Running Commentary

Actually, it's easy to fall in love; the trick is to stay in love (so far so good for me and Z). For me the song today is, it's so easy to run 5 because it's not 14! Hit the road this morning, and my feet and their resident toes only complained a little. The moon was somewhere on the other side of the world, but the stars were winking at me. As I ran I thought about the guy I spoke briefly with Sunday, and realized that not only was his advice unsolicited, it was wrong. Landing on your heels doesn't make for an effortless stride! It's best to land midfoot and then roll easily to the forefoot and push off mightily. Some runners are natural toe-strikers (you see sprinters doing that a lot), but most of us land pretty flat-footed. Don't know why I'm giving that dude so much space in my mind. Probably because I'm largely self-trained and often think there must be more technique to my sport than just performing the never-ending left-right. I do read a lot (we

I did it. I was in motion for 2 hours, 41 minutes, 26 seconds. I took a number of short breaks, bringing my out-of-the-house time to 3-plus hours, one to empty dirt from my right shoe, one to use the porta-potty, one to grab a Gatorade at the Sea Breeze market, one to lie on a bench and do 35 crunches. I am crediting myself with 14 miles, which is positing 11.5-minute miles. Chances are my pace was actually better than that, but I don’t want to overestimate my distance. This run was harder than the 12-miler. I awoke with my heart rate at 54 bpm, 5 or 6 beats faster than normal. I know I was anxious. I consumed my usual pre-run breakfast, the one that usually gets my plumbing moving but doesn’t get me too jacked up. Miniwheats with a scoop of All-Bran and a couple of teaspoonfuls of wheat germ, along with two slices of melon and a couple of prunes (hey, they’re good!), a half-glass of o.j., two cups of coffee made 3 parts decaf to 1 part caf. And an 8-ounce glass of water for dessert. I

Wasn't able to run yesterday morning. Well, I could have, but I'm not crazy about starting out in a downpour. I've been known to keep on going if one starts after I'm already out there chugging along, but having my first running step be into a cold shower just isn't acceptable. So last night after work Z and I went to the gym (whine alert!). I ran on the treadmill a bit, only enough to confirm what I already know, which is that I HATE it. Treadmill running puts me at the mercy of the machine. I'm afraid of it! Afraid I'll die of boredom, afraid I'll fall and shoot off the back and down the stairs and land broken into a million pieces, afraid I'll never be able to go longer than a mile (went 1.10). Also, my right hip becomes painful almost immediately when I'm on the treadmill, regardless of the incline or speed I set. After my mini-run I lifted weights and went on the machines for a wimpy 15 minutes. Friday night workouts, ugh! Then Z and I went

...well, not yet. Went about 5.5 miles this morning. A picture-perfect crescent moon hung over my shoulder, and the air was crisp and primal. Expected to see a puma or two, but saw nary a hair of one, nor a hare, not one. Am very nervous these days, wondering when my string of healthy runs is going to come to an ugly halt. Why can't I just enjoy it? This morning I felt great, bounding up Solano Avenue from San Pablo to Santa Fe, full of energy and the love of being alive. This is not a bad thing -- why do I have to second guess it? Today is the worst day of my work week, the dreaded "Joan Day," when all my projects need to take simultaneous lurches forward, all at the hands of our wonderful freelance designer, Joan. She is wonderful, and a good thing too. If she weren't, the day would be unbearable! She loves yoga, which isn't running but does have the effect of making her appear strong and serene. And she cuts her own bangs, which inspired me to hack -- er, cut -

...which is making a longer appearance every day. Yesterday I ran the running club's Fourth Sunday Run, and chose the 10-K (you can also choose a 5-K or a 15). I ran my best time since 2002, which tells me I'm still on track here. I told one person I'm "kinda" training for Avenue of the Giants, and when I heard how wimpy that sounded I told the next person that I am training for it, no kinda about it. I'm planning a 14-miler for next Sunday, and feel that here, on Monday, I have already to begin to psyche myself up for it. Running a good 10-K is a real challenge, I feel moreso that running a 5 or a 15. In a 5 you can pretty much blast the whole way, although you'll be thoroughly trashed when you finish. In a 15-K you have to take the first third easy, the middle third stepped up, and the final third so as hard as you can after already doing 6 miles. But a 10-k doesn't divide up that easily. I did the first mile in 10:47, and did negative splits (I thin

This morning I intended to run 5, but once you go out, you gotta come back, and I went out 2.75. The great thing is that the extra half mile made no difference in how I felt. Which is to say, knock on wood, that my training is going well right now. I don't take it for granted -- know from experience that injuries can happen mysteriously and quickly and that within three days I can go from feeling like queen of the world to being old, tired, halt, and lame. This morning it was, shall we say, bracing out there in the 4:30 a.m. world. A waning moon hung high overhead, attended by bright stars that look a bit like smears to me when I'm not wearing my glasses -- but lovely smears, of course. I think it was in the high 30s - low 40s. At any rate, I kept my tattered sweatshirt on for the duration. Not many people out and about, so I just kept up my three-way conversation among me, myself, and I. Thought about how hard it is to stay positive and to stay loving toward the world, even wh

Who needs acronyms or song titles when there are a million cliches to use as titles? Taking a little walk in the morning before work, over in the city I climb to the third level of the Embarcadero centers and swing along the three-block-long walkway that skims over the cross streets and affords a great view of the skyscrapers shimmering in the rising sunlight. As I walk, I pass many huddled figures -- who seem to be on fire! Oops, wrong -- they're just inhaling poisonous burning gas into their lungs. I'd help them, but (odd as it seems) they seem to be doing this sinister activity on purpose. When I get to my building in the financial district, before I can reach for the front door handle someone pops the automatic door opener, which has been provided for the physically disabled. I notice many people stream through the electronically activated door, their presumably non-disabled arms hanging limply at their sides. Exiting the BART train in the evening, I see a long line of comm

Twelve miles this morning, and I'm alive to write about it. Ran for 2 hours, 18 minutes and saw a lot of real estate.

