Rain, lots of it!

The relief is profound. I thought maybe there would be fewer runners, especially since I got a late start and had to go to the park at rush hour, but it was crowded as usual in spite of the downpour. But it doesn't matter, the drought has broken, the streets are flooded, and I plan to kick back with my new Kindle and read until I drop. Have a fine day, folks.

Overheard in an email...

Adrián, who is a genuine dear, is frustrated that he can't do something about my fibro, that he can't come up with a training routine that will eliminate it. I told him that made two of us and not to worry about it. He really must be the sweetest man around. We have settled on a form of interval training until this attack fades away. That 30-minute evaluation looms again, "as soon as you feel well enough", but if he needs it in order to see how I'm doing, so be it. Adrián rules!

Meanwhile, I overheard in an email that someone who reads this blog doesn't like it. Well, it isn't homework, and the fate of the world doesn't hang in the balance if said individual doesn't read it. In fact, not reading it would appear to be the ideal solution for anyone who still has three neurons firing. My suggestion is just that: if you don't like it, don't read it. It won't matter to me because I don't know who reads it and who doesn't, except for the people who make comments. So, considering that life is chock full of irritations, problems, obstacles, and disappointments, why add yet another? It would seem to be a masochistic undertaking to subject oneself time and again to something you don't like when you don't have to do it, but to each his own peculiar psychological quirks, I say.

Rest assured that even if no one at all reads the blog, on it will go. I have my own reasons. If I discovered, however, that a friend was writing a blog that I didn't like, and I made it a point to mention this to my friend, I would be writing unspoken volumes of information about my own disappointments and expectations, and my own unresolved issues with aggression and self-esteem. It's best to keep quiet.

Unless, of course, I was the kind of person who would settle for any reaction at all as long as it was a reaction to me, confirming my importance in my own eyes.

Satisfied?

Searching for vital signs...

Okay, I have cured my dizziness on my own by a healthy dose of antihistamine before going to bed at night. Guess I could have saved a bit on the ENT specialist if I had tried that first. Well, now I know what to do next time I take a plane trip.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I couldn't help but think of an old joke about a hypochondriac who overheard two doctors at a cocktail party; they were discussing a strange new disease that presented no symptoms.

"Oh my God," exclaimed the hypochondriac, "I've got it!!"

While reading my running book, I've come across warnings about overtraining, stress fractures, and other ailments rather common among runners. (No, my knees do not hurt.) Because of the fibromyalgia, it would be impossible for me to determine whether I am overtraining because I always feel fatigued during hot weather, so I decided the only way to know for sure was to check my resting heart rate; it you are overtraining, it tends to rise as your body tries to recuperate. So after my light workout at the park, I donned the heart monitor and proceeded to sit and watch the news on television.

It reminded me of the time in Mexico City when I was in unbelievable physical condition and went to the doctor for who-knows-what minor ailment (probably digestive, you can't take a deep breath in Mexico City without inhaling some kind of parasite, it seems). After listening to my heart and taking my blood pressure, the doctor (an American expat and good friend) informed me that I had died and that's why I wasn't feeling up to snuff. He said my heart rate was down around 40 or so and my blood pressure was also low although still in normal range. O shades of cardiopulmonary condition of the past! My resting heart rate (in spite of watching the news) was 41. The rest of me is shot to hell, but at least the old ticker is taking it easy. It is, in fact, the heat that is getting to me, not overtraining. Now I've lived here for 21 years this August, and in spite of having fewer aches and pains in the heat, my energy levels simply can't handle it. My plan is to maintain a degree of minimal conditioning so that when autumn comes, I can begin to up my distance and time in order to be ready for Austin in February.

A dove just crashed into the glass doors, but it managed to pull up in time to avoid breaking its neck, and it made it to a tree to recover. Come on, what is this?? Well, anyway, I've got a retriever now and I am waiting for the next one.

By the way, poodles are high maintenance dogs, and it is fine with me that TootSweet doesn't jump into bodies of water. That would only mean ear infections. So be it.

Runner Rehab

Managed to drag myself out of bed early and go to the park in an effort to get back into shape after days and days of doing nothing because of this attack of fibro. At first I thought I'd walk about 3K, but then I decided to run one block, walk another, to complete the distance, and it felt great.

All this time I have had my throat in my mouth because a lady I met at the Houston airport said she had had to run like crazy to catch a plane and wound up with a stress fracture; at the slightest twinge of my left foot, my mind went back to her remarks and my dash through the same airport. However, if I had really injured my foot it would hurt a lot more than this, and the pain wouldn't go away as I run, so I am going to check off that worry and forget about it.

