It seems every year I pledge that this will be the year with no Christmas tree drama. Lee would like a drama-free artificial, pre-lit tree, but I just love a fresh tree. In an effort to bolster my case, these past several years I’ve been determined to make things easy. To visit only one lot, to be decisive, to not choose the tallest tree imaginable.
However, the last couple of years we haven’t been too pleased with our trees, despite my best efforts. So when Camille’s gymnastics coach was handing out brochures about the gym’s Christmas tree fundraiser, I paid attention. You pre-pay for a tree, and the day before it’s to be delivered, they cut it fresh from a farm.
And did I mention they deliver it straight to your front door? I don’t think it gets any easier.
I was a little hesitant to buy a tree without seeing it, but it couldn’t be worse than last year’s scrawny tree from the charity lot, right? So I ordered a 5-6 foot tree, knowing that Lee is 6 feet tall and thinking that sounded about right.
And then came Friday – delivery day.
The tree is beautiful. It’s fresh and fragrant. It’s green and full.
And Camille was able to put the star on top all by herself without a ladder or a lift.
That is one short tree. Maybe – MAYBE – five feet tall if you measure to the tippy-top of the top sprig.
Sigh.
When I saw it I wanted to throw myself on the floor in toddler-tantrum-style, but that wouldn’t be drama-free, would it?
Hey, at least it’s not going to fall over this year because it’s too tall for the tree stand, right? It’s so small it’s comical. We call it our Oompa Loompa tree. Santa’s elves are sure to love it.
Running for almost three hours gives you lots of time to think. Three weeks ago, during my half-marathon, I spent some of that time thinking about … well … running. Thinking about how much I used to dislike running, and thinking about why that was and how that changed.
I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not a great athlete and never have been. Growing up, I enjoyed sports because I enjoyed being physically active and I especially enjoyed the social aspect of group sports. But competitively, I was always the weak link on the team.
I played church softball where they put me in right field because they knew I didn’t like to catch. If a ball was hit my way, I was more likely to duck and run than open my glove. In middle school, the tennis team coach needed one more person to fill out her team roster and asked me to join. I did, and that entire season I scored ONCE. Not won once, scored once. And that one score came when the other player double-faulted.
The thing is, I still enjoyed playing softball and tennis, but at some point with each sport I would get tired of feeling like the weakest player and move on to other pursuits.
Running was nowhere on my radar. I’ve never been fast on my feet and had zero endurance, so I counted myself out. But as I have now come to learn, you only have to be really good at running if you expect to win. However, if all you want to do is run a race, and if you’re willing to put in some training time, you can be a runner. You can compete. You can be slow, and you can still be awesome.
Once I picked a reasonable training plan, running became pretty simple for me. There was no racket to swing, no ball to hit (or more likely, miss) – there were just my feet and the pavement. As long as I stuck to my training plan, I just had to put one foot in front of the other and will myself forward.
And for someone who likes the social aspect of sports, running is a perfect fit. Runners are generally a supportive, positive group. Because most of us are competing with ourselves to attain a certain goal (distance, pace, etc.) and not competing with or against each other, there are no adversaries. And best of all, there are no weak links.
When I ran the half-marathon, I felt like I was part of one giant team of 23,000 runners. Except for the elite few who actually expected to win, the majority of runners were just happy to be there and hoping for a good race. They didn’t care if I was fast. I wasn’t going to let anyone down if I wasn’t good enough. We just had to put one foot in front of the other and will ourselves forward. And for that, we cheered each other on.
I think I finally found my sport.
This Thanksgiving we had a rare treat – an entire week off from school! We took advantage of the extra time and hit the road.
Up first, Fitzgerald where Erin and her family were visiting. Eli changes and grows so much each time we see him, but he still loves to flash that heart-melting smile.
And as always, Camille thoroughly enjoyed horsing around with cousin Jones.
Then we moved the party north to Tennessee, where we got to spend several days, including Thanksgiving itself, with my parents. Camille had her first real experience ice skating and her first camel ride (not at the same time, thankfully). Always an adventure.
