5 weeks later....

Phew, I seem to have taken a little not so intentional hiatus from blogging about being active. This was no doubt a direct result of my lack of physical activity. There's just something about a 17 mile running week that includes no biking and no swimming that doesn't exactly scream "ooh, let's blog about that ironman I'm registered for..."

But I'm back in action!...ish. I'm thoroughly enjoying the freedom of not HAVING to bike or HAVING to swim or HAVING to run x number of miles each week that I'm experiencing right now, and I'm planning on soaking it all up through the holidays. That said, there's still some quality (and lots of fun) blog-worthy activity going on in my world this fall. Some of the highlights of the last five weeks since my Tour de Shunk post:

* Spectating! I spent the last weeks of October, first weekend of November doing one of the things I love most about running...cheering for others doing it. Mike's xc girls team qualified as a team for the state meet, and after going 1,2 in the District, NEB's two all-star boys earned 4th and 16th place medals in the state. We'll be off to do more spectating as those two boys run the Nike regional meet in New York this weekend!

* Becoming a Wine Baron. All those who ran the wineglass marathon (or half marathon) the first weekend of October and also the Red Baron half marathon the first weekend in November (both races in Corning, NY) earn special "Wine Baron" membership. (By membership, I mean a tech shirt. Cool, fun, new tech gear, and no one wants me to attend meetings, vote on things, or volunteer for crap...my kind of club membership). This was my 2nd Red Baron half, and I LOVE the run. I ran a 1:31:39, a little more than a minute slower than I where I was at last fall, and I could have cried I was so happy. I knew I wanted to race to see where I was at fitness wise, but I was scared to see where that was exactly - I had no clue what to expect. 1:31 was not on my radar of possibilities, and I went home 2nd overall (albeit I'm the first to admit that place is always obviously relative to who shows up) and a very content runner!

* Track work. What?! Yes! The high school I went to (and now teach at)'s record holder in the 800 and 1600 who went on to run in college and then in Europe for a year is home for a while. Not only is she completely lovely and enjoyable to spend time with, but she is also super motivated. And smoking fast. Thanks to her and the school's xc coach planning after school workouts, I have actually ran my butt in a quick fashion around the track a number of times at a number of paces. How novel!

* Running with a frozen turkey in a back pack! A fundraiser for frozen turkeys for our local people helping people food drive put on by a senior at the high school and mentored by me:) You bring a frozen turkey. You run a mile with it. 10 seconds is deducted from your overall time for each pound the turkey weighs. Holy back ache the next day. Holy heart swell seeing 50 people in a little town run a mile toting turkeys for the community.

* Cyclocross. Mike, Jon, and Julie do it, (and very well!) I watch, take sub par pictures, sorry video footage, drink coffee, and talk running and lack of swimming skill with a run, bike, boat tri friend of ours. It's a phenomenal way to spend a Sunday:)

* Crocheting. The antithesis of physical activity, but I'm so tickled with myself I have to mention it. Youtube is an incredible teaching tool. I'll try to post pics when I'm not feeling too lazy to get off the couch and get my camera and take a pic and upload and....I have lofty goals of hats for 5 nieces and nephews by Christmas though!

*DIAMONDS! Ah yes, tomorrow is the day. I grew up a Thanksgiving lover. The smell in the house, the Macy's parade, family, food, Miracle on 34th street, naps on the couch, more food. However, on February 13th, 2010, when I vowed to love, honor, and cherish Mike for all the days I lived, I also committed to altering the fate of turkey day forever. For the Murphy's, Thanksgiving starts with a 9 mile road race in Berwick Pa, the historic (the 2011 edition will be the 102nd running!) Run for the Diamonds. It's only my fourth year (and only 2nd since I made a VOW in front of friends and family to do it forever), but it's already a tradition with Mike I love:) And bless my understanding, sweet, and wonderful mother's heart, she's convinced my entire family that 4pm is the best time to eat Thanksgiving dinner. Geesh, add pumpkin cheesecake baking the night before (the smell is wonderful in our house right now) and the invention of the dvr (if I really cared that much about the Macy's parade which I in fact, do not), I can actually still have it all!

Happy Thanksgiving to all!

