male-bashing

Date	Place of run	Duration (min)	Long Sprint Uphill	Push-ups	Pull-ups	Classic Park	Long Sprint Downhill	6 flights	Start time
24-Jan	Kavaja to Univ. steps to Park	70	1:03.49	25,25	17,15,13, 11,5	49.83	58.84	31.56	7:26

            Yesterday evening after classes, my one American colleague and I made a pumpkin pie.  We’ve been planning it since last Thanksgiving when I didn’t have any holiday food.  It turned out amazingly well.  Delicious, and 100% Thanksgiving-ish.  There is a chain of medium-sized grocery stores here called The Big Market.  I was able to find all the spices I needed there—including nutmeg that is sold in a small plastic bag with half a dozen hard balls and a finger-sized metal scraper. Very cool.

            After an evening of chit chat, I left my piece of pie at my colleague’s house because I didn’t feel like eating it by myself.  Who wants to have party food when there is no party?  I thought I would give it to the office secretary who derides me playfully all the time for being a useless man.  We have four female teachers, a female secretary/office assistant and me.  This is the perfect recipe for male bashing. The main thing that Miss Secretary heaps scorn on me for is the fact that I don’t cook stuff for her.  Last December, I DID make some pancakes which inspired her to tone down her ridicule somewhat, but I thought the pumpkin pie would be worth at least THREE-months of peace. 

            This morning, however, I woke up, characteristically early, at 6:30 and thought about the empty day ahead of me.  No boys this weekend, and no plans. After some minutes of musing and fretting, I remembered the pie, AND that my boys would love some.  I was thinking this last night, too, but for some reason, I didn’t consider taking it to them. The brownie points with Miss Sec. was too attractive.  I knew that Miss Colleague was planning to leave her apartment with enough time to walk to a meeting place at 8:00.  If I wanted to give the pie to the boys Saturday evening, I would need to get my butt over to the apartment before she charged away. Thankfully, I had struck upon this idea with time to spare—but not time to waste.  I quickly threw on my running clothes, grabbed an apple and jogged to her apartment.  Success.  I learned from their mother that they will be finished their three-week abstention from sugar tomorrow…so I will take the pie to the мальчики in the evening. 

            After putting the pie in the office refrigerator, I started on my morning jog.  As you can see above, I ran the long sprint uphill in 1:03.49.  This is .06 sec slower than my previous best.  So I guess I am healthy again.  My days of rest have paid off.  I ran to the university and up and down the steps, then through the park and several of the pull-up bars.  I completed the classic sprint in under 50 seconds.  I wish I knew the record—it is somewhere near 47.50.  

            The downhill sprint was interesting.  As I ran, I knew I was pushing it with all I had.  I was running on my toes, my arms were straining and my legs were bursting.  But I didn’t feel like I was moving very fast.  Maybe I was running WITH the wind, so I didn’t feel the air whipping my curls.  “Plodding along” would be Howard Cosell’s description of my efforts. I didn’t let my feeling psych me out though.  I just kept pumping, pumping, pumping and lo and behold! 58.84. A nearly palindromic effort that easily allowed me to rest instead of complete the extra sprint further down the road—my little reward for eclipsing the one-minute mark. 

Don’t be misled into thinking that I don’t deserve some bashing, by the way.