Pack up your swimsuits. Roll up the beach towels. Lose the sunscreen behind the seat of the car. It's about to be winter. Or, at the very least, we are well-seated in a chilled, blustery fall.*
The one feature of the new car that I can find is the heated seat dial. Heated seats?! Heated seats, friends. The dial seems pretty self-explanatory. It has numbers from 0 to 5, 0 presumably (and correctly) being no heat. And then each number is a little warmer than the one before, until you get to 5, which in my world seems that it would be bliss. The warmer, the better.
It is not so.
The dial is quite misleading. Today I tested it out, and I have assessed what each number really stands for:
0: No heat. Great for the summer.**
1: Still not really any heat. Wouldn't thaw a rump roast.
2: Things are getting good. Lightly toasted buns. Perfect.
3: Oooh, that's hot. Hot hot, actually. Uh, I don't really like this. Too hot.
4: Oh dear god, BURNING! Too hot! Turn it off! Turn it off!!
5: [Right, you think after my experience at level 4 I turned it up to level 5?! Who do you think I am?]
If you love your butt, you will oscillate between a 2 and 3. Never higher.
* I have loved the word blustery forever. From the Winnie the Pooh film Winnie the Pooh and the Blustery Day. One of the best children's movies ever.
** Ask me about the time I accidentally turned on heated seats in the summer and thought I was dying of meningitis.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Stuck in the Slow Lane
Last week, I upgraded automobiles. Gone is the 1999 Saturn, affectionately known as the Plastik Vunderkar (let me someday tell you about selling cars on Craigslist. Holy cow). In is a 2004 Jetta, the Green Machine.
Having a car that runsa bit better like an actual car and not like a Barbie corvette Matchbox car made me think I would soon be experiencing the wide open spaces of the crowded city avenues like this:
After all, this car was built for the autobahn!
Having a car that runs
After all, this car was built for the autobahn!
However, this new-to-me car has a lot more bells and whistles. More accurately: things most modern drivers think everyone has, but in fact, everyone did not. For example: a sun roof, power locks with the little hand held remote so I can "meep meep" my car from 20 feet away, power windows, an automatic transmission. In addition to the new things, I am still working on finding all the standard things. It took me 3 minutes to figure out how to turn the lights on. We had a light drizzle here the other day and I had my windshield wipers on "Hyperspeed Go-Go-Gadget NO RAINDROPS EVER" mode because I could not get them to slow down. A check engine light came on for an issue not even remotely related to the engine. Yesterday I accidently hit the panic button in my pocket while walking crutching loudly away from the car, scaring the dickens right out of a handful of delightful senior ladies out for a walk.
Today, the whole drive in to work, the "door ajar" light was illuminated, and I figured this was just like the check engine light. So it says the door is ajar, I thought, but I can see that no doors are, in fact, ajar. What else could it be? Is it because there is condensation on the back window? I'll turn on the defroster. Wait. How do I do that? Oh, here. Good. Nope, some non-door is still not ajar. Hmmm.
After a string of button mashing operations that included opening and closing the windows and sunroof, unlocking and relocking all the doors, turning on the hazards and then turning them off, it dawned on me. Yesterday, when I hit the panic button, I probably also hit the trunk release button!
When I got to the parking lot, that truth was confirmed. Luckily, the trunk requires some strength to actually open even once the latch has been released, so I wasn't that idiot who drove all the way to work with their trunk all gaping.
Still, I have downgraded my expectations of the new-car-driving experience. Not because the car isn't great, but because it is likely smarter than me. This is a more accurate visual representation of my life on the autobahn:
Friday, October 7, 2011
It Tolls for Thee
Sorry that every post is about the marathon... that's probably getting old for you, right? But I just keep processing things and I forgot to tell you about probably my favorite part of the race:
The marathon starts near the Metrodome in Downtown Minneapolis and cuts through the heart of a skyscraper district before turning down Hennepin towards the Chain of Lakes and South Minneapolis. At the very edge of Downtown is a big, beautiful basilica. The Basilica of Saint Mary, to be precise.
