TGIF Photo Friday

I wish I had to time to find and scan some old circus pictures, but all I have right now is this group picture taken in 1989. Trust me, I'm in there. You can't miss the hair.

This was a few years ago in the "back lot," which is where all the kids hang out waiting for their act to go on. We have a big circus family! Hubby was the back lot door nazi, my sister (in purple) was a rigger, my niece was a performer, I played in the band, and my mom was an usher. My dad was just along for the show in this picture, but he used to rig when my sibs and I performed. Fun stuff.

Happy Weekending! I'll be at the circus!

May All Your Days Be Circus Days

Our town is steeped in circus history, dating back to 1884 when the local livery owner opened the Wallace and Company’s Great World’s Menagerie and International Circus. It was a huge success and soon grew to be one of the largest and most renowned circuses in American history, using our hometown as headquarters. Many circuses followed suit using the town as their winter quarters because of our convenient location on both a river and a railroad. History continued to be made here for the next sixty years until 1941, when Ringling Brothers bought out the small shows, still struggling to recover from the Depression. Our history is amazing, really. An important piece of Americana… right here in our small Midwestern town.

In 1959, some townsfolk got together and asked the retired circus people who still lived in the community if they would be willing to train a few high-school aged kids to perform acts. They wanted to put on a circus to celebrate our great circus history. The circus people agreed, and that first performance on the courthouse lawn has grown over the past 50 years into an amateur circus with a permanent big top and 200 kids performing annually every third week in July.

So, it’s Circus Week! This is a week when “circus kids” come home. It’s a week when doctors, lawyers, dads, moms and hundreds of other volunteers take off their normal hat and put on the hat of usher, rigger, bandleader, ringmaster, wardrobe mistress, ticket seller, or any of the other countless titles that help make the Greatest Amateur Show on Earth come alive. This is a week when you see everyone you ever knew in your whole life.

Circus Week never fails to awash me in nostalgia. I find my mind’s eye looking fondly upon my tiny 7-year-old self with my hands gripped around an equally tiny trapeze bar. I see a 13-year-old me being tossed between two upside-down boys with big muscles high above a net. I see my 18-year-old self hanging by nothing but my toes 30 feet in the air…and loving every minute of it. I loved hanging upside down and hurriedly searching for the faces of my parents, knowing right where they would be….every single night. I loved nailing a difficult trick, performing it perfectly, my cheeks almost hurting because my smile was so wide, yet quickly slipping out of the role of performer to hurry back into the arena to watch my little sister do her act. I would hold my breath as she flew through the air, only exhaling when her hands connected with the catcher. It wasn’t just my sister I would watch. We all watched each other. This was special…this support of performers. We were all one, everyone wanting everyone else to catch the trick, do their best. We would stand in clusters with our fingers crossed, sending out good circus juju to our brothers and sisters in sequins with nothing being more important than that very moment. We never wanted to see anyone fail, and if someone missed you could hear a hundred kids all groan in sympathy. That collective sense of being a part of something undoubtedly helped shape me into the adult I am today. I also think that is the same thing that keeps everyone coming back year after year.

This is my 30th year of involvement with the Amateur Circus. In some way, every year since that seven year old girl with pigtails put on a pretty costume and styled her first style, I’ve been back. Circus folk say that the sawdust gets in your blood, and I would have to agree. I can’t think of anything better to be infected with.

TGIF Photo Friday

Apparently a really important piece of equipment our maintenance man calls the "poop pump" has broken down. All I know is that it smells like shit in here. My eyes are watering and I'm distracted, so here's my quick post of the day.


My best girls, my best friend, my best cousin (carrying my godson!), and a really cute niece...in that order. Happy weekending!

She keeps talking and talking and talking...

Little Miss Chatterbox, all 4’6” of her, is walking around wearing a long white lab coat. By long I mean it touches her ankles. She looks ridiculous…and where on earth she came up with a lab coat to wear, I’ll never know! (All I could do was shake my head and wonder for about the millionth time already this week "what the hell?" It's unbelievable how many times that phrase echoes through my mind on any given day at Rock Ridge!)

