Running Out of Time

Hood to Coast is coming up, just a few days away.  I'm feeling confident about it, even though I have a leg that has been described as the "5.75-mile epitome of your grandfather’s walk to school—uphill, both ways—with dusty gravel doing a more than adequate job of standing in for snow."  I've been running Terwilliger on the weekends for the last couple of months so I'm not too worried about it, especially as I will be running that leg at night.  For those of you who don't know, Terwilliger Blvd is a twisty-turny street that starts near downtown Portland and wends it's way up from about 200 ft to over 600 ft in just under 6 miles.  Not quite as steep as my H2C leg but it gives a good approximation and it's the right distance.  And, as I said, I'll be running it at night.

I love night running.  I find it to be very quiet and meditative.  Night runs feel longer, as if time had stopped but also shorter, as if I was running outside of time.  My pace is usually slower, I think because I don't have same visual cues that I would during the day, but I finish the run feeling fantastic and refreshed, despite the fact I've just run several miles.

Both times that I have done Hood to Coast before, I've preferred my night runs.  There's a sense of being all by yourself, in a good way.  During the day, you can't help but notice the people you're running with but at night, the people you pass (or if you are like me, the people who pass you) are merely well-lit shadows, outlined with reflective tape.  Out in the wilderness of Oregon, on the twisty roads of the coastal mountains, they soon disappear around the next turn and you're alone once more, with the night sky, cool air, and possibly a cow munching on hay in the field next to you.  I relish those feelings, I cherish them. 

So, I am excited for Hood to Coast.  I can't wait for it.  I feel like a kid about to go to summer camp.  And the marathon I have coming up?  Well, I'm choosing not to think about it right now.  It's like the first day of school.  I know I'm behind in training for it and I know I'm running out of time. 

That reminds me, I need to go for a run.

To Zip or Not To Zip?

Zipcar is in the middle of their Low-Car Diet event right now.  It's purpose is to raise awareness of how easy it can be to use cars less.  I've always wished I could sign up but I don't own a car.  I've never owned a car.  I do not plan on ever owning a car (well, maybe, someday, I'll get a MINI).  Public transit is my primary mode of vehicular transportation and I walk everywhere else.  Occasionally, I'll reserve a Zipcar if I'm travelling somewhere with limited transit options.  I was living the No-Car lifestyle long before Zipcar arrived.

Today, I filled out a survey for Zipcar.  I believe they were partnering with Portland's Department of Transportation to discover how Zipcar has affected people's transit and personal vehicle use.  I'm always happy to fill out a survey that could help increase the transit options in Portland.  As decent as Portland's transit system is, it could be so much better.

However, today, I found some of the questions to be flawed.  For example, one question asked if I had sold my car because of Zipcar.  I was only given the option to agree or disagree.  Since I didn't have a car to begin with, I started to disagree with that statement, but that didn't feel right and I didn't want to skew the results in the negative.  Instead, I skewed the results in the positive by agreeing that Zipcar had enabled me to sell my nonexistent car.  Similar questions asked if I walked more because of Zipcar, if I biked more because of Zipcar, if I rode the bus more because of Zipcar.  I "agreed" with all of them but the truth of the matter is, I've always walked, biked and ridden the bus to get where I need.  Zipcar did nothing to change that aspect of my life.  If anything, I've driven more because of Zipcar.  I've gone from No-Car to Low-Car.

Zipcar has certainly made my life easier but I still rely heavily on other modes of transportation.  My life is planned around public transit; I won't live somewhere without good transit options.  My daily commute on the bus is a generally relaxing time, during which I knit like mad.  I am also contemplating taking part in the Bike Commuter Challenge this year, although that would mean a significant decrease in knitting time.  And, due to monetary restraints, I've decided to bus instead of Zip this weekend to a birthday party in Oregon City.

So, Zipcar, I love you and you have changed my life marginally but I'll continue on my personal Low-Car Diet without you this weekend.

Stuck on the Sleeves

In November, I will be traveling to London.  Whenever I plan a trip, I plan what I will wear with great detail.  I want to look chic (ok, I want to look fabulous) and I don't want to look like a typical American tourist, so definitely no trainers.  I've been working on my Brit vocabulary and slang, can you tell?

When I went to Italy, I took several things that I had sewn, a couple of pairs of capri pants (how appropriate for Italy), a very light shrug for entering cathedrals (bare shoulders are not allowed), a halter, a sun dress and a truly fabulous silk chiffon skirt.  My trip to London will be no different; I plan to be dressed stylishly.  And, comfortably.

