What She Said

Courtesy RunnerGirl, via Pinterest.

Fitness Friday: Don't Let the Couch Win

Some days, it's all you can do to lace up your sneakers.

You'll never be like those marathoners, you may tell yourself, not even like those bicyclists commuting to work. And those weightlifters at the gym? Riiiight.

Who cares? Remember the chant of Camp North Star — it just doesn't matter — and keep this in mind:

What are you waiting for?

Running Inspiration: Steal This!

I may not run fast enough, but I'll run far!

Courtesy of Jack Rabbit Sports.

Inspiration to Take That First Step

If you'll excuse me, I'm going to lace up my running shoes now.

Thanks to by blogsbyryan (via Photobucket)

Connecting by Disconnecting on the Road

Last winter, I spent a lot more time in the gym because of the copious amounts of snow and ice on the road.

Normally, I cherish a run in the snow: the powdery quiet, my feet making tracks, the solitude as most people peered out of their windows, wrapped in warmth as I pushed through the icy wind.  Mine would be the only footprints I'd see, especially if I started early.  It was my time to be alone with the entire world.  It was beautiful.

However, I turned to the gym when that bucolic scene turned into two feet of snow piled on roadsides, sidewalks unshoveled and ice covered every conceivable surface. I took my earphones with me and watched way too much "Say Yes to the Dress" and "What Not to Wear."  I even met the Kardashians and, by the time spring rolled around, could tell Kourtney from Khloe.  (Hey, sometimes "Law & Order" just can't be found.)

As the weather warmed, we shot from freezing to blisteringly hot.  Many days I found the heat and humidity simply too much even in the early morning hours.  Other days I convinced myself that it was simply too hot and humid in those early morning hours because I secretly wanted to sleep in.  Additionally, the area I usually run was under heavy construction: sidewalks were closed so pedestrians were diverted to areas with potholes, backhoes and inattentive drivers in unfamiliar terrain.  In short: it was dangerous.

And yet — some days I just have to hit the road.

On those days, I remember why I love to run: it's a chance to be totally free for an hour.  Everyone knows my route, from Police and Fire to Public Works and Utilities, so I can be found in case of a true emergency (as opposed to simple urgency).  (No, I am not that important, but sometimes my work is.)

This hour of solitude allows me to focus further than an arm's length away and watch the squirrels and butterflies — even catch the bright yellow birds that dart among the flowers in the summer.  I hear the sounds of the community: construction, cicadas, fellow athletes.

As I run, I tell myself stories of my own brilliance, courage and wit (because everything is possible when it happens in my brain).  I sometimes think of nothing, letting my brain process my footfall into the rhythm of a poem or search for a lead for that story that has stumped me for days.

Disconnection should not be among people, but regarding machines.  Tuning into "Cake Boss" can clog my brain from the really important process of thinking and creating.  Don't get me wrong, I have been known to zone with "Bridezilla" (much to the shock and dismay of my husband, who just glances at me from time to time, wondering what happened to his reasonable wife).

More importantly, we need to disconnect from the tidal wave of intel relentlessly pouring into our brains via phone, computer, BlackBerry or iPod.

We all need the humbling realization that a missed phone call is not a tragedy, an e-mail will remain in the inbox until we address it (and, if we're lucky, will have been addressed by someone else in the meantime).  How I am important to the important people in my life does not depend on the computer that helped me compose this essay — but is a tool that helps us connect when we can.  Only when we disconnect can we truly connect in a way that's meaningful.

New Year's Resolution, Part Deux

On the Ides of March, the question arises: how are the New Year's resolutions coming along?  Only time will tell, and now is the time to tell!

I want to read more.
If I chose shorter books, I'd have a greater number of books under my belt.  Instead, I choose books like Black Hills (from the author of Drood) and The Swan Thieves by Elizabeth Kostova, which aren't modest tomes.  I have finalized my Fill in the Gap list, and have quite a selection of modest books from which to choose.  (I keep promising to start Dracula soon. Maybe tomorrow?) 

