Last week I shared fall things I love. This week, one week away from the Columbus Half Marathon, I’m sharing some running things I’m either currently loving/using or busy lusting after for various reasons. I love running gear and running things. I could have made this list really long.
1. Columbus Marathon Personalized Print.
I was going to place my order for this JHill Design Columbus Marathon print, but I’ll wait until after the race so I can put my time on the piece. She’s also working on one for Pittsburgh in the spring (YES!). If you check out her site, she has a number of great marathons, including this weekend’s Chicago Marathon. If you have a marathon runner in your life or you just want to commemorate your own run, this would be a great gift for them/for yourself. I can’t wait to hang one in my office!
2. Mizuno Wave Sayonara.
I switched Mizuno shoes. Mizuno has always been the best for my feet as their arch support matches my ridiculously high arches and their narrower toe box means a less sloppy fit than other brands. Also, they’re so lightweight. When I put on other brands, I’m shocked at how heavy and clompy they are. Previously, I had been running in the Wave Rider because they felt fine. The Wave Rider 17 made some changes to the toe that I didn’t quite like, but they still worked. I stocked up on 16s for awhile and hoped for something better in the 18. But then I discovered the Wave Sayonara. YOU GUYS. It’s so lightweight. It hits my arch so perfectly. It holds my foot so it doesn’t roll all over the place. I love, love, love them. I stocked up on this past year’s release in both of these amazing colors, and I’m waiting for the price to drop a little on the Wave Sayonara II because, OMG LOOK AT IT YOU GUYS.
Tell me that shoe doesn’t SCREAM Jenna right in your FACE. I’m hoping the changes in the 2 will keep my feet happy. But I have two more pair of 1s to get through first! (I strongly recommend stocking up when you find a shoe that fits your foot. Always.)
3. Skullcandy Earbuds.
Remember when I told you about my Skullcandy earbuds? Well, I’m still in love with them. In fact, I buy them for everyone who starts running. I just replaced my pair, giving my old, still-working ones to LittleBrother who had a pair of cheapies that refused to not break. My old ones still work just fine, but I wanted the updated Mic 3 on the newer version. Why? These suckers are also great for conference calls. I can’t hear a thing when my kids come in the office and I have both buds in as they’re noise cancelling. That means I can get through a conference call while they’re roughhousing elsewhere in the house and not be disturbed. BONUS! Now that they offer a Mic 3, I can pause, skip songs, and adjust volume while running, answer calls and adjust volume while using them with my phone. Love, love, love.
Ain’t gonna lie, that’s an affiliate link, but I’d tell you to buy some even if I didn’t get anything out of it. Here’s why: OMG THE BEST QUALITY EVER OMG. The running tights, the capris, the tanks, the shirts, the everything: so amazing. I’ve found pieces that work amazing for running: The Syndey, Nadi, and Salar Leggings for winter running. The Suva Run Short (I or II) and the Suki Short for summer running. The Yalu Jacket for running in wind or rain. The Rio Run and Lima Capris and for transition season running. The Versatile Cap (it has a pocket) to keep the sun/wind/rain out of your eyes. The NEW Fleece Tech Glove as it’s a breathable glove WITH tech fingers. And as far as bras go, nothing has ever come close to the Koia Sports Bra for running, though the Ayni comes close. ALL of their tanks are fine for running; no rubbing or bad seams. I have many other pieces that are either better for yoga or low impact (none of their other bras work for my bosom and running), but all mentioned are my go-to pieces for running. The above pictured outfit is the one I bought this month. I’m gonna rock those leggings all winter.
5. Body Glide.
No other “anti-chafe” “chub rub” stick/cream/ointment will do. I believe quite strongly that generics are okay except for Cheerios, Cream Cheese, and Body Glide. (Also, Amish butter is the best better.) Don’t risk it. Stick with Body Glide brand. They recently updated their packaging and they look all 21st century fancy. Good job, Body Glide. Thanks for protecting my thighs, and, with your liquified powder, my husband’s nipples. YOU WIN.
What do you love for running right now? Anything I should check out at the Columbus Marathon Expo next weekend?
I’ve been thinking a lot about parenting.
