It's a cryin' shame that I have to write this without committing to a larger point to umbrella a smaller one. My technique is becoming quite predictable. Though a smattering of stuff could disrupt the norm, thus I must submit to a stream.
1. Curt and I are embarking into the holiday season with a toddler who seems to 'get it" and who happens to really dig Santa (which is entirely foreign to us as Eli has been known to hide behind the fake trees in the mall to avoid eye contact with the big man). And when we saw him the other day in Portsmouth, NH at the Urban Forestry Center, Levi immediately got to work on getting out "I want a Nerf Blaster". Now that seems like a fairly simple task but LEvi gets to stuttering when he's amped up and anxious and feels like Elijah might start bullying him for air time.
But he got it out and between Mr. and Mrs. Claus and the list of kids from NH, they were able to determine that both my boys are on the 'Good List". Which made me deeply question the Claus' criteria for all things good and bad, not the philosophical juxtoposition between good vs. evil-though I often have to play that card at home to settle disputes amongst the natives, but since nothing is purely BAD I knew my guys would be on some list higher up on the ranking...thus siding with Eli that indeed Sir and Ms. Claus tell all the children the same thing about their presence on the good list. I'm thankful that I don't have to maintain the facade with at least one of my children, in due time Levi will also see through or past the pillowed tummy.
2. When J. Lo fell at the AMA's, I laughed pretty hard.
3. I think that Vodka has a psychedelic property to it but not without the alignment of certain other things, like food in the stomach, rest, weight, experience and hydration efforts.
4. Lady GaGa is pretty much a mess.
41/2. Alicia Keys and Mary J. Blige did well.
5. I love that Robin Quivers has a super huge wine cellar containing many varietals, thousands of bottles.
6. Does anyone need 32 ounces of Nutella? Ever?
7. If you're fat, you should be equally concerned about your aesthetic and your aes (ass). Don't be mad, I used to weigh 298 pounds.
8. It is with great sadness that I report the origin of my achilles injury. Turns out pretty pink 769's are the culprit. MOst likely
I did a reckless job sizing and fitting myself. I am back to my Nike's (with minimal overlay's, low ankle rise, and exceptional cushion, they are epic and my achilles has been on the mend while at work) Praise be.
9. To earn my yams, I shall run 20 miles on Thanksgiving morning. Sadly I'll miss the highly anticipated, over the top, energetic three hour commercial ad also known as the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. Too bad.
10. Watch out for people who piss in your ears.
11. Jermaine, Jaffar, JerMajesty and Tim. It's okay to wonder about that.
12. Phish in Albany and Portland, here we come!!!!!! and possibly Phila tomorrow!!!
Happy Thanksgiving!!!!!!! Happy Birthday, Becca!!!!
Love,
Sarah
Strong Legs
Monday, November 23, 2009
Saturday, November 14, 2009
10 days/100 miles DAY TEN
Written Saturday PM:
I'm glad I'm done.
I'm glad I got a text from Toni this morning wanting to run the last 10 with me.
I'm glad she took me a different route. I ran the same route 9 times and ended up getting the scotch tape. There is something to doing a repeat route 9 days in a row. I ended up feeling like an automaton. But I think that was the whole idea of being on repeat and taking out the romance and reducing the mission to an effort. It was hard to watch the love for the sport dwindle to a series of motions but it was seriously necessary.
I'm glad I suffered through the achilles. Overuse is stupid. And overuse should never make you stop. Neglect can come in two forms, one is overuse and the other, underuse.
I'm glad my injury is due to overuse, though, because
I'm glad I don't have an injury caused by underuse. Underuse is stupid. Underuse will kill you. Disease is the voice of underuse.
I'm glad I'm done.
The biggest thing I take from this experiment is just knowing that I am really fit. And, yes, I believe my fitness has increased during these 10 days. I think I could run additional mileage on a single run with a day in between for recovery. I'm not worried about anything. I'm not worried about losing fitness as I address this tendon.
I am planning on making Thanksgiving morning my next long run, 20 miles to mom and dads before the heady meal.
Exhausted is how I feel. I've drifted off yesterday and today and I NEVER nap. And especially today, I cannot resist.
Baking a vegan carrot cake for my dad for his birthday. I will eat cake. And I will dance tonight. Today is a show day and all I want to do is dance. I'll run soon.
Thanks for reading! and for those of you out there who run, you know who you are, keep going!
Love,
Sarah
I'm glad I'm done.
I'm glad I got a text from Toni this morning wanting to run the last 10 with me.
I'm glad she took me a different route. I ran the same route 9 times and ended up getting the scotch tape. There is something to doing a repeat route 9 days in a row. I ended up feeling like an automaton. But I think that was the whole idea of being on repeat and taking out the romance and reducing the mission to an effort. It was hard to watch the love for the sport dwindle to a series of motions but it was seriously necessary.
I'm glad I suffered through the achilles. Overuse is stupid. And overuse should never make you stop. Neglect can come in two forms, one is overuse and the other, underuse.
I'm glad my injury is due to overuse, though, because
I'm glad I don't have an injury caused by underuse. Underuse is stupid. Underuse will kill you. Disease is the voice of underuse.
I'm glad I'm done.
The biggest thing I take from this experiment is just knowing that I am really fit. And, yes, I believe my fitness has increased during these 10 days. I think I could run additional mileage on a single run with a day in between for recovery. I'm not worried about anything. I'm not worried about losing fitness as I address this tendon.
I am planning on making Thanksgiving morning my next long run, 20 miles to mom and dads before the heady meal.
Exhausted is how I feel. I've drifted off yesterday and today and I NEVER nap. And especially today, I cannot resist.
Baking a vegan carrot cake for my dad for his birthday. I will eat cake. And I will dance tonight. Today is a show day and all I want to do is dance. I'll run soon.
Thanks for reading! and for those of you out there who run, you know who you are, keep going!
Love,
Sarah
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Bungee Cords, Banana PEels and Puke
In the title of this blog are just some examples of things I discover on the shoulder of the busier roads where I run. Please note that really none of these items are actually pleasant.
