Postcard from Pittsburgh
Greetings from Pittsburgh. Rather about 10 miles up I-376 from Pittsburgh. I'm writing from a cheap room at a Comfort Inn. I got a run in this morning, and the internet is free, so I'll get a blog entry in as well.
The run was a reconnaissance run. Just headed out a road for 30 minutes and headed back. Once I cleared the interstate crossroads traffic nightmare it was all suburbs and hills, the scenery as non-descript as my pace, with the latter dotted with medieval-themed subdivisions - Kings Dale, Stratford, and the like. Further down the road the houses got older and working class looking, and while my architectural vocabulary fails me, they were alternately clapboard and brick with front porches that left little room between house and highway. This was Turtle Creek, and this was where I turned around to return the way I came. Route is here.
I'm in a running purgatory of sorts. On one hand, this wasn't much more than a jog, on the other hand getting any kind of run in on vacation is a good accomplishment. I wish I currently felt better about my running, but instead of telling myself to feel better I'm just telling myself to be patient.
Read a book review in last weeks NY Times Book section about the memoir of a writer who runs. Haurki Murakami. The reviewer panned the book convincingly enough so that I doubt I'll pick it up, but the review did bring out the interesting comparison on how the discipline of running is similar to the discipline of writing. Those thoughts were in my mind on this morning's run. Don't have the time to write now - checkout is in 6 minutes. But maybe next time.
7 miles in about 61 minutes.
The run was a reconnaissance run. Just headed out a road for 30 minutes and headed back. Once I cleared the interstate crossroads traffic nightmare it was all suburbs and hills, the scenery as non-descript as my pace, with the latter dotted with medieval-themed subdivisions - Kings Dale, Stratford, and the like. Further down the road the houses got older and working class looking, and while my architectural vocabulary fails me, they were alternately clapboard and brick with front porches that left little room between house and highway. This was Turtle Creek, and this was where I turned around to return the way I came. Route is here.
I'm in a running purgatory of sorts. On one hand, this wasn't much more than a jog, on the other hand getting any kind of run in on vacation is a good accomplishment. I wish I currently felt better about my running, but instead of telling myself to feel better I'm just telling myself to be patient.
Read a book review in last weeks NY Times Book section about the memoir of a writer who runs. Haurki Murakami. The reviewer panned the book convincingly enough so that I doubt I'll pick it up, but the review did bring out the interesting comparison on how the discipline of running is similar to the discipline of writing. Those thoughts were in my mind on this morning's run. Don't have the time to write now - checkout is in 6 minutes. But maybe next time.
7 miles in about 61 minutes.
posted by seebo | 11:44 AM
2 Comments:
Next time, just ask for a late check out... :-)
Murakami was well-reviewed in Nature last week. Who are you gonna believe?
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