Tag Archives: running

Boston: Definitely not going as Planned

15 Sunday Aug 2021

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So.. um… that running Boston in my own backyard thing?

it is, in no way, going as planned.

The heat and smoke this summer, not to mention serious job stress and transition, changing of shoes, and (I’m starting to think) seriously throwing my body out of whack thanks to my old love seat… I am not running nearly enough to be ready for a marathon. Many long runs have been canceled or shortened due to smoke. I chose to (not wisely) break in my new running shoes on the last long run I’ve taken. I’m not slept well, which makes me feel extremely edgy about injury. My bike is getting a workout this summer, but even that isn’t happening nearly enough for me to feel confident in my running ability.

but I’m nothing if not determined. Boston can’t be a full-on, fittest-I’ve-been-in-my-life experience (like I’d want it to be if I were running IN Boston). but maybe just getting out there and grinding it out is enough. Maybe this experience will have to be enough – me against myself, my life, the past 18 months. However this looks, I wonder if I will look back on it as the marathon that gave me perspective of being OK with where I am and what I can do. Because no matter, what, I will get this marathon done. It may not be fast, it may not be pretty, but it will get done.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve delayed my bike ride for too long.

Boston in my Own Back Yard

01 Thursday Apr 2021

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It’s April 1, 2021. If life had gone to plan, I would’ve qualified for Boston 2021 and be 18 days out from crossing an item off my bucket list.

We all know how that went.

The marathons I was going to run in 2020 were all canceled one by one. First Vancouver, which filled me with a sense of relief and disappointment. I’d burned out after my experience in Sacramento, where by sheer force of will – and absolutely no memory – I crossed the finish line before waking up in the medical tent. I thought I would just train the experience away; I exhausted myself instead. Vancouver being canceled forced me to rest, to fall in love with running again, and just be OK with being OK.

Then Edmonton was canceled in August. I took that as another blessing – I’d switched my Vancouver Marathon to a half, and ran it on a hot and humid July morning. The way my spring shook down (dropping a bird bath on my foot, for example), I wouldn’t have been in any shape to run a marathon in August. The cancellation was not entirely unexpected, but I still took some hope from the fact that I could possibly exorcise my demons in Sacramento in December.

I was sitting on a bus in late September when I got the email the CIM in Sacramento was canceled. That one hit hard. I still don’t know why. Maybe it was the last little bit of hope to run Boston slipping away. Maybe it was just one more trip I couldn’t take or thing I couldn’t have. I am able to defer my registration for one of the next three CIMS, so it’s not like I’ll never go back to Sacramento, but still… Boston 2021 was really and truly gone.

Until Ed, my guide runner and friend, sent me a message on Facebook in March. “hey, you should do this!” he said (my paraphrase, badly), linking me to a post from the Boston Athletic Association. As in 2020, they are doing a virtual Boston marathon. Unlike in 2020, if you could be one of the first 70,000 registrants, no matter your pace, you could sign up for Boston in 2021… and run it in your own backyard! You’d even get a different medal from those who ran the “real” (physical, on location) Boston in October. After a bunch of frustrating Server Unavailable messages, I paid my fees and I GOT IN! This girl gets to run Boston, 2021! Maybe not exactly as planned, but… BOSTON!

I’m out of shape. This winter kicked my butt. I’m in no position to run a marathon YET. But I will be. I’m going to make this Boston thing the best I can. Until I can once again travel and race and run IN Boston. Because make no mistake, I will get there. Maybe not in 2021, but I’ll get close enough. Come join me as I whip my body and mind back into shape. Because heaven knows, I’m not there yet! I’ve got a million reasons to train hard this spring, not the least of which that running isn’t canceled, even if I canceled it for a while.

Every Race is a Journey: When Not Great is Enough

16 Sunday Feb 2020

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A year ago, I ran my first Hypo Half – and my second half marathon. I had one goal for that race – to beat my first half marathon time – and I came through with flying colours. Right after that race, I hit the pavement and started training for my first marathon in June.

A year later, I’ve run two marathons, raced another half, and enjoyed a beautiful half marathon that was treated like an autumn training run. The runs I’ve raced, I’ve run faster than my previous race. Even when things hit the skids in Sacramento for my second marathon, I still managed to beat my first marathon time six months earlier by nearly ten minutes. I’ve got three marathons planned for 2020, and my goal is to run each one faster than the last. I’m glad I’ve got that planned – because I realize now that if I hadn’t, Sacramento might just have made me think twice about running marathon number three.

I decided to join the Kool Kids (a group of runners who trained together for the Sacramento/Honolulu clinic) in running the second Hypo half race in Edmonton this morning. A year ago, I ran that race with one goal (see above) and something to prove – that I was a bit of a badass and could tackle all that winter had to throw at me. This go-round, the Kool Kids wanted a training run (a 23 km run was slated for our training plan, so a bit more speed and a bit more effort provided the equivalents). Ed, my regular guide runner and training partner, was off on a cruise, so my friend and fellow Kool Kid Mike agreed to guide today, coming on the heels of his best-run marathon just a week ago. I decided to follow Mike’s lead – to wear my Hypo half toque backwards – then turn the logo to the front when we crossed the finish line. It’s a silly thing, I suppose, but we’re runners… enough said.

