Day 47 - Lent

For full disclosure, I am not Catholic. I was raised in the Episcopal church, and that stuck like mercury on teflon.


Regardless, today is Fat Tuesday, which means that Lent is upon us. Catholics and non-Catholics alike are gearing up to give up, give up something in their lives for 40 days, give or take (St. Patrick's Day usually warrants a pass, and sometimes weekends, and days that are just crappy).


The idea is to remind believers of the sacrifice made for them.


I'd like to offer an alternative to the traditional self-denial.


Instead of giving up something, how about adding something. Rather than focusing on sacrifice, take the time to celebrate your life and who you are.


Find something that makes you more connected to a part of you that you don't see enough of, something that makes you feel good about yourself and/or your life.


Do that everyday until Easter.


Run, if that's your thing (within reason, of course... consult your doctor, etc.). If not that, find something else. Maybe do some yoga, write in a journal, phone friends or relatives you don't talk to enough. Oooh, better yet, write letters. How much happiness could you spread by writing a different loved one every day. And you might even get some letters back.


Whatever your thing, just do it, once a day. Set aside just a few minutes for yourself, to touch base with yourself, and to remind yourself who you really are.


Ok, enough of the preachy monologue... running blog, remember?


Still basking in the glorious snowy 7-miler from yesterday, I took a rest-mile day, but did it through more deep snow. Took the work loop around the pond.

Saw a frozen fish at the "piddly run-off." Seriously, frozen... covered in a layer of ice. (Could prove handy for some of you traditional Lenters out there looking for a quick lunch.)

Me, almost up to my knees, in fresh drifted powder.

At several points, had to blaze my own trail through the drifts. It was exhilarating!


This is how I'll be spending Lent, and (pick your deity) willing, the rest of the year.


Numbers: 1.3 miles through drifts of fresh powder.

Day 46 - President's Day

I have today off. President's day, apparently. I don't know much about presidents.

Jimmy Carter was a runner, sort of. He had a PR nightmare when he collapsed in a 5K.

Bill Clinton ran, unattractively, on occasion.

Even "W" ran while in office. He had a sub-8:00 5K time. Not enough.

I like to think that Abe Lincoln ran a bit, between chopping logs and killing bears with his bare hands, but I have no evidence. I do intend to start a rumor, though.

I was president of my fraternity for a year. The economy of the house was sound and it wasn't once attacked by another fraternity. Also, the place didn't burn down. (Almost did the next semester. Not my fault.)

Those modest accomplishments would put me into the top 40% of US Presidents. Hence, I dutifully accept the honor of this holiday.

As a means of celebration, I took the dog for a run in the snow.

This isn't the same old boring snow from yesterday. Oh, no. We have brand new snow. About 4 inches of it. Hooray!

We stood at the end of the driveway. I asked the dog, "Well, what shall we do?" She was no help.

By the end of the street I'd decided to roll through 5 miles, even with the new snow. It was a holiday... for me.

We (I) decided to retrace the 5 mile course that we last did when it was 52 degrees. That was a great run.

It wasn't until about 2 miles into it that I remembered that the course was actually 7, not 5. Meh. What's 2 more miles.

The dog was beside herself. She plowed through the powder. She'd have been smiling ear to ear if dogs could smile.

The snow was falling continuously, but it didn't seem like that much. It wasn't the huge flakes, or clumps of flakes. It was just a steady fall, as if the gods were nervously tapping their powdered doughnuts.

We trudged on, at a surprisingly good clip. We saw other runners out too. And a stray cat, which made for even more excitement.

One of Mandee's distinguishing features is the fine hair on her undercarriage.

After this run, it was bedecked with ice. She's hard core!

The home stretch was as fresh as when we'd started, our foot prints long ago filled in.

The dog and I congratulated each other for a run well run.

The rest of my holiday I will celebrate as all good retired president should... with leftover pizza, a Fat Tire, and a nap.

Good running,

Doug

Numbers: 7.1 miles.

Day 45 - Deep Snow Makes it all OK.

There are some people out there that just don't seem happy, and are determined to spread their misery.

Deep breath...

The budding Buddhist in me is concerned that I let these people get to me. But I can't deny that feeling of disbelief at how some people treat others, and how clueless they are as to how it affects them and those they touch.

My run was short. I was feeling frustrated and cranky, and was anxious to get back to my kids and the tray of Valentine's Day cupcakes.

