My New Running Buddy

Reflections on running with a furry partner:

1 – Pacing is hard, even for a dog. Mr. Quade started our run filled with enthusiasm and quickly fell behind, overeager and undertrained. A common rookie mistake.

2 – It feels great to have some company, but still have a little solitude and time with my own thoughts.

3 – Sweaty hugs are always appreciated and encouraged, as evidenced by vigorous tail wagging.

4 – Quade is a very focused and hilarious runner. We’re talking tongue-sticking-out-and-dangling-to-the-side, eyes cast down, showing no interest in other dogs and even ignoring discarded food wrappers by the side of the road (amazing!).

5 –I am convinced that he understands every word I say to him and am not shy about talking to him while we run, and shouting words of encouragement, as ridiculous as it may look. “Come on, buddy! You’re doing great! One more mile to go!”

We ran to the beach and back, a 3-mile loop, and Quade was pretty worn out. When an enormous rat crossed our path, he barely glanced at it, whereas I had a minor heart attack. When a mentally unstable homeless lady verbally abused us when we stopped by a water fountain (“Get out of here! You’re going to DIE DIE DIE! You’re a bum!” jeez, what is it with this city?), he paid no attention to her. I, on the other hand, felt protective of my little buddy and told her to stop scaring him or he might come after her, haha. I felt bad for a second, then wanted to burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of what I just said. Not only because Quade is the sweetest dog in the world and wouldn’t hurt a fly (or even a rat, as it turns out), but also because he was the epitome of sweetness with his tongue out, tail wagging, and warm caramel eyes that can melt you on the spot.

My buddy was getting really tired and lagging behind, scoring many a sympathetic glance from other runners. I was feeling guilty for pushing him. We switched to run-walk mode and I told myself I would just take him home and run a few more miles on my own. This was his first run, after all. I didn’t want him to associate running with pain just yet.

When we got home, after being properly fed and hydrated, he immediately took a nap, too tired to take his usual place by my side as I cooked dinner.

Looks like we might have a new distance runner in the making! Howdy, Quade!

Us vs. “Them”

I’ve been a city girl for as long as I can remember, having lived in Recife, Houston, Philadelphia, Boston, Toronto, London, San Francisco… (wow, I've been around!). Although I did spend time in smaller cities while in college and when I spent my senior year of high school in France, I knew that, ultimately, I would end up in a large metropolitan area.

Case in point: I don’t even have a drivers license. That’s right. Never had one, never needed one. I have learned to get around using all means of transportation possible, excluding vehicles, of course. I have ridden trains, subways, street cars, cable cars, cabs, water taxis, you name it, I’ve tried it.

When I moved to a new area, I would become familiar with the different streets and neighborhoods by running through them, pretty much always getting lost. It didn’t matter how long I had lived in a particular area, I would still get distracted during a run and before I knew it, I had no idea where I was or how I got there. This has turned many an “easy run” into a “long run,” or worse, here in San Francisco, many a flat run into a very, very hilly run (= torture).

I got used to weaving my way through busy sidewalks, running on pavement, and expertly navigating past traffic signals, strollers, homeless people, pets on leashes, pets off leashes, tourists, people who think it’s okay to walk in a large group and take up the entire sidewalk or to just stop abruptly for no reason while you do your best not to tackle them to the ground (accidentally, of course). I got using to running for miles and miles of “city” just to reach a park with actual running trails, somewhere with a few trees here and there or maybe even a dirt path—ahh, bliss. Sometimes I wouldn’t even count the miles spent getting there as part of the actual run or total distance. But it’s all getting old now.

Or maybe I’m getting old, but I find city life more and more… annoying. The loud screeching and jingling of the cable car outside my window every night that seems to go on all night long. The disgrace that is the public transportation system in San Francisco. The fact that there is not a single Target in the city. Not a single one, people! Walking for many blocks just to get to the grocery store or Trader Joe’s. And the best part: walking back, arms laden with heavy bags cutting through my skin, despite sacrificing all bulky items like milk and soda and (sob) ice cream. Oh, did I mention the way back was uphill?