We started out strong – the first 4 km were solid. I could maintain that pace forever, with the light dusting of compact snow, some icy patches, but nothing to worry about. But the roads and sidewalks became progressively unstable and uncertain the further we went. We had half a kilometer of good footing, then about half a kilometer of snow that felt like running in brown sugar (Mike’s words, not mine). As time went on, I realized that my original hope (to beat last year’s Hypo time of 2:28:22) wasn’t going to happen. My legs got so tired in trying to keep me balanced. I drew encouragement as I waved at other runners who cheered as we passed (Mike says he wants to guide me on another race – he gets more people smiling and cheering for us than he ever has running solo).

“It’s a training run,” I kept telling myself.

But training runs don’t have cheer sections or water stations or music at speakers at the finish line. Training runs don’t trick my brain into thinking we’re RACING so we should run faster. Training runs don’t make me feel like crap… and this one was doing a spectacular job of that. I had to salvage this slow run somehow.

Seize the day! Take the opportunity to try different fuel and hydration options. After what happened in Sacramento, this seemed like a wise choice. I could run a half-marathon – I knew that – but what might be helpful on a race course? They had Gatorade at the water stations, and there’s no better time to try something new when you’re not expecting a speed record and there’s likely going to be parallels to a time in your not-too-distant future that you are. Kilometer 14 saw me with a paper cup of Gatorade – and while I’m not sure it positively impacted me, it definitely didn’t affect me negatively. Score one for Gatorade! Mike and I chatted, waved at more runners, kept pace with another runner and introduced ourselves after the fourth time we swapped positions on the race course.

The finish line drew near, after another kilometer of navigating across a dozen or so unshoveled driveways. I just wanted it to be over and to get inside for the bacon. I flipped my toque to show the logo on the front and crossed the finish line in what is truly the slowest half-marathon I’ve ever run – in fact I think even some walkers came in before I did.

It’s been a few hours now. I’ve had my fill of bacon and fruit – and realized once again that I don’t want potatoes after running a race. I’ve dissected the race, and my thoughts, and I realize I’m carrying some stuff that isn’t mine to carry.

I don’t want people to think that I’m a slow runner because I’m blind; I truly think I represented blind people badly. I realize I’m carrying this because often times I’m the only obviously blind runner on a race course. But I have always hated the idea that just being out there is enough. It’s a strange dichotomy – I didn’t throw everything I had behind this race, and in a way I wish I had. But that would’ve been foolish, truly a recipe for injury.

I need to let all that crap go!

I’ve had some time to think, and while I know people will think that my getting out there was inspirational because BLIND – or my speed (or lack thereof) was attributed to nonfuctioning eyeballs – I know the whole truth.

I went out there to run with the Kool Kids – and I did.

I went out there to finish – and I did.

I went out there to try free and different fueling options – and I did.

I went out there to train – and I did.

None of my actual goals today had anything to do with pushing myself to my limits for Hypo. None of my goals today included proving anything to myself as a runner – I’ve already done that. My goal wasn’t to race Hypo… my goal is to train for Vancouver Marathon in May.

And you know what?

I did that today, crappy footing and all.

So maybe the takeaway from this run – a training run with a medal and a brunch – is to realize the goal that you’ve set may not be for today. It may be a stepping stone, a building block for something further down the line, maybe months or years in the future.

And while I’m all for doing your best… sometimes your best in that moment is knowing when to step back and realize that maybe, just maybe, for a few moments in time, just getting out there and meeting your own objectives – whatever they are – is enough.

And it is enough.

 

Me and Mike at Hypo

“You’re doing WHAT in this weather?”: Digging Deep for the Hypo Half

21 Thursday Feb 2019

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Five months ago, I ran my first half-marathon. On a whim, I decided to see what races were going on while I was traveling on a journey that would change my life. I paid for my race fees, then crossed my fingers that I would have a guide runner on race day and a bus ticket to get there. My guide runner materialized months before I bought my ticket.
That race had perfect weather, with sunny skies and a light breeze and not too much heat. Even though my training program went completely sideways due to my guide dog’s emergency surgery – and later the thick smoke from wildfires that blanketed Edmonton for weeks – I’ll never forget it, and never regret it.
No sooner did I write the words “I’m never doing this again” than I started looking for my next half-marathon. Less than a week after arriving home, I signed up for what Edmonton Runners call the Hypo Half. It’s a half-marathon, run in February, in Edmonton – where temperatures can range from -40 to something above freezing… and you never know what you’re going to get.

I had no idea.

Spring and summer running are relatively easy. You get motivated by the opportunity to spend time outside, enjoying the neighborhood or trails or wherever brings you running zen. I knew winter running would challenge me in the motivation department – it’s cold and dark and sometimes snowy and gross. So I signed up with a training program through the Running Room, and started running with them three times a week. Over the course of the next four months, magical things happened. I found my space with a group of people who never once made me have to adapt to how they did things. There was always someone running with me, because you always run in pairs in the winter. Rick, our instructor, was always up to provide fascinating information (who needs Google with a Rick around?) or trying to talk all the runners into sticking around for a post-run coffee. Ed, who would later guide me and Jenny on race day, often joined me for coffee and was generous with his time, fuel, and date bites on long runs. I don’t think I had a single inappropriate question asked of me (the first person who asked anything about my vision promptly ran into a pole). The super fast runners still cheered for those of us who brought up the rear. Anyone who’s rarely had to insert their way into a given space may not understand what it feels like, this instant knowing you belong somewhere. And I was lucky enough to just fall into it.

