Running with a Running Club

There are many benefits to going on a run with a running club. 

1) When you know people are expecting you, you are more likely to show up. 

2) Safety.

3) You are more likely to run faster when you are with someone else because the conversation will distract you.

All good reasons. Still, I have mostly resisted. I have gone on a couple in Princeton, and they've been fine. Someone ran with slowpoke me, but I still felt guilty making someone go at my snail's pace. Totally my own problem as no one ever made me feel bad for being so slow. They ran with me up and down Princeton's hills and kept my mind off of running.

We have a friend who started a running club in Philadelphia. We timed our tour of Eastern State Penitentiary so we could join the group run. After the group run is a group dinner where people hang out together. I kept telling him I am slow. He said all paces are welcome, they wait for the last person before heading to the restaurant.

Still, I resisted. 

As we gathered the friend commented at least 10% of the group always says they are the slowest. I'll be fine. I emphasized the 4.4 hour course might take me about an hour (it was 54.21, but I did take a few pictures).

I nearly backed out when the group leader announced pacing groups of 8-8:30, 8:30-9, 9-9:30, 9:30-10. Anyone longer than that? I shot my arm up so fast! They left me in the dust. 

One final plea to my friend. He said they'll wait.

Don and I started. Don wanted to go at his constant pace instead of my 3:1 pace (averaging between 12:30 and 13 minutes a mile). The course was 2.15 miles along Kelly Drive starting at the Rocky Statue and ending at the statue of a rower behind a construction fence and back. The first runner passed me around mile 1.5, and the rest of the pack around 1.8. As they passed I heard a female voice offering me encouragement. I had passed Don within the first half mile and did not see him again. He turned around at 1.7 (probably as the runners passed him). I stubbornly continued to the turn around.

I took a selfie and sent it to my friend and Don so they knew my pace and what to expect.

The return trip was more uphill. I noticed runners and walkers of all levels, plus mad cyclists. As I ran I enjoyed the sunset over the Schuylkill River, and shouted encouragement to others.

I really did not expect the group to wait for me. After all, even the slowest person was done 15 minutes before me.

What ticked me off, though, was they waited until I was rounding the final curve to leave for the group dinner. Don and my friend waited for me, but I was mad! It did not help my feelings when Don said he told them they could go, and the friend said I was overreacting using the exact same tone of voice Ashley uses when I say something she does not approve of. I am entitled to my feelings.

I was ready to go home. I was not in the mood for a picture of Don and I by the Rocky Statue. He didn't earn the victory shot. After all, if a group shot was taken, he was in it because he arrived in time and I missed it even though I ran the whole distance.

Already annoyed at Don for ignoring me during the prison tour, I was ready to go home. We stuck around for dinner. The friend took me for a walk to help me calm down (and get my sweatshirt out of the car). 

If anyone organizing a running group wonders what this back of the packer would have preferred. I'll share.

1) Have someone look for me, there is a chance I was hurt. (No chance of being lost given the route.)

2) Cheer me to the finish line.

3) Not leave when you make a big deal that all paces are welcome. 12:45 is not that slow -- marathons allow 16 minute paces.

What irked me most was I could have been a little faster if I didn't take time to enjoy myself. I shouted encouragement to runners slower than me. I took pictures of the sunset. I made sure not to dash in front of cyclists or cars or crowd other runners. I breathed in the nice weather and smiled. I even took a picture of a couple of runners I had been leapfrogging.

Those participating in this running club do the same route, see the same runners, and are only in it for the run. They could be on a treadmill for what they got out of the experience.

Next time I should listen to my instinct and recognize I'm too slow for a running club. I drove an hour to join them. Didn't meet anyone. Didn't run with anyone. Still had to drive over an hour home. There was absolutely no benefit to going on this group run.

I did enjoy seeing my friend, but he did not run, and I can see him other times.

Some pictures on the 70-degree August evening.

Eastern State Penitentiary

Philadelphia historic landmark Eastern State Penitentiary has been on our list of places to visit. The castle-like fortress is visible from I-95, and also a short walk from the museums on Fairmont Avenue. It also has free two-hour parking alongside it. Really, we have no excuse for not visiting it sooner.