As we head through downtown, the air is cold, the pack of runners nearly silent as the anticipation and silliness of the start wears off and we begin to truly consider the monumental task ahead of us. The only sound is the gentle tap tap tap tap tap of running shoes on pavement and the muffled sound of motivational playlists in runners' ears.
Approaching the basilica, between Miles 1 and 2, the air fills with a beautiful noise-- the church bells! The bells are ringing for the runners! The congregation-- what must have been hundreds of people-- are standing on the beautiful stone steps praying and waving out to the crowd of marathoners.
I am not religious in the "capital R" sense, but that moment filled me with a certain faith, and a faith in what I think religion should be about-- supporting our community, supporting all mankind in every earnest endeavor. Being hopeful for one another, friend and stranger alike. It was emotional then; it's emotional now.
It also reminded me of a poem I once heard at an event to raise awareness about bullying and teen suicide last year. The poem, For Whom The Bell Tolls (No Man is an Island) by John Donne, beautifully reminds me how connected we all are.
The marathon starts near the Metrodome in Downtown Minneapolis and cuts through the heart of a skyscraper district before turning down Hennepin towards the Chain of Lakes and South Minneapolis. At the very edge of Downtown is a big, beautiful basilica. The Basilica of Saint Mary, to be precise.
As we head through downtown, the air is cold, the pack of runners nearly silent as the anticipation and silliness of the start wears off and we begin to truly consider the monumental task ahead of us. The only sound is the gentle tap tap tap tap tap of running shoes on pavement and the muffled sound of motivational playlists in runners' ears.
Approaching the basilica, between Miles 1 and 2, the air fills with a beautiful noise-- the church bells! The bells are ringing for the runners! The congregation-- what must have been hundreds of people-- are standing on the beautiful stone steps praying and waving out to the crowd of marathoners.
I am not religious in the "capital R" sense, but that moment filled me with a certain faith, and a faith in what I think religion should be about-- supporting our community, supporting all mankind in every earnest endeavor. Being hopeful for one another, friend and stranger alike. It was emotional then; it's emotional now.
It also reminded me of a poem I once heard at an event to raise awareness about bullying and teen suicide last year. The poem, For Whom The Bell Tolls (No Man is an Island) by John Donne, beautifully reminds me how connected we all are.
No man is an island,
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manor of thine own
Or of thine friend's were.
Each man's death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Why Run a Marathon
The number one question people ask is "Why would you want to run a marathon?"
And there isn't an easy answer. Or maybe, more appropriately, it's that there isn't just one answer.
Because it's there. And I can. Rules are meant to be broken; challenges are meant to be met and overcome. I ran it because it's there and it's scary and it's hard to do. And because something greater than my feet and my legs and my cardiovascular system-- something else in me-- said "I can."
Because 100 voices in my lifetime said "you can't" and 101 voices said "you can." We often forget how influential our words can be, or how an individual might carry each phrase or lesson with them for a long time. Sometimes, we spend the most time listened to our own voice telling us we can't do something because we won't be the best at it.
But I was absolutely blessed to grow up with a family that encouraged all of my craziest ideas. A big sister that was not embarrassed to tell me she was proud of me. A mom who, by example, taught her daughters to be strong women, to be leaders, to stand up for themselves and for what is right, to have strong voices. A dad who never waivered in his pride in his girls, who encouraged sportsmanship and leadership, who continues to be one of the best examples of citizenship in my life, and who reminds me often to never take life or myself too seriously. And I can't forget an extended family that, while small in size, is filled to the brim with support and well-wishes for every endeavor and a hearty helping of 'we-knew-you-could's after each success.
Because I can control the outcome. One of the greatest lessons I have learned in my young adult life, post-graduate school, is that there are a lot of things that happen to me and around me (or without me) that I cannot control. Talk about frustrating. Ever since the days of returning from a friend's house crying, stomping around because 'they wouldn't play the way I wanted!' I have desired to set the rules. And none too democratically, in most cases.
