Ab Solutions

Aw, that Bucky Katt: I never tire of his antics.

Bruised and Battered

After the fall last night (read below for full coverage of the story), I woke up this morning a little stiff and definitely sore. My left shoulder is scraped and bruised and my left knee looks like I applied a brillo pad to it. And on my left cheek, there is a little red scrape, but thankfully no bruise (I didn't want to be forced to explain to my students today that my husband does not abuse me).

This morning my thoughtful (and physically non-abusive) husband mused before going to work: "You know, I was thinking about something this morning." I asked what he'd been contemplating. "Well," he said, "it occured to me that I was the only one in our family who didn't lay down in that puddle yesterday." He was referring to our after-dinner walk with the dog when we'd gone right by the same puddle I would later land a face plant in and where, incidentally, Scooter wanted to lay down and splash about in. "Ha, ha," I told him. He's such a joker.

I think I will conduct my cross training in the gym today -- seems less likely that I will fall face first into a puddle there. Plus, no asphalt to be wary of -- just that tricky treadmill.

Careful What You Wish For

So earlier today, I was bitching that I don't have anything to write about; well, tonight I got something to write about. I was on my evening run, about a tenth of a mile from home when I first tripped, then kinda stumbled, and finally smacked not only into the pavement, but went headlong into a puddle. I'm sure the whole scene was quite comical: Arms windwilling in an attempt to first slow, then break my fall; face splashing into the two inches of puddle that met me at the end of the sidewalk (where the smooth cement of the sidewalk meets rough asphalt, by the way).

As the pictures depict, I scraped up and muddied my knees, my palms and even the side of my head (the side of which splashed right into that damn puddle! my left ear was immersed for a few seconds!). I scraped my left shoulder on the asphalt, and right now it is throbbing slightly. Right after my face plant, I popped right back up because I was so paranoid that somone saw me fall, but to my relief no one was around (I usually don't pass many people in the late evening -- part of why I like running at that time); plus, with the semi-darkness closing in, I was able to hobble home in shame without anyone noticing the mud, the dripping puddle water, and the exposed scrapes. (The bruised ego is, thankfully, invisible to the naked eye.)

When I got home, I whined to my husband who immediately took the appropriate amount of pity on me and asked if I was alright before he dubbed me "crash" and started joking that perhaps I should wear a helmet and knee pads when I run. He took a little too much joy in snapping the photos submitted here for evidence.

In the end, I guess I should have seen it coming. I have always been notoriously clumsy, and it's been a long time since I last fell, so I guess I was due for a digger. And with all the miles I log, it was just a matter of time before that path jumped up and bit me.

I suppose it gave me something to blog about.

One of Those Days

There comes a time in every blogger's life when it seems that there is nothing left to say: Either it feels as though you've already said everything there is to be said, or, if you haven't said it, someone else has. That's how I have felt the last few days regarding posting -- I don't have much to talk about. I'm still running, yes, but nothing very remarkable has happened. The poop phenonmenon was a blog blessing in disguise since it gave me something noteworthy to relate, but otherwise, I feel as though I really have nothing to report.

I once read another blogger's (not a running blogger) rant about the things he hated seeing in blogs and one of them was writing about not having anything to write about, and I took that to heart, and so I decided I wouldn't ever write a post complaining about how I have nothing to write about (the equivilant, I suppose, of saying there's nothing to eat in a house full of food). However, here I am doing the exact thing I thought I wouldn't fall prey to.

Oh well, might as well complain that there's nothing at home to eat. So, honey husband, if you're reading this, bring something home for dinner.

Monday -- My Run Day

I had a nice run this evening -- the temperature was perfect and I just felt good running. I went five miles, which is the most I've done since Memorial Day weekend, and it was a nice run.

Of course, I didn't shit myself, so that made it good as well.

Oh, Crap

This morning I had to confront a terrible reality:

When I started out on my run this morning at 5:50 am, I was all self-congratulatory since getting up was in and of itself a feat. I was very proud that it wasn't yet 6 am and here I was out and running. About half a mile into the run, my stomach grugled and I felt things do "the shift" and I figured, well, I'll have to poo when I get home. Another mile later, the gurgle became a little more serious, but I didn't want to turn back for home yet, so I tried to ignore my lower intestines. At barely the two mile mark, I knew I had a serious issue at hand.

I had passed a gas station about a quarter of a mile back, so I quickly turned and headed back that way. My stomach lurched along with me and I felt the poo pressing. As I sprinted across the street, I had an awful moment when I believed that I could hold it no longer and that I would indeed poop myself (which would have been just disgusting in my running shorts, and then what? how would I walk home in poopy shorts?). It's a fate I have faced head on before, particularly in morning commutes when the combination of coffee and a muffin can sneak up quick on a girl, but I have always managed to avert what would be the worst humiliation. But a block from that gas station, I was wondering if I could make it and knew it would come down to two options: shit myself, or poop in the grass by the side of the road. Neither was appealing.

So I squeezed my butt as best I could and ran as hard as I could across the final distance and ran through the doors of the gas station, across the short aisles and into the women's bathroom (I would have cried if it had been occupied, but at that hour, the chances of that were slim). My butt barely held on until I had locked the door and pulled my shorts off, but then it was sweet relief! Afterwards, I sat there kinda shaking and feeling a little sick from the anxiety and the effort to hold it in. My knees felt weak, my hands trembled.

When I walked out of the bathroom, I darted out of the gas station without making eye contact with the attendant and then I was back into the twilight of the early morning. The incident had left me feeling drained, and while I initially started to trot, I quit that and just walked home. So, what should've been my longer 4-5 mile run turned into a barely two mile run combined with a quarter mile sprint and a walk home; I was disappointed, but as I walked home, my stomach still felt a little uneasy, so I really didn't want to push it.

When I arrived home, it wasn't even seven yet.

I've been Tagged

Okay, even though I've already submitted to this TAG! via email, I was short on ideas for a post this morning, so for the friends that already received the email, just skip this post. But I was tagged by pinyapower, so I guess I should play along:

four jobs I have had in my life:
1. college instructor
2. waitress
3. bookstore employee
4. cabin cleaner at a resort

four movies i watch over and over:
1. you've got mail
2. love, actually
3. gone with the wind
4. old school (when Will Ferrell gets the tranquilizer in the neck, it just slays me)

four places I have lived:
1. South Florida
2. Northern Minnesota
3. Colorado
4. Washington, DC

four tv shows i love to watch:
1. project runway
2. top chef
3. hell's kitchen
4. scrubs
(Not to mention all the others I love to watch over and over as re-runs: Sex and the City, Seinfeld, and Friends.)

four places I have been on vacation:
1. belize
2. virgin islands
3. france
4. wyoming ( I love the Wild West!)

four websites I visit daily:
1. Jennsylvania
2. Ft Lauderdale Sun-Sentinel
3. Get Fuzzy
4. Poundy

four of my favorite foods:
1. yellow cake with chocolate frosting
2. sushi
3. anything italian
4. blt

four places i would rather be right now:
1. fiji
2. italy
3. shopping (but only if I have someone else's fat wallet to dip into)
4. snuggled in my bed with the fans blowing

four favorite bands/singers:
1. Jimmy Eat World
2. Pearljam
3. Dave Matthews Band
4. Weezer

four bloggers i am tagging (some of these people have already been tagged, so I expect no repeat of their posts):
1. Running Jayhawk
2. Just Keep Running
3. Running to Change
4. Adventures in Running

Thursday Night Fever

Another Thursday night, another night of league. Last night I treid to be good and stay away from the beer in order to both bowl better and to not drink so much, but after my first game (where I drank nothing but water -- the new "Smart Water," which I might have to write a post about), and I didn't see any real difference between a beer score and and a non-beer score, so I went ahead and bought a pitcher.

The beer didn't necessarily help what was already a poor evening for me. We're not sure how our team did overall for the night because one player was subsituting for another and her average and her handicap aren't established, so we might have won one or two of the games; we'll have to see next week. But it's disappointing to do poorly after we were so awesome last year.

Our team shirts will arrive soon and once we have those, the magic will return.

A Dangerous Habit?

Yesterday, as I sat in my office before class, I was treated to a conversation between two other instructors (teachers, especially college professors, love to talk, and I don't think they necessarily care who's listening, they just want to talk) about health and fitness. Many college instructors are not authorities on everything, but you wouldn't know it by listening to them speak, so I had a chuckle while listening to these two converse about the dangers of exercising too much.

Their conversation consisted of something like this part way through: "I had a friend whose husband was in great shape, ate well, took good care of himself, and one day he had a massive heart attack while on his rowing machine. He was 48. And my other friend has drank and smoked for more than fifty years, and she's never had a health complaint, so I think it's all just predestined."

"True, true," replied the other instructor, "but was your friend who died on the rowing machine an obsessive exerciser? Because you know, that can kill you just as easily as anything else."

"No, he wasn't obsessive, just took good care of himself, but I know what you mean about these crazies who are triathletes or marathoners. You know they've done studies and found how that much running can actually damage your health: Those athletes have heart abnormalities, and have higher incidences of bone cancer (because of the impact, she explained), and they also have breathing problems."

