Double Double

Saturday marked the second day of my week where I doubled up workouts.

If you recall, I ran and biked on Thursday. It felt pretty OK, so I thought I'd give it a whirl again to start the weekend off right.

I was up early, at RIPPED by 6:30 a.m (OK, 6:35 ... I missed the first half of the warm-up) and good and sweaty by the cool-down an hour later at 7:30. The sun was still hiding behind the clouds and the breeze was just perfect, so I grabbed my running water bottle, flipped my Map My Run app on and hit the streets of my old neighborhood.

It was fun to cruise over those once-familiar sidewalks. I always walked, even at my heaviest, and knew my old 2-mile route would serve me well. I wanted to do 4 miles, however, so I added a few blocks here and there in an attempt to avoid simply doing the loop twice.

Before I knew it, I was back at my car ... with 5.1 miles on my phone.

A nice surprise.

Best of all, it felt easy. My pace was "slow" for me ... 10:40 miles. But it was easy and it felt good. Really good. For the first time in a long time.

A change of scenery is good for everything, I guess.

Bugs, Breathing and Beads

I challenged myself Thursday.

First, I woke up before 5 a.m., ran four miles and then hopped on my bike to ride to work. 

Then, I put in a 10+ hour day.  

Then I got suited up for the ride home. I was actually looking forward to it because it's nice to have the decompression time. It's a good time to think and a good time to sort, prioritize and chill. 

But as soon as I hit the bike path, I knew I wasn't alone. 

They were there. 

Millions of them. 

Swarms of gnats. 

I took a mouthful before I knew it. They stick in the back of your throat in the most disgusting way. 

I got wise quickly ... in through the nose; out through the mouth. In through the nose; out through the mouth. In through the nose; out through the mouth. I kept repeating it over and over, in cadence with my pedaling, and tried to keep my nose/mouth pointed toward the ground to prevent an accidental bug cloud inhale . 

I didn't dare lick my lips for fear that I'd have a whole bunch of the little buggers stuck there by the time I got home. 

I could hear them pinging off my helmet and see them bouncing off my sunglasses. 

I was convinced I could even hear them as they hit the craters of my ears. Gross, right?

The good news is that the ride is only about 8 miles ... so I was home fairly quickly. I took off my helmet and gave myself a good shake to make sure there were no hangers-on. 

And that's when I noticed something that made me smile. 

You see, I had forgotten to take my earrings off when I changed from office wear into bike gear. What I thought was bugs crashing into my ears was actually some fake pearl beads clinking from my dangle earrings. 

It's a good look. Bike helmet and dangly pearl earrings, right?  

Better option than this ... 

I Keep Looking ...

I am looking for something.

I have not yet put my finger on it. Every time I think I have found it, when I swear I've found it, it turns out I haven't yet.

What am I looking for?

I'm looking for the one thing that's going to snap me back to reality.

So far, these are the things it has not been:

My smallest clothes not fitting.
My favorite clothes not fitting.
My biggest small clothes not fitting.
Walking around feeling like an uncomfortable sausage all day because my clothes don't fit.
The re-emergence of huge upper arms.
The rubbing together of the tops of my thighs.
The blob of skin that hangs over my too tight bra.
The re-appearance of a pooch in my mid-section.
The weakness of will that allows me to walk when I should be running or back off when I should be pushing.
The nearly constant bad internal conversation in my head.
The tired, defeated, hopeless feelings that creep in.

I have made myself lots of promises. I have vowed to get back on track a hundred or more times. And, as of yet, I have not actually done it. Which means I'm obviously lying to myself. I can't figure out why, either. 

But yesterday I tried on a pair of size 12 pants and stopped breathing for a minute when they fit. 

The truth is I'm working out pretty much like usual. But I'm essentially eating whatever I want. Proof that this whole deal is ALL. ABOUT. THE. EATING. 

