B2B, A Procrastinator's Nightmare

Downtown San Francisco, before the race...and so it begins!

Okay, so I'm back from B2B, and have allowed myself just enough slacking/indulgence/down time/Twilight obsession to feel finally rested after the trip (including a luxurious sleep until 8:45AM today...ahhhh). I needed both a mental and physical break from the run, because the stress of preparing (when I knew full well I wasn't really going to be prepared) was so exhausting that I think I was more tired after the race from the mental release of the task than from the 7.5-mile run itself. This was my second Bay to Breakers, and for the second year in a row I let the perceived enormity of the run build and build and build and build...to the point where I couldn't bear the thought of training for it. Even one measly mile felt like it was going to be too difficult (what a wuss), because what good was one mile going to do me when I had to run seven? This kind of logical fallacy is exactly why I continue to procrastinate on even the smallest of tasks: because the perfectionist in me feels like it's not enough to do something halfway. As a result, I usually get so stressed about having to do something perfectly that I slack and put off training/wrapping/reporting/mailing/buying/calling/whatever it is for so long that I end up doing the task halfway anyway. It's a vicious cycle.

Unpreparedness aside (for the record, I did run before the race - just not as much as I should have), it was a still a GREAT day. My older bro and I got up early on Sunday morning and caught the ferry from Tiburon to the Embarcadero, where the madness and mayhem of the race was already in full swing (a purple-clad girl dressed as a bunch of grapes walked by us on the ferry, and my bro turned to me and said, "Bet the rest of the Fruit of the Loom crowd is wandering around here somewhere!") with costumes, stretching "serious" racers, raging drunkenness (a few people were being escorted out of the chutes before the race even began), nakedness and an amazing crowd filling the streets of downtown San Francisco literally as far as the eye could see. There's no real way to determine when the race actually begins, because the crowd is so thick...even as you cross the "start" line, it's all you can do to push your way through the crowd and actually begin running. Will led the way in a crazy game of duck-and-dodge, zig-zag racing for the first couple of miles - we sprinted around costumes (giving the naked racers a wide berth), strollers, street signs and garbage cans, weaving in and out of the crowd in order to get ahead where the running would be clearer.

"Salmon" swimming upstream - a B2B tradition.

Then, we hit Hayes St. hill.

The masses at Hayes St. hill.

I harbor a measure of resentment against Hayes, which kicked my ass last year. However, my procrastination (read above) left me unprepared to retaliate this year, and it kicked my ass once again. I would make a terrible superhero, if after my nemesis basically destroyed me once I went back for more without even the measliest of weapons to defend myself. In any case, while Will was dancing circles around me I was laboring up the hill, doing everything in my power to keep my legs running but so slowly that I was basically walking at one point. Finally I succumbed and trudged to the top. This was the point at which I realized that: a) I need to do more hill runs, and b) I can't let my 12-years-my-senior brother shame me this way in the future. In any case, Will ditched me at the top (same deal as last year) while I took a short rest...and then made myself keep going. And, as always happens with me, riiiiiiight at about 3.5 - 4 miles in, I really hit my stride, and jogged along easily for the rest of the race until I hit the 7-mile mark, where I picked up the pace and fully sprinted down the chute to the finish line.

After a quick beer at Footstock (easily the best part of the race!) we headed back to meet the fam for some pool time in Tiburon, splashing around with the kiddos and a couple delicious margaritas. Sundays really just don't get no better'n that.

All in all, a great weekend, because it's not about the race as much as the time with family. I had really quality time with all four nieces and nephews, as well as my sister (whom I could spend 2 hours on the phone with and it still wouldn't be enough), my brother- and sister-in-law, and of course my brother.

And now that the race is over, I actually feel more inclined to go to the gym, because there's no immediate pressure to work toward a goal. Funny how that works. But, I am going to keep working on a consistent regimen when it comes to the running, because I'll be back next year...in better shape than ever.

I Heart Yoga

Urban Yoga Spa, on the corner of 4th Ave & Stewart St. Note the faint blue sign in the back left of the photo...Hotel Andra, just 1 block away!

As with so many other activities, epiphanies and experiences in my life, I am a late comer to the yoga scene. I'm mostly okay with this, because while I don't believe in "fate" per se, I do believe that opportunities present themselves when the recipient is most open to receiving them, welcoming them and embracing them. In this case, yoga happens to have come into my life at a time when I am finally ready to take it on as the mind/body experience it is meant to be.

So last night I attempted hot Hatha yoga for the first time ever...an ambitious first step, as it was 90 minutes of varying poses (which proved challenging for a notoriously inflexible individual such as myself) in a studio set at a sweltering 107 degrees. (I do have to mention here that while I was pretty much DYING of the heat, I did have the thought in the middle of my warrior pose that I was grateful to be living in Seattle, where the weather would be a cool 60-something upon emerging from the studio, where as if I was still living in Arizona, the weather outside would probably be exactly the same as in the studio). The classes are held in this fantastic, very metropolitan loft-style building at the new Urban Yoga Spa in the heart of downtown - it's all so clean and white. It feels very New York to me (not that I would know) and lends an air of sophistication to the city's traditionally dark-paneled and woodsy Northwest decor. It's the kind of place I'd normally be a little intimidated by except the fact that the staff is so welcoming and committed to the practice - they seem to just want you to be there.

