As I sit and stay in concourse A on my way to BNA (subject to flight delay), I'd thought I'd say a word about today. Hot and humid? Fuckin'-A! Not a good weekend to run or play. One would think 6 a.m. would be A-OK, but no way, Jose. This morning's run was no par-tay. It was, like, too much for the ol' lungs, eh?
Today, to god I prayed: just get me through. The legs were stiff through mile two, but then finally loose'd; they would, I knew. They even agreed to carry me through mile six or seven, if I asked them to - an improvement from Friday's 6.02 - and shin pains banished, too! Woo-hoo!
But the lungs, the lungs, the lungs, you see; sometimes the lungs do NOT agree with the schedules and stress imposed on me. But let's see: I notched a goose egg yesterdee; so had to run sometime todee. And given a flight to carry me to Nashville for some load-in thing, I had to rise muy early. This is wise, said I to me, at 6 a.m., how hot could it be? Mid-70's at most, most probably. The joke was on me: 80 degrees and 55 humidity.
I know, that doesn't sound too high; but just try it with MY lungs, wise guy. The upshot was that though I tried, my run had walk breaks, four or five. The hills, for certain, made me sigh; what seemed flip on Fri now felt a mile high. Another factor: passing time. I needed a shower, let my hair dry; therapy takes 45 (minutes) or so, charge my phone before the battery died, check email and send replies.... all of this by 8:35, when the car arrived.
And so I wrap my run of woe, from top o' the park to 4th ave below, around the 'hood, coughing as I go (great big green ones today, you know). Short of six miles, which was my goal, 4.5 was what finally showed on my Nike thing once I was home. This heat definitely has me slowed - 10:53 miles, what a joke! No medal today...but tomorrow: GOLD!
July 30, 2006
July 28, 2006
oops
Mets 5K is SOLD OUT. How retarded; it's not even that big of a race. Guess I'll get to do my long run here in Brooklyn tomorrow.
Difficult 6 miles
Despite aches and pains imploring me to stay in bed, I managed to get up and get out for a run about 7:30. Later than I wanted, but what the hell. Warm and humid today, though not too terrible. (What's with all this heat and humidity lately anyway? It's so humid, my air conditioner can't handle it and my hair doesn't dry out after a shower before sweat starts to soak it again.)
What WAS terrible were my legs. They were ultra-tight this morning and just would not get in the game. I knew in the first two blocks that this was going to be a struggle - even pondered not doing this run, but figured how many days do I actually have the free time to do this and I have to make hay while the sun shines and all that crap. And my lungs, for once, were giving me no problems - they seemed to rather be enjoying the distress my legs were in.
After about half a mile warming up, I turned on the Nike thing to measure out six miles - this on a route that I know is 6.7 total. My goal was a tempo run of a 9:20 pace.
HAH! I fell FAR short of that, managing, according to the Nike.com thing where my data gets uploaded, 10:15 miles on average, though the first mile was slower than 11:00. The rest were better, with my best mile (five) coming in at under a 9:40 pace. Nice, but still not the goal. And I was really working out there! I paused the workout only to stretch extensively when I got to the park and later to get a drink at a water fountain, that was it. No walking, yet still my pace was slow today. Has to be the legs; traitorous bastards.
Well, looks like tomorrow is another six-mile long run, according to the schedule, and I'm making a 5K a part of it. At least, that's the plan.
Poking around on the NYRR trainer site, I found a link to this post, by someone who is apparently an "angry" runner. He details out his music preferences for running and why. Some odd choices in there.
I also came across the Seal Boot Camp site. Yikes. Tough stuff; but I am intrigued. Could I survive 10 days of 90 minute seal-style workouts (i.e. running in the sand and stuff)? Would it make me tough enough to handle Brooklyn traffic?
Speaking of which, I was an "angry" runner today at many turns. I remember yelling at three drivers and callling them assholes for running red lights and I pounded on one car. If I hadn't been carefully watching the crosswalk signs, the lights, and - of course - the traffic itself, I would've been plowed by these idiots. Where in the driver's manual does it say you're allowed to draft a large van through an intersection who is ALSO running the red? Where in the rules of the road does it give commuters coming off the Prospect Parkway the right to run stopsigns and endanger pedestrians? I swear, one of these days, I'm going to start carrying a baton, one of those aluminum extendable ones - you know, the ones illegal to own unless you're a badge-carrying type. THEN...I'm going to start doing some damage: double-parkers get their windows cracked, red-light runners get a dented hood or trunk or smashed taillight. I mean, hell, there's gotta be SOME repercussions and the police sure as hell aren't doing the job!
It's not all anger, though... I did have one glorious moment in the park where I'm sure I hit a 9:20 pace, maybe faster, and the right song was in the earphones and it was all just great. I found myself running towards the big hill with the biggest grin on my face and I'm sure people coming the other way must've thought I was a special olympics candidate or something. The moment passed, as they always do, but I'm sure I'll be able to recapture that feeling again soon.
July 26, 2006
I am feeling good!
Son of a bitch; even the jogglers can run faster than me.
With apologies to L.C.:
The sun was shining on the reservoir,
Shining with all its might:
It did its very best to make
The ripples smooth and bright--
And this was odd, because it was
The middle of the night
...or morning, rather. Got my scrawny ass out of bed at dark o'clock this morning (5 a.m.) and got out of the house at 6. Plan was to go to work, get a print job started, then head to the Central Park reservoir for a morning workout, somewhere around 6 miles. More importantly, I needed to figure out the marker system along the jogging path so I could calibrate my Nike thing.
Got to work a hair before 7 and was out the door again about 7:10 (got a print job going first). Did a warmup jog over to the reservoir then started around it, keeping an eye on the markers. Took me most of a full loop to figure out the dot codes are at 20 yard intervals, with yellow markers counting off hundred yard lengths, though some are missing. Took most of the second loop to realize that though I'd found the 1/2, 1-1/4, and 1-1/2 mile markers, there wasn't one for just 1 mile or even a 0 mile marker - only one that looked like a faded 1/8 mile mark. Well, turns out 880 yards from the 90th street platform on the east side of the reservoir gets you to the 1/2 mile marker. OK.
I calibrated my Nike thing on a mile run, from 1/2 marker to 1-1/2 marker. Finished up this third loop by checking the calibration, going from 0 to 1/2 mile marker and seeing what the iPod said. Yep, .51 miles run. Good. Went ahead and used the iPod to measure the distance from the reservoir to where I work, shortest route possible: .89 miles.
So this morning turned out to be a 6-1/2 mile run, with a few minor stops and starts, no real walk breaks, just fiddle-with-the-iPod moments. I soaked my tech t in sweat halfway through the run and after that point, the salt crystals in the fabric started to rub certain things raw. Going to have to keep an eye on THAT problem! If November 5 turns out to be warm (again), I may end up running shirtless.
Speaking of shirtless, I think we should amend the public decency laws to revise the definition of "indecent exposure." Some guys just should NOT run, walk, crawl, or otherwise appear in public without a shirt on. You know what I'm talking about. Same thing as how some women shouldn't be wearing spandex. These people seem to delight in making my stomach churn. On the flip side, tho, this new definition should take into account that some people could run around stark naked and there wouldn't be a single thing indecent about that. Most of you joggers and runners out there look great without a shirt on, and that includes you ladies.
With apologies to L.C.:
The sun was shining on the reservoir,
Shining with all its might:
It did its very best to make
The ripples smooth and bright--
And this was odd, because it was
The middle of the night
...or morning, rather. Got my scrawny ass out of bed at dark o'clock this morning (5 a.m.) and got out of the house at 6. Plan was to go to work, get a print job started, then head to the Central Park reservoir for a morning workout, somewhere around 6 miles. More importantly, I needed to figure out the marker system along the jogging path so I could calibrate my Nike thing.
Got to work a hair before 7 and was out the door again about 7:10 (got a print job going first). Did a warmup jog over to the reservoir then started around it, keeping an eye on the markers. Took me most of a full loop to figure out the dot codes are at 20 yard intervals, with yellow markers counting off hundred yard lengths, though some are missing. Took most of the second loop to realize that though I'd found the 1/2, 1-1/4, and 1-1/2 mile markers, there wasn't one for just 1 mile or even a 0 mile marker - only one that looked like a faded 1/8 mile mark. Well, turns out 880 yards from the 90th street platform on the east side of the reservoir gets you to the 1/2 mile marker. OK.
I calibrated my Nike thing on a mile run, from 1/2 marker to 1-1/2 marker. Finished up this third loop by checking the calibration, going from 0 to 1/2 mile marker and seeing what the iPod said. Yep, .51 miles run. Good. Went ahead and used the iPod to measure the distance from the reservoir to where I work, shortest route possible: .89 miles.
So this morning turned out to be a 6-1/2 mile run, with a few minor stops and starts, no real walk breaks, just fiddle-with-the-iPod moments. I soaked my tech t in sweat halfway through the run and after that point, the salt crystals in the fabric started to rub certain things raw. Going to have to keep an eye on THAT problem! If November 5 turns out to be warm (again), I may end up running shirtless.
Speaking of shirtless, I think we should amend the public decency laws to revise the definition of "indecent exposure." Some guys just should NOT run, walk, crawl, or otherwise appear in public without a shirt on. You know what I'm talking about. Same thing as how some women shouldn't be wearing spandex. These people seem to delight in making my stomach churn. On the flip side, tho, this new definition should take into account that some people could run around stark naked and there wouldn't be a single thing indecent about that. Most of you joggers and runners out there look great without a shirt on, and that includes you ladies.
July 25, 2006
3.4 miles
Woke up yesterday morning with residual soreness from Sunday's long run. Nothing major, just a nice reminder that I really got some training done. As the day wore on the soreness increased, instead of going away. So I didn't push it yesterday and didn't run.
This morning, I headed out for a five-mile run. It was very difficult on my legs - partly from working out the stiffness and soreness (yeah yeah, I know....more stretching!) and partly from the steadily increasing heat of the day. Damn. So it worked out, due to running out of time, to another 3.4 mile run.
I was also disappointed not to be able to calibrate my Nike thing today. I figured to set it to calibrate 3.35 miles - the distance around the Prospect Park loop. Found out it only calibrates on distances from .25 to 1.25 miles or 400 meters. So I guess I'll be headed to Central Park for tomorrow's run. I think four loops of the reservoir, concentrating on steady pacing at a given pace (I'll shoot for 9:30 miles) will be appropriate and, using the markers, I can calibrate the Nike thing too.
Anyway, wrapped up today's run pretty well; legs stopped being sore and tight after getting up to the park and then stretching for some time. The run home was a lot easier and not just because it was downhill - I used the downhills to concentrate on a longer stride (not necessarily a quicker pace) and on good downhill running form. Then I ran across on 4th ave trying to keep the same stride length. This 1.7 miles turned out to be a great little workout - a real challenge - and I'm glad to have had a chance to concentrate once again on form and stride length, something I neglect all too often.
