#467: Morning Run

Rack Face: the reason Pennsy doesn't
run in the morning.

It may be because I grew up making theatre, but I am really not much good in the morning. I'd make a lousy swimmer. Early morning runs are the exception for me, unless I'm meeting someone for a long one or the summer weather makes afternoon runs impossible. This morning, I broke that pattern for a couple of reasons.

First, I was two miles short yesterday. I wanted to do five, but the heat sent me home early. Second, according to my friends on Facebook, it is National Running Day, (whatever the heck that is,) and I wanted to show solidarity. So after my coffee and PB&J, I pulled some shorts and a shirt off the clothes line on the porch, (another thing I love about summer,) and hit the streets for a short one.

Nice, nice morning. 58° - 62°. depending on which bank thermometer you believe. just a little overcast. at 7:00, people are heading to work, but the traffic is still light. It's safe to run out on the side streets and avoid the uneven seams and low hanging branches that can trip you up on even the nicest sidewalks.

Once I get started on one of these Up At Dawn affairs, I always wonder why I don't run early more often. I just love seeing the neighborhood from a different, more peaceful perspective. The birds have a special music at this hour of the day. There are fewer voices, and they seem respectfully aware of the fact that most of the world isn't ready to enjoy them in full voice just yet. The people you encounter are generally out and about because they have to be. There's a particular sense of freedom you feel when you're the only one on the street who has chosen to get up and out rather than being compelled by a job or a class schedule. I ran fairly hard. Just two miles in just over 10:00 per mile... a decent training pace for me. I concentrated, when I thought at all, on my posture, keeping my core strong and my shoulders back and relaxed. I almost never think about form on a long run, so these short ones during the week are a good time to teach my body what a nice stride feels like.

Got home with a good sweat, and fresh legs, ready to start the day. Took a short nap, which is my habit since I've started waking up after just 6 hours of sleep for some reason. And now I'm ready to get to work having finished my workout with gas left in the tank.

I'd like to say I'll remember that good feeling and want to run more often in the wee hours... but I think we both know Pennsy better than that. These imaginary national holidays don't come along every day, you know.

Peace,
Pennsy

#368 I Wish I Were a Camera

If anybody ever asks me why I run, I'm going to take them for a drive down Colby Road. I would love to just post photos and videos of my run today, but my Kodak is too bulky and my phone takes very small resolution images, so I'll just have to try to put it into words.

I got a late start. I was up in plenty of time, Clare saw to that, but then I sat down with email and Twitter and Facebook and Coffee and Granola and the hour just got away from me. The drive took a lot longer than I expected. It was dark and a little foggy and by the time I arrived at 6:47, the rest of the Striders were long gone. I was relieved when two men in a car pulled up in the lot next to me. They were in running clothes, but were not part of our group. We exchanged greetings, and then went our separate ways. I turned on the little flashing lights that Mrs P bought me for night running, and started down Colby Road.

It was cool and comfortable in the dark. Maybe somewhere in the low 50s. I felt smooth and easy very soon, much sooner than usual. On the way home, I realized that this is because the first mile and a half is almost all down hill... which of course means that the last mile and a half is a heart breaker, but we'll get to that later. My breath came smoothly, three steps in, three steps out. I tried to stay slow, and thought I did a pretty good job. It wasn't until I got home and uploaded my run to Nike+ that I saw just how fast I had started out.

I could see nothing but trees and fence as I ran along. Occasionally a car came toward me. I tried to stay out in the lane long enough for the driver to see my jangling lights, then eased over to the side. There isn't much of a shoulder on most Bluegrass country roads. Usually there's just a ditch. I did not want to go exploring down there in the pitch black, 15 miles from home. The drivers all saw me in plenty of time and gave me a wide berth. They must have thought I was nuts. I suppose I am. Somewhere during mile 3, a magenta glow started to rise from the horizon ahead of me. Each time I came out of woods or to the crest of a hill, I could see the light growing as I continued east. "It looks like a promise," I thought as the sounds of animals waking up started around me. A lone cow lowed in a pasture. Some chickens stirred and a rooster did his rooster gig. Once or twice, a farm dog barked, checking me out, but not chasing as I jogged harmlessly past the gate.

