Sunday December 12th. The eve of my son's sixteenth birthday, myself recently turned forty-six. The temperature outside is dropping, fast and the forecast is for a deep freeze. Not just a cooler-than-normal day, but a plunge. A huge swell of cool air is heading towards Ontario, a gift from the mid-west, clarifying the air in it's path and leaving a wake of polished, numb stillness.
I can hear the wind howling outside, the entire house seems to be shaking, the rafters creaking, reminds me of that scene from the movie Twister. The scene where the father at the start of the movie secures his family in the bunker only to be sucked outside by the cyclone.
I peek outside the window and I can see that the snow is drifting in. The trees are waving wildly, leaves blowing everywhere, the asphalt from the road glistening with wetness.
I'm worried that I won't be able to do my celebratory run. Since I can't be with my son on his birthday, at least I should run, in honour of this day. My happy birthday greeting. But I know how treacherous winter running is. It's not the cold, it's the frozen, slippery side walk. Doesn't matter how gingerly you step, a micro degree where your centre of gravity is shifted mere micrometres could be hazardous. And I know what that is. I've fallen in slick weather before. It happens really quickly. At first you're moving very cautiously, staring intently at the ground in front of you, watching for black areas which could indicate the presence of ice. You're even tentative on snow since there could be a slippery layer under it. But you keep moving on cautiously and you gain confidence. And it's at that point when you're no longer concentrating that it happens. All the while you've been congratulating yourself on how well you're doing. The run's going well and there was no need to be scared. It happens quickly and there's no proper way to behave when you have no legs under you. Flailing, or flapping your arms in an attempt to stay upright won't help. You're not a bird. It doesn't take a second, but you remember every movement later, as though in slow motion.
They tell you to fall naturally. I've never understood what that meant. There's no way to fall naturally. Falling is an unnatural thing. Fighting the fall and stiffening will only make the consequences worse. But it's like a gag effect when something foreign reaches the back of your throat. Or a sneeze when you're nose is tickled. You can't help it. So you will flap your hands and inevitably land very hard on the ground. When I fell, I landed on my back. My left arm tried to break the fall by reaching down, but my elbow connected the concrete pavement at a spot devoid of ice sparing that side of me from smashing down. My head wasn't so lucky. I hit the pavement with the back of my head and I think it bounced up and then down again. For a moment, my vision disappeared and in the blackness I saw stars. Twinkling stars which faded as my vision returned. It was very early that morning and the sun was rising, so the sky was blue with cumulus clouds dotted here and there. There wasn't a single sound at all and I was deaf to the world. But soon, my hearing returned. It was like the audience had realised that the show was over and tentatively, one by one, the applause starts. I could now hear the wind, the traffic and my breathing. I got up slowly listening and feeling my movement. I seemed OK. There was a tear in the left elbow of my jacket where I'd landed hard, and at the back of my head the start of a bump. I felt the back of my head pressing gently trying to feel if I'd broken anything. I don't know what I was looking for. A fracture? I walked a couple of paces and then slowly returned to a jog. I was still ten minutes, or so, away from my home and walking wasn't an option. Walking would take close to half an hour.
That was then. It was a bad day, really cold. I'd run most of the worst, iciest stretches very carefully. Some parts were walked since there was no way to control my body over a sheet of ice. I remember that even though it was close to minus thirty Celsius, I really didn't feel cold. It's not that I was preoccupied with the ice, but I wore the right clothes, not heavy winter garb, but a runners, thin, thermal, breathing running top with a wind breaker.
And so, as I contemplated if I'd run on my son's birthday, I knew that the answer would be a resounding yes. Only the forces of Armageddon would stop this run. A snowstorm coupled with an alien invasion might also stop me from going out, but not the cold. I was lucky that morning. I got up to minus twenty-six with wind chill. The side-walks were slick but enough dense snow cover to give a good running surface. It wasn't difficult. I wore three layers on top. A very thin thermal running under-shirt, good for wicking sweat away from the body. A second light thermal shirt for comfort and finally a wind breaker. I had my sub thirty below running pants. On my head I wore my running mask that covers my neck but on top of that, to cover my skull, I wore a running skull cap. I had on some warm running gloves. I've heard that in this kind of weather, mittens are better, but I've never had the time to buy any. In any case, I'd be outside for an hour and fifteen minutes, and the gloves would hold out.
