First things first: Go wish Kat a happy birthday. ¡Feliz cumpleaños, hermanita!
Night-time runs are becoming the part of my day around which the rest pivots. I cherish the chance to breathe hard in cool air, a fast straight line through town with no one in the way or watching — although I did meet up with the skunk again, and she seems to be growing impatient with me. If the curve implied by these last two points holds true, she will douse me in four more runs.
Pacific chorus frogs are part of the background in the night, but I bring them into the foreground. Their song fills my mind and shoves aside the minor ache, the muscle cramp. Most nights I am the center of a sphere of silence, the frogs falling quiet as I pass then starting up again. Last night was a good one: they did not stop their singing as I ran.
I added a quarter mile to my route last night; I have been increasing the run’s length in small increments, I hope to avoid the ankle blowout that ended my 5k/day habit ten years ago. No pushing now, no mortification of the flesh or punishment for being lax. I can stop halfway if I want. And so, mainly, I don’t.
I have lost about 30 pounds since January. In one of the many discussions of fat I have read on people’s blogs of late, I saw a rather defensive plaint about one of the alternatives to fat acceptance being “exercising like a maniac.” I exercised like a maniac two years ago, visiting the gym every second night and subjecting myself to the drone of treadmill and television, and finding as the days passed less and less difference between the two. I am now at the low weight I reached back then, and dropping still, and feeling luxuriously lazy about it all. Some days ago I crossed the line the reviled Body Mass Index sets between “obese” and merely “overweight.” If twelve sit-ups every other day is “exercising like a maniac,” then call me an ascetic here on the chaise with my ripe strawberries. To simply move is delight.
When the Night of the Skunk comes, remember this:
2 liters of hydrogen peroxide, 3 percent
2 tablespoons of Arm & Hammer bicarbonate of soda
a squirt or two of liquid dish soap
Mix it all up in a bucket. Stand in a dry shower and scrub it into your skin, all over. Shower off after.
Works on dogs so well you can sleep with them that night. Should work on humans.
“If the curve implied by these last two points holds true, she will douse me in four more runs.”
C’mon Chris, you of all people know you can’t define a curve with two points. You’d better have the H2O2, the NaHCO3, and the Dove for Dishes in stock. I imagine Becky will appreciate it. Zeke may like it better if you don’t, though.
You need to get one of the gizmos I have - more fun, same workout (actually, better - works your back and upper body too) and no impact so no messed up joints.
I just did 29.4 miles on mine Tuesday, went all over, stopped at the beach to swim with the pelicans, etc.
Next week I hope to do a ride to break the 30 mile mark. The record for one day is 106 miles, done by Claudio Pagan, a former Ultra-Marathon (100 miles) runner who stopped running after a knee blowout.
=v= Everything I know about Seinfeld, I learned from the teevees in front of the treadmills at the gym where my girlfriend worked out. Not that there’s anything right with that.
C’mon Chris, you of all people know you can’t define a curve with two points
Which is pretty much why I said “implied” rather than “defined.”
Sheesh. Engineers, y’know?
And hey, no formula for modified methyl mercaptans?
Oh fine. Conflate me with my profession. I’ll have you know that possibly the most significant discernable contribution I made at work last week was the introduction of the word “ambiguity” to a discussion with a bunch of public information types and managers. To which my supervisor turned to me and said “That liberal arts degree at work again…”
Anyway, I’m a civil engineer by training (and, I like to think, by disposition, if you pardon the double entendre), so I try not to get too deep into much of that organic chem stuff. So, no, no formulae for mercaptans.
Wikipedia says it’s butyl seleno-mercaptan, and C4H9SeH.
Well, stay with it through the year, and next year tomorrow, you can be up here for our annual city fun run—the Bloomsday Run. 50,000 people, out of a population of 300,000 running, walking, dancing, singing, sashaying, strolling along the 12k course whilst another 50K and 20+ bands play for those on the journey. The elite lineup this year includes a major Kenyan dozen, plus some other world class folks, including last year’s Bay to Breakers winner. When you have nearly 20% of a region’s population out for the party, and an addition 20% providing some degree of entertainment for the party, it is reassuring in the most democratic of ways. Well, except the toll that it takes on skunks, marmots, ospreys, coyotes, etc. who seem to figure it out and stay away for a couple of months.
Given my morning warm up run today, very humid, and the weather prediction, tomorrow will be good for those of us in the middle—too cold for the elites and too misty raining for the slow. But hey, that is what makes it fun.