Saturday morning dawned cool and just a bit humid.
But it was not as cool as I was expecting.
So shorts and long sleeves was the outfit chosen to keep my body temperature happy when working hard outdoors.
And it worked just right.
I had a pleasant time running my SIX mile course (again!).
The sprinklers were shooting gallons of water into the air again.
I went into the parking lot to avoid them this time, to keep the surface under my feet as smooth as possible.
But I still had to cross the grass to get back on the sidewalk.
Me no like running in grass.
I managed to keep from going into accelerated breathing until the last half mile or so.
By then it was not a big problem to me.
My time was nominal - about 56 minutes.
There were a few, brief whinings from my left hip/leg not liking the stress.
There may come a day when such problems become a show-stopper but not now, or soon, it seems.
Thank Yahweh for good health.
I have re-learned something about running.
How I feel - meaning how I view my ability to complete the planned distance when I am running - depends on the distance I set in my mind.
If I think I can only go three miles, that will pretty much limit me to that distance. (assuming there are no unplanned physical breakdowns)
So, now that I have proven to myself that I can once again travel six miles, it seems relatively easy.
Yes, it is taxing on my (aging) body.
The results of the effort will be felt for a day or two after the party.
But it is doable.
I am thinking of tackling the Cotton Row course again.
THE FIDDLING CONVENTION
The weather was beautiful.
The music was expectedly nice.
I did not see as many folks from Morgan City as I expected.
But I did see the Bishop/elder - brother Cornwell and his charming wife and John and Katrina Crouch - so the absence of other members must not have been because of an official edict to avoid the event (as in days gone by...).
The most notable event of the day was that someone backed into my car and left a nice football-sized dent in my front bumper.
I did not notice this until the next morning, when I saw the note the perpetrator left under my wiper.
We have talked and everything will be worked out.
THE TUESDAY RUN
It was quiet in my neighborhood again this morning.
In spite of the fact that I went to bed after 10:00 last night, I woke up at 4:30 this morning.
And I felt fine.
Go figure.
Anyway, that got me off to a early start preparing for my mid-week running session.
I was out the door at 5:25 AM - which is the same as when I sleep until 5 AM.
So, what did I do for that extra half hour?
I piddled around the house arranging my running clothes in the closet, cleaning my bathroom sink, and other little tasks that I have ignored.
Anyway, the run went well.
I was expecting rain but there was none.
Yet.
Clouds but no rain.
And it was surprisingly warm - almost 70 degrees.
So the outfit of choice was shorts and one of my sleeveless tops.
(I only bring up what I wear because as winter approaches, dressing "just right" for a run becomes a more involved process. That is why I like to run in the summer - same outfit every session.)
And I was alone today.
No people, just a couple of dogs to greet me (behind their fences).
And three or four cars.
That was it.
About a quarter-mile from my finish line (an invisible line in the street in-line with the edge of my driveway) I purposefully jacked up the pace to induce accelerated breathing.
I am sure this validates the contention of some who believe that there is a touch of masochism in runners.
I am not sure I would take it that far, but for myself, I have a sense that if a session feels too easy, I will try to do something to make it more of a physical challenge.
This usually comes near the end of a run where I unconsciously measure how much juice is left in the bucket.
If there seems to be more than enough, I jack up the effort.
The goal (and I cannot tell you where or why I got this idea) is to end the session with no juice left in the bucket.
I see that as enforcing an element of discipline on myself, rather than deriving pleasure from personal pain.
And, most of the people who see masochism in runners, are not runners themselves.
So, I think this is more an expression of jealousy than concerned clinical observation.
3 comments:
I'm sure by the time Pastor Cornwell is in office 40 years he will enforce some bogus "official edicts" as well that will offend some people and some will disagree with. This goes with the turf of this denomination. My Dad was no exception and neither is anyone else involved. It's too bad no one can give the man credit for anything good he did during his life. I'm at least fair enough to give credit to Roland where credit is due.
-Suzanne Bowen
Pastor Cornwell has already taken the side of some unscriptural positions.
And yes, he will have to deal with the consequences of those issues.
I take issue with the statement that "no one can give credit for anything good that he did during his life".
Plenty of people give him credit for his faith, vision, faithfulness, love for the concept of the church, and the people of God and the people in Morgan City in particular.
The fact that there IS a congregation in MC is a testament to his faithfulness (and the workings of God, of course).
Well, I must say that the things you mentioned are true, but Roland's comment to me in Dec of 2007 was "Your Daddy Trashed People All the Time....." (stored on microchip) I have heard many criticisms from others from the congregation there. You know what... when my kids were little and I needed help, some of those people were probably the ones my parents were at the hospital with instead of helping me.....
In all of my conversations with Roland and Audrey, they refrain from any positive remarks. This was true when the 3 of us were having very long, non-confrontational discussions in 2006. It was all focused on negative things. To me, his opinion is all that matters. He represents the feelings of the congregation and has told me that there are many that have come to him with their complaints about my father.
I hope Roland's tenure pays better dividends than did my father and mother's.
peace... suzanne.
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