Finally, a huge congrats to Beast for finishing the Ironman Lake Placid on Sunday!
This morning, I headed out for a five-mile run. It was very difficult on my legs - partly from working out the stiffness and soreness (yeah yeah, I know....more stretching!) and partly from the steadily increasing heat of the day. Damn. So it worked out, due to running out of time, to another 3.4 mile run.
I was also disappointed not to be able to calibrate my Nike thing today. I figured to set it to calibrate 3.35 miles - the distance around the Prospect Park loop. Found out it only calibrates on distances from .25 to 1.25 miles or 400 meters. So I guess I'll be headed to Central Park for tomorrow's run. I think four loops of the reservoir, concentrating on steady pacing at a given pace (I'll shoot for 9:30 miles) will be appropriate and, using the markers, I can calibrate the Nike thing too.
Anyway, wrapped up today's run pretty well; legs stopped being sore and tight after getting up to the park and then stretching for some time. The run home was a lot easier and not just because it was downhill - I used the downhills to concentrate on a longer stride (not necessarily a quicker pace) and on good downhill running form. Then I ran across on 4th ave trying to keep the same stride length. This 1.7 miles turned out to be a great little workout - a real challenge - and I'm glad to have had a chance to concentrate once again on form and stride length, something I neglect all too often.
Finally, a huge congrats to Beast for finishing the Ironman Lake Placid on Sunday!
July 23, 2006
I am bubbleboy
If you've ever seen the movie Bubbleboy, you know it's one of the stupidest pieces of trash ever to roll out of Hollywood's cutting rooms. This should have been a straight to DVD release; hell, Carnosaur II was better. And funnier. But some days, I FEEL like a bubbleboy, in that I live my life in a fairly insular world, in contact with no-one, yearning to get out - and when I do find some modicum of freedom, I am simply surrounded by a portable envelope of isolation. Living in NY can make a guy a fairly lonely fellow. Now, I'm lucky - I am of a temperament such that I rather like isolation. So living in NY is the next best thing to my dream occupation: hermit. You can hear a much lengthier and more entertaining analysis of runners living in a bubble in Phedippidations 34: The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner. (A little plug here for Phedippidations; awesome podcast.)
In this recent hot and muggy weather, however, I have lived another kind of bubble lifestyle, hiding away in air-conditioned spaces. Though I ranted against AC at the beginning of summer, I have to admit it does an admirable job of drying out the air indoors and of melting down primary power lines in Queens. (Hah! And you called me a fool for living in Brooklyn!) Yesterday, I dared to slip outside the bubble for a time and went to the commissary at Fort Hamilton. It is a mile from the subway stop to the commissary - and no more miserable two miles have I walked in some time. Despite light clothing, I was puffing away and sweating profusely, which the humid air did nothing to help evaporate. And right back into my bubble I dove once I got home.
Well, the time must come to accept that one either has or does not have the tools with which to cope with summer. I have them, if I'll just stop being a pussy about it. So this morning I rose at 5 a.m. and was out of the house by 6, headed toward Central Park. Without much thought about it, I treated today like a race day run. Everything went very smoothly in prep and I got to the park about 7. I stretched for quite some time and walked to the CRCA benches across from the Boathouse, where I stashed my bottle of Recoverite and my book, both sealed in a ziplock bag as it looked like clouds might roll in and rain on everything.
Turns out I misread the schedule three weeks ago. I have missed two 7-mile long runs on the last two weekends and I figured I had to be very firm and jump in the game this weekend with the scheduled 10-miler. (It was only supposed to be eight, heh.) So out I went, starting very well up Cat Hill.
Yesterday, I'd stopped by the Apple Store and picked up the Nike+iPod sport kit. One is supposed to buy the Nike+ shoes, too, but...meh...I don't really want to spend that kinda money, particularly since I'm getting along so well with my Adrenaline 6's. A little poking around on the web convinced me I could do without, so I wrapped the little pebble thing (accelerometer) in plastic and zip-tied it to my shoe, thusly:
It was quite nice getting a little vocal feedback on the run, with the female voice marking each mile as it passed. I began to get concerned about accuracy about mile 4, really concerned at mile 5, and when the voice announced completion of the sixth mile (or rather "4 miles to go"), knew the thing needs calibration. That's OK; I knew it would, but it is currently off by about 1/6 of a mile. By the time I'd finished exactly 10 miles, according to NYRR's map of Central Park distances, the sport kit was telling me I'd finished 12.1 miles. Uh....riiiiiight. So my next run will be either one loop of Prospect Park or two loops of the reservoir - both known distances - and I'll calibrate the thing. Other than that, it's a good kit for someone who isn't doing heartrate training.
Anyhow: the run: Mile 1 sucked, mile 2 sucked - pain in the right ankle. Mile 3 began to not suck as much, coming down the west side of the park, pain went away. Mile 4 legs started to loosen up and get in the groove. I was breathing through pursed lips by this time, if not earlier, but at least my lungs were mostly cooperating. Miles 4-6 were about what you'd expect from the middle miles of a long run. Good, steady pace, not too difficult, not too easy. Miles 7-10 were done as the middle park loop, meaning I had the pleasure of Cat Hill a second time. 4 miles sure feels short after 6! Wrapped them up tired, though still running strong and made it a point to go far enough up Cat Hill a third time to touch a lightpole I was using as a marker. Turned off the Nike counter and returned to the CRCA bikers' benches to retrieve my stuff.
I'd thought my eyes were deceiving me when I passed the bench at mile 6, but no, my eyes were right: someone had stolen my ziplock bag. I find this amusing. A whole bottle of Recoverite remains untouched. A book (Cuba, by Stephen Coonts), invaluable to bibliophiles, still there. But my plastic bag? Gone! I was puzzled by this until I saw a girl with a pug in another part of the park...pulling an old grocery bag from her pocket.... yeah, you get the picture. Well, at least the rain held off until I was about a quarter mile from Columbus Circle on my walk out of the park.
So, this was a great run. Surprisingly so. And though I had minor pains in both ankles, they left quickly and currently nothing else hurts. My post-run shower felt oh-so-good. And I've spent the last couple of hours taking a nap in my air-conditioned, Queen-sized-matressed bubble.
One last thing: I'm used to a powdery coating of salt on my arms and legs after runs, but today the salt additionally appeared in a different form: table-salt-sized crystals appearing in localized clusters and lines. I've never had such pronounced salting before. But I did take Enduralytes, so I'm not worried about salt loss or anything. And now...I have to go grocery shopping then get off to rehearsal. Enjoy the pic of my salty salty bubbleboy arms (click for full-size).
[Edit: it just hit me that I ran 10 miles! I haven't run that distance since the Nashville half and (Nashville inclusive) have only run that distance three times since ....well, I think since the Staten Island Half... can that be right? Listen, it just didn't feel all that hard. A challenge, yes, but not so difficult I couldn't have rounded out another three miles today, easy. Weird.]
In this recent hot and muggy weather, however, I have lived another kind of bubble lifestyle, hiding away in air-conditioned spaces. Though I ranted against AC at the beginning of summer, I have to admit it does an admirable job of drying out the air indoors and of melting down primary power lines in Queens. (Hah! And you called me a fool for living in Brooklyn!) Yesterday, I dared to slip outside the bubble for a time and went to the commissary at Fort Hamilton. It is a mile from the subway stop to the commissary - and no more miserable two miles have I walked in some time. Despite light clothing, I was puffing away and sweating profusely, which the humid air did nothing to help evaporate. And right back into my bubble I dove once I got home.
Well, the time must come to accept that one either has or does not have the tools with which to cope with summer. I have them, if I'll just stop being a pussy about it. So this morning I rose at 5 a.m. and was out of the house by 6, headed toward Central Park. Without much thought about it, I treated today like a race day run. Everything went very smoothly in prep and I got to the park about 7. I stretched for quite some time and walked to the CRCA benches across from the Boathouse, where I stashed my bottle of Recoverite and my book, both sealed in a ziplock bag as it looked like clouds might roll in and rain on everything.
Turns out I misread the schedule three weeks ago. I have missed two 7-mile long runs on the last two weekends and I figured I had to be very firm and jump in the game this weekend with the scheduled 10-miler. (It was only supposed to be eight, heh.) So out I went, starting very well up Cat Hill.
Yesterday, I'd stopped by the Apple Store and picked up the Nike+iPod sport kit. One is supposed to buy the Nike+ shoes, too, but...meh...I don't really want to spend that kinda money, particularly since I'm getting along so well with my Adrenaline 6's. A little poking around on the web convinced me I could do without, so I wrapped the little pebble thing (accelerometer) in plastic and zip-tied it to my shoe, thusly:
It was quite nice getting a little vocal feedback on the run, with the female voice marking each mile as it passed. I began to get concerned about accuracy about mile 4, really concerned at mile 5, and when the voice announced completion of the sixth mile (or rather "4 miles to go"), knew the thing needs calibration. That's OK; I knew it would, but it is currently off by about 1/6 of a mile. By the time I'd finished exactly 10 miles, according to NYRR's map of Central Park distances, the sport kit was telling me I'd finished 12.1 miles. Uh....riiiiiight. So my next run will be either one loop of Prospect Park or two loops of the reservoir - both known distances - and I'll calibrate the thing. Other than that, it's a good kit for someone who isn't doing heartrate training.
Anyhow: the run: Mile 1 sucked, mile 2 sucked - pain in the right ankle. Mile 3 began to not suck as much, coming down the west side of the park, pain went away. Mile 4 legs started to loosen up and get in the groove. I was breathing through pursed lips by this time, if not earlier, but at least my lungs were mostly cooperating. Miles 4-6 were about what you'd expect from the middle miles of a long run. Good, steady pace, not too difficult, not too easy. Miles 7-10 were done as the middle park loop, meaning I had the pleasure of Cat Hill a second time. 4 miles sure feels short after 6! Wrapped them up tired, though still running strong and made it a point to go far enough up Cat Hill a third time to touch a lightpole I was using as a marker. Turned off the Nike counter and returned to the CRCA bikers' benches to retrieve my stuff.
I'd thought my eyes were deceiving me when I passed the bench at mile 6, but no, my eyes were right: someone had stolen my ziplock bag. I find this amusing. A whole bottle of Recoverite remains untouched. A book (Cuba, by Stephen Coonts), invaluable to bibliophiles, still there. But my plastic bag? Gone! I was puzzled by this until I saw a girl with a pug in another part of the park...pulling an old grocery bag from her pocket.... yeah, you get the picture. Well, at least the rain held off until I was about a quarter mile from Columbus Circle on my walk out of the park.
So, this was a great run. Surprisingly so. And though I had minor pains in both ankles, they left quickly and currently nothing else hurts. My post-run shower felt oh-so-good. And I've spent the last couple of hours taking a nap in my air-conditioned, Queen-sized-matressed bubble.
