A True Five Mile Walk with a Piebald Pit

Last night I threw caution to the wind and had a Diet Coke with dinner. I know better. My system is so wimpy when it comes to caffeine. I know I'm going to pay the price when I drink a DC after, say, 2:00 pm, but I haven't had one in ages, and I was craving one, and so I drank it knowing full well what the consequences would be. Up at 2:00 am, couldn't get back to sleep, finally texted Janette at about 5:00, saying I'm going back to bed, there's no way I can make our planned walk at the trail at 7:00.  I tried to get back to sleep, but it didn't take. At 6:30, I gave up, put the leash on Banks, and off we went to St. Ed's (I'd let Jackson take my car to work so the trail was no longer an option).

I loved every minute of it.  It was early enough that the heat wasn't too bad, and there were mysterious puddles every so often that Banks could drink from.  It helped that we spent about a mile of the walk in the woods.  Lynn has always said that "Walking in the woods makes a dog feel like a dog," and you can see that in Banks.  He just comes alive when confronted with the different smells, sights and sounds. 

So re-dedicated am I to this five-miles-at-a-time thing that I think it rubbed off on Banks.  He did great, and it was only towards the end that he started the rolling in the grass routine.  I loved the "feel" of this walk, juxtaposed with the gym workouts.  At the gym, the miles are compressed into 65 minutes or so; the pace is frantic and competitive, and at the end my muscles are tight and burning. This morning, I walked at my 18 minute mile pace for the full hour and a half, taking medium strides and gentle hills. It was the perfect complement to yesterday's five.  And now I feel a nap coming on.

I saw a bumper sticker yesterday that made me smile:  "Make awkward sexual advances, not war."

What Are You Reading?

I’m still in the grip of the French thing.  Remember “Lessons from Madame Chic?” I’ve written about some of the things I learned from that book, some of the things I want to emulate – keeping a pared-down closet, choosing quality over quantity in regards to food and possessions, enriching your mind as opposed to sitting, zombie-like, in front of the TV.  One of the things the author said was that, when in a group, the French are likely to ask “What are you reading?” as opposed to “What do you do?”  The implication is that of course you’re reading a book.

From childhood through my early 30s, there was never a time when I wouldn’t have an answer to that.  Then came the kids, and reading – at least reading whole books – became a luxury. But the kids are grown, and what’s my excuse now? I was an English major, and it’s embarrassing when someone asks me if I’ve read any good books lately, and I have to search the cranial archives.  See, I work a lot, and I’ve got this blog, and this 1 ½ hour walking commitment, and I’m tired a lot. 

But I want to be like the French, and there is ALWAYS time to read a book, so I’ve made yet another pact with myself.  At least two books a month.  Think how much smarter I’ll be after reading 24 books a year.  I just finished “Nickel and Dimed” by Barbara Ehrenreich.  I remember reading the reviews when it came out, ten or so years ago, and I always thought it sounded interesting.  She’s a journalist, and went undercover working as a motel maid, a waitress, a Walmart clerk and a nursing home attendant to see how a blue-collar working person makes it on minimum wage.  The answer is, barely. It’s a real eye-opener, and – so much for not having time to read – I finished it in three days.  Try it. You’ll come away not only with a lot more compassion and respect for the working poor, but if you’re lucky enough to have an education and some decent work experience to draw on, you’ll have a renewed sense of gratitude for your own relative ease.

So, I’m feeling quite full of myself after today’s gym outing.  It was a long day and I guess I was a little more spaced out than usual at the end of it, and halfway to the gym, I realized I’d forgotten my towel and my water bottle. (At least I remembered my shoes). Worst of all, as I tried to fire up “Fresh Air” on my iphone, I got nothing.  No sound.  The graphics were doing what they were supposed to be doing, but no sound.  Where is Aimee when I really need her?  I fought off the rising irritation, reminded myself that I was in a comfortable, air-conditioned setting, and I COULD DO THIS.  And I did.  My goal was to do 4.2 (remember the .8 walk to and from the gym) in an hour, and today I overshot by just two minutes!  It’s fun having all the information right in front of you.  I play a little game with myself, turning the speed up to 4.5 and running for a few minutes to make up some time, then bringing it down to 4.1, but jacking up the incline to see the calories burn faster.  Today I burned 396 calories.  I could definitely get used to this.

My butt hurts.  I have done some serious incline work for two days in a row, and I’m just now starting to feel it.  Tomorrow I’m looking forward to a nice long trail walk with Banks.

Revelation

Something has not felt right for the past week or so.  Let’s start with physically.  I’ve noticed that my body doesn’t have quite the same feel to it.  It’s not something anyone else has noticed, I think, but I do.  Things just feel…..softer. Not as streamlined. 

