Greetings From Belize!

Yesterday I took the train from San Jose to San Bruno, where I would fly to Belize early the next morning.

While the weather wasn't too bad in San Jose, it was cold and drizzling in San Bruno (just west of the San Francisco Airport). I checked in to the hotel and walked through the gloom to find food, reminding myself it was temporary and I would soon find myself in the tropics.

Not long after climbing into bed, I got an automated phone call from American Airlines saying my flight was delayed (where the heck was that thing coming from?) by about an hour and they would follow up with me if they felt they needed to reschedule my connecting flight in Dallas. I double checked my ticket. According to their new estimated arrival in Dallas, I would have about 5 minutes from the time we landed until they closed the doors on my connecting flight...two terminals over. That wasn't going to work. And I'm pretty certain there was not a later flight into Belize.

The hotel provided a complimentary shuttle to the airport at 4:30 am. Posted inside the shuttle was a sign that read "Your generous gratuities greatly appreciated."

While that does help clear things up for people who aren't sure whether or not you should tip the shuttle driver (you should), the sign also made me feel obligated to tip. The only thing I had in my wallet was a $20. I'm a grad student. $20 can be a lot.

The driver pulled up to my terminal and announced that this was my stop, but didn't open the door. I should've said that I only had a $20 or asked if he had change. I mean, we weren't coming from the Hilton, we were coming from Super 8, a budget hotel. That early in the morning, my wits weren't entirely about me, so I turned and faced the door, and noticed his agitation as I did. He opened the door and let me out. I felt like a jerk. I still feel like a jerk more than 12 hours later. Chances are, years from now I will still feel like a jerk when I think about it. I do things like that. Socially awkward situations follow me indefinitely.

Walking around the deserted airport by my gate, looking for breakfast, I heard a gate announcement stating it was the final boarding call for Dallas (a couple hours before my flight would depart) and that the doors would be closing whether the passengers were all on board or not. It occurred to me that some passengers had not yet shown up for their flight. I approached the gate and told the lady there that my flight was delayed and I would probably miss my connecting flight, but that I hadn't been re-booked, so was there any way....

I handed her my tickets and she asked if I had checked any bags. I had not. She booted one of the late people off the flight and let me board. Yay! I was going to make my connecting flight!

One of the flight attendants on board saw me and was a little snippy. "Oh, you must be one of our missing passengers".

"Um, no", I said.

"12D?"

"Yes."

"Is it 12D?" she shouted to the other flight attendant.

"I was just bumped up..." I tried to explain. Please don't hate me, I'm not the late person.

But whatever, I was on board, heading to Dallas, then on to Belize.

Dallas was fresh out of Belize dollars, so I confirmed that American dollars were accepted there, then got ones for my $20. I needed all the karma I could get and didn't want to insult another driver that was tasked with getting me safely from one place to another. Especially in another country.

In retrospect, it always amazes me how quickly (most of the time) you can suddenly find yourself in a totally different part of the world. I landed on a small airstrip just outside of Belize City, surrounded by jungle. It was cloudy but warm. Small island hopper planes parked alongside the tiny runway. They wheeled a set of stairs to the door to allow us to de-plane. Customs was a breeze. As a matter of fact, a guy working there saw me and my purse and backpack (medium sized backpacking pack), asked if this was all my luggage, took my customs form and sent me on my way, ahead of a line of people.

Out by the curb, people stood with signs. I didn't see my name, but a lady saw me searching the crowd and asked who I was looking for. I told her Global Village Hotel. She hadn't seen him yet today but would keep an eye out for him and let him know where I was. Two minutes later, he showed up and she pointed him over to me. He had a sign with the hotel and my name printed on it. He apologized for being late, but not only was my plane early, I hadn't checked any bags.

I climbed in the van, where a very pleasant woman was behind the wheel. We drove past houses in various stages of repair, most resembling something between colonial and Hispanic, but a lot of them had the living quarters on the second floor, with the garage on the bottom, like I've seen in House Hunter's International (love that show). It looked much like other Caribbean places I've been (Mexico and the Dominican Republic) where away from the developed sites, lay thick tangles of jungle. A horse roped to a chain link fence grazed on the sized of the road.

