Hot drill team showers ... with the emphasis on the "hot" and not the "drill team," so I guess I need a comma.
Hot (comma) drill team showers.
Twenty-plus years ago ... I can still remember the cleansing goodness. Climbing into a hotter than hot shower after a cold-weather football game, caked w/ sweat, crusty red lipstick, Aqua Net Hairspray and high school giddiness, but chilled to the bone. Sore from kicking and smiling. Steamy football field turf and dirt on my boots and suntan-colored hose. And the ride home from the Metroplex, usually, on the Naugahyde seats of a cold, smelly school bus. Positioning myself w/ my knees just so on the seat in front of me ... in a semi-slippery recline ... my now-itchy French braids bouncing backward against the upright bus seat. Cold and sore. And so tired.
In need of a good scrubbin'.
And once the hot scrubbin' was done, (solo, by the way ... not w/ the whole "team") ... there was bed. And sleep. Like I'd never done since then. It was just that warm and good.
I've found those hot, drill team showers again, and that sleep, while training for my first marathon. Training began in July ... when the "hot" didn't need any help. Those first training runs, where 45 minutes seemed like forever and we only ever sprinted when we knew there was cold water at the swimming pool water fountain. Showers were ultra-necessary then, but only mildly warm.
There were rainy runs. Hot and rainy. Steamy really. Then, fall arrived and cooler mornings. Running was a pleasure. I started to dodge the automatic sprinklers instead of running right thru them. Hot showers relieved the chill. Forty-five minutes turned to an hour. Then two. Hot showers felt good on sore knees and numb fingers.
Winter. Cold temps and runny noses. Gloves and hats and three-hour runs. Sloppy trail runs and icy pavement. iPod music that really only served to piss me off on those long runs. What does Fergie know anyway?? "Tonight's gonna be a good night!" I'm not so sure 'bout that!
There was always "Footloose." My best running tune. A speedy running clip. Some sorta weird, sentimental attachment to that one. And hot, drill team showers.
Cold, wet, wind-blown, tired, hungry and sore.
Cleansing and powerful.
The shower AND the run.
I've never been an athlete.
I've never been a runner.
But friends, faith, family, "Footloose" and a hot cleansing of body and mind have made me one.
***
Houston. January 16-17. 2010
I can't imagine there's ever been a more perfect day to run a marathon. A dry, windless, perfectly chilly Sunday. There was never any question about my running wardrobe that day. It wasn't my favorite. But it was my most functional. And it was lucky. I wasn't inclined to try anything "new." No new socks, shoes, nutrition. So, I wore the hat that squeezes my head into an egg shape and the running shirt that is LESS than flattering. And the shorts whose pockets hang heavy w/ my tissues and gloves and protein bars cut into bits and look ... well, obscene if you're thinking dirty. And I wore pink gloves.
"Did you cry when you crossed the finish line?" they asked.
"Oh, I cried WAY before that."
I cried when they handed me my race bib. The day BEFORE the race. Number #7194. KATY in big white letters. I was alone at the counter when she handed me my big, blue bib. And good thing, too. Because I think the tears shocked her.
"Are you OK?"
"I'm fine. It's just so BIG. And official."
"It's so people can see your name and shout for you."
"I understand that. It's just so nice that you spelled my name right."
One poor girl had to run w/ her husband's name on her bib because of a "clerical error."
One guy signed up as "Handsome." GO HANDSOME!! Go clever, I say.
I didn't feel like lingering at the pre-race Expo ... all those eager athletes sharing "my" race. Too much peddling of merchandise. Whining of kids. (My kids.) And seeing the start/finish gate made me feel "vomit-y." I wanted to rest and reflect before the race. And drink that one beer I TOLD myself I could have. Too many carbs are a GOOD thing.
On race day I cried during the National Anthem. I always cry during the National Anthem. This marathon was a purely selfish adventure for me. And that song is all about sacrifice. About being UNselfish. The only thing I'd sacrificed for my adventure was wine for a week before the race and an occasional morning, thru those many training months, of sleeping late and lazy. Lizzie Lou sacrificed a toenail for her mission. But, that still doesn't quite compare to REAL sacrifice. Anyway, I cried. I couldn't find a flag in our huddled masses, so I sang, hand over heart, to a fellow runner's red, white and blue socks.
