Nobody Knows Anything

An unbelievable amount of time ago, my friend Marilee said, “Hey, our little running club should do the Silicon Valley Half Marathon.” She ran the marathon last year, and Rob and Nina showed up to run half of it with her (unofficially, just for support). This year, since we haven’t been running nearly as much, she thought maybe the half might be more doable. One at a time we all signed up with her.

Well, um, okay.

This did not inspire us to run as much as it should have—man, have we slacked off from the hardcore bunch we were a couple of years ago. But a few Sundays ago Rob and I managed 10 miles and felt pretty good about it. And I’ve been working out 5-6 days a week for the past 2 months—lifting weights 3 days a week, doing cardio (usually running) 2-3 days—so I figured I wouldn’t kill myself. We all filled our iPods with the appropriate Podrunner mixes and headed out early this morning.

A while ago—probably back when I subscribed to Sports Illustrated and read things like The Year’s Best Sports Writing—I remember reading a story in which the writer recounts a run he had where a huge hulking Swede or German or Russian or something came up behind him and said, “We go faster, yes?” Because runners are crazy that way, the writer’s pace increased, trying to keep up with this guy. Periodically the Swede would say, “We go faster, yes?” And once again the writer would go faster, trying to keep up with this guy.

Today? Today, I was the Swede.

I have no idea how this happened. It certainly was not evident in any of the recent runs we’ve done together. A few weeks ago Rob and Nina completely dusted me on our usual morning run, to the point where I turned around early and went home, because I could not keep up with them. But today, for whatever reason, I kept going faster. I kept at a constant speed, instead of grossly slacking off like I usually do. In fact, I kept wanting to go faster, but my friends were like, Uh…Diane…slow it down.

Mind you, my idea of a temperate pace is probably somewhat slower than yours. Several people finished the marathon before my friends and I finished the half. But today my general speed was easily two minutes faster than my normal speed, and it would have been faster had I not kept slowing down to match everyone else’s speed. I didn’t once want to slow down, or walk, or feel like I was straining my legs at all.

This is definitely the most serious evidence I’ve had yet that my exercise regime has changed my body. Yes, there are the smaller jeans, but the feeling that I could, in fact, run at about 10 minute miles (I TOLD YOU I AM SLOW) with no ill effects was amazing.

Man, I can’t wait to get to the gym tomorrow.

Except I’m doing lower body weights tomorrow. Oh, THAT’S going to be fun.

Got an unusual comment from Christina the other day:

You were a joy to read… before twitter. Now, not so much. Seriously, have you not better things to say?

Well, the Twitter is basically a way to have something to say, frankly. I suppose everyone who’d be interested in my tweets have probably added me to their own Twitter lists, so I could probably stop posting them here. (I’m DianePatterson on Twitter, btw, in case you’re looking for me.)

But to answer your question: at the moment I haven’t found a particular raison d’être for this blog. Many of the things I’d like to talk about really aren’t fair for me to talk about much (for instance: my kids—yeah, I know, I win some kind of Mom-points for finally figuring that out) and others are just…well…

(more…)

I stopped lifting weights last year because, well, my arm was hurting. Then I started the process of finding out just what was wrong with my arm and then deciding what to do about it. What I decided to do was have surgery, so I did. Part of the process of recovery was doing physical therapy, in which I stretched and held up my arm and experienced the joy of having someone bend my arm in all sorts of unnatural ways. Unnatural, that is, until I looked at my other arm, which could do all of those wonderful things without assistance.

A month or so ago the physical therapy place (located in Club Swanky) called and said, “Oh hey, our bad, but…your insurance doesn’t cover PT with us. Wanna pay retail?” I said, “Heh, no.” I could go through the process of finding another PT place (and then finding some place to put the kids while I did that, or only doing it in the middle of the day, or…). Or I could do it on my own.

Anyone who knows me knows which one I chose.

So I decided: “Self, you’re going to have to go into the gym anyhow, it’s time to get back to lifting weights.” And so I have. I’m doing weights three days a week, and if I miss a day of running with the buds I get in there and get on the elliptical for 30 minutes of sprints.

