Day 14 - Tweak the Tweak

Ok, so in the original schedule, Saturday was a rest day, it was tweaked to become a running day, but instead, it remained a "rest" day.

Why?

Whoa - busy, busy day, is why. One visit to the sick, one trip for a 3 year old's b'day party, and one guitar lesson to three very precious and adored younglings.

Of course, the usual "healthy foods" went out the window (after a protein breakfast, that is) but that's the price you pay when you carry said three year old around for several hours and attend their party.

Wouldn't have missed it - not a bit of it - for the world, twice over.

Besides, when else do I get to tweak my sibling about the fact that as much as she herself may have not wanted to be like me or my brother, her children take after one, the other, or both of us ? Ha ha, she's never gonna get away from us!

And...today...my oldest nephew (and her oldest child) very proudly took me by the hand and brought me to the mirror.

"Look at us!" he told me as he swept his hair the way I do then pulled my face closer to his. "I look just like you--cool, right?"

So I looked as he asked me to, and he was 100% on the money. "It's super cool," I agreed and hugged him.

"Mamama [that's what they call my mom, their grandmother] has to take our picture -- Mamama! Come take our picture!"

I laughed, and my mom, awesome as she is, did so.

"Next time, let's take another one with our guitars, ok?" he asked.

I know why he did.

See, we made a promise to each of those kids: at the age of 8, they receive their first guitar. It's acoustic, because that's the best way to start learning, but other than that, they get to pick whatever color and style they'd like.

My beloved, beloved nephew adamantly wanted the one that looks just like mine.

His mom told him about his aunt training for the triathlon and he's so excited, he wants to come bike riding with me. He will - not a long ride, but a small one, a fun one. And I'll bring him to the pool, too, since he asked so enthusiastically.

What the heck, right?

He may not directly be my son, but there is absolutely no mistaking that he is absolutely blood of my blood and bone of my bone.

I will take him running, I will teach him how to play, we will go out on bike rides (I gave him his first one, too ), and I will show him the difference between a dive and a racing start, and how to hold his breath through a flip turn.

Knowing just how much he looks to me as a role model in his life -- that was so very much worth spending the extra time with him and his brother and sisters and tweaking the tweak.

As important as the training has become, he--and the rest of my family--will always have a higher priority. And during tomorrow's run, I will focus, and I will push, and I will stretch myself, building from potential to actual.

And I will figure out how to teach that to those little ones.

Day 13 - No Ordinary Days

Today's not a running day, nor is it a rest day, either. It's supposed to be a yoga day, but honestly? I've kinda kicked it back a bit tonight: it's been a kinda "big" week in a lot of ways, with lots of lessons to incorporate, things accomplished, and new irons in new fires.

Heck, I've even started a few ;-)

It's good, it's all good and it occurs to me as I look back over the last almost two weeks, that not a single day has gone by where I haven't learned something, gained an insight, improved something - not only with aspects of my physicality, but in just about every other area, too.

That's a pretty amazing thing, the realization that there are no "ordinary" days, nor are there true "rest" days either, at least, not ones that have no growth, no insight, nor inspiration.

So tonight, it may seem like a "day off" but it's not: the schedule's been tweaked so that tomorrow is a running day (which makes tonight a "recovery" module) and while I've not run through a whole set of poses, I've run through some basics, done a few stretches, keeping everything limber and loose.

In just a few minutes, I'm gonna pull out my guitar and play and then...sometimes the insight is simply this: there doesn't have to be one every day. And that's all right. It's Friday night, I'm loose and ready to go wherever it takes me.

And I'm fine with that.

Day 12 - Show Me What You've Got

I've always been a respecter of technique and a supporter of passion. Combine the two and there's a magical uniqueness that happens in that marriage.

Technique without passion is mechanical, clinical, hits the right spots, but not the right notes, goes all the way, but doesn't satisfy.

Passion without the discipline of technique is sloppy, muddled, dangerous sometimes to itself and others. The moments of brilliance can't be sustained, and in the end, the same thing happens: no true satisfaction.

I had to stop by a store today to pick up a guitar (it's not one of mine, it's a gift for a very beloved youngling) and on the way out, stopped dead in my tracks: I'd seen a pod (it's an effect module for the guitar) that I've wanted for a while.

The owner saw my gaze, and next thing you know, we were discussing makes and models, then the conversation stripped down a bit more, to amps and tones, from clean to fuzz to mud, what we like, why we like it, the amps that do it for us and the amps that don't.

And then...we went from tone to bone: the axes we play. He put one guitar in my hand, then another. He watched me play, examined the angles I held my hands, my arms, my head at, the difference in all of those from sitting to standing. "You've got long arms--long legs, long arms."

