I felt like a traitor

I went to my very first postseason game ever yesterday, and it wasn’t even for the Phillies.

Granted, that would have been hard to do, considering they were effectively eliminated months ago. (Though, officially, it’s only been a couple weeks.)

But I digress.

Yesterday I went to the Nats-Cardinals game – Game 3 of the NLDS, and the first postseason home game for the Nationals – and I cheered for the Nats.

It didn’t feel right.

It didn’t feel natural.

It didn’t feel as intense.

But it did feel like the lesser of two evils.

If my Phillies weren’t in the same division as the Nats, I wouldn’t have thought twice about rooting for the home team. But they are, so I did.

The Cardinals, however, killed our posteason last year, and I can hold a grudge with the best of them.

Even so, my Nats cheers just weren’t heartfelt, and I tried to explain it to Husband.

“I feel dirty. I don’t like cheering for a division rival.“

Husband understood. He didn’t try to convince me otherwise, and he nodded (without explicitly agreeing) when I rationalized.

“I can’t root for the Cardinals; they beat us last year. And it’s not like the Nats beat out the Phillies for the division. We were never really in the running.“

In the end, though, my reasoning – sound or not – didn’t matter. The Nats lost to the Cards, and I realized the only slight silver lining of not having your own team in the postseason: I wasn’t sad about the loss.

Last year, when the Phillies were in the NLDS, my emotions were tied up in each and every game. And I cried when we lost the series.

This year, I won’t cry either way. I’ll cheer for a good game, and get goosebumps when I see all of the “Legends are born in October” commercials. And I won’t be emotionally drained by the end of the month.

But truth be told, I’d always rather be in the running and risk the heartbreak, than not be in the game at all.

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Just a small weekend request

My dearest Phillies,

I have but one request for you this weekend, and it is simple: please do not get swept by the Nationals.

I understand that they’re looking pretty good so far. I can admit that Harper is fun to watch. And you’ll forgive me if I still have a soft spot for Jayson Werth and his beard.

I’ll use any excuse to put this photo in a post. Even if the facial hair isn’t current.

BUT you have to win this weekend – at least one game.

They’re trying to psych you out with this “Take Back the Park” campaign, but I think we all know that the fan ratio will still be in Philly’s favor.

And don’t you want to win for your traveling and transplant fans?

Now, I’ll be honest. It probably wouldn’t be my choice to have Kendrick facing off against Strasburg, but maybe you’ll surprise me. Maybe you’ll score the way you did against the Braves. Stranger things have happened. (See: Nationals in first place in the NL East.)

I also want to take a moment to apologize. I won’t be able to be at the games this weekend, because I’ll be back in the hometown (running Broad Street!) where you know that everyone will be rooting for you.

I will be cheering my little heart out, possibly with obscenities, depending on how everything unfolds.

So please, guys, please make me proud. I really only want to use obscenities in a happy way.

Love,

Elizabeth

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Smells like team spirit

Last year in the weeks preceding March Madness, I decided that I wanted to care more about my bracket. In order to do that, I decided that I should have a college basketball team to root for and care about and follow (before the bracket teams were determined).

But who?

Hopkins had a fantastic team…but it was Division III. Not eligible.

Because I’m in DC, there were suggestions that I pull for Georgetown. But…I go to GW (even if I don’t follow GW sports).

I eventually settled on a hometown team. I chose a school who I’d grown up hearing about. I also have several friends who have gone there, at least one of whom was closely affiliated with the basketball program.

So I told BNF. “I think I’m going to go with Villanova as my team.” I explained my reasoning; it wasn’t because they’d been good that year, I just wanted someone to care about.

“You can’t.”

“I can’t what?“

“You can’t just pick a team. That’s not how it works.“

“But I just did.“

“No. You either root for the team where you went to school –“

“But you didn’t go to UCLA! You’re not following your own rules!“

“OR you root for the team that you grew up cheering for.“

“Well, I grew up hearing about Villanova. Why doesn’t that count?“

“Because it doesn’t.“

“So you’re telling me that if I don’t pick a team as a child, and I don’t go to a Division I school, then I never get to have a college basketball team?“

“Yep. Pretty much.”

