My training schedule has now been set for quite a while, and nothing much will happen until the fall; therefore I am signing off for now, folks, except in Spanish on topics unrelated to running. Once in a while I may check in again in English to report on Gitano. Meanwhile, virtual running pals, forge ahead! You are admirable and true models for us beginners, all my best vibes are headed your way.
May the Force be with you all.
viernes, 29 de julio de 2011
martes, 26 de julio de 2011
Another day at the park
One of my patients took a good, long look at my eye and told me that purple is definitely my color for eye shadow. I haven't used makeup in years because everything I do involves sun block or insect repellent, so makeup is pointless. It would only run into my eyes and streak down my face, but maybe I'll get some for my very few evenings out.
When Freud wrote about psychosexual development and used the word "perversions" to describe certain phenomena, the word simply indicated a deviation from the statistical norm and had no negative implications as such. But the negative feelings people had about the phenomena themselves transferred itself to the word, and now a pervert is someone odious indeed.
The same thing has happened with the word "retarded", which simply means an arrest in one's intellectual development and a limitation of abilities. It's as if people could remove their own prejudices and negative feelings by loading the word with the negativity and then eliminating the word itself--thus we come to the increasingly absurd phrases such as "different abilities" when referring to an individual with a mental handicap. We all have different abilities. It isn't the word per se that is the insult, it is the feelings we try to deny by eliminating the word.
The reason I say all this is because two new types of exercisers showed up at the park today, and I'm going to use a word that everyone avoids like the plague: fat. You just don't say someone is fat, at least not out loud. There are atrocious reality shows that feature fat people competing to lose weight, dancing to lose weight, getting surgery to lose weight, etc. To use fat people as entertainment is infinitely worse than calling them fat, which is no more than a term to indicate the truth. They are referred to as "heavy"; "And how long have you been heavy?" some idiot will ask the victim of a reality show.
Four people, ranging from simply fat to obese, arrayed themselves across the running path so that no one could pass. They wouldn't move aside, either. You went off the path or pushed through them if you wanted to get by. I managed to squeeze around one of them on the edge of the path, almost twisting an ankle as one foot slipped off the path. The running culture doesn't include yelling insulting names at people, but the temptation was as fat as the individuals themselves.
I usually admire hugely anyone fat who is marching down the running path because I know that person is taking on a challenge. I've been fat myself and still feel my washboard fat jiggle while I run. But these four people were being passively aggressive and they made me want to give them a swift, sharp kick to their ample butts.
The other kind of runner I noticed today is the Scraper: it is a terrible thing to scrape expensive running shoes along the pavement. The sound itself gives one chills. It's like watching money burn. This older man ran by me, and as each foot came down, he scraped it across the cement with a noise you could hear from several yards away. Ouch! Not to mention the potential for tripping and falling.
But enough of this. I haven't had breakfast yet. Ciao, arrivederci, a domani.
When Freud wrote about psychosexual development and used the word "perversions" to describe certain phenomena, the word simply indicated a deviation from the statistical norm and had no negative implications as such. But the negative feelings people had about the phenomena themselves transferred itself to the word, and now a pervert is someone odious indeed.
The same thing has happened with the word "retarded", which simply means an arrest in one's intellectual development and a limitation of abilities. It's as if people could remove their own prejudices and negative feelings by loading the word with the negativity and then eliminating the word itself--thus we come to the increasingly absurd phrases such as "different abilities" when referring to an individual with a mental handicap. We all have different abilities. It isn't the word per se that is the insult, it is the feelings we try to deny by eliminating the word.
The reason I say all this is because two new types of exercisers showed up at the park today, and I'm going to use a word that everyone avoids like the plague: fat. You just don't say someone is fat, at least not out loud. There are atrocious reality shows that feature fat people competing to lose weight, dancing to lose weight, getting surgery to lose weight, etc. To use fat people as entertainment is infinitely worse than calling them fat, which is no more than a term to indicate the truth. They are referred to as "heavy"; "And how long have you been heavy?" some idiot will ask the victim of a reality show.
