Pumping iron in the gym, like a monster.
Boil an egg, put some bread in the toaster.
Training right, eating well for a big kick,
So come race time I'll be "Fly Like A G6".
Give me my water wet,
Give me clean towels dry.
My workout today will definitely make quitters cry.
You want to workout with me?
Perseverance must come naturally
Because I don't stop once I pick the weights up and do my reps you see.
Oh yes! Girl, I'm type extreme, power cleaning in the gym.
I have to keep my form in check to keep chance of injury slim.
Once I gain momentum I don't want to be sidelined.
Now I've the chance to put in the work; the present is my time.
Running Van Cortlandt's hills, inclines without mercy.
They try their hardest to grind away resolve but the trick is consistency.
You just have to pump arms and legs,
And keep that head down,
And once you burst into the clearing
And race the straightaway,
You'll be a challenger for that crown.
Tempo run in Central Park, training to race
Solidifying my technique known to me as pace and chase.
Gym now! Environed jocks are grunting like they're truly bulked.
Bench press time! And the mix on my media player makes me step my workout up.
I can't forget to stretch!
Have to be limber, balanced and loose.
And knowing when to take rest days
Is the best thing I can do.
My goal is longevity not a merely fleeting journey.
So the number one goal of any workout is to take care of... well, me.
Endorphins abound! Pleasant rush that can only be found
In a layer of sweat that you'll surely get
When you put on some sneakers and try not to fret.
Your body will thank you... Hey, why aren't you outside yet?
Monday, August 22, 2011
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Romeo and Juliet: Hunter, NY Tour
The rays of the sun stretched forth its arms across the vast expanse of the bright morning sky. He rose with the sun, mimicking its reach with an extension of his own arms, just barely touching the low ceiling above his head. He remembered entering the town last night under an inky black sky dotted with stars, more than the mere smattering that he was accustomed to in the city. Here, there were no lights and buildings that scuffed the sky to compete with the distant suns of other galaxies. Today was the first full day in a novel environment. It was time to explore this town.
He chose not to run today. Today, with the rarefied mountain air filling his lungs, he thought it would be a more savory experience if he just walked. Cumulus and stratus clouds crowned the mountains in the distance. How high up were we? He slipped on his sneakers and briskly walked down the sidewalk in this ski town in the Catskills. He could see his breath, faint wisps. The first aspect he noticed was the closed stores. A ski supply shop had gone out of business- twice. It kept moving to the buildings next door. Its most recent decal hung freshly painted from a building that was two houses away from the first location of the store. Here was a person who chose to re-buy when he busted in on all his chips. Business is a gamble. The store looked well stocked but as the equipment was not in season, it would not be open for the duration of this journey.
The brazenness of another store owner both startled and amused the young walker. This was a barber shop and its hours were one that he was compelled to pause and take note of. While some of the days offered regular hours of business, there were a few welcome surprises. Sunday was "by chance" and a few other days yielded an indeterminate schedule. The owner had established enough credibility to work regularly for only four days. There would still be customers. Hair cutting was a luxury.
He had come to the end of the sidewalk and of the little town where he would be performing later tonight. The concrete veered off to the left and ended before the steps of a Catholic church. The end of the road leading to a place faith. Was the message that there was only one true path to salvation? Ironic. He was surprised at the longevity of the wooden structure, freshly painted white with green trimmings lining the windows, the roof and the front corners that protruded from the main building. The foundation at the front of the place of worship was of brick, the rail for the stair of cast iron. Renovation? It was not yet wheelchair accessible, a thought he vacated because he considered it too sharp a critique.
With no sidewalk left, he continued walking on the shoulder of the 23A, the highway that left the town. Houses, a resort that welcomed visitors for late night jazz dancing and a used car dealership lined opposite sides of the street... then nothing. He was walking along the road with grass grown to the length of his shoulder. He started to wonder why people lived so far away from the city, then he remembered his own days of youth growing up in the countryside. It was a peaceful time then. Maybe they came here to escape the accelerated, expensive life that a big city often inadvertently promulgates. The rent, and everything else, was quite high.
