Flaming Pablum

Central Park ... After Dark

Back in August of 2019, I started composing another long, detailed post about my years growing up on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. It was ostensibly meant as kind of a companion piece to a long post I’d penned about my encounters with some (very) small-time crime in that era. This post was going to concentrate on the significance of visiting Central Park during the less advisable hours of the evening, something myself and certain friends of mine used do with blithely idiotic frequency. I’m not sure why, but I believe I abandoned the post because so much of it was wrapped up with my memories of my friend Danny, who passed away in 2018, and reconciling certain stuff was just all a bit too much.

In a nutshell, though, in the process of unspooling those anecdotes about favorite, clandestine spots we used to frequent in the Park during off hours, I was going to underscore the obvious underlying message, that being that Central Park at night — then as now — is nothing to fuck with. The stories of my teenaged exploits in that capacity were not meant as nostalgic boasts so much as evidence of youthful ignorance. While it might sound cliched and/or even quaint, now, the nocturnal iteration of Central Park accrued a certain fearful reputation for damn good reason.

That said, most of my own indiscretions in this capacity usually occurred in strategic locations that were barely a few steps from the street. Apart from the few instances when my late friend Danny and I foolhardily opted to bike through Central Park in the pitch black of night, we were usually to be found in frantic sprinting distance from the relative safety of Fifth Avenue and points east. The deeper you walked into the Park at night, the greater your chances of finding trouble were.

In the ensuing decades since my high school days, there have been myriad instances of crime — from the banal to the unspeakable — that have gone down after dark in the Park. From the The Preppy Murder case in 1986 to the Central Park Jogger case in 1989 to the teenage stabbing case at the Lake in 1997 and countless other less notorious incidents, it has been a haven for foul play. Only a year ago was a man found hanging from a tree near the 74th Street entrance, and only this past September were bodies pulled out of both the Reservoir uptown and Swan Lake down at the southeastern end of the Park.

While inarguably one of the most tranquil and beautiful locations in all of Manhattan, the verdant splendor of Central Park should not lull you into thinking that horribly bad shit can’t happen to you there.

Earlier today, while brazenly wasting time on YouTube instead of working, I came across the video below, presented by a bright-eyed, freshly scrubbed gent named Brian from a channel called Perfect Little Planet. Shot in 2016, this video posits the question: “Is Central Park Safe at Night?”

Let’s watch, shall we?

Before we dive into the meat of this video, how astonishingly annoying is that bit featuring all the "Pokemon Go!” zombies? Jesus Christ!!!

Taking the perspective of the tireless running enthusiast, the video seeks to reassure late-night joggers that Central Park is indeed safe, if you use your head and stick to “well lit” and more populated areas, although one might think that would all go without saying. To be fair, though, just being “well lit” isn’t necessarily enough. There are certain portions of the Park he cites as well lit that are still comparatively remote and Hell and gone from an easily accessible exit back to the streets. And don’t forget — when you’re somewhere “well lit,” not only can you see things, … but you, too, can be seen. That isn’t always an advantage.

When Brian gets to the infamous 102nd Street Crossing — where the Central Park Jogger was attacked and dragged into a ravine in the nearby North Woods — he tidily glosses over the incident by merely alluding to it as “bad stuff.” This feels a bit disingenuous.

Personally speaking, I didn’t embark on a star-crossed running regimen until it was basically far too late, and my middle-aged knees quickly put a stop to all that. As such, I cannot fully empathize with Brian’s zest for running. More to the point, I have nothing against people running in the Park (better that than on the street), but were I asked to opine as to the best times to attempt it, I still wouldn’t recommend after dark. I can also fully appreciate marveling at stirring, vespertine views and empty straightaways as much as the next guy, but they might just come with a terrible price that you could otherwise wisely avoid.

But, Hell, I'm still no expert. I'm sure Brian's intentions are in the right place. But what about you? Do YOU think Central Park is safe at night?

Weigh in....

