- Troy has some really nice homes (while running a 5K).
- Apparently when he isn’t playing golf, Donald Trump plays”pussy grabbing.” It’s a sport that only gets discussed in locker rooms, but is played where ever famous men find vulnerable women. Sounds fun, right?
- It is possible to check out events in three different counties in a single day without completely exhausting one’s self.
- The more often I drive to Kinderhook the shorter the ride feels.
- Fall foliage season seemed to take a long time to start this year, but is moving very quickly.
- Samascott Orchard is very welcoming upon arrival but feels kind of militant when you depart.
- I haven’t met a Nine-Pin cider that I don’t like.
- Coming across an abandoned hair weave on the sidewalk when I’m running always makes me uncomfortable.
- The Half Moon Market is a terrific gathering of artisans in a beautiful space that should be used more frequently.
- My goal of running a 1,000 miles this year is within my sights.
Category Archives: running
When I finally sat down on the couch last evening, I couldn’t help but exclaim “I’m sitting down!” It seemed like a long time coming. It had been a wonderfully, full and satisfying three-day weekend and I felt well-prepared for what promises to be another overflowing with appointments, meetings and commitments week. Monday was an awesome bonus, without which I would have most certainly been overwhelmed instead of merely contentedly tired.
The day began with breakfast and the completion, after three days, of my reading of the Sunday paper. This feat was followed by some Lark + Lily work – editing our new fall menu and updated wine list along with payroll. There’s no holiday from payroll! Once the business responsibilities were met, for the moment, household chores moved to the forefront. Three loads of laundry, bed changing, a quick vacuum, and a shuffling of sheets and wardrobe to accommodate the new season. Then it was off to the bank, the optician (Quinn’s glasses mysteriously turned up broken) and Hewitt’s for (more) mums.
Nine pots of mums ensconced in my car, I got lucky and found parking remarkably near to the restaurant and took on the task of replanting our four window boxes to reflect autumn. An hour or so later, sidewalk swept and flowers watered, I headed back home to meet one of the Lunar b*tches for an afternoon run. It was such a treat to run in shorts that we stretched our loop into 7+ miles. These warm days are definitely numbered, but there is consolation in the anticipation of cross-country skiing.
The early evening was a flurry of boy energy – lots of physical contact and guffawing all around. I finally cooked up those dumplings and we all enjoyed a tasty and easy dinner. And then things finally started to slow down…
I watched an episode of Chef’s Table, followed by an episode of Transparent and some quality time with a pint of Haagen Daz Swiss Vanilla Almond. I had a moment with my foam roller, followed by a hot shower, and then crawled into bed. Days like this may be exhausting, but I prefer to think of them as fully and well lived. I don’t think that’s a bad thing to shout about on a day known as the feast of trumpets.
Sunday morning, despite an early and drizzly start, I headed up to Saratoga with one of the other Lunar Bit*hes and ran the second of three half marathons I had registered for as a personal challenge in honor of my upcoming milestone birthday. The
appeal reputation of the Palio was that it was a flat course. At least until they changed the route around this year, that is. Even with the somewhat hillier new course, it couldn’t rival the Seven Sisters or the Chingachgook Challenge for hills, which did make this a relatively flat course that left me feeling accomplished after 13.1 miles rather than nearly dead. Winning!
I can’t complain too much about running this one solo after my friend confessed (on our way north) she just wasn’t feeling the half and had decided to enjoy the 5K rather than hate the half. I think that’s a great decision and imagine myself coming to the same conclusion at some point. We run for ourselves, not for some false glory bs! I run most often on my own and, particularly during a longer race, I think I do best when I can pace myself without feeling pressured to maintain a speed or conversation. I really tuned in to my run this morning and was very content checking out the scenery as I wound my way around Saratoga Springs and the always beautiful state park.
The race was well organized and the volunteers were enthusiastic and plentiful. My sole complaint was the number of bathrooms available at the start – there just weren’t enough. Aside from that, it was an awesomely executed race with plenty of water/Gatorade stations and adequate restrooms along the route. My play list was on point from the very first song (Joe Cocker’s Feelin Alright) and I felt strong and in control the entire distance.
The miles ticked off and I began to increase my pace, committing to not allowing anyone to pass me, and working hard to move ahead of those in front of me. In the last 3 miles I passed 49 runners and my final 2 miles were my fastest of the entire race. The finish line, once it finally came into view after 2 turns, was a welcome sight and I’m satisfied with my 2:22:34 time. It was a really good run. Up next: the Hairy Gorilla!
The race, called the Camp Chingachgook Challenge, was the first road half that I’ve ever registered to run. The course was reputed to be hilly, but I figured the Seven Sisters run in May had prepared me for hills. I was right. Kind of. The rolling hills of this course, I would come to learn, were certainly less intimidating than the mountains we encountered in Massachusetts, but they were nearly as exhausting as they clustered with an annoying frequency towards the end of the route. More on that later.
