Monday, January 18, 2010
Running(?) Arizona
As promised, here is my quick and dirty rundown of the 2010 Arizona Marathon.
First, the results. I finished the race in a chip time of 6:22:34. That's about three minutes faster than the gun time, because it took me three minutes to cross the starting line. My age group percentage rose to 40% after, though, so I am, at least this year, improving. It was not, as it was in Las Vegas, cold as all heck, which really helped. In fact I got a mild sunburn on my face, so I look a little like a negative raccoon where my sunglasses blocked the UV rays. 5184 men finished the race. I beat 80 of 'em. The fastest guy in my age class was 61 years old. His name was Art Rohr of Cortz Colorado. If anybody sees him, congratulate him for me. His age percentage is 77.3%, so it's obvious that there are some damn fast old guys running around somewhere. it ain't me.
The race, then, started right about sunrise. Senator McCain was there helping get us all going. He is looking really good. I actually think I may be on to something when I speculate that he threw the race last election cycle. I don't think he really wanted to be President. At any rate, he looks loose, ten years younger, and happy with his life, so more power to him. I waved as I trotted by. The race course goes through a lot of ordinary Phoenix neighborhoods, which I found interesting. There is a lot of mid-century modern architecture in Phoenix, including some new stuff in the authentic style. If you're looking for some commercial property you can hang on to for a while and sell when the market rebounds, you really ought to check out Phoenix. The housing didn't look bad at all; I say no bank owned houses for sale, in fact, only a few rentals. But there are entire strip malls that are vacant. Not essentially vacant, but vacant. As in nobody, nada, zilch, nil, nadia, nunca, you get the idea by now.
Personally, the first ten miles of the race, which are all uphill, just about wiped me out. I made a decision to walk most of the second half. I'm not sure I could've run another fourteen miles anyway. But it was a nice day for a walk, and I got to see downtown Scottsdale at a walking pace, and talk to some people along the way. I didn't stroll, either. When I walk in a race, I walk as fast as I can, which is actually more work, but which uses different muscles than running so sometimes it's better to alternate running and walking if I'm feeling tired.
The Rock and Roll Marathon series features, well, rock and roll music every mile. The bands in Phoenix were a lot like the bands in Vegas -- mostly pretty darned good. The difference is that in Vegas there were a couple who were damned good, and in fact they have recording contracts, whereas nobody in Phoenix rose to that level. But there were more bands in Phoenix, and they were all, as I said, pretty darned good, so it was a fun day. Some of them kept a 50s theme going, including a rendition of Hound Dog that would do an Elvis Impersonator proud.
The final water station was a bit less than a mile from the end. They (the people handing out the water) called it "Margaritaville." They had island music playing, they dressed like parrotheads (if you don't know what that means, google it,) and they even gave away beads. By mile 25 everybody's feeling great, so that was a fun way to finish up. I ran in from there, in fact, ending with a good kick across the finish line.
It was the largest marathon/half marathon event ever, as it happens. Wow, huh?
So, I'll probably be back next year. What the heck, I maybe can grab some more beads!
Steve
First, the results. I finished the race in a chip time of 6:22:34. That's about three minutes faster than the gun time, because it took me three minutes to cross the starting line. My age group percentage rose to 40% after, though, so I am, at least this year, improving. It was not, as it was in Las Vegas, cold as all heck, which really helped. In fact I got a mild sunburn on my face, so I look a little like a negative raccoon where my sunglasses blocked the UV rays. 5184 men finished the race. I beat 80 of 'em. The fastest guy in my age class was 61 years old. His name was Art Rohr of Cortz Colorado. If anybody sees him, congratulate him for me. His age percentage is 77.3%, so it's obvious that there are some damn fast old guys running around somewhere. it ain't me.
The race, then, started right about sunrise. Senator McCain was there helping get us all going. He is looking really good. I actually think I may be on to something when I speculate that he threw the race last election cycle. I don't think he really wanted to be President. At any rate, he looks loose, ten years younger, and happy with his life, so more power to him. I waved as I trotted by. The race course goes through a lot of ordinary Phoenix neighborhoods, which I found interesting. There is a lot of mid-century modern architecture in Phoenix, including some new stuff in the authentic style. If you're looking for some commercial property you can hang on to for a while and sell when the market rebounds, you really ought to check out Phoenix. The housing didn't look bad at all; I say no bank owned houses for sale, in fact, only a few rentals. But there are entire strip malls that are vacant. Not essentially vacant, but vacant. As in nobody, nada, zilch, nil, nadia, nunca, you get the idea by now.
Personally, the first ten miles of the race, which are all uphill, just about wiped me out. I made a decision to walk most of the second half. I'm not sure I could've run another fourteen miles anyway. But it was a nice day for a walk, and I got to see downtown Scottsdale at a walking pace, and talk to some people along the way. I didn't stroll, either. When I walk in a race, I walk as fast as I can, which is actually more work, but which uses different muscles than running so sometimes it's better to alternate running and walking if I'm feeling tired.
The Rock and Roll Marathon series features, well, rock and roll music every mile. The bands in Phoenix were a lot like the bands in Vegas -- mostly pretty darned good. The difference is that in Vegas there were a couple who were damned good, and in fact they have recording contracts, whereas nobody in Phoenix rose to that level. But there were more bands in Phoenix, and they were all, as I said, pretty darned good, so it was a fun day. Some of them kept a 50s theme going, including a rendition of Hound Dog that would do an Elvis Impersonator proud.
The final water station was a bit less than a mile from the end. They (the people handing out the water) called it "Margaritaville." They had island music playing, they dressed like parrotheads (if you don't know what that means, google it,) and they even gave away beads. By mile 25 everybody's feeling great, so that was a fun way to finish up. I ran in from there, in fact, ending with a good kick across the finish line.
It was the largest marathon/half marathon event ever, as it happens. Wow, huh?
So, I'll probably be back next year. What the heck, I maybe can grab some more beads!
Steve
Friday, January 15, 2010
Arizona Here I Come!
I'm off tomorrow to run in the Phoenix Marathon. I couldn't do much worse than I did in Vegas last month. I'll let you know when it's over how things went. This will be my first marathon not run on the Strip.
Steve
Steve
Labels: Marathon
Friday, December 11, 2009
On the Road Again
Once again I was out on the Strip on a very frosty morning, pitting myself against my own endurance, desert tortoises with broken legs, and that one legged guy with a bum ankle. It was cold, even though there were great fireworks and all. It took half an hour for my corral to get up to the start line. (That's according to the official race results, so I'm not making it up.) It took two miles for my feet to warm up, and I was pounding them on the ground has hard as I could, too. But, never mind that. I was 20% off my time, but then so were the winners. A cold day is not the time to be out running around the streets in your underwear, I guess.
But run I did. Here's my bit of evidence that I really ran the race:
You can check that number on the Elite Racing site if you want to see just how slow I was this year. Of course, not every step was taken slowly. There were cameras at intervals, and you just gotta look good for the camera, don't you? Of course you do! So, here's a photo of me taken at, well where do you suppose, looking at that image? So, there's the proof that I went at least twenty miles last Sunday!
But that's not all. I also present this picture of the nice bling I got for finishing. Yes, I said finishing. 26 miles, 385 yards on a cold morning. Heck, I deserve a medal for that! And I got one, to wit:
Now, if all that doesn't convince you that I did it once again, I offer you the link under the title to this post. It will take you to the Elite Racing site for this race, where you can actually see a video of my glorious finish. You can see that the crowd went really wild. Probably because they knew there weren't that many people behind me and that they'd soon get to go inside and warm up.
I know I was sure glad to do that!
Steve
But run I did. Here's my bit of evidence that I really ran the race:
You can check that number on the Elite Racing site if you want to see just how slow I was this year. Of course, not every step was taken slowly. There were cameras at intervals, and you just gotta look good for the camera, don't you? Of course you do! So, here's a photo of me taken at, well where do you suppose, looking at that image? So, there's the proof that I went at least twenty miles last Sunday!
Now, if all that doesn't convince you that I did it once again, I offer you the link under the title to this post. It will take you to the Elite Racing site for this race, where you can actually see a video of my glorious finish. You can see that the crowd went really wild. Probably because they knew there weren't that many people behind me and that they'd soon get to go inside and warm up.
I know I was sure glad to do that!
Steve
Tuesday, June 02, 2009
Get On Your Feet!
Las Vegas in Motion is the name of the training group I'm running with this year. It has two locations for weekly training. One, the old reliable I've gone to for years now, is at Stephanie and American Pacific in Henderson Sunday mornings. The other location, on Saturdays, is at Kellogg-Zaher Park (southeast corner of Durango & Washington
Go on, you have nothing to lose, and a great experience to gain.
Saturday or Sunday, 7 am at locations listed above.
Steve
Go on, you have nothing to lose, and a great experience to gain.
Saturday or Sunday, 7 am at locations listed above.
Steve
Labels: Marathon
Saturday, May 30, 2009
One Foot In Front Of The Other (Finally!)
What with the stress of starting a new teaching position, and the accompanying recurrent illnesses (which I seem to have under control) I haven't trained in five months. All that changes tomorrow morning. This will be my third Las Vegas Marathon. The Marathon is under new management (hooray for that) and I'm looking forward to good times and great music on race day. Until then, unless I break a leg, I think I'll post every so often just to let my friends know how I'm doing. I volunteered to be a pace leader, going for a time of 5:15, or about 12 minutes per mile. That's five miles per hour, or about six leagues per decade. Hey, it's better than carping all the time, isn't it?
Steve
Steve
Sunday, August 12, 2007
It Ain't The Heat, It's . . . Aw, Hell, It's Hot!
And humid. I'm not reporting on my progress in getting ready to run this year. I'll be fine. I'll most likely knock some time off my best, which was last year. That's okay. The thing is, I'm not a small man. In fact, I'm six foot two and weigh 224 dripping wet, which I am every time I go outside around here during monsoon season. (The link is for those who don't know about the phenomenon.) Now, humidity of 34 percent, which it was at 5:30 AM today, doesn't sound like much. The temperature was 89 degrees Fahrenheit, or 31.67 degrees Celsius, which isn't all that hot, except when the humidity is above about twenty percent or so, in which case it gets to be damn hot damn fast when you're out trying to exercise in that soup.
