indecision...

.. is no more. As many of you know, I ran the 2006 Chicago Marathon with less than an ideal outcome. Halfway through the 18 weeks of training, I developed SI joint problems in my back and was simultaneously training for the race and going thru physical therapy and on meds. How sick and twisted is that? The race was difficult and painful for me, but I didn't regret it one single bit. I had so much encouragement and support from friends and family and crossing the finish line, albeit in tears, truly did change my life and gave me confidence.

Since then, I've been content with shorter races-- 5Ks, Soldier Field 10 Miler, half marathons. Every year, for about a few weeks in October, I toy with the idea of giving the "big dance" another shot. This mostly happens when I'm prowling the Expo with Teresa, who is-- hands down-- the best runner I know and a truly awesome friend. Then the marathon comes and goes and I get "cured" of my ambitions.

But for some reason this year, the nagging thought of "should I try again?" didn't go away. And for months now I've gone back and forth in my mind. I'm several years more experienced with running. Yeah, but, I'm also several years older. Indecision is not my style. What's up?

I've talked to Teresa about it, who repeats the refrain "10-10-10" (the date of the race). I've talked to John about it. He'll support and love me no matter what. I talked to my chiropractor about it, who sadly informed me that he doesn't have a crystal ball and has no idea how well (or poorly) my less than perfect anatomy will react. I've talked with my sisters. One thinks I'm crazy. One might want to do it with me. I talked to my mom, who is a big-time marathon fan. She's all for it.

But ultimately it comes down to me. Do I have the motivation and determination to go through what I know will be a tough road? Do I want it bad enough? No doubt I'll have the support from loved ones. I have that in spades-- it's the only thing that's a given here. Yes. No. Do it. Don't.

Today registration opened. I thought about that as soon as I woke up. I still didn't know what to do. I went to work and worked for about an hour or so. Then something in my mind just clicked. I dunno. Can't explain it. I went to the marathon's website and registered. I'm in. For better or for worse. John was the first person I told. Then Teresa. Nick. Candace. Joe. Mom. Debi. Dawn. Facebook friends. Now the blogosphere.

I'm pretty excited.

Nenikikamen revisited

I'm finding my way! Just spent about an hour with my painting. The paint's very weird. It's not oil, exactly. But it's not acrylic. It's a weird amalgam that I'm still trying to grow accustomed to. I definitely miss the bounce-bounce of stretched canvas, so I doubt I'll use canvas board again.

The medal was very hard to sketch out and I'm equally afraid of putting the base coat of color on it. Metal is notoriously difficult to capture. And the shoe is very, very complex. I'm glad I chose to do this small (it's about 10 1/2 x 12). Although I'm engrossed with it, I'm always thinking one or two paintings ahead. I start class at SAIC on Feb. 9 (if it doesn't get cancelled for low enrollment) and I have an idea for a series that could be dynamite. And I have a running picture of a friend that will translate very sweetly to paint (or pastel, I'm not sure yet). But, til then, there's Nenikikamen.

Some of my friends ask me about my painting process. At home, I have to be alone. I need music. I sing along with the music-- badly. I dance, too. Tonight it's Lady Gaga and me doing "Bad Romance." I lose myself in it-- it's a complete focus. Hard to explain. Random thoughts come and go, but mostly it's color, shape, relationship, music and emotion. It's a heck of a lot of fun.

Hopefully it will take me to a good place. I'll keep you posted.

You are precious in my eyes, and glorious, and I love you

That saying (I'm pretty sure it's a Bible verse) was engraved on a pen that Bro. Donald Richard gave all of the 1981 graduating seniors at Bishop Carroll High School and I've remembered it all this time. It comes to mind now when I'm thinking about my friend Sue.

I first met Sue at work several years ago. What I noticed about her was her positive attitude, her ready smile and her utter selflessness. She was there, always, for all of us. And she was a heck of a lot of fun to be around. She refers to our little group as "partners in crime" and we are.

At that time, she had problems with her knees and sometimes I'd notice that she had a hard time even walking. But instead of becoming overwhelmed with pity, Sue took action and changed her life for the better with exercise. She's now a seriously badass triathlete who ogles bikes like most women ogle men.

We've had many wacky adventures together. One time, Sue cajoled me into doing an indoor triathlon with her. I was already a runner, and growing up in Western PA with all those hills and no mass transit system to speak of, I was well schooled on the bike. That left swimming. I doggie paddle and it ain't pretty. During the "race," grandmothers were beating me in the pool and I cracked myself up at how poorly I was doing; many times I was just clinging onto the side laughing. Yet there was Sue at the side of the pool urging me on, screaming my name as loud as she could. Embarassing, yes, but very touching.