Turns out, at 25 years old, there are fewer and fewer situations where you can take all your toys and go home (a phrase my family still uses today!). Having an often unsteady and uncertain job situation, losing people who I love and carry an important part of my history, and experiencing first-hand how unfair a tornado in a community in crisis feels, I spent many weeks in the last year feeling caught up in a chaos where I did not and could not set the rules.
So I took all my toys... and went to the gym. And I set the training schedule and nutrition rules. And I said "No, I have to run tonight." And I didn't let anything confuse the final goal or knock me (too far) off course. And at the end of even the most awful days, I controlled the distance, the tempo, the playlist. I owned the successes and I owned the failures along the way. And thus, on October 2, 2011, I owned the ultimate success. I owned that finish.
Because I said I would. Call it stubborn. Call it tenacious. Call it foolish. No matter the name, I said I would run a marathon, and dammit, I ran a marathon. And you know what? I bet I can do anything.
That's why I ran a marathon.
And there isn't an easy answer. Or maybe, more appropriately, it's that there isn't just one answer.
Because it's there. And I can. Rules are meant to be broken; challenges are meant to be met and overcome. I ran it because it's there and it's scary and it's hard to do. And because something greater than my feet and my legs and my cardiovascular system-- something else in me-- said "I can."
Because 100 voices in my lifetime said "you can't" and 101 voices said "you can." We often forget how influential our words can be, or how an individual might carry each phrase or lesson with them for a long time. Sometimes, we spend the most time listened to our own voice telling us we can't do something because we won't be the best at it.
But I was absolutely blessed to grow up with a family that encouraged all of my craziest ideas. A big sister that was not embarrassed to tell me she was proud of me. A mom who, by example, taught her daughters to be strong women, to be leaders, to stand up for themselves and for what is right, to have strong voices. A dad who never waivered in his pride in his girls, who encouraged sportsmanship and leadership, who continues to be one of the best examples of citizenship in my life, and who reminds me often to never take life or myself too seriously. And I can't forget an extended family that, while small in size, is filled to the brim with support and well-wishes for every endeavor and a hearty helping of 'we-knew-you-could's after each success.
Because I can control the outcome. One of the greatest lessons I have learned in my young adult life, post-graduate school, is that there are a lot of things that happen to me and around me (or without me) that I cannot control. Talk about frustrating. Ever since the days of returning from a friend's house crying, stomping around because 'they wouldn't play the way I wanted!' I have desired to set the rules. And none too democratically, in most cases.
Turns out, at 25 years old, there are fewer and fewer situations where you can take all your toys and go home (a phrase my family still uses today!). Having an often unsteady and uncertain job situation, losing people who I love and carry an important part of my history, and experiencing first-hand how unfair a tornado in a community in crisis feels, I spent many weeks in the last year feeling caught up in a chaos where I did not and could not set the rules.
So I took all my toys... and went to the gym. And I set the training schedule and nutrition rules. And I said "No, I have to run tonight." And I didn't let anything confuse the final goal or knock me (too far) off course. And at the end of even the most awful days, I controlled the distance, the tempo, the playlist. I owned the successes and I owned the failures along the way. And thus, on October 2, 2011, I owned the ultimate success. I owned that finish.
Because I said I would. Call it stubborn. Call it tenacious. Call it foolish. No matter the name, I said I would run a marathon, and dammit, I ran a marathon. And you know what? I bet I can do anything.
That's why I ran a marathon.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Q: What's Less Fun Than Running a Marathon?
A: Going to the Emergency Room because of it.
No worries, though friends. Turns out to just be a fracture. There was some concern it could be Compartment Syndrome, a 'limb and life threatening injury,' but it's just your run-of-the-mill stress fracture.
If any medical professional tells you they are going to do a 'striker' test for compartment syndrome, put your big girl/boy panties on. That's a doozy.
Monday, October 3, 2011
The First 24 Hours
There is a more insightful blog post about completing my first marathon a-brewin'. But considering my current physical and mental state, you get this instead.
If you follow me on Facebook and Twitter, you have seen a gazillion posts on the same topic. But if you don't (you should)...
I finished my first marathon yesterday!
You should do a victory dance for me, because I can hardly move.