And the run proceeded very well. The finish home was absolutely fantastic with my body getting stronger at each step.
Happy birthday son! May you live see a thousand suns and your life touch those around you as you've touched mine.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Saturday, December 11, 2010
More on writing
I once wrote something here, rambling on and on about why we write. And back then, there was a seed of something. I had something to say, on the tip of my tongue, and it kept rolling about in my head, but just wouldn't come out in words on the paper.
Most people carry on this conversation in their heads, constantly analysing what's going on. Thinking always, not stopping. Even when asked, "what are you thinking about?" most of us would often reply, "nothing," even though, there's stuff in there. It's private, to some extent, but mostly, you think that it's noise. Ambient, background, continuous noise. Elevator music.
But when we write, we think we must have a story to tell. Something important that the world should know and that we have to structure it properly, and present it so that it's legible, and comprehensive. We prepare for our writing much like we prepare for a business presentation, or write a paper for school, or put together a business plan, or fill out a loan application form. Not necessarily enjoyable work, necessary work, but tedious.
But it's easy when friends get together and sit around, have a few drinks, laugh and just let the conversation happen. One person starts with a story which then reminds another of something else that happened. The jokes flow easily. People laugh, they argue and the speed of the diction is furious. There's no real planning, only some careful thinking that happens almost naturally. Without forethought. It's not as though you're planning each section in your head and then presenting it in logical order. No. You're using your own voice and just saying what's in your mind. All the while, watching the faces of your audience to make sure that they're getting what you're talking about and correcting yourself, on the go. Your natural voice shapes your words. The sound of your voice adding flavour to story, including your body language and your actions. Waving your hands. Pointing here and there. Pausing, for effect and digestion. Sometimes looking from face to face to face. And then, as often happens, someone jumps in. Like a car that cuts you off on the highway, you swerve and try to get back in front again. Depending on how aggressive the driver of the new voice in this conversation is, you might never take the lead in that story.
That's how easy it is. We all participate, whether we want to or not.
But when we write, it's very different. We don't have that audience in front of us to look into their faces and judge their reaction. We only have that voice in our heads urging us on to put into writing those thoughts in our heads. If you can, you can build that story, not planning ahead, not anticipating, but letting it happen. What does that mean? It's almost like you're part of the audience in your head. Like everyone else, you're watching the play waiting, almost with baited breath, to see what's going to happen next. And so you put yourself into those perplexing situations, you're uncomfortable, you try to wiggle your way out, but can't. If you did, that would be fantasy and as even you wouldn't believe that it's that easy to get away, neither will your audience.
That person in your head isn't judging you. They want you to talk. They want to read what you have to say, but with honesty. They want you to go and do your research if you can't find a way to explain it. They don't want anything contrived or made up. They are looking for the real deal.
And, they're also looking for it in your voice. That everyday voice that you use when you're speaking to people, at work, in school, in public, to that audience, to your family and to yourself. The same respectful, caring voice is the only one that they would like to hear. Because when you speak, when everyone is waiting to hear what you're going to say next, you always think carefully, and speak well.
We write because we care. We write because if we don't we feel miserable. We write because it fulfils us. We write because when we write we hear our own voice and that voice calms and soothes us.
Most people carry on this conversation in their heads, constantly analysing what's going on. Thinking always, not stopping. Even when asked, "what are you thinking about?" most of us would often reply, "nothing," even though, there's stuff in there. It's private, to some extent, but mostly, you think that it's noise. Ambient, background, continuous noise. Elevator music.
