Winter Runs

The past few months have passed quickly and slowly at the same time.  Some days flew by without my remembering what exactly I did from dawn until dusk.  Other days seemed to toil away from second to second, measured almost in breaths.  I've been away from the blogging since Grandma passed away, but the running has been somewhat consistent.  Here's what's been happening:

I took an 8-mile run with my Dad and Mom in February (an unprecedented and rare event), and while many of our past memories of "quality time" involved some sort of external event, this run was an internal event.  It seemed particularly special because I could actually see and hear our relationships more intensely.
Running has a way of heightening the senses - moving the physical body repetitively for a prolonged amount of time will either dull the brain, or make you acutely aware of every little thing going on around and inside you.  I became acutely aware of how determined my mom was to end the run as soon as possible, and how supportive my dad was in terms of coaching my run.  I learned where I get my mental grit (Mom, insisting we press ahead quickly) and where I get my patience and endurance (Dad, pacing the strides and humming Michael Jackson's "Beat It" to get us through the last two miles).

Dad told me some great memories about his childhood as we ran through old Cincinnati.  Secret to that golf swing?  Holding his head still..compliments of my grandfather, who never ceased to harass Dad during a lesson by physically holding Dad's head between his hands while my father swung away.  Apparently this drove him nuts, but it paid off in recent kudos from a pro.
During the 6th or 7th mile, my dad mentioned that there were two things to do when the miles seemed endless: think of a song, and/or pray.  This tip came in handy this past weekend, when I finished the half-marathon in Queens.

Before I get to that though, a few highlights from the March sequence of weekend runs:

Running in three different states - New York, California, and Ohio.  Outdoors. Despite the chill, this was preferable to a treadmill!  There was never a dull weekend - I was somewhere new each time!

Traipsing through the hills of the Upper Rouge Valley trail at Rancho on a Monday afternoon, and having the whole area completely to myself (not a soul in sight!), save for two deers, rabbits, and a family of quails.  For those of you familiar with the views at the top of those hills, you can imagine how wonderful it was to not even hear another human.

Tapering last weekend with a 5-mile run alongside the Hudson River, feeling proud that it seemed like such a manageable, short distance.

Then, this past weekend, the final arrival of the half marathon.  I forgot how much mental work it takes to push the aching body to any speed faster than a jog at the end of the race, and was sorely reminded of the physical aftershocks while trying to descend stairs later that day.  The event took place in Queens, a borough of New York City, in a place called Flushing - more precisely, the park where the World's Fair was held.  You remember those two towers with the UFO-like cement rotundas perched atop, from the movie Men In Black?  Yep, that's where we were - running laps around them, and the Queens Zoo.

I awoke in the morning, not very excited about this race.  I just wanted it over and done with.  Part of me felt burdened, but I couldn't place my finger on what was particularly bothersome.  A long subway ride out to Queens, and then a search for the bag drop area and a bit of trekking around to find the start line left me feeling tired already.  I was pretty resigned during the beginning, explaining to Shannon how the crowd would surge at the start, then thin out, how we had to keep our own pace...as it happened, the crowd pulsed and we upped our mile time to 10:00 for the first 3 miles.  (Granted, we had been training at a 12:00 mile for three months).  That's adrenaline for you.

I had reminded Shannon repeatedly that if we were to get separated, it would be for the best, as we had to run our own races: I was so proud when she took off after 4 miles and finished in under 2:30!  I took my time, bonking out at mile 6 or 7, having to recharge with some GU, then employ that great trick, prayer.  For two solid miles, I was the most grateful person on that track.  I was surprised at how many things I could list, how richly my life was fulfilled.  It became a mantra: "Thank you for..."  Every breath became thanks, and I wasn't concentrating anymore on how tired my feet were, how sore my left hip was, or how icy the headwind was.
Then came the surge to the finish.  I had asked myself throughout the race, "What do I have to prove anymore?"  The truth was, I knew I could run this far.  In fact, I knew I could run twice that far.  But I had done this to prove that I could still do it.  So at that last .1 of the race, I somehow sped up and passed two people on my way through the flags.
Shannon was there to see me and we burst into tears, disbelief and relief that it as finally over.  I didn't really take stock of it until that moment: how long we had trained, how far we had gone, and how fast we ended up running on the day of the event.  I had averaged a sub 12:00 mile, and still had life left in my body to hobble back onto the train to go home.  We got limited swag: a green tee and a spinning medal.  (We skipped the beer garden party since neither of us wanted to walk any further than the subway stop.)  However, the long haul through the winter was the real prize - I am officially ready to conquer the Antarctic wilderness in my Mizunos.
Anyone training for a long-distance race should train in the warmer months.  Only crazies freeze their butts off for three months in order to run the first race of the spring season.

All in all, I learned that I'm still capable of running far distances, and I've found that I can run both inside and outside for long periods of time (and under extreme weather conditions).  But now that I've proved it to myself, I don't feel the need to prove it again for some time.  Shannon is eager to do another race, so I've agreed to find a 5K, and this time we can concentrate on speed.  Somehow, knowing the thing is going to be over in less than 30 minutes makes me feel a lot more optimistic about training.

Til next time, Marathon Fans!

The Sickness

It strikes exactly when it's not convenient.  I'm not sure where it came from or what caused it to magnify, but The Sickness hit me on Thursday night and has rendered me medicated and congested since then.  The worst part of all is that I have been coddling myself and have missed three runs so far.  Yes, the anxiety is killing me.  Yes, the thought of "what if this screws up my whole training schedule?!" has been running through my brain nonstop.  Yes, I have considered alternative forms of cardio - but my body has resisted wholeheartedly.

Consulting my Runner's World Women's Running Handbook, I am advised, under the chapter entitled "Overtraining" that I need rest.  Plain and simple.  The fatigue, low grade cold symptoms and lack of motivation are clearly present.  The trouble sleeping and slowing times were two tricker aspects that sneaked under my radar.  I assumed I just needed more sleep.  But knowing how much training I did last week, it makes sense I might have overdone it.

The hardest part about getting rest is that it's not plain and simple.  The constant nagging of "you should be running, you should be running" makes it difficult to get sleep.  And the deeper-seated fear of "your training will be incomplete, you'll never finish your race" is, I'm sure, contributing more to elevated stress levels than anything.
I felt guilty this weekend about calling in sick, about allowing myself to get rest.  It's not uncommon - the work mode around here is "go, go, go" so when I need to say "slow, slow, slow", it's easy to feel like someone is watching me and saying - "oh, taking the easy route are we?"  Bigger problem is that it's myself saying it.

Hopefully this Sickness will let up this week, at least enough to get me back on a machine of some sort.  The weather forecast predicts a warming up over the next few days, so I'm crossing my fingers that come Saturday I'll be running around outside in a short sleeves.   That thought alone is enough to lift my immune-system spirits!

