The Atlanta Cuddle Puddle Meetup

Really coulda gone my whole life without seeing this, much less knowing that it is going on all around me. I mean, to each his own, but. . . eeeewwwww. Any CuddlePuddlers out there? I have to admit, i’m a smidge cuddlecurious.

For my part, I think the problem is three-fold: One part fear of crime, the poor, and crappy schools, one part irresponsible development that throws up more junk while neglecting the existing infrastructure, and one part geography: Most great American cities have grown up around a limiting geographical feature, usually a body of water, that hems it in and forces it upward rather than sprawling out. Pheonix, Dallas, and Atlanta are all limited by the room they have to spread their wings; NYC, Chicago, DC, Seattle, Portland, San Francisco. . . all are hemmed in and yet empowered by their geographical limitation.

What is the problem? What is the answer? I have no clue. Does anyone really think that Atlanta will be a great city in the vein of a New York or Seattle? I have my doubts.

Anything else you see as a great Atlanta Mystery?

East Atlanta Santa came about last year after East Atlanta Village parents bemoaned the hassle of the mall santas. Like any great community, East Atlanta worked together to make their very own Santa happen! When all was said and done, the community had taken the Santa idea and run with it, even adding a Toys for Tots donation to the mix.

So, for the second year in a row, we headed over to the coffee shop for our 2 pm appointment. Not too crowded, so we signed in at the registration on the back porch, got our number, and headed inside to fuel up with coffee, cookies, and hot chocolate. Joe’s owner Dawn greeted us personally! You don’t get that at the mall!

We went outside to the back garden (they have a fish pond on a patio) and sipped our drinks, chatting with the other folks. New this year is a small craft selection - leatherwork, paintings, handmade jewelry and hair doodads, and knitted hats and scarves. You can shop, while drinking coffee, and not even have to stand in line. I thought the craft expo was a great addition.

My kids dropped their toy donation in the box. What a great, positive way to talk to your kids about helping others. Positive reinforcement! Did I mention that not just kids were there to get their pictures snapped? Pets are welcome too, and most people dress their pets up a bit. My kids loved petting the holiday-clad pups, and I loved chatting with the old neighbors. The Santa and his elves are great. They take the time to warm timid children up to the idea of sitting on a stranger’s lap, they give out candy canes, and they take their time getting some great shots of the kids and the pets. (I am sure that adults are welcome, too, but I didn’t actually see any sitting on Santa’s lap.) For those, who care about the look of the Santa, this is the traditional red-and-white suit Santa. No fancy plaid vests, green velvet outfits, etc. This is no Phipps Plaza or Lenox Mall Santa.

When our number came up, we headed up on the porch, the kids climbed up on Santa’s lap, and they had a great chance to talk to Santa about the “million thousand hot wheels” and the other crap they want. It’s really fun to watch other peoples’ turns, too, and see the kids wailing in fear, or the tattooed owners with silly dogs that actually look like they are smiling for the camera. Lingering for the show is encouraged. You pay fifteen bucks for the Santa sit and then you wait around after your turn, and they hand you CD with the photos on it. You can do whatever you want with them. Great idea.

All in all, it was a fantastic experience. He’s there tomorrow, too, and they take walk-ins. Totally recommend it.

Do you have a favorite Atlanta Santa? Spill it.

The worst part about these things, honestly, has to be waking up in time to get there. The half started at 7 am (full at 7:30), and even though I live fairly close to the start, I had to wake up at five a.m. My loyal husband got up with me to drop me off, too, which seems really thoughtful, but probably just meant that he knew he’d get a few minutes away from his father-in-law first thing in the morning. Which, let’s be honest, played into my wanting to run for almost three hours on Thanksgiving, too. No one asking you on the race course how electronics work, or how to work the DVR, or why your tires are flat, or why you don’t ever rake the yard, or can you make the ringer on my phone work? I can’t hear it. (The answer to that one is: Deaf people cannot hear phones ringing.)