For now, I'm going to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Keep moving forward. And maybe, just maybe, while I'm hunting for divine intervention or some equally illogical other thing, I'll do enough right to get to the place I want to be. 

Conversation During Today's Punishment Workout

I had a fun weekend. Lots of time with friends. A couple of celebrations. And an early morning drive to Dubuque today with my mom to get her a couple of hours at the Diamond Jo Casino. 

Which meant I skipped my normal workout this morning. You see, I have this radio call-in thing for work every Sunday morning. It's at 7:30 a.m. and my choice is to work out before it or after it. Since last night's celebration was a wedding reception, getting up super early this morning wasn't that appealing. Especially since I woke up extra early yesterday to ride my bike into 6:30 a.m. RIPPED. Two weekend mornings at 5 a.m. is just not fun. 

So that means I had to do something this afternoon to make up for the skipped workout. I call it The Punishment Workout. It's got to be something awful enough to prevent me from wanting to skip again anytime soon. So I picked one of the things I hate most: Weeding.

Why do I hate weeding? Mostly because it's pointless. They just grow back. And it's hot. And sweaty. And dirty. And you have to bend over. I really hate bending over. 

This is how it went down:  

"I hate weeding," I said. "Though it's better when we do it together. It goes faster."

"Yeah," Jim says. "These clover-things suck. They're hard to pull because you can't find the source." 

We pull. And pull. And pull. There's no dilly dallying because neither one of us wants to look like the wuss. Thankfully the sun isn't blazing down and the ground is soft. But it's still a pain in the ass ... or more specifically, in the back. 

With the front done and half of the back flower beds complete, this happens:

"This is precisely why we should have had kids of our own, you know," I say. 

"Yeah, then we could tell them to get out here and take care of this shit," he laughs. "'Get out there and weed those flower beds you little bastards. If you want supper, you'd better get out there an bust a sweat,'" 

I'm giggling, knowing he'd probably not call our kids little bastards. To their face. Or maybe I'm giggling because he would. The thing is our kids would probably laugh at him doing so. 

"It's not too late. We can adopt," he suggests. 

At this point, I'll do just about anything to get out of this task. "We don't have to tell the adoption agency WHY we want to get a couple of them, right?" I ask. 

"Nope," he says. 

I'm still considering it. 

Good Genes: A.K.A. Dragging My 73-Year-Old Mother Around Chicago

So, this is an open letter to all you 30-somethings, 40-somethings, 50-somethings who think you are too out of shape, weak, hurt, malformed, injured, just plain unable to do any sort of cardio exercise:

My 73-year-old mother covered more than 7 miles at full speed in downtown Chicago on Monday.

In flip flops.

Any more excuses?
----------------------------------------
Mom and I hopped aboard the Chicago Fun Day tour of the Windy City. A luxury motorcoach dropped us off at Navy Pier and the day was ours to do what we wanted, knowing the bus would pick us up at a predetermined spot later.

Since the day was rainy and thick, we didn't stay long at Navy Pier. The big ferris wheel wasn't running, so there was very little reason to stick around. Instead, we headed to Michigan Avenue.

We started at Water Tower Place and marched all over the 7 floors. Then we headed south, stopping at the Tribune Building and the DuSable Bridge to take in a Chicago Architecture Cruise. After 75 minutes on the water, we continued our southern march to Millennium Park. She didn't know what to make of the Bean.

This is us. Yes, I have a coat tied around my waist. She insisted I take one along
on an 80-degree day. Because she's my mom, I listened. Nevermind that I'm 47.

We then trekked back north, making a few stops and side trips off of Michigan, eventually landing at the corner of Rush and Superior.

Not only did she put on the miles, in many instances, she was setting the pace. She puts her little head down and goes.

She did admit on the way home that her feet were starting to hurt.

Damn flip flops.
-----------------------------------------------
I sure hope I have inherited a few of those genes.

