No, this isn’t a case of good intentions gone awry down McDonald’s way. I just finally got off my duff and volunteered at a food pantry’s community kitchen, here in the Ann Arbor area. Got to make a salad, during the process of which I realized there a tiny bit of my wrist that hurts from playing volleyball on the weekend. It’s very much a “not a big deal” type pain, as I didn’t even realize it was hurting in the three days since I’d played. But apparently, the squishiness of a tomato firm enough not to give way immediately before a sharp blade was enough to reveal that adjutant to the radial nerve, and set off its jangled endings.
Of course, I’m more or less blindly blaming volleyball, as it’s the only thing I did on the weekend that caused potential offense to a wrist bone. The previous weekend, I’d played twice, and playing pickleball a couple of days later, I noticed that my wrist was a bit weak when trying to hit a backhand. I figure it’s the same thing here, though it still doesn’t rise to anywhere near the ten lines I just spent explicating the non-issue.
In addition to salad, I also got to mop and sweep the floor and scrub out the massive spaghetti pot wherein the evening’s main course was prepared. I figure I’ll go back, eventually, though I might check out the organization’s warehouse operation the next time I offer them a bit of my time. Or the food runner role, which apparently entails going out on a truck to collect donations. It’s not the same as The River back in Madison, but it’s something to do. Kind of mad at myself for not having done anything of the sort during the two months since I moved.
After leaving the kitchen, I wandered back to my car, which I’d parked at Ann Arbor’s West Park, and decided to honor the sign that said parking was for “park business only.” Took a wander through the park, eventually exiting onto 7th street, walking to its intersection with what I thought was Catherine street, but turned out to be Miller Avenue – I’d forgotten about how Catherine is renamed Miller west of Main – and wandered east until I came to the park’s east gate, a simple arch marking the position of a staircase down to the main park. Descending the wooden steps, skirting the baseball diamond, and hopscotching through the mud bog that transforms into a community garden in the summertime, I returned to my vehicle, and proceeded to go to the gym. The walk was over 20 minutes, so of a distance greater than a mile.
Today’s wog at the gym was 2 miles, in intervals of 3 laps walking/6 running/3R/7R/5W, in a time around 27-28 minutes. I didn’t formally pay attention to the time as I went along, instead trying to run for 5 minutes at a time. I actually ended up jogging 6 minutes at a time, with the first half mile proceeding at a slower clip (6 laps/6 minutes), and the second jog squeezing in an extra 1/12th mile lap into the same 6 minute time frame. I didn’t stop jogging the second time due to tiredness; instead, my feet just started whinging, demanding that I slow to a walk. So I did, finishing out the second mile, and, if you included the stroll in the park, the remainder of a 5k distance.
I kind of hate the fact that I’m actually thinking in those terms, even as I stumble towards making that sort of thing (running a 5k) an actual goal of mine as opposed to this amorphous, “wouldn’t it be nice” pondering.
And on that note, here’s the Beach Boys for your listening pleasure.