Young's Blog Cafe

2008

Angie Young threw a party debuting her exhibit “Quirky Stories In Whimsical Images” at Lojart Gallery in Morgan Hill kicking the month long gig on Friday night on March 14th.  An article appeared in the local papers about my artwork and me the previous week. Many came including a gal from Texas and the reporter who wrote the article. One of the things I wanted to avoid is hordes of adults gazing at artwork and speaking in hush tones in an intellectual language that puts an insomniac to sleep. Boring and Angie Young don’t mix! To test the mettle of my party skills I invited kids. Besides, I wanted this to be fun for me too. Despite the shaky economy if I market right and my art connects with people, I can sell art if I work hard enough. Also, I realized I’m more of a storyteller and not an interior decorator. I prefer to have fun painting and sharing my creations with all ages. The reception went long because people didn’t want to leave. We had contests and prizes for all ages and good food. Everyone had a good time. Even me. Lojart did an excellent job presenting my artwork in a classy set up. It was cool.

Here is a link to a newspaper article about the show

The Big Sur International Marathon and its multiple events were a blast. At the race expo on Saturday I picked up my technical my baby blue 21-miler Big Sur shirt and saw the marathoners receiving a red one. I wanted a red shirt! I whined to Ken about this and he reminded me the monster always ate the guys who wore red shirts in Star Trek. Oh yeah . . . I forgot. 

Fast forward to April 27-Big Sur Race Day! The alarm woke me at 3:30 am. A long day with a 21-mile race was ahead of me regardless of having only 1 hour of sleep. Ken dropped me off at the Marriott hotel in downtown Monterey for me to catch the bus with the other stalwarts at 4:30 am. The weather in Monterey was unusually warm.

I walked over to a line of people waiting to board a luxury coach and stood behind a guy in a red shirt. The folks around me were chattering about how many races they’ve done. Floppy and not much in a talkative mood, I followed the others into the bus like a zombie and sat down next to a girl with a head cold. Nice.

The bus rolled on Highway 1 in the dark to Molera State Park 5 miles north of the official start line of the Big Sur Marathon. We finally made it; by then the sun was out. I checked out the picnic table with the water and fruit. An older man in a lime green volunteer shirt called for help with organizing racers’ gear bags for transport to the finish line. He was drowning in them by the minute. I managed to gobble some banana bits and two orange wedges and drink half a bottle of water before the race started.

Then I shuffled among the walkers and runners conserving my energy for the long haul. This part of the course was flat and beautiful. A gentle warm wind whipped around us and the greenery everywhere reminded me of Ireland. The ocean sparkled blue, the winds sang and I enjoyed nature at its best.

Normally I run the entire course but due to biomechanical issues, I tried Jeff Galloway’s run and walk method.  I copied the two ladies in front of me who were doing the same thing at my pace. I told myself this is a training run and not a race. After the first mile I noticed I was doing a 10-minute mile and slowed down. I exercised self-control until I reached the hilly parts. I ran up them puppies like a giddy energy bunny on steroids. I love hills especially ones like Hurricane Point. It wasn’t bad at all.

I had so much fun blasting up the hills I forgot about everything else like conserving energy for the last few miles of the race. The views were out of this world! Big Sur isn’t a race it’s a transcendental experience. Running on Highway 1 rocking out to great music was pure ecstasy.

The only pain I felt was going downhill in my left big toe. I eased my gait downhill and picked it up when ascending the mountainous road. I saw the piano player at the half way mark on the Bixby Bridge dazzling racers and walkers with classical perfection blasting from large speakers.

After Mile 21 things began to change from euphoria to sheer terror. Up ahead I saw the dreaded sign that spelled my doom: Carmel Highlands. This part of Highway 1 is a trick. It looks flat but it’s hilly. The road goes up and down sideways! My poor calves, hips and feet hated it. The ride wasn’t fun anymore. It kept hurting, hurting, hurting, hurting and hurting more than I care to remember. I sipped on Gatorade and ate fruit but my tummy freaked out and refused to cooperate. I was losing energy and my quads wouldn’t quit griping.

I’m not sure if this was The Wall many fear encountering in marathons. I hated the stupid highlands for beating me up. It was cruel to put this near the end of the race. A lot of relay runners with fresh legs sprinted past me like gazelles gorged on Double Espresso. I shook my head, spent after my glorious ride through the mountains earlier. I think I started out too fast.

