Our First Night Together

I'm smitten. It's true. I can hardly see past the stars in my eyes. Last night I came home and let him out of the bathroom where I'd left him to keep him safe and out of trouble. He ran around the house a bit and then I put him on my bed. He jumped off and ran around and vocalized a lot. (Like he's doing right now--I'm looking forward to his sister coming home so they can play together.) After I turned off the lights though he climbed into bed with me and started to burrow against me. I think he was looking for my nipples! Yikes! He liked being under the covers and seemed to want to go down my shirt as well, but I wouldn't let him do that. And that's how we slept, all night long, him curled up, body to body against me. Yum. He's a cuddlebug. Just like me! And he does the snout nuzzling thing that Indy used to do though not yet to the extent that Indy would. I think it comes from the nursing instinct. He purrs a lot and audibly. He seems to like to be touched everywhere. (He let me clean his ears yesterday without any fuss!) And he likes to sit on my lap, but when I'm typing he's very curious about the keys and the screen...the last 5 sentences have taken awhile...to get right. Oh! And, he grooms himself a lot, which is good because he smells a bit like a horse. Maybe that's Anti-Cruelty Center smell?

He ate some kibble this morning for the first time. Yay! He's adjusting to being here. :)

Calling forth a paradigm shift -- Yasso Day #2

So today was another day of Yasso 800s. And after yesterday's dance class, my gastrocs were killing me. Imagine if you balled up two pieces of aluminum foil, but instead of putting them in the recycling bin, like normal people would, you stuffed them into my calves and called them muscles--that's how it felt. Try running with those legs.

Even so, today went like this:

1 mile warm up jog
stretch/massage gastrocs
#1 800m 3 min 34 sec (gastrocs didn't feel so bad. but my esophagus was burning)
#2 800m ???
#3 800m ???
#4 800m 3 min 47 sec
I started to run a 5th one, but my legs just said, "nope! I think not."
1 mile cool down jog

cough cough cough cough cough...for 20 minutes or so until I'd consumed one post-run beer and one post-run pizza slice. Finally, I stopped coughing. There was a lot of particulate matter in the air today (this is the nerd speak for I inhaled shit and it embedded itself into the back of my esophagus).

Anyhow, it was 4 miles of actual run/jogging with some recovery walk/jog laps in there. So 4- 3/4 miles total. And I was happy with these times--an improvement from last week. I think my goal next week will be to get 4 repeats under 3:40, and then I'll build from there.

I forgot to bring my watch, so I don't have times for #2 and #3, I could only beg for a timer for runs 1 and 4, but I know at least they weren't worse than the 4th one. And the 4th Yasso was equal to the first one of last week, which is interesting. Again, according to Bert (or Bart?) Yasso, I'd need to run 10 repeats of a 3min40sec 800m to be at a place where I could qualify for Boston. Which is 18 1/2 weeks away. I have time to make myself cough a lot a lot.

This is all Eric's idea, btw. I'm not naturally as ambitious as this........but ambition might be a contagious thing.

Here are what my stats would need to be to make this Boston thing a possibility:

1 mile: 6:54 (yikes! This blows my mind. I can't imagine running a sub-7 minute mile.)
5K: 22:57
10K: 47:52 (7:43 min/mile pace) (Last June I did at 10K in 52:55. A lot has happened since then, so maybe this is possible.)
10miles: 1:19:15
13.1 miles: 1:45:31
Marathon: 3:40:00 (8:23 min/mile pace)

And training paces:

9:26-10:39 Long run training pace (Sounds do able, especially now that it's not 15 degrees anymore.)
7:52 Tempo Run training pace
7:20 or 3:40/800m Yassos

Dude, so on Hal's Novice 2 or Intermediate 1 training programs, when he says 5 mile pace run, is he talking about at this 7:52 pace? Or the 8:23 marathon pace? Or, should I think in terms of 7:52 because I'll have to slow down to get water and blood oranges (if Chicago would only be so generous). I don't get it. Not that I'm going to know exactly anyhow, cause I'm not running on a track or treadmill, but what's the goal?

