Foot Music

I don't run with music. The book said not to, so I didn't; now I don't.

But I did have a little MP3 player that I had a whole bunch of running tunes stored up on, which I'd listen to on the way to races or on the way home from work to get jazzed up for that evening's run.

I'm 60% through with packing for a move and though I've been looking for it, I haven't found that MP3 player, sadly. My iPod is too big and heavy to carry with me while running, and too expensive to leave in a bag; not optimal. The Shuffle, while fitting a budget and practically MADE for runners, doesn't have a screen and has no ability to switch playlists.

Well, Apple came out with the Nano yesterday, a damn-near perfect compromise of size, function, and portability, and I purchased one with some money I got on eBay selling off shit I don't need that I refuse to pack away for the move! (You knew this would come full circle, right? Thanks to selling stuff I don't want to take to the new apartment, I have a replacement for the one item I DID want to find.)

The neat thing is, if you order from the right page, you can get engraving on the back, sort of personalize it. I got mine:

September is always perfect

...why? you may ask. Well, for one thing, this is the month I was born. For another, the weather's is always great. In fact, it's one of the details that sticks in my mind about 9/11 - that the weather that day was just beautiful -- clean, fresh, cool air blowing in off the water, a sky so blue you wanted to laugh in joy... Well, let's just say there are a lot of September days I remember, mostly for the weather.

Today's weather is no different. I ran a snappy 6-miler in Central Park this morning in 76 degrees.

I was daunted by the prospect of six miles as a "medium" run at first. I'd only just finished eight last weekend, how can I consider six a medium run? I was afraid I might be pushing inury. But whatever.

I started out at a slow, easy pace, allowing my knees and legs to really warm up after my early-am PT session. I had a few aches and pains that nearly shut me down: doubts. I told myself my doubts were stupid, that these pains were just warm-up tings and should go away in the first mile. And they did.

Soon enough - way too soon I thought - I was passing the big cat at mile one...could that be right?? then I was on the flat, straight stretch passing 96th street. This was too easy! How could I be entering mile three alrea-- oh, wait, mile three is almost over: here's the long downhill and there's the 125th street subway station! Huh.

Mile four was uphill uphill u-p-h-i-l-l for the first half mile. Chug chug, ug, ug. I shortened my stride, but didn't slacken the pace but a little bit - and stuck to that all the way up the Heartbreak Hill, passing landmarks I knew. There's the overhanging rock, there's the exit off to the right and... wow, I'm at the top already!?! Good job, bro.

A bit of a runnign rest as the last of mile four was flat, then a few bunny hills in mile five. Began to get pretty tired here (I had brought along only water, no HEED) but was thankful I'd scarfed a small chocolate bar before the workout.

Soon enough, I began to feel my energy coming back and my pace picking up. I realized that I had consciously started out slow and had been slowly picking up the pace as I warmed up. Now, mid-way through mile five, I think I was running a bit too fast; definitely a 10K pace, but didn't take it down. I was almost done: look! there's the Sheep Meadow!

Mile six FLEW by. For the last 3/4 mile, my legs were really moving and I was thrumming along at 5K pace at least -- call it a 9:20 estimated pace. I don't run that fast very often, but I'll take it as I get it.

I finished the run catching up to runners I'd previously been passed by and - sort of - not wanting to stop. I could easily have pushed out another mile or two at that pace, and definitely another three or four if I notched it down. Well, the schedule is the schedule. Six it said, six I did.

I was taken completely by surprise at the strength, power, precision, and overall rightness of today's run. I hope September continues to bring such fantastic workouts!

salt

Eight long miles today. I didn't expect these miles to be this hard; it wasn't humid out and was hardly above 80 degrees. Mostly, I experienced rather a lot of aches and pains that came and went. I haven't felt a few of them in quite awhile.

I find it fascinating, the amount of salt I excrete when I sweat. It's really quite amazing. Sure, I've seen the stained t-shirts other people wear, with the salt rings on them, especially on the really long-haul runs. But I don't think I've ever seen the veritable film of salt dust on others that coats me after a day like today - hot enough to really sweat; low enough humidity that the moisture evaporates.