As a comparison, on a non-monsoon summer's afternoon around here, the humidity will run five to seven percent. One day last June it was one (1) percent. The temperature was 112F, the dew point was 8F. I didn't know that much spread was even possible. But, that was more comfortable than 89 degrees and 34 percent humidity. Honest. See, oddly enough, to those not living in a desert, in a dry climate, when you sweat, you might not even notice it, because instead of clogging up your pores and clothing the stuff simply evaporates. Through the miracle of latent heat of vaporization, when you sweat you are cooled, and the hot temperature is not really all that bothersome, even for most people when it exceeds normal body temperature, at least so long as you stay out of the sun. That's what we're used to here in the Mojave. All it takes to stay comfortable at ninety degrees with low humidity is nothing: that's an almost ideal temperature. But, throw in 34 percent humidity, and things change.
What happens is, as many of you know, you start to exercise, and you start to heat up, so you sweat, but the sweat doesn't do any good. If anything, it's insulation that keeps you warmer. So, you get even hotter and sweat even more and in no time flat you're wet and overheated. Today, after the first five miles, I could only actually run in the shade without overheating. By overheating I mean experiencing rapid heart rate, flushing and other symptoms of heat exhaustion. In the shade I could run. I'm in excellent condition, even if a bit aged, but the monsoon humidity is too much for me. In a ten-mile run I lost a pound and a half, and that was drinking as much as I could hold. When it's dry, at that temperature, I can manage to lose almost no weight. Ironically, you are more likely to dehydrate in a humid environment. Cool, huh? Well, not cool, but certainly interesting. In a few weeks the monsoon will end, the heat will go away for the year, and all will be well on the road to what is now called the "Zappos dot Com Las Vegas Marathon." No discount on shoes, the cheapskates.
See above for an unrelated note, please. 10-Q
S.
As a comparison, on a non-monsoon summer's afternoon around here, the humidity will run five to seven percent. One day last June it was one (1) percent. The temperature was 112F, the dew point was 8F. I didn't know that much spread was even possible. But, that was more comfortable than 89 degrees and 34 percent humidity. Honest. See, oddly enough, to those not living in a desert, in a dry climate, when you sweat, you might not even notice it, because instead of clogging up your pores and clothing the stuff simply evaporates. Through the miracle of latent heat of vaporization, when you sweat you are cooled, and the hot temperature is not really all that bothersome, even for most people when it exceeds normal body temperature, at least so long as you stay out of the sun. That's what we're used to here in the Mojave. All it takes to stay comfortable at ninety degrees with low humidity is nothing: that's an almost ideal temperature. But, throw in 34 percent humidity, and things change.
What happens is, as many of you know, you start to exercise, and you start to heat up, so you sweat, but the sweat doesn't do any good. If anything, it's insulation that keeps you warmer. So, you get even hotter and sweat even more and in no time flat you're wet and overheated. Today, after the first five miles, I could only actually run in the shade without overheating. By overheating I mean experiencing rapid heart rate, flushing and other symptoms of heat exhaustion. In the shade I could run. I'm in excellent condition, even if a bit aged, but the monsoon humidity is too much for me. In a ten-mile run I lost a pound and a half, and that was drinking as much as I could hold. When it's dry, at that temperature, I can manage to lose almost no weight. Ironically, you are more likely to dehydrate in a humid environment. Cool, huh? Well, not cool, but certainly interesting. In a few weeks the monsoon will end, the heat will go away for the year, and all will be well on the road to what is now called the "Zappos dot Com Las Vegas Marathon." No discount on shoes, the cheapskates.
See above for an unrelated note, please. 10-Q
S.
Labels: Marathon
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Pace Leader This Time
Okay, so running a marathon isn't the big deal it was last year, but this time I've volunteered to be a pace leader for the desert tortoise/snail/scorpion/one-legged man with a bad leg set. Actually I'm going for five miles per hour, more commonly called twelve minute miles, and I intend to help some newbies do the same. Should be fun. It has several advantages, to wit:
1. It provides motivation and focus, which is good because training for a marathon takes a lot of both. Plus lots of Gatorade, GU, Guts and Spaghetti, of course.
2. It helps those who are trying the distance for the first time to keep going. Keeping going is the most important part of finishing an endurance competition. You stop, you fail. You don't stop, you win.
3. The race is free for pace leaders. Well, if you're going to take a morning to run twenty-six miles, why not take all the free Gatorade and GU and run with it? Huh?
I was going for San Diego on the third, but I realized a couple of weeks ago that there was no way I could be ready. Next year, except maybe in Denver instead. Meantime, if you'd like all the details on this year's race in Las Vegas, click here.
1. It provides motivation and focus, which is good because training for a marathon takes a lot of both. Plus lots of Gatorade, GU, Guts and Spaghetti, of course.
2. It helps those who are trying the distance for the first time to keep going. Keeping going is the most important part of finishing an endurance competition. You stop, you fail. You don't stop, you win.
3. The race is free for pace leaders. Well, if you're going to take a morning to run twenty-six miles, why not take all the free Gatorade and GU and run with it? Huh?
I was going for San Diego on the third, but I realized a couple of weeks ago that there was no way I could be ready. Next year, except maybe in Denver instead. Meantime, if you'd like all the details on this year's race in Las Vegas, click here.
Labels: Marathon
Monday, January 15, 2007
Brrrrr?
This isn't really about any marathon per se. It's about yesterday's training run. The club is still together for those training for the winter/spring season. I'm going to San Diego, but that's not what this is about. These training runs take place in Henderson Nevada, in the Mojave desert, a region noted for being hotter than Hell or so I'm told (never visited Hell so I can't swear to it.) Yesterday we went for a nice run, wearing lots and lots of clothing. At the first aid station the person I was running with got to the table first and said, "Hey, Tim, the Gatorade's all frozen!" Tim being the guy who sets up the aid stations. He was right: the Gatorade was slush.
When I got up it was twenty degrees in Henderson. The sun wasn't up yet when we got to the first aid station, so maybe it was even colder. I know, those of you in cold climates are somewhat temperate in your sympathy. But, I have run and trained in Minneapolis, the coldest major metropolitan area in the lower forty-eight. I know what cold is. But consider, if you moved to Vegas, would you consider that you might encounter a hazard like frozen Gatorade? Last July it was 97 degrees one Sunday when we took off, 105 degrees when we came back in. Frozen Gatorade? Salted Sweetened water that freezes outside? In Vegas?
Okay, go ahead and laugh at my wimpiness now. I got it off my chest.
By the way, Tami and I just got back from an overnight in Zion National Park. It was in the single digits last night. Georgous place, but you can't get to the narrows because of recent snow. Drat it all.
When I got up it was twenty degrees in Henderson. The sun wasn't up yet when we got to the first aid station, so maybe it was even colder. I know, those of you in cold climates are somewhat temperate in your sympathy. But, I have run and trained in Minneapolis, the coldest major metropolitan area in the lower forty-eight. I know what cold is. But consider, if you moved to Vegas, would you consider that you might encounter a hazard like frozen Gatorade? Last July it was 97 degrees one Sunday when we took off, 105 degrees when we came back in. Frozen Gatorade? Salted Sweetened water that freezes outside? In Vegas?
Okay, go ahead and laugh at my wimpiness now. I got it off my chest.
By the way, Tami and I just got back from an overnight in Zion National Park. It was in the single digits last night. Georgous place, but you can't get to the narrows because of recent snow. Drat it all.
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
Pictures from the Marathon
Greetings, gentle readers and both fans --
As promised, I have obtained and posted a couple of photographs from the marathon. Well, four, to be exact. Well, five, actually. First the four, all proofs in low resolution. If you want to see them, just click here.
There are explanations by each of the pictures, which were produced by Marathon Photo, whose web site is at http://www.marathonfoto.com/home.cfm. I purchased a couple, including the one reproduced in larger size on the page linked to just above. I tried scanning one in at 1200 dpi, which worked, but which is so huge that most of my editing programs don't even display the thing, so I posted a version at 100 dpi, which is still better than the little proofs but not so cumbersone. Besides, this is the Internet, not Glamor Shots, right?
So, that's the very last about the topic of the New Las Vegas Marathon 2006. I may post something about future races, but you know, you always remember your first time.
-- Steve
As promised, I have obtained and posted a couple of photographs from the marathon. Well, four, to be exact. Well, five, actually. First the four, all proofs in low resolution. If you want to see them, just click here.
There are explanations by each of the pictures, which were produced by Marathon Photo, whose web site is at http://www.marathonfoto.com/home.cfm. I purchased a couple, including the one reproduced in larger size on the page linked to just above. I tried scanning one in at 1200 dpi, which worked, but which is so huge that most of my editing programs don't even display the thing, so I posted a version at 100 dpi, which is still better than the little proofs but not so cumbersone. Besides, this is the Internet, not Glamor Shots, right?
So, that's the very last about the topic of the New Las Vegas Marathon 2006. I may post something about future races, but you know, you always remember your first time.
-- Steve
Labels: Marathon
Sunday, December 17, 2006
Marathon Man Postlude the Final
First, notice that the entire blog is working once again. Oh, I am so happy! I'll be adding a standard RSS feed sometime as well, right below that Atom feed button on the left side. Oooo, isn't it swell?
Just one last note about the training and aftermath. This morning I did not get up early, and I did not run up and down the Pittman Wash trail for several hours. That made it the weirdest, and longest, Sunday Morning of the past six months. Last night I attended the party the LVTC throws every year for Marathoners, which was fun. I got to see a lot of my friends out of uniform, so so speak, and I admit I didn't recognize quite a few right off. Give 'em the shorts and shirt and I'd know 'em anywhere. Jeans and a long-sleeved winter shirt and, huh, whodat?
This is my last entry in this series of logs, but just once more, let me commend to you the experience of training for and running a Marathon as being educational, fun, and extremely rewarding. Sometimes it hurts, but it's worth every ache and pain. Besides, somebody invented Ibuprofen. I am going to run more long races, starting with the Rock and Roll Marathon in San Diego next June. Training starts next month. As I told the organizer of the Roadrunners last night, I can't wait to get started.
So, as they say, gotta run. Thanks for reading.
Steve
PS -- I ordered a photo of myself in abut the third mile. I'll post a small version of it when I arrives. I was looking damn good in the third mile . . . ;-)
PPS: If you want to read the posting from right after the race, click here.
Just one last note about the training and aftermath. This morning I did not get up early, and I did not run up and down the Pittman Wash trail for several hours. That made it the weirdest, and longest, Sunday Morning of the past six months. Last night I attended the party the LVTC throws every year for Marathoners, which was fun. I got to see a lot of my friends out of uniform, so so speak, and I admit I didn't recognize quite a few right off. Give 'em the shorts and shirt and I'd know 'em anywhere. Jeans and a long-sleeved winter shirt and, huh, whodat?
