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Oct. 28th, 2018 | 02:20 pm

If you took a drop of my blood and did genetic testing on it, I'd bet a lot of money that you would not find any Jewish ancestry in my blood. But if you looked deep into my heart, I think the results would be different.

I grew up (and still live in) a small, rural town in eastern North Carolina where the Jewish population is probably close to zero. There are some things that never change here. Fortunately for me, this little town wasn't my only exposure to the world. When I was around seven or eight, my oldest sister brought home her first serious boyfriend, Mark. Mark was the very first Jewish person I ever met. And we became fast friends. We would play ping pong together, along with all kinds of board and card games. He was a mountain man and I was a little tomboy wannabe girl. Some time later, he became my brother-in-law. I met his parents, attended a Passover dinner at his parents' home and went to their synagogue on at least one occasion over the years. My sister converted to Judaism. They started a family and raised two magnificent daughters in the Jewish faith.

Fast forward several years and my other sister begins to date Michael who is also Jewish. They get married and Michael is now my brother-in-law as well. Both of their children were raised in the Jewish faith. I watch proudly at their respective bat and bar mitzvahs. My Epicopalian family has celebrated Passover and Hannukah with our Jewish family on numerous occasions. I have helped to fry Latkes at Hannukah and my daughter is already planning to participate with her Uncle Mark to eat kosher during the Passover season in the spring.

It has always been important to me to teach my children to be openminded to others' ways of thinking, their religion, their politics, their sexual orientation, their race. And they have always done that - I love that about them both. Frederick, my blonde hair and blue eyed son, sometimes tells people that he is Jewish. Some people may think he is saying this in a condescending way, but I don't think he is. He truly believes in his heart (much like mine) that their exists some Jewish blood in him, because it's part of his family and always has been.

What happened in Pittsburgh at the Tree of Life Synagogue yesterday was an attack against my family. It is heartbreaking. My heart breaks for the families of those who were killed.

Two weekends ago, I stood underneath the canopy at my beautiful and brilliant niece's wedding and spoke to them about love. It was a very similar canopy that my oldest niece stood under as she married seven years ago. They both were built by their father by hand. The first thing I read to them was about loving one another. For the religion that exists in my heart and I believe also the Jewish religion, we are to love one another as we would like to be loved. That's really all it takes. If we would do that, all other problems in the world would go away.

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Love letter to WHS 2018

May. 4th, 2018 | 10:40 am

Writing has been my therapy since I was in about the sixth grade. I won't say that it has always "fixed" me, but I can say that it always helps. So it doesn't surprise me that I find myself drawn to my keyboard this morning in search of some therapy.

I'm about to finish reading this book called The Magic Strings of Frankie Presto. In the book, the narrator is music and he makes an analogy that throughout a person's life said person joins many bands. And it's a good analogy. And if this entry was about me, of course, it would be more about bands. But it's not just about me. It's more about my family. And if you know my family, then you know that a more apt analogy is teams. And over the course of one's life, a person joins many teams. At our house, this is true, both literally and figuratively.

This entry is not about one baseball game or a loss or one baseball team for two reasons. Reason one: I am simply not ready to talk about last night's game or the plummet this team took after losing our "assistant" coach. Maybe on a later day, but not today, folks, not today. Reason two: Several things culminated over the last week to let me know that it is about so much more. And the timing couldn't be better.

Before I get to the class of 2018, I want to say to the moms of the class of 2018, "Bravo! Job well done." I am so thankful to be a part of your team. And especially to the baseball moms, I knew starting last night off with just you guys pregame was the way to go. We have watched a lot of games together and if you think for a minute that we are not our own team, you are wrong. We may not see each other quite as much, but I know that you all know how to get in touch with me. Thank you for the laughs and cheers and all the work you have done to get these boys where they are, which is ready to move on to the next adventure.

