The neighbors have little gatherings during the summer on Friday nights. There are lots of times I don't go, either out of sheer fatigue from the week or because I know I'll be getting up early for my long run.
When I first started with the Gazelle's, I could barely finish a long run, especially in the summer. I bonked so many times, it was ridiculous. One Saturday, I walked all the way from the Omlettetre back to RunTex. It took forever and I was really struggling. Not too mention how I had to slink in to my car so no one would see me.
These days, I'm still trying to build on the miles and see how this old body reacts (see last AA blog entry) For three weeks now, I've run 26 miles or so for the week and I've stayed there and made it just fine. On the long runs, about mile 9 or 10, I start to get crabby --- ask LB.
So, back to Friday. I sauntered down to the cul-de-sac with my first wine glass of the night. I promised to keep it to 2. Well, Jersey Girl emerged and before I knew it, I was on to my third glass and talking smack. I also did not have lunch or dinner yet.
I wander home at the end of the evening regretting my mistake and knowing I'll regret more in the morning. All my neighbors have bet against me getting up in the AM and actually doing the run. Because they doubt me so, I force myself up, even though I know for sure I might still register a BAC number if I got stopped on the way to Lady Bird Lake.
Two cups of coffee and part of a cliff bar and drag myself to the car. On the way in, Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody comes on. It's blaring out of my car at 5:20 in the AM when I pull in at the tennis courts. I'm kind of punchy and ready to go.
The first couple miles, I put down pretty easy and then I get a groove and feel great. Then I stop for water at the Jewish Center. I linger too long which was a big mistake. Combined with hills on the way back, I'm eating it by mile 9.5 and have to find a construction site.
Anyway, LB and Double D wait for me. Please don't wait for me, I nearly beg. I am hurting and I know the crab meister will be rearing her ugly head soon.
When we get to the MoPac bridge, LB and Double D stop for water. I'm not stopping, I yell, I just need to finish and off I go. I slug, I curse myself for all that Red, Red wine. But, I finish the run, it's not pretty, but I did.
The neighbors under-estimated my resolve!
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Thursday, July 30, 2009
AA - Not the Betty Ford Variety
After falling out of my blissful vacation haze, I headed to Gazelle's for a Sat. long run. It was great fun, but I could feel the vacation around my mid-section, so that was really a drag.
I hadn't visited the SPI guys in a while and I headed in to Pieter feeling tentative about my beach running foot blow out, but pretty good about the distance I'd been able to amass in Austin.
Summer is weird in terms of which child has what camp when, so I brought my son Aidan along for this visit. We were chatting in the waiting room for Pieter to come retrieve me and, I honestly don't know how this came up, but my son said something about me getting older. I'm sure it was kind of direct and realistic, but so starts the visit.
Troy is quite fond of reminding me at visits that my body is cooperating because, well, I'm old.
Now, it was Pieter's turn to chime in. A few tweaks and manipulations and Pieter is actually quite pleased with progress in spite of the beach running incident. We twist, turn, pull, push. Aidan is off talking to Taylor about the skeletons.
My age raises it's head again. I swear, I am not the one bringing it up. Perhaps I was complaining.
Pieter has a new term for my category -- aging athlete. Not advancing athlete, alternative athlete....no, aging. Troy, Pieter and honestly, Aidan all have a good little chuckle over this one. I'll take it...at least they called me an athlete!
I hadn't visited the SPI guys in a while and I headed in to Pieter feeling tentative about my beach running foot blow out, but pretty good about the distance I'd been able to amass in Austin.
Summer is weird in terms of which child has what camp when, so I brought my son Aidan along for this visit. We were chatting in the waiting room for Pieter to come retrieve me and, I honestly don't know how this came up, but my son said something about me getting older. I'm sure it was kind of direct and realistic, but so starts the visit.
Troy is quite fond of reminding me at visits that my body is cooperating because, well, I'm old.
Now, it was Pieter's turn to chime in. A few tweaks and manipulations and Pieter is actually quite pleased with progress in spite of the beach running incident. We twist, turn, pull, push. Aidan is off talking to Taylor about the skeletons.
My age raises it's head again. I swear, I am not the one bringing it up. Perhaps I was complaining.