This is my last entry in this series of logs, but just once more, let me commend to you the experience of training for and running a Marathon as being educational, fun, and extremely rewarding. Sometimes it hurts, but it's worth every ache and pain. Besides, somebody invented Ibuprofen. I am going to run more long races, starting with the Rock and Roll Marathon in San Diego next June. Training starts next month. As I told the organizer of the Roadrunners last night, I can't wait to get started.
So, as they say, gotta run. Thanks for reading.
Steve
PS -- I ordered a photo of myself in abut the third mile. I'll post a small version of it when I arrives. I was looking damn good in the third mile . . . ;-)
PPS: If you want to read the posting from right after the race, click here.
Labels: Marathon
Sunday, December 03, 2006
Marathon Man (Training) Part the Last
This will be the last Marathon Man post until after the race. The sum total of what I still need to do to train for the race is zilch, or nada, nothing, zero, bupkis, or as they say, nothing at all. The only training this week is staying loose and fattening up a bit. I think I can do that.
I had a near disaster this week when my knee started a twinge right at the end of my Wednesday training run. Thursday is weight lifting day, so on Friday I was disappointed that my knee started to twinge right off. I rode the exercise bike that morning (gads but I hate an exercise bike) and that afternoon went to my favorite running store (The Village Runner in Henderson) and got some brand-new, really cushy insoles. Not only did my knee not twinge today but I set a personal record (for my Marathon training) of eleven minutes per mile, which is so much faster than my usual that it’s actually almost frightening. So the moral is, I guess, for a flat-foot like me, you can’t have too much padding under your feet. They make a model of my shoe that already has the padding in it, but I’m not sure how much more they charge for it. Maybe I’ll just buy my next pair with the soft stuff already inserted.
The toll from training, now that it’s over, is one sore knee from insufficient padding (last Summer, and it was really sore, not just twinging); another sore knee from wearing shoes that didn’t correct for pronation (flat-footedness); a strained hip that took a couple of months to completely go away, and several sets of blisters on my toes.
The benefits of training include, among other things, the ability to run at least twenty miles non-stop; loss of grey hair which has been replaced by dark brown (my original color) hair; according to the guy who cuts my dark brown hair, more hair (I had no idea I was joining Hair Club for Runners); very strong legs; a jacket that’s four-inches bigger around the chest than I’ve ever worn before; and an attitude of sticking with a project no matter what, which I figure has to come in handy any time.
I remember running in June, such as I could run, how the least uphill would cause me to drop to a walk. I’d try to walk as fast as I could, but that’s all I could do, and sometimes it wasn’t that fast. My initial pace was around seventeen minutes per mile, which is sad when you consider that I can walk eighteen minute miles all day. (I’ve always had long legs and been able to walk fast.) Also the summer heat was really, really, truly, no kidding, oppressive, and I learned to love Gatorade brand as if it were the finest beverage ever invented. Come to think of it, it just may be at that. I was sad not to win a ‘door prize’ of a year’s worth of powdered Gatorade concentrate today, but I’ll survive. They sell it everywhere, after all.
I also remember back in my days running 10-k (ten kilometer) races, which for those of you who insist is roughly 6.2 miles, that six miles was, well, the race, and a long run. We did six miles in the Roadrunners training group today, and called it a giggle run, which was fair. I was barely warmed up. That takes nine to ten miles in cold weather. My dietary preferences have shifted heavily away from anything with much fat in it (I like ice cream for a few bites, then I have to quit eating it) and in favor of things like, oh, anything carbohydrate, and I’m only picky about keeping to complex carbs because I’m told they’re better for me. I’d be happy to eat a bag of sugar for lunch, to tell you the truth. At around mile eighteen in fact, I’m about ready to pay big money for some more sugar. Lucky for me it’s provided, in the form of Gatorade and Gu, by the club, and by the Marathon as well.
So, sometime post-race I’ll post my results here. I’m actually thinking that I’ll probably come in under five hours (no way I’m going to try running eleven minute miles for that distance – this year, that is) and I don’t expect to feel any worse for wear. The Las Vegas Road Runners has a great program, much like the ones in Los Angeles, Chicago and New York, and if you’re in one of those cities and want to run a Marathon, I’d recommend signing up with them. In Vegas it gets you discounts at the shoe store, too, and come to think of it, a discount entry into the race. Plus several running shirts, which is nice. So, until next week, Sunday if I have the chance, later on in the week if I don’t, this is Marathon Man signing off.
Gotta run . . .
I had a near disaster this week when my knee started a twinge right at the end of my Wednesday training run. Thursday is weight lifting day, so on Friday I was disappointed that my knee started to twinge right off. I rode the exercise bike that morning (gads but I hate an exercise bike) and that afternoon went to my favorite running store (The Village Runner in Henderson) and got some brand-new, really cushy insoles. Not only did my knee not twinge today but I set a personal record (for my Marathon training) of eleven minutes per mile, which is so much faster than my usual that it’s actually almost frightening. So the moral is, I guess, for a flat-foot like me, you can’t have too much padding under your feet. They make a model of my shoe that already has the padding in it, but I’m not sure how much more they charge for it. Maybe I’ll just buy my next pair with the soft stuff already inserted.
The toll from training, now that it’s over, is one sore knee from insufficient padding (last Summer, and it was really sore, not just twinging); another sore knee from wearing shoes that didn’t correct for pronation (flat-footedness); a strained hip that took a couple of months to completely go away, and several sets of blisters on my toes.
The benefits of training include, among other things, the ability to run at least twenty miles non-stop; loss of grey hair which has been replaced by dark brown (my original color) hair; according to the guy who cuts my dark brown hair, more hair (I had no idea I was joining Hair Club for Runners); very strong legs; a jacket that’s four-inches bigger around the chest than I’ve ever worn before; and an attitude of sticking with a project no matter what, which I figure has to come in handy any time.
I remember running in June, such as I could run, how the least uphill would cause me to drop to a walk. I’d try to walk as fast as I could, but that’s all I could do, and sometimes it wasn’t that fast. My initial pace was around seventeen minutes per mile, which is sad when you consider that I can walk eighteen minute miles all day. (I’ve always had long legs and been able to walk fast.) Also the summer heat was really, really, truly, no kidding, oppressive, and I learned to love Gatorade brand as if it were the finest beverage ever invented. Come to think of it, it just may be at that. I was sad not to win a ‘door prize’ of a year’s worth of powdered Gatorade concentrate today, but I’ll survive. They sell it everywhere, after all.
I also remember back in my days running 10-k (ten kilometer) races, which for those of you who insist is roughly 6.2 miles, that six miles was, well, the race, and a long run. We did six miles in the Roadrunners training group today, and called it a giggle run, which was fair. I was barely warmed up. That takes nine to ten miles in cold weather. My dietary preferences have shifted heavily away from anything with much fat in it (I like ice cream for a few bites, then I have to quit eating it) and in favor of things like, oh, anything carbohydrate, and I’m only picky about keeping to complex carbs because I’m told they’re better for me. I’d be happy to eat a bag of sugar for lunch, to tell you the truth. At around mile eighteen in fact, I’m about ready to pay big money for some more sugar. Lucky for me it’s provided, in the form of Gatorade and Gu, by the club, and by the Marathon as well.
So, sometime post-race I’ll post my results here. I’m actually thinking that I’ll probably come in under five hours (no way I’m going to try running eleven minute miles for that distance – this year, that is) and I don’t expect to feel any worse for wear. The Las Vegas Road Runners has a great program, much like the ones in Los Angeles, Chicago and New York, and if you’re in one of those cities and want to run a Marathon, I’d recommend signing up with them. In Vegas it gets you discounts at the shoe store, too, and come to think of it, a discount entry into the race. Plus several running shirts, which is nice. So, until next week, Sunday if I have the chance, later on in the week if I don’t, this is Marathon Man signing off.
Gotta run . . .
Labels: Marathon
Sunday, November 12, 2006
Politics or Running? Hmmm . . .
So, whattya want, Running or Politics? Oh, who cares? People run in politics, too, don’t they? Besides, I already said my bit about the recent elections. I hope we don’t end up with single-party rule any time soon. The Gauls Caesar wrote about were right: two factions works better.
That leaves running, I guess. We did thirteen miles today, which as you can imagine was pretty easy. My time is down to 11:39 per mile, about six minutes faster than it was in June. Heck, by next year maybe I’ll be under eleven. That would be nice, but for now it’s nice just to be running well. Today I got to talk with Rod Dixon, a man after whom my favorite line of Running shoes was named. Of course the manufacturer discontinued the line some time ago, but they’re still my favorites. He told me, unsolicited, that my form looked good. That was nice to hear. I’ve been working hard on not having any body parts moving any way but forward, which is why my time is down half a minute in the last month. I may make the big race in under five hours, and wouldn’t that be nice? Especially considering that I have to finish before I can sit down to lunch. Lunch, to me, is an important thing.
On my way to becoming a runner again, I’ve learned a few things. One is that a marathon is a much different animal than a ten kilometer race. Rod Dixon is a champion in both short and long distance races, but he’s almost unique in that regard. Usually you do one or the other. Few do both. When I was in my thirties, the six mile race seemed appropriate. It’s fast, relatively easy, and can be done in under an hour. No human has ever run a marathon in under two hours, to give one quick idea of the differences. It occurs to me now in my aged wisdom that life is a lot more like a marathon than a six mile race. You have to be strong, you have to be flexible, and you have to, one way or another, simply not quit.
Another thing I’ve learned is that you don’t lose weight in endurance training like you do when training for shorter races. However, you do rearrange weight a great deal. For instance, I’m thirteen pounds lighter than I was in June, but yesterday when I bought a new suit, I discovered that I am no longer a 44 long, which I’ve been since I can remember. I’m now a 48 long. There’s something under that jacket, and it ain’t fat, bubba. That may explain why I can toss gravel for two hours and not even breathe heavy. Me strong like bull, and can life a lot, too.
And another thing is that form is important. Left to their own devices, my arms swing across in front of me, and pull my shoulders with them. That pulls my feet with my shoulders and results in me running a crooked track. On the other hand, when I swing my arms straight in front of me, my feet follow, and I go faster with no additional effort. What I’m saying is that doing things right pays off with big dividends in ease of life. Honest.
And, also, the injuries and bruises you get as you go along don’t mean the end of the race. They just mean that you need to rest and heal for a bit. It’s amazing what proper stretching can do to heal, or even prevent, painful injuries. Not a lot of stretching, either, just a few minutes in the morning.
And finally, I’ve learned to use good shoes. Or, more broadly, the right tool for the job. Okay, I knew this one anyway, but it’s been reinforced heavily.