But when we write, we think we must have a story to tell. Something important that the world should know and that we have to structure it properly, and present it so that it's legible, and comprehensive. We prepare for our writing much like we prepare for a business presentation, or write a paper for school, or put together a business plan, or fill out a loan application form. Not necessarily enjoyable work, necessary work, but tedious.
But it's easy when friends get together and sit around, have a few drinks, laugh and just let the conversation happen. One person starts with a story which then reminds another of something else that happened. The jokes flow easily. People laugh, they argue and the speed of the diction is furious. There's no real planning, only some careful thinking that happens almost naturally. Without forethought. It's not as though you're planning each section in your head and then presenting it in logical order. No. You're using your own voice and just saying what's in your mind. All the while, watching the faces of your audience to make sure that they're getting what you're talking about and correcting yourself, on the go. Your natural voice shapes your words. The sound of your voice adding flavour to story, including your body language and your actions. Waving your hands. Pointing here and there. Pausing, for effect and digestion. Sometimes looking from face to face to face. And then, as often happens, someone jumps in. Like a car that cuts you off on the highway, you swerve and try to get back in front again. Depending on how aggressive the driver of the new voice in this conversation is, you might never take the lead in that story.
That's how easy it is. We all participate, whether we want to or not.
But when we write, it's very different. We don't have that audience in front of us to look into their faces and judge their reaction. We only have that voice in our heads urging us on to put into writing those thoughts in our heads. If you can, you can build that story, not planning ahead, not anticipating, but letting it happen. What does that mean? It's almost like you're part of the audience in your head. Like everyone else, you're watching the play waiting, almost with baited breath, to see what's going to happen next. And so you put yourself into those perplexing situations, you're uncomfortable, you try to wiggle your way out, but can't. If you did, that would be fantasy and as even you wouldn't believe that it's that easy to get away, neither will your audience.
That person in your head isn't judging you. They want you to talk. They want to read what you have to say, but with honesty. They want you to go and do your research if you can't find a way to explain it. They don't want anything contrived or made up. They are looking for the real deal.
And, they're also looking for it in your voice. That everyday voice that you use when you're speaking to people, at work, in school, in public, to that audience, to your family and to yourself. The same respectful, caring voice is the only one that they would like to hear. Because when you speak, when everyone is waiting to hear what you're going to say next, you always think carefully, and speak well.
We write because we care. We write because if we don't we feel miserable. We write because it fulfils us. We write because when we write we hear our own voice and that voice calms and soothes us.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Difficult people
The absolute nerve! One can only wonder what goes on in that mass of tissue masquerading as a brain. Some people have short term memory, really short term. They forget what they were thinking about a few minutes ago. But many of us know what we were thinking, much less doing, but hope that nobody else does.
So often we are told to be careful not to burn bridges because you might never know when you'll need to turn around and head back the same way. In some rare cases, the bridge you burnt will be rebuilt by someone else. You'll be fortunate enough to head back that way, either voluntarily or forced by by mitigating circumstances, and find that someone has rebuilt the bridge.
But enough of the bickering and complaining already! Count your blessings
So often we are told to be careful not to burn bridges because you might never know when you'll need to turn around and head back the same way. In some rare cases, the bridge you burnt will be rebuilt by someone else. You'll be fortunate enough to head back that way, either voluntarily or forced by by mitigating circumstances, and find that someone has rebuilt the bridge.
But enough of the bickering and complaining already! Count your blessings
Wednesday, December 08, 2010
Language of obfuscation
I was thinking about teaching and learning. About simplification and abstraction. About how some disciplines, probably some people, create barriers to knowledge. Some people are born teachers. They are able to simplify and explain. To break things down without dumbing them down.
We understand things differently. We need to see things for ourselves to make sense of them. A particular text book doesn't fit the bill for everyone. That's why there are so many books on the same topic. Browse any book store and on their shelves, you'll see different versions of the same topic. Explained this way, or that way.
