Can't we all just get along?

Around mile six today, as I was preparing to climb another hill, I noticed a woman running down the hill. We met at the foot of the hill and she asked directions. "The easiest thing," I told her, "is just to run with me a bit and I'll show you the trail that will take you where you want to go." We ran up the hill together, she pushing me faster than I wanted to go. But that was OK. I showed her where the trail was and off she went. Nice diversion. But it got me to thinking. All my meetings with runners have been pleasant. That's in contrast to my experience playing basketball. When I was playing regularly I noticed there were other players who regularly pissed me off. And there were times I too acted like a jerk (memories of setting a blind pick on a trash-talking opponent). For a while, I really enjoyed basketball, much more than I did running. There were times when I was really in sync with my teammates (making a blind overhead backwards pass to a teammate, receiving a nice little pass on a pick and roll) and those were times I loved the game. But then there were other times, the trash talking, the guys who didn't really understand how to play, the guys who didn't understand how I played, it just became aggravating, and lord knows there's plenty more important things in life to be aggravated about. I don't get aggravated by running. Disappointed, yep, there are bad days. But not aggravated. And the runners I've met so far have all been helpful and nice. Of course, I'm not a competitive threat to anyone.

11 miles today through the hills and trails of Pebble Beach. A nice place to get lost in (as the lady I helped discovered) and a nice place to get chased by a dog (a happy golden lab, who ran up a hill with me, licking at my calves while his master urgently called him home).

P.S. You out of towners who haven't seen the Big Sur Marathon course, check out the Tour of California on ESPN2 today. The cyclists are riding parts of "our" course on Thursday.

My birthday

To celebrate my birthday, which was Friday, I ran 18 miles. I hadn't done a whole lot of planning. Just Thursday night I decided that's what I was going to do. I was taking the day off, my wife was working and my daughter had school. And, it was my birthday, I wanted to do something just for me. I labored the first few miles, getting warmed up on a cool, overcast day. Miles 5-9 were great, you know the feeling, the endorphins flowing, the stride long, easy and fast. 10-12 got a little uncomfortable. 14 and 15 I had to focus on being in the moment, not worrying about how I would finish those last few miles. Mile 16 I received a call from my wife wondering if I had heard from my son who was flying in from Montreal that night (the reason I was carrying the cell phone). It was a welcome diversion, although she didn't want to have a long chat ("I better let you get back to your run" ... "No, it's OK honey, tell me more about your day, every detail." ... "Umm, you probably want to get back to your run." ... "Yeah, you're right."). Turning on to the last mile my son called from the Montreal airport. It elevated my spirits hearing his voice and I hammered the last mile. That night I was stiff and pretty tired, but all in all a pretty darn good birthday.

On Monday, the day just passed, I ran 11, a whole lot of hills that left me staggering at times. Coincidentally, my son drove by me on the biggest climb (he was driving to the gym to lift weights). He gave me a little cheer, "Go Dad go." It was enough to put a smile on my face and a spring in my step, at least temporarily.

Back from the abyss

I can see the finish line in what has been a marathon at work. My last day off was Jan. 29, I had plenty of 14- to 16-hour days. Emotionally i've been a wreck. I told my staff the other night I didn't know whether to cry or throw up or both. I haven't run since about the 27th. Just no time. In the early going, I took my running stuff to work and thought seriously about going out for a run at 1 or 2 a.m. (I usually finish work, producing the newspaper, about midnight). Unfortunately, the crush of work often kept me until 2 or 3 in the morning, and the prospect of running then (and having to get up the next morning at 7:30 or 8 a.m., well, it just didn't seem smart.

But the good news is the crush is off. I'm working my usual 9 or 10 hours a day and it seems somehow sane. And today I got to the gym for a little treadmill work and weight lifting. This is the best I've felt for at least a week. I'm ready to get back into it now, charged up by some e-mails I've been getting from other runners who have conquered their "Hurricane Points."

Sometimes it just sucks

I have accepted that I'm going to have bad days ... at work ... at home ... and when I'm running. There are days when I make bad choices (taking a nap or watching TV, instead of doing that pile of stuff called my life). There are days when those choices are made for me (deadlines). And there are days when I just feel, well, crappy. I started my day with a nap that put me behind, then tackling some work related stuff that needed to get done (which took, of course, longer than expected), then looked up at the clock and realized I'd run out of time to do a nice long run. I also realized that if I didn't get moving I'd run out of time to do any run and would feel lousy the rest of the day because of it. So I changed quickly and hit the road, or rather, I felt like it hit me. My achilles was stiff, which caused me to run with a limp, and made me feel very awkward ("Igor!" "I'm coming master.") I could feel those areas where i've been chafing lately. And I just felt an overwhelming sense of fatigue and uselessness. As I ran up hills, I felt like a staggered boxer just waiting for that knockout punch. A lot of times during a run I'll feel that way, but then recover. This time I didn't. I knew it was bad when I was hurting on the last mile of this seven miler and it was down hill. What a downer of a blog. I promise to do better next time.