FMR: Fat Man Running

#385: "God Bless You," he said.

2012-01-29T11:48:00.001-05:00

Sixteen years and a day ago, I spoke with my father for the last time. The Steelers were about to play the Cowboys. We usually talked after the game, but this was the first time I was ever going to watch a Super Bowl without him, and I wanted to check in. We talked about how he was feeling: "like hell," he said. It had been about a year since the heart attack, and in those few months, he had grown old and tired. Depression is very common after a heart attack, and it had hit him hard.

Dad had been planning his and Mum's retirement for a long time. He was a newspaper man, a printer, like his father. He spent many years working his way up in a union that taught him the craft that would let him give his kids the opportunities he hadn't had. The joy went out of his work the day they took the linotype out of the composing room and replaced it with the giant computers. He learned to work with them, but he didn't love them the way he had love the hot lead slugs that used to make up the paper. So he put his shoulder to the wheel, learned the new system, and started saving for the time when he wouldn't have to work the night-turn at the Press anymore. He had fought beside his union brothers for decades to save their jobs, to save the union my grampa Johnson helped to build. There were strikes, buy-outs, mergers, frustrations... The bosses did their best to break the unions, and failed. But the battle had taken a lot out of my Dad. He had poured his passion into his family, his church, his Boy Scouts, his neighbors. He took care of everyone but himself. And then, the heart that had pumped so much love into the world betrayed him. Sleep missed. Cigarettes smoked. Too many pounds. Too many worries. They took their toll. We would sit in the living room, and he would talk about moving back to the farm where Mum grew up. He updated me on how much was in the retirement fund. He had the date circled in his mind: the day he could pack up and move to the green hills and hardwood forests of northern Pennsyltucky.

But today, we talked about the Game. The Steelers chances, (they weren't good.) His appointment for more tests in the morning. Other than his dark mood, there wasn't anything especially memorable about the conversation. Except the end. Dad wasn't an "I love you" kind of guy. He was more comfortable living it than he was saying it. We had tried it on a couple of times, but it always fit like a new shoe, handsome, but just a little too stiff and pinchy to be comfortable. I settled for a good bye hug, and a "be careful going home." I knew what he meant. We finished up with "Well, I better get going. Enjoy the game," or something like that, then he said the words I will never forget.

"God bless you," he said.

In the Bible, sons are always asking their dying fathers for their blessing. It's the last gift a Dad can give to his boy. It was the last gift my father gave to me. I treasure that blessing more than my life.

The anniversary always sneaks up on me. His birthday will be in a week or so. I always see that coming. But the night the phone call came, (why do they always come at night?) that one always catches me unawares. I've been feeling really crappy this weekend. Staying in bed. Feeling depressed and tired. Skipping yesterday's long run. I had no idea why. Then this morning, my Mum posted it on Facebook. 16 years. "Do you think that's the reason I've been feeling so bad?" I asked Mrs P. "It happens every year," she answered.

There's so much I wish we could have shared. Two more Super Bowls. All the graduating grandkids. An Eagle scout. A linebacker. A lady Scoutmaster. A daughter who works to keep kids in school. The sons-in-law who held their families together. The daughter-in-law who became a child therapist. The wife who shared his home, his bed, and his heart who became the matriarch of our strange, unruly tribe. And the son who finally figured out that life is worth fighting for.

We are his legacy. He spoke those words to me, but they were for all of us. All of us. When things get rough, we can keep fighting, just as he fought. We can keep loving, as he loved, even when we feel like hell. We can leave things better than we found them. We can build legacies of our own. We have his blessing.

God bless you too, Dad.

Peace,
Pennsy

#384: From the Rubber to the Road - Leaving the Treadmill

2012-01-12T08:41:00.001-05:00

A friend writes:

Hey, Pennsy. If you get a minute, could you reflect on your transition from the tredmill to hitting the open road? How far were you enduring inside before you went out? Is one easier for you than the other?

It's taken me a while to remember those first steps without the "training wheels." As always, I'm telling the story I recall, not necessarily the one that actually happened. Your mileage may vary.

In my younger days, I always tried running outside, on the streets or on an available track like the big cinder oval at my high school. I can't say for certain why the habit never "took" for me back then, but it never did. For one thing, I never had the right clothes. I would wear basketball shoes and my feet would blister. Or I would wear sweat pants and my thighs would chafe. Like any rational person, I didn't like doing something that hurt me. I was probably feeling self-conscious, too. A Fat Man Jogging is always a potential target for the judgement and taunts of strangers. I was still young enough for those things to bother me, I guess. Sooner or later, my excuses always out weighed my good intentions.

Back in December of 2007, I developed a painful, hot spot on the inside of my leg, just above the knee. Mrs P was concerned, so I called the nurse hotline and the lady told me to get to the emergency room NOW! Turned out I had cellulitis, but given my 400+ lbs and sedentary lifestyle, it could have been a blood clot. The experience spooked me, and we decided to jump on a New Years special at a local gym. It was a great decision. They got me lifting weights again, and taught me how to use the cardio machines: bike, elliptical, stairmaster, and treadmill.

I walked for a long time on the mill, always trying to go a few minutes longer, a little bit faster. Now and then, I would try to trot, but neither my wind or my knees were ready for the challenge. One night, while Mrs P was in her spinning class, I started jogging and was able to keep it up for a minute. I never changed the speed on the belt. It was probably about 4 mph. I walked till I felt ok, then started jogging again, knocking off portions of 15 minute miles. I was gasping for air and sweating rivers, but for some reason, my feet kept going. I closed my eyes, and felt myself running for the first time in years. When I opened them, Mrs P was standing there in front of the treadmill, weeping and proud.

After that, I jogged the same way I had walked: patiently adding time and speed. Not much speed. I could run at 4.5 mph max, but I was running, and I was happy.

Sometime in early Spring, I noticed a poster on the gym bulletin board advertising a 5K race to support a local shelter for women in recovery. I liked the idea of running for a cause that mattered to me, and Mrs P and I talked about whether or not I was ready to take on the challenge. I had never run that far, and I had not run outside yet. She encouraged me, and I sent in my registration.

I took my first steps outdoors early in the morning, running the sidewalks around our neighborhood. Jogging before sunrise gave me a little anonymity, and the only other runners I encountered were always friendly and encouraging. I ran too fast and too far. I still hadn't discovered the magic of walk breaks. My knees and ankles ached. I went back to the treadmill till I felt better, then tried again. Went a little farther, this time. I know now what a dangerous approach this was: running till you get hurt, then waiting till you get better. Knowing that the race was out there, (and that I had paid to run in it,) kept me motivated to keep going. Eventually, I could run 3 miles on the mill, and three days before the race, I decided I should go out to Coldstream Park and run the course. It was cold and rainy. The hills were much harder than I expected. An old man passed me twice while I navigated the 1.5 mile circle. I felt pretty good.

The day of the race, I started too fast. Around the 2.5 mile mark, I felt a sharp pain in both Achilles tendons. I had strained both of them and would be limping for weeks. I thought they were just cramping, so I stopped to stretch (bad plan) then continued jogging along. I saw the 3 mile marker (the one in my profile picture) and knew the finish line was just around the bend. Running as fast as my fat, crippled legs would carry me, I reached the chute, high-fived the supporters lining the path, and handed in my bib stub to record my finish order. Mrs P was weeping again, of course.

It was the greatest feeling.

The pain went away, eventually, but the pride in my accomplishment never did. I will never be a speedy runner, but I will always love running, I think. I'm hooked. I like the treadmill because it offers simplicity. I can set the speed and incline, put in my headphones, close my eyes, and go. I have also come to love the road. A lot of that has to do with living in the Bluegrass. I can leave my driveway and be running beside horse pastures in about 15 minutes. You have to be more alert on the road. I never wear my iPod there, but the music of the morning more than makes up for it.

So back to the question... I guess I just stayed on the treadmill until my body told me it was time to leave. Having an event to prepare for helped. Seeing myself get stronger helped. At some point, I found the courage to try something new, just like joining the gym had been new. I could have been smarter about the way I made the transition, and after my cancer, I used Run/Walk/Run to train more safely, but I liked the feeling of running outside. I like them both. The treadmill is easier, but road running can be heavenly.

Trust your spirit. You'll know when it's time. One step at a time.

Peace,

Pennsy

#383: A Week of Workouts

2012-01-07T09:20:00.002-05:00

I'm fighting off a cold, so this morning I'm blogging instead of running the 13 miles I had planned. After I wake up a little more, I'm going to the gym to run some hill repeats on the treadmill in solidarity with my friends out there who are doing the real thing. Meanwhile, here's how the week went.

Strength and Cross Training

Here's how my circuit workout is progressing.

12/28 12/30 1/2 1/5

Squats 72 86 93 82

Push ups 70 68 81 66

Lunges 23 22 26 27

Planks 120 120 120 120

Leg curls 62 83 88 82

Russian Twist 58 64 91 84

Pull ups 18 20 9 21

Dips 41 41 25 46

It's pretty clear that I was getting tired by Thursday, even after a day off. I think that's when my cold was starting to catch hold. During my workout, it felt as if my upper body was really weak, but now that I look at the numbers, I see that my arms and shoulders are actually getting stronger. That's the kind of surprise that makes me glad I keep a log.

I started a TRX class on Friday. It really challenged me in a good way. TRX is a body-weight exercise you do using nylon straps hanging from the ceiling. I can't really describe it, so here's a video.

This workout hits all my weak links, engages muscles head to toe all the time, and provides a great, low-impact cardio challenge. I'm going to like this, and will be making it a weekly part of my cross training routine.

One of my favorite parts of the week was a 2 mile walk with my friend Dee Dee on Friday. She's one of my LIVESTRONG sisters, and has had a much tougher cancer battle than mine. I admire her courage and determination as she continues choosing life. Our walk was a nice way to button-up a good week.

Running

I did quite a bit of work on the treadmill this week. I had trouble finding a machine with a heart rate monitor I could rely on, but for the most part, the pace and distance readings I got from the treadmill were consistent with my Nike+.

Sunday, 11 miles (6.5 LSR, 5 race)
Tuesday, 2.25 miles (Recovery run on Treadmill)
Thursday, 6 miles ( 2 Tempo on Treadmill. 4 intervals)

Thursday's intervals were fun. I was at the Arboretum and my legs were very heavy and tired. I didn't want to bail out on the workout, but I could tell I wasn't going to make it using my usual approach. I switched my watch to 30 second intervals. 0:30 run/0:30 walk. There were a couple of very cool things about this run. I was able to run much harder, because I knew there was a break coming up any second. I was able to recover quickly, because I had only run for 30 seconds. And my time for the four miles was 47:13. That's 11:48 per mile. Essentially, walking half the time did not slow me down. It allowed me to run faster, longer. There's no way I could run 9:00 miles for 20 minutes straight, but that's just what I did, using these very short intervals. Good old Galloway strikes again!

Nutrition

Something weird is happening. I'm gaining weight. This makes no sense to me, but there you have it. I spoke with Nancy, the Dietician at the Y, and her first question was, "are you getting enough protein?" I'm not really sure, so I'll be keeping a food log for the next week, then she and I will sit down and look it over. My body fat is staying pretty consistent, around 23%, but if I'm going to be logging all these miles, I really don't need any extra weight to carry along. Training for a marathon is a really bad time to think about going on a diet, but I don't want my eating to be working against me.

Epiphany

So yesterday was Epiphany: Twelfth Night; the last day of Christmas. For the church, it's the finish of a journey that started way back at the beginning of Advent. Tradition has it that Epiphany is the day the wise men finally made it to Bethlehem to visit the Holy Family. Here's my favorite line from that story.

Then, being divinely warned in a dream that they should not return to Herod, they departed for their own country another way ~ Matthew 2:12

There is a literal meaning to this passage, of course. The magi took a different route home than the one they had traveled to Bethlehem. But I think it means something more.They had made a long, difficult trip, these wise men from the east. Finally, they did what they set out to do: they met Jesus, and the meeting changed them. Their lives were not the same once they saw Christ. They had to live another way. That's the heart of Epiphany, to me. Once you see God in the flesh, once you bear witness to the Holy Spirit in the eyes of another human being, you just can't keep living the way you used to live. If we take Christmas seriously, if we are really willing to take the journey of the Magi, we have a chance to be changed. Once we know that Jesus lives in our neighbors, we can never treat them the same way. Christmas can change us. We can come to the manger just as we are, but like JT says, we can go home another way.

Merry Christmas, for another year.

Peace,
Pennsy

#382: Resolutions

2012-01-02T11:20:00.001-05:00

Here's my line for yesterdays race:

New Year's Day Resolution Run 5 Mile Run/Walk

Coldstream Research Park

Lexington, KY

January 1, 2012, 1:00 p.m.

(~45 degrees, Cloudy Skies and VERY Windy) [Swackett said the wind chill was 31°. I believe it]

Overall	Name	Age Gp	Place	Time	Pace
251/354	Pennsy	M 50-54	7/8	53:55.6	10:47.1

HTML Tables

Yesterday was a great start to the new year. I wanted to run arbout 12 miles yesterday, but Coach Melissa kept talking about this race that would be raising money for a young man named "RJ" who had Hodgkins Lymphoma, Stage 4A. That's one I couldn't say "no" to.

I decided to make up the mileage in a LSR with a friend in the morning.

50°. 6.08 mi/1:10:48 @ 9:00 AM. LSR, Legacy (b) from Coldstream. Adidas. 5:00 run/0:30 walk. Splits 12:04 11:40 11:44 11:40 11:29 11:14. Beautiful morning run.

The sun was shining and the air was a perfect 50°; a little too cold for standing around in shorts, but just right for running. We trotted down the Legacy Trail into the Bluegrass morning, along the fence rows and the cow barns and the horse farms. These runs always make me so grateful for the place I live and the chance to run in such beautiful scenes. We kept a nice, easy pace, and finished with breakfast of eggs and grits at the Cracker Barrel.

