Posted by: Sue D. Gelber | December 12, 2010

Really? Those are your Favorite Things?

In last week’s post on winter running, I took issue with some of the alleged “favorite things” that Julie Andrews so famously celebrated in The Sound of Music. Unfortunately, since I wrote that post, the song has been stuck in my head. I keep hearing that damn list of favorites over and over again. I wake up in the morning with images of raindrops on roses and fall asleep at night thinking about whiskers on kittens. As a result, I have spent a lot of time evaluating these items. I’ve decided the time has come to pass judgement on them, to see if they are really worthy of the musical adulation they receive. So let’s run through them, shall we? And for some holiday fun, I’ve decided to rate them on a holiday-food scale: Fruitcake (yuck, need I say more?); Gingerbread cookies (mixed: yummy when warm from the oven, but undesirable if they are cold and stale); and Hot Chocolate (the good kind, from Burdicks, rich and piping hot, a genuine treat).

Raindrops on roses: I’ll concede they are nice and certainly make for wonderful closeup floral shots. However, let’s be clear, there are only raindrops once it has rained, which means your feet are probably getting wet as you gaze upon the flowers. Verdict? Gingerbread cookies.

Whiskers on kittens: Why just the whiskers? Why not the whole kitten? If the line was “cute fuzzy kittens,” I’d agree, but whiskers? The whiskers aren’t even that soft. And besides, I’m allergic to cats. Fruitcake.

Bright copper kettles: They are pretty to look at, and with copper prices being what they are these days, they can probably fetch a nice sum on eBay. Hot Chocolate.

Warm woolen mittens: Wool itches. And it smells funny when it gets wet. SmartWool wasn’t around back in The Sound of Music days, so I have to go with Fruitcake.

Brown Paper Packages Tied Up with String: Sounds like a mail bomb. Definite Fruitcake. Someone call 911 to get the SWAT team over here before that suspicious package explodes.

Cream Colored Ponies: “Ponies” as in racing horses? Could go either way: they might bring in some nice winnings, or they might be the gateway to a nasty gambling habit. I have to say Gingerbread Cookies.

Crisp Apple Strudel: I am not a huge Apple Strudel fan, but I can see how others might like it enough to call it a favorite. Depending on the baker, I’m willing to go with Hot Chocolate.

Doorbells: Ours is broken. Fruitcake

Sleighbells: Seldom heard and quite festive. Hot Chocolate.

Schnitzel with noodles: If I am eating carbs, it’s not noodles, that is for sure. And although schnitzel might be fun to say, it also sounds like a euphemism for something else entirely. Fruitcake.

Wild Geese That Fly with the Moon on their Wings: Unusual, to say the least, but I can see the appeal. Unfortunately, wild geese can be quite nasty and aggressive at times. And they poop a lot. I have to say Gingerbread Cookies.

Girls in White Dresses with Blue Satin Sashes: A pretty image, but as a mom, I can’t help but think of how hard it is to get stains out of white. Gingerbread Cookies.

Snowflakes that Stay on My Nose and Eyelashes: As I mentioned in the Winter Running post, my experience suggests that the snowflakes do not stay, they melt. Then water then drips off your nose or runs into your eyes. It’s irritating at the very least. And if the snowflakes are not melting it is because either it’s so flipping freezing that you can’t keep your skin at a surface temperature above 32 degrees or you are dead. Fruitcake.

Silver White Winters that Melt into Spring: Any hope of Spring deserves Hot Chocolate. Because right now Spring seems far, far away. Fortunately the Hot Chocolate is quite nearby. I think I will go have some, maybe with a Gingerbread Cookie (but not the dreaded Fruitcake).

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Posted by: Sue D. Gelber | December 4, 2010

Winter Running

Winter finally arrived here in Chicago. Suddenly, a cold wind blew in and pushed our mild fall right out into Lake Michigan, leaving it to flounder and drown. Before I even had time to dig the hat and gloves out of the closet, we had snow. In fact, on Wednesday it snowed all day, and yet no snow accumulated. While I have seen this happen sporadically in other locations, it seems to happen regularly here in Chicago. All day long, we will have a steady light snow, but by the end of the day, it hasn’t managed to cover the grass. Even after 8 hours of snow falling, there are just a few thin lines of white in the cracks on the sidewalk, maybe some faint circles around the man-hole covers, perhaps a small bundle of flakes resting up against the curb. A whole day of snow, and not one decent snowball to be made. Gray days like that were made for sitting on the couch drinking hot chocolate.

