Forest fire

Today I was supposed to go to our most popular eco-reserve to train (at a walk) over uneven ground, but yesterday a forest fire began there, putting the whole reserve at risk. Several years ago, the reserve was practically consumed by a fire but was restored at huge expense; it is a haven for black bears, among other species. The fire is visible from my front porch. If someone started this fire in a burst of vandalism, may he burn in Hell. Meanwhile, I'll cross-train today and hope the fire can be contained. Otherwise, people are going to have black bears in their back yards soon. It's happened before.

Today, like many days, I get up and think there is no way I can drag myself out to train. But I get dressed and go. The idea of losing a day and sliding backward slowly but surely is my main motivation. Adrián told me on Tuesday that by August I will be doing a 5K in 25 minutes. That is a decent average time for any beginner. Where in the world does he get this stuff???

The Evaluation

After my training routine today, Adrián said it was time for me to use my heart monitor again because he wants to evaluate my performance.-----------------------------------------------------------------"What do you mean, evaluate my performance? What do I have to do?"------------------------"Well, you check your heart rate as you do 10 minutes at an easy trot, then you recover, then you do 10 minutes at a moderate trot, you recover, then you do 10 minutes of running, and we'll see if your heart is hitting its training rate often enough."-------------------------------------"When are we going to do this?" I asked, wondering if I could arrange to leave the country in time. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------"Oh, next week, probably Tuesday, how does that seem to you?"--------------------------------"HA!!!" I howled, "I will be in Seattle next week!!!"----------------------------------------------If I thought this was putting paid to the matter, I was mistaken. Adrián simply put the whole thing off a single week until I get back. My heart, and its rate, sank. I could hack the easy trot, the moderate trot for 10 minutes seems undoable, and the idea of running for 10 minutes is frankly insane. There was a moment or two when Adrián's voice tapered off as he mentioned the ten-minute run, as if it even occurred to him that the idea bordered on pyschosis. Well, I have that week in Seattle to keep working, along with the ghastly uphill phases of the running path near my son's home. I think I'd better start practicing. Doesn't this guy know how old I am???

Living in Hell

There is an artificial waterfall in our back yard made of some nice stone, and a small fountain in the front yard also made of rock. People have always noticed the unusual numbers and varieties of birds that flock here, especially now that we no longer have a cat. For a while we had an opossum that found a place to build a lair too, but we had to trap it and release it in the wild because our standard poodle would spend the entire day hunched down at the lair entrance wondering what kind of act of God had made its home there.-------------------------------------------------------------------Let me digress yet again and mention that our poodle is a cossetted creature if ever there was one, so he thinks that other living creatures are objects of fascination and play but not aggression. Once he was running around our small country place at twilight while my husband and I strolled here and there enjoying the evening, and I noticed he had found something under a tree that had captured his full attention. He would approach and then leap back, having a great time. There was not enough light for me to identify the object of such interest, but then I saw the creature beat a retreat---well, not the whole creature, I saw his high, black and white tail.---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------"Oh my God, TootSweet has found a skunk!" I yelled. When I finally got the dog to come, it was obvious that the skunk had missed his mark--TootSweet is fast on his feet--but the silly mutt had made a careful exploration of the spot where the emanation had landed and he had dragged his ears through the stuff. Such is his personality that I fear if he evers encounters a skunk again, he will have just as good a time, having learned absolutely nothing.------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Returning to my point, our weather has been so dry and so hot, our wildfires so abundant, that our yard has been a refuge for everything from mountain parrots to woodpeckers to hummingbirds to white winged doves. Yesterday was so hot that the plastic cap that holds the hummingbird feeder just gave up and let it drop to the ground under the magnolia tree. Our grass is just a breath away from giving up the ghost. No amount of watering can protect it from these temperatures. But no matter. The windchimes are singing and the birds are too in my back yard in spite of living in Hell.

How to Sweat Without Trying

Yesterday our temperature got up to 112°F in the afternoon. Yesterday morning was cool, but this morning is already too warm (fortunately this is an official rest day in my training schedule). I don't even want to know how hot it will be this afternoon, but I suspect I could bake a pizza on my front walk. A hot, dry wind is blowing already. Yesterday's temp was the highest on record in our area's history for April. All we are doing is praying or hoping for rain.