Maybe a mile from the airport, we pulled in to the hotel. The man waited while the lady checked me in, then he showed me to my room, how to operate the lights and the air conditioner "But it's pleasant now so you probably don't need it". It was about 75 and 90 percent humidity. I however, was dressed for San Francisco. I decided I just needed to change and my body would be fine with the temperature (humidity). The hotel is very basic but everything is spacious and the staff are incredibly friendly. Whenever I walk in, they jump up to see if I need anything. They've also volunteered to drive me to the docks tomorrow for $5 US less than the taxis charge. It feels very safe here, and I'm thankful for the familiar people to take me into Belize City, where it's not so safe. From there I will take a water taxi to Caye Caulker.

Also, like other Caribbean areas I have been to, a gecko just ran across my wall. By the time I got my memory card out of my netbook and into my camera, he had taken off behind the tv stand. I looked and he's no where to be seen. I hope he doesn't decide to climb into my luggage.

I should note that while Belize is located in Central America, it was originally part of the British Empire (thanks Wikipedia). English is the official language and it is part of the commonwealth with Queen Elizabeth as the head of state.

As fate would have it, the first place I ate was a Chinese restaurant. As the hotel is not located in town, there is only the amenities across the street: one restaurant, a bank (and ATM), and a market. But I did have a Belikin, Belize's official beer (I gather).

I ordered the orange chicken and listened to Lady Gaga while writing in my travel journal. The chicken was very fresh tasting, the beer delicious. It reminded me of Pacifico. They also had Guinness on the menu. A different world for sure.

The market was an eclectic mix of American, European (think Cadbury chocolate bars), and Latin American. I was there for bottled water as I was informed not to drink the water here (some places in Belize the tap water is potable, but not here as it turns out). Two large bottles of water for $1.50 US. You can't even get one in California for that price. Also, the exchange rate here is $2 Belize dollars (BZ) for every $1 US.

Also, the CDC does not recommend Americans in Belize take anti-malaria medications, just that they practice "mosquito avoidance". After researching my options and wanting to stay away from Deet, I found 20% Picardin (or something close to that) was the most reliable and it wasn't as chemically bad as Deet. So that's what I'm trying out. But it also says I need to wash it off before going to bed. Oh, and apparently the malaria you can get down here isn't the really bad kind.

Well, after several days of not sleeping well, I'm hoping to get a good night's sleep tonight (if the gecko and mosquitoes allow it) so I can get out to Caye Caulker tomorrow. Adventure awaits!

Just a Snippet of Memory

I drove out to Arizona for Thanksgiving, it must've been the year after my dad died. My grandfather was is in the early stage of Alzheimer's, and I was asked to drive him into town to pick up his prescriptions. Before he got in, I had to clear off the passenger seat to make room. I apologized for the clutter, explaining that without a co-pilot, I had to be sure everything I needed was in arm's reach: snacks, water, music, coffee.

As I cleared the seat, he looked up at me, hearing words I hadn't even thought.

"I'm sorry your marriage didn't work out."

Caught off guard, I stopped and looked over at him, standing outside my jeep looking me in the eyes. I hadn't meant to imply anything about being lonely or wishing for a travel partner. I wonder what he thought about me roaming about on my own.

I don't remember how I responded, but to this day there are so many words nestled into what he said, why he said it. I don't even know if he still remembered my name at that point. A lot of that time is so foggy now.

I don't know that my grandfather and I have ever really talked, like my grandmother and I did so frequently. She and I would sit at their dining table and talk for hours over coffee or tea, and usually something chocolate. My grandfather never really said much. I think that moment outside my aunt's house was the most intimate conversation we've ever had, and it was no more than a sentence or two.

I know there was so much behind that sentence, even if I will never fully understand it. And while it was such a brief moment in time, it is so vivid in my memory: him standing in a white t-shirt looking over at me, gravel and cacti in the background.

Legs

The morning was gray and cold outside my kitchen window, and inside were at least two of my very favorite things: warm and quiet. It was the kind of morning that all I wanted to do was lay around all day wrapped in a blanket sipping hot coffee. But goals are not achieved in one day, nor in one fleeting moment of inspiration. Goals are achieved through a relentless striving, effort on the days you feel you have none to give, and accumulated hours of training and making the right choices.

Dragging my feet, I got dressed and stared down at my pre-run routine. Core stability exercises followed by dynamic stretching. I was in very much the opposite state of wanting to do any of it. There probably aren't words for how much I didn't want to start the workout, much less go out into the cold and run 8 miles. I started with planks and ended with leg swings. I filled my water bottle and placed my Garmin on the windowsill while I pulled on arm warmers, a head wrap, and gloves. The Garmin beeped once to tell me it hard turned on, and too soon as always, beeped again to tell me it was ready to go. I glanced down at my bare legs and at least felt some pride, regardless of not wanting to go out. I am proud of these legs, these lean, strong, runner's legs. I would prefer if they had a little more muscle mass, but they're beautiful and take me places- sometimes swiftly, sometimes far.

