For about 10 years, that’s how it went for me.  If I ran a bad race, it was usually on me – I either hadn’t trained enough, or hadn’t thought through the course.  If I got hurt it was on me.  I didn’t stretch enough, or I didn’t stop when the pain told me to.  In 2009, when plantar fasciitis reared its head while I was intermittently running (and still training), I didn’t listen up and slow down, and I paid in the end, with a two year condition that only recently healed after two bouts of PT and finally, a quick surgery.

Those of you who read regularly know that I moved to London from Chicago in 2011.  It was 10 weeks after surgery, and those first few weeks, months in London were tough.  I was in trainers every day, and the pain was still pretty regular.  By summer, it was getting better.  By September, it was gone.  I felt strong, and I had lost some weight, and I started to run again.  It was awesome.

I ran on the common by my house, and on the road when I traveled.  I ran so much when I was home in Cincinnat and Chicago at Christmas that I felt like I would never stop running again.  I felt the kind of joy that I remembered from those first days of running.  And so when, in mid-February, it snowed here, I felt like a kid who’d won the lottery – lucky, lucky, lucky to get to run on one of my favorite vistas – a park in snow.

I laced up my trainers and went out for a run.  It was a bit squishy – a bit slid-y. A bit wet.  I caught up with my brother and nephew building a snow fort, and we had a great time.  I ran home, and all was well.  And three hours later, I left my house to go to a Superbowl party, slipped on a patch of ice in front of my apartment, and felt my knee slam into itself in a way that wasn’t good.  I held up, and held on, for a minute.  Then I kept walking to the train.  By midnight, mid-way through the game, I couldn’t go down the stairs without it locking up.  The next day, I compounded the mistake in a pair of heels at work.

Six weeks later, I have the diagnosis.  I’ve been benched for that time, icing, resting, ibuprofening away here, and it’s not gotten any better.  Well, technically, that’s not true. I can now go down the stairs without flinching (but not without a rail).

I’ve managed to tear the meniscus in my knee in two places.  One on the inside left, one on the center of my left knee.  One would likely heal.  The other, not so much.  The doctor tells me that there’s an easy procedure to clean it up, a keyhole surgery where they trim down the cartilege or something and that makes it better.  I’m working out the logistics of a second opinion, a schedule, and a plan.

In the meantime, I’m pondering luck.  Maybe I’ve been lucky all these years to have so few injuries.  Maybe I’ve been stronger, and maybe now I’m just old and out of shape. I don’t really know.  I do know that this makes me want to throw things at a wall, and that’s not so good.  So I’m going back to the original plan – to have one.  Get a doc. Get an opinion. Get the surgery.  Get back out there.

Lucky as I may have been, I never saw that patch of ice, and I had no chance to adjust.  I was unlucky.  It happens.  So now it’s time to get to the pool, and walk while I can, and bottle the frustration of living in this lovely city which makes cycling a bit too dangerous and swimming a bit too inconvenient.  The excuses will have to go for awhile, while I try to get the groove back.

Luck’s a bitch.  But she’s got nothing on me, and my plan.

See you on the path….

Mid-run with my nephew on London's Clapham Common during a recent snowstorm. The Kid and my brother certainly were fort-a-licious.

So, in no particular order, some not-so-inspirational Plus Runner updates for the week.

I might be racing on an Olympic track.I know, it’s scary.  But there’s this thing, and it’s through work, and I might just get to run a 100 meter dash on the Olympic track in London in early April.  COOL, eh???  I maintain it might be the slowest finish ever, but can you imagine???

I might be slightly hobbled in that endeavor by a torn MCL.  Yeah.  I’m trying to pretend that the screaming pain every time I step wrong on my left leg is just a figment of my imagination.  But it turns out that either a) not wearing heels for two years and then doing some downward stepathon in them might not have been the best plan or b) that sliparoo on the ice the day of our big snowfall here was worse than I thought.  In any case, I’ve been running-free for three weeks, and I am officially. a. lunatic.  Back to the pool, right?  At least till a doc gets up in there and tells me what’s the what.

Big races are lining up. Have you picked yours for the year?  More to come on this, but I did officially make the London ballot for the Olympic distance triathlon.  Here’s to recovering from whatever _this_ is and kicking butt come September.

But in the meantime, how terrible am I at 100 days of anything?  I biffed again this year on the 100 days, but MAD PROPS to Cindi Hammer and all the kids out there doing 100 days proud.  I am nothing if not humbled by your continued inspiration for the rest of us.

