November 25, 2017


We spent the holiday with family and friends and it was awesome.  E drove to my hometown (traffic wasn't bad at all) and back (traffic was 50% longer than the way there), and I am, as always, supremely grateful for his willingness to be the long distance driver.

We had a turkey trot on the calendar with friends for ages that we were looking forward to.  Unfortunately, I was not improving at the same clip as E, who just keeps getting faster with every additional week at home post-sabbatical (because for the first time in his life, he's working out 4-6 times a week and keeping data in a spreadsheet about it, and ummm... Nerds are motivated by data (in addition to other things), okay?) 

At the last Parkrun, I'd aggravated my left hamstring insertion/glute, so I'd done my best to keep training intelligently afterwards.  It was tough going -- it hurt, was obviously not great, and I didn't want to injure myself further, but it didn't hurt so bad that I couldn't go out and try something most days.  So, for about 2 weeks, the something I could handle was lots of stretching, rolling, and a weak effort at running with me calling it short or slow to protect my leg and butt.  Needless to say, these workouts looked really lame on the spreadsheet when compared against my aspirational training plan. 

Who doesn't love a hometown turkey trot?
Then, just as my leg was starting to recover, there was the green/yellow mucus producing bronchitis post-cold that I most likely got from the children at my Aunt's memorial (since many of the adults who attended and hung out with the kids developed the same symptoms as my sister's viral probe children).

In short, prep for the 10K was not *remotely* what I had on the plan.  Even so, I still headed out with a modest goal of beating my last 10K time.  It was not to be.

I went out by effort and tried to reign it in on the first mile, which I was pleased to hit around 10:15 without too much heavy breathing, but it quickly got harder from there.  My leg/butt started to tighten on the second mile, and as I made an effort to keep it reasonable, I started to slow below my target pace.  At some point after the turn-around, I got a *serious* side cramp unlike anything I've ever experienced on a run.  Oddly, it seemed like it could have been in my right intercostal muscles.  I had to stop, bend over, and dig my thumb between my ribs and then just breathe slowly, relaxing the muscle I was pushing against while walking slowly.  In all of my years of running, I've never had a cramp like this -- it was bizarre.  I walked and pushed on it and tried to relax, and finally, a little less than 2 minutes later, the tightness mellowed out and I started to run again, slowly passing folks who'd passed me on my walk.

At around 1 mile before the end, D surprised me by waving from the side and joining me.  She'd accidentally registered her son for the 5K (thinking it was a kids' 1K), so she'd done that distance with him to support him (he kicked butt!) instead of the 10K.  But, after sending him towards the finish, she'd decided to run out on the 10K course to wait for me and run the last mile in with me.  I was so happy to see her.  Thanksgiving, indeed!  Company on the last mile in a slow, struggling 10K is a wonderful gift. (E PR'd his 5K by 1'16" -- as he noted, he's probably getting to the end of his easy PR streak.)

Our holiday celebration was wonderful.  Sister hosted a party of 14 including E, mom, brother, 3 nieces and 1 nephew plus my uncle and cousins affiliated with my recently deceased aunt.  We set up a card table and people rotated through the 4 open seats to rip through a 750 piece puzzle in very few hours, which was very fun.

Brother showed up with a rotisserie machine and contributed a 6 pound prime rib roast to round out the meal primarily prepared by sister and mom and me of ham, mashed potatoes, gravy from ham drippings, stuffing, green beans and mushrooms, rolls, veggies, cheese, hummus, and charcuterie, salad, and of course too many pies (my mom bought rhubarb in Summer and froze it to make a rhubarb apple pie!) plus carrot cake squares  with cream cheese icing (cousin K for the dessert win!).

We spent 4 nights away from home for the first time since our sabbatical.  I woke and had that familiar (but now unfamiliar) sense of, "Where am I?"  "How do I get to the bathroom?"  I had it almost every day for a year, and now, we've been home, without much travel at all for almost 4 months.  It was a nice reminder of how homebound we've been and how thankful we are to return home to a place we love, where we feel comfortable, and where we can drive to share holidays with close friends and family.

