Friday, a short bike ride turned into a somewhat longer one. Instead of heading home from the Inniswood Gardens-Hoover Reservoir-Hoff Road Park loop to the east, I headed west and tacked on the County Line-Worthington Galena-Park St. loop. There was plenty of daylight left, and I had enough angst to work out, so why not?
Saturday started early with a short bike ride to the bank and post office, followed by loading and unloading about a ton of free firewood - yes, FREE FIREWOOD - from a house around the corner where they cut down an oak and a wild cherry. It was high time to plant tomatoes, so I still had to prepare the beds and move last year's compost, which took most of the afternoon. My reward was a swim and a gin and tonic.
Sunday was bittersweet, listening to the farewell discourse of Rev. Todd Anderson at Church of the Master in Old Methodistville.The hot afternoon was a good time to plant tomatoes in garden beds and basil in pots. I still had time for a three-mile run east on Park St. in Boyer Nature Preserve, followed by a quick swim.
Sunday, June 01, 2014
Sunday, May 25, 2014
Running Journal 17
This is catch-up time. After my last post, I missed a week that was complicated by a very busy start to a very busy month of May. A beer with a friend on Friday, a wedding and a trip to Kent on Saturday, a gallery reception and dinner out to celebrate Gven's success on Sunday. Hey, I might be a slacker when it comes to training, but I have an interesting life and good reasons for not consistently working out.
The following weekend was, if anything, busier, but I found time to run when I rarely do, on a Friday evening. After springing myself from the office early, I ran my usual four slow miles before dinner, then went out with my wife to a bar we normally wouldn't frequent to see our firstborn and his band, Magnets, play the opening set. It was the last stop on a midwest tour, and it happened to fall on the birthday of our secondborn, so we could hardly miss the opportunity. Saturday was the annual geranium-potting and window-boxing ritual, and the four of us went out to dinner at Betty's in the Short North. On Sunday we celebrated Mother's Day with an excellent dinner at home. But no time to run and no excuse.
The weekend after that, the whole Golly family got in the limo (black Ford Escape) for a long weekend drive, first to Asheville, NC, then to Clayton, GA, for Gven's sister's daughter's big country wedding. Zelda Golly was a bridesmaid, so we all got to attend the rehearsal dinner in addition to the outdoor wedding ceremony (in front of a waterfall) and reception (dinner, open bar, DJ, dancing, bonfire, the whole nine yards). So although there was taiji on the deck of our villa - the whole venue was designed to give the feeling of a village in the Italian Alps - the closest I got to running was a trek up and down some hiking trails, past a goat farm, and across the ridge to a beautiful little lake. Sunday was a long drive home. Monday was recovery day, which might have been better if I had run, but I didn't.
Which brings us to this weekend, the last and tamest of an eventful month. So I used Gven's book group meeting at our house as my motivation to get on the Schwinn and ride the then miles north to beautiful downtown Sunbury, home of the Big Walnut Golden Eagles, where, in search of a water fountain, happened upon an open gate to the high school track. So I ran a few laps, stretched my cramping calves, ran a few more laps, and got back on the bike to head home. To complete the cross-training trifecta, I made my first visit of the new season to the JC Pool in dear old Methodistville and swam a few laps.
To recap, I'm way off-track from the precedent-setting one run per week established on Christmas Day, but I might have stumbled upon a neat little run-bike-swim combination workout. Don't even think "triathlon" because the distances don't come close. But as we enter the unofficial summer season of outdoor activity, this could be an interesting weekend cross-training experiment.
The following weekend was, if anything, busier, but I found time to run when I rarely do, on a Friday evening. After springing myself from the office early, I ran my usual four slow miles before dinner, then went out with my wife to a bar we normally wouldn't frequent to see our firstborn and his band, Magnets, play the opening set. It was the last stop on a midwest tour, and it happened to fall on the birthday of our secondborn, so we could hardly miss the opportunity. Saturday was the annual geranium-potting and window-boxing ritual, and the four of us went out to dinner at Betty's in the Short North. On Sunday we celebrated Mother's Day with an excellent dinner at home. But no time to run and no excuse.
