“Had they closed up everything by the time you finished?”

That stung.  I told him that I didn’t come in last, and that plenty of people finished after me.  And I walked away wondering why he was so mean.

And then I realized that he was making a joke.  I could have played along and talked about how creepy it was coming in at midnight with everything shut done, and my bag with my coat stuck in a tree with my name on it, because they couldn’t wait for me to show up.

Instead, I was offended.

I thought about some of my students, who heard so many joking remarks about their supposedly awful singing that they started to believe they couldn’t sing, and never would be able to sing.  I thought about a time that I wondered whether I should never sing in public again, after a scathing review from someone who thought she was just teasing.

And then I thought about all the little things I say all day long that have the possibility of hurting other people.  And then I realized that I do it to myself as well.  I don’t like mean humor, but I put down myself as a joke all the time.  I’m going to try being mindful of that for a few days.

Heck, I frequently have my mind in other places when I do almost anything.

When I run with a friend, my attention is mostly on the conversation. When I run alone, I sometimes play silly games to pass the time. This morning, I counted blue shirts, and then I pitted yellow shirts against red shirts. (Red won easily.) I tired of the game when I started a green vs. purple competition, because I noticed that my eyes and my sense of justice were fighting. (Eg. the shirt looked yellow, but it definitely had at least a little blue in it, which made it officially green.)

Then I decided to smile at people and see if they smiled back. Mostly they didn’t, probably because they couldn’t see my eyes under my hat, so they didn’t know I was looking at them.

Then I decided to just look at people and notice them. Suddenly, I was getting a lot of eye contact. Good lesson for me. I wonder how many times I’ll have to do that lesson before I remember it.

On the way out of the park, I noticed for the first time the gorgeous ironwork on many of the brownstones in the first block. The second block had gargoyles, but not much ironwork, and the buildings were taller and not as beautiful. I have walked and run down those blocks hundreds of times, but never really compared them, or checked out some of the details. Where IS my mind most of the time? Where do I put my attention?

I frequently work with my singing students on where they put their attention. If they are focused on specific things like the text or the pitch or the feel of a legato line, they sing better. Perhaps it’s time to find a good focus point for my runs, if I want to be a better runner.

I was wondering whether I had ever been so disciplined before, even though it’s half-assed, to use an expression that my father loved. And then I remembered that I used to produce vocal recitals at least once a year. The preparation is similar. I had to learn the music and practice it, so that I perform it without stress or worry. There was the idea of being underprepared, and there was also an idea of overpracticing.

I hear and read conflicting advice about preparing for a marathon. “You need two 20-mile runs” vs “you need one 18-mile run; that’s enough!” “Follow your program” vs “that program is just a guideline.”

There are days when I wonder why I even imagine that I could run 26.2 miles in one day. Today, it seems possible.

I had a pleasant surprise during my morning run in Central Park today. A bicyclist came up beside me and commented on my hat, which had the logo of a running store. He got off the bike and handed me a $10 gift card to the store, explaining that it was a Facebook promotion this week. Every time he saw someone with the logo on a piece of clothing, he gave them a gift card and took their picture. Then he apologized for stopping my run and rode off to look for more logos.

It’s not raining. The drops on your legs are sweat from the end of your ponytail.
The first mile is supposed to feel awful, because your muscles aren’t warmed up.
It’s okay to spend more on running clothes than the rest of your clothes.
Running slowly is still running.

Things they don’t tell new singers:

Don’t listen to your voice while you’re singing. It’s too late to fix the note that already came out.
Your voice sounds different to everyone else than it does to you, because your ears are in the wrong place to hear it properly.
Take heart! What you sound like in a tiled bathroom is much closer to the true sound of your voice than what you hear in any other room.
High notes take less breath, not more.
If it feels too easy, it probably sounds pretty good. Stress is the enemy of a good sound.
If you leave out final R’s, it will help you stay in tune.

This is the first time I haven’t slowed down drastically at the 7-mile mark. Instead, I stayed consistently slow throughout.

It was a beautiful day for a race: not too hot during the race, and sunny and warm when I finished at Coney Island. I spent a few minutes wading in the icy Atlantic, which is supposed to help keep muscles from aching.

After the race, pizza and the aquarium.

I tried an experiment on Tuesday’s run in Central Park. I decided to say hello to everyone I passed going the other way, for about a mile. Out of 20 or 30 runners, only 5 were not wearing earphones. Only 3 said hello back. One of the earphone women gave me a look that I interpreted as disgust when I said hello. I suspect that it was actually an attempt to smile that didn’t go so well.

I have never run with music, and although I was given an ipod, I never use it.  One of my singing students, upon hearing that I don’t use an ipod, asked me, “don’t you like music?”

Yes! I like music. I like music so much that when I want to hear it, I go to a concert or a dance or a jazz bar so that I can hear it as it is being made. I prefer my music fresh out of the oven, rather than canned!  I love it when a band is playing during a race, but I don’t want to carry the music with me in a little box. I want my ears available for what’s going on in the world. The wind in the trees, overheard conversations, dogs barking, a greeting from another runner.

