Goodbye to Steve

Last night’s walk was hard penance for the past two days of undisciplined eating.  It was a good mix of short, steep hills, long and gradual slopes, rocky trail terrain and some flat stretches to give us both a break, starting at the end of Long Bow, winding through the woodsy trail, taking the steeper hills at St. Ed’s, back through the woods and one lap around Stacy Park.  Usually I overestimate how long I’ve walked; this time I underestimated and came dangerously close to missing the first few minutes of Mad Men.

After nursery duty – with only five babies, because Schlotzky’s Bun Run had closed so many streets downtown that I think a lot of people just gave up – I spent much of the afternoon at my friend Steve’s home for his annual “Goodbye to Austin” party.  Let me tell you about Steve, who has one of the coolest and most unusual work lives I know about.  From May to October he lives in Chicago, where he is a gifted and much sought-after tennis teaching pro.  It is grueling and physical work, and he gives it his all.  Once the weather turns, he comes back to Austin for the next six months.  He has a beautiful home and grounds here , and there is always a major landscaping or renovation project going on to occupy most of his time. (His Chicago home is a small condo). He also hangs plays drums in a couple of different bands, listens to live music, goes to movies and generally enjoys all the wonderful things Austin has to offer.  How cool is that??? Work for six months, make enough money to play for six months.  I love hearing him describe how he knows it’s time to return to Chicago, or come back to Austin:  he feels a tug both ways for a while, and then suddenly “the switch flips,” and he’s gone the next day.  Unbelievably enough, he has never set foot on the hike and bike trail, and swears that he will make a five-mile walk with me before he leaves this time.  Here he is playing host and taking a break from playing with the band for the last time. 

Red Meat

It felt so good to walk early in the morning yesterday that I knew I’d do it again today.   At 8:30, Banks and I arrived at the trail, and as always, I felt a rush of warmth when I saw the multitudes already there.  I love how fit a city Austin is.  I love seeing the new moms trying to get their shape back; the elderly and infirm, who are maybe trying to come back from a stroke; the serious runners, as well as the seriously overweight, both with faces of grim determination; and maybe most of all, the beautiful and the heart-stoppingly handsome, running with the pure joy of knowing that they’re young and fabulous.

As we crossed over the 1^st St. Bridge, you could already hear the miked presenters at the Food and Wine festival.  I love eavesdropping on the events at Auditorium Shores from the wrong side of the fence.  I had as good a view as anyone of the chef on stage, cutting up a steak and discussing, in painstaking detail, all the special properties of this particular cut of meat.  It gave me the delicious sense of crashing a party, not to mention a mouth-watering pre-taste of tonight’s dinner.

It’s Cindy’s birthday, and the GNO convinced her to choose a really good steak place, not only because we love her and wanted to treat her to something special, but (as we reminded her repeatedly) poor Brian is working off an iron deficiency and is being encouraged to increase her red meat intake.  So off we went to Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse (in the history of restaurants, is there a more tin-ear name?).   

Brian, Janette, Cindy, me and Leslie H.

My "cowboy ribeye" -- did they have to call it that?  I swear I took a portion of it home....

Stare it Down

I won’t bore you with more ramblings about my insomnia, but suffice to say, it was one of those nights.  Getting up at 2:00 AM on occasion and not being able to get back to sleep does not qualify as tragedy when you’ve experienced it, on and off, since the age of 12. 

By 4:00 I had already decided to take my walk, but wanted to go to the trail and thought I should push it to 4:30 at least.  So off we went at 4:30, and wouldn’t you know it, yet ANOTHER festival (Food and Wine) is in the works, so the park was shut off at the entrance, and will be until May 1.  So I drove to the footbridge at Zilker Park, and, for the first time in memory, the cavernous parking lot was completely empty.  Not only did that give me a little anxiety about being completely alone on the trail (even with Banks), but I thought it might put my car in a vulnerable spot as well.  So we turned back toward Auditorium Shores, and parked at the RunTexas right across the street.  At least this had the benefit of eating up about 15 minutes, and we hit the trail at a more civilized 4:47.

A friendly young woman was already out setting up the Food and Wine Festival.  This thing is going to be huge.  They’re not just putting up tents, there‘s heavy equipment out there and they’re actually building things.  She mentioned a few celebrity chefs who are going to be there, including some from Top Chef.  She also mentioned that a drunk guy had just entered the trail about 20 minutes before.  “He’s moving slow and seems pretty impaired, so I don’t think you’re in any danger.”  I wavered for a couple of seconds before deciding that even if I could outrun a drunk, being berated or even stared down by a strange and scary guy was not a great way to start my day.  So Banks and I crossed over the 1^st St. Bridge, then back, then took Riverside all the way to Lamar, doubled back, went back and forth over the bridge again, and finally hit the trail. The ache in my knees reminded me that I had done this just six hours before.  I went on instinct alone, since there was no way to keep track of the distance, and when we returned to the car, I saw that I owed the clock 12 minutes.  I’ll take Banks for a potty walk after dinner.

You can fight insomnia, you can give into it, you can let it dangle you at the end of a string.  On your best days, you stare it down.

