Various Bits of Info and a Big Deal

First, the big deal.

We bought a new car!! Well, as near to new as we're ever likely to get: a 2007 Saturn Ion sedan with 4,000 miles on it. It had been used as a driver training car, so we got a very sweet deal on it from the dealership, including several new-car incentives. Here it is in all its midnight blue splendor:



Of course, now I am having the new-car freakouts. We have to park on the street and sometimes spaces are at a premium, but today I refused to park it directly in front of our building (too near to the curve--I've seen parked cars creamed by dopes who take the curve too fast and lose control). I drove it around to the next street over and parked it by the lake... then I got all squirrelly about a kid who was hanging around watching me maneuver into the space. I calmed myself by noting that I made a tight space in one, with only a few inches between my wheels and the curb, so he must have been noting my parallel parking expertise with awe. At least, I hope so! Yikes! This is a textbook case of attachment--just what the Buddha warned against. I'll tell ya, though--it's hard to shake it!

Now, to the other stuff.

One thing I failed to note on my entries about our Virginia trip was the delicious meal we had at Zynodoa, a new and quite upscale eatery on Beverly Street in Staunton. My brother John cooks there, and the chef treated us to a fabulous couple of starters made especially for us (although they might eventually make their way onto the menu... they SHOULD do, is all I can say). The first was a Mexican squash bisque garnished with dark chocolate shavings and truffle butter. Unbelievably tasty. This was followed by a lobster and bacon risotto that was to die for. Fare from the menu was wonderful as well. If you find yourself in the central Shenadoah Valley with lots of cash in your pocket, check it out! By the way, the name Zynodoa supposedly approximates the actual pronunciation of the region in the language of its original inhabitants. Thanks, John, for treating us to such a wonderful meal!

Alas! The Nordic Track Performance Tracker thingy has conked out again. The display is nice and strong, but the damned thing doesn't count any longer. So... I guess I'll just have to go by time and not distance or speed to track my workouts.

Since the weather has gotten a bit milder and cooler of late, I've been running more along the lakefront. The view, the fresh breeze, the stately homes and lush parks of the Evanston shore...it's a nice course. Except for the bicyclists who insist on riding on the sidewalk. Now, I'm not an ogre. Nor, contrary to the opinions of some ultra-theocons with whom I post on a message board or two, am I a stone cold bitch. I know that it's hazardous for cyclists to ride on the road proper around the Sheridan Road curve into Evanston. I don't mind sharing the sideWALK (note: as in pedestrians) with bike riders--as long as they understand that they are sharing the sideWALK as well. As long as they keep an eye out for walkers and runners. As long as they keep their speed relatively slow in the presence of walkers and runners. It doesn't seem too much to ask. I'm not going to hold my breath waiting for that, though. Maybe all we pedestrians need to start wearing these shades with rearview mirrors to keep us safe(r). Okay. Screed over.

Finally, just for ewokgirl, a snapshot of Dinosaur Land's version of a giant ground sloth.



What a hunk-a-hunk of burnin' Pleistocene love!

Serendipity

Sometimes the fates simply smile on us, huh?

I've written about the Nordic Track before--it has done yeoman's service in the 14+ years that I've owned it, and it is still going strong. Right now I'm using it about 3 times a week at around 40-50 minutes a pop.

It originally had a little "computer" thingy that plugged into the bar on which the ropes and the rope wheel are secured. The "computer" keeps track of mileage (well, kilometerage) of the present workout as well as for all workouts cumulatively, of time, and of speed. I used to keep track of such stuff--monitor how fast I was going and how far, etc. Then about three years ago, it just died. It has a liquid crystal display that simply faded into nothingness. I went on eBay to try to find a replacement, Nordic Track having discontinued the part a decade ago or more, but no luck. I found one once, but I was too chintzy to pay the "Buy It Now" price and ended up being outbid at the last millisecond. Meanwhile, the old one is simply stuck to the bar, and I've just left it there.

So I've been letting the iPod dictate the workout--I used to do 12 songs, which, with my shuffled playlist of mostly oldies, worked out to between 30 and 40 minutes. But, with the medical command to drop some poundage came a revved up workout, so now I do 16 songs. That usually nets me 40 to 50 minutes at a nice clip. Well... I thought it was a nice clip...

This evening after work I was setting up the machine, readying myself for my workout, when lo and behold! I knocked the faceplate off the thingy. I didn't even know you could get into it--I just figured it had some built-in battery and when it was spent, it was spent. I was wrong. There, nestled in the guts of the thing, was a battery. A single AA battery. Crappy and corroded, yes. After all, it had been sitting in there for 14+ years (and it worked for more than 11--go figure). I pulled it out and disposed of it, cleaned up the connection points, and slipped in a fresh battery. I didn't think it would work, but it did!