And while she may not know it, she has given me something even better. She's given me an example of what "growing old" should look like. She knows that you can do what you set your mind to. She knows the key to living to her target 100 is to keep moving.

Thanks, Mom.

There she is, Big City Mama. She also has a coat
tied around her waist, of course. She wore it when
we stopped for ice cream. The AC was too cold.
And you'll see I'm not lying about the flip flops. 

P.S. I took the following day off from exercise. It was my rest day. She mowed her 1-acre lawn with a push mower.

... And Then a Cold Shower

I rode my bike to work for the first time of the year today.

It was really lovely. Just a nice way to start the day. Sort of.
--------------------------------------------------
I have been fortunate enough in the past two years to have three jobs, all with showers, making the two-wheeled trek to work possible. In fact, a shower is now on my list of must-have benefits. Health insurance? Check. Vacation days? Check. Shower? Yes, sir!

In fact, it was actually one of the last questions I asked before accepting my current job. (Much as it had been at my last place of employment.) "We have one," said my soon-to-be-new-boss hesitatingly. "It's been here about 20 years and I'm not sure anyone has ever used it," he added.

"And it's in the men's bathroom."

Fast forward to last week. With high hopes that the weather would finally cooperate, I determined that it was time to check the shower.

Confidently, I marched into the men's room after 5 p.m. when most everyone was gone. I twisted the faucet and, voila ...

Water! I was good to go.

Or so I thought.
---------------------------------------------------
This morning, I stuffed my backpack full. I pedaled as fast as I could. I locked my bike up outside and I headed toward the men's room.

It's a little unnerving to disrobe in the men's room, I gotta admit. What if the lock doesn't work? Not the way I want to address my still-not-"old"-friends coworkers. But disrobe I did, stepped into my flip flops (it's still the men's room and everyone knows athlete's foot lives in places like this), and fired up the shower.

Fired up is not exactly accurate. Fire would imply warmth. And this, my friends, was a cold shower. A very cold shower. As in, no hot water. None. Zip. Nada. Bupkis.

I guess I should have tested the temperature when I tested the existence of water.

Needless to say, my shower didn't take long.

Naked by November

I got to spend the weekend with some of the people I love most in the world ... my girlfriends from home. Due to a work trip that brought Arizona to Chicago, Arizona was able to extend her stay by a couple of days and head to my house. Then Cross Plains, Neenah and Fort Atkinson x 2 also joined and it was slumber party at the ranch! 

Poor Jim. LOL

Normally, we rendezvous in the fall. This unexpected gathering was a bonus. 

We did something we'd never done on Saturday morning. I rolled everyone's ass out of bed and we went to RIPPED. 

Wait. Let me say that another way. 

Because my friends love and support me, they rolled their own asses out of bed at 5:45 a.m. on a Saturday, after a very late Friday night, and went to RIPPED with me. 

Isn't that just the coolest thing? 

Like Alice handing out brown bag lunches on The Brady Bunch, I had a protein bar, water bottle, sweatband and gym towel ready near the back door, so they could grab what they needed before heading to the car. In the car, I had all of my extra yoga mats and hand weights preloaded. Off we went into the sunrise. 

We jumped around. Made up a few of our own moves. Groaned a little. Sweat a lot. 

And when it was over, we talked about how we all needed a little incentive. We realize that taking good care of ourselves means making sure we do all we can to eat better, breathe deeper and move more. 

I mean, let's face it. We're closer to 50 than 40 at this point and the reality of that is lost on no one. 

So we made a pact. 

When we get together in November, we're going to do a 5K. We have the time between now and then to get ready. No one is forcing anyone else to run, but I do think that will be the goal of a few. 

A quick check of calendars showed that the weekend of Nov. 13 seemed to work for our fall extravaganza. Another fast check of Google showed that we had three good options that weekend in our neighborhood: 

Echo Turkey Trot, Janesville

This is a 5-mile run/walk with a 1-mile option. The event raises money for Janesville's food pantry. 