The salt is left behind in a subtle pattern of small white dots, like miniature dried-up Old Faithfuls, marking exactly where my sweat glands are. By the time I'm done with a good run, like today, my skin looks like a Lichtenstein background. When I brush my hand across this strange moonscape, I become - in miniature - the Destroyer of Mountains, razing them and turning them to dust. This finely powdered salt - highly sought by five-star chefs for its purity and fine granularity, I might add - then coats each individual arm-hair, turning my skin into a miniature forest of denuded birch trees.

When I shower, I can taste the salt coming off my skin.

Pictures at bottom of this post! In the meantime, I'd like to point out Bloglines.com, which you can use to subscribe to the RSS feed of my blog - or anyone's blog. Makes keeping up very handy. If you use Mac OSX Tiger, or Konfabulator on a PC, you can even use the Bloglines Notifier Widget, which puts the number of unread entries in your subscribed blogs on your dashboard or desktop. Neat.

(clicken to embiggen)

The Bobcat On The Hill

I'm putting in my four miles; my feet are going up and down, back and forth; expiration in three steps, inspiration in two. Arms pumping, water bottle sloshing. Sweat beading on my forehead, making my grip slippery in my hands.

I turn around at 98th street and head back towards 57th street. Coming down one of the hills on the east side of the Central Park loop, I notice it again: the cat. The big big cat, sitting there, crouching, observing the tasty humans bopping by. The first time I encountered this cat, it startled me with its sudden appearance. I remember buzzing into a fight-or-flight response - mostly flight - I remember nearly wetting my pants.

Why is this cat here, I wonder? Just here, not elsewhere? Why doesn't he watch over Strawberry Fields or one of the numerous playgrounds, where he can have his choice of tasty little immature-human morsels? Why must he crouch there, on that rock, and study his prey right here?

Coming down this hill, noting the hungry cat once again, I suddenly realize how very steep this hill actually is. It is not as bad as the heartbreaker at the north end of the park, but it is substantial. I don't remember climbing it on my way to 98th - but then I don't remember a lot. Now, though, the steepness of this hill - downhill currently - strikes me, particularly as I pass runners on their way up it; huff puff huff puff. One of them looks like he might be slowing to a walk, then does; I spy an older lady at the bottom of the hill who seems to reconsider the climb and turns to retrace her jammin'-to-her-headphones steps toward the south end of the park.

As I pass the big cat, I swear I see its head turn a little, twitch the very tip of its tail. Impossible.

But now I know why the cat sits here, and not there. I know why he's so watchful and so patient, instead of stretching out for a catnap. Clearly, he is waiting, watching, wanting.

Like his cousin, the cheetah, he tenses his muscles about to spring and drag down the ones in the back: the old, the infirm, the ones who - startled into a fight-or-flight response, but whose hearts can't take it - automatically lay their limbs on the ground and bare their throats for the cat's mercifully quick ending.

Obviously, he is there to cull out one or two runners a year and thereby spur the rest of us to better, non-lethal, performance. He feeds so quickly no one ever sees it and so completely no one ever discovers the bodies...but feed he must, for he has remarkable stamina, sitting there all day, all night, season through season, year after year.

Someday I will climb up to that cat and stare into his cold, bronze eyes.

If he doesn't have me for lunch first.

killer humidity

How long can this continue? Seriously, was there ever a summer as long as this one?

After PT this morning, I stretched for awhile and did a fiver-miler in Central Park, doing a sort of u-shape out-and-back so as to get in the mileage and still end up at 96th on the Central Park West. 5.1 miles by the gmaps pedometer.

By the way, Sue and Paul's gmaps Pedometer also has a calorie counter. I'm surprised at how much I burn, if it's actually accurate.

Arrived at work just to turn in a timesheet and pick up a box that was waiting for me. Arriving all salt-encrusted, sweaty, and smelly is not the best way to show up at work; fortunately the big boss was not around.

Hot run; humid run; and some shin splints for the first half mile ('til I stopped to pee at the Boathouse) -- but really a fine run all together. No major speed, but not particularly slow either. Could it be that I'm actually getting acclimated to this?