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

Well, a bike named Blu. Trying to upload an image in a hurry, and having no luck. So I'll just go ahead and paste in the latest adventures of our friend Geores as described by the man himself. His van is named Liah, and his bike is named Blu. Here's what he's been up to: 04/12, the last day of month one, 1:30PM; sitting in front of the closed, Kiowa, library, even though the sign reads "OPEN 9AM to 5PM." But that's kind of what the morning's been like. Awake at 3:45 in a clearing off of 69 that was parked in after dark. Started runner's oatmeal and coffee at 4AM. Ate the oatmeal then took a nap afterward with coffee on low to slowly perk. woke up in morning light and discovered the driveway that Liah was parked in. In the ensuing rush to get things in order for travel, the hot, yes HOT, coffee came down in a shockingly painful gush on the bare right foot, scalding it red, and changing the color of a goodly portion of Liah's green carpet to brown. A

Here's Geores, one of our buddies from our running club. You can get the full story by Googling "Clevenger 69." Geores is a wild man, in the way all runners secretly hope they are. His wife is one of the finest people you could ever know, too. I felt a bit wild myself this morning, with joy, that is, when I awoke and for the first time in 40 days and 40 nights it wasn't raining. Yes, I am serving whine with my jeez. Anyway, out I went. Did 6 before breakfast. I've recently been heading for the north-south streets that offer some hills--figure it's better for me than sticking to the flats. Today I rolled up and down Peralta. Z and I are getting in decent shape for our upcoming half marathon, which is on May 7. He is looking great because not only is he running well, he's spending more time at the gym. Me? I get there once a week and grouse the whole time I'm there. Can't say it's buffed me up much, but I do feel a bit more stable through the mid

It has to stop raining before I run out of rain-related song titles. So much water, so little time. I've managed to keep my running going despite never-ending rain. I don't want it to sound as if I'm whining—I probably mind the rain less than many people. If I can get under way before a sprinkle becomes a deluge, I'm actually fine with a little precipitation. Ran 5 miles this morning around 4:30. Since daylight saving started up, it's dark again in the early morning, very dark, but the street lights illuminate my solitary running stage. I had a good week last week. Did a total of 20 miles, plus managed a gym workout and a 30-minute swim. Z and I are looking toward Avenue of the Giants, the half marathon, on May 7. I feel I'll be in much better shape for it than I was last year, and the pain was bearable even then. I know, pain being bearable seems an odd criterion for a successful activity. No one said runners weren't weird.

That was the question posed my first run in Phoenix, on March 24. It was already warm at 6:40 a.m. when I headed out from the Super 8 Motel on East Van Buren Street in the direction of the canal and its long, sandy path. But it was a weekday, and traffic was fierce, so I decided to cut north on 37th street to the canal. By about the second block into the shortcut I started hearing barking. I realized the street was lined on both sides with fenced-in, snarling dogs, all of whom seemed to think I looked a lot like breakfast. These weren’t your family puppy dogs -- these were guard dogs, long of fang and glittery of eye. I averted my face as much as I could (aren’t you supposed to do that?) and jogged on, confident that I’d be at my destination soon. As I approached the end of the street, first I saw a dog that was unfenced and off-leash, and then I saw a high, chain-link fence with a padlocked gate in it that was the only possible exit from the street onto the canal path. I contemplated

Quick thought this morning. I want to share a weight-loss tip that has worked for me in the past when I've taken the trouble to follow it. You know those handy bags of pre-washed salad you can get at the grocery store? Well, here's the tip. When you do your weekend shopping, find some on sale. If you're shopping for five days ahead, buy one bag per day per person who wants to try the gimmick. Then go to the salad dressing aisle and buy some fat-free rasberry vinaigrette or some other pretty flavorful fat-free dressing (there are many good ones available). Then, for the next five days, eat whatever you'd normally eat for lunch or dinner, except only about half the amount you would usually have. Also dump half a bag of salad (Mixed greens? Romaine? Spinach? Your choice--) in a big bowl, toss with two tablespoons dressing, and eat it with your meal. One caveat: if your bag of salad comes with nuts, raisins, or its own fatty dressing, use your discretion. A few nuts are OK,