Frosty Rock Challenge, Fort Atkinson

This is a 12K (7.4 mile) run through the trails at a county park. There's also a 5K option with money raised to go toward the Jefferson Country Cancer Coalition. 

The Nearly Naked 5K, Whitewater

This 5K is a fundraiser for the Whitewater Community Clothes Closet. The idea is that you layer up in clothes you would like to donate, and at each mile marker, you shed a few articles. By the end of the race, you should be "nearly naked." ("In November? In Wisconsin?" asked Arizona, whose blood has thinned considerably over the years.)

Can  you guess which one is the early favorite? 

Love these ladies with all my heart.
Strong and beautiful, in every way. 

Rest Days are Hard

Remember that 6-mile run I was so happy about last Wednesday? National Running Day, beautiful sunny morning, felt like I could go forever? 

In the "no good deed goes unpunished" vein, I screwed something up in my right knee and it's been hurting more than usual since. To the point of I'm limping every once in a while. 

So I've made the usual adjustments: flat shoes, upped the ibuprofen and fish oil, and substituted bike riding/weights for running. 

For four days. Four long days. My Fitbit is pissed. 

I know pain is your body's way of calling time-out and, most often, should not be ignored. 

I also know that have these periods every once in a while. It just means I have to change it up. Less running ... fewer miles per session or fewer sessions per week. Sometimes no running. And, when it's like this, even walking is too much. 

I can't help but think about all the things I did wrong in the beginning of this journey. I ran every day. I pushed through the little aches and pains. I increased distance (and intensity) more than the recommended/safe 10% per week. 

I was not informed. In fact, I was dumb. The result? I learned my lesson the hard way and I created some of the problems I have now. 

The best defense is information and patience. I keep reminding myself that this is a marathon, not a sprint. My goal is to stay healthy so I can continue to run for a very long time. 

So, here's a little information for you: 

6 Common Mistakes New Runners Make

The Exercises Physical Therapists Know Lead to Injuries

And now I'm going to see if I can find some more patience for me. It's just so not my best skill. 

Catching You Up

Hey peeps. It's been a while. I'm sorry I've been lax in the blog department. To be honest ... I kind of ran out of mojo for a while. I was afraid that anything I wrote would sound like whining or complaining, so I thought it best to just keep quiet.

And, I'm not entirely convinced my funk has left the building. So if this is a bit rough, I apologize.

My goal all along has been to use my story to show that, if by chance you were struggling with some of the same things, you are not alone. Consequently, I thought that if I couldn't be positive and uplifting, this whole thing wouldn't serve a purpose. Goodness knows in the grand scheme of things, my life is pretty freaking blessed. Complaining about having too much to eat sounds conceited, ridiculous, petty ... and horribly American.

I realize, though, that what I'm going through now might also be part of your story or your struggle. So I'm back.

I thought I'd just catch you up first and we'll see where it goes from there.

1. I have a new job. I'm almost 4 months in and some things are finally starting to feel familiar. The transition hasn't been easy for me. I've had to do some re-evaluation of who I am and what I want. I've chosen to place a different emphasis on what "work" is and how it defines me. I've met some really wonderful people, learned a lot and had quite a bit of fun.

2. I have gained weight. My guess is 20-25 lbs from my new normal low, but I'm too afraid to step on the scale to find out. Most of my summer clothes from 2 years ago do not fit. Some from last year do. I feel like a sausage ... too much goo stuffed in a too small package. The bras are the worst. They're just plain uncomfortable.

3. My workouts have been sporadic. I'm still running about 3x/week. Sometimes 4x. I'm doing between 4-6 miles an outing. I'm not lifting like I was. I'm also not biking like I did last summer. Because my weight it up, I'm putting extra stress on my joints. It seems everything hurts these days ... my hips, my shoulder, my back, my knees. Oh, my knees. However, NOT working out doesn't make any of it feel better. In fact, it usually makes things worse. Continuing to move is what feels best.