So I caved. I lost my desire to care about the tournament and chose my bracket at random.

And this year? Well, I did the same thing (mostly out of laziness).

But I’m curious – is BNF’s logic sound?

Are there some sort of college-basketball-cheering rules that I just never knew about before? And what about all those kids (like me) who didn’t grow up cheering, and didn’t go to a UNC or Georgetown or Maryland etc?

Personally, I think his logic is flawed. But what do I know?

Besides, it’s lacrosse season anyway.

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On a scale of 1 to 10, you’re a 26.2*

Leading up to Sunday, I told myself that Philly should be a fun marathon. No pressure. I’d already PR’ed twice, and I really just wanted to enjoy the run. That was my intention.

Photo Credit: Mama

But then, around miles 8 through 10, I realized that I was keeping a fairly steady average pace of just under 10:00. And I started wondering if I could keep that up for the entire race.

Photo Credit: Mama

The short answer is no. I couldn’t. I kept it up until about miles 20 to 21, and then I hit the wall. The weather was great; the course was beautiful (albeit, hilly); the spectators were loud; and the signs were creative. But my body knew that it was almost done for the year and it decided that it wanted to be done NOW.

So I pushed. I talked to myself. I sang out loud a little bit. I promised my body that we’d be done in just a few more songs.

Around mile 24, I wanted to cry, because every inch of my body was in pain, but I couldn’t. There was simply no moisture left.

Around mile 25, I turned off my music and let myself be propelled by the cheering.

And as I crossed the finish line, I acknowledged that the pushing was worth it, as I saw my third PR in three attempts.

Official time: 4:26:34

Once I’d finished my bottle of water, I did cry. But they were very happy, very exhausted, very proud, and very relieved (that I don’t have to do this again for a long time) tears.

Philly’s tag line was “Best:Time of Your Life.” And it was.

Literally.

Photo Credit: Harry

*Before the race started, BNF saw a guy with a sign that said, “On a scale of 1 to 10, you’re a 13.1.” As the sign guy saw him appreciate it and saw BNF’s marathon bib, he told him, “You’re a 26.2!”

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This is it

• Tonight: we leave for Philly.

• Tomorrow: we pick up our running packets at the expo.

• Sunday: I run my third marathon in six weeks and officially qualify for Marathon Maniac status.

I have to admit, my body has surprised me these past couple months. After Chicago, I found myself thinking, how in the hell am I going to do this again in three weeks? But my body rallied. It recovered quicker than I remembered from past marathons, and performed consistently better.

Maybe because I didn’t coddle it quite so much.

I’ve now seen a new city; gotten two new PRs; become a CamelBak convert; and realized that body glide is worth every penny (if I remember to use it).

I am ultimately glad that I pushed my body this year, and that I know what it’s capable of. I’m glad that I did it now, and that there’s no reason for me to do it ever again. (The maniac part, not the the marathon.)

And I’m glad that we’re ending the maniac run in Philly. At home. With friends and family and Wawa to celebrate.

Who says mimosas don’t go well with hoagies?

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Being greedy

My dearest Phillies,

You know I love you, right? And you should know how proud I am of you for a) clinching the National League East, b) clinching the National League record, and c) currently having the best record in all of baseball. These are not small feats, and I understand that. But you’ve set the bar high for me these past few years, and now I need you to live up to it.

There is no question that 98 wins is an accomplishment, but think how awesome 100 would be! And even better than that? 102. I know you can eclipse the current franchise record. I know you can.

Honestly, I thought you’d at least be at 100 by now. No one counted on you getting swept by the Nationals. And I’m not happy about that, but maybe you just needed to get it out of your system. I’d rather it happen now than later.

There are six games left for you to show the Mets and the Braves why you’re going to the postseason and they’re not. (Well, at least one isn’t. But it’ll be two if St. Louis has anything to say about it.)