Well okay then. Congress will be reconvening soon. Maybe I’ll be inspired by that. Or maybe not. But I’ll let you know how it goes with the running and writing in any case.
Speaking of which, I passed 20,000 words today. Not bad for a week and a half. The book probably sucks, but at least it’s getting written.
Later, dudes and dudettes . . .
That leaves running, I guess. We did thirteen miles today, which as you can imagine was pretty easy. My time is down to 11:39 per mile, about six minutes faster than it was in June. Heck, by next year maybe I’ll be under eleven. That would be nice, but for now it’s nice just to be running well. Today I got to talk with Rod Dixon, a man after whom my favorite line of Running shoes was named. Of course the manufacturer discontinued the line some time ago, but they’re still my favorites. He told me, unsolicited, that my form looked good. That was nice to hear. I’ve been working hard on not having any body parts moving any way but forward, which is why my time is down half a minute in the last month. I may make the big race in under five hours, and wouldn’t that be nice? Especially considering that I have to finish before I can sit down to lunch. Lunch, to me, is an important thing.
On my way to becoming a runner again, I’ve learned a few things. One is that a marathon is a much different animal than a ten kilometer race. Rod Dixon is a champion in both short and long distance races, but he’s almost unique in that regard. Usually you do one or the other. Few do both. When I was in my thirties, the six mile race seemed appropriate. It’s fast, relatively easy, and can be done in under an hour. No human has ever run a marathon in under two hours, to give one quick idea of the differences. It occurs to me now in my aged wisdom that life is a lot more like a marathon than a six mile race. You have to be strong, you have to be flexible, and you have to, one way or another, simply not quit.
Another thing I’ve learned is that you don’t lose weight in endurance training like you do when training for shorter races. However, you do rearrange weight a great deal. For instance, I’m thirteen pounds lighter than I was in June, but yesterday when I bought a new suit, I discovered that I am no longer a 44 long, which I’ve been since I can remember. I’m now a 48 long. There’s something under that jacket, and it ain’t fat, bubba. That may explain why I can toss gravel for two hours and not even breathe heavy. Me strong like bull, and can life a lot, too.
And another thing is that form is important. Left to their own devices, my arms swing across in front of me, and pull my shoulders with them. That pulls my feet with my shoulders and results in me running a crooked track. On the other hand, when I swing my arms straight in front of me, my feet follow, and I go faster with no additional effort. What I’m saying is that doing things right pays off with big dividends in ease of life. Honest.
And, also, the injuries and bruises you get as you go along don’t mean the end of the race. They just mean that you need to rest and heal for a bit. It’s amazing what proper stretching can do to heal, or even prevent, painful injuries. Not a lot of stretching, either, just a few minutes in the morning.
And finally, I’ve learned to use good shoes. Or, more broadly, the right tool for the job. Okay, I knew this one anyway, but it’s been reinforced heavily.
Well okay then. Congress will be reconvening soon. Maybe I’ll be inspired by that. Or maybe not. But I’ll let you know how it goes with the running and writing in any case.
Speaking of which, I passed 20,000 words today. Not bad for a week and a half. The book probably sucks, but at least it’s getting written.
Later, dudes and dudettes . . .
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Twenty Miles On
I ran twenty miles this morning. This is significant for several reasons. First, I’d never run that far before. The last time I went that far under my own power I was working on a hiking merit badge. I got blisters and really tired. Today, I did no damage that I’ve noticed yet, six hours after I got back, so I guess I’ve trained better for this sport than I did for hiking when I was thirteen.
Second, I discovered that I was completely out of energy after eighteen miles, just like they say happens. Luckily there was an aid station right there, as there is one every two miles in our training club, and I slammed down about a pint of Gatorade™ thirst quencher, which put a whole bunch of sugar right where I needed it, and the last two miles were easy for the first time ever. I’ve been running that last mile, in particular, since June and it’s always been a tough one. Today I just ran two miles. I could have been starting out fresh. I’ve read about that phenomenon but never experienced it before. I liked it. And, that brings up significant thing three, namely, that I’m now pretty sure I can run a marathon. It’s just another lousy 10k after twenty miles. A 10k is easy. It was the best run I’d had in decades, and that’s the truth. Then there was a free massage afterwards, so I had to upgrade it to the best run I’ve ever done.
That second wind after hitting a wall is a really odd phenomenon, but common. I’m not sure how it works, except that maybe the two minutes it took to drink all that Gatorade let me legs catch up with the demand for sugars, or maybe it was the sugar catching up with demand. Whatever, it’s also true, according to those I’ve been running with lately, that once you’re past that eighteen mile bugaboo, it’s just a simple matter of running on to the end. I can believe that from the way I was feeling today. Also, the work I’ve done on form, mostly how to use my arms, has gained me a quarter minute per mile in overall pace. I’m still slow, but the scorpions came in quite a while after I did, and missed their massage. Hah!
Labels: Marathon
Sunday, October 29, 2006
Back to the Marathon at Last
So, to recap the story so far: I started training to run the New Las Vegas Marathon last June 4th. We did a 3-mile “fun run” that almost killed me, I swear. Then a week or so later I discovered that my shoes were inadequate due to my pronation, so I limped for weeks, keeping to the right side of the road, as I ran, or tried to run, in my nice new correcting shoes but still had a very sore knee. Then I got over that, and actually started running better, but I wasn’t watching my shoes and their wear and what do you know, I limped for another four weeks while I recovered from the beating my body was taking after the midsoles wore out completely. It was the opposite side, so it wasn’t so bad, but I did get tired of riding an exercise bike when what I like to do is run. Since then everything’s been fine with running (I bought new shoes just the other day – I do learn eventually, because this time nothing is injured, I just checked the shoes.) I did have a “stupid related injury” (see my previous post) but running never really bothered it, although getting overheated did. Now that it’s fifty degrees Fahrenheit around here in the morning, that’s not an issue.
Yesterday I ran a 10K, or 6.2 miles. I got a humor article out of it, called Metricks, which you can read by clicking on the name. Actually, I sort of wish my fellow Americans would just get over it and adopt the metric system, since the whole world outside our borders has already done that. I mean, we’re behind Canada? Yoiks! Anyway, I don’t want mail due to the humor article. It’s a joke, okay, an exaggeration, an attempt to make people smile. I like meters, I really do. (The trouble is, I’ve got feet, not meters, but that’s another post entirely.) The 10K was sort of fun, but I took off at the blistering pace (for me) of 10:31 per mile. That is, when I passed the 1 mile marker, my watch said 10:31. I knew I was dead where I ran if I didn’t slow down, and my final pace, of 11:14, makes it possible to calculate my pace for the 5.2 miles after that first mile, which it turns out is 12:06, or just about my normal pace in my old age, which is what I was trying to do, so that’s good. It does make me think that perhaps I can start working on speed, after I finish my first marathon I mean, and maybe get down to 11:30 or maybe even less. We’ll see, but the 10K was sort of funny. Five miles along, there were people shouting encouragement like “you’re almost there, you can make it!” I ran eighteen miles last Sunday, so while I waved and thanked them, I was thinking that I was pretty sure I was going to finish the measly six-point-two miles okay, thank you. I did, too, even sprinting across the finish line. I plan to sprint across the finish line at the marathon, too. I always sprint across the finish line. Today we did a leisurely sixteen miles, and I really felt that 10K. I ran slow on purpose, but still it was a great relief to get back to a banana and big old Gator Ade (my favorite beverage now.) Next week twenty miles. They’re going to have massage therapists at the end. That may be what keeps me going.
So, that’s the story, but I thought I might ramble a bit and explain what I like about running. I started running when I was 31, mostly so I could lose some extra weight I’d put on in graduate school. It worked, too, as I started running 10Ks competitively, and the training dropped about fifty pounds off of me, rendering me skinny as a rail, frankly, at as little as 170 pounds at one point. I couldn’t eat enough food, so I eased up on my training. It’s a good thing, as it turns out, that I didn’t try marathoning, because endurance training is not a good way to lose weight. I’ve redistributed quite a bit of weight this year, although not all of it, and lost about ten pounds. I’m a quite health 220 or so. If my doctor is crass enough to say I’m too heavy, I’ll just kick his wall down, which I’m pretty sure I could do. Still, I can wear standard jeans, and I don’t need those “extra inch” things from Dockers. I can wear all of my clothes without strain, so that’s an improvement, but weight loss per se isn’t in the cards. What I’ve noticed, running around the town, is that life is a lot more of a marathon than a sprint. When my doctor threatened me with another half-century, I realized that there was a long way to go yet, so a marathon seems a fitting way to train for the rest of my life. I may not be skinny, but I’ve lost a lot of grey hair (it reverted to dark brown, except for about half of my beard.) Also I really don’t start breathing hard for, well, anything any more. Apparently my vital capacity has ramped up a bit. I’d like to find out how my cholesterol is doing these days, as well. So that’s one reason I like to run: it keeps me younger, almost literally.
But more than that, running, like riding a motorcycle, puts you out into the world. It’s not like looking at the world as you go by, it’s being in it, a part of it, hearing the birds and insects, watching the sun rise, watching the mists above the lake in the early morning (yes, we have a lake, a great-big lake, if you must know), listening to the sounds of footfall (mine and other peoples’) and also just experiencing the breeze and the rush of blood through my veins. It’s also a good time to think. Also I like to try to run better: to swing my arms straighter, not to slide into my steps (most people do, but I keep trying to break myself of the habit), to practice good breathing, good balance, and to climb and descend hills safely and easily. Mostly it all works.
Some things I don’t do, and don’t even understand include running with headphones on blocking out the experience of the run. I’ve never been bored running, so I just don’t see any need to distract myself with music. I have music playing now, and it’s good to have, but if I played it in my ears while I was running I’d miss the experience I describe above. Also, if you’re in traffic, it seems to me you’re a lot better off hearing the cars coming. Call me crazy if you will, but I just don’t think a confrontation between me and even the smallest mini car would come out in my favor. Also I see people running on sidewalks and charging across concrete plazas and such. I run across concrete very slowly and gingerly. That’s because the stuff is very hard, as in durable, with no give to it at all. Most natural rock could take lessons in being unyielding from concrete. Running on concrete is asking for spiral fractures in your tibiae, or worse. No music, no concrete, just me and a reasonably soft path, as long as I can keep running. And, needless to say any more, I make sure I’ve got good shoes on when I step out.
