It started off great.
I appear to be suffering from the blissful delusion that the long run is a fun adventure. And so on this particular Saturday, with the thought of 13 miles dancing through my head, I jumped-ish out of bed the moment the alarm buzzed awake at 7 a.m. I mean, not even ONE snooze.
I had enjoyed the mother of all pre-running meals - spaghetti with meat sauce - on Friday and had some help mapping out my new run.
You have to get a little imaginative when you start clocking runs over 10 miles. For one, it gets boring doing the same route and for two, you might as well keep your running self on your toes with obstacles such as, your tendency to get lost, and Boston's sign-less streets.
It's all so exciting.
My goal was to do 13 miles and since everyone you meet talks a big game about this pretty lake in Jamaica Plain I felt this was the perfect opportunity. I mapped it out on map-my-run and secured a probably interstate-ramp-free route to get me to the Emerald Necklace.
Sounds eco-kinky, doesn't it.
The E.N. is this windy path of green designed by Mr. Central Park himself, Olmsted, and it stretches and turns through Boston and up to the Jamaica Pond, which is, in fact, beautiful. The best part is that you are covered in lush shade for the majority of the trek and it's hard to get lost. My friend told me to 'follow the green' and while I had my skeps, it was embarrassingly obvious. So, I highly recommend.
The downside? Oh yes, there is one. It's long. Heading back was, blissfully, on a down slope, but once I exited the green space and ran back around an already-populated Fenway down, Beacon and across the Charles River I was drawing from a bone-dry pool of will power. It was the first time I had to talk myself into it: just place one foot in front of the other.
On my last mile I was running at a toddlers nap-time pace. On the other side of the street I noticed a gaggle of ladies carrying babies walking faster. It wasn't pretty.
After listening to a pretty entertaining This American Life (#225, Home Movies featuring an always delightful David Sedaris) I ran through a 19-song mix I made for a friend (awesome, if I do say so myself) and suffered through some picky ipod shuffle. BUT, just when I thought I'd have to ask a Cambridge Mom a ride home in her supped up baby buggie, the pod redeemed itself with the most random adrenaline injection I couldn't have even imagined:
You're the Best, by the one and only Joe Esposito.
What? You're not familiar? Have you been living under a rock? It was only THE song that helped the karate kid find the will power to hop around on one foot while kicking that punk kid's ass.
"You're only a man and a man's got to learn to take it."
Except for that 'man' stuff, the song was speaking to me. Esposito picked up each lame foot and set one in front of the other until I found myself on my street (oh happy day!). Stopping was the best thing ever, ever.
Worst thing? Finding out the run took me 2:20. Which means I hope and pray that map my run was off and I ran, at least, closer to 14 miles. Even at 14 miles I'm doing a 10 minute mile which is just not going to fly. Joe Esposito would be heartbroken.
Thus:
Miles: (let's just say) 14miles
Time: (gulp) 2:20
Overall: 7 (pros: the trail really was gorgeous and pretty and varied enough to keep you distracted, TAL, mix, Joe Esposito / cons: barely surviving, time, being past by walking mums).
xoL
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Explore & Long run mashup: Boston 3 ways, part 3
The final adventure of my weekend trifecta was a long run around Fresh Pond in Cambridge.
I went down to the Charles River before heading through Harvard Square and then out to Fresh Pond so I could get around a 10 mile run.
It was all very straightforward and things I'd seen before - the river run, Harvard Square (kind of a pain as it's actually populated with people) but the actual pond was a TRUE delight.
A puppy delight, that is. There were dogs a plenty - small dogs, big dogs, swimming dogs, barking dogs, smiling dogs and shitting dogs. It was SO hard to concentrate but that made that part of the run just skip on by.
The added plus was that it wasn't hard concrete and there were several little trails that I could have explored if I wasn't on a schedule. Also I would have sat and watched those pups swimming in the lake at the back for hours. Dangerous.
By the time I got out of there and back up and over the only hill I hit in Harvard Square I was utterly exhausted. And my music wasn't any help. After my This American Life episode my shuffle got into a sad-sack-song rut. My god I thought I was going to fall into a slow crawl or run into traffic.
I must have been only a half mile or so from home, dragging my comatose legs behind me, when from the depths of the ipod came relief: Spoon, Back to Life. That hard beat just brought be back to something resembling life (it's not a miracle worker, after all) It was glorious. And as if wonders never ceased the next song was my favorite, though soon-to-be-overplayed (really, if one more movie or TV trailer takes it I'm moving on, though, alright, Eat Pray Love does look not-that-bad) Florence and the Machine song, Dog Days.
She actually sings: "Run fast for your mother, run fast for your father, run for your sisters and brother..." How could I not end on a high note?
But really, are all runs over 10 miles going to be this sluggish? Because I have just a teeny tiny bit more to conquer. Like 13 miles this Saturday (gulp) in two days.
