Running is not pretty* part 3

Running is not pretty -- unless you're higher than a geosynchronous satellite! Then it's marvelous! Still not pretty to the people around me, I'm sure, but from my POV -- fan-frickin'-tastic!

Okay, so I didn't run yesterday, though my long runs are usually Saturdays. I had a rehearsal to attend and then had to keep packing my stuff. I'm moving Tuesday. Also had to prepare for today's stoop sale. I also got hit full-on with a cold or flu or something yesterday - resulting in nearly non-stop coughing - and had to track down some Dayquil in order to make it through rehearsal. I also got myself a decaf coffee, figuring I could use the tiny amount of caffeine for once.

Well, I left rehearsal on my toes -- and pumped up with energy. I don't know what it was, but I felt great.

Today, after cleaning up after my 10-4 stoop sale, I really REALLY didn't feel like running. It would not be pleasant, I was tired, achy, still battling a fever and stuffed up/runny nose. I thought, hey, I've got a good reason not to run this weekend. Missing one long run won't hurt, right? I've got plenty of time to keep trainng for the Staten Island Half. Uh-huh.

And then the Mr. Smart part of my brain - or the Mr. Brash - decides to "motivate" me. Perhaps I'll feel better if I take more Dayquil, I thought, even though I'd already had some about eight hours previously. So I took two Dayquil. Put on my running clothes. Filled my powersnot flask and took a shot. Filled my water bottle with the last of my HEED. And stepped out the door.

Plan: three laps of Prospect Park, which is pretty near exactly 10 miles. In fact, I'd take the train up and stretch while waiting for the train. Mr. Brash spoke up again: hey, as long as we're gonna have to wait for the F, why not get a little coffee? Comeon...you know you wanna.

I stopped and got myself a half-cup of what looked like strong coffee, and filled the other half of the cup with milk. As I waited for the train, with water bottle, powersnot flask, and coffee in hand, I drank the coffee pretty quickly. The Dayquil was also beginning to kick in. I began stretching my hamstrings.

Two policemen and a woman came up the stairs looking all important. She pointed out an abandoned bag about thirty feet away from me. Another woman and I watched as the officers and lady crowded around this non-descript black soft-sided briefcase. Images of a certain video from Iraq came to mind. And one officer stooped down and unzipped the bag.

Had the bag actually contained a bomb, he, his partner, and the lady would have been obliterated and I would find myself typing this entry from the ICU. Thankfully, nobody was a lotto winner today. (I mean, seriously, what are the chances, right?) 'Course, then my mind goes back to a conversation I had with my neighbor during my stoop sale today and he's talking about a case that didn't make the papers (he's in law enforcement) where the police headed off a dual-subway bombing back in '03 right near here at Union street station. Great.

So anyway... the train comes, I get on, the Dayquil keeps working and now the caffeine is getting into the act, too. Perhaps also some lack of nutrition, since I hadn't eaten much today. I feel a little taller than normal. By the time I get to the park, I wander inside, locate my special tree and stash my water bottle and powersnot and take off.

And man did it feel good! I'm not just talking about the first lap, I'm talking all three! I stopped at the tree each time and gulped some HEED and some goo and then would reverse direction and do another lap. Three laps... and I felt unbelievably strong and powerful throughout. There were only barely some energy dips and those weren't severe.

My legs kept pumping at what I would consider a good half-marathon or even 10K pace. I mean, I really think I was flying around that park -- can't be absolutely sure about that, since I also seemed to be about three inches taller than usual. I was running on someone else's legs, that's for sure, 'cause they didn't get tired, they didn't feel like lead at the start, and any minor pains I had felt like they belonged to somebody else.

On every lap, I passed a big Jamaican celebration that was permeated with the smell of ganja BBQ. I was tempted to stop and ask for a hit bit, but decided running sounded more fun than eating. I also kept seeing that guy on the tall unicycle. No, I'm not making that up, he wasn't a hallucination. The midgets, those might have been a hallucination.

It didn't even bother me before the first lap was done that the first lap wasn't even done yet. I was just thinking, hey, the first lap is almost done! That's, like, almost a third! Then I dwelt for some time on what "one third" means. This is my birthday weekend. I turned 34 yesterday. I'm officially one-third of a century old. And my run was divided into thirds. This seemed to me very cosmic and right.

My coughing was still up there. My coughing usually tapers off after the first couple of miles and doesn't come back 'til I'm cooling down after a run. But not with this cold or whatever it is. Even with the Dayquil, the cough was present consistently through my run, though not as productive as usual. Heck, I usually cough up a good 2 or three fluid ounces of stuff by the end of a run, but it was pretty dry today. Perhaps the expectorant in the Dayquil was helping me move stuff more efficiently. (At some, point, I promise you, you'll get a glimpse into why I actually started the "running isn't pretty" series.)