One of the things I'm working on is my Londinium sweater.  I have a sweater that I knit for my trip to Boston that I absolutely love but it is brown and I wanted something in a gray that I could wear with black, as   I'm also going to be sewing a new winter coat, a Vogue pattern, in a simply beautiful black and green DKNY wool with a little bit of sparkle.  Any sweater I make would need to match and fit under the coat.

Londinium - see the pretty cables?

I'm using the Rosamund's Cardigan pattern, by Andrea Pomerantz, with a few alterations.  I'd rather not use hook and eyes on knits and I don't really care for how the sweater opens at the bottom without the hooks and eyes so I added some more buttonholes for a total of six buttonholes.  I've been using Shepherd's Wool by Stonehedge Fiber Mill which is a wonderful merino, with great stitch definition.  I think this is my new favorite yarn.  It's so soft and I just want to buy several skeins and roll around in them.  And let me say, I do not often have hedonistic thoughts about yarn.

Back to the sweater.  Since I will be wearing it in London, in November, where it will be really cold, I wanted longer sleeves as well so I decided to lengthen the cap sleeves.  That's actually where I am in the project, at the sleeves.  The body knit up like a dream and I really like the reversible cables, in fact, I plan on repeating the cables on the cuff.  But when I got to the sleeves, I didn't stop to figure out any of the math.  So, now I'm going to have to frog the sleeve I started and begin the sleeve again, once I've figured out the decreases.  If I start with 60 stitches and I want 3.5 repeats of the cables on the sleeves (56 stitches), I would only have to decrease 4 stitches but I want the sleeve to fit snugly.  I'll have to decrease to just before the wrist and then increase again before the cuff.

Until I get all that math figured out, the sweater will just have to wait.  Besides, I have a top-secret project that needs finishing and I bought some lovely yarn at Knit Purl's Month of Lace sale and I just got the coolest book on socks from the library and I really want to make some socks now and start the gloves I plan to take to London and ... Anyone know a cure for startitis?

Adopting Della

By the end of the first weekend of Della's and my life together, it had become a mini-mantra that I used to remind myself I wanted a dog. I love my dog. I love my dog. I love my dog. And then I begged my sister to come over and watch Della so I could get out of the house sans dog. I needed to get away from my dog.


I do love my dog. The second I saw her file on the Oregon Humane Society's website, I knew. I knew she was my dog.


Della, waiting for me outside
my local coffeeshop

Della, with her sweet black face and sad eyes, caught my attention. I loved her black and white coloring and she was the right size(my landlord imposed a weight restriction). My sister and I traveled out by bus to the shelter on a Wednesday to meet her. At first, we couldn't find her in the kennels and I felt my heart sink. She was my dog; no one else was allowed to have her. After enlisting the help of a volunteer, we were able to locate Della and spend some time with her in the visiting room. Della seemed so quiet and lady-like. She let us pet her but she was very quiet and reserved, as if she didn't believe her life could change from being a stray shelter dog.



We arranged for each of us to individually place a 24 hour hold on her. I went home that night and sent emails to anyone I could think of who might be willing to drive me over on Friday to pick her up. A friend graciously agreed to help pick her up with me. Arriving at the shelter, I was told, by more than one of the shelter employees that they were so glad I was adopting Della. Apparently, another woman was interested in Della but she had a cat and the shelter had tried to dissuade her from adopting a dog that would not do well around cats. When she returned to try and adopt Della, she threw a fit when she found out Della was reserved. No one wanted her to get Della, especially after the fit-throwing.

Some paperwork, a quick stop at the pet store and Taco Time for dinner, and we were home. That first night, Della was an angel. The next day was great; we went for long walks, I pet her a lot and snuggled with her. Sunday morning, I had to go to church. I wasn't sure if she was house-trained or not so I put her in the downstairs bathroom with a bowl of water and her bed. When I came home and opened the door to let her out, I found the door trim in pieces on the floor where Della had launched herself at the door, trying to get out.

 

By Monday morning, I was wondering what I had gotten myself into. Della had slipped out of her collar a couple of times on our walks, she had an accident inside and she managed to get herself trapped in the upstair bathroom, where she proceeded to pull the door trim off that door as well. If I looked at her cross-eyed, she would flop to the floor in a submissive gesture. I think I cried a few times that weekend and I finally begged my sister to come over, just so I could get out of the house, by myself.

I had a few thoughts that weekend, of returning her but I couldn't bear to send her back to the shelter and I had to believe we would be fine once we got comfortable with each other.  And I didn't want to admit I couldn't handle owning a dog, even if I did have thoughts of "I don't think I can deal with this for another 10 years."

Della and I have been together now for 3 years.  At 8 years old, she doesn't show much signs of slowing down and now when I think about how many years we have left together, it's more of "we only have this many years left together" instead of "how will I survive" feeling.  I don't regret adopting her, even when Della does something she shouldn't... which is often.