Why wasn't anyone else awake yet? He had only passed a lone man with a water truck who stopped at each pot of flowers that hung from the street lamps on this Main Street and, with the hose attached to the enormous tank that teetered from the back of his jalopy, gave nourishment to the thirsty perennials. There was no great need to be awake too early here, he surmised, especially in the summer. This was definitely a winter town. He walked until he came across a red, wooden bridge that led to a single tree on an islet surrounded by a lake. He crossed that bridge when he got there and scanned his environs, then wondered on whose private grounds he had trespassed. No matter; he would only leave footprints and carbon dioxide that the tree would then use.
He reached the other town and decided to start walking back now. This was still a workout of sorts for him, so he didn't want to walk for more than 1 hour and 35 minutes, or it would not be equivalent to his 10% increase in intensity of training. He would train smart this time around. On the way back, cyclists greeted him. They had come form across the world and were on their way to the town that he had just left for the weekend's road races. Signs of life stirred on the outskirts and, as he drew nearer, the heart of the town. Good morning all. The people responded. A cup of sugar generously given by a cafe owner for morning coffee. A primary school. It looked more like a fortress, and was one of three structures in the town made entirely of stone. The other two were the fire house and the Baptist church. A peculiar development in this almost entirely wooden town. A modern touch that was of a different timbre than the timber that surrounded it. The synagogue was in the center of the town. White with grey trimmings and a blue Star of David. The epicenter of the community. Doors open, lights burning from two lamps at either side of the entrance. Shabbat. Service was about to begin.
The theater occupied a room on the first floor of what could have easily once been a grandiose house. The show was featured on the theater's digital event board - bright lights. Housed within other rooms of this converted building were three other theater spaces; these were for movies. The seats were better but the stage was a two dimensional screen that showed a three-dimensional world. That stage was not tangible. This would be where the wayfarer and the rest of the cast and crew spent the entire afternoon and late night for the performance. A temporary, favorably acoustic home for the traveling company. We told the story of love and loss and the bitter seeds of what it means to have been of different communities, instead of being one community of different backgrounds. Equal but separate. Brought together and torn apart simultaneously by the love born of emotional truth. A kiss by the book of life and another by the quarto of death. And the audience applauded and returned home; were we preaching to the choir? From the lives of the people in the town that seemed to coexist and be intertwined, that was a possible intimation- except that there many people in the town who, when asked, stated that they would not be attending the show. Where was our audience from, then? The motley cast and crew would celebrate the end of the story-telling journey. Our purpose was served.
He chose not to run today. Today, with the rarefied mountain air filling his lungs, he thought it would be a more savory experience if he just walked. Cumulus and stratus clouds crowned the mountains in the distance. How high up were we? He slipped on his sneakers and briskly walked down the sidewalk in this ski town in the Catskills. He could see his breath, faint wisps. The first aspect he noticed was the closed stores. A ski supply shop had gone out of business- twice. It kept moving to the buildings next door. Its most recent decal hung freshly painted from a building that was two houses away from the first location of the store. Here was a person who chose to re-buy when he busted in on all his chips. Business is a gamble. The store looked well stocked but as the equipment was not in season, it would not be open for the duration of this journey.
The brazenness of another store owner both startled and amused the young walker. This was a barber shop and its hours were one that he was compelled to pause and take note of. While some of the days offered regular hours of business, there were a few welcome surprises. Sunday was "by chance" and a few other days yielded an indeterminate schedule. The owner had established enough credibility to work regularly for only four days. There would still be customers. Hair cutting was a luxury.
He had come to the end of the sidewalk and of the little town where he would be performing later tonight. The concrete veered off to the left and ended before the steps of a Catholic church. The end of the road leading to a place faith. Was the message that there was only one true path to salvation? Ironic. He was surprised at the longevity of the wooden structure, freshly painted white with green trimmings lining the windows, the roof and the front corners that protruded from the main building. The foundation at the front of the place of worship was of brick, the rail for the stair of cast iron. Renovation? It was not yet wheelchair accessible, a thought he vacated because he considered it too sharp a critique.
