Working Weekend

It's going to be close to 90 today, so I wanted to take the walk early.  And for some reason I felt like taking it alone.  I wanted to go a little faster, and just wanted the freedom that comes from not having to rein in Banks.  Speaking of which, I'm going to have to take him to the vet.  His morning gimpiness looks suspiciously like arthritis to me.  Jackson thinks he's older than we thought (six; the pound listed him as five when we got him a year ago) and he may be right. And since I got up later than I'd planned, and knew the track would be unavailable, I figured he wouldn't miss a neighborhood walk as much as he would a trail walk.

Anyway, I left soon after breakfast, at 9:55. I took the Stacy Park loop and then, instead of heading straight to St. Ed's like I usually do, I took the path in the woods off of Long Bow that I took with the boys a couple of weeks ago.  I found the creek where Banks and Zeus had played.  It was slower than last time, but I found a place where the water ran cold and clear over a rocky part of the stream.  I cupped my hands and drank, then splashed the cold water over my hot face and neck.  I hadn't done that since I was a kid.  The trail leads to St. Edward's Blvd., and I crossed over that onto the campus, meandered around until I heard the clock strike 10:00, then on to the track which I circled three times (18 mintues), walked home and in the door at exactly 9:25.

Unless I cave and go see a movie, this weekend is going to be a strictly working one.  I have a meeting in Helotes at 2:00, and on the way back I'm going to find a Home Depot and a Garden Ridge, and pick up flowers, pots, plants and maybe even a hammock.  I know exactly what I need to do to turn my tiny backyard into something special.  Hope to have before and after pictures tomorrow.

Plan B

I was so ready to hit the trail after work. Banks seemed to have woken up with a limp, so I decided to give him a break tonight.  After work (a late visit ended my day at 7:30) I drove to the trail; my heart sank as I saw a multitude of revelers on Auditorium Shores.  Hip-hop music, and huge signs advertising State Farm Insurance -- an odd pairing.  I tried to drive into the small parking lot right off Riverside, and was met by (again!) a police officer who said the trail was closed for the Urban Festival, and would stay closed until Sunday afternoon.  Oh, really?  If Banks and I show up there tomorrow at 6:30, long before the festival's start time, is there really going to be someone there to turn us away?  And why would they?  We'll see about this.

When I got home, Banks was leaping with excitement and clearly ready to walk.  Plan B was once around Stacy Park, cross over to St. Ed's and three times around the track.  The warmer it gets, the sooner Banks peters our before we hit five miles.  He stops in the grass and rolls around on his back, to the delight of any onlookers who see a high-spirited dog reveling in his surroundings, but I know my boy -- he's tired and stalling for time.  It won't be long before I'm going to have to drop him off at the three-mile walk.

Runs in the Family

There are four of us Johns siblings, and all of us were born with no sense of direction. I alluded to it in yesterday’s blog.  Anyone who marvels that someone can get lost on a well-traveled and familiar path, with enormous, can’t-miss-them markers such as bridges and high-rise buildings, simply because they take a small detour, has never met a Johns. 

Jay, the only guy among us, does not admit to it quite as readily as Lynn and Betsy and I do.  We think it’s hysterical.  I don’t know if it’s a recessive or dominant gene, but roughly half of the eight nieces and nephews seem to have it.

Sam has escaped the family curse; he has a natural sense of where he is at all times.  Jackson has inherited it, and I've known it since he was old enough to walk.  We'd go to the doctor, or somewhere he'd been many times, and upon leaving the office, he'd make a confident right turn out the door, when the exit was to the left.  Like me, it's almost more of an opposite sense of direction than a missing one. The third time he asked me to remind him how to get to Lady Bird Lake, I wanted to bellow "Lord have mercy, child! Go down Congress Avenue and, when you get to the bridge, go under it instead of over it."  But I didn't.  Because I understand.

My friends find no end of hilarity in this affliction.  I never have to worry about us running out of things to talk about.  If there's a lull in the conversation, talk will invariably turn to "Remember the time when Leslie....."  Barbara will remind them of the time I asked for directions back to my house via North Mopac, and she watched in disbelief as I made an immediate left onto South Mopac.  Or Janette will recall the time we all had dinner at her new house, and after getting careful directions back to Northwest Hills, I drove aimlessly for 20 minutes before coming face-to-face with a sign that read "Welcome to Hutto." 

There are others like me, but I defy anyone to top this next one.  About ten years ago, we were all moving Cindy into a new duplex.  We parked our cars in the alley behind her place, loaded her stuff in through the back door, and helped her set up.  At about 1:00 o'clock, I brightly noted that I hadn't yet seen her place from the front.  So I walked out the door, down the walkway, looked back at her home, turned around to survey the neighborhood, and went back up the walkway....into the wrong duplex.

There is an upside to all this.  I have spent so much time lost that it doesn't faze me in the least.  I have jumped on planes and been dumped out in London, Greece, Japan, Switzerland, Kenya, with no plan of how to get to my hotel from there. It'll happen somehow. What's that serenity prayer? Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change. At this point, I don't think I even want to change. It's kind of fun being me.  J

Banks and I did the lake after work.  The orange striped hurdles were still up but there were no cops monitoring them, so we all ignored them.  One runner jumped over it like a track star!  I don't know what it was about tonight, but I saw two snakes (babies, really about the size of worms) and one HUGE tortoise lumbering across the path.  He really stopped traffic, and of course, I didn't have my camera with me tonight.  Man, I'm sweaty.  Off to the showers. 