Instead of lounging with mug in hand, however, I found myself bundling up to go for a run. First snow of the season, and at 23 degrees possibly the coldest day we have had yet, and there I was, loading on the layers. Why? Why would I not just crawl under a blanket and stay inside? Well, because although I am ashamed to admit it, I am still in training. In a moment of what can only be described as Athletic-Event-Induced PsychosisTM , I signed up for a half marathon in January. In Chicago. Along the Lakefront. Yes, I realize that perhaps the time has come for me to be institutionalized because there is something very seriously Wrong With Me.

I hate winter. Anyone who knows me knows that. I can’t stand the cold. I am always freezing. My feet get chilled starting in October and don’t warm up until June. My fingers are so cold that often I can’t activate heat-sensor elevator buttons. My favorite winter-time activity is shuffling around the house in my wool socks and fuzzy slippers, muttering to myself about wanting to move to California. So why would I voluntarily sign up to run a half marathon along the windy frozen lakefront during what is bound to be the coldest week of the year? I have no idea, but I did.

Therefore, I have to keep running. I can’t stop just because it has gotten cold. The challenge, of course is finding the time. Not finding the time to go running, I mean finding the time to spend 45 minutes putting on all those darn layers. First, I have to put on the base layer: UnderArmour tights and long sleeve compression shirt. Then the mid layer: another pair of tights and a long sleeve shirt with a high neck. Then the third layer: windproof pants and jacket (with hood). Then one last layer: a warm vest. Plus the accessories: the Mizuno Thermo gloves and socks (maybe 2 pairs), the neckwarmer, the earwarmers, the hat. Maybe two hats. And all that still isn’t enough. I would like to run with a full face mask, but I worry I might frighten small children. When I am fully equipped, I feel like Ralphie’s little brother in A Christmas Story: “I can’t put my arms down!” On Wednesday, the entire process took close to an hour. And it was still snowing. Without accumulating.

I did some dynamic warmups inside the house and then headed out to begin my run. I turned the corner and found myself running straight into the windblown snow. I am not sure what Julie Andrews was talking about with “snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes,” because let me tell you, they don’t stay. They melt. The ones on your nose dribble down and tickle; the ones on your eyelashes melt right into your eyes so you can’t see a damn thing.Why in the world would that be one of your favorite things? Julie Andrews must have been on something. I’ll bet the hills were alive with more than just the sound of music.

The wind blew snow straight into my face. It was cold. It was gray. I longed to be home on the couch drinking hot chocolate, or some kind of tea. Yes, even drinking tea would be preferable. As I turned onto the running path, however, the wind died. I was no longer blinded by snowflakes that melted on my nose and eyelashes. I looked around. It was quiet. It was peaceful. Dare I say it? I was not miserable. I might actually have been enjoying myself. The running trail was deserted. At about the 2 mile mark I passes another runner. We practically hugged each other. Our mutual enormous, goofy smiles seemed to say “How cool are we? There is no one else here! They are all a bunch of wimps. Ha!”

Then I got home and had to spend another 30 minutes peeling off all the layers I had so carefully put on earlier. I also had to wipe off all the snowflakes that most certainly did not stay on my nose and eyelashes. I was soaked. But, truth be told, I felt pretty hard-core. Sure, I could have stayed home on the couch and been a lot warmer and drier, but instead I braved the elements and lived to tell the tale. California is for wimps.

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Posted by: Sue D. Gelber | November 22, 2010

Turkey Trot 10k: Running with Forrest

This past weekend, I decided to run the Lincolnwood Turkey Trot 10k on a whim, and I am glad I did, if only for the interesting mix of people I encountered. I realized as soon as I got there it was the perfect size race: not mayhem like the Hot Chocolate race, but a little more exciting than the Buffalo Run Half Marathon. A Goldilocks race: not too big, not too small. And lots of strange people.