The race was scheduled to start at 1:00, so I made my way back to Coldstream and parked to wait. Tried to call Mrs P, but got voice mail. I called Mum to wish her Happy New Year, and we caught up on one another's news. As I sat in the Honda chatting with her, I noticed that the car seemed to be rocking. Outside, paper, branches, and other surprisingly large objects were moving horizontally past my windshield. The blue morning sky cooled to a steely glow. Winter had decided he had waited long enough to visit Kentucky. When I opened the car door, it felt as if the temperature had fallen 20°, though the thermometer swore it was only 5. I reluctantly pulled off my warm-up pants. Even more reluctantly, I took off my damp shirt, greased the nips, and pulled on three top layers for the race. I could always take one off if I got over heated, but to be honest, I did not anticipate that eventuality. Then I kicked myself for taking those gloves out of my bag in the morning when the back yard felt more like April 30 than January 1. It was a short jog up to the hotel where registration was going on.

The big, beautiful lobby was filled with people in running gear, some of it seasonally appropriate, some of it just plain crazy. My friend DJ was just wearing shorts and his "Run Kentucky" technical shirt. I didn't know whether to admire him, or to medicate him. A strangely familiar man greeted me warmly. "I'm sorry," I said, "But I don't remember..." "I'm John," he smiled. "I work with Dr. Kudramoti. You probably don't recognize me in my civilian clothes." John was the resident who raced me to the ER when they discovered I was about to die from a blood clot in my chest. Not the kind of guy you want to forget no matter what he's wearing, even without your glasses. We shook hands and smiled. I assured him I was doing great, and wished him a good run.

Registration was in a large meeting room off the atrium. To the right was a loooong line of runners waiting for on site registration. (This not a strategy I recommend, by the way.) From the left, I heard another familiar voice greeting me. My friends Krissie and Nathan were volunteers, distributing bibs to those of us who had pre-registered online. Krissy told me she had decided to volunteer for more races than she ran this year. Nathan was wearing an orange safety vest, and said he would be at the last turn, pointing weary runners in the right direction. These are some very cool people. But soon, they would be much cooler. I decided that I would like to do some volunteer support one day, but that I would look for a chance to do it in May, not January. I don't imagine there was much demand for Gatorade yesterday.

I wandered the lobby for a while, listening to Indian folk music on my headphones and greeting runners I knew from John's Striders. It's surprising how many new people I've met this year. We run together on weekends, and keep up with each other online during the week. Yet another pack that has welcomed me in.

My LIVESTRONG cohort, LaDonna showed up and I went with her to the registration room. by now the line stretched around the walls, but by some miracle, an angel with a handful of bib numbers offered to sign her in as we were making our way to the end of the queue. LaDonna has earned a lot of karma points during her battle. I suggested she might want to pick up a lottery ticket on what was obviously a lucky day.

R.J. Hijalda

On my way to the start, I met a bald young man in the hall. He was surrounded by friends, and was wearing a bib. I heard someone introduce him, and stopped. "Hey, are you RJ?" I asked. "Yeah," he said. He had a friendly, open face. "I'm Bob. I had cancer last year. You're doing great. You can beat it. Keep fighting." He met a lot of people yesterday. I hope he remembers me. RJ has a lot of friends, and a lot of heart.

This is the part where I should tell you about the race. I'm not sure I remember many details. I remember feeling numb. I remember running into the wind, praying for the next turn that would change it into a tail wind. Early on, I looked down at my sport band and saw it blinking crazily. I pushed the buttons until it stopped, but I knew from the first quarter mile that something had gone screwy with it and I wouldn't be able to rely on it for time or distance today. I set it to monitor my pace, and chugged along, Trying to sustain 11:00/mile. There are a couple of long climbs on this course. Mercifully, the wind blew from behind on them. I tried to glide on the downhills, letting gravity and an easy stride carry me along. I had a hard time finding anyone to keep pace with. I'm sort of half-fast, now. I'm either passing people, or watching real runners pull away. On the other hand, I don't get passed nearly as much as I used to. Around mile 3, I found a woman I could track, and we exchanged places several times. You sort of get a feel for when somebody likes running with you. She was kind of hard to read. Not everyone appreciates being passed by a Fat Man. At mile 4, she shifted gears, and pulled away on the last long climb of the course. I thought about trying to keep up, but knew if I tried to push my way up the hill, I would be out of gas before I got go the top. I let her go, but I was just a little grumpy about it. A couple of young men zoomed past me, playing hare to my tortoise. It wasn't long before they learned that Aesop was right. I confess, that felt good. I turned the corner at the top of the hill feeling surprisingly fresh. Up ahead, I could barely see my former traveling companion steaming along. I know this course well. With the exception of one last little rise, it was all downhill from here to the finish. I decided to see how close I could get to her before the finish.

Jeff Galloway talks about "dirty tricks," little mind games you can use to keep your head in a race. I fashioned an invisible rubber lasso and threw it around her waist. Then I tied my end around my head. As she ran, without realizing it, she was actually pulling me closer. On the last rise, my watch beeped: my last walk break. Instead, I eased back to a jog, gathering steam for the downhill to the finish. As my watch beeped again, I crested the hill. I looked down and saw my friends Krissie and Nathan, freezing their butts off, pointing runners toward a side trail. Through the bare branches, I saw the timers and the finishing chute. I dropped my imaginary lasso and turned on the treadmill I have been training on this week. The belt spun faster, but my legs moved easily, Krissie and Nathan cheered my name and I smiled as I passed them. Ahead I could see the finish line, and my nemesis, just ahead. She had no idea I was about to pounce. She turned into Wile E. Coyote, mystified at the "whoosh" of air and the cloud of dust that flashed past her, 15 yards from the finish. Far behind me, I could hear an Acme anvil falling. I didn't look back to see if it got her.

Resolution Run, 45° 5 mi/53.55 @ 1:00, Coldstream. Adidas, Intervals, 5:00 run/0:30 walk.

At the end of the chute, we smiled. She wasn't such a villain after all. "Were you keeping time?" she asked. I looked at my watch. "50:33," I read. We were both amazed and delighted. Runners like us can only dream of that kind of pace. It wasn't until I got home and downloaded my runs into Nike+ that I discovered my gizmo had failed to record the first 4/10ths of a mile. I kind of hope she never found out. She looked really happy about her new PR.

I went to the car, put on a coat and some pants, and walked back to Krissie and Nathan's corner, hoping to see some friends finish. It wasn't long before I saw LaDonna coming down the hill, running strong and smiling enough to beat the clouds and the wind. I joined her for the last hundred yards, but at the end, I pulled back and let her finish on her own. After she got through the chute, she came to me, glowing. "That's the first time I've ever run 5 miles," she said and we threw our arms around one another. I know what that feels like; to go somewhere you've never been before; to reach something you once feared you would never reach. It is the greatest feeling in the world. And it's an honor to be there when someone you love feels it. That's holy.

God, but I love to run.

Peace, y'all.

Pennsy

#381: Peeking Around the Bend

2011-12-31T09:14:00.000-05:00

What's around the bend in Pennsyltucky?

In a way, it's a pity that we celebrate New Year's Eve by getting drunk. This is such a great day to be awake; to be mindful. 2011 was full of things worth remembering for me. And next year is so rich with possibilities.
In some ways, 2011 was a hard year, but even through the pain, we were blessed. We lost a lot of people we love, particularly our beloved brother Doug who fought cancer with such courage and faithfulness. Near the end of his battle, he spoke the words that just may go on my tombstone. He was lying in the hospital when he was told of a friend who had given his heart to Jesus in church that morning, Doug wept and whispered, "It's all going to be worth it." And so it is.

We lost our house, after a long game of chicken with Wells Fargo. The experience was sometimes painful, more often, it was just a pain, but we were blessed to have the support of our friend Donna, a realtor and a saint, (yes, it is possible.) I also have to thank Judge Scorsone who stood between us and the bank's lawyers long enough for us to complete the short sale of the property. And most important of all, our brothers and sisters, Bob, Bobbie, and Paul, who helped us to find a new "place for our stuff." We lost a house, but thanks to them, we were able to keep our home intact.

Me and my little licensed head-shrinker.

After delaying her studies for almost a year, while she was busy keeping me alive, Mrs. P finally got the chance to prepare for her LCSW, the credential that would make her a fully licensed clinical social worker. She lost weekends and nights of sleep with her head in the books. We even took DVDs with us on road trips so she could study in the car. Mrs P loves her kids and their families, and spends hours writing reports, assessments, and care plans for them. She drives hundreds of miles some weeks to visit them. All that study had to be crammed into the few cracks remaining in her regular schedule. And when the moment of truth came, she aced her exam. She's got a new title, and a new sheepskin for the wall. We have to get her new letter paper, but it's worth it.

Taz is as close to a lap dog as we're likely to get.

Our family grew in 2011. Maggie and Kizzie love our new house. They have thier own suite of rooms that we call "Cat Land." They are free to roam, lounge, and eat without canine harassment. Jake, our 10 pound puppy, turned in to a full grown Golden this year. He's a big boy now, but he can still break my heart with those brown eyes. Clare came to us from a family that should never have taken her in the first place. She runs her big brother ragged, and they frighten the neighbor children with their fierce wrangling, but we have high hopes that as she continues to grow, she may eventually develop a brain. Taz came just after Thanksgiving. He is a Blue Heeler, the smallest of our pack, but the toughest. Taz likes to yell when Jake and Clare are wrestling. We aren't sure if he's telling them to stop, or urging them to kill one another. We do know that he is sweet natured and the most athletic of all of us. He taught Clare to jump the baby gate into the Cat Land, so now we have two gates stacked on top of one another. And of course, there's Brady. He isn't our dog, but he's an honorary member of the pack. He's a thirteen-year-old Golden who spends most of time sleeping, or barking hoarsely for reasons we can never really make out. He grew up being treated like an actual dog, but in his retirement, God sent the Pennsy family to spoil him. We do our best.


*With Erin. 30 years and still a beauty.*

We traveled to Pennsylvania twice this fall. It was my first time home since I got sick, and I didn't realize how much I missed the forests and hills of Western PA. My 30th college reunion was full of joy and tears with old friends Jeff, Joellen, Marcia, and Erin. So was my first, live Steeler game for which I am ever grateful to my old high school classmate, Skip. He gave me a day I will never forget, and can never repay. I got to taste Mum's cooking again, to sleep in Gramma's house, to hold my sisters in my arms, and to run the dirt roads we used to walk when I was a child.

2011 was the year the doc told me I didn't have cancer any more. I resolved to live the life we had all fought so hard to save. I croaked and strangled pretty girls in No Way to Treat a Lady, my first musical in years. Played a melancholy old queen in the world premier of Stephen Metcalf's The Happy Hour. Returned to my beloved Actors' Guild in Glengarry Glen Ross, and End Days. And I got to play in the park again, with a turn as William, Lord Hastings in Richard III. I got my first gig as an acting teacher at our community college, which I loved. I'll act again in the spring, right after the marathon.

Jake and the Fat Man.

Oh yeah, that. The Fat Man is running the Pittsburgh Marathon on May 6. The reality of it hasn't quite set in, yet. I'm not sure it will until somewhere around mile 18 of the race. This time last year, I walked a mile and felt like I had won a gold medal. I ran a 3K in March, a couple of 5Ks in the Spring, then my first 10K on July 4. I got it into my head that I could finish a half-marathon, and in October, Mrs P cheered as I crossed the finish line. While I trained for that race, people contributed over $3500 to One for the Five, a project to honor fallen cancer fighters, and to raise money for the Markey Cancer Foundation. Soon, I'll be launching two more projects, one to help Actors' Guild, and one to help fund LIVESTRONG at the YMCA.

I never went to the YMCA when I was growing up. I was a Boy Scout. When I heard about a program at the Y to help cancer survivors improve their fitness, I jumped at it. I was expecting a free gym membership for three months. I got much more. The Y gave me what it has given so many people over the years: a place to exercise; a chance to meet friends; a way to discover a sense of purpose and value. I can say without shame or sentiment that I love the people I have met at the Y. Love them so much that when my program was over, I went to the boss and asked for a job. For the first time in my life, I'm actually a little disappointed when I wake up and realize I have the day off.

What's next? I'm going to start studying to become a trainer at the Y. I'm going to run another half, and my first full marathon. I'll be playing in a production of Camus' Calligula this June. Mrs P and I are finally going to get rid of all the extra stuff we've been storing in boxes since we moved from Brooklyn. And of course, I'll be fighting any and all impulses to adopt any more animals. (On a related note, we'll be replacing the carpet in the den, as soon as Clare gives us the go-ahead.)

With some of the LS@theY team for the Reindeer Ramble.

So, in all sobriety I can say I'm the happiest Pennsy I've ever been. I love my wife more than ever. I have work that excites me. I have passion that makes me look forward to ten miles of asphalt on a chilly Bluegrass morning. I can't stop thanking God for giving me this second (or third? or fourth? or umpteenth?) chance to live.

2011? It was a very good year. 2012? Gonna be even better. Let's love it together, huh?

Peace,
Pennsy

#380: A Runner's Circuit Strength Workout

2011-12-28T19:37:00.000-05:00

Today's workout.

Exercise	Set 1/Set 2	Duration	Rest
Squat	38/34 (72)	1:00	0:15
Pushup	40/30 (70)	1:00	0:15
Lunge (Right & Left)	12/11 (23)	1:00	0:15
Plank	1/1	1:00	0:15
Swiss Ball Leg Curl	31/31 (62)	1:00	0:15
Russian Twist (upper body)	26/32 (58)	1:00	0:15
Pull ups (Assisted)	9/9 (18)	1:00	0:15
Dips (Assisted)	20/21 (41)	1:00	0:15

HTML Tables


*Swiss Ball Leg Curl*

Here's how the circuit works. 5 minute warm-up on the cross trainer machine. I did as many reps of each exercise as I could in 60 seconds with a 15 second rest between exercises. When I finished the circuit, I did 10 minutes on the cross trainer, then repeated. Finished up with another 10 minutes on the machine, then a nice easy walking cool down on the treadmill.

I like this workout for a couple of reasons.