Mind Games

Here is what is NOT recommended for someone who is obligated to walk five miles when it’s 90 degrees outside:  Finish up a very stressful meeting at 5:00 up north.  Decide to pick up Chinese food for dinner.  Pick up said food at 5:20. Sit in rush hour traffic for 55 minutes.  That’s 55 minutes to drive eight miles.  Get home, and eat half of a generous serving of cashew chicken, and a lot of pot stickers.  Realize that you’re very full.  Decide to lay down until the feeling abates, and the sun continues to go down.  Fall asleep.  Awake in a half-twilight haze, and try to think of all the reasons why it would be okay not to walk tonight: I could do five miles Friday morning, then five miles Friday evening.  No wait, I’m going to be home late Friday.  Walk TEN miles on Saturday!  No -- skip tonight, then do six miles instead of five every night next week!

I pulled myself off the bed; Banks shot up, startled and hopeful.  Yes, I thought, let’s just get it over with.  And that’s exactly what we did   Got through it, got over it.  The hardest part on a day like this is just getting started.  As usual, it was just fine once we left the house (for a neighborhood and St. Ed’s walk, not the trail this time.  I am not made of steel).  Not inspiring, not joyful, but fine. Banks’ leash has miraculously healed itself, so I had to take a few minutes to remove the knots and the loop I put in it the other day.  Off we went, and here we are home again. Another day, another five.  No excuses, no regrets.  Just doing my job.

Early Finish

For reasons unknown, I got up at 4:30 this morning, and after two cups of coffee, I looked around and wondered what to do for the next three hours.  The answer was obvious.  Walk.  How long has it been since I’ve done five miles that early in the morning, on a weekday?  Weeks and weeks, I think.  I did not bring Banks. I forgot to mention last night that his leash is broken – must have happened during one of Jackson’s walks.  It’s a long, retractable lead that stretches, oh, I don’t know, 12, 15 feet?  The retracting mechanism is broken, so last night I made several big knots, then a loop, at the halfway point, and guided him from there.  He was a handful, so I decided to go alone this morning and pick up a new leash on the way home from work.

When I’m alone I don’t like to venture too far off the beaten path, so I stayed within the St. Ed’s boundaries, and finished up with six or seven loops around the soccer field.  Banks hates doing that, and for some reason I like it, so always take advantage when he’s not around. I took my phone, and played my favorites loud and often. 

There is something empowering about completing five miles while the rest of the town sleeps.  You go to work and you have this little secret.  You got a jump on the day.  You can eat a piece of cake someone brought in for Admin’s Day without worrying too much about it. Some of the annoying little issues that arise during the day seem to evaporate more quickly for you than for others. 

But it’s going to be weird not having most of my evening eaten up by the miles.  Maybe it’ll remind me of what life was like a year ago.

Barton Springs

The best way to describe my mood tonight, as Banks and I started the loop around the lake, is "petulant." Pissy.  My mantra could have been "Why doesn't everyone just do what they're supposed to do?"  Translated, of course, it's "Why can't everyone act the way I want them to act?" A series of small misunderstandings and disappointments from several key people in my life was just enough to knock me slightly off-kilter.

Not even 45 seconds in, the trail began to work its magic.  The warm breeze, the water, the energy....what on earth did I do before I started walking?  Just sit home and stew in it?  God, I love this place.

As we approached the 1-mile marker, on a small footbridge crossing a creek, I decided, on a whim, to proceed straight past the bridge rather than cross it.  I had always noted that the trail went off in that direction, but so slavishly did I adhere to the mile markers that I was never tempted to explore.  This time I felt like being adventurous.  This trail has a wilder, more unkept appearance.  The water seems a little wider and mustier.  As we kept going, I thought I could hear rushing water; we walked a little further, and I could have sworn I heard a waterfall.  And then there we were, at Barton Springs.

Barton Springs!  I haven't been there in years.  Of course I knew it was in the Zilker Park area, just like the trail, but my incredible sense of direction, combined with the fact that I had only ever driven there, ensured that there was no way I could have connected the dots and found my way there on foot.  At least not on purpose. So there we were, but on the "other side" of the tall chain link fence which separates Barton Springs proper from the downriver, dogs-allowed, no entry fee required section.  Banks loved it.  Lots of dogs to romp with, and lots of clear, cold water to drink and play in.  I had to tug hard to get him to leave.  Best of all, this adds another 1/2 mile to the walk, so we don't have to get to the 4 1/4 marker and then backtrack or proceed east past the Congress Bridge.

When we first moved back to Austin, in 1994, I loved taking the kids to Barton Springs.  It's still referred to as the "jewel" of Austin watering holes, a natural spring-fed pool which remains at 68 degrees no matter what the weather. I eventually stopped taking out-of-town visitors there.  I've lost counts of how many kids and adults I've coaxed into those waters, and then watched them clinging to the side of the pool for the next hour or two, lips blue and trembling, trying mightily to have a good time.

The allergies have almost cleared up, and I'm almost back to normal.  Today, I swear, was the last after-work, pre-walk nap I'm going to take this week.

Avid Indoorsman

I heard someone describe himself that way once, and it made me laugh, because that’s exactly how I would have described myself this time last year.  My favorite season of the year is winter.  It would be fall, if Austin had a fall, but as we all know, what most people consider summer weather drags well into November here.   And my favorite kind of weather has always been cold and rainy.  And my favorite venue is indoors – watching the natural world from a safe and climate-controlled distance, reading, going to movies, working…..you will never find me on a tennis court at 2:00 in the afternoon, I promise you. 