4. My eating spun wildly out of control for a while. I seriously think I might have a problem. It's not like I was eating whole packages of Oreos at one sitting or gorging on buckets of fried foods or anything. But I just couldn't stop eating. A handful of pretzels her. Ten minutes later? A little hunk of cheese. 20 minutes later? A piece of Dove Dark. Oh, good. Time for lunch. It was more like constant chewing. I've been better this week. Getting my head back in the game. I've been making better choices and have put a few of the old "limitations" (thought I hate that word) back in place.

5. My struggle is finding balance. I can't out-exercise bad eating. I can't/don't want to eat clean every minute of every day. I can't lie and say this is good enough when I know it's not. I can't say I don't care because I do. I also have to get out of my own head and understand that my emotions/internal dialogue affect my actions. I have to stop the negative thinking, the doubt and the fear.

No surprise, I'm a work in progress. Like the rest of the world.

Shortest. Bike Ride. Ever.

Got a text from my bike ridin' cousin Mary a couple of days ago with a photo attached. The pic was of her Trek 100 bib and the message said, "Ready to ride?"

Shit.

I forgot to sign up for the Trek 100 ride.

A quick glance at the website proved that A) I missed the Early Bird Discount by a mile. B) I also missed online registration altogether.

All that notwithstanding, Jim and I are going to do the 19-mile route ... his first-ever ride. As such, we made an attempt at a training run tonight.

We loaded up our bikes on my new Saris bike rack, drove to the bike trail and hit the ground rolling.

A mile in, I had a back tire going flat.

Back to the car we went.

"Think you can do that 9 more times?" I asked Jim as we were loading bikes back onto the rack.

"Yup."

So, I guess we're ready ... after we have the guys at Michael's Cycles take a look at my tire to see if it's the tire or just a tube that needs to be replaced.

Hahahahaha!

Fitbit is Funny!

I woke up yesterday with a sore throat, a full head and a sort of ornery attitude. Jim's had a couple of nasty sinus infections this spring and I was not about to put up with that crap.

So by last night, after a day filled with moving boxes for our office move, I was kind of all in by about 8:30 p.m. I set my mind, and my alarm, to get up in time to ride my bike to RIPPED this morning at 6:30 a.m.

I'm a big believer in the "kill it or cure it" approach to anything resembling a cold.

Since I hadn't been on my bike since last fall, the trip into town was a bit of a wake-up call for my quads. And it took a bit longer than I planned, but I made it, ran through RIPPED and headed home.

Curious to see how Fitbit would read the biking part of the trip, I logged in once I got there.

This is what I found:

The ride in, between 5:50-ish and 6:35-ish didn't look too strenuous. The hour of actual class usually registers shy of 4000 steps and less than 2 miles. I left class about 7:45 and then stopped to chat with some friends in our old neighborhood. I was home by 8:45 or so. But look, the ride home was considerably more active than the ride in.

Except for the part where I apparently fell asleep:

I Am Not a Gardener

Today was the annual Planting of the Flowers Day.

It's not my favorite day of the year. In fact, I kind of hate it.

I like buying the plants. I think it's great fun to mix and match the colors, textures, heights and shapes. I'm big on purples and greens. Actually, I ONLY like purples and greens, but mix in a few other things to keep it interesting.

It's the planting I don't like. It's dirty and hot and sweaty.

And it's inevitable that once I get started, I find plenty of weeds to pull, which leads to a dozen or so trips back and forth to the fence line where I toss the pullings. Then there's 40-lb. bags of potting soil to tote from the front porch to the back deck and around again. And then there's the 5-gallon buckets of water that get hauled, hoisted and poured. And the ceramic pots filled with dirt that I decide should be moved around and more artfully arranged.

Before I know it, I have a decent workout in and need yet another shower.