Tick tock. That’s the sound you hear of me eagerly awaiting the Spring 2012 Triathlete Magazine Buyer’s Guide, which should include a piece about the best triathlon apparel for plus size athletes (written by yours truly). Word’s still out on when it will hit the stands, but keep your eyes and ears peeled.

I learned how to fence last week. Gingerly, yes, but it reaffirmed my belief that you’re never too old to learn a new sport. Or to be a hyper-competitive crazyhorse who believes in fair play and rules, rules, rules.  It’s amazing they let me play team sports sometimes, I swear.  But honestly, fencing? Very cool.  And doesn’t require massive white bodysuits either, which was a refreshing realization.

We’re gearing up for spring travel around here.  Kruger National Park (South Africa) and Talinn, Estonia (not to mention a possible side-o to Dusseldorf) are all in the makings.  Got a recommendation?  A road or a hike I can’t miss?  This knee will NOT slow me down – send me your best stuff!!

And now, the good stuff.  Who needs free gear???  I have a few pieces of gear that were sent as testing pieces for this recent article, and though a few are dedicated to some of my besties, there will be at least one upcoming contest for readers….so watch this space for more news – the contest will be announced next week to celebrate the Plus Runner’s 3rd birthday!!!

Okay, gotta go get some shut-eye now.  Thanks for the readin, and see you on the path.

Oh, and one more coolest as all cool thing…my good friend Cindi was kind enough to nominate Plus Runner for a fitness magazine blog award.  How cool is she?  Very.  But if you’re feeling the luvvvvv, please have a vote.  And even if you’re not, well, thanks for stopping by…

What amazed me this Saturday wasn’t that the Channel exists; it’s that it took me 9 months to realize it’s a fifty minute train ride to get there.  How did I not know this?  How had I wasted so many weekends in my apartment, watching re-runs of True Blood or reading the latest novel, while this gorgeous countryside awaited me?

I wasn’t disappointed in the trip.  My friend from work and I (Carolina, she of the blue top in the pics below) met up with a Meetup group who offered a guided hike (great when someone else does the navigating!).  All we had to do was show up at Liverpool Street Station at 9 a.m. I, of course, was late.  But I wasn’t so late that I didn’t make the train – and I met some really cool people along the way.  Below, a few pics from the trip (because y’all occasionally ask)!  Yes, you’ll note that I’m hiking in jeans (a first for me). I  wouldn’t normally, but it was an okay way to go, even if the mud was up to my ankles by the time we got back on the train.

And also, a word about the views – this place was really spectacular (it’s called Leigh on Sea) and it’s going to be host to the mountain biking course for the Olympics for 2012.  And the best part about it, yes, was the small sea town at the end of our journey.  Ironically, we never got to the wide open beach-type view you expect; but for a little while at the end, we stood by the sea wall, and watched a great sunset, enjoying the freshest fish and some excellent company.  I’d write more, but there’s nothing pithy or wise to say about it – I went, it was fun, and I’ll do something again. All in all, an excellent adventure for  a fifty minute train ride just East of London.

Carolina leading up to Hadleigh Castle

Walking into the castle grounds- it was on a fault line and shortly after built in the 13th century, began falling off a cliff. Literally.

Don't I look like the picture of fun? Yeah. It was pretty cool. That's the sea behind me in the distance.

Why am I talking about these girls?  Simply put, I think I can make a better list.  See, lately, I’ve read some pretty interesting “lists” of advice for mothers, and daughters.  There’s Tina Fey’s hysterical prayer for her daughter.   There’s the “50 Rules for Dads and Daughters” , and then there’s Sheryl Sundberg (CFO of Facebook)’s commencement speech at Barnard College last year, where she dishes out bits of advice for young women graduates (if you haven’t read it, do.)  They’re all occasionally inspiring, touching, and left me hoping that my accomodation of these lists would involve a bell curve.

But seeing as how I’m neither a highly paid comedienne, nor running the Finance function of the most successful internet company (ever), I figured I’d have little to share which might add to this ListMania.  But then I remembered (especially according to an excellent Saturday Night Live skit this weekend), in today’s day and age, I can say ANYTHING!  And it will be AWESOME  (I kid).

