An Unexpected Run

Not all runs are planned. Sometimes, we runners are called into action at unexpected moments. This afternoon was just such a moment. We have been dog-sitting Wilson, the pictured puggle, since Wednesday, and he's been very good and he is an incredibly sweet dog. But also, apparently, a sneaky one.

This afternoon when I got home from class, I took both he and Scooter out for a walk, and when we got back, I unleashed them when we were at the threshold of the house (this allows them to sprint indoors to the water bowl without yanking my arm off). I have never had an escapee, but today, Wilson took a look behind him, realized he was free, and ran. Scooter paused for a second and then was off in pursuit.

I was running and chasing them (not very effectively because I was still wearing my heals from work, and they aren't prime shoes for a quick jaunt across the parking lot). They were pretty fast for two dogs that mostly lay around all day. Scooter, to his credit, came to me, but I had to out-wit Wilson as he rounded the corner of a bush in order to catch him.
I wasn't winded, but a short sprint in the early afternoon heat was not something I needed and those dogs got a few choice words and some smacks on the behind: They immediately looked very sorry. Maybe I should start strapping on my running shoes all the time, just in case I am called upon to run -- if superheroes keep their capes under their regular clothes, maybe my shoes should all be capable of morphing into running shoes at a moment's notice. Dang, that would be handy.

Sunday Comics

Some days, I swear, Darby Conley is tapped straight into my brain for humor (remember, fellow runners, laughing is just as good for your heart as running)!

Batter is Better

It's that time again, when the craving for yellow #5 hits me, and I just have to have some yellow cake with chocolate frosting. But tonight I decided to mix it up some and make them into cupcakes (just another C-R-A-Z-Y Saturday night!), but whenever I make cake or brownies or cookies, the one thing I fill up on before I even get to the baked goodies, is the batter. In fact, I have to declare that I like the batter more than I like the actual baked product.

I don't worry about consuming raw eggs (I've been doing it since I was a toddler, so I assume I have a tolerance for any strain of salmonella), and the glory of the goop is delicious. In high school, I used to make chocolate chip cookie batter and just leave it the fridge and then pull out the bowl and eat some batter; I wouldn't even bother making the cookies -- if I was feeling truly decadent, I would mix that cookie batter with some vanilla ice cream. I guess you could say I invented chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream; damn that Ben and Jerry for stealing my idea.

With all this posting about drinking beer, scarfing down Taco Smell, and slurping up cake batter, I bet you guys think I'm a food slob, but I have been on course with running (yesterday I was forced to use the dread treadmill -- icky) and cross training (kinda). But if we were meant to live on fresh fruits and veggies, then they'd grow on trees. Wait a sec...

Drinkin' Beers

The thing about drinking beer which makes sticking to a healthy diet so difficult is not necessarily the beer itself (although it doesn't help), but instead, it's the cravings for salty, fatty foods that immediately prompt you to seek a Taco Bell drive-thru: That's what ruins the healthy eating.

Last night at bowling, I had me some beers (and it did help my game), and then afterward my husband and I hit the drive-thru. It's no surprise that I ate too much icky taco (seriously, it wasn't even very good, yet I kept stuffing my face) and then went to bed feeling bloated and fat. Not very good for a girl who's trying to be a speeding bullet -- chubby bullets don't go as fast.

Speed Demon

Last night, I ran my fastest three miles ever! (Well, not ever, but the fastest in a long time.) I don't wear a watch or a Garmin (I know, it's like running in the dark ages, but I hate the feel of a watch on my wrist -- it rubs my wristbone wrong), so I don't know my exact time and I have no idea what my splits were, but the kitchen clock said 7:56 when I left and read 8:26 when I returned. That's thirty minutes minus the walking out to the path and back time, so minus two minutes; that equals 28 minutes!

Basically, I was moving so fast, I was a blur to the naked eye, kinda like Superman.

Road Racer

Feeling a bit sluggish with running motivation, I decided to invgiorate my attitude by looking forward to some fall races -- the race schedule has been added to my sidebar over there, but don't bother trying to click on them, the links don't work (most don't have an actual page, and those that do don't connect well). The first of which is in a week and a half. Am I crazy?

