Idiotic Obsessive Competitiveness

I have an obsessive personality. I tend to zero in on something and give it all my focus. As I’ve mentioned before, I’m also over-competitive. Meetin Portland caters to both these dark urges. They have a “Junkies” list on the site (visible I think only to registered Meetin users), ranking everybody by the number of events attended over the last 90 days. A few days ago, I cracked the top 10 and got on the first page of the list, having attended 52 events over 90 days. (For comparison, number one has 102.) That’s all well and good. Now I’m fretting about needing to stay in the top 10. That’s idiotic. This isn’t a competition, and if I go two days without attending any events — as I just have — it shouldn’t make me anxious. Like it does.

Morning Run

3.27 hilly miles around my house, in 33:33. I didn’t feel that great — mostly just sleepy, I guess. Not that I should have been — for once, I went to sleep early. My breakfast might have been weighing me down too.

Yesterday

Going back to work after a five-day weekend sucked, of course. After work, I had to do my run — I say “had to” because it was really hot out there. I should be running in the morning on days like that, but I’m running Monday evenings with the group, so I’ll probably be stuck running Tuesday evenings too, otherwise I’ll get only the night’s worth of recovery time. Anyway, it was hot. And I didn’t have much time to squeeze in the run — an interval training session — so I had to do it on the ups and downs around my house, rather than going somewhere flat. The schedule called for 10 repeats of 30 seconds fast, 30 seconds rest. Based on last week, I upped the rests to 40 seconds. In the heat and with the grade, this still wasn’t enough:

The first half was mostly uphill, the second half down. I did a bit better at not having my HR go up and up, but it’s still too high at the end of the rests — certainly I should get it down at least to 80% and probably to 75. And that was with 40 seconds, and walking most of the rests rather than jogging. Ah well.

After that I showered — then immediately resumed sweating, sigh — dressed, and went to play 42. Lost both games. Well, actually, I only played one game; for the first game, I was coaching a newcomer. I impressed our waitress by knowing how to pronounce her name, Thuy. A Vietnamese name, it’s pronounced “Twee”, which I know only because there’s a Thuy in MiPL.

After 42, down the street to the Buffalo Gap for, you guessed it, Karaoke. No crazy theme last night, so I didn’t get to wear a fez or a bright yellow Spongebob shirt. But it was a great crowd, with a lot of my friends showing up. Karaoke at Buffalo Gap is sooo much more fun than at the other bars I’ve been to. I sang two song: Talking Head’s “Burning Down the House”, and (for the second time now) R.E.M.’s “It’s the End of the World As We Know It.” I thought I did a decent job on both. Maybe I’m improving, a tiny little tiny bit. Naaaaaah. I was just tipsy.

Runners get injuries? Never!

It being Memorial Day, only a small group showed up for the Monday night run from Portland Running Company’s Beaverton store. And of the five who did show:

• One was tapering for the Newport marathon next weekend, and had a sore knee
• One had what seemed to be some fairly severe back pain and tightness
• One had, well, two broken legs. Bone scans had confirmed last Friday that he had stress fractures in both legs. Should he be running at all? Um, no. I think he might be in the first stage of grief — denial.

That left only two people who were even candidates for our normal six-miler, me and ultrarunner lad Tim. I usually “cheat” and run quite a bit more than the Portland Fit schedule says I should on Mondays. But it worked out right tonight: I was scheduled for 30 minutes and the group turned around after a mile and a half. Totals: 3.19 miles in 28:29 (8:56/mile average).

Afterwards we had a little barbecue at our running group’s fearless leader’s condo. A few other runners were there too, and one of them brought a chiweiner: a chihuahua-dachshund mix. Soooo cute.

Weekend Update

I went down to Eugene yesterday to visit Mom. One of the things we did Sunday was to walk the first couple miles of the Butte-to-Butte route, so I could get an idea of the hills (after the first two miles, it flattens out onto streets more familiar to me). The race starts gradually uphill, progressing to what I’d call a medium uphill, then, somewhere short of a mile, goes distinctly and steeply uphill for a short stretch. After that there’s a very short little steep downhill, then a nice long, consistent, and pretty medium downhill.

This morning, after breakfast at Eugene’s ancient institution The Glenwood Cafe, Mom and I and the dogs hiked up Mount Pisga. The trail is 1.4 miles, mostly gravel, fairly steep in sections, and very busy. Mom was a trooper for making the attempt; she’s not much of an uphiller. Or downhiller. But we made it up and back.

