Driving Solo Part 3: Best Foods

One of the key elements to any successful road trip is the food. And, there are a few schools of thought on how to satisfy that. You can either think it out before departure and load up a cooler and a duffle bag or stop every time hunger or thirst strikes. Obviously, stops are necessary for needs like gas and facilities, depending on the length of the trip and size of your gas tank. But, when you consider that the need for food involves more than just hunger, well... you get the idea.


I have historically chosen the first route, not only because it was easier when traveling with small children, but also healthier and cheaper. Not to mention a time saver.


But, now that I do much of my traveling by myself, my main goal is to keep the momentum going so I combine the two thoughts. I bring some food with me to solve the hunger issue, but I make a stop to take care of the boredom issue. I combine the boredom stop with the gas and potty stop. This way I don't feel like I am wasting too much time.


In the end, it really all comes down to what are the best foods for road trips. If you are driving by yourself, you need food that has simple packaging and is easy to eat with one hand. I keep my food in or behing the front passenger seat, within easy reach. Even though I love the concept of fast food, particularly really beefy burgers loaded with all the toppings or chunky burritos with sour cream and salsa, I think you will agree with me that it is not only messy but dangerous to eat while driving.

The question: what foods are safe, healthy, and affordable?

In my experimenting, I tried to transcend my usual travel food choices and came up with the following list:

• Pralined pecans
• Italian wrap
• water
• Sonic blast, Oreo
• Sonic popcorn chicken
• dried fruit

I purchased the first two items at Buccee's. I love it there ~ so many choices, both healthy and not so healthy. But SO expensive! I rationalized the cost by eating only half and saving the other half for the return trip the next day. It kind of worked. A little. Very little.


On the next trip, trying desperately to reduce my food expenditures and make it healthier, I made a trip to Walmart before heading out of town. On my list were:

• blueberries
• yogurt raisin mix
• sugar snap peas
• peanut M&Ms
• water
• a bottle of wine (for later that night)
• sunflower seeds
• Dr. Pepper

The benefits of this method to me were twofold: I was able to maintain a healthy diet on the road and, even though I spent relatively the same amount of money as I would have spent at Buccee's, the food I bought with that amount lasted me through my return trip the next day.

And, of course all the items solved the easy-to-eat category.


Unfortunately, I still stopped at Buccee's on all of my trips; but I realized that if I shopped smartly beforehand  I could rest in the knowledge that it was only for gasoline and boredom relief.

Disaster Relief in Japan

It has been a week since the earthquake in Japan.

A week since the tsunami the earthquake caused.

Less than a week since we learned about the further terror of potential nuclear meltdown and radiation.

This is the worst tragedy to hit Japan since the events of World War II.

The images streaming in from overseas are heartwrenching, almost beyond description. Ultimately, we will see these images again on the pages of some future edition of National Geographic. Images of despair and loneliness and the emptiness of unbelievable personal loss.


My heart and my prayers go out to the people of Japan. Their pain, panic, and chaos - their fear -  are unfathomable, as with any disaster. With a sick stomach, the rest of the world watches as their travesty unfolds with the knowledge that things will get worse before they get better.

Glib but true.

In this vein, any compassionate human being desparately desires to help out, in any way. The first instinct is to establish a physical connectivity, like anyone would do to help a neighbor. Here in Houston, this instinct was commonplace for weeks following Katrina. Neighbors helped neighbors to cut up fallen trees and cover up leaking rooves. Better yet, strangers helped strangers. We were all there to help each other with the very physical tasks of digging out and cleaning up.

It was cathartic and mutually reassuring, especially when combined with the hugs and gentle pats on the back. Somehow a touch makes everything all right again.

But we can't do that for the people of Japan. At least, not directly. We need to rely on those on the ground, whether via our Marines or the hands, backs, and shoulders of those working for the various disaster relief agencies. We have to trust them with our intentions and our hopes.

