Phoenix Comicon

I had no interest in anime, Steampunk, Legos, comics, superheros, wearing costumes nor Cosplay. I liked science fiction, Star Trek, Star Wars and zombies. But my daughter was doing an In Character Cosplay Challenge panel and I wanted to watch her with her friends. This was my year to try new things, so I bought a membership.

I hesitated to make the plunge. Phoenix Comicon was not cheap; plus I had to drive downtown, which I hate, and pay for parking, which I despise more. Even less incentive was that the weather this time of year was a million degrees. I didn’t even want to leave the house because it took too much energy.

My daughter has been doing Cosplay and going to these types of conventions for years. I was curious to see what she spends so much time on. The creativity of her costumes that she sewed always impressed me. I had been around when she and her friends discussed characters and I had no idea what she was talking about. It was a foreign language and an unknown world.

Adults dressed as make-believe characters was something that I didn’t understand, but accepted as “normal,” since my daughter did it. To wear costumes and pretend to be someone that they were not, must have been fun for them. I think that this behavior was weird because I hate to draw attention to myself. I would rather slink around in a crowd unnoticed.

Would I be bored to death? Could I find things to do? Would I have enough energy to endure the hordes of people?

The first hint of chaos was when I was driving down the street nervously looking for parking. The website said parking was generally $12, but the price was understated by half. The first garage was $25. Traffic was stopped at the crosswalk between the Convention buildings.  A river of people flowed in the street. The amount of humanity provoked anxiety. Panicked, I parked at the next garage that didn’t display an outrageous price. My head spun.

I walked outside into the sun-blasted air. Mermaids hung around in display outside. I wondered what genius set it up without much shade. The line to get a badge in the South Building was short. The fifteen minute, or more, wait to get into the North Building exhibit hall was not so short.  I joined the sweating masses. I pondered the fate all the unfortunates that wore heavy costumes in ninety degrees.

Inside, was all the vast space and intimacy of an airport. I forgot to get a map, so I had no clue where to go. Moving anywhere was a slow process with all the bodies in the way. The goal was to find a booth of a writer friend, but all I had was the number and a vague idea where it might be.

 I wandered into a hall, but it wasn’t the right one. I went into another. The sounds, lights of countless jewelry, anime art, comics and costume accessories displays assaulted me. Star Wars Stormtroopers, Star Trekkies and Zombies passed by. Halloween had run amuck. Long lines of people were waiting to get photographs or autographs of celebrities. The friend that I was looking for happened to run into me. I was dazed. We made our way to his booth and we chatted for a while. I was relieved to find a friendly face that grounded me in reality.

I went off to look at the Star Wars exhibit nearby. People dressed as characters were waiting around for photographs. There was R2D2. I also looked at an elaborate multi-building Lego city with a train running through it. I wandered through the booths and saw a masked guy with nicely defined abs and a tattooed arm dancing to some horrible Karaoke sung by another. I took a picture of a cool fake zombie soldier, after which my camera promptly died. This convention was actually amusing. Too bad I could no longer record it.

After a long walk and seeing a fraction of what was there, I got out of the giant hall.  The expensive food was tempting, but the lines were long, and Melissa’s panel was in thirty minutes. Luckily, I had brought along snacks or I would have been really hungry. 

I stepped into the crowded room and Melissa said, “Hi.” She looked pretty in a long purple silk dress trimmed with gold leaf with a blue chiffon overlay. The costume had elaborately beaded armbands. Her hair was in long smooth tendrils with a head ornament. Very princessy. I was not sure what character she was.  

Lego Town

Her and friends proceeded to pick people out to play skits. Somehow they knew who the audience was dressed as. One guy had a giant pie thing on his head with a bloodied shirt. He was actually Pyramid Man, but I didn’t know that. My favorite was an evil horned alien as a presidential candidate. “I will eat your children,” she proclaimed. Everyone seemed eager to act.  

When her panel was over, I had only been there for three hours and I was utterly drained. After spending forty dollars to get in and whatever parking was, I felt like I should see something else. The South building had the Haunted House. The strobe lights, corpses, and evil clowns weren’t all that scary. Maybe the Zombie Bootcamp would have been better.