Post-vacation rust

Our four day vacation in the countryside was a disaster in many ways. It was nice to be out of the city, but the weather was cloudy, humid, and hot but it simply would not rain. People and horses alike were tired, the countryside was drought-tired, and the few relatively cool moments of the morning couldn't offset the killing humidity. So, I practically didn't move the whole time, and today it was time to get back into the training groove.-----------------------------------------------------Adrián has some plan in mind that will have me doing 5K in 25 minutes by August. It seems unbelievable to me, but he has done wonders with people who are coming back from serious injuries and even surgery. That could mean that by next February I might even cross the finish line on foot and not on a stretcher. But at my age, coming back from four days of doing nothing means every joint, tendon, and ligament is rusted. Even my mind was having trouble turning over.---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------This means that next week in Seattle, there will be no rest for the weary and the old. Near to my son's house there is a large pond circumnavegated by a running path that measures exactly half a mile. There are a couple of horrific uphill sections that seem to go on for about ten miles--again, the time-warp factor--but by dang, the weather is fantastic for running. A long time ago in a CPR class I took, the doctor mentioned that if you are going to have a heart attack, do it in Seattle. In proportion to the population, more people know CPR in Seattle than in any other city in the U.S. Seattle is also one of those places where you rarely see immensely fat people, and it seems most of the population is out running no matter what the weather. If that doesn't get me out and moving, there is no hope for me. By that time, I will also have been able to get myself proper running clothes and I will no longer be tripping over a sweat-soaked cotton tee.-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Adrián seems to have something terrible planned for Sunday, some kind of trotting activity over "rougher terrain", whatever that means. God. And here I've been avoiding the crosswalk paint! "You'll use different muscles", he informs me. Yes, falling often does call other muscles into play.---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Meanwhile, back at the ranch, a virtual running pal suggested protein supplements to keep one's appetite under control; you may have spent around 350 calories during a training session, but your body wants to replace that with around 3000 calories to make sure you are well-nourished and ready for tomorrow. We're not talking an attack of the munchies here, but real, physiological hunger. So a friend with whom I took bellydancing classes is coming over with some good protein supplements. She sells them, and she lost over 60 pounds on a diet regimen that included these products. At this point, anything that will make my stomach realize it has actually been fed. I'll let you know if the stuff works.

Talking to Myself

The city has emptied out, and so has the park and running path. Everyone has gone for Easter holidays, and the die-hard core of my training group went to another park in order to practice for the biking portion of their triathlon.----------------------------------------------------------------------My running book says that once you decide you want to enter a race longer than 5K, you will have to train your mind to concentrate on the job in hand and not to wander all over creation as you make up tomorrow's shopping list or wonder if that gurgling sound is your stomach. Well, I have news for the author of the book. You'd better start developing your own internal pep talk from the outset, or you are doomed. Once you get past the gasping-for-air beginning stage of your training, things just get harder. At least, they do thanks to Adrián. So that initial euphoria will still be there, but you are just going to have to talk yourself through to the end of each training session, especially toward the end:-------------------------------------------------------------"God, only eight minutes left to go, and I'm through for today. What's that gurgling sound? Okay, ignore it, just concentrate, glance at your watch just to make sure you don't overshoot the eight minutes....Jesus H., only 20 seconds have gone by!!! Okay, okay, stop looking at the watch and try to find a groove....I've got sweat in my eyes and my glasses are fogged up, that helps, I can't see the watch anyway.....Look, there's a policeman on watch at the next street crossing, if I can just get past him then I'll stop no matter what. No, no, just keep on, if you collapse he'll call an ambulance. Oh my God, I only have 31 seconds to go!!! Who cares about 31 seconds, I could stop right now....no....no....there's no wimping out now, and I won't worry about those body parts I think fell off somewhere, my stretcher bearers can pick them up when they carry me home.....Gosh, Holmes, I really miss you!"