And to the class of 2018, I want to start with my adopted sons. Franz always wanted to have more kids. I never wanted more than my two children. I despised being pregnant. I always felt awful. Those moms who say, "Oh, I just love being pregnant" made me even sicker. I always got preeclampsia. Then, maternity leave and motherhood affected my ability to move up in my profession. And then, you guys started showing up at our house to watch basketball, to play basketball, to throw football, to eat all of our apples and to just hang out. Suddenly (and without having to suffer through another pregnancy), my team began to grow. And for some reason, you have no filter around me. Sometimes I love this (I really know a lot more than I should), but sometimes, as Team Mom, it makes me cringe (because really, I know a lot more than I should). I cheered for you all - on the stage, on the wrestling mat, the baseball and football fields - even in the swimming pool. We watched UNC win the national championship together. All of you are on team Holscher.

To those who are not yet my adopted sons. If you have ever been over to my house for a visit, feel free to stop by more often. Team Holscher has open tryouts all the time. We welcome new teammates, but they are going to have to start putting up their dirty dishes better than the existing teammates.

I watched a handful of Frederick's friends last night. And they were just there for him. Thomas was on Frederick's very first baseball team. Thomas doesn't play baseball anymore, but when Frederick collapsed at second base at the end of the game, he was the first guy to go out and just be a friend, a teammate. As Frederick sat in the dugout and then the locker room, his friends didn't necessarily say anything, but they wouldn't leave him. There were more guys there than just those on the baseball team, but everyone who was there is now a member of team Holscher.

To Anthony - the one who got away. Washington misses you and you are a lifelong member of team Holscher who always has a place to come visit when you come home. We think of you often.

I don't know as many of the girls in this class as I do the boys, but the ones I know are definitely on the team. The sweet fun voice that I hear as she walks in the front door, "It's Alaina, not a robber" lets me know that there will be a smile on my son's face shortly. And to the other girls (including "my best friend" - you know who you are), high school is such a fun time, cherish your friends, know that there is something special about each of you and be nice to each other. Also know that if you are not already on Team Holscher, the door is open - just ask "Alaina, not a robber."

Then to the boy who changed my role on Team Holscher from just being a team player to that of Team Mom. Every day is a new experience with you. Believe it or not, I learn from you constantly. You are the glue that has added a lot of members to our team. Coach Rick describes you as a new calf who is discovering his legs for the very first time. You and your classmates are about to learn to gallop on your own and I can't wait to watch that race!

So, why do I say all this? Over the last week, I have had a couple of Moms thank me for loving their boys. Secretly, I kind of laughed - thank me? I should be thanking them for sharing their boys. To all of them I said a similar thing that I say now to Team Holscher. If any of you need anything, call on us. We will not judge. We may seem like old fuddy duddies (and we probably are), but if we don't know what you are going through (we probably do), we have helped someone in your situation or know how to get help for whatever it is that is bothering you. Our door is always open to you and if you need a place to lay your head for one night or 365 nights, let's talk about it.

As I was finally able to drift off to sleep last night, tears on my pillow, a thought came to me. I went through all the people I saw last night who called me mom or thanked me and a sense of peace blanketed me. Thank you for being a part of our team - our team has been so enriched by your presence. All teams have Homecomings, which for our purposes, means whenever you step foot in Beaufort County, you must stop by and come home.

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Why I love Carolina basketball or What it Was Was Basketball

Apr. 5th, 2016 | 12:32 pm

What is it about this game? Why do so many people become so involved in the outcome of a game? Seriously, grown folks are jumping up and down about the outcome that it is in the hands of five mostly teenage boys running up and down a court trying to get an orange ball into a hoop donned by a net. Men in striped shirts run up and down the floor with them with whistles in their mouth. And one usually older grown man stands on the sidelines yelling directions to the teens. It is just a game, right? There are way more important things going on in the world right now, right? I mean there is a Presidential election going on. Okay, bad example. But there are other very important things going on right now. I understand why you might think this way, but I am going to tell you some of the reasons why I love Carolina basketball. You will see that most of them involve connections.