One last thing: I'm used to a powdery coating of salt on my arms and legs after runs, but today the salt additionally appeared in a different form: table-salt-sized crystals appearing in localized clusters and lines. I've never had such pronounced salting before. But I did take Enduralytes, so I'm not worried about salt loss or anything. And now...I have to go grocery shopping then get off to rehearsal. Enjoy the pic of my salty salty bubbleboy arms (click for full-size).
[Edit: it just hit me that I ran 10 miles! I haven't run that distance since the Nashville half and (Nashville inclusive) have only run that distance three times since ....well, I think since the Staten Island Half... can that be right? Listen, it just didn't feel all that hard. A challenge, yes, but not so difficult I couldn't have rounded out another three miles today, easy. Weird.]
July 21, 2006
to God and My Country
Wow, how disappointed am I? Two days ago, good run, easy run. Figured to get in 6.7 miles this morning, but between one thing and another (today is a big day for non-running reasons), I didn't get out of the house 'til after the rainstorm, about 10:30. And it had become quite warm and muggy. That might have been OK if my legs had held out, but calf pains were back and I just couldn't seem to loosen up today. I cut the run short and just did 3.4. Hopefully, I'll get out a lot earlier for tomorrow's long run.
Also, I really could have approached today's run more intelligently. I have been distracted and my hydration has been terrible, my intake of vitamins and electrolytes equally bad. A big indication that I didn't have nearly enough salt in me for this run is that though I was perspiring freely, I didn't end up with the dusting of salt all over my body that I'm used to. The water running out of my hair during my shower didn't taste like salt, and it should have.
It may be related, but I have an interesting childhood phenomenon revisiting me. All over my legs (south of the underwear line), I developed these little tiny blisters - I mean VERY tiny, like a tenth of a millimeter. They are clear and I can't get a photograph of them. They can easily be felt, they give my skin a weird texture akin perhaps to bad acne. These blisters don't seem to be under the skin, but on top. They are NOT water soluble (didn't disolve in the shower), but are easily removed by lightly scratching with fingernails. Scrape over a whole bunch and it becomes evident the blisters have small amounts of fluid inside. They don't hurt and never appear with the usual salt-encrustation phenomenon. My theory is that this is a sign of marked dehydration, salt depletion, or both. Somehow, the sweat is too thick and the first few minutes of sweat create an impermeable film, instead of drying normally to leave slat crystals behind. Further sweat builds up behind the film to form these little blisters. I wish I knew what they really are.
Put some thought into that line in the Scout Oath about doing duty to God and Country. "God" of course has been one of the pivotal points of contention within Scouting for some years. Though I am Jewish-Agnostic, there was a time I would have simply called myself atheist. Even then, swearing an oath to do my duty to God didn't much bother me - if one lives by an honorable code, one isn't likely to offend God, whether or not God exists. All that was required of the Scouts was attendance at Vespers now and then - and I mean fairly rarely. It was a fascinating peek into the lives of people who believe in this force, so I didn't mind going.
Logically, it would seem to be safer to believe in God. Pascal's Wager posits that "if you believe and God exists, you’ll go to heaven and avoid hell; if you believe and are wrong, you lose nothing. If you don’t believe in God and God does exist, you’ll lose heaven and go to hell; if you’re right, then you gain nothing." (About.com article) I long ago moved past this simplistic argument.
My own take on it - for the time being - is that it is absurd to believe God is some old white guy sitting on a golden throne in the clouds. If a god exists, we cannot know the nature of such a being; so I don't even try. I do believe, though, that god more likely exists in the human nature - specifically that part of human nature that under normal circumstances we don't believe even exists, but which will astound us every time. I'm talking about those times at the end of a long run when you have one more mile to go, but you know beyond a doubt your body has had it. You ask God for a little boost - and it comes! Was that god, or was that an expression of a reservoir of will that we cannot tap until it is our last resort?
As a Scout - and to this day - I am convinced that at least part of what society expresses as God is actually an acknowledgement of that reservoir of will and THAT is what I try to do justice to during a road race. I am part of the human race and if I let myself down, I've let down my race, too. If I can tap into that super-normal backup battery under extreme duress and get the job done, then I've completed my duty to "god". This all may sound very fucked up; but I don't care. It works for me.
As for doing my duty to Country, this one is a lot easier. Running keeps me healthy; healthy means less doctor visits; less visits means less burden on the healthcare economy; this means less burden on my countrymen. As far as running goes, that's it. Otherwise, running is really a pretty selfish activity, as it directly benefits noone but the runner.
Well, I gotta finish therapy and get on to my big stressful appointment. And here comes more rain. Bleh.
Also, I really could have approached today's run more intelligently. I have been distracted and my hydration has been terrible, my intake of vitamins and electrolytes equally bad. A big indication that I didn't have nearly enough salt in me for this run is that though I was perspiring freely, I didn't end up with the dusting of salt all over my body that I'm used to. The water running out of my hair during my shower didn't taste like salt, and it should have.
It may be related, but I have an interesting childhood phenomenon revisiting me. All over my legs (south of the underwear line), I developed these little tiny blisters - I mean VERY tiny, like a tenth of a millimeter. They are clear and I can't get a photograph of them. They can easily be felt, they give my skin a weird texture akin perhaps to bad acne. These blisters don't seem to be under the skin, but on top. They are NOT water soluble (didn't disolve in the shower), but are easily removed by lightly scratching with fingernails. Scrape over a whole bunch and it becomes evident the blisters have small amounts of fluid inside. They don't hurt and never appear with the usual salt-encrustation phenomenon. My theory is that this is a sign of marked dehydration, salt depletion, or both. Somehow, the sweat is too thick and the first few minutes of sweat create an impermeable film, instead of drying normally to leave slat crystals behind. Further sweat builds up behind the film to form these little blisters. I wish I knew what they really are.
Put some thought into that line in the Scout Oath about doing duty to God and Country. "God" of course has been one of the pivotal points of contention within Scouting for some years. Though I am Jewish-Agnostic, there was a time I would have simply called myself atheist. Even then, swearing an oath to do my duty to God didn't much bother me - if one lives by an honorable code, one isn't likely to offend God, whether or not God exists. All that was required of the Scouts was attendance at Vespers now and then - and I mean fairly rarely. It was a fascinating peek into the lives of people who believe in this force, so I didn't mind going.
Logically, it would seem to be safer to believe in God. Pascal's Wager posits that "if you believe and God exists, you’ll go to heaven and avoid hell; if you believe and are wrong, you lose nothing. If you don’t believe in God and God does exist, you’ll lose heaven and go to hell; if you’re right, then you gain nothing." (About.com article) I long ago moved past this simplistic argument.
My own take on it - for the time being - is that it is absurd to believe God is some old white guy sitting on a golden throne in the clouds. If a god exists, we cannot know the nature of such a being; so I don't even try. I do believe, though, that god more likely exists in the human nature - specifically that part of human nature that under normal circumstances we don't believe even exists, but which will astound us every time. I'm talking about those times at the end of a long run when you have one more mile to go, but you know beyond a doubt your body has had it. You ask God for a little boost - and it comes! Was that god, or was that an expression of a reservoir of will that we cannot tap until it is our last resort?
As a Scout - and to this day - I am convinced that at least part of what society expresses as God is actually an acknowledgement of that reservoir of will and THAT is what I try to do justice to during a road race. I am part of the human race and if I let myself down, I've let down my race, too. If I can tap into that super-normal backup battery under extreme duress and get the job done, then I've completed my duty to "god". This all may sound very fucked up; but I don't care. It works for me.
As for doing my duty to Country, this one is a lot easier. Running keeps me healthy; healthy means less doctor visits; less visits means less burden on the healthcare economy; this means less burden on my countrymen. As far as running goes, that's it. Otherwise, running is really a pretty selfish activity, as it directly benefits noone but the runner.
Well, I gotta finish therapy and get on to my big stressful appointment. And here comes more rain. Bleh.
July 20, 2006
Not for all the gold in Fort Knox...
....would I EVER do something like this. From this month's Esquire:
On a related note, good luck to Beast on Ironman Lake Placid this weekend. If you want to chip in toward the charity he's running for, go here. The Janus corporation is posting matching funds, so every dollar you send magically turns into two.
On a related note, good luck to Beast on Ironman Lake Placid this weekend. If you want to chip in toward the charity he's running for, go here. The Janus corporation is posting matching funds, so every dollar you send magically turns into two.
I am getting behind already
Gah. Back from "vacation" for two days and I'm falling behind already. I got in a run yesterday morning, 3.4 miles, and for the first time in several months, it was downright EASY. Clearly I wasn't pushing hard enough, but I jogged all the way up to the park, including the hilliest route up, paused to stretch, then jogged at a somewhat brisker pace home. I recovered in record time. Could it be that a few runs in thinner air (Rapid City SD for instance) can make such a difference?
Meant to get up this morning to put in six miles, but something went wrong. I think I got my alarm set for p.m. instead of a.m. Slept until 8. Had to get to work so no run. Didn't matter anyhow as I woke up so sore and stiff all over that I'm not sure I could have run. I know what this is: delayed onset paralysis as a result of that goddamn IronButt ride. That was really not a good idea. Okay, so maybe I'm not going paralyzed, but I do believe I got a "grace" day and today it's really hitting. It's over 72 hours later and the tips of a couple of my fingers are still numb, so I wonder if the 24 hours of vibration did some nerve damage. The ringing in my ears has finally stopped, tho.
Well, if I don't get the run in tonight after work, I'll do it Saturday and put off Saturday's long run 'til Sunday. I'm planning 10 miles for the long run - it'll be a miracle if I finish it well. But hey...three loops of Prospect Park - nothing could be easier, right?
Meant to get up this morning to put in six miles, but something went wrong. I think I got my alarm set for p.m. instead of a.m. Slept until 8. Had to get to work so no run. Didn't matter anyhow as I woke up so sore and stiff all over that I'm not sure I could have run. I know what this is: delayed onset paralysis as a result of that goddamn IronButt ride. That was really not a good idea. Okay, so maybe I'm not going paralyzed, but I do believe I got a "grace" day and today it's really hitting. It's over 72 hours later and the tips of a couple of my fingers are still numb, so I wonder if the 24 hours of vibration did some nerve damage. The ringing in my ears has finally stopped, tho.
Well, if I don't get the run in tonight after work, I'll do it Saturday and put off Saturday's long run 'til Sunday. I'm planning 10 miles for the long run - it'll be a miracle if I finish it well. But hey...three loops of Prospect Park - nothing could be easier, right?
July 18, 2006
I will do my best.... part II
I recently related a story of how I got the sole A in a class I'd never made more than a B in before. I got some comments at the time and even began to write a lengthy reply to one of them, but never posted it, for it got pretty preachy, full of opinions I'm sure most people wouldn't agree with. But recent thoughts of "On my honor I will do my best" have brought me back to this incident.