We take things in through our eyes and ears mainly. Our sense of smell and touch isn't used in this knowledge based world which handicaps the motor minded people. Those who absorb better when they see action. Movement. Books are great, but they also don't satisfy the visually minded or the aurally minded, those who learn best by visualising or hearing. With books, words, the visually minded person has to close their eyes and picture the subject. It can be difficult if the subject is mathematics. For those who learn best by hearing, attending a lecture and sitting back while listening, or buying the audio version of the book sometimes helps.
But in this day of information and technology, it's sad to note that educators aren't taking the art of teaching more seriously. Those who write believe that since they are subject matter experts they automatically qualify to teach the subject. Moreover, they feel that those who are not subject matter experts have no right to espouse what they know about the topic. Some experts in their fields are great educators. But there are few of those. Bjarne Stroustroup, the father of the computer programming language C++ is one of those. Not only did he invent the programming language, but he wrote the seminal book on it. He's a great teacher. The authors of the book The C Programming Language also fall into this category. The first edition of that book was only 228 pages long and not only covered the entire programming language but it was full of practise exercises. The authors, Brian Kernighan and Dennis Ritchie, understood very clearly that in order to learn computer programming you had to write computer programs. The more computer programs you wrote, the more you understood the programming language and the better the programmer you became. They applied the principles of learning a foreign language to computer languages. I loved reading that book and still try some of the exercises.
But there are literally thousands, hundreds of thousands, of books on computer languages, a great many of which are terribly written in a boring long hand, obfuscated with jargon which is tersely explained in a fleetingly by the way manner. There are some disciplines that have totally given up trying to teach. For example, Architecture. For the most part, there's an assumption that the Architecture student, by tedious repetition, voluminous production of work will eventually get it. The words used in lectures subliminally affect the consciousness to produce images which can then be manipulated in the mind of the student and turned into structure. The form magically appears. When asked to explain how the form appeared, words are then used to wrap around the image in a matter of fact way. Have you ever heard Architects speaking and trying to explain their process? It's laughable. A friend of mine, former student in Architecture like me, once explained it to me in terms of ego. The discipline is full of them and survival depends on you being as abstract as possible. As though you're a magician with secrets that mere mortals can only wish they understood but which will forever lie beyond their reach.
Teachers, educators, instructors, tutors, those with knowledge, often believe that the inability of the student, the apprentice, the learner, that the problem lies with the person and not the instruction. That the inability of the student to digest the material lies in the students genetic disposition to stupidity. They just don't get it. You see a lot of this in the face of teachers during parent teacher night as the elementary school teacher explains why your child isn't progressing as fast as the other children. There's a subtle message behind this that your dummy genes have somehow infected your child and therefore your own inability to progress in life has afflicted your offspring. The simplicity of the theory of relativity is something that most human beings on this planet don't understand, but even that high school elementary teacher behaves as though it's the most natural thing in the world and that they invented it. E=MC-squared. So what?
With this bombardment of information throughout those formative years, children, and adults, develop a fear of difficult, or seemingly difficult subjects. Even if we end up in our fields of expertise, our focus narrows into singular tunnel vision obscuring our ability to be open-minded, broad-minded and effective lifelong learners. For those of us that end up moving up the scales in life, each rung has it's barriers to entry. Many of them having been manufactured by those who are unable to explain how they got there in the first place. There are tons of management seminars, self-help workshops, leadership conventions, motivation and team-building exercises that will fail for the majority of the attendees simply because the craft has not been abstracted enough for each person to personalise it. Make it their own. Take ownership of it.
And that perhaps is the key to learning. Seeing it for yourself. It is the only way to see. It is the only way to achieve and it may not necessarily jive with the way others see things. Even concepts that are supposedly scientific and unarguable. Without leeway. Here's a good example. Kekule, who discovered and explained the structure of the Benzene molecule is said to have been dreaming. And in his dream, of snakes, one of them grabbed onto its own tail. That image, of the snake grabbing its tail, led him to the discovery of the Benzene molecule which is a ring structure. Whether the story is true is immaterial. The important thing is that I remember this and I haven't studied high school chemistry in over twenty-five years. The image alone stuck in my mind. Watson and Crick discovered the structure of DNA, a double-helix of amino acid pairs. We're all made of the same building block!