According to Yasso, Eric's right on target with his repeats, and Matt's on track to be in the sub-3:00 marathon club, should he choose to, which means he is waaaaaay too cool to hang out with us. :p Now we just have to do this shit 10 times (that's 5 miles worth PLUS warmup, recovery, and cooldown...and this is supposed to be less than 10% of our weekly training mileage??? Hmm).

Weird how this is such a different blog than I was writing a year and a bit ago. My interest in running has shifted. Welcome in: the paradigm shift.

Now, how do I race?

It's almost mar-ra-thon time! :)

Marathon training season is around the corner!!!!! Yay! I'm so excited.

Just the other day I said to a client, a multi-marathoning client, that a first marathon seems to elicit one of two responses in people: "Ugh. One and done. Checked that off the list. Thank God that's over" orrrrr.....it's the beginning of a whole new obsession. I think I may fall into the latter category.

I was just reading about post-marathon recovery. Think I'm getting ahead of myself? What's that? Ahead of myself.....naw. Could. not. possibly. be. Not me. :)

Anyhow, if I were to follow the marathon training program, it would start next week. Will I? Eh. I think I'll try to do the three mid-week runs. Or, at the very least, do two of them. I might keep and eye on a couple of training plans and just make sure I'm on top of my game. I think I'll do longer weekend runs than what the training plans call for (there is that Half Iron looming in the near-er future). I think I've been a little lax with the frequency of my training, if not the distance, which is fine. I've been thinking about other things, but I'm ready to nail it down again.

Yay!

WAD tonight totally kicked my ass. I love it. But my feet have forgotten how to move fast in the last 4 months of non-dancing and this is terribly frustrating. It's like my mind knows how they should move but they just aren't listening. I think I need to get to an Ashtanga class and remember my muladhara bandha, that should help.

And. and...

I hate cancer. Will it not leave my family alone. And I'd just been thinking about pain, the chronic pain that people have and how it is so spiritually challenging. And cancer. Chemotherapy. All that jazz. It's so trying.

And I'm thinking about writing a diet/self-love book. I wonder if I could fill up a whole book with the things I think about on the subject. And if anyone would want to publish such a book. And...the really frustrating thing is that I just know I'm going to see the book I want to write on the New Books bookself at Border's in a month. This often happens. (Wait a sec, I could just spew all my ideas here..........) Hmm.

Okay, so it's not a mosaic, but it's a start...And Yasso 800s, Take One!

This morning I woke up and knew I had to do something. I didn't feel like writing, so I did this instead. Yay! I think I spent thirty minutes or so on it.
This was my subject. The corner of my living room:


Please keep in mind I've never taken any drawing classes or anything. I'm a drawing baby! But it's fun!

And then Eric and Matt and I went for a run. Or, Eric and I ran and Matt timed me, cause Matt messed up his knees or legs again cause he doesn't get massages!!! (Or roll on the tennis ball.) So there are these things called Yasso 800s. Basically, this guy Bart Yasso figured out that you can predict (or train for) your goal marathon time by running 800m repeats in minutes:seconds what you want to run the marathon in in hours:minutes, and increasing that up to ten 800m repeats at the peak of your training (the week you're doing your final 20 mile run before you begin your taper). If I'm not being articulate enough to be understood and you're interested--check out the link. So today Eric and I ran some Yasso 800s.

I warmed up with 1 mile of jogging. Eric beat us to the track so he did 1 3/4 miles.

We did the first 800 together at 3 min 47 seconds. My comment, I never ever want to run a marathon at that pace. Eric, "You don't have to, this is the speed work. Remember, this isn't the marathon pace." Ah...yes. Thank Gawd. Whew! I had a scare there.

#1 800m: 3 min 47 sec
#2 800m: 3 min 52 sec
#3 800m: 3 min 57 sec
#4 800m: 4 min 2 sec
#5 800m: 4 min 17 sec (I think. And this one was brutal. Major side-stitchage.)