Fuck You, Dry January

I mean, let’s face it, January sucks, no matter how you slice it. Between it being long, dark and cold and the comedown from the ostensibly festive holiday season, one can’t help but enter into it with some semblance of dread and despair. This, of course, comes coupled for many with a sense of guilt and obligation, whether it’s because of the resolve to honor one’s New Year’s resolutions or simply to detoxify via the self-imposed exile from boozeville that is so-called “Dry January.”

In past years, I’ve endeavored to accomplish the DryJan challenge, as routinely mentioned on my year-end surveys and at great length here last year. Last time around, as I said, I was knocked off the horse early by the arrival of the colorfully named winter weather event, the Bomb Cyclone. That’s just an excuse, of course. Had it not been the Bomb Cyclone, I’m sure I would have concocted some other reason. In short order, it was beery business as usual.

This year, however, it felt less like a whim or nagging twinge of guilt and more like a necessity. December had proven to be a robust month of imbibing, what with a preponderance of holiday events to attend. After weeks of office Christmas parties, a wedding and a few other booze-laden social engagements, we repaired to my brother-in-law’s place out in Pennsylvania for Boxing Day. I was pretty much handed an open beer when I stepped out the car at 2:00 pm, and that kept going until well into the evening. By New Year’s Eve, I was beyond determined to undertake a Dry January. Hell, I was positively looking forward to it.

I wasn’t getting sloppy-shitty, blacking out, slurring my words, starting fights with strangers or anything, but the burly intake of beer was becoming routine, and my tolerance was ascending sharply. Between the probable weight-gain, the conceivable strain on my liver (although my friend Keith keeps reminding me: THAT’S WHAT YOUR LIVER IS FOR, DAMMIT!) and, frankly, the expenditure -– I felt it was high time to flex my long-dormant will power, dry my system out and save some money… the latter reason reinforced by the arrival of some beefy post-Christmas Amex bills.

For no readily apparent reason, however I decided to augment the swearing-off of beer with two other stipulations. I would go without my iPod (yep, I still use an iPod … and you can go fuck yourself if you find that funny), as I’d been noticing a shrill uptick in the tinnitus that has been screaming in my right ear since 1999. Being that it’s been suggested that alcohol-consumption heightens the ring (along with salt, sugar and pretty much anything else that makes life worth living … like, say, oxygen and sex), I figured I should give my ears a break as well as my liver. A steadily stentorian diet of IDLES, Daughters and, strangely, The Upper Crust for much of December certainly weren’t doing them favors.

The third prong of my resolution was fairly simple: Take the stairs. Not at the office, mind you, but at home. It’s not a big deal, but I figured walking up and down the five flights would be a good habit to get into. To be honest, my building is fairly squat, and you’re on the second floor before it even hits you and while you’ve digested that information, you’re practically on the fourth floor. But hey, … couldn’t hurt, right? Regular readers might remember my running campaign from a few years back. Recurring knee problems forced me to abandon that, but I figure walking up and down stairs is something I should be able to regularly tackle.

Anyway, that was going to be my January – thirty-one days marked by sobriety, silence and strength.

Honestly, the toughest of the three directives to honor has been the stairs. It’s not that I’m lazy or that I find ascending those five flights too challenging, but rather that I just forget. I walk into my lobby, and muscle memory almost takes over. I check my mail and boom, next thing I know I’ve pushed the button and gotten on the elevator. There have been times when I have actually gone back downstairs and repaired to the stairwell to complete my mission, but I’m just finding it hard to remember to do it.

Swearing off my iPod has been less complicated, although I threw that particular towel in today. In the ten days without wearing earbuds, I’ve noticed the ring minimally rise and fall in its ceaseless pitch, but not necessarily as the direct result of anything I’ve been doing – as far as I can tell, at least. This morning, I was just bored, so I slipped them back in and scored the latter half of my commute with some vintage New Order at a reasonable volume. No one is hurt by this.