Overall:
Distance: 10.20
Time: about 1:43
Overall rating: 8 (pros: puppies, end of run songs, weather / cons: every other song, heat)
xoL
I went down to the Charles River before heading through Harvard Square and then out to Fresh Pond so I could get around a 10 mile run.
It was all very straightforward and things I'd seen before - the river run, Harvard Square (kind of a pain as it's actually populated with people) but the actual pond was a TRUE delight.
A puppy delight, that is. There were dogs a plenty - small dogs, big dogs, swimming dogs, barking dogs, smiling dogs and shitting dogs. It was SO hard to concentrate but that made that part of the run just skip on by.
The added plus was that it wasn't hard concrete and there were several little trails that I could have explored if I wasn't on a schedule. Also I would have sat and watched those pups swimming in the lake at the back for hours. Dangerous.
By the time I got out of there and back up and over the only hill I hit in Harvard Square I was utterly exhausted. And my music wasn't any help. After my This American Life episode my shuffle got into a sad-sack-song rut. My god I thought I was going to fall into a slow crawl or run into traffic.
I must have been only a half mile or so from home, dragging my comatose legs behind me, when from the depths of the ipod came relief: Spoon, Back to Life. That hard beat just brought be back to something resembling life (it's not a miracle worker, after all) It was glorious. And as if wonders never ceased the next song was my favorite, though soon-to-be-overplayed (really, if one more movie or TV trailer takes it I'm moving on, though, alright, Eat Pray Love does look not-that-bad) Florence and the Machine song, Dog Days.
She actually sings: "Run fast for your mother, run fast for your father, run for your sisters and brother..." How could I not end on a high note?
But really, are all runs over 10 miles going to be this sluggish? Because I have just a teeny tiny bit more to conquer. Like 13 miles this Saturday (gulp) in two days.
Overall:
Distance: 10.20
Time: about 1:43
Overall rating: 8 (pros: puppies, end of run songs, weather / cons: every other song, heat)
xoL
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Cheating on my own blog
I am guest blogging for the awesome new eco-focused radio program Now or Never produced by Ben Pomeroy and Sarah Bacon.
Check out their podcasts and get green.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Explore: Boston 3 ways, part 2
Summer festivities take 2: Free Friday Flicks at the Half Shell
What better way to celebrate a scorching summer day than with an outdoor picnic, so thought a friend and I. The lure of the Star Trek cutiepants boys on a giant screen helped as did a picturesque view of the Charles River at sunset. It all seemed so easy, I even pre-froze spritzer accouterments (I can't let these things go), but mother nature had other plans.
And so, take head young explorers and...
Do: Roast yourself in your already-stifling kitchen in order to make a large heaping helping of pasta salad. After allowing it to chill in the fridge, this once sweat-inducing dish will be a satisfying, perfect temperature picnic meal. Also, do pack up mound of pasta salad into individual servings via Tupperware because you never know when you're going to have to up and leave.
Don't: Play dumb to the glaring change-of-weather signs that surround you. Perhaps consider that everyone you pass is carrying an umbrella for something more practical than dead weight. Don't march out of the house in nothing more than a tank top and a skirt; just because its 110 degrees in your tiny kitchen does not necessarily mean it is 110 degrees outside, it could be just 97 and that three degree chill could be a killer. Also, a skirt? Really? Is that a jean skirt? What are you nuts? Don't be the girl who flashes the moviegowers because rain is the mother of all fashionable equalizers and, also, this is a family affair. Let's keep it PG.
Do: Give in to what weather obstacles may arise. Join in on the group mentality and stick it out, plant your denim-clothed tush to the (spritzer-dampened) blanket and take in that summer storm. When the lightening flashes behind the half shell you'll be glad for the bonus show and the crowd's growing excitement.
Don't: Be a hero. When that summer storm threatens tornado and the rain doesn't so much let up as pound down, pack up your things and go. You've seen the movie before, there's no need to encourage sickness, grass stains or electrocution just for a pretty face. Also, make it quick. There are a lot of serious trekkies out there who, unlike you, have come prepared with umbrellas, extra blankets and large mafioso-style sheets of plastic (where does anyone even get those?!)and will finish this movie in rain, flood or Apocalyptic event. So scoop up your meager belongings, crouch your head and get a move on.
Do: Come again. These puppies happen every Friday night and are the perfect opportunity to brush up on your summer blockbusters or Disney/Pixar classics while munching on some homemade grub.
Next up: Exploring via the long run brings me to puppy central, better known as Fresh Pond.
xoL
What better way to celebrate a scorching summer day than with an outdoor picnic, so thought a friend and I. The lure of the Star Trek cutiepants boys on a giant screen helped as did a picturesque view of the Charles River at sunset. It all seemed so easy, I even pre-froze spritzer accouterments (I can't let these things go), but mother nature had other plans.
And so, take head young explorers and...
Do: Roast yourself in your already-stifling kitchen in order to make a large heaping helping of pasta salad. After allowing it to chill in the fridge, this once sweat-inducing dish will be a satisfying, perfect temperature picnic meal. Also, do pack up mound of pasta salad into individual servings via Tupperware because you never know when you're going to have to up and leave.
