Virtues of Pacing Yourself – Disney Princess Race Recap

Last December, I wrote about the painful experience that was the OUC half marathon. It was ugly. I was in pain. And frankly, it was an experience that I didn’t want to repeat. Looking back on that race, I know exactly what I did wrong. I went out too fast. WAY too fast. It’s another failing of mine – I’m impatient and I seem to think that I’m capable of more than mortal feats. Man, was I wrong and the OUC proved it.

Fast forward 3 months to the Disney Princess half marathon. My dear friend Kasey and I decided to run it together. We were back at Disney, where our inaugural marathon took place and we were very much looking forward to catching up with each other.

One thing that made this race different from the OUC half was that we were both coming into it with an injury. Kasey’s knee had been bothering her for about 10 months (on and off) and unfortunately, it had recently flared up during a 12 mile training run. I have been having issues with a lower calf strain and a tight hip flexor. In other words, we both feel about 60 years old when we stretch. It’s a common affliction of high levels of training.

This Disney race started off the same as the last one – 3:30am wake up time, arrive at the Epcot parking lot at 4:30, walk to the starting line at 5:30 (it was a 6am start). Since there were so many people running the race (14,000 for this one), Disney assigned individuals to different corrals based on proven or estimated start time. I had been placed in corral A due to my finishing time at the full marathon and Kasey had been placed in corral E (even though we had the same finishing time, she didn’t report the Disney full time).

Here we are waiting for the start.



Well, when we found out that (1) we couldn’t sneak Kasey into corral A, and (2) corral E didn’t have a start time until 6:28am (it was COLD outside!!), I talked Kasey into jumping the gate at corral B so that we would start at corral B. Yup, leave it up to the criminologist to talk Kasey into breaking the rules!

The runners waiting at the starting line.



Due to our rule breaking behavior, we got to start at 6:07am (after freezing and shivering for a short while) and we were off. And limping. And moaning. You see, for a lot of mild injuries, the first mile is the absolute worst, especially in the cold. It usually takes a bit to get your muscles and ligaments warmed up and until then, you limp and grunt your way through the pain. Sounds like fun, doesn’t it?

The good news is that because we were hobbling along so gingerly, we inadvertently paced ourselves at a slower rate than we would have if we had been 100%. By mile 3, I think we were both feeling decently warmed up and as the sun rose, we really started to enjoy the race and the beautiful day that was dawning. I have to say, the miles literally flew by. I couldn’t believe that they were coming up so quickly. This was due to one thing – good conversation. Have you ever been chatting on the phone with a good friend and hang up only to realize that an hour had gone by? For Kasey and I, running is the same way (well, at least it was after we stopped moaning long enough to chat).

Look, Cinderella's castle!



I wish that there was something more to be said for the middle part of the race, but truly, it was easy and breezy in its entirety. In fact, around mile 11, I had started to feel guilty that I wasn’t suffering more. Clearly, I wasn’t pushing myself hard enough, but truly, in my world, that’s what training is for. The race itself is just to have fun – Brother Dean would greatly disagree by the way.

Before we knew it, we were back in Epcot and in the last mile. We had a smile on our faces for the duration of the race and we kept up an easy banter throughout. It was about as much fun as I could have possibly have had on a Sunday morning at the crack of dawn.

So, the moral of the story is that if you go out slowly and conserve your energy, you’ll succeed in your event and you’ll have a better time doing it. I actually beat my time from the OUC half and that was including stopping for pictures and a potty break. Go us!

Culinary Cheating, Redux

After posting about culinary cheating last week (and getting laughed at by my mother for complicating things that could and should be simple), I decided that a couple times a week, I’m going to keep it simple: 1 protein + 1 veggie +1 starch.

In my own version of this combination, I made the following: shrimp sautéed with a sprinkle of Old Bay seasoning, spinach sautéed in a little olive oil and garlic and then finished with lemon juice and a side of white rice.

It was simple, it was filling and it was my perfect for my tastes. Oh yeah, and it only took 10 minutes to throw together. Stay tuned for more simple meals – maybe by the time I’m 50, I’ll learn that each part of life doesn’t need to be turned into an Olympic event. Oh, why am I kidding…I’ll never learn!

Wired.

I like to call this one "Wired." What would our Greek ancestors think if they saw our modern day reliance on technology? I shudder to think...but it does make for a cute photo. If I were to hazard a guess as to what was on the computers that I couldn't see...

The Irishman was probably looking at either his email or a gaming blog. Probably his email since my father was in close proximity. My father was probably checking his bank balance or reading up on Greek news. Parker was watching, "Accidents Happen," a Thomas the Tank Engine song. And my mother, well, my mother probably had 8 windows open with her various email accounts, the news and different assignments.

Chewie. Eats. Poop.

Chewie is an incredibly cute dog. Everyone who sees him in the street stops to comment on his gorgeous coat, his light blue eyes and his sweet disposition. But Chewie is harboring a dark secret. It would make most people shudder and cringe despite his cuteness. The cold, hard fact is that Chewie. Eats. Poop.

Please feel free to shudder and cringe, I'll wait.....

I have no idea why he does this. It makes it so much worse that he doesn't discriminate - fresh or old, his or Nona's, feline or canine - Chewie is simply a poop eater of the largest magnitude. It's so bad that I've started to walk the dogs separately so that I have a chance to pick up after them before Chewie could have "dessert."