In terms of the beer? Last night, after a bone-chilling walk home from the bottom of TrBeCa to the heart of the Village, I reconsidered my decisions. Yeah, I was able to turn it off for ten days, and can completely keep going, but why am I punishing myself? It’s not like someone’s going to hand me a fucking medal at the end of the month. I’m sick of drinking seltzer and tea in the evenings. I sprang for a six of Sapporo and indulged.

And with that, yes, I’ve technically failed Dry January again. I may go back to it this evening, but it almost doesn’t “count” now, not that anyone’s keeping score.

Weigh in, readers …. How are you fairing with your resolutions?

Activewear Despair

Easily as far back as this blog has been running (12 years, as of this past July), and invariably for some years prior to that, whenever a once-cherished neighborhood institution, long-running bar and/or lovingly curated mom’n’pop shop was excised from the streetscape over unreasonably spiralling rents, the popular refrain from change-wary and gentrification-weary local residents was “it’ll probably become a bank, a Starbucks or a CVS.” In those instances when something other than one of those three depressing options sprouted up in the footprint of the former local favorite, the inevitable rejoinder was then akin to “hey, at least it’s not a bank, a Starbucks or a CVS!”

It was a common utterance because it had becme so true. In 2017, there indeed are too many bank branches. There are WAY too many fucking Starbucks. There are too many CVS’s. I don’t mean to single out CVS, here… ther are also way too many Duane Reades and too many goddamn Wallgreens, but you doubtlessly get my point. In much the same way we don’t need another TD Bank outlet or another place to pay handsomely for some inarguably burnt-tasting coffee, we don’t need another location for a pharmaceutical chain. Feel free to click your tonuges and write me off as another hopeless NYC nostalgist, but you know damn well I’m not wrong on this point.

More recently, however, I’ve noticed another option that has joined the legions of banks, drug-store chains and Starbucks outlets as unwieldy limbs of the tireless hydra of homogenization that is gradually devouring New York City, and their proliferation is almost overtaking their afore-mentioned predecessors.

Put simply, we really, really don’t need any more Soul Cycle studios, Barry’s Boot Camps or any further nouvelle boxing gyms.

I don’t mean to knock anyone’s attempts to get healthy and better themselves, but if you’re so fucking dead-set on fucking fitness, why not walk the extra couple of blocks to an already existing one of these temples of perspiration?

WE DON’T NEED ANY MORE NEW ONES! ENOUGH ALREADY.

The Big Runaround: Back on Track?

I’m 47 …. and out of shape.

Regular readers may remember a bold series of entries I posted last year under the promising category title, “The Big Runaround.” Prompted by factors of advancing age, neglected health and a desperate initiative to inject a little bit of focussed discipline into a life recently rocked by sudden job-loss and multiple deaths in the family, I started a regimen of running. It seemed like all I could do.

Over the course of the next few months, I brought myself up to speed, streamlined my approach, augmented my routine and was beginning to hit my stride, so to speak. Almost on cue, however, I started developing a pain below my right knee. Not wanting to risk seriously injuring myself, I sharply curtailed my running in the hopes that the pain would subside.

In tandem with the knee pain, I’d also started to feel an old familiar pain in my shoulders flare up again (invariably due to stress). With these two complaints in mind, I started visiting a chiropractor, who swiftly deduced that I was suffering a bit of misalignment (although, truthfully, no one’s perfectly aligned) and that I was putting an inordinate amount of my weight on my right side, which might explain the pressure I was feeling below my right knee.

As a result, I started going in for regular adjustments and traction in the hopes of lessening some of my misalignment issues. This also involved orthotics in my regular walking shoes and, once again, the determination to properly update my running shoes.

Now that winter’s over (….right? Is it safe to say that yet?) and spring hath sprung, I believe I am ready to get back to my running regimen.

I’ve gotten the green light from the doctor, but I’m still a little concerned about my knee. I mean, at my age, it seems like no matter what I do, it might just be too late for my knees.

