you may say that i'm a dreamer, but i'm not the only one...

father's day is almost here (again), and not un-like mother's day, facebook has kindly prompted it's masses to copy and paste (and post) assorted pater related paraphernalia (south africa, 1975, dad is third from the left, next to mum, both sitting behind me).



but which photo? staring at the albums i got that same glazed over feeling which happens at baskin & robbins. but this is the one i went with; awali, bahrain, sometime in the mid 80's, on his way to work to do a couple of fillings. there were a lot of different names on the house signs, some in arabic, but as far as i can remember there weren't any others that started and ended with a z-- and believe me, there are a lot of arabic names that do.



at this point i think it is fairly evident that i cant commit to much of anything-- and i do thank, not blame, my dad for that (it is his fault about the flat feet though) geographical transience can do that to a person. iceland; circa. we were very small-- somewhere in the 3 foot range-- but this demonstrates how the fedorowicz's never travel light, regardless of how much practicing at it goes on.



then there was the "badass" one where he ran the comrades ultra-marathon in south africa (that's 90k south of the equator) some time in the late 70's.



or the one where he took "teenage me" mountain biking around the jebel (bahrain) with his windsurfing buddies, post-gulf war (the first one).



speaking of windsurfing...sheik's beach, bahrain, the 90's.



there was also the apres 'ride around the desert', in the paddling pool, with floating beer...



scuba diving in the red sea in the 80's. well, diving and drinking home brewed wine for the grown ups, ripping apart sea cucumbers and starfish for the under 9's.



and the "poo thing"...duba, saudi arabia; we were so proud of the home made camping toilet that was the sum product of the fedorowicz, wood and barnes families' hard labour.



because this is what we all had to put up with before; a shovel, sand dune and a roll of andrex...



always a family favourite, dad laughing uncontrollably while pointing out the giant, steaming pile the horse (that just carried his son and future daughter-in-law away by carriage) left behind. (keysoe, england, 5-ish years ago).



my birthday card (from my brother), detailing the finer points of a dog's bum, caused such silent mirth and tears of appreciation, that we could not miss the opportunity to document it (buckden, england, two-ish summers ago).



at this point, it's clearly evident that freud would have a field day; the apple cant even be pried off the tree. dad in his dental chair, bahrain.



last christmas.

show us your bibs!

new orleans, what better place to run a long distance foot race than during mardi gras season; it's flat, temperatures are not "sweat pooling in your butt crack and belly button" and there are plenty of doughnuts, i mean beignets, to fortify the fat stores before the big event.

while we did see michael j fox in the arrivals hall at louis armstrong international, i was somewhat surprised, given the season, at the lack of trannies handing out cytomax along the actual course- by the time i came shuffling through the aid station, even the most hung over should have been up and scarfing a bacon wrapped beignet or two. however, the route masters did a great job of touring us through "things from tv and the pages of people magazine in real life"-- the superdome and media focus of hurricane katrina hysteria (apparently also a football team), the funereal skyline of above ground mausoleums, mark twain's mississippi river, complete with big noisy paddle steamers lumbering by, and the quaint neon charm of larry flynt's hustler clubs in quicker succession than antebellum porches shaded by spanish moss.

so aside from all of the other verbs-- "drink"; hurricanes, martinis, cosmopolitans, and a shiraz called "ass kisser", "shop"; or at least try to figure out how to get the lady at the joe malone counter in SAKS to give us flutes of champagne- apparently it's two more decades and a very pronounced 'botox face', "eat"; anything that swam, scavenged or mooed covered in beans, rice and grits, "play"; 'talking to random strangers at the bar', which definitely gets more mileage than 'talking to random strangers you are sitting next to on the flight from portland to laguardia, and "people watch"; a couple getting engaged in the grass at franklin park, we did "run", and because i still haven't figured out how to do more than charge the bloody garmin, i used basic maths-- fairly accurately (for me). 1 under cross-trained/over run left knee with a history of dislocation minus 13.1 equals 13.1 (yes, i scaled down to the half, keep up people) divided by a bunch of other halves where i now know an acceptable pace per mile marker and when to ramp things up, equals me crossing the finish line in (personal) record time with fatigued legs, but not feeling like i just want to lie on the tarmac for 35 minutes and aspirate sport's beans. 2:07:21. final answer: i am officially on target to kick oprah's ass time at the next 26.2

i'm the same age as when you and my mummy met!

