Bitten

Happened by a 10K in progress yesterday, and I thought, “That looks like fun.”

Me. Thinking a running race looked like fun.

Never would have said that seven years ago when I started running, just about this time of year. I’m been reading Runner’s World magazine long enough now to see the “Newbie” transform himself into a half-marathoner. And here I am thinking I should find a race and run in it.

Just for fun.

My enthusiasm this morning, when I was laced up and actually running in a cold rain instead of watching other people run, was dampened (excuse the pun). But still.

Ramblers are death traps

OK, my headline my be overstating my case, but I got your attention.

People who sit all day and watch TV all night — even ones who run 35 miles a week — have a higher risk of heart disease than people who move around all day. Mayo Clinic cardiologist Martha Grogan told the radio program “Here & Now” that sitting for more than four hours a day gives you the same risk of a heart attack as smoking. (Click here for the story.)

Today’s news comes on the heels of yesterday’s “Fresh Air” interview with author and fitness expert Gretchen Reynolds who said just standing for 2 minutes every 20 minutes can improve your health.

“Sitting for long periods of time — when you don’t stand up, don’t move at all — tends to cause changes physiologically within your muscles,” Reynolds told “Fresh Air’s” Terry Gross. “You stop breaking up fat in your bloodstream, you start getting accumulations of fat … in your liver, your heart and your brain. You get sleepy. You gain weight. You basically are much less healthy than if you’re moving. … If you can stand up every 20 minutes — even if you do nothing else — you change how your body responds physiologically.” (Click here for the full story.)

Which leads to me to this unscientific, self-serving conclusion: Two-story houses — with lots of steps — have healthier occupants than residents of ramblers.

I prefer the appearance of two-story houses, and all the houses I’ve owned have had two stories. (Heck, I think three- or four-story houses are impressive — I just could never afford one of those.)

But presentation aside, two-story houses win on function, too. To my way of thinking, single-story ramblers are a sign of resignation to being lazy or getting old. I’m going  into old age kicking and screaming, and all that kicking and screaming turns out to be very good for my health.

With my Beloved now working from his home office in the basement and me working in a bedroom on the second floor (alternatively known on some of our address labels as Suite 4 and Suite 2), I take the steps many times a day. Sometimes, I take the steps just to take a break. Usually the break involves a snack (sometimes a lower-calorie hug), but still, I’m moving. Our little 8-pound schnauzer is in good shape, too, what with all the to-ing and fro-ing.

I’m not ready for a stand-up desk or a treadmill desk, but the news that even a little movement is better than none is compelling. Compelling me to stand up and take a walk.

What are you looking at? Get moving!

This resolution is a stretch

No round of New Year’s resolutions is complete without an intention to lose weight or exercise more, right?

Isn’t that what everyone resolves on Jan. 1? It would seem so by the increase in volume at the local Snap Fitness.

I gained three pounds (which might be accounted for by an overly salty Chinese take-out meal or a big bowl of pasta for dinner) and I covered 1,005 miles in 2011, so I’m not too keen on losing weight or exercising more (how do I know I went 1,005.62 miles in 2011? Attribute that to a Garmin accurate to a hundredth of a mile and an obsessive streak of recording it; I just love my runner’s journal).

OK, enough with the obsessive detail, Minnesota Transplant. Sheesh.

I’m not resolving to exercise more, but I do, however, resolve to exercise differently:

I hereby resolve to stretch after every run.

My sciatica is acting up (do I sound like an old man?) and I think it may have something to do with the fact that my hamstrings are tighter than a 20-year-old’s creamy skin (oh, when you’re 20, you have no idea your skin is in the best condition it’ll ever be). And those hamstrings may be tight because, oh, I never stretch.

I used to do yoga regularly, and I’m thinking I could use a few more up dogs in my routine.

And so, in addition to making a comfy nest and embracing technology, I resolve to stretch.

Oh, and one more thing. If you’re into my annual new year’s resolutions, check it out here.

Tomorrow, we’ll wax nostalgic for the old year passed.

