Run DMZ

Signs are popping up around me that everything but my waistline is stretched too thin at the moment. Run DMZ is going on hiatus until Oct. 29, when daylight savings ends and we get to push back the clock an hour. By then, my latest work project should be ready for Barnes & Noble displays nationwide and my latest freelance piece will be in the bag. My grandmother will be in a better place, whether it’s back home or in heaven. My baby sister will have found a new car to replace the one she totaled yesterday. My own baby will be 18 years old. My college kid will continue to make me proud, and my husband will have started a new career. By then, I also should have good reason to write about running again.

It wasn't as big of news as Katie anchoring the evening news or Rosie rejoining daytime TV, but I recently lost my title as CFO of our household. The chairman decided he didn't like how I handled the finances and, without notifying the other shareholders in the family, began a hostile takeover. Driving home today from a weekend trip to Pasadena to attend an outdoor concert with my sister, I began plotting how I'd shuffle funds to hide certain expenses like my new oldies CD featuring "Bertha Butt Boogie." It's a lot harder when I can't control Quicken and can't make sense of his bookkeeping style. I paid bills every Saturday; he waits until the day before they are all due. I rounded up amounts so the ledger looked "pretty"; he pays to the exact penny. I pulled us into the red by honoring any on-the-spot procurement requests for Stila makeup, Discount Dance shoes, running shoes, cute shorts, jog bras galore, Coolmax socks, Balance bars, ebay

Hard to believe, but I was too busy at 5:30 a.m. yesterday to go for my 30-minute walk before work. Then, after a wonderful lunch at Casa de Pico and card store shopping with my friend Jeanette, I got stuck in a traffic jam a mile from my house and lost the will to work out at the gym that afternoon. Still, that chicken and black bean tostada wore heavy on me, and the meal's huge iced tea left me twitching to do something . So around 6:30 I threw on my gym clothes and headed out for an early evening walk. It was approaching closing time when I began up the hill into Lake Miramar, part of my regular morning running route when I'm not nursing fractured bones. In all the years I've lived here, I've never come to the lake at this time of day. The first thing that struck me was that I was not alone. Kids on skateboards were heading to the lake, as were two seperate dog owners out for a stroll. Then I noticed all the cars in the first lot. Far more than I imagined for a p

One thing that I escaped during my months of sequestration is coming face to face with a certain segment of our society. I live among the city’s most privileged and its most impoverished, all in one block. Between the million-dollar homes down the street are canyons occupied by illegal residents, two of whom startled me during my morning walk today. They were coming out of a wooded area as I was rounding a corner, and I jumped. Then I moved on at a quick clip with my arms swinging emphatically, something that they likely mistook for anger or fear instead of a fitness thing. They had no idea that I’ve been thinking a lot about their plight since reading in Sunday’s Los Angeles Times magazine about the current conditions of many migrant workers in the San Joaquin Valley, birthplace of many fruits and vegetables likely on display at your supermarket. I highly recommend everyone read the excellent piece of journalism by Mark Arax and photographer Matt Black. It may not change your view of

I spent the holiday weekend quickly re-acclimating to a much more active life. I ran my own errands, dished with one friend at a cool cafe in Normal Heights, drove another friend -- long the chauffer on our adventures -- to the movies in Poway and in general enjoyed having more say in my day. I even hit a Coronado beach Sunday, making it on my own through the thick sand and standing with my daughter for as long as I wanted while the teeth-rattling Pacific lapped at my unsightly two-toned legs. I walked 15 minutes early Saturday morning, then 20 on Sunday and 30 today, with an increasingly fainter feeling in my injured hip. I spent a couple of hours today doing work at a Starbuck's and now, jacked up on caffeine, I could sure use another walk. My goal is to keep at it by the time the MRI’s findings are revealed later this month. That’s when I hope to quicken my steps and breaths into a full-out run. In the meantime, I’m content to just be able to mail bills down the block or grab A