VTFU

My friend Joe - a runner, boxer, writer, animal lover, advice giver, nurturer, dreadlock wearer, beer drinker, and all-around wonderful person - died in his sleep sometime Thursday night or Friday morning. He was 37.

Known as Voodoojunkie on kickrunners.com, Joe was one of the kindest, gentlest, most thoughtful people I knew. I had the great fortune to meet him at a few races and spend time with him. He was always quick to lend support to new runners or anyone, regardless of skill or experience, who needed a mental boost. He added countless words and expressions to our group's lexicon: by the Gods, sweating like 10 whole men, bio-solid, I reckon, and, especially, Cowboy the F Up (or CTFU for short).

Since Monday when word spread about his passing, it's become VTFU -- Voo the F Up.

It's a reminder to pull up your bootstraps when times are tough. It's a motivational tool to get you through a tough run or hard day or difficult time in your life.

It's now a mantra.

Joe was taken from us much, much too soon. His impact, however, will be felt for years to come. At least three or four of my running friends give him full credit for their dedication to the sport. He was the one who reached out to them, made them feel welcome in our little cyber-group, and offered just the right words of encouragement to keep them from giving up.

We feel a huge loss. A hole that cannot possibly be filled. Our hearts are heavy, and our tears are plentiful.

But how lucky were we to have him in our lives for even a brief period?

Voo, I will miss you constantly, but I know you're smiling down on all of us from that big finish line in the sky. We'll meet again, my friend. When we do, I will be able to tell you in person how very much you have meant to me.

Rest in peace, sweet Voodoo.

Cramming

My A race is in less than four weeks. Last year at this race -- the Northeast Triathlon, my only Olympic distance tri so far -- I vowed to never, ever do it again. It was painful. It was hot. It was hilly. It was LONG.

It was horrible.

After the initial self-pity, I re-examined my vow. I knew I could improve on my overall time. I knew where I could push and where I should hold back, unlike last year when I basically took the entire race pretty conservatively because it was the first time at that distance.

So I signed up again.

And then I skipped far too many key workouts. And didn't work on my biking as much as I should have. And thought about dropping out of the race or selling my bib to someone else.

And then I really had a reality check and came to the conclusion that I was being a big baby.

So now I have 27 days to go, and I'm trying to cram about 8 weeks of training into less than 4 weeks. My swimming has improved tremendously since last year. (These enormous linebacker shoulders are good for something after all!!!) My running is probably about the same as it was last year. My biking... well... my biking is what it is.

But I'll go out there on August 16 and do the absolute best I can do on that day. If I finish with a faster time than last year, I'll be ecstatic. If I'm slower than last year, I'll be disappointed... but not devastated.

What would be devastating would be to not even try.

I am

the worst blogger EVER! Holy moley, it's been more than a month since I've written anything!

Not that I don't have anything to say... I have LOTS to say! (When don't I?) :) I just don't have any spare time to sit down and write anything intelligible.

Life is hectic and wonderful and crazy and wacky and unpredictable and fun and stressful and busy and joyous and sweet and bittersweet and full of twists and turns. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

I love my job

I truly do.

Two years ago on Thursday, I took a huge leap of faith and left my high-paying job to come to a non-profit. It's a huge non-profit, but still. I took a $25,000 pay cut in exchange for a much shorter commute and less stress. I talked myself into it by reminding myself that you cannot put a pricetag on quality of life.

The first year was challenging. I didn't hit my stride right away. Despite the fact that I was using much the same skillset, I floundered a bit. I second-guessed my decision. I despaired over the lower and less frequent paychecks. I filled my extra time with more classes and clients at the Y, but I still felt unfulfilled.

But sometime in the past year, things started to change. I dove into more meaty projects at work. I started to make my mark here. I let myself relax about the money and started to bond more with my coworkers.

And much more importantly, I started to really live the mission. I now have much more contact with some of the children we serve here, and I love that contact. It absolutely makes my day when one of them calls out to me in the hallways or comes to visit me (even if, like today, his only purpose in visiting was to grub some candy off me). :) A few of the kids spontaneously hug me when they see me, and that fills me with joy.

I recently emailed a friend, "How could I possibly think about leaving here to work somewhere else for more money???" I couldn't. Not right now, anyway. I would miss my coworkers, even the ones who drive me a little nuts. I would feel guilt over leaving behind the mission -- to inspire and enable all young people, especially those who need us most, to realize their full potential as productive, responsible, and caring citizens.

And I would not be able to forgive myself for walking away from these kids. These remarkable, resilient, intelligent, sensitive, wonderful kids.

I am so lucky. I have found my calling. How many people can say that?

Rain, rain go away

Why does God hate the Greeks?

I'm being facetious, of course, but it does seem to rain every stinking year for the Greek Festival. It rained in the early evening on Tuesday but then cleared up in time for the dinner rush at the Festival. In fact, we broke opening day records as far as money raised on Tuesday!

Maybe everyone knew the rest of the week was just going to get worse and worse... Wednesday was OK (again, early rain), but last night was a steady rain and today is even worse. After being so cold and wet for hours last night, I'm skipping tonight.

Tomorrow I'll be back in the bar tent to serve wine, beer, and ouzo to everyone who shows up. Come see me! I'll be in the bar closest to the gyro stand.

(And it's pronounced yee-row, not ji-row. If you're my friend, you simply MUST pronounce it correctly!) :)

PRs rock! :)

At Sunday's Mike's Run for Fame, IronHubby paced me to a brand-spanking-new 5K PR -- 23:12, which was 32 seconds faster than my previous PR on the same course. (Admittedly, it's a very fast and flat course.) Thank you, IronHubby!!!!

The first mile was fine. Easy, even. I thought to myself, "I could go faster." 7:30.

The second mile was endless. It seemed to take f.o.r.e.v.e.r. 7:30 again, amazingly.

The third mile wasn't as bad as the second, but my breathing was very laborious and heavy. 7:28

When I approached the finish and saw 23:03 on the clock, I said "Holy crap!" under my breath. And smiled for the camera.


















(IronHubby is barely exerting himself. So not fair!)

23:12. For someone who is (a) old and (b) a fairly new runner, that pretty much rocks.

Apparently, though, I didn't race hard enough. Later on Sunday I biked on the trainer for 45 minutes, and on Monday I taught both an early morning outdoor boot camp class (4 miles) AND ran 3 miles after work in 24:06. Ummm, I probably shouldn't have had that much left in the tank.

Therefore, IronHubby has set a new goal for me: 22:57.

Rock on.