Driving

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rsifcySmZ5U  

"I’d rather run than drive pretty much anywhere"

Dispatches from rushed Marathon Training

I’ve never liked driving. One reason I live in Barcelona is because I can exist as a regular functioning adult without access to a car. On the rare occasion that I do drive I am terrified and tense. It’s not a pleasant experience; it’s actually very taxing both mentally and physically. So, I’ve decided that when I’m doing a long run and start to feel tired or bored or that hellish combination of both, I should just be thankful that I’m running and not driving. I should think of my brother who drives 24 hours from the Deep South to the Mid Atlantic, or truckers trying to keep their eyes open at 3 am, or all those poor bastards around the world who live in the suburbs and commute to work everyday on crowded highways. Be glad you’re running and not driving, I chant.

When I’ve run ten miles and know I still have an hour left on my long run, I look out to the sea and think, well, an hour, that’s less than it takes to get from DC in Baltimore in heavy traffic and a whole lot more fun. 

Are you there runners? It's me, Scarlett.

I've decided to start writing here again. I've missed recording my thoughts about running. It's been months and many things have happened here in the Mediterranean, but through it all I've kept running.

And running has kept me calm, it's been the stabilizer in a year marked by constant change and instability. 

Right now I'm preparing for a half marathon on December 16th and the Barcelona Marathon on March 17th, 2013. It won't be easy to train for the full: my job ends soon and I'll have to search for a new one, but somehow I think having another (out-of-work) goal will help me stay on track during the job search. 

New things since I last wrote: 
 
* massage has done wonders for my back. But I still think Pilates and swimming can do more. 
 
* I ran an awful half marathon in October. I had a great mileage and going into it and I fell apart at mile 8!  2:08: bleh!  At first I blamed the humidity, but now, with more time for reflection, I've realized it was mental. A woman I know socially was right behind me and once she past me I fell apart. Her husband was pacing her and somehow seeing him guide her along, just made me feel lonely and lost whatever it is that usually pulls me along.
 
*Then, three weeks later, I ran a great 10k and conquered the hills with my mind.  

* I've started tracking calories on My Fitness Pal and I've learned so much in just 3 months about nutrition and diet. My whole life I thought counting calories sounded horrible, but it turns out it makes me feel great, more in control and aware. Some days (like yesterday: Catalan elections + ex-pat Thanksgiving) I go overboard, but for the most part I'm quite good. If you're on MFP, let me know and we can be friends. 

 
*I've become a morning runner, which is absolutely the best decision ever! Never in my life did I think this possible, but I wake up at least three times a week at the crack of dawn and get out there and go and it is LA GLORIA. 

So,  this week holds:

Monday 4 miles easy 
Tuesday 5 miles hills 
Wednesday: tempo run 
Thursday 6 easy / swimming at midday
Friday 4 easy or rest
Saturday 16 
Sun 4 easy 

unless I decide to run a half-marathon on Sunday, which might also happen. 

Oh, it's hard to stick to a plan...

On Tortoises

Let’s take a moment to celebrate the victory of Francois Hollande in the French elections. I fully understand that he’ll probably disappoint not only the French, but the vast majority of Europeans, just as Zapatero did, but we’re living through a dark period over here and it was nice, yesterday, to have a ray of light.

Hollande won this race slowly but surely. He’s soft in the middle and patient like me! A true tortoise. (Yeah, I know in a few months he’ll be like all the rest and I feel like an ass for celebrating him, but just let me use him now as a personal hero for the sake of a running metaphor.)

Since Easter this here tortoise has been having some real problems with her shell.Thankfully, Charles forced me to go to the doctor instead of just hobbling around town with my hand cupped over my kidneys like an 80-year-old. I’m not a fan of doctors, as you may have already sensed from my birth-control post, but after two visits, I’m warming up to Dr A.