It's fast. Each circuit only takes 10 minutes.
It's comprehensive. You get a complete body workout in a very short time.
It's easy to track improvement. Just shoot for more reps than you were able to complete last time.
It's functional. These are movements from life, not just stuff some gym rat made up to make your muscles bulge.
Nearly every movement places demands on the core muscles of the abdomen and lower back.
It's a good workout for the muscles above the waist that support running.
These are all body-weight exercises. No special equipment required at home besides a swiss ball. (Dips can be done on a stool. Pull ups... I'm working on that.)
I managed to keep my heart rate in the 120-130 range through the whole thing, so it's a pretty decent cardio conditioning exercise, too.

Russian Twist

I love the weight room, but as my marathon training gets rolling in earnest, I want an efficient workout plan that isn't going to leave me too tired to run the next day. I'll try this three times a week for four weeks, and see if I like the results.

Peace,
Pennsy

#379: A Christmas Day Run

2011-12-25T15:41:00.001-05:00

Nephew.. keep Christmas in your own way, and let me keep it in mine. - A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens.

So here's how I kept Christmas this year:
&lt;p&gt;&amp;lt;a href="http://www.mapmyrun.com/routes/view/61651948"&amp;gt;AGL Parker's Mill Loop&amp;lt;/a&amp;gt; and more runs in Lexington, KY on MapMyRUN. &amp;lt;a href="http://www.mapmyrun.com"&amp;gt;Find run&amp;lt;/a&amp;gt; &lt;/p&gt;

‎32° 10.01mi/2:07:47 @ 9:15. AGL/ParkersMill Loop. Adidas Grey. 5:00 run/0:45 walk. Splits: 12:53 12:11 12:12 12:15 12:33 12:54 12:55 13:17 13:18 13:10.. Once you're off the highway, this is a beautiful course. Hills, farms, horses, South Elkhorn Creek. Perfect Christmas run.

It was still dark when the dogs woke me. I let them out and bundled up next to Mrs P for a few extra minutes. Before long, Clare started yipping and a smoke alarm started the chirp that tells you it's time to remove the battery and forget to replace it until the time changes again. I got up and fumbled with the thing for a while, then let the dogs back into the house and gave them breakfast. Put on a pot of coffee. Pulled on the running clothes I had laid out last night. Made some toast.

Even under the best circumstances, it's a bit of a chore to get Mrs P up and moving on Sunday morning. Of course, last night we were at church until late, then we came home and made our final preparations for Santa's arrival, (just in case, you know?) I was pretty confident she would be sleeping in this Christmas. The dogs returned to their naps, and I opened up mapmyrun.com to find a route for the morning. There is a road near our home I've been wanting to run, but it's pretty narrow and I worry about traffic. I figured Christmas morning was likely to be a low volume time, so I laid it out. 10 miles. Rolling hils. Country roads. Just my style.

While I was there, I did a search and checked out the route for the Pittsburgh Marathon. Man, it looks so brutal. There's a nearly 200 ft climb from mile 11 to mile 12. That's steeper than anything I've ever tried to run. I'm going to need to spend some time in the mountains this winter.

Once the sun had come out and the temperature had risen to a balmy 32°, I put on my warm-up suit and reflective vest and hit the road. The morning was just beautiful. The steely gray sky gradually warmed to clear blue as the day warmed my face. The first 3 miles are along a highway that I have driven many times. It's such a different perspective when you run. At one point, a bunny loped along ahead of me, by the side of the road. I'm not sure if he was running away, or trying to coax a tortoise into a race. We had fun for a few yards, anyway. My route took me past my beloved Actors' Guild, then turned toward farmland. This little road follows the banks of South Elkhorn Creek for a while, then climbs up toward Bluegrass Airport. Running past horse farms on a sunny morning is heavenly. Doing it on Christmas morning defies any language I can put together. I can't explain this, but when I'm running, I find the smell of horse manure in a field to be so exhilarating. It smells of earth and life and it's just so... I don't know... pure, you know?

It got me thinking about Joseph. Poor, old, quiet Joseph. He had to walk a long way, a lot longer than I ran this morning. He had a young finance who had turned up mysteriously pregnant. He had a dream telling him he should marry her anyway. Now, he had the Romans calling him back to Bethlehem for a "census," whatever that meant. Probably more taxes. This was no way to start the winter. Then, when he finally dragged his little family into town, they couldn't find a bed. Wound up sleeping in the barn. Surrounded by animals. The smell of horse manure. I wonder if the carpenter from Nazareth took any comfort from that. Sitting there awake while his wife delivered somebody's child in the straw. Smelling the animals. Hearing their breathing and shuffling feet. And once it was all over, and Mary slept with the child on her breast. Did Joseph put his head down in the straw and look up at the stars, breathing in the earthy smells of the stable, wondering what just happened, and what it would mean for him and his bride-to-be? Before long, Joseph would be walking again, the Gospels tell us. This time, he walked all the way to Egypt while Herod hunted for the little boy hidden in swaddling clothes, riding in his mother's arms on a donkey laden with gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Myrrh. Just what a newborn needs. Maybe he could sell it when they got to Egypt to buy some tools. I wonder if Joseph had any hope in his heart, in the midst of all that confusion. He was doing his best to do the right thing, and it was turning out to be more difficult than anyone could have anticipated. He would marry the girl. He would raise the boy. He would pretend nothing was wrong, that he couldn't hear the snickers, that it didn't hurt to know his wife had been unfaithful. He did it for the sake of the child; for the sake of the woman. He did the right thing. And in a way, Joseph taught his son how to do the right thing; even when it hurt; even when it made no sense; even when it cost more than anyone could have imagined.

I made it home just as Mrs P was wrapping the last present. She got a set of Harry Potter DVD's. I got two books on marathons by Jeff Galloway and Grete Waitz. We went out to Hunan for dinner, but didn't have the Chinese Turkey. Now, as I type, three dogs are stretched out on the floor, Clare is curled up in my chair, Kizzie is sleeping on a blanket in front of the heating vent in our bedroom, and Maggie is rolled up in a ball on our bed. Mrs P is reading. It's as perfect a Christmas as I can imagine. I hope old Joseph got to enjoy one or two in his life. That's the best part about Christmas. It's the night Hope was born.

He did it all, and infinitely more; and to Tiny Tim, who did not die, he was a second father. He became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man, as the good old city knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough, in the good old world. Some people laughed to see the alteration in him, but he let them laugh, and little heeded them; for he was wise enough to know that nothing ever happened on this globe, for good, at which some people did not have their fill of laughter in the outset; and knowing that such as these would be blind anyway, he thought it quite as well that they should wrinkle up their eyes in grins, as have the malady in less attractive forms.

Peace, and Merry Christmas
Pennsy

#378: The Law of the Pack

2011-12-24T14:05:00.000-05:00

Mom always tried to get me to write thank you notes. For reasons I cannot explain, I resisted her efforts. Wicked child. I didn't know what to say. As if "Thank You," just wasn't original enough somehow.

I've always wanted to be impressive. Umpteen years ago, this blog started under the title Pennsyltuckian. I started blogging to share my deep insights into God, the Universe, and Everything with a world that was starving for my wisdom and eloquence. The more I wrote, the less impressed I grew with myself. The more words I typed, the more I realized how little I really had to say. The truth is, I didn't know squat about God, the Universe, or Anything. Fortunately, God's wisdom had a course of graduate studies in mind for me. I'm still not nearly as original, wise, or insightful as I want to be, but I do have a PhD in Gratitude. Here's an extract from my dissertation.

I am grateful for the Pack. I live in a world that idolizes the lone wolf, the man who can stand on his own two feet. He think for himself, takes care of his own, minds his business, and keeps his own counsel. I tried so long to be that man.

Maggie

We had cats for years. Lions live together, but most cats are lonely people. Given her 'druthers, Maggie and Kizzie would spend their whole lives curled up in a warm spot, purring quietly, contemplating the mysteries of the universe and occasionally taunting the dogs through the baby gate. Their encounters with each other can be civil and affectionate, even tender, but they always carry a tinder-box in their back pocket. They will hop up onto the bed when the mood strikes them, but neither is much for hugging. You can love a cat with all your heart, but the cat will always her limits.

Leader of the Pack?

Dogs live in the Pack. They hunt together, sleep together, raise their pups together. The dogs in my life have shown me how to love without limits. We play in the rain. We run in the grass. They have welcomed me into their world, though I can't do a thing for them except scoop dry nasty chunks of food into a bowl a couple times a day. It's a poor substitute for the game they were created to hunt and share in the wild, but they are grateful. I love all the creatures who share my home, but I will never be "one of the cats." The dogs have taken me in as one of their own. They even let me think I'm in charge from time to time.

Humans are slow, weak creatures. Compared to our brothers and sisters in the wild, we are not fast or strong. We can't see our food or smell danger. Our claws are short and brittle, our teeth flat and dull. The one advantage a human has is a brain. We're smart. And our ancestors were smart enough to realize that the only way for us to survive was if we lived together. We learned the law of the Pack. Mrs P likes to tell me, "Everything we do is better when we do it together." As always, she is right.

"We are the Duck!"

When I lost my job, I found a group of people struggling together to make it in the world. We traveled in small groups, trying to sell insurance to people who, for the most part, didn't want to see our faces, let alone buy our products. It could have been a lonely, depressing life - and the truth is, I sucked at selling insurance - but I found a pack who cared about one another. We understood one another's struggles, and when one of us was in trouble, the rest of us were willing to come to their aid. A few succeeded in the business, most of us didn't, but all of us found strength and love in that strange, wonderful Pack.

Stolen image, but this is what crazy feels like.

When I lost my mind, Mrs P knew she couldn't pull me back to sanity by herself, and that I couldn't help myself, either. She took me to the nut house. I spent 10 days there, taking pills, walking the halls, living without shoelaces or a belt. Afterwards, I was in an outpatient program for a month. I met with shrinks and counselors and social workers and big burly types who always showed up when one of us got out of hand. Those people were great. But the most important part of my healing happened in the big room in the middle of the ward, when all the professionals were in their offices doing paperwork, and the nuts would sit together and share our stories. We were depressed housewives, battered lovers, broken-hearted soldiers, grieving orphans. We had been fired, raped, dumped on, cheated on, and born with wired crossed in our heads. Most of us knew what it was to face the choice between life and death, and many of us had tried to choose death. Some of us had days when the pain of getting out of bed was just too great. One by one, we would stop by their room, like a little den, and offer to listen. We didn't have to ask how they were doing. We knew. All we could offer was our presence. The safety of the pack. There were no miracle cures in the nut house. We all went in crippled, and we all came out limping, but we were all a little stronger for the time we had spent together.

If you've been following FMR, you know my cancer story. I'm always blabbing about it. I wonder if people get sick of hearing it. But then I think of the people who might need to hear: the people who stare at the ceiling in the dark, worrying about a cough or a lump or a spot of blood that shouldn't be there; the people waiting for the results of tests that will change their lives; the people who haven't yet decided whether to fight or give up; the ones whose hope is fading; the weary cancer fighters who feel like old lions, left behind to die; the ones who love people with cancer, who don't know how to help and don't know how to keep fighting. Most of the people who hear my story won't need to hear it, but some will. That's my job. They are my Pack.

The Strong Eight - cancer warriors

My Wife. My Mother. My sisters and brothers, aunts and uncles. The friends who call and pray. The strangers who weep and nod in recognition. The church that never gave up on me, when I gave up on it. The theatre who played on my behalf and welcomed me back when the time was right. The Head and Neck Support group who shared my whole healing journey with me, from puking and oxygen tanks to my first half-marathon. The men and women at the YMCA, some vets of the cancer wars, some simply people who loved us, who came together to sweat and laugh and cry for joy at the life we have been given. The lady at the gas station who told me she was having a great day because "I'm a ten year breast cancer survivor." The man who had just had his prostate removed and was afraid he would never make love again. A guy who won the Tour de France seven times. A woman who had just been told she had started her third relapse of ovarian cancer. The people who take the time to read FMR. They are my Pack. You are my Pack.

And so this is Christmas: The Feast of the Incarnation. Believe what you want. Celebrate how you like. In my house, we celebrate the day God turned to creation and whispered, "You are my Pack. I am one of you. We are more whole when we are together. You are the source of love in my life, and I am yours. We each have our own stories. We live our own lives. But our lives are better because we are together."

Emmanuel.

God is with us.

And we are with one another.

The Law of the Pack.

Thanks be to God.

Peace,

Pennsy

#377: Don't Wait Till You Get Cancer

2011-12-23T08:07:00.000-05:00

Don't wait till you get cancer,
To decide why you want to stay alive,
To live as if you mattered,
To embrace what is precious.

Don't wait till you look Death in his unblinking eyes,
To start living,
As if every moment were a chance,
To help a miracle happen.

Before you need an army standing by your side,
Fighting for your life,
As if your life were worth the trouble,
Start fighting for yourself.

When you wake up in the morning
And the day begins, no matter how much you dread it,
Trust that there is something wonderful in it,
Just because you woke up.

Sweat the small stuff,
A friend's broken heart, A stranger's tear,
As if you were meeting the most important person in the universe,
Because that's just what you are doing.

Being broken is not a sin,
Staying broken is;
Find your portion of strength
And healing will follow.

Pour yourself out to the world,
And you will be an empty vessel;
Fill yourself to overflowing,
Become a fountain of blessing.

God created everything and called it good,
Take Him at His word;
You are a beloved creation,
Made in the image of holiness.

Don't wait till you get cancer,
To stop hurting yourself,
To ask "Why?"
To pick your battles,
To dance your dance;

Choose
What you want to love,
Where your heart will be,
What you want to become,
Whom you will serve;

Take
Life from your Maker,
Humility from your victories,
Compassion from your suffering;

Give
Hope to the fearful one,
Comfort to the sufferer,
Company to the lonely,
Courage to the battered.

Cancer changed my life;
I am a better man than I have ever been;
I know now what I have always known;
I've stopped living as if there are more important things than love.

Don't wait till you get cancer,
To live;
Don't waste another second of your beautiful life;
Every moment is a chance,
To help a miracle happen.

Peace,

Pennsy

#376: You Only Get One Chance at your First Marathon

2011-12-19T09:34:00.000-05:00

Pennsyltucky dreaming...

