully unfounded, and who could blame them? Everyone loved Lane 1, everyone fought for her, elbowed, shoved, and dug in right up close to her rail. PRâs, heck even World Records, had come down to the wire as the athletes leaned for the tape across her physique. Lane 1 was holy ground.
Sure, one could argue that plenty of action occurred in Lane 2, even 3 or 4 on plenty occasions, but letâs be honest, nothing compares to Lane 1. I think the fact that Lane 2 rightly felt that they deserved just as much attention as its white line sharing sibling only made things worse, âDid you see that lean? Ya, well that just won themselves the Gold Medal, and do you know where that lean was? Ummm, hello?! It was right up on me! But does anyone care, no, itâs all about my snotty sister!â
Youâd think Lanes 8 and 9 would be most bitter, but I think it was more just they had given up completely. They accepted long ago that they were forever and always the ugly stepsisters reserved for strides and even so low as to be used for additional warm-up area for runners prepping for their race to be run after the one currently in progress. Every now and again they got some attention, should a miscalculating hurdler go down and warrant some âooohâsâ and âahhhâsâ from the crowd, but not much else.
Lanes 4 through 7 played the typical middle children roles of the family. Lane 7 had adopted the second-mother role and made sure that all the lanes kept themselves neat and tidy and presentable come race days. This nagging usually was greeted with the typical grunts and groans, but the sibling lanes always followed orders, they too always wanted to look their best for the races. Well, except for that one time Lane 2 rebelled, refused to take care of a little wear and tear near the 200 meter mark and let it fester until it was an unsightly pothole. The subsequent repaving was her punishment and trust me she learned her lessonâŚno one likes a pot-holey track and if she thought she didnât get enough love before, well, the scorn of a pothole made her furious.
Lane 6 was the comic relief of the bunch and liked to play commentator for the races, âOuch, tough race for that guy, he shouldnât have been wolfing down those chili cheese fries earlier. I hope he learned his lesson.â Lane 5 was sort of that ghost of the family, people sort of forgot she was even really there at times. This didnât really bother her, this fading into the background, she was able to pick up some especially tantalizing tidbits and if Lane 5 were to talk more, would she ever have some whopping secrets to divulge. She stored these up like a squirrel collecting acorns, she documented these in a diary that one day she planned to publish, make millions, and rub in the faces of all her sister lanes.
Lane 4 was the prankster; usually, if you look real close, if a runner goes down in a big pack you can see it had something to do with Lane 4. Mamma Grand Stand tried to keep her in order, but to no avail. Sheâd constantly threaten to have her unruly daughter stripped off and resurfaced into the triple jump or shot-put areas, but Lane 4 knew all talk was pretty much an empty threat.
So Lane 1 shone. She glistened and shined, she glinted in the scorching heat, the beads of perspiration fell to her sacred ground from the harriers giving all they had and more. She elongated the shadows of the 10k racers dueling on as the evening sun set. She splashed in the downpours as the sprintersâ rapid fire legs raised in wild, explosive arcs across her formation.
She highlighted these runnersâ accomplishments, swelled with pride as they mounted the podium on still wobbly legs. She cheered loudest of all because she truly felt each footstep, she had a kinship with each and every one of them. A part of her heart also ached for the ones that shed tears in addition to sweat.
Maybe thatâs what set Lane 1 apart from all of her sisters, that she had a heart. Perhaps there really was truth behind that golden spike legend, and it granted her the ability to feel. To feel and know that to everyone that lined up on her sacred ground it was more than just a race, more than just laps around a track.
Hey there friends!! I appreciate that you guys havenât abandoned me while Iâm totally lame-o and not being able to comment as much as I want/need to, they say those who donât leave you during your snotty/poopy pants moments are the keepers!! đ
And do know that this whole situation is just plain not gonna fly for this sista so Iâm working on it. Back on track here, letâs see, so I really appreciate that feedback I got on the whole training log and the motivational quotes. I do think that for those who use their blog as their training log that is a nice little double-whammy punch, and I think that whatever keeps you accountable is awesome!