"Oh I know," replied her friend, "they're obsessive and that adds stress, and that's why so many of them have heart attacks at early ages. They're all crazies."

It went on from there, but I had to get to class. I was smiling to myself though because I've been hearing things like this forever. I remember when I ran in high school, my neighbor told me that her mother, a nurse, had forbade her from running in gym class because it was damaging to the ovaries.

Now, there's no doubt that running is hard on your body: Many suffer from joint aches, lower back pain, and, sometimes, shin splints from the impact (I've never read a shred of evidence that it's damaging to the ovaries). But with as far as proper shoes have come, many runners don't suffer the same sorts of injuries that runners twenty years ago had. And yes, there was actually some truth to the statement that runners develop heart abnormalities; in fact, there was an article in the last RW about it; it's not necessarily a bad thing -- the heart just gets worked differently from someone who is inactive.

And while some marathoners might die of heart attacks, that's a risk we face sitting at home on the couch. Most modern physicians and health experts have only good things to say about running and its added benefits (same for other forms of strenous exercise, like swimming or biking), and while some runners might have a heart attack at 48 (you can't outrun genetic dispositions, and certainly if you have a family history of heart disease, you run -- no pun intended -- a greater risk of having heart problems, but research has also shown that exercise and proper diet can prevent even genetic propensities), there are many stories of octogenarians running marathons and attributing their long life span to their lifelong habit of running.

In the end, the overheard conversation opened my eyes to how people view runners, and it's something I haven't had a window into in awhile. So, careful out there, you "obsessive runners"!

One Year Blogoversary: A 365 Day Habit

The time is now 12:14 am EST, June 21, 2006 and it is my blog's birthday! To see how I compare to a year ago, I dug up the original post:

The stats: I am five feet tall. Even. No bigger. No smaller. That's the height recorded on my driver's license, and, no, no one can re-measure me. Yes, I am a hobbit. I weigh 123 pounds as my scale reported this morning at 10:25 am. I don't think it lies. Although, that's a possibility -- I would lie if I were a scale and lying is what kept my innerds intact. According to an online BMI (body mass index) calculator, my BMI is 25. They tell me that a number anywhere between 20 and 25 is normal, but hanging out on the outside rim of that "normality" makes me feel like a fat kid with a mouthful of cupcake.

I am moderately active; meaning: I try to run when I have time, when the weather isn't too hot, too cold, or too rainy, when I haven't had a long, tiring day, or when I have just purchased new running apparel. Sometimes I do other forms of activity: I've been known to watch a lot of TV and that requires lifting the remote and pressing down upon the buttons; TV watching can also make one incredibly thirsty, so I try to punctuate my bouts on the couch with trips to the kitchen for bottled water and that requires not only walking but a little pulling and lifting as well. Lastly, what catapults me from being semi-active into the moderately active category is the fact that I bowl once a week in a league. Bowling burns calories and is considered to be a sport. Usually I eat a piece of pizza when I bowl and generally I consume three to five beers (light beers!), but I didn't mention the beer or the pizza on the site where I listed myself as moderately active; therefore, they don't count.

My goal for the next 21 days is to take this moderately active lifestyle to a whole new level where perhaps I will dare to call myself "active." I will strive to run on a regular basis (six days a week) and I will attempt to partake of a healthier menu. Will the experiment be socially changing like "Super Size Me"? I doubt it. Will I form a new habit? One that might make me healthier, stronger, more energetic? Will I finally work to achieve the longheld goal of running a marathon? I don't have the slightest idea. I count on myself to fail, or at least to fall short of my expectations, but I do guarantee that I will document my failure with the best prose I can compose -- and sometimes I will rhyme for you as well.

So, what's changed or not changed in the course of a year? I weighed 115 pounds today on the same scale I had a year ago (I believe it to be accurate, and have no reason to believe that it tells falsehoods). That means my BMI is 22.5, and most of my pants are a size smaller.

I'm still 5 feet tall; running has not made me any taller.

Running six days a week was a bit of a ridiculous goal, but I've settled into a routine that is more realistic and it works: I run 4 days a week and do other forms of exercise on the other three days, like spinning and yoga. And I am now registered for a marathon; we'll see how running it goes. I still bowl as well, and I drink plenty of beer so that calories burned during bowling do not outweigh calories consumed.

So far, I count it (the running and the blog) as a successful experiment in my life; but in truth, I rarely rhyme, and if I do, it's by accident.

Route of Carnage

On my run last night, I noticed an unusally high number of dead animals: two dead birds, one dead possum, and several squished lizards. The possum has been dead and rotting in that spot for awhile now -- it was very stinky for awhile, but now I guess it's moved away from the stinky phase and into the phase where it quickly turns into a pile of bones; it's disturbingly graffic, and for some reason I can't help but look at it every time I take that path. The birds were new though, and I see dead lizards all the time.

Makes me think how closely we share an environment with the critters, even if this is a highly urbanized area. Too bad most of the wildlife I get to see is already deceased.

Reunion

I got an email yesterday announcing that my high school class is arranging a 10 year reunion for Labor Day weekend. I was kinda excited since previously nothing had been said or done about a reunion, but on the other hand I hesitate. Last summer on my blog I spoke of the anticipation that my 10 year reunion was approaching and I made a list of some things I wanted to accomplish before that reunion. This was the post from last August discussing the possibility for a reunion:

I partially want to go for these reasons: I would like to tell people that I am married (or will be by then), that I own a house, that I managed to harass my instructor's into giving me a master's degree, that I have run a marathon, that I am a drummer in a band, and that I have also published a book.

Why I don't want to go: I have not actually accomplished the last three things on that list. The drumming thing should take action any time now. I just need to get some rhythm, a drum kit and some lessons, then I'm all primed to be a rock star. So, that one is easy. Publishing a book? Hmmmm, well I've tried my hand at that, and let us just note that it hasn't yet happened, but I am working on a new project, so you never know. However, the possibility that I could have a book in print a year from now is slim, but I might be able to say "I have a book coming out in blah, blah, blah." That would be satisfactory.

Now, we come to the running. We know I'm working on that one, but it's slow going. I plan to run a 5K in a few weeks, and my goal is to run Miami's half marathon in January. Will a full marathon be a possibility by next summer? Possible. It's just so mentally intimidating; I mean, it's so many miles, and even if I were in top shape and were able to run it in excellent pacing, that still means FOUR HOURS of running! My god! Today I ran three miles, and my head nearly popped off. (Seriously, I could feel all the blood in my body coursing through every single vein and the pressure in my head was quite unbelievable -- I looked like a tomato!) And yes, I'll admit that part of my "get in shape" motivation is thinking about that reunion -- which I may or may not be invited to since I did not reveal my whereabouts, and I doubt anyone will be able to track me down (I did not leave any breadcrumbs).

I would love to return all glorious and beautiful. My hope then would be that some of those girls who were mean and catty have gotten fat and their skin has distorted itself so that it is ghastly. And I pray that all those guys on the football team who never asked me out (I don't know why not; I'm perfectly lovable) have also gone to seed.

Yes, my reasons are completely selfish and vain, but what other reason would you have to go to a reunion? To see old friends? Re-live the "good old days"? No thanks. I hardly liked many of those people when I was sixteen, I can't imagine they've become any more interesting. Now, there were some drinking friends in college I'd like to see again: That would be a good time.

Now, let's see, not much has changed over the course of nearly a year. I am married now, I do own a house with my husband, and no one has taken away my graduate degree, but I still have some of the same hesitations. Now I guess I can say I am registered and training for a marathon; otherwise, no, I'm not a drummer in an awesome band (or a drummer at all, for that matter), and there are no book publishing possibilities on the horizon. What have I been doing for the past year?

What do you guys think about attending 10 year class reunions? Fun and interesting? Or silly (since most people haven't really done a lot by the time they're 28 -- most of us spent the majority of that time in college)? Keep in mind I would have to fly, probably rent a car, get a hotel, pay for the reunion costs, etc. Is it worth it if I can't brag about being a rockstar?

Something There is That I Love about Bottled Water

I don't have a logical reason for loving bottled water; I am sensible enough to know that my tap water probably tastes pretty much like bottled water, yet I wouldn't know because I never drink it (but must have a sense of its taste since I brush my teeth with it). My affair with bottled water began several years ago when I lived in a house whose water came from a well, and it was the sort of "hard" water that was chock full of minerals and was literally the color of rust from the tap. It was the sort of water that was undrinkable, and so I began to buy bottled water. Ever since, I have consumed bottled water.

I know it might seem wasteful, considering how tap water is already purified and cheap, but drinking bottled water is a habit I cannot break. So, my favorite bottled water? (Yes, they taste different -- don't mock me.) Fiji water. Something about the bottle itself is what attracts me; I am a sucker for pretty packaging. I like the square shape and the blue cap, and pretty tropical landscape depicted on the label -- makes me feel like I'm in Fiji (a place my stepmother, the only person I know who's ever been to Fiji, swears is heaven on earth). It also so happens that Fiji water is one of the more expensive brands of water, a fact that does not escape my husband. He accuses me of being snobbish about certain things, and I suspect that he thinks I purposely seek out the most expensive products. Because of its price, I rarely buy Fiji water; in fact, I usually only buy it when I go to the bookstore; I figure it's part of my treat and part of the experience of being in the bookstore (a sort of heaven on earth for me).

