Against the tide

Most days that the weather is bad -- raining or threatening, too hot or cold -- you can find me walking on the indoor track at the HPER Center, my campus's exercise and recreational facility. The track runs around and overhead of the basketball courts. It's 1/10 of a mile on the inside lane, where walkers are supposed to stay, and 1/9 of a mile on the outside.

Now, I'm there so often that I feel rather proprietary about it. And I'm there so often that I see all sorts of people who either don't know or don't care about the rules. Walk in the direction indicated by the arrow (which flips every day). Runners on the outside, walkers on the inside. I see people stretching right on the track, with people having to step around and over them. I see them doing interval work where they stop running suddenly in order to start doing lunges or something, heedless of people behind them. And naturally, I see lot of people completely ignoring the lane rules, running or walking in any lane they want, weaving around people or forcing others to weave around them.

But what I saw yesterday was a first. There was only one other person on the track when I arrived -- a jogger. And he was going the wrong way. I looked at the arrow, looked at him, and as I stepped onto the track as he approached, I said, "Dude, other way," indicating the arrow. He shrugged. "This is the way I go," he said as he passed.

I walked 27 laps before he finished his jog. He never turned around to go the other way. Just kept running the way he goes. Other people arrived to walk and run. They joined me going the right way. A fellow faculty member who jogs as much as I walk, and that I see almost every time I'm there, spoke to him like I did. I saw him step onto the track and make a circular gesture with his hand as the wrong-way jogger passed him. Again, the jogger shrugged and kept going.

Because we were going in opposite directions, I met him two times on each lap -- a little more, actually, because he was moving a bit faster than me. Because he was jogging on the inside lane (sigh), he had to move out of my way every time we met. After the first time, we didn't make eye contact. He had to snake his way past oncoming traffic in multiple lanes when the several users of the track happened to converge in his path.

What was he thinking for those 40 minutes before he stopped jogging against the current? Was he annoyed every time he had to dodge another person? Did he ever consider turning around and going with the flow, or was he dead set on his own direction? What were his feelings toward me and the other faculty member who had questioned him? What about the others who joined us and mutely testified to the rule, and against his choice, with their actions?

Most of all: Why?

During those 27 laps and maybe 50 face-to-face encounters, I thought a lot about what I would have done if I found I were going the wrong way. Many years ago when the HPER was new, I feel certain I went the wrong way, before somebody pointed the arrow out to me. I don't remember it particularly, but I have many similar memories of learning the rules and folkways of an exercise facility because I did it wrong at first. I might have gone to the start of my lap and turned around there, so I didn't have to account for incomplete laps in my counting. But I can't imagine just continuing on, minute after minute, lap after lap, as the evidence of my error mounted.

But perhaps he was aware from the start he was going the wrong way. "This is the way I go," he said to me, as if he had a private methodology that no rule could sway. I'm not sure why running the track counter-clockwise was preferable. The direction arrow changes daily so that we don't all get shorter legs on one side like mountain goats from always pivoting on the same foot. Maybe he had an injury that made it hard to turn to the right. But that's also why runners are supposed to be on the outside, the rule that he and others widely ignore, so that the curve at the corners is more gentle, not requiring a pivot at all.

I recognize myself in the wrong-way runner. I can be stubborn. I don't necessarily want to be told what the right process is; I prefer to reinvent the wheel because (and I've only just recently recognized this about myself) I get irrationally mad in certain situations where other people know more than I do. But I think I'm learning to overcome these flaws, in large part thanks to my research among the prayer shawl makers, where I had to listen and refrain from imposing my knowledge and perspectives. I've had too many experiences where hindsight tells me I could have saved myself frustration, and done a better job, by trying to learn from others at the outset rather than just bulling through on my own unfounded notions.

What can I learn from Mr. The Way I Go?

One shivering step at a time

One of the great things about getting back into the semester routine is that my exercise and eating habits level out a bit. I'm making my first concerted effort to lose weight in many, many years, and I've been looking forward to the day when I could start counting on that two-mile walk every morning: taking CG to school, swinging back by the house to pick up my stuff, then heading to the office. It's a lot easier to get to my 10,000-step goal when I start every weekday that way.

So I watch the weather like a hawk, because storms or dangerous conditions can derail that exercise I count on. And dangerous conditions might be present tomorrow morning, with overnight temperatures forecast to go as low as 11 degrees. I'm going to have to make up those 6500 steps somewhere else tomorrow.

