Saturday March 20th, Day 20 Ran 1.5 miles/ Total so far 49.9/ Miles to go 950.1 Almost 1/20th of the way!
Worked out with Gym Rat at his gym. I know, I said that I would not go back because I had already used up the guest pass he had gotten me for this Uptown Gold's Gym, but I was going to pay as a guest. As luck would have it, the girl at the front said no salesman was there at that time ("to try to pressure me" - the unsaid part of her statement) so she just let me fill out some forms and said they would call me. The gym closes at 8 Saturdays and it was after 6 so our run was really just a warm up for the weight training. I am actually considering joining his gym even though I have the school gym membership because the cost per month would be equal to less than half an hour of personal training and working out 3 or 4 times a week with Gym Rat would be like having my own personal trainer, only much more fun because he is such a good friend and motivator (plus Catholic Guilt would have me in the gym with him to justify the money being spent!).
The work out was good. He does four sets at a high weight. I do three at whatever weight I can, which, since I broke my shoulder a few years ago and have something called "Popeye Arm" (more about that later) means my weights vary a lot depending upon the exercise. This Gold's Gym is in the middle of trendy Uptown and is peopled by the young and the beautiful. I was probably the oldest person there with the least worked out body (sharp contrast from LA Fitness, Richardson where I neither the oldest nor the most out of shape....remember the Sumos?). Rather than being intimidated though, I don't mind and actually find it motivating. I know that if I spend time there I will look better....have done it before. And because of my "Year of the Rat's ass" philosophy I could care less that others are younger and toner than me. Life is good and I am above ground. I laughed as I looked out on the sea of youth and beauty at Gold's Gym and thought of my Dad's description of a soap opera he got into the habit of watching with my stepmother, Shirley, when he was too old to work. It was called The Young and the Restless. I would call Dad and ask what he was doing. He would reply, nothing much, just sitting here watching The Young and the Shitless! Makes me smile as I think of it now
Gym Rat is also one of the reasons I started buying lotto tickets. He asked me if I had mine for that day and, since neither of us had purchased on yet, he stopped at a local Exxon. I must admit I had my misgivings. I was breaking my routine (see the blog for Day 12 and read about my system and Twinkies! ) and buying from a different convenience store. I felt disloyal. But, I was afraid I would not have another chance so I purchased the Texas Lotto ticket (I did not win) and my Weekly Grand. A quick scratch of the Weekly Grand revealed that I had won $4.00. Two dollars from the "My number was higher than their number" game at the top of the card and $2 from the "match three numbers" game in the middle. So I ended up with a net gain of 1 dollar, meaning Wednesday's lotto ticket will be free!
So now I have decided to keep track of my gambling expenses to see how much this habit really costs me. Look at the top of the posts from now own for that survey too.
Lotto and Weekly Grand spending so far $3.00/ Winnings so far $4.00/ Net result $1.00 positive. Life is Good.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Day 19 Memories of Lady Gaga and Preacher Man
Friday, March 19: Ran 5.4 miles/ Total so far - 48.4 / Miles to go - 951.6
Was feeling very strong after work and so I ran 5.4 miles in one hour. Went back to LA Fitness Richardson. Saturday my free pass will expire. I have to admit I will miss the place. I actually like working out both close to my house and away from school. It is nice to be anonymous. At the SMU gym, chances are I will run into students, former students or other faculty or staff. Most of the time that is great. Being the social animal that I am, I usually love to stop and talk. But sometimes, in the immortal words of actress Gretta Garbo, "I want to be left alone."
Thinking of solitude reminded me of a story about a time I wanted to be "left alone" to my thoughts. I had just returned to Dallas from Tyler where I had spent the weekend with my youngest son, Haydon, at the home of Mrs. Savage, Pat we call her, who is a wonderful Mom to me and my family. I am sure you will read more about her in later posts. The purpose of the weekend, three years ago, had been to discuss College options. I had fantasized about Haydon joining his sister Leigh at SMU as an undergrad. His brother, Eric, was already a student at SMU law school. It would be so nice for all of us to be together in Dallas.
But alas, it was not to be. Haydon had other ideas and a scholarship to support them. On Pat's patio he had informed me that he was going to the University of New Orleans and studying psychology. He is a really good blues guitar player/singer and the fit was natural. The scholarship overcame any financial objection I could make. The logic I could not assail. In the words my other son Eric once spoke to me when I had explained why we had to move to Kuwait right as he was starting junior high school which he had informed me would ruin his life (more on that story also later) "I can understand it, but that doesn't mean I have to like it." I was actually happy for Haydon and proud that he had the presence of self to know what he wanted and to go for it. But I was still sad for me and all my projecting about what the next year would have been. Of course, these musing did begin to be tempered somewhat by thoughts of trips to visit him in the Crescent City...trips which have subsequently been realized with a lot of joy, laughter and French Quater madness.
When I returned to Dallas I decided I needed a strong drink and, while I wanted to drink alone, I did not want to be alone. I wanted the noise of people but to not engage; to observe while I sipped a Grey Goose Martini, shaken, not stirred, and very, very cold with just a twist of lemon. If I could not make my fantasy of all three kids attending SMU at the same time a reality, I could at least achieve the perfect martini experience. And I knew where I wanted to drink. There was a Russian bar, aptly named Nikita's, in West Village which was only one DART light rail stop from where I was then living, Mockingbird Station (more on that Mockingbird Station Loft Life later). I decided to take the train to West Village to avoid driving and drinking, just in case the situation ended up calling for more than one perfect martini.
As soon as I boarded the train I could tell it was not going to be the quiet ride I had expected. There was a black lady in the back in a skin tight body suit which looked about two sizes too small. Her hair resembled Jason's coat of many colors. The fingernails matched the hair. It was certainly a "look." I wondered if people dress like that to get stares or if she just felt all "Wizard of Oz Rainbow like" that day. She was talking in a very loud voice and not making a lot of sense. A black gentleman, who looked to be about 60, dressed conservatively with nice grey slacks and a long sleeve white shirt, was also in the back of the train. The small black leather book he carried I suspected was his pocket Bible. He had that air of calm that sometimes emanates from men of the cloth.
Preacher Man approached the Lady Gaga (my new names for my train mates) and asked her in a smooth, melodious voice that I am sure he had perfected to consol sinners at the alter or greiving relatives after a funeral, "Why you has to be so loud?" I could tell from her body language that Ms. Gaga did not want to be approached and certainly not by this pious Preacher Man. I also wondered if his comment was meant to refer to her voice or her clothes or both?
Lady Gaga turned and rendered a soliloquy that is indelibly etched in my brain. She walked up to Preacher Man and got right in his face, within spittle distance. Then she began in a low tone that rose in both volume and pitch with each statement, ending in a crescendo uttered at the top of her lungs. "Listen. I'm black. And I'm loud. And I'm proud. And I'm ghetto and all that shit. That's right. I'm just a country Nig___ from New Orleans. I just got out of jail and you'd best not F___ with me."
The train car was silent. All eyes were on Preacher Man. How would he respond? Battle of the Titans, Good and Evil. Looking right into her eyes and without blinking at her tirade he retorted, "Jesus loves you and we do to!" To which she just laughed, more of a cackle, and said "Shit". The other passengers in the car did not know what to do either. Some giggled. Most just sat staring straight ahead, hoping the battle would subside and they could avoid being collateral damage.
And at just that moment we arrived at the City Place Station where I quickly exited, pondering that scene. I kept thinking to myself. Isn't it nice that Lady Gaga is from New Orleans where my son will soon be going. Part of me wanted to get back on the train. There was a story there. I wanted to play investigative journalist so I could write that Pulitzer prize winning series on the life and times of Lady Gaga. "Ms Gaga, of all the things you chronicled in that last exchange with Preacher Man, of which are you most proud?" I could win her confidence by explaining that my son was living in New Orleans.....But that interview was not to be. The train pulled out of the station and I took the two long escalators and one elevator to the street from the subterranean hole that is City Place Station.