So last night it hit me.  The piecemeal thing isn’t working.  Doing a mile here, two miles there, rounding it out with another couple at night – it’s just not giving me the same workout as a sustained, 1 ½ hours of pushing myself.  It’s even showing in my face.  I love the way I look and feel after a really good workout, when I’ve really sweated and my face is beet red for a while. Once the redness wears off, I have this glow.  The last few days, my complexion has seemed sort of gray.  Drab. 

But I think the thing I hate the most is the feeling that I’ve been fitting the walk in, rather than planning my frickin’ day around it.  It just doesn’t feel as special as it used to.

So today I made the change.  It was a gym day, and the only non-treadmill time I counted was the .4 miles there and the .4 miles back, because it was a continuous, unbroken process.  It was 4.2 miles on the treadmill and it was major work.  This time I got on the back row of treadmills, and these ones have super elevation.  They also have handles above the top of the treadmill, another way to balance myself when I’m really working it.

But the best thing I discovered was listening to podcasts of NPR’s Fresh Air.  I don’t know why I haven’t done this more often, but it’s the perfect antidote to the monotony of walking on a treadmill.  Each show is 45 minutes – today’s was an interview with Paul McCartney – and then I can either start on another one, or zone out for the next 20 minutes or so.  I’ve got like 14 on my iphone, and also a bunch of This American Life podcasts, so I’m set for a while.

I don’t know if tomorrow will be a gym day or an outdoor day, but I know I’ll be walking my five in one long, unbroken trek.  I’m back.

Dad

Today would have been my father’s 90^th birthday.  He died just a couple of weeks after his 70^th birthday, 20 years ago.  His July 3^rd birthday is inextricably entwined with the 4^th of July; in the small town where I spent my first nine years, the entire town turned out for the celebration,  which included a horse show, a big picnic and fireworks, and I remember him being “Happy Birthday-ed” all day long.

Jay Sharp Johns, Jr., was definitely one of “The Greatest Generation.”  He served in WWII and was stationed in New Guinea and Australia.  He only talked about pranks and the crazy things he and his buddies did in the war; never about the bad stuff.  Never.  The only sick days I can remember him taking in his life were when he had gall bladder surgery.  He was a farm kid, the youngest of six, raised by very strict, maybe even harsh parents. I think Pap had an 8^th grade education, and Grandma Johns graduated high school.  Still, all of those kids spoke perfect, almost formal English.  No one dropped their g’s or, God forbid, ever said “ain’t,” and somehow not one of them picked up the dreaded Pittsburgh accent. (Listen to former Steelers coach Bill Cowan if you want to know what that sounds like). After he married my mother, Dad went to night school on the GI Bill, and earned a business degree, from Geneva College.  All four of us learned our work ethic from him. 

Oh, he was handsome.  I love the picture below – he reminds me of a young Johnny Carson. He had one of those faces that was appealing not just for the physicality of it, but because of what shown from within – confidence, humor, smarts. Women loved him.  In our small town, the Calgon plant was one of the biggest employers in the area, and Dad rose to be boss of the whole place.  After that, they moved him into Pittsburgh for an executive position, and that’s when we left Ellwood City.  At his funeral, I lost count of how many people came up to us and said "Your dad was the best boss I ever had."

The wonderful thing about Dad’s sense of humor was that it could be incredibly silly and juvenile – as when poor Amy Vanderbilt, the etiquette expert, apparently plunged to her death from her New York apartment, and he went on a riff about the suicide note she probably left behind, instructing the street cleaners in the proper way to hold the shovel and dispose of her remains (forgive me) – but he could also deliver a line as drily and wittily as Noel Coward.  I remember years ago, listening to a loud, bombastic friend of mine ranting about how much she hated her job, and her boss, and that from here on out, she was going to say whatever was on her mind, consequences be damned.  I gave her a cool look and remarked “Up until now, you’ve been a model of restraint.” That wasn’t me, that was Dad speaking through me.

Like everyone else, Dad changed and mellowed over the years, and at the end of his life, expressed doubts about whether he’d been a good father.  You were, Dad.  Did I ever say thanks for the summer vacations, or “snack nights?” For the countless nights at Three Rivers Stadium, watching the Pirates? For the college education?  For the fleeting but beautiful moments I witnessed between you and your grandchildren? 

Happy birthday, Dad.  Thanks for everything.  I love you.

I love the feeling I get when I decide to go for it.  Today I feel like forgoing the relative comfort of the gym, and walk five miles in the heat.  I don't know why, but there it is.  I just went out and bought myself a big cold bottle of water. At 5:00, I'm heading out the door, but in another direction.  Maybe to the UT campus.  Hey, maybe the UT track is still open.  Maybe that's what it is!  Watching those incredible Olympic athletes makes me want to push myself. Looking forward to the 4th tomorrow, when I'm going to learn whether or not Banks can handle fireworks.....

