Happy Run-iversary to Me!

If I remember things correctly (which is highly doubtful), three years ago today I started running. I started running because I was home to help my dad recover from his knee replacement surgery, was out for a walk while waiting for him and Mum to arrive home from the hospital in OKC and found I needed to go faster when "Given to Fly" was playing on my trusty iPod.

Do I blame Pearl Jam? Do I blame my dad's bum knee? Do I blame my impatience?How about all three of 'em?

I had no idea then that I'd become addicted. I've had setbacks and injuries, and I've had my share of moments when the last thing I wanted to do was get on the damn treadmill and run. I've even allowed myself a few times of cutting my run short because I just didn't feel right or I just had too much going on in my head to "let loose" while running. Unlike a lot of events in my life, I don't let myself linger on those moments. I focus instead on doing what I need to do now so that I can keep running and celebrate more run-iversaries.

That said, I do wish my body and my mental disposition were in such shape that would allow me to celebrate my run-iversaries with some kind of running challenge. But once you've done a half-marathon, a full marathon really seems to be the next big challenge, and not too many marathons happen in Austin in November (the one in San Antonio is just too expensive). And since the 'ol body isn't quite what it used to be in terms of allowing me to run a long distance, I've had to switch to challenging myself with longer and longer bike rides, and that's fine with me.

So this weekend, the bike and I celebrated our respective milestones (the bike's 1-year anniversary and my 3-year run-iversary) by taking part in The Wurst Ride in Texas. We traveled together 64-point-some-odd miles from south Austin to New Braunfels, totaling a metric century. I started off a few minutes after 8 a.m. and proudly crossed the finish line at 12:05 p.u. Not too shabby considering I stopped at two of the five rest stops for roughly 5 minutes each stop.

The ride was a great one, all things considered. Sure, the start temperature of 41 degrees wasn't pleasant, but I had enough thermal gear on to largely protect me. Sure, the constantly running nose got to be a drag, but that's why a person wears sleeves, right? Yes, I ran into (almost literally) my fair share of cyclists whose concept of "Share the road" means riding on the left side of the lane and cyclists whose concept of "Ride single file" means to ride two or three abreast while gossiping. I could have done without the bicycle-built-for-two folks, the mountain bikers and the folks who obviously spent a few thousand dollars on their bikes and accessories but obviously didn't ride those bikes terribly often. And even though the wind had shifted from the north-northwest breeze that had been blowing for the previous 2 or 3 days to a Gulf breeze out of the south-southeast, it was not really a factor at all. All in all, November 6, 2010, was a frickin' perfect day to ride a bike.

After a shower, an attempt at a nap that lasted about 2 hours and a failed attempt to put my contacts back in my eyeballs, which were all bloodshot and irritated from the cold air, I suppose, the boys and I headed to Gyros+ to celebrate with a lamb gyro (stuffed to the gills with yummy lamb), a grilled chicken gyro (tasty), falafel (falafel rocks) and a plate of hummus and warm, lightly toasted pitas. These gyros were my first, as was the falafel, and I have to admit that I'm now addicted to falafel. Are chickpeas just the best thing in the world to eat or what, Gentle Reader?

Happy run-iversary to me!

The Cycling Misadventures of a Faudie

Happy birthday to me, Gentle Reader!

That's right--I'm a year older. Well, technically a year and a week and a day older, but who's counting right?

To celebrate this particular anniversary of my birth, I acquired with the generous help of loved ones a brand new bike. A Trek 7.3 FX hybrid, to be precise--the same one I made the mistake of falling in love with this summer. I'd actually put it on layaway at the end of September, and the husband made the final payment and I rode it home on my birthday.

Wee! This baby can fly!

As much as I loved 'Ol Yeller, the early-90s Specialized Hardrock, my new bike is frickin' fantabulous. Hills I used to dread climbing on 'Ol Yeller barely register on this hybrid. Downhills I used to fly down on 'Ol Yeller are now glorious roller coaster-like drops that have me thinking if I hit a rock or some other piece of litter, I'm going to go flying over the handlebars for an intimate encounter with the pavement.

Y'know, 20 years after I got Fred the Red 10-speed and my first-ever brand-new bike, it seems fitting I get this new bike.

Of course, I couldn't just leave the thing well enough as is. No, I went and bought a new pair of peddles so I could wear my Spin shoes for long rides (like the ride I took to Cedar Park--just over 25 miles--the first Sunday I had it) but still be able to wear my crappy old running shoes for when I peddle up to the gym four days a week. While I'm very accustomed to clipping in and out on a Spin bike, doing it on a bike that moves? That's a whole different story!

Needless to say, taking the bike up and down the street in front of the house to practice clipping out of the pedals as I come to a stop resulted in not one but two intimate encounters with pavement.

I gots a boo-boo!

I can't remember when the last time I skinned my knees was. Probably 25 years or so.

Oh well. It's my first case of road rash. Guess I'm a real cyclist now!

Haven't Posted One of These in a While

Look at that. I've logged 2,500 miles of jogging with Nike+. And y'know what, Gentle Reader?

I'm not excited. I'm not thrilled by the accomplishment. I'm just...ambivalent.

Surprising, non? I used to love to share my running milestones. I'm not sure what's changed. Maybe it's that Nike's redesigned--poorly--the Nike+ site, making it less user-friendly.

Maybe it's that running has become commonplace. After all, it's been two years now. After two years of doing something, it becomes just another part of the routine.

Maybe it's that I no longer have the challenge of going faster and farther. Or, rather, maybe it's that I've had to limit myself if I want to keep doing this. I only run a little over an hour four days a week--enough to get in 8 miles each of those days--so that I can not only get done everything else I have to do in a typical day but also so that I don't get my right hip bursa all inflamed and irritated and achy again. Twice is enough, thank you very much.