Another time, Teresa, Sue and I decided to do the Polar Plunge in Lake Michigan. I forget the exact date, but it was arctic outside. We all wore bikinis and Sue furnished us with tiaras and white feather boas to complete our outfits. I've never been so cold in my life, but yet I'm warm every time I think of that story. It's a happy memory.

Yet another time, we celebrated her 50th birthday together with wild and crazy dancing and tons more laughter. We've run races together... a lot of them. She was the volunteer who took off my chip and gave me a hug when I finished a half marathon. We just did a Halloween run as the Rice Krispie kids.

My absolute best Sue story, though, is the Chicago Marathon 2006. Halfway through training, I suffered a lower back injury and really had no business doing the race in that condition. I managed okay til about mile 22, then it went rapidly downhill for me. I was in tears with agony and could barely walk a step and was on the verge of exiting the course and not finishing the race. Then, from out of nowhere, Sue suddenly appeared next to me on the road. She had been waiting for hours in miserable weather conditions just to be there for me. She put her arm around me, told me she loved me and urged me to keep going. She took a few steps with me and held me up. She gave me the courage to go on with the race. There are many people whose love was invaluable to me during my marathon experience, but I can honestly say that it was Sue who was responsible for me finishing that race. I will remember that my entire life.

Sue's now in the hospital in New York. She had a sudden, serious health issue while visiting her daughter. Still, she's e-mailing her friends and looking forward to our next adventures. What a great spirit. What a great person. Get well soon, my friend.

No one's a stranger on New Year's Eve

I just had the best New Year's Eve EVER. Yes, I know I'm prone to exuberance, but I mean it... really.

Our typical New Year's Eve is that of a boring middle-aged couple. Staying home with movies on the DVD and a bunch of junk food in our bellies. Poor John kisses the cats at the stroke of midnight because I'm asleep.

This year, however, we decided to go out. So we spent a stupid amount of money to attend a party at the Hyatt Regency. Why? Hello! Our favorite band, 7th Heaven, was playing there. First thing I did a few days before was to go in search of a new frock. I don't wear dresses much. It's not that I object to dresses. I like them. It's a panty hose thing. Me in panty hose is like an animal caught in a trap. I'd almost be willing to chew my legs off to get a break from the discomfort. But I wanted to be festive. My go-to store is Filene's Basement (bow your head when you say that name), and it did not disappoint. Ding-ding-ding... tried on three dresses and the first one fit perfectly and I loved it. Better yet-- $24!! I also scored a new dress shirt and tie for John so that we'd coordinate-- which he promptly rejected when I brought it home in favor of a shirt that is, in my opinion, not as stylin'. Ah, but he's a Taurus. Whatever.

We took a cab there. Some anxious moments on my part. I'm phobic about being late to anything. If it starts at 8:30, I want to be there at 8:15. Cabs were hard to find but we got there only a few minutes late.

The buffet food was tasty and I enjoyed people watching. Then the music. Oh, the music! Those of you who know me know that I'm really passionate about this band. So much so that they should pay me. If you're in Chicago, go see them sometime. If not, check out the videos on their website at http://www.7thheavenband.com/.

A 7th Heaven concert is a full contact sport. Watch out, ladies and gentlemen, I played hockey. And I'm not shy. I know where I want to be... right up against the stage and I ain't moving for no one or nothing. Of course, it helps to have a husband who is 6'2" and 230 pounds to run interference.

They played 4 sets and it went on and on. Pure bliss. Joie de vivre to the max. We met some nice people and partied like it was 2010. I once ran a marathon and it was pure agony. Dancing all night in high heels is the inner circle of agony. I screamed like a groupie (I am) until I couldn't talk any more and I don't expect to regain my hearing til some time in April. I adore these guys. They're so talented and gosh darn, so cute. My favorite is Nick-- when he does Your Love, I go into orbit. John has a bit of a man-crush on Mark, the bass player. Mark's signature is to play barefoot, so I'm convinced it's a podiatry thing.

Usually I hate crowds and get very nasty when someone's in my personal space, but all kinds of violations occurred and it didn't bother me in the least. When I pondered that aloud to John, why I was cool with it, he offered this bit of wry wisdom-- "boys and booze." I'm not a big drinker-- it gets me dizzy and sick and I'm afraid of it, so I only had two glasses of wine. I think I was high on the night, the people, the music. Happy 2010, everyone.

