"Listen to reason/ Season is calling..."

Today I got a letter notifying me that as of December my rent is increasing $75 per month, to $600. The fact that gas (by which my house is heated--or, has not really been heated, but now certainly will be) will be included is small consolation.

As it is, I spend nearly half my salary on rent alone; the other half consistently evaporates toward little things like the rest of my utilities, textbooks, student fees, and the occasional gallon or two of gas. Oh, and food. How will I eat now, flaky landlord? You've just upped my rent by my grocery bill.

Sigh.

October, thou villain. I will not miss thee at all. Good riddance!

Che profuma!*

I've had a fairly ridiculously sensitive sense of smell for as long as I can remember, and at fairly predictable intervals it's even more sensitive than usual.

Today I rode to school along Franklin, and experienced a veritable smörgåsbord of smells--in addition to the usual exhaust fumes, I smelled the bakery, cigarette smoke from a passing car, pedestrians' cologne and perfume, and spices and incense from small stores. The ride home, along the bike path, was even better; we had unseasonably warm and wonderful weather, and I rode slowly, savoring the smell of warm trees and sunshine, slightly tinged with smoke.

Then I got home, and as soon as I opened the door, I knew something was wrong. My apartment smelled, and not like warm trees and sunshine.

(Please feel free to stop reading here. Seriously. I'm sorry my posts have been so unpleasant of late.)

I had just been talking to the playwright-hippie-downstairs-neighbor outside, and when I told him I'd killed nine mice this weekend, he said, with conviction, "Oh, there are more."
"More?" I cried. "I killed NINE. Nine mice!"
"Based on how much poop we've been seeing as we've been moving, there has to be a lot of them." Then he revealed that they'd found a bag of cat food in the basement, and had thankfully removed it. Apparently not before, however, it had fed the colony they'd spawned, who had then moved north (to the killing fields of my kitchen).

After that exchange, it's definitely possible I was feeling extra-neurotic when I got to my own apartment and thought it smelled. That self-reflection was further reinforced when I proceeded through each room (after opening all the windows), sniffing everything (which is quite the experience when you're feeling olfactorily enhanced).

Once again, I knocked, grim and pale, on my neighbor's door. She came over and, happily for my sense of my sanity but unhappily for that of which the situation bodes, confirmed that the place smelled. At first, she didn't notice anything; after a few more sniffs, she wrinkled her nose.

"I think it smells of death," I suggested helpfully.

We confirmed that under my sink smells mouse-y... but it hasn't revealed itself as the locus of the stench, which seems to have intensified in the past few hours, despite the open windows (thank goodness for unseasonable weather). Those of you who have experience with these sorts of things know that this particular odor (death) eerily defies being pinpointed to a certain location.

This winter, there was a terrible smell in the TA office, and both I and the woman with whom I was TAing that semester were convinced it was something dead, despite the protestations of the other grads. Neither of us, sensitive sniffers notwithstanding, could locate the source, however. The office eventually (blessedly) stopped stinking, but it was only weeks later that a friend (accidentally!) found the corpse of the mouse who'd cuddled the warm power supply and met his end.

The possibility of this stench is why I haven't used poison on these little bastards, and now I appear to be stuck with it anyway. The injustice!

At my neighbor's suggestions, I called my landlord about it (and my discovery that, with my shoddily installed cabinets, there's a mysterious space behind my cupboards that I can't get to but the vermin apparently can). We had to laugh, though; he's both a man and a chain smoker, so he won't smell anything. Still, he does like to keep us happy. Here's hopin'.

*I finally learned in Italy that "Che profuma," depending on the punctuation, means both "What's that smell?" and "What a (nice) smell (mmmmmm)!"

Dressin' up

This weekend was a friend's Halloween party, and another friend just sent me pictures. I was a fairy again, which is a bit boring, but nice and easy. Plus, this time I convinced a friend to dress up with me, so we were the Good Fairy and the Bad Fairy. She even picked up wings and a wand for me! (The wings I made back in Ohio were a casualty of the move here.)