it has been a whopping quarter of a century since the 'saudi arabia days', which means a lot of notes to share...



somewhere after baking and playing barbies, we started to do many of the things our respective sets of parents had done; like producing multiples of children and moving somewhere else (and then somewhere else...).

you could cut glass with those nipples

this was pretty much the weather forecast for the maine coast women's half marathon this past weekend. and yet approximately 1,200 runners (that's about 2,400 ovaries) pitched up in assorted combinations of pink wicking spandex to brave the harsher end of tepid.

any sporting event that promotes itself purely on the basis of a matching set of chromosomes has the potential to be as annoying as one of those scented candle parties. fortunately, the act of slapping on a timing chip and bib number cancels out too much of the "kumbaya" and ratchets up the competition.

(because i really wont get out of bed for anything less than a 10k).

will ride for gummy bears, not patrick dempsey

the loo is a grossly underrated spot for the kind of multi-tasking that involves drinking coffee, putting in contact lenses, doing the hair, flossing, and wriggling (at least ankle way) into a pair of bike shorts at 6:52 in the morning.

i even got to check facebook.



dr. mcdreamy returned to maine for more chamois and cancer awareness by bringing together a community full of fundraising taints willing to endure 15, 25, 50 or a 100 miles of chafing amongst the foliage. however, what seemed like an absolutely splendid- because it was mostly remote- idea in january fizzled into not a whole lot of pledge solicitation or saddle time come august and september. fortunately there was zero tolerance amongst our team for dropping down to the 25- let alone dropping out- for fear of being left out. one personal cheque later, and i was attaching a $200 bib number on with a nappy pin at 7am.

(i ate about $1.75 worth of high priced, high fructose corn syrup at the SAG stops).

nothing says 'happy nuptuals' like swamp ass and bourbon

it's true what "they" say; it will all pass in a blur and you won't get to eat much of anything. and so the haphazardly orchestrated romantic-comedy-musical which was my kentucky wedding, became just that. i now see pictures posted on facebook that i don't even remember being taken, and i don't think i ever saw one green chili wonton appetizer, let alone got to finish the same glass of wine- which could also be related to the ceremony/reception fugue.



obviously 'the days leading up to' involved much last minute stress including whether or not to buy gin, rum and vodka at costco, or go the whole hog and get gin, rum, vodka, and bourbon for the rehearsal/reunion garden party/dinner. hands were wrung with frustration (countless rounds of hand wringing).



not to mention the 'shit-i-have-less-than-four-days-to-get-this-new-dress-altered' issue. thankfully, between much of the aforementioned alcohol and my new found fairy godmother who was working her sewing machine off in the heart of st. mathews, all was (mostly) amicably resolved.



fortunately, there was sufficient down time so that "the boys" (plus a few select spouses) were able to head down to the buffalo trace distillery, en masse, to get roasted on beverages infused in oak barrels (the other alternative being the creation museum up near cincinnati). this freed up time for the bride to engage in the usual girly things like going to make-up shops and working on (awkward) tan lines for "the dress".



finally, the BIG DAY arrived and the "staging area" was intentionally stocked with friends, fizzy alcohol and guacamole to help with last minute editing of the vows. until my brother, a perpetual victim of my noxious predilection for garlic, walked into a room reeking of onions and promptly left in disgust.



despite stringent efforts to avoid anything girly, i committed my own personal emotional foul; leaking- which is not the same as "crying". shortly after mooning my frilly pink knickers to a former co-worker, i saw another office mate who had flown in from new mexico the night before. wow...people...had...taken...time...and...money...to...make...the...effort...to...
see...me...dress...up...and...say...a...bunch...of...stuff...to...someone...that...they...
had...more...than...likely...never...met...up...to...this...point...and...even...though...
we...would...probably...only...have...a...total...of...7...minutes...of...actual...face...
to...face...time...they...came...anyway. this very thing was part of the whole 'courthouse versus wedding' decision. because people will always find a way to make it to a wedding (or funeral)- as long as there is "open bar" written on the invitation. and as such, we both got to see familiar faces from 12-15 years ago. so, while i did win the 'less expensive outfit' contest, he cleaned house on the 'who's going to cry first' challenge.