I arrived at the starting point 35 minutes before start time which gave me plenty of time to:
b. Check in and get my shirt
c. Use the portapotty and
d. Feel a bit outclassed by the other remarkably fit looking runners.
I talked myself down by reminding myself that I wasn’t in it to win, but instead to challenge myself with a new experience. Head on straight, I joined the rear of the pack and took off when the horn blew, promising myself to run my own race.
The first few miles were great and I was surprised each time my Runmeter ticked off another mile. The morning was humid as hell, but there wasn’t any sun to contend with, so it was bearable. The first water station came up pretty quick at about 3 miles and I walked through it, enjoying my drink. I considered using the portapotty again (Anyone who knows me, knows how frequently I pee. Actually, I guess everyone knows that now.) but decided to wait for the next water station. Bad move – the next stop didn’t have any toilet facilities which meant I had to leave the course and make use of a bathroom at an accommodating resort. I imagine that added a minimum of 4 minutes to my time, but whatever. It beat any alternative.
I’d say the opening 8 miles were the most pleasant – there were lots of gorgeous homes to see, the hills were fairly manageable and my body felt strong. At about the 9 mile mark, I started seeing a significant discrepancy between my app’s measurement of mileage and the painted markers on the road, which was a bit discouraging. By the finish, my app read close to .5 of a mile over the course of 13.1. It might not sound like much, but, believe me towards the end if felt like a lot.
Things started to get a little gnarly for me at about mile 9. My legs were getting heavy and the bottom of my left foot was on fire. The sun started to peek out from behind the clouds and my body was simply dripping with effort. Cue rolling hills… At this point I started allowing myself to walk a little. I could feel myself getting a little light headed and chose to not push myself beyond where I was comfortable, and by “comfortable” I mean endurable discomfort. I don’t know if any of you experience foot pain when you run, but it is the worst thing I’ve ever felt during a race. I really need to get this figured out – hopefully before next month’s Palio in Saratoga.
I crossed the finish line at 2:27, which was fine for me. I immediately took my shoes off and waded into the refreshingly cool lake for a quick dip. My next stop was the showers, which was really an exercise in futility – I hadn’t brought soap or anything so it was a mere rinse off. Despite my oversized beach towel, it was impossible to get dry due to the extreme humidity. I dressed my still damp body and went to wait for the shuttle bus to take me back to the start and, of course, that’s when the rain finally started. I basically got drenched for the fourth time of the day (sweat, lake, shower, rain) only to finally get on the bus where I came as close as possible to passing out without actually losing consciousness. I’m not 100% sure what it was about, but I’m thinking dehydration and my generally low blood pressure weren’t a great fit with the outrageously humid and hot bus ride. Reflecting back, my lack of need to urinate is a huge red flag for me and I didn’t pee for at least 3.5 hours despite my taking in close to 64 oz of water – so unlike me.
Regardless, I made it back to my car and ate a perfect peach to rally myself for the drive home. I had an invite for a celebratory breakfast, but I requested a big, fat burger instead and met my friend at Crave, which was exactly what I wanted.
I continued pounding water before finally crawling into bed for a nap. I’d definitely consider doing this race again, but the experience only affirmed my disinterest in ever doing a marathon. I just don’t think that 26.2 miles sounds fun and if it isn’t fun, I’m not in.
Until next time – Summer Mountain Runner (my new Native American name courtesy of my lunar b*tch friend, Karen)
There’s been a lot of talk about race in our country and its got me thinking about the my own perspective on the relationships between blacks and whites. I was fortunate to have been raised by a woman who did not discriminate between races. My earliest school friendships were with a black girl and a Jewish girl – a real feat in a small town which was almost exclusively Christian and white. Sometimes I miss the simplicity of childhood.
When I was about 12, we moved to a house a couple of miles out of town in a neighborhood I had heard referred to as The Colony. That wasn’t said in a complimentary way. You see, this particular area was populated primarily by black families, including that of my elementary school friend. The house we lived in was only two miles out of town, but it felt pretty far removed. We had the telephone exchange of Warwick, the school district of Greenwood Lake and the zip code of Monroe, perfectly summing up the lack of interest in a single community to “own” this long road. It felt very much like a no man’s land.
In the spring of eighth grade, a number of us tried out for the freshman cheerleading squad in what would be our new high school. I was the only one who was selected and, even then, I felt that it was because I was white. Vicki and Brenda were both better than me and deserved it more. I ended up quitting the squad before football season even started.
A year or so later something happened that changed my comfort level with people of color. My brother had some sort of altercation with Vicki’s brother, I don’t know what it was about, and he got punched in the face as he boarded the school bus one morning. I remember being shocked by the violence and afraid of what might happen next, especially after listening to other students who had witnessed the fight. Their language was new to me and the prejudice they demonstrated was unlike anything I had ever heard, but it gave me a cloak to wrap myself in for protection. I didn’t spend time with Vicki anymore.