Punch My Thighs

I hear myself saying that a lot these days.  Punch my thighs.  It comes in response to people telling me I’ve lost weight, and especially noticing how “skinny” (that’s a new one) my legs are.  You think they look good?  Punch them.  I don’t know how to say this without bragging, but….these things are like iron.  Seriously!  But really, what would you expect after 345 miles? And in leggings or very fitted black pants, they really do look kind of skinny.  We’re talking comparatively here. (And clothed. Unclothed, they look like they’ve sustained hail damage).

What about the rest of me?  The picture I had taken of me and Banks at the top of this blog was kind of a private joke.  Every single person who tells me I’ve lost weight is standing behind me when they say it, which tells me something.  In preparation for the summer months, I’ve started some weight work for my arms.   But my stomach….ugh, how I hate sit-ups and crunches.  The double leg lifts which really target the lower abdomen invariably result in something pinched or pulled in my lower back.  No question, the walking has made a difference, but I need to be more purposeful about this area.  Every time I walk, there are at least a couple of people doing the exaggerated, arms-at-a-90-degree-angle-swinging-across-the-chest stride (think Jane Fonda in “They Shoot Horses, Don’t They?”), and there is no doubt, they are the ones in the best shape of all the walkers out there. I can’t do that when I have Banks with me, and when I don’t, I tend to do it only when there aren’t many others around.  Get over yourself, Leslie.

I took today’s walk over lunch.  This time, there were bicycle cops on the trail guarding cordoned-off work areas and directing us towards the “Detour” signs.  Panicked, I asked the first one I ran across if he had any idea how easy it was for me to get lost when I vary even slightly from my regular route?  Grinning, he assured me that not only could I not get lost as long as I followed the signs, but that they had made a point of making the detour exactly the same distance we’d be walking or running if we remained on the trail.  That made me feel a little better.  That, and the fact that he was gorgeous.

I really like the feeling of doing the walk in the middle of the day, then showering.  It breaks up the day, and sends me back to work feeling re-energized.

Next time, Banksy boy.

Zou Bisou Bisou

Did anyone catch the season premiere of Mad Men?  The scene everyone is talking about is when Meagan, Don's French-Canadian bride, surprised him at his 40th birthday party by performing a suggestive French song, Zou Bisou Bisou.  It was a great scene -- the guests were smirking, and Don was both mortified and turned on.  It's worth watching on YouTube even if you're not a Mad Men fan.  But be warned that the song will be playing in your head for at least 24 hours.  It was the soundtrack to Banks' and my walk tonight at the lake. 

It had been 48 hours since my last walk (Sunday night, with Monday being my day off), and I felt mentally and physically flabby.  My body and mind are so used to this rythm I'm in that when I am out of it, I feel rootless.  Something is nagging at me.  And then, once I've taken my walk and blogged about it, I feel whole again.

Last week I noticed signs on the trail that it would be closed for the week of 3/26.  I'll believe it when I see it, I thought to myself.  Sure enough, there were tons of us out there tonight, and the only signs that they were working on the trail was a pile of logs that blocked the whole path at one point.  No problem -- we all just stepped around it.

Here are some scenes from our walk tonight.  How can you not feel better after spending an hour and a half out here?  When I think back to how much time I used to spend just sitting in front of the television in the evening.....

What Was I Thinking?

I asked myself that question several times yesterday.  First, as I headed off to church, I forgot to allow extra time due to the closures created by the Capitol 10,000.  As anyone who has ever ventured downtown during that time, multiple streets were closed, parking was non-existant and I drove, sheep-like, in whatever direction the traffic cops pointed me.  What was I thinking?

Actually, let me back up a little.  Several weeks ago, I decided to volunteer in the baby nursery during the 9:00 service.  I had recently been convicted by the "service to others" idea.  Sometimes I think my default position is "taker," and maybe it was time to sacrifice a little.  Serve the parents by allowing them some time off, serve the babies by taking good care of them (OMG, they are so adorable) while they anxiously await their parents' return.  But what I thought, when I signed up, was a roughly one-hour commitment, is actually a three-hour commitment.  You have to be there at 8:00 (8:00!!! On a Sunday morning!) to set up the room and sterilize all the toys.  The service usually goes an hour and 15 minutes, lots of the parents don't come in til they've socialized for 15 minutes, and the new shift doesn't arrive til 11:00, so you're there with the early arrivals until your relief arrives.  What was I thinking?

I finally found parking a mile and a half from the church and set out on foot.  Unfortunately, I was wearing non-foot-friendly sandals, the type that force you to walk a little unnaturally in order to keep your foot from sliding around.  Not only did that stress my knees, but one of the straps was seriously digging into my ankle.  On the way back, I got a little smarter -- the sidewalks were largely smooth, not cobblestone-y, and I simply took my sandals in hand and walked barefoot most of the way. 

So that was three miles (the traffic had died down by the time I was finished, and I measured it by my car's odometer), and later that night I walked Banks two.  Even though my knees were hurting, I wanted to walk, because I thought that walking normally, in good shoes, would correct things.  After my sandals walk, my knees felt sort of.....askew.

After Banks and I walked the St. Edward's neighborhood, I stretched a little more purposefully than usual, but my knees today still feel a little funny.  I'm going to stretch some more, and let this be my day off.