Now before I let the snarkiness begin, a disclaimer: I respect each individual’s right to make his/her own choices regarding clothing and running habits. I know I should not be judgmental. I know it is not nice to make fun of people. Having said that, I was running this race alone and didn’t know anyone else there. That meant I had plenty of time to take in the crowds, and the crowds gave me a lot of humorous material to work with.

It began as I approached the start and saw a group of about 30 runners doing warm-up exercises. They seemed to have a good routine, so I moved closer to join them. As I got there, however, I realized that they were not speaking English. The coach in the center shouted something I couldn’t understand, and they all dropped to a right side lunge. He yelled something, they all switched to the left. He shouted something else and they all dropped into a hamstring stretch. It reminded me of my feeble attempt to do aerobics in Vietnam, an entertaining but confusing experience. I thought it would be fun to join in and try to follow the non-English instructions, but then I had visions of the coach calling security to escort me away. I decided just to do my own warm up routine, far away from the group.

As race time approached, I entered the start corral and looked down to see that I was behind IM70.3 Tattoo Guy! I had seen a guy with the same large black-and-red tattoo at the Bucktown 5k back in October. It had to be the same guy, right? Really, how many people would think to get a 70.3 tattoo?  I am not saying a Half-Ironman isn’t a huge accomplishment, but it’s more bumper-sticker-worthy rather than tattoo-worthy, in my opinion. After all, I did it, so how hard can it be? Anything that can be done by me, a rapidly aging and very mediocre athlete, can’t be much to write home about, much less write on your body. Of course, perhaps for this guy it was tattoo-worthy. Maybe he WON the Half-Ironman. In that case, more power to him. Heck, if I ever win a Half-Ironman, I’ll get a massive 70.3 tattoo on my calf. Really.

The start horn blew and Tattoo Man took off at a fast clip, leaving my disdain for his body markings in the dust. Hmm, maybe I shouldn’t be so critical of people’s tattoo choices and focus instead on improving my speed. But at least I was keeping myself entertained.

The course began winding its way through the village of Lincolnwood. There were smatterings of spectators, including a cluster of 30 people standing in complete silence. No applause, no cheers, just blank smiles. I wondered if perhaps there was a local monastery whose inhabitants came to watch despite of their vow of silence. Or perhaps they were mute. Maybe they were just really, really introverted. Or maybe we were such inspiring runners, we left them speechless. In any case, their silent smiles were a little disconcerting and I was slightly relieved when I had passed them.

As the pack of runners thinned out, I began searching for someone to pace me. I need a pacer because if left to my own devices, I will start looking around, admiring the scenery, gazing at the birds flying overhead. I get completely distracted and may even stray off the course. Following someone is a much better strategy. Plus, it allows me to spend quality time observing the people around me.

The first candidate for my pacer was a woman running in compression shorts and a jog bra. That’s all. (Well, shoes too). I quickly dubbed her Woman Who Might Want to Consider Putting on a Shirt. Again, before you flame me, see my above disclaimer that yes, anyone can wear what they want and I shouldn’t be so judgmental. But still, she really should think about wearing a shirt. Maybe 20-30 years ago, running in just a jog bra was a good idea, but she was substantially older than me (and I am no spring chicken), and in my opinion, her jog-bra-only days had passed. Not to mention it was cold. For a while I ran behind Woman Who Might Want to Consider Putting on a Shirt (WWMWTCPOAS), but it was challenge to stay behind her without getting an eyeful. What’s more, she was going just a tad too fast for me. I fell back a little.

I found myself following Guy Who Swings His Arms Enthusiastically, who had a nice even pace. Unfortunately, all that arm swinging was a little distracting. He swung them REALLY HIGH in front, and then REALLY HIGH in back. I stayed with him for a while, but the massive arm-swings got a little irritating, and he was making some strange noises, so I moved ahead of him.

I kept looking around for the right candidate to follow. Fortunately, Gear Addict arrived just then. She was a petite little thing with every running accoutrement known to man. She had the Newtons, the calf sleeves, the arm warmers, the technical shirt, the iPod arm band, the hydration belt, the Garmin the size of Texas. You name it, she was sporting it. She made an excellent candidate for my pacer, so I tucked in behind her.

