Run DMZ

I read a lot of studies in my line of work, and every once in awhile something's published that makes me stand up and take notice. This week it's a piece in Scientific American that looked at more than 150 other studies to conclude that "jogging" and cycling while angry or stressed actually makes you feel worse, not better. The researchers cite the physiological responses that show elevated, rather than reduced, aggression in people after rigorous or repetitive exercise.  "Some activities people use to manage their anger amp up arousal and increase anger and aggression levels. Jogging, a popular stress-relief activity, actually increased anger in the studies we looked at. The repetitive nature of jogging may induce feelings of monotony and frustration, potentially exacerbating anger rather than alleviating it," researchers wrote. Reading further, the meta-analysis essentially contradicts what we've long been told: Take out your anger through physical ac...

When I used to run with someone, I loved to talk. Not only did I get to dish and vent, but I moved faster as I did. It sounds counterintuitive, but my  VO2 max seemed higher during conversation. On one run with a trio of friends in New York's Central Park, I warned in advance that I am faster when I talk. Midway through our route, I offered one of my convoluted stories requiring backgound asides, plot recaps, and a quick interruption ("Hey, was that Meg Ryan who just ran by us?!") Fifteen minutes in, just as I was getting to the best part, one of the women asked me to please stop talking. I thought she was upset at my storytelling and fell silent. Afterward, she explained between big breaths that I'd sped up to a pace she could no longer hold. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?" I asked. "No one could get a word in edgewise," she responded. My inability to notice everyone and everything (except, apparently, Meg Ryan) around me reflected poorly on...

Until last month, my only experience with San Diego’s only national monument was glancing down at Coronado through a thick marine layer and standing in a long line to use a portable toilet. I never ventured beyond visitor parking for fear of losing my place among hundreds also needing to relieve themselves. This is at the starting line of the annual America’s Finest City Half Marathon , held every August in San Diego. It begins at the Cabrillo National Monument – accessible that morning only by shuttle bus – and winds through Pt. Loma, Harbor Island and the Embarcadero before climbing into downtown and then up Sixth Avenue into Bankers Hill to finish the 13.1-mile journey in Balboa Park. It’s really a great footrace, especially with the first 4 miles all downhill.  I’d forgotten about Cabrillo National Monument until we decided to get a National Parks annual pass this summer and realized there was only one place to get one in person – a place surrounded by deep teal seas, silent ...

Spend any amount of time with me and you know I make frequent trips to the bathroom at home or restrooms in public. Since COVID, I’ve become more squeamish about portable toilets, but if that’s the only option, I’ll hold my nose and not look down. I can’t recall the last time I peed in the wild, but it would have been on a long hike years ago.   Sometimes the urge is real, like after drinking a large, iced tea while running errands. Other times, I’m convinced seeing a Women’s Room generates a Pavlovian response – I really don’t have to go now, but I can easily be convinced otherwise because relief is right there, right now.   I wrote during the early months of the pandemic about the quandary outdoor exercisers faced with so many public restrooms shuttered to help stop the spread of the coronavirus. But since the world’s reopened, something else has happened:  Publicly accessible restrooms have continued to dwindle in numbers .   Here in San Diego, public restrooms w...

Back when I first launched this blog, I was a guest on 91x’s  Resurrection Sunday , a program then hosted by the late Steve West. Sundays were my long run days, and I spent hours listening to West, including an hour of “Hey Mom, I’m on 91x!” with a guest deejay decidedly not from the industry.   I “auditioned” by first filling out online the 20 songs I’d play, which not coincidentally were Steve West’s favorite songs along with a few rarely played tunes. The legendary disc jockey called, we talked, and I was booked for that weekend’s show. I gave several shoutouts, including to my fellow San Diego Track Club runners then training for the Rock ‘n’ Roll Marathon.   At the following Tuesday track workout, one of the run leaders told me he’d listened the entire hour. “You only picked one good song,” he said. “But it was a good one. I’d listen just for that one song.” That song was Kate Bush’s “Running Up That Hill.”   I’ve loved that song since the first time I heard it...

In the end, I ended up running about half of the 12k Bay 2 Breakers course. Of the roughly 4 miles we ran, I’d trained for to do just .25 of them. My race entry predated my farewell to  running . And despite landing in a fast corral, I was told there are plenty who choose it to avoid all the naked people and start walking after a very short spurt. In my mind, we’d show up a little before the race start, run at a good clip for a quarter mile and then walk it off.    That didn’t happen.   A long wait while hurling tortillas Parking can be hard to come by in downtown San Francisco. And public transportation can be cumbersome if traveling from another part of the Bay Area, though a ferry will get you within easy reach of starting corrals.  We opted to take a shuttle from a Mill Valley Park ‘n Ride to the start. (“We” being me, my daughter and son-in-law, who are B2B regulars.) Similar shuttles operated from Emeryville in East Bay and Millbrae to the south. This...