As I wrapped the Garmin around my wrist, it beeped again to tell me if I didn't do something in 30 seconds, it was going into power save mode. "Okay, okay, I'm going", I replied as I headed out the door.

The good thing about my long runs is that I can pretty much do them at whatever pace I want. The bad thing is that my legs would prefer to do it fast, regardless of the drain that would put on the rest of me. I'm blessed that these legs have developed something of an auto-pilot. My mind drifts off to some other place and time, and minutes later when I come to, I'm still running. Usually too fast, but I take what I can get. I check myself and slow my pace and drift back off again. As hard as I try, I usually cannot remember where I was in my day dream so I'm disappointed to not be able to continue the dream. My brain moves on to something else.

I spot a few new people on the bike path, no doubt beginning their New Year's resolutions. The regulars at first don't recognize me, bundled up in all the pink I got for Christmas. Pink shirt, pink arm warmers, pink head wrap. My gloves are black and pink. My shorts black. Gray and blue shoes for today. I smile and say good-morning and recognition crosses their faces and they respond back. The other day, a woman complimented me on my new capris: an eclectic explosion of what looks like technicolor lava.

I watched ducks and geese paddle around the creek, people out walking their dogs. Most people looked happy, some were suffering under the weight of their new goals. I felt excited and relieved at the relative ease in which my legs moved. I'm between training seasons, and this will be one of the few times I will not lose my fitness in the transition.

I made it home, did a short stretch and took a hot bath. I plopped two eggs over easy on top of a bed of arugula and spinach, with tomatoes and avocado, a little salt and pepper, and red wine vinegar. After gobbling that down, I had a few pieces of chocolate almond toffee. As a matter of fact, I think I'll go have another right now.

Anger

What is anger?

I suppose it could be argued that anger comes from the same place that all our other emotions come from and is just as valid. But I wonder if anger is something different, in a class all its own. These days when I feel anger, I try to pause and figure out where it's coming from. I try to be compassionate towards myself and allow myself to feel emotions, but anger might be an exception.

I recently experienced a break-up from a man I thought I was going to marry. We had visions of our future together, and while we were complete opposites, we melded together perfectly. When the relationship ended, I was shocked at his complete lack of emotional response. Then again, his emotional response had been absent for some time. Today he came and picked up his things from my apartment, without as much as a "hello" or "how have you been?". While I have already mostly moved on, I found his coldness stirred me to anger.

What is there to be angry about?

Even if he did show some sort of feeling, the relationship is over. We're past the point of mending it. There was nothing to talk about, really no words to be said. But I felt angry just the same.

I'm angry that such an amazing relationship just collapsed before my eyes. I'm angry that he could not find it within himself to bridge a long distance relationship with something other than an occasional text message. I'm angry that someone who used to be so incredibly gentle and supportive and caring towards me has turned completely cold and can't even look at me, much less talk to me.

But am I really? Is it really anger I feel?

A few years ago, I strained a muscle in my neck doing pull-ups. There was a strange popping sound and I dropped from the bar. I waited a second, moved my head around a little bit, and thought maybe I was okay. Within a few minutes, the muscles in my neck had spasmed so badly that I could no longer move my head and the pain was unbearable. The doctor gave me muscle relaxers, vicodin, and ibuprofen. He said it wasn't the injured muscle that was the problem, it was the spasming muscles around it that were attempting to protect the injured area.

It's so much easier to feel anger rather than hurt, disappointment, or unloved. It hurts to go from meaning so much to someone, to meaning nothing at all. When someone you love no longer finds you worth their time, it's painful. And perhaps anger is the protective spasm around our emotions, protecting us from the hurt.

I've known some pretty angry people in my life and it has been my experience that they have a history of deep hurts and betrayals. It is far easier to feel anger than to accept the hurt.

Anger comes so quick, in a flash. It lashes out before we can even stop it. It's an instinctive response to emotional injury, and one I think, that can be unconditioned. When we feel anger rise up in us, I think it's important to stop and ask where it's coming from. Why are we feeling it? Chances are there's something else. And that something else is a valid emotion that deserves attention. Otherwise anger becomes our go-to technique, and that is less "okay" than feeling the emotions it's trying to cover up.