But something has changed.  When I woke up this morning, to what has to be the most beautiful day of the year, I COULD NOT WAIT to get outside and start my walk.  No pressure to get it out of the way, no hurry to do it while there was still some coolness in the air.  I just wanted to be outside. 

his morning I drank my coffee out on my patio.  At lunchtime, it was still nice and cool, so I had my lunch out there as well.

Is it possible that, just as my body is now used to being put through five miles a day, it also craves regular contact with the outdoors?

I don’t think you’ll every completely change the way you’re bent, but it makes me very happy to think that perhaps I’ve started accessing something in me that’s been closed off.  I have now gone through two seasons – winter and spring – as a regular outdoor participant, and I can assure you that I experience a field of wildflowers very differently when I’m walking through it and trying to get Banks to pose for a picture in it, than I do merely driving by it.

What’s next?  Rock climbing?  Bird-watching?  Let’s not get carried away here.  But it’s been less than four months, and I can already feel some kind of deep, and I hope permanent, shift inside of me.

But let me put in a plug for an indoor activity -- Salmon Fishing in the Yemen was funny and charming and beautiful, and Ewan was his wonderful self.  Very much worth catching.

Salmon Fishing with Ewan

Jackson had a job interview at Zilker Park this morning at 9:00, so I figured this would be the perfect way to kill the proverbial two birds with one stone.  I dropped him off about 8:45 and continued on to the same pedestrian bridge where Banks and I started from yesterday, though Banks did not come along this time.  I walked my five while Jackson interviewed, and then he walked the 3/4 mile to where my car was parked.  This was probably the last cool morning of the spring.  I actually wore a light jacket, at least in the beginning, and I would say about a third of the hundreds of other walkers/runners at that hour were similarly attired.

Tonight I'm going with my friend Roger to see Ewan McGregor in "Salmon Fishing in the Yemen." Until a few years ago, I liked Ewan, but did not have strong feelings for him one way or the other.  That is, until I saw him in a stage production of "Guys and Dolls in London."  And heard him sing "I've Never Been in Love Before." Oh My God.  Maybe because live theater is so much more intimate than the big screen, or because you know relatively few are seeing a performance compared with the millions who watch movies, you feel a special connection with the actors.  Lynn and I had treated ourselves to a London trip on our birthday (I HAVE mentioned we're twins, right?), and had gotten it in our heads that we wanted to see Mama Mia.  Our concierge could not score tickets to that, but did find us a couple for Guys and Dolls.  Huh?  That 50s musical about a bunch of New York gamblers?  Who wanted to see that?  So we went in with absolutely no expectations, and were blown away.  Ewan has a sweet, beautiful voice, and if his dancing is not quite Broadway calibur, it's close.  What a blast it was to sit with this sophisticated London audience hooting and hollering at this old-fashioned show about a renegade gambler who finds his way back to his churchgoing roots through the love of a feisty and independent missionary.

We've all heard the word "show stopper," but this was my first experience with it.  After the rousing "Sit Down, You're Rocking the Boat," the actors had to stand there for several minutes, poised to deliver their next lines, while the crowd refused to stop shouting and clapping and stomping their feet.  Pure magic.

I'm getting better, but I'm not to the point where I can take on nursery duty tomorrow.  I'll miss the babies, but it will be nice to be able to sleep in and read the paper for a change.

Next Year

I still feel like crap, but I'm sick of writing about it, and you're sick of reading about it

Pure instinct told me not to even bother trying to access the lake by Auditorium Shores, my usual entry point, on this Friday, and I was right.  Banks and I started at the pedestrian bridge off of Barton Springs, and as we neared the 0 mile marker on the other side of the lake, the sounds of reggae music got louder and louder, and of course the parking lot HAD been blocked off.  It was actually kind of nice to hear the music for about 15 minutes until we pulled out of earshot.

Although on these walks I see people out rowing all the time, tonight I was struck by the sight of a young woman in a -- I am so not nautical, but was it a kayak? Not super skinny and long, but a little wider than what I think of as a kayak.  Anyway, she was rowing, and her big dog was at the front of the craft, serenely keeping watch.  I would love to do that with Banks, but kayaking has always been a little out of my comfort zone.  Those things look about 18 inches across, with no margin for error, and I could see either of us making a sudden movement and plummeting into the water. 

But it got me to thinking about what my fitness plan will be for next year.  Maybe a little arrogent, given that I'm not halfway through this commitment yet, but iit keeps coming up.  Aimee suggested making Bikram yoga at least a several times a week commitment; sometime last year she got some kind of deal, unlimited Bikram yoga classes for 30 days and she went all 30 days.  Wait, I may have this wrong -- I think it was 90!  I'll have to ask, but she looked fantastic.  Monica thought that instead of walking five miles a day, I should swim five miles a day.  In order to do that, I'd have to give up my job and at least two meals a day.  Okay, so how about swimming a mile a day?  I don't think so.  I'm not crazy about getting wet, and can you imagine what my hair would look like after a year of swimming every day?  Jackson suggested ratcheting my walk up to 10 miles a day, which I immediately drop-kicked into the Bad Idea Hall of Fame.