Light by the time I finshed my run this morning. At 6 a.m.! I've taken a freelance copyediting job, on top of my day job, so my time lately has been at a premium. But my running continues, albeit a bit creakily. Saturday I did 6 along the BART path, then Sunday 5 more with my sometimes-running partner, John, along the Bay Trail heading toward Emeryville. This morning I was out the door at 4:40 and in the middle of the road before I realized—hey, it's raining! Showing my usual wisdom and discretion in matters weatherly, I headed out and ran 5.5. As usual, I felt great by the time I hit mile 3, and finished feeling pleased with the world. Since my recovery from my fall I find myself plagued with various small pains, the causes of which aren't easily apparent. My left heel hurt all last week, throbbing as I ran until the endorphins kicked in. Aggressive icing and steady ibuprofen seem to have alleviated the intensity of that pain, at least for now. Also, my left hip has been

Can't believe a week has gone by since I posted here. Too much work. Luckily I'm hatching a plot to get shed my office-mole identity. Missed my run Tuesday because of rain. Oh, misery. But this morning I went, and it was lovely. Also, last Saturday Z and I ran the running club's fun run, which went out the Bay Trail to the Richmond harbor and back. Felt good, felt strong, oh yay. I haven't felt like going to the gym lately, which is a bit of a worry, but as long as I'm running I don't beat myself up too much.

Got in my 5 miles this morning in the cold and blustery dark. Can't fathom where my 4:30 a.m. energy comes from, but rather than question too hard I just give thanks that I have it. I took a new route today. Ran straight up Allston Way to Oxford--a gentle but unbroken climb. Then I headed north, eventually ending up running down Hopkins to Gilman and back via my old friend the Ohlone Greenway path and then stopping briefly in Dark Park (my name for it) to do some crunches and push-ups. I can now do 10 of the latter if I push up from a bench that is about 2 feet from the ground. That's progress from a couple of months ago, but it's rather glacial progress. I've about decided to skip my gym workout tomorrow afternoon. Last week being at the gym was a gruesome experience--I was one crankypants dudette. I have free weights and ankle weights at home, and hereby pledge to do a home workout to combat "torpor and sloth" (a Buddhist phrase). If I ride my bike beforehan

That was me yesterday morning. Got all of three minutes into my run before the skies opened up. I ducked under a sturdy tree for a few moments, but upon realizing it was either get real wet or bag the whole thing, I got sensible and headed north into the storm. I got in my five miles, and actually felt kind of refreshed by it all. Reminds me of a VERY old Doonesbury cartoon in which Mark Slackmeyer is interviewing a pain specialist. "And when did you really get into pain?" he asks his subject. "I think it was right around the time I started jogging," comes the reply. I'm happy my energy is back, even if pain is its companion. Last night I rode my bike up the hill to my Tuesday night meeting--the sky was bright with stars and the air was--like gin? Like crystals? Dunno, but it was mighty nice. Today I'm in my office at work. As my dad used to say about our family bathroom after three girls finished their ablutions, it looks like it's been shot at and hit.

Written 3/04/06 I hope my timing luck didn’t run out on me today. Out riding my bike on a leisurely 10-mile jaunt out to the end of the BART path, and noting that many runners were taking advantage of the dry interval to get in their miles. My plan is to go tomorrow morning, but the forecast gives a 50 percent chance of rain at 6 a.m. I just didn’t have it in me to go today, however. Z and I went to the gym last night and I whined and groused my way through about 25 minutes of lifting some sissy weights before I cried uncle. The bike ride today was a pleasure. It was the first time I’d been to the end of the path in a couple of months, and I was thrilled to find the Baxter Creek restoration area is open. By the time the path gets out three or four miles north of Berkeley it has made its way into a pretty hard-scrabble neighborhood in Richmond, so what a treat it was today to see a smooth ribbon of new macadam winding its way along next to the recently uncovered and restored creek. I sa

I was working in the lab early one morning. . . I've run twice since I did the Couples Relay 5-K last Sunday, so I guess I can call myself officially recovered. I did the 5-K in 32:27:79—not exactly a blistering pace. But I felt elated to run, and delighted to feel myself put the hammer down a little bit at the end. I've decided to go for the half marathon rather than the full on March 7, but am now looking at the San Francisco full, which falls on July 30 this year. It was the first I ever did, and that was 10 years ago. I feel as if doing it right before I turn 60 would feel like the closing of a circle. Tuesday morning I did 5, and again this morning. Today I started in the mist but ended in the pouring rain. It didn't start until about mile 4, when I was thoroughly warmed up, so it didn't even bother me. It felt wonderful, if you must make me confess the extent of my insanity. I thought of all the sweat running off my body and down through the storm drains of Berkel

