I'm snowed in in Tahoe today. My flight to Vegas was cancelled and there weren't even any taxis willing to take me to the airport, anyway. We've gotten 36" of snow in the last 24 hours. It's a skier's paradise! Problem is, I'm not much of a skier.
I grew up dabbling in skiing but never quite getting a handle. When I was a kid, I went on bus trips with friends from school and took very few lessons. I'd just wing it. I remember falling a lot and not knowing how to get up - and just lying there peacefully in thick powder until ski patrol would come to save me. That quiet time looking up at the sky was my happy time.
I wasn't just a bad skier, I was dangerous. My friends and I would dare each other to go down steep hills at top speed. I once caused my friend to crash into a tree and break her glasses. Another time, I slammed into a barrier chain and flipped around it a few times to my friends' amusement. How I never broke a bone is a mystery! Another time I completely lost a pair of rental skis; I took a tumble and they unhinged and slipped right over the side of the mountain, never to be seen again; I had to walk down in my boots. In college, I was in the back seat of a bad car wreck on a ski trip; we all ended up in the emergency room and my shoulder was dislocated so badly that it still hurts me sometimes. I never dressed properly, either. I'd wear jeans and a cowboy bandanna around my face - and Vaurnet sunglasses. I constantly fell in puddles and was a frozen Popsicles by noon.
By the time I was in my 20s I was starting to realize I had a choice - I didn't have to ski if I didn't want to - and if I were going to ski, I could take lessons and get better. Since my best friends at the time had a ski house in Colorado, and there didn't seem to be any way to escape the sport, I decided to opt for the latter. I'd go to Colorado and focus on the parts of the trip I really loved - cooking for a crowd, movies, games, and general togetherness - and then I'd go off on my own and take lessons.
I got better but, because my friends were all skiing double black diamond slopes, I had to stretch way past my comfort zone, and really, past my interest, to ski with them. I loved the feeling of being on top of the mountain, the view, the swoosh-swoosh of the snow, and the exhilaration of having accomplished a challenging hill; but the crowds on the mountain and the general pressure to "ski the trees" and "take moguls" kind of ruined it for me. One guy used to pick on me in particular. We're both very competitive and he couldn't cope with my comparative weakness - and lack of interest in jousting with him. On my last trip to Colorado, I came down with pneumonia. The competitive guy was really pissed about this and made everyone uncomfortable as he attacked me endlessly for staying in with my 103 degree fever. I vowed never to go to Colorado with that group again and, in fact, I never skied again.
So, when this trip for work came up, I half-heartedly packed my ski clothes from 2002, and my ski jacket from 1997. (The jacket I used in 2002 was a boarding jacket and hasn't got any bells or whistles, and isn't even warm. Function over fashion, I decided. I didn't expect to have to use anything, anyway.)
But surprise, surprise. I'm snowed in today and so here was the perfect opportunity to test the (frozen) waters and get a cross-training workout in. I wouldn't have to ski at anyone else's pace, or worry about crowds. I didn't need a lesson. I know how to ski and, unlike tennis where there are about 15 things you need to remember within a 1 second time frame, in skiing you pretty much just need to remember: lean forward, feet together, look at the road, shift your weight, and yield to oncoming traffic!
I started with a beginner hill which was basically a 30 minute cross country experience because the snow was so fresh and thick, I couldn't get any speed! I arrived back at the base's gondola sweating and exhausted. The lift team all smiled and remembered me since there were only about 300 people on the mountain at all today! This is a mountain that supports up to 30,000 skiers on a typical peak season Saturday...but it's a Monday, early in the season, and none of the locals could drive through to get here! They suggested if I thought I could handle it, I should just go straight to the summit and ski all the way down. I figured I had nothing to lose, so I went for it.
Long, long story short, it was amazing - the best skiing of my life! I got an excellent workout in, didn't fall once, was able to challenge myself, saw the most beautiful sights, and at the top of the mountain met a bunch of great people and even did some business. What a day...
One observation I've made about the gap time that passed between my last and today's ski experience is how much skiing has actually changed in just 7 years. I was one of maybe 10 skiers on the hill - the rest were all boarders. In chatting with my new friends at the bar at the summit, they told me that for a while there was a rift between "skiers" and "boarders" - old school and new at odds for power. A peacemaker had come along though and encouraged the two factions to drop their politics - and the labels "skiing" and "boarding" - in favor of the unifying term, "riding." So I don't actually ski now, I ride. They also don't call hats "hats" any more. A hat is a "beanie."