Salt and Bricks

This week was a tough training week.  And I haven't even reached Saturday.
Following an outdoor trip last weekend that involved snow tubing off 4-ft high jumps, snowshoeing across frozen lakes, and shoveling snow out of a bonfire pit the size of a small New York apartment, I woke up Monday to a very sore body and an insane amount of fatigue.  No matter we had fed like hippos for two days - tromping about outdoors in the middle of winter will tire. you. out.
Luckily, Monday was a rest day.  Unluckily, the rest of the week were full-blown work/train/work days.
Tuesday saw the appearance of some nasty weather that made getting to and from school a marathon event all its own.  Tuesday evening, while reaching for my socks before heading to the gym, I realized I had left my shoes downtown at Shannon's after our Friday run, and thus had no athletic footwear to last me for 2.5 miles on the treadmill.  Substitute?  Shakin' it to some pop hits on grooveshark.com for about 30 minutes in my bare feet.  The sweat output was comparable, thanks to you, Bruno Mars.
Wednesday was an early start, a trip to the local 50-metre indoor swimming facility a few blocks away.   However, I had left my swim gear at home over the break, rendering me 0-2 in the workout gear preparedness test for this week.  I dug out a fashionable brown tanning suit and a swim cap proclaiming "Tis the Season to Swim!" and borrowed some goggles from the lifeguard.  Lucky I had a whole lane to myself and could dodge the inquisitive stares of neighboring swimmers; not only was I decked out-of-fashion for a fast-lane aficionado, I was the only gal there.
Later that night, having retrieved my shoes, I hopped on the treadmill for a quick 20 minute speed session.  After maxing out at 17 minutes, I recovered my lungs and took a quick nap before starting my late-night pubtending shift.
5 hours later, Thursday morning arrived and I was reaching for my snooze button in vain.  An afternoon hip-hop dance class toned up my hamstrings and a 3-mile run shortly afterwards forced me into an ice bath that evening.  As I sat in the freezing cold water with my cup of cinnamon tea and woolly sweater, I calculated how much sodium I had ingested over the past 5 days, and briefly toyed with the idea of opting for a salt lick to hang by my sink.  The event-heavy schedule of the week had rendered me powerless against smoked meats, cheeses, and the white shaker on the table.  The cravings I'm sure were a result of being hit by a ton of bricks...and all the physical endurance I was burning thorough from dawn til midnight.
Thursday night was another pub shift, and while I had every intention of closing early, luckily a gaggle of Serbo-Croatians with a hankering for gin tonics and house techno music bombarded the joint until I had to politely urge them to put their shoes back on and exit the bar at 2am.
4 hours later, I groaned in my dream at the sound of an alarm and literally rolled off the bed in order to get dressed.  I turned to coffee as a last resort to get me through the next 3 hours of physical and vocal work I had to accomplish at school.
I managed to take a nap on my coat on the floor of the hallway, and awoke sighing heavily at the prospect of what lay ahead this evening: a Chinese Cultural hour after-party that will inevitably last until 4am.  Chopsticks and censorship and tequila shots...oh my!  But, I'm sure I will want nothing more than to run 6 miles tomorrow morning in the icy weather.
I intend to load up on smoked salmon and Fritos to get me through the next 7 hours of work, and when I crawl (literally) into bed tomorrow morning, I will build myself a little brick canopy of darkness for sleeping and if you don't hear from me by next Wednesday, send some chocolate-covered pretzels.

The First 5

Friday was an outdoor run by the Hudson River - a five-miler, the first real long run outside and a chance to test the treadmill's accuracy.  Result?  Treadmills lie to you every step of the way.
(I believe that it has something to do with the innate mechanisms  governing the machine itself, but that's another blog post.)

Friday turned out to be a great running day - weather-wise, we had just survived a large snowfall and the streets had enough time to become salted and cleared (thank you Bloomberg) - but only just enough.  The streetlight intersections had three-foot tall piles of grey-spotted snow piled up between the crosswalk joints, so that you had to either leap over the curb to cross the street, or carefully tip-toe your way through some seriously icy sludge and over to the other side before a little orange hand signaled the return of raging traffic (traffic which presented another adventure called "Drive-By Snow Splattering").

Shannon and I started out running from the lower West Side with the turn-around point destination being 46th Street, where the Intrepid resides.  Though it was cold, we warmed up pretty quickly and managed to chat the whole way.  This supposed "easy" run day felt comfortable - I felt like we were running perhaps a 16:00-min mile pace, considering how it felt to be on the treadmill the past two weeks at a 12:00-min mile pace.  The scenery was interesting - winter running definitely provides some experiences one cannot imagine encountering in any other climate.  The sight of the frozen river was one pleasant surprise; the sight of a half-naked fellow runner was another shocking surprise.  Let it be said: distance runners who train in the winter are either crazy, bad-ass, or have a serious addiction.

While the outdoor run was refreshing, it did compare to the treadmill on one particular point - the mental grit moments.  Reaching the halfway mark, I was glad to have Shannon with me as we traded stories about what to do when you hit a block of mental sludge on the automatic indoor road.  We experimented with a few techniques right then and there, like acuity skills (high knees, grapevines, running backwards), re-focusing form (propelling from the arms or from specific leg parts), and motivational visualization (crackheads are chasing you, or perhaps there's an eligible-looking bachelor ahead of you).  Before we knew it, we had arrived back at our starting point, and in a mere hour and 3 minutes.

Now, you can imagine our surprise when we sat down to log the results and discovered that we had been averaging a 12:45-min mile.  The surprise came not only from the fact the run had literally felt slow, but the realization that the treadmill had been training us at a deceiving pace, albeit effective.
Earlier, Shannon had asked me what the value of doing an outside run was, and while I couldn't clearly articulate why we should be braving the weather, I didn't need to explain it by the time we finished.

It was clear to both of us that we have to keep an eye out for lying machines from here on out.

Treadmill Tolerance

First week down, ten to go.  I neglected to mention the race I'll be running is in April, it's in New York (Flushing Queens to be exact), and it's simply named "13.1 New York".

This week marked my return to the Big Apple, a return to East Coast winter weather, and a return to the musings one is prone to on a run longer than 30 minutes.  Leaving California also marked the imminent doom of being stuck to a treadmill for the next 10 weeks.  I had been ruminating over how and when I'd be able to get out of the gym and onto the pavement, and while my heart was willing, the ungodly cold froze my intentions the instant I stepped off the plane at JFK.  Hence, Thursday and Saturday were spent staring at a shaded window and a blank TV.  (There will be no television available on race day, so why rob myself of the opportunity to develop mental stamina now?)