Happy Thanksgiving!

November 17, 2017

Female Physical Strength Privilege

(Alternatively titled: Another Reason Why Girls' Sports and Female Physical Fitness Matters)

I currently have and at various points in my life have enjoyed all sorts of privilege.  And, I'm not sure if the Female Physical Strength Privilege I want to write about here matters or is helpful if you haven't had the same privileges I have.  I'd love for folks who have opinions on this to weigh in and educate me.

I, like many women, have been reeling and processing all of these public revelations about sexual harassment (which, duh, I have experienced) and sexual assault (which I've clearly experienced at least twice in the form of an unwanted and uninvited touching of my boobs through my clothes by strangers in elevators in completely non-sexual environments). 

So, I've had it pretty damn easy compared to most of my female counterparts.

I read so many of the #MeToo women's accounts and my heart aches for all of them, but in particular, the very real physical fear many of them obviously felt.  And I feel a little guilty, because I very rarely felt that fear as a young woman, (although, as I age, I must admit I am starting to feel it more often, not in a gendered way, just in a straight up I am not as strong or able to protect myself as I once was, way).

When I think of female fear of physical violence from men, I think of the very early lessons from my mother and father (and eventually deployed against my brother when we physically fought) that said, "If someone grabs you, you bite; you pinch; you hit the groin, the neck; you scratch, you elbow; you kick; and YELL, YELL, YELL!"  I was not taught to be fearful, I was taught to be egregiously strong and a serious problem for someone who tried to take advantage of me.

When I think of female fear of physical violence from men, I think of a practice soccer game against the boys' team who shared our practice field in my tweens where I aggressively shoulder checked a boy my age and knocked him off balance (just as I would have as if he was a girl on the opposing team) before stealing the ball and passing to my forward who scored.  It was talked about at school for a few days as a big deal and I realized everyone thought it was cool that I could do that, whereas I thought it was weird that they thought it was special.  We were 12.  Boys were the same size as the girls, for the most part...why wouldn't I shoulder check him?

When I think of female fear of physical violence from men, I think of my new stepbrother at the time, who had been admitted to the Navy Seals, pounding on the bathroom door while I was taking a shower when I was 16, demanding to be let in, threatening to break down the door.  I left the shower running, put my workout clothes back on, left through the side door out to the yard from the bathroom, scaled our back fence and surprised our neighbor by asking her to call 911 and then my mother.  I never feared for anything because I knew I could get away long before he ever got in (perhaps this was not a correct assessment of the risks, but it was the one I made).  I never had to see him again.  I did, however, cut off my long hair and rock a serious short "don't fuck with me" haircut that year.

When I think of female fear of physical violence from men, I think of the high school math teacher who handed the guy who sat behind me a magic marker and told him to put a dot on my forehead as punishment for falling asleep, and Robert (I was told) said, "Are you kidding?  I'm in PE with her, she will wake up and kick my ass!  Do you know how many pushups and pull-ups she can do? No way.  You do it."  (I slept without interruption 'til the end of class, and heard the story after the bell.)

When I think of female fear of physical violence from men, I think of the looks and occasional compliments I got from the male athletes in the collegiate weight room -- my strength to weight ratio was apparently impressive.  From this feedback, I *knew* I could use my body in a way that demanded respect.

When I think of female fear of physical violence from men, I often wonder how awesome it must be to be *really* fast as a runner (I am not).  I have, however, outrun a few dogs and other situations, which was wonderful, and I can only imagine how safe you must feel in your own body if you are Desi, or Shalane, or Kara, or Lauren -- my "come at me mother fucker, I'll kick you!" has nothing on their, "come at me mother fucker, you can't catch me."

