Crunchy ‘Nanas

Sometimes I think England feels like it needs to live up to its reputation as dreary, rainy, and gray. I keep telling it not to feel so much pressure. If it wants the sun to shine, it’s okay. But it is pretty insistent to maintain its drizzly world image.

I was psyched to go running this morning. I was organized and on top of things. It was cloudy, yes, but it would be all right. I threw some stuff into the back of the car and then went back into the house for a quick bathroom stop. Apparently the time was ripe for the clouds to take a pit stop too. When I got back outside it was pouring. But, I thought, hey, it’ll pass. Let’s go out to Minnis Bay anyway. I’ve got a schedule to keep.

It didn’t pass. I sat at my run start for a few minutes waiting, willing the torrents to subside. I don’t mind running in the rain, but this was RAIN. Struggling with the thoughts in my head (the devil sneering, “ha, ha you’re gonna have to run 7 miles on the treadmill today,” the realist knowing I would make it only a half a mile before utter boredom struck and I chucked it in for the snack bar), I finally gave in and resigned myself to the gym. I turned the key in the ignition and the solution hit me. I didn’t have my towel. I can’t use equipment at the gym without my towel. That would just be rude and inconsiderate. So I decided to have lunch and then give the Minnis Bay to Reculver Towers another try.

So in take two, something weird happened. I felt like I was living the movie “Groundhog Day”. I got into the car and it was the same song that was on the radio when I drove out the first time: the Kooks, “She Moves in Her Own Way”. And then the next song came on. Halfway through “You and Your Hand,” the signal died. And when it came back on, it was the Kooks. And then it was Pink. And then I got stuck behind a silver sedan double parking at the exact same spot it happened to me on the first trip to the sea.

However, the movie ended when I got to Minnis. It had stopped raining, the kite surfers were out, and you could even see the towers (my turn around destination) in the distance. And it was an awesome run. Take that treadmill! [Karate chops the air for added effect.] I planned to eco-run on the way back, but there was NO TRASH! (Or, no trash within reasonable collecting reach. I don’t do steep, crazy ditches and the beach is well, too big to tackle with just one bag.) It was really nice to see the path clean!

[Note: yes, I realize I did yoga this morning. I meant to post this last night!]

In running literature, you will find no shortage of chafing horror stories. You’ve got your nipple chafing and rubbing between the thighs and other extremely sensitive and inconvenient places. You’ve got your first chafe experiences and long-term struggles against friction and its after-effects.

I am not sure where my story falls. I am hoping it doesn’t fall into the “um, I’ve never heard of that. How on earth did you manage that one?” genre. But on this, I am not optimistic.

Yesterday, after our soggy 6 mile run, which we completed nearly quicker than our 5 mile run in France last weekend!, I hopped into the shower. As one who is smelly and waterlogged from running during the “summer” in England is eager to do, I jumped right in. And do you want to know the first thought in my head as I ducked myself under the stream of steamy water? Well, it was this: Oh my god, what IS that? Someone must have slipped me something and tried to convince me to break my no unnatural holes policy.

I looked down and not only was my tummy hole-free, just as it’s been my whole life, but there was no redness, no scratch, nothing out of the ordinary. So, I continued on with the scrubbing and singing.

Today, it clicked. I bent over for further investigation. The inside, inside!, of my belly button had chafed on our run. Now, I don’t have a complete innie, but I don’t have a total outie either. I am more of an innie-outie kind of girl. But, apparently outie enough.

Lesson learned: when the forecast calls for rain, I’m rubbing myself head to toe with Bodyglide. Just in case. You never know where the chafe’s gonna strike.

“I have never done a 10k or 12k race.”

“Whatever, liar! Sure you have. Haven’t you?”

“Nope.”

“Bay to Breakers?” No. “Bridge to Bridge?” No. “Wharf to Wharf?” No. “Anything to anything?”

“Nope. I’ve done the Run for the Seals, the Tree-athlon, and the run in Dublin.”