Now, he’s a low talker so there are important parts of what he says that I may miss completely, but basically I left my second appointment with this new information:

1) There is nothing actually wrong with my hips. My pelvis is slightly crooked and I do have a small sack of liquid at the right hip, but that doesn’t mean I have hip bursitis, it just means there’s some liquid there. Nor do I have an SI alignment problem, but I might if I were to say, have kids. See? Bodies are complex and everything is relative. (I already knew that, before having paid 120 € for an appointment with a private doctor, but it’s nice to have a professional say you’re right.)

2) My spine is crooked, especially at the top. That might be from scoliosis, but that part was explained in a very soft voice and does it really matter why? It’s crooked and that’s that. Dr A said with a straight spine I would be una mujer 10, but with this one I'm una mujer 9. Such corny Spanish humor, but hey, I'll take it.

3) My entire back is very contracturada.(Do we have a way making that word into an adjective in English?) The contractures are causing the lower back and hip pain. This doesn’t necessarily come from running. I blame my lifelong high anxiety and the current economic crisis. Dr A blames my posture and my sexy standing position: one hand on hip, all weight shifted on to one leg.

What to do? (Some of these ideas are common sense, others surprised me.)

1) Massage. I went on Friday evening, just two days after my trip to the doctor, and it was worth every cent. Why didn’t I go before? Well, because I’m Irish Catholic and was taught to think massage is, well, dirty or perverse. I will change though, little by little. Dr Arquer seemed to think that two sessions would be enough to get the tightness out and then I could just do a massage once a month. The massage therapist suggested a month of once-a-week sessions and then maintenance and I’m really going to try to stick with this.  It’s expensive, yes, but I feel much better.

2) Back exercises everyday at home on my own. I like that he reinforced the need to be autonomous here. There is no need to rely on a PT when there are so many things we can do on our own. He insisted on the idea that these exercises must be a daily, lifelong practice and so making them on contingent on having a PT or trainer or gym available is just silly and counter-productive because life is long and messy.

3) Stretch the gluteus. Don’t worry too much about strengthening.  (Strange, huh?)

4) Pilates. Truth be told, I was a little disappointed when he said, “You should really think about doing some Pilates.” Because I do Pilates every Monday and it’s expensive as all get out! I want to learn to be autonomous with this as well.  I’m going to try to do Pilates at home three times a week. Just 15 minutes, but three times a week.  Any tips on this would be greatly appreciated. All this body work is so expensive and I want to figure out what I can do on my own and what I need to pay for.

5) Work on the upper body at the gym. No need to go crazy strengthening the legs, but some serious weight work on the chest and arms could help. I’m committing to this. Tuesday and Thursday are about the arms this summer.

6) RUN! Almost daily. Not too far. Not too fast. But don’t stop. And that’s what I did last week. I had a 36-mile week with no run over 8 miles and I feel fantastic. Hip is tender, but doesn’t hurt and my back is feeling much better. Strange advice, but I like it, very much.

So, what do you think of this Tortoise Running for Life plan? Has Pilates saved your back? Do you get massages? Did running become suddenly very expensive?

Back in the Barri

I haven’t been running a lot. I’m injured, I’m tired, I’m taking my time. Following instructions. Trying not too read too many running blogs. 

I broke down in a little ball on my terrace just once. I cried like a crazy person and claimed that this was like losing someone you love. Not being able to run hurt just as much, and in that similar no-one-can-understand-this-pain-sort-of-way that a broken heart does. 

However, the tragedy was short lived since the doctor told me I could do some short runs. (I almost hugged him, but then he said, "until we see the xrays, at least" and then I sighed inside.) Oh but those few short runs have been fantastic, I haven’t been able to stop smiling. Just grateful for each step.I won't be running my A race, the Empúries half this weekend, but this fall I will run faster, better halves than ever before. I'm dealing with this hip head-on: strength training and eating better, resting and stretching. Running is about daily practice, a way of life for the rest of my life. Slowly but surely.

Last Thursday I headed out quite late, around 10:30 pm, and as I ran past the corner store at the top of the little hill on Carrer Lledò, my biggest fan, a young shop clerk, was just pulling the heavy metal shutter down, finally closing up for the night.

“Glad to see you,” he said, his face slowing opening up into a full grin. “I was worried.” 

And with that I cried the last few hundred yards home.