Over the next four months, training was HARD. We ran on icy sidewalks, down hills that required traction devices on our shoes, in the cold and snow and wind, through three inches of snow that felt like running through sand. More than once I wondered why I was doing this – sometimes, the shocked response to my running in winter was enough to make me smile and keep going. We ran fast, or we plodded along. I mixed and matched my winter clothes, and had more than one fellow runner leave gloves in his car for me because I finished most of my runs without them. I learned more than the importance of good form or nutrition, I learned a few things about life and about myself. At low emotional moments, I discovered the somewhat magical healing properties of running the 109th Street bridge. And I had to really learn that staying upright and uninjured was better than logging the speed and mileage (because kilometerage isn’t a word) that my training plan demanded. This was a whole season of my life where the universe was trying to tell me to just be OK with just being.

And then, the first Hypo Halfers ran their race in early February. It was -30 Celsius, with the windchill making it 10 degrees colder. One of them gave us late Hypo halfers a pep talk – what worked, what didn’t – and I thought I was ready…

And then, February 17, 2019. It was just like any other Sunday morning. My alarm went off at the same time it does every Sunday. I drank my coffee, ate my bagel and eggs (after spending the previous five days eating more than two teenage boys could pack away), and got myself ready to run. Ed, my guide and friend, picked me up at the same time he has every Sunday morning for months. It could’ve been any other Sunday… except that day I held a race bib and a couple of obnoxious safety pins. The temperature was a relatively balmy -18 Celsius. “Not too bad,” as Ed wrote on Facebook before we went outside to wait by the start line.

Ed, Jenny and I found a few of our other runners, we wished each other well, and we started running. There’s something magical about the cadence of multiple pairs of feet – the rhythm in the light dusting of snow – that I can’t adequately put in to words. it finally felt real – we were really running! After several kilometers, it just felt like Ed and Jenny and I were alone on the course. And still runners – some we knew and some we didn’t – and volunteers cheered us on. Our speed was flawless, and I felt like I could take on the whole race… until 12 kilometers in. I didn’t wanna do this any more. I slogged through four kilometers of mental mud, swore at Ed when he “tried to be encouraging” by helpfully reminding me we’re 17 weeks out from a full marathon, and pushed… and pushed… and PUSHED. Finally, I got a second wind, and found my motivation – two of our runners were running with injuries; they wanted to run this race so much that they didn’t care if they had to crawl that finish line. I ran those last three kilometers for them, thinking of their grit and determination, and finding some of my own. When we crossed the finish line – 2:28:22 after crossing the start – I felt proud and tired and ready to eat! Jenny just felt tired, but looked REALLY cute with her own finisher’s medal.

 

The brunch is one of the biggest draws of the Hypo Half in Edmonton – that and winter running badass points – and it didn’t disappoint. I stuffed myself on bacon and fruit and potatoes while Jenny snoozed contentedly under the table. Many of our running crew came by to congratulate and commiserate, to high-5 and to compare notes, to laugh at the error in my chipped time, to ask the question we’ve been asking for weeks – “What’s next for you?” Some of us are training for another Half, others are preparing for a full, and some – like Ed and I – are straddling both worlds because of the dates of our next races. But I couldn’t think about a full marathon – I just had to soak in the successes of that morning, and all the people who helped to get me there.

 

It’s been four days since that race. I’m a little stiff and sore, but ready to get back onto the road to log the distances that will lead me to another goal: my first full marathon! This journey will be unlike anything I’ve done before, and yet I know some familiar faces – some of my people – will still be with me, training and cheering and dreaming their own dreams, and helping to make my own possible.

The Intrepid Journey 2018: One Month to Go

31 Tuesday Jul 2018

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I cannot believe it!

I can count down the days – not weeks, not months, but days – until I take off on The Intrepid Journey 2018! 31 days from today, from this hour, I will be leaving on a jet plane, headed south and west to whatever awaits me.

What’s happened since my last post? Not much… and a lot.

The bus situation has primarily straightened itself out, and I have all my accommodations booked. I just have to book my flight home, and then I’m good to go!

Half-marathon training has been going well…

But a serious summer cold set me back a week, and we had to send Jenny to the emergency vet this past weekend; she’s still there now, having undergone surgery on Monday night. Needless to say, we’re both a little worse for wear right now. My training schedule is shot out of the water. I need to give Jenny and I time to rest and recover, and adjust my race-pace expectations, but it looks like both Jenny and I can be in some kind of running form on race day (47 days from now).

It FINALLY feels real!

I’ve always liked to plan stuff – I should’ve gone to travel agent school – and so planning the logistics has been both frustrating and invigorating. Seeing it all come together, fall apart, and come together again has been amazing, and it’s enabled me to do a lot of things – like run a half-marathon – that I never thought possible.

If you’d like to support this trip and the lessons I learn along the way, please consider donating here, or buy me a coffee… because there’s no such thing as too much coffee!

The Intrepid Journey 2018: Opportunity Knocks

16 Monday Apr 2018

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I hate the saying “everything Happens for a Reason.”

 

Sometimes, there is no reason.

 

But, in many things, I find myself embracing new opportunities where once I had seen closed doors.

 

Does opportunity knock, or do we make our own?

 

Are both true?

 

I’ve made a decision since last I wrote: I’m skipping Missoula. Sure, I booked a bus ticket to Missoula (and not using it will leave me out $30), but other bus route cancellations have made visiting there impractical. I’m spending an extra day and night in Flathead County, making my way to Great Falls by train and bus a couple days earlier than originally planned, which leaves me some time to spend in Butte! I’ve heard both amazing things about Butte, and have been told by other people to skip it. But since I was able to easily find accommodations in Butte (compared to the hostile reception by multiple Missoulian AirBNB hosts), and there’s a ton of historical stuff within walking distance, I figure I can’t REALLY go wrong. I’ve also been able to locate places to stay in Bozeman and Billings, which now completes the accommodation search. YAY!