The weekend after that, the whole Golly family got in the limo (black Ford Escape) for a long weekend drive, first to Asheville, NC, then to Clayton, GA, for Gven's sister's daughter's big country wedding. Zelda Golly was a bridesmaid, so we all got to attend the rehearsal dinner in addition to the outdoor wedding ceremony (in front of a waterfall) and reception (dinner, open bar, DJ, dancing, bonfire, the whole nine yards). So although there was taiji on the deck of our villa - the whole venue was designed to give the feeling of a village in the Italian Alps - the closest I got to running was a trek up and down some hiking trails, past a goat farm, and across the ridge to a beautiful little lake. Sunday was a long drive home. Monday was recovery day, which might have been better if I had run, but I didn't.
Which brings us to this weekend, the last and tamest of an eventful month. So I used Gven's book group meeting at our house as my motivation to get on the Schwinn and ride the then miles north to beautiful downtown Sunbury, home of the Big Walnut Golden Eagles, where, in search of a water fountain, happened upon an open gate to the high school track. So I ran a few laps, stretched my cramping calves, ran a few more laps, and got back on the bike to head home. To complete the cross-training trifecta, I made my first visit of the new season to the JC Pool in dear old Methodistville and swam a few laps.
To recap, I'm way off-track from the precedent-setting one run per week established on Christmas Day, but I might have stumbled upon a neat little run-bike-swim combination workout. Don't even think "triathlon" because the distances don't come close. But as we enter the unofficial summer season of outdoor activity, this could be an interesting weekend cross-training experiment.
Sunday, April 27, 2014
Running Journal 16
I missed a week, and yes, it made a difference. I did not run last weekend, and caught a cold (or something with cold-like symptoms) late Wednesday, sniffled all day Thursday, felt better on Friday, and fully recovered on Saturday.
As we know, correlation is not causation, so I don't know for sure that I was under the weather because of missing a workout, but it's hard to ignore the link between an interruption of my normal workouts and my immune system's reaction. If it was a "cold" virus, it was a mild one and didn't last long. If it was an allergic reaction to some unknown airborne agent, apparently I should be on guard next April when things start bursting open in the botanical kingdom.
My way of fighting back was to skip a planned night of drinking with a friend and save my strength for the World Taiji and Qigong Day gathering in Goodale Park on Saturday morning. That initially looked like a very bad idea, as Saturday started out cool and rainy, but I dressed in layers and went anyway. Almost as soon as I got there, the sun came out and things started to look better as people drifted in and things got going. As in years past, each participant led a short taiji or qigong movement, we all practiced in a circle, and everybody made a contribution.
Just getting heated up a bit felt good. I did a little yard work. Gven Golly and I went for a short bike ride. She made guacamole, and I made turkey burgers - delicious! We put in a movie that was virtually unwatchable, and I went to sleep.
Sleep is good. Sleep is my friend.
The Sunday morning gang at Java Central greeted me after my absence last Sunday, and we had a spirited discussion of something or other. You had to be there, and I was. The regulars in the balcony at Church of the Master also missed me, but they accepted the excuse that I was visiting my parents and attended Easter services there. Rev. Todd Anderson was in rare form, and once again I appreciate having had the opportunity to attend his sermons. He will be a tough act to follow, and I hope his successor in Methodistville is half the teacher Todd is.
I started a batch of bread and a new book, Not Always So, by Shunryu Suzuki, edited by Edward Espe Brown (of Tasajara Bread Book fame), and it looks promising. I weeded some more of the back yard and part of the front yard. When the bread went in the oven, I went out for a run, and because the high school track was locked shut, I rerouted up the bike trail and across town to the Otterbein University track, took a lap and headed home in time to take the bread out of the oven.
No news is good news. Four very slow miles, pain-free, adequate stretching before and after, India Pale Ale and Cheez-its. That is all.
As we know, correlation is not causation, so I don't know for sure that I was under the weather because of missing a workout, but it's hard to ignore the link between an interruption of my normal workouts and my immune system's reaction. If it was a "cold" virus, it was a mild one and didn't last long. If it was an allergic reaction to some unknown airborne agent, apparently I should be on guard next April when things start bursting open in the botanical kingdom.
