Sometimes I really, really love the people that come into our office. One of our clients informed me a bit back that he used to be a big runner. I believed him, of course. But it wasn't until he brought in an old news article and started chatting with me about marathons and his old school tiger racing flats that I realized he was definitely not kidding.
Sidenote:
There is a distinct problem with being open with everyone and telling them about how much I love running and how great running is and running running runningrunningrunningrninunnging.
Basically, it's pretty obvious what I think about all day long. And some clients appreciate that and tend to ask me how my training is and when my next race is and so on. Unfortunately, my little injury has made these questions seem more like mental/emotional torture than anything else.
So, back to my story, this client comes in and asks if I'm back to running yet. Yea yea, a little here and there.
"Well, you know, you need to get back in shape fast so you better start cranking out those miles... you know what? You should just go out there and do quarters. Or better yet, hill repeats - no one ever gets hurt going UP a hill." - Sarcasm rocks.
For some reason, this struck me as hilarious. And a little humor goes a long way for me sometimes. Today was the first day I felt significant improvement with my hamstring and I've been looking forward to trying out a short 4.5 mile jaunt all day long. The minute I walk out this door today, I am driving to the gravel entrance of the greenway and I'm going to relive what its like to be a runner. Because really... once a runner, always a runner. It is a mindset loves.
4.29.2010
4.27.2010
Fevrier
Back in February my running was at what I might call a peak. I felt on top of it during every single run. I wanted to go after it and push myself to the very limits of my being every time I stepped out the door. I was IN it. I just resurrected something I jotted down after a solo post-work run. A tangible reminder of what it all feels like.
02/19/2010
racing daylight
my legs are burning
trying to keep up with my lungs
my breath is racing my blood
coursing through my veins
leaving my brain
flowing faster to the muscles that need
so desperately
need it
and the oxygen is not free flowing
its cutting out
falling out
faking me out
and i am just living up to expectations
and running with the darkness
feet pitter patter
spit splatter
and there i am basking in the
afterglow
and streetlights throw shadows
bathing me in sweat and beams of light
ive pushed to my limit
and ive been in my own head for the last 6 miles
and i havent thought about anything
or everything
or this or that
ive thought about racing daylight
and feeling infinite.
Working my way to getting back there. Spent a half an hour in the pool on my lunch break today and did a LOT of breast stroke. I was going to say "stroking of the breast" but that just sounded way wrong. Well, oops, I guess I said it anyway. Did some boarding of the kick too and that actually felt really good - like I was stretching out some tight muscles. All I need to do is learn how to sit without being in pain. That would be fab.u.lous.
02/19/2010
racing daylight
my legs are burning
trying to keep up with my lungs
my breath is racing my blood
coursing through my veins
leaving my brain
flowing faster to the muscles that need
so desperately
need it
and the oxygen is not free flowing
its cutting out
falling out
faking me out
and i am just living up to expectations
and running with the darkness
feet pitter patter
spit splatter
and there i am basking in the
afterglow
and streetlights throw shadows
bathing me in sweat and beams of light
ive pushed to my limit
and ive been in my own head for the last 6 miles
and i havent thought about anything
or everything
or this or that
ive thought about racing daylight
and feeling infinite.
Working my way to getting back there. Spent a half an hour in the pool on my lunch break today and did a LOT of breast stroke. I was going to say "stroking of the breast" but that just sounded way wrong. Well, oops, I guess I said it anyway. Did some boarding of the kick too and that actually felt really good - like I was stretching out some tight muscles. All I need to do is learn how to sit without being in pain. That would be fab.u.lous.
4.22.2010
Reaping the benefits.
Finished Product - Fig Tart with Vanilla, Orange, Anise Ice Cream, originally uploaded by mo mckinley.
Late Saturday afternoon we finished up the ice cream in the kitchen aid attachment and called it a day around 6:30 so we could go check out a newish local restaurant, Fran's Filling Station.
Fran's was fabulous. The fried pickles were the best I've had since the spears I had in Charleston. Fran must understand that to be fried pickles there must be PICKLE and not just a mass of fried batter. Yeah, we like the fried stuff but I want more pickle with my fry. The boy had meatloaf, his friend had ooey gooey meatballs, and I had mussels. The ooey gooeyness is written on the menu, I'm not just making it up. And dannnnnng I think he had the winning dish! They were served in this incredible bowl of sloppy, saucy yum. My mussels were the meatiest I have ever encountered - served in a mild red curry sauce. Could have used more kick but I'm not complaining. Just sayin'.
After gorging ourselves at Fran's, the delicacy we had worked on all day just wasn't calling to me in the same way. So we made the tough decision to wait and serve the dessert on Sunday - this proved to be a spoon-lickin' good decision.