Well, that’s why I like to run, and there’s plenty of opportunity. I found out today that our club president likes to keep the club together for the San Diego marathon in early June. That’s great for me, because I really like a reason to visit San Diego. (If you’ve never been there, think of near perfect weather 24/7/365, with a beach. That’s San Diego.) Since I like to run, and since it seems to be good for me, I think I’ll just run a couple of marathons per year for a while. What the heck, there are worse habits.
I’m going to try to finish a novel in November (see below) but I’ll try to post something every weekend as well. What the heck, once you start writing, you just don’t stop. It’s sort of like running a marathon, come to think of it.
Labels: Marathon
Monday, October 02, 2006
Marathon Man Part, uh, Whichever
Yes, I’m still running most days. Not today, because it was Monday and besides I caught a cold, but tomorrow I plan to be out on the streets at 5AM tripping fantastically around the neighborhood under the stars. Summer ends in the Mojave, and mornings are now in the sixties or even cooler, which is great running weather. The only bad thing this week was that Sunday morning was warm and humid and I started out fast, thus causing my stupid related injury (see below) to cramp up so badly that I bummed a ride back to the starting point, which is where my car was parked. It hurt until I got it under a cold shower (they do have multiple uses after all) since when it isn’t much achier than all of me is, owing to a head cold.
This Thursday I’ve got to do seventeen miles without a group for support, and that all because I’m planning to travel to Ft. Worth over the weekend to visit my brother and his wife on their 50th anniversary. The bad thing about that is that I remember their wedding, although I’m sure it’s acquired memories, right?
Other news is that I paid somebody for notes on one of my scripts. I haven’t had the nerve to read them yet. It’s hell to find out what you’ve done wrong, you know. But, maybe I can use them, fix the thing, and make a milli . . . few thousand dollars selling it. Good luck to me, eh?
This Thursday I’ve got to do seventeen miles without a group for support, and that all because I’m planning to travel to Ft. Worth over the weekend to visit my brother and his wife on their 50th anniversary. The bad thing about that is that I remember their wedding, although I’m sure it’s acquired memories, right?
Other news is that I paid somebody for notes on one of my scripts. I haven’t had the nerve to read them yet. It’s hell to find out what you’ve done wrong, you know. But, maybe I can use them, fix the thing, and make a milli . . . few thousand dollars selling it. Good luck to me, eh?
Labels: Marathon
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
A Stupid Related Injury
When somebody runs thirty miles per week or more, you expect them to get some running related injuries. That’s a lot of slamming your feet down onto the ground, after all. Considering that it takes the average Hummer about five gallons of gas to go that distance, you have to admire someone who can do it on only sixteen cases of HoHos™ and twelve gallons of Gatorade™. A running related injury wouldn’t be anything special, just what you’d expect, as I said. Luckily for me, I can report a much more memorable incident from last Friday. Friday was the day when I received a stupid related injury in my hip.
Stupid related injuries, of course, are nothing new. Have you seen that TV ad for Cox Cable where people run into lamp posts and walls because they’re transfixed by a sign advertising high speed Internet access? Those are stupid related injuries. They’re funny because they don’t happen to you. You probably knew, or maybe you were, some kid who jumped off the garage roof trying to clear the family car and land in a wading pool. That was stupid, just so you’ll know.
What I did on Friday was go over to the car show called “Super Run 2006” that was being held a few blocks from where I live in Downtown Henderson. Yes, downtown, a real inner city sort of place where you might be shocked to find gambling going on in some establishments. Twenty years ago the area was a biker hangout, and even today you’ll see some guys pedaling their way around, so it can be dangerous to the unwary. Such as somebody who steps off of a wall as if it were a standard step, for example.
The car show was distracting due to all of the noise, and people, and really odd looking cars, one of which was ninety years old and probably looking better than it did when it was new. Amongst the distractions was a booth selling Hawaiian hot dogs, made from Kobe beef, which is apparently what makes them different from regular old hot dogs. In fact, other than the available teriyaki sauce, there didn’t seem to be anything unusual about the stuff they sold, making me wonder just what it is Hawaiians eat. Picnic food, apparently, but the hot dogs were actually pretty good. I got one and sat on the edge of a wall to eat it. Obviously there were some pretty strong Hawaiian drugs in it, because when I was done I stepped down like I was on a stairway and, well, nothing else happened. I was down. Three hours later I was having trouble walking. I had to skip my Sunday morning run, and use an exercise bike today. Tomorrow is another day, and we’ll see.
It’s not the injury, it’s that the injury is stupid related, that bugs me.
In the good news, my time is down to 12:34 per mile. That’s exactly 5:34 off of my former usual pace. And 5:34 is still slower than a world class athlete runs a marathon. Go figure.
A Stupid Related Injury
When somebody runs thirty miles per week or more, you expect them to get some running related injuries. That’s a lot of slamming your feet down onto the ground, after all. Considering that it takes the average Hummer about five gallons of gas to go that distance, you have to admire someone who can do it on only sixteen cases of HoHos™ and twelve gallons of Gatorade™. A running related injury wouldn’t be anything special, just what you’d expect, as I said. Luckily for me, I can report a much more memorable incident from last Friday. Friday was the day when I received a stupid related injury in my hip.
Stupid related injuries, of course, are nothing new. Have you seen that TV ad for Cox Cable where people run into lamp posts and walls because they’re transfixed by a sign advertising high speed Internet access? Those are stupid related injuries. They’re funny because they don’t happen to you. You probably knew, or maybe you were, some kid who jumped off the garage roof trying to clear the family car and land in a wading pool. That was stupid, just so you’ll know.
What I did on Friday was go over to the car show called “Super Run 2006” that was being held a few blocks from where I live in Downtown Henderson. Yes, downtown, a real inner city sort of place where you might be shocked to find gambling going on in some establishments. Twenty years ago the area was a biker hangout, and even today you’ll see some guys pedaling their way around, so it can be dangerous to the unwary. Such as somebody who steps off of a wall as if it were a standard step, for example.
The car show was distracting due to all of the noise, and people, and really odd looking cars, one of which was ninety years old and probably looking better than it did when it was new. Amongst the distractions was a booth selling Hawaiian hot dogs, made from Kobe beef, which is apparently what makes them different from regular old hot dogs. In fact, other than the available teriyaki sauce, there didn’t seem to be anything unusual about the stuff they sold, making me wonder just what it is Hawaiians eat. Picnic food, apparently, but the hot dogs were actually pretty good. I got one and sat on the edge of a wall to eat it. Obviously there were some pretty strong Hawaiian drugs in it, because when I was done I stepped down like I was on a stairway and, well, nothing else happened. I was down. Three hours later I was having trouble walking. I had to skip my Sunday morning run, and use an exercise bike today. Tomorrow is another day, and we’ll see.
It’s not the injury, it’s that the injury is stupid related, that bugs me.
In the good news, my time is down to 12:34 per mile. That’s exactly 5:34 off of my former usual pace. And 5:34 is still slower than a world class athlete runs a marathon. Go figure.
Labels: Marathon
Sunday, September 17, 2006
Running With Gatorade
Just a quick report, nothing funny really. But I’m bragging since I managed to cover thirteen miles at an average pace of 12:34. I stopped only at water stations, and ran directly away from them. That ain’t too shabby for an old dude like me. Nothing at all, by the way, hurts.
Labels: Marathon
Sunday, September 10, 2006
Marathon Man Report (As Promised)
I promised to let you know how it went, so here’s how. At a blistering overall pace of 13:45 per mile, I made the entire fifteen miles. This in spite of not doing any significant amount of running for three weeks. However, all my body parts seem happy enough to go along with the program this week, so other than the fact that my legs are a tad tired (this was the longest run of my life to date, after all) nothing bad happened.
It did start out going quite a bit faster: my first five miles were at a 12:15 pace, which would have kept me ahead of the tortoise and the scorpions. As it was, I only managed to beat the one legged man with a bad ankle by a minute or so, and the tortoise looked impatient when I came in. Still, it was a lovely morning to be out, with a beautiful moon and a gorgeous dawn, so I’m happy with this week’s performance.
Next week there’s a race up on Mt. Charleston I might enter. Twelve miles at eight thousand feet. Sort of like old times, only higher. Until then . . .
Labels: Marathon
Saturday, September 09, 2006
Back on My Feet Again
Yes, I am back on my feet again, running that is. Tomorrow I’m going to try to run fifteen miles. That’s actual miles, not whatever distance that is reported by an exercise bike. Distance on a stationary object is really a silly concept. My total distance in the past couple of weeks of cranking on that thing is exactly zero millimeters, to at least twelve significant digits.
But yesterday I took the plunge, or maybe I mean the first step and ran for a whole forty-five minutes. It was a pleasant little run, and because summer has left early this year I got to do it in broad daylight. Previous runs have all begun, and often ended, while the sun was not yet in the sky. There are several advantages to running during the day. For one thing, it’s easier to see where you’re going. You ever wonder what’s down that next step? Ever wonder what’s down that next step when you can’t see the bottom? Ever wonder what’s down that next step when you can’t see the bottom and you’re going at a dead run? And you hope the ‘dead’ part is a figure of speech? Go ahead, try it some time.
So anyway, things are looking up for overall survival as the daytime temperatures are not getting out of the nineties. In fact, this being the Mojave Desert, I can run at noon and be cooler than I was a 5 AM in July. Of course, in July, at 5AM, the sun was coming up. It’s up now at noon, but it seems to have lost its will to fry, if you see what I mean. Maybe the sun suffers from S.A.D., you know, Seasonal Affective Disorder, because this time of year it seems to burn cooler every day. Poor sun. Maybe it goes to therapy during all those long winter nights. That would explain how it always comes back all bright and shiny in April, and starts frying the skin of the tourists somewhere in the middle of May. Which is an interesting thing about tourists: they’ll do what no resident of this desert would ever dream of, which is to sit out by a pool of warm water in the noon day sun and let themselves turn into Exhibit A in a Burn Trauma Treatment class. I guess the moral is that if you lose your shirt in Vegas, stay inside until you can afford a new one.
Anyway, I’m wondering where we’re going to run tomorrow, because the trail along the Pittman Wash is only three or four miles long, depending on if they’ve paved that next mile yet. So, to go fifteen miles we’d have to run back and forth, what, five times, which would be awkward because at the end you’d be three miles from your car. Hey, we run, we don’t walk home, know what I mean? So anyway, it’ll be fun to see where we end up, since somehow or other we need to get seven miles and then some away from where we start out so we can run back.
