Miles This Week: 16 (Sunday's long run: 6 miles)
Miles To Date: 36.5
I write you from my table at Cato's, my favorite digs on Piedmont Avenue in Oakland. I'm eating a burger - by design: carbs, protein ... that seems like good exercise fuel, right? I can't seem to figure out what, how, or when I need to eat to be able to run all the time, and to recover adequately.
I have to believe I'll be turning a corner here soon. That is to say: I'm keeping up with my training miles, but it's kicking my ass. I'm sore. And I'm very tired.
It's not just about showing up at the Berkeley Marina at 8 am on Sundays and running farther than I ever imagined I could - or about showing up to run 2-3 times a week for an hour on my own - it's also about drinking water constantly (I forget to do this), eating a lot (sometimes I forget this, too), eating the foods that will give me the most energy and best muscle recovery (I'm still figuring this out) and going to bed at about 8:30-9pm every night (I fluctuate in my success on this front).
TIRED... not like, sleepy - rather, like, aching sore throbbing legs and feet. And I guess 'cause that's not punishment enough, I accepted my (wonderful, awesome, brilliant) friend Daniela's invitation to attend her trapeze class on Monday.
Friends. When you die and meet Saint Peter, and he tells you you've been bad, and he puts you on the elevator and pushes the arrow pointing down - when the door opens, do you know where you'll be?
Trapeze class.
I adore Daniela. She is one of the most naturally beautiful, funny, smart and in every other way lovely women I know - and she is an exceptionally gorgeous dancer and athlete to boot. If there was ever a teacher who MIGHT have the capacity to make trapeze class anything beyond a purely gratuitous exercise in brutality, it's Daniela.
But - frankly? Even with lovely Daniela there being so sweet and gentle and saying such nice things to me ... good Lord, it hurt.
Of course even there in the moment it doesn't necessarily hurt so much. It hurts your hands a bit (there can be blisters and ripped blisters and bleeding and all that). It hurts your ankles and feet (ankle hangs involve wrapping your legs around the ropes, flexing your feet hard so you don't fall, and hanging upside down ... this also results in skin rips and blood and bruises). It hurts other parts too.
But most of my pain has been muscle pain, after the fact. Oh my God, my pecs. Arrrrrr, my shoulders. I don't even know the name of the muscles underneath my armpits, but those hurt the most; I can barely raise my arms.
Daniela thought the running would be good for my upper-body muscle recovery, as it increases blood flow, allowing the whole body to heal faster ... she's right, of course, but I hadn't thought until I started bouncing around on the treadmill this morning of what bouncing around would feel like on my sore, sore, sore pecs.
I did my six miles. It was okay. I didn't have to hold my boobs the whole time, only the first ten minutes (I'm sure that looked really cool).
The other thing about trapeze class is that it is scheduled the day after the long group run... I had a hard time doing a plain old knee hang, couldn't understand why, until a little while later when it occurred to me that my legs are completely fatigued. I don't know how much upside-down-ness I'll be able to manage at Monday morning trapeze class.
Is once-a-week trapeze class too much to pile on top of marathon training? What is this all about, anyway?
I was telling my friend on the phone yesterday that I'm in this place right now where I am understanding, in a very real and immediate way, that I am master of my own ship, and that furthermore, I am lucky to be gifted with a brain and heart I really, honestly trust to master a ship. For the first time in my life I am getting that it's okay for me to choose a goal and go for it - because if I stay focused, there's absolutely no reason I can't meet it. That probably seems very A-B-C, but what can I say, I'm finally figuring it out.
I think the marathon goal is the tangible touchstone of that lesson I am in right now. Training for a marathon isn't easy, but it's not confusing, either. It's very straightforward, simple, and barring injury, achievable. Just do the prescribed task, and the goal is achieved. It requires a degree of initiative, but once I've given myself the assignment, it's just about doing whatever is required to get the job done.
3.12.2008
3.04.2008
WEEK 3: Running In My Head
Miles This Week: 7.5 (Sunday's long run: 5 miles)
Miles To Date: 20.5
A measly collection of miles this week - illness, knee troubles and work conflicts conspired to keep me out of the gym and away from the five-mile Sunday group run.
I made it up this morning: five miles. Took me an hour, but felt good.
The running-five-minutes, walking-one-minute thing, I'm finding, is awesome - not just because walk breaks are energy breaks, but because it gives me something manageable to focus on: Run five minutes. Walk one minute. Run five minutes. Walk one minute. SOOOO much easier to deal with, psychologically, than: Run for an hour. I'm sure, physically, I could do that, but on a treadmill without an iPod... unbearably boring.