Tour De Shunk

Mike and I are officially finishers of a century bike ride! We actually finished 101.3 miles today, complete with heavy winds, rain in the late miles, and a total of 8500 feet of climbing. Oh yes...no taking the gravy train on our first century out. We chose the Tour de Shunk, voted "Most Challenging Century Ride" by League of American Cyclists. Infamy right here in our own little corner of bfe America.

The greatest part of the whole thing (second, actually, to the obscene amount of mini candy bars at each 25 mile aid station...that was unbeatable), was that we only decided to ride Tour de Shunk officially at 11:15pm last night, and when we headed out on the route at 9am this morning, only planned to ride 50 miles.

Tour de Shunk is a century that offers 25 and 50 mile options. The 25 miler has its own course, while the 50 is the first 25 of the century and then you turn around and come back. Miles 18 to 23 involve 1250 feet of climbing. When we got to the 25 mile aid station I was adamant about the rest of our day and I told Mike "I'll take 75 miles of unknown over what I know about that 25 miles, thanks". It was that bad. And veteran riders all assured us that the first 25 miles were the worst, and the rest of the ride much easier. Turns out they are liars.

Liars, liars, pants on fire.

Mike stopped speaking to me around mile 35 and I don't blame him. We'd been climbing steep and steady for about five miles and the top of the hill was no where in sight. His last words to me before the long silent pause, were "what you've done today is the equivalent of signing up for a trail marathon because you completed a half marathon a month before and haven't run a step since. This is a huge HUGE mistake." It was a really good analogy. He was completely right. It was so ugly out there, and we were only 1/3 of the way home. But I had already had my spirit broken once this week (I wore all black on Wednesday as an homage to that incident) and I refused to be negative. I just pedaled and smiled and tried my best through my huffing and puffing and intense saddle pain, to enjoy the gorgeous scenery.

The lunch stop came somewhere just after the 40 mile mark. Even after a banana, nutrigrain bar, and two mini candy bars at mile 25, I was famished. One and a half pb&j's, another banana, a small bag of chips, and two more mini candy bars later, we moved on out to: more uphill. "This is the last bad one pink socks, I promise you!" shouts one of the three friendliest, most wonderful liar pants I've ever met. And then we got to mile 55ish. The spray painted signs on the road told us to turn right, but that couldn't be right?! Because the right hand turn was onto a chipped road that went straight uphill as far as the eye could see. It would be a cruel joke if this road were a part of the course. Liar pants #1 says to Liar pants #2 "this wasn't a part of the course last year was it? I don't remember this?!" It was somewhere on that hill I stopped smiling and my internal dialogue went from "well, at least its not raining, oh it's so pretty out here. I don't feel that bad"...to a string of negative thoughts laden with profanity. I hoped with everything in me that a course support vehicle would come along and I could catch a ride back.

But we made it to the top of that little booger without seeing an aid vehicle. And the next, and the next. And then we were at the "75" mile aid station, which is really at mile 67. Mike, feeling fine and seeing the light at the end of the dark tunnel I threw him in today, loved me outwardly again. Of course he loved me the whole time, he just likes to play snarly once in a while. Just one of the many things that make him perfect:) More mini candy bars. Some gatorade. And we left to....what?!?!...flat roads!!! A beautiful 8 mile, pancake flat stretch of road. It was heaven. There was drafting. There was aero position. (Oh yes, add to Mike analogy - "and you're doing that trail marathon in racing flats!"...yep...last minute decision to go and our pedals on our tri bikes meant the cervelo and trek were christened today in a way only the roads of Sullivan County Pa could offer). There was smiling again.

Liar pants 1 and I stuck together to the finish w/ liar pants 2, and 3 making numerous appearances, waiting up for us to make sure we made all of the turns. The last 25 miles were rolling. I use the term rolling in the sense that you went straight downhill and then straight back up and down and up and down and up. For whatever reason, I didn't feel that bad at all anymore. I just kept pedaling, talking, smiling, and getting out of my saddle as much as humanly possible because my hiney was oober uncomfortable.

