Oddly, I had a hard time writing up a race report when this trail marathon has been my most favorite long distance race yet. I even went back and read my Portland and Boston marathon ones (which are entertaining and deserve an archive post later), and found that I remembered so much, mile per mile. This time all I really recall was having a great time the entire race, which means either I’m in good shape or, more likely, I didn’t push myself enough. So…nothing epic, terrible, or crazy to report, just that I had really fun time running up and down the mountain of Ashland, Ore.

Up and up from the start

Now don’t let me paint such a rosy picture. Exhibit A for contradiction: the elevation profile.

The first eight miles concerned me. After Grey Rock, I wanted to run a trail marathon, not walk the steep parts. We were heading down to support TC, and although everyone knew I’d regret standing on the sidelines after my Portland marathon envy, I wasn’t convinced. But after an awesome 18-miler–in the rain, no less–I was signed up for the Lithia Trail Marathon with three weeks to go.

Famous for it’s summer-long Shakespeare festival, Ashland is now becoming a strong anchor for trail running. Being the venue for the USTAF National Trail marathon with $6000 purse money, Ashland drew a fast crowd for this race. Our favorite nomadic friends traveled from Truckee to join us for another outdoor adventure. Typical Andy decided the night before to pace TC (he’s “injured” and couldn’t race) and RebK started out with me. At the start, I was telling RebK to keep an eye out for party girl, “la brujita”, in Born to Run, when a man zoomed past answering, “she’s not here.”

I didn’t bother warming up; I figured there were plenty of miles for that. But that meant starting out cold and excited which turned into too fast: I knew I wouldn’t keep up that first 8:40 mile pace. The uphill warmed me up pretty quick, and later I regretted passing my headband to RebK when she turned around.

Alone, my legs burning from the constant climb, I felt the hill only getting steeper. Every turn, I hoped it would level out, just for a few seconds to stretch out the legs, but it was relentless. Several folks passed me. That’s OK: breathe lightly and take it easy. We were, after all, just getting started. I took a goal of making it to the first aid station before stopping, expecting it before mile 4. But since they pulled the start line back (apparently last year’s course was short), I failed to recalculate that it was not until after mile 5. At the pace I was going, I didn’t drink until it was almost an hour into the race!

But the aid stations were well worth the whole run. Stocked with Gu, Clif shots, Gu20, chips, and more, my only problem was eating fast enough. The volunteers were amazingly helpful and supportive, ready to fill up bottles, open up Gu packets since our fingers were frozen, take our trash, and just cheer us on. I almost didn’t want to leave the aid stations (which shows in my splits), and it was wonderful to have something to look forward to.

At the top

The last stretch of the big climb was on a single track trail through the forest, which I should be used to, but after 8 miles of uphill, I was D-U-N. I had reached the top in 80 minutes: S-L-O-W. My goal of 4 hours (slightly arbitrary because it’s hard to tell what pace you’ll do on unknown trail terrain with elevation) was looking like a stretch goal now; I clearly needed to make up time on the way down. But despite folks’ attempts to be encouraging, it wasn’t all downhill yet and certainly the worst was not over.

At almost 6000ft of elevation, it had started to snow. At first I didn’t recognize what it was! While I did appreciate washing the salt off my face, I wished for my headband as my wet head switched quickly from sweating to cold. I should note that my body was fine, thanks to my fancy new, breathable yet warm Patagonia wool longsleeve! It’s been hard to switch back to polyester.

The middle stretch

The course turned into a lot like Leif Erikson: a wide dirt road with gradual ups and downs but overall downhill. It was nice to stretch out the burning legs, but only as much as I could bare. My next few miles were still pretty conservative (9’s?) and at mile 13, my watch read 2h10. It usually takes me awhile to do math while running (which is good; it’s something to do), but it didn’t take me long to figure out that I needed to shave off almost 2 minutes/mile in order to hit 4 hours.

By now, everyone was spread out and I was running near, sometimes with, the same few folks. One woman, who had powered up the hill and motivated me to follow, seemed to be having a great time. When I finally caught up right behind her, I thought she was talking loudly to me, but then I realized she was just singing a long to her music.

