Made the first attempt at my last-ditch effort to safely – with NuHerbie the Insulin Pump in tow – add mileage (back) to my run: drive up to the running trail (half mile away or so), park, and slowly add loops and mileage (as opposed to adding mileage by running the roads around my slice of wanton heartlandia as I have the past decade). At least this way I don't have to take "blood sugar ok enough to get home" into account: even if I do go low, I keep glucose shots in the truck - at it's furthest away from me, it's a few tenths of a mile away – and sit it out in the truck until it pops back up. Plus, it's nice to not have to think about school traffic or to interact with anyone. If I can add one more loop, I can get back to my previous daily mileage (six miles), though I'd be ecstatic with a consistent daily five.
TIL: barefoot / minimalist running shoes are fantastic on ice. Increased ability to grip naturally?
Not sure why it took me this long into the insulin pump / NuHerbie era to switch my running time from morning to afternoon, but I'm glad I did. Traffic as light – if not lighter (no school-busses, yay) – and no one around. Still have to work out the kinks with the insulin dosage / ratios but that's nothing different from what I've been doing for the last year in the morning anyhow. Will definitely continue – and eventually let Derbz come along.
Giving another workchunk a go, first afternoon I've had free in longer than I can remember. First cup of matcha in same. Missed both.
(Also missed using this space for more frequent life updates and random thoughtlets about anything and everything. Good to be emerging into something resembling a rhythm.)
In better humor this afternoon, much to the relief of the dogchildren and the unsuspecting populace. This semblance of making a day of my own, no matter how illusory, is wonderful.
yes it blends
Started drinking a protein smoothie for lunch instead of the same lunch I've eaten since my pancreas and immune system decided to engage in scorched-earth fisticuffs seven and a half years ago because I wanted to make an effort to not be so completely zombified in the afternoon.
So far, so very good (and delicious): basically keeping everything I ate before minus the half turkey sandwich on rye: spinach, greek yogurt (must stay since Kirby loves his midday yogurt container) have been joined by half an avocado, a cup of (frozen) fruit, a cup of almond milk and a scoop of vanilla ice cream whey protein powder. The results, so far, are not only quite delicious, but managed to balance out my blood sugar for the first afternoon in years (with the same amount of insulin as my former lunch) AND leave me nowhere near as zombified – tired, yes, but the hanger and general lack of societal tact isn't as pronounced and I can actually, you know, do stuff in the afternoon beyond wish I weren’t so tired and curse my existence and that of everyone within a 20 mile radius of me.
Nothing quite like rectifying an afternoon protein deficiency (mornings are fine as I baseline eggs, but I guess I was using up my stores on the morning's exertions, be it running, boxing, or strength training) to put one on, if not the right path, then at least a more tolerable and wakeful one.
Mem: need better blender as these first efforts have been more work than they feel like they should be. Little Ninja food processor is great, but it reminds me a bit too much of when I had to make a layer cake one layer at a time because I only had one cake pan.
(as close to) barefoot running (as I can get), day three
Third run with the TSLA Baretreks – note here that I use gel inserts, hence the (as close to) of the title: with T1D, I have to be careful with my feet and avoid any and all injury to them as best I can; the Baretreks + Scholls or whatever brand CVS has in stock is my happy middle ground – and I'm sold: my ankles dont hurt as much; it's a totally different grip on the varied surfaces – even the tiny jabby stones of the hillside running trail don't bother me – I traverse each time I venture out (asphalt, gravel, mud, grass, ditch, unplowed cornfield); and, while it may be my imagination, it feels like I can move faster. I'll be curious to see how long each pair lasts – though it's not like it's the end of the world to replace them ($40+/- a pair) with greater frequency than regular running shoes. Worth the trade-off, so far.
listening to rick rubin read to me
In a manner not dissimilar similar to how it took me eight years of mowing two two-acre lawns every week (I'm since retired) to start listening to podcasts, I've only just – after 11 years of running nearly every day – started listening to audiobooks (also a recent first) during the day's run. While my latent drummer muscle memory makes music-while-running a likely non-starter (as I will either run in tempo with the music or attempt to fit the music in my head to my tempo ) audiobooks present none of those difficulties (though they have their own, chief among them being a difficulty in processing everything that's coming at me, like listening to someone who won't shut up).
