Fun Times in FiveFingers!

Summer is...how should I phrase this...AWESOME. The sun shines longer, the warm breezes blow through open windows, and life seems a bit more carefree.

Ben and I took advantage of this carefree attitude and hit a couple of favorite swimming holes. Do you even need to ask what we wore on our feet? Ben and I love kayaking and we usually struggle with footwear. Flip-flops fall off, old sneakers hold water and get heavy, "water shoes" tend to slide around on our feet.  This is the first time I had taken my Veebs out on a non-running excursion and I was excited to see how they would perform in water. I was not disappointed.

The first location was purely wading, enjoying the sights, and picking up a smooth black stone here and there (I can't resist the smooth ones). I know I've said this a thousand times, but it was like I wasn't even wearing shoes. No slipping on rocks (unless they were really mossy) and no sliding in the shoes themselves. Flexing and moving my little toes as much as I liked. Enough talk - photo time!

Complete with ankle scar!

The second location was more swimming, less wading. A mountainside stream pouring over rocks, clear and cold. It took me about 10 minutes of wading before I got brave enough to plunge myself into the fast moving and chilly water. Maybe I shouldn't have picked a day right after a big rainstorm. As before, my feet felt like...well, feet. I kicked and swam and wasn't held back by drag or sliding around. Thoroughly awesome.

People never fail to ask me if the Veebs are comfortable. I always answer with, "Well, are your feet comfortable?" Yes. Yes, they are. I'm loving and appreciating my feet more all the time. Go feet!

Panda Gets a Run Buddy

When I started this blog, I was gung-ho and ready to go. In the back of my mind I knew there would be times where my chronology would falter. This appears to have begun. Lucky for you, I am a recap master!

Life got busy the past couple of weeks - delivering long hours just wiped me out. During the day as I deliver, I try to run back and forth from the house to the truck in what I call "Interval Training". I'm sure I might look super sketchy running to a house, dropping a box, and then running away, but hey, that's how I roll. And it gets me done faster - woohoo!

The biggest development lately is that I've finally worn down my hubby. For months now, Ben has been listening to my FiveFingers ranting and gushing over running style, running shoes versus minimalist wear, and my half marathon plans.  One day, he finally said, "That's it. I'm getting my own pair of Veebs." When reason fails, good old fashion persistence takes over.

He didn't stop there. After wearing his black camo KSOs to work a few times, he says "You know, I'm going to start running with you. Support your efforts so I would know what you were going through in your training." Brilliant! I had visions of us becoming like those super cool couples who get all sexy and athletic looking while out on various outdoor adventures.

So here we go! Mr. and Mrs. Veebs, hitting the road and clocking the miles. If we get as sexy as I hope we will, I'll be sure to take some photos and put out a calendar.

Breaking Through the Busted Gait

I've been plugging along recently, trying to keep my outings to about 3 miles total. Overall, I've been feeling pretty good, but I've noticed a nagging problem with my right foot. I think my gait is busted. At the end of a run I felt a pain near the base of my big toe, coupled with the signature white bubble of a forming blister. Not good. Blister? What? I'm wearing Veebs! I'm invincible in Veebs! Apparently not. Very disappointing. I'm not giving up on the Veebs though. I feel like retreating back to a pair of running shoes will undermine all the progress I've made in technique. The only shoe I would go back to would be a minimalist sneaker, but laying down some moolah right now doesn't appeal to me. So I shall stick with my KSOs.

Additionally frustrating is I've noticed that my ankle is just not giving me the range of motion I used to have. Hopefully this will continue to improve with time and when the screws break, which I've been told is what they are supposed to do. Believe me, I asked my surgeon about this. If I was going to feel my ankle pop, or do something crazy, I wanted to know what to expect. Keeping up a running regimen is going to prove difficult. I'm taking on more FedEx work this summer, which either leaves me completely tapped out at the end of a day, or I'm out so late that it gets dark. We shall see!

Top Ten Ways to Show Love to Your Delivery Person

As you may know if you saw the post "Tales from the Road", I work for FedEx delivering packages. You might think, wow, that's a really easy job just driving around and dropping packages. But sadly, it's not. It really should be, but it's not. I blame you.