The uber urban lobby of the studio/spa.

Overall, it was an excellent experience - so excellent, as a matter of fact, that today I am signing up for their 30-day challenge, which is 30 days of yoga every day (and naturally, a chance to win a prize - year-long yoga, anyone?). It may seem a little hard core for a first-timer - and it is - but for me, I think diving in downward dog first may be just the way to go. During the course of the class, I felt more connected to my limbs than I think I've ever felt, and it was a nice awakening to truly appreciate the capabilities of my body rather than punishing it for not being Gisele Bundchen. So I'm ending the day and starting my yojourney with a restorative class...and looking forward to a month of flexing, reflecting, stretching, sweating and connecting with this body that has carried me so faithfully for 28 years.

Namaste.

Weekend on the Water

Relaxing after a "hard day's work," with a beautiful view out to the water.

The long haul back up from the beach. (Note two small heads at the top: Baylor & Bella, peering through the slats and impatiently waiting for me to return and throw their ball).

View toward Dakota Creek at low tide.

View toward California Creek at low tide. Semiahmoo is in the distance...

Ahhhhh...it's so refreshing to get out of the city. A drive - even on a busy, stop-and-go freeway - can do wonders for the soul, because the destination makes the journey soooo worth it. Particularly when there is a glass of wine waiting upon arrival at said destination.

Last weekend I ventured to Blaine, WA (about 10 miles south of the Canadian border) where my dad's once-designated retirement home has now become his full-time home, though he is far from being retired, both in his career and his goals. Case in point: this weekend, my brother and I were invited up to the house under the guise of spending time with my father and stepmother but as it turns out with the ulterior motive of my brother assisting my dad building an erosion barrier on the beach and moving 100-lb. chunks of concrete. Never wanting to be left out, I volunteered to assist on the beach - I mean, how often do I have the opportunity to get all mucky and muddy and actually be physically productive on the weekend?! However, upon grabbing the PHD (post hole digger - for lack of a more technical term) I immediately realized my mistake, as I took my first hard stab at what appeared to be soft ground and hit wet clay that resonated a vibrating thud through my whole body like a tuning fork. Determined not to let the beach get the best of me, I sweated my way through several holes before (fortunately) my younger bro woke up and took over the task (and somehow managed to make it look easy and effortless - damn him).

So my triceps are a little sore (yessssss - now I can justify my lack of time in the gym) and at the end of the day, the time out of the city spent both in physical labor and in the company of family was a nice treat and reprieve from urban life.

Validation

Sometimes I think I'm too cynical, and that I should subscribe to my mother's much more positive "everyone is basically good" theory.

And then I discover that Frenchi, the local Rite Aid Real Change agent, actually DID drink himself into homelessness (see "Here Are a Few of my Least Favorite Things" in older posts) so I feel wickedly vindicated in my cynicism, although sad for him that this is the direction his life has gone. This doesn't mean that I'm any less supportive of his apparent efforts to get back on track now, but...I guess I just feel that a little wariness in my daily life keeps me from being hurt, or duped. I'm sad that Frenchi's story confirms my earlier suspicions - I was so hoping it would give me a reason to see the world through slightly rosier glasses.

Sometimes Life is Just So Daily

Need I say more?

Lactose Tolerance and the Modern Girl

My stomach has been hurting lately. A. LOT. All the time, actually. It's not ulcers, because - despite an ever-present worry about finances and family and career and friendships - I'm honestly not that stressed out. And it's certainly not all the crunches I haven't been doing, and since according to my own lack of physiological knowledge and lack of interest in considering any other possibilities than the aforementioned, I have come to the conclusion - perhaps more intuitively than I'm giving myself credit for - that my body is trying to tell me something. I know, I know - DUH. It's not exactly an earth-shattering diagnosis. But, it's one that feels like it's worth listening to. My body is trying to tell me that something that I'm ingesting (evidently with some regularity, as my stomach hurts pretty much all day every day) ain't exactly its best friend. And since my body can only tell me so much without actual words, it's up to me to read the writing on the wall: it's time for a change.

The reason I feel this particular epiphany about my body's method of communication with me is because it's literally the first time I've ever felt it. It's the first time I've ever had a pain or unsettled feeling that I've attributed to the connection between lifestyle habits and physiological health. Again, I'm aware that I'm a little behind jumping on the bandwagon with this - but I also believe that most people are skeptics about most subjects until something prompts their own personal come-to-Jesus about the thing. And this feels like mine. I've been eating poorly lately (i.e., if it was my last meal and I had to decide between pizza or Mexican food, I would have last-minute decision anxiety up until the moment I died and would spend the rest of eternity wishing I'd chosen the other) but no more poorly than I've been eating for about...3 years. So the fact that just now I am feeling that something is wrong means less that it's "finally catching up with me" and more that I'm finally in a place to recognize my body's needs and provide this vehicle of my existence with much more love and attention than I've ever offered it. My quest now: to discover the source of my discomfort, and find a way to work through it around it to emerge a healthier, more balanced individual with much greater awareness of my physiological needs.