Sunday night dinner in Hoffland again. This time, there was quite a bit of sausage leftover that needed to be used. Originally, the boy thought we should make brunch for our friends but this was a complicated ordeal so I suggested he serve Breakfast for Dinner. Turned out to be a good idea because the Biscuits n' Gravy this jersey boy cooked up could put a southern momma to shame. Wish I knew exactly what he put in the gravy but I do know it started with a roux and I was honored to throw in the flour as he whisked away. Next I did the super tough, arduous task of opening the Pillsbury tin of biscuits and laid them out evenly on a baking sheet *wipes sweat from brow, phew.* Boy was busy all day, no time for makin' biscuits and apparently these are the best anyway. Meanwhile, an egg casserole with zucchini, red peppers, mushrooms, cheddar, and caramelized onions was getting going in the oven. *Update: Apparently the 'cheddar' that I thought was in the egg casserole was shaved sweet potato. I was corrected, "Not cheddar, that's not how I roll." * The sausage was mixed in with the gravy and carefully poured over the browned biscuits. The egg casserole with artichoke mousse on top sat on the side - lookin' pretty.
When served, no one could get over how good it was. Ten people around the table just entranced in the goodness that comes with home cooking. As everyone finished (some with their second portions), I was saved from seconds because I had work to do.
The tarts had been baked the day before and were ready for filling. We had read in the Joy of Cooking that coating a tart with egg white, melted butter, or a light dusting of flour would keep a juicy filling from making the crust soggy. So... I went to work painting the tarts. From the fridge we gathered the pastry cream and fig mixture. On Saturday we bought dried california figs because no fresh figs were available at this time of year 'round here. We pureed a portion of them in the food processor with a little bit of fig jelly that the boy had on hand and added a teensy bit of light cream. We chopped another portion of the figs and mixed this in with the puree to add to the texture. I took a mound of this mixture and placed it in the center of the tart before the boy filled the rest of the tart with the pastry cream. After consulting the Food Bible we sprinkled on top a spice mix of cinnamon, sugar, and fresh ground nutmeg (got to use my weapon of choice in the kitchen, the zester, again). We popped this all in the oven for a brief spot of time and then took it out to be plated. The ice cream we had finished and frozen all night was scooped on the side of the plate with fresh, homemade whipped cream. Looked great and tasted even better.
Revisions: use fresh figs (of course!) and less orange zest/ more anise seeds in our ice cream. Loved it though - what a fun feeling to serve the tarts to everyone at the table. The ten of us shared the four tarts and it was puh-lenty.
Don't you call me a tartlette...
We bought four 5in tart pans for the day's project with full knowledge this meant more tarts in our future. As we started to press the dough in the pans we thought for sure we would have some left over but as we neared the end we realized that we might actually be running a little low. Our last tart was a bit thinner than the others but after baking, it turned out to be the best one. More room for pastry cream and figs!
Making the ice cream and pastry cream left us with a good number of egg whites just hangin around. (Can you picture egg whites 'hangin around'? Yuck.) So we attempted to make meringue kisses. These were a colossal failure. After I sampled about 5 of them to rule them out as at all edible... we surrendered to the confectionary gods and tossed 'em. You know, if the sugar sticks to your teeth so hard that your mouth is cemented shut... this is not a good thing.
Saturday Sweetness
This past weekend was a "no plans" weekend. Well... better put, a "no plans" Saturday as we already had made Friday and Sunday plans.
8:45 am. Eyes open. Wake up.
9:00 am. Phone call - showing at the house in half an hour.
9:01 am. Go time.
Got everything cleaned up and squared away before heading to the boy's for breakfast. Green eggs and green juice - perhaps we were celebrating Earth Day early. I'd never seen a juicer in juicing and I was impressed to say the least. Spinach, a mango, an apple, and orange went into the juicer and what came out was ohsogreen goooooooooodness. The fresh pesto mixed with the eggs made for variety in palate if not palette.
And then a rare moment of stillness struck us. Sitting at the kitchen table, forks to empty plates, we looked at each other. What next? Chess was one consideration but I wondered if 9:45 on a Saturday morning was too early for thinking that hard. So I suggested we take on a little baking challenge.
Maybe I need to qualify that. I say "challenge" because for me, any kind of baking is something nifty and new. Yea, that's right, I used the word nifty. But for Jeff the world "challenge" is not as fitting - he's got this stuff down pat - pat as in pat-in-the-pan.
We ended up making a bit of a throwback to our dessert at Oliveto in Berkeley, CA. After a little trip to Sur la Table, the Teeter, and Fresh Market - we were ready to go. First we started the ice cream.
We followed the basic vanilla ice cream directions in Alice Waters' The Art of Simple Food and then added toasted anise seeds and orange zest. While the mixture chilled thoroughly in the fridge we read up on making pastry cream and crust for our tarts (or tarts for our tarts?).
Three Miles/Three Donuts (Calories Out/Calories In?)
