Ill-Advised Half Marathon

The following is a warning of What Not to Do:

Back in... oh, let's call it April, my friend asked if I would do a half-marathon with her. Beaming with pride, excitement, and a little alcohol, I said yes.

And then proceeded to not even half-ass my way through the training.  I was signed up, and that's about it. Long runs? What are those. Speed? Hills? I know not of these concepts.

Except I do. It's my fourth half, and I really know better. For weeks, I agonized how to tell my friend that I wouldn't be able to run it with her, that I would be unable to keep that promise.

And then two days before, I said fuck that, I'm going to run/walk/limp my ass through this half marathon and as long as I don't actually die, it will be okay.

My friend and I met at the startline of the race one cool August morning. We chatted on how unprepared we felt, how we were throwing expected times out the window. And sooner or later, we were off.

She actually left me within about two or three kilometers. I didn't mind so much. The cracked and patched road of Jasper Ave. was only exciting in trying to not trip and twist a joint. At first, my body wanted to die. And then it was okay with this. By the fifth kilometer, I thought, "Shit, this is going to suck," and by the eight, my knees joined in. But right around there,  people started coming out with the signs:

'Ryan Gosling's at the finish line.'

'I wish my boyfriend was as committed as you.'

A picture of Grumpy Cat, advising us the finish was no where close. I loved that last one best. 

One of the nice things of this run was that it varied more than the first year I ran this race, two years ago. We also ran through some beautiful (rich) neighbourhoods in Edmonton. One man wore a shirt on The Blerch. I saw Superwoman run past me. Around 9 km, I saw a woman from my youth, who I've yet to find in the results - she was faster than me.

The turn-around point was downhill, so you had to go right back uphill after. I didn't mind, though - the one problem with 'flat and fast' is there's no variety in the terrain. At that point, the marathoners were hitting us, already having run 30km first. I had little pride to keep, except that one foot kept going in front of the other, and dammit, I was going to finish this race running.

I also got in my traditional high-fiving of a cop along the way, though this time, I high-fived FOUR cops to keep myself amused. And hopefully them too.

I did get to talking with one woman, who talked about her IT bands. We commiserated over aching body parts, until I pulled ahead of her for a while. The usual game of leap-frog ensued with her, myself, and a woman twice my age looking awesome in black spandex. I kid you not.

Closing in on the finish line, I crossed paths with my friend who had finished the race in just over two hours. I still feel slightly out of my league but today, I am okay with this. Finally, the end loomed, across the cracked and pitted surface of Jasper Avenue (better than last time's start at Northlands Park, but there are nicer surfaces). Miss IT Band caught up with me and said let's finish this running, and how can I say no to that? We crossed it at a run, possibly the fastest pace I've managed all race, but we were running and if we weren't smiling, we were soon after when the medal was draped over my neck.

And of course, my REAL prize for finishing the race? A beer and short-rib Eggs Benedict at Brewsters. Now THAT is worth running a race for.

Why Even an Awful Run is a Good Run

Yesterday marked the first day of my two week vacation from work. A little 'holiday from reason', as Terry Pratchett might say through his characters. It's strange for me to take more than a week at a time, because I suffer from the sincere belief that my office will fall apart without me. Or they'll find all the crap I've been putting off.

I have Plans for all this free time I've got: yoga; running; biking (and purchasing said bicycle on Sunday); chilling out; doing nothing in particular. But this morning, I had a plan to run. A plan that seemed like a really damn good idea... at first...

Waking up a mere hour before we were scheduled to go out, I wavered between 'go' and 'no go' but eventually told myself 'this is it. All systems go'. Lurching to my feet, I dressed and set the coffee so it would be ready when I got home. I started my watch just outside to catch the satellite connection and heard a pair of cats hissing and snarling. Beep beep; it was time to start running.

Except I couldn't run for more than two minutes without my lower body saying, "This sucks beyond all reasoning." It was like my lower body was trying to run in water, while my brain was confused: we had just done this a week ago, right? We loved that run. Why didn't we love this one as much? My knees weren't complaining or anything; my legs just did not want to have anything to do with this.

Through 3.5 grueling kilometers of fighting my lower half, I walked and ran, slowly realizing that my body was not interested in doing more than that. Even if I distracted myself with planning or thinking random thoughts, my body would just slow to a walk if it felt like it.