On Pilates and Poetry

Running, as Murakami tells us, creates a VOID, which I really like. That empty, blissful feeling that is just contentment. "What did you think about on that 10-mile run?" Well, nothing and everything. The thought process is fluid and ephemeral. I write the ending to novels in my head and then they slip away. That's why you want to get back out there the next day, to find the void again. 

Pilates, on the other hand, requires (at least for me) acute concentration. I can't bliss out because I have to count and coordinate and think about my body. The thoughts, the beauty, come in sharp little phrases. It’s like hammering out a vision. Small poems. Each line pulled from a tiny muscle I’d never even heard of. Pilates tires me out mentally in a way that running just doesn't, but it also calms me down. Makes me think about the beauty of bones and tendons as opposed to the EPICness of the sea, or the highway, or human strength, or family sagas, which are the kinds of things I think about when I run. 

Running lets me out of my body, Pilates forces me in.

Does each type of exercise hold a different mental space for you? Allow for a different kind of reflection?

All the Places I Would Run

I didn’t discover the true secret to happiness until I was thirty-years-old so I have a whole list of places where I wish I had run. Of moments in my life when I wish I had had the emotional maturity to make running a part of my everyday.

If only I had known how calm and confident running can make you.

1) Towson High School

Instead of staying up late talking on the phone or sneaking cigs before school started I could’ve, should’ve been running! God, I would have been beautiful! So young, so skinny! So tan! Instead I was an art-house goon: pale, red-eyed and brooding all the damn day.

2) In college in the beautiful Hudson Valley. Instead of drinking 40’s and arguing over Marxist theory, I could’ve been running the trails. My mind would have been sharper for studying, my poems however might have suffered a bit.

3) Those first lonely months in Madrid, when I discovered slowly and then ever so quickly what it means to be a woman in this world. Instead of feeling my lip quiver as a man named Jesus taught me how to dance, I could have been exploring the Retiro park. I could have gotten strong instead of skinny. But then again, I may never have read so much Bashevis Singer and Cormac McCarthy all alone in the subway if I’d been running…

4) Granada. Ah, the hills, I walked them back in September 2004, but how I’d like to have run them. In that crisp morning air you get from the Sierra Nevada just before the sun comes up. And I would have enjoyed all the food I ate so much more.

5) Philadelphia. That hot summer of 1999 when I was broke and broken hearted. Sure I got strong from selling cokes at Veterans Stadium and riding my bike all over town, but god if I had started running that summer I would have been on top of the world.

As you can see, I’m back to believing that running keeps me steady. This past fall I was afraid to admit that because my hip hurt and I thought that happiness might just slip away but after this weekend’s post-injury PR in a 10-k I’m feeling like I’ve kept a hold of running, clenched it just tight enough.

Goals 2012

Short & Sweet

1. Get back down to 53 kilograms / 116.8 pounds and stay there!

2. Publish a story from Other People’s Daughters.

Of course there are a lot of other things I hope to do (get more sleep, be a better daughter wife and sister, travel, swim once a week, run a marathon, host some great dinner parties), but for now I’m just betting on these two goals which are at once simple and seemingly impossible.

2011 Highlights

There were many, but here are a few.

1. January: Starting my new job as a political advisor and getting a half-marathon PR

2. February: Sitting in a packed house while my boss delivered the first BIG speech I’d written

3. March: Enjoying a wonderful, if all too-short, visit from my mom

4. April: Celebrating my birthday in Horta with lots of tapas and wine and a very funny, diverse group of friends

5. May: Discovering our terrace in full bloom and doing a 15-mile hike to Cabrera

6. June: “Working” in Venice

7. July: Running (lots) from the mountain to the sea with my dad in BCN

8. August: Having seven days in paradise, with my family in The Outer Banks

9. September: Running the Sabadell half even though I was exhausted and it was hot and hilly

10. October: Dealing, calmly, with injury

11. November: Finding Pilates

12. December: Celebrating Christmas in Baltimore with all the family and meeting Ruby, pictured above.

Mind Games

Perhaps after months of injury and running without the Garmin or any of sort of real goals or ambition, I’ve begun to concentrate on the wrong numbers. Perhaps, instead of worrying about weighing less, I should trust myself to run faster. Miles in the 8:30’s felt great today and I need to get back to speedwork, to pushing, to dreaming about being strong and not skinny.

