And One More Thing...

I know I already posted something today, but I have to make this important announcement...

Today, finally, I ran my entire four-mile course without stopping to walk, except for a brief warm up and cool down! I've been working up to this for months, literally, because I didn't want to end up with another injury. A wonky hip sidelined my running a few years ago, after I had finally worked up to 10K, because I was pushing to too hard and too fast. This time I determined to take it slow. But I'm back, baby!

Now if only I could work up some speed...

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!

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!

A Query:

When the hell did they stop making workout gear for the rest of us? You know, those of us who just want to go to the club, the gym, the track during lunch or after work two, three days a week just to run, do the elliptical trainer, or whatever, and don't want or need to look perky or sexy or buff, but don't want to look like a raggedy old slug either?

Because apparently they don't make plain old mid-thigh cotton or cotton-blend elastic-waist shorts anymore.

And before you perky, sexy, buff types (and especially you lean and mean runners) start lecturing me about the horrors of cotton, let me tell YOU that I don't run fast enough to need much wicking, and I wear my shorts loose enough that air circulates just fine, thank you very much. And I like the drape of my old, well-worn cotton shorts. Although it's not really the FABRIC that's the problem--I'm sure I could be persuaded to try some "smart fabric," depending--it's the length and the style that seem to be impossible to find these days.

Let me explain: I'm in serious need of some new running shorts. Tops too, but I can make do with old t-shirts in the winter. In summer, well, let's just say that wicking fabric is a good thing. But the shorts... sigh. My current shorts are so soft, so comfy. But they have torn seams in the crotch (meaning I have to avoid certain stretches in public), and the waistbands are fraying something fierce. Time to replace. So today I trot off at lunch to the nearest Target, and find, well, nothing suitable.

There were many pairs of stretchy running capris, which didn't really fit the bill. I don't mind the length so much (although I'd like something with a tad less coverage and cling for summer), but the tag said they "fall just below the waist." Isn't THAT special? Sorry, but I don't want to worry about my damned pants falling down as I promenade around the track, thank you very much. Or even the vague FEELING that my pants are going to fall down.

Then there were the French terry short shorts with the drawstring at the waist and "legs" that barely cover the curve of one's ass-cheeks. No way am I going to show off my upper thighs OR ass-cheeks--vintage 50+ years and counting--to my fellow perambulators.

I was so desperate that I went to the men's section to see if I could find plain old cotton gym shorts, but no. Even the men's shorts were too short (what, are we doing a back to the future turn on the 1970s basketball court again?) or made of some hideous material better suited to parachutes.

Which means I'll just have to bite the bullet and go to the running store (either in Evanston or online) and pay through the nose for shorts that are obviously so out of style that they can't be found even for cheap at any self-respecting big box.

Maybe it's a sign--If I get on the stick and lose weight and tone up and become that buff gal who likes to show it off, I could see myself prancing around in those short shorts. Maybe I would even spring for ones with a school name or witty word silk-screened across the butt.

But folks, that's going to take a while. And in the meantime, I need me some new shorts!!!

Updates on Various Stuff

I know everyone is on pins and needles as to how I'm coming along with all those typical New Year's resolutions. Well, comme ci, comme ca.

I haven't done much writing on the novel, but I have been reading back through it and tweaking stuff here and there. It had been so long since I'd worked on it that I forgot the last name of one of the characters and made him up a new one, which I like better. I didn't think I'd used his last name much in the first part, but I misremembered. After I changed it for the twelfth time, I suddenly remembered the find and replace feature. Oh well, it's been a useful exercise. I think I may get back to some actual writing sometime next week. Jeff expects to see a draft on April 1 (Go Fools!), so I really should get crackin'.

On the getting in shape front, well, I've been less than completely conscientious. However, I have not been a slug, either. I start out the week with every good intention, and I follow up. But then other things intervene, I lose motivation, and shirk my workouts on Fridays, Saturdays, Sundays. I'll try to do better. And I've set a goal: I want to be in much, much better shape by the time I get my braces off (due around mid-August, if all goes according to plan)--and I want to run the Ricky Byrdsong 5K again this spring--knees permitting.

No, I haven't picked up the guitar yet.

Yes, I have picked up the knitting needles--I'm working on this:



I have two other projects in that same magazine that I want to tackle.

I think that takes care of the resolutions... now for an orthodontia update.

I'm still not used to having a honking big wire attached to my upper teeth, but a whole world of dental hygiene has opened up to me. Who knew there were such things as floss threaders? Or interproximal brushes? I mean, this is my second go-round with braces, and all this stuff is news to me! Keeping my teeth clean takes much longer than it did pre-braces (the floss threading alone is your whoreson devourer of time... and if I do take up the guitar again and cut my fingernails, it will take that much longer--one needs fingernails to get a purchase on the end of that threader, believe me). But I have a wonderful new device to aid in the cause: a SonicCare electric toothbrush. That baby is something! It scrubs like crazy, massages your gums, scours between teeth and around brackets, and even shuts off automatically after two minutes. To get the proper cleaning experience, just keep brushing until it stops and voila! Clean, clean, clean teeth!

Of course, there is the pain problem. It's not too bad, but since the goal is to close that obnoxious gap between my middle two incisors, one of them has constant pressure on it via some elastic thread stuff to move it toward the other. And that one tooth is always pretty tender. Which means that I use my molars way more than my incisors nowadays... and that's not always easy. Or comfortable. Or sightly. But hey--I can see the gap narrowing a little more each couple of days... yea!

Then there is the lower retainer, which I was sure would keep me up all night the first time I wore it. It didn't. I got used to it pretty fast. But it's amazing how well it appears to fit each morning and how tight it is each night. Oh well, it's all for a good cause, huh? My vanity. Heh.