Apparently that's what it is to run from my apartment down to Old Town up the insane 30th Street hill (well, mostly walked at a brisk pace, that hill was) across Union, down 21st Street to I and then back down 2nd to Tacoma Avenue according to this helpful website. And no, Tacoma streets are not like the East coast, where flatness prevails and the platting was done by visionaries like William Penn so going from 2nd to 30th isn't a big deal.
Running is not my sport. I am so glad I'm not training for a marathon. The thought of doing that just fills me with vicarious nausea in the Sartre sense — the idea that I have the capacity to sign myself up for running a marathon makes me sick to my stomach. Also my left knee, both feet and ankles and my right shoulder (which will take any excuse to hurt) feel bad just thinking about it. Still, the last two miles of running were pretty easy and I didn't even really have breathing problems at all. If only the S2N were as flat.
If only the whole fitness transformation thing were working out in other respects; my body has lost and regained and lost and kinda regained a bit of the same five pounds. I think the real secret is to eat Cheerios instead of FMW for breakfast if you want to shed weight. They have fewer calories. Besides, you can always eat FMW for dinner. I do.
Saturday, April 29, 2006
Friday, April 28, 2006
Graduation
Graduated from the Community Academy last night and got a pin with the seven-pointed star of the Pierce County Sheriff's Department. Alas, had I had that pin on when I was pulled over by a state trooper the day before I'm sure I would have got away with a mere warning. Which is always what happened in Arkansas. Which makes me wonder: Am I losing it? Is it the bangs? They're at a crazy in-between stage right now. Or am I just not as hot anymore? Or was it just that my shirt was too high cut? Or are the WSP as ethical as the PCSD and never allow anyone to get off of any speeding ticket ever?
I also took my telephone Spanish test today. Fun fun fun. At one point I had to "interview" the guy about a topic and the tragedy of journalism reared its head: I asked the same question three times in various ways before the examiner told me the interview was over. How BORING was THAT? How humiliating for me, when my job calls for deep understanding, to not be a more interesting questioner for the short term! I could have kicked myself! Gah!
The best part about finishing the test is that I can stop watching so many Spanish movies. Oh, they aren't awful, but lemme tell you, Almodovar only recently figured out how to really do a terrific film. "Talk to Her" is amazing. "What Have I Done to Deserve This" is not. And I can't stand the low talkers that permeate Spanish acting. Combined with the accent, it can be a pill to understand. Of course, I can't stand low talkers of any language, I believe strongly in enunciation and projection. And there are so few movies made outside of Spain to really get packs and packs under the belt — especially ones I haven't seen. I did the whole Gael Garcia Bernal oeuvre, of course, because he's fine and not afraid to take his clothes off, and some Argentinian flicks which were pretty okay, but because of the economy in Latin America the film industry for Spanish language films all comes back to Spain and that crazy Castilian accent with the lisp and the "s"s pronounced a little more like "sh." And I am so over Spanish films, even though I love drag queens and gay guys and Chus Lampreave.
I also took my telephone Spanish test today. Fun fun fun. At one point I had to "interview" the guy about a topic and the tragedy of journalism reared its head: I asked the same question three times in various ways before the examiner told me the interview was over. How BORING was THAT? How humiliating for me, when my job calls for deep understanding, to not be a more interesting questioner for the short term! I could have kicked myself! Gah!
The best part about finishing the test is that I can stop watching so many Spanish movies. Oh, they aren't awful, but lemme tell you, Almodovar only recently figured out how to really do a terrific film. "Talk to Her" is amazing. "What Have I Done to Deserve This" is not. And I can't stand the low talkers that permeate Spanish acting. Combined with the accent, it can be a pill to understand. Of course, I can't stand low talkers of any language, I believe strongly in enunciation and projection. And there are so few movies made outside of Spain to really get packs and packs under the belt — especially ones I haven't seen. I did the whole Gael Garcia Bernal oeuvre, of course, because he's fine and not afraid to take his clothes off, and some Argentinian flicks which were pretty okay, but because of the economy in Latin America the film industry for Spanish language films all comes back to Spain and that crazy Castilian accent with the lisp and the "s"s pronounced a little more like "sh." And I am so over Spanish films, even though I love drag queens and gay guys and Chus Lampreave.