Maybe.

It's a 5k, so the distance isn't worrisome, but the date is: August 12th. A race in August? In Florida? Maybe my husband should just commit me now. Last year when I ran a 5k in August, I nearly went up in flames, but I'm hoping that the 7 am start time and a year's worth of running under my belt will better prepare me for this race.

We'll see.

Green Means "Go!"

Yesterday, the god of green lights was smiling down on me from the heavens.

Stop lights are the bane of the urban running existence, especially in an area that has few trails or parks where runners can gallop free from the cement paths that run alongside the roadways. Many of my routes have been designed to avoid as many intersections as possible, but certain routes can't help but coincide with traffic lights. Last night's route was an old one of mine that stretches two miles north and then doubles back on itself: It only has three lights, but because I double back, the number of lights doubles.

Sometimes, I have to stop at every single light and wait, and this throws me off -- once I stop, I feel as though I lose some of my momentum. This is why it is also better to be a morning runner, because even when the lights are against you, at five am, there's no traffic, so you can cross against the lights and pray that a random car doesn't plow you down.

Last night though, I must have been running at exactly the right tempo, or else I was just lucky because I hit a green light at every intersection. One was a close shave though. You see, some of our intersections have installed those timers that inform the pedestrian of how many seconds they have to cross the street (handy devices I think, but can also be a bit stressful: when you know you only have 20 seconds to get across, you can feel a bit pressed for time), and as I approached one of the intersections on my path, I noted that I only had five seconds to reach the other side. So I dashed!

And I triumphed! My foot hit the sidewalk at the 0 mark, and I felt a bit like I had just finished a race. The rest were green with plenty of time to cross; now, if only I could ask the gods to bless me with the same kind of string of lights when I'm driving. The commute would go so much faster!

Crunching the Numbers

Approximate calories burned on three miles, Sunday evening run: 300.

Approximate calories consumed in post run dash to Dairy Queen (small cherry dipped cone): 340.

Score: Dairy Queen 1, Jess 0.

Early Sunday Morning

At 5:15 this morning, my dog, Scooter, was standing on the floor by the foot of the bed looking like he was gonna puke. He'd been to his dog friend's birthday party on Saturday night (a party humans were able to enjoy just as much as the dogs) where he'd been treated to doggie ice cream and other doggies treats, and at 5:15 in the a.m., it seemed that all of that was going to come back up.

So I leashed him up and took him for a stroll in the predawn hour. It was still dark out, but the humidity was already oppressive; I felt vindicated to discover that the early morning was no cooler than the late evening (thus justifying my need to sleep in and save my runs for night). We walked about half a block, and Scooter did not barf but he did attend to other business and that must've settled his stomach. On our return, I spotted another solitary human out, and lo and behold, it was someone running.

He jogged on past us and waved a sweaty "hello" and I immediately felt guilty. Here I was, a supposed runner, counting the seconds until I could return to the cool comfort of my bed when he was out here in the wee hours getting it done. The morning runners always seem more dedicated than the rest of us, and they know it -- smug bastards.

Anyway, the guilt didn't linger long. Once Scooter and I went back into the air conditioned house and snuggled into our cool beds, we were both sound asleep.

Some Help from "Runner's World"

There was an article in RW this issue that helped unveil some mysteries surrounding my pukey and poopy episode a few weeks ago. As many of you reported, it's not uncommon for you as well, and according to the article, it's a very common running problem. Running, I guess, can be a little tough on the guts.

First of all, all exercise is irritating to the stomach because blood is drawn away from the stomach to the muscles, but runners report more stomach upset than, say, swimmers or cyclists, and RW says this is because running has so much impact, so much jostling, that the stomach and the whole GI tract get upset. This can prompt diahrea, vommiting, and gas (all lovely side effects).

This explains why so many runners have reported similiar stops at gas stations. Runner's World suggests tweaking your diet until you find the right combination that eases your stomach, and to make sure that meals are spaced appropriately before running. And the article suggested a few foods to avoid or replace (obviously having a bowl full of high fiber cereal and a cup of coffee before a run will lead to trouble). The article helped me feel a little more normal, and gave me some helpful suggestions.