And once again I discover, like it’s the very first goddamn time (only it’s the thousandth), that I freakin’ love using weights. Cardio I could live without: I have trouble breathing and I’m slow even at my fastest. But weights? I’m thinking of going to four days a week, I love doing these so much. I’m checking out the personal trainers as they work out with other people, not just because the personal trainers are hot (many of them are), but because I want to know which ones like working out with weights as a big part of the routine.

I never see female personal trainers in the heavy-duty free weights/squat cage/Smith machine area. Just sayin’.

My question is: Why do I ever stop working out? I’m not even going to say that it’s because my arm hurt so bad last year, because I could have continued. Do I have a mental block when it comes to exercise, that exercise is for other people or something?

I feel better when I lift. I look better when I lift. While I can’t do any shoulder exercises yet, my arm is already 10 times better than it was when I started two weeks ago. (Doing squats in the squat cage is a challenge, mostly because lifting my left arm to grip the bar is a trial. But that’s already easier than it was the first time I tried it.)

Anyone know Dan Peterson? He was the personal trainer I used when I was at Apple. He was excellent. He was wonderful. If you have his phone number, drop me a line.

There’s a website named Walk Score, which rates how walkable your house is. That is, “Walk Score calculates the walkability of an address by locating nearby stores, restaurants, schools, parks, etc.”

Yes, the downside is typing your address in. However, I tried an intersection fairly near my house, and that worked just fine.

My house rated 60. (The intersection rated 69. What a few feet can do…)

Via Commute by Bike.

On Sunday Nina and I decided to on a little run, starting at Sierra Azul and ending at my house, about 13 miles away. It has hills! It has shade! It’s the perfect run.

Well, not so much.

It turns out that the Sierra Azul trail is pretty much straight up for 7 miles and then straight down for 4.5. And most of it’s not shaded. While Sunday wasn’t as hot as, say, Saturday was, it was still pretty damn sunny. And you know: straight up. We didn’t run it so much as hike it as fast as we could and take panting breaths under the periodic spots of shade. We both ran out of water, and when we got to Lexington Reservoir my mouth was so dry that I said, “Screw this” (not especially easy to do with dry mouth), and I called Darin to come get us.

Today I was at the doctor’s office, where the nurse took my blood pressure. 88/55. She blinked, looked at me, decided against calling for the crash cart, and said, “Let’s take that again.” 92/65.

While I always have low blood pressure, that’s ridiculous. That’s deydration in action: the blood is sluggish ’cause there’s no damn liquid in it.

Go drink some water! Right this minute!

I have a new running record: 20 miles! Woot! Go me!

Mind you, it was only supposed to be 29 kilometers (18 miles). But you know me: gotta overachieve.

Rob and I ran the Santa Cruz Mountains Trail Run yesterday. I was somewhat nervous about this, down to having a race anxiety dream the night before. I told Rob when we got there: “I’m kinda scared.” Last week, when we did a 13 mile run at Waddell Creek I couldn’t finish it running because of my hip, and here I was trying for 29k? Was I completely insane?

The short answer was, Yes, I pretty much was, but I managed to finish it. Not well, mind you, or particularly fast, but I managed to run 20 miles up and down hills and I finished it standing.

You could do one of 5 courses: the 10km (from the starting area to Route 9), the 21km (from the starting area to the Aid Station and back again), the 29km (from the start to the Aid Station, then back up the hill to a separate side loop, back to the Aid Station, and then back to the starting line), and the 50km (the 29k + 21k courses).

Oh, and there was a stream to ford in the middle of it. That went up to my waist. And was really, really cold. It actually wasn’t too bad — one of those fun things to talk about! — except our shoes stayed squishy for a mile or so afterwards, which got kind of old.

The hardest part was the hill that started after the stream: straight up and down. It seemed to take forever to get to the Aid Station. Then we had to go back up the hill to the yellow ribbon that marked the beginning of the 8km extra loop. Rob said, “And the 50k’ers have to do this hill three times altogether.” The 50k’er behind us said, “Don’t remind me.”

It was a beautiful run, but I don’t think I’ll be doing again. For one thing, the incline was just too steep at too many points. I’m still having a hard time going up hills. For another thing, an equestrian event was held the day before our race. As you may or may not know, “equestrian” means “horse,” which means that the trail was covered in horse manure. Fresh horse manure.

