Nag, nag, nag...here is your blog;)

TWO runs for this blog...Sunday's delightful 5.5 miles, and last night's 3 miles--both with JRod. (Honestly, if that's not a carrot I want to chase, I don't know what is.)

Though we also ran a quick and ugly 3 miles last night, what I want to talk about here is Sunday.

The day was bright and sunny...and all I wanted was to SLEEP IN. Two weeks in California, working day in and day out, burning the midnight oil, NO ONE wanting to play zombie games with me...I JUST WANTED TO SLEEP IN. Which I did:) Then got up, full of pep and pizazz and ready to rock some miles in Southie.

My friend Kim was in town, and just down the street (and on the route) at The Playwright, about a half mile into my normal Southie route. We shambed our way down there, and made it just in time to catch a very hungover Kim and her husband Steve, as they were finishing a greasy and rejuvenating brunch. The four of us chatted a bit on the street--Jared and I hating them for not being out running, Kim and Steve hating us for not being as hungover as they looked.

Then, on our merry way to Castle Island where it seemed that hundreds of people were out--sitting, walking, and running. (Where were you fair weather runners in January, huh?! When I was running that route in a thermal base with tights on top, UnderArmour, fleece, hat, and mittens?! Wimps! All of you!)

We paused for a brief moment just before the causeway to take it all in--the green-gray waves gently lapping on the rocks, a blazing yellow sun, sailboats, cruise ships and fishing boats speckling the harbor, the sounds of people talking, laughing, or just moving past us while we stood. And looked.

While there, I couldn't help but to think about all the times I stopped at this exact spot over the many cold winter runs, the many rainy nights. And while I admit that of late I've frequently mentioned my beloved--here is the truth. I pined for him (dramatically, like a 17-year-old wondering about the prom) for ages, thinking it would never work--for a number of reasons and circumstances I'll not be getting into here. I stopped at this EXACT spot over and over in those months, looking up and looking out, listening to the more violent winter waves crashing into and rushing through the causeway, thinking about how to purge his presence from my thoughts and very system. I lapped the bowl of Pleasure Bay, circling around again in frigid, driving rain, attempting to tire myself, reminding myself of all the practical things that practical me should be thinking instead, and barring my ability to change my thinking, trying to tire myself from thinking of any kind.

But. Months later. Ah...:) Just look at us now (below). It all worked out for the weirdest, most wonderful best, and it seemed on this run, that all of those runs crystallized for the sole purpose of bringing me this one, shining, sunny day, and the person I most wanted to share it with.

Pre-Earthfest 4

Saturday of this past Memorial Day weekend brought the annual "Earthfest" to Boston, and with it thousands of pot-smoking hippies.

Jared and his roommate Serge headed out early to save a spot near the stage--the main act this year was Cake. I admit fully to being crazy, wonderfully, googly-eyed, head over heals for one JRod--press play on the video below if you want to hear my new favorite (and applicable) Cake song.



While the men staked their turf, I met Brenda for a quick 4-miler around the river--for those in the area who run, this would be the Mass Ave bridge to Museum of Science bridge loop. Along the way, we ran into Jared, looking a bit fatigued with bags and a full cooler in tow, on his way to meet his roommate.

During the miles, we caught up on work, life, and dating (now HE can chase the carrot, B! And I of course rambled on about the wonderfulness of one JRod...). Post run, the two of us settled our sweaty selves on the steps of her apartment for a photo op.



Later, B came down to the Hatch Shell to join us for some Gatorade (with vodka) and Cake. Here's us again, her having showered, me having...changed. For a full run-down on the Earthfest events, CLICK HERE.

A new game for my blog readers?

Wednesday night brought the last of my chances for a run through Redwood City and Belmont, CA.

Usually, I've followed a philosophy of trying to use words to describe every detail of how my runs feel--the sunny or stormy weather, windy or dull and heavy with the deadness of humidity, the smell of the earth and trees of Ponkapoag, or Castle Island's faint stench of fish, coupled with it's wet, salty air, the feel of rain in my face, or the feel of a bead (torrent) of sweat traveling down my spine...I try to write these blogs so that whomever is reading them can physically feel as though they are also traveling the miles--can feel my tiredness and euphoria, the jubilation of finishing strong, and the disappointment of not doing so, can feel the lengthening of a stride, the pang of a footfall on pavement...