I now have 26.2 reasons to look forward to the new year. I sent the money in, and I’m registered to run the Pittsburgh Marathon on May 6. It is a long way, but then, so was 13.1. And 6.2. And 3.1. I thought 1.8 was going to kill me. And then there was that morning I had to stop and rest after crossing the street. A full marathon is a long way. But I know I can run one step. I’ll just keep doing that. Am I nervous? Yeah. Do I have a plan? Also, yeah.

I’m using a program from Galloway TrainingPrograms. It’s designed to prepare a first-timer to finish the race without injury and without swearing to never run another one. No speed records. No near-death experiences. No puking. After all, since it’s my first, no matter what time I get is going to be a personal best.

I’m doing two training runs a week to build strength and maintain conditioning, with a Long Slow Run (LSR) on the weekends. That will give my old joints plenty of time to recover between workouts. On Monday and Wednesday, I’ll be cross-training (XT). XT is the work you do because you’re too crazy to take a day off, but you don’t want to kill yourself. At least that’s how I understand it.

I have a lot of options for XT: weight lifting, circuit training, swimming, spinning, body-weight training, Pilates, TRX. I intend to mix them up to keep things interesting. I have three goals in cross-training.

1.      Continue building my endurance. Nothing matters more in long distance running. It doesn’t matter how fast you can run if you can’t keep going all the way to the end.

2.      Build core strength. Not just my abs. The skin around my belly is so stretched out, I don’t ever expect to see a six-pack, but I do need a strong center. That includes the whole abdominal girdle, stomach, sides, butt, and lower back. It’s important to give the running muscles a recovery day, so I won’t be doing so much leg work while I’m training for the race.

3.      Dump some ballast. I want to get my weight down about 15 pounds. When I’m climbing up that hill to Oakland, I don’t want to carry more than I have to.

4.      Get pretty. This is my vanity goal. I want to look better in a tee-shirt. I tend to overlook bench presses and curls and such movements because they’re so isolated. I’m going to take the opportunity to focus more on my upper body: arms, shoulders, chest, and back. I confess, there is a macho man hiding inside me, longing to come out and kick sand in cancer’s face.

I also have the Run the BluegrassHalf-Marathon tucked into my calendar on March 31. That fits nicely into my schedule as a tune-up for the big one. There’s also something poetic about running races in Kentucky and Pennsylvania this spring that warms my Pennsyltucky heart.

I’m planning a major fundraiser to go along with this race. I’ll have more to tell you about that later. I’ll only get one chance to run my first marathon, and I want to make the most of it. As always, FMR will be a big part of that journey.

I look forward to traveling with you.

Peace,

Pennsy

#375: Casting Call for Actors' Guild Runners and Walkers

2011-11-04T22:49:00.002-04:00

Do you love Actors' Guild of Lexington? Ever wish you could do more to support their work? Can you run or walk 1.8 miles? Do you like to show off by using phrases like "leverage your network," "viral marketing," and "grassroots philanthropy?" Here's the chance you've been waiting for.

After the success we enjoyed with One for the Five, Team Pennsy is launching a new fund raising effort on January 1 called Keeping the Dream Alive. We'll be training for the Shamrock Shuffle 3K on St Patrick's Day in downtown Lexington. This is a really fun race, an reachable distance, and the kind of lunatic, emerald-clad crowd you would expect on St Paddy's morning. Your registration fee (which is cheap - last year, early registration was $18) supports Habitat for Humanity, a great cause here in the Bluegrass.

Our efforts will piggy-back on theirs. As a team member, you'll have your own page on Crowdrise.com, just like the one we used to raise $3555 for the Markey Cancer Foundation. Then you can contact your friends, family, or strangers on the street to solicit contributions that help Actors' Guild's work. It's fun. It's easy. And it's good for you. Can't beat that.

But before we start raising money, we need to put a team together. If you would like to join us on the street on March 17, 2012, all you have to do is...

Go to the Keeping the Dream Alive and join Team Pennsy. Crowdrise has lots of tools to help you get started. And of course, I'm just full of sage advice that's absolutely free.
Registration for the 2012 race opens in December. Once we're all signed up and ready to go, we'll begin our campaign early next year.

I'm really excited at the prospect of building on the generosity and energy or the Lexington theatre community. You were there when I needed you. Now we can be there for each other.

Peace

Pennsy

#374: Scan-ziety: The Fear of Finding Out

2011-10-31T06:53:00.000-04:00

Available at Hope and Dreams Designs

Once you've had a positive biopsy for cancer, you can never look at tests the same way again. So I was awake at 3:30 this morning, thinking about my upcoming colonoscopy.

I don't have any symptoms or warning signs. It just seemed to me that it was time to do the thing. I know too many people who waited too long to have it done. I don't want any surprises. On the other hand, finding out is not that pleasant a process.

I first experienced Scan-ziety while waiting for results from the CT scan they ran a month after my last radiation treatment. It seemed to take for ever for the week between the test and the appointment with the doc to pass. I had already spent four weeks wondering if we had gotten it all. Now, somebody out there knew, some radiologist or something, and they weren't telling me. I remember working hard to stay positive, but that didn't stop the haunting thoughts. What if I still have cancer? What if it spread somewhere else? What if my family and I have to go through another few months like we just survived?

As it turned out, all my fears were unfounded. No new growth. Meet my new best friend, "NED," (No Evidence of Disease.) Finally, a happy ending.

It is my impression that when a person goes to war, they never really come all the way home again. Being in a firefight changes them in ways that can never be undone. Cancer is a little like that. Surviving teaches you a lot about your own strength, your own courage. When I'm working out with my LIVESTRONG friends at the gym, and things get really tough, I sometimes joke, "It's not as hard as chemo." Sometimes we all laugh, but often somebody will just nod grit their teeth, and get back to work. Nothing in an exercise class is that hard. Not once you've kicked cancer's ass. Still...

It is always there. The Possibility. Smoking? Drinking? Sexual promiscuity? Obesity? Small potatoes. Nothing puts you in a higher risk group than having had cancer once already. I met a woman at the Y last week who was on her third relapse of ovarian cancer. One of my friends is waiting to find out if she's on her fourth. The Possibility.

You wonder, will the next one be harder? Harder than surviving? Harder than coming back? Harder than a half marathon? You wonder and you worry and you watch the numbers change on the alarm clock and finally you get up and start writing about it because thinking about something else just seems impossible at the moment.

OK, let's face it. There's a lot you can say that's funny about a colonoscopy. Not in good taste, perhaps, but funny. I'm sure that in come Wednesday evening, I'll have plenty of humorous anecdotes about the prep, the procedure, and my recovery from anesthesia which is always a laugh riot. I'll write one of those posts that makes Mum roll her eyes and Mrs P say something like, "Hmmm. Not one of my favorites." We'll all have a chuckle. To tell the truth, I'm not exactly consumed with the drama of the thing, even now.

I'm just thinking about it.

Living with it.

The Possibility.

It may never arrive. It won't ever really go away. But it better think twice before coming back to our house.

We've already kicked its ass once.

Peace,
Pennsy

#373: Numbers, Numbers, Numbers

2011-10-25T21:21:00.000-04:00

TALE OF THE TAPE...

	1/20/08	4/27/08	7/20/08	4/16/10*	3/17/11	7/1/11	10/23/11	Change
Weight	405	366	357	397	292	262	261	(1)
BMI	49.3	44.5	42.9	48.4	35.5	32	31.8	(0.2)
Body Fat %	43.8	31.1	31.4		29.1	24.5	23.7	(0.8)
Lean Mass	228	231	245		207	198	199	1
Resting HR	87	70	68		64	62	58	(4)
Neck	19	18	18		17.25	16	16	NC
Shoulders	59.5	55.5	59.5		55	52	52	NC
Chest	58	57	58		50	46.5	47.5	1
L Biceps	15.5	16	18		13.5	13	13	NC
R Biceps	16	16.5	19		14	13	14	1
L Forearm	12.5	12.25	13		11.5	11	11	NC
R Forearm	13	13	13.75		12	11	11.5	0.5
Waist	59	52	50.5	60	46	43	41	(2)
Hips	61.5	57.5	56.5		51	48.5	48	(0.5)
L Thigh	29.5	30	26		27.5	27	25.5	(1.5)
R Thigh	30	30	26		28	27	24	(3)
L Calf	20.25	20	20		18	18	18	NC
R Calf	20.5	20	20		18	18	17.5	(0.5)

*4/16/2010 was the day Pennsy was diagnosed with Cancer.

This update is based on my measurements from Sunday morning, before the Iron Horse.The changes continue, but have slowed down considerably. I plan to spend the rest of the year giving much more attention to the weight room. I want to build some more upper body strength and cut some weight before I start training for the spring races.

RUNNING LOG

68 degrees. 4.17 mi/59:14 @ 2:30(est). Legacy out and back. Red Pegasus. 3:00 run/1:00 walk. PERFECT day. EZ recovery run.

Today's run was an easy recovery jog on the Legacy trail. I deliberately slowed down every time I felt myself starting to slip into my familiar, 11:00/mi pace. I also started experimenting with more frequent and longer walk breaks. The Nike+ site is down, so I don't have split times, but I'm sure they were level. It's the easiest 4 miles I've ever run, and my legs felt a lot better after I was finished. I still had quite a bit of lingering soreness from Sunday's race. I did a little reading, and it seems I did not walk as much as I should have after the half. But this little jog helped a lot.

WEIGHT ROOM
3 sets / 15 reps / Super sets / 1:15 rest between sets

Exercise	Weight
Squats	135
Seated Cable Row	170
Supine Hip Extension	40
Dumbbell Push Press	20
Dumbbell Rotational Lunge	20
Swiss Ball Crunch

HTML Tables

OK, here's how this workout goes... You do one set of squats, then one of rows, then squats, then rows, etc. Once you've done three sets of each, you move on to the next "super-set." this is part of the Fat Loss program from Schuler and Cosgrove's New Rules of Lifting. You know how crunches feel a little wussy sometimes? By the time you get to the crunches at the end of this workout, you have a lot more respect for those little sit-up things. The way I was grunting and groaning, you'd have thought I was pushing a broken down truck.

I didn't intend to do all this today, but I vegged yesterday, and wanted to get back on schedule. I'm looking forward to some exhausting, undramatic days at the gym.

And speaking of the gym... I just got word, I've been hired to work at the Y where I've been working out all summer. I'm so excited to start. I'm hoping I'll be of use... might ever be able to steer some survivors toward the program. And I'll always have an excuse to be at the gym! Fall is shaping up...

Peace,
Pennsy

#372: The Iron Horse Half Marathon

2011-10-24T10:59:00.000-04:00

It isn't going to be easy to write about this race. There's a lot about it that I don't really remember. I think I was just so caught up in the moment that I forgot to keep mental notes. Here are a few scenes that I managed to hang on to.

Saturday Night
I've been concentrating on eating more carbohydrates for a couple of days. Tonight, I want to eat light so I don't have a belly full when it's time to run. The only thing worse than not having a port-a-potty nearby when you need one is having to sit on that 40 degree seat at 7:30 in the morning.

I've chosen my gear for the race. I'll wear the Adidas. The Nikes are prettier, but my best runs are all in these gray trail runners, and I almost never get blisters when I wear them. I'll wear my new, UK blue compression shorts under the black and gold Livestrong shorts. I'll decide on the tights in the morning. I picked them up for about $12 at Meijer and they look like they'll be just as good as the $60 ones on eBay. The brown jersey work gloves for my hands. The white wrist bands and sweat band. The fancy Feetures socks. Other than my shoes, they're the most expensive thing I'm wearing. If they take good care of my tootsies, they'll be worth it.

Pin my number on the front of my shirt. Pin the Once for the Five banner I've created on the back. I have it tucked into a zip lock bag so I don't smear it during the race.

Bed time. Shower. Powder and tape the feet. I put a half-inch wide strip over the end of the three middle toes, then wrap a 1 inch strip around each one. One wrap. No seams. No overlaps. No bumps. At 9:00, I kiss Mrs P good night, turn out the light, and stare into the dark wishing I could get up and start the race right now.

Sunday Morning
5:00 AM, and the alarm goes off. I've been watching the numbers change since about 4:30. Jake, Clare, and I go out to the yard for a pee. Well, you know, I watch and they... never mind. The moon is beautiful, a sliver turned on its back like a glowing bowl in the sky. Standing there in my pajamas, I realize that yes, I will be wearing my tights today. It is about 38 degrees outside.

A Gift from Eric

Turn on the coffee. Toast an English Muffin. Check the email and Facebook. A friend send a contribution over night. One for the Five, our fundraiser on Crowdrise is sitting at $3480. If no more comes in, I'll throw in the last 20 bucks after the race. Eric sent me a graphic he created that was inspired either by John Updike, Pink Floyd, or Eminem. I download it as my desktop background at once.

Lots of good wishes from friends. I've promised to carry them all in my heart. I'll actually be carrying them in a little plastic bag pinned to the back of my tee-shirt, but I've decided that still counts.

Get out the jar of Aquaphor to grease my feet before I put on socks. Tape the nipples. Damn. Forgot to shave again. That's going to hurt coming off.

At 6:00, Mrs P stirs. I've told her I want to leave by 6:30 so we can park and I can warm up. She is a remarkably good sport about it. Double check to make sure the camera is in my bag with dry, post-race clothes. Feed the dogs. Hit the road.

Midway

Sunrise over Midway

A few miles outside of Midway, I notice that there are lots of headlights behind us. They all make the left turn off of Leestown Road into town. It occurs to me that this is the last time I will lead this race, so I may as well enjoy it. In town, the scene is eerie. Police direct traffic in the headlights. People in sweats and warm up suits, and a few Viking souls in short are jogging around or stamping their feet in place. Lots of people sipping coffee. We drive around town for a couple of minutes, finally settling on a parking spot on Main Street. Mrs P give me a kiss. sets her alarm for 7:50, and curls up in a blanket on the front seat.

I walk down the street, toward the starting line. There are already a couple hundred people gathered. Some are chatting and smiling. Some are staring with that, "What the hell am I doing awake in the cold in short pants?" look in their eyes. The sound of port-a-potty doors slams echoes across the square. Poor girls.

