My iPod is Possessed by the Devil.

My iPod is possessed.

I’m convinced it’s the devil’s work. Who else would put Madonna’s Immaculate Collection on shuffle for an entire 14-mile slog in the middle of a wet and humid August? The infernal machine decided to skip from Track 3 to Track 12 and completely ruined any sense of continuum. Then, just for laughs, it decided to jump from track 15 to track 5. Yes: it skipped backwards. It was like it had mixed itself up with a Shuffle, but it could only play one particular Madonna album.

And frankly, my running habit is already too expensive to permit the purchase of a replacement, non-possessed iPod. Besides, a replacement would probably just get infected by some iTunes download. My only hope is that the devil will decide to haunt, say, one of my inexpensive lamps, which I could then pitch and replace without qualms. Because two and a half months of training to Madonna and only Madonna is not really going to work. No, really. I love Madge as much as the next girl, but I need variety.

Maybe I shouldn’t have bought the red one. In retrospect, that might have been asking for it. Although, I’m sort of convinced that Apple is actually the devil incarnate; maybe that was where I went wrong. Because it isn’t like this is the first iPod I’ve burned through.

That’s right: apparently I’m the only person in the world who thinks Apple products are a stupid waste of money. This being my second iPod, I can guarantee you I won’t be forking over any more money to that company until they start producing a product that works for longer than one friggin’ day after the warranty expires. Even with the damn warranty, every time you walk in to a Mac store for help from a Mac “genius” you have to fork over $60 and get a lecture about how you, a mere human, don’t deserve the absolute awesomeness that is whatever overpriced tech gadget currently malfunctioning in your hot little hand. Hahaha, you thought “genius” referred to being able to fix your machine? WRONG. It describes their facility for weaseling your credit card out of your wallet.

This is why I don’t buy Apple products. The company just sucks to deal with, and its products are attractive little boxes into which disappear your data, time, and money. At least with PCs I can get in there and mess around with the bits until they work again, if tech support is useless (which is often the case). Or at least retrieve my data without paying some zit-faced teenager three hundred dollars to scowl at me for actually trying to use whatever lovely but nonperforming piece of crap I’m bringing in.

Do I sound cranky? You’d be cranky too after hearing Madge for two and a half hours straight. I hate it when my equipment doesn’t perform. And it isn’t just my iPod that’s failed me of late. My expensive new Enell bras have chafed me badly enough to leave scars half an inch wide and two inches long on my torso. Which means I’m still without adequate bosom support, and will likely have to fork over money I don’t have for more bras I can’t return if they don’t work out.

Riddle me this, readers: why is it so damn hard to find:

• A functioning iPod
• A bra that holds your tatas in place without rubbing your skin off in big bloody patches that really sting when you’re sweating through mid-August long runs
• running shorts with pockets and WITHOUT some weird mesh liner intended to keep men’s balls in place but thoughtlessly replicated and foisted upon running women

Seriously. Who designs this shit? Whomever does the market research for these products ought to be fired. Maybe tortured by being sent on a 14-mile forced march while listening to “Vogue” on repeat.

I did have one minor breakthrough today, however: when I came home and took off my shoes, there was blood on my sock! That’s right – I have ventured into the territory reserved for real runners, where your feet begin bleeding partway through a run. Honestly, I was so annoyed with my iPod that I didn’t even notice any pain. Apparently one of my toenails was just a smidge too long and it cut into the neighboring toe during my run. What can I say? It made me feel kind of macho. I’m no glutton for punishment, however; I went out and bought a new pair of running shoes in a half-size larger than usual to prevent that from happening again. I may even buy some of those weird socks that encase your toes individually.

I also decided to try Shot Blocks from Clif Bar & Co. instead of gels during my run today. I liked them! They didn’t give me weird stomach issues like the gels sometimes do, so I think I’ll have to get more. So the run wasn’t totally worthless and painful. I discovered a new product that is a real improvement over my previous solution, and I managed to shave a couple of minutes off my half marathon time as compared to my time in the Brooklyn Half Marathon on May 30th: today I ran the same distance in 2:13:34, while my time last May was 2:15:52.

So progress is happening, in baby steps. In the meantime, if anyone knows a good exorcist, preferably one specializing in demonic iPods, by all means let me know!

Relearning How to Run

Normally I don’t blog at work, but today is a warm, sunny Friday, preceding a weekend for which Weather.com is offering 80 degree weather predictions. Pop quiz: how many students do you really think are going to hang around the library on a sunny Friday afternoon late in the second semester?

If you guessed any number over 2, you clearly have never been to college, or you had some bizarrely misplaced priorities while you were there. I assume the two students here today must be failing their classes AND actually care about the possibility of failure, because otherwise they would be outside sunning themselves like so many iguanas.

Also I have not received an email in nearly an hour, an unprecedented occurrence that leads me to believe that some of those half-naked figures on the lawns outside the library are actually my colleagues.*

With that mildly alarming thought out of the way, let’s get back to the topic at hand: running.