Don't: Play dumb to the glaring change-of-weather signs that surround you. Perhaps consider that everyone you pass is carrying an umbrella for something more practical than dead weight. Don't march out of the house in nothing more than a tank top and a skirt; just because its 110 degrees in your tiny kitchen does not necessarily mean it is 110 degrees outside, it could be just 97 and that three degree chill could be a killer. Also, a skirt? Really? Is that a jean skirt? What are you nuts? Don't be the girl who flashes the moviegowers because rain is the mother of all fashionable equalizers and, also, this is a family affair. Let's keep it PG.
Do: Give in to what weather obstacles may arise. Join in on the group mentality and stick it out, plant your denim-clothed tush to the (spritzer-dampened) blanket and take in that summer storm. When the lightening flashes behind the half shell you'll be glad for the bonus show and the crowd's growing excitement.
Don't: Be a hero. When that summer storm threatens tornado and the rain doesn't so much let up as pound down, pack up your things and go. You've seen the movie before, there's no need to encourage sickness, grass stains or electrocution just for a pretty face. Also, make it quick. There are a lot of serious trekkies out there who, unlike you, have come prepared with umbrellas, extra blankets and large mafioso-style sheets of plastic (where does anyone even get those?!)and will finish this movie in rain, flood or Apocalyptic event. So scoop up your meager belongings, crouch your head and get a move on.
Do: Come again. These puppies happen every Friday night and are the perfect opportunity to brush up on your summer blockbusters or Disney/Pixar classics while munching on some homemade grub.
Next up: Exploring via the long run brings me to puppy central, better known as Fresh Pond.
xoL
Monday, July 19, 2010
Explore: Boston 3 ways, part 1
With R out of town I had a busy weekend of jumping on other people's band wagons, specifically of the picnic variety.
After three back-to-back adventures in the Boston area and a few days of rest I come equipped with a little lessons-learned nostalgia for gettin' down on some summer time activities.
And so,
Part 1) Forest Hills Lantern Festival (Thursday)
The Forest Hills Cemetery in Jamaica Plain, MA hosts this annual event that pays homage to an ancient Japanese, Buddhist ritual of spirits. Here you are meant to send a lit lantern sailing off onto the lake because at this moment a door to another world (one that ideally holds the spirits of your deceased loved ones) opens and lets your messages in. Sweet, really. But there are a few things to keep in mind before lantering:
Do: Pack a pimpin' picnic. Bring along a blanket to sit upon and some nibbles in re-closable containers so if you get distracted by the festivities (music and dancing among them) you can close and conquer. For our picnic we brought Farmers Market bounty, which included tomatoes, homemade bread, goats cheese and a fantastic Israeli spice smuggled in from the home land. Inspired by my recent wedding excursion, I brought accoutrement for white wine spritzers. True, not exactly your picnic fare, but if you can pull it off they are a refreshing delight. Which brings us to:
Don't: Bring white wine spritzers. Unless you are incredibly put together and an owner of clever things like a cooler and proper ice-keeping equipment, a simple beer would suffice.
Do: take part! To be honest, people look at you a little sideways if you're not inscribing your own lantern. Besides it's license for sentimentality -- shed a tear, coo at babies' lanterns dedicated to Grandma and Grandpa and resist the urge to sing a round of Kumbaya (over the top much?).
Don't: spend too much eating your righteous feast and miss out on drawing on a lantern (the whole POINT of the excursion). Along those same lines, don't wait until 8:29 to get said lantern to find that they have run out of the hearty wooden frames but can outfit you with a raspberry container (paper). Don't try to light the candle that sits in your raspberry container within the four walls of your paper lantern for at this moment what you're holding more closely resembles a homemade explosive device than a spiritual work of art. And don't count on your one-of-two options - ball of flames or sinking piece of paper trash - and the ensuing jokes to mesh well with the teary-eyed audience who now just view you as a heartless litter bug.
Do: Take your time, enjoy the evening. Sure it gets dark and that dessert you brought in three containers is a little harder to decipher. But how often do you get to hang around a lake at sunset with strangers in a cemetery. It's a delight. When people in brightly-colored jackets begin to take down the only light fixtures take your cue and leave.
Don't: Forget to make a note of where your car is. When the sun sets it is actually really dark out there and the winding roads that wrap around the stone grave markers all look eerily familiar. Don't let those friends walk off in search of the T because you will need buffers against the zombie vampires that like to attack clueless groups of less than four in the dark. When you finally find a helpful-looking man in a brightly colored vest sitting in a golf cart don't approach him at a full-sprint swinging your bag of contraband wine and shouting WAIT, DON"T LEAVE ME, because people don't usually respond well to crazy. Bring it down a notch. Ask politely, and when he still doesn't offer to drive you around the entire cemetery in search of your car that is parked in what lettered lot you know not (there were lettered lots?), swallow your pride and follow the direction of his point down the dark path toward what looks to be the road you came from. It's character building.
