I am totally stoked—though my other half just said her usual, “Okay”—to be running my first trail half-marathon next Sunday, October 2. As usual, I hope I haven’t bitten off more than I can chew, but since I’m not vain nor afraid of coming in last, I’ll do what I always do when I run by just putting one foot in front of the other until I cross the finish line. There really is no time-limit for this guy: it’s starts at 8:05 and ends at 4:30, so I should be in tip-top shape for finishing before they pull the plug. Since the marathoners and all the other races use the same trail, they keep it open for six and half hours, which means I might finish about the same time and in the same location as the fastest marathoners. Weird. But, I will finish. I mean, I am slow, but not that slow. If it’s anything like the Mounds, I may not even come in last. If the terrain is the same/similar as the Mounds, I should be able to finish in 3:30 to 3:45. The real reason I am so excited is that I hope this will boost my confidence for the marathon in a few short weeks. I still have about six long runs with the longest falling in two more weeks: twenty miles! I plan to run to my parents house to have them drive me back home. I suppose first I should focus on the ten-mile run tomorrow morning, eh?
I had to have silver lining this evening by signing up for the trail run, because I spent 6.5 hours at school today, grading, grading, grading. After I run in the morning, I’ll go back and grade some more. I finished all of the middle school objective tests, but I still need to grade their essays. Tomorrow I will finish my high school reflections, essays, objective tests, and anything else that needs to be caught up for them. I plan to get up at around 6 to run so I can get all my grading finished before spending the afternoon with my brother to work on our application for this grant.
We’re applying for grants to go on a two-week long tour of the midwest and the east coast to watch minor league baseball games. Apparently, the grant is aimed toward enabling teachers to plan their dream trip, a trip they’d never be able to do without the grant. We knocked around several different trips (Caribbean, New Orleans, Pacific Northwest, cross-country road trip) and decided on driving to 6 different minor league ball parks. We’ll watch the games, and my brother will take photographs while I interview people about their memories of baseball and their preference for minor league games. For some reason, my head thinks we’ve already won the grant, because I feel like we’re headed out for the trip already. I’m so excited. Okay?
What I am not excited about is living with another woman who has a regular period. I had gotten used to Bec’s non-schedule and was enjoying skipping a month now and again, but E has strong hormones, apparently, because now I am in sync with her. Sad day. I wondered why I’d been so grumpy, craving weird foods, and feeling fat all week long. Now I know.
I’m not a very good feminist, because if I was I’d revel in my period as some sign of mutual femaleness shared around the world. I’d celebrate my ability to procreate and honor my uterus with monthly praise. But, I don’t. Ever since the damn thing started when I was in eighth grade, I’ve wanted it to end. When I was younger, I wanted it to end because of sports and the occasional pregnancy scare. Now I just want it to end because it mocks me with my childlessness every month. Mother Nature is an unrelenting tease: you’re not pregnant, and you never will be. I say to her, “You can stop now, MN. I’m over it.” She just laughs back every 28 to 30 days with her own little curse.