Pean’s Adventures in the Big City

This was something I would expect to hear before a particularly hard run, or a race maybe, but not during what I like to call a “fake-out” run.  Normally, my “fake-outs” are fun, I go at an easy pace (b/c it’s usually a day i’m not feeling particularly energized) for as long as I feel comfortable, or before my extremities start to freeze.  It’s important to note that I’m a huge proponent of the ”fake-out,” seeing as it’s fairly non-committal where distance is concerned, and has the tendency to turn into a longer run on most occasions.  Now, I can freely admit when I’ve made mistakes, and I can definitely tell you that yesterday I made a huge mistake with Mueslix at brunch.  In general, I harbor no animosity toward this as a breakfast food; however, attempting to run too quickly after ingesting Mueslix has changed my attitude toward it in this respect.  ANYWAY (I am skilled at digression), I’m running along, minding my own business, thinking about what life would have been like as a professional ice skater (I’ve never been a skater before, could be fun?), thinking a few other “deep” thoughts, and racing the horse carriages (best thing to race b/c they’re slow, and then after you beat them you realize that anyone running a 12:00 min./mile pace could do so with their eyes closed), when suddenly all I could focus on was using the restroom—immediately. 

I arrive at the boathouse potties in a nano, and frantically scoot into a staul.  Now, normally I am not drawstring-challenged when it comes to any of my running clothes, and I usually buy my stuff a size bigger b/c of shrinkage in the laundry, but this drawstring was unlike anything I’ve encountered before.  I worked fruitlessly for 5 minutes (an eternity), trying to untie the drawstring on my new spandex pants (anyone who knows me well, knows I prefer to run in anything but spandex, lobster costume included), when I snapped and just pulled them over my hips.  It was at this moment that the fate of my run was sealed.  I heard a loud “POP,” and I looked down as I watched the now-broken pants slowly fall to the ground.  Well, you know what comes next, so I’ll skip through it—when I went to pull them back up the pants did not seem to be so eager to cooperate.  My eyes widened in horror, as I realized that I was going to risk indecent exposure/arrest just to get out of the park in a timely manner. After I convinced myself that it wasn’t a big deal and nothing ”bad” would happen, I ran out of the bathroom and darted straight up cat hill, and I have to say I felt so good (impending embarassment is always good for hill work/faster running in general)!!  That’s right, I felt so good, too good.  As I reached the summit of the hill an old man (”old” being a generous description, mind you) says, “HEY! I CAN SEE YOUR BARE BOTTOM…..AND YOUR UNDERWEAR!”  Yes, you read that correctly, he could indeed see both.  What?  I enjoy skimpy undies like any normal girl in NY does—some ladies prefer them b/c it feels sexy, and I wear them to avoid inappropriate lines under my clothing.  Apparently, I couldn’t feel what was transpiring b/c it was so cold out–I was numb from the waist down, and this only reaffirmed my passion for winter running (it’s just fantastic).  In the end, I apologized profusely and explained my situation, but the old man could only manage to say, “Run like hell, then.” 

And I did, run like hell, all the way back to 97th street.  Well, I stopped at CVS before I got home, and yes a few poindexters from Mt. Sinai Med School stared, as I tirelessly attempted to hold my pants up, but I needed popcorn–and well after an 80 something yr. old man checks out your “features”, I don’t think your day could go much further south from there.

Nightmares of course followed, starring my pants, courtesy of Nike.

The Deadly Pants

That’s all. I figured everyone would….well…not be suprised. 

later!

Pean

I was recently catching up with the lovely Miss KJB about medicine, running, and life in general, when she introduced me to what she refers to as “super food.” Quinoa (KEEN-wah) is a Peruvian seed, and is often employed as a grain in cooking.  However, compared to regular, old, boring grains, these petite seeds possess a protein content superior to its counterparts.  Quinoa contains all the essential amino acids, more specifically, it is high in lysine.  Lysine plays a particularly important role in tissue growth and repair (runners: when your muscles need a little “pick-me-up”).  Quinoa is also full of magnesium, manganese, phosphorus, copper, and for the pale/borderline anemic population like myself, it has a high iron content.  Porphyrin rings? Bring it.