Once in the sunlight again, I walked the three blocks to trendy West Village which is a mixed use development built in the style of 1800s Texas small town downtown with three and four story buildings clothed in artistic brickwork. The first floors are retail with boutique shops and restaurants. The top floors are rental flats for urban professionals willing to put up with the noise of the night life for bragging rights that they live in West Village. Just like Dallas to build something new to look old since there is so little that is old in Dallas.
As I approached Nikita I could tell something was not right. The windows were dark and no one was smoking outside, indoor smoking having been banned by the behavior police the year before. The door did not open. It was then that I saw the closed sign. it was not the typical "closed until we open again" sign. No, it was a "this place was closed by the landlord for failing to pay rent and Nikita's is not going to reopen and you are not going to get your Grey Goose Martini so live with it" sign. It took me a moment to register the reality of that sign. I was still reeling from the Lady Gaga tirade. I began to wonder if, like Alice, I had fallen down a rabbit hole into a parallel universe of clowns and closed Russian Bars.
After a moment or two, I decided to just go down the sidewalk and get a latte at Starbucks and process the day's events, my son's declaration, Lady Gaga and Preacher Man, and no more Nikita's. The Starbucks at West Village had got to be one of the largest in the chain with an even larger outdoor seating area. The spring weather made sitting outside a joy but seating scarce. As luck would have it, however, as I walked out I spied a table at the far corner that had just been vacated. I started to make my beeline towards it, determined to claim it before someone else. I had the zeal of gold prospector who had just arrived in a new territory to stake his claim or one of the boomer sooners who lined up to claim land in the new "vacant" Oklahoma Territory in the rush when the territory was opened to settlement (never mind that people, Indians already inconveniently lived there).
One table from my goal, a law student in shorts and tank top saw me and, with the deftness of a Dallas Cowboy line backer intent of preventing a touchdown run, he stood up, grabbed my arm and said the last two words I wanted to hear at that moment, "Dean Camp!" Don't get me wrong. I love my job and consider it an honor and a privilege to work with students. I know that as Dean of Students an important part of my job is to deal with questions and problems. My father gave wise advice to me when, after once complaining to him about some issue at work, he told me "Be thankful for your problems. They create your job. No problems to solve. What are you needed for?"
But at this moment, on a late Sunday afternoon, I did not want to be Dean Camp. A long conversation about career choices and his girlfriend, who was a dancer on a cruise ship, and what did I think about this and that, and I realized that the latte was gone and the moment of reflection had passed. The table in the corner had been absconded by another prospector/boomer sooner. I politely took my leave, went to another bar and drank a beer, actually probably more than one.
Wow, all this narrative to say that while the Cheers television bar experience, a place "where everyone knows your name" can be wonderful and comforting at times, at other times it is nice to be at LA Fitness Richardson where "no one knows your name." I will miss it. Maybe I need to go one more time Saturday, before the pass expires. Life is Good.
Was feeling very strong after work and so I ran 5.4 miles in one hour. Went back to LA Fitness Richardson. Saturday my free pass will expire. I have to admit I will miss the place. I actually like working out both close to my house and away from school. It is nice to be anonymous. At the SMU gym, chances are I will run into students, former students or other faculty or staff. Most of the time that is great. Being the social animal that I am, I usually love to stop and talk. But sometimes, in the immortal words of actress Gretta Garbo, "I want to be left alone."
Thinking of solitude reminded me of a story about a time I wanted to be "left alone" to my thoughts. I had just returned to Dallas from Tyler where I had spent the weekend with my youngest son, Haydon, at the home of Mrs. Savage, Pat we call her, who is a wonderful Mom to me and my family. I am sure you will read more about her in later posts. The purpose of the weekend, three years ago, had been to discuss College options. I had fantasized about Haydon joining his sister Leigh at SMU as an undergrad. His brother, Eric, was already a student at SMU law school. It would be so nice for all of us to be together in Dallas.
But alas, it was not to be. Haydon had other ideas and a scholarship to support them. On Pat's patio he had informed me that he was going to the University of New Orleans and studying psychology. He is a really good blues guitar player/singer and the fit was natural. The scholarship overcame any financial objection I could make. The logic I could not assail. In the words my other son Eric once spoke to me when I had explained why we had to move to Kuwait right as he was starting junior high school which he had informed me would ruin his life (more on that story also later) "I can understand it, but that doesn't mean I have to like it." I was actually happy for Haydon and proud that he had the presence of self to know what he wanted and to go for it. But I was still sad for me and all my projecting about what the next year would have been. Of course, these musing did begin to be tempered somewhat by thoughts of trips to visit him in the Crescent City...trips which have subsequently been realized with a lot of joy, laughter and French Quater madness.
When I returned to Dallas I decided I needed a strong drink and, while I wanted to drink alone, I did not want to be alone. I wanted the noise of people but to not engage; to observe while I sipped a Grey Goose Martini, shaken, not stirred, and very, very cold with just a twist of lemon. If I could not make my fantasy of all three kids attending SMU at the same time a reality, I could at least achieve the perfect martini experience. And I knew where I wanted to drink. There was a Russian bar, aptly named Nikita's, in West Village which was only one DART light rail stop from where I was then living, Mockingbird Station (more on that Mockingbird Station Loft Life later). I decided to take the train to West Village to avoid driving and drinking, just in case the situation ended up calling for more than one perfect martini.
As soon as I boarded the train I could tell it was not going to be the quiet ride I had expected. There was a black lady in the back in a skin tight body suit which looked about two sizes too small. Her hair resembled Jason's coat of many colors. The fingernails matched the hair. It was certainly a "look." I wondered if people dress like that to get stares or if she just felt all "Wizard of Oz Rainbow like" that day. She was talking in a very loud voice and not making a lot of sense. A black gentleman, who looked to be about 60, dressed conservatively with nice grey slacks and a long sleeve white shirt, was also in the back of the train. The small black leather book he carried I suspected was his pocket Bible. He had that air of calm that sometimes emanates from men of the cloth.
Preacher Man approached the Lady Gaga (my new names for my train mates) and asked her in a smooth, melodious voice that I am sure he had perfected to consol sinners at the alter or greiving relatives after a funeral, "Why you has to be so loud?" I could tell from her body language that Ms. Gaga did not want to be approached and certainly not by this pious Preacher Man. I also wondered if his comment was meant to refer to her voice or her clothes or both?
Lady Gaga turned and rendered a soliloquy that is indelibly etched in my brain. She walked up to Preacher Man and got right in his face, within spittle distance. Then she began in a low tone that rose in both volume and pitch with each statement, ending in a crescendo uttered at the top of her lungs. "Listen. I'm black. And I'm loud. And I'm proud. And I'm ghetto and all that shit. That's right. I'm just a country Nig___ from New Orleans. I just got out of jail and you'd best not F___ with me."
The train car was silent. All eyes were on Preacher Man. How would he respond? Battle of the Titans, Good and Evil. Looking right into her eyes and without blinking at her tirade he retorted, "Jesus loves you and we do to!" To which she just laughed, more of a cackle, and said "Shit". The other passengers in the car did not know what to do either. Some giggled. Most just sat staring straight ahead, hoping the battle would subside and they could avoid being collateral damage.