This is what I tell my husband:

That's right people:
Some of us are just born lucky.

Oh, it's on!

Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, it was the showdown a la bowling, and let me tell you, the boys are bitter. Especially one in particular. Let me tell you folks, there's nothing more sour than a bitter man who has lost to the ladies.

It was a close match, and in the first two games, I will concede defeat to the team of penises, but the last game was all ours! In the end, it came down to a crucial tenth frame showdown between me and one of the he-demons, and while I fell two pins short, I gave my team the needed pins for victory (with a capital V, baby!)! These boys, well, they shed some tears, but it's nothing a few beers can't solve.

What I learned: A pitcher and a half of beer is the magic combination for me. I didn't light up that dingy alley until I'd consumed my fair share: So long attempt to banish belly fat! I need the empty calories to defeat those muppets who call themselves a bowling team!

Holy Hell, It's Hot!

Yesterday and the day before, the counties of South Florida issued "heat exhaustion warnings" and people were advised to not exercise outside, and if you work outside, it was advised that you take frequent breaks and drink plenty of water. The temps are not higher than usual for this time of year, but after weeks of cooling rain, the sudden heat does feel overwhelming. Yesterday, with humidity, it was 99 degrees out.

I know that everyone else across the country is broiling as well at this time of year, but I really can't accurately describe how South Florida can literally feel like a steam room: You walk outside and your sunglasses fog over, your car can be 120-140 degrees if it's been sitting in the afternoon sun, and condensation builds up along windows of apartment and office buildings. Merely standing with the dog outside makes me sweat.

So, yesterday I caved and went to the gym to run on the treadmill. I eeked out three miles, but barely. Not because my body was tired, but because I was mind-numbingly bored. While I do listen to music on the treadmill, there's nothing for me to look at but the digital numbers slowly ticking off the time and distance, and you know watched pots -- they supposedly never boil, same idea concerning watched treadmills.

Today is a cross training day, so that offers a little more variety at the gym, but tomorrow when I'm back to a run, I don't know what I'll do. I have three options: get up early, face the treadmill again, or wait until late evening (like 9 pm). Ugh.

Burn Barbie

Today, my class had a lively discussion concerning Marge Piercy's poem "Barbie Doll" (I just love it when they get excited about something!). Here's the poem:

Barbie Doll

This girlchild was born as usual
and presented dolls that did pee-pee
and miniature GE stoves and irons
and wee lipsticks the color of cherry candy.
Then in the magic of puberty, a classmate said:
You have a great big nose and fat legs.

She was healthy, tested intelligent,
possessed strong arms and back,
abundant sexual drive and manual dexterity.
She went to and fro apologizing.
Everyone saw a fat nose on thick legs.

She was advised to play coy,
exhorted to come on hearty,
exercise, diet, smile and wheedle.
Her good nature wore outlike a fan belt.
So she cut off her nose and her legs
and offered them up.

In the casket displayed on satin she lay
with the undertaker's cosmetics painted on,
a turned-up putty nose,
dressed in a pink and white nightie.
Doesn't she look pretty? everyone said.
Consummation at last.
To every woman a happy ending.

I could be very teacherly and explicate the poem for you, but I think most can decipher the poem's theme about how women's physical appearances dominate people's perceptions of them (but I hope you noted the last stanza's irony: the poem's speaker is finally pretty, but she's dead). My class really got into discussing how the idea of Barbie is detrimental to our concept of how we should look, particularly how women should look, but the men had some astute insight as well about the pressure of physical ideals. (I'm sure some male readers could help us further understand the standards of masculinity that are applied to them -- you guys know you're not doing those bicep curls for the improved time on a mile.)

While I was walking out of class, still fresh from the dialogue, I thought about my own physical appearance, its value, and how running has changed how I see myself. I worry over my physical appearance just like anyone else, and I am certainly critical of myself as well, but running has helped me see my body as a strength, not a liability. Many of us first approach running as a way to lose weight or maintain weight (far more important), but once we discover the other pleasures of running, weight loss is no longer at the forefront of our concerns. Personally, running has helped me realize not what I want to change about my body, but works works well for my body.