My right leg might be starting to have some issues — a little hip pain there, which has never happened to me before. I suppose some aches and creaks are to be expected after Saturday’s 11-miler.

New personal longest

I get such a sense of accomplishment when I finish a new personal longest run. That might be part of why I feel drawn to ultras — if you stop at marathons, and only train for and run marathons year after year, you’ll miss out on the chance to set new personal longests. Yeah, I know: big talk for a newbie runner doing his first 11-miler.

Well, 11 miles is still the farthest I’ve ever run, and it’s certainly longer than some people will ever manage. (I did do that 12-miler before, but it had its share of walking up the hills. Of course, in trail-running ultras, people walk up the hills too. So it’s a bit arbitrary for me not to count it.) Our route was 3.5 miles UP Thurman street and Leif Erickson, then back down, then 2 miles down to the waterfront and across the Steel Bridge, then back. I ran with my heart rate monitor on, and tried to stay under 84 percent of max or so.

Garmin’s MotionBased site is flaking out on me right now, so I’m going to have to enter data straight from the watch. It thinks I ran 10.6 miles, but I think it had some accuracy issues there — I believe it was indeed closer to 11. So take the data that follows with even more grains of salt than ususal:

Totals: 10.61 miles in 1:41:09, averaging 9:32 miles and 81% heart rate (Note to M: that’s a faster average than I had thought.)

Mile 1: 11:06, 74% avg heart rate (warming up, in a crowd, uphill)
Mile 2: 10:54, 83% hr (steep uphill)
Mile 3: 10:46, 84% hr (uphill)
Mile 4: 9:41, 82% hr (up and down)
Mile 5: 9:03, 79% hr (downhill)
Mile 6: 9:14, 76% hr (steep downhill)
Mile 7: 8:55, 80% hr (downhill)
Mile 8: 9:16, 78% hr (slight downhill)
Mile 9: 8:20, 85% hr
Mile 10: 8:20, 85% hr
Last .61 miles: 9:07/mile pace, 84% hr (slight uphill)

How did I feel? Great! No leg issues, no fatigue issues. I was hungry enough to eat a bear after the run. Not finding a bear handy, I settled for a breakfast bar and a ham and swiss sandwich from Dragonfly Coffee at NW 24th and Thurman.

Update: I checked the distances using http://www.gmap-pedometer.com. Assuming the mileposts on Leif Erikson are correct (I skipped that part in my gmapping), we ran 10.9 miles. Which means I averaged 9:16 minute miles. Yay me!

Hills, heat, and new Oakleys

It’s a hot sunny day in Portland, and I decided to run at mid-day to get some more heat training in. It didn’t feel as bad this time as previously. Or maybe it was my new sunglasses. I got the new Oakley Flak Jackets at the O store at the mall this morning, in gold lenses with the “plasma” colored frames. My wife liked many fancy expensive things, and Oakley sunglasses are one that I got a taste for, too. Anyway: my run. I live on a busy straight street, that heads uphill until it gets near Barbur and I5 a little more than a mile east of here. It’s unpleasant to run on, but I’ve seen plenty of people doing it, so to do something different I gave it a try. I ran up, up, up to the Barbur transit center and across the I5 pedestrian bridge there, which I’d never been on before. Then back the same way, mostly downhill now. Between the heat and the hills, it was a fairly slow run, but I felt pretty good. 3.8 miles in 37:33.

Busy busy

Last night after work I squeezed in my Portland Fit run — our first interval workout, eight reps of 30 seconds fast followed by 30 seconds rest. I used the heart monitor so I could get an idea if I was resting enough between reps, and looking at the graph, I’d have to say “no”. So I’ll work on that next Tuesday.

After that I trekked out to Hillsborough (Orenco Station) for a MiPL chess event. Only four people showed up; I won all the games I played pretty easily. I also had a sinful brownie. Oh dear.

Then off to karaoke at the Buffalo Gap. I sang “Radio Song”, from R.E.M.’s Out of Time. I think it wasn’t too bad. Oh, and I wore a fez all night. The theme was headwear. Don’t you have a fez? I talked a lot to my new MiPL-friend G, and she (easily) talked me into going to an Asian-themed MiPL potluck dinner tonight.