And then it was over. And there were massages, and spaghetti, and story telling, and more mini candy bars, and coffee. I am SO thrilled to have made such a terrible decision at mile 25 this morning, because the outcome was terrific! We've ridden our bicycles 101 miles! 101 really cruel miles! It hurt, and it was so hard, but we did it! The bad news: we now have to ride 11 more miles...and swim 2.4 miles...and then run a marathon...in 9 months. Holy crap, those of you who have completed an ironman, I bow to you, and I'm wet my pants terrified of what that day will be like next July. But just like the sign said at the bottom of "pip squeak mountain" (a really cute little 5 mile climb this morning that was undoubtedly FAR easier to get up thanks to its cutesy name...gag me), "take it like a baby...one little step at a time!" So I'm going to appreciate the baby step we made today, and try hard not to dwell on how small 101 miles of cycling really is in the big picture of July 22nd, 2012.

Spinning: No dogs or cars, lots of sweat.

I've already divulged that I'm a nervous nilly weenie on a bicycle. It's weird because I always love the experience of going out and riding my bicycle, but it's not an activity I sit on the couch and think "ooh, I could go for a bike ride about now". I think that about running. I've even grown to really like my swim time. The "what ifs" of cycling make it less appealing to me.

What if a dog runs out at me? What if a car runs me off the road? What if someone is texting and doesn't see me and hits me from behind? What if a car squeaks too close to me and I go off the shoulder (which are like two centimeters wide and a mile high around here) and I bite it?What if I get to a hill that is so steep that even in my lowest gear I just can't do it and I fall over? (The last one is by far the weirdest and least probable, but I seriously contemplate it, and I like to think the first step in getting better is admitting all my neurosis).

After a great outing, I can answer all of those with "mmm hmm...yep...what if?...who cares?..you're a ridiculous idiot". But by the time I've got my shoes off, the idea of a ride on the road with cars, and gas trucks, and texting teens, and dogs, oh my...has already lost its luster.

Compliments of my mom Christmas 2008, I have an indoor trainer that (sadly) gets more use than my bike ever does on real roads. The bike on the trainer is a sweat fest. Within fifteen minutes it's heavily beading, and from 20 on it's pouring. Leave a puddle around your area kind of pouring.

But even sweating that much, I always wonder how much of a workout I'm really getting on the trainer. Am I really pushing myself? I know I don't emulate sprints and hill climbing. I just pedal hard at a comfortably difficult resistance and watch tv. And sweat.

I've seen advertisements for a "local" (keep in mind, local here means you can get there in an hour by car, eww) bike shop's spincore classes. 45 minutes of spin, 15 min of core. I've always wanted to check it out. Yesterday I did.

As the instructor was setting up my bike he asked what I wanted out of the class. "To suck less as a cyclist...I'm a runner who signed up for a triathlon." I don't know if he was doing me a favor, or if every Wednesday is like this (I'm assuming it's the latter), but seeing as I was not only pouring sweat but also saying to myself "you can NOT turn your knob down, you can NOT slow your cadence, suck it up or they'll all think you're weak" throughout the whole class, I believe that if I stick with it, I will ultimately suck less as a cyclist.

The core part was great too, and no doubt a much needed break for Mike who I routinely demand be my core and strength training coach in the living room. The poor guy just trying to watch Jon Stewart and there's me "Mike...I need to do core, tell me what to do. Mike...is this a good push up, or do I look ridiculous? Mike..."

I also really enjoyed the company. It was so much fun to be a fly on the wall for an evening. I was coming off an extremely rough day at work (the kids were, as always, fantastic, but yesterday was one of those rare days I had to deal with adults and oh my...I chose the right profession for me...kids = astounding, adults = drive me batty!), and it was just so nice to have no one know my name, no one know a thing about me, and no one care. They have a really fun little spin group vibe going on, and I just gritted my teeth through the workout, enjoyed the fellow sweat, and giggled at their warm up and cool down banter, including their informing me that I could sell my eggs for $5000. Nothing says welcome quite like an estimate on your reproductive materials! (Which, for the record, I'll be keeping tabs on).

And so, hopefully, many Wednesday evenings this winter can offer Mike a break from personal trainer (don't be fooled - I'm really only inspired to do core or strength work a maximum of twice a week...and that's an ambitious week), and myself a break from the worry and fear of dogs, gas trucks, and distracted drivers while still getting some bike fitness in.

26.2 love.

Every marathon I've run has started with a controlled anxiety attack: yes, today will definitely be THE day my heart explodes. It's a really weird thing to think and worry about, but it's all just part of the routine for me. Every marathon I've run, up until this weekend's, has ended with the mantra "just finish and you never ever ever have to do this to yourself again".