Gyms always have magazines in the cardio rooms. I always want to read one - but I can't imagine how anybody is capable of reading with a racing heart rate and fatiguing muscles. Still I have to always stop and pick a couple up on my way to the treadmill. They sort of keep me company, somehow, and give my mind something to hang onto - just the IDEA of a magazine is enough - even if I never open them up.
Five miles. It's a nice square number. It's a UNIT. 26 miles is sort of hard to comprehend – but five of what I did today, plus a little change, is something I can sort of get my head around.
A couple of months ago I joined a friend at her zendo for zazen practice (that would be: zen meditation hall, for meditation practice). I don't meditate on a regular basis but I've done it enough to be familiar with the challenges of sitting still - watching my attention travel from the knuckle that wants to crack, to the itch on my foot, to the tension in my shoulder, and so forth.
Running is just like that, insofar as it creates a self-enclosed time and place in which one can actually feel one's body, and its changing comforts and discomforts, in a way that is simply about observation. Little tweaks and twangs and tensions make themselves known and then go away: right knee, left hip, left ankle, gut, lower back... I used to panic at every little pain, but now I see that most of it is just about my body waking up and adjusting to the new work I'm asking of it. Generally none of the little aches and pains last more than a couple of minutes. There are moments in a run when my energy is really ramped, and other moments when I feel sluggish. I just keep going forward, and it all flows in and out of itself: the lovely rhythm carries me.
Of course, not every pain is little. I had a tightness in my left hip flexor today (not the hip that was injured, interestingly enough) that I've had on other recent runs, and I took thirty seconds of one of my walk breaks to stop and stretch it out. I think if I hadn't done that simple thing, I could have hurt myself before finishing the distance. Really, it's a practice of LISTENING – listening to your body, and with enough listening I believe you can learn to tell the difference between the pain of minor adjustments and the serious pain of imminent injury.
Miles To Date: 20.5
A measly collection of miles this week - illness, knee troubles and work conflicts conspired to keep me out of the gym and away from the five-mile Sunday group run.
I made it up this morning: five miles. Took me an hour, but felt good.
The running-five-minutes, walking-one-minute thing, I'm finding, is awesome - not just because walk breaks are energy breaks, but because it gives me something manageable to focus on: Run five minutes. Walk one minute. Run five minutes. Walk one minute. SOOOO much easier to deal with, psychologically, than: Run for an hour. I'm sure, physically, I could do that, but on a treadmill without an iPod... unbearably boring.
Gyms always have magazines in the cardio rooms. I always want to read one - but I can't imagine how anybody is capable of reading with a racing heart rate and fatiguing muscles. Still I have to always stop and pick a couple up on my way to the treadmill. They sort of keep me company, somehow, and give my mind something to hang onto - just the IDEA of a magazine is enough - even if I never open them up.
Five miles. It's a nice square number. It's a UNIT. 26 miles is sort of hard to comprehend – but five of what I did today, plus a little change, is something I can sort of get my head around.
A couple of months ago I joined a friend at her zendo for zazen practice (that would be: zen meditation hall, for meditation practice). I don't meditate on a regular basis but I've done it enough to be familiar with the challenges of sitting still - watching my attention travel from the knuckle that wants to crack, to the itch on my foot, to the tension in my shoulder, and so forth.
Running is just like that, insofar as it creates a self-enclosed time and place in which one can actually feel one's body, and its changing comforts and discomforts, in a way that is simply about observation. Little tweaks and twangs and tensions make themselves known and then go away: right knee, left hip, left ankle, gut, lower back... I used to panic at every little pain, but now I see that most of it is just about my body waking up and adjusting to the new work I'm asking of it. Generally none of the little aches and pains last more than a couple of minutes. There are moments in a run when my energy is really ramped, and other moments when I feel sluggish. I just keep going forward, and it all flows in and out of itself: the lovely rhythm carries me.
Of course, not every pain is little. I had a tightness in my left hip flexor today (not the hip that was injured, interestingly enough) that I've had on other recent runs, and I took thirty seconds of one of my walk breaks to stop and stretch it out. I think if I hadn't done that simple thing, I could have hurt myself before finishing the distance. Really, it's a practice of LISTENING – listening to your body, and with enough listening I believe you can learn to tell the difference between the pain of minor adjustments and the serious pain of imminent injury.