Interesting thing about running back: it’s all downhill. That means, of course, that running out is all uphill. And that means that the most difficult way to run, downhill (if you’re a runner you’ll know what I mean; if you’re not you think I’m joking so heck with you anyway for not knowing anything, nyah) is done after you’re all tired out from slogging miles and miles uphill. It’s the club’s little way of winnowing out the weak and unwillful. Unwillful? Is that a word? I really don’t know; you’ll have to look it up.
I’ll let you know how it all works out. Ciao!
But yesterday I took the plunge, or maybe I mean the first step and ran for a whole forty-five minutes. It was a pleasant little run, and because summer has left early this year I got to do it in broad daylight. Previous runs have all begun, and often ended, while the sun was not yet in the sky. There are several advantages to running during the day. For one thing, it’s easier to see where you’re going. You ever wonder what’s down that next step? Ever wonder what’s down that next step when you can’t see the bottom? Ever wonder what’s down that next step when you can’t see the bottom and you’re going at a dead run? And you hope the ‘dead’ part is a figure of speech? Go ahead, try it some time.
So anyway, things are looking up for overall survival as the daytime temperatures are not getting out of the nineties. In fact, this being the Mojave Desert, I can run at noon and be cooler than I was a 5 AM in July. Of course, in July, at 5AM, the sun was coming up. It’s up now at noon, but it seems to have lost its will to fry, if you see what I mean. Maybe the sun suffers from S.A.D., you know, Seasonal Affective Disorder, because this time of year it seems to burn cooler every day. Poor sun. Maybe it goes to therapy during all those long winter nights. That would explain how it always comes back all bright and shiny in April, and starts frying the skin of the tourists somewhere in the middle of May. Which is an interesting thing about tourists: they’ll do what no resident of this desert would ever dream of, which is to sit out by a pool of warm water in the noon day sun and let themselves turn into Exhibit A in a Burn Trauma Treatment class. I guess the moral is that if you lose your shirt in Vegas, stay inside until you can afford a new one.
Anyway, I’m wondering where we’re going to run tomorrow, because the trail along the Pittman Wash is only three or four miles long, depending on if they’ve paved that next mile yet. So, to go fifteen miles we’d have to run back and forth, what, five times, which would be awkward because at the end you’d be three miles from your car. Hey, we run, we don’t walk home, know what I mean? So anyway, it’ll be fun to see where we end up, since somehow or other we need to get seven miles and then some away from where we start out so we can run back.
Interesting thing about running back: it’s all downhill. That means, of course, that running out is all uphill. And that means that the most difficult way to run, downhill (if you’re a runner you’ll know what I mean; if you’re not you think I’m joking so heck with you anyway for not knowing anything, nyah) is done after you’re all tired out from slogging miles and miles uphill. It’s the club’s little way of winnowing out the weak and unwillful. Unwillful? Is that a word? I really don’t know; you’ll have to look it up.
I’ll let you know how it all works out. Ciao!
Labels: Marathon
Thursday, August 31, 2006
FARTLEK?
FARTLEK
By Steve Fey
*** I know I promised this for last time, but I had that thing with the bad shoe and the exercise bike to get off my conscience, or wherever it was stuck. Here’s the bit about the fun from Sweden. ***
That word there, in the title? Can it possibly mean anything like what it looks like it means? I mean, really? Of course not. I would never resort to cheap humor that depends on bodily functions for effect. That would just be pulling your leg, squeezing blood out of turnip, pissing up a rope, camping under the south end of a bull facing north. Know what I mean? I know you do.
What that word is, is Swedish. Yes, the people who gave us the famous meatballs and massage to boot have come up with an invaluable aid for anyone training to run a race. They call it fartlek because they like the word. To them it sounds like a joke about a bodily function. To tell you the truth, the word is a contraction of two words that together mean “fun with speed.” That sounds good, doesn’t it? You ever wish you could hang out at Bonneville at maybe take your car for a spin down that long, salty runway? Of course you do. Speed is what Americans worship above all else. Not just the stuff you brew up in the morning, or even the stuff you buy from your bartender between Budweisers, but real speed, the kind where you’re going a hundred miles an hour around the turns on the Interstate, and the cops can’t catch you because some joker tied a log chain around their back axle and they turn on the lights and siren and roar after you only to destroy their car. That kind of speed. The good stuff.
But of course that’s not what fartlek is about. You can’t jump on an Interstate in Sweden and drive a hundred thousand miles without seeing a traffic light. You can’t even get across the country, in fact. Come to think of it, there are no States in Sweden in the first place. Of course, there’s only one State in Hawaii, and they’ve got Interstates. But, anyway, when you live in a place where the sun sets in October and rises in April, where the national pastime involves putting wax on boards you then strap to your feet, and you convince yourself that you’re having a ball as your extremities slowly freeze and fall off into the snow, when you come from a place like that, then it does seem like fun to torture yourself. What you do in fartlek is run along at your usual pace for a while, then you run as fast as you can for a while, then you run slow for a while, then you run really fast again for a while, then you walk for a while, then you run your regular pace for a while, then you run really fast again for a while, then you collapse into a painful heap for rather a long while.
I’ve been doing this exercise for the last month, every Wednesday morning before work. Half an hour of this sort of Swedish fun and I’m alert and ready for the day. So long as, that is, the day involves not doing anything else. What happens is a conversation like this:
Me – Well, I think I’ll run to that next intersection there.
My Body – Okay, if you have to, but only this once.
Me – Well, I think I’ll trot for a while.
My Body – Good idea. That, or you could just drop dead and save trouble.
Me – Well (puff, pant), time to walk for a while.
My Body – Finally you smarten up.
Me – Well, looks like it’s time to sprint again.
My Body – No it isn’t. Not at all. Here, let me pull those feet in.
Me – Why is my face in the middle of the street?
Some fun, those Swedes. Or maybe they just expect to clean up on the massage to get rid of the painful aches you get doing fartlek. Well, everybody knows how shifty they are, right?
By Steve Fey
*** I know I promised this for last time, but I had that thing with the bad shoe and the exercise bike to get off my conscience, or wherever it was stuck. Here’s the bit about the fun from Sweden. ***
That word there, in the title? Can it possibly mean anything like what it looks like it means? I mean, really? Of course not. I would never resort to cheap humor that depends on bodily functions for effect. That would just be pulling your leg, squeezing blood out of turnip, pissing up a rope, camping under the south end of a bull facing north. Know what I mean? I know you do.
What that word is, is Swedish. Yes, the people who gave us the famous meatballs and massage to boot have come up with an invaluable aid for anyone training to run a race. They call it fartlek because they like the word. To them it sounds like a joke about a bodily function. To tell you the truth, the word is a contraction of two words that together mean “fun with speed.” That sounds good, doesn’t it? You ever wish you could hang out at Bonneville at maybe take your car for a spin down that long, salty runway? Of course you do. Speed is what Americans worship above all else. Not just the stuff you brew up in the morning, or even the stuff you buy from your bartender between Budweisers, but real speed, the kind where you’re going a hundred miles an hour around the turns on the Interstate, and the cops can’t catch you because some joker tied a log chain around their back axle and they turn on the lights and siren and roar after you only to destroy their car. That kind of speed. The good stuff.
But of course that’s not what fartlek is about. You can’t jump on an Interstate in Sweden and drive a hundred thousand miles without seeing a traffic light. You can’t even get across the country, in fact. Come to think of it, there are no States in Sweden in the first place. Of course, there’s only one State in Hawaii, and they’ve got Interstates. But, anyway, when you live in a place where the sun sets in October and rises in April, where the national pastime involves putting wax on boards you then strap to your feet, and you convince yourself that you’re having a ball as your extremities slowly freeze and fall off into the snow, when you come from a place like that, then it does seem like fun to torture yourself. What you do in fartlek is run along at your usual pace for a while, then you run as fast as you can for a while, then you run slow for a while, then you run really fast again for a while, then you walk for a while, then you run your regular pace for a while, then you run really fast again for a while, then you collapse into a painful heap for rather a long while.
I’ve been doing this exercise for the last month, every Wednesday morning before work. Half an hour of this sort of Swedish fun and I’m alert and ready for the day. So long as, that is, the day involves not doing anything else. What happens is a conversation like this:
Me – Well, I think I’ll run to that next intersection there.
My Body – Okay, if you have to, but only this once.
Me – Well, I think I’ll trot for a while.
My Body – Good idea. That, or you could just drop dead and save trouble.
Me – Well (puff, pant), time to walk for a while.
My Body – Finally you smarten up.
Me – Well, looks like it’s time to sprint again.
My Body – No it isn’t. Not at all. Here, let me pull those feet in.
Me – Why is my face in the middle of the street?
Some fun, those Swedes. Or maybe they just expect to clean up on the massage to get rid of the painful aches you get doing fartlek. Well, everybody knows how shifty they are, right?
Labels: Marathon
Saturday, August 26, 2006
Marathon Man Part Trois
BICYCLE DAZE
By Steve Fey
So I may have mentioned that I bought some new shoes a while back. Not a long while back, mind you, but a while. Enough of a while that last Sunday, when I thought my problem was that I’d been digging ditches and stuff on Saturday and so I was tired, um, yes, that’s true in fact; anyway while I thought that, my problem really was that the padding in my left running show had been reduced by the overwhelming masculine power of my, um, stride, to have approximately the softness of Carl Rove’s heart at a Democratic caucus. It was only ten miles, and I finished it, only about six minutes overall off of my usual blistering pace as a snail catcher. Then my hip felt a little strange, so I drove home. Then I got out of the car. Then I said something like “Ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch!” Something like that, I really don’t remember. It was hard to walk. I felt strangely, well, sick, because I also noticed that my left knee was about twice as big as my right knee. I discovered something all endurance runners come to know after a while: no sane body will put up with that sort of treatment indefinitely.
Well, the upshot is that I’ve spent quite a few hours this week imitating a penguin. I mean I’ve been stuffing a cold pack down the back of my pants (the back, not that it should matter; and I’m ashamed of you for thinking what you were thinking) and sitting on it while doing whatever else I was doing. Sometimes this involved sitting on it while walking around. This is made possible by the simple fact that the cold pack, plus the normal girth of my hips, makes my pants almost too tight to fasten on. See how the exercise has helped? If I hadn’t lost weight lately, I’d have had to put the cold pack outside my pants. This, of course, is ineffective as everybody can see that you’re sitting on an ice cube and will, of course, think a whole lot less of you in consequence. Wouldn’t you? So that means that you can never put a cold pack in, for instance, your back pocket and sit on it. You have to put the cold pack inside your pants where nobody can see it. If anyone asks about the rectangular bulge on your hip, just explain that you’ve recently won the lottery and you don’t trust banks. While they’re thinking about that, get the heck out of there before they mug you for your cold pack.
