As I write this I'm sitting on the floor in what has been my (most consistent) bedroom for the last 11 years. My parents are selling the house in West Orange and are under contract to close mid-August. Joscelyn and I just loaded up a rented Budget Truck destined for Rhode Island with the few real pieces of furniture that are mine, including my bed (read: mattresses) and (garbage picked) desk. Thus the floor. I'll probably only be back here one more time before they move. I've moved around an extraordinary amount since my family moved from Glen Ridge to West Orange shortly after I graduated from High School. I've occupied for significant periods of time more than 20 bedrooms during my 20s - that's no exaggeration. Despite the fact that this is my family's house of longest occupancy since I was born, I've never felt the same attachment to this place as I have other houses we've lived in (i.e., Sunny Lane in Ballston Spa and Belleville Ave in Glen Ridge). But nonetheless it is with substantial pause that I reflect on the experiences had under this roof... my parents without exception open door policy; life's milestones marked with parties of so many family and friends; my mother's late evening dinners; Christmas mornings with my grandparents; getting to know my sister's husband Spencer; BBQs on the back deck or patio; Yankee games and Rutgers games on the couch with my father; bunkering down during Sandy; Sunday parties; the in-between post-college suburban doldrums; all-night studies during my master's; love had; love lost; love found again.
This place, not by design, has emerged as the place where many of the pivotal events of my post-adolescent lagged maturity have taken place. Where I entered as a boy and leave a hesitant adult. A cocoon of sorts - not to be missed, but not to be under appreciated either.
Looking forward now. My weekly mileage has been up to about 12 miles. Until this passed week where I really slacked. Granted I did a little rock climbing and a little surfing, but I did not get out and put shoes to pavement to the degree I know I should. It is with a ever-so-slight ping of urgency that I want to get back on track. And therefore a commitment made before the strange public place that is the internet - starting today, I'll run a 5k each day for the next five days. This will culminate with Sarah and I running a sanctioned road race in Rhode Island on Friday. I'll post my results once official.
In 2009 and 2010 during some personally trying times, I ran from this house with regularity. All the way along Pleasant Valley Way, passed West Orange High School, through the Jewish neighborhoods often smiling or excusing myself as I ran passed folks on their way to temple on the narrow sidewalks. Past Eagle Rock Avenue and finally all the way down to Verona Park where I would touch the lamp post on Bloomfield Avenue and turn around.
Time to lace 'em up one more time...
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Monday, July 1, 2013
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
Running in the Heat. And the Best Protein Shake Ever.
Anyone who played football with me in High School knows I am a notorious cramper (ask Joey Schoch or Sean Hirrell about the post-Ponderosa Steakhouse episode). Folks with Cystic Fibrosis lose salt in their sweat at a much greater rate than a normal person thereby making them more susceptible to the perils of dehydration and electrolyte imbalance. Hence cramps. For this reason I have ample concern over attempting to run 26 miles with the only assemblage of muscles that I have. What if its 80 degrees in NYC on November 3rd? There wouldn't be enough Gatorade in all the delis in all the Boroughs!
My only real plan to prevent cramping is to be vigilant about hydration before, during, and after runs. Is there anything else you can do? As my mileage begins to tick upward...8,10,12,15 miles...I'll have a much better idea about how my body will respond to prolonged water and salt loss. Hopefully it won't be too dramatic. Or too hot in NYC in November. All this global warming stuff is hocus-pocus anyway, right?
And now (as promised) shifting gears...
Here is the recipe for the most delicious protein shake ever invented:
2 bananas
2-3 tablespoons peanut butter
2 cups milk
1 fat free (or fat...whatever) chocolate yogurt
1 tablespoon semi-sweet chocolate chips
ice for coldness to preference
Blend it up!!!
Drinks like a Butterfinger milkshake but its damn healthy. About 30 grams of protein. And very easy to get all your ingredients organic. Now go get out and run so you have an excuse to make one.
Sunday, June 16, 2013
Old People Running.
Sometimes you're just not in the mood for running. But you have to go out. Because you told all your friends that you're gonna run real far in a few months. So you kind of pout along, dragging your feet saying to yourself, "I'd rather be doing something that wasn't running." And then you hit an uphill. And then it starts raining. Things are looking grim.
But then plodding methodically down the hill comes a grey haired wonder. An old lady wearing sneakers and a fanny pack and running with a little hitch, but basically as fast as you are. And she's smiling. And then she smiles to you and waves and says, "good morning!" And you can't help but smile and say good morning back to her. She passes and with her passes your malcontent. Now your smiling.
