Suellen

(in photo above - me (lower), Suellen (middle), Susan (top))

Very early this morning, one of my dearest friends was called to her final rest. I write this through a veil of tears.

I met Suellen about twenty years ago while we were both working for Sonnenschein. Our mutual love of books was what brought us together. Once a week for years and years, we'd go to lunch together at Mrs. Levy's in the Sears Tower. Suellen was a creature of routine so the day, time and restaurant never varied. Most times, our food selections didn't either. As is common with old friends, we grew to know (very well) each other's likes and dislikes. That is why, when my salad arrived, Suellen would wordlessly pluck the freaky baby corn and water chestnuts off my plate and deposit them on her own.

We talked about our lives-- families, friends, day-to-day happenings, work, politics, and of course books. There was nothing I couldn't tell Suellen. She personified comfort and practicality, reason and compassion. I had another friend, David, who I'd frequently squabble with. Suellen knew us both and would frequently act as a peacemaker. She drew people together with grace and confidence. That's who she was.

Through her influence, I joined American Association of University Women (AAUW) book club and attended the monthly meetings. Some members of the group met for dinner beforehand at Jury's. Suellen memorized everyone's dinner order and took great delight in reciting them to the waiter. She did the math and figured out the check for us. Every time. At book club, she was more important to us than the books. It was because of her that I was exposed to many of the books that I now treasure as favorites. The shining example of this is Endurance by Alfred Lansing. Everyone who knew Suellen read Shackleton. It was one of her favorites and I remember her coming to book club for that discussion accompanied by a piece of string. She measured it out to be the exact length of Shackleton's boat so that she could demonstrate their dire accomodations to us. She led us. She educated us. She was a walking encyclopedia.

Another great passion of Suellen's was baking. Once, we had a colleague at work who was one of those annoying 20-something's who was all puffed up with her own self-importance and was very vain about her looks. Suellen frequently brought homemade baked goods to work and watched with glee as this woman just couldn't resist the temptation of shortbread. The scheme later became fondly known as "The Plumping."

I was the one who introduced Suellen to the Wii. Shortly after we got ours, we had Bob and Suellen over. After going to dinner at Leona's, we played several games of Wii bowling. Suellen was hooked. So much so that she and Bob went out the very next day and got their own game. During one of our bowling matches, Suellen mistakenly threw the ball backwards and made all of the avatars jump in alarm. The four of us laughed so hard that tears ran down our cheeks.

When I lost my job at NGE, Suellen was the first person I called. She was my go-to person, the one I thought of first when I needed consolation. As I said before, Suellen was comfort. She was an anchor of calmness and sensibility no matter what the circumstances. She had an uncanny ability to take care of people-- not in a showy way; she knew what you needed before you did, and she did it for you. Pure and simple. We had countless lunches at Leona's, California Pizza Kitchen, Famous Dave's etc. during my summer of unemployment. Just being with her made me feel better. She was that important.

I can go on and on about the good moments we shared-- her tiny, childlike hands. Her pearls. Her sensible Land's End wardrobe. Lawrence of Arabia. The Volvo. Cubs. Waveland and Kitty in a Big Boy Suit. Her love of naps. Kindle and iPad. Amazon.com. Her list-keeping and note-taking perfection. The look of revulsion she gave me when I got my belly button pierced. That amazing grin and laugh that she had. These memories will sustain me in the days that come.

So on Monday night I said goodbye to her in a tiny ICU room in Our Lady of Resurrection Medical Center in Wrigleyville. I was blessed to have one last chance to hold her hand, kiss her, tell her how much I care about her.

SJM, I cherish you. My life is better because you were in it. I love you more than words can express.

fine dining

Lately we've been driving home from work down Randolph Street, by all of the trendy restaurants in the West Loop. Today I said to John, "we should do 'New Restaurant Friday' and try some of these places." Being an instant gratification and spontaneous kind of gal, I meant we should try them NOW! John mentioned that he heard that one sixtyblue had great mashed potatoes. Cool! Comfort food! Sign me up.

Those of you who know me know that although I do eat Moroccan food, Indian food and I have been to a sushi restaurant (thanks Bonnie, Kat and Robin), overall I'm not a very adventurous eater.

The first look at the menu raised a huge red flag. There were only about 8 or 9 choices-- not a ginormous greasy booklet like at Cheesecake Factory. None of them Linda-friendly. No Happy Meals. No mozarella sticks. The descriptions included words only heard on Top Chef-- blah blah duck, blah blah something octopus, blah blah pigs feet. This ain't a restaurant, this is a trip to the petting zoo-- or Shedd Aquarium. I won't even talk about the prices. I like to spend money on lots of stupid stuff, but not on freaky food. Suffice it to say that for the amount of money it cost, I could go to Arby's every day for the remainder of the calendar year.

I decided to go with something that had the least amount of objectionable ingredients-- some kind of squash ravioli. When the plate arrived, there was some sort of hair-like thing on top of the pasta and I had a decidedly Clarence Thomas kind of moment. Not to mention that there were gross mushrooms and some slimy looking green stuff-- comparable to what floats in John's pond during an algae bloom-- underneath. My beloved spouse was chuckling audibly by now. Much to my surprise, though, the raviolis weren't half bad and I was able to choke most of them down. And the dessert was quite delicious-- pumpkin s'mores with homemade marshmallows and John had some sort of chocolate thing with banana ice cream.

I have to admit it was nice to do something different. Keeps life exciting. But next time, point me in the direction of the food court.

completely stream of consciousness random thoughts...

* Sisterhood and brotherhood have less to do with blood and more to do with a deeply shared connection based on love, loyalty, trust and respect.

* Everyone praises Reeses peanut butter cups and Snickers, but I'm of the opinion that banana flavored Laffy Taffy is the Forgotten Candy.

* I have at least 2-3 pairs of shoes in my closet that go with absolutely nothing I own. But I still can't get rid of them.

* Growing out a layered haircut is more challenging than climbing Mount Everest.

* I really like the fact that I have no idea what my cats REALLY do when we're not home. Probably sleep. But maybe not...

* Election night is exciting.

* People who are "different" are the most fascinating people around.

to thine own self be true

Tomorrow is the Chicago Marathon. A race that I was scheduled to run. On Friday morning, I made the final decision to not run it.

Overall, I've had a positive training experience over the past few months. My 18 mile long run on September 11th in the midst of constant rain was a triumph for me. I felt strong throughout. My 16 miler on September 4th was even better. Of course, I had a few stinkers too. My 20 miler on September 17th on a sunny 70 degree day was a struggle, painful and slow. A half marathon on August 1st was even worse. I felt queasy and lethargic throughout, to the point of almost dropping out of the race at 5.5 miles. That day was 77 degrees.

The thread of commonality running through most of my less than stellar efforts is the weather. I'm not a warm weather runner-- especially for longer distances. I overheat very easily and my potassium levels are something that I have to pay close attention to (even though I've been on supplements since my trip to the emergency room for this problem at a race a few years ago). I admit to being very afraid of negative health consequences of running in the heat. To add to that, after not working for five months, I'm scheduled to start a new job the day after the marathon.

So when I noticed the forecasted temperatures creeping steadily upward for 10-10-10, I felt tentative. I fought the feeling, trying to rally my confidence. The pendulum swung for me between optimism and despair. Then, on Friday morning my gut told me firmly and completely to back out.

The hardest thing about the decision was telling the people who had offered me so much encouragement throughout my training process. I didn't want them to be disappointed in me or think of me as a coward. It was especially brutal to tell Teresa. She, above everyone, has been my stalwart supporter. The one who I go to for advice and who has stood by me through all of my good races and bad. She was there crying for me when I was loaded into an ambulance after a half marathon. She was also there with me when I ran all of my personal bests.

So I told her. There was no hesitation in her voice when she said to me, "that's all right. I'm proud of you." Although one or two people have voiced differing levels of negative judgement about my decision, I'm touched by the fact that once again the majority of my friends and family have been overwhelmingly supportive.