No, seriously.  I honestly just felt that there must be some general guidance out there for the parents of little girls who might, one day, become athletes.  There’s lots of them out there, and as a former Little Girl Who Played Sports, and adult Coach of Little Girls Who Loved Playing Sports, and as a current Advocate for Adult Big Girls Who Love Playing Sports, I thought I’d have something to add.

So here, in the spirit of the Plus Runner, is my best advice for your daughters, distilled into a few pithy comments that hopefully make you smile.  Happy Monday.

1.  Get your daughter to try every sport you can, even the ones that will make her dirty, sweaty, and scare you to death.  Every time she does, she’ll find out a bit more about who she is, and what she loves – even if it scares the heck out of you.   Also, learn early that there’s no faster cleanup than covering her in a Hefty bag while entering your car and hosing her down with the garden hose on exit.

2. Encourage her to play solo sports, and as part of a team.   Solo sports teach her that she can, in fact, be terrible and still find something rewarding in it.  They also teach her the power of her own steam and the strength of her own body.  Team sports teach her the joy of helping her friends win, crushing the opposition, and the feeling of letting a team down.  Don’t underestimate any of these things, and their role it will have in helping her join the workforce in 20 years.

3. She’s not going to be good at every sport.  Well, mostly.  Get over it.  And let her figure it out.  If she cares enough to want to be on the “A” team, she’ll practice more.  She may or may not get better, and make that team.  In either case, she’ll probably still be playing something, (a win) – and chances are she’ll probably enjoy it more than doing her homework.  And yes, she’ll learn that sometimes, other people are actually better at something than you are.  Again, a valuable lesson in today’s age.  (Oh, and when she gets cut from that team you think she should be on, DO NOT appeal the ruling.  This is not the Supreme Court of My Daughter is Awesomeland.)

4. Learn how to complement her play.  This is not to be confused with spewing BS at every available juncture.  Giving true, favorable praise will do more for her confidence than fabricated platitudes.  Learn the game she plays well enough to do this for her, and remember that for every one criticism she hears, she’ll need to hear four positive comments to counter the hit to her self esteem. Don’t let this prevent her coach from coaching her – but let the coach do the dirty work if you can.  If her coach seems unlikely to ever learn the balance, introduce them to Mr. Jackson’s program, above.  It’s pretty cool, and it works.

5. Play her favorite sport with her, even if you’re terrible.  Also, you are allowed to get dirty, and sweat.   Seeing her parents play helps reinforce the fact that you value it.  Growing up, I remember playing soccer with my father, and even golf (!) with my mother.  Neither one of them loved those sports, but they did it to spend time with me.  Your kids know you’re no Pele or Anika, and that’s okay – it’s the effort that counts.

6. CAN’T is a four letter word.  Never tell her she can’t play a sport – always, always let her try.  Even if you think she can’t hack the physical demands, or doesn’t have the coordination, let her learn the lesson on her own.  So she’s not good: put her on a lower-skilled team and let her learn.  Not fit enough?  Coaches expect this, particularly in recreational leagues today.  Let her play into shape – in the right league.  If you’re not sure how to handle it, talk to a coach, but do everything you can to encourage her to keep playing.  The longer she stays a part of organized sports, the higher her self esteem, less likely she is to engage in risky sexual behavior, and less likely to be brought down by depression and anxiety.  

7. Let her play with boys.  She’ll never forget the feeling the first time she scores a goal against a boy, fields his line drive down the third base line, or powers a forehand past him, and she’ll realize that her talent – and her drive to win and succeed – is absolutely comparable – a feeling you certainly want her to remember when life gets slightly more complicated a few years down the road.

8. Teach her that emotion has a place in sports, and sports has a place in emotion.  Let her cry when she loses and scream when she wins.  And when she throws on her shoes for a run, or turns to a hitting wall or a punching bag when she’s mad, let her go, so she learns that this healthy way of dealing with things (as opposed to The Alcohol, The Food, and The Drugs)  will always be there for her, whatever the win or loss.   Regardless of this, also make her shake hands with the opposing team, every time, no matter how angry, sad, or frustrated she is with a loss.  It is, after all, just a game.

9. Teach her that sport has no use-by date.  Find one sport you can play – whatever it may be – and play it for you.  Show her that lifelong athletics are rewarding – that sweat’s not for kids and professionals, but moms who work hard, and make dinner, and drive carpool, and still make time for tennis or soccer or running.  Show her that lifetime fitness is joyful and fun.

