#327: Strangers in the House

This turned out to be a little more mopey than I intended. Feel free to pass it over and I'll write about my long run tomorrow.

Winter in Martha Park

Mrs P is writing a report and I am under strict instructions not to disturb her, so I'm just going to meditate with you for a while.

I've mentioned before that we are losing our house. In order to avoid foreclosure, we are pursuing what is called a "short sale" where you sell the house for whatever you can get, then the bank decides whether or not to forgive the rest of your loan. At least that's how I understand it. Mrs P initiated the process while I was still very sick, so I'm a little foggy on the details. What I know for sure is that strangers are spending a lot of time in my house.

 OK, look. We are lousy housekeepers. Always have been. Mrs P an I both come from families of pack-rats. We've even inherited a lot of their stuff to supplement the junk we have collected over the past 24 years. Are we hoarders? I don't think so, but I can't watch that show on TV. It hits just a little too close to home.

Molly teaching Jake where to pee
in the dining room

Point is, it's embarrassing to have friends wander through our house. Having strangers do it... it's agony. I drive the realtor crazy. She calls to say she has someone to come see the house, and I hem and haw and mumble. I finally just asked her to talk to Mrs P. It's less stressful for me for some reason.

Baby Jake (rug cleaner in the background)

We've had some lovely people come through. Young couples looking for a "starter home," whatever the heck that is. Professional house flippers looking to make a quick profit, (good luck, fellas.) Families looking for an inexpensive place to live.

Yeah. Inexpensive. In 1998, we paid $71,000 for our home. We're trying to sell it for $56K. Less than half the balance on the mortgage. The Great Recession can get a little depressing, sometimes.

Usually, when they come, I take the dogs and go out back on the porch until they leave. That way I can imagine them judging us without having to actually see them turning up their noses at all the retriever hair and cat litter. And books. And tools. And shoes. And... you get the point. Today, I had chores to do, laundry to wash, socks to sort. I was not inclined to go hide while the house shoppers prowled around wondering why there were running shorts and brassieres hanging from half of our doorknobs. So we got a chance to chat.

The garage has some
structural issues

"What's the neighborhood like?" Great. Great neighbors. Generous people. A mix of ages, races, national origins. A diverse neighborhood,  Kind of a rarity in our city. "What are the problems with the house?" Well, there's that big hole in the wall where I passed out while peeing in the middle of the night last summer. There's the siding that blew off in a windstorm. There's the garage that should have been demolished when we bought the house, and is now a clear and present danger to the cats, coons, and possums who have taken up residence in there. "Why are you selling?" That's my favorite. I always want to tell them that it's haunted. You know, by the guy who hanged himself in the basement. But I don't have the courage. So I give them the thumbnail version. Laid off, savings gone, cancer, can't pay the loan, bank won't help, blah, blah, blah. All I need is violin music. I was folding Mrs P's underwear during both of these visits, so the pathos was just that much thicker.

NO! Not the
Get Well  Troll!

I noticed that the salesmen didn't seem to appreciate my contribution all that much. They were all "You could add this," and "all it needs is a little what have you." What it needs is a family who loves it as much as we did. That's what it needs.

Buddy enjoying Christmas
dinner while the humans
ate in the living room

Fifteen years isn't all that long, not really. Neither is 24, in the great river of time. But for Mrs P and me, it's a lifetime. I always used to marvel when people had to pack up their houses after decades, only to move into a room in a retirement home. We aren't that bad off, but we are having to let go of a lot of memories. Some are silly, like old show tee-shirts. Some are very hard like the vanity Mrs P's mother refinished for her, or the journals I have kept for every role I've played since college. Even the old, unused litter boxes are reminders of the many cats we have loved and lost over the years. There is no reason to keep them, in fact, it's kind of gross, but seeing them stacked in the corner reminds us of them and putting them on the curb feels like throwing away memories.

Kizzie trying to set
her bed on fire

In college, I read a short story by Stanley Elkin called I Look Out for Ed Wolfe. It's about a collections agent who gets fired for bullying people. He loses himself. He decides to sell or pawn everything he owns in order to find out just what his life is worth. It turns out to be about $1400 dollars. The realization causes a kind of psychotic break or break down or something. I don't remember the details. It's been a long time. All I know is that he winds up in a bar in Harlem screaming racial epithets and throwing all that cash up in the air for the patrons to have.I got the impression that he was committing suicide.

