Uh oh.
It’s only been a week or so since we sent the Ozlings back to that big germ incubator known as school. But it looks like they might already have brought home a virus or something.
One Ozling has been coughing at night and the other one complained of a sore throat yesterday. Mrs. Oz said her throat is starting to hurt a little.
Me? I’m in denial.
I’ve got a half marathon to train for and a hectic work schedule. I’m signed up for a fun 5K on Labor Day. Don’t have time for any of that illness foolishness.
Then I woke up this morning. Had to admit my throat was scratchy. The schedule only called for four miles this morning. Good thing. The run went well, but I barely made it home in time to dash to the john. Another sign that things aren't quite right. Yikes.
I am going to go pop at least 500 mg of vitamin C and swill Orange juice today like a frat boy drinks beer on a Friday night.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Monday, August 27, 2007
Around and around he goes
A veteran bartender offered me some sage advice one summer when I was working at a bar and grill during college. Don’t mix drinks. If you start the evening drinking tequila, stick with it. If you are going with wine, drink wine.
Fill an evening’s activities with a little tequila, some bourbon, some wine and trouble is sure to find you.
It was good advice.
Hope it doesn’t apply to running shoes.
I logged 400 miles on my Sauconys and it was time to get a new pair. I went to my local running store and the shoe guru had me walk around a bit so he could check out my feet. I had been in a motion-control shoe and he said that seemed like overkill. I could use a stability shoe, he said.
So after trying on four pairs, I picked some Mizunos that seemed to offer the best fit.
I took them out for a spin on a local high school track this morning. The shoe store will exchange them if they are not too dinged up. They felt pretty good. Plus, they seem to weigh less than my old pair.
Fill an evening’s activities with a little tequila, some bourbon, some wine and trouble is sure to find you.
It was good advice.
Hope it doesn’t apply to running shoes.
I logged 400 miles on my Sauconys and it was time to get a new pair. I went to my local running store and the shoe guru had me walk around a bit so he could check out my feet. I had been in a motion-control shoe and he said that seemed like overkill. I could use a stability shoe, he said.
So after trying on four pairs, I picked some Mizunos that seemed to offer the best fit.
I took them out for a spin on a local high school track this morning. The shoe store will exchange them if they are not too dinged up. They felt pretty good. Plus, they seem to weigh less than my old pair.
The rubberized surface was probably good for the shoes, my feet and knees. But going around, and around, and around in a circle about made me go crazy. Only did 3.2 miles, but that was plenty.
After all the foot trouble and other assorted problems I had last year, I am nervous about changing brands of shoes in the middle of training. The Sauconys seemed to be working OK.
But I am going to take the guru’s advice and stick with the Mizunos. Let’s hope things end up better with this than the result of a night out on the town swilling margaritas, Jack and Cokes and a gin and tonic for good measure.
After all the foot trouble and other assorted problems I had last year, I am nervous about changing brands of shoes in the middle of training. The Sauconys seemed to be working OK.
But I am going to take the guru’s advice and stick with the Mizunos. Let’s hope things end up better with this than the result of a night out on the town swilling margaritas, Jack and Cokes and a gin and tonic for good measure.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Don't abandon the Bolognese
When lightning struck, I was in the kitchen stirring the Bolognese sauce.
Whump!!!
WTF?, I thought after hearing that strange sound and then looked out our double glass doors to the back yard to see nothing but leaves and branches.
Last Sunday we had an adventure thanks to a fast-moving and brief thunderstorm. A zap from the heavens struck our silver Maple, sending a big honkin’ branch down on our deck and part of our roof. Lovely.
Mrs. Oz was all atwitter, urging me to join her in the backyard immediately to pull the limbs and branches off our deck and roof. The branches aren’t going anywhere, I assured her. My Bolognese sauce required attention at the moment.
I encouraged Mrs. Oz to take the camera out back to document the destruction in case we would need to file a claim. Seemed to satisfy her urge for action.
So I remained at my post, tending to that evening’s dinner. Once the sauce was under control and simmering, I turned down the heat, adjusted the lid just so and grabbed my bow saw in the garage.
After a few strategic cuts, I was able to drag the biggest branches off our wounded deck and dinged roof. I set them aside as a task for another day.
Then I returned inside. Cooked some pasta, adjusted the final seasoning of the sauce, and sliced some baguette. And dinner was served.
Not two minutes after placing the pasta-filled bowls on the table…. Bang!! Zzzzt. A transformer down the road blew. No power. Electricity would not be restored until 4 o’clock the next morning. The Oz family dined by candlelight.