When I was a young girl, probably 10 or so, I started to watch Carolina basketball fairly religiously. Most people might think that I got into sports because of my husband or my children, but that is not so. My first introduction to sports was Carolina basketball. Period. I would watch the game upstairs at my house, many times by myself. I would keep track of the score of the game on a piece of notebook paper with the change of every possession. I would go to school the next day and defend my Tar Heels or brag about their victory to my NC State buddies. It is because of this that I began to learn the intricacies of the game. Even though baseball has become my true love, Carolina basketball will always be my first love in sports.

I inherited my love of Carolina basketball from my Dad. This gives us something that we share to this day. I love my Dad more than words can say and I always say that he is the man who taught me to climb mountains and build fires, but in addition to that, he taught me to love Carolina basketball. And to this day, even in his late 80s, he looks forward to every Carolina basketball game that is played. And we nearly always talk about the games the next time that I see him.

I went to UNC and am a proud alumni. Maybe I didn't go to a ton of basketball games in the Dean Dome. But I had a group of girlfriends who whether they really cared about the outcome of the game, we loved to go watch games at various spots on Franklin Street. It is something we shared. I will never forget as we all gathered at Ham's on January 12, 1991 preparing for the start of the UNC/Va game, the broadcast was interrupted to announce our entry into the Gulf War. Silence took over. We really didn't know what to do, but for the next two hours, we had an escape. Carolina went on to win that game in double OT 89-86.

While everyone else was heading down to Florida or other exotic places for Spring Break, I usually worked. And the first weekend of Spring Break was always the ACC tournament. This was a profitable couple of days of work at the restaurant where I worked in college. One year, the best I could afford was to go with a couple of girlfriends to Columbia, the other Carolina on our way to see Savannah for St. Patty's Day. Of course, I worked the first weekend and we headed out after that. Obstacles kept us from getting all the way to Savannah, but we did have a fun trip to Columbia. This was the week after the ACC tournament where on March 12, 1989, UNC beat dook 77-74 (please note this score as it relates to last night's games). We were in the middle of a very heated game of Anchor Man and I believe that a member of an opposing team was a dook fan (and keep in mind we were in the heart of Gamecock country). Our team mantra became, "When you say Carolina, say North Carolina." Followed by "77-74!" To this day, when I fill out a March Madness bracket and, as a tiebreaker, I have to predict the score of the championship game, I ALWAYS put 77-74. Last night, I got the score right. Unfortunately, I was in third place, so there wasn't the need for a tiebreaker.

I live and work in an area of North Carolina and in a profession where the Old Boys' Club is alive and well. I will never possess the "right" genitalia to be a member of the Club, but I can shoot the shit with all of them. Why can an introverted female lawyer do this? Carolina basketball. I can talk Carolina basketball with the best of them and quite often this allows you to be part of the conversation.

My son is 15 years old. Nuff said. He doesn't spend a WHOLE lot of time with his old parents. But when a Carolina basketball game comes on, he is in the room with us. And not just him. His friends show up. They jump up and down and high five. Sometimes, they cuss. They go outside at halftime and shoot basketball. I can nearly always count on seeing him when UNC is on TV. I cherish this.


All of my nieces who were raised in North Carolina have gone to UNC. Let me repeat that. All of my nieces who were raised in North Carolina have gone to UNC. UNC is not easy to get into these days. Their parents have done a fabulous job raising great girls and this gives me one more thing in common with these girls. It is something we will always share. In the words of Michael Jordan from last night, "I am proud of you."