Just then, however, a guy fell in step beside me. I glanced down and noticed he was wearing street shoes. Upon second glance, I realized  he was dressed not in running clothes, but in a pair Khaki shorts, like the kind you get at LLBean. I think he even had a belt. He topped it with a simple gray cotton shirt. What the heck was this guy’s deal? Was he on his way to breakfast and accidentally got caught up in the race? As I looked closer, I realized he had huge bulging calves of steel. He may be dressed like he’s on his way to the mall, but clearly, he’s a runner…a runner who thinks nothing of doing a 10k race in a pair of Khakis. I felt like I was running with Forrest Gump.

For a long time I stayed with Forrest and Gear Addict, who were running side by side, an interesting juxtaposition. Then a gal came up behind us wearing a turkey hat. Not a hat with a picture of a turkey on it, but a hat shaped like a turkey. A roasted turkey. With its legs tied together.

Whats more, up ahead I saw a woman wearing a full-length gray leotard with thick pink leg warmers and a pink headband. The theme to Flashdance involuntarily popped into my head. And trust me, that is not a good thing. Once you hear “What a Feeling!” it’s almost impossible to get rid of it. Like head lice.

So there I was, with “What a Feeling!” echoing in my mind, running along behind Forrest Gump, Gear Addict, Roasted Turkey Hat, and Flashdance Gal. I would have given a kidney in exchange for a camera. I didn’t even have my phone to snap a shot. I made sure I kept pace with them, because it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to run with a group like that.

Unfortunately, Flashdance Gal faded fast, much like the Flashdance phenomenon itself. Turkey Hat had a quick pace (trying to flee the oven, perhaps?) and almost immediately moved ahead. I stayed with Gear Addict and Forrest for most of the race, with Guy Who Swings His Arms Enthusiastically behind me, still making slightly disturbing sounds.

At one point, out of nowhere, I caught a stale pungent odor and looked to my left to see (and smell) Guy Who Clearly Had Too Much To Drink Last Night. He looked like hell, his hair mussed, his face pale. He passed me quickly. Apparently whatever he’d been drinking worked as carb loading.

Forrest was plugging along, starting to put a bit of space between himself and Gear Addict. As we got to mile 5, Gear Addict stopped to walk, proving that you can buy every gizmo out there, but they won’t make you any faster. Forrest was pulling away. It was just me and Guy Who Swings His Arms Enthusiastically.

As I approached mile 5.5, however, I looked ahead to see my old friend, Woman Who Might Want to Consider Putting on a Shirt! What a nice surprise! Naturally, I didn’t want to stay behind her for too long, since she still needed to put on a shirt, so I picked up my pace to pass her. I continued to cruise along, crossing the line at 55:40, a sweet 4-plus minute PR. And not only was it a PR, but it was the most interesting mix of people I have seen in a long, long time.

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Posted by: Sue D. Gelber | November 15, 2010

Welcome to the Off Season

As of right now, this very minute, I am not signed up for any athletic event of any kind. It has been well over a year since I have been able to say that. As my friend Lauri would say, I’ve got a big fat boatload of nothin’ on the calendar. The Austin Half Marathon in February is lingering on the edge of my mind, but just barely. Yes, I am looking at some halfs in the spring, but those are small races that I won’t even think about until March. My friend Ilyse is talking Turkey-Trot with me, but I have yet to pick a date and race. At this very moment, for the first time in over 18 months, I am not training for anything. No wonder I feel so adrift.

Contributing to my adriftiness (not a word, but should be, since it is so fun to say) is the fact that my college roommates came to visit this weekend, and they seem to be anything but adrift. They all have successful careers that generate actual income, as opposed to my piecemeal “work” which merely helps defray expenses from this nasty fitness habit that I have developed. I have never given a second thought to my lack of successful career, but suddenly I find myself awash in a sea of inadequacy.