Anyway, nothing gets by Gladys. She made some comment to Little Miss Chatterbox, and although I couldn't hear what she said, apparently it referenced the lab coat. So now, all I can hear is the low whine of Little Miss Chatterbox’s grating voice buzzing outside my office. “Well, sure it’s bright and white. Anything can be if you wash it right. No one does laundry right anymore, that’s the trouble. People just buy new clothes because they don’t know how to do the washing, well I say that’s a shame. I only have what I have and nothing more, and I don’t need anymore because I know how to do the washing. My daughter says I need some new clothes but I say what’s the use in that as long as I can take care of what I have and taking care of it means knowing how to do the wash. I’ve had this blouse since 1979 and it still looks brand new and that’s because I take care of what I have.” I've said it before, but this woman’s oratory capability is absolutely astounding. All that in about five seconds and without taking a breath…and she’s still droning on.

How I wish Gladys could remember my advice to never, ever, ever initiate a conversation with LMC! Damn Alzheimer's.

TGIF Photo Friday

Since the employee issue has left me exhausted and I'd really, really, really like to leave work early today...I don't have much to say! Good thing it's Photo Friday.

Ha! I'd forgotten all about this picture! It was taken when I graduated with my masters in 2006. That look on my face? Me trying to wake up from the catotonic state caused by my thesis. I didn't even know this picture existed until last year, when someone sent me a brochure they had received from the university. That's right...I'm in the brochure! Me, a model!? I was feeling pretty good about myself until I realized the brochure is targeted toward returning adult students, or the mature student, if you will. Ouch.

(I've got them fooled.)

Happy Fourth!

HR Sucks

This week I'm dealing with one mega pain-in-the-ass employee...the kind of employee who, no matter what, is never wrong. She is always the victim and it's always someone else's fault. This person lives with so much drama in her life it makes me dizzy. I've counseled her so many times....and she sits there looking at me with a blank face. She always acts shocked about whatever the topic is, always denies any wrong-doing, and usually strings together a bunch of stupid excuses that includes blaming other employees. She absolutely cannot hear what I'm saying. Sure, she hears me talking...but no listening takes place.

I really am a fair person. I always give employees the benefit of the doubt. I try to give people grace even in hard circumstances. I've had terrific bosses who have taught me the right way to coach someone how to perform better. My main goal in managing is that every employee will leave better than they came.

Unfortunately, I'm afraid that goal is unattainable with this employee. How do you get through to someone like this? Can you just tell someone that their negative energy follows them around like a black cloud? Is "passive agressive behavior" something for which you can write someone up? How do you teach someone not to talk shitty to other employees? How do you present valuable growth opportunities to someone who turns it around into being victimized, picked on, or treated unfairly? And to further complicate these questions....her actual work performance is good.

Two months ago, my regional director told me to fire this employee. Knowing her family situation, I just couldn't do it. I wanted her to have the chance to be better, to grow in her role. To save face. And now I'm having to deal with it all over again. Guess who's feeling like a big schmuck right now?

TGIF Photo Friday

It's hot. I don't know if the weather is keeping everyone quiet around the Ridge or not, but there hasn't been too much going on this week. Gladys did tell me this morning that she liked my tan (which I can thank Grandma's for), and when I put my arm up against her lily-white one, she mock-gasped and said "Good grief, I'm dead and don't even know it!" She makes me belly laugh every single day.

I don't have much time (why do I schedule meetings for Fridays?) so here's all I have today, a pic of Hubby and I getting ready for some seriously good food after the marathon last weekend. Just thinking about my steaming plate of wild mushroom risotto with crab sauce and buttered asparagus makes my mouth water. If I ever decide to write another blog I think it will be about food. And eating food. And maybe wine. Mmmmm.....

Oh, and if you want to see what Nic calls the Grandma Death March face, click here. Oy. On the running front: I haven't ran this week. My feet still don't look so great--I actually have one toe that is entirely purple. It is so weird! There is a Firecracker 5K here next weekend...so hopefully the fat toes will fit into a pair of running shoes by then.

Happy Weekending!

Good Gad

I showed Gladys my medal from Grandma's and told her I got it for running a marathon this weekend. "Good grief, I'll bet you were tired!" she exclaimed. She's so dang cute I want to put her in my pocket and keep her forever. "Yeah, I was pretty tired," I agreed.

"You know I used to love to run," she began. "You did?!" I quickly prompted, automatically chalking up just one more reason why I love this woman. "Oh, yes. My sister, she would stay in the house and read a book, but I would always want to go outside and run. Not for any reason, just to run. I think I thought it felt good."

"I think it feels good, too." I smiled.