By the way, virtual pal Wendy, be careful with toads. They exude a poisonous substance on their skins which can kill a dog if the canine mouths the toad a lot. Our quinta is toad city, so we really have to make sure our dog does not attempt to pick one up.

At last, a retriever!

Our standard poodle has never gotten into the water in his life except for a bath, even though poodles are water retrievers. Today all things seem to be coming together however, because TootSweet came galloping in from the back yard carefully bringing a dead dove in his jaws. Apparently one of the supposed survivors of a crash into the sliding doors managed to make it several yards away before expiring, and the Tooters, as we call him, decided his job was to bring the bird back to the house and hand it over. It was an amazing thing: soft mouth, the whole retriever business, and a singular happiness at being able to offer up his prized dead dove. That does it--I am for sure going to learn how to dress the darned things and freeze them because we have too much food committing suicide and going to waste.

Crashing Birds

Much as I would simply love to report that "Crashing Birds" is a fabulous new heavy metal rock band, such is not the case. Between our enclosed veranda and our back yard are sliding glass doors that bring nature into the house; perhaps too much so. Ever since our last cat died, our back yard has become a madhouse of birds species taking advantage of water during this terrible drought. And, of course, taking advantage of a predator-free space. But for some reason, the white-winged doves--not the sharpest crayons in the avian box--have been crashing into the sliding doors. At least once a day, the loud bang of a flying object hitting glass can be heard.

Once in a while the stunned bird manages to fly away, but most of them kill themselves. It's a wonder the glass has not cracked. We have not figured out why the doves do this. The other species don't. Are they pursuing one another and not watching where they are going? Is the reflection in the glass fooling them into thinking there is open space there? Why are they the only ones that crash?

Meanwhile, let us note that doves make good eating. I have tossed away the last birdy cadaver, and from now on I plan to clean and freeze the crashing birds. It shouldn't be long before I have enough to make a nice meal. Google has plenty of recipes for dove. Take a look.

On the exercise front, nothing is happening. Maybe next week.

The Food Blog

At the moment I am temporarily sidelined because of the heat, which is provoking a fibro flare, so mostly energetic walking with a little trotting is the order of the day--or probably the week, if not a month.

Meanwhile, today's lunch is a chicken salad made with baby romaine, shredded chicken breast (cooked in duck stock), Granny Smith apple slices, spiced almonds, red onions, and a fabulous vinagrette made with, among many other things, raspberry vinegar and cranberries heated in cranberry juice. This fantastic summertime salad can be found on Cooks Illustrated website if you are moved to try the two-week free trial period, but watch out! If you ever take the magazine (like I do) or try the online version, you are a goner. The recipes are heavenly, the methods fool-proof, and the equipment testing is a treat. (I finally learned how to use my Italian coffee maker thanks to the magazine).

No, the recipe does not require you to cook the chicken breasts in duck stock, but I had some left over and frozen from the time I made duck tacos.

Blogging on my hands...

There is a wonderful website, despair.com, which specializes in de-motivational themes, including huge posters and desk calendars with hilarious--and true!--definitions that will discourage anyone except runners and people with a black sense of humor. I'm especially fond of this month's definition on my desk calendar: Blogging--Never before have so many people with so little to say said so much to so few. You gotta love it!

The point is that after today's session, which seemed so difficult in this heat (20' run, 3' rest, 10' run, 3' rest, 8' run, permission to collapse), my husband was reading the paper during breakfast when he came across the earth-shaking news that Sarah Palin's 20-year-old daughter had written a book about her "life". Folks, let's face it, at the half point of her life she was only ten years old. Apparently she has learned that the father of her child is an insect or lower than dirt, and how stupid it was of her to have sex with him after getting drunker than a sailor on shore leave. Fortunately, at my youthful age of 66, I don't need to learn that lesson because I was never that stupid to begin with, and I don't refer to Ms Palin's alcoholic missteps, but to her tendency to mate with someone she qualifies as an insect or lower than dirt. It has been my contention that anyone able to string a couple of words together, or anyone blessed with notoriety even if it be second hand, can get a book published (except me, of course, since I have fallen on deaf ears for years)in these days of drowning in communication whether you want it or not. It fascinates me how anyone with vital signs can publish his or her shallow thoughts, simplistic life view, or autobiography replete with proof positive (spoken by the victim in person) of an idiocy of epic proportions, while others (ahem!!) can't even get an agent. Now, it is quite possible that my mystery novel isn't riveting although it would make a great movie, but some have read it and liked it. Perhaps they are biased since they were my mother, my husband, and a close friend. My self-published book of humorous essays has been hugely enjoyed by any number of readers who weren't related to me and do not know me, so all is not lost.

