Who Moved My Chi?

I had this naive notion that househunting would be this glorious time to look forward to when my husband and I would peruse the internet for our dream home. It's not quite so glorious, but still rather fun. For the past three or so years, husband and I have bantered about our dream home which would include a garage and a level driveway (as mentioned in a previous post, for a basketball hoop). Over the past month or so I've learned that it's one thing to know what one wants, and another thing completely for finding it affordably in a large metropolitan area. We've basically reconciled ourselves to the fact that to have our own retreat, we'll have a decent commute ahead of us each day. I feel guilty that we'll be contributors to the dreaded urban sprawl. We're sprawlers. We're misanthropes who want to live far away from the masses. What can I say?

We finally think that we've found the ideal house with the much desired level driveway, a screen porch, deck and additional porch on two sides of the house. The house has the nice master bedroom with a gorgeous sitting area. Most importantly, we'll have large enough bathroom and double vanity so that they'll be no more morning tension fighting for the sink. I look forward to the end of dialogues that go something like: "No, I'm done really. Here, let me just put my.... Wait, see there's room. Ugh. What's that smell? Here, it's all yours...."

We had our home inspection this past weekend. After receiving the multi-page report, we requested the sellers to remedy one facet (among others) we definitely don't envision for our dream home: a dead squirrel and his (or her) associated droppings and leftover nuts. The poor squirrel decided to seek refuge in the attic and met an untimely death. Likely the homeowners didn't even realize his presence.

Despite the fact that I feel confident with our home there are two things that have me remaining tense about our decision. The first consideration is the financial cost of purchasing this edifice. This purchase will be the largest my husband and I have ever made in our lives. Yet, I'm equally concerned about the Chi of it all. I should never have bought that book about Feng Shui. With househunting, not only is the task to find an affordable house with the best reasonable commute possible, but also one needs to find a house with good Chi, which includes the features of no windows causing energy to flow over sleeping occupants, doors facing in the right direction in accordance with the occupant's astrology, and the correct placement of furniture. Feng Shui tells me that if I don't find these, my dream home may cause poor health, the end of my marriage, world catastrophe and intergalactic war. The weight of these fates pressed heavily on my shoulders as I scrolled through the listings in our price range. Hopefully we made the right decision. I hear that intergalactic war stuff can be a real pain in the butt.

The Battle

It's over. Finally. Here's the long sordid (and sorted) tale:

Friday morning I went out for a quick 2 miler just to loosen up the legs. I wandered the house packing, then aimlessly fiddled, watched television and rechecked my baggage. I awaited a call from my NC running buddy who was traveling south with her family. Our plan: to rendevous in the hometown of husband's parents, then go to the battlefield in Chickamauga to survey the course for the next day, followed by an early dinner. Plans are nice. But sometimes plans go awry.

At around noon I received a call from running buddy. She and her family were running about two hours behind the plan I had worked out in my head. They were just finishing up lunch and continuing on their journey. This journey was guided by running buddy's slow dad driver. A trip that I used to make in around five to five and a half hours took the running buddy family eight hours. A couple of hours later, running buddy called again, saying they were stuck in traffic. I waited a while longer, then finally left Atlanta to head north to the rendevous point. I was fully loaded in our old Mercedes Benz. The Benz is not fancy; rather, we've dubbed it the pimp-mobile for its dark tinted windows. The Benz has been experiencing some issues with anti-freeze which we thought we'd remedied; the issue happens to cause a nasty smell inside the car.

I made it up to the rendevous point successfully and received another phone call. Running buddy and I were roughly the same distance from the battlefield, so we changed the rendevous point. Meanwhile, my head began to throb horribly. Meeting at what would be the start of the race, we loaded in the running buddy slowmobile to peruse the battlefield. We had a wonderful drive at sunset as we saw several deer and a turkey. The course didn't seem too bad; it had changed from the previous year and seemingly had less hills. Seemingly. My head throbbed. As the sun set, we headed out for dinner. We were behind schedule in my plan. I'd hoped to be sitting down for dinner at 5:30 p.m., and we were just leaving the battlefield. Arriving at the restaurant at 6:00 p.m., there was a 45-minute wait. Did I mention that my head was throbbing painfully?

The dinner of spaghetti on my plate seemed largely unappetizing. I only ate about 1/4 of the serving provided (at Knoxville, I chowed down the night before). I felt like crap. Reflecting back, I wonder if I was poisoned by the Benz, as it emitted a funny smell during the three-plus hours I spent driving hither and yon. Nonetheless, I had a great time with running buddy and her family talking about church music directors and debating what the end of a loaf of bread is called (heel or bread butt?). I was basically in a stupor as we drove home from the battlefield. When I did arrive home, I realized that I had left my high beams on for the duration of the drive. Certainly I had people cursing.

