Wednesday, October 31, 2007

Running Progress Report

I have kept paper records of my runs since I started four years ago. But in July I added a free computerized version found on Runners' World. Though I am sentimental about my paper versions, I must admit that the computerized version tells me at a glance some statistics not as easily accessible in the paper version.
Year to date progress:
Though I didn't run as well as I had hoped in the Canandaigua Crosswinds 5K, I did run a tempo run tonight at 9:44 pace (nearly 3 miles). Over the summer I've dropped my Gypsy Hill lap times by 1:30. So I'm well on my way to making a sub-10-minute-mile 5K by the end of the year.
I did run a 10-miler, which wasn't even on my year's running goals.
Though I won't quite make my 520 mile year, as I had hoped, I'll be close (If I could do 28.5 mile weeks for the next two months I'd make it, but 20-25 is enough).
It's okay though...I cut my mileage back when I moved here so that I could adapt to the hills. While that cost some mileage, it also made my legs much stronger.
So I accomplished two things -- hills and a ten-miler -- that weren't even on my list, and failed at the mileage goal that was on the list.
I also think I stayed injury free, although my Achille's did get a bit sore when I first started the hills.
All in all, it seems to me that the accomplishments outweigh the failures, and there's still two months left. So I'm already calling it a successful year. And if I do pull off the sub-10-minute mile 5K in November, I'll be ecstatic. (When I shared that statement with a friend tonight, he said, "Just be content with leaving off the first syllable." Ah yes, maintaining a static state isn't such a bad goal either, especially as one reaches the AARP years.
I'm already thinking about goals for next year. I AM now running 20 mile weeks, so I could set a 1000-mile-goal for next year, and probably make it. But instead I think I'll go for 750, or about 15 miles per week. I want to leave some flexibility in the schedule to make room for treasured times spent camping with the granddaughters, perhaps some kayaking and cycling, and, definitely, some hiking.
I am hoping, too, for a half-marathon next year. And I'm thinking about the Virginia Beach Shamrock...or perhaps the Charlottesville half. Anyone want to join me?

Sunday, October 28, 2007

Goshen Pass

Can't you just hear the water swooshing over the rocks? As you can see the leaves are just beginning to turn here in Virginia. These photos are evidence of the serindipity I received today because I accepted a ride home from church from a stranger -- another time when God sent an "angel" and gave me an opportunity to quiet my spirit and center down. (I also got the first ride I can remember in a BMW convertible, though it was too chilly to have the top down today).

Bill and his painted beauty

This is Blackie, a Paint, according to his owner, Bill. Blackie will deliver a colt soon and a two-year old sibling, a brown horse with the same white stockings on her rear legs, frolicked in the pasture at the horse farm. The farm had Appaloosas also.

Virginia Horse Farms -- near Lexington, VA

I hitched a ride from a total stranger today -- and ended up here, the Virginia Horse Farms near Lexington.

Saturday, October 27, 2007

Betsy Bell Park

That hill in the background is Betsy Bell Park -- just a couple miles from my apartment, and the climax of today's 6.3 mile run.

Climbing Betsy

This hiking/biking trail leads to the top of Betsy Bell Park.

Atop Betsy Bell

View from an observation post atop Betsy Bell.