Next up, part 2: Outdoor Film Fest at the half shell (hint: bring your raincoats!)
xoL
After three back-to-back adventures in the Boston area and a few days of rest I come equipped with a little lessons-learned nostalgia for gettin' down on some summer time activities.
And so,
Part 1) Forest Hills Lantern Festival (Thursday)
The Forest Hills Cemetery in Jamaica Plain, MA hosts this annual event that pays homage to an ancient Japanese, Buddhist ritual of spirits. Here you are meant to send a lit lantern sailing off onto the lake because at this moment a door to another world (one that ideally holds the spirits of your deceased loved ones) opens and lets your messages in. Sweet, really. But there are a few things to keep in mind before lantering:
Do: Pack a pimpin' picnic. Bring along a blanket to sit upon and some nibbles in re-closable containers so if you get distracted by the festivities (music and dancing among them) you can close and conquer. For our picnic we brought Farmers Market bounty, which included tomatoes, homemade bread, goats cheese and a fantastic Israeli spice smuggled in from the home land. Inspired by my recent wedding excursion, I brought accoutrement for white wine spritzers. True, not exactly your picnic fare, but if you can pull it off they are a refreshing delight. Which brings us to:
Don't: Bring white wine spritzers. Unless you are incredibly put together and an owner of clever things like a cooler and proper ice-keeping equipment, a simple beer would suffice.
Do: take part! To be honest, people look at you a little sideways if you're not inscribing your own lantern. Besides it's license for sentimentality -- shed a tear, coo at babies' lanterns dedicated to Grandma and Grandpa and resist the urge to sing a round of Kumbaya (over the top much?).
Don't: spend too much eating your righteous feast and miss out on drawing on a lantern (the whole POINT of the excursion). Along those same lines, don't wait until 8:29 to get said lantern to find that they have run out of the hearty wooden frames but can outfit you with a raspberry container (paper). Don't try to light the candle that sits in your raspberry container within the four walls of your paper lantern for at this moment what you're holding more closely resembles a homemade explosive device than a spiritual work of art. And don't count on your one-of-two options - ball of flames or sinking piece of paper trash - and the ensuing jokes to mesh well with the teary-eyed audience who now just view you as a heartless litter bug.
Do: Take your time, enjoy the evening. Sure it gets dark and that dessert you brought in three containers is a little harder to decipher. But how often do you get to hang around a lake at sunset with strangers in a cemetery. It's a delight. When people in brightly-colored jackets begin to take down the only light fixtures take your cue and leave.
Don't: Forget to make a note of where your car is. When the sun sets it is actually really dark out there and the winding roads that wrap around the stone grave markers all look eerily familiar. Don't let those friends walk off in search of the T because you will need buffers against the zombie vampires that like to attack clueless groups of less than four in the dark. When you finally find a helpful-looking man in a brightly colored vest sitting in a golf cart don't approach him at a full-sprint swinging your bag of contraband wine and shouting WAIT, DON"T LEAVE ME, because people don't usually respond well to crazy. Bring it down a notch. Ask politely, and when he still doesn't offer to drive you around the entire cemetery in search of your car that is parked in what lettered lot you know not (there were lettered lots?), swallow your pride and follow the direction of his point down the dark path toward what looks to be the road you came from. It's character building.
Next up, part 2: Outdoor Film Fest at the half shell (hint: bring your raincoats!)
xoL
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Curious about Needham, MA?
Don't deny it. You've been wondering what the good people of this outside-of-Boston-suburb were up to.
I've got the inside scoop as an official contributor to the AOL hyper local enterprise, Patch.
Alright, so I don't live in Needham. But I'm close. Or so I thought. It may have taken me an hour to get there in rush hour traffic and because I was paranoid about getting there on time, so I arrive with 45 minutes to kill. Not wanting to be rude with my own reading material I picked up a month-old brochure for kids summer programming. A delight.
The reason for my visit was a meeting. People showed up (already a success), mat-boarded maps were displayed, lively discussions about a bridge construction project were had, voices were raised, apologies were made and things got done.
BUT the pinnacle moment for this reporter came down to one little line spoken by a Boston-accented man:
"Ahh you poopin' me?"
Yup.
It's the perfect sleeper slogan hit - PG with just enough shock to use for any occasion. Try it out.
Scenario 1: You're out to dinner with friends at your favorite eatery, salivating after their signature dish, when out of the blue the waitress informs you that they are OUT.
You: "Ah you poopin' me?"
Scenario 2: You're apartment hunting and you find this sic pad in the neighborhood you swoon after. Then the owner turns to you and says, Oh you know we're having a special this month, sign a lease and get the job of your dreams.
You: "Ah you poopin' me?"
Scenario 3: You're invited to a party celebrating the birthday of a friend you haven't seen in years. You arrive late, as usual, and walk through the unlocked door to find that dear friend has become a nudist and you're the only clothed party-goer.
