Whee!

Tearing myself away from The Game of Thrones series was hard. Especially since I had a friend coming into town unexpectedly and I knew I wouldn't be able to read much at all for the next few days.
But it had stopped raining. And I had been so scarred from Saturday's run and staying up super-late for a dinner I hosted that I had only managed a 2-mile slow walk on Sunday.
Suave fought a duel of sorts with his friend, the Falcon, and lost. Badly. There was no speed-walking for us on Sunday!
Click! Went the Ipad. Dark went the screen. I shimmied into a too-tight pair of shorts and trundled out the door.
I just ran the usual, boring shortened outside loop of the Park to Washington and then back down Eastern Parkway home.
But it was so nice to expose my legs to the sun.
For me, anyway: others were squinting from the glare bouncing off my porcilain gams.
Glad to be outside and free in the city of large buildings and big walls.
Then, this afternoon, a willing friend and sun enabled me to walk an entire loop of Prospect Park and back home, running into Tour Guide, the Child Whisperer and her best beau on the way.
I love the first day of the year that you feel kinda hot - like you've been buffeted by the sun.
Ahhhhhh.

Wet, Wet, Soaking Wet. Feeling Like the Wicked Witch of the West

Ok. I didn't melt. But I did cry a bit as I ran back on Eastern Parkway.

And I had been really excited for this run, too.

The train was rolling back down to NYC on Friday, so I only had time for a 2 1/2 mile walk. After sampling too many of the culinary delights on the train, followed by some very rich Mexican food, I was ready for some sweat and tears.

Just not this many.

Saturday. Group run day. Week #3 in a row of being able to go to the group run. With my new schedule, this is somewhat of a record. So I was psyched.
Heard the rain tat-tat-tatting like the change in the cup of the blind man who works the subway.
"It'll go away." Ever the optimist after a good night's sleep and not enough exercise, am I!

And it did, a bit. In running up to GAP with my water bottles and my old sneakers, there was only a light mist.
"It'll be clearing up soon!" I enthused.
The only right idea I had that day was to wear my old sneakers, as it turned out.
Because my feet got waterlogged, big time.
With only a few people showing up, Tour Guide took one of the new girls out to Manhattan. That left me with the Photographer, his friend and the Boston lawyer - very nice but too fast for me.
So I stuck with Ocean Avenue. Her knee had been acting up and she wanted to take it easy.
Apparently, I'm down to 8:45 + miles now. Sigh.
So off to Owl's Head we went.
And it started pouring.
Positive: there was little need for pedestrian dodging down the usually-packed 5th avenue leg of the run.
Negative: the few pedestrians we saw were blind to the world with their sharp and pointy umbrellas threatening to poke us in the eye as they walked blightly unaware of anyone else near them, hugging the death parachutes near their bodies and safely over all of their visual frame. Bah.
Positive: my arms are getting good at carrying the water bottles. And the faucets still weren't turned on, so we got some water when we crested the hill in the park.
Negative: on the way back, the rain started sheeting. And it was windy. Against us or cross-wise to us.
And don't forget the puddles, those tricky puddles. I don't know what the equivalent of black ice for puddles is, but these were that. You couldn't see them until you were right on them, your foot already arcing down inexorably into the middle of an ankle-high pool of sewer and street run-off.
Yum.
Tour Guide said today, when I ran into him, that he thinks that every mile done with your feet waterlogged ought to count for 1.5 miles. If that's true, then I really did 18 miles on Saturday.
I left Ocean Avenue at the park and 15th street and headed back down. I was supposed to meet Suave at Grand Army.
Called him when I got there.
"Oh, I'm in the middle of something. And it's raining. Why don't I just meet you at the house?"
Spending that little time on the phone was enough to get me cold again. My clothes weighed about 4 pounds more than when I started, due to the rainwater I collected along the way.
And my shirt and jacket were clinging prettily to my (ahem) currently less-than-6-pack-abs stomach.
But taking the subway would have meant getting even colder before having to get back out in the rain.
So off I went, down Eastern Parkway.
Cue the superwind that lives on Eastern Parkway. And the sheets of rain.
Including those that fell from my eyes. I tried to wipe them away but my hands wouldn't open and close: they were too cold and tingly/numb.

Booh. Though it's better than not going at all, I suppose.
And my hands turned a really interesting shade of plum in the shower.