My Year of YES! Part One or How I Got Into Running and Decided to Run a Marathon

This year, I turned thirty.  That birthday seems to be a particularly hard one for people.  As someone at my office said, "Twenty-nine seems a lot younger than thirty."  Now, I wouldn't say it was a hard birthday; all in all, it seemed fairly straight-forward.  I didn't feel any different, I didn't look any different.  I certainly don't want to go back to being twenty.  No matter what I say or feel, though, about turning thirty, that birthday is a milestone.

Last fall, I started to feel the impending milestone.  I had wanted to run my first marathon last year but was prevented by a foot injury.  So, there went my plan of running a marathon before I was thirty.  "Then," thought I, "I'll just run a marathon the year I turn thirty." Those who know me best were skeptical.

You see, when I was growing up, I was no athlete.  I liked to dance but I hated running (really, I hated all sports).  To paraphrase Snoopy, I was a running hater, a running loather, and a running despiser.  I was also scared to death of running.  I was terrible at it, I was slow, it made my chest hurt, my mouth dry, I tired easily.  I avoided almost all sports assiduously.  Then, I went to college and accidentally signed up for the novice rowing team.

At the activities fair, just between new student orientation and the start of classes, I wandered the tables, looking at clubs and organizations.  I met the people at the InterVarsity table and Campus Crusade; I couldn't decide which group to join so I made myself go to both, in an effort to make friends.  Then, I saw the "Rowing" table.  Memories of rowing out into the middle of Lake Yamanaka, at the foot of Mt. Fuji danced through my head.  Rowing was calm, rowing was peaceful, it gave you a chance to enjoy the view.  I wrote my name down on their list.

That's me in the front.  You can just see the
tops of my lucky socks, I knit them myself.

A week later, I received an email stating practices would start that week in the afternoons.  I couldn't make the first practices as they met during one of my classes but, from the tone of the email, I quickly realized that I had not joined a club that would leisurely row on the Willamette, I'd joined the novice rowing team, which would be practicing, hard.  The only scenery viewing would be between rowing pieces, collapsed over the oar shaft, trying desperately to get my heart back into my chest.  The stubborn part of me refused to let me quit without even trying; this could be my chance, my defining moment, my crucible.  After all, isn't college supposed to be a place where you can re-invent yourself, be someone new.  I was determined to change something, or to at least make a decent effort.

My first experience with rowing actually ended up being on an ergometer.  Everyone around me hated it, I loved it.  I got bit by the rowing bug and I didn't want to stop.  Sure, it was hard but there was still a sense of calmness in the rhythm of rowing.  You have to be calm to row and while power might get you there, technique will get you there, probably faster and with a more efficient use of energy.  I still couldn't make a lot of the practices but I finally got put in a boat.  I knew nothing and, since the novice coach had already taught everyone else the basics, she didn't bother to teach me anything.  I still loved it.  I was terrible at it, I was slow, it made my chest hurt, my mouth dry and I tired easily but I still loved it. 

What I didn't love was the coach and when the semester was over, I chose to quit.  My chem lab partner happened to be the women's varsity captain and she encouraged me to come back in the fall.  I promised her I would and I did.  I couldn't keep away from rowing and, at the end of my sophomore year, I received the "Most Improved Rower" award (not that big of an achievement as I was the worst rower at the beginning of the year).  I continued with rowing all through college.  I would have continued after college if I could have afforded to join a club in town.  I didn't have the money but I had gotten hooked on being in good shape, on being healthy.  Somewhere along the line, I had become an athlete.



Hood to Coast 2010  - my first of three legs.
Recognize the orange visor?



Well, what is an athlete supposed to do when they have no money to spend on gyms or rowing clubs?  I started running.  Not always consistently and I still don't always find running fun, but it's worth the feeling I get after I run.  I'm a total believer in the runner's high because I get it all the time.  I didn't start getting serious about running, though, until I started my not-so-new-anymore job in downtown Portland.  Suddenly, I could afford a gym membership, I had a great place to run along the Waterfront and, my office had a Hood to Coast team.  What better way to give me something to train for?  I started running more consistently and a little bit faster, too.  I still had no intention of running a marathon, though; that just seemed like unnecessary torture.

Fast forward a few years and I'm running several miles a week.  I loved doing Hood to Coast (this year will by my third time) and then I watched Run Fatboy Run.  Silly movie, I know, and I know it's not real but it got me thinking.  Every year, people who are heavier, slower, less in shape than I complete marathons.  The delusional part of me decided that I needed to run a marathon.  Then I injured my foot and it got put off a year but last fall, as soon as registration for the Portland Marathon was open and before I could change my mind, I signed up.  I still have people who doubt my resolve but I'm going to do it.  Not only because I've told everyone that I'll be running a marathon but also because I paid good money for my spot.  No way I'm letting that money go to waste.