More difficult still, we have to trust others with the only thing we can really put forth, the only physical connection we can establish with our Japanese neighbors on the other side of the globe.

Our money.

Properly utilized disaster aid money has proven an elusive animal in recent times. The Haiti earthquake in 2010 revealed the ills of corruption and cronyism; over $500 million of private donations were collected yet only about a fifth of those funds has been used. Much of the rest of it has just disappeared into the hands of a corrupt government and its shady processes. Prior to that, the American Red Cross fell into that same dark cavern when millions of dollars were somehow misappropriated and/or questioned. At the same time, generous Americans found out that much of their hard-earned money went to pay high salaries to top executives instead of helping those in need.

That is a jagged little pill to swallow, as Alanis Morrissette might agree.

This leaves us in a quandary. We want to help but can't get there to be a part of it. The only way to do it is money. But, with belts getting tighter and ends inching farther apart and harder to connect, who can we trust?


I hastened to Bing to find an answer, for me and for you, because I hate feeling helpless.


Givewell provides fantastic information, including recommendations (they highly recommend Doctors Without Borders and Direct Relief International) and detailed analyses of various charitable organizations functioning in the international arena. It offers a synopsis of why it may not be as helpful as you think for Americans, and the rest of the world, to continue to donate to Japan as they did to Haiti. The reasoning is sound and critical. Please read it with an open mind. If you do, I guarantee it will make sense.


Charity Navigator is less comprehensive, but provides financials and historical background (for registered users).


Another concern of mine was the integrity of the information flowing to us through our media. It is well known that the American media tends to sensationalize disasters. I lived this reality while overseas. Events occurring in my backyard in The Hague, which for me were just commonplace goings on, sent my friends and relatives here in the U.S. afluster worrying for our safety. After all, sensationalizing a disaster stirs up more fear, and fear is good for business, right? But, this approach is propogated by many journalists with impure intentions and, moreover, inadequate backgrounds and educational base.

Fear. 


There is already too much fear surrounding this disaster, most of it coming from the fear of the unknown. And of course, the upheaval of predictable life.


I learned some interesting facts that helped me to put it in perspective.

• The Japanese government is better equipped to handle the impact and effects of earthquakes and tsunamis than practically anywhere on earth. They practice highly detailed disaster plans, specific and step-by-step plans, on a regular and frequent basis.
• As a result of this constant practice, combined with the intended design of the nuclear plants in question, their plan was in effect within seconds of the first rattles of the quake. Furthermore, the potential Armageddon-like scenarios, even though things appear quite disastrous and apocolyptic at the moment, were averted. 
• The radiation levels are not as disastrous as implied.
• Foreigners putting boot to ground to help might be counter-productive due to language and culture barriers.
• The Japanese are highly efficient and competent people.

Several sites recommended the rest of the world to hang tight. Rely on the Japanese organizations that are already in action. Don't donate too much money right now.


I feel more at ease about my decision. For this one, I will take the easy way out: I will pray.
After all, prayer is easy.

Prayer is powerful. As is God. He can achieve ALL things.

John 16:33: "These things I have spoken to you; that in me you may have peace. In the world you have tribulation, but take courage. I have overcome the world."

Last Day In Sarasota

Today I decided that I want to live here some day. Probably not right in Sarasota, but definitely on one of the keys. Siesta Key will do.

I checked out of the hotel this morning around 10 and headed south on 41. Somewhere down that way I had seen a restaurant called Dutch Valley Home Cooking. On its marquis was advertised "Belgium Waffles". This made me chuckle for two reasons. First, the technical writer in me knows it is not "Belgium", which is the place and hence a noun, but "Belgian", which is the adjective describing things from Belgium. At least it was correct on the menus, which I found out once I sat down. The other reason was my intrigue over the "Dutch" part. I wondered if it truly was "Dutch" home cooking. Not alot of things beat Dutch pancakes ~ pannenkoeken. Alas, no pannenkoeken on the menu.

