Rain, sleep-inducing humidity, Thurb! training imperatives combined to keep us off the country road this past weekend. We’d planned a ride north with the hound for apple-picking and cider-sampling, the wide-open spaces of upstate New York. (Why do I keep thinking Fresh Kills but it’s Something-Kills or –Kill, not a landfill site, but maybe that partially explains why we stayed put. Inertia, ironically enough, is a powerful force, isn’t it?)
Maybe it’s my time of life. Now that I’m closer to sixty than fifty. Are you still middle-aged at 60? And this curmudgeon-y self isn’t about transference, that I’m upset about aging things: aches and pains, indigestion, sleeping problems. Fact is, I’m in great shape. Except for a half-hour of morning stiffness, I start each day more like a typical twentysomething than a typical fiftysomething.
Running for Your Life: In Reply to Roz Chast
On the Manhattan-bound R Train, Union Station, Brooklyn, two elderly bookish white New Yorker women are loudly comparing the merits of two prominent Malcolm X life story accounts, the Marable http://amzn.to/dry2Jz and the Haley http://bit.ly/68w4Ha, the morning of the planned execution of accused Georgian cop killer Troy Davis, a black man widely believe to be innocent.
“THEY THREW HIM OUT OF HIS OWN RADICAL GROUP, THE NATION OF ISLAM!” one woman says (it could be one or the other of them is hard of hearing), paying no nevermind to the hard-staring young African-American man across the aisle.
“THEY THREW HIM OUT OF HIS OWN RADICAL GROUP, THE NATION OF ISLAM!” one woman says (it could be one or the other of them is hard of hearing), paying no nevermind to the hard-staring young African-American man across the aisle.
Running for Your Life: Birds (and 105!)
I’m on a 1:05-long run when I hear the baby bird’s distress call. (First a bit about 1:05. Be patient, I’ll get to the wee bird.)
I’m in the Boston Marathon 2012. I received an email confirmation on Sept. 15th. A runner’s (in my case, since 1976) lifelong dream. And I’m determined not to do what I did last year: overtrain and injure myself. This time I’m not going to go into body-punishing training until 105 days before the race.
That means I’ve got about 105 days that, every other day, I’ll be doing my 1:05 tone-up run. In order to be strong, have a good physical base from which to ramp up in those final, critical 105 days before the marathon on Monday, April 16.
I’m in the Boston Marathon 2012. I received an email confirmation on Sept. 15th. A runner’s (in my case, since 1976) lifelong dream. And I’m determined not to do what I did last year: overtrain and injure myself. This time I’m not going to go into body-punishing training until 105 days before the race.
That means I’ve got about 105 days that, every other day, I’ll be doing my 1:05 tone-up run. In order to be strong, have a good physical base from which to ramp up in those final, critical 105 days before the marathon on Monday, April 16.
Running for Your Life: Elevators, Bathrooms, Fountains
A, A young man I know confined to a wheelchair who doesn’t miss a beat in his courageous life, knows how to get to every elevator in the Manhattan section of the New York Subway system.
M will chart every urban journey across Manhattan and a big chunk of Brooklyn keeping in mind the location of every public bathroom.
I won’t begin a long run without having a mental picture of where I will find public drinking fountains, and how much I will need to drink from them, as I go on my way.
Author Paul Theroux once said urban neighborhoods are like a small section of a jungle that natives know and exploit to their needs and fashion. Beyond that section they are uneasy, out of place. Because that land is another group’s territory.
M will chart every urban journey across Manhattan and a big chunk of Brooklyn keeping in mind the location of every public bathroom.
I won’t begin a long run without having a mental picture of where I will find public drinking fountains, and how much I will need to drink from them, as I go on my way.
Author Paul Theroux once said urban neighborhoods are like a small section of a jungle that natives know and exploit to their needs and fashion. Beyond that section they are uneasy, out of place. Because that land is another group’s territory.
Running for Your Life: When the Impossible Becomes Possible
On 9/11/11, a Sunday, M and I, en route to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, are stopped by a German-speaking couple who ask for the closest subway. Eastern Parkway, we tell them, straight ahead. We are going in that direction, too, but somewhat slower, in deep conversation. They thank us and hurry along the sidewalk.
September 11 is always a bit hard for me, but this one, ten years after, despite the onslaught of media remembrances, has snuck up on me. The garden is our preferred public sanctuary, where we like to walk and talk about our feelings, and on 9/11/11, with no sign to indicate why, it is open free for non-members. One of the first groups we see in the garden are the Germans who stop and give us a wide smile. Hmm, it looks like they are going to spending time in the garden instead of the subway. We see them a couple of times later, each time exchanging smiles, until it is time for me to go to work where I edit stories, manage graphics and write headlines for a living.
September 11 is always a bit hard for me, but this one, ten years after, despite the onslaught of media remembrances, has snuck up on me. The garden is our preferred public sanctuary, where we like to walk and talk about our feelings, and on 9/11/11, with no sign to indicate why, it is open free for non-members. One of the first groups we see in the garden are the Germans who stop and give us a wide smile. Hmm, it looks like they are going to spending time in the garden instead of the subway. We see them a couple of times later, each time exchanging smiles, until it is time for me to go to work where I edit stories, manage graphics and write headlines for a living.
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