Couch to 5K: Fartlek and big dreams

July 3rd, 2008

Jogged another two miles in 25 minutes this morning. I was tired and not breathing well. R was on fuego. She called fartlek twice, which just kills me—the sprinting itself but also the fact that she can’t resist saying fartlek with such glee. (”Fartlek to the blue arrows!”) And while I was merely thinking ahead to breakfast, she was already imagining post-5K possibilities and wondering aloud if there may well be a very special 10K in our future. Adrenaline does this to a person.

Since I first laid eyes on it, driving the coast north with Scott around Christmas 2005, I’ve been dying to cross the Astoria-Megler Bridge by unmechanized means. Scott remains unconvinced that traversing the mouth of the mighty Columbia on our tandem would be the ultimate rush. When I first mentioned the annual 10K crossing to R, on the other hand, her eyes widened, and she began quoting the Lewis and Clark journals and talking about spiritual quests. That’s more like it!

Ah, but midsummer first, before the fall.

Couch to 5K: “No, I’m Not Down”

July 1st, 2008

0623–0653
30 minutes
“London Calling”–”Clampdown”
10 laps
~2 1/2 miles
~4 kilometers

…jogging the whole of it without stopping!

Back in May, I went on a mission with two plucky colleagues: we would follow the nine-week Couch-to-5K Running Plan and train for the Midsummer Night’s Run July 19. I hate running (Intentional self-suffocation? No, thanks!) and happen to be quite fond of the sofa. They had never run before. Wait, why did we decide to do this again?

Too late for rationale, because, folks, I’ve established a jogging habit! For two months, excepting a couple of pretty active vacations, I’ve reported for practice at the neighborhood track every Tuesday, Thursday (0615), and Saturday (0800).

The genius of C25K is that it encourages steady, incremental change. It really works. And it works really, really well with a partner. Or, in a pinch, the Clash on an iPod.

You start by jogging just a short distance and then taking a walk break. Gradually the jogging distance increases as the walk breaks decrease. There does come a point, however, when you’re challenged to jog without stopping.

It was this challenge I faced early today. Victory was possible thanks to Jóga running interference, transmitting the glorious first half of the seminal 1979 double album directly into my brain. “Rudie Can’t Fail” kicked in just as I was sagging around Lap Five and became (with apologies to Strummer/Jones) :

Kaaaay-tie can’t fail!
Kaaaay-tie can’t fail!

“Clampdown” powered me around the final bend of Lap Ten, and when I eased into “The Guns of Brixton” to cool it on home, the adrenaline rush was badass.

Lonely as a cloud / in the Golden State

June 24th, 2008

Hello, summer! Hey-ya, sunshine! Long time no see.

Summery stuff ascending…meanwhile, some inoculation against next winter’s grays:

Sleater-Kinney performing “Jumpers” on the Letterman show in 2005

Maybe I will buy an artificial sun and stare at it.

Or maybe I will blare Sleater-Kinney. I will sing along. I will not get depressed.

We’re gonna need a montage

June 9th, 2008

Today, it takes a pick-up-your-sad-ass-and-prevail, funk-decimating sort of montage.

Supplement to The Professor and the Madman

June 6th, 2008

Rather than relinquishing this book to the library right away, I felt compelled to reread the fourth chapter on the history of English dictionaries (which transports us back to Shakespeare’s time, when it was impossible to look a word up—the horror!—and highlights some amusing entries in Dr. Johnson’s mid-18th-century dictionary) and also to append a few more notes to my review.

Best echo of recently enjoyed English fiction about crotchety German philologists (amidst a marvelous digression on the controversy surrounding the plural form of protagonist, which prompts a close examination of the OED entry and oldest citation of the word’s written use):

This, from a lexicographical point of view, seems to be the English word’s mother lode, a fair clue that the word may well have been introduced into the written language in that year, and possibly not before. (But the OED offers no guarantee. German scholars in particular are constantly deriving much pleasure from winning an informal lexicographic contest that aims at finding quotations that antedate those in the OED: At last count the Germans alone had found thirty-five thousand instances in which the OED quotation was not the first; others, less stridently, chalk up their own small triumphs of lexical sleuthing, all of which Oxford’s editors accept with disdainful equanimity, professing neither infallibility nor monopoly.)

