11 miles with the group

I had a big revelation today.

When I'm with the group, I miss out on some of my favorite things about running: The chance to think, on my own, without people talking to me or touching me all the time. (I know, too, that I'll miss all the talking and touching when the kids grow up and out, so I do try to savor this while simultaneously accepting the reality that it stresses me out when I don't have some time to myself.) With the group I have to -- heaven forbid! -- think about other people as well. I have to watch for lumpy parts of the road and "call back." I'm used to being responsible for just myself when I run, and that's nice for a change.

I have to walk when they tell me and run when they tell me and hope I don't need a bathroom break or get a rock in my shoe.

I don't know how far it is before we're turning around or when we're slowing down or speeding up. For this control freak, all that is hard.

The absolute worst part, though, is the lack of meditation. If I were better at meditating, I might be able to do it in a group. As it is, though, the group messes with my mantras. When I associated running with clearing my head, I ran more. Now that I associate it with physical and psychic discomfort, I run less.

When I talked with the former president of the running club, I told him I ran more and ran better before I joined, that I'm not sure the pace groups are my thing. He told me something interesting: Not everyone in the club runs with the pace groups. Knowing that was freeing.

I did do my 11 miles with the group today. I got the rock in my shoe at about mile 10.5, and I let them finish ahead of me, rather than deal with that rock, even for a half mile.

Toe injury: It turns out that my hurt toe probably has (forgive me!) a nail fungus. It took me a while to figure out what it was, as when I think "fungus" I think bread mold or something. But it's not at all gross (really!) -- if it were I would've realized what it was sooner. I just have to treat it with vinegar, tea tree oil and -- get this! -- Listerine. Not all at once, of course, I try to switch around the remedies.

The stupid toe was hurting more and more and then I remembered something my doctor, a runner himself, said offhand when he looked at it last summer: "Oh, it looks like you've got runner's toe -- and maybe a little bit of fungus, too." I had forgotten about that remark. When I do the home remedies, though, it feels better.

Marathon route: Paul's off Monday, so that'll be my day to run the last 6.2 miles of the L.A. marathon route. I plan on doing that a few times over the next couple of months. Although I just looked at the weather forecast, and I might move this run up to Sunday.

Recent fashion miscues

Mistake #1: OK, the problem with the free cashmere sweater is that the neck comes up too high. One nice thing about No Longer Being a Kid is that I've had years to figure out how to dress this body, although not as many years as I would've had if I had been taking better care of myself.

But what's done is done.

Anyway, crewnecks don't generally flatter me. I look too busty and thick around the middle. Not that that's not the reality, but I know how to dress so it's not all that obvious. So I'll be able to wear the sweater -- but only with some appropriate jacket or cardigan or long necklace. It's amazingly nice and warm.

Mistake #2: I've been trying out a runway look of colored tights with my thick-heeled platform sandals. The family loves it; at least the husband and the fashionista daughters have voiced their strong approval. I've been getting way too many "WTF?" looks and commentary from strangers, acquaintances and friends, however. I think it's just too young.

Disneyland: I spent the day down in Anaheim with only one of my children for one of my work assignments, and it was amazing to spend time with just him for once. I haven't had the pleasure of nearly as much one-on-one time with him as some of my other children.

What's always striking about going to Disneyland is seeing how heavy we as Americans have gotten. I feel heavy when I'm at races; I feel downright svelte when I'm at the theme park.

Running in the rain

Today I got out there and did five miles in the rain. It's my favorite time to run. I love a little bit of drizzle. It took me 65 minutes, which is a little bit slower than I've been doing. I was taking it really easy, since I have unfortunately pulled back on my running since I was really sick over Christmas. Since then have been struggling with my balance/vertigo issue. But I need to get out there.

Psychological tricks that helped: 1) I kept my phone in my pocket, so I couldn't see the time. 2) Also, I forgot about this 15 minutes business. I was keeping myself out there for at least an hour, and the rain helped with that. 3) I went out in the morning. I really need the early run. Oh, I don't do it too early because it's dark and that stresses Paul out; if I'm out before 8 a.m., though, I feel so great for the rest of the day. It also gets me motivated to accomplish other things.

Sizing weirdness: When I was younger, what size I was wearing really messed with me. As I was losing weight, it was also motivating to drop sizes. Now, however, I'm recognizing how darn arbitrary the whole process is.