That all said, I am positively pining to reclaim the peace of mind that running was providing. I realize that sounds awfully melodramatic, but it’s easily been one of the most turbulent periods of my life.

It’s now been ten long months since I was actively employed. I am fortunate enough to currently be in talks with a few specific outlets, but momentum is hard to sustain, and I continue to wait for a solid offer from the right situation. If you know me personally, you know that I am always in something of a state of alert, but being stuck in the round-the-clock state of worry that has basically consumed my life has taken a toll. The runs helped combat that. When I couldn’t run anymore, it all closed in again.

Intent on getting back to it, I checked into my local Super Runners over on the western end of 14th Street today. Not wanting to simply pull a random pair off of a shelf at Foot Locker, I decided to spend a little extra — hopefully not in vain — for a more professionally-assessed fit. I walked out of there with a frankly ludicrous looking pair of new, customized Asics (see above).

While these shoes may indeed be stridently at odds with my own dubious fashion sense, I really don’t give a crap how they look. As long as they fit, responsibly support my feet and enable me to run, I’m good with them.

Tomorrow morning … we find out.

Re-Booting

Here’s a post that ought to handily amplify why most of the content here on Flaming Pablum pertains to the past, given that current doings are either cripplingly banal or worryingly grim. But such is life in 2015.

As I’ve mentioned a couple of times in passing over recent months, I am currently in the uncomfortable position of being between jobs. I’m endeavoring to extricate myself from this situation, but suffice to say, it’s a process that is taking some time. I’ve had some near-misses, I’m exploring new leads and looking forward to some hopefully fruitful chats in the coming days, but —again — these things don’t happen overnight. Or at least not to me.

In the interim, though, I’ve been understandably scaling back on expenditures. About two months ago, I managed to somehow lose my cherished pair of black Ray Ban sunglasses. I thought they’d turn up around the apartment, but they simply haven’t. While I was quite attached to them — given an ultimately minor anomaly on my physiognomy, I am generally vain and petty enough to not want to be photographed without sunglasses on — I can’t justify springing for another pair just yet. They’re important to me … but not essential. Similarly, after injuring my knee from running earlier this year, I’d intended to replace my pre-9/11-era pair of running shoes with some newer ones…but those, too, can wait. I should really only be spending on what’s absolutely necessary.

Today, however, I had to succumb. While I was dearly hoping they were going to survive another season, it seems my once-trusty pair of industrial “Ironbridge” boots from Dr. Marten have waved the white flag. That's them in healthier days in the pictures above -- both curiously taken by my former colleague Drew, who evidently found said footwear photogenic. They were kinda nice, though.

After about eight years of rigorous winter wear and tear, the soles have become troublingly porous. Should I step into a puddle of a specific depth, my double-socked heels feel the unmistakable caress of frost. While I confess to enjoying their needlessly clunky, battered look (somewhere between vintage GBH and John Bender in “The Breakfast Club”), the boots are no longer up to the task of keeping my feet dry and warm.

A new pair was needed. And with more snow and ice expected in the next couple of days, that new pair was needed now!

Now, despite my ever-advancing age, I am still prone to some stubborn hang-ups. In my aggrieved state of arrested sartorial development, I still bow to the need to dress like my favorite bands. As such, I eschewed the notions of procuring a pair of “duck shoes” from L.L. Bean (despite their sterling reputation, I shan’t go with anything that preppy) or Timberlands (I will never be hip-hop enough for those) and went right back to the well. For their seamless blend of both function and fashion, I ponied up for another pair of Dr. Marten's industrial “Ironbridges” (in basic black, of course…not counting the signature yellow stitching).

As up to combating cold weather conditions as they are of cultivating Cold War kool (to my mind, at least), my new boots seem freakishly huge. Half-a-size larger than my actual feet (Dr. Marten doesn’t acknowledge half-sized appendages), when I walk in them, I feel a bit like a member of KISS….or, Mr. Heavyfoot. But they are strong, sturdy and ready for action.

