Life is totes

I attended a spin class tonight and it felt good to push myself and work hard. It's been a while since I've done either. I spent the last week or so lying on white sand, or sitting outside at a cafe, or riding all manner of transportation to find a restarant - a remarkably good way to see a city, by the way - so except for perhaps two sunny jogs along a wooden boardwalk while dodging the well-dressed grayhairs and contented stray cats, I was wrapped up in some stage of intoxication or unconsciousness, and/or with a piece of silverware entering or exiting my yap. The restaurants were the goal and the prize: they prodded us into stepping out and touring an interesting city on our own, but if there is a bittersweet angle to this eater's paradise, it is that the food is outrageously plentiful, incredibly calorie dense and as sinfully tempting as it is delicious. We tried it all even though we needed help; as in, an extra stomach. Unfinished entrees had to be boxed up and carted home. Desserts were shared or passed up with painful restraint.

Once, after a Coconut Grove dinner with all the trimmings, we made stale excuses to the server to avoid ordering a piece of cheesecake, ultimately to dodge the embarrassment of having to doggiebag that, too - we were already taking an appetizer back to the hotel. Most of the time we ate until we couldn't. Two working stiffs on holiday with credit cards and noses for the unusual, were we left with any other option? No.


We each had our weaknesses. D went in for boozy coffees, spicy buffalo thingies, cashew-encrusted fish with rich mashed potato and succutash. (I might have coveted that meal just a little.) Me, I found the stone crab, the "lobster firecrackers," the creamed spinach (that's right) and the uncountable varieties of overly drinkable beers exotic and alluring and I had to, I just had to. I knew I would not be able to create, order, or even dream about these delicacies at home in my wintery city. The time was right. We took the opportunities and we have no regrets.

Holiday salad

Red, green and white salad befits a holiday dinner with a dear friend.

:: Bocconcini and tomato slices separated by basil leaves ::

Rain and snowpeople

I ran through the rain and icy slush today with Gaz. It was weird to enjoy running in such crappy weather, and we knew we looked hard core and we're just not. We decided that running together helps to set things right because we look like two runners who need company to get out there in the rain. We kept a good pace and covered a lot of ground, geographically and conversationally.

Box of seasonal treats with a telltale oily shadow.

Lait du poule

A lot of chicken milk goes into a litre of lait du poule, says Pinotte.

Choko-vodka update

The chocolate vodka experiment is now over. My frozen laboratory (ie, the freezer) sports a bottle of cold, seriously robust booze. After three weeks of marinading, most of the chocolate has been dissolved and incorporated by the vodka, and there is just a bit of chocolatey drudge near the murky bottom.



This "witch's brew" is thick and milky, and not a substance to take lightly. Do not turn your back on it. Do not let popular images of milk chocolate blind you into assuming this is a silly, just-a-taste-before-operating-heavy-machinery kind of beverage. It will have its way with you if you do not take care. I recently sampled a portion and then text-bombed D in a most irritating fashion. The danger lies in the sweet flavour which overpowers the taste of the booze, a tip I should have remembered from my, ahem, experiments with vodka coolers in university. Blend this vodka beast into a tall glass of milk and say your prayers.

Any other day

She woke up to a low rumble. The walls shook. She didn't recognize the sound right away, and then her mind turned to last night's storm. Snowplow? The rumbling got closer, then faded away like a bear into the forest. She lay doll-still under layers of blankets, listening to the neighbor's alarm clock followed by sounds of shuffling on the thin floor above. Behind the bedroom door the hungry meows of two cats pierced the silence. Her eyelids felt weighted. It couldn't be later than 6 AM. It was as dark as night in her room but she could see a thin, pale crack of light peeking out above the curtain. She stirred, shifting the blankets, feeling a shock of cold air against her warm neck. It's morning, she thought, and he's not here. Same as yesterday. Same as any other day.