You:"Ah you poopin' me?"
Just watch, it's going to sweep the nation.
In the meantime I'm back on the reporting/writing wagon and it feels good.
xoL
I've got the inside scoop as an official contributor to the AOL hyper local enterprise, Patch.
Alright, so I don't live in Needham. But I'm close. Or so I thought. It may have taken me an hour to get there in rush hour traffic and because I was paranoid about getting there on time, so I arrive with 45 minutes to kill. Not wanting to be rude with my own reading material I picked up a month-old brochure for kids summer programming. A delight.
The reason for my visit was a meeting. People showed up (already a success), mat-boarded maps were displayed, lively discussions about a bridge construction project were had, voices were raised, apologies were made and things got done.
BUT the pinnacle moment for this reporter came down to one little line spoken by a Boston-accented man:
"Ahh you poopin' me?"
Yup.
It's the perfect sleeper slogan hit - PG with just enough shock to use for any occasion. Try it out.
Scenario 1: You're out to dinner with friends at your favorite eatery, salivating after their signature dish, when out of the blue the waitress informs you that they are OUT.
You: "Ah you poopin' me?"
Scenario 2: You're apartment hunting and you find this sic pad in the neighborhood you swoon after. Then the owner turns to you and says, Oh you know we're having a special this month, sign a lease and get the job of your dreams.
You: "Ah you poopin' me?"
Scenario 3: You're invited to a party celebrating the birthday of a friend you haven't seen in years. You arrive late, as usual, and walk through the unlocked door to find that dear friend has become a nudist and you're the only clothed party-goer.
You:"Ah you poopin' me?"
Just watch, it's going to sweep the nation.
In the meantime I'm back on the reporting/writing wagon and it feels good.
xoL
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Officially job-y
What is that line from that movie I once saw? If you build it, they will come?
In an effort to lure the job universe in my direction, I have outfitted myself with business cards. Yup. I'm official.
And for extra credit, I made them myself. Impressed? Great, get me a job.
Thanks to the creative people at Design Sponge, who have screwed my head firmly into the delusional world of I-can-do-anything-myself, I give you: Lauren Hansen, Multimedia Journalist (extraordinaire)
Oooo Ahhhh.
These little pups (three successful in one hour) were down right tedious, plucking the impossibly small letters from a stamp grid. But once they were done the light shone from above and I viewed my life anew: I did it my damn self. And how CUTE is that little ink and quill on the back? I mean, I'd hire me.
Of course I realize there are some hiccups. My e-mail is missing and the website is a bit cumbersome, but it works for now. And since I've gotten the hang of arranging those tiny letter via Tweezers like some miniature movie theater sign, I'm a business-card-making machine.
And just in time because tonight I have my first reporting assignment in all too long. I feel a little rusty and filled with butterflies but something tells me the attendees at the Needham, MA neighborhood meeting won't bite my head off for a few follow up questions.
In an effort to lure the job universe in my direction, I have outfitted myself with business cards. Yup. I'm official.
And for extra credit, I made them myself. Impressed? Great, get me a job.
Thanks to the creative people at Design Sponge, who have screwed my head firmly into the delusional world of I-can-do-anything-myself, I give you: Lauren Hansen, Multimedia Journalist (extraordinaire)
Oooo Ahhhh.
These little pups (three successful in one hour) were down right tedious, plucking the impossibly small letters from a stamp grid. But once they were done the light shone from above and I viewed my life anew: I did it my damn self. And how CUTE is that little ink and quill on the back? I mean, I'd hire me.
Of course I realize there are some hiccups. My e-mail is missing and the website is a bit cumbersome, but it works for now. And since I've gotten the hang of arranging those tiny letter via Tweezers like some miniature movie theater sign, I'm a business-card-making machine.
And just in time because tonight I have my first reporting assignment in all too long. I feel a little rusty and filled with butterflies but something tells me the attendees at the Needham, MA neighborhood meeting won't bite my head off for a few follow up questions.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Training day: Long run no. 4
Not being able to resist the lure of the burbs, we stuck around Orange for the week so I had one more long run down the town's winding streets.
Long run no. 4 was a bit (teeny tiny) of a break: 8 miles. I knew where seven miles was so I guessed at the last mile or so and may have run closer to nine - sometimes you can really get yourself lost.
I was up nice and early again since we had to head into the city for a wedding. The weather was a slightly chilled 75 by 7:30 but the humidity made it down right nasty.
I had a shiny new This American Life cued up in my ipod (episode: #411) and 15 minutes into it I found myself laughing out loud while running on a public street. I could not resist. The show featured Mike Birbiglia, a self deprecating comedian who concentrates on embarrassing stories. Yes and yes. There's a bit about the amusement park ride the Scrambler and, for any of you Burbians out there who may have frequented your local summer fair, this story will just kills.
The run was a repeat so it was a bit on the boring side and the heat made my legs feel like exercising in wet denim but it was fine all in all.