What I didn't put in the original post is how that incident has revealed itself to me over the last two decades as essentially the kernel of socialism, versus the success in direct competition that capitalism encourages. The fact that I really did put in an enormous effort that semester is irrelevant to the larger social issues. I am bothered by a) the lesson that got taught that day, b) the method of delivering the lesson, and c) the echoes of that moment that I see in the socialist "everyone's a success" movement in American education, specifically, and the pussyfication of the American male in general.
I feel I earned a B that semester. Fact is, while I went out willingly for 50 minutes 5 times a week and did the coach's bidding to the best of my abilities of that moment, I didn't put in the effort required to get better at any of it. I didn't shoot hoops after school 'til I could sink 70% from the foul line. I didn't even try to figure out how to do a layup; when tested, I just gave it my best uncoordinated unpracticed attempt. I didn't try to run any better, I was just afraid to stop or take shortcuts. If fear of reprisal is what motivated me, then fear got me an A. In running terms, I guess it's like grading two different runners: one who has not run before and who goes slowly, but nevertheless finishes three miles in 50 minutes; and one who is on the track team and the grader KNOWS what that runner is capable of, say 8 minute miles, but sees the runner turn in three miles in 40 minutes. We know how Coach K graded that; how would YOU grade that?
Did I do my best? Each day, at the time, sure. But is it really one's BEST if one doesn't make a planned, coordinated attack on the problem, such that where improvement is possible, improvement happens? I didn't improve. Did I do my best, or didn't I? I guess I have more thinking to do about this.
On more immediate topics.... no running the last couple of days. It has been a rough, long, brutal few days and I'm glad it's all over and I can get back on a normal schedule. Things will continue to be tough for the next couple of months, but at least they'll be tough here at home, not on the roa-.... oh, that's right; I WILL be on the road, for a few days at a time, many times between now and marathon. I had better figure this shit out.
This was a terrible "vacation" - and that's the last time I'll use that word. During this time away from New York, I worked my butt off. Never more than five hours of sleep per night, worked while on the ride to herd kittens, some couple of whom have some serious growing up to do, and when off the bikes, just trying to maintain my temper and do anything rash. More than once, I thought about packing up my shit, turning my handlebars east and telling them all to kiss my ass. It is nearly certain that I won't do this particular group ride again, not unless a lengthy list of problems gets sorted out (and which were all acknowledged by the one rider I deeply respect and whose pet project this whole ride is; if he can get things sorted out, he will). Oh, sure, there were high points - awesome things and all - but nowhere near enough to make it worth the stress I was under. This isn't my motorcycling blog, so I'll leave the ride report at that. Exhausting; disappointing; not to be repeated.
Coming back, though, I did manage to complete my 1500 mile BunBurner Gold ride. 1,520 miles in 23 hours, 30 minutes. This was my "silver medal" finish, to bring it back to running terms I've used before. My gold finish would have been a full 2500 kilometers. But a little bloody nose and a little trashed main shaft bearing in my transmission slowed me enough that I had to wrap it up at 1520 miles. (I finished the last 300 miles without a functioning clutch and a transmission that didn't rattle only in sixth gear. Amazingly enough, only the bearing ate itself and the gears are fine. But once again, my bike is out of commission for the time being.) I wound up exhausted beyond belief in Columbus OH, parts of my hands and legs numb (but not my butt!), hearing ringing loudly, and arranging for the dealership to keep my bike for repairs while I continue on in a rental car. I got to Zanesville (my originally planned end point) and checked into a room at 3 p.m. I ate a sandwich, took a much-needed shower (48 hours) and went to bed at 4 (36 hours). Slept for 17 hours, getting back on the road this morning at 8 a.m. As with the entire motorcycle trip, this is something I will never do again. This ironbutt in particular is in no way worth doing again, a state of mind that I understand some people view marathons with. But unlike marathons - which surely hurt - there was nothing rewarding in this ride other than finishing it. And now that's done.
The one thing this whole ride did was put me on a 4:30 and 5 a.m. wake-up schedule. If I can stick to that, I'll have an excellent summer of morning runs.
What I didn't put in the original post is how that incident has revealed itself to me over the last two decades as essentially the kernel of socialism, versus the success in direct competition that capitalism encourages. The fact that I really did put in an enormous effort that semester is irrelevant to the larger social issues. I am bothered by a) the lesson that got taught that day, b) the method of delivering the lesson, and c) the echoes of that moment that I see in the socialist "everyone's a success" movement in American education, specifically, and the pussyfication of the American male in general.
I feel I earned a B that semester. Fact is, while I went out willingly for 50 minutes 5 times a week and did the coach's bidding to the best of my abilities of that moment, I didn't put in the effort required to get better at any of it. I didn't shoot hoops after school 'til I could sink 70% from the foul line. I didn't even try to figure out how to do a layup; when tested, I just gave it my best uncoordinated unpracticed attempt. I didn't try to run any better, I was just afraid to stop or take shortcuts. If fear of reprisal is what motivated me, then fear got me an A. In running terms, I guess it's like grading two different runners: one who has not run before and who goes slowly, but nevertheless finishes three miles in 50 minutes; and one who is on the track team and the grader KNOWS what that runner is capable of, say 8 minute miles, but sees the runner turn in three miles in 40 minutes. We know how Coach K graded that; how would YOU grade that?
Did I do my best? Each day, at the time, sure. But is it really one's BEST if one doesn't make a planned, coordinated attack on the problem, such that where improvement is possible, improvement happens? I didn't improve. Did I do my best, or didn't I? I guess I have more thinking to do about this.
On more immediate topics.... no running the last couple of days. It has been a rough, long, brutal few days and I'm glad it's all over and I can get back on a normal schedule. Things will continue to be tough for the next couple of months, but at least they'll be tough here at home, not on the roa-.... oh, that's right; I WILL be on the road, for a few days at a time, many times between now and marathon. I had better figure this shit out.
This was a terrible "vacation" - and that's the last time I'll use that word. During this time away from New York, I worked my butt off. Never more than five hours of sleep per night, worked while on the ride to herd kittens, some couple of whom have some serious growing up to do, and when off the bikes, just trying to maintain my temper and do anything rash. More than once, I thought about packing up my shit, turning my handlebars east and telling them all to kiss my ass. It is nearly certain that I won't do this particular group ride again, not unless a lengthy list of problems gets sorted out (and which were all acknowledged by the one rider I deeply respect and whose pet project this whole ride is; if he can get things sorted out, he will). Oh, sure, there were high points - awesome things and all - but nowhere near enough to make it worth the stress I was under. This isn't my motorcycling blog, so I'll leave the ride report at that. Exhausting; disappointing; not to be repeated.
Coming back, though, I did manage to complete my 1500 mile BunBurner Gold ride. 1,520 miles in 23 hours, 30 minutes. This was my "silver medal" finish, to bring it back to running terms I've used before. My gold finish would have been a full 2500 kilometers. But a little bloody nose and a little trashed main shaft bearing in my transmission slowed me enough that I had to wrap it up at 1520 miles. (I finished the last 300 miles without a functioning clutch and a transmission that didn't rattle only in sixth gear. Amazingly enough, only the bearing ate itself and the gears are fine. But once again, my bike is out of commission for the time being.) I wound up exhausted beyond belief in Columbus OH, parts of my hands and legs numb (but not my butt!), hearing ringing loudly, and arranging for the dealership to keep my bike for repairs while I continue on in a rental car. I got to Zanesville (my originally planned end point) and checked into a room at 3 p.m. I ate a sandwich, took a much-needed shower (48 hours) and went to bed at 4 (36 hours). Slept for 17 hours, getting back on the road this morning at 8 a.m. As with the entire motorcycle trip, this is something I will never do again. This ironbutt in particular is in no way worth doing again, a state of mind that I understand some people view marathons with. But unlike marathons - which surely hurt - there was nothing rewarding in this ride other than finishing it. And now that's done.
The one thing this whole ride did was put me on a 4:30 and 5 a.m. wake-up schedule. If I can stick to that, I'll have an excellent summer of morning runs.
July 15, 2006
On my honor I will do my best...
...to run even though it means sacrificing sleep.
Yesterday, I woke up in Gordon, Nebraska at 4:30 a.m. and proceeded to put in a little over 3 miles. It was quite peaceful jogging down a dirt road with the sun coming up and then chasing my shadow back to the hotel as it stretched out ahead of me.
Not so easy this morning. While Gordon, NE was 50-degrres at that time (quite bracing), down in the valley where Rapid City resides, it was 75 at 5 a.m. this morning. Still, I got in nearly 4 miles. And, amazingly enough, I have had no leg pain until today after the run. I'm feeling generally sore and tired all over and it is easily attributed to the many days of hard riding.
Now, considering the heat wave that's sweeping the country, where do you think the focus is? Where do you think the sun's almighty rays have caused temperatures to approximate that of a forced-air convection oven? Yep, right here, baby. Driving into town yesterday at 7 p.m. after a long day's ride through the Black Hills, the temperature was 103 degrees. And right now, at 5:00, it is:
The last six days have been hard riding, especially as I had certain responsibilities to fulfill as one of the more experienced riders and one of the few with a CB. For three days I've led the whole group through the vast spaces of Kansas, Nebraska, and South Dakota. We were all very tired once we reached this town, Rapid City, SD, but the meal at Golden Corral was very good and the go-carts were very energizing. (I've never driven a go-cart before and these little guys can go up to 40 mph; it was an adrenalized 20 minutes! We're going again tonight!)
So can you blame me for taking today off? Actually, getting up again at 5 a.m. so I'd be done with my run in time to head for the Harley dealership doesn't make it feel like a day off. No, I wasn't the one getting service for my bike. I needed new summer-weight driving gloves, as I have destroyed the Kona cycling gloves I brought. They were comfortable, but not built to stand up to a week of motorcycling. I look out the window of the hotel room right now and congratulate myself for being all kinds of the smart: I also picked up a small spandex shade that I can stretch between my handlebars and sissybar and keep my tank and seat out of the sun. This is good as shady spots are few and far between in these parts.
Anyway, I'm not with the group right now - they all went to an invited party - but I felt I needed to catch up on my therapy, get a good shower, rest and relax, wash the bike, not drive. I am headed home tomorrow and will attempt a BunBurner Gold: 1500 miles in 24 hours. This is not for the faint of heart. It is something that, if I succeed, I will not attempt to do again. It is the distance rider's equivalent of a marathon, maybe even an ultra. I plan to leave very early in the a.m., before the sun is up, so that I may get a couple of hundred miles in before the heat really hits. I will be headed east, and so "leaving" the worst heat - but anything above 85 degrees is uncomfortable. I might have some company doing this; have to talk with that rider tonight.
So. A word about On my honor, I will do my best....
This is the first and most important line of the Scout Oath and the one that occurs to me most often, particularly at the starting line of a race. Honor is something that is difficult to have, difficult to maintain. We live in a society that encourages us to compromise our honor through a thousand small pricks. Each one may not seem like a big deal, but we soon find ourselves so compromised that it is hard to say we have any honor at all.