Eric's #2-5s were somewhere around 3 min 16-17 secs, I think. He's much more consistent than I am. And he did a #6 at 3 min 6 sec, if I remember right. 3 hour 10 min for him to qualify for Boston. It's within reach! Eric, "I'd have to change my eating habits." :)

I walked a couple laps with Matt when Eric did his #6 and then we did a cool down lap. Next time I think we should do more of a cool down jog, at least a mile. Really pump the lactic acid out.

I wonder if I could set (and have a reasonable chance of reaching it) the goal to get under 4 hours for the Chicago marathon. I wonder if I want to set such a goal. Chicago marathon is 5 months away. Hmm. I'll be thinking about it, it doesn't seem unreasonable. (Eric?) I'd probably have to change my eating habits too. :)

out of a funk

Today I drank my nettles. I woke up, contemplated my life, then contemplated life some more. Eric says I've been different since last Tuesday. Too much in my head, he tells me. But tonight's the last of it. I'm done. Too much thinking and whatever has put me into a funk and it's getting old and I'm boring myself. I had a headache today. All day. So annoying. I can count on one hand the number of headaches I've had in my life, not to include my migraine-like ear-ache kill-me-now pain that lasted for days and made me vomit--that was a different kind of pain. But traditional "tension headache" pain, well, I don't get that. But my neck is really tight and this is boring to write and I'm tired.........................

Yea, so I've decided a few things. One, I want a new hobby, a new passion. It's spring (hopefully) and I want to fall in love with something. So I'm on the make for a new hobby. I probably want it to be physical, because I like physical things. But not tooooooo demanding in the way of endurance, because I only have so much time and energy and chi for those sorts of activities. Kayaking? Aikido? Both sound appealing, I'm considering my options.

Two, I want my kittens. Where are they? I hope I find them soon.

Three...well, I had a third thing, but I either don't want to talk about it or it's just late and I want to go to bed now. I forget which. But I'll say this: My friendships, to include my family members who are also my friends, are the most valuable thing in my life. I feel incredibly grateful and lucky to have people in my life who will speak the truth to me, who sometimes love me more than I love myself, who hold me accountable to my own best interests, and who set the bar in the way of loyalty. While waiting for the bus tonight I realized I'm much better off having spent my 20s making really good friends than getting hitched to someone that I was no longer even friends with, as seems to be the case in too many marriages.

(Okay, dude, I'll be optimisticpositive again. You can be pessimisticnegative...well, after your surgery. Good vibes will help you heal faster.)

An Unexpected Day

I have realized in the last week that I--sometimes perversely--enjoy days that do not happen as I expect. It started on Tuesday when a good friend and I went to look for my kittens at a local stray cat no-kill shelter. Playing and hanging out with various cats in the shelter, not finding my cats, but enjoying the ones I was meeting, I forgot to remember time, and I missed my dance class. So we kept playing with the kitties. And I felt especially drawn to the FIV+ cats, tough little stocky street-wise tom cats that most of them are. Scarred and roughed up but now surprisingly affectionate and unassuming and unpretentious, these guys resonated with a part of me that made me curious. And so we went for tacos and we got to talking.

Two things. Why am I drawn to hard luck cases? And what's with my attraction to people in the 19-22-ish age range? Granted, I have my scruffy-self-made-man-with-glasses attraction thing too. And my low-center-of-gravity-muscular-Asian thing. And anyone who's good at something or who talks about the world in a certain way will pique my interest. Mention something about the beauty of bread making and working with yeast and building gluten bonds and my palms start to sweat. But, maybe it was that I'm in the middle of listening to Lolita on CD that I have been conscious of the perversion of being into younger people and aware of my own track record. Granted, this age range is legal...but that doesn't mean it is not also an indicator of something I might wish to be conscious of that has been haunting me unawares.