I’ve also started posting my first MiPL events — a trip to see the plasticized corpses of Bodyworlds at OMSI at the end of June, and a Saturday-evening get-together at Ava Roasteria this weekend.

I’m probably ready for a dull post

I’d missed two Monday-night runs from the Portland Running Company in a row, so I was happy to make it there tonight. We ran six miles in 51:54, not counting time spent during a couple of rests along the way. Splits: 8:37, 9:00, 8:33, 8:33, 8:43, 8:29. I think the last two light weeks have really paid off; it wasn’t a slow jog, but it wasn’t a struggle either.

I’m starting to look forward to my two upcoming races: the Helvetia Half Marathon on June 9th, and the Butte to Butte 10K on July 4th. I’m not sure what my goal time is for the half marathon yet.  For the butte-to-butte, I’m thinking 10 minutes up the big hill the first mile, 7 minutes down the second, then 8:00 for the last four, for a total of… hmm… carry the two… 49 minutes plus the time for the last .2 miles. So between 50 and 51 minutes.

A Black Night with the Dark Cirkus

As they clamped the fetid panda-bear mask over my head, I knew I had made a mistake.

A true story, by S. Glazer

It all started innocently enough. A nice meet-in event at a small club downtown. The Someday Lounge, they called it. Looked like a stand-up place. Sure, their tiny food menu was all-vegetarian, but their Someday Martini was strong and wet and some nights that’s all a man wants. The place was dead. Maybe it was because it was Sunday, maybe it was the drizzle, or maybe it was the road construction in front that made the joint look like a smoking ruin on a WWII battlefield. We’d come down there to see some business calling itself Cirkus Pandemonium. They say they’re a “new age cirkus troupe of fire performers, clowns, jugglers, belly dancers and dare devil shenanigans” but I say they’re a bunch of tattoo-covered kids with some grammar and spelling issues, all having fun up on the stage. Their little three-piece band wasn’t too bad, but when it came to the actual circus arts they had a way to go. At one point, everybody in the troupe gathered up on stage and juggled. There were more dropped balls than at a Devil Rays game and pins were hitting the ground at a rate that wouldn’t be bad in a bowling alley. But the dames were easy enough on the eyes and everybody was having a good time, so I ain’t complaining. I just thought maybe I could do better.

I’ve always had a penchant for the circus arts. I was juggling in fourth grade and riding a unicycle a little after that. I spent seven months in that hoity-toity college trying to learn to juggle five balls. I couldn’t do it. I was a wash-out. I’d never dreamed of running away with the circus — who needs the indigestion? — but saying goodbye even to dreams you don’t have can hurt, like a punch in the gut from some loan shark’s muscle.

When they worked the crowd — all ten of us — selling raffle tickets for a buck, I was in. They looked like they could use all the support they could get. They drew three numbers, none mine, but the guy with the last one had gone missing and they drew a fourth, mine. We were herded up on stage like cattle to a slaughter, but I didn’t mind. My circus dreams were coming true. That Martini lingering in my gut helped a little too.

They grilled us for a bit up there — you know, name, rank, and serial number — but before long they got to their real questions.

“When was the last time you had a psychedelic experience?”

“What color is your underwear?”

I wasn’t sure where they were going with this, but I didn’t want to stick around for the hot pokers and bamboo slivers. I heard someone offstage shout that they should make ‘em juggle. I saw my chance:

“Yeah, make me juggle!”

That threw ‘em. But they were in the misspelled circus business and in no position to put the kibosh on the idea. Soon I had two balls and a club. And I worked ‘em. I juggled those babies like an Enron accountant. Sure, it didn’t stop me from answering their questions. (Never, black.) But I didn’t care. The glamor of the stage had grabbed me by the lapels and was holding on tight. I’d juggled for a few minute — not one drop — when they announced they were picking their “grand prize winner.” I should have got wise right then, snapped out of it, but the stage lights blinded me to the harsh lessons to follow.

Sure, I was the “winner”. Before I knew it, they were pulling some sort of furry coat over me. Then a furry head.  They turned me into their trained panda bear and ordered me to do tricks. And — I’ll never forgive myself — I listened. I had become the joke. I danced around like an Ailuropoda melanoleuca after one too many Singapore Slings, dizzy from spinning and heat stroke. Eventually they let me slink offstage and take off the props. They thanked me for playing along and let me slink back to my seat. All I got out of it was a handmade handkerchief. And a lesson: when the cirkus comes to town, don’t let the whimsy fool you. They’re out for blood.