My way of fighting back was to skip a planned night of drinking with a friend and save my strength for the World Taiji and Qigong Day gathering in Goodale Park on Saturday morning. That initially looked like a very bad idea, as Saturday started out cool and rainy, but I dressed in layers and went anyway. Almost as soon as I got there, the sun came out and things started to look better as people drifted in and things got going. As in years past, each participant led a short taiji or qigong movement, we all practiced in a circle, and everybody made a contribution.
Just getting heated up a bit felt good. I did a little yard work. Gven Golly and I went for a short bike ride. She made guacamole, and I made turkey burgers - delicious! We put in a movie that was virtually unwatchable, and I went to sleep.
Sleep is good. Sleep is my friend.
The Sunday morning gang at Java Central greeted me after my absence last Sunday, and we had a spirited discussion of something or other. You had to be there, and I was. The regulars in the balcony at Church of the Master also missed me, but they accepted the excuse that I was visiting my parents and attended Easter services there. Rev. Todd Anderson was in rare form, and once again I appreciate having had the opportunity to attend his sermons. He will be a tough act to follow, and I hope his successor in Methodistville is half the teacher Todd is.
I started a batch of bread and a new book, Not Always So, by Shunryu Suzuki, edited by Edward Espe Brown (of Tasajara Bread Book fame), and it looks promising. I weeded some more of the back yard and part of the front yard. When the bread went in the oven, I went out for a run, and because the high school track was locked shut, I rerouted up the bike trail and across town to the Otterbein University track, took a lap and headed home in time to take the bread out of the oven.
No news is good news. Four very slow miles, pain-free, adequate stretching before and after, India Pale Ale and Cheez-its. That is all.
Monday, April 21, 2014
Running Journal 15
This is a make-up post, since I didn't get around to writing last week, though I did get around to running. Therefore I will make it brief, although the weekend included complicated highs and lows culminating in a satisfying, slightly longer five-mile run/jog.
I had another optical appointment Friday afternoon, so I skipped out from work a little early and got fitted for new frames. Since there was daylight and good weather, I went for a decent bike ride and felt good. The weather on Saturday was even better, so Gven Golly, my earth mother wife, and I went out to a farm over near Hoover and brought back two loads of nice, ripe horse manure for the garden. Then I went to Clintonville to help Zelda and the Pattycakes move freezers, coolers, mixers and other equipment out of the bakery for the crew to put in a new floor the next day. A day full of hard work and fun.
The Java Central posse was in fine form on Sunday morning, but I was shocked to get the news that Rev. Todd Anderson has been re-assigned to a Methodist church in Hilliard, OH, and will be leaving Church of the Master next month. I am unsure what my next church-related move will be and skeptical whether his successor at Master can hold a candle to this rare and gifted teacher. So I muddled through the day, did a little yard work, and jogged over to the high school track in the waning daylight.
I kept it slow, as usual, and walked 100 meters every half mile or so, eventually losing count of my laps at around 16, so when I got home an hour later I figure it was about five miles at a 12-minute pace, give or take. Not too bad, and no pain to speak of.
I had another optical appointment Friday afternoon, so I skipped out from work a little early and got fitted for new frames. Since there was daylight and good weather, I went for a decent bike ride and felt good. The weather on Saturday was even better, so Gven Golly, my earth mother wife, and I went out to a farm over near Hoover and brought back two loads of nice, ripe horse manure for the garden. Then I went to Clintonville to help Zelda and the Pattycakes move freezers, coolers, mixers and other equipment out of the bakery for the crew to put in a new floor the next day. A day full of hard work and fun.
The Java Central posse was in fine form on Sunday morning, but I was shocked to get the news that Rev. Todd Anderson has been re-assigned to a Methodist church in Hilliard, OH, and will be leaving Church of the Master next month. I am unsure what my next church-related move will be and skeptical whether his successor at Master can hold a candle to this rare and gifted teacher. So I muddled through the day, did a little yard work, and jogged over to the high school track in the waning daylight.
I kept it slow, as usual, and walked 100 meters every half mile or so, eventually losing count of my laps at around 16, so when I got home an hour later I figure it was about five miles at a 12-minute pace, give or take. Not too bad, and no pain to speak of.