Yesterday when I was at the bookstore (buying a copy of "Pride and Predujice" -- I just watched the new movie version and loved it so much I wanted to re-read the book, and when I got home I realized I already had a copy, probably the same copy I read when I read the book the first time, but it's okay; my new copy is very pretty and I am remembering how much I loved the book the first time around), I got a bottle of Fiji water, and not just the half liter; no, I splurged and bought the full liter. I, of course, re-fill water bottles from the large bottle in the fridge until I deem the bottle grody or probably grody, and I always recycle; I'm not that wasteful. I know that refilling it with generic bottled water doesn't mean I'm drinking Fiji water with the second or third refill, but it makes me feel like I am, and that feels special.

Saturday Morning Drama

It seems that as spinning classes gain popularity at my gym, the drama is heightened, and I never quite know what the class will be like on Saturday morning. Because the classes are busy and because there are a set number of bikes, everyone who wishes to participate in the class has to sign in on a sheet they keep at the front desk prior to class. If you don't sign in, and the class fills, you're SOL -- it happened to me a few weeks ago.

So, this morning, right at 10 when the class was starting, a woman walks in, says she signed in, but there aren't any bikes available. The instructor asks if everyone signed in, and everyone says "yes" but one woman says "what?" We inform her that you have to sign in in order to secure a bike, and she says, "But I was here at 9:30." A woman next to her says that it doesn't matter what time you come in, what matters is that you sign in and reserve a seat. The instructor tells her that's the policy; it's posted at the front desk, he can't make any exceptions, and he tells her she has to give up her claimed bike.

Well, then it gets interesting. This lady starts yelling at the woman who came in, "Fine! You can have the bike since you arrived at 10 and I have been here since 9:30 waiting for this class! Fine!" The woman who was next to her who had explained the sign in process says, "There's no need to yell." And the angry woman yells: "I'm not yelling! I'm just getting loud!" By this time, the whole class is involved, and we're trying to tell her that it's the gym's rules, and that it's fair to give up her bike, and that the next time she comes she'll know, etc. She gets up off the bike, grabs her stuff, and as she's storming out of the room, she yells: "I hope you enjoy your fuckin' class!" And then she turned and went out the door (shutting the lights out on her way).

The instructor looked baffled and the rest of us were kinda laughing and staring in disbelief when she burst back through the door, and yells: "You people are the rudest epople I've ever encountered; this gym is full of bastards!" And then she slams the door shut again and was gone. I suspect she marched up to the front desk and cancelled her membership.

But good lord people, spinning is a good class -- burn lots of calories, get a great workout -- but it's not going to save your soul. So why do we have to have so much drama over it?

Bowling=Beer

Last night was our first night of summer league bowling, and for those of you who read my blog last summer, you'll recall that the key thing about league is beer, and lots of it.

First though, let me talk about the actual bowling. I was really excited to bowl last night, not just because it was the first night of league and I love league, but because I was recently outfitted in all new bowling equipment: I got new shoes, my own ball, and even a snazzy bag (for carrying the aforementioned shoes and ball). My ball is red and sparkly, and they put my bowling name on it -- Rizzo.

I've never had my own ball before, and I gotta tell ya, it was great. So smooth and so straight, and my first game was pretty good, not as good as the practice games I had last week, but not too shabby. Hopes were high that I might improve with the games, but then beer came into the factor -- draft beer -- my arch nemesis. For some reason, draft beer goes down so much faster, and I can never keep track of how many I've had, unlike bottled beer where it's easy to count up how many I've consumed.

By my last game, I was bowling terrible, and I don't even want to reveal my score. It was a terrible blow to my team, The Pinderellas, since we were undefeated last year, and in our first night, we were creamed (what makes it even more unbearable is that three of our husbands were on the team that beat us, and they won't let us forget it). Oh well, we said all along last year that we were just there to play and have fun, but it was awesome to win that trophy last year. Perhaps this weekend, I'll have to get some practice games in; break in the new ball -- maybe I'll have to stay away from the beer.

Water Aerobics

This morning I attended my first class in water aerobics, and I feel as though I got a good workout. I spent the first twenty-five or thirty minutes feeling completely lost, and I'm pretty sure I was just randomly kicking instead of doing the prescribed movements, but I assume that portion of class was meant to get your heart rate up, so I think I accomplished that even if I couldn't master walking and kicking at the same time (elementary gym teachers can probably attest to my lack of coordination -- I was the kid who was always tripping and falling down or running into the wall during capture the flag).

But the second half of class I understood and it was pretty challenging. We did lots of ab work and arm work with floaty weights, and lastly, the instructor walked us through some yoga-pilates types of moves. I have a feeling that my abs will be a little achy tomorrow and I can already feel how challenged my muscles in my shoulders were by a couple of the exercises (it's surprisingly hard to move styrofoam through water, especially while trying not to float up yourself).

Plus, being in the water for the workout was refreshing. True, the water is nearly the same temperature as the air, but the wet quality makes it a little better, and it's such a relief after running and sweating so goddamn much. (Last night, I ran at 9 pm and it was still 88 degrees outside and I was a sweaty monkey.)

All in all, it made for a good workout on a non-running day and I really do feel as though I helped in some toning; I'm such a cheater with my strength training that it probably was the hardest weight session I've done in awhile!

Do Something Hard

I was reading earlier today and in the book I'm reading, the author gives a piece of advice to some young women (it's a memoir and she's speaking at a conference when she dispenses the advice), and the advice she offers to help make life more rewarding and, ultimately, more worthwhile is to do something hard. It really struck a chord with me: Do something hard.

It's probably human nature, or animal nature, to drift into the actions, thoughts, and ideas that are easiest and offer the least resistance -- it makes for smooth sailing, but we all know that, truthfully, "easy" often equals "boring." This is probably how so many end up in mid-life feeling disappointed, disillusioned, and dissatisfied. I am no where near mid-life, and I can't say I am any of the three D's, but I do know that part of this running business, and especially this marathon business, is about adding meaning to my life by accomplishing something hard. For me, I can think of few things that seem harder than running 26.2 miles, and it must be the idea of it's difficulty that also adds to the hope that it will be rewarding.

Every once in a while, I get frustrated with running and feel as though I make little progress or improvement, but then I am reminded that running is hard and that it takes time and dedication to master and to improve upon. And, as with most things that take time and dedication and that are just plain hard, I have confidence that this endeavor will be rewarding and satisfying.

I suppose it's the lessen my parents tried to teach me when they made me work to pay for my first car; I would appreciate it more if I had to work for it (it was my parents' firm belief that children who were bestowed everything in life were those who came to be the dissatisified -- I guess that's supposed to make me feel better that some people always get what they want with ease). Grudgingly, I can now see the wisdom in my parents' lessen, and I can see how it applies to my running, and, really, to my life.

Right now, running this marathon in January is my version of doing something hard. Perhaps it will be just the beginning, I don't know, maybe it's a whole road of "hard" to finish happy.

A Coat of Bugs

Yesterday, I did run outside (not as rainy as predicted, but very humid -- still is; it's like walking around in a rain cloud) and I got coated in bugs. I don't know what is up with the gnat population as of late, but I was wiping them off my face the whole time I ran. When I got home, I discovered that they were all over my neck and shoulders as well; I felt like the windshield of a car. I don't really love to wear bugs, so it wasn't a look that worked for me.

And as far as Alberto goes, it seems he was more threatening on paper than in reality; although, for a moment yesterday afternoon they were predicting that he'd morph into a category one hurricane before reaching the panhandle. Thankfully, that didn't happen. But if you live in Georgia or the Carolinas, you are probably going to get some rain tomorrow and Thursday. As for here, it's once again cloudy and humid, a little breezy, but nothing else.

Alberto

So, this is Alberto on Monday morning. He looks meaner than he really is (I think it's his coloring -- red makes him look angry, maybe those meteorologists should re-think their color schemes in order to be more soothing), but he's still gonna dump a lot of rain on Florida. I'm down in the very bottom of Florida, so it won't be as much here as it will in central and northern Florida.
The projected path then takes Alberto through south Georgia and the Carolinas, so they'll be getting a lot of rain as well. In fact, my guess is that the whole eastern seaboard gets damp because of Alberto. As a result of this storm bearing down on the state, the weather today looks much like it did yesterday: Cloudy, rainy, and unbelievably humid (last night it was so humid our windows were fogging up at home).

Yesterday, I did decide to run outside, and because of the humidity and the sprinkly rain, I came home pretty wet. Today I face the same dilema: To run outside in the weather or to run at the gym on the treadmill. Part of me knows that inside on the treadmill will be more comfortable, but I am also easily fooled into thinking that just because it is cloudy and rainy that it is cooler out (not true!) so I will probably end up running outside this afternoon and after I return home dripping sweat, I will wonder about my intelligence. The fact that I can predict this ahead of time only makes me wonder more.

