Blanket the Bridge

When the wind is blowing, these billow like beautiful, rainbow sails.

Portland is sometimes called Bridgetown because of the many bridges crossing the Willamette River, running through the middle of Portland. There are 10 bridges (or 11 if you count the railroad bridge, which I do) crossing the river and each one is a little different. A new bridge is currently being built and it's the first bridge to be built in almost 40 years.

The Broadway Bridge is 100 years old this year. When the Broadway Bridge opened in April of 1913, it was a really big deal. At the time, it was the longest bascule bridge in the world (see the Wikipedia article here; I tried to find the longest now and some say it is Portland's Morrison Bridge) and it is currently the longest Rall-type bascule bridge still in existence today. The most important thing about it at the time of it's opening was that, for the first time, north and northeast Portland were connected with west Portland.

There was a big celebration for Broadway's birthday year, culminating in a public art installation and a block party. The art installation were four large knitted banners, made of 12" squares sewn together. Over 150 knitters participated, knitting feverishly. The banners will be disassembled when taken down, washed and made into smaller blankets, then distributed to shelters and a children's hospital.

I was one of the 150 knitters. I worked on yellow (the Timbers Army Loopers and Knitters or TALKs worked on the yellow and green squares; yes, there is a Timbers Army knitting group). My yellow squares were the ones with color patterns; I quickly got bored with stripes and garter stitch.

The week before the banners came down, I walked over to the bridge on my lunch to take pictures. As usual, I had my knitting with me and knit as I walked. After taking pictures of the banners, I started down off the bridge, passing a cyclist pulling a small trailer behind her. As we passed each other, she called out to me, "Knitting while walking, nice!" Sometimes, my life is exactly like Portlandia... all that is missing is the artisanal chickens or the heirloom cheese.



(As cool as our yarn-bomb was, check out this one as well. We even got a mention in the article.)

Run for Minutes

"Run for minutes instead of miles. If you're feeling great, you may go 6 miles in 50 minutes; if you're not, you may go 4.5." ~ @GregMcMillan, Greg McMillan, head coach of McMillan Running

Or, if the race officials/volunteers have marked the course incorrectly, run over half a mile longer than intended.

When I first decided to run a marathon, I had never run more than 7.24 miles (that was the length of the longest Hood to Coast leg that I had ever run; it was also the first H2C leg I ever ran. It's amazing I kept running). I was constantly asked if I had run a 5k or a half-marathon and the answer was constantly no. I just decided skip the little stuff and go straight for the crazy. Don't worry, I did train; I'm not that crazy.

This time around, a little wiser and experienced, I've stretched my training over a longer time period in the hope that I'll be more prepared for the marathon. And I added a half-marathon as a "test," to see if I was on track with my training. That "test" half was last Sunday.

There I am, in the pink

I had a goal for this race, to finish in under two and a half hours. This was an ambitious goal but what is the point of a goal if it is too easy? My goal for my last marathon was just to finish, and since I had never run that distance before, that was an ambitious goal. But now with a marathon under my belt, I felt it was time to have personal record goals.

I felt good for the first seven miles. I kept a steady pace, I passed several people (always an ego-booster). It was warm but not overly so and there was a little shade dappling the gently rolling hills of Forest Grove. Then it got warmer and I started wondering where the next water table was. The gently rolling hills started to roll a little bit more and a little less gently. The shade disappeared.

The good news was that the turn-around was close. For about a mile, I had been seeing runners who were ahead of me passing me going the other direction. I was finally seeing runners that I recognized and then I turned a corner and saw the turn-around just a little ways away. One lady that I had passed early on passed me (always an ego-buster) but I kept in my head and didn't try to run her race.

But the miles were passing more and more slowly. The turn-around was at eight miles, the ninth mile felt slightly stretched, ten was long and hot, eleven felt like a mile and a half. There was no shade and no water except for the greenhouses on either side of the road with their irrigation systems going full-blast, inside. It felt like an obscure form of torture (make someone run eleven miles then put cooling, lovely water behind a fence... evil). Mile twelve started and then went straight up. Seriously, a steep hill at between mile eleven and twelve? With a curve in it? I couldn't see the end. I had already started walking and doing the "run to that sign, then you can walk to the next sign, and repeat" but I got to the hill and it was just walking at that point.