Now, is that justice? No, it isn't, it's business. The publishing business, in fact, where the prime consideration is to have contacts in order to publish, or to have published in order to have contacts. All right, I've had my rant for the day. Time to shower and get a move on.

Time on my hands

Monday mornings are usually hectic around here. But last night I got such a jump on things that lunch is made (a slow cooker recipe for Italian Sunday "gravy") and I may have time for a haircut.

Even at 6 a.m., the weather is just barely tolerable in the park. I see people running at noon and in the early afternoon when the heat is at its peak, and I sincerely don't know how they do it. Back in the day, when I was an aerobics fanatic, some people would complain that they didn't sweat; but that was in Mexico City with its cool climate. Here we are raining down on the running path like a summer storm, which is natural in this horrible heat. My body, however, thinks the world is coming to an end at the slightest suggestion of effort on my part, and it begins pouring sweat immediately. I can't even make a bed without sweating, and the better my cardiopulmonary condition becomes, the faster I start to perspire. I get so soaked that it looks like I did a lot more than I really was able to do. Good. I can fake people out.

The other thing my body continues to demand is more calories each day than I've expended in the entire week. This is one miserable trick of nature, frankly, and we are not amused, as Queen Elizabeth would say. This morning after my workout (Adrián be praised, he prescribed another easy session) I made the mistake of going to the store without eating breakfast beforehand. They say you should never shop for food when hungry. They are right, whoever they are. After stocking up on veggies and fruits galore, a sudden urge to get biscuits and cinnamon rolls hit me. I fought off vanilla ice cream although I came away bruised, and my legs propelled me toward the check-out aisle while my upper body tried to cling to the cooler that had ready-made pie dough. My legs gained the upper hand, so to speak, at least this time. They were caught off guard, however, in the cereal section where I managed to grab a box of chocolate Special K before forging on toward the dishwashing detergents. Even there, however, I grabbed a dishwashing liquid that smells like oranges, and only a sense of self-preservation kept me from taking a swig of it. A virtual running pal suggested protein drinks, and they are the only thing keeping me from gaining weight while running longer. I had this fantasy of the new me, slim and trim, by the time I could hack a 5K, but danged if it isn't the same old Karen complete with washboard fat! Next year I may have to try for a 10K to see if that helps.

Uphill

A series of family emergencies got together and decided to cut loose at exactly the same time. Thus, I found myself in the town of my birth, my husband had to care for his sister who became ill suddenly, and a friend of ours had to honcho up the move from Austin to Monterrey. It has only been a week and a half, but it seems like it was a couple of years. The only upside of this was that I did my second 5K, but it was in the Houston airport and I was wearing sandals.

Thanks to the airplane trip, my ears are acting up again and I am dizzy, but this morning I at least did the mild training session Adrián set up for me--a 50 minute walk. Part of the way I trotted, just for the heck of it, especially the uphill parts. Upon my return I also discovered that a couple of the jerks doing Iron Man training have decided they are informed enough to start their own training groups, and they have abandoned the rest of us, though not without first trying to lure away all the advanced runners/athletes in the group. The whole thing was plotted over coffee one day (according to my spy), and without saying anything to Adrián except "goodbye", off they went. Man alive, you just can't get past politics no matter where you are, even if it's in the park! And for my politically incorrect comment of the day, let me make clear that if you give a Mexican a few ideas and a title (even if it's "I finished the Iron Man!!"), you've got an instant "expert" who casts humility and common sense to the winds. It's one of the national curses.

Nevertheless, just doing the little I did today made me feel alive once more. The heat is so terrible during the day that morning running is the only option, but I have capped the morning's activity by digging in my vegetable plot. This counts as cross-training, I believe. I am going to enlarge the area for next year's veggies and put up a low fence around it to keep dogs and small children out. If any of you out there are gardeners, check out this unbelievable but true fact, straight from Texas A & M, which I have tried and can vouch for: Fungus on plants can be killed by spraying the plants with a combination of skim milk and water. Yes, folks, weird as it sounds, this is a science-based discovery and not some oddball notion thought up by a little old lady who putters amongst her flowers.

Tomorrow is a rest day in my schedule, and it is also Father's Day. All of the family are going to a restaurant tomorrow for lunch to celebrate dads.

Offline but not off street

Due to a number of problems happening all at once, I have had to go to Texas, my husband has had to take care of his sister who became ill suddenly, and at the same time we are supposed to be moving a bunch of furniture from Austin to Monterrey. Although it has been a madhouse, I have managed to go out early in the morning before the dry, blistering heat gets going. My location is considerably higher than Monterrey or Austin, and I can really feel it. So far I have only been able to run about 20 minutes without having to finish up walking, but every little bit counts. My trainer sends me the daily sessions by email anyway, as I asked him, and I have even managed to make my return travel plans on a rest day! It may sound fanatical, but it has taken me six months to go from zero condition to where I am now, and I aint ready to backslide. More later when I get home and am able to get to the park once more.