I was all excited about how the silver made me look sort of tan and how my arms were still toned from all that running, until I saw her arms. She does karate and kick boxing and this crazy Russian kettlebells thing, and she has pretty much the best arms I've ever seen on a chick. I'm consistently jealous.

Another friend had the best costume, though; she went as Orlan, the subject of my Master's thesis. Awesome. (The shadows in this photo make my hair look poofier than it actually is, but I still think this is evidence that it's really time to cut it short!)

Second best was probably Ed. We gave gave him a ride, and when he got in the car, he was carrying this box. "What's in the box, Ed?" we asked. "It's a prop," he answered. There were slits cut in it, and I said, "Is it alive? Is it a raven? Are you Poe?" He would only respond that we'd see soon enough. When we arrived at the party, we fairies put on our wings, and Ed put on his box. The results are above. Has everyone seen this SNL video, or is it only ubiquitous in my department? We art historians can have a good time, all right.

Insult to injury

I baked two loaves of bread on Thursday, and gave one to my neighbor to thank her for lending me her cat. Yesterday, I found the mouse in mine and threw the whole thing away.

I baked another two last night, and although I haven't in the past even always wrapped them up overnight, given recent events, I thought I should take some precautions. I wrapped both in plastic wrap and then in aluminum foil and set them on the cooling rack on my counter. I hadn't taken out the trash, and sort of thought the gnawed loaf there would be more tempting than one in a full metal jacket, as it were.

I was wrong, as I'm sure you've already guessed. Once again a mouse had tunneled straight into the loaf, having chewed through both the aluminum foil and the plastic wrap. Thankfully this time, I didn't find him inside the loaf. I did find him in the mousetrap under the sink.

My theory is that, savvy as he has previously proven himself, he couldn't resist the peanut butter, but had so gorged himself on freshly baked bread that he couldn't move quickly enough to escape. This was a portly mouse.

And perhaps (fingers crossed!) the last. I have neither heard nor seen traces of them since; the eighth of the snap traps I purchased is still baited and waiting under the sink just in case, but with nine down, I'm hoping I'm done.

The Great Mouse War

Or, War and Mice, a Tolstoyesque epic (or at least epic-length post)

Firstly: in case you weren't already aware of this, I am a sensitive, conscientious, vegetarian pacifist and abhor violence of any sort.

Secondly: I am posting these details because I wish I had known yesterday what I know now, and because last night's Google search didn't give me much of the help and moral support I sought. Please don't feel obligated to read this rather gruesome post, Dear Regulars--you really probably just want to skip it altogether--but if you have arrived here via a search for help in a similar situation, I hope my post can maybe help a little.

I mentioned yesterday that I appear to have a mouse problem; my neighbor's cat caught one of them, but then I watched her watch at least two more, and not catch those ones. I called my landlord yesterday evening for instructions on how to change the bulbs in a certain fixture in my apartment, and happened to mention the mice. He said that this is the time of year for them, and that in this building they always go to the apartment that doesn't have a cat. He agreed that traps were the way to go, and said that glue traps (of which I'd never heard) were the most effective--that the mice's limbs and snout become stuck and they suffocate. I remembered my family having bad luck with snap traps when I was a kid; the sound of poor Uncle Louie (as we for some reason dubbed the offending mouse) dragging the trap with him behind the refrigerator remains with me. I also hadn't had any success with the live traps I used in Bowling Green. Glue traps, falsely, sounded like a good idea, so on my landlord's endorsement, I bought a pair of them.

Do not buy glue traps!

It's true that they catch mice. Mine caught one within the first 15 minutes. It didn't hold it securely enough, however, and I actually watched as the mouse was able to use the ledge at the back of the cupboard as leverage to free himself. I was a bit relieved, honestly; I certainly didn't want to deal with him. I did leave the traps in place, though, while I was out for the evening.