It got to be a little much.

The funniest thing is the private joke I’ll be taking away from this race. As 50k’ers passed us, returning from finishing their 29km segment and heading out to do their 21km segment, Rob said to me, “It would take a gun to my head to get me to leave the starting area again.” This became “Gun to my head” and finally a shake of the head and “Bullet.”

When we finally finished (after our impromptu extra mile or so), I said to Rob, “It’s weird, but I don’t feel hungry.”

“Exercise suppresses appetite. In 45 minutes we’ll be knifing one another for food.”

We went to Emily’s Bakery again, because their sandwiches were so good last week. They were really good again this week. My sandwich was done first, and I sat down as Rob’s name was called. By the time he returned, I’d finished half of my sandwich already. “I’d still swear I’m not hungry,” I said, “but I can’t seem to stop eating this as fast as I can.”

Rob has said he wants to try a 50km at some point. I said, That’s completely nuts, but then I remembered: last year was my first trail run, 8km. This year, 29km. What’s to say I couldn’t add another 21km at some point?

I’ll have to get a lot better at hills though.

I got rolling on my new Xtracycle last week.

I love my new bike.

It really is an SUB — it’s held everything that I’ve needed to load on it so far (a purse-backpack, a briefcase with my computer in it, four bags of groceries, and/or two kids), it handles just as well as the bike did beforehand, and it looks snazzy.

Today Sophia and I had a plan to bike to Stacks, a breakfast place in Campbell six miles away. She made it the first two miles, but then after a not-terrible spill wanted Darin to pick her up. I met up with Darin and the kids at the Campbell Farmers Market and then we had breakfast. After breakfast Simon wanted to go to the park near our house, so I said, “Okay, I’ll meet you there.” Sophia asked if she could come with me instead of in the car with Daddy.

Sure. Hop on. Put on your helmet. Hold on.

And off we went.

Despite the 90 degree heat, the sailing was fine down the Creek Trail to the park. I would say, “One, two, three,” and Sophia would sing out, “On your left!” to warn the unwary of our approach. Sophia says she much prefers riding on the bike to riding in the car. “You get fresh air, you can see people, you get wind in your face…”

A man who had his dog riding in a box strapped on the back of his bike stopped to ask me what kind of bike it was I had. “Oh, a Trek,” he said. “A Trek connected to an Xtracycle!” I told him, and then I gave him the song-and-dance about what it can carry (200 pounds) and how easy it is to get stuff (like a dog in a box) onto the rack.

I have taken the bike for food shopping a couple of times, always with Sophia, who now always wants to go along if a bike is involved. Strapping canvas bags into the Xtracycle’s Freeloader pockets is easy and fast, and the bike handles just fine with a full load.

As I get stronger with bike riding, I can see that I’m going to need my car less and less. I gotta remember the sunscreen next time though: I got baked today, and not in the fun “Oh, let’s drink some more tequila” type of way.

I bought a Peapod seat for Simon, but that hasn’t worked out so well — when he was in the seat, the bike’s handling got very difficult. He’s not thrilled with riding on the back without something to hang on to (other than the back of Mommy), so I’m installing a stoker stem and handlebars next week. Once those are on, I can see Simon happily sitting on back on the way to preschool.

During a few conversations I’ve had over the past few months (which, with my current memory, probably means closer to “a year”) I’ve found myself saying, “I can’t wait until Simon’s at the same school as Sophia. Then I won’t have to use my car any more.” Because the school’s within walking distance, and the market is not too much further beyond that. We already walk downtown to go to various restaurants and stores.

A few months back I found myself saying, “Why wait? What would I have to do right now to use my car as little as possible?”

I’m just tired of driving. 90% of everywhere I go is within 5 miles of my home, and I sometimes feel like I’m starting and stopping, starting and stopping, circling for a space, starting and stopping… And after reading a few tomes like Asphalt Nation, Road To Ruin: An Introduction to Sprawl and How to Cure It, The High Cost of Free Parking, Divorce Your Car, and The Party’s Over: Oil, War, and the Fate of Industrial Societies, not to mention watching videos like Robert Newman’s History of Oil, I don’t exactly have blinders on to what I’m doing by driving everywhere.

