Wherein I Change Around the Furniture

Much better for the nightly dance parties.

The Play List

The first long run of the training cycle was wonderful today.  And I was very happy with my playlist.  I didn't get through it all and I can't believe there is no Tom Petty or Big Head Todd or Spearhead.  But there will be plenty of time over the next 17 weeks to adjust and modify the long run playlist.  And "Take the Long Way" by Po'girl showing up twice is  no mistake; I've considered making a playlist of just that song, I love it so.  I welcome your recs for good running tunes.

Asking Too Much Ani DiFranco
Silo Song  Chris Pureka
Boom Boom Pow  Black Eyed Peas
Take The Long Way  Po' Girl
Yeah!  Usher
Skinny Love  Bon Iver
Volcano (Live)  Damien Rice
Apeman The Kinks
Purple Rain  Prince
The Remedy (I Won't Worry) Jason Mraz
Momentary Thief Chris Pureka
Home To You Po' Girl
Pictures Of You The Cure
Hold On, I'm Comin'  Sam &Dave
Play Your Part (Pt. 1) Girl Talk
15 Steps Radiohead
Lodi Jeffrey Foucault
As Stevie Wonder
Holla!  G. Love
Take The Long Way  Po' Girl
Angelsea Cat Stevens
Locomotive Breath Jethro Tull
Hey Mama Black Eyed Peas
Time  Blind Melon Blind Melon
The Man In Me  Bob Dylan
Blood Bank Bon Iver
Love Song The Cure
Delicate (Live)  Damien Rice

Ready, Set, Go.

The time has come to run another marathon.  This will be my fifth. It has been over a year since the last marathon and I am ready.  The extended holiday season (plus work) was emotionally exhausting and I know, in my heart and body, that the best remedy is to start training.  For Christmas I received Haruki Murakami's book What I Talk About When I Talk About Running.  He says, "When I'm criticized unjustly (from my viewpoint, at least), or when someone I'm sure will understand me doesn't, I go running for a little longer than usual.  By running longer it's like I can physically exhaust that portion of my discontent."  And it's not just interpersonal discontent, but all frustration and difficulty that can be purged with a good, long run.

This is my first week of training and I love getting up in the morning with a physical purpose.  I'm not going to push my self the way I did for the last marathon.  Then I did Pfitz's Advanced Marathoning, which, with both a Spring and Fall marathon, lead to burnout.  So I'm going back to good ol' Hal Higdon and won't worry too much about my time (though I would, of course, like to PR).  And I'm going to run a brand new race, which gives me a real adventure to look forward to. I hope to make a fun family weekend out of the May 16th marathon in Maine.

My dear friend and comrade Carolyn is planning to run Sugarloaf as well, and this will be her first marathon. And my old, rediscovered high-school friend Christie is going to run Montreal with me in September.  This will be her first, too!  The season has begun and it feels like a homecoming and it is a delight to bring more new recruits into my cult.  It's so simple and gratifying to follow the schedule, to meet the promise of each dawn on Darling Hill, to spend that big chunk of time in glorious solitude once a week on the long run.  All of it just makes me happy.

An Old Poem

Dear friends of ours just visited for a ski vacation with their young children, which reminded me of this poem I wrote two years ago.  I like it, and it helps me remember that day.

Carving the Turns

That January day

I skied only to be with you

savoring the last few years of your girlhood.

You hushed me on the lift

when I sang

but laughed when

I teased that I'd ask those

boys in the snack bar

for one of their fries.

I tried my best to keep up with you,

babying my old, runner's knees

and admiring your smooth form as you sailed

down the mountain.

Then

just before the last run of the day

we noticed perfectly shaped 

delicate snowflakes

fall on our mittens 

and wondered how it could be true

that no two are alike.

You told me to use my whole

body when I carved my turns

and headed for Willoughby, a high, steep trail.

Taking your lead

I moved from my head to my hips

and felt it;

the groove

one with the slope

thighs burning

flowing

swish

swish

I was eleven

you thirty-six

and I stopped to wait for you.

I asked, "which way?"

You grinned.

"Down!"

You were eleven

I was thirty-six

the afternoon grew dark

we had Willoughby 

all to ourselves

floating in a liminal space

at the edge of change and possibility

our Kingdom lay before us.

January 08

15th Anniversary (Montreal)

Duck

Dessert

Winter Running (Blue)

Lately I have felt so much joy on my morning runs.  They start in the dark and the sky gradually lightens.  It is so lonesome (in a good way), just Rosie and me and whatever wildlife is watching us.  I feel like the world is just coming to, waking up, starting to breathe, and Rosie and I get to both witness and be an integral part of it.  It feels really special and really important.

One morning last week it began to snow just as the sky brightened.  Today it was crisp and clear and I brought my camera to try to capture the essence and beauty of winter mornings.   I also enjoyed yesterday's cloudy dawn, opening with a particularly spectacular and moody darkness/light.

As I was thinking about writing this post on the rhapsody of winter runs, it dawned on me that I mostly only write about joy here.  If you didn't know me and read this, you'd think I was always super happy and celebrating everything all the time.  That's mostly true, but it is also true that I prefer to keep my sadness private, or at least semi-private.  I like to send positive vibes out into the universe (or blogosphere), not whine and complain.  But if you are my mother or husband, you know that I've had some recent loss and disappointment.  And like everyone, I have bad days, get pissed off, stressed out, irritated and grumpy.  But I am terribly grateful for all the goodness in my life and in the world and feel compelled to share those joys.  And recently I was reminded that no ONE thing is your life, so when you lose something or something changes, you can roll with it and notice all the other things still in your life.  Like the blue, cold and lovely dawn.

My Grandfather is Nice By Patrick Favreau

A little while back, Patrick had to write a biography for school. He chose Grandpa David.

"David Gascon is my grandfather. He was born on November 3rd, 1942.  My grandpa is fun, smart and helps keep the world healthy.

My grandpa likes to go on walks and picks up trash while he goes.  This keeps the world healthy.

He has one daughter named Zoe.  He also has two grandchildren; me and my sister Harper.  He is a Bachler.  He has arthritis.  But it doesn't slow him down.

We go to his house every Thursday.  We usually eat fish there.  I'll tell you one thing...he is a fish lover.

My grandfather is fun and smart and I like to hang out with him.  He cares for us and the world around him.

My grandfather is an important person because he picks up trash.  One important fact about him is he has arthritis.

One interesting detail is that we go over to his house every Thursday for dinner.

I chose him because I know about my parents.  I wanted to learn more about my grandfather."
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