V is for Vicious

Just when you thought it was safe to step outside...

This is his hunting face

...the monster attacks!

No, but really.

Maybe it's because Baxter is 120 pounds. Maybe it's because he's a little clutzy. But when I ran the road race in October, he was waiting for me at the finish line. We tried chili together (more-so, he snagged my bowl when I wasn't looking), and explored territory we'd never seen.

As we walked through the crowd, a dog who I'd been eyeing since we'd arrive lunged out of nowhere and went after Baxter. The owner didn't even apologize, meanwhile I wanted to punch him in the back of the head. (Awhile later, the same dog went after another dog who was passing by. Angryface.)

Just before the awards cemerony, there were a million people milling about. Baxter

The worst that's going to happen
is him knocking you over
and cuddling.

and I tried not to get tangled around people. On the ground beside us, there was a woman with a baby. Baxter wasn't even near her when she started screaming, "Not by the baby! Get it away from the baby!" and using her body as a shield like Baxter was going to eat the baby.

I wanted to yell at her to get "The baby!" off the ground. What am I supposed to do? Pick Bax up and carry him? Nope, you can do that with the baby.

Ugh. I wish people realized that I'm the more dangerous one out of the duo.

Outside of that, if you don't know Baxter very well, he does this....thing. (Sadly, I don't have a picture of it.)

If you give him a treat, or if you've been gone for awhile and he's REALLY happy to see you, he'll scrunch his face up and show ALL of his teeth. Legit, it looks like he's about to eat your face off. I have to warn people about this WAY ahead of time.

Do your pets ever look like they're about to maul you?

Goals and Maple Syrup

Partner in Crime and his girlfriend

I quit drinking for a month and a half. I ran before work, after work, at a track, in the road. I sprained my foot, iced my shins, got shin splits, and blisters, and was tired, a lot. And all the hard work was for one day and one goal. October 7th, 2012, to be under 24 minutes.

Of course, as I got in my car, confident with my GPS...it stopped working. I had no idea how to get to the race, so I called my Partner in Crime and he gave me bulletproof directions. Soon, I met him and his girlfriend at the registration tent.

Though we talked and chatted, and Baxter got to meet other dogs, my nerves were in my stomach, very aware of the tuna sandwich I'd eaten on the drive over. My hands were shaking, it was hard to breathe. I'd had a knee surgery last year. My foot was sprained. But...

I'd trained a month for this race, and it was finally here.

And, it wasn't even raining.

After a warm up, and a hand off of Baxter to the Partner's girlfriend, we stood at the starting line. "If I beat you, you owe me ice cream," I told him.

He chuckled. "If you beat me, I'll buy you ice cream." Days before we'd both said we wanted to defeat the other. He'd been faster than me each time we'd run. I wanted to beat him. I also wanted ice cream.

Then suddenly, the line started moving. We were off. I manged to weave through the bodies first, but within the first two minutes I saw his green shirt pass me. "Son of a bi@#$!" I yelled, while people turned their heads.

 Us looking like thugs
before the race

By the first mile, my foot hurt. My knees ached. It's just a run, I started telling myself. You don't have to beat him. You don't have to prove anything. But I did. I had goals (both realistic and unrealistic). Not only that, but this time last year I was planning my suicide. This race, the fact that I was alive to run it, meant more to me than words can express.

So I talked myself out of slowing down...until I hit the hill.

Take it hard, your legs will have time to recover after. Only...it turned out, I lied to myself. Because right at the bottom of Mt. Everest, was the turn around point...and having to go back on the stupid hill. My legs did not get a break. They did not recover. Breathing was harder. I'd hit the wall. My mind started coming up with every reason why I should stop:

Goals don't matter, just run the race. It's just another run. Who is going to care if you ran a 5K in 25 minutes? At least you ran! 

My feet began taking walking-length strides. My speed slowed. I'd given up. Ahead of me I still saw the green shirt I'd been trying to pace myself with, but I didn't care as he moved farther and farther away from me. I couldn't care. I was in too much pain, I wanted to give up. I seriously considered walking. And then more hills came. Then I considered crying.

But I stayed in motion. The sissy-jog turned back into a somewhat faster jog/run.

And then I saw this:

The finish line

My legs stopped being tired. I threw my arms as if they were independent from my body, as though they were wings carrying me when my feet couldn't. Just as I crossed the finish line, I saw the time: 23:58.

No way. No way!!! I crossed the line smiling. Beaming. Welling with tears of pride rather than pain. I'd reached my goal. Though my Partner in Crime had finished nearly two minutes ahead of me, and though I didn't beat my sister's time, I'd done what I set out to do. And no one was happier than my biggest fan:

He was cheering :)

I was very excited.