Saturday, April 22, 2006
Fun Run 5k
Tackled the YMCA Fun Run for Kids 5k (actually not for kids, except in the sense that the money goes there) at 8:30 this morning and wound it up 33 minutes and 52 seconds later, which means I run a mile in a little over ten minutes. My first mile was 9:56, which was pretty respectable, but the turnaround took us up a hill, and that got me walking a little. Still, I finished strong with a sprint to the end, so that was cool. I was, of course, suffering from early-in-the-morningitis.
I finished behind a lot of much more athletic people but ahead of an elderly blind woman, a guy with a limp, a guy carrying his daughter on his back, women pushing their kids in those tricycle strollers, various and sundry harelips and a few people my age. Do I kid or am I cruel? You decide.
In self-inflicted cruelty, I had to wear the only clean exercise pants I had. And they are leotard-type pants. And I wore a running jacket that wouldn't work with a bulky tee to hide my bum. So there it was, all on display, for like an hour, half of that jiggling up and down Pac Ave. in front of 500 (well, okay, maybe 100) runners.
For those of you who like seeing actual athletic people in action, here you go. Also, I like to think of this video as a depiction of the nihilistic but game spirit of Ukranian youth in a post-Communist dystopia-cum-playground. It's just that deep.
I finished behind a lot of much more athletic people but ahead of an elderly blind woman, a guy with a limp, a guy carrying his daughter on his back, women pushing their kids in those tricycle strollers, various and sundry harelips and a few people my age. Do I kid or am I cruel? You decide.
In self-inflicted cruelty, I had to wear the only clean exercise pants I had. And they are leotard-type pants. And I wore a running jacket that wouldn't work with a bulky tee to hide my bum. So there it was, all on display, for like an hour, half of that jiggling up and down Pac Ave. in front of 500 (well, okay, maybe 100) runners.
For those of you who like seeing actual athletic people in action, here you go. Also, I like to think of this video as a depiction of the nihilistic but game spirit of Ukranian youth in a post-Communist dystopia-cum-playground. It's just that deep.
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Blood (kinda) on the highway
A good lesson I re-learned Tuesday: cut your toenails before running four hilly miles. The inside of my right shoe looks kind of like an abatoir at the toe. The sock looks worse. But man, that was a killer run. The end, all uphill and partly up stairs, was a squeezy-chest experience.
But the running is paying off with better, higher, flexier kicking in kickboxing, even in such a short time. And the weather is great. If it weren't for the weather year-round up here, I might be in a position to become a runner. Running downtown in the brilliant weather, with the dockyards and cliffs and the architecture (including the so-called "Bridge of Glass," which has what I consider the "Towers of Walmart bag rubbish") is really fantastic. Or it will be when the challenging terrain is less challenging.
But the running is paying off with better, higher, flexier kicking in kickboxing, even in such a short time. And the weather is great. If it weren't for the weather year-round up here, I might be in a position to become a runner. Running downtown in the brilliant weather, with the dockyards and cliffs and the architecture (including the so-called "Bridge of Glass," which has what I consider the "Towers of Walmart bag rubbish") is really fantastic. Or it will be when the challenging terrain is less challenging.
Saturday, April 15, 2006
Keeping a commitment
I got up this morning and ran (hey, I'm not crazy, I read the paper, ate breakfast and played a little Sudoku before I got outside) about 4 miles in the rain. Ran and walked. Ran and walked and about three times bent over to suck down some air. I kinda hit a stride around mile 4, but then I was back at home and had some errands to run.
It was a good thing, because even though it was only teensily drizzly on the way out, it had started to shower mid-way through the run. I wasn't the only commitment-running person either, no, I live in a very health-conscious neighborhood. I was, however, the only one without a rain slicker. Let's face it, you have to have a special exercise slicker to run in, you can't just wear a raincoat that's all baggy and stuff. Neither can you wear cotton, which is what I had on, so all these other prepared realized what a dork I am. All I needed was a paper sign on my back that said "Sound 2 Narrows or Bust."
It took me about 45 minutes to go four miles; at that rate, it'll be less than two hours for me to complete the 12k. Yeah, 13.5 minutes a mile is pretty sad. I'm hoping that will get better pretty quickly.
It was a good thing, because even though it was only teensily drizzly on the way out, it had started to shower mid-way through the run. I wasn't the only commitment-running person either, no, I live in a very health-conscious neighborhood. I was, however, the only one without a rain slicker. Let's face it, you have to have a special exercise slicker to run in, you can't just wear a raincoat that's all baggy and stuff. Neither can you wear cotton, which is what I had on, so all these other prepared realized what a dork I am. All I needed was a paper sign on my back that said "Sound 2 Narrows or Bust."