When I say that I'm making a concerted effort to lose weight, this is what I mean. For many years -- including here on this blog -- I've been following the No-S Diet. It certainly kept me from getting out of control. But it's a rule of thumb, a way to give yourself structure so you don't overdo it. It's not -- at least in the way I handled it -- a goal-based system that holds you accountable for results.

It's not like I haven't known I'm overweight. The Wii Fit Balance Board made sure of that, along with every BMI chart that got handed to me at an employee wellness meeting. I won't even mention the way the mirror disapproved. But the thing that made the consequences of that real to me were the cholesterol numbers that came back from a blood screening. Researching how to lower them, the first thing on every list was "lose weight." Time to get serious, then.

For me, having a plan and a program is fun. I love systems and collect them obsessively. Systems for time management, workflow, organization -- they energize me. Finding the best system is fun. Implementing it turns on my reflective and assessing capacities, keeping me alert and aware of my own reactions. Living within a system is soothing. At its best, an elegant, well-designed system delights me on a daily basis.

So of course I made my New Year's resolution into a system -- an ecosystem, really, with quantified-self tools old and new feeding into the plan. I was already using a Fitbit to set step and climbing goals for each day, Runkeeper to track walks and jogs, and Gym Hero to record strength training (uh oh, looks like that last one might be about to hit the skids -- hasn't been updated in 18 months). Years of reading about various diet schemes made it clear to me that the only thing that mattered was calories -- more out than in, the weight comes off. MyFitnessPal integrated with the tools I was already using, calculated a daily calorie allowance for me, and provided a food diary so I could keep myself within it. Noel, really rolling the dice but coming up a big winner, got me an Aria scale for Christmas. I couldn't even wait to start until after the holidays, so enticing was this system.

In some ways, the system provides a kind of satisfaction that makes it hard for me to feel deprived. Gamification really works on me. A badge, a smiley-face, a cheer from an online friend, keeping my graphs in the green -- those stupid rewards matter, for whatever reason. I dreaded getting serious about losing weight for years, and hoped futilely that by exercising more or cutting out dessert, it would be enough. I was afraid of feeling constantly deprived, constantly aware of what I wasn't getting to have or do -- a depressing prospect. But my dread was misplaced. It's not like that at all. And the realization that all I really have to do is keep going like I have been these last three weeks, and slowly but surely my goal will come into sight, a goal that once seemed unattainable without drastic measures -- well, that produces a kind of euphoria that even my most-loved foods would be hard-pressed to match.

Radio on

I'll bet a lot of people who know me well think of me as an early adopter. I enjoy new technology, I like to try new ways of doing things, and figuring out how to integrate new processes into my life and work. I tend to be enthusiastic about innovation.

So it's got to be a little confusing to those people that some of the commonplace technologies of the last five or ten years are things that I've only recently, maybe even reluctantly, adopted. I've told many people the story of how I finally started carrying a cell phone only three or four years ago, fully a decade after most people in my shoes had become tethered to them. Some people wear their refusal to give in to cell phones or some other type of networking or availability technology as a badge of pride. Me, I'm embarrassed at how long it took me to join in. I inconvenienced everyone else for years because of my belief that I was different, that there was no need for me to be like them.

Similarly, I heard my friends talking about listening to podcasts for years and years. They'd talk about the ones they enjoyed, the ones they learned from, the ones that they follow week after week. And although I understood the concept, and I've had an iPod since they were invented, I never thought they were for me. When did people listen to these things? I didn't have a commute. When I exercised, I needed energetic music, not people talking. If I tried to listen to something other than music while working, I lose the thread of it, and suddenly I remember to listen and I have no idea what they're talking about. When else could I put on headphones and listen to some program? It would take time that I would rather use for doing other things, for writing or reading or watching something, none of which I can do while listening to a podcast.

The moment that changed was last year, when I decided I need to stop running. I had injured myself a couple of times, and the effort of pushing past that pain to keep on doing something I really didn't enjoy that much, just didn't seem worth it. I couldn't seem to break through the plateau and lose any more weight, or get any noticeable increase in endurance or speed. At the same time, I had known for years that I needed to find a way to integrate strength training into my life, but because just getting through the cardio was so time-consuming and took so much willpower, I couldn't stomach adding a whole other regimen on top of it.

What I decided to do was replace running with walking, and to do my walking in a practical fashion. Instead of walking around a track or around town, for exercise only, I would walk to places I needed to go anyway. Then my workout time could be devoted to weight training.