When I returned, I could hear a thumping the moment I stepped in the door, and my heart sank. When I opened the cupboard, it was even worse; I'd caught two in the same trap, stuck side by side in the same half of the tray, and both were alive. It was 1:30 a.m., I was alone in my apartment, and my neighbor was, I assume, sleeping soundly in preparation for the half marathon to which I was to give her a ride at 8:30.

I had no idea what to do. The mice, who would periodically shake frantically in an attempt to extricate themselves, didn't look particularly close to expiring, and I rued ever having bought the glue traps. Seriously, what was I thinking? David Sedaris has a (less-than-inspiring) story about drowning a mouse a trap hadn't quite killed, and that was how--it was rumored--pests were dispatched at Big Lake. I didn't want to drown the mice, but I didn't know what else to do. I really wished I hadn't bought the glue traps. I threw the empty one away.

Thankfully, my friend Nathan, one of the calmest, kindest boys I knew in high school, was online, and I messaged him for advice. He was sympathetic and kind, and it was wonderfully reassuring to have some human contact. He figured the fastest way to put the mice out of their misery would be to hit them with something heavy; he got on The Google and read that it could take them days to die on their own. I was doubly convinced that I had to end their suffering, but the thought of inflicting direct violence upon them was appalling. What would I use? What if I missed, and just wounded them? Would I have to look?

The upshot of the conversation was that I realized that drowning them would, for me, be far easier, cleaner, and perhaps even quicker, than bludgeoning them--and that since I had to do something about it before I went to bed, it was time to act. In David Sedaris' story, and a few I found online, the process was protracted and dreadful because the trap floated and/or the mouse swam. I decided, therefore, to use a small container of water (I used a plastic ice cream container that I've used to store leftovers but didn't mind throwing away) and to physically submerge the trap if necessary. I put on my gloves, filled the container and set it on the porch, and steeled myself to move the mice. Getting them from under the sink to the porch was definitely the worst part, because they wriggled so hard I was afraid I'd drop the trap, which I held gingerly at the far edge. Once outside, though, I plunged the tray into the water and turned it so that I just saw the back of the tray, and suddenly everything was still and silent. I crouched on the porch, freezing in my pajama pants and T-shirt, holding the tray below the surface of the water and squeezing my eyes shut as I counted out two minutes. It seemed like a good idea to hold it, just in case, although there was no movement and the tray remained submerged when I removed my hand.

I went inside to give it a few more minutes, and then grabbed a plastic bag and went back outside. I carried the tub downstairs and poured the water out on the lawn without having to look at the contents. Then I slipped the whole thing into the plastic bag, tied it up, and put it in the trash, with infinite relief.

But this morning, there were more mice.

I heard one under the sink, and when I investigated, discovered it was in my trashcan, under the liner. I took the whole thing outside, and when the mouse poked its head out at the bottom of the stairs, I dropped the trashcan and let it escape... straight back into my house, probably.

So I rode to the hardware store and got snap traps this time--two two-packs. According to my landlord, there's "the genocide" and then things settle down. I didn't want to do poison, and for all their potential failings, snap-traps did seem quick, clean, and blessedly decisive compared to the glue traps.

I was very nervous, but did manage to get the traps set, baited, and positioned under my sink. I caught the first mouse within the first five minutes, and another one almost immediately thereafter. I went through all four traps (I couldn't bear emptying and reusing them) in about two hours and went back to the store for four more. So far, I've gone through a total of six snap-traps, all well-positioned, quick, clean, kills. Twice the savvier mice have managed to steal the bait without triggering the trap, and once the trap snapped without catching anything (three times it snapped as I was positioning it, which terrified me).

Unfortunately, I have apparently killed off the smaller, meeker mice, and have since been terrorized by one or two larger, bold ones. Unlike the others, these ones aren't confined to the area under the sink and behind the refrigerator. One actually darted in and out of my bedroom, and one made it up on the kitchen counter. The very worst, though, elicited a fairly blood-curdling scream from your increasingly high-strung narrator. That was seeing a wriggling tail coming out of the freshly-baked and hardly-eaten plastic-wrapped loaf of bread on my counter. The tail was attached to a very fat mouse, who emerged from the mouse-shaped hole he'd gnawed at my initial gasp and fled at the subsequent shriek.