But I'm open to suggestions.

Sick Woman Walking

Another day, another two-hour nap after dinner.  How I hate being sick.  The irony is, about three weeks ago, I almost wrote a blog about how my five miles seem to have boosted my already strong immune system, and how I don't think I've gotten sick since January 1.  I'm glad I held off on that one.  My congestion seemed to be moving dangerously close to my chest, but after several rounds of Mucinex, hopefully it's....you know....rising.  Let's leave it at that.

So after I woke up at about 7:15, I hauled myself out of bed and got on my walking clothes.  Jackson was not impressed.  "Why don't you take a day off?  No one's gonna care, and you're probably just making yourself sicker."  He didn't use the word "martyr," but I know what he was getting at.  I don't think he's right.  If I really felt that I was making myself worse, I probably wouldn't do it (but then again, maybe I would).  In some way, doing my five miles no matter what -- rain, sick, tired, bored, burned out -- is my touchstone.   Everything around me might be falling apart, but by God, those five miles will get walked. My house might be a mess, the laundry piled up, a headache is building, I've got to get a report written -- but in the midst of it all, that one thing remains constant. There may come a day when I have truly reached my limit and something makes it impossible, but that day has not come yet.

I'm still walking at a reduced pace.  Tonight, I had the added fun of a runny nose, and just sniffing every few seconds, I swear, sapped some of my valuable energy.  We did Stacy Park, and the hills, but again, at a more comfortable pace. 

Banks and I have a tradition on these walks.  As soon as we turn onto our street, from whatever direction we've come, I say, "Let's go home, Banks.  You did good."  Today I heard myself say "Let's go home boy.  We did good."

Reunion

Boy, this was a late walk.  I just got back -- Banks and I walked all the way to the Home Depot on I-35, circled back home, and I dropped him off just short of an hour, then did a few laps around the St. Ed's track, just now returning home.  The reason I started so late?  That cold I so optimistically predicted would be over by Tuesday seems to actually be a prolonged allergy attack.  I came home from work and after dinner went straight to bed, setting the alarm for 7:45 PM.  I'm still coughing, but now it's that yucky, unproductive hacking which tells you it's time to pull out the Mucinex.  Jackson's eyes are burning and running; we seem to get affected at the same time, but with different symptoms.

But enough about me.  This is about Banks.  The vet finally called around 6:00 last night.  He thinks Banks has a touch of arthritis (my suspicion as well), centered in his "wrist" -- he likened it to Carpel Tunnel Syndrome in humans.  He also said -- and this is one of the things I love about my vet -- "I could take an x-ray and charge you $85, but I don't think it would change my diagnosis."  So he prescribed some non-steroid anti-inflammatory drugs to be given for 10 days, and after that as needed. He also assured me that he didn't think our five miles a day was necessarily overdoing it -- this was about arthritis, not strained muscles -- but shortening Banks' walks right now is more about the heat than anything else.

Then he said, ominously, "We had to give old Banks a tranquilizer shot."  Confirming my worst fears, he said that once in the holding pen, Banks went crazy, barking and throwing himself against the walls.  Oh, God. I knew it.  How could this NOT bring up the memory of his drop-off at the pound?  When I think about what must have been going through his brain -- no more mom and Jackson, no more walks at the lake, no more snuggling on the couch while watching "Top Chef" -- okay, his brain is not that sophisticated, I get it, but I have no doubt that for the long day he spent there, he thought life as he knew it was over.  I couldn't get to the vet's fast enough.

He was still a little loopy when the attendant walked him out, but if I was expecting an emotional, grateful reunion -- no.  He wagged his tail almost involuntarily when he saw me, and walked over to me at my urging, but kept his eyes averted and took on a regal, aloof countenance.  He warmed up a little after we got home, but did not reach full Banks-ness until this morning. 

Right now he's sleeping on his favorite green velvet chair, happily tired after his walk, and, I can only hope, having already forgotten yesterday's trauma.

L

You ever have one of those days when it seems like you have a flashing red “L” on your forehead?  That was yesterday. My first clue that it was going to be one of those days was when I took my disgustingly dirty car to the car wash.  There was one vehicle ahead of me, and I punched in my receipt code as I waited.  A minute or two later, a few drops of water fell on my windshield.  I thought it was blowback from the car in the washing garage, but then realized it was in the midst of the power dry cycle.  Yep, it was raining.  And I had already committed to the process by handing over my code, and the guy in the car behind me, who actually had some options here, seemed grimly determined to see the thing through.  I burst out laughing as I obligingly pulled into the stall.  I mean, you hear about people who wash their cars, and a couple of hours later it rains, but who gets their car washed WHILE it’s raining?  Fortunately, it was a brief shower, and even though it continued for a few minutes after I pulled out, the drops didn’t seem to leave an impression.  (Maybe there’s something to that “spot-free rinse" after all).