I also noticed that at various times, particularly after a hill, I would get pretty cold around the shoulders and base of my skull. I've noticed this before and wondered, this time, what causes it? Perhaps it means I'm not running hard enough on the flats or downhills because my metabolism is dropping. Or maybe I've run too hard and all my blood is being shunted to my leg muscles, starving the keep-me-warm organs and perhaps the braaaaaiiiiins. Could be a tumor. (It's not a tuma.) Then I thought, maybe I'm dying. Yes, this makes sense; because every time a run has been difficult and painful and I thought, God, I'm dying!, I have a) not died, and b) not been cold. But now I'm getting cold and that jives with the whole cold, white light thing. Depictions of the soul leaving the body through the nose or mouth or chest cannot be more wrong. Clearly, the soul leaves the body through the back of the shoulders and the base of the skull. The cold I was feeling was my soul tugging its way through my skin and reaching (I hope) skyward. But -- aside from the cold feeling, I had no other indications I was actually dying. I saw neither a tunnel, nor a white light, nor the wispy visage of the Angel of Death^TM.

After ten miles, the sun was down, dusk was nearly dark, and I felt as strong as when I started. Now THAT's unusual! (I wonder if Dayquil is considered a performance-enhancing drug?) Still feeling really good, though not QUITE as high, and pretty sweaty and smelly, I went to get some groceries and splurged on a can of Murphy's Irish Stout. After all...it's my birthday weekend. And today's been great. And...uh...stout is actually a great recovery drink. Or so I've heard.

catching the gorilla

So, okay, my running regimen is pretty tight,eh? I've got this whole schedule and shit and stick to it pretty good.

Today, I caught my gorilla. Granted, it wasn't the naked-teenager-type gorilla, but nonetheless, it was a beast of a run.

While the temp was reasonable - about 78 degrees I guess - the humidity was 100% and it was sprinkling when I started my run. On top of that, it seemed like every gardner, maintenance man, and random-loony-on-the-street was whipping his hose out and drenching various patches of helpless grass, asphalt, or sidewalk, only adding to the humidity.

Me and humidity don't get along.

And how 'bout that smell? Between the liquid-petrochemical fertilizer they were spraying on the grass in Central Park just south of the resevoir, to the pungent chemically-magnified-human-waste odor of the ranks of port-a-johns outside Rumsey Field, to the ever-present tapestry of horse-shit, piss, and exhaust fumes that passes for air on 60th street -- well, given all that, today's run certainly smelled like a gorilla.

4 miles. I wanted to stop; a lot. I was sweating pretty freely and my lungs were wide open and that was all good. Despite my legs feeling like lead, I didn't stop, not even at the turnaround point, where I'd promised myself I'd take a break. And I made it the whole four miles with no stopping, no walking, and - predictably - all the little pains and the fatigue in my legs went away at about 3.3 miles, leaving me with a lovely .7 mile run. Yay. That's what I live for: 80% pain, 20% reward. I'm not the first person to note the link between exercise and masochism, I'm sure.

Hey, I'm just sayin'!

And now for the important news: I have signed my life over to NYRR for November 3, 4, 5, and 6. If they pick me up for duty on all I signed up for, you can look for me at the registration tables at the Javitts on the 3rd and 4th. I'll be assisting somehow at the Continental Airlines Friendship Run on the 5th, and will voluntarily get my ass out of bed at 2 a.m. in order to help setup, get ready, marshall, or whatnot for the 36th Annual New York City Marathon!

Running is not pretty, part 2

Last night, I was trying to work out how to get in my planned six-mile run and get to my 9:30 PT appointment and beat the coming heat and humidity. I decided that since my regular therapist is on vacation and is replaced by Jim, that he could probably stand me a bit sweaty and wornout whilst doing the laying on of hands and whatnot that therapists do.

I worked out that if I left home at 7:00, I could get to Central Park, do the loop, and make it to my appointment in plenty of time. Then I remembered my running clothes were at the laundry, which doesn't open 'til 7:30. Damn.

It was a quick morning. Grabbed the laundry, quickly trundled it home, changed clothes, stuffed a change of clothes into my bag and hopped on the subway. Arrived at the clinic at 8:15 and stealthily tucked my bag into a corner and left. Plenty of time to get in a six-mile run, It thought. Plus, I'd then have a try at doing the physical therapy with my muscles and connective tissues throroughly warmed up.