As we pulled up, Don reminded me we did visit it in mid-July 2001 as we celebrated Bastille Day at an event that promised to "let them eat Tastycake." Tastycake is a Philadelphia packaged snack. Instead of Butterscotch Crimpets, they tossed Hostess's Twinkies. I don't remember much about the event other than we walked there from Kevin's apartment.

While picking up books from the library a couple of weeks ago I noticed a flyer allowing patron's to borrow library pass to visit (with up to five friends).

Yet another excuse eliminated.

When it was originally built in the 1821 it was deemed a much more humane way

Tiny doors to enter

to rehabilitate prisoners. Each of the original 250 prisoners would be housed in solitary confinement, allowed outside in their private courtyard for only an hour a day (divided into two half-hour shifts).They were not allowed to talk to anyone, except a clergy member who would help decided if they were truly repentant. 

On October 25, 1829 they received their first prisoner. Nearly 100 years later (in 1924) prisoners were allowed to eat together. It closed in `1970, after being declared both a Pennsylvania and National Historic Landmark. It sat vacant for nearly 20 years. In 1994, after a few years of limited availability, it opens to daily tours. Nine years later an audio tour was introduced, it is still in use today (and needs minor updating that is probably more complicated than it seems).

The audio tour walks visitors through Cell Block 3 to the Round Room -- called such because it is the center of the star-shaped designed. Here guards could see what was happening from the center.

Each cell block had a barbershop.

Solitary

There is so much to learn at the tour. They have the first prison synagogue, as well as a chapel. There was concern that the Jewish prisoners would be converted to Christianity, so a local temple made sure their religious rights were protected. They even had a kosher kitchen. Death Row hauntingly included eerie piano music.

The prison hospital was state of the art. In 1895 they acquired the second x-ray machine in Philadelphia. We took a separate (free) tour of the hospital wing. It is normally closed to the public. As we entered the hall, our guide warned us we would be locked inside, and to let him know if we had to leave. The door creepily creaked open and slammed shut with a menacing boom. The trigger warning was appreciated.

The tuberculous wing had beds
allowing inmates to sit up,
and bigger doors and windows
because they (erroneously) believed
extra sunlight would cure them

Room where surgery took place

Back in its day, major surgery was performed here, with inmates helping. Later local med students came to perform procedures ranging from open heart surgery to plastic surgery (for tattoo and scar removal). Our guide was quick to tell us there is no record of medical testing being performed on the inmates.

Al Capone's cell recreated

As you leave, tourists pass Al Capone's swanky cell. He was one of their most famous inmates. Though he lived there for only a few months, he had a desk and other furniture making it feel homey.

Many of the cells are shown in their current decrepit form There are a few photographs showing what it looked like when it was an active prison. Some of the cellblocks contain art installations. 

The audio guide was key to understanding the history. Unlike when I am on vacation, I did not bring a notebook to record thoughts and facts. My audio guide  needed to be help precariously in place before it would work.      

I brought my camera to take pictures playing with the light and shadows, recording the peeling industrial green paint, and the weeds growing through the building. Our guide assured us it has been deemed structurally sound.

In the main courtyard is a giant 3-D model highlighting how the United States' prison population stands compared with the rest of the world. Until 2020, we had the most prisoners. Now El Salvador, Cuba, and two other countries have more than the USA on a per capital basis. (I did not take a picture of it.)

The audio guide was great, but I felt as if I was alone. Rather than pressing the start button at the same time and going through together, Don started his and was swept into the land of the electronic device. I loved the content, and did more extra tours than Don, I found the device frustrating to use. 

We arrived around three, and closed the place two hours later.

View of a tower at night

Just wanna vent

I woke up cranky. 

I admit it. I own it. It just is.

Anyone reading this and casting judgement, remember when you point at someone, three fingers point back at you. In other words, I guarantee you have had a cranky day or two. It is okay to not appear perfect, especially on a public blog.

