I may or may not run in my first ever 5K. I haven't made up my mind yet.
Anyway, a friend told me about Purity's Moosic City 10K/5K run on April 14. It's $20 to pre-reg and all proceeds go to benefit Alive Hospice.
What amuses me is that because Purity is sponsoring it, the winner gets a one year supply of Purity Ice Cream. I don't imagine that too many serious, calorie-counting health conscious runners keep a steady stock of ice cream around. What's second prize? A carton of cigarettes?
I know, I know...all things in moderation. I'll keep running over the next week or so and see if I think I can handle a 5K run. My 4.7 mile run the other night really surprised me, but I haven't tried to run that far since. Most days before work, I run a mile or so and then use the rest of my time at the weights and the hot tub.
I've been off of the beers, sodas and sweets and have been living on fruits and veggies recently. I still have a bit more belly than I would like, but it takes less effort to suck it in now.
Saturday, March 31, 2007
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Monday, March 26, 2007
I Hurt Because I Run
There must be something about running with a friend. Or maybe it was the fact that most of the running was downhill.
I left my apartment this evening for what I thought might be a mile or so of running. Last night, I was beat after a mile --and that was with a fifteen minute break and periods of brisk walking while trying to stick my ear buds back within my music loving lobes. But tonight, I met the evening air beyond my front door with some kind of hidden ability to defy the odds. I've been eating better lately, but I still don't exercise as often as I should.
Anyway, the plan was to run toward my friend's apartment and she was going to run toward mine. We'd meet somewhere in between and then probably go back my way and run to the dam. I don't think I'd made it close to the halfway point when I saw her running around the bend. (In fairness to me, I did have the uphill stretch and she's in much better shape anyway.) We ran to the dam, took a (much too) short break and sat at the foot of some stairs and talked for a bit. And then - her idea - we continued on with our run. (We were not too proud to walk when mood to do so struck, e.g. steep, uphill climbs.)
Here's the part where I show the reader what a nice guy I am:
We reached the part where I could go left for my home and she would go straight into the path through the woods for hers. It was getting quite dark and even though she goes through life thumbing her nose at fear, there is nothing in me that will allow a woman to go unaccompanied into a place of potential danger. (I can just see so many deceased ancestors looking down on me and saying things like, "He's such a good boy to go with her to keep her safe like that. He must be brave, because Lord knows he can't fight worth a lick.")
And so the run continued. Into the woods, my friend and I hit the same path again for my third time and her second. I walked a bit more now, and my long legs kept up just fine. We reached her apartment, hugged, and I retreated back again. By now, it was quite dark. As I entered the woods for my fourth time, I recalled the scene in The Empire Strikes Back when Luke trains on Dagobah and enters the cave, lightsaber in hand. As dark as it was now, I wished I had a lightsaber. Protect the girl, I did; but who's gonna protect me?
With small comfort of my cellphone as a potential source of light (if something or someone attacks me, I can use the light to see it just as it makes contact), I jogged on the path and thought of how amazing the human body can be. Medical science wows me as well. I recently listened to an interview with a woman who ran despite having lost both of her legs. ("It's really quite easy," she would say. "It's just one prosthesis in front of another.") I was not running and eating healthy to extend my life; I was doing these things to look good now (or however long it took). This was all just mere vanity, but that was good enough for me. We all need a reason. This was (is) mine.
In the complete darkness, I ran home quickly. This was easy for two reasons: (1) It seemed to be all downhill, and (2) I had a sudden realization that there could be snakes about and I wanted to get home before they could plot their attack on me. I arrived back at my door, still unaware of the pain in my calves (I'm aware of them now), and happy to enter my humble domicile. I ate a banana and went to the laptop to map out the route and see just how far I had run (give or take some walking). The surprise of the day is still not entirely trusted by me: 4.7 miles! My second day to this new commitment and I achieve this? I can't wait to get out again and see how far I can go without slowing it down to a walk. I'm far from a marathoner, but it feels good to cover that much ground so early into this.