Sunday, April 06, 2014
Running Journal 14
One small step for Sven, a giant leap for Svenkind.
Still running only once a week, but now I'm actually running. Not just jogging, and not a heel-toe simulation of running that's more like a fast walk. If you have ever run, you know the difference. And if you have ever been a runner, you know the difference makes all the difference in the world.
For the record, people who know about these things says it takes seven years to become a runner. Many people run once in a while, and some run with regularity for a while, but it takes consistent workouts for years to rebuild the muscles, bones, joints, neurons, and cardio-vascular system into those of a runner - cell by aerobically fit cell.
So you don't become a runner by walking or jogging, although (cliche alert) you have to walk before you run, and you don't become a runner in 14 weeks. But if you're a former runner who didn't even know if he was capable of running, it's a small breakthrough to go from a slow but satisfying jog to a slow but distinctly different phenomenological experience of running.
I think the weather had something to do with it. It was so nice on Saturday that I went for a bike ride before dinner, and I'm convinced that cross-training is magic. The weather was even nicer today, and I went directly to the high school track instead of up the bike trail. Maybe that was the secret ingredient: warm weather and the cushioned surface of the track instead of snow and ice on the asphalt bike trail. It all adds up.
The high school soccer team was having an informal practice, but they didn't bother me and I didn't bother them. Staying in the outside lane, I let my legs call the tune, and after a slow warm-up lap, I walked 100 meters and felt refreshed. Another slow 100 meters and I began to stride out a little for the next 100 meters, slowed to a jog for 100, picked up the pace for 100, and then walked 100.
This quasi-Fartlek workout felt great, so I settled into a comfortable pace alternating between a slow jog and a less-slow jog that I'm defining as a 'run'. Based on that idiosyncratic logic, I am now running. Ask me in seven years if I'm a runner yet.
Still running only once a week, but now I'm actually running. Not just jogging, and not a heel-toe simulation of running that's more like a fast walk. If you have ever run, you know the difference. And if you have ever been a runner, you know the difference makes all the difference in the world.
For the record, people who know about these things says it takes seven years to become a runner. Many people run once in a while, and some run with regularity for a while, but it takes consistent workouts for years to rebuild the muscles, bones, joints, neurons, and cardio-vascular system into those of a runner - cell by aerobically fit cell.
So you don't become a runner by walking or jogging, although (cliche alert) you have to walk before you run, and you don't become a runner in 14 weeks. But if you're a former runner who didn't even know if he was capable of running, it's a small breakthrough to go from a slow but satisfying jog to a slow but distinctly different phenomenological experience of running.
I think the weather had something to do with it. It was so nice on Saturday that I went for a bike ride before dinner, and I'm convinced that cross-training is magic. The weather was even nicer today, and I went directly to the high school track instead of up the bike trail. Maybe that was the secret ingredient: warm weather and the cushioned surface of the track instead of snow and ice on the asphalt bike trail. It all adds up.
The high school soccer team was having an informal practice, but they didn't bother me and I didn't bother them. Staying in the outside lane, I let my legs call the tune, and after a slow warm-up lap, I walked 100 meters and felt refreshed. Another slow 100 meters and I began to stride out a little for the next 100 meters, slowed to a jog for 100, picked up the pace for 100, and then walked 100.
This quasi-Fartlek workout felt great, so I settled into a comfortable pace alternating between a slow jog and a less-slow jog that I'm defining as a 'run'. Based on that idiosyncratic logic, I am now running. Ask me in seven years if I'm a runner yet.
Tuesday, April 01, 2014
Running Journal 13
One step forward, two steps back. And vice versa.
Start the weekend by seeing the eye doctor, then go for a bike ride. Pay some bills, eat some pasta. It's Friday.On Saturday, do your chores and get a haircut. Make a crock of bean and bacon soup. Watch basketball. It's the Amerikan way. Sunday starts with a batch of bread, a cup of coffee, and a surprising conversation with my posse at Java Central. Rutter's Requiem at Church of the Master, fixing the fence back at the shack, picking up sticks to stack in the back, and finally go for a run.