At the moment, however, all is quiet. Perhaps my nemeses have retreated downstairs, to my hippie neighbors' mouse sanctuary. I ran into that neighbor (who, being an artist and married to a playwright, is very cool, just not very tidy) on my way to buy traps, and discovered that in the process of packing things for their upcoming move, she had discovered all sorts of mouse evidence. Everywhere. I think they have spawned a colony, which makes me very unhappy indeed, since our walls are permeable and I'm the only other unit without a cat.

Earlier this afternoon it felt like a siege, so I'm glad to have a respite. The last two traps are baited and set; my current body-count is eight. I sure hope this ends soon.

Mom & April, you might want to skip this one, or, The Drama

So recently I've been hearing phantom scritchings and scratchings in my kitchen. That is, they were phantom until yesterday. Yesterday I came face to snout with the perpetrator, who was perched on the edge of the garbage can under my sink and who didn't even have the good sense to run after I opened the door. That is, until I shrieked; then he skittered back into the depths from whence he came. I sat back down at my computer, figuring I'd scared him away at least for a while, but moments later, there he was again and we replayed the scene.

Trembling, I knocked on my neighbor's door, and she was already scooping Sappho up as she asked, "You wanna borrow my cat?" We brought her over, and I was embarrassed at the state of my under-sink cupboard. I keep my recycling there, so it was crowded with paper bags. It was dusty, and my murine visitors had also left traces of their debauchery. Sapph did some stalking, but we decided to bring her back after I'd opened things up a bit.

I pulled out all the bags, took my recycling to the street, and cleaned and disinfected the cupboard floor and my trashcan (they had gnawed a hole in the bottom of the liner, apparently to get to the tasty coffee grounds and squash peels). With the formerly cave-like interior now bright, shiny, and smelling of Lysol (and, I hoped, replete with lingering cat memories; they'd had ample opportunity to see and hear Sappho), I closed the doors and sat back down to work.

But they came back. Once again, I threw open the doors and yelled. I left the doors open this time when I sat back down. It came back again.

So I knocked on my neighbor's door again, and this time we brought not just Sappho, but her litter box, food, and water; she was going to sleep over. I picked her up and dropped her in front of the sink, where she almost instantly detected the scratching and went into huntress mode. Meaning, she crouched in and just outside of the cupboard, staring, for at least an hour. Intently watching the mice run along the back of the cupboard.

Finally, one comes to the very edge of the cupboard, nose to nose with Sappho, and she pounces. I close my eyes, and when I look up, she has the little guy in her mouth. I run to the back door, fling it open, and frantically call to Sappho to come. She trots defiantly in the opposite direction. I open the front door, and am relieved that she exits and heads down the stairs to the basement. I cross the landing to my neighbor's apartment, knock on her door, and am breathlessly trying to explain what has happened when Sappho prances through the open door behind me and into the apartment, the mouse still in her mouth.

We both shriek and jump back, which may startle Sappho; she drops the mouse. It makes a beeline for the heat machine, from under which Sapph is unable to extricate it. My neighbor grimly cranks up the heat.

But the transported mouse seems to have vanished; Sappho gives up circling the heat machine and we get on the floor but are unable to locate the mouse. We figure if it is somehow still in my neighbor's apartment, Sapph will get it eventually. There are still mice in my apartment, so Sappho comes back to my place for the night.

I feared there would be corpses this morning (apparently she doesn't generally eat her catches), but when her yowls awakened me this morning I was relieved not to find any; last night's drama was plenty for me, and apparently one conquest was sufficient for Sapph. When I returned her to my neighbor this morning, we decided that traps would probably be more efficient.

Short/shot

So I was going to post about tonight's drama, but now that it has finally subsided, I'm just too tired. I'll save it for tomorrow and leave you with this image from the annals, a friend's picture of my birthday party last August:*
It shows a nice view of the deltoid that didn't get this afternoon's flu shot. The other one has all the fun.