Maybe it's that I've found a new challenge in cycling. In a few days, I'll get my new bike out of layaway, and I've been plotting what kind of rides I'll take on it to challenge myself. I've been seriously contemplating riding the whole of Loop 360 this coming spring. (Unless you're from Austin or have visited and know the hilly, curvy, kiddie roller coaster-ish ride Loop 360 is, you probably can't appreciate that challenge, Gentle Reader.)

That's not to say I have any plans to stop running, although I swear there have been days lately when I just don't want to get on the treadmill. But running does my body good, so I'll keep doing it. And I'll keep logging the miles--so long as my iPod and Nike+ chip let me.

Will I crow about my milestones? I dunno. I suppose when I can remember to check my total mileage on the crappy Nike+ site--but don't expect me to visit it that often.

Bully for Me!

So this morning I received an email from the organizers of last Sunday's Run Austin Run event. It attempted to be a mea culpa, but really it shifted the blame to a lot of locals. Here, Gentle Reader, read for yourself:

Thank you for your participation in the inaugural Run Austin Run Half Marathon, 5k, 10k. We would like to apologize for the lack of organization in a number of aspects of this race. And, we truly appreciate and understand the feedback we have received from many of the participants.

Our 'Come for the race, Stay for the party' has worked for us in every other city/state where we have put on an event...from rain in Portland to serious heat in California. But, our food sponsors in those destinations have also performed by having plentiful quantities of food that lasted until the end of the race, so that racers have stayed for the party. In fact, we typically have food left over at the end of each event that we take to the local food banks, churches, fire stations, and even give out to the local people who are picnicking in the nearby areas. This, obviously, was not the case in Austin. As the rain came down, our sponsors and vendors chose to pack up and leave. This was not our plan. We thought it would be best to support the local food vendors and companies in the Austin area but have learned this will need to be done with due diligence in the future, to ensure our expectations are understood and met.

On a positive note regarding food, we were happy to donate over two thousand pounds of food and generate great feedback from the Capital Area Food Bank about the services we have provided for the hungry in the Austin area. This will be a continued nonprofit effort for USA Productions in every city we hold our events throughout the country.

With regards to the services on the course, there seemed to be an unfortunate lack of commitment with some of the volunteer groups we signed up in Austin. Perhaps it was the bad weather but over half of the volunteers that committed to support this race did not show up as assigned. This tremendously affected the support for registration and packet pickup, water station staffing and setup of GU products at each water stop location, course marshals and finish line reception. Volunteer fall out does occur from time to time but having only half show up had a huge impact on staffing the course. National, our porto-toilet supplier did apologize for not dropping the toilets in the correct locations as well as leaving two behind at the venue. Again, this is follow through on our part that we take full responsibility for.

We have ordered additional quantities of medals and t-shirts and they will be shipped within the next 14 days to all that didn't receive a medal at the finish of the half marathon or didn't get a shirt at registration and packet pickup.

Some of our sponsors that did stay around for the brief after party were well received by participants looking for post race massage and sports therapy; thank you Austin Sports Therapy and Triangle Chiropractic for your great support for the Run Austin Run.

We hope this message has addressed the majority of concerns. Again, thank you for your emails and feedback. This event was very difficult to plan and bring to fruition for many reasons. We respect and appreciate your expectations and are sorry they were not met. We look forward to future success in Austin as well as at our locations across the nation next year.

Considering the "bad weather" didn't roll in until about two hours after the event started and the packet pick-up day was fine, I don't exactly think that drove half the volunteers away. Ah well, believe what you will.

The email did come with a link to the official results...and I did fairly well. I placed 176th overall--bully for me!--and ninth overall in my class (women ages 30 to 34). And if you need a laugh, check out the official photos of me. Gads, I look like a total twit when I run.

I Made It Through the Rain....

Gotta love a good Barry Manilow tune, don't ya, Gentle Reader?
Well, it's all over but the screaming in DOMS agony. My first competitive half-marathon is but a memory, and...well, I finished on my feet. Despite the 15-minute late start and the piss-poor organization at the starting gate. Despite the chill that set in about 30 minutes after we finally got to start. Despite the course planned by a damned sadist so it had more hills and long climbs than flats and declines.

And despite the sprinkles that started around mile 9 that became an all-out downpour come mile 12.

"Come for the run, stay for the party" my soaking wet ass! The runner's village that was advertised as offering a postrace feast was a ghost town by the time I came in, a little less than two hours as the air horn marked the start of the run. The husband told me even before the rain started, very few vendors were attempting to peddle their wares. So as soon as I chugged down a Myoplex, walked a while, then walked back to the finishing line because I forgot to turn in my timing chip when I first crossed it, the boys and I took the long walk to the car and hauled our drenched selves home. Once there, I took a long, hot shower, snuggled up in my thick, fuzzy red robe and crawled into bed.

Yep, I made it through the rain. My newish running shoes, the ones I've faithfully only worn while on the treadmill at the gym so they'd be in really good shape for their first road race, are soaked through and through, just like the rest of me was by the time it was over. Sure, I wish I could have done better, but I didn't stop to walk, I didn't keel over, I didn't hack up a lung. I wish I could have done better, yeah, but I'll take the average 7:57 minutes per mile my iPod/Nike + logged for me, all things considered. Now I just hope my iPod made it through the rain....

Ever Considered What an Oddity 23 Is?

I hadn't. Not until I went looking for some kind of cultural significance to the number to tie it in to my latest running milestone.


Michael Jordan's long-time Bulls jersey number was 23. That was about all I knew about the number until Wikipedia enlightened me. Am I a dolt or just a cultural illiterate not to know the significance of the number 23, particularly the 23 Enigma?

Eh, some people just have too much time on their hands. They should be running instead.

