Rock & Roll Marathon 2011

You're probably looking at the above picture and wondering what month it is. Well, let me assure you that it is indeed late June, but we're still wearing our coats because even though the calendar says June, it feels like October.

I woke up on Saturday morning around 4:00, with butterflies in my stomach. I lay in bed with my eyes open listening to Jon race around the house as he was getting ready for the Seattle Rock & Roll Marathon. My role in all of this was to make sure the girls were up by 5:30, dressed and ready for when the cab would arrive to pick us at 6:30 -- Jon had left much earlier. We did not want to be late because the girls were invited by the American Cancer Society to hold the finish line tape for the first place winner of the 1/2 marathon.

We arrived at the finish line long before anyone else aside from marathon staffers, the media and photographers. Security was in full force making sure the folks with access could get through the barricades and considering we weren't staff, media or photographers I worried that they wouldn't let us through. I told security that my girls would be holding the finish line tape and they gladly let us in giving us full access to everything. I made a point to stand with the photographers trying my best to look official.

Since it was so early, there wasn't much to do so I snapped a few pictures.

When it came time for the first 1/2 marathoner to come through the finish line a flurry of activity ensued. The first order of business was to unroll the finish line tape and position it precisely at 13.1 miles. Then we were given the news that the girls would not be holding the tape and that it would be ME holding it instead. The girls were too short as the tape needed to be held at the waist. I was disappointed that the girls didn't get a chance to do their job, but they really didn't seem to care. Holding the other end of the tape was a couple from the TV show, The Bachelor. I had no idea who these people were, but apparently they're famous. Had I known I'd be standing there next to real live TV personalities, I'd probably had run a comb through my hair. I couldn't help feeling inferior to the young girl standing opposite me -- she and her bright smile; teeth procured from deep sea oysters and me with my crooked canines and scrap metal for teeth. It was not the morning I had expected.

I saw the first runner rounding the corner to the finish line and then my excitement grew. Everybody was screaming and cheering, whooping and whistling -- it was exhilarating. The race official said to me just as I could see the runner approaching, "Now when the runner comes through the finish line, drop your end. Just let it go, okay?" I nodded to show that I understood, but actually I was confused. I thought the runner ran through the tape, breaking it in half,  I didn't realize I had to release the tape at just as the runner was coming over the finish line. I got nervous. What if I didn't release my end on time? What if the runner bounced off the taught tape and was ejected back before the 13.1 mile mark? Would they deduct that from his time? Oh darn. Now beads of sweat was forming on the back of my neck and it didn't help that the TV couple didn't have to do anything -- they just had to stand there looking radiant with their pearly whites reflecting shards of light at the photographers. Then, once I saw the runner nearing the tape my hands opened, splayed out like jazz hands allowing the tape to fall ceremoniously to the ground and the runner crossed the finish line without incident. Whew. I was so glad that part was over.  

Here he is -- the winner of the 1/2 marathon!

Here is the first female runner! She was super quick too.

Even though our job was done, we remained in the thick of it, standing with the photographers so I could pretend to be one of them. I couldn't believe I was standing there amongst all the other photographers -- they with their tricked out lenses and utility belts and me with my simple Nikon and stock lens -- I didn't care. I acted the part of photographer and put my modest camera in with the rest of'em. I think I got a good shot.

After the half there were noticeable worn knees.

Then it was off to watch the full marathoners! Here's a guy who came in somewhere around the top 20. He put on a show for us by doing a push-up after he crossed the finish line. Mighty strong guy.

Then Jon came in looking stronger than ever. #34 out of 26,000 runners with a time of 2:59:52. That's under 3 hours!! Holy moly!! And what's even more amazing is that this is precisely the same time he finished last year's race.

I used one of the photographer's lines and said, "Let's see the medal."

Jon's team, Team Determination raised over $200,000 for the American Cancer Society. See the gal with blonde hair sitting next to the guy in the white shirt? She's in the next Twilight movie and also stars in a TV show -- I can't recall which one.