I had hoped it would be cool in the morning, but it was already at least 24C. First thing in the morning, before food or even coffee, 24C is ridiculous. I also hadn't remembered the numerous forest fires that were leaching their hazardous breathing conditions into my fair city. To be fair, 9:30 or so was probably the best time to go because it just got steadily worse throughout the day.

(borrowed from Google and CBC.ca)

In the midst of frustration, I realized a few things:

• I lack mental discipline.
• I am out of shape.
• Running in Air Quality Warnings weather is not a good start for any run.
• Sometimes, I just hate running.

When I got home, I moaned about my awful run to Ragnar, who tsked and then I went to take a shower.

It was then that I saw myself in the mirror and realized why even the worst of runs is a good run: I saw myself and thought, "Damn, girl. You're looking good."

There's no possible way that I could have lost ten pounds in a 30 minute run, or that my physiology had changed to look more athletic. Regardless, I saw myself and I appreciated each curve, like the chemistry of my brain had decided to interpret curves differently. The slight dimple of abs around my stomach wasn't a depressing admission of how much fat I wanted to lose, it was a figure with hints of steel underneath. My butt wasn't depressingly large, it was perfect and as Beyoncé says, 'bootylicious' (or whoever says that).

The point is, the runner's high came in late, and gave me a wonderful self-esteem boost as I looked in that mirror. I was fine.

Sinister 7 2014

What's this, you ask. A post? Surely not. Surely a woman who hasn't posted in a year won't come back just to regale you on her triumphs at her second year at Sinister 7?

Ahah, you don't know the depths of my own ego, or the exciting weekend I had.

It is true I went back to Crowsnest Pass for a second stab at the Sinister 7 race course - but the journey there wasn't a cakewalk. And neither was the race.

The weather was beautiful when Ragnar and I set out south for Sinister 7, and that weather continued all weekend. Unfortunately, the traffic was a little worse for wear: 8.7km short of our turn onto another highway, all traffic was stopped for an accident (we later found out an SUV with four kids had rolled. Take all the time you need, first responders. Seriously). Ragnar deftly carried us into a retreat to another highway that added about 15 minutes to our time: no worry, we'll just be a smidge later than expected.

Alberta Prairie

We stopped briefly in High River for gas. Wherein there's a brief side-story. Last year, Alberta suffered devastating floods, and one of the towns hardest hit was High River. The name is not ironic. In fact, it's still a town under recovery, and will likely never be the same. Unlike last year, though, I couldn't see the water that inundated so many homes.

Well, I say we stopped in High River. We were looking for gas, but found Dairy Queen instead. DQ acquired, we headed back onto that second highway... and right into a second accident. The moral of this story is, don't travel with Ragnar and I, you'll never get there.

Except we did, just in time for the PSA about cougars and bears. That was reassuring. Not.

It seems almost like the drive down was the most eventful part of the trip, but there are more exciting details of the day!

Like, remembering to take your ID out of your boyfriend's car because in small towns, they will check for your age and if you don't have it, you can't buy your own beer.

Crowsnest Mountain

Like, discovering that your plans for breakfast are thrown off because the town has suffered a power-outage, so you find a little corner place that's run by a caterer so you can have a hot breakfast.

Like, seeing your boss and meeting his girlfriend who's doing the whole race by herself - that's awesome.

Like, finding out that waiting all day for your race leg to start is horrifyingly dull. you don't dare drink overly, you have to schedule your sleep around getting up at an obscene hour to get ready, get to the transition site, get mentally ready, wind down from too much getting ready, and the several trips to the porta-potties.

Yes. Over this too.

And so there I was, at 3:30 a.m. ready to head out. Well, nearly ready. My nerves were starting to take over and I just wanted to get it done and over with. I was a bit tired, but more keyed up, thinking about the fact that I was running in wilderness before dawn - I wasn't so worried of bears, but  cougars were another matter.

My teammate came in at about 4:30, finally, and she strapped the timing chip to us, so I was off. the first 100 meters were very pleasant, in fact. A little stumbly with loose rocks, but nothing worrying. And then we went up. And up. And further up. Now this up, in the grand scheme of things, was not that big an 'up', but it sure felt like it. I had planned already to walk this mountainous 'up' to save energy for the home push, but while I was in the middle of it, the option of running was a non-starter. I would have had nothing around half-way (yes, I know it's a training problem, shut up).

