5/21/14: "Good Morning, Old Friend," *OR* "Two Lessons"

Question: What's the best part about summer?

Possible correct answers: Warmer mornings, warmer evenings, suntans, grilling, cold drinks, no school, road trips, longer evenings, earlier mornings, more comfortable clothing, and a general better quality of life.

Most correct answer: Early morning runs!

Not surprisingly, I didn't go on very many morning runs during the winter or spring. And by 'not many', I mean absolutely none. It's difficult to make myself do anything before the sun rises, and when it came to pulling myself out of bed when it was just as dark as when I went to bed, I couldn't manage it.

Tuesday was primary election day in Kentucky, and, lucky me, there was no school (an item on the very short list of perks of being a state employee). So, being as there was no pressure of getting to school on time, I decided to have my first early run of the season.

As frequenters of this blog have probably come to know, Hillary Smith and I are getting married this July. I'll be moving into the house she built last year in Versailles, a town ten or twelve miles southwest of Lexington, my current home. Though I can't wait to officially be her husband and stepdad to her two amazing girls, I have to admit that leaving Lexington is a little bittersweet. Especially when I remember my old running routes.

In particular, during the summer, I'd always hit the road around 5:30 AM and see how many miles I could clock before the sun finally got over the row of houses in my neighborhood on Tates Creek Road. I'd always tell the sun, "Good morning, old friend. I beat you this morning."

I know, it's dumb. But I looked forward to it every morning.

Yesterday, as I was running through Versailles, a town I had never run this early in the morning, the sky was thick with clouds. As I prepared to head home, my old friend finally broke through the murk.

It was then that I realized two things. 

First, it isn't the town or the road or the landscape that makes a run worthwhile, but who's waiting for you when that run is over. Before, it was just my cat, Samson. Now, I'm going to have a full house to come home to: three beautiful ladies, a rambunctious kitten, and yes, even my old cat, Sam. 

Second, I realized that my old friend had beaten me to the punch that morning. And that it's time to start lacing up earlier, because I'm not going to let the sun beat me all summer just because I'm changing locations. After all, he's still in the same place he's always been. 

5/8/14: "Running in the Queen City" OR "If I Had a Time Machine"

Warm weather... is here.

And my brain is already done with teaching. 

Okay, that's not really fair. I'm still giving each day in the classroom all I've got. I think I just have less to give, these days. The sun is high in the sky when I leave for school at 7:30, and all I can think about is all the morning runs I'm missing out on! But I have less than a month to go. I will survive. 

Speaking of running... 

Last weekend (May 3rd and 4th), Hillary and I drove to Cincinnati for the Flying Pig Marathon. Although, it was more like a running FESTIVAL, since there were races going on for two whole days. Seeing as how we're both notorious procrastinators, we waited until the last minute to book a hotel room. We shouldn't have been surprised to find not a single hotel room in the city (there were around 40,000 runners for the five combined races, and apparently they ALL needed their own rooms). The only place we were able to find with a room available was a 130-year-old bed and breakfast called The Parker House, near the University of Cincinnati's campus. 

We were not disappointed. 

This place was cheaper than the downtown hotels, and less than 2 miles from the starting lines! 

We lived like royalty on Friday night, then woke up early on Saturday so Hillary could run the Flying Pig 10K. She could have totally handled the half marathon (my lady is a beast), but we were concerned that, having only been 2 weeks since she ran her very first half, she hadn't had adequate time to recover and risked injury.  

But she still looked pretty happy to be running the 10K! 

Those are my sunglasses she's wearing. Don't let the smile fool you. Born clepto. 

That night, I had a difficult time falling asleep. In a mere few hours I would be running only my second marathon, a physical feat I hadn't attempted in over a year and a half. The last time I had run a marathon, I had barely been able to move the following day. With the terrible winter we'd faced in Kentucky, and the lackluster training season that had resulted from it, how could I possibly finish? Forget setting a personal record!  

What was I getting myself into? 

But it was too late. I had already paid for it, and by jove, I was going to get $85.00 worth of pain out of it. 