On Tuesday, I was cleared to run three miles the next day. Laying in bed that night I tossed and turned like it was a third job. I thought to myself, "It's like I'm waiting for Christmas morning." When the alarm jarred me awake I did not quite hop out of bed but I made it to my feet and got dressed. Running shorts, sports bra, super-bright tshirt for protection from cars. I unwrapped my shiny new shoes from their packaging and jump-started my fresh start. Well, I'm not quite sure "jump-start" is the correct terminology as I ambled down the road at a brisk walk to get things movin' and groovin'.
We started on a downhill. When my legs started moving it was like a rush of relief flooding my body - the frustration of the past week shedding itself little by little. I was on high-alert, hyper-aware of every ache and pain as we moved silently in the dark. The morning seemed strangely quiet, my voice bouncing lightly off the asphalt. I concentrated on each step and tried to apply everything I have learned about proper form and mid-foot striking and the lean and where my arms should be. It was more work than I wanted 3 miles to be but it always is when your attention is so focused on the body and its movable parts. My anger at the situation flared up again as we pulled into the driveway and my run was over.
I've been tackling a whole new (yet old constant) issue of ignoring the compulsion to compare myself and my training to the work everyone is putting in around me. After the marathon, I allowed my competitive edge back in. Like an old friend, it was on my couch and in my heart before I even realized it. Being a competitor - wanting to win - willing myself onwards fast fast faster is something I had been lacking for years. I'm not sure when or why I got that drive back but it settled itself right back into my running. As inspiration, being competitive is a boon - as basis for ruthless comparison, it is a bust. This new injury has thrust the whole thing into the spotlight, front and center. Perhaps it is best now to learn where to set the limits on healthy competition. It is such a beautiful thing to push oneself as hard as humanly possible to keep up with a training partner on a tough day - knowing on somedays it will be the other way around, keeping you both in check. Beads of sweat clinging to our eyelashes and pollen staining our lungs... these are the things I miss enjoying with other runners. It is not recording the miles in my log or hitting specific splits or racing that I long for. Sure, all of that is part of it. But the raw, tangible feeling of breath racing through my lungs and muscles on fire for the sake of burning... that is what I truly cherish in the miles. I can be envious of others for enjoying that aspect of running, but I need not covet the mileage itself.
We started on a downhill. When my legs started moving it was like a rush of relief flooding my body - the frustration of the past week shedding itself little by little. I was on high-alert, hyper-aware of every ache and pain as we moved silently in the dark. The morning seemed strangely quiet, my voice bouncing lightly off the asphalt. I concentrated on each step and tried to apply everything I have learned about proper form and mid-foot striking and the lean and where my arms should be. It was more work than I wanted 3 miles to be but it always is when your attention is so focused on the body and its movable parts. My anger at the situation flared up again as we pulled into the driveway and my run was over.
I've been tackling a whole new (yet old constant) issue of ignoring the compulsion to compare myself and my training to the work everyone is putting in around me. After the marathon, I allowed my competitive edge back in. Like an old friend, it was on my couch and in my heart before I even realized it. Being a competitor - wanting to win - willing myself onwards fast fast faster is something I had been lacking for years. I'm not sure when or why I got that drive back but it settled itself right back into my running. As inspiration, being competitive is a boon - as basis for ruthless comparison, it is a bust. This new injury has thrust the whole thing into the spotlight, front and center. Perhaps it is best now to learn where to set the limits on healthy competition. It is such a beautiful thing to push oneself as hard as humanly possible to keep up with a training partner on a tough day - knowing on somedays it will be the other way around, keeping you both in check. Beads of sweat clinging to our eyelashes and pollen staining our lungs... these are the things I miss enjoying with other runners. It is not recording the miles in my log or hitting specific splits or racing that I long for. Sure, all of that is part of it. But the raw, tangible feeling of breath racing through my lungs and muscles on fire for the sake of burning... that is what I truly cherish in the miles. I can be envious of others for enjoying that aspect of running, but I need not covet the mileage itself.
4.20.2010
Compelling
I have come to a few conclusions today.
I say today as if by 9:00 am my day is complete.
On my way to my car this morning I decided that I don't care about running fast anymore. All I want to do is run. So if that means I have to give up the idea of running quickly and winning anything or achieving time goals and personal records again... then I just might be fine with that as long as I can run.
I just can't do this anymore. I cannot sit on my butt and watch everything else around me. Running is a compulsion. The need for it burns in my consciousness to the point that I cease to truly feel anything else. And for that... I cannot continue this endless game of waiting. Tomorrow I will run. And the next day I will run. And that is just the way it is.
I say today as if by 9:00 am my day is complete.
On my way to my car this morning I decided that I don't care about running fast anymore. All I want to do is run. So if that means I have to give up the idea of running quickly and winning anything or achieving time goals and personal records again... then I just might be fine with that as long as I can run.
