Category Archives: Sports

Seattle Half Marathon Report

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At 7:20 a.m. on Sunday, November 30th D and I found ourselves in a serious traffic jam on the sidewalk in front of the Experience Music Project in downtown Seattle. D ran professionally for nine years beginning in the late 70’s. 2:11 marathon; 4th in the Olympic Trials; 4th in the Boston Marathon, first American. Blew his knee out skiing a decade ago and has built it back through cycling. Now that he’s able to run 25/30 pain free miles a week, he thought he’d give the half a go.

I take responsibility for screwing up pre-race. We should have approached the start from the back instead of the front. Long story short, after hoping a few barricades, it took us 54 seconds to get to the start and then we had to slowly weave our way down 5th street. In a way it was kinda funny, D has gone from Wide World of Sports to mixin’ it up with the masses and the 1:45 Half Marathon pacer.

D ran a 1:26:36 which translates to a 1:25:42  and I ran a 1:34:42 or 1:33:48. I didn’t realize D and I were in the same age group until after the race or I would have taken him. I could have easily tripped him from behind on 5th street. I’m used to D dropping me on the bike. Now I have to get used to him running away from me. Some summer day at the lake I’ll be getting T ready for an Ironperson. D will be kickin’ it on a raft and I’ll say let’s go running and cycling boy. And then T and I will swim farther and farther away from him, and then we’ll accelerate, and maybe, just maybe, he’ll have a little more compassion for us mortals, bah, ha, ha, ha, ha.

Knowing beforehand that I’d lose touch with D from the get go, I threw together a “13.1” playlist and iPoded the run for the first time ever. So being a good academic, I should credit all the people who helped me along the way:

• Mile 1, Janet Jackson, That’s the Way Love Goes, “My love is blind can’t you see my desire.” Oh yes Janet, I can see it.

• Mile 2, Jill Scott, Golden, “I’m livin’ my life like it’s golden golden.” Easy for you to say, you’re not running up hill.

• Mile 3, America, Horse with No Name, “The heat was hot. . .” Love that phrase, I’m just not sure what the cold equivalent would be, the chill was cold?

• Mile 4, Elton John, Benny and the Jets, “Oh Benny, she’s really keen. She’s Got electric boots, a mohair suit. . . ” I always thought it was electric boobs. That’s kinda disappointing.

• Mile 5, I Feel For You, Chaka Khan, “Baby, baby, when I look at you I get a warm feeling inside.” I get that a lot.

• Mile 6, Bye Bye Love, The Cars, “You think you’re so illustrious, you call yourself intense.” If I wasn’t intense would I have just drenched my contacts with Gatorade?

• Mile 7, President, Wyclef Jean, “Instead of spending billions on the war, I could use it to feed the poor.” Preach it brother.

• Mile 8, No One, Alicia Keys, “You and me together through the days and nights, I don’t worry because everything is going to be alright.” Wowa Alicia, I think we should take things a little slower.

• Mile 9, I Wish, Skee-Lo, “I wish I was taller, I wish I was a baller, I wish I had girl who looked good, cuz I’d call her.” They just don’t write lyrics like that anymore.

• Mile 10, Serpentine Fire, Earth, Wind, and Fire. “I wanna see your face in the morning sun ignite my energy.” I get that a lot too. 

• Mile 11, Whole Lotta Love, Led Zeppelin, “You need coolin, baby, Im not foolin, Im gonna send you back to schoolin,” As an educator, I thought it was important to have at least one reference to school.

• Mile 12, Country Grammar, Nelly, “I’m goin down down baby yo’ street in a Range Rover, street sweeper baby, cocked ready to let it go, shimmy shimmy cocoa what? Listen to it pound, light it up and take a puff, pass it to me now.” Who knew Nelly smoked cigars? Thanks to L for meeting me at mile 12 and handing me the stogie.

• Mile 13, Lose Yourself, Eminem, “You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow. This opportunity comes once in a lifetime yo.” Enuf said.

Alcoholism

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John Daly. Professional golfer. Bomber off the tee with amazing touch around the greens. More personality than most PGA foursomes. Major championship winner. 89th on the all time money list at $9m.