Was an interesting display of how we all respond to a crisis and where we place our priorities. Not exactly sure what it indicated, but I was intent on enjoying the Pasta Bolognese I had been craving for weeks no matter what chaos raged outside my door.
After all the excitement last Sunday, I had a great week or running. I was true to the schedule, logging an easy 4-miler on Monday, 7 on Tuesday and 6 on Thursday. Saturday I did 12 on the Little Blue Trace trail out in Independence.
Still a little hot and steamy, but the weather finally broke, giving us at least 10 to 15 degrees cooler temperatures than we have had through much of August.
Today I had hoped to squeeze in a bike ride. But instead I devoted my time and energy to cross-training with my bow saw and the monstrous pile of limbs and branches Mother Nature left for me a week ago.
Whump!!!
WTF?, I thought after hearing that strange sound and then looked out our double glass doors to the back yard to see nothing but leaves and branches.
Last Sunday we had an adventure thanks to a fast-moving and brief thunderstorm. A zap from the heavens struck our silver Maple, sending a big honkin’ branch down on our deck and part of our roof. Lovely.
Mrs. Oz was all atwitter, urging me to join her in the backyard immediately to pull the limbs and branches off our deck and roof. The branches aren’t going anywhere, I assured her. My Bolognese sauce required attention at the moment.
I encouraged Mrs. Oz to take the camera out back to document the destruction in case we would need to file a claim. Seemed to satisfy her urge for action.
So I remained at my post, tending to that evening’s dinner. Once the sauce was under control and simmering, I turned down the heat, adjusted the lid just so and grabbed my bow saw in the garage.
After a few strategic cuts, I was able to drag the biggest branches off our wounded deck and dinged roof. I set them aside as a task for another day.
Then I returned inside. Cooked some pasta, adjusted the final seasoning of the sauce, and sliced some baguette. And dinner was served.
Not two minutes after placing the pasta-filled bowls on the table…. Bang!! Zzzzt. A transformer down the road blew. No power. Electricity would not be restored until 4 o’clock the next morning. The Oz family dined by candlelight.
Was an interesting display of how we all respond to a crisis and where we place our priorities. Not exactly sure what it indicated, but I was intent on enjoying the Pasta Bolognese I had been craving for weeks no matter what chaos raged outside my door.
After all the excitement last Sunday, I had a great week or running. I was true to the schedule, logging an easy 4-miler on Monday, 7 on Tuesday and 6 on Thursday. Saturday I did 12 on the Little Blue Trace trail out in Independence.
Still a little hot and steamy, but the weather finally broke, giving us at least 10 to 15 degrees cooler temperatures than we have had through much of August.
Today I had hoped to squeeze in a bike ride. But instead I devoted my time and energy to cross-training with my bow saw and the monstrous pile of limbs and branches Mother Nature left for me a week ago.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
It's crowded in there
A pair of siblings from the Running Blog Family has been rattling around inside my head lately.
Danielle and Leah chronicled recent leave-it-all-out-on-the-course-and-then-some race experiences. They are a couple of gutsy athletes. Their reports were inspiring. Their reports were scary.
They psyched me out.
I must admit to a phobia. If it were given an official name, it probably would go by the moniker of emptytankaphobia. I fear running out of gas while on a run. I worry a bit on a long training run, but it really grips me during a race.
As a result, as I start to sense fatigue, I dial it back. Often I am too cautious. I have finished many a run thinking that I still had plenty of gas left over.
It even happened a little during the recent Race for the Cure 5K. The race was crowded. I lined up near the front of the pack, but still encountered walkers and slow, slow runners clogging up the road during the first couple of miles. Not a big deal. I realize the Komen runs are more community events than real races. That’s fine. It’s a great cause and I love to participate. I was glad for the chance to expose the little Ozlings to the experience.
Still, I wanted to push myself. I wove through the crowd as much as possible.
I felt good and was moving at a decent pace, 7:29 the first mile and 7:25 the second. Then I encountered some decent hills. And the hot sun. I felt my energy start to fade. Not a lot. Not so much that I was worried about my ability to finish. But I dialed it back. At least a little.
I did the last mile in 7:40. And I did the final .15 of a mile in a little over a minute. I logged a 23:39 for the race, according to my unofficial timekeeping on my Garmin. Not terrible for me considering the crowd and the heat. But it was more than a minute slower than a 5K I did last fall. I am in better shape now. I should have done better.