Thursday, October 25, 2007

Running in the Rain

I slogged up the New Street hill about 5:45 last night. A gentleman making his evening transfer from car to home smiled and said, "Wasn't Saturday's ten miler enough?"
Actually it did seem like enough when I forced myself out the door, knowing that I needed to run my crazed emotions into submission. Then as I headed up Points, I realized I wasn't even winded. I smiled as I remembered how just a few months ago I thought I'd never reach the top of New Street without having to walk part way. Yet here I was, still running -- up Points, up Prospect and on to the blessedly flat track. One more mile and I could start intervals. Just as I finished the warm-up, a good steady rain fell.
Remember what worked on Saturday, I opted once again to work on form and not really look at the time. I WAS tired after all, and I HAD just finished a ten-miler followed by a recovery run on Monday. And so I ignored the clock and coached myself...lift your legs, McCracken. Get those heels up. Pump your arms. Bend a little. Line up shoulders and hips. Launch from the balls of your feet. Keep the shoulders relaxed. Concentrate.
The rain came a bit harder. I LOVE running in a steady rain -- not a gully washer, necessarily, but I love running in ion loaded, freshly laundered air.
First 800 - 4:28. About 15 seconds faster than goal pace. I jogged a lap, reset my chronograph and started another interval, watching my form and not the clock. 4:24. Another lap at a jog pace. A quick stop to down some water and then the last interval. Another 4:24.
As I cooled down I thought about lessons learned Saturday and today. My best scores have come, success has come, not when I watched the clock, but when I watched the details under my control -- monitoring where I placed my feet; remembering to keep pumping the arms; and maintaining a hard, but steady breathing rate.
I thought about my life and the frustrations weighing me down as I began the run. "The Lord WILL restore the years the locusts has eaten," the Bible says. I think that's in Job. I've been claiming that promise for years now, sometimes with great faith; but more often in pure desperation. But honestly the Lord is restoring. Just this year alone, I graduated with a B.S. and summa cum laude, no less; I am maintaining (with the help of my friends) my apartment; I am holding a steady full-time job, and I RAN ten miles. Yes, there are times when life seems pure drudgery and times when it seems there is no gain from minding the daily details. Some days, in fact, it seems the effort is purely wasted and the locusts eat the crops no matter how carefully the seeds were planted and nutured. And yet...God WILL restore. God DOES restore.

God IS good. Sometimes we see it; the rest of the time we live by faith.

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

Post Race Visitors

Above Maggie in the kitchen...
In the photo below: There's an open space beside the stove that goes back under the counter. Maggie is investigating the space--probably talking to Eliza who loves to hide back there. It's her "secret place" at Grammie's.
Maggie and Eliza came with their mom and dad, who gave me a ride home from the race. Then AM's childhood friend Stephanie, her husband, Geoffrey, and two and a half month old Michael (below) joined us for lunch.
Photos by Steven David Johnson

One Hill of a Run...the race results

I found the link providing race results. I was 74th out of 82 runners; second in my group (but then there were only two 50-year old female runners!).

If you'd like to check out the link, see below:
http://results.active.com/pages/displayNonGru.jsp?rsID=49334

Sunday, October 21, 2007

One Hill of a Run...the Arrival of the Paparazzi

Just when I wasn't sure I could muster anything close to a hard finish, I heard a familiar voice just over my shoulder, "Paparazzi's here." My son-in-law, a photography professor at EMU and a professional photographer had arrived with his wife and daughters. The top photo he took as he jogged past me (he hadn't just run 10 miles!). He then sprinted past, did a U-turn and ran backwards to get the bottom photo. That was all I needed for a hard finish with a smile on my face!
More photos of the run follow, and the whole story was posted on Saturday. So please keep scrolling down. (Photos by Steven David Johnson)

One Hill of a Run ... Crossing the Finish Line

Ten hilly miles at 1:47:34, according to the computerized time chip reader....race day weather conditions were perfect. Staunton high was 75 - 80 degrees, but the race began at 7:45 a.m., long before the temps reached that point.
The volunteers gathered around the parking lot for the loop around the parking lot were exceptionally wonderful -- hooping, hollering, cheering. One guy, before the last desperate push in this photo, shouted, "Look! she even has a smile on her face." He didn't know about the previous greeting by my "paparazzi" or that I had just spotted my tow-headed granddaughter waiting at the finish line. The only miniature white-blonde at finish line, she was easy to spot. And then I saw her mom and little sister next to her.
How many people finish their first 10-miler at 50 with their own personal photographer, daughter and grandchildren at the finish line waiting to capture the moment?!?
(photo by Steven David Johnson)

