Running Commentary

This is a sunrise, as painted by Claude Monet. Yes, once again the sun has come up. And on this day it brings with it a nice clean slate. Tried to do this last night, but was too beat. Have had a cold and have been short on sleep, but felt better today, as is appropriate for the new year. Here's what I ended up bringing away from 2006: Number of extra pounds: three. Last Jan. 1, 119. This year, 122. Number of miles short: 20.25. For 2005, 731 total. For 2006, 710.75. Number of races run: four. Number of decades of life completed: six. Jan. 1, 2005, five and some change. Today, the big six-oh (and some change). Number of sore shoulders: one. A year ago, zero. During 2006, broken bone, torn muscle, lingering pain that may go into arthritis. I'm 5 feet, 4.25 inches tall. I don't eat meat but do eat fish. Don't smoke; haven't had a drink for two years come next Wednesday. Don't swear (too much) or hurt small animals. (What is there about taking stock that turns me ...

I remember my mother and father telling me that everywhere in the world they ever went they saw little brown birds. All the little birds looked pretty much alike, whether they were living in China, Greece, Africa, or in our backyard. Ran a 6-miler this morning that took me from the night into the day. All along the way as I clopped along, I noticed many such little brown birds waking up with the sun. It's cold now--winter officially arrives in a few days. But the birds are still plentiful, and they hop about in the grass and soar to the tops of trees for a brief reconnoiter before they fly away on some mysterious errand. There are other birds abroad at dawn also. Cawing crows, jeering jays. I, a stranger, barge right into this sociable avian community. As I pass through it, I'm aware how little mind I usually pay to these feathered denizens of the trees and the trails. We do have a bird feeder, but watching birds coming there to fill up day after day creates the (obviously fals...

...down to a precious few. Clear skies, bare trees. Cool mornings, short evenings. Back in the 1970s and 1980s I was a big Carole King fan. I had some rocky, emotional times back then, and found one way I could throw off a bit of the gloom was to force the lyrics of one particular song into my groggy brain before I even threw off the covers. "You've got to get up every morning / With a smile on your face / And show the world / All the love in your he-ea-art...." Do I need to say this was not one of her bigger hits? But it was very catchy, and served as a reminder that the gift of living is one to be cherished, even by the grumpy. Also in those days I was immersed in a mad and passionate affair with photography, going so far as to return to school and put myself through that dubious adventure, graduate school in art. It almost ruined my love affair for good--I became so critical! So-o-o-o postmodern. I deconstructed everything I came in contact with and learned to talk lik...

There's been a lot of morning fog around here lately, a weather condition not anticipated around this time of year. But thank heavens for small favors--it's not been raining at least. There's been a lot of morning dark around here too. That could have been anticipated, but, as they say, de-nial is more than a river in Egypt. Nevertheless, I'm chagrined to be encountering increasing amounts of darkness in the a.m. Since my fall on June 7, precipitated by stumbling over a garbage can lid in the pre-dawn hours, I've tried to stick to running when I can see. Novel concept, no? But lately I've been hedging. Running up streets that are lit, watching my feet carefully, as if they were nervous ferrets that might startle and dart off from under me (do ferrets dart?). I've developed a hitherto unspoken guideline: If the sun will come up within 30 minutes of my leaving the house, I can go. Works OK now, when the sun is rising slightly before 7:00. But I can see it ain...

Veterans Day, or, as we used to call it, Memorial Day. I read in the paper that to date more than 1.3 million troops have served in either Afghanistan or Iraq. It boggles my mind. Leafing through the new issue of Runner's World I see there's an article on running in Baghdad (and you thought this wasn't a post about running). It seems that fitness is such a key ingredient in surviving over there that running as a common activity is a given. I haven't read the article yet. I am a blue-stater, both by locale and by personal inclination. But never let it be said I don't respect and support our troops. May they run long and thrive. And may they come home sooner than we might have hoped at this time last week. In my area, that blue-state hotbed, the rains arrived last night. (Can blues be hot? Yeah, baby. Just ask Nancy Pelosi.) It was nippy outside--40 this morning--but not unholy. There was no real deluge, more of a shower that wasn't scattered. I put off my run unt...

