I'd rather be running, and a Progressive San Francisco Marathon race report

Ten years ago, after my second knee surgery, I sat in my orthopedist's office and talked about my recovery. After discussing my physical therapy and examining the sutures, I hesitantly asked about my running future. He cleared me to run, but promised me a double knee replacement before I turned 50. And then he asked if I had a bicycle. And that was the end of my brief running career. I'd run through high school, finishing consistently in the middle of the pack, and sometimes even placing - usually when the races involved only two or three runners. I really liked running, but after the pain and hassle of two knee surgeries in three years, I was ready to hang up my sneakers and hop on my bike.

And I was really happy walking and biking and swimming. And then, last Sunday, I raced the San Francisco Marathon as a progressive marathon. I registered for the 5K, walked 23.1 miles prior to the race, and completed the end of the marathon on race day.

I woke up late Sunday morning, and raced to the bus stop worried I wouldn't make the starting gun. I made it to the sweats check with a few minutes to spare, and puzzled for awhile over the Hells' Angels crowd who seemed to be volunteering at the race. I was concerned I might not get my jacket back at the end of the race. I had hoped to meet a friend, but her helpful "I'm wearing a pink hat," statement proved useless in a sea of pink hats, so I made my way to the back of the pack and started to stretch. There were no pace groups, no stroller and walker sections, and no real countdown to the start. All of a sudden everyone just started running. And caught up in the crowd, I started jogging too. I slowed to a walk after a few minutes, and walked the first half mile while I watched the crowd around me. San Francisco is well known for it's zany foot races - events at which people run in costume, or push extravagant floats, or purposely run the race route backwards. Or run it naked. This race had none of the city's usual exuberance.

I quickly got bored with this flat course, and wondered how I would feel if I ran for awhile. So I did. I ended up run-walking most of the race, and I finished in 43:22. I took four minutes off of my best 5K time and finished about 10 minutes faster than I'd expected. And I felt great. I even got a finisher's medal, which was a first for me.

I continued to feel great, though a little stiff, over the next few days. I started to wonder if maybe I could actually get back into running. If maybe I could run, instead of walk, a few races this year. I even tried to run a little tonight. I was really optimistic. And then I kind of started to hurt. My knees were stiff and my back ached and I became a little concerned about an injury. I decided maybe running isn't the best idea after all. And maybe, now that I'm back in the pool and about to get back on my bike, that's OK. My surgeon's argument in favor of biking 10 years ago included my ability to go farther and faster than I could running. And he was right.

And this weekend, after a miserable seven month hiatus, I'm getting back on my bike. Provided I remember how to ride it.

Dancing outside at twilight

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Tomorrow I sign a lease and hand over a big check and make the first move toward, well, moving. I'm not so excited about the idea of moving. When I hauled in the last load of stuff to my current place almost three years ago, I vowed not to leave until I got married or bought a condo. In San Francisco, my chances of doing either are pretty slim, especially since you have to date to get married, and have to be making money to buy a home. I'm doing neither.

But I digress.

I don't want to move. I don't want to make Goodwill trips and pack boxes and clean and haul and hassle with the landlord. But there's that arson issue. And last year's burglary fiasco. And the case of the stolen laundry. The landlord is creepy and the building's not up to code. Moving is the right thing to do. It's responsible. I'm taking care of myself and keeping myself and my belongings safe. The new building is nice and well maintained. I'm sure the tenants are wonderful people. And I'm only moving six blocks away - though legally the neighborhood change means I no longer live on the edge, but smack dab in the middle of a really swanky 'hood.

I'm relieved to have found a place and excited for a new start, but I'm not at all stoked about moving. But since I am, I have a desk I need to get rid of, and it's cheap. Anyone?

Belatedly

My sister had a birthday last Thursday. I have historically waxed poetic about how phenomenal she is in some sort of birthday post. At the very least, I've tried to offer her some advice as she navigates this crazy world. But this year, I just wasn't feeling it. And I'm sorry for that.

Her 29th year will not be nearly as carefree as my own. I'm sorry for that, too. But I guess, whatever tragedies continue to befall us, she probably takes solace in knowing that I will always be older. And she will always be taller.

Last year at this time

This weekend is BlogHer. All those wonderful women I met last year will be in Chicago. Or at least most of them will be. I'm sad that I'll be here, enviously reading their Twitter feeds and sulking all weekend.