I am not smart

So Saturday night was J & H’s in-town wedding reception — they got married the previous weekend, in Hawaii — down at Hayden’s on the Tualatin Commons. I got a little past tipsy and by the time it was wrapping up, I still wasn’t ready to drive. I wanted to just go over the office and walk back to the car a bit later. M’s family wanted me to crash at their place. Eventually a compromise was reached where J would drive me home (I live close to him) and M would pick me up and taxi me back to my car the next morning.

It’s about eight miles from Tualatin to my house. J drove me home, I stepped out of his truck, reached for my pocket, and immediately realized I had no way to get inside my house. A couple weeks ago, I had made the bonehead decision to stop carrying around a house key. I almost always use the garage remote to get in and out, and I liked not carrying the key around, especially when I went running. (What would I do if I got home and the power was out? Hey, I said it was a bonehead decision.)

J was very nice about it and, after dropping H off at home, drove me back to Tualatin. By then I was sure I could drive, so I drove home myself, after apologizing to J about a hundred times.

Sunday I went to put my house key back on my key ring: I had learned my lesson. And… I couldn’t find the key. It’s supposed to be hanging on a nail by the front door. It wasn’t.   I didn’t have time right then to mount a thorough search, but I looked some more this morning. No luck. “OK,” I asked myself, “when is the last time you used the key?” It would be when I last ran from the house, instead of driving somewhere to run. Last Monday. That didn’t give me any clues, except for reassuring me that the key must be in the house, because I had unlocked the door and made it back in.

In desperation I decided to go through all the keys in my junk drawer and see if any of them were a spare house key. I gathered them up and went to the front door. I opened the door. I looked at the lock. The key was sitting in the lock.

My first thought: my god, anybody could have strolled right in my front door this whole week.

My second thought: including me, on Saturday night.

Portland Fit Seven-Miler, with Pictures

Today’s Portland Fit run was a seven-miler, scaling back during this recovery week from last week’s nine. We ran up Leif Erikson drive — that’s the route that’s a gradual uphill for maybe a mile, then a steeper uphill for maybe a mile, then a moderate but relentless uphill for as long as you care to go. One and three-quarter miles today. Then turn around and come back. I put perhaps a little less effort into the uphill climb than I did last time I ran this, but I was still working harder than I’m supposed to on these training runs, I’m pretty sure. Ah, well. My mile times were 10:26, 10:06, 10:00 (all three uphill), 8:43 (up half, down half), 7:32, 7:19, and 8:04 (all three downhill). The 7:19 is a new mile PR, but I’m more excited about maintaining times near 10:00 on the uphill, without killing myself. I took a camera. Here are some pictures:

Starting out. The herd of wildebeests is tightly bunched, an easy target for the wily crocodile.

Working our way uphill. Are we there yet?

The parking area at the start of Leif Erikson drive.

OK, taking pictures while running doesn’t work very well in low-light conditions. It’s dark in the forest. Lions and tigers and bears, oh my!

Back in the CNF parking lot at the end of the run.

Golfing, running, and sleeping

Last night I went golfing for the first time this year. I used to really enjoy golfing as a chance to “get away from it all” for a couple of hours… now I do that in other ways, and don’t have much going on that I need to get away from anyway, so suddenly golf seems rather boring. Or maybe I just didn’t play that well: 53 for nine holes on a fairly easy course. (My personal best is 44 or 45.)

After golfing, I did my half hour run, on the trail behind the Garden Home Rec Center. I ended up running 3.5 miles in 32 minutes. My legs felt OK and my lungs felt OK, but they both felt just OK — not great. I really have plateaued, speed-wise; the rapid gains in my pace that I saw when I was starting out have all but dissolved. That bothers me, of course, but I  suppose I should try to focus on how much I enjoy running — at any speed — rather than on the obsession to get faster.

Between the golf, running, and somewhat late nights Tuesday (karaoke, spectator only) and Wednesday (watching Clerks with a MiPL group), I was feeling exhausted, and I went to bed around 9:15 or 9:30.