When I think of female fear of physical violence from men, I think of realizing that I *loved* to work with the speedbag, punch and kick the heavy bag, and eventually spar when I took up Tae Kwon Do.  I realized that I *loved* to throw hard punches and kicks and occasionally land them against opponents who were much more skilled than me -- the blows they landed usually didn't carry as much force as mine did, and the sucked in breathe and surprise at a punch or kick that fierce from a short female orange belt made me feel powerful.  It was oddly addictive.

When I think of the stories of women dealing with sexual harassment in the workplace, I think of the time my boss in my early 20s made a very suggestive and inappropriate comment about my body at an after-work party and I kicked him in the chest with my knee high boots, using the Tae Kwon Do to throw him back in surprise.  I reined it in so as not to really hurt him.  But there were hoots and hollers and claps, and all the men (and most of the women) in attendance made it clear they respected me for standing up for myself.  For a long time, I felt like I was an equal.  And then at some point I realized how fucked up it was that the only reason they respected me was because I had made it clear that I was the rare women in the situation who could and would kick my boss's ass if he kept up the bad behavior.  If I was a dude, I'd probably have been fired for what I did.

In hindsight, when I think of women fearing violence from men, I think of all the times I waited alone at busstops in sketchy neighborhoods.  Or the time I was followed in Bordeaux after getting in on a 1 AM train and was asked if I wanted to be in "un film" as I walked home, but I just walked quickly away, down a one way street the wrong way and then another, heart racing, ready to sprint, but comfortable that I would be okay.  In all of these situations, I felt that worst case scenario, I could hit, punch, kick, run, etc.  It wasn't my first choice.  In fact, usually I felt quite stupid for taking unnecessary risks, but I always felt physically safe in my body.  I knew how to use it.  I could make it a weapon if necessary. I'd been playing sports and pushing my body for years, and I knew those dudes who saw me simply as a 5 foot tall woman had another thing coming.  Of course this sense of safety is ridiculous, a gun or other weapon or large human trained to fight obviously would have prevailed.

But, I do think that part of the reason I haven't had as tough of a time of it as many of my female counterparts is that I was raised to believe and have sought out activities that confirm that I am STRONG.  To this day, I know that if confronted, I can make efforts that will physically defend myself and will do so more than most people expect.  I have been told that the physical confidence I have speaks volumes and makes me seem much larger than I actually am.

To be clear, none of the situations I am describing involve career pressures (except the boss I kicked in the chest, but I *knew* that I would be buying myself serious mad credibility in the patriarchy of my workplace before I kicked... it was *good* for my career to take him down a notch and call out his inappropriateness in the pre-established professional framework of corporate folks and salespeople where physical strength and aggression was something to be respected.)

I am not positing that if only women were "physically stronger" or "more physically aggressive" we'd avoid the abuse of power by men against women.  Obviously, the structural power norms where men have more power on average than women exist in many realms, including the physical.

But I am saying that one of the big privileges I've enjoyed in my life is that of being a physically strong female.  I'm grateful for the insulation it's given me from many fears my fellow women have experienced.  And, I would argue that it's a dang good reason to put young girls in sports and let them get to know how to use their bodies with fierceness and force, if necessary.  

I don't think it's the only solution, and I certainly don't think it's the best solution, but I do think there are a bunch of people who would think twice before touching a woman inappropriately if they knew that the likely outcome was that she was going to quickly reverse punch back into the crowd and connect with a groin when they stuck their hand up her skirt (Confession -- I did this at least twice in my 20s in crowded clubs.  The guys moved their hands off my ass very quickly.)

And this is where it gets very real for me.  Because as much as I've felt safe and protected by my physical strength, as much as I have physically protected myself and taken comfort in it -- those aforementioned boob grabs in elevators? The two times I'd say I was openly sexually assaulted in a completely non-sexual environment?  I didn't do anything. 

One, because I was in Egypt and I'd already been subject to enough cultural WTF since my arrival that it had been made very clear to me that this society considered me property of the male I was traveling with, and after having been surrounded on the metro and hissed at by a bunch of men, I somehow lost my physical sense of power.  Without it, I couldn't do the math and realize that I could totally have taken that skeevy Saudi* dude in the hotel elevator who, after greeting me in English and trying to make me feel comfortable with English chit-chat in the foreign environment, subsequently grinned and grabbed my boob with a "what are you going to do about it?" look.  I did nothing.