Watch out for locusts

Let's review the last 18 months for a minute:

January, 2008 - my apartment is burglarized by members of the landlord's work crew. They've cased my unit at least twice before the burglary, and stole easily fencible but mostly outdated goods, one of which was stored out of sight under my bed.

May, 2008 - my grandma dies on the day of my birthday party.

December, 2008 - my dad dies. And then I get mono.

January-June, 2009 - I'm working odd hours and my employer routinely screws up my paychecks. I end up having to write large reimbursement checks as a result of HR errors.

July 21, 2009 - some asshole with incendiary devices decides to try to set my building on fire in the middle of the night. And blocks the entrance in an effort to take all the residents down with the building.

In the last 48 hours many friends have asked what could possibly go wrong next. Locusts is the only thing left.

Fire on the Mountain

At 2:47 this morning I woke up to a ringing sound I couldn't identify. It took me a few seconds to realize that the fire alarm was going off. At about that time, I also heard the stampede of neighbors from upper floors as they were evacuating the building. I grabbed my shoes, a jacket, my wallet, keys, and cell phone and joined the fray in time to hear somebody yell "the fire's in the lobby!"

We evacuated through the rear entrance and three people had called 911 by the time we got outside. There's a fire station across the street, and by the time the SFFD got there two tenants had extinguished the fire with a hose and a fire extinguisher.

I got a good look at the flames before they were extinguished (and am waiting on photos from my neighbor's iPhone), and I really don't believe a fire can spontaneously start on a plastic door mat on a wet night. This was not an accident. You can't see the floor mat in this photo, but that was obviously where the fire started, with the flames reaching up the door. Today the whole entry way is sooty and burned, but nothing inside was damaged. We were all very lucky.

I ran into the landlord this morning. He didn't hear his phone ring last night, and only got several tenant messages at 9 am. I have some problems with that, but I guess I'm not too surprised. He also said the fire seems to have been started by lighter fluid. This is now, according to him, an arson investigation.

I am incredibly thankful that this fire did not cause any serious injury or damage. I can live with a few days of smoke-related allergies. But as we spent an hour standing in front of the building this morning, more than one tenant questioned the nature of this fire. We wonder who's mad at the landlord.

Arson and a burglary in two years. I'm going to two apartment open houses in the next two days.

Vacation in highlights

I should start by explaining that I really hoped to go to Hawaii this summer. And then I got mono and am still not well enough to travel and I have no vacation time. So with Hawaii a dream for next year, I signed on for this weekend in Tahoe hoping to make the most of my brief summer vacation, but not as excited as I had been about Hawaiian surf lessons and warm ocean water. Tahoe wasn't Hawaii, and the lake only measured a chilly 68 degrees, but I had a blast.

We crammed anywhere from 5-9 people into a tiny house with two bathrooms and not enough space. But the kitchen worked, the grill was awesome, and we had a stocked bar. We were steps from the water, blocks from the casinos, and an easy stroll to the golf course where my friends watched four days of celebrities play golf. I only saw about a quarter of the tournament, but it was way more fun than I ever through golf could be.

Our house was on the water, and we got to sit outside and watch the lake.












I watched the boats and played on the beach.













The sunset over the water each night was awesome.












We ate and drank and danced and had a really good time.












I took a gondola to the top of the mountain and was awestruck at the beauty of the lake and mountains.











This was a terrific weekend.

Hole in the wall

Taken from a hole in the wall of Ft. Point.

At least the beer didn't freeze

Longtime readers of this website might recall my refrigerator woes of '06. I'd just moved into this apartment, I was about to travel for Christmas, and my refrigerator died. But it didn't just stop working; rather, it froze its contents, forcing me to try to defrost milk on the radiator in order to make tea one morning.

Frozen and defrosted milk is disgusting. Trust me on this.

I naively hoped for a new refrigerator in 2006 after this debacle, but was rewarded instead with a replica of the 35 year old one that had died. And I'm sad to report that the replacement fridge has died in the same manner this week. Right before I leave town for a little vacation.

So while my neighbor graciously holds onto some perishables I was able to salvage, I'll be shopping for a new refrigerator. I'm probably walking uncertain ground, but I need a fridge that keeps cool things cool and frozen things frozen, and my landlord is unable to provide that for his tenants (I'm not the only one who's had this problem). So I'm buying a refrigerator, hopefully before next weekend.

In the meantime, anybody want a beer? It's ice cold right now.

