Yesterday and today, I woke up progressively earlier (7:14 and 7:00) and jogged a couple of miles with the dog, but we were too late both times for a completely dawn run. The prospect of running in orange-tinged light, on a different and alien beach in effect, is entrancing, and I suppose I will continue to rise as early as possible and get out as quickly as possible while we are staying here. The brevity and ease of the jog has relieved much pressure: I don't feel compelled to complete the usual pre-run preparations; instead, I wake up, pull clothes on, do a partial fluid change, and go.
Then, after breakfast, I ran another two miles with my husband both days. Keeping things light for now. I think getting into the habit of a relaxing and early start is paramount at this point.
My lungs and chest are feeling clearer. It feels like the crud is working its way out. I actually forgot I was running at a few points today. That is a good sign. Perhaps it also means that I don't like running as much as I thought I did!
I have not been running barefoot although my husband has. The sand is a bit too cold for me until later in the afternoon, and I haven't been running then.
To sum up 2012? It could have been better, but conditions were against me left and right and I'm happy that I didn't give up jogging altogether. Although, perhaps jogging less through the worst drought/heatwave in a half-century might have been wiser! I'm hoping that the breathing problems will not be permanent.
Hopes for 2013? I really don't know. I guess I'll see how things are when we move to our new place/town/trails (hopefully, trails!) Meanwhile, the beach will be calling at dawn and I have a new plan.
Monday, December 31, 2012
Saturday, December 29, 2012
Didn't do three loops
We slept in, we had to pack up the car and leave PA.
We went to NY, and walked for hours in NYC one day...that was it for exercising in NY. It was delightful exploring more of NYC, this time mostly the lower west side, including my new favourite street, and we stopped and ate a few times, and met up with friends, and woke up the next day with sore calves. My husband thinks we walked about ten miles. I'm not really sure.
At any rate, I didn't feel like running in NY. The area where we were actually staying, about an hour from the city, isn't the best to run in. Steeply cambered curving narrow roads and hasty unobservant drivers. Plus I finally got "glutened". It was a slow process, not a single debilitating meal but a titration of tiny bits of wheat here and there over ten or so days away from home. Then, bam! I hurt, I took a three hour nap (in my running clothes!! I was actually steeling myself for a run! thwarted!) and I spent the rest of the day slowly getting swallowed up by a sofa. Running in NY was not meant to be. But it's rarely satisfying in that area anyway so I didn't mind much although I was curious to see how the biggest hill nearby compared to the big hills in Kansas. I think they're about the same, about a mile of uphill.
Sometimes, when faced with several days in a place unsuitable for running, and without training obligations, it's best to simply take time off and retrench in prep for the next place, instead of getting annoyed. Thus is the wisdom gleaned from a very lazy year. Take a break, wait for things to improve.
So now we're in the next place and things are greatly improved and there are no more excuses.
We are on Emerald Isle and there are miles and miles of beach.
I woke up to a dim blue fog and while thinking it would be really cool to run in that, I fell back asleep. An hour or so later, I woke up to rain. Probably cold rain. We are in NC, not Florida, and temperatures are in the 0 to 12C range, perfect running weather except for cold rain.
I reminded myself that this was the Next Place, and there were no more excuses. I had gloves and a hat and a windbreaker that was not waterproof but a good heat-trapper, and I set out with the dog.
The visible rain was mostly water rolling off the roof, and the real rain was small, and the air was moist, but humid and not clammy. I felt surprisingly warm. While we jogged, just two miles, the rain became mist and then nothing as the sun came out more and more forcibly, and we ended with a short pleasant stroll. I told my husband about the change in conditions and we went out an hour later. I wore the same clothing I had before, but by this time it was way too much, and I ended up taking off my hat, gloves, jacket and long-sleeved shirt. Another two miles.
We have eight more mornings here. This vacation is also a potential reset: better eating habits and better exercising habits.