10.  Support girls and women in sports.  She may never have the option or the interest to go professional in Lacrosse, or Fencing, but there are college teams with Olympians and pop up pro leagues all over the world.  By supporting them, you show her that you value their athletic talent as much as men – and in today’s day and age, when we women all expect equal pay for equal work, it’s good to put our money where our expectations are.  For more information, check out the NCAA, the Women’s Sports Foundation, or the US Olympic Committee for a few ideas.

I guess in closing, the only question I have is this: how many of us can say we meet these expectations every day?  Do we all need to be graded on a bell curve? Probably.  But it sure is nice to have a target, isn’t it?

See you on the path!

It’s that time again – my favorite weekend of the year in Chicago.  Alas I’m not there this season, but you can be to cheer on your family and friends at their big day.

Follow this link to the 2009 Marathon spectator guide which I threw together – just cross-reference to make sure the map is still the same for 2011 (I believe it will be fairly close, as there are few changes year to year).  And remember the rules of spectating:

1) Wear layers.

2) Be prepared to help anyone you see! Water, gatorade, pretzels, aspirin, and bodyglide are all welcome. If it’s hot, pack a cooler with ice for your runner!

3) Great signs make runners feel like you’re there just for them – add some eye contact and they’ll smile for just a minute.

4) Noise is what you need in the slow spots – after 19th Street, especially.

Good luck to all running!!!

Sallie

We walked to the show, and covered a variety of topics in our hour long trek from the office.  As I told my mother last night, I knew I’d officially become a Londoner when my friend asked if I would mind walking (in my suit, from the office) and I not only said “no, I don’t mind” but I meant it!  More than that, I was prepared with my running shoes (though I quickly changed back into my cute girl shoes once we got close).  The other way I knew I’d done okay was that I really did enjoy the walk – and even though we arrived slightly “misted” – it was a perfect way to spend the night.

As I walked back to the Underground after the show, I was whistling the Ode the whole way.  It was the second day in a row, you see, that I’d had a wonderful walk in the park – and I’d be lying if I didn’t say those endorphins weren’t making themselves known.

So it should come as no surprise that tonight, when I turned up for my first “training” consultation at the local gym, I was still in a decent (if slightly nervous) mood.  An hour and change later, with our initial intake done, and the initial workout done, I’m still smiling.

So what is it exactly?  What is it about the prospect of a committed program for the next twelve weeks that has me giddy as a kid?

Well, for me, it’s a few things.  First, not to state the obvious, but I’d forgotten how amazing a workout is for your mental state.  Just this week, the New York Times reminded us of this when they shared the results of a recent study that said that for those suffering from chronic depression, exercise is as effective as drug therapy.  If that isn’t an indicator of what exercise can do for you, what is?   Now, I wouldn’t claim that I’m in anywhere NEAR that kind of funk, but if it’s that good for those who are struggling, imagine what it does for those of us who are just okee doke?  I mean, by all rights we should be singing Odes everywhere we go (don’t worry, no singing, just whistling here.)

Second, I think it’s the prospect of having a plan to follow – as my assistant likes to say, “a proper plan”.  It’s knowing what I have to do when (with some flexibility) to get me to where I want to go.  It’s taking the guesswork out of the equation by knowing that I have someone to report to – and also knowing that this investment is going to eat up a decent chunk of my cash.  I’m putting my wallet where my ass is.  And I’m okay with that.  But, as my friends and business owners of Chicago Endurance Sports always knew, (that’s you Jenny and Mike) getting people to commit by signing up for a set time with a decent investment means people are less likely to blow off the training group.  Trust me – I know that when I’m paying for these sessions that I won’t be willing to let them die.  According to the Evening Standard tonight, I’ll be buying a trip to Ibiza every week to see my new friend Jason, and though he doesn’t sing and dance, I’m going to make the most of that time.

So I guess that’s it.  I’m excited to have a plan.  To invest in my health.  To make some good changes.  I know, I know – we’ve all seen or done this before.  But I’ve never – literally – NEVER – done the training thing with a personal trainer.  The closest I came was the great help and guidance (okay, and ass-kicking) my PT Joel gave me last year at Accelerated when I was rehabbing.  I had great rehab results with Joel, who pushed me farther than I knew I could go.  So maybe that’s it too – maybe I’m hoping with some encouragement and regular accountability, I’ll get back to a level of fitness I’m excited about.