We were surprisingly warm in our huddle. The pack of us hoping to finish this thang in 4:30. Temps were in the low forties, but it didn't feel coolish until the pack thinned and we crossed our first bayou bridge.
I didn't cry when the gun went off. Probably because it was more like a scary cannon. And I didn't realize it was for ME. I thought the elite runners were taking off and it would be another good ten minutes of mindless, irritating banter between morning news anchors on the loudspeaker before we set off. But, then we were moving. We were moving!! Slow and steady. And runners were whooping and beeping their watches to set/mode and smiling and RUNNING. (And the girl in our pack who got all wadded up and pissy because we inadvertently walked into the HALF MARATHON start chute and had to hoof it to OUR start before the gun/cannon, settled down. I secretly hoped she'd fall in a Porta Potty along the route. No, I guess it wasn't a "secret" since I told Lizzie Lou. But, Lizzie Lou understood. And we agreed to "play nice.")
I cried when the Episcopalians sprinkled me w/ holy water.
"I wonder what churches along the route will do on marathon day," he asked.
"I don't know, I guess they'll just have to pray later."
"That's gotta be a hassle for them."
WRONG.
Fully-garbed priests, ministers, worshippers ... all along the route. Sprinkling, flinging, hurling water and prayers. I was alone as I ran by my first church at mile ... I forget. I remember the leafy branch going into the bucket as I decided to "catch" some of that holy good-fortune. A quick sign of the cross. And then a holy person shouted my name. And followed that up with "God bless you."
Maybe I'm NOT selfish. Maybe this ISN'T all about me. It IS a blessing that I'm running, able-bodied and happy.
I cried, round two.
"There will come a day when you can no longer do this," her shirt read. "Today is not that day." That sentiment coupled w/ the leafy branch coupled w/ the holy water and the "God bless you." I had to slow, but not stop, just to collect myself.
I cried when I heard a familiar voice. My knees were starting to hurt. Mile ... about 10. And my toes felt weird, tho' never giving me ANY indication of what I would find when I removed my socks after the race. I was getting hot in my over shirt and I was afraid I wasn't putting enough IN my body to get anything much out of it. I was alone ... and FINE with that ... but I heard a familiar voice say, "Thank youuuu," to a water station volunteer and, in a crowd of 6,700, I found Kathleen. I'd told her I'd look for her, my good friend and fellow mommy. She'd told me she'd be happy for me to "skip along" with her and her happy bunch. She asked me how I was. Asked about my knees. Offered me an Advil.
"I need one, but I don't have any more water in my cup," I said, the water station now well behind me.
"I do," she said. And she gave me hers.
She told me I looked "great." Said I was chatty and happy and smiling and that was a good thing. SHE'S a good thing. She and all her friends and wonderful, smiling family.
I can't imagine there's ever been a more perfect day to run a marathon. A dry, windless, perfectly chilly Sunday. There was never any question about my running wardrobe that day. It wasn't my favorite. But it was my most functional. And it was lucky. I wasn't inclined to try anything "new." No new socks, shoes, nutrition. So, I wore the hat that squeezes my head into an egg shape and the running shirt that is LESS than flattering. And the shorts whose pockets hang heavy w/ my tissues and gloves and protein bars cut into bits and look ... well, obscene if you're thinking dirty. And I wore pink gloves.
"Did you cry when you crossed the finish line?" they asked.
"Oh, I cried WAY before that."
I cried when they handed me my race bib. The day BEFORE the race. Number #7194. KATY in big white letters. I was alone at the counter when she handed me my big, blue bib. And good thing, too. Because I think the tears shocked her.
"Are you OK?"
"I'm fine. It's just so BIG. And official."
"It's so people can see your name and shout for you."
"I understand that. It's just so nice that you spelled my name right."
One poor girl had to run w/ her husband's name on her bib because of a "clerical error."
