People tend to believe that the Advent/Christmas season is the most difficult for pastors. This pastor creates most of his own grief this time of year, heaping on expectations I cannot possibly meet. Even though I gave myself some space to not work as much, I still tried to do too much. This week I have paid a price. I think I have been sick in the month of December at least 80 percent of the time since 1995. I think I need to learn something about how I care for myself and what I expect from myself. I hope that with age, comes wisdom, but I keep doing the same thing. With old and new surroundings in the Pacific Northwest can come better life practices.
At least when I exhale upon arrival in Minnesota on December 28th, I won't have to do much. I can't do any home projects, or do much financial planning--all I can do is read and write, talk with family, run in the snow and ice, and play with my kids. I look forward to giving you more posts to Madhousegazette, or at least figure out the direction with this blog. One thing I won't do is let it sit with "Merry Christmas & Happy New Year" with a 2009 date until July of next year.
May your holidays be full of peace, joy and a connection with what is holy.
Showing posts with label fitness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fitness. Show all posts
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Getting back on track (literally and figuratively)
Grief and lack of exercise mean lack of writing in my life. It was a strain to put out what I did in the last week. I had to force myself to write something, lest the memories of Hunter drift away into abstraction. Writing makes those memories tangible.
I've run three consecutive days now, which is no small feat considering my recent schedule. I know that exercise is supposed to take priority in daily life, but good habits dwindle quickly, especially when tens of thousands of dollars are on the line in the closing of a house and a beloved dog dies. I've learned that I can't get my running habit established in the winter without a set alarm clock--one of the big transitions between warm and cold weather running in a northern area of the country. I usually wake up on my own, but I also take my time getting up and moving. It's one of my few peaceful times alone during the day--so I like to savor it in the time I carve out around the run. I hate the quickie brand of run.
Writing and running go hand in hand for me, I suppose those linked variables are related to expanded blood flow to my brain and what that combination does for my outlook on life.
I've run three consecutive days now, which is no small feat considering my recent schedule. I know that exercise is supposed to take priority in daily life, but good habits dwindle quickly, especially when tens of thousands of dollars are on the line in the closing of a house and a beloved dog dies. I've learned that I can't get my running habit established in the winter without a set alarm clock--one of the big transitions between warm and cold weather running in a northern area of the country. I usually wake up on my own, but I also take my time getting up and moving. It's one of my few peaceful times alone during the day--so I like to savor it in the time I carve out around the run. I hate the quickie brand of run.
Writing and running go hand in hand for me, I suppose those linked variables are related to expanded blood flow to my brain and what that combination does for my outlook on life.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Not sure I will make a purchase at The Sports Authority again...
My running and fitness habit was in a shambles after a packed vacation week and general chaos about the house in preparation and recovery from the trip. I needed a plan to make positive changes.
Logistics were not working in my favor for reinvesting myself in running. It didn't help that my gear was no longer functional or appropriate. I need gear for cool weather, but not frigid. I really needed new shoes--the cushioning was shot and holes had developed in the forefoot region. Unfortunately, I never found myself near a place to buy my trusted Asics 2000/2100 series, the shoe I have purchased as many as 3 times per year for about 14 years. Running an errand in a different part of the metro, I thought I might find a store that carried my shoes. I found The Sports Authority near Southcenter Mall in Tukwila. I found everything I needed at a fair price (not great, but fair). While checking out, the clerk offered me a buyer protection plan for my new Asics 2140 running shoes for the low, low price of $10. She told me if anything goes wrong with the shoes over the period of one year, then I could get a refund for the shoe. A supervisor came to the register to affirm the great offer The Sports Authority was making me. Now, I know that one year for a running shoe is a long and productive life, and with regular use, one year is a bit too long. For me, I can only afford about a six-month life span for my running shoes, though about 4 would be ideal. If I had a shoe that went kaput after 6 months of good use, I wouldn't return the shoe--because I had received what I paid for--an above-average quality trainer (in a category just below top of the line). I couldn't in good conscience return the shoe after getting what I paid for.
What bothered me about this "protection plan" was why they wouldn't give me a refund if the shoe was defective without an extra 10 dollar payment. These protection plans are scams in the first place to separate you from your money. That was irksome enough. What is more troubling is that basic knowledge and trust in the products a store carries and relationships with customers has mutated into a faux assurance gesture. With all of the running enthusiasts in Western Washington, I think I'm going to find a specialty running store and buy my gear there. I would rather build a trusting relationship with a quality merchant that costs a little more than deal with someone who is trying to dupe me out of extra money with a bait and switch.
Though I'm sure the clerk was well-intentioned and was only given a flow chart to sell this awful air of assurance, I had to let her know, "I've been buying these shoes for 14 years and have never had a problem. No thank you, I am not buying the protection plan." If the shoe falls apart too early, I'm taking it to the manufacturer, not The Sports Authority. I'm sure the size of the company makes it that they don't care about my business, but I will not make a purchase at The Sports Authority if I can at all help it.
I'm practicing to be a curmudgeon. How did I do?
Logistics were not working in my favor for reinvesting myself in running. It didn't help that my gear was no longer functional or appropriate. I need gear for cool weather, but not frigid. I really needed new shoes--the cushioning was shot and holes had developed in the forefoot region. Unfortunately, I never found myself near a place to buy my trusted Asics 2000/2100 series, the shoe I have purchased as many as 3 times per year for about 14 years. Running an errand in a different part of the metro, I thought I might find a store that carried my shoes. I found The Sports Authority near Southcenter Mall in Tukwila. I found everything I needed at a fair price (not great, but fair). While checking out, the clerk offered me a buyer protection plan for my new Asics 2140 running shoes for the low, low price of $10. She told me if anything goes wrong with the shoes over the period of one year, then I could get a refund for the shoe. A supervisor came to the register to affirm the great offer The Sports Authority was making me. Now, I know that one year for a running shoe is a long and productive life, and with regular use, one year is a bit too long. For me, I can only afford about a six-month life span for my running shoes, though about 4 would be ideal. If I had a shoe that went kaput after 6 months of good use, I wouldn't return the shoe--because I had received what I paid for--an above-average quality trainer (in a category just below top of the line). I couldn't in good conscience return the shoe after getting what I paid for.
What bothered me about this "protection plan" was why they wouldn't give me a refund if the shoe was defective without an extra 10 dollar payment. These protection plans are scams in the first place to separate you from your money. That was irksome enough. What is more troubling is that basic knowledge and trust in the products a store carries and relationships with customers has mutated into a faux assurance gesture. With all of the running enthusiasts in Western Washington, I think I'm going to find a specialty running store and buy my gear there. I would rather build a trusting relationship with a quality merchant that costs a little more than deal with someone who is trying to dupe me out of extra money with a bait and switch.
Though I'm sure the clerk was well-intentioned and was only given a flow chart to sell this awful air of assurance, I had to let her know, "I've been buying these shoes for 14 years and have never had a problem. No thank you, I am not buying the protection plan." If the shoe falls apart too early, I'm taking it to the manufacturer, not The Sports Authority. I'm sure the size of the company makes it that they don't care about my business, but I will not make a purchase at The Sports Authority if I can at all help it.
I'm practicing to be a curmudgeon. How did I do?
Sunday, September 27, 2009
The Washington Huskies and reality
I still haven't come down from Washington taking down USC last week. Though television technology has taken sports to a new level, a live event still offers a unique shared experience.
The rebuilding project will still take some time for the UDub--and Stanford looked like a pretty good team. I tire of the bromides about being a physical football team, but Stanford brought an extraordinary level of toughness that the Huskies couldn't match last evening. The Pac-10 is going to be a blood bath this season, and 6-6 or 7-5 or 5-7 looks about right for the Dawgs. Maybe they'll do better (still hoping). The play of the Huskies yesterday reminded me of the volatile psyche and performance of my days as a late teen/early adult years. It's even tough to learn as an older adult about preparing for solid, consistent performances in the midst of adrenaline rush. I applied that wisdom last week as I almost stopped cheering in the 3rd quarter so I would have a voice left and be able to do my job with integrity on Sunday morning. Some student athletes are wise beyond their years and can accomplish this--which is why I appreciate my lessons as a student-athlete that much more.
The rebuilding project will still take some time for the UDub--and Stanford looked like a pretty good team. I tire of the bromides about being a physical football team, but Stanford brought an extraordinary level of toughness that the Huskies couldn't match last evening. The Pac-10 is going to be a blood bath this season, and 6-6 or 7-5 or 5-7 looks about right for the Dawgs. Maybe they'll do better (still hoping). The play of the Huskies yesterday reminded me of the volatile psyche and performance of my days as a late teen/early adult years. It's even tough to learn as an older adult about preparing for solid, consistent performances in the midst of adrenaline rush. I applied that wisdom last week as I almost stopped cheering in the 3rd quarter so I would have a voice left and be able to do my job with integrity on Sunday morning. Some student athletes are wise beyond their years and can accomplish this--which is why I appreciate my lessons as a student-athlete that much more.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Thanks, Jeff Galloway (and my youngest brother)
Though my first half-marathon at the Super Jock n' Jill On Labor Day was no display of speed or endurance, maybe I am getting a little wiser as well as older. By following Galloway's program of walking and running, after three days I have completely recovered from the race. I am injury free, and ready to run again.