Mile 21 seemed to go on forever and ever and I thought my legs would seize up until I saw Mile 23 (What happened to Mile 22?) and then I got my groove back at Mile 24. When I saw the finish line in the distance I kicked in the afterburners at the tune of Rat Race in my MP3. I sprinted to the finish with reserve I didn’t know I had. I finished in 4 hours and 25 minutes.

My next big race is The Rock N Roll Marathon in San Diego!

Passover began at sundown on April 19, Saturday. Normally I get up early for service on Shabbat but that day was different and I planned to sleep in but Sheila wanted to run at 7:30 am. I didn’t want to face my long run on Sunday after celebrating Passover the night before so I said okay to meet early. I met Sheila at the Coyote Creek Trail in Morgan Hill, thankfully the weather was cooler and I set a gentle pace because she was recovering from a cold. If it were I, I’d skip the run, baby myself and sleep in my warm comfy bed. Sheila is tough and by her own admission a workhorse. I’m a pampered princess by comparison.

Sheila pushed through 10 miles and I did 12 to wrap up my week. For some reason I didn’t want to stick to the marathon training lately, the freshness and excitement is wearing off. Now it’s plain old hard work. It’s like a part-time job without pay. This was way too much effort and pain. I like half marathons but a full 26.2 takes a lot of work! It’s no mystery why many people fail to tackle the marathon. Another runner told me why waste 4 months of your life for a single day? I didn’t like the rate of return, which is the reason why it took me several years to finally cave into the temptation of running the monster.

Next week is The Big Sur International Marathon in Carmel. That’s my next stop. Yahoo!

This weekend was boiling and sunny. Most of the training I ran in cool weather and wasn’t worried about the temperatures soaring above 65 degrees until today. Because Marcia and Sheila schedules conflict with mine sometimes we aren’t able to train together as we’d like. When I can’t run outside, I’ll hit the gym and do the treadmill.

Before I took on the marathon training as a real commitment, I had a difficult time doing long runs by myself. I needed people to run with to alleviate the boredom or fear of bonking. I also don’t like the prospect of getting eaten by mountain lions that roam the countryside where I live. A change of scenery is nice too. I decided to use races as my long training runs on weekends. It works!

The fishing village of Pescadero (now a tourist attraction) south of Half Moon Bay off Highway 1 hosted the Artichoke Half Marathon. I signed up to run a hilly course to prepare for the upcoming Big Sur Marathon later this month. My husband Ken and I woke up at O dark thirty, got ready and drove up to our destination in plenty of time before the race began. The quaint town of Pescadero is nestled in the chartreuse hills near the Pacific Ocean.  I knew the forecast would be hot in Morgan Hill but by the coast it should be cooler. I was wrong. It was sizzling here too! What happened to the ever-present foggy weather and cool ocean breezes? We ran along the rural roads in the foothills among the most gorgeous landscape around. I wish I brought my paints, canvas and easel. I must get back here and paint next time.

The course was mostly flat (so much for my hill training). The organizers had only 1.5 aid stations along the entire 13.1-mile route. This was good for the runners doing the 10K but bad for the rest of us. I brought my own energy drink and cough drops to soothe my throat as I ran the distance. Still, I shouldn’t take chances in hot weather. I listen to my body as I run and if it tells me to drink then I drink or if it tells me to slow down a tad or speed up then I do that.

Somewhere around Mile 9 I hooked up with Tony and his 9-year old boy with the same name. They run a lot of races together and we yakked it up for a few miles until the pain of discomfort overrode my joy of talking. His boy took off ahead and soon I followed him because I simply wanted to finish this race and not feel bad anymore. However the bad feeling and the cramp in my left foot dissipated and I’m running well again. I put on my MP3 and flew toward the sleepy town of Pescadero and to the finish. I high-fived Tony and his son after receiving my finisher medal.

I walked to my van where Ken was dozing. After stretching and checking my left hip muscle, we strolled to the shops and bakery where we munched on a tasty egg-salad sandwich and drank orange juice. I still had 5 more miles to complete my long run for the day. Wee. I’m not excited but I’m determined to do it because I won’t be ready for the marathon if I slack off. When we returned to Morgan Hill, I did run the miles at the gym because it was really hot to train outside. Hopefully the weather will be much colder next weekend.

I got up early to jog up our local icon named Murphy’s Peak or El Toro. It’s a lovely greenish bump in my backyard that stands a mere 1420 feet. I wanted to run the sucker and add that to my marathon training and feel macho about it too. I ran 10 miles the day before and was raring to go up the mountain along with a few hardy souls. My friends from Sacramento joined us on this once-a-year treat. The owners allow folks to scamper up the verdant peak one day in April per year—that’s it. Otherwise it’s called trespassing if I decide to hike the thing on another day.