Conquering the Mullet

Yesterday I split up my five so I could take one of those destination walks that I'm so fond of.  I had to get a cut and color at 2:30, and David's salon is exactly 1.5 miles from my house.  So Banks and I walked two in the morning and then off I went.  It was a little hot, but there's enough shade along Congress, Lightsey and South 1st that I didn't show up there TOO sweaty.

David gave me the good news that my mullet is growing well, and appears to be very healthy, thanks to the products he gave me a few weeks ago.  He also assured me the color would not harm it (though he did draw the line at adding highlights just yet), but let me tell you, I was really sweating that one out.  He also showed me a cool trick with a fine-toothed comb to help the mullet blend in more naturally with the rest of my hair.  I think the worst of it is over.

Night Walk

Once again, I got home pretty late for a walk, 7:30ish.  I kept my last disastrous "night walk" down at the trail in mind, but reminded myself that this was Daylight Savings Time. So off Banks and I went, and once again (what is it about nighttime on this trail?) I decided to try the east section of the trail.  It was still light when we crossed the 1st St. Bridge and turned right, instead of left. 

That section does get a little seedy, but this time I had Banks.  As we headed past the 4-mile mark, my decision was solidified by the sight of the masses on the Congress Avenue Bridge waiting for the nightly migration of the bats.  There were also a lot of patrons from the hotels along the trail sitting outside.  I'd totally forgotten about this phenomenon, and hadn't watched the bats in years, so I determined to press on for at least two miles no matter what. 

But at (I think) the 5 1/4 mark, when we found ourselves under the I-35 bridge with several homeless people preparing to bunk for the night, I decided enough was enough.  It was so dark that it was hard to even see the markers, let alone the numbers written on them.  As we approached Congress, I could see that the bat show was long over, and once again, the trail was pretty deserted.  Once we got to the 1st St. Bridge, we continued along to accumulate the miles, but truthfully, I kind of lost track.  We backtracked, crossed the bridge, and then started from the 0 marker, a much safer area.  Judging from the time it took us, it was roughly five, but I can't swear to that.

I don't know what the scale is going to say on April 1, but the sweat pants that I wore last night are going into the trash.  I don't know how long I've had them, but they are now falling off my body -- on top of everything else I had to deal with last night, I had to keep hiking those things up every ten steps or so.

Trails, Woods and a Closed-Down Barbecue Joint

Yesterday I brought my walking shoes and clothes to work in case I had a chance to walk over the lunch hour, which I didn't.  I planned to just go home, grab Banks and go to the trail after work, but one look at the 5:30 traffic changed my mind. Instead, I changed into my walk clothes and took off for the trail. It's .6 mile there, .6 mile back, probably another .25 to cross the 1st St. Bridge to start, and then went past the 3.75 mile marker -- well over five miles, but I could have gone another hour, the day was so beautiful. 

The night before my son Sam came over with his dog Zeus, and we took our dogs to the trail in the woods behind my house.  Banks was in heaven.  He and Zeus would chase each other around, then run at top speed neck-and-neck for a while.  He was feeling so full of himself that he would bound over to a downed tree branch, or a huge rock, and carry it around as long as he could.  Here's a picture of the two of them cooling off in a stream they found. 

I am freaked.  As I said in my last post, I'd planned to pick up bbq from Artz for Wednesday night, but when I called to place my order, the phone just rang and rang with no pick-up or voice mail.  I showed up anyway, to find a "CLOSED" sign on the door.  There were four other people there, as distraught as I was by this turn of events.  Maybe just an emergency closing?  A small glitch in the kitchen?  I'll be monitoring this situation.....

Happy Trails

Today will be my day off for the week - it's a very busy one, and I'm opting for take-out BBQ from Artz Rib House tonight with my boys -- but just wanted to mention last night's walk.  This was my first lake trail walk since Daylight Savings Time.  Around 7:00 pm is a magical time there -- almost as many dogs as people, and a totally different vibe from the 5:30 am Type A crowd.  Everyone is so much more relaxed, the insanely happy dogs are throwing themselves into the water, and even in the midst of all that, here we all are trying to get fit and healthy.  I begged Jackson to come with me -- he's just started running, and, incredibly, has never been on the trail -- and he did.  He couldn't believe how hard it was to walk five miles (he's 19!) and trailed behind Banks and me most of the time.  I think I gained a little respect in his eyes last night. 

The Green Man

Last night's walk felt like a race against time.  A 100 percent chance of rain later that night, as well as tornado warnings for all the surrounding counties.  The wind had already picked up when Banks and I left the house at 6:45, and I felt like a hard walk this time.  We headed north on South Congress, walked the trail for about a mile, and took the uphill return trip via South 1st. 

It was dark by the time we completed our trek up South 1st, and as that is a well-traveled and kind of "hip" street, I felt a little self-conscious in my glasses as the headlights from the oncoming cars fell on me.  And I flashed back to a haunting childhood experience.

Near the small western Pensylvania town I grew up in, there was a man who I guess was around my father's age, who had been horribly injured in an electrical accident as a teenager.  Most of his face had been burned off, and he lived in seclusion.  The only time he left his house was to take a nightly walk on the country roads around him. In this sleepy, rather backward town, where not a whole lot went on, it was common for teenagers and other thrill-seekers to drive through that area at night in hopes of catching a glimpse of the Green Man.  The damage to his face, when lit up by bright headlights, apparently cast a greenish tint -- hence, the Green Man. 