"Just moving feels good," she continued. "I played basketball in school, too. Boy, I loved that." Gladys is positively tiny, and not just little old lady tiny. You can tell she's been a little person her whole life. Basketball?! I can't imagine this, and tell her so. "Oh, honey, I played all through school. I was the center." I asked her if she was taller than the other kids in her class...I just can't visualize this little wisp of a thing as the center on a basketball team (nor did I have any idea that girls even had a basketball team 75 years ago!) "No, I wasn't really taller than anyone, but I sure could jump...thanks to Mama!" Gladys says this with that ever-present twinkle in her eye.

"Your Mama taught you how to jump?" I asked.

"Oh yeah, with the gad," she laughs as she swooshes her hand back in forth in front of her. Of course I had to ask what on earth a gad was. She explained, "Mama must have called it a gad since she was Irish, but really it was just a piece of a shrub or tree and she'd swat our legs with it to teach us a lesson. I'd always start crying before she ever even swatted me, but that didn't help any. So I learned to jump, which made me a pretty good basketball player!"

I tell Gladys that it sounds as though she's been turning lemons into lemonade her entire life. "You know, I don't see much use in not being happy," she says. "Like some people around here, they sit around all day and say I wish I would die or why don't I die, well all I have to say about that is that I wish they would die already and leave the rest of us happy people alone!"

Well said, Gladys. Well said.

Grandma's Report (or "Dear Grandma: You're pretty...but mean.")

We arrived in Duluth early Friday afternoon, excited and anticipating a fun weekend full of things we love the best: running, running stuff, runners, and food. Things nearly got off to a rocky start when we were informed by the nice girl at the Sheraton's registration desk that we were actually scheduled to arrive Thursday, and therefore our entire reservation had been cancelled. I laughingly made a joke about the guy in Runners World who had slept in a port-o-pot the night before a race, but Hubby didn't even crack a smile. He didn't even actually breathe until the girl came back declaring we could still have the room after all. Whew.

We got settled and walked to the Expo in an air of nostalgia. Grandma's was the first marathon I ever watched Hubby run...before we were married and before I ever considered running for any other reason than to get away from something scary. (Grandma's, although not the year I went the first time, was also the very first marathon Hubby and his brother ran...back when they called themselves the Irish Striders and raced nearly every weekend thinking they were so cool...which they probably were.) The Expo was great, although jam packed full of people. Once we made our way through all the masses we went to Grandma's for an early dinner. Most of the other diners looked as though they had just run the 5K race or were carrying race packets for the next day. The atmosphere was fun and people were wishing us good luck as they walked by our table. I love runners. They are some of the nicest people around. I really think if you took a control group of runners and measured them against a control group of non-runners, the percentage of jerks in the runner group would be far less than the non-runner group. The world needs more runners.

The ambience was terrific as we left the restaurant. Volunteers were working on the finish line, runners were taking pictures, and there were people everywhere. You could just tell this was going to be a great race. And then, the fog rolled in. Suddenly I was freezing. Which meant I also started to panic, thinking my sleeveless singlet was not going to keep me warm enough during the race. We had been watching the weather all week and there had been little change in the projected high of 62 degrees, so I didn't even bother to pack anything else. Little did I know that my worry of having the wrong attire was going to be a bad joke.

Saturday morning, we left the hotel only to discover 65ish degrees and about a million percent humidity. Long gone was the fog and chilly air from the evening before, and in its place was a magnificent, bright, and cloudless sunrise. As we walked to the bus that would take me to Two Harbors, I reminded Hubby to look for Nic. I had told him on the drive to Duluth that he was hoping for a sub-3 and to look for a bright yellow shirt with NF on the front. I also tried to relay the plaid shorts story, but it seems blog humor doesn't translate well when trying to verbally explain it...nor do I think it translated well the third time when Hubby tried explaining it to Nic's dad! Anyway, I found out later that Hubby didn't remember Nic's name, but remembered the NF, which made him strike up conversation with these people at Knife River (around the five mile mark):

How about that?! Hubby was hanging out with Nic's fan club at mile five. He even caught a pic of this guy looking fast and strong:


Speaking of mile five. By the time I got there, I was absolutely drenched in sweat, thirsty, hot, and salty. After only five miles!! I knew this wasn't good, but I was keeping pace. Between miles six and ten, all I could think of was wanting a drink. Every. Single. Step. I knew from reading my race packet the aid stations were every two miles in the first half, but this didn't keep me from looking for water at every mile mark. I even daydreamed (hallucinated?) about asking a spectator for their bottle of water so that I could fill it up at the next water stop and carry it with me. Aid stations at every two miles is typically more than adequate, but it was hot. Really, really hot. I was so hot and thirsty I couldn't quiet my mind enough to get my breathing into a rhythm, nor could I think of anything else but getting that next drink.