Next it was off to Goodwill, where I hoped to purchase a couple of kids’ CDs for the nursery.  As “a couple” was exactly what they had, I bought both of them (cheap) and tried them out in the car.  One featured French children singing in their own language; since the babies are not even crawling, much less speaking, I figured they wouldn’t be too put off by language barrier.  Unfortunately, most of the songs had a rather shrill quality that did not bode well for nap time.  So I popped in the second CD, which had looked fine in the store but must have been damaged, because it made a snapping and whirring sound before settling on “What do you do with a Drunken Sailor?”  Startled, I checked the CD case and confirmed that this was indeed “Children’s Melodies” from something called Creative Labs.  Tell me, on what planet is “Drunken Sailor” considered a children’s classic?  But there it was, hidden among “Itsy Bitsy Spider” and “Old McDonald Had a Farm.”  Another dud, but the thought of these parents returning to the nursery and seeing one of the caregivers warbling about paddy wagons and captains’ daughters and rusty razors set off another fit of giggles.

This morning I dropped Banks off at the vet at 7:00 AM sharp.  I had pleaded with the front office for a set appointment, where I could bring him in and leave with him, but this is not the way they work.  It could be 7 PM before he's ready to come home.  All I could think about was Banks wondering if he’d been dropped off at the pound again.  Oh God.  He seemed fine when I left him, though. 

I took my “lunch hour” at 4:00 PM, and took a nice, hot, but breezy and in some places actually cool, walk down at Lady Bird Lake.  I had my phone with me the whole time in case the vet called.  No word so far…..

Sick Day

I think I'm getting sick.  My throat has been scratchy the last day or so, and I keep coughing to relieve the itch.  I thought it might be allergies, but then I took Banks to the lake.  Let me back up.  I know I said I wasn't going to walk Banks again until we got to the bottom of his limping, but today his leg was fine!  No limping at all, even in the morning!  My friend Vicky emailed from Colorado after she read that blog, and said that when her husband used to run with their dog for long distances, he also developed a limp, and the problem turned out to be his pads were getting cut up.  I check, and Banks' are fine. 

So we drove to the lake, and the minute we got out of the car, it hit me.  No energy.  At all.  The walk was a plodding and shuffling affair; I must have looked like the walkers I see on the trail sometimes, and wonder to myself, Why do they bother?  Long experience tells me a cold is fomenting inside of me, and the only way to stave it off is to stay home from work tomorrow and sleep for hours and hours. That's it.  And I'll wake up Tuesday feeling just fine.

Cold aside, life is very good right now.  The walk has been walked, the blog is almost blogged, and .....a new episode of Mad Men is on.

My Lucky Day

I've decided to take Banks to the vet on Tuesday (my schedule won't permit any earlier), and beyond a couple of potty walks that either Jackson or I will take him on, that's the only walking I'm going to put him through until he gets checked out. His limp is not extreme, but it's there, and last night I noticed it in the evening -- before, it'd only been in the morning, which I attributed to typical early-AM stiffness. What if the vet tells me that all this walking has been stressful on Banks, and that he's pulled a hamstring or something? I'll feel terrible, and I'll let him rest as long as I'm advised to.

So, I took my walk alone today, and finally did a fairly early morning walk -- 9:30. For some reason, this particular walk was better than most. I had my newly loaded iphone, and was in an unusually good mood. It was the same old Stacy Park to St. Ed's route, but today somehow felt fresh and different.

Okay, here's what made today my lucky day. I've been putting off my taxes as long as possible (obviously), and finally walked in today, toting my W2s, my charitable deductions, my business expenses and my poorly masked anxiety. Last year I owed something like $1,700. This year? They owe me $600+. I think the taxes were done incorrectly last year, and so does my accountant, and we're looking into it, but today was a day for celebrating only.

That is, until Jackson and I went to see "Bully" at the Alamo. It was a great film, but prepare yourself. I can't remember the last time I got that emotional at a movie. It provoked deep, deep sadness, and I am afraid I'm going to be haunted by some of those young faces for a long time.

The Mullet Chronicles

Sometimes I wonder if God preordained this mullet just to keep me humble in the face of my daily five-mile triumphs.  It's working.  I had expected that the longer the mullet grew, the easier life would become, completely forgetting the fact that my longer hair is smooth and straightened, and the untreated mullet is my wooly, course natural hair.

Today I had lunch with my friend Amy, walking the half-mile to meet her at Scholtz Garten.  Towards the end of the meal, I, as usual, asked a fellow diner to take a picture of us. He obliged.  I got a little suspicious when he snapped one picture, muttered "I better take another one," and then handed back the phone with a weak comment about our "beautiful smiles."  I shrieked in disbelief when I saw the pictures.  Amy looked beautiful, I looked like I had an ill-fitting toupee on top of my head.  Leslie, next time you spend any time outdoors, check the FREAKING MIRROR before taking pictures. I told Amy I didn't care how great she looked, these pictures would never see the light of day.  I snapped a solo shot instead.

Let me give you a back story on Amy, because her fitness story is unprecendented as far as I'm concerned.  She was overweight in her teens and early twenties, and upon graduating from college,  went to Weight Watchers.  She lost 50 pounds, and has never looked back. I've known the woman 13 years, and have never seen her weight fluctuate a pound.  Let me repeat this:  She lost 50 pounds about 30 years ago, and has never regained any of it.  She's amazing.  We met when our sons played basketball together, became good friends, then actually worked together for a few years.  Every time we see each other, we pick up where we left off without missing a beat.  I don't even have to describe Amy, you can just see it in her face:  fun, funny, loving, smart, confident and beautiful. And thin.  Always thin. 