"Yeah, but I've got a short torso," I said.

He shook his head. "You're fine - I was just noticing that you're not a six foot bass player, is all. Just means your guitar is gonna be different than someone elses, is all."

And we talked about "our sound," the way we each play. Like he said, it's not something that's handed to you in the store just before you walk out.

You spend hours, days, weeks, months, learning to play the basics, then months, years, taking them and shaping them into something. You expand your world, you change your amps, your rigs, your set ups, experiment with picks and finger tips, play with strings and pickups.

All of this is done so that one day, one fine day, you're able to turn around and say, "That's my style."

You wrestle and fight for it, slide, sweat, and bleed. There is frustration. There are flying towels, and even sometimes, a can or an ashtray. Your soul is pouring out from your fingertips, the tune in your head, and if it's not right, it's just not right.

What in the world does this have to do with running? Everything. Robyn Benincasa (who happens to be one of my personal heroes--and if you don't know who she is, find out, seriously!) once said, "Commitment starts when the fun stops."

Let me repeat that: commitment starts when the fun stops.

Passion gets you started, the spark that sets the flame to begin learning, and passion can carry you through the initial stages of learning technique.

But its commitment that marries those two, that permits the creation of "that's my style, my sound, my soul."

Breakfast: 2 soft boiled eggs, orange juice

Lunch: about 1/4 of a ham steak (hey, it's protein!)

Dinner: chicken with tomato, avocado, and lettuce.

The run started out uncomfortable; I don't know why exactly, but my feet and parts of my legs hurt--not bad enough to stop, but enough to notice. I figured it out a few seconds later: the soaking run from the other day had affected my sneakers.

Okay then - I could either stop, ruin the training module, and "fix" them (which would take more than a minute or two), or I could keep going and focus on something else. I did. Technique. I paid strong attention to my stride, to the way my foot would fall, and like guitar scales and drills, I did it over and over again.

For the first time since I've started, I hit 20 minutes not including warm up or cool down, as well as the two mile mark.

While I very clearly, happily, and proudly know what sort of musician I am, my style and my sound, I don't know what type of runner I'll be--yet. I do know this, though: I'm committed to seeing my passions through, and to do them right, I've got to perfect technique.

Day 11 - The Rest of It

Today's supposed to be a rest day, and it is, sort of. I don't run, don't do floor stretches or yoga. Instead, I wrote, I worked on some outstanding business issues, figured out some new lyrics and a riff, then went to the day job.

Honestly, not a bad day in terms of production.

At work...well, probably the two most interesting things involved two different coworkers.

Right before the class I teach started, the teacher from the previous class, well, I turned around, and she was in tears--they poured, rich and silent from her eyes.

I didn't think at all, I simply put my arms around her and asked her what was wrong.

She told me. Her sister had died, three weeks earlier and because she'd been having some serious health issues of her own, her doctor had not only ordered bed rest, but also her absence from the wakes and funerals, fearing her condition would rapidly worsen.

Her husband doesn't allow her to cry at home, tells her she should be over it. I asked one of my guys to bring her some cold water to drink, and bless them all-- they all brought one.

"I shouldn't be here," she cried. "I'm the oldest--it should have been me--I didn't get to say goodbye."

"It doesn't work like that," I told her very quietly. "And yes, you should be here."

"I know, I know," she said, "but I should be over this, I should get over it."

"Why?" I asked her. "It's your sister, you've known her for her whole life--sixty some odd years. Why would three weeks be enough?"

"But my husband says--"

"Ignore him--or kick him in the nuts next time, so he has something to cry over, too," I interrupted to suggest.

That got a smile out of her.

"My sister would like that."

I smiled back. "Well then, now you have an action plan."

She gave me another hug. "Thank you," she said. "And I'm sorry for falling apart like that."

I hugged her closely. "You're welcome--come look for me whenever you'd like. And don't apologize for being human, for having a heart. You love someone, and they're not here--your tears honor that."

"You think so?"

"I know so," I affirmed, and with that and one final hug, we each started our respective classes.

A few hours later, a coworker whom I rarely get to see came in for shift, and we got to talking about running, cycling, and swimming. Turns out, his bff rides for a (Name Company) team and that's all he does, but since he swims, too, he does biathlons and the occasional triathlon.

Boy did that conversation take off. See, a few weeks ago, just a few days before I decided I would do this crazy triathlon thing, I'd remembered something, something I'd forgotten:

When I did the AIDS Ride, I really fell in love not only with the idea of what we were doing (fund raising that really made a difference) but with my bike all over again (similar to the love affair I'd had as a young one, only much better. I mean, hey, I had an AWESOME bike and even cooler gear to go with it ).