So, husband drops me off, in the dark of Chamblee, right near the Marta station. I immediately strike up convo with another female runner, walking by herself, and we headed over to the start. The drop-off was very organized, and i was impressed with the potties, water, and baggage areas at the beginning. It is also always fun to people-watch at the beginning of the race; People of all shapes and sizes. I used to assume that all runners were svelte supermodels and traditional-looking athletes, but the array of body types at a race is the same as it would be at the mall. The participants are all jogging around to warm up, other people huddling together looking sleepy, others fiddling with Ipods or gloves, or tying shoelaces. Friends and family are shooting lots of pictures.

I hugged my new friend goodbye and wished her good luck (Hope you rocked it, Monica!) and then went to find my corral. The corralling system is great. Your bib number correlates to the corral you are in. It was still dark at this time, although the sun was starting to light up the horizon over the Marta line. The corral is funny, because once people are in there, even if there are ten minutes left until the start, everyone faces towards the start line, much like people always face forward in an elevator. I never did find any folks I knew, but chatted with some fellow entrants until the streetlights went out and it was light.

The feeling of the race start is fun, because there is no gun (that I can remember hearing), just a slow shuffling towards the start, and people muttering, “Here we go.” The start is right around the area of Great Gatsby’s and Pig’n'Chik.

We started off on the race, and that first mile is strange. People are shuffling around, trying to find a good spot with other people their pace, except for the walkers, who don’t seem aware at first that some people job and even run from the beginning. The beginning is a little nerve-wracking, honestly. Not being a walker, i didn’t want to be over on the far right, because i would end up having to pull up when i came up on a walker, but being a very slow runner/jogger, I didn’t want to cause the runners the same problem. All of this works itself out after the first mile or so, and the crowd thins out, and then it is all much more enjoyable. I kind of feel like maybe they should just have a “Walkers Corral” that starts right after the last runner’s corral, but i guess that is me being picky.

Once i found a good spot, with a few like-paced individuals, I was a happy camper, and started taking in a little of my surroundings. It was definitely cold, in the mid 30s at the start and the first few miles. The sun coming up over Brookhaven was beautiful, and there was no wind to speak of, so all in all, it was pretty pleasant. The sun coming up glinted off the buildings of midtown and downtown whenever I spied them through the trees; One of the hardest parts of the race for me was seeing those buildings so very far off in the distance and knowing my own two feet had to close that distance.

It was right about this time that I heard a commotion. I pulled an earbud out (yes, I am an evil Ipod runner) and heard the call and response of eight marines. They were all in black, in two columns, and each man leading a column was holding a flag; One held the American Flag, the other the Marine Corps flag. (At least, I think that’s what it was.) The runners parted before them, making way so that they could run through without breaking ranks, without breaking song. The runners clapped as they went by, then closed the gap behind them. I was cheered by their song, but mostly thankful that I didn’t have to carry a heavy flag all the way to The Ted. I watched them for a long time until they disappeared over the horizon.

The course runs down Peachtree Industrial/Peachtree into Buckhead. The support from the community was pretty cool - people in Brookhaven and Buckhead were on the sidewalks, sipping coffee with poofy, sweatered dogs on leashes. Almost without fail, everyone i passed, spectators, race officials, and police yelled out a cheery “Happy Thanksgiving” whenever we passed. As we passed each mile, a few whoops and hollers would ring out through the crowd of runners. The course is pretty flat through Brookhaven and Buckhead, and I thought that having run The Peachtree before made the section of the course that mirrors that race mentally easy to run. The portion of the course through Buckhead also has what seemed like the most spectators, except for possibly the very end.

Running up Cardiac Hill past Piedmont Hospital is always a challenge, but i found the longer, more gradual inclines in Midtown into Downtown to be much more challenging. I felt a sense of elation running across the bridge over 85, right there at the Amtrak station. The course from the Amtrak station up to Tenth street was cold and shadowed by the taller buildings. I remember looking with interest at SCAD, The High, a huge King Tut advertisement, and all of the new construction near Peachtree and Tenth. I remembered my second date with my husband at the Indian restaurant that is no longer there. I thought about seeing shows at the old Cotton Club site. The Peachtree Road Race portion of the half was actually quite enjoyable.