Shameless Product Plug

As you should surely know, Gentle Reader, I bike a fair amount nowadays. A lot of that biking is on the busy highways around Chez Boeckman-Walker during morning rush hour traffic. I always have my helmet on, my hand signals (no, not those hand signals) ready and my eyes and ears open because the FSM only knows when some idiot in a hell fire hurry to get to work is going to zip over into the median on Parmer Lane (the road, not the feline resident of Chez Boeckman-Walker) to go around the slow idiot in front of him or her and, well, make road pizza out of me.

To help folks identify me or my remains, I've always carried my driver's license either in my backpack or in my bike's under-the-seat pack or the purse-cum-messenger bag I take when I'm selling plasma or pedaling to a local store. Said license is handy, yes, for letting someone else know at least my name, but a driver's license isn't that terribly useful in an emergency. Plus it's a pain in the rump to have to keep track of which satchel my license is in for when I need it to, well, drive legally.

To eliminate the hassle of trying to keep track of my license and to provide Good Samaritans or EMTs with more information should, the FSM forbid, I one day become road pizza, I've invested in a RoadID.

I even splurged and got the Elite model. However, I didn't go for the interactive version. Why make the finder of my remains make an additional phone call just to get my emergency contact info?

If you too, Gentle Reader, spend a fair amount of time out and about in a manner that makes carrying a wallet with identification cumbersome or difficult, then you might give some thought into acquiring a RoadID for yourself. In addition to wrist models, the company offers dog tags, an ankle model, a tag you can lace onto your shoe, as well as an pouch you can lace onto your shoe along with the ID plate. Granted, if you're really crafty, you could probably come up with some DIY version of this product--or resort to writing your name and emergency contact info in your underwear with permanent marker. But who wants to break out the Sharpies and do that underwear? And if you wear something besides tightie whities, you may not have much space for all that info. I mean, do you want to try writing your name and a phone number on your thong?

If you decide a RoadID is for you, then take advantage of this nice offer the fine folks at RoadID sent me as a thanks for my order: Input coupon code ThanksAngela540978 into the appropriate field when you check out, and you'll get a buck off your order. Hey, that almost pays for basic shipping since the company only charges about $1.50 for standard shipping.

That coupon code is good through October 13, by the way. And if you really want one of these IDs but a buck off isn't enough to motivate you to buy, shoot me an email. I can perhaps help you out.

Huffin' and Puffin' All the Way

Y'know what sucks, Gentle Reader? Just recently, I registered for my first half-marathon. I did it because I was feeling great, I was jazzed that I'd gotten my pace to just over 7 minutes a mile and felt confident I wouldn't terribly embarrass myself attempting a real half-marathon. Naturally, the universe has found it necessary to humble me and my running: My asthma is back. Grr.

What's crazy about this bout with lung fun is that it seems not to be linked to the triggers diagnosed last fall when my doc determined I've got the condition. No siree, no allergies or cold weather to trigger the bronchospasms. This time around, it seems the breathing issues are possibly triggered by vitamin D deficiency and, having learned that my hematocrit has dropped on Tuesday during my latest plasma-selling appointment, borderline anemia. I suppose that all that great running I was doing this summer put a drain on my body, and now me and my lungs are possibly suffering the consequences. The good news is that I still have a month and two days--well, one day--to turn things around.

Speaking of marathons, I've signed the boy up to once again take part in Marathon Kids. While last year he put in his 26.2 miles during school, this year he and I will be doing it together after school. Unfortunately, his new school doesn't participate in the program, so I signed him up as an independent family. What's great about Marathon Kids is that it's totally free to all participants thanks to its sponsors. That's especially nice since I can't even imagine what we would potentially have to shell out to take part considering that registration fees for half-marathons and marathons are $75 and up--and that's if you find out about the event in time to get in on the early bird reduced fee!

So, I guess there's no rest for the oxygen-deprived, and I only have myself to blame. But, really, you won't hear me complaining--because I won't be able to get in a big enough breath to do it!

Another Milestone

Yep, Gentle Reader, it's that time again. Hey, it's not like these posts are going to go away because it's not like I'm going to stop running unless, the FSM forbid, something were to happen to me that would force me to stop.

As fairly impressive as 2,100 miles is, it's kind of nothing compared to what one running Austinoid and a guy I used to work with, Russell Secker, recently accomplished. He recently put in 2,800 miles in 64 days running across Europe (starting south in Italy and heading north to end in the most northern point of Norway). Now that's impressive. Something I might aspire to? Eh, not likely. I'm sure if you too, Gentle Reader, were to read some of Russell's entries and see some of his photos, you wouldn't aspire to this feat of feet either.

I Conquer the King

Today, I did something for the very first time that I've been told kids do easily and without trepidation--although I was not one of those kids. I did something today for the very first time that I've struggled to do, sworn off, sworn to achieve, been indifferent to and made excuses about for the past six, seven years.

I finally did sirsana, the king of asanas, all by myself today.

Okay, sure, I had a wall for support, but I didn't need Madame Guillotine or a Swiss ball to help be invert. I got my hips stacked over my head and shoulders and then got my legs up all by myself. Without excuses.

Yeah, excuses. I've had a load of them to explain my tempestuous relationship with this pose. Lack of experience (hey, I wasn't one of those kids who readily stood on her head, as so many of my teachers suggested all kids did). Injury (certain muscles in my back would certainly not cooperate to help me sustain the pose even when assisted into it). Fear.

As you can guess, Gentle Reader, that last one's a biggie. I wasn't afraid so much of going upside down. That doesn't bother me. I don't get disoriented as some folks do in inversions, and I don't freak out at the loss of control the pose can represent--even though I am certainly a control freak when I'm standing on my own two feet. No, I was afraid of getting injured while getting into or out of (more like falling out of due to a muscle crapping out on me) the pose. An injury would mean downtime, and I hate downtime. Because I was afraid of the prospect of an injury, I avoided it.