I noticed that everyone else was so efficient at the aid stations. It became this pattern where I’d pass them and then they’d catch up with me at the aid station. Their trick was that they knew exactly what they wanted, and would holler out 50 feet away while the volunteers were ready at hand. I had to think about what my body was craving, make conversation with the nice volunteers, and drink since I’m never good at gulping while running.

At some point, after using the “bathroom”, I caught up to one man.

“What are you eating at those aid stations? You seem to be getting faster and faster,” he asked.

I had to laugh. The aid station was a mile ago, but I couldn’t respond because I was still trying to work off that Clif shot block stuck to my back teeth. But it was true: I was in the zone and kept a cruising pace of 8s.

“All DOWNHILL” they wrote

Throughout the race, the miles were clearly marked (but early on I lost the energy to take splits). At mile 20, they had written on the ground “THE WALL.” A joke, I guess? A mile later, where we turned off onto another dirt road, there was a larger aid station accessible by cars. Paranoid about hitting the wall, I took my second goo. Again, I must comment how nice people were at the aid station: one woman offered me a new pair of gloves!

Leaving the aid station, it was written “ALL DOWNHILL”. Sure enough, ahead of me was a very, very steep decline. My knee had been starting to notice the general wear and tear, but my legs were feeling good so I opened up my stride and galloped down. I passed several people who were hurting; I certainly have been there before and felt their pain and frustration.

I don’t have splits, but I remember doing 7s. I was making up time! But it didn’t last forever. All of a sudden, the hill came to a halt and we turned UP onto a single track trail. My legs were so surprised they almost locked as I attempted to switch gears instantly from a downhill sprint to an incline. Ok, in retrospect it was a small one–but still: it was NOT all downhill!

After a rolling downhill, the trail became very technical: steep, tight switchbacks, with rocks, roots, and steps to juggle. This has never been my forte. I tried to watch and imitate the footwork of a few guys that passed me, but they were too fearless with their banked turns! My knees and quads also limited me from going that fast. At least this time my stomach didn’t cramp up, which is usually my problem.

“Where is the finish?!” I demanded

This last stretch seemed like forever. I missed the mile markers. I was expecting to see the crew at some point to run the last few miles with me. And I knew there was still at least a mile to go once I hit the pavement. When I finally reached the road, I felt relieved but also pretty much done. My calf spasmed; I stopped and stretched it for a few seconds. I wasn’t breathing heavy; my legs were just ready for it to be over. Finally, I recognize the last half mile from the start and picked up my pace. As soon I heard and saw the crew, this is the look I gave them:

“Where is the finish?!” I half-asked, half-demanded. When they told me it was just around the corner, I had a sudden burst of energy and sprinted in. As usual, my finish was way too strong for the end of a marathon–but it looks good in pictures

I finished in 4h06, 13th in the women, and in the top half overall. I am pleased with this, considering the fast field and elevation and my last-minute entry. TC came in 6th, one place short of getting prize money.

Next time!

We were excited to find out that Ashland will again host next year’s national trail marathon. The Rogue Valley Runners (RVR) club put on an excellent, well-organized, amazingly equipped race. And despite the elevation, Lithia is a fast course with its good footing and downhill finish. I just need to train more in a triangle form, and run uphill nonstop for an hour.

One thing I can definitely improve on is drinking and eating. I have come a long way since running my first marathon in 2004, where I survived only on water and gummy bears. In Boston, I was paranoid about the 80-degree temperatures that I stopped to drink at each aid station, which cost me some time. Through the years, Slow Boy and I have been on many epic, longer and slower runs, where it’s become easy to eat a candy bar, or get up from a bacon and egg breakfast and run, or constantly sip from a pack. Lately, I’ve been trying out the Gu, in limited flavors, and this past year, Mr. Toed sold me on salted Gatorade.

Still, even this time, I think I could have eaten sooner and more. I only ate two Gu, the first after two hours, when I really should have eaten it at the top of the climb. I tried to sip out of my handheld bottle (I’m sold on these too, as long as it’s not freezing because my hand gets cold), but found that I barely finished half in between aid stations. One man offered me an S-cap, saying it helps with cramping. I felt a little silly taking a random pill from a stranger, but was pretty confident that “S” stood for salt.