So I started walking Cady Gray to school, a thirty-minute round trip. On the way there we talk together, but on my way back, I'm alone. Then frequently I pick up my satchel and head on to my office, another fifteen minutes. When I go to the gym, I don't need uptempo music in the weight room. You lift for a minute or two, and then you rest. There's a lot of downtime.

And that's when I started listening to podcasts. And because they're stories, I didn't want to just turn them off when I'm done with the walk or the workout. I turn on the speaker to my phone, or hook them up to the stereo in the car, and keep listening while I run errands, or walk from one side of campus to the other. Podcast listening went from no part of my life, to seeping into more and more parts of my life from the gym and the sidewalk where they started.

There's nothing more annoying that the person who just got into something trying to tell you all about that thing. I'm just scratching the surface of the world of podcasts. What I really like about them, though, is that essentially they're radio on your time rather than broadcast time. I've always loved radio. (Maybe that's another post.) When DVRs came around for TV, I wondered whether such a thing would ever be possible for radio, and I felt a little pang to think that nobody would spend time building anything like that for what was considered a moribund medium. But now I understand. The energy to make radio timeshiftable and portable went in a different direction than the DVR, one that's not as closely tied to the continuous, clockbound nature of broadcast radio. People are making more radio than ever. I'm glad I figured out how to fit it into my life.

Shuffling in the dark

For the past three years, I've run a short race on our campus called "Trick Or Trot." As you might gather, it's Halloween themed; costumes are encouraged but thankfully, not required.

This year I signed up even though I haven't run hardly a step in over a year. I stopped running because (a) I really hate running (although I love having run), and (b) I felt like I was destroying what was left of my knees and ankles every time I pounded around the track. In place of my slow, painful jog, I joined many people many age in walking. I racked up as many miles, or more, by walking my daughter to school and walking myself to work, as I used to accumulate at the gym. I took up weightlifting, too, and experienced that gratifying surge of strength, so quantifiable by the heavier and heavier plates you can pile onto the bar.

So why sign up for Trick Or Trot? The most simple reason is that I don't want to break the streak. Not signing up feels like capitulating to age. And I don't have to run; a lot of people walk the short two-mile circuit around campus after dark, peppered with glowstick-waving volunteers and cheerleaders.

But I'd like to run. Here's where I'm at with running: I'd like to think I could crank out a slow, steady mile or two even though I haven't done it in a year. Even though the thought of actually training to run is unbearable. I'd like to see how much I'm fooling myself with that notion.

So I'll line up at the back with the walkers, and I'll jog as far as I can go, and then the moment will come that I consider walking. It might be after a hundred yards, or after half a mile. Maybe I'll astound myself and be able to press on farther. But at some point I'll find out just how thin a soap bubble my abandoned veneer of "runner" really is. How long can I pretend, and what will I think of myself when I can't pretend any longer? Oh, I'll finish, walking, jogging, or crawling. I'll start my 49th year with a new t-shirt and a feeling of accomplishment. The question is whether that accomplishment will be a pleasant surprise, or a salvage job.

Update: I ran about 1.1 miles before walking, and only walked two stretches. A very pleasant surprise!

The quantified life

I didn't think I was going to make any New Year's resolutions this year. Nevertheless, in my state of intense introspection, in my dissatisfaction with Business As Usual, in my desire to seize opportunities for intentional living, I ended up making many changes that roughly coincided with the start of 2013.

Exercise may be the most popular topic for resolutions, in our relatively sedentary land. I've been getting regular exercise for the past several years, but have been less and less enthusiastic about it. After injuring my knee last summer, I spent a few months away from jogging, and found myself equally dissatisfied with less high-impact ways of getting cardio, and filled with dread at the prospect of returning to running, which I find most satisfying at the moment it is over (and not a second before). Running's only attraction to me is that it enables me to get the most exercise in the least amount of time ... and I neither possessed nor wanted to devote any more time to the tedious process of staying fit.

At the same time, I was unhappy with the habit I had developed of driving Cady Gray to school 3/4 of a mile from our house, then driving to work, about a half mile from the house. It seemed quite the waste of mileage, gas, and stress about parking, when the distances were so eminently walkable. And so I decided that I would combine these two dissatisfactions and start walking to school with Cady Gray and walking to work whenever I could.

The plan worked admirably, putting me at work 15 or 20 minutes later than I used to arrive, but without an early morning class promptness was not of particular concern. And when I arrived, I had already walked more than two miles -- all before the day had even begun. The sense of accomplished engendered in me a desire to know just how much I was getting done. Am I managing to engage in enough activity during the rest of my day to make that 2.15 mile walk a significant part of my health maintenance regimen?

