After ten weeks of intense training with training buddy Jeremy Carr, I'm proud to say we've both completed the Big Sur Marathon. I'm now lying awake in bed at 5:30AM writing this because my joints are in excruciating pain, but I'm still very happy that we did it.
A few weeks before the marathon, I came down with an awful cold that impacted my training. I was ready to throw in the towel, and just support Jeremy through the race. I went back and forth on the decision for days, even up to the day before the marathon. Then finally, I realized it was inevitable, I couldn't let my training partner down, and I couldn't NOT do this for Meimei.
We woke up at 3am on the day of the race, drove the buses that would take us to the starting line after driving the full length of the Highway 1 course in the pitch black darkness of the early morning. At the starting line we waited in the cold for two hours, huddled together to stay warm, for our 6:45am start. We looked so cold that some girl came up and gave us two extra pairs of gloves.
Luckily I had those gloves because just as we were running to the start, minutes before the race, some woman TRIPPED me and I fell flat on my face, ripping my gloves and bruising my knees.
Moments later, we were off, grouped together with the 3:40 pacer. We stuck with him until Hurricane Point, 13 miles into the race. Following hurricane point, we were behind by only minutes, managing our pace so as to make it through the hardest parts of the race - rolling hills and canted roads between miles 19 and 23.
We broke it down by mile. At this mile we'll eat a Gu Pack, at this mile we'll walk for 10 seconds, etc. In what seemed like magic, mile 15 turned to mile 19, and gradually through the twenties. We picked up pace for the finish, and crossed the line together.
3 hours and forty five minutes.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Saturday, January 3, 2009
New Years Resolutions
Why make limiting resolutions when you can resolve to do more of the things you love to pursue? For me, at least, it's easier to do more than to do less.
A couple posts ago, I wrote about my Chinese sister's funeral. Meimei was a person with an amazingly kind soul and thirst for adventure. She pushed me to do the things I loved to do the most - run, travel, cook, meet new people, learn Chinese, spend time with my family and her own. She was always disappointed by the fact that I had never run a marathon, and, honestly, so was I.
Meimei and Me in Beijing one year ago:
Meimei died of leukemia, an illness that I am sure was a result of China's polluted environment. While I'm glad I didn't train for a marathon in China - where would my lungs be? I know that I can help her live on by training for one now, and hopefully kicking some serious marathon butt in San Diego in early June.
Wish me luck. Here are some photos from one of my first early morning training runs.
From Potrero Hill looking at Twin Peaks just post-sunrise:
Potrero Hill from Glen Park:
The city:
The sunrise from Potrero Hill:
A couple posts ago, I wrote about my Chinese sister's funeral. Meimei was a person with an amazingly kind soul and thirst for adventure. She pushed me to do the things I loved to do the most - run, travel, cook, meet new people, learn Chinese, spend time with my family and her own. She was always disappointed by the fact that I had never run a marathon, and, honestly, so was I.
Meimei and Me in Beijing one year ago:
Meimei died of leukemia, an illness that I am sure was a result of China's polluted environment. While I'm glad I didn't train for a marathon in China - where would my lungs be? I know that I can help her live on by training for one now, and hopefully kicking some serious marathon butt in San Diego in early June.
Wish me luck. Here are some photos from one of my first early morning training runs.
From Potrero Hill looking at Twin Peaks just post-sunrise:
Potrero Hill from Glen Park:
The city:
The sunrise from Potrero Hill:
Friday, January 2, 2009
Peanut Butter Conundrum
I went to the grocery store with one objective in mind: to buy a jar of peanut butter. Little did I know that buying peanut butter in this country is an art of the highly mature American consumer. Or so I'd like to think.
HALF the aisle was a monstrous display of peanut butter - crunchy, smooth, reduced fat, salted, unsalted, maple syrup infused, premixed with jelly, organic, not organic, skippy, Jif, Peter Pan, Martha's, pre-swirled with chocolate, and even ... crush it yourself!