But then I started working on it almost daily at the gym with the help of a Swiss ball. I got my back muscles comfortable with supporting me when I had my hips stacked over my head and shoulders (with my legs supported by the ball). Then I got my back comfortable with supporting me with one leg up and one leg on the ball. From that point, getting both legs up was no problem.

Of course, inverting sans Swiss ball was the big, final goal. Gentle Reader, would you be shocked to know I was perfectly fine with never working to achieve that goal? I was content with the progress I made, but I was curious if I could invert on my own power. And quite by accident today, it happened. The damn ball I was using kept rolling away once I was inverted. Sick of chasing after it, I just tried to go upside down on my own--and f'in did it.

Hooray for me!

What's next for me? Dunno. Probably not niralamba sirsana:

But Mr. Iyengar looks pretty cool doing it!

I Am Crazy

Not that that's any shocking revelation to you, I'm sure, Gentle Reader. You and I both have long known I'm a tad insane in the membrane. However, I occasionally do things that really make me wonder just how utterly loco I am.

Allow me to share with you two recent incidents that call into question my mental faculties.

Exhibit A
I think this speaks for itself....

The boy asked for drum lessons. A friend kindly gave us her son's old kiddie-size five-piece drum kit. My murder by Muffin is now assured.

Have you ever seen a more annoyed and potentially murderous expression on a cat?

Exhibit B
Late last night I went for a massage because the left side of my body was all kinds of messed up. While waiting for my session, I picked up the latest issue of Austin Runner, which is useful for finding out about upcoming races. In other words, the publication has a bad reputation for getting me into trouble.

And it did it again.


How can I pass up an opportunity to run a half-marathon before the end of the year--even though the moment I finished registering that little voice inside my head started screaming, What the fuck do you think you're getting us into? You know you're going to hate it a few miles in, just as you have with the last two longer-than-5K races you entered. You moron! You glutton for punishment!?

Gosh, I really love that little voice inside my head. That's my voice of reason. It's my constant bitch-slap of reality. Because it's true: Even though I've run a dozen or more half-marathons at the gym, I'm going to wind up hating running this one because I hate running outside. I hate the rise and fall of the terrain. I hate having to dodge puddles of water surrounding the water stations created by my fellow gluttons for punishment. I hate knowing that I can run faster but can't seem to do it on the "big day."

But I still, dammit all, get excited when I learn about a possible race to enter because maybe this time will be different.

So if the definition of insanity is doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting different, better results, then yes, Gentle Reader, I'm insane. I'm fuckin' nuts. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

The Big Two-Triple Oh

I did it, Gentle Reader. I did it.

If you're clueless, let Nike tell you what I did:


Yeah, that's right, Gentle Reader: I've officially logged 2,000 miles of running. Unofficially, I've run that and more, but as far as Nike+ is concerned, I just today hit that milestone.

And I'm frickin' thrilled!

But not just for hitting that big-ass number! I had my quarterly weigh-in yesterday, and while I did put on 2.5 pounds since my last visit, I only managed to drop my total body fat percentage to 9.9 percent. Yeah, that's right, Gentle Reader--I've got the total body fat percentage of an Olympic athlete.

As for those 2.5 pounds I put on, that's muscle mass and some water, which my nutritionist figures is stored in the additional muscle mass. I lost seven pounds of fat mass and added nine pounds of fat-free mass and about half a pound of water. Which means the only way to lose those added pounds is probably to get sick and be unable to eat much, drink much or run much--and I'll pass on that opportunity, thank you very much.

Y'know, never in my life had I imagined I'd be in such terrific shape. I've taken more than a minute off my average running pace (which isn't reflected in that number Nike+ put up for the average over 2,000 miles), I'm largely free of pain (at least of any pain associated with running--returning to teaching yoga has put my left QL in some hurt) and my body composition numbers look...incredible for someone who's my age, height and health/fitness history.

Heh, now the pressure's really on to keep myself here. That's enough to make me want to hurl at times, but most of the time I'm trying to be somewhat calm. I mean, I know what I need to do, and there's only so much I can do. I can't control time and space, so I can only go with the flow and enjoy the hell out of it while I'm flowin'.

But, damn, that's still really cool. This former fat girl can run!

Happy Anniversary, Nike+

Well, Gentle Reader, I didn't quite make it to the 2,000-mile mark in time for the one-year anniversary of my Nike+ tracking account, but I think coming 110 miles short isn't too bad.

UPDATE
A few short, sweaty hours after publishing this post, I hit the 1,900-mile mark and kicked off my second year of Nike+ use in a big way: completing a half-marathon in less than 99 minutes. See for yourself:


Pretty nifty, non? Okay, so maybe running 13.1 miles in 99 minutes doesn't seem like much of an accomplishment to you, Gentle Reader, but it's a pretty neat one for me. I'm not a fast runner by any means, but I'd like to think that I'm a diligent runner. With time and focus, I've shaved off almost half an hour off my half-marathon time, and I'm admittedly shocked and thrilled by that accomplishment. If you don't want to join me in celebrate, well then, bully for you!

Many Happy (?) Returns

A funny thing happened yesterday afternoon. The phone rang--and no, that's not the funny thing, although it is a rare occurrence here at Chez Boeckman-Walker since we're antisocial folks, save the boy--and on the other end of the line was a clerk from a local women's sports apparel boutique. She was calling to let me know that I'd put my contact info on the store's sign-up sheet (last October) to be alerted when Nike finally released the Nike Sportsband v2.0.

Remember the Nike sportsband, Gentle Reader? Bought my first one on July 26. Had to return it and the replacement I was given for my original in August. Was told by the folks at Bettysport that Nike planned to have an improved unit out in time for the holidays--and never saw word one about it. Gave up on the damn thing in January and switched to the Nike+ iPod attachment.