I woke up before the alarm at 4:30am Sunday with the usual pre race "oh my poor heart" jitters. Though I still had no goal, and still had no idea what was a realistic expectation in my current fitness, I had decided days before to put my happy cap on, run comfortably, try my best not to let the clock get me down, and enjoy the experience.

I had a complete and total blast.

Over 26.2 miles I made friends, ran through steady pouring rain, splashed in puddles, ate (and enjoyed!?) gu....and vanilla sandwich cookies...and a milky way. My stomach never became upset. My legs never stiffened up. I never once said to myself "just finish this...".

I finished in 3:21:27 elated, feeling wonderful. To put it in perspective, I've run three marathons in the last 18 months attempting to squeak in under my pr of 3:09:30. Boston '10 - a painful 3:12, Wineglass '10 - an excruciating 3:12, Boston '11 - a 3:11 that hurt so badly "just get through this..." didn't even begin to cut it.

9 minutes. Roughly nine minutes over the course of 26.2 miles is all that separates running hell and running utopia. Should I feel a bit deflated now knowing that I've put myself through so many hells when heaven was only roughly 20 seconds a mile behind me the whole time?

I don't regret those failed PR attempts though. Those runs that left me all hunched, cobbled, shuffling, crying, and deflated. Nothing attempted, nothing gained. But Sunday's 26.2 was a breath of fresh air. A reminder of how great an experience the marathon can be. And a big reminder of how lucky I am. To have my health; legs, lungs, and (gulp) heart, that allow me to run 7:42 pace for over 26 miles and love every footfall of it. And the best running friends in existence, who I missed sorely Sunday mornings during my running funk of summer 2011 and I am excited to get back and training with! And family who stand in whatever elements the day has to offer to cheer me on. And a husband who not only supports, but encourages and shares (exudes!) this crazy habit.

Next up: Boston 2012. The plan: friend making, puddle jumping, vanilla sandwich cookie eating? Shuffling, moaning, failed PR attempt #4? PR setting, ass kicking extravaganza? TBD. For now, I'm just thrilled to have mended my broken relationship with the marathon.

Preparing Myself: This May Not Be Pretty

Sunday morning I am planning (hoping?) to complete my 10th marathon. 10th marathon since May 2008. Three years, five months, ten marathons. Phew.

The fall of 2007 was Mike and I's first fall dating, and so my first glimpse at his fall wardrobe. Just as long sleeve shirt weather broke out, one evening over Potterville general store dinner (dinners at Mike's were always spaghetti, grilled cheese, or Potterville store...memories), I fell in love with the shirt Mike was wearing. An embroidered "MV 20miler" on the chest and the best part, a "no weenies" symbol on the sleeve. He told me all about the 20 mile race on Martha's Vineyard, and I told him that I wanted to run it. At this point I had no idea that Martha's Vineyard was an island off of Massachusetts, and I had never run further than 6 miles. But I was smitten. With Mike and the no weenies shirt.

My first 11 miler came the next weekend on a whim, and the long runs grew from there. Mike, registered for and planning to run Boston in April 2008, spent his entire winter training with me. He was there for every step of the first 15 miler, 16 miler, 17 miler, and 18 miler. I remember how wonderful those long runs were. Knowing every single Sunday that the morning would take me one mile further than I'd ever gone. No matter how tired I was at the end of a long run, the newness of running that first 16th, 17th, or 18th mile always made the last mile exciting and fun. The training was happening in the dead of winter, which meant huddling in the dugouts at the Cadis neball fields and downing rock solid gu and partially frozen slushy gatorade. These were also the days before my running gear had become quite so evolved. It was sweats, knit hats, multiple pairs of stretchy $1 gloves. Basically piling every article of clothing in my non-athletic wardrobe onto my body and hoping it'd keep me warm. Running through the state game lands one particularly bitter and windy January day, I remember crying to Mike that it was just too terrible and there was no way I'd be able to finish the run. In his best "suck it up and get tough" coach demeanor he reminded me that it wasn't going to be a picnic on Martha's Vineyard in February either and so I better figure out how to get it done now if I wanted to earn that "no weenies" shirt later. I finished.

The 2008 Martha's Vineyard came and went. I loved every step of the race, earned my first no weenies shirt, and didn't stop running a bit once it was over. In fact, I came home to run even more than I did in preparation of my first 20 miler.