I stared at the plethora of peanut butter, examined a few jars of the pre-swirled stuff (amazing!!), paced up and down the pb&j aisle a few more times, then, naturally, pulled out my camera, took a picture, and promptly fled the grocery store.
Mission peanut butter failed.
HALF the aisle was a monstrous display of peanut butter - crunchy, smooth, reduced fat, salted, unsalted, maple syrup infused, premixed with jelly, organic, not organic, skippy, Jif, Peter Pan, Martha's, pre-swirled with chocolate, and even ... crush it yourself!
I stared at the plethora of peanut butter, examined a few jars of the pre-swirled stuff (amazing!!), paced up and down the pb&j aisle a few more times, then, naturally, pulled out my camera, took a picture, and promptly fled the grocery store.
Mission peanut butter failed.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Noah's Poem
Just before I left China, a dear friend of mine sent me a poem he had written for me months back. I think it’s really special and wonderful, so I thought I’d put it up. Also, I have a reason for this being up now, all to be further expounded in my next post.
Title: I spell my name funny and different she said
Another cancelled meeting pas'd the sail,
All the long winter she had endured grounded.
Truth and stars mix'd, to no avail,
And then the thunderclap resounded, not unfounded,
On this crowded third electric rail.
Thoughts are lost and found, both up and down,
Circumstances ail, as their times all come rebounded, for the world to see.
Yet we will not break away from memory, time spent sitting in the sun,
Reading empty pages, trading all those deeds undone.
And the days become as rain ephemeral and cold,
Endless dripping from the heavens, wishing neither hot nor bold.
Kerin dreams of music and song and wishes for a world where nothing is wrong.
And from this dream of mirrors and smoke,
Eyes fluttering, full of starlight, she slowly awoke.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Clean Slate in SF
The past three weeks were a much-needed rest stop in Virginia. My whole family lives there, and it's where I grew up. I never believed I would stay there for the rest of my life, but in being away from it, I always feel Virginia's gravity ... the smell of burning leaves in the winter and daffodils in the spring, muddy riverside walks, the beautiful seasons, the red earth, the neat, brick homes ...
But here I am in San Francisco with a whole new start. I moved into a new house with a bunch of awesome people who I've never met, I bought a car from a young couple just on their way out of SF to London, and I start my new job on Monday where my job description is still under review. Many of my close friends are still here, but the people I miss the most have moved away ... New York, Palo Alto, Shanghai, Virginia, Los Angeles.
There is something both excitingly liberating and painfully sad about a truly clean slate. Wish me luck, this is going to be another adventure.
But here I am in San Francisco with a whole new start. I moved into a new house with a bunch of awesome people who I've never met, I bought a car from a young couple just on their way out of SF to London, and I start my new job on Monday where my job description is still under review. Many of my close friends are still here, but the people I miss the most have moved away ... New York, Palo Alto, Shanghai, Virginia, Los Angeles.
There is something both excitingly liberating and painfully sad about a truly clean slate. Wish me luck, this is going to be another adventure.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
A Landmark of the Old South
The Yankees may have won the Civil War 150 years ago, but here in Richmond, Virginia, it's still being contested. Richmond was one of the last cities to desegregate, and the quiet grumbles of what that did to the city can still be heard. The Old South, meanwhile, is being kept alive here by a few key institutions, families, celebrations and monuments. A couple of days ago, my parents and I were invited to lunch at one of these key institutions by one of these key families: The Country Club of Virginia.
For the first time during Thanksgiving week, we got all dressed up - my father in a beautiful dark grey suit, my mother in a pair of knee-high black boots under a swingy black skirt with a gorgeous, deep-colored, tapestry jacket, and me in a pair of unconventionally cool and large-buckled high heels with a black knee-length pencil skirt, a tailored sweatshirt material jacket, accented with a multicolored scarf I'd bought in Shanghai. We looked awesome. We drove our shiny black Prius over to "The Club" while I snapped pictures of the grand, brick entryway and the gargantuan golf course with members' colonial homes overlooking it from the edges (presumably for this blog).