Rainy Day Sunday

We have our first named Tropical Storm of the year, and he goes by the moniker "Alberto." So, we're currenlty getting rain and some wind. It won't be much more than a regular thunderstorm here, but it does mark the beginning of what could be another busy hurricane season. We'll see what the next six months bring as far as hurricanes and other foul weather, but for now, it's kinda nice to enjoy a rainy day.

Of course, it doesn't motivate me to get out there and run. On rainy days, I prefer to sit inside curled up with a book and a cup o' tea. However, I think I will shortly get my running clothes on and go to the gym to run my miles on the treadmill. But maybe there will be a break in the drizzle so I can run outside. I plan on sitting around for another hour to see.

RW Self Test Cont'd

So, as I wrote yesterday, I looked closely at the six questions Runner's World asked of the new marathoner, and the first three questions, which I addressed in yesterday's post, yielded fine results, but the second three made me think closely about what it means to train for a marathon.

4. Are you eating for performance or are you just eating?

Crap. My achilles heel. My eating has never been like I imagine an athlete's eating is supposed to be. I eat healthy erratically and often eat all the foods and drink all the drinks I shouldn't. But the running is supposed to make up for those errors, right? After keeping a food journal for the assigned three days, I can see three things: 1. The night time is not the right time: Generally I seem to consume roughly two-thirds of my calories after 3 pm. I am good in the morning -- fruit, salad for lunch, but something changes in the afternoon and suddenly there are handfuls of chips, a big dinner, an evening with some ice cream. 2. I have a weakness for Chewy granola bars with chocolate chips, and an unnatural love of chips before meals (I get hungry while I'm cooking!). 3. I need to skim the portions down. I try to stick to smaller plates to eat my dinner, but sometimes I know I could take half a scoop less of something, but it just tastes so damn good. Like risotto. I made risotto with our Chicken Marasala (yummy) last night, and I L-O-V-E risotto, so even when I was full I went back for just half a serving more. Couldn't have done without it.

I guess I need to learn to balance out some of my meals, and definitely work on incorporating healthier food into my diet. Also, the RW article advises cutting "excessive" caffeine. How would one define "excessive"? Is a cup or two of coffee and a soda excessive? I can't live without my caffeine.

5. Why are you training?

For this, I was supposed to write five reasons why I want to run this marathon. Okay, beyond getting in shape, losing weight, and accomplishing a lifelong goal, I couldn't think of two more reasons. To prove I can? Is that a legitimate reason?

6. Do you have the right gear?

I bought new running shoes last fall, and in some ways they still feel like my "new" shoes, but I know it is time to trade them up. However, running shoes are expensive, and I can't just drop a hundred dollars on shoes every few months. Still, I know if I am to avoid injury and the loss of another toe nail, I should get over to the running store soon and purchase a new pair. Also, I still haven't been completely satisfied with my short situation, and I keep reading about this running skirt; I have to say that I'm skeptical, but thinking about giving it a try. Just worried about the chub rub. And lastly, gearwise, there is my MP3 player, which is wonderful, but which rubs my arm on longer runs. Does everyone else just lose the tunes, or do you grease up around that arm strap? Perhaps I should purchase a newer, lighter model. But again, money doesn't grow on trees, even in South Florida where many things are growing on trees.

In the end, I feel as though I tested pretty well, and even if I can't find five solid reasons to run, I think three is good. And new gear is probably needed, but not yet a dire emergency. But I do know that my diet will have to change over the next few months. If I shed a few pounds, think how much lighter my load would be as I run!

RW Self Test

In the newest edition of Runner's World, there was the beginning of a five part series about marathon preparation, and since it was the first in the five month series, it began with a "systems check." Because I plan to run a marathon in January, I thought the systems check would be just right for me at this point in order to get a good sense of where I'm starting from. There were six questions to ask yourself as a runner: I'll address three today and three tomorrow.

1. Are you experiencing any pain? Do you suspect you might have a running related injury?

No. That was the easiest question. I haven't ever had any running injuries to speak of. I had a sore knee for a short length of time about six months ago, but I think that was more related to the heels I was wearing and not the running. In high school, I had shin splints, but they have never bothered me since. So, I guess I'm pretty lucky; I'm starting out healthy.

2. How flexible are you?

This question asks you to test yourself at www.runnersworld.com/whartons to gauge your flexibility. I did the exercises and did them easily. Yoga has been part of my life off and on for years, and I was always comfortably felxible before yoga (I've never been gymnast or dancer flexible, but I've never had any trouble), so there were no "tight" spots to note. And I figure if I continue with yoga as part of my running routine, I should be good.

3. How do you line up?

For this question, I had to line up barefoot against a wall with heels, butt, and shoulder blades against the wall. I stepped forward from the wall, and if I could hold the position without effort, it meant I had good posture, which I did. I've never had issue with posture: Partially, because it was something my mom drilled into me about a gazillion times when I was a kid (she was always poking me between the shoulder blades when I was slouching and she warned against the terrible "hump" that could form if I slouched -- I did not want to look like Quasimodo). Plus, I'm very short, so slouching doesn't help me look any taller. I've always been conscious of standing up straight with my shoulders back so that I at least appear a half inch taller or so.This is good, according to RW because posture is the beginning of good or bad form, so it looks I score again.

After completing the first three questions, I felt very good about my marathon prospectives, but the second group of three revealed some areas that perhaps need improvement. I'll talk about them in tomorrow's post.

Dental Dummy

This morning I had a dentist appointment, and I have to admit that I was more than a little apprehensive. Mostly because I haven't been to the dentist in about five or six years. Yikes! I know that's a long time and that I shouldn't have let it be that long, but for years I was without insurance, and I was also incredibly lazy, so I just didn't go. But because I am now among the insured, and because I am trying not to be such a procrastinator about such important stuff, I called yesterday hoping to get an appointment in the next few weeks, and to my dismay, they fit me in today.

So, the first question the hygenist asked was: "When was your last cleaning?" I was embarassed to admit that it had been years, and when she looked at my teeth, my plaque build up confirmed that I had spoken truthfully. For the next thirty to forty-five minutes, she ground away at the disgusting plaque with her little tools and I could feel my gums bleeding (weaklings!). In the end, after she polished and flossed my teeth, and they were sparkly, clean, and smooth, I also noted how much bigger they looked: Apparently, there's a lot more tooth there when it's clean. Anyway, I humbly submitted to her chastising about regular visits and cleaning and swore that I did not want gum disease and, therefore, would come back in December for my next check up.

Thankfully, I didn't have any cavities (an amazing feat for someone who visits the clinic so rarely; the dentist seemed impressed by the quality of my teeth; he should be -- I grew them myself). But I know I have been bad about visits, and I honestly do worry about gum disease, more so than rotten teeth.

I read not too long ago in a "Time" article about health how keeping up with regualr dentist appointments and cleanings can extend your longevity and improve your overall health, and it's easy to overlook the chompers. We get so concerned with the food we eat that we tend (or, at least, I do) to forget the teeth that have to chew that food day in and day out. So, I guess I should start making a real effort to floss (I'm a good brusher, years with braces taught me that, but I hate to floss) so that next time the hygenist can praise my teeth and gums instead of spend half her morning scraping away at them.

Blah

I've been feeling a little blah the last few days, and I know it's because I haven't been running. I went on Monday (bugs galore), but didn't do an iota of exercise yesterday (well, not entirely true, I did dance around at the Greek restaurant last night -- that burned off part of my dinner), and I don't know if I'll get to any exercise today. First off, this morning I slept way too late in order to get a run in the early morning, and after running a few errands this morning (Scooter got his neuter stitches out), I have an afternoon of schoolwork to try and get done. I have a pile of essays to read, and something tells me I won't be able to read them all before class this evening.

It's easy to see how not running can so easily snowball into not running or working out at all for several days. And then I'm left feeling kinda mushy and squishy. Hopefully, I'll rediscover my mojo tomorrow, or maybe even somewhere later in the day today. I don't like feeling sluggish.

Bug Bombers

The bugs were drawn to face today like a fat kid is to a donut. I don't know if I was running through clouds, or if the sweat was calling to them from miles away, but I kept getting hammered by miniscule gnats who were pelting my cheeks, nose, lips and eyeballs. I swallowed two, one went right up my nose, and one smacked into the corner of my eye. I don't know what was up, but I was wiping away little black bodies every few minutes.

When I got home, it felt good to shower and get not just the sweat off, but the bug guts as well. Eww.

Back to the Heat and Humidity

I'm home! Got home about a half hour ago, and I'm soaking in the moisture from the air. Denver is so dry -- so very pleasant (can be 90 degrees but feels great), but so very dry. My lips were parched and my skin was flaky.

Originally, I had planned to do some running and I dutifully packed my shorts, sports bras, running socks and shoes, but in the end, they just took up space in my bag. I was just too busy visiting with family and playing; although, I did play an afternoon game of croquet, which is technically a sport, one day with my family. We played about three games total, but the only sweat we broke was from the sun, not exertion, and I drank enough beer to soak up any latent calories that might be burned through sweat.

Otherwise, we visited the Mint, spent time downtown chillin', went to Casa Bonita (a childhood favorite, which was surprisingly fun even as an adult -- hooky, but awesome), and went to Six Flags Elitch's, which was also awesome -- rode many coasters. All in all, it was a good trip, but I ate too much every day, and now I fear how running will go tomorrow. I already feel a little soggy from my time off.