I gave myself credit for the one-mile round trip to Scholtz, and Banks and I did the four-mile loop at the lake.  Just finished, in fact. 

Francophilia

I don’t have it. I love the language, but have no overwhelming desire to learn it. Love the movies, but have never worshiped the French “look” you hear so much about – the simple skirt and top, made to look fantastic by just the right belt, scarf and bag. To my American-trained eye, it’s always seemed a tad overdone. No one loves, or is more amused by, our uniquely American qualities that I. Our open-hearted (some would say intrusive) friendliness. Our too-loud laughter.  Our indifference to pedigree. Our inability to learn the metric system.

 There’s a book out by Jennifer L. Scott, called “Madame Chic: The Top 20 Things I Learned While Living in Paris.” Ms. Scott was an exchange student some ten years ago, living with a very wealthy, formal French family, and in this book, she describes the family’s exquisite lifestyle, which had very little to do with money, and everything to do with style and a commitment to excellence.

The tone of the book could be summed up in this paragraph: “Once you commit to living a life of quality, your discernment will infuse every aspect of your life. You will be more selective of the foods you choose to eat, the fabrics on the clothes that you wear, the way you choose to spend your time. You are less likely to binge on fast food – to hastily purchase an inferior article of clothing just because it was on sale – or sit for hours in front of the TV while your life slips away.”

 There is a temptation to jeer at such sentiments.  Really, who has the time to shop at the market every day and cook a four-course meal?  Or buy only ten very well-cut, super expensive items of clothing, and wear them interchangeably throughout the season? 

 Still, something about this book grabbed me.  The author describes getting up in the middle of the night for a drink of water and running into “Madame Chic,” the matriarch, who could scarcely believe what the girl was wearing – an old T-shirt and a pair of sweat pants with a hole in the knee.  Dismayed, she asked “Jennifer, why would you wear that?”  Jennifer realized she had no answer, but made an immediate decision to purchase some simple cotton nightgowns.  It’s all about Doing Things Properly. There is a description of the family’s living room, which is beautifully but subtly appointed, with a very old, seldom-used television at the back of the room.  Madame and her family had far better things to do than watch TV: dine together, give dinner parties, play board games, read.

 Perhaps the chapter that had the biggest impact on me was “The Clutter-Free Home.” The Chic family lived by the old saw “A place for everything, and everything in its place.”  No one came in the front door and threw the keys or the purse on the dining room table.  Closet space was tight, sometimes only a wardrobe, and items of clothing were mercilessly pared down to only perfect-fitting and quality items – no compromising. 

 I actually read this book about three weeks ago, and started to blog about it while at the height of infatuation.  I decided to give it a while, and see if it made a lasting impression.  Here are the changes I’ve made since then:  I went through my closet and drawers, filled two huge plastic garbage bags with throwaways and donations, and organized everything.  I cleaned out my back yard and decorated my small patio with plants and flowers.  I don’t believe I’ve left for work once without making my bed.  I recommend this book, but promise me you’ll check your cynicism at the Table of Contents.

Tonight I felt like a hard and punishing solo walk.  It was just too hot for Banks.  I went towards Stacy Park, and took five or six streets off of East Side straight up and down, all the way to Little Stacy, started backtracking, until I was almost 15 minutes out, and then headed for home. I love the way my face is hot and red at the end of these walks, and I love how I feel after a long shower.  All I’m missing now is a few proper nightgowns.  I’m going shopping this weekend.

It's Official

We have arrived at the time of year when Banks can no longer do five miles, at least on surface streets.  On the trail, he feeds off the energy of the other dogs and people, just like I do, and can stop for water. But the last two nights, when we did the Stacy Park and the St. Ed's loops, he started slowing down well before the one-hour mark. I hate feeling impatient and yanking at him, when it's perfectly understandable that he's simply getting tired, so I prefer to let him off the hook and just cut his walk in half.  So that's what we did last night and tonight.  I dropped him off, and was able to keep up my pace with no problem for the balance of the five.

Jackson loaded a bunch of new songs on my Iphone -- sadly, we've not yet been able to find "I Gotta Get Shorty Out of Jail" -- so I've got that support, as well as NPR and the  classical station from my new FM radio headset.  It's getting hotter and hotter, and I'm going to need all the help I can get.

Off

I don't normally post about my off days, which Monday was, but Sunday (after I walked) and Monday were so full and amazing that I had to check in early. Remember how weirded out I was at the prospect of two hours amongs the "walkers" during the Easter service? They were adorable. Beyond adorable. All the kids were divided into groups of about seven, with several attendants in each "petting zoo," as we volunteers called the cordoned-off areas to which we were assigned. After brief and sometimes awkward introductory periods immediately after the kids were dropped off, they explored a few toys, walked unsteadily around a bit, and, to a toddler, eventually decided to party. Some were rather serious, some light-hearted, but eventually they all produced gummy smiles, snuggled when they got tired, playfully crawled around on top of us when we stretched out on the floor. We did not have one crier. I told my sister yesterday that I never really thought of myself as a "kid person" but, if I do say so myself, those kids loved me! :-) How fun it was to see how many college-aged guys there were. Their goofiness and utter lack of self-consciousness (you could hear one of them singing Elvis songs from thirty yards away) were the perfect complement to the nurturing and attentive women.