Now that Turkey Day is behind us, I’m ready to dive into Christmas. The tree goes up this weekend – let’s hope it’s less traumatic than last time, when this happened.
And this.
No trees tipping over this year, mkay?
Hello sweet girl and Happy 64 months! You are snug in your bed tonight, thrilled with another Georgia Bulldog win, and perhaps dreaming of all the fun that awaits you this week. You have an entire week out of school for Thanksgiving break, and many family visits in store.
For a girl who adores playing dress up, this is certainly your time of year. You love dreaming up Halloween costumes, and already have your costumes planned for the next several years (subject to change).
This year was easy. Over the summer, Boo was organizing her attic and you crawled up there to see what you could see. And what you saw was a furry black cat costume that Boo made for Auntie Erin when she was a little girl. You tried it on – the costume was a bit big, but you were a smitten kitten for sure. Not only did you decide to be a black cat for Halloween – you decided to be a black cat every day that ended in a “y.” After two decades in storage, that costume has gotten much love from you!
But you weren’t just any old black cat for Halloween, you were a snarky black cat named Gigi from the movie Kiki’s Delivery Service. Gigi belongs to Kiki, a friendly teen-age witch. This Halloween, for the first time, you asked your Daddy and me to dress up with you. I was to be Kiki, and your Daddy was to be Tombo, the boy who has a crush on the teen witch.
Here are some photos of Kiki and Gigi, and then Kiki and Tombo for reference:
We obliged, and I must admit, it was quite fun playing dress up with you.
On the big day, as has been our tradition, Boo came along for our trick-or-treating adventures (check out the FABULOUS cat-o-lantern she made for you!).
But we were all a bit sad this year not to be heading out with your pals Will and Sam, who moved away in the spring. Thankfully, we were folded into a group of buddies at your friend Lola’s house, and when it was time to go begging for candy, you were happy to be part of this big, enthusiastic bunch.
We trick-or-treated for what felt like a long time, but you persevered with frequent breaks so you and Lola could compare candy stashes and down a box or two of Nerds for energy.
And what would the season be without a trip to a pumpkin patch? This year, we took your friend Rowan along when we went pumpkin hunting.
Camille, you are such a wonderfully affectionate little girl, it’s hard to know what to make of your overtures sometimes. See the way you’re looking at Rowan on the hay ride? Like you’re 13 and he’s your crush? Or is this just the way you look at all your dear friends?
And dare I even mention what happened this month? How I caught you and one of your friends – who happens to be a boy – sneaking a quick kiss at the library while I was checking out books? How I found myself saying the most unusual thing:
“Camille! There is no kissing in the library!”
I was at a loss for what to say. In a flash I worried about everything – overreacting and giving you a complex about affection. Under-reacting and not helping you set proper boundaries. And when is kissing okay anyway? It’s not like driving, where the law says at age 16 you are allowed. When is it appropriate? So all I could think to say was that it was not appropriate at the library. Of this – and only this – was I certain.
My consolation is that I remember being busted for kissing a boy in first grade at school when the teacher left the room. And I did not grow up to be a floozie, which is why I’m not losing sleep over this for now.
Let’s change subjects, shall we?
You experienced a very fun first this month – your first adventure on roller skates! This picture just makes you look waaaaaaaaaay too grown up.
You were awesome on skates (it helps that they have “slow skates” for beginners, but still, you were awesome)! I also enjoyed lacing up under the guise of helping you around the rink. Sometimes you’d stop to take a breather, and I’d take off for another lap, feeling somehow old and young at the same time. This feeling was underscored by the mix of music served up by the DJ. Half current pop, half old-school Michael Jackson. I used to LOVE roller skating, and you seem to love it too. I look forward to skating again with you soon – especially because I know there will come a day when you will NOT want your mom on the rink with you.
Dressing up for Halloween, roller skating with you – you certainly keep me young. I treasure all of our adventures (and our lazy days too). I know it’s cliche leading up to Thanksgiving, but it’s true – I am so thankful for you. I love you sweet bear.
Camille’s class held a Thanksgiving feast today, and I got to watch my little “Indian” sing a couple of Thanksgiving songs. Some of the kids were pilgrims, but Camille was excited to be an Indian.