Caveats: these cute little seeds are in the saponin family, meaning they are coated with a bitter substance to ensure their survival against predation in the wild. In other words, they kick off a nasty taste up in your biznass if you don’t wash them properly. The good news is, if you buy them at the right stores, i.e. the ones who sell pre-packaged/washed quinoa, all you really need to do is quickly rinse them off and cook away.  There are dozens of recipes on the internet, more intriguiging than anything I’m writing here now, so check it out, yo.

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To recap…if you eat some of this:

You’ll be able to run as fast as this:

Or this….(equally fast as our good friend above, and twice as lethal):

Enjoy the weekend, and get outside! 

peace,

pean

p.s. quote of the week:

“It’d be more hot if he was bringing back a group of vampires to the house, than a team of squash players. Squash should be eaten, or avoided, not pursued as some sort of fake-out sport, Hogwarts style.” - Vee

This will be one of my few “running” related entries, but I wanted to bring this issue back from the dead for a petite minute.  The mother of a good friend of mine (the lovely miss J) said this to me right before the marathon, and at the time I didn’t believe her.  I thought, “Nooo that’s not true”, as I threw my head back laughing.  Yes, runners will exert themselves to the point of exhaustion, and yes ”apparently we just run, without stopping for an extended period of time”, but how could they all  be les miserable??  I found this theory intriguing, and I was determined to prove her wrong.  Last night, I finally remembered to do so.  Here’s the deal: usually when I run, I like to draft off of people in front of me and try to pass them—I am fairly successful at it, with the exception of the usual suspects who always pass me, then call me later to tell me about it—the point is, I like to keep distracted.  I didn’t run far, but 2 miles into my run the idea popped into my head to count how many frowns/grimaces I saw on runners opposing the direction I was running in.  I used a scale of 1-5 though, since there are varying degrees of “unhappiness”, so here was the breakdown:

1-Content (slight smile, focused)

2-relaxed, but serious brow

3-Clenching teeth, eyebrows fixed to misery mode

4-Clenched teeth, misery mode, crazy eyes (you know, CRAZY)

5-Verge of tears, heavy panting—like someone fired a round of bullets into their body

***Note:I should add that if there was visible sweat/blood and/or any clue indicating an injury I immediately rounded them one level higher—no one is happy running injured, I don’t care who they are.  I also did not grade people on the cat hill or harlem hill at this time, b/c no one’s dressed in their “sunday best” there either.

I counted more individuals who were a level 4 than anything else.  Everyone looked miserable!  Was it the weather?  Were they going through emotional turmoil?  Do they not do their lifting and conditioning to supplement their training? How far had they run?  How far would they run?  Were they running hard?  What do I look like when I’m running hard? It was at this point that I realized J’s mom was right!  No one looks happy when they’re running, and the truth is they’re probably in pain!  In recent weeks, I have learned that to run well, I have to feel like I’m knocking on death’s door during the workout, and then my body returns to its regularly scheduled programming afterward.  I am certain this is what all those other runners are experiencing…that as soon as the hard running starts, you want it to end.  I am trying to remain upbeat and motivated during the winter months, but some nights it just sucks out there!! Especially when the wind chill factors in, because by the time I am actually warm enough to run (like 6 miles in, mind you), the damn workout is nearly over!!  I refuse to wear spandex as well, and I’m sure that’s part of my problem; however, I am stubborn and therefore little can be done to rectify that “situation.”  I will simply chalk up my running 45 miles a week half-naked to good preparation for boston training.  A quick note: the training plan that has been so graciously put together for me is f’ing insane, and no one will see me for approximately 3 months.  If you want to see me, send up a smoke signal and wait 3-5 days for a response, or just send liquor, b/c right after that I start applying to medical school—the fun never ends!!!!!!  Anyway….the point of my rambling is that J’s mom was right about everything, except one thing: being constipated. 

Now, anyone who runs knows it’s quite the contrary, and I assure you, there are no grimaces where that is concerned.  It’s a favorite past time of this community, and we go whenever nature calls—most likely in a secluded area like the one I’ve depicted below from the park.  I don’t know about you people, but I’m always stoked (so is KJB, my fearless leader in the dept.) and thinking, “Alright, let’s go hit some trees.”  Okay, I’m DONE! I’M OUT!!

Peace,

Steph