I saw him once.  My blurry memory of the occasion is that our teenage babysitter, Donna, and her boyfriend Chuck, took us out for a frozen custard, followed by a trip to see the Green Man.  It was a popular decision that night -- traffic was bumper to bumper.  And there he was.  He was wearing a hat, and I really couldn't see his face very well.  But my heart stopped.  After all these years of hearing about him, here was the Green Man.  In the darkness of the back seat of that locked car, I felt safe and terrified, thrilled and repulsed at the same time. 

Although he was obviously used to the nightly attention, apparently that night it all became too much for him.  He began pounding his cane (the accident had diminished his eyesight) on the pavement in a wordless fury, turned around and stormed back to what I assume was home.

Did I feel an ounce of compassion for this man?  No.  Did I feel even the slightest shame for participating in this show?  No.  I was seven or eight.  All I could think about was telling my friends that I'd seen the Green Man.

As I wrote this blog, I felt a twinge of guilt every time I typed those words -- the Green Man.  I googled him, and to my astonishment, got several hits, including a Wikipedia page. I had googled him years ago and found nothing. I learned a few factual things, but decided not to change anything I'd written, to let memory and legend stand as they were.  But the Green Man had a name.  It was Ray Robinson.  He died in 1985.

Goodbye to SXSW

Banks and I got back from our walk about an hour ago, and my son, coming out of his room, was treated to probably the dorkiest sight of his life:  his mother, marching in place, arms swinging, knees high.  I had five minutes to go, and after bringing Banks in, just didn't want to go back outside again, so I completed the hour and a half in a new way. 

As much as I love South by, I'm glad to bid it goodbye.  South Congress was completely taken over, which eliminated two of Banks' and my go-to routes:  the hike-and-bike trail, and the 2 1/2 mile trek north, and backtracked south, on So. Congress.  Just the drive south on Congress from work, which usually takes about ten minutes, stretched to 35 on a really bad day.  I'm looking forward to my full options returning this week.

I did several loads of laundry this weekend, and when I took my pile of whites out of the washer, my heart sank as I saw a square inch of metallic green at the bottom.  My ipod.  Of course it'd dead.  On the other hand, I was getting the sense from some of my cooler friends that the ipod is kinda old school. 

Aimee, how do you download tunes on your iphone?

Back on Track

My knee felt so great yesterday that I ditched my plan to continue the "incremental" walk until the weekend.  I got home a little late, around 7:30 or 8:00, and cognizant of the fact that SXSW was happening virtually outside my door, and half of Austin was participating, I sighed, grabbed Banks, put on my shoes and rushed out the door to get my walk in.  For the first time since I've started the walks, I realized, a few blocks in, that I had neglected to look at the time when I left.  And I hadn't brought my stopwatch, so I really had no idea.  I went back to Stacy Park to see how it looked since the rains (you'd never know they happened), but instead of our usual twice-around loop, we did it once, and then headed into the hills of Travis Heights. 

We took the exact same route today, just to see if we had hit the five miles yesterday, and it was very close, just about five or seven minutes short.  I dropped Banks off and made up the rest myself.

I know it's Saturday, and I know it's South by Southwest, but pay heed to my friend Roger's quote:  "Nothing screams 'I'm an alcoholic' like getting drunk on St. Patrick's Day."

I can do this. I can totally do this.

My knee has made a miraculous recovery. If I sounded like I was overreacting to a little pain yesterday, let me explain:  last year around this same time (I remember, because on Easter I was in so much pain I could not walk from the church to the car, someone had to drive me) I was hobbled to the point where I went to the doctor for x-rays, and I never go to the doctor if I can avoid it.  The pain yesterday wasn't that intense, but it was the same type, and I knew from experience it could keep growing. 

Around mid-morning I realized that the smart thing to do would be to take the five miles in easier increments.  At lunch, I got in the car and mapped out a 1.6 mile route, and then immediately walked it.  I took long deliberate steps, but not fast ones, and was careful to keep from striking my heel too hard.  I kept reminding myself that this was not a calorie-busting walk, or a fat-burning walk or a "how many minutes can I cut off a mile" walk -- it was a therapeutic walk. There is a time and a place for a therapeutic walk.

I had planned to repeat that route after work, and then at night do the balance of the walk with Banks.  But something came up late in the day, so I had to forego the second work-walk, go home and take Banks for the remaining 3.5 miles.  Since I knew we were traveling more slowly than usual, I dispensed of the hour and a half time measurement, and concentrated on a well-worn 3.5 mile trek that took us around our neighborhood and into the outskirts of St. Ed's.

One of the reasons I'm healing fast is that my knee brace was my constant companion yesterday.  I wore it all day to work, for the walk last night, and for the 2.5 miles Banks and I walked this morning.  That thing really stabilizes the knee.  Don not underestimate the power of a generic drugstore knee brace, and don't hesistate to invest the $15 or so dollars in it if your knee starts give you trouble  They really work. 

The pain yesterday (she droned on, self-absorbedly) seemed to emanate from the center of the knee, and shoot downwards.  Today, it's quite localized around the center.  I got by with only three Aleves yesterday morning, and the three I took this morning should last me for the rest of today.

I plan to do easier, incremental five miles today and tomorrow, then get back on track starting Saturday.  Meanwhile, here's a shot of a beautiful field of early bluebonnets we passed yesterday.

My Aching Knee

A couple of hours after my walk yesterday, my right knee was hurting.  Nothing had happened on my walk to strain it, that I could remember, but there it was.  Of course, I hadn't stretched afterwards (I have GOT to get better about that).  So I shut my office door and did my stretching routine, which never fails to make me feel better.  Except for yesterday.  That knee kept hurting, and it didn't seem to be a muscle, it felt more like -- I don't know -- a bone?  tendon?  That's the frustrating thing about the knee -- it's just about the only part of the body that doesn't respond to massaging.  Probe around in there, and you just feel joints and cartilege.