When I woke up this morning, I still felt a slight soreness from the race in my quads, but I knew I was ready for a run. I didn't feel like actually doing it, but I got out there for about 3.5 miles. To my surprise, I felt even a slight spring in my step, like I gained some strength from the race.
Thanks also to my youngest brother, who offered encouragement in training, but also bought me the Galloway Book On Running for Christmas about three years ago. I don't think I'd still be running without it--because I probably would have done something stupid and suffered an injury or given up because I would try to pile on mileage without a plan. Even though I did hit a wall, the race was enjoyable and challenging.
I'm going to look for another race at www.runningintheusa.com
When I woke up this morning, I still felt a slight soreness from the race in my quads, but I knew I was ready for a run. I didn't feel like actually doing it, but I got out there for about 3.5 miles. To my surprise, I felt even a slight spring in my step, like I gained some strength from the race.
Thanks also to my youngest brother, who offered encouragement in training, but also bought me the Galloway Book On Running for Christmas about three years ago. I don't think I'd still be running without it--because I probably would have done something stupid and suffered an injury or given up because I would try to pile on mileage without a plan. Even though I did hit a wall, the race was enjoyable and challenging.
I'm going to look for another race at www.runningintheusa.com
Tuesday, September 08, 2009
Memories from first half-marathon
Race day is a top ten adrenaline rush experience. The anticipation and nerves, athletic ability of competitors and challenge, and the variation in people watching for me is fascinating. The running crowd is not like the usual crowds I see. I am not part of a running club, and church isn't exactly a fitness haven, though my dear wife and I have noticed that Northwest pastors are a much more fit bunch than Midwest pastors.
Memories from the Super Jock and Jill Half-Marathon (run and walk) and 4-mile run:
* I ran across a female runner nursing her baby before she ran the half-marathon.
* The atmosphere produced varying degrees of rain for about 3/5 of the race. I found it refreshing most of the time, though the accompanying humidity kept me plenty soaked.
* This was a large half-marathon--I think they said it was the 33rd annual race. It takes quite an effort to pull off something like that. I think I saw at least 20 police officers directing traffic on the course that traveled through Woodinville and Bothell. When I had the energy, I said thank you to the police officers and volunteers sharing a cool cup of water. One police officer said I was doing a good job. I gave him a thumbs up and said thanks. He said "keep it up. You're doing what I can't do." He smiled his encouragement was one of the many things that kept me going.
* I hit a wall about mile 10. I was by no means going fast during the first 10 miles. But the last three miles about all I could manage was jogging 200 yards and walking 100. I think what zapped me was that I was a little dehydrated--I hit all the water stations, but I could have used a few more sips. I lost 7 pounds during the race, and after my recovery I'm still down 4 pounds. I didn't do any hill training for the race and I could have used some. The course hit the hilly UW-Bothell campus--I didn't attack the hills, and I only ran about 2/5 of them, but I need to do a few more hill workouts for my next race.
* My last 3 miles put me in somewhat of a competition with a race walker. I didn't get a look if he was registered for the walk or the run. But I would go into my slow jog and pass him. Then I would walk and he would pass me. I wasn't totally dead by this time of the run, because I still managed to pass a few people in the final 3 miles.
* There was an odd free food offering at the end of the race. I picked up a hand-crafed chocolate raspberry doughnut. I couldn't bring myself to eat it, but someone in my family appreciated it.
* I missed my cheering section during this race. I didn't know the course all that well, nor did my dear wife--and with the rain, it seemed like it would be a wasted effort to have a cheering section. But my dear wife and daughters took the trip with me to Woodinville, sent me off with love and encouragement and welcomed me back. Daughter #1 really likes these races--I think I'll sign us up to volunteer sometime.
* My recovery is going well. I feel a little achy, which is helped by some ibuprofen and some short walks to keep out the stiffness. I must have been clinching my shoulders, because my trapezius ache a little. During the race all I could feel cramping was my hip flexors. I will be ready for a short run either tomorrow or Thursday. Thanks to .Jeff Galloway's training program I'm not going out of commission just because I ran a race. I'm spent, but I can function.
* I'm going to look for a 5k to run sometime around Thanksgiving. I want to do some longer cross training, so I definitely don't want to train for a longer race. I'm looking to go biking on Fridays with my new day off and pull along daughter #2 on the copious trails in the area.
I will compete in another half-marathon, I'm just not sure when or where it will happen.
Memories from the Super Jock and Jill Half-Marathon (run and walk) and 4-mile run:
* I ran across a female runner nursing her baby before she ran the half-marathon.
* The atmosphere produced varying degrees of rain for about 3/5 of the race. I found it refreshing most of the time, though the accompanying humidity kept me plenty soaked.
* This was a large half-marathon--I think they said it was the 33rd annual race. It takes quite an effort to pull off something like that. I think I saw at least 20 police officers directing traffic on the course that traveled through Woodinville and Bothell. When I had the energy, I said thank you to the police officers and volunteers sharing a cool cup of water. One police officer said I was doing a good job. I gave him a thumbs up and said thanks. He said "keep it up. You're doing what I can't do." He smiled his encouragement was one of the many things that kept me going.
* I hit a wall about mile 10. I was by no means going fast during the first 10 miles. But the last three miles about all I could manage was jogging 200 yards and walking 100. I think what zapped me was that I was a little dehydrated--I hit all the water stations, but I could have used a few more sips. I lost 7 pounds during the race, and after my recovery I'm still down 4 pounds. I didn't do any hill training for the race and I could have used some. The course hit the hilly UW-Bothell campus--I didn't attack the hills, and I only ran about 2/5 of them, but I need to do a few more hill workouts for my next race.
* My last 3 miles put me in somewhat of a competition with a race walker. I didn't get a look if he was registered for the walk or the run. But I would go into my slow jog and pass him. Then I would walk and he would pass me. I wasn't totally dead by this time of the run, because I still managed to pass a few people in the final 3 miles.
* There was an odd free food offering at the end of the race. I picked up a hand-crafed chocolate raspberry doughnut. I couldn't bring myself to eat it, but someone in my family appreciated it.
* I missed my cheering section during this race. I didn't know the course all that well, nor did my dear wife--and with the rain, it seemed like it would be a wasted effort to have a cheering section. But my dear wife and daughters took the trip with me to Woodinville, sent me off with love and encouragement and welcomed me back. Daughter #1 really likes these races--I think I'll sign us up to volunteer sometime.
* My recovery is going well. I feel a little achy, which is helped by some ibuprofen and some short walks to keep out the stiffness. I must have been clinching my shoulders, because my trapezius ache a little. During the race all I could feel cramping was my hip flexors. I will be ready for a short run either tomorrow or Thursday. Thanks to .Jeff Galloway's training program I'm not going out of commission just because I ran a race. I'm spent, but I can function.
* I'm going to look for a 5k to run sometime around Thanksgiving. I want to do some longer cross training, so I definitely don't want to train for a longer race. I'm looking to go biking on Fridays with my new day off and pull along daughter #2 on the copious trails in the area.
I will compete in another half-marathon, I'm just not sure when or where it will happen.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Getting ready for the half-marathon
I am running in my first half-marathon in 2 1/2 weeks. I haven't written much about my preparation, because my preparation has been far worse than my St. Patrick's Day 5-mile race. I attribute this to the move and trying to balance my dear wife's new schedule and my domestic responsibilities, among other factors. I don't feel great about my training, but I can learn from this path.
Fitting in an adequate long run to prepare for a half-marathon takes a lot of dedication and schedule arranging. I've been able to keep up with the short runs, but the long run provides the growing edge, and carving out about 2 hours on most weeks is challenging. As a stay at home dad, I have a lot of time available, but 2 hour blocks? I also do better with this kind of running in the winter when it's dark and my family has little or no desire to venture outside. I should remember this in future half-marathon and marathon (?) training. A fall marathon will not be the way to go for me--a spring marathon sounds more plausible. The heat of the summer, even in the Pacific Northwest, has also gotten me down--I end up sleeping very poorly on the warm evenings, then getting out of bed for a run before the household awakens was a significant struggle in this training regimen. I also watched a little too much damned television.
However, I did get in about 11 miles or so today, so I know I can do this half-marathon. I may not perform up to my previous expectations--but I know I can do it. This morning was a big test, and I passed adequately. I only hope for a cool day on Labor Day for this new venture.
Fitting in an adequate long run to prepare for a half-marathon takes a lot of dedication and schedule arranging. I've been able to keep up with the short runs, but the long run provides the growing edge, and carving out about 2 hours on most weeks is challenging. As a stay at home dad, I have a lot of time available, but 2 hour blocks? I also do better with this kind of running in the winter when it's dark and my family has little or no desire to venture outside. I should remember this in future half-marathon and marathon (?) training. A fall marathon will not be the way to go for me--a spring marathon sounds more plausible. The heat of the summer, even in the Pacific Northwest, has also gotten me down--I end up sleeping very poorly on the warm evenings, then getting out of bed for a run before the household awakens was a significant struggle in this training regimen. I also watched a little too much damned television.