And at just that moment we arrived at the City Place Station where I quickly exited, pondering that scene. I kept thinking to myself. Isn't it nice that Lady Gaga is from New Orleans where my son will soon be going. Part of me wanted to get back on the train. There was a story there. I wanted to play investigative journalist so I could write that Pulitzer prize winning series on the life and times of Lady Gaga. "Ms Gaga, of all the things you chronicled in that last exchange with Preacher Man, of which are you most proud?" I could win her confidence by explaining that my son was living in New Orleans.....But that interview was not to be. The train pulled out of the station and I took the two long escalators and one elevator to the street from the subterranean hole that is City Place Station.
Once in the sunlight again, I walked the three blocks to trendy West Village which is a mixed use development built in the style of 1800s Texas small town downtown with three and four story buildings clothed in artistic brickwork. The first floors are retail with boutique shops and restaurants. The top floors are rental flats for urban professionals willing to put up with the noise of the night life for bragging rights that they live in West Village. Just like Dallas to build something new to look old since there is so little that is old in Dallas.
As I approached Nikita I could tell something was not right. The windows were dark and no one was smoking outside, indoor smoking having been banned by the behavior police the year before. The door did not open. It was then that I saw the closed sign. it was not the typical "closed until we open again" sign. No, it was a "this place was closed by the landlord for failing to pay rent and Nikita's is not going to reopen and you are not going to get your Grey Goose Martini so live with it" sign. It took me a moment to register the reality of that sign. I was still reeling from the Lady Gaga tirade. I began to wonder if, like Alice, I had fallen down a rabbit hole into a parallel universe of clowns and closed Russian Bars.
After a moment or two, I decided to just go down the sidewalk and get a latte at Starbucks and process the day's events, my son's declaration, Lady Gaga and Preacher Man, and no more Nikita's. The Starbucks at West Village had got to be one of the largest in the chain with an even larger outdoor seating area. The spring weather made sitting outside a joy but seating scarce. As luck would have it, however, as I walked out I spied a table at the far corner that had just been vacated. I started to make my beeline towards it, determined to claim it before someone else. I had the zeal of gold prospector who had just arrived in a new territory to stake his claim or one of the boomer sooners who lined up to claim land in the new "vacant" Oklahoma Territory in the rush when the territory was opened to settlement (never mind that people, Indians already inconveniently lived there).
One table from my goal, a law student in shorts and tank top saw me and, with the deftness of a Dallas Cowboy line backer intent of preventing a touchdown run, he stood up, grabbed my arm and said the last two words I wanted to hear at that moment, "Dean Camp!" Don't get me wrong. I love my job and consider it an honor and a privilege to work with students. I know that as Dean of Students an important part of my job is to deal with questions and problems. My father gave wise advice to me when, after once complaining to him about some issue at work, he told me "Be thankful for your problems. They create your job. No problems to solve. What are you needed for?"
But at this moment, on a late Sunday afternoon, I did not want to be Dean Camp. A long conversation about career choices and his girlfriend, who was a dancer on a cruise ship, and what did I think about this and that, and I realized that the latte was gone and the moment of reflection had passed. The table in the corner had been absconded by another prospector/boomer sooner. I politely took my leave, went to another bar and drank a beer, actually probably more than one.
Wow, all this narrative to say that while the Cheers television bar experience, a place "where everyone knows your name" can be wonderful and comforting at times, at other times it is nice to be at LA Fitness Richardson where "no one knows your name." I will miss it. Maybe I need to go one more time Saturday, before the pass expires. Life is Good.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Thursday, March 18, Day 18 2.25 miles... but Beware of Frogs belching hot water at the King Spa
Thursday, March 18th, Day 18: Ran - 2.75 miles/ Total so far 43miles/ Miles to go 957
Ran in the early morning at the treadmill at SMU. Honestly did not want to run. Was still tired from long Wednesday and from the run on Tuesday. Decided, mostly because of this blog and knowing I needed to write about it...thank you Catholic Guilt, that I would run two miles. Set the treadmill for 30 minutes, knowing I would be finished much sooner than that. Then it happened. Runner's high kicked in at about the one mile mark. I felt good. I kept increasing the speed. After two miles I still had a lot of time to go so I decided to see how much further and faster I could go in the remaining minutes. Each quarter of a mile I raised the speed. By the time I had finished I had run 2.75 miles. The rest of the day I felt much more energized. Although I wish I had not eaten the apricot almond cobbler with vanilla soft ice cream or the brownie at lunch at the SMU cafeteria. That is the problem with all you can eat cafeteria. You each too much and often the wrong things. My dad used to call people who ate at all you can eat restaurants "Trough Feeders". Usually the food is so bad that they should be called "All you don't want to eat" restaurants. But the food at SMU really is good, and way too tempting. Especially the desserts. Hot cookies seem to appear all the time begging to be washed down with cold milk. I avoided the cookies this time, but my lunch complanion/co-worker ate four hot chocolate chocalte chip cookies and complained all afternoon. I did drink the green organic apply and wheat grass juice they make fresh in front of your eyes. Muching on her cookies my friend rolled her eyes and said "That can't taste good." I would like to have been able to say it tasted good. But it didn't. it tasted like grass flavored with apple. But I felt better anyway after the sugar binge earlier.
The other reason I had to run in the morning was because I was meeting some friends for beer at an Irish Pub after work to discuss some committee work we were doing for the Dallas Bar Association (lawyers, not tavern owners...) As I was waiting for them, I ran into a guy in a Soccer Jersey - literally, by accident opening the men's room door. After the mutual "excuse me" moment , I commented to him that there must be a game on that night. I had been to this pub before when rabid fans were watching soccer on a big screen, Ihoped I was wrong because I knew it would not be possible to have a conversation over the sports crowd noise. Strangly, he said, "no game....I just have to support my team". I did not ask him why and moved on.
With my friends I had a couple of black and tans and some mussels with soda bread. I learned that true Irish don't eat corn beef and cabbage, at least not in Ireland. This habit and association developed in New York among the Irish immigrants who got the corn beef from their Jewish friends. Another piece of cocktail party trivia. We told some bawdy Irish jokes (or actually I told them and they laughed). It was a nice evening.
After the light supper and beer buzz, I decided to sweat it out at King Spa. King Spa is a Koren chain of mega spas. I had seen them advertised on TV in New York. I heard that they had recently opened one in Dallas and decided to try it out a few weeks ago. It has become a part of my routine every other week or so since.
King Spa is located in Korea Town...a part of Dallas at Royal Lane and Interstate 35 where there are lots of Korean stores, shopping centers and restaurants. Many of the store signs are in Korean. I understand that there are more the 80,000 people of Korean background in Dallas. Some of the Koren international students have taken me to Korean Town for wonderful Korean Barbecue on various occasions.
King Spa is located in a gigantic warehouse reached by driving under this large entry feature with 10 ft statues of giraffes standing on the top. I wish I knew where the giraffes came from or why they are there, but driving down Royal you cannot miss them. I guess that is good advertising for King Spa.
Entry to the spa costs $18 for a day pass. You must remove your shoes and are issued a key with a bar code key chain. You can use the key chain to charge other spa services and food. You lock your shoes in one locker and your clothes in another (why two lockers? I do not know, but when in Rome....) There are stacks of shorts and t-shirts of various sizes for customers to use when they exit the Men's area and use the common areas. There are also stacks of incredibly small towels for the wet area. Free tooth brushes, tooth paste and aftershave and razors are also provided.
The wet area in the Men's section contains four hot water Jacuzzi pools where the water flows in from pipes attached to frog statutes' mouths. There are large signs in English and Korean saying to stay away from the frogs....hot water. At least I assume they say the same thing in Korean, since I don't read or understand that language. It would actually be funny if all the Korean signs made fun of the funny americans, but I am sure the commercial motivation for opening the spa prevents such tomfollery. Still, for a moment I started wondering what clever warnings I could give in Korean instead of "Stay away from the Frogs". Problem was, I was not very clever that night and nothing came to mind.