*Three of us were celebrating our birthdays, but I guess I got to blow out the candles because it was my house.

Cravings

Oh, Internets, I want a cup of coffee. Last night I made toddy, and my whole kitchen still smells like it. Before that, my kitchen smelled from the half-pound of freshly roasted espresso beans I'd picked up from Dunn Bros on Sunday and used to make it.

Sunday was the last day I had coffee.

That's because Sunday morning I woke up with a sore throat. I had coffee at Dunn Bros later that morning, even though I knew I probably shouldn't--and did chase it with two gigantic mugs of herbal tea. But the sore throat stuck around, so I picked up a box each of Airborne and Cold-Eeze that evening and have been dutifully taking both. I've also been drinking a lot of water and herbal tea and avoiding sugar. And coffee.

I've been feeling headachy and fatigued, but I'm not actually sure how much of that is from fighting off a cold and how much is from not having coffee! I guess maybe I'll go take a tiny nap.

Reset

So yesterday the sun finally broke through, and I have photographic documentation.



In the evening, my neighbor, a friend and I went for a bike ride, farther west on the Greenway than I'd ever been before--clear to Hopkins. It was incredible.

I hadn't been feeling so good about my life--the seasonal depression seems to be starting early this year; maybe it's all the rain!--and even the break in the clouds wasn't cheering me up much. The fact that I haven't been able to run since the marathon, as my left leg is still giving me trouble, might be a contributing factor as well.

Whatever had been getting me down, a couple of hours on my bike proved an amazing antidote. The sunshine, smells, and conversation made me feel like a new person.

To top it all off, when we got back home, my neighbor's friend and I went to the Jasmine Deli for Vietnamese spring rolls, noodle soup, salad, and tea to warm us up after the refreshing ride. Perfect.

"'Hasn't stopped raining for days..."

Apparently it won't be official until tomorrow, but all the reports today indicate that sometime tonight we'll be breaking the record for the wettest August through October on record in the Twin Cities. And there are still nearly two weeks left in October!

The Star Tribune reported today that the current-standing August-October record is 18.63 inches, set in 1900, and that as of Wednesday morning, we were already at 18.06 inches. It has been raining all day and is supposed to rain until Saturday, at the earliest.

The one bright spot, according to the Strib, is that "If history repeats itself, the record rain this fall might be a harbinger of lighter-than-normal snowfall this winter. After the wet fall of 1900, the winter of 1900-01 produced only 41.5 inches of snow, which is below the historic average of nearly 55 inches annually." [1]

It is hard to get too excited about that--or anything, really--with the current oppressive wetness and grayness. I do like soup, but my goodness, am I ever ready to see a bit of blue sky.

[1] http://www.startribune.com/462/story/1490713.html

For the record

Sarah complimented me on my outfit when I returned to the grad office after teaching this afternoon, and that led to a general office discussion on fashion.

"You always look very collegiate, Ed," said Sarah.
"Well, we are in college," he replied.
"We're not in college, man," I corrected.
"Right," Sarah agreed. "We're in hell."

A few more marathon pictures

Action Sports International has posted pictures of the Twin Cities Marathon. And because you need more pictures of me running, here are a few for you:



If nothing else, I feel inspired to run Phoenix so that I can redeem myself for these fairly painful pictures.

I also think I should find a more flattering outfit. I ran Lincoln in this very same tank (though I did have my Team in Training jersey over it) and shorts in 2004, and in the same shorts for San Diego. The top I wore in San Diego unfortunately got munched (it looks as though squirrels attempted to nest in it) when my suitcase sprung a leak this summer, or I would have worn it, as it was cuter than just the boring black.

Next time, I think I'll try for something a bit more colorful... and maybe some bronzer. Because marathoning is clearly all about looking great during and after running TWENTY-SIX POINT TWO MILES.

Misheard

"How are you feeling?"
"Okay; a little puffy."
"...Why do you need a puppy?"