However, I did get in about 11 miles or so today, so I know I can do this half-marathon. I may not perform up to my previous expectations--but I know I can do it. This morning was a big test, and I passed adequately. I only hope for a cool day on Labor Day for this new venture.
Thursday, August 06, 2009
Heat wave consequence
Last night's low in the Puget Sound region dropped to the low 50's. Fans ceased whirring in the house, and most windows stayed closed. Daytime temps stayed out of the 80's or above for the first time in two weeks. I had felt fatigued for about two weeks before I encountered blissful slumber last night. Room temperature during sleep makes a huge difference. I laid in bed comfortably and didn't awaken from sweat pouring down my neck. I slept 8 comfortable hours for the first time in about a month. Sleep continues to be the factor that most affects my health--I need to remember this wisdom every day. And when this occurs next year, I will have saved up enough money to have one room in our dwelling air-conditioned.
Tuesday, August 04, 2009
The heat wave has finally abated
Back in college, a good friend used to chide me for paying attention to weather forecasts: "Why do you worry about something you can't control?"
I may not be able to control the weather, but I can adjust. Since returning to the Northwest, I have enjoyed reading University of Washington Atmospheric Science Professor Cliff Mass' blog. I thought about his post regarding humidity and realized I did not recognize the humidity with the heat. Indeed, we had a high dew point for the region, but I remember those days in South Dakota and Kansas where I walked outside and sweat with minimal exertion. I loathe that feeling. I love to sweat when working out and dressed to do so, but merely sweating is not my favorite bodily function. It is one reason I would think long and hard before ever taking an opportunity to live in the South. I would be constantly cranky. Even in my more svelte days, I couldn't take the humidity.
I guess I lived long enough in the Midwest that I didn't notice the humidity during the last heat wave. I am shocked.
I may not be able to control the weather, but I can adjust. Since returning to the Northwest, I have enjoyed reading University of Washington Atmospheric Science Professor Cliff Mass' blog. I thought about his post regarding humidity and realized I did not recognize the humidity with the heat. Indeed, we had a high dew point for the region, but I remember those days in South Dakota and Kansas where I walked outside and sweat with minimal exertion. I loathe that feeling. I love to sweat when working out and dressed to do so, but merely sweating is not my favorite bodily function. It is one reason I would think long and hard before ever taking an opportunity to live in the South. I would be constantly cranky. Even in my more svelte days, I couldn't take the humidity.
I guess I lived long enough in the Midwest that I didn't notice the humidity during the last heat wave. I am shocked.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Our 2 days in triple digit heat
1. We took Mommy/my dear wife to the airport. Though I don't like to drive around for its own sake, the air conditioning in our vehicle is an alluring intoxicant.
2. On the way home we stopped at the mall to get some physical play for the girls on a mall playground. I also don't like going to the mall for its own sake; shopping as an avocation puzzles me on many levels, a new level created after watching TLC's Clean Sweep a few times.
3. We laid low for the afternoon, trying to move as little as possible. I set up a fan triangle of sort on the downstairs level of our townhouse as a marginal oasis. We don't have a thermostat in the house but I'm guessing the temperature inside was somewhere in the 90's. I didn't want to leave because I'm concerned about our geriatric chocolate lab of fragile health. He's never been in this kind of heat. I didn't want to leave for more that 2 hours or so.
4. I hit a wall in heat toleration around 6pm. Though I don't like to take the girls to our pool alone, I thought we needed to get in the pool to cool off. Getting a 6 and 2 year old ready for the pool is a project. My dear wife usually handles hair and general corralling. We finally walked up to the pool at 7pm, only to discover our pool was closed. This was absolute cruelty. I thought we still had some time to travel to a spray park about 30 minutes away before it shut down for the evening. The girls love this place, and we arrived just minutes after it shut down. The girls were crestfallen, and I was getting a bit crazy. All was made better with the promise of ice cream. Walking through the frozen food section at WinCo Foods provided nirvana.
5. We all took cool showers and baths and called it a night over the 1990 full length movie The Jetsons.
All over the world, people deal with high temperatures. For many people in this world, cultural patterns make adjustments for the heat reality. I remember an article about how air conditioning has developed into a middle-class boundary in India. If I was in the air conditioning business, forget the United States, I'd set up shop in India.
Extremes in unexpected places produce stories, as I have witness many local conversations about the "Blizzard Of (insert year)" or the "Drought of (insert year)." An old episode of the Vicar of Dibley satirizes this conversation well. In Cascadia, stories will be prefaced by the Summer of '09. Though Cascadia residents are given to hyperbole in weather extremes, there's some science behind this outlier. I recently found the blog of University of Washington Professor of Atmospheric Science Cliff Mass. This triple digit weather is not merely a point of interest for us weather drama queens, but scientists as well. This map Mass posted of temps southern Thurston County and Lewis County yesterday show some truly crazy temperatures. He even wondered if 114 could have been a realistic reading.
Today we're going to my grandmother's and her air conditioning, but I'm still not going to leave the dog alone at home too long.
Stay cool, Cascadia, the slow descent into relief starts late tonight.
2. On the way home we stopped at the mall to get some physical play for the girls on a mall playground. I also don't like going to the mall for its own sake; shopping as an avocation puzzles me on many levels, a new level created after watching TLC's Clean Sweep a few times.
3. We laid low for the afternoon, trying to move as little as possible. I set up a fan triangle of sort on the downstairs level of our townhouse as a marginal oasis. We don't have a thermostat in the house but I'm guessing the temperature inside was somewhere in the 90's. I didn't want to leave because I'm concerned about our geriatric chocolate lab of fragile health. He's never been in this kind of heat. I didn't want to leave for more that 2 hours or so.
4. I hit a wall in heat toleration around 6pm. Though I don't like to take the girls to our pool alone, I thought we needed to get in the pool to cool off. Getting a 6 and 2 year old ready for the pool is a project. My dear wife usually handles hair and general corralling. We finally walked up to the pool at 7pm, only to discover our pool was closed. This was absolute cruelty. I thought we still had some time to travel to a spray park about 30 minutes away before it shut down for the evening. The girls love this place, and we arrived just minutes after it shut down. The girls were crestfallen, and I was getting a bit crazy. All was made better with the promise of ice cream. Walking through the frozen food section at WinCo Foods provided nirvana.
5. We all took cool showers and baths and called it a night over the 1990 full length movie The Jetsons.
All over the world, people deal with high temperatures. For many people in this world, cultural patterns make adjustments for the heat reality. I remember an article about how air conditioning has developed into a middle-class boundary in India. If I was in the air conditioning business, forget the United States, I'd set up shop in India.
Extremes in unexpected places produce stories, as I have witness many local conversations about the "Blizzard Of (insert year)" or the "Drought of (insert year)." An old episode of the Vicar of Dibley satirizes this conversation well. In Cascadia, stories will be prefaced by the Summer of '09. Though Cascadia residents are given to hyperbole in weather extremes, there's some science behind this outlier. I recently found the blog of University of Washington Professor of Atmospheric Science Cliff Mass. This triple digit weather is not merely a point of interest for us weather drama queens, but scientists as well. This map Mass posted of temps southern Thurston County and Lewis County yesterday show some truly crazy temperatures. He even wondered if 114 could have been a realistic reading.
Today we're going to my grandmother's and her air conditioning, but I'm still not going to leave the dog alone at home too long.
Stay cool, Cascadia, the slow descent into relief starts late tonight.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Half-marathon training
After running somewhere around 11 miles this morning, I learned that at this point in my life and fitness level that I will function better as a winter trainer for spring long races. It's only 70 degrees out right now, but I was seriously gassed the last mile or two.
I could say that my body works better in the cool weather (I've always struggled with heat, even in my more fit days)--I could also be real with myself and say that I'm carrying around 50 or so extra pounds. How much easier would that run be if I wasn't carrying that much extra weight? Today was an important day to get out--the weather in the next week would have caused me to tread dangerous ground to make a long run, and I don't have to do another long run for two weeks now. Next Saturday is interval training that won't take me 2 hours.
Regardless of my condition, I still enjoy getting outside for a little reflection time--time to give thanks, to think about my sermon, to think about my family and our hopes and goals. Running and training will not change as long as I am wise about training. I do wonder when I'm going to get really serious about how much extra weight I'm carrying around, or how long I'm going to make excuses. They have to stop.
I could say that my body works better in the cool weather (I've always struggled with heat, even in my more fit days)--I could also be real with myself and say that I'm carrying around 50 or so extra pounds. How much easier would that run be if I wasn't carrying that much extra weight? Today was an important day to get out--the weather in the next week would have caused me to tread dangerous ground to make a long run, and I don't have to do another long run for two weeks now. Next Saturday is interval training that won't take me 2 hours.
Regardless of my condition, I still enjoy getting outside for a little reflection time--time to give thanks, to think about my sermon, to think about my family and our hopes and goals. Running and training will not change as long as I am wise about training. I do wonder when I'm going to get really serious about how much extra weight I'm carrying around, or how long I'm going to make excuses. They have to stop.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Here comes the heat wave
Surfacing reports indicate a heat wave is coming to the Pacific Northwest.
