13(.1) is my Lucky Number

On Saturday I ran in the Indianapolis half marathon.  I have run this race many times over the last ten years since we've moved here, but it is always a challenge, and always a thrill.  Last year I skipped it and while I had some regret, race day turned out to be cold, windy, and rainy,  and so it was with great satisfaction that morning that I smugly stayed in my bed and left the running to more dedicated types.  But this year I registered early and began my training in the summer.  It's really not a big deal .  Just run moderate runs during the week and then a longer run on the weekend.  Each week an extra mile on that Sunday morning trek out and back.  I ran on my own during training, my ipod keeping me company with audiobooks playing in my ears to distract me from the miles.  It is like having someone talk to you and not having to talk back, thereby saving precious oxygen.  Sometimes I would listen to music, but the books were preferred on the long runs.  It's great to read a good book and never have to turn a page! 

I capped out my training with some two-hour runs, figuring that this would bring me close enough to the 13.1 mile mark.  Anything extra I needed on race day would come from adrenaline, the spectator energy, and a prayer.  On Friday I went to the race expo and picked up my packet, which included my race chip, number (cool, it had my name printed on it!) and  tee shirt.  It is fun to go to those expos.  Lots of energy and excitement with the anticipation of the race the next morning.  There were also vendors with free samples of something called "muscle milk" (no thanks, my muscles do ok without their own milk) and runner gels (you squirt them out into your mouth as you run to get some extra energy).  I've never tried them and figure I'll leave those to the marathon runners.  I can make it a couple of hours without having to deal with that gooey mess. 

The night before I ate lightly and drank some extra water, not wanting to have any worries about a full stomach on race day morning.  I don't know much about carb loading, but figure at this point, what I eat the night before it not going to make or break my race experience.  I laid out my clothes for the morning, pinning my race number to my shirt, and including an old t-shirt of Bob's to wear on top and eventually discard when it warmed up a bit a few miles into the race.  Up early the next day and out the door before 7 a.m. for an 8:30 race start. 

There is nothing like the pre-race atmosphere.  When you get up early on a Saturday you feel like you are the only one awake in the world.  You drive out of your neighborhood and every house light is out, the moon still up in the sky.  But then you arrive at the race and can't imagine why everyone wouldn't want to be there!  People talking, laughing, and taking pre-race photos.  Lines at the port-a-potties, the smell of Ben-Gay in the air.  Some people jog around to warm up, others sit on a curb and gather their thoughts.  I found my corral, the area where you wait for the start, organized by your expected finishing time.  Music is blaring from speakers, motivational songs like the theme from "Rocky" and more contemporary tunes from the Black Eyed Peas.  Overhead is a humungous American flag, hanging from a giant crane.  This tradition began in 2001 when the race was run in the shadow of 9/11.  I was at the race that day and there was a palpable heaviness in the air.  Someone sang "God Bless America" that morning before the race and tears flowed freely. It was all still so raw that day and the emotions spilled over.   The flag always looks majestic, offset by the deep blue sky of the morning and this year a local singer sang the national anthem with a cool country twang.  Runners applauded their approval and waited for the start, bouncing, shaking and shimmying with pent up energy.   

When you are in corral G (for the slow folks!), the start of the race is a bit anti-climactic.  You hear the gunshot but rather than taking off, you just stand there.  Little by little you inch further up to the start line and about three to four minutes later you finally are off and running!  It takes time to settle into your pace; the crowd is thick (over 6000 runners) and the adrenaline is pumping.  I typically take a few miles to find my rhythm and I try not to run too fast.  I listened to my audiobook and thought about all of my training, reassuring myself that I could do it! 

The course was beautiful.  The beginning miles wind through older neighborhoods and up the main road off the highway, but then you get into the middle miles, which are in the park.  This time of year  there are moments that take your breath away.  The leaves were red, gold and brilliant orange and we passed by small lakes that reflected the fall colors and the blue sky.  I took time to thank God for the ability to run, and looked to the sky to say hello to my dear mother, who I know was cheering me on.  There were water stops every few miles, manned by enthusiastic volunteers.  They handed out water and words of encouragement, much appreciated by all of us. 

Okay, so here's the thing.  Two hour training runs seemed sufficient, but I didn't take into account that my pace has slowed over the years.  My best race time ever was one hour, fifty two minutes.  This year, at two hours, I was only at mile 10!!  Oy, that was not a good feeling.  But then I considered how awesome it is just to be able to run this distance at all, and how really cool it is to be out there with so many other happy runners.  And I kept plugging.  A few of the hills were imposing, and I decided to walk them and save my legs for the less challenging terrain.  Miles 10 and 11 were the most challenging; too far from the finish to get excited and my legs were growing more weary with each step.  But the spectators seemed to sense my fatigue and cheered me on.  Having your name printed right on your race number is a brilliant idea.  When you hear someone yell "You can do it Laura!", you just have to smile and say thanks.  You don't know these people at all, but you feel like they know you and want you to make it. 

