Posted by: Sue D. Gelber | September 29, 2012

My ‘Net-Free Summer

Well, that was a nice little break.

You may have noticed this blog was quiet lately. No, I didn’t spend the whole summer sleeping late and lounging around in my pajamas. I was still doing stuff. I was just doing it all off-line.

I didn’t plan to have a tech-free summer, but I was tired of my kids always being tied to some kind of electronic device. I didn’t want to spend my summer looking at the tops of their heads while they were hunched over keyboards. So I decided they should have a break from all things electronic. It seemed like a good idea – no competing for their attention with computers, phones, and ipads. More family bonding! Quality time! Actual conversation using complete sentences! What’s not to love?

Alas, those cheeky little munchkins pointed out that I shouldn’t be on my computer, either. Fair play and all.

What? Me offline? No Twitter? No blogging? No stalking people by their FourSquare checkins? No reading on Facebook that Morgan Freeman has died, only to discover via Google that he’s quite alive?

Worst of all, no YouTube cat videos?

I thought I might not survive.

Fortunately, I cheated. Not a lot, but I was able to sneak on my phone early in the morning, before the kids were even awake. I’d do a quick check of Facebook, sometimes Twitter, just so I could keep up on the truly essential things, like the latest parody video of Call Me Maybe.

So what did I learn during my low-tech summer? That I probably waste a lot of time online and that life without the internet isn’t so bad after all. Sure, there were some moments when I missed the instant-updates available online. For example, it took over 24-hours for me to hear about the death of that guy who played Horshack on Welcome Back Kotter. But I discovered these things called newspapers that give you information about stuff that happened the day before, in a really condensed, easy-to-read form. Granted, the info was a little dated but it seemed mostly accurate. Kind of like Wikipedia.

What I missed most, however, were my online pals, particularly my running friends. I missed the feeling of being connected to people who shared the same interests, even if they were miles away. I missed hearing about people’s races. And of course I missed all the links to stupid videos.

I also missed the productivity that eventually comes from sitting in front of a computer. Other than my weekly Patch column, which I still composed online, I didn’t get much writing done. I bought myself a notebook and pen so I could write the old-fashioned way. Alas, all I managed to do was jot some notes about my summer activities. As a result, I have pages of random scribbles to transcribe. My net-free summer has resulted in a rather daunting “to-do” list. Now that September is creeping past, I guess I’d better get working on it, before summer is forgotten.

But in the meantime, if you’ll excuse me, I’m still trying to catch up on all those cat videos on YouTube.

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Posted by: Sue D. Gelber | July 6, 2012

To Add to My List of Humiliations: The Jubilee Jog

Welcome to Wilmette, home of some fast little runners

Since I have a new-found appreciation for 5k races, I decided to kick off the summer with a small community 5k. Even though I’m a slow runner, I can still eke out a decent placement if I stick to small, suburban races. Big races attract speedy people from all over the region, leaving me to bring up the rear. But small community races get a lot of non-runners, which helps boost me up into the top half. I may be slow, but I’m faster than the walkers. Most of them, anyway.

I know it sounds shallow, but finishing in the top 30 percent fills me with joy, even if I got there by passing elderly people using canes and sleep-deprived dads pushing jogging strollers while also tethered to their dogs.

I’ve discovered I can improve my overall placement by distracting the competition while on the course. When running near a senior citizen, I’ll yell “Look, a new AARP discount at that restaurant!” And I have yet to meet a dog that won’t veer off the race course in search of the dog treats that I throw. Hey, I need all the help I can get.

So, in my quest to conquer small, sparsely populated races, I traveled to the quiet town of Wilmette, IL, to do the Jubilee Jog on Memorial Day weekend. Wilmette is a lovely village nestled up against Lake Michigan and known as the home of two impressive institutions: the Bahai temple and the Walker Brothers Pancake House. Wilmette also breeds over achievers, such as Rahm Emanuel and some speedy little runners.

The race course winds it’s way through the Ridge Road area of Wilmette, a quiet residential neighborhood. I got to the race start and did a short pre-race warmup along Ridge, which was closed to traffic. The “warm-up” seemed superfluous, however, because the day was already hot and steamy. For the first time ever, I wished the race had started an hour earlier. Within minutes, sweat was stinging my eyes.

The race was a fundraiser for St. Joe’s school, so there were plenty of cute little kids running. As the race was about to start, a large gaggle of them squirmed their way up to the front. I stood farther back in the pack, chatting with the woman next to me about how cute the kids were.

Finally, the horn sounded and we were off, the little kids dashing ahead. “Bet they’ll all sprint like crazy for a half mile, then get winded and walk,” said the woman next to me. We laughed about how adorable and misguided they were.