Isn't that fascinating in and of itself. That a couple of molecules differentiate us from some animals, and even among ourselves, these molecular differences lead to large physical differences.
The work that I'm engaged in crosses a number of disciplines, many of which hold very little interest. But the environment does have its different components each vying for some relevance in the overall discipline. As a result, each unit, faction, silo creates within itself an identity and brings with it the baggage of self importance. With self importance, terminology and codecs appear. A theory of practise. A way of doing things. Alchemy to the outsider, but practised with religious importance shrouded in mystery. Meetings are held of grave importance, pads whipped out, documents created. The wheels of progress forging forward, unabated, uninterrupted, yet obscured. The largest part of the problem is making sense of how all the components fit together. Some people don't care, or worry, about the grand scheme, as long as their component seems to be intact. Some people can function quite capably with the knowledge that all they have to do is attach the widget marked with a "+B" to the widget marked with a "B+" and that everything else will take care of itself.
Some of us become dysfunctional in that environment. The need to grasp the terrain from the upper stratosphere becomes of seminal importance or we become catatonic. Unable to function because the meaning isn't clear. The purpose is unknown and so the value or worth of the task becomes futile. And when this happens, the ability to comprehend to learn is diminished. And when those with knowledge are unable to teach, and get annoyed because they're surrounded by idiots then more oil is poured onto the burning problem and all that happens is that it exacerbates.
The next series of blogs will explore this problem further. Mostly so that I, as a former teacher, understand what it is my craft was about, but I also have this deep belief that by teaching others, you, yourself, benefit greatly from the exchange. You clarify what you know if you can take it and give it to someone else.
Ever watch people at an art gallery? They stand there in front of an abstract piece, in awe. They recapitulate the artists intent and agonise over the mess. They walk away, self-satisfied, hesitantly assured, marginally confident that they have witnessed something. They'd do better by going into a dark room and praying.
We understand things differently. We need to see things for ourselves to make sense of them. A particular text book doesn't fit the bill for everyone. That's why there are so many books on the same topic. Browse any book store and on their shelves, you'll see different versions of the same topic. Explained this way, or that way.
We take things in through our eyes and ears mainly. Our sense of smell and touch isn't used in this knowledge based world which handicaps the motor minded people. Those who absorb better when they see action. Movement. Books are great, but they also don't satisfy the visually minded or the aurally minded, those who learn best by visualising or hearing. With books, words, the visually minded person has to close their eyes and picture the subject. It can be difficult if the subject is mathematics. For those who learn best by hearing, attending a lecture and sitting back while listening, or buying the audio version of the book sometimes helps.
But in this day of information and technology, it's sad to note that educators aren't taking the art of teaching more seriously. Those who write believe that since they are subject matter experts they automatically qualify to teach the subject. Moreover, they feel that those who are not subject matter experts have no right to espouse what they know about the topic. Some experts in their fields are great educators. But there are few of those. Bjarne Stroustroup, the father of the computer programming language C++ is one of those. Not only did he invent the programming language, but he wrote the seminal book on it. He's a great teacher. The authors of the book The C Programming Language also fall into this category. The first edition of that book was only 228 pages long and not only covered the entire programming language but it was full of practise exercises. The authors, Brian Kernighan and Dennis Ritchie, understood very clearly that in order to learn computer programming you had to write computer programs. The more computer programs you wrote, the more you understood the programming language and the better the programmer you became. They applied the principles of learning a foreign language to computer languages. I loved reading that book and still try some of the exercises.