I’ve been preparing for an upcoming milestone birthday, what I call Anne 6.0. Parts of it are going well, like a new look. Other parts still have a few bugs, like my fitness level. If you read my last post , you already know this.   Since that blog entry, I’ve maintained a regular training schedule, better diet, and even started to bring down my pace per mile for a trail run on my actual birthday. I got others to sign up too. Bought new trail runners . Built up a little distance. I even planned a date night, which we haven’t done in more than a year. I’ve generally been in good spirits. Still am, despite what happened earlier today.   I was 22 minutes into a short, pre-dawn run when I fell downhill. I’d taken precautions – running on an even surface with a flashlight and staying alert, etc. But somehow my ankle rolled without warning, sending the rest of my body into freefall. Man, that road is hard. I scraped my hands, even under nailbeds, yet my head and side of my face...

Lately, I’ve been telling everyone within earshot that I’m tired of working so hard. It took a couple of carefree weekends and slow Mondays to realize how much more padding I want around hard weeks’ worth of work.    I’ve been a two-income earner for many, many years. With a few years’ exceptions, I’ve always held more than one job, as much to keep my mind stimulated as our cupboards full. And until now, I handled two occupations relatively well. But decades of heavy loads and a shortening lifespan have me reevaluating how I want to spend my days ahead. It probably doesn’t help that most of my friends now are unencumbered by jobs and school-aged children and living their best lives. I have several years before I can join them.   The hours add up My lifestyle is no longer a novelty.  A lot of people work gigs  beyond a full-time job. As a professional writer and budding novelist, I spend way too much time tethered to a desk and chair. I do get up at least once ev...

Yesterday I signed up to do next year’s   Bay to Breakers , the craziest 12k you’ll find in what remains my favorite city: San Francisco. I wanted to take advantage of the 48-hour low pricing (under $40); generous refund policy; and expiring airline credits. I’ve wanted to return to this event for more than eight years … and now I will if all goes as planned.   I’ll be running or, more likely, walking with my daughter and son-in-law, both B2B regulars. We’re already coming up with costume concepts and deciding which breweries to hit in our version of carbo loading. I’ve also been assured that seeking a position within Corral A doesn’t mean we need to maintain a 6-minute-per-mile pace, or that we get passed and cussed at the entire time.    Bay to Breakers is weird and wild, but the year we did it was weirder and less wild than others due to a bombing at the Boston Marathon just weeks before. That led to lower attendance, probably as much due to a stronger police pres...

The current mayor of San Diego campaigned on a pledge to treat the place like a metropolis rather than a network of sprawling suburbs . You think San Francisco, Chicago, Boston and New York, and you immediately think compact blocks with mixed-use buildings, high-rise apartments and stately rowhouses, corner convenience stores, great ethnic restaurants and excellent public transportation.   San Diego has those things too, except the great public transit.    I was reminded of how much San Diego has grown during a recent early morning walk from Little Italy to Seaport Village via The Embarcadero . And again, a week later when we visited  our old suburb with family in town.    I can remember some of my first runs along the Embarcadero, dodging more homeless people than tourists, even during Comic-Con . The Gaslamp Quarter was still the nightspot it is now, but you took greater risks walking beyond its boundaries in the dark.    Cortez Hill, East Vi...

This time a year ago I was in another city and without my phone when the school principal called to let us know the campus lost electric power. I was still out, and therefore unaware of the emergency, when the principal called again to ask parents to come get their children. By the time I arrived at a darkened main office lobby, most students had been united with their parents or guardians. My sixth-grader was both relieved and highly annoyed to see me.   Hours earlier, when the electricity shut down, a student with a history of violence took advantage of the initial chaos to chase our then-11-year-old around campus, intending to harm him. Someone in some official capacity intervened before an actual assault.   That was the last time the school held in-class instruction. It currently appears students will return in some capacity next month. And that makes me sad. Not for them—goodness, our children need each other’s company—but for me. I’m not ready to give up the dawnlight ru...

Fall typically comes late to San Diego, if it comes at all. The season is too often marred by furnace-like blasts of brutal heat and scorched earth rather than mottled clouds rolling in to christen thirsty landscapes with wave upon wave of downpours.    Fall was my favorite season as a child raised along the Eastern Seaboard. I looked forward to the drop in humidity and crisp air that signaled a fresh slate for the school year, the end of long hours of summer boredom or busyness. The best days were those that fell under Indian summer—cool at night, hot at the peak of day. Fall was my favorite season as a younger adult too, the nippy mornings heralding a change in routine and wardrobes, the sidewalks and roads littered with calico-colored leaves. Running always improved in the fall, with far more official opportunities to test speed and endurance on a USATF-sanctioned course.   We get a milder, delayed dose of that brand of season here, with deciduous trees lining road med...

  Just after my mother passed away, I convinced my dad to join us on a hike at  Smith Rock State Park . The volcano-induced spires could be seen from any vantage point in his neighborhood, and yet the closest he’d come to visiting the natural attraction was a late winter drive-by that I also encouraged shortly before my mother’s fateful cancer diagnosis.   The weather was perfect (I mean, just look at that brilliant blue sky!) as we gingerly made our way down “The Chute” to the river basin and crossed a wooden bridge to the most popular trails. We followed the Crooked River to the left and stopped to look up at the rock climbers. Some clung for life to minuscule crevices at improbable angles, while others dangled helplessly from safety ropes until rescued. We kept my rambunctious nephew in line and turned around at the “Snoopy Rock” since we didn’t want to push Dad’s physical capacity. He loved that trip and went back after we left, with plans to keep hiking through the s...