Now, 26 minutes is fairly easy to sustain in one place.  But after 45 minutes on the treadmill on Saturday sans music or scenery, with one mile left to go, I strained to keep my mind off any and every little discomfort available to my consciousness.  I scanned to my right and left, skimmed over the dark silent TV, the lowered blinds, and a poster of the human anatomy entitled "Machine and Muscle Guide".  Muscle guide, yes.  Machine?  I pondered this for a moment, as the poster had no technical instructions involved, but did bring up an oft-overlooked idea - we are human machines.  Everything working in conjunction with an adjacent item of musculature to propel and retract.  I suddenly realized why treadmilling irked me so much.  Here I was: a "machine", running on top of a running machine, while staring up at a blank machine and checking the time pass on yet another machine, surrounded by fifteen other machines, going nowhere.  Talk about grounds for an existential crisis.

Running outside, or any where for that matter - where I can see the propulsion of my feet as the scenery passes me by, where I can feel the thudding of my heart and taste the exhalation of my breath in the chilly climate, this experience reminds me that I am more than a machine...I'm a human phenomenon. And a natural one at that - not a machine, not something manufactured to produce a routine event over and over again in the same movement ad infinitum, but a living, breathing, celebration of movement.
The main reason I love running, I discovered, was the celebration involved in the event.  Celebration of capability and of capacity, celebration of a natural phenomenon.
Running in place like a cog on a wheel hardly classifies as a celebration.  Yet, there I was, running  parallel to the irony beneath my feet, and I had three-quarters of a mile to go.

So I decided to celebrate.

I started with my left leg.  I concentrated on celebrating its very own capability to swing back and forth, and tread...and tread some more.  I repeated the celebration with my right leg.  Then with my arms, and finally with my heart.  The breathing, the pulsing, the movement - all of it caught my attention for just long enough.  The only thing that did not want to celebrate with me was my mind, which was still trying to bring my attention to the ache in my lungs and the fact that I was obviously going crazy.

And then the machine beneath me stopped.
And I clapped my hands and let out a small whoop of joy.

And today I went outside to run, regardless of the cold.  Sure, it was -8 degrees F with the wind chill.  Sure, I could barely feel my legs.  But it was glorious, it was celebratory, and you can be sure I had a smile frozen on my face the whole time.

One...and a Half

Hello Marathon Fans!

It's that time again.  My running clock has woken from hibernation and is ready to take on another epic race.  Given the constraints of weather (New York winter) and timing (last semester of the MFA degree), I've opted for a 13.1 race.  Just enough mileage to get that mild ego boost from begin able to say I've run one marathon...and a half.  Yes, it's crossed my mind that I could continue training beyond the race day for a full, but time will tell what the fates have in store for my legs this season.

I've been excited to get back to training, reading up on the knowledge I used to have about running techniques, proper injury prevention, and even some nutritional tips.  I've mapped out an 11-week schedule that should be pretty easy to maintain between and after classes, although I anticipate some long sessions on a treadmill here and there.

Today was the first training session, and as the fates would have it, the dog accompanied me for all of 2 miles.  The dog (who has recently built up more mileage in one year than I have in the past three years)  proved to be an effective pacer: since we ran in a new part of town, he led the way, in excitement over all the new smells and potential potty spots.  While I was trying to maintain a 12-min mile, his nose was keeping a 10-min mile.  I noticed the familiar ache in my lungs during the last .4 miles, which reminded me that the runs get longer, but never easier; the burn will be there if I'm consistently training hard.  The flip side is the mental grit that comes from working through the mild discomfort...another benefit of training that comes with the mileage.  I can't wait until I can once again run more than 2 miles without feeling like I've just been "hanging on for the ride."

And although the dog will not be accompanying me again on a run (at least not for some time), I will say that nothing inspires mental toughness like having to pick up dog poop mid-stride.

Week 19: The Saddle Situation

This week was Bike-Seat War Week.  For five straight days I battled a stubborn, sliding seat as I cycled up and down the West Side of Manhattan on my way to and from rehearsal.  If there's one thing you don't need on a long bike ride, it's a seat that won't sit still.
The battles commenced in the early morning and continued into the afternoons.  There was me, on one end (the top), and the seat, on the other end (the bottom), and a binder bolt device I shall name "Drunken Flamingo Metal Band", encircling the seat's post to secure the seat height.  Secure, my butt.  Whereas the encircling device should have been on my side of the battle (aka holding seat in place), it seemed to be drunk, and continually let the seat go whichever way it very well pleased: down, left, right...backwards.  Just like one of those croquet-stick flamingos from Alice in Wonderland - you think you've got it straightened out and ready to go, and the next minute you're floundering about like a clumsy fool and falling backwards off your bicycle while enemy seat escapes behind you and Drunken Flamingo Metal Band shrugs off its security duties.  Goodbye seat, hello post.
Luckily, this specific battle occurred right in front of a group of sombrero-wearing senior citizens assembled for a wheelchair picnic, so who's to say which was the more surprising spectacle, me or the festive elders?

As it turns out, the week-long war cost me not only public humiliation, but also my private dignity. Doing some research on seat parts and solutions, I quickly realized I had been battling myself; the seat and binder bolt were just victims of poor riding technique.  Apparently, according to seasoned bicycling experts, an upright bicycle does not even have a "seat" - those in-the-know refer to it as a "saddle" ("seat" is usually reserved for a recumbent bicycle).  The idea behind a saddle (or rather, under it) is that it is designed to bear some, but not all, of your weight.  The arms and legs bear the rest of the weight on an upright bicycle frame.  An amateur can be quickly identified by overly-bent knees (saddle being too low) - a sign that the legs and arms have tired and, as the rider has settled back from exhaustion, the saddle has accompanied the recline...in a downward fashion.  Suddenly, I'm riding with my knees in my chest, instead of gracefully extending the legs towards the rushing ground.  From ballerina to clown in three pedals or less.

Additionally, the Drunken Flamingo Metal Band - or quick-release binder bolt as seasoned saddlers call it - was hammered into submission during each battle - sometimes three to four times a day - as I manically clamped the lever shut, adjusting the bolt a little tighter each time...essentially stripping the bolt of its vice-like power with each ensuing battle.  No wonder it wanted to join up with the enemy forces - I was slowly torturing it.

Consequently, the seated battling left me with no other choice but to seek out a third-party piece treaty via the Christopher Street Bike Shop.  Like Switzerland, only they speak Cycle.
Lessons learned, but at a price.

Week 18: Back to The Big Apple

After an amazing respite in California over the weekend, landing in NYC on Monday was truly surreal.  It's amazing in this day and age, how quickly we can be in two diverse and distanced places within a matter of hours.  Even more amazing is the variance in lifestyle: it's almost like having a split personality - four days on being an irate, fast-paced New Yorker followed by waking up the next morning in California for three days of a smile on your face and a song in your mouth, compliments of Katy Perry.