Leaving on a Jet Plane

All of us know that flying across country can make us feel worn out and exhausted, but while we frequently blame the mysterious "jet lag," what is more often to blame is dehydration.

An airplane's cabin has close to zero humidity in it (a result of cabin pressure and the air conditioning systems), and passengers who are aboard a flight for more than two hours will mostly likely suffer from some dehydration (the degree to which is most likely determined by the individual). I'm flying to Denver this afternoon and our flight is four hours (it's a long way from Ft Lauderdale to the Wild West), so I will most certainly need to drink my water.

Dehydration can have several effects: muscle aches, stiffness, and soreness, headaches, itchy eyes, dry skin, bloody nose, and even constipation. Combine that with the fact that a passenger is generally asked to stay seated the entire flight, and you get people who are walking off the plane with limps and aching backs and pounding headaches. Personally, I have to take Dramamine on a flight because I get motion sick very easily, so I never chance a flight without the drug (projectile vomit is never cute). It knocks me out, so I sleep for most of any flight. Because I sleep most of a flight, I generally don't drink much water and inevitably stay seated during the duration of our air time. Add to that the fact that Dramamine gives you cotton mouth, and it's no wonder that I always feel groggy and sore after I travel by air.

Today, I am trying to hydrate as best I can by drinking lots of water, and I plan to bring a bottle with me on the plane (always drink airplane water from a bottled source; there have been several contaminants found in airline water -- if you get one of those bugs, the explosive diarhea you'll get will certainly dehydrate you). Hydration is one of the key aspects to anyone's health, but especially for a runner, so in order to lessen the effects of such a thirst inducing environment, a runner needs to board a plane prepared.

I don't know if I'll post while away for the next few days, but I return on Sunday, the 4th, and will post then! Talk to everyone soon!

Namaste

One of my biggest pet peeves at the gym is people who come into class late. It probably bothers me so much because I am a teacher, and it bugs me when students arrive to class late -- even when I was a student, I could seen that late arrival was a disruption. Same holds true in the classes held at the gym. Maybe I'm just uptight about being punctual, I don't know, but it really bothers me (my parents are very punctual people and we were always five minutes early to anything we ever did). Especially during yoga.

Yoga is not like spinning or an aerobics class where you can come in a little late and catch up with the class. It is a practice that is very much about unity, and it requires a certain state of mind to help each individual make the most of the time there. Inevitably, people are late though, usually just a few minutes, but their shuffling to get a mat and settle into their spot is disruptive, but I can usually shake it off. But today's class was really bad.

Two people came in about two or three minutes late, not so bad, and the instructor was just getting us settled and focused on our breath. Then, two more walk in at five after. Several people were visibly pissed at the late comers, but the instructor was talking about grace and acceptance in our lives and as a part of our practice, so everyone had to pretend as though they were accepting of the lateness and willing to accomodate those who were noisily shaking out their mats. But then one person came in at ten after, another at a quarter after and a last person at twenty after! (Now, it is my opinion that if you are going to be twenty minutes late, that you just don't go.)

I could tell the instructor's patience was being challenged at this point, but she asked us to make room for each new arrival; however, her own grace seemed to waiver when it became clear that many of these new arrivals were brand new to yoga. The instructor had to break free of her instructions to help with mats, and to help catch them up to what we were doing (if you've never heard of a sun salutation, you are going to be lost if the rest of the class is in the middle of a sequence). The class must be a hard one to teach because is there is often varying skill level, but the instructor is usually very good at creating a routine that is both challenging to those well-aquainted with yoga and approachable for those who aren't. But today, perhaps realizing that the majority of her audience was new to yoga, the instructor took it easy -- too easy for my taste and I never felt challenged in the least, and I could've stretched like that at home.

At the end of class, after relaxation, and we'd bowed and said "namaste" (traditional close to yoga -- for those unfamiliar, it's a show of respect to the instructor and to the others in class and literally traslates to mean "I respectfully salute you"), she addressed the new comers indirectly by emphasizing the importance of arriving on time for the sake of their own practice. I could hear a hint of annoyance in her voice and wondered if she'd truly felt the grace and acceptance she'd spoken of earlier in class. Sometimes it is difficult to maintain the teachings of yoga when people are so damn rude.

Memorial Weekend

Here's the breakdown on the important statistics for the Memorial Weekend BBQ/Pool Party yesterday:

Number of beers consumed: Approximately 10.

Pounds of food consumed: Approximately 10.

Pounds of food consumed that were chip-based: Approximately 8.5.

Number of hours spent in the pool playing volleyball: 5.

Number of pruny wrinkles as a result: 3,468.

Hours in the sun without taking a single sip of water (those would be sips reserved for beer): Approximately 6.

On a Richter scale of 1-10 (10 being the strongest, most destructive), my headache this morning measured a: 10.

Locked Out: Almost

Yesterday, my husband and I were charged with watching a friend's dog overnight, so we figured we would just stay at their house and bring Scooter with us (friends have the bigger house and a nice yard for the dogs to play in and wear themselves out). This morning, I decided I would get up early and run home (5.3 miles) and my husband would drive home with Scooter a little later when they were ready.

So, I got up at 6 am and headed out the door, but was wise to not forget to detach my house key and stick it in the little pocket of my running shorts. I set out on my run, which was very nice; it was a beautiful morning, humid but nice, and I had a good run. As I reached home, I stuck my finger into that shallow pocket and felt -- nothing. It was gone; the key was gone. I turned the little pocket inside out and searched the ground before me. Where had it fallen out? Clearly, it could have fallen out a block before home or it could have fallen out a block from my friend's house.

For a moment I thought about re-tracing my steps back to their house in the hopes of finding it, and if I didn't find it at least ending up back where my husband was with his keys. But I was tired after my run and reluctant to walk back the same distance, so I figured I would just wait for my husband. I checked the front door of our condo just to see if it was locked, and indeed it was, so I went out by the pool where I could at least sit down for, what could be, a long wait. But then I decided to double check my shorts. You see they're the sort of shorts with the built-in underwear lining, and even though I had briefly looked in there when I first noticed the missing key, I thought I should give it another look. And there, glimmering in the elastic was the shiny house key! It was glorious!

Internally, I did a little victory dance and then let myself in the house. And even though I did manage to get in the house this time without having to wake a neighbor, it has me thinking about stashing a spare key somewhere outside the house. It's just so risky -- every time I leave the house for a run, there's a chance I won't be able to get back in.

Caffeine Queen

This morning I managed to get to Spinning early enough to ensure myself a bike, but I also inconvienently placed myself in front of the most annoying woman on the planet. At first I thought perhaps she had just done a line in the toilet, but after hearing her loudly proclaim, "I've had so much caffeine!" I deduced that it was coffee, not coke, that was to blame. She was wired from the get-go and ready-to-go with her big, loud mouth as ready to exercise as the rest of her.

Spinning, as a class, seems to attract a lot of very vocal cyclers, and they like to shout and whoop and yell, and I understand and accept that it is part of the culture of the class. Personally, I am only a whooper, a shouter, and a yeller when I am drunk (I am also very likely to be a stand-on-the-tabler), but in class, I prefer to peddle and leave the encouraging cheers to those who enjoy it. Today's class was a hard one, at least by my standards, and the instructor had awesome music (which is really the key to a spinning class, in my humble opinion) which inspired a lot more whooping and yelling from the back row, especially from "caffeine queen" behind me. She seemed to crown herself the monarch of the class and felt it was her god-given duty to cheer us all on.

In the mirror, I could see her peddling madly away and occasionally pumping her right arm in the air Arsenio Hall style (which was a trend I was happy to see die and was not pleased to see resurrected). Like I said, it was a grueling class, with the instructor pushing us to peddle hard and keep our resistance high, and I had sweat pouring off the end of my nose. And when I've worked like that for fifty minutes, I look forward to the cool down ( it is my theory that one of the best feelings from exercise is the end when you've finished -- nothing compares to the mixed feelings of relief and accomplishment), but as the instructor started slowing it down, the annoying woman yelled for more, more, more! The instructor laughed it off (there's always a few crazies in any class), but she got completely obnoxious yelling that she hadn't worked hard enough and she needed to burn more calories. The instructor said something about her being the only one who felt like that since the rest of the class looked like they had burned plenty of calories. She then yelled, "I guess I'll just have to go run on the treadmill afterward!"

Now, the instructor didn't say anything, but it was a cue for the entire class to turn and give her dirty stares (mine, is a wicked one; I've spent years perfectly it and I hope it will one day shame my children when they have done wrong and I won't have to use physical force on them). "What?" she said with her arms raised in mock innocence. "I'm a New Yorker, so I guess I just tell like it is."

These transplanted New Yorkers are the worst kind of Floridians. There are many of them here, but they've lived here for like twenty years, yet they still consider themselves New Yorkers, and they go on and on about how things are always better in New York, which always begs the question: "Why did you move away from New York?" I had guessed earlier that she was from New York because of her nasaled Brooklyn accent, but right after she made her remark, the woman sitting next to her says, "I'm from New York too and we may say it like it is, but we are not rude." This seemed to appropriately shame her; you just don't insult an instructor after he or she worked hard to give you a good workout. If it's not enough for your caffeine-addled nerves, that's fine, but we don't need the announcement.