After finally dragging myself to the top, I saw the twelfth mile marker, sitting next to nirvana, the last water station. I chugged two cups of water and poured another on my head. It wasn't much but it was enough. I staggered on, made the final few turns and somehow found it in me to power through to the finish.

Somewhere after mile eight, I had stripped down to my sports bra and running skirt. I'm a fairly modest person and I'm not particularly fond of my mid-section. I've never been one to run around in just a sports bra but one thing I have realized in my years on a rowing team and my years as a runner, people get uncomfortable enough, hot enough, sweaty enough, and they will do what ever they need to do to feel better (looking at that photo now, I don't look nearly as bad as I thought I did). Anything that could get me moderately cooler was a-okay by me and if people had a problem with it, well, they could run a half-marathon off a short pier for all I cared at that moment.

Here's the thing though. A runner got lost during this race and my ride/spectator/shanghaied volunteer extraordinaire was looking for a woman in a pink top, not a green one. I didn't arrive at the finish line by 2:30.00 and by 2:40.00, she was starting to worry a little. But I came in at 2:43.59 and I felt good about that time and she was able to recognize me early enough to get a few photos of my coming in. So it all worked out, even though I didn't make my time.

Actually, here's the real kicker. When I got home, I mapped the course so that I could log the race on the website I use to track my training. I didn't run 13.1 miles. I ran 13.75 miles. The race organizers had marked the course incorrectly and extended the turn-around too far. Even with intermittent walking and the evil hill, my pace was under the 12-minute mark. For me, that's really good and I'm very proud of that.

This last weekend, I was supposed to run for 17 miles but I had to cut my run short due to some pretty bad chafing (BodyGlide is my friend and I forgot to bring her along on this run) so instead of running for miles, I ran for the time I planned. Today, I mapped that run to log it online. Guess what? I ran 13.1 miles exactly.

Never Say Never

A friend pointed out recently that never and I don't get along well. This is something I have noticed as well. Never likes to bide it's time and just when I get complacent, spring out at me and "Ha, ha! and you thought you would never...." Here are some examples:

Mt. Fuji

When I was in high school, I swore I would never be an athlete. Yet, while in college, I accidentally signed up for the novice crew team, found that I actually loved rowing, and ended up a varsity athlete for three years.

When I was fifteen, I climbed Mt. Fuji (for the second time; yes, I'm aware that makes me a fool). When I came down off that mountain, I swore never again. A decade and a half later, I want to climb the mountain again. Go figure.

I told my parents I would never get a tattoo. I now have four.

My first marathon bib and shoes

Right after I graduated from college, I swore I would never run a marathon or even a half. My crew coach had suggested I take up running if I couldn't join a rowing club. While I did run a little bit at the time (usually only a couple of miles at a time), I didn't particularly enjoy it then. I think I outright laughed in her face when she suggested a marathon. Ten years later, I've run a full marathon and a half-marathon (I ran the half today, actually) and three Hood-to-Coasts and I'm training for two more marathons.

I thought I would never travel alone. I was scared to travel alone as a woman. But I realized that I was running out of traveling companions and I wasn't willing to sit at home anymore. So I went to London and I'm planning my next trip, which leads me to my next example.

Me, along the Thames

I though I would never go on a cruise. And, while I'm not ruling it out, I'm not terribly interested in a cruise to Mexico or around the Caribbean. Alaska, now that's a different story. I'm going on my first cruise in about a month, along the Inside Passage. There will be other firsts on that trip as well. A helicopter flight, a ride on a dog sled, ziplining, kayaking. I'm getting so excited, I want it to be September NOW.

So, as you can see, never and I don't get along. I swear never to do something and I do it. I think something will never happen and it happens.

I'm fairly confident that I will never skydive or bungee jump (I'm not afraid of heights, just falling from them) but, knowing my luck with never, I'll end up in a small airplane, one that has lost power and the only way to survive is by diving from the plane. Or I'll have to bungee jump off something... nope, can't think of a legitimate reason to bungee jump.

Never say never...