Honor, of course, is more than merely not doing evil. Honor most often requires stepping up to the plate, doing what others hesitate to do. I have no good definition of honor, only a vague notion of what it is not. At the moments when I have a chance to maintain my honor, it is then that I know what it is, but cannot define it anytime else. In this, it is like pain, which we only know when we are visited by it in the moment, but can barely recall the concept when the moment is gone.
On my honor... A lot of my self-worth resides in my ability to operate honorably. This means adhering to much of the rest of the Scout Law and Oath, most notable honesty. My honor is my badge, my shield, my mandate to do the right thing at the time, every time. And to do it right...
I will do my best... This is the hardest thing of all, particularly when my best just isn't good enough. I am left with doubts as to whether I really did do my best, or whether I caved. And I don't always give it my best anyway; I feel pretty stupid and useless at those times, so I try to minimize how often that happens.
On my honor, I will do my best. Together, the two phrases equal a directive to BE the best I can be. It leaves no room for excuses, no room for failure. If my best wasn't good enough, then it wasn't my best, now was it? Because "best" ALWAYS gets the job done. In running terms, this means sticking to the schedule, running each run conscientously. This is really very hard right now, but should clear up once I'm back in Brooklyn. Over the last few months, it has helped me with my health, career, housing. But it requires that constant mantra: On my honor, I will do my best.
Yesterday, I woke up in Gordon, Nebraska at 4:30 a.m. and proceeded to put in a little over 3 miles. It was quite peaceful jogging down a dirt road with the sun coming up and then chasing my shadow back to the hotel as it stretched out ahead of me.
Not so easy this morning. While Gordon, NE was 50-degrres at that time (quite bracing), down in the valley where Rapid City resides, it was 75 at 5 a.m. this morning. Still, I got in nearly 4 miles. And, amazingly enough, I have had no leg pain until today after the run. I'm feeling generally sore and tired all over and it is easily attributed to the many days of hard riding.
Now, considering the heat wave that's sweeping the country, where do you think the focus is? Where do you think the sun's almighty rays have caused temperatures to approximate that of a forced-air convection oven? Yep, right here, baby. Driving into town yesterday at 7 p.m. after a long day's ride through the Black Hills, the temperature was 103 degrees. And right now, at 5:00, it is:
The last six days have been hard riding, especially as I had certain responsibilities to fulfill as one of the more experienced riders and one of the few with a CB. For three days I've led the whole group through the vast spaces of Kansas, Nebraska, and South Dakota. We were all very tired once we reached this town, Rapid City, SD, but the meal at Golden Corral was very good and the go-carts were very energizing. (I've never driven a go-cart before and these little guys can go up to 40 mph; it was an adrenalized 20 minutes! We're going again tonight!)
So can you blame me for taking today off? Actually, getting up again at 5 a.m. so I'd be done with my run in time to head for the Harley dealership doesn't make it feel like a day off. No, I wasn't the one getting service for my bike. I needed new summer-weight driving gloves, as I have destroyed the Kona cycling gloves I brought. They were comfortable, but not built to stand up to a week of motorcycling. I look out the window of the hotel room right now and congratulate myself for being all kinds of the smart: I also picked up a small spandex shade that I can stretch between my handlebars and sissybar and keep my tank and seat out of the sun. This is good as shady spots are few and far between in these parts.
Anyway, I'm not with the group right now - they all went to an invited party - but I felt I needed to catch up on my therapy, get a good shower, rest and relax, wash the bike, not drive. I am headed home tomorrow and will attempt a BunBurner Gold: 1500 miles in 24 hours. This is not for the faint of heart. It is something that, if I succeed, I will not attempt to do again. It is the distance rider's equivalent of a marathon, maybe even an ultra. I plan to leave very early in the a.m., before the sun is up, so that I may get a couple of hundred miles in before the heat really hits. I will be headed east, and so "leaving" the worst heat - but anything above 85 degrees is uncomfortable. I might have some company doing this; have to talk with that rider tonight.
So. A word about On my honor, I will do my best....
This is the first and most important line of the Scout Oath and the one that occurs to me most often, particularly at the starting line of a race. Honor is something that is difficult to have, difficult to maintain. We live in a society that encourages us to compromise our honor through a thousand small pricks. Each one may not seem like a big deal, but we soon find ourselves so compromised that it is hard to say we have any honor at all.
Honor, of course, is more than merely not doing evil. Honor most often requires stepping up to the plate, doing what others hesitate to do. I have no good definition of honor, only a vague notion of what it is not. At the moments when I have a chance to maintain my honor, it is then that I know what it is, but cannot define it anytime else. In this, it is like pain, which we only know when we are visited by it in the moment, but can barely recall the concept when the moment is gone.
On my honor... A lot of my self-worth resides in my ability to operate honorably. This means adhering to much of the rest of the Scout Law and Oath, most notable honesty. My honor is my badge, my shield, my mandate to do the right thing at the time, every time. And to do it right...
I will do my best... This is the hardest thing of all, particularly when my best just isn't good enough. I am left with doubts as to whether I really did do my best, or whether I caved. And I don't always give it my best anyway; I feel pretty stupid and useless at those times, so I try to minimize how often that happens.
On my honor, I will do my best. Together, the two phrases equal a directive to BE the best I can be. It leaves no room for excuses, no room for failure. If my best wasn't good enough, then it wasn't my best, now was it? Because "best" ALWAYS gets the job done. In running terms, this means sticking to the schedule, running each run conscientously. This is really very hard right now, but should clear up once I'm back in Brooklyn. Over the last few months, it has helped me with my health, career, housing. But it requires that constant mantra: On my honor, I will do my best.
On my honor I will do my best...
...to run even though it means sacrificing sleep.
Yesterday, I woke up in Gordon, Nebraska at 4:30 a.m. and proceeded to put in a little over 3 miles. It was quite peaceful jogging down a dirt road with the sun coming up and then chasing my shadow back to the hotel as it stretched out ahead of me.
Not so easy this morning. While Gordon, NE was 50-degrres at that time (quite bracing), down in the valley where Rapid City resides, it was 75 at 5 a.m. this morning. Still, I got in nearly 4 miles. And, amazingly enough, I have had no leg pain until today after the run. I'm feeling generally sore and tired all over and it is easily attributed to the many days of hard riding.
Now, considering the heat wave that's sweeping the country, where do you think the focus is? Where do you think the sun's almighty rays have caused temperatures to approximate that of a forced-air convection oven? Yep, right here, baby. Driving into town yesterday at 7 p.m. after a long day's ride through the Black Hills, the temperature was 103 degrees. And right now, at 5:00, it is:
The last six days have been hard riding, especially as I had certain responsibilities to fulfill as one of the more experienced riders and one of the few with a CB. For three days I've led the whole group through the vast spaces of Kansas, Nebraska, and South Dakota. We were all very tired once we reached this town, Rapid City, SD, but the meal at Golden Corral was very good and the go-carts were very energizing. (I've never driven a go-cart before and these little guys can go up to 40 mph; it was an adrenalized 20 minutes! We're going again tonight!)
So can you blame me for taking today off? Actually, getting up again at 5 a.m. so I'd be done with my run in time to head for the Harley dealership doesn't make it feel like a day off. No, I wasn't the one getting service for my bike. I needed new summer-weight driving gloves, as I have destroyed the Kona cycling gloves I brought. They were comfortable, but not built to stand up to a week of motorcycling. I look out the window of the hotel room right now and congratulate myself for being all kinds of the smart: I also picked up a small spandex shade that I can stretch between my handlebars and sissybar and keep my tank and seat out of the sun. This is good as shady spots are few and far between in these parts.
Anyway, I'm not with the group right now - they all went to an invited party - but I felt I needed to catch up on my therapy, get a good shower, rest and relax, wash the bike, not drive. I am headed home tomorrow and will attempt a BunBurner Gold: 1500 miles in 24 hours. This is not for the faint of heart. It is something that, if I succeed, I will not attempt to do again. It is the distance rider's equivalent of a marathon, maybe even an ultra. I plan to leave very early in the a.m., before the sun is up, so that I may get a couple of hundred miles in before the heat really hits. I will be headed east, and so "leaving" the worst heat - but anything above 85 degrees is uncomfortable. I might have some company doing this; have to talk with that rider tonight.
So. A word about On my honor, I will do my best....
This is the first and most important line of the Scout Oath and the one that occurs to me most often, particularly at the starting line of a race. Honor is something that is difficult to have, difficult to maintain. We live in a society that encourages us to compromise our honor through a thousand small pricks. Each one may not seem like a big deal, but we soon find ourselves so compromised that it is hard to say we have any honor at all.
Honor, of course, is more than merely not doing evil. Honor most often requires stepping up to the plate, doing what others hesitate to do. I have no good definition of honor, only a vague notion of what it is not. At the moments when I have a chance to maintain my honor, it is then that I know what it is, but cannot define it anytime else. In this, it is like pain, which we only know when we are visited by it in the moment, but can barely recall the concept when the moment is gone.
On my honor... A lot of my self-worth resides in my ability to operate honorably. This means adhering to much of the rest of the Scout Law and Oath, most notable honesty. My honor is my badge, my shield, my mandate to do the right thing at the time, every time. And to do it right...
I will do my best... This is the hardest thing of all, particularly when my best just isn't good enough. I am left with doubts as to whether I really did do my best, or whether I caved. And I don't always give it my best anyway; I feel pretty stupid and useless at those times, so I try to minimize how often that happens.
On my honor, I will do my best. Together, the two phrases equal a directive to BE the best I can be. It leaves no room for excuses, no room for failure. If my best wasn't good enough, then it wasn't my best, now was it? Because "best" ALWAYS gets the job done. In running terms, this means sticking to the schedule, running each run conscientously. This is really very hard right now, but should clear up once I'm back in Brooklyn. Over the last few months, it has helped me with my health, career, housing. But it requires that constant mantra: On my honor, I will do my best.
Yesterday, I woke up in Gordon, Nebraska at 4:30 a.m. and proceeded to put in a little over 3 miles. It was quite peaceful jogging down a dirt road with the sun coming up and then chasing my shadow back to the hotel as it stretched out ahead of me.
Not so easy this morning. While Gordon, NE was 50-degrres at that time (quite bracing), down in the valley where Rapid City resides, it was 75 at 5 a.m. this morning. Still, I got in nearly 4 miles. And, amazingly enough, I have had no leg pain until today after the run. I'm feeling generally sore and tired all over and it is easily attributed to the many days of hard riding.
Now, considering the heat wave that's sweeping the country, where do you think the focus is? Where do you think the sun's almighty rays have caused temperatures to approximate that of a forced-air convection oven? Yep, right here, baby. Driving into town yesterday at 7 p.m. after a long day's ride through the Black Hills, the temperature was 103 degrees. And right now, at 5:00, it is:
The last six days have been hard riding, especially as I had certain responsibilities to fulfill as one of the more experienced riders and one of the few with a CB. For three days I've led the whole group through the vast spaces of Kansas, Nebraska, and South Dakota. We were all very tired once we reached this town, Rapid City, SD, but the meal at Golden Corral was very good and the go-carts were very energizing. (I've never driven a go-cart before and these little guys can go up to 40 mph; it was an adrenalized 20 minutes! We're going again tonight!)