And it wouldn't be a Rock & Roll Marathon without the bands. Still feeling much like one of the photographers, I got up to the stage and snapped this picture of the band, Everclear. They sounded awesome!!

Thank you, friends and family for your generous donations. Because of you, Jon raised over $2,000 for the ACS. He ran this race for Alex and the countless others whose lives have been touched by cancer. I asked Sammy if she would like to someday run a marathon and her response was, "Yes, but I'll probably be off somewhere digging up dinosaur bones." HA!

Tonight

Tonight it felt like my children were testing me for sport? It felt like they were taking turns kick'n up a ruckus and were keeping score with tally marks etched somewhere secret away from inquiring minds. 

Tonight I felt it alright. Like someone had on a pair of snakeskin boots whopping me repeatedly on my backside all evening.

I wanted to run off to someplace far away where I could scream louder than a clap of thunder, and instead just made my way to the grocery store to pickup a few items for tomorrow's Father's Day breakfast. It was a short errand offering only a few moments of serenity with nothing more than the soulful styling of Diana Ross playing in the background... Do you know where you're going to? Do you like the things that life is showing you? Where are you going to, do you know?.... 

My girls are oh so sweet when they want to be...

...sweet enough to put a smile on a horse's face.

Other times they're a handful. They leave me so deflated, so tired and weary that I'm sometimes shamefully at a loss. I'm hoping tonight they, and also I, will get a good nights sleep so we can together celebrate Father's Day without incident and without any _ _ _ _ -- you fill in the blank.

Preschool Days Are Over

First before I go into what I really want to tell you about today, I have to backtrack a little to talk about the post I wrote a few days ago concerning my Lost Wallet. Earlier today, an anonymous reader left me a comment that I just had to delete because it was offensive and quite honestly made me feel really sad. This anonymous person felt I was being cruel in the way I described the man that found my wallet – instead of being thankful, he said I was insulting.

 

Anonymous, I must tell you that my husband said the very same thing to me, though he was much softer in his critique. If you’ve read this blog long enough then you would know that I do not profess to be a very good writer, far from it. I simply write about my small adventures in motherhood, and adventures that happen to me along the way. I can only write what truly is swirling around in this little brain of mine for to write anything different would be disingenuous. When I wrote about George, I never meant to give the impression that I was ungrateful... goodness no, quite the contrary. I was deeply moved by the fact that a stranger took the time to find me and graciously returned my wallet, but what I wrote didn’t clearly convey that at all. I merely wrote, at the time, what I was truly thinking and sometimes maybe I reveal too much. When I spoke to George on the phone I had a completely different image of: what he would look like, where he might live, his personality, his stature, everything. I don’t think I’m that much different than anybody else in that respect; we all have preconceptions that sometimes don’t match up with reality. When I wrote that post, I was writing to illustrate my true thoughts at the time, my first impressions. Was I thankful for George? Heck yes!! Was I more than thankful at the time of our meeting? Yes! I think I even bowed several times as I couldn’t think of any other way to express physically how incredibly grateful I was. Anonymous,  I deleted your first comment, but left your second one for all to see. you made me so sad, but in the end, I feel like you were doing exactly as I had done – you gave me your honest impression – I can’t fault you for that.

 

Moving on....

 

 

Tomorrow will be my Alex’s last day of preschool. Come this fall, she’ll be a kindergartner and then I will never be a mother of a preschooler ever again. I’m a little teary eyed over the whole thing, and excited for this new chapter in our lives. I wish I could say that I taught my children well in their pre-kindergarten years, but I can only take credit for a handful of nuggets that they will carry with them for the rest of their lives. 1) Eat over your plate. 2) Keep to the sidewalk because if you walk in the grass you might step in poop. That’s it. I’ve got nothing else. With this, I’m sending little Alex to kindergarten where hopefully she’ll learn a bunch more.