Well, it's back. In a limited quantity to, in the words of the Bettysport clerk, raise interest in the product. Hah! More like make the initial buyers (suckers) beta testers to determine if v2.0 actually is more moisture-resistant. Anywho, the store's sister store, Rogue Running, was generously given 18 of the 55 total (she seemed to recall) distributed for sale in Texas. If I hurried, I could get one for the same price I'd paid for my original one a year ago.

Yeah, thanks but no thanks. Sure, v2.0 has, according to CNET, "a welded seal to improve water resistance" and "a screen with a white background to enhance visibility," but I'm just not going to a buyer. For starters, I don't need it since I use the iPod-based version of Nike's tracking system (and I've learned to live with the limitations of that system). More importantly, I've been burned twice now by being an "early adopter" (aka, paying beta tester), and I'm not going to go through that rigmarole again. I'm still carting around my iPod shuffle that's largely unusable because the damn earphone controls have konked out, leaving me unable to adjust the volume, pause playback or skip songs--functions that are all must-haves when running in a gym that often has the bad music cranked up and the obnoxious fitness instructor screaming into her microphone with her music blaring and the classroom doors wide open.

Oh, and the new sportsband colors are fugly. Pink and grey? Yellow and grey? Sure, there's red and grey, but...meh. Not my thing.

Speaking of Things Happening 9 Months Later....
I returned to yoga today. After a nine-month sabbatical, I teaching yoga again. And at Gold's to boot!

Why didn't I return to Yoga Yoga, you ask, Gentle Reader? For a few reasons. After so much time away, I didn't think I'd get a slot on the schedule at a time when I wanted to teach. Its teacher training program is churning out teachers every six or nine months, I think, and so many of them wind up teaching there, so I didn't think a long-absent teacher stood a candle of a chance against long-time instructors and new, excited, dedicated ones.

I think, though, the big reason for not returning to YoYo is that...the place has changed. It's not the same cozy community I enjoyed once. It's become fragmented, even more erratic (you'd think there'd be more cohesion since this is a business, after all, about yoga--union) and, well, just too big and with too many dreams and too little follow through. Maybe I just feel that way because I was one of the few teachers who worked fulltime elsewhere. Perhaps if I taught and worked the front desk or managed one of the studios or did some other "regular employee" work, maybe I wouldn't have felt unattached and disregarded. But even when I was able to spend more time at the studios and I was teaching several classes, I still felt some...left out.

Of course, Gentle Reader, all those feelings are somewhat ironic considering I'm now working for an organization that's adopted a tremendous corporate culture and doesn't really give a rat's ass about its yoga teachers. And y'know what? I knew that already, and I'm totally fine with that. I can teach at Gold's because there's no veneer of cozy, intimate community. There's no sham anyone's attempting to perpetrate.

Returning to Gold's to return to teaching is, in a way, returning me to my beginnings. I started doing yoga there. I started teaching there. Going back and bringing everything I've learned to a lot of folks who would probably be too intimidated to set foot in a yoga studio is something I want to do because those people need yoga just as much as the folks who go to the studios. So, I guess...

Welcome hOMe!

Getting Closer....

Remember, Gentle Reader, how I said I probably wouldn't hit the 2,000-mile mark by the time my one-year anniversary of tracking my running mileage with Nike+? Remember how I said I'd nevertheless try like hell to do it?

Yeah, I'm true to my word!


I still don't think I'm going to hit 2,000 miles by July 28. For starters, I just don't have the time. Secondly, I've noticed that when I ride my bike to the gym, my running pace drops from about 8:05 min./mile to 8:18 min./mile, which makes the run not quite so fun and more frustrating.

But do you know what does help, Gentle Reader? New shoes. This week, I started sporting a new pair of running shoes, and wowee! what a difference! My feet feel like they're floating--it's so sweet.

Well, 12 days left. Let's see how far I can get!

Six Years Ago Today

I stepped off an elevator in an apartment building in Seoul and met my son. Not a lot of women can say they stepped off an elevator and became a mom. Some women endure nine months of pregnancy then hours of labor and delivery. Me, I endured nine months of paperwork and waiting and agonizing over the actions of various government agencies and then 13 or so hours on a plane.

If I weren't so lazy, Gentle Reader, I'd upload the video of the actual moment I just described. But the video would need editing, and the Mac is currently not set up for use. Yes, I am that lazy.

The Boy and I Get to Know Each Other

This picture was taken shortly after the husband and I met our son. We went into his foster family's apartment to enjoy a little snack and to converse with his foster mom with the help of his social worker. I can't tell you much of what we talked about during the time we spent there, and I can't even tell you how long we were there. I was too stuck in this awe that this little, wriggly, smiley proto-human was real and, in a few days, would be my responsibility--but moreso I was stuck on the reality of him.

Here's the thing, Gentle Reader. I'm a writer. I create characters in my head, and they seem very real to me as I work with them both in my head and on paper. However, they're not real. They're just images and voices and ideas in my head and on paper.

While we waited for him to get his passport and visa, which would enable him to join us in the U.S., I stared at the boy's picture and read and reread the various documents we received during those weeks. I...yeah, I fantasized about what life with a baby would be like. I wove stories in my head featuring him and me and the husband and the feline kids and so on and so forth--just as I'd done with my fictional characters.

You can probably understand then, Gentle Reader, why I was so in awe of the reality of those moments in that apartment in Seoul with that little, wriggly, smiley proto-human in my arms or in the husband's arms or in his foster mom's arms. This is really happening, became my litany because after so long, part of me had sort of assumed that the saga of the adoption was just another saga I'd spun in my head--real to me in a way, but not ultimately not real.

But the boy is very real. Motherhood is very real. Granted, this six-year anniversary of our meeting the boy we're spending apart from him, but our life together in one crazy household is very real. And as crazy as it all is, I look forward to more of it.

