post the eighty-third, 2013

I was dreaming of tomorrow so I sacrificed today,
And it sure was a grand waste of time.
And despite all the truth that's been thrown in my face,
I just can't get you out of my mind.

But I've got to begin again,
Though I don't know how start.
Yes, I've got to begin again,
And it's hard.

that's from a song by billy joel. it's called "got to begin again" and i am sure you can find it on itunes or youtube or someplace. the inimitable mr joel is no doubt discussing a woman here, an ended love affair, but his words describe the way i feel about running right now, better than any words of i've succeeded in generating on my own.

preparing for a marathon requires sacrificing today for tomorrow, but training for a run isn't unique. studying for a degree is the same. saving for a vacation or to purchase a car. working to get ahead in a career. it's obvious with the big stuff, but we make choices all day long, and by nature, choices involve dichotomies from which we select something and necessarily decline something else.

the key is in the second line here, "and it sure was a grand waste of time." ouch. the thing about training for a marathon is that when it doesn't work out the way we'd like, it's easy to dismiss all the time spent training as a waste of time. i really don't believe that it's possible to train for marathon after marathon with only the marathon in mind. you've got to enjoy the training or you simply wouldn't be able to withstand the sacrifice. so? so - the training i did for the marathon i just ran was not an actual waste of time because it resulted in my increased fitness and it paid off in immediate enjoyment -- i enjoyed most every run along the way. however, it feels like a waste of time because i didn't get the end result i wanted.

not getting that particular end result, the one i wanted, that's "the truth that's been thrown in my face" and mr joel has the right of it here. it's not possible to deny something that's thrown in your face. now, for my part, i do have to wonder what is the truth with which i am being assaulted. am i a 5-hour marathoner who needs to come to terms with that, or am i a 4-hour marathoner who hasn't found the right combination of circumstances?

it chokes me up every time i think about it, so i am trying not to spend too much time thinking about it, but "i just can't get [it] out of my mind". i feel like this was my chance at a 4-hour marathon and i blew it. i chose to play soccer while training and the overload on my body resulted in tendinitis which caused me not to reach my marathon goal. but then, i love soccer. would i have been happy not playing, putting everything into marathon training... and what then, if it still didn't pan out? it's circular, see. if i'd sacrificed soccer for running, and running still managed to betray me, i'd regret having sacrificed soccer, but if i don't put soccer on hold, and running suffers, then i regret that choice. as it is, i have to process the choices i did make, come to terms with what i've done.

and that's where i am now, and amid all the thoughts swirling in my head, i am certain of one thing: "i've got to begin again." i have to start running again -- it's just too much a part of who i am -- but again mr joel is dead on because "i don't know how to start." i mean, sure, i can go for a run tomorrow. that's not what i mean. what i really mean is, what's next -- another marathon? some other running goal? something else altogether, weight lifting, swimming, yoga?

in the concluding piece, i like how mr joel selected the conjunction "and" instead of "but" -- i have to do this thing AND it is difficult, i am destined AND it's hard. no excuses. no whining. no buts.

Yes, I've got to begin again,
And it's hard.

and, i will do it anyway.

post the eighty-second, 2013

put it in a bag
put the bag
in a hole
(dig dig it deep dig it deep)
put it in a bag
put the bag
in a hole
pile it up with dirt
it'll keep

post the eighty-first, 2013

i am blank
i am paper
i am dull blank paper
i am flat and transparent

you can see right through me
you can write right on me
you can fold me under
you can use me up

i will hold your story
when you write it on me
i erased my story
to make space for you

i am blank
i am paper
you can write
right on me
i erased my story
i'll erase yours too

post the eightieth, 2013

of course i feel for the parents of the 8-year old who was killed by the bombs in boston, but i can't help but notice that the young men who did the bombing were 8-year old boys not that long ago. do i think little martin, who'd just greeted his marathon-finishing dad, would have grown up to be a killer and it's a good thing he was stopped in his tracks at 8? well, of course not, but then that begs the question: when the bombers were 8, did anyone foresee their futures? we presume the best of children. we want to see nothing in them but innocence and potential. however, clearly, not everyone fulfills that potential. should we be more discerning with children? well, that's easy to say "yes" to. now that we've agreed we'll be more discerning, you just go make a list of everything we need to look for in the young ones, and i'll help you discern.