What I like most about running in the burbs is the kindness of strangers. Every fitness folk I passed waved or said "Hi" "Howzit goin" and even "Have a good one." I'm not one to make a bestie while I'm sweating gallons in decades-old t-shirts, but I got into it a little. I gave a "morning" to a fellow jogger only to see her again two miles later (awkward). I threw a nod to a sprinting teen and a half-wave to a biker.
Toward the end I passed a young guy out for a casual walk in sweltering heat. The pass requires no greeting since a turn-around-hello would be ranked among the desperate. But ours was a destined salutation since my finish line was only a couple hundred yards up the road. As a turned around for my cool down walk back to the house I could see the kid rising in the distance like a villain in an old western.
The from-afar wave has to to be the most awkward of the suburban morning greetings. From what distance do you begin the wave? Do you wave a long way off and then say hello up close? Or do you choose the ignore-until-the-last-moment-and-then-casually-acknowledge-their-presence route? As I mulled over my options the great distance that stretched over the straight, flat portion of my road shortened slowly. I made the mistake of going for an early wave to find that new friend chose the ignore option so that I was waving weirdly to the air in front of me. Rejected, I fought back with an ignore/finding-something-terribly-interesting-on-my-palm-option until we were close enough to ask one another to take this dance at which point I gave a "hey" and he nodded.
Pleasantries are exhausting.
I look forward to returning to the full-on-ignore of my urban pedestrian life.
Thus,
Distance: 8.5-9 miles
Time: 1:21
Overall rating: 7 (Pros: This American Life, pomegranate sports drink, neighborly support. Cons: repeat route, sticky early morning heat, neighborly chastise)
xoL
Long run no. 4 was a bit (teeny tiny) of a break: 8 miles. I knew where seven miles was so I guessed at the last mile or so and may have run closer to nine - sometimes you can really get yourself lost.
I was up nice and early again since we had to head into the city for a wedding. The weather was a slightly chilled 75 by 7:30 but the humidity made it down right nasty.
I had a shiny new This American Life cued up in my ipod (episode: #411) and 15 minutes into it I found myself laughing out loud while running on a public street. I could not resist. The show featured Mike Birbiglia, a self deprecating comedian who concentrates on embarrassing stories. Yes and yes. There's a bit about the amusement park ride the Scrambler and, for any of you Burbians out there who may have frequented your local summer fair, this story will just kills.
The run was a repeat so it was a bit on the boring side and the heat made my legs feel like exercising in wet denim but it was fine all in all.
What I like most about running in the burbs is the kindness of strangers. Every fitness folk I passed waved or said "Hi" "Howzit goin" and even "Have a good one." I'm not one to make a bestie while I'm sweating gallons in decades-old t-shirts, but I got into it a little. I gave a "morning" to a fellow jogger only to see her again two miles later (awkward). I threw a nod to a sprinting teen and a half-wave to a biker.
Toward the end I passed a young guy out for a casual walk in sweltering heat. The pass requires no greeting since a turn-around-hello would be ranked among the desperate. But ours was a destined salutation since my finish line was only a couple hundred yards up the road. As a turned around for my cool down walk back to the house I could see the kid rising in the distance like a villain in an old western.
The from-afar wave has to to be the most awkward of the suburban morning greetings. From what distance do you begin the wave? Do you wave a long way off and then say hello up close? Or do you choose the ignore-until-the-last-moment-and-then-casually-acknowledge-their-presence route? As I mulled over my options the great distance that stretched over the straight, flat portion of my road shortened slowly. I made the mistake of going for an early wave to find that new friend chose the ignore option so that I was waving weirdly to the air in front of me. Rejected, I fought back with an ignore/finding-something-terribly-interesting-on-my-palm-option until we were close enough to ask one another to take this dance at which point I gave a "hey" and he nodded.
Pleasantries are exhausting.
I look forward to returning to the full-on-ignore of my urban pedestrian life.
Thus,
Distance: 8.5-9 miles
Time: 1:21
Overall rating: 7 (Pros: This American Life, pomegranate sports drink, neighborly support. Cons: repeat route, sticky early morning heat, neighborly chastise)
xoL
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Training day: Long run no. 3 (the Burb Edition)
It turns out I was off, like way off. Perhaps you might recall those first two 8.5 milers done over the past two weeks? Try 10.5. Yup. I was way off. Probably.
I'm in CT this weekend (Lola needed me, obviously) and, not knowing a 10 mile route off hand, I had to clock it with the car the night before. I drove the car down and around between my town and the next until I created a giant bow of a course with my parent's house at its center - dangerous considering at mile 7 I had to run past that sanctuary of rest. By the end of the drive, I had an eleven mile run to conquer.
And conquer I did at about the exact same time it took me to run my previous 8.5. WEIRD. I came to a sweaty screeching halt in front of my parent's house, turned off the ipod, paused the stopwatch to find that my would be two hour jog took 1:41, just four minutes more than my previous long runs.