// Crepes with chocolate, banana and strawberries //

The gambler

Awesome run today. I ran alone for a while, and then out of nowhere I bumped into the Gaz who was running with her auburn-colored dog, and together we pounded back the miles. For about an hour we kept it light, here and there Gaz politely reminding the dog to slow down for the humans. He did. Time flew like the snowflakes. I ran 21k; all systems solid. I registered for Nashville when I got home. Screw indecision.

I read that Kenny Rogers is going to croon for the runners at some point during the race!

:: Ginger coconut rice with chick pea & broccoli curry ::

Winter oven

I bury you
for the thrill
of digging you up

~ Apple & cranberry crisp w/
Cookie Dough Dynamo ice cream ~

Forbidden fruit

I brought a pomegranate home. I couldn't remember what it tasted like.

Using a knife, I cut the hard shell into pieces and sucked out the plump, sweet seeds. It reminded me of eating lobster, but even messier.

Like a gruesome scene from Dexter, the cut fruit lies in a pool of its own...juice.

I totally gorged out on this treat. Only the carcass and my stained cutting board remain.

Étudiante

Rocked by a feeling (fresh-off-the-boat)
she clings to the side
blue eyes closed to inhale the
heavy air in this ancient port
strange smells and noises
weaving into the night
for reasons tingling and exotic

Here, there
at cafés on busy streets
wine and words flow
like electric currents
joining together
puzzle pieces of a place
She jumps in with a smile
as wide as the Red Sea
Je voudrais des escargots, s’il vous plait
trying on the foreign
playing with playing
la femme fatale or maybe
the sensitive come-from-away

Until a fisherman with almond eyes
shines the light of history
worn smooth and beige as an oyster’s pearl:
We don’t speak French here anymore
just a few words with the tourists

Tres drôle, she muses
plucking snails from their shells with a fork
how did she get here?
is the fog to blame
or did she shipwreck herself
in the roar of the conch
clutched too closely to her ear

Martinis are from Mars

I read an article today on how to make chocolate martinis using a bottle of vodka, Mars chocolate bars and a freezer. Forget that 3-day bartending class you snoozed through during that summer in university; martini mixing is now as easy as combining over-the-counter chocolate bars with cheap vodka, and marinating the mixture in your freezer. Hallelujah!

Well, sort of. Here's the thing: while the DIY method sounds perfect for lazy, fun-loving people like us, it does require something special. And that special something is patience. Read on for the saucy details:

1. First, make room in the bottle by dumping out some of the contents.

Did I catch you emptying the bottle by drinking its contents in the style of teenager-meets-milk-carton? Oh no you didn't! Dude, it's only Monday, find yourself a hobby. But before you waste your time with other hobbies, find a spare container and pour about 1/5 of the vodka into it. For this 750 ml bottle, that means 150 ml in an unused coffee jar. From alcomahol to caffeine. Yeah, it's all peaks and valleys around here at RTTK.

2. Use your gravitational pull to draw in all available Mars bars (about 5-6 bars).

I used 5.

3. Chop chop.

Find a knife and chop up the bars. The pieces need to be small enough to slip through the bottle neck, so mince away. Then try - just try - to refrain from gobbling the pieces. (You can do it. I believe in you.) Question: is the end of a chocolate bar called the heel?

4. Feed the bear.

Mmmm, appetizing!

That's right, you're going to feed the teensy pieces of chocolate through the bottle neck. You may feel like you're working in Frankenstein's laboratory, stuffing minced body parts into test tubes of formaldehyde, especially if you're doing this at night after watching a Romero zombie flick the night before, but worry not, you're in the comfort of your own home, so try to persevere.

Tightly cap the bottle, give it a good shake, then find a home for it in your freezer. Let the mixture marinate for 2 weeks, giving the booze ample time to break down the chocolate and caramel. Check the bottle every day, shake it and turn it over if it's lying on its side. At about the two week mark, invite a friend over for a taste test. If it's delicious, call over a few more friends. Better yet, call me!