Tonight, even though I know I made the right decision for me, I'm a little sad. But the alarm clock is set for 7 a.m. tomorrow morning. I'm going to be on the sidelines cheering my heart out for Teresa and all of the other rock stars who will be running 10-10-10. I'll hop onto the course and run a bit with my soul sister. Then I'll look at race schedules and decide on a shorter distance to do before the end of the month. After all, part of courage is knowing your limitations and doing your best within them. Running's not over for me. A new chapter is beginning. I know it will bring me joy.

to give thanks

Marathon Sunday is rapidly approaching and I have been very reflective lately. Training for the race is in some regards more mental than physical. I've had a rough go of it lately and it's taken a toll on my concentration and confidence-- both of which are essential for running effectively.

I am blessed with countless friends and family members who have given me love and support. But there are five very special fellow runners who, whether they know it or not, have consistently lifted me out of a dark place and who I think of when I need inspiration to run. So I decided to take them with me on the 26.2 mile journey I'll tackle on 10-10-10.

The pictures above show a heart logo that I crafted to wear on my running shirt on race day. On the back of the logo, I've listed these five amazing individuals. Along with their names, I mention the attributes that I think of most often in association with that person. In this small way, I hope to honor them for all that they've given me. In the week before the race, I plan on sending each of them a personal e-mail to better put into words my feelings about what they mean to me and my running.

Thank you, Bonnie, Sara, Sue, Teresa and Vince. I look forward to running with you.

there goes the neighborhood

Our annual townhouse association picnic is always a bit like falling through the rabbit hole. The people, the food and the conversations are always a bit unusual. Here are some snippets:

* A neighbor sat down next to me and I asked, "how are you?" What followed was a 20-minute discourse about her wicked case of the shingles as another neighbor lifted his shirt to show scars from his case of the shingles; then it somehow turned into a conversation about bowel obstruction.

* The DJ was a little girl about 6 years old who manned a portable CD player. When was the last time you heard the song "Purple People Eater"? For me, tonight.

* There were no potato chips. How is it possible that no one brought potato chips to a picnic?!? But we had about 4 different types of bratwurst. Go figure.

* The fact that we live very near a university really hit home to me when a neighbor (an ex-professor) said to me, "you haven't lived until you understand thermodynamics." Hmmm... guess I'm not alive.

* In my opinion, the best dish was not the burgers or potato salad or cole slaw or cupcakes or watermelon.... it was some unusual Asian dish that looked like spaghetti and had a real kick to it.

hearts wide open

It's really easy for me to feel despair about the state of the world today. All around are examples of humankind's inhumanity. A preacher advocating the burning of the Quran to "honor" 9/11. A superstar athlete lying to his wife in order to feed his ego with a sequence of women. A father calling his child a "sissy" because the kid wouldn't go on a ride at Great America. My own feelings of impatience and self-pity.

Then every so often I see something unbelievably kind. Yesterday we went to the 7th Heaven concert at Castaways on North Avenue Beach. The venue is a rooftop patio high above the lakefront. It's accessed by a staircase or an elevator (although the elevator was out of service yesterday). During the show, two members of the band (Keith Semple and Nick Cox) heard of a girl in a wheelchair and her friends who wanted to see the show but couldn't because of the elevator issues. Instead, they were stationed on the path below, happy to just listen to the music.

Before one of the final songs, they acknowledged "Sara" and said they wanted to dedicate the next song to her. They exhorted the crowd to follow them as they moved the show to a lower patio area-- an area in the direct line of sight of the wheelchair-bound girl and her group on the beach.

The radiant joy on her face as Keith and Nick sang to her is something I'll remember for a very long time. It was a classy, very emotional moment. As I looked at the other fans around me, there were plenty of teary eyes. I was struck by how such a simple gesture from two very fortunate but humble men had the power to transform a girl's afternoon into something special. Truly amazing.

out of the darkness

Week 2 of mentoring is drawing to a close. My student and I talk often and e-mail even more and I'm starting to form a solid bond with her. She's joyful and takes pleasure in simple things, such as a board game and fried chicken with some friends. She has deep values and a sense of direction for the future and I revel in that.

She recently celebrated her birthday and I sent her an online musical card. Took me all of five minutes. It's something I do very often for various friends and acquaintances and I get just as many in return. It's a small thing, really, not worthy of much notice. So I was totally unprepared and completely blown away by her e-mail response to it:

Thank you soooooo much for that birthday greet card i loved it. I was dancing to the music and smiling when the computer screen said click here!!!! That was awesome i showed alot of the students, and Mr. W he said thats cool no one sent him one i think he's very jealous. If you could see my face i would sooooo be smiling right now but once again thank you from the bottom of my heart....

I can't remember a paycheck ever feeling that good to me.

But today I got word that yet another young person affiliated with Gage Park High School has lost his life to gunfire on the violent streets of the inner city. Although I always feel sadness at the tragic loss of someone who has barely had time to live, I admit that now it is more profound for me. These are the streets that my student has to navigate every day. These are the funerals she attends with way too much regularity for a 16-year-old.

Sobering. Makes me very sad.

another world

On Thursday night, I went to the "meet and greet" for my mentor program with Open Books. It's probably not cool to mention the name of my student, so I won't. But the name of the high school affiliated with our VWrite program is probably public knowledge, so it can't hurt to mention it. It's Gage Park High School. The scene of two shootings in a two week time period. Some thoughts about my experience there:

1) I was a bit apprehensive about going into such a "danger zone." Then I realized that I was there for all of two hours, walking a scant distance between teacher parking lot and school door. The student that I'm mentoring walks 15 minutes in that same "danger zone" two times a day, to school and home. EVERY day. Wow.

2) My student is quite a fashionista. And I'm already proud of that.

3) My student is really, really into basketball. I know almost nothing about it. Gonna have to educate myself in this area to faciliate our communications and to try to form a bond. So who is really "mentoring" who?

4) When I was 16, I was primarily interested in walking the halls of Bishop Carroll, forever on the lookout for the boy (or male teacher) who was my crush for the week. College? Yeah, I had to go, but it seemed so, well, distant. My student has been devoting her free time to looking at college websites since her freshman year of high school. Wow again.

Overall, I'm filled with a sense of optimism and promise. And the realization that I stand to learn as much (or more) from my student than she will from me.

my friends are really cool people

Sometimes when I can't sleep (often), I try to engage my mind with positive thoughts, rather than incessant clock-watching. Tonight I'm reviewing yesterday's interaction with some of my friends who make my life so rich and varied.

I love blogs and one of the most talented bloggers I know is my friend Aidan. I've known him for years; he's one of my knitting buddies. He's a master of complex lace shawl patterns that are the envy of all of us. Aidan's a foodie who can wax poetic about almost any cuisine and can cook just as many. Like a court jester, his dancing eyes and funny stories-- made even better by his flawless delivery-- make him a joy to be around. Being with Aidan is a laugh a second, guaranteed. He's also responsible for pointing me in the direction of one of the best books I've ever read-- A Prayer for Owen Meany. If Aidan suggests it, there's an excellent chance that I'll read it.

Nick shares my love of running. He's about a million feet tall with a gangling gait and a smile as wide as Lake Michigan. Although he's a gifted runner, he's never arrogant about it and is always ready with a word of encouragement and support for his less than talented co-athletes-- namely, me. Like Aidan, one of Nick's biggest gifts is his sense of humor and his boundless creativity. Lately he's been filming a multi-episode parody of Transformers 3 featuring a styrofoam robot and other office supply "weapons" he crafted in his office. It's just hilarious-- I watch it over and over. He also is a talented photographer, mostly of Chicago scenes he captures while out on his bike.

Veronica is a person that I can (and do) talk endlessly with. Our phone conversations can be measured in hours, not minutes. She shares my love of reading and I can always count on her to keep me updated on what's going on in the world of celebrity and reality television. I so admire her sense of adventure and her willingless to be open to new experiences. She's a genuine friend with a positive attitude and a flair for the dramatic. Wise beyond her years. I've leaned on her more times than I can count.

With that, I think I'll head back to bed and see if I can finally catch some sleep.

what Wednesday afternoon looks like

I'm sprawled on the couch in the living room. Muted summer sunshine is dancing through the slats in the vertical blinds. There's an insectile hum coming from the backyard along with the distant sounds of the neighbors talking in Punjabi. Jessica sits on my lap, her furry cat-chin nuzzled against my bare thigh. Lunch was a bologna sandwich with muenster cheese, pickles and golden mustard. A sweating can of crisp diet pepsi sipped through a straw. I'm reading the last few pages of Bitter is the New Black by Jen Lancaster-- I'm discussion leader at book club later this month and I want the story fresh in my mind.

