Healing Power

Today I got an email from my mom in response to my email complaining of all my ailments. The email simply said, "Poor Joanna! Love, Mom." And suddenly I'm feeling much better.

Sickie McSickerson

Growing up, I tended to get sick a lot -- caught whatever was going around. My mom had to work, so when I was sick it meant either hiring a baby sitter or missing work. Understandably, it was frustrating for her when I was sick on a weekday. The problem was, mom had a hard time hiding her frustration from me. I remember she would come to my bedroom door, and once I had finally convinced her that I was really sick and not just faking it (I did my share of that too), she would sigh, maybe even give a little growl, Marge Simpson style, and then leave to make whatever arrangements she could for taking care of me. Several years ago, I told Mom that all I ever wanted was some sympathy, which of course made her feel really bad for something she couldn't do anything about now. (We have a tendency to do that to our parents, don't we?) After that, Mom started saying, in very sympathetic tones, "Poor Joanna" every time I had a sniffle. Frankly, it was just what I wanted to hear. In fact, I have all my friends saying it now too.

Unfortunately, my roommate, who I count on to fill in for my mom when I'm sick, is still in Japan. And I've been sick all week. On the couch -- the chaise, to be exact -- making a permanent indentation in the cushion. If anyone out there needs an update on any of the new shows or soaps (CBS soaps only, I'm afraid -- I do have my standards), just drop me a note and I'll fill you in.

But no "poor Joanna" all week. Not one utterance. So I'm feeling very sorry for myself. Every now and then I say it to myself, but it's just not the same.

Anyway, it'll be interesting to see how I do when I resume my training. I haven't run in five days -- have barely moved in four. My brother, who has run two marathons, assures me that I will catch up.



Oh, I gotta go -- Gil Grissam is taking soil samples. My mom loves this stuff. But I'm sure she's not watching CSI tonight. I'm sure she's sitting at home worrying about me, muttering quietly, "Poor Joanna."

Hitting The Wall

Bethesda Fountain, 72nd Street Transverse in Central Park

Saturday was a perfect day for running. Cool, breezy and sunny. I met the team at the usual spot in Central Park (see photo) and soon found several people I could run with. The beginners were given the choice of running 5 or 6 miles. I was feeling good, so I opted to go for the six, as did the two women I found to run with. So off we went.

The first two miles are always a bit hard, I’m finding. Your body isn’t into it yet and your mind isn’t into it at all. But then, you reach a point where everything just seems to click (on the good days), and it feels so good. (Must be the endolphins.)

Just after the Great Hill, it all clicked – physically and mentally -- so I took off ahead of my running partners and ran the rest of the loop at a good clip (probably still only at an 11-minute-mile, but good for me). I felt fast and strong, and I even had the energy to walk the mile and a half home afterwards.

And then I hit a wall. It wasn’t until the next day, but I hit it, and I hit it hard. Swollen glands, sinus pain and pressure, stuffy nose, aches and pains – the works. I was just plain exhausted.



I felt like this.

I should have seen it coming. I had been running on empty since Japan, but I pushed myself to follow the team workout schedule and go to every team training session. Between the jet lag, the training and every day life, I was wiped out. And then I had a business trip. And then I had that terrible treadmill run. And then I ran six miles with the team. And then I cleaned and did laundry. And then I crashed.

But I’ve learned my lesson. I know where I went wrong.

Moral of the story: Never clean and do laundry. It’ll make you sick.

No More Numbers

The Reservoir in Central Park

I’ve never been good with numbers. Whether it’s math class or money, it gives me a headache and an anxious feeling in my stomach. So today’s two-hour budget meeting was hard to get through. I was reminded of 6th Grade math class, when I was often excused to go to the nurse with a migraine. The budget meeting took me right back there, and I wished I could raise my hand and ask for a hall pass.

I had a similar problem during the team run Wednesday night. While running around the reservoir in Central Park, we simply had to count lampposts; three lampposts running at our regular effort, then three at an increased effort while still breathing comfortably (comfort is relative in this case).

My trouble was not with the increased effort – though that was at times troublesome. The problem was with the counting. I just couldn’t – ridiculous as this sounds – I couldn’t count to three. I would be fine for one, and even sometimes make it to two, but then it was as if I entered into a fog for a few seconds, and when I came out, I couldn’t remember if I’d passed two or was just getting to two. Or if I’d counted the third lamppost from the last set as the first one for this set. And by the time I thought about that, I’d lose count again. With each set, I would be sure that I was going to do it right. And then, all of the sudden – the fog. One… wait, was that two or am I just getting to one?

How is it possible to, continuously, for over thirty minutes, lamppost after lamppost, not be able to count from one to three? How, I ask you!



The Path Around the Reservoir

On the upside, the temperature had finally cooled making it a beautiful night for a run. The reservoir is always lovely, but it is particularly picturesque at dusk. I managed to complete the two laps around the reservoir, and though I never got the hang of counting, I did manage to challenge myself throughout. And with every workout, I learn something new, and I feel stronger and faster.

Until tonight.

Tonight I’m in Boston on business and staying in a so-so hotel. I worked until it was dark out, and since I don’t know my way around town at all, I decided I’d better not run outside. My so-so hotel has a less than so-so (but free) “fitness center” with three treadmills, only one of which actually worked. As I was the only one there, I called dibs on the working treadmill.

