Nike-plus Log: 250 Klicks and Still Kickin'

I hadn't connected my Nike-plus to my laptop in a long while, but something compelled me to hook up today. When I did, I was elated to learn that I'd logged 250 kilometers, according to my sensor.

It made me wonder why I didn't start using it sooner.

But first, a little background info is in order. See, my husband, supportive guy that he is, purchased the Nike-plus iPod sensor for me many, many months prior, but he didn't ask me if I wanted it. He just bought it, because another runner had told him was cool, plus it was on sale. Of course, snob that I am, my heart was set on a much more elegant Suunto t3c (about $189.95) or Garmin Forerunner 405 (MRSP $299.99), so when he presented me with his gift, I muttered a half-hearted "Thanks," and tossed it aside.

It sat untouched for months in a Dick's Sporting Goods bag on a shelf in my closet.

Meanwhile, my lust-fest with the Garmin and Suunto continued. The pros at Playmakers — my favorite local sporting-goods store — unequivocally vouched for the items I coveted, and these guys have some serious credibility in my book, for they are uber experienced and committed runners.

"They're also salespeople," my husband reminded me.

"Sure, I know," I countered, "but they've never led me astray."

Then one of them asked, "What do you hope to get out of a watch? Do you need to monitor your heart rate, for example?"

"Not really," I said, almost laughing.

"And are you going to be doing such great distances that you'll need to record, say, 26 one-mile splits or more per day?"

"Not likely," I responded, wishing he'd just get to his point.

"Tell you what," he said. "I'd recommend that you think about what you feel your needs are, because these watches and GPS units are great, but they do represent a fairly steep investment for something you may be able to get more affordably. Essentially, you want to be happy with your final purchase, right?"

So I went home, and started thinking with my brain instead of my heart.

All I really needed was something that would help me keep track of distances that I wasn't able to measure by car, as well as speeds, time splits, and a gob of individual runs. Obviously, my months-long infatuation with the two watches I'd been ogling wasn't serious enough for me to make the purchase myself.

I'll sheepishly admit to a temporary lapse in judgment when I considered adding the watches to my birthday or Mother's Day wish lists, but the very thought of it made me feel opportunistic and greedy. "What's wrong with a Timex?" I could hear my husband grumble. And I'd have been hard-pressed to argue his point. Besides, I didn't want a gift that made me feel like I needed to take a shower every time I wore it, even though that would have been the case either way.

And didn't I already have this Nike thingie sitting around somewhere in my closet?

I rooted around a bit and found it crammed behind an old book in a now-crumpled Dick's Sporting Goods bag. I fished it out of its box and gave it a quick once-over, then chucked it into my purse and headed out to see my old friends at Playmakers.

"These are pretty cool devices," one of them said. "I actually have one at home, and it's pretty amazing (now he tells me). Let me show you how it works!"

He bagged my sensor to my left Brooks shoe, making sure it didn't have a lot of wiggle room, then he suggested that I go out to a high school track, and calibrate my run to a single lap around the inner-most track, which would equate to 400 meters. That was it! Soon after, I was off and running ... and tracking some of the best feedback I could ever want regarding my running performance: distances, calories, time splits, personal records.

The best part is the Nikeplus.com Web site, where all my runs are recorded, including each mile of any given run, and milestones are celebrated. I can compare my runs against that of someone in Turkey, encourage a beginning runner to "just do it" in Japan, ask an elite runner in Australia for tips on working through a slump, trash talk my sister in Denver, Colo. When I achieve a new distance best, Lance Armstrong congratulates me. When I best my previous top speed, Paula Radcliffe tells me she's proud.

Not bad for the $20 my husband invested to snag the sensor on sale ... and the hundreds of dollars I saved!

Song For Jenny

Jenny at Max & Erma's for dinner with the family, Summer 2006. Photo credit: Laurie Robison.


This is my song for my daughter, Jenny, who hasn't spoken to me for a couple of months. We had a blowout after she asked me to bring her to Michigan to have her wisdom teeth pulled. I discovered that she'd been calling her dad and her aunt to complain that I didn't take her in for the surgery, but had my 21-year-old daughter take her instead. I was not approved to take time off then, as it was a last-minute request. In fact, I was registered for a half-marathon in Chicago that weekend, and was granted time off then. I considered changing my plans to accommodate Jenny's surgery, but her surgeon said she'd need me more then than during surgery, if someone else could bring her in. Hännah graciously volunteered.