I'm giving my running partner credit here. There's just something about pacing yourself to a good runner that seems to make it easier. Big thanks to her. She's invaluable.
I left my apartment this evening for what I thought might be a mile or so of running. Last night, I was beat after a mile --and that was with a fifteen minute break and periods of brisk walking while trying to stick my ear buds back within my music loving lobes. But tonight, I met the evening air beyond my front door with some kind of hidden ability to defy the odds. I've been eating better lately, but I still don't exercise as often as I should.
Anyway, the plan was to run toward my friend's apartment and she was going to run toward mine. We'd meet somewhere in between and then probably go back my way and run to the dam. I don't think I'd made it close to the halfway point when I saw her running around the bend. (In fairness to me, I did have the uphill stretch and she's in much better shape anyway.) We ran to the dam, took a (much too) short break and sat at the foot of some stairs and talked for a bit. And then - her idea - we continued on with our run. (We were not too proud to walk when mood to do so struck, e.g. steep, uphill climbs.)
Here's the part where I show the reader what a nice guy I am:
We reached the part where I could go left for my home and she would go straight into the path through the woods for hers. It was getting quite dark and even though she goes through life thumbing her nose at fear, there is nothing in me that will allow a woman to go unaccompanied into a place of potential danger. (I can just see so many deceased ancestors looking down on me and saying things like, "He's such a good boy to go with her to keep her safe like that. He must be brave, because Lord knows he can't fight worth a lick.")
And so the run continued. Into the woods, my friend and I hit the same path again for my third time and her second. I walked a bit more now, and my long legs kept up just fine. We reached her apartment, hugged, and I retreated back again. By now, it was quite dark. As I entered the woods for my fourth time, I recalled the scene in The Empire Strikes Back when Luke trains on Dagobah and enters the cave, lightsaber in hand. As dark as it was now, I wished I had a lightsaber. Protect the girl, I did; but who's gonna protect me?
With small comfort of my cellphone as a potential source of light (if something or someone attacks me, I can use the light to see it just as it makes contact), I jogged on the path and thought of how amazing the human body can be. Medical science wows me as well. I recently listened to an interview with a woman who ran despite having lost both of her legs. ("It's really quite easy," she would say. "It's just one prosthesis in front of another.") I was not running and eating healthy to extend my life; I was doing these things to look good now (or however long it took). This was all just mere vanity, but that was good enough for me. We all need a reason. This was (is) mine.
In the complete darkness, I ran home quickly. This was easy for two reasons: (1) It seemed to be all downhill, and (2) I had a sudden realization that there could be snakes about and I wanted to get home before they could plot their attack on me. I arrived back at my door, still unaware of the pain in my calves (I'm aware of them now), and happy to enter my humble domicile. I ate a banana and went to the laptop to map out the route and see just how far I had run (give or take some walking). The surprise of the day is still not entirely trusted by me: 4.7 miles! My second day to this new commitment and I achieve this? I can't wait to get out again and see how far I can go without slowing it down to a walk. I'm far from a marathoner, but it feels good to cover that much ground so early into this.
I'm giving my running partner credit here. There's just something about pacing yourself to a good runner that seems to make it easier. Big thanks to her. She's invaluable.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
The New Yorker: Bits and Pieces
From this week's issue of the New Yorker magazine, here are some highlights with links to the articles.
The Man Who Was There
“Joe Bowie and one of the Hungarian guys wrote these fantastic songs,” Boyd recalled. “English by a guy who doesn’t speak English. Lyrics like ‘You are strangling me with your love in your hotel room of permanent disorder.’
Sriprahphai
The hundred-and-twenty-nine-dish menu is long enough to be paralyzing, and can be perilously unpredictable. Request something not too hot, and it may prove spicy enough to trigger not only euphoria but also sweat and tears and intestinal corrosion. Then again...
