Songs of Experience

I just finished James Frey’s bestselling book on addiction and rehab (A Million Little Pieces) and though no one asked me for a review, I’m going to write one. This book was all the rage (appropriate word, since Frey was jacked up on fury throughout the 430 pages) amongst my female friends. Oprah devoted an entire show to the book. People said they couldn’t put it down, were hooked, devoured it, etc. For most of the read, I had zero sympathy for feckless James. He rejected the 12 steps of AA, and bitterly refused to accept the “higher power”/God that anonymous alcoholics swear by. It was hard for me to side with someone who so diametrically opposes what I believe – that the purpose of life – and love – is to wholly surrender to something greater than ourselves. All else is narcissistic and masterbatory. Frey never really grew up in the course of the book; he simply turned his fury on the substances he’d abused, rather than on himself. To grow, you must pass through rage to forgiveness and peace. You don’t just dwell with it forever. Frey claims you just “hold on” to stay sober … like some baby holding his breath until he gets what he wants.
I hope he grows up before his next book (now in bookstores, My Friend Leonard).

“And we are put on earth a little space that we may learn to bear the beams of love.”
-Wm. Blake

The Snow Man
by, Wallace Stevens

One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

Something else I do only when I need help getting out the door to run is use my husband’s ipod. I know, I know, this is tantamount to banishment for life in some running circles, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. I must admit it’s pretty cool to set off into the woods with headphones and a music box, fully loaded with country music, and surf around … listening to a little Martina McBride, some George Jones, a smattering of Hank Williams, Jr. (I love the fiddle on Ramblin’ Man) and a whole lot of Garth Brooks. He tells a great story with his voice. Much is lost if you only read the lyrics, but here are the words to Wolves that seem to fit my winter mood perfectly:

January’s always bitter
But Lord, this one beats all
The wind ain’t quit for weeks now
And the drifts are ten feet tall
I been all night drivin’ hefers
Closer in to lower ground
Then I spent the mornin’ thinkin’
‘Bout the ones the wolves pulled down.

Charlie Barton and his family
Stopped today to say goodbye
He said the bank was takin’ over
The last few years were just too dry
And I promised that I’d visit
When they found a place in town
Then I spent a long time thinkin’
‘Bout the ones the wolves pull down.

Lord, please shine a light of hope
On those of us who fall behind
And when we stumble in the snow
Could you help us up while there’s still time.

Well, I don’t mean to be complainin’ Lord
You’ve always seen me through
And I know you got your reasons
For each and every thing you do
But tonight outside my window
There’s a lonesome, mournful sound
And I just can’t keep from thinkin’
‘Bout the ones the wolves pull down.

Oh Lord, keep me from bein’
The one the wolves pull down

postscript: I hightly recommend an I-tunes purchase of this song (from the album called “No Fences”) if you want the full effect.

Another sure-fire way to cure the running blues is to find a brand new race! Remember as a kid how you rushed to be the first one out the morning after a snowstorm? You ran around the house finding your hat, scarf, mittens and leggings (do they even make “leggings” anymore?). My mom made us wear plastic bread-bags over our socks before we put our boots on. Often she had to empty the bread onto the counter to get enough bags for all us kids… which made for pretty crumby socks. After all the noise and busy-ness of snow-suiting up, it was such a shock to go outside into absolute silence – like pasing through the wardrobe into Narnia. It * was * so * q u i e t *.

You’d take that first step, c-runch, through the top layer of icy-ish snow and then feel the soft powder underneath. You knew instantly whether the snow was “good packing snow” or not. Boot-step again, c-runch. They are the only two footprints in the entire universe! Boot-step boot-step boot-step boot-step, now you’re making a path … the first one in your yard … and on across to the open field where you find the other early-morning kids in your neighborhood. The surface is no longer pristine – you can see muddy, bald spots where the giant snowballs (for snowmen) have pulled up even the grass. But that’s okay, you’re with your kind now …

Finding a new race in your neighborhood is like meeting your own kind in that open field. On Janurary 14th, I am heading over to Little River Park in Durham, NC for the first annual Little River Trail Run, hosted by my running buddies (The Trailheads). The motto for this race is “Don’t hibernate; celebrate!” and I, for one, am going to add my first-race footprint to the celebration. Neighbors, please join me. I heard it might even snow that day!

I am slowly coming out of the running doldrums … thanks to some not-so-chatty runs with one of my Janes running mates. Last week we ran a trail that used to be called “Airplane” (because of an old, rusty bi-plane that was downed near the trail) and I was heartened to learn that my training partner was feeling totally unmotivated too!