General practice: if I like what I'm hearing – as I do now, with Rick Rubin reading his own THE CREATIVE ACT (reminds me of David Lynch's CATCHING THE BIG FISH) – I buy the physical book both for easy revisitation and as a repository of noted memory. Along with Rubin, the other one that got that treatment was James Clear's ATOMIC HABITS (excellent, by the way. Might re-listen at some point). What both have in common was that the author themselves read the book; in Rubin's case particularly, it felt like / feels like I'm working with him; I get why artists want to. Can't imagine standard audiobook guy voice having the same impact – though standard audiobook guy reading certain lines is amusing in and of itself.
Sticking with non-fiction of the manual/idea variety for now (though I might add poetry), things that I have a harder time making myself make the time to sit and read each day. Philosophy, too.
running to stay vertical (out of spite)
A year and a half after blowing out my back (stupidly) carrying a standup freezer by myself down uneven-at-best basement stairs (I was pissed about something stupid and refused all help which was, say it with me, fucking stupid), I've managed to get myself back into a daily running routine. Aiming, by late Spring, to get back to my six-miles-a-day (I'm currently doing half that).
Why six miles, you ask? Simple, really: spite.
In Haruki Murakami's WHAT I TALK ABOUT WHEN I TALK ABOUT RUNNING, he said that he ran six miles a day six days a week. Loved that book, but HATED his 1Q84 follow-up, COLORLESS SOMETHING SOMETHING AND THE SOMETHING SOMETHING (I only remember the first word of the title), so I decided I would do six miles a day, seven days a week, as a middle finger for writing that shitty book (IMO, 1Q84 is the last great – or even readable – thing Murakami wrote).
So long as I don't blow my back out again, I should be on track to get back to the six and continue my reign of spite-running two years after the herniation. Hopefully this will shut my doctors and father-in-law up about my weight gain over the last couple of years.
punching sand to improve my capacity to outrun myself
The heavy bag is assembled in my former office after finding that the bag / stand was not too wide but rather too tall (after assembly, of course) for the current office in the paintshop; much hilarity ensued. Learning the basics of boxing and incorporating it as my fourth daily solo exercise alongside yoga, HIIT, 5k run, and, I suppose, drumming into my daily exertions has long been a goal. Similar to the previous three / four, I've no interest in competition against anyone but myself, my exertions being simply another means of outrunning the shithead in my brain.
Intriguing to recognize the similarities between a boxing practice and my efforts to re-learn – and improve – upon my previous drummer-iteration: both are hand-led disciplines of metronomic timing, coordinated limb independence, relaxation, rhythm, and movement – foundational jab/cross/hook/whatever are to the bag what foundational paradiddles/flams/flam accents/rolls/open/closed/etc/etc are to the drums. Also explains why I'm getting the hang of boxing quicker than I expected: still, have to learn to slow it down and break each movement down as I would each rudiment on the drumset; either way, a fascinating experiment in fortuitous timing, right/left/right right/left – related: 10-foot-long headphone cable arriving today so I can play the TD-1K without getting my sticks and myself tangled up.
Newsletter writing flurry: a piece that I had intended to be a humorous and somewhat snarky look back has metamorphosed into something else, something different. Such is the way: every time I tell myself I'm going to write something quick and short and entertaining I transform/terraform it into some soul-searching meandering. Either way, it arrives tomorrow morning in subscribers' inboxes.
Treetrimmer invasion update: a growing number of trees in The AC look either like pieces of broccoli or middle finger amputees waving proud in the air but, on the bright side, my grandfather's lawnmower is no longer stuck in the mud – though treetrimmers had fuckall to do with that: self + Amish passerby riding lawnmower lift FTW.
Madisynn and Wong need their own MST3K-inspired MCU show. Wongersynn.
i am disappointing the dogchildren because i can’t make it stop raining
68ºF, rain: a calmer Derbz than yesterday, having either reached an acceptance of inclement weather (he really, really hates rain) or increased hopes of at least one game of DerbzBall today – until it rains again (and again) because I really don't want him to slip and tear something; another fortnight in the cone of shame isn't in the cards. I'm sorry, dogchildren, but I'm not Halle Berry in a bad wig. Stop looking at me like that.
More TD-1K fiddling yesterday: the included songs keep the tradition of charmingly lame playalong accompaniments that are, nonetheless, useful for improv: fond memories of having to come up with things on the spot, working to get that independence of feet and hands and right and left back – and better than before, given that I'm not (as much of) the undisciplined jackoff of my previous musical iteration.
The rower has founds its new home: my back no longer screams every time it enters that room; in the rower’s place, the punching bag will rise later today – undoubtedly with the aid of a bored Derbz and much impatience.