and all of those little things that i fixated on, in an effort to try and make things less "weddingy", ergo "boring" and cliche worked, eliciting the appropriate and therefore self-gratifying responses; an ebullient officiant (and former mattress store manager); invitations showcasing two sets of big glasses and a ramen noodle perm; europe's "final countdown" on sax as i was escorted down the aisle by both mum and dad, and the fun luggage tag favours- triggering hoarding behaviour amongst some attendees.



then there were the saucy cocktail napkins, sign in jigsaw puzzle depicting the marital black toenail cutting, a first dance to "ring of fire", and of course cake. the only criteria being that it had to either cramp up the ovaries upon visual contact (not gender specific), or result in a full on face plant.



finally, i have been astounded by all of the talented and creative people who made things happen. and while there was no 'bridal party' there were many worthy of a baby blue taffeta number with bows and puffed sleeves.



(photography courtesy of burt reynolds).

ask and ye shall receive; burning quads and a full body bug bite

i'm not sure how the transition from 'young and single' or 'single-into-the-third-decade-and-now-i've-forgotten-how-to-share-the-duvet-or-my-cute-stain-free-towels-from-tj-maxx', to legalized cohabitation is best done by decking oneself out in a condom covered t-shirt, flashing your bits while getting out of a stretched white hummer, just so you can down cough syrup shots at nineteen different bars. i've seen the divorce statistics in US weekly magazine.

limits were thus set on a bridal shower/bachelorette "thing" that had to be completely devoid of twinsets, quiche, mike's hard lemonade or plastic penis paraphernalia. so we put on sensible shoes, covered ourselves in bug repellant and hiked up a mountain.



and then hiked back down under the influence. fortunately the only wildlife that we had to contend with were colourful bears, highly concentrated in corn syrup, and several bottles of fresh water, organic champagne basking in the rock pools.



finally, there is nothing like the relief of seeing a giant turd in the middle of the trail (for the second time), after riding around lost in the woods for three hours (last weekend's foray into the wilderness). there is also nothing like returning from champagne on the mount, to a patio full of men that have been working the grill.



and cake.

for women only

in an effort to squeeze one more event out of 2009, i found myself at the women's half marathon in "almost new hampshire" last weekend. this is not generally recommended as part of a post-marathon recovery plan, but a friend was running her first and needed the moral support, and i needed to make sure i wouldn't require full-on body support hose now that the two biggest eating months of the calendar year have arrived.

fashion no-no's abounded- as they tend to at foot races- shortly after the energy bean stop was "hot pink tights" and "brown shorts with sweaty crotch that looked like she'd wet herself". of course the first water station saw a mother of three, a former power lifter and body builder (yes, the ones in those tiny bikinis) and myself getting down to the sport's bras in order to trade clothes for an ensemble that allowed for a little more armpit ventilation and temperature control.

while it is easy to complain (no gatorade until mile 11, and a 'serve your own water' station around mile 5) stunning views of the atlantic, old churches, quaint lobster shacks and other new england paraphernalia brought me to my knees long before fatigue was able to.

registering for guests

making the cut to "the guest list" for a wedding is probably not quite as harrowing for the cutt-er, as voting off the chunky sorority cutt-ee on 'the biggest loser'. however, it might be easier to choose who will be one of the lucky recipients of grilled chicken, pasta salad, and an open bar, if you had one of those wedding registry 'point and shoot' gift guns to aim at the address book.

things to consider:

"they invited me, we no longer hang, should i still invite them?" it sort of depends if they have an opportunity to find out that you are actually having a wedding-- between tending their facebook farms, sending karma, and testing general knowledge about british punk circa. february 9th through february 12th, 1987.