I haven’t run on a treadmill in ages, and those I have used were in great shape with nice traction and comfortable bounce – easy on the joints.

This one looked like it might have been highly functional in about 1989. Under the rubber tread, which was partly worn away, the running surface looked to be made of wood. Not so bouncy.



The original treadmill

But it did have all the necessary options for different workouts – cardio, weight loss, random hills – and settings for speed and incline, plus heart rate sensors on the cross bar.

I didn’t really feel like running tonight and I was already hungry before I even left work, so I just wanted to get this run over with. As a result, I jumped right in without warming up. And, to keep from getting too terribly bored, I chose to do the “random hill” workout.

Bad start. First of all, you have to warm up into a run. You can’t just jump into it full force. Well, maybe you can, but I can’t. As a person training for a very long-distance run, I should know better. It’s the first thing they teach, right after one foot in front of the other.

The lack of warm-up and random steep inclines had me gasping for breath after only a few minutes. I was sure my heart rate was too high, so I eased the incline back down to zero and slowed my pace to 4.5 miles per hour (a 13 minute mile)*. After taking it easy for about five minutes, I increased my speed to an 11.5 minute mile – my average speed. But soon I was out of breath again!

Completely discouraged, I decided to run three miles instead of four, and again reduced my speed to a pathetic 13 minute mile pace.

Too slow! It was taking forever to finish at that pace! I was bored out of my mind. I stuck it out until mile 3, and then, as usual, I decided to push myself to 4. After all, what was another mile? Especially if I could push myself even harder and run the 11 minute mile pace!

Eleven minutes later, dripping with sweat and red as a KitKat wrapper (mmmm – KitKat), I finished my run and returned to my so-so room. Just now, lounging on the so-so bed, eating my so-so room service, it occurs to me that maybe the treadmill was broken. Maybe I was running an 11 minute mile the whole time, and at the end I pushed it to nine. That’s certainly what it felt like.



More likely, though, is that I was having a bad day and should have listened to my body rather than pushing myself so hard. But sometimes it’s really hard to tell when your body is just copping out, and when it really needs the break.

*Note: Don’t be too impressed with my ability to figure number of minutes per mile from miles-per-hour. I’m just reporting what the treadmill told me.

Crazy Legs

When I was little, I loved the feeling of being half-asleep in the back of my dad's car as we rolled into his driveway late on a Friday night. I loved the feeling so much that, even after the six hour drive from my mom's, I didn't want the ride to be over. I was so comfortable in that half-asleep place between where I was coming from and where I was going. Then Dad would gently wake me up and put the front seat forward for me to climb out of his LeCar and stagger into his house remembering in the dark that there was one step up onto the porch.

I couldn't imagine in that half-conscious state that I could even wake up enough just to brush my teeth. But by the time I had, I'd come down to the basement to find that the fold out couch in the basement was pulled out and made, and the TV was on.

Just in time for SCTV. Second City TV. You may never have seen it -- it's on TV Land now, from what I understand. But you've heard of Bob & Doug McKenzie, and you know Eugene Levy, Martin Short and Catherine O'Hara. I was too young to get most of it. I liked Bob & Doug. But what I remember giggling the hardest at was a character called Crazy Legs. I don't remember the story line very well, but Crazy Legs, played by Harold Ramis (so says Google, though I could have sworn he was played by Joe Flaherty) was always at the head of a long conference room table in the middle of a serious meeting -- someone about to get fired or something -- and his legs would just appear on the table top, dancing around as if of their own accord. It was ridiculous. It made no sense. And it was absolutely hysterical.



Not so hysterical was last night when I was trying to go to sleep and I felt like Crazy Legs Lott. I was dead tired from my long day at work and my strenuous run, and my mind was more than ready to sleep. So was most of my body. But my legs decided they weren't ready to be resting. My legs wanted to keep moving. It was out of my control. I would be almost asleep, and then BAM -- one of my legs would kick on its own as if still running up the Great Hill in Central Park.

The "great" in Great Hill does not mean "fantastic" or even "splendid." The great in Great Hill means BIG. Not so much steep (though by my standards, it is that), but it covers a lot of ground. It's long. And I ran it twice, because it was the most convenient way to get in my three miles. It was hard, but I managed to improve my pace from a 12 to just over an 11 minute mile (still very slow by race standards), so I was pleased with myself. And the endorphin rush was great (as in fantastic and splendid).

But hours later, my legs were still on the Great Hill and I couldn't sleep. The Ambien my good friend gave me for the plane had been gone for days, and the last time I took Tylenol PM I was useless the next day, so I really didn't want to do that.

At 2 a.m., when I'd read half of a Grisham novel and still couldn't sleep, I decided to try an old school sleep remedy. I got up, poured myself a scotch and turned on the television.

And it worked. I was asleep within an hour.

Just another side effect of running. I'll add that to the list:

1) toenails will break and fall off
2) joints – important ones like hips and knees – may never recover
3) one word – chafing
4) dehydration (I've seen her dehydrate sir. It's pretty gross.)
5) excessive sweating (Anyone who knows me knows that I sweat more than most people. For anyone who doesn't know me, I was the only person in my ballet class who had to keep a towel with me at the bar or I'd slip off. That's how much I sweat.)
6) crazy legs syndrome
7) driven to drink

(Just as a reminder, don't forget to donate to my race efforts with the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society's Team In Training. They are doing some great work with the victims of Hurricane Katrina, helping cancer victims who have been flooded out of their hospitals and getting them the treatment they need.)