Just before getting out of the car, I made a joke about the Jews descending upon the old southern establishment. My father admonished me for it. No apologies from me, this place didn't allow Jews, blacks or other unconventional minorities into their membership until the 1990's. Even then, the one or two Jewish families that were allowed to join were assimilated, and/or converted whose roots had been in Richmond since the 1800's. And here we were, three real, 2nd/3rd generation Jewish people, waiting all dressed up to have lunch with a few of the proud members of this historic establishment.
They were waiting for us in the lobby. Each woman in her version of her Christmas-best red sweater, puffed and curled thinning blonde hair, neatly tied matching red silk scarves, and old Richmond accents to the nines. The men looked pretty normal - in fact, my dad was dressed quite appropriately given their fashion choices. For me and my mom, though, I couldn't decide if I felt vampy and frizzy around these people in our dark outfits with our dark, thick, overly-lush hair, or regal and proud to have been invited and arrived more stylish in the "cosmopolitan sense" than they. We were immediately introduced to the other guests of honor, a couple that had just returned from a three month posting in Shanghai.
"Are you John Doe who lived on the corner of Oak Lane and Kenmore? My brother used to go to your house all the time, and I used to play with your sister when I was a kid! Before my mother died, she used to play bridge with your mother ... do you remember my mother, her name was ..." My mother's excitement and monologue came to a decelerating end as she noticed John was being completely nonresponsive and attempting to change his body position so as not to face my mom. The hosts unhesitatingly swept us off to the main dining room.
We were seated at a round table amongst a high class Shoney's-like decor. I bet you didn't think there was ever such a thing. It looked like the place hadn't been changed since the 1970's, and neither had the menu. My vegetarian parents opted for the salad bar. I got a Waldorf Salad. I was placed between the recently returned couple - John Doe and his wife Jane. The host sat across from us and began the conversation.
"Now Kerin, I know you lived in China for quite some time, as did the Doe's. Now, tell me, did you live amongst the Chinese while you were there?"
"Excuse me?"
"Well, did you live AMONGST the CHaaaahhhNESE, if you know what I mean."
I did my best at answering appropriately what seemed to be the most ridiculous question ever. I wanted to ask her if she lived amongst Americans, but stopped myself with a mouthful of apples and walnuts. Subsequently, the couple took over. I first spent a bit of time talking to Jane - who was wonderful - originally from "The North" she moved to "The South" when she married her husband (once Jewish but no longer involved in it, so please don't mention to him, ok?), and jumped at the opportunity to live in Shanghai and New York when her husband's law firm offered him postings in both places.
John, however, began his conversation with me by telling me the networks he belonged to in Shanghai - the Harvard Law School alumni club, the Wharton alumni club, etc etc. He then recounted his academic accolades to me, reminding me that both those Ivy League schools were the MOST well-known schools in China and he was treated like a king there for it. I mentioned that I was the head of the Stanford alumni association while I was there, he shrugged it off saying that the Chinese unfortunately didn't know what Stanford was. Ummm.... another bite of apple and walnuts stopped me. He then started to teach me Chinese, show off his newly acquired language skills, tell me all about business ethics and what the Chinese are like. Oy Vay.
Lunch, finally, ended 2.5 hours later. It was actually pretty fun. I promised an email of places to go and people to meet for the couple when they return to Shanghai for a second stint this spring.
As my parents and I jumped into the car my mother made an interesting comment ... "That Old Richmond family, do you think it was any coincidence that she invited two "Jewish" families who had China connections?" Here in the Old South, once you've got a label, you've always got that label... Harvard or Wharton or Stanford or whatever it is, we can either choose to leave this Old Money society for a place where we'll be accepted, or fight for acceptance for the rest of our lives. For me and my family, we've left it either physically or emotionally. I think we are very lucky.