When I entered and was seated, it reminded me very much of an IHOP, or even Denny's. Waitresses scurrying around with multiple plates loaded with eggs and sausage. And, of course, endless coffe. After viewing the menu, it was decidedly "un-Dutch" but very much, again, a standard Denny's-like menu, complete with a wide variety of typical diner fare, with breakfast served all day long. The place was populated mostly by grey-haired seniors, travelling in groups or couples. My age group was definitely under-represented. It made me feel very young, for a change.

My server, Martha, was a serious yet efficient senior. I could not help but feel a little sorry for her that, at her age, she had the need to work as a waitress in a diner. I wondered if it was by choice or necessity; I thought probably the latter because I can't see any glamour in that type of work. But, that's just me. I decided I don't want to have to do that when I am her age.

I next drove through Siesta Key. Mainly, I was looking for a nice little cafe on the beach to hang out in the sun for a few hours before I had to be at the airport. Unfortunately, like most of what I saw in the part of the keys I visited over my time down here, all of the waterfront has been consumed by condos and other sorted vacation rental properties. I was disappointed; however, it got me thinking about future business opportunity to create something similar to what the Dutch did on the North Sea. There, condos are set off from the water's edge, separated many times by a main thoroughfare, and the seasonal restaurants, which are constructed every Spring and de-constructed every Winter (talk about reusable buildings!), run along the usable beach front for miles.

On a whim, I pulled into the marina to sit on the deck at Marina Jack's. Shock Top on tap and crystal sky. I got there only slightly before the lunch crowd, so had my pick of tables. Of course, I went for the one closest to the water and fully sunlit, and next to what looked to be an Amish family of three. I had seen quite a few Amish families over the past days, cycling and walking among the other tourists. In that same vein, I had also seen what I think were Mormon families, or at the very least some type of other religious or cultural group judging by the prairie dress and head covering that the women of the group wore. Anyhow, I became immediately conscious of my low-cut tank top and my tight jeans. That uncomfortable feeling was about to flow over into my drink order until I noticed that Mr. Amish was drinking a beer as well. I briefly tried to recall my knowledge of the Amish and thought most of their cultural more was to shun society. How can they shun society if they are here living it up in Sarasota like one of us? I guess maybe it is OK if they are riding bicyles instead of renting cars. I was a little self-conscious when I pulled out my laptop. Maybe they were judging me as well....

My final stop was the Ringling Museum of Art. Now, I have been to many art museums, both in the U.S. and in Europe. I couldn't imagine how this could top anything I have already seen. Jaded? Yep, I fully admit it. But, I was pleasantly suprised at a few things. First, the courtyard area was beautiful and more like the museums in Europe than anything I have seen here in the U.S., combining the experience of learning and viewing distinct pieces of art with the relaxation of a garden.

I also loved the mosaic-style flooring in the courtyard. I couldn't remember seeing that type of mosaic anywhere before.

I decided to take a guided tour of the museum. The tours were always a must in the cavernous European museums and the tour guides always had interesting historical anecdotes to augment what my eyes saw. I expected nothing less here...but I was unfortunately quite disappointed. Maybe I got the wrong tour guide. Her focus was on how the piece had come into the collection, not anything intelligent or insightful about the piece or the artist. Worse yet, in one of the galleries she didn't even know the artists for the pieces. When I asked the question, she stumbled over a response that had something to with the recent renovation of this gallery and they hadn't yet put up that information. Excuse me, but aren't you the tour guide? Needless to say, I went solo after that.

A few galleries down, there was a piece, the subject of which was Pieterskirk in Leiden. Can't remember the artist. However, the greeter who had helped me out when I first walked in came over and made a comment about it, which included that he had been in that church. I looked at him with a big smile and replied, "So have I!" He was taken a bit aback, but kept on and gave me some information that I didn't already know, and then continued with a few other pieces in the gallery. Now, that is what a tour guide is supposed to do, augment what my eyes see with something my brain doesn't already know. I commented to him about the tour guide I had already dismissed. He offered in explanation that she was new there. I decided that, when I retire, I want to be a tour guide in a museum. So, I guess I better start studying my art history.