The koi are still all alive though they are slightly sluggish right now--the water here is vastly different than the water inland and they are still getting used to it. It's been interesting comparing the water from Kansas, PA, NY, and here, not to mention that from waypoints such as Missouri and Ohio and Indiana and Maryland (this has been an exhausting trip), even though I've been testing only the pH and amine (NH3/NH4+) levels; the latter determines how much CloramX I put in to treat the water. I think the koi preferred the water in NY most of all.
We went to NY, and walked for hours in NYC one day...that was it for exercising in NY. It was delightful exploring more of NYC, this time mostly the lower west side, including my new favourite street, and we stopped and ate a few times, and met up with friends, and woke up the next day with sore calves. My husband thinks we walked about ten miles. I'm not really sure.
At any rate, I didn't feel like running in NY. The area where we were actually staying, about an hour from the city, isn't the best to run in. Steeply cambered curving narrow roads and hasty unobservant drivers. Plus I finally got "glutened". It was a slow process, not a single debilitating meal but a titration of tiny bits of wheat here and there over ten or so days away from home. Then, bam! I hurt, I took a three hour nap (in my running clothes!! I was actually steeling myself for a run! thwarted!) and I spent the rest of the day slowly getting swallowed up by a sofa. Running in NY was not meant to be. But it's rarely satisfying in that area anyway so I didn't mind much although I was curious to see how the biggest hill nearby compared to the big hills in Kansas. I think they're about the same, about a mile of uphill.
Sometimes, when faced with several days in a place unsuitable for running, and without training obligations, it's best to simply take time off and retrench in prep for the next place, instead of getting annoyed. Thus is the wisdom gleaned from a very lazy year. Take a break, wait for things to improve.
So now we're in the next place and things are greatly improved and there are no more excuses.
We are on Emerald Isle and there are miles and miles of beach.
I woke up to a dim blue fog and while thinking it would be really cool to run in that, I fell back asleep. An hour or so later, I woke up to rain. Probably cold rain. We are in NC, not Florida, and temperatures are in the 0 to 12C range, perfect running weather except for cold rain.
I reminded myself that this was the Next Place, and there were no more excuses. I had gloves and a hat and a windbreaker that was not waterproof but a good heat-trapper, and I set out with the dog.
The visible rain was mostly water rolling off the roof, and the real rain was small, and the air was moist, but humid and not clammy. I felt surprisingly warm. While we jogged, just two miles, the rain became mist and then nothing as the sun came out more and more forcibly, and we ended with a short pleasant stroll. I told my husband about the change in conditions and we went out an hour later. I wore the same clothing I had before, but by this time it was way too much, and I ended up taking off my hat, gloves, jacket and long-sleeved shirt. Another two miles.
We have eight more mornings here. This vacation is also a potential reset: better eating habits and better exercising habits.
The koi are still all alive though they are slightly sluggish right now--the water here is vastly different than the water inland and they are still getting used to it. It's been interesting comparing the water from Kansas, PA, NY, and here, not to mention that from waypoints such as Missouri and Ohio and Indiana and Maryland (this has been an exhausting trip), even though I've been testing only the pH and amine (NH3/NH4+) levels; the latter determines how much CloramX I put in to treat the water. I think the koi preferred the water in NY most of all.
Saturday, December 22, 2012
recovery!
Yesterday, I had the first true recovery jog I've had in a long while. The terrain in Kansas was too hilly (yes, not all of Kansas is flat) for a consistently easy jog; I'd thought that I was achieving the proper slacker effort on the treadmill, but yesterday proved me wrong. We were both tired and lethargic, but we figured that a short 2ish mile run on dirt would help loosen things up and flush things out.
It did. It felt AMAZING. The effect of a true recovery jog is somewhat hard to explain, but picture a running pace that is so easy, that walking is more difficult. A bit of momentum, a bit of foot lifting (just enough to avoid tripping), and, voila! Muscles relaxing, fibres unwinding, soreness ceding to buoyant space.
It would have been the perfect workout the day before a longer run, but we ended up getting massages that afternoon which apparently pressed toxins out of stagnant lymphatic quarries. It was my first pro massage (really, I have been to Korea and Thailand, but have never gotten a massage) and I was not prepared for the slight soreness and lethargy, although I was told to drink lots of water afterward. I did, but I didn't sleep well, nor did my husband. Consequently, this morning, we needed another 2-ish mile run on dirt instead of the hopeful 7.5 mile/three loop prospect.
