Amy Lu's View

What did it feel like to run the fastest race in my life, at a pace much faster than I ever thought possible?

I’d like to say it felt as awesome as it looks like it felt to me in this picture.

I’d like to say that I felt strong and powerful and mighty and just plain good. And that’s all true to an extent, but what I remember most is a feeling of disbelief as I crossed the finished line, just thinking “Holy sh#t I’m really going to do this.” (And of course, also being really aware that my photo was being taken and thinking I’m totally going to rock this photo and make it look amazing even though I am a total narcissistic goofball for hamming this up).

It’s been a week since I experienced this milestone with the Med City Half Marathon, and I’m still trying to process my memories and feelings. I think I’m still in shock. I’ve actually been working on this post all week because it’s so hard to put my experience into words.

Not only did I amaze myself with my race performance, but I also shocked Chad. He planned on seeing me cross the finish line, but I basically snuck up on him after the race at the water hydrant station. (He was cooling off, not fighting a fire). He simply didn’t expect me to be done with the race so shortly after he was. (An aside: surprising yourself and your husband on your 23rd anniversary is a special kind of awesome)

I went into the race thinking I may end up with a 9:30/mile pace because of the heat and humidity. Just how hot was it? It was actually only 70 degrees when we started at 7:00 a.m., but the humidity was around 70%. By the time we finished (before 9:00 a.m.), the temperature was probably close to 80.  I can only imagine what it would have been by the end of a full marathon around noon. Yes, it was probably the right call to cancel the full marathon, especially since Chad and I would have attempted to run it if it had been held, heat be damned.

Surprisingly, I didn’t feel that hot during the race. Maybe because I knew it was going to be hot and sticky, I just accepted it. Or maybe because I was well hydrated and had plenty of water available (not like the training run earlier this spring when all the water fountains I was relying on were still off). I was a little worried about getting heat stroke (or something) because I wasn’t sure I would know it was happening until it was too late.

So I kept a close eye on my heart rate, hoping that it would let me know if things were going awry. My heart rate never even got as high as it usually does during a race, so I was/am a little worried that I didn’t put enough effort into the race. Perhaps I could have went even faster! But when I did try to go faster, I started to feel a little nauseous, which could have been just been a typical “I feel a little pukey” feeling that hard running can bring on, or it could have been the first signs of a heat-related problem. So I dialed it back. I wasn’t sure exactly how well I was doing, but I know I was doing pretty well, and it would have been a shame to have it all come crashing down with a literal crash.

Plus, we weren’t trained for a half marathon. Yes, we were trained for a marathon, but the strategy for running these races is significantly different. We just didn’t know how well the training would translate.

Although my snazzy and beloved Garmin sports watch would have told me exactly what my pace was and how well I was doing, I deliberately chose not to have it display my pace. For me, running is a huge mind game that I play against myself. Seeing my pace gradually fall (I have NOT yet figured out how to get faster as a race progresses, no negative splits for me) was going to discourage me and freak me out, no matter how good a pace I had. I got a notification at the end of each mile so I knew how fast that went, but I didn’t watch my overall pace until the very end.

Instead, I tried to be zen and experience the moment. I tried to embody the wisdom of one of the inspirational signs posted along the route at 12: “Run the mile you’re in” (not to be confused with “love the one you’re with.”) Of course my mind was wandering all over the place. Still, I tried to notice and appreciate the beauty of running through the country (the route started outside of Rochester), and then the amusing weirdness of running through what felt like people’s backyards and around parked cars as we entered the city.

So thank you Med City HALF Marathon. You gave me the opportunity to amaze myself, get an awesome photo, and have a romantic anniversary all without puking.

 

First things first: I totally kicked ass in the Rochester Med City half marathon I ran yesterday. Not only did I get a PR (Personal Record), but I REALLY earned a PR. I finished the half marathon (13.1 miles) in 1 hour, 51 minutes and 14 seconds. (1:51:14). Prior to that, my fastest time completing a half marathon was 1:56:07. My average pace during the Med City was 8:30 minutes per mile. I NEVER thought I could run a half marathon at that pace (I’m usually around 9:00 minutes per mile). I also ran my fastest mile EVER (7:40) and it was stupid hot and humid.

I didn’t intend on starting this post with that but then I realized I was burying the lead.