Post race

We had such a fun time strolling around “downtown” Ashland, which fortunately for our legs, is not very big. With absolutely no agenda, we spent the afternoon store hopping down the main strip. Ate lunch for a few hours. Talked to the owner of the restaurant, also a runner. Went into the RVR store and talked to those owners. Got coffee and ice cream. Tried on shoes. Petted cats. It was wonderfully lazy.

We were staying at our friend’s parents house (DBers would know them as our #1 fans), which was such a luxury. The Andersons camped in their (25 acre) backyard. By the evening, all we wanted to do was veg in front of a movie. They opened up their home to us, and Saturday night was Bourne Identity, pizza, and leftover Halloween candy.

Thanks to everyone for the prerace good luck vibes–look, the rain never came! Thanks to our gracious hosts in Ashland–it was so nice to come home after the race. Thanks to the Andersons–has it been two weeks already? Wait, when’s the next adventure? Coach Potato practiced her freelance photography and took pictures of the event. Check out her website: her gimmic was “if you beat her sister, you get your picture taken.”  And thanks to Slow Boy, who had to sit this one out. He never pressured me but always knows when to push me just a little–it’s a delicate balance that only he has mastered. 

Our trip to Bishop reminded me how much I love climbing and my house. So much that I want to take notes for next time.

Tip 1. Drive. Yes, 14 hours is a long way for the weekend and it makes you pretty worthless right after, but it’s a spectacular drive through southern Oregon and the Sierra Nevadas. Especially at sunrise.

Tip 2. Choose your front passenger carefully. We split up the drive into four shifts where two slept in in the back while front passenger followed the golden rule of keeping driver company. Mapping out our buddy system was like those logic puzzles from 4th grade. A takes first shift (moi, because I no longer like windy roads). C wants the graveyard shift (so she can drink Coke). But B isn’t passenger when C is driving (Couch Potato claimed Slow Boy is quiet–really?). Ideally, D sits out two in a row to optimize sleep and once two sit together, they don’t again for variety. So can you guess who sat with whom?

Tip 3. Make CD mixes. Ok, if that’s too pre-21st century, then go for playlists. You don’t want to be picking music in the middle of the night and the same artist becomes reptitive. Among the most popular: cheesy hip-hop/R&B, the Forrest Gump soundtrack, and the Bishop 2009 Mix.

Tip 4. Camp near the yellow tree. As winter is Bishop’s climbing season, the campsites off the main road to the Buttermilks, the most popular climbing area, were full. After some rough roads (Slow Boy requested this shift), we set up camp at the lone tree, a yellow cottonwood, in the whole valley. Not right next to the creek, but we were far from the other climber bums who were having a grand time Saturday night.

Tip 5. Climb at Happy Boulders. If it’s not too hot, there are great, classic problems down near the town and it appears to be less crowded. We played on a rare 4-star V6 in a 3-star rating guidebook called the Hulk. The moves were so fun and I made it far enough to try the crux! It’s also a great place to start the trip of pain (that’s what climbing outside is all about) because the rock is less sharp on the fingers.

Tip 6. Sadly: drive, don’t walk, to the Buttermilks. Clearly we all had a poor memory of how FAR the actual bouldering was from the camp area, or else we wouldn’t have walked the grueling 2.5 miles. I know: this shouldn’t be anything compared to our daily run, but it is when all you want to do is climb. Instead, we walked uphill, in the heat, with crashpads and packs sweating against our backs, as the other climbers passed their car dust into us and got to the rock first. RebK kept reminding us that October 24th was International Day of Climate Action.

Tip 7. Top out early. Get that first spooky top out out of the way, and you’ll climb much more at Bishop. It’s true that the boulders are higher and more exposed and the downclimb can be less-than-easy. But the landings are good and you learn to trust your feet on the rock and your spotters.

Tip 8. Name your problem. My favorites: Crappy Feet and Shut the F*** Up Annie, the latter courtesy of RebK (who didn’t hold back on the other letters). Couch Potato’s claiming Who’s Your Granny for somewhere on the Grandpa Peabody boulder.

Tip 9. Sleep under the stars. Inspired by the Andersons, we can’t believe we’ve never done this before! Being in the high desert (at 5500 ft.), Bishop was the perfect place for this: cool, clear, hardly any dew, and NO bugs. Slow Boy saw at least 15 shooting stars; I kept a gap open to feel the fresh air on my face.

