Running Commentary

What I mean to say is, Happy New Year. Let's tie a bow on it! The year 2016 is bearing down on us and there's no way we can get away from it. Unless we die, of course. Oh, so sorry to go all negative in what otherwise promises (in my mind) to be a positive post. I'll start by saying I had a great run this morning. Run for four minutes, walk for 60 quick paces, then do it again and again until the Tom Tom reads "4.25." For the most part my mind was happily empty (breathe in one-two-three, breathe out one-two, etc). But the New Year (It does get capitalized, right? It's a big-deal event) kept intruding into my peace of mind.  I remember way back in the day when I was pregnant, both the first and the second time. I was young, in my twenties, and was astounded that this body of mine was suddenly incubating a live human being. I'm sure I was very bad company during those months of my life. All I could really think, even while other subjects of great weigh

The metaphor that came to me on my morning run is inexact, but because it has stuck with me I'll write about it anyway. During my recent involvement with the Stephanie Atwood Belly Fat Blow-Out book / eating program, I've spend some time contemplating the nature of processed foods (the program is against them). Here's how I see it. First we put a basic food (be it plant or animal) in a machine to smash it to smithereens and leach out most of its natural, healthy components. Then we add in a few artificially created vitamins and minerals, mix the results with some guar gum (a binder made from beans stripped of their nutrients by dehulling and smushing), ascorbic acid (a preservative made by fermenting sugar with black mold), lotsa sugar or carcinogenic artificial sweeteners, plenty of salt, and artificial color. Then we pour the goo we've made into some kind of mold or container, slap a clever wrapper or label on it (Animated characters anyone? Cute, anthropomorphized

Day one of learning how to reform my eating habits: tofu-spinach scramble with grapefruit bits and pomegranate green tea. Yum! When someone says "In all honesty..." or "To tell you the truth..." I usually figure he or she is about to tell me a whopper or at least to bend a few facts. That said, I want to tell you about two aspects of my running life (so what's new), nutrition and inspiration. The in all honesty part is that I have hesitated to write this post. Why? Because it involves two (really three) books about fitness that I've read recently that have influenced my thinking in big ways--and I count the author, Stephanie Atwood, as a friend. I even did some editorial work on one of the the books, so I grant that my praise here could seem suspect. Those who have known me for a while can report that I have whined in the past when I've had to edit books and any other copy that I haven't liked. So you know I would never gratuitously praise b

In addition to the occasional blog post, I sporadically keep a personal journal (also a hard-copy running and activity log, but that's a whole 'nother subject). When I feel the itch to write in my journal but don't know where to start, sometimes I just write "Today I..." and take it from there. I find that even during the most ho-hum day, I've done something tangible enough to describe .  Some runs are like some days (many runs and many days, really), just sort of featureless. Nothing to see here, nothing to write home about. I'm in Aberdeen Maryland, which I guess is a bit more than same-old same-old. It's not news to me, however, since I've been here since last Tuesday. I've had a rather hard time making myself run--have done a lot of walking, and a couple of days ago walked right through some poison oak. The result has been interrupted sleep --itch! scratch! itch! So around 6 a.m. today I'd finally gotten to sleep--and didn&#

It was a quiet sort of a morning, for a Friday. The commute traffic headed for I-680 had yet to clog up First Street, so I didn't need to punch the pedestrian signal before crossing over from Angela. Angela is a bit less than a mile from where I live, so when I arrived there I wasn't warmed up yet. In fact, I felt like I might never warm up. This is it, kiddo, said the voice between my ears. You swam hard (for you) yesterday for 31.5 minutes, so today you are toast. I continued to jog for four minutes / run for one, four / one, four / one, etcetera, etcetera. The air was perfect--I asked the birds about that and they concurred. I crossed Main and four / one'd over to the racetrack. I was early enough to see some of the beauties warming up (yes, I was envious of their warmth and also of their grace). One particular horse, a gray so dark he was almost black, filled me with joy. Nice to feel something so uncomplicated arising between my ears and tumbling on down into my he

This post, unlike my last one, is not a whine and jeez session about other people. This one's about me and what's been going on in my life and my running life (often I find the two feel pretty much the same). I am in an unsettled period right now. I feel a strong urge to spend a lot of time alone--I described it to Z as "me time"--and yet when I get it I am lethargic and scattered. I am in a struggle with aging. Not very original, but for me it is neither a familiar nor a comfortable state. I'm proud to be reasonably fit and want to stay that way, so I long to do the extended runs and lengthy races that I have always loved. But I have all sorts of hip / glute / flexor issues that give me literal pause when I try to train long. Still, I get out there and run / walk when I can. Saturday I was truly psyched to do a run on the Bay Bridge on Sunday. It is one of my favorite places to run, plus I had been feeling pretty strong all week. Sunday morning I awoke ea

Some oxygen seekers at the ISU track I ran on the street-side path inside the cemetery fence. It was the time of day for the sprinklers to run, and run they did, shooting high plumes of silver water into the dawn-fresh air. I turned right—if memory served me there was a gate in the cemetery fence at the very back of the expanse. I ran up between the rows of dead people, some of them recently deceased and some long gone. I considered the concept of disrespecting the dead. I guess you believe in it more strongly if you are a fan of the afterlife—if you’re not, it probably seems unreasonable to you that the dead could like or dislike any kind of behavior at all. Be the truth as it may, and certainly I can’t tell you what it is, I couldn’t help pondering whether running up and down between the rows of tombstones and markers, dressed in spandex and a red shirt of the finest wicking material, could be considered disrespectful. I turned left on another dirt path between the

I can't believe I haven't posted here since December 14. I know why, of course. Two reasons: First, it is easier to throw a photo up on Facebook and make some flip comment than it is to come to this space and articulate what's really on my mind. Second, my running life has been complicated over the last six-plus months--it is even confusing to me. When I've pictured myself trying to explain what's been happening, my reaction lately has been to sigh and go play with the cat instead. So what's been going on? For one thing, I have been back and forth to Connecticut five times since last August for family reasons. All that time spent in a crowded, airless, flying tube is bound to affect a person's general outlook in some way. My way turned out to be becoming claustrophobic, which I've never been before. All I wanted was to be alone somewhere in some open space and free to move my body. And how about the actual running part of this time period? In