It's hard to explain the strange feeling I have stepping back into a world I haven't touched in 7 years. It's like I've been in a coma. The kids on the slopes are the same age I was when I left, but now I'm older. I don't have this experience as I train for the Marathon because I've never been a runner before, and I've never wanted to be. If there were trends in running in the 80s and 90s, I'm unaware of them. All my running gear is new. I don't feel any pressure to be better than where I'm at. Right now, I am the best I've ever been! ...and the best part is, the only person I'm in competition with, is myself.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Day 36: So Much for Balance
Today is an unplanned day off. It's Sunday and I'm working in North Lake Tahoe. I'm here to help host an event that was to be an outdoor party with s'more roasting over huge fire pits, a band, and 500 VIPs on the guest list. But Nature had other plans. It's 8 degrees out right now and big balls of snow have been falling sideways since noon. Good for the ski mountain, bad for us.
I've spent most of the day helping to move all our party gear from our outdoor space, which we set up yesterday, to a new indoor space. I've fallen on ice twice in my running shoes - my arm's totally bruised - and there's no way I'm going to make it to the gym before the event starts in 30 minutes, or afterward.
So, today's a day off, and balance, but a sweet memory...
I've spent most of the day helping to move all our party gear from our outdoor space, which we set up yesterday, to a new indoor space. I've fallen on ice twice in my running shoes - my arm's totally bruised - and there's no way I'm going to make it to the gym before the event starts in 30 minutes, or afterward.
So, today's a day off, and balance, but a sweet memory...
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Day 35: Balance
It's Saturday today, and I'm in North Lake Tahoe, CA, on a business trip. I'll be on the road now for a week but am determined to keep up my training, at odd hours if necessary, and despite the awkwardness of traveling with not only a week's worth of business clothes for three geographies, but enough running gear.
A friend recently gave me an old copy of Runner's World. It was the November issue, which comes out in October, so it was filled with pre-marathon and Turkey Trot advice and advertising. I was really surprised by how accessible the content was. I'd of course heard of Runner's World but assumed it was only for high performing runners - not for newbies like me. On the plane between NY and Reno, I found myself devouring the features, one after the next.
In the magazine there was a chart that gave beginning training advice - how to train for a Turkey Trot! Gee... wish I'd known about that a few weeks ago! But anyway, I saw I'd pretty much done everything wrong, which was strangely reassuring - that if I'd done it right, maybe it would have been easier. I decided to use some of the 5K training tips for my next workout.
After working outdoors for most of the day, in 11 degree Fahrenheit weather, I finally had time to head over to the gym - but when I got there, I found it locked and empty. What!? NO! I refused to take no for an answer... I circled the building entirely, looked for a service entrance - anything. I was prepared to sneak in! The lights were on inside the building. Finally, out of desperation - last ditch effort - I tried just banging hard on the glass doors! Eventually, someone from housekeeping emerged and stared at me tentatively. I pleaded and held an entire conversation with her through the glass door until finally, she let me in!
As directed by Runner's World, I walked one mile to warm up, and then ran 2 miles alternating between walking (at a pace of 3.5 mph) and running (on a 3 point incline, at a pace of 4 mph). Instead of listening to music, I watched Nancy Grace repeat the Tiger Woods 911 call about seven times, and Joy Behar interview Howie Mandel. Boring! But I didn't need better entertainment.
As hard as miles 2 and 3 were to get through, especially at the end, I had fun with my new game - guessing my own heart rate. I'm pretty good at it! Today I was accurate every single time within one bpm. I also like to watch the calories burn, and study my breath. Runner's World talks a lot about being able to hold a conversation while you are running (you're supposed to be able to). Let me be very clear about this to any newbie like me who might read this blog - I am NOT able to hold a conversation while running yet! Are you kidding? I'm barely able to do the whole "breath in through your nose, out through your mouth" thing - but I am trying.
My workout took 45 minutes, so my pace wasn't so fantastic - and slower than I achieved at the Turkey Trot - but it's my first three mile run since the Trot and I'm very proud to have completed it. After running I treated myself to a luxurious steam. Now sushi and then back to work... I think this really is what they mean when they talk about having "balance" in your life. Feels good.
