Evolution

As a person striving to be physically fit, I was thinking today about the obesity epidemic. Today I was going to try to wear a pedometer to work to see how many steps I took (but like most things, I forget to do it). This notion came as a result of a news story last night about people who eat correctly and walk 10,000 steps per day can lose weight. One of the people on the story made the simple statement that we were meant to walk. We have legs as a form of transport. Well, in the modern age, we've made it possible in large instances so that we don't need our legs. I don't mean to offend or disrespect people who are physically unable to use their legs because of genetics or an accident. There are many others who choose not to use their legs; they'll stalk parking lots in their vehicles to get as close to their destination as possible. Some genius came up with the idea of the Segway (the stand-up 2-wheeled modes of transport). All of these thoughts led me to a conclusion: perhaps our national/international propensity towards obesity is meant to happen. Call it what you like, divine intervention or evolution, the trend progresses exactly as intended. We continue to progress as human beings. I think some some evolution theorists claim humans will lose certain digits no longer used, etc. But these theorists are thinking on too small a scale. Our legs are useless. Rather, we should all give in to fast food cravings and nightly ice cream binges. The true form for the lower half of a human being is to become as rotund as possible like childrens' toys. Who needs walking, running, cycling, or any such exercise, when we can just simply roll when necessary, and use mechanical devices as assistance in all other instances.

Lightnin' Quick

Last night I came home from work ready to roll into an easy 5-miler. I casually turned on the tv; the news was in high alert mode about some thunderstorms rolling into the area (in February?). As I sat there on the bed bedecked in running garb, I vascillated between staying and going. Given that I'd been in a foul temper all day, I decided I'd try to outrun the storm.

Needless to say, that was one of the quickest training runs I've done. I only managed four miles before I was disconcerted by the frequency of the lightning in the area. Nonetheless, these four were at progressively faster paces, culminating in a final mile below my 10K pace. It didn't pain me though. I know that I'd like to improve my speed to improve my times. Perhaps most of my runs I'm a bit lazy and I need to push the pace more. Otherwise I'll continue to just be a slow runner the rest of my days.

Aging

In filling out an on-line form which required my age, it seemed like it took far too long to scroll down to the year of my birth. Despite the fact that I'm only 30 years old, it does seem to be just that - old. Nothing in life truly prepares a person to deal with aging. One morning you wake up and look in the mirror realizing that the wrinkles are accumulating more rapidly, the number of white hairs increase and the aches and pains don't fade as quickly. What's worse is watching the aging of one's parents. My mother will be 60 next year. I've decided that we need to take a trip (just she and I, and maybe my sister) since in my mother's 60 years, she really hasn't travelled anywhere beyond the east coast of the U.S. There is so much to see and learn from environments outside of the familiar. Mom is intrigued by the idea of going to Ireland, primarily because her work companions have travelled there and enjoyed it. I would like to show her Paris, but she worries about the language barrier. In a past sojourn to France, the language barrier was not altogether difficult, except that my husband and I were blatantly "stupid Americans." Perhaps the French were more kind to us given that we visited their country just a few weeks following the 9/11 attacks. I tell my Mom she would fit in in France because she looks French. Although my maternal ancestors just a few generations prior were from Canada, I'm sure somewhere along the line someone took a boat over from France. My mother isn't the most confident person in the world. In fact, I think that my lack of self-confidence and esteem were carefully learned by example - not that my Mom intentionally taught this trait, or had any real conscious control over this transferrence. I've tried to live life overcoming this confidence obstacle. As we age, our roles with our parents gradually reverse. I feel obligated to assume the role of teaching my mother and perhaps showing her the world. Reflecting back, perhaps that's what I expected my parental figures to do for me. We didn't have the grand family cross country trips or foreign getaways. Am I resentful? No. The course my life has taken has taken made me what I am and will channel what I become. The obstacles and challenges were and are there for a reason.

