I headed out with some friends from my running club, all of whom were running the 25k. Beth and I planned on getting a ride home with someone running the 50k, unless he had to leave suddenly. Hmmm...we figured someone else from NYC would hopefully have room; if not, we could call Wayne and beg him or take a car service home. Oh, let's not worry about this during the race (okay, just a bit.), but just run.
The course consists of a 4 mile loop, then you do another big loop, and then repeat the second loop. Despite being Staten Island, there were some hills, lots and lots of mud, some pretty scenery. The aid stations were SUPER basic with bare bone minimum, but the volunteers were very friendly.
I started out feeling good, running with Matthew, who's a pretty tough runner, even when he's not even trying. We had fun chatting, catching up, laughing, telling stories. At one point, we began passing people who were behind us - seems like a bunch of people did a 3 mile loop instead of a 4 mile so...a little confusing but oh well.
After about 10 miles, we hit a hill and I decided to walk it and eat a gel. Matt kept running. He was in my sight for a long time and then he was not. I was bonking pretty bad; only gels don't sustain me and I wish I had packed mini bags of pretzels.
I got to the drop bag area and shoved a bunch of cookies in my mouth. I took off, walking it off, eating more animal crackers (I love bringing bags of animal crackers w me to races - they are carbs, a bit of sweetness, but plain enough to settle an upset stomach.). And then I began running. With strangers.
On a lollypop section, I saw Beth, Zandy, and Will were about a half mile behind me. "I want to run w you guys," I yelled. "Catch up w me."
I walked the hills, stretched, and ran. Eventually they caught up. We chatted, laughed, told stories.
And then I fell in a pile of mud. Completely. Gloves, pants, shirt, skirt. UGH.
I finished, clearly muddified. But who cares? I was done. I put on warm clothes, and ate some brownies. Apparently, I was 1st in my age group. I didn't realize that until my friend told me later. Wooohooo! Let's eat. I was so cold and tired and hungry that I got home, hopped in a hot tub w Epsom salts and a sandwich. I ate and read and chilled in the tub. YAY.
Wayne and I ran the Turkey Trot in Branford. The course is flat with a few hills. We ran the race, finishing a few seconds within each other. Then I went out for a 5k cooldown, during which Wayne caught up with old friends and ate chowder.
And then we went to the feast that is known as Thanksgiving. That's all, folks. Run a little, smile, cheer everyone on, and then go eat.
Channukah Chalf: The Coldest, Windiest, Most Miserable Race I Have Ever Run, and It Only a Half-Marathon
"Don't eat gelt. It sucks," he told me.
Okay, Brian. I'll just run the half instead.
As the days approached, I noticed how horrifying the weather reports were. Well, weather.com isn't always right, right?
Unfortunately, it was worse than you could have even imagined.
Cold. In the 20s, but feels colder. Windy. Wind gusts up to 50 mph. As the race was run along the water, spray from the water would come up and cover the entire race course, which would mean you'd be soaked. And then a gust of wind would come. It sucked. It was a double out and back, which meant it sucked worse in one direction (coming back). There were times I was running as fast as I could, and a glance at my Garmin would show me 10:30 pace. And then my Garmin showed some 6:50s. Ouch.
Tears down my face. I couldn't feel my hands. My feet. OMG I can't even move. This sucks so bad.
Then I finished. A volunteer frozenly handed me a heat sheet and Wayne put my down coat on over that. "C'mon, let's get you out of here."
I grabbed a salt bagel w frozen cream cheese and hot chocolate (Gotta love NYC Runs!) and stumbled to the car. The heat felt so good. I cried when I had to get out. Why? Why be someplace cold and miserable? This race sucked, I'm glad I did it, and I hope I'll never do a race that cold again.
Carey's new paranormal series has a wide variety of magical creatures, including mermaids, norns (?) and your run-of-the-mill vampires and werewolves. The protagonist is a halfie, herself, a hell-spawn doing her best to not invoke her birthright and thereby destroying the world. She's also a file clerk at the local PD, doing supernatural detective work on the QT.
Wayne has been pretty injured w sciatic problems for a year. But he insisted on running The Brooklyn Marathon, and I thought, "Well, a week after a 24 hour race, the playing field will be pretty level." So we ran together.
We started out, and I felt pretty good. Wayne was not feeling as good, so we ran slower than I would've liked - but faster than we said we were going to run. Oh well.
It began raining. My posture instantly changed and I curled up in the fetal position - well, as much as I could while continuing running. When we got to the NBR water stop, I ran behind it to where my bag was and pulled out a long sleeved t-shirt I had stashed in my bag. Ahhh.....