The ramp our brother-in-law built
 for Molly when she couldn't
climb the steps anymore.

If Mrs P and I tried to sell or pawn all of our stuff, it wouldn't be worth much. The books are musty. The records are ancient. The clothes are worn. The furniture is scratched or chewed or broken. The strangers who come through these rooms must think we live in a dump.

Mum quilting in the bedroom

But this is our home. These are our memories. This is the place where we learned to be husband and wife instead of married room mates. Where Mum came when I was diagnosed and stayed till my treatments were over. This is where we taught dogs to poop outside and nursed sick animals and played Scrabble with friends and spit in death's eye. I want them to know all that, these strangers. There is love in this house. Love that will haunt it like a ghost, long after we are gone. At least, I hope so. Look past the dust and the animal hair and stacks of boxes, and that's what you will find. This dumpy little shack is a house of love. But I don't think the realtor wants me to tell them all that, either. They just want us to pack up and get out so their clients won't have to listen to my sad stories any more.

Just pack it all up and go. It sound easy. But it's not.

Peace,
Pennsy

#326: Summer Running Shopping List

Things I need to pick up at the store...

Shoe spray
Summer is stinky feet season, and this stuff works great. I use it every time I take off a pair of shoes, and let's just say life is more pleasant with than without. I would prefer a non-aerosol option. Looks like Febreze has one. I may switch to that.

Knee Brace
This is the brace I wore on my right knee during my run today. Also had it on for my long run last Saturday. I can't say for sure if it's the reason, but my knee feels a lot better after a run with the brace. Only trouble is that the Velcro strap sometimes rubs against my other leg when I run. I'd just as soon have two to prevent that rubbing, and to support both knees, especially while I'm still so heavy.

Sweatband
Seems like a dopey item until you find yourself trying to rub the salty drips out of your eyes on a run.Who am I to argue with Lebron James? I know I have one of these around somewhere, but I can't find the thing, and something tells me one isn't going to be enough to get me through the summer.

Sunglasses
Do they have to be these freaky, bug eye looking shades? Probably not. But I'm going to need something. I read the other day that squinting wastes energy. I'm not sure I'm efficient enough for it to make much difference for me, but it is uncomfortable.

Sun Screen
As I was running today, I asked myself, "Should I be wearing sunscreen? Nah. I mean, what are the chances that I'll get cancer?"

Think I'll pick some up today.

New Shoes
I don't have enough experience to justify brand loyalty in most things, but I am very happy with my Nike Pegasus running shoes. They are light, They fit nicely, They support my high arches, and they come in wide sizes to give my big old paddle like feet room to spread out. These were the shoes that they recommended to me at John's Run/Walk Shop, and I am satisfied. Trouble is, my current pair are pretty old, and they're starting to get some miles on them. I'll be going back to John's for my next pair, but I need to do that well before the 10K in July. My friend Charlie who writes Running With Coffee says it's stupid to race in new shoes. Shoes are his business, so I trust his advice.

See, that's what I love about running. It's such a cheap hobby. All you need is some sneakers, a tee shirt and a pair of shorts. Well, you know, and a few odds and ends...

Peace,
Pennsy

#325: When Cancer Hits the Re-set Button

The University of Kentucky
Arboretum

This was a busy day. I saw my therapist, my throat surgeon, and had a good, short run at the Arboretum. Now we're sitting in the steamy wake of what felt like our first summer storm. It's a beautiful night in the Bluegrass.

Today's run was a strong one. I did two miles in 24:26. One of my goals is to break a 12:00 mile, and I'm slowly sneaking up on that one. My Nike+ sportband says I've already broken that, but I don't really trust it for such short distances. Run/Walk/Run intervals seem to confuse it. I'll wait until I can run a measured mile someplace. In any case, I know I can run at that pace, and hope to use that confidence to run stronger at longer distances.

I felt good during the run, with only a little stiffness in the tender right knee when I finished my cool down walk and got back in the car. By the time I got home though, I was feeling downright gimpy. I went out on the porch with the dogs and an ice bag. We enjoyed the sunshine as the aching subsided. It's still a little weak, but I expect it will be fine in the morning.

Adidas TR2... Not a bad shoe, but
is it the wrong shoe for Pennsy?