“What’s your next goal?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
“Me either.”
We run for a bit in pleasant silence … up and down the single track … following a trail that only a few Chapel Hillians know exists. This fall when I ran there with my seejanerunners I headed out 10 minutes before the group carrying two zip-lock bags of flour to drop marker-dollops along the way. I was like Hansel or Gretyl leaving bread crumbs.

This winter I have felt a lot more like the wicked witch than a child in the woods.

“I can’t even bring myself to buy the teacher gifts this year,” I confess.
“Don’t expect any of those home-made cookies from me,” she commiserates.

More silence.
Crunchcrunchcrunch. Step up. Log. Slippery. Ice.
“Careful,” I say.
“Thanks.”
Crunchcrunch.

“How’s Tim?”
“Oh. You know. Its that time of year.”
“Yeah.”

Crunch.
“Just a sec.”
Stop. Re-tie shoe. Do I have to pee?
No.
Carry on.
hinh-huh-hinh-huh-hinh-huh.
Inhale. Exhale.

“How’s your mom?”
“The same.”
“Coming for Christmas?”
“Nope.”

Crunchcrunchcrunch.
More logs, some roots, a rock. Pop. Ankle.
“Fuck!”
“Are you okay?”
“I think so. Yeah. Stupid rock.”

hinh-huh-hinh-huh-hinh-huh
“Out-and-back or loop?”
“Whatever.”

Crunchcrunchcrunch.
Crunch. Pause.
“I don’t feel like going up any more.”
“Okay.”
We turn around. Down.
Head back to our cars and our lives off the trail.

Over the same hills. Over the same rocks and roots.
Crunchcrunchcrunch.
Inhale.
Exhale.

In the clearing I point, “Check out that winter sky.”
“Wow. Beautiful.”

I find my keys, behind the driver’s side wheel.
“Thanks for the run. I needed that.”
“Me too.”

Since I am on the subject of children’s toys and children’s books, I thought I’d share with you a poem I wrote that was inspired by a story I heard about a non-conforming mouse. It’s called Edozien:

Edozien Grey, known simply as E.,
was a miniature mouse, just two inches three.
He lived in an alley, behind some peach crates
with twelve of his friends he called his mouse-mates.

In summer and autumn his mates searched the street
for niblets and crumblets and scraps of nut-meat.
Whatever they found went half in their bellies
and half into storage (except for fruit jellies
which are much too delicious to save for the cold).
Besides, reasoned they, all jams turn to mold
if left unattended, uneaten, untasted.
A good mouse should never let good food be wasted.

While all of his brothers were sniffing for stock,
Edozien chose to watch from a rock.
The head mouse said, “E., what’s with you? Hey, bub!
Come down off that rock and find us some grub!
Why aren’t you helping? Why don’t you pitch in?
Or haven’t you heard that sloth is a sin?”

Edozien answered, “Respectfully, Sir,
it’s not that I’m lazy; I’m saving azure
and purple and yellow and red, green, and black
and all other colors in winter we’ll lack.
I saved summer sunshine and starlight in June
and somehow I’ve managed to find half a moon.”

“Surely you’re joking. A madman!” they cried.
By now all the dozen were at the rock’s side.
“What else are you saving?” one doubter protested.
“He’s lying. He’s stalling. He should be arrested!”

Edozien offered, quite calm and aloof,
“Just look in my bags if you need some proof.
Behind the third slat of the second peach crate
you’ll find all my savings. Go fetch them now, mate.”

The skeptic dashed off to prove his friend wrong …
but, instead found four bags – three short and one long.
“The long one’s for notes, you know like High-C
whose tails, in staccato, need more space to breathe.”

At this last pronouncement E.’s friends were distressed.
“Maybe old E.’s in need of a rest,”
one kindly mouse whispered, preceiving E.’s pain.

“Please open my bags; they’ll prove that I’m same.”
Edozien argued, “You’ve got to believe!
I am not a liar. No trick’s up my sleeve.”

Sour four of E.’s mates untied his four bags
(cleverly made from used twine and old rags).
And inside they found such brilliance that they
had to cover their mouse eyes and mouse ears half-way.

Edozien smiled then re-closed his store.
“I’ll save this for when we may need it more.”

So, dead in the middle of winter’s dark nights
E. shared his collection of colors and lights
and musical magic created from sounds
he’d saved while the others were searching the grounds
for food and provisions of bodily health.
Edoizien knew that God’s greatest wealth
was got through the senses and not through the belly
except in the case of apricot jelly.