One Hill of a Run...post race & trying to breathe again

I took my camelback, not wanting to risk a repeat performance of my last race where a swallow of too-cold water caused an asthma attack just past the two-mile point. Nonetheless I still ended this one, as always, having given it everything I had and in oxygen deficit, struggling to breathe. AM and her family looked a little concerned but, as she said, "You had told me you always end a run this way, so I wasn't too worried." In the above photo I am pulling my inhaler out of the camelback pocket.
(Photo by Steven David Johnson)

One Hill of a Run...celebrating the victory

Eliza (the blonde) was the first person I recognized as I neared the finish line. Here, she and her momma are making sure I'm okay and have my breath back before giving me a hug.
Maggie doesn't care that I am hot and stinky; she just hugs me anyway.
This hug (look hard you'll see Maggie's head and arms wrapped around her Mom's as well as mine) came just after learning I had beat my goal by nearly 13 minutes. I nearly burst into tears! (Photos by Steven David Johnson)

Saturday, October 20, 2007

One Hill of a Run...the rest of the story

In spite of fighting a cold all week and using my inhaler around the clock, I awakened at 6:00 a.m. and, having laid everything out the night before, was dressed, breakfasted (oatmeal with milk and blueberries, with coffee) and out the door by 6:50 a.m -- on a jog/walk to my first 10-mile race, a mile away.
Co-worker and neighbor Susan's door opened just as mine did. She said a quick prayer for me, "God, let her legs be swift, her heart be strong and her lungs ...(I don't remember the rest)" And I was off.
At the gym, and already warmed up, I presented my bib and received a timing chip, which asked somebody showed me how to attach to my shoe. I downed a sports drink and headed outside to stretch. I talked for a bit with some of the other runners, and found a couple 12-minute-milers with whom to start. At 7:45 a.m. we were off ... to a very fast start. Having already run the course two weeks before, I backed off. I decided I would just run my own race solo, knowing everyone was at a pace too fast for me to maintain. But by mile one, I was already picking them off.
Shortly after mile two I realized I had forgotten to take a 1-minute walk break at the 20 minute point, so I reset my chronograph and walked for one minute. By that time I had found a running partner who was surprised at my choice. I wasn't even breathing hard or seeming stressed. "I can't pace myself slow enough for these hills," I said. "So after reading a recent Runner's World article about someone who intentionally runs long runs with a walk break, I started doing it, too. And it works for me." He ran on, but soon I caught up with him. "When's your next walk break? I think I'll join. I've never walked a race before, but I've never run hills like this before." So we swapped stories and took a walk break together. Then he petered out and said, "Go on...I have to walk a while."
Soon I found another runner to pace alongside. He hadn't trained much lately. An older gentleman, he'd been out of state over the last couple weeks for two family funerals and a wedding for a nephew just back from Iraq." I said just the emotional ups and downs of that would tax one's strength.
At mile 5 I slurped down an energy gel with lots of water from my camelback. And soon I enjoyed a bit of downhill. At the 7-mile marker I actually felt a bit of disappointment. "I don't want this to be over. I'm having so much fun. This is enjoyable." I ran from mile 7 to 8, not seeing another runner anywhere. For a few seconds, I feared I had gone off course. And then I saw a green footprinted painted on the pavement, and knew I was still on track. Being the solo runner for about a mile in a race was actually enjoyable....no stress, just a chance to enjoy the run and the scenery.
I did have to walk up the last steep hill--even though I hadn't yet reached the next planned breaking time. And then I headed alongside the park for the last stretch--setting my pace just behind the young man I had just caught up to. After entering the park and the home stretch, I passed that runner -- someone much younger than me. The end of the race was a loop around a parking lot. All the volunteers were whooping and hollering. Just then I heard a familiar voice shout, "Paparazzi coming!" And there was my son-in-law -- racing to catch up with me. He ran past, turned around and ran backwards so he could snap some photos--he brought joy to my spirit, a smile to my face, and a surge of energy. (Later Anna Maria told me that, fortunately, they had left home early. They had just entered the park, wondering how they'd find me, when I ran past them. She said her husband had rushed them out the door, hurried them along, and she was so grateful. Had he not hurried them, they have missed the finish).
For me I was circling the last loop. The finish line was in sight. Just when I thought I had nothing left for a hard finish, I saw Eliza's distinctive white blonde hair right next to the finish chute. Then I saw Anna Maria and Maggie next to her. That gave me the energy to surge to the end -- wheezing and gasping for air. The finish chute took a sharp left there, and I nearly missed that. I was completely spent. But just then I heard a volunteer to my left say, "She needs to chill." Her voice kept me from running into the barrier! I guess I was supposed to have stopped at the finish to have the chip pulled; but they gave me a second to collect myself and ease the wheeze a bit, before clipping the chip from my shoelace.
Anna Maria watched with concern in her face as I dug out my inhaler and tried to breathe. But it wasn't long, and I soon had my air back. Then I got my victory hugs. I was ecstatic. I had done it and I had run well. No mistakes.
Content with that, but curious about the time, I looked at my watch for the total time. "Hmm, I thought. If this is right I far exceeded my goal." AM said, "Go check...ask where to go." So I did...and I did. I hoped for 2 hours and ran the course in 1:47:34 - a 10:46/mile pace. I nearly burst into tears. I hugged Anna Maria and the girls, all the time repeating, "Thank you, Jesus. Thank you, Jesus. This is like a miracle."
Thank you, thank you to all of those who prayed for me, and who have encouraged me on my running journey.

