"T.D.M." or "Speeding to Reduce Curves"

 
Wow.  Training has been taking so much more time and energy than I thought I would.  I apologize for the lull here, but I have managed to keep a steady stream going on the Twitter if you follow me there,


















Grand Announcement:  I have reached half of my fund-raising goal!  Only $250.00 to go.  If you haven't given to Haiti relief yet, or even if you have, please consider giving, even just $10.00.  Read my whole post about how you can fight obesity, heart disease, and contribute to Haiti relief on one just one donation here.  I mean it, just $10.00!  You don't need it.  That's less than one swanky cocktail; that's less than 3 tall lattes; that's much less than new kicks, a bag, or a dinner out.  DONATE HERE, totally tax deductible.



The rest of this week:  Look forward to an awesome set of introductions...

"Personal Record" or "I want to eat a cow."

5 miles
58:02 minutes
.53 miles of that walked during warm up and one water break

I would usually reward myself with a jigger of whiskey on the rocks, but seeing as how I gave up alcohol for Lent, I am at a loss.  Suggestions?

"The Damn Marathon" or "Why I will look like a Twin in 40 days."

I recently made a really terrible decision. It's a good terrible decision, but I still face the consequences with trepidation and dread.

That's right, I decided to run the NYC half marathon on April 3.  It happened a few weeks ago when I walked into a staff meeting late, frustrated, of course, after having spent the past hour looking for parking.  I sat down and about two seconds later was told the entire staff (with one hold out) had decided to run/run-walk/walk the half marathon for Haiti Relief on April 3rd.  It took me a few days to agree to do it, but I did eventually agree, "Yes, I will run a half marathon for this good cause."  "Yes, I will do the sport I hate more than almost any other, because it is for a good cause."  "Yes, I will train nearly every day between now and then, meaning I will have to spend time at the gym, a place I hate more than almost any other, because this is all for a good cause."

Of course, by now, only three of the staff are still planning on doing it.  One down-graded to walking the whole thing because of shin splints (Which by the way are undiagnosed by a professional and I still don't necessarily believe yet).  The other probably shouldn't quite "run".  Which means that I am the only one on staff capable of actually doing this as a more than a symbolic gesture (which is what it is for me anyway).  Well, crap.

If you have heard me talk about all of this over that past few weeks, you may have heard me refer to it as "The Dumb Marathon Thing", "The Damn Race", or "Bad Choice Twenty-Ten".  My attitude has been quite unsportsman like, which is probably because I have never been much of a sportsman.  Physical activity for the sake of physical activity is unenjoyable for me.   Throw some nerdy nature or geocaching in there for hiking, or the transpiration benefits of biking and I am a tad more willing to get off my butt, but I just get bored so fast.  Enter the most boring sport there is, running, which I have been known to proclaim does not make any sense unless there is someone or something bigger than you following closely behind with malicious intent.

Ok, so despite the negative tone of all this.  I still stand in agreement, "Yes, I will run a half marathon for this good cause."

And you know why?  Because it's good for me.  I am running to raise money for Haiti, but I also running for a very very selfish reason.  My body needs it.  And this whole I-Hate-Running thing is a mental battle with some serious spiritual implications.  Not even starting into body image issues, I (along with most believing Americans) have been pushing the truth of certain scriptures aside for decades.  I know God knows the treadmill is a very mental battle for me, and through His knowledge of that, it becomes intensely spiritual as well.  I should seek God's grace and mercy in this battle just as all others, sacrificing my will, and asking the Lord to take over.

Here's a few verses I have been muddling on.
(If you don't like reading the bible stuff scroll down to "Here's your part.")

Romans 12:1-2
I appeal to you therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.

In college (and all the other hormone-charged faith communities I have been in) pastors love to preach on Romans 12:1-2 as a passage about abstinence and celibacy.  That's fine and dandy, but I don't think they go far enough.  Paul doesn't say.  "Don't screw everything that walks, okay?"  He says our bodies are to be living sacrifices.  We are to give up our bodies to God for his use, holy and pleasing, and that is our "spiritual worship".  Paul says, "do not be conformed to this world", which is what I have been allowing to happen in this department for a long time.  Certainly many people fall on the other side of the line; body becomes the God, not the Temple of the God (Holy Spirit), but by and large (no pun intended) fat, pudgy, lazy Americans, i.e. "this world", are not presenting their body's as living sacrifices.
Maybe lazy is the wrong word.  Some westerns are genuinely lazy, living up to the steak dinner, golf, video game, McDonald's stereotypes, but most are just busy.  Even those with the most noble intentions are too busy dealing with important things like social justice, environmental lobbying, and educating underprivileged school children, to deal with basic body maintenance.  It is easy to push aside crunches when otherwise you could be spending the time writing a grant that might feed 100 starving children for a year.  In cases of not-so-obviously-philanthropic jobs, the mental battle is not much easier.  But the Lord genuinely cares about the state of our flesh and what we do with it.  He redeems the whole body, not just our brains.  I know people are going to be pissed to hear it but I firmly believe we are ignoring a huge command of scripture to say "to-hell-with-it",and grabbing McDonald's just because we are running late to church.  Maybe He likes twinkles, I don't know, but I am going to go out on a limb and posit that He might like an apple more.