A friend recently gave me an old copy of Runner's World. It was the November issue, which comes out in October, so it was filled with pre-marathon and Turkey Trot advice and advertising. I was really surprised by how accessible the content was. I'd of course heard of Runner's World but assumed it was only for high performing runners - not for newbies like me. On the plane between NY and Reno, I found myself devouring the features, one after the next.
In the magazine there was a chart that gave beginning training advice - how to train for a Turkey Trot! Gee... wish I'd known about that a few weeks ago! But anyway, I saw I'd pretty much done everything wrong, which was strangely reassuring - that if I'd done it right, maybe it would have been easier. I decided to use some of the 5K training tips for my next workout.
After working outdoors for most of the day, in 11 degree Fahrenheit weather, I finally had time to head over to the gym - but when I got there, I found it locked and empty. What!? NO! I refused to take no for an answer... I circled the building entirely, looked for a service entrance - anything. I was prepared to sneak in! The lights were on inside the building. Finally, out of desperation - last ditch effort - I tried just banging hard on the glass doors! Eventually, someone from housekeeping emerged and stared at me tentatively. I pleaded and held an entire conversation with her through the glass door until finally, she let me in!
As directed by Runner's World, I walked one mile to warm up, and then ran 2 miles alternating between walking (at a pace of 3.5 mph) and running (on a 3 point incline, at a pace of 4 mph). Instead of listening to music, I watched Nancy Grace repeat the Tiger Woods 911 call about seven times, and Joy Behar interview Howie Mandel. Boring! But I didn't need better entertainment.
As hard as miles 2 and 3 were to get through, especially at the end, I had fun with my new game - guessing my own heart rate. I'm pretty good at it! Today I was accurate every single time within one bpm. I also like to watch the calories burn, and study my breath. Runner's World talks a lot about being able to hold a conversation while you are running (you're supposed to be able to). Let me be very clear about this to any newbie like me who might read this blog - I am NOT able to hold a conversation while running yet! Are you kidding? I'm barely able to do the whole "breath in through your nose, out through your mouth" thing - but I am trying.
My workout took 45 minutes, so my pace wasn't so fantastic - and slower than I achieved at the Turkey Trot - but it's my first three mile run since the Trot and I'm very proud to have completed it. After running I treated myself to a luxurious steam. Now sushi and then back to work... I think this really is what they mean when they talk about having "balance" in your life. Feels good.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Day 34: Club Kid
I ran one mile today at 11:20. Not too shabby! You people who are out there running 5 miles a day are probably reading this and thinking I'm never going to make any real progress if I don't up my time... and you might be right. But for the moment, I'm grooving on watching myself make baby steps.
Speaking of grooving... running has reignited my passion for dancing. I've always been involved with some kind of dance since the time I can remember. Ballet was my first love and, until second grade, when my body decided not to be anorexic and tall, I thought might be my destiny. I practiced ballet so hard when I was a pre-schooler that to this day I still naturally stand in "first position" with my heels touching and toes turned out. I had a ballet box for my shoes and tutu that I basically slept with; and for one particular recital, I had my ballet shoes spray painted gold lame. On that day, I was a star...
After ballet came tap and jazz, which I took for years. Then there was modern dancing, which suited my moody pre-teen mindset. By 8th grade, I was signed up for formal dancing at the Methodist church. A bunch of us from school took it together. We had to wear dresses and white gloves, and the boys sat on one side of the church and the girls on the other. Of course the boys were our friends we'd known since nursery school. They were shorter than we were - and awkward, which made the whole thing seem a tiny bit less exciting than I think it was supposed to be; but I loved the dancing - especially the jitterbug.
By the time I was a freshman in high school, some of my friends and I had discovered the local club scene. We practiced "moves" together at home. Rumona always had the best arm gestures going on! Anyone remember that? We regularly "borrowed" family cars after dark and hightailed it over to seedier neighboring towns that had dance clubs. We'd use IDs we'd had made in Manhattan to get in and dance the night away with slightly greasy but eager strangers. When I turned 17, a bunch of us got braver and began heading down to the clubs in NYC - places we heard mentioned on Z-100. Emerald City, Red Zone, The Tunnel. Sometimes we'd get pulled into VIP rooms there and meet interesting people like local sports stars, none of whom I ever knew... or at 5'1" could even have a conversation with. What? What? Sorry... you play sports? DUH! We'd stay until they closed the club down.
