Novembrrrrrrr Run

I had the best 6-mile run today, all by myself on the bike path. It was cold, sunny, quiet, and everything was dead and russet-colored. I met next to no one on the path--no bikers or runners, only a few walkers. I was all alone with my thoughts, and the sound of my own breathing. There was a chipmunk, and some birds. The river was placid and picturesquely lifeless.

I am not a social runner, nor do I run with headphones. I prefer the solitude of my own thoughts, the meditativeness of running and breathing. It helps me put things in perspective, to resolve various threads of my life in a very relaxed and non-intentional way.

In my tights, gloves, fleece, and headband, I felt deliciously self-contained and efficient, moving through the landscape, doing no harm, taking nothing with me, leaving nothing behind. I felt as if I could run forever.

Where Da Wine At?

So I wrote a rap song about wine. That's right, ya dig? I often write "songs" around the house, mostly about pugs and how stupid they are, but this time in particular, wine was the subject of choice.

I hear this in my head with a drum machine backbeat. Here goes:

Where Da Wine At?

(C) 2010 JBK/TMI

Clickin’ and typin’ the hours away

Usin' my brain but sittin' all day

I gotta rush home, put my runnin’ clothes on

Hittin’ the pavement to get my sweat on

Gotta stay in shape so I don’t get fat

Did my time, my exercise, now tell me—Where da wine at??

Chorus

Where da wine at/where da wine at/where da wine at/wheredawineat!

On my way home, fightin’ traffic and snow

Living in the northeast, man does it blow

I live 30 minutes from er'where and the roads are slick

To top it off, er’body drives like they shittin’ bricks

Pugs on the ottoman when I get home

Just in time ‘cause my favorite show’s on

Poppin' that cork as I walk in the door

Now tell me again, I didn't hear you before:

Chorus

Where da wine at/where da wine at/where da wine at/wheredawineat!

Don’t want no Boone’s Farm or Turkey Hill

Just gimme da wine and a coupla Advil!

Where da wine at/where da wine at/where da wine at! (Repeat)

Now I just have to find an up and coming New Orleans rapper to make it a hit! And yes I know Turkey Hill is ice-cream; that was intentional.

Things Lost in the Wake of Industry, #2: Raking Leaves

People prefer not to rake leaves these days. They like blowing them around with a leaf blower, creating noise pollution and wasting electricity. They also don't like shoveling snow anymore, but a snowblower is something I can get behind, because snow is HEAVY and you can hurt your back shoveling it. Not so with leaves.

I raked a ton of leaves last week. I enjoyed the meditative act of raking them across the lawn, scooping them up, and putting them in a leaf/lawn bag. Even more I enjoyed seeing just how many piles I could compact and stuff into one leaf/lawn bag. It was cold out, the sky was steel gray, and the aroma of dirt and leaves added a tang to the otherwise dull November air.

The next morning, my side and back were sore. Ah, I raked leaves yesterday, I thought as I stretched, delighting in that delicious soreness as I luxuriated in the flannel sheets. And life was good.

Hey, I ate a Banana!

I read this blog yesterday and it got me thinking about changing the way I view my goals, one day at a time. I have by now established a pattern of laziness, broken up by periods of intense dedication to physical exercise and weight loss. Losing weight has never been a problem for me before, until I turned 34. Even ramping up the running to 20 miles a week for three months didn't result in the weight loss as I'd hoped (but my quads are awesome).


I've been a runner for a few years now, this year I ran the most I ever have, especially in the last few months leading up to completing my first half marathon on 10.10.10. Last winter the running tapered off in November and December and I gained 10 pounds over the holidays; this year I bought a treadmill to keep running no matter what the weather, because I will not stop running this time. Plus if I am getting pregnant at some point in the next few months, I would like to trim down a bit before I get fat with baby.


It has been getting darker earlier and earlier since the half marathon, so in these last few days before I become a treadmill owner, I still needed to keep running. We have our last big race of the year this Sunday (the 15K Stockade-a-Thon), and it's necessary to keep running (albeit not as much as when training) in the weeks leading up to a race. So my one goal for today was to change into my running clothes at work, and stop at the bike path on the way home to get a run in before the sun set at 6:00. And I did it! I got to the path at 5:20, and finished my 3-mile run just as it was getting dusky. Mission accomplished!