So I came home, and took a couple of Aleves.  After about an hour I was marveling over the fact that they really hadn't helped.  They always help!  But when I got up this morning, and the Aleve had worn off, I realized they HAD helped.  If I hadn't taken them, my knee would have felt like it did this morning, which was very, very sore. 

On the other hand, any ache or pain is always worse first thing in the morning.  Get up and start moving, take a hot shower, and it's 50 percent better.  I had planned to take my walk this morning, but logic tells me to rest it as long as possible.  I'm going to wait til the end of my work day, and replicate the walk I took yesterday.  Logic also dictates that, as unstable as the knee feels, having Banks tugging on the end of the leash adds a variable that I don't need. 

The one non-negotiable in all this is taking the walk.  I don't want to do anything stupid, but I also can't bear to interrupt my progress.  Take a rest day because your knee hurts, and next thing you know, a flu will stop you, or a headache.  Nope, I'm seeing this thing through.

I saw an orthopedist last year (same month, same knee), who said that nine Aleve (or its equivalent) per day was the max that could be recommended.  I hate taking any medicine, and I was shocked at the leeway he was offering.  That's three pills, three times a day.  But I'll do it if I have to.  The hell with my liver. 

I'll check in with you tomorrow and let you know how the walk goes.

Slacker

After all my talk about the inadvisability of taking my "off" day on a Monday or a Tuesday, what did I do Monday?  Took the day off.  I could feel it coming on early, starting with my stop at McDonald's on the way to work for a sausage biscuit and egg.  Never a good sign.  For lunch, an uninspiring frozen dinner, supplemented with candy from Laura's office, leftover bread in my office fridge....and then a huge Chipotle burrito for dinner.  I felt leaden and tired, and just let my sloth overtake me.  Sometimes you have to do that, and just start again tomorrow.

I took today's walk over the lunch hour, a fast-paced walk down South 1st to the trail (1.4 miles round trip), followed the markers to do 3.5 miles, and crossed over the 1st St. bridge and back to make sure it came to five. I came back sopping, but fortunately we have a shower in the basement.  It is definitely getting too hot for just sponging off.  This was the first time I used that shower, and it felt great -- just hot enough and a good strong pressure. 

I hope you like the picture I've added to my blog.  Or I should say, that Aimee added to my blog.  If you're a baby boomer, and you're lucky, you have a 30-something friend or co-worker who can fill in the gaps of your aging boomer brain.  Aimee, how do I set up a blog?  Aimee, how do I start a Facebook page?  Aimee, what kind of glasses are in style these days?  Aimee, did I just delete my entire blog?  She never fails to respond with patience and efficiency, and if she is amused by my ineptitude, she does a good job of hiding it.  She took the picture at the trail on Sunday, posted it yesterday, and her talented photographer husband Destry Jaimes made it look very, very cool.  Here's Aimee giving up a large chunk of her lunch hour yesterday to help me out.

Here Comes the Sun

As dreary as the weather has been the last few days, that's how beautiful it was today.  Still raining throughout the night and into the morning, the sun burst into full radience just as Banks and I were beginning our walk.

For you non-Austinites, this was a sad day for our town.  Leslie (his last name was Cochran, but he was known to all simply as Leslie), Austin's unofficial mascot, died last week.  He was a homeless transvestite, known for wearing thongs and tiaras around town, and severalo times ran for mayor.  (He continued to cross-dress, but as befit his more serious role, often wore sedate women's suits and heels during his campaign. Last time he ran, he got eight percent of the vote).  Today a memorial service was held at the gazebo at the start of the Lady Bird Lake Trail.  Participants were asked to wear tiaras in honor of Leslie, and more than a few sported thongs (I'll spare you those pictures).

Banks and I met up with some friends, attended a portion of the service, and then continued around the lake.  Remember my fall from yesterday?  My lower back is stiff and sore -- it was foolish of me to think there would be no repercussions after falling that hard.  So partly because of that and partly as a reward to both of us for rain we endured the last couple of days, we took it a little easier today.  It was definintely not a stroll (that would have taken forever), just a more relaxed pace.  The sun was hot but the air was cool, at least around the lake, and I  was in no hurry for it to end.  Hey, five miles is still five miles.

Aimee snapped a picture of Banks getting into the spirit of things.

Soaked

Yep, it happened again.  This morning it was drizzing -- the kind of weather that would normally delay my walk, but after yesterday, I feel like I can handle anything.  This time I took Banks -- I just couldn't  bear to see his crestfallen face as I walked out the door yet again.

The first circle around Stacy Park(s) was pretty much a continuation of yesterday.  The sidewalks had settled down, the crushed gravel trails had absorbed the water, and the cold drizzle was no big deal.  As we completed the first go-round, though, here came the rain again, hard and fast.  Banks seemed confused as I started the second loop; he kept positioning himself right in front of me, shaking his body conspictuously, as if to say "Do you notice I'm wet?  Are you doing this on purpose?  Isn't home the other direction?"  Sorry, buddy, we both signed up for this, you're just going to have to trust me.  But about 2/3 of the way into Little Stacy, it became a virtual downpour, to the point where I sought shelter under a large tree.  And I relented; if it had been just me, I would have followed through like I did yesterday, but as the rain poured on him, Banks instinctively started running towards home.  I couldn't leave him in a situation that obviously unnerved him.