post the seventy-ninth, 2013

sitting here in property law class with descartes, i am struck by ways in which the law is like algebra. both have word problems with variables. both have formulas that apply to certain problems. in both, you have to sort the words from the problem (i.e., discern what is important) and know which formula to apply in order to solve the problem.

so, what? well, i'll tell you what. algebra's not (only) about algebra. it's about training the brain to discern and apply. the basic principles of thought formulation that middle schoolers learn will later serve as tools for a variety of mental processes. kids say: "i'll never use this!" as an excuse to push away their algebra homework, but learning algebra isn't (only) a means to using algebra in later life.

why?

because you're not learning algebra as if it were a set of facts. you're learning TO DO algebra -- to apply principles against a problem with the goal of solving it. ergo, learning to do algebra becomes a means to solving many types of problems. to solve a problem in, say, the realm of poppycock, first you learn the principles which govern poppycock, and then you examine the problem and pull out the important pieces, then you apply the principles, and wah-lah - a poppycock solution.

so, the next time you hear a kid say, "i'll never use this algebra!" you can tell that child they will, indeed, use algebra every single day.

post the seventy-eighth, 2013

i went to bed early, tossed and turned, finally slept pretty well, and woke up an hour before i had planned to. i stared at the ceiling a while, then went ahead and got up, went downstairs, found some water and a banana, took them over to the table with my phone and checked on words with friends. i had time.

after a while, descartes got up, too, and started the coffee maker. we chatted, had coffee. i needed to get dressed, so i went back upstairs. i hadn't made the final decision on wardrobe and took some time to choose capri tights, a singlet under a long sleeve. when i got dressed it was about time to go.

i drove us downtown in the rental. the garage was full, but we found a great place on the street. after we parked, we made our way to the convention center and the start line. it was cold, and i wanted to stay inside but i had to agree with descartes that we needed to head out and acclimate.

it wasn't long before they were lining us up. the national anthem was the longest rendition i think i had ever heard, and then the air horn sounded and we were off. we wanted to start not-too-hard and we did that pretty well. it would sort of come back to bite us later.

mile 1, 2, 3 we just chugged along. mile 4, 5 we marvelled at how easy it was feeling, how good the pace was. we mocked the other runners, gossiped about family, talked about our jobs. we stopped at every water stop and had a sip. for sports drink they had this shaklee stuff. (shaklee is a midwest catalog-based pyramid selling organization.)

around mile 6 and 7, when we were halfway-halfway done, we talked about being halfway-halfway done. we were still moving pretty well. somewhere in there, i had to pee pretty badly. all the porta-potties had a line, but finally, descartes said i just needed to wait in a line. so i did. i think he was tired of hearing me complain.

miles 8 through 13 i don't really remember much, but i know things were sort of starting to hint at falling apart. we weren't on a good rhythm anymore. the car was parked not far from the start-finish, so we stopped to get me a couple puffs of albuterol and for descartes to leave his jacket and pants. (it had warmed up some.)

the course was 2 x 13.1, so we had to go past the half-marathon finish and keep going. it's sort of hard to do that, feels like you want to stop. but we soldiered on. we were really starting to grate on each other. not mood-wise or anything, but running-wise. miles 13, 14, 15, 16 we ran some and walked some.

mile 17, it was obvious we were going to have to split up. we just weren't gelling, no rhythm at all. so... i gave descartes a hug and took off. well, "took off" is a bit of a misrepresentation. based on the garmin feedback, i didn't actually speed up much, but - except for a few steps around the water stops - i didn't walk anymore.