Pieter has a new term for my category -- aging athlete. Not advancing athlete, alternative athlete....no, aging. Troy, Pieter and honestly, Aidan all have a good little chuckle over this one. I'll take it...at least they called me an athlete!
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Una Cubita, Pues, Pues
Ok, so, I just returned from the Dominican Republic, again...We love that country, what can I say. It was quite painful to return to the US and realize that I could not have a Presidente or Cuba Libre any time of the day. It was a much needed and restful vacation for Familia Sankar! Betty Ford Clinic, here I come!
In any event, LAST year, when I was faster and training harder, I ran 3 or 4 times on the beach in the DR. This year, I ran once...5 miles, but once. One time was all it took for the ham to raise it's ugliness inside my running shoe. So, I hit the gym instead at the resort and submitted to the Latin party side of me...ok, well, my husband is Latin, I'm Irish, but I pretend I'm a Latina.
This past Saturday, I braved a Gazelle long run. The Ragnar team was out in force and it was nice to see friends again. I was way behind the herd. Ah, that's my fate for now. I did run....drum roll....10 miles! It didn't feel too awful...what with Lorenzo Blanco and all the other cast of characters to chat with, including Double D and Dr. M.
It was really nice running in to DM and DV and catching up a bit.
I have to say, I'm really tired of being of injured. It seems like it's been an entire year. First the hip, then the foot. Forget 'bout it.
And, yes, my foot swelled up after the 10...if only I could have a permanent cold pool just to stick my foot in.
We'll see what the crew at SPI thinks this week...in the meantime...Una cubita, pues, pues...time for a cuba libre! I'm thinking of carrying some rum and cokes with me to the PT session! Wonder what Spears would say?
In any event, LAST year, when I was faster and training harder, I ran 3 or 4 times on the beach in the DR. This year, I ran once...5 miles, but once. One time was all it took for the ham to raise it's ugliness inside my running shoe. So, I hit the gym instead at the resort and submitted to the Latin party side of me...ok, well, my husband is Latin, I'm Irish, but I pretend I'm a Latina.
This past Saturday, I braved a Gazelle long run. The Ragnar team was out in force and it was nice to see friends again. I was way behind the herd. Ah, that's my fate for now. I did run....drum roll....10 miles! It didn't feel too awful...what with Lorenzo Blanco and all the other cast of characters to chat with, including Double D and Dr. M.
It was really nice running in to DM and DV and catching up a bit.
I have to say, I'm really tired of being of injured. It seems like it's been an entire year. First the hip, then the foot. Forget 'bout it.
And, yes, my foot swelled up after the 10...if only I could have a permanent cold pool just to stick my foot in.
We'll see what the crew at SPI thinks this week...in the meantime...Una cubita, pues, pues...time for a cuba libre! I'm thinking of carrying some rum and cokes with me to the PT session! Wonder what Spears would say?
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Pinky Gets Whacked!
I'm a frequent flyer now at SPI. I should ask for the special club, with drinks and music while I wait for Dr. Spears!
Yes, it's been another month and I'm back in the room waiting for Dr. Spears. I brought my laptop and start to work. I figure this will keep my mind off of the dreaded "nutrition" talk and, I'm hoping I look busy so Spears will just send my right out to the torture pit, which is why I am here anyway.
So, Spears heads in and gets back up to speed on my foot. Not my speedy foot anymore, that is. We chatter and he reaches for the foot and starts poking at it. No way, I mean for many a visit, this did not happen. I'll take the nutrition speech over this any day. Pieter bounds in during the foot poking. Spears asks him how it's going (why do I feel like I'm not in the room). Pieter says, well, it's going, but slow. Ok, I just got thrown under the bus by the Dutchman! He must have bionic hearing from the torture room and realized Spears had not yet asked me about my nutrition. I give Pieter my best bad ass Jersey girl stare.
Seems now I have some issue with some muscles around the bone. The ask me to spread my toes. I try. You try it. It's not that easy. The pinky does not move. Spears seems excited about his new discovery. See? he says to Pieter. The jabber on in their physical therapy kind of speaking in tongues thing and I look at my Pinky toe. I mean, what the hell do you need your Pinky toe for anyway. I look at Pieter -- just cut it off, I don't need it. It doesn't work.