It did. It felt AMAZING. The effect of a true recovery jog is somewhat hard to explain, but picture a running pace that is so easy, that walking is more difficult. A bit of momentum, a bit of foot lifting (just enough to avoid tripping), and, voila! Muscles relaxing, fibres unwinding, soreness ceding to buoyant space.
It would have been the perfect workout the day before a longer run, but we ended up getting massages that afternoon which apparently pressed toxins out of stagnant lymphatic quarries. It was my first pro massage (really, I have been to Korea and Thailand, but have never gotten a massage) and I was not prepared for the slight soreness and lethargy, although I was told to drink lots of water afterward. I did, but I didn't sleep well, nor did my husband. Consequently, this morning, we needed another 2-ish mile run on dirt instead of the hopeful 7.5 mile/three loop prospect.
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Two loops this time
A total of 5ish miles (I've forgotten how long the loop is). My husband wanted to try three tomorrow, but I talked him down to one: a quasi-recovery day.
I still feel a tight area somewhere in my chest, but I coughed up more gunk after this somewhat tiring run and I think it helped. Maybe this is the first time I've run something more tangible than bad emotions out of myself. Whacking this awful stuff out of my lungs and onto the green grass is so much more satisfying than simply "getting fit". Muco-ciliary-elevator, activate!
I still feel a tight area somewhere in my chest, but I coughed up more gunk after this somewhat tiring run and I think it helped. Maybe this is the first time I've run something more tangible than bad emotions out of myself. Whacking this awful stuff out of my lungs and onto the green grass is so much more satisfying than simply "getting fit". Muco-ciliary-elevator, activate!
Another new start
I think I fancy starting and restarting running over and over, particularly the initial copious and voluptuous gains, the initial steepness of progress. Running is dissimilar to certain intellectual and artistic struggles; it inverts the slope of the graph (time v/s ability). Yes, dampening the burning lung sensation is overwhelming at first, but then progress comes quickly and triumphs beget new triumphs without any additional push required and then, ever so deviously quietly, the plateau, or series of plateaus, and diminishing gains, approach. In comparison, artistic and scientific stuff is initially a struggle, a tantrum or two over the first shade of green or logarithmic equation, and remains a struggle for the longest time until a meteoric rise in ability and consummation sparks, casting all the piddling toil beforehand into shadow. And the heavens broaden, etc, etc, and limits fade into nothingness, mere tenuous atomic bonds, etc, and walking away for a bit keeps things on the burner and actually improves the strength and complexity of the forge, but running isn't like that at all.
Restarting running is just that. Square One (what is Square One? part of a boardgame?) It gets easier each time (unless one is restarting at a greatly advanced age, I suppose), but the body quickly returns to inertia and reduced numbers of mitochondria in the meantime, and so one must forget previous benchmarks, or render them more abstract: "this is what I am possibly capable of if everything goes as well as it could." Not "this is my PB, why am I so much slower now?" But it comes back eventually, and more quickly than before.
This is my convoluted way of saying that we've resumed running, 2.5 miles, far away from the allergens of Kansas. Not the best run, but I couldn't have hoped for much. I think the run dredged up some of that grit, I coughed it up and out, and I feel better already. It was a nice sunlight run on trails, in 12C in late December. An encouraging close to a somewhat athletically low year.
My goal is to hack up all of the gunk by the end of the old year.
EDIT: And keep all the koi alive. So far, so good--they've traveled for four-ish days already and are all still flipping!
Restarting running is just that. Square One (what is Square One? part of a boardgame?) It gets easier each time (unless one is restarting at a greatly advanced age, I suppose), but the body quickly returns to inertia and reduced numbers of mitochondria in the meantime, and so one must forget previous benchmarks, or render them more abstract: "this is what I am possibly capable of if everything goes as well as it could." Not "this is my PB, why am I so much slower now?" But it comes back eventually, and more quickly than before.