Why can I hardly move, you ask?
1. Two blisters the size of house cats and 3 more the size of grapefruits.
2. All the skin on my feet is inexplicably peeling off.
3. General muscle soreness from my belly-button down as well as entirely up my spine.
4. A suspected stress fracture. Or heinous heinous shin splints. To be physician confirmed tomorrow.
Here are my observations from the first 24 hours, post-marathon:
1. I am STARVING but preparing food feels like so much work that I lose interest. And, once I do finally make something, I can eat about 4 ounces of food at a time and then I am stuffed. For example, I only ate 3 spoonfuls of Ben & Jerry's Cookie Dough ice cream before putting it back. 3 spoonfuls?! Unheard of.
2. Waking up every 2 hours throughout the night to stretch and walk is annoying, but probably not as annoying as being frozen in my bed would have been.
3. I don't think I will ever feel hydrated again. Ever.
4. Blister-specific Band-Aids are all entirely too small. Dear Johnson + Johnson, the blister has at least doubled the size of my toe. Please make an appropriate bandage. xoxo, Katie
5. The size of a Target store grows exponentially in relation to the amount of pain you are in.
6. IcyHot (and I have complained about this before): not even remotely icy enough to soothe the pain, too damn hot to relax anything. Too. Damn. Hot.
7. Also, on the topic of IcyHot, my whole house smells like it. Every single surface. It's like a mix of old people and toothpaste. Yuck.
8. I thought this day would be ultra-nice and relaxing, and it has been to a point. But it has also been like being at home sick, except I feel well enough to do things, but I can't really physically do them due to the aforementioned menagerie of maladies.
9. The internet is a limited place. And there is only so much you can do before you get bored. However, the one thing that never gets boring? Watching this: http://www.mtecresults.com/runner/videoResults?rid=27125&race=507
Click that link. Click it. Click it click it click it click it. Click. IT. So cool.
10. One last complaint: Ice packs take a LIFETIME to get frozen in the freezer... but about 20 minutes to get warm on my leg. One human could not possibly own an adequate number.
On a more serious note, thanks to my family and friends who supported me at the race, through a Facebook post, an email, a Tweet, or a in text. You. Are. Awesome! Lotsa lotsa love to you!
If you follow me on Facebook and Twitter, you have seen a gazillion posts on the same topic. But if you don't (you should)...
I finished my first marathon yesterday!
You should do a victory dance for me, because I can hardly move.
Why can I hardly move, you ask?
1. Two blisters the size of house cats and 3 more the size of grapefruits.
2. All the skin on my feet is inexplicably peeling off.
3. General muscle soreness from my belly-button down as well as entirely up my spine.
4. A suspected stress fracture. Or heinous heinous shin splints. To be physician confirmed tomorrow.
Here are my observations from the first 24 hours, post-marathon:
1. I am STARVING but preparing food feels like so much work that I lose interest. And, once I do finally make something, I can eat about 4 ounces of food at a time and then I am stuffed. For example, I only ate 3 spoonfuls of Ben & Jerry's Cookie Dough ice cream before putting it back. 3 spoonfuls?! Unheard of.
2. Waking up every 2 hours throughout the night to stretch and walk is annoying, but probably not as annoying as being frozen in my bed would have been.
3. I don't think I will ever feel hydrated again. Ever.
4. Blister-specific Band-Aids are all entirely too small. Dear Johnson + Johnson, the blister has at least doubled the size of my toe. Please make an appropriate bandage. xoxo, Katie
5. The size of a Target store grows exponentially in relation to the amount of pain you are in.
6. IcyHot (and I have complained about this before): not even remotely icy enough to soothe the pain, too damn hot to relax anything. Too. Damn. Hot.
7. Also, on the topic of IcyHot, my whole house smells like it. Every single surface. It's like a mix of old people and toothpaste. Yuck.
8. I thought this day would be ultra-nice and relaxing, and it has been to a point. But it has also been like being at home sick, except I feel well enough to do things, but I can't really physically do them due to the aforementioned menagerie of maladies.