 

Today, on our way home from school, Alex said she was going to miss preschool. I didn’t have the courage to tell her that I’m going to miss it too. She made friends with just about the sweetest, most caring little girls and boys imaginable and I’m going to miss seeing their giggly faces and the way their coats hang off one shoulder even on the coldest days. Their lunchboxes are just about as big as they are and when they walk they seem to list to one side, negotiating their way toward the school entrance while simultaneously trying to maintain a good grip on their meal. They are hilarious and such a welcome sight to see each morning at drop-off. Now, all the kids will go their separate ways, all entering the same grade at different schools – some private, some public – but, I’m certain that they all share some, if not all, of the anxiety Alex is feeling. In hindsight, this part of our lives seems short. I will miss it, and cherish it forever.

Plant Rules

Whew! I thought it was never going to happen. I thought I'd be wearing rain boots for the rest of my soggy life, and then the clouds parted and clear blue skies rained down on me. Hurrah for Seattle!

Yesterday we finally tackled our horrendous front yard, chopping away at shrubs, pulling weeds and anything else that looked menacing. I have a No Feed The Ducks rule when it comes to plants: I'm not going to feed the shrubs because I don't want them to rely on me. If they can't survive on their own, then it's off to the big yard waste bin in the sky. And that's on them, you can't put that shame on me.

This shrub bit the dust not because it wasn't surviving well on its own, this one was surviving way too well. In fact, it not only survived but threatened to take over the entire yard, taking important nutrients and sunshine away from the less heartier plants. Because of this, it had to go. This is my Canadian Geese rule -- over populated and becoming a pest, so like the Canadian Geese, this plant had to go. Don't judge me.

While I was pulling up freakishly enormous weeds, the girls were squirting each other with water.

Jon brought out he heavy artillery for the most unruly plants.

Together, Jon and I managed to get our yard somewhat in shape, but in the end, it's gonna take a lot more than one afternoon to make a noticeable difference. I'm a fair-weather gardener, so if the sun isn't shining, chances are you won't see me pulling weeds. So weeds! You better hope for rain.

Lost Wallet

I lost my wallet at Safeway, or maybe it was Metropolitan Market, I really don’t know for sure. I know I paid for my groceries at Safeway, tucked my wallet into my purse and then corralled my girls away from the candy machines. I then proceeded to navigate the large shopping cart -- the one with the car-like facade with the seats and steering wheels -- out into the parking lot. As far as I knew, my wallet was with me the entire time. With children buckled in their seats, I returned the gigantic kid-car shopping cart and then ran back to my car. I then drove to Metropolitan Market for items that I didn’t find at Safeway.

Inside Metropolitan Market we sampled cheeses – cheeses my children wouldn’t dare consume at home but for some reason in public they gobble it up like candy. While the girls were filling up on Mediterranean Gouda, I was searching for Gruyere. I found Cave Aged Gruyere which to my surprise costs a small fortune causing me to clutch my purse tighter. Then, at my husband’s request I was on the hunt for Arabica Coffee which apparently doesn’t exist as a coffee name, rather it’s a species of coffee. I did not know this at the time so I settled on a coffee that contained Arabica beans from Ethiopia. At checkout, I reached into my purse for my wallet and it wasn’t there. I searched again feeling my way around a toy Kazoo, empty gum wrappers, old receipts, a cell phone, hair ties, Burt's Bees lip balm... the wallet was not there. Somewhere between the Cave Aged Gruyere and Arabica coffee, I lost my wallet. Maybe I lost it at Safeway while running through the parking lot pushing the kid-car shopping cart. I was livid. My wallet, and $80 cash was gone.

Frantic, I hustled my children into the car yelling at them to buckle their seats. I then drove home recklessly as if taking my anger out on the road would make me feel better. Once home, I screamed at my husband. I screamed at everybody and only made nice with the folks at Safeway and Metropolitan Market because I wanted desperately for them to find my wallet or at least tell me that someone found my wallet or that they found remnants of my wallet, or something. I just wanted to hear good news. I drove back to Metropolitan Market.