The short story is that I feel more or less fine after a week of that sort of treatment. Tomorrow, at 05:30, I’ll try running another twelve miles. If it starts to bother me, I’ll walk back and imitate a penguin some more.
So, what’s this about bicycles? You know, you can’t train to run 40 kilometers (actually 42, 195 meters) and just take a week off. Since I really couldn’t run (your weight triples when you start to run, did you know that?) I had to find another way to get gasping for air. What I found was the local rec center, run by the city, where there are several reclining stationary bicycles to choose from. And, oh, but a stationary bike is fun. For one thing, they have televisions to watch while you’re cranking away. At five in the morning, that means the televisions are showing the weakest, and lowest rated, of the local news teams desperately trying to score points with viewers. So, as I’m trying to get my heart rate elevated a bit, which ain’t easy on a bike compared to on foot, I get to see somebody on location in front of the Boulder, Colorado jail house talking about how that joker who confessed to killing Jon Benet is inside. They can’t interview him, they can’t even interview the police chief because he’s still in bed (it’s six in the morning there, but you see what I mean.) Still they can get some reporter up from some “sister station” in Denver to motor all the way up to Boulder to stand in the middle of an empty street in front of a deserted-looking jail and babble inanities about some dude who may or may not have killed some poor little girl ten years ago. Besides making me glad that there are no serious news stories out there, you know, wars, natural disasters, economic glitches, international incidents or whatever, this whole thing is so pointlessly boring as to make me wish that one of the reporters had eaten some bad fish for breakfast, and they end up hurling right there on camera. At least that would be more fun than seeing Boulder, Colorado at six in the morning with nobody on the streets.
And aside from that, the bike just isn’t as good as making me breathe heavy. I’ve clocked a heart rate of 150 while running (right after I stopped to walk a while because it was killing me, but still it’s true) and 130 is easy to maintain for as long as I want. On the bike, which has these automatic heart rate monitors when you grip the handlebars, I can’t get above 118, and that only for a second. I dunno, but it seems like the old feet are better exercise. Of course, you don’t need shoes at all to use an exercise bike, certainly not cushy ones like you need to run in, but all in all, I’d rather hear my footfalls than the local traffic report (what do you suppose they say at 5:30 AM, hmmm?) So, the moral is, if you like to run, get new shoes more often than you think you need them, get plenty of rest, drink plenty of fluids, and be sure to purchase a top of the line cold-pack to stuff down your pants. There. How’s that for sage advice?
Labels: Marathon
Saturday, August 19, 2006
Marathon Man Part Deux
MARATHON MAN DEUX
By Steve Fey
Last weekend I was going to be out of town on Sunday morning so I did my twelve miles on Friday instead. The day started out well, because as it did so I was still asleep, which is always a comfortable way to start things out. But after a few hours, at four or so, I got up, ate a hearty breakfast of brown rice, pennicilium mold, and the juice of Luna moths, and set out for my long, long run.
I started out going uphill, knowing, as I of course do so well, that things would go downhill fast enough. As it happens the trek uphill, which went on for almost an hour, goes past an interesting assortment of shops. The place with the really good authentic New York pizza was okay because they don’t open until lunch. I guess the Lowes was okay too because even in Vegas they aren’t open at 4:30 in the morning. Of course there was the IHOP™, which is wide open at any hour several days a week, including Friday. Lucky for me I had a generous supply of Gatorade™ thirst quencher which, oh heck, no joke here, the stuff tastes a bit salty but it’s a miracle drug. If you want to exercise, especially in hot weather, get some. Sorry, folks, I just can’t mock such a life saving invention. Besides, I did have with me a generous supply of Gatorade™, so I’m not making that part up.
At any rate, in my case about thirteen minutes per mile, which is a whopping 4.6 (count ‘em) miles per hour (watch out Danika Patrick) I kept on going uphill until I ran out of hill up which to run. [That sentence is a prime example of correctly f***ed up English. That is, it is proper so far as your high-school English teacher is concerned, but it’s truly a lousy way to speak English. What it means is that I kept running until I got to the top of the hill. See how much better that sounds?] From the top of that hill I could see for, well, sheer meters in any direction. Triple-digit meters, even, maybe a few rods down one way. It was breathtaking, or I guess it was because by that time I couldn’t catch my breath. Too bad I’d only gone about four point six miles, huh? But, as I said, it was all downhill from there, so down I went.
You learn things about your neighborhood when you go out early in the morning and run around. For example, if you go on a public path, there will have been a lot of dogs there before you. Sometimes I even meet a dog who’s also out for some exercise, but that’s okay. It’s the former dogs, or rather their presents to future pedestrians, that really add some interest to the morning’s activities. Do you know that it’s possible to sidestep six ways in six steps without breaking stride? Well, it isn’t, but you can try if you really want to. Still, and all, I missed. Or the dog dooty missed, depending on how you look at it. Or maybe I mean smell it.
This week it’s back to Sunday, but my next installment is going to be about a bit of fun invented in Sweden. Unfortunately, it doesn’t involve Swedish girls, although it could if they wanted to. But, that’s for next time. Until then, keep your blisters dry . . .
By Steve Fey
Last weekend I was going to be out of town on Sunday morning so I did my twelve miles on Friday instead. The day started out well, because as it did so I was still asleep, which is always a comfortable way to start things out. But after a few hours, at four or so, I got up, ate a hearty breakfast of brown rice, pennicilium mold, and the juice of Luna moths, and set out for my long, long run.
I started out going uphill, knowing, as I of course do so well, that things would go downhill fast enough. As it happens the trek uphill, which went on for almost an hour, goes past an interesting assortment of shops. The place with the really good authentic New York pizza was okay because they don’t open until lunch. I guess the Lowes was okay too because even in Vegas they aren’t open at 4:30 in the morning. Of course there was the IHOP™, which is wide open at any hour several days a week, including Friday. Lucky for me I had a generous supply of Gatorade™ thirst quencher which, oh heck, no joke here, the stuff tastes a bit salty but it’s a miracle drug. If you want to exercise, especially in hot weather, get some. Sorry, folks, I just can’t mock such a life saving invention. Besides, I did have with me a generous supply of Gatorade™, so I’m not making that part up.
At any rate, in my case about thirteen minutes per mile, which is a whopping 4.6 (count ‘em) miles per hour (watch out Danika Patrick) I kept on going uphill until I ran out of hill up which to run. [That sentence is a prime example of correctly f***ed up English. That is, it is proper so far as your high-school English teacher is concerned, but it’s truly a lousy way to speak English. What it means is that I kept running until I got to the top of the hill. See how much better that sounds?] From the top of that hill I could see for, well, sheer meters in any direction. Triple-digit meters, even, maybe a few rods down one way. It was breathtaking, or I guess it was because by that time I couldn’t catch my breath. Too bad I’d only gone about four point six miles, huh? But, as I said, it was all downhill from there, so down I went.
You learn things about your neighborhood when you go out early in the morning and run around. For example, if you go on a public path, there will have been a lot of dogs there before you. Sometimes I even meet a dog who’s also out for some exercise, but that’s okay. It’s the former dogs, or rather their presents to future pedestrians, that really add some interest to the morning’s activities. Do you know that it’s possible to sidestep six ways in six steps without breaking stride? Well, it isn’t, but you can try if you really want to. Still, and all, I missed. Or the dog dooty missed, depending on how you look at it. Or maybe I mean smell it.
This week it’s back to Sunday, but my next installment is going to be about a bit of fun invented in Sweden. Unfortunately, it doesn’t involve Swedish girls, although it could if they wanted to. But, that’s for next time. Until then, keep your blisters dry . . .
Labels: Marathon
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Marathon Man One
MARATHON MAN: THE SERIES
By Steve Fey
Introduction
Back in the day, say twenty years ago, I used to run middle distance races. 10k mostly, which is 10,000 metres for my Canadian audience, or a bit over six miles for my American friends. But, one thing and another interfered and about sixteen years ago I ran my last. Until, that is, the past June 4th, which is the day on which I started running with the Las Vegas Roadrunners club, which is an annually blossoming organization dedicated to training for the Las Vegas Marathon, which this year will be held on the blessedly cold day of December 10th, 2006. Besides the weekly Sunday runs with the club, there is a training schedule to adhere to, involving several hours of various sorts of running during the week. In my case, since I start work at 7AM, I’m usually out on the street plodding around by 05:00 or so. Why not after work? Because after work, in July in the Mojave desert, you couldn’t run a block without having a Gatorade IV, so early in the morning, before the sun can get too high in the sky (meaning, basically, visible above the horizon) is when people who like to run are out and about, huffing and puffing away.
Just today, which for the record was the first Sunday run where I didn’t have some sort of agonizing trouble crop up, it occurred to me that there were some comedic possibilities to this entire adventure. If you think about it, why would anyone get up early to run eleven miles, and nobody is even chasing him? Really, why? So, and sorry for this sober prose, it was as I was running along today that I decided to create a series of, well, blog pieces really, though I’ll publish them both spots, giving a running account of the fun I’m having getting my almost 57-year old butt to move along mile after mile at anything resembling a running pace. (A bit under 13 minutes per mile at the moment, a bit off my former 7:20, but at least it’s a pace.) The first real article begins
RIGHT HERE
So the first day started out innocently enough. It was dawn, but not too crazy hot yet. In order to lure new recruits into a false sense of comfort the club provides all the Gatorade, Goo and Bananas you want. Goo? Don’t ask. I can’t bring myself to eat the stuff. It has a flavor akin to that of an orange peel left in the bottom of a dumpster by an untidy litterbug, but some people swear by the stuff. It comes in three flavors, which are: bad, worse, and awful. Nice to say that for once, there’s a real choice here. The first morning, looking at all that stuff, mostly good to eat or drink, naturally you think “hey, this is gonna be a snap!” This feeling of confidence lasts roughly until about the tenth or eleventh step you take after the signal to start is given, right on the dot at six am. At first, since I had a pace in a former life, I started out running like I meant it, passing a whole bunch of slowpokes and moving off briskly down the road. The run went a total of 45 minutes, which in the old days was less than I needed to finish a 10k, but this time the bearers only had to tote the basket with me in it back for a mile or so, as the entire experience only covered maybe a mile and a half. Embarrassed? Nah, other people had to be carried out and back. I made it half way, right? Worried? Nah, I read Mad. Or I used to, anyway.