Race morning came slowly. I went to bed at 10:30 p.m. and woke up four hours later. Two hours of tossing and turning followed before I finally got up to hydrate and eat. My head still ached.

The race started without much fanfare. The weather was perfect. Running buddy and I were going to hit the nines (9:00/mile) and having a great race. Well, this plan went well until about mile 9, when I couldn't hold it, and running buddy felt good and went on. The rest was a landslide of slowness. When I saw members of our support crew, I either apologized for taking so long or I joked around that I would finish eventually or that I was savoring the course (akin to a high round of golf, getting my money's worth). At one point husband jogged beside me in his loafers. In holey nasty driving moccasins. He can beat me in tennis with his shoes untied, and he can keep up with me at mile 23 of a marathon. Needless to say, I finished in 4:13 and some change. Running buddy had an awesome PR of 3:50.

Chickamauga was the third marathon in 365 days. Maybe I was just tired. Maybe I was due to have a "bad day" since the previous races went relatively well. Honestly, I think I put in the miles but I just didn't train hard enough. It boils down to pace. The bottom line is that I'm pretty lazy when I run and just take it easy. I need to squeeze more out of myself on my daily runs. The other element that I think helped me running Knoxville was upper body work. I made a concerted effort to do a little weight work for Knoxville that I abandoned entirely for this race. I also didn't stretch as well as I should have. There were many nights when I'd stop and just go in the house and shower.

I won't do a spring marathon. Rather, I'll wait until fall. Hopefully by then I can refocus, build and get stronger.

BUT... there were so many positives to this day that the outcome of the race is entirely unimportant. Despite a slow time, I still had a great day running. The Chickamauga course allowed running buddy's parents and husband as well as my husband and his parents to see us many times throughout the race. I so appreciated the support. This race changed me. I felt closer to my in-laws during this time than any other family time we've spent together. I can't express how fortunate I feel to have married into such a special group of people.

After the race we had a great day. Husband's mother put on an amazing spread for lunch. Running buddy's parents returned to their hotel while the rest of us hung around and played a cool Urban Myth board game. Did I mention this day was my birthday? Well, it was. By far, probably my best birthday ever, spent with friends and family. It was a day filled with doing something I love (running) and spending time with people I love.

Madness

It's Thursday. The marathon is Saturday. The madness has started.

When I think of the term "madness," I always think of the term "reefer madness," not because I'm a marijuana smoker, but because of an incident in the ninth grade. I can remember my ninth grade English teacher mentioning something about "reefer" (must have been part of a story we were reading). The teacher asked if we knew what "reefer" was. Enjoying the surreal quality of knowing the right answer beyond a shadow of doubt, I quickly raised my hand and responded "marijuana." Mrs. U. looked slightly startled. She then asked me if I had older siblings. I responded affirmatively. Perhaps she was concerned that I was a burgeoning young pothead. In truth, I knew the answer not because of my siblings and their narcotic tendencies, but rather from a Teen magazine that had a blurb about the movie "Reefer Madness." Funny how things can be misunderstood.

My current madness (non-reefer) revolves around this wonderful time of the taper. One would think embarking on this third marathon that a runner would finally be "mellowed out" to the process and all would be fine. However, when the runner is an obsessive worrier like me, the craziness associated with this crucial race preparation step is only magnified.

The typical hypochondriac rears its ugly head in full force. On Monday, after a painful breath and a "soreness" in my lungs, I was sure I had lung cancer or some sort of serious ailment which would knock me out of the race. In the past two weeks I've managed to step on anything in the road which would slightly or not so slightly turn my right ankle. Everything is sore and uncomfortable. Even my arms were sore yesterday. My arms! What do they do. They don't work nearly as hard as my legs or my poor paddle feet. I'm worried about everything. I'm worried about bowel movements, hydration, carbs, the riots in Paris and the melting of the world's ice caps. Maybe I shouldn't have taken a couple of days off from work given that it only allows for more worry. But if I were at work, I probably wouldn't be worth much.

One distraction from the marathon madness has been househunting. Since husband passed the bar, we're thinking we'll settle down. We looked at a partially occupied house on Sunday. I wasn't so interested in the house as much as who this lone individual occupying this residence was. That's my problem. I always want to know people's stories. How they got to where they are and what events shaped their lives. The occupant seemed to be a man with a penchant for Asian food, string instruments, golf and antique furniture. I wondered if his wife left him or if he was just living there until the house sold. Today I went and looked at another place; this time the house was completely vacated. The house had many of the facets I desired: a level drive for a basketball hoop, a sink in the washroom, a garage, and even a laundry chute! We'll see how the hunting pans out.