Somewhere along mile 12 the course splits and the runners doing the full marathon run one way, and the rest of us run the other.  I watch the marathoners plod off at that fork in the road and am amazed, knowing that they are not even halfway to their destination.  It really is an incredible fete and something I would love to do (but probably not enough to actually do it!).  The rest of us turned towards the finish line and somewhere deep inside I found a bit more spunk, and small kick in my stride.  I switched from audiobook to music, some Bruce Springsteen serenaded me down the stretch.  I sang along out loud, so grateful for the sight of the finish, and the promise of a medal to hang around my neck.   I always get tearful at the end, so full of happiness, pride and gratitude for my blessings.

And a bit of comic relief...as I was closing in on the finish line, the crowd was screaming and cheering me on.  To the point where I felt incredibly humbled  and a bit shocked by their adoration.  I should've known something was not quite as it appeared.  I heard some honking behind me and turned around to see that just a few yards back there was a runner speeding towards the finish, flanked by two motorcycles with flashing lights and honking horns.  You guessed it, the winner of the full marathon was finishing his race as I was finishing my half marathon.  I laughed at the irony and tried not to feel too pathetic.  He ran twice the distance as me in the same time.  Awesome! 

But that is the thing about running.  There will always be runners faster than you, and slower too.  It doesn't matter because for me, running is something I do for myself.  I wasn't born in Kenya, and I love chocolate and relaxing way too much to ever be an elite athlete.  But as I walked back to my car on shaky legs, my medal glinted in the sunlight and I might as well have won the race.  I hope to be back next year, and will try to outrun the Kenyan by a few extra steps!

The Realities of Realty

Our house has been on the market for about six weeks.  This whole adventure began in the late summer when three homes on our street were listed and sold within a month. While the rest of the country is in a real estate slump, Indianapolis has somehow been less affected.  Low interest mortgage rates also helped our decision; it is a great time to buy with housing prices offering plenty of bargains.  When a house in our favorite neighborhood practically fell in our lap, it just all seemed meant to be.  This house was not only all we wanted in size, style and location, it also happened to be next door to Danny's best friend and we made an offer before it was even offically listed.  Again, it all seemed like fate as the offer was accepted immediately. 

We set to work cleaning up our house in preparation for sale.  We spent hours and hours, days and days, cleaning and decluttering.   The basement, which had been Sam's boy cave, was transformed to an organized space with exercise equipment tucked into one corner, futon situated by the "entertainment area" and Bob's guitars and music stand placed strategically into another corner.  Sam's trains were placed into bins and he had to cut down from two train tables to one.  We all have to make sacrifices!   Every room in the house was cleaned and staged to accentuate the positive.  Wicker chest (great place to put our shoes!), once located in the foyer, was whisked away, replaced by an accent table and vase of fresh flowers.  Lumpy, but oh so comfortable, oversized chair was relocated from the family room to the basement.  Personal photos were boxed up; apparently family photos can detract from selling as potential buyers might not be able to imagine themselves in your house if they see your wedding photo hanging over the bed.  It's all a game but we are willing to play.

We set the price, crossed our fingers, and boarded the roller coaster.  And that is exactly what it has been.  The first weekend we had two showings.  I imagined immediate offers and wondered what we would do if we needed to close on this home before our new one was vacant.  Thoughts of temporary living in an apartment, most of our things in storage...reality.  No immediate offers, and six weeks later, no offers at all.  We've had nine showings.  Nine times we left the house so that someone could invade it, open up cabinets, critique our taste in decor, and eat the  Hershey kisses left on the kitchen counter with sales flyers.  And nine times we got seller's feedback, sometimes positive (they loved the location), and sometimes negative (foyer too small, kitchen cabinets insufficient, carpet a bit worn).   The last showing was on Sunday night at 8 pm.  Terribly inconvenient but you never say no to a potential buyer.  We piled in the van at 8 and headed to a McDonalds to sit and watch the Colts game (thank goodness for high end McDonalds with flat screen tv's).  We returned to the neighborhood at 9 and saw that there were two cars in the driveway.  We parked down the street, doing surveillance on our own house.  Our hopes were high as we saw the realtor and young couple come out of the house and stand in the driveway chatting.  Finally they left and we rushed Sam off to bed and hoped for an offer the next day.  Should have known better.  Their feedback included such charming comments as our kitchen was awkward, master walk-in closet too small, and basement carpet should be replaced.  I was irrationally furious.  If you are going to ask for a late Sunday evening showing, and extend it past an hour by standing in our driveway a few extra minutes shooting the breeze, you NEED TO BUY MY HOUSE!!!!  We are at the mercy of a market glutted with homes.  It is like playing the lottery and wondering when, and if, your numbers will come up.  It is enough to keep me up at night and has me watching shows on the HGTV channel called "Sell My House" and "House Hunters" for tips.  I can't remember what life was like before this all began, but I miss that simplicity and just want this all to be overwith. 