Let me be more specific. Chances are, because you are reading this, you have access to a computer with internet, most likely at home of some sort, be it a house, or apartment. This home has an address. This address helps me find you. Seems simple right? I need to find you so you can get your stuff. Let me ask you this - if you were me, could you find you?

If you want to get your stuff, you need to help your delivery person. Here are the Top Ten things to keep in mind...

#1 - NUMBERS. I can't emphasize this enough. PLEASE put up numbers. On your house, mailbox, garage, whatever. Wait, it's not enough to just put up the number, you need consideration for visibility and contrast. Black number on dark mailbox, putting a hanging plant right in front of your number, or faded numbers are no good (I have seen all of these). If you look outside and your mailbox has white squares on it, your numbers are FADED. They need to be replaced. All the squares should have numbers, not 3 out of 4 or any other such combination. Also, just because your neighbor was kind enough to put up a number the size of Texas, that doesn't mean you are off the hook.

Look, I know you spent a lot of money on that solid block of stone in front of your house with your street name and number engraved on it, but I'm at the end of your mile-long driveway. And I can't SEE it. I'm parked next to the mailbox with nothing on it and the last time I saw a house was a half mile back so I can't even do the math on what your number might be. Chances are, I'm going to keep driving.

#2 - YOUR DOG. Many dogs just get excited to see me and thus, they bark. I get it. Most of the time, this is the case. However, there are some dogs who are assholes. And let's be real people, you know when your dog is an asshole. If he's an asshole to you (and you are the one who provides the food) then chances are the dog is going to be an asshole to a total stranger (moi). Many of you have the courtesy to keep your dog indoors so I don't have to worry about losing a foot. Others of you are in denial, and you just let the dog run around all day. Here's what your dog does while you are away - it gets in front of the truck to block me, runs up to my door to block me, and, most importantly, gets in front of me while I'm struggling to get your heavy-ass package to your door. For the grand finale, sometimes your dog will finally get the courage to take a nip at me when my back is turned. You need to handle it. I blame the parents.

#3 - CAR PARTS. The parts belong IN the car. It's really great that you can fix and tinker with cars. But that should be a weekend project in which the parts go back into the car. Having them strewn across the driveway and lawn is really gonna screw up my day. I can tell they've been there awhile, so don't give me that look. They are rusted and the Earth is trying to reclaim them. I should be able to walk to your house and deposit a package without being concerned about tripping on an axle and impaling myself on a jack. Keep in mind, I might be carrying that new 8-ball shifter for your sick ride, so you're gonna want me to keep taking air.

#4 - TURN AROUND ETIQUETTE. Many Vermonters live in rural areas, so it's handy to have a little something we call the "turn around". It's pretty self-explanatory - your skinny, long driveway leads to your house in which the person is then able to "turn around" and head back. But here's the thing - I can't turn my 15-foot truck around if you have cars/trucks/boats/RVs/your kid's bike parked in the turn around. Backing up a quarter of a mile, in winter, in your crappy plowed driveway, is a recipe for me to get stuck. If I get stuck, it kills a whole bunch of time for me. And I will remember you. I may or may not be expedient with your package in the future.

#5 - NO MORE QUESTIONS. All I know is, I'm carrying a box. It tells me info like where it came from, where it's going, and sometimes tells me what's inside. But if the box is brown and cardboard, I don't know what's inside. I didn't open it on the way over. I have NO idea what it is. YOU ordered it. Or hell, just enjoy the surprise!

#6 - SIGNATURES. (Applicable mainly to business deliveries). If you see me standing there, with a scanner thingy and following you around like a lost puppy, then I need a signature before I can leave. I don't make the rules, and honestly, I might be 26 stops into an 84-stop day so getting out of your store is top on my priority list. Keep this in mind when you are standing there giving an entire sales interaction to a customer while I wait. Hovering.

#7 - EMPATHY IN THE DARKNESS. Just for fun, drive off somewhere, wait until it's dark out, and then pretend you don't know how to find your house. Drive down your street, looking at numbers - if you can (See #1 if you are having difficulty). How did you do? Can you find your number? Do you HAVE numbers? You've just walked in my shoes.