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But then plodding methodically down the hill comes a grey haired wonder. An old lady wearing sneakers and a fanny pack and running with a little hitch, but basically as fast as you are. And she's smiling. And then she smiles to you and waves and says, "good morning!" And you can't help but smile and say good morning back to her. She passes and with her passes your malcontent. Now your smiling.
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Friday, June 7, 2013
Virginia is for Runners.
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I've spent the passed week in Front Royal, Virginia at the Smithsonian-Mason School of Conservation taking a class on wildlife genetics. The course has allowed me to take a big step forward in understanding the possibilities of working with DNA to answer questions related to wildlife conservation and ecology. And like so many opportunities that come to pass when working in this field, it has afforded me the chance to come to a place renown for its natural beauty. The school is located in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains at the northeastern edge of the Shenandoah National Park. Although the pace and rigor of the course (often times going at it for 13 hours/day) has precluded me from venturing into the surrounding hills for any substantial period of time, I have been able to escape in the early morning hours for a handful of runs.
Not to mention the fact that the 3200 acre grounds house breeding programs for (and the opportunity to view) some of the most critically endangered mammals and birds on the planet (cheetahs, clouded leopards, red pandas, maned wolves, Przewalski's horses, white-naped cranes), this place and the surrounding Shenandoah region hold captive my naturalist heart.
This morning I got out with a short window of time to run before having to report to class. In a pinch for time I figured I would take full advantage of the topography in order to maximize the benefit of my exercise. To the north of campus (built upon an old military installation) there is a large hill called Racetrack Hill where rugged United States military men from centuries passed would engage in equine sport. And as it happens, an oval shaped, mowed hilltop is a convenient place to run. I had come up here briefly on a run a few days prior and watched the physical repercussions of what was unquestionably a large, fast-moving snake slide through some tall grass along an old stone wall. Like a child, I ran after the moving grass. But as in waking from a dream where some wonderful fleeting feeling escapes...the snake got away before I could glimpse it.
Needless to say I was eager to return to Racetrack Hill. I spent the rainy morning running laps around the primitive track. I was soon lost in the place. Hayed hillsides giving way to rolling hardwood forests, lingering fog obscuring the rounded peaks, lone purple thistle rising from the grass, swallows zipping overhead. All of this appealed to a deep seated sense of place. A distant sense of home.
Donate Here!
I've spent the passed week in Front Royal, Virginia at the Smithsonian-Mason School of Conservation taking a class on wildlife genetics. The course has allowed me to take a big step forward in understanding the possibilities of working with DNA to answer questions related to wildlife conservation and ecology. And like so many opportunities that come to pass when working in this field, it has afforded me the chance to come to a place renown for its natural beauty. The school is located in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains at the northeastern edge of the Shenandoah National Park. Although the pace and rigor of the course (often times going at it for 13 hours/day) has precluded me from venturing into the surrounding hills for any substantial period of time, I have been able to escape in the early morning hours for a handful of runs.
Not to mention the fact that the 3200 acre grounds house breeding programs for (and the opportunity to view) some of the most critically endangered mammals and birds on the planet (cheetahs, clouded leopards, red pandas, maned wolves, Przewalski's horses, white-naped cranes), this place and the surrounding Shenandoah region hold captive my naturalist heart.
This morning I got out with a short window of time to run before having to report to class. In a pinch for time I figured I would take full advantage of the topography in order to maximize the benefit of my exercise. To the north of campus (built upon an old military installation) there is a large hill called Racetrack Hill where rugged United States military men from centuries passed would engage in equine sport. And as it happens, an oval shaped, mowed hilltop is a convenient place to run. I had come up here briefly on a run a few days prior and watched the physical repercussions of what was unquestionably a large, fast-moving snake slide through some tall grass along an old stone wall. Like a child, I ran after the moving grass. But as in waking from a dream where some wonderful fleeting feeling escapes...the snake got away before I could glimpse it.
Needless to say I was eager to return to Racetrack Hill. I spent the rainy morning running laps around the primitive track. I was soon lost in the place. Hayed hillsides giving way to rolling hardwood forests, lingering fog obscuring the rounded peaks, lone purple thistle rising from the grass, swallows zipping overhead. All of this appealed to a deep seated sense of place. A distant sense of home.
Donate Here!
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Running 4 miles on Sheperd's Pie...
...that you gorged on the previous night is not fun. But that's what Sarah and I did on Sunday morning. Without puking. Boom.