There is something about crossing that threshold of Tenth Street that really got to me. That is where I felt tired, and a little bit doubtful of my ability. My nose ran like a faucet. I had taken my mittens off, but had to put them back on right around The Margaret Mitchell House, as it felt like I was entering a wind tunnel. I waged a bit of a war in my head over whether I should stop and walk for a while. I tried to focus on my surroundings as I passed preserved Atlanta landmarks: Rhodes Hall, The Fox, and The Georgian Terrace. I thought about some that are gone: The Stein Club and Backstreet.

Somehow I continued on (although i did walk a bit through here) and then snapped quickly out of it as I crossed the bridge over 85 (again!) into Downtown. If I had thought Midtown was cold, the air barreling down Peachtree from downtown almost took my breath away. I was amazed at the number of people who started walking up the incline between the bridge and Baker St. I ran on, energized by the buildings towering over me: I had run from Chamblee to Downtown Atlanta. On my own two feet.

The downtown portion is cold and even more shadowy, the sun unable to make its way down to the street level. I thought of Pink Pig trips as a kid, I ran past the touristy Hard Rock Cafe area and the big hotels. I thought of how strange it was that a tornado ripped through downtown and how lucky Atlantans were to be spared something more catastrophic.

About that time, I started keeping an eye out for a friend volunteering as a marshal; he was supposed to be around Forsyth and Peachtree, but he wasn’t there, so looking for him and his wife kept me occupied all the way up to the turn off Peachtree onto Williams St. By this time, I knew I was in the last mile, I knew I could make it, and I wondered at the burst of energy I got. The sun was shining down on Williams St., too. I found my friend.  There is a short hill up to the top of Williams, and my friend had suggested that attacking the hill at this point would result in passing tons of people who stopped to walk here. Sure enough, I could pick a few off. There was a little confusion at the top, as they split the half and full marathon runners at this point. I navigated the split and then it was off across the bridge back over 85 (again!).

This portion was actually a lot farther than I felt like it would be. It was fun to run down towards the finish, under the Olympic rings, past the torch, but it just seemed longer than I thought it would. Also, i am a self-conscious runner and there was quite a crowd on this portion of the race, the participants thinned out, and there were lots of people yelling out at me specifically (”You’re almost there, black and orange!”)

As I came down to the finish, a friend was yelling my name, and i heard the loudspeaker calling out the names of some of the finishers, which I thought added a nice personal touch. After crossing the line, a little farther down, volunteers handed out finisher’s medals and mylar blankets. The parking lot to the left of the course was full of finishers, and there was plenty of joyful meetups, lots of water and snacks, and free Weather Channel gloves! (I love me some free stuff.) Oh, and potties. Thank god for potties. I warmed up and then gave my mylar and a banana to a homeless guy who asked how the blanket worked.

Overall, my race experience was fantastic. I felt like it was very well-planned, a safe and challenging course, with wonderful volunteers. My only criticism would be the location of the race expo the two days before. You have to pick up race packets at the Intercontinental in Buckhead, which would be easy if I hadn’t had to drive and if I didn’t have kids in tow; The elevator from the parking deck (five dollars to park!) was overcrowded and slow, there was a line backed up into the parking deck of people waiting to get on, and there were no obvious stairs to take. I would highly recommend taking Marta to Buckhead station and walking over. Once inside, though, the race packet pickup was well-organized and flowed quickly.

I think I will do this race again in the future. There is nothing quite like the privilege of using your own feet to power yourself all the way from Peachtree Industrial to Turner Field. How many people can say that they have seen so much of Atlanta on foot, moving along Peachtree for so long without having to worry about getting run over? My favorite parts of the run were seeing the sun come up over my beautiful hometown, of seeing every crack in her pavement, of feeling her buildings tower over me, and seeing her inhabitants come out to welcome her runners with joyous Thanksgiving Greetings.

