Snow days

Ten laps equal one mile on the track at my gym.

On snow days when I can’t run outside I find myself going round and round like an old record player on that track.
 
Yesterday was one of them.

I ran 60 laps (yes, six miles) followed by one mile on the ‘mill. I don’t like being on the track that long, but it beats not running at all. And the treadmills were all taken when I first got there. I was on a time crunch. That’s why I only got one mile on the ‘mill.

Outside it was 5 degrees and snow-packed. Both my children’s schools were closed.

I prefer to run outside, but single-digit temperatures send me indoors. Actually anything below 20 degrees usually does it. The same goes for ice and snow-pack and running alone in the dark. It’s not worth it.

Last year I took a spill on the ice one morning and tore my tights and gashed my knee. I learned my lesson.

My other choice is to run for miles and miles on the gym treadmills, which have a 30-minute limit per user.

When it’s not too busy I can ask the staffers to stay on the ‘mills longer. It’s more tolerable because I can watch TV and run. 

This month that won’t be happening for awhile — until the new year’s resolutions wear thin and the gym empties out.

In the winter the gym becomes my second home; the staffers are like family. 

Usually it’s Joe, Steve or Mike, the employees on the early shift, who take my ID card at the cardio desk.

“I wish I could run like you, Danica,” Joe once told me after one of my workouts. He said he has a bad knee.

Joe and I often chat about what’s on the news. I like the treadmills best that have views of both TVs so I can alternate between watching CNN and Fox.

Steve is 75 and he’s been married for 54 years. I sometimes see him and his wife around town. When he’s not working at the gym he walks for miles on the track. He moves like he’s at least 10 years younger.

Mike is from North Carolina and he speaks with a kind southern drawl. Mike is his middle name, which he goes by instead of his first name. That’s common in the South, he once explained to me.

They may not realize it, but our casual conversations and seeing their friendly faces helps me get  through my indoor workouts.

Some times I think of those guys when I’m running outside. I am grateful for them and the other staffers at my gym, always there, doing their jobs, when I arrive at o’dark early.
 
My winter training wouldn’t be the same without them, and I would not be as strong.

While I may not like running indoors, I like seeing them. I feel better and a sense of accomplishments when I finish.

Thanks to the help of Joe, Steve and Mike, perhaps a snow day here and there isn’t such a bad thing after all.

###

Aging is inevitable, but growing old is a choice. Lace up your shoes, and let’s go!

Mileage yesterday: 7; Denver to Boston miles logged: 1,095; Miles left to go: 675.

Paperless zen



It’s official.

I’m the new editor for the Colorado Columbines’ eBlast — the club’s weekly online newsletter.

That’s what happens when you start a running blog. Others want your talents — if you can call them that.

I feel like I can barely schlep my way through these posts, but I could not say no to Katie F, the Columbines’ wonderful new president and a fellow Distance Diva extraordinaire.  

I’m fretting tonight because I’m sure a big learning curve is coming. It’s sort of like the feeling you get before running your first marathon.

You think you can do it but only time will tell. 

I hope I’m up to the task, but as I write this I’m not even sure how to get started. The outgoing editor will be sending me a template via email.

Such are the signs of our times. Even the changing of the information guard can be done electronically.

Gulp.

That’s what scares me. I’m not a techno-phobe, just a techno-klutz. This digital business is still new to me and I find online tutorials cumbersome.

In my defense, I started my career as a technical editor and I can tell you that most manuals out there are poorly written and missing crucial steps.

Also, it doesn’t help that I must learn new media with Tarzan interrupting me all day long.

If you want to know what it’s like to focus on something new with a 4-year-old boy present, imagine having a third arm attaching to the middle of your belly.

Now picture that third arm smacking you in the middle of your forehead at random.

“Mom, I’m hungry! I need something to eat.”

“Mom, I spilled something on my shirt and I need help.”

“Mom, PLAY with me, puh-leeease!!!”


When I first started BOSTONORBOTOX.com I called Godaddy customer support at lot.

Each time I add something new to the blog I find myself calling again. 

The questions I ask probably make some digitally-savvy 20-something rep roll his eyes into the back of his head, but I honestly can’t help it. 

I can imagine the file they’ve got on me and what they probably say when they see it’s me calling again for help.

“DUUUUDE — It’s that clueless Boston or Botox chick! You take it!”

“No, you take it!”

“No — You!”

Aaaaarggghhh!!

Surely this eBlasting business will be easier.

My hope is that a month from now it will be as simple as using computer chip timing at races.