For the first time ever, this past Wednesday, I went on a run for the sole purpose of writing an interesting blog--given the uniqueness of the terrain and wildlife (plant, person, etc.), I wanted to share with local and Midwestern readers exactly what everything looked like. This time, despite my general aversion to carrying anything while I run (I can't run and chew gum at the same time, if you will), I headed out, camera in one hand, map in another, my ID and room key card tucked into the side of my sports bra.

The 5.5 mile loop took me through parts of Redwood City, CA, home of Silicon Valley, and Belmont, CA, past ludicrously fancy suburban areas, where driveways of perfectly proportioned houses held shimmering convertibles and sports cars of gleaming blacks, reds, silver or gunmetal gray.

Of all these things, what struck me the most was, quite simply, the vegetation. Shrubs were perfectly manicured shelves at strict 90-degree angles, or styled as twirling spires reaching for the sky as they tapered into tight ends. Houses boasted yards filled with the lush green grass of a polo field, and roses climbed walls and sprawled along drives with drowsy abandon.

Spring is also beginning to embrace New England, slowly and surely. But where our tulips are showing their colors and our trees beginning to green, California's plant life has already exploded into the profusion of summer. (This is not to say that Caifornia's plant life is better than that of New England--keep in mind that as California's plants and flowers begin to brown and curl in the oppressive summer heat, those of New England will be teeming with life, full of vibrant colors.)

Still, I was astounded, and delighted, with the full force of the natural beauty I unexpectedly found myself in. In honor of that, I propose a contest, with one of two prizes to the winner.

First, the prize(s)--If you're amenable, write a guest blog. Or, I'll do a blog about your wonderful (or nefarious) influence. (Second option, for ye shy, is dinner. Homecooked, with a tasty blender drink or three.)

Second, the contest:

NAME THAT PLANT

There are 10 numbered plants here--each of which struck me as lovely for one reason or another. Name them. Each correct answer is worth 10 points.

There are two bonus items. Name them each for 50 points, or one of them for 20 points.

Gentlemen (and ladies)--start your googling.


And...the two bonus items:

Another run in sunny Ca...and enough of it for this cat

Today another long day of work, and me still having trouble adjusting to the time change. Upon arriving back at the hotel around 6:00 p.m., I headed out for a run, this time armed with a route compliments of gmap (unfortunately I lost the link--sorry!). The approximately 5.5 mile route was to take me by a little slip of water, through suburban Redwood City and Belmont, before looping back to the hotel.

The run, much the same as many of the others lately, was tough, though certainly not impossible. While I slogged slowly through the miles, I came to two very important conclusions, which are as follows:

1. Running is a harsh--and humbling--mistress. Yes, I am aware that less than a month ago, I ran a marathon. I acknowledge that 5 or 6 miles should not be as hard as it really is. I understand on a bone-deep level that my heavy legs are in fact capable of doing more, going further. But I reiterate what I have said before--none of this makes it easy. Running is hard. Plain and simple. But I'm going back to the basics now--and acknowledging the hardness, recognizing that it should be hard, that it's always going to be hard, and reminding myself that it's ok to be tired--to remember that it's ok to just slow down when I'm tired. That's the key, what I need to go back to--don't stop; just slow down, and be ok with that.

2. Order, order, order. As a relatively organized and admittedly neurotic human being, order has it place in my life. But after a week and a half of meetings, looking for local restaurants, planning my days along the time change and the things I want and need to do, and running along the perfectly manicured lawns and gardens of Silicon Valley...I'm ready to go back to my messy, luscious life in Boston, my normal days, my regular running routes, my own washing machine and dryer, my friends, my Jared.

Running along the bay with the locals

Still in California, and what's a lonesome runner to do? Well, if she is proactive, she'll use the website recommended by Runner's World to find a local running club--a particularly good choice if said runner also happens to be horrible with directions and worried about getting lost...as I am.

After having gotten in touch with Ted from the Mid-Peninsula Running Club, my plans were set--meet the group at Ryder Park in San Mateo, only about a ten-minute drive from my hotel in Redwood City.

I got up early and trucked on over--finding myself about 30 minutes early. Luckily, this gave me time to check out the local scenery. The park, along the San Francisco Bay, offered a truly lovely vista--long sweeps of blue-gray water, tall and windswept grasses, dirt paths and sidewalks winding through the latter. I took the opportunity to snap a few quick photos before the running club members arrived at 9:00 a.m.