Smart Cookies
It is sometimes suggested that schools no longer teach children values, but this assertion would not be true of P.S. 321, in Park Slope, which has been offering an “Ad-Busters” class as an after-school program, intended to impart radical skepticism to kindergartners.
The Valiant Swabian
When youthful and frisky, Albert Einstein would refer to himself as “the valiant Swabian,” quoting the poem by Ludwig Uhland: “But the valiant Swabian is not afraid.”
Faces Of Our Time
A collection of photographs by New Yorker staffer, Steve Pyke.
The Man Who Was There
“Joe Bowie and one of the Hungarian guys wrote these fantastic songs,” Boyd recalled. “English by a guy who doesn’t speak English. Lyrics like ‘You are strangling me with your love in your hotel room of permanent disorder.’
Sriprahphai
The hundred-and-twenty-nine-dish menu is long enough to be paralyzing, and can be perilously unpredictable. Request something not too hot, and it may prove spicy enough to trigger not only euphoria but also sweat and tears and intestinal corrosion. Then again...
Smart Cookies
It is sometimes suggested that schools no longer teach children values, but this assertion would not be true of P.S. 321, in Park Slope, which has been offering an “Ad-Busters” class as an after-school program, intended to impart radical skepticism to kindergartners.
The Valiant Swabian
When youthful and frisky, Albert Einstein would refer to himself as “the valiant Swabian,” quoting the poem by Ludwig Uhland: “But the valiant Swabian is not afraid.”
Faces Of Our Time
A collection of photographs by New Yorker staffer, Steve Pyke.
A Cool Word That I Had To Look Up
bailiwick - n.
[Edit to add: The source, New Yorker magazine. The context is here:
Every year or so, the record producer Joe Boyd stops in at Caffe Dante, on MacDougal Street, for a pistachio gelato. It’s a matter less of nostalgia than of taste. “I can only like what I like,” he said the other day, during one of these visits. He was spooning up gelato but talking about music, which is his bailiwick, if it’s anybody’s. “I’ve always had the arrogance to feel that what I liked would still be around in thirty or forty or fifty years, and that what other people liked might not.”]
- A person's specific area of interest, skill, or authority. See synonyms at field.
- The office or district of a bailiff.
[Edit to add: The source, New Yorker magazine. The context is here:
Every year or so, the record producer Joe Boyd stops in at Caffe Dante, on MacDougal Street, for a pistachio gelato. It’s a matter less of nostalgia than of taste. “I can only like what I like,” he said the other day, during one of these visits. He was spooning up gelato but talking about music, which is his bailiwick, if it’s anybody’s. “I’ve always had the arrogance to feel that what I liked would still be around in thirty or forty or fifty years, and that what other people liked might not.”]
The Running Man: Day Two
A week of V-8, oranges, granola bars and a daily vitamin under my belt and now the urge to run is strong.Last night's run with my iPod brings to mind a question. Am I doing it wrong or do I have weirdly shaped ears? The ear buds kept falling out as I ran last night. Do any of you runners have the same problem?
I'm off to the lake again as soon as my wife gets home from the store.
The new playlist? Cheesy but fun:
- Rocky theme, Bill Conti
- Flash Gordon theme, Queen
- Jimi Hendrix - The BBC Sessions
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Good Health and Good Perspectives on Percy Priest Lake
Tonight I ran with Geoff Baker and Newton Dominey. Nina Simone was there for a bit also, but only for one song. They, of course, are my favorite artist selections on my iPod. It was 7:30 and quite dark already as I ran from my apartment to Percy Priest Lake. It's not much of a run -- only a half mile or so -- but it felt great to get out and move.Upon reaching the lake, I rested and sat on a small ledge which faced the water and I allowed myself to truly enjoy my surroundings. With good music in my ears and no immediate responsibilities before me, I just gazed on what is such a beautiful area. It was light enough to see the families and lovers holding hands and enjoying the same night, but dark enough that I couldn't see much detail beyond that. Red lights on invisible boats moved quickly and quietly on the water of the lake by my home.