Two, because I was at a conference to get certified for a professional skill I really needed and I was so shocked that a fellow professional would reach over, in my own country, in my own culture and grab one of my boobs with the shrugging "it's not my fault" look accompanied by him saying, as if he was actually sorry, "I just had to know if they felt as good as they looked."  It happened so fast.  He did it right before we got to his floor.  I'd like to think that with more time alone in the elevator I would have done something, anything, to assert control over my body.  But the truth is, I didn't.  It wasn't fear.  It was shock.  And a desire not to make a scene at the professional event where I was getting certified.

So, I guess the take home I have from all of this navel gazing is that sports and physicality are very good for girls and women because:

- it makes them feel physically empowered, which makes them look like less of a desirable victim, and actually makes them less likely to *be* a victim

- it makes them feel very comfortable making a scene in anything that feels like a physical contest, because they have lots of practice in physical contests, and frankly, real physical danger is a physical contest

But, after much reflection, the sad honest conclusion I've had to come to in my own personal experience, is that the Female Physical Strength Privilege, while awesome, is not strong enough to overcome the professional pressure not to make a scene unless you've already decided that the scene will earn you professional credibility or at least won't harm you.

*I reference the Saudi nationality of the dude in the elevator because I think it's important to note that while I had a very difficult time with gender roles in Egypt, when it comes to actual aggression, I was only hissed at and yelled at by Egyptian males.  While I felt like the property of the friend I was traveling with, I was *never* touched by Egyptian men, there was some sexist safety in being my male companion's property that the Egyptian males respected.  Perhaps if I was in an elevator alone with both Saudi men and Egyptian men and none of them knew I was traveling with a male companion I could run a double blind study, but Egyptian men never got on the elevator except when I had my travel companion with me, so I only have my one skeevy Saudi dude who proudly self-identified as Saudi before grabbing my boob as a data point.

November 12, 2017

I Have a Right to Do Better Tomorrow

Every time I get a chance to run here, I feel so very alive and blessed.
This was a tough couple of weeks, but they were good.

This week's Crissy Filed ParkRun crowd.  Such a great community event, 
and a comforting way to start the morning of a family memorial service.
We had the big memorial for the unexpected death in the family.  All of my cousins on one side came, as did all of their children.  It was the first time we'd all been in the same place since the last three additions to the family had been born and it was wonderful. 

The Niece and Nephew *LOVE* Guito.
Of course the reason we were all gathered was sad.  But it was still so lovely to be together and share the sadness of our loss while smiling and laughing with one another and the next generation.

Check out that handsome man and his sub 9 min/mile PR!
Workout wise, I'd needed to dial it back a bit in the face of the emotional demands of the family stuff.  There were many days where I headed out for X miles and at X/2 just started walking, teared up, and tried to decide whether to turn back or stay out for some run-walking to get some additional mileage done.  Even so, over the last two weeks, I still managed to pull together 2 yoga studio sessions that left me sore and suffering for days afterwards, 2 decent track workouts thanks to the running group, one pseudo long run of 5 miles, and a few of the pre-described weird failures of the planned workouts that still resulted in some semblance of decent stuff totaling 31 miles for one week and 20ish miles this week (Note: I count a bunch of walking -- each yoga day involves 3 miles round trip walking to the studio on top of the torture time in the studio, and I also have my fancy walking treadmill at my desk).

Yet another entrant in the series titled: 
"Awkward Finishing Photos in Front of Gorgeous Views" 
Saturday, E and I returned to our beloved Parkrun.  I thought I'd forgotten my Garmin (I hadn't, but didn't realize it 'til we got back to the hotel), so we went out by effort and after about 1 mile E took off to pick people off and PR by 1 minute.  I did my best and was pleased to cross the line 1m24s faster than 2 weeks ago. 