But there are literally thousands, hundreds of thousands, of books on computer languages, a great many of which are terribly written in a boring long hand, obfuscated with jargon which is tersely explained in a fleetingly by the way manner. There are some disciplines that have totally given up trying to teach. For example, Architecture. For the most part, there's an assumption that the Architecture student, by tedious repetition, voluminous production of work will eventually get it. The words used in lectures subliminally affect the consciousness to produce images which can then be manipulated in the mind of the student and turned into structure. The form magically appears. When asked to explain how the form appeared, words are then used to wrap around the image in a matter of fact way. Have you ever heard Architects speaking and trying to explain their process? It's laughable. A friend of mine, former student in Architecture like me, once explained it to me in terms of ego. The discipline is full of them and survival depends on you being as abstract as possible. As though you're a magician with secrets that mere mortals can only wish they understood but which will forever lie beyond their reach.
Teachers, educators, instructors, tutors, those with knowledge, often believe that the inability of the student, the apprentice, the learner, that the problem lies with the person and not the instruction. That the inability of the student to digest the material lies in the students genetic disposition to stupidity. They just don't get it. You see a lot of this in the face of teachers during parent teacher night as the elementary school teacher explains why your child isn't progressing as fast as the other children. There's a subtle message behind this that your dummy genes have somehow infected your child and therefore your own inability to progress in life has afflicted your offspring. The simplicity of the theory of relativity is something that most human beings on this planet don't understand, but even that high school elementary teacher behaves as though it's the most natural thing in the world and that they invented it. E=MC-squared. So what?
With this bombardment of information throughout those formative years, children, and adults, develop a fear of difficult, or seemingly difficult subjects. Even if we end up in our fields of expertise, our focus narrows into singular tunnel vision obscuring our ability to be open-minded, broad-minded and effective lifelong learners. For those of us that end up moving up the scales in life, each rung has it's barriers to entry. Many of them having been manufactured by those who are unable to explain how they got there in the first place. There are tons of management seminars, self-help workshops, leadership conventions, motivation and team-building exercises that will fail for the majority of the attendees simply because the craft has not been abstracted enough for each person to personalise it. Make it their own. Take ownership of it.
And that perhaps is the key to learning. Seeing it for yourself. It is the only way to see. It is the only way to achieve and it may not necessarily jive with the way others see things. Even concepts that are supposedly scientific and unarguable. Without leeway. Here's a good example. Kekule, who discovered and explained the structure of the Benzene molecule is said to have been dreaming. And in his dream, of snakes, one of them grabbed onto its own tail. That image, of the snake grabbing its tail, led him to the discovery of the Benzene molecule which is a ring structure. Whether the story is true is immaterial. The important thing is that I remember this and I haven't studied high school chemistry in over twenty-five years. The image alone stuck in my mind. Watson and Crick discovered the structure of DNA, a double-helix of amino acid pairs. We're all made of the same building block!
Isn't that fascinating in and of itself. That a couple of molecules differentiate us from some animals, and even among ourselves, these molecular differences lead to large physical differences.
The work that I'm engaged in crosses a number of disciplines, many of which hold very little interest. But the environment does have its different components each vying for some relevance in the overall discipline. As a result, each unit, faction, silo creates within itself an identity and brings with it the baggage of self importance. With self importance, terminology and codecs appear. A theory of practise. A way of doing things. Alchemy to the outsider, but practised with religious importance shrouded in mystery. Meetings are held of grave importance, pads whipped out, documents created. The wheels of progress forging forward, unabated, uninterrupted, yet obscured. The largest part of the problem is making sense of how all the components fit together. Some people don't care, or worry, about the grand scheme, as long as their component seems to be intact. Some people can function quite capably with the knowledge that all they have to do is attach the widget marked with a "+B" to the widget marked with a "B+" and that everything else will take care of itself.
Some of us become dysfunctional in that environment. The need to grasp the terrain from the upper stratosphere becomes of seminal importance or we become catatonic. Unable to function because the meaning isn't clear. The purpose is unknown and so the value or worth of the task becomes futile. And when this happens, the ability to comprehend to learn is diminished. And when those with knowledge are unable to teach, and get annoyed because they're surrounded by idiots then more oil is poured onto the burning problem and all that happens is that it exacerbates.