Wednesday, October 17, 2007

Siblings

My brothers would live outside, and preferably on the river, if they could. I snatched this photo from my little brother Anth's blog (he's on the far right); I have no idea when or where it was taken. But they're being their typical selves (except serious). They love to fish, and have caught some mighty fine tasting catfish. Baby Bro (Per) is man enough to let me call him that and is on the far left; he got that name cause he's the "baby" of the family and you "youngests" know that you NEVER outgrow that even if, as in this case, you grow up to be the tallest in the family. My Big Bro, the oldest (Paul) is in the middle. Obviously "Big", "Little" and "Baby" are about birth order -- not the size of their hearts or anything else. My sibs are the best anyone could have.
Me on the other hand? Though second oldest (2d from left), I ended up being the "runt" of the litter. Nonetheless when I call Per on the phone I always ask, "Hey Baby Bro, what's up?" And he always answers, "Not much, Big Sis, what about you?" (Son-in-law Steven took this photo at a nephew's wedding within the last three years).

Dark Hollows Falls - Sunday's Run

A wrong turn led me down this rocky path...not just the road less travelled, but, on Sunday anyway, a road no one travelled except for squirrels, chipmunks and birds. This detour added about a half mile to my 4 mile trail run, a detour I thoroughly enjoyed. And obviously Sunday's goal had nothing to do with speed...
Scenes from Dark Hollows Falls. Drought conditions have caused the authorities to ban all fires, even charcoal grills. As you can see there wasn't much water flowing Sunday, but the scenery was gorgeous. And the mushy, humus-covered trail felt good on my feet, used to primarily running on asphalt.

Dark Hollow Falls ...more from Sunday's run



North Fork of the Shenandoah

Views of the very dry Shenandoah taken from both sides of the bridge on Saturday, October 13.