There is an ice cold pool with wall of water and a ring you can pull to be drenched in 60 degree water. Other options include a steam sauna and dry sauna. The entire area is surrounded by walls with showers and a wet area where a Korean man for 20 or so dollars will give you an incredible salt body scrub. In one area there are low level showers and men can scrub each other while sitting on step stools. It is the polar opposite of the LA Fitness in Richardson where people in the suanas are often clothed. Must just be cultural but I will say that this spa is decadence incarnate, but a good decadence.
In the common areas there are 8 or so special spas including a gold pyramid room, a salt crystal room, an infrared room, an ice room, etc., where people can sit and receive all kinds of alternative medicine remedies. There is a large restaurant, (Korean, of course) and rooms for watching movies and singing karaoke. There is also an area set aside for acupressure massage, foot massage and chair massage.
Last night I wanted the acupressure massage. I was assigned to the only male massage therapist, Kevin. He is from South Korea but has lived here many years. In his 40s, he looks much younger and his massage is one of the best I have ever had. Energetic, he pushes and pulls you like taffy. He also uses smooth hot stones that really work tired muscles. At the end, feeling more like a limp noodle than a 55 year old man, I went back to the wet area for a little more time in the steam. Slept like a baby when I got home....
Today, if the weather holds, may need to try Katy Trail again. Life is Good.
Ran in the early morning at the treadmill at SMU. Honestly did not want to run. Was still tired from long Wednesday and from the run on Tuesday. Decided, mostly because of this blog and knowing I needed to write about it...thank you Catholic Guilt, that I would run two miles. Set the treadmill for 30 minutes, knowing I would be finished much sooner than that. Then it happened. Runner's high kicked in at about the one mile mark. I felt good. I kept increasing the speed. After two miles I still had a lot of time to go so I decided to see how much further and faster I could go in the remaining minutes. Each quarter of a mile I raised the speed. By the time I had finished I had run 2.75 miles. The rest of the day I felt much more energized. Although I wish I had not eaten the apricot almond cobbler with vanilla soft ice cream or the brownie at lunch at the SMU cafeteria. That is the problem with all you can eat cafeteria. You each too much and often the wrong things. My dad used to call people who ate at all you can eat restaurants "Trough Feeders". Usually the food is so bad that they should be called "All you don't want to eat" restaurants. But the food at SMU really is good, and way too tempting. Especially the desserts. Hot cookies seem to appear all the time begging to be washed down with cold milk. I avoided the cookies this time, but my lunch complanion/co-worker ate four hot chocolate chocalte chip cookies and complained all afternoon. I did drink the green organic apply and wheat grass juice they make fresh in front of your eyes. Muching on her cookies my friend rolled her eyes and said "That can't taste good." I would like to have been able to say it tasted good. But it didn't. it tasted like grass flavored with apple. But I felt better anyway after the sugar binge earlier.
The other reason I had to run in the morning was because I was meeting some friends for beer at an Irish Pub after work to discuss some committee work we were doing for the Dallas Bar Association (lawyers, not tavern owners...) As I was waiting for them, I ran into a guy in a Soccer Jersey - literally, by accident opening the men's room door. After the mutual "excuse me" moment , I commented to him that there must be a game on that night. I had been to this pub before when rabid fans were watching soccer on a big screen, Ihoped I was wrong because I knew it would not be possible to have a conversation over the sports crowd noise. Strangly, he said, "no game....I just have to support my team". I did not ask him why and moved on.
With my friends I had a couple of black and tans and some mussels with soda bread. I learned that true Irish don't eat corn beef and cabbage, at least not in Ireland. This habit and association developed in New York among the Irish immigrants who got the corn beef from their Jewish friends. Another piece of cocktail party trivia. We told some bawdy Irish jokes (or actually I told them and they laughed). It was a nice evening.
After the light supper and beer buzz, I decided to sweat it out at King Spa. King Spa is a Koren chain of mega spas. I had seen them advertised on TV in New York. I heard that they had recently opened one in Dallas and decided to try it out a few weeks ago. It has become a part of my routine every other week or so since.
King Spa is located in Korea Town...a part of Dallas at Royal Lane and Interstate 35 where there are lots of Korean stores, shopping centers and restaurants. Many of the store signs are in Korean. I understand that there are more the 80,000 people of Korean background in Dallas. Some of the Koren international students have taken me to Korean Town for wonderful Korean Barbecue on various occasions.
King Spa is located in a gigantic warehouse reached by driving under this large entry feature with 10 ft statues of giraffes standing on the top. I wish I knew where the giraffes came from or why they are there, but driving down Royal you cannot miss them. I guess that is good advertising for King Spa.
Entry to the spa costs $18 for a day pass. You must remove your shoes and are issued a key with a bar code key chain. You can use the key chain to charge other spa services and food. You lock your shoes in one locker and your clothes in another (why two lockers? I do not know, but when in Rome....) There are stacks of shorts and t-shirts of various sizes for customers to use when they exit the Men's area and use the common areas. There are also stacks of incredibly small towels for the wet area. Free tooth brushes, tooth paste and aftershave and razors are also provided.
The wet area in the Men's section contains four hot water Jacuzzi pools where the water flows in from pipes attached to frog statutes' mouths. There are large signs in English and Korean saying to stay away from the frogs....hot water. At least I assume they say the same thing in Korean, since I don't read or understand that language. It would actually be funny if all the Korean signs made fun of the funny americans, but I am sure the commercial motivation for opening the spa prevents such tomfollery. Still, for a moment I started wondering what clever warnings I could give in Korean instead of "Stay away from the Frogs". Problem was, I was not very clever that night and nothing came to mind.
There is an ice cold pool with wall of water and a ring you can pull to be drenched in 60 degree water. Other options include a steam sauna and dry sauna. The entire area is surrounded by walls with showers and a wet area where a Korean man for 20 or so dollars will give you an incredible salt body scrub. In one area there are low level showers and men can scrub each other while sitting on step stools. It is the polar opposite of the LA Fitness in Richardson where people in the suanas are often clothed. Must just be cultural but I will say that this spa is decadence incarnate, but a good decadence.
In the common areas there are 8 or so special spas including a gold pyramid room, a salt crystal room, an infrared room, an ice room, etc., where people can sit and receive all kinds of alternative medicine remedies. There is a large restaurant, (Korean, of course) and rooms for watching movies and singing karaoke. There is also an area set aside for acupressure massage, foot massage and chair massage.
Last night I wanted the acupressure massage. I was assigned to the only male massage therapist, Kevin. He is from South Korea but has lived here many years. In his 40s, he looks much younger and his massage is one of the best I have ever had. Energetic, he pushes and pulls you like taffy. He also uses smooth hot stones that really work tired muscles. At the end, feeling more like a limp noodle than a 55 year old man, I went back to the wet area for a little more time in the steam. Slept like a baby when I got home....
Today, if the weather holds, may need to try Katy Trail again. Life is Good.
Day 17, No run: Musings on Energy vs Time Management.
Day 17, no miles, total so far 40.75/ Miles to go 959.25
Woke up with very sore legs....I am noticing a pattern. After my 5 miles runs I need some recovery. I have to remember to take this slowly. After all a year is a long time and as my legs get stronger I am sure I will have even longer runs.
As I thought of the need to rest, the old adage that life is a marathon not a sprint come to mind. This is supposed to make us feel better when we have so much to do....make us think we have a long time to do it. But actually, having run 3 marathons, I never really have liked this because frankly, they are hard and not that much fun until you finish and it feels so good not to be running. Much like the shiatsu massage I wrote about in a previous post where after the pain you of course feel better.