The rivalry is so much fun. To a true Carolina fan, a dook loss is as satisfying as a Carolina win. One of the best days that I have ever had was spent with my daughter. We went to Greensboro on March 16, 2012 to watch the first round of the NCAA tournament. Carolina played Vermont on that day and won handedly 77-58, but that is not the game we remember. We stuck around and decided to watch a little of the dook v. Lehigh game. Once dook was winning handedly, we would leave. We never left. Lehigh beat dook by 5 points and it was so much fun. My daughter and I watched 4 basketball games in a row. Can you imagine? In 2012, she was 9 years old and she loved every minute of it.


So, when I hear people say, "It's only a game," I smile knowingly and then, I feel a little sorry for them to have to go through life believing that it is only a game.

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My first Other Mother

Dec. 8th, 2015 | 09:57 am

Having been a mom now for about 16 years (if you count the period of time that you are pregnant as motherhood and I do), I have become a believer in the saying, "It takes a village." I received a text yesterday from my sister-in-law that said, "Being a parent is so hard." It really is. This is why we need all the help that we can get. Part of the help that makes up the village that has raised generation after generation is a group of women that I call Other Mothers. They come in many forms - teachers, youth group leaders, aunts, neighbors. Any female can be an Other Mother, but in my personal experience, most of my Other Mothers were the mothers of my best friends.

And my first best friend was Tristin. So, it is only natural that her mother, Bobbi, became my first Other Mother. Tristin and her family moved into my neighborhood when I was about 5, I think. At that time, West Main Street did not have any kids my age, so I was so excited about this family coming to the neighborhood. Tristin is a year younger than I am, but it didn't take us too long for us to become inseparable. I spent a lot of time at her house. Her mom, Bobbi, was younger than any of my other friends' parents. She was so much fun. Tristan and I were encouraged to play make believe. Usually the Wizard of Oz is what we chose. Sometimes she would tie us up to see how long it would take us to get loose. We kept old bubble gum in her refrigerator for us to come back and get later in the day. (We were way ahead of our time in the recycling effort!) And Halloween! Halloween at this house was the best. She and her neighbor would make the best haunted house and scare the bejeezus out of all of us kids. Because she was so young, she talked freely with Tristin about the birds and the bees so this is where I first learned about where babies come from (even though I didn't believe it at the time - the stork made so much more sense). I ate countless meals at their house. And this is how one becomes Other Mother.

Tristin moved away even before I hit junior high school. This was in the 1970s, before the days of the internet, Facebook, instagram and the like. Yet somehow, Tristin and I managed to stay in touch. When I turned 16, one of my first road trips by myself was to Garner to visit Tristin. I know I visited Tristin at ECU at least once during our college years. Then, there was a long period of time that we lost touch. But then, a little more than 16 years ago, we discovered we were both living in Greenville. We were both embarking on starting a family and becoming what both our mothers had taught us by example - mothers.

Tristin has two boys. She is one the best mothers that I know. She also is a very loyal friend. We rarely see each other, but I know if I asked her for something, she wouldn't hesitate and I would do the same for her. See, I learned this from my first best friend. And she learned how to be a mother and a friend from my first Other Mother.

This morning I awoke to news that Bobbi passed away yesterday. I don't know what happened, but I do know this. The world seems a little emptier today, somewhere there is a little less laughter. But I am so thankful for my first Other Mother. Tristin posted on Facebook something that her youngest son wrote around Thanksgiving. He said he was thankful for his Mom's Mom because she gave him his Mom. I, too, am thankful for his Mom's Mom because she gave me my first best friend and she also taught me to treat my children's friends as my own children. Bobbi gave the gift of motherhood to Tristin, Rob and Erin and probably to everyone of their friends that they brought home with them wherever they lived. I know that this will live on through Tristin. And even though I haven't seen Bobbi in years, I will strive for her fun and laughter and Other Motherhood to live through me.

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Happy New Year!

Jul. 8th, 2015 | 10:04 am
music: On Top of the World - Imagine Dragons

Most people go by the calendar year. Many businesses use a fiscal year. The Chinese year is different than our regular January to December year. But me, I have my own year - my running year. Last year "ran" from July 7, 2014 through July 5, 2015. During those 52 weeks, I ran 1,081.30 miles. The previous year, I ran 1,081.56 miles. I am nothing if not consistent.