Tuesday, October 16, 2007

Pickin' and Grinning' -- well, pickin' anyway

The photo is poor, but I just had to post it anyway (I tried to change the setting on my camera without my glasses, and picked the wrong one). According to Steven, Anna Maria told him that he would be the perfect husband if he just played the guitar. So he is teaching himself the banjo, which is quite a feat since he has never played a musical instrument before. He's getting pretty good at it, too. Sometimes when I'd go to see the kids, AM would be on the front porch spinning yarn on her spinning wheel and Steven would be picking at the banjo, while the kids romped in the yard.
I snapped this photo of Steven in the house. He's good enough now that the picking took me back to my childhood when Uncle Willy would play the banjo; Uncle Cliffy (which us kids couldn't say and which ended up being Uncle Kicky) would sing, play the autoharp; Uncle Dean played guitar or bass guitar; and Mom played accordion, organ or piano. When Aunt Joyce would come home on furlough she'd join in; she can yodle though she rarely does it anymore, and she can sing and play guitar as well.
This prompted the story I told the granddaughters as we awakened and waited for the sun to warm up the tent enough to go in for breakfast. This is the story as I was told it repeatedly during my childhood in the church where my Grampa, my mom's dad, went. Back before I was born (Grampa died when I was 3 or 4), the church where Grampa attended often had testimony time. And Grampa would stand and tell about how all his children would one day know Jesus. Nobody could quite understand his faith or his determination to believe that, as his kids at that time were living the wild life -- failed marriages, over drinking, smoking....you don't need the details. That's enough.
Even his wife, my gramma, didn't go to church nor want anything to do with it. Nonetheless whenever testimony time came, he'd state that his family would one day know Jesus. As I understand it, Uncle Kicky was the first to find faith. And he even wrote a few hymns or two. He's the one I went to when I was hurting and needed a friend; he always had a fresh word he had just read that morning. And he was the first to publish my writing.
I think it was Aunt Joyce who came to faith next, and she went to Bible college without having finished high school. It took a lot of hard work and lot of remedial work; but not only did she finish, she went on and earned a master's in social work as well. She now serves as a chaplain, primarily working with the American Indians near Phoenix.
I'll never forget when Uncle Dean and Uncle Willy started showing up at Mom's kitchen table with Bibles in their hands. I didn't understand what they had, but I knew I wanted it. They talked about a God of love, a God of hope. Believing I'd someday find that faith, I started reading my Bible--though I didn't understand a bit of it then. Dean now pastors a church, and, until he retired from construction work, he pastored part-time and built bridges during the week. I often wonder what would have happened to me had they ignored the call to faith, as their faith kept me from attempting suicide.
Somewhere in there Mom got her act together, too. And she played organ at church, taught kids in Bible club and Sunday school, and led the choir.
Even my gram found Christ -- I think she was in her 70s or maybe even a bit older. And she changed! Everyone at the nursing home where she spent her last days loved her, thought her the sweetest thing -- this about a woman who had been known for being abusive to her kids. That's basically the way I told the story, except I edited the suicide part as it was kids I was talking to. And then I ended the story with this, "Eliza and Maggie: this is a story you need to remember. It's a founding story of our family. My mom wasn't the best of moms to me, but she did better than her mom. I raised my kids with a lot of regrets, but I did better than my mom. And your mom is an awesome mom. And each of us has done better than our moms because of Grampa's prayers said long before you were even born. That's why praying is so important. Praying doesn't just effect the one you pray for; the prayers move through generation and generation in ways you can't know."
And from there we had one of many granddaughter-grandmom talks with lots of questions and lots of sharing. But that part of the story belongs to the grandchildren and isn't mine to share.

Rock Settee

Morning snack time came just as the girls and I were headed for the river. So we found some goldfish crackers in the cupboard (I was watching the girls while Anna Maria and Steven worked Saturday) and headed out. When we got to this one lane, river crossing (the concrete piece along the left edge), Eliza shouted, "Let's eat these on the rock couch! See it, Gramma Nete! Isn't it a perfect couch!?!" And yes it was, and it was also a perfect place for snack -- let God take care of the crumbs and mess instead of me.

Inukshuks On the Shenandoah

When in Newfoundland, Magdalena and Eliza learned about Inukshuks (a term they both use, although the pronunciation is closer when Eliza says it). People in Newfoundland make a rock sculpture (I gathered that they do this most often along river banks). It's a sign that they have been in a place, so that the next person coming along can enjoy the art. Maggie and I made the one above which Eliza said looked "a bit more like a wall, but that's okay, Grammie." Maggie's contribution was the leaves woven among the rocks.
Eliza's masterpiece is in keeping with the traditional Inukshuk.

