It's like I was a cross county manager all over again

I'm not sure how many are aware of this, but I'm currently on my parents' couch in Iowa while I'm in-between apartments in Kansas and Colorado.

Ok, ok, ok. Not really on their couch. I have a bed. And I'm rarely on the couch at all. I prefer the recliner. And I am still working remotely for my current job, so I still spend the majority of my day in front of my computer.

ANYWAY ... that's not the point.
The point is that I was lucky enough to happen to be around, with little to do, the same weekend as my High School Alma Mater's cross country invitational. In high school, long before I was a runner, I was at least smart enough to know I wanted to hang out with runners .. and not those silly track people who just sprint around in an oval - distance runners who aren't afraid to get dirty.

That's right. I was a manager for a cross country team. I lettered all four years.

Hey. It's actually quite a bit of work, especially the weekend of our own invitational.

I was the official timer. I know. It was quite stressful for a 17 year old.

This time around, I was hoping I'd have a different job.

Nope, same job. Well, sometimes I was the backup, so it wasn't that big of deal.
It did feel a little different. Those kids seemed so small. And I really appreciated the finishes a lot more - especially those kids who gave all they had to get that one last person who was in front of them. I couldn't help myself and was cheering rather loudly for those kids.

Then there were times we had to stop the clock before the last few got in. It made me sad, because I know they still want an official time. "They will just be last." HEY. It may be last place, but it could be a PR.

I mean, it was highly unlikely, given the dew point was 70* and it had rained the night before and on and off during the meet, but still. Us slow pokes who have no chance of placing high still have a very important person to beat: the person we were at the race before.

I didn't win any of those arguments. the show had to keep rolling. But their coaches kept time so I know they still got what they really needed.

After the meet ended and everyone skee-daddled, I stayed behind to help clean up. And, what do you know? I found myself helping my old coaches take down the camp. I know this will totally make me sound like an old farty adult, but back in my day, the coaches were not the ones taking down camp. The runners and managers were. And no one was leaving sweatshirts and tshirts and crap behind. Maybe that's just what an awesome manager I was. Who knows.

Still I enjoyed it. I was wonderful catching up with the coaches, and I even saw my favorite teacher from junior high, whose youngest was running JV that day.

All in all, the one thing I took away was this: I kind of want to coach cross country.

Great. As if I need another thing on my "to do" list.

Remembering

Today is, as you all well know, September 11.

I don't remember what it's like to hear someone say "nine-eleven" without thinking of hijacked planes, where I was when I first heard the news, and the consequences of that day.

There are images plastered in my mind, images like these:

I was a freshman in college in the fall of 2001. That morning, I was at my workstudy, in the Overseas Study Office, when my supervisor asked me if I had known anyone working in the World Trade Center in New York City.

"No," I said.
"An airplane just hit one of them."
"Hmmm."

"Hmm." That was my response. Given the magnitude of that day, it seems insane that it didn't immediately register that this was really bad. It wasn't until I had gone to class and was told to just go back to my dorm and watch the news that it finally hit me.

I feared this would herald a huge war, that it would require using the draft, that the lives of those I knew and loved the most would drastically change. I was lucky, because, for the most part, I was wrong. Still, every year, I grieve for those who lost their own loved ones on that Tuesday morning and I grieve for those who lost loved ones over the last 13 years as a consequence of that day. For me, a childhood class clown, Sgt Casey Byers, was killed by an IED in 2005. Two men I recently dated and still care deeply for, served in Iraq and miraculously have come home safely - one once and the other four times. I still fear for the day they may or may not have to go back, or go anywhere. I'm not as oblivious to the world as I was when I was 18 and it frightens me, even if it's not my job to be scared for them anymore.

I still haven't watched "United 93", "Flight 93", "World Trade Center", or "Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close". I haven't watched "Zero Dark Thirty" or read any related books. My closest contact with anything physical from that day was when I lived in DC and got on the Metro at the Pentagon stop, and even then, all I could see was construction as they repaired that section of the building and built a memorial. I never stopped and looked too long because I didn't want any guards to think I was suspicious.

This year is actually the first year I did anything other than watch the memorial services at Ground Zero in New York City on TV.

As I drove to my parents' house this morning from my best friend's home in the Quad Cities, I found a radio station on my satellite radio that devoted 3 hours to the events leading up to and after 9/11/01. There were incredible stories, like the one of Jose Melendez-Perez, who stopped the 20th hijacker from entering the US, and possibly was the reason United 93 didn't make it to the Capitol Building. Or the one of the Stairwell B survivors - the only people to make it out of the collapsed Twin Towers alive. And the emotional interview with Aaron Brown, the CNN anchor who, for some, became the face of any related news. Did you know that day was his first day at CNN?

And now, I'm sitting at my parents computer, writing this, as I have the History Channel playing in the background - with it's entire day dedicated to remembering what happened on that day.

So today, I am really remembering, because so much has changed, both with our country and with my own life. And the one thing that I can take away from all of this, is that we, not as Americans, or patriots, or as Christians, but we, simply as human beings, need to love more and hate less. I am going to try my best to do that every day to honor those whose lives were lost on that day and in the days since.

I hope you do, too.

-Eliz

The last race as a Kansas City resident: Leawood Labor Day 5K

I'm not one for signing up for 5Ks in order to run for a PR.

But hey, I was doing speed sessions again this summer and I managed to tick off over a minute back in January, when I wasn't doing speed work. 

Should have known that ONLY doing speed sessions and no other running would not equal a PR. 

But oh well. 

I donned the WW uniform, charged up Tjom the Garmin and found a fellow speed session person at the start. We were both going for sub-30, so I was happy to have someone with whom to run.

As I just now realized I have my garmin set to only give distance alerts at mile intervals and NOT actually take laps, I have no idea what my mile splits were. My best guesses are around 9:30 for the first two miles and then about 12:00 for the last mile (or even slower ... UGH).

What happened, you ask?

Um, I hadn't really been running, duh!

Also, the cool air was quite deceiving ... although it felt nice just standing around, the dew point was still above 70*, so it makes running not a lot of fun. So, I cramped and burned in mile 3. I kept trying to tell myself I could keep going, and perhaps I could have if I had downed a coconut water that morning, but I didn't.

Oh well.

The race was still good, I still pushed myself and the pancakes afterwards were delicious. I got to see a few people from my speed session group, so that was nice. All in all, not bad for the last race where it will say "Kansas City" beside my name in the record books. Would rather it didn't say 32:08 for time, but whatever.

Also, I ended up with awesome hair and a free water bottle. Not as cool as the trail nerd coffee mug, but I'll take it:

I'm also realizing selfies just make it easier to notice the early-30s wrinkles that are appearing around my eyes. Sigh.