This all coincides with the talking to I got at work this morning about being more ambitious, about being a leader, about pushing myself and other people. Not sure what to do with all this yet, but I’ll get there.

2011 has been an amazing year for me professionally. I’ve learned quite a lot and I’ve had days when I thought I would break down, physically and emotionally from the stress and exhaustion. Running has kept me sane, healthy and productive.

What I love most about running is that you keep learning with every new step. Here’s to a 2012 full of long work days, fast runs and ambition.

Hovercraft

My weight has hovered around 120 my entire adult life. I’ve been 127 and out of shape or 118 and in great shape, but I’ve never reached 135 or 115. My body (apple shape: barrel chest, muffin top and fairly thin legs) just sort of remains the same. And suddenly that’s very frustrating to me. I run, I weight train, I watch what I eat. My clothes are looser than they were pre-running and people who haven’t seen me in two or three years, say “My, you look great.” But the number on the scale is the exactly same as way back in December 2005 when I pretty much ate whatever I wanted and considered chatting in the sauna to be exercise.

My goal, which I’ve discussed with Nicolas fitness instructor extraordinaire, was to get down to 116.9 (53 kilos) by this week in order to go home for Christmas skinny and with some room for American eating. Last week I was down to 54 kilos, but yesterday I was back to 55 kilos (121 pounds). I know that this is in part because I refuse to give up pb and toast before running and Friday night wine drinking. Is that perhaps what I’ll have to do? That seems awfully sad considering that I do exercise.

This fall I’ve been cross-training much more and running a little less due to hip pain. I feel fitter, my arms are stronger and the tummy under control, but the numbers are driving me mad.

Does your weight fluctuate a lot or does your song remain the same? Any tips for breaking out of these plateaus?

Ode to Other Crooked Runners

On Saturday mornings when I go for my long run along the beach, I see lots of people: tourists and locals, young and old, families and singletons. Lots of wonderful dogs. Lots of people working out. But only a few people really fill me with joy and they aren’t tourists or happy grandparents with their grandchildren, no sir.

The crooked runners fill me the joy. Not the fastest, fittest runners. Not the tan women, with tiny waists and big chests, decked out in black Nike spandex. Not the beautiful young couples: French and shiny, on vacation and out for a jog.

No, I like the most desperate people: mostly older, mostly graying men who limp, who favor one side, who breathe so heavily they sound like they’re about to die. The guys who are all about guts and a little bit about glory. People who run, everyday, even though it hurts and their joints are creaky and one shoulder hangs lower than the other. People who run for something far beyond losing weight or looking good, people who have no choice but to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

Friday Flash: Do you buy Lululemon?

Until I heard this piece on NPR I pronounced this company Lulu MOON. Funny, huh?

I've never purchased anything so fancy for exercise, and definitely won't now.

Sigh, I wish running was still low-tech, sustainable 1970's style.

An Anglo Afternoon

I knew something positive would come of this achy hip business and although this was only the second of my Anglo Fridays I think I’m going to make them a habit.

Throughout these 11 years of living in Spain I've been diligent about integrating: learning both official languages, following local politics; I’ve pretty been strict about not living an ex-pat lifestyle. For years I hardly even had any English-speaking friends. By leaving America, I had said good-bye to all that. And even now, I live my day-to-day life as a foreigner but amongst the Catalans. I am perhaps an interloper, but an integrated one.

But, sometimes, it’s nice to come down off my high horse and surround myself with English speakers and American food. Sometimes, after a week of working for a nationalist government, when it’s not even your nation, you need to speak your own language and talk about your own cultural icons. Just for a few hours you need, well, a womb-like sensation of comfort and love. Yeah, I know that sounds dramatic, but living in a foreign country can be alienating, no matter how nice the weather is.

