Ho hum. Another week another four-mile run at 12-minute pace, another good stretch afterwards, this time made remarkable by my cat, Lamar, taking a special interest in my hands while I lay on my back doing long, slow, circular shoulder rotations. Must be the qi streaming out of limbs from pent-up energy in tight core and leg muscles.
The only noticeable difference this week was a longish bike ride yesterday (it's good to cross-train) and a need to walk part of the way back today (calf muscles tightened up). I am drawing no conclusions from either bit of evidence, and it was a boring way to end a boring weekend of college basketball on TV.
How could that be? When every team, favorite or underdog, Kentucky or Wichita State, plays the same inside-outside offense, attack the rim and kick it out for the three-pointer, and March Madness looks a lot like American Idol. I think I'll leave that simile alone.
Sunday, March 23, 2014
Sunday, March 16, 2014
Running Journal 11
A break in the weather, a four-day weekend, daylight savings time - sounds to me like a recreational running opportunity. And I have reason to be grateful for the renewed ability to run - okay, it's really more of a jog - without knee pain. So why do I feel like I'm stuck at four 12-minute miles?
Is stuck too strong a word? Maybe I've plateaued, found a rhythm, established a base, or some other euphemism for stagnation due to running once a week. At what point does a groove become a rut? And everybody knows that nobody improves much by working out once a week.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, it's better than nothing. I could have been sitting on the couch watching basketball. Sorry, that line doesn't work on a phys. ed. major. However, I acknowledge that the quality of those four miles is getting better, and I'm doing it on dry pavement now, not six inches of powder, and I'm steadfastly resisting the urge to stride out faster and farther and do some real damage. So I guess I'll take it, all 48 minutes of it.
Is stuck too strong a word? Maybe I've plateaued, found a rhythm, established a base, or some other euphemism for stagnation due to running once a week. At what point does a groove become a rut? And everybody knows that nobody improves much by working out once a week.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, it's better than nothing. I could have been sitting on the couch watching basketball. Sorry, that line doesn't work on a phys. ed. major. However, I acknowledge that the quality of those four miles is getting better, and I'm doing it on dry pavement now, not six inches of powder, and I'm steadfastly resisting the urge to stride out faster and farther and do some real damage. So I guess I'll take it, all 48 minutes of it.
Sunday, March 02, 2014
Running Journal 10
Pausing from watching the Happy Oscars on TV to report that my tenth week of running has been a reality check, reminding me that whatever I think is going on, something else entirely is going on.
It was a good day, really, no complaints, mostly, and yet, since I'm here to tell the truth, as I see it, let's try to get it right. The results are uneven at best.
Java Central was even more alive than usual as a communal coffee experience this morning. More conversation than reading, more serious human contact than studying the textbook, and maybe it had something to do with my ordering the chocolate bacon donut instead of the poppyseed muffin. Or not.
But because I had started the a batch of bread and a crock of soup ahead of time, I was right on track by mid-afternoon, when the bread (whole wheat, walnuts, a banana, a pear, homegrown peaches) was rising, and the soup (adzuki beans, parsnips, onions, celery, tomatoes, fresh ginger) was simmering nicely by the time I got my Norwegian butt outside to shovel the sidewalk. And shovel I did, getting a nice workout for both the right side and left side, both upper body and legs, both aerobic for cardiovascular endurance and anaerobic for quick bursts of power.
With that warm-up, I put the bread in the oven and stepped outside in running shoes, giving myself an hour to slowly, slowly run/jog up the bike trail on a nice, fresh three-inch cushion of snow. And it's a good thing it snowed today, because my knees were feeling it from beginning to end, just a dull ache in both knees, not a sharp pain, clearly not a crisis, but a concern nonetheless. So I persevered through the two miles up the trail to Maxtown and the two miles back.
At the end of the day, it was just another dues-paying run. No particular "flow" experience, no athletic or somatic epiphany to write home about, and when I got back to the house it was time to cool down, hydrate, take the bread out of the oven, stretch, and ice the knees. No regrets. I'm glad I took the time to shovel more than I absolutely had to, glad I cross-trained and paid it forward. All those small decisions all day long entered into the outcome of the run, and it was alright.
Reward: a vodka tonic, a fire, a nice dinner, and the self-congratulatory Oscars, in the year of being happy in spite of it all.
It was a good day, really, no complaints, mostly, and yet, since I'm here to tell the truth, as I see it, let's try to get it right. The results are uneven at best.
Java Central was even more alive than usual as a communal coffee experience this morning. More conversation than reading, more serious human contact than studying the textbook, and maybe it had something to do with my ordering the chocolate bacon donut instead of the poppyseed muffin. Or not.
But because I had started the a batch of bread and a crock of soup ahead of time, I was right on track by mid-afternoon, when the bread (whole wheat, walnuts, a banana, a pear, homegrown peaches) was rising, and the soup (adzuki beans, parsnips, onions, celery, tomatoes, fresh ginger) was simmering nicely by the time I got my Norwegian butt outside to shovel the sidewalk. And shovel I did, getting a nice workout for both the right side and left side, both upper body and legs, both aerobic for cardiovascular endurance and anaerobic for quick bursts of power.
With that warm-up, I put the bread in the oven and stepped outside in running shoes, giving myself an hour to slowly, slowly run/jog up the bike trail on a nice, fresh three-inch cushion of snow. And it's a good thing it snowed today, because my knees were feeling it from beginning to end, just a dull ache in both knees, not a sharp pain, clearly not a crisis, but a concern nonetheless. So I persevered through the two miles up the trail to Maxtown and the two miles back.
At the end of the day, it was just another dues-paying run. No particular "flow" experience, no athletic or somatic epiphany to write home about, and when I got back to the house it was time to cool down, hydrate, take the bread out of the oven, stretch, and ice the knees. No regrets. I'm glad I took the time to shovel more than I absolutely had to, glad I cross-trained and paid it forward. All those small decisions all day long entered into the outcome of the run, and it was alright.
Reward: a vodka tonic, a fire, a nice dinner, and the self-congratulatory Oscars, in the year of being happy in spite of it all.
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