In April I went with the Murphy's to Boston to cheer Mike and friend Dillon on in the marathon. I don't particularly remember envying the shirt this time, but I once again had serious race envy. I vowed I'd never watch Boston again, only run it.

The week after Boston, while Mike and I were running a favorite 5 mile loop we call Crow Hill, he asked if I was considering registering for another race now that Martha's Vineyard was behind me. I told him that I was thinking about Pocono Run for the Red marathon in May. He responded "umm, I was thinking more a half marathon..."

But I was determined and sure, so just 8 months after towing the line of my first (post 10th grade) 5K, I was at the starting line of my first marathon. The night before the race Mike and I talked goals. I love our tradition of talking race goals the day before a race. We always go "basic", "great", and "dream big". My basic: finish. 26.2 miles is a long way after all. My great: break 4 hours. Dreaming big: qualify for Boston (sub 3:40). The next day I crossed the finish line in 3hours and 36minutes. Mike and I drove home, two Boston qualifiers in the car.

The three years and five months that have filled the space between now and then have become a blur of running. Wanting to assure I started in Wave I at Boston, I dropped my qualifier to 3:21 in October. My first Boston was another 3:21. The next fall I pr'd with a 3:09 at Wineglass and turned around a month later to run a 3:19 at the New York City marathon with Mike and a disposable camera, by far my favorite marathon experience to date. Another Boston in 3:12. Another Wineglass in 3:12. Things got crazy enough last winter that Mike and I genuinely thought a "tune up" marathon in preparation for Boston was necessary. It was not, it was actually just a 3 hour and 20 minute reminder of how far 26.2 miles truly is. Another Boston in 3:11. And cue honey badger syndrome in regards to running. Months and months of this here honey badger, truly not giving a....well, just watch the video if you haven't already.

No matter how burnt out though, I just can't seem to say no. And so here we go again on Sunday. Only this one promises to be very different, and that's leaving me more scared than I've ever been going into a marathon. My usual repertoire of six to eight runs of twenty miles or further? I've run 20, 21, and 22. And two of the three without a watch. In fact, the vast majority of my runs are done without a watch these days. Heck, I don't even actually know how far I ran on the last long run, 22 is just my best guesstimate. And about that watch? I left my watch in my friend Julie's bag at the race in Syracuse two weeks ago and haven't missed it once. Track work? Tempo runs? I may genuinely have to look those terms up when I do decide to train hard again. I'm not worried about finishing 26.2 miles, (though given the way I struggled through 13 Sunday, I possibly should be), I'm worried about my mental state during and after the race. How will it feel to perform sub par at an event that up until just six months ago I was training to peak fitness for? Can I enjoy running 26.2 miles for "fun" and not beat myself up when, even at a time far slower than I ran so recently, the last few miles are still a death march, and this time also a testament to my decline in running fitness?

A teacher friend of mine recently made the comment (in regards to teaching, not running) "when it stops being fun, I'll stop doing it." Last winter, for the first time since the fall of 2007, running stopped being fun. And now, it's fun again. I'm healthy. I'm the happiest I can ever remember being. I don't have a glimmer of hope at running a PR on Sunday, but I'll most likely still easily run under Boston marathon qualifying time. Or maybe not, which is also fine. Whatever happens, I'm going to try to shake this inner brat who wants to bow out and stay home this weekend in an effort to conserve my pride, and instead I'm going to run 26.2 miles for the 10th time because I'm able, and that's something to be exceptionally grateful for. And because when the clock is taken out of the equation I really love it. My goals: basic: finish. Great: have fun. Dream big: cross the finish line feeling content and happy with the accomplishment regardless of the clock, realizing that it doesn't have to be as pretty as the others to be just as fulfilling.

Syracuse...it was love at first tri

Perspective makes all the difference. I went into Sunday's Syracuse Ironman 70.3 with absolutely no expectations, and with two simple goals: 1) make it through the swim, and 2) enjoy myself while figuring out what this whole tri thing was all about. In hindsight, I can't imagine having not been elated with my results given that perspective.

Our weekend was madness. Friday night football game, co-directing Saturday morning's Camptown Races, and rushing off to Syracuse in order to make packet pick up, the last mandatory athlete meeting, and bike check in at the race site. Phew. There was really no time to be nervous or to dwell on the race.