For runners, we learn to appreciate what our bodies are capable of, and through running, we often discover new layers of emotional and mental depth (you can't help it -- I swear that the connection between running and thought is like a high-speed internet connection). In the end, I think athletes are still susceptible to societal pressure regarding physical appearance, but most of us value our health more than the mirage of health. And this helps us see the "ideal" of phsyical apperance as nothing more than a sham, a shadow puppet.

As many of my students were quick to note, Barbie is fake, she's plastic, she's hollow inside. So who wants that?

Down Boys

Perhaps because of a love for Carmen Electra or perhaps because of a love for strippers, my husband ordered Electra's Aerobic Striptease on Netflix for "me." Because I might like it for cross training purposes (and if it was viewed when I wasn't present, well, those things happen). So today I thought I'd give it a try -- I've been to strip clubs and those strippers look like they're working hard; therefore, I figured it had to at least give me a good warm up.

These were my thoughts and experiences on it:

1. It's harder than it looks, and a lot harder to do those moves and look sexy while doing them. Granted, I was in a gray tank top and paint splattered sweatpants, so they didn't add to the effect, but truly, it's hard to lift your leg up and over a chair without appearing like a goofus (plus, let me say, that just getting the leg up and over the chair, and straight for that matter, was a difficult feat).

2. The head swivel and hair toss thing makes me nauseous. I just can't whip my head around like that -- I felt my brain slide back and forth.

3. While it was difficult in some regards, it wasn't what I would call "aerobic." Yeah, I felt a little warmer, but I didn't sweat and I didn't find my heart pumping with the exertion -- maybe all beginner strippers feel this way and the real stuff is left to the advanced women, I don't know. And, all I had to work with was a chair; I suppose if given a pole, the workout would be far more strenuous.

4. And I'm disappointed to let you know that I did not come out of the video experience looking like Carmen Electra -- dammit. (Sorry honey.) That's really something they should label on the disc.

So, I don't think I'd recommend it for aerobic purposes, but perhaps it is helpful in other ways (if you know what I'm sayin'.) As far as cross training, I think I'm better off on the eliptical machine or riding bike.

Cloud Cover

I felt like Eeyore this afternoon with a rain cloud over my head while I was running. It appeared that everything around me was dry, but I was getting soaked. Usually, I don't mind getting rained on a little, but this was irksome: Now I know why Eeyore always looked so said; it sucks being the only wet one.

I'm Back!

Returned this evening from my Tampa weekend getaway. We had a blast! On Saturday, we went kayaking on the Weeki Watchee river and saw 2 turtles, schools of fish, a snake, two manatees, and a partridge in a pear tree. It was an all day trip paddling in the sun, but the river was cool, clean and refreshing, and when we weren't tangled in the trees, it was relaxing (but, lord, did we paddle!). Then, Saturday night we went to Ybor city (party central for Tampa), and had dinner and then went to the bars.

It was a grand time, and because of the generosity of a girl who latched onto my group, it was also a very cheap time (no, I didn't sell her my soul or my body, but let's face it, people like me, and whether those people are boys or girls, they like to buy me beers). So, I had my free beers and danced, danced the night away. And at 2 a.m. we found ourselves eating bacon dipped in cheese, and it was awesome (I always believe in eating something after drinking and before bed, but I have to admit that it is when I eat the worst food).

Today we drove back, but stopped at an outlet mall and shopped some. I got home, enjoyed a burrito for dinner and now I think I will unpack and crash. I think I've had about 8 hours of sleep all weekend, and I can't wait to snuggle into my own bed with my snoring husband and farting dog.

Tomorrow I'll have to return to my running schedule: Beer, bacon and cheese don't burn themselves off!