I am looking at this heat wife like a Midwest snow storm in some ways--preparation mode. The comparison to a Midwest snowstorm doesn't really work--the Midwest adjusts to weather extremes far better than any place west of the Cascade mountains. My preparation mode began earlier this morning--I have a cool overcast morning with which to work, and I am cooking on the stove now to avoid turning it on later during the unbearable temperatures. I've cooked some chicken breasts, pasta and macaroni and cheese; some will be used for the microwave, some will be mixed in a salad. I'm getting out my camping grill later (packed in a box somewhere) so I can cook something else in the next week. I want to be able to feed my family a decent meal while still following The Frugal Rule. It would be oh, so tempting to go out to a nice, air conditioned restaurant during the heat wave, but not really cost effective.
I remember big snow days in the Midwest--we had/have a good vehicle for getting around, but why take a chance going into a ditch when it isn't necessary? When I knew the storm was coming, I made sure we had hot meals ready to make, milk, and some food to easily prepare if the power went out because of an ice storm.
The heat wave is my least favorite weather extreme for which to prepare, but I also like testing my expanding home economist skills. My next big test will be if I can get going early enough in the morning to get in my long run before it gets too warm.
I am looking at this heat wife like a Midwest snow storm in some ways--preparation mode. The comparison to a Midwest snowstorm doesn't really work--the Midwest adjusts to weather extremes far better than any place west of the Cascade mountains. My preparation mode began earlier this morning--I have a cool overcast morning with which to work, and I am cooking on the stove now to avoid turning it on later during the unbearable temperatures. I've cooked some chicken breasts, pasta and macaroni and cheese; some will be used for the microwave, some will be mixed in a salad. I'm getting out my camping grill later (packed in a box somewhere) so I can cook something else in the next week. I want to be able to feed my family a decent meal while still following The Frugal Rule. It would be oh, so tempting to go out to a nice, air conditioned restaurant during the heat wave, but not really cost effective.
I remember big snow days in the Midwest--we had/have a good vehicle for getting around, but why take a chance going into a ditch when it isn't necessary? When I knew the storm was coming, I made sure we had hot meals ready to make, milk, and some food to easily prepare if the power went out because of an ice storm.
The heat wave is my least favorite weather extreme for which to prepare, but I also like testing my expanding home economist skills. My next big test will be if I can get going early enough in the morning to get in my long run before it gets too warm.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Blogging and unemployment
I wonder about the relationship between blog posts nationally and unemployment numbers. My guess is--unemployment up, blog posts up. Unemployment down, blog posts down. At least that's how it works for me.
There's no way I can keep up this kind of blogging pace outside my home, fully employed, unless I use a blog as sermon preparation. I've rediscovered that I like the writing life--and my writing life is a bit like my running life. I like to make the decisions; when writing or running becomes work, they aren't as fun. Maybe that's why I'm less likely to make a living as a writer. I'm still pondering my Tess review--this book overflows with topics for consideration. At least I finally finished the book! It only took me nearly 6 months...
Today is going to be mostly a homebody day. I'll probably walk the kids to the park and read a little Tobias Wolff while the kids run around the soccer field. Then I'll come home and watch the Mariners play this morning while I fold laundry (what a game last night! Thanks Branyan and King Felix for the thrill!). The girls have become connoisseurs of jungle gyms, and this one close to our home is below average. Even though we go to that park at least once a week, they barely notice that play set any more. We all like the soccer field by our house. It actually has good sight lines, I think an architect must have been part of this plan. I can sit on a little perch a few hundred feet from the field and see everything they do. I think the girls like the freedom of running around where they want on their own time. I guess we're peas in a pod.
There's no way I can keep up this kind of blogging pace outside my home, fully employed, unless I use a blog as sermon preparation. I've rediscovered that I like the writing life--and my writing life is a bit like my running life. I like to make the decisions; when writing or running becomes work, they aren't as fun. Maybe that's why I'm less likely to make a living as a writer. I'm still pondering my Tess review--this book overflows with topics for consideration. At least I finally finished the book! It only took me nearly 6 months...
Today is going to be mostly a homebody day. I'll probably walk the kids to the park and read a little Tobias Wolff while the kids run around the soccer field. Then I'll come home and watch the Mariners play this morning while I fold laundry (what a game last night! Thanks Branyan and King Felix for the thrill!). The girls have become connoisseurs of jungle gyms, and this one close to our home is below average. Even though we go to that park at least once a week, they barely notice that play set any more. We all like the soccer field by our house. It actually has good sight lines, I think an architect must have been part of this plan. I can sit on a little perch a few hundred feet from the field and see everything they do. I think the girls like the freedom of running around where they want on their own time. I guess we're peas in a pod.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
On the road again--running as a way of life (part 3)
Before my dear wife and I moved to South Dakota, I had taken up a regular regimen of pick up basketball 2-3 times per week. That was my favorite method of exercise--I always prided myself on being a gritty player. I took special pride in sprinting back on defense to take away what someone thought would be an easy lay up or running a 3 on 2 break and getting to the corner for a short jumper or layup--or even leading it after I anticipated a pass and made a steal. It was the sprint that produced an immediate gratification, and (bonus!) my conditioning skyrocketed.
I ran a little bit less in those basketball days--if I was playing with a good group of guys, I got in plenty of wind sprints. I used running more for getting away than conditioning; Lake Country Wisconsin provided great scenery for running getaways.
Upon moving to South Dakota I continued the same running pattern. Basketball 3 days per week and running 2 or more days per week. I played hoops while taking classes at South Dakota State (and lost about 5 pounds in sweat in that painfully hot gym), and then picked up playing at the Sioux Valley/Sanford/Mob Wellness Center. I can't say I was in the best shape of my life (I should have been), the big shift was the birth of our first child, and I could no longer work out when I pleased. I had never been a rigorously scheduled person, I ran whenever the Spirit moved me. When #1 was born into our 2 pastor household, we were pulled in all kinds of directions with a child making her own demands. I had a hard time adjusting to compromises to my running time.
Then about 6:10 am in January, 2004, while playing pick up basketball, executing one of my favorite plays, hustling back on defense to break up an easy bucket, someone with as much or more aggressiveness than me, collided with me mid-air at high speed on the way to the hoop. My lower left leg twisted in a way I didn't know it could. I have no recollection how I landed. I think the injury happened mid-air, which the doctor said was unlikely, but possible. I blew out my ACL, MCL and significantly damaged the meniscus. It was a long, slow and painful recovery.
I had to retire from basketball and learn the dynamic of personal limitation and compromise, from familial to physical. I still haven't learned all of these lessons. Though not an elite athlete, I performed at a good level for several years in almost any way I wanted. My own maturity level held me back, but I also had many joys through physical performance. Family really isn't a limitation--but dynamics of relationships accentuate the choices I make every day. What is important to me? How will I invest my time, my body, my resources?
Running became the obvious choice as a great investment in me, my family, my body and resources. Running fits my economy--I can work my heart, pray, think, plan, experience joy, work my muscles, achieve and keep my body working well. Running is also a habit practice--I've been doing it more or less twice per week for 25 years, with the only large gap being recovering from knee reconstruction (about 2 years). I may try other things like bicycling, swimming, cross-country skiing, hiking, or some other sport that doesn't put my ACL at an incredibly high risk. I always have an entry point with running.
I hit a low point in fitness last fall. It was an especially hot summer in South Dakota; the thought and experience of going outside to run made me physically ill. I had also made too many excuses about the schedules of my family as taking me away from any consistent physical activity. Carrying around the weight I was didn't help matters. Without too much thought, but with consideration of my knees, I dedicated myself to short, but consistent runs early each morning. It was the only way I could do it and not worry about anything in the lives of the 3 females in the house. It was my time. I rose between 4:45 and 5:15 am 5-7 days per week and went to the track. The track reduced the pounding effects of pavement running. I continued almost regardless of the conditions--I think I missed one day because of a lightning storm. I ran in several inches of snow this last winter. I ran in -20 degrees, which was a lot more comfortable for me than running in the heat. I was well equipped (I now own ice/snow running attachments for my shoes--I'm also amazed by the cold weather running gear), and I wasn't going to miss the prayer, thought and planning time. I was further motivated by a race for which I registered around St. Patrick's Day.
The move to Washington has created a new list of excuses for a reduced running pattern, but I've also bought in to Jeff Galloway's program of running less often and focusing more on the weekly long run as a means to prevent injury and actually boost achievement. I want to get out there every day, and I haven't figured out a cross-training regimen that works for me. I've also added shoe orthotics for injury prevention and to deal with an old injury. Like the rest of life, dealing with adversity and making adjustments is more of what life is about than looking to dwell in good times, all the time and not seeing the gift of each day. I'm working toward a half-marathon on Labor Day and hopefully a marathon around my 40th birthday. I'm looking to make another adjustment for cross-training tomorrow--something I have basically ignored.
I will make that adjustment in running--it's a way of life.
I ran a little bit less in those basketball days--if I was playing with a good group of guys, I got in plenty of wind sprints. I used running more for getting away than conditioning; Lake Country Wisconsin provided great scenery for running getaways.