Somehow, I made it to the half only a minute over my desired pace. The minute might has well have been an hour, though, because mentally I had already checked out. I knew there was no way I could run the second half with an even split. It was getting hotter, there was not one merciful cloud in the sky, and absolutely no shade on this otherwise beautiful and breathtaking course.


Nothing was working for me. Not the ipod, not the mantras, not the breath counting, not the silly games where I mentally tie myself to a runner ahead of me. Nothing. And then...THEN....I see the sign that says "drop out zone." I don't have any complaints about this well organized and awesome race, but maybe they could come up with something better than "drop out zone!?" To someone who is already struggling mentally, these signs were like handing the jail keys over to the inmate and expecting him to stay locked up. After seeing that sign, I stopped to walk for the first time. I also decided for the first time ever that I was going to quit without finishing. Yup, that's what I was going to do. I was going to DNF. I started to look for Hubby, knowing he would be somewhere near the half so I could tell him I was done.

Then the inner dialogue began. "DNF??? Are you crazy? Just because you can't make it to the finish line in a time you decided was "good enough," you're just going to quit? Man, what an ego. How about you be happy that you're healthy, and that you have two strong legs that even make it possible for you to consider going 26.2 miles. How about you be a little grateful that you get to travel and meet people and run fun races and be with your husband while doing it? How about you think what running actually means to you and why you really run in the first place? Do you run because you think you can set a record by finishing in under five stupid hours? Seriously?!Who cares? Give me a break, will ya, and suck it up and do this thing. Who the hell cares what time you finish in. It's the journey, man, not the destination."

After that jacking up, what else could I do but take a deep breath and start running again?

Unfortunately, that first walk made it easier to take another walk break at mile 15. And easier yet to take another one somewhere before 17. I also started drinking Ultima because of how much I was sweating, and all the bodies sitting on the side of the road were starting to freak me out a little bit and the last thing I wanted was to be one of them. The Ultima made my tummy hurt, which then made me wish I could vomit for the next several miles. I was so happy to see Hubby at mile 19 I stopped to give him a salty kiss. I was beyond caring how long it took me to finish but also wishing it would be over soon. I saw him again at the bottom of Lemon Drop Hill, right before the 22 mile mark. I think he must have given me a boost, because I actually ran all the way up that hill! After that, I really don't remember very much other than people shouting encouragement to "smiley," which apparently was me, but why was I smiling? I have no clue. I felt used up, burned up, and my feet were starting to feel as though they had been through a meat grinder.

I do remember the 25 mile mark and thinking that all I had to do was run another mile. I couldn't even talk myself into that, and took a walk break about half way into it. Finally, at the turn that would take us the last few tenths I was able to muster up enough to run across the finish line....where they announced my name!!! I'm so glad I was coherent enough to hear it! I've never had my name announced at the finish of a marathon. Cool.

The final damage: 9 blisters caused by wet feet from running through every single sprinkler and hose on the course, a severe case of monkey butt from sweating in places one shouldn't, sunburn because the sunblock was sweated off by mile 2, and a finishing time of 5:23:20.

But I didn't quit.

***

Burned,

Blistered,
But really happy. :)

Going to Grandma's

We're hitting the road at noon! We're going to stay in Madison, Wisconsin tonight (and meet up with a friend for dinner) then drive to Duluth tomorrow. Almost showtime!! I can hardly believe the spring has passed so quickly. Last night as I was trying to decide if the papercut on my thumb would affect my finishing time, I started to let my mind wander down the path of perhaps I haven't trained enough. In an effort to prove myself right and chuck the whole idea of even going to Minnesota this weekend, I looked at the running log. I have no idea when this happened, but I ran 120.7 total miles for May! That's the most miles I've EVER run in one month, and I'm at 368.4 on the year. That's almost as many as I ran in 2008 and it's only June! I hope that means I'm ready.


I also hope my knees don't hurt and that I enjoy the day, the run, the lake, the ambience and the experience. And I kinda sorta maybe hope a tiny little bit that maybe perhaps just possibly I could potentially break five hours. Whew. There, I said it. I'm putting it out there. If it's meant to be, I'll be one happy girl. If not, I'll still be one happy girl. I think I'm really going to like looking at the lake for 26 miles anyway.

Fast running vibes are coveted and I'll be back with a report on Monday.

If you have never seen this, take the time. The human spirit is amazing and inspiring. Happy Weekending!