My big accomplishment this year, of course, was my Half-Ironman, but I am not even sure my roommates knew what that was. The whole triathlon thing is so confusing to the uninitiated. Sprint? Half? Full? To most people, they all just blend together under the moniker “triathlon.” They know someone who did a triathlon once, and he/she swam a little, biked like 10 miles, and ran 3. So, if I did a “half” it must be shorter than that right? Um, no. It took me pretty much all day. Actually, it seemed like it took the better part of a week, but I think my brain is exaggerating. And then, on the other end of the spectrum, are people who know exactly what a 70.3 is, and don’t find it the least bit impressive because they do 140.6s.  So, although the Half-Ironman was my major event this year, is totally unimpressive to those who know (ie, people who do full ironmans) and totally unimpressive to those who don’t (ie, the rest of the general population). It was a big deal to me, but no one else really cares.

But then again, most of the things that have been a big deal in my life aren’t noteworthy to anyone else but me. They simply don’t rate. A friend of mine just became a federal judge. Now that rates as a big deal. Winning a Pulitzer? That rates. Being a doctor, lawyer, high-powered businesswoman?  All of those rate. Sitting on the couch typing on the computer in between doing races that I am not very good at? That does not rate. For a minute when we were on vacation in Laos, I thought I might come home with the baby who fell off the motorbike, and THAT would have rated, but alas, I didn’t. In spite of this year being filled with major personal accomplishments, I realize that nothing I have done really rates as a big deal on paper. But you know what? I don’t care. I am remarkably content with my life and how it is progressing. The problem comes when I have to present my life to other people. So really, what I have here is not so much an achievement problem, but a marketing problem.

What I need to do is rebrand all the minutiae of my life to make even the most minor accomplishment sound so-very-uber-important. This is especially true during the off-season when I don’t have any events to write about. So while I may not have posts about a marathon I ran, I triathlon I finished, or a novel I wrote, I can still boastfully post that I finally took the car in to be serviced. Or that I caught up on all the laundry, every last sock in the house. Or that I went to yoga and was able to do that damn gomukasana pose without bursting into tears.

The Off Season means taking it easy, and I plan to do that in a grand style. To hell with productivity. I am reveling in my adriftiness (there is that wonderful word again). I am embracing my lack of achievement. I am going to develop a marketing plan to celebrate my dearth of noteworthy accomplishments. It’s not about what you do, it is about how you present it. And trust me, no one accomplishes nothing quite as well as I do.

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Posted by: Sue D. Gelber | November 8, 2010

Hot Chocolate 5k

I am either an optimist or an idiot. I am not sure which one.

I did the RAM Racing Hot Chocolate 5k/15k Race last year, and it was pretty much a disaster. My time was good (for a slow runner like me), but the race was crowded and disorganized. Gear check was a black hole, with the clearly overwhelmed staff unable to locate several bags, including mine.  To add insult to injury, by the time us 15k runners finished, all the hot chocolate was gone, as chronicled by my friend Heather here. Last year’s race had, I believe, about 10,000 runners, and the participant consensus was that the field was way to big for the course, creating dangerous conditions in some spots. I vowed not to do the race again this year.

Well, along came emails from RAM Racing, the organizers, telling me that they made some changes to the race and this year it would be better than ever. There was a new course! There was a new location! The chocolate would be better! They would have more of it! Really! It was going to be so very much better than last year!

I was still hesitant. What’s more, I had a conflict – I needed to be somewhere by 10AM the morning of the race – which meant the 15k was out of the question. Sure, I could do the 5k, but as mentioned in an earlier post, I don’t do 5k races. The math just doesn’t work: getting up 2 hours early to do a race that will take less than 30 minutes makes no sense. However, I had a friend who was doing the 5k and she wanted some company. My friend was excited and enthusiastic, and RAM Racing was just so darn convincing. I was still reluctant after last year’s experience, but I figured if I did the 5k I would finish early enough get some of that much-touted hot chocolate. Before I knew it, I clicked the little “Register Here” button on the race website.

Naturally, as I stood in pre-dawn darkness pinning a bib number onto my shirt, I regretted that decision. I was sleep deprived and it was cold out. Clearly, I was a fool.