Life at the end of the rainbow

Saturday evening was a little unusual in my little city by the Bay. It was cloudy and a little foggy in the evening, after a stunningly beautiful day. And then it kind of rained. And it never rains in July. And then the area was rewarded with this:


This was my view for over an hour. I really do live at the end of the rainbow.

On the upswing

I think I'm starting to feel better. I'm still tired and my spleen still hurts occasionally, but I think I'm really starting to get well. Or maybe I'm just feeling more upbeat because I've spent so much time in the sun lately. In either case, things are looking up around here, and just in time.

Today, I played tourist with some out-of-town friends. We walked a lot between the Golden Gate Bridge, the Warming Hut, and Fort Point. I did some similar walking in April, and thought I was going to pass out along the way. Today, I'm tired now, but I made it down and up all those trail stairs without a second thought.

Tomorrow, I'm going hiking with my Team-in-Training teammates. The hike is in Marin, on trails I've never seen before, and I think there's a pub stop involved. This will be my second hike this year, and I'm very excited for it.

Wednesday, I leave for my mini-summer vacation. I think I'm feeling well enough to enjoy it. But if I'm not, I will be perfectly happy lounging on the deck in the sunshine.

Catching a wave

A few years ago, I took a whole series of surf shots on Ocean Beach. I thought the images were lost forever when my computer was stolen in 2008. But I have again outwitted the apartment burglars - a Flickr-associated company, for a small fee, will make a backup disc of all your Flickr photos. I now have access to most of what I thought was lost last year. Hurrah!!

Really Wrong Number

The only people to use my landline number are two friends, my landlord, and my grandma - and she's not calling anymore. So I was puzzled to get home last night and have a message on my answering machine. It went something like this:

"Hi Katie, it's grandma. I just wanted to see how your trip to Cape Cod was. I hope you had a good time. I'll try calling you later this week. Love you."

That message was delivered in a very nasal-y, Brooklynesque voice. Katie is a very lucky girl. But I did spend a moment wishing my grandma was on the other end of the phone. I'm kind of hoping her grandma calls back. I didn't go to Cape Cod, but I'd like to tell her about my trip.

Road trip!!

In an effort to stave off fog-related depression, and because I haven't seen my friends in the central valley in a very long time, I'm leaving this morning for Fresno. Actually, I'm heading to Hanford, a small city about 45 minutes south of Fresno.

I'll be spending the weekend poolside, catching up with old friends and probably making some new ones. This is the first solo road trip I've done in years, and I'm pretty excited. I just hope my rental car has a good air conditioner, because the forecast low in the valley this weekend is 97. I've packed little more than a swimsuit.

Rope Swing over the lake

Bold brunette in a sea of blonde bombshells

I've been having some challenges in my job this past year. Significant, ponder-the-meaning-of-life, try to figure out what my next steps are kind of challenges. I've come to understand that my industry does not reward hard work, intelligence, and ethics. Or at least my workplace doesn't. And that's been a hard reality to accept.

But sitting in a department-wide meeting yesterday, I realized something far more important to my continued well being. I don't belong in my current industry because I'm not blonde.

I work in an industry, or at least at a place, that values very stereotypical ideas of beauty over intelligence, hard work, competence, or ethics. My office is about 90 percent female, and these women are mostly under 45, slim, and very well dressed with perfectly-coiffed hair and flawless manicures. They mostly wear short skirts and high heels, and tastefully flaunt their cleavage under v-neck sweaters.

My colleagues may not be honest, they may not work hard or be smart, but they look good. And in this meeting yesterday, looking around at all these meticulously made up faces, I realized the extent to which I don't belong. My hair is always windblown, I'd rather dress for comfort than style, my makeup never makes it unscathed through the day, and I just don't care enough to spend a significant amount of money on my clothes.

But more than these surface things, yesterday made me realize that, in this primarily female-run place, there's no respect for women. There's nobody trying to create community, or mentor new female hires, or save them from the guys whose interactions with female staffers smack of harassment. We've created a culture where most people are out for themselves, where women see each other as competition, when we could have an institution working to advance the skills of the women within it - skills that far exceed the ability to smile and giggle.

I've thought a lot about today as I watched a colleague pack up her office. She resigned three weeks ago, in part because her new boss saw her as an adversary rather than part of the team. I've watched a lot of the women in our office who don't fit the stereotype struggle to develop professional friendships. And I'm not sure what to do about it. Creating cultural change is hard, and I'm not sure that I want to invest time doing that when I'm searching for a place that's a better fit for me. But looking out just for myself isn't the right answer either.