History of drinking, divorce, domestic violence.

Found last week in a drunken slumber outside a closed Hooters restaurant in the middle of the night in Winston Salem, NC. Apparently had drunk so much and become so belligerent his friends bus-left him.

Seattle sports talk host, like others in the media has two things to say. 1) Funny mug shot and funny that Hooters is one of his primary sponsors. 2) Sad that he could have been financially independent “and lived a life others just dream about” if he had just not drunk so much.

There’s absolutely nothing funny about alcoholism. Ever. It’s an insidious disease. Nearly every recovering alcoholic stays sober with the help of others in an Alcoholic Anonymous like support group. I knew Daly was in trouble when from the very beginning he said he wasn’t into meetings, he was going to beat it himself. 

I couldn’t feel more differently than the Seattle sports talk host.

Let’s not confuse one’s W-2 forms and one’s legacy. Talk host would lead us to believe Daly’s tombstone will read, “Earned $9m, but it easily could have been double that.” 

The tragedy is not Daly’s unfulfilled golf potential and lost income. The tragedy is the shattered lives he’s left in his wake—children, ex-wives, friends, family, business associates.

Hope I’m wrong, but I don’t expect it to end well for Daly or for those who still care about him.

Finish Strong

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No, this isn’t about the election.  It’s about well. . . finishing strong.

When shooting hoops, always end with a swish from downtown. Backing up, holding the release, palming your face, and yelling “face” to no one in particular is optional.

When putting before teeing off, always end with a made putt. Pumping your fist ala Tiger is optional.

When retiring for the evening, always end with hugs, kisses, and rubs for the kids, partner, and dog. Stories, prayers, and tuckies are optional.

When swimming the 500 free, always save a little sumthin’ sumthin’ for the last 100.  Hoping out and dressing before your opponents touch is optional.

When eating Thanksgiving dinner, always end with warm pie and cold ice cream. Pretending to be European and lingering at the table for hours on end is optional.

When putting a wrap on a cycling season, always end with an epic ride in a beautiful setting with good friends. Using the brakes on the icy sections is optional.

Mount Rainier—Descending Sunrise—photo credit "T"

Rainier—Descending Sunrise—photo credit "T"

Swim-Bike-Run

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The past week at a glance. Every workout, except half of Saturday’s and all of Sunday’s, completed before sunrise.

Friday, running day, however, I felt like I returned to the regular running schedule a bit too quickly post marathon so I decided to swim instead. I was invited to join the Masters so I chased Geraldine for 75 minutes.  650 warm up. Main set 6×300, descend 1-3  and 4-6 on 5:00. Not sure of my splits, but Geraldine kept putting 20 yards into me. 50 easy then 3×200 on 3:20. Again, I wasn’t getting my splits. I like Mel’s rest intervals better than my own. Then a 4×100 pull set and a 100 cool down. Classic Mel, no strokes. Total, 3,600 yards, but I always record meters, so 3,330m.

Saturday, 10+ mile run in 1:19+. First time I felt normal post marathon. Lots of trails, Woodland, Watershed, LBA. Surprise, surprise, M and I got into a heated argument which always leads to a quicker pace. I don’t understand economics or taxes because I’ve never sat in a boardroom, yet he routinely criticizes public school teachers. Usually, I can manage the irritation, but about once a year, I completely snap. I’m good until 2009. I apologize for my language if you were anywhere near LBA park last Saturday morning.

Sunday, cold weather cycling experiment. 35 degrees, can I hang? I decide to give it a try, and if I can’t cut it, I’ll bail before joining the group at 4 miles. Craft base layer, medium weight base, expedition weight base, long sleeve jersey, arm warmers, long bottoms under long bibs, two pairs of socks, toe covers, two pairs of gloves, hat under helmet. I produced a large load of laundry, but proved the Norwegians right-there’s no such thing as bad weather, just bad clothing. The suggested route called for an early climb and about 40 miles in total. Perfect, until we went straight when we were supposed to go left. Three, five, seven extra miles. . . times two. Are we ever going to head north again or are we taking the train back from Portland? 55 miles later, the mercury climbed to 46. The only thing I took off all morning were my arm warmers. Mission accomplished. 1,500′ of climbing at a relaxed 18+mph.