White stripes

Pinotte's award-winning owl impression.

Note his white & ginger striped tail. He was a creamsicle in a previous life.

Hogs and hot nog

I've been wrapped up in life details like a pig in a feed blanket, and haven't been running or cooking. I haven't even ingested anything unusual, save for an eggnog latte on Sunday, which wouldn't score highly on a list of weird foods.


"Turn up the sizzle on that heat lamp, Chuck."

The latte was my first foray into the hot nog realm. I enjoyed the adventure, but I do prefer egg nog cold with cinnamon and a liberal shot of rum. Could be accompanied by a plate of waffles, cheesy christmas music in the air, and a full table of satisfied eaters.

Jolene

My first outdoor run after getting sick and existing on pause was very fun. I ran along sidewalks and tried to avoid soggy leaves and puddles for 45 minutes. I listened to a collection of punk tunes downloaded from a colleague's collection. I didn't know that punk songs are always short and sometimes intertextual, as in they parody or pay homage to other songs, sometimes in different genres. They are also very funny: I heard a cover of Dolly Parton's "Jolene" sang by a male ("Jolene / Jolene / Please don't take him just because you can") without any hint of gay signals (not that I'd recognize them, I guess). Not many bands would be brave enough in their subversivity (I just made that up) to do the same. I played the frenetic songs at an ear-blistering volume level and resisted urges to play chicken with cars in the rainy darkness. Me First and the Gimme Gimmes would surely rage on such restraint.

Adventures with pintos

Chillaxing in the bath with onion & bay leaves

Future fibre

As a young child, my sister often recited a Shel Silverstein poem that began, "I remembered to put on my shirt / I remembered to put on my shoes." Thereafter followed a list of clothing items he had remembered, luckily. By the end of the poem, you'd believe a b&w an image of his pants could be seen on future CIBC envelopes like beloved children gone missing. For tonite's spin class, I remembered my shirt and pants but not the vitally-important towel for sweat soak ups; knowing how necessary the towel is, I considered leaving. I stayed, and chose a spin bike that happened to sit beside a side door that just happened to be flung open by a warm participant after the class started. The cool breezes that flowed in whisked away most of my socially-undesireable persp and left my face dry (I could make a fortune on salt remnants, though).

~ Just what will happen to these soaked pintos? ~

Check back later!

They don't love you (like I love you)

~

Knead foreign bodies

Blood stains thin veins and lifelines

Let sleeping thorns lie.

~

American cheese on Bavarian rye & a French kiss of Asian hot sauce

::

We all scream

It's November, and now that Betsy has retired her bike seat for the winter, I'll be occasionally walking to work and seeing the neighborhood at a more leisurely pace. We had frost last night so I dug out a pair of mitts and followed the sidewalk to work, the grass on both sides flattened and white. The air was cold and still. The sun was golden, and the wide sky, high above the snarling traffic, pastel crayons released from their box and spread across the horizon; a smear of baby blues, pinks and peaches; light and surreal and unattainable.

House call

It's a drugstore shelf in my apartment! Some people know how to relieve sickies of their sinus pain and coughs. Today I was the lucky beneficiary of a remedy smorgasbord that included soups, nasal strips, menthol cream, pills, capsules and tablets. The primo-grade kleenex and back rub are not shown. I really dug the chocolate brownie/cookie dough ice cream.

Thank you, Dr. Feelgood!

xox

Hot toddy

Home sick today.

Were my Scottish grandma still with us, she'd fix her invalid granddaughter a hot toddy (because she'd want a drive to church later!). In Martha's version of the hot drink, she'd splash rum into a mug and mix in hot water and sugar. Under a spell of inspiration, she might also add lemon juice and sweet spices like cinnamon and cloves. The toddy was a drink for which she was famous in our family. People appreciated her generosity with the shot glass. Martha was a competitive player of cards and bingo; she'd kick your arse in 45's, but she wouldn't let you go without if you were in need, and she'd do all she could to help you heal.