Tip 10. Cook, don’t eat, in town. Saturday night’s dinner required groceries, and after a long day of climbing, we thought might as well eat out if we’re going into town. Think again. I got food poisoning at the recommended local Mexican place, and my beautiful sleep under the stars was interrupted by a 30-second window to make it somewhere in the field to…well, you know. And what did I eat differently from everyone else? Chicken! Why did I stray from my plan?

Tip 11. Send Iron Man on your first try. The famous v4 traverse, across a ledge where the crimps get smaller and smaller, only to finish with a dyno to a sloper, is long and burly. Anderson and I gave good bids but quickly had diminishing returns; Slow Boy, however, was the real Iron Man.

Tip 12. Tell everyone down below you’re OK. I ended on King Tut, a V3 high baller, where halfway up, I had the Moment. Legs where shaking, breath was heavy, and I started to smear my body to the rock. In my head, I knew I could either climb down or keep going; I decided to finish it and climbed on. Of course, I neglected to tell those spotting me below my confident thoughts, so for all they knew I was stuck, very high up.

Tip 13. Go with awesome friends. Not anyone would do this kind of trip; that is, drive 14 hours overnight to climb and camp for a few days only to be terribly sleep deprived at work Monday morning. We actually tried this many years ago and it ended sadly (long story). In a way, some of us wanted to recreate the Bishop Trip, and well, I think we did.

More pictures at Couch Potato’s FlickR site.

Additional notes:

• Favorite problems: Hero roof (V0), Iron man traverse (V4), King Tut (V3), Go grandma go (V5), Bowling pin (V4), the Hulk (V6)
• Couch Potato officially outclimbed me on a V1 stem problem, so I must try next time.
• RebK likes eggs for breakfast. And this time, the debate was avocado or ice cream?
• Practice your clay pigeon shot. Apparently, the camp ground was also a popular spot for not-so-good shooting, as we found lots of unbroken dishes. After several tries, the boys were successful.

I’m exposing how old and out-of-date I am by listing out the CDs I burned today for our big road trip (which starts tonight!). Yes, CDs because 1) my ipod–and CDs, for that matter–were stolen, and 2) I sadly haven’t gotten new music in forever and have just whatever is on my computer.

It was frustrating to lose all of my music (my best of Abba!);  I scrounged as best I could and hope to replace all the missing stuff some day. This means a lot of it  dates back to college years, when, ahem, downloading and copy across the server was the thing to do.

Here’s what I came up with. Also remember: it’s tricky trying to think of what would sound interesting at 3:30am!

1. Most frequently listed albums: Postal Service, the Killers, Slumdog Millionaire and Juno soundtrack
2. 80s. Well, duh!  How could I not listen to Journey’s “Don’t stop believing”.
3. I created my version of the best of U2, and found that I still swoon to “With or without you”.
4. Cheesy hip-hop/R&B. You know, songs in like Save the Last Dance, oldies remixed to a beat, stuff that gets me moving. I only wish I had the new Fame soundtrack.
5. Johnny Cash and Simon and Garfunkel
6. Stuff that I hope is still considered rock and hasn’t moved to the ’00’s (or whatever the millennium will be called)
7. Women with great vocals and guitar skills, though it could be a little mellow for in the middle of the night
9. Rent and Les Miserables–hey, singing can keep you awake!
8. Bishop 2009! Every road trip has to have its token CD so that you come across it later on and remember that time we went to Bishop.

I realized I may have grown out of my Erasure/Depeche Mode/New Order/Pet Shop Boys/Anything Box phase. Sure, I get a kick whenever I hear it (the GAP doesn’t seem to have outgrown them yet) or when Slow Boy imitates the synthesizer. He enjoys pointing how the drums sound the same in EVERY song–yeah, yeah, I tell him, it’s catchy!

I’m ready for some new stuff. I wish I had thought of this earlier, but if you have suggestions, send them my way. Plus, I may need a tutorial on how to get music. Do people still buy CDs?