And so it went...the humidity was way up today. I've noted before that when you can see the air, it ain't gonna be good -- such was the case today. And it was heating up rapidly too. I didn't stretch properly before I starting running and found the first two miles to go on forever. I stopped at that point and took a few minutes to stretch out better, concentrating on the calves, which were really tight.

Got going again and found mile three to be better, though mile four, with the big hill, just about killed me. Had it not been for the fact I'd left my money and metrocard in the bag at the clinic, I'd have left the park at that point and taken a cab back. Some days I'm such a wuss.

But I went on... and you know what? It got better. A LOT better. Somewhere in the beginning of mile five, I began to feel pretty good -- runner's high I suppose, though I don't think I've ever experienced it like this before -- and by mile six I was once again going at a good 5K clip, which the gentle hills of the southwest portion of the park make easy. I kept on running right out of the park, along 60th street, dodging pedestrians like mad, like it's some kind of game of pinball, turned right on 6th ave, and finally ground to a stop at 57th street, waiting for the light.

Walking from there back to the clinic, and getting my clothes changed in the bathroom, I felt good. Like really REALLY GOOD!! I couldn't believe how loose and relaxed and enervated I was. It felt like....

like...

...like I'd just gotten laid. That's it, this is afterglow! Had I just had a quasi-sexual experience? I suppose it's possible -- the similarities are all there: both activities involve a lot of straining, grunting, groaning, sweating... neither activity is especially pretty, when done right, and usually results in something made of cloth being drenched in bodily fluids... and of course, there's the surprising stamina we can put into these activites, culminating with a rest period after where we feel our best compared to any other time.

Even after changing, walking around in my own personal bubble of afterglow, I still felt sweaty and harrassed and exhausted. But in a good way.

running isn't pretty, part one

While thousands of runners were slammin' through Central Park today, in a marathon 18-miler practice run, I was doing my own toiling on a 9-miler in Prospect Park. This one was not easy. It was hard.

My IT bands have been tightening up over the last week. Admittedly, while I've been concentrating on three shows and packing and all the details of a move, I haven't been doing all the stretching and foam rolling I could be.

So there was that. And while the weather was beautiful, something about it seemed to make it difficult for people to run; I wasn't the only one having a tough time.

I don't have the energy right now to go into all the details. Suffice it to say, that when I run, I am not handsome, particularly by the time I get home, and that I need to pick the color of my shirts more carefully.

So. 9 miles of slow running with unsteady pacing, but... only a moment's walk, when I turned around at the 4 1/2 mile point. I got through it, I guess.

Three things I'd like to note:

One, I seem to have developed "runner's tan". You know how farmer's tan makes a sharp tan line right across the bicep and the arms (and neck) are likely the only on the farmer that is tanned, while the rest is lily white? Well, I'm getting a similar effect: I noticed this morning that my legs have a nice tan -- that ends abruptly at my ankle-sock line. Bizarre.

Two: People were looking at me today. (Maybe because running isn't pretty.) Several people would crane the head around as I passed. And I passed a group of boys in the park and one of them, who saw me coming from a ways away, actually composed himself quite formally, with hands placed together Indian-style, and bowed at the waist to me! WTF?? I grant I was in sorry shape, but I didn't have my junk hanging out or anything...I don't think...

And three: POM. Specifically POM pomegranite-cherry. Best. Recovery drink. Evar. Chock full of pomegranite juice and cherry juice. Per bottle: No fat. No cholesteral. 70 mg of sodium; 780 mg of potassium. Some calcium and iron. Good stuff. Pricey, tho, so I'll have to save it for after my long runs.

I'm exhausted. And for the first time in a LONG time, I actually hurt after today's run. Not bad, but enough. Beast, you're not alone.

Musings on August.

4 miles. tick-tock; right according to schedule. Felt a little longer than Wednesday's first four miles; no big deal. Felt good...the weather is definitely helping me. I'm running faster and more consistently than in August.

Goddamn I hate August. If August were a dog, it would be Cerberus. If August were a wizard, he would be Snape. If August were a food, it would be lima beans and anything invented by Southern Californians. If August were an internet provider, it would be AOL. If August were a college, it would be Duke. If August were a writing utensil, it would be a rather dull No. 2 pencil missing its eraser.

September, on the other hand is fantastic. September is red jello and Dizzy Gillespie. September is Rin Tin Tin and freshly laundered sheets. September is drinks with an old friend and meals with your grandkids. September is Ginny Weasley and Bertie Bott's Everyflavor Beans. September is five days before Christmas.

And that's all I've got to say about that.