I miss my job. I miss the rhythmic click-click of computer keys as I run a SQL query. I miss inane elevator conversation. I miss wearing perfume every day and losing my key card several times a week. I miss the security of a paycheck and the anticipatory buzz one gets from a trip to Nordstrom.

After I finish reading, I'm going to fold laundry while tuning into CNN for background noise. I'll gather up the beach towels and decide which bikini to wear to Great America tomorrow. After my food settles, I'll pound out a 5-mile run, using "10-10-10" as my mantra. I'll go downstairs and make some greeting cards while listening to cheesy 80's music. Later tonight, I'll watch the intellectually devoid yet oddly captivating offerings on Bravo-- Top Chef and Work of Art. I'll call my mom to see if her summer cold is better. I'll paint my toenails-- probably orange.

When you don't have the routine of a 9-5 job, you find other ways to compile a to-do list, and more importantly, to act upon it. The pressures of deadlines and impatient bosses are replaced by the persistence of your own thoughts. It's easy to feel irrelevant.

But when I look across the room and see the family pictures on the entertainment center, hear the cat purr while twitching her ears, feel the easy comfort of the pillow against my back, I realize that my days can be satisfying in their simplicity. Without new earrings. Without the phone ringing constantly. Without overpriced lunches in the Loop. Although seemingly elusive, hope and possibility are everywhere. Even in this room with me right now. Living in the moment on this Wednesday afternoon really isn't a terrible place to be.

fear

Why is it that negative experiences often have much more power than positive experiences over our thoughts and memory? I had a bad race yesterday and I'm having a hard time shaking it.

True, I have been having foot issues lately that have impacted my training. But I successfully completed my last long run and had a new PR in my last 5K. I had every reason to feel positive going into the Rock 'n' Roll Half Marathon.

I woke up at 4:30 a.m. for the race and felt queasy. That's normal for me. I'm a worrier and I haven't run a half marathon in two years. I get sick to my stomach before every race, even 5Ks. Once I toe the line I'm okay. Not this time. Since it was a large race (over 25,000 runners, I believe), it was a wave start and I didn't cross the line for a long while. I dutifully hit the button on my Garmin to time myself. A new PR is always a goal and despite my bad feelings, I was going to try for it.

The first couple of miles were uneventful. But almost right away I noticed that the Garmin wasn't cooperating. I haven't used it in a while so I had forgotten that for some reason (I think a pace setting), it sometimes pauses . Plus, running through underground tunnels messes up the signal. Time matters-- keeping track of my pace gives me a sense of motivation and a barometer of my performance. Without an accurate gauge I was feeling lost.

The stomach discomfort was not going away. The humidity was building. I felt very off. I left my iPod at home because I wanted to take in the bands stationed along the course. But the music was too short-lived and the tunes in my head were dirges. I felt a little spark of energy around mile 4 when we passed Old St. Pat's and saw the Irish dancers. But by mile 5 my despair returned. John yelled to me from the crowd on Michigan Avenue by the lions at The Art Institute. I knew I did not look good. In addition to the nausea, fatigue, humidity and low morale, my left foot-- my good foot-- was starting to cramp up. At this time I slowed to almost a stop and seriously considered bailing on the race. Walking off the course. Quitting. I honestly don't know why I didn't.

I told myself "just make it to the halfway point"-- so I kept going. Miles 6-9 felt a little bit better. I was walking a lot, but when I ran, I felt like my pace was steady and true. I passed people who were seeded before me. My faulty Garmin told me that I was doing okay. I knew it was wrong, but I thought maybe-- just maybe-- my running intervals were fast enough and that I was "borrowing" time. Just shortly after mile 9, I overheard other runners complaining of nausea and I saw a gal passed out on the side of the course. That made my own feelings of illness once again bubble to the surface.

I walked even more, thinking I'd run the last mile. But by the time I got to the last mile, I was so miserable that I just didn't care. I half-heartedly jogged the last quarter of a mile or so. I felt no sense of accomplishment when I crossed the finish line, only relief that it was over. When I saw John and Teresa just past the finish line, I could tell by the look of horror on Teresa's face that she could readily see my distress. I grabbed my medal with an overwhelming thought of "I have to get out of here." I was starting to panic a bit. I was overheated, dizzy, weak. All I could think about was my ambulance trip for irregular heartbeat a few years ago and I was very fearful that history was repeating itself.

John and Teresa helped me to the car. I carry potassium with me just in case so I took it. I was getting better a little bit at a time so I swallowed my apprehension, walked slowly and we made it home. I tried to eat something knowing that my electrolytes were out of balance but I couldn't choke it down. So I went to bed and stayed there for the rest of the day. Disappointment, meet sickness.

Later in the afternoon I went online and looked up my time, expecting a bad result. I came in at 2:46:53. About 6 minutes slower than the PR I wanted so badly to break. Thirty seconds or so per mile. Considering how much I walked, it meant that my actual running speed was pretty decent. Small comfort though.

I called my mom and she said, "that's great-- I'm so very proud of you." Dear mom. Teresa has been incessant with her encouragement, concern and kindness. I rested and recuperated today. I need to get back out there tomorrow and run 5 miles. I admit that I'm afraid. But giving into that fear means giving up something I love to do. And that's even scarier.

there are perfect days

Every now and then, there's a day that defies negativity. A day so perfect that it couldn't have been scripted better.

I got up on Sunday at 6:00 a.m. to head to Montrose Harbor for Teb's Troops 5K. This is a race benefitting melanoma research; I run it every year. One of the sponsors is my old firm. I was a bit apprehensive about seeing people that I might not want to see again, but my reasons for running the race outweighed any of those thoughts. When we left the house and as we were navigating all of the circuitousness caused by the filming of Transformers 3, the sun was shining. But as we arrived at the race site, a weird, chilly fog had rolled in. PERFECT! I love to run in cool, overcast conditions. We found Teresa and another friend (Michelle) almost immediately and hung around with them til race time. As is my usual routine, I turned to Coach T for a little pep talk. This time she used snack food as a motivation-- "think of all the junk we can eat after we run!"

I typically know as soon as soon as I hear the starting horn whether or not I'm going to have a good race. I was worried about the foot problems that have been bothering me. Still, I knew that the weather was a gift that rarely appears in late July and I wanted to seize the opportunity and put my best effort out there. Leave it all on the course as I paid homage to the gorgeous lakefront directly beside me. I ran with a determination that sometimes eludes me. When I wanted to slow down, I didn't. Approaching the finish line, I saw T dangling a bag of Cheez-its at me. It's hard to cross the finish line gracefully when you're doubled over with laughter, but I did. She screamed at me, "You kicked ass!! That's a PR for you!!" She was right. It was. I came in at 28:51, which is 30 seconds faster than I've ever done that distance before. Felt fantastic.

We hung around for a while after the race to, yes, eat snacks and also to see T climb the podium as the third-place winner. She defines speed without arrogance and my heart bursted with pride for her as they announced her name.

Although the cloudy and chilly conditions were great for the race, they were less than ideal for phase two of the day-- an outing to Great America. But nevertheless, we headed in that direction after a quick stop in Skokie to change out of running clothes and into bathing suits/shorts. Just after passing the Lake Forest Oasis, the sun came out. The lines getting into the park were long but we trotted to Hurricane Harbor to establish base camp and hit the lazy river.

I like the wave pool and there's a water slide that I'll do (and one that I'm considering) but the lazy river is my mecca. After situating yourself in a donut-shaped inner tube (butt in the hole, legs and arms draped over the sides), you meander gently down the river. Around you is a concert of canned classic summer tunes (Kokomo, Margaritaville) and the screams of the brave souls on the Tornado. Every so often you pass through waterfalls or water arches. If you slip your legs down into the center of the tube and navigate you can sometimes avoid the waterfalls. Most often I "let nature take its course." It's the repetition of wet spray then the hot, drying sun that I find so satifying. It's impossible not to live in the moment.