It's funny how you can psyche yourself out of it, though. Like when I hit about mile eight and I was pretty convinced that I'd never make it because that extra couple of miles seemed an inhuman feat of strength. FOOL. If only I could trick myself into thinking this was all very easy.
The mileage mix up was a nice surprise. Though I don't really believe it - how could I have been two miles off?! This is what happens when you try to read a hand-drawn map.
Anyhoo, my suburban job was pleasant enough. I had to run the long run on Friday instead of Saturday so my legs felt more like lead instead of feather light flights of fancy (not that I can recall that ever happening). I had ice cold water, ice cold endurance drinks (pomegranate - yum) and an ever delightful This American Life episode (#203: Recordings for Someone). The weather was actually perfect (hard to imagine), not yet this thick pea soup humidity and a cool summer 70. Man, I wonder what that was like.
Since this epic jog I have been running smaller routes around the neighborhood that in this 90-degrees-by-seven weather is verging on torture. And if this weather continues for my next long run I cannot be responsible for the pools I will jump in and the few sprinklers whose spits of cold water I will lap up like a puppy.
Long run #3:
Mileage: about 10.5
Time: 1.41
Overall: 8 (pros: weather, cold beverages, ample amount of shade, route, surprising time / cons: Repeat TAL episode, weather, scenery).
xoL
I'm in CT this weekend (Lola needed me, obviously) and, not knowing a 10 mile route off hand, I had to clock it with the car the night before. I drove the car down and around between my town and the next until I created a giant bow of a course with my parent's house at its center - dangerous considering at mile 7 I had to run past that sanctuary of rest. By the end of the drive, I had an eleven mile run to conquer.
And conquer I did at about the exact same time it took me to run my previous 8.5. WEIRD. I came to a sweaty screeching halt in front of my parent's house, turned off the ipod, paused the stopwatch to find that my would be two hour jog took 1:41, just four minutes more than my previous long runs.
It's funny how you can psyche yourself out of it, though. Like when I hit about mile eight and I was pretty convinced that I'd never make it because that extra couple of miles seemed an inhuman feat of strength. FOOL. If only I could trick myself into thinking this was all very easy.
The mileage mix up was a nice surprise. Though I don't really believe it - how could I have been two miles off?! This is what happens when you try to read a hand-drawn map.
Anyhoo, my suburban job was pleasant enough. I had to run the long run on Friday instead of Saturday so my legs felt more like lead instead of feather light flights of fancy (not that I can recall that ever happening). I had ice cold water, ice cold endurance drinks (pomegranate - yum) and an ever delightful This American Life episode (#203: Recordings for Someone). The weather was actually perfect (hard to imagine), not yet this thick pea soup humidity and a cool summer 70. Man, I wonder what that was like.
Since this epic jog I have been running smaller routes around the neighborhood that in this 90-degrees-by-seven weather is verging on torture. And if this weather continues for my next long run I cannot be responsible for the pools I will jump in and the few sprinklers whose spits of cold water I will lap up like a puppy.
Long run #3:
Mileage: about 10.5
Time: 1.41
Overall: 8 (pros: weather, cold beverages, ample amount of shade, route, surprising time / cons: Repeat TAL episode, weather, scenery).
xoL
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Explore: Cape Anne, MA
We hit the road, a list of must-sees acquired from local friends burning a hole in my jorts. Destination: Cape Anne, MA. If Cape Cod were the elfin boot of the Massachusetts bay, Cape Anne would be its cartoonish nose that sticks into the Atlantic, just north of Boston.
We ventured to this sister cape in search of beach, friend food, kooky/cozy homes and an excuse to say town names like a tourista asshole (RAHck-po-awhrt or the cumbersome, GLAH-chest-AHH).
We got a late start on this particular sun-drenched Saturday since I had to beat my body up first thing with a long run. By 11 we were in the car with muchies and iced coffee to find we were not alone in this clever idea. Through some touch-and-go traffic we were taken into the coastal burbs of Massachussetts, traveling, as luck would have it, back to the fanciful 1950s-era, where impressive restaurant signage, not the food, could sway an itinerant family to dine. That's right, folks, we had entered Saugus, MA, better known by few people as The Restaurant Capital of the World. From the leaning tower of Pizza, to the giant cactus announcing the delights of the Hilltop Steak House, Route US-1N was a veritable fun house of fiberglass sculptures of yesteryear.
Not that we stopped. No, we had places to go and beaches to see.
About an hour later we were parked in a sand dune at Crane's beach in Ipswich. Not knowing what to expect out of the beach, R & I brought, well, nothing (in beach-going terms). We brought our other flat bed sheet, water, sunblock, four books, and an us weekly (the latter being the only reading material ever to see the light of that day). We felt a little mopey and sometimes hungry when we watched, wide-eyed, at the families surrounding us who unloaded whole Italian feasts and entire grocery store rows of snacks and sweets. Beers were cracked, cheese puffs were munched, kites were flown (including the MOST hilarious kite we'd ever seen),
paddle ball was batted and, well, R found out how the Twilight stars are "Just Like Us." But it all worked out. We got our sun, we put a few toes in the frigid ocean, we finished our bath-warm water and when it was time to boogie we uproariously laughed at the families packing up their RV-sized duffel bags and coolers as we slung our few sandy items under our arms and went on our merry way.