Twenty minutes later, I was still following a little girl with a big attitude who’d been running a solid, steady sub-nine-minute-per-mile pace for two-plus miles. I reassured myself that she was faster than me because her center of gravity was so low. Or maybe being so small meant she didn’t get affected by the heat. And my final curmudgeon-like thought: she’s got to fade soon. Right?

And she did, right around the 2.5 mile mark. Ha! Take that little girl, I said to myself as I sailed by her. (Take what? I have no idea. Perhaps the heat was making me delirious.)

I knew I was far off a PR, but I was closing in on the finish line. I picked up the pace as I made the final turn. But then, behind me, I heard what sounded like an asthmatic pug. I became aware of the sound of little feet slapping the pavement, getting closer. And then WHOOSH! In a blaze of pink, she surged in front of me, her skirt flapping, her ponytail flying. I had no energy to match her. She sprinted across the finish.

I looked at the clock, grunted, and went in search of water and shade. When the race results were posted, I scanned the sheet. After checking my mediocre age group placement, I looked at the name ahead of mine, the girl who beat me. She was nine years old. I was beaten by a third grader. In a pink skirt.

Yet in spite of my dismal placement, it was a great race: small and charming but with lots of enthusiastic volunteers and a fun post-race party and raffle. I enjoyed it so much, in fact, that I’ve decided to make it my A-race next year.

Yes, that’s right. My A-race. I’ve already started training, and I plan to beat Little Miss Pink Skirt. Let’s she how she does once she’s in the double digits and her age starts catching up with her. It’s on. Bring it, little girl. You and your cute pink skirt. Bring it.

Does this skirt make me look fast?

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Posted by: Sue D. Gelber | June 5, 2012

A Nice Day for a Criterium Race (if you’re into that kind of thing)

Skydiving. Rock climbing. Criterium racing. What do all these things have in common? I’d never do them, even if you paid me.

And it’s not because they’re too difficult – for skydiving, all you have to do is jump out of a plane – but I just don’t see the appeal. People say skydiving is a rush, but to me it just seems like a rush to possible death. Rock climbing sounds challenging, but lacking in scenery, since you have to face the rock the whole time, looking for places to put your fingers and toes. (The fact that I have Flintstone feet would probably make it hard to squeeze my bulky toes into those little crevices). And criterium racing? I’d always be one turn away from a trip to the ER.

In case you don’t know what criterium racing is (or “crit” racing, to use the proper lingo), it’s when cyclists race a loop course on city streets. Usually the course is short, just less than a mile, and the riders go around. And around. And around. And around. Unlike velodrome racing, which is on a bike track, these cyclists are on regular roads, complete with potholes, sewer grates, and tight corners. And that’s the scary part: being in a pack of cyclists, taking a turn. All you need is one person to make a mistake and next thing you know, there’s a cast involved.

Not to mention, it’s hard to take in the scenery when you’re in a pack of 20 riders navigating a tight course at high-speed. What’s the point of going for a bike ride if you can’t gawk at the real estate? Fortunately, criterium races are great for spectators, which is exactly what I was at the Glencoe Grand Prix this past weekend.

The GGP is part of the National Criterium Calendar and it attracts professional racers from all over the world. This year, athletes came from as far away as Argentina, Italy, Australia and New Zealand. Fortunately, there were also plenty of races for local non-pro riders, including my friend Nan Doyal, who came in 3rd in the Women’s Category 4 group. Because this race was the Illinois State Championship race, that earned her the bronze medal. And this was only her second crit race. Clearly, she’s talented. And possibly crazy for even wanting to do crit races, but I mean crazy in a good way.

It was a clear, sunny, warm day, perfect for riding. But it was even better for standing on the sidelines, cheering and taking pictures while nursing a cold beverage. And that’s the best way to partake in one of these crazy sports.

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Posted by: Sue D. Gelber | May 31, 2012

Self-discipline: Yet Another Thing to be Outsourced

When it comes to running, I lack self-discipline. Sure, I run every day, so I manage to get myself laced up and out the door, but I don’t always stick to my training plan. If I’m scheduled to do a seven mile run, sometimes I’ll stop at mile six. Or five. Or one. Even when I manage to put in all the miles, I frequently run those miles WAY slower than I should.

When I run, I’m like a 10-year-old with ADD in a toy store, paying attention to everything and nothing. “Hey, look at that! I wonder what kind of bird that is. Boy, check out those clouds. Is going to rain? Wow, what an enormous house! I wonder how much it costs. Oh, look at the cute dog. What kind of dog is that? Maybe we should get one. Wave to the car going by! Hey, I know that person. Wait, who was it? Let me think.” Then I look down and realize I’m doing 13-minute miles. Not exactly the “tempo run” that was on the schedule.