In the meantime, very shortly (like, after I finish loading up the car with two crash pads, camping gear, food, and the family), we’re off to Bishop, CA, a fifteen hour drive to possibly one of the best bouldering spots ever. By then, who will need music when we have REAL rock!

This sequel is typical of any sequel to a movie: same as the first, only more predictable.

Lazy Eye was stolen AGAIN…and then found in a span of 24 hours. Yes: OMG. We found out yesterday morning as we left the house for work, only to find no car in the driveway. Then this morning, just as I got into work, Slow Boy received the phone call saying it was found.

How? This one’s easy. Last time there was a spare key in the car, so they probably were in the neighborhood and thought “hey, there’s our car!” Yes, we’re going to get a club…today.

Why? We have no idea. The first time we thought it was just for a joyride with fortunate loot (sigh). The cop said that multiple thefts happen more often than you think. Hey, they know the area and street, and, well, they know it’s possible because they were successful the first time. Sometimes it’s people needing a ride to the drug house, after which they abandon the car; he said they often arrest people with 20 keys. I think they just took it for a joyride again, looking for stuff as well. Fortunately we learned our lesson last time: we’re short two cloth napkins and the radio (apparently this time they were prepared and had tools to take it out).

There were actually signs leading up to this:

- We were thinking of going on a road trip this weekend, just like last time.
- Last week, Slow Boy finally opened up the Corona that they so kindly left us when we recovered Lazy. He enjoyed his most expensive beer ever with a fresh lime and a homecooked meal.
- The night before they stole it, my mom was just asking about the car. “It’s fine,” I replied. “It’ll be here when you come [for Thanksgiving].”

How could we not have seen it coming? This sequel is SO predictable.

Anyway, Lazy is back…after gearing ourselves up to bike everywhere (to the climbing gym last night, Slow Boy to work this morning, and this weekend it was going to be a “special” orienteering race of…find that car!). Now it’s back to the same ol’ routine. Several have suggested we turn the car into like ZipCar. Leave a note saying “Hi thiefs! You can borrow this car, sure! But let’s get rid of the middle man [towing co.] and just put the car back in the driveway when you’re done. Kthxbye.”

Please, please let there not be part III.

This is a Happy Birthday post to my childhood partner in crime, Wang! She turned 30 today and I can’t believe it’s been over two decades since we ran around screaming “8 is great!” (It was a sad day when I turned 9 first.)

Wang is the oldest daughter of my mom’s younger, closest sister, Ta Tram. Growing up, it seems like we were only separate during the three months of difference in age. We shared everything: a crib, strollers meant for one baby (so this looks totally illegal), toys, and secrets*. She named me Nhanh. Days we were apart, we sent each other I-miss-you-letters via our moms; now we’re 3000 miles away.

Wang was a funny looking baby, with a huge ‘fro of hair and boyish features, but grew into the most beautiful person I know. When I haven’t seen her in awhile (which happens too often now), I still am struck by her striking features, skin, and smile. We have always said she should model, but she’s camera shy.

She’s also beautiful because of her style. I admit: I copied HER all the time. She just has a knack for finding things that look good on you. She doesn’t get distracted by what’s popular or typical; she’s creative and can turn anything into something you wish you had.

We never imagined being apart — drawings of our future houses included a shared backyard and swingset — but such is life. In college, we found our first serious boyfriends. Even if we went to the same school, our contrasting interests would have put us on the opposite side of campus: engineering versus art. We made new friends. I moved out west.

But every reunion reminds me of old times. We still don’t go out; instead she comes over to my (parents’) house, we talk at the table, and inevitably she stays for dinner. And we always take a photo together.

Tonight I dug through what photos I have of us (many are back at home in the family albums) to remember the past 30 years. Happy Birthday Wang! Enjoy this photo album of all our photos together and priceless video!

*This one I have to tell. One evening, with our younger sisters, we wondered what would happen if we squeezed a ketchup pouch as hard as we could. I guess it should have been obvious. Let me tell you what we did learn: one ketchup pouch can paint an entire kitchen red. I wonder to do this day if my mom finds red spots.