At a recent seminar I heard a speaker debunk the life is a marathon metaphor. She was a "life coach" who had left the practice of law to help lawyers stay in the practice of law. She said that life is NOT a marathon. She said it is a series of SPRINTS followed by periods of recovery. I like that. Sprints are of short duration. Seeing the end in sight is a great motivator for me.
She also spoke about the need for better "energy management," rather than an emphasis on time management that so often is the focus of business and career writing. I like that concept too. She said we need to make time to restore physical, mental, emotional and spiritual energy. So today I did that, went home after class (which means I did not get home until 9:00pm) and crashed. Life is Good!
Woke up with very sore legs....I am noticing a pattern. After my 5 miles runs I need some recovery. I have to remember to take this slowly. After all a year is a long time and as my legs get stronger I am sure I will have even longer runs.
As I thought of the need to rest, the old adage that life is a marathon not a sprint come to mind. This is supposed to make us feel better when we have so much to do....make us think we have a long time to do it. But actually, having run 3 marathons, I never really have liked this because frankly, they are hard and not that much fun until you finish and it feels so good not to be running. Much like the shiatsu massage I wrote about in a previous post where after the pain you of course feel better.
At a recent seminar I heard a speaker debunk the life is a marathon metaphor. She was a "life coach" who had left the practice of law to help lawyers stay in the practice of law. She said that life is NOT a marathon. She said it is a series of SPRINTS followed by periods of recovery. I like that. Sprints are of short duration. Seeing the end in sight is a great motivator for me.
She also spoke about the need for better "energy management," rather than an emphasis on time management that so often is the focus of business and career writing. I like that concept too. She said we need to make time to restore physical, mental, emotional and spiritual energy. So today I did that, went home after class (which means I did not get home until 9:00pm) and crashed. Life is Good!
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Day 16, 5.25 Miles, another night at the United Nations of Richardson
Day 16, Ran 5.25 Miles/ Total so far - 40.75 Miles/ Miles to go - 959.25 Over 1/25th of the way to 1000 miles!
Went back to LA Fitness, Richardson last night. Got there earlier, around 7 p.m. There were even more people there at that hour. I was determined to run an hour so I found the treadmill on the farthest end, next to the railing that rings the second floor, which is really half a floor, where they have located all the cardio machines so you can run and watch either TV or the people working out below on the first floor weight room. I set the machine on one hour, manual run, and off I went. Most of the time I focused on the little red arrows that marked my progress around the electronic quarter mile track. I felt good, energized and the 5 miles were surprisingly easy. I started at a 12 minute per mile pace and increased it one increment per mile I ran (machine increments being about 14 seconds per mile) so that by the end I was running almost an 11 minute per mile pace. People came and went on the other machines but I tried to ignore them as best I could.
It was true, though, that it is harder to ignore people once you get off the treadmill and have to navigate through them to reach the stretching area (so necessary for me after a run) and then the locker room. I was struck by how many nationalities and languages I encountered. I felt like I was on the streets or subway in New York. No really! Richardson is a huge ethnic melting pot. There is a large mosque not far from my house where police monitor traffic for Friday noon prayers, just like they do for the Christian churches on Sundays in Highland Park. Texas Instruments I am sure has a large Indian and Pakistani Muslim employment base. UT Dallas has a large foreign student population. There are many Mediterranean restaurants with Lebanese and other Arabic food. You will even find Hookah bars on old Main Street in Richardson. There are shopping centers with all the signs in Chinese, full of all kinds of Asian restaurants and markets when you can eat Japanese, Chinese, Korean, Vietnamese etc., and buy all kinds of native foods, many of which you will no recognize and some you probably don't want to know about.
And it seemed that each group had their representatives at LA Fitness, Richardson last night. I am now understanding how this mixture might account for the locker room behavior I previously observed, people showering in clothes etc. I realize that some cultures are more modest about the human body. I got to the locker room and since I was running in utility type shorts that could also serve as a bathing suit, (the prior times I had been in sweats) I was looking forward to my first use of the coed Jacuzzi. I showered and walked down the long hallway to the wet area with its pool and whirlpool, but alas, I saw the sign, Out of Order, and remembered that in most clubs I have belonged to, the Jacuzzi is out more than in. Probably one of the reasons SMU does not have one...too much maintenance costs.
I went back to the showers, and then, wrapped in my towel, went to the sauna. Another UN experience. There was a Nigerian cab driver (how do I know...remember, saunas are like airplanes and people talk...too much) laughing with an Asian of indeterminate origin. Then an Arab guy fully clothed in gym clothes, including running shoes, with his bag, came in and stood. I know he was Arabic because he was singing along with the Arabic music that his ipod was blaring loud enough for us to hear over his earphones.
I had a flashback to my time in Kuwait when I had joined a neighborhood health club called Flex. We lived in a Kuwaiti neighborhood. The club was managed by a former Russian national team gymnast, Sergie, who had brought two other Russians with him to work in the club, one to teach aerobics and the other to be the massage therapist. The four of us "westerners" became fast friends and played tennis at an indoor facility that Sergie had access to since he also did personal training for some wealthy members of the Royal Family who owned the club. I have fond memories of the first half of a birthday party that Sergie and and his Russian friends organized for me the last summer I was in Kuwait, my family having already escaped the heat to return for the summer to Texas (wait...I thought I said escape the heat? Well there is a difference I guess between 100 degrees and 130 degrees...like 30 degrees deeper in hell).
I say I remember the first half of the birthday party because, after eating the wonderful food the guys Russian girlfriends had prepared, we pulled out the pepper flavored vodka that they had been able to buy from the British bootlegger who sold everything for 25 dollars a bottle out of his trunk in the parking lot of the McDonald's near my house. He sold what he had at the time, and for some reason this shipment of vodka was pepper flavored. Undaunted, we drank it in straight shots followed by a bite of orange. I am sure I had a good time, at least, they told me the next day that I did.
I flashed back to my days at the Kuwaiti Flex gym when I say the fully clothed Arab guy in the sauna, because I remember that first time I was in the gym in Kuwait I took off my clothes in the locker room after my work out and proceeded with towel in hand to go to the shower. It was a men only gym but an old Kuwait admonished me that this was not America and I must be covered up. I learned how to dress with the towel wrapped around me, etc. It had not been like this at the Hotel SAS club on the beach where he had stayed when we first arrived in Kuwait looking for a house, and where we still belong and went for family fun.
I have only a couple of days left on my Richardson LA Fitness pass. I won't buy a membership. I will leave my multicultural gym experience behind and return to SMU. I actually enjoy the LA Fitness Richardson very much and like the UN atmosphere. I like being reminded of good memories of my days oversears and of trips and friends from other backgrounds. But I pay $10 a month for my SMU membership and I cannot justify a second gym membership, unless I join one with Gym Rat some day and get free training from my friend.... Good news, bad news, who is to say? But I do know that Life is Good.
Went back to LA Fitness, Richardson last night. Got there earlier, around 7 p.m. There were even more people there at that hour. I was determined to run an hour so I found the treadmill on the farthest end, next to the railing that rings the second floor, which is really half a floor, where they have located all the cardio machines so you can run and watch either TV or the people working out below on the first floor weight room. I set the machine on one hour, manual run, and off I went. Most of the time I focused on the little red arrows that marked my progress around the electronic quarter mile track. I felt good, energized and the 5 miles were surprisingly easy. I started at a 12 minute per mile pace and increased it one increment per mile I ran (machine increments being about 14 seconds per mile) so that by the end I was running almost an 11 minute per mile pace. People came and went on the other machines but I tried to ignore them as best I could.