Upon moving to South Dakota I continued the same running pattern. Basketball 3 days per week and running 2 or more days per week. I played hoops while taking classes at South Dakota State (and lost about 5 pounds in sweat in that painfully hot gym), and then picked up playing at the Sioux Valley/Sanford/Mob Wellness Center. I can't say I was in the best shape of my life (I should have been), the big shift was the birth of our first child, and I could no longer work out when I pleased. I had never been a rigorously scheduled person, I ran whenever the Spirit moved me. When #1 was born into our 2 pastor household, we were pulled in all kinds of directions with a child making her own demands. I had a hard time adjusting to compromises to my running time.
Then about 6:10 am in January, 2004, while playing pick up basketball, executing one of my favorite plays, hustling back on defense to break up an easy bucket, someone with as much or more aggressiveness than me, collided with me mid-air at high speed on the way to the hoop. My lower left leg twisted in a way I didn't know it could. I have no recollection how I landed. I think the injury happened mid-air, which the doctor said was unlikely, but possible. I blew out my ACL, MCL and significantly damaged the meniscus. It was a long, slow and painful recovery.
I had to retire from basketball and learn the dynamic of personal limitation and compromise, from familial to physical. I still haven't learned all of these lessons. Though not an elite athlete, I performed at a good level for several years in almost any way I wanted. My own maturity level held me back, but I also had many joys through physical performance. Family really isn't a limitation--but dynamics of relationships accentuate the choices I make every day. What is important to me? How will I invest my time, my body, my resources?
Running became the obvious choice as a great investment in me, my family, my body and resources. Running fits my economy--I can work my heart, pray, think, plan, experience joy, work my muscles, achieve and keep my body working well. Running is also a habit practice--I've been doing it more or less twice per week for 25 years, with the only large gap being recovering from knee reconstruction (about 2 years). I may try other things like bicycling, swimming, cross-country skiing, hiking, or some other sport that doesn't put my ACL at an incredibly high risk. I always have an entry point with running.
I hit a low point in fitness last fall. It was an especially hot summer in South Dakota; the thought and experience of going outside to run made me physically ill. I had also made too many excuses about the schedules of my family as taking me away from any consistent physical activity. Carrying around the weight I was didn't help matters. Without too much thought, but with consideration of my knees, I dedicated myself to short, but consistent runs early each morning. It was the only way I could do it and not worry about anything in the lives of the 3 females in the house. It was my time. I rose between 4:45 and 5:15 am 5-7 days per week and went to the track. The track reduced the pounding effects of pavement running. I continued almost regardless of the conditions--I think I missed one day because of a lightning storm. I ran in several inches of snow this last winter. I ran in -20 degrees, which was a lot more comfortable for me than running in the heat. I was well equipped (I now own ice/snow running attachments for my shoes--I'm also amazed by the cold weather running gear), and I wasn't going to miss the prayer, thought and planning time. I was further motivated by a race for which I registered around St. Patrick's Day.
The move to Washington has created a new list of excuses for a reduced running pattern, but I've also bought in to Jeff Galloway's program of running less often and focusing more on the weekly long run as a means to prevent injury and actually boost achievement. I want to get out there every day, and I haven't figured out a cross-training regimen that works for me. I've also added shoe orthotics for injury prevention and to deal with an old injury. Like the rest of life, dealing with adversity and making adjustments is more of what life is about than looking to dwell in good times, all the time and not seeing the gift of each day. I'm working toward a half-marathon on Labor Day and hopefully a marathon around my 40th birthday. I'm looking to make another adjustment for cross-training tomorrow--something I have basically ignored.
I will make that adjustment in running--it's a way of life.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
On the road again--running as a way of life (part 2)
After I signed up for my first half-marathon for Labor Day, I realized that my original plan was to run a race at the end of September. I'm about 3 weeks behind schedule now--I'm adding a little bit to my long runs each Saturday or Sunday to catch up a bit. Nine miles this morning was a little tough, but I stuck with the walk-run combo, which should keep me fresh and healthy.
Back to the running story.
With my 7th grade 600 yard epiphany run, I discovered the benefits of running beyond the testosterone-fueled speed fix for my new teenage body. Though I knew nothing yet of endorphines, these endorphines helped me sort out the onslaught of thought and emotion pulsating through my brain every day. Running didn't solve my problems, but gave me space and balance in which I didn't have to worry about the consequences of my developing brain. The faster and farther I ran, the better I felt.
I needed to feel better because I was upset that my family was moving about 60 miles away--and I would no longer see my friends with whom I had grown up--a crushing development for a 13-year old. I remember one of my last days in my old neighborhood, a party with classmates on the shores of Lake Washington. It was a cool and drizzly June day. I don't remember feeling sad about moving, just frustrated. I felt like I had control of nothing anymore, like I had no choices. My friends had nothing to say to quell that frustration; I think the frustration continued to boil and rise. So I took off and started running along the lake. I don't know how far I ran--but it started to rain, and that only gave me more energy to run. I ran so far that I had thoughts of running all the way home (I just looked this up on Google Maps, it wouldn't have taken me that long. It would have been a 4-mile run. One thing I hadn't learned about running yet was pacing. I would have passed out sprinting 4 miles). I'd say about a mile into it, I gave up the home run thought and returned to the park. The run gave me the space to be frustrated, but on the run I realized that I didn't have to despair about the frustration, and I was more open to the move.
Running became my own space to sort things out, where I didn't have to answer anyone's questions but my own.
After the move, I found myself running a few times per week, working my way up to 3-4 mile runs. I thought it was a good practice to get me in shape for basketball and baseball. I liked the discipline, so I joined the cross country team. Here I discovered I wasn't really a competitive runner. However, I enjoyed the training runs so much, it didn't matter to me that I didn't make varsity, let alone finish very high in the junior varsity. I had a nasty kick, but I couldn't figure out the pacing thing. I usually finished in the bottom ten for the meet. I remember one guy who became a basketball nemesis in a neighboring town. He was 6'8" as a frosh and could barely put one foot in front of the other, so they had him run cross country so that he could build his coordination. At least I could beat him in a 3-mile race, and a few others. That was it. I ran cross country for about 2.2 seasons before I learned that my lack of cross country success resulted from not completing all the training runs. Running was about my own space, not running with a team or being told to run--how far, how fast, and when. After running for a few weeks with the team my junior year, I quit and went back to running on my own, which was much more enjoyable.
What I learned from cross country is how much I enjoyed the basic 3-mile run. It has been the foundation of my running schedule for years. I get my blood pumping, I can exert a little speed once in awhile, and I feel refreshed after I'm done. I continued this style of running schedule of 2.5-4 miles, 3-6 times per week, through high school, college and seminary and while my dear wife and I lived in Wisconsin. I ran regardless of the conditions, and found I really enjoyed running in the snow. I went through brief periods where I would run longer distances, but I stuck with the basic 3-mile average.
I took that simple running practice toward running several 5k races. I think I ran about 6-8 over the years. I ran a 5k in Grapeview, Washington for their local festival. I ran the Komen Race for the Cure, a sorority sponsored run at the University of Kansas, another for ovarian cancer, and one for mental illness support and another to support a college in Wisconsin. I loved the race day excitement to boost my beloved training run. I also enjoyed the opportunity to take a little day trip to the race, which gave me another incentive to run--running in different places. I developed the habit of packing my running clothes, so as I traveled more often for work and education, my running was refreshed by seeing a new place while I ran.
When I moved to South Dakota, life changed. And so did my running.
Back to the running story.
With my 7th grade 600 yard epiphany run, I discovered the benefits of running beyond the testosterone-fueled speed fix for my new teenage body. Though I knew nothing yet of endorphines, these endorphines helped me sort out the onslaught of thought and emotion pulsating through my brain every day. Running didn't solve my problems, but gave me space and balance in which I didn't have to worry about the consequences of my developing brain. The faster and farther I ran, the better I felt.
I needed to feel better because I was upset that my family was moving about 60 miles away--and I would no longer see my friends with whom I had grown up--a crushing development for a 13-year old. I remember one of my last days in my old neighborhood, a party with classmates on the shores of Lake Washington. It was a cool and drizzly June day. I don't remember feeling sad about moving, just frustrated. I felt like I had control of nothing anymore, like I had no choices. My friends had nothing to say to quell that frustration; I think the frustration continued to boil and rise. So I took off and started running along the lake. I don't know how far I ran--but it started to rain, and that only gave me more energy to run. I ran so far that I had thoughts of running all the way home (I just looked this up on Google Maps, it wouldn't have taken me that long. It would have been a 4-mile run. One thing I hadn't learned about running yet was pacing. I would have passed out sprinting 4 miles). I'd say about a mile into it, I gave up the home run thought and returned to the park. The run gave me the space to be frustrated, but on the run I realized that I didn't have to despair about the frustration, and I was more open to the move.
Running became my own space to sort things out, where I didn't have to answer anyone's questions but my own.