Smells Like Team Spirit

Saturdays are my sleeping in day. Always have been. I've always felt cheated if for some reason I had to get up early, or, God forbid, set my alarm.

At 7:15 this morning -- Saturday -- my alarm went off. Serious bummer.

If it had been for work that I was getting up, I would have hit snooze until I was late. But as soon as I realized why my alarm was going off, my feet hit the floor. I was too nervous sleep any longer anyway.

The race.

I've mentioned that I've never been any kind of athlete -- that I've never been on a team. I may not have mentioned how in high school I hated the athletes and thought there was nothing more ridiculous than team spirit. The athletes were the ones torturing me and my friends. We hated pep rallies. The athletes were the popular people -- why did the whole school have to come together to celebrate them? Didn't they already have it easy enough? There wasn't a team spirited bone in my body.



It's something I've worried about since joining Team In Training. I was wary of the "WOO HOO! GO TEAM!" chants, the team socials and competitions. And I was terrified of the actual races. Not the running part -- the "team" aspect.



And the sheer numbers! I like small, manageable groups -- no more than can sit around a table and participate in a conversation together. So when I picked up my race number -- 6889 -- I wondered if that meant that 6888 people had signed up ahead of me -- and more would follow.



I don't know how many people were in the race, but when we all lined up, I felt like I had been dropped into a sea of people. The crowd closed in around me as more and more people found their place behind the starting line.

At that moment I was relieved to find several other team members to stand with, and thrilled to find that one of them ran at my pace and wanted to run with me.

Finally the mob began moving. The clock was already at 3+ minutes by the time we crossed the starting line. And off we went.

It wasn't so bad, maybe because we were at the back of the pack. It was the first time I'd had a running partner, and it really did make the overall experience more pleasant. It even seemed to go by more quickly.

We even passed people! One of the things I've hated so far when running in Central Park is that I'm constantly being passed and never passing anyone. But in the race, we passed lots of people. Granted, some of them were walking and some of them were in wheelchairs, but some of them were running. That felt great.

Throughout the race, several bystanders called out "Go Team In Training!" as we ran by. And Team In Training participants from other cities who had come to NY for the race gave us the thumbs up or words of encouragement as they passed.

As we rounded the last turn in the race and could see the finish line, the adrenaline really did kick in and we picked up the pace. We could see one of the team mentors (the social captain with the very loud voice) standing near the finish line, and when she saw us, she started yelling "Go Team In Training! Go Tara! Come on girls, you're almost there!" She didn't know my name, but I'm sure she'd have yelled it if she had known it. I was very pleased at that moment that she had such a loud voice. I think we could hear her from 100 meters away!

I felt surprisingly good throughout the race and felt incredible afterwards. I didn't even know my time -- had forgotten to look as I crossed the finish line -- but I felt really good about my performance. And I was surprised to find myself shaking hands and patting other team members on the back, congratulating them, and playfully punching my running partner in the shoulder -- "You did great!" She had done really well. It was her first time ever running over three miles. I was impressed.

As I walked with another new team friend to get some brunch, we passed other team members and asked how they felt, congratulated them, and they did the same. And even people who hadn't run the race saw our numbers and asked us how we had done, congratulated us on a good run.

So being part of a team isn't so bad. In fact, I love the feeling that I'm not alone out there. I love the support. And I love that we are all part of a bigger community of runners, and that even non-runners seem to appreciate the effort that we're putting out to cross the finish line.

My stats (I'm not even sure what some of this means):

LOTT, JOANNA
# 6889

Overall Place: 3096

Gender Place: 1610

Age Place: 671

Finish Time: 52:14

Net Time: 48:16

Pace/Mile: 12:04

AG Time: 48:02

AGGenderPlace: 1634

AG %: 40.0 %

Last time I ran this loop on my own, my time was 50:18. So I'm quite pleased with my progress! (The finish time is without subtracting the three minutes or so that had gone by before I even crossed the starting line, so I'm looking at Net Time and Pace.)

Final thoughts on the subject: Go Team!

A Little Dirt Won't Hurt

This is me after our team workout this week.



The workout was called X-Training Madness. And it was pretty crazy. We went to Central Park and started in one of the baseball fields where we did high knee running across and back and other such ridiculous looking and exhausting movements. We ran, we sprinted, we lunged, we squatted, we did pushups, situps, toe raises, more running... until we were all ready to drop. Well, I was ready to drop. At the end of all the situps in the grass and running in the dirt, we all went to a bar together. Looking like this.



There was nowhere to change or wash, so that's how we showed up. It was our first "team social" and it was a lot of fun. I was a little worried at first when the social planner announced in an unbelievably loud voice that we were going to play a game that would help us get to know each other. She was very gung ho and for a moment I felt like I was as close as I'd ever come to a sorority party. The game was some form of bingo that involved finding people who knew song lyrics or could touch their tongue to their nose, or had lived on both coasts.

I was still sweating, of course, and had found myself a comfortable seat in a booth, so I was not thinking of getting up anytime soon. I let people come to me. And soon enough there was a winner, the game was over, and we were free to socialize in a more natural manner. And to eat and drink.

There is nothing like working out as hard as you ever have and then sitting down (without so much as a hamstring stretch) to a pitcher of beer, hot wings and fries. You can imagine how I felt when I finally peeled my butt off the vinyl seat.