This is my convoluted way of saying that we've resumed running, 2.5 miles, far away from the allergens of Kansas. Not the best run, but I couldn't have hoped for much. I think the run dredged up some of that grit, I coughed it up and out, and I feel better already. It was a nice sunlight run on trails, in 12C in late December. An encouraging close to a somewhat athletically low year.
My goal is to hack up all of the gunk by the end of the old year.
EDIT: And keep all the koi alive. So far, so good--they've traveled for four-ish days already and are all still flipping!
Friday, December 14, 2012
Last run in Kansas
I'd hoped to write this yesterday, but there was too much else that had to be done. Now that we've jettisoned the responsibilities of a house, and moving out of a house, I can sit down and type about what turned out to be a rather uneventful run. It wasn't the heart-wrenching farewell run I'd hoped for at first.
It was just three miles. We'd gone out on Tuesday evening so that I could hear the band Trampled Underfoot play live. My husband is a fan and had gone to hear them twice before, but my (past!) work schedule prevented me from accompanying him. They are really good, a sister-brother-brother blues team. The venue has really good food but no cider, and so I got a Mike's Hard Lemonade or so, and then I started to feel that feeling. The food was fine, but the liquid was not. The label said "Malt Beverage". What?! Shouldn't it be vodka? Not in the States! Their vodka mixes are actually malt beverages. (Glutard info: malt = barley or wheat = fatigue/colitis/joint pain/etc).
That pretty much nixed the 8-mile loop, but absence makes the heart grow fonder, and memories are distilled into greater potency and so forth and so on, how convenient! I vividly remember the brilliant red bush at the top. The brightest and richest red I'd ever seen in Kansas. No way those leaves are intact, and so going up again would dilute the experience.
We ran the three mile loop. It was sunny, about 5C, and a bit breezy. I was tired and my shins were a bit tender (I first noticed that they hurt Wednesday morning, just a dull ache), and my lungs felt gritty and pinched because the air wasn't the best, but I fell into a good form and found efficiency and some degree of comfort, particularly on the hills.
This year, running has taken a backseat, shoved into the trunk by about six weeks of mostly 37+C weather and many other too-hot days besides, dust, allergies, fatigue from squatting so much at work, shifting shifts, studies, etc, and for the longest time I struggled against disappointment as my goals dropped and waned, and were discarded. I never got used to the hills. I got stronger, but never strong enough to run outside every day like I could do everywhere else I've lived as a runner.
However, I have gotten stronger, or at least more efficient, in a certain fashion: I now find some uphills comfortable. It's true. The slant lets me shift to a relatively fresh set of muscles, and into a more suitable forward lean, and the impact is kinder. I've gotten to the point where, on some uphills, I forget that uphill is supposed to be hard and even that I am going uphill. I settle into an as of yet indescribable stance wherein my legs seem to swing forward without much effort. And on this run, my fatigue forced me to find that best form; I can't say I coasted or jogged, but I ran a commonplace run of sorts. Not too hard, not too easy. Devoid of moments of extreme pain or bliss, and the intricate architecture largely unnoticed, and the greater discomfort of previous runs forgotten. That was most likely the easiest that route had ever felt, but I didn't realize that at first because it still didn't feel 'easy'.
Thus, my last run in Kansas was rendered unremarkable. I was tired and my breathing started to get pushed on the very first hill, but it was manageable and I got over all the other hills without really thinking about them, and it wasn't until I was a minute or two along the long mostly downward slope home that I realized that I wasn't going uphill anymore, and there was very little uphill left in the run. It had been uneventful, but just on the surface. There had been a lot going on that I hadn't realized at first. Which is like Kansas in general.
It was just three miles. We'd gone out on Tuesday evening so that I could hear the band Trampled Underfoot play live. My husband is a fan and had gone to hear them twice before, but my (past!) work schedule prevented me from accompanying him. They are really good, a sister-brother-brother blues team. The venue has really good food but no cider, and so I got a Mike's Hard Lemonade or so, and then I started to feel that feeling. The food was fine, but the liquid was not. The label said "Malt Beverage". What?! Shouldn't it be vodka? Not in the States! Their vodka mixes are actually malt beverages. (Glutard info: malt = barley or wheat = fatigue/colitis/joint pain/etc).
