Going long

The daylight lasts longer than it did just last week, and will only to lengthen more as the seasons pass from frigid to tepid to enjoyable. This is the time of year when most of us are pulled back outdoors to the pursuits that make us whole. For me, that's running through the woods and fields. The winters in New Jersey have lately made it possible climate-wise to run year-long, but hunting season makes it a gamble. The NJDEP produces this ultimately confusing matrix to explain what is being hunted and when, but my confidence in my ability to read it leaves me fearful to step foot in the woods from November through March.

So once the woods are free of fleeing game and flying lead, I am gone.

So it is that they are free now, and I am busting my hump to try to get out there and go long, go so far that I am fearful of getting back before dark falls, so far that I measure the amount of fluids I have with me versus the prescribed amount that I should consume over time--and actually think about ditching theory and pushing the limits. But I know better, and always seem to return home in one piece.

There is so much I miss during the winter months and during injury time. The people in my life who are forced to deal with me on a daily basis, namely Jennifer, begs for the winter months to be over for much the same reason. Only in her version, it is so that my irritability will subside and I will be somewhat tolerable. She makes that trade willingly, knowing that several unwelcome consequences come along with it. Most objectionable to her is the "ick" factor that follows a few hours on the trail. For purposes of expiation, which this forum promotes, I'll let you in on some of the more unpleasant features of trail running for any considerable length.

Firstly, the smell of me coming back from a run is that odd high-school biology smell. Personally, I don't smell a thing, but normally the one who smells is ignorant of their offense anyway. However, judging by the reaction that I get from my wife I can only associate it with the way the girls in my sophomore biology lab looked when Dr. Setlock opened up the frog packages from Carolina Biological Supply.

Secondly, finding clothing that sits on your skin rather than erode it slowly is paramount. It is only through trial and error that I was able to figure this one out. Once, on returning to the trailhead in High Point State Park, I came across two young women who were about to set out on a day-hike through the park. A scant glance in my direction produced the kind of look reserved for women who hike in areas where people go missing and Ted Kaczinski's dwell in clapboard shacks. As I looked backed at them, I noticed their stares were directed at my chest and midsection where, unbeknownst to me, my shirt was soaked in the pinkish combination of sweat and blood. You see, there is a saying among outdoor purists: "Cotton kills." Now, I don't think that means what literally happened to me, but I did learn my lesson. Yes, the skin on my nipples did heal and I now pack band-aids in the event that it should happen again. Gross, I know, but people who run long can share a story very similar to that one.

I can't wait to get moving now...

Red-blooded and clad in chiffon

I love comebacks. More than anything else, being down and out and rising back up to prominence, or even respectability, impresses me. My wife is amazed at how losses of family members, horrible tragedies chronicled as they happen, or injustice on a worldwide scale won't elicit tears from me, but sit me in front of Rudy, or Miracle, or most glaringly, when Syracuse won the National Championship in 2003, and I am hard-pressed to squeeze back the drops.

As long as I am making confessions, I am an Olympic-junkie. When else in the course of our lives do we get to cheer for people like Chad Hedrick, the speed skater from Texas, or anyone from Finland doing anything other than producing liquor? Every four years, I am stricken with heartsickness over the plight of the athletes from countries around the world, especially those in obscure sports, like luge or everyone's favorite, curling. The Dan Jansen's, the guy whose name escapes me who won a gold in the skeleton in Salt Lake just like his grandfather did way back in the '30's, and the handful of athletes from the host country who inevitably trump all odds and win an event that they had no business competing in, let us in on some human magic and the spark of competition.

As a country, we tend to shy away from cheering rabidly for men in frilly taffeta shirts replete with sequins and ruffles, unless he is competing against a Frenchmen, a Russian, or a Canadian in the Olympics. Then all bets are off. Men in Carhartt's, women in lycra, and all those in between, for a brief two weeks in February, all know what it means to land a triple Lutz, and we can all plainly see the importance of that toe pick. Why do I know the names of Brian Boitano, Todd Eldridge, and Scott Hamilton? Damn it, because I am an American (insert spitting noise here).

Our Fascination with Fixes.

Yesterday's top story in the health section of most American newspapers pertained to a study conducted by the National Institute of Health on the effects of low-fat diets on cancer and heart disease rates in women. What the study found is that eating low-fat diets had no profound effects on lowering the likelihood of incurring cancer, heart attacks or strokes through eating diets low in fat.

Accordingly, they also found no connection with their low-fat dieters and weight loss. So, there you have it, America--rejoice! rejoice! The looming specter of health keeping you from your Little Debbie snack-cakes is gone!

In the New York Times article by Gina Kolata, whose name stokes images of boat drinks and paper maiche umbrellas, several prominent physician and dieticians pronounced that this was the end all be all in the search for links between food and disease. While I am no specialist in the fields that these men and women claim to be, I find this hard to digest. Whether it was Ms. Kolata's reporting (which is linked on the sidebar here)which was slanted towards this being the end of a longstanding debate, or my own feelings on this subject, reading this sent waves of panic through me as I thought of how many people might read this.

Scores of people attempt every day to struggle through the process of changing their lives from sedentary ones to active ones, from poor eating habits to healthy ones, and from reactionary medicine to preventative medicine, and reading this type of article would do nothing but damage their resolve.

One of the doctors featured in the article, a Barbara V. Howard from MedStar Research Institute, had it right:

"We are not going to reverse any of the chronic diseases in this country by changing the composition of the diet. People are always thinking it is what they ate. They are not looking at how much they ate or that they smoke or that they are sedentary."

She has it right, in my opinion. The American mind, in the broadest sense, tends to look to eliminate possibilities as quickly as possible, and by eliminating food as a prevailing factor in disease or physical condition, the floodgates have swung open. What needs to be addressed is lifestyle. Announcements like this can be interpreted in the worst way by people looking at difficult changes in their lives. Why start trying now? The National Institute of Health says that it does not matter how and what I eat.

The quick fix is evident here, and the path to changing our view of health is again blocked by convenience. Adages aside, becoming healthy and changing who you are requires work, commitment and in this case, blinders.

Through small holes, big hopes fit.

On a previous post, I rambled on about the current state of my right knee, and while I realize that not too many people truly care enough about it to read much further, things have changed.

A week ago I had surgery to remove the irritated plica band in my right knee. While they were in there, they thought they'd have a look-see around the surfaces of my joint and patella. Going in, I threatened the doctor with no less than a lawsuit if they removed anything that they did not have to. And I came away, so far, pleased with the outcome. In less than a week, I am fully mobile with only a slight hitch in my gait, and I have yet to experience anything that could be listed as painful. Slight discomfort and putrid sounds of fluid sloshing around in my knee, absolutely, but pain has not been a part of the process.

Everyone I talk to about this surgery is amazed at how two tiny holes on either side of my knee are all that I am left with after the surgery. The astonishment continues, if you can believe it, when I inform them that the surgery took no more than twenty minutes to perform. In the OR at 9:00 and crutching out of the hospital at 11:30. My dad and I even stopped at Starbucks on the way home and had coffee and cake.

Seriously, as shallow as this may seem, when a large part of your life and identity is not able to enjoyed to its fullest potential, it takes a toll on how you function in life. For the better part of the last year and a half, the athlete in me has been stifled by injury and precaution. Here is to hoping that the worst is over.