I was taking a month off after that event, and was going to prepare to do a century (100 miles) in Tour de Tuscon, also as part of a fundraising event. I'd joined a team, and was quietly preparing my mind to do something really insane, something that the person who coordinated the NY people for the AIDS Ride does: do this for a living.

I mean, hey, how cooler could you get, right? I mean, ride a bike, help people, and make a living? Sign me up! (Actually, I was already kinda signing up).

But then...Sept. 11th happened, and it blew the entire world literally and figuratively to shreds. And I'd forgotten all about that. But like I said, suddenly, just before doing this crazy triathlon thing, I REMEMBERED.

And tonight...well, let's just say this: the (Name Company) has two teams, an amateur and a pro. They take their pros from the amateur, and they train locally, race internationally.

My co-worker is gonna hook me up with his bff, and we're already talking riding routes to train (since he's thinking of going for the amateur team); the first thing he's sending me is a list of races in the area to look at & prep for. Oh...and the team? Might be looking for a few new members. Maybe. Kinda sorta. Depends on performance and all of that.

Can you say "psyched?" Because week after next...starts the cycling module :-)

Day 10 - Running With the Fae

Because of my strange work schedule, I knew that I wouldn't be able to run in the evening and would have to go earlier in the day.

Frankly, I didn't mind this at all, because at the time, while it was wet out, it wasn't pouring. Heavier than mist, but lighter than a down pour, a compromise between. I like that, because I like the way it physically feels to move in that. Besides, the event itself has no rain-date, and so I figured, no harm, no foul.

Now, being a New Yorker, I let someone know I was going out to run the minute I hit the sidewalk, then I entered the park. Just as I was about to begin my warm up, it struck me: there wasn't another single soul around. Not a one. Not anywhere. Being a TRUE New Yorker, I called another friend and basically said, "Hey, I'm going for a run in such and such place. If you don't hear from me by X time, come look for me--I'm hurt."

The basics taken care of, I warmed up and took off.

Breakfast/Lunch: left-over rice and roast pork, cran-pomegranate juice.

Dinner: rice pasta with gluten-free sausage

Treat: Tall skim no whip white mocha and 2 dark chocolate-covered graham crackers (hey, it was COLD later!)

The park was absolutely beautiful and as I ran through my module, I chose a path that would take me along the lake, so I could really enjoy the hills on one side, and the water on the other, making certain I'd take no grass nor mud paths--the rain would make those ways treacherous.

Not even a quarter way into the session, I was absolutely soaked, and ever so slightly cool. Fine though. Gray light brought the green and the flowers out in sharp relief and as I breathed deeply of the lake and soil-scented air I noticed how similar blackberry blossoms are to certain type of cherry blossoms. At different points as the terrain rolled by me, I wished I had a camera or video equipment to somehow capture some of the incredibleness I witnessed. I had all of it to myself, and I wanted to share it.

Unless you've actually been there, most people don't know how much parts of New York look like Scotland, and even in a sculpted/sculptured park, because of the mist, the air, even the shades of green, I was struck hard by the similarities. This of course, made me think of stories and legends, history and myth; the richness of Celtic culture that I've always so enjoyed.

I neared the bridge, looking forward to crossing it during its mystic best. Gulls occasionally flew over head and as I glanced on occasions at the water on either side, I could see huge "surfacing" type rings and glass spots, the smallest 12 feet across, the largest about 21. But nothing actually surfaced, and since the lake is actually a reservoir, more than likely it was either the fans pushing or pumping water in exchange.

Across the bridge, there's a bit of path before it ends at a road. Now, there was no one in the park, but there were still occasional cars on the road. I debated: turn around at the road itself, follow the path I'd first taken a few days ago that follows the road, or just before emerging through the path, turn around and take another variation.

Well, frankly, remember how I said I was a real New Yorker? Okay, this is what I thought: There was absolutely NO ONE in the park, but there were people on the road. Emerging even near the road, what if a car happened to drive by and it so happened that there was a twisted person who figured, "Hey, look! Lone jogger! I can practice my new serial killer technique!" So I turned around at a point before I could be seen from the road.

Which meant I'd go back over the bridge. For some reason, as I watched the "rising" rings in the water, the rising that normally means something will breach, but never did, I thought about the first "grown up" book I read when I was in the third grade: Jaws. It opens with a swimmer who goes out in the middle of the night into the water and basically gets eaten by this efficient, silent, predator. No one knew what had happened to the anonymous girl that opened that book. And then I thought about Patricia Brigg's work, and her incorporation of the Fae (aka fairies) into "our" world, and how they're mostly not that nice, and in fact mostly dangerous and when they do things, well, they do it where it can't be seen.