Sara asked, what was going on in my life when I was nineteen to twenty-two. Heh. Those were the Dark Ages of my life. The pit of my despair. Years of many dark nights of the soul. The Black Hole of my existence. Could it be? Could it be that the whole thing of my dad dying did not have the greatest gravitational pull? Could it be that it was this time of my life? Could it be in the memories of this time? What is the story I tell myself, how do I remember it? It is not a time I like to think about, talk about, admit to having participated in. I carry the scar that, to me, marks the end of this time, an accidental tattoo that reminds me I am worth it, but what came before? What is the memory that lurks behind my conscious awareness? What power does this hold on me. What is unresolved. And what do I do about it. Constriction in my sternum, my ribs don't want to lift, can I still breathe?

And if I look into me, into my history with my now 30 year old eyes, what do I do with what I see?

It was hard at first, my memory kept dodging my conscious mind. I jotted some things down to help my mind focus on what it was supposed to be thinking about. What had happened in that time? What is it I don't like to think about? I've spent so much time not remembering, I've probably erased some things completely from my neural pathways. But what really happened?

I pulled out old journals from that time and started reading. Investigating my old self through the processes I'd laid out on paper, I was aware it was me, but also aware of the time that has passed, the reincarnations I've had. And I read the journal before the Dark Ages began, and a strange thought materialized. I was the meanest person in my life. If I had a conversation with myself about myself and how I treated myself, I would tell myself to break up me. Dump her. She is toxic. Poison. Bad for you. Mean. Really mean. Hard on myself? People have been saying this lately, now I'm starting to get it. I think I thought it had started in the Dark Ages, but it didn't. It maybe has always been there, in me. I don't think I treat other people with this meanness, I don't judge others the way I judge myself. I'm not harsh or condescending with other people the way I am to myself. I thought this way of being, this harsh controlling strict voice in my head had started in the Dark Ages, was a carry-over of something that had once served a purpose, to, in a sense, pull myself out of that pit. I thought the rigidity with which I spoke to myself was good. I thought control and discipline were attributes. I thought...I thought...I remembered things differently. I was mean and rigid and controlling and demanding before the Black Hole pulled me in. Maybe it was, in fact, the unforgiving nature of that voice that pushed me into that Hole.

Of course, I can also be very loving and good and encouraging of myself. I'm not all meanness. No, that would be silly. No Dom is always mean, there has to be some good to keep the relationship going. But when I was mean, I could be really mean.

And so I woke up Thursday morning thinking about this. And I wondered if today was going to be the day that I died. This is not uncommon. I probably wonder a handful of mornings every month if that'll be the day that I die. Someday it'll be that day, I'd like to be little prepared for it. They say this isn't uncommon when someone significant in your life has died and your own mortality becomes especially present to you, but I don't remember a time not having these thoughts. And Thursday morning, I also had the thought that I was going to be in a bicycle accident--I was planning on biking to work. Hmm. Maybe I should drive. And then I had the thought that I was going to be in a car accident. Hmm. Better a car accident than bicycle accident, I figured. But, like I said, these thoughts are not terribly uncommon. So I checked the weather. 49 degrees. Cloudy. Eh. That's pretty chilly. Premonitions of bicycle accidents combined with chilly bicycle temps was enough to get me in my car.

I had to wait, behind a long line of cars near my house, through 3 light changes before crossing the intersection. Then the crosswalks were being repainted and the road was half-covered with orange cones. Then there was the usual construction on Ridge...but there was a cement truck blocking our path. So I turned off onto a side street to go around it...and waited for drivers to decide they could turn right afterall...but not before seeing the traffic start moving again on Ridge. Oh, I should have stayed there! And then two times the light changed before being able to get back onto Ridge. I hate driving. I hate commuting. I hate driving long distances like to my mom's house or Iowa. I'll enjoy driving to Utah when I eventually will again. Or if I go camping this summer, I'll enjoy that. But I hate running errands in a car, the tedium of it bores and upsets me. And driving to work has been especially bad lately with all the construction everywhere in the city because of all the potholes from this last winter's dramatic temperature shifts and whatever else they're doing.

