Sunday, December 25, 2005

Anticipation

After two days of cross-training, I felt great for the first nine miles of my long run Thursday. The course was relatively flat and very beautiful (can't beat those Pacific Ocean views), it was overcast with just occassional spits of refreshing rain. It was so nice, that I decided I could make this 12-miler a 15-miler.

Then I made the turn for home on this out-and-back course and noticed the dark mist coming from the clouds just offshore. This wasn't a spit of rain coming in, this was a soaker and I had no chance of making it home before it hit.

I think my worst moments in life are those spent in anticipation of the worst moments in life to occur. ... It's knowing I've just done something really stupid and/or thoughtless and how it's going to hurt my wife. It's knowing I've got to face my boss after doing something she specifically told me not to do. It's being at the bottom of Hurricane Point, looking up at that climb. It's getting into the final stretch of the Big Sur Marathon and hitting the first of the rolling hills of Carmel Highlands, the hills that signify the end of the race, and hopefully not the end of me.

And this was one of those moments. I didn't look forward to being wet and cold or having rain whipped in my face. At the same time, it was now out of my control. I could either run the remaining distance home or walk it. Either way I was going to catch the brunt of the weather. I resolved to be cheerful about it, and as it began poring and the wind kicked up in my face, I laughed (not the "this is the best you got?!" kind of laugh, but the "I'm a bloody idiot" type laugh). That lasted about a mile, unfortunately, I still had four to go. For three of those miles, I ran head down, shoulder into the pelting rain, like Shaun Alexander pounding into the line of scrimmage in a short-yardage situation. Did I tell you this run finishes off with a tough climb? I didn't anticipate it being a problem, because the stretch before it was flat and I could conserve energy for it. But after being pounded by the rain my energy was, well, all washed away. The climb was a slow, miserable ordeal. But I made it. I was wiped out the rest of the day, and felt lousy the next (very grumpy, just ask the kids).

This is one of the hard parts of getting out the door, anticipating the pain, dreading some particular stretch. All those negative images come flooding in when I'm lacing up the shoes each day.

Instead I try to think of those times running through the forest, when all I can hear is the crunching of the pine needles beneath my feet and the steady rhythm of my breathing. It's those times that all things seem possible (including finishing the Big Sur Marathon and not having it finish me), when the anticipation is uplifting.

Wednesday, December 21, 2005

Gotta love gadgets

I remember several years ago walking into the makeshift study we had set up in the garage at home and taking a look at that brand new home computer - its sharp corners muted by it soft creme color, the tentacle of wires hooking up to the wall and the phone. This set up, bought at a not insignificant price, would allow me to tap into the enormous database at the newspaper I was working at, thus allowing me to read the wire services from home (this was just before the internet was born). I remember thinking that with this I could rule the world.

Home computers have long since lost their glamour.

Yet, that feeling of power and awe swept over me again last night. Only this time I was standing in the middle of a discount department store. The object of my desire? A global positioning system small enough to fit on your wrist. If you're a runner you've no doubt seen them or heard about them - a computer for your wrist that takes the guess work out of figuring out how long you just ran, and (for a few more bucks) keeps track of your heart rate and feeds the info to your home computer. And here it was, available for the common man (no speciality store required).

With my purchase (x-mas present from mom, I'll tell her tommorrow), I have become the complete runner. I have the speciality shoes (bought online, I'm waiting for delivery), the tech shirts (last Christmas), the spandex underwear (I like that feeling of being embraced by my exercise clothes), moisture wicking socks (love those dry toes), the belt that holds six little bottles of the high-tech, amino acid drinks (USTAF approved), the arm band to hold the I-pod (thank you for making my life complete Mr. Jobs), the pouch to hold the energy gel, and my cap made of breathable material.

My training problems are over. I feel like an East German from the good ol' days, programmed for success. No longer will I need to guess my mileage, no longer will I need to figure out my pace, no longer will I need to juggle my schedule to find time to run, no longer will I need to find motivation to get out there on cold and rainy days, no longer will I battle nagging pains, no longer will I ...

Well, you get the point.

** Two days of cross-training, using some of the best gadgets the area has to offer, from eliptical trainers, to stair masters, to treadmills, to ab crunchers. Still, a voice in my head keeps echoing, "To be a runner, you have to run (not just cross-train)."