I think the worst part of the hill was looking back and not seeing a bobbing headlamp down the hill behind me. It would have been easy to spot it in the dark of early morning, but there was nothing. Instead, I concentrated on finding the little glowsticks that lit my way, accompanied by fluorescent-painted rocks and long ties. At one point, I worried I'd taken the wrong trail, but those glowsticks at night were powerful beacons.

After the big hill push came the up on shale. Not just the bald mountain-face shale, but loose, foot-stumbling, ankle-breaking shale. And I was in plain running shoes without much grip for that environment. Running was impossible at that point, and I was only three kilometers in. By now, I was already thinking my calves would start cramping, but nothing ever came. As frustrating as the up-and-down was, it was the flat straight-aways that was the most annoying. Running was risky and I didn't want to end up the DNF (Did Not Finish) for a team that had worked so hard.

By this time, the sun was slowly starting brighten the sky. Bit by bit, my headlamp became less necessary, though I kept it in case. The wind was warming up, and I got a couple of lovely shots of the mountains in pre-dawn, as well as of the shale I was clambering over.

After one final steep descent that had me surfing down on one foot, I came to an open track, and I walked that too. At the end of that, the half-way point. I was already running late according to the time I wanted, so I grabbed a red twizzler and continued (really, I never honestly considered going back - not even 500 meters in when I wanted to die on that first hill). That's when the run became fun.

First came the mid-calf stream that was totally unavoidable. Again, risk walking across the more shallow stones that water burbled over, or go right through the middle and enjoy each icy, slogging step after? You bet I chose the latter. And then, the trails became more solid and even, so without even thinking about it, I was running. The soreness in my thighs and glutes from the first half was hardly a bother, my knees didn't hurt, and I just wanted to run.

That's when I came across a big cement... cylinder. Just right on the mountain side, unapologetic, and inexplicable (so far). I am clueless of what it is, or contains, so I took a photo of it and continued.

It was a bit disappointing to break out of the trees and onto a road. I waved to the houses I passed, in case anyone was watching, but was more desperately hoping for more trail to run on - my legs were displeased by this change of surface, 8km into a race. And the course delivered, putting me back on softer ground until it came to the final kilometer of running. By now, my mantra was, "Under two hours. I just want under two hours."

That last kilometer was the worst in that, I had a kilometer to run in 10 minutes. That's the easy part. The hard part is doing it on pavement. I wasn't winded at all, but my knees were starting to protest. Typical. Drag them over a mountain and they're happy. Put 'em on pavement and they whine like a puppy.

But there was the finish line, with its cheering sections, and Ragnar alongside. I couldn't even look at him or I would have stopped before the finish line.

And then, I was done. In one hour and 58 minutes, I had finished. I wasn't even as wobbly as I had expected to be, though I let my mouth run a little overly. I let Ragnar take me back to the tent and we slept for about three hours before getting up to break camp. I took a dip in the nearby creek to cool off my calves and they haven't hurt since.

Since most of us were present, we sat down for a quick team meeting, to sort out leg assignments for next year. I had told Ragnar that maybe I wouldn't race next year, but my hand was the first up to say I wanted to run leg two, which has even MORE up than Leg 7.

Sorry for the resolution. I didn't take this photo (I'm on the left, with the 7)

So, lessons learned this year?

1. Stay near a creek or somewhere you can put your sore body parts into after the race. Better than Vitamin I.
2. You're in the mountains; shale is gonna happen, and there's a good chance it will be loose. Buy trail shoes!
3. It might be nice to be the last person in on the team, but waiting all day for your turn to run sucks. 
4. Face it. At least one teammate doing a new leg will get lost, and the only thing to do is be thankful they made it in safely.
5. Bring toilet paper with you instead of raiding the porta-potties' supplies. You don't know where it's been.
6. Bring your athletic tape with you - we visited three spots before finding a pharmacy with the tape my friend needed.
7. Volunteering will get you a nearly automatic re-registration for the next year. It's also fun, educational and free food.
8. Get as much sleep as you can, whenever. A leftover point from last year.

 

See you later, Frank Slide

I may develop this a bit further, and photos are forthcoming. But so far, that is my Sinister 7 2014 experience!