Near mile 4, I looked ahead and saw a daunting climb. Three hills of increasing size rose before me like a roller-coaster. I remembered a mantra Jeff Galloway had mentioned in a podcast, and started repeating it softly to my self as I breathed out. "I love hills. I love hills." One step at a time, I found a way to enjoy every inch of them. Just before the crest of the last hill, around mile 5.25, I looked up and saw that the road was glowing gold. The sky was light by now, but I had not seen the sun yet. I could tell from the aura between the grassy banks on either side of the asphalt that I was about to see old Sol in all his glory. And glorious he was. I usually slow down a little to rest after a big climb, but now I was drawn toward the fiery warmth of the sun over the fields. Tucked into a little hollow at the top of the ridge stood a lovely church: High Point Apostolic. A perfect name, but an even more perfect message on the road sign out front. "When all my Strength is gone/ and I have no more Hope for tomorrow/ Lead me to the Rock." I laughed out loud as I spoke the words to myself. I wondered if the preacher could have known that a Fat Man would come running by on a 16 mile trek in the Saturday dawn. "Lead me to the Rock." I breathed. I remembered the days when my strength was gone. When hope felt more like wishful thinking than reality. I remembered the rocks God sent me then. My friends. My Mum. Mrs P. The theatre. When there was no way for me to get my little boat back to harbor safely on my own, God lead me to the Rock. And now he was doing it again. Right up and down the hills of Colby road.

Just past mile 6, I came to a big road. "Man! Am I in Winchester?" I didn't want to cross all those lanes of traffic, so I took a right turn along the shoulder and saw that yes, I had in fact run all the way to the next city. In my mind, I knew that it was only six miles from the starting point which was way out in the middle of nowhere, but I felt like a real marathoner for a while. There was a lot more traffic on the bypass. No more pastoral scenery. This was "Mall Land." Lowes. Walmart. Kroger. Rite Aid. Golden Corral. All the big boxes that are exactly the same wherever you go. You could have dropped me down on this road with a blindfold, and when I took it off, I couldn't have even told you what state I was in. So different from the distinctly Bluegrass pastures and farms I had just travelled through. I followed the highway as the cars zoomed by until my watch told me I had run 8 miles, then I turned around. I was eager to get back to the country.

I don't really remember much about the return trip. Only that I recognized very little of what I saw. One advantage of starting an out-and-back route in the dark is that everything looks new on the way back. I heard geese honking at each other. An Australian Shepherd woofed a warning when I ran past the goats who were safely behind the board fence and under their little black and white defender's care. Once a yippy little black dog of some kind actually ran out to the road and escorted me to the property line. I had my water bottle open and ready to squirt the little guy, but I was laughing so hard that I don't expect my aim would have been very good.

Climbing a very long hill, I looked down at my watch. 13.1 miles. I had just completed the distance of a half marathon. The last three miles were going to be gravy. I had two thoughts at almost the same time. First: I can absolutely finish this half in two weeks. Second: A full marathon, 26.2 miles, is a very, very long way. But then I remember when 5K was a long way. I remember when crossing the street was a long way. There's no telling how far we can run when we keep moving our feet.

I expected my energy to crash around mile 14. That was my previous long run, and that's how my conditioning has worked so far. When I extend past my longest run, the extra miles are hard and heavy-legged. That didn't happen today. Not even when I realized that I was going to have to climb most of the last mile. I kept remembering Melissa's motto from our training at the Y. "I don't quit when I'm tired. I quit when I'm done." So that's what I did. I ran to the end. 16.03 miles, just to be sure. I don't know when I've ever felt better.

The parking lot was empty, now. My lonely little Honda sat in the sunshine with a cool bottle of water and a soft, comfy seat waiting for me. I drove back to Lexington and stopped at Speedway for a bottle of chocolate milk and some Gatorade. Amazing, how fast you can chug a quart of chocolate milk when you put your mind to it. It was delicious. Then it was home to Mrs P, the dogs, and our friend Linda who spent the night here. I had some coffee and put this in my log.