I may be at a crossroads. I may have some difficult decisions to make. I may be ensnared in a complicated and unenviable vocational situation at the moment. But, I'm ready for the weather.

Come at me, Winter. Come get what’s coming to you.

Escape from 2014

This was not a good year for my family and I.

At the risk of sounding cryptic, melodramatic and needlessly alliterative, 2014 left me feeling helpless, humbled, humiliated and heartbroken. As far as I’m concerned, it cannot end soon enough. I’m not foolish enough to assert that 2015 will be better, but I have hopes that it might heal the wounds and lift the curse that was this year. Time will tell.

In the interim, herewith this year's answering of this year-end survey.

1. What did you do in 2014 that you'd never done before?
Buy a headstone.

2. Did you keep your New Year's resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
I’ve pretty much lost faith in resolutions. It’s not that I don’t believe in endeavoring to make positive changes, it's just that I’m no longer going to make them all contingent to some vague, annual promise to myself.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
Some friends had babies, yes, but no one in my immediate orbit.

4. Did anyone close to you die?
Yes, my mother-in-law and my step father both left us this year in fairly quick succession.

5. What countries did you visit?
Didn't

6. What would you like to have in 2015 that you lacked in 2014?
Gainful employment of the sort I was stripped of in July 2014.

7. What date from 2014 will remain etched upon your memory?
Honestly speaking, there were several notable dates, but I’d rather not have any bit of 2014 etched on my memory.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
Getting through it.

9. What was your biggest failure?
Losing my job.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
I didn’t, no, but certain individuals very close to me continue to.

11. What was the best thing you bought?
A replacement pair of my contraband Nike Dunk-Low Black `n Tans.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
My friends who showed me unconditional support in some very dark times.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
Some former colleagues, although circumstances conspired against us all, I suppose. Maybe I’m being too charitable.

14. Where did most of your money go?
COBRA and tuition.

15. What did you get really, really excited about?
I found myself getting really excited — in a negative way — about a few things. In a positive way, I was quite excited about my running regimen, until I hurt my knee. That said, I will return to it.

16. What song will always remind you of 2014?
I cannot say that music played as major a role in my life this year, as I was otherwise quite distracted.

17. Compared to this time last year, are you happier or sadder?
Much sadder.

18. Thinner or fatter?
The holidays have made me fatter, but, overall, stress and running kept me reasonably slim.

19. Richer or poorer?
Pointedly poorer.

20. What do you wish you'd done more of?
Succeeding, earning, problem-solving.

21. What do you wish you'd done less of?
Failing, fretting, despairing.

22. How did you spend Christmas?
Quietly with family at home.

23. Who did you spend the most time on the phone with?
Honestly, I have no idea.

24. Did you fall in love in 2014?
I was already very much in love.

25. How many one night stands in this last year?
Zero. I’m happily married.

26. What was your favorite TV program?
“True Detective” truly blew me away, and I remain a devout “Mad Men” fan.

27. Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?
Yes, but it’s not healthy to dwell on it.

28. What was the best book you read?
I was particularly engrossed by Peter Bebergal’s “Season of the Witch: How the Occult Saved Rock and Roll."

29. What was your greatest musical discovery?
Didn’t do much music-discovering. Spent some time re-examining the back catalogs of some of my favorite artists. That said, when I did finally manage to check out the still-appallingly-named Eagulls, I fell entirely in love with their debut album. Great, great stuff.

30. What did you want and get?
Nothing springs to mind.

31. What did you want and not get?
A new job and….the answer to an ongoing problem.

32. What were your favorite films of this year?
Hated “Boyhood.” Underwhelmed by “Birdman.” Left indifferent by “Gone Girl.” I’d say “Mr. Peabody and Sherman” was the best new film I saw.

33. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
47, and spent it at home with my wife and kids.

34. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
Not losing my job. Not losing a couple of loved ones. Some other things.

35. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2014?
There was no concept.

36. What kept you sane?
I was not kept sane.

37. What celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
None.

38. What political issue stirred you the most?
I was honestly distracted by other things.

39. Who did you miss?
John E. Newman and Mary Boulos.

40. Who was the best new person you met?
I can’t say I remember that many new folks this year.

41. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2014
Don’t ever imagine that it cannot get worse. It always can.

42. Song lyric that sums up 2014:
There is no music for this year.

The Big Runaround: Misaligned

Bet ya thought I'd forgotten about all this stuff, right? Well, think again.

In our last painful episode, you'll remember I'd been sidelined from my running regimen by the sudden appearance of a sharpening, persistent ache under my right knee. Not being a "fight through the pain" type of guy, I took this as sign from my aging body that I needed to cease running immediately. I wasn't happy about it, but I didn't think it was wise to ignore it.

That was back in September. I figured I'd lay off the knee for a week or two until the pain subsided. I also thought it would be prudent to invest in a new pair of running shoes, being that the New Balance ones I'd been using dated back to the balmy days of the Clinton Administration. Regardless, I was determined that I was going to get back on the horse, so to speak.

But, as it so often does, life got in the way. Before I knew it, I was swept up in daily doings, tackling other projects, picking up some freelance work and concentrating on my job search (if you haven't figured it out by now, I've been out of work since early July). The more time went on, the more I started finding other legitimate excuses not to factor running back into my life. I was -- and remain -- concerned about that.

If you've ever been suddenly out of work, you know how stressful it can be. Suffice to say, my situation has been no exception. Presumably as a result, I started feeling increasingly tense -- not just mentally and emotionally, but physically -- awakening a long-dormant problem I had in my upper back that first revealed itself in the early 90's. As such, I'd started going with increasing frequency to get massages at one of those Asian nail salons on Broadway, but I was finding that this was a problem that was out of their jurisdiction. It was time to go to a chiropractor.

Today, I ducked into the office of a chiropractor in the East Village my wife had used a year or so ago. I explained my whole deal -- alluding to both my back problem from the 90's, my running problem and the stresses that currently conspire against me. He gave me a full examination -- complete with an x-ray -- and immediately noticed that I'm suffering from a somewhat pronounced misalignment, causing me to put more of my weight on my right leg....a condition that could easily explain the stress on my knee.

I'm slated to go back in next week after he's had time to examine my x-rays, but I'm hoping I'll be able to take steps soon to get back into some running shoes and back out there.

Stay tuned.

The Big Runaround: Sidelined

Now I’ve done it.

It’s Thursday afternoon, and the pain in my knee that definitively revealed itself on Sunday morning is not only showing no signs of going away, it seems to be intensifying (or maybe that’s just because it’s a grim, rainy day). Either way, it’s still very much with me.

Following conventional wisdom, once the pain started, I immediately stopped running. Consensus suggested that I should “rest.” Well, I haven’t been running, but I’m still walking around, and the nagging ache in my right knee is really starting to worry me. I’d been hoping it’d have dissipated by now, but no dice.

In discussing it further with friends of mine and folks who are more knowledgable than I about running (which is pretty much everybody), most seem to agree that the cause of my pain is probably the increased mileage, coupled with my sloppy form and a likely deficiency in core strength, but my friend Keith pointed a vengeful, accusatory finger at my New Balance running shoes. Being that I initially bought them back in the early 2000’s, or maybe even the late 90’s — who remembers? — they’re probably not as up to the task as they might have once been. I’m planing on investing in a new pair — hopefully ones specially prescribed by some professionals — once my knee feels better.

In the interim, though, I’m feeling deficient. Granted, I’m usually feeling guilty about one thing or another, but after roughly two and a half months of running, this hiatus feels like another failure. How did I manage to botch something that seemed so simple? Maybe it’s just not as simple as I envisioned.

There’s got to be a way to get back on track — literally and figuratively.