So can you blame me for taking today off? Actually, getting up again at 5 a.m. so I'd be done with my run in time to head for the Harley dealership doesn't make it feel like a day off. No, I wasn't the one getting service for my bike. I needed new summer-weight driving gloves, as I have destroyed the Kona cycling gloves I brought. They were comfortable, but not built to stand up to a week of motorcycling. I look out the window of the hotel room right now and congratulate myself for being all kinds of the smart: I also picked up a small spandex shade that I can stretch between my handlebars and sissybar and keep my tank and seat out of the sun. This is good as shady spots are few and far between in these parts.
Anyway, I'm not with the group right now - they all went to an invited party - but I felt I needed to catch up on my therapy, get a good shower, rest and relax, wash the bike, not drive. I am headed home tomorrow and will attempt a BunBurner Gold: 1500 miles in 24 hours. This is not for the faint of heart. It is something that, if I succeed, I will not attempt to do again. It is the distance rider's equivalent of a marathon, maybe even an ultra. I plan to leave very early in the a.m., before the sun is up, so that I may get a couple of hundred miles in before the heat really hits. I will be headed east, and so "leaving" the worst heat - but anything above 85 degrees is uncomfortable. I might have some company doing this; have to talk with that rider tonight.
So. A word about On my honor, I will do my best....
This is the first and most important line of the Scout Oath and the one that occurs to me most often, particularly at the starting line of a race. Honor is something that is difficult to have, difficult to maintain. We live in a society that encourages us to compromise our honor through a thousand small pricks. Each one may not seem like a big deal, but we soon find ourselves so compromised that it is hard to say we have any honor at all.
Honor, of course, is more than merely not doing evil. Honor most often requires stepping up to the plate, doing what others hesitate to do. I have no good definition of honor, only a vague notion of what it is not. At the moments when I have a chance to maintain my honor, it is then that I know what it is, but cannot define it anytime else. In this, it is like pain, which we only know when we are visited by it in the moment, but can barely recall the concept when the moment is gone.
On my honor... A lot of my self-worth resides in my ability to operate honorably. This means adhering to much of the rest of the Scout Law and Oath, most notable honesty. My honor is my badge, my shield, my mandate to do the right thing at the time, every time. And to do it right...
I will do my best... This is the hardest thing of all, particularly when my best just isn't good enough. I am left with doubts as to whether I really did do my best, or whether I caved. And I don't always give it my best anyway; I feel pretty stupid and useless at those times, so I try to minimize how often that happens.
On my honor, I will do my best. Together, the two phrases equal a directive to BE the best I can be. It leaves no room for excuses, no room for failure. If my best wasn't good enough, then it wasn't my best, now was it? Because "best" ALWAYS gets the job done. In running terms, this means sticking to the schedule, running each run conscientously. This is really very hard right now, but should clear up once I'm back in Brooklyn. Over the last few months, it has helped me with my health, career, housing. But it requires that constant mantra: On my honor, I will do my best.
July 11, 2006
I am Scouting
The Boy Scout Oath
On my honor, I will do my best
to do my duty to God and my country
and to obey the Scout Law;
to help other people at all times,
to keep myself physically strong,
mentally awake, and morally straight.
Today begins a 20-part series covering a set of tenets I've lived by since childhood: The BoyScout Oath and Law. I've recently had these two mantras running through my head on my runs and I haven't figured out why, though I can say that running, like long-distance motorcycling, tends to help me focus my thoughts, solve problems, and examine events of my past and attitudes I've held to see what help they can provide me in the future. I am preordinately concerened with living a life that I can be proud of when I'm at the end of it, to look back and see a life not wasted, but spent in worthwhile pursuits. I don't know that I'll ever change the world, but I can certainly avoid being a black mark upon it. And there are a whole lotta black marks out there masquerading as....not.
We begin by examining (for this and the next seven entries) the Boy Scout Oath. Is this about to be an example of over-analysis? Of dissection to the sub-cellular level, when all we wanted was a general autopsy? Wait...autopsy is the wrong word. Whatever I am examining, it is not a corpse; at least I hope not. I truly, desperately hope that the principles by which I try (and sometimes fail) to live my life are not a body of guidance that is considered passe or old-fashioned. The Oath and Law we're about to look at don't quite encompass all of my moral guidance, but like the ten commandments, they do an admirable job of summing up a decent code of morality in a few words.
Today I ran for the first time in a week. Between work and getting my motorcycle ready for this trip, I barely had time to sleep, much less eat or exercise. It was not a pleasant last couple of weeks and the tension and strain were getting to me. But this trip, now going into its third day, is going well and I was finally able to get up early this morning and go run. I am in Carlyle, Illinois and the weather is exactly what I remember summer mid-West mornings to be: muggy.
I put in three miles by my watch, which is to say I ran for 35 minutes and held a good medium pace throughout. Breathing was difficult in this humidity but I expected that challenge. My legs had no pain whatsoever. Maybe taking a week off was a good idea; give my body a chance for some repairs. I ran along a frontage road today, alongside large cornfields. It is absolutely flat here and I could see my entire route without obstructions. I could see for a couple more miles in all directions. It was quiet and the air was clean, if humid. I was tempted to put in some speed work, since I was passing regularly spaced telephone poles...but I just didn't have the energy today. It is enough that I got out there, even if I'm not back on the training schedule I've so badly fallen off of.
As I ran, I began to look at this thing, this body of suggestions instilled in me by the Boy Scouts. The Scouts are under a lot of fire these days, under pressure to accept - and I mean a codified acceptance by the national council - gays and atheists. I suspect that to Lord Baden Powell, these two creatures were pretty much indistinguishable, being destined to burn in hell and so lumpable under one banner: undesirable. (We won't even touch the girls in Boy Scouts thing; I will lump them in here, call it a given.) The Scouts are being asked to change all that. Some troops and local councils already have. Rationally, they recognize that being a good citizen has little to do with which religion you belong to or which way you swing. Gay doesn't mean promiscuous; atheism doesn't mean one completely lacks character and fiber. The Scouts can teach a moral code to anyone outright stupid or evil. The national council should have a more open mind.
On the other hand, the Scouts have always been a private organization, and as such absolutely have the right to refust admission to whomever they wish. That changes somewhat when using public resources, such as school lunch rooms for meetings, and the like. But a lot of troops use churches or private homes and receive no funding from public sources - these troops are not beholden to politically correct liberal wisdom. I believe they have the right to say "no gays or atheists". But I don't see anywhere in the Boys Scout Oath or Law that says stuffy, old-fashioned, or conservative. I think if the organization wants to live by it's own principles, it necessarily involves seeing how accepting an organization it can be.
Well, I must wrap this up for now. Next post, we'll look at that very key line: "On my Honor, I will do my Best..."
On my honor, I will do my best
to do my duty to God and my country
and to obey the Scout Law;
to help other people at all times,
to keep myself physically strong,
mentally awake, and morally straight.
Today begins a 20-part series covering a set of tenets I've lived by since childhood: The BoyScout Oath and Law. I've recently had these two mantras running through my head on my runs and I haven't figured out why, though I can say that running, like long-distance motorcycling, tends to help me focus my thoughts, solve problems, and examine events of my past and attitudes I've held to see what help they can provide me in the future. I am preordinately concerened with living a life that I can be proud of when I'm at the end of it, to look back and see a life not wasted, but spent in worthwhile pursuits. I don't know that I'll ever change the world, but I can certainly avoid being a black mark upon it. And there are a whole lotta black marks out there masquerading as....not.
We begin by examining (for this and the next seven entries) the Boy Scout Oath. Is this about to be an example of over-analysis? Of dissection to the sub-cellular level, when all we wanted was a general autopsy? Wait...autopsy is the wrong word. Whatever I am examining, it is not a corpse; at least I hope not. I truly, desperately hope that the principles by which I try (and sometimes fail) to live my life are not a body of guidance that is considered passe or old-fashioned. The Oath and Law we're about to look at don't quite encompass all of my moral guidance, but like the ten commandments, they do an admirable job of summing up a decent code of morality in a few words.
Today I ran for the first time in a week. Between work and getting my motorcycle ready for this trip, I barely had time to sleep, much less eat or exercise. It was not a pleasant last couple of weeks and the tension and strain were getting to me. But this trip, now going into its third day, is going well and I was finally able to get up early this morning and go run. I am in Carlyle, Illinois and the weather is exactly what I remember summer mid-West mornings to be: muggy.
I put in three miles by my watch, which is to say I ran for 35 minutes and held a good medium pace throughout. Breathing was difficult in this humidity but I expected that challenge. My legs had no pain whatsoever. Maybe taking a week off was a good idea; give my body a chance for some repairs. I ran along a frontage road today, alongside large cornfields. It is absolutely flat here and I could see my entire route without obstructions. I could see for a couple more miles in all directions. It was quiet and the air was clean, if humid. I was tempted to put in some speed work, since I was passing regularly spaced telephone poles...but I just didn't have the energy today. It is enough that I got out there, even if I'm not back on the training schedule I've so badly fallen off of.
As I ran, I began to look at this thing, this body of suggestions instilled in me by the Boy Scouts. The Scouts are under a lot of fire these days, under pressure to accept - and I mean a codified acceptance by the national council - gays and atheists. I suspect that to Lord Baden Powell, these two creatures were pretty much indistinguishable, being destined to burn in hell and so lumpable under one banner: undesirable. (We won't even touch the girls in Boy Scouts thing; I will lump them in here, call it a given.) The Scouts are being asked to change all that. Some troops and local councils already have. Rationally, they recognize that being a good citizen has little to do with which religion you belong to or which way you swing. Gay doesn't mean promiscuous; atheism doesn't mean one completely lacks character and fiber. The Scouts can teach a moral code to anyone outright stupid or evil. The national council should have a more open mind.
On the other hand, the Scouts have always been a private organization, and as such absolutely have the right to refust admission to whomever they wish. That changes somewhat when using public resources, such as school lunch rooms for meetings, and the like. But a lot of troops use churches or private homes and receive no funding from public sources - these troops are not beholden to politically correct liberal wisdom. I believe they have the right to say "no gays or atheists". But I don't see anywhere in the Boys Scout Oath or Law that says stuffy, old-fashioned, or conservative. I think if the organization wants to live by it's own principles, it necessarily involves seeing how accepting an organization it can be.
Well, I must wrap this up for now. Next post, we'll look at that very key line: "On my Honor, I will do my Best..."
July 4, 2006
Noooooooooooooooo--
--ooooooooooooooooooooooooo!
They can't do this! They CAN NOT fucking do this!