55-65 degrees. 16.04mi/3:23:31 @ 6:50 AM. Colby Road. Red Pegasus. Intervals 5:00 run/0:30 walk. Splits: 11:54, 11:47,12:16, 12:04, 12:12, 12:20, 12:25, 12:22, 13:13, 13:00, 12:37, 13:08, 13:20, 13:22, 13:26, 13:33.

Now that I look at them, I can't help but marvel at how little of the story numbers can tell. This was a great run for me, in a lot of ways. But most of what made it great are things that you can't measure on a map. Life can be so fantastic when you put one foot in front of the other.


I just wish I could show you. I wish I were a camera.


Peace,
Pennsy

#360: Sabbath Run: Eyes Up, Chest Up

72 Degrees. 3.49mi/40:19. 8:17 AM.  Pegasus. Intervals: 1:00/mile. Splits:11:35, 11:34, 11:20. 62% humidity.

Diffused dawn glows in the bedroom curtains,
Squinting, I check the clock,
7 AM,
Late,
I am alone.

In the peaceful kitchen, she washes the dishes,
Sunday morning coffee brewing by the stove,
The fragrance wraps my face in its hands, and kisses me good morning.

Shorts, socks, shoes, shirt,
The full armor
Harder to skip the run once you're dressed for it.

I pad out to the kitchen,
Eyes up, chest up,
Drawn by the aroma of freshly ground beans,
And the promise of a good morning kiss.

French roast, granola, yogurt, blackberries,
Breaking the fast on a Sabbath morning,
Smiling silently from across the room as she reads the news,
And the dogs play tug of war on the couch.

Bowl empty,
Cup empty,
One more kiss for luck, and out the door.

The air is cool,
Cooler than it has been for many days,
But thick, somehow,
The damp seems to press against me as I walk through it,
Resisting me like a swimmer,
Just enough to remind me that it's there.

Jog a little, walk a little
The joints lubricating themselves
The blood flowing to the big muscles,
The butt, the thighs,
My ankles swing free and start to run,
The Papillons on the corner yap through the fence at me as I start my wrist watch,

And suddenly,

I've got all the time in the world.

An elderly walker smiles as we pass,
Exchanging proud good mornings,
All those drawn curtains are sleepy folks,
Missing this steely, sweaty morning.

The hills rise and fall quietly here,
Easy climbs up, gentle rolls down,
Rhythm of the land. rhythm of the feet.
Music of breath draws me forward into the morning.

Slowly, slowly,
All the first mile, I'm still getting warm,
Landing softly on the foot,
Swinging the arm smooth, fingers lightly furled,
Eyes up, chest up,
Like a winter engine pumping cold oil over shafts and valves,
Coming slowly to life,
Slowly, slowly.

A handful of golden leaves crunch underfoot,
The promise of Autumn,
On a late summer morning,
A sound I haven't heard before,
One I'll be hearing differently from now on.

From behind, a young runner in blue breezes past on the grass,
Unusual,
He does not greet me as he glides by,
His mind elsewhere,
The soles of his shoes wink at me till he crests the hill,
And is gone,
Untempted, I hold my pace.

Further along, a slower runner trudges around the corner and slips in ahead of me,
He is working hard, much harder than the boy in blue,
He hears me crunching behind him, and turns his shoulders to see who is following,
Just an old Fat Man,
Shamed, he presses his tempo and slowly floats away during my next walk break.

A handsome couple greets me as I move from sidewalk to street,
She smiles sweetly, he hails me loudly,
Half cheery neighbor welcoming the day,
Half old lion warning off a stranger,
His pride is safe from me this morning,
I "Good Morning" them and return to the sound of my run.

One last walk break, then the press for home,
Ignoring the young men with their tireless legs,
Ignoring time, distance, and pace
I race against myself, a Fat Man running for his life,
Picking up the tempo as the familiar hills and curves start to roll toward home.