After the park, it was back on the expressway to head to Taste of Lincoln on the city's north side. Yep, you guessed it-- a concert by 7th Heaven! This is one of the more crowded fests, but there's also a lot to see-- various t-shirt and jewelry vendors, not to mention music, food and people watching galore. We sampled some chicken and fried rice and a few cold beers and laughed at the Lincoln Park trixies who were too refined to use the porta-potties. About 20 minutes before the show, I maneuvered myself to my typical location-- right side of the stage, first row. The band is getting more and more well known and this is reflected in the crowd size. I always manage to clasp hands with Keith and exchange smiles with Mark. Glow sticks and good cheer abounded. They put on a high energy show and I danced and screamed and sang until about 10:30 p.m.

On the way home, my feet and legs were sore from the running and dancing, my hair smelled like chlorine and I was tired from all of the sun and frolic. Like I said, a perfect day.

frailty

I'm a human being whose body has been cobbled together with duct tape and paper clips. Well, not really. But sort of. My nose was reconstructed out of some surgical product after I smashed it beyond repair in a car accident when I was 12. Half of my lower lip had to be reattached with stitches-- same accident. Broken right patella-- ditto. Broken left elbow-- ice skating. Extra cervical vertebrae in my neck-- genetics. Bunions the size of Texas-- genetics again, and possibly some bad shoe choices as a teenager. Slight tear to my Achilles tendon-- running. Chronic SI joint irritation in my lower back-- running, again. For the most part I've lived my life relatively unaffected by these various issues.

Except for the foot and back issues. The back made my marathon experience in 2006 a lesson in agony. Now, almost at the halfway point of training for the 2010 marathon, the bunion on my right foot is causing some discomfort because of toe misalignment. You should see the close-up view of the xray. The metatarsal bones look like a map of the San Andreas Fault during an 8.0 quake. The only sure-fire and lasting relief? Surgery. But that's not an option for me right now. I'm training for the marathon. Training with my heart and not always with my good sense.

But I'm lucky enough to have two amazing people in my life who are experienced marathoners and I've turned to both them for advice and understanding. T's my Jillian-- harsh and tough-- once or twice resorting to name-calling ("wimp," "weakling"). That sounds awful but she isn't. Sometimes I need that aggression to jar me out of complacency and to give me focus. There's a definite underlayer of love and generosity in her attention to my running. She's always there for me. No matter what. She cries when I hurt. She's joyful with me when I achieve a milestone.

Vince is a voice of reason. He's analytical and composed. He's been through the thunderstorm of injury and has come out into the clear blue sky. He improves steadily and methodically. He understands the tenuous balance between ambition and self-preservation. He can offer advice, not in the same emotional way as T does, but the advice is put out there with clarity and precision.

So that's what I have when I turn to my loved ones for help with my running--- heart and mind. Emotion and fact. And you know what? I need them both. Even when I don't want to listen to either-- ESPECIALLY when I don't want to listen to either.

Endurance

There's a California Pizza Kitchen in Oak Brook. Almost 9 years ago, I had lunch there with Suellen and Susan. At the time, my life was in transition. Although I was joyful about the birth of my first nephew, Justin, I had recently quit my job in Sears Tower due to post-9/11 concerns about working in that building. It was a tumultuous time for me. I was apprehensive about the future and a meal and deep conversation with two of my very close friends soothed me.

I met both Suellen and Susan almost 20 years ago. Suellen shares my love of reading and introduced me to AAUW book club. She's very much into Shackleton; everyone who knows Suellen has read Alfred Lansing's book Endurance. It's almost mandatory. She has a matter-of-fact outlook and her calm steadiness has helped me gain perspective on my own life in many ways. One time, we were in line for an Ann Rice autograph signing and a "female moment" happened to her (the irony of blood at a vampire book event did not escape us). Not wanting her to be uncomfortable, I pondered aloud as to whether or not we should just leave. Suellen's response has stayed with me all this time... "the bad thing has already happened." Life can and does throw curveballs. All you can do is endure with as much style and grace as you can manage.

I shared my database debut with Susan. I was working as a proofreader at a law firm at the time. For some unknown reason, my boss decided that I would be a good candidate for maintaining the marketing contact database, an in-house application designed by Susan. She served as my mentor. Along the way, we became friends. She's one of the smartest people I know and although I don't see her very often, she's impacted my life in a positive way. She has a generosity of spirit that is so wonderful.

So once again the three of us found ourselves at California Pizza Kitchen in Oak Brook. My nephew Justin has just finished second grade. I've gained and lost another job. Once again, my life is at a crossroads. I am apprehensive about the future. But once again, these strong women and dedicated friends soothed me in a way that is unparalled. That's endurance.

body art, for the second year in a row...

Veronica and I are making a trip to the Tattoo and Body Art Expo an annual event! This year it was at Rosemont Convention Center (near O'Hare) so it was a bit of a journey on the Blue Line. The 2010 convention was a bit smaller, but there were plenty of interesting things to see.

What I love about this event is that people are not afraid of displaying their individuality and creativity for all to see. There's a spirit of friendliness and acceptance that is quite joyful to be around. We met and talked with a bunch of fascinating people-- a man who had his entire body (sans face) tattooed (pictured above), a delightful young man from Michigan who used piercings to help him find clarity and openness in his relationships (also pictured above). I was so capivated by his looks and personality that it is highly likely he'll show up in a painting soon. We saw men and women who were unique in every way. That's so great!

I wanted a new tattoo really, really bad... but with the jobless situation right now, the timing wasn't right for that kind of investment. But Veronica got her hibiscus flower tattoo brightened up from a guy from Penitentiary Ink in Los Angeles-- it made a world of difference.

After seeing a piercing booth, I did what I normally do-- made an impulsive decision. I decided to get my belly button pierced. Well, I shouldn't really call it spur of the moment because I had been thinking about it for years, but I certainly didn't wake up Saturday morning thinking I was going to get one that day. Veronica acted as my photo documentarian and patiently took step-by-step pictures of the entire process. I was lying on the table (much like the doctor's office) so I didn't see much. The pain was intense but short-lived and surprisingly it only bled a little. I know that some of my readers are a bit squeamish (hello, Suellen!) so I won't post all of the pictures (admittedly, they're a little hard to look at). I'll just show the "after," not the "during."

But, bottom line, it was a day of exploration and positive energy with a friend who shares my spirit of adventure, so it doesn't get much better than that.

And the belly? Yeah, it hurts a little as it's healing. But I really, really like the look of it. :)

might as well jump...

I'm 46 years old and have never jumped on a trampoline. Until tonight. We went to a friend's birthday party in Des Plaines and they had a trampoline in their backyard. A bunch of kids were playing on it and it looked like so much fun. I decided I really, really wanted to do it. So I waited until the kids left to get something to eat, then I hopped aboard. The top picture is me airborne and the bottom one is after I landed. What a blast!! Shortly thereafter, I was joined by a couple of 9 year old boys. They kept telling me "jump!!" I thought to myself, "how nice! They're being encouraging and motivational!" Only later when I got off, John told me that they were hoping to use the momentum of my jumps to increase the height of theirs. So they were using me!!! Still, one of them taught me how to do a forward flip. I didn't execute it with much style, but landing on my butt and springing up again made me laugh out loud. I find that I enjoy myself so much more when I let go of my inhibitions-- and, disclaimer: no alcohol was involved!

we are the champions

Anything I write in this post will not come close to revealing the depth of my feelings about the Blackhawks winning the 2010 Stanley Cup. I feel like a fraud for even trying!

I cheer for three hockey teams. The Bruins, my birth team, are my first loyalty. The Blackhawks come second and the Penguins are third. The Penguins have won Cups recently, and although I've felt great pleasure in their victories, it wasn't the same. I have vague memories of the Bruins' last Cup victory in 1972. I was 9 years old. I remember we didn't have to go to school on the day of the celebration. I remember watching it on TV with my grandfather.

I wasn't even born when the Blackhawks last won the Cup in 1961. The team has undergone quite a resurgence over the past few years with Rocky Wirtz at the helm. He changed Chicago's feelings about our hockey team and gave us something to be proud of. The players are unparalleled in talent and in heart. They deserved it, but speaking for myself, I was almost afraid to hope that they'd actually get it.

There were a few bumps and missteps along the way. But when that unbelievable final goal was scored by Patrick Kane in game 6, I screamed so loud that all three of the cats ran for cover.

The days since have been remarkable. All of my friends know what a huge hockey fan I am. It took all of them only seconds after the final goal to post messages to me on Facebook, call me or e-mail me. Made me feel like *I* had won something. What an incredible outpouring of friendship and emotion. Made me cry.

