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."