Weekend Project

I painted my bathroom floor this weekend. It was the one room in my apartment where the wood floor had been painted, although you can see a patch of bare wood around the toilet where my landlord put in a new section last fall. The floor was in pretty sorry shape, with layers of marred brown paint revealing patches of the dark green it had been in a previous lifetime.

I'd been ignoring it for a long time, and finally decided to fix it.

Vegan Peanut Stew

This is how my refrigerator is looking these days, so tonight's delicious dinner felt like even more of a coup. It's based loosely on a dish my friend Alan made several years ago for an international- themed dinner party we had back in Lincoln (I brought tiramisù, and there were also roasted chestnuts!). He made his from his African mother's recipe, and if memory serves, the primary ingredients were peanut butter and a gallon of whole milk. I've made my version a few times, but I think tonight's was my favorite, created entirely from ingredients already on hand.

It goes a-little something like this:

Sautee in extra virgin olive oil:
-1 medium onion
-as much celery as is usable from a bag that has turned the corner (~2 ribs)
-as much garlic as is left in the pot (~5 very shriveled cloves; 2 big fresh ones should do it)
-2 very large carrots, grated
-the rest of the ginger in the freezer (~2 tablespoons)

Add a few cups of water, some McKay's chicken seasoning, and about a tablespoon of red curry paste (which Ter bought and may become my favorite seasoning); cook until the vegetables are very tender. Add the rest of a jar of peanut butter (~1 1/4 cup) and cook until melted. Thin to desired consistency with soy milk, add a splash of balsamic vinegar, and then use the totally rad immersion blender your sister gave you for Christmas to smooth everything out a little. Season to taste with salt and freshly-ground pepper; serve over baked (in the microwave!) yams (Alan boiled his).

I would have done coconut milk if I'd had it in the pantry, as well as some lime juice instead of (or maybe in addition to) the vinegar. Some cilantro or green onions would have been good on top, for a little color and flavor. Still, I didn't have to go shopping for any of the ingredients, and I think it turned out pretty awesomely--hearty and filling on a cold fall evening, with a nice amount of warming heat. Plus, the recipe was big enough that I have plenty of leftovers!

'Apologies for the washed-out picture; I promise it looked (and tasted!) much nicer in person.

"I want to ride my bicycle..."

No one seemed too intrigued by yesterday's little teaser about my newly-exciting bike commute, but I won't make you wait anyway. I have a new bike!

My landlord felt so bad when my bike was stolen this summer that he offered me one he'd had in his garage and didn't ride anymore. He said it was about 30 years old, but that in its day it had been a top of the line racing bike and was still in good shape.

Although it was a very generous offer and I was intrigued, I wasn't sure anything would materialize, since he's a great guy, but a bit flaky. About a month ago, I ran into him at my building and asked if he was still interested in selling me the bike. He told me it was in St. Peter, but borrowed a piece of paper and pencil and wrote himself a note about it. I didn't hear anything, so I included a little note with my rent check at the beginning of this month.

Then, Tuesday night, as I was standing in the yard and talking to my neighbor's cat through his open window, an SUV pulled up and Mike pulled out the bike! Even though it was dark and the streetlight provided the only illumination, I could tell that it was beautiful--graceful and light, with nice touches like a mirror and kickstand.

In the light, it's even prettier. It's a blue Raleigh Super Grand Prix, with awesome iridescent orange taped handle bars. It was slightly spider-webbed and the tires were flat, but it has a well-maintained chain, perfect brakes, and is in excellent condition.

I haven't had a road bike since about 1992,* and have been riding a cruiser since my mountain bike was stolen. It's definitely a change, from the toe clips to the riding posture to the downtube shifters ("the suicide post!" my neighbor laughed) and awkwardly placed brakes. Still, I think I'm in love. Mike said I could see how I liked it, ride it while I lived here, and that we could talk about a prorated price if I moved away. He wouldn't take any money for it up front.

This pretty much rocks.

*That would be The Black Beauty, so named after I brushed on a paint job of that color. It had been my mom's bike, was significantly older than I was, and could be heard coming from a block away. Even so, one summer it was stolen--but then reappeared a few weeks later, in front of the same building where I'd initially lost it. That event remains one of the mysteries of my life.