In her absence, I turn to pharmaceutical remedies.

They don't heal me half as fast, Gram.

Korean BBQ, at intervals

Interval training is now over until December. Tonight's workout concluded the fall training, and it was a shorter distance, which I love: 8-10 (550m). The wind was warm and I bet it could have been a perfect evening for running but I could feel a cold coming on. My throat hurt more with every forced exhale, my ears were starting to pain me, and I was feeling cranky. I don't like feeling sick and missing the fun. Plus, the runners who arrived for tonight's workout were of the "gazelle" variety; the fast people whose dust I meekly inhale as I lope along behind them, and so I was last after every sprint. I try to be cool with it, but I'm just not a fan of last place. Second-last is fine with me, but that's as close to last as I like to be. Placing last many times over disagrees with me even further, so after 4 sets I tied up loose ends with goodbyes and explanations and went home to a mug of hot lemon tea and a warm shower. Both improved my mood but I'm still sick.

Stirring the pot: Mussels on the half shell, squid, salmon and shrimp.

With supporting fresh vegetables. Exquisite!

Unlike taking last place, Korean BBQ is exceptionally agreeable. Grilling your own meal in front of you is fun, and whether you're the table cook, the eater or both, you win! (Unless, say, you burn every morsel to a black carbon lump on the bottom of the pan, smoking the other customers out of the resto... but relax, that's not going to happen. You worry too much!)

Pumpkin curry

Last night's sprints: 4-6 x 1000m / 3 min rest. Not bad despite the gusts of wind that caught my breath at the top of the hill. I finished 4 reps and would have gone for a 5th but while standing around and considering that 5th, the cold wind stole my best ambitions and I headed for home. The 1000m route finished with a downhill slope which was kind to my quads. They were aching but stronger after spin class the night before. Maybe there is a sweet spot between recooperation and fatigue.

Considering the earthy deliciousness of pumpkin curry, I've wondered why it isn't available in more restaurants. Pumpkins are cheap and last forever. Now I know the reason: pumpkins are as tough as coconuts! Prepare yourself. 45 minutes' worth of cutting and peeling and yelling creative blue expressions, and then - and only then - are you ready to rock.

Throw some diced pumpkin together with crushed tomatoes, red peppers, bananas, ginger and hot peppers, et voila. Proof that the pumpkin is capable of providing more than pie filling and maniacal Halloween lanterns. And the curry pairs much better with basmati.

Losing my head

I’m trying to put the brakes on drinking coffee at work. I think coffee screws up my sleep rhythms so I’ve been scouting out beverages to replace my standard weekday Grande Bold. Earl Grey tea and hot chocolate are the usual fallbacks, but they're not nearly as seductive as that liquid siren known as the black gold. I went cold turkey for a few months this summer but that would be mercilessly difficult in the cold winter months when the office feels like the inside of a meat locker. I know someone amazing who recently kicked a powerful addiction without losing his head. What the hell is my problem?

Poor Tinkerbell! She was last seen - in one piece - atop a white birthday cake early Saturday evening. Later that night, after the cake (angel food, ironically) had been devoured down to its crumbs by depraved partiers (note the icing scrapings on the plate), the merriment clearly took a downturn and little Tinky was beheaded with a knife. The scenario was a gruesome morning-after discovery. I couldn't guess who butchered her or why. Maybe it was a case of "wrong place, wrong time" for the fairy. On the bright side, without a head, her potential to degrade into a flesh-eating zombie has completely vanished. Is it safer in here, or is it just me?