For the first time during Thanksgiving week, we got all dressed up - my father in a beautiful dark grey suit, my mother in a pair of knee-high black boots under a swingy black skirt with a gorgeous, deep-colored, tapestry jacket, and me in a pair of unconventionally cool and large-buckled high heels with a black knee-length pencil skirt, a tailored sweatshirt material jacket, accented with a multicolored scarf I'd bought in Shanghai. We looked awesome. We drove our shiny black Prius over to "The Club" while I snapped pictures of the grand, brick entryway and the gargantuan golf course with members' colonial homes overlooking it from the edges (presumably for this blog).
Just before getting out of the car, I made a joke about the Jews descending upon the old southern establishment. My father admonished me for it. No apologies from me, this place didn't allow Jews, blacks or other unconventional minorities into their membership until the 1990's. Even then, the one or two Jewish families that were allowed to join were assimilated, and/or converted whose roots had been in Richmond since the 1800's. And here we were, three real, 2nd/3rd generation Jewish people, waiting all dressed up to have lunch with a few of the proud members of this historic establishment.
They were waiting for us in the lobby. Each woman in her version of her Christmas-best red sweater, puffed and curled thinning blonde hair, neatly tied matching red silk scarves, and old Richmond accents to the nines. The men looked pretty normal - in fact, my dad was dressed quite appropriately given their fashion choices. For me and my mom, though, I couldn't decide if I felt vampy and frizzy around these people in our dark outfits with our dark, thick, overly-lush hair, or regal and proud to have been invited and arrived more stylish in the "cosmopolitan sense" than they. We were immediately introduced to the other guests of honor, a couple that had just returned from a three month posting in Shanghai.
"Are you John Doe who lived on the corner of Oak Lane and Kenmore? My brother used to go to your house all the time, and I used to play with your sister when I was a kid! Before my mother died, she used to play bridge with your mother ... do you remember my mother, her name was ..." My mother's excitement and monologue came to a decelerating end as she noticed John was being completely nonresponsive and attempting to change his body position so as not to face my mom. The hosts unhesitatingly swept us off to the main dining room.
We were seated at a round table amongst a high class Shoney's-like decor. I bet you didn't think there was ever such a thing. It looked like the place hadn't been changed since the 1970's, and neither had the menu. My vegetarian parents opted for the salad bar. I got a Waldorf Salad. I was placed between the recently returned couple - John Doe and his wife Jane. The host sat across from us and began the conversation.
"Now Kerin, I know you lived in China for quite some time, as did the Doe's. Now, tell me, did you live amongst the Chinese while you were there?"
"Excuse me?"
"Well, did you live AMONGST the CHaaaahhhNESE, if you know what I mean."
I did my best at answering appropriately what seemed to be the most ridiculous question ever. I wanted to ask her if she lived amongst Americans, but stopped myself with a mouthful of apples and walnuts. Subsequently, the couple took over. I first spent a bit of time talking to Jane - who was wonderful - originally from "The North" she moved to "The South" when she married her husband (once Jewish but no longer involved in it, so please don't mention to him, ok?), and jumped at the opportunity to live in Shanghai and New York when her husband's law firm offered him postings in both places.
John, however, began his conversation with me by telling me the networks he belonged to in Shanghai - the Harvard Law School alumni club, the Wharton alumni club, etc etc. He then recounted his academic accolades to me, reminding me that both those Ivy League schools were the MOST well-known schools in China and he was treated like a king there for it. I mentioned that I was the head of the Stanford alumni association while I was there, he shrugged it off saying that the Chinese unfortunately didn't know what Stanford was. Ummm.... another bite of apple and walnuts stopped me. He then started to teach me Chinese, show off his newly acquired language skills, tell me all about business ethics and what the Chinese are like. Oy Vay.
Lunch, finally, ended 2.5 hours later. It was actually pretty fun. I promised an email of places to go and people to meet for the couple when they return to Shanghai for a second stint this spring.