New Year's Eve

I've never been a fan of New Year's Eve. I am a morning person, and 9pm is fairly late for me. Midnight is terribly late. Over the Christmas holiday I was wondering where on earth I could run off to where I could have a quiet, peaceful New Year's Eve without fireworks and guns waking me up at midnight. I had the perfect plan: drive up to Gold Bluffs Beach and camp overnight, wake up to the ocean and a cup of coffee. Gold Bluffs Beach is closed until further notice due to a land slide.

Having just gotten back from Arizona, and leaving for Belize in a week, I decided maybe I should just suck it up and deal with it like I always do. Watching "How the Grinch Stole Christmas", it made me think about how I see New Year's. I am pretty un-fond of New Year's. Like I pretty much dislike it. If there was a "dislike" button on New Year's, I'd hit it a few times. I don't understand why a holiday would require having to stay up until midnight- watching seconds tick by on a clock. Morning comes and you're tired and hung over. And that's how you start your new year.

Why not start your new year the best way possible? Wake up feeling refreshed and ready to take on another year. Exercise, eat right, feel good! I don't know what it is about me that doesn't like to feel like crap, but I just don't. I don't enjoy headaches or nausea or feeling super tired. It's just not my thing.

So New Year's Day I wake up early and go run or do some other sort of workout, have coffee and a good breakfast, and just enjoy the day.

It is hard though with all the noise that happens at midnight.

I love the response I've always gotten when asked to stay up late for whatever reason. "You can just sleep in tomorrow!"

This morning I woke up at 4 am. I went back to bed and closed my eyes. Nothing happened. Namely, I did not fall back to sleep. At about 4:30 I got up and turned on the coffee pot that was set for 5:45. Around 4:45, I got my first cup of coffee and brought it back to bed with me and sipped it in the dark.

I do not control what time I wake up, and usually I can't fall back to sleep.

So New Year's Eve rolls around and I am the Grinch. The Grinch of New Year's.

Watching the movie reminded me that I really should not steal New Year's from anyone. There's this sorta-mean thing I tend to do on New Year's Eve that I think I've decided not to do this year. I turn off my phone (which I AM doing) and then first thing when I wake up in the morning, I text everyone back who texted me at midnight. Say 4 or 5am. And I secretly hope it disturbs their sleep.

Right? Grinch.

In other news, as I was heading out to yoga today, my car decided to go completely powerless. The neighbor jumped it, but as soon as I disconnected the jumper cables, it died. Tried again, let it go longer, disconnected them and it died again. I rode my bike to the auto parts store to get a battery charger and a voltmeter. The battery is fully charged. The mechanic says it's probably the alternator. Which I replaced two years ago. And no longer have the receipt for.

So I'll have to have it towed to the mechanic and leave it there while I head out to Belize. Fortunately for me, the mechanic has decided that he needs the parking while I'm gone, so when they're done, they'll leave my vehicle at my apartment. How cool is that?! These guys are keepers. 

Bagging Groceries

Bagging groceries should not require an advanced science degree. I think it's a fairly simple concept to grasp: heavy stuff on bottom, breakables or light things on top. Simple. However, I am actually considering changing shopping locations due to the severely incompetent bagging going on at my local Sprouts store.

A little background may be appropriate here in order to give you a clear picture of what's been happening. I shop at Sprouts because their store is filled with fresh meats and produce. There are not a lot of packaged choices which is fine with me being as I don't eat a lot of packaged foods. I love Trader Joe's and shop there on occasion since it's close to my apartment and they sell a lot of convenience foods (read "packaged" and "microwavable"). I also love their coffee selection. And their eggs are cheaper. They also are incredible pros at bagging groceries.

At Sprouts, they do not like to place in bags: eggs, melons, and potatoes. I like for all of my groceries to go in bags. That's why we have bags. I do not have proper pockets to stuff all my groceries in to get them from my vehicle to my upstairs apartment. That's why some genius invented bags.

Last summer, I brought in 5 bags to Sprouts. I bought my groceries and watched while the young kid bagging used 4/5 of the bags, put one unused bag into another bag, placed the carton of eggs on the seat of the cart, looked at me and said "Sorry, I don't know where else to put them."

How about in the empty bag you just stuffed into another one? Really??!!!

On multiple occasions at Sprouts (well this particular store anyway), I have had items just set into the cart when they could've easily been placed in the bags that had only a few items.