You’ve been warned: don’t click the picture

I was trimming my toenails after my run this evening and the one on the right little piggy, blue-black for a long time now, finally came off painlessly. You, my loyal blog readers, can now share in the wonderment and spectacle. Don’t listen to the headline, click here for the picture.

I ran 40 minutes, down Terwilliger then back on the Marquam Trail. 9:15-ish miles downhill, which was most of the course. The uphills were concentrated into one mile, which the Garmin says took me 14:53 — though I think it was probably more than a mile, since there were a lot of switchbacks and I believe that throws off the tracking. It was hot and I ran pretty hard.

Some Dislike it Hot

Yesterday was my first training run in weather that I would call hot, or at least quite warm. I believe it was around 80°F (27° C). This is something I find unpleasant, which in the assy-versy logic of training, no doubt means I need to do more of it. After all, if those Badwater nutjobs can run 135 miles across Death Valley in the middle of summer, in temperatures up to 130°F (55° C), then certainly I can embrace whatever the Oregon climate wants to throw at me during my little puny marathon training runs. I just have to remember that the heat is a challenge, like hills, and not a punishment, like seeing a movie with Andie MacDowell.

Anyway, it was only a 30 minute run (well, 35), to Fred Meyer and back from my house. A hilly route, I averaged a few seconds over 10 minutes/mile.

Bang Bang

In the spirit of trying new things (and/or losing my mind completely), I did something M has been after me for a long time to try: I went shooting with him at his gun club. I have never shot a gun before. I told him I wanted to try handguns, not rifles, so he gathered up two .22s — a Walther  that took 10-cartridge clips and some old 9-shot revolver of unknown provenance which his grandfather had owned — and off we went. He gave me a brief gun lesson and then we shot at paper targets in an indoor range. I was nervous, mostly worried that I’d hurt myself. It seemed like there was a lot to remember about shooting the Walther — push here, pull there, keep your thumbs out of the way of the slide if you want to keep them in one piece — but it looked less likely to blow up in my hands than the old revolver. (Later, after shooting the revolver a bit too, I found out there was a good bit less to keep in mind when using that one. And It didn’t blow up, at least not this time.) I didn’t enjoy shooting. But I wasn’t bad at it. M said that I was the best novice shooter he had seen, which I took as a high compliment. My aim seemed to be as good as his (but then he’s more practiced with rifles than pistols), and he said I have steady hands. Who knew?

Would I feel safer if I had a gun in the house or car? No, I wouldn’t. I could never use it, I think. If I’m wrong about that, and somehow did intentionally shoot someone (and managed not to get shot myself one way or another in the process), I don’t think I could ever get over killing or trying to kill someone. It would haunt me forever. Mind you, this is a personal choice. I don’t think gun control works, or is a good idea, and I acknowledge that society would be safer, not more dangerous, if more intelligent people cared to carry.

Today’s route

Here was today’s run (a there-and-back):

Try this link if you want to zoom in and stuff. It might work.

Oh yeah, that’s the stuff

Last night I went rock climbing, again at the Portland Rock Gym with a MiPL group. You may recall I greatly enjoyed doing this for the first time, last month. This time, M came along — his first exposure to MiPL people. He didn’t enjoy climbing as much as I did (it was more of a struggle for him than me for some reason we haven’t really been able to figure) but he didn’t have a bad time, which is pretty good for him. I had a good time, too, and succeeded at some slightly-harder routes than last time. (M and I were the only ones trying to stick to holds with one color of tape under them — that’s how they mark a route. I do it because it makes it challenging and fun; he did it because I was and anything I can do he can do better. We’re just a little competitive.)  I also played around some on the bouldering walls — lower walls where you just have a crash pad down below, instead of a rope and harness — and found them to be really hard. Everybody always talks about how they really feel it in their forearms after climbing, but I never did until I tried a few bouldering routes.  Now I know what they mean.