I'm really starting to wonder if my Adidas shoes are the problem. The two times my knee has felt really bad after a run, I was wearing them. I bought them from a department store, without the counsel of the geniuses at John's Run/Walk Shop, so I may have just picked up a pair that don't suit me. I'll try the Nikes for Thursday's run, and see if there's any improvement. If so, the Adidas just might turn into my registration for the Running 4 the Sole 5K on the 22nd. They'll make some big-footed trail runner very happy.


Today's visit with Dr. Colin, my ENT surgeon was terrific. My weight is down, My body fat percentage is down, my blood pressure is down, and the endoscope revealed nothing even a little interesting in my nose or throat. Dr Colin was in an unusually talkative mood today. We chatted about my play, (he had seen a picture in the newspaper about the heroic cancer boy.) We discussed my running and my plans for the 10K in July. "It's something I had often thought about doing," I said, "and now I've added it to the list of things I'm not going to put off any more." He smiled talked about how cancer changes your perspective. It is as if the experience hits the re-set button in your life. Cancer unplugged all my circuits and we are in the process of re-booting me. I told him I felt like a cliche, running on about how much I've learned to appreciate live since surviving cancer. He said not to worry about it. There's a little bit of truth in every cliche. That's how they get to be cliches.

We scheduled my 1-year PET/CT scans for next week, with a followup the week after. I think that will be the day where my status will officially switch from "in remission" to "cancer-free." Good old NED. "No Evidence of Disease." I'd say I've got my fingers crossed, but frankly, the possibility of the thing still being there hasn't even occurred to me. We'll see if I can stave off the "scan-ziety" for the days between the tests and the appointment where the Doc reads my radioactive tea-leaves.

The appointment with my therapist, (now a monthly, not a weekly affair,) was a very enlightening one. I realized that I am starting to turn my attention outward. When I was sick, all roads lead to Pennsy. I didn't think about anybody else. I didn't have the energy. All I could think about was getting through the next hour of sleeping or crying or laughing or puking or whatever life had in store for me during those sixty minutes. As my body started to heal, I had to turn my attention to my soul. It had taken a beating during treatment, but was pushed to the back burner while my survival was an open question. Getting back into therapy, back to church, and back to a daily routine were essential parts of healing my soul. Getting back to the theatre was just the prescription for healing my spirit. Now I've done three plays since treatment finished, and I feel like I'm right on track, doing the work God made me to do in this world.

Echo and Narcissus, John William Waterhouse

Which leads me to this morning's epiphany at the head-shrinker. (Mrs P has stopped protesting my use of this term since one of her teen clients referred to her as his "Nut Doctor." That makes "shrink" the official lesser of two evils.) I realized that I've started asking myself what Mrs P needs. The shrink and I talked about the ways I have left her out of the equation of my decisions in the past, and how I might change that behavior going forward. I was so excited that I called her from the parking lot and left a voice mail asking for an "appointment" with her so we could talk some of these things over. We're making plans for the final big push to get moved out of our house, and the project just might turn out to be an opportunity to strengthen our marriage, rather than being a trial by fire. That would be a welcome switch.

Something tells me that the shrink is moving up on Mrs P's Christmas card list.

Peace,
Pennsy

MORE CONTRIBUTIONS CAME IN YESTERDAY! We're up to $275 for the fight against diabetes. You can help sponsor Pennsy in the Lexington Step Out: Walk to Stop Diabetes by clicking this link and making a contribution.

#324: The Jesus We Don't Recognize

The gospel lesson in church this Sunday was one of my favorites. It's about two men who thought they knew Jesus very well, but didn't know him when he showed up right in front of their eyes.