The next day the schedule said to run 3-4 miles. I didn't want to do it. I could barely move when I got up in the morning. But I forced myself, mainly because of the upcoming four mile race on Saturday, which I was really nervous about. With the way I was feeling -- the jet lag and the sore muscles from the day before, I thought I'd better do a dry run, so to speak.

I survived the run. At first my legs were screaming, but as I got further into the run, my muscles loosened up and I guess I hit a stride -- and 50 minutes later, I'd finished four miles. And I felt ready for Saturday's race.

Got home, stretched, ate a bowl of cereal, and fell asleep. First night all week I got to bed at a decent hour.

Couldn't move in the morning. Thought I would have to call in sick. Made it into work around 10:15 and, of course, had a crazy busy day of running around. Came home ready to go straight to bed and get a good night's rest for the race.

That was about five hours ago. It's now 12:40 a.m. The race is in about 8 hours. And I'm wide awake. (Stupid jet lag!)

The jet lag has kept me from writing all week. It's also kept me from washing the dishes (or even putting them in the sink sometimes!), doing the laundry, opening my mail and other basic tasks. I have showered daily, but only because of the workouts.

Having jet lag is very much like being depressed. Nothing seems to matter much, and you can fall asleep at any moment. On the subway, in a meeting, on the couch in front of the TV, at lunch with a friend, at the grocery store. Falling asleep is the easiest thing in the world. Until bed time. And then it's like the eyelids are glued open and my brain won't turn off. I heard today that it takes one day for every hour of time difference to recover from jet lag. That means I'll feel like myself again next Saturday.

So I'm nervous for the race tomorrow. Hope to at least finish. I'm sure getting to sleep soon would help. We shall see...

Back to the Past

The Jetlag Issue – it’s much worse coming back than it it is going. I don’t even remember experiencing jetlag while I was in Japan, other than a few mornings when I woke up extra early -- but I’m an accomplished sleeper and was always able to fall back to sleep.

The jetlag on this end of the trip is terrible. My flight left Tokyo at 5:55 p.m. on Sunday and arrived in New York at 5:30 p.m. on Sunday. I actually went back in time. Turbulence kept me from sleeping through much of the flight, so I was dead tired. I fell asleep in the cab on the way home from the airport and thought I would go straight to bed. But then I met a friend for dinner, and I couldn’t stop talking. I was suddenly wired! So after dinner I went through my pictures while catching up on Nip/Tuck. By the time I finally got to bed, it was 2 a.m.

Nip/Tuck

And then I slept until 5:30 p.m. the next day. Oops.

So that had me all screwed up again. I took an Ambien at 10:00 last night and was asleep by midnight, but up at 5:00 a.m. and unable to get back to sleep. Now I’m barely able to keep my eyes open as I write this, and it’s only 1:30 p.m.! How will I get through the rest of the day!? I’m figuring it’ll take me until the end of the week to get back on track.

So, Colleen, you have this to look forward to!

One Fish, Two Fish...

Well, I’m back in NY now. Didn’t have time to blog those last few days in Japan – too much going on. Kyoto was fabulous – hiking, shopping, eating strange and exotic food, drinking lots of sake and beer, getting caught in the rain, staying at another (better) Ryokan, and more. I hardly know where to begin.

The ryokan experience is unlike any other. And this ryokan, as Colleen mentions in her blog, was much nicer than the guest house where we stayed on the crazy Fuji weekend. Ryokan Yachiyo was picturesque, clean and comfortable. We were greeted at the door by a man who took our bags and offered us slippers. We checked in, got cleaned up and hurried off to dinner.

dinner at the Ryokan

Dinner and breakfast were included in the deal, and everyday we had a choice of Japanese style or Western style. No matter how strange the last meal had been or how hungry it had left us, we always chose Japanese style for the next meal. I just couldn’t justify ordering a western meal while in Japan. Rice, miso soup and tea were the constants of each meal – breakfast and dinner – and the x-factors were mysteries until (and sometimes after) we tasted them. Usually they turned out to be tofu, fish or egg concoctions. I had a hard time with anything that still had a face or legs and hid those under the garnish. The sashimi was very good, as was the fresh tofu. But I think Colleen and I would agree that our favorite, and certainly most filling, meal was the night we had Sukiyaki. That morning when asked about our choice for dinner, instead of western or Japanese, it was Japanese or Sukiyaki. True to form, we chose the most mysterious of the two.

sukiyaki

Turns out, sukiyaki is thinly sliced raw beef brought out on a lovely platter and cooked at the table with a mixture of fresh vegetables, and then dipped in raw egg. The raw egg kind of grossed me out at first, but I decided to give it a chance. It was absolutely delicious. Portions were huge, but we did our best to clean our plates.

Another exciting food discovery in Kyoto was Unagi – grilled eel. We had unagi at an adorable little restaurant in Gion – the only place we’d been where there was no Western style seating – all the tables were low to the ground, and you had to sit on the floor. I don’t know how on earth the Japanese women do it. The men can sit cross-legged, but the women sit on their heels or mermaid style. I have never been so restless during a meal, switching from one position to another. But the unagi was delicious and made it all worth while.

unagi

Still at the top of my list where food is concerned is the sushi restaurant where Colleen took me on my first night in Tokyo. I went back by myself on Thursday before we headed off to Kyoto, and then Colleen and I ate our last meal there before I caught the bus to the airport on Sunday. The sushi and sashimi there was the freshest I’ve ever tasted. I’m sure it has ruined American sushi for me forever. Colleen made a list for me of what I ate there so that I could order it here if I went out for sushi, but I just can’t imagine anything ever coming close to that sushi place, whatever it was called. And it’s right down the street from her apartment!

typical sashimi meal

Our sushi chef

The food on the flight to NY was disgusting. I barely ate a thing. And when I got home and met a friend for dinner, I really wanted a burger and fries. I rarely eat burgers, but it just seemed like the thing to do after ten days of rice and fish. It hit the spot. But since then I’ve been craving sushi again! I never would have thought...

