About Running in Scenery
Notice the type is green today. I've recently ventured twice into the wild, where there have been actual trees--a bit of a change for this urban running gal. The first wild excursion (if a race with 649 galumphing humans in it can be called wild) was the Humboldt Redwoods Half Marathon, last weekend. I was pretty nervous during the weeks and days leading up to the race, but ended up having a reasonably good run. Yes, my hips got sore, and yes, I did some run-walking, but I'm not embarrassed about my time--heck, I showed up and fought the good fight! (Oops, sorry about the militaristic metaphor. Blame it on the endorphins--or maybe on the bagpiper.) Just FYI, I came in sixth out of the 12 women in my age group. My friend L was second--yay!!
The other scenery experience occurred this morning when I went out for my club's Saturday fun-slash-training run. It took place in Redwood Park (lots of redwoods in these scenic excursions).
I went out earlier than the rest of the group because I knew I would go slowly, and I did. My reward was rounding a bend to find a wonderful panorama of fog-cradled hills stretching into the distance.
In the course of my 5-miler I realized it's been a long time since I ran on a trail. I was chagrined to find how tentative I was--the hard and rutted ground had me stepping gingerly. What happened to that woman I once was who leapt from hillock to divot and back again with nary a misstep? She still resides within me, but at this point perhaps needs a tuneup to return to form.
At any rate, it was a beautiful morning. Yes, that's Mt. Diablo--that old Devil mountain--peeking through the trees. My trail adventure was capped by a gathering of Ducks (our club mascot) at my friend L's house (the very L who came in second at Humboldt--what a star).
In other news, although I try to stay positive in this blog, I have to tell you I've been flummoxed by a recent development in my life of the body (my life of the mind is so often flummoxed that I wouldn't bother to write about it). After more than two years of suffering on and off from an itchy rash that seems to invade my hands, forearms, and legs completely at random, I've gathered enough evidence to conclude that I have become sensitive to soy.
By the way, as a reward for reading my upcoming sad food-and-rash story, here's a bonus photo (taken on a run, of course) of the smallest travel trailer in the world. You're welcome.
I had an inkling that soy was the source of my epidermis doing its imitation of hot lava now and then, but a couple of weeks ago, within two hours of consuming a soy protein smoothie, the cause-and-effect scenario was maddeningly clear. You might say I had the evidence right in (on, actually) my hands. I've been online since then looking for soy-free foods and alternate protein sources, and do believe that with a little work I can settle on a healthful diet. I'd already gone back to eating fish and eggs--will undoubtedly eat even more of them now. I don't want to eat dairy--it turns sour on my tongue when I think of the mama cows who are artificially inseminated over and over and over yet never get to see, let alone mother their babies. Okay. No more soap box.
Reality is, I've been eating some foods containing butter and cheese and milk, and will likely continue. I don't want to turn into some kind of food princess that no one wants to invite over for a meal or that makes restaurant servers run for the exit (stop her before she wants a meat- and dairy- and soy-free version of our baby back ribs!). I feel blessed to live in a world that offers so many wonderful food options, so to whine and whine and whine would feel ungrateful.
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