Have been out of town twice over the last two weeks, which has been a pleasure yet a challenge to my equilibrium. Was going to do a race today, which got scaled down to a run with Z, which dwindled to just another solitary lope along my same-old, same-old path north to Albany. What I saw: chickens on Acton Street. A flock of them, on the south side of the road, trying to cross over to the north side. I now know why the chickens crossed the road! To get to the hippie house, of course. Then I saw, I mean really saw, the new-ish temple on University Ave. It's a building that has been transformed from one kind of temple to another; it used to be a temple of forgetfulness (also known by the name of Jayvee Liquors, the biggest, most well-stocked boozetorium in Berkeley), but is now a temple serving a congregation of worshippers (it's known as Netivot Shalom). It's a striking building, one I've passed by but never really looked at. It has something of a tall ship about it, som...

I just checked my blog email in-box, and saw five comments. I've never gotten any comments before, and so just assumed I shouldn't bother looking. Thanks to all who commented on my post "Should I Stay or Should I Go." I published them all!

That would be me. Because I'm about to post something here that I actually wrote almost 10 years ago. I found it this morning when I opened some old disks containing back-up files from my last computer minus one. When I read this, I cracked myself up. I hope you will humor me and at least smile. At the time of writing, I titled this "Wacked." Oct. 29, 1996 So here it is another lovely morning in the hippest place on the whole planet. The Bay Area. Makes you think of an airplane hangar, the bay. Just pull 'er into the Bay, boys. Kind of a wet place for planes, though--would turn 'em plane silly. Anyway. The rain was coming down like bullets, or maybe pullets dropped from a plane, this morning. A beautiful day for a run. A run at my personal record for keeping a pillow over my head without suffocating, that is. So I called my Swedish running buddy Olga, who might be called the Swedish nightingale if not for her long, elegant, un-birdlike legs which carry...

What did I do? Nothing. Unless you count left-right-left-right-left-right as doing something. I did that, but I also tried to take some mental notes on what I saw. I slogged along for some 80 minutes (a bit more than seven miles, I figure), so I hope my brain waves weren't completely flat. I ran straight down Channing Way toward the Bay, then doglegged onto Dwight, hopped the railroad tracks, and ran over the rise and into Aquatic Park. As I always do there, I thought of Rachel the Wonder Dog, my children's childhood pet and my companion on countless walks along the path next to the lake. What a crazy, good pup she was. Heading north on the path, I passed a playground teeming with families. It's a relatively new amenity, meaning it wasn't around during the 80s, when I ran here quite a bit. I made a resolution to bring my granddaughter here sometime. At 28 months of age, she is a big fan of playgrounds. She's fearless on poles and ladders, believing, it seems, that s...

That is my question. I have come very close to just deleting this blog because I never write in it any more. It seems harmless to let it just sit, but then it weighs on my mind as one more thing to do. I quit my full-time job, and one express purpose in doing that was to simplify my life and spend more of my time doing what I want to do rather than what I'm "s'posed" to do. But. My running life goes on, and I feel the need to give it a bit more space than it gets in my daily log. Log sample: Thursday, Sept. 7. 7:15 a.m., Las Vegas. Did 30 crunches. Ran from the Venetian up the Strip to the MGM Grand and back. Hard surface, many cars, huge, hideous casinos. Very warm! An interesting run. Later, swam a bit. Shoulder got achey, but did OK--even did a bit of breast stroke. So there I record the essentials, but feel as if there was more to it. My numbah one son has a blog, and he told me he tries to write in it at least once a month. If I can do that, I'll stay. If not...