The next series of blogs will explore this problem further. Mostly so that I, as a former teacher, understand what it is my craft was about, but I also have this deep belief that by teaching others, you, yourself, benefit greatly from the exchange. You clarify what you know if you can take it and give it to someone else.
Ever watch people at an art gallery? They stand there in front of an abstract piece, in awe. They recapitulate the artists intent and agonise over the mess. They walk away, self-satisfied, hesitantly assured, marginally confident that they have witnessed something. They'd do better by going into a dark room and praying.
90K done!
It appears that I've already surpassed the 90K mark in my weekly training. I measured the "10K" route and found it to be closer to 11K. If that's the case, then my morning 10K's are actually morning 11K's. Which means, 55K from Monday to Friday.
So, on that 20K + 17K weekend, for that week, I ran 55K + 37K. That's 92K baby!
Here's my 11K morning (5:30am) running route.
So, on that 20K + 17K weekend, for that week, I ran 55K + 37K. That's 92K baby!
Here's my 11K morning (5:30am) running route.
Sunday, December 05, 2010
90K almost there....
I'm almost back there. This past week, I ran 90K. 10K every day from Monday to Friday. A 20K run on Saturday and a 17K run on Sunday. Starting in September, 70 weeks were a regular diet, but the legs are getting stronger, the Achilles tendon isn't hurting any more and finally broke 80K sometime in mid-November with two good 15K runs on Saturday and Sunday one weekend.
For the past few months, since mid-September, I haven't run on two days. It's been a diet of 10K's every morning at 5:30am. I've now pushed that time back. I'm getting up at 5:00am, out of the door by 5:30am so that I can be back in the house in time to get ready for work. The 5:00am wake-up time has forced me to crash by 10:00pm at night. Those midnight and 1:00am sleep times are gone. Except, for the weekends. I can afford to head out at 8:00am.
I've discovered that it's all about tea! That's right. A cup of black tea, no milk, cooled with some water and no hydration is really required for about an hour. In fact, the 20K run was done without additional hydration during the run. The tea is a miracle drink. I believe it's raising my lactic threshold, keeping the muscles from tightening up early and allowing me to go longer. The colder weather in the fall is also helping so I'm not burning up, sweating to keep cool. The sweat is just exertion.
So as I write this, it's past midnight. I did a 20K run today, Saturday (Dec 4) and tomorrow, hoping that I'm out of the door by 10:00am, I'll run a nice slow 17K. That's a good week. I don't know when I'll be able to do those two back-to-back 20K's and crack the 90K mark.
I'm also doing a very good stretch after the run. Especially the calf muscles. Stretch and limber them up. Also stretching those abductor muscles on the upper inner leg. The hamstrings are getting stretched at the same time. Some time back I got a painful sciatica nerve problem. I suspect this was from sitting at the job. At that time, I did some ultrasound physiotherapy which helped get rid of the problem at that time, but there's not much stretching that can be done back there. Just have to watch out to make sure the nerves aren't compressed too much for too long. Sitting down for more than 30 minutes is probably a bad thing.
The routine for the rest of the week will be similar. 10K's daily and finish off with two 17's. I might try for another 20K before taking off for Nairobi. Don't know if I'll get to run much at home, but I might switch up to cycling to keep the toning.
For the past few months, since mid-September, I haven't run on two days. It's been a diet of 10K's every morning at 5:30am. I've now pushed that time back. I'm getting up at 5:00am, out of the door by 5:30am so that I can be back in the house in time to get ready for work. The 5:00am wake-up time has forced me to crash by 10:00pm at night. Those midnight and 1:00am sleep times are gone. Except, for the weekends. I can afford to head out at 8:00am.
