Should I run a race without training?

Here's a question for all you sports enthusiasts. Should someone run a race without training? No, not a 5k or 10k (that would be 3.1 or 6.2 miles respectively), I'm talking half-marathon distance or longer. First off let me just say that if you can run (and complete) a marathon without training, then you're amazing. In fact, you should donate your time to help "train" those of us who would never attempt such a foolish, I mean nearly impossible, task.

Back to the half-marathon. I've run four half marathons, one marathon, several 10 milers, plus hundreds of training miles. So here's the whole reason for the post: I'm sick of training. I have no time to run during the week, and frankly my neighborhood is a boring place to run so I'm unmotivated. I've known about this race for over a year, and though I started training I got sick of running indoors (the only place I can run and still have childcare), so I opted for the untrained method of running a race--prayer, carb-loading, and more prayer. The prayers consisted of "please Lord, if I'm going to blow out a knee let it be the left one so I can still drive home." "Dear Lord, help me not to come in last." "Dear Lord, please help me to finish this in less than two hours--okay, then how about less than 2 1/2 hours."

Yesterday morning I was in Oklahoma City where I ran the Memorial half. I didn't hit my two hour request, and I sure didn't feel good. Not the same way that I didn't feel good during the Rock-n-Roll half (WAY too many people around to get in "the groove", not enough bands playing--"we're taking a break"-- and the infamous boardwalk, where you can see, but not touch, the finish line for 3 very long miles). I didn't feel good because even though I'm physically fit, I'm not in good running shape.

So, to answer this nagging question: no, I should not run another long race without training. I've done it twice (not training for a long race), and now my 31 year old self is paying the price. Ouch, my lower back hurts and I smell like an old person with all the mentholated cremes I'm using. My gait is that of a person who spent a week riding a horse only (thankfully) not nearly as bow-legged. My hips feel as if they need replacing, and my mental state is that of, well, someone who didn't train and expected too much from themselves!

Don't get me wrong, it wasn't a bad race, it was just hard, and I was a baby at the end. My poor friend Kristen (who ran circles around me), had to pull me along. Hey, one good thing is that not only did I finish, it wasn't my worst time. Even better than that, I got to spend an entire weekend with great friends,eat amazing food (absolutely the best tamales, ever!), and help a city remember those who died in the bombing 12 years ago!

So, long story short, I love OKC, it's people and yes, I suppose even its race! Maybe I'll even try it again next year, but not without at least some time pounding the pavement!

Gator Head, Gator Head where are you?!

Living in my garage that's where!

Having a five year old son can be very interesting, really. He just celebrated what we've come to lovingly call his "Big Toe" birthday. If you can't figure it out, well, I'm not sure what to tell ya! Okay, so for the first time in well, five years (imagine that) Graham's been interested in something other than airplanes. You don't mind if I brag a little do you--of course you don't! This little ball of wonder can name over 100 different aircraft just by seeing parts of the planes. He's been known to stump seasoned pilots, and his own mother (not really that difficult).

Anyway, back to alligators and birthdays. So, this year Graham wanted an alligator/crocodile birthday--with some snakes thrown in for good measure--so I eagerly obliged. He got the gator cake (which was easy since we spent his birthday in Tampa,FL with Aunt Mel, Bodart and Evyn--hi guys--you're famous or infamous!), the life-like moving snake toy, alligator candies, and yes even a real, "preserved" alligator head. What five year old wouldn't be satisfied? Yes, my son was, but as stated previously this was his "Big Toe" birthday so we had to go one step deeper into the marsh (a little gator humor if you'll pardon me). Graham had, through many nights of sleep and eating vegetables earned a trip to Gatorland in Orlando, FL!! Yes, there's more in Orlando than princesses and rat ears.

Skip to four days post trip. My precious son and daughter needed baths. My loving husband, being that he was in Japan, was sort of unavailable to help. So, while said son was playing with his new Diego bath toys, I thought I'd be nice and retrieve his comfy jammies from his armoir. As soon as I opened that armoir door, a smell like no other slapped me in the face, pulled my hair, curled it and sent me gagging down the stairs with one rotting gator head!! No lie--that "preserved" gator sat in my son's armoir with all his t-shirts and jammies--for several days. Thank the LORD for Lysol and a strong stomach, due to many years watching medical shows!!

Now I get to decide what needs to happen with the head. Do I toss it and scar my child for life? Throw it outside and attract every animal in Shelby County onto my small, but clean property? Or do I just allow it to live in the garage where my cat will--yeah right--kill any small rodents stupid or brazen enough to drop by for a sniff? Decisions, Decisions! Ooh, I just thought of another--it could just get "broken in our move". Yes, we're moving, to San Diego, but that's an entirely separate post.

Manna From Heaven

Talk about random thoughts...

how many of you just love waffles? I do, but not just any kind. I most likely will never order them in a restaurant, nor do I like to make them in my own burnt-batter-coated waffle iron. The special Nakawaffle should be of the frozen variety that one must "leggo". it also needs to be Nutra in grain and low in fat. Why, you ask? Oh, you didn't ask--well I'll tell you anyway! Because my kids do not eat foods containing protein or fiber. Therefore I must sneak the whole grains in anywhere I can. I also coat their waffles not with butter, but with peanut butter, which makes me feel better about drowning them in maple flavored sugar goo. Hey, peanut butter's a protein! Plus it inhibits their mom-calling reflex!

