Running Mad - Does Stress Help Runners?

Consider me a modern-day "Martin," travel-and-adventure companion of Candide in Voltaire's short story of the same name.

I'm the anchor-like balance to my wife's "best of all possible worlds" point of view. We balance each other quite well, and have done so over the past eight-and-a-half years. My bad days normally coincide with her positive moods; the moments Suzanne feels like ripping out the hearts of her adversaries like an Aztec priestess are balanced by my 'karma happens; they'll receive their just reward soon enough' attitude.

Fortunately for the world around us, both Bowens are rarely in a cranky mood. But when those days come, it's usually the perfect timing for a workout.

I had banged my head against the desk all day yesterday, and suffered the slings and arrows of outrageous commuter misadventure. What is it about idiots who want to whip around you, just so they can sit in front of you at the intersection? 'Oh, goody, you get a cookie for making it to the stoplight first. Now you can sit there as long as I do, jerk.'

I came through the front door to see my loving bride seated at her computer, running gear on. No greeting, save for "I really need to hit the treadmill today."

Funny, but that's exactly how I felt.

Minutes later, we walked the half-mile to our neighborhood gym, which gave Suzanne the opportunity to vent about the major topics of the day. When she mentioned she had eight telephone calls interrupt her labors I had to admit a small twinge of guilt; I was responsible for 25-percent of them. Well, the calls seemed pretty darn important at the time.

Once we got to the gym, we attacked the treadmills; taking no prisoners, giving no quarter, leaving nothing behind but sweat.

Returning home didn't mean the end. We immediately leashed my sister-in-law's terrier and our greyhound and took them for a walk. We took no doo-doo from them, either, pun intended. It wasn't until some time close(r) to 7:30 when we finally relaxed enough to sit down for dinner.

Suzanne has told me she enjoys working out or racing while she's angry. One of her best half-marathon performances - or one of her best performances in a half-marathon, I cannot rightly recall - came after a younger woman made a wise crack about her age at the bottom of a hill. She put on a surge which amazed the course worker at the to the top of the hill, coasting through the remainder of the course under a full head of steam. Suzanne, nor the course workers, recalled seeing the younger woman nearby for the remainder of the race.

On the other hand, I consider anger or other emotions a fuel good only for very short-term endeavors. All those chemicals which contribute to the classic fight-or-flight response may light off the afterburners, but they also cause a few less-than-positive consequences:

First, the breathing becomes more shallow. I'm not so certain about you, but I have enough difficulties keeping enough air in my lungs during the course of a 5,000-meter road race. So, stressing out doesn't work so well for me cardiovascular-wise.

Second, the muscles are tensed up in order to either kick, swing, pummel, bludgeon or withstand a kicking, swinging, pummelling or bludgeoning. Tense muscles are inefficient muscles...we do speed training to learn how to run at speed in as relaxed a manner as possible, not in as tight a manner as possible.

Third, the brain tends to think less critically. It's one of the unintended consequences of all that nice adrenaline, epinephrine, cortisol, cholesterol, glucose...and the many other chemicals pumped into our bloodstream by our endocrine system. Anyone who has ever been in a life-or-death situation will say they probably were thinking of little else but how to get to the nearest egress. And thinking, serious status checking, is crucial for road racing...especially when the race distance moves from 5k to 10k, from 10k to 21k, and so on. Lapses in thought can cost seconds and minutes.

So, remember that running ought to be the release from the stress of the day, not an extension of the stressors.

The Red Whiten Blues

"It's kind of fun to do the impossible." - Walt Disney

Just in case my (semi-) chubby form or the photo details are not clear enough, the quote on the highway overpass (in English and Arabic) is from Disney. I'm not terribly surprised the development company Emaar (builder of some of the big malls and towers in Dubai, including the Emirates Mall, where Ski Dubai is located) didn't take Walt's dictum to heart.

If you ever want to have an OZ moment (your line: '...you know, Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas any more...'), just take a week for a vacation to the United Arab Emirates, namely Dubai. It's the kind of place where architectural historians, or at least mechanical engineers, would scratch their heads in wonder. I modified the Field of Dreams tag line if you build it, they will come to describe the building madness that is going on there: If You Design It, They Will Build.

Take a city like Chicago, or New York. Add financial incentives. Blend with varying degrees of Islamic and Western Asian culture. Drop it into the Arab world. There's Dubai.