i wouldn't say it was crowded, but there were several people around me, all going about the speed i had been going with descartes, which means that basically, our paces were really close. but, i started picking people off and passing them. one by one, i drew them in and left them.

boston-memorial guy. fat chinaman. two girls running. one by one i picked them off. runs-with-tights eluded me. (i passed him in the end.) i felt somewhat bad about passing people who were in the same boat as i, but c'mon. it's a race, not a beauty pageant. i passed a dozen at least before losing count.

working to pass people inspired me and kept me focused. the running was really hard work. what i meant about the slower start coming back to bite us is that i am not sure we could not have gone faster had we started faster. by the time we'd put in 13, i was tight. might have been looser had we gone faster.

anyway, the final 9.2 miles passed in a haze of determination. i was determined to pass people, determined to keep going, determined to avoid walking. i also avoided looking at my watch because i had a feeling the pace was slow and seeing the reality would be discouraging.

through all 26.2, my foot really didn't hurt much at all. of course it did hurt some, some of the time, but overall, it was solid. my quads and abductors were much more vocal than my foot, and my hamstrings were pretty tight. i never feel my abductors and i put that down on the slow start.

i didn't see a 26 sign, but i knew it was almost over. i passed runs-with-tights somewhere in there. i knew it was another turn (which seemed a long way off!) and up the hill (really? up??) and descartes's people were there and they cheered and i ran over the mats and got my medal.

post the seventy-seventh, 2013

it takes me the better part of 48 hours to get in the right mental place to carry out a successful track workout, so setting myself up for a successful marathon isn't simple.

i say that like i've run successful marathons over and over again, and really know what i am talking about, but of course, the truth is that i haven't done it ever, even once.

it's probaby the same for anyone, to a certain extent, but it's got to be simpler for people who have practice at it, who've been doing it their whole lives.

what happened was that i put in months and months of training, and long about late february, i started thinking i could really rock this thing, maybe qualify for boston. then, couple weeks ago, i came up lame. at first i was freaking out but after a few days of not being able to walk without limping, much less run, i was over it. and, i don't mean over the freaking-out part, i mean, over the whole rocking-this-town thing. just like that -- months and months of prep done in by three days limping.

at this point, i am nearly 100% physically and about 20% mentally. i could probably rock this thing if i wanted to, but i just don't want to anymore.

how could i take all that investment and toss it, check out, see ya later bye...

fear of failure? sure, that's possible. i am not going to argue the point, because i won't be able to change your mind anyway. (ironical?)

alls i know is i have always enjoyed the training more than the race, the learning more than the test, the process more than the goal.

and i can't wait to get this over with.

post the seventy-sixth, 2013

when travelling by plane, i am thrilled by the moment we leave the ground. after we trundle around the rough tarmac in our unwieldy fat-flightless tin box... after we carefully align with the thoughtful arrows and cautious lights... after we get going and get going and get going and get going until suddenly we ARE going, and oh!, we are verging on a headlong rush into the winds of fate -- faster! faster! 1, and 2, and 3, and JUMP! and just like that we are no longer unwieldy or flightless, but instead, we are graceful and magic, sprinkled with faerie dust, we illogically float through the air.

when travelling by car, i am thrilled by the moment i drive past the edges of my world, past the last exit of my everyday, past the furthest point in the purview of the traffic guy i listen to each morning. i am lucy in the wardrobe, columbus on the sea, dora at the playground. it can't help but sneak up on me, this past-the-point-ness, because i am simply driving along like normal. driving, driving, la-dee-dah, tops of trees... until... boom! suddenly -- whaaat? where AM i?? i've gone too far! the portcullis has dropped and there's no going back! ah, i am on an adventure for sure.

post the seventy-fifth, 2013

i guess you've heard by now that two bombs detonated at the finish line of yesterday's boston marathon, injuring at least 120 people and killing 3, including an 8 year old boy who'd just run out to hug his marathoning dad and run back to be with his mom and sister. life's a matter of split seconds and there-but-for-the-grace moments.

