Just making excuses?

To avoid no runs in two weeks, I went out on Saturday and did a quick 5 miler (lack of time and a persistent cough were making me set a limit). The weather was beautiful, and I was very energized after a great lunch adventure on the cliff facing the Eastport IGA.
Rob with our satchel of provisions from the IGA - purple carrot juice, a mango (which we peeled and sliced with a Metropolitan Museum of Art clip-on badge), and two deelish flatbread sandwiches that I've been craving obsessively ever since) - near the base of the ascent.
Chez G - the home of one of my colleagues. That's her standing beside the car.

On Friday I'd had every intention of running, but plans turned into a hike at Shackford Head, where we saw lots of wildlife tracks and even spied a fisher sunning itself on the rocks below us (we teased it relentlessly by tossing pebbles down, till we felt guilty and decided to leave it alone. Regrettably, I left my camera in the car). More running this week, hopefully. Between work, classes, and band practice with Alice, I'm finding very little time to get them in, but I know that once the weather improves, getting out in the mornings will be less difficult.

Back in the Saddle Again

Finally got myself out for a run yesterday evening in Eastport, where I've taken up partial residency. My friend Alice asked me to run there with her since she's trying to begin a regimen, and I was happy to have the companionship. While we were running around Dog Island, we ran into our friend Shelby, another runner. Alice broke off from us after a little while, and Shelby and I continued on, doing what may or may not have been a 3 mile loop. Either way, running with Shelby helped me keep a quicker pace, and she asked me if I'd be interested in doing a 25 K in New Gloucester, ME, in late May. I'm considering it now since I'm no longer doing a May marathon (because of Shelby's wedding, incidentally). With the nicer weather it's great to be out!

Same old thing

Feeling weird right now and using running as a means to redirect energy.
Got home and ran the same 9 miles again. I'll keep that up. The thing is, it's never seemed like that far. I've clocked it in my car twice, just to make sure. The timing seems about right, but the ease with which I run it is what makes it feel like half the distance. Not a bad thing.

Came back and went to the boys' basketball game, admittedly to watch my friend's son, Francis, play for the opposing team. I would've taken a win from either, and my school's team won. It seemed like victory was in the bag the whole time. I dropped Francis off at his house, went back home, did a massive load of dishes (bread-baking generates a lot of clean-up work to do later), started working on the trumpet, my instrument of the week, read a little bit of this crazy-wonderful book, The House of Leaves, and stayed up till 1:30 in the morning.

Niner

Today was far too nice not to put in a few miles. First I went out and shoveled out my mailbox that hadn't been getting mail for almost 2 1/2 weeks. Mailman still didn't deliver my mail, even with the effort I made. I wouldn't be at all surprised if I've been blacklisted for my outstanding negligence, but it had been too cold, and I'm too busy a girl to be bothered with shoveling out my mailbox. Ah well. I labored for thirty minutes, making quick progress as the snow was all starting to melt anyway. I almost was ready to call it a day, having given my arms a good enough workout heaving all of that heavy wet snow. My hands were shaking for hours after the laboring; slightly disconcerting, but I'll choose to ignore it for now.

I went out and did 9 easy miles through Pembroke. The roads were wet and criss-crossed with little rivulets of melted snow. The sun came out and all I could do was smile; after even a day of ugly weather, it seems like ages since the sun has shone.

I feel really good and now I'm ready to get some artwork done. Have a beautiful day!

Speedsters

So despite my laziness and not rising before the dawn to do speed work in Eastport on Tuesday, I got in a little of my own later on that night. You see, there's this seven year-old chick, Adiya, who comes with her mom to the Folk Group on Tuesdays, and she's taken a shine to me since I agreed to teach her how to play guitar (and willingly applied super glue for her extra-large navy press-on nails. That there was the real clincher; nail technician, I am not. Apparently our girl didn't take a look at my nails before seeking my assistance). During the group's five-minute bathroom/smoke break, Adiya, attached to my hip, accompanied me to the restroom. When we got upstairs, she wanted to race me down the long hallway of Powers Hall, the arts building at the University of Maine at Machias.

You picked the wrong lady to mess with, dollface.

We tore like white lightning down the corridor, me beating her by a nose. On the return trip she wanted to challenge me again, still under the impression that she had a fighting chance. That next time I killed her. The momentum I had almost sent me sprawling face-first onto the carpeted floor. Still, I beat a seven year-old and, for those of you unaware, kids that age are pretty quick. All day yesterday my quads served as a constant reminder of my victory.