I thought about her last book, that had a bridge troll in it, and how in the middle of the bridge itself there are two small towers on either side, almost like a toll point. That, I thought to myself, is exactly the sort of place that those trolls would hang. If you can't pay them, they eat you. And of course, the best time and place to do it is when there's no one around. How can anyone possibly really believe fae exist if no one ever sees them, right?

At this point, those rising rings got bigger. Remember how I run 60 walk 90?

48, 49, 50, and I'd hit the walking part just before I hit those pillars. I know you're not supposed to run from an immortal - it only catches their attention. But I was running already, so...

56, 57, 58...and the water, which had been silent before, slapped really hard against the rocks.

63, 64, 65, and I was at the exact halfway point. 66, 67, 68 and I had past it.

75, 76, 77, and I told myself, Jae, there's nothing there, just look behind you and see, but just as my gaze hit my shoulder, another voice jumped in. "Hey, don't do that--that's when it EATS YOU!"

112, 113, 114 and I blew out the module for that section. At 120, I knew I'd have to walk 180 for a proper recovery, and I realized a few things.

One: I'm not doing that again. If I'm running alone, I'm going out way earlier when there are people around and walking their dogs.

Two: It doesn't matter if there was something there or not, because Lord, when it comes to sprint, I've still got it, and I'm building it even further.

Three: This is the most important part. It's true: when you're doing your flat out strongest effort and you look behind you, the monster gets you. Why? Because you've slowed down, because as you twist your head, you twist your body and you not only change the position of your foot fall, you're no longer can see where you're going. The result: eaten or injury. Either way, progress is not only slowed, it's halted, possibly permanently, depending on severity.

In the end, all it is is fear chasing you, fear that will halt you, stop you, trip you, hurt you, eat you. Fear. False Evidence Appearing Real.

And you know what? This doesn't just apply to racing, whether it's running, cycling, or swimming. So...I've learned something and in keeping with true fae tradition, it took a bit of physical price. In the end, no harm, no foul, and a...lesson...I had to search within to really get.

Why not call it something else (like...something resembling those things people open at birthdays or holidays)? Here's the thing: you should never thank the fae, not ever, not at all. You'll owe them, and they will collect. Guaranteed, it will be much more than you're willing to pay, and fear takes the highest toll of all.

Day 9 - Monday, Monday

I admit, whole heartedly, that I am absolutely positively NOT anything CLOSE to being a fan of Mondays, not unless they're holidays.

Not that I'm knocking the pleasure and privilege of being alive, mind you, it's just that I really hate being ripped out of the cozy embrace that is my family and my bed, and being thrust once more, cold and alone, into what's sometimes a truly inhospitable environment.

It's a lot like being born, ain't it?

Sure, an hour, maybe two, sometimes it takes as many as eight later, I'm in a good mood, but that's only because a) I'm eventually going back to my family and my home and b) Monday's a rehearsal night. Unfortunately, it's not a running night, and that's really and truly now the sad part of the day. Funny how that happened...but I've really come to crave it. But hey, that's what tomorrow's for!

Breakfast: 2 soft boiled eggs, a pint of cranberry juice (and I tend to stick to Ocean Spray, since they don't use high fructose corn syrup - I'm not supposed to eat corn, and besides, studies show that this particular type of sugar is insulin insensitive, which means diabetes is around the corner, as is obesity. No, thanks).

Lunch: an expensive yet pathetic excuse for a salad (two slices of cucumber and two slices of tomato over half a head of what's probably iceberg lettuce) with hummus.

Lunch 2: roast pork, rice, very small amount of plantains.

Dinner: more of lunch 2

Weight: 151.1 lbs. Remember how I said I expected to gain? I suspect I'll strip down a bit first as it all burns, then the numbers will probably creep up again as I build.

So...through the opening poses to the more specific ones, stretch and hold, burn and bend, sinking sinking through it all...and then it was time to rehearse.

During the yoga session itself, I thought about last week and the gains within the family on that weekend, I thought not about work, but the loss of that gentle man. I reflected on the things I've learned about health, self, and life in general. I thought about the work I'm doing with the new writing, the strange, exciting and scary path everything seems to be going in, all at the same time, and so much of it wonderful.

One thought, one feeling overrode them all: I love my family. The ones who've been there since before I can remember, the ones I've grown with, the ones who've been introduced over the years, the ones recently met and the ones yet to become a part of my life, of our life. I love them, and I'm held so very securely by their love for me. What an amazing, miraculous, beautiful thing. And my friends...I hold them just as dear, just as close and precious. And I can absolutely feel that close regard in return.