I’ve been thinking a lot about raising the two children under my own roof to adulthood and what all that means. The steps to take, the words to choose, the lessons to impart. And while I’ve managed to get them to nearly seven- and nine-years-old relatively unscathed, I’m looking forward at the long journey still ahead of us and thinking, “This is too much. This is too hard. I’m going to screw this up.”
Maybe it’s because I arrive at the boys’ elementary school in the afternoon, park my car, and watch the middle school kids trickle down the hill. They’re awesome and awkward all in the same breath. I see myself in some of the girls, their long hair obstructing their view and their back-in-style knock-off Doc Martens clomping down the sidewalk. I smile and think of how awful middle school was; how I survived despite being myself.
But it’s the boys that catch me most off guard. They come in a variety of shapes and sizes, puberty doing what puberty does—wreaking havoc, causing confusion and delay. I try to guess their ages, guess anything about them: what they like to do, who they might be, how they treat others. I see them interact with one another, talking with their hands and waving goodbye as they separate at the bottom of the hill. I see them talking on their phones and wonder who in their life is so important that it warrants a call before three o’clock in the afternoon; I silently hope it’s their moms.
I look at them and can’t quite fathom BigBrother being one of these kids in three years, of LittleBrother following two years behind.
All of my friends with tweens and teens parent girls, not boys. I don’t quite know what to expect or whether BigBrother will eventually stop talking (though this is very, very hard to imagine) or if I will become Enemy Number One like some mothers and daughters. Do I get to remain their favorite for awhile? Will they become sullen and silent, like we’re told boys become, or will they remain themselves as I know them now, chatty and full of exuberance for all things, everyday? Will they hate spending time with me, with us? Will they hole up in their rooms? Will they get mouthy and full of attitude like I did, or will they just shrug and walk away?
Those currently unanswerable questions aside, I just don’t understand how I’m supposed to teach them everything they’re supposed to learn, how I’m in charge of this Very Big Job. I don’t feel qualified. In fact, most days when I’m trying to manage the load of life in general, I feel vastly underqualified for the job of raising capable adults. When I get frustrated and raise my voice, when my ears get tired from the constant talking, when I can’t think of one more answer to one more question, when I just want five minutes to myself.
I worry a lot about the mistakes, those moments when I don’t say what I need to say or say something completely wrong or, maybe worse, don’t say anything at all. Will that be the moment that they remember? Will that be the moment that outshines all others? Will they forget the good things in place of all of my many faults? Will they know, without a doubt, that they are not only loved but liked? Will they know that I don’t just love them because I’m required to love them as their parent, that I really, truly like them for who they are? Will they know it’s okay to make mistakes and tell us about them?
Why yes, my anxious brain is doing a lot of over-thinking on this subject! How did you know?
I logically know this line of thinking isn’t productive, it doesn’t solve problems or answer questions. Logic and anxiety and wanting the best for your kids don’t always go together, don’t always play by the rules. I’m just overcome as of late with the weight of it all. More than fearing a random virus or accident or anything else, I fear that they won’t know how much I love them, how I’d move mountains every single day to ensure they knew my love. I’m afraid I’m already mucking it up.
I hope they know now, that they know later. They know, right? They’ll remember, right? Of course. Sure. Right.
We never get a Saturday in October to ourselves. Or a day in October to ourselves. The whole month is full of plans and places to be and things to do and go go go. But then Moses parted the sea and we ended up with a Saturday to ourselves.
After I finished my run for the day, we informed the boys that we would be hitting the pumpkin patch.
Now mind you, the weather outside was being very October-y. On either side of my run, it hailed. One minute, the sun would shine. The next minute, the sky would let loose. We showed the hail to the boys at one point, and they marveled. So when we told them we’d be heading to the pumpkin patch, they looked out the window with concerned faces. Or more like they looked back at the fact that they had a Saturday to play all the video games they wanted and their stupid mom was interrupting their technology weekend time with stupid family time. If they had been just three years older, the tween attitude would have been thick.
“Like, the real pumpkin patch or are we just going to Walmart like last year?”