As I sat there, I thought of my family -- gone on a Florida vacation for a week -- returning and less than an hour from home. In their absence, I missed them but I also enjoyed the luxuries of sleeping in. I enjoyed a clean living room and a quiet living space. This was my last hour of that and it felt good knowing that I would get back to parenting and holding my wife. The break was nice, but it was too long. I looked out over the lake and reflected on the calm water; it reminded me of the calm of my relationship with Paige. We started dating almost 11 years ago in the summer of 1996. Even when we broke up in April of 2000, we didn't argue at all. We were apart for a year or so, but managed to reconnect in October of 2001. (Yet another romance, rekindled after 9/11.) Calm love and big respect have always guided us through life together.
I took a big, healthy breath and stood up to run home. Round trip, one mile...with a great moment of peace at Percy Priest Lake. And Newton sang, "All I Need Tonite." Perfect.
Click here for a collection of Flickr pics of Percy Priest Lake.
He Happy
The letter of all letters arrived in the mail today.
35,000 feet ain't too high in the sky for this guy.
My chance is here.
35,000 feet ain't too high in the sky for this guy.
My chance is here.
Friday, March 23, 2007
This American Life
My favorite radio show is now also a television program on Showtime. Here's a link to the first episode: This American Life
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Three New Photos
I put a few photos from last night's downtown wanderings over here.I snapped over 100 shots and barely like five or ten.
Part of the process, I suppose. I'll add more to flickr or webshots later.
"Ain't no sunshine when she's gone."
What? Just because Jag's on vacation, she can't find the time to post an update every once in awhile?
Her brilliance is missed. And I hope she's having a great time.
Her brilliance is missed. And I hope she's having a great time.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Flashlights in my window.
Last night, while entertaining a guest. (Wait, that sounds way too formal.)
Last night, while hanging out with a friend, listening to music and talking and laughing, my peripheral vision caught a glance of something on my wall. I looked up and didn't see anything. But a second later, it was back. A white light was moving across my wall. If I was a cat, my first reaction would have been to run to the wall and try to capture the light between my paws. Human that I am, I looked to my right and saw the source of the light coming through my window.
"Kids playing outside with a flashlight?" My friend had a good guess. It was 11:30 at night and I remember playing German Spotlight when I was a kid. Sometimes we played as late as that. It was a possibility. I went to the window and peered out the blinds but couldn't see anything.
I was ready to shrug it off and return to my favorite activity: Enjoying good conversation with music and wine. But then the rustling against the exterior began. And the flashlight was back. Milla and I looked at each other and she said, "It sounds like someone's trying to enter through the wall." Great. No more discussion about how Americans are seen overseas or how Luka Bloom creates such a good sound on his CDs. Now I had to play protector. There was a girl in the house and I had to keep her safe. I didn't hate this due to any fear; I hated this because I was annoyed.
Anyway, I figured that if she was right, I'd better not go outside and risk getting bonked on the head. I dialed 862-8600 but I didn't hit SEND. The rustling continued, and the flashlight was all over the place and I went to the blinds one last time. This time the noisemaker saw me and spoke.
"How're you doing?"
Well, as burglars go, he was quite polite. I saw that he was at the meter and had an NES hat on. I went to the door and said hi to him. He was just servicing a broken part. I offered him assistance ("Need me to hold your flashlight for you?") and he politely declined.
"OK, have a good night," I said, and I went back inside.
Late night for the NES guy. All was cool.
Imagine if my wife was home alone and watching CSI though. Do the work you have to do, I guess. But try to keep those flashlights on the meter and out of the window.
Last night, while hanging out with a friend, listening to music and talking and laughing, my peripheral vision caught a glance of something on my wall. I looked up and didn't see anything. But a second later, it was back. A white light was moving across my wall. If I was a cat, my first reaction would have been to run to the wall and try to capture the light between my paws. Human that I am, I looked to my right and saw the source of the light coming through my window.