I just can't do this anymore. I cannot sit on my butt and watch everything else around me. Running is a compulsion. The need for it burns in my consciousness to the point that I cease to truly feel anything else. And for that... I cannot continue this endless game of waiting. Tomorrow I will run. And the next day I will run. And that is just the way it is.
4.15.2010
And the saddest part...
is that I continued watching.
And I watched
the
whole
thing.
I can hear the brain cells tearfully saying their goodbyes...
And I watched
the
whole
thing.
I can hear the brain cells tearfully saying their goodbyes...
Failures in Food and Television
Honestly, I should feel ashamed of myself.
Last night was one of those rare nights when I had absolutely nothing planned for the evening and was sorta kinda flying by the seat of my pants (or skirt, or whathaveyou). I got off work and dutifully stopped at the closest Teeter for some much needed grocery shopping. Now, here is a short musing on Teeterhood: in Charlotte, there is a Harris Teeter situated nearly every half mile to mile from one another. Naturally, we would like to swing by the closest one on the way home - however -proximity is not a proper basis for deciding where to stopnshop. For example, I believe we can all agree that not all parking lots are created equal. A poorly planned parking lot that drives up my blood pressure and increases my likelihood of stroke at an early age cancels out any convenience of stopping at the "closest" Teeter. I need to remember this next time because really, another 2-5 minutes of driving is totally worth not getting hit by people itchin n' scratchin for their next Starbucks hit.
I survived and made my way home to *gasp of utter shock* do my laundry - using both laundry rooms in the house next door to maximize my laundering abilities. I wasn't sure of possible plans for later in the evening but I knew I should probably get something to eat.
But I was still on strike.
So I went over to the drawer in my room, which is, essentially a pool house or guest house equipped with amenities of sorts. I tore open a pack of expired salted peanuts (for protein) and settled onto a chair in front of the television I hadn't turned on since moving in in January. I pressed the TV Power button and an image of CSPAN filled the screen. I had been checking out the channel when the healthcare debate was raging full force. Not in the mood for political pontificating, I channeled up. To static. Channeled down: static. Menued: static. Guided: static. Split-screened: side-by-side versions of static.
Hrmph.
I turned it all off and tried again. I tried the other remote. I tried both remotes at the same time. I stuck my head in the dusty space between the TV set and cabinet and checked out the wires.
Hrmph.
Fine then. I headed over to the house and turned on the TV there. Apparently two shows were being recorded on Tivo and I couldn't switch from the 25th anniversary of some rock n roll shenanigan without interrupting recording and well I just wasn't about to do that because it's not my Tivo. So I went to the TV on the other side of the house. Repeat performance of the TV in my room. No static. Just black screen of VID-1. (Try remote 1, Try remote 2). Honestly, am I television-challenged or remote-challenged or is this just a useless challenge confirming my belief that television is stupid and rots the brain cells of which we only use 10% to begin with.
Now what? Food.
I'm not hungry for some reason but I know I should eat. I don't feel like going anywhere. So I look around the cabinets for something innocuous that wouldn't be a big deal if I borrowed. I settle on microwaveable, single-serving Annie's Organic White Cheddar Macaroni and Cheese. Welcome to the land of "healthy" easy mac. Dubious claim indeed but I'm not picky tonight. All I need for this is a bowl and 1/2 cup of water. Innocent enough. I spend the next fifteen minutes in the dim lighting looking for a measuring cup. I'm not kidding - I scoured every drawer and cabinet in the entire kitchen. Nothin. So I guessed. I miscalculated and there wasn't quite enough water to absorb the powder cheesiness and so it was a little funky.
This is why I should be ashamed of myself. It has been so long since I have cooked for myself that I messed up microwaveable pasta. Shit.
Somewhat defeated and much deflated of ego, I notice the TV is finally showing something decent on a channel I can watch - Gran Torino. Great movie - maybe not the uplifting, easy going film I was looking for but I'll take it. I settle in and start getting emotionally wrapped up in the plot and characters and complex thoughts on race and life and death and just as the going gets really rough in the movie - a warning pops on the screen alerting me that the channel must switch to continue recording the next show. I can cancel the recording and continue watching OR switch channels as directed. And so I glumly watch the channel switch from the violently jarring images of lives marred by gang violence and racism to...
Cougartown.
Really?
Last night was one of those rare nights when I had absolutely nothing planned for the evening and was sorta kinda flying by the seat of my pants (or skirt, or whathaveyou). I got off work and dutifully stopped at the closest Teeter for some much needed grocery shopping. Now, here is a short musing on Teeterhood: in Charlotte, there is a Harris Teeter situated nearly every half mile to mile from one another. Naturally, we would like to swing by the closest one on the way home - however -proximity is not a proper basis for deciding where to stopnshop. For example, I believe we can all agree that not all parking lots are created equal. A poorly planned parking lot that drives up my blood pressure and increases my likelihood of stroke at an early age cancels out any convenience of stopping at the "closest" Teeter. I need to remember this next time because really, another 2-5 minutes of driving is totally worth not getting hit by people itchin n' scratchin for their next Starbucks hit.