And then...there was music, and there was flow. My heart beat. My breath sustained, two half notes over its quarter note/four beat/single measure.

I brought that rhythm into rehearsal, the beat of my heart, the flow of my breath, the feelings that fill and filled me. I wish that love--I want to share that love--with everyone.

Namaste.

Day 8 - Sun Block

I tend to prefer to run in the early evening; the shifting lighting suits me as does the fact that most of the people you encounter then are running, too (or playing in the dog run with their pups).

But Shane convinced me to go out earlier today, since it was so beautiful out.

I did.

Breakfast: A banana and cranberry/pomegranate juice

Lunch: Apples, grapes, and a double shot (yes, I had a double shot as part of lunch)

Dinner: Chicken & stir-fry steak w/terra chips & spinach

I continued working the module, knowing I'll be working it for another week. Now the thing is, it truly was gorgeous out - perfect temperature, perfect humidity (as in none), perfect sunny day. And of course, the moment I hit the park, I realized I'd forgotten something: sun block. See, thing is, I may not be blonde or blue eyed, but frankly, I'm pretty fair skinned, and I burn baby burn before I tan.

Turning back and correcting that wasn't an option, since there were some afternoon obligations.

So...I focused. I stretched. I ran through light and shade, over grass and gravel, water and cement. Since I was running at a different time of day, I decided to vary my route just a bit.

And...because the form I've been focusing in is now a part of my "habitual" reminders while running, I decided to pay attention this go-round to approximate distance.

Now, the path around the park (the outer circle, not including the inner meandering paths) is about 1.5 miles. Generally speaking, I've been doing about two thirds one way, then two thirds back, which isn't bad, since it gives me about a mile.

Today, I know I did a bit over three quarters each way, giving me approximately a mile and half. I hit 17 minutes in total training time, not including the warm up nor the cool down.

I managed not to knock over any children on bicycles, trip over dogs, or crash into folk taking their "constitutional."

I do, however, have a few freckles I didn't have this morning, pink spots on my arms that itch, and a pink nose. Guess what I'm not forgetting on Day 10?

Day 7 - And On the Seventh Day

...God rested.

I didn't. The schedule/module I'm working with means today was a day off.

Hardly.

Originally, I was supposed to spend the morning into the afternoon working on a new writing project, the afternoon introducing one of our nieces to her new guitar (it's a tradition: on the 8th birthday, each kid gets a guitar, and lessons, too), with the later evening seeing us in the studio.

You know the saying, men plan and God laughs? Well, there must have been some chuckles coming from above, because a snafu at work just as I'd started to get into flow meant I'd lose a few hours not only from the writing, but then from enjoying the musical introduction.

Still though...the guitar was given (and much joy was had by all of us - just so much love shared, it's amazing how big the hearts are of little people!). We walked into the studio filled with the excitement and anticipation not only of what we're creating, but also for our niece's focused enthusiasm, and her siblings' excitement for her. The older ones (who already have guitars) greatly like and enjoy music, but this one...she's got that look in her eye, the same one I see in the mirror.

And when we left the studio, talking about what we'd done and what we plan to do, we also discussed tomorrow's run: when, where, how, and why.

I'm greatly looking forward to both of us getting out there tomorrow, getting on the path, and working on all the things I want to: form, distance, breath, time, all the things that matter in this, and it occurs to me: in so many ways, it's absolutely no different than being a musician, than being in a band. Focus, form, breath, time. It's all there, even the individual training/practice, that comes together different times during the week, each of us bringing the different things we've learned, mastered, and accomplished to the joint sessions.

Side note: this is the first time I've left a rehearsal where I didn't have a sore neck and shoulders from the weight of my guitar -- I might not have run today, but I certainly brought the great effects from it with me to the studio!

Day 6 - Rhythm Is A Dancer

Here's a funny and seemingly irrelevant factoid:

I started dancing school at the age of three. Now, I very clearly remember hearing the doctor telling my mother that it would strengthen my ankles (this was back in the days when "general practitioners" actually did something other than write referrals and hand out Z-Packs like PEZ) and the next thing I knew, I had a pair of funky pink slippers and a pair of shiny black shoes that made awesome sounds.

I went from classes in ballet and tap from twice a week, to classes in ballet, tap, and gymnastics three times a week.

I learned to find rhythm and breath, to step and pace in time, to enjoy the flying freedom of my body in motion. Music and movement became one for me, a part of how my heart beats, of the way I breath.

By the time I was ready for high-school, it was my dream to be a triple threat: a performer who could sing, dance, and act, and I auditioned for the school that would bring that dream closer. I was also required to take something called the "co-op" exam, something I'd been studying for every summer from approximately the fifth grade on; this test would allow me entrance to different Catholic and/or private schools depending on my grades, as well as a city-wide test, that would also allow or deny me entrance to specialized city schools.