So, starting last week Friday lunch hour is my little break from the clipped rhythm of Catalan. At 2:15 I leave work and take the metro up to Gràcia, to Studio Australia, which I have renamed near wild heaven. After two classes with Natalia, I’m not sure that I can actuallyfeel my pelvic floor, but I do know that I’m thinking about my body differently, and noticing micro-tilts as I run, and that I trust her in a way that I haven’t trusted anyone new in quite a while. Maybe, it’s the Australian accent, which I interpret as familarly Irish but healthier.

Today I left the Studio at 3:30, feeling flexible, but hungry and as I rushed down to the metro station what did I see but, lo and behold, a bagel shop! I don’t think I’ve had a bagel in about two years. So I got a carrot juice and poppy-seed bagel with real cream cheese and still got back to work on time.

Rolling With the Punches

A few months ago I thought that on October 31st I’d been running a marathon in Dublin. I registered, I started to train and then life got in the way. It turns out I have to work the 31st, that I absolutely must be in Barcelona on that day. But it also turns out that I haven’t been able to train for the Valencia marathon on November 26th. Why? Well because my body hasn’t dealt with the training as well I’d hoped. (My hip and lower back hurt like holy hell.) Or maybe because working for a politician is not very conducive to having time for yourself (or a back that doesn’t spasm). And although I spend a good part of my long work days and nights dreaming of having Haruki Murakami’s schedule--he runs or swims long distances almost every day, eats a healthful diet, goes to bed around 9 p.m. and wakes up, without an alarm, around 4 a.m. — at which point he goes straight to his desk for five to six hours of concentrated writing--I do really enjoy my job and realize that I'm lucky have it.

So, anyhoo, here it is late October and I’ve got a gimp hip and low mileage, but I’m not going to let any of that get me down. I will run a marathon and I will run for the rest of my life. I hope. I pray.

Meanwhile, I will concentrate on healing and strength training and losing weight. (Somehow I suspect that being lighter—I’m kind of top heavy—will do wonders for my hip and spine.) To this end, I present my, humble but attainable, November goals:

1. Strength training / Pilates twice a week

2. If it hurts to run, don’t sulk, go to the pool or get on that elliptical.

3. Lay off the sugar!

4. Don’t be a drama queen; this too shall pass.

A Few Final Thoughts on Birth Control Pills

I changed a lot in my twenties—went from being a very unhappy, rather dark person to a surprisingly stable, happy, healthy person. That growth came from many things: falling in love and then working (sometimes very hard) to build a marriage, to master two new languages, to adapt to living very far away from home in a rather closed society. I worked in several different places and became confident as a professional. I traveled and learned to navigate the murky world of immigration paperwork. I started going to the gym and dressing like a woman. I accomplished quite a lot in that decade, but I can pinpoint the one thing I did in my twenties of which I’m proudest and that’s getting off the Pill. It didn’t happen until I turned 29, but it happened and that, along with running, has changed me, emotionally and physically, in ways I never would have imagined.

I went on the Pill when I was sixteen. I had a boyfriend and a lot of strong teenage passions: poetry, veganism, radical politics and skinny boys in rock bands. I tried “going off” when I was 19 and studying in Madrid. Not because I had any problems with the Pill (big breasts and clear skin—what was there not to love), but rather because I was single. After a few months off the Pill, I looked like a 14-year-old boy: I was super skinny and had a nasty case of acne, which in turn made me want to just die. Seeing my reflection in the Madrid metro, I hardly recognized myself.

When I arrived to the grime and humidity that is Baltimore in August, I went directly to the dermatologist, burst into tears and begged, “What, what can I do?” And he, like so many American doctors, smiled and said, “Go back on the Pill, my dear.” And so I did, for ten more years.

I was absolutely terrified of ever going off the Pill again and turning into a 14-year-old monster, so when my ortho try-cyclen prescription ran out once I was living in Spain, I took the package to the local pharmacist, whispered my predicament in the tone another woman might use to talk about infertility or incest, and that calm Catalan man skimmed through some thick three-ringed binders until we found a European pill with the same ingredients. In Spain, you don’t even need a prescription for the Pill, just the brand name, “Suavaret, por favor.” And you’re good to go. Suavaret, it’s suave, a light purple color, feminine, kind, easy going down.