Road To Emmaus, Jack Mattingly

That very day, the first day of the week, two of the disciples were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem, and talking with each other about all these things that had happened. While they were talking and discussing, Jesus himself came near and went with them, but their eyes were kept from recognizing him. And he said to them, "What are you discussing with each other while you walk along?" They stood still, looking sad. Then one of them, whose name was Cleopas, answered him, "Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have taken place there in these days?" He asked them, "What things?" They replied, "The things about Jesus of Nazareth, who was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people, and how our chief priests and leaders handed him over to be condemned to death and crucified him. But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel. Yes, and besides all this, it is now the third day since these things took place. Moreover, some women of our group astounded us. They were at the tomb early this morning, and when they did not find his body there, they came back and told us that they had indeed seen a vision of angels who said that he was alive. Some of those who were with us went to the tomb and found it just as the women had said; but they did not see him." Then he said to them, "Oh, how foolish you are, and how slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have declared! Was it not necessary that the Messiah should suffer these things and then enter into his glory?" Then beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he interpreted to them the things about himself in all the scriptures. As they came near the village to which they were going, he walked ahead as if he were going on. But they urged him strongly, saying, "Stay with us, because it is almost evening and the day is now nearly over." So he went in to stay with them. When he was at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized him; and he vanished from their sight. They said to each other, "Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?" That same hour they got up and returned to Jerusalem; and they found the eleven and their companions gathered together. They were saying, "The Lord has risen indeed, and he has appeared to Simon!" Then they told what had happened on the road, and how he had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread. ~ Luke 24: 3-35
They thought he was a stranger. They thought he was out of touch. They believed their rabbi had been a failure, and that his body had disappeared. They had seen these things with their own eyes, even looked into the empty tomb. The two travellers knew all the facts, and they were deeply sad.

The stranger was not sympathetic to their grief at all. He said they were foolish to be sad. He showed them how all these things had been prophesied. He also said that the story had not yet reached its glorious conclusion.

Supper at Emmaus, Caravaggio

They didn't know who he was, but they felt something special in him. Not with their minds, but in their hearts. The stranger's words seemed to set them on fire. Still, they did not recognize him. Only after they offered him hospitality, invited him to join them in a meal, watched him take, bless, break, and give away the bread did they see him for who he was. And they were changed, changed so radically that they could no longer continue travelling the way they had been going. They did not continue to Emmaus, they turned back to the dangers of Jerusalem to be evangelists, to tell the good news that Jesus. was not dead, but risen indeed.


How many times, as I have traveled along the road of my life, have I dismissed a stranger? The bum on the subway? The retarded child? The crazy guy at the bus stop? The dopey redneck who lives down the street and sits on the porch drinking beer with his friends all day long? The pregnant teenager. The hustler in drag, working the alleys and back streets of Manhattan's meat packing district? The kid with his jeans sagging down below his butt crack?
Why do I overlook them? Because they aren't smart enough? Not clean enough? Don't have a job? Don't have an impressive vocabulary? Because they aren't as good or pious or humble as I am?

I read Luke's story of the road to Emmaus and can only ask myself, "How many times have I met Jesus and blown him off because he wasn't familiar or respectable or smart?

So many people are waiting for Jesus to show up on a white horse, swinging a shining sword and slaying the devil's armies. And maybe that will happen. But in the meantime, Jesus shows up every day, unrecognized, in the people and places where we least expect him.
At least Luke's travellers got to have a forehead smacking moment when they realized what had happened and whom they had encountered on the road. They got the chance to change direction. That's an opportunity we don't often enjoy. Usually, Jesus comes and goes and we miss him completely. We continue on our busy way to our own Emmaus without ever taking the time to hear the blessing or receive the bread. How tragic. What a waste: that we would ignore the Savior of the world because he doesn't look or sound or smell like we expect him to. 

Homeless Christ, Deb Hoeffner

Our culture loves to remind us how dangerous the world is, how much we should be afraid of strangers, neighbors, even family. So we go though life with our blinders on and our guard up, as if anyone we meet might be the one who has come to destroy us. This gospel says something different. Luke says that anyone we meet might be the one who has come to save us. But we can't recognize him if we don't look.

My movement teacher in college used to say that the word "respect" actually means "to look again." To give someone respect means to give them a second look. Especially when we are tempted to look away and plow along ahead to our Emmaus. In this story, Jesus seems to agree. We may not find Christ when we look again, but then again, we just might.

Seems like it's worth the trouble, doesn't it?

Peace,
Pennsy

We've raised $250 so far for the fight against diabetes. You can help sponsor Pennsy in the Lexington Step Out: Walk to Stop Diabetes by clicking this link and making a contribution.

#323: Running Like Water.

6.88 miles
1:37:23

Ran longer and farther than I have ever run in my life. I'm not sure when I last WALKED 6.8 miles! And I feel fantastic. Not sore. not exhausted. Fantastic. This is why I run. This feeling.

Came home feeling so stoked that I registered for my next 5K, a race sponsored by the single A Lexington Legends to support the arts here in town. That will be May 28th. I should be in killer shape by then, ready to bust a new personal best. Man, I feel so high right now!