I am about to face my fears, to brave the elements, to enter the maelstrom, to take a deep breath and plunge … no, not into some freezing lake like the polar bear club crazies … but into the – gulp, eek! – shopping mall.
I wish I could resist the holiday hype and spending frenzy, but I have three daughters who expect Santa to fill the house with stuff on Christmas morning. So, off we go to charge charge charge away any extra $ that the high gas prices didn’t swipe. One of these days I will be strong enough to boycott it all. We already have 4 American Girl dolls in the house; who needs a 5th? My four year-old does, that’s who. Luckily, my mother-in-law is Santa’s helper for this pricey surprise. 100 bucks for a doll?

No, 100 dollars for a memory. Well spent. Thank you, Grandma!

I am taking my digital and will post a photo of my once-a-year (only) trip to the “Mall”strom.
(more…)

As I was putting off yet another run this December morning (because its just too cozy in my house by the woodstove), I got to wondering where the word “doldrums” originated. My first thought was that it came from the kids’ book The Phantom Tollbooth (you know how in the back of the book there’s a map with “the mountains of ignorance” and “the forest of sight” with the “point of view” at the top?). Well, sure enough there is a maze near the point of view called “The Doldrums.” The book is sitting right here by my keyboard.
Anyway, my wikipedia search informed me that The Phantom Tollbooth is NOT the source of the word “doldrums:”

“The doldrums are a belt of very still air near the equator that stalled sailing ships. The doldrums are located between 5 degrees north and 5 degrees south of the equator. The doldrums are also known as the Inter-tropical Convergence Zone (or ITCZ).
Early sailors named this belt of calm the doldrums because of the low spirits they found themselves in after days of no wind. To find oneself becalmed in this region could mean death in the era when wind was the only motive force available, and it was certainly a depressing experience to be isolated, in the middle of the ocean in a hot muggy climate.”

I am in a state of winter running doldrums. During this time of year there is no “motive force available” to get my tail out the door. To snap out of it, I must use a few tricks:

1.) collect all of my runner gear (hat and gloves included) and throw them in the dryer – on high – for a few minutes before I get dressed to run outside. This fools me into thinking, “Hey, its not so cold out there. I’ll be fine.”
2.) make running dates so I can’t skip my run (and because, lets’ face it, misery does love company when its below freezing).
3.) pick places to run where times (usually slow, for me, in the cold) don’t matter … and have completion goals only.
4.) keep your neck warm (the same bandanas I use on my head all year, now wrap around my neck).
5.) if you have to run at night – because it gets freakin’ dark at 5:18pm – try running straight down the middle of the fairways at your local golf-course. The moon is usually enough to light your way (and I guarantee it, there will be no golfers to chase you off; its too cold for them!).
6.) immediately strip down after a run and put on warm clothes … starting with a layer of silk long-underwear.
7.) treat yourself to a hot cappuccino afterward (go ahead and blow the 3 bucks – you earned it!).
8.) rinse and repeat.

(more…)

Comment »
“For the local high school team, some of the big meets will prompt the girls to get together to tie dye a t-shirt and then decorate it. Takes some time to prepare but the tie dye look unifies the team and the decorations allow for the personalization. A nice mix for a team with diverse interests/personalities, etc.”

-Comment by Steve Sherlock

Hey Steve,
I think I’m going to steal your great tie-dye idea; thanks!
Your comment has prompted me to post the question to you, readers:
What are some memorable team bonding rituals you participated in?
(Keep it clean, though, my 12 year-old daughter reads this blog!)

I am always searching for original ways to help my teams bond. Back when I was the distance coach at UNC, I once gave all the girls bells to wear on their shoes during their warm-up (they were ridiculously big, because – I told them – they were really tough; they had big bells). Later, when I matured as a coach , I brought beads and hemp to a team meeting (women only; the men always made fun of this). One at a time, we went around the circle and each runner was to string a single bead onto a bracelet after speaking aloud her individual goal. One focused on a time goal, someone else on placing at Conference or Nationals, while another expressed her pure desire to run as hard as she could in every race. After we all shared our individual goals [I was still racing professionally so I, too, revealed my secret "world-class" aspirations in this circle], I passed out another bead … a Carolina Blue bead … and we decided together what our team goal would be that season. The plan was for each of us to obtain discipline and inspiration from these bracelets throughout the season. If at any time you didn’t want to do your morning run, or you were out – ahem – a little too late on a Thursday night, then the bracelet reminded you of your teammates and the promises you made to them (and to yourself). It was a pretty powerful excersise even if the men’s team made fun of it for years afterward. We did win the ACC conference that year – our team goal – with sophomores Karen Godlock and Susanna Matsen going 1-2 … so the bracelets weren’t all that silly.