After a few rounds of chili trying (and Baxter getting into my cup), and a dog trying to attack Baxter later, we decided to wait for the race results because the PIC was hoping he'd placed. They announced the chili winners first (it was a cook off), then the kid's fun run. Then the announcers separated the ages and began calling out the top three runners for male and female. When they got to the Women's 20-29 division (not 100% sure that that was the age bracket, don't hate), I didn't even flinch. Until they said, "In third place with a time of 26..."

 My eyes popped open. "Sarah, did they just say 26 minutes?"

"Yea," she answered.

"My time was in the 23's..."

Her eyes got big, too. "You placed!"

We did a mini jump while they announced the second place woman. Her time was also in the 26's. My eyes nearly fell out of my head. "Lynne! You got first!!"

Then over the loud speaker, I heard, "In first place with a time of 24:01, Lynne Schmidt." And I giggled (possibly allowed a joyous yelp). HOWEVER, you'll see the time said 24:01. Not quite accurate considering for the first few seconds the PIC and I had to stand still while the people moved in front of us (this is why I don't like un-chipped races). My watch says 23:57, so that's what I'm going with.

Either way, I went to the tent and received my batch of maple syrup and a medal, which I promptly put on Baxter.

"Purple is really his color," Sarah said. We all agreed.

Then, as predicted, the Partner in Crime also placed! The crowd went wild! (Okay, not really, but our small group did!)

We walked away victorious that lovely day in October, our heads held high. The people we loved with us (for the PIC his girlfriend, for me, my pup) to celebrate our achievement. And then I went home, ate a bag of popcorn and a dinner of oreos and napped for four hours.

Cue We are the Champions

And for those of you who say you can't reach your goals, this is living proof that sometimes without meaning to, you can exceed your goals, without even trying :) Keep your head up. Even if you're tired.

Cheers!

Don't Be An Athlete, You'll Look Like A Boy

I met my mother's side of the family late in the game. I mean, LATE in the game. Most kids at the age of 12 (or whatever age I was) knew their grandmother, their aunt, their cousins. Most of them grew up with them, played with them.

Not me.

But when we Schmidt Sisters finally met our estranged family after a road trip from Michigan to Massachusetts, we fell in love with them. Well...most of them.

Laura before an Intramural college game

For a long time, I believed Laura would grow up to play in the WNBA. She was an awesome basketball player, and most of my middle and high school memories consist of playing with her, or hearing about her games. That is, until she went to Germany on a foreign exchange program and (playing basketball) tore her ACL overseas. The dreams kind of faded after that. She still played, but didn't push herself as hard. Now, a few more intense surgeries later, she takes things kind of easy.

Meanwhile, Jacci and I had always been runners. Sure we'd play other sports, but the thing that really drove us was pounding out 3.1 miles on trails.

The three of us found our calling in sports. It calmed us, made us happy, and gave us a feeling of support which was lacking from our home life.

After that first visit to my mother's family's, my sisters made a pilgrimage to Massachusetts about once a year. The one year Laura couldn't make it, Jacci and I decided to travel south for a week, stopping wherever we wanted. We lived in a car, I got stung by a jelly fish in Virginia Beach, and then headed north to spend a week with my mom's family.

My family!
It's dark but from left to right:
Walter, me, Lucy, Mom, Martha, Edge
Cousins, and all around awesome people.

Our aunt fed us, our cousin probably took us on some huge adventure, and for a faint time in our lives, we felt real familial love.

Then, our great aunt invited us to her house, and though the family said, "Think about what you're doing," we said, "Sure! We'll come for a couple nights!"

After hanging out for a few hours, Jacci and I put on our shorts and shoes, and set off to go running. Only before we got out the door, our great aunt stopped us. "What are you doing?" (read that with a thick Polish accent).

"Going running," we said.

Jacci, in her wedding dress...
Picking me up..

"Nonsense. Don't be an athlete you'll look like a man, with the broad shoulders and flat chest. You're already starting to look like a man," she said pointing to Jacci. Then she turned to me and said, "And you, you look like a little boy. No more running. No boy will want you if you look like a boy."

Jacci and I stood in the kitchen of our great aunt's house, not sure to believe what had just been said. Later that night we'd also get lectures about using deodorant, bras, and shaving our legs (the moral was to not do/use any of these things). Needless to say we barely made it 24 hours in that house by the time we returned with our bags back to our aunt's.