Monday, December 19, 2005

Weighing in

I've been staying away from the scale, that nagging voice of discouragement and cruelity. I'm coming off a big eating (and no running)weekend. That happens this time of year, Christmas parties, the boy home from college and our wedding anniversary. So much rich food, so much to celebrate. But today I was back on the streets, pounding out six miles. And yes, I felt like the Michelin man wadling down the road, unable to get out of the way of my own rolls of fat (yuk). I followed that with some time in the gym lifting heavy weights (made me feel manly). Tommorrow back again. It helps that my kids want to go to the gym as well, although we have different goals - my son, college football player, wants to get bigger and stronger; my daughter, cross-country runner and lacrosse player wants to get faster and stronger; I just want to conquer Hurricane Point and those darn pesky hills through the Carmel Highlands. No doubt we'll have a big lunch after our workout. I'll worry about the scale next year.

Saturday, December 17, 2005

Learning to deal

As I stumbled to the end of mile 15 of my training run yesterday, I began having flashbacks. It's been eight months since I finished the Big Sur Marathon (or, since it nearly finished me). And it's been eight months since I had experienced a lot of the feelings I was having yesterday - a general aching, the feeling of calluses cutting into my feet (is that possible?), cramping in the muscles along my neck and shoulder blades, and a not so rosy outlook (how the hell am I going to finish this thing?). The one thing that kept me going was I really had no choice. 5-miles from home, it was a choice of walking it or keep on running. Walking meant twice the time spent in the "pain-zone." I knew that from the marathon. A walk break always seems to spiral into complete defeat. As I staggered to my driveway, I all to vividly remembered feeling this way at the marathon, but then looking at the mileage sign and seeing I had 11 more miles to go. It's a crushing realization, but one I've got to learn to deal with ... in running as well as life.

Thursday, December 15, 2005

Cookies: Love 'em, can't leave 'em

As I train for the Big Sur Marathon, I ponder those great questions of life, such as: Chocolate Chip cookies, mana from heaven or just dead weight from that other place?

I long for those days of blissful ignorance, when I believed that as long as I exercised I could eat anything I wanted, whenever I wanted. It was a time when I could have a double bacon cheese burger at 2 a.m. and not worry how I would feel the next day during a run. A time when the breakfast of champions was a chocolate chip cookie or two or three and I would think the reason I was feeling so sleepy a half hour or so later was because I didn't get to bed early enough (who knew, or cared, about blood sugar crashes).

Alas, now I know that to lose weight I need to do more than exercise. And what I eat often has a major effect on the quality (and enjoyment) of my workouts.

That's something my teen-age daughter has learned as well. So it is through sympathetic ears that I hear her complain that we have too many goodies in the house. In fact, she complained the other day that having ice cream in the freezer was just too tempting, so in a moment of self-sacrifice, I finised it off to remove the temptation. She seemed grateful, but the next day she found a candy bar wrapper in my car. The conversation went something like this:

"So, I suppose you bought and ate the candy bar because you didn't want me to be tempted by it?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"And you'll be buying and eating every candy bar in every store, just to keep me from being tempted?"

"Well, I hadn't quite completely thought out my plan yet."

"Ah, I see."

She's an honor student.

Anyway, our son comes home from college tommorrow, which means my wife has become a baking fool. We have something like 13 dozen of her delicious homemade chocolate chip cookies now cooling on the kitchen counter. I'm not sure how my daughter and I are going to handle this heaping mound of temptation (it doesn't seem to bother my son, the 265-pound, 6-foot-5 college football player). ...

**A day of cross-training at the gym today, weight lifting, elipitical and treadmill. My legs feel good, of course, that could be because I just ate three cookies as I pounded away at my blog.

Wednesday, December 14, 2005

Hate that guy

Gotta say I'm getting kinda of irritated with that guy in red with the horns, pointed tail and pitch fork. He's been working me pretty hard. The alarm goes off in the morning and he's there, "Go back to sleep dave," he whispers, "there will be plenty of time to run. You deserve your rest." Of course, he's the same guy who told me the night before, "You don't need that much sleep, besides, you're resting here in front of the tv. Go ahead, channel surf for a few hours, no telling what you might find on the cable stations at the end of the dial."

He's the guy who told me this morning, "have that double latte, you need the energy, it will help you with your running." And then a little later, "Oh skip your run, that latte is burning your stomach, it will just make you more miserable."