The point is this: please win. Please play like the team that I know you are. Play like the team that clinched its postseason spot before anyone else and has the best pitching rotation in the game. Play like the best team in the league.

I promise that I’ll love you no matter what.

You should know, though, that not living up to your full potential could earn you a spot on my shit list. Kendrick, you know what that’s like.

But I will still love you.

Your biggest fan,

Elizabeth

P.S. The next time you pop champagne in the clubhouse, can I please come? I’m really good at celebrations.

Just think about it.

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Who knew retirement parties were such ragers?

When my brother and I were younger, maybe 6 and 8, we tattooed each other with permanent marker while waiting for Dad to pick us up from one of Mom’s meetings.

(The meeting was clearly not in the same room as the tattoo parlor.)

By the time he showed up, we had polka dots, smiley faces, and a variety of odd designs all over our legs and arms. And, while we thought it was hilarious, Dad was not so thrilled – mostly because he thought Mama was going to be upset. So he whisked us over to a friend’s house and proceeded to scrub us until our skin was red. And even then I think there was still a slight echo of polka dots at school the next morning.

It’s only fitting, then, that more than 15 years later we busted out the Sharpie tattoos again – this time at Daddy’s retirement party.

Daddy with all his kids - before everyone else showed up

Back in March, Daddy turned 70 and decided that work was getting in the way of his playtime. So on March 31st he completed his last day of work, and on April 1st he celebrated his first day of retirement. And this past Saturday we all celebrated with him.

In addition to family, there were old work friends, church friends, neighbors, and teammates from all of the softball leagues he’s been in over the years. As the night went on, the scotch was flowing, and the boyfriend decided it would be a good idea to show off his tattooing skills. And everyone else agreed.

Thus began round two of Sharpie tattoos.

From left to right: me with "Popeye"; Mama with Pink Panther; Mama with hers and Daddys initials; BigSis2 with Woody Woodpecker - all courtesy of the boyfriend

And that photo doesn’t even include the neck tattoo or the tramp stamp.

Overall, the party was a huge success. Daddy got a chance to hang out with all of his favorite people, and everybody who stopped by had a blast. I may have initially expected a retirement party to be calm and low key, but I know better now. Especially when my family and Johnny Walker are involved.

Now that it’s over, Daddy can focus on softball (at least one member of our family will hit a home run this year!) and his other retirement project: cleaning out the house via craigslist and eBay.

If I know my father, and I think I do, he’s even more ruthless than Cla, so I’d better get any childhood memories out of the house ASAP.

But I can’t do it all in one swell foop, so just know that I’ve got my eye on you, Daddy.

And please try not to throw out any more home videos.

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At least it wasn’t raining?

That’s really the most I can say for last night’s Nats vs. Phillies game. That and the fact that the seats Cashew had won were pretty sweet, so I had an excellent view of the loss.

To be honest, I never assume that we’re going to win against the Nats. Especially not with Blanton pitching. (Seriously, why did Charlie keep him in so long?) But I had hoped that we would at least show up to the game.

The final score may have been 7-4, but really, it was not that close.

You know who did do an awesome job, though? Jayson Werth. How fitting.

 

I know it's hard to tell, but that's Werth at bat. The iPhone zoom leaves a lot to be desired.

Jayson Werth, who I still love, and his delightful scruff helped stomp all over my Phillies. In the early innings, before his solo home run, Philly fans were booing him, in typical Philly fashion. (I can say that. I’m from there.) I, however, to the amusement of the people seated in front of me, yelled over the booing, “I still love you, Jayson!” Because I do.

I don’t want to say that that’s what gave him the kick to have such a great game, but I don’t know that it’s not.

The thing is, I want him to do well. I like cheering for him. But there are 144 games where he’s not playing the Phillies and I don’t understand why he can’t limit his stellar performances to those.

Am I really being too high maintenance here?

Regardless, there are two games left in this series, and I’ll be at the Thursday one, watching Cliff Lee work his magic.