I begin trotting gently around the square. My body starts waking from my feet up. No little aches or pains. Everything seems to be working as it should. My arms are a little chilly under my warm-up suit. I'm glad I threw a long sleeved technical shirt into my bag. Of course, after resolving not to wear anything new for the race, I'm now going to be running in tights and a shirt that just came out of their wrappers. Thank goodness for baby powder and adhesive tape.

The Land of the Sparkle People

At around 7:30, I make my way back to the car. I pull off my warm-ups, strip off my white cotton shirt, and put on my racing top. Sweat band for my head. Wrist bands to hold the sleeves closed. Gloves to keep me warm and to use for handkerchiefs along the way. The cold I brought home with me from Pittsburgh is not bothering me too much, but my nose is running and shows no signs of slowing down. Got to remember not to shake any hands till I take my gloves off.

I settle into what seems like the back of the pack at the starting line. Before long, several hundred more runners are behind me. I should move back, but the road is plenty wide enough for them to blow past me. Just before the start, Mrs P appears, camera in hand. She is so proud of me. It feels terrific. The flash of her camera lights up the whole crowd. Seems like everybody is wearing something that's reflective.

There is no gun at the start.
I guess they figured that 1300 people in the front yard is enough to ask the good folks of Midway to endure at 8:00 on a Sunday morning. The elite runners head out, and we mortals follow behind. It only takes me about a minute to get to the starting line. I am way too far up in the pack. Race etiquette dictates that the slow-pokes stay to the rear. So does common sense. I need to start slowly if I'm going to make it to the end. The tide of stronger runners carries me along through the first mile about a minute and a half faster than I planned to go. I put the brakes on and find a lower gear.

What the Well-Dressed Marathoner is
Wearing this Year

As we pass the beautiful campus of Midway college, the road is filled with runners as far as I can see. This is one of my favorite moments in a race. We are a river, flowing through the countryside in our brightly colored clothes. We wear crazy hats. A couple of people are in costumes. A handful of us imagine we can actually win this race, but the rest are here to share this thing that we love with a few hundred friends and strangers. Soon, the pack will begin to string out as the stronger runners pull out ahead, but for now, we are a crazy quilt of panting, sweating joy. It's great to be alive.

I start to hear beeping all around me. I am not the only Run/Walk devotee in the crowd. One fellow is running for 30 seconds and walking for 30 seconds. He is funny at first, but then the sound gets a little annoying. 30/30 seems kind of excessive. How is he ever going to finish? After about five minutes, he disappears around a turn up ahead and I never see him again. I'm going to have to try shorter intervals for my next race.

From time to time, I tuck in behind another runner whose pace seems to match mine. After about two miles I've settled in to the 12min/mile pace that I planned. I have a good enough feel for it that I know when to let a runner go when they're pulling me along too fast. I make friends with another Galloway runner from Chicago who is doing 60/60 intervals. We run along together for most of the middle of the race.

At the half-way point...
...there are people by the side of the road cheering the runners on. A cowbell thunks in the morning air. I guess most of the townsfolk are awake by now. I run through a scheduled walk break during this stretch, the only time during the race that I skip one. My ego wouldn't let me stop in front of all these nice people. Hope I don't regret it later.

The second half of the race is made up of long rolling hills. I think to myself that they should re-name this race the "Just One More" half marathon. I keep whispering "just one more" to myself, which tickles me, and helps me get to the top.

I'm feeling strong at mile 8, and start testing my legs a little. I slowly pull away from my companion from Chicago. I'm just going a few second faster, but if feels really good. "I eat hills," I think to myself. I'm looking for just the right combination of confidence and humility.

The humility part is easy. The leaders have long since begun passing me going the other direction. As a matter of fact, the winner finished before I got to the half-way point. I never even saw him. I start seeing other people from John's Striders. We point and smile and call each other's names. It lifts my spirits. Never even occurs to me how much faster these runners are than I am.

After the 10 mile sign...
...I really am on my own. I see a few runners ahead of me, but don't hear any footsteps behind. I won't have anybody to help me pace these last three miles. I'll have to just trust my training and put one foot in front of the other. The sun is up, now. The thoroughbreds raise their heads up from grazing to watch me curiously as I trot past. "You call that running?" they seem to ask. Another reason to smile. At least I don't have to carry anybody.

Mile 11
I had planned to really press the tempo from here. I try stepping on the gas, but my legs are getting heavy. I'll keep on taking my walk breaks every 4 minutes. Suddenly 2 miles seems like a very long way.

Mile 12.

Angels Behind Me

A young man in black Adidas shorts sails past me. Where the devil has he been hiding? I have to admire his discipline. I wish I had saved a little more for this last mile. My thighs feel like they are made of stone. My strides are no longer automatic. Each one requires a conscious decision. "Lift. Pull. Put it down. Lift. Pull. Put it down." I struggle to hold my form. My upper body wants to slump forward, but I know that will just make me jam my legs into the pavement and wear me out even faster. I feel the doubt weighing on me. Is this "the wall" that the marathoners talk about?

Then, I remember the sign on my back. The reason I'm running. I remember the Five. With each stride, each time my right foot lands, I begin chanting their names. "Doug. Alan. Catherine. Elvin." I remember Alan's email, thanking me for my blog and how it gave him strength during his chemo. I remember Catherine's son telling me how hard she had prayed for me. Elvin shaking off the fog of the tumor in his brain and struggling to his feet to walk me to the door at his mamma's funeral. Doug smiling on his death-bed, telling us, "It's all going to be worth it." "Doug. Alan. Catherine. Elvin."

"We did it."

They ran with me. They breathed for me. I felt their hands lifting me from behind, lightening my legs, lifting my feet, pumping my arms. A fireman waved me into the last turn. "Three tenths of a mile to go!" he shouted. "Three city blocks," I thought to myself. "Doug. Alan, Catherine. Elvin." The clock at the finish line read 2:39:50. I was going to break 2:40. I called their names out loud. Mrs P was there with the camera and burst into tears when I sprinted through the arch. "Doug. Alan. Catherine. Elvin...We did it."

A man handed me a bottle of water.
Mrs P ran weeping across the finisher's corral and gave me a sweaty, snotty, tear-soaked kiss. We walked together in the morning sunshine, her holding my now glove-less hand, me waiting for my eyes to focus. A lady approached me and reached toward my face. She hung a finisher's medal around my neck. "I heard you," Mrs P whispered. "I heard you calling their names."

One knick-knack you won't be seeing on eBay

When I got home, I checked online and saw that two folks, one a stranger, one an old friend hand made contributions while I was running. One for the Five had raised $3555 for the Markey Cancer Foundation. I called Mum. I gave a victory howl on Facebook. I drank a smoothie and some chocolate milk. Then I went to sleep. For a long time.

For the Five... for Them All

13.1 miles.
Look, lots of people run half marathons. You see the stickers on car bumpers all over town. It isn't that big a deal. Unless you run one. It's something you can be proud of without bragging. You don't need anyone to know. Because you know. You did it. You can do it.

26.2 miles is a very, very long way. I don't know if I'll ever run a full marathon. But I really want to. Because I've never liked myself quite as much as I did in the morning sunshine of Midway Kentucky with my beard filled with snot and a medal hanging around my neck. It's a feeling I'm going to carry with me for a long time.

Doug. Alan. Catherine. Elvin.

We did it.

Peace,
Pennsy

#371: Homecoming Part 2: At the Confluence

2011-10-22T14:46:00.000-04:00

Pennsy at "The Confluence"

There are some words in our language that are so loaded with meaning that they carry their own context with them. "Harbinger" is one. When you hear "harbinger," you think of robins heralding spring. If you're a football fan, "confluence" is another one of those words. There's only one reason for any sports announcer to use the word in a sentence, and it goes like this...

This evening, Ladies and Gentlemen, two teams will meet at the confluence of the Allegheny, the Monongahela, and the Ohio rivers in a battle for AFC supremacy as the Baltimore Ravens visit the Pittsburgh Steelers on Monday Night Football!

We called it "The Point. I doubt if any of those sportscasters even know what a confluence is. They certainly never know how to pronounce "Monongahela," but they are right about one thing... This is a place where giants meet. And last Sunday, I got a chance to walk among them.

The alarm went off at 5:00 AM. For a 1:00 kickoff. And I was already awake. Mrs P groaned softly, mumbling something about driving carefully and having a good time. I pulled on my black and gold turtleneck and hooded sweatshirt, then made my way down the steep steps of Mum's house to the kitchen. Coffee. Poppy seed cake. English muffin. I looked up at the clock over the sink and tried to do the math. If I left now, I could be at Skip's house by 7:00 AM. For a 1:00 kickoff. What the heck. I had nothing else to do.

The road to Gramma's house

It was pitch black, country black outside when I steered my little Honda down the two lanes of state route 66 toward New Bethlehem. The GPS chattered helpfully, but I didn't need it. I've know these twists and hills since before I could talk. We would drive up into the mountains on Friday and visit with Gramma and Grampa Cole till Sunday after the noon meal that they called "dinner." Then we'd pile into the station wagon, Mum would cry, and we would head back home to Pittsburgh.

Unless the Steelers were on TV.

If they were playing, We would settle down in the living room, Grampa in his big vinyl recliner with the little round burns in the arms and a pack of Camel cigarettes. Dad sat on the couch with his Bel-Airs. My sister and I rolled on the floor, usually arguing about something, while the little men on the black and white console TV ran around losing football games to teams led by players like Bart Starr, Johnny Unitas, and Joe Namath. Grampa would joke about how bad we were. The Pirates were the only decent team in town. Gramma and Mum would sit in the dining room with Aunt Grace or Aunt Marylin playing cards or gossiping. After the game, which the Steelers always lost, we said our goodbyes and Dad steered the big Pontiac Tempest wagon down state route 66 toward home.

So, yeah. I knew the way.

Skip playing college ball at Davidson... not too shabby

When we were in high school, our basketball team made a rare appearance in the WPIAL tournament downtown at the Civic Arena. The Pittsburgh Press interviewed our coach, and he talked about our star, "Downtown Skippy Brown." He was trying to coin a catchy nickname, but I don't think it ever took. The nickname I remember was "Wilhelm." Don't know if that's right or not, but in German class, Frau Grubesky gave us all German names like "Max" or "Friederich." Mine, oddly enough, was "Robert." If I remember right, Skip's was "Wilhelm." He was a hard kid to ignore in the halls of Keystone Oaks. When I had my growth spurt, I shot up to 6'-3" over the summer. Skip kept going till he hit 6"-10". When pestered about it, he always claimed to be 5'-8". He still does. He was a skinny, gawky kid, like most really tall teens, and the day the class bully, who had some success in the Golden Gloves took a poke at him in gym class, it didn't take long for word to spread around the school that skinny Skippy Brown had kicked the lunk-head's ass. He may have looked like a toothpick, but he was tough as re-bar. Still is.

"It's in your blood..."

Skip has been a volunteer fire-fighter for over 30 years. His grandfather was a city fireman, and use to take him down to the station house to climb on the truck and meet the rough men who risked their lived to keep the smokiest city in the world from bursting into flame. "It's in your blood," he says. He always wanted to be a fireman. I can't imagine a more reassuring figure coming through the smoke to rescue me than this gentle giant. His heart is even bigger than he is.

So it was not really surprising when I got the message on Facebook. He had Steeler season tickets. If I agreed to beat cancer, he would take me to a game. I called cancer and let him know that the deal was done. I had better things to do than die this year.

I arrived at Skip's front door around 7:45 AM. For a 1:00 kick-off. After a decent interval, I called and Karen answered the phone. Skip was in the shower. I told them I was about half an hour away, and drove off for a little tour around the neighborhood. The South Hills of Pittsburgh are like nowhere else I've ever been. Houses aren't built on these hills, they are carved into them. Here, you might have to climb 10 steps to get from the street to the ground floor. My dad grew up in a five room shot-gun house on the South Side and none of the rooms was on the same level. He knew people with coal mines in their basements. In their basements! As I drove the perennial lousy pavement of Pittsburgh, I fell in love with my hometown all over again. It is not a pretty town, not by a long shot. But it is a beautiful one. This city makes you tough. You learn to climb up the mountains and to enjoy sliding down the other side in the snow that never seems to go away. The city was built by entrepreneurs and union workers and robber barons and immigrants who were willing to dig in and make a life for themselves in a place where a lot of sensible people would stop, enjoy the view, and then move on to flatter, friendlier places. In my heart, Pittsburgh is the capital of Pennsyltucky. Coal and steel. That's who we are.

Pennsy and the Chief... No, I don't mind if you smoke...

When I finally got up the nerve to stop in front of Skip's house, he was coming out the front door to greet me, wearing Antonio Brown's #84 on a black Steeler home jersey. He extended his hand, and I plowed right past it, offering him one of my patented Pennsy welcome hugs. I'm sort of used to wrapping people up in my arms. Hugging Skip is like being embraced by a grown-up when you're 8 years old. It wasn't to be the first time I'd feel that way. I spent a lot of time that day following his footsteps and peeking out around from behind him to see what was going on. We went inside and I met their handsome pit-lab mix whose name I seem to remember was Winston, but I'm not sure if that's right or not. Karen introduced herself and welcomed me. Then we went downstairs into what Skip calls his "museum." First thing you see is his handsome son, in annual 8x10's lined up on the wall. The school pictures show a boy growing into a man who mercifully favors his Momma. Skip's office is a shrine to Pittsburgh sports. The walls are covered with autographed photos and memorabilia from the Pens, the Bucs, and the Steelers, as well as trophies his grandfather took from the Germans in WWI and a collection of fire-fighter collectibles. A bushel of Terrible Towels hangs from the rafters. The chair is a handsome black leather number with you-know-what emblazoned on the back. This is not the home of a "fan." This is the home of a devotee, a lover of tradition and greatness. It is a little nook in what they call Steeler Nation. It's a great place to hang out.

All the way from Mexico City...
Steeler Nation knows no boundaries.