I also didn’t plan on running a half marathon yesterday. I planned on running a full marathon (26.2. miles). But in running, as in the rest of life, things don’t always go as we plan.

I’ve only run one marathon in my life, so I’m hardly a seasoned veteran. But I know that no matter how diligently you train, things can wrong with your marathon. Your performance and experience are affected by factors both in and outside of your control, like how much sleep you’ve gotten, what you’ve eaten, your overal health and injuries (including an injury that may have been caused by stretching your leg up too far to take a pre-race selfie that showed off your new shoes), gear/clothing mishaps, and…the weather.

Obviously, the weather plays a big role in a marathon. I expected this. But I did not expect that it would be so hot and humid in MINNESOTA IN MAY that the marathon we were signed up to run would be cancelled. Especially when at least half of our training time was spent dealing with unseasonably cold and icy weather.

And yes, I know that life is not fair, and even on the scale of marathon mishaps, we could have had it much worse. We could have been trying to qualify for the Boston Marathon or have been planning on traveling much further than the 90 minutes to Rochester.

But still, we trained for this marathon for 16 weeks with over 91 hours of running. In those 91 hours I ran approximately 611 miles. And my training had went (mostly) well (except for some already-blogged about mishaps). I was pretty psyched that I could do noticeably better during marathon #2, and my first marathon went pretty darn well.

AND it was our 23rd wedding anniversary, so running this marathon was romantic and all that.

So yeah, I was a titch disappointed. Surpringsly, there weren’t any tears. And while I tried to feel accomplished at the effort and success of my training for it’s own sake and bask in all I achieved and learned, I wanted to see what I could do. I wanted to earn that medal and the unflattering t-shirt I would never wear, not to mention all the unflattering selfies of me all sweaty and bloated that I would post on Facebook.

What do you do when you’re all trained up for a marathon with no one to run? You sign up for another one! Luckily, the Grandma’s Marathon in Duluth was still open so we registered for that as soon as we got official word that the Med City Marathon was cancelled. And we even found lodging (more or less) at the Black Bear Casino, not too far away from the start line.

So we had an awesome half marathon yesterday on our anniversary (not only did we both kick ass, but there was a great assortment of chips after the race AND an awesome 80’s/90’s hard rock cover band at the post-race party and I got in some excellent retail therapy at the race expo) and we still have a marathon to look forward to/obsess about. AND the finisher’s shirt isn’t too unflattering (v-necks are somewhat sexy, right?) and maybe I can write in “half” with a sharpie on it. At least I could edit my shirt (and medal) for the photo on Facebook.

 

My second marathon is just days away. Overall, I’m less nervous than I was the first time around, or at least, my anxieties didn’t kick in quite as early (I was pretty mellow until I realized how warm and sticky the weather is forecasted to be).

I’ve also relished tapering more than I did before my first marathon. What an awesome time…NOT running a crazy amount and getting to (mostly) bask in the glow of a successfully executed training plan. I think I’m more sad that taper time is almost over than I am nervous about the marathon.

Ah, I had such high hopes for the emotional and spiritual growth that would happen during tapering. Of course I still have a few days left, but this table captures the contrast of aspiration verus reality.

FINAL DAYS OF TAPERING:

What I should/aspire to do	What I will probably actually do
Eat as many nutrient rich carbs as I can	Freak out because increased carbs is making me gain 4 pounds of what I hope to god is only water weight
Drink plenty of water	Drink too much alcohol
Feel grateful that the forecast does not call for any severe or extremely inclement weather	Compulsively check the forecast and curse the weather deities that are bringing a 20 degree higher than normal temperature with high humidity
Feel grateful that I am healthy and injury free and  confident that I should be able to complete the marathon (barring any freak occurrences).	Feel depressed and surly and antsy and pissy that because of unusually high temperatures, I probably WON’T be able to come close to my goal of a 9:30/mile pace
Feel accomplished that I successfully completed our rigorous training plan	Compulsively record and add up training stats (hours, miles, heart rate, etc.); worry that I will never live up to standards set during training (a 9:15 pace for 17.83 miles?!!)
Leisurely enjoy inspirational readings about running, including back issues of “Runner’s World”	Freak out because I’m so behind on what I’ve wanted to read and missed out on helpful advice (NOW I learn about “carb-depletion?” WTF?!!)
Compile a motivational playlist of downloaded music for the marathon.	Swear, cry, then swear some more because I don’t understand how to create a playlist of downloaded music on my phone (I usually listen to audiobooks) and don’t know 4+ hours of songs that I would find motivational anyway
Get plenty of restful sleep	Toss and turn in anxiety-laden nights
Journal about my hopes, fears and insecurities and reflect on what I’ve learned while training for this marathon	Obsess about the same trivialities over and over and blog and let the interwebs have access to what a mess I am
Apply a motivational/inspirational temporary tattoo every time I need to combat a negative thought	Apply a motivational/inspirational temporary tattoo every time I need to combat negative thought (yes, I’m going to COVERED in temporary tats)