Trees

While Magdalena was quite happy with a tree limb with which to play ON the ground, Eliza Grace prefers to be IN the tree limbs -- upside down, climbing, reaching for a swing....

Front Porch & Lawn

Anna Maria and Steven's front lawn and porch...partially rotted tree stumps made into planters, lots of luscious plants scattered in a wildly chaotic, natural and beautiful manner. They have a few acres, part of which is wooded and left natural.
The front half of their house was a log cabin back in the 1800s that has been added on to over the years. It still has the old latches, instead of knobs; doors made of three wooden boards with another set of three in a z-shape holding the three together instead of solid; wide pine board floors; and exposed beams in the ceilings. We slept just beneath the tree of which you can only see a couple upper branches -- near enough that I could haul the granddaughters inside if it got cold but far enough out that we could hear the night sounds. Their homeplace is a stark contrast to the asphalt world in which I live.










Rite of Summer Passage

After sleeping out with the girls' in their front lawn last Friday night, I upturned the tent and spread out sleeping bags and pads to thoroughly dry and freshen them for winter storage. We stayed warm, but weather reports predicted temps near freezing overnight in the high places.

Sunday, October 7, 2007

Granddaughter's Haven -- an Update

I sold my car and then needed a place for all the camping equipment previously stored inside. The only logical place was the bookshelves along the wall perpendicular to my closet. But, alas, that's Maggie's and Eliza's special place. So I didn't want to mess with that too much and have them no longer feel at home when visiting. After some contemplation on the problem, I bought some additional shelving, which I then covered with curtains made from a painter's drop cloth. And the shutter that had been used as one of the former shelves of the previous and smaller book shelf fits quite nicely on the radiator, which will make that a much more comfortable seat for Maggie, who loves to sit there and look out the window. The little girls' sketch pads, drawing pens and pencils, will go in the crates next to the radiator -- still easily accessible to them and still within easy reach. And don't tell them this little secret -- another thing stashed behind those curtains is their Christmas presents, gifts from me, and Auntie Ana and Uncle Chad.

Saturday, October 6, 2007

"One Hill of a Run"

That's what the founders of the inaugural GMAC Staunton 10-miler have named the October 27 course. The race is a benefit for the Boys and Girls Club.

I actually ran the thing today and "challenging," the term used on the web site, is an accurate term (no photos though. sorry). The steep hills through miles two through seven (approximately) are bad enough, but the course meanders through 39 streets (some for only a block or two), so there are also 39 turns. I missed one, and went the wrong way three times, adding another extremely steep and long hill.

I thought I'd create a pace chart and tape or rubber band half to each arm, but my arms weren't long enough for the list of streets if the print was to remain large enough to read. So I tried to hold the list as loosely as possible in my fist; I wanted to maintain the ability to stay "loose" and relaxed so I could swing my arms as I ought. It worked okay...I am hoping that, on race, day the course will be marked so I won't need the entire list of streets.

Nonetheless in spite of those obstacles, I completed the entire course. And I did it in about 2:13 (2 hours and 13 minutes), or at a 13:20 mile pace. That's a far cry from my 12 minute mile goal, but I STILL think I'll reach that goal, having run 8.8 last week at 10:58 pace. Just going the right direction will knock a few minutes off the time for two reasons: once I realized I was going the wrong way, I had to stop and turn around. So not only did I run father than necessary, the turning around messed up my running pace.

And much of the run is along some pretty streets. One section passes a woods. Another crosses a creek. And then the houses here are so unique; none look like their neighbors, so the route is interesting.

I am pretty excited about today's success. Though I made several mistakes, I stayed the course. Though I was tired when I started, having run hard over the last week, I finished. To finish the race well though, I'll need the mental focus to beat the hills, maintain running form and keep my breathing rate steady.