Little Halter Tops

Our weather is heating up, though the mornings are still nice. Still, I writhe with envy as I see women dash along the running path wearing these cool little halter tops made of nifty synthetic fibers that whisk your sweat away so it can evaporate. That way you don't end your training session like I do: in an oversized cotton tee shirt so soaked with sweat that it hangs down around my knees. It would be completely viable for us women to wear just our sports bras, since they are formidable pieces of clothing meant to act as independent devices, resembling medieval armor.----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------The problem is not so much what to wear as what to show the world. Nothing on God's green earth would induce me to reveal the excess rolls and tires clinging to my torso. It may be true that after years of doing crunches I have the much-envied washboard abs, but at the moment they are overlaid with washboard fat. By running in the early morning, it is entirely feasible--as far as sunshine avoidance is concerned--to wear refreshing halter tops, but it aint gonna happen as long as these many extra pounds still adorn my midsection. Unfortunately, my appetite is ferocious as a result of running, so whatever calories are consumed by that are replaced with peach crisp topped with a dab of ice cream, Tuscan roast chicken with balsamic vinegar, slices of whole wheat bagette dribbled with olive oil and sprinkled with parmesan cheese and toasted under the broiler, and pan-seared grape tomatoes--also done in olive oil. The rest of the day I fight off hunger--usually losing the battle--with water, coffee, glasses of skim milk, and fruit. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------But now there may be hope. Again I managed to finish my training routine with energy to spare (!!!), so I ran an extra block. Not trotting, not jogging, but running. With some luck, I may be hitting the break-even point in calorie consumption and utilization, and perhaps, just maybe, there is a little halter top in my future.

Tarzan and the Broomstick Jedi

A couple of notes just to start off with: a young woman hired as a nanny by one of our local families qualified for the Boston marathon, and a passing of the hat paid for her trip to Boston and her stay there. Way to go, Nanny!! Also, a member of my training group qualified, and he has gone off with the general "Hurrah!" of our gang. On a considerably lesser note, I managed to finish my entire training routine today, with energy left over, after a week of acute fibromyalgia and a stomach bug. The key was discovering that I was running too fast instead of trotting very, very lightly. My learning curve is almost a straight line, it appears.------------------------------------Yesterday my son, who usually runs in the afternoon, and I were discussing the oddities to be seen at the running park at different times of the day. He, too, had been sidelined by the Swishy Ski Pole Lady, and also by an elderly gentleman (more power to ya, Pops!) of at least 80 summers who barely plugs along but moves his arms as if he were boxing Mohammed Ali. My son greatly admires this old guy, but he says seeing him always causes a burst of hilarity.-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Nevertheless, we have two contenders for our title of Most Impressive Weirdo Working Out: one is a woman of about 50 or so who strides along carrying a broom; she thrusts the broom up into the air here and there, apparently following some kind of pattern only she can discern (or, as an alternative, she is hallucinating and her broom is a self-defense weapon she uses to fight off aliens). I haven't seen this marvelous sight, but my son has, and he says it is awesome indeed.----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Our other contender is Tarzan. He runs in the afternoon. This tall man has a long, flowing mane and has elected to run without a shirt. My son says he travels along sweating like the proverbial pig and flinging said sweat far and wide. Apparently he is viewed with considerable repugnance by the female runners on the afternoon shift, but I'll bet you my Asics he thinks he is masculinity personified. He probably sees himself swiftly going along, muscles rippling and in full view, glorious mane flying out behind him, just knockin' 'em dead.---------------------------He probably does, too. Such a macho wouldn't dream of using deodorant, so he doubtless has the impact of driving past an industrial cattle fattening outfit on a hot, Southern summer day with no wind. It's enough to sear your nostrils before you pass out.-----------------------------Although the Broomstick Jedi rates plenty of points, my vote goes to Tarzan, because he is more or less sane and to me at least a lot funnier. He also has the added attraction of making sure I do my running in the morning no matter how wiped out I am.