One guy signed up as "Handsome." GO HANDSOME!! Go clever, I say.
I didn't feel like lingering at the pre-race Expo ... all those eager athletes sharing "my" race. Too much peddling of merchandise. Whining of kids. (My kids.) And seeing the start/finish gate made me feel "vomit-y." I wanted to rest and reflect before the race. And drink that one beer I TOLD myself I could have. Too many carbs are a GOOD thing.
On race day I cried during the National Anthem. I always cry during the National Anthem. This marathon was a purely selfish adventure for me. And that song is all about sacrifice. About being UNselfish. The only thing I'd sacrificed for my adventure was wine for a week before the race and an occasional morning, thru those many training months, of sleeping late and lazy. Lizzie Lou sacrificed a toenail for her mission. But, that still doesn't quite compare to REAL sacrifice. Anyway, I cried. I couldn't find a flag in our huddled masses, so I sang, hand over heart, to a fellow runner's red, white and blue socks.
We were surprisingly warm in our huddle. The pack of us hoping to finish this thang in 4:30. Temps were in the low forties, but it didn't feel coolish until the pack thinned and we crossed our first bayou bridge.
I didn't cry when the gun went off. Probably because it was more like a scary cannon. And I didn't realize it was for ME. I thought the elite runners were taking off and it would be another good ten minutes of mindless, irritating banter between morning news anchors on the loudspeaker before we set off. But, then we were moving. We were moving!! Slow and steady. And runners were whooping and beeping their watches to set/mode and smiling and RUNNING. (And the girl in our pack who got all wadded up and pissy because we inadvertently walked into the HALF MARATHON start chute and had to hoof it to OUR start before the gun/cannon, settled down. I secretly hoped she'd fall in a Porta Potty along the route. No, I guess it wasn't a "secret" since I told Lizzie Lou. But, Lizzie Lou understood. And we agreed to "play nice.")
I cried when the Episcopalians sprinkled me w/ holy water.
"I wonder what churches along the route will do on marathon day," he asked.
"I don't know, I guess they'll just have to pray later."
"That's gotta be a hassle for them."
WRONG.
Fully-garbed priests, ministers, worshippers ... all along the route. Sprinkling, flinging, hurling water and prayers. I was alone as I ran by my first church at mile ... I forget. I remember the leafy branch going into the bucket as I decided to "catch" some of that holy good-fortune. A quick sign of the cross. And then a holy person shouted my name. And followed that up with "God bless you."
Maybe I'm NOT selfish. Maybe this ISN'T all about me. It IS a blessing that I'm running, able-bodied and happy.
I cried, round two.
"There will come a day when you can no longer do this," her shirt read. "Today is not that day." That sentiment coupled w/ the leafy branch coupled w/ the holy water and the "God bless you." I had to slow, but not stop, just to collect myself.
I cried when I heard a familiar voice. My knees were starting to hurt. Mile ... about 10. And my toes felt weird, tho' never giving me ANY indication of what I would find when I removed my socks after the race. I was getting hot in my over shirt and I was afraid I wasn't putting enough IN my body to get anything much out of it. I was alone ... and FINE with that ... but I heard a familiar voice say, "Thank youuuu," to a water station volunteer and, in a crowd of 6,700, I found Kathleen. I'd told her I'd look for her, my good friend and fellow mommy. She'd told me she'd be happy for me to "skip along" with her and her happy bunch. She asked me how I was. Asked about my knees. Offered me an Advil.
"I need one, but I don't have any more water in my cup," I said, the water station now well behind me.
"I do," she said. And she gave me hers.
She told me I looked "great." Said I was chatty and happy and smiling and that was a good thing. SHE'S a good thing. She and all her friends and wonderful, smiling family.
***
A bagpiper at any race is always a good thing.
Alongside this race, there were also:
Belly dancers.
Cloggers.
Prayer stations.
Jimmy Buffett wannabees.
FORMER PRESIDENTS and Secret Service Agents!! (George H.W. Bush.)
Tejano music.
Teen rockers.
Diet Coke.
