hood-to-coast 2006 . my story . august 28 . 2006—
(
I talk about my training here)
I was up late on Thursday night. Naturally, Everett and Truman were wired by association with my excitement; my husband was working super late bartending. I was finishing the last few iron-ons for the t-shirts, and my sister Abby was baking chocolate chip cookies (from my perfect recipe, naturally), as the first gigantic batch I made wasn't quite gigantic enough.
When Abby left around 10:30, over an hour past my ideal bedtime, my mind was still churning, trying to wrap around the upcoming 48 hours. I didn't even know for sure what my total mileage was. 18.1, I kept thinking, although somehow I typed 18.3 when I blogged about it. And blogged about it again. I'm like that.
I was in the zen mama space, a bit, if by "zen" you mean "nauseous and dry-mouthed and yet, thrilled in that high-school-championship-tomorrow way." I was ironing, and typing, and nursing Truman, and chatting happily with Everett about how Grandma and Grandpa would pick him up tomorrow, how mama would be running. I had so many extra iron-on slogans, and suddenly it hit me: wrist bands! Before you know it, Truman was sleeping and I was ironing "run mama run" and "hood to coast 2006" on to bits of my favorite fabrics, sewing them together and attaching little squares of velcro. I would make two. I would make six, one for each of the members of our van. No, eight, two for the other van -- they could share. I was only one woman.
I would take a break and pack, a box of film here, a couple of batteries for my headlamp there. Extra socks (brand new) went in the backpack, then a couple of extra shirts and underwear, my Wharton shorts, my knitting, all my favorite lenses. Then it was back to the creation, one wrist band, two wrist bands, three wrist bands...
I was on my fourth when Truman woke up, crying, and I rushed to finish it (admiring my handiwork all the way). Four. I would have four. That was a lot!
It's so much easier for those thousands of runners who are NOT parents of young children, I thought. Perhaps I thought it with just a touch of bitterness. And I snipped the ends of the last piece of thread from the last hurried hem on wrist band #4, I scooped up Everett and we all tumbled into bed with Truman, cuddling and breastfeeding and sleeping the deep sleep of the co-sleeping mama who really needs it.
.
It was 4:52 a.m., or thereabouts, when Jonathan arrived home, my alarm clock. He handed me a wad of the cash he'd earned that night, and told me proudly he'd biked home to save the cab fare. Thank you, I murmured, sleepy, gathering chocolate chip cookies from the counter, filling my water bottle, tying my shoes. Though I'd planned to leave at 5:15 for the long bike ride to Olivia's home in North Portland, I had to feed Truman for a bit when he woke up at 5:12. He ate, and ate, and finally I pulled his latch off.
"Sorry, Truman," I said, "mama has to run!" A few kisses and I was off.
It was cool and almost totally dark as I attached the headlamp (brand new) and walked my bike up the driveway. I checked my basket of goodies (secure) and began peddling as fast as I could. I figured it would take me 40-50 minutes to bike to Olivia's house, and as I bumped over speed bumps and whizzed through green light after green light, I sifted through the possible routes in my head. Greeley seemed the fastest, but ... that hill.
I'd felt my caloric intake to be completely insufficient, and I'd woken up, breastfed, and eaten nothing. Forget bonking on Leg Two. I was going to bonk on the way to Olivia's house!
But the pre-dawn twilight was lovely and calming, the street signs and bike lane indicators, familiar friends. I thought about my journey through Portland that would soon become a journey through the most stunning landscape in Oregon. Past the mountain slopes where I inner-tubed as a child, past the A-frame building where my parents honeymooned thirty-some years ago, past the sharp, winding mountain roads that my family drove to my grandparents' house when we were little. It humbled me and grounded me and thrilled me with an awesome electricity. I peddled ever faster. 6:02 a.m. ... 6:04 a.m. ... I'll only be a few minutes late.
.
... oh, but you see, I'm still working on this post...