Monday: Plane rides all day, arriving back in NY I had to do something to get the "airplane feel" out of my body - so I caught up on late-night television while on the StairMaster.

Tuesday: Yankees game (against the LA Angels) - a horrendous loss on the Yankee's side.  But, secretly, I couldn't be broken-hearted since the Ms. Bay Area side of my personality had recently experienced the superiority of the West Coast less than 24 hours prior.

Wednesday: Full blown sweatfest in the gym with the ADD circuit and suspersets.

Thursday: Elliptical in the morning, and jaunting around lower Manhattan in the afternoon.

Friday: In preparation for the night's event, an East Village Pub Crawl, I hauled myself into the gym for some cardio.  Then, I prepared my innards with appropriate alcohol-absorbing foods...like french fries.  There was a tornado warning when we departed for the pubs, but it cleared by the time we got out of the subway.  Oh the joys of being underground for an hour in air-conditioning.

Saturday: An early morning run to sweat out the residual beer, then a full day at the beach, playing in sand and surf, with colossal overhead waves, left over from the monsoon the night prior.  Nothing like diving through a crashing whitecapped tidal wave and having it pull off your bikini bottoms to get the whole self involved in a strenuous physical feat of recovering your dignity while surviving Mother Nature.  Was still amped up after we returned home, so I hit the gym again for weights and promptly passed out at 10pm.

Sunday: Rested all day with sore muscles and happy heart.  Couldn't sleep however - I think the early evening sessions of working out are the trick to having a good night's sleep.  At least, I'm too tired to do anything else and my body is screaming for recuperation.  Instead, I was screaming for some kind of exhaustion.

Next up: The last week of July.  Where did the summer go?

Week 17: I've lost track of time...thank God

Losing track of time means I'm obviously not living with any idea of what's coming next.  Some might find this disconcerting, but I say: Hallelujah!
Present concentration, restored.

(Had to start this post actually on Monday last so I could remember what happened!)

Monday: Workout with a friend - a new circuit at the gym that involved supersets...supersets being two strength-training exercises rolled into one smooth movement, like a lunge with a shoulder press.  A surprising amount of sweat cropped up all over the place...and continued well throughout the day.  An evening in Queens performing a staged reading proved very successful...especially the subway adventure out and back.  First, an evangelist assuredly pronounced to the Queens-bound passengers that Jesus was coming and "Anyone with two boyfriends...will not be going to Heaven."  The return trip was even more humorous, as waiting underground for the #7 train for an hour left me feeling like I had just paid $2.25 to sit in a sauna with my clothes on.  Funny, no?

Tuesday: A day with torrential thunderstorms, threatening the Shanghai Symphony and NY Philharmonic Central Park event.  However, it held off and we camped out under an overcast sky, listening with thousands of others to Bernstein, Tchaikovsky, and Gershwin until it grew dark.  Running early in the morning doing speed intervals wore me out...those supersets left me supersore.

Wednesday: Well, at this point, I forgot to write down what I did this day, so let's assume it was successful in terms of having fun and forgetting about time.

Thursday: Packing and running around completing errands before my weekend home.  Some time was spent in the gym too, I think.

Friday: Up early and on planes all day.  Walked miles through the CO airport on my layover to get some exercise and stretch my legs.  Hello, moving walkways, I'm traveling without your help.

Saturday: An early run with superfit, super-duper friend K.  After a night of wining and dining, the fresh CA air was almost too good to be true.  The bridal shower surprise turned out to be successful as well.

Sunday: A surreal day, with visiting the Farmer's Market, enjoying some time with beloved friend J and soaking up much needed sunshine (apparently I'm "pasty"), and being home...away from "home".  Did not look forward to the trip back to NY, oddly enough.  I think my soul has been needing some West Coast rest.  Prospects for returning were tempting.

Ironically, the losing track of time made me feel like I had never left California - it was so easy to slip back into the charmed life of a Bay Area resident - almost too easy.  It left me thinking about the future for a few days however, and getting back to the present would take up time next week....

Week 16: The Year of Fun

Walking home late one evening with some friends, I was struck by the idea of how much stress I had accumulated over the past year, and how I was still feeling anxiety over the remaining year of graduate school, the future search for a job, the future financial securities...basically concentrating so much energy into the future, that I was neglecting the present.  In fact it occurred to me, as I looked down at my summery flip-flops, that I had forgotten how to be present.  Here I was, listening to light-hearted laughter over the day's antics, breezing down Broadway under a full moon, surrounded by smiling, joyous people, and my concentration was only stopping in for a little check-up on the subject of conversation before jumping back into thoughts about what I needed to prepare for the next day.

I stopped myself in the street as a bolt of inspiration hit me and proclaimed to my friend Laura, "I am going to have fun. Everyday.  Starting now."  And with that, I ran towards the nearest scaffolding and launched myself onto the highest bar I could reach and gave a leaping split kick into the air.

(I honestly cannot tell you what came over me, but witnesses will testify that I had just imbibed a delicious concoction commonly known as "Bubble Tea"...known to induce glee and satisfaction within 15 minutes of digestion.)

Since that inspired revelation last week, I have stuck with the quest: A year of fun.  Everyday.  Something fun.

It's changed my life so far.

Monday: Recovering from the Fourth of July barbecue for the residents.  100 plus people, two charcoal grills, one social director in a sarong, and an evening of three fireworks displays from the rooftop.  Running commenced to cover the cost of the hot dogs.  Evening consisted of an inspiring presentation of a youth refugee film screening at the House.

Tuesday: The hottest day on record.  Decided to tromp about in the park at 3pm and sweat the heat out.  Funnily enough, I cooled off so much I slept like a baby that evening.  Also had to bid farewell to a great friend who was returning to the Netherlands.

Wednesday: Running in the evening to cool off.  Complete with a romp through some late-night sprinklers.

Thursday: Ice Cream Social and a mini-dance party in honor of the return of a beloved friend from the Czech Republic.

Friday: Party in honor of National Sugar Cookie Day.  Spent the day sauna-like in the community kitchen, whipping up some homemade cookies for the event, and then decorated the pub.  Danced and socialized til the wee hours of the morning.

Saturday: Energized from the week, went on a run and did some Rocky-esque log tossing in the wooded area of the park.  Then rode over to East Harlem to catch up with a friend and explore the neighborhood.  Nothing like Puerto Rican hoots and hollers to raise the self-esteem.  Gracias, papi, but no, I did not drop your heart in the street, nor will I bend down to get it for you.