I finally found what sounds like the perfect H.P. Lovecraft book: Bloodcurdling Tales of Horror and the Macabre.  David has told me I can't read it at night, especially since it was touted as having sixteen of Lovecraft's "most horrifying visions."  The cover alone is disturbing.  Bring it on!

I want to listen to more music.
Nikki's recent visit was a lovely reminder about the great music on the radio today.  We jammed to Lady Gaga, The Black Eyed Peas and Beyonce — plus one by Lady Gaga and Beyonce, very cool. Nikki knows all the words, which was a lot of fun.  I may not be there anytime soon, but I can sing a chorus or two.

However, it's not all roses and happiness. I listened to Ke$ha's song "Blah Blah Blah" and I thought, "I'm sure I heard it wrong."  Then Rachael talked about some new pop music she recently heard and, yes, Rachael confirmed that what I heard was what I heard.  I have a question for the radio station: since when is THAT kind of language allowed on the air?  Yes, that may be a man's nickname, but not in that context.

I also am appalled by the lyrics of most Pitbull songs I have heard, but I am totally sucked into the beat.  Sigh.  Can I listen and still be able to champion the dignity of women?

I want to listen to music more.
Chez Cohen now rings with the tunes from yet another Nickelback album, and David and I got tickets to see Jeff Beck, one of the most talented guitarists on the planet (except for Philip Cohen).  The next few months will be filled with live Eddie from Ohio, Nickelback, Julie Murphy Wells and more.

In the meantime, the iPod is on with plenty of Aretha, Dr. Horrible — and did I mention Nickelback?

I want to write more letters.
The 2010 letter-writing campaign begins tomorrow with a letter to Mom.  Then there's the Christmas newsletter I will write for public consumption.  Soon.  (Hey, at least now you have a chance to read it!)

I want to run faster.
Now that the weather will permit running without a perilous dance on the ice, I look forward to breaking in a new pair of running shoes.  Last week when the weather broke, I took to the streets — and promptly developed blisters.  (Two on one foot! Talk about a wake-up call for new shoes....)

My new Asics will grace the streets of Fairfax soon, and you'll see me limping around as my legs mutter, "Oh, that's the painful stuff you do to us on a regular basis!  Now I remember!"  If you're in the car, slow down: I can't move that fast.  Yet.


So, which of your resolutions have survived intact? Which have you abandoned or postponed?  C'mon, you can tell me!

News Year's Resolutions Follow-Up, Part 1

It's been nearly a month since the beginning of the year.  How are your New Year's resolutions coming along?

Let me tell you how my crazy declarations are maturing.


I want to read more.
Well, I'm not yet reading less, despite a sinus infection — I have read two books so far this month. (I read one twice, so does that count as three books?)

I am finalizing my Fill in the Gaps list to choose the 100 books I pledge to read in the next five years.  I estimate at least half of the books on my proposed list are in my house right now.  I am looking for recommendations on which H.P. Lovecraft book (or two) to put on my list, in case you can offer a title or two.  Actually, I will take any recommendations you can offer, and I'll publish my list soon for your perusal.

I want to listen to music more.
David and I both have been turning on the iPod when we are home, so music has been echoing through Chez Cohen pretty steadily.  I have heard more Eric Clapton than any person alive should.  Him, and Al Dimeola.  I jest.  We've also heard more Once More, With Feeling and Betty.  Imagine Pete Fountain following a little Buffy.  (Go ahead, I'll wait.) (Cool, huh?) I imagine we'll listen to the iPod for hours as we drive to North Carolina later this month.

I also have switched my radio stations from NPR-only to a few music ones.  I surf until I find a melody I like, no matter the language or style.  It's kind of fun.  Sorry, Kojo, I gotta mix it up.

I want to listen to more music.
I downloaded "Don't Cha" the Pussycat Dolls a couple of weeks ago, and watched in amusement as David whistled it for a week.  I'm sure he's cooking up some revenge, though I don't mind humming a song for forever. It's the people around me who crack first.