For me, my fascination with the club scene was two fold. One, of course, it was the feeling of escaping my high-pressure academic reality for a night and just letting myself get swept up in the amazing energy of good music; but two, it was a fascination about what this music and a little mood lighting could do to an otherwise ugly, empty space in some obscure part of town. We're talking about selling a product with absolutely no inherent benefits - by simply adding a little sparkle and marketing. Getting it right took vision and determination (and possibly a few payoffs, I later learned).
The club scene was the ultimate theater. The owner would pick what seemed at the time like the least strategic location to rent out an empty space, paint the interior entirely black, install some lights with gels, a smoke machine and 5' woofers. Turn the lights off and there was magic. People came from all over the place to drink watery sex on the beach cocktails in cheap plastic cups, sweat through their drop-waisted dresses, and rip their L'Eggs nylons on the dance floor.
Over the years I learned about the role of the club owner and promoter, and that I think sparked my interest in psychology, positioning, repositioning and the nature of feeling good. I threw myself into the behind-the-scenes side of entertainment - talent management, advertising, and later fragrance and spirits marketing. I've never forgotten what I learned in those early years though about making something out of nothing. All good things incorporate a bit of theater, don't they?
So as I prepare for this big show I'm going to audition for next fall - the Marathon - I'm being careful to manage the theater I am training in. I don't want any part of me getting lost on the way, leaving early, or forgetting to come back. There's a lot of promotion going on (like this blog!), reasonable hydration, and the DJ's got to have the latest tunes.
It's a strange thing to play dance music at 6:30 AM. Sometimes I feel like I'm just coming home from a night out, especially if I've neglected to take my makeup off the night before! I think I'm way too old now to go out to one of the real clubs in the city unless it is through a work promotion; but I'm really enjoying pretending for a minute that I'm a club kid as I step into that mirrored elevator in my apartment building... I just hope the camera in there is a dummy because it's a party when I hit that button going down to the gym on the 9th floor...
Speaking of grooving... running has reignited my passion for dancing. I've always been involved with some kind of dance since the time I can remember. Ballet was my first love and, until second grade, when my body decided not to be anorexic and tall, I thought might be my destiny. I practiced ballet so hard when I was a pre-schooler that to this day I still naturally stand in "first position" with my heels touching and toes turned out. I had a ballet box for my shoes and tutu that I basically slept with; and for one particular recital, I had my ballet shoes spray painted gold lame. On that day, I was a star...
After ballet came tap and jazz, which I took for years. Then there was modern dancing, which suited my moody pre-teen mindset. By 8th grade, I was signed up for formal dancing at the Methodist church. A bunch of us from school took it together. We had to wear dresses and white gloves, and the boys sat on one side of the church and the girls on the other. Of course the boys were our friends we'd known since nursery school. They were shorter than we were - and awkward, which made the whole thing seem a tiny bit less exciting than I think it was supposed to be; but I loved the dancing - especially the jitterbug.
By the time I was a freshman in high school, some of my friends and I had discovered the local club scene. We practiced "moves" together at home. Rumona always had the best arm gestures going on! Anyone remember that? We regularly "borrowed" family cars after dark and hightailed it over to seedier neighboring towns that had dance clubs. We'd use IDs we'd had made in Manhattan to get in and dance the night away with slightly greasy but eager strangers. When I turned 17, a bunch of us got braver and began heading down to the clubs in NYC - places we heard mentioned on Z-100. Emerald City, Red Zone, The Tunnel. Sometimes we'd get pulled into VIP rooms there and meet interesting people like local sports stars, none of whom I ever knew... or at 5'1" could even have a conversation with. What? What? Sorry... you play sports? DUH! We'd stay until they closed the club down.
For me, my fascination with the club scene was two fold. One, of course, it was the feeling of escaping my high-pressure academic reality for a night and just letting myself get swept up in the amazing energy of good music; but two, it was a fascination about what this music and a little mood lighting could do to an otherwise ugly, empty space in some obscure part of town. We're talking about selling a product with absolutely no inherent benefits - by simply adding a little sparkle and marketing. Getting it right took vision and determination (and possibly a few payoffs, I later learned).