So, as you can see, we have firmly established that the upcoming Paris-Versailles 10-miler is the longest race Crunchy husband has ever trained for. So three cheers for Crunchy husband! He is very determined. He did very well on the ups and downs of last Sunday’s 5 mile run through various sleeping villages in Normandy. (The guys standing at our finish were a bit puzzled at why we kept running tiny laps around the panorama de la Seine, but we reached our destination 200 yards shy of our 5 mile goal, and when we say 5 miles, we mean 5 miles.)

It was a good run. Freddy the French cat’s owner threw in some hills to give us a good workout. I think we are on our way to being okay for the race at the end of September. Plus, we got to say “Bonjour!” to the few people out walking their dogs. Which I totally got a kick out of, for some reason. Have I mentioned I am inclined toward simple pleasures? However, I think I need to learn some calming phrases for the crazy loner dogs that stand motionless in the middle of the road staring at you until right as you start to pass them, and then they bark and salivate like they’ve been kept starving and you’re the first “food” they’ve seen in two years.

I hate dogs off leashes. Or, I hate unpredictable dogs that look as if they’d love to rip the flesh from your calves and gnaw at your tibia while you struggle on the ground, racking your brains for the French for “help! help! I’m a good person and I’m being eaten alive by Lassie” off leashes. (I also am not a big fan of dogs off leashes on cycle paths. But that’s another story.)

I offer, as evidence that we made it past crazy loner dog in the middle of the road, this photo showing all calves and limbs intact. And smiles! We smile when we run! Hooray!

The August 2007 edition of Runner’s World lists 101 reasons to run, a collection of motivations to keep you going when you’d really rather sit at home and watch tv. Or blog, as the case may be. My favorites are number 1, “start a blog” (for accountability reasons as well as a place to log the thoughts and internal discoveries you wish to share with the rest of the blogosphere); number 58, “run for a reason” (there’s a huge feeling of satisfaction when you know you are pushing yourself to the limits for a worthy cause); and number 69, “If you don’t run road races, where will you get all your T-shirts?” (so true! I still wear my Bridge to Bridge t-shirt from 1999. It’s a bit holey but I’m not out for glamor).

However, interestingly, my personal top motivation was not listed, even though I know it is a powerful motivator for many runners. Simply put, I run because I know it makes me feel good. Not on a superficial, get-rich-quick kind of level. I am not sure I experience the “runner’s high” and I’ve had plenty of runs that made my toes, heels and knees ache and cry foul for days afterwards. I’ve spent many a-day on the paths with only five words rattling around in my brain: “why am I doing this?”. But over the past 6 months I’ve tried to stay more focused on what I am feeling. I’ve learned, in the grand scheme of things, that if I remain active over the long haul I feel happier and more content in all aspects of my life. (And I enjoy my runs more!)

I’ve struggled over the past few years to find contentment in my life. It’s no exaggeration to say I’ve had issues. Some real, some imagined, some fairly public, others extremely private. But, all similar in that they stomp uninvited into my mind, set up camp and cloud my ability to keep a balanced and reasonable perspective. But 2007 has been good, better. Not perfect, but definitely healthy. I think in many ways it’s been about learning to respect myself. Learning to push myself, but also to listen to what my body is telling me. And to cut me some slack sometimes. I’ve got a long way to go, but I’m feeling positive. It’s a refreshing feeling!

I’ve always harbored a secret desire to be one of the screamers on a live album. And now, I believe, my wish has come true. I got my recording from Peter Gabriel at Hyde Park, and I swear to you, I hear me. For real. The one yelling “Steeeaaaaammmm!” a fraction of a second before everyone else? That’s totally me. (I’m fast, really fast! And loud, really loud!) And during the pause in Family Snapshot? Me too. I swear to you. I know my concert scream. And I hear it. You’re skeptical, I can tell. But, it’s not hard to believe. Did I mention we were standing second row? BA-BY! (The proof is on Tony Levin’s website. You can see us best in the eleventh picture down, just behind the girl playing with her camera near the yellow rain jacket on the rail.) So, I think it’s very possible I hear me. And yeah, I’ll admit it, I sound good.