At Least My Arms Will be Buff

My mantra during my run today.

As if I weren't irritated by the slowness of my running, the water bottles made it worse.

But, at least I'll have some sculpted arms, right?

Managed to get in some hills as I ran to, past, back to and around Fresh Pond before going home.

Thought of the day: how many bodies, cars and bicycles are in the middle of Fresh Pond? Does the fence make a difference?


Ah. Municipal water.

I'm hoping I got in at least 8 miles. It was one of those days where just getting in any miles feels like an accomplishment.

Now, I will go off and admire my chiseled biceps in the spring sun.

You know You Haven't Been Pushing Yourself When.....

....Suave, who hasn't run for anything except cop-evasion since middle school cross-country, passes you on the first 1/3 to 1/2 mile that you and he are running.
That was embarrassing.
To prevent further embarrassment, I turned left when he turned right, and ran down the Charles River towards MIT.
You never know when you might need a handy and cute computer scientist or engineer. It helps to keep on the look-out.
To make sure they saw me, too, I wore a florescent yellow jacket. Styling.
It was a nice jog down to the Mass Ave bridge, where I headed back onto the Cambridge side of the river.
Boats oaring their way down the river accompanied me as I tried not to get passed by too many people.
Not knowing the distance, I ran for time, running for an hour.
Given the ignomity of the beginning, that might only have been 6 miles.
Today, I walked again. Resting up for Thursday.
Rumor has it that Suave is going to run part of the way with me again tomorrow morning.
I'm going to have to make sure to take him, this time.
Honor demands it!

Boston Marathon! It's Better on the Sidelines

I am so glad that I got in a 10-miler with my little brother on Monday morning. Else I might not have been able to deal with the marathon.
Announcer: and who is that? Why, it's a slightly paunchy bandit! Where did she come from? And why is she screaming furiously as she weaves in and out of the finishers?
Yes: I might have had to run with the rest of them. The marathon is so inspiring!
At least, to runners. I'd never seen a marathon - or, actually, any running event - until after I had been running for a while.
The Speedy Blonde and I had a great spot between mile 24 1/2 and mile 25 on the course. I saw the male and the female elites. Wow.
And I saw my first bowel-release person. The most amazing part was, she was still trucking at about at 6:30 mile. If that's her slow-I-might-fall-over pace, I can't even imagine her fast pace!
It's things like that - people perservering even in the face of extreme pain/injury/fatigue, that make me want to cry, scream and run all over the place when I'm watching.
It's not for everyone, though.
There were two just-past-being-frat-boys sitting next to me, enjoying the sun and their beer. Upon seeing the women elites, and then the women very-fasts, one said:
"Wow. They're kinda skinny."
"Yes."
"We were here for eye candy."
"You might want to wait until Wave 2, then."
After a while, the Speedy Blonde and I wanted to get back to the finish, to make sure that we found To Badwater.
That was funny. Weaving through crowds and traffic, running along in a full-length down coat, clutching my purse under one arm, trying to keep up with the Speedy Blonde, who REALLY wanted to see To Badwater.
Add in about 5,000 gallons of beer and a Red Sox game, and you've got a party!
After running about, then around and back up the other side of the corrals - we couldn't cut over - we found To Badwater.
Another inspiring story. Check out his post about it.
Long story short, he started with a fever and a cold, knew he was fading at mile 7, and KEPT GOING.
Those are the amazing stories. When a race is going well, you don't really feel anything. Not really. It's an endorphine-induced haze.
Sure, there are always ouchies and passing thoughts of 'I can't do this'. You wouldn't be pushing hard if you didn't dry-heave at least once!
But it's when a race is going badly that real strength comes in.
Finishing even though a DNF is a viable option. Finishing because DNF is a viable, but not a required option. That's amazing.
I've seen a lot of people do this. But it gets me every time.
Now I have to stop typing. I might shed a tear or two.

Laid Low - at Least for Saturday

Friday, I livened up my boring walk by poking my head into the former bath house on 4th avenue.
It is now a coffee shop. And a rather boring one.
I would have preferred it to be resurrected as another bath house.
Bath houses have all sorts of interesting connotations. It would lend panache to your neighborhood, were you able to say, "ah, yes. To get to my house, turn left at the bath house....."