Remember Fartlek? It's a kind of workout where you start running slowly, gradually build up speed, and then slow down just long enough to restore your energy and build up speed again, then repeating that cycle lap by lap. My knees and calves were giving me all kinds of mixed messages right from the start, so I let myself into the high school track and minded my own business while the lacrosse players finished their practice and the soccer players started theirs.
Quarter mile jog, 100-meter walk, quarter mile jog, 100-meter walk. Do that six times and feel great. Indulge in a long, slow stretch and a Guinness stout with broiled salmon, sweet potatoes and broccoli. It's not the distance or the speed that matters, it's just the right balance of short duration and low intensity that makes a good workout.
Start the weekend by seeing the eye doctor, then go for a bike ride. Pay some bills, eat some pasta. It's Friday.On Saturday, do your chores and get a haircut. Make a crock of bean and bacon soup. Watch basketball. It's the Amerikan way. Sunday starts with a batch of bread, a cup of coffee, and a surprising conversation with my posse at Java Central. Rutter's Requiem at Church of the Master, fixing the fence back at the shack, picking up sticks to stack in the back, and finally go for a run.
Remember Fartlek? It's a kind of workout where you start running slowly, gradually build up speed, and then slow down just long enough to restore your energy and build up speed again, then repeating that cycle lap by lap. My knees and calves were giving me all kinds of mixed messages right from the start, so I let myself into the high school track and minded my own business while the lacrosse players finished their practice and the soccer players started theirs.
Quarter mile jog, 100-meter walk, quarter mile jog, 100-meter walk. Do that six times and feel great. Indulge in a long, slow stretch and a Guinness stout with broiled salmon, sweet potatoes and broccoli. It's not the distance or the speed that matters, it's just the right balance of short duration and low intensity that makes a good workout.
Sunday, March 23, 2014
Running Journal 12
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.
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 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.
Sunday, February 23, 2014
Running Journal 9
I ran twice this week. That's a breakthrough, by the way. Up to this point in my new, life-changing practice of running, I've only run once a week, so when I got home from work before dark on Friday, it was a novel experience to change clothes and go for a slow jog to the pond off East Park St. in the warm early evening.
It took awhile to warm up the muscles and joints, regardless of the fair weather. My mantra is: Take it slow. And so I did, taking an eternity just to get to the pond, about a mile away, but then it got a little more fun on the soft footing of the trail, circling the half-frozen pond on a mixture of fine gravel, snow, ice, slush, mud, a nice boardwalk, you name it. So I took my time and got back in about 40 minutes, less mileage than usual but that's okay, since we're breaking new ground here.
I felt so good, I suggested going out for pizza instead of ordering in. We tried out a new restaurant, Carsonie's, down south on Westerville Road, and it was another new experience. According to my amateur ethnographic observations, it's an old Westerville hangout, full of DeSales graduates from the latter half of the 20th century, a too-loud sound system playing top-40 hits from that era, and an promising menu of pizza, beer, and calzones.
We ordered a medium veggie pizza and an appetizer, waited half an hour, nothing. Then they brought a pizza with the wrong toppings, promised another one with what we ordered, but forgot the appetizer. Long story short, we eventually got the pizza we asked for (in a box), a couple of Deviant Dave's IPAs, and an order of meatball sliders, all for free, plus a gift certificate to say they want us to come back.The Deviant Dave's was pretty good, the sliders not bad, and the apologies from multiple waitpersons were effusive.
Saturday morning, Gven Golly and I walked over to Church of the Master for a lecture by Otterbein professor Geoffrey Barstow on Buddhist meditation. Barstow has studied Tibetan Buddhist texts and practices for several years in Nepal and brings first-hand experience to the Western, Christian academic setting. His talk gave the local community, right there in the Fellowship Hall of the Methodist church, an even-handed and non-judgmental description of Tibetan Buddhist training that cut through its exoticism and mystery. Of course, you can only go so far in an hour and a half, but I was glad we went.
I spent the afternoon washing the truck, cleaning out the garage, and fixing the back gate. We had (free) leftover pizza and fresh guacamole for supper, built a nice fire in the stove, and talked to my Dad on the phone.