2.24.2008
WEEK 2: How it Goes
Miles This Week: 9 (Sunday's long run: 4 miles)
Miles To Date: 13
The AIDS Marathon folks train participants using an approach developed by Jeff Galloway, a lifetime marathoner who is in part responsible for the popularization of running in the last 30 years. Galloway recommends interspersing short "walk breaks" into one's training runs. The ratio between running and walking time is determined by by individual capacity: Less experienced runners take longer and more frequent walk breaks, and stronger runners take shorter breaks less frequently - but everyone takes them, regardless of ability! Walk breaks extend endurance by giving the runner's muscles, as well as spirit, a chance to rest and catch up, and they help the beginning runner gradually add mileage and adjust to longer runs.
Running with the SF AIDS Foundation means receiving training from a running professional and enjoying the benefits of running with an organized group of people, in exchange for helping raise money for the organization and, in that, committing to finishing the run. All registered runners meet once weekly at a designated location for a long group run, in addition to doing at least two 30-45 minute independent runs during the week. The long runs start at three miles; on this first run, all participants are timed in order to determine everyone's individual pace. Following this, "pace groups" are formed, and for every subsequent run the groups run together at their pace using the according Galloway run-walk ratio. For example, I finished my three-mile run last weekend in 30 minutes, which put me into the 10-minute mile group; one minute is added to this to afford a slower training pace, and then I run using a 5-to-1 run/walk ration (five minutes of running, one minute of walking, and so on).
Last weekend 108 people showed up at 8 am at the East Bay run site at the Berkeley Marina. All ages. All shapes. All sizes. There were some who were regular runners, some who had a marathon or two under their belts, and many who had never run a day in their lives. Lots of people were there to support HIV-positive partners, children, siblings, parents or other family members, some were there to support friends, and some were just there to help the cause. There was a lot of trepidation on people's faces, but also a lot of hope, and as we puffed our way through our three miles we all cheered each other on.
I've loved running for years - but I'd never had as much fun doing it as I did with all my compadres last Sunday.
So this morning was Run #2. Four miles this time. Each Sunday run will increase by one mile until we hit eight miles - after that it jumps to ten, then twelve, fourteen, and I think then we backtrack a bit for recovery, so the mileage will do a "three steps forward, two steps back" kind of pattern while still slowly moving our capacity closer to the 26 mile mark.
I would have been proud just to do the four miles - but it happened to be raining this morning, and at the Marina the winds off the water are ferocious. By 8 am, the rain had, thankfully, mostly stopped - but the wind had teeth. It was ass-kicking. Everyone shivered through our big pre-run pow-wow, and then we got into our groups, and went. It's true that race day can be graced, or not, with any kind of weather, and getting used to training in anything is therefore handy... but of course had it not been for the commitment we'd made the week before most of us would have stayed in bed.
It's hard for me (yes, even me) to be social and chatty at 8 am - more so when I am trying to focus on moving myself forward, more so when there's a frigid wind threatening to blow me sideways into traffic. Still, I really, really like the people in my group (six of us today, probably more next week), and I suspect I will walk away from this experience with a bunch of new friends.
My body this week has been a little slammed by the exercise. Two months ago I started taking a fat handful of supplements every day (so many, in fact, they probably deserve their own blog), and I am working on staying hydrated and getting enough sleep. It all helps. My body still aches everywhere but, as they say, it's a "good hurt." Umm. Sort of.
My knees thus far are fine! Knock wood, baby!
Miles To Date: 13
The AIDS Marathon folks train participants using an approach developed by Jeff Galloway, a lifetime marathoner who is in part responsible for the popularization of running in the last 30 years. Galloway recommends interspersing short "walk breaks" into one's training runs. The ratio between running and walking time is determined by by individual capacity: Less experienced runners take longer and more frequent walk breaks, and stronger runners take shorter breaks less frequently - but everyone takes them, regardless of ability! Walk breaks extend endurance by giving the runner's muscles, as well as spirit, a chance to rest and catch up, and they help the beginning runner gradually add mileage and adjust to longer runs.
Running with the SF AIDS Foundation means receiving training from a running professional and enjoying the benefits of running with an organized group of people, in exchange for helping raise money for the organization and, in that, committing to finishing the run. All registered runners meet once weekly at a designated location for a long group run, in addition to doing at least two 30-45 minute independent runs during the week. The long runs start at three miles; on this first run, all participants are timed in order to determine everyone's individual pace. Following this, "pace groups" are formed, and for every subsequent run the groups run together at their pace using the according Galloway run-walk ratio. For example, I finished my three-mile run last weekend in 30 minutes, which put me into the 10-minute mile group; one minute is added to this to afford a slower training pace, and then I run using a 5-to-1 run/walk ration (five minutes of running, one minute of walking, and so on).