"...Lest we should grow too fond..."

One of my friends did send me her pictures from Sunday, so here are a few more views of the Twin Cities Marathon. I definitely look a bit rougher at the finish than I did at the start!

The first picture is of the view from the finish line, with the slight hill the runners descend (which many of them seem to use to pick up the speed for a final desperate push). You'll notice that I, on the other hand, could barely muster the inspiration to lift my feet, let alone escape the Pink Twins overtaking me in the next picture.

The great thing in this one is that you can see how I've rigged my fuel belt with duct tape and a safety pin to hold my packets of Sport Beans. At points during the race I wished I had been carrying a water bottle, as the water stations seemed few and far between in the heat and humidity.

And then here we are all at the finish line. My friend finished an hour and 10 minutes after I did, but said that since he'd been so slow during the race, his legs actually felt up to a mini-run on Monday. Monday!

I still haven't hit the trail at all, yet, although I have biked to and from school a few times. More updates on that will follow. (It's very exciting!)

TCM Report

I survived the Twin Cities Marathon! Thank you for your good thoughts and encouragement.

It was a pretty awful day for a race--73° at the 8:00 a.m. start, with a dew point of 68, and 80° by the time I finished. There was a little bit of sunshine, but the day was mostly hazy; thankfully some clouds moved in and provided a bit of very welcome cooling near the end. I am not generally a sweater (although my cooling system does seem to become more efficient when I'm training), but it was so humid that even I was already sweating in the first mile. I struggled to stay hydrated throughout the race, drinking two of the (thankfully large, and strong) cups of Powerade, and one of water, at each station.

At the end of the race, the announcers said that Chicago's (concurrent) marathon had ended up being even hotter, although our starting line was warmer than theirs. Apparently some elite athletes had transferred from that race to this one as late as Saturday night, anticipating that Twin Cities would be cooler (my dad said, "They should have run Portland, the pansies!"). Chicago ended up being black-flagged a few hours in because of the heat; we were allowed to suffer through the duration of ours (although the course cutoff is 6 hours--you don't even get a shirt if you don't make that deadline!).

My chip time was 4:40, which is a pace of 10:43, and not as fast as I had wanted to be. However, I do appear to have beaten the guys with whom I ran Bear Water, which is some indication of how the heat hit everyone. The heat was hard, but there was another thing: I was pretty lonely. That may sound a little strange, after my sociability at Bear Water, but I never really found anyone to talk to during the TCM. I talked for a few minutes to Juan Jose, who had flown out from Monterrey for the race; to a guy who was running his first marathon since 1989; and to another who'd only run once a week during his training. But I hadn't been able to find my friend at the beginning of the race (he called along the course, when he was at mile 16 and I was at 19 or 20), so I started alone and never really found anyone whose pace to match and with whom to chat. It was the first marathon I'd run without Bryant; although I'd been pretty slow at San Diego because of his injuries (after all, he'd slowed his pace to finish with me at Lincoln), I missed running with him and crossing the finish line together.

The great thing, though, was my supportive friends here. My neighbor/running partner drove me to the dome, walked around with me to find the starting line (accidentally getting momentarily trapped in the runners' chute, the only person there in jeans and cute shoes), and surprised me by sticking around to cheer me at the beginning of the race (she related later that when she called my name as I ran by, I turned around and startled, and for a terrible second she had visions of me falling and herself being responsible for my demise). A friend was waiting by his house between miles 18 and 19, and even though we ended up not seeing each other, somehow knowing he was there was encouraging. And then three friends were at the finish line to cheer for me and our other friend, bearing protein and energy bars and lots of enthusiastic, quasi-disbelieving congratulations. Afterward, we all went out for pizza, and though they laughed at my limp and cringed at my blisters, they claimed to be inspired to register for next year's race.