I think maybe i will have to do another one of these races. Perhaps the Ing Half in March? It would be interesting to compare the routes, and see more of Atlanta’s nooks and crannies by foot. Who’s with me?

I am doing it. i am running over thirteen miles. On Thanksgiving morning.

When i voiced my trepidation over Friday night drinks, my dear friend, fanatical and fast runner Nat, at The Negative Split, informed me that I should concentrate on the fact that i will be able to eat a whole turkey by myself at Thanksgiving dinner. Which I have to say does not sound half bad. Natalie, ever clothing-obsessed, also informed me that I will receive a medal, and that I am to not take it off on Thanksgiving Day, which should prove to give me some interesting family pictures. My children will show their grandchildren pictures of me wearing a medal at Thanksgiving dinner and the grandchildren will wonder when great-grandma went crazy. Obviously, the tipping point between passably sane and crazy was when I clicked the button to sign up to run thirteen miles. On Thanksgiving.

Perhaps you can tell I am nervous. There are hills. There is a wind tunnel effect downtown. A friend ran one year and people had frost on their clothing from the cold. What if it rains? What if I can’t empty my bowels before I start. What if I just have one of those terrible running days where I’m just not feeling it. What if I can’t sleep the night before? What if I oversleep?

Most importantly, how will I get through the night before Thanksgiving with my parents and without downing at least a whole bottle of red wine? This is unchartered territory. The possibilities for pain and disaster are endless. . . .

So, I beseech you, Metroblogging Atlanta readers who are just crazy enough to have run thirteen miles on Thanksgiving: I need your sage advice. I need your deepest Thanksgiving Half-Marathon secrets. I need your “how I made it” and “here’s what you need to do.”

In return, I think you will be getting a pretty giddy race report on Thanksgiving* Friday night.

*I will be in overdose mode from post-race Tryptophan and red wine ingestion and cannot guarantee Thanksgiving post.

There. I said it. I can no longer say I live intown. I live in the burbs. OTP. Outside the fence.

I have written numerous times about my love for our old neighborhood. When it came down to it, though, I love my kids more. I just wasn’t ready to send my kid to a school with abysmal test scores and where he would be a less than one percent minority at that school. I know. Many parents send their kids to schools where their child is in that small a minority, but I wonder how many of them send them to a school where their child is in that small a minority and test scores are bottom of the barrel. My guess? Not many. I am thinking that parents might overlook the lack of diversity at a school if it meant a child would be surrounded by kids who are more successful.  We weighed the options and the issues, and it came down to the realization that sending my child to that school would simply serve the purpose of proving a point, rather than striving to give my child the best educational opportunities I can manage to give him.

When we made the decision not to send our children to the public elementary school in our neighborhood, we started looking at other options. Charter schools? Not an option for us in our area of unincorporated Dekalb. Private schools? Yikes. Even at the more affordable end they were going to cost us five to seven thousand dollars a year (and some of them cost much more than a year of public university tuitions!) Sure, we could swing $7000/year if I went back to work. Oh, wait - Our daughter will start school in four years. Then we’d be paying almost 15,000 dollars/year tuition. Not to mention the cost of after school childcare and for the summers, when they aren’t in school.

We searched for homes inside the perimeter in better school districts. (I dare anyone to start researching schools and not start going gray - It is as if someone didn’t want me to compare test scores and other information for schools in different areas and different school districts, much less for different states. Try to compare public and private schools and your head will explode.) We’d either be downsizing (and we already lived in a three BR), or paying so much for a house that, again, I would have to go back to work and then the daycare costs until both kids started elementary (and again, for summers) would barely make the back-to-work option worth it.