9. The internet is a limited place. And there is only so much you can do before you get bored. However, the one thing that never gets boring? Watching this: http://www.mtecresults.com/runner/videoResults?rid=27125&race=507
Click that link. Click it. Click it click it click it click it. Click. IT. So cool.
10. One last complaint: Ice packs take a LIFETIME to get frozen in the freezer... but about 20 minutes to get warm on my leg. One human could not possibly own an adequate number.
On a more serious note, thanks to my family and friends who supported me at the race, through a Facebook post, an email, a Tweet, or a in text. You. Are. Awesome! Lotsa lotsa love to you!
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
An Open Letter to An Open-Minded Manager
{As some of you may or may not know, I have been working as a full-time temporary employee for the last 16 months (read: no vacation, no sick time, no employer-sponsored health or dental coverage, no contribution to a retirement plan, no security). While I love what I do, passion is not enough to pay student loans and eat.
In the next few weeks, as the grant monies that fund my position slowly get spent away, I will be let go. I have been searching and applying for new work with an increased fervor in the last month, but with little results. It's a tough market out there, folks.
I have not been offered a position or hired yet, but someday someone will call. This is a letter to that someone who takes a chance and says "We would be delighted if you would join our team."}
Dear Hiring Manager,
Congratulations, today you have made an excellent decision for the progress of your organization! Today, you took a chance and you hired me. And I promise to make that a decision you can be happy with for a very long time.
You recognized that my varied interests and experiences translate into a fresh and adaptable young employee. You saw that I can (and do!) become passionate about everything I do, and you have offered me an environment that encourages my creativity and gently guides my growth. As much as I tried to remain calm and graceful in the interview, my chattiness certainly overshadowed whatever poise I had intended to present to you. Thank you for recognizing that as a strength of a strong and open communicator who loves nothing more than to share information in a novel way, to give large and engaging presentations, to meet with colleagues or stakeholders and have honest and meaningful discussion.
I cannot express to you my excitement to join your team. The road from graduate school to a professional career has been a bit tumultuous over the last couple of years. Turns out, the years that are "great to be a student" really stink to be a recent graduate... but I am excited to be released of the burden that uncertainty can cause so that I can really focus on my work. I am excited to create quality work for this organization and develop tools and products that can be shared so that others may learn from what we do. I am excited to learn from others; in the workplace, in the industry, in the community. I am excited to be a positive force in my workplace-- someone who thinks and speaks highly of others, someone who expresses gratitude to those around me, and someone who occasionally tells a lively and engaging story or two! I am excited that you and your organization have committed to me and my professional growth. I intend to commit to this organization and this work in the same way.
I am dedicated to this position and this organization.
I am motivated to create positive change in my community and that will be reflected in any work I do.
I am ready to face each challenge with a balance of professionalism, creativity, and enthusiasm that cannot be learned in any program-- it is unique to me.
I may never know what it was about my application or my interview that made you take a second look or made you say, "Let's give her a call." All I know is that on the first day that I enter the office, I am going to bring with me a passion and work ethic that makes you feel certain you have made the right choice. And a plant; I am going to bring with me a plant.
Thank you, again, for the opportunity.
Sincerely,
Katie
P.S. See you Monday!
In the next few weeks, as the grant monies that fund my position slowly get spent away, I will be let go. I have been searching and applying for new work with an increased fervor in the last month, but with little results. It's a tough market out there, folks.
I have not been offered a position or hired yet, but someday someone will call. This is a letter to that someone who takes a chance and says "We would be delighted if you would join our team."}
Dear Hiring Manager,
Congratulations, today you have made an excellent decision for the progress of your organization! Today, you took a chance and you hired me. And I promise to make that a decision you can be happy with for a very long time.
You recognized that my varied interests and experiences translate into a fresh and adaptable young employee. You saw that I can (and do!) become passionate about everything I do, and you have offered me an environment that encourages my creativity and gently guides my growth. As much as I tried to remain calm and graceful in the interview, my chattiness certainly overshadowed whatever poise I had intended to present to you. Thank you for recognizing that as a strength of a strong and open communicator who loves nothing more than to share information in a novel way, to give large and engaging presentations, to meet with colleagues or stakeholders and have honest and meaningful discussion.