I no longer coach a team that has a championship to aim for, and most of my Janes are happy to place in their age group in local road races, but we need goals just as much as we did when we were younger (and faster). We also still need to bond. So, this season we worked together to make a seejanerun quilt. Each week a different runner presented a 12 ” X 12 ” (or thereabouts, Christie!) quilt square to the group. They could sew or say anything they wanted during their presentation; the only requirement was that each of us kept in mind the theme of nature (because our goal race was a 10-mile trail run in Virginia). At the end of the season, I set up a quilter’s frame in my livingroom and we had a bonafide, old-fashioned quilting bee to put all the pieces together!! My husband teased, “That’s one big bracelet!”

***
run with Ribbons Undone

She’s a girl
Rising from a shell
Running to spring
It is her time it is her time
Watch her run with ribbons undone

She’s a rose in a lily’s cloak
She can hide her charms
It is her right there will be time
To chase the sun with ribbons undone

She runs like a fire does
Just picking up daises
Comes in for a landing
A pure flash of lightening
Past alice blue blossoms
You follow her laughter
And then she’ll surprise you
Arms filled with lavender

Yes my little pony is growing up fast
She corrects me and says
“You mean a thoroughbred”
A look in her eyes says the battle’s beginning
From school she comes home and cries
I don’t want to grow up Mom at least not tonight

You’re a girl
Rising from a shell
Running through spring
With summer’s hand in reach now
It is your time
It is your time
So just run with ribbons undone
It is your time yes my angel
It is your time
So just run with ribbons undone

Run run darlin’
Ribbons undone

lyrics, by Tori Amos

A comment from Dave Couper:

I’d been meaning to comment on something from your interview with
Tony Waldrop. Your blog entry about the Gallop & Gorge reminded me
about it. You wrote “… the difference between 26:53 and 29:53 is
world’s apart. I really was in another world at that time in my life
… and she, Joan-Nesbit-the-runner, is alien to me now.”

Compare that with what you quote Tony Waldrop as saying:

“So many years have passed since I was an athlete that I no longer
think of myself as that individual, and it’s almost as if it’s
someone else. I’ve put that part of my life behind me.”

In some ways you are saying very similar things:
“alien to me now” … “almost as if it’s someone else”

That was the one part of what Tony Waldrop said that I could identify
with. My last PR happened more than 21 years ago. I’ve continued to
run and race regularly, but I’m not the same person. I feel so
different from that person that I’m embarrassed when someone asks me
about my PRs. I usually try to mention “recent bests” rather than
PRs, because the recent bests are who I am now. When I was much
faster I never thought of myself as fast … because there were
usually plenty of much faster guys. My placing in races now is often
better than it used to be 20-25 years ago. I don’t think it is just
because South Africa has (or had) many more fast runners, I think
that even in the U.S. there were many more people running relatively
fast than there are now.

By the way, I checked the current Cardinals Track Club race database
but it doesn’t go back as far as 1997, and we didn’t move here until
1998 so I won’t have a newspaper clipping of the 1997 Gallop & Gorge
in my pile of running-related clippings, so I can’t help you remember
your time from that year.

Run happy! (There’s a story behind that expression that I may get
around to telling some day.)

Dave

Are the post-Thanksgiving lbs. accumulating on your hips and gut and underarms (jiggle, jiggle)? Well, here’s a tip for you food-minded folk. I have a secret salad recipe that is the perfect training fuel for any training fool. In my serious running days, I consumed this salad for lunch every day for about 12 years. I’ve never related to people who say they run to eat. I eat to run. Sure, I enjoy chocolate and beer and a slathering of butter on my everything bagel, but I do not – never have, never will – count calories or worry about my weight. I learned a long time ago to listen to my body and eat what it craves. Like in high school, when I would drink orange juice with a raw egg blended in every day for lunch. I am guessing I was craving protein and vitamin C. There are times when I am jonesin’ for some filet mignon and merlot, so I assume my hemoglobin (red blood cells) needs a boost. When I was pregnant the first time, I couldn’t get enough of french fries and vanilla milkshakes … so, my body must have been putting on extra fat to carry the baby to term. It’s all pretty basic stuff. Eat what you need to run – and eat well to run well.

Okay, here’s my salad recipe (Runner’s World, beware … I may do a pasta recipe next!):

Start with about 1 cup of cottage cheese (high or lowfat, depending on your preference);
mix in the following:
2 Tbls. raisins
2 Tbls. salted sunflower seeds
1 small granny smith apple, cut up
1/2 banana (the other half was on your morning cereal, I presume), sliced
1/2 cup of pineapple tidbits and the juice poured over the entire salad
optional: chopped dried apricots or dried cranberries, or whatever fruit is in season

over all, pour 1/4 cup cranberry juice and mix thoroughly before eating.

Yum!