We shared a few stories as I thumbed through a couple of albums filled with autographs, photos, cards, tickets. I showed skip the Terrible Towel I had tucked into my sweat shirt pocket. We said good bye to Karen and Winston, and hopped into his SUV for the drive through the Liberty Tubes and into town. Skip's family has had Steeler tickets for 50 years, so he has the routine down. Just over the bridge a man greeted us and waved us into a small parking lot outside of a business that was closed for the weekend. Skip introduced me as his old friend who was seeing his first Steeler game today. The man wished me well, took Skip's $30, and sent us on our way up the hill toward Heinz Field. We walked through the parking lots filled with tailgaters. The air was filled with the smells of burgers, keilbassa, brats, and fried onions. One table was laden with about 20 gallons of top shelf liquor. Next to it was one covered in home made brownies and cans of pop. Black and gold were the only colors. Except for the Mexican flag flown by two fans who had flown up from Mexico City to see their first game at Heinz Field. They had been fans for years, they said. I took their pictures with my big friend, and we made our way to the Great Hall. Here, beneath the bleachers, all the greats are enshrined, from Ernie Stautner to Ron Woodson. Giant replicas of the six super-bowl trophies line the center of the hall, and the place is filled with parents and kids passing the stories down.

Canton? Go north and turn left.

The first glimpse I got of the field took my breath away. Heinz field is supposed to be the worst surface in the NFL for visiting players. Just like the streets of Pittsburgh, you have to live here to love it. I looked out from the North end zone, the open side of the stadium, the side that cost Jeff Reed his job, and felt my eyes mist over. Heath Miller and Heinz Ward ran routes toward the end zone as Charlie Batch lofted rainbows to them, one after another. Lawrence Timmons and Lamarr Woodley ran sprints toward us under the cool gray sky. If you want to know the truth, I could have left right then and been happy.

Skip's seats are ridiculous. 25 yard line. Behind the Steeler bench. 10 rows back. to get much closer, you'd have to put on a helmet. Everybody seems to know him. That's because Skip treats everybody like an old friend. He knows their names and their kids names. He always introduces me. Everyone is glad to meet me and knows I'm going to have a great time. We stand and I sing the national anthem, our black and gold caps over our hearts. This is not the kind of stadium where people mill around chatting during the anthem. When the young woman finishes, my neighbor says admiringly, "That was a great job. She didn't junk it up." We know steel in Pittsburgh, and we know scrap. The came begins, and it becomes obvious to me that there's going to be a problem. When I raise my arm and twirl my towel, it is just about level with Skip's head. I whack him in the back of the noggin with nearly every wave. He never says a word.

Skip knocking the lid off of Pennsy's bucket list...
And yes, we are both standing...

At half-time, I am frozen in my seat. I contemplate the possibility of actually sleeping here tonight. This is something like Skip's 500th Steeler game. "I wish there was some way for me to tell you what I'm feeling right now, Skip." He grins, "I can see how you're feeling." "I'll remember this day, as long as I live."

And I will.

By the way, We beat the Jacksonville Jag-offs 17-13. Icing on the cake.

Peace,
Pennsy

#370: Homecoming Part 1: Mother Fair

2011-10-19T20:57:00.000-04:00

I can remember seeing them every autumn. They gathered in little clumps on the quad. They took up tables in the pizza joint and the sub shop. They milled around the library and the student union and the chapel, telling stories about ancient days. I never knew what to make of them, these graying junior executive types in their cashmere sweaters and their carefully creased khakis.They were goofy, semi-grown-ups who couldn't get on with their lives, lurking around in the hangouts of their youth, reminiscing about drunken nights in a dry college town. I used to laugh at them. This week, I joined them.

Back in time...

Ring out the bells in Old Main's tower again...
Home of the Towering Titans

New Wilmington is a pastoral village, the western capital of Amish Pennsylvania. Unlike her eastern cousin, Lancaster, New Wilmington's Amish community doesn't market itself very aggressively. Sure, you can buy some cheese or a rocking chair. But the souvenirs available are pretty minimal. Mostly, the Amish of New Wilmington go about their business quietly, living in comfortable proximity to the private college students and "English" natives of this little town, tucked into the Alleghenies. And at the heart of the town stands Westminster College. Founded in 1852 by the Presbyterian church, Westminster looks like a college from a movie about college. There is ivy on the walls. There is chalk dust in the classrooms. The faint aroma of generations of pipe tobacco teases your imagination as you walk the halls of "Old Main," the administrative and historic center of campus. The ancient "Westminster Chimes" ring each hour, half and quarter hour. For a working-class kid from Pittsburgh, coming to Westminster was a dream come true and the chance of a lifetime.

Erin, Pennsy, and Jeff... Titans, all...

Mrs P and I arrived just a little late. We missed the class photo, but we arrived just in time to catch everyone hanging out on the library steps afterwards. I heard her laughing voice from halfway across the Quad. Erin was one of the first people I met when I came to school. She smiled that smile and gushed over my voice when I sang in chapel and I was smitten for life. We took classes together, spent our summers at Bemus Point, even met for tea when she was a RA our senior year. We were never sweethearts, but I was sure sweet on her. I guess I still am. She gave me a big hug and kiss, and asked to meet Mrs P. As I introduced them, I saw Jeff on the steps. We were room mates, class mates, cast mates, brothers, and fellow artists. Jeff went off to be a professional song-and-dance man. I went off to get my MFA and become a Broadway star. We both did ok. He's been teaching at a very prestigious university for 16 years. He has a beautiful wife and a little girl who lights up his eyes every time he mentions her. He's just as handsome and compassionate as ever. Mrs P fell in love with both of them on sight.

A place for joys and concerns...

Ever the social butterfly, Erin flitted off with another group. We would catch up at the banquet. Jeff, Mrs P and I wandered through the gray autumn afternoon, the wind blown leaves dancing around us almost as fast as the memories swirled around our every step. We entered the silent chapel reverently. So many prayers had been lifted, so many tears shed, so many joys celebrated under those great oak arches. "It's very Presbyterian," Mrs P observed, and she was right, but it was so much more. A lot of important things happened to us inside the stone walls of the chapel. A lot of friendships were started, even a love affair or two. In the sentimental memory of an alumnus, all of campus is special: but the chapel is holy ground.

Where I learned there's no such thing as a "sex ghost."

A very nice lady saw us wandering the halls of Old Main and gave us a tour. Many of our old classrooms are "smart" now. I'm not sure what that means, but I'm sure it's very expensive. We saw the room where the brilliant Peter Mackey taught C.S. Lewis wearing the crazy National Health glasses he got while a scholar at Oxford. We saw the corner spot where Patty Lamb taught us about Keats and Joe "Sure Shot" Hopkins gave us the toe-the-line, hard-core Presbyterian version of New Testament studies. Finally, we visited the room where Fritz Horn taught Shakespeare. This too was hallowed ground. I was delighted to see that there was still a pencil sharpener screwed to the dark wood trim around the slate blackboard. Maybe this old museum room wasn't "smart," but a genius used to teach here, opening our minds to the words of a writer who would change my life. He also taught me that just because somebody published it, doesn't make it true. And the best lessons are the ones you teach yourself.

Beeghly Theatre was home for all those years. That's where I auditioned and won my scholarship. It's where I played my first part in a straight play. It's where I almost failed Theatre History. And on my last day of college, it's where I stopped to say goodbye. While normal college kids were home studying or out drinking and trying for a little Calvinist nookie, we were studying lines, rehearsing scenes, practicing dialects, even learning to ride a motor bike. There was a ghost, whose name I can't recall, and a lot of hard working kids whose faces I will never forget. As we sat on the steps of the auditorium, laughing about our chain smoking mentors, the door opened and in peeked one of the loveliest of those faces.

Pennsy, Joellen, and Jeff... If you ask me,
The halo is on the wrong angel.

I remember Joellen like a little bird, vulnerable and beautiful with a lovely face and a sharp mind. Westminster wasn't always an easy world for a good Catholic girl, but Joellen found her niche. She tried acting for a while, but her heart wasn't in it. She became an English major and a writer. Now she's a mom with three handsome boys who make her so proud that she tears up when she talks about them. I embarrassed her by remembering how great she looked in her blue leotard when we were 19. Mrs P thought I was being a little inappropriate, but if somebody remembered liking my butt after 30 years, I think I'd appreciate knowing that.

Pennsyltucky's Allegheny mountains

We kissed our goodbyes in the fall afternoon, stopped by the bookstore to replace my long gone Towering Titans tee-shirt, and headed back to Mum's house to change for the banquet. How i love these mountains. I drove a lot of miles through them. Hiked them. Camped in their forests. Fished their lakes. Dreamed under their clouds. I am a city boy, but those trips to the mountains, that's where I was really raised. The best parts of me all grew out of the loamy soil under these hardwoods.

Marcia, Jeff, Pennsy, and Jennifer

The banquet was unforgettable. The company, I mean. Not the food. I've already forgotten the food. I sat next to Marcia, a beautiful mom and dancer who used to wait tables in a yellow polyester waitress uniform at the Hotel Lenhart on Lake Chautauqua while I sweated away behind the dishwasher, wishing one of those lovely daffodils would go for a summer stroll and a smooch with me after the kitchen was clean and dark. Her daughter dances now, and her husband is an engineer. They live out west and the climate suits her. She looks as lithe and graceful as ever. And though we took a walk or two in the moonlight, I never did get that smooch.

Dear, lovely Jennifer. I'd like to tell you that she's as beautiful as ever, but the truth is that she is even more beautiful now than she was when we were all young and fresh and full of ourselves. Jennifer was an actress and a friend, and was very good at both. She once told me that she hated a monologue I did because of my "shit-eating grin." It takes a good friend to be that honest. Jennifer and I knew one another from high school when we competed on opposing speech teams. We kind of competed all the time. She was much smarter than I, so I had to find less elevated ways to take her on. We once had a bet about who could lose the most weight in two weeks. She struggled bravely through salads and yogurts while I smirked along gobbling mashed potatoes and ice cream. What she didn't know was that I was sneaking down to the track every night and running myself stupid. I won the contest, and she paid the bet. She was a woman of honor as well as candor. On her last night at Westminster, we all climbed up to the roof of the Beeghly and slept out under the stars. It was completely against the rules, of course, but we didn't care. It was a great idea and we were all actors: trained to seize great ideas and go with them. It was one of the most wonderful, magical, innocent nights of my life.

Still smitten, after all these years...

And so was Homecoming 2011. Erin kept her promise. We did catch up at the banquet. I laughed at her for the way she "worked the room," just like when she was hostess at the Lenhart, just like when she gave away that smile to each table as she made her way through the dining hall at school. We shared a few precious minutes of our own private joys and tragedies. A lot can happen to a person in 30 years, you know. Most of what we shared is just between us. But I can tell you that the laughter and tears that we exchanged were deep and heart-felt.

Much to my delighted surprise, I discovered that I really love these people. I guess I always did. Wish it hadn't taken 30 years for me to appreciate that, but I'm sure glad I lived long enough to get here. And so glad that I got a chance to share this wonderful part of my life with Mrs P. Maybe now she understands my affection for sandstone buildings and Reformation theology a little better.

Time is hard on hair, but good for hearts...

Much more happened on this special homecoming, but that's enough for one post. Tomorrow, I'll tell you about why I no longer need a bucket list. Here's a clue: Steelers 17, Jaguars 13.

Peace,
Pennsy

#369:Together, We Are Stronger Than Cancer!

2011-10-11T11:00:00.000-04:00

Zumba is stronger than cancer

TOGETHER, WE ARE STRONGER THAN CANCER!

Believe it. One for the Five has grown bigger than any of us could have imagined. With 13 days to go before the Iron Horse Half Marathon, we have raised $2910. Cancer has hurt all of us at one time or another. Now we're returning the favor.

Chillin' in the Jacuzzi with some hot survivors

Fifty-four households have joined the effort. They contribute to honor the Five, or to give thanks for recovery, or to remember their own loved ones who fought cancer, whatever the outcome. Each one gives what they can afford, for their own reasons. Some give a few dollars. Some give hundreds. But all have made the choice to join the fight. Together, we can do so much.

Together, we are stronger than cancer.

I am so grateful to those of you who have joined our team. I don't want anyone to miss the chance to feel the prideI feel every time I read that list of names.

Together, we can lift each other

Less than two weeks left till the race. My training is going great. My legs are ready, and my heart is strong because I'm carrying all of you with me.

It's a great day. Will you spend part of it helping to support our mission to give hope to cancer fighters everywhere?

We can do it, because TOGETHER, WE ARE STRONGER THAN CANCER!

Believe it.

Peace,

Bob

You can contribute by clicking this link http://www.crowdrise.com/fatmanrunning and using your debit or credit card to make an online contribution. Or if you'd rather, drop me an email at pennsyltuckian@gmail.com and I'll send you my address so you can mail me a check. Some folks have even handed me cash. Heck, I'll come to you if you want :-) ... Pennsy

#368 I Wish I Were a Camera

2011-10-08T20:26:00.001-04:00

If anybody ever asks me why I run, I'm going to take them for a drive down Colby Road. I would love to just post photos and videos of my run today, but my Kodak is too bulky and my phone takes very small resolution images, so I'll just have to try to put it into words.

I got a late start. I was up in plenty of time, Clare saw to that, but then I sat down with email and Twitter and Facebook and Coffee and Granola and the hour just got away from me. The drive took a lot longer than I expected. It was dark and a little foggy and by the time I arrived at 6:47, the rest of the Striders were long gone. I was relieved when two men in a car pulled up in the lot next to me. They were in running clothes, but were not part of our group. We exchanged greetings, and then went our separate ways. I turned on the little flashing lights that Mrs P bought me for night running, and started down Colby Road.

It was cool and comfortable in the dark. Maybe somewhere in the low 50s. I felt smooth and easy very soon, much sooner than usual. On the way home, I realized that this is because the first mile and a half is almost all down hill... which of course means that the last mile and a half is a heart breaker, but we'll get to that later. My breath came smoothly, three steps in, three steps out. I tried to stay slow, and thought I did a pretty good job. It wasn't until I got home and uploaded my run to Nike+ that I saw just how fast I had started out.