At the athlete race briefing, the speaker asked "so, will tomorrow be anyone's first tri?" I stared into my cup of Tim Horton's coffee (which should so be the favored chain over Dunkin Donuts in this country in my humble opinion) while Mike jabbed me in the ribs, but I refused to speak up. The last thing I needed as I was being hauled to shore by kayak Sunday morning was a bunch of people going "oh yeah, THAT girl". No one else raised their hand either and the speaker says "well that's probably a good thing, this is a pretty big one to jump into for your first". Oy vey.

The alarm went off at 4:30 Sunday morning. Got around, had a bagel and coffee and a banana. It was freezing outside! Forecasted 42 kind of cold! And the announcement at 6:30am said the water temp was 62. As I waded into the water at 7:26ish for my 7:30 wave start, I was actually thankful for the weather as it made my uncontrollable shaking in my wetsuit less conspicuous. The girls who stayed to the back of the swim start with me were all sweet and wonderful, and I was relieved to see equally nervous.

When the canon for my wave went off, I just stood there for a second. I let everyone go, took a deep breath and started doing something that was at least propelling me through the water somewhat. Like an otter. Head out and up, not a breast stroke, not quite a doggie paddle. I don't know what I was doing, but I knew quickly that it was ridiculous and that it certainly wasn't going to get me 1.2 miles, so I put my face in the water and started my slow and steady swim.

Over the next 54 minutes of swim time I talked with a kayaker who got my attention as I was swimming toward him inside the buoys (whoops), and who told me I could take a break and hang on for a second if I needed to. I didn't need to, but I thanked him for being out there and I really am super grateful for all of the swim support. I ran into and was ran into by lots and lots of fellow athletes, but it was never crowded enough to be scary. When I made the second turn to head back to shore, I got a little confidence surge and decided to work hard on the way in to try and get a little time back. That lasted about six strokes. I just wasn't comfortable feeling out of breath in the water. Baby steps.

From the minute I stepped out of that water I was just elated. You would have thought I had won the whole triathlon I was so excited. I know I can physically ride a bike for 56 miles. I could sleep run 13.1. But to know, to really KNOW that I could swim 1.2 miles in open water, meant the world to me.

The bike was fine. The scenery nice, the course was much hillier than my pancake flat trial runs, and it was no surprise to me that it was tough on the hiney. It was my least favorite leg, but I definitely feel like I accomplished what I needed to. I know now that I can drink, and take water bottles at aid stations, and eat, and stop to pee in the woods when mile after mile there is no porta jon! I biked slowly, but not so slowly that I didn't have lots of company, and again people were just great. "Great work", "Nice job Rachel!" (your name is on your bib which on the bike is on your back...how great is that?!), and my favorite "everything okay there?!" (once as I stopped to tie my jacket around my waist and once as I stopped for my bathroom break). How sweet are these tri people?!

And the run. After a long morning of firsts, it was so refreshing to end in my comfort zone. Like the rest of my day, the goal was to finish and soak in the experience, and so I settled right in to what felt comfortable and ran. I stopped to drink and almost always eat a piece of orange or banana at every single aid station (which was almost every mile) and walked up the monster hill on the back side of the run loop both times around. I joked with and thanked volunteers (your bananas are so good here I decided to run the loop again!...he he), I "great work", "we're almost there", "doing great!" 'd all kinds of fellow athletes. I loved it.

6 hours and 41 minutes after I otter'd my start of my first ever tri, I crossed the finish line ecstatic with my day. It was a long day, and even in keeping to my "just experience it and finish it" goal, it was really hard. 6 hours and 41 minutes is a long time to be moving. But I would do it again next weekend. As for doing it all twice in one day next July?...yikes. Let the training begin!

Lee Flood

As electric as those first school days are, nothing compares to the first snow day, or inclement weather early dismissal. And I have to admit, I am THAT teacher. The one who sends one of her students down to her desk to check WNEP on snowy mornings to see if "Wyalusing Area School District...dismissing @ 12:30pm" is running across the local news site. I'm also THAT teacher who instantly tells all of the kids. A lot of school staff like to keep it under wraps to minimize behavior issues, but not me. I'm hoping my enthusiasm over the little things like this will keep me young.