I think that means, kids, that we start today.  So get ready for mind-numbing updates full of good cheer about the newest adventure.  I hope you’ll join me for this ride, and that you’ll be working along at home too.  And when 2012 knocks on our door, let’s all kick it down with our new bad selves, eh?

See you on the path

p.s.  In case you’re curious, the following goals have been set:

1) Lose 25 pounds. (I have a date in mind, but let’s not share that).

2) Be strong enough to be ready to run once the 25 pounds is off (ideally by February)

3) Olympic distance triathlon in early spring of 2012

There’s more, but that’s a start.

Been awhile?   Unfamiliar with the feeling of getting lost?   Used to feeling like every workout is like an old episode of “Friends”, where you might not know the dialogue by heart, but you’re pretty sure Monica’s going to be anal retentive, Chandler’s going to make you spit milk out your nose, and Ross will make you glad you stopped dating that guy from the museum?  Yeah, I know.  If you’re a creature of habit, or you’ve been training for anything – and training close to home – the answer is probably “yes, it’s been awhile” – because we always advocate that you know exactly where you are, at all times on a run, on a bike, on a swim.  In today’s safety-conscious world, and particularly as  woman runners, we say “know your route” and “be prepared” and all that stuff.

But that means life can get pretty boring.  It can stop feeling challenging.  It can make you forget why you started getting active in the first place.

So every once in awhile, I like recommend something radical:  Do something so different, so challenging, that it makes you throw your playbook – if not out the window – at least to the back seat.

I did this last week, and though it was one of the most challenging vacations I’ve had in awhile, it was by far the most rewarding, as I returned to an active holiday with absolutely no pain and no issues.

I sneakily convinced a friend to join me in Wales for three days.  There, with the help of Anna from Drover Holidays, we had picked out a three-day-tour of the Brecon Beacons National Park – a gorgeous landscape of the Black Mountains and green hills that offered the Beacons Way – an 80+ mile path that runs through three distinct segments of the park.  We started with the day 1 hike up The Skirrid just outside Abergavenny.

Where’s the adventure, you ask?

Climbing to the top of "The Skirrid" on Day 1 of the Beacons Way.

Hiking in Wales should have been pretty easy for me – I mean, I’ve been hiking now since I was 18, thanks to my dad and stepmom, who introduced us to the joys of Buffet to Prevent Bear Attacks while wandering through the western US national parks.  But I’ve never – not once – hiked using a back-country permit, or hiked where I didn’t have a clearly marked trail laid out in front of me with cairns or markers every 20 feet.  I’m a bit of a wuss that way (and hey, Colorado isn’t a place you go off trail if you’re only hauling a day pack.)  But as I found out while researching this trip, hiking (or “walking” in the UK) is different here than it is in the states.

Unlike the states, here there is a principle which allows any person to cross anyone’s land in order to get to the next plot.  The Right to Roam allows right of access across open lands, moors, national park areas (which may include private property within park borders) and several other areas.  What that means, in practice, is that you can walk anywhere in England and Wales, as long as you’re carrying a good map and you’re on the recommended route.

But as we found out last week, the route is not quite what you might think.  That route might just tell you that there’s a gate in the North East corner of that one farm on your map – but the footpath might or might not be visible to get you there.  The next farm’s gate should be through those woods, and over a creek – but you’ll need to read your map closely and find your way carefully.  In short, you not only have to be able to read the map – but you have to be able to translate what you’re seeing with your eyes (and feeling with your feet) into what’s on the paper in front of you.

So for me, this was the first bit of the adventure that was truly new.  Though I’d orienteered a few times before (and thank GOD for Jenny’s map-reading class and for the orienteering day with the girls), this was truly putting my skills to the test.  Second, it required a level of concentration I’m not used to bringing to a hike! We had set out on the first day for a 10.6 mile endurance fest – up two small mountains, with a large valley (and many sheep) in between – and a descent that would bring weaker thighs to their breaking point at the 10 mile mark.  But for the mid-point of the trek, where we wandered through the valley – it was a great and refreshing challenge (ahem, with occasional cussing and much sheep shit) to find our way through the farms.

It was also refreshingly, delightfully, sweatily difficult going.  It was vertical in ways I hadn’t done in two years.  It was, however, also beautiful.  In ways I hadn’t seen in two years.

So what’s the big deal about adventuring? 