When Spanish women hissed about the dangers of the Pill (blood clots, low sex drive, mood swings) I ignored them. They obviously weren’t prone to acne or truly terrified of pregnancy. But, little by little, I began to wonder what my body would be like without the Pill. No round stomach, no big breasts? And my mind? No more mood swings or black-cloud days or sudden crying jags? And—I really wondered about this one—What about that force that fuses body and mind? The ole sex drive? What would that be like?

But I was scared to take the plunge, to deal with the skin problems and possible depression. To catch a glimpse of acne in the closing metro doors and want to scream or hide.

I kept putting going off the Pill on hold. It wasn’t the right time because I had to start a new job, or go on vacation, or fly to a wedding in London, or a book fair in Frankfurt. And then on a flight from Atlanta to Barcelona, my feet swelled up, which sent me on a wild internet search and round of doctor's visits to understand Porque and ended with me saying Basta.

In April of 2008, I stopped taking birth control pills. Did my skin break out? Yes, a little and it still does. Did I get skinny? I lost some weight, but I also started running soon afterwards, so who knows if one thing has anything to do with the other. Did my sex drive come back? Yes! And I never even knew I’d lost it. A whole new world.

Did my mood change? Yes, it was as if a cloud lifted and all the struggles of becoming an adult woman culminated in throwing away the pills I’d been taking every night at ten pm for basically thirteen years.

I felt, and still feel, absolutely fantastic: changed, liberated, recovered. Now, does this mean that I want to tell you “Get off the pill now! Traditional medicine and pharmaceutical companies are evil!” Well, no, not necessarily. I mean, I do sort of think that, but I think every woman has to find her own way out of the labyrinth of hormonal birth control. It’s actually kind of like running, yes I know it’s the secret to life, but I’m not going to proselytize. Every girl has to get there on her own.

Day in the Life

copied from Ana-Maria, one of my all-time favorite bloggers

Friday, October 14th

6:30 wake up
Make coffee
Read NY Times online
Slowly get dressed to go run
7:15 Walk instead of run because my hip hurts
8:00 back home, eat toast with pb and a kiwi, look up "hip pain" on the internet
8:15 shower, dress, blow dry hair
8:33 hastily pack gym bag and run out of the house
8:55 arrive to work for 9 am meeting
9-2:45 work
2:45-3:30 go to gym and stretch like a wild woman
3:30 eat apple and rush back to work
3:30-7: work. eat banana
7:15 go home, eat pb and toast, email my mom, and shower ( I didn’t shower after the stretch sesh at lunch)
8:30 head up to Gràcia to meet L for a drink and “how was your summer” catch-up. Best hour of my week! Sometimes there is nothing better, or more relaxing, than having a glass of wine with an intelligent American woman.
10:00 leave Gràcia a little light-headed, take subway one stop in the wrong direction, correct mistake
10:30 meet Charles a half hour late for dinner at our Friday-night Italian spot. Apologize profusely. Think about how nice the guys are at the Italian spot and beg them to STOP giving us free desserts. Hear all about one guy's recent bike trip.
11:30 take an after-dinner walk with Charles
Midnight: Hit the hay and pray for painless run Saturday morning

Mornings

I’m swamped with work and life, but getting back on track with running thanks to new routines.

Lately I've been waking up at 6:30 and getting out the door before work so that no matter what happens at the office, I get my run in. Morning running, I've found, has several advantages:

- Only one shower a day

- Fewer slow-moving tourists out and about

- Cooler weather and less humidity

- No late night snacking because I have to hunker down and get to bed!

And a few disadvantages:

- Shorter distances. Due to time constraints I can’t say go for a seven mile run just because I’m feeling good.

- The first mile is slow going because I’m still sort of waking up

- I must drink coffee first but then it makes me so thirsty

My body loves having a routine. I’m getting in bed by 11:30 most nights, which is really excellent for me. And, now I have time at night to take walks with my husband and discover parts of the port of Barcelona I’ve never seen before.