Let the Time of Tapering commence.

And it is off on a dramatic start (or maybe hardcore training ended on a dramatic note).

On paper (or the screen) my last long run looks awesome. I almost made 22 miles (21.94) at a 9.34 pace.

But the REST of the story (yes, quoting Paul Harvey, child of the 70’s here) isn’t captured in this stat. It doesn’t tell how I ran out of water around mile 15 so stopped the clock for 15 minutes or so while I tried to find water at the Mill City Museum (fail) and eventually in the Guthrie bathroom.

This experience left me with several questions:

• Why the f*#k aren’t the public water fountains on and working in May? (I was planning on refilling my water bottle with this method).
• Did I cheat by stopping the clock and “taking a break”? Or am I tougher because I stopped and then kept going?
• What did the patrons of the Mill City Museum and the Guthrie think of the sweaty middle-aged white lady wandering around?
• Why didn’t I start my run before 10:30 am before it was already getting hot?
• How did my run start out so good (9:15 minute per mile pace) and end up so wrong (almost 11:00 minute per mile pace)?
• Why didn’t I run 0.06 more miles and actually do 22 miles?

Okay, I do know the answer to that last question…I was so wiped by the end of my run, that it was all I could do to keep going (and I wasn’t looking at my mileage). In fact, I was so tired, and slightly nauseous, that I didn’t even want to EAT or DRINK ALCOHOL. I even violated my cardinal Amy rule and consumed most of my post-run calories via sports/health drinks and yogurt, with little chewing involving. (My prime directive is that calories should be delivered via chewing, unless alcohol is involved). But don’t worry, after a “nap”–mostly dozing in bed for two hours and moaning–I was able to commence with chewing and alcohol.

And upside is that I gained a little empathy for Chad and his general preference NOT eating.

Which finally brings me to the actually most dramatic part of the End of Serious Training/Start of Tapering: “The Rescue of Chad.” Thank the running deities, I freed myself from the bed and a snuggling Mama Pepper Kitty when I did and realized a storm was on it’s way, and Chad was out running in it. (Chad had started his run late in the afternoon because he had a mock trial in the morning).

In my groggy post-nap fugue, I was frantically trying to look up the weather.com hourly forecast and figure out how to locate Chad during our Google location sharing (usually he’s keeping tabs on me because he’s opposed to texting “Hey, where are you?”).

So, more questions:

• Was the weather actually going to get bad enough that Chad would want to cut his run short?
• Would I be able to find him?
• Did I need to put on “real” pants (not flannel PJ bottoms) and a bra to rescue him?

Eventually, wearing jeans AND a bra (and the other obvious clothing items to make me socially acceptable) I started out to find Chad. I figured I could just drive around and the weather didn’t actually get that bad, oh well.

In case you don’t know, I’m super scared of storms. As soon as I got out our alley, I was scared I was in the middle of a tornado. Yes, this was a total overreaction, but it was super windy and there was a bunch of dirt blowing around that made things look ominous. I was in a car and was scared…what the hell was going on with Chad who was just out in the elements?

Unnecessarily long story short…Chad soon called and said “Yeah, I’m ready to be done with this.” Luckily, he had safely made it to the lobby of a neighbhorhood bar (Bunny’s NE, for you locals) after only spending a short amount of time being pelted by rain. And yeah, I felt pretty smart to be able to say “I’m ALREADY in the car, will be there shortly!!”)  Wifely WIN! Chad was just happy/relieved that I wasn’t still napping.

So now we are safely home, eating chips, watching TV, latch hooking/playing video games (sure I don’t have to explain who is doing which) and drinking wine and bourbon. Okay, not THAT much different than non-tapering time, except by degree, so tapering has officially begun.