I cannot express to you my excitement to join your team. The road from graduate school to a professional career has been a bit tumultuous over the last couple of years. Turns out, the years that are "great to be a student" really stink to be a recent graduate... but I am excited to be released of the burden that uncertainty can cause so that I can really focus on my work. I am excited to create quality work for this organization and develop tools and products that can be shared so that others may learn from what we do. I am excited to learn from others; in the workplace, in the industry, in the community. I am excited to be a positive force in my workplace-- someone who thinks and speaks highly of others, someone who expresses gratitude to those around me, and someone who occasionally tells a lively and engaging story or two! I am excited that you and your organization have committed to me and my professional growth. I intend to commit to this organization and this work in the same way.
I am dedicated to this position and this organization.
I am motivated to create positive change in my community and that will be reflected in any work I do.
I am ready to face each challenge with a balance of professionalism, creativity, and enthusiasm that cannot be learned in any program-- it is unique to me.
I may never know what it was about my application or my interview that made you take a second look or made you say, "Let's give her a call." All I know is that on the first day that I enter the office, I am going to bring with me a passion and work ethic that makes you feel certain you have made the right choice. And a plant; I am going to bring with me a plant.
Thank you, again, for the opportunity.
Sincerely,
Katie
P.S. See you Monday!
Friday, September 23, 2011
Analytically Speaking
I would love to say I use Google Analytics to maximize my readers' experience of my blog.
I don't.
I basically use it to spy on you. Where do you live? What are you reading? How did you get here?
My favorite is to see what term people searched for to end up at my blog. Below are some of the stranger ones:
I don't.
I basically use it to spy on you. Where do you live? What are you reading? How did you get here?
My favorite is to see what term people searched for to end up at my blog. Below are some of the stranger ones:
- scientific law (Yes, the words written in this blog are scientific law. Or, they should be.)
- what is fartlekking (The seventh circle of Hell.)
- atheist cat (What.)
- drugging your cat (I didn't really drug him. I hope this person finds the, uh, advice they were looking for...)
- fartlekking (The seventh circle of Hell.)
- girl panics on febreeze commercial (Well, a giant-ass fish swims through a living room. You would panic too)
- mugwump cat (Ha! He needs his own blog. [Right now the Boyfriend is groaning and thinking "Oh my god, she's going to start a blog from her cat's perspective." No I'm not, because imagining Boyfriend thinking that was enough satisfaction!])
- what's a fartlek (The seventh circle of Hell.)
- "Every morning in Africa a gazelle wakes up. It knows it must move faster than the lion or it will not survive. Everyone morning in Africa a lion wakes up and knows it must be faster than the slowest gazelle or it will starve. It does not matter if you are the lion or the gazelle. When the sun comes up, you better be moving." (Love this quote. And now love whomever searched for it. Love love love.)
- turtleneck swimsuit (What?)
- Bob Costas sauna (WHAT?! Gross.)
- don't feed the grad students (no truer advice has ever been spoken)
- "convention of international sale of goods" undersized shrimp (Ha! Reason #238 dating a lawyer brings me joy. Also, isn't the very nature of shrimp that they are 'undersized'?)
- grad school makes you fat (Who are you calling fat, you big cow?!)
- national escargot day (I am assuming this comes from an Obscure Holidays post...)
- activate mugwump (Ha! Read this as "Activate: Mugwump!" and it just has a certain superhero je ne sais quoi about it. Love)
- Bob Costas is a punk (that's more like it)
- Border collie hypersensitve (Googler, you get it.)
- Bubble bath wine (You definitely get it).
- funny sentence with mugwump in it (Hmm, I don't think I have any of those. But I have something better! A bunch of funny sentence written by a Mugwump! Right? Right?!)
- modern battle pants (What?) (I want some.)
- obscure holiday for "women" (Why put women in quotes? Couldn't it just be 'obscure holiday for women'? Googler must have been a "man.")
- sushi touched my soul (What.)