It turned out more than a few hardy souls showed up. I thought most folks would be asleep like last year but no! I think everyone and their pet dog congregated near the large map of the mountain at the library. It was crowded yet festive. I figured I outrun these people so that I can quickly ascend and descend and make it to Shabbat service at 10:30 am. I glanced at my watch and relaxed. It’s only 8. I stuffed my leather gloves in my track pant pocket and half jogged and walked with my friends until I got too antsy and left them as I went up on West Dunne Avenue.

I moved at an accelerated pace up the steep road past the iron gates and to mountainous joy beyond. The air was a bit warm for this time of day but it wasn’t unbearable. Hordes of kids, dogs, families and old men with ski poles clogged up the dirt path ahead. I weaved between them to get a good PR on my climb and took some photos at the same time. I was racing against a gaggle of Japanese teens with walking sticks and came to an abrupt halt. An unmovable human barrier was between my victorious trek up the mountaintop. What’s a bumper-to-bumper traffic snarl doing in the middle of my hike? This wasn’t Highway 101 on Monday morning. It’s Saturday morning—nobody should be awake clogging the roads at this time.

I parked myself behind a couple who took in the scenery in stride. I figured I wasn’t going anywhere for a split second and decided to be neighborly and less competitive. As we are chatting away about the congested conditions and the gorgeous spring weather, we begin our ascent.

This weird old guy who looked like he lived in the Alaskan wilderness all his life passed us on the right in the Poison Oak and thorny plants because he refused to wait behind the 100 people ahead of him. He didn’t smile or say hi, he simply trudged up in the vegetation with his ski poles. I made sure I stayed out of his way and not get poked by one of his poles. He ignored the ropes provided by the local Boy Scout troop.

I made it to the top of the mountain in triumph ready to snap photos of the wild flowers and whatever else I found. This year the sky was clear with no sign of fog anywhere. A little chilly wind swirled around me as I skipped along the top having fun with dozens scampering all over the grassy knoll. I glanced at my watch again. Oh no! I had to get back down to my home as it was past 9. I didn’t see my friends anywhere so I gave up on them and began the icky journey down the steep grade. It’s at a 45-degree angle. I grabbed onto the rope not as confident as before and spoke to a dad and his little blonde girl. I talked to them to distract myself from looking down. I held onto the rope for dear life, hoping not to fall into the Poison Oak, thistle plants or barbwire fence.

A group of unruly teenage boys ten feet behind me didn’t want to wait and moved around people in front of them. They skidded into the soft red dirt causing a mini-avalanche of softball sized pointy rocks. One of the larger rocks bounced off my left leg above my foot. I yelped in pain without letting go of the rope and managed to grab the offending rock with my other hand. I shook it at the teens who didn’t have a clue what happened. I yelled at them to stop trying to cut in line and if they continue I’ll toss them off the mountain. The teens stopped shoving past people and laughed nervously. I continued my descent occasionally glaring at the teens and pointed my finger at them as a warning. Other people yelled at them too.

I saw this large guy going up the path. There’s only one rope and we both have to share it without killing each other. The old Alaskan man with the ski poles was ahead of me and I’m doing my best not to crash into him as the people behind are shoving into me. It’s too congested. Enough being dignified! I’m going to Spider Crawl my way down. I get on all fours and rapidly descent past everyone including the old guy with the ski poles. Once on a less steep grade without gobs of humans on it, I stood up and ran the rest of the way to the library in one piece to collect my certificate.

Marcia and I drove to Mountain View, California to run with the ladies in the Mermaid Half Marathon at Shoreline Park. What a beautiful day for a run! The course meandered around levees in a bucolic backdrop perfect for outdoor types like us runners. The Mermaid Triathlon group did a great job managing the event and gave us girls a lovely teal blue and green goody bag, which was more like a canvas backpack. We loved the custom fitted tees too. Before the race Marcia and I talked about this being only a training run and not an actual race. We would take it nice and slow as simply to build up mileage not to set personal records.

As we toed the line many of the women were already itching to stomp the dirt and we were ready too. Once the gun went off we tiptoed in a sea of athletic girlage and I did my best not to give the person in front of me a flat tire. Marcia and I twiddled our way forward enjoying the scenery and fresh air. Thank God the climate was cool. The only thing that bugged me was the foxtail stickers in the grassy area. Several decided to find a home at the bottom of my left sock and I had to fish them out during the race.