Last weekend 108 people showed up at 8 am at the East Bay run site at the Berkeley Marina. All ages. All shapes. All sizes. There were some who were regular runners, some who had a marathon or two under their belts, and many who had never run a day in their lives. Lots of people were there to support HIV-positive partners, children, siblings, parents or other family members, some were there to support friends, and some were just there to help the cause. There was a lot of trepidation on people's faces, but also a lot of hope, and as we puffed our way through our three miles we all cheered each other on.
I've loved running for years - but I'd never had as much fun doing it as I did with all my compadres last Sunday.
So this morning was Run #2. Four miles this time. Each Sunday run will increase by one mile until we hit eight miles - after that it jumps to ten, then twelve, fourteen, and I think then we backtrack a bit for recovery, so the mileage will do a "three steps forward, two steps back" kind of pattern while still slowly moving our capacity closer to the 26 mile mark.
I would have been proud just to do the four miles - but it happened to be raining this morning, and at the Marina the winds off the water are ferocious. By 8 am, the rain had, thankfully, mostly stopped - but the wind had teeth. It was ass-kicking. Everyone shivered through our big pre-run pow-wow, and then we got into our groups, and went. It's true that race day can be graced, or not, with any kind of weather, and getting used to training in anything is therefore handy... but of course had it not been for the commitment we'd made the week before most of us would have stayed in bed.
It's hard for me (yes, even me) to be social and chatty at 8 am - more so when I am trying to focus on moving myself forward, more so when there's a frigid wind threatening to blow me sideways into traffic. Still, I really, really like the people in my group (six of us today, probably more next week), and I suspect I will walk away from this experience with a bunch of new friends.
My body this week has been a little slammed by the exercise. Two months ago I started taking a fat handful of supplements every day (so many, in fact, they probably deserve their own blog), and I am working on staying hydrated and getting enough sleep. It all helps. My body still aches everywhere but, as they say, it's a "good hurt." Umm. Sort of.
My knees thus far are fine! Knock wood, baby!
2.20.2008
WEEK 1: Beginning
Miles this week: 0
Miles to date: 0
After years of thinking about it, I am finally training for the AIDS Marathon.
Years ago when I lived in Minneapolis, I sometimes would take my dog KC to the Uptown district near Lake Calhoun for our winter evening walks. Uptown was well-lit, well-populated and cheery, full of shops and restaurants and people, but still not too crowded for a pleasant evening stroll.
One night, as we were walking, I was struck with a sudden, inexplicable, POWERFUL urge to RUN.
It was 8:30 at night.
It was about 15 degrees out.
I was in snow boots and a parka.
And the sidewalk was piled with snow and ice.
I had never done any kind of running - in fact I'd never really exercised, in any way, at all. Well - dance lessons, yes. But nothing sporty. I was way too bookish and small growing up to ever dare attempt anything athletic.
It was the strangest, most unexpected physical sensation ... a bit like having had too much caffeine: tingly, uncomfortable energy in my arms and legs. Too much energy. I wanted to shake it out of me.
So. I ran. KC ran with me. I ran until I was tired, and then I walked. And then when I was done being tired, I ran some more. I kept doing this for about 30 minutes, until finally the antsy feeling in my body was gone.
I slept really well that night.
The next night we went out, same place, and because it had been fun, I did it again. Before long, I found myself timidly browsing the sports section of the bookstore, looking for books on running. I bought Jeff Galloway's "Galloway's Book on Running" (which, lo and behold, advocates a training program for the beginner alternating running and walking - and it is Galloway's method which is used by the AIDS Marathon trainers).
I bought a pair of running shoes, and I started taking myself to the lake after work. I loved being outside. I loved seeing all the people and all the dogs and all the LIFE around me, and I loved being part of it. I loved feeling my body working and getting stronger.
I learned that if I just did as much as I could, "as much as I could" very quickly and easily became more than it had been. I learned that exercise is a fabulous antidepressant. And I changed, in just a couple of months, from being bookish and inert to being, yes - a runner.
The most astounding part of all this to me, then and now, is that it really didn't require much effort. I didn't begin with lofty goals and expensive gear. I just ran in my snow boots down the sidewalk until I couldn't any more, and doing that felt good, and so I did it again, and it kept feeling good, and then it just seemed like it would feel better if I had appropriate shoes and a little bit of education. The whole endeavor was fueled nearly entirely by physical pleasure.