random destruction pulls away the veil of civilisation and leaves the raw questions. is nothing sacred? how could this happen? how can we prevent things like this? why me? why not me? what if...?

is nothing sacred? yes, nothing is sacred. no place, person, or event is held in universal esteem by all mankind. this is nothing new -- in whatever version of history and pre-history you believe, the stories of human infighting are legion. we are callused. we see violence every day in our neighborhoods and in our newscasts, and the inundation immunizes us. yet, when violence hits something WE hold sacred, we react as if this is the first violent act ever. don't get me wrong -- i'm not hating on that reaction. if we were to have that sort of visceral response to all violence, we would truly melt to a heap on the ground. it's not humanly possible to feel so deeply with every account. but -- what binds us together against all violence is that we have all experienced violation. nothing is sacred to everyone, but everything is sacred to someone.

how could this happen? the better question is, how could this not happen. i would posit that it's not amazing that violent acts occur -- what's amazing is that they do not occur more often. the world's population is numerous, jealous, envious, and polarized. acts of violence are treated to a condemnation celebration, an outpouring of attention indirectly proportional to our stated satisfaction with the course of events. we are drawn to watch that which we hate, fueling the maniac fire.

how can we prevent things like this? we cannot. not that i'd advocate giving up the fight. it's valuable to examine how we practice safety and it's important to do things that preserve life, but we cannot prevent evil. there's a finer line between diligence and paralysis than is immediately apparent. we don't conquer evil by preventing it. we conquer evil by living in the face of it.

why me? why not me? what if...? searching for The Big Answers is as much a part of human nature as is violence. we tend to shut down this quest because it's so often fruitless, but focusing on (lack of) distinct answers, we overlook the innate value of the act of questioning. asking the why's of life inevitably leads us out of the trees so that we can see the forest. empathy, compassion, appreciation of other points of view, recognition of other groups with other beliefs doing other things with their lives -- all these come from asking why. there's an excellent chance we will never learn the specific reason for a particular event at a precise time, but there's an equal chance that questioning why will gain us a general understanding that will help us better cope with the singular events.

§ § §

the bombing in boston is terrible and inexplicable and maddening and saddening and terrifying. but, like i said, life's a matter of split seconds and there-but-for-the-grace moments. we have to deal in the way that works for each of us, and the way that works for me is to carpe the hell out of every fucking diem in my allotment.

i hope you find what works for you.

post the seventy-fourth, 2013

just one look at schwinny, and you can tell it's old. when i met my current life partner, he already had schwinny, so that must be... hmm... well, let's just leave it at "old", 'kay?

old schwinny

when we lived in the apartment, we hung clothes on schwinny in unabashed cliché. when we moved from there to here, decartes brought his pal sweetness to help with the heavy lifting. somewhere i have a snapshot of decartes and sweetness riding side-by-side, each with two feet on one pedal and two hands on one handlebar and one silly grin on each painfully youthful face. um... yeah. those knuckleheads were not much help with the moving.

when we got here (from there), we put schwinny upstairs--in what was labeled on the blueprints "formal dining room"-- along with the ping pong table and that old console television with the hand-me-down game system plugged in. (to mistake us for the formal dining room types would be a mistake.) i used to get up every morning and ride for about 30 minutes, get the ol' metabolism going. most days i managed to also get a real workout, but those 30 minutes were a guarantee against a zero.

bring a book.

later, we moved schwinny downstairs and over time, i quit riding. i don't even remember when i quit or why -- alls i know is that i must have quit at some point because we were considering giving schwinny away when, in 2009, i stress-fractured my ankle and ol' schwinny became my bestest pal. i rode a lot that summer but of course, when i was healthy again, i did what healthy people do, and healthy people generally don't ride a decades-old stationary bike in their basement. no, that sort of behaviour is the purview of the unhealthy, and that, dear readers, is precisely why today, i took my tendinitis and my nook to the basement for two solid hours of couple-time with schwinny.