(Who invented cupcakes and please tell me in what years she won the Nobel Prizes for Chemistry, Peace, and an extra couple for general brilliance just because she put together the idea of a cake you can eat in one bite, which I did today, twice.)

My street is treacherous. Still looks like a back alley on Hoth.

Other streets are clear, except for the sidewalks and shoudlers. There you have sure footing, which comes in handy when dodging the oncoming SUVs, ditching into the piles of snow that used to cover the road.

After a half mile of playing this losing game of chicken, I decided to go full-monty Eskimo.

Straight down an unplowed and barely trodden sidewalk we went. Snow halfway up my calf and who knows what the topology was of the frozen slush underneath.

The dog was thriled, leaping, bounding, actively hunting for the deepest drifts within a leash-length.

My heart rate skyrocketed as my pace plummeted. Without trail shoes, or socks for that matter, the snow and ice lashed at my ankles.

We came to a driveway that had been plowed and the two of us sailed over the snowplow-piled slough, took a few strides on pavement, and then hurdled the pile's twin, back to the cold, deep, icy, downright inhospitable snow that we were enjoying so much.

It was hard running. It was slow running. Man, did I feel alive.

And for those few minutes before the sidewalk ran out, I'd forgotten all about the clueless people that live to spread their own misery.

Back on pavent and heading home, frustration and anger were replaced with pity. What a horrible way to live out one's time on earth.

Find something that brings you joy, and spread some of that.

Good running,
Doug

Numbers: 1.7 hard, slow, most excellent miles, burning approximately 0.37 cupcakes.

Day 44 - Zamboni

We all know what a Zamboni is, right? It's a big truck/machine used at ice rinks. What it does is shave the top layer of crappy ice and snow that has accumulated, then it spreads a thin coat of warm water on top, filling all the cracks so that when that water freezes, the ice is smooth as glass for skaters.

Yesterday the temp stuck it's nose above 32F, melting just the top layer of ice that still covers all of the side streets. You know, the streets that are less traveled, the ones we run on. Last night it got good and cold again.

Zamboni effect.

This morning, anywhere there was ice, it was perfect for skating. Diabolical for running.

If there ever was a day not to run, this was it. Cold. Slippery. Packed with stuff to do (including state swim meet... Go Maggo!).

Of course, I went anyway. I stole just a few minutes for myself.

As I was out there, in between thoughts of how great it was to be out in the world, and how easy it would be to snap a wrist on the next patch of ice, I thought about all of the days I didn't run last year. The day in Michigan at the indian casino when the snow was falling fast and deep. That would have been a great experience. The half-marathon I got talked out of on race morning. What was I thinking?


This happened day after day. There were uncountable reasons. Some reasonable reasons. Mostly weak excuses.

How could I have rationalized not doing something that I knew was so good for me? Why did I deny myself something I enjoy so much? How did I manage to get through the day? How did I let that happen?

My daily run clears my head from the crap that's piled up. It calms me, smooths out my mood, puts things into perspective, and sets me up for a great day.

Zamboni effect.

My ice must have been a mess last year. No wonder the skating was so bad.

Tend your ice, folks.

Good running,
Doug

Numbers: 3 miles.

Day 43 - Hitting the Reset Button

Travel, in general, can be tough on the system. Jumping a couple time zones adds the whole time shift problem to the mix.

You're far from home, eating food you probably shouldn't at times that make no sense to your body.

Same goes for sleep. Your body needs sleep, but everything around it, every damn subtle cue from the environment, is telling it that it just isn't time yet.

Traveling to Las Vegas is essentially a double-down on all of this.

And sometimes it's a Split-your-8s and then Double-Down on the 8 that got a 3, especially since the dealer is showing a 6 and cool you got a 7 for 18, and stay put on the other 8 that was joined by a Queen, now you're sitting pretty because the dealer turned up a 9 for 15 and then drew a fudgin' 6 ARE YOU KIDDING ME!

Notice all of these players smiling? They haven't split their 8s against a 6 yet.

And then, add in the red-eye.

It seemed like such a great idea when you were booking the flight. It's a direct flight, which to/from Indy is almost unheard of. Booth duty and teardown ended about the time things wind down back home, which meant a mostly free afternoon and evening to case the strip, lose some money on a split/double-down, and perhaps step into a fountain (Venetian). With a late check-out, there was time for a quick nap and a nice dinner.