Thanks for bringing it up, oldest son of mine. I didn’t feel guilty about it last year and I sure don’t feel like crap that you remember my short-comings as your mother. No, that feels great! Spectacular! Awesome!
“We’re going to the real pumpkin patch!”
They shrugged and slowly put on shoes, put on their rain jackets. They moseyed out to the car as if going to a real pumpkin patch was a life sentence and delaying that by walking as slowly as possible was their only way at keeping freedom for as long as they possibly could. But dang it, we were having family time and we were going to the real pumpkin patch and I didn’t care that it started raining on our way there, because plans.
“Do you know where you’re going?” The backseat drivers questioned every turn my husband made, and really, we didn’t know where we were going because we were going to a different place than two years ago. We turned out a back road and then down another and then ended up on an unpaved road. I think that’s one of the things that my city friends just can’t totally grasp about living where we live. That you can be driving on a totally paved road and then the pavement stops and it’s not a driveway. It’s a real live road that people live on and have to get out of when the snow and ice come in the winter. But this was an exceptional unpaved road in that it really wasn’t wide enough for two cars. It was barely wider than the running trail. It was epically rural.
On this epically rural road, the rain sputtered and started and stopped and sputtered some more. BigBrother kept talking about the miraculous pumpkins at Walmart, and LittleBrother agreed that they were mighty nice pumpkins. And I just sighed, because apparently that will be their Halloween memory, the one that they tell their children on the way to the pumpkin patch. “One year, mom and dad forgot to take us to get pumpkins at a patch so we ended up at Walmart and she took our picture and everything!” Yeah, fantastic.
Then we rounded a bend and the pumpkin patch came into sight.
They forgot to talk about Walmart. They bounded out of the car and started touching all of the pumpkins.
“Look at this one!”
“Look at that one!”
They ran around, with me instructing them to attempt to avoid the mud, but they weren’t listening. They indulged me briefly for a picture in the corn teepee, and then off they went to find their pumpkins. They helped each other and pointed to and fro, and I just smiled.
Maybe they’ll remember the year that it was hailing out and mom made them go pick out pumpkins instead.
Yes, you already saw this photo. It’s okay. It’s my space; I can pick which photos to use. I promise.
Dad called last night to discuss Pittsburgh Dad’s new commercial and the latest episode of The Big Bang Theory. I expect his call after every new episode, but I didn’t know to expect the gut punch that followed.
“Grandma’s house is listed.”
As I choked on air, he proceeded to tell me all about the listing and the three showings that happened on the first day the listing went live. Having sold a house in the current market, I know that three listings on the first day ranks as miraculous. But I’m not looking for a miracle in this case. I want that house and the nine acres of our farm that it sits on to sell as much as I’d like a lobotomy.
Meaning: Nope. Not interested.
I grew up in that house. I spent after school hours with my Grandma, watching The Little Mermaid. One day, I colored on her with magic markers when she took a nap. I sat at the table, which is now sitting in my dining room, and ate macaroni and cheese and pork chops, which I now make for my family. I ran out the back door and up the hill, and later after they built them, the steps to the top of the backyard and picked grapes from the grapevine, slurping the slippery insides out of the purple skin. I’d run down the steps, down which I fell a few times, and greet Grandpa when he got home from work. I learned to sew in the basement; I sewed the bottom of a skirt together, thus making a giant pillow case. I remember our old collie, German shepherd mix herding my baby brother as he tried to escape into the tall grass of the Back 40; she knocked him over. He cried; I laughed.
My tree is on that piece of The Farm’s property. My Grandpa planted it for me. They took pictures of tiny little me standing next to it that first year, and then the following year when it already towered over me. Now it’s one of the tallest trees on The Farm, beautiful and strong. I look at it every time we pull in the driveway on my parents’ side of The Farm, down past the old barn foundation and the creek, just up a small hill. My tree.
And now it’s going to be someone else’s tree? Even though I’ll see it every time I arrive on the nine-less-acres-of The Farm?
My Dad rambled on as only my Dad can, and then he threw my soul under the bus.
“Are you sure you don’t want to buy it?” His tone suggested that he was joking, but the sound of truth rang loud and clear. “Don’t you want to live next to us? It would be fun! We’d yell and get mad at each other and all those things, but we’d have a blast.”
