Dog Days

I took a lot of time off running the last two weeks, due to the soaring temperatures and my resulting sluggishness. I've completed a total of just four runs since July 16 -- the last one was yesterday, when I explored the lovely yet much too short Spring Run Trail as dusk crept over the northeast side of Saratoga.

Hot running Saratoga

As much as I love running, one of the best parts of doing it is being done with it. That feeling of accomplishment when you walk in the door all out of breath after a good run and head for the cold glass of water, the towel, the floor ... whatever.

This is especially true on days like today, when it hit at least 90 degrees in the middle of the day in Albany, and cooled down to a deceptive 84-ish by the time I exited the Northway in Saratoga after work.

Change of plans

So much for taking advantage of an early start to the weekend and sneaking in a late-afternoon run.

The weather goddesses were not on my side as I pulled in the driveway today around 4 pm -- with sun shining overhead -- and dashed into the house to get hydrated and changed for what I thought would be a nice easy meander through Spa State Park. During the 10 minutes I'm in the house (we're talking Mareesa Time here, so make that 20 minutes) the sky turns overcast, thunder starts to rumble, the wind is whipping leaves around on my street and it looks like a storm is going to break any moment.

Friends, family, food, finishing strong ...

... The fireworks have just finished popping away in Congress Park and my crew has long gone in their various directions home. I considered walking downtown to watch them on my own, but then I realized I am too wasted from the activity and heat of the last three days to move my butt any farther than absolutely necessary -- like from the couch to the kitchen to get a fresh ice pack or glass of water.

Anyway, whoever says you need fireworks to celebrate the Fourth of July (or a parade or barbecue, or spandex flag shorts, for that matter) is wrong. My weekend was absent all those things but it was as fabulous as you can get.

Firecracker 4 anticipation

We're exactly two weeks away from the fifth annual Firecracker 4, and you've seen, if you've driven or walked around here lately, that Spa City's runners are out in force, preparing for the four-miler that kicks off the local Fourth of July celebration.

Race organizers are expecting 2,000 or more participants this year -- the biggest field yet since it started in 2007. I know that number will include a bunch of Saratoga peeps as well as some out-of-towners. How cool that we can show off our beautiful city and raise some money for the local high school running team at the same time.

This will be my second year running the Firecracker, and I love feeling that I've improved so much (physically and mentally) as a runner in one year's time.

Down time and the SWHPO epidemic

This weekend could have easily come straight out of my wildest dreams about four months ago. What kind of weekend is that, you ask? One for which an agenda did not exist. Where I had not one work-related obligation, chore or personal item to concern me. No groceries that needed to be bought. No articles that needed to be written or emails to be sent. No one expecting my phone call or visit. Nuh. Thing. 

Always one to thrive on feelings of "productivity," whether they are real or make-believe, sometimes it is hard for me to put down the to-do list and walk away. But sometimes life naturally slows down and it is important to respect that when it happens and enjoy it because it usually means it is about to shift into top speed again really soon.

Returning, in my optimism bubble

Dear blog,

I've neglected you these last couple of months! I really want to apologize, but I've been having so much damn fun living unattached from the computer that the guilt pangs faded away pretty easily after a couple weeks of no action on here. Apparently, someone/s out there still visits the site even in the absence of fresh content, which has prevented my monthly hits from dropping into the single digits -- a sure sign of a blog that is dead in the water. I am so grateful for you/s, my remaining readers/stalkers and of course, Mom.

June 9th will mark S.R.S.'s one-year anniversary, as well as my three-year anniversary being a Saratoga Springs resident, so I guess there's no better time to return to the blogosphere with renewed dedication.

Hot Yoga

It never occurred to me that my kneecaps could produce rivets of sweat, no matter how rigorously I may exercise. Same goes for my forearms, shins, earlobes and the backs of my heels.

But hot yoga -- in a studio heated anywhere from 95 to 105 degrees -- will do that to you.

I've been spending two solid hours the last few Saturday afternoons sweating my skin off at Hot Yoga Saratoga. It's the class for triathletes (though I am not, technically, a triathlete) that I mentioned in the last post ...

Graduation

I was skeptical at first, but I am now a believer in the powers of physical therapy.