No need for the numbers on my wrist,
My heart beats out the minutes,
My legs are the pendulum,
Tick-tocking the seconds to that tree, the next hydrant, another block;
Faster, faster, holding my form,
Eyes up, chest up,
Skipping across the asphalt like a flat rock on a calm lake,
Breath, two, three, Breath, Step, Breathe, two, three, Breathe, Step,
The rhythm of the morning, the music of the run,

Around a corner,
Breathing hard,
One more light post,
One more driveway,
Don't quit yet,
One more hill.

At the crosswalk, I stop my watch.
Shirt soaked,
Shorts sticking,
I squeeze the sweat out of my headband,
Into a warm, salty puddle on the concrete.

Walk it out, cool it down, check the time,
Not bad.
Not a bad way to start a holy day.
Not a bad way to remember the Sabbath.

The dogs greet me at the gate,
Inside, she is just coming out of the bathroom,
Soft and clean, I blow her a sweaty kiss,
She towels off to dress for church,
As I hang my clothes on the porch to dry.

Later, after the sermon, we exchange Peace,
Kissing softly, leaving me the taste of her lipstick,
I turn to Christus Rex,
Hanging above me in his crown,
No more nails, just royal robes and a gentle smile,
Eyes up, chest up,

Peace,

Pennsy

With thanks to Antonio Brown @antoniobrown84

#351: A Dawn Run for a New Day

No seriously, RIGHT NOW!

Since Clare woke me up at 4:30 with her "I need to pee RIGHT NOW!" whine, it was easy for me to get out for a cool morning run. First I checked my email, and learned that an article I submitted has been published on Viewshound, a site that accepts contributions from writers and bloggers all over the world. It's a post that regular readers of FMR have probably already seen, but it was cool to get validation from strangers. You know how I love applause.

I hit the street just before 7:00. Today is a speed day on my training schedule. I've arranged my program based on three runs a week: an easy run at the beginning of the week; a short, hard run on Thursday or Friday; and a long, slow run on Saturday or Sunday. That long run increases gradually over the course of my training period, leading up to the half-marathon in October. It's an easy schedule, not exactly designed to win any gold medals, but based on Jeff Galloway's program and intended to get me from here to the finish line without getting hurt on the way.

I checked Swackett to see how the weather was doing. The air was a clear 65 degrees as I stepped out of the driveway. After days of brutal, humid heat, it felt amazing to be breathing air that was cooler and dryer than my own body. I did my usual warm-up, which is a walk around the block, gradually mixing in a few strides of running until I am jogging back past the front of our house. I pressed my tempo right from the start. I would like to break a 10:00 mile this month, and I wanted to find out what that kind of speed feels like. I didn't get all the way down to 10:00, but I did run both miles at the same 10:26 pace: fastest ever for me. Since I knew I'd be tiring quickly, I cut my Run/Walk ratio in half, running 5:00 and walking 0:30.

It wasn't long before my mind was clear and my attention focused fully on my breath and footfalls. As I finished, I realized that I really didn't remember much about the run. My thoughts were all about maintaining my rhythm, pressing back up to tempo when I slowed down. I came home after this short, hard run feeling energized and ready to start the day. After a long one, I usually want to take a nap. This morning, I'm ready to take on the world.

On the home front, we are finally, really out of the old house. I went over yesterday morning and scrubbed the floors. The place is not exactly pristine, not by a long shot, but it's ready for the new folks to come in and start making it their own. We had a lot of troubles and a lot of joyful times in that house. I hope we left a little love behind for the young couple who will sign the papers today. I always called that house "MarthaPark" because of all the trees. I've named our new home "SummerShade," in honor of the little town in western Kentucky where Mrs P grew up. Here's her post about our move. It sums up our feelings well.

We have lots of big plans for the rest of the summer. A race to train for, a couple of trips to plan, a play to rehearse and open, and of course many, many musty boxes to sort. We'll thrown away most of it, sell some, and keep what we need or want. It's a liberating project. And I'm really looking forward to getting all those cartons out of here so I can have my garage/porch/carport back. (Lurkers contemplating a burglary run... save yourself a trip. It's all junk. I'd throw the whole mess away if Mrs. P would let me.)