The current artsy-fartsy, cutsie-wootsie blue-monochrome Rice Krispies commercial has co-opted, stolen, hijacked, even CORRUPTED the world's very best cover of Somewhere Over The Rainbow/What A Wonderful World, by Israel Kamakawiwo'ole. For the purposes of a lousy fucking commercial "tender moment"! I'm so disgusted/disgruntled/discombobulated, I'm writing sentence fragments! The world is going to hell in a handbasket; truly there are some evil mutherphuckers in the ad biz. Just shoot me now.
On second thought; wait a few years before you shoot me, because I want that song played at my funeral and I don't want the world thinking I first heard it on a goddamn 30-second cereal promo.
Is it silly of me to be so upset? No. I am an artist and recognize in this song the soul and perfect form of another artist and a true work of art. The posession of the artistic soul by the corporate demon makes me want to vomit.
They can't do this! They CAN NOT fucking do this!
The current artsy-fartsy, cutsie-wootsie blue-monochrome Rice Krispies commercial has co-opted, stolen, hijacked, even CORRUPTED the world's very best cover of Somewhere Over The Rainbow/What A Wonderful World, by Israel Kamakawiwo'ole. For the purposes of a lousy fucking commercial "tender moment"! I'm so disgusted/disgruntled/discombobulated, I'm writing sentence fragments! The world is going to hell in a handbasket; truly there are some evil mutherphuckers in the ad biz. Just shoot me now.
On second thought; wait a few years before you shoot me, because I want that song played at my funeral and I don't want the world thinking I first heard it on a goddamn 30-second cereal promo.
Is it silly of me to be so upset? No. I am an artist and recognize in this song the soul and perfect form of another artist and a true work of art. The posession of the artistic soul by the corporate demon makes me want to vomit.
sort of three miles
Well, I "ran" in Central Park today. I met a friend, M, to run three with her. This turned out to be so-so. I wasn't expecting a trained runner by any means, but ...
We did five miles total, but perhaps two of it at most was running. Though we met at 8 a.m., it was pretty humid and she was having a hard time with that. She's a little out of shape, not bad, but I cringed when I heard the words "elliptical", "treadmill", and "gym". None of those things will get you ready to run three miles in Central Park on a humid morning. Though it was nice to feel like I was the one in shape, I kind of felt bad for her. I'm willing to set her up with a schedule that will get her acclimated to running outside in the summer, but it will take her time. She's also battling knee problems, but they aren't bad thankfully. Perhaps she'll eventually do one of the very democratic 4-milers.
But until she trains up some more, I don't think I want to run with her again; our ability levels are just too different and I have a race to train for.
We went to breakfast afterward. That was fine, too, but the conversation was kind of standard. We are intellectually mismatched, I think. I met M at a benefit concert for Cystic Fibrosis and I'm afraid I may have stumbled onto a CF groupie, if such a thing exists. The morning was pretty good, all told, but I'm not hot to repeat it. Well... my search for a partner, running or otherwise, continues.
[later....]
I'm sitting here doing my hypertonic saline and hocking up big green ones while watching fireworks out my window, so I'll add a couple of notes.
1) My typing skills continue to degrade. Modern keyboards are not conducive to expert touchtyping; they are merely adequate.
2) I love the hypertonic saline. It makes me cough real hard, which means I get treated to my own personal fireworks each time.
3) I love the hispanics in this neighborhood. They began celebrating 4th of July LAST night, using M-80s in attempts to effect Sudden Digital Relocation; I'm sure a few will succeed tonight.
4) The jog in the park today revealed for the first time what a "conversational pace" is. 12 minutes a mile. Much too slow. Forget conversation.
5) While I didn't leave a slime trail in the park, I did hock one up on the way out of the park. M actually LOOKED, as in interested LOOKED. Though I want my running acquaintances to be comfortable with my peculiarities, I'm not sure I want a brand-new acquaintance to be that interested.
6) DOF moments today; many of them. You know, the kind where you go in the house to get something, but once you're in there, you can't for the life of you remember what you were after, or even why you went into the house anyway. And the only way to remember is to go back to what you were doing. It can turn into a vicious cycle.
7) Tomorrow's six-miler may have to wait 'til Thursday. I'm swamped. I may also have to delay the start of my vacation and catch up with the group of riders down the road, due to some parts delays. Crap.
We did five miles total, but perhaps two of it at most was running. Though we met at 8 a.m., it was pretty humid and she was having a hard time with that. She's a little out of shape, not bad, but I cringed when I heard the words "elliptical", "treadmill", and "gym". None of those things will get you ready to run three miles in Central Park on a humid morning. Though it was nice to feel like I was the one in shape, I kind of felt bad for her. I'm willing to set her up with a schedule that will get her acclimated to running outside in the summer, but it will take her time. She's also battling knee problems, but they aren't bad thankfully. Perhaps she'll eventually do one of the very democratic 4-milers.
But until she trains up some more, I don't think I want to run with her again; our ability levels are just too different and I have a race to train for.
We went to breakfast afterward. That was fine, too, but the conversation was kind of standard. We are intellectually mismatched, I think. I met M at a benefit concert for Cystic Fibrosis and I'm afraid I may have stumbled onto a CF groupie, if such a thing exists. The morning was pretty good, all told, but I'm not hot to repeat it. Well... my search for a partner, running or otherwise, continues.
[later....]
I'm sitting here doing my hypertonic saline and hocking up big green ones while watching fireworks out my window, so I'll add a couple of notes.
1) My typing skills continue to degrade. Modern keyboards are not conducive to expert touchtyping; they are merely adequate.
2) I love the hypertonic saline. It makes me cough real hard, which means I get treated to my own personal fireworks each time.
3) I love the hispanics in this neighborhood. They began celebrating 4th of July LAST night, using M-80s in attempts to effect Sudden Digital Relocation; I'm sure a few will succeed tonight.
4) The jog in the park today revealed for the first time what a "conversational pace" is. 12 minutes a mile. Much too slow. Forget conversation.
5) While I didn't leave a slime trail in the park, I did hock one up on the way out of the park. M actually LOOKED, as in interested LOOKED. Though I want my running acquaintances to be comfortable with my peculiarities, I'm not sure I want a brand-new acquaintance to be that interested.
6) DOF moments today; many of them. You know, the kind where you go in the house to get something, but once you're in there, you can't for the life of you remember what you were after, or even why you went into the house anyway. And the only way to remember is to go back to what you were doing. It can turn into a vicious cycle.
7) Tomorrow's six-miler may have to wait 'til Thursday. I'm swamped. I may also have to delay the start of my vacation and catch up with the group of riders down the road, due to some parts delays. Crap.
July 2, 2006
I am true to my word
What is it about tennis that fascinates me so? I don't play it and it's pretty boring watching it live, but this Wimbledon coverage has been great... too bad about Agasi retiring, but I suppose everyone has to at some point. Hey, I have an idea: maybe he could run the New York Marathon!
True to yesterday's vow, I went out and did the six-miler. typical 6.7 mile loop, though perhaps 6.3 got run, and all in 80 minutes. I had a very hard time getting going today; the humidity seemed to be back and my lungs weren't having any of it. In the first three miles, I had to walk four times. However, the last three miles, including the big uphill in Prospect Park, flowed very well, if a little slow, and were run continuously, steadily, and smoothly, which was the point of today's workout. I'm not happy the first half wasn't steady pacing, but the last half was good. Lungs were really having to work today and at the speed I was running, they shouldn't have had to work that hard. That bothers me.
Good news is, the therapy of the last week and the new stretching exercises I've been given are already paying off. NO SHIN PAIN. Only minor tightness in the IT bands and I took care of that with a little more stretching.
Part of today's success may be attributed to consciously rising earlier, fueling properly, bringing hydration (though I didn't drink much of it), and tossing back an Enduralyte before the workout. It was a measured, steadily paced pre-run routine and it paid off I think.
My running shoes are really breaking in nicely and I'm very happy with them. The teal still looks a little ghey, but I don't care enough to take a Sharpie to the colorful bits. Maybe they just need more dirt! And after just a couple days of adjustment pains last week, the orthotics also feel good; in fact, better than they did before Dr. Maharam's repairs.
The run really took it out of me, though. After sucking down some Reoverite, I laid on my bed to do some opportunistic IT band stretching...and woke up an hour later. Damn. Now, if I could just tear my attention away from Murray v Roddick, I have to get on with my day. Tomorrow is a rest day and Tuesday I have a running date. Yep, I'm meeting someone in Central Park for a quick three-miler.
True to yesterday's vow, I went out and did the six-miler. typical 6.7 mile loop, though perhaps 6.3 got run, and all in 80 minutes. I had a very hard time getting going today; the humidity seemed to be back and my lungs weren't having any of it. In the first three miles, I had to walk four times. However, the last three miles, including the big uphill in Prospect Park, flowed very well, if a little slow, and were run continuously, steadily, and smoothly, which was the point of today's workout. I'm not happy the first half wasn't steady pacing, but the last half was good. Lungs were really having to work today and at the speed I was running, they shouldn't have had to work that hard. That bothers me.
Good news is, the therapy of the last week and the new stretching exercises I've been given are already paying off. NO SHIN PAIN. Only minor tightness in the IT bands and I took care of that with a little more stretching.
Part of today's success may be attributed to consciously rising earlier, fueling properly, bringing hydration (though I didn't drink much of it), and tossing back an Enduralyte before the workout. It was a measured, steadily paced pre-run routine and it paid off I think.
My running shoes are really breaking in nicely and I'm very happy with them. The teal still looks a little ghey, but I don't care enough to take a Sharpie to the colorful bits. Maybe they just need more dirt! And after just a couple days of adjustment pains last week, the orthotics also feel good; in fact, better than they did before Dr. Maharam's repairs.
The run really took it out of me, though. After sucking down some Reoverite, I laid on my bed to do some opportunistic IT band stretching...and woke up an hour later. Damn. Now, if I could just tear my attention away from Murray v Roddick, I have to get on with my day. Tomorrow is a rest day and Tuesday I have a running date. Yep, I'm meeting someone in Central Park for a quick three-miler.
July 1, 2006
A for Effort
You know, I'm a smart guy usually. I did well in high school, 3rd in my class, high SAT scores. Earned a full ride scholarship to a large university. Did well there, too, applying my intelligence to multiple pursuits within and outside of academia. Even through recent history, I was respected for my brains.
But there's one area I've never been able to be smart in, and that's all this physical stuff. I nearly failed health in middle-school. Hated P.E. in high school; could never hope to succeed in basketball, football, baseball, though I sure gave it the ol' Dopher try. It was dismaying to be the next-to-last picked for teams; more dismaying to see the entire field move inward when it was my turn at the plate. Making contact with the ball was not the problem: distance was. I became master of the bunt, but the guys caught on to that. In college I once again nearly failed Physical Education 101, primarily because I couldn't get within 6" of touching my toes. High marks in trying; low marks in succeeding. And believe me, there are no A's for effort.