I decided to test my mental stamina and not play my MP3 player during the first half of the run. The chatter of the women kept me in a steady rhythm and I noticed Marcia picked up her stride. I told her to not run fast at the beginning and this was only a training run. She nodded absently and kept her accelerated pace. I sighed not wanting to nag her. Soon Marcia left me in the dust.

I passed some of the aid stations as I’m determine to get to the half way point in decent time so I wouldn’t bake when the sun is shining high above me. I wish I wore shorts! At the turn-a-round point I grabbed a cup of cold water and gulped the contents. Then I’m off. This gives me a boost of energy and I’m happily passing up the girls who ran ahead of me during the beginning parts of the race. I kept a steely eye on my pacing, as I didn’t want to race this thing. I had 2 more miles to do after the half marathon and didn’t want to crash and burn at the end.

After taking several swallows of the icky tasting energy drink I carried, I put on my MP3 and let the music take me home to the finish line. I hadn’t seen Marcia anywhere on the course since we split up. I wondered if she dropped out early or got injured for running too fast. For some weird reason I always bonk at mile 11 at half marathons in the past and I was worried it would happen to me again. I didn’t see any mile markers on the way back so I didn’t know how long I had to complete the distance. Then I saw it. The sign for mile 12 was on the other side and I had only 1.1 miles left. I didn’t bonk at the 11th mile. Yippee! I felt great and ran to the finish in plenty of energy. I ran the course in 2:16:38 and met Marcia who stood in line for post race goodies.

I asked her if she was okay and she was fine. She ran the half marathon in 2:09 minutes but she told me she didn’t race it. I shook my head in amazement. Marcia is a newbie runner to this distance and held back because it was only a training run. I wonder what kind of speed she’d do if she were competitive?

Okay, after years of wishing, dreaming, planning and making every excuse in the proverbial book Angie Young will actually do it! What is this it I’m writing about? Why it’s the marathon of course. The mysterious 26.2-mile ride where legends are born and athletes are made. I ran oodles of half marathons (13.1 miles) did a marathon relay twice at the Big Sur International Marathon in 2005 and 2007 but never covered the entire course on my own. My friend bought me an inspirational book about training for the distance and I cherished it for years but never went past 17 miles in a single run.

Then it happened. After taking a hiatus from running in the fall of 2007 I decided I’m going to do a safe distance of 21 miles at the 2008 Big Sur International Marathon in April. I signed up, paid my fee and committed to the training. I didn’t dare tell anyone because in the past when I did, something blocked my path and I never made it to the start line. I lost out on two marathons because of injuries or fear. People bugged me for years to run the 26.2 because I would always talked about it. After I told some runners what I was doing I got the crazy idea that I could use the 21-mile race at Big Sur as a training run for a . . . a (gulp!) a marathon in June. Could it be possible?

One of the experienced marathoners in my running club said I could do it if I train right. He suggested that I do several 20-mile runs before hitting the big 26-2. He ticked these long hauls off as nothing on his fingertips as he quickly developed a loose training plan for me. The desire to run this darn elusive bugger bit me on the butt and I shouted, “Alright! I’m gonna run the Rock ‘N Roll Marathon on June 1st! (Inside my head that is.)”

I still had no idea how and where I’ll do this so-called training. I consulted my friend’s book on marathons and told some of my closest friends of my plans. As a result one of them named Marcia will also run her first marathon with me. It will be one rock and rolling party in San Diego! We still needed help with the details of training long runs more than 13 miles. Sheila ran 5 marathons and did San Diego several times so she’s someone who can help us train.

I contacted Sheila and asked if she wanted in our quest to conquer 26 miles and she gladly accepted the invitation. Now I have two girls to build up mileage together. One is a veteran and the other a newbie to running long distances.

Many people say race day is the toughest thing to face but I say it’s the 4-5 months of training! What’s one day running for hours compared to weeks and weeks of unending physical labor regardless of cold, rain or wind? My weakness is commitment and being consistent. I’m an artist with all kinds of stuff happening creatively all the time. Routine and me don’t get along. I have to force myself to keep a schedule and try to act normal like most 9-5 workday people to keep my business afloat.

I figure since I recently endured a 36-travel day, hopping 3 continents cramped up in the middle seat inside an airplane at 30,000 feet altitude in physical pain without relief then I can easily run a marathon. No problem--piece of cake!

Stay tuned and see where this crazy butt-kicking training takes Angie Young!