Saturday, my aim was to stick with those who wanted to run shorter, running the whole way with them.
Superman even showed up! And I hadn't seen him in forever! So I had to keep up. for pride's sake, right?
Wrong. Due to a weird but exceedingly painful side/lower stomach cramp that refused to go away, I had to slow my pace - at one point, I think I could have been walking faster than I was running.
So I didn't run most of it with Superman.
But I was able to run with the Vivacious Redhead and with Mr. Baseball.
But I had to cut my run short.
I hate doing that! My anal-retentive side yells at the rest of me when I don't do what I've planned to do, even if it's smarter, perhaps, to cut it short.
But if I listened to the rest of me all the time, I'd never get in a long run, or do speed work, or finish a race. Or, heck, even start one.
So it's hard to figure out when I should listen to what part of me.
This time, I listened to the part that said that 9 miles was enough. After running the Brooklyn Bridge and back over the Manhattan, I ran to Target.
At least I got some clothes for Spring Break! (Whoo Hoo!)
I have yet to wear any besides Saturday, though. The weather has been more like late January and less like Bunny Time.
Hop. Hop.

Spring, Perhaps?

Alas, the Vivacious Redhead couldn't make our early-morning run. So I went with Blondie and Madame and did the usual loop around the outside of the park, adding on Union to 4th Street and back before heading home.
Madame joined me in running down Eastern Parkway again. What a sweet lady.
Both of us are already talking a bit nostalgically about New York.
Slow pace: I'm convinced that my doctor has secretly implanted a chip in me that beeps when my heart-rate goes too high. It's rather uncanny what she can scry.
It was nice anyway. Especially after the January-like weather of earlier this week.
Maybe there will be spring in New York?
I haven't seen one in a while but people say that they do exist.
a leisurely 8 1/2 miles........

Strange

I have a craving for change. Especially given all the changes happening around me, you'd think I wouldn't.
But I do. At least in my runs/walks.
Sunday, I ran an outside loop of the park, finishing on Washington and running home. About 6 miles.
Monday, I walked down to 4th Avenue and up to 3rd Street and back: 5 miles.
Tuesday, I ran with the Vivacious Redhead and Blondie, making a larger outside loop by adding in Washington and then running part-way down Union and then back home: about 8 miles.
All fine and good. And better than nothing!

But I've realized, given how few miles, comparatively, I'm supposed to run, I end up getting stuck in these same, boring runs! I need to figure out how to throw in some bridges, or some different streets, or neighborhoods, or something!
Hmmmm. Plotting. At least this weekend, I'll be running my usual paths in Boston, for a change of scenery!

Finally! A Group Run!!!!!!

"Hah! I can't believe you went! You haven't gone in forever!!!!!"

I deserved that. But I've been out of town a lot. And it can be hard to run with a group when you can no longer run as fast as you used to.

But yesterday was SOOO MUCH FUN! I got to run with Gorgeous for a lot of the way: we picked her up on Court St.

I did get major run envy for the first time in a while: the rest of the group was going to go into DUMBO and Vinegar Hill, then over to Red Hook and back around. The day was great, compared to what's been happening, and I had time: my houseguest, Yankee Fan, was still sleeping.

But it would have been too long. So I stuck to the Brooklyn Bridge, going out and back. I haven't had a chance to run over that bridge in a while, as I've been running such short runs. Even with the icky paint fumes, I've missed it.

But being with people, even those I didn't know very well, and getting to do a group exercise in the sun......Amazing.

I can't wait until I can participate regularly in group runs again, either here or elsewhere. I realized how much I miss company!

Why I don't Like Art Movies

"Are we in the right theatre?"

We tried to peer at the tickets in the pitch-black of the movie theatre. This theatre was REALLY dark. Not just theres-a-night-scene-on-the-screen dark: porno theatre dark.

Not to mention the older, single men seated by themselves throughout the movie theatre. No sir: eyes were staying front and center. No asking the next-door gentleman.

After some fumbling, we gave up and decided that we would watch whatever movie this was, whether it was the right one or not.

It was Artistic. Including subtitles, bouts of song that made no sense, an overly depressing plot and weird camera tricks like turning the whole screen red, or white.

I should have known better when, at the start of the movie, they announced it had won an award at the Cannes film festival.