Race Report: Sinister 7 (extended)

I am elated to say that I have survived my first ultra-marathon! Ragnar and I went down to Crowsnest Pass and participated in the Sinister 7 ultra marathon this past weekend.

A bit of back story on how we got caught up in this crazy idea: my friends and I were out at Wings Night at the bar (it always starts at a bar). I discovered that one friend was expecting, due two months before this race. I didn't want to make assumptions about her fitness and ability to run, if she felt she was really ready, so I just said, "If you don't think you'll feel ready for this, I can take your spot. Sure, I'll totally be ready to run." (I have since learned not to say this because it's inviting disaster)

My friend was more enthusiastic than I expected, and then Ragnar got involved (though this wasn't his first race), then some friends had to back out...

And then the area where the race was to take place got flooded. Southern Alberta flooded with the vengeance of a 100-year flood plain that was doubted. Google 'Alberta Floods 2013' to see how it went. Ragnar was sent down with the army, interrupting any running regime he was doing, and only just made it back in time. We thought the race might be cancelled, but as Alberta is so fond of doing, we made it happen.

In any case, the race was on, and Ragnar and I were up. My boss has done Sinister 7 in the past, so when I brought up the subject of taking Friday off to drive down, he completed my sentence with, "and you'll need to take Friday off." Easy.

The drive through southern Alberta is gorgeous. It's six hours of beauty from Edmonton to Crowsnest Pass... blah blah blah. It's wonderful, and I suggest you do it. Stop in Nanton: the local aviation museum has a Lancaster aeroplane.

Anyways, this is a race report, not a weekend-get-away report.

The race started at 7 a.m. Funny story here: we camped next to a train track. The train went by at 1:30 a.m., 3:30 a.m., and 5:30 a.m. The first time it went by, our tent was so bright that I thought the sparse two hours of sleep was actually longer, so I got up to get ready... only to find the light was a street lamp over us. The extra four hours of sleep were tortured with train whistles, pre-race jitters and too much light.

Finally I gave in to awareness at the last train whistle, made a quick cup of coffee, downed a scone, and got dressed. And over-dressed. Mountain areas are cold first thing in the morning - but they can warm up quick... or they don't.

I was doing Leg 1 of the Sinister 7, 16.5km of which the first 10km is road-work and the last 6km are up into the hills.

With a farewell kiss to Ragnar (my teammates were around, but unfound at that point), I got ready for the gun to go off. Leg 1 runners begin their run along the road, but closer to the train-tracks. The path was a good introduction for what we would see later in the off-road portion of this leg: weeds brushing by our legs, slightly muddy, and we had to pay attention to the track before us.

Next we moved onto the Frank Slide. We ran along a side-road to the main highway, which took us through the awe-inspiring man-sized boulders and gravel that was once a solid piece of rock. The description in the race package says that the boulders could move again at any time (presumably fatally). Thanks for that note of confidence! But really, if you're ever in the Crowsnest Pass area, run around the Frank Slide roads, look up and see the boulders... It's a 'holy ****' moment.

Then the race proceeded through the town of Hillcrest, and while it was geographically the least favourite part of the run, the best part was the people interspersed, cheering us on. They were like the birthday present you don't expect around every other corner - surprise, sucka, we're cheering for you!

We left Hillcrest at around 7 km and started on a remote hill climb to the one water-point of this leg, at the 9km marker. That's when the fun started. We still had some more hill to do... but then there was a turn right and road gave way to four-wheeler track, and we were in the dense foliage of the Rocky Mountains.

Some of my very first impressions of this stage were: Lead cyclist with a raven on his helmet; huge green liquidy puddle of random wild animal poop; oh wow, mud; more mud; more poop; thank goodness this is too steep to run because my knee wouldn't let me.

From there, it was some steep ups, some steep downs, some steep flats even (I really don't know how they managed that). I learned quickly to look ahead quickly to check if I could run on even ground or if I would have to pass someone, whether there was an obstacle or a wash-out to navigate, and to keep my feet very directly on the goat-track before me - a mis-step could lead to a sprained ankle in some places, or a blown knee.