Among other things, today's run proves to me that I really can finish a 10K. Of course, I hope to do it in a little bit better time than this, but now I know I can do it. Bluegrass 10,000, here I come.

Tried an experiment today. I've been reading about running form. The most common advice is not to worry too much about it. Your body pretty much knows how to run. Of course, modern life tends to obscure our instincts with bad conditioning and bad habits, so a little attention can't hurt. What I've been able to glean is:

• Run Tall. Keep your back straight, not hunched over. This reduces strain on your whole body and even helps you to breath more efficiently.
• Shuffle Your Feet. A high knee lift and big back kick just waste energy. Keep your feet low to the ground.
• Keep a short stride. Whether you land on your heel, your mid foot, or your toes, your foot should strike the ground below your center of gravity, not way out ahead of you. This reduces wear on your knees and hips, and eliminates the breaking effect of landing with your foot out in front.
• Keep moving forward. Bobbing your head. Bouncing up and down. Swinging your arms across your body. Even clenching your fists or your jaw. All these things use energy that has nothing do to with moving from back here to up there.

That's a lot to think about, so many runners suggest using a mantra, a short word or phrase that lets your mind motivate and guide your body in the right direction. Of the ones I found, my favorite is one borrowed from Bruce Lee. "Be Water."

So that's how I tried to run. like water. I tried to flow, to glide along the road. I don't suppose I looked much like I was flowing. But from time to time, that's how I felt. Without going through the whole checklist of what good form is, I was able to use this image to find it. Very cool. Sort of like the affective memory exercises that they taught me in acting class.

How about that? I'm turning into a Method Runner!

Peace,
Pennsy

#322: Evolution of a Runner

It's 11:00 at night, way past my bedtime, and I'm too wired to sleep. I am sitting here filled with excitement about the run I have planned tomorrow. How crazy is that?

My knee was pretty beat up after my run last Saturday. I even carried a cane during that night's performance. I took most of the week off to let it heal, then ran three very easy miles on Thursday. Right now, I feel so good. It's as if I could go out and hit the road right now. Several times today I felt frustration because it was a recovery day and I couldn't go out and run with the dogs. Tonight, during the show, I sat in the dressing room and fantasized about doing 6.5 miles tomorrow. That's a long way, and I'll probably go less than that, but I don't think I ever imagined I would get to the place where could hardly wait for my next chance to run.

When I was a fat boy, running was a kind of punishment. The losing team in gym had to run laps. The kids who missed the foul shots had to run steps. During the few weeks I tried to be on the High School wrestling team, we would run steps until we puked. There were only two reasons to run: to make you tough, or to teach you a lesson. I don't think I ever knew anybody who ran because it was fun.



Nobody gets this bread!

I can remember winter nights in Dormont when Mum would send me down to the Stop'N'Go for a loaf of bread of a gallon of milk. I would run home down the snowy sidewalk, my groceries tucked under my arm like Franco Harris. I scored the winning touchdown every night in those days, sprinting until I reached the last street light before our house, where the goal line and the Super Bowl trophy awaited me. The crowd cheered. The girls screamed my name. As I panted in the cold air, I felt so alive. I loved every one of those hundred yard dashes.



Oh sure, they look great on HIM...

As a teenager, I remember getting up early trying to run the hills in big, heavy basketball shoes. I got blisters and sore feet. I ran in sweatpants and those little gym shorts that we wore in the seventies, and my big fat thighs rubbed together and chafed so painfully that I could hardly walk. I tried running with stronger, fitter friends, and they either left me in their dust, or else they shuffled along with me, which made me feel pitied and pathetic.

In college, I ran for a while because I wanted to lose weight. I once bet a girl in my acting class that I could lose 20 lbs in a month and did it with ease by running a mile around the football field every night. But running to lose weight was just another way of affirming how fat and ugly I thought I was. I stopped and found other ways to occupy myself.

I don't think I ever ran in Grad School, or California or New York. Of course, just being alive in New York City means walking a couple of miles every day. I wasn't exactly fit, but I did OK.

Then we moved to Kentucky. I immersed myself in my work, whatever it was at the time. I had left the fantasy world of the Big City and felt like I needed to make a living like a grown-up, no matter what. I had a couple of jobs, a couple of careers, each one more "grown-up" than the last, and each one farther from my heart. I guess we were doing OK.



What my legs used to look like.