Though we were famished.
But first we had to see something recommended by a friend: The Paper House. Yes. It is what it says. In the first recorded display of acute Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, a Mr. Elis Stemnan of Cambridge built a summer home in the early 1920s constructed entirely out of newspaper.
It does have structure - beams, floorboards and a roof, but the walls and interior and every thing else - from the lamp, to the shades, to the grandfather clock - is crafted from newspaper logs or layers upon layers of news print and varnish on top.
What is there to say? It's impressive in that completely insane kind of way. It's hot and dark inside the one bedroom cabin and it smells of old but pretty damn cool. And it's an honor system admission, which I always appreciate and which, ironically, makes me offer up more than they ask. $5 bought us a short, gawking walkabout the house and two postcards. Fabulous.
Now officially starved and still sandy, R and I drove off to Rochester in search of some fried seafood delights. Which we found, not in the town's center, but enroute, on a beautiful, though scorching hot, bay - The Lobster Pool. We ordered up a plate of putty-colored fried goodies and chowed down, while occasionally taking in the scenic views.
Ooooo, ahhhhh and all that.
We drove around Rochester looking for parking but found, instead, streams of ice cream-eating tourists. We figured between the Paper House and the Fried Delights we'd seen just about the best of the best Cape Ann had to offer. On the way home we sleepily ogled the adorable New England homes and said we should really get into antiquing but ultimately drove back to the city to catch The Karate Kid, which was AWEsome.
xoL
We ventured to this sister cape in search of beach, friend food, kooky/cozy homes and an excuse to say town names like a tourista asshole (RAHck-po-awhrt or the cumbersome, GLAH-chest-AHH).
We got a late start on this particular sun-drenched Saturday since I had to beat my body up first thing with a long run. By 11 we were in the car with muchies and iced coffee to find we were not alone in this clever idea. Through some touch-and-go traffic we were taken into the coastal burbs of Massachussetts, traveling, as luck would have it, back to the fanciful 1950s-era, where impressive restaurant signage, not the food, could sway an itinerant family to dine. That's right, folks, we had entered Saugus, MA, better known by few people as The Restaurant Capital of the World. From the leaning tower of Pizza, to the giant cactus announcing the delights of the Hilltop Steak House, Route US-1N was a veritable fun house of fiberglass sculptures of yesteryear.
Not that we stopped. No, we had places to go and beaches to see.
About an hour later we were parked in a sand dune at Crane's beach in Ipswich. Not knowing what to expect out of the beach, R & I brought, well, nothing (in beach-going terms). We brought our other flat bed sheet, water, sunblock, four books, and an us weekly (the latter being the only reading material ever to see the light of that day). We felt a little mopey and sometimes hungry when we watched, wide-eyed, at the families surrounding us who unloaded whole Italian feasts and entire grocery store rows of snacks and sweets. Beers were cracked, cheese puffs were munched, kites were flown (including the MOST hilarious kite we'd ever seen),
paddle ball was batted and, well, R found out how the Twilight stars are "Just Like Us." But it all worked out. We got our sun, we put a few toes in the frigid ocean, we finished our bath-warm water and when it was time to boogie we uproariously laughed at the families packing up their RV-sized duffel bags and coolers as we slung our few sandy items under our arms and went on our merry way.
Though we were famished.
But first we had to see something recommended by a friend: The Paper House. Yes. It is what it says. In the first recorded display of acute Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, a Mr. Elis Stemnan of Cambridge built a summer home in the early 1920s constructed entirely out of newspaper.
It does have structure - beams, floorboards and a roof, but the walls and interior and every thing else - from the lamp, to the shades, to the grandfather clock - is crafted from newspaper logs or layers upon layers of news print and varnish on top.
What is there to say? It's impressive in that completely insane kind of way. It's hot and dark inside the one bedroom cabin and it smells of old but pretty damn cool. And it's an honor system admission, which I always appreciate and which, ironically, makes me offer up more than they ask. $5 bought us a short, gawking walkabout the house and two postcards. Fabulous.
Now officially starved and still sandy, R and I drove off to Rochester in search of some fried seafood delights. Which we found, not in the town's center, but enroute, on a beautiful, though scorching hot, bay - The Lobster Pool. We ordered up a plate of putty-colored fried goodies and chowed down, while occasionally taking in the scenic views.
Ooooo, ahhhhh and all that.
We drove around Rochester looking for parking but found, instead, streams of ice cream-eating tourists. We figured between the Paper House and the Fried Delights we'd seen just about the best of the best Cape Ann had to offer. On the way home we sleepily ogled the adorable New England homes and said we should really get into antiquing but ultimately drove back to the city to catch The Karate Kid, which was AWEsome.
xoL
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