The first prep race for China

The Great Wall Marathon may be over a year away, but the preparation has already started.  When I announced my plans to run it, my friend Stacy asked if I'd like to run a half marathon with her in Chesapeake, Virginia - the Dismal Swamp Stomp - which took place this past weekend.

Stacy is kind of not human.  She's done 6 marathons, a few half Ironmans, maybe even a full Ironman (I can't remember), and she gave birth to her second child a mere three months ago.  Half marathon 3 months postpartum?  No problem.  If you're Stacy, that is.  If that were me, I'd still be trying to cross the finish line.

This small, flat race was scheduled for a Saturday morning.  That meant fighting traffic leaving DC on a Friday after work, which is never, ever, ever even remotely enjoyable.  Chris and I left just after 5pm.  Thanks to a horrific truck accident hours earlier, we averaged a whopping 35 mph the entire trip.  6 hours after we left DC, we arrived at the hotel that I Hotwire-ninja'd a few weeks back.

I hate driving.  The only thing I hate more than driving is driving in DC.  And this is why.

After not enough hours of sleep, it was race time.  The weather simply couldn't have been more perfect - sunny, low humidity, and temperatures in the low 60s.  I was hydrated and had downed plenty of coffee, but I was still feeling the 6 hour car ride and the lack of sleep.  As we took off, Chris was napping happily in the car.  I was a tad jealous.

The course was an out-and-back that followed a canal trail through the Great Dismal Swamp.  The name sounds like something that will suck the life out of you, but the course was beautiful.  And flat.  Gloriously flat.

I actually thought I had a shot at finishing in under 2 hours.  Then I hit mile 11.  Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope. Mile 11 was my come-to-Jesus mile.  Why am I doing this?  I should just walk.  Why the hell did I drive 6 hours is infuriating traffic to do this to myself?  Is that bird mocking me?  What am I doing with my life?  Why am I running on a perfectly beautiful Saturday morning?  I should be getting ready to go sit on my ass and drink mimosas and then take a nap.  WHY DO I HATE FUN?

And then just past the 12.5 mile marker, I started to hear people cheering.  Racers that had already finished had ventured back down the course to cheer us on.  Spectators at the finish line were yelling.  

I picked up my pace a little bit.  I got to the finish where the crowds were, including Chris waiting with his iPhone to take a picture.  I tried to not look wiped the hell out.  When I saw the picture later, I just looked kind of constipated.  I can live with that.

Stacy finished a few minutes later, beating her goal time by about 2 minutes.  She rocks.

Stacy's family came over, and we made our way over to the post-race area, where we found runner refreshments of pizza and beer.

Pizza and beer!  At 10am!  This is why I do this.  This is why we drove 6 hours in traffic.  Screw you, waterfowl, I have beer.  This is why I ran 13.1 miles on a beautiful Saturday morning.  THIS IS FUN.

Even better, Stacy gave me her beer tickets since she's nursing a 3 month old.  More beer for Chris and me.  I read once that beer is a good recovery drink.  I don't care if it is or not.  I'm rolling with it, and please don't tell me otherwise.

It was absolutely perfect outside at this point.  Sunny, breezy, perfect temperature, band playing, good friends, and pizza and beer at 10am in a beautiful state park in southern Virginia.  And I beat my old half marathon time by 9.5 minutes (!).

The next morning, Stacy's 3 year-old son was at the hotel breakfast table wearing a Superman outfit.  As you do.  I almost asked him where he got it, but I realized I knew the answer.  He gets it from his mama. Stacy is definitely Superwoman - with super ideas like traveling to run flat half marathons in the glorious springtime weather.  I'm beyond happy that she invited me to join in the fun (traffic and mile 11 be damned) and happy that we both had great races because of it. Now I just have to run twice that distance on the Great Wall of China.  GAH.

GART Report #1: Crazy drivers and pigs

Thus far, the GART has produced two types of encounters: those with crazy drivers, and pigs.

