It’s a rest day today. I enjoyed a free public performance of Anthony & Cleopatra by Portland Actor’s Ensemble. It was a good performance. I also did twenty minute Pilates routine. What can I say? It’s a rest day.
I didn’t at all expect this. Typically, I don’t care about Vo2 Max, Yasso 800s, negative splits, or any other speed based racing lingo. I ignore competition because I just like to run. Instead of focusing on speed or competition, I customarily look to weekly mileage. For me, running is about spinning the earth steadily and rhythmically in quiet solitude. It’s not about gagging or choking on my own breath.
I can’t say why I’ve decided to change my routine. Maybe I’m just bored, or maybe I just want to punish myself for working somewhat steady hours. Whatever the reason, in order to slice open the belly of my performance and dissect it like a frog, I bought a heart monitor and a wrist GPS gizmo.
This morning, before work, I tracked my first marathon training run with my Garmen wrist GPS. Incidentally, today, the last Sabbath of June, marks the very first day of my Boring Marathon Training Program. Appropriately, Sundays are my marathon training rest days, which means that I’m supposed to do Yoga or Pilates instead of pounding my toes and bones on the stoney streets. Why did I run on a rest day? Good question. It was symbolic, more importantly it raised my weekly mileage to 25 miles.
When my heart rate monitor arrives Tuesday, I’ll sync it with my GPS wristband. I must admit that I feel a little guilty using a heart rate monitor and a GPS device to inspect my runs. The use of electric technology seems so un-barefoot like. That said, I know that the Barefoot Deities don’t mind, for they approve of all knowledge that maketh a man swift and sturdy.
This ends my first day of marathon training–2 miles, it wasn’t much. Even so, I’ll continue to post my training each day. Come back tomorrow.
Yesterday, I saw something that made my soul feel soggy and wet: a repulsively obese woman driving an automatic wheelchair–she could walk, I watched her stand up grab a box of donuts. Her flab oozed over the filthy gray arms of the chair in appalling globs of loose, baggy flesh. The woman didn’t even bother to take the curlers out of her dirty stiff hair. Her nightgown looked as if it hadn’t been changed in weeks and blistery soars around her lips made her brown streaked teeth glisten in the fluorescent light.
The image of that woman infected my mood as I drove home. What disturbed me most was the neglect. To clean my mind and rejuvenate my soul, I watched Gangnman Style for the millionth time. When it ended, I saw this video hanging on the side of YouTube.