In doing this whole thing, (side note, this project has been taking up most of my time for the past days, but I canât really complain about spending my time surrounded by all things running can I?!?!) I realized that one of the most fun things to do is to go back and reread my old logs. I donât keep a diary (I have tried many times, but after about a day or two the days become sporadic and drop off into Never Never Land) but a training log Iâve been consistent with for years.
Even when I was a gimpy bum and all I could do was the arm-bike Krankcycle, I still wrote it down. Partly out of habit, but also because I still think that documenting stuff is useful, I did have a ton of rehab shiznit. But every now and again I stumble upon my old log books and I get sucked into reading the days. I laugh, because some workouts or races I remember so vividly, that even though there are no pictures I can see it in my mind.
Oldie....Photo Credit Bill Leung
I donât keep photo albums and I donât scrapbook. Mostly because I really suck at remembering to take my camera wherever I go! But I can write about running/working out all day. The entries arenât really much more than a line or two, unless it was an AWESOME run/workout for whatever reason, but those two lines are usually enough to document the day, stamp that memory.
I have some really funny moments, a few that still give me that little rush and happy dance feeling, some really sucky ones, and a few that make me cringe still to this day. (TMI warningâŚya, altitude also does a number on my gurgly guts, I have a track workout that seriously the recovery was dashes to the bushes on the side.)
So when I find those old suckers itâs my little walk down memory lane.
Possible Cover Mock-up
Jolting back to the here and now, Iâm working on a cover for this sucker, and what the heck Iâll ask for some feedback. This one is for obviously Granite Bay High School, but Iâm doing others for different teams/groups, and so that portion will be different.
Actually, because Iâve spent so much time on these, and there really are a lot of articles, tips, quotes, trivia, art, etc. that anyone who is getting into running or starting out might enjoy and benefit from, Iâm thinking of offering them up here. If you, or anyone you know, (running teams, groups, and the like), might be interested in purchasing one, drop me a line or leave a comment and we can chit chat. đ
Other than that, gosh Iâm boring today, so Iâll end with a little cartoon. This one, the story is that my Dad makes this soup called Juk. Does anyone know what that is? I think itâs some kind of either Chinese or Hawaiian soup dish, but he seriously loves this stuff to no end. I donât like it, but thatâs me. But the thing is that to make it u need a turkey carcass, itâs gross but he always asks people for theirs after Thanksgiving. So thatâs the story behind this oneâŚoh, and my dadâs name isâŚduh, Joby. đ
1) What are some foods that a person in your family is âknownâ for?
2) How do you âwalk down memory laneâ if you do it? Photo albums, home movies, diaries, etcâŚheck, even I see people on Facebook doing it with albums on there!
3) How do you know a friend is a keeper?
Itâs totally true, itâs the people who are there with the sh** starts to fly!
4) Would love some constructive crit over the coverâŚtear it to shreds peeps! đ
*****Here is the ending to our fine fairy tale, but in case you need to be caught up, check out Part I and Part II, there are also some pictures of our lovely ladies that even if you’ve seen already are still worth a second glance at…unless of course you’re some pervy old man. đ
******
Cait was about to go on and list the rest of the array of flavors when suddenly from the top of the peanut butter flavored yogurt serving vat sprang up a person!
âWhat is theâŚ?!â Vanessa couldnât even finish her thought on that one.
âHey there, Julie!â Cait nonchalantly greeted the woman licking peanut butter fro-yo off herâŚwell, everywhere. Apparently this was just business as usual at Yogurtopia.
âThanks for letting me take a dip, I think Iâve just about satisfied my craving,â Peanut Butter Fingers Julie replied, a big smile on her face. Amazingly her hair had somehow managed to avoid getting fro-yo-fied and fell in loose waves around her shoulders; the runners also noticed that PB Julie certainly had some wicked fashion sense.
âIâve gotta check out what kind of shoes that girlâs wearing,â Katy muttered under her breath, for only a split second distracted from the Biebs, but just as fast turned her attention right back to him.
âI have the peanut butter chips and chocolate chips on hand if youâd like me to toss a few in?â Cait continued addressing Julie.