We’ve been enjoying our quieter fall. There’s more of cooking, house work, seeing friends (yay for girls’ night!), hanging out on the couch (now by the fire), and better climbing. Here are a few fun fall things that happened so far:

• Last week I ran–in the organized sense–a 5k at work. This was our second annual event; this year, we doubled the number of participants, reaching almost 400! Overall, it was a huge hit, but as the one running the show, I definitely learned a few things about planning events. A TR post coming soon.
• I’m still debating on doing a trail marathon. I went for a long run this weekend, hoping I’d be inspired but instead felt weaker than I’d like, in a hungry sort of way. Either my vegetarian choice is impacting me, or I just need to eat a larger breakfast (one granola bar). I am sold on Mr. Toed’s salted Gatorade mix but not quite yet on dissolved Gu.
• Fall has come which means our house has turned to a cold 55 degrees. We thought we could hold out a few more weeks (fires are wonderful!) but it’s likely the heat will be coming on this week.
• So many friends are having babies! Welcome to Simon, who has possibly the cutest older sister ever, and less than a day old, Lena, the girl that I predicted to be a boy, to the Portland family. My streak is over and lesson learned: next time listen to my dreams!
• My manager has returned from sabbatical. We had a grand time decorating his cube (to be posted on Flickr) and now that I’m not playing boss anymore, work should be *slightly* easier.
• In two weeks, the house will be off on a big road trip to Bishop, CA, possibly the best place to boulder (note: I haven’t been to Hueco Tanks). We’ll be meeting up with our favorite nomadic friends, and are so excited that we’re not quite preparing ourselves for the 14 hour drive–overnight–that awaits us. Hey, it just means more climbing!

The catalyst was the other week when I got chicken instead of my tofu choice…twice! And I really don’t like chicken. I must have complained a lot because my coworker at lunch had said, “Wow, I didn’t know tofu was so important to you.”

I thought, actually, it is.

Over the years, I’ve noticed that I don’t know* how to eat meat anymore. I used to love a nice, rare steak; now, I can only handle beef in small, marinated slices — Korean bul go gi comes to mind. Even a Nob Hill’s burger (gasp!) is too much for me. I prefer pork ground or in small, chopped up pieces, like in banh cuon (rice paper rolls filled with mushroom and pork) for which I woke up at 6am when I was in Vietnam. I certainly would not do that for chicken.

Now when I go back home, my top requests are fried tofu, the kind that really poofs up and doesn’t seem to exist out here, and ong choy, Chinese spinach also known as peasant food in Vietnam.

I do get excited about meat dishes, but only when it’s well marinated and in small amounts. Meat in Vietnamese cuisine is not the main dish nor ingredient. It’s just one among the many flavors offered, along with scallions, fried shallots, fresh herbs, and nuoc mam! But it’s still an important one: cha gio chay (vegetarian egg roll) isn’t quite the same.

The CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) to which we subscribe is a contributing factor. For five months of the year, we get more produce than we can finish in a week and continue to get more week after week. Add in our fruitful tomato and basil plants, and we are set with fresh tomato sauce or grilled vegetables for the whole summer; there isn’t room in the fridge to store meat. Couch Potato says we eat like rabbits, peeling fresh garbanzo beans, popping in snap peas like candy, and washing endless amounts of lettuce.

So I’m going to try to be “Vietnamese vegetarian”. It’s obviously a misleading term, since I will still eat all this and probably more that’s not coming to mind:

1. Vietnamese food (duh)
2. Dumplings
3. Ben the Butcher’s bacon — there’s no turning back once you try his kind, available at the PSU farmers’ market
4. Ben my Husband’s beef chili or homemade pepperoni pizza
5. Those delicious lamb and beef gyros at the Portland Saturday Market. Haven’t gotten sick of those yet!
6. Seafood–just to clarify–because I.LOVE.MUSSELS
7. Your yummy, exciting dishes that I can’t resist trying

During our recent trip to San Francisco, I tried out my new status, making a conscious effort to choose the vegetarian option. While it does make ordering a lot easier, those fewer options could use a little work if vegetarians want to rule the world. My avocado supreme was more like a touch of avocado and my veggie burrito needed something else besides beans and rice. Fat, salt, flavor, work with me here. And don’t suggest chicken.

*I say “don’t know” because that’s the literal translation from Vietnamese. It was always “she doesn’t know how to eat that” while so-so’s daughter did. Parents, relatives, do not worry: I know I used to eat McDonald’s while you were at Pho 75, but trust me, I will never, ever go back to not knowing how to eat pho.