Identify your pie

The North American Apple Pie can be identified by its flaky, tan-colored crust and sweet, tart, filling. It can be found anywhere food is available, including five-star resorts and fast food joints, but its natural habitat is a warm kitchen oven on a sunny weekend afternoon - say about 4pm. The apple pie is a playful dessert that likes to dress up in cheddar cheese slices, dollops of whipped cream with a breezy cinnamon dusting, or a naughty French maid costume (known as "pie a la mode"). This pie has many predators and, if cornered, will fight back by being delicious. Your best defense is a fork.

Take that mother down.

//R's homemade apple pie//

Rocky roads & silver linings

We shared these peanut butter marshmellow treats after a Japanese dinner. My shrimp tempura donburi, salty and kinda greasy, carved out a deep thirst within that not even water could quench. I squealed when I saw these squares in their shiny foil packet opened on the table.

And that's how the evening kicked off - with a frenzied tango of opposites: salty, gooey, shiny, sweet. From that baseline we descended to a less civilized venue and kicked it up an octave with pitchers of Keith's Red, tequila shots ("shoot, suck, lick"), grubby wine lists and non-stop singing. Solo and in twos, threes, fours - even while sitting in our wooden seats like anxious mothers backstage at toddler beauty pagents - we set that tiny pub stage on fire with our angelic voices and tortured screams, shameless shaking and grinding, until the simple act of browsing the massive song book became too exhausting, at which point we took our bows, vowing, between shielded yawns, to return, bigger, better and louder. And pinker.

Reward

Still reminiscing about last week's sprints session.

• The cool-warm wind.


• Lots of runners; positive energy flowing.


• A friend's incredible stories about biking through Mongolia last summer.


• Joking around in the darkness; hovering like fireflies under the streetlamp.


• One runner persevering under the weight of her own worries and expectations about her upcoming marathon.


• Pushed myself and was rewarded with the high!

~ Blueberry coffee cake

Gold

I slept in this morning and missed my running buddies, but my week had been busy and I needed to move sleep to the top of the priority list. My knee felt a little tender from the beginning but it wasn't painful enough to stop so I cut the distance by a measly 2km and stretched and iced it afterwards. I probably should have stopped running to be on the safe side. Shrug.

Gold sun, golden leaves. I set out later in the day, enjoying the sunshine and keeping both open for small, cantankerous dogs, of which there were many. It amazes me how really small dogs, I mean ankle-biters, can be counted on to act more aggressively than larger dogs. One cute little fella listed toward me with snarls that sounded too large for its body. It was hardly difficult for me to escape its falsetto rasps; half a stride and already I was miles from its reach. The small dog probably needs to exhibit some 'tude to avoid being preyed upon, but why would it turn on a runner lost in her music and thoughts? Unless I was unknowingly close to mashing the feral little tyke into the florescent green goose droppings on the path.

It was still warm enough to wear a running skirt but there are so many full blown signs of autumn that there cna't be many days left like this in the season. I'm always sad to see summer leave us but my running clothes have more pockets for holding my music player, gels, etc. As a reason to welcome winter, that might not seem substantial enough but for me it's up there with soup simmering deliciously in a crock pot and skating by the light of the full moon. All gold.

Black bean salad with corn and ginger-lime dressing.

Milk and cookies*

Glory Box - Portishead
Teardrop - Massive Attack
Don't Cry - GNR
Let's Stay Together - Al Green
Try a Little Tenderness - Otis Redding
Wicked Game - Chris Isaac
Can't Help Falling in Love - Elvis
One - U2
I'm on Fire For You Baby - April Wine
Downtown - Peaches
Gimme Sympathy - Metric

*Because pain and pleasure go together like milk and cookies.

Headwind

I just discovered that a website I have followed for years has been renamed. Recipezaar.com is now Food.com, and yeah, it still serves basically the same function as before, storing and offering millions of recipes. The original site in the 90s was a collection of hyperlinked pages without images, and over the years I read and downloaded books' worth of recipes. It's been redesigned many times since, but the new name and appearance are dramatic changes. It's like arriving at your office building and finding that your job is the same as before but you're working for another company (with a lamer name. Food.com doesn't sound or look nearly as elegant as a name with "zaar.")