âI think Iâm good, for now,â Julie had emerged and worked her way to the counter and group of runners. âHi, Iâm Julie, nice to meet you all!â
âHey,â SkinnyRunner was the first to speak, âI like your dress.â
âThanks a bunch,â Julie replied and then from out of the chocolate fro-yo vat a dog suddenly popped up, leaped out of the vat and in a second was at Julieâs side licking the sweet treat from the tip of itâs nose. âAnd this is Sadie! I promised her a walk, so I’ve got to get going, but itâs been great meeting you all!â Julie smiled and with that the pair walked out of Yougurtopia.
âSheâs a regular,â Cait turned back to the runners. âDonât worry, we take care of our vats so that you can always take a hop into them if your bowls just arenât quite big enough. Feel free to let me know if any of you would like jump in.â
âYa I would, but I wouldnât be so hip on all those freaking calories,â SkinnyRunner said what all of them were thinking.
âOh, donât even worry about any of that, all the calories in everything here have been sucked out. Actually, this stuff is all Leanne Rimes has been eating lately,â Cait answered back.
âWhere do all the calories go?â Julia asked the obvious.
âWell, it varies,â Cait explained, âwe have a calorie shunt that sucks them out, but they do have to go somewhere so we pick a âworthyâ person to donate them too. Right now weâve managed to wrangle up BentleyâŚâ
âTHE Bentley from The Bachelorette?!â Margs shouted in most apparent glee. Actually, all of the women smiled at that and even Riley barked in approval.
âThe one and only,â Cait smiled back. âWe have our guests nominate people they feel are worthy calorie recipients and then everyone votes on them. Over there behind the bus we have the ballots, so be sure to cast your votes for the next candidate on your way out.â
âSo can I board the mix-in bus now?â Hungry Runner Girl asked, unable to wait a moment longerâŚmix-inâs were of course her favorite.
âYou got it! Load those bowls up and let me know if there is anything else I can do for you. The bus really has anything in the world you can imagine, so pop over to the spigots, fill up on the fro-yo and get to scooping!â Cait could barely finish before all runners were off in fro-yo fueled mayhem.
By the time they were done the yogurt spigots had been through a beating, the mix-in bus abused, and everything inside Yogurtopia was bathed in excitement. âI can tell you thatâs the best bus Iâve even been on, and thatâs saying a lot, Iâve accompanied students on plenty of field trips,â Hungry Runner Girl professed as they all collected around one of the tables.
âSo you finally decided to join us?â Christina asked as Katy took a seat to her right.
âWell, he said something about Selena not being all too thrilled having to finish up her fro-yo with me sitting on her boyfriendâs lap,â Katy replied with more than a hint of disappointment in her voice. âThey also had to go because heâs got a concert to get ready forâŚbut look who scored ticketsâŚthis girl!!â
âDo you guys mind if I take a seat?â from behind the runners a sweet voice rang. âMy name is Emma, I hope itâs okay, but since I take it you guys are big running fans, Iâd love to meet you.â
âBut of course!â Vanessa warmly greeted, some of that Southern Georgia charm obviously rubbing off on her.
âThanks,â Emma smiled and took a seat. âIs this your guysâ first time to Yogurtopia? Itâs mine, I live in another kingdom but Iâm seriously considering on moving! This place is like heaven!â
âYa it is,â Margs agreed between bites.
âIâm glad itâs all you could imagine,â Christina replied with a shy grin on her face, âitâs what I dreamed up, and Iâm happy you like The Athletarian Kingdom so much.â
âWait, are you the princess?â Emma exclaimed.
âYa she is!â Katy touted.
âI also hear youâve got an obsession with oats, is that true?â Emmaâs excited raised up another couple of notches if that was possible.
âOh, Oatmania, I went there yesterday for breakfast!â Christina returned and then continued, âand lunchâŚand maybe a snack too.â She finished with a laugh.
âIâm obsessed with my oats too!â Emma shouted before raising a shovel-sized-spoon to her lips. After a lick she went on, âThereâs no better way to refuel after putting Betty through a beatingâŚâ
âBetty through a beating?â SkinnyRunner asked a little alarmed.
âOh, Betty,â Emma laughed, âthatâs the name of my treadmill, sorry, I should have clarified that one!â
âGotcha,â SkinnyRunner said before getting up to visit the mix-in bus again.