If you ever have the opportunity to shop at Trader Joe's, you know that they are amazing baggers. I have never seen grocery bag Tetris go so quickly, smoothly, and efficiently in my entire life. They usually get everything into bags with one or two empty bags left over. They are amazing. I have told them this. Their response? "It's because we actually care if your groceries make it home in one piece or not."

Today as I pulled my bags out of my vehicle at Sprouts, I actually groaned from anticipating the bagging that was about to happen. Mainly because I needed eggs. And buying eggs at this particular Sprouts store is a good way to guarantee that things will go badly. Shortly, I will address my plans to prevent this from ever happening again, but let me tell the story first.

To set the stage: it's finals week, I ran a marathon a couple days ago, have since stayed up late finishing presentations every night, and my left ovary has been stabbing itself since early this morning. I'm tired. I'm irritable. I'm a total jerk.

I brought 4 bags.

I placed the eggs on the belt first, to give the checker plenty of lead-way to figure out what she was going to do with them. Like a heads-up. Hey, eggs! Start thinking. I also know that baggers (Trader Joe's anyway) have a process with eggs and bananas. They get bagged last.

She ignored the eggs and began pulling food from further back. So the belt didn't move. Mind you, there was plenty of counter space to her left to put the eggs. If she had placed stuff on the counter, I could've bagged everything. But she was bagging as she went. Meanwhile, I could not get the little separator stick onto the belt because she wouldn't move the eggs so that the belt would move. Instead, she started talking to me about other flavors of the immunity drink I had bought. I decided to just breathe and be patient.

Finally she moved some stuff so the belt would move. My bags were all out of my reach and I was helpless to watch as she very slowly bagged my groceries. She handed me a half full (see that optimism there?) bag to place in my cart. As I placed it in the cart I thought "At this rate, I will definitely run out of bags".

She handed me the 5 pound bag of potatoes to place in my cart. Ok, that's fair. You're probably not going to put a ton of other stuff with a 5 pound bag of potatoes.

"Do you want the melon in a bag?"

"Yes please". This was a small "personal size" watermelon.

"Okaaay....." she said as she lined up the open bag and literally bowled the melon into the bag.

Ok. Whatever. Breathe.

The store heater kicked on and begin blowing right on me. My left ovary continued stabbing in pain (yes, I had taken something for it, no it was not helping).

"How about this one?" Cantaloupe.

"Yes please."

"Weee....pshew....". Sound effects while bowling the second melon into the bag. "Sorry, I've got to entertain" she said.

I forced a chuckled. She handed me the bag. With two small melons in it. I was very close to losing my shit. The heat was stifling, I was tired and miserable, and this lady was on my very last nerve. Very last nerve.

I'm trying to practice kindness, patience, and compassion these days. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. What can you do?

She managed to get the eggs in a bag which was a little surprising. She put them on top of stuff, which is good. As she let the belt bring food toward her, he pulled my bananas off some other item and tossed them further down the belt, where they landed on the other side of my separator stick. (OMG!!!) It was at this point I noticed the large line had completely shifted over to the other checkstand and there was absolutely no one putting their groceries on the empty belt behind my stuff. No one wanted to be in her line. As a matter of fact, they had all decided that they would rather wait an extra ten minutes in a longer line, than use the line I was in. My checker looked up at the situation as well, seemed to assess it for a second, then continued with my stuff.

She tossed the spinach to the side. I took the opportunity to place it in the half empty (not so optimistic now) bag in my cart.

"I was going to place that on top of the stuff here", she said.

"Oh that's ok, I got it here. It won't squish anything".

Finally, as the forced heat was beginning to make me nauseated and I felt I could no longer contain my agitation, she handed me my receipt and I was free to go.

As I stepped out into the cool air, I took a few deep breaths and decided I was never shopping there again.

I may try another Sprouts that's only a little further away.

Since I really can't say I'm never shopping there again, here's my plan. Next time I have to go there, I will keep my bags to myself so that I can bag my own groceries. When the checker says they can get it, I will insist and say no, no, I like bagging my groceries. Maybe even say how fun it is. I don't know.

Why is this so difficult? After doing a quick analysis of what was in my cart, I had already made a plan for the best way to bag the groceries. Five seconds max. What's heavy? What can be squished? People, please, I urge you: stick the damn melons in a bag. We only have so many hands. I am not going to carry two melons, a bag of potatoes, and a carton of eggs separately into my apartment. Heavy things on the bottom, squish-ables and breakables on top. There is no more science involved than that.