This morning I overslept and missed the group run, so I ran the 18k on my own (on 5 hours of sleep). The misty weather was ideal for a long run.




I didn't feel a breeze on the first half of the run, but I definitely felt a headwind when I turned around for the second half. I think this poor tree lying across the bike path might have been the victim of some harsh gales.

Off

She's a twister, he said
a real firecat
amber eyes spitting
image of her mother
crazy is as crazy does

she drank gin in her lincoln
parked in the driveway
curled up on his sofa
when the migraines hit

he thought she had kids
god knows where
no friends to speak of
ex husbands fighting
the law or
the devil
or both

She packed up one day
daggers glinting in her tiger eye
I guess I'm off, she told him
and she was

















~Curried quinoa pilaf with cashews and ginger
and a ghost in the teaspoon~

Herring

‘Twas a fine day in Holland
The sun shone so bright
on my face
until shadow
Took over the light

Looking around me
I saw a tall girl
with an object
in her hand that gleamed
Like a pearl

A grey-silver herring
Did hang from her claw
held high
and then
she opened her jaw

And the fish disappeared
In a gulp and a blink
“I’m into whole foods”
She said with a wink!

Wafelling

Overheard on the sidewalk:

"I don't know what to think, but I feel like I hate her."

Whatever feels right

How do you know if you're running so-called properly?

In spinning class yesterday, several people asked the instructor about proper arm positions and back posture while on the bike. We had been discussing how the position of the knee, hip and foot are instrumental in determining the most effective bike set up for each person, so questions about the rest of the body seemed totally relevant and helpful. The instructor, however, didn't respond with similarly technical answers but with vague statements that are open to interpretation. "Keep a neutral spine. Whatever feels natural," she said.

I guess the same applies to running. You can take note of technical aspects like your stride length or what you're doing with your elbows, and you can quesion these and possibly change them, but only if you notice them first. Knowing how you feel when doing anything (as well as nothing) is really important. Overall, if it feels right, it probably is.

World food fact #2455: Bakers in Denmark know how to throw down pastry, chocolate and caramel into something resembling ecstacy.

Unorthodox

I was this close to backing out of sprints with the running group. Motivation is melting these days, but in the end I joined them and had a great run. I overdressed out of fear of feeling chilled, but when pratice was over it was cold enough for the jacket that had been laughably extraneous an hour earlier. It wasn't the easiest workout - 2(600m x 4) - but it was mercifully short, and in no time we were stretching to finish off the workout, and then I was pedalling home in the dark, no bike lights and tons of traffic, gritting my teeth and hoping for the best.

Along the way, I rode by the house where in summer guys linger on the concrete step and smoke sheesha. The air is perfumed with apple tobacco, sweet and unusual to me, fooling me into believing I am elsewhere for a quick second.

This summer in Hamilton I sampled an unorthodox ice cream flavour created by a girl with an ice cream machine and a dream: white chocolate, vanilla and apple. My tongue continually stumbled upon tiny apple pieces buried within the creamy white chocolate. A heavenly combination.

peanut butter cup

More rain this morning. Droplets of rain clinging to my glasses. Hordes of delighted ducks squawking on the bike path. The pungent smell of wet dog lingering in the breeze....

I bought a different brand of protein powder and road tested it in a Peanut Butter Cup Protein Shake.

• 1 scoop of powder


• 1 banana


• heaping spoonful of good quality cocoa (Dutch processed is best. Yo, Richard!)


• a tablespoon of peanut butter


• a drop of sweetener (honey, agave, etc)


• splash of chocolate milk

This new powder is very dry and soaks up more liquid than previous powders I've used, so I added a lot of water while mixing. Cold coffee would probably also work very nicely.