In the end, I got into all the schools I wanted to, but it turned out that despite that, there had been no choice, not for me: I would go to the school my parents had wanted me to go to all along.

The academics were challenging, but a sport was required for certain (specific) colleges, so I took up one that wouldn't require tremendous financial output (since my sibs and I were all reminded on a daily basis of how much we cost), that wouldn't require too much travel (again, with both parents working, transportation was an issue), and finally, one that my grandfather--my father's father--was truly passionate about.

I ran. I ran cross-country. I prepped and prepped with the team, I learned about "Cardiac Hill" in Clove Lakes Park (it sucks, in case you were wondering, and somehow it seems all races in that park require it) and finally, it was time for the first race. For the first time since school had started, my mom drove me to something.

The course we ran was significantly different from the course we trained on: varied paths, varied terrain. I learned quickly that some participants (from other schools) ran "dirty" -- after I was literally shoved into a tree.

At some point, in fact, for the last third or so, I ran alone, convinced I was lost, that I was the last one, not just for the school, but for the entire race! I was embarrassed, disappointed, and ashamed of myself. I had let absolutely everyone down, including myself. And my mom was there.

But I had to finish, so I kept my breath and my rhythm, kept it moving, kept myself going. There was flow and I was in it. If I couldn't place well, at least I could pace well, and that had to count for something.

Then came the last 100 yards or so. There were people. They were yelling. I was just about to slow my stride, when I recognized one of my team mates, a sophomore or junior (I don't remember which), screaming encouragement.

I did as I'd been taught in practice: I found what was left and poured it out, all of it, everything I had left into a pure sprint through the finish line. I might have been last, I might have been terrible, but I was at least going to do my dead-level best.

My legs, my hands, my whole body shook. I think I cried. And as I stood there, being hugged by my team mates and given something to drink, I glanced with the rest of them to watch what was happening. The race wasn't over yet -- not even half.

A boy who hung out in the park with his friends playing basketball during our practices came over to say hello, and from the corner from my eye I saw my mom in something resembling a heated discussion with the coach.

Just as one of my team-mates told me I'd come in first for the freshman team, my mom dragged me away. She quizzed me about the boy, she quizzed me about the race, and I told her all of it, from thinking I was lost, to thinking I was last, from the shove and stumble into a tree that left me coughing for a bit, to finding out I'd been first for OUR freshman team.

She said nothing, and the next practice, I wasn't allowed to go--I would never race cross country for my school again. I did find out when I told the coach I couldn't go that I had placed somewhere in the top 30% or so in a race that had held over 100 entrants.

And I had to quit dancing school, since it interfered too much with my academics.

But...I still danced and stretched and did my floor work outs at home, and when I could, I grabbed my sneakers--and went out for a run.

Today was not a running day. Technically, it was a yoga day. Which sucked, only because I was really in the mood to run, not to do the work that yoga requires both physically and mentally.

Breakfast: 2 soft-boiled eggs, salmon, hummus

Lunch: half a burger (no cheese, no bun), some fries

Dinner: more dead cow (steak, this time) and roasted potatoes (maybe the equivalent of one medium potato).

Mood saver: Starbucks Espresso Doubleshot (yes, I have a thing for them!)

I compromised with myself when I got home.

But...I changed my clothes, and I did it. And because I so needed to honor the part of me that needed to run, to fly, to feel the rhythm of motion, I did a full floor stretch, the same one I've been working on since I was so small.

By the way, while I never officially ran track again (my own individual adventures aside), a few days after my mom said "no," I learned something very interesting: my school had a swim team. No strange people hanging around the pool we practiced in, very contained locations...and I knew exactly what sport I would do for the next few years.

Day 5 - Pain vs. Gain

What. A. Day. I don't even want to discuss what it started with, nor how the work day ended. Suffice to say that I not only looked greatly forward to its end, but every time I ran up or down flights of stairs, all I could think--each and every time--was that I simply could not wait to Get. Out. And. RUN.

Breakfast: 2 soft boiled eggs

Lunch: smoked salmon and hummus (with spinach and artichoke - yum!!!)

Fix-my-mood-and-keep-me-sane: 2 (yes, 2, but not back to back) Starbucks double shots

By the time Shane got home and a few quick errands were run, I was absolutely, positively, raring to go. This...had been the one thing I'd truly been looking forward to all day--even before rehearsal, because I knew I'd go into it calm, because truly, by noon today, I was wishing I drank, like, a LOT.

