Posts
All Comments
I was looking at my analytics data and I saw a hit on my blog that made me giggle. Someone (after my own heart, I might add) Googled the phrase "vomit haiku"; they landed here - and immediately bounced, no doubt utterly disappointed, having found neither vomit nor a haiku.
This is for you, unknown vomit poetry seeker:
Regurgitation
Clever little bits of life
You sought, so I wrote
I'm feeling restless tonight. I want to run again, but ... (this is the part where I launch into my complaints) - I'm exhausted, my ankle hurts, it's late and I should get up early tomorrow, I have work I should be doing right now.
There's more, but I'll spare you. Mostly, I'm just restless. A couple really big things in my life are stalled right now, and I want to do something about them. Some of them I have no control over, and even when I do have control the doing is hard for me, so I'm stuck not-doing.
I'm also feeling a bit sorry for myself lately. It's embarrassing, really. I thought grown-ups weren't supposed to feel that way, but it turns out we totally do.
So, I'll do some knitting (leg-warmers, I know you want some); maybe take a bath with some new girly-smelling stuff I got in the mail today; maybe I'll work.
Or, you know, I'll go to bed on account of it being 9PM already.
/sigh
Remember last week when I mockingly said I'd run twenty miles? It was a little joke with myself, a bit of good-natured fun poked at me because I'd just got done setting a goal I didn't keep, and I knew there was no way I'd rack up twenty miles.
Well, I did it. Actually, I did twenty-one miles, and now I'm sticking my tongue out at me for all the mockery.
I feel really good. Tired, sore in spots, but mostly good. I do an unladylike amount of eating these days, and I sleep far more than I used to. I don't think I will be able to run twenty miles every week, but I am really pleased with myself so far.
Also, having a hobby that requires shoes is maybe the sexiest thing about running.
This week has been pretty stressful for me; despite really needing to run off some of that stress I can't find the motivation to do it. It's raining, and apparently I don't like running in the rain nearly as much as I thought I did yesterday.
I decided to re-visit the gym-ling in my apartment complex -I haven't worked out there since the last time Bunny and I were there... like two years ago- and see about this treadmill running.
And I realised almost immediately why I didn't stick with running last time: I hate the treadmill. I was so shocked at me. Not long ago I was contemplating what among my current furniture could be burned so I'd have room for a treadmill, so imagine my surprise when I wanted to cut my own feet off after running, well, not much on that wretched thing.
Today's workout was unsatifying. I did a few reps on some arm work-out machines (those machines are built for much larger people than me); some pathetic jogging on a great hulking beast of a rotten-mother-effing treadmill; and a wee bit of running in the parking lot on the way back to my apartment (I took the long way home).
And now I'm full of complaints. I have rain dripping down my most sensitive of spots; I have a twinge in my right ankle that won't go away; and now I'm just cranky. Thank Goddess for Fridays, and steak and beer, and Alias.
Happy weekend!
I discovered recently that I don't mind running in the rain. It's refreshing to have a little rain to cool me off; cleansing rain, washing away the sweat and frustration and stress of my days.
Today, it rained. A lot. I didn't do any running, so the rain was not refreshing. I was not cooled; frigid drops did not cleanse my stress.
They just made me mad. All over again.
I went for an early morning run yesterday. I have been experimenting lately with sugar-intake before my runs, and I'm all stocked up on orange juice. I was really dragging yesterday morning and did something that I haven't done yet since I started running again: I put the music on.
I don't run with music. Partly because I typically run with buddies, and partly because the only time I ever run alone is during the wee, dark hours of the morning; having loud German industrial music blocking out all other sound when one is running in the dark seems like a dumb idea. I like being aware of my surroundings, and I like not being raped-and-murdered, so I leave the headphones at home.
I needed something to motivate me though and music is usually my go-to motivator, so I put the Rammstein on (one ear-bud only, so I could still hear bushes rustling and footsteps behind me) and I ran.
I ran for nearly seven minutes straight. I didn't mean to, I just forgot to get tired. This is a huge accomplishment for me, being out of shape (and a filthy smoker on top of that). When I realised how well I was doing, I nearly cried from the joy of having tangible, recordable proof of my progress.