With no sidewalk left, he continued walking on the shoulder of the 23A, the highway that left the town. Houses, a resort that welcomed visitors for late night jazz dancing and a used car dealership lined opposite sides of the street... then nothing. He was walking along the road with grass grown to the length of his shoulder. He started to wonder why people lived so far away from the city, then he remembered his own days of youth growing up in the countryside. It was a peaceful time then. Maybe they came here to escape the accelerated, expensive life that a big city often inadvertently promulgates. The rent, and everything else, was quite high.
Why wasn't anyone else awake yet? He had only passed a lone man with a water truck who stopped at each pot of flowers that hung from the street lamps on this Main Street and, with the hose attached to the enormous tank that teetered from the back of his jalopy, gave nourishment to the thirsty perennials. There was no great need to be awake too early here, he surmised, especially in the summer. This was definitely a winter town. He walked until he came across a red, wooden bridge that led to a single tree on an islet surrounded by a lake. He crossed that bridge when he got there and scanned his environs, then wondered on whose private grounds he had trespassed. No matter; he would only leave footprints and carbon dioxide that the tree would then use.
He reached the other town and decided to start walking back now. This was still a workout of sorts for him, so he didn't want to walk for more than 1 hour and 35 minutes, or it would not be equivalent to his 10% increase in intensity of training. He would train smart this time around. On the way back, cyclists greeted him. They had come form across the world and were on their way to the town that he had just left for the weekend's road races. Signs of life stirred on the outskirts and, as he drew nearer, the heart of the town. Good morning all. The people responded. A cup of sugar generously given by a cafe owner for morning coffee. A primary school. It looked more like a fortress, and was one of three structures in the town made entirely of stone. The other two were the fire house and the Baptist church. A peculiar development in this almost entirely wooden town. A modern touch that was of a different timbre than the timber that surrounded it. The synagogue was in the center of the town. White with grey trimmings and a blue Star of David. The epicenter of the community. Doors open, lights burning from two lamps at either side of the entrance. Shabbat. Service was about to begin.
The theater occupied a room on the first floor of what could have easily once been a grandiose house. The show was featured on the theater's digital event board - bright lights. Housed within other rooms of this converted building were three other theater spaces; these were for movies. The seats were better but the stage was a two dimensional screen that showed a three-dimensional world. That stage was not tangible. This would be where the wayfarer and the rest of the cast and crew spent the entire afternoon and late night for the performance. A temporary, favorably acoustic home for the traveling company. We told the story of love and loss and the bitter seeds of what it means to have been of different communities, instead of being one community of different backgrounds. Equal but separate. Brought together and torn apart simultaneously by the love born of emotional truth. A kiss by the book of life and another by the quarto of death. And the audience applauded and returned home; were we preaching to the choir? From the lives of the people in the town that seemed to coexist and be intertwined, that was a possible intimation- except that there many people in the town who, when asked, stated that they would not be attending the show. Where was our audience from, then? The motley cast and crew would celebrate the end of the story-telling journey. Our purpose was served.
Monday, August 1, 2011
Emancipation
Yesterday it rained. Life is like a dream of children dancing in the summer rain. But there was no dancing. There are no children here. Instead, there were many people trying to get out of the rain that they had been asking for for days. Instead of relishing in the cool, cathartic rain, they prayed for the nightmarish heat to return. The torrential downpour was sudden, catching the vast majority of people off-guard, at least those who did not tune in to the weather regularly. He, of course, was one of these people. He sighed and continued walking up the street. Shoes drenched. The squelch of leather against soaked skin and flooded sidewalk. He noticed that the children were all gone. They would play in the park further down the block, delightfully splashing under the man-made jets of water that shot up from an invisible, seemingly-infinite source. The adults knew better; tax dollars well spent on city park activities. But as the grape-sized droplets fell from the laden clouds, aided by gravity, there were no children in sight. No one played in the rain anymore. This fear of nature, of the natural source of the nourishment of all living things, bothered him a little. For the past few days, society blanched in the unbearable heat, unable to concentrate, unable to adequately socialize without shade, cool artificial breezes and cold beverages. Now that there was a marked drop in humidity and temperature, there were many who cowered in fear. Umbrellas were ineffective attempts at shelter. Nobody knew what they wanted. There was heat, and they complained. Now there is no heat but a lot of wet, and again the masses are unsatisfied.