I headed to the airport after that, even though I was quite early. Fine with me, I just did what I usually do and sat in the bar with my beer and my book, interspersed with alot of people watching.

Feeling relaxed and fulfilled today. But, planning my next adventure. It never ends.

Race Day

Obnoxious alarm at 5:30 am, again. Except this morning, it was really not 5:30 but 4:30 am. Snooze button until about 6. Threw on my gear, grabbed my sunglasses, which I of course I wouldn't need for another 2 hours, a banana and a granola bar, and swept out the door by 6:20. My light jog down to the race start line got me there by about 6:30.

It was chilly, but not as cold as I have had to put up with in previous races. Certainly nothing like the San Antonio Half several years ago where hundreds of runners tried to huddle up to a VERY finite number of heaters in about 40 degree temps. THAT was cold!

The field was quite cramped. Not until about Mile 5 did it open up a bit, remaining susceptible to much jockeying and suprisingly rude territorial behavior. Unusual for runners, who as a whole tend to be quite polite. I was not too happy about the man ahead of me who was hocking up into the wind; I was even more unhappy when there was no room next to me to move out of the field of trajectory.

By Mile 10, my ITB kicked in due to the mostly cambered running surface. While I was able to maintain a very steady pace throughout, the pain in my right knee and the cramping in my right toes made it difficult to keep going. So, while I was successful at not having to stop to use the porto-lets, I had to slow down just to be able to finish. My goal was to finish better than 2:08 but I failed with 2:11. I did surpass my previous 5K AND 10K finish times. Not good enough for me. This means at least 5 more Halfs in my future unless I can get my training more in line with my goals.

The food spread was not as diverse as other races I have done, but was much healthier, for which I was thankful. Yummy yogurt mixed with fresh fruit and granola instead of pizza. I left within 20 minutes of finishing and limped the 1.2 miles back to my hotel, where I showered and crashed until about noon.

At which time, I practically jumped out of bed and within 10 minutes was out the door. The Aleve I had taken right after the race was a necessity in this. I was not about to waste this gorgeous day!

My plan was to head to Venice for lunch. Venice is one of the local tourist areas, complete with shops and restaurants. The town green was hosting a Jazz Festival and Venice Ave. was fairly crowded with couples and families wasting away a beautiful Sunday afternoon in the sun. I opted for lunch at T.J. Carneys. It was one of the only "restaurants" with copious outdoor seating. I refuse to sit inside on such a perfect day! I ended up chatting with an older couple who sat down next to me. We talked mostly about running and traveling. They are from Minnesota, spending 2 weeks down here while the temps back in their hometown are pushing the mid-20s. When they heard that I planned to head to one of the keys after lunch, they suggested Gasparilla Key. Pristine, mostly open white sugar sand beaches. Sold!

Solo sandpiper trolling for dinner. This was as close as he would let me get.

After paying the $5 bridge toll and traversing the 5 mile causeway, I ended up at the Gulf in the parking lot of one of the only public beaches on the island. Most of the island, like the others here, is occupied by resorts and rental properties in posh, private neighborhoods. What struck me about this island was the turquoise water and idyllic waterway scenery. "Idyllic" can be found in many places in the US, but turquoise waters...well, let's say that is a rarity where I come from.

Houston/Galveston water is more varied shades of brown and grey.

I parked and walked down the beach. I literally ran into a man plopped right in the surf with his fishing poles stuck in the sand. Not a fisherman myself, I was intrigued and stopped to ask him what he was fishing for. Not long after, a beautiful Blue Heron sauntered up, obviously after the man's bait fish. Seeing that I took my camera out, the man offered to sacrifice some of his bait to try to lure the bird closer for a good shot. The bird gladly obliged!