 

Transportation is still a concern (though research has told me that there may be schedule changes later this month); and here I thought that would be the easy part of trip planning!

 

WRONG!

 

But… opportunities.

 

Wonderful opportunities.

 

I’ve been toying with the idea of running a half-marathon for the past couple years, and I happened to Google what races might be running in Montana while I’m in the State.

 

And I found one.

 

I have signed up for the Montana Marathon in Billings! It’s a day earlier than I planned to get there, but there’s a half-marathon! I’m tired of saying that someday I might run a half-marathon… I am going to run a half-marathon five months from today! I’m still working out some logistics – when I will get into town, who will be my guide runner, and how I plan to train both at home and away – but this is honestly the most right-feeling thing about this trip. It’s yet another way I will grow and stretch and push myself and meet more people… I couldn’t be happier!

 

Without the canceling of bus routes and shuffling my itinerary and putting it all back together again, this wouldn’t be possible.

 

So I’ll be running mile after mile, doing squats and planks and stair-climbs, thanking Opportunity for knocking when I was in a position to answer.

 

Please consider supporting this trip and help making it the best it can be!

I’m a Real Runner Now!

19 Monday Mar 2018

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Today is March 19. It’s the last day of winter, which has felt like it’s had a hard time making up its mediorological mind. We’ve had weeks of frigidly cold temperatures, several large dumps of snow, and weeks where the snow melts and it feels like spring is just around the corner.

Now that spring is actually around the corner – according to the calendar, at least – I can claim something I’ve wanted to for years.

I’m a real, honest to goodness, winter runner!

What made it all happen? Was it my desire – voiced every winter when I stopped running as soon as the ground froze – to run year-round? Or when I started contacting running groups to network with other runners? Was it the purchase of layers of clothes or spikes for my shoes? Was it reading the facebook statuses of friends who ran in sub-zero temperatures and desperately wanting to join them?

It was all of these things and more.

For years, I’ve run with my guide dog during the spring and summer and autumn months. For years, it’s been an incredible journey. For years, it relieved my stress and my pain – from a sudden job loss to months of job-hunting to the death of a beloved pet. One day this past January, I was waiting for a taxi (which you do in -35C) and noticed a runner on the path. I wanted to stop them and ask what they used for gear, but I was cold and tired and didn’t want to interrupt their pace. Besides, I’d already purchased pants, a face mask, shoe spikes, and a bright yellow jacket that makes me visible for blocks; I think I wanted the connection more than I wanted to swap gear stories. I’ve been unable to connect with local running groups because of their location (too far) and their speed (FAR too fast). Unfortunately, I think for me, at least right now, winter running is a solitary pursuit. I want to continually challenge my body, to fly with Jenny down the streets of my neighborhood, to feel the burn in my legs and my lungs as I pushed myself to my limits. Even on my own, I wanted the fair-weather journey to continue. I’ve been sidelined by blizzards, illness, and injury, but those can no longer stop me.

I am a winter runner!

I realized I was a winter runner just yesterday. It wasn’t my fastest winter run (a 5K in February) nor the coldest (a -20C run in January that presented tiny ice crystals on my eyebrows), but I think it was my favourite. My shoe spikes cut through the layers of ice and kept me upright. My legs burned as they forced my feet to shove aside the wet, slushy snow. My toes got soaked when the ice cracked beneath my stride and unearthed an inches-deep and very wide puddle. It was a sunny late-morning that would later give way to clouds and more snow flurries, and I felt like the sun had come out just for me, to cheer me on and push me forward. I came home with freezing toes, burning legs, and pants that were soaked halfway to my knees. Jenny shook droplets of water from her hips to her toes, ran upstairs and brought down her tug rope.

I wanted more.

So, now that I have proven to myself that Jenny and I CAN brave the cold… I refuse to allow myself any more excuses. We’re getting out there, hitting the road, and nothing can stop us!

The Epic Road Trip of Awesome Day 4: Entertaining Angels

23 Saturday Sep 2017

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Tuesday, August 29, 2017
I know I didn’t sleep well last night. My deflated air mattress had JUST enough air in it to feel like a slightly deflated water bed, and neither Ben nor I could move comfortably without disturbing each other. I know now that I will never ever ever get a water bed like the ones that so fascinated me as a child.
Jenny is not on her bed by my feet, or snuggling with me; she’s waking up Dwight and Sarah with kisses and tail beatings. It’s 5:30 AM or so, and we’re all wide awake.
Last night at the grocery store, we bought bacon and eggs for breakfast. Ben gets up, cleans the plates from last night’s burgers as best he can without dish soap, and starts making breakfast on the camp stove. I start folding up sleeping bags. I’m in the process of moving one sleeping bag from tent to roof bag when I see a flash of orange from the corner of my eye. I know without thinking about what I’m seeing that it’s orange. I turn to look more closely with my limited vision, and the sun is starting to rise, blanketed by a smoky haze that – until now – I haven’t been truly able to detect visually. It looks incredible to me, like a sunrise but not, and I stand for a moment in awe of it.
We sit around the picnic table eating eggs with chopped up bacon. Ben and I discuss needing to get a new, more compact, air mattress, and dish soap and something to wash dishes in. I count out bills and hand them to Ben, since I’ve got plans in Portland today and he’s got time to buy these things.
We’re fed, as well-rested as can be expected, but severely under-caffeinated (we forgot to pack coffee supplies). The tent is disassembled, the roof bag packed and loaded onto Hoshi, and we hit the road.

