So I'm not the next FloJo

I went for a run today. Specifically, I ran one mile without stopping.

Ok, so one mile isn't anything to write home about. Most people can do that in their sleep. Many people do much more than that in a single workout. I have a friend who is currently training to run her sixth full marathon. I, however, am not that type of person. Running has never been easy for me - my body is not naturally suited for running (I'm short and round and rock a C-cup), and though I like the idea of running, the actual practice is a huge struggle. In grade school, I dreaded the "run the mile" day so much that I eventually worked out a system with my best friend that essentially let me lie and cheat my way to a passing gym class grade.

But I'm older now, and (in theory) healthier and wiser than I was at 13. So I know that running is one of the absolute best ways to get fit and stay healthy and improve circulation and lower stress and all those good things that I'll probably really want when I'm 50, so I decided to start running - slow and steady, just one foot in front of the other. I think I originally had a vision of running one mile a day (as inspired by this blogger), but about a million obstacles stood in my way from achieving that goal (weather, allergies, schedule, migraines, tech, and did I mention the weather? just to name a few), so I then made the more realistic decision to run only when it made sense for me to do so. I've run about 30 miles in the past three months, which again is not a lot for most people, but is a lot for me.

Last week though, I thought I was done for good. The run started out just like all the others, but it quickly turned impossible. It was much more humid out than I anticipated, and I was soon sweating buckets. My knees hurt like crazy. I was suffering from a weird bout of acid reflux. I hadn't hydrated enough and was nauseous. After about half a mile, I had to stop and walk the rest of the way home, utterly disappointed in myself. The whole experience was so miserable that I assumed my running days were over. Nice knowing you, cute neon gym shoes!

But then this morning, I felt better. My knees weren't screaming at me. The previous day's visit to the chiropractor loosened up about a billion muscles in my neck and back. An early morning thunderstorm lifted the oppressive heat that had been laying over the city. So I donned my trusty Cubs baseball cap, laced up my shoes, and got back on the horse. Same route as always, same one-mile goal. And though it wasn't easy, it wasn't impossible. My heart was pumping, my breaths were smooth and even, and my legs were strong and powerful as I pushed forward - and it felt good. Maybe I can do this.

reason #482,698 why I love new york

I've been working at Lincoln Center these past few months (which is cause for celebration in and of itself), but on recent weekend evenings, I've walked past a collection of telescopes and people gathered on the plaza in front of the fountain. The first two times I noticed the telescopes, I had neither the time nor the energy to stop and ask what was happening. Last week, though, my friend Kristen was accompanying me on my walk out of the theater (she had seen the show that evening), and when we happened upon the telescopes, I exclaimed that I was soooo curious as to who these people were and what the were doing.

Well, have you asked them? she said.

Huh. Nope, hadn't thought of that.

And with that, she strode over to the nearest telescope and asked the guy behind said telescope who he was and what he was doing. Because she's awesome that way.

It turns out that he was a member of the Amateur Astronomers Association of New York, a group devoted to the aesthetic and intellectual enjoyment of stargazing. On certain nights and in specific locations, they set up telescopes pointed in the right direction so that anyone who happens upon them can join in the celestial fun. And it just so happened that on that particular evening, conditions were just right for a primo view of Saturn.

So we got in line. And after just a few minutes, I stepped up to the telescope and got my first ever look at our solar system's 6th planet.

And it. was. so. cool.

photo courtesy of Cambridge University Press

Balcony garden!

Confession: I've secretly always wanted an herb garden of some sort, but previous to this year, have never lived in an apartment with appropriate ledges/sunlight/floorspace/wallspace/etc. to do so. Confession: I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing when it comes to plants, herbs, vegetables, green things, things that grow in dirt, or anything else of the "plant it yourself" kind.

But this past Easter, along with the requisite egg-shaped Reese's and $20 bill tucked into a plastic easter egg, my mother sent me her version of a home-gardening kit. Seed packets, gloves, a plastic trowel, and one of those knee-pad-kneeling things, all tucked into a watering can and wrapped with a raffia bow (my mother rocks, you guys). So after some mid-April hesitation and anxiety, I threw caution to the wind, bought some pots, bought some dirt, and planted the seeds.

Then I spent the next two and a half months fretting about like a worried mother hen, constantly checking for growth, freaking out that nothing was ever going to grow, jumping for joy when the first little buds popped up through the dirt, and marveling when those little buds turned into actual plants and herbs.

But through this all, at no point did I do any actual research on what I was doing, because why take the fun out of experimentation? I mean, this is the life cycle - shouldn't it just work on it's own?

I did, however, spend one entire afternoon procuring and affixing two plastic flamingos to the balcony railing. Priorities, people, priorities.

Thankfully, the herbs pretty much did just grow on their own. I planted chives, oregano, and basil, and though the oregano has been a little slow to grow, the other two seem to be flourishing (although there might be some weeds in the oregano and basil? Let's not forget that I have no idea what I'm doing). Regardless, I'm sensing some homemade pesto and possibly some baked potatoes with chives in the near future.

There was a point in which I showed a picture of my tomatoes to a coworker, who turned out to be an ex-farmer (I love New York), and she told me that my planter was getting too crowded for all the tomato seeds I haphazardly threw in there and that I needed to replant the seedlings into larger pots. This same coworker also showed up the next day with an eggplant plant that she picked up for me at the green market, which officially makes her my favorite ex-farmer of all time. So after another few trips to the Bargain Stop for cheap dirt and plastic planters (I love New York), I put on my big-girl-gardening-pants and replanted my tomato plants. I now have three different planters of tomatoes - one is full of the original planted tomato seeds, the other two house the replanted tomatoes.

Strangely enough (or maybe not strangely at all, because again, no idea what I'm doing here), the repotted plants are doing much better than the plants that never left their original home. Everyone is getting equal amounts of sunlight (the balcony faces west and we get ample amounts) and I've been pretty consistent in when and how much water I'm giving them - about 8oz. in the morning unless the forecast calls for rain, which at that point I let God do the watering. I think (?) what I'm doing is working, because just this morning I found TWO little new developments - a little bud of something on the eggplant plant, and a little flower of something else on one of the tomatoes.

Are these the beginnings of actual vegetables? Am I secretly a gardener-savant? Should I push this urban farming thing to its' limits and add some chickens to the mix??* Stay tuned, because all these questions and more will get answered in the next installment of Mary's Balcony Garden!**

*No chickens were or will be harmed in the making of this blog post.

**I should probably find a day job. I'm working on that, I promise.