Maybe I should learn to like gardening.

The truth lies somewhere between this ... 

And this. 

Searching for Balance

I can't stand on one foot for very long.

At the end of RIPPED classes, during the cool-down, Peggy almost always runs us through a series of stretches that require me to stand on one foot to stretch quads, hips, glutes. I almost always have to "touch down" with the other foot to keep from falling over.

It makes me think my balance just isn't that good. Or my muscles are somehow sort of weak.

And I think it's an enormous metaphor for what's going on in my head right now.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I took last week off from exercise. Almost completely and totally off. If you're friends with me via Fitbit, you can see that my step total sort of fell off the radar.

The burnout was real. Part of it was the training for the half marathon. But not all of it.

Part of it was Spring. As in spring wardrobe. As in, my clothes from last year were not all fitting so smurfy.

You know how that thinking sprials ... I've talked about it a million times before. I feel bad, so I get down on myself. I get down on myself and start making bad choices. A few bad choices lead to a few more bad choices and pretty soon you're stuck in a dark pit and it's hard to get out.

The choices I was making? Eating pretty much whatever I wanted to and trying to out-exercise it.

This, dear readers, does not work. It cannot work. It has never worked.

So I took a reset.

No running. Only one morning of RIPPED. No weights. No biking.

In addition, no feeling guilty about eating "bad." No beating myself up for gaining weight. No crappy self talk about getting fat or having no self control. No poor me. No whining.

I wanted to give myself some grace ... to prove that the world will not end if I just chilled out for a bit to get my head back on straight.

Guess what? The world didn't end.

I didn't exactly eat well, but I ate better. I made a conscious effort to not pummel myself, and that's easier said than done for me. I tried on some clothes that I was convinced wouldn't fit and the truth was they weren't as terrible as I'd feared. (Though, don't get me wrong ... there are plenty of others that don't button.)

I thought about waiting for the urge to come to me.

It did. I woke up Saturday morning itching to do my traditional 4 miles. So with a little fear, I hit the treadmill ... and everything was fine.

I waited again for the urge to eat better to arrive. It didn't happen on Mother's Day ... I was responsible for brunch, served at my house, and things got a little out of delicious control.

But, last night, the urge to eat better hit.

And today, I did.

Burpees and Pushups Suck

I was back at RIPPED this morning. My attendance has been a little spotty these past few weeks as I was trying to find time to get my running miles in and sometimes I had to skipped class to do it.

The good news about skipping is that I got to sleep in a few extra days. The bad news is that essentially all of the sections changed while I was gone and I'm sort of lost with the new choreography.

Now, I don't mind being lost for a few classes. I eventually catch up and catch on. And, truth be told, it makes me smile, while I'm out there bouncing around erratically, to imagine myself as a fly on the wall watching how completely dorky I look as I try to figure it out. It must be hilarious.

But here's the kicker: the new sections include a shit-ton of burpees and pushups.

Ugh.

There's nothing cute about 47-year-old me, still stiff from Saturday, and 15 pounds heavier than I'm used to being, trying to pop up and down like a pogo stick. The Burpees are particularly cruel because my parts just don't bend like they need to, fast enough, for me to look remotely coordinated or fluid.

And don't even get me started on the pushups. Man, you don't do them for month or two and it's all over. It's like you're starting out with wimpy Olive Oyl arms.

The only way to make it better is to keep doing it, I guess.

So that's what I'll do.

My Favorite Wisconsin Marathon Moments

1. The anticipation in the car on the drive to the start line in the dark. It's the moment anything is possible.
   
2. The Mayfly orgy on the picnic table before the race started. (Thankfully, the breeze picked up and the swarming Mayflies were history by the time the race officially started.)
   