While at Metropolitan Market the friendly, plump cashier who I’ve spoken to many times before, offered to give me the Gruyere and coffee for free until I was able to pay, which at that moment sounded almost as good as finding a wallet full of money! This man was so incredibly kind and compassionate but I simply could not take him up on his offer. I told him that my husband would come in later to pay and pick-up the items. He smiled sweetly and didn’t press me on it knowing full well that whatever he said, I wasn’t walking out of the store with items I hadn’t yet paid for. Then he said something that made me recoil. He said, “Sweetie, usually wallets are turned in right away – you’ve been looking for yours for some time now.” The truth hurt, and this person, clearly the entire opposite of sinewy, laid it out for me straight. He may not have been sinewy in appearance but he sure was in his conviction, he cut to the chase and broke it down for me without hesitation. It was this very moment that I knew my wallet was no more. This revelation settled on me like ash settles on the ground after a big volcanic eruption – softly, but with huge impact. Now it was clear that some stranger, some heartless criminal, was walking around town with my identity. (And by the way, I hadn’t thought of identity theft until just now while writing this post.) At the time, I only felt my whole self was left in that wallet and if it wasn’t in my possession that meant someone else was walking around with who I am. To say that I seethed a considerable amount is an understatement. It was time to call the bank to report my card lost/stolen.

While on the phone talking with the bank associate I kept referring to my wallet as having been ‘stolen’ and my husband would chime in from the other room, “Lost, not stolen.” Each time I uttered the word ‘stolen’ an echo came from my husband – ‘lost’ he corrected me. At this point, it really didn’t matter... lost, stolen, so what. The wallet was gone and it mattered not how it left my person, what mattered was everything was suddenly gone.

A day later, the bereavement over my precious wallet lingered until it occurred to me that I had lost sleep over articles I didn’t even know I had. My husband asked me what was in the wallet and I honestly couldn’t tell him. I knew I had stuff, but what that stuff was, I could not recall. You see, my wallet, for the most part, was a dumping ground. A place for discarded business cards, credit cards I never used, receipts from purchases made months ago, old appointment reminders that had long passed – there really wasn’t anything in that wallet of significance or anything I could honestly say I’d miss, well, minus the $80. All important items were easily replaceable and had no sentimental value. I stopped seething. The bank took care of everything, and a new driver’s license was on its way. 

Then, out of the blue, I received a phone call from George, the man who found my wallet. I couldn’t believe it. I was happy. I rejoiced. But my celebration was short lived because I had already replaced everything. Getting my wallet back now seemed anticlimactic. However, I was intrigued to see what state my wallet would be in and was anxious to know if it had any adventure stories to tell me.

I met George at his apartment not far from my home. He told me that he found the wallet on the hood of his car and that everything appeared to be in order, except there wasn’t any money in it. George who looked about as old as I thought he would look, was unimpressive if I’m being perfectly honest. I thought he might turn out to be this heroic fellow, dressed in golf attire and fancy shoes. Instead he was a simple man. (And by simple, I mean, drab. I didn’t mean to imply that I had to talk slow and enunciate every syllable along with hand gestures, simple. He was merely unassuming.) He wore a faded brown leather jacket, black shirt, brown pants, brown shoes and he smelled like he smoked about five packs a day or more. And even though his face looked tired and worn, it was an honest face. George described to me how he came to find my wallet walking me through the scene as if reenacting the entire event.  Together we speculated about why we thought the wallet ended up where it did with mostly saying things like, “Huh, you think so? And, “It’s a possibility, but will we ever really know?” And also, “Isn’t it the strangest thing?” Then at the end of scratching our heads and looking aimlessly toward the hood of the car where the elusive wallet was found, we started to part ways. But, before we separated, George got in a few last words, he said, “You be more careful with your things.” Complete with finger wag. That's George for you, the kind man who imparts simple words of wisdom.

Once in my car, it was clear that George’s cigarette smoke had permeated the leather and all of the contents inside. As well, everything was damp from being on the hood of George’s car all night. Now my wallet smelled awful and felt icky, so I made the decision that it was time to get rid of it and buy a new one. My next wallet will be smaller, and will have no room for junk. From now on, I’ll take George’s sage advice and be more careful with my things. 

Oh, and by the way, the Cave Aged Gruyere is worth every penny.