Let it out!

Several weeks of sleep deprivation and high stress at work have begun to take their toll. I am beginning, ever so slightly, to lose control of myself. For instance:

Just now, when driving home from work, someone cut in front of me. I had an urge, lasting only a few moments, to ram my car into her stupid, stupid car. The reason? Not so much that she cut in front of me, but that she failed to give me a thank-you wave. I yelled at her, of course, from inside my car, which helped me feel better. And then I cut off someone else. Perhaps this means that I'm becoming a Masshole.

I've taken to yelling at the television, especially during Jeopardy. I find some relief in telling Alex Trebek to shut up and to tell the contestants that they are stupid, that they have stupid clothes, that their names are stupid, or that they otherwise should not be allowed out in public. Of course, the fact that I might be watching Jeopardy with any regularity is problematic, and likely means that I'm about ready for retirement. Which is fine with me.

Last Saturday, I cried while hiking. And no, it was not because I sustained a life-threatening injury. There it was, the first really glorious day of spring, and Todd and I decided to do a hike to start getting into the groove for the Inca Trail this summer. The trail was rocky and ill-defined, and I really wasn't having that much fun. Also, 75 degrees felt like an oven, so I was cranky and sweaty. But the last straw was when I stepped in a mud puddle, dirtying my "magic shoes," which are my new running shoes that seem to have magically fixed the problem with my IT band. So I burst into tears. I mentioned this to Kjerste in an e-mail earlier this week, and I said that I wouldn't blog about it because I just felt too stupid. But I am now seeing this as one incident in a general pattern of lame overwhelmed-ness, and I feel the need to confess. I'm letting it out! So there, now you all (what, all 3 of you?) know that I am lame and cry about shoes. What, you wanna say something about it? I didn't think so.

Obviously, I need a glass of wine.

Marathon Monday

Today was the 111th running of the Boston Marathon. I, obviously, did not run it. However, we live at about mile 10, so it was pretty easy to watch. (Note to Kjerste -- being so far away from the finish prevented me from yelling "Finish strong!" But I did think about it.) Watching it was much easier than running it, especially in the cold, rainy weather. While watching, a little part of me thought, "Hey! I should do this!" I'm sure the reason I thought this is because I am completely insane. The Boston Marathon requires that you qualify by running fairly fast in another marathon, or you can be a charity runner and raise money for a charity team. Or, you can just show up and run as a Bandit, which is an unofficial runner, and you get no number or timing chip. When I look at the qualifying times, I feel pretty strongly that I could qualify as approximately a 70 year old. Unfortunately, I think they verify your age, and although I look old, I don't look that old.

The Marathon, like so many other sports, has an illustrious and sexist history (including a notable moment in which the first woman to finagle a bib number in 1967 was almost forcibly removed from the race). Women were finally allowed to enter officially in 1972. The elite women I saw running this morning were damn fast. Just before the race began, one of them was interviewed for the local news coverage, and she mentioned that, due to the weather, she was going to start out "conservatively" at about a 5 minute 30 second mile pace. What?! This is conservative? Then, throughout the race, commentary focused on how "slow" the Elites were running compared to how fast they could run under better weather conditions. But I'd say they were still blindingly fast. These people are greyhounds. I could certainly never, ever, ever run that fast. Which is why I'm not an elite runner and instead more of an average lump.

My favorite part of the goofy news coverage, however, was the "guy on the street" at Heartbreak Hill (about mile 20) who was diving into the field of runners with a microphone, pointing the live camera at them, and asking them questions. The runners he tagged seemed pretty easy going. Were they too tired to fight him? In this position, I don't know if I could handle the questioning. I'd either be rude ("Why are you talking to me? Can't you see I'm trying to run a marathon, you idiot?") or so tired that I'd lose control of myself and burst into tears. Either way, not pretty.

In general, I would say that watching the marathon today made me want to become a professional athlete. I could center my day around running and getting massages. Granted, I could never be fast enough to win any money as a professional athlete, so that would be a drag, but the hours would be good.

Apples

Whenever I feel like not much exciting is happening in my life (see my previous posting), I tend to find ways to entertain myself. Sometimes it's been through things like, say, dying my hair or making prank phone calls, but I don't do those things any more. So I need something bigger. And I've found it. I'm going to run a half-marathon. Note that I said HALF -- don't get too crazy.

It's the Applefest Half Marathon -- it takes place in New Hampshire in October (which translates into plenty of time to train). A couple of friends and I will do it together. Mainly, we're focusing on the fact that they give you apple crisp at the end, and we will use visualization of said apple crisp to get us up some fairly steep-sounding hills that occur at the end of the race. I will do anything for dessert, apparently. And that seems to fit with something strange about this race -- they have weight divisions. It sounds like they are optional, but I think it's a bit odd. For one, the weights aren't very high: Men above 190 are eligible for the "Clydesdale" division, and women above 140 are eligible for the "Fillies" division. Is this an attempt to make people feel bad for being a normal weight? Is this why the website only seems to show pictures of strikingly skinny people? Are they trying to conserve on apple crisp by making you feel so bad before the race that you feel too guilty to eat dessert afterwards? Because that's not going to work for me. I'm still eating my pie. And when the paramedics come to cart me away because I'm dying, I'm taking it with me in the ambulance. I will not be deprived.

I wrote an e-mail to the organizer of the Applefest hoping for an explanation about the weight divisions. I also wanted to make sure they are optional -- I am not getting on a scale on race day. Applefest guy assured me that the weight divisions are optional. And he noted that there is some kind of Clydesdale and Filly movement. Note their strangely patriotic website. Apparently, this movement was started by those who felt that race organizers discriminated against larger runners. The overall tone of the e-mail from the Applefest guy was one of irritation with the Clydesdales. I wonder if they are a thorn in someone's side? Maybe I'll luck out and there'll be some kind of throwdown at the half marathon that I'll get to watch. While I'm eating my pie, of course.