I could see nothing but trees and fence as I ran along. Occasionally a car came toward me. I tried to stay out in the lane long enough for the driver to see my jangling lights, then eased over to the side. There isn't much of a shoulder on most Bluegrass country roads. Usually there's just a ditch. I did not want to go exploring down there in the pitch black, 15 miles from home. The drivers all saw me in plenty of time and gave me a wide berth. They must have thought I was nuts. I suppose I am. Somewhere during mile 3, a magenta glow started to rise from the horizon ahead of me. Each time I came out of woods or to the crest of a hill, I could see the light growing as I continued east. "It looks like a promise," I thought as the sounds of animals waking up started around me. A lone cow lowed in a pasture. Some chickens stirred and a rooster did his rooster gig. Once or twice, a farm dog barked, checking me out, but not chasing as I jogged harmlessly past the gate.

Near mile 4, I looked ahead and saw a daunting climb. Three hills of increasing size rose before me like a roller-coaster. I remembered a mantra Jeff Galloway had mentioned in a podcast, and started repeating it softly to my self as I breathed out. "I love hills. I love hills." One step at a time, I found a way to enjoy every inch of them. Just before the crest of the last hill, around mile 5.25, I looked up and saw that the road was glowing gold. The sky was light by now, but I had not seen the sun yet. I could tell from the aura between the grassy banks on either side of the asphalt that I was about to see old Sol in all his glory. And glorious he was. I usually slow down a little to rest after a big climb, but now I was drawn toward the fiery warmth of the sun over the fields. Tucked into a little hollow at the top of the ridge stood a lovely church: High Point Apostolic. A perfect name, but an even more perfect message on the road sign out front. "When all my Strength is gone/ and I have no more Hope for tomorrow/ Lead me to the Rock." I laughed out loud as I spoke the words to myself. I wondered if the preacher could have known that a Fat Man would come running by on a 16 mile trek in the Saturday dawn. "Lead me to the Rock." I breathed. I remembered the days when my strength was gone. When hope felt more like wishful thinking than reality. I remembered the rocks God sent me then. My friends. My Mum. Mrs P. The theatre. When there was no way for me to get my little boat back to harbor safely on my own, God lead me to the Rock. And now he was doing it again. Right up and down the hills of Colby road.

Just past mile 6, I came to a big road. "Man! Am I in Winchester?" I didn't want to cross all those lanes of traffic, so I took a right turn along the shoulder and saw that yes, I had in fact run all the way to the next city. In my mind, I knew that it was only six miles from the starting point which was way out in the middle of nowhere, but I felt like a real marathoner for a while. There was a lot more traffic on the bypass. No more pastoral scenery. This was "Mall Land." Lowes. Walmart. Kroger. Rite Aid. Golden Corral. All the big boxes that are exactly the same wherever you go. You could have dropped me down on this road with a blindfold, and when I took it off, I couldn't have even told you what state I was in. So different from the distinctly Bluegrass pastures and farms I had just travelled through. I followed the highway as the cars zoomed by until my watch told me I had run 8 miles, then I turned around. I was eager to get back to the country.

I don't really remember much about the return trip. Only that I recognized very little of what I saw. One advantage of starting an out-and-back route in the dark is that everything looks new on the way back. I heard geese honking at each other. An Australian Shepherd woofed a warning when I ran past the goats who were safely behind the board fence and under their little black and white defender's care. Once a yippy little black dog of some kind actually ran out to the road and escorted me to the property line. I had my water bottle open and ready to squirt the little guy, but I was laughing so hard that I don't expect my aim would have been very good.

Climbing a very long hill, I looked down at my watch. 13.1 miles. I had just completed the distance of a half marathon. The last three miles were going to be gravy. I had two thoughts at almost the same time. First: I can absolutely finish this half in two weeks. Second: A full marathon, 26.2 miles, is a very, very long way. But then I remember when 5K was a long way. I remember when crossing the street was a long way. There's no telling how far we can run when we keep moving our feet.

I expected my energy to crash around mile 14. That was my previous long run, and that's how my conditioning has worked so far. When I extend past my longest run, the extra miles are hard and heavy-legged. That didn't happen today. Not even when I realized that I was going to have to climb most of the last mile. I kept remembering Melissa's motto from our training at the Y. "I don't quit when I'm tired. I quit when I'm done." So that's what I did. I ran to the end. 16.03 miles, just to be sure. I don't know when I've ever felt better.

The parking lot was empty, now. My lonely little Honda sat in the sunshine with a cool bottle of water and a soft, comfy seat waiting for me. I drove back to Lexington and stopped at Speedway for a bottle of chocolate milk and some Gatorade. Amazing, how fast you can chug a quart of chocolate milk when you put your mind to it. It was delicious. Then it was home to Mrs P, the dogs, and our friend Linda who spent the night here. I had some coffee and put this in my log.

55-65 degrees. 16.04mi/3:23:31 @ 6:50 AM. Colby Road. Red Pegasus. Intervals 5:00 run/0:30 walk. Splits: 11:54, 11:47,12:16, 12:04, 12:12, 12:20, 12:25, 12:22, 13:13, 13:00, 12:37, 13:08, 13:20, 13:22, 13:26, 13:33.

Now that I look at them, I can't help but marvel at how little of the story numbers can tell. This was a great run for me, in a lot of ways. But most of what made it great are things that you can't measure on a map. Life can be so fantastic when you put one foot in front of the other.

I just wish I could show you. I wish I were a camera.

Peace,
Pennsy

#367: Great Workout

2011-10-06T22:36:00.002-04:00

My day started with some letters and paperwork that needed attending to. Then I got a message from a friend about a really attractive acting opportunity that I won't jinx by going into right now. Then, I packed my bag and hit the gym.

I started with some boot-camp style circuit training. Squats, lunges, and presses with weighted bars, Swiss balls and dumbbells, laps around the basketball court, lots of belly and butt work that made me sweat and swear. I worked with a couple of friends from the LiveSTRONG group and our trainer, Carrie. I don't know when I've ever loved and hated a pretty woman as much as I do Carrie when she's pushing me to do "Just one more."

Then it was time for my run and it was a good one. Here's my log entry:

81 degrees. 4.03 miles/43:31 @ 2:13 PM. Legacy Loop. Adidas. Intervals. Podcaster 178 BPM intervals. Splits: 11:09, 10:27, 10:38, 11:00. That's a pretty high cadence for me, but I was able to sustain it. Miles 1 & 4 include warm up and cool down.

I ran it much quicker than usual. I used Podrunner, to keep my cadence. You know I'm not a big fan of running with headphones, but I find that the steady beat of these specially designed mixes let me run and not have to think about speed or pace. Won't use them on the road, though. It's really good to be able to hear what's coming behind you when you're alone out in the country at 6:30 in the morning. Still, the music can be very relaxing. I'm sure I'm going to fall asleep while running someday. Now that will be worth a blog post.

Then it was back to the gym for some weights.

Exercise	Weight	Sets	Reps
Deadlift	155	2	15
Shoulder Press	40	2	15
Step Up	40	2	15
Lat Pulldown	130	2	15
Reverse Crunch		2	25

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I have one more week of these New Rules for Lifting Break-in workouts, then I'll take a rest from the weight room and taper my runs in preparation for the Half-Marathon on the 23rd. After that, I'm going to cut down to three runs a week, and hit the weights hard. I'd like to build more upper body strength while my legs recover in November.

I dressed and went to the pool for some cool-down, but the joint was full of firefighters training for water rescue on one side, and some sort of little kids' swim team that appeared to be made up of tiny human/dolphin hybrid creatures on the other. A couple of them must have had motors. There is something so beautiful about a really fine swimmer. The strokes are so smooth and efficient. The body seems to slip through the water. I stood enjoying them for a few moments, but old guys watching little kids in swimming togs are more suspicious than they used to be, so I went to the steam bath for a little stretching.

OK, I have been in the sauna. I guess it's good for you. It smells like the woods in there, which I like. The steam room? That's just weird. I suppose it's good for opening up your lungs, and I'm sure it must be fantastic for your complexion, but I just found it creepy. Maybe if there had been a few more fat old man wrapped in towels...? A soggy cigar or two? I wandered out and slipped into the Jacuzzi. Now this, I like.I love the hot water. I adore the bubbles. I even sort of enjoy the camaraderie of sitting in a big bathtub with a bunch of strangers. The thing is, all that full-body hydro-massage does something to my blood pressure. When I stand up out of the tub, I have to make a bee-line for the nearest bench before my spinning head blacks out and I fall crashing to the tile floor. I don't understand why this happens, and these head-rushes don't scare me as much as they used to, but I still need to be careful. With all the blood thinners I take, a hard crack on the skull could be pretty bad. Even if the place is filled with firemen.

Tomorrow is a rest day, then I'm joining the Striders on Saturday morning for a long, slow 16 miles: my last long run before the race. I feel fantastic. I know I can finish this half-marathon. I just have to make sure I don't get worn out or hurt between now and then.

For now, it's time for some beauty sleep. And maybe a couple of Tylenol wouldn't hurt either.

Peace,
Pennsy

#366: What's Left After Goodbye...

2011-10-05T10:23:00.000-04:00

The trouble with people is that they go away. Nobody sticks around forever. Grandparents die. Parents let you grow up and move out of the house. Your summer romance goes back to school. Your shrink moves to Colorado for the skiing. I don't like saying goodbye. And this week, I have a couple of pretty big ones to say.

Today is the last meeting of my LIVESTRONG at the YMCA group. I signed up because they promised a free Y membership for three months, and a chance to work with some trainers and instructors who I figured could help me get ready for my half-marathon. I wound up falling in love with a bunch of women who I'll never forget.

The one who survived 4th stage lung cancer, and can lift MY weight on the leg press.

The one who came to the gym looking a little weary because she'd just had a radiation treatment.

The one who went out and bought a pair of those goofy Vibram toe shoes for a treat.

The one who didn't like to shimmy in Zumba because it made her breast hurt after chemo.

The one who cries when she talks about what it's like to train survivors.

The one who has beaten cancer three times, and is tough enough to whip it another three hundred.

I thought I was a pretty bad dude for outlasting cancer and running a 10K. I'm a wimp next to these champions. We'll stay in touch on Facebook, and they are putting an alumni class together that will meet once a week, but it isn't going to be the same. Today, we'll swim, and eat, and laugh and cry together. Then we're going to paint one of the walls in the lobby yellow and hang up the first of what will be many class pictures on the new "LIVESTRONG wall." Everyone who comes into the building will know that something remarkable happens there, and everyone who loves a survivor will know that there is an opportunity for them to be a part of that remarkable thing. Goodbyes are hard, but leaving that kind of a legacy softens the blow.

Then there's Dee. Dee is my cancer nurse. Every cancer patient should have one. Dee was mine. You deal with lots of nurses and doctors and techs and administrators when you're fighting cancer. But there's always one who can take you by the hand and lead you through the dark. That's Dee.

Dee was the first person to greet me in the exam room at the Oncologist's office.

Who laughed and reassured me that the green goo leaking out around my PEG tube was not my vital essence, but the spinach dal I had eaten at the Indian buffet the day before my first Chemo treatment.

Who explained how to treat thrush.

Who fought the insurance companies for me when dorks in suits tried to stand between me and the treatment that was to save my life.

Who gave me the daily injections when I had my saddle thrombosis, and nicknamed me her "My Little Pin Cushion."

Whose face was the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes after passing out in the lobby of the clinic one sunny afternoon.

Who brings people from the hospital to see me on stage.

Who created and facilitated the head and neck cancer support group that taught me I wasn't alone.

And last week, Dee packed up her office and moved on from the Markey Cancer center. She has a great opportunity to train other cancer nurses. She's going to pass all that knowledge and passion and compassion to new generations of healers who have never had to pick up an unconscious Fat Man from under the couch in the waiting room. She isn't going to be there the next time I go to visit the doc, but she will be in my heart for as long as it beats. Goodbyes are hard, but that kind of legacy softens the blow.

I wonder about my own legacy a lot. What's going to be left on the wall or in someone's heart when I finally say goodbye? Will it be a kind word... or a cruel one? Will it be a story I told? Will there be someone who runs a marathon or auditions for a play or starts a blog because they knew me? Have I built anything that will last, planted anything that will bear fruit long after I am gone? I think these are questions you once you realize that you are probably closer to your last birthday than your first one. We all want to know that we mattered to somebody.

Cancer taught me that I matter to a lot more people than I realized. People love me more than I ever dreamed. If nothing else, that's my legacy. I gave people a chance to love somebody in this world. Not a bad start.

Lots of people tell me that I inspire them. I am grateful, but I always wonder, "What are you inspired to do?" I have a friend who is trying to stop smoking and start running. I don't take any credit for that, it is a tribute to his own strength and love of life, but he says I put him to shame. I hate that. That's not why I'm alive. There is plenty of shame in the world already. I want to help make more life. If the Fat Man was saved for anything, it was for that: to be a living example of how love can beat death. In every life. Every time. Death can take us in the end, but it we don't ever have to let him win. "The Girls" at the Y taught me that. The Five taught me that. Dee taught me that. If I can teach you that, and inspire you to wrap your arms around life and never let go... well that's a legacy that will soften any goodbye.

Yeah, I'm feeling a little reflective and just a bit melancholy today. I'll get back to miles and weights and fund-raising tomorrow. But today, I'm just kind of nestled in the love of a bunch of cancer fighters who have made me a part of their own legacy.

Peace,
Pennsy

One for the Five, my half-marathon to honor my friends and family whose fight against cancer has ended has raised more than $2400 for the Markey Cancer Foundation with 19 days to go.

Running for Sabrina, my friend Charlie's marathon to honor his niece and fight Down Syndrome has raised $2000 with just a few days to go.

LIVESTRONG at the YMCA still has spots available for the afternoon and the evening sessions which start in a couple of weeks.

Feeling inspired yet?

#365: Pennsy Squats on TV!

2011-09-26T21:28:00.000-04:00

This is video of a news story that ran this evening about our LIVESTRONG at the YMCA class. Check it out! See Pennsy squat!