After the move, I found myself running a few times per week, working my way up to 3-4 mile runs. I thought it was a good practice to get me in shape for basketball and baseball. I liked the discipline, so I joined the cross country team. Here I discovered I wasn't really a competitive runner. However, I enjoyed the training runs so much, it didn't matter to me that I didn't make varsity, let alone finish very high in the junior varsity. I had a nasty kick, but I couldn't figure out the pacing thing. I usually finished in the bottom ten for the meet. I remember one guy who became a basketball nemesis in a neighboring town. He was 6'8" as a frosh and could barely put one foot in front of the other, so they had him run cross country so that he could build his coordination. At least I could beat him in a 3-mile race, and a few others. That was it. I ran cross country for about 2.2 seasons before I learned that my lack of cross country success resulted from not completing all the training runs. Running was about my own space, not running with a team or being told to run--how far, how fast, and when. After running for a few weeks with the team my junior year, I quit and went back to running on my own, which was much more enjoyable.
What I learned from cross country is how much I enjoyed the basic 3-mile run. It has been the foundation of my running schedule for years. I get my blood pumping, I can exert a little speed once in awhile, and I feel refreshed after I'm done. I continued this style of running schedule of 2.5-4 miles, 3-6 times per week, through high school, college and seminary and while my dear wife and I lived in Wisconsin. I ran regardless of the conditions, and found I really enjoyed running in the snow. I went through brief periods where I would run longer distances, but I stuck with the basic 3-mile average.
I took that simple running practice toward running several 5k races. I think I ran about 6-8 over the years. I ran a 5k in Grapeview, Washington for their local festival. I ran the Komen Race for the Cure, a sorority sponsored run at the University of Kansas, another for ovarian cancer, and one for mental illness support and another to support a college in Wisconsin. I loved the race day excitement to boost my beloved training run. I also enjoyed the opportunity to take a little day trip to the race, which gave me another incentive to run--running in different places. I developed the habit of packing my running clothes, so as I traveled more often for work and education, my running was refreshed by seeing a new place while I ran.
When I moved to South Dakota, life changed. And so did my running.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
On the road again--running as a way of life (part 1)
After several weeks of personal speculation, I took the plunge and registered for my first half-marathon. I am working toward running a marathon in 2010 or 2011. We'll see how the 13.1 mile trek goes. This event is not a "bucket list" check off for me--I am training with purpose and wisdom using most of Jeff Galloway's training method. I plan on running for a long time. Recently I've been reflecting on how I arrived at my current relationship with running.
My running world began with a few factors:
1. My dad used to saunter up to the local junior high school track and run laps, donning knee high cotton-poly blend socks with a colorful athletic band, navy blue shorts with white piping, and one of his many penguin embroidered on the pocket golf shirts. Occasionally I walked with him to the track; he would run and I would kick my soccer ball on the infield. He ran anywhere from 3-6 miles. I liked the idea of running, but not necessarily running around a track.
2. Like any kid, I enjoyed a good running race--usually a sprint. These sprints help establish a playground pecking order of sorts. Winning races didn't necessarily make a kid Monarch of the Playground, but these races held currency for overall respect. If a bully was establishing a reign of terror, knowledge of speed provided a barrier to provocation. Though my body doesn't show it now, I once had speed currency. As a sprinter, I was in the top 3 in my grade throughout elementary school--I only knew this because in elementary school we had the Presidential Physical Fitness Test (PPFT) as a measurement of speed and other athleticism gauges--the school posted the best scores for the school to see. I was able to stay out of fights if only for the sheer fact that I could outrun almost any opponent.
In middle school, the Phys. Ed. teachers didn't make a point of posting the results of the PPFT, we had to go on our memories. One of my great memories of middle school (there were few, I loathed middle school for the most part) involved the 600-yard run for the PPFT. The 8th grade P.E. teacher was unpopular--old and cranky, but in amazing physical condition. He was also obsessed with showers after class, so much so that the male students often speculated on his sexual preference. He was military influenced--he had been teaching 8th grade P.E. for what seemed to be eons; he was my father's P.E. teacher. He was old school in that discipline was administered through physical activity. If you screwed around, you would have to go run a "Grand Tour" which was a lap around the campus athletic grounds, approximately 1/2 mile, give or take a few hundred yards. The 600-yard run for the PPFT was run on the "Grand Tour" track, though not a full lap. I had never run that distance before at a race pace, I didn't know what I was in for. I knew nothing of the pacing of track. I wasn't interested in running track--I was playing baseball while others competed in track and field. Besides, I wanted nothing to do with circle running.
We started the 600-yard run--most in the 7th grade seemed to look at this run like a marathon. My peers jogged out of the gate, though some of the track runners kept a strong early pace. I took off like a sprinter. I surprised myself that I could maintain the sprint pace. It was exhilarating, joyful with almost every step. I felt even more joy when I watched the surprise of my P.E. teacher, who wasn't expecting anyone to beat him to the finish line and had to sprint himself to meet me at the finish with his stop watch. I dusted the field and enjoyed that victory for weeks. If my memory serves me well, I ran that race in 1:32 (or was it 1:23?--doubtful). I felt like I was sticking it to that teacher and the track guys, but I also felt powerful that day, probably the only day I felt that way in middle school--and I attached it to running. It was probably my first runner's high.
My running world began with a few factors:
1. My dad used to saunter up to the local junior high school track and run laps, donning knee high cotton-poly blend socks with a colorful athletic band, navy blue shorts with white piping, and one of his many penguin embroidered on the pocket golf shirts. Occasionally I walked with him to the track; he would run and I would kick my soccer ball on the infield. He ran anywhere from 3-6 miles. I liked the idea of running, but not necessarily running around a track.
2. Like any kid, I enjoyed a good running race--usually a sprint. These sprints help establish a playground pecking order of sorts. Winning races didn't necessarily make a kid Monarch of the Playground, but these races held currency for overall respect. If a bully was establishing a reign of terror, knowledge of speed provided a barrier to provocation. Though my body doesn't show it now, I once had speed currency. As a sprinter, I was in the top 3 in my grade throughout elementary school--I only knew this because in elementary school we had the Presidential Physical Fitness Test (PPFT) as a measurement of speed and other athleticism gauges--the school posted the best scores for the school to see. I was able to stay out of fights if only for the sheer fact that I could outrun almost any opponent.
In middle school, the Phys. Ed. teachers didn't make a point of posting the results of the PPFT, we had to go on our memories. One of my great memories of middle school (there were few, I loathed middle school for the most part) involved the 600-yard run for the PPFT. The 8th grade P.E. teacher was unpopular--old and cranky, but in amazing physical condition. He was also obsessed with showers after class, so much so that the male students often speculated on his sexual preference. He was military influenced--he had been teaching 8th grade P.E. for what seemed to be eons; he was my father's P.E. teacher. He was old school in that discipline was administered through physical activity. If you screwed around, you would have to go run a "Grand Tour" which was a lap around the campus athletic grounds, approximately 1/2 mile, give or take a few hundred yards. The 600-yard run for the PPFT was run on the "Grand Tour" track, though not a full lap. I had never run that distance before at a race pace, I didn't know what I was in for. I knew nothing of the pacing of track. I wasn't interested in running track--I was playing baseball while others competed in track and field. Besides, I wanted nothing to do with circle running.
We started the 600-yard run--most in the 7th grade seemed to look at this run like a marathon. My peers jogged out of the gate, though some of the track runners kept a strong early pace. I took off like a sprinter. I surprised myself that I could maintain the sprint pace. It was exhilarating, joyful with almost every step. I felt even more joy when I watched the surprise of my P.E. teacher, who wasn't expecting anyone to beat him to the finish line and had to sprint himself to meet me at the finish with his stop watch. I dusted the field and enjoyed that victory for weeks. If my memory serves me well, I ran that race in 1:32 (or was it 1:23?--doubtful). I felt like I was sticking it to that teacher and the track guys, but I also felt powerful that day, probably the only day I felt that way in middle school--and I attached it to running. It was probably my first runner's high.
Wednesday, July 08, 2009
An evolving relationship with coffee (part 5)
2009 marked the greatest shift in my coffee relationship.
I previously wrote that moving from one child to two did not double the work, but quadrupled it. I know this because of the copious amounts of scientific research available in respected journals (believe what you will). However, parents of 3 children or more say that the jump from 2-3 and beyond is even easier, because regardless of the number after that, parents have to play a zone defense and have a right to enslave the older children. My observation is that one child's path of destruction could always be contained--with two children, their tendrils extend in unpredictable trajectories, creating unforeseen chain reactions (at least quadruple the work).
With thanks to my mother and father for training me in home economics (father with about 20 percent, teaching the ways of grocery prices, and mother with all the rest of the teaching), and when my dear wife and I decided our household was better suited to me staying at home more often, I felt ready to step in. I learned home economics takes a whole different level of stamina. With the aforementioned tendrils of doom from two children, I quickly learned that the work was much harder than anything I had ever done in some respects. I found myself taking naps with the children in the afternoon, then I would be half asleep for an hour or so after the nap, or I wouldn't be able to get to sleep in the evening, and the sleep cycle would continue to spiral into a vortex of grog. Not only was my sleep pattern altered, I was getting less done because at least one kid demanded my attention.