Our weekly running total goes down next week by over 2 HOURS (from 8 hours and 15 minutes to only 6 hours) Whoo-hoo! More time for drinking and blogging.

You’re on notice.

It’s Wednesday, so not only is it Hump Day, but for me, it’s Rest Day. Hmmm, in the interest of “taste” I’ll pass on any exploration of how those two days go together.

I’m sure I’ve already blogged about every possible aspect of Rest Days (as least as they apply to marathon training) but since I don’t really remember what I’ve written, and I don’t think that many folks read anything I posted about the subject the first time around, I think I can safely indulge in some redundant blogging.

And, as the world of Facebook is painfully aware of, I am smack dab in the middle of training Week 13, the most intense week of training. This week calls for a total of 8 hours and 15 minutes of running, culminating in a 3 hour and 30 minute run on Saturday. Damn.

I regard my training plan as holy scripture, a divine decree, even though in any other setting I would scoff at such an idea. Maybe it’s just my “J” nature (Myers-Brigg personality test speak) basking in the joy of having a plan to follow (that I didn’t have to create) but I am completely devoted to my training plan. The thought of straying from it causes anxiety at a level I imagine my tribal ancestors encountered when threatened with banishment.

Of course my training plan didn’t come from some mysterious deities, but from two indentifiable humans: Don and Melanie Fink. And despite the fact that they are totally controlling my life, I know very little about Don and Melanie. All I know is that they wrote a book, “IronFit’s Marathons After 40: Smarter Training for the Ageless Athlete,” and that Chad found said book, and recommended that we follow the training plan contained in the pages therein.

When Chad presented this advice to me last spring before my first marathon, I knew nothing about training for a marathon. But I knew that Chad had run two marathons, and had found them both rather difficult and disappointing, which he attributed to a lack of proper training. So I was more than content to rely on his research and advice and to convert to the Way of the Finks.

Also, I love the “After 40” angle…it implies that I was merrily running marathons until I hit 40, when I actually ran my first marathon at 47.

And while I’m sure it can’t all be attributed to the wisdom of the Finks and I must give luck it’s due, I faithfully followed the Fink training plan and I had a really successful and not too traumatic first marathon. So successful, in fact, that I wanted to run another.

So of course, I’m once again a disciple of the Finks as I prepare for my second marathon, Rochester’s Med City Marathon on May 27.

But since my first round of marathon training, I’ve learned that the Finks are potentially sadistic.

Let me explain: The Fink plan calls for not only one one 3:30 run, but THREE, plus three 2:45 minutes run. (The Fink plan goes by time, not distance, but at the pace I run, 2:45  is roughly 17 miles and 3:30 is roughly 21). Most other plans that I’ve seen call for ONE eighteen mile run and maybe ONE 20 mile.

So why not just switch to another plan?

Well, there’s practicality. The Fink plan seemed to work, so maybe all that extra time and mileage is necessary. But then reasons get murky…like the loyaltly factor. How can I abandon the Finks when they served me so well? And superstition: if I change my training, won’t the Running Deities be angered and smite me?

But most importantly there is the stubbornness/competitiveness/stupidity factor: I did this hardass training program ONCE so why would I ever admit to being so weak as to need to back off and do an easier plan? Especially since I’ve been kicking my previous performance during my last round of training?

Well, let’s see how Marathon #2 goes. If it’s a disaster, maybe I’ll curse the Finks and marathons en masse and my marathon career will careen to a messy end (or a sad wimper). Or maybe it will be awesome and I’ll decide that I’ve peaked and I approach any future marathons with a more laid back, less training-intensive stance.

Or maybe I will decide the Finks hold the key to all of life’s wisdom, at least for those of us over 40, and beg them for training plans for other areas of my life.

 

We’ve all heard of the humble brag, but is anxious bragging a recognized thing?

No, I’m not anxious that people will realize I’m bragging, or that there will be some type of negative consequence if I indulge in bragging. I want to brag, and I don’t care if it’s obvious I’m bragging and seeking acolades, and I don’t think my bragging will incur the wrath of the universe.

But I do often find that trying to revel in my successes makes me realize that I’m worried that I’ll never live up to, much less surpass, my accomplishments.