The next week was about the same, but after the run the second week I stepped out of the car and discovered that some itsy bitsy thing seemed to be wrong with my right leg. I couldn’t be sure, but it felt like maybe my knee was just the teeniest bit upset, so I limped around instead of running for the next week, including a day in San Francisco, where I probably walked more miles on a bad knee than a Mormon kid recreating that famous trek, I realized that, thanks to my keen insight, perseverance, and dedication, I could hardly walk. You know that stuff Barry Bonds shot into his friends’ butts? I took it in pill form for a week, then lots of Aleve™ for another week, and this time I was all okay again. I ran fifty whole minutes one Friday morning, straight through. Then that Sunday I got a blister, so I just knew that Nike, the Greek God of Running Like an Idiot, was unhappy with me. So, for the next couple of weeks I used the “walk-run” technique wherein you run a few steps, then reason that your knee hurts so you should walk awhile, so you do that for twenty minutes or so, then repeat. But finally I felt healthy again, and I was back to running, and running like I meant it, only slowly.
The thing about running is that you sweat a lot. That means that you need to drink a lot of water, and it explains why products like Gatorade™ are so popular. That’s why, each Sunday morning I drink until I’m sloshing before I set out, water, Gatorade™, or both together. Except that one Sunday. I’d already put myself on a diet, because frankly it’s just too hard to run when you’re hauling around two of yourself, but I forgot, this one week, to drink a lot of fluids. The result of which is that, when I hobbled in at the end of the day, there was a three-year-old girl, a desert tortoise, three scorpions, and a one-legged man with a bad ankle cheering me on. They were all done with their bananas already. Note to self: don’t do that again.
That was last week. Today I actually ran further than I’d run in sixteen years. At the blistering pace of 13 minutes per mile, which, to give you some perspective, is a bit slower than the average big wheel piloted by a three-year-old girl. But I’m getting faster, and my knee doesn’t hurt (the new shoes help a lot.) Next week I’ll pick on a topic of particular interest to those crazy enough to run with nobody chasing them on a hot Mojave morning. That includes a lot of people who have no idea where the Mojave even is, I know, so the audience should grow nicely.
Until then, drink a lot of water, stick to your schedule, don’t hurt yourself, and above all watch out for that tortoise. I think he cheats.
By Steve Fey
Introduction
Back in the day, say twenty years ago, I used to run middle distance races. 10k mostly, which is 10,000 metres for my Canadian audience, or a bit over six miles for my American friends. But, one thing and another interfered and about sixteen years ago I ran my last. Until, that is, the past June 4th, which is the day on which I started running with the Las Vegas Roadrunners club, which is an annually blossoming organization dedicated to training for the Las Vegas Marathon, which this year will be held on the blessedly cold day of December 10th, 2006. Besides the weekly Sunday runs with the club, there is a training schedule to adhere to, involving several hours of various sorts of running during the week. In my case, since I start work at 7AM, I’m usually out on the street plodding around by 05:00 or so. Why not after work? Because after work, in July in the Mojave desert, you couldn’t run a block without having a Gatorade IV, so early in the morning, before the sun can get too high in the sky (meaning, basically, visible above the horizon) is when people who like to run are out and about, huffing and puffing away.
Just today, which for the record was the first Sunday run where I didn’t have some sort of agonizing trouble crop up, it occurred to me that there were some comedic possibilities to this entire adventure. If you think about it, why would anyone get up early to run eleven miles, and nobody is even chasing him? Really, why? So, and sorry for this sober prose, it was as I was running along today that I decided to create a series of, well, blog pieces really, though I’ll publish them both spots, giving a running account of the fun I’m having getting my almost 57-year old butt to move along mile after mile at anything resembling a running pace. (A bit under 13 minutes per mile at the moment, a bit off my former 7:20, but at least it’s a pace.) The first real article begins
RIGHT HERE
So the first day started out innocently enough. It was dawn, but not too crazy hot yet. In order to lure new recruits into a false sense of comfort the club provides all the Gatorade, Goo and Bananas you want. Goo? Don’t ask. I can’t bring myself to eat the stuff. It has a flavor akin to that of an orange peel left in the bottom of a dumpster by an untidy litterbug, but some people swear by the stuff. It comes in three flavors, which are: bad, worse, and awful. Nice to say that for once, there’s a real choice here. The first morning, looking at all that stuff, mostly good to eat or drink, naturally you think “hey, this is gonna be a snap!” This feeling of confidence lasts roughly until about the tenth or eleventh step you take after the signal to start is given, right on the dot at six am. At first, since I had a pace in a former life, I started out running like I meant it, passing a whole bunch of slowpokes and moving off briskly down the road. The run went a total of 45 minutes, which in the old days was less than I needed to finish a 10k, but this time the bearers only had to tote the basket with me in it back for a mile or so, as the entire experience only covered maybe a mile and a half. Embarrassed? Nah, other people had to be carried out and back. I made it half way, right? Worried? Nah, I read Mad. Or I used to, anyway.
The next week was about the same, but after the run the second week I stepped out of the car and discovered that some itsy bitsy thing seemed to be wrong with my right leg. I couldn’t be sure, but it felt like maybe my knee was just the teeniest bit upset, so I limped around instead of running for the next week, including a day in San Francisco, where I probably walked more miles on a bad knee than a Mormon kid recreating that famous trek, I realized that, thanks to my keen insight, perseverance, and dedication, I could hardly walk. You know that stuff Barry Bonds shot into his friends’ butts? I took it in pill form for a week, then lots of Aleve™ for another week, and this time I was all okay again. I ran fifty whole minutes one Friday morning, straight through. Then that Sunday I got a blister, so I just knew that Nike, the Greek God of Running Like an Idiot, was unhappy with me. So, for the next couple of weeks I used the “walk-run” technique wherein you run a few steps, then reason that your knee hurts so you should walk awhile, so you do that for twenty minutes or so, then repeat. But finally I felt healthy again, and I was back to running, and running like I meant it, only slowly.
The thing about running is that you sweat a lot. That means that you need to drink a lot of water, and it explains why products like Gatorade™ are so popular. That’s why, each Sunday morning I drink until I’m sloshing before I set out, water, Gatorade™, or both together. Except that one Sunday. I’d already put myself on a diet, because frankly it’s just too hard to run when you’re hauling around two of yourself, but I forgot, this one week, to drink a lot of fluids. The result of which is that, when I hobbled in at the end of the day, there was a three-year-old girl, a desert tortoise, three scorpions, and a one-legged man with a bad ankle cheering me on. They were all done with their bananas already. Note to self: don’t do that again.
That was last week. Today I actually ran further than I’d run in sixteen years. At the blistering pace of 13 minutes per mile, which, to give you some perspective, is a bit slower than the average big wheel piloted by a three-year-old girl. But I’m getting faster, and my knee doesn’t hurt (the new shoes help a lot.) Next week I’ll pick on a topic of particular interest to those crazy enough to run with nobody chasing them on a hot Mojave morning. That includes a lot of people who have no idea where the Mojave even is, I know, so the audience should grow nicely.
Until then, drink a lot of water, stick to your schedule, don’t hurt yourself, and above all watch out for that tortoise. I think he cheats.
Labels: Marathon
Sunday, August 06, 2006
Marathon Man: The Series
Introduction
Back in the day, say twenty years ago, I used to run middle distance races. 10k mostly, which is 10,000 metres for my Canadian audience, or a bit over six miles for my American friends. But, one thing and another interfered and about sixteen years ago I ran my last. Until, that is, the past June 4th, which is the day on which I started running with the Las Vegas Roadrunners club, which is an annually blossoming organization dedicated to training for the Las Vegas Marathon, which this year will be held on the blessedly cold day of December 10th, 2006. Besides the weekly Sunday runs with the club, there is a training schedule to adhere to, involving several hours of various sorts of running during the week. In my case, since I start work at 7AM, I’m usually out on the street plodding around by 05:00 or so. Why not after work? Because after work, in July in the Mojave desert, you couldn’t run a block without having a Gatorade™ IV, so early in the morning, before the sun can get too high in the sky (meaning, basically, visible above the horizon) is when people who like to run are out and about, huffing and puffing away.
Just today, which for the record was the first Sunday run where I didn’t have some sort of agonizing trouble crop up, it occurred to me that there were some comedic possibilities to this entire adventure. If you think about it, why would anyone get up early to run eleven miles, and nobody is even chasing him? Really, why? So, and sorry for this sober prose, it was as I was running along today that I decided to create a series of, well, blog pieces really, though I’ll publish them both spots, giving a running account of the fun I’m having getting my almost 57-year old butt to move along mile after mile at anything resembling a running pace. (A bit under 13 minutes per mile at the moment, a bit off my former 7:20, but at least it’s a pace.) The first real article begins this Friday, so I can keep them coordinated.
I plan to keep on posting my usual rants as well. They do serve a purpose, and it’s not just to amuse those who tick me off. But, on Fridays, you can look for this continuing series of adventures, culminating in December. Ooooo, aren’t you excited?
Back in the day, say twenty years ago, I used to run middle distance races. 10k mostly, which is 10,000 metres for my Canadian audience, or a bit over six miles for my American friends. But, one thing and another interfered and about sixteen years ago I ran my last. Until, that is, the past June 4th, which is the day on which I started running with the Las Vegas Roadrunners club, which is an annually blossoming organization dedicated to training for the Las Vegas Marathon, which this year will be held on the blessedly cold day of December 10th, 2006. Besides the weekly Sunday runs with the club, there is a training schedule to adhere to, involving several hours of various sorts of running during the week. In my case, since I start work at 7AM, I’m usually out on the street plodding around by 05:00 or so. Why not after work? Because after work, in July in the Mojave desert, you couldn’t run a block without having a Gatorade™ IV, so early in the morning, before the sun can get too high in the sky (meaning, basically, visible above the horizon) is when people who like to run are out and about, huffing and puffing away.
Just today, which for the record was the first Sunday run where I didn’t have some sort of agonizing trouble crop up, it occurred to me that there were some comedic possibilities to this entire adventure. If you think about it, why would anyone get up early to run eleven miles, and nobody is even chasing him? Really, why? So, and sorry for this sober prose, it was as I was running along today that I decided to create a series of, well, blog pieces really, though I’ll publish them both spots, giving a running account of the fun I’m having getting my almost 57-year old butt to move along mile after mile at anything resembling a running pace. (A bit under 13 minutes per mile at the moment, a bit off my former 7:20, but at least it’s a pace.) The first real article begins this Friday, so I can keep them coordinated.
I plan to keep on posting my usual rants as well. They do serve a purpose, and it’s not just to amuse those who tick me off. But, on Fridays, you can look for this continuing series of adventures, culminating in December. Ooooo, aren’t you excited?
Labels: Marathon