In fact, it is fair to say that I am sort of an authority on [all things worthy of the side of the road] 'side of the road' things (and I purposefully structured the sentence that way). I travel the roads frequently and pay a good amount of attention to things along my path and it is also fair to report that there is NOTHING pleasant on the side of the road, EVER. I have tried to keep track of some of the items to share with you, let's see: scotch tape (hardly used and I'm tempted to retrieve it with the holidays quickly approaching, but still, this is not pleasant), the innards of a pillow (looks more like dirty snow), empty and bent red bull cans, a paper market bag with a bottle of bleach sticking out of it, a halloween devils cape all mangled (like that devil might have lost a battle with something equal and opposite), a fun size Snickers bar that has been run over like 300 times, a empty GU package (oops, that's mine and I"ll get it tomorrow), a Wendy's bag wtih the contents strewn for 20 feet beyond it (french fry thingy, hamburger wrapper, soda cup, straw, lid, napkins, BBQ sauce and several (5) exploded ketchups), oh and there was the other battle lost between someone's egregious intoxication and finally succumbing to the inevitable purge (which no longer smells, but it has been driven through and tracked for a good 15 feet or so) that's about it, oh yeah there was this tiny chipmunk that has been run over so many times, it now resembles a slice of a medium sized garden tomato (i committed that to memory today so I wouldn't forget to tell you), and there is a single glove near campus and a single glove near the farm, though these would not make a set, they are both left handed (and one is blue).
So there you have it!
These are other examples of roadkill. I am fascinated by the real roadkill. But I am also finding this other kind of roadkill interesting. Sometimes, and only for a very few seconds, I consider what was happening at the time this kind of manmade roadkill occurred. Like take for instance the scotch tape. I mean, what the hell? The red bull can...this is not a mystery in the same way the scotch tape is a mystery. My initial thought was that the woman, that's right I assumed she was a female, was on her way to a party but running a tick late and she pulled off onto the shoulder. She stepped out of the driver's and moved quickly around the front of the car. She the opened the back seat passenger side and retrieved the gift and the wrap. Moving as fast as she could she creased the paper to tear (she forgot the scissors!) and started to fold and tape with moderate precision considering improper wrapping location and, sheeesh, if you don't have the right tools, you might as well go home, take off your party dress and devour a pint of Cherry Garcia. But not this girl; this girl is cool. She did what she could with what she had remembering the sentiment that it's the thought that matters and she tossed the gift on the front seat. Meanwhile, what she didn't know is that the tape had gotten stuck to the cuff of her pea coat and dangled there precariously and if you can imagine when she tossed the gift onto the front seat, it dropped or actually flew a bit and struck the guard rail behind her, to add insult to injury, a W. B. Mason truck happened to pass at the exact same moment making her unaware of the loss (and the littering).
Wow, telling that story kinda made me feel winded.
So probably you know what I've been doing. Toni and talked about a 100 mile ultra marathon and it is obvious that surviving mileage like that takes several weeks or even months actually. There is so much damage done to the muscles that recovery time is absolutely necessary (oh and the fastest guy can usually complete a race like that in 17+ hours or something) so that is a lot of joggin'. Compare that to what I'd like to run my marathon in (26.2 miles) and the time to qualify for Boston is like 3:40 roughly. So there it is. OK. Then we thought that spreading out 100 miles into 10 consecutive days is not as damaging as a 100 mile race. Now there you go, you have the skinny on the experiment. But I will say that there is damage. The overnight of rest doesn't do the trick. My knees are starting to get beat up and where the legs are connected and the groin? They're all set with the miles. I've got aches in my mid back and in my gut. My form is very conservative and is starting to go rigid a bit and I feel like I"m just trying to complete the effort. You know, the romance is gone. I go through the same thing with new songs I really love. If I love a song enough, I'll play it over and over again until I fully understand/get/dig/deconstruct every measure of it. And then I'm done. I've almost done that with running.
Here are my paces from the 8 days I've run 10 milers:
11-5: 8:24
11-6: 8:21---20 mile mark
11-7: 8:42
11-8: 8:35
11-9: 8:24----50 mile mark
11-10: 8:53
11-11: 8:19
11-12: 8:30----80 mile mark
11-13: 8:07----90 mile mark (just added)
11-14: 8:18----100 miles in 10 days.
It's clear that the mental stuff got to me on 11-10, I knew I was halfway and the thinking got heavy about the rest of the miles. I liken it to how I felt when I reached the half way point of my half marathon. I DON'T LIKE MID WAY POINTS. I'm going to have to work on that. BUt the pace was great on the 11th. Maybe I'll try and speed it up a bit tomorrow. I'm feeling fatigued, to be honest, and well, Ms. Achilles is behaving like a 3 year old. I hate that I feel tired. That's one of the reasons I wanted to test this out, see how far I can go and a long run one day is coming and then I will really know what I'm capable of. I am going to run to my mom's house on Thanksgiving. That is about 20 miles. BUt I think I'd like to run for maybe 4 or 5 hours and see what happens.
Does anyone want to do that with me? Seriously. Someone I know who lives around here needs to start running so we can do long runs together and some long races ... think about it.
In fact, it is fair to say that I am sort of an authority on [all things worthy of the side of the road] 'side of the road' things (and I purposefully structured the sentence that way). I travel the roads frequently and pay a good amount of attention to things along my path and it is also fair to report that there is NOTHING pleasant on the side of the road, EVER. I have tried to keep track of some of the items to share with you, let's see: scotch tape (hardly used and I'm tempted to retrieve it with the holidays quickly approaching, but still, this is not pleasant), the innards of a pillow (looks more like dirty snow), empty and bent red bull cans, a paper market bag with a bottle of bleach sticking out of it, a halloween devils cape all mangled (like that devil might have lost a battle with something equal and opposite), a fun size Snickers bar that has been run over like 300 times, a empty GU package (oops, that's mine and I"ll get it tomorrow), a Wendy's bag wtih the contents strewn for 20 feet beyond it (french fry thingy, hamburger wrapper, soda cup, straw, lid, napkins, BBQ sauce and several (5) exploded ketchups), oh and there was the other battle lost between someone's egregious intoxication and finally succumbing to the inevitable purge (which no longer smells, but it has been driven through and tracked for a good 15 feet or so) that's about it, oh yeah there was this tiny chipmunk that has been run over so many times, it now resembles a slice of a medium sized garden tomato (i committed that to memory today so I wouldn't forget to tell you), and there is a single glove near campus and a single glove near the farm, though these would not make a set, they are both left handed (and one is blue).