He reached his destination, paused and looked up. The droplets were cool, refreshing, suitable reprieve from the swelter of days past. He smiled. Once more around the block, why not? His arms outstretched, shuffling feet upgraded to a mere amble. His daring increased exponentially with each step. Soon, he was dancing in the rain, to the tunes of the Water Waltz, the Rain Robot, the Storm Swing. Nobody was around to judge him anyway, or they were hurriedly seeking shelter and did not join in the party. He embraced the precipitation that made the ground pulse with fervor, falling rain that lifted his spirits. Carefree, problems on hold. A liquid panacea. He inhaled life and exhaled doubt.
Across the street, a woman is moving into her new apartment. She walks to her sport utility vehicle and opens the back door. Unknown to her, a black pair of underwear falls out of a bag and saunters its way down the block in the newly formed rivulet between sidewalk and roadway. Incognizant, she continues her busy task and returns to her building. He watches it float away, lost forever in the rapid deluge, its lot is to be eroded by time and the elements. It is the fate of unnoticed objects. From the building she just walked into, a man and his daughter walk out. He asks her loudly if she wanted to go play in the rain. She looks up in the sky with eyes barely two years old, and does not move from the step. He asks her to say yes daddy. She does and his delight is evident as he picks her up and walks into the torrent. The rain hits her on the face - she flinches and buries her head into her father's shoulder. It is a painful endeavor for her. The father sees this and wordlessly carries her back indoors; both are soaked and defeated.
He didn't feel like dancing anymore; he was dancing alone anyway and who does that? The steady plops sharpened to stinging drops. There were no means of a quick escape from this onslaught. He too had had enough and now wished for the rain to cease... and as abruptly as the downpour began, so too was it abated. His emancipation was short lived. Umbrellas shook around him, a round of applause for the end of an unexpected discomfort. He turned around and headed for home.
He reached his destination, paused and looked up. The droplets were cool, refreshing, suitable reprieve from the swelter of days past. He smiled. Once more around the block, why not? His arms outstretched, shuffling feet upgraded to a mere amble. His daring increased exponentially with each step. Soon, he was dancing in the rain, to the tunes of the Water Waltz, the Rain Robot, the Storm Swing. Nobody was around to judge him anyway, or they were hurriedly seeking shelter and did not join in the party. He embraced the precipitation that made the ground pulse with fervor, falling rain that lifted his spirits. Carefree, problems on hold. A liquid panacea. He inhaled life and exhaled doubt.
Across the street, a woman is moving into her new apartment. She walks to her sport utility vehicle and opens the back door. Unknown to her, a black pair of underwear falls out of a bag and saunters its way down the block in the newly formed rivulet between sidewalk and roadway. Incognizant, she continues her busy task and returns to her building. He watches it float away, lost forever in the rapid deluge, its lot is to be eroded by time and the elements. It is the fate of unnoticed objects. From the building she just walked into, a man and his daughter walk out. He asks her loudly if she wanted to go play in the rain. She looks up in the sky with eyes barely two years old, and does not move from the step. He asks her to say yes daddy. She does and his delight is evident as he picks her up and walks into the torrent. The rain hits her on the face - she flinches and buries her head into her father's shoulder. It is a painful endeavor for her. The father sees this and wordlessly carries her back indoors; both are soaked and defeated.
He didn't feel like dancing anymore; he was dancing alone anyway and who does that? The steady plops sharpened to stinging drops. There were no means of a quick escape from this onslaught. He too had had enough and now wished for the rain to cease... and as abruptly as the downpour began, so too was it abated. His emancipation was short lived. Umbrellas shook around him, a round of applause for the end of an unexpected discomfort. He turned around and headed for home.
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