I Don't Know Much About Art, But...

...I know for sure that of the 65 (!) previous posts I've made to this blog, not all of them are works of art. Some might say none are, but, how snarky are they.

Anyway, the above is my disclaimer. This ain't deathless prose, but I gotta scribble.

What's been up with my training lately? Well, it continues. Right now I'm sitting here with an ice pack on my left knee, and earlier I had one on my left ankle. I'm thinking about getting up and fixing one for my right shoulder, but for now am putting it off. One thing about running for 29-plus consecutive years (oh, all right, I pretty much took off 1985) is that I've acquired a collection of ice packs, compression sleeves, and re-usable bandages that a physical therapist might envy.

The ankle is the oddest injury. It's minor but persistent. I ran 12 miles last Saturday, and after the run was over, then the front of my ankle turned a pale yellow and began to throb a bit. I don't think I turned the ankle when I was running--it's more likely that I kicked it with my other foot as my form deteriorated somewhere around mile 8. I've run twice since then--for 3.5 miles only, each time--and the ankle's definitely a little gimpy. Z tells me it's overuse, but I say Oh no it's not, because the cure for an overuse injury is to use the affected part less. Does that sound like marathon training to you? Me neither.

The knee is my old war injury, the one that had me swimming for most of 1985. It acts up when I ride my bike too much, which I've been guilty of the last couple of days. I've gone back into physical therapy for my shoulder (nice segue to that body part, no?), only this time at my new health care provider, Kaiser. Yesterday I just didn't feel like doing the BART-bike dance it takes to get me over to the Oakland facility, so I just hopped on my bike and rode the whole way. It's only about 4 miles, for crying out loud; that's 8 round-trip. That would have been fine, but the previous day I'd ridden 7-plus miles just doing various errand, including stopping at Trader Joe's in El Cerrito. Fun note--I bought a box of healthful-looking cereal while I was there, and when I got home I noticed the back of the box was adorned by a photo of Dean Karnazes, every runner's hero. Disappointingly, I had some for breakfast yesterday but didn't wake up this morning looking a bit like Dean. And on my run, my teeth didn't sparkle when I smiled, nor was I was I noticeably faster. Also, the paparazzi along the BART path were missing in action--but then, it was fairly early.

The shoulder has taken me back to PT because it's still waking me up in the night whining. I broke it and partially tore my rotator cuff last June. The break and tear are long gone, but the malady lingers on. My new physical therapist is Phillip, and he's taken the place in my heart formerly held by Patrick, my first therapist for this injury. How can I not swoon over a man who is fascinated by every word about my injury that falls from my lips? Never mind that he's 20 years younger than I am and undeniably gay, I still may run off with him. A man who listens! Whoops, where was I.

So. The scoop on my marathon training is that I'm still committed to it. I'm taking an easy week (17 miles only), which could get even more curtailed if the forecast for rain turns out to be true. My next long run, 13 miles, is scheduled for Feb. 18. I hope it goes as well as the 12-miler only without the little injury.

Ornithological notes: On my 12-miler, I saw a beautiful hawk down near the Sea Breeze Market, a flock of redwing blackbirds trilling it up in the parking lot of the racetrack at Golden Gate Fields, a whole bevy of seagulls swooping in a stunning aerial display not far from Costco in El Cerrito, two large white egrets in the mud flats off Central Ave., and a hummingbird awaiting me near a bush in my own front yard at the end of my run. Conclusion: Running may indeed be, as numerous folks have tried to tell me, for the birds. And aren't I glad.