I'm also trying to eat more fruit and veggies.  I now eat bananas, after a lifetime of refusing to eat them on grounds that I don't like their texture. Well, I tried one, and they're not so bad--so now I eat bananas. But whenever I eat one, I need my husband to recognize and praise me for eating said banana--ridiculous I know--but it's affirmation I need, and he provides it (while rolling his eyes, of course). Sometimes you just need someone to commend you for doing what's good for you, no matter how ridiculous it seems.


Tomorrow's List of One? To do cardio for 30 minutes at home and weight training for 30 minutes. And then to relax with a glass (or two) of a nice Spanish wine and indulge in Thursday night television. 

Moody Monday

I've been thinking a lot about the nature of family lately--it's a constant theme in my life what with my troubled relationship with my mother--but my sister just visited this weekend so it got me thinking even more about what family means.

I'm nearly 10 years older than my sister, so we were never exactly close growing up. Sure, I babysat her, fed her, changed her diapers--but we were always too far apart in age to ever be real siblings. That has changed now that she's older and on her own. In a very real sense, it's like I just found out I had a sister a few years ago, because we don't really share too many childhood memories.

I'm very glad I have a sister, and that we have each other amidst all of the family craziness we share.  It's just odd being looked up to as a kind of surrogate mother-figure at times, and I'm not sure how I feel about it. She has different memories than I do of our mutual time at home (she was 8 when I left home at 18), and overall we have different influences given that we have different fathers and family histories. But for all of that, we have become close, at first mostly out of mutual disgust over the actions of our selfish mother, but more recently, we are starting to develop a relationship all our own.

All of this makes me realize how fortunate I am that I got out, and that I had the strength to get out, and stay out. I'm glad if I am an example for her that life can be lived in a (mostly) sane fashion, that you can build your own family if your real one sucks. I am sorry for her that she has no one, and I understand now why she has the boyfriend she does--she needs family! I wish I lived closer to her, I think it would do a world of good for her to have me nearby, and maybe even for my mother too--but if I moved back there it would ruin me, I would probably resent being cast in the role as everyone's rock, and my marriage would probably end over it because my husband can't stand their drama. Maybe I'm being selfish by wanting my own life; does that make me as selfish as my mother in the end, albeit in a different way?

It would be interesting to see a tv montage of what might have been had we never left Louisiana...I do think about that sometimes, probably more often than I should. But I have no regrets.

Have We Forgotten How to Do Everything?

If you don't already know, I listen to the Today Show while getting dressed in the morning because I like my daily dose of spite. Most days it's the same old yawn-inducing crap--some white child is missing, another kid succumbs to bullying, or some hack  has a new book out--ho-hum. Every once in a while though some truly asinine story will piss me off, and last week it was a story about cooking.

Cooking, you say? How could a brainless Today Show segment on cooking possibly piss you off? 

The segment was about how preparing your own meals at home can not only save you money, it can help you lose weight and be healthier.Then I overheard a credulous female voice saying, "Cooking is really not as difficult as people think it is."  DING DING DING!

Do you understand what pissed me off about the segment?  Well let me explain it anyway in excruciating detail.  

You see, preparing food has been around for EONS, and people have known how to do it forever--and yet we now seem to live in a unique time where we can fly airplanes, make Velcro, and tiny tiny batteries, yet people are apparently so retarded that they have to be reassured about cooking because they are afraid of it.  The act of cooking is apparently so foreign to the collective mainstream consciousness now that fucking John Stossel needs to be called upon to launch an investigative report called, "The Crisis of Cooking: Debunking the Myths'' or some shit.

Intriguing that this Crisis of Cooking comes at a time when there is unprecedented coverage of professional cooking on the Food Network and regular TV in the form of celebrity chef shows, food porn segments, food throw-downs and challenges. And don't forget The Biggest Loser, which tells me America hasn't forgotten how to eat, they just don't remember how to render raw foodstuffs edible for themselves.