I saw a quote in this morning's paper that struck a chord in me. Erik Davis, a pitcher for a college baseball team, was recently struck in the face by a line drive that shattered his right cheekbone and orbital socket. Ouch. Here's what he had to say: "People recover as quickly as they want to. You can look at things like this in one of two ways. You can regret it and feel sorry for yourself, or you can use it as an opportunity to make yourself better." It may be that his remark is just a version of the rather meat-headed saying, "No pain, no gain." But somehow it hit home for me. I've been doing a LOT of whining about my shoulder injury. I have been able to return to running, and my mobility increases daily, but I still have a lot of pain, especially at night. I DO regret that this happened, and have been throwing regular pity parties for myself. So do you think I've ever have thought of viewing a painful injury as an opportunity? Not hardly. Today,...

Spent some time today cleaning out my filing cabinet. I'm trying to impose a little order upon my working space now that I'm doing some freelancing and working in a "home office" (sounds more professional than "the corner of the bedroom"). I awoke this morning with what I call the Saturday morning bloopies, a state that others have been known to describe as a brain fog. Luckily Z dragged me first to the grocery store (I'll take three gallons of ice cream and a bag of cookies, please) and then to the gym. Because of my shoulder I can't really lift weights, but I ran a mile on the treadmill and worked the old quads and hamsters and back a bit. Did some crunches and bicycle kicks too, which no doubt looked a bit strange done by a person only flailing one arm. The bloopies dissipated a bit. Came home and ate peanut butter and jelly on a toasted whole wheat bagel, plus half an orange and half an apple--the rest went to Z, of course. Then I dove head-first...

I wasn't going to use another song title--planning just generally to break away from the old ways and throw myself head-first (but not shoulder first) into my new life. Ten days after I quit my full-time job, things are feeling a bit better. I grossly underestimated the impact making such a big change would have on me, figuring I'd just sail along. My boat had a hole in it there for a few days, one that's not all patched yet by any means. Anyway, my shoulder heals slowly and hope returns, because of or maybe despite the ministrations of my wonderful and sadistic physical therapist, Patrick. "When I hurt you, that's good!" says he. Yeah. So. Ran 6 1/2 miles yesterday and biked for an hour today. I feel flabby and grumpy, but definitely better. Summer is the best time. The very best.

...yes indeed, and I'm talkin' about...medical stuff. The films don't lie: I tore my rotator cuff and fractured my humerus. Why am I not laughing if it's so humerus? Actually, I am smiling. My shoulder improves by the day. Today I went with Z to the gym and ran a bit on the treadmill. I'm keeping my activity moderate, because I want to heal. I still haven't ridden my bike--am mostly just walking. What surprises me is how much pain I still have. When I first awake in the morning my entire right arm, right to my fingertips, aches. Then it eases. But as the day goes on I get tired, and by bedtime I'm miserable. But it's getting better. It's getting better. It's getting better. Since I hurt myself it seems I keep encountering other stories of woe, and all of them worse than mine. It keeps my little pity party from growing any bigger than it needs to be. Reminds me of one of my favorite Zen tales. A woman whose child had died went to the Buddha and be...

Today I put on my running clothes and went out the door, encouraged by my time yesterday at the gym and determined to find a way to work out today, too. I strapped my right arm into the sling, making it as snug as I could, and found I was able to do an inelegant run-shuffle for a few minutes at a time without causing too much pain to my shoulder. What a windy, cloudy day out there! But being out there was fine. I made my way over to the track at King school in about 30 minutes. Once there I made four laps around the track (might even have been five), running most of the way. I finally figured out that my shoulder took the jouncing best when I grabbed a handful of my sweatshirt at midsection height with my right hand. That anchor, combined with the restraint afforded by the sling, minimized the bouncing of my arm. I’ve tried to put thoughts of training for races or reaching mileage goals right out of my head for now and instead am attempting to concentrate on being thankful that I can s...