Yesterday I stood on Michigan Avenue between Lake and Randolph along with 2 million other Hawks faithful to watch the culmination of a glorious season. I grabbed my spot on the parade route 4 hours in advance because I knew it was something I had to see as close as possible. I was front row-- couldn't have been better. I passed the waiting time eagerly messaging and e-mailing my friends to share the excitement with them. And I rubbed elbows with other fans, soaking it all in.

Across the street from my location was a Pauline bookstore. In the second floor window, a nun in full habit kept appearing and leaning out of the open window. Teenagers below had a boom box and they would periodically play a recording of the horn signalling a Hawks goal, followed by "Chelsea Dagger." The nun would sway back and forth to the music and raise her arms triumphantly. That became the defining moment of the parade for me. To see a city of people-- from all walks of life-- come together for something positive and pure was the best feeling in the world.

After a long wait, the procession started. First the Chicago police bagpipe band. The Budweiser clydesdales. A few corporate floats. Then the team executives. Finally, double-decker tour buses carrying the players. And the Stanley Cup. I took as many pictures as my shaking hands would allow. Their smiles were genuine and the love we had for them was even more so. It was a feeling palpable in the air around us.

I will cherish this experience as long as I live.

two races

I've been so lazy about posting. The past few weeks have been such a whirlwind of activity.

On May 29th, I ran the Soldier Field 10 miler for the 6th time. This race is very special to me. Aside from the patriotic holiday it celebrates and the reminder that brings of my beloved grandfather, the course is outstanding and the race is very well organized. This year my friend Vince and his wife Becky were in town for it, so that was an added bonus.

For some reason, I tend to run very well during this race. Maybe it's the big finish on the 50 yard line (which, incidentally, I've never remembered to watch on the big screen). Despite the warm and humid conditions, I was able to keep a steady pace, something that isn't always easy for me. In fact, towards the end of the race, I knew that I had "time in the bank," which is a very comfortable feeling, believe me. For the last mile or so, my iPhone was running out of juice, so I turned it off and listened to the soundtrack in my head. For some reason, I kept thinking of Prince songs ("When Doves Cry" and "Purple Rain" in particular).

I also thought about my grandfather, WWII vet, who I miss immensely. He never knew me as a runner, but I know he'd be proud. I thought about the folks waiting for me at the finish line. In addition to John and my out of town runner friends, Teresa was there. Teresa's my constant race companion, an extremely gifted runner and has been very generous to me with encouragement and support. Also, Susie made the long trek from the suburbs just to watch us. Sue has undergone some serious health issues lately, but her spirit is as bright as ever. She's the reason I finished the Chicago Marathon in 2006 and she means the world to me; having her there was everything. She was the first of the group I saw in the stands as I was finishing the race.

I ran it in 1:42:49, which is 4:40 faster than last year (my previous personal best) and good enough to be in the top half of my age/gender group. Pure happiness.

The following Saturday was Girls on the Run 5K at Montrose Harbor. This race is all about celebrating girl power and the importance of friendship and mentoring. How fitting that once again Teresa was by my side. We had the honor of accompanying her daughter Alexis on the journey. Since it was the race debut of my new Vibram fivefingers barefoot running shoes, it was a blessing that Alexis wanted to keep a leisurely pace. Nothing mattered in this race but togetherness and joy and we had that in spades. Not even the rain could keep us down.

This past week marked the beginning of my official training for the Chicago Marathon. 10-10-10 will be here before I know it.

Going home, part 3: sacred ground

9/11 seems both so long ago, yet only yesterday. I had the opportunity to visit the Flight 93 Memorial in Shanksville while in Western PA a few weeks ago.

I thought I was prepared for the sight, but I wasn't. It hit me like a punch in the stomach. The sky was very much like what it would've been that fateful day. The flags flying in the breeze and the stark cross against the barren ridge were poignant reminders of both terror and heroism.

After listening to a lecture by one of the volunteers, I perused the mementos left along the memorial wall. It was so moving to see tokens left behind by people from all over the country, and all over the world. I did not come prepared with an offering, but I felt very deeply that I wanted to leave something. So I gave the most meaningful item I had with me at the time. A shoelace from the running shoes I was wearing. As I bent down to unlace it and tie it upon the wall, tears started flowing. It seemed a little insignificant and small given the circumstances, yet it made me feel better.

I walked away feeling deep gratitude. May these heroes be remembered forever.

Going home, part 2: my sisters

While on a recent trip to Pennsylvania, it struck me that I've blogged a lot about my friends, but not so much about my family. Pictured above are my sisters, Dawn (left) and Debra (right).

Dawn is two years younger than me. She lives in New Hampshire with her husband Tom, my 8-year-old nephew Justin and my 4-year-old niece Kaelyn. Debra's the baby of the family-- she's 11 years younger than me and lives in Virginia with her husband Ryan and my baby nephew Henry.

We're as different as different can be. Dawn's very conservative, a reader of Danielle Steel novels (which I always make fun of, just to annoy her), an analytical person who weighs every decision with great seriousness; everything in her house matches. Debra's bubbly and fun-loving, into mountain biking and adventure sports, loves her wine, is a bit of a wild child.

I love them more than words can express. They make me laugh. They comfort me when I'm down. Thanks, sisters. It was really, really good to be all together again.

Going home, part 1: remember where you came from

Last week we made a trip to Western Pennsylvania. Although I spent my adolescence there, I hadn't visited in close to ten years. It was an emotional trip, since we were helping my mom pack up her belongings for a move to Virginia.

Living in an urban area, it's common to hear people talk negatively about rural communities. But I believe that you should pay homage to your roots. The places that you've lived shape you. Even when you are not there, you bear the imprint of them on your inner being and, as such, they should be cherished.

Before we got to my mom's house, we stopped to have dinner with our friends Vince and Becky in Johnstown, PA at the City View Bar & Grill at the Inclined Plane. The view of that humble city in the valley brought back such a rush of memories for me as I stared pensively out the window.

I've spent a lot of time in Johnstown. Both good times and bad. I played bantam hockey at the War Memorial for "Coach Barry." Recovered for weeks in the hospital with severe head trauma from an auto accident (I can still recall the nurse, Kathy, who was so nice to me-- and my doctor who called me his "little girl."). Kissed my first boyfriend at the top of this same Inclined Plane. It struck me that who we are is not an amalgam of our possessions or even our accomplishments. Our worth can be measured by the depth of relationships we've had, both past and present, and how we honor them.

So this place is not a rustic throwback to me. It's a wonderful piece of my soul. I think I've been away too long.

A silver lining

I've certainly had my share of rough times this year. But I'm not going to wallow. Wallowing at this point is counterproductive and destructive. I prefer to look forward with my eyes fixed firmly on the horizon. There are certain things in life that no one can take away from you. Among those things are the people who hold you deep in their heart. The people who assure you with both words and actions that you will in fact find the strength to get through anything that life tosses in your path. True, I will sometimes lose my focus on the positive and slip back into a state of momentary sadness. But I'm comforted by the fact that I have friends who will be there to catch me and set me on my feet again. I am so blessed.

superstitions...

Last night I was laughing at myself (as I frequently do) about all of my various and sundry pre-race superstitions:

1) odd bib numbers are best
2) breakfast has to be set out the night before-- packet of instant oatmeal, black bowl, spoon inside the bowl with the handle to the left, banana to the left of the bowl, everything on the counter opposite the sink
3) timing chip on the left shoe
4) a can of diet pepsi with breakfast... but always leave a little bit in the can
5) always carry some sort of talisman during the race; they vary because their luck can run out

This morning's Race to Wrigley was a first for me. We took the El because parking is insane up there. Weather was overcast and cool, but very humid. Something's wrong with my Garmin so I ran with my iPhone using the RunKeeper app to time myself. The irony that a free app does the exact same thing as my $300 (broken) Garmin does not escape me.

As much as I run, you'd think I'd have pacing mastered by now, but I was all over the place-- from almost 11 minute miles to 7-something. This is bad. Something to work on.

I felt pretty good throughout the race, although the last half mile was a challenge because I was starting to feel overheated. I wore a pullover rainproof jacket that did not breath at all-- once again I sacrificed myself for the gods of fashion-- the jacket has a Cubs logo and looks really cute.