The funny thing is, I have always been one of those people who mocked the nouveau-suburbanites. You know the kind. They reached their late twenties/early thirties, found someone they could settle down with, and tied the knot. Before you fully realized what was going on, said couple would be looking for houses “just outside the city.” It really wasn’t that far after all. They could easily drive to the city to go out to dinner, see a show, etc. Drive? Oh, yes, Mr. & Mrs. Nouveau-Suburbanites would also get a car. Something small and not too expensive, which they would trade for a more “practical” car once the baby came along. Baby? Oh, yes. The Mrs. is already expecting a little bundle of joy before the gloss on their new hardwood floors has even dried. There’s no turning back now.

I’ve seen that happen and always felt relieved that I wasn’t trapped in a boring, suburban life (no offense to those of you actually living it, bear with me here). I can walk out my door and be at the heart of the shopping district within minutes. I can sleep for 11 uninterrupted hours (which I did just this past weekend; heavenly). I can go for a run after work, before work, and whenever I feel like on weekends. I can cook a nice gourmet dinner for two if I feel like it, or eat a bag of cheese puffs on the couch and have Jeff fend for himself (he doesn’t mind).

But I’ll admit it's getting kind of old. Living in an apartment the size of a shoebox? No backyard for the dogs to play in? Zero storage space? A teeny closet that barely fits 1/10 of my shoes? Paying an absolutely outrageous amount of money for rent just to live in a decent, relatively safe area? Cramming guests on couches and in our minuscule “office room” (more like a closet)? Paying city prices for everything, from produce to clothing, since there are no Outlet malls to be found? Having to rely on public transportation, which is inherently, completely unreliable?

Yeah, it’s definitely getting old. Now what?

Sick Day, Girls Night

Yesterday I took the day off from work to deal with what is now being referred to as my “knee situation.” I went to the doctor and finally started physical therapy to fix this thing. The diagnosis seems to officially be: Iliotibial Band Friction Syndrome on my left knee, Patellofemoral Syndrome on my right. The treatment consists of a series of tedious strengthening exercises to develop other muscles on my legs and especially the gluteus maximus = butt. The good news is that apparently making my butt look nice and firm is actually going to improve my running! Ah! And that I DON'T HAVE TO DO YOGA!!! Apologies in advance to the yogafreaks out there, but yoga is considered a form of punishment for me. All the breathing and ommmming and closeyoureyes and dogs up and down drive me nuts (I probably have ADD too, you would not want me in your class).

After physical therapy, I took the bus home. I know, I know… so lazy. But in my defense, I did run to the phys therapist’s office. And the bus was right there when I got out. A miracle. I also figured I might as well get full use of my bus pass while I still have it because next month I have to walk everywhere. Including to work, which I have done this week. Twice.

I got home and cooked a nice dinner of whole wheat penne with ground turkey meat in the marinara sauce. Jeff generously offered to make a “shitty salad” (his exact words) as an accompaniment, featuring wilted lettuce, soggy mushrooms and dried up old snap peas. Mmm. Tempting. I told him I’d pass on the offer, so he made one for himself anyway.

"Wifely" duties fulfilled, I settled down on the couch in my PJs ready for some bad TV when my BFF Mary Grace texted me for an impromptu Girls Night Out. We ended up at the Tipsy Pig in the Marina, talking and laughing for hours and hours. Despite the hangover today (two glasses of wine is all it takes; I know, pathetic), I can't remember the last time I laughed so much. Girlfriends are the best.

To conclude, a shot of Mr. Quade, my couch buddy (Sascha was banned from the couch because she smells like a garbage can--thank God she's getting groomed tomorrow!):

Mondays

(please ignore the fact that I'm posting this on Tuesday, it's a day late)

Mondays. Need I say anything else? Well, that would be a very short post, so let me try anyway...

Today I managed to get up shortly after my alarm went off (at 8:10AM). That would typically get me out the door by 8:50 and at work by 9:25 (yes, I start work at 9:30AM, go on, hate me). But not today. Oh, no. Not this Monday.

I get to the streetcar stop by 9:04, just in time to see it pull away. Lovely. I check the schedule on my iPhone and it says the next one doesn’t leave for another 8 minutes. Terrible, but not disastrous at that point. I decide to pop into Starbucks for some non-fancy coffee. Of course, the second I come out, I see the streetcar pulling away. EARLY. Since when are those things early?!? I chase after it, calling out to the driver who blatantly ignores me and shuts the doors. Jerk. Now I have to take a cab or I’ll be late. I decide to start walking towards work until I find a cab, lugging my gym bag, already sweating in my suit. I finally find a cab, and of course he doesn’t accept credit cards. And then we hit traffic. I swear that next month I will not buy a MUNI pass, and will walk to work every day. Rain or shine. Heck, maybe I’ll run home and kill two birds with one stone.

