I have twelve days until the Seattle Half Marathon and many fewer training runs remaining. I will be running Tuesday through Thursday this week, both days this weekend, and then Tuesday through Thursday again next week.
I still do not have a specific goal for my half marathon finish. I would certainly like to run faster than my 7:34 per mile pace from my last long run.
I use Gmap Pedometer to plan and measure my running routes. The site recently added a fantastic feature: automatic route tracing. Rather than using impossibly straight segments between two user-specified points, the application traces the road between the two points to calculate the true distance. Of course, this feature is no good if one does not follow the actual road but is a huge time-saver otherwise.
For now, I need to plow through a bit more work and then do my training. I will be running between 3 and 4 miles and then doing some sort of strength workout. Zoom!
I asked—rhetorically perhaps?—in my previous post what it is that makes me happy. I asked this question at least somewhat because I have not been particularly happy of late. I attribute these low spirits (this wreath of miasma?) to a confluence of circumstances, circumstances I will not discuss herein.
I don't have any "solution" to my life as it stands or, rather, as it sits—you all can probably guess how much time I spend in front of my laptop. But, regardless, I do know one bit that makes me happy, however rhetorical the original question.
I run.
It's really simple and despite this simplicity I literally forget sometimes that running makes me happy. Two and a half years ago I joked that I should get a tattoo reminder to run. I revisit this "joke" with reasonable frequency and I have to admit the notion has gained some merit. (As for the form or exact message of the tattoo, I will presently stay silent.)
Don't get me wrong—I love my family and my friends, I love Ultimate, I love eating and reading and music, and I do quite enjoy some aspects of my work. Still, I run alone, more alone perhaps than I find myself anywhere else in life. The motion and act are pure, independent of anyone but still irrevocably connected to my world. I run in rain and cold and sun and wind. I run on perfect Seattle days, like today, with weather so good I want to yell and exult and smile and greet every person I pass.
Today. I came down the first leg of Lake Washington Boulevard and was greeted by the aforementioned lake shrouded in fog so thick the other was side was actually invisible. The fog burned and lifted as I wound down the shore, feeling strong and free. I dreaded the turnaround a bit, the acceptance that I would have to stop running. I always take the halfway turn a bit slow and relish the point I've reached—today with a hazy Mount Rainier far off to the south.
But I turn and accelerate all the same. I think about the finish, and I think about why I'm running and my next run and how I'm getting faster. I think about the Seattle Half-Marathon in two weeks and I think about training to break a 5-minute mile this winter. I think about the next day, and on, and on.
Last week I ran an excruciating 12 miles after work on Monday, without enough sleep the night before or hydration during the day, and in the dark and cold besides. I struggled through the last mile, nearly all uphill, and arrived exhausted at my home. And I cried. I cried, out on the sidewalk in front of my apartment, because I was tired and felt sick, not just from the run but from every little bit that grates and weighs. But I also cried in satisfaction and happiness: I finished, and I would do it again. And then I didn't move for four hours.
Today. I ran 13.5 miles on the same route as last Monday but in the sun and breeze. I was fed and watered and rested well. I was happy at the start and finish and all throughout, enjoying the lake and killing the pavement and passing people and, as always, singing Beastie Boys in my head. Let's be clear: that last mile uphill still sucked. But, I stepped back in my apartment after the run and just started screaming in triumph.
I was reading up on the Nikon D90, drinking ginger tea and lusting for this hot new piece, when I found a beautiful little note pages down in Ken Rockwell's D90 review:
Marketing: 16 page brochure. The photo examples suggest that buying a D90 will earn you a lot of young, colorful, outgoing and active friends. No photos are credited. As usual, most of the example shots are made with lenses like the 85mm f/1.4, 14-24mm f/2.8 and 24-70mm f/2.8 that each cost as least as much as the D90 body alone and weigh several times as much, and would never be carried by someone young and exciting.
Notice that you will never, ever see anyone in a brochure sitting in front of a computer screen dicking with raw images. All you will see is skateboarding and bicycling, and the only time you'll see a person portrayed as cool with any electronic device is if Apple is trying to sell them iPods, or a cell phone company is trying to push wireless devices, which do cause cancer. You also will never see anyone holding a camera, unless it's a camera ad. Cameras and electronics are not cool. Dealing with people in person and participating in, not watching, active sports is where it's at.