It took me about 45 minutes to go four miles; at that rate, it'll be less than two hours for me to complete the 12k. Yeah, 13.5 minutes a mile is pretty sad. I'm hoping that will get better pretty quickly.
Friday, April 14, 2006
Hitting "The Sweet Spot"
Last night was the final class of the Pierce County Sheriff's Dept. Community Academy, and it was super fun. The only blip in the evening was being late because I was giving Hugh a lift and we have different conceptions of Sixth Avenue (though his was more correct in the sense of it being a map, he didn't remember any of the landmarks I gave him to find my apt. building, the rendezvous spot). Hugh was concerned about driving in the dark and rain because he just can't see. This is a man who NEVER concedes primacy in ANYTHING, so his recognizing a failing borne of old age was a pretty big step for him.
Anyway, we had to drive out to Puyallup, which to my mind is a hellscape of five-lane-wide roads flanked by massive stripmall developmental mess that has bloomed out of control and unattractively — like a fungus — in the Puyallup River valley. That valley is one of the prime places that will be wiped out when (not if) Mt. Rainier blows and the river of melted glacier, chunks of ice, mud, ash and uprooted trees come crashing down to the sound, by the by.
So we get to "The Marksman," a gun shop and range, and there are classrooms in the back where the store has some kind of connection to the sheriff's department and teaches firearm stuff. More importantly, it teaches how police make the decision to use deadly force or not. So that's going to be our lesson for tonight.
The way the Marksman teaches is by using a computer-video system where there are a bunch of scenarios on a small movie screen about 12 feet in front of us. We, one by one, hold a fake gun attached to the computer with 13 "rounds" and go through some simulations. We are warned there is "rough language." But last week we saw photos of women who'd been killed by their partners — one particularly gruesome photo was of a hammer buried halfway in a woman's skull — so the swears don't carry much weight anymore, I would hope.
There were a lot of scenarios, and not all of them required us to come back with deadly force (I was SOOOO glad mine did, though. Can you imagine going all that way through the CA and not getting to haul off at the end?), and we all had to justify our actions in the end. The instructor was very negative about the media — later he told me he loved the media, which I also believe he does, people are complicated that way — so when it was my turn, he made sure to give me a hard scenario. Did I mention the class started heckling me?
So I got into character as Mike and Rusty, the instructors, and set off with a security guard who'd heard what he thought was a break in at an office building, gun out. Then we were attacked by two thugs above us on a stairwell. I basically missed one who was protected by the steel banisters of the stairs, but the other one I nailed three times. Once in the head, once in the arm/chest area and once, as the instructor put it, in the "Lorena Bobbit area." When that result popped up the class fell out laughing. Hecklers, I can deliver the goods.
The most interesting moment, though, in my mind was when a former L.A. County cop did not shoot a guy who was getting out his gun; this would be considered a justifiable use of deadly force moment, but he just didn't shoot. In every past scenario, the perp pulling out a gun did it to fire at the cops, this one put it down. The ex-cop said he was reading what basically amounted to the actor's body language, and the actors in this training tape were, as you can imagine, not the best in the world. It was uncanny how well he predicted what was going to happen.
Lessons for today's class: If a cop draws down on you, keep your hands up, up, up. Police have very tough decisions to make when confronting bad cases. If you heckle Callie, she will shoot someone in the gonads and show you what for.
Anyway, we had to drive out to Puyallup, which to my mind is a hellscape of five-lane-wide roads flanked by massive stripmall developmental mess that has bloomed out of control and unattractively — like a fungus — in the Puyallup River valley. That valley is one of the prime places that will be wiped out when (not if) Mt. Rainier blows and the river of melted glacier, chunks of ice, mud, ash and uprooted trees come crashing down to the sound, by the by.
So we get to "The Marksman," a gun shop and range, and there are classrooms in the back where the store has some kind of connection to the sheriff's department and teaches firearm stuff. More importantly, it teaches how police make the decision to use deadly force or not. So that's going to be our lesson for tonight.
The way the Marksman teaches is by using a computer-video system where there are a bunch of scenarios on a small movie screen about 12 feet in front of us. We, one by one, hold a fake gun attached to the computer with 13 "rounds" and go through some simulations. We are warned there is "rough language." But last week we saw photos of women who'd been killed by their partners — one particularly gruesome photo was of a hammer buried halfway in a woman's skull — so the swears don't carry much weight anymore, I would hope.
