Boulder Backroads race report

Last Sunday, I ran the Boulder Backroads half-marathon with my friend Denise. It was a fabulous day weather-wise, on a course with amazing views of the Front Range. A few sample shots of the course will give you the idea.

This is the view near the turn-around point of the half-marathon course, out in the country between Boulder and Longmont.












The photo below, labelled "Mile 22," is actually the half-marathon Mile 9. The marathon course overlaps the half-marathon course for quite a way; it adds a long loop to the northwest to double the distance.










The event was extraordinarily well-organized. Over 3000 runners and walkers participated, 2000 of them in the half-marathon. It was really something to line up at the starting line with 2000 other runners from all over the country. Because most sane and sensible people don't run a half-marathon at blisteringly fast paces, I met a few of my fellow runners along the way as we cheered each other on.

In the first two miles, I ran near two women who were discussing intimate details of one's recent divorce. I didn't introduce myself but certainly learned more than I wanted to know about their past (and the brunette's ex-husband). Eventually I lost them at the first aid station, much to my relief. The next runner who hit about the same stride I did, around the fourth mile, was a gentleman in his mid-50's who had come from Pittsburgh for the race. He waxed poetic about the weather and the scenery and Colorado's general goodness, then admonished me to "Love living here!" before he caught his second wind and disappeared into the distance. After the turnaround, about mile 7, I caught up with three college girls who were discussing their courses in detail. They were also discussing the young men in those courses, to be fair, but it was fun to hear what they thought about their literature courses in particular.

I discovered something interesting along the way: a LOT of runners were pushing for a finish time of around 2 hours. I'd set myself a personal goal of 2 hours 10 minutes, which would have put me exactly in the middle of the pack for last year's finishers. Because so many people were pushing for the two-hour mark, there weren't a whole lot of runners running at exactly my pace. This meant more space on the dirt roads for me, hurray! (With 1999 fellow runners and 13 miles' worth of time on my hands, thoughts like that kept me from wondering why everyone seemed to be passing me.)

I finished with a personal best time of 2:06:17. It was definitely a PB, because I've never run that far before! For comparison's sake, the women's half-marathon winner finished in 1:17, and the women's marathon winner finished in 2:43:10.

Supposedly there were celebrities present. A few fellow tribloggers, including Bolder and Tri-daddy, also ran the half-marathon, but I didn't have the pleasure of meeting them in person. Also at the Backroads was Dean Karnazes, the insane runner who's trying to complete 50 marathons in 50 states in 50 days. Didn't see him or his film crew, but he finished in 3:46:56, about the time we finally pulled out of the race parking lot. :)

End of an era

It has been five nights now since The Big Change.

The bug no longer sleeps with a binky.

This was not a willingly made change on her part, and has accordingly disrupted her sleep patterns. As a result, her parents' sleep patterns have also changed somewhat drastically. We are awaiting for eventual exhaustion to cause a return to normality. (We're already exhausted, but we have to wait for her to wear out.) So far, we have stood strong in refusing to give her a pacifier, even at 3 a.m. on the third consecutive middle-of-the-night-wake-up-and-request-a-hug-for-two-hours session.

A few weeks ago I mentioned that she'd moved into the older-toddler room at her daycare, where pacifiers are not allowed at nap time. Our bug being the persistent child that she is, the rest of the toddlers were quite aware of her displeasure at this rule. They became aware when she protested loudly. During ALL of naptime. For several days in a row. One of the teachers informed us on Friday that "She had a much better day today. The other children all sleep through her screaming now." That's a thought that makes me proud to be a working mother. Aack. But apparently she has begun napping during nap time this week, although only for about half of her usual naptime. It's a beginning.

As the resident softie in the house, part of me would really like to give the binky back to her to soothe her small soul, and not take it away until she's ready to let it go. She took my head in her little hands last night when I came into her room to hug her, and whispered, "Miss Binky."

I know you do, honey. I do, too.

At the same time, though, I feel like we've invested five nights already in encouraging the change. How much longer can she last with the midnight wailing and gnashing of teeth before she starts sleeping through the night again? I guess we'll find out.

I've tried providing her with a stuffed animal and blanket as potential comfort support during this rough time of transition, but so far she's just not that into them. Other ideas on relieving binky withdrawal would be much appreciated.

Angel or devil? Probably just a toddler...

A few of my direct relatives have already heard my anecdote about taking the bug to Mass this Saturday evening. In St. John's, the cry room is located just to the left of the altar, with large clear windows so that the families within can watch the Mass. Unfortunately last weekend, one of these windows was broken and the glass had been removed, so the soundproofing between the church and room was at best seriously impaired.

The bug was just not that into a happy quiet Church experience. I left her favorite book of the moment in the car, so she howled even before we got into the cry room. Perhaps I should have taken this as the omen it was. I took her out, calmed her down, and got her back into the cry room (albeit rather unhappily) during the opening hymn. The music ended and the priest was beginning the opening prayer when she started yelling, "No God! No God! Outside? Outside?" I tried to shush her, then gave up and started to carry her out again, still yelling "No God! No God!" We crawled over all the people until we got to the end of our row where a mother was breastfeeding her infant. This led to: "No God! No God! [pause of recognition] Nipple! Nipple!"

Oh, how I wish I was kidding.

The priest spluttered and lost his place in the prayer. The entire cry room (roughly 30 people, it was packed!) cracked up. I got her out into the hallway and time-outed her, although I'm not sure I had ever specifically told her she was not to provide sex education for a roomful of adults with small kids. (I figured I could book her on the yelling in church if it came down to technicalities.)