So now I have my computer thingy back... and it spurred me on to quite a vigorous workout. Without it to look at and monitor speed, for example, I'd been slacking off considerably. About three songs in, I realized just how different working out with the thingy and without it is. It's much harder with it. And I didn't think it would make a difference.

It made such a difference that I'll bet I'll be sore tomorrow. AND that wasn't helped along by the fact that the iPod served up a 54-minute workout today.

Well, maybe with this little added taskmaster of a tracker, I'll really start shaping up. Fingers crossed!

Practicing Detachment on the Indoor Track

Okay.

Every time I go to the doctor lately, she tells me I should lose weight. And you know, she's right. And I've been trying half-heartedly since I got word about my high school class's 33rd reunion, which was held last October (and which you can read about right here on this very blog). I knew there was no way in hell I'd drop the poundage I wanted to by the big day, but I figured I could at least start the ball rolling. Despite regular workouts and generally cutting back a bit on food, the scale really hadn't been budging. 'Cause you know, I'm of a certain age. And my body is holding on to fat like it was life itself.

But it's not.

Since I DO work out regularly, I've always gotten pretty decent stats, bloodwise. Decent cholesterol readings, normal blood sugar. Until THIS check up. Until THIS blood draw. Cholesterol was a mixed bag: HDL and triglycerides good, LDL too high, by a slight margin. But it was the blood sugar that scared me: one point over the "acceptable" range. Only one point, but it's always been way normal. Sigh. Push has, it appears, come to shove.

So, I've been doing Weight Watchers and revving up the workouts: instead of 35-40 minute Nordic Track workouts, I've been doing 45-50 minutes. And I've been going to the track or running along the lakefront two or three times a week, trying to get back up to a full 5K+ of straight running. (Right now, my runs are iPod driven: walk one song; run two. Next week I'm going to move up to running three songs in a row. Slow and steady avoids injuries!) So far, so good: I've only lost five pounds in the last three weeks, but I've dropped a size--at least I'm moving in the right direction.

It's at the track that I need to develop a Zen attitude, though, because I have to tell ya: my fellow track denizens may well make me blow a gasket if I don't. I'm usually pretty even-tempered--except when I drive--and maybe there is something to being in motion that turns on the foul type-A demon that lurks within me...

First, let me say that this track is in the park house of the suburb where I work. As a perk of employment, we get the residents' rate on health-club membership there, and it is a very nice facility (as one would expect; it's a very affluent 'burb). The track is cushy, and it's 1/8 mile around. And it's open to the public. And there's the rub. The public. The residents of this affluent 'burb, who just ooze the expectation of entitlement for themselves and their wretched spawn.

Case in point: the guy who was walking with weights today--IN THE RUNNING LANE! There are three lanes: walking, jogging, running. Someone who is walking in the running lane puts everyone at risk for pile ups. People pointed out the big sign that designated the lane, but he just kept on going... A variation on this theme is the group of just-the-other-side-of-elderly matrons who form a phalanx across all three lanes, strolling at a leisurely mile per hour pace and trailing combatting musk-and-spice fragrances. Really nice to have to dodge them (if one even can) AND get a nice lungful of their effluvia at the same time.

Then there are the aforementioned wretched spawn. The track rules say that children under 11 years of age must be supervised by an adult. Key word here: supervised. Kiddies come with mom, and she does her walk, earphones firmly planted in ears and mind floating off in the ether somewhere--kids? what kids? Meanwhile, her charming tykes are running the track in the opposite direction of motion, rolling around on it, racing each other and using the old folks who are just trying to stay kind of spry as slolum markers...Sigh.

But none of the above annoy me half as much as my nemesis: the girly girl runner. We've all seen her: in decent shape and not even all that slow, but she runs like she's in Swan Lake: en pointe (my heels will never, EVER, touch this track!) with wrists elevated and flapping as if she hopes to become airborne. Mince after that prince, baby! And, of course, it doesn't gall me at all that every girly girl runner I have ever encountered has run faster than me. No. No gall at all.

Me? I'm pretty slow, but Jeff tells me that I run like a litte Marine girl--all form and purpose (but, yeah, not much actual speed). Running is empowering. Why would any self-respecting woman prance around the track like the fairy queen? Feh.

So, as you can see, I need to get all Zen about running on the track. Detach. Concentrate on myself, my form, my speed, my breathing, not on track hogs or wretched suburban spawn or girly girls who pass me, prissing. Easier said than done.

But hey! I love to run along the lakefront. Well, except for the assholes who ride their bikes on the sidewalk. Don't get me started on them! Heh!