As far as the physical damages, I seem to be in pretty good shape. My lower left leg hurts a bit-- mostly, oddly enough, around the shin--and is responsible for the limp. That knee is popping quite a lot, but the joint itself seems to be fine. I have the usual fatigue and sore muscles (including my shoulders and obliques), but overall I think my body may actually be getting better at this drill. Phoenix, anyone?

These pictures were taken with my phone, which I carried in my fuel belt; friends took a few more, which I'll post if I get them.

Race Day Eve

Just in case you missed the link Wendy left in the comments to yesterday's post, here it is in all its glory.

I think it's absolutely brilliant.

Today I'm trying to stay off my feet and eat lots of carbs. I should also be grading papers and writing one of my own that's due Thursday, but I'm having motivation issues. Yes: tomorrow I will run 26.2 miles, but today I'm having difficulty feeling inspired to even grade papers. It happens.

Race Day Eve Eve

Sunday is race day, and this is what they're predicting. Obviously, they have no idea, but a high of 75 wouldn't be too bad--though I do hope it doesn't rain on us.

I picked up my race packet at the Expo today--one more thing to add to the list of things I've done by myself. There was a definite sense of camaraderie, however, going in; I overheard the guy behind me remarking on how fun it was to see all the racers there, the majority probably doing this for the very first time. "Yes," I laughed, turning around, "because once you've done one, you never want to do another one ever again!" But... there I was, for the third time--and he had done twelve. Yes, twelve.

These people are crazy.

Pictures from the weekend

The second day they were here, Paul and Ter bought me a bed! Apparently one night on my air mattress was sufficient.

The one we found was a screaming steal from the "As Is" section at Ikea, with the frame, midbeam and slats already marked down 55% due to minor cosmetic damage. The price listed on the sticker said "this combination," so we thought the mattress might be included; when we asked an employee, she went into the back to check, and when she returned, told us that the mattress alone had rung up as more than the price on the bed. "But I don't know anything about that," she said, and wrote in Sharpie on the mattress that it was part of the included price before returning to the back of the store with a smile. Even though the bed was a little bit ugly, and a little bit too big, we really couldn't resist that deal. We managed to get it home in the Bruise, with Ter and I sharing the passenger seat while Paul drove with his knees up to his chest, and they had a much more pleasant sleep that night!

While they were here, we did a lot of eating. We ate Neapolitan pizza with friends of theirs at Punch (wonderfully tasty and fairly authentic-- although there were no French fries on the menu); had soup and fantastic sandwiches in the Old Arizona courtyard; had brunch at the Bad Waitress; made homemade pasta for one meal and Thai peanut curry on basmati for another; and went to Pancho Villa to feed Paul's nacho craving. Ter and I also went out for Indian food Sunday night after Paul left, at a vegetarian place called the Udupi Cafe. I had never been before, but will definitely be going back; it was some of the best Indian I'd ever had. I got the thali plate and Ter got the dosai one, both of which included the freshest, fruitiest mango lassis either of us had tasted. Pretty much everything I tasted reduced to me an, "Oh, wow..."; my only regret was not being able to eat more.

We spent most of Friday afternoon downtown, including the deck at the Guthrie theater, Mill Ruins Park, the new library, and even the downtown Target (two stories, and fancy!) for bedding for the new bed. The weather got rainy and nasty on Saturday and Sunday, but it was absolutely gorgeous Thursday and Friday, and perfect for showing off the city.

It was also good running weather; Ter rode along with me as I did 6 miles Friday morning around Lake of the Isles and 8-ish Saturday around Calhoun. The marathon is this Sunday at 8:00 a.m.! At least two wonderful friends from the department are planning to be at the finish line (and take me for pizza afterward), and another one will be running with me (at least, as long as his knees hold up!), so you, dear readers, can feel slightly less guilty about not being here to support me in person.

This picture shows the comforter, bedskirt, curtain, and flannel sheets Ter and I found (incredibly, at four different stores--and with the exception of the sheets, all on clearance) for my new bedroom.

I've also included a picture of the timeline at full size, which Ter and Paul were kind enough to encourage me to work on in between having way more fun than was good for me. Good times.