Karaoke Dancer

I could see why people got hotel rooms. I wanted to take a nap. How people could do this for hours on end for three days? Of course I wasn’t passionate about it, so that made a difference.

Back in the heat again, I plodded back to the parking garage. The parking prices had soared in a few hours. Now they were $25-30. I nervously hoped that mine wasn’t that bad.

I felt faint walking inside the parking area. The air was stifling and I couldn’t breath. I wanted out. Luckily, it was only $15 to escape. In ordinary circumstances, this amount would have been outrageous, but now I didn’t care. My lair and a nap awaited.

The world I had entered as an outsider was strange. I didn’t speak their language and I didn’t dress like they did. I don’t know if I will ever develop an affinity for their ways, but the  culture was interesting.

 Not sure what the hell this is

Esprit de She Race Report

I had no expectation of doing well at this race. Recent life events had left me reeling. I had moved two weeks earlier, leaving me feeling disoriented. Where the hell was I and where was I going? My life had been packing, then unpacking. Then I crashed on my bike, which had removed large areas of skin from my leg. The painful wounds had mostly healed, but not entirely. I also had minor surgery scheduled for the next day. I was dazed.

As usual, the thought of swimming 1500 meters in Tempe Town Lake made me nervous. Despite  thirty-two previous immersions in the murky pea soup water, I always dreaded it. The water was warm, which helped hold the thought of drowning at bay. Warm temperatures made me happy.The possibility of dying was more likely in cold water to me, since the misery factor was so much higher. Cold water sapped my energy and will to live. Cold was bad.

They herded us into the water. The start line was fifty yards out. This event was open to women only. The unspoken assumption was that women appreciated the absence of aggressive men swimming over them and crowding the bike course. They would be right. Men don’t always behave themselves and I got in their way, especially in the water. The trade off was it attracted a lot of beginners who didn’t know what they were doing.

Every morning swim in this lake went directly into the sun. I had a vague idea where I was going because I knew to sight off of a high-rise in the distance. Others around me were puzzled as to how to navigate. The water surface shimmered with the guide buoys lost in the glare.

Time dragged and I was not enjoying myself. I swam slow, which made the ordeal longer. I tried to relax and succeeded for the most part. Finally, I turned and could see the line of orange buoys in a line under the bridges. I wondered what the bubbles on the surface were–nothing or something more toxic? People had been reporting a fish die off earlier in the season.

Most people had finished the swim by the time I got out after forty-six minutes. I ran to my lonely bike on the rack.

The bike course was definitely NOT empty and was littered with all the people doing the shorter version of the race. The hordes of riders were in my way. Passing them was an unusual activity for me, being almost as slow on the bike as I was on the swim. The ones who didn’t follow the rules about spacing and not blocking the passing lane, tested my patience.

The roads around Tempe Town Lake either had a flat option with lots of turn arounds or hills. The organizers picked hills, which was more interesting, except they had to be ridden multiple times. They had freeway overpasses, flats and climbs through Papago Park with its sandstone rock formations. I didn’t find it too taxing.

The second bike lap lost the newbies. I almost missed the incentive to go faster to get around them. I briefly thought about stopping at a port-a-potty, but didn’t want to waste the energy or time. This was always an issue at longer races, but miraculously, I had managed to avoid the smelly little huts.

I got back into transition, racked my bike and rushed out to the run. I had not been running much because of a hamstring injury. The back of my leg hurt sharply with each step. I had done a strenuous trail race in February and had paid for it ever since. I hoped not to suck too much.

By now it was fairly hot. Tempe Town Lake was always a heat bowl. It collected the sun and beat a runner senseless with the inferno. It forced me to slow down. The defense to this was pouring ice and water on myself at the aid stations. I wanted to go faster, but couldn’t and just kept moving. At least I wasn’t walking, and felt relatively good.  Usually, the run was the best part, but today it was a matter of survival.

I finally finished, and the mental daze was back, this time from the blood rushing from my brain to my legs. Fatigue had set in, but physical tiredness was better than reality tiredness. Unpacking could wait. A meh race was still better than being with my population of boxes.