One More Mile

One little mile shouldn't make a big difference, right? Well, I did my first 21-miler on Sunday. My reflections are: one miles does make a difference. Prior to this experience I maxed out at 20 miles per the Hal Higdon schedule. Based upon previous experience in the marathon, I thought it would be helpful to surpass 20 miles to get more time on my feet. Last week may have just been challenging, but after the 21-miler, my recovery seemed more difficult. The day after I took a rest day. On Tuesday I resumed running and struggled through five miles. Last night I finally felt fairly well, and threw in some speed miles at 10K pace between easy miles for a total of five. My plan was to up the long run to 22 miles for my final long run next Sunday, but I'm not sure if it's worth it.

Last night on my commute home from work I was thinking about all of the same people I see every day. In a city of millions, people continue to follow along the same schedules and routes. We all move through our day simultaneously, interacting during these encounters waiting for the train. I've never spoken to anyone that's on my "schedule," but I think there's a silent recognition that we are somehow banded together. I imagine that we're all just molecules of oxygen being sucked in by big lungs, then exhaled at the end of the day as something completely different and spent. We return home to our homes, families and hobbies to regenerate, only to repeat this cycle the for each day that follows. These larger rhythms, the breathing of time, govern our days.

Fast Food Nation

A few weeks ago I finished reading Eric Schlosser's Fast Food Nation. While I continue attempting to reconcile my humanitarian side versus my practical/economical side in relationship to Schlosser's arguments, the book neglects one key factor in the new American pasttime.

If you haven't read the book, Schlosser sets out to unveil the true evils of the fast food industry, primarily focusing on the dramatic "success" of the McDonald's chain internationally. The book attempts to show the gruesome underbelly of fast food, from the marginalized workers employed at franchises, to the meatpackers working under adverse conditions just attempting to keep up with the demand for cheap hamburgers. Unlike Lucy in the chocolate factory, when the assembly line speeds up the meatpackers wielding hefty knives must keep pace despite the risk of hacking off part of an arm versus the hunk of meat before them. And they can't just stuff meat in their mouth because it's just not the same. If Schlosser's allegations about injury cover-ups and the circumnavigation or augmentation of government authority are true, changes are needed. The humanitarian in me says that the working conditions, line speeds, all of the ills along the production chain that makes up the fast food industry, are wrong.

However, despite the arguments, anecdotal evidence and history presented by Schlosser, Fast Food Nation nearly completely misses one integral factor giving rise to our current state: the American (and further international) consumer. Although at the conclusion of the book, Schlosser indicates one way to curtail the injustice occurring daily as a result of fast food is to simply not patronize these establishments, he fails to mention throughout the course of the text the role of the American consumer on building these fast food institutions. Without the American consumer, there would be no McDonald's, Wendy's etc. No one forces us to eat fast food. We are not completely brainwashed by advertising executives on our choices, regardless of what people might say.

In our "it's not my fault" society, people fail to consider their own role in giving rise to these societal ills. The American consumer has created to the many unfortunate by-products of capitalism and industrialism such as fast food chains and big box retailers. The invisible hand shakes with that of Machiavelli. The end, in the instance of say, WalMart, is cheap prices on goods. So the means for WalMart is whatever means necessary. Currently, those means are using off-shore labor sources (China) to provide goods. The average American consumer does not demand quality. We are a throw away society content with buying $99 VCRs that we'll have to replace in a couple of years.

I could rant on about the direction of America to no end because it concerns me, but I have no solutions on how to stop this unfortunate tide.

Other reading on the subject:

If you need anything to dissuade you from eating fast food, check out www.dietfacts.com. This website will give you the nutritional value of many restaurant offerings. Despite reading Schlosser's book, I haven't stopped participating in the fast food machine. I found out a recent trip to Krystal, during which I wolfed down three chili cheese pups and an order of fries, gave me a good 1,200 calories and enough fat to fuel me for several days. But at least I had a Diet Coke with it.