#8 - THERE IS SUCH A THING AS TOO MUCH GRAVEL. Sure, paving is expensive. Gravel is an acceptable option for all driveways ranging from the rural to the lifestyles of the rich and famous. But really, you don't need that much. My truck is heavy, and if you have too much gravel, it's like driving through snow. I kid you not. My tires spin, I can't go faster than 2 miles an hour, and it's a big time killer.

#9 - SOMETIMES I DRIVE A RENTAL. GET OVER IT. I might show up at your door in a rental truck or van. No, my truck didn't break down. No, the company isn't under seriously financial peril and we are forced to drive unmarked rental vehicles driven by slave delivery minions. I'm likely filling in for a contractor who gets to keep his truck while I drive the route for him. So for the love of God, if you are coming home and you see me in the driveway trying to back out, please don't box me in like you just caught me trying to jack your stuff. Do you really think I went out and rented a truck just to drive to your house in the middle of the day and start taking stuff?? Also, if you're having an outdoor party, it's a bit rude to just stop and stare at me. Amusing, but awkward.

#10 - DON'T ORDER IT IF YOU CAN'T LIFT IT. If you are home, and you see me backing into your driveway, I LOVE it when you come out and get the package from me. If the package is small enough to pass through my window into your waiting hands (and I didn't have to get out of the truck) that is like Christmas for me. However, if you wander out only to watch me struggle with your 50-pound box of swimming pool tablets, then walk WITH me to your door, that just tweaks me. If you come out, you should take the box from me rather than just give me that "Wow, that box looks heavy and I have a bad back"-look on your face. And no, I'm not going to take that queen size bed frame all the way into your house and set it up either, so put away the longing puppy dog eyes. I would also like to add a shout-out to the Ladies - you really need to tell your husband about the shit you buy. It sucks to stand there holding out my scanner and requesting a signature from a man with a blank look on his face saying "I'm not expecting anything, what have we here?" like I'm trying to scam him into joining the Jehovah's Witnesses.

So there you have it. Little things that will make my life so much easier. If you've got love for your delivery person, your precious goodies get to your door, and everyone is happy. Oh, and if you see me put a package at your door and run away, don't worry, it won't explode. That's just me working in some "interval training".

Dang. I think I overdid myself.

In the scenic Vermont town where I massage tourists, there is a delightful bike path. From end to end, it's in the vicinity of 10 miles long. It winds and weaves under bridges, over bridges, beside a small river, beneath the shade of trees, and even marks off the distance in 1/4 mile increments. This has become Panda's Running Nirvana.

The next time I run there, I really must bring along my little camera to show you some scenery. I love that I can take a break to stretch on a bench, or even dip my bloated, pudgy sausage fingers into the cool flowing waters. Ok, who am I kidding, it's frickin' freezing water, but still refreshing.

This path goes from the village proper to the ski resort mountain. When you are traveling from the village toward the mountain, you do experience an imperceptible raise in elevation. I didn't feel like I was traveling uphill for 2 miles, until I turned around to head back. All of a sudden I was cruising! I was striding along like I was born Kenyan. I'm not sure how far a distance I ran, but I just went with it.

I started to regret it as soon as I slowed down. My ankle started getting pissed off at me.

"Umm, Panda?"

"Yes, Ankle?" (Not making eye contact)

"I just wanted to bring to your attention that you haven't gone this far before..."

I considered the distance...I had gone a little over 4 miles total. The longest distance I had wun since breaking my ankle.

"Yes, Ankle, I believe you might be right. But I was feeling like a super star! Come on, can't you cut me some slack this once? I'll be better next time...I'll work up to 4 miles. Cross my heart."

Ankle sighs. Shakes its head back and forth. Ultimately, Ankle hooks me up and decided to not drag me through stiffness hell the next day. I am grateful and resolve to take it easy on Ankle...for now.

I got the taste of what the Flow feels like. And I'm hunting it down.

Holy crap, I'm running.

Ahh Dear Reader, we have come to the moment you've been waiting for...a post about some actual running. (No please, don't get up...applause aren't necessary).