I needed more information. So I joined the ranks of the Quantified Selves by getting a FitBit One, a little device that hangs off my belt loop or clips to my waistband and records the steps I take, the mileage I cover, and the elevation I climb. I've learned that I manage to cover about 8 miles a day -- over 15,000 steps -- when I start off right by staying out of my car. And the desire to push that total as high as I can motivates me to walk across campus for lunch instead of grabbing what's closest. I've long climbed stairs whenever I could, regarding elevators as a unnecessary luxury, but now I welcome errands that take me out of the building because they mean getting two or three more flights climbed on my record.

While setting up this system, getting the devices registered and talking to each other, becoming excited about knowing more intimately how sedentary or active I am in a given day, I experienced a new dissatisfaction. I worked at the computer for hours at a time, sitting all the while. And at the edges of my perception lately, growing more visible and insistent, there is the research showing that too much sitting is bad for you, no matter how much exercise you get when you're up and about.  Noel has been using a standing desk for several months now, alternating between its front-room location for the writing he does while listening to music, and the living room where he sits for his writing while watching film or TV.  The more I became immersed in the ecosystem of personal tracking, the more it rankled that I was spending so much of my day perched on a chair.

I measured the height of my elbows atop my desk surface while standing, and found a nearly yard-wide ClosetMaid shoe shelf at Target that would raise my ergonomic keyboard to that level and have plenty of room for my trackball on the side.  A similar (narrower) shelf elevates my monitor, but not enough -- I really need to raise it another few inches to make it perfect.



Changes seem to beget more changes. When I alter my life in one place, I uncover nagging dissatisfactions with the way I've long arranged other things. I'm adapting to more walking, more standing, and devoting gym time to weights instead of cardio (while knowing I needed to do strength training, I've neglected it entirely for years because I was loath to spend any more time working out than I already did). The changes are dramatic, but don't require finding additional time in my day. I'm doing the same things I always have done -- getting my child to school and myself to work, tapping away at the computer, going to the gym three times a week -- but doing them differently, and carefully examining the data that emerges.

Nothing but a number

When I was a kid, like any good middle child I measured my birthdays and age against that of my two brothers. Specifically against my older brother, who was born three and a half years before me. When his March 30 birthday rolled around, I know I had six months ahead where he would be four years older than me, in terms of the round yearly number we all use post-toddlerhood.  Then in October, I would catch back up, and enjoy six months of being only three years his junior.

Yesterday my brother turned 50. That's a big one, and I've known it was headed my way for some time. The fact that Dwayne has hit it brings the reality of its approach home again.  Right now he's four years older than me; in October, I'll close the gap again.

Another way to look at age is in terms of career. I got started pretty late, as many academics do, having taken my time wending my way through grad school.  I landed my first and only university job in 1999, and I'm currently completing my thirteenth year of teaching. I'll be eligible to apply for full professor status after next year (my first couple of years of teaching were non-tenure track, so I lost a couple of rungs on the ladder).  And then I'll be started the next phase of my career, probably looking around to see if my administrative experience might make me useful elsewhere, probably putting myself in position to succeed my current boss when he retires in a few years.

I've got maybe twenty years left in this business. More than I've got behind me. That's kind of the opposite of the age number staring me in the face.

This morning I ran my second 5K of 2012.  I hope there will be a handful more before the year ends. When I say "ran," it's even more of an exaggeration than usual; not only was it my usual 12-minute-mile slow jog, but I also walked a lot more than I usually would find acceptable. You see, on Thursday afternoon I came down with the most sudden, violent fever I can remember. I was knitting with my students one minute, and the next I was feeling like crap and trying to get home before the shakes started in earnest. I shivered for an hour, ached for another, then took Motrin. And it was over. I waited for the next twenty-four hours for the other shoe to drop, for the gastrointestinal part of the virus to take hold or whatever, and it never did.

So I took it easy today, still cautious after that strange interlude.  And I remember that even though this is the first time in my life that I've ever attempted to run 5Ks, meaning I'm about as healthy as I've ever been, I'm not getting any younger. I don't know how 50 is supposed to feel, and I'm pretty sure I don't feel it anyway, but I wonder how long I'll be able to ignore my age. No use asking Dwayne; he's a lifelong distance runner and still looks and acts like my default image of him, the athletic collegian.