I really don't remember having so much fun while running. We ran through heavy trees and foliage, along a hillside that could send us tumbling to doom, past mocking cows; we got to see some amazing views of hillsides in the mountains that are possibly comparable with sunrises on beaches, but it's debatable. I wasn't allowed to have music with me, but it didn't matter. Once getting into the trees, the distance seemed to melt. When I got to the 15 km mark, I could see the buses at the end of Leg 1, and hoped they were further away than I expected them to be. Up to this point, I had been running when my right knee would allow me, but then my body seemed so very excited because I just wanted to run. The end came in the form of a downward hill which I tried very hard not to trip down. I managed to get the timing chip passed off to our Leg 2 person, and then went for snacks.

The only transportation allowed to that transition point was the shuttle bus and I was lucky to get on the first one I saw... but as I sat, chatting with a fellow Leg 1 runner, I felt disappointed that it was over. It wasn't just the stiffening up that my body was doing - I wanted to run more in the outback and beyond.

The following hours are much more mundane: I got picked up by the boyfriend, we got him ready for Leg 3, to the transition point, and then waited for Leg 2 to come in. She actually arrived while I was looking the other way or something, so I didn't get to watch Ragnar leave on his leg. I did have his car keys, so I drove Leg 2 back to her campsite and had the most welcome six-minute shower I've ever had. Then I went and picked up some pasta, took a lovely nap in our tent, and boiled up some pasta on a large camping Bunsen burner. I took myself over to the transition area where Ragnar would come in, and waited and enjoyed the sun.

Ragnar actually came in better time than when he did the Death Race, and later said that Leg 3 of Sinister 7 was more challenging. He was drained when he arrived; not even tent food or a shower really made him feel better, so I took him to the Tin Roof Bistro which boasts European fare. He ordered a hearty, heavily sauced dish that made him feel much better and then went for a nap in our tent, and I went and spent time with my friends until our Leg 4 runner came in.

Procuring Leg 4 was easier because Leg 2 drove us up there (I'd had an excellent glass of Tokaji wine with dinner and wasn't exactly good for following mountain driving directions). Leg 4 traded off to Leg 5 at 9 p.m. after some confusion involving an out-house, and we went back to the campsite and found Ragnar there. That was the beginning of a very long night.

Getting to the transition point for Leg 5 to 6 was... adventurous. I'm glad I wasn't driving. To call it the middle of nowhere is to actually declare an approximate location for this transition point, but somehow we made it. It was cold, and I was tired, but there were Christmas lights celebrating this hand-over point, and lots of loud music. We saw a lot of runners come in including some soloists (doing the whole 150 km on their own), but finally Leg 5 came in and 6 went out into the darkness... And we all collected in the truck to go back to the Transition point which we'd visited earlier (4->5) which became the point of transfer for Leg 6 to 7.

Things become a bit blurry at this point, because we were napping in the truck. It was approximately 2 a.m. at this point. I know our Leg 6 came in and transferred to Leg 7, but I don't think I was present for that hand-over. Sleep. Sleep is good. Somewhere in here, I had an inner debate about the meaning of 'team' and why I couldn't just say screw it, I'm going to bed: they're my team, and when I'm doing a leg, they'll be there for me. It's my duty to be there for them.

We made it to the finish line for the race - the plan was our racer of Leg 7 would come in at 4 a.m, we would get our photos taken, and then we would lay down and get sleep. AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Four o'clock came and went, and there was no sign of our Leg 7. Since I know from personal experience that the track is muddier than hoped or expected I figured he was delayed. No problem. But it was cold and I really didn't want to see the sky getting light, so I went inside to the Sportsplex. I may have started a female revolution at that point because all the women joined me. There was a false alarm at around 4:45 a.m. and there may have been sotto voce threats, but I certainly didn't make any...

Finally, our runner came in... sometime around 5 a.m. At this point, things are a bit blurry in time and crankiness, so I remember: Oh thank god, he's here; let's get our damn photo and go to bed; okay, medals are cool now; can I sleep now; okay, another photo with medals; no, I don't care where I stand, I just want sleep; do I have to smile or can I do this photo with a vacant expression; no more photos, let's sleep.

Why was Leg 7 so late? He took a wrong turn and went racing 5 km through cow fields.

Finally, FINALLY, Ragnar and I picked up the car and crawled into our sleeping bags. I'd had the uncommon sense to set them straight earlier in the day and boy was I thankful.