Leah and Danielle and many other athletes manage to push through the pain and discomfort. They pay their dues with determined training. Then they cash in with performances that can make them proud.
I’ve got to find a way to come out on top with my head games. My heart and legs feel stronger and stronger as I log the miles this summer.
Now if I could only find a way to strengthen my mind.
Danielle and Leah chronicled recent leave-it-all-out-on-the-course-and-then-some race experiences. They are a couple of gutsy athletes. Their reports were inspiring. Their reports were scary.
They psyched me out.
I must admit to a phobia. If it were given an official name, it probably would go by the moniker of emptytankaphobia. I fear running out of gas while on a run. I worry a bit on a long training run, but it really grips me during a race.
As a result, as I start to sense fatigue, I dial it back. Often I am too cautious. I have finished many a run thinking that I still had plenty of gas left over.
It even happened a little during the recent Race for the Cure 5K. The race was crowded. I lined up near the front of the pack, but still encountered walkers and slow, slow runners clogging up the road during the first couple of miles. Not a big deal. I realize the Komen runs are more community events than real races. That’s fine. It’s a great cause and I love to participate. I was glad for the chance to expose the little Ozlings to the experience.
Still, I wanted to push myself. I wove through the crowd as much as possible.
I felt good and was moving at a decent pace, 7:29 the first mile and 7:25 the second. Then I encountered some decent hills. And the hot sun. I felt my energy start to fade. Not a lot. Not so much that I was worried about my ability to finish. But I dialed it back. At least a little.
I did the last mile in 7:40. And I did the final .15 of a mile in a little over a minute. I logged a 23:39 for the race, according to my unofficial timekeeping on my Garmin. Not terrible for me considering the crowd and the heat. But it was more than a minute slower than a 5K I did last fall. I am in better shape now. I should have done better.
Leah and Danielle and many other athletes manage to push through the pain and discomfort. They pay their dues with determined training. Then they cash in with performances that can make them proud.
I’ve got to find a way to come out on top with my head games. My heart and legs feel stronger and stronger as I log the miles this summer.
Now if I could only find a way to strengthen my mind.
Monday, August 06, 2007
Look at me, I'm a quadrathlete!
Yes, indeed, I’m a four sporter.
If you count my activities over the entire weekend. And if you are generous in your definition of athletic endeavors.
On Saturday I ran for 12 miles. Hot. Steamy. Hilly. The other runners in my group were training for fall marathons so they were going long Saturday. I was just doing 12. So I said goodbye to them at mile 6, wishing them a good run and then turning around. I was feeling quite pleased with myself. I felt good. I felt strong. Then along about mile 8, whoa. Where did all my energy go? It turned into a bit more of a struggle. I guzzled Gatorade and dumped cool water on my head at the last two water stops. My right foot started to hurt. Now cut that out.
I gritted through it, though. Finished the run and headed home.
That’s when my generous-definition of the fourth sport took place. I have an old friend from high school who is visiting the area and we invited his family to join us for dinner on Monday. That meant that an intense burst of honey-dos and housecleaning were the order of the day for Saturday and Sunday. Scrubbing toilets, mowing the yard, putting together some new dining room chairs, grocery shopping and cooking dinner for my mother in-law on Saturday (The menu: grilled flank steak with greens on bruschetta, peas and mixed mushroom pasta, and a delicious Malbec to wash it down. I have been on fire as the Oz-family chef, lately, if I do say so myself.). All the activities took a toll. I was a tired beast.
Then Sunday afternoon. The third sport, sort of. Swimming. The Ozlings were overflowing with energy. The littlest Ozling could not sit still to save his life. Running in the dining room. Running in the living room. We had to do something to channel all that energy or he was going to get in trouble. Family tension was higher than normal. It was hot outside. Let’s go to the pool. Granted, I didn’t exactly put myself through any strenuous lap swimming, but I was in the water, swimming about with the Ozlings. And watching the little guy go off the high dive. Speaking of that, earlier this week we had a bit of high-dive drama. The little Ozling intentionally did a belly flop off ….the High Dive! Why? To impress an older girl.
The move elicited differing reactions in our household. Did you cry? I asked. No. Awesome! That must have been cool. What were you thinking? Mrs. Oz asked. You could have broken ribs, you could have been hurt.
Then today I had a more legitimate fourth sport. I had the day off from work so I got reacquainted with another old friend, my bike. Did 15 miles. It was hot. It was steamy. But it felt great. Once again, I am amazed at how good it feels to hop on the bike when my legs are sore and tight from running…and housework.