What really makes me feel young is that I keep changing, I keep learning, and I keep reinventing myself. In that respect I really look forward to becoming a full professor and being liberated to look around and see what opportunities are out there for me. It's the kind of new stage in life that gets me energized. Sometimes the years you put into a career are better than a time machine that could take you back to the beginning.

Body and mind

While driving Cady Gray to her school today, I was the recipient of an excited discourse from the back seat about P.E.  She loves to play games and dash about, in school or out. Anytime she's moving from room to room, she not only does so at a run, but also throws in random leaps and dance moves. It's a unique, syncopated rhythm.

As she was telling me how excited she was to have P.E. today, I responded with my pleasure in seeing her enjoy all kinds of movement. Not only major physical exercise, but also the fine movements of her hands that make beautiful origami for me, and those that twist yarn into crocheted hearts and knit snowflowers.

So much of what I find rewarding these days has to do with the movement of our physical bodies in the world. To run, to measure, to cut, to stitch, to knit, to walk, to wind, to embrace. It's quite a change from the first four decades of my life, which were all about the mind. And now when I look at my students sitting in class, doing their best to be disembodied as if that's what fulfilling their potential is obviously about, I wonder. Are they better integrated than I was at their age? Do they accept and understand and embrace their future as moving, working bodies, not just hosts for the dance of ideas?

I hope they won't wait as long as I did to learn the potential of my hands, my muscles, my senses. It is a shame that as we grow up, those topics are more and more segregated into classes like P.E. or art, away from the training of the mind which is thought to be purer the less it is connected to movements in space.

She defines the possibilities

Today was a highly productive New Year's Eve.



I ran a 5K.



Noel made amazing barbecue ribs on the new smoker.



And I sewed my first pair of curtains.

Full story of the last at Toxophily.

From zero to 20:21

On Monday morning, the day after my birthday, I woke in what we gently refer to as intestinal distress.  I took the usual medicine and considered going to work.  But I felt poorly, and even though I would usually expect to be able to function despite a wonky GI tract, I decided that I had better take a very rare sick day.  Good thing, too, because I spent almost the whole day unable to move from a horizontal position, feverish and chilled, without the strength to stand.  It took me another two days to regain my appetite, although I was over all the most troubling symptoms the next morning.

Today I ran in my university's "Trick or Trot" fun run for the second year in a row.  It's a short race, only 1.8 miles by official course reckoning (1.71 on my GPS).  But when I nervously attempted it as my first official race ever last year, I found it challenging.  I remember being alarmed by how winded I was by the first leg up the north side of campus, and how I thought I was going to have to stop and walk while making the loop around Alumni Circle in the campus center, and how I had to will myself to keep going in the last half mile through campus back to the start, and how difficult it was to smile and raise my hand for high-fives from the race volunteers in the home stretch.

Tonight, despite my paralyzing illness three days ago, and despite no training since a rigorous set of runs last week, the race was easy -- almost alarmingly so.  Chugging east along Bruce Street, preparing to make the turn south on Donaghey, ABBA's "S.O.S." exploded in my headphones and I felt like I was flying through the darkness under the full moon.  Running around Alumni Circle, I was conscious that I was more than halfway through the course but still feeling the long steady energy that usually begins for me after the first half mile.  Turning back west to pass through the campus toward the fitness center where we started, I didn't want to find myself suddenly running out of gas and monitored myself carefully, but by the time the finish line was in sight, with about a minute to go, I knew I had plenty left for a big kick.

I finished with a per-mile average under 12 minutes, which is a personal best for me for an outdoor run.  Most importantly, I never felt like I got near my limits.  That means it's time to step up my workouts and see how far I can take this jogging thing.  And maybe how fast.

Spare tire

The month of August was not my best month for working out.  Vacation and very busy work weeks took their toll on my gym routine.  I got in a grand total of four runs, and two of them were 20-minute sessions on the treadmill at the hotel fitness center this weekend.  This week I also did a run-and-walk that was disappointing because my stamina seemed lacking, and I did a workout on the elliptical one day last week when I didn't have earphones for my iPod.

My lack of activity is showing.  I feel like my middle is expanding, something that seems to occur when I don't have enough running to just shake and jiggle it all away.  I'm going to need the discipline to get in as many workouts as I can while I have the chance, before Noel leaves for Toronto after Labor Day.  Unfortunately, my schedule doesn't get any easier to deal with; working around Noel's and my travel will be very difficult, since the flexibility of my pre- and post-work hours disappears.  If I become more airship-like in the next month, though, I have only myself to blame.  

