Taking a cue from my longtime best friend Pica, and in the spirit of having completed my first exam (the USA Triathlon coaching certification exam, complete with multiple choice, true-false, short answer, and essay questions) since my nine-hour written and three-hour oral doctoral exams, and in honor of my friend Jen, who has just been accepted for her own PhD program and who scored very highly on this quiz last year, just missing a prize: the State of the Union quiz.
My very fast friend Heidi sent me this piece on my very fast new friend, Henry. Between them and my very fast friends in the Janes, I am in good company, a tortoise among hares.
It’s cold out and drizzling, and I didn’t much want to run today. But last week my running mileage was 2, because of the new bike and the nice weather, so I laced up and headed out for an easy four miles.
Twelve minutes out, I ran into a Kenyan runner named Henry. We’ve met on the cross country course before–he’s very friendly. He invited me to run with him, and we started slowly, chatting. This was his easy run of the day. Yesterday he’d run 24 miles; this afternoon, his plan is 20 more. His goal for the spring is, literally, to win the Boston Marathon. (At last year’s race, he was on the ground for 15 minutes suffering from dehydration, then got up and continued, to finish in 2:45.)
The pace picked up, my new shoes got muddy, and my plan for an easy run was shot. But it was absolutely worthwhile. After telling me about his problems with gallstones, working for the UN in Kenya, and meeting his wife–who teaches at UNC’s School of Public Health–he asked me what I did, and I explained that I have a PhD in English but work as an editor and yoga teacher.
After a little discussion, he said, “I’m glad you put down the paper, the PhD, and decided to help people.” It made my day, since I really want to see my teaching as useful. His take was that, given the epidemic of obesity in the United States, it was much more worthwhile to help people enjoy moving than to teach sedentary people about books.
We saw two women from my running group. (“Yeah, I run with the Kenyans,” I thought as we smiled and waved.) Henry said, “You women get it, you understand about running.” Maybe we do.
Ah, well. At least we weren’t shut out.
I know I’m married to a statistician who’ll argue there’s no correlation, but it was over before it began, when Pittsburgh won. No way were two away teams winning when only one had ever made it through three road games to get to the Super Bowl.
I knew the Panthers would win when I realized I have a meeting at 7 p.m. Sunday. The game starts at 6:30.
Back in the day, there was a man in section 320 of Eriksson Stadium who would turn to one side and yell “PAN!” then to the other side and yell “THORS!” He obviously was a linguist (despite what his red neck and beer belly would usually connote), like my father, who says Flee-Boos would be the best name for a team, because those vowel sounds carry farthest. The awful “er” sound isn’t very glamorous.
I’ve been working my trade connections to get a logo for Sage Yoga Training (the tentative title of the “boutique”). I think it’s going to look great; when it’s final, I’ll share it here. I’ve grabbed the domain name sageyogatraining.com, though I haven’t figured out how to direct it where I want it to go. And I’ve started working on an updated Web site, to pull it all together.
I’d love to hear what y’all think.
The blog might move from here to there soon, if it seems prettier and easier on my end. (I won’t miss manually typing HTML code for links, and the photo uploading process here is tedious and unpredictable.)
On the way into the stadium on Christmas Eve. We were personally responsible for a missed kick thanks to Wes’s valiant holler of “Weak leg!” to Billy Cundiff, who was fired two days later. Still, the Panthers lost to the Cowboys. At least we looked good.
Wes called from the bike store, where he’d gone to try a Cervelo P2 K with a 2004 frame and 2005 component set. I was jealous because it was similar to the P2 SL I rode and have been dying for since. (I know I said I wasn’t, but I was.)
“What pedals do you want on your bike?” he asked.
Wow. That is love, and a lot of his father’s generous and impulsive influence coming through. (Thank you.)
Here is his bike; it is in Duke colors, but is otherwise awesome. My bike made me feel like a rock star when I rode it. It’s anodized aluminum, very black and sinister. I plan to add some hot pink accents: seat bag, race tires, maybe saddle and bar tape. If I have a sophomore slump this year, it’s not because of my ride. I could work for years and not be as fast as the bike would let me.
My business plan–what to do with the pending coaching certification, my yoga work, my enthusiasm–is inchoate but starting to congeal. In the next few months it ought to come together. Meanwhile, I’m going to sit back (forward, in the aerobars) and enjoy my ride, my glorious new ride. May we ride them in safety.