We’ve been talking about the first Thanksgiving, and I admit I feel a little disingenuous. The tale always seems to end with a turkey feast, and I can’t bring myself to tell her the rest of the story. About the diseases, the warring, the trail of tears and the reservations. Not yet anyway.
There will be plenty of time for the full story someday. But today, here is my sweet, innocent “Indian” girl.
With no school today, Camille got to watch the Veteran’s Day parade with some hot chocolate and some buddies (including the daughter of a veteran – how appropriate!).
I asked her why we celebrate Veteran’s Day, and she said it is to honor soldiers who went to war to protect us. I know she doesn’t truly understand what that means, but I like to think it’s the right foundation for a better understanding of that sacrifice as she gets older.
Thanks to all our veterans – today and every day!
3 a.m.
After a difficult time falling asleep, I am now convinced I have overslept. I look at the clock. Repeat until…
5:14 a.m.
I turn off both alarm clocks, which had been set for 5:15. I go to the guest bedroom where my race day clothes have been carefully arranged. The coffee begins to brew downstairs. I get dressed. I eat a banana. I pin my race bib on my shirt. #24066.
6:00 a.m.
Beth’s dad arrives to shuttle us and two other runners to the starting line. We’ve been warned about road closures, but surprisingly have no trouble getting downtown. With an hour and a half to go until race time and with chilly, windy weather, we duck into a nearby hotel and enjoy their couches and restrooms.
7:00 a.m.
We leave the warmth of the hotel and move toward the corrals. Beth is in corral 10 and I’m in 24, so we get a quick picture and then a quick hug at the starting line before heading our separate ways.
7:30 a.m.
The starting gun fires. I can barely hear it, I’m so many, many blocks back. I’m chatting with the other fine folks of corral 24, bouncing up and down to stay warm and ease nerves. Up ahead, a river of runners begins streaming down Bay Street. It will be almost 40 minutes before I make it to the starting line. I’m nervous but excited. I’m ready.
8:07 a.m.
Corral 24 finally reaches the starting line, and after a brief countdown we’re off! The crowd spreads out quickly and nicely, and suddenly it’s time for my first walk break. I’ve been training with a 2:1 interval – 2 minutes of running followed by a 1 minute walk break. It takes every ounce of willpower I have to stop running because I’m hyped up and ready to take off. But I’d been warned that giving in to early-race excitement could lead to mid-race burnout. I know these early walk breaks are key to preserving energy for the final miles. I have a plan and I’m determined to stick with it. As soon as my timer tells me to run again, I’m thrilled.
Corral 24 finally reaches the starting line, and after a brief countdown we’re off! The crowd spreads out quickly and nicely, and suddenly it’s time for my first walk break. I’ve been training with a 2:1 interval – 2 minutes of running followed by a 1 minute walk break. It takes every ounce of willpower I have to stop running because I’m hyped up and ready to take off. But I’d been warned that giving in to early-race excitement could lead to mid-race burnout. I know these early walk breaks are key to preserving energy for the final miles. I have a plan and I’m determined to stick with it. As soon as my timer tells me to run again, I’m thrilled.
We wind our way through West Savannah and I’m so pleased to see how many residents have shown up to cheer for this mass of complete strangers. I position myself at the edge of the road so I can touch all the outstretched hands and am the recipient of dozens of high fives.
I find myself overwhelmed, being surrounded by so much positive energy. I find myself in disbelief that race day is finally here. I suddenly feel emotional. I tell myself there is no crying on race day.
More quickly than I can believe, we reach the 5K point. Photographers are positioned on a crane above the road and I give them a triumphant cheer.
By the time we head into downtown, just past mile 7, my nerves have vanished and are replaced with assurance and confidence. It’s not that I don’t think I’ll get tired. I know I’ll get tired. But those first 7 miles flew by and I am nowhere near ready to stop.
