sábado, 14 de mayo de 2011
Hal, redeemed...
Hal must have gotten religion, because he replaced the two blogs he had wiped out. Either that, or he is planning something worse. On the other hand, what could be worse than a robot with religion? Sarah Palin?
viernes, 13 de mayo de 2011
The Righty-Tighty, Lefty-Loosey Condundrum, or The Single Boob Paradigm
Let's digress right away: Hal is back, just as I predicted, and he eliminated two whole blogs. There is no measuring his degree of resentment, apparently.
Also, since TrainingPeaks seems to be on the blink also, I haven't received my training program by email, so this morning (after two days of aches and fatigue) the functional part of me dragged my body out to the running path and I finished 3K without stopping--I've done it before, once, but this time it was a lot easier. Not having to keep tabs on my timer, my mind wandered. I started two hours later than my usual time, so it was like a Tokyo traffic jam. But the viewing was even funnier that usual as a result.
At the beginning of the running path, people gather to stretch, exchange running anecdotes, or drink water. Off to the left is a dumbell (I refer to the weight, not to any individual) made up of an iron bar with two big clumps of dried cement at each end--the poor man's version of gym equipment, I guess. It's always there because no one in his right mind would want to steal the thing. Today a man was standing right by the path lifting the dumbell, stopping every lift or so to look around, oh so casually, to see if anyone was watching him. It must have been frustrating, because no one paid him any attention at all. He moved closer to the path. We saw him, all right, and had to swerve away from him in case he dropped the blasted weight on someone's foot. It was fortunately at the beginning of my run because I was struck by an attack of laughter which, had it occurred later on, would have brought my run to a halt. The real burning question is, did whoever had the dumbell constructed choose cement in order to prevent thievery? It worked.
On to our subject. It has been mentioned in another writing that the running culture doesn't care what you wear. It should have been noted that it also doesn't care what you don´t wear. People run without shoes, and in Austin at least not even pants are de rigueur, which adds quite a bit to the general atmosphere of high spirits. And, you can run without a sports bra. It's painful to watch--you can almost feel the tissues tearing and you know that woman's old age will find her boobs down around her knees.
It never occurred to me that anyone might object to the Kevlar-steel-reinforced, no-boobs-at-all look my own apparel produces. I love it, because with my washboard fat bouncing along with each trot, I don't want to add anything else to the sad spectacle.
But one of my virtual running mates revealed that she just doesn't like the single-boob look. She may have more to work with than I do, however, which would explain her tastes in this vital matter. I didn't even know there was a single-boob option. This means that the classification of sports bras needs a revamping. My suggestion would be to eliminate most of the sizes now available and replace them with: No-Boobs, Single-Boob, and Double-Boob options. This latter could even take into account the one-size-fits-no-two-boobs problem and include Righty-Tighty, Lefty-Loosey fitting choices so you could pull up or let off on the reins, so to speak, for each boob.
You'd think someone would have come up with an idea this great long before this, wouldn't you?
Also, since TrainingPeaks seems to be on the blink also, I haven't received my training program by email, so this morning (after two days of aches and fatigue) the functional part of me dragged my body out to the running path and I finished 3K without stopping--I've done it before, once, but this time it was a lot easier. Not having to keep tabs on my timer, my mind wandered. I started two hours later than my usual time, so it was like a Tokyo traffic jam. But the viewing was even funnier that usual as a result.
At the beginning of the running path, people gather to stretch, exchange running anecdotes, or drink water. Off to the left is a dumbell (I refer to the weight, not to any individual) made up of an iron bar with two big clumps of dried cement at each end--the poor man's version of gym equipment, I guess. It's always there because no one in his right mind would want to steal the thing. Today a man was standing right by the path lifting the dumbell, stopping every lift or so to look around, oh so casually, to see if anyone was watching him. It must have been frustrating, because no one paid him any attention at all. He moved closer to the path. We saw him, all right, and had to swerve away from him in case he dropped the blasted weight on someone's foot. It was fortunately at the beginning of my run because I was struck by an attack of laughter which, had it occurred later on, would have brought my run to a halt. The real burning question is, did whoever had the dumbell constructed choose cement in order to prevent thievery? It worked.