I survived and made my way home to *gasp of utter shock* do my laundry - using both laundry rooms in the house next door to maximize my laundering abilities. I wasn't sure of possible plans for later in the evening but I knew I should probably get something to eat.
But I was still on strike.
So I went over to the drawer in my room, which is, essentially a pool house or guest house equipped with amenities of sorts. I tore open a pack of expired salted peanuts (for protein) and settled onto a chair in front of the television I hadn't turned on since moving in in January. I pressed the TV Power button and an image of CSPAN filled the screen. I had been checking out the channel when the healthcare debate was raging full force. Not in the mood for political pontificating, I channeled up. To static. Channeled down: static. Menued: static. Guided: static. Split-screened: side-by-side versions of static.
Hrmph.
I turned it all off and tried again. I tried the other remote. I tried both remotes at the same time. I stuck my head in the dusty space between the TV set and cabinet and checked out the wires.
Hrmph.
Fine then. I headed over to the house and turned on the TV there. Apparently two shows were being recorded on Tivo and I couldn't switch from the 25th anniversary of some rock n roll shenanigan without interrupting recording and well I just wasn't about to do that because it's not my Tivo. So I went to the TV on the other side of the house. Repeat performance of the TV in my room. No static. Just black screen of VID-1. (Try remote 1, Try remote 2). Honestly, am I television-challenged or remote-challenged or is this just a useless challenge confirming my belief that television is stupid and rots the brain cells of which we only use 10% to begin with.
Now what? Food.
I'm not hungry for some reason but I know I should eat. I don't feel like going anywhere. So I look around the cabinets for something innocuous that wouldn't be a big deal if I borrowed. I settle on microwaveable, single-serving Annie's Organic White Cheddar Macaroni and Cheese. Welcome to the land of "healthy" easy mac. Dubious claim indeed but I'm not picky tonight. All I need for this is a bowl and 1/2 cup of water. Innocent enough. I spend the next fifteen minutes in the dim lighting looking for a measuring cup. I'm not kidding - I scoured every drawer and cabinet in the entire kitchen. Nothin. So I guessed. I miscalculated and there wasn't quite enough water to absorb the powder cheesiness and so it was a little funky.
This is why I should be ashamed of myself. It has been so long since I have cooked for myself that I messed up microwaveable pasta. Shit.
Somewhat defeated and much deflated of ego, I notice the TV is finally showing something decent on a channel I can watch - Gran Torino. Great movie - maybe not the uplifting, easy going film I was looking for but I'll take it. I settle in and start getting emotionally wrapped up in the plot and characters and complex thoughts on race and life and death and just as the going gets really rough in the movie - a warning pops on the screen alerting me that the channel must switch to continue recording the next show. I can cancel the recording and continue watching OR switch channels as directed. And so I glumly watch the channel switch from the violently jarring images of lives marred by gang violence and racism to...
Cougartown.
Really?
4.13.2010
How was it? Awesome of course. When is a milkshake NOT awesome?
4:48 am
I am fumbling around in my laundry basket. There are at least five pairs of running shorts in here... why can't I find just one?
Because... it's 4:48 in the morning and really - a growing lady like myself should be sleeping right now. I usually avoid this situation altogether by laying out my running clothes the night before but last night I was on strike.
When I get in the car I just blast my eardrums into awakening - drive past the even-crazier-than-me cyclists - and pull into the church parking lot where we meet for Miner's Run. The loud music suddenly seems way out of place as my headlights swing around to light up a number of headstones in the cemetery. I quickly turn it down and turn off the car... slightly uncomfortable for no good reason. Waiting for the rest of the group, I think about how when I was younger, I used to hold my breath when I passed a cemetery. I only did it because my sister told me to. I never really understood the concept and then one day someone told me it was terribly disrespectful of the dead. So I stopped doing it.
Meg and Spada met me early and we made our way down to the rubberized track. I knew it was going to be a struggle when the loops around the dark track started to feel like work less than ten minutes in. We looped back around and picked up the rest of the crew to head down Sardis - and right about then, I knew I was in trouble.
I ended up in a very engaging conversation that took a good amount of energy both mental and physical. Completely rehashed last night's book club discussion of C.S. Lewis' Mere Christianity with a fellow lover of his work. As taxing as this was and I didn't feel like I should be pushing it hard like that... the conversation was so good that I do not take it back for a moment. Spada and I eventually broke off from the group to head back and with the unfortunate weight of time pressing down hard - we continued a non-recovery pace to the car.