Do you carry music around with you? When do you listen to it?

It’s been cold in NYC, and the roads are sometimes icy.  I’m getting in about 2 runs a week.   Although there’s new evidence that fitness doesn’t completely disappear as long as activity is regular, even if it’s limited for a period, I’m missing all the other benefits of running:  the endorphins, the clear head, the time to think or to chat with my running partner.

I’ll be thinking about  the “Hood to Coast”  race during my runs for a while.    As I said to my teammates when the movie was over, we have to do that race!

I’ve recently noticed several articles about the walking/running method, or alternating fast and slow running.   I’ve read that it’s good for increasing speed.  I tried it this morning with 3-minute intervals, and eventually a fast (for me) mile.  Although it felt weird to turn a run into an exercise, and actually think about what I was doing, I could imagine trying that sort of run again, maybe in a week or two.

It’s my impression that people are rabbits and turtles in their lives as well.  Running is the only place where I’ve noticed I’m a turtle.  In the rest of my life, I will run as fast as I can for a while, juggling multiple projects and working quickly to meet deadlines, and then I will collapse for days or weeks, doing as little as possible.

Are you a rabbit or a turtle?

As for the results of the 10K in Central Park – the tortoise lost track of the hare.  I’ll never know which one of us crossed the finish line first.

“Don’t run,” was her advice.

Rather than taking her advice, I took her literally.  I promised her that I would walk when I got tired.

The morning of the race, it was 80F at 5 AM when I got on the subway.   The race started at 7 AM.

After 5 miles, I considered dropping out.  There was no shade, and I was hot and tired.  Then there was shade, and I got a second wind.  After 7 miles, I figured I had another mile in me.  After 8 miles, I realized that I had only five miles to go, so I might as well finish.

I walked often.  I drank at every water stop.  Although it was my slowest race ever,  I finished it.

The course was interesting.  It started and ended at that wonderful metal World’s Fair globe.

My new running partner says that once you’ve run a few half-marathons, “you’re always half-marathon-ready.”   That race was like one of those difficult gigs where you use every trick you have just to get through the program.  After one of those, I always think that I can get through any gig.  Now I think I can get through almost any race.  I’m even ready to consider a marathon.  Maybe in 2011.

The 10K Dash and Splash in Central Park was more like the Trudge and Plunge, although I did not stay to swim.  After my slowest finish ever, I went home for a nice cool shower.  My swim bag came in handy, because I had flip flops to change into for the journey home.  Heat-swelled feet enjoyed the liberation.

Random impressions:

Young women runners in heavy eye makeup.  I understand the importance of appearance, but that seems extreme.

I’m still the only person singing along on the National Anthem.

It was so hot that the race marshals were not yelling encouragement as usual, merely pointing and smiling.

The smiles of the water volunteers helped my flagging energy.

Back to that heavy eye makeup:  at least one of the heavily made up women had a very low number, meaning there was a decent chance that she would either win or run near the winner.   I understand that public figures always want to look their best for the cameras.  A couple of weeks ago, I saw a Famous Actress at a playground with her kids.  Although she was quiet and didn’t draw attention to herself, she was dressed much more nicely than the other mothers.  One of my friends commented that it must be hard having to always look good in case she was noticed.

My mother cared deeply about appearance for most of her life.  She gave me my first lipstick when I turned 12.  One of the first things she did every day was put on full makeup.   Except for a couple of years of experimenting with makeup as a teenager, I’ve mostly worn it only when I’m performing.  Other singers that I know wear it whenever they leave the house.  Recently, I was told that I should wear makeup, get a better haircut, and dye my hair a brighter color of red.  If I were Opera Girl, I suspect I would have been doing these things all along.  As aging Classical/Early Music/Folk Woman, I’m aware that I could improve my quotidian appearance, but I’m so unused to doing it that I barely know where to start.

At my rate of improvement, I won’t be needing full eye makeup for races for a good long while.

I might be the clumsiest person I know.  Last Thursday, I dropped something heavy on one of my toes.  I still don’t understand how I managed to put my foot underneath the thing I dropped.  My toe swelled up and turned purple, badly bruised.  I canceled everything that required walking for the next two days.  I also complained a lot.

On the third day, she rose.  (Ahem.)  Three days after I hurt my toe, on a hot and humid day, I ran the 5-mile Father’s Day race in Central Park.   Running usually feels better than walking, and when walking hurts, running wins easily, hands (feet?) down.

This was the first race I’ve done in hot weather. Scared by the flyer I picked up about hot-weather racing, I prepared by adding salt to everything for a couple of days, in addition to drinking more water.  I ran the race at a slower pace than usual, and I felt fine at the end.

But the last mile was hard.  I wondered why I was running when I was so hot.  And then I started to sing Dad’s favorite song, over and over, inside my head.  Ten years ago, when Dad was dying, I sat by his hospital bed, held his hand, and sang it over and over again to him.  That song got me through the last mile.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.
You make me happy when skies are gray.
You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you.
Please don’t take my sunshine away.”