The race started at 6:30AM, and, of course, I was running late the next morning. Parking was, of course, a nightmare, and I hadn't even found my corral (or Pig Pen, as the Flying Pig referred to them) by the time the pistol sounded to start the race. I was forced to hop a fence, meander into the nearest Pig Pen, and start running. No stretching, no breakfast, no nothing. 

As you can see, I got off to an awesome start. It was time to just run and hope for the best. 

I decided to chronicle the event by taking a snapshot every three miles. That way, even if the race turned out to be a total bust, I would still have evidence that I attempted to finish the darn thing. 

Mile three found me on a bridge, heading back into my Old Kentucky Home. Check out those clouds. 

At mile six, I was having flashbacks from my first marathon, in Las Vegas. 

At mile nine, the road was narrow and crowded with people. To avoid a shot full of strangers, I took this one from the side. 

It was at this point that I really hit my stride. Once the 13.1-ers and the 26.2-ers split, I found my legs aching less, my breathing easing, and me caring less about the time I was going to make. 

Best part about the Flying Pig? Running through there residential neighborhoods. The people of Cincinnati really know how to make a runner feel welcome. Their cheers and support kept me moving. 

On the highway. It was shortly after (before?) this sign that I saw the Cincinnati Parrot Head League, The Queen City's premiere Jimmy Buffett fan club. 

At mile 21, I had begin to walk a few minutes every mile. I also realized that, during my last marathon, I had started walking around mile 9. Which was encouraging. 

When I could see the city in the distance at mile 24, I realized that I wouldn't be taking another picture until the finish line. 

Me, at the finish line, newly knighted as a Flying Pig Marathon finisher. 

I finished the race in exactly 5'12"00'''. Which, for anyone keeping score (and I totally am), is one minute and thirty-nine seconds faster than my Las Vegas marathon. To further fuel my encouragement, I felt like this course was much harder than the Vegas course (Cincy hills versus Vegas flatness), and the weather was far more hospitable in Vegas (May sun and heat versus December cool and nighttime). 

And, as further icing on the proverbial cake, I didn't feel like I wanted to die the next day. In fact, yesterday (two days since the race), I did a two-mile tempo run with Hillary. 

So I'm already looking for at least one fall marathon - maybe two.  The more I do this, the better I'm going to get. Heck, it's the only way I'm going to get better. 

Have you ever wanted to go back in time to tell something to your past self?  You probably do; I imagine everyone has some things they wish they could do differently. Unlike Kang the Conquerer (from Marvel Comics) or Biff Tannon (from Back to the Future), I wouldn't use time travel simply to remake the world in my image. There's not much I would undo in my past, simply because those events, no matter how difficult they make have been, have molded me into who I am today. And, for the first time in a while, I like who I am. And yes, included on the list of "difficult things I wouldn't undo" is my divorce. 

So, after I acquired a time machine from a wild-eyed old man, I'd go back and have a talking-to with my fifteen-year-old self. 

Fifteen-year-old Graham was an overweight, socially awkward, never-been-kissed band nerd, and he didn't think much of himself, either. His days were spent playing Magic: The Gathering, listening to bad 80's hair metal (I didn't discover it until around 1998), and wishing he had the guts to ask out one girl or another. He was self-concious about his weight, never knew how to fix his hair, and was terrified of rejection. 

Maybe I'd be a substitute teacher for him at Belfry High School. And, just after class let out, I'd call him to the teacher's desk and explain who I was (fifteen-year-old me had enough understanding of science fiction to believe me). I'd tell him to keep his chin up, to keep doing the things he loves, and to never give up on a dream. 

I'd tell him to keep fighting the good fight, because he was going to be looked up to by dozens of youth group kids one day. 

I'd tell him to not give up on his fitness goals, because one day he was going to run for five hours straight and actually feel pretty good afterward. 

I'd tell him to not worry about his poor luck with high school girls, because one day, after some ups and downs, he was going to marry Hillary Smith. 

(At this point, his eyes would get as big as silver dollars, because he know's she waaaay out of his league. Just like she's still out of my league today, even though she won't admit it. ;)  

So, fifteen-year-old Graham, if time travel is ever a thing, and I go back in time and tell you all this stuff, and you're one day able to write this blog post while remembering the things I said... if we haven't unraveled the very fabric of reality, I'd like you to know that you turned out pretty good. Even if you still have some areas to improve upon.