Once my friend Ilyse picked me up, however, the pre-race excitement set in. And it was the best kind of pre-race excitement, since the race was just a 5k, so nothing to worry about. All fun, no pain. My goal, however, was to beat my previous 5k time. I figured if I was getting out of bed a full two hours earlier than I would otherwise, I should at least have a PR to show for it. The weather was perfect  and I had fabulous new Saucony Kinvaras on my feet. There was no reason not to get a 26 minute time, maybe 25. I was even enough of an optimist/idiot to think I might get a 24-something finish.

As we arrived at the race, however, I should have known that things weren’t going to go as smoothly as I’d hoped. Even though the start was in spacious Grant Park, it was packed. Race officials/volunteers were impossible to find, and confusion seemed to reign. Being an idiot (optimist?) I once again had a bag, so Ilyse and I went in search of gear check. Someone said it was down at the far end of the staging area. We got down there to find no such thing. We happened upon a solitary hapless volunteer, the only one within a two-mile radius, who directed us back the way we came. The crowds were so thick that it was hard to move in some places. We weaved our way towards the mythical gear check as if searching for Camelot. Was it the white tent over there? No, that was the post race party. The purple tent far in the distance? No, that was Team in Training. Finally, we spotted gear check and started running, like Dorothy et al when they set eyes on the Emerald City for the first time. But unlike Dorothy and her friends, we ran not with joy but with fear – fear of missing the start. They were already playing the National Anthem. I sprinted over to drop my bag, and then turned to find that I had lost Ilyse in the mayhem. For crying out loud, we got separated before we’d even arrived at the start line.

I weaved my wave back through the crowd towards the start, scanning the faces for Ilyse, looking for a needle in a 30,000 runner haystack. It was hopeless. I finally gave up and jumped into the start corral. I tried to weave forward through the crowd but it was difficult to move. I kept looking around for Ilyse, optimistically (idiotically?) thinking that I would find her. Then I approached the start line. It was time to give up searching for her and just run. So I did.

The course, however, was too narrow to accommodate all the runners on it. We bunched up in pockets, slowing to a walk whether we wanted to or not. The police officers assigned to direct traffic were unable to keep runners confined to the course because, quite simply, the course was not wide enough for the number of people on it. As we merged onto Lake Shore Drive, several runners hopped outside the barrels to get a clearer path. It is a small miracle no one got hit by a passing car.

As we got off Lake Shore and weaved around Soldier Field, things opened up a bit. However, the course almost immediately veered onto the Lakefront Trail. Now, the Lakefront Trail is lovely, don’t get me wrong, but it is about 6 feet wide, not nearly large enough to accommodate the thousands of runners funneling onto it. I felt like I was stuck in traffic on the highway at rush hour. I gave up all hope of a PR and just moved along with the crowd. As we headed towards the finish I optimistically (idiotically?) sprinted, thinking I might be able to make up time, but in the end I was looking at 29-something, a good three-plus minutes slower than I wanted.

It took a while to find Ilyse in the crowd at the finish, but through the miracle of cell phones we were able to track each other down. They we went to gear check, where my bag was promptly handed to me, much to my delight and surprise. We headed over to get some chocolate fondue (with really yummy pound cake to dip in it) and some pretty darn good hot chocolate. The crowds were still insane, and part of me was unwilling to let go of my this-race-is-oversold-and-disorganized anger.

However, as I stood looking at the smiling faces around me, I realized it was nice for people who aren’t frequent runners to get the “big race” feeling. I would hazard a guess that a large number of the 5k runners had never and most likely never would run a massive race like Chicago Marathon. This was their chance to get the big race buzz. Granted, I still think RAM bit off more than they could chew. Chicago Marathon runs like a well-oiled machine. Hot Chocolate ran like a broken down jalopy. But chocolate fixes anything, and I think it is safe to say it fixed that race. A little fondue and all, or almost all, was forgiven.

As I headed out to get to my 10AM class on time, I stuffed my pocket full of every piece of chocolate I could find. After all, I couldn’t get a PR, but at least I could walk away with something to show for my effort. I left the race happy, because I am an idiot (optimist?), and a pocket stuffed with chocolate is good enough for me. Next year, however, I will sleep late and then make my own damn hot chocolate. And this time I mean it. Really.

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