A great day for a run, blue sky and sunshine

Basketball doesn’t have PRs.

I played basketball in junior high solely because I was tall. Tall girls played basketball, that’s just the way it was. That I was completely uncoordinated and unmotivated, that’s besides the point.

There’s no I in team, it’s said, and basketball is a team sport. So it wasn’t a stat to track, scoring more baskets than one did the last time.

But in running, oh, it’s all different. Winning is great, sure, but that’s probably for the Kenyans among us. The way to track progress in running is by the holy grail of the PR: Personal Record.

I didn’t get a personal record in today’s St. John’s Oktoberfest 5K.

But I could have.

That’s the lure of the race. Even if a runner has no chance whatsoever of beating the high school cross-country runner who weighs 90 pounds soaking wet, a runner has a chance of getting a PR.

Now hear these excuses: I didn’t train for it. I ran yesterday when I should have rested. I forgot the race was today until 10 a.m. yesterday when a flyer in the drug store reminded me, oh, yeah, today’s the day for the Oktoberfest 5K.

But I showed up anyway. I ran. I earned a time of 29:08.

I’ll take that over a basketball game any day.

Mind over matter is what matters in the gym

I could use a little Hanz and Franz about now: “We just want to pump [clap] you up!”

I’m adding weight training to my exercise regime. My excitement about this does not approach the level of Hanz and Franz.

After I wrote “Quiet time on the running trail” a few weeks back and got a number of comments thanks to being Freshly Pressed, I was a little bit surprised about the number of folks who admired my dedication but admitted they never exercise.

As someone who walks or runs 20 miles a week, every week, that admission ranks right up there with “I don’t brush my teeth.” As is obvious by people-watching at the local Wal-Mart, I know many people don’t exercise, but gosh, your body is designed to move — is immobility how you really want it? Some commenters expressed aspirations to exercise, but some of them seemed perfectly content with a life of idle repose.

Then I heard a National Public Radio report on senior citizens being disappointed about their golden years that said one-third of seniors exercise less in retirement than they did while working. Well, on the bright side, two-thirds are exercising more, but still, did you really retire so you could spend more time watching the Game Show Network? That’s sad.

Admitting that I’m generally biased in favor of exercising regularly, I’m still irrationally dreading weight training two or three times a week at the local fitness center.

I just hate lifting weights.

It’s hard.

It’s boring.

As an ectomorph, the results are generally invisible.

Humph. I suppose this is exactly the way sedentary people feel about running.

How to avoid hypocrisy? I am engaging my logical mind to overcome my foot-dragging emotions: A stronger core will make me a better runner. Stronger triceps will reduce comparisons of my arms to a turkey’s neck. Stronger shoulders will balance out my perimenopausal hips. I’ll start small and commit to only twice a week. I’ll reward myself by soaking in the hot tub.

I share this, not to annoy the sedentary (hey, it’s your body, and I subscribe to a live-and-let-live philosophy, so have at it), but rather to inspire those of you who think you might like to step it up in the exercise department. Use your head, and maybe your body will follow.

Quiet time on the running trail

“The gun goes off and everything changes … the world changes … and nothing else really matters.”

~ Patti Sue Plumer,
American long-distance runner

Running is an effective weight-management tool, and it smooths the rough edges on my stress profile, too.

I know for a fact I am bitchier on days I don’t get exercise. When I need quiet time, I put on my Asics and dash out the door. I often run with my iPod, but when I’m in a pickle, I leave it behind and just pound the pavement while I think about my breathing.

I distinctly remember a 6-mile run on a summer day five years ago. The day before, I had to lay off two staff members, and it felt like choosing which toes I wanted to have removed. I have no doubt that black day was more awful for the two women I laid off, and I don’t mean to minimize their experiences as I lament my role in middle-management. But (yes, but!) unless you’re Cruella DeVille, telling people you’ve hired and mentored that their contributions are no longer necessary to the company’s continued success is difficult. Unable to sleep, I got up at 5 a.m. and just ran. It helped me cope with the pit in my stomach.