Today feels like turning a corner. Closing the sale of the house is a milestone we have been looking forward to for a long time. I'm sure we both doubted it would really come. Now that it's here, we can move on to "the next big thing," whatever that turns out to be.

And I know I'll be ready for it. Heck, I've already got my run in today.

Peace,
Pennsy

#338: 11 miles?

Really? It looks more like 10 on the map, but my Nike+ says 11, and it's almost always short, not long. Whichever one it was, 10 or 11, it's the farthest I've run so far. So what is it like for a Fat Man to run 10-11 miles?

I started out at 6:45. I knew it would be a long run, and I wanted to beat the heat. The early morning air was cool, probably in the mid 60s.I brought my sunglasses, but didn't need them so soon, so I put them on top of my head. The streets were so quiet. I scared some rabbits and squirrels as I trotted along, and they skittered away from the sidewalk, just in case I was a predator. From time to time, I would pass another runner. "Good Morning." "Good Morning." There is a special kinship among early morning runners. Ordinarily, I'm pretty wary about approaching strangers alone on the street, especially women. I imagine myself to be pretty big and scary looking to someone who doesn't know what a teddy bear I am. So I tend to give a lot of room to folks. But when I'm running, people seem to understand that I'm not out for trouble. It's as if we know one another. I am coming to like runners more and more.

The first mile and a half, I felt some early morning twinges. My left calf has been warming up slowly, especially high up, toward the back of my knee. It doesn't hurt, it just takes a little while longer to loosen up than the rest of my legs. It usually takes between 1 and 2 miles for me to feel like I'm firing on all cylinders. Once I did, I became conscious of my pace and really tried to keep things slow. I was headed out into uncharted waters for me. I didn't want to run out of gas after 7 or 8 miles and have to call Mrs P to come pick me up.

There were a lot of crows out yesterday morning. They called vigorously as I ran by. I never noticed how much crow's calls sound like derisive laughter before. I swear, a couple of times I thought they were making fun of me. It sort of spurred me on.

The first 3 miles are a gradual climb through shady suburban streets. Newspapers lay waiting in driveways for their sleeping readers to make coffee and pad out to pick them up. My breath and footsteps worked peacefully together to form the soundtrack for my run. I've stopped wearing my iPod when I run. The sounds of the world are becoming too good to miss.

When the road turned toward the east, I started squinting, and reached for my sunglasses. Since they had been resting on the top of my hot, sweaty head, they were badly fogged when I slipped them down. I tried running with them that way for a bit, hoping that they would clear up on their own, but eventually wound up pulling them off and wiping them down with the front of my tee shirt. After that, they were fine.

After a brief little downhill stretch, miles 4-6 are the steepest climb of the run. This is also the stretch where there are no sidewalks. I kept my head up, my eye on traffic, and my feet on the white line. Most people gave plenty of room, and I returned a thankful wave. Some other drivers made a point of not veering an inch as they sped past me. I murmured something insulting about their parents, and trotted on.

Once you reach the top of this hill, the rest of the route is a long, gentle downhill slope, with a few little rises thrown in, just to keep you honest.This was also the part of the run where I started to feel tired. Not gasping for air tired. More like heavy-legged tired. I started to notice soreness in the front of my left groin, at the abductor muscles that help pull your leg forward after a stride. I wasn't sure what could be causing this soreness, unless it was the fact that my legs now felt as if they weighed 400 pounds apiece. I started to cringe a little every time my watch would beep to tell me that my 30 second walking interval was over and it was time to run again. By mile 8, my cringing had degenerated into a quiet curse every two-and-a half minutes. No wonder the crows thought I was so funny.

At what should have been mile 9, I crossed the last busy street and checked my sport band to confirm the mileage. It said I had gone more than 10 miles. That was insane. In the first place, I mapped this route out carefully. In the second place, that was 2 miles farther than I had ever run before. And I was still a mile from home. I had a sinking feeling that if I stopped running now, I would probably sit down in the grass and go to sleep. Although it was a lovely morning, the side of a busy street was not the place I wanted to power-nap. I pressed on and made it home. I had been running for two-and-a-half hours. Made it home just in time to shower and go to church. Then I took a long nap.