Big ol' precious dogs.
Tons of precious babies.
Cheering, screaming fans at every turn.
BEER! Ugh!!
Groups of neighbors w/ smiling faces drinking mimosas and offering oranges. Bananas. Pretzels. Homemade goodies.
"Toenails are overrated. This is the worst parade ever. Stop reading and start running. The zombies are coming, run faster. My arm is tired from holding this sign. Pain is temporary, pride is permanent. Run like you stole something," are just some of the fun signs I saw.
The runner who had shaved his head bald but left "26.2" in tufts of brown hair.
The "Statue of Liberty." (Who my friend Kevin later deemed, "not 'Lady' Liberty, at all, but a pretty good-sized feller.")
The girls in yellow tutus.
The "BFFs" in tie-dyed socks.
The "Newlyweds."
The three "Rookies." Who were then two. And then one.
"At what POINT did you not think I'd finish," I asked.
"From the beginning."
He meant no harm or meanness. Just that marathons are hard, really hard (only WHAT percent of the population finishes one, Lizzie Lou?? Not a big percentage, huh?) and there were so many days I'd questioned my own strength aloud. And he'd seen me hobble and limp.
I flashed my finisher's medal at him and smirked.
And put my PINK marathon sticker on his Jeep.
Alongside this race, there were also:
Belly dancers.
Cloggers.
Prayer stations.
Jimmy Buffett wannabees.
FORMER PRESIDENTS and Secret Service Agents!! (George H.W. Bush.)
Tejano music.
Teen rockers.
Diet Coke.
Big ol' precious dogs.
Tons of precious babies.
Cheering, screaming fans at every turn.
BEER! Ugh!!
Groups of neighbors w/ smiling faces drinking mimosas and offering oranges. Bananas. Pretzels. Homemade goodies.
"Toenails are overrated. This is the worst parade ever. Stop reading and start running. The zombies are coming, run faster. My arm is tired from holding this sign. Pain is temporary, pride is permanent. Run like you stole something," are just some of the fun signs I saw.
The runner who had shaved his head bald but left "26.2" in tufts of brown hair.
The "Statue of Liberty." (Who my friend Kevin later deemed, "not 'Lady' Liberty, at all, but a pretty good-sized feller.")
The girls in yellow tutus.
The "BFFs" in tie-dyed socks.
The "Newlyweds."
The three "Rookies." Who were then two. And then one.
***
"I didn't think you'd finish," he said.I fell off my "dream" pace at about mile ... well, early. But, I was shocked at how quickly the first miles ticked by. How strong I felt. And how comfortably I was covering the course. I was at mile 7 before I knew it and happily running alongside Lizzie Lou. Eating as I ran. I NEVER eat while I run! I usually choke. And eating is usually a good reason to STOP!! At mile 8 we each started to twinge in different places and our stretching, hydration, breathing needs were different. I turned my watch around and vowed to only finish by noon. I had people waiting on me, after all, and they were surely getting hungry. The scenery was perfect. Places in Houston I've never visited until marathon day.
The Heights.
Fifth Ward.
West U.
FOUNTAINS.
Rice University.
"Hey!! Isn't that Kathleen's old house?"
The Galleria at mile 18.
Big, tall buildings.
And a park. A park that went. on. forever.
Looking for my boys but not seeing them. Yet.
Kathleen's people were all around. And she was so gracious and appreciative. And strong in her race. I marvel at her strength in so many things.
I was expecting my people around mile 20 ... 21 ...
And then, I don't know how long my old friend was running alongside me before I realized it. Easily striding into place telling me that it was "a gorgeous day to be finishing a marathon."
I was thrilled to see him and suddenly not as exhausted.
"I just caught a whiff of Ben-Gay," he said.
"Oh, good," I panted. "I thought that was you. Something you'd worn special just for the occasion."
He laughed and that helped.
"The end is going to be amazing," he said. "All these people working and cheering to pull you in."
"THERE THEY ARE!!" I said.
"Who?"
"MY BOYS!!"
"GOOD GOD! How can you see them from here?"