And as I forced my way out the door for a run, he called to me, "You know it's a drudge, don't leave, it's a waste of time. A nap, a nap would be so much better." And as I tripped over a tree root and tumbled to the ground I could hear him say, "You see, it just wasn't meant to be. Come home, you'll get over it."

Thank you God, for the nice soft place to land. And for helping me get up and start running again. I know I feel better when I turn off the tv and go to bed, then get up and go for a run. Thanks for helping me remember that.

7 miles on wounded knee trail Tuesday, slow, but I got it done. enjoyed some of it. Coming off two days off. Friday I had a "comfort" 7 mile run along the coast, Saturday morning I spent two hours at the gym, lifting and doing some speed stuff on treadmill. I was sore, but felt great (oxymoron?).

In a few days, my son comes home from college for winter break. I'm really looking forward to it, I haven't seen him in about five months. I promise not to bore him with running stories (When he was home this summer, I drove him along the route of the Big Sur Marathon, giving him a mile-by-mile narration of my experience. His snoring may have drown out some of the best parts).

Thursday, December 08, 2005

Do dogs blog?

I swear this one was going to be on the triumph of today's 13-mile run. Of the more than 5 miles of climbing. Of pushing the pace through the woods, outracing the rain drops. But then about half-a-mile from home I turned the corner and there was Fido in the middle of the street. Fido's the doberman I wrote about Monday. There's always been a fence between Fido and I, and that has made me feel better because he looks at me like I'm a roast fresh out of the oven. This time there was no fence, just a flimsy looking leash, carried by a woman too pettit to keep Fido from doing anything he really wanted.

Now, it wasn't like I came face-to-face with a snarling monster. There was about 200 yards between us when we spotted each other. But I figure it would have taken him about 10 seconds to bring me down. In moments like that, you should reflect on your life and make peace with your maker. All I could think of was, do I try to punch Fido or just lay down and hope he takes pity on me. Luckily, I had to do neither. His master had him sit and then placed her hand on his head as I passed (giving them a wide berth). I didn't say anything to either one, didn't make eye contact, and sure as heck didn't smile (baring my teeth). And I picked up the pace as soon as I got by.

Fido, it you're reading this, I didn't mean anything personal. Heck, I admire you as an athlete, you're a beautiful specimen of doghood. And if you ever get a break in your busy schedule, I'd love to buy you a pork chop or two or three. I'll have my people contact your people. Really. Love you babe ......

Wednesday, December 07, 2005

Dogging my Dawg

Our dog is very good to us. He makes sure to wake us every morning and walks us twice a day. And if we forget our scheduled walk, he makes like a personal trainer and darn sure reminds us.

I just want to go on record that I did try to make our dog a runner. When he was a pup I took him to the local high school track. For about a half a lap he thought this running thing was great fun. Teathered on a long leash, he stared up at me with those loving big brown eyes and broke into a smile (or was it a pant?). Alas, it didn't take long for him to change his mood. He slowed and then stopped. He'd start again with a little encouragement, but soon stopped for good (picking a shady spot). And he gave me that look, the one that said, "Dad, running in circles, this is just .... stupid." Sound familiar? Now this is coming from a dog who goes wild at the sight of contrails (those vapor trails from high flying jets). He runs in circles and barks incessentatly when he spots one, although I have to admit, since we got the dog a jet has never flown into our yard.

Nowadays our dog doesn't respect the fact I get my exercise from running and going to the gym. He still insists on taking me for a walk around the neighborhood, no matter if I've run three miles or 26.2.

3.5 mechanical miles today, a little weight lifting, and boy, I'm getting sore already. Tommorrow might be a nice flat run by the beach (it's nice to live in California, dogs and all).

Who let the dogs out?

As I near the top of the first hill on one of my favoriite runs, I can often see Fido sitting on his porch watching me. Fido is a rather larger doberman. I don't want to use his real name for fear of reprisel, you see, he eyes me much as I do a pork chop coming off the grill. Still, he is a lovely sight, bounding off his porch, down into his large yard. I often find myself admiring his long, easy stride as he runs toward me, only to come to an abrupt halt at the deer fence (you can see through it, but you can't run through it, I hope). He then turns and runs alongside me for the remaining 100 yards or so of the yard. I try to visualize myself having that same graceful, powerful stride. I try not to think of him using that smooth gait to chase me down.