1 Corinthians 6:19-20 
Or do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, whom you have from God? You are not your own, for you were bought with a price. So glorify God in your body.

This flesh and bone is a gift!  Bought!  And then given back to us to maintain as a dwelling place of the Holy Lord.  Try not to treat it like a ugly sweater from Aunt Maude, stuffed in the back of a closet, brought out once a year when you absolutely have to wear it (read: when you have to run a marathon).  It's a good gift!  A super extravagant, expensive one too.


1 Corinthians 3:16-17 
Do you not know that you are God's temple and that God's Spirit dwells in you? If anyone destroys God's temple, God will destroy him. For God's temple is holy, and you are that temple.

This one is the most difficult for me to read as an average, slightly soft, American woman.  I am God's temple and His Spirit dwells in me (ok, I am with you here.)  If anyone destroys the temple, (my body, from the passage above), God will destroy him.
Shoot.  I am the one destroying my body.  So what follows is that God is probably not too happy with that.  There are a lot of ways a building can go about getting itself condemned.  One could be an earthquake, suddenly unfit for habitation.  Another could be total abandonment, left to the elements.  But most often it is "failure of maintenance" stories we hear that are the most heart breaking.  People being evicted, because someone has let a leak go on in the basement for 15 years.  No one removed the lead paint.  The elevator broke with the door to the shaft open and no one bothered to fix it.  Neglect.  I have been neglecting my body for so many years now, that it is hard to even know where to begin.

So here's where I will begin.  For Lent this year, conveniently lined up with the Half Marathon being the day before Easter on Holy Saturday, I am going to give up complaining about all this exercise stuff.  That means no saying "I don't wanna!" (at least not in a whiney voice).  That means no more referring to it as "The Damn Marathon".  It also probably means that I can't put a picture of Bethany Klein, Ankle-Sprainee and/or a quadriplegic in my gym bag to remind me that there are people who would like to run "The Damn Marathon" but cannot.  Oh, and I am giving up alcohol too, because I tried running after a pint and lunch at the bar, and it just doesn't work.


Here's your part.  Give to Haiti, and give to me being healthier.  Whichever you feel more passionate about, you can give in the same place.

Please consider giving to Haiti through my World Vision fund set up here: http://twv.convio.net/site/TR/TeamWorldVision/General?px=1069501&pg=personal&fr_id=1090
I have set a very modest goal.  Admin costs for the race were $55. The World Vision Team jersey is another $30.  I also had to buy shoes for about $100.  I want to raise at least enough to make up for the money I have spent on this.  Other wise, I probably should have just given $185 to World Vision and been done with it (hence the its-also-for-me mentality).  Please consider donating with one of these amounts in mind.

Whoever gives the most gets to dictate what type and take a jar from the next batch of jam I make.  Or I will crochet you a squirrel or chipmunk pelt.  Your choice.

 

Also, if you want to give more, and to a more worthy team running the same race, give to these guys.

They are m' boyz, I love them all.
http://twv.convio.net/site/TR/TeamWorldVision/General?px=1064303&pg=personal&fr_id=1090


This race was originally set up for funds for Africa, so if you see information saying that all your money is going to Africa, not Haiti, the webmaster just hasn't caught up yet.  I assure you there has been an earthquake in Haiti.

Thanks, I love you all.


I will close with this thank you gift.  A list of the funny things that have gone through my head to keep me from running that I will not be allowed to repeat after Wednesday.

@ 11:53 pm: Kate, I can't run tomorrow at 6:00am.  All I have at home are clogs and pajama pants.


I shouldn't run because right now my silhouette has a nice ripple effect.  It's a graduated change in width from my waist to hips.  If I loose that padding then I will go straight from waist to hips and it will be more obvious how huge my hips really are.


Why would I do something that makes my calves even bigger?  They are the one part of my body that is naturally muscular.  If I do this race then my calves are going to look like Arnold Schwartznegger's in those shorts in Twins.