We got to sleep in to the rosy hour of 9 a.m, wherein the tent got stiflingly hot and I couldn't pretend it was sleeptime anymore. After four hours of sleep, Ragnar and I got up, packed the car, and drove back to Edmonton, even managing to navigate Calgary for a stop at the local games store, Sentry Box.

Anyways, I'm fading and it's 11 p.m. so here are some observations:

• I may have been ruined for road-running. Trails are... like crack. The controlled substance of the running world.
• Sinister 7 needs to solicit more frequent service for port-a-potties. 
• Sinister 7 should not promise a shuttle from a campsite in their race instructions and then not have one.
• Sinister 7's transition points should be marked more clearly, and their late night runs need clearer marking. Maybe with flashing neon lights. Like in Las Vegas.
• Fail to prepare, prepare for your knees to hate you. And when you ignore them, expect them to attempt revenge. I'm still putting down the revolution.
• Get sleep whenever you have more than five minutes to yourself. Make time during the day for naptime because you're not going to be sleeping that night anyways.

This is up for editing, with possible photos.

Spring has Sprung Finally

I don't want to be the cause of any change in Mother Nature's mind to give us warm weather, but it looks like Spring is finally here. Along with spring comes a restlessness in my legs to get outside and run, as if the only thing that was really reining in my motivation was cold weather.

However, considering the preparation to run outside in colder weather, that's not too strange an idea. The preparation involves bringing several layers of clothing, sometimes if only so you can decide between the heavier winter shirt and the not-so-heavy winter shirt if the weather is a bit warmer. The pants come next, along with socks that cover your ankles - no one likes frost-bitten ankles. Then there's remembering toque, gloves, a wind-breaker... Just the prep for cold running is exhausting!

So it's no mystery that, with the sun, warm, and chance to throw on a pair of shorts and a light shirt (and the shoes), I'm so happy to be out and running again. I've already been out twice this week, and am looking to cap it off with a third run, and then a long run on Sunday. I even did the whole route today and didn't need to stop for air or a walk once! Go me, getting back in the groove!

Why Women Should Stop Running? Hardly!

A while ago, I wrote about trying to be inclusive at the gym. The idea of that post was that I may weigh less on a scale, but everyone who is at the gym is trying. How hard or how much they are trying might be a combination of experience, knowledge, comfort, and will, but they are there.

Two situations have completely outraged me today, in reflection of that piece.
First, my friend went to a health fair at work, and reported feeling snubbed by the local gym recruiters. My friend is not in peak physical health, but she was asking questions, in search of information. If a gym is not looking to challenge itself and its customers by having a wealth of different clients, it should probably exist only in Hollywood.

Second, I came across this link to someone who, according to his opening paragraph, has little respect for anyone who is not doing Everything Right at the Gym.

The piece is inflammatorily called 'Why Women Should Not Run', and has been apparently released elsewhere. Being a very proud half-marathon runner, the title of the article immediately has my hackles up.
The first error I find is that the title is misleading. The writer is not saying that women should not run, period. Instead, he is arguing that running for hours on end is not conducive to losing weight. To a point, he is not wrong, but his examples and his style of writing leads any sensible woman to ignore the argument he is trying to make.

The writer's primary example is his friend Jessica. I hope that's not her real name. He says he has observed her doing static running on a treadmill for years on end, and despite his repeated attempts to offer suggestions, it has been only until recently that she understood that what she is doing is not working. The writer does not give any examples of suggestions he may have offered, but since his main complaint seems to be against the static exercise of treadmill, bicycle, or elliptical, it is entirely possible that getting out of the gym might be a good start. I have heard of people who can go from a treadmill to running a half-marathon with ease, and heavens bless them, but I find running on the unevenness of a path to be much more energy-consuming than running indoors on an incessant treadmill. The scenery is also more interesting.

It is also interesting to note that the writer boldly declares that his intent is not to pick on women or make fun of them, but he does not follow words with action. His tone is unmistakably condescending when he says, "I’ve tried to rescue her from the clutches of cardio in the past..." Just how he has tried to rescue her is not clarified, like his unheeded suggestions,  but he is also so gracious as to not 'name names' when commenting on the dietary habits... rather, the "amazing displays of gluttony" of women at the Cheesecake Factory. While I am sure he has seen this in practice, his using the word 'gluttony' hearkens to the seven deadly sins, of which Eve, the representing matriarch, is the cause of the Original Sin. I'm actually quite sure the author did not intend to cut so deeply with his words, but he inadvertently uses the term in a shaming, and ultimately shameful, fashion. Another matter I take issue with is that, when he mentions two machines in relation to women, the author only mentions the abductor and adductor machines, as if these two machines are the stereotype of 'women machines' in the gym. Strangely, at my gym, the adductor and abductors are two machines I rarely see women on. Maybe I'm in the wrong part of the gym, by the free-weights.