I really haven't had any problems with dogs since I was about 12, when one chased me as I was riding by on my bike. It nipped me in the heel as I remember it. Drew blood. There was an uncomfortable trip with my dad to the home of that dog, but thankfully, no rabies shots for me.

Since then, I've seen all sizes and shape dogs on my runs, from the little Scotties that greet me with chirpy barks, wagging tails and licks on the hand, to full-size poodles who've bounded up ready to play, only to bolt when they realize they don't recognize me (for several years I had that same effect on single women).

Today I passed a woman runner who was trailed by her dog. The dog had ducked into the woods before he saw me, and then came bounding out when I passed. As I always do, I called a greeting, "Hello there pal!" But didn't make eye contact or smile. And as often occurs I got a little shot of adrenalyn (the fear-induced kind) when he went flying past.

Heck, I love dogs, but I'm always a littlle cautious around them too. Out on the trails, I don't have a whole of protection (I'm certainly not going to out run any wild pack of animals). So for now, I put my trust in deer fences and dog owners.

7 miles on wounded knee trail (I tried visualizing Reggie Bush hurdling UCLA defenders as I high stepped over and around tree roots. I'm ready to accept my Heisman if you please).

Sunday, December 04, 2005

A running sickness?

You know, I woke up this morning, the knees felt a little stiff, the calves a little sore, and I was cursing myself for thinking I was Steve Prefontaine the other day on the tread mill. I wanted to feel fresh for a nice long run today. Well, I didn't feel particulary fresh, but I hit the trails anyway and was pleasantly surprised. I do what I often do when I lack energy or motivation on a run, I plugged in the walkman (and, yeah, I had a cup of coffee). I actually felt good climbing hills, navigating tree roots. I spent the first six miles sorting through thoughts about life and death, my sister, God and faith.Pretty heavy stuff to write about later. Feeling pretty good after six, I became a little adventerous, trying some new trails. I only got lost once and ran into one dead end. I inadvertantly snuck up on a deer and gave us both a fright (deer often look like mountain lions). I accidentally ran through someone's backyard, I think. I kept waiting for the screams of "trepasser!" and the blast of a shotgun. I even got home in time to see some of REggie Bush's best runs against UCLA (hmmm, maybe I'll imagine I'm him as I hurdle fallen trees and dodge pine cones). The sun was shinning yet it was nice and cool, couldn't have asked for anything better.

Now comes the tough part. My wife has a sinus infection that started with some sniffles and a sore throat earlier in the week. I've been bombarding my system with vitamin C, encaneca, Airborne all in hopes of holding it off. But I got to tell ya, I was blowin a lot of snot today as I was running. And my throat has been a little rough in the mornings. And with the funeral, sleep has been in short supply. So I felt great running today, but then I remembered that when I was competing regularly in sports, many of my best performances were just as I was getting sick. Is this just a conspiracy theory typical of us Oliver Stone types? Oh, how I hope so.

Friday, December 02, 2005

Just say no .... to caffeine?

After having to give a short shrift to sleep Thursday night and with an agenda full of things I needed to do, I hit the neighboorhood Starbucks first thing this morning for a little liquid love. I gave up caffeine last year about this time and actually made it to the summer before the dark brown liquid got its claws back into me. I try to limit it to two cups a day or so (compared with the five or six I was regularly consuming before), but there are days when I just need more (boy, sounds like something out of "Go Ask Alice"). Today was one of them. Faced with a pile of paperwork and dirty dishes to get through at home, I downed a grande drip and then cracked open a double espresso shot and quickly knocked it back. I got to say, it helped me get those dirty dishes done, but when it came to the paper work, well, a nap was looking awfully appealing. I staggered through the paper work, not accomplishing nearly as much as I hoped and before I knew it I realized I was running out of time to hit the gym. I threw my stuff together and ran out the door ... and then ran back in because I forgot my wallet ... than ran out to the car ... then ran back in because I forgot my keyes ... and then ran back to the car .... then ran back in because, well, you get the idea.