Cascade Peaks Campground – Portland, Oregon
Distance: 140 miles (225 km)
Travel Time: 2 hours, 45 minutes

We don’t have room for the big air mattress – in the tent or in the car – especially if we’re going to buy a new one. We check out of our campsite and leave the air mattress at the main office building with a note that says it should go to anyone who may need it.
My phone briefly connects to the WiFi signal, and I’m thrilled that a book I’ve had my eye on for months is on sale on Audible today. Unfortunately, no matter what I do, I can’t seem to purchase it on my phone – due to the ancient nature of my “semi-intelligent brick” or the weak Wifi signal here.
We turn on to the highway and are thrilled that Dad’s strategy of tying up the loose ends of the roof bag’s straps has eliminated the humming noise we heard the first day of our trip. Right on the highway, we locate a coffee shop with a drive-through window. We buy our drinks and get ready for the drive to Portland. Sarah’s thrilled she can get a breva, and she offers Ben a sip of hers. He likes it, and drives on.
We put on the music as we travel I5, and I realize that we didn’t have the music yesterday. Maybe that’s why our short trips felt so long. By 9:30, I open up the GoPicnic box and start passing packs to anyone who wants one. Sarah and I are doing workouts today, so we need the quick bursts of energy the food gives us. I trade Sarah my applesauce for her edamame seed blend, and eat something every 10-15 minutes – the seed blend, crackers and turkey slices, fruit and nut mix – until we pull in to the parking lot at 10th Planet at 10:30.

We all enter the gym, and Sarah introduces herself. She’s been in touch with them, asking if she can join 1-2 Jiu Jitsu classes while she’s in town, and they welcome her instantly. She fills out forms and pays for her classes, we all take turns using the public washroom, and her class begins almost immediately.

Ben asks about places to go to take pictures, and the man behind the desk (I think he said his name is Bam) gives some great directions. After a few minutes, Ben and Dwight go back to the car, and I’m Just about ready to settle in to a chair and wait for my guide runner, when I realize I forgot something.

I take Jenny and fly over to the car, thankful that they haven’t left yet. I’m wearing my sandals, not my runners, and my running shoes are still in the car. I quickly change footwear, wish the guys luck, and tell them I’ll see them in a couple hours.

Before taking off for this trip, I put out feelers for a guide runner at any of the stops we would make. A friend mentioned United in Stride, a tool to pair visually impaired runners with sighted guides. I got in touch with Mark, who agreed to run with me, and was so accommodating of my shifting plans and changing meet-up locations and schedules. We’ve agreed to meet at 11:00 at 10th Planet, and it’s just past that. I try and pull up the email he sent me with his phone number to touch base, but the wifi doesn’t work and the email, for some reason, isn’t stored on my phone.

Jenny and I wait outside in the growing heat of the day, and Bam comes out a couple minutes later to wait with me. Mark pulls up and Bam introduces himself, then me, and Mark and I laugh about our seeming inability to keep track of each other’s phone numbers. Since my phone isn’t REALLY a phone anymore, he couldn’t have reached me, even if he had tried to call.

Jenny hops up into the back of Mark’s vehicle. She’s thrilled that she has easy access to a window to look out of – something that’s been in short supply in our little Nissan. I apologize to Mark for any nose prints, and he laughs and says he has kids- nose prints are nothing.

The traffic is heavy today, and we make it to Leif Erickson Trail a full twenty minutes later than planned. But the conversation on the way is easy and fluid, and I’m completely comfortable with Mark acting as my guide.

Before we hit the trail, Mark grabs the T-shirt I had agreed to purchase from his online store. I make sure it fits by putting it over my current running shirt; it’s slightly big, but not baggy. I put the T-shirt in the car and make sure my shoes are laced up.

Mark asks if he can get a picture of the three of us – me, Jenny, and Mark – before we get all gross and hot from running. I quickly agree, and we sit on Mark’s tailgate, my calf coming in contact with a tail pipe. Before it burns, Mark quickly grabs a cold water bottle, holding it against my calf for a full minute, apologizing the whole time. I tell him there’s nothing to apologize for, and my calf feels fine. We snap the picture; I think Jenny likes Mark.

Jenny is giving Mark a kiss as we take this picture

 

We hit the trail running. I tell Mark that I think Jenn’s going to kick my butt for the first mile at least, and I’m not wrong. My training plan has me doing an easy mile, three hard miles, then another easy mile, but Jenny has made other plans. She’s been cooped up in a car for three days, and by God she wants to RUN! I have two choices: fight, or adapt. I choose to adapt, but that first mile is grueling, run in less than 9 minutes (faster than my usual pace). Mark advises of changes in terrain, is confused by Jenny’s placement toward the edge of the trail, and we need to fine-tune our placement (Mark moves a couple steps behind me and Jenny is much happier). At every quarter mile, Mark announces the distance on posts along the trail. Parts are shady, others are baked by the sun. I’m thrilled by my first trail run in a year, even in the heat. I alternate the miles – hard-slow-hard-slow-hard – as best I can, given the terrain, the heat and distractions – mostly off-leash dogs – on the trail. Mark holds a water bottle for me and hands it to me when I ask. Jenny takes any opportunity to drink, something she almost never does when running at home. We push through the last mile and make it back to the vehicle. I feel proud, even though my speed isn’t quite what I expected, and Mark and I chat on the way back to 10th Planet about marathons and future running plans (his first guiding experience was at Boston).