In the past couple of weeks I did start to dabble a bit with the treadmill, in the vicinity of 3 or so miles a workout, and each time I would try to see how far I could go without stopping. The first day I ran about 3/4 miles straight (and I was psyched), the next time, about the same, but threw in another half mile of running in the same workout, just to increase the amount of running time. I was running in my Veebs (of course) and feeling pretty damn jazzed about it. Every time I see the sign next to the treadmill that says "Shoes must be worn at all times" I still secretly wish someone would pick an argument with me about how I'm not really wearing shoes, etc etc, but alas, no.

This week, I finally decided to take this show on the road...truthfully, it was more like a gravel bike path. The weather was sunny, and a bit brisk (just the way I like it!) and I figured, hey, that Disney half marathon ain't gonna be indoors so I better get my butt outside.

So I drove to our local scenic bikepath, a splendid little 1.25 mile stretch of white gravel along a river. The parking area is about halfway in the middle, so I walk a half mile to warm up, then turn around to start running, with another half mile at the end for a cool down.

I would love to say that after the completion of the warm up my feet took on a life of their own, as if they were thanking me for finally releasing them into the wild to run free, the gentle pat of my forefoot being drowned out only by the sound of my heart. In reality, I gasped and nearly coughed up a lung in the frosty air. Running outside is noticeably more difficult than treadmill running. Little did I know, but that bastard treadmill was actually helping me along.

My confidence waivered. I thought of all those 1/2 and 1/4 miles I ran on the treadmill and how psyched I was to be running more than 2 minutes straight, and yet here I was, thwarted but the outdoors. Regardless, it was good to be outside. I was taking baby steps.

I decided to let go of my distance aspirations and focused on my rhythm and technique. The rhythm felt pretty good, although I think my strike was consistently to the mid-foot, rather than forefoot. I also focused on keeping my upper body steady, with minimal vertical bounce (much to the happiness of my boobs, yay!). I appreciate the fact that the trail gives you markers every 1/4 mile which allowed me to gauge my progress and how I felt after each 1/4 mile. I think this is why I gravitated to the treadmill - it gives me a chance to see how far I've gone without losing my shirt on one of those GPS watches.

Overall, a satisfying first time out. I logged a total of about 3 miles, alternating running and walking. I call it "wunning". Eventually, I will be a full fledged runner, which to me means that I go out for a run and RUN the whole time. Baby steps...

Tales From the Road: Part I

Because massage work is fairly inconsistent, I also work at driving for FedEx (Home Delivery, not Express, or Ground - they are all different companies). I've taken over the summer vacation routes this year, so I've been getting behind the wheel quite a bit recently.

I am reminded of how weird people can be. Especially here in Vermont. In rural areas.

For the most part, it's a pretty sweet gig. Nobody harasses you about doing any tasks, or gossips about how many more kids Brangelina have adopted, or tells you when or how you have to deliver boxes. If I finish early, I'm done. If I take a really long time, I swear a whole lot and get pissed at myself.

On the other hand, there are tricky parts of the job. You spend a lot of time alone talking/swearing at packages or other drivers, almost tripping on scattered toys in yards, and accidentally passing by the house you needed and having to turn around (which might require more swearing). Sometimes the box says "Lift with a partner" but here's the thing - it's just YOU. And chances are this is the biggest and heaviest package you have all day and it needs to get up two flights of stairs to an adult store (oh yeah, that just happened).

By the way, if you're a girl, it's in your best interest to pee whenever possible at an establishment with flushing toilets. Don't have to pee? Too bad - do it anyway. Because when the need strikes, your only option might be the side of the road, or risk incontinence the next time you grab a heavy box.

Lately, I have started to play little games to entertain myself during the 8-10 hours I spend on the road. The first is Bumper Sticker-isms. Profound knowledge, or even just a chuckle, can readily occur in two lines. My favorites this week: "Nice Truck - Sorry About Your Small Penis" and "Witches Parking: All others will be toad".