Crazy Driver #1:  A large pickup truck turned the wrong way down a one-way street, headed directly toward us.  Instead of stopping and turning around, he enacted the My-Vehicle-Is-Bigger-Than-Yours logic to determine right-of-way, forced us to maneuver around him, and then proceeded to turn the wrong way down yet another one-way street to finally correct his original error.  Stay classy, sir.

Crazy Driver #2: We came upon a man in an old sedan in southern Virginia that saw no need to keep a constant speed (anywhere between 40 mph and 80 mph was fine) nor to keep in a single lane.  Although he momentarily changed his mind about that last part when his car came within inches of an intimate encounter with a guardrail.  And after this encounter, he poked his hand through the sunroof and pointed at the sky.  As we passed him during one of his 40 mph phases, he shoved his hand out the window and pointed upward - again.  After more weaving and speed changes, he revved on up to us, cut us off, took the next exit, and forcefully pointed upward yet again. I'm pretty sure he saw our DC plates and decided that we were government spies sent to chase him down, because surely he's doing something amazing and important with his life that the federal government would want to put a stop to.

Crazy Driver #3:  A guy was driving down the sidewalk in Townsend, Tennessee.  As you do.

Now for the part you were really interested in - the pigs.  Humans behind the wheel are fine, but pigs are awesome.  Right?

Pig #1:  As we drove through the glorious neon tackiness of Pigeon Forge, Tennessee, one sign stood out from all the rest - the Mind Reading Pig.  Forget the Hatfield & McCoy dinner theater, the Titanic recreation on the side of the highway (complete with an iceberg!), and the Dixie Stampede.  THERE'S A MIND-READING PIG IN TENNESSEE.  I had to wonder if it's a distant cousin of the fortune-telling guinea pig in Bulgaria.  We didn't get a chance to find this gloriously talented swine specimen, but that's on my list of things to check out next time I'm in that part of the world.

Pig #2:  Roadside America is a nifty little site to check out if you're in the market for off-the-wall attractions on your GART.  It just so happened that we were passing through Dothan, Alabama - home to the Monument to the Hog.  We hadn't done anything touristy at this point in the trip, so a view of this scrap metal pig was in order.  As we rounded a curve in the highway and the hog came into sight, my jaw dropped.  The hog had a University of Alabama jersey painted onto it.  Having going to the rival school, I was less than amused by this unfortunate barnyard fashion choice.  Roadside America rates the Monument to the Hog as "worth a detour".  I wholeheartedly disagree.  People, the only barnyard animal that should be involved in football is the cow that's used to make the football itself.

And now, I feel like having some pork and driving the right way down a one-way street.  

I'm not dead yet

Wow, it’s been so long that I feel like a stranger here on my own blog. I let myself get interrupted by a new job, singing in 2 operas in a row, singing in a choir concert at the same time as the operas, then singing in another opera... and did I mention that the job involves attending rehearsals and performances for an entirely different musical group?  I haven’t even been home to eat dinner in 3 months, much less ramble about some weird travel stories.  But I rather miss those ramblings, so back to it, yo.

I haven’t done much traveling since entering the world of the employed again, unless you count commuting between DC and Virginia. And given the traffic in this area, the only way to talk about that is to use a string of 4-letter words.

But I can’t sit still for terribly long.  There was a pretty much perfect camping trip back in May, a quick 30 hr trip for a bachelorette party, and this weekend I’ll embark on something that I haven’t done in many years - take off on the Great American Road Trip.

Now parts of the GART (this rhymes with “fart”, which makes me happy) will involve mundane activities such as checking on boring stuff in my hometown, but there will be some awesomesauce thrown on top of that - visiting family, attending two rockin’ weddings, a little bit of beach, and (wait for it... wait for it...) - Disney World!

I haven’t properly done Disney World since 1990.  People have been born, gone to school, reached legal drinking age, and launched careers in that time.  This is clearly overdue. Also, I never got to ride Space Mountain in 1990.  This is a serious problem that must be fixed.

So there you have it.  I’m not dead (yet) - I’m still alive and kicking and running around. In fact, I think I’ll go for a walk.  I mean, a drive.

And don’t worry, reports on the GART will be forthcoming. Glad to be back, kids.