This morning was Portland Fit’s nine mile run. This was my first real run in a week (I really do seem to take four miles to warm up, so Thursday’s 3.7 miler doesn’t count) and I think, based on my reaction to it, it’s only the mildest of exaggerations to say I am a running addict. After four or five miles I was feeling just great. All my anxieties just slough right off. I missed it. It helps that we were doing a TRAIL RUN! Yay! Double Yay! People in the yellow pace group had their choice of three runs: flat on the Waterfront (recommended for the injured and infirm), up Leif Erikson (hilly, good training for the upcoming hilly Helvetia half marathon), and up the Lower Macleay and Wildwood trails. Some of my favorite trails. This was the hilliest of the three options, but I personally think it’s a lot easier than the slog up Leif Erikson: if nothing else, there’s a lot more variety to the grade. Of course, it helps that after the Goose run a few weeks ago, I ain’t afraid of no hills. It’s also easier because the scenery is so beautiful: nothing beats running in a pine forest. Finally, it was easier because the group was led by Coach J.R., who tends to run pretty slowly. And he wanted us to keep together on the trail, so every ten minutes there was a walk or stop waiting for the back of the pack to catch up. It was mostly uphill on the way out, with J.R. in the lead. On the way back, he wanted to be the sweeper at the back of the pack and asked for someone who was good with downhills and who knew the route to lead. Oh oh teacher call on me I’m ever so smart! So I got to lead our little pack of 25 the four miles or so back to the trailhead in Lower Macleay Park. That was kind of fun. The woman I was “buddied” up with (J.R. really didn’t want to lose anyone on the trails) said I did a good job keeping a pace. I was running about as slolwly as I could downhill, with most of the group keeping up, but I suppose some people have real issues with downhills, because we’d wait every 10 minutes for everyone to get in sight, and it would take at least a minute or two.

I was still running strong after nine miles and feeling energized and terrific. No problems with my abs, side, calves, or shins. My fourth little piggy on my left food is a little banged up around the nail, but what else is new? And my knees are scraped up. Wait, that’s from the rock climbing. OK, carry on, it’s all good here.

Back to it

I ran 42 minutes this evening, using the heart rate monitor and keeping under 80% max heart rate. It wasn’t much of a run (11+ minutes/mile), but I’m proud of myself for not overdoing it. My pulled muscle seemed happy. I wore the lightweight shirt Mom got me for my birthday, and it was very comfortable. I also used my new Amphipod handheld water bottle, one with a strap your hand slips under to make holding it easier. It also has a zippered compartment in the strap, good for holding a car key or similar.

Fourth Day Off

I think it’s starting to get to me. I feel grumpy and small and closed off. I miss running. The good news is that the pull or strain feels almost gone. I can cough today with just a tightness there, rather than any pain. I know I’m not going to run today. Tomorrow’s going to be a tough decision. The day after, Friday, I’m supposed to be rock climbing, and that’s going to stress my abdominals and psoas more than running does, I think, so the prudent thing would be to rest it tomorrow too. It’s going to be hard to be prudent.

IMAX? More like IMIN.

So, I mentioned we were seeing Spider Man 3 in the IMAX in Bridgeport Theater, right? What nonsense. I can’t believe the IMAX corporation is willing to dilute their brand by allowing the setup there to be called an “IMAX”. Have you ever been to a real IMAX? Not an Omnimax — that’s a dome. A real IMAX screen is positively enormous — the Wikipedia article says “a standard IMAX screen is 22 m wide and 16 m high (72.6 x 52.8 ft), but can be larger”. And the seating is a good deal steeper than typical stadium seating, and pushes you up even closer to the screen than a regular theater layout. It’s immersive. It fills up your peripheral vision. It’s nausea-inducing for some. That’s how it is supposed to be.

This was not a real IMAX. The screen at Bridgeport is 50 by 30 ft according to their press release. The theater is just a conversion of one of the existing larger theaters in the multiplex. They didn’t alter the seating. They put in a new projector and maybe a new sound system, and made the screen as large as they could in the room — in other words, just a little larger than it already was. The experience was exactly like seeing any other movie. Only you have to pay more.

The IMAX corporation is free to let them call this an IMAX theater if they like. But they shouldn’t. It tarnishes a great thing and confuses their audience.

Oh, and the movie? A waste of a perfectly good two hours.

So I say it’s my birthday

I successfully rested yesterday. I didn’t even play Wii Sports. (Don’t laugh — you’ll probably be hearing about “Wii Shoulder” in the press before the year is out.) The abdominal pull is definitely improved today. I’m feeling it less often, and when I do feel it, it feels more like a sore muscle than a cramping one. Hopefully a couple more days off will do it.