Gettin' outta Dodge

I leave this afternoon for a weekend away with the girls. I'm traveling with a friend to the Tampa area. I've never been to that part of Florida and I hope it is every bit of splendor I expect it to be. We're planning on a kayak trip where we hope to interract with manatees and dolphins (and where I'm hoping to find one to take home), as well as a tour of some bars (for educational purposes), and some shopping (as a sociologic study). I think it will be fun to get out of town for the weekend and leave the husband and dog to their own vices (I have a mental image of the dog laying there comatose from the rawhide my husband will dispense like Pez in order to occupy Scooter so that he can concentrate on the video games and meatloaf).

I'll be back on Sunday -- ready to go for my long run to burn off the calorie-laden food and drink I will consume over the next 48 hours. Have a good weekend, and until then: Peace out!

Thursday-Shmursday

Yes, so I should not be allowed to post when I've been drinking, but it could be worse -- I could be drunk-dialing, so Blogger, in a sense, saves me from even more embarassing repercussions. You, my dear readers, just have to suffer the consequences of such incoherent rambling.

On the schedule for today: It's a cross training day, so I've been doing a combo of lifting/stretching/easy going cardio on these days. Tuesday I walked the dog, focused on arms and abs and did some yoga. Today I plan much of the same except a focus on legs for the lifting part. I also bowl tonight; that must score me some kind of extra credit with cross training.

As a side note, something unrelated to running, but related to drinking: I have terrible breath today. Probably a side effect of beer and, perhaps, the wings that peeled away the top layer of skin on my lips, but might also be from the coffee for breakfast and the onions on my salad for lunch. I feel as though I should be breathing fire. It takes a strong odor to detect your own bad breath, so maybe I need to go get a mint and do a thorough teeth-brushing. Icky.

Drunken Post

Okay, so I haven't had one of these in awhile (not that I haven't been drunk, but I've had the senss to not post -- but not tonghit, baby!). So, I had a small moment of panick when I thought I was playing on the internet and missing Project runway (and I can't have that), but then I realized its only 9:18 and Runway is at 10 -- so, fhew!

Anyways, I went running earlier, around 5 pm (only two miles -- some days you just get it over with and say "good enough") and then met the hubby for "happy hor". With friends. Had some beers, went to new place to have more beers and chicken wings. (Basicallym, I burned enough calories to discount maybe half of one draft beer.) Wings were totally deliciosu but they mad emy lips burn -- seriously had to chek in the bathroom mirror to see if my lips were larger than real life -- so much fire!

But, wings nd beer has made me thirsty for ice cream, so I will eat some double fudge brownie goodness and watch runway. Awesome. Should not type when drunk. Bye!

Pukey and Poopy

Last night I went for a "destination" run to a friend's house and had my husband pick me up there. It was 5.7 miles and the run went well. It was hot and humid out even though it was late evening, but aside from the heat, I finished the run feeling pretty good. I promptly had a bottle of water (kind gift from friends) and a bottle of Gatorade my husband brought for me, and which he had to open for me.

When I got home, I took a shower and sat down to watch a movie, and then I started feeling crappy. My intestines started to rumble in that familiar way, so I went and pooped and expected to feel just fine, but to my dismay, I had to make a return trip to the bathroom. And again, and again. I had mud butt. But not just mud butt, I also had mudd mouth. Because as I was laying back in bed, praying that the previous trip to the bathroom was the last, I suddenly felt naseous and I ran to the toilet and heaved.

I don't know what was wrong with me, but my stomach hurt for the rest of the night and I got a rough night of sleep full of tossing and turning and making return trips to the bathroom (until there was nothing left in me). I wasn't running a fever and this morning I felt fine. So what happened? Was it related to running? Some kind of effect from, perhaps, the heat? I read in RW that diahrea and vommitting can be symptoms of heat cramps and heat exhaustion, but I was under the impression that they occured in the middle of such a hot run or right after. Could it have been something I ate? Could it be because I started taking vitamins again yesterday? Could it just be a weird intestinal phenomenon?

My husband said it was proof that running is evil, but I'm not certain it was related to the run.

Anyway, today I am fine and I'm drinking lots of water to re-hydrate, but I feel a bit baffled. What went wrong?

Thought for the Day

I'm not really sure I deserve Gatorade if I can't unscrew the lid. Seriously, I have to use either the hired muscle of my husband or a rubber thingy that I also use to unscrew jars of spaghetti sauce. Gatorade is for athletes, so how much of an athlete am I if I don't have the strength to open the bottle? Am I alone on this?