The Big Runaround: Of Nanos & Knee Braces

"I kinda like the freedom of just wearing sneaks, jogging shorts and a t-shirt.”

I made the above declaration back in July, and while it’s still true — I do like that freedom — it doesn’t really apply anymore, as I’ve started to accrue — *shudder* — “running gear.”

Initially wanting to be able to gauge my progress, I took to bringing my iPhone along with me. The stopwatch function on same let me know how long it was taking me to wearily complete my runs. More recently, after I decided to get a bit more serious and increase my runs to twenty-minute sessions, I decided that music would probably help me, so I started bringing my precious 160 GB iPod Classic. In the wake of revealing that, however, a concerned reader named Greg sagely advised that I might not want to do that, as “the disk inside can get damaged from too much bumping around. Best to use a shuffle or something else with a flash drive."

Being that they’ve since discontinued the iPod Classic (and I’ve been thus far unsuccessful in procuring a sealed back-up for when my current one dies), I thought this was prudent advice. As such, I went ahead and got myself a purple iPod Nano. 

Even though it’s a comparatively lightweight device (it’s the width of a Trisket for chrissakes), it still carries a hefty amount of music *AND* comes equipped with specially tailored fitness functionality. I just plug in my height and my weight, set it for a twenty-minute run, and it actually gives me progress reports through my headphones as I’m trudging along.

I was initially skeptical, but it’s pretty great. I loaded it up with a slew of quick-tempo’d tunes and it’s made a world of difference. Set on shuffle, I kicked off the other morning scored by “Aces High” by Iron Maiden, which segued into “Nuclear Boy” by Killing Joke (which matched my stride perfectly) which was followed by “Sleepless” by King Crimson, then into “A Promise” by the Violent Femmes and culminating with the splenetic sprint of “We Bite” by the Misfits. Wrapped up in the music, and always anticipating what song was going to come next, I didn’t find myself worrying about how much time I’d spent or had left. The Nano would tell me in five minute intervals how I was doing. It was all working out perfectly.

Well, it was working out perfectly, I should say, until the pain started.

After only a few days of running in these more intensified sessions, I started to feel a little wobblier in the knees. I hadn’t fallen or banged me my leg into anything, but I was started to feel a dull-but-insistent ache just below my right kneecap. Yesterday morning, even though I wasn’t feeling totally great, I dutifully suited up for my AM run, only to swiftly curtail it a few minutes in. The pain in my knee was too distinct to ignore. As I’ve suggested in the past, I’m not out to punish myself — the moment something feels wrong, I’m wise enough to interpret the signal my body is sending. And this signal was coming through loud and clear.

Do I have “runner’s knee”?

I did a bit of Googling, and came up with an informative piece from Active.com, featuring this telling tidbit:

A term used to describe a number of knee issues, runner's knee often occurs because of an increase in mileage. While some harriers will experience sporadic pain, others have problems nearly every time they add miles. The condition can also be related to poor running form and core strength.

Sounds like someone’s got my number. Being that I am indeed experiencing the pain in the wake of increasing my mileage and that — not to sound too self-deprecating — I'm doubtlessly practicing poor running form and probably boast lamentable core strength, it seems like this is indeed the issue I’m grappling with.

Regretfully, I’ve since decided to take a few days off from running to see if this pain will subside. I also invested in a pair of Future knee support braces. I’m disconcerted and discouraged by the development, but I’m convinced there has to be a way around it. I’m just kind of amazed it’s happening already.

Any advice?

The Big Runaround: Put Up or Shut Up

I had lunch with one of my former editors recently, an incredibly smart and refreshingly no-bullshit kinda guy that, for the purposes of this narrative, I’ll call Nick.