After my instantaneous rage over the Crisis of Cooking segment subsided, I got to thinking about where we are at the beginning of the 21st century. There is no question that, by and large, we have forgotten the basics for sustaining human life in the even of a sudden collapse of our (unsustainable) economy--cooking, gardening, canning, hunting, gathering, sewing, dressing properly for winter. We have also forgotten how to be civil and polite to one another, another of my pet peeves, and a topic for another time. In essence, we have now become grunting mongrels who would turn on each other over the last Twinkie at the end of the world.

Maybe this is why there seem to be so many movies in the last decade about the zombie apocalypse, nuclear disaster, ice-age, and earth-destroying asteroids. I think these movies are desperately trying to calm our unconscious fears of surviving despite our lack of survival skills should we find ourselves in that situation! If civilization were rolled back to zero overnight by some random viral or supernatural event, these movies ask, what the hell would the paltry survivors do with themselves? Why, they would become truck-driving vigilantes who take over the nearest grocery store or shopping mall, content to barely eek out the rest of their pathetic lives at subsistence level on Twinkies (hell, those things last forever), that's what! 

Interesting that you never see anyone plant a garden and learn to peacefully fend for themselves in most of these movies. What you see instead is a consumerist culture fantasy, one where we can ransack grocery stores and shopping malls at will, pillaging and plundering the foodstuffs that we so desire, shooting those that stand in our way. Oh, the humanity! 

I'll end with words from Voltaire's Candide, which if you haven't read, you absolutely must go out and get a copy and read it. NOW.

Pangloss: "There is a concatenation of events in this best of all possible worlds: for if you had not been kicked out of a magnificent castle for love of Miss Cunégonde: if you had not been put into the Inquisition: if you had not walked over America: if you had not stabbéd the Baron: if you had not lost all your sheep from the fine country of El Dorado: you would not be here eating preserved citrons and pistachio-nuts."

Candide: "All that is very well, but we must go and work in the garden."

Don't let the bastards grind you down.

Today I ran 12 miles without stopping, and it took me 2.5 hours. That is the farthest I've run to date. Yesterday I did Zumba, which made me sore for today's run, but I ran anyway. I was momentarily jazzed because my time today means I am definitely going to run a sub-3 hour half-marathon next month. Which isn't great by super-athlete runner standards, but it is fucking amazing by mine.


Tonight I checked my RSS feeds. The woman who writes the stupid running blog I read just ran her first post-baby half-marathon, and she did it in fucking 2h7m, and has the nerve to complain that she's "out of shape," that it wasn't her best, blah blah freakin' blah. Even my super-in shape husband didn't run his 12 miles today in the time that she ran her half-marathon! What is this bitch complaining about?


The thing is, running is the kind of activity where you really only compete with yourself, in the end. You compete with your previous personal records, and battle your own personal demons every time you hit the pavement. But sometimes you can't help but compare yourself to how others perform. It made me feel like shit to read this woman's post about her tragic half-marathon time, just like it made me feel like shit when a 77-year old Japanese woman beat me (by mere minutes) last year at the Stockade-a-Thon. This Japanese woman and I crossed paths at a few races last year. Surely I can outpace the shuffling grandma, I thought. And most times, I did, but that one time, at my first 15K, she outpaced me. I have since learned that where you start relative to others in a race does matter. No more starting in the very back for me. She won't outpace me again.


I know I shouldn't care about these things, but they do bother me. I aways seem eager to piss on my own achievements--why is that? It also doesn't help that someone made an off-hand comment to me yesterday about a 1-hour Zumba aerobics class being harder than running. Said by a non-runner, of course. The class was tough, but I completed it, and I don't think it's harder or easier than running, I think the two activities just aren't comparable. I wish I had shot back, 'well YOU try running 12 miles and see if you can do that, then get back to me.'  Stuff like this shouldn't bother me, it should roll right off, because I am focused, and I have been training hard, and I'm proud of how far I've come. And yet it haunts me.


Here I am, at the end of week 7 of my self-imposed half-marathon training, and instead of feeling on top of the world, I feel like utter shit tonight. Maybe I just need to have a good cry and go to bed.