Off to the torture chamber with me.
Here we are at the table and Pieter starts demonstrating my continued lack of ability to move my pinky toe. Look at this, he tells the Riff Raff in the room...I'm a science experiment now. Pieter says, I don't do this a lot, but I'm going to massage your foot. I'm thinking, ok, it's the least you can do for throwing me in the grease with the doc and mocking my Pinky.
Next, more humiliation. This is going to seem silly, but we need to work on it. He tells me to spread my toes and hold my Pinky out there and resist the pressure he will apply. I think he's joking. He's not. I try to do it and I can't. Come On he says in that deep gutteral voice. I try again, nothing. I want to try a judo kick right about now. Again. Pieter urges. Now that is ridiculous. I glare at him...we both bust out laughing. It is pathetic I say.
Toes do need exercise apparently. We Pinky get skinny now with all this work?
Yes, it's been another month and I'm back in the room waiting for Dr. Spears. I brought my laptop and start to work. I figure this will keep my mind off of the dreaded "nutrition" talk and, I'm hoping I look busy so Spears will just send my right out to the torture pit, which is why I am here anyway.
So, Spears heads in and gets back up to speed on my foot. Not my speedy foot anymore, that is. We chatter and he reaches for the foot and starts poking at it. No way, I mean for many a visit, this did not happen. I'll take the nutrition speech over this any day. Pieter bounds in during the foot poking. Spears asks him how it's going (why do I feel like I'm not in the room). Pieter says, well, it's going, but slow. Ok, I just got thrown under the bus by the Dutchman! He must have bionic hearing from the torture room and realized Spears had not yet asked me about my nutrition. I give Pieter my best bad ass Jersey girl stare.
Seems now I have some issue with some muscles around the bone. The ask me to spread my toes. I try. You try it. It's not that easy. The pinky does not move. Spears seems excited about his new discovery. See? he says to Pieter. The jabber on in their physical therapy kind of speaking in tongues thing and I look at my Pinky toe. I mean, what the hell do you need your Pinky toe for anyway. I look at Pieter -- just cut it off, I don't need it. It doesn't work.
Off to the torture chamber with me.
Here we are at the table and Pieter starts demonstrating my continued lack of ability to move my pinky toe. Look at this, he tells the Riff Raff in the room...I'm a science experiment now. Pieter says, I don't do this a lot, but I'm going to massage your foot. I'm thinking, ok, it's the least you can do for throwing me in the grease with the doc and mocking my Pinky.
Next, more humiliation. This is going to seem silly, but we need to work on it. He tells me to spread my toes and hold my Pinky out there and resist the pressure he will apply. I think he's joking. He's not. I try to do it and I can't. Come On he says in that deep gutteral voice. I try again, nothing. I want to try a judo kick right about now. Again. Pieter urges. Now that is ridiculous. I glare at him...we both bust out laughing. It is pathetic I say.
Toes do need exercise apparently. We Pinky get skinny now with all this work?
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
3 for 3; 4 for ....???
Sometimes it's all about the numbers. 6-8 weeks, 2 miles, 2 days, 3 miles, 3 days! Grumpy, Happy and Skinny! (that's 3!)
I don't know how many people remember Schoolhouse Rock; but it was awesome. There's a song, "3, it's a magic number!" It' true. My son and I used to listen to that song over and over; now he's nine, which is three times three, so, he's not interested in schoolhouse rock.
Two weeks ago, Pieter released me to run 3 miles, 3 days, not consecutively. Sounds simple, huh?
Well, of course, LB, every the loyal friend and running mate, met me for the big add on. I could not believe how winded and out of shape I was. LB, I said, I am really out of shape (mind you, I have been going to the gym and pool running). Yes, he says dryly, you are. That's what I love about LB, pure honesty, no bull.
Anyway, I get the 3 for 3 in. Then, I have to go on a one day business trip -- up and back to Colorado Springs. I make a huge error and ditch my running shoes in the car at the airport. Hours later, my foot is blowing up and I regret it. Next, the flight is delayed and I can only get to Denver for the night (supposedly). However, the plane arrives and when we get to Denver, I bust out like it's the Congress Avenue Mile, except I have my shoes in my hands, and my one foot and my ham of another foot are zooming toward the gate. Once again, I realize how out of shape I am.