Blue Heron posing after his payment of several frozen bait fish.

I turned back shortly after that. My knee was acting up and my bladder was beginning to scream at me.

On the way home, windows open and radio blaring, I pulled up to a stop light next to a man on a motorcycle. He looked over and said something to me, which I couldn't hear because my music was so loud. Once I turned down the volume, he repeated himself.

"You look like you're having about as bad a day as I am."
"Not really," I replied. "Actually, I'm having a great day (not a lie!)"
"Oh. Well, I wish I could say the same. My dad died today," he said. Boy, did I feel like an insensitive bitch.
"I'm so sorry to hear that." I really was.
Light changed. Engines (mainly his 750) roared.
"I'll say a prayer for you," I yelled at the top of my lungs.
He waved back.

For the next several stop signs we ended up right next to each other. At one point, a brand new green Viper with black racing stripes pulled up in the far lane.

"I wouldn't mind driving around in that," he said.
"I'd take it," I replied.
Light change again.

He thrilled me and the other drivers on the road with some stunt driving-showoff, I thought...obviously blowing off some steam-before finally turning off the road. I beeped and waved; he waved right back. 

I have thoroughly enjoyed this trip if only because of the people I have encountered. Each one has enriched my journey in some way; each one has made a solo yet potentially lonely trip enlightening and invigorating.

Seashells (crushed) by the seashore.

Sarasota Arrival

Here it is, past my bedtime, and I have an epiphany. I am sitting alone in my hotel room in Sarasota, counting down the hours for the half-marathon tomorrow morning.

I think, to myself (no one else to think at), why not try something completely new in my blog and actually write a daily accounting of my activities. After all, it is completely different from anything I have ever done in this blog. Different is good. Different is intriguing.

My day started with my obnoxious alarm at 5:30 a.m. As usual, I hit the snooze button twice and didn't end up getting out of bed until close to 6. Thank goodness I had packed and showered last night, or I would have left late and then had to possibly pull an OJ Simpson at the airport. Not a great idea in these times of overly excessive security scan procedures.

As I scurried about the house in the breaking light of morning, trying to remember those last minutes things that I had promised myself I would not forget in the morning, I was actually proud of myself when I looked at the kitchen clock and it read 6:25. My goal was 6:30 to be out the door; however, I did have to make my traditional return to the house to retrieve my sunglasses. Can't go to Florida on what is forecast as a beautiful God-made weekend without sunglasses. Unfortunately, this does not account for the fact that I forgot my bikini, razor, flipflops, and brush.

At the airport, the parking garage was suprisingly empty. I thought for sure, as I sped down the Toll Road gulping my grande triple latte, that I would be driving around endlessly looking for a tiny spot to squeeze my big ass truck into. But, spots were aplenty. So, this time, someone would have to squeeze his car next to my big ass truck for a change.

Going through security, I noticed one of those full body scanners. Uuugggh! I haven't flown out of this airport for quite some time, so the thoughts of what I would say to try to get out of it flooded through my head. I decline to do it on principle alone, unlike many people who probably have a problem giving a free show to the person analyzing it. That part I could really care less about. They need thrills too! Bottom line, I didn't have to go through it.

I saw a kind act by the TSA authorities that I had never dreamed possible. They actually let 2 uniformed military personnel skip to the front of the line. I thought that was respectable of them even though it probably can happen only in Houston. Despite rumors to the contrary, we are quite nice down here. Can't imagine something like this happening in places like NY or Chicago.

I walked a lonely, deserted section of the airport from security to my gate in Terminal A. I have NEVER been alone in an airport; it was quite freaky, almost reminiscent of a Twilight Zone episode. For a moment I thought I had taken a wrong turn and had to suppress the desire to turn around and go back. Not one person in sight or sound for roughly 3 minutes of walking. Nice!