Mercy was shown today...

Thank God Adrián scheduled an easy workout for today! It allowed me to recover from yesterday. I also saw my horse vet running today, and a friend who is a dentist was strolling along too. The latter used to be very, very fat until he had stomach surgery (I'm not sure what kind, but he had it twice, so the second time it must have been gastric bypass). He lost so much weight that once when I saw him at a restaurant I didn't recognize him, but then he began gaining weight again. I was saddened to see this morning that he is again quite fat, though not as much as before his surgeries.

However, I also noticed that there is a business opportunity out there for me, a niche just screaming to be filled: sports bras for men.

And now this breaking news...

Today I set out without my watch or my Polar monitor, and without my glasses. After warm-up, I set myself a slow, steady trotting pace and concentrated only on maintaining it consistently. And folks, believe it or not, I did 5K today without gasping for air or wondering if my toes were falling off. The circuit including seven sprints as I outran cars and passed clots of strollers and runners coming from the opposite direction. It included four up-hill sections as I trotted over the pedestrian bridges coming and going. At about 4.2 K, I was beginning to feel it a bit, but at 4.5, I knew it was a done deal.

When I say a slow, steady pace, I mean that twice people who were walking actually passed me. They were walking at a good clip and one person had a large dog who was pulling him along. But who cares? Not me! 5K!!!

The Long Walk

Yesterday was a rest day for me in my training schedule, but since I missed three days in a fibro attack, I decided I couldn't afford to do nothing at all. I went out and did a lively walk the 5 kilometers on the running path (which is marked at each kilometer and half kilometer, which either encourages you or sinks your spirits forever, depending on where you are and how tired you are...). We have a series of winding bridges, very attractive, that go over a major street intersection and which are incorporated into the running path. They are shaded by large trees, making the area hugely pleasant. During my walk, I decided that for once I was going to try to trot uphill on those bridges, and to my amazement I did it without even feeling it. That was the positive part--my physical condition is improving beyond my expectations.

But the walk itself was torture. When I trot, nothing hurts, but when I walk everything does. Don't ask me why because it is a mystery. For the rest of the day the only thing on my body that didn't ache was--guess!!!!--my knees. But these training walks are important. They work the legs and knees differently because at least in my case one doesn't strike the ground with the same stride. Unfortunately, today's training program has turned out to be the walk I did yesterday, so for once I'm a day ahead of the game instead of two days behind!

Breaking news: One of my virtual running pals was right--Ski Pole lady is practicing Nordic walking. I have been saying hello to her now for several days, so yesterday I asked her if that is what she is doing. She seemed thrilled that someone knew what her activity was, too. She is a very nice woman, too, with a lovely smile and very upbeat. Just goes to show there are friends everywhere if you can look for them. If for no other reason, running has been worth it just to meet so many happy people!

Back on track, at least temporarily...

After three days of a fibro flare, and in fact three weeks of feeling less than what nowadays goes for optimum, I was back in the park. There was a lovely cool breeze blowing even though it will be fairly hot later today.

There are two kinds of runners that can really get your goat: there are those who come pounding along and practically shove you off the path. These are not the Pounders, those runners you can hear from two blocks away. These latter tend to run in tight groups, and if one should trip and fall, they are all going down en masse. Your only concern is getting out of the way by leaping to one side. No, I mean those runners who simply don't care if you are there or not, it is your duty to get out of the way. I've seen one of these jerks almost hit a very elderly woman who was walking by the edge of the path, and today I got brushed by another of the cretins who mistakenly thought I was simply going to step off the path altogether. I warned Adrián that one of these days I was going to stick my leg out and trip one of them.

The other kind of runner that disgusts me is the group that spits on the path. I happen to think that spitting in public is primitive anyway, but to do so on a running path is an act of covert aggression. There aren't many of either kind of runner; most people are upbeat, courteous, and happy to be there enjoying themselves. One cannot identify the spitters, either, because all you come across is the result of their behavior, since the offender has long gone. Phooey!

Narcissus Corner, however, almost makes up for it. Here is where all the show-offs congregate to lift those ghastly weights and to do chin-ups on the monkey bars. This morning the machos were having a chin-up competition, so each competitor didn't have to look around nonchalantly to see if he was being noticed because all of them were there watching each other. It must have been macho heaven. This is one of the best shows on the running path, so more power to 'em.

Stay tuned, folks.