Monday, June 29, 2009
5 km PR - 28:30
Yesterday I ran the Scotiabank 5 km in Stanley Park, and finished with a time of 28:30. My previous 5 km, which was a couple of years ago, was 28:48, so this is a personal best. The route was great - only a couple of very small hills, and it was a combination of gravel and pavement around Lost Lagoon and the sea wall. Lots of people, good weather, and an abundance of Gatorade. Except for a brief period at the end when I was sure I was going to lose my breakfast, the run was pretty easy and I had enough to sprint at the finish. Now I've got to decide whether to sign up for another 5 km and beat my time or move onto an 8 km.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Bull
If you go for a run somewhere new, where you've never been before, say, on a mountain, where there's a big iron gate with a sign on it that says 'NO TRESPASSING' (and some other information about not being welcome), it's just probably a good idea to turn around, as I have recently discovered.
Today I went running in such a place and decided to ignore the sign, duck under the gate, and carry on up the dirt path, the wind blowing my hair, the pale sun shining on the flowers growing willy-nilly in the tall grass. I figured the undulating hills made for great training, and I was enjoying the view of the valley below until I noticed a big ugly brown cow just ahead, chewing its cud. And then another one on the path, and a few others farther ahead beside a clump of trees.
And then I noticed that one of the cows had long frickin' horns! and I freaked out because I know that bulls are not friendly and don't like people showing up all sweaty and panting, wearing shorts, running right through their herd, even if it is a Sunday afternoon. And so, with my heart in my throat, beating like a caged hummingbird, I avoided eye contact with the big horned beast and turned down a more narrow path into the woods, where I hoped I would be able to climb a small-limbed tree should the bull actually decide to charge me.
Without looking back, lest I trip and see my life flash before my eyes just before a horn pierced my back, I bolted over a little foot bridge across a creek and down the side of the hill until I came to a clearing and then a side street where I stopped to lean on the hood of a white Toyota Prius and almost lost my lunch.
There was no choice but to return the way I'd come. I had to idea where New Terrace Way was in relation to the street where I'm house-sitting this week. Realising how precious my life is to me, I vowed to start eating more leafy greens and never watch television again if only I could make it home alive. I ran on, this time more slowly, quietly, and with foreboding.
Creeping around the side of an elm, I saw the cows were in the same formation they'd been in when I passed by the first time. The bull was still there, looking around as if on guard for trespassers like me.
Bloody hell, he was massive. With a gleaming black coat, long thin horns, steely eyes, and a massive chest, his tail flicked in irritation at the flies and his udder swayed... whoa, nelly. His udder? WTF? Uh...
Was this perhaps one of those that have horns whether they be cow, steer, or bull? I guessed so. That, or some other breed of cattle I had been, until that moment, completely ignorant of. Or perhaps, like Chaz Bono, this particular bovine was in the middle of gender reassignment surgery and would still be angry because the hormonal fluctuations were still driving her/him to have massive mood swings (which would explain why he/she was standing alone, off to the side).
Either way, I was cautious as I went back again along the path, trying to look inconspicuous, and wondering whether or not to make soft lowing sounds as I ran.
Well, that was one of the more adventurous runs I've ever had. With exactly one week to go till race day I'm feeling like I just might break my record of 28:48 for a 5km, especially if I picture an angry cow with horns coming after me. Or Chaz Bono.
Today I went running in such a place and decided to ignore the sign, duck under the gate, and carry on up the dirt path, the wind blowing my hair, the pale sun shining on the flowers growing willy-nilly in the tall grass. I figured the undulating hills made for great training, and I was enjoying the view of the valley below until I noticed a big ugly brown cow just ahead, chewing its cud. And then another one on the path, and a few others farther ahead beside a clump of trees.
And then I noticed that one of the cows had long frickin' horns! and I freaked out because I know that bulls are not friendly and don't like people showing up all sweaty and panting, wearing shorts, running right through their herd, even if it is a Sunday afternoon. And so, with my heart in my throat, beating like a caged hummingbird, I avoided eye contact with the big horned beast and turned down a more narrow path into the woods, where I hoped I would be able to climb a small-limbed tree should the bull actually decide to charge me.