Finally, a decent run in my log that has a single digit minute per mile time.  Sure it's only 9:55/mile, but progress is progress and I'll take it.

Thursday's roasted butternut squash and potatoes in prep for gnocchi.
Some of this improvement is definitely due to C's shoestring incident during last Parkrun, but most of it is due to increased fitness and digging deeper at the end as I passed a woman with 1/3 of a mile to go and I could hear her breathing and footfalls behind me for most of that last bit -- amazing how motivating the human competition factor can be.  It hurt to push at the end, but I was willing to hurt to avoid being repassed -- totally arbitrary, but good and fun, nonetheless.

Gnocchi dough, all peeled roasted starches kneeded with an egg and flour.

Sunday's recovery run was a non-starter.  I've been nursing a tight glute/hamstring insertion for a couple of weeks and Saturday's race followed by lots of car-sitting meant that the planned long slow run turned into 1 mile of run-walking and lots of rolling and stretching before cooking E's birthday dinner.  I hadn't made gnocchi in years.  But it was his request, so that's what I was doing.

First layer of gnocchi for the fridge, 3+ layers later at 1 AM, I called it.
Due to weekend travel obligations, I roasted the butternut squash and potatoes on Thursday and made the gnocchi that night after a networking event (I was up 'til almost 1 AM rolling and cutting).  They kept in the fridge 'til Sunday, when I finally boiled them and served them under a homemade 3-meat bolognese with a side of Brussel sprouts.

My aunt's memorial service was full of tales of her feeding and otherwise nourishing people, and it felt very right to feed E's friends to celebrate his birthday after we celebrated her life. 

Pork, Veal, Beef Bolognese cooked down for 3+ hours.
Also, both of my cousins who were her children gave amazing speeches at her memorial.  Several of the things they said stuck with me (like supermommery involving treats for sports teams magically delivered to trunks of cars in high school parking lots, or how the last thing Cousin D's mom taught him was how to die like a BADASS).  But, the one thing that stuck with me the most was when my cousin D said, "And once, after she did something that disappointed herself, she said emphatically, 'I have a RIGHT to do better tomorrow, your dad taught me that.'"

So, in honor of my aunt (and my uncle and cousins and all of us who lost her), I'm going to take that one to heart and try to remember it whenever I have a day where I don't do as well as I could (every day?). In my relationships. In my mental and physical health.  In running. In everything.

Onward. To walking and stretching and rolling today and hopefully running better tomorrow.

November 4, 2017

2017 Books, part 2

In the last 6 months, I've visually read just 5 books:

 Cryptonomicon  Neal Stephenson I started this in early 2017 -- the parts that take place in Manila were interesting to read while we were there.  It took me quite a while to get through it all, but eventually I did.  It was poppy and fun and entertaining.  Typical Stephenson.  
 Sicily: An Island at the     Crossroads of History  John Julius Norwich Sicily is the island that looks like a triangle that is about to be kicked by the boot of Italy into Northeast Africa. It's been a naval stronghold and strategically interesting target throughout history.  This book was wonderful in helping to understand just how complex its history has been.  The author is a delightul gentleman who wrote the book in his 80s after a lifetime of classical and modern history study.  At points, he'd break in and say things like, "Now, I'm sure you all know your Roman history, but just for a quick refresh, here's a quick ten page summary of all of the things that happened in Roman History that are relevant to Sicily."  Only with better words and more adorably British.  And, as he probably knows, most of us don't know our Roman, Greek, Carthigian, Ottoman, European, etc. history remotely as well as he does, but it's all relevant to this fascinating island that has been conquered and ruled by almost every powerful regime within several thousand miles of it, so he gamefully summarizes the relevant stuff and tells the sad tales of plunder, neglect, and survival of the Sicilians.
 Quicksilver  Neal Stephenson I'd read this one a decade or so ago.  I started it again after Cryptonomicon in the hopes that this time I'd like it more and possibly want to finish the whole Baroque cycle trilogy.  It immediately reduced me to averaging less than a page a day.  Still working my way through it.  Like Cryptonomicon, it's entertaining, has fun historical references, and is generally a good time.  But it's not the type of book that pulls me in and makes me read instead of doing other things I should be doing.  This is not necessarily a bad thing.
 The Almost Sisters  Joshilyn Jackson I read this in South Carolina.  I enjoyed it and thought it was a well-done story set in the South about facing normal problems (unexpected pregnancies, divorce, unruly teenagers) in the daily soup of raciscm.  I liked it more than all of the other people in my book club, most of whom felt that the treatment of the race issues was too light (I thought this was absolutely to be expected for a story set in the south) and that several of the fundamental plot points were too unbelievable to hang together.
 Homegoing  Yaa Gyasi This collection of vignettes tells the tales of two bloodlines originating on the Gold Coast of Africa (Ghana, today).  It starts with tribal warfare, kidnapping and enslavement of the captured and moves through the institutionalization of the slavery trade by the British and the Dutch with the support of various tribes.  One man walks away from a lucrative family business in slavery to become a "man with no name" in a village far away.  His life is very hard, with starvation, poverty, mental illness and loss that is experienced by many of his descendants as well.  Another bloodline follows the slaves sold to Americans and their trials and tribulations through slavery, living as freemen, being imprisoned after the war and working in the mines, and more.  This is not an easy to read book, but I'm very glad I read it.  It was very educational, but also real and quite depressing.  As one of the members of my book club said, these characters are all very flawed humans in very shitty circumstances.  You don't want to be friends with any of them.  And of course you don't.  Because flawed humans in shitty circumstances do shitty things.

In the same time period, I've listened to 18 audiobooks.