I skip runs, cut my mileage short, and run too slowly: all clear signs that I lack self-discipline. But then I had a thought: what if I outsourced it?

These days, you can outsource pretty much anything. Housecleaning, lawn mowing, closet organizing, resume writing. Heck, you can even hire someone to manage your social media or pick up dog poop (two tasks that, given the stuff I see on Twitter sometimes, have some commonality). We don’t even have to come up with our own petty drama anymore. We have “Real Housewives.”

So why not outsource my self-discipline when it comes to running?

No, not by hiring a mean whistle-blowing, tracksuit-wearing coach to yell at me while I do laps (although that’s a good idea), but by using races for my training runs. For example, last weekend I was supposed to do a 10 mile run on Saturday. Could I have slogged through a run on my own? Probably, but I would have been slow, and I may very well have stopped at mile eight. So instead, I did the Soldier Field 10-Miler, a race I’ve done before and loved. The benefits? Several. I got myself out of bed and out the door far earlier than I would have otherwise. I didn’t have to worry about carrying water with me, or mapping out a route that would take me near a bathroom. I didn’t dare cut my mileage short, lest I risk being called a cheater. And most of all, being surrounded by speedy runners made me run substantially faster than I would have on my own. Probably two minutes per mile faster.

I’m hooked on it. In fact, all my long runs so far this season have been part of races. The major drawback, of course, is that it’s costing me an arm an a leg. But at least I’m getting my miles in, and I have a vast array of race t-shirts to show for it. Alas, they are all the wrong size, since I still have yet to master the art of race-shirt sizing.

So far, so good, and I plan to stick with it until the cash runs out. Or until my race-shirt collection gets too big for my closet. And then I guess I’ll start looking for that coach with the sweat pants and the loud whistle.

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Posted by: Sue D. Gelber | May 7, 2012

Fifty Shades of Failure

Stupid is as stupid does. As often as I’ve heard that line quoted, I never really understood it. Until, that is, I had a series of stupid moves at various races over the past month or so that made me wonder what happened to my brain cells.

First, and most embarrassingly, I went to the St Paddy’s 8k, and upon picking up my packet, noted they didn’t have bib chips. Instead, there were D-tags for timing. D-tags? What is this, 2008? Annoyed, I rushed to put the tag on my shoe and get to the start line. I ambitiously weaved my way just ahead of the eight-minute-mile pace group. Then, as I did some stretches, I looked down at my shoe and saw what I’d done. Yes, I had put the D-tag instructions on my shoe and threw the chip itself into the garbage. Officially, I’d be a DNS. Even if I PR-ed they’d be no record of it, anywhere. And really, what’s the point of having a good race result if it’s not posted on the internet? I moved back, away from the seven-minute-mile corral and instead looked around for the “Idiot” start corral.

A few weeks later, while warming up for a 10k, I turned on my Garmin, only to find I’d forgotten to charge the battery. Again. “Well,” I thought, “I’ll just have to calculate my pace in my head.” But as soon as I started running, I completely forgot the eight times table. Apparently I can either do simple math or run, but not both. At about the 4 mile mark, I thought I’d be able to pull off a PR. But then realized that I’d miscalculated – the only way I’d make it was if I put up 5 minute miles. And no matter how creative I got with the math, that wasn’t going to happen.

And then there was the Egg Shell Shuffle Half Marathon, where I was hoping to run under 1:50 so I could get a Chicago Marathon start corral. The problem is, I’d forgotten to train for the race. I’d gone on vacation two weeks earlier, and sure, I’d run every day. Like three miles a day. Hmm, what about those other 10-plus miles I’d have to cover? So along came race day, and I guess you could say my legs felt “fresh” for the first five miles. But then, one by one, each subsequent step killed me. By mile 8, I was ready to walk. By mile 10, I was ready to cry. I ended up with a time that was a full 13 minutes slower than I wanted.

I have no excuse. Well, no excuse other than the fact that I stupidly blew off training without thinking about the consequences. But surely I can come up with a better reason than that. I need something, even a fictitious excuse, that doesn’t make me feel like a complete loser. Something dramatic. Kidnapped by aliens? Slowed down while saving a toddler from drowning? Injured while nabbing a purse-snatcher who stole from a little old lady? Maybe something even more exciting?

So I decided to take a page from that book that everyone is talking about, and I came up with some good, if not plausible, reasons why I ran so slowly:

– My hands were tied. Literally. Made it hard to drink my Gatorade.
– I was locked in the Red Room of Pain and missed the start.
– My bunions were aggravated from wearing stilettos all day.
– I was abducted at the first water stop and forced to be a love slave.
– I forgot to take off my blindfolded from the night before and ran off course.
– It’s hard to get in a good training run when you’re chained up all the time.
And the best reason I was unable to run fast is:
– I decided I like getting beaten.

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