She seemed pissed at the whole class as she packed up her stuff and left with the rest of us. I don't know if she hopped on the treadmill or not, but I was happy to not be stuck near her anymore.

My Disgusting Toe

Gross, right? It's been black and blue for about two months now, and I'm wondering if it's going to fall off or what.

The exact origins of the injury are shrouded in mystery and I believe it was a combination of factors that led to the disfiguration: A. When I was waitressing at that mean restaurant (I quit, so you know) part time, I had a pair of shoes that kinda squeezed that foot and they made my toe ache. So I think it was a slow bruising, but then also: B. When camping in March, a friend stepped on my toe and seemed to seal the deal.

It used to be a much more vibrant purple, so the discoloration must mean its healing, but what's weird is that I can see underneath the nail and there is dried blood, so I must have burst a vessel (vein, whatever it's called) some how. For awhile it hurt to run, but now the toe is fine, but I'm still worried about the nail. I don't see how it can be salvaged. When I was in high school, I lost the same nail twice: Once in cross county season because the shoes I had were crap for the miles we were running, and again in soccer season when I "toe-hacked" the ball and split my toenail. (I also lost my thumbnail once when I was about five because I was looking under rocks for bugs -- roly-polys, to be exact -- and a rock smashed my thumb, the nail turned purple, and it fell off.)

It's a weird feeling to not have a nail, but it's also weird to look at this ugly fucker every day. At least it doesn't affect my running. And you know what I'm most icked out about? If it falls off, the thought of my sock rubbing against bare toe skin makes me want to hurl, ew!

Scooter's Surgery

Scooter in a rare moment when sleep catches up with him. When he plays, he plays hard,

and when he sleeps, he sleeps hard -- wherever he may fall.

Scooter appreciated everyone's good wishes for his "procedure" yesterday and he's happy to report that everything went well. It's hard to have your manhood taken from you, even before you've grown to fully appreciate it, but it is for his better health. Neutering is supposed to reduce all his chances for related cancers, plus it's added benefits are innumerable: Namely, he won't go hunting for the luh-vin. Chiefly, I think his stuffed animals are the most thankful. They're hoping to get a little less physical attention -- he likes to show them who's boss, if you know what I mean (there are a few pillows, a blanket and a towel or two that have also been shown who's the boss; my leg has also suffered the indignity).

But what's funny is that since Scooter is recovering from surgery, and has stitches, he's supposed to be taking it easy and is supposed to be feeling groggy and lethargic, but he's not. The vet laughed when she told my husband about Scooter post-op. She said that the other dogs were tired and barely conscious all afternoon (I guess they stuff all the surgery into one day a week), but 30 minutes after surgery, Scooter was awake and alert; he was ready for play. When my husband picked him up to take him home, Scooter wasn't showing much evidence of having been under anesthesia a few hours before. (Not incredibly surprising to us, considering every single shot he's had was supposed to make him "sluggish" and every single time we haven't seen an iota of difference in his behavior post-vet visit.)

Last night, we could tell he wanted to play, but we're supposed to encourage him to take it easy, so we're not supposed to rough-house, or play fetch, tug of war or anything that could cause him to tear a stitch. Frustrated by our lack of enthusiasm, he played by himself, and while he tried to fight off the sleepiness, in the end, it was a powerful force. It was so cute: He was laying on the bed trying to bite the crap out of his stuffed squirrel, but his eyes just wouldn't stay open; it was like watching a kid who's tired but refuses to go to bed. Eventually, he was sound asleep and he slept hard through the night. But this morning he was ready to go and even though I tried telling him to not jump on and off the bed, he wouldn't listen. So I guess we'll see how he heals, but one thing's for certain -- Scooter is like a freight train of energy, and not even the removal of his balls can slow him down.

Red Letter Day

Yeah! I did it! I actually got up early and went for a run; it was unbelievable. At first, I didn't know what that strange beeping in the middle of the night was, but then I realized it was my alarm, and instead of just shutting it off and sneaking in some more shut eye, I actually got out of bed, got dressed and hit the road. True, I found out when I returned that I had put my sports bra on inside out, but it seems to work either way.

Now I am off to take Scooter to the vet (he gets neutered today -- no more nuts for Scooter) and I have the day to myself to read student papers and to clean the house -- what joy! I can see why people do this get-up-early-and-run thing; it sure does open up the day.

Yesterday I , of course, did not get up early enough to run outside first thing in the morning, so that meant a trip to the gym and a run on the treadmill. Because four continous miles on the treadmill means almost certain boredom for me, I decided I had a genius plan: run 2 miles, break and do my ab work and then run 2 more miles, thus breaking the run in half. The first two miles went well, and then I stopped, did the the necessary crunches, etc and then really felt like being done.

Uh-oh. This is where the breaking-the-run-in-half idea hit a brick wall. I did not feel like getting back on that machine and running the second two miles. My body was saying, "We're done right?" And then when I climbed back on the treadmill my body said, "What the hell are you doing?"

Dutifully, I got back on there and struggled through the second two miles (at a much slower pace). So, why was this so much more difficult than I imagined it would be? I guess for me, stopping, for whatever length of time, means stopping. My body can't re-invigorate itself and get back into a rythym when it feels the song is over. So I guess that method won't work again. Tomorrow I've really got to try my hardest to wake up early and hit the road before it gets too hot out.

Virgin Voyage

Last night I went running in just my sports bra and shorts -- a bold move for the likes of me. Usually I like a little more coverage for the boobs and abs, but it's friggin hot here, even after the sun sets, and I was aiming for comfort. My husband assured me that it was not a scary sight (but that's what he's supposed to say), and I figured it was dusk outside and I would be like a blur to passersby anyway (because I'm like a speeding bullet).

At first I felt a little self-conscious, especially about my tummy. If there is any one thing about my body that needs improvement it is this inch of grabable flab right below my belly button, and for the first mile, I was very much aware of its tendancy to jiggle up and down. But after a bit, I stopped thinking about my exposed abdomen and I just enjoyed the run. It was a lovely evening last night -- a nice breeze, a lavendar sky, the smell of fresh cut grass. It was invigorating.

So would I go out again so scantily clad? Probably. At least during the summer months, it makes sense. But I probably do not have the courage to show up at the gym like that, even though I see many people with more than an inch of grabable flab who are wearing just shorts (men) or shorts and a sports bra (the old men -- ha!), but the gym feels like a showcase already, and I don't want people starring at me. At least when I'm running outside, I pass people; in the gym, I have to run next to them.

Mapping Distance

Most runners are pretty good at guessing their distances, maybe it's a sixth sense, I don't know. But I am not most runners. And I have found myself discouraged many times when I've returned from a run and thought, "Man, that was hard, must've been like 8 miles." Then I discover it was 3. It's a little tough on the ego. So there are, of course, a host of gadgets to help runners figure out mileage (I look forward to shoes that have an implanted homing device that can be tracked from a satellite; then, you get home and look up your personalized path online to see how far you went -- yes, we might be living in a little novel called 1984, but the mapping would be worthwhile).

Anyway, because I want to get a sense of how far I'm running and because I loathe carting around any extra gadgets (like pedometers and garmin, which makes me think of a gerbil -- which sounds cute but would probably just be meddlesome on a run), I have come to love the website www.gmap-pedometer.com. For those who haven't already stumbled across it, you'd best scoot your virtual selves over there. It's very handy. Essentially, it helps you zoom into a map of your running area, and through a variety of tools, helps you track running routes. The thing that separates this site from some others is that it is specifically designed with runners in mind, so you can perform a couple of different tasks that are helpful (like saving your routes, estimating calories burned, and creating double-back routes). Plus, it can calculate distance in miles and meters (for the Canucks among us). And, I suppose, if you really want something to carry with you on your run, you're able to print the maps out and you could tuck one of those into your shoe. It's not a homing device, but I'm confident once we enter the era of the hovercraft, the homing devices will be part and parcel.

Saturday Spin

Lately, I have been making it a habit to fit a spinning session in once a week with my running and yoga. I like spinning because it gives me the kind of workout I get from running, but at the same time it is a completely different kind of workout. Saturday mornings are a good time to go to class and it fits with my new schedule, but Saturday mornings also have to be the busiest time of week at the gym.

I guess no one is watching cartoons anymore.

Most Saturdays, I aim to get to class about 10-15 minutes early to guarantee a spot and find a parking space, and that's what I did this morning, except when I got there, the class was already full. Dammit. The class is almost always full on Saturdays, but usually when I get there plenty of bikes are available and the sign in sheet isn't yet filled. This is the problem with a gym: You have to share the stuff.

Instead of enjoying a hard spin class, I settled for walking on the treadmill for twenty minutes and then doing one of those eliptical trainers for twenty minutes, but it just wasn't the same workout, and my heart wasn't in it. Looks like next Saturday I'll have to aim to be even earlier. Crap.