So there you have it!
These are other examples of roadkill. I am fascinated by the real roadkill. But I am also finding this other kind of roadkill interesting. Sometimes, and only for a very few seconds, I consider what was happening at the time this kind of manmade roadkill occurred. Like take for instance the scotch tape. I mean, what the hell? The red bull can...this is not a mystery in the same way the scotch tape is a mystery. My initial thought was that the woman, that's right I assumed she was a female, was on her way to a party but running a tick late and she pulled off onto the shoulder. She stepped out of the driver's and moved quickly around the front of the car. She the opened the back seat passenger side and retrieved the gift and the wrap. Moving as fast as she could she creased the paper to tear (she forgot the scissors!) and started to fold and tape with moderate precision considering improper wrapping location and, sheeesh, if you don't have the right tools, you might as well go home, take off your party dress and devour a pint of Cherry Garcia. But not this girl; this girl is cool. She did what she could with what she had remembering the sentiment that it's the thought that matters and she tossed the gift on the front seat. Meanwhile, what she didn't know is that the tape had gotten stuck to the cuff of her pea coat and dangled there precariously and if you can imagine when she tossed the gift onto the front seat, it dropped or actually flew a bit and struck the guard rail behind her, to add insult to injury, a W. B. Mason truck happened to pass at the exact same moment making her unaware of the loss (and the littering).
Wow, telling that story kinda made me feel winded.
So probably you know what I've been doing. Toni and talked about a 100 mile ultra marathon and it is obvious that surviving mileage like that takes several weeks or even months actually. There is so much damage done to the muscles that recovery time is absolutely necessary (oh and the fastest guy can usually complete a race like that in 17+ hours or something) so that is a lot of joggin'. Compare that to what I'd like to run my marathon in (26.2 miles) and the time to qualify for Boston is like 3:40 roughly. So there it is. OK. Then we thought that spreading out 100 miles into 10 consecutive days is not as damaging as a 100 mile race. Now there you go, you have the skinny on the experiment. But I will say that there is damage. The overnight of rest doesn't do the trick. My knees are starting to get beat up and where the legs are connected and the groin? They're all set with the miles. I've got aches in my mid back and in my gut. My form is very conservative and is starting to go rigid a bit and I feel like I"m just trying to complete the effort. You know, the romance is gone. I go through the same thing with new songs I really love. If I love a song enough, I'll play it over and over again until I fully understand/get/dig/deconstruct every measure of it. And then I'm done. I've almost done that with running.
Here are my paces from the 8 days I've run 10 milers:
11-5: 8:24
11-6: 8:21---20 mile mark
11-7: 8:42
11-8: 8:35
11-9: 8:24----50 mile mark
11-10: 8:53
11-11: 8:19
11-12: 8:30----80 mile mark
11-13: 8:07----90 mile mark (just added)
11-14: 8:18----100 miles in 10 days.
It's clear that the mental stuff got to me on 11-10, I knew I was halfway and the thinking got heavy about the rest of the miles. I liken it to how I felt when I reached the half way point of my half marathon. I DON'T LIKE MID WAY POINTS. I'm going to have to work on that. BUt the pace was great on the 11th. Maybe I'll try and speed it up a bit tomorrow. I'm feeling fatigued, to be honest, and well, Ms. Achilles is behaving like a 3 year old. I hate that I feel tired. That's one of the reasons I wanted to test this out, see how far I can go and a long run one day is coming and then I will really know what I'm capable of. I am going to run to my mom's house on Thanksgiving. That is about 20 miles. BUt I think I'd like to run for maybe 4 or 5 hours and see what happens.
Does anyone want to do that with me? Seriously. Someone I know who lives around here needs to start running so we can do long runs together and some long races ... think about it.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Half Way: 50 Miles Done, 50 To Go
This is one of the hardest things I've done. Running 100 miles in 10 days with no days of rest. Just some time to recoup some strength overnight letting the muscles repair only slightly. Having completed half of this mission, the changes in my style of running are easily recognizable. Being that it's only day five, the lions share is ahead of me.
I love looking steady and controlled. I saw some college girls running today and that's great! you know, but their ponytails were swishing back and forth like a horse's tail on hot, dusty, especially buggy summer afternoon. Or, if you can imagine it for the brunette, it looked like she had a helicopter blade on the back of her head just flying around crazily like it may eventually be released by her scalp and come whizzing across the street, striking me and knocking me to the ground. I was relieved once we passed each other.
Such long shadows at 9 and 10 am. THe sun so low in the sky. 40-ish degrees is perfect running weather for tights and a long sleeve with a short sleeve over top and pink mittens and my pink doo rag to absorb the perspiration.
My left leg (which I'm in love with) is compensating for the misbehavior and "acting like a queen" attitude displayed by my R achilles tendon. OK ALREADY, I want to holler, YOU'VE MADE YOUR POINT. I can't do shit without these little lengths of material in my body being in good moods. It must be that time of the month for my achilles. OOPS, my bad, since there is no longer a diagnosis called tendonitis, we now have tendonosis and I'm getting yelled at by a Czech sports med guy over on the Running page on Facebook that I am rolling the dangerous dice with this injury.