Running herds, or herds running

A certain increase in energy can be detected in the park these days. The numbers of serious runners have upped considerably, and they are zipping along with a vengeance. My training group informs me that next month there will a local triathlon, and they are planning on entering.--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------May is without doubt the worst month in the year for us; it shows the most extremes of temperature changes, and the hottest days of the summer (even though it is supposed to be springtime). People who will compete in the triathlon may have a day of a lovely 60°F. or a hellish 115°F. The sun may burn down like Death Valley, or it could rain enough to turn the entire event into just the swimming part. With only a month to go, the contenders are training like gangbusters, and the park is a weird combination of a traffic jam and a Nascar event.-------------------With the changes in temperature around here right now, and ups and downs in the barometric pressure, we fibro sufferers are having an acute flare. I could barely finish my training schedule on Monday and had to crawl home in order to save energy, so today I decided to trick my fibromyalgia into thinking it has the upper hand. I went over 5K, but I did it by walking for two minutes, then running for two minutes. It worked just fine, so fine, in fact, that I plan to stick to this mode until the current attack wears off.-------------------------------------------------As usual, since I got to walk, I saw some pretty oddball stuff going on around me. But one nice thing was that there are people in their seventies and eighties chugging along determindly, and they even have enough breath to say "hello, how are you today?" I acknowledge with a wave of the hand in order not to waste oxygen on speech. Let me mention at this point that the Nascar runners are able to carry on a complete conversation as they pound along, even telling jokes and laughing uproariously; since most of them are men, one is impressed by a very serious lack of vocabulary, which may explain why their conversation seems limited to remarks about running time, injuries, and automobiles, punctuated every couple of seconds by an insulting epithet--sort of like teenage boys making idiots of themselves by pretending to hit each other, laughing foolishly, drooling, and ogling the girls. Not that our Nascar runners do that, but their conversation is on the same high plane. The fact that woman are present all over the park doesn't register with them, because some of the expletives are gross indeedy. Oh well.------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Today I had a good look at one of the odder participants in our mass madness. This woman carries ski poles. At first you might think she is training for a cross country ski event, but closer examination ("Watson, tell me everything, leaving out no detail, however insignificant...") it just can't be. Cross country skiing is the most aerobically demanding sport of all, since one's heart rate climbs to about 220 and stays there kilometer after kilometer--you get into a groove, all right, but it's a killer groove. This woman's body moves in two modes: with her legs she is simply strolling along, being passed even by me. But her upper body is wiggling from side to side as she moves the ski poles, in a fashion no cross country skier would be caught dead emulating. The overall effect is hilarious-- a kind of swishy git-along augmented by a superior, transcendental smirk on her face as if the rest of us are mere insects. More than once I've seen a runner stagger off to the side of the path, apparently afflicted by a side stitch, upon passing this woman, but I know for sure that runner is laughing his guts out. I think, in fact, that if running events really wanted to challenge the participants, they could sprinkle the route with weirdos like this gal. It would take mental discipline above and beyond the call of duty not to lose precious minutes and even more precious oxygen each time you came across one of these distractions. "Die laughing" could take on a whole new meaning.

Mom told me there'd be days like this...

Well, no, actually she didn't, but it works as a title. By my accounting, after having run 3.5K, my trajectory has been one step forward and two back. This leaves me with an accumulating debt of one step per workout, so like someone who has a mortgage he can't pay, I get backwarder and backwarder.------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------It makes me wonder if my training schedule isn't too hard for my age and fibromyalgia, or am I just listening to my body as it shouts, "Stop, you cretin!!!", and paying too much attention to it? The "Complete Book of Women's Running", the bible I haul around, says in a nutshell that going from jogging to running is a matter of attitude, not speed, and that one must learn to get past that point where your body is begging you on a metaphorical bended knee to give up and go have some chocolate ice cream. The book doesn't go so far as to endorse wholeheartedly the "no pain, no gain" philosophy, but it implies that you'd better get used to the hurt. Or, as a woman advises on a runner's website, stock up on Advil.------------------------------------------------------On the other hand, this is the way it often goes: you have a sudden spasm of progress, then backslide for a few days, before you have another leap forward. This must be my backslide stage but it sure is lasting a long time. Nevertheless, I still have a tactic or two up my sleeve. I'll report on them if I survive the weekend. In the meantime, I'm going to lie low and concentrate on cleaning the refrigerator.

Active resting

As has been mentioned here, active resting to me means an implacable determination not to leave the couch, but this is not what Adrián, my trainer, has in mind. By the time I was through training Bandolero (the sport is called dressage), my abs, shoulders, and arms were howling, and then I got Thursday's training confused with Friday's and spent yesterday trying to run uphill instead of an easy trot on flat land.-----------------------------------------------------------------------The upshot is that today from the get-go, it was obviously going to be a bad day, so I opted for a forced march instead of a run, but I did manage 4.8 K. One of the advantages of a brisk walk is that you can hear the nesting doves cooing, watch the sky lighten, notice that suspicious car going round and round the block, and discover the various styles of hitting the ground as runners go by you. When you are running, the only thing you notice is where the next dose of oxygen is going to come from.--------------------------------------------------------------------There are the pounders, those runners who slam their feet down. They are a mystery to me. How can they do that without permanent joint damage??? Then there are the pancake turners. These runners flop their whole foot down at once, and it sounds like a big pancake being flipped. They too are a mystery to me, because I don't see how they can get their feet in that position unless they have no movement in their ankles. There are the expensive-running-shoe terminators, who scrape along the pavement destroying their Asics. Last but not least, there are the big cats, those runners who land on the forward portion of the foot and sneak up on you silently, breathing quietly, scaring the bejesus out of you because you thought you were alone and could relieve that uncomfortable bloat left over from the tinga tostadas you had for lunch yesterday.-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------When I went to see a sports doctor, he told me not to let anyone try to change my way of hitting the ground as I run, because at my age, he told me diplomatically, you just can't teach an old dog new tricks. That's okay, because when I grow up, I'm going to be a big cat.-----------------------------------Take that, Hal.