Interesting further insight on the meatpacking industry:
http://jurist.law.pitt.edu/paperchase/2005/01/us-meatpacking-industry-cited-for.php

Baggin' It

For the last marathon, the training simply went all too smoothly. I barely missed a mile of the training schedule and was able to re-work the schedule when weather or life intervened. It seemed as though last summer and fall it nevered rained a drop for a run. The preparation for this spring marathon has been different altogether. Nature routinely conspires against me with repeated challenges of will. Last night served as yet another challenge. The evening's run started with a light mist which grew into a decent rain and at mile 2.5 out of 10, downpour; it was another event of complete saturation. I stepped in a pothole and lightly twisted an ankle. I thought maybe I ought to bag it and head home. Just do five and worry about the 10-miler tomorrow. But, no. Fortitude. Commitment. These have become my new mantras. Across one road where a new subdivision was recently built, a river cascaded across my path that was unavoidable. Did I say complete saturation? Now I was beyond complete. My cup overflowed. Bag it. No. About 6 miles in my ankle started to bother me (the one I hadn't twisted). But I didn't stop. I had to gut it out and finish, regardless of how it inhibited my running form (not smart, but I felt okay). My effort was rewarded as the rain and mist stopped. The air turned to a moist stillness and quiet when I had one of those moments where I feel peacefully along, winding my way through the brilliant spongey darkness. That's why I run.

Tonight, I bagged it. I was supposed to run 5 tonight, but decided to rest up, letting whatever this ankle thing might be run its course. Maybe I'll get up tomorrow morning and stumble through the run so I don't miss the miles. Or maybe the rest would do me good.

The Commitment

Last week's runs went relatively well. I've had a difficult nagging soreness in my left hip which I attribute to old shoes. I'm learning through this cycle that Higdon's programs are more designed to get a person through the distance, but they do little to improve one's speed. I think I do the regular runs far too comfortably. Thursday night I decided to push a bit more and integrate something akin to a speed session by running mile intervals at about 10-20 seconds slower than 10K pace. This exercise proved fruitful in that a. it was nice to feel a stronger than a snail and b. I was able to get home a few moments quicker.

Many runners favor an early morning timetable for their training. I simply can't muster the motivation to get up early. Evening running is only tough in that it's tempting to simply lay around and eat gummi bears versus hitting the streets. I also harbor guilt of leaving behind our beloved pets who've been devoid of attention throughout the day. With great trepidation, the evening feeding ritual commences when I return home from work. Then I abandon the poor creatures yet again so that I can fulfill my own selfish physical need. Nonetheless, my commitment to running this upcoming marathon well overrides these considerations.

Sometimes I wonder what makes the perspective of people differ in regard to pets or "animal companions." A certain contingent of pet owners are satisfied with their dog Rufus being relegated to the fenced back yard, or worse roaming the streets. The only attention Rufus may get from his owners is a scoop of food. I hate to watch the animal cop shows on Animal Planet which display the horrid treatment some pets receive. While some owners abuse their animals, we cherish their place in our lives. We talk to them and even try to reason with them even though we know they can't understand. What creates these extremes of people. I'd never truly trust someone who didn't like animals? Indeed, some people suffer from allergies, but anyone who just doesn't like them is a little weird.

Another Existential Crisis

Approximately every three months, I go through an existential crisis considering the direction of my professional life. While the mass of men live in quiet desperation (in the words of Thoreau), toodling away life by endeavoring in menial tasks and only looking forward to the next beer, I don't want to live desperately. I need to find a career which incorporates some of my multitudinous interests. Indeed, I need to look in some of those What Color is My Parachute? books to diagnose the proper career path. How can I co-mingle interests in athletics, science, nutrition, writing, reading and contemplative thought? Perhaps it's impossible. Many times I've thought I'd like to be a public school teacher also assisting with coaching duties of various sports. However, given the little that I know of the current public school system, thanks to George W. Bush's major educational initiative, I refuse to contribute to a system geared towards teaching the youth of America how to fill in little circles. I am a considerably concerned about our direction in education: the proliferation of poor nutritional choices in schools, the lack of phys. ed. and recess, etc. To be a public school teacher with these concerns seems an exercise in frustration. Still searching.