Me-Me-Me Meme

Here are the rules.

If you’re tagged, you will find your name at the end of this post. You should then copy the rules (or your version of them), and the set of questions onto your blog post, provide your own answers, and then tag 5 new people.

Just to be sure that everyone tagged knows they have been invited to play, go to their blogs and leave them a special comment letting them know, and refer them to your blog for details.

Once the chosen have answered the questions on their own blog, they should come back to yours to tell you.

Here are my responses.

1. How would you describe your running 10 years ago?
Diesel engines, concrete powder and tiled sidewalks. I was studying abroad in Spain and I'd run on the fringes of the city - in the new development. I still get a little heady when there's just the right concoction of construction smells in the air. I'm snapped back in time to those 30-45 minute Spain runs and my giddy feelings of excitement and curiosity and wonderment at the newness of it all. It was not about the running at all; rather running was my vehicle for exploration.

2. What is your best and worst run/race experience?
My best and worst come from the same race. Great River Relay, August 2007. Here's the scoop.

Worst - My first leg of this race was projected to be a 58 minute, 7.4 mile deal. But, I got lost and turned it into a 2:24, 15 mile ordeal. Now, don't get me wrong - I am long-habituated to getting lost and don't mind a little extra mileage, but I had a team waiting for me, a next runner to tag. I also had to run two more legs of this thing, totaling another 12.6 miles. To say the least, I was anxious. To say the most, click here.

My second leg - aside from being pitch black (9:30 PM) - was an uneventful 8.2 miles.

Best - My third leg was a 4.4 mile shortie that I was projected to do in 36 minutes. I'd slept for four hours and was fresh as a daisy, ready to run. Until I got started, that is. My knees positively creaked. As I tossed my headlamp to my support van, I shouted, "Stick a fork in these legs - they're done!"

And then I heard the tap, tap, tap of footsteps behind me. Enter Bill. AKA Eye Candy. AKA the reason I run. (See #3 of this meme.) As he passed me, we exchanged greetings. I told him he looked strong, he claimed he wasn't, and that's where it could have ended.

But I didn't want it to. His gait was beautiful. I couldn't take my eyes off of him and that gorgeous, rhythmic stride. In order to keep him in my sights, I had to stick with him. So I did.

For the first two miles, I hung off his backside, about 5 strides back. Then I managed to pull even with him. Our vans were leap-frogging each other, offering us water, energy bars - and the berries. My very funny teammates were giving me a hard time. "Um, Teach, your run has been changed to a 7.2 miler."

"Ha. Funny guys," I commented to Bill, having already shared with him the trauma of my first leg. He mumbled something in reply, but I had inched ahead of him and took it to be filler so didn't ask for a repeat. When he pulled even with me again, we chatted a bit more. He was new to distance running, had been a sprinter. I couldn't sprint to save my life, but could run forever and a day -- good thing with my navigational abilities. Ha, ha. Yada, yada.

I checked my watch and registered 34 minutes and saw what I thought was the exchange point. I began to pour it on and encouraged Bill to stay with me, we were almost there!!! He again said something that I failed to hear, but hell if I was slowing down to ask for a repetition - my blood was up.

It was to stay up for another 20 minutes.

My funny guys hadn't been joking. My 4.4 mile route HAD been changed to a 7.2 miler. But I couldn't stop now because Bill was right on my tail. I could hear that insidious, rhythmic tap, tap, tapping at my back door - and nice as the view from behind had been, I wanted him to stay behind me now, dammit!

I had no energy to calculate distance at this point. I couldn't risk looking at my watch. I needed to concentrate, to live in that forward motion focal point in my head, right between my temples. All I registered was the pain in my chest, the ache in my quads - and the stronger will to stay ahead of Bill. He would pull even and we'd grunt encouragement at each other, but we both knew by now that this was a pissing match. Our vans and those supporting other runners did too. I fuzzily registered their presence and knew they were watching the whole thing unfold.

Now, I don't know about you, but I am an incurable show-off. Give me an audience and I will move mountains. Or just run pretty damn fast.

We reached the 1 mile to go signal and it was showtime. I hit my lap split and conjured energy. My forked-up legs, my guts, and my sleep-deprived brain all pitched in. To push me, to propel me forward. And then I saw the beautiful orange cones and flags of the exchange point. I saw that it was at the bottom of an incline and I cracked. A smile split across my face - or at least I pulled my lips back from my gaping, gasping hole of a mouth. I am good on the downhill.

I leg go of my legs, let them free fall, flapping down the hill, carrying me home. I snapped the relay bracelet on my friend's waiting wrist and turned around to watch Bill snap his partner. For the first time, we looked each other full in the face and shook hands, exchanging wide, sweaty, exhausted smiles. We were both breathing like freight trains but managed to gasp our congrats to each other and introductions to our respective teams. (My team then grabbed me for this commemorative photo.)

My best race? August 25, 2007 when Eye Candy Saved the Day
7.2 miles, 54.24 with a 6.31 last mile
YAHOO & THANK YOU, BILL!!!

3. Why do you run?
I think I've adequately spoken to this one already, no? ;-)

4. What is the best or worst piece of advice you've been given about running?
Best: "Run like you mean it!"
To my cousin Dan at his first race last year. He followed it, smashing his predicted time into itsy-bitsy bits.
Worst: "I'm not sure our big-boned, voluptuous bodies are made for running marathons."
To my sister. Just to prove me wrong, she ran two marathons in her 40th year - and did quite well with them, to boot.

5. Tell us something surprising about yourself that not many people would know.
All my life, I have been Type A, wound-too-tight-for-livin', driven. Last weekend someone called me laid back. LAID BACK?? That one's a surprise even to me.

I'm tagging 5 of my Wisconsin buds. Consider it my good-bye gift!
XT4
Erin
Brazo
JWM
Rural Girl