As in, at the age of 30, I am re-learning how to run all over again, and boy does it feel weird. I was so sure I’d figured this out, oh, 28 years ago? Then my physical therapist gave me some exercises to correct weaknesses in my hips and my ankle, and now running just feels wrong, difficult, and unfamiliar. I have to work to remember to make my foot roll when it hits the ground, and to keep my arms at my sides instead of flinging them across my body like I normally do. Suddenly I am working on my form, and while it is definitely improving both my running times and my knee, mentally it feels a lot harder. I can’t just zone out to Goldfrapp as I pound out the miles any more.

The orthotics also don’t seem to be doing quite the same thing that my fauxthotics did for my gait. I still get some knee pain when I run. And I am running. I am, in fact, doing some speed work in the form of sprints during my 3-mile training runs. I just haven’t been blogging about it. I’m a little disappointed that the orthotics weren’t a panacea.

This weekend, however, offers a golden opportunity for me to write about my least favorite running conditions: warm weather. I feel as though I am staring at a race through the Sahara when I think of all the training I’m going to have to do this summer. It makes me want to compensate with a nap and a beer.

Assuming I manage to stave off temptation, expect a nice long post this weekend on how much I hate running any time it’s over 60 degrees outside. I have a big test on Sunday that I’m sure will induce serious procrastination in the form of blogging.

*Thank goodness, the President just emailed all of campus a copy of the school’s updated drug and alcohol policy, probably in preparation for the gorgeous weekend that will undoubtedly involve lots of drug and alcohol abuse by students. It is a small comfort to know that at least the school President is not half-naked on the lawn.

V-A-C-A-T-I-O-N…

Today started out windy and blustery, which turned out to be the tail end of yesterday’s extreme high winds. I didn’t notice it in the city proper, but while out for my run I felt like I wasn’t able to make any progress, because the wind was blowing so hard off the Hudson River that it seemed like I was running in place. Yesterday I did my two miles (thank you, cranky knee, when will you improve please let it be soon!) and went home feeling cold and defeated; today, however, was glorious. And everyone was outside taking advantage of it.

One of the wonderful things about living a little further south and a lot further west from my previous location is that the esplanade is gorgeous and easily accessible. It’s not right out my door, but it’s pretty close. It is also jam-packed with tourists, people on bikes, rollerbladers, and children who are only thirteen years away from terrorizing other drivers on the road. In the meantime, they dart deftly between all of the above but somehow fail to notice me non-wheeled me. Of course, this is going to change the instant I trip over one of them and land in a wheelchair, at which point I’m going to sue the pants off their yummy mummies.

This was on a spectacular spring day, of course. I imagine I’ll have it all to myself once the weather hits 80 degrees and 80% humidity, but frankly, at that point even I am unlikely to want it. Running along the West Side Highway is not my idea of a treat. It’s in better shape than the East River Park but not nearly as interesting, at least not so far as I can discover. Nonetheless, ERP can’t hold a candle to the views on the west side. It pains me deeply to say this, but looking at New Jersey is much more attractive than looking at Brooklyn. It looks clean and fresh and modern, maybe because it is slightly farther away than the distance across the East River. Brooklyn just looks kind of abandoned, except for the shiny new part around DUMBO. Also, have I mentioned that I don’t have great vision? That might be a contributing factor to my assessment.

All I can say is, I’m limited to 2-mile runs for the foreseeable future. Until the PT starts working, that’s how far I can get before my knee begins acting up. I desperately wish that the PT would start working, since there’s really nothing better than a good eight- or ten-mile run to clear the head. And I am not going to want to do those runs when it is hot this summer. This summer I will want to be on my roof deck baking in the sun, wine glass in hand and Connie Francis singing “V-A-C-A-T-I-O-N” on the iPod. And wishing I had made more of my misspent youth, enjoying summers instead of holding a succession of sucky jobs. Maybe I should consider being a school librarian; if it didn’t require dealing with kids like that little speed demon on the trike today, it might be worthwhile.

Sometimes you just don’t want it to be tomorrow.

There are days that just plain suck. Running helps, but no matter how many miles you run you can’t outrun your life. It’s a little frustrating. I mean, did I bung up my knee trying to outrun my life? The life I had in mind involved engaged colleagues working toward a common purpose, not dictatorial would-be tyrants exercising every drop of power they could wring out of the workplace. That’s not something I aspire to be involved with. Sure, my workplace is pretty bad and I would not exactly be the first person to leave on account of its dysfunctionality, but that doesn’t alleviate the guilt I feel at being less effective in my job.

Sometimes running is the only reason I get up in the mornings. Please, knee, do your job tomorrow so that I can also do mine.

Snow Day!

For those who have been living under a rock this week, there was a ginormous snowstorm yesterday! Since the New York Times has actual photographers and not amateurs like me, I’ll just link to their pictures of the city blanketed in snow. I didn’t have to go to work yesterday (yay!) and got some preparation done for my upcoming move. Yes, dear readers, I am leaving the Lower East Side for the balmy Financial District. So far, and I realize that you aren’t supposed to say this, but deflation rocks. If you still have a job and all.