A Variety of Confessions

1. In an attempt to keep things upbeat, I haven’t posted a race report about last Sunday’s Mercè 10k. Last year, I got my 10-k PR at La Mercè. Last year, this event was my perfect race. Last year, I worked fewer hours and had a job that allowed me to do things like come home and make a play-list for a race. This year, I got home from work at 3 am Sunday morning, ate a cookie, tried to sleep a few hours and then rushed off to the race. First time out the door, I forgot the chip. Ran back up my stairs and got chip. Coming down the stairs the second time, I thought, "should I really bring the chip--will I want my time on the public record?"

As was to be expected, my performance sucked. 59 freaking minutes. That’s slower than I ran a 10k before my first half marathon!

During the first half of the rest my energy level was pretty normal, but at the 6-K mark something happened, as if I were a balloon and a little demon with a pushpin appeared and popped all the air out of me. Certainly, we can find excuses for this disaster—exhaustion, PMS, humidity. We can say, as my dear Charles did, “just going to the race was a victory.” But I don’t want to make excuses, I want to tell you all that I’m concerned, frightened, worried. What is happening with my body? Why, after a solid year and a half of training, am I so much slower?

2. I’ve never read Kafka. Yes, I studied literature at a prestigious liberal arts college; yes I did a masters in Comparative Literature in Barcelona. Yes, I’m a vivacious and rigorous reader, but for some strange reason I’ve never read Kafka. This weekend I was planning on starting a Clarice Lispector novel, but I think I should probably check out Kafka instead

3. Despite the first part of this three-part post, I would still rather be skinny than fast. However, I’ve got some work to do in both departments and since numbers on the scale have never motivated me enough to actually follow a strict diet for more than a few days, I'm hoping running will inpsire me to eat, well, more rationally. I’m 5 foot 4 and weigh around 118 pounds, and I’m thinking that if I could lose 5 pounds, I might just become a faster runner. Putting the numbers out there in order to keep me honest.

Cool Kicks

Ever since I started running seriously I’ve worn Asics 1100's. Several sales people over the years have told me that I’m a mild over pronator and, having no reason not to, I’ve always believed them. Being imperfect in many other ways, it was reasonable to believe that my stride needed some correction as well.

The Asics 1100's are cheap, durable, stability shoes and they’ve served me well. I’ve never (knock—all around the world—on wood) had a real injury. A few black toenails, yes, but nothing much beyond that. Sometimes, though, I have my doubts about using such a cheap model. I think, well, maybe I should “move up” to something better, lighter, fancier. I let marketing get the best of me and dream of having some cool kicks. (I understand that this is not a smart way to think about running shoes, but let's be honest, everyone wants cool shoes.)

So when I went to pick up my race packet for the Mercè 10k, I stopped by the Adidas display and got my gait analyzed. The salesman informed me that I have a neutral gait and when I looked at him, a bit incredulous, he showed me the computer-generated images of my neutral landing, high-arched foot. I’m not sure if this means that all the past analyzers were wrong or that my gait has changed. It’s true that my foot looks thinner and a bit bonier than it used too…Have I finally lost my baby fat?

So, yes, now I have a perfect excuse to get some cool kicks right away. On the one hand I fugure I should order some new, neutral shoes, but I’m also worried that changing up will lead to injury. Am I ready to run free, without stability?

Any hints? Have you changed from stability to neutral shoes? Has your gait changed over the years? Any shoes that changed your life and turned you into a speed demon?

Before 33

Bucket List

Just a few things I want to do before I turn 33 on April 30, 2012.

1. Publish a short story in a print journal.

2. Write a new book of poems.

3. Run a sub 2-hour half marathon.

4. Run a full marathon.

5. Tone the stomach, sculpt the arms.

6. Train to be a spinning instructor, or at least sign up for the class.

7. Volunteer at a race.

8. Host a(nother) great dinner party.

9. Drive on the highway in the U S of A.(haven't done that in years)

10. Publish an opinion piece in a Spanish newspaper.