In the many years since then, I’ve had very few black friends. I’ve puzzled over this lack of diversity in my life as I’ve celebrated the friendships my own children share with kids from every imaginable ethnic and religious background. The single block in the DelSo where I’ve lived for 20 years is populated by Indians, Blacks, Jews and Whites and I think of them all as neighbors.
Last week, I went back to Greenwood Lake to spend an afternoon with friends. In the early afternoon, I took a run past the haunted houses of my youth accompanied by more memories than I could ever share. My feet took me along the roads I had walked countless times, most frequently to get away from home, but now instead in an attempt to take me back to where I came from. It was a very emotional run, especially once I saw the two “new” (to me) state historic markers declaring the significance of Nelson Road.
Reading about the history of The Colony caused me for the first time ever to feel a sense of pride about where I spent some pretty influential years of my life. I was reminded of the cultural contributions of Black Americans and wished that those markers had been installed years ago. I hope Vicki has been back to see them.
Being a runner has many health benefits. There are the obvious ones like improved cardiovascular capacity, weight loss and stronger legs, but I’ve found the more subtle ones to be even more impressive. Things like a dramatically tighter core and the mental ability to focus on immediate external conditions while simultaneously allowing my mind to travel to places far away. It’s been a life changer.
Like most things, though, it isn’t all good. I’ve taken a couple of spills over the years and suffered more than one twisted ankle. There’s also been residual discomfort, some might call it pain, that I’ve simply learned to accept. My usual aches are hips and feet, specifically right hip and the ball of my left foot. I went to a podiatrist last year in the hopes that I would be fitted for orthotics, but left the office sad and empty handed after the doctor’s conclusion: running hurts.
Since then, I’ve just carried on with the understanding that yoga helps (find time for yoga), more stretching post run is necessary (find time to stretch) and my foam roller can soothe (find time for the foam roller). This week I finally made good on my intention to have my chiropractor give me a good look over and I am really thrilled with his impressions and recommendations.
First – if you haven’t ever seen a chiropractor, I really recommend it. Mine, Lee Masterson at Delmar Wellness, has singlehandedly (ok, two handedly) made the biggest difference in my balance, comfort and performance in the many years since he began adjusting my body. I originally went to him to have my alignment corrected during a pregnancy, believing that it would be beneficial when it came time to labor. I’m convinced it did – natural, unmedicated childbirth achieved. I continued to see him periodically for years as he helped me to tweak my posture and maintain conscious of how out of whack my body quickly became when I held my children on my hip or torqued in weird ways.
Yesterday’s visit, my first in at least 3 years, was enlightening. Lee began by eyeing my stance and having me walk as he observed. He quickly assessed my right hip’s weakness and lack of flexibility, as compared to my left side, and began working my right leg with a series of stretches and the assistance of some cool little machine that tapped my leg and hip with some force. He talked me through some proactive exercises, such as side planks, and modeled the stance he wanted me to begin developing to offset my current condition. It was a great visit.
Last night’s run felt wonderful – it had finally cooled off a bit and Jeter and I found two sprinklers to play in along our route. My hip felt significantly looser and my left foot hurt only mildly. I’ll be taking all of Lee’s suggestions and am optimistic that running will be even more enjoyable moving forward. If you see me standing with my feet less than 18″ apart, please feel free to correct me.
How many articles have you read over the years describing all the wonderful and fun things to do with your children while visiting Cape Cod? Since there seem to be countless opportunities to learn about family time adventures to be had when visiting Cape Cod, please allow me to share some ideas for what to do when you’re without children.
- Ride your bike everywhere. Load your saddlebags or a backpack with a towel, a sheet or lightweight blanket, reading material, sunscreen, a snack and cold drink and you’re ready to hit the road. Don’t forget your helmet!
- Come and go on your own schedule. If you feel like leaving the beach after an hour or two, hop on your bike and go for it. Want to stop for a quick dip at a pond on the way home? Go for it! There’s no one to complain.
- Speaking of the beach – why not bring a book for a change? Without children to supervise you might actually read a few pages before you indulge in a nap.
- Eat ice cream for lunch and whatever you feel like for dinner. There will be no chicken fingers or grilled cheeses consumed in your company for the duration of your getaway.
- Do minimal laundry (because you know how to hang wet towels up and refrain from getting filthy) and sleep in almost sand free sheets.
- Run without the worry of wondering when your phone will ring with a crisis (“Can I have ice cream?” or “Where is my whatever?”).
- Watch as many sunsets and sunrises as you like.
- Go to Provincetown and do adult things like drink tasty cocktails and eat Brussels sprouts and fried oysters.
- Wander in and out of shops filled with fragile and delicate items without fear.
- Enjoy your relative freedom knowing that it is for only a few days and that your children are just fine hanging with their dad.