"Seems like" and "Reality", turns out, not always the same thing.

We hit the wall, hard, at the airport.

The plane was packed and muggy. So muggy that I had the little air jet blowing on my face or the back of my neck the entire 3 hours, 2 minutes. And someone please explain to me why the pilot kept the seatbelt light on the entire, turbulence free, flight.

Bags were slow to come out. (Wasn't my idea to check bags, so don't start.) Dark and 6 degrees F at the car.

Try this for fun, kids: wake up 90 minutes after a half-day of work, a full day of play in Vegas, and a red-eye flight in a sauna for a 9am conference call.

The fun continued clear through the next two conference calls which were thoughtfully spaced just close enough together to make a nap unrealistic, but far enough apart that I couldn't stay awake between them, allowing me the pleasure of waking twice to an alarm after a blissful 15 minutes of sleep.

Needless to say, the mind and body were on tilt. In fact, they weren't speaking to each other.

Luckily, I have a reset button. Returning to feeling normal was just outside my front door.

After the last call, I bypassed the bed, geared up, saddled up the dog, and hit the street/snow. It wasn't 30 seconds before I felt back in my skin again, mind and body were back on good terms, both present and accounted for.

Something that makes you feel normal again, no matter what you've put yourself through, is something you should keep doing. If you haven't found that something for you, give running a try.

Good running,
Doug

Numbers: 1.1 miles with one sorely-missed dog.

Day 42 - The Backside of Vegas

Seth and I headed out again early this morning.

Saw this car at the valet stand. Driver was 6'4'', 270.

Seth gave me the scoop on the party I missed last night. (We opted to lay low last night with a fabulous dinner at Belagio... Seabass (ill-tempered), and early to bed given the looming red-eye trip home) Summary: Party sucked. Music was awesome.

Again the weather was perfect... 40s and dazzling sunshine.

We stayed off the beaten path and headed away from the strip, going up and over the highway and then up the back side of the hotels.

It's incredible that such valuable real estate can sit unused. But there are a lot of these lots just waiting for yet another hotel/casino. The lots are huge expanses of loose dirt and gravel... perfect for hiding bodies... I'm just sayin'...

Going rogue like this usually involves some hunt-and-pecking to find your way through. Sidewalks end abruptly, roads turn into freeways, big ol' backhoes block your path, and sometimes, your path just ends.

No worries. We humped across the vacant lot, careful not to tread on any broken glass or unmarked graves, and were soon back on solid ground.

Another half mile and we were back to civilization, if fake New York City counts as civilization.

We picked the pace up for the obligatory dash along a short section of the strip, ran under the big phallus obelisk outside Luxor, and returned safely to our home away from home.

It's been a real treat running here in LV this week. And thanks to Seth, my mileage the last couple days has been pretty decent. Good thing, too. Home is under snow. Deep. There's a good chance I'll need snowshoes before I get to run in shorts again.

Good Running,
Doug

Numbers: 3.5 miles, again, perfect weather.

Day 41 - Early AM run with Seth

In 20 minutes, we went from being nose-to-nose with sharks to sipping cocktails from glasses made of ice, on a couch made of ice, in a room made of ice.


That would be plenty for one night anywhere else in the world. But we're in Vegas, baby.


Back for another night in the casino lounge. The Lemons were back on stage and rocking just as hard as last night.


And this time, we ran into people we knew. Plus we made some new friends. And it was all good.


Until the Jägerbombs.


I'm a Tequila guy. Simple. Unadorned. 100% agave. Keeps bad things from happening.

I also don't drink caffeine. Haven't for over 4 years.

Mixing Jäger and RedBull is a double-dose of bad news for me.

Specifically, last night the Jägerbomb induced a serious case of drunknesia. I really don't remember anything past those gulps. There was dancing in a club, in the casino outside the club, and in the room. Apparently I had a great time. Bothers me that I don't remember any of it. Bad Doug. That's why I stick to tequila.

But the Jägercoma faded in time for me to keep my 8:30 run with Seth. It was really rough the first couple miles, but the gorgeous view of the mountains and the bright sunshine in the crisp morning brought me back to life. By the last mile we were hauling the mail.

I think it was the sweating that did it...purged the last of the Jäger out of my system.


Good running,
Doug


Numbers: 5.4 miles in perfect conditions.