The club scene was the ultimate theater. The owner would pick what seemed at the time like the least strategic location to rent out an empty space, paint the interior entirely black, install some lights with gels, a smoke machine and 5' woofers. Turn the lights off and there was magic. People came from all over the place to drink watery sex on the beach cocktails in cheap plastic cups, sweat through their drop-waisted dresses, and rip their L'Eggs nylons on the dance floor.
Over the years I learned about the role of the club owner and promoter, and that I think sparked my interest in psychology, positioning, repositioning and the nature of feeling good. I threw myself into the behind-the-scenes side of entertainment - talent management, advertising, and later fragrance and spirits marketing. I've never forgotten what I learned in those early years though about making something out of nothing. All good things incorporate a bit of theater, don't they?
So as I prepare for this big show I'm going to audition for next fall - the Marathon - I'm being careful to manage the theater I am training in. I don't want any part of me getting lost on the way, leaving early, or forgetting to come back. There's a lot of promotion going on (like this blog!), reasonable hydration, and the DJ's got to have the latest tunes.
It's a strange thing to play dance music at 6:30 AM. Sometimes I feel like I'm just coming home from a night out, especially if I've neglected to take my makeup off the night before! I think I'm way too old now to go out to one of the real clubs in the city unless it is through a work promotion; but I'm really enjoying pretending for a minute that I'm a club kid as I step into that mirrored elevator in my apartment building... I just hope the camera in there is a dummy because it's a party when I hit that button going down to the gym on the 9th floor...
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Day 33: Abducted
I ran 1 mile today at a pace of 13:20. My heart rate spiked to 171 at points by the end of the mile, and I was overwhelmed by a feeling of nausea. I was running on a huge tumbler of freshly brewed Mexican coffee and a bottle of water - I hope I don't have to give that ritual up. After a 1 minute break I felt a little better and so fired the machine back up again - and walked and ran another .6 miles until that lightheaded feeling started again - and I stopped.
I feel great right now. Nothing hurts. I don't need to stretch. My heart may be working overtime, but the rest of me - my legs, my knees, even my arms and back - are not complaining the way they were even a week ago. That's improvement. I guess the key now is to just keep pushing my time and my speed a little bit each day.
In my life, I've often noticed that I can get used to anything over time - even things that initially seem completely absurd - like moving from an office with a window and a door, to a cube! With repetition, they become more familiar and their insult softens; eventually you can't imagine not hearing the sound of your neighbor's breathing, or knowing what's going on with the woman across the hall's father, or how many times Z100 plays Jay-Z's freaking "Empire State of Mind." The answer to that last one has thankfully dropped to once every two hours...
In the criminal world, I think they call this "identifying with your aggressor." For example, when someone is kidnapped, over time, they naturally begin to empathize with their captor - understand his motives, and sometimes even begin to assist him. The urge to fight back for individual rights once held wains and there are new sources of pleasure in the captor/captive relationship - enough pleasure that there isn't a reason to look back.
I am beginning to empathize with my own figurative captor - the collection of reason I've had my whole life for not doing this, for not running. So, what seemed completely absurd and evil and unfamiliar just 33 days ago, is starting to feel a little bit less so. We are of course still under cover, my captor and me - on the run from the authorities, driving around to find a safe haven, maybe even looking for a place to settle down for while. It's chaos in our world and we need to lay low for a while or we'll risk getting caught.
At first I was checking the locks on the doors every time I could - to see if maybe I could slip out. Now, I think about checking but sometimes I forget to - I am resigned to the idea that I'm not going anywhere and lines between danger and safety have begun to blur. Am I safer outside this car - or inside? I just don't know any more... What would I say in a "Help!" note I used to fantasize about handing to the waitress at the next diner we stop at for a meal? I don't want to risk getting caught now, and punished for trying to escape. That might be a lot worse than carrying on wherever we are going. On the flip side, what if I actually were to break free from this situation... What would I do then on my own? I don't even know where we are.