We hit the road--and I was happy. Funnily enough, even with the increased distance and time compared from Sunday to Tuesday, I was definitely way less sore, and while I twinged a bit on the first few steps (I know I didn't stretch enough--that won't happen again!), after that, all was fine.

Because I'm working with training modules, I kept the same pace I worked last time. Today's focus was on form--opening my stride, pushing off the ball of my foot, keeping my hands below a certain level to not increase my cardiac load unnecessarily. I noticed that each time I switched from walk to run, I lead with my left foot, pushing off the right. I tried to vary it up once I'd noticed, and kept ending up taking another step.

I decided to keep the focus on the form and ignore that.

Because it was so close to dusk, many of the park lamps were lit, and as I crossed the bridge, I noticed tiny bats flying about, replacing the birds that sang all through the bright sunlit day.

And by the time I was done (not including the cool down), I realized something: I'd increased again, from 14.5 minutes, to 15.

It's weird, but a couple of co-workers (who don't know what I'm doing vis a vis this) asked me if I'm losing weight, while another tapped my arm, then tapped again. "Girl, that's getting hard!" I laughed, but felt for myself a few moments later. Whoa. Sure enough, she's right. I asked Shane (just in case I was hallucinating from the second double shot or something) and she said, "Yeah, I noticed that Tuesday." Which explains a few other things.

Maybe it's dehydration, and maybe it really is the double shots. Or maybe, it's what Shane (and a few others) said, that running strips you down fast.

Whatever it is, I'm not complaining, not one bit.

To be honest, I've been expecting to find my weight go up as this progresses, not down, since muscle weighs 4x as much as fat--but I'm not checking that again until next week.

No pain (well, not really) and all gain. I can definitely live with that.

Day 4 - Recovery

Today's the one day during the training/work-out week that I don't run, don't do yoga, don't do anything except for some stretches.

It's a recovery day, a day to let the muscles rest and rebuild, recover and restructure.

And the timing ended up being good, since I woke up a bit under the weather, so I suppose more than muscles needed the rest.

Breakfast was really just lots of juice (cran/pomengranate - what can I say? It's a "thing") and lunch was roast pork and rice. Dinner was chicken, just chicken. White meat, a little salt, a little lemon, and sauteed with olive oil. Easy, quick, tasty. Besides, I like the occasional pure protein meal.

So rest I did...and all I could think of every time I glanced at the grey, misty day outside my window, was how much I wanted to go out and run in that, in the park, through the grass and the trees, over the bridge and the lake.

I don't know what the weather will be like tomorrow (and there's rehearsal scheduled for the evening), but I do know this: no matter what the weather, wind or rain, sun or shower, I will run. And I'm actually looking forward to it.

Day 3 - Lay It Down

There was no time for breakfast this morning; today saw the funeral of one of "my guys" (a gentle-giant named Bob) and there was no opportunity to even really think about it, never mind do it.

I knew later on I would have to do a radio talk-show on suicide prevention in the LGBTQQ community.

Weight: 152.2 lbs

Breakfast/Lunch: dead cow, steamed vegetables (carrots and string beans with garlic - yummy!) one potato croquet type thing. A cappuccino (because I needed it), and a tortoni (which is a small cup of almond-flavored ice cream).

Drank not nearly enough water.

The work day ended, the day got significantly cooler, and rain threatened. Got home. Got changed. Checked for my phone and my keys and as I closed the door...realized I'd locked myself out: I'd grabbed my work keys.

Well, alrighty then. Called Shane to let her know that until she got home, I'd be "outside," and off I went.

During the run, I cut through the park so I could run over a bridge that crosses Silver Lake. I love the way the air feels on misty days, love even more the way everything appears - especially from the midpoint of that bridge - when it's like that out.

I needed that, the union of water, stone, and sky, me the fire and the spirit moving over and across.

I focused on numbers, focused on my breathing patterns. Made sure that I didn't hold my shoulders tight as I moved one foot in front of the other, over cement, over grass, over stone.

One full cycle of inhale and exhale takes about four steps. One full cycle of inhale and exhale is about four heartbeats.

And as I ran, I realized that this is life: starting and ending, hoping and hurting, and it's up to me, no matter what, to do the things that are important, to do the things I need to do for me, even before (sometimes) I do them for anyone else.

I modified today's training run a bit: instead of 50/50 running and walking, I did 60/90. The original intent was to keep to the 10 minutes but...by the time I was done, I'd actually done 14.5!

So I increased the "recovery" portion by 50% and increased the actual productive/active time by 45% - honestly, not a bad exchange, especially since I covered just about twice the distance and I still had energy to spare.