I had three goals going into this race. Number one – finish. By mile 7, I feel like unless something unforeseen happens, I will definitely finish. Number two (and the least important) – finish in under 3 hours. I’m not sure about my pace at this point, but I’m increasingly less interested in it. Number three – enjoy the race. This one is the trickiest, because it’s not something over which I have ultimate control. I can’t make myself like the race, no matter how badly I want to like it. My secret fear had been that I would train so hard for so long and then find the race day to be miserable and disappointing. I was scared I wouldn’t want to race anymore.
By mile 7, that fear is gone. Even if the next six miles are treacherous, I’ve enjoyed the first seven enough to make up for it.
After mile 9 I tell myself I’m close enough to the end that I can drop my walk breaks without jeopardizing my ability to finish. I don’t drop all of them but I drop most of them for a while.
At mile 11, I’m really beginning to feel the fatigue, although I’m actually surprised it took this long to feel so tired. I had hoped not to walk during the last mile, but I find myself periodically breaking stride to catch my breath. I am ready to be done.
Then finally – FINALLY – we turn the corner onto Drayton street and I can see the finish line. Suddenly my energy is back and I’m passing people – not because I want to beat them but because victory is so close. I step over the finish line meter that will register my official time of 2:43:50. I want to cry but I don’t.
After receiving my finisher’s medal, I search the huge crowd in Forsyth Park for Lee and Camille, the two people I want to see most at this moment. I finally find them. I’m tired. I’m sore.
I’m so happy.
But who’s counting?
Oh yeah. I am.
Seriously, this half-marathon better get here quick because I can’t take much more of this waiting business. I’m obsessing about it, mostly in a positive, motivating way (I think). I’m checking the race’s facebook page more often than I probably should. Checking the weather. Checking the facebook page again. Checking related tweets. Changing my facebook profile picture to this:
Or maybe I am out of control.
Part of my enthusiasm is because this race is such a big event for Savannah. When I was on the fence about signing up for the race earlier this summer, I finally decided that if I was still running in November I’d want to be part of the excitement. And boy was I right. More than 23,000 runners from all 50 states and more than 30 countries are descending on Savannah as we speak. City leaders say this race will have a bigger economic impact on the town than St. Patrick’s Day, and if you’ve ever been here for St. Patrick’s Day you know that’s no small potatoes.
So I’m checking the facebook page and the tweets because I’m excited to hear all the other runners talking about how excited they are too. Every time I see someone running down the street I want to ask if they’re racing and compare training stories and race-day breakfast plans. With total strangers.
Oh, and I’m having nightmares. Well, just one nightmare (so far), but it involved realizing that it was race time and I was late, finally getting a ride to the starting line only to realize I didn’t have on running clothes or my phone/headphones. Or a bra. I was a mess.
I’m trying not to talk about the race too much because I am probably on the borderline of making my sweet husband insane. So I’m glad I’m having lunch with fellow racer Beth tomorrow so I can vent some of this pre-race energy. Hoping I save enough for the start line though!
I cannot for the life of me remember which of my friends shared this special cupcake secret with me, but if you know who you are, I thank you. And I will now share it with the rest of you – that’s assuming, of course, that it is actually a secret and not one of those things everyone knew but me.
I thought when it came to visual appeal, cupcakes were all about the icing and toppings. But – and this is so simple I’m kind of embarrassed anyone had to point it out – simply dividing, coloring and layering the batter can make the actual cupcake the main attraction. Camille demonstrated this wonderfully in her last Cooking With Camille episode, in which she made red, white and blue cupcakes for the Fourth of July.
I needed to make a dessert for a Halloween party at our church tonight, and I do love cupcakes. This time, candy corn was my design inspiration.
I divided the cupcake batter into thirds, leaving one white and coloring one yellow and one orange. Then I layered and baked. The colors swirled a little more than I wanted so the cupcakes didn’t actually look like candy corn, but the colors are so festive that I didn’t care. My favorite homemade white icing and a few pieces of actual candy corn on top, and it was a winner.
Camille the Cat thought so too.
Two weeks ago, I ran my second race. My running partner, the one who is responsible for all this running business, is both a racing fanatic and a Disney fanatic. Her primary goal for us is a marathon relay in January, with each of us running one half. But the wise woman that she is, she thought it might be helpful for me to have a trial run (pun intended). So she signed us up for a half marathon relay at Disney in September, of which I’d run the first 4.8 miles.