Rock and roll! Ah, another one of life’s goals ticked off the list.

In other exciting news, I officially registered myself and Crunchy husband for the Paris-Versailles 2007. So we are finally in training for something, as opposed to in training for something obscure and undetermined. We’ve been warned about the hill to Versailles, but how can you pass up the opportunity to start a run under the Eiffel Tower? Freddy the French Cat’s owner nearly joined Team Crunchy ‘Nanas in this 10 mile endeavor, but dodged this year’s run right before registrations went in by conveniently remembering he has tickets to go watch his Welshmen group hug and bite each other’s ears off in Nantes. Lucky escape, if you ask me.

There was way less trash on the path than I expected on my run today from Minnis Bay to Reculver. (I kept to the path. There is no way I could collect all the trash washed up on the beach.) Most people just kind of stared at me as I ran by, but one man yelled “hey, what about all this over here?” as he rode past me on his bike. He seemed jovial and friendly, so I will give him the benefit of the doubt and take that as thanks rather than him “taking the piss”. The run felt really good, which is to be expected since it is flat and I’ve been running hills mostly and today is a beautiful day. I ran regular tempo on the way out and eco-run tempo on the way back. I’m getting slightly better at grabbing trash without breaking my running motion, but I still need to slow/stop sometimes.

And then there’s the fact that summer has decided to grace England with its presence. There are many who still do not have clean water supplies to their homes, but at least (for now) the rains seem to have eased. I hope it gives it a chance for things to dry out a bit and allows people to go back to their homes.

And in final news that may be good or may be not so good, I will know by tomorrow I think, I’ve taken a bold step and submitted some coastal photography into a local art exhibition. Please keep your fingers crossed on something making the cut. It could go either way.

I’ve decided that before I die, I will complete at least one half marathon on each continent. Each continent except Antarctica. Because that’s just too flippin’ cold. The only question left is where next: South America, Africa, Asia, or Australia?

(Crunchy husband didn’t seem as supportive of this plan as I expected him to be. Possibly because he thinks I’m avidly Googling “Mauritius, half marathon” right now. I wasn’t. Until he mentioned it.)

Treadmills bore me. Absolutely bore me zonkers. I’d much rather be outside, taking in the sun and fresh air. Or, rain and thunder as luck would have it here in rainy, flood-ridden England. And yet, in my forgiving and open-minded manner, every now and then, with a bit of trepidation, I return to the terrible beast.

My story this time is that when I signed up at the new gym for the fantastic outdoor pool, they mentioned that a personal assessment was included with my membership. I’ve never spoken with a trainer, nor set out a personal plan with someone who actually knows something about what I should be doing, so I figured this would be a good time to do it. Especially since I tend to under-utilize the resources in gyms because I feel too self-conscious and too worried I’ll hurt myself trying to use the weight resistance equipment.

I spoke with the trainer last week. I told him, I hate treadmills. Treadmills bore me. And yet, he still set me a plan that incorporates ten minutes on the sucker. Ten minutes doesn’t seem like a long time. When you’re soaking in a warm bath or getting a relaxing massage, ten minutes go by in a snap. But on a treadmill, ten minutes can last a LIFETIME, let me tell you, even with U2 pumpin’ on the ‘Pod. I set myself up on a machine situated by a window, facing the outside world, but that didn’t help. I tried thinking about how on Thursday I’m taking myself out to Minnis Bay for a run. That really didn’t help. I couldn’t watch the built-in tv because exercise time is “me” time in which I try to turn off worry and stress. The latest news brief on the recently foiled terrorist attacks is not conducive to 30 stress-free minutes.

But one thing that did keep me occupied, for maybe 45 seconds anyway, was this question. Why don’t treadmills simulate downhill courses as well as uphill tracks? You can set the gradient so that you are running a bit uphill. It must be possible to build a machine with the same gadgets in the back as in the front to lift the back end up to simulate the downhill part of a course. Not that I really care, I’d much rather run uphill than down. But, at the same time, I’m a stickler for balance and consistency. If you can run uphill, you should be able to run downhill.