The last problem with this article is that, like the author's unclarified suggestions and methods of saving someone from cardio, he has many arguments for not running on a treadmill to lose weight, but he has very few alternatives. He does mention appropriate HIIT, but very little else; it gives the impression that fitness and cardio start only when you enter the gym, and once you leave, there is nothing to do. Meanwhile, my alternatives are: running outdoors (c'mon, if I can do it, whining and bitching in my snowy hometown, the only excuse is the north pole. Or a hurricane), running hills, cycling for groceries or to work, swimming (no one care what you look like in the swimsuit, they just want a lane), or even climbing stairs.

So far, I've focused on how wrong this writer's approach has been, with little nod to the technically correct aspects of his article. He is correct in saying that steady cardio on a treadmill is not conducive; that pointing this out is not a new thing; I will also give him credit on the biology information that I haven't bothered to look into. However, this is my article, and that's about the most that I can really find that's accurate about this. Unfortunately, even this information is presented in such a condescending fashion that an unpracticed woman might think that this is the average gym goer's train of thought, so she shouldn't even bother; and a gym-going woman will find it hard to see through the red haze that she won't bother reading the rest of it.

It is my sincere hope that the people who share this way of expressing their views on fitness are few and far between. It is in this manner that people are dissuaded from trying to attend a gym or thinking that their situation can ever change. It is also my sincere hope that, despite the inciting, inflammatory, and desensitized titles and content, that this article does not reach people who would take it to heart - those of us who can read through the belittling nonsense will hopefully find it appropriately rude and lacking in humanity, if not credibility, and sin-bin/File 13 it as they see fit. In essence: this article, however scientifically sounding, is opinion and should be treated cautiously as thus.

Boston 2013

Yesterday, someone detonated two bombs at the finish line of the Boston Marathon about four hours into the race. As the first explosion, only five to ten feet from the finish line, went off, some videos capture the clock reading 4:09. Thirteen seconds later (I counted on the video I watched), a second blast went off a bit earlier on the race path.

No one has come forward to say why. No one has told us why a graduate student, a restaurant manager, and an eight year-old boy all had to die for this. No one has told us what the logic or reasoning was for injuring so many people so gravely.

The FBI has now taken the lead on this case, and I'm pretty sure they'll find out who did it. The finish line was a very interesting choice in that the statement is loud, but it's also the target of hundreds of cameras. There are videos of people streaming over the finish line. People taking photographs of their loved ones as they pass over the timing belt; even if only to get the back of their head and the time they cross. Anyone heading the other way would be easily photographed.

The timing is also interesting. Tax Day. Patriots' Day. A full Zodiac cycle since 2001. Or is there any reason? Perhaps finding causation in time and year is a red herring. The Boston marathon is a bit of an easier explanation. It's a 42.2km (26 miles) representation of American endurance.

There are so many things unknown. CNN has a list of known and verified details that they keep up to date.

This is what I know: I know that I've heard of the Boston Marathon long before I was ever interested in running, so it's a pretty big fucking deal. I know my favourite crime-fighting mystery solver, Spenser, would not have any of this in his hometown of Boston. I know that runners, when presented with a brick wall, will keep going, and that that's a metaphor. I know that the American people, despite their reputed brash and bumbling ways on the international stage, will not only be ready for a fight but will also bring it to your door. I know that no one deserves this to happen to them, and that the bombers will never win the hearts of mothers who can envision missing their daughters, or fathers who can imagine their sons hugging them for the last time after their greatest triumph.

The Boston Marathon is one of the most respected marathons in the world, but the insignia of the Boston Marathon unicorn will now become a symbol of perseverance beyond 26 miles.

O guilty party, you may have caused a day of chaos, pain, and fear. But the resilience of Boston is stronger than that, and you'd better run faster than a 3:09 marathon if you hope to get away with this.