Until the night I noticed a sore, hot, swelling on the inside of my right thigh, where I had what I always assumed were varicose veins. Mrs P made me go to the ER and they diagnosed me with blood clots. I had become so sedentary that my blood was congealing inside me. I could either sit in my chair until my body gave up, or I could do something. As soon as the Doc gave me the all clear, I went to work.

We joined Promatx gym, and they showed us how the machines worked. I started going almost every day. First I walked on the treadmill and pushed the machines up and down. Then one night, while Mrs. P was in her spinning class, I turned the speed up a little and tried to jog. It was probably the first time I had tried to run in 25 years. I felt so heavy! With each step, it seemed that my hips might snap off under the weight of my 400 pound body. But I didn't snap. I didn't break. I ran! When my wife came out of her class and stood in front of the treadmill, beaming at me, I felt more like a husband and a man than I had since we were married. By august, I had lost over 50 pounds.

The feeling was great, but it didn't last. When the recession hit and I lost my job, I went into such a deep depression that I gave up exercise altogether. Stupid of me, since exercise it the best cure for depression that I've ever found. I set about trying to be a grown-up, getting jobs I wasn't good at, working hours I couldn't take, and eating whatever I could grab on the run. The weight piled back on. Clothes didn' t fit any more. All the "Fat Pants" came back out of the back of the closet. I had to ask for an extension for the seat belt on airplanes. I didn't fit in theatre seats. I was a mess.

Then, cancer. While I was sick, I read about Lance Armstrong and how bike racing had helped him through his recovery. I watched the pounds melt off of me as the cancer gobbled muscle and fat indiscriminately. I tried to walk in the summer heat with my big floppy hat over my head, and sometimes even made it all the way to the corner. Then around the corner. Then around the block. As the treatments finished and the scans started coming back clean, I knew that I wanted to keep on living and being healthy.

In December, we joined another gym. I plodded around the track over the basketball court. I thumped out quarters and half miles on the treadmill. I did squats and lunges to try to get my leg strength and my conditioning back. Then one day, in February, I think, I ran a whole mile. Someday, I just might run a marathon, but I don't know if finishing it will feel any better than that mile did. It was proof that cancer hadn't whipped me. I sat on the bench in the locker room, dripping sweat, gasping for air, and feeling so alive.

When I was a kid, I ran in the snow, under the streetlights, because it was fun. Now, fifty years later, I have finally found that fun again. I'm sure I look ridiculous jogging in circles around the dog park with Jake and Clare trotting happily ahead of me. I don't hear the crowd roaring any more. Rocky Bleier isn't there to block for me as I spring free of a tackle and head down the snowy sideline toward the end zone. It's just me, just a fat man running with his dogs, dodging the chuck holes and the poop piles, and feeling like a kid with a loaf of bread tucked under his arm.

I can' t wait to go out and run in the morning....

Peace,

Pennsy

#321: Running with the Pack

Team Pennsy hitting the trail

I have a new training team. Jake and Clare seem pretty content to trot around the park with me. We did 3 miles today, plus another mile of warm up and cool down. That's a nice day's work for a fat man, a chunky dog, and a puppy with energy to burn.

We took Clare to meet Doctor Dobbs today. She got a clean bill of health, and her first shots. She was very brave.

Jake came along since the two of them are growing inseparable and we were too sleepy to fight it out with them. Since we've started running together, he has lost 7 pounds! You can see his endurance is much better, especially when Clare wants to play tag and they both tear off together. It's good to know that we're all going to be healthier. They're fast asleep now. I'll be joining them for a nap right after my shower.

I ran verrrrry slowly today: about 16:40/mile. My right knee is tender and I didn't want to test it. "Tender" is the word I've been using. It isn't injured or sore, exactly. Just a little weak and stiff after a run. I'm taking plenty of rest, and some tylenol to deal with the inflamation. I don't want to do any harm, so I'm taking Jeff Galloway's advice and running slow miles to build a base. I have my eye on the July 4th 10K, and if I don't do anything stupid that keeps me from training, I should be right on target to run it.

I've made some changes to this page. The font was so small on my monitor that I could hardly read it, so I made the print a little bigger. I also added some pages thanks to Blogger's new fancy design tools. I tried to get some of the clutter off of this page to make it easier to read. I also dumped the Google and Amazon ads. I never made any money with them, and they just took up space. I'm not sure any of this makes much difference, but it's spring, the perfect time of year for rearranging the furniture.

Peace,
Pennsy