There were a lot of scenarios, and not all of them required us to come back with deadly force (I was SOOOO glad mine did, though. Can you imagine going all that way through the CA and not getting to haul off at the end?), and we all had to justify our actions in the end. The instructor was very negative about the media — later he told me he loved the media, which I also believe he does, people are complicated that way — so when it was my turn, he made sure to give me a hard scenario. Did I mention the class started heckling me?
So I got into character as Mike and Rusty, the instructors, and set off with a security guard who'd heard what he thought was a break in at an office building, gun out. Then we were attacked by two thugs above us on a stairwell. I basically missed one who was protected by the steel banisters of the stairs, but the other one I nailed three times. Once in the head, once in the arm/chest area and once, as the instructor put it, in the "Lorena Bobbit area." When that result popped up the class fell out laughing. Hecklers, I can deliver the goods.
The most interesting moment, though, in my mind was when a former L.A. County cop did not shoot a guy who was getting out his gun; this would be considered a justifiable use of deadly force moment, but he just didn't shoot. In every past scenario, the perp pulling out a gun did it to fire at the cops, this one put it down. The ex-cop said he was reading what basically amounted to the actor's body language, and the actors in this training tape were, as you can imagine, not the best in the world. It was uncanny how well he predicted what was going to happen.
Lessons for today's class: If a cop draws down on you, keep your hands up, up, up. Police have very tough decisions to make when confronting bad cases. If you heckle Callie, she will shoot someone in the gonads and show you what for.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
Training Day 1
Well, fitness goals being what they are (nebulous; I try to hit the Y four times a week and honestly, I'm too easy on myself), I gave myself two goals to achieve with deadlines. The first: Lose 10 lbs by the end of the month, which I think I'm sorta behind on having only lost three pounds since the first (and those are debatable since my weight fluctuates anyway). The second: Run the Sound to Narrows on June 10.
Luckily, the downtown Y is doing training for that race, and I found a race partner in Michelle Rogers-Moore (yes, Bond fans, her real name) at work. She's a runner who hasn't in a while, I'm a non-runner who could use some discipline. We ran on similar levels at our first official session today. That is, punked out about 2/3rds through the 3-mile run and had to be given an alternate, shorter route back to the Y. And most of the first 2/3rds were downhill. We are punks.
There were only five runners; me and Michelle, the running trainer guy Ron and two other runners who look like they run before breakfast and take a quick jog at lunch and maybe throw in eine kleine nacht running for the hell of it. We will all be given distances to train on during the week through email. Woo hoo.
We looked a little dorky running as a pack through town. I suggested that we dress up as superheroes to run each week. I think that might make us look like we have a sense of purpose — short-term purpose, that is — as we scoot through town.
I think I will grow to love downtown Tacoma as I run through it each week. Today we did the "around the world run," as it's known at the downtown Y, because it goes down from market to Thea Foss Park (where there is a big globe, hence "Around the World") and across towards the Museum of Glass and UW Tacoma (although we wusses took the stairs on the bridge up to Pacific Avenue and missed the glories of the Bridge of Glass). I think this is a great way to get to know the city. Also, there is a pho place on the way home, so after a big long run I can jump in and get Vietnamese Pho or Bun. Also I learned there is a new pub in my neighborhood that only looks slightly shady — just how I like 'em.
Yep, this is a good thing, training.
Luckily, the downtown Y is doing training for that race, and I found a race partner in Michelle Rogers-Moore (yes, Bond fans, her real name) at work. She's a runner who hasn't in a while, I'm a non-runner who could use some discipline. We ran on similar levels at our first official session today. That is, punked out about 2/3rds through the 3-mile run and had to be given an alternate, shorter route back to the Y. And most of the first 2/3rds were downhill. We are punks.
There were only five runners; me and Michelle, the running trainer guy Ron and two other runners who look like they run before breakfast and take a quick jog at lunch and maybe throw in eine kleine nacht running for the hell of it. We will all be given distances to train on during the week through email. Woo hoo.
We looked a little dorky running as a pack through town. I suggested that we dress up as superheroes to run each week. I think that might make us look like we have a sense of purpose — short-term purpose, that is — as we scoot through town.