I actually ran a decent portion of today's walk, even when it was just sprinking, just to get it over with faster in case of .....well, of exactly what happened.  I'd pick a tree or a sign in the distance and commit to running that far.  I did it just often enough to remind myself that no, I really do not like running. 

My walking shoes were still wet from yesterday -- I had dumped all my clothes into the bathtub and resolved to deal with them later -- so I wore my lightweight slip-ons.  They don't offer much support (which I really thing is overrated), but have a good grip, so I figured they'd be just fine in the rain.  And they were, on the path and the concrete, but then we came to a wooden footbridge.  It barely even registered with me, and I kept up our hurried pace.  And then suddenly my feet were flying out from under me.  I shrieked "Whoa!" and fell flat on my butt.  No damage there, plenty of padding, but my hands are a little achy from bracing myself for the fall.  When he heard me yell, and noticed the leash clattering to the ground, Banks immediately dashed over to me to make sure I was all right.  God, I love that dog. 

As soon as we got home (with 15 minutes left on the clock -- I'll make it up tonight with a potty walk), I toweled Banks off, dried myself off and threw today's and yesterday's wet clothes, including both pairs of shoes, into the laundry. As ambivalent as he may have been about the walk, Banks is feeling frightfully good about himself right now, snorting and rolling around on the carpet like he does in the grass at St. Ed's. 

And I feel pretty good too.  As I said when I started this thing, I wanted to do something special.  Today was special, and so was yesterday. Actually, so is every day that I fulfill this commitment I made with myself, but some days are more memorable than others. 

If the meteorologists are to be believed, the rain clears out tomorrow afternoon.  As much as I have enjoyed my last two walks, enough is enough!  I'll hold out til the afternoon, and anticipate a drier (and less exciting) walk. 
This is my bedraggled self after yesterdays' walk.  I looked exactly the same after today's.

DRENCHED

I can’t remember the last time it rained all day, virtually without let-up.  I put my walk off as long as possible, but when I got home from work, and the rain was only coming harder, I decided there was no time like the present.

With my mother’s words (“You’re going to catch your death of pneumonia”) ringing in my ears, I put on my heaviest sweater, a hoodie, gloves and my favorite wrap-around scarf.  It was 45 degrees and the rain made it so much colder.  I left Banks at home, because not only did I not want to deal with the mud he’d track in, I didn’t want that wet dog smell lingering for days. 

After about half an hour, the hoodie over my head made me feel constricted, like it was pulling my head into my neck.  It was probably my imagination, but I was beginning to imagine a cramp developing in my neck, so I just pushed it off and let my hair get soaked. 

I walked the perimeter of both Stacy parks, twice, because I figured I’d get at least some tree coverage.  The creeks, which just last week were little more than a trickle, were roiling, reminiscent of the “Chocolate Milk River” I remember from my small home town. 

For the first half, I could just barely avoid the puddles and the runoff coming down the streets; on the way back, it was a lost cause.  There were places where there was no choice but to step directly into a puddle or let the water rushing down the hills wash over my feet.  I started getting a backache, and realized that my soaking wet sweater and hoodie probably had gained ten pounds of water weight.  Suddenly my uncomfortable hoodie made sense; it was the first thing to get saturated, and that extra weight WAS putting a strain on my neck.

The occasional thunder didn’t bother me, and I only felt like a crazy woman when the rare flash of lightening lit up the sky.  Actually, I never felt unsafe; it was the kind of lightening that lightens the sky, not those terrifying bolts.

You know what?  Never once did I feel sorry for myself, or resentful or even put-upon.  The greatest enemy to a project like this is sameness and boredom, and this definitely shook things up.  I had fun! The reward is how I feel now – shed of my wet clothing, sitting on the sofa with my laptop on my lap, and a cup of Darjeeling tea at my side.  Tomorrow there is a 100 percent chance of rain, but since I don’t have to work, I should find a window of less treacherous weather.

Humidity

Wednesday became this week’s day off.  It was one of those days when I came home from work, decided to take a nap, and the nap turned into 9 ½ hours.  The heaviness of rain is in the air, and that always seems to take the energy out of me. 

So I had a very early appointment this morning, couldn’t make my walk, and planned it over the lunch hour.  But something came up, and I had to defer it even further.  Aimee helpfully pointed out that there is a 100 percent chance of rain this evening, and when was I planning to do this?  So I worked through lunch, and hit the trail at exactly 2:43.  It was so incredibly humid – I drank deeply from every single fountain that I passed, and never had to go to the bathroom, I just sweated it all out.  Got back to the office, used the downstairs shower and finished up the day.

I no longer have to use an alarm clock.  My cat Wally insists on going outside after dinner, and usually refuses to come back in at bedtime.  By about 4:30 or 5:00 am, he’s decided he’s cold or hungry, positions himself right outside my bedroom window and proceeds to serenade me with what I can only describe as distressed yodeling.  Anyone with a cat knows exactly what I’m talking about.  I’ve tried ignoring him, but he only ramps it up.  And if you’re asking the perfectly reasonable question “Why don’t you just keep him inside after dinner?” please refer to the above description, but amend it to “indoor distressed yodeling.”

Increments

Oh, you have no idea how much I wanted to skip my walk tonight.  NO idea.  A front is moving in, the wind has picked up and there's talk of a lot of rain, maybe as early as tonight. It's exactly the kind of weather I love, but from the indoors, especially on a night like this.  I'm not a political junkie, exactly, but there is something very soothing about parking yourself in front of the television on a night like Super Tuesday and letting the anchors spoon feed you information, both substantial and gossipy.