Overdone

Another day, another day’s worth of lessons learned at the gym.  For example: the headphones that would make it possible to listen to the TV, as well as watch it?  They got rid of them.  Apparently the patrons kept breaking them.  It seems kind of silly, four or five screens with different programs running simultaneously, and even though none of us can hear a word, all eyes remain glued to the sets. I wonder if it would be possible to buy my own earphones?  I’ll ask them about this.

But the real lesson came on the treadmill. As I’ve said before, it’s very different from walking outdoors. The fact that I can control the speed, and see the numbers clicking higher and higher, makes me want to go as fast as possible.  I actually ran three different times; for three minutes, later for five, later for another three, and those numbers really start climbing.

So it was a great cardio workout, but I’m sore.  My left hip feels tight, the backs of my calves ache a little, and there’s a nagging pull at the base of my left knee.  I overdid it.  Live and learn.  Maybe it’d make more sense to ignore the odometer, watch the clock and go for 45 minutes.

After I came home I walked Banks 1.7, and it was a relief to walk at my regular pace.  Tomorrow, I’m going to try – TRY – to do the gym in the morning.

Halfway There

And I couldn't have picked a better day for my six-month anniversary.  I didn't pay much attention to the temperature, but I think it was under 100.  I rained a little last night, and tonight, when Banks and I took our walk, there was a major, semi-cool wind blowing.  In honor of this milestone, I wanted to push Banks a little, and he came through.  He lasted 50 minutes before I dropped him off and did the rest myself.

Halfway through, can you believe it?  I have never in my life lasted six months at anything -- gym, running, Jazzercise, anything.  I think back to the early days of the project.  I remember lying awake at night, trying to tamp down the panic I felt whenever I considered the possibility that I MIGHT NOT BE ABLE TO DO THIS; that, after alerting everyone I knew, I might implode in a big way, or even worse, just sort of peter out and hope everyone would forget I ever started the thing.  I never, ever worry about that anymore.  Five miles a day is built into me.  It feels almost more of a compulsion than a discipline.

Probably the smartest choice I made was to take off one day a week.  I definitely would have burned out without it, and two days off would have given me too much leeway.  I know myself.

My only (minor) disappointment is that I've lost 18 pounds, instead of the 20 I'd been hoping for.  On the other hand, let's review my posts from the last week.  Dinner last night was Amy's Ice Cream.  Two nights before that, it was Fogo de Chao. There is room for improvement in my diet.

I'm starting to get excited about my gym membership.  I noticed that on the treadmill, I definitely walk faster, and I twist from side to side.  That might jumpstart the changes I want to make in my upper body.  I plan to incorporate weights (machines, mostly) in the three times a week I visit the gym.

Can you hang with me for another six months? 

Imposter

I took Banks out for his customary 1.3 this morning, and even though I had said I’d do an outdoor walk on weekends, I wavered all day.  I felt like a stranger in my new gym on Friday. I wanted to go in today with the luxury of time, and find out the important things like, what is the locker room like? Do I need to bring my own lock?  How do you get the sound on the TV?  Is there some kind of outlet on the treadmill where you can plug in headphones?  Will I be able to turn the channel to CNN or whatever I want to watch?  Is this one of those gyms where I’ll be okay with my cut-off, self-styled “yoga pants?”  There were very few women there yesterday after work. 

I remember feeling very similar when I started walking on the trail.  It seems funny now – Banks and I own that thing!  Would I stick out like a novice?  Did I have the right kind of shoes?  Would people think I was a fitness imposter?  Would I get lost? It’s not that those thoughts dominated; it was more of an occasional nagging, muted, distant taunt, a holdover from an acutely self-conscious adolescence.  In a week or two I’ll be laughing about that too.

But as much as I wanted to jump into it today, I also wanted – want – to remain as true to the blog as I can, which is “Five Mile Walk with a Piebald Pit, With a Temporary Detour to Avoid Heat Stroke.”  My goal is three days on the treadmill, three days outdoors, and the easiest days to walk outdoors will be Saturday and Sunday, so I’ll reserve those days as much as possible.

Around 5:00 I met up with Lynn and friends Stacy and Shub and their two kids from Houston, at Amy’s Ice Cream.  Dark chocolate mixed with peanut butter cup; that was my dinner.  Then we went to her house, and they all went out to dinner (I skipped it because I hate Indian food). I took that opportunity to do the rest of my walk.  I walked home (.9), grabbed a better pair of shoes, back to Lynn’s (.9), and then another 40 minutes around Stacy Park.

Can you believe it?  Tomorrow is July 1.  The halfway mark.