I just could. They were all of a sudden HUGE and smiling.
I kissed their heads and their cheeks.
"How are you feeling??" they asked.
"I feel really good."
"REALLY?"
I guess I kinda lied. But it wasn't TERRIBLE at mile 23.
I could see my sweet brother-in-law snapping pictures in the distance.
And then he shouted, "Hey! Come on!! There's cold beer in the truck!!" And gave me a big ol' "woooooooo hooooooo!"
Three more miles to go. To the cold beer.
But, now my boys were behind me. My friends were behind me and some well in front. It got harder. There were runners walking on the "hills" of the highway underpasses. But, I'm from Austin. And we DO hills. And I'm ready to go home. So I ran. And I saw my boys one more time at the finish. And they saw me. I made a few friends at the finish line. A girl in pink who said, "Uh uh, girl, you ain't walkin'."
"Ok, Girl in Pink, following you!"
"Well, I'm glad that's over," he said. He was the Guy in Red.
"I don't know," I said. "I don't think I am."
I mean, I was glad the immediate discomfort was over. The pounding and the hurt and the puffy fingers and tired arms. But, there was all the other stuff. The stuff that didn't hurt. The beautiful day. The beautiful people. (We warmed up in the lobby of the Houston Four Seasons ... they welcomed ALL runners w/ muffins and coffee and water, lots of lobby space and their plush, plush bathrooms. No need for reservations or a room number. Everyone was welcome. NO NEED FOR PORTA-POTTIES. Austin is a "running town." In my experience, even Austin hotels don't do that. God bless the Houston Four Seasons.) The laughs. The tears. The months of training. Using a metronome in the early days to feel 160 bpm. (beep, beep, beep, BOOP.) The holy water. The former presidents. The Ben Gay. Months of running on Liz's left side ... music in only one ear leaving the other free for conversation ... and then, on marathon day, feeling comfortable on her right. The start chute. The National Anthem. Protein bars. Big, FAT bloody blisters on my toes. Jelly beans and candy corn. That one beer. Allan, our steadfast coach, who only ever asked that we offer "feedback." And "OFTEN!" My friends who asked and by-golly really cared. My boys who endured. LIZZIE LOU, to say the least. My familiar counterparts along Lady Bird Lake. Tina, "Did I SAY you could call me Christina?," AKA, the Energizer Bunny. My parents and their concern over my well-being. New scenery in new neighborhoods. ANY stretch of road whose miles add up to a "long run." Track work on early Saturday morns. bleccch!! Fergie on my iPOD. My sore knee(s). Stretching. Weights. Cross-training. (Yeah, right!) My FOUR PAIR of marathon training shoes. Discovering the shoe style and fit that WORKED ... that I eventually had to special-order ... and who ALL looked dirty by the end. SHORT RUNS! New friends. New routes. (GO JENNIFER!! AUSTIN. 2.14.10!!) My best hat. The 26.2 sticker on my car. Bib Number 7194. "God Bless You!" Being a mom. But being a marathoner.
"Footloose."
Never any question in my mind I would finish. Even when one of my knees stopped responding to my commands and occasionally took a little nap.
In 5:10 something, I finished. In time for lunch.
But I wasn't hungry. Or thirsty for that big margarita I thought I'd want.
Only a hot, drill team shower.
And the next adventure.
I find myself saying, "next year."
The Heights.
Fifth Ward.
West U.
FOUNTAINS.
Rice University.
"Hey!! Isn't that Kathleen's old house?"
The Galleria at mile 18.
Big, tall buildings.
And a park. A park that went. on. forever.
Looking for my boys but not seeing them. Yet.
Kathleen's people were all around. And she was so gracious and appreciative. And strong in her race. I marvel at her strength in so many things.
I was expecting my people around mile 20 ... 21 ...
And then, I don't know how long my old friend was running alongside me before I realized it. Easily striding into place telling me that it was "a gorgeous day to be finishing a marathon."
I was thrilled to see him and suddenly not as exhausted.
"I just caught a whiff of Ben-Gay," he said.
