Band on the run

Yesterday was rough. At least one day out of the month, I want to eat everything in sight and feel like a ton of bricks has settled into my ass. Everything looks appetizing. Those weird pistachio snacks sold next to the cashier in the liquor store. Rhubarb. Waffles. Any of the above, but with peanut butter. So I did what I always do when I'm in a pms-induced haze: I tried to go shopping. My husband says that this happens, like clockwork, every month. He could set a watch by it. I'm never successful, and the combination of fluorescent lighting and short running shorts only makes me feel more bovine in my personage. But luckily, yesterday was free pastry day at Starbucks. So before I went back to the school to teach the little kiddies, I treated myself to an Americano with steamed soy milk on top and a blueberry scone. As I'm reading the little pastry sleeve, I notice that Starbucks has decided to join the revolution and stop using artificial whatnots in their food. No more high fructose corn death, preservatives, etc. No wonder this blueberry scone tastes so SO good. Read through some music, had a lovely long conversation with the Divine Dr. L about her upcoming visit to Boston, taught the kiddies and hung out watching various recordings of the Lucia sextet on youtube.

*sidebar for fashion: if you have some time and inclination, go look up the Lucia sextet with Pav and Renee, circa 1991. There is some SERIOUS fashion crisis involving puffed sleeves and what looks like a side ponytail. I'll say no more.*

Tuesday is the day that the urban youth running club meets and since I'm teaching the aforementioned urban youth, I've decided to join them in the pursuit of the Boston Half Marathon. We've already established I'm insane for doing this, just ask my mom - oh yes, I made the mistake of telling Miss Jean. The run yesterday was looking very promising. Rain coming down, cool air, not that many people out on the Esplanade, and it's only 3.5 miles. Shoot, I can do that no problem. Easy peasy.

My legs were like lead. Every breath was labored and I generally wanted to die every single step of the way, all the way down the Esplenade, across the bridge, back across the other bridge, and down to Clarendon for the last stretch. My feet were wet (but then again, strangely dry thanks to my Smartwool socks), I had one too many layers on so I had my outer layer tied around my waist (too hot!) and I had chosen to carry my Sigg bottle with me for water. But of course, I carried it FULL because I'm an idjit. I was the slowest of my group, plodding along at the back, trying hard not to focus on the fact that my heart rate was absolutely peaking out and that I feel like a total poseur in this running business I must be crazy I must be crazy it's so close run run run hard to the end and the boys are there to greet us on the porch, clapping and yelling and hooting and hollering. At least I finished. That's all that matters.

Hal Higdon does this great training program for the half marathon. In it, he says that even if you have to walk every single pace of the half marathon, you should still do it and not be at all ashamed. Well it may happen that my legs give out and I consider flinging myself into Jamaica Pond somewhere in the middle of the course, but I'm going to try hard to stay on my feet and not be at all ashamed when the course closes and I'm left to finish the race on the sidewalk. Not ashamed, nosir.

Well maybe a little.

Today was better. I followed Hal's plan and did 3 miles plus strength training. I ate yummy chicken curry for dinner, I anticipate a Hit cookie for dessert, and I feel confident that I can achieve Hal's 2 miles set down for tomorrow, with an eye to 4 miles on Sunday. Especially with the help of my telephonic running coach, the VeganDiva of NYC. If we can get enough musicians together, then my blog title will be made manifest. Wouldn't that be hilarious? A few hundred opera singers, running en masse?

I see it in Shepherd Ferry-type colors.

Josquin and the pips

I'm listening to a WGBH broadcast on which I sang a few years back. I was into some pretty serious early music at the time and, even though I was super busy into my DMA coursework, it was really nice just to take a few nights out of a month and sing Josquin with some amazing musicians. There's a wonderful camaraderie among early music nerds. We already accept that people think we're weird for liking plagal cadences or cross relations or weird things like antiquated French. Knowing that from the outset, we really let loose and indulge those crunchy suspensions and cling to those weird metric modulations by the skin of our teeth. I frequently think about one of my old colleagues, Carolann. She was an unquestionable force of singing and had the best instincts about phrasing and exactly how to lean into a pitch and how to pull away from it with incredible style and panache. Carolann lives in Princeton now and, I suspect, is thrilling another congregation with her Hildegard. If my life had taken a different turn, I would have pursued early music as a field of study. Instead, I'm an opera singer. Weird.

I did a crazy thing today. I told my mother I'm running in the Boston half marathon this October. Now that's the funny part, isnt' it? It's not so much crazy that I'm running the half marathon, it's that I told my mother about it. She promptly pronounced me insane, told me that I must wear my heart monitor every step of the way so that my heart doesn't "go crazy" and also told me that I must not attempt anything "heroic." Hunny and I were talking at the gym - what exactly would constitute something "heroic" along the way? At mile marker 9, will there be dragon-slaying? Does the city have the right permits for that?

Fish tacos for dinner tonight. Very excited.