At the door we were greeted with our cousin, Adam laughing and calling in to the house, "Who said today?"

"What?" we asked.

"Oh, nothing. We were just taking bets on how long you girls would last over there..."

Turns out our great aunt has a knack for scaring family members away.

As previously stated, Jacci still runs. She ran when she was pregnant, and she's incredibly active. Laura takes things a bit easier, but I still consider her an athlete, too. And I...I've been training for the road race on Sunday. As of September 26 (when I actually wrote this post) I ran my 5K in 23:57, which falls into my "Realistic Goals" category. I'll let you guys know next week how the race actually turns out!

As far as looking like a boy goes...well, in high school I always had a hard time fitting into prom dresses because either my shoulders or my hips were too wide. But sometimes, I look like this:

I think that means I can pass for a girl, right?

Moral of this post, like the one where I told you guys that Harry Potter is Demonic, is to be yourselves. Run if you like to run. Write if you like to write. Sacrifice kittens if you like to sacrifice kittens...

Actually, yea, don't do that last one.
But be happy. Be yourself. And wish me luck for my race, because I'm still running :) (Please)

“To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.”

~Ralph Waldo Emerson

Things That Stop You

In a follow up to my previous blog, and in concert with the fact I seriously like to make lists for blog posts, here's another one.

It turns out I'm masochistic. Who knew? Okay, okay, I've known since I was in sixth grade...but really. Those of us who write set ourselves up for rejection, tears, and straight up heart break. So it only makes sense that I'd be a runner, too. Why? Because it hurts, because you run through pain, finish races sometimes crying (or if you were me in high school, with your lip bleeding because that's how you redirected pain...). But because I like pain, I run, and I write, and I submit, and compete, and...cry.

But that doesn't mean it's easy...ever.

Let's see.

The Top 5 Things That Stop You (From Being Epic)

5) Time

It's easy to forget to run. You wake up, make breakfast, (consider showering..) go to work, work an eight hour shift (eight and a half because you have to clock out for lunch if you're anything like me), drive 10-20 minutes home, do laundry, feed the dog (or the kids if you have them), feed yourself. By that point, maybe your knees hurt from standing. Maybe your back hurts from sitting. Running fades somewhere into the background. Plus, it's dark outside. Horror movies start this way. That mailbox sure looks cute and innocent in the daylight, but at night? That mailbox hosts demons, and ghosts, and OH MY GOSH WHAT WAS THAT? DID SOMETHING JUST MOVE? 

You literally have to go out of your way to run. You literally have to put time in, and make it a priority. Something else (like, oh...writing) gets cut out when you spend a half hour on the road.

4) Running Trails

At the old place, I lived in an awesome running area. If you went right out of the apartment complex, about a half mile later there were trails. If you went left, and left again, there was this place called Evan's Notch, which was beside a river. Very scenic. If you just went left, you cross a bridge, and run. Then, you could go straight, more bridges, more roads. It was full of options.

Where I live now, I can go right, which has a small road that usually eats up about five minutes of the run and has a LARGE and LENGTHY hill, and then a straight road. 

I can go left, which has a smaller hill (as you end), and I recently discovered a magical trail. But still, it's the same two roads over, and over, and over. Ever listen to a song on repeat? Ever just need to...stop listening to it?

3) The Lone Ranger

Running, like writing, is a solitary sport. Sure you can be on the track and field team, or the cross country team, but in the end YOUR times depend on YOU. Which means that if you're not part of a running club, or a team, you have to push yourself. You have to give yourself a reason to run. 

Half the time you won't be as fast as you'd like. Most of the time there is something better to do (see napping above). It's hard being your own motivation. 

2) It Hurts

Knee pain, hip pain, cramps, shin splits, twisted ankles, stress fractures, toenails that fall off... Talk to any runner and you'll hear an endless list of ailments that we run through. When I ran in high school after my first knee surgery, I made a deal with my body; If my knees made it through the race, I'd ice them later. Literally as I crossed the finish line, they gave out, and I couldn't get up. Teammates, sisters, or the boy I loved had to help me up and act as a leaning post until I could walk again.
A good run is considered a day where the pain is minimal, if not absent...but even still if we're not hydrated well enough, if we didn't eat enough...it hurts, and it hurts a lot. And we'll keep going.

1) Yourself

Let's face it, we all want to come in first place. Personally, I want to be fast enough to beat my sister again, who when she'd popped out her first kiddo, and while she was preggers with the second managed to run in the 19 minutes. (She is Iron Man.)

But I am Lynn(e). I've had two knee surgeries. I have hip problems. Sometimes my heart messes up. 