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Friday, May 17, 2013
Runnin' and Herpin'
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The American toad in the driveway was an auspicious sign. We were leaving for our run and I joked to Sarah that we had fulfilled our herp quota for the day - but in truth this was just the beginning. For those of you requiring an introduction, "herp" refers to herpetology; the study of amphibians and reptiles. In the verb form it refers to the active pursuit of these animals.
Sarah had to catch the Sunday evening train back to New York in a few short hours, but we had this gorgeous afternoon together. We were on our way to the South County Bike Trail - an old railway converted to bike path that runs from South Kingstown to Narragansett. With no vehicular traffic, flat and straight, and with mile markers for reference, its about as convenient a place one can find for running. We parked at the trail-head, stretched briefly, and were soon on our way. No longer than a 3/4 of mile into the run, just as I was settling into my stride, a ribbon-snake made itself known on the path directly below me. I narrowly avoided stepping on it and was able to grab the slender serpent before it fled into the grass. At first resistant, the snake soon calmed to my handling, moving smoothly through my grasp. Iridescent dark scales and bright yellow stripes along the length of the body betrayed a recent shed. Sarah and I observed the animal for a few moments, then put it back on its way.
Along the trail there were dark, shallow vernal pools. Though I didn't pause to inspect them for late-spring egg masses or nascent tadpoles, they were most likely laden with developing wood frogs and spotted salamanders. Grey tree frogs could be heard calling from high atop the branches. The hardwoods were in mid leaf-out; miniature yellow-green leaves of maple, oak, and ash. The trail intersects the Great Swamp Management Area where wildlife roam the wood and water. A wading egret tip-toed lightly along the edge of a freshwater marsh. The natural beauty of this place was striking and made running anything but a chore. Our admittedly leisurely pace was befitting of such an enjoyable run.
Sarah and I reached the 2-mile mark and returned for the round-trip back to the parking lot. From there it was home for a quick shower and then on to the Matunuck Oyster Bar for some raw oysters and cold beer. A wonderful follow-up to a wonderful run.
The American toad in the driveway was an auspicious sign. We were leaving for our run and I joked to Sarah that we had fulfilled our herp quota for the day - but in truth this was just the beginning. For those of you requiring an introduction, "herp" refers to herpetology; the study of amphibians and reptiles. In the verb form it refers to the active pursuit of these animals.
Sarah had to catch the Sunday evening train back to New York in a few short hours, but we had this gorgeous afternoon together. We were on our way to the South County Bike Trail - an old railway converted to bike path that runs from South Kingstown to Narragansett. With no vehicular traffic, flat and straight, and with mile markers for reference, its about as convenient a place one can find for running. We parked at the trail-head, stretched briefly, and were soon on our way. No longer than a 3/4 of mile into the run, just as I was settling into my stride, a ribbon-snake made itself known on the path directly below me. I narrowly avoided stepping on it and was able to grab the slender serpent before it fled into the grass. At first resistant, the snake soon calmed to my handling, moving smoothly through my grasp. Iridescent dark scales and bright yellow stripes along the length of the body betrayed a recent shed. Sarah and I observed the animal for a few moments, then put it back on its way.
Along the trail there were dark, shallow vernal pools. Though I didn't pause to inspect them for late-spring egg masses or nascent tadpoles, they were most likely laden with developing wood frogs and spotted salamanders. Grey tree frogs could be heard calling from high atop the branches. The hardwoods were in mid leaf-out; miniature yellow-green leaves of maple, oak, and ash. The trail intersects the Great Swamp Management Area where wildlife roam the wood and water. A wading egret tip-toed lightly along the edge of a freshwater marsh. The natural beauty of this place was striking and made running anything but a chore. Our admittedly leisurely pace was befitting of such an enjoyable run.
Monday, May 6, 2013
Don't give up.
Went for a run today. Nothing crazy - 3.5 miles. Was running through a small conservation area in South Kingstown called Potter Wood. About a quarter mile into the wood along the trail there was a bench and on the bench sat two older gentlemen. They looked to me like old friends. I smiled politely as I passed. The first man nodded. The second man, wearing sun glasses and a well-worn Red Sox hat, raised his right hand high above his head, almost preacher-like, and said loudly, "don't give up." Nothing more.
I smiled, but did not immediately respond. His words resonated. I was taken aback by the paradoxical simplicity and depth of the statement. It was as if, in three words, the man had penetrated the very heart of my spirit. The very heart of the human spirit. Like he knew my story.
"Good advice," I said behind me.
I smiled, but did not immediately respond. His words resonated. I was taken aback by the paradoxical simplicity and depth of the statement. It was as if, in three words, the man had penetrated the very heart of my spirit. The very heart of the human spirit. Like he knew my story.
"Good advice," I said behind me.
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