On the second ridge of the day after Hatterall Hill

Well, the simple answer is this: it’s about doing something you thought you might never be able to do.  And succeeding.  I guess this week, so long away from running, and so recently back from surgery, I was worried about whether I’d be able to take it.  Would I be able to do the mileage?  Would I be able to handle the demands?  We built in a day of cycling after the first day – 30 miles of slight climbs and one very long descent – but even the cycling had its moments of toughness on the heels of a massive day of hiking.  And yet, I did it.  My traveling buddy and I both lamented our dead legs – but they kept us going.  And the third day, when we called an audible on our planned route but still did about 10-12 miles of gorgeous hiking along the Talybont Reservoir, country lanes, and one gorgeous canal – we were both pretty happy that we’d been able to get it all done.

And the hidden point in all of it is this:  we hadn’t done any of these trips before.  We let someone else do the planning – and she handed us the maps, the route, and the gear (for the ride at least).  Anna was our tour master and by giving up the planning to someone else,  we took a risk.  But it was a comfortable risk, a calculated risk, and in the end, we had the trip we needed to test our limits but still have a fun time.  We were happy to head home at the end of three days with more than 20 miles of hiking and 30 miles of cycling under our belts.

And part of the test, part of the challenge – was not knowing exactly what we’d find over that ridge.  Would it be another false summit?  Another thigh-crunching uphill on the bike?  A descent that would test our faith in modern braking technology?  It was, as my friend put it, like being on a rolleroaster you’ve never ridden – wondering what’s around the corner.  It was the best, most unexpected fun we could have had as two adults roaming around the countryside.

So the lesson I think I’m sharing today is this:  find a way to take off the training wheels if you can.  Go find a completely new trail.  Go do something you’ve never – ever – considered before.  Oh sure, have a safety net.  Take your phone and tell someone where you’re going.  Take your water and all that jazz.  But just once in the next thirty days, consider going somewhere that makes you nervous.  Make your palms sweat and your conscience ask “are you sure?”  Because if you do it smartly (and you KNOW how to do it smartly), you’ll find that you absolutely can find what I found:  you’ve still got it.  You have that sense that you had as a ten year old that there are adventures around every corner, and things that will stop your breath with their beauty.  I found mine in wild ponies and heather moors, in centuries-old ruins and green paths on mile high ridges.  But you can find yours closer to home, if you only look.

A little heather for our journey....wide open space, and a view of the mountain we came from in the distance.

Find your local park.  Find your closest National Park.  Get on your boots.  And get out there.  It’s an adventure you simply won’t regret.

Sal

If you’re like me, you might be asking how the hell that happened?  Was there Dexatrim in my wheaties?  Is Greek Yogurt really laced with some sort of fat-burning protein I’ve not heard of?  Am I sleepwalking through nights (that would explain why I’m never rested?).

Perhaps.  But the real revelation came when I was moving the “I brought these to London but I won’t wear them” clothes to the front room’s dresser (because they were borderline obscene sausage-fests when I tried them in April).  Turns out, on a whim, I threw on a pair of REI hiking pants that I had been mortified to try on (note, not KEEP on) in April – and they not only zipped, but they fit.  And looked decent.

What. The. Hell?

I’ll be honest kids – it’s been a bit bleak here.  I’m averaging some pretty long hours at the office, I’ve worked out once in the last six weeks, and my bikes just arrived ten days ago (they stare at me, balefully, from the living room, giving me a stink eye every time I download a book from Amazon with the excuse that the Left-hand drivers are going to run me over like the American tourist I am.)  I’ve been dogging it – only swimming once.

I also made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t run again until I had lost some weight.  Actually, quite a bit of weight.  Because as much as I know that my weight wasn’t the sole cause of the last year’s injury, I know it didn’t help.  So, no running.  Swam once.  No cycling.  What gives?

Well, here’s the thing about London – I have no car.  It’s a big city.  I walk everywhere.  Sometimes, I walk quickly.  Everything I do, suddenly, after about 8 years, is under my own steam.  And turns out, “under my own steam” burns some calories.

This is a good thing, right?  Well, yes.  For starters, I’ve noticed that because I run (er…I mean, hurry) down the left-hand side of all the tube escalators, I’m getting quads of STEEL people.  I land lightly, and my hips stay centered, and Joel my PT would be SOOOOO proud of how I’m transferring weight from one leg to the other!  (This is also a skill you can test by standing on one leg and trying to put on a sock without holding onto anything.  If you’re not successful, might I suggest descending some stairs – wide ones – regularly?)