Simply thread the darn thing through your laces and tie it tight. Or wrap that orange, plastic thingy around them, and voila — off you go!

Paperless zen and techno-sophistication — that’s my goal. 

That’s why I jumped the digital divide in the first place and took up this whole blog business several months ago.

I knew I either needed to grow or fade from memory like an old KISS eight-track tape.

Since I obviously refuse to keep company with Gene Simmons, bad hair or tawdry make-up, here I am. 

It’s time for me to learn to eBlast or eBust.

I think I better start my chanting now:

Oooommmm ….

###

Aging is inevitable, but growing old is a choice. Lace up your shoes, and let’s go!

Mileage yesterday: 18, today is a rest day; Denver to Boston miles logged: 1,088; Miles left to go: 682

Carbo-loading with pogacha

Perhaps it was something in the air — the fresh-baked smell of my mother’s pogacha (homemade bread)? 

Or maybe it was because today (Jan. 7th) was Serbian Christmas.

Whatever the reason I felt more inclined to carbo-load on baked goods than rack up the mileage, but I finally forced myself out the door by mid-morning and ran.7.5 miles.

So what is Serbian Christmas, you might ask? It is the date Christmas is celebrated, according to the old, Julian calendar and the Eastern Orthodox church.

Besides Serbians, Russians also celebrate it. It falls on Epiphany on the Western church calendar.

That’s the best, shortest explanation I can give you without overwhelming you. If you are inclined to google it, you can find a lot more.

When I was growing up my family celebrated Jan. 7th in lieu of Dec. 25th.

Now that I have my own children we celebrate both Dec. 25th and Jan. 7th. Tarzan and Jane love it — Christmas with Santa followed by a second Christmas with Baba (grandma in my parents’ language). 

Just like Christmas on Dec. 25th, a few weeks ago, I wanted to lay around like a sloth all day and OD on mama’s yummy food.

Frankly, It was the threat of this blog — not having anything to post and not meeting my Denver to Boston mileage goal — that kept me honest, Dec. 25th and today.

Mostly.

I ate a lot of pogacha after today’s run. Pogacha is hard to resist. It’s just simple white, flat bread but there’s something about the combination of fluffy texture and crust that makes it so good.



This is what it looks like.  Here’s a pogacha recipe I found on a food web site as my mother cooks by braille and it’s difficult to write down and duplicate her methods exactly. This one, however, looked pretty close to mama’s.

Tomorrow I must run 18 miles to finish out my training this week. (Thankfully next week is a step-down week!)

By noon tomorrow I should be able to tell you whether or not all that pogacha was a good move or not. If it is, I may have to add a new item to my pre-race routine. .

Who knows, maybe I can write a Balkan cookbook for runners, too?

###

Aging is inevitable, but growing old is a choice. Lace up your shoes, and let’s go!

Mileage today: 7.5; Denver to Boston miles logged: 1070; miles left to go: 700.

Support systems



Moms can be angels on earth.

That’s what I concluded a few days ago when I got home from the dentist and my house was picked up for the first time in weeks, thanks to Helen (that’s my dear mother) and her magic.

She’s visiting us for two weeks. I’ve been buried for weeks and in just a few days she turned that around.

Suddenly my home is in order again and I’ve got an extra pair of hands to help with the cooking, cleaning and with the children. It’s amazing what a difference it makes.

When she’s here I can train and run at sane hours during the day instead of always getting up at o’dark early.

Having mama here is like the difference between running a race with numerous volunteers and water stops versus running one unsupported. 

When Mama visits she likes to keep busy. One of the ways she shows love is by doing what she can for others. She acts this way, not just with me, but the Dude, Tarzan and Jane, and just about everyone else, too. Mama is a natural “people person” and very warm and kind. She makes new friends easily wherever she goes. 

We are grateful to have her here.

One of the life lessons my mother has given me is that it is important to reach out to others and be there for one another. Today I ran with a new friend from the Columbines. I hope I was able to do that for her. She needed to run for a long time and some company always helps. I know how much this has meant when others have done this for me. It can be the difference between flying through the miles or slogging through them.

Just like wolves, we, humans, are social creatures. Running can be and often is a solo active, but even wolves run in packs and draw collective strength from one another. This method works well for them and for us, too.

For a few more days I get to enjoy a little pack time with my mother. 

Ja te volim puno, mama!

###

Aging is inevitable, but growing old is a choice. Lace up your shoes, and let’s go!

Mileage today: 6; Miles to Boston miles logged: 1057; Miles left to go: 713.



 

Room service and a run



Here’s something I learned from my friend Pam the other day that blew my mind.