I'm a fan of dogs, but I'm not a fan of ill-behaved dogs. Sadly, I encounter these dogs regularly. For the most part the ones outside are just hanging out and bark at me out of excitement at a total stranger driving up to their sacred domain. Others are truly pissed off that I'm there, but lack the testicles to really take me on. I don't carry any treats with me or any shit like that because I don't agree with rewarding bad behavior (human or canine). So I just get out of the truck and go about my business and they just watch me ignore them. There was one time where a dog was flipping out, and I could tell that he was hostile, but he kept his distance...until I turned around. Then he lunged at my ass. I turned around and said "Hey, what the fuck?! That's not necessary!" and he stood there, head tilted. Now who's tough, beeotch?

My second favorite game is screwing with the ill-behaved dogs that get shut up in the house all day. I just love getting to the door and watching the dog FLIP out at me while impotently scratching the hell out of the door, spit flying on the glass. It just tickles me silly. Interestingly, the only dog who didn't bark from inside the house was a rottweiler. Go figure.

The most amusing attack I've ever had was by a flock of geese and chickens. They started honking and clucking as soon as I hopped out of the truck and by the time I got to the door and placed the package, there was a semi-circular flock of fowl closing in on me. I escaped the encounter without having to throw down, but I've never seen a goose so pissed off before. 

Once in a while, you take a risk, and the risk doesn't pay off. But you get a funny story out of it. When you look at a map of Vermont, some roads are depicted in certain ways to let you know the condition - a wider, solid road is perhaps a highway, or major road, whereas smaller, skinnier roads are less well traveled (or maintained). There is a special type of road to watch out for in my line of work - the dashed line. This road may be sketchy, or even impassible, depending on the season. Also known as "Class 4" roads (even using the word road is generous) these are the trickiest to navigate if you don't know the area. The line may start solid, then turn dashed on the map. When it becomes dashed is where trouble begins.

Turns out I had a delivery on such a road. I would have avoided the dashed section, but there was none. It was ALL dashed.

I drove halfway down and had little trouble. The second half was increasingly sketchy, reduced to two evenly spaced bands of packed mud. I encountered a woman riding her horse. She gets visibly irritated that I have snuck up on her and her horse. She says, "This is not a road, you know. There's just a big mud hole up ahead."

Perfect.

Apparently I was thrown off by the street sign and the houses that were perched along this not-road. My mistake.

There are many more miles to drive this summer and I'm sure I will have more tidbits to share. Hopefully some of those tales will be from me...running.

Stepping Out

I hit the road today. My first "long" walk (so to speak), about 90 minutes. I didn't even really intend to go that far. Sometimes I just start walking and keep going. I had some time to kill and it was a nice day, so I figured, hey, why not.

I am quite aware of the fact that my running blog STILL hasn't had much running in it. I think that's an expectation that you, Dear Reader, will have to let go of for the time being. But no worries, I'm still going to bust out the content. Life throws a bunch of funky shit at you now and then that is quite entertaining if you look at it the right way.

And hell yes, I was walking in my Veebs. I even threw in a bit of a jog here and there (don't get too excited, it was only 30 seconds at a time), but it felt pretty good. I didn't do much because I hadn't truly prepared for "working out" and didn't want to sweat up my cute outfit that day. Yeah, that sounded totally girly, I know.

I have a big stint of work coming up - massaging, FedEx-ing, rinse and repeat - so I don't think I'll even see my Veebs let alone get to put some miles on them. I'm going to miss them. In order to make it up to them, I shall give them a spin in the washing machine to sexy them up.

A friend of mine is getting to attend a barefoot running clinic in Boston! So jealous. I gave her a fresh copy of "Born To Run" so she could have it signed by the author. I can't wait to hear all about the event.

Back on my feet and Livin' in my Veebs

Today, I am "officially" able to return to work. It's a bittersweet day - I was enjoying the whole "stay home and get paid" thing, but the hard-working, not-wanting-to-mooch side of me is happy to back. Granted, I'm not a 100% yet, and I'm SNR (still not running) but my right foot seems solid enough to carry me on a regular basis.

I'm also wearing my Veebs (Vibram FiveFingers) all the time. I'm serious. I wear them in the house.