I think I will grow to love downtown Tacoma as I run through it each week. Today we did the "around the world run," as it's known at the downtown Y, because it goes down from market to Thea Foss Park (where there is a big globe, hence "Around the World") and across towards the Museum of Glass and UW Tacoma (although we wusses took the stairs on the bridge up to Pacific Avenue and missed the glories of the Bridge of Glass). I think this is a great way to get to know the city. Also, there is a pho place on the way home, so after a big long run I can jump in and get Vietnamese Pho or Bun. Also I learned there is a new pub in my neighborhood that only looks slightly shady — just how I like 'em.
Yep, this is a good thing, training.
Monday, April 10, 2006
The pressure to tan
So I got mocked the other day for my paleness of skin by a colleague who I wouldn't have thought would have noticed, and then pressured to tan by another worker who used to have a job with Pink Coconuts. So I put the fake bake on my legs and wore a skirt today. Honestly, I didn't look like I had any kind of tan at all. That's just how pale I am.
The way people tan in Washington State, you'd think they were Canadians or something. Honestly, they go on vacation and lose their minds with the tanning. And a good deal of people go to tropical places like Hawaii. Don in my kickboxing class goes every so often — so does another woman — and they both come back with tons of melanin. It's like they're stocking up on it because it's a necessity instead of a precursor to skin cancer. My formerly Canadian relatives always had a pretty messed-up perspective on tanning, back in the 80s, with some kind of idea that they needed a base burn to get the tan started (now they live in Florida and are nuttier (in skin tone!) than peanut butter). That's what it's like among the Washingtonians. Washingtonian Statians. Life would have been so much easier had the state convention gone with the original plan to call this state "Columbia." Or else we need a nickname. I propose, "Soggies," which would be short for "Soggy loggies."
But I digress, a part of working today was going to city council, and the story I have always wished I could tell is the incredibly banal celebrity gossip-style story of city council. I would definitely have had a tan watch. And tonight would have been a killer night to update the locals on the tan situation.
- Gig Harbor Mayor Chuck Hunter recently returned from Florida a toasty color. His wife Diane, in the audience, was not nearly as tan but still had a healthy glow.
- Councilmember Tim Payne's tan is faded.
- Former mayor and current frequent contributor to public comment Jake Bujacich was a very deep roasted brown with an undertone of pink. He has been in Palm Springs for the past couple months.
- Much missed are former councilmembers John Picinich and Frank Ruffo, whose ancestry from the plural terminal vowel side of the Spezia-Remini line lent them inordinately dark tans that they'd trade off back and forth throughout the months. Also, they used to make and second virtually half of all the motions and all the easy-peasy ones like the consent agenda.
People, I honestly notice too much.
The way people tan in Washington State, you'd think they were Canadians or something. Honestly, they go on vacation and lose their minds with the tanning. And a good deal of people go to tropical places like Hawaii. Don in my kickboxing class goes every so often — so does another woman — and they both come back with tons of melanin. It's like they're stocking up on it because it's a necessity instead of a precursor to skin cancer. My formerly Canadian relatives always had a pretty messed-up perspective on tanning, back in the 80s, with some kind of idea that they needed a base burn to get the tan started (now they live in Florida and are nuttier (in skin tone!) than peanut butter). That's what it's like among the Washingtonians. Washingtonian Statians. Life would have been so much easier had the state convention gone with the original plan to call this state "Columbia." Or else we need a nickname. I propose, "Soggies," which would be short for "Soggy loggies."
But I digress, a part of working today was going to city council, and the story I have always wished I could tell is the incredibly banal celebrity gossip-style story of city council. I would definitely have had a tan watch. And tonight would have been a killer night to update the locals on the tan situation.
- Gig Harbor Mayor Chuck Hunter recently returned from Florida a toasty color. His wife Diane, in the audience, was not nearly as tan but still had a healthy glow.
- Councilmember Tim Payne's tan is faded.
- Former mayor and current frequent contributor to public comment Jake Bujacich was a very deep roasted brown with an undertone of pink. He has been in Palm Springs for the past couple months.
- Much missed are former councilmembers John Picinich and Frank Ruffo, whose ancestry from the plural terminal vowel side of the Spezia-Remini line lent them inordinately dark tans that they'd trade off back and forth throughout the months. Also, they used to make and second virtually half of all the motions and all the easy-peasy ones like the consent agenda.
People, I honestly notice too much.
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