Sunday: The World Cup finals.  Spain pulled through, though it took them long enough.  Rehearsal for a staged reading at Ripley-Grier studios made me feel like a real NYC actor.

Thus far, the commitment to fun has proved to be the best idea I've had in....well, ever.  Try it out for a week - seek out something fun everyday - and you tell me just how much it rocks. 

Week 15: Hot Fun in the Summertime

A heat wave has hit New York.  I'll try and describe the sensation of a heat wave.
Imagine waking up with humidity and 90 degree heat.
Rather, imagine lying in a pool of tepid water, with your clothes on, and taking breaths of stale, warm air.
That's what it's like to lie on your bed in the morning at 7am.
There's really no better motivation for not eating than excessive heat and oppressive humidity.

Monday: Stairmaster for 20 minutes.  Luckily the gym is air-conditioned.  Unluckily, the effect of a cold shower after a workout will not last for more than 10 minutes.

Tuesday: Yoga to the People - a donation-based studio that caters to the hip, broke crowd of deodorant-free students.  I kept slipping off my mat from all the sweat dripping off my body.

Wednesday: Walking around the city, sweating my armpits off.

Thursday: Rest day.  This means finding a cold, dark room and staying there for as long as possible.  My mini-fridge was a quick alternative.

Friday: Wandering around The Met for 4 hours - cold, airy, and lots of marble.  Perfect antidote for the weather.

Saturday: Cold, dark room search.  Unsuccessful.

Sunday: Organizing a resident BBQ - 100 guests on the roof, two grills which I sweltered over for four hours, and three different fireworks display from our terrace view.  It was like a day at the spa: healthy food, relaxing atmosphere, and a sauna.

This week: mission to find a pool.

Week(s) 10-14: New Regime

Yes, it's been a while. Yes, I'm going to condense a month's worth of exercising into one post.
Yes, it took some encouragement from friends to get back to the posting.
(Thank you, you-know-who-you-are.)

After a rather lengthy recuperating from the past year of school wherein they tried their best to kill us (death by rehearsal), I'm finally feeling somewhat rested.  It took me until now to settle down and convince myself that, as I awoke each weekday morning, there was not a pressing need to memorize something, translate an accent, prepare a character background, or rehearse that evening.  In fact, my body forgot how to sleep in until I force-slept myself back into the habit.  Yes, it took about a month.

However, I did not forget how to exercise, and in fact managed to overcome phantom-excuses (I used to be able to say I was too tired from rehearsal) and get myself to the gym, or outdoors.  As previously noted, I started a running group, and yes, I have been sticking to it, and yes, it did create a new regime for me by nature of inception.  Ironically, I seek out running on my own more often than I did when I didn't have a running group to lead.  In addition, the summer season gives me more incentive to be outside, hence weekend trips to the beach and/or mountains for various recreational activities.

So, what did those weeks of mental and dormant recuperation entail?  There was running, and ellipticals, some swimming, and some body-weight strength training (push-ups, sit-ups, dips, plank, etc).
Essentially, I've plateaued, since my workouts haven't really changed in the past month.
Yes, this became apparently linked to the reason why perhaps I haven't seen any changes!

But, change is just around the corner...I hope.

Another encouraging friend of mine once told me that I should increase either my workout a) intensity or b) duration, over time...in order to keep pushing my body to change.  It makes sense, doesn't it?  If you climb the same hill everyday, it gets easier over time and you adapt...and your body wakes up every morning thinking you're going to climb that hill - preparing for that.  You develop a habit, and a way to efficiently deal with the now-commonplace task...

Kind of like going to school everyday for 30 weeks out of the year and trying to get through it as efficiently as possible.  Waking up everyday knowing there's a hill to conquer, and you've developed a habit of preparing for that.  But this year didn't become a commonplace task.  In fact, it became rather difficult as the year went on...and yes, I had to work harder to cope.  I worked harder, and the changes happened mentally and emotionally and intellectually.  But, the change only happened because the tasks had become more demanding over time.

This parallel, however, also reveals to me that if I go full out too long without any breaks or rewards, I need a month to reset myself.

Which is why I'm taking this new regime with a little more flexibility.  I had forgotten why I set out to do this in the first place, and now, as I mark the 78-days-until-my-BMI-goal count, I remember that I wanted to feel better about myself.  But I've somehow lost track of how I feel about myself.

But luckily I'm aware now, and that's a change in and of itself.

Week 9: Set Back/Sit Back

This week was all about settling into summer, and (hopefully) establishing a new workout regime.  Turned out to be more like settling into hopefully establishing summer.

Monday: In a fervor of frustration at my lack of exercise from last week, I launched myself onto a Spinning bike during lunchtime and proceeded to sweat out every ounce of motivation over a period of 45 minutes.  I spun so fast that the pedals started to feel like tiny prison mouths on my feet.  That, combined with the raving barks of our instructor - who was NOT spinning, but pacing around on two feet - reminded me of the similarities I have found in the past with militant gym experiences.
The best moment of the day was realizing I spent my lunch break between my four finals in a healthy expenditure of stress.

Tuesday: Happy to have completed my second year of graduate school, I quickly caught up on the dormant sickness that had been waiting to attack for the past five months.  Confined to bed with a nasty head cold and sheer exhaustion, I dragged my poor feet onto the elliptical machine and then switched to running as fast as I could to clear out my sinuses.  I may have discovered a new workout motivation - the Breathe-Easy Routine.

Wednesday: Still fighting the residual sickness, I slept and slept and slept.

Thursday: Going into work, I did not feel like doing any sort of physical activity, but convinced myself to just do 10 minutes.  after 10 minutes, if I didn't want to keep going, I promised myself I could stop.  So, I hopped in the pool, and 10 minutes was all I did.

Friday: Nearly missed the bus out of the city to DC for brother's graduation ceremonies.  Walked all over 34th St area and then did a hotel workout upon arrival that consisted of jumping rope (mimicking the rope, of course) in one place until my calves wanted to fall off.  Worked up a nice little sweat doing that, and then did some sit-ups and push-ups.  Still, I am never quite satisfied with anything less than a 30-minute regime.

Saturday: Graduation festivities and tromping around everywhere in heels.  That counts for something on most days, except all the graduation toasts and meals made up for that.

Sunday: Cleaned house, in heels again (this wasn't on the original grad weekend celebration list), and literally swept up dust bunnies from the graduating seniors' apartment.  That and walking around everywhere surely added up to a pedometer reading, but nothing in the way of cardiorespiratory...unless you count the sneezing from all the sweeping.