âThe only day I donât eat oats for breakfast is on Sundays when I have pancakes. But even then I usually work a serving or two, or three in during the rest of the day,â explained Emma.
And so, our band of runners had made it to Yogurtopia and we leave them to polish off whatever they can fit into their bellies. And after SkinnyRunnerâs report of 16.83 miles that certainly calls for plenty of fro-yo and mix-ins! Weâll leave them to their treats, but as we do we will catch one last glimpse of each fabulous character in our story.
Margs laughing just a wee bit maliciously as she stands in front of the now morbidly, overly-obese Bentley tied to a pole. As she spoons more fro-yo into her mouth she watches his ever-expanding waistline get bigger and bigger.
SkinnyRunner, upon her trip to the mix-in bus, met up with Leanne where she told her that if there was ever someone who should be sporting a SkinnyRunner shirt it would be her waifish self. Leanne agreed, forked over the dough, and joined the masses of other runners donning said shirts.
Julia made her way to the chocolate spigot where Riley had been furiously licking since theyâd gotten there. She pet the little guy on the head and sat down next to him to eat the rest of her fro-yo. She pulled out her phone and between bites decided this place was just too good of a place for her sister, Jenn, to miss out on. Never fear, Jenn would come running right away and be there shortly.
Katy caught up on eating the amount of fro-yo that she missed out on thanks to her Bieber distraction, doing so only while staring fixidly at the tickets in front of her. A bit of fro-yo happened to land unnoticed on her shirt but it hardly broke her gaze; still, she looked as fashionably glamorous as always. Later, when she did realize the drop she thought to herself that maybe it would then give her the perfect excuse to just ask Justin for his shirt.
Vanessaâs stove woes had long ago drifted from her mind. She relished every spoonful of fro-yo and decided that her house hadnât yet been perfect, but she knew exactly how to take care of that. Sheâd merely ask Cait for an extra fro-yo spigot and some mix-in binsâŚshe had a spare room that had yet to be furnished, and who really needed another guest bedroom?
Hungry Runner Girl had been able to put away the most mix-inâs, even making up a new ideal ratio of mix-inâs to fro-yo in her head. This would be posted later on her blog as well as the new record number of Swedish Fish consumed. Her husband Billy would be proud, the doctors just as proud that she was able to someone manage to avoid a sugar induced coma. No doubt it was due to years of building up a tolerance.
Christina of course welcomed the newest member to her Kingdom. She thought back fondly of DreamâŚerr, Dean at the palace and decided that perhaps after she got back they would go to the park. No one was ever too old to enjoy a swing on the swings! Maybe sheâd challenge him to a push-up contest, sheâd been getting crazy strong these days and been busting them out like a champ.
Emma was just as excited to join The Athletarain Kingdom and was already making plans to have Betty shipped out ASAP. She made Christina promise to take her to Oatsmania first thing in the morning, of course she also made her promise the two would go on a run together. Come Sunday Emma would cook everyone chocolate chip pancakesâŚdonât worry, theyâd be vegan. đ
Peanut Butter Fingers Julie had taken Sadie on that nice, long walk. They actually made their way to the lake and noticed the oven halfway in and out of the water. Julie smiled as it seemed that some baby swans had decided to make a jungle gym out of the evil appliance. Julie also grinned because the sight of the oven suddenly inspired her with the perfect dinner recipe sheâd fix that night. Said dinner would of course be written up, photographed, and documented so all could enjoy. Sadie barked.
Cait, well, Cait was just happy she could spend yet another day in Yogurtpia. She always loved seeing who would stop by. Today was especially nice though, and she hoped all of these fine ladies would stop by again soon.
Thank you for getting your fill at the one and only Yogurtopia.
When we last left our band of runners, they numbered in sixâŚwell six humatoids and one furry friend! They were well on their way to making it to Yogurtopia and already were salivating over thoughts of choosing their mix-ins.
âTheyâll have Swedish Fish there, wonât they?â Hungry Runner Girl asked, just a hint of concern in her voice.