That pretty much nixed the 8-mile loop, but absence makes the heart grow fonder, and memories are distilled into greater potency and so forth and so on, how convenient! I vividly remember the brilliant red bush at the top. The brightest and richest red I'd ever seen in Kansas. No way those leaves are intact, and so going up again would dilute the experience.
We ran the three mile loop. It was sunny, about 5C, and a bit breezy. I was tired and my shins were a bit tender (I first noticed that they hurt Wednesday morning, just a dull ache), and my lungs felt gritty and pinched because the air wasn't the best, but I fell into a good form and found efficiency and some degree of comfort, particularly on the hills.
This year, running has taken a backseat, shoved into the trunk by about six weeks of mostly 37+C weather and many other too-hot days besides, dust, allergies, fatigue from squatting so much at work, shifting shifts, studies, etc, and for the longest time I struggled against disappointment as my goals dropped and waned, and were discarded. I never got used to the hills. I got stronger, but never strong enough to run outside every day like I could do everywhere else I've lived as a runner.
However, I have gotten stronger, or at least more efficient, in a certain fashion: I now find some uphills comfortable. It's true. The slant lets me shift to a relatively fresh set of muscles, and into a more suitable forward lean, and the impact is kinder. I've gotten to the point where, on some uphills, I forget that uphill is supposed to be hard and even that I am going uphill. I settle into an as of yet indescribable stance wherein my legs seem to swing forward without much effort. And on this run, my fatigue forced me to find that best form; I can't say I coasted or jogged, but I ran a commonplace run of sorts. Not too hard, not too easy. Devoid of moments of extreme pain or bliss, and the intricate architecture largely unnoticed, and the greater discomfort of previous runs forgotten. That was most likely the easiest that route had ever felt, but I didn't realize that at first because it still didn't feel 'easy'.
Thus, my last run in Kansas was rendered unremarkable. I was tired and my breathing started to get pushed on the very first hill, but it was manageable and I got over all the other hills without really thinking about them, and it wasn't until I was a minute or two along the long mostly downward slope home that I realized that I wasn't going uphill anymore, and there was very little uphill left in the run. It had been uneventful, but just on the surface. There had been a lot going on that I hadn't realized at first. Which is like Kansas in general.
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
one day to go
Until it's two days to go, then three, then 2 X 5....I have a small series of small fragments ahead before an indefinite stretch of indefiniteness during which I will probably float on the fluffy white cloud of numerous possibilities, at least for an indefinite little bit.
Meaning, I have no clue what I'll be doing in NC, but stage one of the move is over, our stuff gets taken away tomorrow, then we house-camp for a couple more days, and then we head out. I think I might run on Thursday, my last run in Kansas. Right now I'm slightly drained from several nights of skimpy sleep, and my eyes are itching from either allergies or disturbed dust. Plus my running clothes are buried. Not packed, just buried under other things shoved into a bathroom so that the movers don't take them away. We did our best to craft a point-to-point move this time, house directly to another house--we even took a week off to go to NC and iron things out (instead of going to Belize or somewhere with pretty tropical fishes to watch), and it did help somewhat, but we're still stuck with a half-carload or so of important-yet-not-travel-related stuff for almost a month, on prosaic paths to boot. We have to go back south-east, but not far enough.
