Running Scared

Being female can sometimes be an irritating handicap when it comes to personal safety. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't trade my lady bits for dangly bits any day, it's just that occasionally my awareness that my gender makes me more susceptible to the seedier bits of society chafes at my "Whatever, I do what I want" attitude. Take trail running, for example. I currently live in the Maryland suburbs, and there are only so many times that you can run by the same McMansion without getting bored, even when you do have the distraction of giggling at its pink Corinthian columns. Since the MD/D.C. area has a number of really nice parks and trails, it's easy enough to get some variety, the problem being that if I go during the week I can make it 5 miles without seeing anyone, or seeing only one or two other people, which is creepy. The first (and only) time that I ran in Rock Creek Park the only people I saw were two pot smoking teenagers, lighting up the second they got out of range of Mom and Dad's house.* I ended up cutting my run short that day because the utter silence, combined with the grey skies and lack of civilization close by, gave me visions of merry axe murderers, or rapists, or Chandra Levy.** Today, and several times recently, I've had the same problem along the C&O Canal Towpath, which has become my new favorite running spot. There are times when I get the creeping feeling that I'm not being entirely safe by taking off by myself sans cell phone, and I spend most of my run looking behind me and imagining scenes from Deliverance while simultaneously being far too fucking stubborn to stop. It's not enough to stop me from going there, but it is enough to glaze my otherwise perfectly lovely communion with nature with a little fear. I may be stronger than I look, and I may be able to run for rather a while without getting tired, especially if someone were chasing me, but part of me still wishes that my running shorts had a stun gun holster. Axe murderers beware!

* What is it with me and pot-smoking teenagers? It's like they're drawn to me.
** I hope my mention of Chandra Levy doesn't seem disrespectful. There's just no way for me to think of Rock Creek Park and "cautionary tale" without her name coming up in my head.

Listing

So there's not a whole lot going on in my life lately, which you probably gathered from my last few posts. Some people might think that you should stop posting if you don't have enough for a whole entry, but not me. That's what lists were created for, so in no particular order, and in concentrated form, some snippets from the life of Liza:

1. I've stopped doing Bikram for a while. Not because I dislike it or because I felt like I wasn't deriving a benefit from it, but because for some reason it makes my knees, specifically the right knee, rather cranky. My dad just had a knee replacement, so I've been paying attention to them more than usual. I think the problem is that I have a tendency to hyperextend, but since I already run - not exactly easy on the joints - I figured I should give them a chance to chill and am experimenting with other forms. So far regular Hatha yoga bores me to death, and Ashtanga looks promising, but will require quite a bit of work on my "flow," not being naturally graceful.

2. I am officially a victim of identity theft. After halfheartedly joking about it for years because I had my wallet - containing license, social security card and, idiotically, my birth certificate - stolen my first freshman year of college (I made it through a semester and left. USC is not my kind of place. Also, I appear to be fond of repeating the first bits of schooling. For another example, see Hurricane Katrina). So, anyway, some douchebag has been applying for a bunch of credit cards in my name, and now there's all these inquiries on my credit report, and also past addresses at which I've never lived, one of which is a shopping center. Lovely. Much mail scrutinizing, credit reporting, and police calling has commenced.

3. There are few things as relaxing as wandering about my backyard in bare feet. Having grown up barefoot, and having been a city apartment dweller for several years now, it's one of the facets of suburbia that I hadn't realized I missed.

4. Also, suburbia at 3 a.m. is an exceptionally dark and quiet place. I know this because, having consumed too much champagne on Saturday night, the lovely E. Lee and I decided that we needed to go find a swingset and set off looking for a playground in the dead of night. After visiting one playground that was inexplicably lacking in swings, we got sick of walking and only managed to find some pot-smoking teenagers. At least we think they were teenagers. We never actually saw them, only smelled their drugs.

5. I have a vegetable garden. M and I spent a few hours shopping for and planting squash, tomatoes, peppers, onions, and assorted herbs a few weeks ago, and I delight in checking on them and seeing their progress. One of the pepper plants already has little blossoms on it, and I've learned that of all the herbs I planted, chipmunks like basil the best.

So, that's my life right now. Yoga, gardening, big backyards. It's all very suburban and calm, but with some champagne and identity theft thrown in to make sure I don't get bored.