Asakusa and Ueno

Tokyo redeemed itself today. Even though it was still muggy and sticky and threatening to storm, I had a wonderful day.

First stop was Asakusa, one of the few areas they say still holds the spirit of Edo (old Tokyo). Its narrow streets are lined with quaint shops selling boxwood combs, fans, chopsticks, kimonos and sweets. Asakusa is also home to Tokyo’s oldest and most popular temple, Senjo-ji, which enshrines a golden image of Kannon, the Buddhist Goddess of Mercy (I only know this because I read it in the guide book). The best part by far was the garden next to the temple. In the stream that runs through the garden, coi of all colors and sizes swim.



Next, it was on to Ueno, another place where you can get a feel for what life was like in the old days. The best feature of Ueno, as far as I’m concerned, is Ueno-koen, or Ueno Park. The park is home to galleries, museums and a zoo (not to mention a large homeless population).

Even though it was raining, sometimes fiercely, and even though the wind sometimes threatened to blow me over, I opted for the outdoor pleasures of Ueno Park, and after a short walk down the wide tree-lined path, and after a quick snack of green-tea Gelato, I went to the zoo!

Now, I’ve been to a lot of zoos, but this experience was like no other. Mainly because I had the whole place practically to myself (who goes to the zoo on a rainy Wednesday?). I never had to jockey for position to get a good view. Not only that, but the animals were unusually lively today, perhaps because of the storm. Even the pandas were up and about. I discovered an animal I'd never seen before -- the Chinese Panda. What an adorable creature! (Unfortunately, it was too dark to get a good picture.) And the pandas, of course, are incredible. The tigers and lions looked a little underfed, I have to say. And I had to wonder how the penguins and polar bears survive in such a hot climate. But overall, the zoo was fantastic.





Tonight, Colleen and I met some friends of hers for dinner at a great place in Rappongi called Gonpachi. Colleen’s friends ordered for us and the food just kept coming. We had a rolled omelet with radish and soy sauce, fried tofu wrapped in greens, soba noodles, asparagus wrapped in bacon and much more. And I got to sample some delicious sake – a perfect complement to the meal.

After dinner, they took me to a karaoke bar! You can imagine how much fun I had. I sang some ridiculous songs (in that I have no business singing them) like Crazy Train (a little Ozzie anyone?) and Mr. Roboto (Domo Arigato!). Colleen and I did a duet of Endless Love. I made her do the Lionel Ritchie part. (We were stellar.) But the highlight for me was undoubtedly doing Me and Bobby McGee, which I’ve never had the nerve to sing before. It was the most fun I’ve ever had singing. Karoake is so much fun in Japan. You get your own private room, and you just keep programming the songs and grabbing the mike from each other. I suggested to Colleen that we get our own karaoke machine, but then we realized that the two of us would never leave the apartment if we did!

So, yes, Tokyo has redeemed itself in my eyes. And tomorrow it’s off to Kyoto (which is just Tokyo with the letters rearranged). I probably won’t be writing again until I get back. Stay tuned!

It's not the Heat...

...it's the humidity.

Between getting lost on my run and falling on my ass, yesterday got off to a bad start. I think jet lag and the nasty weather had finally gotten the best of me, and the fall just sent me on a downward spiral. I spent the afternoon reading a John Grisham novel with my foot elevated and iced – not exactly the ideal way to spend a vacation, no matter where you are.

However, our evening plans gave me hope. We were going to the New York Grill in the Park Hyatt in Shinjuku (some might remember this Tokyo hot-spot from the movie Lost in Translation). I was very much looking forward to the view from the 52nd floor, if nothing else.

My mood was sour, though, and anyone who knows me knows that my moods can be as stubborn as they are extreme. Even as I made every effort to cheer up and enjoy the night, my mood kept sticking out its lower lip and saying, “No. I hate Tokyo.”

Colleen was, as ever, a sport, and tried to keep the mood light even as we found that the walk from the subway to the Hyatt was much longer than we had anticipated. No big deal under normal circumstances, but in jeans, in Tokyo, it’s a different story.

Tokyo, as Colleen may have mentioned in her own blog, is a little on the humid side. To put it mildly. And I believe I’ve already mentioned my issues with sweating. So, let’s just say, wearing jeans here is a mistake to begin with, and one both Colleen and I had made. Denim in typhoon weather in the Asia Pacific – a nightmare for Tokyo Jo.

By the time we finally found the Park Hyatt, I had blisters on my swollen, sweaty feet from where my favorite, never-gave-me-blisters-before shoes had scraped them raw, and I was beginning to worry that my flesh and jeans had become one, never to be separated. Sweat was streaming down my neck and back, and my face felt like it had been greased with Crisco.