And then, getting home late Sunday night, I couldn't bring myself to write about the week, as I sensed I had failed somehow.  I suppose the stress of completing my second year, coupled with the idea that I still have work to do, and there's no vacation I've planned for just myself...well, those things made me feel like I should just sit down and give up - or at least give myself a break.  I'm still down about the lack of progress I can(not) see, and herein I'm facing (again) my termination point.  This is usually the place where I give up and get extremely frustrated and refuse to subject myself to physical torment.
However, instead of giving up completely, I started a running group at the House.  That, i suppose, was a step in the right direction.  We'll start on Monday evenings.  Hopefully, the new workout regime will find a way to create itself.

Week 8: Nothing Doing

I literally did nothing this week.  There is a bevy of "shoulda-woulda-coulda"s running through my mind as I sit down to reflect on this week, but the cold fact is that I was unmotivated to workout this week and felt disappointed in my physical self.  It's been 8 weeks, and although my colleagues have commented that they notice I'm slimming down, I can't see it - neither in the mirror or on the scale.  I swear, the scale has not budged an inch, and my clothes seem to fit just the same.  The only difference I can note is that when I do workout, I feel that I surprise myself with my endurance and capacity.  Thus, I just couldn't bear to step into my shoes for a workout.

Monday through Friday were finals week.  This fact alone *should* have motivated me to blow off stress in a healthy manner, but I simply gave up the mental battle to drag myself to the gym.  I did walk a little extra during my commute, exiting one subway stop before my usual, so my walking back-and-forth each day summed up to about 25 minutes instead of 15.  Still, instead of patting myself on the back about this small adjustment, I just feel lazy and pathetic.  Although some trainers say to concentrate on the positive, to me, walking an extra 10 minutes each day (which adds up to nearly an hour over the week) is not enough.  It was something, but then again squatting down to sit on the toilet could be something too.  It surely doesn't replace a cardiovascular workout.

That idea, "not enough", is another hurdle I've been battling with outside my workouts.  I wonder when I will ever be "enough"...healthy enough, slim enough, smart enough, creative enough, artistic enough...the train is endless.  (I guess that's what my mom keeps calling my need for "perfectionism".)  However, I've discovered that I get demotivated by the thought that I might never be "enough" - and when trying to achieve a physical goal, this thought is enough to stop me in my tracks and sit my patootie right back down.  If I'm never going to be enough, then what's the point of chasing down an infinite result?

The resultant discovery is that it never WILL be enough, so I've got to find some other reason for doing it...namely, enjoyment.  This week, I reflected on the fact that I was unmotivated to workout, something I should be enjoying by now.  In my reflection, I found that I need to find more activities which motivate me because of the sheer joy I gain in doing them.  That's the quest for this week.  I know that I enjoy running (in moderation) and swimming (especially outside) and dancing (which I have rare opportunities to do).  So, I'll just have to figure out how to motivate myself this week to seek out those types of activities in order to counteract the perfectionism mindset and re-boot my joy of pursuing this task I've set for myself.

Week 7: Running Heaven

The weather turned great, then rainy, then beautiful, then cold.  Luckily, the alternating days of temperature allowed me to run during sunshine sans showers hours.

Monday: Decided to try something new - not working out on the first day of the week.  Result: I felt a nagging sense of anxiety all day, especially when contemplating how this day of rest might translate into a habit for the rest of the week.

Tuesday: Doubts allayed, as I got out running in the evening sunshine.  I was so ecstatic to be outside, I ran for a full 35 minutes, including hills.  I had my music on, and I literally felt like I was flying through the park.  I had a ridiculous smile on my face, and I was reminded of a lifestyle I used to have in California, which made the workout bittersweet.

Wednesday: Rested, as the rain was terrible. Plus a full day of school and meetings for summer job (I'm running the Programs at the International House!) made for a lot of trekking back and forth to various locations.

Thursday: Running again, and this time with a friend.  Nothing more motivating than running with a friend, and nothing makes the time go by faster!

Friday: Grotowski physical in the morning, and then a quick workout at the gym in the afternoon.  I've become bored with the machines, so I've started watching TV on them while I trudge along.  It definitely makes the time pass faster, but I feel better when I'm consciously tracking how the workout is going.

Saturday: Performances for class all day, and rehearsing.  Skipped working out in favor of moving sets around on stage and tromping up and down stairwells for four hours.

Sunday: Worked out in the pool.  Was really sluggish when I started, but once I started doing intervals, the time flew by.  Yes, the fast lane again.  It's getting easier.

I was mindful of my stress eating the week too.  I've been minding a lower glycemic index during mealtimes, resulting in less blood sugar spikes.  Helpful when I'm in late afternoon classes and trying to stay awake....

This week is finals week.  I'm already feeling the pressure of juries and final performances.  This semester, I learned 10 dialects, taught my classmates how to speak in a German dialect, performed on the main stage in two separate performances, won an Honorable Mention for an outside performance, perfected four different genres of songs, studied five different eras of acting style, completed six scenes and monologues, auditioned for next year's shows, and juggled a part-time job.  Everyday, I take it one day at a time.
This week: taking it one class at a time.

Week 6: Weak 6

This week was a doozy. I can barely remember the past 48 hours...not by choice, but by the sheer quantity of events that have transpired. And somehow I think I got in enough exercise to constitute a worthwhile post.

Monday: (?) I think there was some exercise in the form of cardio. Also had rehearsal until 10pm. Yes, there was an 11pm workout in the gym that transpired. I lasted about 20 minutes doing a circuit.

Tuesday: Early morning rehearsal and work. There was swimming after work. No Phelps, but since there were some pretty young (re: under the age of 65) swimmers in there with me, and since I was leading them in intervals for most of the laps, I felt pretty good.

Wednesday: Rehearsals, rehearsals, rehearsals. Everyone was freaking out about the auditions for the Fall production (slated for Thursday), and since it's Shakespeare, everyone's doubly freaking out. I was trotting all over the place, racking up enough walking miles to make up for the lack of gym time.

Thursday: Auditions day, dress rehearsal for the festival performance, and more walking around the city. Auditions were nerve wracking, and I had to blow off some anxiety later that night on the treadmill. Cardiorespiratory training is getting easier...which means I need to increase the intensity soon.

Friday: Callbacks. As if 3 minutes of panic-inducing judgement in front of a jury of directors and producers isn't enough, now we get to endure four hours of it. In the middle of this, there is a festival performance and a rehearsal. Every two hours, I was somebody else. I plopped into bed at 11 that night without bothering to unpack my bag or undress...because just spending time in your own mind can be tiring enough at the end of the week. Spending time in four other people's minds will render you incapable of doing anything except brushing your teeth and crawling under the covers.

Saturday: More callbacks. They were quicker and less painful than the previous day's session. Another performance, the final one, at the festival competition (we won an award in every category), and then the bomb scare in Times Square simultaneously. Tried to swim beforehand, but the pool was filled with a swim meet for the kids...substituted working out in gym with carrying all our set pieces and props downtown from the theatre through the Times Sq mess. Sweatfest.