Last Thursday I completed eight weeks at Sports PT and have come out of it with stronger muscles, a healthier perspective on exercise and a training plan for the next few months.

And, oh yeah, I can run now! (Very, very slowly, and not far, but it's a start.) 

The best part was definitely the free T-shirt they give you at the last visit.

Saturday begins five weeks of hot yoga classes specifically geared toward athletes who run, cycle and swim; and those like me, who want to heal and prevent injuries and seek better performance. 

As soon as I get a few more good jogs under my belt I am going to find and register for a 10K in the late spring/early summer.

Finishing up at Sports PT and saying farewell to the incomparable Dr. Jeff on Thursday was only the beginning of a whirlwind week.

On Friday, after I banged out my last three stories on my last day at The Saratogian, good times were had by the pintful at Gaffney's, which is seemingly becoming the farewell party bar of choice for the newspaper's employees. The crew came out in force to send me off on a high (and sufficiently intoxicated) note. Thanks, guys! We traded goodbyes, but I know I'll be seeing them around soon.

A fraction of the pile. The contents represent the makings of, ohh, say, 80 percent of my life during the last 2 years. Scary!

Somehow I recovered Saturday in time to drive 200 miles and commence a multi-borough food and friend adventure through New York City: First came wine and good company in the Bronx, then Thai food in Queens.

In the East Village Sunday afternoon, there was an Eggs Benedict brunch done in true hipster style, and train hopping to Brooklyn, where I was welcomed inside a warm, full apartment just as gray storm clouds gathered above. Cookie-baking, popcorn-making, Vietnamese/Indian dinner delivery, a chick flick and cat antics ensued as a rainstorm raged outside. Back home, some less-fortunate folks were enduring another frickin blizzard.

The next day, under sunny skies and amid windy gusts, it was back to Manhattan for a trip to Macy's, solo lunching/sightseeing, and an accidental 15-block stroll hustle, in heels, during rush hour, after I made a sliiight error navigating the subway. Oops.

Finally, I made a spontaneous return to the Bronx Monday evening for more wine, sushi, the Best Carrot Cake Ever, and some insightful conversation with a very cool journalist.  

Just another tourist snapping photos in Rockefeller Center.

I was hoping to bump into Tina Fey outside the GE building, but alas, she was busy writing her next essay for the New Yorker ... or maybe the next episode of 30 Rock.

Inside St. Patrick's Cathedral, I was struck by the Gothic beauty and the homeless who were crumpled silently in some of the pews.

A collection basket resting till the next service.

On Tuesday afternoon, I was greeted in Saratoga with a driveway full of snow and ice, and the realization that I had absolutely nothing to do as major local news developed around me. (To cope, I immediately went to a yoga class, then spent the next two nights at the gym.) But that is a story for another post.

Check back for another update soon, before my Fabulous and Slightly Unbelievable Week of No Employment comes to an end Monday morning.

The shortest month

This New York Times article got me thinking about the ending of the shortest month of the year.

Here at S.R.S., February 2011 began with a short journey to Brooklyn for the purposes of fun, friendship and celebration.

It ends and March begins on another celebratory note -- once again in New York City, and then beyond -- as I close one chapter of my life and prepare for a new job and a new adventure.

The weeks in between, though, were far less carefree. For one thing, I said a bittersweet farewell to yet another friend from my immediate circle who is moving on to grander things many miles away.

Then there was slogging endlessly through all that snow and ice, and all the late hours spent awake and driving through the cold dark, pizza in tow, doing what was necessary to get by. Good riddance.

Other departures this month were less literal. Old ideals and long-held expectations -- had of myself and of others -- that had gone stale were sloughed off, sometimes unexpectedly, coarsely, painfully. Like popping a blister before it's ready, or ripping a bandage off a wound that's not quite finished healing; if there's no thought given to the timing, you could end up with a scar. 

So a little proverbial bleeding occurred, but it's all for the best, and now it's over.

What I'm getting at, I guess, is that I disagree with the NYT writer's proposal (however facetious) to extend the 28-day month by a couple days in order to bring it into equal standing with the other months. February, in my book, you are just not as good as the other months. And you couldn't have been over soon enough.

As for March, bring it.