But that's not going to get my five miles walked, and it's not going to get my blog written, so off Banks and I went.  Although I'm getting a little tired of St. Ed's, I wore my glasses instead of my contacts today, and wanted to bee seen by as few people as possible. (And if you've seen me in my glasses, you'd understand). No promenading up and down Congress in these coke bottles.

I took my stopwatch, and though the start of the walk -- especially if you're not really into it -- can seem like there's a mountain in front of you, it goes very quickly if you break it into thirds.  Before you know it, a half hour has passed.  Then I veer off into an unfamiliar neighborhood, force myself not to check the clock, and when I do, it's at about the hour mark.  Now all I have to do is start homewards, adjusting my course to to ensure the full 1.5  hours has elapsed.

So now I sit, happily parked in front of the television, with Anderson, Wolff and the rest of them telling me what's happening and WHAT IT ALL MEANS.  And it is so much more enjoyable with those five miles behind me.

Same Kind of Different as Me

My boys were over for pizza night on Sunday, along with their aunt Lynn. Like all mothers of adult children, I sometimes look back on their childhood days and wonder what I’d do differently if I could do it over again. (Thank you, God, that I don’t have to do it over again). My work brings me into contact with many different parents and parenting styles, and it’s easy to play the comparison game.

I see a lot of “chore charts,” oversized hard copy versions of spreadsheets, with each child’s name, day of the week, and designated chores, along with a place for checkmarks when said chores are completed.  Sometimes I’ll see a daily bible verse on the refrigerator, or a behavior chart tracking the laudable and the unacceptable.

I’m not ridiculing any of these things.  Good grief, I admire these parents’ organizational skills and adherence to order and structure. But wishing I had replicated this kind of parenting is like wishing I had brown eyes. 

Divorced when my kids were pretty young, I sometimes worked three jobs (I was fortunate that, other than my main job, my second and third jobs were always work-from-home opportunities). Not blessed with an inordinate amount of patience or discipline, I often felt I was flying by the seat of my pants.  Chores would be assigned and fall by the wayside.  I would make a solemn vow to take the boys to something “educational” once a week, and realize a month later that we’d failed to visit a single museum or attend a concert. Dinner was usually take-out (but healthy take-out), sometimes on TV trays as we watched “Seinfeld” together. Shouldn’t we have had dinner table meals, complete with a “topic of the day”? (I look back on my brooding, bespectacled teenage self and imagine my parents instructing the four of us to “Go around the table and tell us what’s the best thing that happened to you today!” GO AWAY.)

I couldn’t have been that kind of mother, because I wasn’t – I’m not – that kind of woman. And my kids probably didn’t respond to my failed attempt at textbook parenting, because they share my DNA.  I look at them now, and they’re just fine.  Better than fine, they’re wonderful.  And if they’d turned out to be ultra-conventional and non-quirky, I probably wouldn’t have been able to identify with them anyway.

Jackson and Sam.  Same kind of different as me.

A perfect day, a perfect walk.  Once again, I just couldn’t get going in the morning, so brought my walking gear to work and went to the trail over the lunch hour.  Seventy-five degrees, slightly breezy and clear.  This time I took the trail from the south side, to the 2.5 mile marker, and backtracked to make sure it was exactly five. 

Austin, Texas in the Dead of Winter.....

......is 75 degrees, clear, breezy and beautiful.  Today was the annual Zilker Park Kite Festival, so even if half the town hadn't already been outdoors today, which they were, the festival would have drawn them there. 

South Congress, Lamar and South First were all clogged with pedestrians shopping the outdoor booths, making their way to Zilker, or simply enjoying the weather.  Banks and I chose to go north on South Congress today, avoiding the crowds by taking Eva St. just one block over most of the way.  We crossed over to S. 1st via Barton Springs and enjoyed about a mile of the lake trail.  Unfortunately, my dinner last night (a chicken and wild rice casserole that was pretty heavy with salt), which became my lunch today, left me parched after only about 30 minutes.  Banks was also panting, and I kept reminding him how good the water from the big orange jugs at the lake would taste.

Most of those big orange jugs were empty by 3:45, but the immediate problem was, there were no paper cups left.  (There were tons of people there today).  I grabbed one out of one of the trash bins and gave Banks a good long drink.  Another couple was there and facing the same issue I was.  After experimenting with tipping the jug, or cupping our hands and letting most of the water run right through us, we sheepishly agreed that the mounds of empty cone-shaped cups couldn't be THAT bad, and throwing all caution to the wind, recycled a few out of the bins.  Nothing has ever tasted so good. 

Sufficiently hydrated, we began the long uphill return journey home.  It's pizza night with the boys and Lynn, so I've gotta run out and get a few. 

The Way

Have you seen it?  My guess is no.  It hit the indie film circuit last fall, and came to and left the Arbor very quickly.  I loved it.  Martin Sheen stars as a father who goes to France to claim the body of his son, who died walking the Camino de Santiago, a 485-mile pilgrimage that starts in France and ends at what is believed to be the burial site of St. James in Santiago de Compostela, Spain.  Realizing that he really didn’t know his son, he decides to try to connect by completing the pilgrimage for him. It’s a beautiful story of grief, redemption, faith and the healing power of walking. 