Sunday morning seminar with the regulars at Java Central was exceptionally lively, and it's a good thing because the annual Children's Sabbath at Church of the Master was an ordeal of saccharine sweetness. I escaped to go home and do laundry, sweep the den, and bake bread. It was nice enough outside to follow through on the nice, clean garage by cleaning out the carport and reorganizing some lumber in the woodshed. Not that any real work will get done, but it feels good to have stuff in order.
With the sun sinking near the horizon and bread loaves rising, it was now or never, so I put on my running clothes and retraced my muddy steps to the pond.
It didn't go smoothly. My knees balked at the effort. A big black dog charged down a driveway on East Park St. to warn me away from his territory, but he stopped at the curb, I only flinched for a second, and I lived to tell the tale. I repeated my mantra and focused extra attention on lifting the knees, which seems to increase the bounce from a short, toe-first stride, slow as it is. The thing is, speed does not matter. I'm just out there learning how to run again. Ask me in seven years if I'm really a runner.
It took awhile to warm up the muscles and joints, regardless of the fair weather. My mantra is: Take it slow. And so I did, taking an eternity just to get to the pond, about a mile away, but then it got a little more fun on the soft footing of the trail, circling the half-frozen pond on a mixture of fine gravel, snow, ice, slush, mud, a nice boardwalk, you name it. So I took my time and got back in about 40 minutes, less mileage than usual but that's okay, since we're breaking new ground here.
I felt so good, I suggested going out for pizza instead of ordering in. We tried out a new restaurant, Carsonie's, down south on Westerville Road, and it was another new experience. According to my amateur ethnographic observations, it's an old Westerville hangout, full of DeSales graduates from the latter half of the 20th century, a too-loud sound system playing top-40 hits from that era, and an promising menu of pizza, beer, and calzones.
We ordered a medium veggie pizza and an appetizer, waited half an hour, nothing. Then they brought a pizza with the wrong toppings, promised another one with what we ordered, but forgot the appetizer. Long story short, we eventually got the pizza we asked for (in a box), a couple of Deviant Dave's IPAs, and an order of meatball sliders, all for free, plus a gift certificate to say they want us to come back.The Deviant Dave's was pretty good, the sliders not bad, and the apologies from multiple waitpersons were effusive.
Saturday morning, Gven Golly and I walked over to Church of the Master for a lecture by Otterbein professor Geoffrey Barstow on Buddhist meditation. Barstow has studied Tibetan Buddhist texts and practices for several years in Nepal and brings first-hand experience to the Western, Christian academic setting. His talk gave the local community, right there in the Fellowship Hall of the Methodist church, an even-handed and non-judgmental description of Tibetan Buddhist training that cut through its exoticism and mystery. Of course, you can only go so far in an hour and a half, but I was glad we went.
I spent the afternoon washing the truck, cleaning out the garage, and fixing the back gate. We had (free) leftover pizza and fresh guacamole for supper, built a nice fire in the stove, and talked to my Dad on the phone.
Sunday morning seminar with the regulars at Java Central was exceptionally lively, and it's a good thing because the annual Children's Sabbath at Church of the Master was an ordeal of saccharine sweetness. I escaped to go home and do laundry, sweep the den, and bake bread. It was nice enough outside to follow through on the nice, clean garage by cleaning out the carport and reorganizing some lumber in the woodshed. Not that any real work will get done, but it feels good to have stuff in order.
With the sun sinking near the horizon and bread loaves rising, it was now or never, so I put on my running clothes and retraced my muddy steps to the pond.
It didn't go smoothly. My knees balked at the effort. A big black dog charged down a driveway on East Park St. to warn me away from his territory, but he stopped at the curb, I only flinched for a second, and I lived to tell the tale. I repeated my mantra and focused extra attention on lifting the knees, which seems to increase the bounce from a short, toe-first stride, slow as it is. The thing is, speed does not matter. I'm just out there learning how to run again. Ask me in seven years if I'm really a runner.
Monday, February 17, 2014
Running Journal 8
Conditions were not ideal, and I almost didn't go, but now that I'm in the endorphin zone, I am here to testify, brothers and sisters, that even if the temperature is in the twenties, there's a bit of a wind, and that Bartleby the Scrivener inside is saying, "I would prefer not to," go outside and do it anyway. Run, walk the dog, ski, snowshoe, bicycle, build a snowman, whatever it is, (with apologies to Nike) just do it.