Four people, ranging from simply fat to obese, arrayed themselves across the running path so that no one could pass. They wouldn't move aside, either. You went off the path or pushed through them if you wanted to get by. I managed to squeeze around one of them on the edge of the path, almost twisting an ankle as one foot slipped off the path. The running culture doesn't include yelling insulting names at people, but the temptation was as fat as the individuals themselves.
I usually admire hugely anyone fat who is marching down the running path because I know that person is taking on a challenge. I've been fat myself and still feel my washboard fat jiggle while I run. But these four people were being passively aggressive and they made me want to give them a swift, sharp kick to their ample butts.
The other kind of runner I noticed today is the Scraper: it is a terrible thing to scrape expensive running shoes along the pavement. The sound itself gives one chills. It's like watching money burn. This older man ran by me, and as each foot came down, he scraped it across the cement with a noise you could hear from several yards away. Ouch! Not to mention the potential for tripping and falling.
But enough of this. I haven't had breakfast yet. Ciao, arrivederci, a domani.
lunes, 25 de julio de 2011
Retraction
Gonna hafta eat my words there, because there was just no way to get back on a treadmill; it has been back to the park no matter how god-awful the weather. Still on my holding-the-line training program. 5k even if it's crawling--sometimes it is. But I've ditched my glasses in case I crash again. I can't affort to crush my glasses or put my eye out with the damned things. My black eye is unbelievably fashionable: A delicate purple tending to red from eyebrow to eyelid, and the eyelid itself is a slate gray with purple undertones. It actually looks like a rock-star makeup job, and a darned good one.
And speaking of crashing, not another single bird has gone into the windows. In my freezer sits the quite puny little dove breast ready for cooking, all alone.
Meanwhile, if anyone out there has ever hungered after a peanut butter pie, there is one in this month's edition of Bon Appetit that will satisfy your deepest craving while blocking every artery and vein in your body. I made it yesterday for our family lunch--the kids and grandkids. The crust is a graham cracker one, the filling is a peanut butter custard (eight, count 'em, eight egg yolks), then a tower of homemade honeycomb candy, peanuts, and bittersweet chocolate on that. It just seemed like a bit much, so I modified it considerably except for that stupendous peanut butter custard, and there were rave reviews. Next time I plan to alter the recipe even more and come up with something that tastes as good a Reese's Peanut Butter Cups.
On a sadder note, if anyone is interested in reading something that makes the horror of the Norway massacre at least understandable, try "Hatred: The Pychological Descent into Violence", by Willard Gaylin, M.D. An excellent book. Another good read along that line is "The Lucifer Effect: How Good People Turn Evil" by Philip Zimbrado, the famous Stanford researcher who did the Stanford Prison Experiment with such unfortunate and fascinating results. This is the first book to detail that experiment and what came of it. And, to top off a list of disturbing but enlightening reading, try "Terror in the Mind of God" by Mark Juergensmeyer. When I first read this book, I was on a plane going from Seattle to Monterrey. It was September 10, 2001. The first botched attempt at blowing up the WTC was described in the book. At that time I was still an editorialist for our newspaper, and next day after the terrorist attacks, the editorial director frantically contacted everyone to ask for a pertinent article on the attacks. I guess I was the only one armed with real information on the causes. It was one of those coincidences one wishes had never happened.
Cary, that book we talked about is "The Arab Mind" by Raphael Patai. You'll enjoy it and it might clear up some misconceptions. It surely did for me.
And speaking of crashing, not another single bird has gone into the windows. In my freezer sits the quite puny little dove breast ready for cooking, all alone.
Meanwhile, if anyone out there has ever hungered after a peanut butter pie, there is one in this month's edition of Bon Appetit that will satisfy your deepest craving while blocking every artery and vein in your body. I made it yesterday for our family lunch--the kids and grandkids. The crust is a graham cracker one, the filling is a peanut butter custard (eight, count 'em, eight egg yolks), then a tower of homemade honeycomb candy, peanuts, and bittersweet chocolate on that. It just seemed like a bit much, so I modified it considerably except for that stupendous peanut butter custard, and there were rave reviews. Next time I plan to alter the recipe even more and come up with something that tastes as good a Reese's Peanut Butter Cups.
On a sadder note, if anyone is interested in reading something that makes the horror of the Norway massacre at least understandable, try "Hatred: The Pychological Descent into Violence", by Willard Gaylin, M.D. An excellent book. Another good read along that line is "The Lucifer Effect: How Good People Turn Evil" by Philip Zimbrado, the famous Stanford researcher who did the Stanford Prison Experiment with such unfortunate and fascinating results. This is the first book to detail that experiment and what came of it. And, to top off a list of disturbing but enlightening reading, try "Terror in the Mind of God" by Mark Juergensmeyer. When I first read this book, I was on a plane going from Seattle to Monterrey. It was September 10, 2001. The first botched attempt at blowing up the WTC was described in the book. At that time I was still an editorialist for our newspaper, and next day after the terrorist attacks, the editorial director frantically contacted everyone to ask for a pertinent article on the attacks. I guess I was the only one armed with real information on the causes. It was one of those coincidences one wishes had never happened.
Cary, that book we talked about is "The Arab Mind" by Raphael Patai. You'll enjoy it and it might clear up some misconceptions. It surely did for me.
viernes, 22 de julio de 2011
Equine cross training
Yesterday when I tried to go to the quinta, the army had blocked the access road at the highway; I discovered later than a body or two had been dumped there, no doubt victims of intercartel conflict. Today the humidity has reached 90% and the temperature edging up toward 100, so my work with Gitano was a torture for both of us. At the moment he needs to work on correct flexion during turns and head placement, but I did everything at an easy trot, and not for long either. We wound up soaked in sweat, but only the horse got a bath and a mane shampoo, provided by the guy who honchoes up the quinta. I was too embarrassed to ask to be hosed down but I managed to stand close enough to the horse, giving him a treat, so that I got a splash or two.
How people manage to run outdoors at noon during this weather is a mystery to me. It is something I am not ever going to be able to do. The treadmill is boring beyond measure, but for the moment it is my only option.
How people manage to run outdoors at noon during this weather is a mystery to me. It is something I am not ever going to be able to do. The treadmill is boring beyond measure, but for the moment it is my only option.
miércoles, 20 de julio de 2011
Back to the treadmill, occasionally
The heat is in the 90s and the humidity is around 85%. This is bordering on the impossible, at least for an old gal like me. Until the mornings get a little cooler (we are expecting rain this week), it's back to the treadmill, dull though the prospect looms.
Bad make-up day
A quick glance in the mirror has revealed that my right eye looks like someone with really, really bad taste in make-up decided to use deep purple eye shadow, rather poorly applied, over one eyelid only. If applying eye shadow over the eyelid itself makes your eyes look deeper, I've got it made, at least on half my face.
Any excuse is good enough for me, so today will be a rest day.
Any excuse is good enough for me, so today will be a rest day.
martes, 19 de julio de 2011
And, by the way...
....there is no sympathy for the wicked. My husband is a night person, and before around ten in the morning, as I've claimed many a time, you can tell him the same joke day after day. It will be funny each time because his mind doesn't kick in until later.
However, I thought it might be a good idea this morning to let him know I was developing a black eye. Otherwise he would alarmed and horrified at lunch time when he sees me.
"Hey, I hit myself this morning and I'm getting a black eye," I stated, trying to hide the exact circumstances.
He put on his reading glasses and peered into my face.
"What happened? My God, what did you hit yourself with?"
"The ground," I replied. There was no getting around it, but maybe the story could be avoided.
It took him a while to register my reply; as I say, it was much earlier than ten o'clock.
"The ground??? How did you hit your eye with the ground?"
So, I told him I fell down. He wanted to know if it had happened in the back yard, where most of my misadventures take place--cuts, spider bites, blisters from using a spade, etc.
"No, I fell while running, out on the Calzada..."
It just disgusts the hell out of me that he chortled, even though I couldn't help laughing myself while I told the sorry tale. Dang it, I wanted more sympathy than that. Maybe at lunchtime.
However, I thought it might be a good idea this morning to let him know I was developing a black eye. Otherwise he would alarmed and horrified at lunch time when he sees me.
"Hey, I hit myself this morning and I'm getting a black eye," I stated, trying to hide the exact circumstances.
He put on his reading glasses and peered into my face.
"What happened? My God, what did you hit yourself with?"
"The ground," I replied. There was no getting around it, but maybe the story could be avoided.
It took him a while to register my reply; as I say, it was much earlier than ten o'clock.
"The ground??? How did you hit your eye with the ground?"
So, I told him I fell down. He wanted to know if it had happened in the back yard, where most of my misadventures take place--cuts, spider bites, blisters from using a spade, etc.
"No, I fell while running, out on the Calzada..."
It just disgusts the hell out of me that he chortled, even though I couldn't help laughing myself while I told the sorry tale. Dang it, I wanted more sympathy than that. Maybe at lunchtime.
Back to the daily grind...
This is Gitano. We got him underworked and overfed, so right now he is with Weight Watchers. When he gets in shape, he'll be quite handome. He is very sweet, even with small children.
And now, back to the daily grind.
There is a place on the running path, right where the path and a crosswalk meet, that causes people to trip. It is not evident what the problem is, since the paving is not more uneven than other places, but day after day I see runners trip, stagger, and fight to remain upright.
Today was no exception; as I trotted up to the fatal trap, yet another runner coming in the opposite direction caught his foot on some invisible obstacle and projected himself into the crosswalk at a ragged, wobbly jiggle before recovering. As I wondered what the devil was happening at this particular crosswalk, I proceeded to trip and fall flat. No one was close enough to offer to help me up, but I rose like a rocketing pheasant from sheer embarrassment and dashed away. My main concern was my knees, but they seemed fine. Nothing else hurt, so it wasn't until I got home that I discovered I had managed to clobber myself on the eyebrow, of all places, and now I have a large, colorful lump right under the right eyebrow; the hemorrhage is leaking down, so in a couple of hours I should have a black eye. I'm going to have to think up something more entertaining that falling flat while running to account for it.
On another front, my muscles are sore as all get-out from riding a horse which still needs training. Pure non-stop isometric effort, but at least my abs are getting a good workout. The whole running project seems terribly uphill to me right now, both literally and figuratively, but if it is going to include falling down, well, this is the pits!
viernes, 15 de julio de 2011
What, no more free food??
Wouldn't you know it? No sooner had I worked up the courage to dress a dove than the danged birds are avoiding my windows in droves.
Poor Adrián, not knowing what to do with me, sent questions to my rheumatologist as to how to program my training sessions. The rheumatologist had some good suggestions (he said my heart rate and cholesterol levels are fantastic) that have to do with just staying at a certain training rate with peaks and valleys depending on hills, etc. He told me, however, that no matter how ghastly I feel, I have to do something even if it is walking a block. He always asks if I've been riding, because that is his parameter for terminal depression--if I don't ride, he gets worried and begins glancing at his prescription pad, wondering if antidepressants are in order. I assured him that I now have another horse, Gitano (Gypsy), and find myself in both mourning and excitement at the same time. The combination is not recommended, believe me. But coming across exactly the kind of horse I was looking for so soon (I expected the search to last weeks and weeks) meant that I either took the chance or let it go, so I took it, and Gitano is installed at the quinta lookin' good. Pictures will come next week.
Yesterday three older ladies were marching along the path covered with pants, long-sleeved shirts, and short-sleeved shirts over those, plus extra pants over the main pair. Someone may have told these ladies that you can loose weight sweating, but the fount of information forgot to mention that it is all water weight and you could end up with heat stroke to boot. Also, another lady, again older, had on a modest top, a pair of sweat pants, and over the pants she wore a gauzy little short skirt that covered her rear end and fluttered flirtatiously in the breeze. What is with these people??
Also, I have located someone in my training group that is anorexic for sure. If she has 10% body fat, I'll eat my running shoes. And speaking of eating, guess who is going to have to pay up with a pastel de tres leches, come August!!!
Poor Adrián, not knowing what to do with me, sent questions to my rheumatologist as to how to program my training sessions. The rheumatologist had some good suggestions (he said my heart rate and cholesterol levels are fantastic) that have to do with just staying at a certain training rate with peaks and valleys depending on hills, etc. He told me, however, that no matter how ghastly I feel, I have to do something even if it is walking a block. He always asks if I've been riding, because that is his parameter for terminal depression--if I don't ride, he gets worried and begins glancing at his prescription pad, wondering if antidepressants are in order. I assured him that I now have another horse, Gitano (Gypsy), and find myself in both mourning and excitement at the same time. The combination is not recommended, believe me. But coming across exactly the kind of horse I was looking for so soon (I expected the search to last weeks and weeks) meant that I either took the chance or let it go, so I took it, and Gitano is installed at the quinta lookin' good. Pictures will come next week.
Yesterday three older ladies were marching along the path covered with pants, long-sleeved shirts, and short-sleeved shirts over those, plus extra pants over the main pair. Someone may have told these ladies that you can loose weight sweating, but the fount of information forgot to mention that it is all water weight and you could end up with heat stroke to boot. Also, another lady, again older, had on a modest top, a pair of sweat pants, and over the pants she wore a gauzy little short skirt that covered her rear end and fluttered flirtatiously in the breeze. What is with these people??
Also, I have located someone in my training group that is anorexic for sure. If she has 10% body fat, I'll eat my running shoes. And speaking of eating, guess who is going to have to pay up with a pastel de tres leches, come August!!!
lunes, 11 de julio de 2011
Random Musings
After two weeks of total absence of motivation and terminal depression, I managed to force myself to the park today to walk/run 5K. It isn't back to square one for me, but it's darned close to square two.
Motivation is an odd thing. What floats someone's boat, sinks someone else's. I can force myself to the park because I know my children worry less about my fibro if Mom can trot 5K and has a resting heart rate of 40. Ten years ago, my husband survived a terrible illness and six weeks in the hospital because he had excellent cardiopulmonary condition when he went in. I also keep hoping that eventually I will lose some weight. We won't discuss what I've gained during these two weeks of inactivity, either. It may seem like insufficient motivation to do something so that someone else's peace of mind is assured, but that's fine by me. And, last and least reasonably, I keep hoping that I can literally run away from fibromyalgia. But like someone writing about fibro said, you can either hurt and be in rotten shape, or hurt and be in good shape. What's to wonder about on that point? Clear as a bell.
It has struck me more than once that there is only one person I've seen exercising that I would consider anorexic; this is odd since according to an HBO Latin American special, Mexico and Argentina have more anorexics in proportion to population than other Latino countries. That may be, but they aren't running in the park unless they go much later in the day.
And, lo and behold, I saw a woman my age running this morning! I was beginning to despair of my gender. She was tall, slim, and very fit. She is a lone runner. May the Force be with her.
It is possible, slightly possible, that a new horse comes to live at the quinta. I still haven't made up my mind because nothing really appeals to me right now; I compare all horses to Bandolero and they come up short. The one I'm seeing today again is well-behaved, half Spanish, black, bigger than I really wanted, and the vet examination is pending--that happens today. I'll keep you posted.
Adrián wants me to enter a 3K (didn't know there were any) sponsered by the American Consulate here, in August. Well, we'll see. First I have to recover from the past two weeks, and then I can decide.
Motivation is an odd thing. What floats someone's boat, sinks someone else's. I can force myself to the park because I know my children worry less about my fibro if Mom can trot 5K and has a resting heart rate of 40. Ten years ago, my husband survived a terrible illness and six weeks in the hospital because he had excellent cardiopulmonary condition when he went in. I also keep hoping that eventually I will lose some weight. We won't discuss what I've gained during these two weeks of inactivity, either. It may seem like insufficient motivation to do something so that someone else's peace of mind is assured, but that's fine by me. And, last and least reasonably, I keep hoping that I can literally run away from fibromyalgia. But like someone writing about fibro said, you can either hurt and be in rotten shape, or hurt and be in good shape. What's to wonder about on that point? Clear as a bell.
It has struck me more than once that there is only one person I've seen exercising that I would consider anorexic; this is odd since according to an HBO Latin American special, Mexico and Argentina have more anorexics in proportion to population than other Latino countries. That may be, but they aren't running in the park unless they go much later in the day.
And, lo and behold, I saw a woman my age running this morning! I was beginning to despair of my gender. She was tall, slim, and very fit. She is a lone runner. May the Force be with her.
It is possible, slightly possible, that a new horse comes to live at the quinta. I still haven't made up my mind because nothing really appeals to me right now; I compare all horses to Bandolero and they come up short. The one I'm seeing today again is well-behaved, half Spanish, black, bigger than I really wanted, and the vet examination is pending--that happens today. I'll keep you posted.
Adrián wants me to enter a 3K (didn't know there were any) sponsered by the American Consulate here, in August. Well, we'll see. First I have to recover from the past two weeks, and then I can decide.
lunes, 4 de julio de 2011
Adios, mi Bandolero
Bandolero died this morning, put down by the vet, after a terrible colic that filled him with toxins. Nothing more to say.
sábado, 2 de julio de 2011
Aunt Joyce
My aunt Joyce died last week, and because of the crashing birds, she has been on my mind. When I was a little kid, her daughter and I were very close, so I spent a lot of time at her house. Several experiences there were unique: she knew how to prepare beef tongue, but it still looked too much like a tongue for me to choke down.
She kept chickens for a while, and I will never forget the day she grabbed one by the neck and swung it around vigorously by that neck until the chicken died. Maybe I should say, until the head came off and we had a DOA. I was not exactly appalled, but it must have been something traumatic enough to have burned itself into my memory because the event it as vivid as a mental movie.
The reason I thought of her was because I dressed my first dove breast this morning, immediately after the bird killed itself on my glass doors. The plucking was okay, but the fact that the creature was still warm was unpleasant--I kept feeling for a heartbeat before I cut the bird up. It was indeed very dead, but it was scant moments away from life, so dressing it was somewhat unsettling. I can see why people become vegetarians.
Rain, and more rain, but today is a rest day in my training schedule and tomorrow is a long walk. We have two new movies, though, so the treadmill will not be the ghastly bore it could be.
Book reviews: For those of you who like military history, don't miss the wonderful "The Last Battle of the Tin Can Sailors". And for history buffs in general, I can highly recommend Matthew Cobb's "The Resistance", about the French resistance during WWII. For human interest and life lessons, there is "Tuesdays with Morrie", but have a box of Kleenex handy.
She kept chickens for a while, and I will never forget the day she grabbed one by the neck and swung it around vigorously by that neck until the chicken died. Maybe I should say, until the head came off and we had a DOA. I was not exactly appalled, but it must have been something traumatic enough to have burned itself into my memory because the event it as vivid as a mental movie.
The reason I thought of her was because I dressed my first dove breast this morning, immediately after the bird killed itself on my glass doors. The plucking was okay, but the fact that the creature was still warm was unpleasant--I kept feeling for a heartbeat before I cut the bird up. It was indeed very dead, but it was scant moments away from life, so dressing it was somewhat unsettling. I can see why people become vegetarians.
Rain, and more rain, but today is a rest day in my training schedule and tomorrow is a long walk. We have two new movies, though, so the treadmill will not be the ghastly bore it could be.
Book reviews: For those of you who like military history, don't miss the wonderful "The Last Battle of the Tin Can Sailors". And for history buffs in general, I can highly recommend Matthew Cobb's "The Resistance", about the French resistance during WWII. For human interest and life lessons, there is "Tuesdays with Morrie", but have a box of Kleenex handy.
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