Fun in the Sun

It is called Sunday, so this morning, hubby and I packed up and went to the beach. Despite the fact that we live in Florida, and live relatively close to the beach, we hardly ever go. When we first moved here, we were parked on the sand every weekend, but after awhile, the appeal wears off and you have so many things to do at home that soon the beach just became something mythical. But we decided yesterday afternoon that we were going to go today.

So we packed a cooler and got out the towels and sunblock and headed toward the surf. It was great! We sunned, relaxed, read, played in the water some and then headed home (we can't be out there all day -- it's too hot, and we're from the midwest; we're not made for that kind of exposure). It reminded me how rejuvenating it is sitting in the sun (absorbing the Vitamin D). It's just so relaxing. And with the slight breeze off the ocean, the sound of the waves, the strange overheard conversations ("I don't think I'm hungover yet; I think I'm still drunk!" giggled a small blond) ... sigh.

Relaxing can be one of the best things for your health. Running is great for you heart, lungs, brain, muscles, etc, but taking the time to lay out on a beach towel can also reap just as many health benefits, so I hope everyone is taking the time to breathe deep and soak up some free time this weekend. We all need it!

Bills, bills, bills

It often feels as though every single bill is rising: Electric is going up because gas prices continue to soar and our electric company needs to recoup costs from last year's hurricane, cable/internet are going up just because they can, and insurance (both car and home) is rising because of the risk of hurricanes. So every time I open a statement, I cringe a little in anticipation. But, yesterday I got a notice from my gym that says they are reducing my monthly membership dues by $5 a month!

I know it's a small amount, but added up over the course of the year, it saves me $60. That could buy me a new running outfit, or could be put toward a new pair of running shoes!

Of course, it could also buy me two tanks of gas (sigh); that's probably where I'll end up spending my savings.

Blueberries: The Magical Fruit

Aside from the damage done to Veruca Salt, a blueberry has only good things to give a person; in fact, it seems that everywhere I turn lately I am reading about the wonders of the blueberry.

It can't cure cancer, but I think it would try -- it's that kind of fruit. But while it can't cure cancer, it is supposed to be one of the foods highest in natural antioxidants, so I guees it can be quite helpful in discouraging cancer. Among blueberries' other advantageous qualties are that they are good for your skin (as all antioxidants are), they help prevent urinary tract infections, they can help improve eyesight (even better than carrots), and they can help reduce cholesterol (the bad kind). Those tiny blue orbs do a lot for being so small (and I am always encouraged to see small things doing big tasks).

Keeping the wonders of blueberries in mind, I bought some at the grocery store yesterday and had them with some of the most delicious raspberries I've ever had and some (questionable, but edible) lowfat vanilla yogurt for my lunch. I felt like the healthiest girl in the world -- such a good little eater. So, is it wrong that I want to follow it all up with a bowl-full of double fudge brownie ice cream?

If blueberries are so magnificent, won't they blast away the fat and cholesterol from the ice cream? Are they that powerful?

Runnin' in the Rain

This afternoon, it was cloudy and cool out, so I got my run in before dinner (score! I can eat as much as I want!), but I just went for a short run, 2.5 miles. I've been feeling sleepy/tired/sluggish/fueled only by my coffee all day so I just wanted to do my run duty and get it done with, and I wasn't up to anything with any distance. Still, it was enough time to get soaked. We've been getting rain here on a near-daily basis (gotta love hurricane season), and right now, we have a Tropical Wave blowing through (not entirely certain of what that means -- it's not a tropical depression or a tropical storm, and it actually has a rather pleasant sound to it).

But being rained on is not the worst thing that can happen to a girl. In fact, it's a bit refreshing.

Anyway, I gotta get going homies, "Project Runway" premiers tonight and I can't miss it (sure, it's still two hours away, but I must be prepared mentally and emotionally to absorb the fashion drama that will unfold). Check ya later, peeps!