Mountain to Fountain 15k Race Report

Great Horned Owl

My day started with a Great Horned Owl hooting from the top of a palm tree in Fountain Hills. Owls were always a thrill to see and hear. These creatures were otherworldly to me with their big eyes and haunting calls at night. Plus, they eat live, bloody prey. I peered into the tree to try to see him, until the husky bird flew away. Hopefully, he was a good omen for the day.

Fountain Hills was one of those planned communities on the edge of suburbia that was a little tattered around the edges. In the center of town was a giant fountain that spewed a large volume of water in the air. It can be seen from miles away. When it was not being a fountain, the structure was unsightly, like rusty remains of a ship wreck sitting in the lake. The charm was lost on me.

The race was point to point from McDowell Mountain Park, so runners had to take buses to the starting line. I was silent during the ride and ignored the conversations, since I had no urge to be social at this early hour. The last time I did this event, I didn’t get to Fountain Hills early enough and the bus took fifty minutes. I didn’t remember why it took so long to ride nine miles. Buses can get swept into a time warp and reappear at their destination much later than should be possible.

This bus got to the park in plenty of time, so that I had an hour to sit around and get really bored. This was a pretty area with lush Sonoran desert with Saguaros and Palo Verde trees. Silver  Brittle Bushes  bloomed  yellow daisies. The sun hadn’t yet warmed the air and I marveled at the stupidity of the runners who had taken  their warm clothes off well before the start.

This race had prize money, so it attracted a lot of elite runners far superior to lowly me. The route was basically downhill, with some nasty climbs. I had no illusions of a fast race and I lined up behind the faster people to stay out their way.

The first mile was an ascent, but I was in a good mood from seeing my owl friend. The next two miles were even better. Flying downhill on the scenic road was effortless and fun and my speed was what was fast for me.

Then the cramps hit, the lovely warning that my bowels were angry and wanted to empty themselves. For all the money the race organizers spend on beer and prize money, they use nothing for porta-potty rental on the route. The 9.5 miles was barren of anywhere to relieve oneself except for trees and bushes. I couldn’t hold it that long. Desert plants were not great cover with their tiny leaves.

Pretty, but not a good place to hide your business.

I briefly considered going off road to a side section with  real rest rooms, but that would waste a lot of time. I studied the configuration of trees and bushes on the side of the road as possibilities. Lots of people were streaming by and the thought of exposing myself to this crowd was not pleasant.

I found a likely spot, and hoped that it wasn’t someone’s private land that I had soiled. I felt better for a while, but I still had problems. I ran hard, then had to slow down repeatedly when the cramps hit. My expectations dived and I tried not to get depressed. No personal record for this race, just the attempt not to be totally terrible. To get to the finish line clean was now my ultimate goal.

The road has a steep, long climb a few miles from the end, but I was too consumed with controlling bodily functions to even notice or be tired. Cramps hit again partly up the hill and forced a rest .

The desert gave way to Fountain Hills suburbia and I could keep going without slowing down. My hip and glut pain from another event flared up, but it was bearable. I had done a tough eight mile off road trail race two weeks ago, under the delusion that my body would not have any lasting pain. That assumption was false. Everything was under control for now.

I reached the finish line in under ninety-two minutes. The time was nothing to get excited about, but at least my underwear was clean. Sometimes, the conditions had to be dealt with as they were and I could only do my best, which may not be much to others. The high had eluded me once again. No prizes, nor P.R.s, but at least I got a free beer.

The owl was just an owl, not an omen.

NEPTUNE

When I first saw him, he looked ordinary–one of many birds that flit around in countless pet shop cages. I was unaware that they had distinct personalities. He was a brilliant turquoise blue with a yellow head. My daughter had had a succession of failed pet experiments, including a goldfish disaster of 2992 that I still shudder to think about. “You mean you have to feed them?” Fish and crabs had all died. We already had a cat that didn’t express interest in children. So this parakeet was the next step.