3 miles climbs to 4, then the body breaks down. Too much driving, too much stress. Will I ever get to B-town. I feel the weight and slugishness climbing. The trainer at my gym needs to meet James Gandolfini...one more blow off and you should be at Strailes. I mean, give me a break, are you trying to make money or what?
After the visit with the matriach, new shoes, form analysis, a trainer who can't seem to get up at 5:30 and small skirmish in Kurundi: I'm moving on...4 miles, 3 times this week...Whatev....
I don't know how many people remember Schoolhouse Rock; but it was awesome. There's a song, "3, it's a magic number!" It' true. My son and I used to listen to that song over and over; now he's nine, which is three times three, so, he's not interested in schoolhouse rock.
Two weeks ago, Pieter released me to run 3 miles, 3 days, not consecutively. Sounds simple, huh?
Well, of course, LB, every the loyal friend and running mate, met me for the big add on. I could not believe how winded and out of shape I was. LB, I said, I am really out of shape (mind you, I have been going to the gym and pool running). Yes, he says dryly, you are. That's what I love about LB, pure honesty, no bull.
Anyway, I get the 3 for 3 in. Then, I have to go on a one day business trip -- up and back to Colorado Springs. I make a huge error and ditch my running shoes in the car at the airport. Hours later, my foot is blowing up and I regret it. Next, the flight is delayed and I can only get to Denver for the night (supposedly). However, the plane arrives and when we get to Denver, I bust out like it's the Congress Avenue Mile, except I have my shoes in my hands, and my one foot and my ham of another foot are zooming toward the gate. Once again, I realize how out of shape I am.
3 miles climbs to 4, then the body breaks down. Too much driving, too much stress. Will I ever get to B-town. I feel the weight and slugishness climbing. The trainer at my gym needs to meet James Gandolfini...one more blow off and you should be at Strailes. I mean, give me a break, are you trying to make money or what?
After the visit with the matriach, new shoes, form analysis, a trainer who can't seem to get up at 5:30 and small skirmish in Kurundi: I'm moving on...4 miles, 3 times this week...Whatev....
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
2 Miles and many more to go till Boston 2010
Well, here we are...at the beginning of a journey to Boston. It starts with 2 miles today.
Pieter released me to run two miles twice this week. Not without a raised eyebrow and a sullen stare that would ice your bodily fluids... "Just 2; not consecutive days and no pool running immediately after the 2 miles." Damn...too many blogs, he knows me now as he's giving very specific instructions.
I have to admit that I have been very blue this whole time. Ok, blue is a nice way of saying, I've been a complete witch, but with a b. (Sorry Gilbert)
Anyway, I headed to the trail today to meet LB who I last saw as he ran the Bun Run.
We ran 2 miles. Seriously. Mostly, we talked about life, dogs, retirement, or not, core work outs, poor trainers and plans for Boston. Yes, Boston...a year away. I am a planner. At least for 26.2 miles. LB is one of a very few people who doesn't mind talking about running and the race that is a year away over and over and over.
Anyway, imagine how it felt to see the same guy with the Ford Explorer who parks at the tennis courts every day and walks his dog; the three old guys that walk together every morning; and, wait, a Gazelle, a Gazelle, Tall D, a Gazelle.
I get a shout out from another LB...great to see you running. Thanks, I yell. And, it feels so great. The crunch of the trail under my shoes (yes, still Mizunos), chatting with LB.
There's a heaviness to my breathing and my body (ok, only one pound difference since the 6 week lay off), but I don't care. I'm running. Not on a treadmill, not in a cheesy gym, not in a contraption. I have some bad thoughts about my time, about how I'd like to pick it up, about how I'd love to add on. But, LB keeps me clean,for Pieter and for me. No, he says, we have to turn around.
I start to ponder the long road to Boston...2 miles...many more to go. We do planks and sit ups and plan. I go home and read some blogs about Boston. I read some good advice. Stop listening to everyone else and plan your own race.
Tomorrow, Troy will get a look at the foot...I would guess that Troy would have rather I waited another week or two....