After tear-down, it was on to my sister's house for a delicious brunch, with most of the guests from her workplace. It's always fun to finally meet people who you've heard about for years.

Then it was on to The Great Outdoors, a beautiful locally-owned nursery just a few blocks from my house. My next-door neighbor John, a landscape architect, had offered to accompany me there, after listening in horror to my plans to decorate my back yard with Home Depot foliage. He helped me pick out plants and flowers, mostly native, that were drought-resistant and flourished in shade. (I had always assumed impatiens were my only shade options). We picked out a beautiful variety, which are still sitting on my patio in anticipation of my having a couple of hours to put them together.

Early Monday morning I learned that my nephew Josiah, as well as his mom Jana (my ex-sister-in-law) were in town to pick up a car for Josiah, who just returned from a tour of Afghanistan. I happily threw my walk plans out the window, and made reservations for the two of them, as well as Lynn, Sam and me, at Fogo de Chao. Just before Josiah deployed, we took him there, and he loved it, so we promised to go back upon his safe return. Oh, how that boy can put away meat. Believe me, no money was made by Fogo at our table, not with Josiah and Sam trying to out-do each other. The staff, upon learning of Josiah's service, provided a free cheesecake dessert for him, as well as a 10 percent "military discount" for the rest of the meal.  It could not have been a more wonderful and festive evening, a reminder that no matter what happens in civil courts, family will always be family.

Tonight will mark almost 60 hours between walks. I'm feeling antsy.


John, on the lookout for succulent plants

Lynn, Jana, Josiah, Sam and me at Fogo

Easter Sunday

I started my walk at 4:30 AM, this is not a typo, 4:30 AM,  because I have a crazy day ahead of me and I am STRESSED.  Nursery duty starts at 7:00 AM, the whole thing is over by noon, and it's those five hours in between that I'm stressing about.  There are going to be hundreds of kids and hundreds of volunteers.  There are very specific instructions as to where we park, where we meet for check-in, how we tear down the nursery.  New, out-of-the-routine situations are not my favorite.  How I envy those who can treat everything as an adventure. Knowing me, I'm going to come back exhausted and want nothing more than to take a nap.  So, since I got up at 3:00 anyway, and started obsessing, I figured I'd do my five and kill two birds with one stone --  get the walk checked off, and maybe relieve a little stress. No drive to the lake this time -- I walked Banks around St. Ed's for 45 minutes (didn't want him to overdo it since we'd walked less than 12 hours before), brought him home, and returned to St. Ed's for another 45 minutes.

I know I'm a jerk for feeling this way.  This should be a happy, celebratory day, and chances are, it will be.  The anticipation is always the hard part.  I hope you all enjoy your day, and I'll check in tomorrow.  Seriously.  Monday has been my off day for I think the past four weeks, but I am determined to push it back this week.

I Gotta Get Shorty on my Iphone

Once again, Banks and I tried to enter the trail via the Auditorium Shores parking lot yesterday after work, only to be turned away -- yet another event is going on, and I'm not sure what.  So we drove to the footbridge near Zilker Park -- the exact 2-mile mark -- and started there.  And once again, it's amazing how much more quickly the walk goes when you just mix it up a little.

I brought a new toy with me -- an FM radio clip-on which is compatible with my ipod ear plugs.  I got the idea it might be fun to listen to NPR, rather than music all the time, and boy was I right.  I loved it.  I just got lost in the stories, and the time flew by.  I will definitely be doing this a lot of the time -- I especially love Morning Edition, and maybe this will help me take my early walks.

When NPR finishes, KUT reverts back to its format of non-mainstream music, and I now have a new favorite song:  "I Gotta Get Shorty Out of Jail," by Andre Williams.  He's an ancient-sounding black man who growls, rather than sings this song, which is evocative of smoke, booze and the streets, and still manages to be hilarious and weirdly danceable.

I woke up last night about 3:00 AM, with my right knee aching.  Really aching.  I was tempted to get some Aleve, but decided to hold off until morning, and to wear my brace and walk slowly today.  I woke up five hours later and it felt just fine.  The knee -- or at least my knee -- is a moody contraption.

It's been a crazy day of mostly shopping -- how I am loving buying clothes two sizes smaller than when I started this project! -- and I haven't gotten my walk in, but it will happen.  I hope everyone has a beautiful Easter tomorrow.

Five Miles. Eighty-Seven Degrees. A Desperate Plan.

Today's walk was a bit of an experiment. Is it going to be feasible to take my lunchtime walks during the dog days of summer? Today is was close to 90; in August, it'll be over 100.  But the trail has a lot of tree overhang, and it's always a little cooler next to the water, and there are like 10 water fountains along the way....

None of it mattered except the water.  Thank God for the water.  I stopped at every single fountain and water stop, and drank DEEPLY -- I estimate I downed a half gallon of water on this walk, and I never had to go the bathroom.  The only other time I can remember this happening was at a Rufus Wainwright outdoor concert at Stubbs Barbecue several years ago, on an August night. Even Rufus wondered if he needed to get a new agent. I gulped water after water, and it just leaked out through my pores.