Too Full

Yesterday afternoon, my husband and I went for a "date" and saw the new "Pirates of the Caribbean" (which I would recommend -- we both enjoyed the antics of Jack Sparrow) and then we went to dinner at The Cheesecake Factory where I scarfed down nearly all of my gigantic Chinese Chicken Salad. This would not be any kind of issue if I hadn't been planning on running last night.

We got home, and I let my food settle for about ninety minutes and then I was out on the road and planned to run five miles. But two miles in, I had a side ache and stomach cramps and felt like I might hurl (more than once I eyed the bushes and the hidden green of the golf course behind them). I pressed on for a bit hoping the pain would pass, but at exactly halfway I decided I had to walk (which is really a crappy dilema: walk the rest of the way on the loop or turn around? when it seems equal distance, it can be a problematic question). I thought I'd be able to walk for a bit, settle my stomach, and then resume running, but my stomach gurgled and protested the whole walk home.

Lesson learned: When planning an evening run, one of two courses of action need to be heeded: 1. Don't eat as much dinner, or 2. Eat much earlier and give the stomach plenty of time to digest.

In the end, after returning home I felt much better and went ahead and consumed half of the slice of cheesecake I brought home (had the other half for breakfast this morning); it was yummy.

Backed Up

I just read this morning in the newspaper that Ft. Lauderdale-Miami (yes, two separate cities, but here, they are referred to as South Florida, kinda like Minneapolis/St.Paul are the Twin Cities -- it's really one metro area) is the ninth most "backed up" city in the US. Not traffic backed up. Constipated.

This is not a statistic to be proud of.

What's going on South Florida? Not enough fiber? Not enough water? Too much stress? Are plastic surgeons now tinkering with buttholes because they are unseemly (the newspaper also reported in the same article that Florida is second only to California as the "vainest" state; that fact is based on the number of plastic surgeons here)?

I know I'm regular. After that gas station scare a week ago, I'm still scared to run in the morning!

It's the Clothes that Make the Runner

When I was a kid, I had many categories of clothes, but they could basically be broken down into three categories: school clothes, church clothes, and play clothes. School clothes were purchased new in the fall and refilled as needed throughout the year, but school clothes had to be nice clothes -- no holes or stains, nothing worn or faded -- even though they were mostly jeans and t-shirts. Everyday when I left the house, my mother carefully reviewed what I had chosen, not for style (she insisted I develop that on my own and thus she indured my obscure pairings and strange sense of coordination), but for wear, and she never did understand the grunge faze when I was in high school, so I had to stuff my hole-y jeans and wrinkled flannels into my backpack and change at school. But when I got home, I always had to change out of my school clothes and into my play clothes (in order to preserve the school clothes for as long as possible), and play clothes were often old or ill-fitting clothes that were suitable to get dirty, ripped, or messy.

Church clothes were a whole separate category and mostly consisted of various dresses, skirts and slacks that I was forced to wear for Sunday morning, because God wouldn't love me if I looked like a ragamuffin.

As a child, I thought the clothes stratification silly and vowed that as an adult I would wear what I wanted when I wanted, but the reality of being an adult means that my clothes have become even further subcategorized. I still have "school" clothes since my work is teaching, but I also have clothes for fancy occassions, for going out to dinner/movies/shopping/etc (casual and fancy), for going out to bars/clubs, for wearing around the house, for working around the house, and, of course, to add to these categories are clothes for working out. And even that gets further divided: yoga clothes, clothes for various types of cross training, and clothes for running.

Running clothes are distinctly different from other workout clothes because I wear specific shorts, specific sports bras, even wear specific socks and shoes. And because I have only five running shorts and five running sports bras, this means I end up doing laundry more than I'd like in order to just get my running clothes clean. (Although, I'd probably do laundry just as often anyway since my husband's hamper has a mysterious means for filling quickly.)

Some days, depending upon varying activities or work requirements, I may end up wearing four or five different sets of clothes. It makes me long for the days when things were as simple as "school" and "play" clothes; plus, it might mean less laundry.

P.S. Thanks for all the comments regarding yesterday's survey. It was revealing, and I'm glad to know that the illusion that everyone else is trotting along with their partner holding hands (and in matching running outfits) is merely whimsy.

