All in all and I'm
Loving every rise and fall
The sun will make and I will take
Breath to be sure of this
In the end and then
All will be forgiven when
Surrender rises high and I
Gave what I came to give
Say it now because you never know
Oh, never know
-"Tear" Red Hot Chili Peppers
(I have been on a huge Red Hot Chili Peppers kick, y'all.)
Today, during a break-out at work, a leadership coach talked about a concept that most athletes are familiar with - the idea that during (successful) weight lifting, you tear muscle fibers in the proper way so that they strengthen over time. Giving your body an appropriate amount of rest between training sessions is critical to long-term strength training.
I'm half-inclined to believe this same concept applies to us in our everyday lives.
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The days have lengthened to the place where a run started at 5:30 is not begun in total darkness.
A warm front moved in today, bringing gusting winds, significantly warmer temperatures, and light rain. I wore shorts comfortably tonight as I pounded the pavement.
I plugged up my ears with thumping electronic music as I set out and immediately settled into my half-marathon race pace. My yellow highlighter shirt glowed in the green tinged twilight. I ran my neighborhood loops with determination - my left shoulder started hurting (bugger off, shoulder), my right side stitched (buck up, abs), but my right calf held strong (hallelujah, leg). After two miles, the hollering parts of me quieted. I breathed hard, relishing the strain, the feeling of tearing, of my thoughts breaking apart like ice floes to float across a quiet polar sea.
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Sunday, February 17, 2013
Sun to Snow to Sun
Saturday dawned clear and sunny and I made sure to make the most of it; since Friday, Eastern NC had been bracing for plummeting temperatures and a late Saturday snow shower.
I ran some of my neighborhood loops, this time testing the right calf. I did a total of 5.6 miles, running negative splits. And it felt oh.so.good.
The weather had already begun to shift when I left the house around 10 am. The wind had picked up and was gusting. The sky had clouded over.
I opened the drapes to let in the last of the gray light and watched as the rain began. And then, suddenly, the rain turned to snow.
.JPG)
It was a pretty snow with big fat flakes. It warmed my Midwestern heart. I spent the remainder of the afternoon and evening snuggling under a blanket, reading about the pioneers of Annie Dillard's The Living carving out their lives in the Pacific Northwest.
A few days after the burial, the sky cleared, and people's spirits rose. The frogs in the marshes were peeping in their thousands by dusk, cougars screamed by night, and early in the mornings the flickers called out, and answered. Mornings, the sun seemed to appear from anywhere at random, like a swallow. It rolled up the sides of mountains and down the sides of mountains, range after range around the world's east rim. Every afternoon it threw a new set of shadows and shine on the parlor wallpaper; every night it flew behind a different island. The sun is a creature who flits, young Clare Fishburn thought; the sun is a bee. Daylight pried the darkness open and poured in; the whole beach was drunk and reeling on it.
-----------
This morning, I woke, hoping to find clear streets. I was in luck.
The wind blew bitterly cold. Gangs of robins flew about, drinking water from puddles in the streets.
No one was about - except owners of huskies, who donned multiple layers to walk their thrilled pups.
My teeth chattered uncontrollably for the first half mile and I felt the air's bite on my face and the tender strip of exposed skin near my ankles.
.JPG)
Soon, though, my heart thumped enough blood quickly enough to warm even those spots.
.JPG)
The wind tossed random flakes of snow from the branches of trees. One landed on my lip, another hit me square in the eye. If I looked closely enough, I saw them dancing down, shards of crystal floating like dust motes.
Soon, the snow will be gone. Soon, winter will have passed.
I ran some of my neighborhood loops, this time testing the right calf. I did a total of 5.6 miles, running negative splits. And it felt oh.so.good.
The weather had already begun to shift when I left the house around 10 am. The wind had picked up and was gusting. The sky had clouded over.
I opened the drapes to let in the last of the gray light and watched as the rain began. And then, suddenly, the rain turned to snow.
.JPG)
It was a pretty snow with big fat flakes. It warmed my Midwestern heart. I spent the remainder of the afternoon and evening snuggling under a blanket, reading about the pioneers of Annie Dillard's The Living carving out their lives in the Pacific Northwest.
A few days after the burial, the sky cleared, and people's spirits rose. The frogs in the marshes were peeping in their thousands by dusk, cougars screamed by night, and early in the mornings the flickers called out, and answered. Mornings, the sun seemed to appear from anywhere at random, like a swallow. It rolled up the sides of mountains and down the sides of mountains, range after range around the world's east rim. Every afternoon it threw a new set of shadows and shine on the parlor wallpaper; every night it flew behind a different island. The sun is a creature who flits, young Clare Fishburn thought; the sun is a bee. Daylight pried the darkness open and poured in; the whole beach was drunk and reeling on it.