I insist that I will run till I drop to my knees, losing the battle with this injury, testing my resolve and how long I can delude myself with this false sense of security or tolerate it or be bigger than it and braver than I've ever been or even slightly more stupid than letting go of the plane while every bit of instinct told me that I should do precisely the opposite from that or my hill opens and I can slide my fucked up tendon into a ski boot for a month or two and let it be.
I didn't want to let go of the plane. Even having a door open at 15,000 feet above the ground felt so wrong, so counter intuitive to anything I've known about me, the earth, the sky, having the heart of a bird but reconciling that daily with the inarguable tenacity of gravity and mass and a universe that embraces me each day but only for my overall lack of a carbon footprint.
For all intents and purposes, I flew that day. I had a brief argument with the tips of my fingers which were locked in a death grip above my head on the last bit of the plane's interior, that last bit was all that was keeping me from falling fast and hard toward earth.
The argument was brief and my fingers lost because there are times in your life where you just BREATHE in a big way and you just say FUCK IT and giving yourself fully to nothing familiar is the result ... goodbye plane. ANd there isn't anything as scary as that. It's a complete loss of control. It's totally graceful, romantic and merciless and I will never do it again so long as I live.
As we left the plane, the instructor guided our bodies upward so I could look into the sun falling backward to earth. I saw the plane above my head. The sensation was sickening. The plane vanished from above me like a magic trick. You know the kind. Where you think you know how they did that but it was a good magic trick so you don't really know and they'll never tell you because it's a keeper. He rolled me over now facing the direction of our fall and I saw the end of our flight (that would be earth) and I had to reorient myself while he drew my arms out straight, grasping my hands and holding them in front of me like I could have been super girl (with the cape and the sexy boots and that belt that, in my case, would double as a survival kit carrying dark chocolate, pink 452 lipstick, a clip for my hair and a Phish show with Giant Country Horns from 1989). With arms stretched, the speed was insane! He wrapped his legs around my legs and pulled them so I would stretch out long and lean like in an epic dive. I thought I was going to die and I said aloud but quietly, "Elijah Needs me". I could have died and I wouldn't have been surprised.
He then brought my arms back to my sides, keeping one arm around my waist he readied me into a feet first drop and in the next frame the chute was noisily unravelling with the pull of the release and our bodies went from about 120 mph to 10 mph, the straps around our chest and groin absorbing the throwing on of the brakes. Then everything went quiet.
"You OK?"
he asked. Indeed I was and this easy coasting to the ground is my reward for the insanity and depravity of the free fall.
I knew I was going be a better mother.
The ground came up to my feet not a moment other than what I was hoping for. It was awkward syncing up the steps with the instructor and we stumbled slightly but managed the ground. It almost felt like relearning. It didn't take long for me to realize I had forgotten a lot about what I thought I knew in those minutes. My most favorite philosopher taught me that traveling decenters a person opening up to allow for a spirit of new, an acceptance of otherness and a respect for difference. I should say that traveling through air does the same.
Day 6 tomorrow.
love,
Sarah
I love looking steady and controlled. I saw some college girls running today and that's great! you know, but their ponytails were swishing back and forth like a horse's tail on hot, dusty, especially buggy summer afternoon. Or, if you can imagine it for the brunette, it looked like she had a helicopter blade on the back of her head just flying around crazily like it may eventually be released by her scalp and come whizzing across the street, striking me and knocking me to the ground. I was relieved once we passed each other.
Such long shadows at 9 and 10 am. THe sun so low in the sky. 40-ish degrees is perfect running weather for tights and a long sleeve with a short sleeve over top and pink mittens and my pink doo rag to absorb the perspiration.
My left leg (which I'm in love with) is compensating for the misbehavior and "acting like a queen" attitude displayed by my R achilles tendon. OK ALREADY, I want to holler, YOU'VE MADE YOUR POINT. I can't do shit without these little lengths of material in my body being in good moods. It must be that time of the month for my achilles. OOPS, my bad, since there is no longer a diagnosis called tendonitis, we now have tendonosis and I'm getting yelled at by a Czech sports med guy over on the Running page on Facebook that I am rolling the dangerous dice with this injury.
I insist that I will run till I drop to my knees, losing the battle with this injury, testing my resolve and how long I can delude myself with this false sense of security or tolerate it or be bigger than it and braver than I've ever been or even slightly more stupid than letting go of the plane while every bit of instinct told me that I should do precisely the opposite from that or my hill opens and I can slide my fucked up tendon into a ski boot for a month or two and let it be.
I didn't want to let go of the plane. Even having a door open at 15,000 feet above the ground felt so wrong, so counter intuitive to anything I've known about me, the earth, the sky, having the heart of a bird but reconciling that daily with the inarguable tenacity of gravity and mass and a universe that embraces me each day but only for my overall lack of a carbon footprint.
For all intents and purposes, I flew that day. I had a brief argument with the tips of my fingers which were locked in a death grip above my head on the last bit of the plane's interior, that last bit was all that was keeping me from falling fast and hard toward earth.
The argument was brief and my fingers lost because there are times in your life where you just BREATHE in a big way and you just say FUCK IT and giving yourself fully to nothing familiar is the result ... goodbye plane. ANd there isn't anything as scary as that. It's a complete loss of control. It's totally graceful, romantic and merciless and I will never do it again so long as I live.
As we left the plane, the instructor guided our bodies upward so I could look into the sun falling backward to earth. I saw the plane above my head. The sensation was sickening. The plane vanished from above me like a magic trick. You know the kind. Where you think you know how they did that but it was a good magic trick so you don't really know and they'll never tell you because it's a keeper. He rolled me over now facing the direction of our fall and I saw the end of our flight (that would be earth) and I had to reorient myself while he drew my arms out straight, grasping my hands and holding them in front of me like I could have been super girl (with the cape and the sexy boots and that belt that, in my case, would double as a survival kit carrying dark chocolate, pink 452 lipstick, a clip for my hair and a Phish show with Giant Country Horns from 1989). With arms stretched, the speed was insane! He wrapped his legs around my legs and pulled them so I would stretch out long and lean like in an epic dive. I thought I was going to die and I said aloud but quietly, "Elijah Needs me". I could have died and I wouldn't have been surprised.
