What's Going On?

Sometimes stories or people come into your life and they make you sit back and wonder if you're doing the right thing with your life. Tonight I had this experience. In the one evening, I crossed paths with a story that mad me sad, and a person that made me want to high five everyone I met on the way home.

I remember the first time I heard about "Death of a Salesman". I was going through my big Marilyn Monroe phase and I had been reading about her marriage to Arthur Miller, and the play that had won him the Pulitzer. But it wasn't until years later that I went along to a performance of the play with my friend, Groovy Gem. I recall that the intensity of the performances mesmerised me. As the lights went down on Act 2 I blinked, and tears just poured out. Groovy Gems and I workshopped it a bit afterwards and we were equally depressed, angry, but most of all I think we were just very sad for all the characters.

So you've got to wonder why I might put myself through that emotional drainage again tonight. Well we're a few years on now and I'm a little older and a little wiser, and frankly I thought it was about time I gave the play another shot. Oh please, who am I kidding?! This time around, I'm in New York and the play is in previews on Broadway. Not only that, but it stars Oscar-winner Philip Seymour Hoffman and the spunky new Spiderman himself, Andrew Garfield. My seat was in the fourth row of the theatre, so I was front and centre for all the action. As with my first exposure, this production of "Death of a Salesman" had me riveted from start to finish. Hoffman played Willy Loman with all the desperation, delusion and despair that I remembered. But I think it was Andrew Garfield who surprised me the most. His portrayal of Biff was so strong and raw that I couldn't look away. When father and son have their breakthrough in Act 2, my heart broke for him and I just wanted to get on the stage and hug it out. No tears this time, but when I joined the audience in the standing ovation at the end, I realised I was clammy and worn out. The play had sat so heavily on me tonight that I couldn't decide if I needed a shower or a stiff drink, or both.

I ended up having neither, but I thought about the play the whole walk to the subway. I found myself getting really mad at the characters who had lied to themselves, and each other, throughout the whole story. I was frustrated at them, sad for them, and irritated that even after all this time, Miller's story can still resonate with me. So I was distracted when it came to putting my Metro card in the machine, and when it repeatedly jammed, a tourist offered to scan it for me. Mortifying.

It wasn't until I got on the bus that my mood lightened. But it didn't have anything to do with heading for home; rather it had more to do with the elderly gentleman who moved over on the seat to make room for me. Thanking him quickly for his kindness, he cautioned me that he's not always so kind, and he gave me a mischievous wink. Tapping his hands on the seat in front of us, Old Man leaned over and complimented me on my glasses. He admitted he had fallen in love with me a bit. Oh dear, thinks me. Then the man started making little snare drum sounds, winked at me again and said, "I'm syncopating with you, my lady". Um, okay - so there's a first time for everything. But I've got to hand it to a man who can syncopate. I was slowly emerging from my Miller-induced funk and actually giving this guy my attention when he randomly asked me if I had heard of Marvin Gaye. He seemed pleased when I replied in the affirmative. So he told me that he played percussion on one of Mr. Gaye's biggest hits, and could I guess which one? I took a punt and offered up, "What's Going On"? His face lit up in the biggest smile and he clapped his hands with glee. "Oh baby, you are one smart and beautiful lady" he said. As we travelled the few blocks together, he introduced himself as Jack Ashford, member of the Funk Brothers studio band. Mr. Ashford told me about recording sessions with the greats, including Marvin Gaye and jazz legend Miles Davis. After a career spent travelling across the US and around the world in limousines, Ashford moved to New York and raised "ungrateful children who make me ride the bus". Arthur Miller is never far away from any of us. But sure enough I Googled Mr Ashford when I got home and verified that I was indeed sitting right next to a tambourine maestro tonight. And he syncopated with me. Mercy mercy me!

Winners are grinners

Cheshire Cat
Originally uploaded by Elysia in Wonderland.

So the NYC Half-Marathon is two weeks today. I have been freaking out about that, I don't mind admitting to you. And I get worried sometimes when people try and tell me that I'll finish the 13.1 miles no problems (despite my knee issue). I know they mean to be encouraging and comforting, but I can't help but wonder if they're really just blowing smoke up my ass. I have been trying to stay upbeat but also realistic about my prospects.