- uzbekistan got skipped (I hate when that happens.)
- ways to explain parking in a snow emergency (I'll explain it now: Everyone parks like an idiot. You can too! Yay!)
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
I Don't Even Know What 'Hyponatremia' Is, but I Do Not Want It
Part of being a well-prepared marathoner is the physical training. Up the hill. Down the hill. 8 miles. 10 miles. A half marathon. 16 miles. Wind. Rain. Beating sun. You gotta get used to all of that. Plus, learn to love blisters.
The other part of being a well-prepared marathoner is to know as much as possible about race day. What time do I need to be at the start? Where can I park? How many racers are there? When can I expect to see a water stop? How many satellite bathrooms are available and where? And most importantly (I think): what do I do if I get into trouble?
It is no secret that running a marathon is a bit stressful on one's body and the need for some medical attention on race day is common. In order to prepare myself, today I read Twin Cities in Motion's medical procedures for the marathon.
I found most of the information to be super helpful. For one, I love a good color-coded system that tells me how the weather conditions may affect runners. Also, it is good to know that there are over 300 medical staff and they are wearing orange. This is important.
But some of the information, I found a little more amusing. Or maybe ironic? I am not sure. Below, in the bolded text you can read the policy and in the red italicized text you can read my thoughts on that policy.
"Runners who are ill should not start."
You cannot convince me that there is a single person who signed up for a marathon that is even close to being in their right mind. All these runners are 'ill.'
This next part is in reference to their Impaired Runner Policy.
To be allowed to continue the race, a runner must:
a) be able to proceed in a straight path toward the finish line;
This would be easier to do if the race was a straight path towards the finish instead of weaving all over the Cities to add up to an obscene number of miles. I know the distance between Minneapolis and Saint Paul is not 26.2 miles...
b) be able to explain who they are, where they are on the course, and what they are doing;
In the best of health and clarity of mind, I would probably be able to tell you who I am. But in the middle of a marathon there is no way I am going to know why I am on that course or what I am doing. I am going to think I have lost my mind a long time before any medical professional suspects it. I might already be thinking I have lost my mind.
c) look clinically fit to proceed with good skin color and body appearance
d) be able to maintain a reasonable running posture.
Both (c) and (d) assume you started the race with these things... which just might not be totally true for all of us.
Downed runner procedures:
When a runner goes down during or immediately after the race, the medical team will assess for cardiac arrest, exertional heat stroke, hyponatremia, insulin shock, and exercise associated collapse; begin first aid; and transfer.
Please also assess me for the common medical ailment "Worn the eff out."
The medical response plan includes advanced life support ambulances and bike teams with automatic defibrillators.
'Advanced life support?!' Dear god.
All runners are encouraged to provide family and friends with their race number in case of a medical emergency.
When my race number is assigned, you will likely be able to find it here, in some sort of email with paragraphs upon paragraphs of emergency information, as well as posted to social media sites such as Facebook and Twitter. I just want to have all my bases covered. In case something happens. Which it won't.
Honestly, I am not too worried-- I feel healthy, I know my limits and if I get overwhelmed during the race there is no harm in leaving the course. A finisher's medal is not worth losing my health or knee joints. And it's comforting to know all this effort is going in to making sure every racer that day has the healthiest marathon possible.
The other part of being a well-prepared marathoner is to know as much as possible about race day. What time do I need to be at the start? Where can I park? How many racers are there? When can I expect to see a water stop? How many satellite bathrooms are available and where? And most importantly (I think): what do I do if I get into trouble?
It is no secret that running a marathon is a bit stressful on one's body and the need for some medical attention on race day is common. In order to prepare myself, today I read Twin Cities in Motion's medical procedures for the marathon.
I found most of the information to be super helpful. For one, I love a good color-coded system that tells me how the weather conditions may affect runners. Also, it is good to know that there are over 300 medical staff and they are wearing orange. This is important.
But some of the information, I found a little more amusing. Or maybe ironic? I am not sure. Below, in the bolded text you can read the policy and in the red italicized text you can read my thoughts on that policy.
"Runners who are ill should not start."