I'm also aware that my neighbors (and now my parents' neighbors) are privileged to a steady stream of curses and exclamations of "CHEWIE, DON'T YOU DARE EAT THAT POOP! STOP THAT! UGH! WHY, OH WHY ARE YOU A POOP EATER!!"

I'm not proud of his behavior (or mine), but I simply cannot bring myself to turn a blind eye on this behavior. We've talked to his vet about it and tried changing his diet to no avail. When I called his vet for a follow-up, the revised prognosis was that sometimes, for no reason whatsoever, dogs just like to eat poop.

I'm not exactly sure why I'm sharing this with you. It grosses me out on a regular basis, but I guess it makes me feel better when I see people who seem gorgeous and flawless beyond belief. They're probably hiding some deep, dark secret like excessive flatulence or halitosis. I'm just saying...

Best Friends

Here is Parker with his best friend, Beck. Parker and Beck share a last name. This might explain while they both thought that they were brothers upon meeting. Clever kiddos. Beck and Parker are roughly the same size (Parker is slightly taller and heavier) and more importantly, they have the same level of exuberance. Man, do these kids run like maniacs around the playground! They go to the same preschool and their teacher assures us that they're double the trouble on the days when they're both there. While I feel a twinge of parental guilt that my son is one of the more active children there, I secretly applaud his independence. Don't let "the man" hold you down boys! Be free!

Okay, so I got a little carried away there, but seriously, I feel that children should be children. Respectful, but uninhibited when it comes to creativity and imagination. If a wanted a droid, I would have stuck with my Cabbage Patch kids.

Well, the boys are going to be separated for the month of March while Parker vacations in Florida with the grandparents and Beck continues on with his usual schedule up here. Apparently, Beck is convinced that he's going to Florida too. I don't envy Beck's mother once he realizes that is not the case. Poor kiddo. Parker is, thankfully, too uber excited about seeing the grandparents to realize that he'll be without his partner in crime for an extended period of time.

I can only imagine that this part of parenting gets harder and harder the older the kids get. Parker currently views each trip as a big adventure. In a handful of years, the Irishman and I are going to be the villains who are dragging him kicking and screaming away from his friends. I know this because that's exactly what transpired as soon as I hit my teens and my parents still insisted that we go to Greece every summer. The nerve of them!

Anyway, wish us luck that separation anxiety doesn't set in. I really want him to have a great time during this warm weather sojourn.

Root Beer Pancakes

One of the Irishman's favorite cookbooks is one that was published a couple of months ago by our local micro-brewery. Each recipe includes beer. There's beer chili and beer cheese soup; beer cake and beer pancakes. Wait, beer pancakes? That one gave me pause. Imagine as I might, I could not fathom how beer pancakes could possibly taste good. I mean maybe if they were made with ROOT beer...

And so it happened that I whipped up a batch of fluffy, moist root beer pancakes. I figured that root beer was simply a sweeter, non-alcoholic version of regular beer so the ratios should remain roughly the same. The only thing I had to increase was the amount of flour because the consistency was a bit runny for my taste. Anyway, they were so tasty, that I forewent the usual dousing of syrup that I usually drown my pancakes in and I elected to sprinkle them with powdered sugar instead. Delightful, no?

Here are the ingredients:

1.5 cups flour
1/4 cup sugar
1/2 tsp. salt
1 tsp. baking powder
1 cup root beer
1 egg, beaten
2 Tbs. butter, melted

Super simple - just mix together all of the dry ingredients and then add in the wet ingredients. Stir until the batter is no longer lumpy. I like it pourable, but not runny so I generally adjust the flour accordingly until it's where I want it.

I almost always use an electric griddle to cook pancakes because I can make 6 at a time and the flat, non-stick surface makes them nice and smooth. Once I pour the batter, I don't touch them until the sides of the pancakes are dry and air bubbles start rising to the surface in the middle. If you're using an electric griddle, 300 degrees is about right to get them golden brown.

As you can imagine, this recipe could be easily modified to use Coca-Cola or Cream Soda if that's what you have on hand. I like that there's minimal dairy (in the form of butter) since Parker has an intolerance to dairy and he also feels like he's getting a major treat just because there's root beer in there. Hmmm, perhaps I can modify a recipe to make root beer vegetables...

Culinary Cheating

Last week was totally nuts. My schedule was thrown off by meetings and appointments and it was all I could do to tackle each deadline as it came. I was on campus late every day and ended up going in 5 days instead of my usual three. As a result, I didn't have time to put my usual thoughtfulness into each meal. So, I did what I consider culinary cheating. Please see exhibit A above.

I had chicken breasts thawed, but lacked the mental capacity to think of anything creative to do with them. So, I preheated the oven to 400 degrees, laid out a large piece of foil, sliced the breast in half and added the following ingredients: drizzle of olive oil, juice of 1/2 a lemon, oregano, salt and pepper. Then, I folded the foil and sealed it tight to create a foil packed, slid it on a cookie sheet and baked it for 50 minutes or so.

When the chicken had 10 minutes left to cook, I make a box of Stove Top stuffing in a sauce pan (replacing the water it called for with broth) and heated up a can of corn. As I plated it up, I cringed at the lack of thought that went into planning the meal and at the utter lack of creativity involved. Not surprisingly, the Irishman was thrilled with the offering. This was what he considers a complete meal: 1 meat + 1 starch + 1 veggie (all of which he could name and easily identify) = happiness for an American boy. Go figure.