The big reason I need the car? Kids. Taking Simon to preschool and picking him up. Going to the grocery store with them. Taking them to the park.

So one day I found myself wondering, “So how much would a pedicab be, anyhow?” Not that I’d really do it, of course. But wouldn’t it be fun to think about?

I found Bikes At Work, an American company that specializes in pedicabs and freight bikes. I also found Henry WorkCycles, a Dutch firm that has the coolest cycles — look at this bike and tell me you don’t want to grab a few kids and take them for a spin. But none of the bikes on these pages leaped off the page at me, or, more importantly, seemed like something I could really get into. Onto. Whatever.

Then I came across the Xtracycle. Ooo. Ooooooooo. I saw the possibilities of this immediately, particularly when running across pictures of the bike in use, such as Todd’s tale of “One Mom, Two Kids, Four Bags of Groceries.” I might not be able to use a bike for everything, but it sure looks like I could use it for quite a few more things than I do now.

And then something snapped, and I just went Bike Crazy. Lots of bike blogs (see List o’ Links). Books on bike mechanics, on bicycle history, on bicycle tours cross-country. Bike forums.

I haven’t gotten an Xtracycle yet — for whatever reason, the cash flow gods have not smiled benevolently on me since I first desired one, but as soon as they do, I am getting that puppy — but I have started riding my bike (a Trek 720 hybrid, 17″ frame). I rode it downtown to the post office and then to the park to drop off Sophia’s application for science summer camp. Emboldened by my success (and how much fun I had), I bought some grocery panniers and went to the market. It’s only a mile away, so driving there is more trouble than it’s worth, but it’s a teensy bit too far to walk. I can’t get very much in these two bags, but that’s okay: shouldn’t be buying that much anyhow, right?

(Of course, there is no bike rack at the local market — I use the Handicapped parking space’s sign. There is no bike rack at the Whole Foods either, which is of course the fault of the shopping center’s management but still.)

Yesterday I voted and then went to the market on my bike. Which meant riding up a steep hill in granny gear, and I made it. I was excessively proud of myself for the next five to seven minutes after that one.

Today I went completely nuts and bicycled to the gym. Which is 5 miles away, although it’s over completely flat ground.

Errr… wait a minute. Flat? Not so much, as it turned out. One of the great things about riding a bike (or running, for that matter) is that you experience your surroundings in a whole different way than you do if you’re in a car. I always know the names of streets and the layouts of the surrounding areas better than Darin does, because I’m out there doing it on foot. Today I learned that Highway 9 and Quito are actually really damn hilly, at least if you’re as out of shape as I apparently am. Bicycle-wise, at any rate. It’s amazing how many different muscles bicycling uses than running. Yowch.

It took me 30 minutes to go the 5 miles to the gym and 30 back, which I assume would get faster the better a rider I became. According to my fitness watch, I spent about 500 calories doing these 10 miles. Bicycle 10 miles a day, eat anything I want. And I’m having trouble signing up for this plan? I don’t think so.

What these recent excursions have proved to me is not just that I could switch to the bike for lots of things, but it would be practical. I could take Simon to school the three days a week he goes. I could do the food shopping. Okay, I’d need the car to take the kids to the Rosicrucian Museum, but hey — how many times a week do we go there? (Answer: way far less often than they want to go, that’s for sure. I’m not sure why they like it so much, but they do.) And if I don’t have to spend $60 a week to fill up? Just so much the better.

Now if only our car insurance bill hadn’t crossed our doorstep this morning ($2000, hello — Irony, thou art heartless, wench). Somehow I’ve got to figure out a way to budget in the Xtracycle.

I didn’t exercise for a week and a half because first the kids were sick, then I was sick, and then I had to recover from being sick. I felt weak, I slept a lot, I had zero interest in food. I didn’t even make coffee for days.

Then last Thursday Rob, Nina, and I got together at 6:30am for a 3 mile run. Nina hadn’t exercised much in the past month, because she had a court case for three weeks, followed by an upper body infection. Three miles: easy as pie.

Or not.