Did you know that Westin hotels worldwide offer running concierge services in about 30 cities? 

That’s right — if you’re a runner staying in a Westin in Chicago, Dallas or Fiji, for example, you can request hotel concierge staff take you on a designated route and run with you instead of gutting it out alone on some hotel workout-room treadmill.

Fascinating.

Imagine the possibilities — someone to guide your morning run and keep you from slacking while you’re on vacation or business, followed by room-service breakfast and maid service, too.

Come to mama — I might have to run away and hole myself up at one of those for the next four months of my training!

Seriously, yesterday one of my friends and I ran 15 miles on a snowy trail together. By about mile 7 I think we both were seriously wishing we had bellhops to haul us home.

It was rough, hard work. 

Alas, no hotel superheroes crossed our path. We did, however, pass some homes that were bigger than a Super Walmart and probably employed as much staff as a hotel.

Anyway, I looked it up and there’s a Westin Copley Place in Boston. I wonder what they’d say if I stayed there and requested a concierge to run the Boston Marathon with me? I may have to call and ask, just to see the reaction.

He’d sure earn one heck of a tip.

###

Aging is inevitable, but growing old is a choice. Lace up your shoes, and let’s go!

Today is a rest day.  Denver to Boston miles logged: 1,044; Miles left to go: 726.

My resolution for 2011: No regrets



My daughter’s question knocked the wind out of me.

“Mom, you’ve been divorced?”

Oh boy, here comes the truth …

I knew the day would come when my children would find this out about me. I just didn’t think it would be on the last day of 2010, or through my own words.

In my office I have an essay framed that I wrote for the Chicago Tribune many years ago. It dealt with my father’s death, my divorce from my first marriage and how my mother and I both coped with loss. ( “The Ebb and Flow of Grief in the Old World and New.”)

Jane read it. That’s how she learned the truth.

The irony is, my new year’s resolution is to stop running from my regrets. Chief among them is my divorce and everything that went with it.

Even now there are times I chastise myself for ignoring the doubts I had before I married my ex. I wanted to believe we would overcome our differences. We never could. 

Jane asked me what happened. I told her the truth or least the part she could grasp.
 
My hope was that by sharing this lesson from my past she can avoid such pain in her future. It’s no guarantee, but it’s worth a shot.

My ex and I clashed on several fronts, but the one that nailed the coffin in on our marriage was, he didn’t want children. I shared that with her.

“So, if you didn’t marry my daddy, you wouldn’t have kids or me?” she asked.

Probably not, I told her.

A slew of questions followed: Who was he? What was his name? Was he as handsome as her daddy?

I laughed at that last one.
 
“No, your daddy is more handsome and a much nicer, kinder man.”

That’s also the truth. I upgraded.

A few months ago a friend loaned me Twilight to read. I know many women love the book’s romantic idealism. It’s been hard for me to enjoy because my first marriage sucked that out of me like an anti-Edward — the polar opposite of the book’s dreamy vampire protagonist. 

My first few years living in New Mexico likewise drained me. 

I moved there because of my ex and I was in my mid-20s, not much older than my niece, who attends Cornell University and just got a summer internship on Wall Street. 

People often are shocked when I express how much I disliked living in New Mexico back then. Tourists love it there, but living in a place and visiting are two different things, especially when you’re young.

Santa Fe is beautiful, but the Big Apple it ain’t.  It’s more like the “Little Chile.” The majority of jobs are low-paying, tourism-based. Most people live there because their families have been there for centuries or they’re transplants with money and second homes.

I moved there from Silicon Valley where I had a great job and loved the high energy. When I got to sleepy Santa Fe I felt like I fell into a backwater abyss.

Eventually I found my way out of my bad marriage and into fulfilling work but I still bear scars.

That’s what I aim to leave behind this year. It won’t be easy. I’m good at flogging myself.

Jane asked why I never told her before. Again, I confessed the truth. I didn’t want her to be ashamed of me.

“Everyone makes mistakes, mom. I’ll always love you.”

From my sweet child I got the compassion and forgiveness I’ve struggled to give myself.

My goal this year is to treat my regrets like the last few miles of any marathon. I don’t have to like them, but I need to embrace them to complete the whole race. That’s how one moves through difficult miles racing, and I suppose, also the way in life.

That’s my resolution for 2011 — no holding onto the past. Full steam ahead, Beantown and beyond.

Aging is inevitable, but growing old is a choice. Lace up your shoes, and let’s go!

Mileage today: 15; Denver to Boston miles logged 1044; Miles left to go: 726.