On the way home, a similar nightmare. The streetcar is jam packed with tourists as usual. Tourists who refuse to move to the back, so of course we’re packed in the front like sardines, breathing on each other. Tourists who never understand that in order for the doors to open, they have to step down towards them, so they stand there and yell at the driver to "open the back door, please! back doooor!". Tourists who mistake the cord you pull down to request a stop for an armrest, so the streetcar ends up stopping at every stop with no one getting out. Loud, cheerful, colorful tourists juggling shopping bags, strollers, screaming children, and crumpled maps. Tourists who actually find these streetcars “quaint” and who ride it “just for fun.”

Don’t get me wrong. I understand that tourists are unavoidable since apparently I happen to live in “the most beautiful city in America.” I don’t know when I became so cynical. But somehow, I accidentally ended up here in "paradise" and ended up getting bitter.

Maybe it’s because I came here with my previous job, and it wasn’t exactly my choice, so I feel “stuck.” Maybe it’s because I think it’s ridiculous to pay $2,500 a month for a teeny apartment. Maybe it’s because I find it heartbreaking and disturbing that there are so many homeless people, everywhere, most of whom are clearly on drugs or mentally ill. Maybe it’s because the public transportation system is a complete disaster and these hills make it a nightmare to walk to certain places. Maybe it’s because we have no seasons, and the thermometer is permanently set at 50 degrees and I haven’t worn a dress in a year. Maybe it’s because I live two blocks away from the beach, but it’s always too cold to wear a bathing suit.

Maybe it’s time to move.

But where?

PS: Going for a run after work made me feel much better. Plus, I got to see this:

To Blog or Not to Blog?

I’ve been thinking about blogging lately. I’ve been following a few different blogs and it has become a slight addiction. Sometimes I’ll even check my favorites multiple times throughout the day, just to see if there’s an update (there usually isn’t, but I do it anyway).

I guess this can be seen as a step up from the reality T V I am guilty of watching more often than I should. Most of the blogs I follow are more like well-written memoirs, little vignettes from the lives of intelligent, thoughtful, and kind people—which, for the most part, is the opposite of most reality TV people.

I am fascinated by how some bloggers seem to so easily and eagerly share intimate moments of their lives. For now, I mostly blog about running, which is a fairly innocuous topic. It’s very hard to offend someone when you’re just blabbing about training for races and fundraising for cancer organizations. I suppose it is possible that someone will take it the wrong way, but the odds are pretty low.

I kept journals all through middle and high school, thousands of pages of my ramblings, pictures, e-mails, chat logs, quotes, poems. The thought of sharing that with the world and opening the door to public scrutiny is, well, terrifying. So how do bloggers do it?

A Late Update

Well, friends, the good news is that I finished the San Diego Marathon. The bad news is that it was by far my toughest and most painful marathon. I'm posting a few pictures below, but don't be fooled by my big smiles, I was in a lot of pain by the end of the race. As usual, I told myself I would never, ever do this again. But of course I'm already signed up for the Philly Marathon in November, which I'm hoping will be my Boston Qualifier. But then that's it, no more marathons (unless I qualify, so of course I'll have to run Boston, but then no more!).

This was taken before the race, after my lovely 3:50AM wake-up call.

Pretending I was confident and strong (when I was in fact, recovering from an injury and scared to death). This was the last time I could bend my legs for about a week.

Here's my awesome team!!!


Aaaaand here's after the race, checking out my medal after lots of blood, sweat, and tears (and cheers, and hugs, and blisters, and pain, lots and lots of pain, and a lovely sunburn)


Go TEAM! Together we raised over $2M for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society!



The day after the race, I could barely walk, but still stopped by my chiropractor's office to say a big thank you (he helped improve the IT Band Friction Syndrome I have on my left knee, although unfortunately it came back to haunt me at mile 20). Here I am with Dr. Jacobs, looking sunburned and ridiculously little next to him.