you people can keep your fancy computerized whatnots. ol' schwinny's just fine with me.

i can confidently say that good housekeeping got this one right.

post the seventy-third, 2013

at first you are counting the days -
one and then
two and then
three -
and then it's a week,
and then it's been two,
and a month and a year,
and then before you
even know what has happened,
a lifetime has passed
and you're looking back
to "you'll never last".

post the seventy-second, 2013

so, i was watching merlin off the tivo and the sitch was suchwise: first, merlin has a vision that mordred will be the one to kill arthur and he checks it out with the dragon and the dragon's all, yes. then, mordred comes to camelot and wins favor with arthur. mordred's a good swordsman, young, humble. merlin's concerned because of that vision he had about mordred but he can't tell anyone because visions are sorcery and sorcery is outlawed. i mean, merlin's a great wizard but he's also great at keeping it on the DL. so, a bunch of the knights including arthur and mordred go on a quest and merlin also goes because he is arthur's manservant. during the quest, mordred gets stabbed with an enchanted spear that was intended for arthur. they bring mordred back to camelot and gaius takes a look and says, all we can do is let him rest. (this is a trick by gaius to get merlin alone.) all the knights leave and gaius tells merlin that only merlin, with his magic, can save mordred. merlin says, how can he save someone who is destined to kill arthur. gaius questions merlin's harshness, but merlin says he can't ignore what the dragon told him. NOW. this is where i had to pause it and eat my dinner, so i am not positive, but i am fairly certain that merlin does some magic and saves mordred.

okay. so. mordred is fated to kill arthur. but, the enchanted spear incident happens in the cave of the disir (like, fates or something) while they are telling arthur that if he were a true king, he would recognize the old religion, i.e.: druidism and magic. mordred is also a druid. maybe i forgot to mention that. anyway, mordred also wants to be able to come out in the open with who he is, but when then disir hurl a poison spear at arthur, mordred steps in and takes the blow. why? why would he save arthur's life? i believe at this point he's good and that he has faith in arthur but being poisoned at the moment of wanting arthur to agree with the disir freezes this moment in mordred's heart and plants the seed that turns him against arthur when merlin awakes-cures him.

in saving arthur's life by taking the poison spear intended for arthur, mordred ingests the poison that turns him evil and eventually leads him to kill arthur. essentially, mordred saved arthur so that he could kill arthur himself, but he doesn't know this nor did he do it on purpose.

bottom line, you cannot escape your fate.

post the seventy-first, 2013

i left at 10AM to run by the office then head to an appointment with the orthopaedist. four hours later i arrived home with a filled prescription and a bag of groceries. i dropped the groceries on the kitchen counter and kept on walking, straight to my bathroom. when you gotta go, you gotta go. arriving in the bathroom i saw it... a lit candle. that's right, i'd lit a candle and forgotten it and left it unattended for four hours and no damage was done. luck? karma? blessing? what say you?

post the seventieth, 2013

the anthropic principle states that perception is reality. if you look up the definition, it sounds more complicated, but boil it down like milk and sugar to the delicious caramel-sweet simplicity: we are what we think we are.

wikipedia... "observations of the physical universe must be compatible with the conscious life that observes it". we can't see what we don't understand. it's like stan shunpike says to harry on the knight bus --

Harry: "How come the Muggles don’t hear the bus?"
Stan: "Them! Don’ listen properly, do they? Don’ look properly either. Never notice nuffink, they don’"

we define our world by what we know. it's a vicious cycle.

the anthropic principle comes to us from the realm of astrophysics and cosmology, where folks spend their days trying to understand and further, to explain, the nature of the universe and, among other things, why the universe is capable of sustaining life. there are two groups. proponents of strong anthropic principle look around and see the unique combination of carbon and hydrogen and oxygen, earth and wind and fire, and they say the universe supports life because the universe is constructed in such a way that it cannot help but support life. it's inevitable. the weak anthropic principle is a bit more convoluted... only in a universe that's capable of supporting life will there be life that can recognize the construction of the universe that supports it, while a universe that's less supportive will go unbeheld. see? like, if all the universe can support is worms, then the universe will exist unnoticed because worms don't notice things, but a universe capable of supporting life that can appreciate it will be appreciated.