Except once. In what I remember as the first truly validating moment, both for me as a non-athlete PE student and for the coach as quality teacher material, I did once earn an actual A for Effort. It was the end of the spring semester in my high school freshman year, I believe. We'd all had Coach K for three years now, with his Hulk Hogan-like visage and swagger pushing us to be baseball players, basketball players, track stars, or just to drag our sorry asses around the "one mile" loop of dirt roads around the school as many times as we could before the period was up. Running was both a planned activity and a punishment, in his classes. (Was 1.25 miles I later found out. That sneaky bastard.) Well, it'd been a long, hard semester, one that not too many people enjoyed, and it came the day before the end of school where the grade slips were passed out. This was done publicly, with everyone in the locker room. Your grade wasn't announced, but we all had the class totals on our slips: 2 Fs, 3 Ds, 6 Cs, 16 Bs, and 1 A. This, in a PE class, was unusual. Most people got As in PE. I mean, all you had to do was show up, perform well, and pass the one or two written tests on sports, right?
Well, no. Coach K didn't go into the tests or anything specific in the semester. He laid it out: as a class, we were slacking. Even the sports stars in the class, the captains of the baseball and basketball teams, were considered slackers that semester. Coach K was tired of being met with a half-assed effort. He acknowledged talent and improvement with those Bs, but he made it clear that only one student had - without much performance success by most yardsticks - simply gone out and DONE the things each period that was asked of him. He might not be good at sports, the coach said, but he'd gone out every day and tried. He didn't slack, he didn't phone it in, and he didn't complain. For that, for his continual effort throughout the semester, he'd earned the only A in the class.
At this point, I was the only one who knew I was that A winner. I was bewildered and confused. I hadn't particularly gone out every day and tried to be the best, nor had I thought about possible grade consequences of what I did or did not do well. I assumed I'd earn the same B I always did. Yet here I was being rewarded for continuous effort. I didn't know any other way to do it, to tell the truth, because if I'd ever slacked off, and if my dad heard about it, I'd get my ass warmed but good. (Yes, I realize it was probably more of an object lesson for the athletic ones; but hey.)
Coach wrapped up his little sermon by pointing out that the non-gifted, but effort-producing A student was me. Great, I thought, here's where the after-school beatings begin. No beatings ensued. Only a few of my peers even complained and they were the people who slacked the most and everyone knew it. The true athletes, the starters on the teams, didn't say a word. Maybe they knew this was coming, maybe not. Certainly they'd been warned that their starting positions and even their futures on varsity teams were in real jeopardy. One student, D.B., who always was a class act, even congratulated me in private.
So why is this anecdote important today? Because it is an illustration of the fact that all I can bring to this game called running is effort. That for whatever reason, even my A game is remarkably stupid, ill-informed, ignorant, forgetful.
Today, for instance, was to be a 6-miler. Yeah... Well, I slept in, took my time with therapy, finally stepped out for a run about oh...the worst time of day imaginable. Noon. You know, it didn't FEEL hot, since the humidity was down, but by the time I got to the park, it was 85 degrees or so. It warmed up a little bit more over the next hour; not that I was out there that long. In the first mile, I was reminded that: I'd been forgetting one of my medicines for a week, an anti-inflammatory; I'd forgotten my Spiriva and Advair, so I didn't have those bronchodilators in my system; I hadn't done my hypertonic saline either. I hadn't brought fuel or fluids. I hadn't had any Enduralytes or gel About the only prep I'd done right was good stretching on the way up to the park. In short, I AM A 'TARD! What was I thinking?
By the second mile, I knew that I'd have to swap today's schedule with tomorrow's. So I cut the run short at mile three, a decision reinforced by the amount of air-trapping I was experiencing and the dry heaves I was having. I would have to live to fight another day. So much for A for Effort.
I headed home, sucked down some albuterol, water, and Enduralytes, then headed back out on the bicycle. The police were registering bikes for free in the park, so this was a nice little bit of cross-training. I LOVE going down the slope in the park, where I can gear higher and move down the hill four or five times faster than I usually run.
So the plan is to hit the hay as soon as my hypertonic saline is done tonight, get up at 6 and do the six miles I should've done today. I will fuel right, I will take hydration, I will take Enduralytes, I will bring some goddamn SMARTS to this! Then, tomorrow, I get a day off. Yay.
Coach K was always close with his favorite athletes and didn't have much time for people who weren't. He and I were never close and I don't even think we liked each other. But after that semester, I had more respect for him as a teacher. A couple of years later would come another moment, when I was managing the basketball team, and I refused to give a player aspirin without Coach's permission. The player got mad, but Coach backed me up. Still, it was a distant relationship. A few years later, after my sophomore year in college, Coach K had a heart attack and died. It was unfortunate news, but I was really shocked when his widow called me a couple days later, asking if I'd come to the memorial. She revealed that Coach had kept a running and oft revised list in his sock drawer of people he specifically wanted at his memorial. And I was on it, one of the only students past or present listed by name.
I like to think that I honor Coach K's memory in the long term by the effort I put out. Days like today - well, I feel good anyway, because I know the effort was there, but the body was not ready because my prep was stupid. Even Coach K would have benched me today. But he'll be expecting me to earn that A again tomorrow.
But there's one area I've never been able to be smart in, and that's all this physical stuff. I nearly failed health in middle-school. Hated P.E. in high school; could never hope to succeed in basketball, football, baseball, though I sure gave it the ol' Dopher try. It was dismaying to be the next-to-last picked for teams; more dismaying to see the entire field move inward when it was my turn at the plate. Making contact with the ball was not the problem: distance was. I became master of the bunt, but the guys caught on to that. In college I once again nearly failed Physical Education 101, primarily because I couldn't get within 6" of touching my toes. High marks in trying; low marks in succeeding. And believe me, there are no A's for effort.
Except once. In what I remember as the first truly validating moment, both for me as a non-athlete PE student and for the coach as quality teacher material, I did once earn an actual A for Effort. It was the end of the spring semester in my high school freshman year, I believe. We'd all had Coach K for three years now, with his Hulk Hogan-like visage and swagger pushing us to be baseball players, basketball players, track stars, or just to drag our sorry asses around the "one mile" loop of dirt roads around the school as many times as we could before the period was up. Running was both a planned activity and a punishment, in his classes. (Was 1.25 miles I later found out. That sneaky bastard.) Well, it'd been a long, hard semester, one that not too many people enjoyed, and it came the day before the end of school where the grade slips were passed out. This was done publicly, with everyone in the locker room. Your grade wasn't announced, but we all had the class totals on our slips: 2 Fs, 3 Ds, 6 Cs, 16 Bs, and 1 A. This, in a PE class, was unusual. Most people got As in PE. I mean, all you had to do was show up, perform well, and pass the one or two written tests on sports, right?
Well, no. Coach K didn't go into the tests or anything specific in the semester. He laid it out: as a class, we were slacking. Even the sports stars in the class, the captains of the baseball and basketball teams, were considered slackers that semester. Coach K was tired of being met with a half-assed effort. He acknowledged talent and improvement with those Bs, but he made it clear that only one student had - without much performance success by most yardsticks - simply gone out and DONE the things each period that was asked of him. He might not be good at sports, the coach said, but he'd gone out every day and tried. He didn't slack, he didn't phone it in, and he didn't complain. For that, for his continual effort throughout the semester, he'd earned the only A in the class.
At this point, I was the only one who knew I was that A winner. I was bewildered and confused. I hadn't particularly gone out every day and tried to be the best, nor had I thought about possible grade consequences of what I did or did not do well. I assumed I'd earn the same B I always did. Yet here I was being rewarded for continuous effort. I didn't know any other way to do it, to tell the truth, because if I'd ever slacked off, and if my dad heard about it, I'd get my ass warmed but good. (Yes, I realize it was probably more of an object lesson for the athletic ones; but hey.)
Coach wrapped up his little sermon by pointing out that the non-gifted, but effort-producing A student was me. Great, I thought, here's where the after-school beatings begin. No beatings ensued. Only a few of my peers even complained and they were the people who slacked the most and everyone knew it. The true athletes, the starters on the teams, didn't say a word. Maybe they knew this was coming, maybe not. Certainly they'd been warned that their starting positions and even their futures on varsity teams were in real jeopardy. One student, D.B., who always was a class act, even congratulated me in private.
So why is this anecdote important today? Because it is an illustration of the fact that all I can bring to this game called running is effort. That for whatever reason, even my A game is remarkably stupid, ill-informed, ignorant, forgetful.
Today, for instance, was to be a 6-miler. Yeah... Well, I slept in, took my time with therapy, finally stepped out for a run about oh...the worst time of day imaginable. Noon. You know, it didn't FEEL hot, since the humidity was down, but by the time I got to the park, it was 85 degrees or so. It warmed up a little bit more over the next hour; not that I was out there that long. In the first mile, I was reminded that: I'd been forgetting one of my medicines for a week, an anti-inflammatory; I'd forgotten my Spiriva and Advair, so I didn't have those bronchodilators in my system; I hadn't done my hypertonic saline either. I hadn't brought fuel or fluids. I hadn't had any Enduralytes or gel About the only prep I'd done right was good stretching on the way up to the park. In short, I AM A 'TARD! What was I thinking?
By the second mile, I knew that I'd have to swap today's schedule with tomorrow's. So I cut the run short at mile three, a decision reinforced by the amount of air-trapping I was experiencing and the dry heaves I was having. I would have to live to fight another day. So much for A for Effort.
I headed home, sucked down some albuterol, water, and Enduralytes, then headed back out on the bicycle. The police were registering bikes for free in the park, so this was a nice little bit of cross-training. I LOVE going down the slope in the park, where I can gear higher and move down the hill four or five times faster than I usually run.
So the plan is to hit the hay as soon as my hypertonic saline is done tonight, get up at 6 and do the six miles I should've done today. I will fuel right, I will take hydration, I will take Enduralytes, I will bring some goddamn SMARTS to this! Then, tomorrow, I get a day off. Yay.
Coach K was always close with his favorite athletes and didn't have much time for people who weren't. He and I were never close and I don't even think we liked each other. But after that semester, I had more respect for him as a teacher. A couple of years later would come another moment, when I was managing the basketball team, and I refused to give a player aspirin without Coach's permission. The player got mad, but Coach backed me up. Still, it was a distant relationship. A few years later, after my sophomore year in college, Coach K had a heart attack and died. It was unfortunate news, but I was really shocked when his widow called me a couple days later, asking if I'd come to the memorial. She revealed that Coach had kept a running and oft revised list in his sock drawer of people he specifically wanted at his memorial. And I was on it, one of the only students past or present listed by name.
I like to think that I honor Coach K's memory in the long term by the effort I put out. Days like today - well, I feel good anyway, because I know the effort was there, but the body was not ready because my prep was stupid. Even Coach K would have benched me today. But he'll be expecting me to earn that A again tomorrow.
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