Merry whatever

As I lapse into a coma on the couch after eating one cookie too many, I'm reflecting back on the holiday season of 2009. Here's what I've come up with (in no particular order):

1) How 'bout dem Blackhawks? I was delighted by the premier episode of Blackhawks TV which aired on Christmas day, giggled at the Happy Hullidays commercials and have relished every moment of the past few games. These guys are the real deal and it just might be their year. Regardless, it's so much fun to watch.

2) Shopping for jeans is the bane of my existence. As a nice little perk, we're allowed to wear jeans to work all next week. So-- duh-- I need to buy some new ones. During shopping trips on Thursday and Saturday, I tried on 23 different pairs. Pocket placement is so key-- it can spell the difference between "hot ass" and "all ass." Unflattering jeans can bring me to tears.

3) Nothing is a better gift than pictures of my niece and nephews. Every year, Dawn gives me a Shutterfly album of a year's worth of pictures of Justin and Kaelyn. Justin's 8 and plays hockey now, which fills me with so much pride. Kaelyn's 4 and is becoming quite an artist. Dawn also accuses me of passing on some other not so desirable traits to Kaelyn-- her "dark side" (she loves stories about monsters), her sweet tooth and her tendency to use "bad words." Hey, I can't help my genetics, can I? Little Henry always looks so happy and wears his new Cubs sweatsuit with such style and grace. His blond hair sticks up in all directions and never fails to make me smile. I'm not much of a kid person, but I truly adore these three.

4) I didn't do my massive cookie bake this year, but I did follow my yearly tradition by making my Grammy's cranberry torte. Before she died, she wrote our favorite recipes on index cards. Cranberry torte is the first thing we eat on Christmas morning. I loved my grandparents immensely and I think about them a lot. This is a beautiful way of honoring a very sweet memory.

5) John's Christmas village is another tradition. He's extremely anal about setting it up and it takes him hours to plan and execute the design. Frank Lloyd Wright would be jealous. I sometimes mess with my darling spouse by moving a figurine or two out of place. Cruel, yes, but a heck of a lot of fun.

6) I'm somewhat envious of friends and family who send holiday cards with pictures of their dogs dressed in holiday sweaters, antlers or santa hats. I would love to do that with Sheila, Baylee and Jessica (0ur cats), but the one time I attemped it, it cost me some flesh. Cats just don't do hats. It's a feline thing.

7) How much is it going to suck to take all of these decorations down?!?!

Happy 2010, everyone!

Continuity

If you don't enjoy reading about someone waxing philosophical in a memoir-like way about sports, turn back now. While at the Bruins vs. Hawks game the other night, I got to thinking about how there are very few things in life that are constant. I could only come up with one in my own life... hockey.

As a young child in Massachusetts, we skated almost as soon as we could walk. Dad and Grampy enjoyed ice fishing; my sister Dawn and I often accompanied them and spent time whizzing around one frozen pond or another. We had our own rink, too. Dad rigged up two by fours and plastic sheeting to magically convert the summer garden to an ice rink, complete with a spotlight for night skating. We'd come in only when we could no longer feel our extremities.

Two important people outside of the family shared my love of hockey... childhood friend Suzanne and our babysitter Mary. My very first love interest wasn't the boy next door, a kid on the bus or a member of the Partridge Family. It was Gilles Gilbert, goalie for the Boston Bruins. Sometimes I'd watch the games with my grandfather from the foot of his recliner, but more often I'd drag my 13" black and white tv from my bedroom to the kitchen table. I needed the flat surface for my writing. Every game, I meticulously kept a score sheet-- goals and assists, penalties and various notes. Every single game. I stored them in a three-ring binder. Then I'd draw pictures. Goalies mostly (Gilles Gilbert, surrounded by red and pink hearts).

As adolescence loomed, we had a very unsettling move from Massachusetts to Pennsylvania and suddenly my life was in turmoil. I missed my friends. I missed the Bruins. A book called "The Picture History of the Boston Bruins: From Shore to Orr and the Years Between" went with me everywhere and became a source of comfort for me. I still have it today.

After recovering from injuries sustained in a serious auto accident, I decided I wanted to play organized hockey. Even though my mom was a divorced parent trying to raise three young girls on not a lot of money, she drove me in all kinds of weather to Johnstown so I could play bantam hockey at the War Memorial. I was the first girl to ever play in what was (up until then) an all-boys league. Quite frankly, they didn't know what to do with me, but they knew they couldn't refuse my participation, so play I did (but they graciously waived the jock strap requirement). I changed clothes in the ladies bathroom since I couldn't go into the locker room. At first, my teammates resented all of the attention I got, but then Coach Barry appealed to their burgeoning chivalry and soon enough they saw me as a little sister in need of protection. Suddenly I had a team of big brothers and I gloried in it. I really was little-- just over 5 feet and barely 100 pounds. I was a good skater-- better than many of the boys-- but if the opponents caught me, I didn't fare so well. I had waist-length hair then, which I braided and tucked into my helmet to discourage hair pulling.