On to our subject. It has been mentioned in another writing that the running culture doesn't care what you wear. It should have been noted that it also doesn't care what you don´t wear. People run without shoes, and in Austin at least not even pants are de rigueur, which adds quite a bit to the general atmosphere of high spirits. And, you can run without a sports bra. It's painful to watch--you can almost feel the tissues tearing and you know that woman's old age will find her boobs down around her knees.
It never occurred to me that anyone might object to the Kevlar-steel-reinforced, no-boobs-at-all look my own apparel produces. I love it, because with my washboard fat bouncing along with each trot, I don't want to add anything else to the sad spectacle.
But one of my virtual running mates revealed that she just doesn't like the single-boob look. She may have more to work with than I do, however, which would explain her tastes in this vital matter. I didn't even know there was a single-boob option. This means that the classification of sports bras needs a revamping. My suggestion would be to eliminate most of the sizes now available and replace them with: No-Boobs, Single-Boob, and Double-Boob options. This latter could even take into account the one-size-fits-no-two-boobs problem and include Righty-Tighty, Lefty-Loosey fitting choices so you could pull up or let off on the reins, so to speak, for each boob.
You'd think someone would have come up with an idea this great long before this, wouldn't you?
jueves, 12 de mayo de 2011
Footnote...
It has to be experienced to be believed. I am online with a ghostly presence who announces his name on the chat support network, and then disappears. My blackest suspicions have been confirmed--people are running like crazy to get away from having to help this old gal in Mexico and her wayward computer. I have actually typed in "Mexico to India, Mexico to India, is anyone there?", only to get no response. When I ended the chat, made another chat request, and got someone on the other end, it turned out to be the same person!
Rosetta Stone wants my profile so it can get me going online, but the profile must be so harrowing the program withdraws like a salted snail. Does Rosetta Stone tremble at the part about me living in Mexico, or just Monterrey? Meanwhile, my messages on the chat are getting more and more, ah, shall we say, original and non-formal in nature. God, I hope I haven't started some kind of international incident....
Rosetta Stone wants my profile so it can get me going online, but the profile must be so harrowing the program withdraws like a salted snail. Does Rosetta Stone tremble at the part about me living in Mexico, or just Monterrey? Meanwhile, my messages on the chat are getting more and more, ah, shall we say, original and non-formal in nature. God, I hope I haven't started some kind of international incident....
The Rosetta Stone Nightmare
Yesterday and today have been fibromyalgia days, so I have scaled back my activity. It seemed like a great time to fire up my Rosetta Stone course in Italian, which has an online option so you can speak with other students, play games, and also talk to native speakers.
How can I possibly explain the almost insurmountable glitches trying to register for the course and have access to the online options? I have spent literally HOURS during the past few days as a bunch of very patient, very kind people in India have worked through every problem that comes up. And let me tell you, the problems have been at every single step of the way.
First, I couldn't activate my course. The activation code is a string of numbers so long that if I lay the series down on the sidewalk, I'd have to run a 5K just to read them all. When some poor bloke in India finally got that straightened out on the chat support service, it turned out that my course was activated, but I could not access the online options.
Why could I not activate the online options? Well, among all the other things, I had two IDs for the course. This morning, working on the initial part of the problem, again with some poor soul in India, our chat was cut off in mid-solution. Natch, when I tried to get this person back, he was busy with someone else, so I began again with another long-suffering computer nerd who must have thought I was severely challenged, intellectually speaking. Okay, we discovered that my computer was a day ahead of the date, and thus my requests to get online with others involved a time warp the system couldn't handle. We got that fixed. (No, I had never noticed my computer was a day ahead of the date because I never look at the date.)
Now another in what seems to be an endless stream of glitches and malfunctions has taken place: a nice little webpage asks me to tell them something about myself in order to "enhance my learning experience". What I've learned, however, is that the webpage can't save my data, so this is as far as I've gotten now that I'm online. I'm almost afraid to contact those folks in India on the chat support, for fear of getting someone I've already spoken to. I can see people fleeing their computers at the very mention of my name.
All this is subsequent, of course, to other more manageable issues such as installing a headset with integrated microphone so the language program can correct my pronunciation. The reason these issues are manageable is because I didn't manage them--my reliable computer nerd did it for me. He's a nice fellow who insists on showing me what he is doing on the benighted assumption it is going to sink in, so I hate to disappoint him. I nod sagely, every now and then inserting an enlightened "Ah, now I see!" or "Yes, of course", just to prevent him from launching into an even more bone-headed explanation on the outside chance of lowering his standards of teaching to reach even me.