((Meanwhile)) Spada's been doing a little book exchange with Paul Mainwaring - another incredible athlete in the area - and they have been switching at Miner's Run. So Spada has two books in his hands when we start the run, thinking he's going to run into Paul along the way. Paul apparently didn't show today and Spada ends up leaving the books where we will come back later - about two miles in. On our way back he dashes over to grab his two books, "Hey, you're in the book club, but I've got the books!" I really can NOT imagine running with two big books in my hand. ((He's a champ.))
For the last six miles or so I could feel my energy levels dropping to the floor... I was starving. Last night was book club night which means two things:
1) an incredible night of thought-provoking discourse on humanity and its twisted tangle with christianity
and
2) dinner by the boy
I had rushed over to dinner around 6:30 so we could eat and drive uptown without being late. (I hate being late. No really... I absolutely despise it). Roasted brussel sprouts (with a sprinkle of nutmeg, making it a little different than usual) were just being pulled out of the oven as a skillet of lamb cheesesteak sizzled on the stove. The buns for the cheesesteak were toasted with melted Roaring 40s bleu cheese and filled with the lamb, bell peppers, and myriad of spices. The bleu has a special place in our hearts - we first encountered it on our trip to Gary Danko's restaurant in San Francisco. It completed the cheesesteak so perfectly without overpowering it. Incredible. For being such a stinky, potent little cheese - I was very surprised. Unfortunately... we were in a hurry and I felt like I shouldn't take seconds. On my run this morning, I realized I reallllllly should have. If not for the calories, just to savor the flavor.
Oh well. The four (or five) rice krispy treats I had late at book club probably didn't help the situation.
I am fumbling around in my laundry basket. There are at least five pairs of running shorts in here... why can't I find just one?
Because... it's 4:48 in the morning and really - a growing lady like myself should be sleeping right now. I usually avoid this situation altogether by laying out my running clothes the night before but last night I was on strike.
When I get in the car I just blast my eardrums into awakening - drive past the even-crazier-than-me cyclists - and pull into the church parking lot where we meet for Miner's Run. The loud music suddenly seems way out of place as my headlights swing around to light up a number of headstones in the cemetery. I quickly turn it down and turn off the car... slightly uncomfortable for no good reason. Waiting for the rest of the group, I think about how when I was younger, I used to hold my breath when I passed a cemetery. I only did it because my sister told me to. I never really understood the concept and then one day someone told me it was terribly disrespectful of the dead. So I stopped doing it.
Meg and Spada met me early and we made our way down to the rubberized track. I knew it was going to be a struggle when the loops around the dark track started to feel like work less than ten minutes in. We looped back around and picked up the rest of the crew to head down Sardis - and right about then, I knew I was in trouble.
I ended up in a very engaging conversation that took a good amount of energy both mental and physical. Completely rehashed last night's book club discussion of C.S. Lewis' Mere Christianity with a fellow lover of his work. As taxing as this was and I didn't feel like I should be pushing it hard like that... the conversation was so good that I do not take it back for a moment. Spada and I eventually broke off from the group to head back and with the unfortunate weight of time pressing down hard - we continued a non-recovery pace to the car.
((Meanwhile)) Spada's been doing a little book exchange with Paul Mainwaring - another incredible athlete in the area - and they have been switching at Miner's Run. So Spada has two books in his hands when we start the run, thinking he's going to run into Paul along the way. Paul apparently didn't show today and Spada ends up leaving the books where we will come back later - about two miles in. On our way back he dashes over to grab his two books, "Hey, you're in the book club, but I've got the books!" I really can NOT imagine running with two big books in my hand. ((He's a champ.))
For the last six miles or so I could feel my energy levels dropping to the floor... I was starving. Last night was book club night which means two things:
1) an incredible night of thought-provoking discourse on humanity and its twisted tangle with christianity
and
2) dinner by the boy
I had rushed over to dinner around 6:30 so we could eat and drive uptown without being late. (I hate being late. No really... I absolutely despise it). Roasted brussel sprouts (with a sprinkle of nutmeg, making it a little different than usual) were just being pulled out of the oven as a skillet of lamb cheesesteak sizzled on the stove. The buns for the cheesesteak were toasted with melted Roaring 40s bleu cheese and filled with the lamb, bell peppers, and myriad of spices. The bleu has a special place in our hearts - we first encountered it on our trip to Gary Danko's restaurant in San Francisco. It completed the cheesesteak so perfectly without overpowering it. Incredible. For being such a stinky, potent little cheese - I was very surprised. Unfortunately... we were in a hurry and I felt like I shouldn't take seconds. On my run this morning, I realized I reallllllly should have. If not for the calories, just to savor the flavor.
Oh well. The four (or five) rice krispy treats I had late at book club probably didn't help the situation.
4.06.2010
Regret
Whatever I said about that nighttime run being "necessary" was stupid.