Back to running: I love running in the cold. It makes me run faster. Sometimes I think I should move to Alaska because then I could run in the gloriously bright light and in the cold at the same time, unlike here where I get stuck running in the thin gray light of daybreak when it’s cold enough to enjoy running. Except then there would be six months of darkness and I’d just eat and sleep and be too fat to run by the time there was light again, so then I decide that Alaska is actually not such a great plan. Also Sarah Palin lives there and I don’t like her at all. I expect the feeling would be mutual, but with luck she will stay in Alaska and leave New York to me and my eight million neighbors.

Again, back to running: one thing I don’t do is run on ice and snow. I have this bum knee, and as it is acting up after my jaunt around Prospect Park, I did the smart thing: I went to the gym and did three miles on the elliptical machine. This is where real runners exclaim, “that’s wussy! Real runners would run in SOCCER CLEATS to get through the snow! Real runners run through ice even when it cuts their shins to ribbons and they bleed red!” However, a) runners are lunatics, and b) we’ve already established that I am a wuss.

It sort of ticks me off when Runner’s World refers to treadmill users as hamsters, because while real runners would simply have a pesky knee replaced with a new and enhanced cyborg joint, I am sort of averse to surgery and want to preserve my knee for as long as it will carry me (which is to say, at least through next November). Unfortunately, using the elliptical machine to replace my short run was the most boring thing ever. I might have to get a cyborg knee after all, because even though he’s a fascinating guy, listening to Obama discuss the economy in all of its deplorable ingloriousness on CNN is not my idea of entertainment.  News, yes. Entertainment, no. My other option was too unappealing to contemplate, Rock of Loveboat or Bus of Rock Love or whatever that unbearably bad show is called where the psychotic would-be groupies vie for the affections of some sleazy ex-rocker named Brett. Whom I vaguely remember from middle school but who has definitely not aged well. I wound up reading In Touch, which I would never actually purchase but is always my first choice of reading material at the gym. I’m sure glad that someone else pays them to engage in horrible paparazzi behavior and print dubiously researched articles, because they are damned entertaining. I still think this Jennifer-Brad-Angelina conflict is way overblown, though. I just don’t think Angie looks that pissed off in the Oscars photos. And if Jennifer wants babies, she should just go have them already; everyone else in Hollywood seems to pop them out like clockwork, so maybe there ISN’T A STORY THERE, huh?

I just can’t stay on topic, can I? See? Runing indoors=nothing to talk about. Let’s hope the ice is gone before Thursday.

Running is a pain in the…

You know that kid’s song that goes, “Hambone’s connected to the…thigh bone…thigh bone’s connected to the…butt bone…butt bone’s connected to the…foot bone” and so on and so forth? It was not nearly as good a teaching tool for anatomy as running is.

This week I have been in a world of hurt. I have a pretty decent clue as to why: I ran ten miles through Prospect Park last weekend. For those who have not experienced the joys of Prospect Park, it is a) in Brooklyn, and b) really pretty, and c) way hillier than my usual stomping ground along the East River Park. In the ERP I have to run up ramps to get hill workouts, and they’re closer to bump workouts. There’s a little amphitheater at Corlears Hook that you can get a bit of elevation from, but otherwise it is as flat as the midwestern states I left behind years ago. It’s really easy to do my unbelievably consistent pace of ten-minute-miles (I have been told that I am “a robot” which I don’t really appreciate since I would LOVE TO BUST INTO THE NINE-MINUTE-MILE ZONE, but my legs just aren’t cooperating) on this lovely flat surface.

The other reason I am in pain this week is because of my best running friend, my Garmin Forerunner 405. Because it wasn’t enough just to finish the race in Prospect Park last weekend, I had to stay on pace, too. The Garmin says so and the Garmin is never wrong. Ever. Except when it says I have five miles left to go and it really means five hundred meters, it’s just forgotten that we were supposed to stop soon.

So in order of magnitude, I broke all of the rules for ramping up your running program: I added too much mileage (three miles last week), I added too much speed (my first-ever 2-mile tempo run) and I added too much difficulty (lots of hills). Any one of those would have been fine, but together they were just too much. The hill squiggles on my Garmin’s running report looked like a diagram of the recent stock market, as opposed to its more usual resemblance to the electrocardiogram of a cardiac arrest victim.

So now I am intimately connected to body parts I hardly knew existed. I mean, are there weights for your hip flexors? How on earth do you make those stronger? It’s amazing what a combination of running and a little internet research can teach you about anatomy. Kids, trust me, you will barely remeber that stupid song in thirty years. It is not an effective instructional tool. Wikipedia tells me that the butt bone is actually called the “pelvis.” Who knew? And I thought a hambone was something you fed dogs before dog food came in bags.

So what am I gonna do about the pain? Run another ten miles tomorrow, that’s what.

But I think I’ll leave my pace bunny at home and take the camera instead so I can finally get some pictures onto this site.  Sound fair, butt bones or whatever you are?