Though I had really never consistently used caffeine, I turned to caffeinated beverages--Diet Coke, Coke Zero, Diet Mountain Dew in order to pull myself out of the vortex of grog. It worked really well for awhile, not only did I charge through nap time with accomplishments galore, but my productivity eclipsed my normal output in general. After about one month of pop consumption I noticed a big shift in the curve. I was drinking somewhere between 75-100 ounces of diet caffeinated soda or more per day. My body felt like it had a metallic residue clinging to my pores, and my thoughts weren't as sharp as they used to be. I hit some mood swings, to which my children absorbed the most. My oldest daughter would sometimes proclaim, "Daddy, you don't have to be so grumpy." To what shall I attribute this shift in wellness? Sleep deprivation? Probably. Caffeine? Possibly. The toxic cocktail of carbonation, artificial sweeteners and colors? I'm not sure what felt worse, the effects of my intake on my body, or the dread of a dearth of daily accomplishment.
My solution wasn't all that revolutionary. I was about as addicted to accomplishment as I was the caffeine, so the caffeine had to stay. I had a prelude to the effectiveness of coffee when I was completely in desperate fatigue survival--when I was serving a congregation and held a paper route. I was up at 230 am to do the Sunday paper route, home at 7:15 to shower and on the road at 7:45 for Sunday worship and Christian education, arriving at home at 1:30 p.m., strung out on caffeine for another 60-90 minutes, only to pass out into a contorted lump of flesh and bones. A few occasions my dear wife made me a mocha with triple chocolate and double espresso. It was an amazing taste of awful and delicious. I remember noting to her, "this coffee stuff works." I couldn't get over that acid dirt taste, so once that work combo from hell was over, I went back to limited amounts of pop, about 36-50 ounces per day.
Once again, I hit the pop threshold, and realized pop wasn't all that inexpensive, and we already had coffee and sugar in the house. Though I hated the taste of it, I didn't feel as awful (outside of my tongue) drinking 3 16-ounce iced coffees each day as with the diet soda consumption. I must admit I feel some self-loathing that I have acquiesced to the Coffistas of the world and the coffee culture. This self-loathing was tempered in that I can join my wife much more easily for a coffee. I'm also a little bit disgusted that my life is out of control that I feel it necessary to detract from my wholeness with a sustaining dose of stimulant. I wouldn't trade many of the joy and fullness of life so that I wouldn't feel the need to consume caffeine. But I can't "control" my children. I give them loving discipline, but they also need to be their own people. I also need to be able to do my own thing--like write. I don't drink coffee everyday, only on the days when the day is so full of contingencies that I need something to survive. I drank coffee on Monday (that would be iced fu-fu coffee) but no caffeine yesterday. Today might be a coffee day. I put the odds at 50-50.
Writing this 5-part reflection on coffee has been attempt to be a little more self-aware about stimulant use. Some healthy people I respect, like Jeff Galloway uses coffee in his training to stimulate thought, creativity and motivation. I also recognize that coffee is a curious part of my religious culture. Though I can understand coffee's social role, I think the beverage's importance is overplayed in and of itself, especially for those who proclaim it as a sacrament. There is a degree of humor implied in this statement, of course, but when a woman cantankerously calls out to me "Are you another one of those young Lutheran pastors who doesn't drink coffee?" reveals something about the social rigidity of congregants. Let's be clear about the ends and flexible about the means. I have invested thousands upon thousands of hours in contributing and building relationships among the people of God. I have gone way outside my own comfort zone in many ways--but in the end, my value is that I uphold and encourage and find joy in the basic dignity of human relationships that communicate the love of God. Coffee can be useful, but it is not essential. Pop could work, as could a cup of water or a wheat grass shot or a beer (my preferences). Or, people could just talk--but I also recognize the terror in that. The more I see coffee as the essential and a point for argument, the more I weep for my culture. I hope there will be someone with whom I can talk about this. I am thankful that my dear wife and I do this. We don't need the coffee--but that kind of blessed conversation has been 15 years in the making.
I previously wrote that moving from one child to two did not double the work, but quadrupled it. I know this because of the copious amounts of scientific research available in respected journals (believe what you will). However, parents of 3 children or more say that the jump from 2-3 and beyond is even easier, because regardless of the number after that, parents have to play a zone defense and have a right to enslave the older children. My observation is that one child's path of destruction could always be contained--with two children, their tendrils extend in unpredictable trajectories, creating unforeseen chain reactions (at least quadruple the work).
With thanks to my mother and father for training me in home economics (father with about 20 percent, teaching the ways of grocery prices, and mother with all the rest of the teaching), and when my dear wife and I decided our household was better suited to me staying at home more often, I felt ready to step in. I learned home economics takes a whole different level of stamina. With the aforementioned tendrils of doom from two children, I quickly learned that the work was much harder than anything I had ever done in some respects. I found myself taking naps with the children in the afternoon, then I would be half asleep for an hour or so after the nap, or I wouldn't be able to get to sleep in the evening, and the sleep cycle would continue to spiral into a vortex of grog. Not only was my sleep pattern altered, I was getting less done because at least one kid demanded my attention.
Though I had really never consistently used caffeine, I turned to caffeinated beverages--Diet Coke, Coke Zero, Diet Mountain Dew in order to pull myself out of the vortex of grog. It worked really well for awhile, not only did I charge through nap time with accomplishments galore, but my productivity eclipsed my normal output in general. After about one month of pop consumption I noticed a big shift in the curve. I was drinking somewhere between 75-100 ounces of diet caffeinated soda or more per day. My body felt like it had a metallic residue clinging to my pores, and my thoughts weren't as sharp as they used to be. I hit some mood swings, to which my children absorbed the most. My oldest daughter would sometimes proclaim, "Daddy, you don't have to be so grumpy." To what shall I attribute this shift in wellness? Sleep deprivation? Probably. Caffeine? Possibly. The toxic cocktail of carbonation, artificial sweeteners and colors? I'm not sure what felt worse, the effects of my intake on my body, or the dread of a dearth of daily accomplishment.
My solution wasn't all that revolutionary. I was about as addicted to accomplishment as I was the caffeine, so the caffeine had to stay. I had a prelude to the effectiveness of coffee when I was completely in desperate fatigue survival--when I was serving a congregation and held a paper route. I was up at 230 am to do the Sunday paper route, home at 7:15 to shower and on the road at 7:45 for Sunday worship and Christian education, arriving at home at 1:30 p.m., strung out on caffeine for another 60-90 minutes, only to pass out into a contorted lump of flesh and bones. A few occasions my dear wife made me a mocha with triple chocolate and double espresso. It was an amazing taste of awful and delicious. I remember noting to her, "this coffee stuff works." I couldn't get over that acid dirt taste, so once that work combo from hell was over, I went back to limited amounts of pop, about 36-50 ounces per day.
Once again, I hit the pop threshold, and realized pop wasn't all that inexpensive, and we already had coffee and sugar in the house. Though I hated the taste of it, I didn't feel as awful (outside of my tongue) drinking 3 16-ounce iced coffees each day as with the diet soda consumption. I must admit I feel some self-loathing that I have acquiesced to the Coffistas of the world and the coffee culture. This self-loathing was tempered in that I can join my wife much more easily for a coffee. I'm also a little bit disgusted that my life is out of control that I feel it necessary to detract from my wholeness with a sustaining dose of stimulant. I wouldn't trade many of the joy and fullness of life so that I wouldn't feel the need to consume caffeine. But I can't "control" my children. I give them loving discipline, but they also need to be their own people. I also need to be able to do my own thing--like write. I don't drink coffee everyday, only on the days when the day is so full of contingencies that I need something to survive. I drank coffee on Monday (that would be iced fu-fu coffee) but no caffeine yesterday. Today might be a coffee day. I put the odds at 50-50.
Writing this 5-part reflection on coffee has been attempt to be a little more self-aware about stimulant use. Some healthy people I respect, like Jeff Galloway uses coffee in his training to stimulate thought, creativity and motivation. I also recognize that coffee is a curious part of my religious culture. Though I can understand coffee's social role, I think the beverage's importance is overplayed in and of itself, especially for those who proclaim it as a sacrament. There is a degree of humor implied in this statement, of course, but when a woman cantankerously calls out to me "Are you another one of those young Lutheran pastors who doesn't drink coffee?" reveals something about the social rigidity of congregants. Let's be clear about the ends and flexible about the means. I have invested thousands upon thousands of hours in contributing and building relationships among the people of God. I have gone way outside my own comfort zone in many ways--but in the end, my value is that I uphold and encourage and find joy in the basic dignity of human relationships that communicate the love of God. Coffee can be useful, but it is not essential. Pop could work, as could a cup of water or a wheat grass shot or a beer (my preferences). Or, people could just talk--but I also recognize the terror in that. The more I see coffee as the essential and a point for argument, the more I weep for my culture. I hope there will be someone with whom I can talk about this. I am thankful that my dear wife and I do this. We don't need the coffee--but that kind of blessed conversation has been 15 years in the making.
Thursday, July 02, 2009
If I could only eat (sort of) like my 2 year old
One of the benefits of my dear wife's new employment and me staying at home is that we eat together at the table at least once per day. I remember times when we ate together twice per week on average. I have read plenty saying how this is not good for children, let alone a marriage. I left full-time work in order to stabilize our home life--so our children understand where they're going to be on a daily basis (sometimes we didn't even understand when we were both serving different congregations full-time). This move hasn't been only good for our children, but for the adults and for the whole family.