Sunday: Chilled out, had more rehearsal, but felt better knowing that this week I don't have to concentrate on any outside projects. (Nearing the end! I can see the light at the end of the tunnel!) Hot and humid today, so after enjoying a candlelight supper ceremony at the House, went running along the riverside with the Czech opera singer. A good 30 minutes made me feel accomplished.

Mentally exhausted from these past few weeks, and more than ready for school to be over for the semester. A few more days until finals week starts, at which point I'll hopefully have enough steam to motor me through to the 17th. On the 18th, find me sleeping in the whole day and not answering my phone or emails.

This week: mindfulness of "stress eating"

Week Five: Time for Balance

This week, I cracked. Though I managed half a week of exercise, mental and physical tumult rendered me exhaustible and indifferent.

Monday: Rested. A weekend of traveling and running in two different states, coupled with a return to a city that, I believe, I might be allergic to equals Rest Day. Upon disembarking from the MegaBus at 28th and 7th, I promptly dissolved into sneezes. All this after spending 48 hours in the New England outdoors without so much as a cough. I blame the polluted air of the island. Isn't ironic how the word 'island' will conjure up images of restful beaches and swaying palms whereas Manhattan looks like a grey mud bubble?

Tuesday: Sought solace from the grey mud bubble in a run at the park. Since class was cancelled, I felt unburdened, and ran for about 30 minutes through cherry blossoms and new grass. During my cooldown, I was approached by a delightful Lab-mutt named Mishka, who licked all the sweat off my face. Some might find this repulsive. I nearly cried from delight, it made me that nostalgic for home. Had I the means, I would have packed that pup up in my pocket and spent the day having my chin licked off. Between the leftover high from the weekend running and the reconnection with the important things in life, I made a decision: I decided (during my surprise day off) that I will embark on an adventurous trip after I complete my MFA. The summer of 2011 will be dedicated to living in a foreign country and learning to surf. Truth be told, I'll have The MFA and since that's all I wanted to accomplish in the first place, why not seek out another dream goal? Re: seek balance. Pushing myself too hard these days results in me feeling like I'm failing (I know, I know, it's not 'failing', it's 'trying better'). Since I've found it impossible to silence my self-judgements, I'm going to take a break and learn something new (i.e. surfing), thus reconnecting with my gentler self - the voice that encourages me to think like a beginner and to relish imperfection. I've choked this voice out of my consciousness since being in graduate school, mainly because it's a cutthroat industry, and being kind and gentle on myself will not result in excellence, nor will it push me out the door to auditions. However, the cost has been high: constant anxiety, lowered sense of worth, and imbalanced daily activities. In short, I'm overdue for an extended vacation - one that can erase a 3-year scar of elevated stress levels. I'm pretty sure 4 months in Bali with nothing but a surfboard and a few books will cure me.

Wednesday: Back to the grind. I tried to find balance on the subway while juggling a 3-ton bookbag, breakfast, and heels. Why do I insist on challenging myself before 8am in the morning? A new workout was on the menu: the celebrity circuit. a short cardio warm-up, 3 cycles of alternating strength moves with cardio, and an intensified cardio set at the end to cap it off. I measure success of a workout in sweat these days. Since this one made me sweat profusely, I'd say it's a keeper. The quest for keeping my sanity this week revels in a small accomplishment: clown demonstration for Bring your Child To Work Day. Thursday will be full of red noses, ridiculousness, and miniature William Shakespeare figurines. Should I be worried that this prospect makes me feel like I've won the lotto? I'm starting to empathize with the performers who "run away with the circus"....

Thursday: Clown Day. We ran around with small red masks (aka clown noses) on our faces, in silence, while teaching small children how to act ridiculous. As if kids need lessons in harnessing their inner ridicule. After clowning, I went to try out some mattresses, on a whim. I nearly cried when I discovered the kind of rest I could be getting, instead of the "rest" I'm privileged to now. Perhaps I'm always exhausted because my bed is the comforting equivalent of a jagged, broken-down pile of granite.

Friday-Sunday: Trekked around NYC, in preparation for a performance in a 15-minute play competition festival. Saturday night was the performance, and we were selected to move on into the final round of competition. Stress levels were extremely high during the tech rehearsal, and then we skipped half a page of dialogue in the actual performance. The audience was none the wiser, however I think the playwright might have had a slight stroke. I was exhausted by the week's end, needless to say. I've got to find a way to be less exhausted...without spending $1500 on a dream bed.

Goal for this week: Fit in more days of concentrated exercise than this past week's.

Week Four: Is it Week Four...?!

The semester is drawing to a close and, appropriately, I'm in the most difficult stretch. I went away for the weekend to find my sanity. The highlight of the trip, besides reconnecting with family and friends, was reconnecting with my running.

Monday: Pool. It's getting easier. I'm in the 'FAST LANE'. This may sound impressive, but take into account that the other FAST LANE swimmers include a geriatric with flippers and a crack-head who calls himself Phelps.

Tuesday/Wednesday: These have started to be my rest days. Since I workout through the weekend, I find a need a mental break earlier in the week.

Thursday: Elliptical for an hour. Caught up on the news. I think Mother Nature is pretty upset wiht us right now.

Friday: Grotowski. Truly, this "workout" wreaks physical and emotional havoc.

Saturday: Running in a different state. Oh the glorious intake of fresh air! I did a circuit around the local playground: liners on the basketball court and calesthenics on the jungle gym. It kept me interested, at least. 25 minutes flew by.

Sunday: My surprise favorite. Running in the morning in yet another state (2 in one weekend), I was so excited by not only the perfect running weather (you know the kind: cool, with a hint of dew) and the crisp, woodsy air but also by the fact that I was OUTSIDE, I ended up running for an hour. It literally flew by. And around the half hour mark, I remembered how I used to love running. The way it feels when I reconnect with my torso and limbs moving on their own, drinking in fresh air like cold tea, feeling the blood pulse in sync with the rhythm of my breathing - I could have run right off the streets and kept going for days. It was the first time in a few months where I've had a quiet morning to myself to think and be peaceful on my own terms. I did not have to wake up that early for class or work; I woke up for me, and I had space and time to clear my thoughts. I found my sanity; it's at 6:45am on a deserted suburban street, overlooking some backwoods, listening to the river of my breath and the flow of my feet. Alone and divorced from the mill of New York's daily hubbub and my final, cramping stretch.

I can't believe I'm a month into this. I've felt progress rather than seen it. The ease of breathing after a certain amount of exertion, and the positive feeling before and after I exercise. I think after a month it really does become a habit that you start to enjoy. That's what I'd advocate: Give it a month, consistently (at least 3x/wk).