Today, I flipped the radio to the local pop music station.  I wasn't really enjoying it at first, then realized it was the traffic and my own response to it that spoiled it for me.  On the way home, I just relaxed and found myself bobbing to "TiK ToK" by Ke$ha.  I didn't condone the behavior of the song narrator who was intoxicated with an air of carelessness that concerned me, but the beat was impossible to ignore. I also heard "You Belong With Me" by Taylor Swift —I think it was my first exposure to her, and it was quite a sweet song.

Then there was Kelly Clarkson, who seems to be all over the radio, on pretty much every station I've hit.  I'm not sure if I like that, let alone her getting away with such sloppy lyrics.  "Sucks"? Can't you do any better, Ms. Clarkson?

I want to write more letters.
I want to run faster.
I did neither of these, but with my clean bill of health, I'm bound to start at least one soon.  Maybe tonight.  You never know.

How about you?  How are your resolutions coming along?

Climbing Back on the Horse — er, Saddle — er....

Had you told me six months ago that I'd have taken half the year off running, I'd have laughed aloud. I was, at that time, in rare form: running an easy five miles a day with occasional weightlifting, looking forward to running through Central Park on my honeymoon.

And then I stepped off a curb.

Then — well, I can't even figure that out, still. Suffice it to say that one doesn't know how to explain a hole in an intestine, even if it runs in the family.

But that's all just horrifying stories that publishers would warn me against because "no one would believe it." (And they wouldn't.) Now I'm trying to get back to where I was six months ago.

Did I mention that it hurts?

Not in that "Oh, please, sweet mother of heaven, let me die and I promise I won't be any trouble to you" way. Been there, done that, didn't even keep the t-shirt.

No, this is more of a "Oh, so that's what that muscle does!" kind of pain. I remember taking a couple of weeks off back in the early aughts when I had some shoulder repairs done. It was hard to start again and my muscles rebelled.

Now, imagine that a dozen times worse.

I don't have my excellent lung capacity anymore. I get a little winded walking up the stairs, much to my surprise. My resting pulse rate and blood pressure are still good, though, so I am not going to die at the gym — but I may feel like it. And I won't like it.

Now, I am not going to throw myself into an exercise program that's too ambitious; convalescence is still too fresh in my mind to make me do something that might reverse my healing. I am not fragile, but I am cautious.

So, if you see me working away with a grimace on one of the elliptical machines at the gym, just let me be. I'll be cheerful again in no time.

I know I will start to appreciate that one-mile run, where suiting up takes longer than the actual experience of running, when it becomes two. Or three. (You get the gist.) And you'll see me on the road only when it's warm enough — I'm not yet running in the sub-freezing winter dawn. I may be crazy, but I'm not yet completely certifiable!

This is Your Brain on Exercise

With winds reaching 25 miles per hour this morning and the temperature peaking in the low 30s, I couldn't bring myself to run at dawn. Instead, I promised myself a trip to the gym with David this evening.

As I stood in the spray of the shower, I could see why people depended on coffee. Most mornings, I don't find my way to the shower until I've put in five miles on the road. By then, I'm alert — or I'd be under the wheels of a car driven by an inattentive driver on a cell phone. I wouldn't say I'm annoyingly perky, but I am aware of my surroundings and functioning at a higher level than I would be without prior stimulation.

Apparently I can thank my regular exercise regimen for this alertness, as well as for the possibility of long-term mental and brain health ("Rx for the Brain: Move," The Washington Post, December 4, 2007).

John J. Ratey, a Harvard Medical School professor, will attest to that very thing in Spark: The Revolutionary New Science of Exercise and the Brain, which will be published in January 2008.

Anyone who has taken a walk can attest to the magic and restorative nature of a little exercise. Do it as a regular activity and see how much you benefit.

Keep doing the word puzzles, Sudoku, word games and puzzles. Just throw a little exercise into the deal. Work out to your heart's content, but don't feel you have to overdo it — you don't have to run a marathon to be fit. Take a walk around the lake. Play basketball in the driveway. Kick a soccer ball around.

Remember: your brain is a part of your body, a living organism. Treat it like you love it. Chances are, you'll live to remember your happy days with loved ones in the park.