I think the culprit here may be dairy, and here's why: I'm Scottish. And at the end of the day (if you trace back far enough), I'm related to dear old Rob Roy MacGregor, the rebel Scot and failed cattleman of the 18th century. History has it that Rob Roy, trying to make an honest living as a cattleman, ultimately defaulted on a loan to increase his herd because of a conniving Scot who took his money and herd, leaving Rob Roy and family out in the cold. Legend has it that Rob Roy retreated to the rocky highlands of Scotland, where, without cattle, he and a band of marauders waged war against the duke who ousted him for many years until he was finally pardoned.

HOWEVER, the point here (yes, there is one) is that all the many years Rob Roy spent scavenging without the advent of dairy in the highlands (and the many outlawed Scots who followed his footsteps for years after) produced a generation of children who were, in essence, lactose intolerant - which then continued on and on and on, until hundreds of years later when the availability of dairy became daily staple instead of a luxury, and people's digestive systems became used to it again. Lactose intolerance is actually the norm in Scottish history - it's lactose tolerance that's not in our heritage. And as my day consists of cream in my coffee, cereal for breakfast, SlimFasts (when I'm trying to "get serious") for lunch and condiments on my dinner meals that usually include dairy (ranch sauce, sour cream, mayonnaise) and more or less as much cheese as I can possibly consume without throwing up, I think this is the place to start.

I hope this isn't the case. I sincerely hope that it's something else miserable and easily given up, such as...beets. But I have a sneaking suspicion that's not it (since I avoid beets like agoraphobics avoid the open prairie). And think of all the cheese I might miss out on...the thought is practically unbearable. Even so...I'm willing to explore the option of eliminating this potentially offensive substance from my diet, because I've never really stopped to give my body a voice, and you know what? When I really listen, it has some pretty important things to say.

The Return of the Reluctant Runner

Bay to Breakers is almost here again, and I have discovered that - for the second year in a row - I am alarmingly unprepared for this event. Frustrating? Yes. Surprising? Not really. Not to anyone who really knows me, that is. I am a unique combination of major anticipator and classic procrastinator, which causes me to build my expectations about almost everything in my life to an almost-unbearable level of jittery excitement and then sink into overwhelming despair when I realize that I have yet again failed to completely prepare for the thing I was so eagerly anticipating. It's a truly exhausting process, and I can feel it coming on as Bay to Breakers approaches in just 6 weeks.

But let me back up and explain: Bay to Breakers is a 12K run/walk (7.5 miles) in San Francisco that begins at the Embarcadero with the long and mysterious tradition of throwing corn tortillas out of the starting gates and ends in Golden Gate Park with the long and much-celebrated tradition of a beer garden. Everyone dresses in costume (or dresses not at all - nudity is also a less-celebrated but equally entertaining tradition of B2B) and except for a die-hard few (read: obsessed) no one takes it seriously. Which means I shouldn't be stressed, because this is a run in which local residents sell Jell-O shots for $1 along the race lines and a vast majority of participants come to the race with floats containing various quantities and varieties of alcohol. But I'm flying down to San Francisco to run the thing (with my brother, who beat me last year by a good 10 minutes despite the fact that I passed him as he waited in line for the Port-a-Potty about halfway through - dammit) so I feel like I can't go all that way and spend all that money just to walk it. And since I haven't been running consistently (again, not surprising) I feel like I have a long way to go. As a self-proclaimed "reluctant runner" I've found that it's tough to get back in the running game after a long hiatus, but also that once I'm back, running comes so naturally to me...causing me to wonder why I haven't been keeping up the pace all along.

The race begins!

Off to a slow start...I think it was Will's (right) master plan to lull me into a false sense of security as my running buddy and then leave me in the dust and beat me in the end. It worked.

So, as with last year, I am preparing for B2B with just weeks to go until the race - but this year, with several advantages:

a) knowledge of the course (to my nemesis Hayes St. hill: I will destroy you),
b) desire to kick my brother's ass,
c) desire to kick my own ass, and
d) the big picture of the end goal: to enjoy the hell out of the thing, because it's going to be a great day - time with my bro, a crazy/memorable run, a refreshing cold one at the end and lots of much-needed family time over the course of the weekend.

The end - and the beer! - are in sight upon entering Golden Gate Park.

I'm putting this out there, because as an anticipator I need to actually do the work to prepare and not just build it up in my mind. As my friend Rachel says, goals should be APV - Active, Public and Voluntary - which help the goal-setter achieve them. And with a little advance preparation, perhaps this year I can avoid the last-minute stress before my trip and simply enjoy the ride (or run, in this case). So, armed with sage advice (and perhaps a little of that productivity-inducing panic so innate in my personality) the reluctant runner returns to the road...and hopefully, this year, I'll stay there.