Maisie Dobbs books 2 -13 Jacqueline Winspear With each additional book, I came to appreciate the characters in this series more and more.  Set during WWI, afterwards, during the Spanish Civil War and briefly during WWII, I appreciated all of the historical details behind and around the fiction.  The mysteries in each book are not formulaic -- they are each quite different, with Maisie playing differing roles ("pyschologist & investigator, British Intelligence officer, intrepid traveler searching for meaning") in each one.  The character of Maisie always remains somewhat humanly unfinished.  Each new event in her life sparks additional changes that make her even more relatable.  She's good, but never perfect, and I would love to be her friend.  My goal was to find another series I could immerse myself into, like the Gamache series, and I succeeded.  In many ways, this series is more expansive than the Gamache series given the breadth of time and various locations that it covers.  Obviously, I enjoyed them all, as I devoured them and now I must wait until the next one is released next year...
Glass Houses (Gamache book 13) Louise Penny One of my favorite books in this series so far.  The concept of the Spanish Cobrador (shame-based debt collector who just follows people around in a costume) is a perfect anchor for a mystery. Gamache takes actions that are questionably off character for him and everyone moves slightly off their historical character norms as a result.  The entirety of the Quebequois surete is at risk more than it's ever been, but, per the usual, it's all wrapped up and finished neatly in the end.  (Sigh, no predicted date for the next book...)  
Born a Crime: Stories from a South African Childhood Trevor Noah Definitely one of those books where an audiobook adds extra dimension because of the various foreign languages and accents that I could not hear in my head if I visually read.  Trevor Noah's life is extraordinary, and these stories are funny, but also terrifying when considering how humans have treated other humans in South Africa during our lifetime.  I also definitely learned quite a bit about South Africa and South African history from this, which was a wonderful benefit. And, obviously, this book is hilarious, which is impressive given the dark content of many of the stories.
Elon Musk: Tesla, SpaceX and the Quest for a Fantastic Future Ashley Vance We've been fans of Ashley Vance's journalism for a long time.  And we have several friends who work for Elon's companies.  Elon is a bit of a character, and this book did not disappoint.  He's over-the-top.  Delusional at times.  Obviously on the autism spectrum.  But also, very driven.  And a big dreamer.  I found myself liking my idea of Elon more after this book, which was a big surprise -- I kind of assumed I'd learn more and like him less.  Also, oddly the second book on our US road trip about a person from South Africa, so some additional South African historical lessons were learned and others were reinforced or shared from a different perspective.
The Girl With the Lower Back Tattoo Amy Schumer I felt like I knew Amy Schumer from her very open comedic performances.  But this tender, thoughtful, honest book of stories showed me that I definitely didn't understand her even remotely well.  The comedian's performances are a caricature, but the real human comes through in this book, and she is much, much more likeable, in my opinion.  If you already like Amy's humor, I'll bet you'll love this book.  But even if you don't, you may find that her perspectives on feminism, living a good life, family relations, sexuality, body image, gun control, and money and class issues in America are very intelligent and interesting.
The Cuban Affair Nelson Demille I'd read The Gold Coast, by Nelson Demille, years ago, on the recommendation of my father in law -- I'd laughed out loud on multiple occasions.  I'd also enjoyed the General's Daughter in the mid 1990s. So when I saw that there was a new Nelson Demille book on the NYT bestseller list, I figured I'd give it a try. If you like thrillers woven with research about history and international norms, this book is guaranteed to make you happy.  Mr. Demille went on a cultural trip to Cuba to research this book and wrote a curmudgeonly version of himself into the story -- gotta love the self-deprecating humor.  His explorations of the tensions between the Cuban-Americans and the Castro regime are informative and fascinating.  His very prescient assumption that *something* would likely happen to stop the thawing of relations between the US and Cuba because it was in the best interest of too many powerful organizations to maintain the status quo is eery.  And, of course, as you'd expect, it's a fun, light, fast-moving thriller with lots of action, a little sex, and just good old fashioned espionage and intrique.
The Bourne Identity Robert Ludlum I'd read all of the Bourne books in high school and I'd adored them.  E hadn't ever read them, so he did so during our Sabbatical year, and he laughed.  He laughed because I love literature, but I also love adventure and thrillers and I'll put up with less than eloquent language for a good plot.  The Bourne books confirmed this for him.  He recommended that I should go back and re-read them, and when I learned that the same voice actor who read The Cuban Affair had read The Bourne Identity audiobook, I decided to go for it (also Audible was offering the first two Bourne books as 2 for 1).  It's been an enjoyable walk down memory lane.  So much was changed for the screenplay that in many ways, the movie isn't even remotely the same story as the original book, which was published in 1980. At a minimum, think more smoking and less technology.  Interestingly, Marie is a much more fully-fleshed out character in the book, with unique skillsets that are crucial to Bourne's survival, vs. the damsel in distress they created for the movie character.  And, of course, I'd forgotten just how francophile the books are, which, no doubt, is part of the reason I fell in love with them in the first place.  Listening to the audiobooks and hearing the French dialogue (which is usually pronounced quite well by the narrator) is a bonus I enjoy every time it happens.

November 2, 2017

No Guarantees

I'm dealing with an unexpected death in the family.  Last week, I almost got hit by someone running a red light while I was crossing the street in a cross walk with a walk sign illuminated.  The riskiest thing most of us do is go on the roads (on foot, bike, or in the car), which most of us do everyday.

There are no guarantees.  And it is so sad.  But, we are alive.  So I've been trying to do my best to do a good job of doing that while I can.

Running has been tough.  I've wanted to go out and hammer, but a couple of times, I just couldn't.  I find that randomly, I am depressed, possibly even teary, and I have to stop, and walk, and let myself mourn in an easier less demanding space/pace.

So, I've been giving myself the freedom to do that for a couple weeks.

And yet, I ran some intervals at track this week in the sub 7 min/mile pace for the first time in 2ish years.  Sure, they were 200s, but still... PROGRESS!

I've got 3 weeks 'til a 10K turkey trot, then a good 10 week cycle 'til the Kaiser Half Marathon, which will be my 50th half marathon, but my first one in 20 months.  The distance seems a bit daunting since I haven't done anything longer than 8 miles in the last few months, but I'm looking forward to changing that.