It was true, though, that it is harder to ignore people once you get off the treadmill and have to navigate through them to reach the stretching area (so necessary for me after a run) and then the locker room. I was struck by how many nationalities and languages I encountered. I felt like I was on the streets or subway in New York. No really! Richardson is a huge ethnic melting pot. There is a large mosque not far from my house where police monitor traffic for Friday noon prayers, just like they do for the Christian churches on Sundays in Highland Park. Texas Instruments I am sure has a large Indian and Pakistani Muslim employment base. UT Dallas has a large foreign student population. There are many Mediterranean restaurants with Lebanese and other Arabic food. You will even find Hookah bars on old Main Street in Richardson. There are shopping centers with all the signs in Chinese, full of all kinds of Asian restaurants and markets when you can eat Japanese, Chinese, Korean, Vietnamese etc., and buy all kinds of native foods, many of which you will no recognize and some you probably don't want to know about.
And it seemed that each group had their representatives at LA Fitness, Richardson last night. I am now understanding how this mixture might account for the locker room behavior I previously observed, people showering in clothes etc. I realize that some cultures are more modest about the human body. I got to the locker room and since I was running in utility type shorts that could also serve as a bathing suit, (the prior times I had been in sweats) I was looking forward to my first use of the coed Jacuzzi. I showered and walked down the long hallway to the wet area with its pool and whirlpool, but alas, I saw the sign, Out of Order, and remembered that in most clubs I have belonged to, the Jacuzzi is out more than in. Probably one of the reasons SMU does not have one...too much maintenance costs.
I went back to the showers, and then, wrapped in my towel, went to the sauna. Another UN experience. There was a Nigerian cab driver (how do I know...remember, saunas are like airplanes and people talk...too much) laughing with an Asian of indeterminate origin. Then an Arab guy fully clothed in gym clothes, including running shoes, with his bag, came in and stood. I know he was Arabic because he was singing along with the Arabic music that his ipod was blaring loud enough for us to hear over his earphones.
I had a flashback to my time in Kuwait when I had joined a neighborhood health club called Flex. We lived in a Kuwaiti neighborhood. The club was managed by a former Russian national team gymnast, Sergie, who had brought two other Russians with him to work in the club, one to teach aerobics and the other to be the massage therapist. The four of us "westerners" became fast friends and played tennis at an indoor facility that Sergie had access to since he also did personal training for some wealthy members of the Royal Family who owned the club. I have fond memories of the first half of a birthday party that Sergie and and his Russian friends organized for me the last summer I was in Kuwait, my family having already escaped the heat to return for the summer to Texas (wait...I thought I said escape the heat? Well there is a difference I guess between 100 degrees and 130 degrees...like 30 degrees deeper in hell).
I say I remember the first half of the birthday party because, after eating the wonderful food the guys Russian girlfriends had prepared, we pulled out the pepper flavored vodka that they had been able to buy from the British bootlegger who sold everything for 25 dollars a bottle out of his trunk in the parking lot of the McDonald's near my house. He sold what he had at the time, and for some reason this shipment of vodka was pepper flavored. Undaunted, we drank it in straight shots followed by a bite of orange. I am sure I had a good time, at least, they told me the next day that I did.
I flashed back to my days at the Kuwaiti Flex gym when I say the fully clothed Arab guy in the sauna, because I remember that first time I was in the gym in Kuwait I took off my clothes in the locker room after my work out and proceeded with towel in hand to go to the shower. It was a men only gym but an old Kuwait admonished me that this was not America and I must be covered up. I learned how to dress with the towel wrapped around me, etc. It had not been like this at the Hotel SAS club on the beach where he had stayed when we first arrived in Kuwait looking for a house, and where we still belong and went for family fun.
I have only a couple of days left on my Richardson LA Fitness pass. I won't buy a membership. I will leave my multicultural gym experience behind and return to SMU. I actually enjoy the LA Fitness Richardson very much and like the UN atmosphere. I like being reminded of good memories of my days oversears and of trips and friends from other backgrounds. But I pay $10 a month for my SMU membership and I cannot justify a second gym membership, unless I join one with Gym Rat some day and get free training from my friend.... Good news, bad news, who is to say? But I do know that Life is Good.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Day 15, Late night 2.5, Sumo Gym Mates and other characters and early morning ouch!
Day 15, Monday March 15th. Ran 2.5 miles/ Total so far - 35.5/ Miles to go - 964.5
Good News was that I ran yesterday. I had a busy day at work so I did not run in the morning. I teach this semester on Mondays and Wednesdays from 7:20 to 8:35. Second half of First Year Property to the Second Year evening law students in the Four Year evening program. I like teaching this class. The material is interesting and this semester it is more relevant to real life. We are talking about purchase contracts for property. Most people will deal with at least buying and selling a home over their lives. We just finished leases which is even more universally applicable, although in a first year course we do not go into much practical debt. Still, I enjoy the performance experience...I mean you are on stage and 100 or so people can't walk out even if the monologue goes flat.
The Bad News about teaching at night is that when the class is over I am usually drained, both physically and mentally. It takes a lot of energy to stay on for the hour and fifteen minutes and I feel that these students, many of whom have come to class after working in the day, deserve an energetic lecture, or at least something to keep them from falling asleep. Last night, after class, all I wanted to do was return home and sleep....but, there is this blog thing, and Catholic Guilt, etc., so I needed to run. I was supposed to exercise with Gym Rat, but he wanted to go back to his old familiar gym to which I do not belong. He is on his spring break from teaching and wants to totally enjoy it by only doing what he wants when he wants. Something I can admire, if I never seem to have in my life.
Since I had gone to his gym a couple of weeks ago and had gotten a week pass which had expired, I did not think they would want to give me another. He offered to try, but I did not want to hassle with it so I decided to go back to LA Fitness in Richardson and use another day on that pass, mostly because it is close to the house and I wanted to sit in the sauna. One draw back to an otherwise fabulous facility at school, the Dedman Center does not have whirlpool, steam or sauna.
When I got to LA Fitness it was more crowded than I expected for 9 pm. Don't get me wrong, the place is huge and could accommodate a lot more people than were there, but still, it was 9 pm and there were families there, kids and teens. Then I realized this is spring break for them too so perhaps that accounted for the Six Flags Amusement Park atmosphere.
I dressed quickly then found my treadmill. Without thinking I hit the yes button for 30 minutes and realized that I had set my goal for 2.5 miles. I started to reset then reconsidered. It was late, and I was tired. Tomorrow, Tuesday, I would not work as late and, if the weather was good, perhaps another Katy Trail run awaited. So off I began at a 12 mile pace.
The time went by very quickly. I like the treadmills at LA Fitness because they show a quarter mile track with arrows announcing your progress. Psychologically I like watching my computer self running symbolically around that track. This love of a sense of progress with constant movement made me think I might have been a galley slave in a Roman warship in a prior life...Row, Row, Row.....
I found many new species of gym denizens at this LA Fitness. There was the "I just came here because you pushed but I won't be back" middle aged Mexican lady who, after less than a minute on the treadmill a couple of machines down from me, told here friend "You can do this if you want but I am going to try out the other machines." I envisioned her looking for vending machines, preferably ones with real coke and Twinkies! There was the kamikaze Asian who was trying to assassinate the treadmill next to mine, running so fast I was afraid he was going to stomp right through the floor of the machine as he barked orders to his less athletic friend on the adjacent machine...."Raise your incline if you want a real work out" was his mantra. "Speed is not as important as incline...works your heart, man, really works your heart!" The words he spoke which I enjoyed the most came about halfway through my run when he turned to his friend and said "Man, I'm done....gotta go!" Such sweet music to my ears.