Lizards

For my past couple of runs, I've been able to leave the treadmill behind and run outside. But, now that it's warm, summer weather, it means the lizards also want to run around outside, which means that as I run I have to avoid their kamikazee attempts to cross the sidewalk under my feet.

Two days ago I narrowly missed stepping on one while I was walking the dog, and it literally passed under my shoe while I was mid-step; in fact, I thought I had indedd smooshed the poor bastard, but I saw I was wrong when he scurried the rest of the way across the sidewalk.

It's a little harder to miss them when I'm running though. They dart out at the last minute and sometimes they meet their fate with the bottom of my shoe. Poor little buggers, some of them never have a chance.

The Sweet Life

Lately, with the discussion of yanking soda from schools and the occasional forwarded email I get from a friend that warns of the dangers of diet soda, it gets me thinking about my own Diet Pepsi consumption. Depending upon which information you read, Diet Pepsi is either the anti-Christ or a harmless prophet sent to relieve the sweet taste buds of its devoted flock.

So, first off, why should a person, specifically a runner, not drink diet soda? Well, there are some articles that argue that aspartame, the sugar substitute in most diet drinks, causes all sorts of terrible things. The list of aspartame's evils begins with cancer and ends with growing a second head. One of my friends, who used to work for a chiropractor, said that her employer wouldn't even work with patients if they drank diet soda because he firmly believed it interferred with their muscles and their bones and essentially made his adjustments worthless to their soon-to-be mushy bodies.

There are literally thousands of sites on the Internet that support this aspartame-is-evil campaign, and thousands more that simply discuss why soda, even diet, can be detrimental to your health. One key study, that health and fitness magazines have been repeating, reports that diet soda can ruin your diet because your body gets used to its sweet taste, but knows it's calorie free, so therefore links other sweets to calorie-free cravings. And I guess we'll all just be hovering over the cake pan shoveling it in, denying that the cake has any calories. Because the diet soda has tricked not only our bodies, but our brains too.

Even though I know that soda can't be good for me (I don't know about the wicked aspartame, but carbonation and phosphoric acid can't be good for bones or muscle mass -- I acknowledge this), I don't think that a can or two a day will turn my insides to goo, and I can't blame it for my tendancy to eat a whole pan of yellow cake with chocolate frosting (I believe the yellow #5 is responsible for that).

As runners, we are constantly addressing our dietary needs, cravings, and adjustments, but what about addressing our drink needs? Clearly, we all know we need to drink a lot of water -- can't hear that enough -- and you can throw in milk and low calorie juice for effect if you like, but beyond that, so much seems clouded in mystery. Can we drink coffee? Some say yes, drink up, caffeine gives you energy! Others say no, you'll become dependent on that high. Can we drink sports drinks? Many encourage it, say an athlete needs his or her Gatorade. But then others point out that sports drinks can be worse for your teeth than soda and unless you're burning serious calories and sweating like Ron Jeremy in a XXX, you don't need the calories, sodium or electrolytes that are added to sports drinks. Can we drink alcohol? "Hells yeah!" most of us shout, but alcohol is probably a runner's worst enemy; it manages to both dehydrate and add empty calories at the same time.

In the end, any nutritionist and any trainer will tell you that what you drink will ultimately depend upon how much you drink of it, and just as the case with food, moderation is the key. So until a second head really does start sprouting from my shoulders, I'm going to keep drinking coffee, diet soda, and beer and hope that the water I drink will help me balance out. Once I start adding more miles, I'm certain I will throw in some Gatorade or Propel for good measure.

Besides, P.Diddy is a spokesperson for Diet Pepsi, am I not to believe my celebrity sponsors anymore? He ran the New York City Marathon! He wouldn't deceive me, right?

My Practice

Pigeon Pose -- Friggin hard. I can not get anywhere near touching my forehead to my foot (this model's jelly-like bones probably help her flexibility). On a good day, I can reach back and grab my back ankle, from there I just pray for divine intervention.

I am so sore today, and it's not from running (my newly established prepare-for-marathon-training-schedule has me running on Monday, Wednesday, Friday and Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday are for yoga, and Saturdays for spinning); it's from yoga. Yoga days are supposed to be my easy going days, and don't get me wrong, I had a great practice yesterday, but lord, did we work! It doesn't help that I did ab work on Monday and then we did several poses yesterday that also worked our abs -- ouch! My stomach ached so bad yesterday night that when I sneezed, I thought I might cry (and maybe pee myself).

Today, I am sore not just in my abs, but all over. My hip flexors got an especially good workout in yoga yesterday (lots of deep lunging poses) and my back got all stretched out (I love back bends, but they can still leave me achy the next day). Lots of people, husband included, don't understand how yoga can be a workout (a man who can't bend over and touch his toes), and in a way, while I'm doing it I don't realize how hard my body is working. But some poses are very difficult, and the trick with yoga is that you have to hold those difficult poses; it's the holding that makes it hard.

That, and trying to keep peace of mind (and remember to "breathe"; dammit, I don't want to breathe, I want to pass out). Everything in yoga is supposed to be about "your practice" and "challenging yourself but not being focused on the end result" and "you're not in competition with anyone, not even yourself." Sometimes the mantras are nauseating. Still, because it's so different from running where I am focused on the end result and where I am definitely competing, especially against myself it helps give me a different perspective on exercise. That's why I like yoga, it's so different from what running demands of me physically and pyschologically, but it's also why yoga is a challenge for me.

I ache today, yes, but that means I pushed myself, challenged my muscles. Today's run might be a little stiff, but I'll get through it (with a little help from some motivation called "coffee").

Mickey's Marathon

Well, I think I'm going to go for it; that's right, I'm going to register for a marathon. I feel a bit anxious and sweaty in the pits thinking about actually doing it (almost as scary as buying a house or getting married -- such a committment!), but I think I'm going to swallow my fears and do it. If I have the goal in front of me (six and a half months in front of me), then I can truly set my sights on it. Until now, the idea of a marathon has been just a vague notion, but for the last few weeks I have been seriously thinking about it, and I have decided I just need to take the leap, register, and then start training.

So, the race I have chosen to register for is the Disney Marathon in January, 2007 (by then we should have hovercrafts and space-age shoes to make running easier, right? kidding, but doesn't 2007 sound like the future? I mean, the future). After looking at several other marathons nearby -- the largest is the ING Miami marathon, also in January -- I decided that the Disney one sounded like the most fun. You get to run through the parks, and they make the marathon a weekend event, so there is a health expo and there are all kinds of celebratory events and pre-celebratory events all weekend. Plus, I just like going to Orlando (about three hours north of where I live in Ft Lauderdale); it's got a fun atmostphere to the whole city.

Anyway, I am going to fill out the race registration stuff online after I post this blog, and then I'm committed. I will officially be preparing for a marathon (yikes!), and maybe I should tell my parents to root around in the attic for my mouse ears, so I can wear them on race day. Do you think they would create some uncomfortable rubbing?

Early Riser

The computer issues persist, but while I can't log into my email, somehow I am still admitted into Blogger, so I'll truck on today but it looks like I will have to try and call tech support people at some point -- ick.

Anyway, last night before bed, I was filled with good running intentions, and I thought I would rise early today and go running in the wee hours and have it done with. (I have to teach a class this evening, so I won't be able to save it until the sun goes down and I was trying to get the run in before the sun came up.) Well, as you can probably guess, the alarm went off at 6:30 and I turned it off and went back to sleep. This morning I was particularly tired for some reason and could not rouse myself from sleep. After my husband left for work (in an annoyingly good mood), I slept another hour, and probably would have honestly kept sleeping if it weren't for the dog bugging me.

Now I will have to go to the gym and do my run on the treadmill, and I get so bored on the treadmill, despite having tunes, that I inevitably cut the run shorter than I originally intended. On Wednesday when I have class again, I'll have to try my hardest to actually rise early -- we'll see.

Computer Issues

My computer is being invaded not by spyware itself, but by programs designed to rid the computer of spyware. I swear, all these anti-virus programs cause more trouble than viruses, and are just as annoying. Right now, I am seriously getting pissed at Norton, and Symantec, the company who owns and distributes Norton. It won't let me access certain things and keeps trying to get me to buy some other product to download. Damn this technology!

Breakfast of Champions

They say that breakfast is the most important meal of the day -- it kickstarts your metabolism and helps set the tone for the day's eating habits. Most nutritionists recommend something with protein and something high in fiber, so an egg with a slice of whole wheat toast would be the perfect breakfast for any runner: High in the things you need, low in the things you don't. Or, you could have some yogurt and fruit. Those are all excellent, healthy choices. You know what I had for breakfast?

A big, fat slice of chocolate cake.

Chocolate cake, for those who don't know, is not high in protein, nor is it low in fat, nor is it high in fiber. No, it contains processed flour and sugar (loads of both), butter, eggs (I must get some brownie points for those), water, and oil. But you know what else chocolate cake contains that actually is good for you? Deliciousness! That's right, it's a word. Some days a girl needs a big, fat slice of chocolate cake and a cup of coffee to get her started in the morning because they taste good, not because they are healthy.

If only little slices of chocolate cake came in a box, like Wheaties; then the world would be a better place.