Today’s my birthday. I’m 37. I’m pretty excited to be a prime number. Being 36 felt so square. (Rim shot)
Birthday plans: the developers are going to see Spiderman 3 on the new (mini) IMAX  in the Bridgeport Theater. (OK, it’s only a coincidence that this is happening on my birthday. But M said he’d pay for my ($12!) ticket.) Then after work, it’s down to John’s Landing for 42 then karaoke with MiPL. I got a package in the mail last night from Mom and her betrothed; yay! another technical shirt! I love me my new technical shirt.

On the injured reserve

I seem to have pulled some muscle on the right side of the front of my abdomen. It’s like I have a mild side stitch, all the time. Well, crud. I felt fine after Saturday morning’s run; it wasn’t until late that night that I noticed this side thing. I can’t think of anything I did that could have caused it besides the running, though. I’m sure I didn’t help it on Sunday when I stupidly walked 3.8 miles around the East Side while helping to judge MiPL’s “Bicycle Amazing Race”.

So I won’t be running today. Or likely tomorrow. Grouse.

Long Run

This morning’s Portland Fit long run was eight miles, mostly on the waterfront. My calves hurt a good bit for a lot of it (yes I’m a broken record) but it got better as we went on. My splits were 10:10 9:06 9:27 9:21 9:13 8:39 8:47 8:31. I ran miles one through five with deliberate slowness, breathing very easily, and picked it up a little for the last three.

Hey Mom…

…how come you never leave a comment? Yeah, I’m talking to you.

Lunch Run

Today’s 45-minute run (4.75 miles in 43:50, actually) was the very first time I have enjoyed the uphills more than the downhills. This reflected two things: my legs were limiting me today, not my lungs, and my calves hurt. So I was able to push the uphills a bit without running out of breath, and they were a relief from the painful pounding of the downhill stretches.

This is, as best I can tell, only muscle tightness and soreness, and not that big a deal. But I do need to ease up and let my calves recover fully, I think.

More adventures in turning into someone else

After yesterday’s frustrating workout, I felt like having a drink and inflicting pain upon others. A MiPL karaoke event seemed the perfect opportunity for both. (Anybody who has heard me sing can attest to the pain it causes. M can’t believe I’m not faking how badly it comes out.) This was outside my comfort zone in a few ways:

1. I’ve never even sat in the audience for karaoke, that I can recall, let alone gotten up and sang.
2. The event started at 9:00; my usual bedtime is 10:00, so it would be a very late night for a weekday.

After a few glasses of, shall we say, liquid courage, and after hearing some of the other terrible singers plugging away up there, I was kind of ready. I handed in my song choices and sat waiting in fear. I think I started shaking a little. There was definitely a feral look in my eyes. Fight or flight. Or sing. My name was called. I went to the mike. The night’s theme was “American songs” and I had chosen John Cougar Mellencamp’s “Jack & Diane“. I sang the first few bars too far from the microphone, but after that, it went OK, I guess. People seemed to like the song choice anyway.

Oh yeah, life goes on
Long after the thrill of living is gone

The event’s co-host told me I had chosen a pretty ambitious song and did very well. I felt good. Understand, this was a serious exercise in conquering fear for me. (Setting briefly aside the over-fine point that it took two beers and half a screwdriver to get me there.)

I actually looked forward to my second song, R.E.M.’s  “It’s the End of the World as We Know It (And I Feel Fine)“. This is, of course, an insane song to try, with it’s rapid-fire nearly nonsensical lyrics. It helps that I know large sections of it pretty well, though. So that was fun. A MiPLer I’ve met a few times joined me for a duet version of it and we muddled through.

I left the place at midnight and got home around 20 after. Oh boy, more sleep deprivation! Good stuff!

I hate hate hate the track

Since the Goose run with Team Red Lizard was a lot of fun, I decided to check out their track workout, at Duniway Park. Maybe the title gives it away: I didn’t enjoy it. I can’t find my pace on the track, and it’s dispiriting to watch the same people lap you again and again. Nobody really likes being passed, I’m sure, but at least on a long course everybody only passes you once. And in a road race, eventually you fall in among those who run your speed. Not so on the cruel track. And, make no mistake, I am slow. Slow slow slow. I did about a third of the interval workout they had going before I gave it up and ran up Terwilliger for a while. I’ve heard somewhere that the first few interval workouts somebody tries are usually discouraging. Roger that. Thank God for runner’s high — even feeling discouraged and depressed, I still felt good, and happy. How the hell does that work?