I know I was only supposed to get used to them "1-2 hours a day" but I said the hell with that and wore them for 12 hours. And no pain in the feet! Last weekend I did overdo it a bit - my right heel was sore, but then again so was my calf, so I have a feeling the heel pain was overexertion since my left heel felt great.

Today's weather is an unseasonable and delicious 65-ish degrees, and I definitely got my ass (and feet) outside. I'm not sure of the mileage, but I'm guessing in the vicinity of 2 miles. Here are some observations:

1) I have become stealthy and ninja quiet - These babies make hardly any noise. After clunking and shuffling around on crutches for a couple of months, it's nice to be able to sneak up on people.

2) Feeling like a badass - When I walk into any store with a "No Shoes, No Service" sign, I almost look around for a manager or security officer to take me down as a non-shoe wearing law breaker. Depending on my mood, I WANT them to challenge my Veebs ("Damn right they are shoes, the toes are covered! There's rubber on the bottom! Flip flop feet are more naked!")

3) When I have to wear conventional shoes, my heart gets sad, and I daydream about the next time I get to wear my Veebs.

Ok, so the last one was just me being weird. Because, yeah, I get it, loving shoes that much is pretty bizarre. The first step is admitting I have a problem.

I can't wait to start running. I've even gone and done something I never thought I would do and I officially registered for my first half marathon in 2011! Crazy? Possibly. But I'm uber-psyched. I'm gonna start the training and do a 5K in October to grease the race running wheels. In the meantime, Dear Reader, many of my posts in the coming months will not be documenting any heavy running training. However, I will be sure to let you know if I walk to the mailbox, or anything monumental like that.

I have no idea where this blog is going, but you are welcome to join me for the ride.

Each day I aspire to become less Gimpy, and more Panda.

I know a beaver when I see one

Ben and I have been together a bunch of years (11 so far) and we still manage to have the most ridiculous debates/conversations. I think our friends sometimes believe they are witnessing a true disagreement and feel uncomfortable when they hear us bantering back and forth about whether someone can be "more" racist than someone else (how can there be levels of racism? aren't you just racist, or not racist?). I find most of our topics are just funny. Take this morning for example.

B is filling my car with gas while I wait patiently inside. I see a deceased beaver near the gas station, fairly intact, seemingly fresh, the victim of vehicular manslaughter. It seems odd that a beaver would be wandering across four lanes of fairly busy roadway where lots of gridlock happens during the morning and evening commutes (well, as much gridlock as a Vermont city can get). I cannot marvel alone, so I say:

Me: Hey Babe, check it out. Is that a beaver?

Ben: I think it's a rockchuck.

Me: I'm pretty sure it's a beaver. It's got a black flat tail. What the hell is a rockchuck?

Ben: It's like a big groundhog.

Me: But don't beavers have big black tails?

Ben: Yeah.

Me: So that's a beaver.

Ben: I don't think so, Babe.

At this point, the pump is spent, the Kia is topped off and he's back in the car. I pull into the nearby parking lot to gain access to the streetlight so I don't have to put our lives in danger turning around. I'm also a bit creepy sometimes about roadkill. I wanna see this thing up close, and pulling a wide U-ey is gonna help me do that.

Me: Ok, fine, when we get up to the light you can see for yourself there's a big black tail. What is a beaver doing around here anyway?

Ben: Probably came up from the woods. It's been pretty wet and rainy lately. Maybe he was lost.

Me: Ok, here, we are passing by - take a look. See? Big black tail. Totally a beaver.

Ben: Oh, wow. Yeah, that's a beaver. Can I touch your boob?

Me: What?

Ben: I bet your boob is all warm and soft under that sweatshirt. Lemme just feel the bottom part. No wait, side boob. Side boob is awesome.

Me: Dude, your hands are cold! How about I just take my cold hand and say I want to touch the underside of your balls?!

Ben: That would be fine.

Me: It would be fine with my cold hands? Not so sure you would feel that way if they were actually there.

Ben: It's ok, you can just warm them up touching my balls more.

Me: What does this have to do with the beaver?

And then he smiles.

I guess he knows what a beaver looks like after all.