Before you begin to think that I have an infatuation with the city, let me balance it out. It's not a town where runners or athletes would feel particularly safe, at least not in the newest sections. The traffic pattern is hideous, the traffic insane, and the drivers very aggressive. Perhaps out toward the older districts of the city and the surrounding environs it might be more tri-geek, runner or cyclist friendly, but even then I have my doubts.

Eating in Dubai for the Western European/North American is a no-brainer. Well, it's actually quite challenging, because you can have either every major restaurant chain known to man or local cuisine, cheek-by-jowl. Once you get out into the suburbs, cities like Sharjah for example, the food is more adventurous and the people a little more fun. Where else can you walk into a coffee shop and be offered some of the best baklava outside of Beirut and wash it down with an absolutely awesome Turkish-style coffee, all for much less than what you would pay at the local Starbucks? If there's a place, please let me know so I can go there.

I didn't get enough exercise in during the week, but this trip was not so much about exercise as much as it was about adventure, about extending a few horizons and (in some cases) hanging on for dear life until the bumpy sections were through...in order to laugh about your own fear.

I hope I figure out before the next visit a good place to go running. Somehow, treadmill workouts in a place like Dubai, or Sharjah, just seem to be a really bad idea.

The Invisible Man

Suzanne's on the road again this week, so all is not as well in the Bowen household as I would like. Rubin is even more the spoiled brat when she's out. In spite of a walk yesterday morning after my swim workout, and another walk in the afternoon after my 40-minute, 5-mile (well, 5.1 miles in 38 minutes and small change, if you really need to know...) run in 90-degree conditions...he still wanted to go outside, over and over again. Well, it's not the going outside (into the back yard) he wanted, but more biscuits. After a while it became a battle of wills: I'd go to the back door to let him back in the house, and he'd stand there not wanting to come in. All right, stooopid dog. Stand out there and roast. See if I care. Make me explain to your mother when she returns why your carcass is in the veterinary clinic.

I don't sleep well when she's out...and not for the obvious reasons. Once you've developed a pattern and established a certain level of comfort, any sort of change kind of throws your system for a loop. So I was probably a little disoriented at 9:30-something when Jason, the husband of my "zeeba neighba" friend Laura, called. He finally got back into country after a year doing "gee-what" (the Navy is notorious for turning acronyms into words!) things. So, his plan was to take his week off and come get the stuff Laura put in the office, pack it in a U-Haul and get it all set up (eventually!) in Clarksville, Tennessee. Obviously the draw of money for a pharmacist was the primary reason to go there, because Laura says there's not much else to offer.
This sort of stuff doesn't happen too much here. It's more like that in the Tampa/St. Petersburg area, which at one time had some of the most dangerous street crossings in the U.S. I recall fondly my efforts to cross the intersection of Kennedy Boulevard and Ashley (or Tampa) Street, usually in running attire, and often on days when traffic was at its worst. Since it was only half a mile from the U.Tampa campus to the offices where my girlfriend (at that time of life) worked, it was always a good chance to get together for lunch two or three times a week. I never saw anyone get hit at one of those two intersections, but there were a couple of close calls, let me tell you.

Why does summer have to happen to us? Not certain. But I'm fortunate my thermometer and air conditioning unit at home is operational. The on-line resume system for the government certainly isn't. I have resumes submitted all over the government's human resources system, yet when it came time to consider for a program analyst position in the office next door to mine my name was not in the list of qualified applicants.

Huh?
Exactly the same thing my friend Sam said to the HR person here, which she said supposedly to the HR person in Norfolk. So, now the government HR folks and my granddaughter have something in common; neither one know of me.
Aarrgghh.

Standing on the scales last Saturday, I found I weighed about seven pounds heavier than I did during/after the triathlon. Again, I guess it means no more Mickey D runs on the way into the office after swim practice. Back to bagels and hummus from Mike's (Cafe' Espresso), without the brownie chaser.
Of course, the Navy, in its infinite wisdom, continues to make dietary decision-making difficult. I walked in to see sailors selling Krispy Kreme doughnuts, five dollars for a box of 12. Sure, no problem, let's load folks down with fat and sugar, then watch them crash and burn later in the afternoon...or have heart attacks after twenty years of the stuff.
And I do like the stuff. I haven't had one in a very, very long time. The only problem is that Krispy Kreme doughnuts are like potato chips: It is almost a certainty that you will not be limited to devouring a single doughnut.