I'd thought I'd get in a run this afternoon, but remembered I now have one more obligation to add to my schedule: bird drawing lessons from 4 till whenever (in this case, it was 7), then dinner. There's always tomorrow.

On how my broken-down car will only work as an excuse for so long

So yesterday I had big plans - BIG PLANS - to do another Saturday 10+-miler, but I was severely deflated when, driving home from Eastport, my car started to sputter as if it were out of gas (a feeling with which I'm all too familiar), but the tank was nearly full. None of the warning lights were on and, though I could use an oil change, it wasn't crucial. Right before I reached the reservation where I work, the car totally gave out on me, and I sailed over to the shoulder. I believe all of my hype about how great my car had been jinxed it. Don't ever count on anything; I, of all people, should know that, where automotive dependability is concerned. Fortunately, I now have a cell phone (thanks to a summer break-down in downtown Boston during the height of Red Sox game traffic that put me over the edge and up to the counter of an Amesbury, MA Verizon store. I'd gotten lucky that time, but knew that I wasn't going to have the luxury of a Cornwall's Pub telephone should things go awry on the barren and deserted Route 9 in Maine). So I broke out the celly and called up my buddy Alice (the woman who'd vetoed my there-and-back ski trip for a snow shovel), who was out to get me in under eight minutes (we need to work on that. It should've taken 4 minutes, max). We ran by the Mobil station to get some dry gas to see if that wouldn't solve the problem. There'd been a bit of rain the night before, and in my experience with both of my '94 vehicles, they don't fare well with the excess moisture. Dry gas was a no-go so Alice, for the second time in just over a year, loaned me her Ford Taurus. Now I can drive incognito for a few days.

While driving home, the light, spitting rain changed to a violent freezing rain, which then turned to heavy, wet snow. All in a period of five minutes. The weather up here really wigs me out. Needless to say, there was no way I was going out running in that mess. It was established long ago that I'm a fair-weather runner - no denying it. I got home, called my trusty mechanic, Bruce, and arranged to have him tow it back to his shop. He swung by to get my key as I was out attempting to uncover my mailbox from the snowbank (a botched job; the shovel I found appeared to be made of aluminum foil and was worthless for hacking into the ice). Anyway, Bruce is the best. He's quick, a man of few words, he's cheap, and I'd be willing to bet that he'd have towed my car even when it was nearly stranded in Beantown (for those of you wondering, the incident there in August was rectified when the WV, as my cars are wont to do, rallied and got me safely back to the Gulf of Maine the next day, hence the nickname, "The German Prize-Fighter." Lesson learned with that one: Never buy a car off of craigslist from a dude from Manchester, New Hampshire, with a labret piercing. That right there should've sent me heading for the hills, but at the time I was desperate. Will I ever buy a Jetta again? Perhaps. I just need to see a headshot of the seller before we spit and shake on anything).

So the car's in the shop, and I come in out of the cold and size up my apartment, which is in a shambles. It was a busy week, and when I'm not here a lot, things pile up. I tackled first the shower, whose walls become stained orange from the high iron content in my water. It looks like animals are butchered in there, but no, it's only where I bath. I with I had a before-and-after shot to give the full effect, but I don't. Comet is a wonderful cleaning agent, and costs less than a dollar. I'm certainly not advocating raising the price, but the current state of my shower might make a good argument. Stuff is a force with which to be reckoned. Then I hit the dishes that were tumbling out of my sink, did a load of laundry, vacuumed, peered out the window to blue skies that looked promising for an afternoon run, but thought the better of it when I realized how freezing cold it was. Guess what? Running in the cold is for the birds. I sat myself down on my new coffee table and commenced pickin' and playin' a few tunes to warm up for my 4 o'clock jam session with a few friends in Eastport (we did a shockingly good rendition of 'Summer of '69', courtesy of 13 year-old Francis. I was embarrassed at first, but ended up really enjoying it. I'm brushing up for next week on the few lyrics I didn't already know).

Today I made of for what I was lacking in cardiovascular activity in vigorous stirring and kneading, making bread. The first two loaves didn't work out (freezing yeast=bad idea jeans. Totally accidental. Terribly sensitive refrigeration system I have. And I was worried it was the smoke from the burning towel I'd used to cover the rising dough...). But the final loaf was a quickbread, and was thus not influenced by the ruined yeast. The aroma of the Dutch apple streusel bread baking in the oven is heavenly, and I feel like something finally went right today. I'll test it out tomorrow after a yummy dinner. Today's snow storm wasn't much; I cannot hope for a snow day tomorrow, so for the remainder of the evening, I'm content being seduced by the French new wave - Jules et Jim is a delightful little film.

Bonne nuit, tout le monde!