And there you have it. Inconsistency: one more reason to hate the blasted treadmill.

I will be the first to admit, I’ve fallen off the wagon. Gravity has laughed in the face of high hope and pulled me back down to the level of nearly lazy. I wish I could say it was a graceful swan dive from the cart of good intention. But, knowing me and my inability to leap elegantly, it probably was more like a plummet with a thud. Unless, of course, grace wraps itself in the package of an avocado, jalapeño, monterey jack cheeseburger (where do the restaurants here get jack cheese?!) and fries (that weren’t even very good but I ate them anyway), washed down with a chocolate milkshake and a mostly sedentary holiday weekend. Then, I’d have grace down.

Mission: Find another event to keep me exercising like I should
Launch: Operation Find New Event
Status: Opening Active Europe website

Today, I hit my 150th running mile of the year. According to my online running log, which nicely does all the math for me, I’ve spent 1 day, 9 minutes and 52 seconds (plus a few snoozers on the treadmill) doing this. When I think that means I’ve run the same distance as is between my parents’ house in San Jose and the Golden Gate Bridge (via I-280) 2.6 times, I get a bit tired.

It has become clear to me that spring is out in full force. (Yippeee!!!) I am wearing shorts, I am congested and I ate more kamikaze bugs on my run today than I have in the past year. (Not that eating bugs is a habit of mine.) The bees keep flying into my house through the back doors. I don’t know what they are looking for in here (the nectar’s outside, girls), but at the moment, they seem to like the lavender-colored, sweat-smelly yoga mat on the floor. (Apparently, I should have asked for a red one, if they’d been available in that color.) Perhaps they are looking for a short cut through the house to the Iris plants in the front. Too bad I’m keeping the connector doors closed. No assisted flower reproduction today. But, I am diggin’ the ‘landing pads’ and nectar guides. Plants are so smart!

Last night I made a pact. A pact sealed in Google Talk virtual blood. An agreement that can’t be broken. Or, at least not until I go in and delete the chat text evidence. Hmmm…but, I would never do that. Besides, even if I delete mine, the other bond-ee still has a copy. We share a lot, but passwords aren’t among the goods.

The basis of the pact is simple. We are, among many other things, virtual exercise buddies. Virtual because our dancing hearts and sweating limbs are separated by over 5,000 miles of ocean, mountains, desert and plains. But, it’s more of a check in and support each other agreement. Neither of us has the will, nor the desire, nor the fancy wireless equipment to keep each other company via PDAs during exercise hour. Besides the absurdness of using communications equipment while exercising (yes, I’ve seen it done, silly people), I can’t imagine trying to agree an exercise hour across California and England time zones. (Hey buddy, it’s 1:30 in the morning your time. Get on the elliptical machine with me, okay?)

I told my buddy that I would run 3 miles today. I ran 2. So only a slight change of plans. (Drum roll for excuses, please.) I woke up and it was so foggy that I opted for the safe route, the route that doesn’t have me running on any roads without sidewalks. That route happens to be my “Minster shortie”. 2 miles. So that’s what I did. If it makes up for it, I came home and did some extensive yoga poses. Like savasana, balasana and virasana. Don’t scoff. While maybe not the most physically demanding (though they are harder than they look!), trying living in my mind. And then try quieting it. (What am I going to blog about today that doesn’t have the word Ozomatli in it?….No, find your quiet….Man, dad’s doing the dishes before I had a chance to get in there…think of your mantra, tree, tree, tree….I hope traffic’s not bad tonight, must print out directions….concentrate….I wonder how close I’ll get to the front tonight….QUIET!) Now that’s a work out.

But, don’t worry there’s more to come. The dancing shoes (which happen to be old running shoes in my case because I’m classy like that) are packed and ready to hit the floor and boogie in London. I better eat lots of bananas today. It’s gonna be a wild night!

Today’s run

Distance: 2 miles
Time: 17:59
Pace: 8:59 min/mile