Let me get specific: I want to let the whole world know that I recently did a 17.5 plus mile run at a 9.22 miles/hour pace. That’s not going to get me into the Boston Marathon or anything (that’s not a humble brag, just a pissy brag) but for me, it’s amazingly fast for a run of that distance.

So yeah, I’m awesome. But HOW did this happen? Were my results skewed because I took several breaks for stoplights? Was it the weather? What I ate for breakfast? The alignment of the stars? What I was wearing?

And how lame am I going to feel if/WHEN I do a run this long again and I’m back to, or even slower than, my normal pace?

My anxious bragging is most obvious when it comes to running, because there are seemingly objective measurements of my running success. It’s why I’m ambivalent about running another marathon: What if I don’t do as well as I did on my first one? But this anxiety about living up to my past accomplishments happens in almost all areas of my life. Someone compliments me on an acting performance? I worry about trying to figure out exactly what I did and how I can recreate it. I feel like I’m wearing a particularly sassy ensemble? How will I ever find all the wardrobe elements and accessories again at the same time? Etc., etc….

Thankfully, there are some standards of Amy prowess that I don’t worry about living up to. I never worry that I’ll fail at latch hook (I can’t imagine how anyone would fail at that), making/eating salads, or drinking red wine.

And I never worry that I won’t worry enough.

I’m going to attempt another post inspired by something that I don’t really understand that I’m probably taking horribly out of context. This time it is science-based, rather than math-based (although I’m sure this science involves math) and science, unlike math, is  something I’m really intrigued by. Or at least the fields of science that have to do with astronomy and quantum physics and all those things that can fuel cool science fiction.

So. Dark matter.

I was listening to the Minnesota Public Radio this afternoon and happened to catch Bob Collins tell Mary Lucia that scientists (okay, not all scientists but you know what I mean) have discovered a galaxy where there is NO dark matter.

Mary Lucia saracastcially conveyed that she was NOT impressed. But I totally am.

Now, as I said I can’t claim to have even an informed layperson’s understanding of dark matter and I’m not going to devote the time to even doing a little internet research about it. Who has time for knowledge when there are deep philosopical ideas to blog about? (Okay, my librarian soul can’t resist at least one link about the story for context: https://www.wired.com/story/the-case-of-the-missing-dark-matter/)

I think dark matter is “stuff” that we* can’t see or sense or measure or explain but we know it has to be there because otherwise there would no way the universe could function like it does. We know it’s there because we can see it’s effects but we can’t see it directly. (*By “we” I am of course referring to all those sciencey types who devote their lives to studying those things).

Whoa. That is so cool and disturbing, both in the literal sense and as a metaphor…how many things impact us that we can’t see or understand? These things run the gamut of everything from love and our unconscious and our fears and things from childhood we don’t remember and our DNA and our brain chemistry and what weird chemicals are in our food.

Oh, and I think dark matter is also somehow tied into the theory of the multiverse: somewhere there is a universe where every possible version of reality exists and every choice you didn’t make in this universe another you did make. So there is an Amy Luedtke out there who IS a DJ or a mother or a writer or a Republican or a fluitist or a scientist. And of course muliple universes where there is no Amy Luedtke at all.

The multiverse theory is comforting and terrifying, because on one hand, some you is experiencing all those things you have missed out on, but that includes all the really sucky things you’re glad you got to skip.

Thinking about dark matter makes me think both about my choices and the things I can control and how things that are way beyond my understanding that impact, and maybe even control, me.

“Dark Matter” is also a recent book by Blake Crouch that I read and it was really thought-provoking and fast-paced and sweet and made me appreciate the choices I’ve made and the life I do have. It also made me very sleepy because I don’t actually read print books anymore. I only listen to audiobooks (mostly when I run), so it took me so long to finish that I couldn’t really remember what was going on. Of course you can check “Dark Matter” out from the your friendly neighborhood library: https://hclib.bibliocommons.com/item/show/5385452109

The book also made me worry that if I ever did get to meet other me’s most of them would me homicial whiny jerks. More likely, we would just be hyper-competitive and judgy of each other. I can’t imagine how the poor non-drinking Amy’s would fare.

Anyway, a galaxy without dark matter? Is it populated by beings who fully understand how the world works and how they work and are in total control of their lives and actions? Would that be empowering or boring?