On the plus side, the large cooler we got for the koi has a small interior ledge on all sides which not only perfectly supports a certain tupperware container (so that we can stow the filter, spare air pumps, Cloram-X, and other fish gear into it while traveling and avoid taking up extra space in the car, and the fish can still fit in the water under it), but also perfectly supports a certain cribbage board (and the running filter atop it when not traveling). Three disparate objects acquired at different times and in different countries are pulling together. This has solved a few potential problems and given me hope that I can keep my raccoon-scarred koi alive for the next month. They're busily scrounging for food in the new cooler right now. LOL
Meaning, I have no clue what I'll be doing in NC, but stage one of the move is over, our stuff gets taken away tomorrow, then we house-camp for a couple more days, and then we head out. I think I might run on Thursday, my last run in Kansas. Right now I'm slightly drained from several nights of skimpy sleep, and my eyes are itching from either allergies or disturbed dust. Plus my running clothes are buried. Not packed, just buried under other things shoved into a bathroom so that the movers don't take them away. We did our best to craft a point-to-point move this time, house directly to another house--we even took a week off to go to NC and iron things out (instead of going to Belize or somewhere with pretty tropical fishes to watch), and it did help somewhat, but we're still stuck with a half-carload or so of important-yet-not-travel-related stuff for almost a month, on prosaic paths to boot. We have to go back south-east, but not far enough.
On the plus side, the large cooler we got for the koi has a small interior ledge on all sides which not only perfectly supports a certain tupperware container (so that we can stow the filter, spare air pumps, Cloram-X, and other fish gear into it while traveling and avoid taking up extra space in the car, and the fish can still fit in the water under it), but also perfectly supports a certain cribbage board (and the running filter atop it when not traveling). Three disparate objects acquired at different times and in different countries are pulling together. This has solved a few potential problems and given me hope that I can keep my raccoon-scarred koi alive for the next month. They're busily scrounging for food in the new cooler right now. LOL
Thursday, December 6, 2012
4 days to go
Until our stuff gets boxed up. We're moving again.
Meanwhile, everything else is begging extra hard for attention. It's been one thing after another. I haven't run this week. Last week, 3 times. The week before? Thus ends the running portion of this entry. I would like to run up the big hill one more time before I leave, but otherwise I guess I'm tired of running here: it has not been the release it usually is.
A list of all the distractions would be tedious and possibly fate-beckoning because some are as of yet incompletely addressed. However, I must mention the most memorable in order to praise my dog who, through his perception and persistence, kept chasing a raccoon out of the yard and eventually treed it for several hours, and coaxed me to the pond beside which I found five of my six koi laid out in a row. They might have been out for as long as couple of hours, and one of them wasn't visibly breathing, but they all revived and are all still alive, albeit with some torn fins and missing scales and a few scratches. One of them got her face torn up substantially, and I thought I'd lose her, but she's back in fine glutton form. (I know for 99% sure that she is female because she eats like EDIT: Ms. Pacman: like a CHAMP!. Later on, I found the sixth koi by a tree--the raccoon started his snack with the most gorgeous one but I'm grateful it did not sample the full buffet. Apparently, some animals will take just a bite and move on to the next. At any rate, I now have five small koi living in a 65 gal stock tank indoors, requiring a bit more time and maintenance than before. It's apparently spring for them which entails eating (and tearing up plants) more. That's it, guys, the end of the anacharis!
Meanwhile, everything else is begging extra hard for attention. It's been one thing after another. I haven't run this week. Last week, 3 times. The week before? Thus ends the running portion of this entry. I would like to run up the big hill one more time before I leave, but otherwise I guess I'm tired of running here: it has not been the release it usually is.
A list of all the distractions would be tedious and possibly fate-beckoning because some are as of yet incompletely addressed. However, I must mention the most memorable in order to praise my dog who, through his perception and persistence, kept chasing a raccoon out of the yard and eventually treed it for several hours, and coaxed me to the pond beside which I found five of my six koi laid out in a row. They might have been out for as long as couple of hours, and one of them wasn't visibly breathing, but they all revived and are all still alive, albeit with some torn fins and missing scales and a few scratches. One of them got her face torn up substantially, and I thought I'd lose her, but she's back in fine glutton form. (I know for 99% sure that she is female because she eats like EDIT: Ms. Pacman: like a CHAMP!. Later on, I found the sixth koi by a tree--the raccoon started his snack with the most gorgeous one but I'm grateful it did not sample the full buffet. Apparently, some animals will take just a bite and move on to the next. At any rate, I now have five small koi living in a 65 gal stock tank indoors, requiring a bit more time and maintenance than before. It's apparently spring for them which entails eating (and tearing up plants) more. That's it, guys, the end of the anacharis!
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