I've discovered that it's all about tea! That's right. A cup of black tea, no milk, cooled with some water and no hydration is really required for about an hour. In fact, the 20K run was done without additional hydration during the run. The tea is a miracle drink. I believe it's raising my lactic threshold, keeping the muscles from tightening up early and allowing me to go longer. The colder weather in the fall is also helping so I'm not burning up, sweating to keep cool. The sweat is just exertion.
So as I write this, it's past midnight. I did a 20K run today, Saturday (Dec 4) and tomorrow, hoping that I'm out of the door by 10:00am, I'll run a nice slow 17K. That's a good week. I don't know when I'll be able to do those two back-to-back 20K's and crack the 90K mark.
I'm also doing a very good stretch after the run. Especially the calf muscles. Stretch and limber them up. Also stretching those abductor muscles on the upper inner leg. The hamstrings are getting stretched at the same time. Some time back I got a painful sciatica nerve problem. I suspect this was from sitting at the job. At that time, I did some ultrasound physiotherapy which helped get rid of the problem at that time, but there's not much stretching that can be done back there. Just have to watch out to make sure the nerves aren't compressed too much for too long. Sitting down for more than 30 minutes is probably a bad thing.
The routine for the rest of the week will be similar. 10K's daily and finish off with two 17's. I might try for another 20K before taking off for Nairobi. Don't know if I'll get to run much at home, but I might switch up to cycling to keep the toning.
Wednesday, December 01, 2010
Fixing a 4th Generation iPod Shuffle that's shorted out
I read this tip on how to fix an iPod shuffle, the small 4th-Generation one, that's shorted out, and it worked for me so I thought I'd post the solution.
This model of iPod shuffle has a terrible design. The headphone jack doubles as the charger and so is prone to shorting out if a little moisture gets into the jack. A search on Google for "iPod shuffle sweat shorting" returns a ton of hits with people complaining on how their iPods died after only a few months. The main problem is that a lot of people use this device when exercising. Sweat then runs down the headphone cable and into the jack shorting out the battery. With other mp3 players, this doesn't happen since the charger isn't built into the jack. It's normally built as a separate docking jack or a simple USB connection.
In my case it wasn't sweat. It was rain water. Normally if it's raining and I run outside, I wrap my mp3 player in plastic wrap. I didn't and some moisture ran into the headphone jack. I heard crackling in my ears and just thought that the jack was getting loose. I tried switching it on-and-off, unplugging and plugging in the jack and soon the device was dead. Thinking the battery had died, I plugged it into the charger and the charge light didn't come on at all. After some searching on Google, I found out why.
Solution:
If the iPod has shorted and destroyed some of the internal components, then this won't work, however, since the device is dead, it doesn't hurt to try this solution to see if it will work before you dispose of it.
Good luck
This model of iPod shuffle has a terrible design. The headphone jack doubles as the charger and so is prone to shorting out if a little moisture gets into the jack. A search on Google for "iPod shuffle sweat shorting" returns a ton of hits with people complaining on how their iPods died after only a few months. The main problem is that a lot of people use this device when exercising. Sweat then runs down the headphone cable and into the jack shorting out the battery. With other mp3 players, this doesn't happen since the charger isn't built into the jack. It's normally built as a separate docking jack or a simple USB connection.
In my case it wasn't sweat. It was rain water. Normally if it's raining and I run outside, I wrap my mp3 player in plastic wrap. I didn't and some moisture ran into the headphone jack. I heard crackling in my ears and just thought that the jack was getting loose. I tried switching it on-and-off, unplugging and plugging in the jack and soon the device was dead. Thinking the battery had died, I plugged it into the charger and the charge light didn't come on at all. After some searching on Google, I found out why.
Solution:
- Immerse the iPod in rubbing alcohol for about a day. This will displace the water from the inside of the iPod and since alcohol evaporates easily, it will dry out later faster.
- Put the iPod in a container with rice for a couple of days. Rice will absorb the moisture.
If the iPod has shorted and destroyed some of the internal components, then this won't work, however, since the device is dead, it doesn't hurt to try this solution to see if it will work before you dispose of it.
Good luck
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