What does it mean that there is a galaxy without dark matter or that the rest of the universe has it? Anything? Everything? Nothing? All I know is that this Amy, in this universe, gets to decide (or think she’s deciding) what that—or anything—means and I think that is pretty awesome.

And I do wonder if there is a me out there somewhere who crafts and makes the time to get her hair cut on a regular basis.

Right before my birthday, a friend and fellow Pigeons From Hell bandmate sent me an article called “The Birthday Paradox.”

I was immediately intrigued. I really like the word “paradox.” And it sounds like a Star Trek (TREK for the love of god and all that is holy not TRACK) episode.

Turns out the article was about math. Really not my wheelhouse (even though I don’t know what a wheelhouse is) and the point of the article seems to be that one’s birthday is not special or unique. Yeah, definitely not my lived experience.

However, I do feel birthdays are paradoxical events. A birthday is a time to celebrate your life and all your blessings and friends and experiences. And yet, every birthday brings you that much closer to your death. Every birthday is another number in the countdown to the end.

Then again, while I’m quite confident in my assessment of birthdays, maybe “paradox” doesn’t mean what I think it means. Perhaps I am like Alanis Morissette singing about irony.

Whether “paradox” is the correct word or not, I’m fascinated and moved and intriuged by how we inhabit in-between spaces. “Between a laugh and a tear” as John Cougar Mellencamp put it. Is it ambivalence? Ambiguity? When I was an undergraduate religious studies major I learned about the Hindu concept of the “coincidence of opposites.” My my mind was blown and that idea stays with me. Maybe life really isn’t just black or white or good or evil. Apparent opposites can exist at the same time, in the same person?

I often regret that I am not fully happy, even when things are awesome. Or that I laugh when things are crappy. While I do aspire to stop (at least occasionally) my ongoing inner narrator and live in the moment, I do find it liberating and meaningful to embrace this “yes, but” dimension of being human, or at least this Amy-human.

Chad and I recently re-discovered songs from the Sondheim masterpiece “Company,” mostly notably “Sorry/Grateful.” The title alone covers everything from our relationship to work to church to running.

Oh yes, one can definitely carry that too far. You don’t want to be sorry/grateful every time you go out to eat or go about most of your day. Then you’re just straight-up annoying/whiny with no subtle tension of meaning.

And, in case you’re wondering, my birthday celebration was amazing/amazing. Both my bands got to play a gig at the Eagles in South Minneapolis and so many of our friends showed up. Okay, it was amazing/exhausting/nerve-wracking/doubt-ridden and I’m sad I didn’t get to talk to my friends more, but isn’t that the defintion of awesome?

Yesterday was the first day in 48 days that I did NOT run.

Yes, I did another “Days of Awesome” challenge, where I ran every day for at least a mile. This time I created my own challenge and ran for 48 days in a row (the original challenge was 40 days) from January 15 (MLK Day) to March 3 to celebrate my 48th birthday.

During those 48 days I ran a total of 210.22 miles, at least according to my Garmin watch. I’m a little dubious of my watch’s accuracy since I did most of my running at the gym and I don’t think the GPS or the little fairies of whatever it is that counts miles works as well indoors. It’s probably close enough for government work, though, as that averages 4.37 miles per day which is definitely plausible.

Whatever my actual mileage, I can tell you I ran a LOT of laps. Approximately 1,710 laps. Only about 20 of my miles were outside, because I’m terribly cautious about running outside on icy trails and sidewalks. So, showing my work: It’s about 9 laps per mile at my gym track, so 190 x 9 = 1,710.

One of my friends from church who is also a member of the same Lifetime Fitness that I am said she watched me running and thought that one lap was a mile. Wow. If only.

My biggest obstacle to overcome was tedium. Even with audiobooks (I listened to “Career of Evil” by Robert Galbraith, “The Magician’s Land” by Lev Grossman and started “The Dark Defiles” by Richard K. Morgan) 1,710 laps could only be so interesting. I even made up backstories about my fellow gym goers, many of whom I saw over and over, and occassionally almost ran over when they got in my way. (Do NOT walk three abreast on the track, for all that is good and decent!!)

The hardest day to complete a run was on Sunday, Feb. 25, after the snowpocalypse. I was so proud that I was able to get my car out of the alley, but then I got it stuck in the intersection by our house. Chad was very gracious in rescuing me (with the help of a neighbor) so that I could make it to the gym.

