Revelations en route to Roseville, 6:45 a.m.
I know only short clips of lyrics from "Somebody's Watching Me" and "Landslide."
I must get a CD player installed soon.
-cK
Twitchy
I’m learning to live with ‘em: limitations. I’m no superhero. Like many of you (and you know who you are), emotional support (or, in a pinch, whimsy) trumps scientific support in numerous, if not most, areas of personal interest. Ouija board sales, eBay, perhaps 90% of our conversations thrive on this sort of thing.
So yesterday I had a good run, as I continued my program to develop some “fast twitch” muscle, a thing I read about many years ago. (I believe this is preferred for sprinting.) I’m using a modified FARTLEK approach. (Credit the Swedes for the funny word and my awkward genetics.) My version—I haven’t a clue how disparate it is from a professional fartlek(k)er’s version—involves sprinting a block, then walking a block, and on it goes until I’m just in pieces. That doesn’t take too long.
So I’m out there walking, then sprinting, then walking. I’m trying each furious leg of it to hold form—a form of my own fancy. The fingers are extended and the legs are striding long, which is tough to do for a shorty like me. I’m red in the face. I’m trying to push off evenly on both feet. I might be that Terminator guy from T2, only when I wear down I don’t reform so easily. (The recovery time at this point in the season is 36 hours. By August, though, I’ll recover in 32.) Huff huff huff!
It’s a terrible thing, losing form. Practice, you know, makes perfect. We might apply this lament, I suppose, for most things requiring physical exertion. Nerts to that. Form is, I think, as much a muscle destroyer/builder as the running. Science? Do I hear an objection? Good.
I hit that point then, the point at which I know I’ve eclipsed my strength. I don’t feel tired yet, but when I begin that next sprint I find my steps somehow off. Suddenly I'm striding like one of those Ethiopian runners--only without the speed. They always look out of control to me. The halves of their bodies seem suspicious of one another. It's just that the legs and the torso want to move at different speeds. The legs aren't lifting right, but the heart and mind are saying, "I thought we had an agreement!" Clumsy.
True enough, it applies to spirit as well.
-cK