Since parakeets are social, and he didn’t have a friend, I took upon myself to give him attention.  I put him in the home office and he would sit on the window ledge and talk. He emitted a long unmelodious series of chirps, squawks and warbles. Some of the sounds were vaguely human words. The bird would climb up my arm and sit on my shoulder. He pecked at my hair like he was grooming me. He licked the salt off my skin after a workout with his rough tongue. I found it soothing to have a bird perched on me.

I was one of his flock.

Neptune had special skills. He liked to fling his toys off of the top of the cage. He would spin his Ferris wheel. He dropped things that hung in his cage to wake my daughter up when she failed to arise soon enough to let him out.

After a year, my daughter decided that Neptune needed a friend. She saw the bright yellow bird in the store and had to have her. My daughter named her Saturn. After that, Neptune bonded with her more than people and started to talk “bird” more than “human.” They had conversations together and chattered nonstop. The first thing upon waking, Neptune would go straight to her cage.

These two birds lived for years. But recently, I found Neptune puffed up and lethargic. He squawked in pain whenever he had to move. His leg was limp. I realized something was seriously wrong with him, so I took him to a vet.

The vet suggested $900 worth of invasive tests and procedures, but if he was really that sick, the procedures would not prolong his life much. I took him home, not sure what to do. I hated to see him suffer.

He flew into Saturn’s cage, but all he could do is huddle on the bottom. When I checked on him later in the evening. I was shocked to see his limp body. I took him out and put him in a paper towel by his own cage, with the faint hope that he wasn’t dead. I was sad, but relieved that he wasn’t miserable anymore.

In the morning, he was in the same state, so I put him out on the patio. I don’t usually cry, but his death was unspeakably sad, touching some deep melancholy inside. The reaction reminded me of how I felt when I went back to the vacant house I had lived in for eighteen years and saw the empty hummingbird feeders. My ex had left me and I was stuck with a house that I had to sell.  Seeing the hungry hummingbirds reminded me of the sense of abandonment and loss and the inevitability of change. Like then, the intensity of sadness that came out of nowhere surprised me. Neptune was a connection to my old life that was gone.

Saturn

His companion was now alone and I worried about how she would react. Did she know he was gone forever? Would she be able to survive on her own? Without him she sat in her cage and didn’t move or talk much. She was unhappy and was a shadow of herself. I wanted to help her, but she wasn’t bonded to me. I was a poor substitute for her friend.

I had to tell my daughter that her beloved pet was gone. When I told her, she started crying and so did I. Neptune  meant a great deal to her, and she missed him.

I often wonder why humans are so fascinated with animals and form such strong relationships with them. Maybe we don’t want to be alone on the planet and animals are part of our world. They bring us joy, love and peace. A strong nurturing instinct makes us want to help them if they are sick or injured. Unassuming small creatures hop into our lives, steal our hearts with their antics and have a huge impact.  This ordinary parakeet wasn’t so ordinary after all.

P.F. Chang's Half Marathon Race Report

Every race is a chance to exceed what I think I am capable of doing, but the results aren’t always what I expect or hope for. Lately, I have been disappointed with my body’s lack of energy, and refusal to speed up to a pace that I could normally do easily. The possibility that maybe this time would be different, motivated me to try again.

I usually try to avoid this huge race. The hassle factor is high. The half marathon had over 13,000 participants, which meant a trip into downtown Phoenix for packet pick up the day before. I had to be at the race site two hours before to get parking, line up for the porta-potties and stand around in the corral for half an hour. I like low key, local races where I can arrive an hour early, get my bib number on the same day, warm up and line up ten minutes before the start.
The organizers assign corrals according to projected finish time, This system seemed to be widely disregarded and no one policed the corrals. I was supposed to be two corrals down, but my friend convinced me to be in this one, which was the two hour half marathon people. Some of these people were delusional.

The starting gun went off and we waited. And waited. Fourteen minutes later I started to run–except all the people in my way slowed me down. They weren’t running as fast as a two hour half marathon–maybe a two and a half. I got acid reflux, which is horribly painful and always plagued me at the beginning of any run. My lack of warm up was back to haunt me. Razor blades in my chest made speed difficult, so the first mile was slow. A chance of a personal record for this race slipped away. I tried not to despair.