My bravery falters at the prospect of going back to the online chat support, but there is nothing for it. My husband is coming home for lunch early today, so I am going to relax in the kitchen before tackling the next Rosetta Stone problem. Fortunately, I can now tell you che io sono una donna, which does not mean that I'm a donut. I can identify articles of clothing, activities, and conjugate a verb or two. The rest of the course is marvelous, but I refuse to give up on the chance to play games in Italian or talk to others as confused by the online options as I am--assuming there are actually others out there who have managed to get online. Stay tuned.
How can I possibly explain the almost insurmountable glitches trying to register for the course and have access to the online options? I have spent literally HOURS during the past few days as a bunch of very patient, very kind people in India have worked through every problem that comes up. And let me tell you, the problems have been at every single step of the way.
First, I couldn't activate my course. The activation code is a string of numbers so long that if I lay the series down on the sidewalk, I'd have to run a 5K just to read them all. When some poor bloke in India finally got that straightened out on the chat support service, it turned out that my course was activated, but I could not access the online options.
Why could I not activate the online options? Well, among all the other things, I had two IDs for the course. This morning, working on the initial part of the problem, again with some poor soul in India, our chat was cut off in mid-solution. Natch, when I tried to get this person back, he was busy with someone else, so I began again with another long-suffering computer nerd who must have thought I was severely challenged, intellectually speaking. Okay, we discovered that my computer was a day ahead of the date, and thus my requests to get online with others involved a time warp the system couldn't handle. We got that fixed. (No, I had never noticed my computer was a day ahead of the date because I never look at the date.)
Now another in what seems to be an endless stream of glitches and malfunctions has taken place: a nice little webpage asks me to tell them something about myself in order to "enhance my learning experience". What I've learned, however, is that the webpage can't save my data, so this is as far as I've gotten now that I'm online. I'm almost afraid to contact those folks in India on the chat support, for fear of getting someone I've already spoken to. I can see people fleeing their computers at the very mention of my name.
All this is subsequent, of course, to other more manageable issues such as installing a headset with integrated microphone so the language program can correct my pronunciation. The reason these issues are manageable is because I didn't manage them--my reliable computer nerd did it for me. He's a nice fellow who insists on showing me what he is doing on the benighted assumption it is going to sink in, so I hate to disappoint him. I nod sagely, every now and then inserting an enlightened "Ah, now I see!" or "Yes, of course", just to prevent him from launching into an even more bone-headed explanation on the outside chance of lowering his standards of teaching to reach even me.
My bravery falters at the prospect of going back to the online chat support, but there is nothing for it. My husband is coming home for lunch early today, so I am going to relax in the kitchen before tackling the next Rosetta Stone problem. Fortunately, I can now tell you che io sono una donna, which does not mean that I'm a donut. I can identify articles of clothing, activities, and conjugate a verb or two. The rest of the course is marvelous, but I refuse to give up on the chance to play games in Italian or talk to others as confused by the online options as I am--assuming there are actually others out there who have managed to get online. Stay tuned.
martes, 10 de mayo de 2011
The Running Culture
In a place where our headlines every day document the shoot-outs provoked by drug cartels, the arrests, people stealing iron and steel from cargo trains, international problems of intolerance and violence, the epic, abysmal stupidity of our congress in Mexico and the know-no-nothing minority in the States that redefines how low the human race can descend, it is a joy to be among people who don't care how old you are, what you look like, or how much you can do. Whether you are trying to get into shape or training for an Iron Man competition, you are going to be supported because everyone who is part of the running culture knows how hard you have to work to reach your goal. It doesn't matter whether you are brown, black, orange or purple, what kind of clothes you wear, or what language you speak. It is assumed that if you are making the effort, you belong with the rest of the crowd.
People who run suffer much less depression than the general population, and that may be one of the reasons for this atmosphere of happy support. There are not many places outside of family--and certainly not every family--where the negative de-emphasized to this extent. The complaining and whining one hears, from the newspapers to so-called news networks with their ranting proponents of hate, fear, and stupidity, have no place in the running culture. They are consciously set aside.