I will have to snack more.  (Okay, this on can also fall into the "Pro-Marathon" category.)


I must look so disgruntled and unhappy when I am at the gym.  Everyone always asks me questions thinking I am an employee.  No, I don't know where the sauna is.  There's a sauna?



Follow my Twitter for almost daily "Lessons from the Gym".

If you lucky, there also might be one posted right now on the top right of this blog page!

Guest Post

I can't help but share these poems that arrived in yesterday's edition of the JenniferMillsNews Vol.6 Iss.24.  Jennifer and I went to school together a few times, and collaborated on a few projects and shows.  Sign up for free deliver of the whole newsletter at missjennifermills@gmail.com.

Absolutely ridiculous; love it.

Love Calculator

O Calculator of Love
Sent from Heaven above
Can you add me plus you
And see if it equals love so true?
O Calculator of amour,
Can you tell me what love is 4?
O Calculator of Bliss,
How can you multiply the infinite love in your kiss?
Please don't divide us apart,
for thou shalt subtract 50% of my heart


Love Factory
Oh Love Factory of Love,
Sent from Heaven above,
Mass Produce me love so sweet,
An Slice it into portions for me to eat.
Love Factory with your diligent employees,
Make me ten thousand pounds of Love cheese.
Love Factory, I want a full time job immediately,
But I want to be paid with a love salary.
I don't need health benefits or a 401 K
Just let me take home the extra love
At the end of the day.

"Shoreline" or "Why canoes and Water Taxi Beach make me uncomfortable."

 

I love the shore of Brooklyn. Be it Coney Island, Plum Beach, Red hook, Dumbo, or the small inlets of Dockside. The closer I get to the shore, the better I feel, the brighter and clearer the sun shines. I like going in the morning, before the nanny/child pilgrims and the surveyors. I like being alone near the shore.

I was afraid of boats for a long time, but really just deep water. I have always attributed it to a Fourth of July in Michigan, 1993 or 4, I think. We were spending the holiday with an older couple; my mom had been tutoring the wife and they invited us to their cottage on a lake near Holland, Michigan. It was evening and my mom and I were sitting on the top of a double-decker pontoon boat which was docked in the back. We were watching some teenagers two properties down, who were setting off fireworks towards the middle of the lake. One of the rockets went sideways and landed in the water a few feet in front of us. The neighbors yelled their apologies, but I was terrified that it was still blazing and was going to pierce one of the floats, like a torpedo, and sink us. I asked my mom if we should go inside, and she said it was okay. The boat wouldn't sink or and they were going to be more careful. A few minutes later, she slammed my head forward onto the AstroTurf flattening herself over me as another stray bounced on the turf behind us, leaving the smell of melted plastic before hissing into the water on the other side. I wasn't scared in the few minutes as we climbed down, just shocked that it had happened again, that I had forseen what my mom couldn't. I am not afraid of fireworks.

The shore line draws me now because it is a definition. It is an end and limit placed on development. House boats and pier resturants keep it from being an edge, but there is only a minimal blur. Everything here is expanding, trying to claim as much space as possible, but the water is there, steady and moving at once. It has no need for gluttony. Thus far, it remains uncolonized by permanent fixtures.

The closer you get to the water in Brooklyn, the further you get from civilization. Even from those western views that afford the grandest views of King Manhattan, you can feel separate. The trains, concieved of and laid down before ferry boats were obsolete, aren't close enough to be convenient. We are on an island, but you must be so intentional about getting to the edge.

+++++++++++++++++++

Sure shore: You are there, like the edge of the world; like when He separated night and day and you became the evening and dawn. I am bound to one side by my human nature, though I long to be enveloped by the mystery of the other side.

I love being alone near the shore.

"Bacon!" or "Take & eat; do this in remembrance of Me."

Warning: This is not a kosher post. Literally.

I am a believer in little graces. I think we get little gifts each day, designed especially for us. Spotting them is just a matter of perspective and awareness.

For example, when I go down to the subway to catch a train and it pulls up just after I reach the platform, I like to thank God for that little gift. I remember to do this a lot more in the middle of winter or summer. It's not that I think the trains/ world revolve around me, but rather than feel lucky, I feel thankful.

You may wonder what goes through my mind then when I am stuck with terrible 2 train traffic or construction on the weekend, waiting on a platform for 30 minutes in the freezing cold, at 2am, with a shady fellow pacing 30 yards away. Instead of wondering what I did wrong to deserve this though, I remember that a punishment is not the opposite of a gift. It wouldn't be so special if the train always showed up just as I did, when I had done something particularly nice or moral.

There is no equation for grace. Grace is the inexplicable part of sanctification, little graces included.