Even as I was feeling cranky, I knew the triggers -- I didn't eat enough last night (therefore I was hungry), I didn't sleep well (therefore I was tired), and my foot still hurts (therefore I was in pain).

It was that kind of day. The kind of day I just wanted a close friend to vent to. I just wanted someone to tell me life will feel better after I have a cup of tea and eat breakfast Or maybe it would feel better because a friend cared.

I couldn't think of anyone to really vent to. Anyone I felt safe unloading to.

As I sit down to write this I realize it is the sixth anniversary of Carin's passing. Silly me, I thought I'd have a new BFF by now. Should have realized good friends like that are impossible to replace.

Rather than wallowing in my crankiness, I got dressed, ate breakfast, ate lunch, ate second lunch, left the house.

Crankiness has been replaced by sadness.

If you are reading this, and you care, drop me a message.

Back to Where it All Began

Back when I was in college, long before blogging existed, I took a class in archaeology. It was a new course being offered at Trenton State College, and became my first experience with archaeology. Over fifteen weeks we were tasked learning how to conduct archaeology around the William Green House, a 1720 home built originally owned by the William Green and his family. I feel like we met once a week for a double session on Wednesdays. Given the time it took to walk en masse from Don C. Bliss Hall to the site, we probably only spent an hour actually digging. Perhaps on rainy days we spent some time learning about what we were doing, and time spent afterwards processing our finds. I can't even remember if this was a fall or a spring semester class. I just remember the joy of playing in the dirt. 

Today I returned to the site to dig. The College was hosting an open house and public dig. I think the intention was to show grade school children the joy of archaeology, but Don's friend Dan and I brought our trowels and other tools and went with the intention of digging. Despite my forgetting how to dig (it has been a few years since I've filled a bucket with dirt rather than helping Tim with metal detecting), we were quickly deemed professional archaeologists. I told anyone who would listen, and others whose eyes glazed over, that I got my start right over there. They politely moved my hand to the south to show where the earliest digs took place. Whatever! The space just beyond the house is now covered in a bamboo forest and there is a fence surrounding the house making it look even more fragile than it did in the early 1990's. A few years ago lawyers made the College board up the entrances, but I still remember the rotting floorboards and walls covered in layers of peeling wallpaper.

I walked around the fence and sat in the pit closest to the house. Ajax, a green-
haired sophomore finishing her summer archaeology class, was slowly digging away at the dirt in her (sorry, their) six foot square. They are thinking about adding a concentration in archaeology to their double major in history and anthropology. As a former history major, I wondered what the debate was. They were concerned about not landing a job in archaeology. Like history and anthropology are teeming with job offers? Evidently the current history professors help their students land jobs in their fields. I also learned my alma mater offers a concentration in library science. I really should have been a student a couple of decades later. I guess I was ahead of my time.

Dan and his charming daughter Gwen joined our pit when theirs became too crowded. Gwen was a great sport. 

The best finds are always at the end of the day. Gwen's eagle eye spotted some glazed pottery. With that, we then found some tinier pieces of the same. As we said our goodbyes to Professor George we learned the site is being closed up for two years so they can process what they have found. Bummer. Dan and I were already plotting to return each weekend to help dig. Other than what was found today (mostly nails and other building materials, and a bunch of worms), the other finds have been washed and are ready to be studied. Unlike in my day, George teaches three classes in archaeology. There are independent studies and Capstones (the latter was not part of my undergraduate experience). Students graduate with a deeper understanding of archaeology.  

Now I want to go upstairs and see if I saved my notes from that class! I'm enough of a packrat there is a chance they are there in the plastic light blue egg crate I purchased from the 1990s equivalent of Bed, Bath, and Beyond to use in my dorm room because plastic accessories were in at the time, at least a decade before Pinterest launched to show me how I should have been decorating my cinderblock walled room.

Two more stories of note:

1) My trowel was scooped up during clean up. This led me to the storage shed they have on site. That is a great addition!

2) I met an Ohio man who was a career archaeologist in Montana. Nearly a decade ago he retired at age 60 after 25 years with a full pension. I'm in awe. Now he is pushing 70 and looks about my age.