Yep, I've done it again. Once again I tangled with gravity and--surprise!--gravity won. Wednesday morning as I ran up a driveway to get onto the sidewalk I tripped over a fallen garbage can lid. I threw my arms up and out in front of myself in hopes of getting upright again, but succeeded only in coming down with most of my body weight on the inner part of my right shoulder. This was not a minor trip 'n' slip that I could jog away from. My shoulder and arm let me know that I'd put myself once again on the DL. I went to my doctor's office in the afternoon, where one of her minions (the same one who oversaw my hip injury) shook her head over me and said things like "possible rotator cuff tear," "may need an MRI," and "you stupid idiot." OK, I didn't actually hear her say that last, but if she had I wouldn't have argued with her. I am currently wearing a sling (see illus. 1), trying not to fall over when I enter and exit cars, and ...

Well, he doesn't really (he might think he's a car, but that's a different post). But it's a great song. Early Roseann Cash. The photo is BART, of course, and its chatter as it whooshes by overhead is part of the dawn chorus I enjoy when I'm running from the night into the day. Did 5.25 this morning, and the sky was light when I got back to the house around 5:30 a.m. I find this the most wonderful time of year. Yes, after a long blogging hiatus, I'm here to tell you I'm still running along. My feet still hurt, but laying off from running is more painful than having hot feet. I have an appointment in a couple of weeks with a podiatrist who is the son of a running crony, and am hoping that he will offer some new insight into an active rehabilitation (translation: he'll tell me it's OK to keep running). To catch up: Z and I did the Avenue of the Giants half marathon May 7. It was lovely -- perfect cool day -- and I beat him by more than a minute. Now do...

That's what we'll be doing, come Sunday. Maybe giving me plantar faciitis was God's way of telling me to rest before the race. I haven't run since Sunday and my feet feel a bit better. The good part is that I haven't been getting up at 4:30 a.m., and so feel really rested. My legs don't ache every time I stand up! So of course, I'm planning on running tomorrow morning. Hey, there's resting and then there's sloth. I've been stretching my achilles and also icing and massaging the bottoms of my feet. Sad to say they really are still pretty sore. But the Avenue of the Giants course is mostly dirt, which will help immensely. This foot thing is nothing new to me, which is why I just keep on going when it gets worse. I recall that last year at this race my feet were the most uncomfortable part of my body during the latter half of the run. My left hip also ached; it's another little chronic nagger. Not sure I've ever mentioned it here, but I have...

Well, looks like I beat mine too much. Left heel, which has been aching dully, is suddenly quite painful. I went for a short one this morning (3.5 mi.), and it hurt more than usual, at least for the first mile. When I got home it was fine, but after I showered it started in barking again. Advil and ice calmed it down, but now, at 2 p.m., it hurts like heck. More ice, more Advil. This may be the running gods' way of telling me to taper before the half marathon. As in, lay off for a week (yeah, right). Going to go out in a little bit and look at new shoes. My work shoes, which I wear every day, started out cushy but over the course of six months have sunk to the comfort level of a couple of planks. While I'm in a shoe frame of mind, I think I'll go to my local running store over the weekend and lay out a small fortune for a new pair of Sauconys. The supposed life of a pair of running shoes is 300 to 500 miles, but I find after about 250 I start to hear that slap-slap that si...

I'm not that blue, but loved this song title when I found it at this great site about weird song titles on the Internet ( http://www.ohek.co.uk/funnies/fun-titles.htm ). My intention was to whine about how quickly time goes by--but I decided why bother. Every time I do, nothing changes, if you can imagine that. Don't know why not. Between running and working my day job and my freelance job, blogging has slipped on my priorities list. But I've been running a lot, and except for a nagging sore left heel, it's been going well. Z and I are set to run the Ave. of the Giants half marathon on May 7, so we're both tapering a bit this week. ("Tapering": the practice of resting tired legs for a week or two before a big race; the process of tapering off from the usual habit of running like a crazed gerbil for hours at a time.) I've decided it's unrealistic for me to plan on running the SF Marathon at the end of July, so I'll probably do the half and then...