Later, after my run and a little stretching, I went to the sauna. The etiquette of this gym is a bit strange to me. I have been in a lot of gyms in my life, but I have to admit, this is the first Dallas Suburban experience and maybe that explains it, or perhaps it is just Richardson. People are supposed to bring their own locks for the lockers. But a lot of people either don't have locks or don't trust them, because about half the people seem to take their towels and gym bags along with them where ever they go, which includes the showers. They leave the bags just outside the shower stalls, which are individual cubicles with shower curtains. Sometimes they bring the bags into the sauna which I find really strange, and odorous.
I shared the sauna with a pair of Sumo wrestlers who looked like they were beefing up for a stint on America's Greatest Losers. Truly they were gargantuan. I started speculating about the root meaning of the word "sumo" and concluded that "su" in some remote language must mean "some" and "mo", well, that was not hard since a derivative of it has survived to this day in urban street language...and Dickens's movies "Please sir, I want some Mo" spoken by street waifs. "Sumo"..."Some More"...the most frequently spoken expression of my sauna mates at the all you can eat Chinese Buffet, one of which is conveniently located in the same shopping center as the gym.
I know, I am being cruel and unfair....but honesty is also a virtue and these are the random thoughts that popped into my head as I sweated and thought about the left over pot roast and last half bottle of Cabernet that awaited me in Casa Camp a mile or so away.
Sauna's are also like airplanes in that if you are not lucky, you share you seat with a talker. Sometimes that is OK, but most often it is not. When the last Sumo left, a baby Sumo who remained, I guess proud that he was not as large as the other two, turned to me and said in his Mexican accent "You believe that?" For a brief moment I was worried that he was psychic and could read my thoughts about the root meaning of Sumo or that, even worse, in the heat I had been "trippin" as my Dad would say, and speaking those thoughts out loud. He continued "At least I am not that big!" And I thought to myself, "Yet". He continued expounding on his personal situation, explaining that he "had burned 100 calories on the treadmill but Hell there were 140 in a coke." I wondered how anyone could only burn 100 calories on the treadmill but then remembered the "I don't want to run around" Sue from the treadmill earlier who had left shortly after starting to find the vending machines where I am sure there are 140 calorie cokes, and I thought...yes, very possible.
"My musings on calorie burn were interrupted again by the same voice pontificating that Beer was the greatest evil. "Hell, I love my beer!" he said. Thankfully my time in the sauna was over. I politely agreed that Beer was both good and bad and that yes, we were lucky not to be eligible for America's Greatest Looses, yet, and exited the sauna.
Back in the locker room, after my shower, one of the Big Sumos was laboriously dressing. I had my back to him. Out of the blue he spoke saying "I always go get something to eat after a work out. Anyone want to join me?" The idea of joining him for a meal, of watching him eat, pushed me into flashback mode and all the old medieval banquet scenes of raucous gluttony, large legs of lamb being gnawed on by babarians and buckets of mead flowing like water into open mouths and spilling on scraggy beirds right before a fight set in. I was silent in the face (or in this case back, my back) of his request. No one else said anything and his offer died on deaf ears.
At home I had my wine with my leftovers and went to bed...tired but happy that I had actually ran after work. Oh, and the hurting part? Woke up this morning and those muscles that Gym Rat had forced me to push a couple of days ago...especially chest, they decided to choose now to protest...ouch. It hurts to raise my arms. Hoping a lot of stretching will help. But all and all, Life is Good!
Good News was that I ran yesterday. I had a busy day at work so I did not run in the morning. I teach this semester on Mondays and Wednesdays from 7:20 to 8:35. Second half of First Year Property to the Second Year evening law students in the Four Year evening program. I like teaching this class. The material is interesting and this semester it is more relevant to real life. We are talking about purchase contracts for property. Most people will deal with at least buying and selling a home over their lives. We just finished leases which is even more universally applicable, although in a first year course we do not go into much practical debt. Still, I enjoy the performance experience...I mean you are on stage and 100 or so people can't walk out even if the monologue goes flat.
The Bad News about teaching at night is that when the class is over I am usually drained, both physically and mentally. It takes a lot of energy to stay on for the hour and fifteen minutes and I feel that these students, many of whom have come to class after working in the day, deserve an energetic lecture, or at least something to keep them from falling asleep. Last night, after class, all I wanted to do was return home and sleep....but, there is this blog thing, and Catholic Guilt, etc., so I needed to run. I was supposed to exercise with Gym Rat, but he wanted to go back to his old familiar gym to which I do not belong. He is on his spring break from teaching and wants to totally enjoy it by only doing what he wants when he wants. Something I can admire, if I never seem to have in my life.
Since I had gone to his gym a couple of weeks ago and had gotten a week pass which had expired, I did not think they would want to give me another. He offered to try, but I did not want to hassle with it so I decided to go back to LA Fitness in Richardson and use another day on that pass, mostly because it is close to the house and I wanted to sit in the sauna. One draw back to an otherwise fabulous facility at school, the Dedman Center does not have whirlpool, steam or sauna.
When I got to LA Fitness it was more crowded than I expected for 9 pm. Don't get me wrong, the place is huge and could accommodate a lot more people than were there, but still, it was 9 pm and there were families there, kids and teens. Then I realized this is spring break for them too so perhaps that accounted for the Six Flags Amusement Park atmosphere.
I dressed quickly then found my treadmill. Without thinking I hit the yes button for 30 minutes and realized that I had set my goal for 2.5 miles. I started to reset then reconsidered. It was late, and I was tired. Tomorrow, Tuesday, I would not work as late and, if the weather was good, perhaps another Katy Trail run awaited. So off I began at a 12 mile pace.
The time went by very quickly. I like the treadmills at LA Fitness because they show a quarter mile track with arrows announcing your progress. Psychologically I like watching my computer self running symbolically around that track. This love of a sense of progress with constant movement made me think I might have been a galley slave in a Roman warship in a prior life...Row, Row, Row.....
I found many new species of gym denizens at this LA Fitness. There was the "I just came here because you pushed but I won't be back" middle aged Mexican lady who, after less than a minute on the treadmill a couple of machines down from me, told here friend "You can do this if you want but I am going to try out the other machines." I envisioned her looking for vending machines, preferably ones with real coke and Twinkies! There was the kamikaze Asian who was trying to assassinate the treadmill next to mine, running so fast I was afraid he was going to stomp right through the floor of the machine as he barked orders to his less athletic friend on the adjacent machine...."Raise your incline if you want a real work out" was his mantra. "Speed is not as important as incline...works your heart, man, really works your heart!" The words he spoke which I enjoyed the most came about halfway through my run when he turned to his friend and said "Man, I'm done....gotta go!" Such sweet music to my ears.
Later, after my run and a little stretching, I went to the sauna. The etiquette of this gym is a bit strange to me. I have been in a lot of gyms in my life, but I have to admit, this is the first Dallas Suburban experience and maybe that explains it, or perhaps it is just Richardson. People are supposed to bring their own locks for the lockers. But a lot of people either don't have locks or don't trust them, because about half the people seem to take their towels and gym bags along with them where ever they go, which includes the showers. They leave the bags just outside the shower stalls, which are individual cubicles with shower curtains. Sometimes they bring the bags into the sauna which I find really strange, and odorous.
I shared the sauna with a pair of Sumo wrestlers who looked like they were beefing up for a stint on America's Greatest Losers. Truly they were gargantuan. I started speculating about the root meaning of the word "sumo" and concluded that "su" in some remote language must mean "some" and "mo", well, that was not hard since a derivative of it has survived to this day in urban street language...and Dickens's movies "Please sir, I want some Mo" spoken by street waifs. "Sumo"..."Some More"...the most frequently spoken expression of my sauna mates at the all you can eat Chinese Buffet, one of which is conveniently located in the same shopping center as the gym.