Then - duh, I ran a 24 hour the week before, WTF was I doing running a marathon? My back hurt and I just felt like crap.
Mile 23. Wayne and I shared an airport-sized bottle of whiskey at the top of the hill. I could barely run for a little bit, laughing and feeling the whiskey immediately.
I began to kick and Wayne didn't have it. He pulled me back so I'd slow down and run next to him. Then we crossed the finish line and kissed.
If you want to know what it's like inside an eating disorder, this is your chance. It's hardcore, but reading it, you understand how it happens. At least I could see it.
De Rossi (not remotely her real/given name) is a serious overachiever from childhood, the kind of kid who goes undefeated in classroom times tables challenges for years because she's drilled them so hard, even though she's not especially adept at math.
Also, I was scared of lesbians. In fact, I would cross the street if I saw one coming toward me. One time I didn't cross the street and I ended up sleeping with a lesbian because I felt sorry for her.reviewdate: Nov 30 2013 isn: 978-1-4391-7778-5
Did you know it's easier to be transsexual in Iran than homosexual? According to the novel and Wikipedia, the only country in the world that does more sex reassigngment surgeries than Iran is Thailand, and many of the surgeries are subsidized by the government. Being born the wrong gender is an ailment, being queer is a sinful aberration. So that's what our heroine Sahar is dealing with as her best friend, who she has wanted to marry since the girls were six years old, gets engaged to a dude.
I plugged the word "dance" into a search of ebooks available for checkout from NYPL, and this was the first result. Charlaine Harris's story, about a survivor of a brutal sexual assault trying to distance herself from her past is readable (as in fuckable). It's set in the same universe, or at least with the same rules about vampires as the Sookie Stackhouse novels. The protagonist is similar to Sookie, personality-wise, but doesn't have her mind-reading ability. Her vampire dance partner is a still-waters-run-deep Irishman.
Special thanks got to Doris Ann Norris, reference librarian to the stars, who can look up the inner dimensions of a sarcophagus faster than I can whistle "Dixie." (Charlaine Harris)reviewdate: Nov 27 2013 isn: 978-1-4603-0265-1
Cartoonists who are not Delaine depict their miserable high school years that were miserable. There's angst about popularity, getting beaten up, horrible teachers, bad hair, and more than I expected about boys' libidos. I mean, as a woman, I understand from pop culture that adolescent boys are sex-obsessed, but I didn't fully grasp that the arty nerdy guys are just as strung out as meathead future frat boys.
- 2 packages of chopped broccoli, cooked & drained
- 2 eggs, beaten
- 3/4 cup of mayo
- 1 cup shredded cheddar
- 1 T minced onion (optional; I find onions to be gross)
Bake covered 30 min 350. Remove cover last 10 min.
Fishman follows eight high school dancers studying at The Ailey School, trying to discern what exactly talent is and what makes it go. She doesn't separately profile each student. Instead it's one narrative with themes (like eating disorders and weight, sexuality, race and friendship) explored by chapter. Although you can tell Fishman cares about her subjects, she manages not to get too sucked in. I like her researched but relatively casual approach.
A three-years-orphaned college professor loses her husband and daughter in a car accident, finds out she was adopted and goes off to find her roots. I don't want to give anything away, but I should warn you, everything in this novel takes forever. And if you're sensitive to misspellings and typos, stop being petty, but in case you can't, brace yourself. (What's up with the lax proofreading Indiana University Press?)
Canadian zine maker Teri's short stories are so good, and I don't even like short stories. (I can call her Teri because we're social media friends, and I've read most of her zines.) Her protagonists come from a variety of backgrounds. Most are young, but there's also a mother (of a stripper in his 20s), and one of them is male. I found all of narrators relatable and real.
I put this book on hold at NYPL after watching the first episode of the TV series. I only made it through one and a half more installments of the show, but when my copy of the book became available, I figured I'd see how it compared. It's better, but not great. Some major plot points are surprisingly different.
The past two weeks have seen a burst of activity at the State Agency Databases Project at http://wikis.ala.org/godort/index.php/State_Agency_Databases. For a full list of activity, see http://tinyurl.com/statedbs14d. Here are some highlights:
CALIFORNIA (Joel Rane)
I recommend adding terminology to http://id.loc.gov/authorities/subjects/sh97008221 "Children of teenage mothers" to: "Children of teenage parents."
In a post titled
How America’s Global Surveillance Empire made it a Helpless Giant at Informed Comment, Tom Engelhardt provides an excellent summary of NSA activities brought to light by Edward Snowden: