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.