Leading up to the race, I wasn’t concerned about the distance, having already survived a 10-mile training run. This race was less about the mileage and more about gaining the experience of a Run Disney event.
And what a spectacle it was.
The race didn’t start until 10 p.m. While I was thankful for the cooler evening temps, it meant I spent that whole day looking at my watch, trying to decide when to get dressed, trying not too eat too much, drink too much, eat too little, drink too little – it was a long day.
Finally, it was time for a dinner of a pretzel – nothing more, nothing less – and then a ride on a Disney bus to the staging area. Here we are goofing off in our matching skirts just before leaving our resort.
At 7:30 p.m., my race partner and I joined the throngs of people filing into to the field at Disney’s Wide World of Sports. The huge expanse of grass was encircled by what appeared to be all the porta-potties ever made in the world. On one side of the field a stage had been erected and a DJ was doing his best to pump up the crowd. Line dancing ensued. Nearby, a long queue of people waited for their turn to be photographed with Mickey and Minnie.
Soon, my running partner boarded another bus to take her to the relay exchange point and there I was. Alone in a giant crowd of people. Some were jogging to warm up. Some were in costume. Some were dancing. Then finally, the 30-minute warning sounded, and all those people were simultaneously in line for a porta potty. Twelve thousand people, and they all needed to pee.
After my turn with a porta potty, I packed into Corral B, positioned myself in the center of the crowd and waited for the fireworks.
Literally. There were fireworks as each wave of racers started. That’s Disney for you!
With color and light exploding overhead, Corral B crossed the start line. I had my iPhone strapped to my arm, my Runkeeper app fired up and ready to help me time my intervals. My training runs have all been at a 2:1 interval – 2 minutes of running, 1 minute of walking. I knew it was important to take the walk breaks in the beginning, even when I didn’t feel tired, so I’d still have plenty of gas in the tank at the end of the race.
Two minutes passed, and I realized there was no way I was about to walk. The crowd of racers had not begun to spread out, and because I had positioned myself in the center of pack, if I’d stopped to walk I’d have been trampled.
And thus began a series of learning moments. I learned:
-bring headphones. I thought I’d want to absorb the excitement of the race and wouldn’t need music, but I was wrong. The first three miles of the race were along the streets between Disney properties and were, frankly, boring. Disney had a few characters positioned along the route, but mostly I had the sound of my feet and my breathing for company and they only made me nervous.
-run on the edge of the road. There were plenty of other walk/run racers taking their walk breaks, but they had enough sense to start out on the edge of the pack. It took me a long time to work my way over there.
-I cannot control my racing environment. I always run alone; therefore I go slow when I want to, faster when I want to, and take my walk breaks when I want to. But in this race, with so many people, it wasn’t up to me. Sometimes I wanted to walk but couldn’t because of the crowd surging behind me. There were points in the race I’d planned to go faster, but those also happened to be points where the route narrowed and the crowd slowed.
And perhaps the hardest lesson to learn of them all: race day adrenaline does not make the race easy. I’d been laboring under the illusion that once I got to the starting line, I’d ride the wave of energy and excitement all the way to the finish line, crushing my usual pace and without the fatigue. I was wrong. My pace was a little faster than my training runs, but not by much. And there were still times when I felt tired.
But there were high points too. There is clearly an electricity at the starting line of a big race like this, with 12,000 people poised and ready to run, that is not something I’ve experienced outside of racing. And while the first three miles along the roads were boring, last 1.8 were a big improvement because I got to run through Animal Kingdom. The park provided plenty of visual distractions and it finally felt like Disney, not just another blacktop. And crossing the finish line is a pretty great feeling.
And now I have this nice new bit of bling, which I plan to turn in to a Christmas ornament.
I have just under two weeks left until my first half-marathon – the Rock N Roll race here in Savannah. I am so thankful I had a chance to run the Disney race and work out some of these racing kinks without the added challenge of 13.1 miles.
13.1 miles. With 23,000 of my closest running buddies. Piece of cake, right?