But hope springs eternal for the next showing and I have become a domestic goddess, albeit a cranky one.  Every morning I make the beds, open the blinds just enough to show off the great views out our back windows (but not so much that you can see the dirt that won't come clean between the window panes), and wipe down the counters.  I am sure many people clean like this regularly even when their house is not on the market, but I am not one of those people.  I sweep, I mop, I wipe down baseboards.  I prune the mums, fluff the pillows, keep our linen closets as neat as Marth Stewart's.  It is exhausting. 

I hope one day (soon!!!), we will get that happy phone call from our realtor that we have an offer.  I think I will dance in my (immaculate) kitchen and kiss my cats.  I will then be able to finally get excited about the new house.  This house we are selling has served us well but it is time to move on.   The new house has a big yard and a three car garage, and big bedrooms for the boys that will hold more than just a bed and dresser.  And Danny has many friends living up and down the street.  We'll be able to go to the neighborhood pool in the summer and enjoy the tennis court.  We will spend time preparing Sam for the move and I think he will actually be really excited about the new house.  The basement has two big rooms; he can have one all to himself for his trains and games.  We will let him choose his bedroom, and maybe the color of its walls.  Bob and I will sit on the screened porch during thunderstorms and look back on this crazy time and laugh, or at the very least give a huge sigh of relief that it is over.  

Goodwill Hunting

Goodwill; what does that word mean to you?  Being kind to your fellow man?  Certainly, and that is about all I would have said up to about a year ago.  But now when you say Goodwill, I say, "Let's go!"   Shopping at Goodwill is a new joy in my life and I am not ashamed to admit it!  For years I was a fan of the place, but only because it was an easy answer to what to do with all the junk I cleaned out of my closet or garage a few times a year.  It felt a lot better to bring it to Goodwill than to throw it in the trash.  There is something cathartic about arriving there in a car loaded down with old sweaters, outdated shoes, and neglected sporting equipment and leaving minutes later with a tax receipt and an empty trunk.   And sort of fun to think that my discards might end up with a new, grateful owner.  Hey, you never know who might like that oversized Christmas sweater from the 80's or size 4 soccer cleats that Danny wore with pride for one season!

It is only in the past year or so that I began enjoying the other side of the Goodwill experience...the shopping.  I sometimes think it would be more accurate to call it treasure hunting as you really never know what you might find.  My friend Marie is a Goodwill professional and we often call one another to brag on our latest bargains.  My favorite finds so far?  A brown velvet jacket (Lands End brand) that I bought for $5 and a pair of leather clogs in pristine condition (Macy's brand) that I got for $1.  Oh, and most recently, a 27" television (with remote) that I found on a half price day.  Price guess?  $17.  Applause!!  It replaced the tv in our bedroom and is actually nicer than the one we had. 

The other thing that I love about Goodwill shopping is the atmosphere.  There is no "typical" Goodwill customer. I have seen senior citizens puttering around the housewares, children playing with the stuffed animals, and well dressed professionals browsing through the clothing racks.  And there is something about that experience, a bit of comradery as we are all on the hunt together.  No one is ever rude or pushy, just taking their time, respectfully standing elbow to elbow while searching for that special something.  Some of the employees have disabilities, and that just makes me love the place even more.  The other day I was browsing through some framed prints and a young male employee came over and asked if I was tired.  I told him that I was fine, but wondered why he asked.  He said that I looked like I just woke up (insulting if that came from anyone else, but this young man was so well meaning and pure of spirit that I just found myself laughing).  I assured him that I'd been up for hours getting my kids off to school and we had a nice discussion about the good and bad of being a parent.  He told me he was not going to have kids because they were too much trouble.  I smiled and said that sometimes I sure agreed with that!  Then I wondered if Sam could maybe work there one day.  It might be a great place for him to have a job, and hmmm, wonder if there is an employee discount could be extended to his mom?

Last week I stopped at a Goodwill in search of a mirror for our foyer.  Sure, I could find one at Target but that's not nearly as fun as a Goodwill quest!  When I parked the car I noticed a man sitting on the curb at the side of the building.  He was wearing full camoflauge and beside him was a bicycle loaded down with bags.  It was apparent to me that he was possibly homeless, all of his possessions being carried on two wheels.  A few minutes later he came into the store and wandered over to the corner of the store where I was shopping.  He crouched down and began talking to himself, and laughing, and looking at me furtively.   I just continued with my shopping, unconcerned for my safety, not at all annoyed with his muttering.  Afterall, this is Goodwill, and there is always plenty of that to go around.