By the Gospel, we were both calm enough to give the cry room one more try. She was reasonably well-behaved for all of ten minutes--read the other books I brought, drank her apple juice, looked through the hymnal, and other acceptable cry room activities. Then when the homily began, she became restless, walked to the end of our row, and headed for the door to the hallway before I could catch her hand. She stopped at the open door and said, "Time out again? Time out, please?" Sigh.

We stood out in the hallway for the rest of Mass. At least I provided copious amusement to my fellow churchgoers even though between the two of us we pretty much denied any opportunities for meditative prayer.

So that was Saturday. Sunday I was feeling under the weather after a long run in preparation for next weekend's Boulder Backroads half-marathon. (I got about 10 miles into a 12-mile training run when my stomach began to disagree with me, but I'm doing much better today, thanks for asking.) I got home from the run just as Matt headed out, and it was time to put the bug down for her nap. I tried to put her down in her crib as usual, but she wanted no part of that. After about ten minutes of yowling, I hauled my carcass out of bed and went in to check on her. She stopped crying immediately and said, "Hug?" I picked her up. She stroked my hair and said, "Poor mama. Sick. Sit chair?" which is her way of directing me to sit in the chair in the corner with her and cuddle. We sat down and fell asleep in the chair together while she patted my head and said, "Care you. Care you."

Yup, I felt pretty taken care of. Maybe she isn't demon spawn after all. :)

Buffalo Bicycle Classic race report

This was the best-organized race I've been a part of yet.

And I'm not just saying that because it's run out of the building where I work. :) I genuinely had a fabulous time from start to finish. I would include pictures but unfortunately the professional race photographers didn't shoot the riders in the shortest race, nor the race expo and lunch afterwards, so all I could show you is a bunch of strangers.

The BBC featured the opportunity to, ahem, "ride the buffalo" for 13, 35, 50, 75, or 100 miles depending on your bicycling abilities. Originally, Matt was scheduled to be out of town on business, so I chose the 13-mile "Little Buffalo" route in case I had to take the bug. Turned out he got to stay home, so she hung out with Daddy for the morning.

Each ride length had a different start time, so that everyone would finish sometime around the lunch hour. My ride, as the shortest, started the latest. I showed up about 9:30 a.m. for a 10 a.m. start, breezed through registration, picked up my T-shirt, and had plenty of time to take my goodie bag through the expo and return to the car to get my bike before the race started. Close free parking and lots of goodies were big pluses. There were a ton of enthusiastic volunteers to cheer us on. The weather was cool, cloudy, and in the mid-60's, so it couldn't have been better.

My ride was a ton of fun, largely because most folks who chose that route had kids with them. There were tandems, tagalongs, and Burley trailers aplenty for the folks under 12. Since I was relatively unburdened with child, I got off to a fast start and finished the route in around 50 minutes. (I was "beaten" by a fellow CU employee who rides to work every day and a young man around 13 who was trying to lose his parents, so I was pretty proud to be the first girl even though it wasn't technically a race.) The course was really well-marked. Every intersection was clearly marked with chalk, signage, or volunteers, even though we rode in and around trails in the middle of town as well as out into the countryside. I wouldn' t think twice about bringing a young child on the route after riding it once. There was a bit of elevation gain involved, but almost all of the route was on bike paths, little-travelled streets, or very-broad-shouldered road, so the safety factor was high. There were two aid stations with lots of cheery people and tasty snacks, and the kids really seemed to have a great time. At race's end, there was a huge pasta dinner which was well-earned by the various riders. The century-biking folks began rolling in just as the 13'ers returned, so everyone was in various stages of complete exhaustion at the finish line.

Next year, maybe we'll go as a family.

Nymostair!

I've got two articles due by early October so my blogging time is at a premium right now. I'll publish a race report from the Buffalo Bicycle Classic in a few days--it's ready to go, but I'm waiting on the pictures so I can provide illustrations.

The bug has been learning to walk upstairs, as opposed to crawling, in the past few weeks. Matt or I try to stay right with her, but occasionally she'll attempt it on her own and expect us to catch up. She sometimes finds the effort exhausting and will stop about halfway up the stairs. In an effort to encourage her the other day while she was resting, I said, "Nine more stairs, sweetie." (She's also been doing a lot of counting lately, even though her numbers go "one, two, three, five, nine, six.") She looked up the staircase and said, "Nymostair!" and started pulling herself up.

Last night we were out in the backyard and she was climbing the ladder to the slide. I came up behind her just in case she slipped, and heard her mumble, "Nymostair. Nymostair." as she pulled herself to the top. I'm not sure whether she's cheering herself on or whether she thinks it's the magic word that enables vertical progress, but either way, I'm glad it's working for her.

What the weekend holds

Looking forward to the weekend, as even though this was supposedly a short week the days have dragged like marmots bound by tire chains.

Sorry, I have vermin imagery on the brain today since this morning's headline in today's Denver Post:
"Explosives a go for Prairie Dogs"

Seriously! Exploding prairie dogs! Those of you who aren't locals may harbor some misconceptions about their cuteness and cuddly nature. Ahem, no. They carry plague, and dig holes that injure horses, and generally spread death and destruction across the open-space environment. So, I'll be looking forward to further coverage of this developing story. And, perhaps, some video footage of the promised explosions. Darn varmints.

In other news, Matt's getting ready to hike Long's Peak on Monday with a few friends from California who are flying in this weekend. Add in my longest training run (12 miles!) for the half-marathon on Saturday and the Buffalo Bicycle Classic on Sunday, and it looks to be a rather athletic weekend. We may find a few minutes to check out Niwot Nostalgia Day with the bug on Saturday, as a parade and much free food is promised, and we all know the bug grooves on snacks and entertainment. Photo documentation to be provided as the opportunities arise. Happy Friday, y'all!