It had been an okay day so far, a medium red-eye and a bagel at Java Central, a little conversation with the regulars, mostly about books because they seem to think I 'm all about books, and it was Mike's birthday. Another atypical Sunday at Church of the Master was focused on Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts, paramilitary displays of flags, marching, images of war, "Onward Christian Soldiers" and the whole nine yards of God and Country and Leadership. There was also a perfectly lovely piano solo by one of the Girl Scouts.
So I stopped at Java Central on my way home and handed Andy, the barista par excellence, the insert from the church bulletin about an upcoming series of lectures about "Buddhism in a Multi-Faith World" by Dr. Geoff Barstow, Assistant Professor in the Department of Religion and Philosophy at Otterbein University, because I knew from a previous conversation that Andy was interested in Buddhism. Then I went home, ate lunch, read the paper, checked Facebook, and watched the Michigan State game. Ouch, the Spartans lost one at home to Nebraska.
It was not a busy day. Gven and I discussed which week in August would interfere least with our rec center teaching schedules, and I emailed the caretakers at Thayer Lake to book a cabin. I did manage to get outside for a while, did some Basic Movement in the shelter of the woodshed, which brought me to life a little, and carried some firewood inside. That little bit of warmup probably got me going.
Running was improvisational. I didn't want to go east on Park St. to the nature preserve, because then I would come back against the wind. Then I departed from my usual route up the bike path, because the asphalt was icy, and headed west on Home St. past the Otterbein track, which was locked tightly, and meandered north and west past the baseball and softball fields to the cross-country course down the hill toward the Community Center, made the turn at County Line Rd., and came back a different way than I went out.
I had forgotten to put the knee brace on and didn't miss it. I was surprised how good it felt in my legs to take short, high strides and softly strike the ground with the toes, but I had to resist the urge to go faster. It's a little like a Fartlek workout, but without the sprint between the slowdowns, just nice and steady, with the focus on form, not speed.
I got home in about an hour, so I'm guessing it was five miles at a 12-minute mile pace. That's a mile more than last week and no pain in the knees, so I'll take it. The cool-down was great, lying on my back on the bamboo mat upstairs, stretching and generating lots of ideas about things to do on our vacation in Michigan.
It had been an okay day so far, a medium red-eye and a bagel at Java Central, a little conversation with the regulars, mostly about books because they seem to think I 'm all about books, and it was Mike's birthday. Another atypical Sunday at Church of the Master was focused on Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts, paramilitary displays of flags, marching, images of war, "Onward Christian Soldiers" and the whole nine yards of God and Country and Leadership. There was also a perfectly lovely piano solo by one of the Girl Scouts.
So I stopped at Java Central on my way home and handed Andy, the barista par excellence, the insert from the church bulletin about an upcoming series of lectures about "Buddhism in a Multi-Faith World" by Dr. Geoff Barstow, Assistant Professor in the Department of Religion and Philosophy at Otterbein University, because I knew from a previous conversation that Andy was interested in Buddhism. Then I went home, ate lunch, read the paper, checked Facebook, and watched the Michigan State game. Ouch, the Spartans lost one at home to Nebraska.
It was not a busy day. Gven and I discussed which week in August would interfere least with our rec center teaching schedules, and I emailed the caretakers at Thayer Lake to book a cabin. I did manage to get outside for a while, did some Basic Movement in the shelter of the woodshed, which brought me to life a little, and carried some firewood inside. That little bit of warmup probably got me going.
Running was improvisational. I didn't want to go east on Park St. to the nature preserve, because then I would come back against the wind. Then I departed from my usual route up the bike path, because the asphalt was icy, and headed west on Home St. past the Otterbein track, which was locked tightly, and meandered north and west past the baseball and softball fields to the cross-country course down the hill toward the Community Center, made the turn at County Line Rd., and came back a different way than I went out.
I had forgotten to put the knee brace on and didn't miss it. I was surprised how good it felt in my legs to take short, high strides and softly strike the ground with the toes, but I had to resist the urge to go faster. It's a little like a Fartlek workout, but without the sprint between the slowdowns, just nice and steady, with the focus on form, not speed.