So how am I celebrating six years of motherhood? By running my ass off: I put in a half-marathon today at the gym. I also hit another running milestone.

Two observations on this noteworthy day:

1. Running a half-marathon and then biking home is not terribly fun. This observation combined with my inability to swim proves I'll never be a triathlete. No way no how.
   
2. As much as I'd love to do it, I'm not going to log 2,000 miles by the time my one-year anniversary of logging miles with Nike+ comes around on July 28. My pace is slowing and my desire to spend that much time at the gym is dimming. Oh well.

Of course, logging more than 1,700 miles in about 11 months is probably nothing to sneer at. I'm thrilled by that achievement. Being the overachiever that I am, I'm going to try as hard as I can to get as close to 2,000 miles logged as I can by July 28.

Yeah, I know, Gentle Reader. I'm pathetic.

Not a Bad Way to Wrap Up a Crazy Week

Not too shabby an accomplishment for the boy's first full week of summer vacation, which has required me to truncate my gym time. Granted, I ran a half-marathon (actually, 13.5 miles) today to hit the 1,600 miles mark, but I don't think it's all that bad that I found time to run a half-marathon today.

I'll celebrate by taking the bike out this evening to ride the entire length of the Brushy Creek Regional Trail again (did it Wednesday evening too) while the boys play at the sprinkler park. Run 13 miles in the morning, donate some plasma, then bike 13 miles in the evening. Happy summer!

The Biking Misadventures of a Faudie

You may recall, Gentle Reader, that the boy learned to ride his bike sans training wheels shortly before Mother's Day, which was an incredible triumph for both him and me. Since then, we've put in a lot of time on the bikes and will probably continue to do so throughout the summer.

You may recall as well, Gentle Reader, that I'm a Spinner. It's not my most favorite thing I do at the gym, but I do enjoy it and its benefits. It's made me a much better rider, which has its positives and negatives. One of those negatives: I've learned the joy of the upstroke, and I miss it when I'm not clipped into a Spin bike, such as when I'm out and about on my bike. When the boys and I are out and about, we make our way up a fair number of inclines (Austin is part of the Hill Country in a way), and I miss having my upstroke then especially.

So what's a recreational-but-enthusiastic-and-fit biker to do? Why, switch up pedals so she can somehow secure herself to them and therefore claim her upstroke, of course! But that simple fix does have one caveat in my case: I need to be able to dismount quickly in case the boy has an accident. I love my Spin shoes, but getting unclipped quickly on the bikes at the gym is just not possible. I also can't exactly wear my Spin shoes out and about because (1) I may need to run to get to the boy, and Spin shoes are not for running and (2) Spin shoes aren't really made for general wearing. For these reasons, I ruled out SPD pedals for my bike.

My only choice, it seemed, was a set of cage attachments or these things called Power Grips, which looked really promising as a quick-release option. Unfortunately, getting either solution onto my pedals wasn't as simple as buying a pair and attaching them. No, my cheap bike came with cheap pedals that did not have detachable front reflectors, which meant they had no holes into which to screw the cages or Grips. So step #1 for my pedal upgrade was finding pedals that fit my old, cheap bike--I was learning quickly how cheap and how old it was, although the Huffy I bought back in '94 at ALCO never struck me as cheap and old--and that task proved to be more difficult than I anticipated.

Pedals, Pedals Everywhere But Not a Pair to Fit
I started my quest at the Performance Bicycle shop in South Austin on our way home from our misadventure at the veloway. I tried to explain my situation, but eventually I had to have the clerk come out and look at my bike. He took one look and muttered something about a single-arm crank and special order. Special order sounded expensive, which I was not in the market for, so I thanked him and left.

A few days later, I hauled my bike to a place closer to home, Bicycle Sports Shop. Initially the clerk helping me tried to sell me a set of 9/16" pedals, but when another clerk went to put them on, he realized they were the wrong size. No, my bike needs 1/2" pedals, I learned that day. Luckily, the shop had some BMX-style pedals that fit, so off I went with them installed.

While the new pedals did have a better grip, they did not have the necessary holes for attaching the Power Grips, which I acquired the same day at the Performance Bicycle shop closer to home. Bugger!

After doing some research and calling around, I discovered University Cyclery had pedals in the size I needed. Woohoo! Two days after acquiring the BMX pedals and the Power Grips, I made my way to a third shop to acquire another set of pedals. I explained my needs to the clerk at University, and he said he heard bad things about the Power Grips from local riders who'd tried them. Based on his advice and on my in-shop test of the Grips' mounting bracket with the pedals I'd found at the store, I determined I was probably going to be better off with the cages. So I bought a pair of them along with the pedals.

That evening, the husband kindly installed the new pedals, all tricked out with the cages. I went for a test ride and noticed immediately that the pedals seemed...off. They almost seemed to wobble under my feet, and I wasn't sure if they just weren't installed improperly or if my upstroke motion was causing the wobbling sensation. The husband took the bike for a spin and confirmed the off-kilter feeling of the pedals.

A Return and a Revelation
Since I had to return the Power Grips to Performance, I decided yesterday to haul my bike along when I made the return so I could get someone in the service department to take a look at the new pedals in the hopes that he or she could determine the problem. Sure enough, the rather gruff (bordering on dismissive and rude) service person quickly told me the pedals were the wrong size and that I needed 9/16" pedals. I tried to explain to him why I had 1/2" pedals, and he barked a few things, so eventually I just decided I'd avoid a testy situation and began nodding my head a lot and playing dumb. (The blonde hair really helps sell that routine.)

What came out of that conversation was this: Because we'd installed the wrong-size, higher-quality pedals crooked (not through any fault of the husband's, mind you, Gentle Reader) on my cheap-ass bike, we'd probably stripped the threads on the crank arms, thus probably making it impossible for even the original cheap-ass pedals to go back on. In short: In my attempts to make minor upgrades, I'd probably rendered my bike unrideable, for the crooked pedals twerked my knees, and I don't need any additional twerking 'o my knees, thank you very much.