Oh, and This Happened Too

Yesterday, I reached a milestone in my life. A rite of passage, if you will. I grilled stuff for the very first time! The grill has heretofore intimidated the hell out of me for some reason, and despite cooking pretty much every night, I've never actually attempted to use one. However, the prospect of having a patio, backyard, and grill, and of having people over eventually to take advantage of said amenities forced me to overcome my fear. And it went well! There was a minute there when the flames were rather too close to the holly bush for my comfort, but in the end I didn't have to call the fire department, the food turned out well, and there was something about the whole experience that made me feel sort of badass, and that's always a good thing.

Haunted

I think I have the running version of a poltergeist. He lives in my legs. I first started running seriously and I got shin splints. Then I kicked my cabinet in a fit of rage (I dropped my dinner on the floor at the end of a long day) and sprained my foot. Then I got new shoes to get rid of the shin splints, which worked for a while, but stupid Saucony went and discontinued my shoe and the new ones weren't as perfect and I got plantar fasciitis. It went away eventually and, for a while now, things have been quiet. I was starting to think that the poltergeist had finally left me alone, but as often happens, I was wrong. After a ridiculously hard yoga class on Thursday (seriously, this woman would have made the toughest dominatrix hang her head in shame), I took a few days off, then went for a nice long run on Sunday. Sunday night - shin splints. Shin splints from hell that will not go away no matter how many cold packs I wrap around my legs. Problem is, I think my shoes are going, because my knees have been bugging me too. Normally I'd go out and buy new ones, but times are tough and I cannot afford to shell out $100 or so for a pair of sneakers. I blame the poltergeist for this too. Clearly, he is preventing me from getting a job so that I cannot buy sneakers. Fucking demon.

All Months Should Be National BLT Month

A bacon retrospective and salute to my favorite salty, fatty meat product. I really kind of want a set of those bacon postcards. Click on photo for link to bacon salute.

This is Not a Post About Yoga

It's a post about how crabby I am today. Fun stuff, right? I'm having one of those days. You know the kind, where you wake up crabby and every normal thing that happens to you makes you even crabbier? It's that kind of day. I woke up late, which unlike regular people, I don't like to do on a day to day basis. I feel like when I roll out of bed at 10 I've wasted half the day. Basically, sleeping in has made me feel bitchy. So when my stomach started to do its old man heartburn thing that it's been so fond of lately, I was even more peeved than I normally would be. Honestly though, I eat well, which seems to me like it should be a get out of jail free card for angry belly. Add to that the fact that I'm breaking out like a teenager for some inexplicable reason, and my joyous mood is complete. I'm like a little black cloud of love.

I won't pretend that there was any real point to this post, but I just had to get that out there. I'm gonna go glare at something now.

Camels and Rabbits and Locusts, oh my!

You're probably sick of hearing me talk about yoga, right? Well, too bad. I'm a convert. Despite the fact that my back is currently bitching at me for working previously undiscovered muscles, I sent my friend E this message last night:

"Yoga killed my back yesterday. Yet, somehow, I already miss it."

Soon I'll be consulting crystals and talking about realigning my chi.

Or not. All I'm saying is, I'm hooked. The second class really was much better, and I made it the whole way through, walking out of the studio with a big, goofy smile on my face and floating to the Metro station despite the disgusting weather. Since then I've gone two more times, and it just keeps getting better. I think I sweat more every time too, which is sorta gross, but also oddly satisfying.

It's not all roses - there are two poses that I totally despise. One of these is Standing Head to Knee Pose, which looks something like this:

Technically, the head is supposed to on the knee, but either way, I don't bend like that. My standing knee unlocks. My fingers slip off my foot because I'm sweating. I lose balance. Most of the time, I end up sitting down, not out of tiredness or because I'm dizzy, but because I'm frustrated and glaring at myself in the mirror. Least favorite pose #2 is called the Camel. Observe:

Again, I don't bend that way. Also, it makes me crazy dizzy. I thought it was just the heat in the room, and that's part of the dizziness certainly, but I tried to do it at home last night and I still couldn't bend far enough to grab my heels.

But I love love love these two:

I am not a graceful person, but these make me feel like I could be. Plus, they're really pretty to look at, especially the first of the two.

Anyway, if you were sick of my yoga babbling before, you definitely are now, so I'll sign off. Namaste!

(I actually had no idea what that meant until a few seconds ago. It means literally "I bow to you," and is an expression of respect and gratitude. Neato)