An "active" rest day..

This means, as my trainer has diplomatically indicated, that I can't spend the day ensconced in the couch watching all the series of "Law and Order". So I'm off to ride Bandolero, where anything that isn't sore from yesterday will get a workout and I can even up the pain. If I get a good picture of him, I'll post it later. Have a good run, friends.

No More Nice Little Granny

Okay, Hal, the gloves are off. Your mother was a cheap toaster with a fork stuck in her heating elements, and you dad was a calcium-encrusted steam iron that spit all over the clothes.

Good morning, Hal

How are you today, Hal, you miserable software jihadist? This morning I got up thinking I was already late for everything and what was the point of it all? Bob mentioned in a comment from yesterday that a path beats a machine every time--which is quite true, to the degree that my treadmill is a dead letter in my book. Oh well, I thought, off to the park, anything but the blasted treadmill where I could at least suffer in private; I was sure that today was going to be a disaster. Are you there, Hal? New paragraph. Well, I said hello to my trainer and started off on today's trot, thinking about Rodrigo who said that on any run, the first two kilometers were hard but after that it gets easy--this from someone who runs half marathons and occasionally dashes from his house to mine, a mere 11.3 K. I laughed hollowly to myself as I struggled along, although a red-letter moment came when I actually passed someone--okay, so what if she was strolling along? It still keeps me out of the finishing-last-as-usual category. All these thoughts ran through my mind as I plowed ahead. Also, it seemed wild to me that I felt pretty good for only having had a cup of coffee and water before hitting the park. By the time I finished, I had run 3.5 K, up from near zero last week. Thank God tomorrow is a rest day, because a whole new world of hurt is going to open up after today's run, and body parts I don't even have any longer are going to ache, wherever they may be. No matter, I rewarded myself with macadamia nut and whole wheat pancakes with blackberries and real maple syrup. Now, for a dose of Advil...

The empty park...

Yesterday we went on daylight savings time in Mexico, so those of us who are usually out at five-thirty or six in the morning were, today, really out at four-thirty or five. This may explain the vast emptiness of the running path. Oh, there were a few hardy souls and even a couple of people walking dogs, but in general it was peculiarly quiet. Okay, Hal, this is a new paragraph. For those of you who never saw "A Space Odyssey", Hal was the psychotic computer that decided to eject a crew member off the space ship. He is alive and well and on Blogspot, ejecting paragraphs from the space ship. As I trotted along, I noticed that new things hurt, and old things seemed fine (no, I don't mean myself with that remark about "old things", applicable though it may be). My teeth are no longer sore, but I noticed during the walking stage of my daily torture that my toes seemed like they were going to separate from the main body of my feet. My scalp hurt for a while, but that wore off--not the scalp itself, but the soreness. I could understand aching toes, but my only explanation for a sore scalp was that the blows from my feet that had been transferred somehow to my teeth had now come to roost in my scalp; could it cause hair loss? Or maybe even hair growth! My mind wandered as I struggled along--it's always best to think of something other than what you are doing-- until I suddenly heard a terrible, rasping breathing. There was no doubt it was breathing, but it sounded ghastly, like someone in extreme difficulty. Could it be me??? I tried to hold my breath to find out, but I couldn't hold it long enough. Eventually a woman passed me (as usual--passing me is sort of the jogging path landmark for knowing you still have vital signs). How in the world could anyone gasping with such agony be out there running?? Who knows, but once she caught up with me, she began breathing normally, and I can only assume that she was pulling out all the stops in order not to be the only person in the park who couldn't pass that little old lady in the Asics running shoes...