I know, I am being cruel and unfair....but honesty is also a virtue and these are the random thoughts that popped into my head as I sweated and thought about the left over pot roast and last half bottle of Cabernet that awaited me in Casa Camp a mile or so away.
Sauna's are also like airplanes in that if you are not lucky, you share you seat with a talker. Sometimes that is OK, but most often it is not. When the last Sumo left, a baby Sumo who remained, I guess proud that he was not as large as the other two, turned to me and said in his Mexican accent "You believe that?" For a brief moment I was worried that he was psychic and could read my thoughts about the root meaning of Sumo or that, even worse, in the heat I had been "trippin" as my Dad would say, and speaking those thoughts out loud. He continued "At least I am not that big!" And I thought to myself, "Yet". He continued expounding on his personal situation, explaining that he "had burned 100 calories on the treadmill but Hell there were 140 in a coke." I wondered how anyone could only burn 100 calories on the treadmill but then remembered the "I don't want to run around" Sue from the treadmill earlier who had left shortly after starting to find the vending machines where I am sure there are 140 calorie cokes, and I thought...yes, very possible.
"My musings on calorie burn were interrupted again by the same voice pontificating that Beer was the greatest evil. "Hell, I love my beer!" he said. Thankfully my time in the sauna was over. I politely agreed that Beer was both good and bad and that yes, we were lucky not to be eligible for America's Greatest Looses, yet, and exited the sauna.
Back in the locker room, after my shower, one of the Big Sumos was laboriously dressing. I had my back to him. Out of the blue he spoke saying "I always go get something to eat after a work out. Anyone want to join me?" The idea of joining him for a meal, of watching him eat, pushed me into flashback mode and all the old medieval banquet scenes of raucous gluttony, large legs of lamb being gnawed on by babarians and buckets of mead flowing like water into open mouths and spilling on scraggy beirds right before a fight set in. I was silent in the face (or in this case back, my back) of his request. No one else said anything and his offer died on deaf ears.
At home I had my wine with my leftovers and went to bed...tired but happy that I had actually ran after work. Oh, and the hurting part? Woke up this morning and those muscles that Gym Rat had forced me to push a couple of days ago...especially chest, they decided to choose now to protest...ouch. It hurts to raise my arms. Hoping a lot of stretching will help. But all and all, Life is Good!
Monday, March 15, 2010
Day 14, 2 1/4ths mile LA Richardson Style
Day 14, Ran 2.25 miles/ Total miles so far - 33/ Miles to go 967
I like massage. I have to admit it. I started getting massages when I first started training for my first marathon when I was 32 years old. I was running so many miles and my legs were so sore. A friend suggested a massage. I was reticent at first. Not sure I wanted anyone to touch me and wondering if it was like an X rated movie...massage parlor, etc. But my friend convinced me that true massage was on the up and up and I gave in. I found some special massage therapists in Austin in those days...the 1980s. One did what is known as Shiatsu. It is a deep pressure massage. It is not that enjoyable when the therapist is doing it. In fact, it can hurt. But after it is over you feel so good (maybe because the pain stopped). You are very relaxed and feel good even the next day.
Another therapist had a very unusual routine. He would wash my feet first in a bowl of warm water and massage them before the rest of the Swedish type massage. Swedish is the more usual massage you get at a resort hotel, long slow strokes that feel good and relax you but are not as therapeutic I have come to understand as more intense sports or shiatsu. The massage with this therapist always began with me sitting in a chair. He would bring out a metal basin covered with porcelain or ceramic and place my feet in it one at a time very reverently. He would then pour warm water from a pitcher into the basin, over my feet and then massage them. It was like a new age "foot washing Baptist" experience. For anyone who does not know what "Foot Washing Baptist" means, try google. Seriously, as funny as it sounds it was a wonderfully relaxing experience, even spiritual. The rest of the massage would leave me ready for a long nap.
Over the years I have come to appreciate pampering in all its glory. I have had a Thai massage on the beach in Pu Quet Thiland, Reiki energy massage, hot stone therapy care of a give from son Eric and daugher in law, Karla, and many more. I recently went to a conference and at one of the sessions for professionals like me, deans of students who deal with people with problems a lot. The speaker stressed the need to take care of ourselves if we wanted to be effective with others. She said too much time is spent of time management training when we need to focus on energy management i.e., the things we can do to restore, physical, mental, emotional and spiritual energy. I like that and have decided to incorporate some of that into my life.
So today, Sunday, I decided I needed to be pampered. I selfishly wanted someone to take care of me, with no reciprocity. I did something that I have thought about. I did a spa day. I went to this day spa and had, yes I did, a manicure, pedicure, massage and facial. There I said it. Why is it that men are so afraid to admit they like pampering too? How can you not enjoy someone massaging you, pampering you. At the end of the treatment I felt great. Went home, took a long nap and got up to go to the gym (the LA Fitness near my home in Richardson since I was by myself) and ran 2.75 miles on the treadmill before doing a lot of stretching and some sauna. Need to work another spa day into the routine...maybe as a reward. Life is good.
I like massage. I have to admit it. I started getting massages when I first started training for my first marathon when I was 32 years old. I was running so many miles and my legs were so sore. A friend suggested a massage. I was reticent at first. Not sure I wanted anyone to touch me and wondering if it was like an X rated movie...massage parlor, etc. But my friend convinced me that true massage was on the up and up and I gave in. I found some special massage therapists in Austin in those days...the 1980s. One did what is known as Shiatsu. It is a deep pressure massage. It is not that enjoyable when the therapist is doing it. In fact, it can hurt. But after it is over you feel so good (maybe because the pain stopped). You are very relaxed and feel good even the next day.
Another therapist had a very unusual routine. He would wash my feet first in a bowl of warm water and massage them before the rest of the Swedish type massage. Swedish is the more usual massage you get at a resort hotel, long slow strokes that feel good and relax you but are not as therapeutic I have come to understand as more intense sports or shiatsu. The massage with this therapist always began with me sitting in a chair. He would bring out a metal basin covered with porcelain or ceramic and place my feet in it one at a time very reverently. He would then pour warm water from a pitcher into the basin, over my feet and then massage them. It was like a new age "foot washing Baptist" experience. For anyone who does not know what "Foot Washing Baptist" means, try google. Seriously, as funny as it sounds it was a wonderfully relaxing experience, even spiritual. The rest of the massage would leave me ready for a long nap.
Over the years I have come to appreciate pampering in all its glory. I have had a Thai massage on the beach in Pu Quet Thiland, Reiki energy massage, hot stone therapy care of a give from son Eric and daugher in law, Karla, and many more. I recently went to a conference and at one of the sessions for professionals like me, deans of students who deal with people with problems a lot. The speaker stressed the need to take care of ourselves if we wanted to be effective with others. She said too much time is spent of time management training when we need to focus on energy management i.e., the things we can do to restore, physical, mental, emotional and spiritual energy. I like that and have decided to incorporate some of that into my life.
So today, Sunday, I decided I needed to be pampered. I selfishly wanted someone to take care of me, with no reciprocity. I did something that I have thought about. I did a spa day. I went to this day spa and had, yes I did, a manicure, pedicure, massage and facial. There I said it. Why is it that men are so afraid to admit they like pampering too? How can you not enjoy someone massaging you, pampering you. At the end of the treatment I felt great. Went home, took a long nap and got up to go to the gym (the LA Fitness near my home in Richardson since I was by myself) and ran 2.75 miles on the treadmill before doing a lot of stretching and some sauna. Need to work another spa day into the routine...maybe as a reward. Life is good.
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