Three years ago, when I was trying to figure out my place in my new community in Illinois and before I found the great group of friends in my book club, I reveled in the solitude of a run. The little village where I live doesn’t have culture, shopping or a night life to speak of, but it offers miles of quiet, crime-free roads on which to run.

Last summer, in the midst of an excruciatingly painful custody battle that interfered with my ability to eat (oh, to have such problems), I still ran, albeit more slowly, but I ran. That trial passed, too, but at the time, running was like pounding a pillow for me (and legal, considering the alternatives that crossed my mind).

This week, I am in Minnesota, and my stress is at an all-time low. No employer is placing unreasonable demands on me, and even my unemployment is nothing special in light of the millions of Americans in the same boat. I am surrounded, literally and figuratively, with wonderful friends. My familial relationships are copacetic.

And still, a nice quiet run keeps the peace for me. The volume control on my iPod is acting up (who knows why technology can be so impertinent — again, to have such problems) so yesterday as I ran around the campground, Hall & Oates’ “I Can’t Go For That” faded away to nothing. I removed my ear buds and listened to the wind in the trees and counted my blessings.

These glass slippers transform me into a fleet-of-foot runner

You know you’re really a runner when the shoes you’re most excited about buying are new running shoes.

Today was New Running Shoes Day at Minnesota Transplant’s house. It comes but twice a year, and it’s celebrated with a big outlay of cash — more than twice what I think I’ve ever paid for a pair of dress shoes.

These shoes — Asics Gel Kayano 17 — represent pain-free jogs through the neighborhood, and they’re worth every penny. The “17″ means they’re the 17th iteration of these cushiony feats of engineering.

I picked them up at Dick Pond in Carpentersville. A running friend needed to be evaluated, so we went together. The expert at Dick Pond diagnosed the issues and prescribed a solution. I highly recommend a in-person visit if you’re running around in not-so-good quality shoes.

I can hardly wait to don my new footwear tomorrow morning!

Count down summer with countdown workout

I guess Chicagoans savor summer as much as Minnesotans.

Chicago Tribune columnist Mary Schmich shared an idea in her column today that helps her remember to acknowledge and celebrate every summer day — all 94 of them. She starts with a stack of 94 index cards; each day, she writes down something she did to celebrate summer that day on one of the cards — even if was something as simple as taking a walk. As the stack dwindles, she’s reminded of the preciousness of each summer day.

One way I celebrate summer is to run outside (at least when it’s not 90 degrees and 100% humidity). I soak up the Vitamin D and get sweaty. Today, I ran a workout that’s become a standby: The 7654321 Workout.

Here are the details, from a post in February 2009, when I ran this workout on the treadmill [looking back now, I realize I'm faster -- I ran intervals of 5.5 to 8.5 mph today] …

If you’re as sick as me of running on the treadmill this winter, try the 7654321 workout. I read about it in Runner’s World this month (love that magazine) and tried it this morning. Great workout if you can find 50 minutes.

Here’s how it works: Run intervals of seven minutes, then six, then five, etc. Between intervals, jog (or walk) for half the time of the previous interval. Each interval should be progressively faster (or, I suppose, you could use a higher incline).

I’m a slow runner, so I started running at 5.3 miles an hour, working up to 7.1 miles an hour. It looked like this: 1 minute at 3.0 mph, 1 min at 3.3, 1 min at 3.6, 7 min at 5.3, 3.5 min at 4.3, 6 min at 5.6, 3 min at 4.6, 5 min at 5.9, 2.5 min at 4.9, 4 min at 6.2, 2 min at 5.2, 3 min at 6.5, 1.5 min at 5.5, 2 min at 6.8, 1 min at 5.8, 1 min at 7. 1, 30 seconds at 6.1, 1 min at 4.1, 1 min at 3.9, 1 min at 3.7, 1 min at 3.5 and 1 min at 3.3. Fifty minutes total. (Keeping track of all the numbers will help keep you from getting bored.)