I’ve been dragon boating for eight years and recently noticed how often people inquire about it. Maybe it’s just to entertain me Still, I thought I’d post an FAQ list.

1. Most commonly asked: Where do you park your boat?
   Actually, we don’t own the boats; we rent, at practice and at races. It’d be sweet to own one. Want to sponsor us? (the most FAQ from a Maniac )
2. How often do you row?
   First of all, it’s paddle. We paddle, not row (but wouldn’t that be nice to row your boat). Three times a week — the season usually starts in March and ends in September. (And all inquiry ceases. Sigh.)
3. Are you the coxswain?
   It’s caller, not coxswain (that’s for crew and they do it backwards :p). I realize I’m small, but no, I’m strong and I paddle!
4. How many people are on a boat?
   Usually 20 paddlers, a caller, and a tiller (person who steers the boat). Two people share a bench and each paddles one side. We switch in practice so we’re not lopsided, though everyone has side preferences.
5. How long is a race?
   Standard race length is 500 meters and it takes bout 2 min. 15 sec. Yes, it’s that short, but it sure doesn’t feel like it on the water.
6. How did the team start?
   I joined a team in my first year in Portland. I liked paddling but wasn’t attached to the team. I happened to be meeting a lot of new people then, including Slow Boy, and they were all interested in trying out dragon boating. With the help of friends, I started a team the next year.
7. You named the team after yourself?
   No! I must set the record straight: Back in 2002, we were taking a vote between the Willamette Weaklings or Not N-Sync. (Hey, we were new.) The Anniemaniacs wasn’t even a contestant, but it was blurted out amidst the vote and everyone (else) instantly loved it. It actually has become a great brand name for our team. I’m proud to be a Maniac, though I don’t know how our big boys feel about being called the “Annies”.
8. Can I join?
   Yes! Ok, that’s not commonly asked. But I really do like recruiting new people every year. Fresh faces keep the spirit alive.
9. What is dragon boating?
   Even after I explain this all, people still ask this. We know it sounds like a sport with a small niche and inferior to something such as crew or not as accessible as kayaking, but it’s huge here in the Pacific NW, the country, even in Asia and Europe. One day, when dragon boating is in the Olympics, the Maniacs will represent USA. Just you wait.
10. Are you guys good?
    Heck yeah! We’ve gone from terrible to one of the top teams in Portland. We are even competitive in the international festivals. The dragon boat community is clearly starting to recognize the Maniacs.
11. Annie, why do you do it?
    The golden question that I ask myself every year. I am the one in charge and have been for seven years now. Every year is tough: getting people to practice, motivating myself to bring a cheerful face, the disappointment after bad races, the ultimate dependency on me, and realizing I cannot please 25 people all at once. But, you could ask the Maniacs who return year after year the same thing, and I think we’d have similar answers. I love paddling: it’s rhythmic, intense, and for perfectionists (like me). I love racing, and normally I’m not one to compete. I love our dedicated team; spending three days a week six months out of the year will definitely make you like family. And I love seeing how proud and happy our team is to be a Maniac. When everything clicks and we glide across the water, nothing has felt so smooth and right.

SF DB Festival '09, day 1, a first place finish.

]]> http://meannie.wordpress.com/2009/10/01/dragon-boat-faq/feed/ 3 meannie http://meannie.wordpress.com/2009/10/01/marathon-envy/ http://meannie.wordpress.com/2009/10/01/marathon-envy/#comments Thu, 01 Oct 2009 19:48:46 +0000 meannie http://meannie.wordpress.com/?p=937 ]]>

It’s amazing what 24 hours of rest can do. Lately I’ve had a hard time keeping up with our active schedule, which alternated between running in the morning and either dragon boating or climbing (plus biking to these activities) in the evening. Even showering that often got to be exhausting.

So, sadly, I backed off on running. I still tried to keep it up 5 times a week, but with less mileage and not as many long weekend runs as I’d like. It didn’t help that we’ve been gone (back home) or racing in dragon boat festivals (just did San Francisco this past weekend!) for the last five weeks. And now, I’m jealous of my many running partners who are doing the Portland Marathon this weekend.