And so, standing in the hall outside of my classroom between 2nd and 3rd periods on Wednesday, I caught one of my french horn players in the hall and she said "it's raining so hard...can I check WNEP?!" (it's sad when by the time they're seniors they don't even need to be asked), but before she could even pull up the site, the announcement was made on the loud speaker that we'd be dismissing at 12:30. The excitement of the first day of school and the first early dismissal all coming in eight days is kind of like being born to a Christmas celebrating family on December 26th.

I blame my karma in the four days that followed that early dismissal on my immature excitement in getting out of my fourth day of school early. I was excited. And I was smug. I took on a co-teacher's study hall duty to let her beat road conditions and get home, and stayed until every last student was bussed away or picked up by family, saying to everyone "oh, it's no problem. I only live in Camptown. I just need to turn my sump pump on at some point today I'm sure."

The plans I made for my afternoon on my drive home were fantastic. I would plug in the sump pump, go for a long rainy run, bake cookies, and then go back to the school and try to finish up the piles of music filing I'd been working on. I'd even get home in time to get a long bike ride in on the trainer! Having slept in past a morning run, looking at a full school day and after school band practice, I was having stress about just getting a run in. My training was literally saved by the possibility of flash flooding!

My day dream was interrupted a mile from home when flares and flaggers warned me to go slowly through water rushing across the road. But it was still the typical flash flood conditions What was not typical was the scene I came on a quarter mile from my house. There was a river rushing across what had been the road to our street. Realizing quickly that I couldn't drive through it, I tried taking a second side street in. The side street was not only equally impassable, but gave me a view of our street. Or what had been our street when I'd left that morning. It was now nothing but fast rushing brown water. No grass. No road. No driveways. Just lots of fast moving, rushing, gushing, brown water.

The view down the street I take to get home.

The gas station at the corner of our street.

The rest of the day became a bit of a chaotic blur. Trying to get ahold of Mike, whose school hadn't called off in time stranding faculty and students in the building overnight (Mike thankfully made it home that afternoon). Getting cut off with my mom on her cell phone only to have her show up on my doorstep (err, creek?) as far as a friendly neighbor could get her in his big truck after she abandoned her car in flood waters in Wysox (rip Volvo). Standing with our neighbors in the rushing water where our driveways once were comparing notes on how deep the water in our respective basements had become hour by hour.

Views from our front porch Wednesday afternoon.

But consuming most of the day was the breaker box. What happens if you don't "disarm" the breaker box, and it becomes submerged in flood water. The first question in my experience to stump google. All the world wide web had to offer was "don't let that happen". And so, at 11pm, when the water became high enough that it pushed the basement door open and was running fast and furious down the basement steps, we gave up the ghost of keeping the water below the box, unplugged everything in the house, and waited for the answer. And...nothing.

I fell asleep on the couch. Woke up at 1:30 am to see that the basement was filled to the rafters, and still...nothing. We didn't have water, but we had electric. Sleep was touch and go on the living room couches, but Thursday morning we woke to water slowly receding, a basement full to the brim, and perfectly working electric. Go figure. In the event our experience was freak or extremely lucky, I don't think I'll be posting any "nothing to worry about! You can dunk that thing in water all you want!" threads online, but I can't begin to express how thankful I am that we have had power all week.

Speaking of being thankful, having electric Thursday meant having facebook and television Thursday, which meant access to pictures of our sad town and neighboring towns. Homes that would typically deal with a little water in the basement, flooded well into their second story. Businesses flooded to the rafters, roads completely gone, walls caved in from the pressure of the water. Here we sit, four days after it stopped raining, with water still seeping into our basement, but I'll take it without complaint. At least we're sitting in our house. Too many people around us can't say that tonight.

The gas station across the road from my high school Thursday afternoon

As for that long run and trainer ride I was fantasizing about Wednesday afternoon? Suffice it to say, Wednesday (and Thursday, Friday, Saturday) was chalked up what I'm deeming "flood control cross training". And though I've gotten a little time in on the indoor trainer and a few muddy miles running in between mud slopping, hosing, picking, garbaging, gross etc..., that early dismissal that became the rest of the week, most certainly did not bode well for my training. It did, however, make me thankful for those crazy "normal" school days when fitting in one workout, much less two, seems impossible. And I'm really looking forward to getting rid of all of the mud, seeing my town come back to life, and enjoying a long school year of crazy, normal days.