A guy passed me carrying a six foot long Sun Devils flag. I had to get out of his way to avoid it. Possibly, he had a good reason for carrying it in a crowded race, like a noble charity cause, but I didn’t care and was just irritated.

The reflux went away, but sluggishness persisted. I forced my legs to go faster and they argued with me. This run was not going to be easy. I finally got up to an acceptable mediocre pace, but the terrain wasn’t cooperating. The slight uphill was obnoxious.

Normally a small incline isn’t a problem for me. Running as hard as I can for thirteen miles makes the hills grow substantially. The back of my legs hurt. I tried not to think about how many miles I had to go. My Garmin  G.P.S watch showed a lag in speed frequently.

A Garmin watch is a wonderful, but evil tool. The pace function kept taunting me, telling me that I was inadequate and not fast enough. My mind was the real tormenter, but the watch was easier to blame. I just couldn’t seem to please it. The distance reading also didn’t seem to agree with the race mile signs and always buzzed the mile before the sign, which meant the official time would be slower than the watch’s.

I kept hoping to hit the easy part, so that I could go faster. After 8.5 miles of pain, the route was an out and back, with the worst hill of the course. The placement was unusually cruel. The sight of the 2:09 pacer going downhill as I ascended distressed me. Race goals evaporated to mere survival. My mood grew worse as I cussed and struggled onward. Finally, the top.

I felt somewhat guilty to be in such a cranky mood. I was healthy and able to run on a sunny, warm day, but misery over-ruled positive thoughts. Crankiness is easier than gratitude and I had not expected it to be this hard. The last half marathon I had done, in 2010, was faster and not this arduous.

The road descended, then ascended, and I was unhappy. The up tick in speed wasn’t happening. Instead I was slowing down, which wasn’t what was planned. The bridge over Tempe Town Lake that arched up then led down to the finish line was up ahead.  Large groups of walkers  blocked my way. I couldn’t understand why these people strolled this close to the finish line, then realized they probably had done the five mile mini-marathon. I didn’t see any point to walking an entire race, but some people like do this.


I darted around the walker herds and sped up. The finish line was the incentive to get to the end faster. I couldn’t wait. This wasn’t the race I had hoped for and it was more difficult than  expected, but the self-flagellation  was done. Total time was 2:08:48, for 13.2 miles, not 13.1, according to my watch. At least I had the satisfaction of  the physical challenge of running that far and hard. The discomfort didn’t matter as much as being able to do the feat. It beat walking.

Valentine's Day Bug

You scurry across the floor in broad daylight.
Past a riot of heart-shaped balloons floating in the air, ribbons trailing among store aisles of shiny foil boxes of chocolates. Antennae waving, little legs moving in a blur. Rows of red and pink color cards proclaiming love, undying devotion, kisses.

You crawl on the rose petals, pausing to regard shoppers who blindly worship Cupid’s deceit with  obligatory offers of gifts.

You drop from the flowers to the ground with a plop and scramble off,
to seek darkness and safety.

Do you have cockroach candle-lit dinners for two?  Romantic cockroach kisses?

You cross paths with a heavy boot.

Squash.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

What I Learned When I Broke My Hand

I recently broke my hand in a bike accident. A car exiting the freeway, perpendicular to me, made a left turn right across my path. Either the driver ran a red light or I spaced out and thought that it was green. The sudden appearance of a car out of nowhere caused me to slam on the brakes and the loss of momentum made me smash into the pavement.  My hand and face took the most force. I  hobbled home on my bike, dripping blood from my chin and lip, while my hand throbbed. From this experience I learned:

1. My magic immunity that prevented broken bones in falls and bike crashes in the past was illusory. I had never broken anything in my life until now. It wasn’t supposed to ever happen. My fifty-nine and a half  year lucky streak was over . Maybe old age has caught up to me and my bones were more brittle.