Le sigh.

On top of that, Dairy Queen had already switched its Blizzard of the Month flavor, so my plan for one final raspberry-chocolate truffle Blizzard. Dammit! Could my day get any worse?

No, Gentle Reader, I didn't ask that of the universe. I didn't want to tempt fate.

Fortunately, the husband was able to get the new pedals off and the old, cheap pedals back on fairly securely, so at least the bike was rideable.

What Else You Can Buy on Craigslist Besides Sex
The universe, in its infinite wisdom, did open a door for me despite the bike woes it had sent my way. I hopped on Craigslist's local bike sales listings late in the afternoon just to browse selection and prices. Sure, my old, cheap bike was rideable, but for how long?

Happily, someone late in the afternoon posted an ad for a Specialized Hardrock 17" mountain bike that was at least 8 years old and in pretty good condition for a pretty decent price. After doing a bit of research, I figured I'd send a query about its availability. And then spent the rest of the evening glued to my computer in hopes of getting an email letting me know the bike was still available.

And got up this morning to do it again--when I wasn't cleaning up cat puke, trying hard not to kill Bucket for yet again unraveling part of the blanket I'm knitting for the boy (granted, it was my own fault for leaving it in a place where he could get to it), hanging out with the kittens outside, kickboxing, mowing the lawn, removing the pavers from the west side of the driveway and, finally, showering. Around 11:30, I got my rear in gear to make the final batch of returns: the BMX pedals to Bicycle Sports Shop and the other pedals and cages to University.

While at Bicycle Sports Shop, I asked one of the clerks to help me determine what size bike frame I needed. Boy oh boy, talk about an education I got! No, I'm not being sarcastic there, Gentle Reader. I really did learn a lot.

And I also made the mistake of trying out a really, really sweet fitness hybrid model from Trek and falling head over heels in love with it. I knew I shouldn't have even done that after seeing the price tag--$640, which is way beyond my price range--but I really was curious to know how it felt to ride a bike that the numbers indicated was the right size for me. Perhaps that's why I felt so hard so fast: Riding that Trek FX was a dream come true for my cranky QL and crotchety hip flexors. The bike also was incredibly light-weight: Parmer Dude weighs more than that bike.

I fell so hard for it that, as I drove away, I was contemplating how I could get the bike through Trek's financing plan (i.e., credit card with one-year payment deferred opportunity) without the husband knowing the true cost of the bike. Pathetic, non? That's almost like having an affair with another person!

After saying a heart-breaking adieu to the Trek, I hauled arse to University to return the pedals and cages. I browsed the bikes at that store, but I didn't find anything that screamed out to me, "I'm comparable to the one you fell in love with but at a fraction of the price!"

As I was making my way home, my cell phone rang: It was the Hardrock seller! Woohoo! After getting some directions, I whipped a U and headed to his (incredibly nice) house to check out his bike. Even as I drove his way, I was doubting his boke would work. After all, it was a 17" frame (if I read the information right last night) and I seemed to be best suited for a 20" unisex frame (the size of my Trek dream bike).

Then the seller answered his door and stepped his roughly 6' 3" body outside. Yeah, I realized in a nanosecond, if this guy can ride that bike, sure as shit I should be able to, bum QL, knees, hip flexors and everything!

I took it for a spin without lowering the seat, still adjusted for his roughly 6' 3" body and knew within seconds this bike would work just fine. I handed over the cash I'd wisely stopped by an ATM to retrieve, he helped me with the quick-release attachments on the front wheel to get the thing loaded in my trusty Fit and I was off to home, much later than anticipated when I'd left at 11:30 but feeling much better about my biking situation.


Yeah, sure, it's school bus yellow, but it's a great ride. Also, it's a fraction of the weight of my old bike (seen behind New Yellow in the photo); I can lift the thing with one hand--sweet! I might need to replace the tubes as the seller suggested, but I'm going to wait and see how they do. I also need to take off the attachment/base piece for the Krytponite U-lock the seller had attached but had unfortunately lost the key for it, install a second water bottle holder (now all three of us can have water when we ride!) and put my underseat first aid kit on.

Will I attach cages? I dunno. The pedals are the right kind, and I have to admit I feel kinda silly having returned the ones to University--but how was I to know I'd have a new bike within an hour of returning them? I'm just going to relax and enjoy my new ride and see how it goes.

Really? Already?

Seems like it was just a few months ago that I hit 1,000 miles run and logged. Here I am, already at 1,500.


Damn. I'll be at 2,000 miles before I know it. Probably before I reach the one-year anniversary of logging my miles.

Sweet.

A Funny Thing Happened at the Veloway

The husband and I went to bed last night thinking our plans to head to far south Austin to ride the veloway were dashed thanks to a 60% chance of showers. I got up bright and early--with an emphasis on bright. The clouds that had brought us a very nice, drenching rain late Saturday afternoon and into the early evening had largely moved on, and what gray remained was moving on as well.

Woohoo! Let's get those bikes loaded and hit the road!

Within Spitting Distance of Mopac, But a World Away
I didn't realize it when I'd looked at the map of the veloway, but it's located right across the street from the Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center, which boded well for some nice scenery even though the 3.1 miles (that's 5K, Gentle Reader) of the veloway are tucked behind a residential development--thankfully not a sprawling one. Fortunately too for residents and riders alike, the planners have maintained a lot of the natural vegetation to maintain the privacy of both groups.

Since South Austin's enjoyed a bit more rain than we Northerners have, the veloway course was dotted with a healthy variety of wildflowers, along with some wildlife. I spotted a number of squirrels, although not once during the three times I rode the course did I spy any snakes at the stretch of road marked with the "Snake Crossing" sign. Bummer.