Running New Year's Eve is a good time to reflect on the past year. And my last run of the year unexpectedly turned out to be a special run. We had just gotten home from a week at the beach and I had the Sunday afternoon free. I headed to the gym in an attempt to avoid running in 90 degree temperatures. I got to the gym, only to find it closed for the holiday weekend. I decided not to head home but to alter my running course a little bit. My car took me downtown and as I headed that way, I saw a shaded parking space in my church parking lot and thought that would be as good a place as any to start my run.

I started my run just like most, trudging along. But this time, when I was thinking of walking, I said to myself, "It's the last run of the year. Make it count." And I reflected. It has been a roller coaster of a year. I have definitely dealt with struggles in parenting, in my marriage, in my self, in my church. But as I thought about my struggles, I also thought about the blessings in my life - with my children, my husband, my self, my family and my church. And a certain peace came over me. If I can have the kind of year that I went through, and come up with more blessings than struggles, end the year with peace and happiness, then all is well. I look forward to a brand new year. A clean slate in my running log. A clean slate at church. Take the good things from the last year, carry them over into the new year, but leave all the baggage behind. Move forward. Just like every day running. Move forward. Look ahead and enjoy the run.

On my home stretch back to the parking lot, tears began to stream down my face. Good tears. Peaceful tears. Happy tears. I ended up with my cool down, walking through our church cemetery and I ended up here.

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Catch 22

Jul. 29th, 2014 | 02:06 pm
music: Corduroy - Pearl Jam

If you had the choice, what would you choose? You have to give up one of your books. You have two books. One is a book that you have already read and loved. The other is a book that you haven't read. One of your friends has given it a good review and another friend has given it a bad review.

Which one do you part with?

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Back to running

Oct. 16th, 2013 | 02:19 pm
music: Talent Show - The Replacements

My Dad saw a picture of me and the kids with medals from a 5k race that we ran in last weekend and he asked me to tell him about it. I decided to document it here, so maybe one day my kids will be able to remember it.

Because Frederick's hand is broken from football yet again, our weekends are a little more free. So, there was a 5K about 15 miles east of here in the oldest incorporated town in NC last weekend and a 5K fit into my training for my upcoming half-marathon. I convinced everyone else to run in it and so we headed east last Saturday morning. This 5K is a race to raise money to preserve an old building - the old Bath High School. Because of Bath's connection with notorious pirate Blackbeard, runners were encouraged to wear pirate attire. A couple of runners were dressed as pirates, but most of us were not.

One of the advantages to living in small towns is that the turnout for these races is not quite as large as a race say in Raleigh or Chapel Hill. This race was no different. There were less than one hundred participants. I had a goal to try to beat my personal best 5k race time. I set this about 9 years ago and have never been able to beat it - I thought this might just be the race. So that is what I set out to do. I told Frederick that I wanted him to be my pacer. I readily admit these days that he is faster than I am despite all my training, but I just thought he might pace me. Frederick had not yet beat my PR of 24:23 and this was also his goal. Mary Emma did not have a goal - that is, until we got there and we saw an 11 year old girl who is a fabulous softball pitcher. Once Mary Emma laid eyes on her, her goal was to beat this girl who was a year older than her. Franz, the doting father that he is, was simply going to run with Mary Emma and encourage her to not stop (and not to start out too fast).

We all had different races. I knew everything had to go perfectly for me to meet my goal. About half a mile in, I felt something funny and I looked down to my shoe. My timing chip had fallen off my shoe. I looked behind me and I could see the chip on the road about 50 feet back. I immediately knew I would not beat my goal, but I ran back, grabbed my chip and tried to run as fast as I could. My first mile was not too far off pace - I think it was about a 7:50, but with my detour, that was just too fast. I did not keep it up. But I did not give up.