Without looking back, lest I trip and see my life flash before my eyes just before a horn pierced my back, I bolted over a little foot bridge across a creek and down the side of the hill until I came to a clearing and then a side street where I stopped to lean on the hood of a white Toyota Prius and almost lost my lunch.
There was no choice but to return the way I'd come. I had to idea where New Terrace Way was in relation to the street where I'm house-sitting this week. Realising how precious my life is to me, I vowed to start eating more leafy greens and never watch television again if only I could make it home alive. I ran on, this time more slowly, quietly, and with foreboding.
Creeping around the side of an elm, I saw the cows were in the same formation they'd been in when I passed by the first time. The bull was still there, looking around as if on guard for trespassers like me.
Bloody hell, he was massive. With a gleaming black coat, long thin horns, steely eyes, and a massive chest, his tail flicked in irritation at the flies and his udder swayed... whoa, nelly. His udder? WTF? Uh...
Was this perhaps one of those that have horns whether they be cow, steer, or bull? I guessed so. That, or some other breed of cattle I had been, until that moment, completely ignorant of. Or perhaps, like Chaz Bono, this particular bovine was in the middle of gender reassignment surgery and would still be angry because the hormonal fluctuations were still driving her/him to have massive mood swings (which would explain why he/she was standing alone, off to the side).
Either way, I was cautious as I went back again along the path, trying to look inconspicuous, and wondering whether or not to make soft lowing sounds as I ran.
Well, that was one of the more adventurous runs I've ever had. With exactly one week to go till race day I'm feeling like I just might break my record of 28:48 for a 5km, especially if I picture an angry cow with horns coming after me. Or Chaz Bono.
Monday, June 15, 2009
10,000 Hours
If you want to be proficient, perhaps the best, at anything, the only thing you need is time. A lot of it - 10,000 hours, to be precise. This is the latest from Malcolm Gladwell (The Tipping Point, Blink) who asserts in his book Outliers (Little, Brown & Co. 2008) that the magic formula for mastering a skill like playing the violin or shooting hoops or designing computer software is simply to put in the time to practice, practice, practice.
(Um, no kidding. I think my mom told me the "practice makes perfect" mantra when I was about five, but anyway... I guess experts have now made the practice notion quantifiable and therefore either more practical or completely daunting, depending on who you talk to.)
So it seems you can be the most average chess player and become a grandmaster if you've got about 10 years to work diligently on improving your skills. Gladwell quotes Daniel Levintin, author of This is Your Brain on Music (Penguin, 2006), who said,
(Um, no kidding. I think my mom told me the "practice makes perfect" mantra when I was about five, but anyway... I guess experts have now made the practice notion quantifiable and therefore either more practical or completely daunting, depending on who you talk to.)
So it seems you can be the most average chess player and become a grandmaster if you've got about 10 years to work diligently on improving your skills. Gladwell quotes Daniel Levintin, author of This is Your Brain on Music (Penguin, 2006), who said,
"ten thousand hours of practice is required to achieve the level of masteryIf this holds true, then I guess I've been taking the wrong tactic all along with my list of goals. Perhaps I should pick just one and dedicate the rest of my life to perfecting it. Hmn, floristry? Studies clearly demonstrate I could be the best florist on the planet if I put my mind to it... despite the fact that at present I can't even tell a chrysanthemum from a carnation.
associated with being a world-class expert - in anything... it seems that it
takes the brain this long to assimilate all that it needs to know to achieve
true mastery."
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Olympic Letdown
So close to getting tickets to the Olympics but we lost them at the last second. Looks like I'm not going to be getting up close and personal with any short track speed skaters in 2010.
My mom was able to log in to the official website for 2010 on Saturday and scored two tickets to the opening ceremonies but was unable to make the purchase before the website logged her out. Major dissapointment on her part, and a snag in my plan to attend at least one event or ceremony in Vancouver next year.
If anyone happens to know of another way of acquiring tickets, particularly to the opening ceremony or the men's or women's gold medal hockey games I would be delighted to know how to make it happen!
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