… Here’s to summer!

High points in my day … and in the village

Photography by Ted W. Photography Studios

I ran a 5k race this morning.

Besides being the race’s only participant, I was the race organizer, official timer, rooting section and post-race activities manager.

The race was Automattic’s Worldwide WP 5k, a virtual race, designed to get lazy writers off their butts and generate worldwide blogging camaraderie (or something like that). The only requirement was participation. In it, I found the perfect excuse to push myself on what might otherwise be a leisurely Saturday morning run.

As race organizer, I chose a route designed specifically to play to the strengths of the participant (in this case, me), so the point-to-point route was mostly downhill on the bike paths, sidewalks and paved streets of my Hampshire home with the wind at my back. The starting line was at the village’s east water tower in a mostly empty subdivision.

Temperature at race start: 52 degrees. Race start time: 11:44 a.m.

I began with the wild cheers of the crowd (a group of parents at a nearby little league game quite possibly applauding an outfield catch) and Frank Sinatra’s “My Kind of Town” (the race organizer determined use of earphones was permissible in this race).

With a little Freddie Mercury, Lady Gaga and Natasha Bedingfield, I ran a pretty consistent 6.5 mph and was on track for a personal record. The race course, however, took me by a second village water tower (also on high ground), and that hill slowed me down despite the inspiration provided by Electric Light Orchestra’s “Don’t Bring Me Down.”

In other races, I challenge myself to pass the runner ahead of me. Without other participants, I challenged myself to pass the fire hydrant ahead of me, and I passed those like they were standing still!

Despite the unforeseen challenges, I won the race, garnered first place in the women’s division and snared No. 1 honors in my age group with a 28:42 race time, 1:11 shy of my best 5K time.

For the victory lap, I refueled post-race with a hot dog on a slice of whole wheat bread (the post-race activities manager apparently forgot to buy hot dog buns), topped with last night’s cole slaw, mild Italian giardiniera and course-ground Grey Poupon mustard. Success tasted scrumptious.

There are as many reasons for running as there are days in the year, years in my life.  But mostly I run because I am an animal and a child, an artist and a saint.  So, too, are you.  Find your own play, your own self-renewing compulsion, and you will become the person you are meant to be.

~ George Sheehan

Follow the bouncing ball

With March comes madness. About basketball. Seeds and brackets. Betting pools and media darlings. Sweet sixteen and final four.

Don’t care.

But what I do find interesting is now that it’s March, kids in my neighborhood come outside and play basketball in the driveways.

Love this.

They’re getting fresh air and exercise, and they’re not turning into gobs of fat in front of an iPad/computer/television screen. There are six driveway basketball hoops within 100 yards of my office window. If it’s even reasonably decent out after school, I can hear the thump, thump, thump of the ball bouncing on the asphalt, the middle-school trash talking and the whoops of triumph while I work. During one evening earlier this week, I saw flirting when two boys and a girl were playing basketball across the street. Lots of chasing and screaming, all in good fun.

It reminds me of spring and youth and vitality.

When I was growing up, the basketball hoop was attached to the garage near the alley behind my house. Even though I was freakishly tall, I wasn’t a good basketball player and I didn’t really enjoy playing basketball at all. But I played it for enough years to understand the concepts and appreciate the talent of good players.

Rather than practicing my free throws, I spent time in the front driveway bouncing a tennis ball against the house. The game I played was called 7up, and it involved a series of increasingly difficult manuevers like no-bounce throws, single-bounce throws and throwing the ball under a leg against the house and catching it. If you screwed up, you had to start over. If you got through all seven maneuvers without a mistake, you’d clap (then double-clap, etc.) during each move.

I don’t know why this game obsessed me, but I remember playing for hours (maybe my mother sent me outside to get fresh air and exercise). Our house had narrow wooden siding so part of the challenge was avoiding wild bounces. I’ve always enjoyed a good challenge, and 7up provided it.

Bouncing balls and middle school madness? Perhaps. All in good fun.