And so by the time I got up to Wilmette I was running late and irritated and distracted by the junk my head. And then I was aware that I was moving forward but the car in front of me was not. Slam on the brakes. Steer to the right. I'm gonna hit him. Go LIMP!

Okay, so this is the story. In massage school, one of my teachers told a story of when 4 of her friends were in a car accident. It was something crazy like they were out west and lost control of the vehicle and they were veering off to hit a wall of rock. At a moment before impact, someone in the car shouted, "Go limp!" And everyone did. And no one had any injuries. Because if you're relaxed, your body is basically just a sac of sacs of water or juice. If your tissue isn't tense and hard, you move with fluidity. Like a water balloon will bounce, unless it is too taught and hard, then it'll break. This is why people who fall asleep at the wheel or who are intoxicated have fewer injuries than many accident victims that are awake and coherent. In the last few weeks, I've had the increasing sense that I was going to be in an accident and I've been practicing "going limp." I've been having the thought that I was going to be rear-ended, I didn't think that I was going to be rear-ending anyone.

But I did. And he bumped into the vehicle in front of him.

But here's the interesting thing. In the moment I realized I was going to hit him and there was nothing I could do about it, in the moment I was thinking go limp and watching my arms float away from me in the air of their own accord at the moment of impact, I forgave myself. And then I sat. And watched the rearview mirror to see if the guy behind me would hit me. He didn't. I think he served to the right, or maybe he stopped in time.

And the world reorganized around me.

The guy whose vehicle I hit got out, asked if I was okay. I tried to open the door; it didn't open. I rolled down the window. Yes, I'm okay. Are you? Yes. He went up to check on the other driver. He made a phone call. I sat, feeling shaken up, not quite ready to stand or walk or talk. I sat. I breathed. I had a thought about making a phone call, but didn't know who I would call. As more thoughts came to me, I found my driver's license and insurance card and climbed out my window as if I were climbing out of a race car. That was fun. I checked on the woman in the front car, she was okay. I called work. I wasn't going to make it in, I'd call to update her on the situation. Should we call 911 or 311? I don't know, I said, I feel pretty shaken up. I called my insurance company. The police officer arrived. We made small talk on the side of the street for an hour or so while the police office did the paperwork in his car. I felt calm. At peace. At rest. I accepted absolutely whatever consequences there were. I didn't offer any resistance to any criticism. And yet, there wasn't any. I apologized to them. These things happen seemed be the nonchalant reception. Report written, citation issued, the other driver's left the scene. I thanked the police officer for being so nice, "Well, it's not like you woke up this morning and decided to go on a rampage. That's why we call them accidents."

No, I didn't.

But so far, this accident seems to be the most therapeutic incident of my life, this day that didn't go according to plan at all. Writing this now, Saturday night, I've yet to feel a single thought impulse of the accusing, berating, abusive, negative self-talk that too frequently has echoed around my head. I forgave myself in a moment. Without forethought, it happened spontaneously. Which is how anything actually happens. In a moment.

Forgiveness. I'm not sure I understand it. What is that? What is forgiveness. Is that a surrender? A giving up? A giving up of control? Is it a loving? Is it an acceptance? Something unconditional? It is something you can feel viscerally, is it not? An opening in your heart, a light shining from your space behind your sternum? An ease of inhalation. A calming exhalation? A sense of peace and almost happy death? What is forgiveness?

Other things became clearer. I thought I had struggled all those years. But what is struggle. I thought I had failed. But what if I didn't? What if all those years, those years formerly known as the Black Hole, the Dark Ages, what if they were actually me being a huge success? I have only seen myself live those years, those circumstances one time, that time that I did live them. Maybe I actually did a really awesome job of living that life, that lifetime? I survived. I didn't even get addicted to drugs or kill myself or anyone else. I graduated from school. I understand...I understand a hell of a lot more about life and living and empathy and people struggling with minds that don't behave the way they want them to...then I probably would have if those years had not happened as they did. And what if these years were actually my greatest success? What if those obstacles were a biggest challenge? What if what I had thought of as failings weren't failings at all but obstacles to overcome and learn from?