So this year, YES, I am running a marathon.

My Apologies...

First, my apologies for my futzing with the layout and colours and backgrounds, etc. I have too much fun looking at all the possibilities. I think I may have finally settled upon one layout/design that I like and will keep. Hey, it's hard to decide on a design when they keep adding more and your subject matter keeps expanding. You try to find one layout that encompasses knitting, food, travel, thoughts on Christian spirituality, singing, riding the bus, my incoherent ramblings that I think someone, someday, might want to read.

Second, my apologies for not writing more often. I started this whole thing, mostly so I could post a knitting pattern. And, I thought, since everyone is writing blogs, I should also. I'm usually not the type to jump on the bandwagon. In fact, I'm usually early or late in my bandwagon jumping. I do something before it's popular or I join in just as everyone is jumping onto the next bandwagon. Now that I've jumped on to the bandwagon, I should really try to stay on instead of being bounced out every few months and running to catch up.

However, this is my year of Yes! (which I will explain in a future posting), so, I will take another stab at this whole blog thing. I may even let people know I'm writing a blog. That might boost my readership. Here's to happy blogging! Or at least, more timely blogging.

What Can I Do?

On March 10th, at about 11:30 pm, I opened an email from my dad titled, "WE FELT THAT ONE!!!" He went on to write about two 7.9 earthquakes 255 miles north of where my parents live, just outside of Tokyo.

Now, my parents have lived in Tokyo since 1972. My dad grew up near San Francisco, my mom in Los Angeles. They have plenty of experience with earthquakes. So, when they both say they've never felt anything like that before, I knew it was serious. I quickly switched my browser over to BBC and clicked on a video link. It took me a few minutes to realize I was watching live news. Initial reports were conflicting as to the magnitude of the earthquake but finally, it was agreed that the earthquake as actually a 9.0, the fifth largest quake in the world since records were kept. And there was no mistaking that tsunami.

I can remember where I was when the Twin Towers fell and I remember how I felt when the devastation in New Orleans became apparent. Those two events, in a strange way, made me feel American for the first time in my life. Tragedy has a way of drawing us together. But this, watching the water rise, this felt much worse. Japan will always be my home, though I may never live there again. Now, I realize it is my heart-land as well. And my heart broke as I watched towns and cities disappear.

In the days that followed, I checked BBC religiously to find out any news. My computer was always open to Facebook so that I could check in with my parents and friends who are still in Japan. It all got to be too much and I had to start imposing media fasts. The devastation is greater than I can imagine and from everything I've heard, the pictures can't capture the scope of it all. I was also growing increasingly frustrated at the emphasis placed on the problems at the Fukushima Daiichi reactor as it felt like people were losing focus on the survivors further north. I'm not denying the importance of shutting down the reactor safely nor the danger of any radiation leaks. However, I've grown tired of the constant fear-mongering in the press and, frankly, tired of America's "How will this affect me?" stance.

I wanted desperately to be doing something to help. But I knew that my Japanese language skills, which were never stellar, would only be a hindrance. I don't have the time to take off from work, I don't have the specialized skills to offer. I've been doing the only things I can do. I've been praying constantly and I've donated what I can afford to give. But I felt like that wasn't enough.

There was a sense that other people believed that, as a developed country, Japan would not need the help or accept the help that other countries would need if faced with a similar disaster. You only have to look at the photos of the devastation to know that is not true. They desperately need any help we can give.

Much has been made of Japanese stoicism and resilience. Hundreds of thousands of people are showing great courage and dignity in the face of tragedy. But that stoicism doesn't mean people aren't hurting and that they can get by on their own.

Even more than money, they need our prayers and support. They need to know they are not alone.

What can I do? What can I do on the other side of the ocean? How can I show my support and love for Japan?

In response, I've set up a fundraising page with MercyCorps and made a pin to wear in support of the survivors of the Tohoku earthquake. It's a simple loop of white ribbon with a red button. I will give a pin to everyone who donates $5 or more to the page listed below. I hope you will wear it and remember, "life is short and we have never too much time for gladdening the hearts of those who are travelling the dark journey with us. Oh be swift to love, make haste to be kind." (Henri-Frederic Amiel)

http://www.mercycorps.org/fundraising/lynelletarter

Please feel free to share this with your friends and family. Thanks for any support you can give.

Lynelle

Gambare, Nippon!