The Skating Rink

Went for another 5-K tonight. I'm dragging in the mornings, so it seems to make sense. At least, it usually makes sense, but not so much tonight. It warmed up something wild today, temperature in the low 50s, then started raining late afternoon. It had cooled off quite a bit by 8p when I dropped 10 dozen eggs off at the market and started out running on Raponda Road. This limited my choices; I could run on an icy road, I could run in snowdrifts, or I could run in ankle-deep, muddy water.

The good news is, I only fell down once.

Based on tonight's run, I'd say mud season is coming early. I know better, though. We haven't had a single nor'easter this winter -- at least, I don't think we've had one -- which means it's going to be a rough March. Still, it feels really good to run, and it even feels really good to run in the rain. For some odd reason, running in the rain makes me feel like I'm going to be a runner again.

In other news, we're adjusting to the new chickens. We got 65 of them -- 25 production Reds, 35 Aruacanas, and five Buff Orpingtons. The first few nights were rough; the peep-peep-peep coming from the brooder in the bathroom doesn't make for great sleeping. But I'm getting used to them again.

Other animal news. The kids in the dairy goats are starting to kick. We've lost one Nigerian doe; poor girl hung herself in a hay net. My lead milk goat, North Star, miscarried. But we've still got three does in the family way, and you can feel the little kids occasionally. For some reason, they get a little more active when Stink, the famous border collie, wanders into the goat barn.

(Why is Stink famous? Check this out.)

Busy week ahead. Lisa and I went into Brattleboro today to find a jeweler who could cut her wedding ring off her finger. She hasn't taken it off forever, so it had to be cut off before her carpal tunnel surgery on Monday -- the second of two. Anyway, the jeweler directed us to the fire department, and we had a trio of firefighters snip the ring. Because this is her second surgery in the last month, she'll be dealing with roughly half of one hand. So it's going to be a busy week or two while she gets her hands back.

Running at Night

A long time since I had a night run. Seems like I've run in the early morning forever. But I tried it on Wednesday, and it worked out OK. A bit slow, but still OK. Lots of stars, not so much ice.

Trying to keep pace to do 12 miles this week.

A Good Sore. I Hope.

Starting running again always hurts. Always.

It's sore, but it's a good sore.

Blew the snow off the driveway, all 650 feet of it, at lunch. That was my workout du jour.

Cold outside, below zero with the wind chill. I'll try running tomorrow, hope for less wind.

And, as always, less triteness in the blog.

Held for Questioning

So I've been feeling hugely bad for the last ... hell, the last two months or so. Doctors looking into things, poking around, trying to figure what's wrong. Everything from semi-benign little owies like low calcium, thyroid imbalance and weight gain (!) to things we'd rather not talk about, places we really don't want to go.

The consistent advice that I've gotten, though, is that I need to exercise. I've been sleeping 12-14 hours per day, feeling tired all the time even so. This morning I got up and ran, 5K. At least, I started to run 5K. But I was interrupted.

Held for questioning, as it were.

I'd made about a mile down a lakefront road about 815a this morning, hoping to beat a big snowstorm and still have time to get to the hardware store for a new bathtub stopper (part of another diagnostic test. Really). It wasn't too bad; I was stumbling a bit, but there wasn't heavy tourist traffic, it wasn't too windy, and it hadn't started to snow yet. I was feeling OK, even after the three marked and one unmarked state police cars converged on me.

Understand, four state police cars in one location in Vermont can only mean one of three things: Community event with free food, lunch break, or very bad news. Predictably, it was the latter. They were looking for a short (me) male (me) in his mid-30s (me, about a decade ago) in a blue sweatshirt (me again) with a beard.

It was a bit frosty, so I was wearing a neck warmer that covered my face. I couldn't help but notice the hands on the guns. One of the morals of the story: Keep your ID with you. I handed over my driver's license and sat while they ran it. A few questions later, I was back on the road, plodding along. Turns out the aforementioned short, bearded, young male in the blue sweatshirt had been threatening an ex-girlfriend. The troopers were ... professional, but made me very happy I didn't have a beard.

Got enough health problems going on without lead poisoning.

I'll catch up more later.