âOf course they will! This is my dream kingdom and being as such I wouldnât imagine Yogurtopia any other wayâŚdonât you worry!â Christina assured her sugar-crazed friend. âTheyâve got anything you can imagine: fruits, all things chocolate, nuts if you please, peppermints for your pleasure, cereal for crunch, granolaâŚwell, you get the picture,â she finished off with a laugh.
âAwesome! Canât wait to load that puppy up, but Iâll definitely be passing on the Whoppers,â quipped Hungry Runner Girl.
âHey, do you mind if we stop at the lake to let Riley get a drink?â asked Julia as they neared glistening blue waters. By this point they had ventured out of the urbanscape of Athletarian Kingdom and were getting far into the country.
âWhat in the jank is going on over there?â SkinnyRunner exclaimed. All the harriers turned towards the direction she was pointing and low and behold there was a petite woman hucking what seemed to be an oven into the lake.
The runners all dashed towards the woman and as they neared they could make out what she was saying, âYou darn thing, I waited ALL this time to get this house perfect, you included, and this is how you repay me?! Iâm done with you!â
âWhatâs going on over here?â asked Katy.
âOh,â this mighty pretty woman replied startled, âIâm so sorry, I didnât know anyone else was here. My nameâs Vanessa, and this stove has been working my last nerve! Itâs suddenly given out and Iâve waited so long, wanted my new house to be perfect, and I love cookingâŚandâŚandâŚâ
âItâs okay,â Katy moved to embrace the obviously shaken Vanessa, âstoves can suck it. But donât waste any more time with it, weâre off in search of a much cooler treat. Weâre going to Yogurtopia, you in?â
âThat would be amazing!â Vanessa instantly replied, a smile working its way to her face, âThank you so much!â And they were off, with another member in tow and the dilapidated oven disappearing in the distance. Well, after Riley was able to get his drink that is.
âAt flipping LAST!â Margs shouted as finally the glorious sight of Yogurtopia appeared before them.
âYup, another 16.84 miles in for the day. Rolling hills, no music,â SkinnyRunner succinctly summed up the run.
âEpic,â was the only word Christina needed to say and a with that, there was a collective nodding of heads from everyone elseâŚeven the pooch.
Hungry Runner Girl was the first to break the trance, the rumble in her stomach broke the silence and she lunged for the door. The second that it opened all seven of them were bathed with the cool breeze of euphoric yogurt bliss. From there it was a stampede of feet, paws, and Garmins; they dashed to the counter and were greeted with a chipper, âHey there, welcome to Yogurtopia, my name is Cait, what can we get you guys today?â Caitâs smile was way too big for her face and she spoke so fast it sounded like a chipmunk on crack, but she was genuinely friendly and they forgave her.
âHoly smokes, look at this place,â Margs couldnât help but say in utter awe. There were spigots lining the walls and there wasnât just a toppings bar but a topping bus. The bus lined the entire left side of the place, with offerings in trough sized containers under each windowâŚthe expanse of Yogurtopia was indescribable. But to these runners it was akin to a teenage boyâs fantasies of the Playboy Mansion.
âHoly sh**, itâs the freakin Biebs!â Katy screamed at a decibel level that probably only Rileyâs ears could pick up. She full on rocketed towards the mini-mogul with perfect hair and nearly toppled him over.
âUmm, sheâll be getting her yogurt after she collects herself a bit,â Christina laughed.
âThatâs fine,â Cait continued from behind the counter, âhere at Yogurtopia youâre free to do, eat, and be as you please. How it works is Iâll give you these bowls,â she slid across the counter not bowls, but rather containers that looked like buckets with bright pink spoons that could double as shovels. âActually, we also offer bowls that come with waffle cones inside if you please, some are dipped in chocolate and have sprinkles or nuts on them. So let me know if youâd like any of those.â
The group was in stunned silence and could only nod âyesâ as their answer as ginormous waffle cones were slid into the bowls. âAlright well, from there itâs pretty self explanatory. The spigots on this side dish out the yogurt, we have really every flavor you could imagine: chocolate, vanilla, choc-vanilla swirl, strawberry, mint, berry bliss, peanut butterâŚâ
DUM-DUM-DUM….come back next time for Part III!! And more pix of our new favorite fairy tale characters! đ