   
   
3. The conversation overheard at the start line about Mittens. Even in May in Wisconsin you have to think about mittens? No. The Mitten Challenge is a two races in two states in two days event shared by the Wisconsin Marathon and the Kalamazoo MI Marathon. You could run the half (called Half & Half Challenge) or the full (the Mittens Challenge) and get a cool medal for doing it. More power to 'em, but I'm pretty sure that's not me.
   
4. The thinking how nice it would be to live on the race course itself. At one point, a guy and girl behind me were discussing pulling over at his house so he could swap out his running tights for shorts and so she could use the bathroom.
   
5. The guy with the green trombone that first appeared between Miles 1 and 2, then again between Miles 3 and 4 ... and finally on Mile 10-ish. He was playing the "Go Big Red" jingle from Badger games in the beginning and some slow, sad, New Orleans-sounding thing at the end. I often wonder what possesses people to participate in an event like that.
   
6. Which brings me to my two favorite spectators. The first I'll call FrankenShe. She was a very tall (as in sideshow tall) woman and had gray hair, glasses, and that "giantess" look about her. She must have been walking on the beach because she was sporting two walking poles. I passed by her just after Mile 5. She was cheering from the sidelines ... her hands raised up in the air, fists pumping. "You are all amazing! I am so proud of each and every one of you! You did the work! You trained so hard! You are doing it! Good job! You look strong!" She was yelling at the top of her voice, and she kept on yelling as everyone passed.
   
7. The second, Coach Clapper. He was mid to late 50s, I'd guess. Fit, tidy, shorts and a windbreaker.  His voice was HUGE and he was stationed on the downtown stretch, around Mile 3. I heard him before I saw him, pacing the "sidelines" like a coach at the Final Four, clapping and shouting. "Looking good. Looking strong. Good job! That's it!" He was still standing in that spot ... which become Mile 11 on the out-and-back route ... when I had just wrapped up a miserably slow Mile 10. The woman in front of me was walking. I was, too. "NO ONE WALKS IN FRONT OF ME!" he said. "NO ONE! You've got this. You can do this! You've got something left in the tank, I can see it!" And she started running. So did I. Miserable or not, I wanted to please him because he genuinely seemed to care. He showed up again at the 26-mile mark ... or .2 from the finish line for me. There he was, clapping and cheering, like the best high school coach you ever had. "Only .2 to go, kick it in! You got this! Finish strong! Good job! Good job!" By now we were old friends, or so it seemed, and I kind of wanted to hug him because I needed to hear those words at that moment. I couldn't tell if he had someone in the race, if he was part of the volunteer race crew or just a guy who liked cheering people on.
   
8. The signs made by spectators, designed to inspire runners. Or make them giggle:
   "Run faster ... I just farted!"
   "Pain is temporary. Internet results are forever."
   
9. The Polkaholics. Yes, that's right a rock/polka band. They were pretty amazing. I imagine it's weird to play a gig at 7 a.m. on a Saturday. They were wearing purple sequined vests ... I mean, what else would you expect?
   
10. The guy who said, "Lisa Sympson! Looking good!" I was just approaching Mile 6 and he had already hit the turn around, so he was a good 3 or 4 miles ahead of me. I turned to look to see who it was, responded with a "HEY!" and a smile. But I have no earthly idea who it was. I searched the race results for someone from Janesville or Beloit or Fort Atkinson and found no one I knew. It's a mystery.
    
11. The soft-spoken runner in the yellow and white striped running skirt who came up behind me at Mile 10 and barely whispered, "You're doing great. Keep going." She caught me off guard. "I'm pissed at myself," I blurted out before I could edit ... as if she wanted to hear my internal dialogue. "We're almost there," she said. "Only a 5K to go. You can do it." And off she went. It was nice of her. And it reminded me that that's the person on the course I want to be.
    
12. The sun coming up over the lake and this patient, kind, brave, strong, handsome man there with me to watch it. (His favorite part of the day was not this one. It was watching a guy take off his shoe at the finish line to reveal a completely bloody soaked sock. Which, honestly, makes me love him even more.