What it got wrong – hilariously wrong – was that you never saw anyone limping.  Oh, every so often someone would make a joke about their aching feet, but never did you see anyone, say, rise from the table, hold on to it for dear life as they wait for their joints to snap into place, and take two or three hobbling steps before emerging into an upright position.  That’s me on a good day.   Anyway, it’s out on DVD now and worth catching.

Saturdays can be tricky.  You know you have all day, and before you know it, it’s 6:00 pm and you still haven’t walked five.  Banks and I finally got around to it at about 6:15.  I took the opportunity to explore that new trail I discovered about a week ago.  The route we took was short and straight, and let us out on the other side in 15 minutes.  So we proceeded east and somehow ended up near a Home Depot.  I figured just one trip around that monster would eat up a mile, so we headed up the hill, but just to the right I noticed a sign for a cemetery.  I love cemeteries!  They’re so peaceful, so dignified, so sacred, really.  Well, most of them are. This one, I discovered quickly, has a garish quality, with loud and brightly colored plastic flowers on each grave.  We left quickly and won’t be back.

I went back and forth on whether to share this next part, but I have determined that this will be an honest blog, so here goes: about 50 minutes in, I had to go number two. Badly. The feeling would come and go, and I’d vacillate between thinking I absolutely couldn’t wait, and that I could hold on til I got home.  The first feeling won out.  Thank God it was dark.  I was on the north edge of the St. Ed’s campus, near the running track, but saw that there were several people on it. I scanned the place furtively, and saw the ideal spot….a small grove of trees would shield me in the back, a large trash can would hide the front of me.  Done. 

It was the oddest feeling.  On the one hand I was slightly panicked at the prospect of being “caught,” but another, defiant part of me felt this was a perfectly natural occurrence, and probably an unavoidable one in the course of a year of five mile walks. What's the big deal?  I practiced my insouciant speech in case anyone saw me:  “Sorry, we just walked four miles, these things happen.” I got home, threw my jeans in the wash, took a hot shower.  And I’m feeling weirdly, inexplicably proud of myself. 

When the Air Goes Out of Your Tires

Yesterday was one of those days. Work was long and stressful, and, with about an hour to go, I got the following text from Aimee, one of my co-workers:  “Hey, your passenger side rear tire looks really low.” “Aaagghhhh…..” I texted back.  “But looks drivable!” she rejoined, optimistically.  Not when I got there.  I stared at the thing, blankly, with not an ounce of intellectual energy to try to solve the problem.  All I wanted to do was go home.  I got a lot of advice and encouragement: “Let me call my husband, and….”; “There’s a tire place off Cesar Chavez”; “How about it I drive you to…”.  No. All of those things required a plan, and all I wanted to do was go home.  I left the car in the parking lot, bummed a ride with a co-worker and pulled a Scarlett O’Hara.  I’ll think about that tomorrow.

Needless to say, Thursday became my day off.  I went to bed at 7:00 pm, and slept a straight 10 hours, til 5:00.  Unheard of for me, but boy, did I need that deep and uninterrupted sleep. 

So my plan for today was to walk Banks just over two miles, and follow that up by walking to work (2.8 miles).  But I had more time and energy than I had in a while, so almost immediately, I decided to do the whole five.  (Unfortunately, I’d worn my lightweight Tom’s-like slip-ons in anticipation of a shorter walk, but they did fine).  We did St. Ed’s again, but with a twist:  instead of meandering through the campus aimlessly, we did the outer perimeter, with the mantra, Take a right wherever you see daylight.  In a couple of spots, where we reached the very edge of the campus, we even took a detour through a few blocks in the surrounding neighborhoods, which ate up a good bit of time. 

 We got home with eight minutes left on the clock (which I easily made up by walking that long down South Congress before hailing a bus to work).  The morning was quite warm and muggy, and by the time we got home, I was dripping wet; it’d been a long time since that had happened, and I love jumping into a hot shower in that condition. 

With my walk, and a good night’s sleep behind me, I’m ready to tackle the flat tire thing.  I trust I'll come up with something.

                                    A deflating sight.

Four More

Okay, first of the month, and it’s weigh-in time.  I’ve lost four more pounds.  So that’s 10 ½ in two months.  My sort-of goal had been 4-5 pounds per month, so I’m right on target.

More important than the actual weight loss is the way I feel, and look.  People are definitely starting to remark that I’ve lost weight (and they are always standing behind me when they say it), and some of my pants are starting to hang off of me.  Without actually having planned it, I can look back on February and say that I didn’t indulge in as many big dinners or other treats as I did in January.  And I’d better keep that trend up, because I assume the weight loss will start to taper off if I don’t alter my diet as well.

It feels so good to be back on my regular schedule.  I’d gotten into the habit of taking my “off” day early in the week, once on a Monday, even, and that to me was a sign of slacking off a little.  Banks and I went on a strange walk last night – I am so over St. Ed’s and Stacy Park, and last night wandered over to the access road of southbound I-35.  Lots of fast traffic, but also a nice uphill progression for several exits (as well as mostly sidewalk access).  It was different, but it got the job done. 

So here it is Thursday, and I’d be fine taking today off, but am going to try to do the walk after work and let Friday be my free day.

OMG, did you see the finale of Top Chef last night?  Paul, the wonderful Austin chef from Uchiko took top honors.  I already knew he was an incredible chef, and after getting to know him from the show, loved his humility and gentleness.  It would have killed me if either of the “mean girl” finalists had won it all.  Congratulations, Paul, you made Austin proud.