I received a special little gift today in church. But first, some background knowledge.

May I present the example of a miraculous scent of roses. For those who don't know, there are many Christians who believe there have been Marian Apparitions, visits from the Blessed Mother, even in the past 50 years. These are usually to children to deliver a warning for peace and the exultation to pray to the Lord for peace. Sights where this has happened often become destinations for religious pilgrims. One of the most often reported experiences by these pilgrims worldwide is an inexplicable smell of roses, Mary's dedicated flower. On person may smell them and the person next to them will not. (In her 70's my Grandmother visited a sight in Bosnia-Hercegovina called Medjugorje, and returned a claimant of the rose scent.) I don't say this to agree or disagree doctrinally, but to give the example of a small grace. Even if it turns out that the woman who wears rose perfume and sits near an air duct in the next building is to blame for the rose scent, it is still a small grace. I think God must use things in the world to talk to us, even when we can explain them. Probably more frequently, even, when we can explain them. He's not sitting in heaven racking his brain trying to find ways to convince people to believe in Him by inventing something that cannot be explained away by science or circumstance; I would think God doesn't really have a whole lot he has to prove to us.

For this reason, I would like to publicly thank the Lord for filling the church with the glorious smell of bacon just as communion began this morning. I did nothing to deserve it, but it made the Eucharist all the more special. Jesus knows I love bacon.

And it was hilarious.

"Hilbert's Ghost" or "How I Stopped Loving and Learned to Worry about the LHC"

So, I have LHC Mania. I barely understand what the Large Hadron Collider is, but it seems very romantic to me. A Victorian romanticism where science is more of a wild guess than an question asked based on the answers of questions before. In short, my best understanding is that it is largest particle accelerator ever, with which physicists hope to replicate the environmental and material conditions that began the universe in a fraction of a second all those years ago. It will give light to question about the basics of the laws governing the universe, and presumably answer questions that have existed for a long time. I am not even going to go into the theological implications here.

While I am fascinated by the science, I cannot pull myself from combing for new information about the social situation and implications for community surrounding it. For example, this Physics of the Universe Summit that was covered in the NYTimes today.

Intro my brilliant idea...
A comedic musical starring the LHC and the people surrounding it. Think modern Dr. Strangelove meets Bones meets Back to the Future. I imagine a female main character, her partner in research a man whom is hopelessly in love with her, but very timid. (He also never corrects her errant assumption that he is a homosexual, or calls her on her slightly homophobic, non-politically correct cracks about his sexuality. In fact, he is so beflustered and helpless that he even goes on a date with her cousin from Minnesota when he is on town. [only referred to, we never met the cousin] Yes, she is that socially dense.) But our physicist is married to her work, she is afraid to flip the switch (read: afraid to love).

The whole thing is an analogy. Repressed love, fear of beginning something new and unpredictable, of turning the LHC on and what could happen. Our main character has hidden behind science and has a very low view of love and affection (It's just a mix of dopamine, norepinephrine, and oxytocin after all.) It is the story of her coming over to the side of risk. And the guy growing the balls to finally confront her.

The closing scene is the two flipping a switch together. We don't find out what happens. Armegeddon? Maybe. Nothing? Maybe.

Alternatively, the whole thing could take place in flashbacks. 50 years after the switch was flipped. Nothing happened and all the scientists had to find something else to do with their lives. The two meet at a reunion organized by network TV and talk over drinks. They have both changed and could end up together or not. I'm not really partial at this point.



Setting: Geneva, French/Swiss border (and the future maybe)
Minor characters would include:
A quirky junior fellow / intern (what are these called in science stuff?)

David Hilbert (mathematician who authored the 23 Hilbert problems that steered 20th century math) who visits our main scientist as a ghost/vision/who she just talks to when by herself a la Marley and Scrooge. (As a bonus for nerds each of the Hilbert Problems will be subtly referred to through out the musical.)

Some authority figure who drives the timeline. This is the person forcing the switch flipped, tired of the 'lollygagging of you science folk.' They are motivated either by needing a distraction for the public (a bad war perhaps?) or the secret hope that the time/space travel myths about the LHC are true and they will be able to correct a grievous wrong they did in the past.

Also, the theological implications could be a great subplot. Creator vs. created, etc.
(Vanity Fair: "There was also a CERN subplot in Dan Brown’s Angels and Demons, in which Illuminati steal anti-matter from the L.H.C. in order to evaporate the Vatican.")



Okay, there you have it. Now who wants to write it? Who wants to check the science? Who wants to choreography the "Waltz of the Proton Synchrotron"? Don't all get up at once.