The last tenth of a mile or so was in the concourse of the park, which was very exciting. Then we exited by the famous marquee and finished just outside. I came in at 29:42, which is 9:35 minutes per mile. My second best 5K ever, so I was very pleased. About 4,000 people ran the race; out of 88 in my age/gender group, I finished 29th.

I wonder if it was the talisman or the odd bib number?!?

all that glitters is gold/only shooting stars break the mold

Right at this moment, Teresa is probably deplaning at Logan in order to run the Boston Marathon for the second time on Patriots Day. So it is only fitting that I finished the second painting in my running series within the same timeframe. I enjoy those kinds of parallels.

I listened to a lot of bhangra music while painting this one. I think it helped contribute to the spirit of jubilance and wonder I was working towards. Plus, bhangra's a lot of fun to sing and dance to (even though I have no idea what most of the words mean!)

There were a few surprises with this work. First of all, I expected to have an easier time with it than I did with Burning Bright. I know Teresa very well and have an excellent "visual memory" of her facial features. I figured that would aid me in getting the likeness. It didn't. Her face is very angular and elfin and I struggled. Ultimately, though, it suceeded in its Teresaness.

Secondly, although I did not reference Burning Bright while working on this one (it's called All That Glitters Is Gold/Only Shooting Stars Break The Mold), they formed a dialogue with one another-- a study of the yin and yang of running, if you will. While Burning Bright had a cool negative space and a hot figure-- blues causing frisson with oranges-- Glitters ended up with a hot negative space and a cool figure-- yellows interacting with purples. It's very exciting to me when my id drives color choices that only become apparent to me after the fact. I will definitely take a photograph of the two paintings together before I give them to their owners.

Teresa does not know I'm doing this. It will come with me to school on Tuesday for critique (after which I will make any adjustments I deem fitting as suggested by my peers). Then it will get wrapped up, maybe with a corny bow tied around it, and given to Teresa when she returns triumphant from the marathon. I cannot wait to see her reaction.

playing favorites

I am an avid reader. I have always been. Some of my fondest childhood memories involve trips to the library. It was a historical building in Franklin, Mass. that had a gigantic children's book room complete with elaborate murals. In high school, I had a very influential English teacher named Miss Parrish; she was probably responsible for me becoming an English major in college. And I was editor-in-chief of our creative writing magazine, Syzygy. At St. Francis College, again I had the cream of the crop in terms of instructors and mentors-- Dr. Weixel, Dr. Labrie, Fr. Bede. Nowadays, I belong to two book clubs. I'm interested in EVERYTHING. I love beautiful language. I was thinking about the genres I read the most of. Listed below are five of my favorites (in no particular order) in those genres:

Horror
1) Let the Right One In by John Ajvide Lindquist. It's a Swedish girl-next-door vampire story. Very scary.
2) The Stand by Stephen King. Classic end-of-the-world epic. No one can touch King.
3) Afterage by Yvonne Navarro. A new twist on a vampire tale, set in Chicago. They're actually holed up in the Merchandise Mart. Inventive and gripping.
4) The Terror by Dan Simmons. He's another author who merits high praise. This one's set in the Arctic Circle.
5) Chicago Haunts: Ghostly Lore of the Windy City by Ursula Bielski. I love history. I love Chicago. I love being scared of ghost stories. This fulfills all the requirements.

Comedy
1) Confessions of a Shopaholic by Sophie Kinsella. This poor girl can justify spending money on anything... my soul mate!
2) Bitter is the New Black by Jen Lancaster. A riches-to-rags story by a Chicago writer.
3) My Horizontal Life by Chelsea Handler. Short stories about one night stands. She's foul but hilarious.
4) Why We Suck by Denis Leary. I LOVE Denis Leary. He's from Worcester, MA, he loves the Boston Bruins, he has great hair and he plays a sexy fireman on tv. What's not to adore?!?!
5) When You Are Engulfed in Flames by David Sedaris. He's laugh out loud funny and pure genius.

Nonfiction
1) The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down by Anne Fadiman. This work explores culture and medicine through the eyes of Hmong immigrants.
2) Endurance by Alfred Lansing. I'm friends with Suellen, so therefore I've read this book. ALL friends of Suellen read this book; it's not really an option. It's a very inspiring story of survival featuring Ernest Shackleton in the Antarctic. Magnificent.
3) Born to Run by Christopher McDougall. Everyone who runs or thinks about running should read this book. It's about barefoot running and the "superrunners" of the Tarahumara tribe in remote Mexico.
4) Into Thin Air by John Kraukauer. Mt. Everest expedition. Amazingly good.
5) Shadow Divers by Robert Kurson. A bunch of divers find a German U boat off the East Coast. This is one of the best books I've ever read. Period.

Miscellaneous Fiction
1) My Name is Asher Lev by Chaim Potok. It's about the conflict between art and religion from the viewpoint of a Jewish painter.
2) The Kite Runner by Khaled Hossein. Friendship in Afghanistan. The subject matter sometimes makes it hard to read, but I couldn't put it down.
3) Hairstyles of the Damned by Joe Meno. Angst and discovery in the 1990's. Truly evocative of that era.
4) Snow Falling on Cedars by David Guterson. A murder mystery set in the Northwest. Beautifully written.
5) A Prayer for Owen Meany by John Irving. A Dickensian dark comedy. Irving is such a smart writer.

okay, so I'm not a fish...

Part of my new devotion to exercise involves taking cross-training seriously. It is essential for runners to build up fitness in all areas and the best way to do this is through alternative cardio workouts, as well as weight training.

One of the best low impact workouts is swimming. Full disclosure: although yours truly spent my formative years in Massachusetts, going to Cape Cod every weekend and spending countless hours on my dad's or grandfather's boat, I'm a very sucky swimmer.

Part of the reason for this is that I hate to get my face wet. Nevertheless, I'm into widening my exercise horizons, so I headed to the pool at LA Fitness today. Unfortunately, there were lots of people there to witness my lack of grace. My best stroke is something I like to call SFDP (super fast doggie paddle). True, I look like a puppy on speed when I go into SFDP mode, but it gets the job done-- and keeps my face dry. I can also float on my back fairly well and I do a unique version of the side stroke... still, I was somewhat self-conscious in front of all those people. The process was further complicated by trying to avoid getting kicked in the head by the porpoise in the lane next to me.

Out of the corner of my eye while I was bobbing along, I saw a guy in the hot tub actually leaning out of the tub and watching me make my awkward way across the pool. Glad I could provide some comic relief. Of course, perhaps he was just mesmerized by my brightly colored swimsuit? If you can't excel, I always say, at least dress the part.

recommitted

I haven't been too good at multitasking lately, and this weekend I vowed to change that.

One of the main reasons for my tunnel vision is my painting. It's going astonishingly well and when I'm not actually painting, I'm thinking about painting. Above is the start of my third painting of the semester-- the first in the 7th Heaven band series. It's at its beginning blocking-in stages, but you can get an idea of the composition and subject. I've never painted a guitar before. I'm extremely pumped about this series. I had critique on Tuesday on this work, Burning Bright and Vertigo. All were well received and I couldn't be happier with the direction my artwork is headed. And I just got a couple pictures of Teresa to work on for the runners series. My cup runneth over with ideas and positive energy.

What's been suffering-- my running. I was able to luck my way through a new PR in Shamrock Shuffle last weekend despite insufficient training. I will not be able to do that for the longer races. After she runs the Boston Marathon, Teresa has volunteered to train me for the summer/fall-- she's already devised a personalized marathon training schedule for me. She'll come with me for long runs along the lakefront and will give those pep talks that never fail to motivate and encourage me. That's what makes her the best runner I know... she has tremendous running ability but she excels even more at being a generous friend. No one is more in my corner.

I have Race to Wrigley 5K coming up in April. Small race, but a new one for me and I'd love a PR. May will bring Soldier Field 10 Mile which is our favorite race EVER! Looking forward to running it with Teresa, Vince and Becky and having Sue and John along for support. Nothing's on the schedule for June and July so far, but Sue's planning her comeback and I'm honored to run alongside of her for that, whenever it may be. August 1 brings Rock 'n Roll Half Marathon-- another first time race for me. I fear the heat, but maybe it'll be okay. Then there's the big dance.... 10/10/10. Chicago Marathon.