I have to be honest with you. I don't really believe it was 11 miles. My wrist gizmo has about a 10% margin of error, and on a long run, an extra mile is definitely possible. On the other hand, I don't really want to measure it out again. Worst case? I ONLY ran 10 miles. That's still a very long way for a Fat Man. I'll take it.

I wish I had some kind of philosophical wrap up here. The truth is, I haven't really digested the whole thing yet. I can't imagine how people can run a marathon. I'm having a little bit of a hard time imagining myself running a half-marathon, but I'm getting closer. The good news is, I no longer have to imagine myself running 10K. I've done it. Several times. The Bluegrass 10,000 isn't going to kill me. That's pretty good to know.

Peace,
Pennsy

The Fat Man Rides Again!!

Saturday I got really depressed about not being able to work out. My beloved Mrs P held my hand, wiped my face, and then took me out to the Indian buffet. Nothing lifts a mopey boy's spirits like a good woman's love and all the curry he can eat.

I slept my blues away and on Sunday made my first trip to the gym since the big slip. My toe hurt to bend, but had stopped throbbing. I didn't want to put any stress on it, so I didn't lift weights. That left walking, but I could not imagine the cardio benefit of limping on a treadmill. The elliptical machine remained a mystery to my feet, so I decided to try the recumbent bike.

I figured out how to move the seat and checked out the console. All the trails and mountains and whatnot made no sense to me. How can you talk about miles on a bike that stands still? I finally settled on a program called "cardio" and put Meat Loaf on my headphones. Before I knew it, I was pedaling like a bat out of, well, you know. I spun the pedals for an hour while the console coached "Keep Pedaling!-----Need Heart Rate!---Grab Handles!----Who's Your Daddy?" It was a little weird.

The program adjusts resistance to keep your heart rate at the training level you set, so it has to monitor your pulse constantly. I was surprised at what a good workout it turned out to be. I was not surprised that I could barely move when I was done. I stretched, finished my water, and made my way to the locker room. When I took of my sock, I was shocked. My toe looked like a plum. The bruise went from the joint almost up to the nail and more than three-quarters of the way around my toe. Forgive me, but I've decided to spare you photos.

Monday the bruise had faded, but was still pretty ugly. I made it through the work day without it feeling any worse, and by evening, the bruise was a much less angry color. I went to bed early and decided to try once again to wake up and go to the gym early Tuesday morning.

For some reason, the alarm woke me. Usually I just give it a well intentioned wack on the snooze button, then go back to sleep. Instead I tip-toed out of the bed and made my way to the car. There were a LOT of people at the gym at 6:00! I changed and found an empty bike. This time I had a chance to look around a little. There were not many familiar faces, but plenty of very determined ones. I am continually amazed and inspired by the way the people around me work. I got a chance to really watch some people on elliptical machines and started to make sense of what their legs were doing. Of course, you don't really want to spend too much time watching people at the gym. You start to feel like a stalker.

Work was just painful. The toe was ok, but the legs were screaming. Turns out I still haven't reached that magic place where a workout gives you more energy. The funny thing was, by mid afternoon, I was really jonesing to get back. I went right after work, and lifted weights for the first time in a week. I stepped down the reps and stepped up the weights on all the machines. I also tried the elliptical for a cool-down. It went pretty well, and I felt like I really started getting the hang of it.

This morning I did not go to the gym early, but I felt GREAT all day. Maybe that energy boost is on a delay? After work, I did an hour on the elliptical. I used the "Cardio" program and yes, it was a real workout. On both the bike and the elliptical I could feel different muscles working - especially after I was done.

Right now, I should be in bed, but I'm so happy to be back to work. I just wanted to let you know.

The heart, the mind, and the toe are all bruised but unbroken -- and the healing goes on.

Peace,
Pennsy