It was not necessary. It was stupid.
It was not necessary. It was stupid.
4.05.2010
Rocks, roots, and two exhausted runners.
Dear sir or madam... it is that time of year - when everyone starts feeling the beauty and the warmth and the need to be out of doors. We got a later start to running than my usual 5:30 am so I actually got to soak up the sunshine and the 70 something degree morning.
Decided to do a true long run this morning. It brought me back to the days of marathon training... when 16.5 was pretty standard fare. It was a confidence building run for both myself and the boy because it was his longest run yet and it was proof for me that I am not losing "everything." Stopped for water and a bathroom break after about 50 minutes or so but other than that it was 2 hours and 12 minutes of continuous running.
Not too shabby.
Especially on the trails at Anne Springs which were putting a serious hurting on my legs for the last half hour or so. We were fortunate enough to hit almost all my favorite spots on this one run. Took Blue Star again and followed that along beside the water until it curved off towards the Dairy Barn. Don't let the name fool you... this is no po'dunk little barn action here. The wooded trail gives way to a wide open field of long lush grass.
After you cross the road you run beside another large expanse of green green grass accompanied by a picture-perfect white picket fence and a scattering of horses. Does it get much better? Along the gravel road a gleaming white dairy "barn" dominates the landscape. It is an imposing but beautiful structure that is in stark contrast to the humble, historic cabin a little further down the way. The gravel takes you to a loop around Lake Haigler which is a nice respite from long straightaways. This brought back all kinds of memories of painful glory from the Anne Springs Half Marathon I ran last year around this time.
On the way back, I hopped through the grass conjuring images of Sound of Music and Jeff made the comment, "It's all fun and games until someone steps on a snake." This put me squarely back into alert zone as I made for the trail opening.
I felt a little sore and my legs were protesting a bit but when I reached the trail map kiosk that ends the run I was exhilarated. Ran over to the water spigot and turned it full blast on my outstretched palms - raising handfuls of cold water to my mouth. This is my kind of beginning to a day. We walked over to the car and I collected chocolate milk money from my honey.
Later in the day we sat around and shuffled through my taxes before heading to my parents' for dinner. A little more complicated than usual this year but I had a semi-professional help me out. And he was cute too so... no complaints. Then we were supposed to bring an appetizer... we brought something so beautiful it is a sin that I did not photograph it and post it here.
The boy whipped up some boursin cheese and light cream to a nice consistency and refrigerated it for our tax session. Then he rolled cold red grapes in the cheese before dropping them into a bowl of crushed pistachios which I whirled around to coat before dropping on a cookie sheet. Assembly-line style, we prepared a healthy number and put them in the freezer to keep for a bit. We served them in a white, square-shaped bowl and the green color of the pistachio looked perfect. Filling in taste and texture the grapes were a hit but we had some leftover - perfect for the next day's snack as we sat around preparing food for Easter dinner!
Decided to do a true long run this morning. It brought me back to the days of marathon training... when 16.5 was pretty standard fare. It was a confidence building run for both myself and the boy because it was his longest run yet and it was proof for me that I am not losing "everything." Stopped for water and a bathroom break after about 50 minutes or so but other than that it was 2 hours and 12 minutes of continuous running.
Not too shabby.
Especially on the trails at Anne Springs which were putting a serious hurting on my legs for the last half hour or so. We were fortunate enough to hit almost all my favorite spots on this one run. Took Blue Star again and followed that along beside the water until it curved off towards the Dairy Barn. Don't let the name fool you... this is no po'dunk little barn action here. The wooded trail gives way to a wide open field of long lush grass.
After you cross the road you run beside another large expanse of green green grass accompanied by a picture-perfect white picket fence and a scattering of horses. Does it get much better? Along the gravel road a gleaming white dairy "barn" dominates the landscape. It is an imposing but beautiful structure that is in stark contrast to the humble, historic cabin a little further down the way. The gravel takes you to a loop around Lake Haigler which is a nice respite from long straightaways. This brought back all kinds of memories of painful glory from the Anne Springs Half Marathon I ran last year around this time.
On the way back, I hopped through the grass conjuring images of Sound of Music and Jeff made the comment, "It's all fun and games until someone steps on a snake." This put me squarely back into alert zone as I made for the trail opening.
I felt a little sore and my legs were protesting a bit but when I reached the trail map kiosk that ends the run I was exhilarated. Ran over to the water spigot and turned it full blast on my outstretched palms - raising handfuls of cold water to my mouth. This is my kind of beginning to a day. We walked over to the car and I collected chocolate milk money from my honey.
Later in the day we sat around and shuffled through my taxes before heading to my parents' for dinner. A little more complicated than usual this year but I had a semi-professional help me out. And he was cute too so... no complaints. Then we were supposed to bring an appetizer... we brought something so beautiful it is a sin that I did not photograph it and post it here.