In the meantime, I’ll be praying that the Nats exhausted all their bat power last night. It’s one thing to lose a game. It’s quite another to lose the series.

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It might sound crazy, but it’s no joke

You all know how I feel about marathons. (I know, I know – 2 running posts in a week?! Bear with me.)

Basically, I’m hooked. And since I’ve started running them I’ve noted a few special ones that I want to check off my list – Boston, Chicago, Philly, to name a few. But I always figured that after last year, I’d cut back to just one marathon a year instead of two. That would be the sane thing to do, right?

Right. Until MJ suggested to me that we could turn 2011 into the Year of Marathon Maniacs.

I used to think that people who even considered this were crazy. Then I read some of the “how do you know if you’re a Maniac” questions:

• Do your thoughts switch to the next scheduled race immediately after finishing a marathon?

• Are you signed up for more than one race right now?

• Do you know specifics about many of the marathons? Dates, courses, years run, etc.?

• Do you know the story of how the marathon got started? Also why the course is 26.2 miles?

• Are your closets and dressers filled with marathon t-shirts? (I’m working on it, Cla!)

Guilty as charged.

The highest level of Maniac (titanium) has the following requirements:

• 52 Marathons or more within 365 days. OR

• 30 Marathons in 30 US states, Countries, or Canadian Provinces (any combination) within 365 days. OR

• 20 Countries within 365 days.

We all know that’s just crazy, but take a look at the requirements for a bronze-level Maniac:

• 2 Marathons within a 16 day time frame.OR

• 3 Marathons within a 90 day time frame.

So MJ and I have signed up for the Chicago Marathon (October 9th), Marine Corps Marathon (October 30th), and just today the Philadelphia Marathon (November 20th). Count ‘em out – that’s 3 within 90 days.

I told another marathoner friend about this Maniac goal and he wrote me back saying, “I went to the web site for maniac marathoner or what ever it was called. 3 in 90 seems “reasonable” those upper levels seem beyond. What does the membership give you other than serious bragging rights? Just curious.“

It’s a good question. But really? It’s just the bragging rights. And a t-shirt.

But mostly the bragging rights.

Come July I’ll be starting my training for all three, and probably cursing myself and the DC heat. But I know that on November 20th, when I finish Philly and I have all three of those beautiful medals and know that I’ve pushed my body to the max, it will all be worth it.

And who knows, maybe I’ll even get a new PR in there somewhere. I now have three chances to break 4:56:29!

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Finally!

I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but today is a very important day.

Today is the beginning of baseball season.

Now, I know that spring training has been going on for about a month now, and that’s been great. It would have been even greater if I’d managed to make it down to Clearwater to stalk see my players. But, that said, the regular season is just different.

Today starts the beginning of the 162 games that will determine whether your team is still playing through October, or whether they’re simply watching the games on TV.

It is not in my nature to be optimistic about my Phillies. That’s not to say that I don’t cheer for them, and cheer hard, because I do. You know this. (I’m also a big fan of tough love.) But I’m always just *cautiously* optimistic. Because it hurts so bad when you get your hopes up and fucking Cody Ross and Juan Uribe and some jerk they call Panda completely shatter your dreams.

But I digress.

This year it’s hard to not be a little optimistic – even with right-field feeling a little empty. Our pitching line-up is sick. There’s a reason that Phillies fans have been posting this photo all over the place:

(Sorry Blanton.)

Even the experts are on our side (for the most part). Of the ESPN season predictions by 45 analysts:

• 42 put the Phillies in the post-season.
• 27  have the Phillies becoming the National League Champions
• 7 have picked the Phillies to win the World Series.

Now before you go telling me how that doesn’t mean anything, and it’s hard to predict how a season’s going to go, etc – save your breath. I know. But I also like knowing that there are people out there – experts – who have faith in my team’s ability. Because even when it hurts, I do, too.

I’ll be cheering the Phillies on when they visit DC in a couple weeks and my only wish is that they’d get here sooner.

Well, not my only wish. But some things are better left to the imagination.

 

I'll use any excuse to put this photo in a blog post.

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