Tuesday Evening

Distance: 6 miles
Start time: 6:45 pm
Run Duration: 1 hour 12 minutes
Pace: 12 minutes/mile
Temperature: 90 degrees
Humidity: 72%
Location: Memorial Park, Houston

I wavered. Should I run tonight - in the heat - or wake up early on my day off and brave rush hour traffic. I opted to hydrate as much as possible, enjoy a wholewheat pasta salad and head for the park. I got stuck in traffic anyway. I very much didn't want to give up a chance to sleep in tomorrow.

It wasn't so bad. I was hot, but not miserable. I'm finding that my body isn't the problem. It's my mind. I had my MP3 player with me and my old favorite music was distracting, even disturbing. I was becoming sad as I ran, and I started to run out of steam. I actually felt the urge to walk and did so for about a quarter of a mile. I finally turned off the music at mile 4, listening instead to my footfalls. Almost immediately, running became easier. I needed to get away from words and associating my run with my life situation.

In the past I've used exercise as a way to not deal with the emotions that are constantly welling up within me. I've used food in the same way. I don't have what I need to solve certain problems at this time. Basically I can't solve the problems. Only time will. This is an old problem for me. I see a problem, I want to solve it. I want to act. If I can't, I want to do something. I find it difficult to sit still.

This knowledge (of the need to act) can only be helpful to me. I need to remember to identify my motivation for action in order to stay out of trouble with this training.

As I sat in a huge traffic jam trying to drive out of the park, a cool breeze blew through my open windows and I was hit with a feeling of pure joy. I don't know if it was from endorphins or what. I only know I felt happy and free. Lovely. I want more.

What, Me Rest?

Seriously, I don't rest. I'm supposed to rest today. It's there, in black and white, on my training schedule. Rest.

I was (by my own admission and overblown ego) the best Anatomy and Physiology tutor to grace the halls of Hutchinson Community College. Point to a muscle and I'll name it. Frank Netter was my hero. I understand the Krebs Cycle. I know about lactic acid buildup in muscle tissue. I don't, however, like to admit to the truth about my own personal anatomy or physiology. It will break down if not given the opportunity to recover. It holds no special magic over the enthusiasm that would cheer me onto prolonged daily workouts, damaging the goods and spoiling any hopes of future endeavors.

I'm excited and want to get out and run. I won't today. I looked at Zappos website and am considering purchasing my next pair of running shoes online. They've got free shipping - both ways. I know what I like when I run so it seems to make sense to go that way. Registration is already sold out for the Houston Marathon and Half-Marathon, so I'm glad I got in. Record setting registration this year.

Tomorrow is a long run.

Hotcake Sunday

Distance: 3 miles
Start time: 7:05am
Run Duration: 31 minutes
Pace: 10.33 minutes/mile
Temperature: 71 degrees
Humidity: 97%
Location: Memorial Park, Houston

Houston was hit by a major storm last night. My electricity went out around 7:15 and was off for nearly 2 hours. With the initial flickering of the lights, I held my breath and when the apartment plunged into darkness, I was sent back to those long weeks without power after Ike. I tried to remember where I put the flashlight. Moving around in the dark, not knowing which way was where, I stubbed my toe on the coffee table. I'm not ready. As my rooms started to heat up I tried to decide if it would be better to open the windows or save what precious cool air I had in the place. Thankfully, power was restored.

The rain brought lower temperature, but much higher humidity and my run felt like it this morning. I ran the entire distance, but I felt sloggy. Is that a word? I ran on an empty stomach. Not smart. I ate dinner at 4pm yesterday. Well, I guess it was a late lunch. I don't know. Yesterday was a weird day. What am I saying? Everyday is similar to that. When I'm working, I don't always get lunch. Sometimes, if my coworkers are in the office we dash out and grab a sandwich - that's a good day. We eat at our desks, check email and answer phone calls if they come in (and catch up on our personal business, let's be honest). If I'm in my clinic, I throw back a can of Slimfast. And coffee. Lots of coffee.

My refrigerator is stocked with a few fruits and veggies. Some milk. Champagne in case a celebration breaks out. Soy sauce and salad dressing, assorted fancy condiments, not much else. I knew I needed breakfast so I decided to stop for something on the way home. I rarely eat fast food. I know it's not good for me, so I tried to think of what could be the least BAD for me. I ordered the pancakes and scrambled eggs at McDonald's. And a medium coffee. I found the nutritional breakdown here. http://nutrition.mcdonalds.com/nutritionexchange/nutritionComparison.do

My breakfast was 740 calories, 220 from fat, no transfats. I got 845 milligrams of sodium from the meal. There were 23 grams of protein. It could have been better. It could have been worse. Looking through the McDonald's menu, I see so much sodium and I also see foods that I'd never, ever eat. I simply don't go there and I'm really not happy that I went today, but I was hungry.

I need to be be prepared. Hurricane or hunger, I need to be prepared.