A week of triumph

Want quick highlights of the last seven days as bracketed by Archer's chess tournament on the front end and his 5K run on the back end?  Noel and his trusty Flip have you covered.  Watch and enjoy!

What we've worked for

Tomorrow is the Viking Voyage, an annual fun run for students at the kids' elementary school.  Throughout the year, members of the running club meet after school twice a week.  Those who attend a minimum number of practices get to participate in the race.

Last year Archer ran the one mile option, and I ran with him.  I was so new to running at the time that I remember being quite anxious about my ability to go the distance.  One mile may not seem like much, but for someone like me that could make it at most a couple of laps around the track before stopping to walk, it counted as an extended outing.

This year Archer decided from the outset that he wanted to try for the 5K.  I knew I would have to step up my training to be able to do it with him.  And even though I've managed the 5K distance only once in my workouts over the past several months, I know that the 3 mile range is well within my capacities and feel confident that the extra distance can be covered on race day.

Having been through it once last year, I now know what to expect.  The whole school lines the start/finish chute to cheer on the runners.  While they're out on the course, the various grades do various dances like the Macarena and (new this year!) the Thriller.  The teachers all get together to do the Electric Slide.  Each grade makes signs encouraging specific runners.  When the competitors approach the finish line, they get a huge welcome.

Archer and I will be going all the way to the end of the course and back.  It's likely to take us 40 minutes, which is a long time for the other kids to stand around doing the Chicken Dance.  I imagine we'll stop for a water break halfway through, but I'm hoping that will be our only walking interval.  Nevertheless, I'm confident that we'll find our way to the finish line before the crowd dissipates.  We may be exhausted -- it's forecast to be the warmest day of the young spring, with temperatures in the lower eighties -- and we may be slow, but we'll meet our goals and Archer will get his well-earned reward.

What I like about the Viking Voyage is that everyone is treated as a winner.  It's not one of those "everybody gets a trophy day" deals where just existing is treated as a reason for praise.  No, the runners had to show dedication throughout the year to be eligible for the race, and they had to show their ability to go the distance to get approval to run the 5K.  Then they have to go out and perform -- not to beat their opponents, but to challenge themselves.  I think that's a great reason to celebrate every single one of them.  Having the whole school screaming their names as they cross the finish line is a tremendous high.

By making the race into a schoolwide event even though only a small subset of the students are running, the administration holds the runners up as examples for their classmates -- not for innate talent, but for committing themselves and following through.  It's a celebration of merit without pitting kids against each other competitively.  I love that Archer is a part of it, and I hope Cady Gray joins in her turn when she's old enough for running club.  The fact that it provides me with motivation to stay fit and keep my endurance up is a nice bonus, too.

A week of accomplishment

Today I went out with Archer for a run.  Partly because my crazy week hasn't allowed for me to run until today, and partly because we're both going to run a 5K next Thursday.

His elementary school has a running club in which Archer has participated for the past two years.  Last year he ran the one-mile option -- or rather, we ran together.  This year his goal from the start has been to run the 5K.

I've been working hard to make sure I can keep up with him, and at least on an indoor track I've been able to complete three mile runs fairly regularly (meaning when I have more than 30 minutes to squeeze in a workout).  We haven't been certain about whether Archer was up to that distance, and we've been cautious about encouraging him to push himself.  Turns out he does it without any prompting, so our role has been to remind him to know his limits.

Last week during the regular club meeting there was a practice run on the actual course; Archer told us he ran "4.5K."  That means he walked a bit in the middle, I suspect, having done the same thing today during our similar practice run on part of the course.  But we ran a solid 2.54 miles, meaning that it won't take too muh more to add on the segment from the starting line on school property down to the park through which the racecourse runs (and back).  Having done it with him today, and being just fine with a little bit of slowdown at water breaks, I have no doubt he'll complete the race.

That will cap a week that started yesterday with his top-10 finish in his first-ever chess tournament.  The four top students from his third- and fourth-grade chess club went to the city-wide tournament, which included students their age as well as fifth- and sixth-graders.  Being out of town, I checked frequently for Noel's Twitter updates.

Archer resigned the first game, which was not a good sign; he tends to resign if he's down on points during his chess club practices, because he gets to find a new opponent and start a new game (with a chance to win) right away.  But in the tournament, he has to wait until all the matches in the round are over, so resigning does him no good -- might as well play it out, since it's the same difference if he loses and there's still an outside chance for a win or draw.  Then he got a bye in the second round (one player didn't show up), which counted as a win.  Round three he won on points.  Ten minutes after the start of round four, he was walking out the door with a rook-roller mate under his belt.  Round five he battled to a stalemate, taking advantage of his opponent's blunder to survive even though he was reduced to a king only.  At the end of the day, he was ranked 9 out of the 43 contenders, and first among his schoolmates

I couldn't be prouder of my boy.  How very far he's come, and how well he has parlayed his challenges into venues for success.