-----------
This morning, I woke, hoping to find clear streets. I was in luck.
The wind blew bitterly cold. Gangs of robins flew about, drinking water from puddles in the streets.
No one was about - except owners of huskies, who donned multiple layers to walk their thrilled pups.
My teeth chattered uncontrollably for the first half mile and I felt the air's bite on my face and the tender strip of exposed skin near my ankles.
.JPG)
Soon, though, my heart thumped enough blood quickly enough to warm even those spots.
.JPG)
The wind tossed random flakes of snow from the branches of trees. One landed on my lip, another hit me square in the eye. If I looked closely enough, I saw them dancing down, shards of crystal floating like dust motes.
Soon, the snow will be gone. Soon, winter will have passed.
Monday, February 11, 2013
Back in the Saddle
Sunday Thanks on a Monday:
That a friend's daughter is studying athletic training and said daughter has also been assigned to the UNC track team for her clinical this semester and that said track team often struggles with calf knots.
She totally chased that sucker into oblivion.
I honestly can't believe how much two 5 minutes massage and pressure-release sessions improved my calf.
After a year of injury free running, this week-long bench-warming exercise was a wake-up call.
.JPG)
This blog has often been a study in contrasts: darkness and light, energy and tiredness; color and gray.
Injured and healthy is one that I hope to keep far, far away.
That a friend's daughter is studying athletic training and said daughter has also been assigned to the UNC track team for her clinical this semester and that said track team often struggles with calf knots.
She totally chased that sucker into oblivion.
I honestly can't believe how much two 5 minutes massage and pressure-release sessions improved my calf.
After a year of injury free running, this week-long bench-warming exercise was a wake-up call.
This blog has often been a study in contrasts: darkness and light, energy and tiredness; color and gray.
Injured and healthy is one that I hope to keep far, far away.
Saturday, February 9, 2013
Sidelined
All active people are bound to find themselves on the bench time and again; and when you factor lack of preparation into the equation, the likelihood of this occurrence increases two-fold.
So I shouldn't be surprised that after spontaneously registering for a half marathon last Saturday (despite having only run a total of 40 or so miles in all of January), I now find myself with an angry right calf. A hissing, spitting, pissed off cat of a right calf. A right calf that is so knotted up that, during Tuesday's run, I was forced to abort my easy four miles only halfway through because the knots were quickly joining forces to stage a coup into a full blown cramp that left me limping.
(I haven't run only 2.6 miles in....forever.)
And I should have known. I should have balanced my last minute decision to run this race by going deliberately slow. But it was a beautiful (albeit freezing) morning. The sun shone, the runners chattered, the wind stayed calm. I blasted through my first five miles at the same pace I ran Richmond and paid for it on the back side. I felt the calf seizing up during those last few miles but plowed ahead anyway and managed to run my second fastest time of 1:55:40.
I should have known that when my leg locked up and nearly dropped me to my knees in the parking lot that I was going to have a lingering problem.
So this week has found me stretching, kneading, rolling, and jogging in place, feeling antsy to get back to the pavement. My few yoga practices have not been focused; I'm still cursing my calf.
Cursing it, but acquiescing to it. I only want to be sidelined for a little while.
So I shouldn't be surprised that after spontaneously registering for a half marathon last Saturday (despite having only run a total of 40 or so miles in all of January), I now find myself with an angry right calf. A hissing, spitting, pissed off cat of a right calf. A right calf that is so knotted up that, during Tuesday's run, I was forced to abort my easy four miles only halfway through because the knots were quickly joining forces to stage a coup into a full blown cramp that left me limping.
(I haven't run only 2.6 miles in....forever.)
And I should have known. I should have balanced my last minute decision to run this race by going deliberately slow. But it was a beautiful (albeit freezing) morning. The sun shone, the runners chattered, the wind stayed calm. I blasted through my first five miles at the same pace I ran Richmond and paid for it on the back side. I felt the calf seizing up during those last few miles but plowed ahead anyway and managed to run my second fastest time of 1:55:40.
I should have known that when my leg locked up and nearly dropped me to my knees in the parking lot that I was going to have a lingering problem.
So this week has found me stretching, kneading, rolling, and jogging in place, feeling antsy to get back to the pavement. My few yoga practices have not been focused; I'm still cursing my calf.
Cursing it, but acquiescing to it. I only want to be sidelined for a little while.
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
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