Before we got to the Park Hyatt, when there was still some question as to whether we would in fact find it, I was contemplating changing my ticket for an earlier flight home. I may have been heard to utter something to the effect of, I can't believe anyone lives here! This island isn’t even supposed to be inhabited. Isn't it the just leftover from a land bridge? It shouldn't even exist! Not a direct quote, but you get the idea.

When I caught a glimpse of my damp face and limp hair in the mirrored doors of the elevator on the way up to the New York Grill, I mumbled to Colleen, “It’s a good thing I don’t sweat much.” It was my best attempt at levity, though admittedly a sad one, and Colleen played along, though I suspect she was growing less and less sympathetic. But, hey -- I was miserable. And everybody has their Waterloo. For Colleen, it’s dirty toilets. For me, it’s humidity.

Things turned around as the night progressed. The restaurant was great – all it is cracked up to be, in fact. And we met a charming guy from Australia who entertained us all evening, and even bought us a few drinks.

I do have a bone to pick with him, however, and anyone who wants to back me up on this, feel free. I recently saw a special on great white sharks that launch out of the water. It's amazing. Their entire body breaches the surface. And this came up in conversation -- I have no idea how -- and Mr. Australia thought I was stupid or crazy (or both) for believing such a thing! Now, granted, I may have referred to them initially as "flying sharks," but really, isn't that just semantics?

Anyhoo – breaching shark issue aside, our new friend, with the help of good food, good drinks and a great view, turned the night around. So all was not lost. And we took a cab home. It may have cost a day’s wages to do it, but at that point I would have paid any price to avoid the 30 minute trek to the subway.

Jo vs. the Volcano, Part II

Again, we had a plan. An 8:38 bus would take us to Gotemba Station where we would get another bus to Kawaguchiko Station. From there, a third bus would take us to the Fifth Station on the mountain itself, about 2,400 (7,874 feet) meters up, and from there we would climb to the summit.

For the rest of the story, see Colleen's blog.

Jo vs. the Volcano

Mt. Fuji is the highest mountain in Japan at 3776 meters high (12,388 feet).

Not long before this trip, Colleen emailed me to see if I might have any interest in climbing Mt. Fuji. Of course I said yes, and we started planning. We did a lot of planning. We had the boots, the back packs, the first aid kit, flashlights -- you name it, we had it. We did the research and planned accordingly. We were ready for any temperature... we were prepared to spend the night in a hut... we were even ready to poop in the woods if absolutely necessary.

Unfortunately, there were two mighty forces that we were not ready for: The Tourist Information Center and Typhoon Nabi.

The trouble with Mt. Fuji, as with many mountains, is that weather conditions at the top tend to be extreme. Also among its negatives, the fact that it seems inclined to disappear after the early morning hours, hidden by clouds or fog. Throw in the effects of a typhoon over 900 miles away in Okinawa, and you've got less than ideal viewing/hiking conditions.

Now wait just one minute, you say, being the weather geek that you are. You know that Saturday in the Mt. Fuji area was actually sunny, beautiful and quite clear -- optimal conditions for viewing/hiking the mountain.

Yes, well, that's true. That brings us back to the first mighty force I mentioned. The Tourist Information Center.

Our plan had been to start the hike late Saturday, hike until dark, sleep in a hut for a few hours, rise at the crack to finish the trek to the top arriving just in time to see the sunrise.

OK, so we did get off to a late start on Saturday, partly because we were slow to get moving, but mainly because the friendly ladies at the Tourist Information Center are assasins of time.

We went in thinking we'd be there maybe ten minutes, get some maps, some info, and be on our way. Sadly, this was not to be.

"Mt. Fuji is closed."

This is the story they gave us, and no matter how hard we tried to explain that we simply knew this not to be true, that was their story and they were sticking to it.

OK. We played along.

"Well what if we just want to go to the Mt. Fuji area -- somewhere pretty with a nice view of the mountain?"

That they would help us with.

The Fuji Five Lake Region

One of the two friendly women helping us disappeared for a very long time and came back with a brochure of the Mt. Fuji area and attractions. Colleen and I had heard of the Five Lake Region and, knowing we weren't going to get there in time to start the hike that day, we thought it sounded like a nice place to stay. We asked them which part of the region they would recommend.

"Hakone!" was the unanimous answer. (The only sure answer we got that day.)

Hakone it was! Let's book a hotel in Hakone! We were directed to a third woman (not so friendly) who would help us book our hotel reservation. She quickly recommended ahotel, we agreed, and she placed the call and made the arrangements. We would be staying in a traditional Japanese inn in Moto-Hakone. Brilliant! Right near a lake! Sounds perfect.

But we still had to sort out our transportation to Hakone, and it was no easy task. Though there were many brochures on the subject, none of them gave actual time tables and routes or stops the train or bus would make along the way. They just showed cartoonish drawings of the line with no regard to scale.

Finally, with the Tourist Information Center employees still trying to convince us that Fuji was closed for the season, we decided we would be better off on our own. As we were about to leave, the least friendly of the ladies plunked down a baggie full of bright objects and flatly said "souveniers."



We had a similar problem with the man at the train ticket counter -- he must have attended the same customer service seminar as the ladies at the Tourist Information Center. It took about 30 minutes to buy two train tickets, and by the time we got them, the train was about to leave.

We barely made it before the train left, but at least now we were on our way. So we wouldn't get to hike the mountain until tomorrow. So we would miss the sunrise. It would still be a great time.