Because I need more heartbreak in this process of letting go. Because letting go of Grandma wasn’t hard enough. Because not ever wanting to have two mortgages ever again on top of the fact that my husband can’t work as a professional firefighter in Pennsylvania as they don’t accept Ohio’s fire license means the question is an absolute impossibility.
Because when it all shakes out, I’d love nothing more. But it can’t happen; it won’t happen.
This is not what any of us imagined. We knew that someday Grandma and Grandpa would pass, but we didn’t know that Chesapeake Energy had run a scam on them, preying on the financial problems that so many aging people face. We didn’t know we would be losing part of the family Farm, adding insult to injury.
I’ve felt helpless, over here, while my family over there dealt with the cleaning up and out of the house, the incessant back and forth with a company who doesn’t even know what the land looks like, let alone what it means to us. I feel helpless as I don’t know how to say goodbye to something that is an inanimate object—just land and a house, right? But so much more. That land, that house, they are my childhood come to life in the leaves of the trees, in the sliding of the back door, in the wave of the tall grass.
The Columbus Marathon is in 13 days. OMG THIRTEEN DAYS. I have ONLY THIRTEEN DAYS left to train for the Columbus Half Marathon, having just finished my 14th week of training.
Oh hey, taper. I love you.
I mean, I don’t know why I would love running some lower mileage after running 100 miles in September.
I mentioned the secret thing I was working on last week, and this was it. Coming into the last few days of September, I realized my training runs would leave me just shy of 100 for the month. I wanted 100 for the month, because obviously, so I ran a two-a-day with an extra mile, and then an extra 1.4 miles at the end of a five miler. And voila! 100 miles!
Then I didn’t run for three days. I’m not sorry.
During those four days, of course, I signed up for the Pittsburgh Half Marathon. I stretched and rested, because running 13 miles plus one that evening and then four and then nearly six-and-a-half all in a row left me feeling rather depleted. Proud, but tired. Resting was in my best interest, so I rested. Then I ran a healthy, happy eight miler with happy, healthy, and ready legs. Thank you, taper.
Some people get caught up in the OMGICANTNOTRUN of the taper. I understand the feeling and have felt it before, but that’s totally not where I am this time around. I’m ready for this rest, for the lead up to race day. I could probably cut back on the comfort food I consumed this weekend (and the leftovers today), but honestly, I know I’m ready. I know I’m in shape. I know I can run this race. In fact, I’d really rather run the race this weekend, but race weekend won’t be here for two more weekends.
Speaking of race weekend, let’s look at the initial weather reports, shall we? Today’s Accuweather says:
October 19th will be a low of 35, a high of 54, and “partial sunshine.” Yesterday, it called for rain, so we’ve already left the rain behind. That’s exciting. Partial sunshine is worrisome though, as it leaves me unsure as to what I should wear.
Monday, run 50: 4.01 miles, 40:39, 10:08/pace
Tuesday, run 51: 6.44 miles, 1:06:30, 10:20/pace
Wednesday: Rest Day
Thursday: Rest Day
Friday: Rest Day
Saturday: 8.00 miles, 1:19:52, 9:59/pace
Sunday: Rest Day
I only have two four milers and a five miler this week. I’m planning on spacing them out and taking them easy (though I’d like tomorrow’s run to be my fastest on that route this training season…). I’ve started thinking ahead to after the EQT Pittsburgh 10 Miler and what I’ll do during the “break” that exists between the end of fall season and the beginning of my spring training season. While I’ll RunStreak again, I want to look into some other workouts. I’ve been researching both home and local options, but so far don’t know what to do just yet.
I’ll be finalizing my marathon outfit this week. I’ll share it with you next week along with how to follow me on race day. (And how to follow my husband, if you’re so inclined. We’ll be running together, so it’s kind of a package deal!) I really need to decide on capris vs shorts, and tank vs sleeves. The cooler temps are cooler, but during my eight miler on Saturday, it took me less than a mile to warm up; once the sun came out, I was too hot. So weird.
Here’s to week 15!