"Kids playing outside with a flashlight?" My friend had a good guess. It was 11:30 at night and I remember playing German Spotlight when I was a kid. Sometimes we played as late as that. It was a possibility. I went to the window and peered out the blinds but couldn't see anything.
I was ready to shrug it off and return to my favorite activity: Enjoying good conversation with music and wine. But then the rustling against the exterior began. And the flashlight was back. Milla and I looked at each other and she said, "It sounds like someone's trying to enter through the wall." Great. No more discussion about how Americans are seen overseas or how Luka Bloom creates such a good sound on his CDs. Now I had to play protector. There was a girl in the house and I had to keep her safe. I didn't hate this due to any fear; I hated this because I was annoyed.
Anyway, I figured that if she was right, I'd better not go outside and risk getting bonked on the head. I dialed 862-8600 but I didn't hit SEND. The rustling continued, and the flashlight was all over the place and I went to the blinds one last time. This time the noisemaker saw me and spoke.
"How're you doing?"
Well, as burglars go, he was quite polite. I saw that he was at the meter and had an NES hat on. I went to the door and said hi to him. He was just servicing a broken part. I offered him assistance ("Need me to hold your flashlight for you?") and he politely declined.
"OK, have a good night," I said, and I went back inside.
Late night for the NES guy. All was cool.
Imagine if my wife was home alone and watching CSI though. Do the work you have to do, I guess. But try to keep those flashlights on the meter and out of the window.
Why he was fired.
David C. Igleasias, one of the fired prosecutors:
The link to his Op-Ed piece in the New York Times: Why I Was Fired
Although we receive our appointments through the political process (I am a Republican who was recommended by Senator Pete Domenici), we are expected to be apolitical once we are in office. I will never forget John Ashcroft, then the attorney general, telling me during the summer of 2001 that politics should play no role during my tenure. I took that message to heart. Little did I know that I could be fired for not being political.
The link to his Op-Ed piece in the New York Times: Why I Was Fired
Bestiality, guns, and "a great Tennessean."
A headline in today's Tennessean:
Bestiality, guns and Justin Timberlake on tap for this afternoon's state Senate session
Our Senate is sponsoring a bill to honor Justin Timberlake as "a remarkable musical talent and a great Tennessean." I'm sure he's happy to receive the honor, but why does bestiality have to get top billing?
Kinda gives new meaning to the phrase, "Justin was great in Alpha Dog" if you ask me.
Bestiality, guns and Justin Timberlake on tap for this afternoon's state Senate session
Our Senate is sponsoring a bill to honor Justin Timberlake as "a remarkable musical talent and a great Tennessean." I'm sure he's happy to receive the honor, but why does bestiality have to get top billing?
Kinda gives new meaning to the phrase, "Justin was great in Alpha Dog" if you ask me.
Kerouac's Typewriter
He did it here. Those fingers to these keys. Fueled by whatever drink or need, he typed it all out. Rejected, rejected, rejected. Seven years of rejection, and then On The Road was published. Roaming and writing. The Beat Generation. Jack.
I haven't given all of that Jack Cassady stuff a proper try yet. A friend at work is all over that stuff. Still, whenever I get into that mood, I tend to go to Bukowski.
But I hardly go a week without listening to Kicks Joy Darkness: A Tribute to Jack Kerouac. On that, people ranging from Allen Ginsberg to Morphine to Matt Dillon to Steven Tyler read his works and play their songs in his honor.
Matt Dillon also narrates On The Road on a 10-disc set. Not available for checkout at my local library, so it's unlikely I'll hear it anytime soon.
Still -- that typewriter above. I love looking at it.
Like my blues music thoughts in the previous post, the tools around the art may have gotten better, but they don't necessarily improve the art. Laptops don't make better poems as ProTools doesn't make better songs. But I do love my laptop.
Still -- that typewriter above.
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