our universe appears to be uniquely situated to support life on earth and that's an amazing, precise fit. ...or, is it? is it an amazing, fantastic, mind-blowing confluence of element and circumstance that fits precisely what we need... or do we merely THINK it is an amazing fit for us because we fit in it?

i mean, just because we can exist in the universe doesn't mean it was created for us. just because we perceive it as a unique fit doesn't mean that it is. after all, worms think the puddle they're flopping around in was created especially for them, and we all know the universe is bigger than a worm in a puddle.

...don't we?

post the sixty-ninth, 2013

when you're injured, if it's majorly painful, pain management's going to be your number one priority and pain is going to be the only annoyance worth spending any energy on. but, without the dampening effect of debilitating pain, the annoyances multiply.

obviously, even if it's not vast, pain is an annoyance. constant pain is a drag on energy, and focus is required to compartmentalize the pain in order to carry on with your normal activities.

another annoyance is that many normal activities get constrained. i'm not talking about exceptional endeavors such as training for a marathon. i'm talking about everyday stuff -- taking the stairs, walking quickly through the rain sans bumbershoot, wearing those fancy shoes, walking down the block for a coffee, grocery shopping. i think you get the idea. you're constantly reminded of your incapacity and that's just annoying. you want some time to think about something, without having to think about that.

beyond the everyday, it's annoying not to be able to do those extras like train for a marathon or play soccer or even just get a good workout in. it's annoying to think about fitness slipping away. it's annoying to watch other people having fun out jogging and playing. and, it's annoying to lack endorphins -- makes you do things like sit around on the couch and cry.

so many people are genuinely concerned about helping heal the injury and they all have ideas and input and things that worked for them and things that worked for their buddies. their concern per se isn't annoying. what's annoying is the contradictory nature of so many inputs. ice it. heat it. put it up. put it down. stabilize it. let it be. the annoy-factor of the inputs is inversely related to the number of injuries you've had -- if you've been injured before and have your own ideas, it's not so annoying to get contradictory inputs. if you don't have a lot of experience with injuries, you're looking for some solid help, and it's difficult to discern what you can do that might help.

of course, it's mostly annoying that you probably can't really do much to help. you just have to give your body time to heal.

post the sixty-eighth, 2013

according to the mayo clinic website (and probably any doctor could tell you):

A sprain is a stretching or tearing of ligaments — the tough bands of fibrous tissue that connect one bone to another in your joints. The most common location for a sprain is in your ankle.

A strain is a stretching or tearing of muscle or tendon. A tendon is a fibrous cord of tissue that connects muscles to bones. Strains often occur in the lower back and in the hamstring muscle in the back of your thigh.

we are concerned here with the anterior talofibular and cancaneofibular ligaments.

remember tuesday? i was all boo-yah, i am superman, yipee-kai-yay and whatnot. wednesday was going along fine as days go -- shower, breakfast, commute, production meeting. the training docket called for an easy 5-mile run, so i headed out at midday to do just that. mile one, sweet. mile two, fine. mile three, whaaat?? the outside of my foot - sort of right under the ankle bone, directly in the middle of the side of the heel - was hurting. it went from "huh" to "ouch" to "okay, walking now" in about a mile and a half. i walked nearly the entire last mile.

at that point, i was blaming my shoes, but by the end of the day, i suspected something more was up. coach said to stay calm, take a few days off. thursday i could barely walk so i wouldn't have been able to run anyway. friday i could walk pretty well and i still didn't try anything more, but i was optimistic. got up this morning, and it wasn't any better. yeah, i thought it was perfectly reasonable to expect it to get noticeably better each day. so... i wasn't too happy. i saw the whole marathon slipping away - all my time and effort, all my dreams.