"i haven't seen them in years, this would be a nice excuse to catch up." of course then you are left with the burden ("you" are chronically co-dependent) of agonizing over who to sit your middle school teacher from saudi with during dinner-- because "you" are also unable to facilitate introductions while cutting cakes/dancing romantically to louis armstrong/draping hands across each other and the bridal bouquet for a nice, sepia toned close up.

"i'll invite them because i know they wont come, but at least they will feel included". like trying to parallel park a pt cruiser rent-a-car, your judgement is nearly always off.

"do i have to invite them just because we're related? it's been years since we dressed up and ran around pretending to be carebears". this is only typically an issue when the more senior- and matriarchal- members of the family are offering "suggestions".

"how can i cherry pick co-workers and groups of friends and get away without causing any weirdness?" the answer to this is infinitely more valuable than a pain-free remedy for ingrown toenails, and unfortunately just as improbable.

"which exes can we (both) get away with inviting?" generally the ones who are now happily married and have put on 20lbs of complacency. note: "yours" has to be less attractive than "mine".

"what about the person who has already assumed that they are being invited?" find out what their food issues are and email a copy of the menu; crusted, basted, drizzled, and flambeed in that particular ingredient.

i have also learned that picking a playlist for a wedding reception doesn't necessarily mean it should meet the same criteria as the one for "good on long runs".

save the date

wedding season is officially open, and rather than dealing with the "do i have to go?"/power struggle over a suit and tie versus cargo shorts and t-shirt/pouting that there is insufficient protein at the buffet table, the solution to the age old; 'who will serve as my two legged reception accessory' is as simple as 'just add girlfriend'. this is someone who can appreciate the nuances of a bride's decolletage (and doesn't think that means something to happen on "third base"), and agrees with you that the groom serenading his new wife with a little apres-ceremony lounge singing is very sweet, quite brave and totally thoughtful. not to mention that it is perfectly acceptable if your date gets hit on.

and what reception is complete without a little baby break dancing?

attached white female seeking same or different, for various activities

finding an eternal partner to argue over which way the loo roll should be placed is easy. weeding out the potential girlfriends who will bring you colouring books and soup when you're home sick, versus the ones who bring you grief, drama and just make you sick, is not yet available as a feature on eharmony.

once you have secured that "first date", it's a fine balance between personifying the single white psycho and coming on too eager for BFF-dom, versus feigning nonchalance and losing the interest of your future "three-hours-at-the-coffee-shop-talking-about-anal-bleaching" buddy. however, trying to discourage further contacts with a boring and/or attention seeking female who thinks that puns are the epitome of wit, proves to be more challenging than not punching her antithesis; "super-bubbly-girl-who-claps-her-hands-in-delight-(repeatedly)-and-somehow-manages-to-verbalize-the-exclamation-point-at-the-end-of-each-exuberant-statement".

and so the interview process begins; will this person reject me when they find out how overly neurotic and sensitive i really am (will i want to throttle her for being that way too?), does she exhibit the comittment to drive to another state just to go to the outlets- of which only 5 of the 325 shops will be hit? will she make a good running buddy and share the bodyglide? can i convince her to strap on a bike helmet and start building up a collection of 'trail bruises'? can she match my stories about peeing in the car/hedge/on myself?

our "date" ended with an emergency stop at mcdonalds for an evacuation of the chicken saag consumed at lunch. as far as i'm concerned, bodily functions on a "first date" suggests the beginning of a long and entertaining friendship.

sisterhood of the travelling, crotchless running shorts

my own personal narrative of pain includes; waking up when the presenters of morning television are arriving at their new york studios; flying-- it's just not good for my cuticles; physical discomfort; the phylum of trademarked miniature action figure kitsch that tends to accompany a McCoronary meal; spending money. so i'm not really sure why i was packing my dog eaten shorts to fly down for the 3:30am wake-up call at the disney marathon earlier this month. the trifecta of torture included spending money to sit in turbulence and wake up the following day to spend the registration fee by experiencing what it might feel like to have fire ants pelted at my legs (or a duck wearing half an outfit wielding a tennis racket) for several hours- to the tune of "it's a small world".



marathoners share a trauma bond that no amount of bodyglide can lubricate. wearing race t-shirts and medals are for the obvious. the physical manifestation is seen all over downtown disney, post-marathon, as our kindred do the heidi fleiss hobble towards planet hollywood for salt, garlic fried carbs, and tequila.