Goal for this week: More weights. And to hang on to my sanity.

Week Three: Reconfiguring

I crawled into bed last night at 1am, knowing that I didn't get the post up in time, but satisfied that I had carved out time to exercise this week with the hectic schedule. If last week was stressful, this week was burn-out.

Monday: A quick workout on my lunch break for 20 minutes. Not enough to fill my craving for starting-the-week-off-with-a-bang, but a much needed mental freshener for the rest of the day.

Tuesday: The day got the best of me and I didn't make time for exercising. I did, however, fill my brain with so much Shakespearean langauge that I felt as if I had run a marathon.

Wednesday: see Tuesday.

Thursday: Worked out for a half hour in the pool. Literally the only time I had, due to being in class until 10:30pm that evening. I thought, before I began my workout, "I am going to enjoy swimming. It's something I like, being in the water, so why not just have a good time?" And, miraculously, after killing a half-mile, I felt like I could have swam for another whole hour.

Friday: Jazzed by Thursday's mentality, I woke up super early and went for yoga in the East Village. It's my new favorite thing. After that, I faced Grotowski and, after an hour and a half of racked sobbing and physical exhaustion, all I wanted was to go to sleep. Which I managed to do around 11 o'clock that night.

Saturday: Spent the day in - a cancelled rehearsal left room for me to catch up on work and do some housecleaning, and around 3pm, I went on what I like to call the "Little Red Lighthouse Run". Starting near Grant's Tomb, I run up through Riverside Park to the George Washington Bridge - so close that I'm practically standing underneath it. And right at the water's edge is a little red lighthouse from the 1800s that is, though defunct, a historical landmark of NYC. It's not much taller than a regular house, and it's far enough away that a "there-and-back" run will take an hour or so. The weather was nice, and I was feeling anxious to get in enough working out to constitute a week's worth, so...success.

Sunday: A nice hour and a half at the gym - 30 minutes on the Spinning bike, and an hour doing weights - a "pushing" day. This is a new idea I picked up from some of the guys who are in there regularly: you can have pushing days or pulling days, and structure your workout based on those sorts of activities. I think there are two other sorts of days you can have, but I forget. Anyhow, it's a nice respite to go in and say, "What can I pull on?" for each muscle, rather than having to go and staple yourself to one machine or endure lunges yet again. Wokring out in the afternoons make me extremely tired by the day's end, so I slept well, albeit not enough.

This week, I really started to enjoy myself during my workouts: my heart wasn't thudding as hard as usual, and I was pleasantly surprised by the ease of Sunday's workout...it would not have been that easy a few weeks ago. I think it's time to bump up either intensity or duration...which means I must be making progress!
This week's focus: more weights.

Week Two: Where There's Will

Two old friends, Temptation and Stress, drop in for a visit. Actually, Temptation wandered in from the backyard as usual, and Stress somehow snuck in during the middle of the night.

Monday: How easy it would be to sleep in, I dreamed. Especially since it's raining, and it's Monday. The guilt of having to either a) write that I slept in and skipped a workout - or b) flat out lie about a workout - woke me up and forced me to get dressed. Stumbling into the gym at 6:15am, I did the ADHD workout: 10 minutes of cardio on three different machines. Attention-deficeit, yes. Hyper-active, no.

Tuesday: How easy it would be to sleep in, I dreamed again. Especially since it's raining again and it's Tuesday. "Was that thunder?", Temptation asked lazily from my bedside.
After a particularly grueling Monday, I deserved it.
I opted for the Summit Trainer at the gym that evening - like climbing a mountain, only without the fresh air...or scenery. (Watching two old Walkman-ed seniors jog beleaguerdly around the indoor track doesn't count.) 15 minutes on the Stair Master while waiting for the Summit Trainer, 30 minutes mimicking a mountain climb, then 15 minutes on the Upright Bicycle. Why do all these machines have names that threaten militant domination?

Wednesday: Stress accompanied me to most of my classes. Three assignments due (performances of memorized scenes or text that require technical process to be in place) and I missed a deadline for some paperwork at the House. I blame Temptation's Tuesday antics - if I hadn't slept in, Stress might have given me some space. By 11pm that night, I went in for a late-night ADHD workout. Definitely attention-deficeit (I was focusing on a long-lost pleasure known as TV), but more hyper-active than Monday: Stair Master for 10 minutes, Recumbent Bike for 10, and the ERG for 10 minutes to finish...all the while keeping the heart rate about 140. I was pleased with the interval training I fit in on the rower: every 2 minutes, I'd pull as hard and fast as possible for 10 strokes. Back Off, Stress.

Thursday: I refused to let Stress tag along for the day's activities. Vinyasa yoga played a nice part in allowing me to focus on my breathing, and re-center with my inner calmness. It also played a nice part in educating me about shoulder stands, and how the endocrinal system uprighted can solve all your health problems. I'm always mystified by the yogi health vocabulary, however. What exactly is "vitality"? And how is that different from "aligning your energies"?

Friday: Energized from Thursday's yoga, I trekked over to the East Village at 6am for some more Vinyasa at a place called Yoga To The People (it's an amazing establishment, there's one in SF if you chance upon it) for the simple pleasure of hearing the Tibetan Singing Bowl. Please try to experience the sound a singing bowl in person before you die. It's beautiful and rare. Hearing it live is a whole different experience. Sweating it out on the mat for an hour was beneficial for my soul, and then I trekked over to school and had a complete emotional breakdown in Grotowski class (see last week for description of this Technique). Bascially, I fried my CNS to the point where I felt more vulnerable than I have in my entire life...or maybe dregged up some vulnerability that I've been trying to mask for years now. Between the soul-fulfilling yoga and the emotionally-draining weeping I did all before lunchtime, I felt like a robot for the next 10 hours.

Saturday: Rehearsals all day and a meeting with colleagues = Rest Day.

Sunday: A journey to the Botanical Gardens in Brooklyn, followed by Easter Mass, and then work and five hours of rehearsal allowed me to walk over 6 miles during the day. I'm worried about the upcoming week however, and how to fit in working out to my schedule - every hour from 7am until 10pm is booked with either class, work, meetings, or rehearsals. Yikes.
On the upside, I received a great book in the mail today called "When Food is Love" and I haven't been able to put it down...it's already putting some things in perspective when I'm hankering for an eclair.

This week, I was successful in feeling better after working out. In fact, I found that if I could have time to put in two sessions of yoga everyday, I'd do it. And if you're sitting here thinking that yoga isn't as intense as a cardio workout, you may be right, but I challenge you to try vinyasa for an hour and a half one of these days and then we'll talk about different levels of rigor.
Stay tuned for next week. If I make it through and manage to workout at least 20 minutes everyday, I'll be okay with that.