He then brought my arms back to my sides, keeping one arm around my waist he readied me into a feet first drop and in the next frame the chute was noisily unravelling with the pull of the release and our bodies went from about 120 mph to 10 mph, the straps around our chest and groin absorbing the throwing on of the brakes. Then everything went quiet.
"You OK?"
he asked. Indeed I was and this easy coasting to the ground is my reward for the insanity and depravity of the free fall.
I knew I was going be a better mother.
The ground came up to my feet not a moment other than what I was hoping for. It was awkward syncing up the steps with the instructor and we stumbled slightly but managed the ground. It almost felt like relearning. It didn't take long for me to realize I had forgotten a lot about what I thought I knew in those minutes. My most favorite philosopher taught me that traveling decenters a person opening up to allow for a spirit of new, an acceptance of otherness and a respect for difference. I should say that traveling through air does the same.
Day 6 tomorrow.
love,
Sarah
Saturday, November 7, 2009
10 days/100 miles DAY THREE
Today was day 3 and I think I'll blog about this challenge occasionally.
The challenge 10 miles a day for 10 consecutive days. 30 miles done thus far.
When the door opened, the cold air hit me pretty good. I could only postpone this for so long; going out and getting this run started in this chilly weather (31 degrees is nothing, just wait till there are ice droplets on my eye lashes and my bandana freezes to my dread locks). Cold is going to take some getting used to. But whatev. So.
There is something organic going on with my posture and stride that I didn't anticipate, but now seems obvious. I'm a better runner.
During this challenge, I'm not concerned about paces because I am less interested in speed work and more in tuning my body and mind to a higher freq. of endurance. SO the organic aspect that I mentioned earlier has really nothing to do with my head, and that is the part I love the best.
I have a feeling, and I'll know more about it as I continue, that the body is built for running, I mean, what the hell are long legs for anyway, huh? AND, there is innate ability to reasonably conserve what's in the tank and run for a long time. The tank, however, needs to be able to take on calories and the mind needs to let the body do it's thing and if all that is synced up, then the running is easy.
My body hardly moves during the strides. My legs are working at a high level & efficiently though my upper body and arms are, while relaxed, quite motionless, actually I'll call it STEADY, considering the cardio activity I'm doing. I am not trying to do this. I feel like my body has adapted to this work load and wants to conserve because I rarely feed it and water it and it knows that. IF the body can be trained to go faster, than it can be trained to be minimally fed (during the run).
The body will do what it has to do to move down the road for as long as I need it to without bitching and requiring nourishment. My whole grains each evening provide the fuel.
To be sure, I'd take something with me if going longer than 10 miles, btw. I"m not trying to be sadistic or anything.
I eat some gel, whole grain bread with a nut butter and brown rice gel and drink some coffee and head out the door, this is plenty of fuel. Check it though: if I am able to strike a balance with my body between food and water and it running as efficiently as possible, than that is what is ultimate. Often if there is too much in my gut, It can be a bit of a downer and I don't like my thoughts to go to my gut, ever.
I have tendonitis in my R achilles tendon. This is SO lame. I massage it and ice it and put the ibuprophen gel on it and so forth, but i'm working with it. On day two I thought about how I birthed two children naturally, with no interventions, and I thought about nursing those boys and how the pain was so searing that I could taste metal, then I thought how I jumped out of an airplane (quite literally the scariest stupidest thing I've ever done), and then I thought about how I cracked my rib in the moguls last winter skiing and then continuing to run anyway. And I thought about how it sucks so much to hurt when all you want to do is breathe.
And actually sometimes it still hurts to breathe, but not because of the rib. Because sometimes my body wants to rebel against me and act like a queen who wants to rest and be pampered. Physical Sarah would rather enjoy things fine or otherwise and not put the time in or the effort. That's where the mind immediately plays a key role. There is an ongoing dialogue between that physical self and the spirit and there are times where one is the more dominant, right? And there are times where they hit that freq., that runner's ^. And people see it. You don't even have to look like you're smokin fast, you've just dialed the numbers baby and the call is going thru. :) hahaha Clearly I can't wait to run tomorrow. I'll blog again at the half way point.
Later.
The challenge 10 miles a day for 10 consecutive days. 30 miles done thus far.
When the door opened, the cold air hit me pretty good. I could only postpone this for so long; going out and getting this run started in this chilly weather (31 degrees is nothing, just wait till there are ice droplets on my eye lashes and my bandana freezes to my dread locks). Cold is going to take some getting used to. But whatev. So.
There is something organic going on with my posture and stride that I didn't anticipate, but now seems obvious. I'm a better runner.
During this challenge, I'm not concerned about paces because I am less interested in speed work and more in tuning my body and mind to a higher freq. of endurance. SO the organic aspect that I mentioned earlier has really nothing to do with my head, and that is the part I love the best.
I have a feeling, and I'll know more about it as I continue, that the body is built for running, I mean, what the hell are long legs for anyway, huh? AND, there is innate ability to reasonably conserve what's in the tank and run for a long time. The tank, however, needs to be able to take on calories and the mind needs to let the body do it's thing and if all that is synced up, then the running is easy.
My body hardly moves during the strides. My legs are working at a high level & efficiently though my upper body and arms are, while relaxed, quite motionless, actually I'll call it STEADY, considering the cardio activity I'm doing. I am not trying to do this. I feel like my body has adapted to this work load and wants to conserve because I rarely feed it and water it and it knows that. IF the body can be trained to go faster, than it can be trained to be minimally fed (during the run).
The body will do what it has to do to move down the road for as long as I need it to without bitching and requiring nourishment. My whole grains each evening provide the fuel.
To be sure, I'd take something with me if going longer than 10 miles, btw. I"m not trying to be sadistic or anything.