Thank you, Ken, for this reminder that spending $1000—money that I don't particularly have—for a new camera body will not make me happy. What is it that makes me happy again?
Sometimes, on a Sunday afternoon, you just have to say yes to a box of tomatoes, however imprudent 25 pounds of red and green and striated heirlooms may be. Don't listen to the voices in your head, the doubts—listen to Sarah, who firmly believes we can cook and stew and sauce all of these tomatoes. Embrace that box of discount seconds, tomatoes deemed too bruised or malformed or ugly to sell at full price. And sing to those tomatoes as your carry them home and uphill, sing to them of their ripe, juicy beauty and heady summer smell.
Okay, we didn't actually sing to them. But we should have—and we did give them a photo shoot.
Life is complicated. My life is complicated. For a weekend, for some time approximating 48 hours, life was simple and pure. I drank and laughed and danced with my friends, and I lay about and sat and read and watched Buffy and ate delicious brunches and dinners. Bacon and home fries and roast chicken and focaccia and beets and biscuits and smoked salmon and pasta and scallops and apple crumble and tomatoes. Many a tomato.
A 25-pound box of tomatoes is not particularly complicated. It does not ask you about work tomorrow or what turning 27 means. It does not need query optimization. The box is heavy and red with purpose and potential and hope. Each tomato wants to be eaten—or sauced and frozen for the deep dark winter—and that is a service I know I can provide. Say yes.
Say yes, it's true: I ran again today. I really ran. Not three miles, but seven miles. My body thanked me by opening up and finding its stride and affirming that there is life and vitality and speed in me. In turn, I thanked it with a hot shower and typically-delicious Sarah dinner and, in a moment, with bed: now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my tomatoes to keep from spoiling.
Smelled hamburgers when I stepped out of my apartment this morning. Wish it had been watermelon. 09:00 AM September 29, 2008
Two quick notes: my hair looks way good today and I like Americanos better from Trabant than from Victrola. THERE I SAID IT. 09:45 AM September 29, 2008
Up and done with a run. Just finished cereal with local organic white nectarines. How often does a piece of fruit need three adjectives? 08:44 AM September 30, 2008
Forgot to mention: was at Verite with Avery, and I ran into a XC teammate from high school in Massachusetts. Crazy small world! 10:35 AM October 01, 2008
Palin over and over, "Of course I support ____. Some of my best friends are gay/Israeli/nuclear weapons/caribou. Actually I kill caribou." 06:56 PM October 02, 2008
Re: Biden's wife, "Her reward is in heaven." Did you just threaten her life, Palin? 07:12 PM October 02, 2008
I need a machine running Windows so I can test on IE 6. Also, I want to remember what it feels like for a browser to stab me in the eye. 09:04 AM October 03, 2008
Been too long since I made Annie's Mac & Cheese: I almost forgot how to "Push tail to open." 08:16 PM October 03, 2008
I wrote the following entry on Monday, September 22nd, the day after our sectionals tournament. I was unsure if I should publish my frank thoughts and they were relegated to the drafts folder—all but forgotten—until now.
The two days following our loss were particularly bad but I regained some perspective as the week progressed and immediate work responsibilities occupied me. Teammates chimed in, reminding us all of the months we had spent together, irrespective of wins and losses, and many of us reunited to celebrate Foster's imminent departure for Argentina.
And so I find myself ready to move on, to find joy in my season with Shadrach, and to put aside regret. Here then are my somewhat less lighthearted initial reactions and a somewhat vague conclusion, or lack thereof. (more...)
I spent the final week of August with my family—my parents Melanie and Federico and my sister Nicole and her fiancé Mark—at a small cabin on a lake in New Hampshire. As we do every year, we swam and read and cooked and ate and talked and laughed and played Mexican Train Dominoes. And, as happens every year, the time passed far too quickly.
And every time I hear "With Arms Outstretched" by Rilo Kiley, they tug my heart-strings a bit, and I am poignantly transported to these idyllic times with my loving family.
Mark, Nicole, Mom and Dad, thank you, and I love you, and I will see you soon.