Pieter released me to run two miles twice this week. Not without a raised eyebrow and a sullen stare that would ice your bodily fluids... "Just 2; not consecutive days and no pool running immediately after the 2 miles." Damn...too many blogs, he knows me now as he's giving very specific instructions.
I have to admit that I have been very blue this whole time. Ok, blue is a nice way of saying, I've been a complete witch, but with a b. (Sorry Gilbert)
Anyway, I headed to the trail today to meet LB who I last saw as he ran the Bun Run.
We ran 2 miles. Seriously. Mostly, we talked about life, dogs, retirement, or not, core work outs, poor trainers and plans for Boston. Yes, Boston...a year away. I am a planner. At least for 26.2 miles. LB is one of a very few people who doesn't mind talking about running and the race that is a year away over and over and over.
Anyway, imagine how it felt to see the same guy with the Ford Explorer who parks at the tennis courts every day and walks his dog; the three old guys that walk together every morning; and, wait, a Gazelle, a Gazelle, Tall D, a Gazelle.
I get a shout out from another LB...great to see you running. Thanks, I yell. And, it feels so great. The crunch of the trail under my shoes (yes, still Mizunos), chatting with LB.
There's a heaviness to my breathing and my body (ok, only one pound difference since the 6 week lay off), but I don't care. I'm running. Not on a treadmill, not in a cheesy gym, not in a contraption. I have some bad thoughts about my time, about how I'd like to pick it up, about how I'd love to add on. But, LB keeps me clean,for Pieter and for me. No, he says, we have to turn around.
I start to ponder the long road to Boston...2 miles...many more to go. We do planks and sit ups and plan. I go home and read some blogs about Boston. I read some good advice. Stop listening to everyone else and plan your own race.
Tomorrow, Troy will get a look at the foot...I would guess that Troy would have rather I waited another week or two....
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
A Loyal Friend
Well, It's not easy to say good-bye, no matter who it is. Lately, there seems to be lots of people calling to report a death of a loved one...one right on top of the other. three, in fact, in less than two weeks. And, whether expected or not, it's always so hard to hear it, take it in and honor that life that was.
Now, while I do not mean any disrespect to the wonderful people that I have known that have passed recently, just last week, we lost our dog.
It may seem silly to some. I knew he was going to die soon and I thought I was ready for that time. But, truth be told, when the moment came, I really wasn't ready for him to not be a part of our lives anymore.
Morrissey was just the runt of the litter, really. They called him Slinky and he couldn't even get up on all fours when I first met him. Nobody wanted him, except his brother, Gordy, who was the dog Rolph and I had selected from the litter of Belle -- a wonderful border collie who had mated with a black lab. When it came time to get Gordy, Morrissey was the only one left behind, and, clearly, no one was coming for him. So, Rolph and I packed him up with Gordy and took them home.
They were, by far, the best of friends ever. They were a two-headed dog. They sat next to each other and looked like one big body with two heads. They curled up together to sleep. They would never be parted from each other. We took them everywhere with us. You really had to see it to believe it.
One funny story we always share...Gordy was notorious for hanging out of the car window way too far. One day, on Barton Springs Road, by the Old Palmer Auditorium, he just fell right out the window. Well, Morrissey just leaped out the window after his brother and there they sat on the sidewalk, unharmed, more concerned for each other than for their hysterical owner.
So, when Gordy passed away, it's safe to say that Morrissey was devasted. He was never the same after that and, if you know the muscian, you know, the name suited him. He was miserable. He would not get up or eat or even appear the least bit excited to see you. I thought I would lose him then and we found him a friend at the Town Lake Animal Shelter.
Tootsie (more on her later) kept our friend alive for a few years for us.
And, while we joked that he'd become grumpy and incontinent, we kept hoping we'd spare him the needle. I used to sit with him and just say to his face, Please, go quietly into the night my friend.
Last Wednesday night, he seemed chipper, as chipper as Morrissey could be. So, I took him, Tootsie and my daughter for a little walk. He was too old to go too far, even though he would really try. At one point, he kind of barked at me, which was really unusual and I stopped and asked him why he was so grumpy with me since I was taking him to the golf course. He headed on, ignoring me the way he always did. We had a great walk, all of us, and Morrissey seemed really, well, happy, as best he could show it.