The rest of my flight was uneventful until the Atlanta-Sarasota leg. It is only a little over an hour flight so one would think one could get away with a restful time, maybe a cat nap. But, alas, not with the screamer in the seat across the aisle. I have never heard a baby scream so loudly and adamantly, even intelligibly. She sounded like she was being abused. I wondered what her scream would sound like if that had been the case. At first, I thought she was screaming because her ears hurt, until I deciphered the string of syllables in between the excruciatingly loud "owies". She had to go to the bathroom....but the refreshment carts were ploughing the aisle. So, mom and child were held captive. That did not stop this little girl from screaming at the top of her lungs. Mom was not having much of a mollifying effect either. I wondered why the child didn't have on a diaper? That might have solved everything; until about 30 minutes later, after their bathroom trip and upon descent, when she started up again. It was only then I realized it was a control mechanism the child was using. Oh, they learn so young! Had that mother never heard of dosing her kid with Benadryl before a flight? I wanted to lean over and share the secret with her.

Baggage claim was expectedly slow. Of course, my bag was the last to come off the plane, appearing just as I was starting to formulate plans in my head of how I would run a half-mari in new sneakers. Talk about "owie"! That's what I get for changing my baggage checking plans last minute. And I got to pay for the insult as well.

Finding my car was a challenge that was not helped by the inattentive Nigerian who was supposed to be helping lost travellers like myself find their cars. I guess that was my mistake for incorrectly telling him I needed "National", when I really needed "Enterprise". When I corrected myself, he obviously didn't understand, or didn't care because he continued to point me to National. Only the handsome young Italian with the Ferrari sunglasses was able to set me in the right direction. Unfortunately, I tripped over a large tree root while I traversed the parking lot and hoped it wouldn't turn into something more ominous by morning when I had to strap on sneakers.

Once in the car, I was free...open windows, flying hair, loud music, sunshine, and warm breezes. It's not like I can't do the same thing where I live; it is just more poignant to do it with a large body of water drifting off in the visible distance. Marinas and seagulls and the smell of the water. Can't get that in Houston.

After picking up my running packet, I headed to the swim store to see about picking up a bikini to supplant the one I forgot. However, at seeing the exorbitant prices, decided that sports bra and shorts will do just fine. I will pick up a new one at Target when I get back home. Twenty four dollars...better deal.

I proceeded to my hotel, and after checking in headed straight out to the beach for sunset and a glass of wine. Longboat Key is gorgeous and reminds me of so many beach towns I have been to. After a long drive, I reached the Gulf Drive Cafe on some unknown beach in what I think was still Longboat Key. Live music was playing in the tiki area as the tangerine sunset oozed across the horizon.

A perfect end to a quite harrowing day.

And tomorrow, I race.

When Friends Turn Away

I firmly believe that God places people in our lives for a reason. Our job is to open our hearts and be responsive to God's word through those people; conversely, to be the messenger from God to them. To love one another. After all, life is a circle; but also, in some respects, human relationships are like contiguous circles, moving and affecting each other as they affect themselves.


Obviously, the main problem with this is our ability to discern God's will. Isn't this always the case? We are not meant to know what God knows; but we are supposed to try to be like Jesus in the way we treat each other. I constantly try to think in terms of what God wants for me, but my own selfish desires usually get in the way.

Sorry, but I am human.


It is unfortunate for us that God doesn't speak to us like He did to Abraham, Samuel, David and the crew in the Old Testament; appearing like a burning bush or a burst of thunder whenever an answer is needed to a pressing problem. I have often wished that I could hear God's direction for me today in the same way He spoke to them. I know my life would be so much easier; I would question myself less. I think.


Experience and faith have shown me that the answers to many of my questions lie in the people around me. I just have to learn to listen to that small voice masked in their words and actions and the situations we encounter together.