I eat some gel, whole grain bread with a nut butter and brown rice gel and drink some coffee and head out the door, this is plenty of fuel. Check it though: if I am able to strike a balance with my body between food and water and it running as efficiently as possible, than that is what is ultimate. Often if there is too much in my gut, It can be a bit of a downer and I don't like my thoughts to go to my gut, ever.
I have tendonitis in my R achilles tendon. This is SO lame. I massage it and ice it and put the ibuprophen gel on it and so forth, but i'm working with it. On day two I thought about how I birthed two children naturally, with no interventions, and I thought about nursing those boys and how the pain was so searing that I could taste metal, then I thought how I jumped out of an airplane (quite literally the scariest stupidest thing I've ever done), and then I thought about how I cracked my rib in the moguls last winter skiing and then continuing to run anyway. And I thought about how it sucks so much to hurt when all you want to do is breathe.
And actually sometimes it still hurts to breathe, but not because of the rib. Because sometimes my body wants to rebel against me and act like a queen who wants to rest and be pampered. Physical Sarah would rather enjoy things fine or otherwise and not put the time in or the effort. That's where the mind immediately plays a key role. There is an ongoing dialogue between that physical self and the spirit and there are times where one is the more dominant, right? And there are times where they hit that freq., that runner's ^. And people see it. You don't even have to look like you're smokin fast, you've just dialed the numbers baby and the call is going thru. :) hahaha Clearly I can't wait to run tomorrow. I'll blog again at the half way point.
Later.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Legend Has It: Fifteen Years of Sand
About the time when school started up, my morning jogs were interrupted regularly by very consistent comings and goings of dump trucks. I soon discovered their destination (and contents) and was pleasantly surprised to find that the town had made a cost effective purchase of sand to manage the varying conditions of a solid active stretch of New England winter, cheaply. I was happy with the fact that someone in our town is negotiating with our tax dollars instead of hemorrhaging out the cash to save time or salvage old contracts with old buddies or new bids from new buddies or however the story goes.
So the town secretary gave me the skinny on the purchase. As it turns out, the town of Lee, New Hampshire (Est. 1766), had a VERY special opportunity to purchase, get this, Fifteen years of sand (I even capitalized it). I know! Fifteen years of sand! Her delight was so infectious, I had to keep myself from moving her desk aside to gather her up in a firm embrace, wrapping both arms about her with a squeeze that let her know I, too found a reason to celebrate!
Driving out of there, I got to thinking out this "fifteen years" of sand. I thought it was funny that all of a sudden, on a random day in September, a new unit of measurement was taught to me. Though I felt a bit unclear as to exactly what 15 years of sand is, so I thought taking a look at it might be helpful.
Upon arrival I saw 4 great big massive piles of sand each about 3 stories high. And I thought about each pile maybe being 3 years of sand roughly, which brought it up to 12 years of sand presently in front of me. I then tried to visually divide each pile and wanted to imagine how many truck loads it took to carry one year of sand. Then I wanted to talk to someone. I wanted to demand to see a one year increment of sand! I think it should be dumped near the center of town so the townspeople can all come out and gaze upon this collective purchase we've made. Surely if you've purchased 15 years of sand, there must be 1. And since the company from whom we've purchased the sand devised this unit of measurement, then it must be a definitive unit of measurement, one that has been examined by the persons who chose to make this purchase on behalf of the town.
And let's say there is someone in the town monitoring the purchase of the 15 years. What does she have to do in terms of keeping track of how many years have been dropped off? Was she there when the first month arrived? Did she know when we had 6 months stashed near the back of this now storage lot of sand? Yes! The first six months of the sand has arrived, you now are awaiting delivery on the remaining 14 and a half years of sand.
Units of measurements. As I get older, I realize there are more and more units of measurements relating to lots
of things I know nothing about. Let's start with electricity. Watts measure total electrical power based on the variables of volt, amperes (amps), and ohms. I stole this from my husband who is an electrician on nuclear submarines. I have no friggin clue what these are. I Just know when I turn stuff on in the house, I want it on.
Then there are units of dry measurement, again things I don't understand. Things like a bushel or a peck. And it makes sense not to order, say the equivalent of 15 years of sand in a bushel, because a bushel is a bit over a cubic foot and this would be a rather daunting task to measure.
Of course there are other units of volume to consider. But there are also units of mass, length and area. Perhaps an appropriate unit of measurement for the sand could be MILE. LEt's break it down. One year or let us say 6 months of sand
is this much, now how many times can you run that truck up and down the George Bennett Road, out on to Mast Way taking a left there at Orion's Tree Service, then a left onto Steppingstone and back out heading south onto route 125 (which is 5.5 miles)?
Perhaps as the project manager, I would have inquired as to what if one winter was especially difficult and one especially calm. What about those winters where we just get hammered and get like 115 inches of snow? (I hope that's this year or that we get even more than 10 feet of snow)
Then I thought, what if 15 years of sand meant that the town has unlimited access to the sand they need for 15 years!? Nah, that doesn't seem right. So would that mean we can, ahem, sand a bit heavier than usual? Or maybe we could, ahem, sand more frequently than we would normally? and when those piles were gone, the sand company would come and replenish our stash with more sand?
And this cycle would continue for 15 years!!?
The trucks have stopped coming up and down the road now; and for some time my jogs have been quiet and the road less stuffy.
Today I pictured the final delivery of sand. I thought of the driver of that truck and how good he must have felt being the last drop, completing the order, needing a signature, shaking the hand and participating in a friendly exchange in a vocal tone a bit higher than his normal tone (expressing kindness and relief, though undetected by the listener).
I wonder, when the last year of sand arrived, did the management of the sand company and the town officials do a walk through, take a look-see, and double check making sure a couple of months didn't blow out while en route.
"OK, Well, there you have it. We've got 8 years in the back, these piles here bring it to 12 and just over there by the entrance, those there are the first years you'll use, um 13, 14 and 15..." BUt technically they're years of sand 1, 2 and 3, in the order used, but in the tallied years, they're last. Gosh, It doesn't matter.