You cannot convince me that there is a single person who signed up for a marathon that is even close to being in their right mind. All these runners are 'ill.'
This next part is in reference to their Impaired Runner Policy.
To be allowed to continue the race, a runner must:
a) be able to proceed in a straight path toward the finish line;
This would be easier to do if the race was a straight path towards the finish instead of weaving all over the Cities to add up to an obscene number of miles. I know the distance between Minneapolis and Saint Paul is not 26.2 miles...
b) be able to explain who they are, where they are on the course, and what they are doing;
In the best of health and clarity of mind, I would probably be able to tell you who I am. But in the middle of a marathon there is no way I am going to know why I am on that course or what I am doing. I am going to think I have lost my mind a long time before any medical professional suspects it. I might already be thinking I have lost my mind.
c) look clinically fit to proceed with good skin color and body appearance
d) be able to maintain a reasonable running posture.
Both (c) and (d) assume you started the race with these things... which just might not be totally true for all of us.
Downed runner procedures:
When a runner goes down during or immediately after the race, the medical team will assess for cardiac arrest, exertional heat stroke, hyponatremia, insulin shock, and exercise associated collapse; begin first aid; and transfer.
Please also assess me for the common medical ailment "Worn the eff out."
The medical response plan includes advanced life support ambulances and bike teams with automatic defibrillators.
'Advanced life support?!' Dear god.
All runners are encouraged to provide family and friends with their race number in case of a medical emergency.
When my race number is assigned, you will likely be able to find it here, in some sort of email with paragraphs upon paragraphs of emergency information, as well as posted to social media sites such as Facebook and Twitter. I just want to have all my bases covered. In case something happens. Which it won't.
Honestly, I am not too worried-- I feel healthy, I know my limits and if I get overwhelmed during the race there is no harm in leaving the course. A finisher's medal is not worth losing my health or knee joints. And it's comforting to know all this effort is going in to making sure every racer that day has the healthiest marathon possible.
Friday, September 2, 2011
A Reflection on 72 Hours of Wilderness
I have been attempting to compose, organize, and draft my thoughts on my recent trip to the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness (BWCA) for several days now, but it is much harder than I thought. Perhaps, much like the photos I captured while there, my storytelling can't really do that part of the world the justice it deserves.
I thought about giving you the play by play-- detailing each lake, each portage, each mosquito-infested campsite, and relaying the horrors that are northwoods latrines.
But it still didn't seem big enough.
So what I came up with is quite a bit simpler, a little more abstract.
To be in a wilderness so dense and unspoilt is an incredibly humbling experience. The moment the paddle shatters the reflected forest on the surface of the cool, clean lake I had to involuntarily surrender control to my environment. The weather, downed trees, nosy wildlife; they all have the ability to overpower the skills I bring with me. There is only a small smattering of people, scattered few and far between, and travelers can't count on seeing anyone. You certainly can't count on anyone having a working communication device.
Those things in mind, I think it is a space that redefines 'trouble.' To be in trouble here at home (flat tire, late bus, broken appliance, and so on) is really to be inconvenienced. To be in trouble in the BWCA is to be in trouble.
To be in the BWCA is also empowering. There is that beautiful feeling of chasing (and then catching!) an experience many people don't get to have. It is a place ripe for accomplishing many things, from the simple breakfast cooked over a camp stove to the 232 rod portage. It fosters a great sense of independence and self-reliance. At the same time, it makes one put a lot of trust in the person they travel with-- trust that that person will have your best interests and safety in mind, trust that that person will communicate, trust that that person will not get (too) frustrated.
I think I may have said this about rural North Dakota too, but if there is such thing as 'God's Country,' the BWCA is it. I cannot think of many places that I have been to that inspired me with a sunrise, amazed me and challenged throughout the day, instilled great fear and respect for my surroundings in me as the sunset washed the world in a purple shadow, and then gently rocked me to sleep with the most stars I have ever seen in one night and the gentle lullabye of wilderness in the nighttime.
My words, like photos that just look like water, trees, and sky, do not begin to really describe this magnificent place.
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