I try and call the gym to leave a message for Ben  that we’re running late – traffic, again, is surprisingly slow – vbut Mark and Siri aren’t getting along. He hands me the phone and, for some reason, I’m able to get Siri to play nice. Mark laughs and calls me a show-off.

We make it back about twenty minutes later than planned. I thank mark profusely and introduce him to Ben, Dwight and Sarah before he drives away. I load Jenny into the car and go into the gym to freshen up as best I can, changing in to my new T-shirt and heading back to the car to get back on the road.

Portland, Oregon – Memaloose State park

Distance: 77 miles (124 km)

Travel Time: 2.5 hours (including stops)

 

I ask the guys about their shopping trip, and hope Ben has gotten some of the pictures he’s been wanting to take for days. The shopping trip was a success – if an expensive one – and we now have two camping mats similar to Sarah’s and a folding basket to wash dishes in. It took all the money I had handed to Ben (and then some) to purchase these items, but they were able to swing by a food truck for burgers and stop at Voodoo Donut (as recommended by a friend). The pictures, however, are much less successful because of the smoke that hangs in the air.

 

Looks pretty smoky

Donuts are probably not the best post-run food ever, but I need the sugar. Sarah is thrilled with her experience at 10th Planet, and we’re both so much more relaxed. I don’t think I knew how much I needed a run until after I’d had one, and I’m thrilled to have gotten a chance to fly.

Sarah and Dwight are both fans of Elliott Smith, so we put on some of his songs on this portion of the trip. I’m struggling to get into this music, because – while I don’t think anyone can deny his talent – the dark and brooding nature of these songs aren’t compatible with my current headspace. I stay silent on the subject, though, because to me it’s not a huge deal; this portion of the trip is short, and I’ve gotten to do something I really wanted to do, the least I can do is allow others to enjoy the music.

We stop in a small town for a bite to eat; Sarah and I haven’t had lunch. We find a grab-and-go barbecue place, but are glad to be able to sit inside an air-conditioned building while we eat. We both enjoy our food, then Ben and Sarah swing over to a Walmart for a few supplies. Having purchased everything they need, we get back on the highway and head for Memaloose State Park.

The first thing we notice upon pulling in to our camp site is a barking dog. I smile, as this means that my friend Tami and her husband (our suppoer hosts) are here! It’s only 4:30 or so, and we mentioned we might be there by 6:00, so I am in a way surprised to see them already.

The barking dog is Loki, a 3-year-old standard poodle that Tami has owner-trained as a guide dog. I wait to bring Jenny from the car (thankfully it’s cool enough to leave her there for a few minutes) so I can greet Tami. We’ve known each other online for the past few years, and it turned out to work extraordinarily well that we’re in this area at this time. Tami and her husband Wayne live in eastern Oregon, but made plans in Portland this week, so a great camping spot to make friends and feed people (as Tami says Wayne likes to do) about halfway between their place and Portland was perfect.

I bring Jenny over to cautiously greet Loki. He’s still barking as we approach. I put Jenny in her Newtrix, just so I can have more tactile feedback on her head movements. Tami backs up with Loki, praising him for a quiet approach. But Loki gets within about five feet of Jenny and starts barking again. Jenny, annoyed that this poodle is barking in her face, lets this go on for about ten seconds before she moves forward and barks twice right back.

We separate the dogs (Loki goes in the truck, Jenny goes back in the car), and we set up the tent. The wind is blowing a beautiful cool breeze, but we have no tent pegs to anchor the tent. Once the tent is set up, the sides start blowing with the wind, and we place our backpacks and other items in the corners and sides of the hexigonal tent to keep it from blowing away.

Wayne and Ben get dinner started. Wayne’s got the steaks going while Ben uses the camp stove to make corn on the cob. We’ve tested out the new wash basin to clean our camping dishes, and – after a momentary fear that the plastic will melt or be damaged by hot water – our dishes are clean! While food is cooking, we set up the sleeping mats and air mattresses, and – miracle of miracles – they all fit snuggly in the tent.

Tami and I mutually decide that the dogs might never be best friends, so while Jenny is now out on the camp site with me, Loki is still in his space. Tami uses her white cane to walk over to where I’m sitting at our site’s picnic table. She’s embarrassed by Loki’s reaction and I’m quick to reassure her that she’s doing the right things by reworking a situation as far as it will go. I’m also thrilled that she respects her dog and mine enough to allow that extra space and the realization that they may not become the buddies we’d hoped they’d be. We talk about dogs, about books, about travel and camping, about our mattresses not fitting in the tent and the need to buy new ones. When I tell her the tent was supposed to fit seven people, she pauses a few seconds and asks, “What, are they all five-year-olds?”

When dinner is ready, we all crowd around Tami and Wayne’s picnic table. Jenny and Loki are as far apart as they can get, and they very pointedly ignore each other as the six of us eat and laugh and chat, throwing away our paper plates in the covered cans provided by the camp site. We’ve set up our camping chairs near the picnic table and open the leftover drinks from the cooler as we chat – sometimes as a big group, sometimes in smaller 2-person pockets. Sarah uses her phone to log on to my Audible account for me so that I can purchase that on-sale book (you can’t beat a book for $2.95), and I smile and thank her. The sun sets, the air continues to cool, and the crickets (sounding different from last night’s chorus) come out of hiding. Jenny and Loki continue to ignore each other, until Tami gives Loki a treat that Jenny shows too much interest in for Loki’s liking. It takes Jenny a little too long to lay down and turn her back to Loki again, but in the end they are content to coexist and ignore each other’s proximity entirely.