Of course, I still fondly remember my hometown of laziness, my comfortable excuses, the way I used to play dumb about the world around me. But if I can be honest with you, the view from the back seat of this getaway car is actually kind of exciting. I'm only loosely bound now and the blindfold is off. My panic is subsiding so that I can relax a little and turn my attention to all the new scenery unfolding outside my window... I don't know where we are going on this adventure - my fears, my captor, and I - but I know we are driving far, far away from where I used to live in my life - before I was abducted.
I feel great right now. Nothing hurts. I don't need to stretch. My heart may be working overtime, but the rest of me - my legs, my knees, even my arms and back - are not complaining the way they were even a week ago. That's improvement. I guess the key now is to just keep pushing my time and my speed a little bit each day.
In my life, I've often noticed that I can get used to anything over time - even things that initially seem completely absurd - like moving from an office with a window and a door, to a cube! With repetition, they become more familiar and their insult softens; eventually you can't imagine not hearing the sound of your neighbor's breathing, or knowing what's going on with the woman across the hall's father, or how many times Z100 plays Jay-Z's freaking "Empire State of Mind." The answer to that last one has thankfully dropped to once every two hours...
In the criminal world, I think they call this "identifying with your aggressor." For example, when someone is kidnapped, over time, they naturally begin to empathize with their captor - understand his motives, and sometimes even begin to assist him. The urge to fight back for individual rights once held wains and there are new sources of pleasure in the captor/captive relationship - enough pleasure that there isn't a reason to look back.
I am beginning to empathize with my own figurative captor - the collection of reason I've had my whole life for not doing this, for not running. So, what seemed completely absurd and evil and unfamiliar just 33 days ago, is starting to feel a little bit less so. We are of course still under cover, my captor and me - on the run from the authorities, driving around to find a safe haven, maybe even looking for a place to settle down for while. It's chaos in our world and we need to lay low for a while or we'll risk getting caught.
At first I was checking the locks on the doors every time I could - to see if maybe I could slip out. Now, I think about checking but sometimes I forget to - I am resigned to the idea that I'm not going anywhere and lines between danger and safety have begun to blur. Am I safer outside this car - or inside? I just don't know any more... What would I say in a "Help!" note I used to fantasize about handing to the waitress at the next diner we stop at for a meal? I don't want to risk getting caught now, and punished for trying to escape. That might be a lot worse than carrying on wherever we are going. On the flip side, what if I actually were to break free from this situation... What would I do then on my own? I don't even know where we are.
Of course, I still fondly remember my hometown of laziness, my comfortable excuses, the way I used to play dumb about the world around me. But if I can be honest with you, the view from the back seat of this getaway car is actually kind of exciting. I'm only loosely bound now and the blindfold is off. My panic is subsiding so that I can relax a little and turn my attention to all the new scenery unfolding outside my window... I don't know where we are going on this adventure - my fears, my captor, and I - but I know we are driving far, far away from where I used to live in my life - before I was abducted.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Day 32: Appointed Rounds
My free time is short today, and I had to just jam in a quickie of a run this morning. One mile. No warm up. No stretching. All routine and no glory, which produced a completely insight-free experience that's both boring to write about and (I'm sure) even more boring to read about.
I'm actually not feeling well today. I got the H1N1 vaccine at a pop-up kiosk in O'Hare on Monday morning. I've had the seasonal flu vaccine already, and had put myself on every conceivable list for the H1N1 vaccine in NYC - because nothing's going to stop me from training! So, I was thrilled when I stepped off the plane in Chicago and there, at the top of the escalator leading to that psycho-neon-filled under-passage, there was a lady in a 1950s style nurse's uniform offering vaccines of all kinds. All I had to do was establish eligibility and 10 minutes and $22 later, she'd shot my nostrils up with her potion.
Nursey said I wouldn't suffer any side effects - but she lied. And everyone I've talked to since who has also had the H1N1 nasal spray innoculation tells me they too felt the effects I'm feeling. Achy, tired, and my nose is so dry... I can't stop thinking about what might have been in that stuff. Have I just exposed myself to some insidious evil that will manifest itself sometime later in my life? Or am I just reacting to the preservatives - like I always do?
I do know that I'm glad I can rest assured I won't be getting swine flu any time soon. My cousin Emily had it and had to be removed from her university - and quarantined for over a week. I'm in training and can't suffer a setback like that. So, like the postman, neither rain nor snow, nor sleet nor dark of night, nor seasonal flu nor swine flu, shall stay this courier from the swift completion of her appointed rounds! To the Marathon, I go! (And while I'm at it, does anyone need stamps?)