Best stirring reminiscence of the first feature film I captioned (at the scene in Westminster of the seminal November 5, 1857, meeting of the London Philological Society):

The gas lamps fizzed and sputtered, and on the corners of Piccadilly and Jermyn Street small boys were still collecting last-minute pennies for fireworks, their ragged models of Guy Fawkes—soon to be burned on bonfires—propped up before them.

Mapped, in my mind, just around the corner from the murder and insanity of Hangover Square!

Moving ahead, The Professor and Madman inspires me to:

Cat Ballou (1965) and Blazing Saddles (1974)

June 6th, 2008

These classic western spoofs—the one a hammy, hokey romp; the latter a vulgar, racy burlesque—weren’t quite as fun this time around. Probably best enjoyed among the gregarious company and contagious chuckling of Dennis or certain former in-laws.

1/2 star for the dizzying web of references that stoke my fascination with pop western mythology; for the catchy, make-your-family-crazy-humming-it-for-days-on-end “Ballad of Cat Ballou”; and for Lee Marvin and Slim Pickens.

***1/2

Spurs me on to:

Little Miss Sunshine (2006)

June 2nd, 2008

Well, now I’ve seen that.

***

The Professor and the Madman: A Tale of Murder, Insanity, and the Making of the Oxford English Dictionary, by Simon Winchester

May 11th, 2008

This ten-year-old best seller is a layered biography with a brief history of lexicography at its heart—the lives of two sorts of doctor entwined around the epic making of the Oxford English Dictionary. James Murray, a self-taught scholarly Scot who would be hired to edit the “big dictionary” by the Oxford University Press dons, is the professor of the title. William Minor, a Connecticut Yankee and doctor of the surgical kind who served briefly in the Civil War and later shot an innocent stranger in the mean streets of Victorian London, is the madman. Most likely suffering paranoid schizophrenia, Minor would ultimately contribute thousands of citations to the OED from his personal library within the confines of the Broadmoor Asylum for the Criminally Insane.

With precise and breezy British prose, Winchester deftly navigates the scene of Minor’s crime, the circumstances of his youth as well as Murray’s, his traumatizing service at the Battle of the Wilderness, the OED’s conception and development, the popular myth of the two men’s first face-to-face encounter, their twenty-year-long relationship, and the sad decline of Minor’s post-dictionary life. All in just over 240 pages. It’s a fascinating multifaceted story with something for everyone—or at least for fans of true crime in Victorian London, Civil War buffs, mental health care history enthusiasts, and lexicography nerds! It’s especially not to be missed by the lexicography nerds: Woven so compellingly by a gleeful wordsmith and self-professed dictionary hugger, with nuggets of raw dictionary entries prefacing each chapter and the deliciousness of the author’s prose itself, it often approaches word porn.

Random awesome sentence (on the protagonists’ beards):

But both were magnificently fecund arrangements.

Random favorite moment of linguistic humor and British wit (on the changing of the guard at Broadmoor):

He was replaced by Doctor Brayn, a man selected (for more than his name alone, one trusts) by a Home Office that felt a stricter regime needed to be employed at the asylum.

Most shocking new vocabulary:

autopeotomy

Random, intriguing aside I might like to follow:

The great librarian—for Justin Winsor [of Harvard College] remains one of the grandest figures in all of nineteenth-century American librarianship, and a formidable historian to boot—then told the story, which Murray then retold to his friend in Boston.

Kindergarten flunkee

April 30th, 2008

All I really want to know right now I wish I’d learned in kindergarten:

  • foreign languages
  • dog handling
  • dancing
  • networking; schmoozing
  • public speaking
  • critical thinking
  • forgiveness
  • patience

Next to godliness

March 16th, 2008

Hi. I’ve struggled to write anything lately (blog entries, e-mails, Facebook comments, job letters, grocery lists alike)—either feeling oppressively lethargic and listless or getting my panties in a bunch over something or other. Anyway, this report on finding my Zen of housekeeping may or may not be a significant comeback, but it’s a start. Read the rest of this entry »