The showers close at 10:00, so at about 9:30 I grab my toiletry bag and walk with Sarah over to the showering room. Sarah describes it as almost jail-like, and while it’s not exactly super well-lit, the water is hot and the water pressure strong. I’m so thrilled to be cleaned up after the heat of the day. When we return to the camp site, Tami and Wayne are back in their space with Loki, and Jenny is curled up in the tent with Ben and Dwight. The crickets sing me to sleep as I think about all the amazing people who’ve opened their spaces, their hearts and their lives to me – even for a moment – today.

Book Review: Not if I See you First

31 Tuesday May 2016

Posted by in Book reviews, Fiction

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Whenever I pick up a book – particularly a novel – knowing one of the main characters is blind, I approach it with equal parts dread and optimism. Optimism because without that I wouldn’t bother reading the book at all; dread because so many depictions of us include such inaccurate tropes as “superhero with mystical extrasensory powers” or “severely incapable infantalized adult.” Though Young-adult fiction hasn’t been one of my preferred genres in a very long time, Eric Lindstrom (the author of this book) and a few other authors might change that in short order.

 

Not if I see You First

By: Eric Lindstrom

 

It’s been more than fifteen years since I was the age of Parker Grant, the main character in Eric Lindstrom’s novel published late last year. Then how is it possible that I see so much of myself in her? Part of it is her in-your-face attitude; the other part is her bravado that masks a deep sense of insecurity. This has been me. This is me. Oh, and did I mention she runs, too?

 

Summary

 

The Rules:
Don’t deceive me. Ever. Especially using my blindness. Especially in public.
Don’t help me unless I ask. Otherwise you’re just getting in my way or bothering me.
Don’t be weird. Seriously, other than having my eyes closed all the time, I’m just like you only smarter.
Parker Grant doesn’t need 20/20 vision to see right through you. That’s why she created the Rules: Don’t treat her any differently just because she’s blind, and never take advantage. There will be no second chances. Just ask Scott Kilpatrick, the boy who broke her heart.
When Scott suddenly reappears in her life after being gone for years, Parker knows there’s only one way to react-shun him so hard it hurts. She has enough on her mind already, like trying out for the track team (that’s right, her eyes don’t work but her legs still do), doling out tough-love advice to her painfully naive classmates, and giving herself gold stars for every day she hasn’t cried since her dad’s death three months ago. But avoiding her past quickly proves impossible, and the more Parker learns about what really happened–both with Scott, and her dad–the more she starts to question if things are always as they seem. Maybe, just maybe, some Rules are meant to be broken.

 

A note about Audio

 

The narrator of the commercial audio edition, Lauren Fortgang, became Parker Grant. Her voices for the supporting cast were distinct and memorable, even if not always pitch-perfect and pleasing (hey, not all people have pleasant voices, either). If you can, scoop this up in audio format; it enhances the reading experience.

 

Parker, the Mirror

 

Parker Grant. The take-no-prisoners, hands-off, say-what-she-thinks main character of this book. She’s book-smart, fiercely independent (she runs alone every morning at 6:00AM), and doesn’t give two hoots about what anyone says or thinks about her. Around her is a small group of friends who love her for who she is, even if she’s emotionally distant to them and can be incredibly self-absorbed. Even though some of the specifics were different between me growing up (and maybe even now) and Parker Grant, it was like Mr. Lindstrom held up a mirror in front of my face, with the reflection screaming at me “THIS IS YOU!”

 

Reasonable Tropes and Refreshing New Looks

 

As Kody Keplinger wrote in her terrific review of this book, for the most part Lindstrom shies away from tropes for Parker. It became important to him for Parker to have no vision – a common trope for blind characters – for a variety of reasons, primarily for her to misunderstand or simply not consider visual nuance. Even Parker’s fierce independence is in line with her as a risk-taker because that’s who she would have been, blind or not. She also evidences insecurities about herself in small ways – not wanting to eat “messy” foods like lasagna in front of a date. Instead of the dark glasses that are not uncommon in books and movies with blind characters, Parker chooses to wear blindfolds (bandanas or scarves over her eyes) as both a unique fashion statement that can’t be duplicated and as a way to hide her insecurity. I respectfully disagree with Kody that the latter explanation overshadows the former; both are consistent with who Parker is and can both motivate her actions simultaneously. This bravado-meets-insecurity makes her a complex, nuanced character that avoids many of the inaccuracies written into blind characters in mass media.

 

With a Little Help from My Friends

 

Lindstrom also avoids the trope of the “poor loaner blind girl.” Parker has old friends Sarah and Faith – and the ghost of Scott’s friendship – with her, and new potential friends Jason and Molly. Surprisingly, Lindstrom depicts female friendships incredibly well, with none of the cattiness and all of the miscommunication, strong bonding, and tough love that filter through even the deepest of female friendships. But his grasp on the male-female relationships were unconvincing; something was missing from Parker’s interplay with Scott and with Jason. Jason just seemed to be… there… to be Mr. Almost-Perfect, while Scott patiently waited in the background for Parker to come to her senses and talk to him. Neither really rang true as a romantic interest for some reason, but Parker’s ultimate realizations about Scott provided some messy, touching, Hollywood-worthy moments with just enough nuance to avoid slipping into really sappy territory. There was no true “resolution”, but life is like that sometimes – messy and incomplete and sometimes you just don’t know.