For the Curious

Okay, here's the new haircut. Not a great picture, but it's kinda hard taking a quality picture of yourself.

In events that are totally unrelated to my hair, there was a story in the paper this morning about a woman who was jogging and was apparently attacked by an alligator! Police and wildlife specialists don't seem to know many details, but what they do know is that she was last seen jogging on Tuesday night, and that they pulled the remains of her body out of a canal yesterday (Wednesday) and she still had her running shoes, sports bra, and shorts on. But the reports say that her death seems to be the result of a gator attack, and this kinda freaks me out.

She was running around 7 pm on a sidewalk along a canal, and whether the gator attacked her on ground or whether she was standing closer to the water's edge at some point is unclear, but it's a little worrisome. I don't usually go near the water's edge, even though there's a canal twenty feet out my back door, but it does seem eerie to have a jogger claimed.

Wildlife officials have been quick to remind the news that gator attacks are very rare, but we are currently experiencing a drought (hasn't rained in forever and everything is dry and crispy), and the Everglades are very dry, so I guess gators are swimming into the canals, which are much closer to civilization. Plus, they're looking for food, and this woman must've either been standing close to the water at some point (summer time + dusk + hungry gator = gator attack) or she was feeding it (seems a little contrived).

Anyway, I just got a new haircut and I don't need that ruined by having an alligator chew off my leg, so I guess I'll steer clear of the canals. Why is it always joggers who meet such violent ends? (When I was in middle school in Colorado, there was an issue with the Mountain Lion population for awhile, and I remember when a puma nabbed a jogger then. It's turning out to be a dangerous sport.)

New 'Do

When I called the salon yesterday, I was expecting to get an appointment later this week, but to my surprise, I got right in. It was a salon I've never been to before, and it was a salon not a Hair Cuttery or one of the other cheap places I usually go, so I was a little out of my element. (For one thing, I never know if I'm supposed to tip the shampoo person separate or if the stylist gives her a portion of his tip; does anyone know? I watched the woman before me and she didn't tip, so I figured I was safe, but what if she was just cheap?)

Anyway, the guy who cut my hair was very nice, and he obligingly asked the required questions: What do you do for a living? Are you from here? Are you married? Do you have children? I hate this kind of chit-chat. I'm really bad at it and I just don't really want to talk to strangers -- not cashiers, or servers, or mechanics. I just want them to do whatever it is they have to do, and I will be polite, but I don't necessarily want to be their best friend. Thankfully, this stylist seemed to feel the same way, and after I answered his questions with the required information, he went about silently cutting my hair.

There's something about a haircut that makes every muscle in my body tense up: Am I scared that moving around will ruin the process, or am I just that weird about the unnatural conversation? I don't know why, but there are always points when I discover that I am clenching my fists under that plastic cape or that my calves are tightened and my toes curled under. In the end, he did a nice job, but he did cut off more than I wanted (I didn't say anything -- what can he do? glue it back on? just like I'd never send food back in a restaurant, I'd never tell a stylist it's too short). It doesn't look bad; in fact, my husband said he really liked it, but it certainly is much shorter.

So last night I went for a run (after the sun set and the temp cooled some -- was still extremely humid) and I was able to pull the new 'do back with two elastics (pigtails) and one barrette, not bad. And it stayed back for the entire run (might be because the stylist had loaded me up with hairspray and gel when he styled my hair and those strands weren't moving for their life). Last night I showered after my run and went to bed with wet hair, so this morning it looks like I stuck my finger in the socket, but oh well. Scooter hasn't let out a frightened scream yet.

Hairdo

I need a haricut. Not necessarily because a bowl is my only hair covering option at this point; no, I just need a change (and a few split ends need to be cut off). But I have no idea how I want to cut my hair (this dilema drives my husband batty, but men don't completely understand the haircut dilema -- they've been getting the exact same haircut since they were four).

Part of me wants to go back to having some bangs and then have them do some layering, but my one reservation is how to incorporate the bangs I patiently waited to grow out into a neat, running pony tail. I finally have hair that is essentially all one length, and it fits nicely into a pony tail, which is perfect for running. Yet, I find that even when I am not running, a pony tail is the only style I do.

Well, anything must be better than the bowl. I'll make an appointment and see how it turns out. And if I have to go back to a series of elastics and barettes to keep the hair out of my face while I run, so be it.

Presidents and Pandas

I returned this morning from my long weekend trip to Washington, DC, and I am able to report that it was a delightful trip. My husband and I went to visit my dad, who lives there, and because my husband has never had an opportunity to visit the nation's capital before. So, because it was his virgin voyage, we were obligated to visit all manner of DC attractions: This means we walked all over the friggin' city. We saw all the major monuments, memorials, and museums and took the appropriate amount of pictures (including one where I suggested my husband lick the Washington Monument -- not many people get a snapshot like that).

The walking wore us out though. Even though I consider myself to be someone in good shape, there's just no way to be prepared for a Baton Death March three days in a row. Thankfully, my dad lives in downtown DC (the Woodley Park area), so were able to walk or ride the Metro everywhere we wanted to go, but DC is a big place and that means there's a lot of ground to cover. By the end of the first day, we were exhausted, yet when my dad suggested a run, I was all for it -- there are great paths and trails near his apartment. But I must've forgotten when I agreed to go that my dad is a fast runner.

We only ran two miles, but for me it was a full out run the entire time, and in the end I was about half a block behind my dad, who is twenty-three years older than I and in much better shape, and I was huffing and puffing up the last hill. Plus, living here in Florida, I never encounter hills when I run, so to run up and down some of the DC streets was difficult for me, and I quickly felt like a running loser as dozens of other runners breezed by me (seriously, I have never seen a city that is so full of runners -- they are everywhere!).

After that first day's run, I did not join my dad again for a run while we were there (but he ran everyday); the walking was enough and it has left me feeling stiff and sore.

But aside from the heavy foot traffic we created, we did see some good stuff including the adorable new baby panda (he's only ten months old and I just wanted to cuddle him), and we happened to be walking by the White House when the President's motorcade went by, so we saw the President, who leaned over and waved at the crowd on the sidewalk (personally, I preferred seeing the panda). We also were able to go up to the top of the Washington Monument and we managed to get tickets to the Holocaust Museum, which is a moving experience; although, it is very depressing.


All in all, it was a great trip, and we had beautiful weather while we were there. But it also feels good to be home, back in the swampy marshland of South Florida where I can resume running without any hills and without feeling crappy about not being able to keep up with my 51 year old dad -- I can poke along at my own pace.

Absence

I will be heading out of town this evening and won't return until Monday, and I doubt I will post while I'm gone, so for those of you who are dedicated readers, I know you will shed some tears in my absence; it's okay to cry. I will be back soon.

May the force be with you.

Gym Expansion

My gym has been making some changes lately. I noticed last week that they had changed the yoga/spinning classroom, and had moved those classes to a different room, but I didn't know what they had planned for the old room. Then, when I was in there yesterday, I saw what they were planning. Looks like that room is now going to be a Tae-Kwon-Do studio, which is pretty kick ass. I didn't read all the info packets they had sitting out about it, but I was curious to see what was going on. Eventually, some kids showed up in their little "Do" outfits and it brought me back to my days in karate when I was a kid.

I took karate for about three years when I was growing up -- from when I was in third grade until the end of sixth grade. I loved karate (mostly because I have a special place in my heart for kicking and yelling), and I really loved our pajama-like outfits; I even convinced my mom to let me sleep in mine most nights. I was actually pretty good at karate too, and might have gone on further if my interests hadn't been sidetracked by other sports.

So it piques my curiosity about this new Tae-Kwon-Do studio, and I wonder if classes are open to the gym public or what. Part of me thinks they might be special classes and they might require the actual purchase of a pajama-like outfit and a class sign up and so forth, and I'm not sure if I really want to be dedicated like that. But the idea of kicking and yelling does sound promising.

L-A-Z-Y

I had originally been thinking about going to yoga this morning, but then I decided I was too sleepy and I went back to bed for awhile (amazing that the dog let me go back to sleep, but after his initial standing-on-my-head-licking-my-hair thing he settled down and went back to sleep as well). I wish there were more classes offered in the afternoon at my gym, but it seems they are all in the morning and evening (to best fit traditional work schedules). I suppose I'll just hold off and go to something this evening -- today is not supposed to be a running day.

I am feeling a case of the lazies today, which is not good because I have to complete the sprint to the finish with my end of semester grading and I will need my strength. But I feel more like laying on the couch and finishing my book. If only it were raining; then I'd feel justified in doing that.

Night Run

Today I procrastinated long enough about my run that the only time to do it was this evening, and it was actually really nice. The weather was perfect, the sidewalks clear, the path well-lit. The only problem with the night run is that you have to time your meals right. Perferrably, I like to run on an empty or near-empty stomach (otherwise, I feel like that food is sloshing around in there). But in the evening, it seems tricky coordinating that late run with dinner. And I didn't do a great job of that, because the whole run I could taste the tacos I had for supper and I swear I burped taco the entire time (good thing I don't have a running partner). Next time I run in the late evening, I'll have to either plan an early dinner or a late one -- one in the regualr dinner hour just doesn't work.