There's always a reason not to run. I'm soooo behind on my reading for the two book clubs I belong to. I want to have a long chat with mom on the phone. The Hawks are on and soon it will be playoff time. Almost Easter and I have to make greeting cards for the family.

THERE'S NO REASON I CAN'T DO IT ALL!! I just have to be better at time management. I've done it before. I can do it again.

So I pulled myself away from the tv yesterday and did a 4 mile training run. This morning I forced my Sunday-attitude butt to the gym for a fast mile, then a 13.1 mile ride on the stationary bike, followed up by a nice soak in the hot tub. Once the habit is launched, it'll feel so good that I won't want to slack off. And that, ultimately, will make all other aspects of my life-- painting, relationships-- all the better. What could be more exciting?!?

Shame-rock Shuffle 8K? Not quite...

I woke up this morning fully expecting to have a bad race. Due to work and family issues, my training has been sporadic at best. I'm a back of the pack racer on a good day and-- well-- there hasn't been an abundance of good days. I was feeling pretty sorry for myself.

More important to me than the actual running are the friendships I've made and the ones that have deepened because of the sport. For the first time ever, I'd be undertaking this particular rite of spring without my close friends. Teresa's heavily into training for the Boston Marathon. Bonnie has retired to Texas. Sue's still recovering from a serious health problem.

Last night I decided to figuratively bring my loved ones with me on the run. I replaced the shirt I was planning to wear with a Boston Marathon t-shirt that Teresa bought for me last year (through it, maybe I could channel a bit of her speed). While standing amid the 25,000 people at the start, I decided to run a mile for everyone. Mile 1 for my mom. Mile 2 for Bonnie. Mile 3 for Teresa. Mile 4 for Sue. And the final mile for myself.

The weather was ideal. The rain/snow held off and although it was a little windy, temps were around 34 and the sky was overcast. Perfect conditions for me. As we passed SAIC on Columbus, I thought about how well my painting is going lately and that got me started with a surge of adreneline.

I thought about how proud my mom is of me, no matter how crappy a runner I am. The course was different this year and somehow the mile markers seemed to come a little faster. I thought about Bonnie, about how amazingly positive she is. I didn't feel tired. I thought about Teresa-- the best runner I know. I thought about what she told me on Friday when I expressed my doubts about the race... "you can use the negative energy as much as you can use the positive... you are capable of much more than you think you are."

I was into the 4th mile on Michigan Avenue and somehow I was not faltering. I thought about seeing Sue for lunch tomorrow and how emotional that will be. As I made the final turn up Mount Roosevelt, I did it for me. I was sick and tired of being sick and tired. Sheer willpower was making me run a decent race, despite my doubts and fears and lack of focused training. I'm not sure exactly how that happened. But when I crossed the finish line, my time was 51:52. A new PR by 53 seconds. Wonders never cease. Thanks, friends and family. I love you!

the ones who mean the most

Another painting finished! Directly above is Vertigo, a portrait of John. I just finished it. Well, you know how that goes... "finished" is relative!

People often ask me if I have a favorite among my paintings. I guess that my self-portrait 10 pm has garnered the most critical favor, so I do like it a whole lot. But overall, the works that mean the most to me are the ones that mean the most to others. Let me tell you about them (starting with the most recent and progressing in sequential order):

Vertigo - I've painted John before. That's what you get when you live with an artist. He's a very patient and accomodating model and I love him so much for it. However, I think this one is the most powerful composition and it was certainly the most fun to do of any of the paintings of my husband. As I was finishing it, he was hanging out with me, reading a book. Usually when I'm painting, I'm completely oblivious to everything going on around me, but every so often I saw him glance at it. He really, really loves it. That's pretty much all the acclaim I need.

Burning Bright - this one was featured on my blog a few posts ago. It's of my dear friend Vince, who is an awesome runner. He knew I was doing a series of runners for school, so he generously dug up a picture for me. In addition to running like the wind, he also has a keen eye for composition and knew that this particular photo would make a great painting. He was right. It was one of the easiest paintings I've ever done and he seems happy with the result and that means a lot. Also, I believe Vince has some of his own artistic talents; a while ago he showed me some excellent photographs he took of winter landscapes in Pennsylvania. I wish he'd do more of that.

Young Dave - (see the second photo in this post, above) this was the largest painting I've ever done-- it's close to five feet tall. It features another very dear friend, David, on his motorcycle. For years, Dave and I were inseparable-- he has an open and sincere baby face that was a joy to paint. Again, it was a class assignment-- this time the theme was biker people. He and I went out to lunch at a local greasy spoon and I surprised him with it. It's the first time I've ever seen Dave speechless. It was a very special moment. Dave now lives in North Carolina with his partner Steve and I'm told the painting hangs in a place of honor in their home.

All That You Can't Leave Behind - (see the top photo in this post, above) every artist I know has done a 9/11 work. This was mine. I worked in Sears Tower when 9/11 happened and Robin, Kat, Toni and I were together for all of the horror and its aftermath. Shortly thereafter, I left my job at Sears Tower-- because it was in Sears Tower. It was one of the hardest things I ever did. I met Robin, Toni and Kat for lunch one day a few months later and snapped a few pictures of them. Later I drew it in colored pencil as a triptych. I chose it as one of the paintings I'd show for our Certificate in Drawing graduate show. None of the gals knew I did it. When they arrived to see the show, they walked in together, coincidentally enough, in the same order as they appeared in the painting. They stopped dead in their tracks when they saw it and more than a few tears were shed by all of us.

hey, Mace

I can't tell you how many times I've uttered that phrase over the years. Sadly, not for a while-- Mason no longer sits across the partition from me at work ("Mr. Milligan, TEAR DOWN that wall!"). He left the firm a few years ago and the place hasn't been as good since. However, we've kept in touch and he recently started a new blog-- imagine my sheer delight when he added a link to my blog. It made me think of him and I decided to write a tribute to yet another dear friend.

What can I say about Mason? Well, first of all (and this is huge praise because you know how much I admire an artistic sensibility), he's one of the most creative people I know. He has a true talent for design which is equalled only by his outlandish sense of humor. He's also a great athlete, an amazing photographer and an honest and genuine friend.

There are so many stories I can recount. One time when I came back to work after a day off, I found our department mascot and Chief Marketing Chicken, Bock Bock, hung up by a noose. I've had my image Photoshopped in many strange and twisted ways (in a thought bubble of a cicada, being eaten by a Komodo dragon, on and on and on...). He willingly let me talk him into "running" the Chase Corporate Challenge (I won that year!! Ha ha). He always supported my artistic endeavors and even came to see my graduate show for the Certificate in Painting at SAIC. We've had "Chinese Fridays" and sing-alongs together in the marketing playroom. He taught me how to throw a baseball. At times he was the only one at work who kept me from walking out and never coming back when I had an especially bad day.

Mason's now in graduate school in Michigan studying sports marketing. He'll most likely own a baseball team someday. Or appear on Comedy Central. No matter what he does, he'll be successful because he's truly a wonderful person. If I had a little brother, I'd want him to be exactly like Mace. I miss seeing him every day, but I'm going to read his blog faithfully. You should, too.

bleach is not for amateurs

So yesterday I got my hair cut. Within reasonable boundaries, I'm no stranger to experimentation with my hair, so every so often (when I can't come up with a new idea on my own), I let my stylist Celeste have at it with abandon. I'm always pleased with the results.

Yesterday was no different. It's been a while since my hair has been short and layered, so that's what Celeste chose. Sort of a "Joan Jett" 'do. I liked it very much. After she was done with the cut, she said, "you should color it dark red and do snappy red highlights on the top and sides." Hmmm....

Next stop was Sally Beauty Supply. I like to spend money, but I do subscribe to a little bit of my native New England frugality at times. I paid for salon coloring once, and it wasn't worth it in my opinion. Plus, John's dad and brother are barbers, so he's genetically programmed to help me out.

Highlights!! Let's see.... the store clerk recommended something called 'Ntense Red Mix 'N Go One Step Bleach 'N Color System. Intense! That's me!!

Although I bought some sort of bonnet thing with holes (you're supposed to pull strands of hair thru the holes with a little crochet hook), John (who for once read the instructions) noted that the diagram on the directions showed a freestyle approach. So that's what he tried. I'm blind as a bat without my glasses, so his assistance with color placement is greatly appreciated, and he's truly a good sport about it. All was well. Although my exuberance often outpaces my common sense when trying new things, we did not go crazy with the streaking. The next step was to put a cap on it and then heat with the blow dryer for a half hour or so.