A Survey

My husband doesn't run. In fact, he has informed me on many occassions that the only possibilty that would prompt him to run would be if something was chasing him, and he has expressed his confidence that if a rabid dog or brain-hungry zombie were after him, he would manage to out-run them. Or, at least give it his best effort.

Reading other bloggers posts about running with their spouse or significant others, sometimes makes me jealous: I have to bribe my husband to go for a walk after dinner, and I can't ever picture him going on a run with me. Yet, most of the time, it doesn't bother me that he and I don't share this activity, and in many ways, I enjoy running alone, and have never sought out a running partner. But I thought I'd like to understand how others feel about the significant other running relationship, so what do you think?

A. It's best when your significant other is also a runner and you can run together while training and for races.

B. It's nice that you both share a love for the sport, but it's best when you don't run together.

C. You don't care if your significant other runs; you just enjoy the support they provide.

D. Being single is the only way to focus on adequately training and racing; friends provide the support a romantic relationship would create.

Or, E: Whatever other way you might be able to categorize your relationship(s) and how it affects your running.

Let me know. I look forward to what everyone thinks.

Run Home

Last night after dinner, my husband and I took the dog to the dog park and when Scooter had played his heart out and had tired of the park, they drove home while I decided to run home. Six miles.

I like doing that sort of running -- running to or from a destination -- I don't know why but it helps provide better motivation. For me, a running route's quality is assessed in the following descending order:

1. A run with a destination.

2. A loop run.

3. A run in which you retrace your path on the return portion.

4. A run on a track (indoor or outdoor -- doesn't make a difference, still on a repeating loop).

5. A run on a treadmill.

Obviously, I don't like anything that stinks of repetition.

Post Holiday Slump

Blogger seems to be running at the same speed I am today -- slow. After staying up late to watch fireworks last night, and being duly impressed by the neighbors who had to have hired a Hollywood pyrotechnician to conduct their display, and drinking many beers, and eating way too much food (especially can't get enough of the rhubarb cake!), I was slow to rise this morning. The dog was also tired this morning (he did far more running in an afternoon yesterday than I do in a week, but it's not that often that he gets to run wild in someone's backyard with six other dogs), and he didn't even get up when I left for work.

The husband got to sleep in a little longer today since he didn't have a classroom full of students waiting for him at work. Bastard.

My students had just about as much enthusiasm as I did this morning, and it certainly reaffirmed my belief that the day after the fourth should be the national holiday -- that's when we really need it! (Then, and on November 1st -- I need the day after Halloween off.) But since I took yesterday off of running, that means today is the day to hit the pavement and get back on track; it's not a holiday any longer.

I'll hold off on the run until this evening when the sun sets, and until then, I might need a little nappy nap.

Happy Fourth!

It's gonna be a warm one here: This morning when I took the dog out for a walk, it was already 83 degrees and the sun was beating down. It's gonna be a hot day out in the sun, so in order to properly prepare for the afternoon BBQing and beer guzzling, I have thus begun the hydration process, and I plan to drink many bottles of water before I switch to bottles of beer this afternoon. (I'm so smart.)

And then, after we have had many drinks, we will follow the great American tradition of lighting things on fire -- because that only makes sense. (Actually the only one in danger of losing a hand is my husband since I generally only handle sparklers; still, everyone should say a short prayer for his ten fingers.) That's it for the holiday agenda for us; it's gonna be awesome!

I hope everyone else has a good holiday as well! Enjoy the day.

Long Weekend

It's funny how doing nothing leads to doing nothing, as if inactivity reproduces.

For this long Fourth of July weekend, I have managed to do as little as possible, even though I still got trapped in doing some work around the house and I was tricked into grocery shopping (one of the most evil chores), but today there really are no chores left to do (not entirely true, the house could be cleaned and the last load of laundry that's still sitting in the dryer could actually be folded instead of left to sit in the dryer). And even though this laziness should provide me with extra energy to exercise, it really leaves me with the desire to do nothing.

Although, I did run five miles yesterday evening in the slow drizzle. That's got to count for a lot on a long weekend.

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.