it is 9:06 on a thursday night...

...and I feel like I should write something. Many thoughts back-logged. Don't feel like editing or arranging or being overly eloquent or prophetic. Don't even feel like double-guessing my use of the word prophetic (in fact, I don't think it's what I meant to say, but I'll leave it. Maybe it really is what I meant to say, and I just didn't know it. Sometimes I don't know what I mean until it comes out.).

Week 1 of marathon training is over. It was fine. The long run was only 8. But I ate a bunch of crap and didn't hydrate well. I have recorded that in my Mistake Log.

Oh, I'm training for a marathon. Did I tell you? I am. The Des Moines Marathon in October. This is my plan.

But I've been learning about plans and how easily upturned they are, and I've been nervous. My plan is to train for a marathon between now and October and to run the marathon in October. My plan is to live long and happy and healthy, and have some kids who also live long and happy and healthy with a spouse who lives long and happy and healthy. And my plan is to work a good job and write a few good books and play some good music and eat and drink and have long happy healthy times of fun and frolic and awesomeness. That is my plan.

But I don't know if it matches the big honcho cheese nugget of the cosmic plan. I have no idea what that plan looks like, and I hope I am not horribly off, because as free-spirited as I would very much like to be: I don't like surprises. The anticipation of a surprise twists my guts and makes me breathe funny. I do not like it at all.

You can't live without plans. I mean, I suppose you can, but it seems like if you never made a plan, you'd just sit on the front porch and never experience anything. People make plans. Even people who say they don't make plans... they make plans. Maybe they don't plan further out than an hour, but they make plans. They buy bus tokens and pay phone bills and make meals. All three of those are indicative of plan making to one degree or another.

Sometimes people plan the births of their children. They work with midwives and rent birthing tubs and set up birthing rooms off living rooms and read books and go to natural child birthing classes. And then they labor for 30 hours before they have to have drugs and C-sections. And then they go to their homes with their babies and their scars and they return the tubs and put their rooms back in order.

Sometimes people plan to go get some medicine for a twisty abdomen and come out a week later with cancer and no hair.

Sometimes people plan to see their dad again, but then he dies, and they don't. Jesus! Or they plan to have a beautiful outdoor wedding, but then a hurricane blows away the cake and the dance floor. Or they plan to run marathons and then break their legs in freak walking accidents.

I want everyone I know to just stay inside eating oranges so they can't get sick and they can't blow away and they can't disappear and they can't have goofed up births and they can't get hurricane cake face. It will be fine. We can communicate by email and facebook. Please, just stay where you are. It's not safe outside your plan making den.

Is it so much to ask?

If you need me, I will be here with my hands over my face. You'll hear me before you see me, because my breathing is funny and loud.

i ran in the rain and it was good.

I am logging back in long enough to recap Dam to Dam 2010.

My favorite thing about today's race--at the risk of sounding Corn City--was remembering how capable I am of relentless positivity. Oh, I am capable of mind-numbing bitching and moaning, for sure; but ultimately, I'm quite nice adjusted and sunny disposed, and I like that.

Due to some flooding and road closures around Saylorville Dam, transportation to the starting line had to be re-routed. I think they did the best they could, but it caused a bit of a cluster fudge at the shuttle buses. We stood in the cold and the rain and the dark and then elbowed our way onto school buses. But mostly, I just hung out, ate my apple, and people watched. It was good.

Then, from where they dropped us off, we had to walk over a mile (in the cold and the rain and the dark) to get to the starting line. Incidentally, it was a mile over the dam, in the opposite direction we would run once the starting gun went off. And then we stood in the cold and the rain--but no longer the dark--waiting to start. And then, we started late probably 15 minutes late, because latecomers were on the dam walking to the starting line.

So... by the time the gun went off, we were soaked and shivering and had shoes full of mud and water. BUT, I was still happy to be there, and I mean that. I figured cold and wet would make for a more interesting experience.

Plus, people make me laugh. People who make me laugh the most are: 1) people who jog in place; 2) people who close their eyes in concentration; 3) people who wear spandex biking shorts with heavily decorated spandex biking shirts with biking hats and fanny packs... to run; 4) men who wear tiny running shorts with no shirt and carry a towel.

And so we ran. In the rain.

I'm a slow, easy runner; I like to look around. And there is lots to look at. The route, for the first 6 miles, runs through the country and is surrounded by green. And of course, I like looking at all the people. You know, when it comes to running, body type just really doesn't matter. Tall skinny short fat, whatever. You train, your body figures it out, you run, it's okay.

Once we got into town, the energy picked up. There were more spectators, hanging out in lawn chairs under umbrellas and ponchos. I LOVE seeing spectators find the runner they are spectating--love the big yelling and screeching and the fist pumping of the runner. I think that's cool, and it makes me happy. I like people who smile and tell you "Good job!" even though they have no idea who you are and may never see you again. There's a lot of generosity and spirit in the world, and that's cool as ice.

My parents and my husband hung out at the end of my driveway, which was along the route. That made me happy, too. I don't know why anyone would want to hang out in the rain just to see me for 5 seconds (Fine. 10. I'm not that fast.), but I'm glad they did. Plus, I got to take off my jacket, which was soaked with rain and weighed 100 pounds. And I gave up my sunglasses, which keep sliding off my giant melon until I finally tucked them into the waistband of my shorts, which also weighed 100 pounds and kept slipping down my waist.

Now, I understand this is going to sound insane, but... I like hills. Not the super steep ones, but the ones that are intense enough to feel but gentle enough to be nonlethal. I like those. I think I'm kind of good at hills. I actually run hills on the treadmill when I start to get tired. I find something about them very invigorating. I'm reading a book about marathon training and last night got to a part about how important it is to train positive thoughts. There was a goofy note about greeting hills instead of grimacing at them. So at each hill, I said (quietly, to myself), "What's up, Hill?" And then at the top of the hill, I said, "Thank you for rolling gently, Hill." And that kind of made me laugh to myself, because it's a pretty corny thing to do.

I love the moment of the run where you know for sure it's going to be okay--that everything is working and you don't have to stop and your legs know what to do and your breathing is steady. That is my favorite. That happened to me at mile 8. I had 4.4 more to go, and I knew all 4.4 of them were going to be just fine.

And they were.