Without going into great detail, I'll just sum up the rest of the trip by saying that Hakone is NOT in the Five Lakes Region -- there is a lake there, but it is not one of the five. And not only that, our hotel reservations were not in Moto-Hakone, they were somewhere else in Hakone, but we didn't realize that until we were heading the wrong direction on the bus. After a boat ride across the lake (not one of the five lakes) and another bus ride, we finally found our hotel.

Now, all this confusion may lead you to believe that we were not having a good time, but that was not the case. We were managing to laugh at all the mistakes and inconveniences and still have a great time on our Fuji adventure.

The hotel was lovely -- there were even indoor and outdoor hot springs on the hotel grounds. Our room was simple but cozy with a little garden out the sliding doors. We had a dip in the indoor hot spring, then dinner in a local Japanese restaurant -- very tasty -- and then a dip in the outdoor hot spring just before bed. We thought it best to make it an early night since tomorrow we'd be climbing Mt. Fuji!

Slippery When Wet

Today I wiped out going into Colleen’s office building. It was raining and I was wearing flip-flops with no tread and I stepped on a particularly slippery surface, (made even more slippery when wet) and my foot just slid out from under me. I tried to catch myself with my right hand, but my hand slid too, and I wound up completely splayed across the entrance to Colleen’s building. No one stopped to see if I was OK. It felt just like home!

I limped into Colleen’s building where I met some of her co-workers. Colleen told one of them that I fell, and she said, “Oh, so you have many problems – first you get lost this morning and now you fall!”

It was true. I do have a lot of problems. And I had gotten lost this morning. I woke up at 6:30 and couldn’t get back to sleep, so I decided to take a run since I’m getting way behind on my training. I had explored Ginza, the area near where Colleen lives, yesterday (got lost then too), so I felt I could venture a little further today and still find my way back – or at least find my way back to where I had gotten lost yesterday.

I ran through Ginza and then I saw some green in the distance, so I headed that direction. I found my way all the way to Hibiya Park – a lovely “western style” park with ponds and fish and lots of stray cats.

After running around the park, I left a different way than I had come in, but I figured it was close enough and I’d find my way.

I really should have known better.

Long story short, I got lost. I did finally find a map along a side street somewhere in Chuo City, and from that I was able to find my way back. Colleen was about ready to form a search party.

So yes, lost and then broken. And here I sit now in Colleen’s apartment, icing my toe and hoping it isn’t broken.

So, since it looks like I’ll be spending this rainy afternoon inside with my foot up instead of at the Sumo Wrestling Museum, I will take this opportunity to catch up on my blogging.

Quick Update

This is not a picture of Mt. Fuji -- or is it?

Just returned from Mt. Fuji. Crazy weekend. Lots of busses and trains and even a boat. Indoor hot springs, outdoor hot springs, fog, rain, invisible mountains, and our favorite - the visitor's information center. That'll have to hold you for now. Time for sleep. More soon.

Slight Detour

This blog is going to take a slight detour from my marathon training and enter into new territory.

I'm in Tokyo!

Anyone reading this blog probably knew I was going to Tokyo, so it's no surprise. But it's a surprise to me. I really can't believe I'm here!

I arrived at Narita airport after a long (14 hour) but uneventful flight from JFK in New York. I did sit beside a mildly OCD man, but for the most part he didn't bother me. He had to have a stirrer with his coffee, even though it was black, and he couldn't have the cup on his tray once it was empty and would search frantically for someone to remove it for him. But hey -- who am I to judge? I was just relieved that he wasn't smelly or chatty.

I breezed through customs and immigration, just as I had breezed through check-in in New York, and anyone who has heard my travel stories knows this is an amazing feat for me. Traveling without incident is not the story I usually tell.

Strangely, my first thought upon walking outside the airport to catch my bus into Tokyo, was that it reminded me of Mexico -- because of the incredible heat and humidity!

The bus I was to take to Tokyo ran once an hour, so I had about 40 minutes to wait. I decided just to wait outside at the gate since I was happy to stand after fourteen hours of sitting, and I didn't want to take any chances of missing the bus.

The four young men managing the arrival and departure of each bus were so efficient as to be entertaining. I watched as they carefully checked each person's ticket and politely pulled the passengers for the arriving bus out of line to form a new line. They gave the passengers tickets for their checked luggage, which they then carefully lined up inside a box painted on the sidewalk near the curb. As each bus arrived, they first announced its arrival in Japanese and then in English, too fast for me to understand, but they did make a point of saying very clearly the departure time of the bus, which was all anyone really needed to know. Busses arrived every five minutes, and every bus was on time.

So at 4:01 after the departure of the 4:00 bus, I was gently pulled into a new line, my bag was checked and put in the box by the curb, and I waited four minutes for my bus to arrive. Moments before it arrived, one of the young men announced its arrival. When it pulled up, the four men loaded the luggage onto the bus, and the passengers got on. Then one of the men boarded the bus, said something to the driver, turned and bowed to the passengers, got off, and we were on our way.

The busses, I had noticed, were all very shiny and clean. Inside and out. And as we drove along, I noticed this to be true of every vehicle on the road. Clean and small.

I dozed off and on during the ride into Tokyo. I had been awake, except for a few hours on the plane, for about 20 hours by then. But I woke up as we got to the city, so I caught a glimpse of the bright lights and wide streets of Tokyo. Many motorcycles and bicycles. Many pedestrians. Very clean streets, and everyone seeming to move together somehow, as if to some rhythm I couldn't hear. As if there was a hand gently pushing them to move in some kind of order, much like the hand that gently pulled me into line for the bus.