I know I'll never forget the year my town bought 15 years of sand. So in the year 2024, or rather the winter of 24-25, we will need sand. I'll be 53 years old. Elijah will be 23 years old (and hopefully out of the house). Levi will be 18 years old (and hopefully out of the house).
But one thing is for sure, I am going to watch these sand piles and then maybe I'll devise my own unit of measurement as related very dark (85%) organic chocolate. Does anyone know what a lifetime supply looks like?
So the town secretary gave me the skinny on the purchase. As it turns out, the town of Lee, New Hampshire (Est. 1766), had a VERY special opportunity to purchase, get this, Fifteen years of sand (I even capitalized it). I know! Fifteen years of sand! Her delight was so infectious, I had to keep myself from moving her desk aside to gather her up in a firm embrace, wrapping both arms about her with a squeeze that let her know I, too found a reason to celebrate!
Driving out of there, I got to thinking out this "fifteen years" of sand. I thought it was funny that all of a sudden, on a random day in September, a new unit of measurement was taught to me. Though I felt a bit unclear as to exactly what 15 years of sand is, so I thought taking a look at it might be helpful.
Upon arrival I saw 4 great big massive piles of sand each about 3 stories high. And I thought about each pile maybe being 3 years of sand roughly, which brought it up to 12 years of sand presently in front of me. I then tried to visually divide each pile and wanted to imagine how many truck loads it took to carry one year of sand. Then I wanted to talk to someone. I wanted to demand to see a one year increment of sand! I think it should be dumped near the center of town so the townspeople can all come out and gaze upon this collective purchase we've made. Surely if you've purchased 15 years of sand, there must be 1. And since the company from whom we've purchased the sand devised this unit of measurement, then it must be a definitive unit of measurement, one that has been examined by the persons who chose to make this purchase on behalf of the town.
And let's say there is someone in the town monitoring the purchase of the 15 years. What does she have to do in terms of keeping track of how many years have been dropped off? Was she there when the first month arrived? Did she know when we had 6 months stashed near the back of this now storage lot of sand? Yes! The first six months of the sand has arrived, you now are awaiting delivery on the remaining 14 and a half years of sand.
Units of measurements. As I get older, I realize there are more and more units of measurements relating to lots
of things I know nothing about. Let's start with electricity. Watts measure total electrical power based on the variables of volt, amperes (amps), and ohms. I stole this from my husband who is an electrician on nuclear submarines. I have no friggin clue what these are. I Just know when I turn stuff on in the house, I want it on.
Then there are units of dry measurement, again things I don't understand. Things like a bushel or a peck. And it makes sense not to order, say the equivalent of 15 years of sand in a bushel, because a bushel is a bit over a cubic foot and this would be a rather daunting task to measure.
Of course there are other units of volume to consider. But there are also units of mass, length and area. Perhaps an appropriate unit of measurement for the sand could be MILE. LEt's break it down. One year or let us say 6 months of sand
is this much, now how many times can you run that truck up and down the George Bennett Road, out on to Mast Way taking a left there at Orion's Tree Service, then a left onto Steppingstone and back out heading south onto route 125 (which is 5.5 miles)?
Perhaps as the project manager, I would have inquired as to what if one winter was especially difficult and one especially calm. What about those winters where we just get hammered and get like 115 inches of snow? (I hope that's this year or that we get even more than 10 feet of snow)
Then I thought, what if 15 years of sand meant that the town has unlimited access to the sand they need for 15 years!? Nah, that doesn't seem right. So would that mean we can, ahem, sand a bit heavier than usual? Or maybe we could, ahem, sand more frequently than we would normally? and when those piles were gone, the sand company would come and replenish our stash with more sand?
And this cycle would continue for 15 years!!?
The trucks have stopped coming up and down the road now; and for some time my jogs have been quiet and the road less stuffy.
Today I pictured the final delivery of sand. I thought of the driver of that truck and how good he must have felt being the last drop, completing the order, needing a signature, shaking the hand and participating in a friendly exchange in a vocal tone a bit higher than his normal tone (expressing kindness and relief, though undetected by the listener).
I wonder, when the last year of sand arrived, did the management of the sand company and the town officials do a walk through, take a look-see, and double check making sure a couple of months didn't blow out while en route.
"OK, Well, there you have it. We've got 8 years in the back, these piles here bring it to 12 and just over there by the entrance, those there are the first years you'll use, um 13, 14 and 15..." BUt technically they're years of sand 1, 2 and 3, in the order used, but in the tallied years, they're last. Gosh, It doesn't matter.
I know I'll never forget the year my town bought 15 years of sand. So in the year 2024, or rather the winter of 24-25, we will need sand. I'll be 53 years old. Elijah will be 23 years old (and hopefully out of the house). Levi will be 18 years old (and hopefully out of the house).
But one thing is for sure, I am going to watch these sand piles and then maybe I'll devise my own unit of measurement as related very dark (85%) organic chocolate. Does anyone know what a lifetime supply looks like?
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
The Dry Run
My boys wanted to flip their grilled cheese sandwiches last night. I let them, too. They were grilled to perfection! Crispy golden on the outside and the cheese thoroughly melted and trying to escape only minimally. I sliced one on the diagonal and one straight away using the spatula. I remember being asked to consider ways to cut a child's grilled cheese once while babysitting for a wealthy family out on the boulevard in Rye, NH. To me it made sense to cut it in fourths and the shapes would be either square or triangular and the mother of that child thought it best that I offer the child the choice of which shape she'd like. So I thought of this last night while slicing the sandwiches and I laughed a little bit because i recalled conversation with that mom years ago and I wanted to be a smart ass so bad and say "as long as your daughter doesn't want circles, I'm cool". I was tempted to cut Levi's into circles but I am trying to encourage him to eat the crusts. There just comes a time in every child's life when they must start eating crusts! I suppose there is an endless list of things that children must learn to do and not all result necessarily in increased independence; this list of things they must learn are just behaviors we consider to be normal and acceptable. There comes a time when they must learn to tie their shoes and going to sleep without milk and ditching the sippy cup and quit running through the parking lot and no screaming at the toy store and no eating boogers and no pressing all the buttons in the elevator or dumping out the entire contents of board games on the floor and carrying the guinea pig not by the head and keeping your tips together while skiing and solving disputes with your brother without punching and saying excuse me after a variety of noises escape the body and no rummaging through mommy's stuff and quit referring to girls as crummy.