I also felt myself petering out at about marker 3.75.  I didn't make note of the time when I left, but I'd wager I was gone closer to two hours than 1.5.  My boss is patient, but he is not endlessly patient.

So I've been thinking of alternatives.  Even the nights in the summer can be brutal, and it appears I have all but lost my appetite for 5:00 a.m. walks. What about a gym? I hate joining a gym, they're expensive and I'm not crazy about treadmills, but these Texas summers are unbearable.  Here's what I've been thinking: around the first of June, approach all the gyms in a 10-mile radius, and ask fetchingly if they would consider a one-week trial membership. Wear out that one, and move on to the next.  I could get a couple of free months that way. That is how cheap I am, and that is how hot it gets. 

Speaking of barbecue -- yes, Artz has closed, and filed for Chapter 7. Their take-out has been part of my family's dinner rotation for the past 18 years. Somehow it was appropriate that I showed up on the day they closed. 

False Alarm

I found my phone.  Apparently Jackson's definition of "really looked for it" does not include looking on the third shelf of the bookcase in my bedroom, which is exactly at his eye level.  In all fairness, I did have it on silent.  I'm just glad -- so glad -- to have it back. 

Tonight's walk started out shakily.  I loaded Banks into the car, we drove to the lake, had to wait about five minutes for a parking spot to open up, got out of the car....and I realized I'd forgotten Banks' leash.  That's not quite as brainless as it might sound -- I take him in the car with me all the time, to my office, to the grocery store -- without a leash, so it feels very natural.  As we drove back to get the leash, I resigned myself to the usual neighborhood walk, but in the end, I couldn't do it. Banks had already got a taste of his favorite place, and truthfully, so had I.  So we  returned to the lake for a much later start than usual.

But it was a great walk.  I had brought my phone along to listen to the four random songs I'd had Aimee download for me just so I could see (and promptly forget) how it was done. "Hair" by the Cowsills, "Jamie's Crying" by Van Halen, "Godless Brother in Love" by Iron and Wine, and "Calamity Song" by the Decemberists.  It's been weeks since I walked to music, and I'd forgotten how freeing it was, and how much faster the walk goes. 

By around 9:00, with a half hour still to go, the trail was ours, Banks' and mine.  No matter how dark it is, or how late, or how alone we are, I am fearless when Banks is with me.  But I think these warm springtime walks take a lot out of him.  He usually hangs out with me until I go to bed, but tonight he went straight to my room, jumped on my bed, and when I go into the kitchen, I can hear his soft snoring.  Sleep tight, buddy.

Back among my peeps

I hope you are sitting down.  There is evidence, still inconclusive, that I may have lost my iphone.  And if I have, I don't want to live anymore.  Okay, I don't mean that.  Not entirely.  And I haven't given up hope yet. But I am as attached to that thing as everyone else I know -- and I was among the last of the holdouts to purchase one. Until this very moment, I didn't appreciate how inextricably that phone is bound up with my blog.  That's the emotional component.  The financial piece?  I never purchased insurance, figuring my family plan with three phones cost plenty, and I have a hazy memory of playing with the thing, besotted, as the saleswoman talked about replacement costs.   But I believe I heard the words "six hundred."  So, I am requesting a national day of prayer and fasting as I turn my home, car and office upside down over the next 12 hours.

Did you see the film footage of the tornadoes in the Dallas-Fort Worth area?  The sky here in Austin was dark blue-gray as I left the office at 5:00, and with visions of airborne 18-wheelers dancing in my head, I took off down South 1st at a run.  The rain waited til I got under the tree coverage on the trail, but it was sporadic and actually kind of refreshing.  I loved being out there.  Once again, I started out with that odd feeling of "something's not quite right" because I hadn't walked in 36 hours, but 20 minutes or so into it, I was exchanging smiles with other wet pedestrians, admiring their handsome dogs and working up a pleasurable sweat.  I was back among my peeps, and all was right with the world.

Except for the phone.  I'll get back to you on the phone.

Best Laid Plans

Here's what I didn't do this weekend:  Buy a hammock.  Buy a bunch of flowers and plants.  Take before and after pictures of my patio.  I did go to Lowe's and attempt these things, but the same thing happened that happened about this time last year.  I got overwhelmed.  There were thousands of living things there, some shade, some sun, and I forgot to make a note of how many flower pots, and what sizes, I needed to fill.  So I walked out. 

But I did walk five miles.  Everything else can wait til tomorrow.

I had a full and hectic morning in the nursery, lunch with Lynn, a meeting in Liberty Hill, and then home at about 6:30.  I was so tired.  I thought about taking a nap before Mad Men, then watching it, then walking, but I love that show so much, and I knew I wouldn't enjoy it if this thing was hanging over my head.  So I went at 7:00, and since Jackson had taken Banks for two walks today, and it was hot and muggy, I went alone.  What a workout.  The once-around loop at Stacy Park, but this time, I took Mary, Annie, Woodward and one other street from East Side to as far as they went up the hill, sometimes to Congress, and then back down the same street, left again on East Side, and up and down the next hill.  I was drenched by the time I got home.  A glass of cold water, a hot shower, and now Mad Men is on.  I earned it.