I whipped out my estimated marathon schedule from 2004 to calculate when and where to meet my friends and got nostalgic. Portland, though not a particularly interesting course, is great because it’s like playing at a home game. All your friends come out to cheer for you: at mile 12, where the course runs through the NW, I had seven hop in to run several miles with me. I remember feeling like Forrest Gump.

Several have asked “Why don’t you just do it?” Tempting. I even checked registration, which is now closed except for some $150 late registrations available at some expo. I’m cheap. Banditing a marathon also feels rude to me (I know I’d be annoyed, roles reversed!). But realistically, it would not be the wisest move, with only an 18 miler from August and zero miles on pavement (I do all my running in a very large park next to my house). I know, I know… what about that Grey Rock 50k this summer, which was also unplanned and untrained, or the 30 mile Wildwood trail that we run every year? But road races are very different: non-stop, repetitive motion on pavement gets to my muscles and joints. Not to mention I couldn’t help but try for a time, unlike those trail runs where I just want to run.

So, this will be another year where I will cheer from the sidelines. Maybe next year, though that’s what I said last year. It’s difficult because of everything else we want to do over the summer. I have always wanted to run the NYC marathon, which is later (November). I’d have my city cousins for a fan base and what an awesome way to tour NYC: no cars!

Now, there is another window of opportunity this year. TC, who just won the Timberline Marathon with a fast time, is training for the USA National Trail Marathon in November. With 4700 feet elevation gain, it’s another brutal course like Grey Rock. And after Grey Rock, I had vowed the next marathon I’d RUN (not hike up steep parts and kill my knees on the downhill). But, since we’ll be down there (Ashland) to cheer her on anyway, might as well…

On a nice note, now that dragon boat season is finally over (no matter how much I love paddling and the team, the end always feels long past due), even my first free night in awhile felt like a fresh, clean slate. Every morning run this week I’ve felt great, and not tired from last night’s workout. I’m hoping to give my climbing muscles days off too and see some good progress on that V7! And last night, I lay on our (new) couch with Slow Boy, read five pages, and fell asleep.

This title has a lot of pressure!

I’ve been called the baby whisperer because 1) I love guessing the gender of the baby, and 2) I have a 7 out of 7 right* track record.

It doesn’t work on anyone. I guess by the face, and I need to know the face well. My theory comes from a Vietnamese proverb that if you’re having a girl, she’s stealing your beauty. Wait! That doesn’t mean I think you are ugly! I’ve modernized it to if you look different, it’s a girl; if you look the same, it’s a boy. Different can mean the face shape changes, or skin improves, or you just look different somehow. I prefer guessing towards the end of the second trimester or beginning of the third, because people tend to change towards the end of the pregnancy.

And surprisingly, it’s worked. On several friends here, family friends, my sister (she was easy; she looked EXACTLY the same). Slow Boy often points out that the odds are 50/50. I like to think that there *could* be something scientific with the hormones or something…and that I might just have a touch. After all, it does require being observant, and I am known as the hawk to the Big House family (because, sometimes not to their desire, I notice everything).

This is a big year that will make or break my reputation. Four babies are coming, of which two I’ve been right so far. But the fact that I’ve guessed all boys makes me nervous. What are the odds? Again, Slow Boy responds, “There’s no correlation!” But what if I am losing my touch and can’t tell if people look different?

It’s this next one coming in October (or earlier, the parents hope) on which I’m humbly stumped. I correctly guessed her first child (girl) and somehow it was obvious. This time, I can’t tell if she looks prettier because she’s always pretty (and no, A___, your mascara isn’t throwing me off!). But she did make a good point: last time it was so clear and this time it isn’t, so doesn’t that mean something? She and others are also hoping that I’m wrong…geez, thanks people!

I actually won’t be too disappointed if I’m wrong. I still think I have a good theory and simply need more data points (ha — I’m sure moms don’t appreciate my calling them that). The big test will be my own of course — and no, that’s not a hint!

*Except for one drunken (read: I don’t remember) night where supposedly I guessed someone who I had only seen pregnant once! Maybe? But I couldn’t have been serious, since many know how thorough I am about my guess. It takes a lot of staring and that would have been quite rude of me.