And so last weekend it was really important to me that I clocked 8 miles - because that was my longest run to date. Yes I was almost crippled afterwards but psychologically, if not physically, I had to prove to myself that I could do it. And sure, in the following days I paid the price for my idiocy. My physical therapist didn't exactly growl at me like I feared he would, but he did say I needed to be careful and keep my eye on the prize. And to reinforce his point he pushed and prodded my knee extra hard this week (double ice-packing at times). Yeow.

But today I pushed myself even further, because I've realised I rather like being in hell. Today I actually clocked 10 miles but not only that, I incorporated a run-walk up Harlem Hill, the ultimate bitchy hill in Central Park - or at least as far as I am concerned. Let's be serious here - the Hill was not fun, but conquering it was essential to keeping my head in the game.

And before we start mixing the punch and blowing up balloons, I need to be transparent about something. I clocked 10 miles today but I couldn't run-walk that full distance - my knee really DID give up towards the end. But I reckon I would have done race-quality time for at least 9 miles of my run today. For the periods that I walked, I paced it out and didn't go on a casual Sunday stroll either. And in the end, I finished the 10 miles in just under 2 hours, which I thought was a pretty respectable time. And quite a promising one for race day, if I can only sustain it.

Stretching afterwards was an unpleasant experience (for me, and anyone watching me I presume). I think my hamstrings were crying from Pilates yesterday. Incidentally, whose dumb idea was it for me to book into a bunch of intermediate Pilates classes before the half-marathon? Ouch all over. Idiot.

It's now been about 45 minutes since I finished my run (and the delicious Central Park Boathouse coffee reward afterwards). I feel pretty good at the moment - my knee, legs and feet aren't even as sore as they were last week. All good things. I shall reach for the ice packs very soon though.

And let's get real here, I don't exactly feel like going outside and running ANOTHER 10 miles, but at least my brain is more confident that it can push my body for 13.1 mile race in fourteen days time. Race Day will be here before I know it. Dun-dun-DUUUUUUUN.

Cracking It

@ The Movies: Rocky Balboa
Originally uploaded by ★WaiWai★.

I'm actually getting kinda sick of myself at the moment, I have to say. It seems my whole life is consumed by my sore knee and how it has been holding me back in training.

Yesterday was no exception. I got to Central Park on time, proud as punch to be using my fancy new fuel belt. Having iced and stretched my knee the night before, I was not feeling any pain as we started the first of two 4-mile circuits. I kept up a good, steady pace - staying out in front of the run/walker pack, for the most part. And then, just like clockwork, my knee injury demanded to be noticed. As I rounded into the last 1/2 mile, ignoring it was not an option and as I completed my first circuit, I had to stop.

I have been mad at myself ever since I started feeling this injury, but yesterday took the cake. I was mad, then I was sad. I am not a runner, so I am realistic about my performance in this race - I have always said that I just want to finish. And yet after yesterday's setback, I sincerely doubted my ability to do even that.

Last night I continued to feel sorry for myself, and then I took a long hard look around my apartment and realised that a one-woman pity party is pretty pathetic. So I gave myself a stern talking to. I pledged to go back to Central Park first thing Sunday morning, stare down those 8 miles and never again let my knee be the boss.

A little after 9.30am, I set off on the first of two 4-mile circuits; a wonderful reprise of Saturday's run. But the weather was so much better today - even the sun knew better than to let me down today.

Right on schedule, my knee started to twinge at the 3.5-mile mark and those second thoughts crept in. But I shut them up by squeezing Vanilla Gu into my mouth. Then I spent the next 1/2 mile trying to wash it off my hands and my tshirt, where I had slopped it. I mean, seriously - I was a mess, but at least it was a distraction.

I was almost 1/3 of the way into my second circuit before I realised how well I was doing. My walking breaks were a welcome relief from the running, and sure, my knee was hurting every time I started up again - but I would not let myself stop.