Anyway, I think that this Tube tactic, combined with the fact that I’m just walking everywhere – is just really doing a little bit, each day, to help.  And who am I to complain?

Don’t get me wrong.  According to my standards, I still want to drop another 30 pounds before I run again (and yes, I’m serious as pie on Sunday).  But I’m feeling better about getting moving.

Anyway, that’s the update from here.  I’m sorry the posts have been sparse lately, but next week I’ll have internet service at my home again for the first time (with a computer that can keep up) since I moved here, and then we’ll be back in business.  For those who are new readers, thanks for stopping by – and those who have been with me all along, thanks for sticking by.

See you on the path -

Sal

It all sounds so impossible sometimes, doesn’t it?  I say this as a woman who is currently sitting in a hotel room, working for the 10th hour in the day, about to go to a (I’m sure wonderful) working dinner with colleagues, which will terminate sometime before I begin sleeping in my soup.

But if I manage to stay awake, tomorrow morning, I’ll be cruising (early. very early) to get a glimpse of the Arch de Triumph or maybe just the Seine.  It’s a good life I’m in right now, and I’m looking forward to exploring Paris a bit on foot.

As many of you know (and are probably tired of hearing), losing a little bit of mobility has driven me to the slight edge of insanity over the past twelve months.  Arriving in London bike-less and unable to run, it’s been even harder for me to find that balance.  And yet, I found myself so very, very grateful these last few months just to have that simple act of walking become a part of my daily life again.  When I think of the joy of walking without pain – well, it makes me so much more aware of everything we stand to lose.

Do you ever wonder what it might be like to lose that mobility we all take for granted?  Does it ever seem unimaginable?  So it’s doubly hard, then to imagine what it must be like to have lost it – and found it again.

Today’s Health section in the NYTimes profiles one such athlete, John Carson, who was struck while training a few years back.  Diagnosed with a severed spine, he took his inspiration from Lance Armstrong, Grete Waitz, and Alberto Salazar, and committed to racing in whatever way he could, whether that meant wheel-chair, hand-cycle, or – as it currently does – on two legs he can’t quite feel.

He is, quite simply, an amazing man, with an amazing story.  And yet – keep reading.  Because somewhere in that brief summary by Tara Parker Pope is an athlete like the rest of us – (or some of the more dedicated ones we have known) who is now transitioning to find a quieter, more manageable way to fit training into his life.  He’s finding he has limits, and he’s going to work within them.  He’s done with Ironmans this weekend (I know, right?).  He’s going to spend more time with his wife, maybe start a family.  He’s going to go back to “average” training, and an “average” life.  But he’ll know what we all know – and sometimes just forget: that every day we have where we are healthy and able is a gift.  And that we should use it to the best possible means we have.

So get out there.  Go for a walk, or a swim, or just challenge your kid to a game of soccer.  Get sweaty and red-faced, and maybe even pull a muscle or two.  You’ll survive. Your body is built for it.  Take advantage of it.  And then say thank you.

See you on the path…..

Becuase this is a time of “transition”, I’m living in temporary housing while sorting out the permanent parts of my life here.  Which means, for now, I’m living out of three suitcases.   Lucky for me, I’m also recovering from an amazing surgery (February 9, 8 weeks out for those who are counting) and so the only shoes which made the trip are my running shoes.  Three pairs of them, in fact.  Which are only to be used for walking.

Starting out in London dressed in “trainers” wasn’t my ideal way of doing things, but alas, it’s not the shoes as much as the healing that matters these days.  Upon departing Chicago, my doc advised me that I was free to swim and bike, but no running (as.if.) and only 30 minutes of walking twice per week until I had been cleared by a physio (or a physical therapist, as we call it in the U.S.).

Well, as one might expect, I haven’t exactly had the time in the past ten days to do that.  What I HAVE been able to do is explore my neighborhood little bits at a time.  I’ve found a way to get in some cycling with very little effort.  A coworker has given me the short list of every pool within a 10 minute walk of my office.  And I’ve found that sticking to that 30 minute limit is tough.

What I’ve also found is that, in the words of Jane Austen, “London is SO diverting!”

Diverting and not too bad a place if you want to start to move more.  Though there are millions living here, they move with alacrity – and they also know how to make the most of their commutes.  Exiting the tube is a pleasant-ish experience, and really no different than Chicago (except it seems the whole city is preparing for the Olympic sport of Get Me The Hell Out of The Tube ForthWith – and seems to think they’re being timed.)  I am proud to say I’m already mowing people down like a suburban housewife at a Target sale and I’ve only been here 10 days!