in addition to water, watery powerade, and vaseline on popsicle sticks, chocolate bars were being dispensed by race support at mile 12. pavlov's ovaries responded before the digestive and respiratory systems talked to the limbic which gave me a swift kick around the fallopian tubes. however, one of the most memorable signs from the supporters was: "don't poop!" your long distance brethren are part of a 'crapper's collective', and i have no doubt that water pressure throughout the resort took a dip around 2am, marathon morning.



runners everywhere know the important and delicate balance of liquids to avoid both dehydration and hypotranemia. thankfully, mimosa's offer a good source of vitamin C to help in the repair of muscle tears.



apparently, in florida, even jesus loves every single one of the sweaty, swearing and salt encrusted.



last year, RW ran an article on pace team leaders, featuring someone who i immediately wanted to pace with by the end of the article. well somewhere around mile marker 23, the fairy godmother granted my wish; star blackford of the clif pace team, was just that. had it not been for her constant; "one tenth of one percent of americans finish a marathon- you are so strong", and "the average finish time for this marathon is 5:16, you are going to beat that", this would have certainly been a lachrymose performance.



no one can run a marathon for you, but you never run one alone.

"the scottish play"

to enter into a high mileage relationship with the asphalt, is not for the weak of arch, feeble of fridge, or those averse to spending extended periods of the day perching over porcelain. it is a pugilistic endeavour, where the final dress rehearsal does not involve breaking legs.



wardrobe and costume is crucial, particularly when training 'on location'. despite my readiness to fully acculturate to the climate and don a monogrammed tartan footie sleeper suit, access is denied for those in possession of too much north face.



cinderella's castle or the portland headlight; recreating a 'close enough' environment to the final performance is important- both are swarming with nikon-clad tourists and wailing children wearing (fleece) hats with animal ears on top.



ultimately, it is the countless "practice" miles remembered and shared (or not); the hershey squirt and subsequent abandon of underwear in a bathroom at the park, a faceplant-on-the-wooden-bridge at mile 18, or the fact that two blondes shuffling in sync get more honks than one, or one plus a brunette.



proper recovery is integral to repairing damaged muscles, lubricating the synovial joints, combatting a 2,400 calorie deficit, and becoming so paralytic that a suggestion to "audition" via lottery for new york, is actually taken seriously.



unfortunately while i did not develop a big, black, bruised toenail from all this marathon training, i incubated a rather juicy apostrophe shaped blister in my wool sock.



"out damn spot"- something to pick at later.

an athlete's advent calendar

long distance is extremely challenging and can be utterly demoralizing, whether it's sitting in a trans-atlantic economy class seat for 7 hours, squeezing that extra point two out of your lactic flooded legs at mile 26, or attempting to maintain relationships (this goes for the people you get to see naked and/or the ones you don't). of course i would rather tolerate burning muscle groups and organ systems, than a scorching perineum (and it's surrounding neighbours) for the 10 plus hour childbirth marathon.

i have been virtually marathon training. my buddy and i share the same time zone, but not the same longitude. we are following identical schedules, with phone calls before (long weekend runs) and at powerade stops halfway through, to compare notes on how many honks we've had, how sucky it feels, and "share" a sports bean or two.



as a female, the obvious co-dependendent/i-can't-let-someone-else-down chromosome means that accountability to another person is the biggest motivator to maintaining any discipline. weekly packages have been keeping our respective postmen burdened with all manner of random running related retail. week 1 represents the importance of balancing excretions "before", so that there are minimal secretions "during".



week 2 addressed the need for adequate fuel, and as was noted in the accompanying card, "a l'il reminder of [your] other home".



week 3 provided pre/mid/post refueling, as well as inspirational reading for the daily bowel down-time.



week 4 was a tribute to the apres run relaxation, meditation and dissociation process.



and because "it gets cold in maine"; a little extra support for the digits, from a locally owned running store (owned by a british expat who settled in the 'ville).



guilt cannot be overcome by distance. but opening up the double doors on day 24 is always the best surprise.