Oh, and I also saw my very first real roadrunner. Not an animated one. There's a difference, Gentle Reader, in case you didn't realize:

Here's a roadrunner photographed at the veloway, but not by me.

Here's a roadrunner you've probably seen on your TV, Gentle Reader.

The Hazards of Walkers
or
I Get to Put Years of Training and Learning to Use
Not long after we set off from the parking lot, I left the boys to their own devices because I was really anxious to experience the course at my speed, not at the puttering, meandering, often knee-killing pace I have to keep in order to ride with the boy. From the moment I set off, I knew I'd simply start a second round and catch up with them, and I have to admit that I was rather surprised how far into their own first lap they'd gotten when I did catch up to them.

And they probably would have gotten farther if it hadn't been for a very odd feature of the veloway:

(Picture from Bike Noob)

This steep hill (Bike Noob points out that the camera typically flattens the incline) is sort of a surprise because you approach it right out of a fairly sharp turn. The hill's been dubbed Jacob's Rail--by whom I don't know yet--and in 1998 was awarded a "Best of" prize by the editors of The Chron, specifically calling it the "Best Place To Impersonate Sisyphus."

While I didn't feel particularly despotish when I encountered Jacob's Rail the first time, I was surprised by it but luckily had enough speed to almost get to the top--and would have if my damn right foot hadn't slipped off my pedal. Damn my lack of upstroke! But I'm a fast learner, and as I was approaching on my second go-round, I knew to build up speed long before the hill.

The course is arranged to that the top of Jacob's Rail is a half-dozen yards or so across from the winding approach to it (traffic flows in one direction on the veloway, for obvious safety reasons). As I was starting to gather speed for my second approach, I heard a scream, a female scream, but I honestly didn't think much of it. The noise struck me more as one of surprise, not terror.

Heh, boy was I wrong!

I got the hill and started my ascent when I noticed that hey! that's the boy walking up on the right side. I'm hoofin' it up Jacob's Rail, noting that two men are assisting a hobbling woman up the hill on the left side, even as I holler over my shoulder, "Where's Daddy?"

"He's helping!" the boy hollers back.

Sure enough, one of the men assisting the woman is the husband. That I didn't recognize him at first I'm going to chalk up to my concentration on getting up the hill and my mild surprise at finding the boy walking up the hill. (It's a pretty stiff incline, and that's a lot to ask a newbie 6-year-old rider to climb.) Soon, though, I get my arse over to the right, where the husband and the other man took the injured woman to rest against a railing, to see if I could help at all since I'd packed a quick first-aid kit in an underseat bag on my bike. Just call me Batman--I'm prepared with my utility belt--er, bag.

The woman was complaining about a cramp in her calf as I was whipping out the container of Bath & Body Works sweet pea-scented antibacterial wipes and tube of triple-strength antibiotic ointment with topical analgesic to address her road rash-afflicted elbow. Once we got her elbow cleaned up and as the husband and the other man was prepping one of the gauze pads I had in the kit with some ointment and some of the medical tape I also carried, I told the fallen biker that I was a yoga instructor and had some training in muscular release then asked if she'd like me to try to release the cramp. I thought that's why she'd crashed: a sudden charley horse while ascending Jacob's Rail had derailed her climb. While trying to pinpoint the focus of her pain, I got a few more details about what had happened. And I cringed.

The woman hadn't suffered a sudden cramp. No, she'd come around the turn to start her ascent only to find a certain 6-year-old off in his bike and in her path. In her efforts to avoid the boy, her bike tires lost their traction and sent her tumbling. Yep, you guess it, Gentle Reader: That scream I'd heard was her. In her fall, she'd badly twisted her right knee.

As I was working on her calf, I noticed that her right knee was starting to swell--not a great sign. Since we were still a ways out from the entrance/exit, the man who'd teamed with the husband to get the injured rider up the hill along with his wife were trying to figure out how to help the woman back to her car. She thought she could ride while perhaps the other man pushed her (and his wife carted their bikes), so I whipped off one of my jumper's knee bands and put it around the injured woman's bum knee because, what a coinkidink!, her patellar tendon seemed to be the focus of her pain.

I wound up following Cat (she eventually introduced herself) and the other woman back to the entrance, and we broke the rule (gasp!) and went the wrong way along the course since that was the quickest way to the entrance/exit. By the time the four of us got there, my boys had finished the course in the proper direction and were waiting for us. All of us, save the boy, helped Cat to her Land Rover. I got her bike mounted then grabbed my medical tape to give her very swollen knee some external fixation. After all, Gentle Reader, R.I.C.E. is your best first-aid bet for minor sprains and strains!

Before I helped her into her vehicle (her leather seats got a little bloody since the bandage had fallen off her elbow), Cat asked what I thought might be wrong. I was explaining to her some of the various muscular, ligament and tendon connections made at the knee joint, and the man who'd accompanied us said, "The next time I go for a ride, I'm bringing her along!"

Pshaw! Pshaw!

After Cat hit the road (and I regret not giving her my cell phone number--also backed in my Bat-first aid kit--to her so she could let me know she made it home all right) and after we all cleaned up a little, took a few deep breaths and whatnot, the boys and I headed out for a family loop. I also talked to them about what happened, and I learned that the boy had just wiped out on Jacob's rail himself when Cat had come around the turn. He probably hadn't really had enough time to get himself out of the way, but I did take a few moments to tell him that he really, really needs to make sure that whenever he crashes on a public course, he must get as far to the right and out of other riders' way as soon as he can.

Will he remember? I doubt it.

So despite our little medical drama, I have to say I'm anxious to go back to the veloway. However, I'm not sure I'm going to do it again soon with the boy. The course has enough climbs that doing it at his pace is pretty tough on my knees, and I find I'm one of those people who has the need for speed.

Next time, though, I hope I don't have to play EMT.