The next morning, I couldn't get up to go to the gym. I have been working out as much as I can since I'm not running. I just decided to stay and hit the alarm. Once my son was ready for school, I decided to feed the dogs, a chore normally reserved for my daughter.
Tootsie was her perky, alert and hungry self. But there was no sign of Morrissey. I called him and called him. I realized he must not be able to hear me as he'd gone selectively deaf recently. So, I looked over to where he normally curled up to sleep, between the two air conditioners and saw his legs. To me, he looked like he was breathing, so I hit the AC unit a bit to wake him. Nothing. I went back in the garage and grab my husband's sandals and headed back out. Once I stepped off the stoop, I saw that he wasn't breathing at all. He wasn't curled up, but just stretched out and stiff.
It was a terribly sad day. I thought I was ready, but I wasn't. I cried all day long. He was with us for nearly 16 years....so many memories. We joked about his disposition, but he was a very loyal dog. And, he did what I asked of him...he went quietly into the night.
Now, while I do not mean any disrespect to the wonderful people that I have known that have passed recently, just last week, we lost our dog.
It may seem silly to some. I knew he was going to die soon and I thought I was ready for that time. But, truth be told, when the moment came, I really wasn't ready for him to not be a part of our lives anymore.
Morrissey was just the runt of the litter, really. They called him Slinky and he couldn't even get up on all fours when I first met him. Nobody wanted him, except his brother, Gordy, who was the dog Rolph and I had selected from the litter of Belle -- a wonderful border collie who had mated with a black lab. When it came time to get Gordy, Morrissey was the only one left behind, and, clearly, no one was coming for him. So, Rolph and I packed him up with Gordy and took them home.
They were, by far, the best of friends ever. They were a two-headed dog. They sat next to each other and looked like one big body with two heads. They curled up together to sleep. They would never be parted from each other. We took them everywhere with us. You really had to see it to believe it.
One funny story we always share...Gordy was notorious for hanging out of the car window way too far. One day, on Barton Springs Road, by the Old Palmer Auditorium, he just fell right out the window. Well, Morrissey just leaped out the window after his brother and there they sat on the sidewalk, unharmed, more concerned for each other than for their hysterical owner.
So, when Gordy passed away, it's safe to say that Morrissey was devasted. He was never the same after that and, if you know the muscian, you know, the name suited him. He was miserable. He would not get up or eat or even appear the least bit excited to see you. I thought I would lose him then and we found him a friend at the Town Lake Animal Shelter.
Tootsie (more on her later) kept our friend alive for a few years for us.
And, while we joked that he'd become grumpy and incontinent, we kept hoping we'd spare him the needle. I used to sit with him and just say to his face, Please, go quietly into the night my friend.
Last Wednesday night, he seemed chipper, as chipper as Morrissey could be. So, I took him, Tootsie and my daughter for a little walk. He was too old to go too far, even though he would really try. At one point, he kind of barked at me, which was really unusual and I stopped and asked him why he was so grumpy with me since I was taking him to the golf course. He headed on, ignoring me the way he always did. We had a great walk, all of us, and Morrissey seemed really, well, happy, as best he could show it.
The next morning, I couldn't get up to go to the gym. I have been working out as much as I can since I'm not running. I just decided to stay and hit the alarm. Once my son was ready for school, I decided to feed the dogs, a chore normally reserved for my daughter.
Tootsie was her perky, alert and hungry self. But there was no sign of Morrissey. I called him and called him. I realized he must not be able to hear me as he'd gone selectively deaf recently. So, I looked over to where he normally curled up to sleep, between the two air conditioners and saw his legs. To me, he looked like he was breathing, so I hit the AC unit a bit to wake him. Nothing. I went back in the garage and grab my husband's sandals and headed back out. Once I stepped off the stoop, I saw that he wasn't breathing at all. He wasn't curled up, but just stretched out and stiff.
It was a terribly sad day. I thought I was ready, but I wasn't. I cried all day long. He was with us for nearly 16 years....so many memories. We joked about his disposition, but he was a very loyal dog. And, he did what I asked of him...he went quietly into the night.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