I realized that this was a great model for growth for me. Pleasure and fun are the best motivators; finding something fun, interesting or pleasurable in making changes in one's self and life that might be otherwise intimidating, affords one a much better shot at succeeding than focusing on the seeming impossibility of the goal and grousing around feeling scared, inadequate, and ashamed. Corny though it may sound, by maintaining a steady of goal of "just as much as I can, and then maybe a tiny bit more," I quickly found myself doing something, and becoming someone, I hadn't imagined possible.
I eventually stopped running because of a knee injury (by which I learned another crucial lesson: it's important to respect pain before it gets out of control). Even in recent years, I haven't been able to run regularly without my knee eventually tweaking out.
But I'm not worrying. I'm mindful of my knee - taking joint supplements and being ready to visit my nearest sports medicine doc should anything start to hurt. I feel good. It's so exciting to rediscover these lessons. It's such a damn treat to sleep well, wake up early, really use my body and then baste in endorphins in the sauna.
And particularly now, as I commit to running to raise money for the AIDS Foundation - I am unspeakably grateful for my health, for my body, for my ability to use it, and to enjoy it.
Miles to date: 0
After years of thinking about it, I am finally training for the AIDS Marathon.
Years ago when I lived in Minneapolis, I sometimes would take my dog KC to the Uptown district near Lake Calhoun for our winter evening walks. Uptown was well-lit, well-populated and cheery, full of shops and restaurants and people, but still not too crowded for a pleasant evening stroll.
One night, as we were walking, I was struck with a sudden, inexplicable, POWERFUL urge to RUN.
It was 8:30 at night.
It was about 15 degrees out.
I was in snow boots and a parka.
And the sidewalk was piled with snow and ice.
I had never done any kind of running - in fact I'd never really exercised, in any way, at all. Well - dance lessons, yes. But nothing sporty. I was way too bookish and small growing up to ever dare attempt anything athletic.
It was the strangest, most unexpected physical sensation ... a bit like having had too much caffeine: tingly, uncomfortable energy in my arms and legs. Too much energy. I wanted to shake it out of me.
So. I ran. KC ran with me. I ran until I was tired, and then I walked. And then when I was done being tired, I ran some more. I kept doing this for about 30 minutes, until finally the antsy feeling in my body was gone.
I slept really well that night.
The next night we went out, same place, and because it had been fun, I did it again. Before long, I found myself timidly browsing the sports section of the bookstore, looking for books on running. I bought Jeff Galloway's "Galloway's Book on Running" (which, lo and behold, advocates a training program for the beginner alternating running and walking - and it is Galloway's method which is used by the AIDS Marathon trainers).
I bought a pair of running shoes, and I started taking myself to the lake after work. I loved being outside. I loved seeing all the people and all the dogs and all the LIFE around me, and I loved being part of it. I loved feeling my body working and getting stronger.
I learned that if I just did as much as I could, "as much as I could" very quickly and easily became more than it had been. I learned that exercise is a fabulous antidepressant. And I changed, in just a couple of months, from being bookish and inert to being, yes - a runner.
The most astounding part of all this to me, then and now, is that it really didn't require much effort. I didn't begin with lofty goals and expensive gear. I just ran in my snow boots down the sidewalk until I couldn't any more, and doing that felt good, and so I did it again, and it kept feeling good, and then it just seemed like it would feel better if I had appropriate shoes and a little bit of education. The whole endeavor was fueled nearly entirely by physical pleasure.
I realized that this was a great model for growth for me. Pleasure and fun are the best motivators; finding something fun, interesting or pleasurable in making changes in one's self and life that might be otherwise intimidating, affords one a much better shot at succeeding than focusing on the seeming impossibility of the goal and grousing around feeling scared, inadequate, and ashamed. Corny though it may sound, by maintaining a steady of goal of "just as much as I can, and then maybe a tiny bit more," I quickly found myself doing something, and becoming someone, I hadn't imagined possible.
I eventually stopped running because of a knee injury (by which I learned another crucial lesson: it's important to respect pain before it gets out of control). Even in recent years, I haven't been able to run regularly without my knee eventually tweaking out.
But I'm not worrying. I'm mindful of my knee - taking joint supplements and being ready to visit my nearest sports medicine doc should anything start to hurt. I feel good. It's so exciting to rediscover these lessons. It's such a damn treat to sleep well, wake up early, really use my body and then baste in endorphins in the sauna.
And particularly now, as I commit to running to raise money for the AIDS Foundation - I am unspeakably grateful for my health, for my body, for my ability to use it, and to enjoy it.
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