Philistines that we are, we had a much better time at Rango the next day.

If you need some tears in your half-caf soy latte and you've got a few hours, I would recommend "To Die Like a Man".

It's too bad I was energized from my walk earlier. Otherwise, I would have had a nice nap.

Getting Outside

People would be happier if more of them went outside. In New York, more people do go outside, in the sense that they have to walk to the train. That's good: that's more than the South, where it seemed like you went from interior to interior, with barely a step in non temperature-regulated environments.
But a short walk to the train, when you're rushing, is not what I mean. People should really go outside! Spend an hour wandering, or spend a couple of hours on some focused activity. Whatever. But we'd see a lot more smiles in New York if people did this.
I guarantee it.
Even when it's awful weather, you end up getting a smile because you're proud you went out. It's win-win.
That's what I was thinking about as I went for a slow run with fun people on an overcast early morning.

And I was smiling.

More Unsuspecting Suckers!

Yeah. I did it again. Blew those unsuspecting commuters off the sidewalk, I was going so fast. Even passed a couple of real walkers.
So what if one was about eight months pregnant! A pass is a pass, right?
I'm trying to figure out a way to walk fast enough to pass at least one jogger.
Some of them jog pretty slow but they still run right on by me.
Grrrrr.
Well, tomorrow, I'll get to do the same to other walkers.
For tomorrow, I get to be a runner!
Anyone know of a cheap printer, by the way? I've decided I need to start printing all of my crosswords. Doing them on the computer just isn't the same.
I might never get to be as good as Gorgeous's husband - who almost got to the finals in the national crossword competition, by the way! - but I'd like to get better.
Competitive crosswording is not just for the elderly and infirm!

I've Been Cleared!

Wheee!

Ok. Not completely. But I've been cleared for a 4-time-a-week, no more than 10 miles per time, slow pace running schedule.
(ok. She really said three days. But I'm ignoring that. 4 is just like 3.)

I'm so excited!!!!!!!!! To celebrate, I persuaded the Vivacious Redhead to meet me early this morning for a 6.5 mile run. We even did the hard way around the outside of Prospect Park, doing the hill on Prospect Park Southwest.

Wheee!

A Walk with Me and my Brother

Can Be Dangerous, Indeed!

I lured Suave onto a walk with me and my brother on Saturday.

"It'll be fun! We'll walk to Fresh Pond, then we'll do a loop of Fresh Pond with Suboti, the dog, my brother and his wife!"

I think images of blue skies and leisurely strolling arose in Suave's mind at this point.

It must have because he actually agreed to go with us. Hah.

Now, for those not raised in my household, my father was famous for these forced marches that he passed off as 'walks'. As in, "Let's go on a 7-mile walk at about a 15-minute or less pace". When we were 5,7, and 9, respectively.

So, when my brother and I go on a walk, we don't do this recreationally.

Well, it's recreational but not slow.
Well, it's recreational for us.

We were late to meet my brother because Suave, wisely, refused to go the pace I wanted to go. As the other person I walk with is 6'1'' and has a 36" inseam, I can walk fast! Even on my short legs.

He was mad! Hehehehe

I don't think he was planning on a 6.5 mile walk, either. Oops!

But we slowed a bit going around Fresh Pond. On the way back, he even enjoyed himself!

I complained about not being able to get my heart rate up enough.

I don't see a lot of joint exercise walks in our future.

"I walk alone........."

This Walking Thing

Wasn't Bad at All.

Bundled up in layers against the snow - happy April 1st, everyone! - I trudged outside to perform my penance. Walking.

Actually, though, it was kinda fun! I really didn't expect that.

Some pangs were felt: being passed by joggers was tough.

But then, I just put them out of my mind. They weren't my competition. They didn't even exist!

Instead, I set my sights on every walker around - including those across the street, or those pushing baby strollers and sipping coffee.

I pity those poor, unsuspecting commuters, checking their watches and drinking their brews. Little did they know that their whole reality had changed.

They were, unbeknownst to them, Losers. Because I had passed them. Big time.

Yeah! You, in those high heels? I won't even start breathing hard. You, texting away? Ha!

Sigh. All those crushed hopes. All those empty worlds.

Just call me "The Stalker"

Ok. Maybe I should think of another name: that one has slightly creepy connotations......