Fourteen thousand thirty-six and a quarter. That’s 14,036.25, the number of miles I ran between March 22, 1978 and December 31, 2005. It’s a number to contemplate when I’m feeling I’m not a “real” runner because I don’t run a high weekly mileage or I’m not especially fast or I don’t use a heart monitor or I don’t have expensive running gear for rain or blah blah blah blah blah. Although liars may figure, figures don’t lie. Considering I am an obsessive scribbler, it is not surprising that I have kept running logs throughout my entire running career (that’s career, not careen). The entry for April 22, 1978, one month after my first run: Have been in the dumps and so missed 10 days (which went who knows where). Then yesterday @11:15 I ran from the house to the Children’s School (about a mile) and felt fine. This morning I went to the H.S. track and ran a bona fide mile in under 10 min. Took a while to hit my stride, but then felt great. Maybe the time off gave me a rest but didn’t ruin m

Trying my best to be a good employee, here at 4:50 p.m., but find I am so beat that being productive seems a concept I can’t quite make real in my mind. The question comes up: why am I compelled to run? Yesterday was another disgruntling day, and I awoke early this morning knowing a run was on my schedule. I felt tired, and apprehensive that the world was after my scalp even before I stumbled out of bed. Yet I made myself go. Here’s the why (one of various): by the time I had gone two blocks, my body, ignoring my mind, had hooked into that primal left-right motion, and was at peace. I do believe we humans were born to run, and we’ve had that innate compulsion since long before the caterwauling of Bruce Springsteen. Yes, I’m almost 60 years old, and yes, I’m spaced and tired right now from a long day on top of my 5 ½ miles. But I believe that my being, that pebbly aggregate of body, mind, and soul, is at peace in a way it never would be right now had I not gotten out the door at 4:30 a.

Yesterday was one to forget. An annoying clogged bathroom drain morphed into a plumbing meltdown that may take gazillions of dollars to remedy. We find out the worst next Tuesday when the pipe doctors show up with their mobile operating van. Decided to take a nice bike ride out to El Cerrito to calm my nerves. Of COURSE I had a flat tire by the time I got to Trader Joe's. At least there's a sporting goods store in that neighborhood, so I bought a patch kit and then called Z, who made like the calvary and rode on over to rescue me. Once we got home he used the patch kit on the tire, so once again I gots wheels. A handy man is a joy and a wonder. This morning Z and I went to Lake Chabot for a "fun" run that our club had scheduled with another local club for masochists. Z ran nine miles and I did about 7.5, which puts me over 20 for the week. My so-called training schedule for now consists of marking the calendar with target mileage each week and then praying a lot that

After titling my last post I found myself in idle speculation (a location slightly north of temporary coma) about how many posts I would have to title before I ran out of acronyms. Hmm. Didn't write yesterday because work was too nuts, and so was I. The night before I did go to the gym with Z. There I "ran" a mile on the stairmaster, aka the machine from hell, and then grunted and groaned with both weight machines and free weights for some 20 minutes. My favorite machine targets the hamstrings -- I call it the tilt-a-whirl because that's how it's configured. It's a bench with a back and a restraining bar. You rest your calves on top of another bar, add a gazillion pounds to the weight pile (well, 75 pounds) and then pump your legs until your hamstrings feel more like too-tight violin strings. My training program right now -- I should present this since this purports to be a running blog -- now consists of three runs and one gym workout a week, interspersed wit

Commenting on the run, so to speak. . . . Thinking this morning about how what I eat translates into energy for doing what I do. I don't eat any meat other than fish, and so tend to eat a lot of fruits and vegetables and cheat my protein requirements. When at one point during the holidays I ate salmon for dinner, lunch, and then dinner again, I swear I could feel my muscles purring. I think an interesting post-retirement career (possibility # 7,925) would be in nutrition. No running today, but did walk to BART (.7 mi.) and then, on the west side or the Bay before work, for 20 minutes more. Tonight Z and I have a date to go to the gym. Ah, romance.

Unfortunately, the critic is right. He pointed out to me that I did my 10-mile run in 1 hour and 58 minutes, not 58 minutes. Sigh. My brain knew the truth but my fingers were dreaming. Something the critic, my very own CMZ, didn't catch is that my actual total for 2005 was NOT 708. I have to check my log before I record the actual figure, but I know it was higher. Went for my first run of the New Year this morning, a 5.5 miler. Pretty quiet in the 'hood at 4:30 a.m. I felt sluggish at the start, but was strong at the end, which was a pleasure. There's a little hill when you go south on Chestnut from Cedar, and I hit it with only about a mile left -- so I bounded on up.

Was able to run December 31, a 6-miler out to the end of the BART path, past Del Norte station. Ran in the afternoon, which isn't my first choice (give me the a.m. any day). My legs felt heavy and spastic, but otherwise it wasn't a bad run. Did my version of the Jeff Galloway run-walk method, walking for a count of 45 every 15 minutes. I figure I went 10 miles in 58 minutes. This left me half a mile short of my written goal for the week, but did bring me to 708 miles for the year. Not bad for an old broad. Had many brilliant thoughts as I ran, but, as often happens, two days later they are gone. Heck, two hours later they were gone. All right, it was two minutes. As I ran I tried to stay in the moment and appreciate the experience -- a little hard to do for long stretches, but still very pleasant. It was a puddly day, which was why I was running in the p.m. rather than the a.m. I like slaloming around the puddles, seeing the world in each one, miniature and upside down. I saw m