I met Colleen at the Imperial Hotel, a very international place, so a good spot for me to adjust. Everyone spoke English, I found Colleen immediately and with no trouble. After a good long hug, a few moments of "I can't believe you're here!" and "I can't believe I'm here!" we made our way to the bar and ordered two Kirins and an appetizer of vegetables served with an avocado spread and a roe spread. Even though I had eaten three meals on the plane, not to mention a Luna bar and a Balance bar, I was starving. So the carrot stick, cucumber stick, two celery sticks and four pieces of toast were a welcome treat! (No wonder they're all so skinny here!)

Then it was off to Colleen's apartment. As she noted on her blog, I was very impressed with her Japanese, though she says she only knows four words. She was able to give our taxi driver, who clearly didn't have any idea where he was going (even though she'd given him a map!), directions that got us to her apartment. After a lot of laughter, bowing, and the repeated exchange of "domo" between Colleen and the cabbie, we were home.

Colleen's apartment is, as she has said, very small. It is a lot like a dorm room, though much nicer. The wood floor is beautiful and unmarked (we took our shoes off when we came in). She has a very small refrigerator and freezer -- literally looks like a miniaturized version of one of those fancy steel gray refrigerators with the freezer on the bottom like a drawer. And she has one burner next to the sink. The bathroom is two small rooms with the toilet in one and the sink and tub in the other. The toilet seat, I was surprised to find, is heated! And there are many buttons on the toilet that Colleen says she hasn't touched because she doesn't want to have to get someone up here to fix the toilet when she breaks it trying to figure out what all the buttons do. And really, would you want to be sitting on the toilet when you found out?

The room with the sink and tub has one faucet shared by both. It swings from the sink to the tub depending on what you need. There is no shower curtain, nor is there a place to hang one. And the shower nozzle seems to have been added as an after thought. The tub is very deep, but not as long as tubs in the US. Water gets everywhere when you take a shower, but I guess it is expected to, because there is a drain in the bathroom floor. Colleen has it all down to a science and showed me how she puts her shower stuff, all kept neatly in a plastic bin (just like in college), right in the sink so you can reach it from the shower, and how you angle the shower nozzle sort of towards the wall to keep from having too big a mess to clean up when you're through.



But I'm getting ahead of myself. The shower came later (although I'm sure it should have come as soon as I arrived, but I was afraid I would get too sleepy if I showered). First we went out for sushi at a cute little place in her neighborhood. Again, I was impressed with her knowledge of the language (though there were a lot of hand signals involved with ordering, I noticed). We each had miso soup and a big plate of sushi (I'm sure there is a name for the big plate of sushi, but I don't know what it is). I've never been big on sushi, other than the rolls, which I like. But this sushi was like nothing I've ever tasted. It was buttery and rich and melted in my mouth. The only one I didn't like much was the squid, but mainly because it was too chewy. I was pretty good with the chopsticks, but I don't understand how people just plop a whole piece of sushi in their mouths! They must have big mouths! It's kind of hard to do it any other way though, because you can't really cut through it with chopsticks, and because of the texture, biting through it isn't really an option either. So I made a bit of a mess, but it was thoroughly enjoyable.

The restaurant was very bright, unlike most restaurants in the US, and it was full of tables of mostly men eating strange looking dishes and laughing and talking loudly. The sushi chefs were behind a counter, and from where I sat, I could watch them put each order together. It was a bit like watching an artist -- a really fast and nimble artist!

The tea was wonderful and the beer (more Kirin) really hit the spot. Thoroughly satisfied, we left there and took a short walk around the neighborhood where Colleen showed me some other restaurants we'd be trying out in the week ahead. I can't wait.

Then it was back to the apartment to shower (as I've already described) and plan for our Saturday outing to Mt. Fuji. I made it until about 10:00 and then I crashed, practically asleep before my head hit the pillow.

I woke up at about 3:00 a.m., just as everyone told me I would. But I'm a champion sleeper, so I was sure I could sleep longer. I woke again just about every hour until 7:00 when I knew I wasn't going to sleep any more. Colleen had said to wake her if I woke up super early and we'd go to the fish market to watch them do their buying and selling of huge and strange fish -- something I've heard and read a lot about. But I didn't have the heart to wake her. It's Saturday, for crying out loud, and I, for one, know how important it is to be able to sleep in on Saturday after a long hard week at work. I'll try to go another day.

So, that brings us right up the present. Colleen is still dozing (it's only about quarter to nine) and when she gets up, we're going to get ready for our big day at Mt. Fuji!

More to come (and next time with pictures!)

Saturday Practice

I'm happy to say that, after my first horrendous run with the team, I rallied when we met on Saturday morning. I ran 3.4 miles with the beginners, kept a steady (but slow) pace, and felt good when I was finished.

When I didn't wake up sore and stiff on Sunday, I decided to do it again. So I went to Central Park and ran the FOUR mile loop. Felt great! What a huge relief. I have to admit I was a little worried that what had happened Wednesday was foreshadowing -- like I should expect there always to be some strange health issue every time I challenge myself. I've since learned from other runners that they've all been down that unpleasant road. I should have known by how quickly one of the coaches showed me to the restroom when I got back to the store on Wednesday night. She understood the, um, urgency of the situation.