Maybe for these reasons alone, it is worth the effort to get into better shape. It works on much more than your body. Your soul can use it too.
People who run suffer much less depression than the general population, and that may be one of the reasons for this atmosphere of happy support. There are not many places outside of family--and certainly not every family--where the negative de-emphasized to this extent. The complaining and whining one hears, from the newspapers to so-called news networks with their ranting proponents of hate, fear, and stupidity, have no place in the running culture. They are consciously set aside.
Maybe for these reasons alone, it is worth the effort to get into better shape. It works on much more than your body. Your soul can use it too.
Back at the daily grind...
Rain is predicted for tomorrow and Thursday, but no one believes it. For weeks now, it has clouded up every afternoon--big, dark, roiling clouds--but nothing happens. Or it is cloudy in the morning and then the sun comes out to bake us all. The only positive part is that the early mornings are cool enough to enable me to run.
It was back to the daily grind today, but somehow it just wasn't as hard as it was two weeks ago. Nevertheless, I told Adrián that, much as I appreciated his knowledge and dedication, the idea that I could run 5K in 25 minutes by August borders on the hallucinatory. I told him I had virtual running pals who could back me up on this. He laughed and told me to figure out what kind of cake to bake when I was proven wrong, since he loves goodies. At that point I made a formal bet with him--from my end, a dark chocolate French tart with chocolate crust. He will have to go out and buy a cake for me, but I'm going to ask for a "tres leches" cake. Stay tuned for the outcome.
This morning the Ski Pole Lady gave me a beaming smile when she saw me. Did she miss me? I smiled back, and maybe if we can eventually slide into a conversation, I can ask her what the hell she is doing. The curiosity is killing me. It's those ski gloves that put her over the top, and I've simply GOT to know what is up with this gal.
Hal seems to have given up, but he may be waiting in the wings for something worse than the destruction of paragraphs.
It's off to the store with me, again....
It was back to the daily grind today, but somehow it just wasn't as hard as it was two weeks ago. Nevertheless, I told Adrián that, much as I appreciated his knowledge and dedication, the idea that I could run 5K in 25 minutes by August borders on the hallucinatory. I told him I had virtual running pals who could back me up on this. He laughed and told me to figure out what kind of cake to bake when I was proven wrong, since he loves goodies. At that point I made a formal bet with him--from my end, a dark chocolate French tart with chocolate crust. He will have to go out and buy a cake for me, but I'm going to ask for a "tres leches" cake. Stay tuned for the outcome.
This morning the Ski Pole Lady gave me a beaming smile when she saw me. Did she miss me? I smiled back, and maybe if we can eventually slide into a conversation, I can ask her what the hell she is doing. The curiosity is killing me. It's those ski gloves that put her over the top, and I've simply GOT to know what is up with this gal.
Hal seems to have given up, but he may be waiting in the wings for something worse than the destruction of paragraphs.
It's off to the store with me, again....
lunes, 9 de mayo de 2011
We left cool and rainy Seattle yesterday, where everything is so waterlogged that slugs and other huge, unidentified gelatinous invertebrates attempt to get out of the earth and on to sidewalks, making a simple walk an exercise in goo avoidance. There were some spectacular snails with bright yellow shells, a wealth of ducks and other birds. The place is just gorgeous.
But now we are home and yours truly is in a full fibromyalgia attack, thanks to the plane trip and the change in time zones. Today's training program has been put on hold, but tomorrow is another day, thank God. My mental fog is such that when I went to the store, planning to stock up on meats, I got everything but. It doesn't matter that much since we are having crispy baked shrimp á la Jamie Oliver, however, as I said, tomorrow is another day...at the store. Off I go now to soothe my aching self with a good dose of Advil and to unpack my nifty running clothes, á la Target.
But now we are home and yours truly is in a full fibromyalgia attack, thanks to the plane trip and the change in time zones. Today's training program has been put on hold, but tomorrow is another day, thank God. My mental fog is such that when I went to the store, planning to stock up on meats, I got everything but. It doesn't matter that much since we are having crispy baked shrimp á la Jamie Oliver, however, as I said, tomorrow is another day...at the store. Off I go now to soothe my aching self with a good dose of Advil and to unpack my nifty running clothes, á la Target.
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