The hills on the western side of the Park (aka The Three Bitches) lived up to their nickname today, but I willed myself forwards. As I made my final turn into Bethesda Terrace, I could almost smell the coffee of the Central Park Boathouse.

And so after shuffling 8 miles around Central Park, the Boathouse was exactly where I headed. A strong, hot latte was the perfect reward for my longest run to date. And my knee will just have to live with that.

Riding the shame spiral

Sad Gargoyle Face - Ornate
Originally uploaded by Digital Wallpapers.

I was on a high after my 6-mile run yesterday and even as I iced my knee last night, I remember thinking how good I felt. I even wondered whether maybe my knee was finally ready to play ball and help me get across the half-marathon finish line.

Well don't I feel the fool now?

This morning I got up early(ish) and got myself organised - filling up my new fuel belt with water, some chocolate Gu, and even a sachet of Gatorade electrolytes I wanted to try.

I got all the way into Central Park and as I walked to the start of my running track, I felt a stitch in my side. Already? I hadn't even done anything!

I don't know what that was all about because I wasn't sore, and I'd eaten my breakfast, and I'd had a lot of water. And yet there was still that sore twinge down my side.

I tried to ignore it but the minute I started running, there was that niggling pain in the back of my knee. I wondered whether maybe my legs were just cold and after a while, the muscles would start to warm up and the pain would go away.

So I did what McGyver would do, and I battled through the hurt and charged on ahead, taking on the 1.7-mile Lower Loop of Central Park.

Sadly, my knee was having none of it. The stitch had gone away, but my left knee was still sore. I got a bit more than once around the loop and I had to stop.

Admittedly on the walk back to the bus stop I was sulking to myself. I just want to run and do well. The fuel belt works great, but the electrolyte drink tastes like sea water and I am not a fan. Maybe it only tastes good when you've been running for ages and feel like you're dying? I hope that one day soon, I get to find that out for myself.

GK Huff-and-Puff

Central Park - Bethesda Terrace and Angel of the Waters Fountain -
Originally uploaded by 14k.gold.

When the email came through during the week from our NYC half-marathon coaches, I read that the plan for Saturday was to run 11 miles, across the Manhattan and Brooklyn Bridges. I knew my knee would never make it (and I doubted whether my stamina would anyway), so I resolved to take myself back to Central Park and pound the pavement on my own there instead.

And so it was that I set off early-ish to reprise the Gridiron Classic 4-mile run I did a few weeks ago. The sun was shining, the taxis were honking, the ambulances were wailing - it was a perfect New York morning.

I got all the way to Central Park with my Gu electrolyte chews in my pocket, my Gymboss interval timer on my wrist, and my drink bottle filled to the brim with cool water. And who should I see walking through Central Park, but Morgan Freeman! All the signs pointed to this being a good run for me.

As I braced myself to get started, I realised that the battery in my run timer was flat. ARGH. How was I going to survive the full 6 miles without knowing when to run/walk at the proper intervals? I might die. But then I got over myself and decided I would just count. I figured that if I counted in time with my steps, I would get into some sort of rhythm (or trance) and I might actually do okay. And with that resolution, off I went.

Right on cue at the 4-mile mark, my knee pain started to announce its presence but I didn't let it throw me off. I kept on counting and ran-walked like I was supposed to. There were parts of the run today where I really thought "Woohoo, I can do this!" and then there were parts where I desperately wanted to stop. And just when I felt like that, a thought crossed my mind: Hey, I could do another 1.7 mile loop here! Madness, I tell you - madness!

In the end, sanity prevailed and I stopped myself at 6 miles. I was pleasantly surprised that, as I stretched, I was feeling normal - I could think clearly, I could see clearly, and I didn't feel like falling down and staying there.

I did forget to eat any of my electrolyte chews, but I will go back out tomorrow and make a conscious effort to try them. I even put a new battery in my interval timer so I won't have to rely on my brain next time. Most excellent.

Oh and I have a new fuel belt to wear tomorrow - one of these space-age (but very professional) looking contraptions with 4 little water bottles and a tiny pouch in the back for nutrition supplies.

So here's to another 6 miles tomorrow - hands free this time!