We slowly started discussing the possibility of moving outside the perimeter, at first laughingly, then in whispers, as it became a more real possibility, and finally we resigned ourselves to it. We started looking at homes in the school districts we had identified that had what we were looking for: Decent test scores, diversity, in a neighborhood we could afford, and not so far from town that the commute would suck my husband of any semblance of a meaningful life. We finally found an area we liked (ish), where houses are in our price range, the kids would have other kids to play with, and that we didn’t find too lacking in character. We bought a house here a few weeks ago.

When it came down to it, I cried when I left East Atlanta. I hated leaving the place where I met my husband, where I met friends and wonderful neighbors, and to which I brought two kids home from the hospital. I had been there long enough that I couldn’t go anywhere without at least seeing one person I knew from the neighborhood.
In the end, I know that it is for the best. The kids love the new house and neighborhood already, and my husband and I are laughingly giving in to a quieter way of life, and at the same time cracking up at what we have become. I do think, though, that we are not alone. I have already met four sets of neighbors with kids close in age to ours. They always ask where we moved from and then nod knowingly at our answer. Turns out they moved from Ormewood, Kirkwood, and East Atlanta themselves. As one girl told me, “We are city folk.”

I wonder how many people all over Atlanta have struggled with the same thing, forced by poverty, job location, housing prices or failing schools to make the same difficult decision that we made. Our decision is made, though, and we do not regret it. I just see it as an adventure, a challenge to find what is interesting and colorful, and special about the new area we live in. I’ve already been thinking a lot about it, and exploring this new frontier, and you can bet that you will see some Metblogs posts about it. I think that intown readers might be surprised at a few of my observations. I know I have already found a few things that surprised me.

On the one hand, as an Atlanta resident, I do worry about where our water will be coming from a year from now if the drought continues. On the other hand, I think that this serves Atlanta right for not planning better for water usage in the metro area. Our unbridled, unplanned building has gone on for too long, and this just highlights the problem.

I think it’s too good for him, and it’s unfortunate that we have to feed him or give him water. I think the fact that he admitted to killing her should have ruled out any possibility for parole.

Also, why was he wearing a bullet proof vest? Who gives a flying fuck if some other whack job takes him out? Not me.

I hurt for his family. For their sake, I hope he does rot in prison. And if by some chance a fellow inmate manages to accidentally decapitate him, i will be happy with that. It really makes me sad that he won’t be wiped off the face of the earth as soon as possible.

This really struck me like a ton of bricks. I consider myself an independent modern woman. I go places by myself and in fact like to be on my own around town. I like to eat alone, I play trivia on Tuesdays and park and go by myself. I like to go to movies by myself. But last night, I realized i was scared and nervous to get back on Marta after the game and come home by myself. Even worse, I knew it wasn’t a baseless or irrational fear. If anything, it was smart.

You see, the night before, neighbors had been mugged at gunpoint, in the middle of a busy street, with joggers and dog walkers and diners out and about, not a tenth of a mile from where I had parked about 20 minutes before. To top that off, a friend of mine in Grant Park came home that very same day to find cops surrounding her house after an attempted break-in. That’s two acquaintances within a couple of miles each other who were the victims of crime or attempted crime on the same day. If two people I know experience crime on the same day, how many hundreds of people in Atlanta are affected by crime day in and day out?

I know people are probably sick of my posts about Atlanta’s crime, but I am downright preoccupied with it recently. I no longer go running by myself in my own neighborhood. I used to, but now it just seems risky to me. A year ago, I wouldn’t have thought twice about taking Marta by myself. Last night, I took Marta down to Phillips, but when it came time to head back, I opted instead for having my friend drop me off at my car.

And you know what? It really sucks being scared and feeling limited in my actions, and feeling helpless to protect myself against the wastes of oxygen who are out there preying on Atlanta. It really pisses me off.

When: Wednesday, January 30 - Sunday, February 3, 2008
Where: Georgia World Congress Center, Building A
Hours: 10:00 a.m. to 8:00 p.m. Wednesday through Saturday, 10:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m. Sunday