Socks

I have a sock problem. You would know it by taking a look at my sock drawer. I have a problem getting rid of them too. My favorite running socks have now all got holes in them, but when I tried to replace them, the replacements sucked. The last few weeks my big toe has been getting blisters from rubbing against the toe next to it (this is new, and weird) so I've moved back over to toe socks. So now I need to invest in toe socks.

But today my mission was arm warmers and steak. I'm running a marathon in Sacramento on Sunday and it'll be around 41 at the starting line...probably around 50 by the time I finish. I will be running in shorts and most likely a tank top. This is why I can't live anywhere cold. I'm slower in pants (for real) and I can't stand material in my armpits when I work out. Of course for a lot of cold weather training runs (and on rare occasions, a race) I do wear long sleeves. I get cold easily, I have Raynaud's, I really do need to keep myself warm. But everything warm is uncomfortable to work out in. A mile or two into a run, I wish I wasn't wearing sleeves. And it's too cold to take my shirt off (sometimes my belly is red from the cold when I get home, even though I had a shirt on).

Anyway, so I decided I need to get arm warmers for this race... and I've been craving steak for days.

Let me just say, I've worn arm warmers for cycling and I hate them and love them. I love them because they work: they're warm, easy to take off, and easy to stow in a pocket. You can take them off with your teeth while riding (I still can't ride with no hands). I hate them because of my left arm that is usually very sensitive to having something wrapped around it. You'll have to look back to 2009 in this blog for the whole story, but for a short recap- my collar bone and first rib crushed the vein in my arm and caused a blood clot from my elbow to my collarbone. The rib was removed and a portion of the vein was grafted from my leg to my shoulder. The problem is, veins harden after having a big huge clot in them for months (most likely years) at a time. I don't think it was practical for the surgeons to replace 12-14 inches of vein.

It's completely functional now but minor swelling does occur on occasion and then just passes. But sleeves...sleeves will most likely never be comfortable for me again. Or bras. But I live in a world where I occasionally have to wear both or at least one. I like loose sleeves. Those are ok. Lightly fitted ones feel restrictive and make me very agitated. It's crazy.

But I can't run in 40 degree weather in shorts and a tank top. My body is not built for that (Google Raynaud's). So arm-warmers.

They make commercial arm warmers, which is what I was looking for. Target didn't have them. Road Runner Sports said they'll likely get them in the next few days. Sports Basement pointed me to cycling sleeves (which I own). I will most likely ditch these things partway through the race, so I don't want to pay $40 for them. I want a cheap pair. A few bucks that are fine to toss to the side of the road and never see again. The guy at Sports Basement suggested I just make a pair with socks.

So I went to Marshall's for socks (after buying steaks at Trader Joe's). Really I was only supposed to buy one or two pair. But apparently I love socks. So many cute, soft, pretty, awesome socks. Seven pair. I do not intend on making all of them into arm-warmers, but maybe a few. Since I'll most likely be tossing the first pair, I'm going with the no-sew option. If I end up liking them, I might do a couple with some actual effort.

These might not look like much, but let me tell you why I love each and every one of these pair (there were literally hundreds of pairs that wanted to go home with me today).

First of all, who doesn't just absolutely love polar bears?

 

The blue pair is like a sweater (think I'll use this pair for the race this weekend).

The middle knee high has an amazing texture that will probably look super cute on either my arms or my legs.



And the two on the right are just incredibly soft.



It breaks my heart to cut holes in any of them, but it also excites me to think some of them will be given new life as amazing arm warmers. I kinda miss the days when I would wear knee high socks with boxer shorts. I'm wondering if, at this age (35), I can run around in shorts and knee-highs. I'm not much of a skirt person so that whole cute skirt and knee-highs wouldn't really do it for me.


So here is race day arm warmers! All I did was cut the tip of the toe off.

Not too bad for a 30 second job. And they are not highly uncomfortable. There is the little heel that is unimpressive.

But, they are warm. Merino wool. Made in Italy.

I will also have gloves that I will toss, probably 3-4 miles into the run. They are also cheapies- from Target. And they have some holes in them. I bought some replacements for future runs. The little 3 for $9 pairs. I will probably also wear the liner pair I have underneath them, that also has a hole in one of the fingers.

When I ran Boston, I bought a whole pre-race outfit at a thrift shop. Before the start, you ditch your clothes into special areas to be donated to charity. Maybe some lucky person will find my holey gloves and sexy arm warmers and be a little warmer this winter.

Yes, people really do run like this.