And there was a lesson in that, too: take the recovery time. Schedule it, plan it, make it an integral part of the work - and it will work for you, increase your capability and productivity.

Because even when you're doing what you've got to do, sometimes, you really need to lay it down.

Day 2 - Tentative Commitment

Yep. It's true. Day 0 gives you time to back out, Day 1 tells you yeah, you can do this. Day 2 lets you know if you mean it or not.

So, okay. My legs aren't happy with me - they're not mad or anything like that, just not terribly thrilled, somewhere around mid-thigh but above the knee pocket (thankfully) they're just...not pleased.

Breakfast was 2 soft-boiled eggs, an 8 oz of cran/pomegranate juice, and a banana.

This was after getting the news that one of "my guys" (for those of you who don't know, I work with an MRDD population - and male or female, they're all "my guys") passed away; last year he developed a bit of dementia, and we just simply don't have the facility or the personnel to care for him - so he went to a nursing home.

He died simply, pneumonia he didn't/couldn't recover from, but still, it's very sad; tomorrow's the funeral.

Thing is, would I let my head stay there and throw me back to just before Day 1 (inertia) or have I really committed to this?

I mean, all the reasons - uh, excuses - are there: physical pain, emotional sadness, baggage from the work day...heck, those could be legit reasons, right?

Lunch didn't get eaten until after 3 pm - pure protein (steak) and carbs (rice) and frankly, the day wiped me; I'm guessing the cold didn't help (40 in May?!? WTF???)

Dinner was chicken and spinach, and then...rehearsal. Focus, imagination squeezed through technical gyration. But today is not a running day - it's a yoga day.

Time to breathe, to balance, to reshape and recharge. To reach and stretch, to go "outside" of here and now by sinking deep within. The thing that fascinates me about yoga (in addition to it being the source for martial arts) is this: with each pose, you reach a point where you must choose to stop, or to continue, because to stay where you is painful.

And that's the choice: push through the pain and perfect the pose, or stop and the burn remains, but the opportunity to move forward is lost.

I've not reached it yet, but I'm pushing for perfection.

Namaste.

Day 1 - Mother Day

New people, familiar (in every sense) people, strangers, friends.

Torn meniscus, torn gastroc. Broken ribs. Broken metatarsal, repeatedly sprained ankles.

Two miscarriages. Too many questions. No answers, none at all, and here's the situation: I have to train for a triathlon. It may be a small one, but I still have to be prepared, I have to be able to do this.

Ten minutes. That's all I'm asking of myself today. Ten minutes of moving, of Indian jogging, 50 paces walking, 50 paces running, alternating for ten minutes.

I ate too much of the wrong things today, and as wonderful as some of the "event" of it was, some of it was really hard, too.

The question as I rode home from the celebratory reunion with all its inherent joy and pain was "will I really do it?"

It got mentioned how crazily windy it was, my parents recommended "no." But I made a promise...

I got home, stripped off the shoes and the nice clothes, grabbed my sweats and my brand-new sneakers. Found my cycling jacket that's great for strong and nasty winds, layered a sweat-jacket under it.

Running compatriot took a look, changed, too. I stretched, tucked my keys and my phone in a pocket, secured them under my jacket.

And...out! Runner #2 glanced at me as we walked to a spot in the park and said, "I don't think I'll last two minutes."

"Sure you will," I said. "Hope I do, too."

Got to my starting spot, set my watch. And on the countdown, the question became: Can I even do two minutes?

I ran. I walked. I shifted from 50 steps running, 50 steps walking, to 60 steps running, 50 steps walking; I ended on a run, then race-walked to cool down.

I did ten and a half minutes before that. The other was equally successful.

Today I conquered obstacle one: inertia. I can do this. I can do anything. I am a bad-ass mother fucker, and I've got the now-broken-in sneakers to prove it.

Rockin'!

Day 0

Okay.

So...new sneakers (after trying on a few pairs, having my gait video-evaluated and having recommendations made for both my foot shape and step-style), new chest compressor (hey, if you wore one of these, you'd call it that, too), and something resembling a plan.

Tomorrow...my first official training "run." It's in quotes because it's not going to be strictly running: it's a split combo of walking and running for a certain length of time, to be followed by a yoga cool down (but preceded by a thorough floor stretch).

We're all gonna see how it goes...right now, I'm mostly nervous about seeing this through.

Triathlon? Triathlon. And this one's a "mini" one AND I have slightly over a year to get ready for it.

The cycling part - heck, honestly? I could do that right now and not be bothered. The swimming...I need to build to it, but I think I can do it (the open water part - THAT promises to be more challenging than the distance itself!)

I figure the hardest part of this for me will be the running, hence, start there. That's a plan, right?