The boys both touched the side of pan for a nano second, nothing major. But I mean it's awkward to flip, in Levi's case, your first sandwich! I kinda remember doing it or at least it's not difficult for me to imagine how tricky it feels until you grow accustomed to the 'it's all in the wrist' motion. The little bit of stress when it's just about to flip, the singular sweeping motion and the sandwich is in flight and it looks like a tracer and it's not floating in slo mo. It's fast! And you almost have to close your eyes, like in a sneeze, and hope that it will work out in the end, that when your eyes open it will be flat in the pan and not up the side a bit or goddess forbid on one of yours shoes down below, or adjacent.
It hurts to touch the pan. It doesn't feel good. Not like how getting a little jolt of electricity feels good. You know that first surge of power followed by the ticking vibration and then the numbness and then, well, feeling ill. There is just all pain with the burn, plus it worsens exactly at the same rate as you realize what just happened. Poor guys. The only thing good that can come out of this, at least for Levi, is knowing what mom means now when she's says "be careful. it's hot." He got schooled in "it's hot" last night and will never forget.
For Elijah, his experience is a little different. His desire is to avoid the burn by perfecting the motion. To aid in this process, I will make him a pb & j and let him flip it in a cool pan until he builds his confidence. Because you really only have once chance to get the fated grilled cheese flip right. The dry run. He recognizes the benefits of practice! Being willing to practice is a wonderful attribute in a child who is growing and gaining knowledge and loving learning.
Yes, it's true. I have an achilles injury. I'm scared to even think about it really. BUt if you've gotten this far in my blog, then maybe you'll keep reading for the hell of it. Oh, today is day three without a run.
I added a lot of mileage last week after the half marathon, covered almost 60 miles throughout the week. I'm getting ready for my 10 days/One hundred miles challenge that I created in my head for myself. This challenge is part of the training I need for ultra marathon running. I figure if I can do that much damage to my muscles in those 10 days and continue to walk and feel good and reach a new level of fitness, then I can run an ultra. Plus it would be fantastic to run the Shamrock Marathon in March and have it be almost easy.
But the achilles.... I deserve the time off from running, this is what I tell myself. And I am learning to take cues from my body and make smart choices so that, in the long run, I am actively doing what I love the most and that is being in the run. If I weren't injured, I wouldn't be taking the time off like I wanted to after the half marathon was over. So here I am.
RICE, same old same old. Rest. Ice. Compression. Elevation. only except there are two I s. Ibuprophen is the other and I have it in the gel and the tablet. This time I know with confidence that I am not losing fitness and this is because I've done this before.
Just like Elijah and Levi with their sandwich flipping skills, I too have practice in negotiating an injury.
I'm not going to be too sad. I'll be back at it soon. I'll also be skiing soon, too, and this just makes my heart sing.
Love to you,
Sarah
The boys both touched the side of pan for a nano second, nothing major. But I mean it's awkward to flip, in Levi's case, your first sandwich! I kinda remember doing it or at least it's not difficult for me to imagine how tricky it feels until you grow accustomed to the 'it's all in the wrist' motion. The little bit of stress when it's just about to flip, the singular sweeping motion and the sandwich is in flight and it looks like a tracer and it's not floating in slo mo. It's fast! And you almost have to close your eyes, like in a sneeze, and hope that it will work out in the end, that when your eyes open it will be flat in the pan and not up the side a bit or goddess forbid on one of yours shoes down below, or adjacent.
It hurts to touch the pan. It doesn't feel good. Not like how getting a little jolt of electricity feels good. You know that first surge of power followed by the ticking vibration and then the numbness and then, well, feeling ill. There is just all pain with the burn, plus it worsens exactly at the same rate as you realize what just happened. Poor guys. The only thing good that can come out of this, at least for Levi, is knowing what mom means now when she's says "be careful. it's hot." He got schooled in "it's hot" last night and will never forget.
For Elijah, his experience is a little different. His desire is to avoid the burn by perfecting the motion. To aid in this process, I will make him a pb & j and let him flip it in a cool pan until he builds his confidence. Because you really only have once chance to get the fated grilled cheese flip right. The dry run. He recognizes the benefits of practice! Being willing to practice is a wonderful attribute in a child who is growing and gaining knowledge and loving learning.
Yes, it's true. I have an achilles injury. I'm scared to even think about it really. BUt if you've gotten this far in my blog, then maybe you'll keep reading for the hell of it. Oh, today is day three without a run.
I added a lot of mileage last week after the half marathon, covered almost 60 miles throughout the week. I'm getting ready for my 10 days/One hundred miles challenge that I created in my head for myself. This challenge is part of the training I need for ultra marathon running. I figure if I can do that much damage to my muscles in those 10 days and continue to walk and feel good and reach a new level of fitness, then I can run an ultra. Plus it would be fantastic to run the Shamrock Marathon in March and have it be almost easy.
But the achilles.... I deserve the time off from running, this is what I tell myself. And I am learning to take cues from my body and make smart choices so that, in the long run, I am actively doing what I love the most and that is being in the run. If I weren't injured, I wouldn't be taking the time off like I wanted to after the half marathon was over. So here I am.
RICE, same old same old. Rest. Ice. Compression. Elevation. only except there are two I s. Ibuprophen is the other and I have it in the gel and the tablet. This time I know with confidence that I am not losing fitness and this is because I've done this before.
Just like Elijah and Levi with their sandwich flipping skills, I too have practice in negotiating an injury.
I'm not going to be too sad. I'll be back at it soon. I'll also be skiing soon, too, and this just makes my heart sing.
Love to you,
Sarah
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