2. Hospital emergency rooms were to be avoided at all costs, if possible. It was way too much healthcare. At first, I chose an urgent care place to avoid the hassle and cost of a real emergency room. After hours of waiting, they stitched up my chin and put my hand in a splint. Unfortunately, I peed blood when I got home, so I thought it should be checked out. The real  E.R. did all kinds of blood tests, head and chest CT scans with contrast, and x-rays. At one point, five doctors were in the room with me. The thoroughly uncomfortable experience of needles poked in my arm and  hand; a neck brace that gouged my stitched up chin; and being dizzy as I was wheeled around on a Gurney flat on my back, was not one I ever wish to have in the foreseeable future. Even the heart rate monitor pinched my finger.  The E.R. wanted $23,000 for all this.

3. Not to have any physical or emotional support was scary when I was that injured. My mental state right after the accident was fairly lucid, but a little dazed. I could still drive myself around, walk and feed myself, but I don’t know what I would have done if I couldn’t. The whole ordeal of waiting alone in the Urgent Care place and emergency room was emotionally difficult. I wanted to cry at some points, because that was my reaction to pain and shock.

4. Every place had to do their own x-rays. The urgent care only did my hand, so of course the E.R. did my hand and my wrist. The place that did the cast had to do their own x-rays, because the E.R. would not share theirs. All this duplication was ridiculous to me.

5. Mending bones took a lot of energy out of the body. The first couple of weeks, I was fatigued , weak and light-headed, even when not doing much.  It would hit me out of nowhere and I would just want to go take a nap.

6. A cast on my hand  was disruptive to my training. No swimming or weight lifting until the cast was off. The first bike ride after the accident made me nauseated. I had to wrap my ribs because they hurt with any movement. The cast felt like a weight on my wrist. To run felt like death march and a race was coming up. I ended up doing the short version and fought the miserable lack of energy and power. A5k run with a cast on was a little bad-ass, though. But  the slow time  disappointed me. Running was what I was good at, but not lately.

7. I felt vulnerable with a cast, especially on my bike. The fear of having another accident was always on my mind, especially when I rode over the same area where it occurred.  I probably wouldn’t be able to fix a flat tire because of a lack of hand strength and could be stranded. To brake was painful and shifting with the left hand was impossible. A rough road that jarred my sore fingers was uncomfortable to ride on.

8. Functioning was inconvenient with a cast. I broke my dominant hand, so writing and typing was awkward. I had to shower with a plastic bag on the cast because it couldn’t get it wet. I showered, soaping and shampooing clumsily with the right hand . No one actually specified what would happen with a wet cast, just that “it would be very bad.” Dressing was difficult and nothing fit that was tight around the wrist, which was most of my jackets. I couldn’t open jars because it hurt and the cast prevented a decent grip. Driving made my hand ache. Vegetables were hard to chop, which made cooking more of a chore.

9. I discovered how inept my right hand is. It just couldn’t seem to perform the same functions as the left. I can’t put in my contacts with my right hand, open a medicine bottle or do various other little tasks that I took for granted with my left.

10. The outside of the cast was easier to keep dry than the inside. I could put a bag over it or avoid putting it in water, but sweat on the inside was inevitable if I wanted to exercise.  I hoped that it didn’t contribute to some skin disease under the cast.

11. A cast was a good conversation starter, but it got old after a while. Not that people cared, they were just nosy. Invariably, I was asked what happened. Sometimes, the question was if anyone stopped, and no they didn’t. That resulted in an expression of shock. Why would a driver stop for someone laying in the road dripping blood? “How did you get home?” I had to ride alone, bleeding all over myself and the bike, annoyed that no one noticed.

12. Despite the frequent ache and annoyances of a broken hand, I functioned fairly well despite the break. Sometimes I barely notice the cast. Other times, I desperately  wanted the alien thing off. The inconvenience was bearable. Most of all, it was temporary. If my leg had broken, it would have been much different. I wouldn’t have had the stamina to wait for that to heal. No exercise would have made me very cranky. I was grateful it wasn’t worse.
 
I breathlessly await the time when the cast comes off. Will my swimming will be terrible after five weeks off? Will I need physical therapy? Will my skin look fungal with weird colors after five weeks under a cast ?  I don’t care. I just want to be done with it.