Thinking about my cranky comment that my blog is trivial, and, by extension, that individual stories are trivial. Not true, of course. For how do we learn to grasp the abstract unless we brush up against the real? People who run might find something of interest in my ups and downs. People who struggle to find a balance between staying fit and living a comfortable life might find something of interest. I can only hope so, as I continue to share how things are for me. As George Sheehan said, we are all an experiment of one, our own non-replicable lab. If you're not familiar with Dr. Sheehan, prepare yourself for a treat: http://www.georgesheehan.com/welcome/ The Couples Relay went well. More details at a later date.

Into work on a Saturday. Sitting here contmplating my recent up-down saga and feeling that, while it was a drama for me, in the larger light of what is important it was rather banal. This conclusion came to me when I was watching Olympic figure skating on TV the other night and following, in a most desultory way, the convoluted personal stories of the athletes. I became overwhelmed by melodrama somewhere along the way, and I stopped wanting to know even one more detail. Well, if these gripping tales ring somehow trivial to me, then what do I hold important? What would be a meaningful enough story to stir me as profound? The answer can't be conjured, no doubt, in a facile blog entry such as this. But the question has got my attention. The answer might have something to do with the picture at the top of the page--think about that. Don't get your hopes up--I'm nowhere near ready to abandon my blog. It is challenging to keep. I like that it forces me to write. But I'm not s

Feeling a bit stiff and so happy about the pain--it's that post-run feeling. This morning about 4:30 I went out for 3 miles. At mile 1 I felt a little ache in my quad; at mile 2 my hip growled a little but didn't bark. At mile 3 I was smiling. Actually, this was my second run--went out Wednesday after work for a few laps on the soft dirt track at King school. That was a sissy run--today's was much closer to the real thing. So I feel I am officially back. The unknown is how far I am capable of going after a 2 1/2-week layoff. For today, I'm filled with the joy of being alive.

...yes indeed, and I'm talkin' about my shoes and me, and I'm hopin' that it'll all come back to me... Walked from the Transbay Terminal down to the Embarcadero and along the waterfront this morning, the first extended stroll I've taken since my attempt to burrow into the earth with my right hip. It was a glorious morning--runners streaking by, seagulls screaming overhead, commuters carrying paper coffee cups and talking on cell phones--and I felt truly blessed. I still feel a little weakness in my hip and my quad, but am very close to healed. I swam after work yesterday and was pleased to realize that since all I could do was the crawl (no breastroke--too hard on the hips), I had to do the crawl the whole time. And I could do it! Evidently my endurance capacity has stayed reasonably high during this down time. Not long ago I couldn't do the crawl for very long without alternating some other, easier stroke because I just got too worn out. But not last night.

I forgot that the first words of this song are, “Slow down, you move too fast.” Huh. Not likely. Anyway, I’m not feeling like Deena Kastor yet, but am feeling worlds better. It is inexplicable to me that for the first week after my fall I experienced no improvement—even felt worse as the days went by. And the second week didn’t get much better until Friday, when I awoke in the morning and said to myself, hey, I’m gonna live. The nurse practitioner I saw at Dr. F’s office Wednesday told me she didn’t think I needed to give up on the idea of the marathon, but then, she is young and is a distance runner. I doubt a fall like I took would keep her down as long as it is threatening to keep me down. But I loved her for saying it and for not saying, “Oh you must stop running for two months.” My son the doctor told me I could probably pursue what’s known as “active rest.” I love a good oxymoron, so after about five days during which all I did was walk from the bus terminal to work and back (fou

And even they don't survive forever. Awoke with a head filled with black thoughts. Unable to understand why this injury, which is certainly non-fatal and is even in the long run non-disabling, has me so whipped. I think the answer can be found in the primal instinct to live and thrive—an instinct that I should rejoice in. I can't speak for the rest of the human race, but I know I have a horrendous fear of what my old friend DN used to call "the big D." (He was a huge fan of "the big L," but that's another blog post altogether.) I keep having flashbacks to different incidents during the last four years of my mother's life. She went from being an ambulatory and sentient senior citizen to being a wheelchair-bound little old lady lost in her own diminishing world of patchy memory and various degrees of pain. Before she died last July I don't think I really believed in death as anything other than what happened to some other people. I didn't hold

