Keeping Pace

Keeping Pace

Archives for September 2008

At band practice

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The days of attending the TNT track workouts have come and gone. As the daylight hours lesson, so do my hours of available run time. The football practices have been ending on time, which means that I would be forced to leave the track workout even earlier than I was already cuting out. I finally decided that it was more hastle than it was worth. So…

Tuesday evening, I laced up my shoes and left for my run right from YaYa’s football practice. Instead of cutting across the grass, I took the long way to the track by running around the block first. I had a nice round 1 mile warm up completed by the time I arrived.

The workout seemed simple enough: 2 x 1600s, 2 x 800s, 2 x 400s. The problem was that I wasn’t quite sure of the paces. I knew that “marathon” was noted for the first set, but I wasn’t sure if it was marathon pace or half marathon pace. I decided to just run hard and see what happened.

Right off, I knew that I was going out too fast but managed to hold on to the pace. At one point the high school band, which had been practicing their marching drills on the football field, lined up in half a dozen straight lines on the track, forced me to run wide to the outside lane to pass them. I tried to hide my frustration. It was their school after all. And when I heard the stampeded behind me, I picked it up a little more to insure that I wasn’t passed. That 1600, although faster than intended, did the trick in getting my workout moving. I was glad that the band members were only doing 1 lap. It took a while for all of the members to finish up.

I was nearly finished with my recovery lap when the last one finally finished. It was odd to have so many eyes pointed in my direction even if they weren’t paying attention to me. They practiced moving together at a precise tempo, while I tried to run each interval at a steady pace. I didn’t realize that I was keying off of them until they switched to a slower tempo. By the recover between 800s, I could answer their leader’s queries on how many counts forward and back.

I was pretty pleased with myself for pushing hard to the bitter end. Although I wasn’t sure of the target paces, I did follow a pattern of increasing the speed with each shorter interval.

Interval / Time (Pace)
1600 / 7:42 (7:42 / M)
1600 / 7:51 (7:51 / M)
800 / 3:42 (7:24 / M)
800 / 3:44 (7:28 / M)
400 / 1:42 (6:48 / M)
400 / 1:40 (6:40 / M)

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Coach Hollerback

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As time wore on, I became increasingly uncomfortable. Like sitting ducks, the three of us stood in the chain gang with our backs to the opposing side. We were not at war, though at times if felt that way; we were merely at my son’s football game. From behind me, a coach bellowed, “Just HIT THEM — anyone wearing red.” I bit my tongue and held tight to the padded grip on my end of the chain-linked marker just as YaYa walked out onto the field.

The game continued and I tried to keep a careful eye on YaYa. I was again questioning my decision to allow him to play tackle football. I shouldn’t be surprised to hear this coach’s remarks of combat, but I was. As the 4th down ended, I watched YaYa slowly make his way off the field. It was all I could do not to do my own yelling. RUN, YaYA; run for your life! That was when I realized that the referee was trying to get me to pay attention to the rest of the gang and move the markers down the field.

The other team now had the ball. I watched as they moved farther and farther down the field — in the WRONG direction. The same coach resumed his yelling. “ARE YOU IDIOTS?!” he screamed. I could not believe my ears. Looking back at the players who stood on the sidelines, I saw the look of terror and wondered if they were more afraid of our team or their coach. Then, I looked across the field at my son’s coaches and hoped that nothing like this was happening on that side of the field. I sure hope that YaYa would tell me if he was being treated the way the kids on this team were being treated. I know that they need to be tough, but they don’t need be beaten down. They’re kids. This is just a game.

I watched the seconds click away on the clock. Finally. It was halftime.

I quickly retreated to the safety of the sidelines as the cheerleaders took over the field. They danced around and shook their little pom poms. The throbbing in my head eased a little.

All too soon, we were crossing enemy lines again. I tried to stand tall (all 5’2″ of me) as the game resumed. The yelling did not start up right away but, when it did, it came full force. More orders to slaughter (my word, not his) the opponent were given. It was no used. Our team was slaughtering (by way of touchdowns) their team.

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Living

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The other day, I cried on the way to work. Though the arrival of tears was discouraging, I quickly realized that it has actually been quite some time since I have experienced this. Perspective is good — sometimes.

Later the same day, I cried again. I was reading a message from a long-lost friend whose father died when we were very young. It’s amazing how quickly the events from that far back come tumbling back into my memory. Our messages went back and forth a few times, and I learned that her mother suffered a horrible depression. I wasn’t surprised to read this, but I was surprised to hear that she never recovered from it. My friend likened the experience to losing her Mom, as well as her Dad. She cautioned me to keep living. Perspective, as I’ve said, can be good — sometimes.

I wonder how others may see me. What was my BoBo’s perspective when I quit running in a desperate attempt to reign him in? That might have been mistaken as letting myself die a little. Then there are those who have noticed the 10 pounds of weight that I put on since my husband’s death. What is their perspective? You may say that it doesn’t matter, but I’m not so sure. It all depends on who these people are. It might be you who views me as dying. Will you share your perspective with others long after I have truly passed?

I fear that I have reawakened my friend’s pain after all of these years. I am sorry for having done that. The topic came up for other reasons. Now that several days have passed my perspective has changed a bit, but I admit that I am still digesting the conversation. I am trying to understand it better for my own sake.

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Scrabble Dude

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Scrabble Dude.MsS.YaYaSomewhere in New York a little boy celebrate his 10th Birthday amidst the sadness of 9/11. I remember how my birthday frequently got buried in the break between Christmas and New Years. It sucked, but at least these were “happy” events. I cannot imagine what it must be like for this precious boy.

As I tell the story of how little Scrabble Dude saved his Dad’s life by simply enjoying his Birthday Breakfast with him 7 years ago, little YaYa’s eyes begin to water. Then he asks for the story of 9/11 and I begin to recount the events as I remember them. My eyes water too. It’s as easy as that — associating the happy event of Scrabble Dude’s birthday to the sad event of September 11th, 2001. I can only imagine what the mood must be living in New York.

This morning, as we drive to school, YaYa wants to call Scrabble Dude to wish him a Happy Birthday but The Dude is already in school. Our well wishes will have to wait until our differing time zones allow for it.

In the meantime:
Please comment to wish this dear boy a Happy 10th Birthday.

A new perspective

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I joined TNT for the purpose of giving Cancer a kick in the pants. Alone, I know that my efforts do not add up to much, but together the money raised will hopefully make a difference. I did not seek out the specific “flavor” of Cancer which took my husband. I chose the organization which has one of the biggest efforts in fighting the fight.

On days such as yesterday, when I am feeling ho-hum about my training, it is important to remember why I chose to train differently this time around. It only takes a little time to know that this is what matters most. This morning, I was given a new perspective.

I read our honoree’s update moments ago, and my cheeks are still moist from the tears. We are told that although he is still lymphoma-free, he will now begin fighting a new flavor of Cancer.

I wish there was a way to rid the world of this devastating disease. I seems to be metastasizing all over the world.

Please pray, send well wishes and good karma to our dear honoree.

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