I'm actually not feeling well today. I got the H1N1 vaccine at a pop-up kiosk in O'Hare on Monday morning. I've had the seasonal flu vaccine already, and had put myself on every conceivable list for the H1N1 vaccine in NYC - because nothing's going to stop me from training! So, I was thrilled when I stepped off the plane in Chicago and there, at the top of the escalator leading to that psycho-neon-filled under-passage, there was a lady in a 1950s style nurse's uniform offering vaccines of all kinds. All I had to do was establish eligibility and 10 minutes and $22 later, she'd shot my nostrils up with her potion.
Nursey said I wouldn't suffer any side effects - but she lied. And everyone I've talked to since who has also had the H1N1 nasal spray innoculation tells me they too felt the effects I'm feeling. Achy, tired, and my nose is so dry... I can't stop thinking about what might have been in that stuff. Have I just exposed myself to some insidious evil that will manifest itself sometime later in my life? Or am I just reacting to the preservatives - like I always do?
I do know that I'm glad I can rest assured I won't be getting swine flu any time soon. My cousin Emily had it and had to be removed from her university - and quarantined for over a week. I'm in training and can't suffer a setback like that. So, like the postman, neither rain nor snow, nor sleet nor dark of night, nor seasonal flu nor swine flu, shall stay this courier from the swift completion of her appointed rounds! To the Marathon, I go! (And while I'm at it, does anyone need stamps?)
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Day 31: Phoning It In
Who says you can't phone it in! I'm in Chicago today for business but got up at 6:45AM to be ready for my "telewalk" with the Alligator. No small feat after having had literally about 2 hours of sleep on Sunday night, and then last night I wasn't in bed until midnight following a super fun dinner at Chicago's Coco Pazzo.
I'd forgotten to bring my ear piece so I was going to have to walk with one arm up the whole time, holding the handset. Extra exercise, I told myself - an arm workout!
By 7:05AM Central, and 8:05AM Eastern, we were off and walking. Since the Alligator lives about 5 long blocks from my apartment back in NYC, she actually goes past my building on her way to work most days. Today I asked her to pause at my door and say hello to my doorman Alan for me. She did and I could hear Alan on the other end saying my name enthusiastically. I did an imaginary fist-bump with him in my mind...like the real one we usually do when I'm headed out to run. It didn't matter where I was - life and training could go on, uninterrupted, thanks to the phone.
While my arms went alternately numb from holding the phone to my ear, the Alligator and I caught up on life. I did feel a twinge of guilt about the noise pollution I was creating in the gym, but most of the folks down there were wearing iPods and the ones who weren't didn't seem bothered; or at least that's what I told myself.
After an hour, the phone was dangerously sweaty and my arm was practically shaking from holding it up for so long. Who knew a 1/4 lb "weight" could provide such resistance. I asked the Alligator if she thought I could electrocute myself by holding a wet phone next to my head. Neither of us knew the answer; so, to err on the side of caution, we agreed I should probably hang up.
I'd forgotten to bring my ear piece so I was going to have to walk with one arm up the whole time, holding the handset. Extra exercise, I told myself - an arm workout!
By 7:05AM Central, and 8:05AM Eastern, we were off and walking. Since the Alligator lives about 5 long blocks from my apartment back in NYC, she actually goes past my building on her way to work most days. Today I asked her to pause at my door and say hello to my doorman Alan for me. She did and I could hear Alan on the other end saying my name enthusiastically. I did an imaginary fist-bump with him in my mind...like the real one we usually do when I'm headed out to run. It didn't matter where I was - life and training could go on, uninterrupted, thanks to the phone.
While my arms went alternately numb from holding the phone to my ear, the Alligator and I caught up on life. I did feel a twinge of guilt about the noise pollution I was creating in the gym, but most of the folks down there were wearing iPods and the ones who weren't didn't seem bothered; or at least that's what I told myself.
After an hour, the phone was dangerously sweaty and my arm was practically shaking from holding it up for so long. Who knew a 1/4 lb "weight" could provide such resistance. I asked the Alligator if she thought I could electrocute myself by holding a wet phone next to my head. Neither of us knew the answer; so, to err on the side of caution, we agreed I should probably hang up.
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