More like a rock-headed one. Feeling worse today and wondering if the swimming did me in. Dr. R, my dear brother-in-law, thinks I may have traumatized my bursa. Yikes! Anyway, I have an appointment to see Dr. F or (more likely) one of her minions tomorrow. I'm reduced to not caring whether I ever do another marathon--at this point I'd settle for being able to take two steps without pain. Whose idea was having bodies, anyway? As I wait for resolution, I'm concentrating on cutting back on my calorie intake a bit. I can see myself rolling out of this experience 30 pounds heavier. Not sure I ever logged my vitals into this blog, so here's the basic me: height, 5' 4", weight 120 and gaining. Normal heart rate 48 to 50 bpm. For my normal level of activity, about 1800 calories a day works well. But now-- stay tuned.

Feeling slightly more positive. I did go swimming today, for 20 minutes non-stop lap swimming. I went slowly and alternated between the breaststroke and the crawl, monitoring my hip and my back muscles as I went. When I finished I felt so wonderful to have oxygen in my blood once more! I realize I’m used to at least three long hits per week of heavy aerobic activity, and have been starving for it. I have to say neither my hip nor the side of my back (my obliques? my traps?) feel much better than they did a week ago. I plan to call Dr. F. tomorrow and get either an appointment or referral for physical therapy. The old broad as Chester is getting really old. But at least I no longer feel like such a victim. I rode my bike to swimming and back today, and seem no worse for it. I guess I’ll postpone ordering that wheelchair. Sheesh, sometimes I’m such a big baby.

I have to remind myself I'm not an inactive person now, I'm an active person who is injured. Rode my bike out to the El Cerrito Bart station before work today (about 2.8 miles) and, of course, will ride back tonight. Putting much weight on my injured hip is still painful, and my left obliques kept me awake last night. I had a better attitude yesterday -- was able to slow down and be more accepting -- but this morning I'm feeling that four days is long enough to rehabilitate. No, I am not very realistic about this. It is a lesson in being in the moment, for sure. I know it takes about three weeks to lose fitness, so I'm still OK. I was going so strong that it just kills me to have it slip away. Trying to accept my challenges as friends, who offer me a precious chance to change and grow.

Mean as she can be... That's how I feel, disabled as I am. I guess logging my training process has to include logging the downs as well as the ups. I am so bad at being hurt (I know, who's good?). Feel slightly better today, but still find that bearing weight is painful to my right hip. And my obliques, both sides now, are, as my MFN would say, yakked. Sunday night around 3 a.m. I had to move out to the couch and fortify myself with the heating pad and a painkiller stronger than anything I've taken since the 1970s. Last night was better, but the jury is out on whether riding my bike to my Tuesday night meeting (about two miles each way) was a good idea. I wish I could take a long swim in Pyramid Lake (yes! I uploaded another photo!) Maybe I'll amble on over to the King Park pool this weekend, since Pyramid is a bit far away for amblin' to. In 1985 my knee seemed irreparably hurt, so I took the year off and swam at least three times a week. Toward the end of that pe

I discovered how to post a photo. Yay!

I now have the answer to my hubris-born question, "When will this string of good runs I'm having end?" That answer is yesterday. I had on a nice new pair of Sauconys -- plenty of traction! -- and was running down the bumpy road with my sweetie, Z, when I became airborne for ten minutes. Anyway, that's how long it felt between the time I tripped and the time I hit the ground. I had time to realize I was in shorts and a T-shirt and was about to scrape all the skin off my hands, arms, elbows, knees, and shins (past experience told me this was true), and time to contort my body in a gruesome twisting motion to avoid such scraping. Result: no scraping, except for my right palm, but a big bruise on my hip and sore muscles in my right groin and quad, and -- the oddest injury -- a deep pain in my left oblique muscles. That was some twist, I guess, and not like the one we did last summer. So I'm hurt, and very depressed. I figure three days rest will fix me right up and ye