In training

Running Club has started meeting again at Archer's school.  You may recall that last year, his first eligible year to join, I went with him to most training session and ran the one mile fun run with him in the spring.  This year I can't go to the meetings, which are held after school on Mondays and Wednesdays, because of other commitments at those times.

So Archer has been running just with his schoolmates -- a huge gaggle of them.  If you happened by the schoolyard on Monday or Wednesday afternoon around 3:30, you'd see fifty kids circling the 1/12th mile track, chasing each other, walking several abreast, clunking and squirting each other with water bottles, and generally delineating an atmosphere where sustaining running is nearly impossible.

We've been a little worried by what we've found on a few occasions when picking Archer up after Running Club.  The incident he describes in "The Big Scrape" was fairly traumatic; he was banged up in several places, had his water bottle broken and spilled, and then insisted on running despite the advice of the physical education teacher supervising the club.  When Noel picked him up he was upset and exhausted.  Even when he hasn't been knocked down, he's been splotchy, sweaty and coughing when the half hour was up.  Given his insistence on telling us every day how he had set new personal bests in number of total laps and running, we were concerned that he was pushing himself beyond his limits.

I was able to get free for a Monday afternoon to join Archer at running club and see for myself what was up.  And apart from the scrum of third- and fourth-graders socializing and occasionally sprinting wildly and erratically around the track, there was nothing untoward happening.  Archer set himself a pace -- three running laps and one walking lap, rinse and repeat -- and enthusiastically announced the lap number in Spanish every time we crossed the starting line.  I taught him to sing out "On your left!" when approaching a blockade of third-grade girls.  And when he determined that the ending whistle was about to blow, he encouraged me to "kick it in" and ran the last three laps at double speed.  That's why he's physically spent when Dad picks him up.

It's good to know that Archer is motivated but not immoderate in his training.  He's hoping to run the 5K this year instead of the mile.  There's no doubt he can do it; the only question is whether I can manage to do it with him.

She's making sure she's not dreaming

Today's post about the dichotomies of the scarf perfection is at Toxophily.



Oh, and the race? Finished without walking. Time: 20:02. Bring on the weekend.

On the road (first time)

My family has its share of runners.  My older brother set records in distance events running track at his high school, and ran cross-country in college.  Dad started jogging when it was a fad in the seventies, shed an impressive number of pounds (so much so that he grew a beard to give shape to his newly thin face) and stayed with it as long as his joints could take the pounding.

I ran with my Dad some, but it was cycling that I enjoyed much more with him (and on my own).  Running was so ... slow.  The scenery barely changed, step by step, minute by minute.  It took forever to get somewhere.

Over the years I occasionally jogged as part of various exercise resolutions.  Usually various aches and pains send me back to less jarring forms of working out after awhile.  Last year I decided to run with Archer in his school's running club, culminating in a fun run in March.  That's when I discovered that I'd been doing it wrong for years, trying to run too fast and both exhausting and injuring myself.  Slow, I found, was the key; jogging slowly, I could keep going much longer in both time and distance.

So it's not accurate to say that I run; I jog, and barely.  But I've extended my stamina in tiny bits until entering an actual adult fun run was conceivable about a month ago, when a two-mile Halloween race was announced on my campus.

Two miles is hardly anything.  Most of us could walk it without noticing; most of my students could run it barely breaking a sweat.  But to this 45-year-old non-runner, getting to two miles without stopping to walk, even at an anemic jogging pace, is an accomplishment.  I hesitated to sign up.  I'd be taking my jogging off the track and into public, daring to set foot on the same course with actual runners.  I'd be exposing my decrepit form and snail's pace to the world.

But I thought it was time.  Tomorrow night I'll be creeping along at the tail end of the Trick or Trot fun run around the UCA campus.  My goal is to jog the entire distance, without walking, tripping over curbs in the dark, twisting an ankle, breaking a bone, or passing out.  I hope to finish ahead of people who walk the whole distance, but there certainly are no guarantees.  If I make it, maybe I'll feel -- just for a moment -- like a runner.  Like a member of the family.