as i was washing the breakfast dishes, the situation got the better of me and i started crying. i was still washing dishes, just standing there with tears running down my face, bouncing off my ample chest, and mixing with the dirty dishwater. i finished the dishes and moved to the couch and sat there weeping, fairly quietly. my old man walked thru, doing regular saturday stuff, and he was chatting to me and whatnot, then he looked at me and was like, whaaat?

i said, i am sad about my foot. he said, what is your plan? i said, well - i'll cry here for a while then i will go cry in the bed and later i'll get hammered. he was like, bad plan. he said, call your coach. i knew she was out running, and that made me feel even worse because i was supposed to be running with her, so i sent her a really pathetic email. he said, check with dr monkey, so i did, but there wasn't much he could do through text. he said, go to the orthopaedic clinic, and i called the two local ones, and they were closed. he said, go to the gym and get a therapeutic massage or go to the mall and get a foot massage. several phone calls later, i was headed to the gym for 30 minutes with austin.

now, here's the thing about massages at the gym: they are not kidding around. their "ocean sounds" CD volume is set to 11 and it's less ocean wave than screaming seagull. there's no incense, no warm stones, no scented lotion, no soft voices. they set about the business of working out knots with the determination of a recruit completing battlestations. it's intense.

this pronation is too hot! this pronation is too cold! this pronation is just right!

austin found the tender spot on my ankle pretty much right away, which i found to be encouraging because i figured if he could find it, maybe he could fix it. after 30 minutes of intensity, he said "i'm not a doctor, but..." (1) he didn't find anything that felt torn, broken, unattached, or otherwise badly injuried, (2) he found my achilles to be extremely tight and my gastrocnemiuses (gastrocnemii??) to be extremely knotted, (3) his interpretation of the pattern of calluses on the soles of my feet was that i ran with my weight on the outside of my feet, (i believe this is underpronation.) and (4) he concluded that the pull of the tight achilles and gastrocs was countered by the opposite pull of the underpronation and the result was a lot of stress on the ankle ligaments. he said (again), "i'm not a doctor, but..." and then he gave me some suggestions for stretching and icing and said he could do another 30 minutes on tuesday evening.

i like his conclusion because it makes sense and seems fixable. i also like that, after 30 minutes with austin, the tender spot had disappeared. not all the pain, mind you, but the worrisome eye of the tornado, the tell-tale heart, the X marking the twisted pirate's evil treasure -- is gone. if the X is gone, the evil treasure can't be far behind, right?

post the sixty-seventh, 2013

it hit me about 3pm yesterday.

i don't know how i missed -- or ignored -- the tell-tale signs. before it hits, i will get this distinctive tickly feeling my nose - a feeling that can only mean one thing: DANGER, WILL ROBINSON! DANGER! TAKE ZYRTEC-D NOW! STAT, PRONTO, AND ASAP! if i catch it then and take a zyrtec-d before it really gets going, i can alleviate the worst of it and sometimes stave it off altogether. i don't know where my head was yesterday (first day back from vacation...) but bottom line - i managed to ignore the nose crying in the wilderness.

that is, until 3pm, when it shut down operations and started jettisoning ballast. have you ever had a nose so runny that your only option is to make a plug and jam it up there, boxer-style? that thin, watery snot that can only mean one thing: ALLERGIES. i wised up too late, took a zyrtec-d around 3pm and hoped for the best. alas, things are still quite bleak today.

but, i pre-gress.

at 1:41am (those who wear watches to sleep - unite!) i suddenly awoke. wha? wha? hmm... i can breathe! it's a miracle! the zyrte---- DANGER, WILL ROBINSON! DANGER! CRAMP IN THE PORTSIDE CALF! CRAMP! CRA---- wait! everybody calm down. shhhh... be still... be vewy, vewy still... we a' huntin' a cwamp... de wise huntew can outsmawt de cwamp by wemaining vewy, vewy still.