Sunrise

Distance: 3 miles
Start time: 5:45am
Run Duration: Don't know (didn't wear a watch, I was in my car and moving again after a short cooldown and good stretch by 6:30)
Pace: Felt like about 9.5 minute miles
Temperature: 80 degrees
Humidity: 73%
Location: Memorial Park, Houston

I set my alarm for 7am. I was awake at 4:30. I didn't want to run in the pitch dark because I've heard of bad things happening at Memorial but I wanted to beat the heat and it made sense to run as early as possible. I laid in bed long enough for my obsessive mind to send the demons into my belly and to start sending the recent tremors there that have never previously lived in my body. I hate anxiety. It doesn't belong in me. I had to get out of bed. Off with the covers and into the shower.

Today starts my training for the Aramco Half Marathon. The race is January 17, 2010. I have 6 months to get ready and to do it the right way this time. Last time I tried this I ended up wrecking my left achilles tendon and in physical therapy. I didn't take the appropriate amount of time in PT and had a very long recovery period. Work came first. This year I have a crazy amount of vacation time on the books - because I hardly took any the last 2 years. I worked my silly butt off, including working a part time job (teaching kickboxing at the Y) the entire time hurting physically. I told my therapist that I couldn't come to appointments three times a week, but honestly, I didn't take a chance and ask for the time off from my surgery job. I was afraid to rock the boat and ask for time off to take care of myself. Big mistake.

This year is different. I'm smiling as I type this.

I'm planning a slow, gradual train. Start with 3 miles at a time. Work in a few 6 mile runs as the weeks go on, then add long runs once a week. I also know how to keep my supporting muscles strong and flexible - thanks to my Physical Therapist. I've got core muscle workouts. I feel more prepared.

This morning, as I rounded into the last 1/2 mile, I was tempted to go around again. My mind told me that 13 miles is only a little over 4 times what I'd already covered and I felt good. My mind is a mess. I have a lot of work to do if I'm going to make it through to January in one piece. Rest, nutrition, hard work, more rest. Oh, I also need to calm this mind. That is an entirely different matter. I will be addressing that issue, to be sure.

Inspiration

Sometimes writers are life preservers as the sea of life wakes over me. Thank God for books on the shelves and for each new bit of prose and poetry - and for those willing to share them with the rest of us. Most of my life I've been able to pick up a book and step away from well...my life. I guess I learned to read when I was about three years old. I know I was reading when I started Mrs. Welch's kindergarden class. Books provided an escape from a life too confusing and chaotic for a little girl to consider. If I was reading, I was quiet and not asking questions. I was out of the way. I learned the value of that state of literary involvement early in life.

I will never forget the day my grade school librarian told me that she wasn't sure where she could get more for me to read. I'd exhausted her rotating supply of materials and I believe I'd exhausted her.

My decorating choices always center around books. There are shelves in every room and I spent more money on my lawyer's case with the glass front than I spent on my couch. Priorities.

As I matured I started to use books less as camouflage and more as tools to allow me to move out of my hiding places. I devoured cookbooks and began to enjoy cooking for the sake of the art itself, rather than the act of putting on an event for strangers. I went back to school and looked at my books in an entirely new way. They were the key to my future. I knew that I could escape out instead of in if only I'd learn what was written on those pages. I can only describe it as a mix of hunger, fear and yearning. I knew how vitally important it was to use those books. I can remember sitting at my kitchen table and being surrounded by five, six, maybe even ten books at a time. I was surrounded. As I moved through the years, I moved my books (my lifelines) with me.

Now I realize that holding on to a physics text from fifteen years ago isn't necessary. If I need to find a formula for acceleration, I can search for it online. I am drowning in books. I even have books on treating drowning. I don't work in emergency medicine. I haven't set foot on an ambulance in over six years. I've been selling my books and I've even thrown some of the most worn away. The only books I hang onto are the ones that touched me. They aren't difficult to identify. They are the ones that I'd put down while reading and wish I could call someone and say, "Hey! You've got to hear this." They are the one that have my scribbles in the margins, that I've underlined. They induce thought.

This week I wrote a piece called, "I Am." The intent was to let an emotion speak in human voice. I issued a challenge to writers to do the same. They came through with many works. The titles included: "Grief", "Hatred", "Poignancy", "Happiness", "Sensual", "Rage", "Impatience", "Suspension", "Unimaginative", and "Sorrow."

I was humbled at the immediate response to my challenge, thrilled at the variation on the theme and at the talent displayed by my friends. I remain most grateful and inspired.

Personalizing an Emotion - An Exercise in Writing

I Am




I am a tincture poured into a chalice.
Your breath across the rim of the ruby-colored
glass sends a ripple that
breaks the surface
and we wait together for
calm’s return before you drink me in.

I am cotton
and linen
and silk.
Each time you hold me to your skin
is both new
and familiar.
Each time you hold me to your skin
you mourn my leaving and
you crave my return.

I am the flutter of the breeze
against the petals by the walk as the
blades of grass stretch to the sun
and dew holds your feet to the lawn
as you stand with newspaper in one hand
and coffee mug in the other.

I am moans and sighs and laughter.
I am the trill of mockingbirds as they
busy themselves over their nests
while you notice the tiny ones in the Magnolia out back.

Lost

I finally got down to it. A decent (if I do say so myself) article was coming along - several pages in, way past draft and into revision. It's gone.

I was offered help when I ran into problems. I turned it down. I am a very stubborn woman. Rats.

Lesson for the day: Accept help when it is offered.