As my parents and I jumped into the car my mother made an interesting comment ... "That Old Richmond family, do you think it was any coincidence that she invited two "Jewish" families who had China connections?" Here in the Old South, once you've got a label, you've always got that label... Harvard or Wharton or Stanford or whatever it is, we can either choose to leave this Old Money society for a place where we'll be accepted, or fight for acceptance for the rest of our lives. For me and my family, we've left it either physically or emotionally. I think we are very lucky.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
American Indian Thanksgiving
My family accidentally happened upon a Thanksgiving concept that I believe is absolutely brilliant. The day before Thanksgiving we had a Thanksgiving dinner for all of our family and friends who are going to be out of town on Thursday. My dad is famous, apparently, for soft, deconstructed tacos that I had never been able to partake in - being in China and all. My sister was excited to try out one of our grandmother's famous traditional Jewish-Hungarian desserts. As of about two years ago my parents are now vegetarian and slow-food, organics-inspired.
The concept: Organic Vegetarian Jewish American Indian Thanksgiving
A buffet of fresh tomato salsa, homemade guacamole, corn-on-the-cob, soft corn-based tacos, white rice, black beans, cabbage salad, and meatless ground beef. Drinks were a selection of Navarro wines ... yuuum. And dessert was that cheese danish mentioned above.
I am awestruck by how truly appropriate this concept is given the ridiculousness with which "traditional" thanksgiving meals have hit the mainstream. I was reminded of this particular ridiculousness as we were standing in line at Whole Foods buying my favorite coffee (Mexican Zaragoza Select) yesterday when a 14 year-old, jolly, slightly-overfed girl in line behind us lamented the mass killing of turkeys on Thanksgiving every year. Her father was buying an enormous turkey and boxed stuffing. His turkey was a whopping $42.00!! He grunted in melancholy response, probably more upset about having spent the fortune on the bird.
So, please don't take me seriously about the fact that my family has chosen the politically correct track for Thanksgiving because anything related to PC and my family is strictly coincidental. Over our tofurkey soft tacos and corn-on-the-cob, we giggled about topics ranging from the sublime to the extraordinarily un-PC all shrouded and hidden in yiddish terms that seem to soften the impact.
Anyway, aside over, I am still proud to say that we avoided the mass marketing efforts of Hallmark and the poultry industry. I mean, who really believes the pilgrims ate like that? And, who decided on that meal? I'm mostly glad we avoided the mad crowds in the supermarkets and apparently quite a bit of moollah. We're in a recession, right? Kidding. We're still having our regular Thanksgiving meal today too. But at least we celebrated it appropriate-style the day before. Time to hit the gym.
The concept: Organic Vegetarian Jewish American Indian Thanksgiving
A buffet of fresh tomato salsa, homemade guacamole, corn-on-the-cob, soft corn-based tacos, white rice, black beans, cabbage salad, and meatless ground beef. Drinks were a selection of Navarro wines ... yuuum. And dessert was that cheese danish mentioned above.
I am awestruck by how truly appropriate this concept is given the ridiculousness with which "traditional" thanksgiving meals have hit the mainstream. I was reminded of this particular ridiculousness as we were standing in line at Whole Foods buying my favorite coffee (Mexican Zaragoza Select) yesterday when a 14 year-old, jolly, slightly-overfed girl in line behind us lamented the mass killing of turkeys on Thanksgiving every year. Her father was buying an enormous turkey and boxed stuffing. His turkey was a whopping $42.00!! He grunted in melancholy response, probably more upset about having spent the fortune on the bird.
So, please don't take me seriously about the fact that my family has chosen the politically correct track for Thanksgiving because anything related to PC and my family is strictly coincidental. Over our tofurkey soft tacos and corn-on-the-cob, we giggled about topics ranging from the sublime to the extraordinarily un-PC all shrouded and hidden in yiddish terms that seem to soften the impact.
Anyway, aside over, I am still proud to say that we avoided the mass marketing efforts of Hallmark and the poultry industry. I mean, who really believes the pilgrims ate like that? And, who decided on that meal? I'm mostly glad we avoided the mad crowds in the supermarkets and apparently quite a bit of moollah. We're in a recession, right? Kidding. We're still having our regular Thanksgiving meal today too. But at least we celebrated it appropriate-style the day before. Time to hit the gym.
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