"Oh, good," I panted. "I thought that was you. Something you'd worn special just for the occasion."
He laughed and that helped.
"The end is going to be amazing," he said. "All these people working and cheering to pull you in."
"THERE THEY ARE!!" I said.
"Who?"
"MY BOYS!!"
"GOOD GOD! How can you see them from here?"
I just could. They were all of a sudden HUGE and smiling.
I kissed their heads and their cheeks.
"How are you feeling??" they asked.
"I feel really good."
"REALLY?"
I guess I kinda lied. But it wasn't TERRIBLE at mile 23.
I could see my sweet brother-in-law snapping pictures in the distance.
And then he shouted, "Hey! Come on!! There's cold beer in the truck!!" And gave me a big ol' "woooooooo hooooooo!"
Three more miles to go. To the cold beer.
But, now my boys were behind me. My friends were behind me and some well in front. It got harder. There were runners walking on the "hills" of the highway underpasses. But, I'm from Austin. And we DO hills. And I'm ready to go home. So I ran. And I saw my boys one more time at the finish. And they saw me. I made a few friends at the finish line. A girl in pink who said, "Uh uh, girl, you ain't walkin'."
"Ok, Girl in Pink, following you!"
"Well, I'm glad that's over," he said. He was the Guy in Red.
"I don't know," I said. "I don't think I am."
I mean, I was glad the immediate discomfort was over. The pounding and the hurt and the puffy fingers and tired arms. But, there was all the other stuff. The stuff that didn't hurt. The beautiful day. The beautiful people. (We warmed up in the lobby of the Houston Four Seasons ... they welcomed ALL runners w/ muffins and coffee and water, lots of lobby space and their plush, plush bathrooms. No need for reservations or a room number. Everyone was welcome. NO NEED FOR PORTA-POTTIES. Austin is a "running town." In my experience, even Austin hotels don't do that. God bless the Houston Four Seasons.) The laughs. The tears. The months of training. Using a metronome in the early days to feel 160 bpm. (beep, beep, beep, BOOP.) The holy water. The former presidents. The Ben Gay. Months of running on Liz's left side ... music in only one ear leaving the other free for conversation ... and then, on marathon day, feeling comfortable on her right. The start chute. The National Anthem. Protein bars. Big, FAT bloody blisters on my toes. Jelly beans and candy corn. That one beer. Allan, our steadfast coach, who only ever asked that we offer "feedback." And "OFTEN!" My friends who asked and by-golly really cared. My boys who endured. LIZZIE LOU, to say the least. My familiar counterparts along Lady Bird Lake. Tina, "Did I SAY you could call me Christina?," AKA, the Energizer Bunny. My parents and their concern over my well-being. New scenery in new neighborhoods. ANY stretch of road whose miles add up to a "long run." Track work on early Saturday morns. bleccch!! Fergie on my iPOD. My sore knee(s). Stretching. Weights. Cross-training. (Yeah, right!) My FOUR PAIR of marathon training shoes. Discovering the shoe style and fit that WORKED ... that I eventually had to special-order ... and who ALL looked dirty by the end. SHORT RUNS! New friends. New routes. (GO JENNIFER!! AUSTIN. 2.14.10!!) My best hat. The 26.2 sticker on my car. Bib Number 7194. "God Bless You!" Being a mom. But being a marathoner.
"Footloose."
Never any question in my mind I would finish. Even when one of my knees stopped responding to my commands and occasionally took a little nap.
In 5:10 something, I finished. In time for lunch.
But I wasn't hungry. Or thirsty for that big margarita I thought I'd want.
Only a hot, drill team shower.
And the next adventure.
I find myself saying, "next year."
"At what POINT did you not think I'd finish," I asked.
"From the beginning."
He meant no harm or meanness. Just that marathons are hard, really hard (only WHAT percent of the population finishes one, Lizzie Lou?? Not a big percentage, huh?) and there were so many days I'd questioned my own strength aloud. And he'd seen me hobble and limp.
I flashed my finisher's medal at him and smirked.
And put my PINK marathon sticker on his Jeep.