Watching the 2-year-old eat is fascinating. Our oldest daughter has always been a prolific eater. She eats too much of a few foods, though she will eat a variety and at least try new things on occasion. The 2-year-old really only eats when she's hungry. Just because we sit down for a meal doesn't mean she will actually eat. She gravitates toward junk-type food (a consequence I induced while trying to eat on the cheap), though at significantly reduced levels since using the Feingold Diet. If someone allowed her milk, chips, chocolate, and an occasional banana, she would be perfectly content. I remember days when food was less about social convention than nutrition. These were days in my 20's when I lived as a vegetarian and didn't care what I was "supposed" to eat by society's standards--I stuck with grains and veggies. I've almost completely lost my way since then. Eating these days is manipulated by emotion. This is a bad equation.
I admire in many ways how my 2-year-old eats. Since we went to the Feingold Diet, her diet is much better. She eats when she's hungry, and doesn't eat any more than necessary. She had a fit during the evening meal last night and went to her bedroom. She came downstairs later, ate about 15 black beans and went swimming. When we returned from the pool, she ate 2 bowls of popcorn, and drank a glass of lemonade. The girl looks good--from all the running around and better nutrition, we might actually raise a healthy daughter. She has plenty of time to pick up on variety--she tests for new foods to add to her repertoire by licking them (and mostly rejecting them) first. I don't aspire to that idiosyncrasy of her diet, but she continues to teach me if I will be willing to learn.
Watching the 2-year-old eat is fascinating. Our oldest daughter has always been a prolific eater. She eats too much of a few foods, though she will eat a variety and at least try new things on occasion. The 2-year-old really only eats when she's hungry. Just because we sit down for a meal doesn't mean she will actually eat. She gravitates toward junk-type food (a consequence I induced while trying to eat on the cheap), though at significantly reduced levels since using the Feingold Diet. If someone allowed her milk, chips, chocolate, and an occasional banana, she would be perfectly content. I remember days when food was less about social convention than nutrition. These were days in my 20's when I lived as a vegetarian and didn't care what I was "supposed" to eat by society's standards--I stuck with grains and veggies. I've almost completely lost my way since then. Eating these days is manipulated by emotion. This is a bad equation.
I admire in many ways how my 2-year-old eats. Since we went to the Feingold Diet, her diet is much better. She eats when she's hungry, and doesn't eat any more than necessary. She had a fit during the evening meal last night and went to her bedroom. She came downstairs later, ate about 15 black beans and went swimming. When we returned from the pool, she ate 2 bowls of popcorn, and drank a glass of lemonade. The girl looks good--from all the running around and better nutrition, we might actually raise a healthy daughter. She has plenty of time to pick up on variety--she tests for new foods to add to her repertoire by licking them (and mostly rejecting them) first. I don't aspire to that idiosyncrasy of her diet, but she continues to teach me if I will be willing to learn.
Tuesday, June 09, 2009
Changing the family's pattern of consumption
My dear wife and I have not been as desperate as others trying to change our developmentally challenged daughter's life through various treatments. Part of the reason behind this action plan is that our daughter functions pretty well. She struggles relating to her peers, sometimes her behavior is a problem in public, and her learning is interrupted not because of her cognitive ability, but by her ability to work with others. My dear wife and I do as much as we can to give her every opportunity to thrive--occupational therapy, speech therapy, special education in the public schools, and now we are changing her diet and intake on the whole. Not just for her, but the entire household.
My wife and I knew that implementing "The Feingold Diet" was going to be a challenge. I didn't realize how long it was going to take to plan, coordinate, and purchase goods. We've spent a little extra money and time to give this a try--like any other parent, we want to do what is best for our kids.
In a nutshell, the Feingold Diet removes artificial flavors, colors and preservatives from contact and consumption. The scientific community is divided, with some downright hostile. I think those calling out the diet as scientifically suspect have some good points--but this is one lifestyle change that is possible and worth seeing if it helps our daughter's development. Our observations will certainly be anecdotal, even (naturally) colored by a desire to legitimize our investment of time and money. We have to do what we can to improve our daughter's life.
Today's Feingold adventure included buying a non-Deet insect repellent, non-petroleum jelly, finding a new toothpaste, and planning dinners for the rest of the week:
Veggie Burgers (Amy's) on a bun
Doritos Corn Chips
Carrots
Celery
Tuna Melts on Ezekiel 4:9 bread
Romaine Salad
Bananas
Trader Joe's Chicken Noodle Soup
Grilled Cheese Sandwiches
Frito's
Carrots
Uncured Turkey Franks on a bun
Ruffles Potato Chips
Peanut Butter Celery
Baked Potato Bar
Baked Beans
Cheese
Broccoli
We also have some treats here and there for the kids to enjoy--but this is the Feingold Diet in a nutshell. I've still looked for lower prices and deals--shopping at WinCo Foods, Trader Joe's, with an occasional walk to Fred Meyer (this morning's trip), with occasional trips to Safeway and Albertson's if they have a special deal. We will see what happens.
My wife and I knew that implementing "The Feingold Diet" was going to be a challenge. I didn't realize how long it was going to take to plan, coordinate, and purchase goods. We've spent a little extra money and time to give this a try--like any other parent, we want to do what is best for our kids.
In a nutshell, the Feingold Diet removes artificial flavors, colors and preservatives from contact and consumption. The scientific community is divided, with some downright hostile. I think those calling out the diet as scientifically suspect have some good points--but this is one lifestyle change that is possible and worth seeing if it helps our daughter's development. Our observations will certainly be anecdotal, even (naturally) colored by a desire to legitimize our investment of time and money. We have to do what we can to improve our daughter's life.
Today's Feingold adventure included buying a non-Deet insect repellent, non-petroleum jelly, finding a new toothpaste, and planning dinners for the rest of the week:
Veggie Burgers (Amy's) on a bun
Doritos Corn Chips
Carrots
Celery
Tuna Melts on Ezekiel 4:9 bread
Romaine Salad
Bananas
Trader Joe's Chicken Noodle Soup
Grilled Cheese Sandwiches
Frito's
Carrots
Uncured Turkey Franks on a bun
Ruffles Potato Chips
Peanut Butter Celery
Baked Potato Bar
Baked Beans
Cheese
Broccoli
We also have some treats here and there for the kids to enjoy--but this is the Feingold Diet in a nutshell. I've still looked for lower prices and deals--shopping at WinCo Foods, Trader Joe's, with an occasional walk to Fred Meyer (this morning's trip), with occasional trips to Safeway and Albertson's if they have a special deal. We will see what happens.
Monday, June 08, 2009
Really Behind The Movies--"Slumdog Millionaire"
Now that I accepted the fact that I will not be on the edge of film watching again in my lifetime, I can title my film blog entries, "Really Behind The Movies."
"Slumdog Millionaire" was interesting to follow leading to the Academy Awards in 2009--so many other films appeared to be destined to win, like the Benjamin Button film. I was glad that Slumdog won so many awards, only because it expanded cultural discourse in the United States, if but only for a short time and by a small percentage. I think the nation benefits from expanded perspective, especially from a place to which Americans do not pay attention, and is becoming more of a force on the world stage.
The depictions of poverty, life as an orphan, life in India, crime, pop culture, the lure of money, the captivation of love, and sibling bonding are each powerful in their own right. What makes this story so gripping is how events shape the life of Mumbai orphan Jamal Malik, and how they are revealed through the pop culture sensation of Who Wants To Be A Millionaire. It is the craft of layering these stories and the camera work capturing the effects of these events on Jamal that left me still thinking about film after I watched it. I am also reflecting on how I tell stories, both my own and the stories of God's people. Slumdog Millionaire made me reflect on the power and scope of relationships--these were not caricatures in the story, but people that I both cared about, yet also frustrated me with their actions. It was easier to see sinner and saint, joy and pain in these characters.
The music only enhanced the story; I downloaded the song "Jai Ho." A song that means "Victory, hooray," and pulses as it does belongs on my running mix as soon as possible.
"Slumdog Millionaire" was interesting to follow leading to the Academy Awards in 2009--so many other films appeared to be destined to win, like the Benjamin Button film. I was glad that Slumdog won so many awards, only because it expanded cultural discourse in the United States, if but only for a short time and by a small percentage. I think the nation benefits from expanded perspective, especially from a place to which Americans do not pay attention, and is becoming more of a force on the world stage.
The depictions of poverty, life as an orphan, life in India, crime, pop culture, the lure of money, the captivation of love, and sibling bonding are each powerful in their own right. What makes this story so gripping is how events shape the life of Mumbai orphan Jamal Malik, and how they are revealed through the pop culture sensation of Who Wants To Be A Millionaire. It is the craft of layering these stories and the camera work capturing the effects of these events on Jamal that left me still thinking about film after I watched it. I am also reflecting on how I tell stories, both my own and the stories of God's people. Slumdog Millionaire made me reflect on the power and scope of relationships--these were not caricatures in the story, but people that I both cared about, yet also frustrated me with their actions. It was easier to see sinner and saint, joy and pain in these characters.
The music only enhanced the story; I downloaded the song "Jai Ho." A song that means "Victory, hooray," and pulses as it does belongs on my running mix as soon as possible.
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