Facing the Fifteen

So...it's been a while.

First, the bad news. My father passed away on January 27th. He experienced the fun that is "terminal agitation" and was awake for nearly 48 hours before finally collapsing under some heavy sedation. He died less than 24 hours later. He saw things. He had conversations with people that weren't there. He tried to strangle my sister. He kicked me when I wouldn't let him get up to go to the bathroom.

And yet. He was still there with us. He answered questions, told us stories long forgotten about our childhood years, gave hugs, leaned into my shoulder, and played with his dog. It was awful and frightening and horrible and stressful and guilt inducing and gut wrenching. I am still grateful we had that time.

Some of my most vivid memories from those surreal two days:
1. His reaction when I told him my sister was going to make his funeral arrangements (relieved)
2. Some of the crazy funny shit he said:
Regarding my sister: "You're an overbearing bitch, you know that?"
(Sarah's response: Yep. You raised me after all.)
Regarding my mother (his ex-wife): "I was married to your mother for a lot of years, and that woman had a big fat ass."
Regarding my daughter: "She's high maintenance." (She is. Really.)

My favorite, though, was when the Hospice doctor asked him when he had his last bowel movement. The doctor had a very think Indian accent. Dad answered "I don't know. It was a long time ago. At that place off of Main street (looking at me) Do you remember the name of that place? They had sundrop in a bottle"

I said "Dad, he asked when you had your last bowel movement. Not where you last went bowling."

Dad said "Oh, it's been 10 days. I thought that was a stupid question."

3. The expression on his face as we wheeled him into the transport van for the ride to the Hospice house (he was too agitated to stay at home, we couldn't keep him safe). He looked lost. Like a little kid. It was a bitter moment for me.

He is resting now, and that gives me some comfort.

Okay. On to happier stuff.
I had been having a serious lack of running mojo. Bad runs, bad times, just zero motivation. Last week I went out for a 3 on Thursday and felt okay, so I was hopeful that I'd be able to finish the Point Bock run (5 miles) sub-55.

It snowed on Friday, pretty heavily. I was happy because I felt like it was NEVER going to snow. On Saturday, the weather was pretty great for me. A little sunny, just a little wind, and nice clean roads through a winter wonderland...34 degrees. Ahhhhhhhh.

Point Bock is an out and back. I don't like out and backs generally. I don't like seeing the winner when I'm only about 25% done with the course. It's demoralizing. I was pleasantly surprised with this out and back as the course was really pretty with the snow and the trees and water.

I was also pleasantly surprised when I felt great and passed (yes, PASSED) my husband who always kicks my ass at these things. When I heard them call out 40:28 as I passed the mile 4 marker (39:17 by my Garmin) I knew I was about to get a PR as long as I didn't blow up in the last mile. I didn't. I finished strong. I hit my watch and almost passed out.

48:38

Holy fuckballs.

My official time was 48:35. I was so stoked. I've been waddling my rapidly fattening ass around at a 10:30 pace for the last two months. I guess I need to saddle up and go for it more often!

Speaking of saddling up...
I have 15 on my calendar this Wednesday (was supposed to be Saturday, but I'm meeting my Ragnar peeps in Madison for 6ish miles that day). Fifteen is farther than I have ever run, being a half-marathoner. Part of me is all "Yeah! Bring it! Suck it 15! You think you're so hot!" Part of me wants to hide in the corner. Add to this the fact that it's supposed to be 53 and raining on Wednesday? Fear. I'm probably going to pee myself. (No, really. That happens to me. You don't poop out three kids and not pee a little.)

Eek.

Also I started a round of P90X today. I am tired of being fat. It worked for me before, it will now. I'll be a lean, mean marathon machine by May. I need to lose 15. 20 would be better.

Wish me luck! I'll post about the 15 (if I'm still lucid) on Wednesday.