Around this time, I met a lifelong friend through hockey. Michaela. She lives in New York and I answered her ad for a hockey pen pal in some hockey magazine or newspaper. In the days before the internet and 24-hour sports channels, she became a news lifeline about my team. My grandparents did the same. Every week my grandmother would send me a letter with two dollars and clippings about the Bruins from the newspaper. Sometimes she'd write editorial comments in the margins in her flowery penmanship-- "Oh my!" beside a picture of a fight. I still have some of these.

During my high school years (junior year, I believe), I took a significant interest in rookie Al Secord, who was destined to become my second great hockey love. Although I'm not a fan letter sort of person, I wrote to him and much to my surprise and delight (remember, those were more innocent and simpler times) I got a handwritten letter from him in addition to an autographed picture. In the letter, he told me that I was the first fan to ever write to him. I was convinced that I would marry him.

Back in the late 70's and early 80's, we went to Pittsburgh when the Bruins played the Penguins. Pre-Mario Lemieux, it was possible to walk right up to the players after the game if you knew which gate to wait at. That way, I was able to meet and get autographs and pictures of some of the big names of the day-- Gerry Cheevers, Terry O'Reilly, Wayne Cashman, Jean Ratelle, Brad Park... and Al Secord. I introduced myself and he knew right away who I was. More on him later.

Freshman year of college I was seriously messed up from a non-hockey related broken heart (long story...), then I was committed to my studies and friendships, so hockey took a back burner for a few years. Then it was graduate school, marriage and a move to Chicago. At the time, the Blackhawks were in the cellar and tickets were fairly easy to come by, so once again it was full immersion.

Roller hockey evolved and along with it came a team called the Chicago Cheetahs. I hadn't heard much about it, but a friend of mine (who knew my hockey history) urged me to attend the first game at UIC because there would be a "big surprise." So I did. You probably guessed the surprise. One of the Cheetahs was Al Secord. One again, he remembered me, as he did a few years later when he played on the Chicago Wolves.

In the 90's, John and I made a yearly tradition out of attending the Blackhawks Winter Ball, which benefitted Maryville Academy. It's like going to the prom with the entire Blackhawks team and their wives/girlfriends. Again, much excitement and picture taking-- Denis Savard, Bob Probert, Ed Belfour, Chris Chelios. Another brush with hockey celebrity came when John became Jeremy Roenick's podiatrist during the year that the NHL went on strike. Roenick actually conducted negotiations on their office phone while he was waiting for treatment. And at John's request, he left me a surprise voicemail on my work phone saying "your husband is causing me tremendous pain."

Chicago Stadium morphed into the United Center and the Hawks tanked, then rose again, which brings us to the present. A busy work schedule, a household to maintain, keeping up with friends, family and Facebook fill my days. Although the faces of the players (aside from Chelios's) are now older than mine, my interest has not become stale. I still thrill at the speed of the puck flying down the rink. The majesty of an untouched sheet of ice. The colors and sounds of a fast-paced game. Throughout my lifetime... past, present and future... the humble game of hockey-- lesser-appreciated cousin of football and baseball-- has made my good times better and my bad times lighter.

My friend Vinny

Those of you who know me well know that I like to talk about my friends a lot and that I hold all of them in very high regard. One friend I haven't talked about yet on my blog is Vince. Although we grew up probably less than 2o miles from each other, we "met" by random coincidence on Runners World message boards. And we both love hockey. And we both graduated from the same college. And we're both Type A obsessive, slightly neurotic people (but in an endearing way). And we both love to write.... it's truly amazing how similar we are in so many ways.

This May I got to meet him and his wife for real when they came to town so that Vince could run the Chicago Marathon. Since our friendship didn't really develop in a traditional manner, I was slightly apprehensive about meeting him. Much to my delight, there was zero awkwardness and it was like we had known them for a lifetime. We had a lovely meal at Leona's and the next day I got to see him speed by around mile 18 in the marathon. He qualified for Boston and I like to think that my cheering him on helped just a tiny fraction!

They're coming back in May to run the Soldier Field 10 miler with Teresa and me. I look forward to spending more time with them. Anyhow, Vince's blog is now listed here on my page. Check it out. In addition to being a very talented runner and a friend I like a lot, he's a damn good writer.