Nick has a knack for bursting bubbles with straight talk. It’s not that he means to shoot down fanciful notions, it’s just that he’s gifted at providing a sobering dose of practical logic that usually lands with the explosive, eye-opening force of a scud missile. On more than a few occasions, Nick has unwittingly supplied some stark clarity to my perspective. It’s not that he’s unsympathetic to my seeming multitude of plights, it’s just that Nick — somewhat ironically, for an editor — disregards his own inner editor, and speaks his mind without the filter of what some might call sensitivity.

In any case, I met with Nick initially to talk about my current vocational status, but ended up having a broader discussion about the trajectory of my life at the moment. As such, we touched on the subject of my running. I gave him the whole weepy backstory, appending the details of my incremental progress in terms of laps and distance that — up until that very moment — seemed to be leaving a positive impression on the folks I’d spoken to about it.

In typical fashion, Nick broke it down. “Listen,” he said, “it’s not about laps. And what you’re doing now isn’t going to make that much of a dent. If you want to get anywhere with this, you’ve got to run for about twenty minutes a day. Don’t worry about laps. Run for ten minutes in one direction, then turn around and run ten minutes back. That’s what I do. Otherwise, you’re really kinda wasting your time."

Like I said, straight talk.

I got the feeling, though, that — characteristic bluntness aside — Nick had a point. While my running was feeling like a step in the right direction, I didn’t really feel like I was genuinely pushing myself. I would do my lap and a half (or whatever) and just wind back down. At the end of my runs, I was sweaty, but I was no longer feeling true exertion, and I certainly wasn’t feeling any endorphin-fueled runner’s high (although I’m not sure I ever really will). I decided that, much like in so many other facets of my life at the moment, I really need to step it up if I’m going to get anything done.

The next morning, after dropping my kids off at school, I sped back home, donned my running gear and set out for Washington Square Park again. After some quick stretches, I started running, thinking about what Nick had said. After making it around the Park twice at a decent pace, I felt something weird. I looked down and noticed one of my running shoes had become untied. Looking at the stopwatch on my iPhone, I then noticed that I’d only really been running for about thirteen minutes. I was tired and suddenly distracted. I wasn’t going to make it to twenty minutes. I wound down into a walk and panted my way home in a brow-furrowing fog of self-disappointment. I’ve got to do better.

This morning, however, I was determined. Again, after dutifully depositing my kids at school, I made it back home, slugged down a cup of coffee (good idea before running? That’s another topic), jumped into my running stuff and off I went.

This time, in the hopes of getting my mind off of laps and whatnot, I decided to leave my iPhone at home and grabbed my iPod. As I’ve said in previous posts, I’d been eschewing music on my runs, but now it seemed like something that could genuinely help get my mind where it needed to be. It was time, again, to do this right.

I should take a moment here to point out that while I’m taking Nick’s words to heart, I don’t necessarily consider those words gospel. While I’m indeed endeavoring to step up my performance, so to speak, I’m fully aware of my own limitations. While I do want to run for twenty minutes at a go, the moment I feel pain of any kind, I’m going to stop. I’m determined, but rest assured — I’m not entirely stupid.

Anyway, I dialed up Fear of Music by Talking Heads on my beloved 160 GB iPod Classic (since criminally discontinued — fuck you, Apple!), correctly assuming that the insistent pulse of tracks like “I Zimbra,” “Life During Wartime” and “Air” would inspire and propel me around Washington Square. Trying hard not to think about the distance and progress I was making, I believe I really hit my stride during “Cities,” pairing David Byrne’s nervous delivery (….SOMETIMES I’M A LITTLE FREAKED OUT indeed) with the rhythmic urgency of my pace. Almost totally absorbed in the music, I actually lost track of how many laps I did, concentrating more on the thwomp of Tina Weymouth’s bass guitar. Before I knew it, I looked at my watch and realized I’d been running for eighteen minutes. By the end of another song, I was done and downshifted into a walk.

Probably not since my first awkward run back in July, I felt that strangely positive springy sensation in my legs. I was tired — and, sorry, a good deal sweatier than usual, but it all felt good.

Okay, that worked, and music totally helped — can I keep it up?