It was much harder than I expected. Trying to exercise after a layoff always feels like I’ve never exercised before. And I’ve started feeling tired in the afternoons again — maybe exercise really does give you more energy. Moving my body beyond walking to the car and back felt good, though, really good. And this morning, when the alarm went off to get me out of my morning doze, I popped out of bed and thought, Whoo hoo! I’m going running!

Today we decided to go nuts and do 5 miles. Before the layoff, 6 miles would be our “short” run. But right now 5 miles feels like quite the hike. Rob had us run a few speed intervals in the middle, going at a slightly faster pace than normal for 2 or 3 minutes. We took a short break at the 2.5 mile turnaround, then headed back.

We did 5 miles in 49 minutes, which is actually fabulous news: despite the layoff, we really are getting faster. A 10 minute mile is quite an improvement. When we started running as a group, we were doing something like 13 minute miles (or…possibly…14 minute miles). Rob, since he’s lost so much weight, can go a lot faster, but he’d rather have people to run with, and he gets a fairly good workout with us. Nina, when she’s stronger, can probably do somewhat faster. I am the slowpoke, but I’m working on it.

I just wish it didn’t feel so much like I’m starting over. Rob assures me that it will all come back fast enough (pun intended, because, after all, he’s Rob).

I’ve been working out fairly regularly — so regularly, in fact, that I took both Saturday and Sunday off this weekend and I feel as though I’ve been a big fat slacker. I run, on average, three days a week and lift weights three days.

There’s a guy who works out at the Y at the same time I do. He’s an older guy, knows a lot about weight lifting, used to teach the women’s weight training class. He’s complimented me on my form and said he’s impressed by the amount of weight I lift, particularly when doing squats. When he taught the class, he could never get the women to put any weights on the Smith machine bar when doing squats, and he wished he could show them me doing a hundred pounds. Once, he said that I was in great shape for a thirty-year-old (which led me to consider that he was trying to pick me up, but he’s never gotten any friendlier than that, so I don’t think so).

Last Friday, while I was doing my upper body workout, there was a teenaged couple there. Mostly the girl watched the guy, but he also showed her how to do a series of exercises. She did chest presses with 8 pound weights and he had to help her lift them. Was she really that weak? I wondered A gallon of milk weighs eight pounds alone. We can lift so much more than we give ourselves credit for.

During this same workout, when we were both resting between sets of our various activities, the older guy asked me, “Are you angry or something?”

I was confused. “What?”

“You lift so much weight. Are you angry at somebody or something?”

He was just talking, making chat the way people in the gym do, but I was suddenly very annoyed. “Do you ask the guys if they’re angry?” I said.

He seemed surprised that I responded that way; I’m sure he just thought he was complimenting me. What I should have said was, That attitude is why women won’t lift anything more than marginal weights. That’s why that skinny teenager won’t use higher weights: her boyfriend might ask if she’s angry or something. Or a dyke. Or whatever.*

I’m kind of amazed that in 2006 a woman at the gym still threatens guys. I’m certainly not physically threatening — this guy is in his fifties and he can bench over a hundred pounds, a weight that I can only imagine. And he knows the benefits of working out, and I’d think he’d be acquainted with the special benefits weight training holds for women.

But of course, we’re dealing with a world in which women just frighten men. I haven’t run into naked sexism very often (yes, I lead a charmed life) but I can still remember the outstanding examples. Such as the guy at Coffee Society who informed me that female sports reporters are pretty much only in the job for one reason. Which, in case you don’t know, is to look at naked men and not because, say, they love sports. Yes, he was totally serious. Or the guys at USC Film School who were writing scripts that, much like the produced films we get to see at the theater, pretty much only had film roles for females who were there to fuck the male leads and not do very much else (so much for artistic freedom).

A big part of the American Taliban’s aims have to do not with “protecting the family” but completely disempowering women. Read the incomparable Digby on this topic here and here on this topic.

I can’t remember where I heard this, but whenever you hear the phrase “family values” replace it with “patriarchy,” because that’s what they really mean. Stay in your place, women, or you’ll get your punishment.

Hmm. Come to think of it, I guess I am angry.

But when I’m at the gym, it’s pretty much just pop music driving me.

 
* I realized after writing and posting this that this list doesn’t come off quite right. I was trying to think of labels that women get tagged with when they don’t fit some kind of expectation of what’s “girly.”