One, two, three, four

My altered schedule this week has affected my workout routine in ways I didn't expect. Because I didn't need to be home before dinnertime to help out with the kids, I stayed at work on Monday until past quitting time. By the time I got to the gym, the dressing room was filled with coworkers of mine getting ready for their exercise class. "You should come!" they enthused. So I did.

The class was Zumba. Now, if you're a woman of college age or beyond, you probably know that Zumba is an aerobic dance kinda thing influenced by Latin styles. Or so I gather from having been to all three of the classes offered this week.

It's not that I'm any good at dancing, especially dancing that requires galloping and relatively rapid footwork and lots of hippy swirling and sashaying. It's that it was really hard. After the first class, I was a little sore in the thighs. After the second, I ached every time I got out of a chair. And by the time I showed up at the third two days later, my feet felt like they needed a session with a reflexologist.

My last exercise class was at least five years ago; I don't recall having been to one since Cady Gray was born. And it was probably step. I'm sure you readers on the progressive coasts are wondering why we're still doing Zumba here in flyover country, but for me, this was like going from rotary to the iPhone in one giant half-decade step.

I didn't look good trying to swivel my hips to salsa-tinged R&B. It was sobering watching the co-eds around me demonstrating their effortless rhythm. But I had a lot of fun. If I recover fast enough, I'll take advantage of one more week of late afternoon free time and try to learn a few more steps.

Fun in the run

Archer and I have spent the last several months getting up early or staying late at school to train for his elementary school's Viking Voyage. Finally, today was the day -- and a more perfect day could not be imagined -- sunshine and 72 degrees on the day before the first day of spring. We opted for the one mile run since we didn't manage to finish a 5K distance during the training period.

We were proud of the fact that we ran the whole way, with a brief stop for water at the halfway mark. Team Fish Hat was in full effect, and Archer got big cheers from the whole school as he approached the finish line, naturally holding his chronograph so that he could stop it as he crossed and get his exact time. (Jim Fixx would be proud.)

Here's a video Noel put together of the big day.

Locker room

Archer's running club has been moved from a before-school activity to an after-school one. So instead of putting on my sweatpants and hoodie first thing in the morning, I'm taking a bag of workout clothes to the office with me and changing before heading off campus.

More organized folks than me would probably have the bag packed the previous night. And they would probably never forget anything they needed. But I have a long tradition of packing workout bags just before they're needed, and an equally long -- and possibly related -- tradition of forgetting stuff. In order of least annoying to most annoying, here are the things I most often forget:

1. Sports bra
2. Ponytail elastic
3. Socks

Since this change in schedule, I find myself hauling my workout bag into the bathroom on the same floor as my office and changing in a stall. When I give a lecture to prospective students at our interview days, I compare the process of giving serious consideration to alien ideas to the discomfort of taking off your clothes in a department store dressing room. I think changing clothes in a bathroom stall is a comparable feeling. Certainly it's something you want to get through as fast as possible because it's not a good feeling being undressed in a public place.

But aside from being more cramped, changing in an office bathroom actually has some advantages compared to the store dressing room.

1. No mirrors. Does anyone ever look good in a dressing room mirror?
2. A misplaced yet palpable sense of ownership. This is my bathroom; I'm in it several times a day. I have a right to change clothes here.
3. The opportunity to imagine what the person in the stall next to me is thinking as the feet visible to them shed their shoes and socks.

It still feels strange and illicit to walk out of my office dressed appropriately, and back in looking like a slob ... or a student. But as long as I get to combine a workout with quality Archer time, I don't mind the momentary discomfort. Unless I forget my socks.

Just beachy

It was chilly and windy, but brilliantly sunny and beautiful at the beach on St. Simons Island during our visit. Here's a photolog of our many trips two blocks down Eleventh Street to the golden strand.



Is Cady Gray more excited about going to the beach, or being with her Papa?




Sorry, Papa, I think it's the beach.




The beach inspires frenzied dancing ...




... and running in circles.




Archer shared his non-eco-friendly "dune avalanche" game with his sister.




And he even tried his hand at Frisbie (actually the Aerobie Super Disk).




The beach is even better when you share it with your cool aunt and cousin.




Writing your name in the sand: a beach tradition.




The beach access path forms a magical tunnel enclosed by trees, inspiring contemplative thoughts.




This morning, Archer's cool teenage cousin -- an accomplished cross-country runner -- took him for a jog on a very blustery beach.




Archer kept going (and kept up a running commentary) for a couple of miles, despite the fierce headwind.




Master and pupil.




Everybody joined in for the home stretch.




A new generation follows in our footsteps.