Cases in point:

1) Thanks to goofy sizing, I got a Size Small shirt from Anthropologie for $10. Once again, on what planet am I a small? But that's why an $80 overpriced shirt was marked down so much. At the same time, I've tried on Size Larges there that are too small for me. It's all about the cut and the brand, I guess. But a lot of the stuff that is marked down enough that I'm willing to pay for it does indeed have goofy sizing. I didn't know this when I was bigger, but there is plenty of stuff there that would've fit me -- all of it bizarrely sized.

2) At Target the other day, I was looking to replace the jacket that was stolen from the bench in front of my building. I picked up something that looked like it'd fit on the clearance rack. It said "XL" on it, which seemed odd. I tried it on, and it fit perfectly. It turns out it was a child's XL.

3) At the 13.1 event, they were out of anything but Size Small shirts for the volunteers. Despite my misgivings, it fit fine.

One thing that has happened now, though, is that I have a good idea as to what will fit. For a long time, I couldn't look at things that were my size and believe they'd fit -- I'd think they'd be too small.

Music I've been listening to

While running: "The Fixer" by Pearl Jam.

You know how there are always these little musical debates that go on? Which is your favorite British Invasion band -- The Beatles or the Rolling Stones? (I pick Stones.) Your favorite somehow-adrogynous-looking-yet-strangely-hypersexualized '80s guy -- Prince or Michael Jackson? (I go with Prince.)

When you get to the early '90s -- Nirvana or Pearl Jam? -- I've always been a Nirvana person. I never appreciated Pearl Jam, much as I am the only person I know who doesn't like Coldplay -- to the point where I change the radio when that band comes on. Oh, I know they're good; they just don't do it for me. But I digress. Pearl Jam's newest album has intrigued me. And, Nirvana, of course, can't have any newest album to weigh it against.

I've also been listening to bad Team America songs and Care Bears on Fire, which is bubble-gum punk from teenage girls. Because I like silly songs when I run.

While not running: Lots of John Coltrane. Paul got a late Christmas present from me, and it's really growing on me.

Knees: Even though I was going rather slowly, walking for 3.5 hours was rather hard on my knees yesterday. I need to get the muscle-strengthening exercises out again.

More on the 13.1 event: Before the race, the other back-of-the-pack volunteers noticed a woman in a two-piece bathing suit lining up at the start. They were wondering what was up with that. I mentioned that a lot of the elite women will race wearing something like that, but I didn't recognize the runner. Not that there are many runners I'd recognize.

When we were heading up Venice Blvd., that runner started passing us coming back. I thought, "She looks like Jenn Shelton" (the ultrarunning babe extraordinaire, who was a "character" in the book Born to Run). I was walking with a formerly obese grandma and we cheered for her. She turned her head to give us a big grin back as she flew by.

It turns out it was Jenn Shelton. I didn't expect to see her at that road race. I hear they comped a lot of people, though, so it makes sense.

Volunteering at the back of the pack

I did the 13.1 Los Angeles event this morning.

Aside from really ticking Paul off with all the street closings (I have not seen him so angry in a while), the race was fine.

Volunteering was interesting. I was one of about 10 "back of the pack" volunteers. Our job was to encourage people at the end. They told us in our initial little training that our job was to a) keep to a 16-minute-mile pace and b) stay at the back.

When the race started, though, the rules changed. There were a bunch of literal types who Kept To That 16-Minute-Mile Pace and ended up passing a bunch of slower people, but the rest of us ended up considerably slower in order to cheer the people in the back on. They basically changed the rules for what we were supposed to do on us midrace.

I was with one of the event organizers. Instead of wanting people to get on the bus early on, we were encouraging them to turn around before the official "turnaround" so they could cross the finish line (even while not doing the full race) before the course closed. But because people ahead of us hadn't been doing that, some of the people did end up getting picked up by the bus in the back.

I didn't get the full distance, as I ended up riding the bus for a short time, in addition to turning around about a half-mile early. And then, at the 11.5-mile-mark, I turned off to walk toward home, so poor Paul wouldn't have to deal with race traffic when picking me up. I probably got somewhere between 10 and 12 miles, but it's hard to tell.

The stories in the back of the pack were interesting. There was the formerly 300-pound-pound-and-wheelchair-bound grandma, who turned around at the 4-mile-mark. There was the woman with lupus, who ended up riding the bus. I walked with a volunteer who is working on her doctorate in epidemiology, and her research into intimate partner violence and sexually transmitted diseases was intriguing. I also got to hear about the logistics of organizing that kind of event, which are as complicated as you could imagine.