And if you know a survivor who could benefit from this program, here's a link to more information that will help get them connected to Melissa and the gang.

We can help each other.

Peace,

Pennsy

#364: Weekend to Remember, My Precious

2011-09-26T08:02:00.000-04:00

This weekend was good, bad, and ugly, but it had a happy ending. I love when that happens.

Friday's Resistance Workout: New Rules Break-in (B)

Exercise	Sets	Reps	Weight
Deadlift	2	15	135
Lat Pull-down	2	15	170
Shoulder Press (machine)	2	15	30
Step ups (Db)	2	15	20
Reverse Crunches	2	15	30

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Friday night, I went to the Y to do some resistance work. I have decided to take another shot at the New Rules of Lifting program, and had a workout scheduled for that day. Now that I can finally do a modified push-up and a lunge, I can take the program on. I did forget my lifting gloves for the deadlifts, but I just slipped my wedding ring off and stuck it deep in the pocket of my shorts.My increased strength is just one more reason I have to thank the folks at LIVESTRONG at the YMCA. I finished off with a short swim. That's becoming my favorite cool-down. I think it's helping to strengthen my upper body as well, though I'm still very slow.

Rainbow by Lisa Broome-Price

Saturday morning started early with a pre-dawn drive to the lovely little railroad town of Midway KY where I joined John's Striders for a 14 mile jaunt through the Bluegrass. I've been shy about running with a group because I'm so slow, but on this trip I fell in with a couple of runners whose pace I could match for most of the way. We ran and chatted along through the sunrise and the morning mist. There was even a rainbow to greet us after the first turnaround. I know I've said it before, but I do love my Kentucky home.

After our run, I managed to drive home and crash on the couch for a couple of hours. I find that running gives me more energy, but it often takes a couple of hours to kick in. I also found a nasty blister on the end of one of my toes. I'll spare you the photos. I got some good advice on Facebook about how to prevent these particular little buggers, and I'll keep you updated as I work my way up the ladder of solutions from cheapest to most expensive.

After my nap, Mrs P and I spent some play time with the dogs, then we dressed and went to the theatre to see The Blithe Spirt at the Woodford County Theatre. We want to see lots of theatre these days, and the budget is tight, so we've been volunteering to usher. It's a great way to get in for free, it isn't much work, and it also helps the company out by helping to welcome patrons and cleaning up after the show. The play was charming with several fine performances, but during the first intermission, Mrs P leaned over and asked, "Where's your wedding ring?" I remembered taking it off, but didn't remember putting it back on. No worries. I was sure it would be in the washing machine where I threw my clothes as soon as I got home from my workout. After the play, we stopped at the Waffle House. This has become one of our rituals when we drive out to Woodford, and the guys always take good care of us.

When we got home, we started going through pockets. No ring. I rattled the washing machine. Nope. Checked the car. Dumped out the gym bag. Searched the rack on the porch where I leave my shoes to dry. Damn. It must have fallen out during my workout. I resolved to be at the gym at noon to retrace my steps.

The search and a couple of insomniac dogs kept us up pretty late, and we slept through the alarms for church. I got up and went to the store for milk and bagels while Mrs P made coffee. After our breakfast, we had another nice chat, (the weekend really is our catching up time,) then I called the Y. The lady at the front desk found a ring in the lost and found right away, but it wasn't mine. Some other poor schmuck lost his wedding ring at the gym. You might think knowing I wasn't the only idiot in the weight room would give me some comfort, but no. Marilyn promised to give the place another once-over, and we got in the car and drove over to join the search. I re-traced my whole workout, even searched the locker I had used. Nothing. Somebody must have picked it up. It was gone. I felt like a total heel. Mrs P was very understanding about it, but that didn't make me feel any better, either.

Weisenberger Mills. This picture
doesn't begin to do it justice.

Since it was such a pretty afternoon, we took a drive out to Midway. I wanted to show her the beautiful route we had run, and maybe calm down a little about this really bad situation. We drove past the beautiful Weisenberger Mills where grains are still milled with water-driven stones. it's like a scene out of a Merchant-Ivory film. Just breathtaking. After a few more twists an turns through the Kentucky sunshine, we headed home for a snack and some chores. I had a few more snacks than I should have. Guilt eating: one of my favorite forms of self-destruction.Then it was time for the Steelers.

Mrs P always makes plans to occupy herself when the Steelers are on. She knows I won't be of any use at all, and football just doesn't do it for her. The game was terrible. My boys stunk up the joint and at half-time, they looked determined to lose. I sat despondent, sipping an O'Douls, (Mrs P says they taste like beer flavored pop,) when my sweetheart walked into the den with a smile on her face. "With this ring, I thee wed," she beamed and slipped the gold band back on my finger. She found it in the first place I had looked: the washing machine. I had warned her to use one of the mesh, lingerie bags when she washed her dainties. She couldn't find it, so she ignored my good advice. The ring got caught up on one of the hooks of her unmentionables. A happy ending. Suddenly it didn't matter so much that the Black and Gold were looking black and blue, and my craving for sweets went away immediately. They even managed to pull the game out with a last-minute field goal.

And to top it all off, One for the Five went over $2000 this weekend. I am so proud of my brother and sister cancer fighters for the support they are giving to this effort. $2000 will make a real difference to some cancer patient. And this is just the beginning. There's less than a month left to contribute. If you haven't joined us yet, use this link to learn the story and pitch in.

My Precious

There's a short recovery run on the schedule for today. I'll probably knock it out before class at the Y. But first, I'll be taping my ring to my finger. It's not coming off again for a long, long time.

Peace,
Pennsy

#363: What Does it Mean to LIVESTRONG?

2011-09-19T20:39:00.001-04:00

Shelia (behind the thumb), Teri, Pam, Melissa, Ruthie,
Pennsy, Carrie Lynne, Ladonna, Chelsea, Dee Dee

A new PR in the 5K

I've been thinking about "the girls." At the gym, they call us the "Survivors," the ones who made it. They are amazing women. It's some kind of accident of fate that I'm one of them... but then, who can complain about being the only boy in such a bevy of beauties? They are some of the toughest people I know, and I want to be like them. If you knew them, you would to. They have taught me what it means to LIVESTRONG.

When a doctor points to a blotch on a CT scan image and gives you a 50/50 chance of living ... then tells you that if you give up you will surely die... and you choose to live... that's Living STRONG.

When it's a year and a half later and they've told you you're cancer-free... but you know damn well that it could come back tomorrow... and you choose to hope... that's Living STRONG.

Drumming releases dopamine! A
massage for the central nervous system

When you dedicate whatever life God has left you to fighting cancer... your cancer, my cancer, anybody's cancer anywhere... that's Living STRONG.

When you bury a loved one who didn't make it, then lace up your shoes and hit the treadmill,

When you work to get all the garbage that's holding you back out of your life,

When you go to radiation in the morning and the gym in the afternoon,

That's no "survivor," that's a Champion

When you do all you can to make yourself fit for the fight,

When you don't care who you help, as long as you're helping,

When you can barely walk because of the pain in your breast, but you dance anyway,

When you know you're not strong, but you decide to live as if you were,

You're Living STRONG,

Whether you've ever had cancer or not.

Where's Boo-Boo?

This is what we do.

This is who we are.

This is why we run.

I want you to believe... if we can do it... then so can you.

Three hearts that cancer couldn't break

Peace,

Pennsy

If you know someone who could benefit from LIVESTRONG at the YMCA, contact Melissa Bellew or Chris Andrews at the Lexington Northside YMCA, 859-258-9622. You can also contact Melissa by email. Just say that you are calling about the LIVESTRONG at the YMCA program. The next session starts in October, and there is room for more people.

Oh yeah, One for the Five is doing great. Nearly 40 donors so far... almost $2000 raised. Join us and make a contribution. Together, we can make a difference in the lives of the next generation of cancer fighters. Get out your debit card, and click this link. Or email me for my address, and you can mail me a check made out to "Markey Cancer Center Foundation." One for the Five: You write the check, I'll run the miles!

#362: Iron, Asphalt, and A Beautiful Weekend

2011-09-11T22:20:00.000-04:00

It is Sunday night, and I really needed my day off. I didn't need to see my Steelers get their lunch money taken by the Ravens. That was just ugly. Mrs P's chili and a beer helped soften the blow.

After the game, we loaded Jake and Clare into the back of the Honda and drove off to see the Bluegrass. It was a perfect day. The bright afternoon sun shone on the golden, empty corn stalks. Thoroughbreds lazed in pastures. Clare got car sick. OK, it was a perfect day except for the puking. And the ball game. But the truth is, Mrs P's company more than made up for it.

Friday's Resistance Workout

Exercise	Sets	Reps	Weight
Squats	3	15	135
Deadlift	3	15	155
Assisted Dips	3	15	75
Wood Choppers (R/L)	3/3	15	120
Row, Bent Over (Db)	3	15	30

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Friday, after class at the Y, I hit the weight room. I wanted to do some of the classic bar bell exercises that I love so much. I also tried the assisted dip machine for the first time since my surgery. My triceps are still burning! Carrie and Melissa are weaning us off of the machines, and I couldn't be happier. I prefer free weights. It's great to be moving real iron again. Once I finished my workout, I hit the pool for a short few laps, just to cool down. That night I set my running clothes out so I could jump out of bed and beat the UK football traffic for my long run. Then we got a distress call from a friend and I wound up staying a lot later than I intended.

Saturday's Long Slow Run
72 Degrees. 11:22 AM. Legacy 6mi out and back. 12mi/2:57:11. Pegasus. RWR: 1min/mile (till HR <130) Splits 12:53, 13:26, 13:22, 13:25, 13:40, 13:28, 14:02, 13:47, 14:10, 14:10, 15:10, 15:10. (4 long walk breaks in the last two miles)

After sleeping in, and waiting for my digestive system to do its morning duty, I got a late start on my 12 mile run. It was the hottest part of the day, but hardly hot compared to what I've become used to. I went 6 miles out on the Legacy trail, then 6 miles back. it was a beautiful day. After my run, I drove home, made a smoothie, and slept for a couple of hours, then our friend Tami called to say she had a coupon for Tony Roma's, and we all went out for ribs. Just a great day. And by this morning, I was ready for a day off.

I learned something from that long distance.Two weeks ago, I finished 8 miles of a 10 mile run when I ran out of energy. I walked most of the last two, and was cramping in my thighs by the time I was finished. Yesterday, after two more weeks of training, I ran right through that 8 mile mark. I had finished 10 before I really slowed down. Galloway says that the best way to beat "the wall" (that place near the end of a run when you run out of gas, but have to keep going anyway,) is to train at distances longer than the race you're going to run. So here's my plan. I want to get my long runs up to at least 15 miles. I'll know I can run the half without bonking at the end. And my conditioning will be strong enough to get me there. At least that's the plan. I'll keep you updated...

And Finally...
One for the Five is flying along. We've now raised $1325. I am so proud of my friends and family, even some folks I've never met have pitched in. I'm determined to finish this Half Marathon. And I'm determined to raise at least $2000 for the Markey Cancer Foundation. We're going to do it, and we're going to make a difference. I hope you'll decide to contribute. You can click the link and contribute online, or you can send a check to me directly. Make it out to "Markey Cancer Center Foundation" and send me an email so I can get you my mailing address. We're going to be a great team.

Peace,
Pennsy

#361:Gotta Love Running in the Cool

2011-09-08T17:01:00.000-04:00

61 degrees. 4.06/46:31. 11:27/mile. 12:21 PM. Arboretum Loop. Calibration run for Pegasus after nike+ fail. No breaks. Splits: 11:33, 11:13. Break to change into Adidas. No Breaks. Splits: 11:11, 10:15. Feeling fantastic for 12 miles on Saturday.

Memorial for the victims of ConAir
Flight 5181 in the UK Arboretum.

I ran in two legs today because something went screwy with my Nike+ wrist pod and I had to re-calibrate both sensors so I had to change shoes. That started out as a hassle, but turned into a fine run.

Oh, but I love running in the autumn mist. It has been cool and damp here for days. Hard to believe it was so blistering hot for last Saturday's 5K. Today, I did 4 miles in the cool at the Arboretum, and never felt so strong. It's as if all those 85 degree runs in July and August are starting to pay off.

On Saturday, I'm going to try using mileage instead of time to measure my breaks. I'll walk a minute every mile. I've started wearing my heart monitor with my sportsband, and just can't cope with the thought of running in three watches. Using distance instead of time for breaks might be a good solution.

I have a confession to make. I chased a young girl in the park today. She passed me shortly after I changed shoes, and drifted away through the trees. I didn't think much about her since I was doing a calibration run and just trying to keep a steady pace. About 3/4 of the way through my second time around the park, I saw her pony tail bobbing up ahead. Either she was slowing down, or I was speeding up. "Great," I thought, "now I'm going to have to follow her all the way back to the parking lot." Just then, we crested a hill, and I felt my stride open up. I've talked about that feeling before, where you feel like you're barely touching the ground and your limbs seem to be liquid? We'll that's what happened. I glanced at my watch and I was running 9 :20/mile. That's very fast for me. And I wasn't slowing down. I flowed down the hill, caught her on the bridge, and pulled away up the other side of the hollow toward home. I've never felt so strong and fast, not because I out ran a co-ed, but because I went looking for something extra inside me, and it was there. What a great thing to learn about yourself. What a great run!

I got a pair of Nike+ Pegasus in the mail today from ebay. Spent about $25. They need a little glue near the toe, but otherwise look fine, a lot fresher than either pair I've been working in. I'm hoping they can get me through the race, then I can start hassling Santa for some shoes for 2011. I'll try them out on my next short run, maybe Monday's recovery jog.

One for the Five passed the $1000 mark this weekend, so I raised the goal to $2000. We're at $1200 already. Use the link to get on board. We're building a great team. Be one of us!

Peace,
Pennsy

	12/28	12/30	1/2	1/5
Squats	72	86	93	82
Push ups	70	68	81	66
Lunges	23	22	26	27
Planks	120	120	120	120
Leg curls	62	83	88	82
Russian Twist	58	64	91	84
Pull ups	18	20	9	21
Dips	41	41	25	46