This is where things started going south fast. In retrospect, I know exactly what went wrong. While attempting to tuck the longer strands along the sides of my face into the cap, I must've scrunched my hair together and, well, bleach and red went where bleach and red were not supposed to go.

I knew it was a disaster as soon as I rinsed it out. I had a good-sized fire engine red (INTENSE red) spot on the right side of my head, just above my ear. The iPhone picture above does not do the color justice, but you get the idea.

Oh. Shit. First I laughed. Then I didn't. Of course it was too late to go to the salon to get it fixed (and I have my pride). Luckily, I also had a spare bottle of dark red "base" color. Praying to every saint I've ever heard of, I attempted The Great Cover-Up. Long story short, it worked. Whew. The texture's a little goofy, but at least I can be seen in public without looking like a freak. Kids, do not try this at home.

balance

So, work has been dreadful lately. There's a lot of uncertainty and oppressively bad vibes all over the place. Deadlines. Unbearable stress and a lot of frustration. And the situation with mom has sucked, to say the least (although that seems to be leveling off; today she is at her new home in an assisted living facility in Virginia, near my sister Debi's home).

But, man-- despite all of the weight on my shoulders and challenges I'm coping with-- am I ever painting!! I haven't been this prolific in a long, long time.

This photo is the very start of an interesting little piece I'm doing of John wrapped in a scarf. At this stage it is still very washy and without a lot of depth, but you can at least see the composition and where I'm headed with it. It's small (18 x 18) but it should have a lot of "pow" when I'm finished. I'm in love with painting his ear. And there are some very interesting dramatic shadow patterns and detail near his eye.

Meanwhile, I bought some very sweet portrait-grade linen (can't stop touching it!) and I'm in the process of gessoing it. I'm prepping two canvases (22 x 26 each) that will be the first in the 7th Heaven series. I plan on sketching them out this weekend. I'm still high as a kite about this project. It's going to be SO COOL!

So I guess everything in life is a balance. Bad work. Bad family drama. Good painting. And I did a fast, very satisfying three mile run today. Balance!

opportunity....

So I finished the painting of Vince today... Ever restless, I'm constantly thinking about a million steps ahead.

At times like this I take a mental tour of images that dazzle me... I thought about all of the glorious pictures I have from a summerful of 7th Heaven concerts. Those who read my blog regularly are familiar with this group that I adore. So I went to their website and got the e-mail address for Richard Hofherr, their "head honcho" and I wrote him an e-mail asking him if he'd mind me doing some paintings of his band for a school project.

Less than two hours later he e-mailed me back. Not only does he not mind (thank you!), he said.... OMG.... he'd feature the paintings in their band newsletter they distribute to their fan base. Hello!!! Do you think I'm the tiniest bit excited?!?! Sometimes you make your own opportunities and sometimes it works out even better than you dreamed.

I've spent the past few hours analyzing photos to decide which ones to tackle. That familiar excitement is igniting big time. I'll go to Blick at lunchtime tomorrow and get the stretcher strips and some more gesso. Here we go again. Stay tuned.

done?

Well, I think I'm finished with it. Part of the process is living with it and looking at it for a while. The hardest thing about a painting is knowing when it is "really" done. I tend to always look at it with a critical eye, always finding something else I can tweak. Sometimes that's good. But mostly it's not. Overworking a painting is the kiss of death. So I'll look at it a few days. Maybe it's done. Maybe not. Anyhow, I'm gonna watch the hockey game now. Go USA!

falling back, moving forward

I'm going through a very tough time. I'm going to be brief about it, because my emotions are still very raw. My mother-- my best friend, my biggest fan -- is having some serious health issues. She's had mild dementia for a few years but last week she took a turn for the worse and now my sisters and I are forced to consider assisted care for her. It's ripping out my guts. Additionally, work is not going well for me. We're in the midst of a big and stressful project with a lot of deadlines, worry and tension. Some days I feel like I'm very close to falling off the edge of a cliff. But my problems are not unique. And, like all problems, I know they'll resolve with time. Until that happens, I have no choice but to try valiantly to find the strength within to cope as best I can. Thankfully, I have the support of friends and family who are there to listen and to lend me a shoulder to cry on.

And there is solace in routine. When times are tough, we tend to cling onto the goodness in our lives. For me right now, that's running, painting, hockey. Although my emotions frequently make me feel physically ill, somehow I've been managing to keep up with a decent exercise schedule. Three runs this week. 20 minutes of yoga. A glorious Friday afternoon ice skating session with a friend.

Additionally, art IS therapy and I've been hard at work on the painting of Vince. The picture above shows my progress. I went to class on Tuesday with the underdrawing completed and with Loretta's encouragement, I started to put paint to canvas. It felt awkward at first because I hadn't painted much in a while, but I felt the groove return slowly. I laid down a wash of gray in the background just to kill the white, but the uneveness of it was very distracting. So the next day I flattened the negative space. Not sure if I'm 100% satisfied with it-- I may want to cool it down a bit or perhaps lighten it-- but I'll resolve the figure before I make that final decision. The first application of paint made his face look somewhat like Bruce Willis (which kind of cracked me up), but the longer I work on it, the more the true likeness is emerging. Today I worked mostly on the face and the shirt, and laid down a stronger blue (cobalt) on the shorts. The arms and the legs are still very gestural; I'll most likely work on them in class on Tuesday. What's next? I've already started to sketch out my next painting. It's an oddly juxtaposed portrait of John wearing a scarf. It has some pretty dramatic lighting and coloration so I'm looking forward to it a lot.

And hockey. The entire Olympics, really. What perfect distraction. The USA vs. Canada game is on tonight and I can't wait. It's a win-win because Blackhawks are on both teams!

So althought I'm beaten and bruised, I'm not defeated. Sue gave me some good advice yesterday-- live in the moment. Focus on what you are doing RIGHT NOW. Projecting into the unknown future can quickly become too overwhelming. Great advice from a great person.

a blank canvas

Tuesday night was my first day of school; I'm taking a painting studio at SAIC. We'll work independently on a cohesive body (or bodies) of work. After consultation with my instructor Loretta, I decided to pursue two themes... runners and friends/family in scarves.

My first work is going to be a running portrait of my friend Vince. The source photo is excellent-- lots of strong shadows that will translate wonderfully in paint. I rarely do preliminary thumbnails, but this time I did because I was uncertain of the composition I'd use. I made three sketches in class. One was tightly cropped on the figure... that I rejected almost immediately because it was too confining. Next, I did a horizontal composition, orienting the figure towards the right, with a little negative space above and lots to the left. That didn't feel right, either. Finally I decided to place the figure to the far right, with plenty of negative space above and to the left. It's a non-traditional layout but it excited me right away.

It will be a mid-sized work... 30 x 20. I'm going back to canvas-- linen primed with gesso.

Here's how today's graphite drawing process went (see photo above with apologies for my lack of skill with the camera):

Sunday, February 14, 1:38 p.m. Sam Adams Light, chocolate oranges. iPod on shuffle-- Gravity by 7th Heaven. Sweet Child 'O Mine by Guns 'N Roses. Started with the head. It soon became apparent to me that if I don't get the mouth right and the jawline, it's not Vince. Did a lot of erasing, but I think it finally came together. I stepped back. Gives You Hell on the iPod. I'm dancin' now. This feels so right.

Arms, chest, torso. There's considerable foreshortening on the right arm/hand. I anticipated trouble with it, and I was right. That got erased about a million times and I actually screamed in frustration once (John came running down the stairs to see if I was okay). I'm still not thrilled with it, but I need some time away from it. It'll translate better with paint.

Finished up with the legs/feet. That was the easy part. Journey singing Don't Stop Believin'. Yes indeed. I believe this is going to be a very good one. I'm feeling very satisfied with myself right about now. Victory dance to Right Round. I put down the pencil at 4:14. Painting on it starts Tuesday. Gonna do the water soluble oils even though they kind of intimidate me.

Meanwhile I'm prepping the canvas for the first in the scarf series, which will feature John. Because it needs a couple more coats of gesso (and the Olympics are on) I probably won't get it sketched tonight, but I'll do so tomorrow after work.

This class is exactly what I needed.

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.