 

Conclusion

 

Parker is not always the most likeable of characters, which is in fact what I loved about her. She’s prickly, feisty and opinionated; she loves her friends and hates to be buttonholed into what is expected of her. I saw enough of myself in some pretty scary ways that I wanted to rip the headphones out of my ears, give her a shake (if she didn’t run away or hit me first), and provide her some pearls of wisdom as someone who has traveled many of the same paths as she has and emotionally responded in many of the same ways.

But, since I can’t do that, I can at least encourage you to spend some time with Parker. Tell-it-like-it-is types will love her take-no-crap attitude. If you’re an empath, you’ll want to comfort her when that shell cracks wide open. Runners will marvel at her discipline. If you’re none or all of these things, go along for the ride; it’s well worth your time to support an author who created a blind character that is so nuanced and human. You’ll never forget Parker Grant is blind, and she wouldn’t want you to; but don’t get in her way!

 

5/5 stars.

Girl on the Run: you do WHAT with Your Guide Dog?

20 Friday May 2016

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Until this past year, I didn’t consider myself a runner. Before I played goalball, I didn’t consider myself an athlete, either. Growing up, I firmly believe it had little or nothing to do with my blindness, but my interests went in different directions (music and books and learning languages, mostly). But in the way of most schools everywhere, all students – including this bookish, creative blind student were made to do things they aren’t interested in, or even want to do… something I whined about at the time, but am grateful for today. I try not to think about this much, as is the way of most high school memories… but I’m sharing it with you because… well, because I want to.

Grade 8, PE class. The time of year that all the students go for a 3 mile run (the exact distance I’m not quite sure of; the fact I was completely unprepared for it, I have no doubt). I was an out-of-shape thirteen-year-old who hadn’t done much physical activity since walking away from competitive trampoline more than a year earlier. I found myself walking more than running, but something in my brain clicked about 200 yards before the end of the run. My legs just went and took over my body and my brain, and I was running flat out. I know people were calling my name, I know at one point they were screaming at me to stop, but my feet and legs and body kept moving, and I just couldn’t stop… until I ran full-speed into a telephone pole.

I gave up running after that. To this day I don’t know if it was the fact that my interests truly did go in different directions, or the thought that I was too embarrassed to risk getting another shiner on my forehead. I was a blind kid with little true desire for physical activity, and – even though I was encouraged to pursue track and field – I resented the idea that I would need a sighted guide runner whose pace I would likely slow down, and it all just sounded so unfair. Besides, I had other things that took up most of my time, so I didn’t really miss it much.

I often think about that path not taken these days, since taking up running again. I’ve done a fundraising run in support of the local blind sports organization for the past five or six years, but beyond that, until this past couple years, it hasn’t been a burning need for me. Maybe if I had the confidence to run, or easier access to guide runners locally, or just more time to kill, maybe I would have done this sooner. But I can’t think that way, really, because it’s time to look forward, not back. I’m lacing up my shoes, harnessing up my guide dog, and going for a run.

Whoa whoa whoa! I am doing what?

I’ve written before about running with my guide, but since it’s a relatively unusual activity to do with one’s guide dog, and I get asked a zillion questions about why I would do this at all, here’s the route I’ve taken to this point, and where I want to go.

It all started a couple years ago after the fundraising run; I had made a great connection with my guide runner, and she and I agreed to go running together. This would involve going home from work, leaving my guide at home, taking my cane, catching the bus, going for a run, catching the bus home… and to me, that was a lot of planning for a quick run, as much as I loved running with my friend. Add to this the fact that I have a guide dog who genuinely likes to go fast (and occasionally we have “arguments” about such things), and I figured I could at least try running with her.

A friend makes sports-style harnesses and I asked her to make one for me. It has a lot of room for the dog to move and acts like a traditional harness in all other ways. The pull in the handle took some getting used to, but once I understood the feeling of the pull in the harness, we were ready to go! I started small (like, around the block small); if Jenny hated it, I didn’t want to make her run with me. She took to it so quickly that over just a few weeks, then months, we increased our speed, distance and complexity of routes. Our winter was short, so it didn’t take long for us to really get moving this spring. This past month alone, we have done our longest run ever (more than 7 km), had our fastest ever run longer than 5 km, and did our first ever big group run in support of the Fort mcMurray evacuees. That last wasn’t a flawless experience, but it taught me how to handle it, and gave me hope for other big group running events later on in the spring and summer, and even beyond. My goal is to run an organized 10K by the end of the season; we’re well on our way!

I’ve made some mistakes along the way – misjudging if my guide wanted water (the answer is usually “no”) or underestimating her willingness to go at fast speeds – but when we have this matching jogging-pace speed and are completely in sync, there’s no feeling like it. Many people ask me if I’ve ever been hurt; the answer is yes, but it’s got nothing to do with Jenny and everything to do with my thinking I know more than she does. If I listen to her quick, decisive, flawless guiding moves, I know I’m in good paws. More than once I let Jenny set the route (or, at the very least, don’t direct her as much); our neighborhood is a veritable labyrinth of angled sidewalks, roads that intersect and curve around back to each other – a residential runner’s paradise. I can focus on my feet, on my music (90s music is the best to run to!), on the feeling of wind in my face and the smell of pine sap in the air. I don’t have to think too much about where I’m going, what street I’ve crossed, if I’m lost or not, I can just run. I know my guide will run me home when she needs a drink of water.