whew. that danger passed, and i could, in fact, breathe better, and i also got up to pee and peed clear (TMI??) which is a clear sign of being well-hydrated. although my portside calf felt bruised, i was slightly encouraged and retook the sleeping position for another few hours.

when i awoke, it was to find that the mid-night breathing had been a dream or perhaps the action of some gentle sleep-faerie, because here at 5am, i could no longer breathe through the upper breathing apparatus. WELL THAT'S JUST GREAT. i have probably the hardest workout of my training cycle today and firstly, i can't breathe, and secondly, my portside calf has apparently been bludgeoned by a freight train. TERRIFIC.

as the morning moves along, i am slipping artfully into a personification of three of the seven dwarfs: sleepy, sneezy, and dopey. my leg is tender, too, and the workout is looming over me like a guillotine. (dramatic much?) i consider putting it off until tomorrow, but... well... firstly, you can't tell how you might feel on race day, you know? so you have to do the workout even if you don't feel it. secondly, well... i would just feel like a badass if i could pull this off in this condition, and that would be a confidence boost. and, finally, leaving it till tomorrow isn't going to get it done any sooner (durr) and i really just want it to be over. i want that feeling of having done it well, rocked it even, and you can't have that feeling if you don't do the workout.

so. i buck up and go. on my way over to the track, i am still not feeling it - just tired all over and whatnot. i get there and it's crowded. the track and soccer field sort of half-belong to a college, and there's both soccer and track practice going on. okay, not thrilled by a crowd, but at least there will be something to look at. i put my office passkey and long-sleeve shirt by the fence and step on the track. bout as well get started, right? whew. breathe. the workout is 8x800. here we go.

i step into lane 1 because why the hell not? and i lay down 800 just like that. okay, one done and hey, feeling surprisingly good, getting my legs under me here. i find with these things, it's best not to think about the fact that there are SEVEN MORE TO GO. just take them as they come, you know, and knock 'em down one by one.

recovery lap. second 800. still feeling okay, still not thinking about how there are SIX MORE TO GO but hmm.... getting optimistic. recovery lap. start the third 800 and halfway through these girls are coming up behind me so i move to lane 3 and let them pass on the inside. pretty sure i could have been a dick and stayed in lane 1 but that's not how things work at the track. so i finish that 800 and that's three, recovery lap, and for the fourth 800 i stay in lane 3 and i'm thinking the whole time that after i finish this one, i will be halfway done.

do the recovery from four and start five, and those girls are coming up at my back again. i think they are doing 400s. anyway, they are coming around and all the other track kids (soccer's done and gone by now) are yelling encouragement to one girl -- GO! PUSH IT! -- calling her name. the other must be pacing her. they come by me on the inside and i join in -- GO! PUSH IT! (i don't know her name) -- and they finish and plop down on the soccer field.

i finish five, recovery, start six. i am more enthusiastic now, seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, thinking how great i will feel when i get done, pre-using those good feelings to push myself. six done. ONLY TWO MORE WOO WOO!! recovery lap, and start the seventh 800. i'm coming around the first turn and those girls are leaving -- walking straight toward me to cross the track at the curve, and the one who was doing the workout says to me, "hey, thanks for that back there. thanks." and i am all, sure sure. i am playing it cool but i am over the moon. she's not saying thanks to some old lady who didn't belong on the track -- she's looking me in the eye and sincerely saying, thanks. i feel like i belong. maybe she's mocking me and i am too tired to pick up on it, but i'll take it.

i finish the last bit of the workout and get that great "i did it" feeling. i step off the track to stretch a little before the trip back to the office, and that's when i see it: track dust on my shoes. yeah, that happens sometimes, when you're a runner.

real runners get track dust on their shoes.

post the sixty-sixth, 2013

i can fly
fly
fly away
to the sky
high
fly away
i can fly
high
fly away
i can fly

in my dreams
i
fly away
to the sky
i
fly away
fly high
i
fly away
to the sky

i can fly
fly
fly away
to the sky
high
fly away
i can fly
high
fly away
i can fly