Somewhere along the second mile, I was running behind an acquaintance of ours. Small town living. When Frederick was 4 years old, he was not old enough to play t-ball in Washington. We found out that he could play in Bath, so we took him to Bath to play t-ball that year. His coach's name was Shane Taylor- he worked for the volunteer fire department in Bath and he was coaching his daughter Shana's t-ball team. This is who I was running behind.


As we turned a corner approaching the 2 mile marker where one of his volunteer fire trucks was stationed, I passed him and never looked back. I crossed the finish line at 24:47 and I will always wonder how much time I lost by losing my chip. I don't think it would have gotten me there, but I would have been a lot closer. What about my pacer, you might ask. I only saw Frederick once around mile one where there was a loop and I saw him zip around the loop ahead of me.

Although he admits to starting out to fast, he had a fabulous run, coming in a little over 23 minutes knocking my PR out of the ball park. He had some fun at the finish line as you can see from these photos.


Mary Emma's competition started out too fast which means Mary Emma felt the need to start out too fast. But sometime around the first mile, her competition started to feel the reason why they tell you not to start out too fast and Mary Emma passed her and the other girl started to walk some. As long as Mary Emma ran the rest of the race, she would be fine. Franz encouraged her the whole way. Although she did not run her fastest run, she met her goal - easily!



At the end of the day, I placed second overall in the female category. Each of the kids placed first in their respective age groups.
And I learned a valuable lesson, always make sure my timing chip is secure in my shoe.


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The good old days

May. 29th, 2013 | 10:08 am
music: All in the Family theme song

A week or so ago, I watched the series finale of the Office. This is a television comedy that I have watched fairly consistently over its life on NBC. The American version of the Office was adapted from a British TV show of the same name created by Ricky Gervais who also starred in the British show. I think the British Office only lasted two seasons. The American Office lasted ten years, I think.

The show really made me laugh. Of course, I loved to follow the love story between Jim and Pam, but the main reason I fell in love with the Office was funny man Steve Carrell. I just look at him and a smile comes on my face because he is so funny to me. And all the odd characters at the Office - they are so odd that you know they aren't real people, but they do often remind you of someone that you know.

Steve Carrell left the Office a couple of seasons ago and I didn't watch it quite as religiously, but when I did, it still made me laugh. Another star of the Office is Ed Helms who plays Andy Bernard. Andy is definitely not one of my favorite characters on the show, but he has certainly had comedic success, also having starred in the Hangover series of movies. And although he was not my favorite character, he was the one who said my favorite lines in the series finale. As Andy was being interviewed (as they often do for the documentary that is always filming the characters of the Office), Andy says, "I wish there was a way to know you're in the good old days before you've actually left them."

The same day I watched this episode, I got a package in the mail. It was from one of my old college roommates. I opened it up and I laughed. She had sent me these cocktail napkins that would probably only make a handful of people laugh, but we had an inside joke. And when she saw these napkins, she laughed and thought of me. We laughed a lot back then. We laughed a lot at stupid stuff. We laughed at ourselves. We laughed at everyone else. No one else would laugh if we tried to explain our stupid jokes to you. "Flying monkeys is funny." See - that doesn't make you laugh, but we laughed for hours over this David Letterman segment. A lounge lizard on a cocktail napkin? I can't even figure out why they made cocktail napkins like that because they wouldn't be funny if it weren't for our joke.

I opened the package and I laughed and I thought of Andy Bernard - "I wish there was a way to know you're in the good old days before you've actually left them."

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Stage fright and technical difficulties

Mar. 21st, 2013 | 10:10 am
music: Head Full of Doubt/Road Full of Promise - The Avett Brothers

It was the best of times. It was the worst of times.