When I got to the gym I hit the elipitical trainer, looking to break a sweat, while giving my legs a bit of a break. Then something happened, it was like all the caffeine hit my bloodstream all at once. I found myself going faster and faster. 20 minutes into my run/ride a young woman got on the eliptical next me. I don't know if her competitive juices were flowing, but I quickly noted she was hitting it at a slightly faster pace than me. That just wouldn't do. To me, it was the 1972 Olympic finals all over again, only I was Prefontaine running down Lasse Viren on the home stretch and this time I was not going to be shutout, winning gold. After I pounded my competition into the dirt, I hit the treadmill. Two high speed miles (for me at least) and I wondered when it was the spirit of Pre had taken over. Then I remembered. If there was going to be a urine test after this Olympics I was going to fail the caffeine portion.

I was late for work tonight and still sweating, the cost of championship training that ran into overtime. But I have to say I feel like crap right now. That caffeine feels like it burned a hole in my stomach and a nap, once again, seems awfully appealing. It's a caffeine hangover. Now, I'm not saying I'm giving up the java habit, but I'm definitely staying away from those espresso shooters for awhile. I'm not going to be caffeinating then running anytime soon.

5 mechanical miles, I plan to return to the streets Saturday.

Running in the rain

As I came down the hill and turned the corner, the Pacific Ocean came into view. It was a beautiful sight, surf angerily churning billows of white foam from dark green. It would have been even more beautiful if I didn't have to bow my head, for I was being pelted by wind driven raindrops that felt like shards of glass exploding against my cheeks. It was then I remembered one of my favorite stories.

It must have been about six years and a different lifetime ago that I proudly announced to my family I had signed up to do a 6K run. My son, who was a young teenager at the time exclaimed for a ll the restaurant to hear: "Are you drunk?" My wife, laughed and asked, "Is your life insurance premium all paid up?" But my daughter, who was probably about 9 or 10, took my arm and squeezed. "Don't listen to them Daddy, I'm really proud of you. . . . How much will you get paid if you win?" It was my turn to chuckle then. "Oh, I won't win. But because my company sponsors the race I'll get a discount to enter." It was the first time my daughter gave me the incredulous look which I have become more accustomed to as she moves through her teenage years. "You're paying to run!?!" she cried. "Daddy, that's just ..... stupid."

Now, I did feel a little silly, looking like a drowned rat plodding down the road today in the rain. And I was questioning whether a trip to the gym might have been a better choice on this day. But feeling stupid? Not really. A little rain never hurt anybody and I did enjoy it for awhile (although mile 7-9 of this 9-miler were pretty miserable).

For the record, my wife has been very understanding and supportive of my training and this marathon thing. My son has also been encouraging and seems somewhat interested (he's a college student, he's got a heck of a lot more on his mind than his dad running in the rain). And my daughter, well, as you may have read here before she's now on her high school's cross country team and seems to enjoy running with me when she can. I'm hoping that running becomes a lifelong sport for her. Of course, she has yet to pay to run. That would be just .... well, you know.

Thursday, December 01, 2005

My hometown

I went back to my hometown earlier this week for my friend's funeral. And yes, I packed my running shoes. The morning of the funeral I pulled myself up early out of the bedroom in my mother's house that used to be mine. I hit the streets. That first mile was anything but pleasurable considering I had spent the better part of the previous evening with another old friend, drinking beer and eating peanuts, talking about life and our departed friend. As a result I chose a flat route in which the first mile or so had a slight down hill grade.
As I ran, I saw kids walking to the high school where my eyes had been opened to so many possibilities. I ran past the elementary school I once attended. I came to the corner where as a sixth grader I was the spiffiest crossing guard you'd ever want to see. I realized the tree I had spent so much time leaning up against was now gone. I saw young mothers pushing their children in three-wheel jogging carriages and remembered carrying my own kids until they could walk, and then run, and then outrun me.
And, of course, I thought of my friend who is now gone. I wish I could say I had a startling ephiany (heck, I can't even spell it)or that the clouds opened up and God spoke to me of what my life will be. But those things didn't happen.
At the funeral later, I did have a strange feeling of peace and actually joy in seeing some old friends I hadn't kept contact with. How weird, they must have thought, that this pallbearer just flashed an ear-to-ear grin.
And when I put the flower and my white gloves on my friend's coffin and said my final goodbye, I felt strong enough to hold up the crushing weight of sorrow.
Is this about running? Heck no. I guess it's about living, about putting your shoes on and starting down the driveway, even when it's rainy, even when you feel a little sad . . .

5 miles through the suburban streets of my youth. A promise to stop dwelling on the loss of my friend, he would want me to be focused on training to conquer Hurricane Point (and, yes, I'm speaking metaphorically as well).