She told her aunt that I wasn't taking care of her or feeding her, yet, she refused to eat the soup I'd made ("I can't get it in my mouth," she complained after making no attempt to try), and didn't follow her oral surgeon's post-op care instructions (i.e., don't smoke for 72 hours, rest, keep yourself hydrated, eat to speed healing, take the prescribed meds for pain).

Three days after her surgery, when I was finally able to take time off, she decided, despite my strong suggestion against it, to spend the night at her sister's, who would be entertaining a few friends. It was then that I asked if she'd called her dad to meet us halfway for the return trip, which she agreed to do prior to our departure from Pennsylvania. The reminder set her off, and she said, "Why can't you call him if you want him to meet you?"

"Because I'd asked you to," I said angrily. "I don't talk to him anymore than I have to, because we always end up fighting, and I don't have the energy to constantly fight just to fight. And because you promised you would, and because this is what you wanted. Why can't you, just once, do what I ask of you?"

Maybe it wasn't fair that 16 years of pent-up frustrations came to surface during this particular moment — a moment that she'd apparently claimed for her own personal rebellion — but I'd had it: had it with being the one who ensured everyone's health care; with being blamed, ALWAYS, by her and by his side of the family for everything that went wrong in their lives; with being called to rescue her from one crisis or another because life became suddenly intolerable; with having to drive 340 miles to New Castle, Penn., and back again, every single month for 12 years so she could cower behind her father's fiancee and refuse to tell me her social calendar was a little to busy to see her mother just then; I'd just had it with being treated like shit, because it had all become way too easy for her to blurt, "You don't love me!" and get away with it.

So, I gave her an ultimatum: Make the call like she'd promised, or stay here.

Days later, when finally she did call, he said he had to work.

"TAKE ME HOME," she screamed ... at me.

"As soon as he can meet me half way, I will," I said.

I also told her that she could call her dad and her aunt to tattle, but she did not have my permission to disrespect me by saying things about me to others rather than to me. She whispered, "You suck for a mother," and she stormed out of my bedroom. "So, now I suck?" I asked nobody in particular, and she retorted, "You've always sucked!"

Now, I don't understand all the rules of parental love, but I do the best I can, and I do it from my heart. I am not always wrong, and more often than not, I know the choices I've made for my children as a parent are sound. My love for Jenny is unconditional. If that's not good enough, then I don't know what to say, except that I've got nothing else but love for her. I'll meet her halfway, but I'm not a doormat.

This is my song for Jenny. I'm still working on it. And for what it's worth, I do love her ... for forever.


'Song For Jenny'

You make your choices based on what you know
Oh, this is your life, yeah, this is your life
Haven't always been there, but I've loved you all along
And it cuts like a knife; you'd believe all the lies you've been told

I left him
I cannot deny it
Lost it all
Was I such a fool?
Tried to hold on
To the ones that I love
Knowing you would believe in me

I made my own choices based on what I knew
Oh, it was my life, yeah, it was my life
All that I've done, well I've done it for you
Still you despise me, I don't know how to break through

You left me
You cannot deny it
Walked away
Is this what you want?
Try to hold on
To one who loves you
The one who you know always will

One day you'll look back
And consider your choices
But I'll never let go, oh please don't let go
Believe me, I'm waiting for you to come home

I'll be waiting for you to come home.

— Say Hello to Your Mother

From Half to Full?

Nah, I'm not talking about a glass half empty. I'm talking about going from a half to a full marathon. In truth, I'm not even doing a whole lot of talking about it. I'm more just thinking; mulling it over. Because talking about it is almost like committing to it, you know?

When you tell someone, "Hey, I've been thinking about running a marathon," the next thing you know, you're expected to do it, and when you see them again, they'll be like, "How'd you do in that marathon?" And if you didn't actually run 26.2 miles, you'd be like, "Well, I decided I'd only do a half instead."

Only?

Most people won't walk a mile, let alone run one. And I'm not about to start making myself feel inadequate about completing a 13-miler. A half marathon an achievement — a major accomplishment!

OK, so maybe I'm over-thinking this whole half-to-full thing. But, like I said, I am thinking about it.

Next time I see you, I'll let you know how I did.