I got home in about an hour, so I'm guessing it was five miles at a 12-minute mile pace. That's a mile more than last week and no pain in the knees, so I'll take it. The cool-down was great, lying on my back on the bamboo mat upstairs, stretching and generating lots of ideas about things to do on our vacation in Michigan.
Sunday, February 09, 2014
Running Journal 7
So I missed a week, and I wasn't sure whether I could sustain the bit of momentum gained from the first six weeks of running once a week, for what that's worth. And apparently it wasn't that big a deal, because to my relief all the moving parts seem to still be working.
Or maybe it was just a superb job of preparation, warm-up, and execution. For future reference, I suggest the following:
1. The day before, ride your bike from the car repair shop to the bank, to the barber shop, and home. Act nonchalant, like you do this all the time in February, even though you're taking your life in your hands with Saturday morning drivers crowding the right lane up and down route 3 in Methodistville. Which means you are a badass on wheels, yo!
2. Do it again, but in reverse, this time against the wind with the temperature dropping at the end of the day, to go pick up the car at the shop. Above all, act like it's nothing. Your old-dude super-coolness will take away some of the sting of the 900 shekels you just paid to have your brakes fixed.
3. Observe your highly disciplined training table regimen: have a drink, build a fire in the woodstove, eat a nice chicken dinner, and watch a movie with the wife (Jim Broadbent is masterful in Mike Leigh's "Another Year").
4. Next morning, drink three cups of strong coffee, making sure you are never far from a restroom as you make your way to Java Central to church and home through the snow.
5. Find time, preferably in the middle of the afternoon while the sun makes an appearance, to shovel the fresh, weightless snow, demonstrating once again how to be both macho and righteously Midwestern.
6. Pausing only long enough to put the bread in the oven, stride out the gate and across the park to the snow-covered bike trail. Please note: by "stride" I mean take a lot of little tiny steps with no regard whatsoever for speed. Going faster is NOT the goal. On the contrary, move slowly up the trail, across College Ave., Broadway, and County Line Road to Maxtown concentrating on knee-lift and toe-strike, resisting the urge to get there and back sooner rather than later.
7. Ice the knee in question while lying on your back, stretching neck, shoulders, back, hips, ankles, and everything in between. Hydrate with Columbus IPA (blue corn chips with sour cream-horseradish dip optional).
Or maybe it was just a superb job of preparation, warm-up, and execution. For future reference, I suggest the following:
1. The day before, ride your bike from the car repair shop to the bank, to the barber shop, and home. Act nonchalant, like you do this all the time in February, even though you're taking your life in your hands with Saturday morning drivers crowding the right lane up and down route 3 in Methodistville. Which means you are a badass on wheels, yo!
2. Do it again, but in reverse, this time against the wind with the temperature dropping at the end of the day, to go pick up the car at the shop. Above all, act like it's nothing. Your old-dude super-coolness will take away some of the sting of the 900 shekels you just paid to have your brakes fixed.
3. Observe your highly disciplined training table regimen: have a drink, build a fire in the woodstove, eat a nice chicken dinner, and watch a movie with the wife (Jim Broadbent is masterful in Mike Leigh's "Another Year").
4. Next morning, drink three cups of strong coffee, making sure you are never far from a restroom as you make your way to Java Central to church and home through the snow.
5. Find time, preferably in the middle of the afternoon while the sun makes an appearance, to shovel the fresh, weightless snow, demonstrating once again how to be both macho and righteously Midwestern.
6. Pausing only long enough to put the bread in the oven, stride out the gate and across the park to the snow-covered bike trail. Please note: by "stride" I mean take a lot of little tiny steps with no regard whatsoever for speed. Going faster is NOT the goal. On the contrary, move slowly up the trail, across College Ave., Broadway, and County Line Road to Maxtown concentrating on knee-lift and toe-strike, resisting the urge to get there and back sooner rather than later.
7. Ice the knee in question while lying on your back, stretching neck, shoulders, back, hips, ankles, and everything in between. Hydrate with Columbus IPA (blue corn chips with sour cream-horseradish dip optional).
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