This is what I love about running: the results are immediately evident. My clothes fit better within days; I had more energy and motivation to do things; I felt better emotionally; I felt stronger walking up and down my stairs with the laptop, handbag, gym bag, extra pair of shoes...
I even relish the aches and pains: sore muscles that prove I put effort into it; achy shin-bones that remind me to watch how I land; stiff joints that tell me when I need rest.
I'm a runner. The simplicity confounds me.
Found this on my run tonight. I have a thing for playing cards, and when I find one I have to pick it up.
Spiritually, the number six is said to represent balance, harmony, serenity, and enlightenment. Since I find that running helps me with all of those things, this silly playing card seemed fitting.
Also, I like to find stuff.
I fail at achieving my goals. I almost wrote that I fail at goal-setting, but realised that 'goal-setting' totally isn't my problem. I set some very big goals for myself, when I set them. No, I fail at doing what I set out to do. I always have, for as long as I can remember.
Most of the things I have that I feel proud of I have attained with little effort and virtually no planning whatsoever. I worked hard to hold onto these things that make me proud, but how I got them in the first place to even know I wanted to hold onto them? Beats me. Maybe I'm lucky; maybe I'm in the right place at the right time (a phrase I dislike intensely, for those of you keeping track).
The goals that I actually set, though... oh how I fail at them. I've got some very fancy running goals: to run 20 miles in three weeks was my March goal (it was random, I ran a lot the first couple weeks then figured out I could totally do it); for April, 60 miles for the month; this week's smaller goal was to hit 18 miles.
Maybe these seem like lofty goals since I'm so new at running, but they felt attainable to me, right up to the moment I didn't get there. I was three miles short of my goal last month, and another three miles this week.
I know what you're thinking: get over it. Right? Of course, it's not the bane of my training, these three wee miles. I know this. I can still make my goal of 60 for the month, right?
My frustration is the knowledge that I know I should be able to reach it, and I intentionally didn't pick some unrealistic, un-achievable goal. I should be able to do it, I'm ready to do it. Except that I'm totally not. My body is tired, so I'm resting. I just feel guilty, like I should be doing more. Guilty towards what or whom, I haven't any idea but it's very big guilt (have I mentioned that I'm a recovering Catholic?).
So, my running shoes are lying right where I kicked them off this morning, and I'm resting. Even though I wanted more miles before the end of the week. Even though resting makes me feel bad. Even though I see the runners from my balcony when I go outside to smoke (got you, didn't I? Now you're really annoyed with me). The runners outside make me jealous; I want to dash outside and catch them, and make them tell me how they feel when they get all tripped up with failed goals.
Next week: 20 miles. Just 'cause I know I won't.
It's nearly Spring, and my lilacs are starting to look alive.
Can I tell you how much I hate Spring?
I found this little rock on my morning run today. I thought it was a piece of candy at first (gross); when I realised it was a little rock, I picked it up.
I find myself attached to objects (sometimes more than people), and I sometimes associate these objects with my feeling of that particular time. This little rock looks like the sort of decorative bit one would put in a plant, and it was pretty once. It had a purpose at one point in its little rock life, until it ended up tossed into the street.
I was enjoying the run with a friend, enjoying the day -mildly warm, a little sunny, but still cool enough to enjoy a run. Something shiny caught my eye, and I immediately transferred all my good, happy feelings to this stupid little glass rock lying in the gutter.
Today's run was very satisfying. Before I met up with my running buddy I focused on my breathing; I learned interesting things about how breathing while running affects your internal organs. Now that I understand a little better how my body works, I find the little physical aches and pains to be tolerable and not at all discouraging.
I also explored new neighbourhoods that I'd never been in, and I played at a playground for a few minutes - they have little spin-around toys I didn't have when I was a girl. It's a basin that you sit in and someone spins you around; not only does it go in circles, but it also tilts on its axis so you get a really dizzying feeling.
I didn't push myself too hard so my pace wasn't great, but I enjoyed myself. It is getting easier, and now that I know how to breathe the side-stitches I used to get are not nearly as bad now.