Jiggles

I dig morning runs, but I can only manage to wake up in time once a week at best and I'm comfortable with that. But now, after being on vacation in a different time zone for the last few weeks, my body clock is sufficiently re-wound to allow - nay, force - me to run at a very early hour. So, being awake and soon out of bed, I get on with the chore of getting ready to run. While doing so, I can't stop thinking about the staggering amounts of cheese and beer, etc, I consumed in Europe, shudder, consider the resulting jiggles, grit teeth, and tie the running shoes a little tighter. All of this emotional and physical self-abuse to run in the rain. As this grey scenario illustrates, my mornings have been torturous.

Some items that jiggle naturally and beautifully are shiny tea jellies.

















The exact nature of these entities is a mystery to me, although I have grasped that they contain tea and possess a, uh, jelly-like consistency. Do jelly fish have a similar texture? I ask because I will never actually eat an animal that seems more like a thorny rose bush than a delicious sea morsel. (The vulnerability of the scallop is much more endearing, isn't it? They just lie on the plate, relieving you of any worry of retributive stinging.) Anyway, I was given these two jiggly lumps by my server at the Affinity veggie resto in Hamilton as the final course of my Texas-sized meal. My dinner mostly consisted of burdock root, which was new to me and as mysterious as I would later find the jiggling lumps. Breaded, deep-fried, swathed in a thick sauce and dotted with sesame seeds, the taste of the burdock root was overpowered, but who cares, that dish hit the spot.

Gateway

This morning I went for a run in the fog before work. The early hours are not as light as they were earlier in the summer; still, there will be even less morning light later, so just enjoy it, ok Atlantica? Today I ran as fast and hard as I could. Couldn't keep up with the cyclists.

Last night I took a yoga class. Our teacher has returned from teacher training with a new bag of tricks which made for a challenging class for my quads and shoulders and basically my entire body. It feels marvelous to be in touch with my muscles and endorphins after a winter of couch potatoism brought on by persistent knee pain and, let's face it, relationship-motivated laziness. Yep, I'll admit my relationship motivated me to do almost nothing. I like to push myself, which meant rising early Sunday morning to run while dude complained about my leaving him alone in bed. At times, when the sadness and disappointment ease up, I wonder what I ever saw in him.

I giggled this morning when I heard the radio guy call bacon a gateway meat. A gateway to what? Bacon double cheeseburgers? Bacon bras?

Sushi FAIL

We stopped at the Superstore in Espanola to pick up camping groceries and dinner. We bought some salads and trays of premade sushi.

Back at the car, T. ate one roll and laughed, saying this was the worst sushi she'd ever tasted! Gummy rice, weak wasabi, flavorless ginger. Looks delicious though, right? Maybe we ate the plastic maki models by mistake.

Pearls

I joined the running group for some speedwork today. On the path, weaving between other runners, walkers and cyclists, we ran 500m 8 times with 2 minutes of rest in between, and my speed fell within 4 seconds each time, proving not my speed but surely my consistency. How to run faster is a mystery to me, as are good poetry, love, and how pearls are created.



Actually, the origin of pearls is relatively easy to explain: at the center of each pearl is a speck of dirt that irritated the shell inhabiter, and their hard beauty is the cure; the coating. Maybe there is a center of difficulty to everything.

Forehead on the mat

Yesterday in yoga class I rested my forehead on my purple mat for the first time. I think the pose is called the pigeon, and I find it incredibly challenging because it wrenches apart my hips that someone, somewhere, crazy glued together while I was sleeping or looking the other way. As if the hip opening portion of the pose is not sufficient torture, the pose also requires you to bend forward over your twisted hips to test your spine and posture, too, and of course your patience. I've been attending a weekly class and the teachers always include the pigeon. Usually my forehead needs to rest on something higher than the ground, like my stacked hands or a block. Maybe my hips are finally giving in to the pressure to relax.

Love Advice #384: When love goes sour, steal the organic lemons from your ex-lover's refrigerator and make sweet lemonade.