The boy whipped up some boursin cheese and light cream to a nice consistency and refrigerated it for our tax session. Then he rolled cold red grapes in the cheese before dropping them into a bowl of crushed pistachios which I whirled around to coat before dropping on a cookie sheet. Assembly-line style, we prepared a healthy number and put them in the freezer to keep for a bit. We served them in a white, square-shaped bowl and the green color of the pistachio looked perfect. Filling in taste and texture the grapes were a hit but we had some leftover - perfect for the next day's snack as we sat around preparing food for Easter dinner!
Impatience Wins Out
It is Friday night. My blood is boiling in my veins because it is time to run and I have been holding back this rush of thought and stress and emotion for too long. I am fully aware of the stupidity and the immaturity and the impatience involved.
But I'm running.
I'm heading down the driveway into the dark night. I'm hopping over sidewalks and lowering my eyes against the headlights down Fairview Rd. I'm taking matters into my own feet so to speak.
My breathing is hard. Harder than it should be. My feet are falling loudly. Louder than they should be.
But I'm running.
My eyes are squinting so hard and all I can hope is that these sidewalks are smooth smooth smooth or I'm going down down down.
But I roll up to the house after a 40 minute super-short jaunt and the sweat is beading up on my skin as the dogs rush me and try to lick the salt off my legs... the day is over. And I'm ok with that... now.
It was stupid. But it was necessary.
But I'm running.
I'm heading down the driveway into the dark night. I'm hopping over sidewalks and lowering my eyes against the headlights down Fairview Rd. I'm taking matters into my own feet so to speak.
My breathing is hard. Harder than it should be. My feet are falling loudly. Louder than they should be.
But I'm running.
My eyes are squinting so hard and all I can hope is that these sidewalks are smooth smooth smooth or I'm going down down down.
But I roll up to the house after a 40 minute super-short jaunt and the sweat is beading up on my skin as the dogs rush me and try to lick the salt off my legs... the day is over. And I'm ok with that... now.
It was stupid. But it was necessary.
4.01.2010
Oct-o-pus
My brother's octopus terrine... I found this while salivating through his pictures on flickr.com. Looks like something needs to be attempted... and I don't think I even need to run that many miles to justify this. Ha... as if I really justify anything through mileage.
Pepperoni Miles
New route on the roads this morning. Thursday morning runs are becoming a new routine... and I am liking it. I get up and start heading down the road until I see my running partner and he shows me the ropes. I've been housesitting for this beautiful little abode for most of 2010 so far and I am still finding my running legs in the area. Exploring is in order as soon as I get healthy. For now, when I don't have time or energy to get lost, I'll just follow someone else's lead. Tidbit from the run with Spada today (check out his running blog here):
______________________________
Yesterday I asked the boy to join me for lunch. He asked where I wanted him to meet me and I said, "Well, are you ok with cheap Mexican?" Enter Huevos Rancheros and Pollo con Queso (emphasis on the queso).
That was round one.
At night we helped a couple friends of ours move into a new spiffy place in the uptown/downtown area. We had done a good bit of up and down the stairs and out to the car and up and down the stairs and - well you get it - before hot pepperoni pizza arrived. Shining in all it's greasy glory. And let me tell you something, it hit the spot.
That was round two.
Round three was my body retaliating this morning. I felt like a fat sack of snacks* on my little ten mile jaunt. Yuckity yuck yuck. But it was really good at the time, right?
*fat sack of snacks is pretty much a trademarked expression from a good friend of mine and therefore, I cannot take credit for its genius of descriptive ability.
Spada: So you want to know what I have to drink every night before I go to sleep?
Me: Umm... iced tea? (his aforementioned drink of choice)
Spada: No no no... a milkshake.
Me: Milkshake?! Chocolate or vanilla?
Spada: Well... funny you ask. Usually vanilla, but I got chocolate this last time. It takes me about three days to go through a half gallon.
Me: You're kidding, aren't you?
Spada: No way! Every night... for the last 15 years.
Me: *speechless*
______________________________
Yesterday I asked the boy to join me for lunch. He asked where I wanted him to meet me and I said, "Well, are you ok with cheap Mexican?" Enter Huevos Rancheros and Pollo con Queso (emphasis on the queso).
That was round one.
At night we helped a couple friends of ours move into a new spiffy place in the uptown/downtown area. We had done a good bit of up and down the stairs and out to the car and up and down the stairs and - well you get it - before hot pepperoni pizza arrived. Shining in all it's greasy glory. And let me tell you something, it hit the spot.
That was round two.
Round three was my body retaliating this morning. I felt like a fat sack of snacks* on my little ten mile jaunt. Yuckity yuck yuck. But it was really good at the time, right?
*fat sack of snacks is pretty much a trademarked expression from a good friend of mine and therefore, I cannot take credit for its genius of descriptive ability.
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