By the time the 7 or 8 members from the club arrived, the sun had inched higher into the sky and become glaringly hot. I settled in with Frances, a 50-something who'd run Boston this year also. Frances was tiny and tireless, trotting out the miles while spitting out recommendations of her favorite eateries in Chinatown. In an interesting quirk of coincidence, she also was familiar with a ESL series I'm just finishing up with at work. Not to mention, unfailingly patient with my obvious struggles in the heat. :) We churned out a slow 6 miles, and though I am sure Frances could have run much faster, she hung tight with me for a lovely chat.

I am always astonished when faced with the kindness of strangers--and runners have a unique camaraderie. There is something in the miles that makes a mockery of the concept of "strangers"--when you are with another runner, even one you've never run with before, you find yourself noticing the commonalities--Frances, like me, had turned to running post an ended relationship, after a failed attempt at jazzercise. (Well, not the jazzercise for me, but a failed relationship was part of the beginning of running for me as well.) Frances, like me, views her weekly runs as a de-stressor, as an enjoyable break from the rest of life.


As a whole, this running club and its members, were fantastic--both friendly and welcoming. Should I find myself back in the area, I plan to contact them again, and catch up on all the miles that will have passed. Until then--thank you for an enjoyable run, good company, and for showing me a beautiful place to enjoy both in.

Funny things;)

First, and quickly--my running is still a little blah...with another short, 3-4 mile run, along the lagoon near the hotel. Tomorrow I'll meet up with a group in SF, and hopefully that will be better!

Better: These New Balance commercials. :D Enjoy.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bdeEPhdpay0

http://www.truveo.com/New-Balance-LOVEhate-Shower-30/id/1608110227

http://www.truveo.com/New-Balance-LOVEHate-Rain-30/id/3778952753

http://www.truveo.com/New-Balance-LOVEHate-Bench/id/1228578268

The "lay of the land" run

Today I arrived in sunny California for a long-ish work trip. After driving my rental to Hotel Sofitel in Redwood City, I decided to take advantage of the sunny summer air, and beautiful vista with a quick run.

I looped around the hotel's scenic lagoon, and had just neared the curve of one edge, about 1/2 mile in, when I saw a family of ducks--four or five large ducks on and next to the path, accompanied by around 10 ducklings--not tiny, but not full grown, nearly the size of footballs, with the yellow fuzziness that marks a young duck. It was then I noticed the "Watch for ducks crossing" signs--not an advertisement for the local Chinese cuisine, it seems. The ducks placidly watched my running, standing stoically as I trampled less than a foot aware from them. (The route back, a bit different--one of the ducks hissed at me at soon as I came within 20 feet of the duck herd--causing a small detour on my part. Do ducks bite? I imagine so.)

Nearly swooning with delight over the sheer adorableness of the herd of ducks and ducklings, I continued on my run, blithely and happily, nary a care in the world.

Until I realized that I was running through a minefield of duck poop. The sideway was scattered, thickly, with mass amounts of multicolored duck feces for nearly a half mile. The way became perilous, as I dodged and weaved, taking care to protect my running kicks as best I was able. Soon, at last, I had passed safely through to clean sidewalk, and could again concentrate on the truly lovely scenery.

I shambled over a bridge across the lagoon and nearly lost my breath--the late afternoon sun shone over rippling water, and the city rose behind the lagoon, the mountains looming further behind. California, quicker to warm than cool New England, had exploded into lush vegetation--further exhibited as my legs carried me over the bridge and into suburbia. Neatly trimmed lawns were shadowed by arching trees with thick brown and gray veined trunks and heavy falls of green at their tops. But the best part--oh, the roses. The roses were everywhere, in every yard, some lining the entrance to a home, some hugging the edges of curving driveways. White, yellows, and a variety of pinks, the roses were like something out of a dream--something unexpected at this time of year, and all the lovelier because of it.

My mother loves roses. She is disdainful of the storebought rose, which she believes has been engineered too much for its perfect bud shape, at the sacrifice of its smell. Instead, she loves the bushes that grow blooms in wild abandon and fill the air with their heavy, sweet scent in the summer and fall months. I cannot begin to number the roses I helped her to plant in my parents' three-acre yard. But I know that when I see roses growing freely outside that I will always think of my mother, and of my youth.