My favorite way of disguising the goodness in these orbs of wonder, is by coating them in a bit of cottage cheese (I promise it gets better) and slathering them in a sugar-mascerated berry soup. Not to worry, I would never stop there (being that it sounds too healthy--even if it is an Atkins nightmare), the crowning glory of this waffley creation is the use of a very rare and special sauce. Karo syrup. Of course I would never use the dark or pancake variety of this beloved brand--it must only ever be the original clear, so as to prevent any overpowering of flavor or vibrancy of color. Oh yes, it's heaven on a plate!

Of Mice and Women

Okay so here's the craziest day that's quite possibly ever happened--to me anyway. This afternoon while deciding whether or not I'd actually make it to the gym (of course I did), I heard some icky scratching sounds under my husbands armoir (icky is not typical to my vocab so just go with me here). Within maybe two seconds a gray, slightly (okay very) frightened mouse came running out, right into my foot. Of course since it was a lovely 72 degrees (that's fahrenheit, to all you Canucks), I was wearing sandals--ya know the kind with no toe protection from diseased rodents scrambling through one's house. Of course I screamed like a sissy and called my poor, over-worked husband, as if he'd be able to do something then and there. He told me to lock our mouse-killing cat (14 mice killed and brought into our house in 3 weeks time), into the bedroom. He also told me to shove a towel under the doorway so said mouse could not make him (or her) self more comfortable in our lovely home. The only "towel" I could find on short notice (had the get the kids from preschool/mom's day out), was my housecoat. Not a bathrobe--it has a zipper and goes from chin to ankles, thus defining it as a housecoat--ask my neighbors if you don't believe me, they've seen it as I played in the snow or collected the mail. Okay back to the story. After collecting my kids and discussing said situation with Kim--Hey two posts already, must be a good friend--and Steve (husband extrordinaire), I couldn't find the mouse (maybe he needs a name, how about Frances), and just knew he had not been offed by Scout the mouse-killer. However, I knew Frances was still around because, like nearly all women, she was just a little too vocal. Then she made a fatal error by showing her fuzzy little self once again. Screaming and door-slamming ensued, which is when I noticed mousy-movement underneat my bathrobe. That little sucker was trying to escape! Kim told me to stomp Frances with my shoe, but I just couldn't, hey we'd become friends and besides who wants mouse guts inside their housecoat?! So I did the next best thing, I sent my four year old son to get the broom, all the while keeping the mouse from escaping back into my bedroom. My wonderful son looked for several minutes for his "little boy broom", before I finally got him to get my "Mommy broom". Hey, don't laugh, he was sharing which in and of itself is a completely different post! After much encouragement I started smashing the mouse with the broom to which Kim replied "I'm about to hear mousy murder". Not to worry Kim, the mouse had escaped, which I found out only after my kids were sent the garage--hey no one wants their children trampled by a wild animal--or mommy, and timidly picked up and thoroughly searched the crumpled housecoat (maybe it needs a name, too. What about Gracie?). By now ever sound caused my heart to jump and my desire to pee that much greater. A minute or so later I noticed movement underneath a package of felt squares (why they're called squares I don't know, since they're 8 1/2" x 11") which my mother-in-law bought for the kids' for crafts. I just started smashing with the broom, and of course the movement stopped. I felt relieved and still a bit on the apprehensive side, so I moved those "squares" ever so slowly and darn it all if that mouse wasn't still alive (I swear I hear "I will survive" set as background music)!! So what did this gym-bunny do but smash Frances to kingdom come with a full water bottle! No lie, I have the pictures to prove it! I've never once killed anyting intentionally (okay, anything furry or with the potential to be cute), and beyond the post-adrenalin nausea I felt much better. Though I've been traumatized and may need some serious counseling.

Okay, so then later on (oh come on, you've read this far why not continue?) while eating at Zaxby's my friend Diana set lovely, green purse in a puddle of some sort. She was a little sad since it soaked well into the leather. About two seconds later I picked up my daughter (did I mention we're potty training?), for a peepee break when a gush of fluid surged off of her chair similar to niagara falls and onto the spot where Diana's purse had been. No, Diana is not bringing sticky, soda purse to Disney World tomorrow, shes' bringing my precious daughter's urine!

Okay, I'll post a dead mouse picture when I figure out how to download them to my computer--hey that might be tomorrow so ya better check back!

Mom is almost a four-letter word

Okay, here I go--not sure I even wanted to get sucked into the world of blogs--thanks a lot Kim! But since I'm here...

How many times do I hear the word "Mom" in a day? No I'm serious, I'm dying to know. I suppose that I'll need to start keeping a log. I mean it's amazing to me, I couldn't wait for my children to be able to say mom, but now I think I'd prefer that they call me Jen (just once in awhile). Even Mommy is better, anything as long as it doesn't have any whinyness (is that a word) attached.