There's a point where you run, and you run, and you think, Why am I doing this? There's a point where your brain will think, You know, three miles is pretty far. Let's just...do one. Or none. You know, let's nap. Screw running. 

And naps? Well, they rock. But the biggest obsticle is the block in your head that tells your you're not good enough so why bother trying.

Good runners fight that, waving a middle finger in the air saying, I don't care what you think Negative Nancy in my brain. I'm going to run because I love it, and I want to, and because it makes me feel good.

Most of this can tie into writing. We have to section time to write, and things (like children, husbands, wives, dogs, running) gets neglected. The Running Trails can be considered writing block, where you have to just step out, and find something new, some fresh material before you can start up again. We all know writing is a solitary game (hopefully most of you aren't Emily Dickinson-ing it up). And the rejections hurt. The death, and pain, and injuries of our characters hurt. Memoirs tend to hurt even more than that.

And we all try to sabotage ourselves, our works by saying that we aren't good enough.

So just as I told you to go Pick a Puppy, today's message is to Keep Running. Push through the pain, the self defeat. Find time. Keep going.

The finish line may only be a 5K away.

I Hate Running

The Crim Race in Michigan. Circa 2009, I think
As a sophomore in high school, I ran the 10 mile race
This day was a 5K

I've been a runner all my life. That's not to say I haven't taken hiatuses from it, but somehow, my running shoes magically jump back on my feet, and I'm off again.

Last November, I had my most recent knee surgery. Recovering from a train wreck of life, I had my first experience with percocet (and got knocked out for nearly 24-hours after being sent home from work), walked on crutches, fought with Baxter, and learned to walk...

again.

Two weeks later, I was on a snowboard, terrified to fall because if I did it meant the end of the season. And the end of the season meant the end of money. The end of money meant nowhere to live, nothing to eat, and massive amounts of panic. 

As suggested by "My most recent knee surgery", it wasn't my first. It was my second knee surgery (different knee this time). The winter of my junior year (high school) I'd gone snowboarding, trying to keep up with college boys, and at the bottom of the chair lift, I fell. Hard. When I tried to get up right away, my knee buckled. Oh my Gosh, I can't walk, I thought. But they called my name, and I bit my teeth together and continued along like my knee wasn't screaming at me.

That night, my roommate had to take off my pants and my socks because I couldn't bend my leg, which had swelled to the size of a soccer ball. The following day, I switched stances and continued snowboarding (not my smartest decision). Two months later, when I finally went to the doctor, she told me she wasn't sure if I'd be able to run again. I sat in the dark office and cried.

Though my knee got tired a lot faster, I played soccer, did my dance recital, and a day or two later, I had an arthroscopic (holy crap, I spelled that right the first time!) surgery. The doctor discovered I had massive amounts of scar tissue, something that was turning in-and-out, and a partially torn ACL. She removed the scar tissue, fixed the thing that was turning inside out, and left the ACL saying, "If you tear it the rest of the way, we'll do another surgery, but it should be able to function like a normal knee."

Look! I'm running!

I had a check up with the doctor soon after, and asked, "When can I run again?"

She said, "When you can walk without a limp, you can start JOGGING again. When you can JOG without a limp, you can start running again."

I took that to mean that I was healthy enough. Once I got rid of the crutches, and started hobbling around, I waited another couple of days. The limp was minimal, but I went to the high school track, and stood there, the lines painted on the black rubber like surface staring back at me.

I set my watch with every intention of running a mile. And then I took my first step. Now, imagine slamming your finger in the door. Now amplify the pain by about fifty, and put that pressure and pain right below your kneecap. I literally screamed out loud. I took another step, the pain lessened. I took another, and there it was again.

Years later, if I step wrong (even while walking), I still get that pain. I still yelp. (At least now I can kind of anticipate it.)

So now, nearly a year after my most recent surgery, with copious amounts of pain, Icy Hot, Burt's Bees Muscle Mend, Max Freeze, and OsteoBi-Flex, I've taken up running again. Not just "Oh, I'm gonna go run a mile or two," but "Oh, I have a road race October 7, 2012, and I'm training for it with my Partner in Crime."

It hurts, every single time, but I'm doing it. I'm doing it to give myself something to look forward to (because I HATE October), to prove that not only am I recovered, but my body is, too. And so, each time I run, as I start cursing under my breath and saying, "I hate running," I'm going to keep pushing on. Because that October 7th due date is less than a month away. 

It's crazy how quickly people launch into motion...

 And dangit, I want to get a good time!