Most of the people in my life have arrived and stuck around. Obviously, my family, my husband, my kids. After all, they are somewhat of a captive audience. Well, at least the kids are. There are times when I wish they wouldn't stick around; or, on the flipside, that I could separate from them. There have been times when that has actually happened, metaphorically. We have moved away from each other in understanding, compassion, ideals, location, goals. But we always seem to find our way back together, thanks to God, maturity, and mutual respect. These times of reunion are a true renewal of spirit, a new direction for the relationship. Satisfaction comes over me. We press on to better places.




Best of all, I continue to count them among my closest friends, with the trust and faith that is associated with that special bond. Together, we plod on, supporting and encouraging each other in the way God intended.


What plagues me most is the loss of those people who come into my life like a storm, with power and force and pleasure and promises, enough to have no question about Who sent them, but who leave just as quickly as they came. Those friends who turn away; those friends from whom I turn away. Remember, it's all a circle.
 
I am thankful that I don't have many examples of this. But those that I have nonetheless baffle me.

• What was the task, God? What lesson were You trying to impart, and to whom?  
• WAS the task a tease, a game, a test? Were they meant to come and go? Is it all "to be continued'?
• Did I perform as You expected? Did we both get the message? Did we pass?

The key, I think, is to continue through it, as painful or confusing as it is, with an open heart and mind. I try to hold no malice; I try not to make it all about me. Believe me, this has been difficult to learn and is something I have only recently begun to practice somewhat effectively. I find when I can use this approach, I am better equipped to move on, having learned a lesson and satisfied in whatever impact I had on the other person's life.


What continues to hurt the most, in every one of these situations, is the open wound that inevitably results. This wound is manifested in unspoken sentiments, misstated words and emotions, invisible or absent closure. Yes, the wound does heal, eventually. Like all deep wounds, it takes time, lots of it, and has to endure many scab-pulling reversals. Inevitably, there is always a scar left behind. The question remains: will I smile, if only a little, when I remember the events that led to the scar or will I wince?


I strive for the smile, as small as it might be, and hope that I contributed to the circle effect of the relationship, and did not disrupt the balance of contiguity among the circles. If I can end up doing those things, the scar is worth it all.

Spring Worries

The first beautiful day of spring sprung today. Beautiful blue skies, light breeze, and comfortable temperatures drew many out to exercise today. Including me.

No wonder. We have been pummeled by erratic temperatures, rain, and frozen pipes. This is the time of year we wait for

However, believe it or not, I still found myself complaining about the heat, the sun. I still grumbled that I should have gotten out earlier this morning when it was only 55 degrees. I berated myself for forgetting my sunscreen while I felt my skin fry in the 70+ temps. That's what I get for running at 11:30 in the morning.

And, with these preliminary worries over spring training, my mind naturally wandered to what changes I will soon have to make to my training schedule in order to complete it at all. In other words, if I plan to do anything outside, I have to plan to conclude before 8 a.m. I hate the heat! Between cycling and running, 75% of my training is outside. Challenging.

This means I will soon have to either complete my exercise before 8 a.m. or after 7 p.m.  In order to complete my exercise before 8 in the morning, I have 2 choices. I can get up before the crack of dawn to exercise before my kids get up. However, there are some problems with this. First, I have never been a morning person by choice. I am a master at making every excuse to stay in bed another 15 minutes. These excuses include rationalizations that turn me away from training, for days in a row. Yes, I am the first to admit it. Second, assuming I do get up to train before they wake up, it will have consequences for my routine of making lunches for my kids in the morning and possibly even seeing them off to school. I'm not sure I'm willing to give that routine up. Too boring.

For long runs, I will have to figure something out.

I have surpassed this difficulty in past years. I will do it again. Chances are it will include much more time in the gym than I would like. But, like winter in the North, summer in the South keeps us indoors and seeking temperature control. It changes the perspective of our lives. We move indoors. We can't fathom the extent of the heat. We don't want to go outside. Sometimes we don't even want to move. Not wanting to move makes it difficult to maintain a rigorous training routine.

But, somehow, anyone who wants to stay in shape has to find a way.