Then there’s the Cycle Hire.  Barclays, a UK Bank (I think) sponsors this local effort to put dozens of bikes at spots all over the city (and I believe there are hundreds of those spots).  For a small annual fee (or a small daily fee) you can unlock a bike, ride it to your destination, and return it.  You don’t have to worry about a bike lock, or what happens when it starts to rain – you just choose exactly when you want to ride.   What’s more – it’s casual! There is NO expectation that you show up in Lycra and clips.  And helmets? Please. Not even considered.

Talk about liberating!  As a tourist, it’s also pretty darn cool. My friend and I investigated them last Saturday to tour Hyde Park, Buckingham and Westminster on a day when I would have otherwise violated the Doc’s orders about “30 minutes max”.  And Lauren noted at day’s end that even though it took us longer to rent them (first timers) and find our final docking station (I later found a map) our feet didn’t hurt and we’d seen a TON.

It’s been one of the most pleasant surprises of London – that even though I’m chomping at the bit to do something simple and equipment-free in this transitional time, the London folks have taken care of it. They’ve just landed bikes whereever I might want them.

More than that, when there’s not bikes, there’s a giant park  outside my back door which offers dawn to dusk entertainment every day.  There are throughfares for commuters, tea houses, and great wonderful playgrounds for children.

There are, however, also something unique in my experience of life thus far – locked gardens.  In many of the squares in this city, you will find adorable, single block parks which are surrounded by Victorian homes and condos.  The parks seem beautiful from the outside – but I can’t tell you for sure because the land is private.  That’s right, private.  Unless you own property abutting the estate (or, I’d guess, are a resident of the general area) you cannot sit in the green space and have a cup of tea.

To me, this is truly a strange concept.  In the US, we have large yards (you suburbanites do, anyway) which we, as adults, tend to love.  In our cities, we have green space too (Chicago was quite good at this.)  But private parks aren’t really our thing.  We’re a “by the people, for the people” kind of place.

And so that distinction – between what’s been done with Barclays, which really has brought cycling to anyone who wants to ride and has a few pounds to spare – and these parks, which are – at some points – open and amazing – and at others, closed and just as spectacular – seems a kind of disconnect that I wasn’t really prepared for.

But, in contrast again, we have the Swimming Pond situation.  That’s right.  There are ponds.  In which people swim.  Now, I know we have them in the US but it seems strange to me, too, that these ponds are, say, in the middle of Hampstead Heath.  And even more, that there’s apparently a men’s pond, a ladies pond, and a mixed pond.  From what I’m told, they’re quite clean (though a bit cold) and offer plenty of opportunity to swim in the open.  What I’m having trouble getting my head around, though, is the idea of swimming anywhere but Lake Michigan.

Sigh.  I know, we’re spoiled in Chicago.  Our lake is gorgeous (if freezing.)  It’s tested for bacteria daily (why do I doubt this is the case in London?)  and it’s also fairly safe, what with it’s four foot-high, 3/4 long lane abutting Lake Shore Drive.

Maybe this pond will be just as good. I’m not sure.  I do know there are more than a handful of pools within two tube rides of my office, and that the local triathlon club is calling my name.  And these things, these are about to become the new anchors of my social experience.

(Apologising for the ramble, but here we go.)  Because here’s the thing:  if I’ve realized anything in these first few weeks in London, it’s that picking up stakes and moving across the pond is going to be an amazing experience.  But for awhile, anyway, it’s going to require a lot of work.  It will be work to meet new friends.   It will be work to find a routine.  It is work to simply find a physio. 

But a lot like all those races I’ve run, I’m also realizing it’s about understanding the day.  As my friend Jenny likes to say, there are “A” days, “B” days, and “C” days in racing.  Not surprisingly, the same holds true for life.  On A days, I’m finding that I catch the tube, I get in a good workout, work doesn’t last till 10 pm, and there’s something healthy in the fridge when I get home.  On “B” days, a few of those might be awry.  And on “C” days, no matter how much I want it to work, I might be failing at all of the above.

But the thing which this fish needs to remember is that the C days will be far outweighed by the Bs.  And some days, there will be an A.  I look forward to figuring out London, and to finding the As in the days to come.