You probably won’t see this four-sport combination in the next Olympics. But if they add the competition, I am sure to be a contender.
If you count my activities over the entire weekend. And if you are generous in your definition of athletic endeavors.
On Saturday I ran for 12 miles. Hot. Steamy. Hilly. The other runners in my group were training for fall marathons so they were going long Saturday. I was just doing 12. So I said goodbye to them at mile 6, wishing them a good run and then turning around. I was feeling quite pleased with myself. I felt good. I felt strong. Then along about mile 8, whoa. Where did all my energy go? It turned into a bit more of a struggle. I guzzled Gatorade and dumped cool water on my head at the last two water stops. My right foot started to hurt. Now cut that out.
I gritted through it, though. Finished the run and headed home.
That’s when my generous-definition of the fourth sport took place. I have an old friend from high school who is visiting the area and we invited his family to join us for dinner on Monday. That meant that an intense burst of honey-dos and housecleaning were the order of the day for Saturday and Sunday. Scrubbing toilets, mowing the yard, putting together some new dining room chairs, grocery shopping and cooking dinner for my mother in-law on Saturday (The menu: grilled flank steak with greens on bruschetta, peas and mixed mushroom pasta, and a delicious Malbec to wash it down. I have been on fire as the Oz-family chef, lately, if I do say so myself.). All the activities took a toll. I was a tired beast.
Then Sunday afternoon. The third sport, sort of. Swimming. The Ozlings were overflowing with energy. The littlest Ozling could not sit still to save his life. Running in the dining room. Running in the living room. We had to do something to channel all that energy or he was going to get in trouble. Family tension was higher than normal. It was hot outside. Let’s go to the pool. Granted, I didn’t exactly put myself through any strenuous lap swimming, but I was in the water, swimming about with the Ozlings. And watching the little guy go off the high dive. Speaking of that, earlier this week we had a bit of high-dive drama. The little Ozling intentionally did a belly flop off ….the High Dive! Why? To impress an older girl.
The move elicited differing reactions in our household. Did you cry? I asked. No. Awesome! That must have been cool. What were you thinking? Mrs. Oz asked. You could have broken ribs, you could have been hurt.
Then today I had a more legitimate fourth sport. I had the day off from work so I got reacquainted with another old friend, my bike. Did 15 miles. It was hot. It was steamy. But it felt great. Once again, I am amazed at how good it feels to hop on the bike when my legs are sore and tight from running…and housework.
You probably won’t see this four-sport combination in the next Olympics. But if they add the competition, I am sure to be a contender.
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
Put the HoHos down and back away
I was a bad boy.
But it felt, I mean tasted, so good. I’ll probably be bad again. Maybe soon. Is that so wrong?
Yesterday, I fell off the healthy diet wagon and sank my teeth into a very juicy burger. With blue cheese. And bacon. I did go with the sweet potato fries, but I am doubtful that made the meal exactly heart healthy.
I don’t really think it’s bad to splurge on a decadent meal now and again. But I am struggling a bit on the food front these days.
As I have ramped up the mileage this summer, the intensity of the internal furnace powering my body has risen, as well. I can imagine a crew down there shoveling fuel into the flames as fast as they can. “She’s giving all she’s got! More fuel! More fuel!” they cry.
The upshot of this is that I am hungrier and hungrier. Nearly all the time.
At home I can keep this somewhat under control. We have been enjoying bunches of salads and fresh tomatoes this summer. I am making sure to keep the fruit bowl well stocked so that I grab a piece for a snack instead of heading to the ice cream in the freezer or a bag of chips. I tossed some veggie crumbles in the pasta sauce the other night and ground turkey tacos are a frequent menu item.
But during the day at work? Basically it’s a nutritional disaster.
If I don’t pack a lunch, more often than not I find myself chomping on a Philly steak sandwich, a burger or some other pile of cheese-topped gooeyness. Then only a few hours later, the vending machines start to call out. “Halloooo! You are hungry, right? We have food! Come and get it!”
No, I reply. Usually to myself.
“Oh come on! Grab a few coins and pay us a visit.”
Oh, OK. Maybe some crackers or something. Wait a minute. Are those HoHos?….hmmm…How about a nice bottle of Coke to wash it down. Then later as I look at the empty bottle and crumpled wrapper on my desk, I wonder, what have I done?
It’s not a weight thing. I have been consistent with the running, so even with the snack binges and poor lunch choices I have been shedding pounds this summer. It’s a heart thing. It’s an overall health thing.
Why am I able to show such discipline with the running, but then fall down when it comes to eating?
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