I have no idea what my splits for this race were. Why, you ask. My GPS Forerunner ran out of battery at Mile 3. But that was ok, because Alden had a regular watch with him, so although we couldn't tell our exact pace every second, we could at least tell what our pace was each mile, right? That worked until Mile 8 when Alden left me and, after that, I didn't know if I was running a 10 minute mile or an eight minute mile.

This race started out all wrong. I didn't feel properly fueled because I had to eat a hotdog the day before the race at JT's first birthday party. It was the Trolley Stop after all and his first birthday only comes once in a lifetime. The only good news is that I didn't wash it down with a beer - an impressive feat since the Carolina basketball game was going on during this time as well.


The other thing that I do not like about the Quintiles race is that the starting time is soo early. Our wave was to start at 6:40. If the race was in August, I would understand such an early start, but this is March - a 7 or 7:30 start would do just fine. A 6:40 start that you have to take the trolley to means a 5 am wake up call. The line to get on the bus to get to the start line was so much longer than last year, it caused a little bit of nerves with me, but we made it to the start with plenty of time to spare.

Alden and I got to a good position to start the race(which was a big improvement from last year). So we weren't slowed down by the masses at the start and our pace was right on track from the beginning. The miles started clicking off but I knew my watch wasn't going to last - it was just a matter of how long would it last. Not very. Around mile 3, the face went completely blank and I suddenly realized how entirely dependent I was on it. But we kept on and according to Alden's regular old Timex, we kept a pretty good pace. We went by the State pep group and the UNC pep group and then we turned into Landfall. Mile 6.5 came and Alden said, I am going to tell you a story at Mile 7 and you are going to have to tell me a story at Mile 8. And he told me about Lance Martin's marathon run in Asheville through the Biltmore Estate a couple of weekends before where the weather was below freezing. The story made me feel good to be only runing a half marathon, to be running in Wilmington on a very flat course in upper 50 degree weather. Then, I started to fret about what story I was going to tell at Mile 8. We approached a water stop around Mile 8 and I got my cup of water and Alden got a few feet ahead of me and I was not able to catch up with him again. I kept him in sight for most of the time, but I couldn't get him. At least I didn't have to come up with a story!

But I was so lost - I had no idea how fast I was going. For the last 5 miles, I didn't have numbers guiding my pace. This is the girl who (unlike most sane runners) prefers to run on a treadmill where I know exactly how fast I am going EVERY second. I crunch numbers constantly while I am running - its what I do. If I'm not on a treatmill, I have a Garmin Forerunner - an amazing GPS device that gives you all sorts of numbers to crunch.

When I approached the finish line, I was scared that I could have slowed down so much I might be approaching 2 hours, but much to my delight, the race time showed just over 1:50 which meant it was very likely my chip time was under 1:50 and that was my goal and it would be a PBR (personal best record). I caught up with Alden at the finisher's tent and congratulated him on his fabulous run and we went to watch Susan (his wife) come in over the finish line. Then, Susan and I went to check on chip times and I saw my time of 1:49.53. It was a really good time - almost a minute faster than my last half in November and a whole SIX and a half minutes faster than the exact same race one year before! I was a little disappointed that i didn't keep up with the competition, but . . .

Turns out, I am my main competitor and if I beat myself, I consider it an accomplishment, because doggone it, I'm becoming a pretty good runner.

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Splits from November 3, 2012

Feb. 20th, 2013 | 10:51 am

In preparation for my March 17 half marathon, I realized I had not documented my splits from my race in Savannah on November 3. I like to keep it here in case I need to refer to it while trying to figure out how to improve for my next race.
Mile 1: 8:36
Mile 2: 8:23
Mile 3: 8:27
Mile 4: 8:34
Mile 5: 8:32
Mile 6: 8:35
Mile 7: 8:35
Mile 8: 8:20
Mile 9: 8:21
Mile 10: 8:35
Mile 11: 8:34
Mile 12: 8:19
Mile 13: 8:13
one tenth - 38.55 seconds
This should total one hour, fifty minutes and fifty seconds.


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