I’d like to say I learned many deep and profound lessons from my 48 day running challenge, but mostly I learned/re-learned that I might be a tad obsessive. There was a story in a recent issue of “Runner’s World” (Chad got me a subscription as a most awesome Christmas present) about increasing your grit, and I said “Hey, I’ve got grit.” But Chad said, “No, I think you just have OCD.”

And grit (or no grit) aside I totally needed a nap after my almost 11 mile run on Day 48, especially before my birthday band gigs.

Regardless of what I’ve learned, or haven’t learned, from my running streak challenge, I’m definitely done with those for a while. No, not because I’ve become less obsessive, but because I’m in Week 5 of Training for the Med City Marathon in Rochester. Although I’ve got mixed feelings about this decision garnished with a side of self doubt, I did learn (and retain) from my first round of marathon training that rest days (from running) are very important.

I am a little concerned that I’ve set myself for some crazy birthday challenges in the future…49 Days for my 49th, etc. Could be quite entertaining if I make it to 80….

The one and only drum set that I’ve ever owned before this week, that I got when it was brand new, shows up on a website about “vintage” drums.

Hopefully, that provides some insight into why I have such mixed and complicated emotions about the new drum set I got this week.

It’s hard to feel like I’m abandoning a cherished possession that I’ve had for so long — over thirty years, since I got my drum set the summer before I started my senior year of high school. I won’t claim that all of those years we’ve had together were exciting…many of those years my 1988 Ludwig Rocker set spent just chillin’ in our upstairs. But I like to think the last five years or so, especially onstage at various Twin Cities venues with our band Clusterflock, have more than made up for the downtime.

I’m also conflicted because in this case, “vintage” means not only longevity, but style. My red Ludwig Rocker drum set is flippin’ awesome. It’s a badass classic.

More important than any of that, though, is that my mom got it for me. She was deeply committed to me having a drum set, and even though by the time she could afford it I really didn’t need it, I got it. I don’t even remember how or why we chose the set we did or where we got it from or any of those details…it just became a permanent fixture in my bedroom (complimenting my orange carpet nicely) and an amazing prop for my senior photos.

So if I love my vintage 1988 red Ludwig Rocker drum set so much why on earth did I get a new set?

Believe me, I considered the purchase a lot. I felt a bit like a middle-aged person tempted to have a fling with a younger, newer, flashier version of their spouse.

It really comes down to the size of my Ludwig rocker set: it’s seriously heavy and inconvenient to transport. The bass drum is immense. And as Chad would say, I’m a delicate (or lazy) flower and lugging all that around is quite an undertaking. Plus, the drum set “footprint” is substantial in venues with small stages (not to mention that the new set probably makes me more visible).

Catering to my laziness, delicacy and vanity? Actually, these are all outcomes my mom would completely support. While I have mixed feelings about gettting a new drum set, mostly because of mom-feelings, I have no doubt that my mom would totally think I should go for it.

And I won’t deny that getting new awesome things is cool. And my new drum set is totally cool. It’s a Questlove Breakbeats, also by Ludwig, and even though I don’t fully know or appreciate who Questlove is, I’m totally psyched about my new drum set and can’t wait to try it out onstage at our gigs next week. It’s silver, which wasn’t my first choice (I wanted blue) but silver was a $100 less so as a cheap-ass person I love that, plus the silver reminds me of my glitter eyeshadow.

I didn’t intend on buying a Breakbeats. We went to our beloved and most awesome Minneapolis music store,  Twin Town Guitars, to look at a Tama mini-cocktail drum set. The shopping experience was quite an emotional roller…I went with such high hopes and expectations, but it was soon apparent that the Tama bass drum just wasn’t going to cut it. Doom, despair, and agony on me…but then we saw the Questlove Breakbeats! Still compact, but much more powerful. A huge thanks to our salesperson (Laura, I think?) of helping us navigate through the shopping journey.

I could have made this post about my drum sets more about the sets themselves…the specs, the sound, etc. Instead I made it more about my mom and eyeshadow. Now THAT’S vintage Amy.

And the fate of my 1988 Ludwig Rocker? For the near future, it’s going to hang out behind our couch listening to it’s Ludwig progeny, until I’m ready to move on or we discover we need a really kickass and bigass bass drum. It’s use to chillin’.