Somehow, in a way I would not have thought possible, I forgave myself both for an accident and a time in my life that used to be my greatest burden, both of which may not actually require a forgiveness, and yet it is there. I've reframed this 19-22 time of my life. It's actually my time of greatest challenge and therefore greatest success, like the best massages are the ones you need the most (or that's what I say).

Another thing. I've been realizing how powerful language is. To be told I'm "at fault" versus being told, "it's your fault" is a very very different thing. And this thinking about language, I realize I have been overusing "need" and underusing "want." In life, in a life, there is only really one thing to do. Or, we can say two. To be born, to come into existence. And to die, and detach from the ego. Everything else is something you want. It may feel like a need, because you need to do it to get something else, but if you honor it as a want, the power rests with you. It comes forth internally, the pressure you feel is to achieve or acquire what you seek. It is not what someone else, some external force is putting you.

You may feel that you need to clean your house. But you don't. You want to live in clean house. Or you may not want to appear a slob to your friends. Or whatever your reason actually is, but it's not something you need at all. Now, to achieve the clean house, maybe should clean the house or get someone else to clean the house. But to say you need to clean your house puts you into the position of being a victim. "I'm sorry, I can't go out tonight, I need to clean my house." No, you don't. You're choosing to clean your house because you want that or wanting that result more than you want to go out. It's more powerful to recognize this.

_____________________________________________

Oh, yea, and Eric and I ran 10 miles today. I hadn't even decided I was going to run today when I woke up. But Eric came over and we went for a run. And when we ran 3 and I thought we'd be turning around...Eric steered us further down the path. How far do you want to run? I don't know. So we kept running. Just passed the totem pole is 4 miles (so would be 8). Okay. Hey, they opened up the bike path, wanna check it out. Eric thought it looked cheap and that it wouldn't last more than a few years. Big improvement from before though, for at least as long as it lasts. All the crabapple blossoms were pretty. Looked pretty. Smelled pretty. Almost at Belmont Ave. Should we turn around. Naw, we're passed the 4.5 point. Let's keep going to make it 5 and an even 10. This still tickles me. I love that I can, without any prior planning, other than making sure I had some toast beforehand, run 10 miles.

And looking at my thoughts. Reconsidering, again, this Half Ironman thing. I don't want to do it if it is more of me beating up on me. Me stifling me. Me punishing myself not for being bigger, better, more. For not being more perfect in some undefined and unimportant way.

Eric and I talked about this over cornmeal pancakes and tempeh. I thought about how I felt on the run. The thing is, I enjoy it. I love it. Sometimes running makes me cry. I like running long because...it's purifying. Short runs are for maintenance, because your body can't always take a long run, and because there are other things in life other than running. But anywhere up around 10 miles now feels really good. During the run, well, if I thought about it, in a way I'd prefer to be laying down at any given moment. :) But there is also a sense of...appreciating the momentum of moving forward. Stopping becomes difficult because I become used to the sensation of moving forward, sort of like how it feels when you're walking on a moving pedway and you reach the end and you sort of lurch forward if you don't pause in your walking for a moment before departing.

So, maybe we'll do the Half Iron. I'll do what I like to do, which happens to be biking and running and swimming, and then when it comes time when we have to decide yes or no, we'll/I'll decide. If not a Half Iron, we'll probably do another International. I like the International distance Tri.

Okay, it's 3 am now on Sunday. Time for bed. :)

Happy Mother's Day!

WAD* = ass kicking

Whew! First time back to a dance class in...oh, 4 months! And I'm feeling muscles I'd forgotten existed! This shit is good. It's two days later and it still hurts to move in some directions... Plus, it makes me happy, and then it makes me sleepy. :)

I love it.


*WAD = West African dancing