Monday, 6.16 mile run in 47+ for a 7:41/mile average.

Tuesday, solo swim. 1,000 yard warm up, every fourth alternate back then breast, 15:45. Kick 200; one arm drill 100; fingertip drag 100; 100 easy. 4×300 on 5:00 in 4:25, 19, 17, 3. 5x100IM on 1:55 in 1:36-1:37, last 1:33. 100 cool down. Total, 3,300 yards or 3,000m.

Wednesday, 6.75 mile run in 51:31 for a 7:38/mile average.

Thursday, solo swim. 1,000 yard warm up straight free, 14:45. Kick 200; one arm drill 100; fingertrip drag 100. 2×200 back then breast two times on 3:50, back in 3:27, 3:27; breast in 3:30, 3:30. 5×200 on 3:20 in 2:55, 51, 45, 38, 55. 100 cool down. Total, 3,300 yards or 3,000m.

Portland Marathon Wrap Up

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Somewhere around mile 14, the Malamute asked, “Why do we do these again?” That was his way of saying, “Starting to feel it.” I was not feeling particularly clever or witty and offered a superficial, forgettable answer. 

Now, seven hours post-race, I’m ready to offer a bit more thoughtful response. I can’t answer for anyone else, but I do them every once in awhile for several reasons including: 1) the mostly mental challenge of trying to run an even pace; 2) the immediacy that comes with testing my physical limits; and 3) the primitiveness and purity of long distance running more generally. 

The Malamute probably would have planted his elbow in my rib cage if I had offered something like that mid-course.

Instead of a segment-by-segment, port-a-pit by port-a-pit recap, I’m going to elaborate on point three.

Before doing that though, here’s a brief race summary.

Excellent weather, overcast, low/mid 50’s, light rain from about mile 9 to the end.

Ran decently. It was nice running the middle half with two good friends. Granted, we weren’t too talkative, but misery loves company. I felt shelled after the long descent between 21 and 22. Legs tightened and the mental battle was on. My finishing time was decent (3:25:35), but I was most proud of gutting out the last four.

Somehow I ignored what one expert friend refers to as the “whimp ass voice” within. The “voice” was coming in loud and clear. “Hey Ron, come on, you’ve run a long ways already. You’re trashed. If you just walk a little, the pain in your legs will subside, and you’ll feel tons better.”

That tape kept repeating. Reminded me of Thursday night when I went to bed with “the surge” and “Maverick” echoing in my ears.

My paced slowed a bit, but somehow I gutted out the last four miles.

Back to the primitiveness and purity of long distance running. Compared to other athletic activities, it’s wonderfully low-tech and it goes back a ways. There are no hieroglyphs with time trial bikes, but there are plenty of people chasing game and trying to set new personal records.

Also, the clock is la ultima in objective assessment. I like to think of myself as a 3:15-20 marathoner, but I’m not. Eighteen months ago I ran a 3:26+. The clock demands that I face the facts, I’m a 3:25-3:26 marathoner. . . or slower if and when I run another.

A digression. That discrepancy, between the way I like to think of myself and the clock’s verdict, parallels a reality in the social world. Our self understanding is a slippery thing. It’s inevitable that what we think of ourselves and what those who interact with us regularly think of us imperfectly overlap. It’s unrealistic to escape our subjectivity and completely eliminate the gap, but I think there’s value in trying to reduce it.

That might be an idea worth exploring in more depth sometime soon.

Thanks to all those who offered such excellent race support including the fam, Mike, the Malamute, Double S, Dave, and Travis.

And thanks for continuing to visit my humble blog. There’s 4.2 million WordPress blogs overall and counting and 110 million overall and counting.  I appreciate your stopping by mine on occasion.

Yours Truly, Double S, and the Malamute

Yours Truly, Double S, and the Malamute

Breaking Point

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How much can a guy take?

Today I watched my daughter beat my personal record in the 500 free. I know the book of parenting states very clearly that parents should celebrate whenever their offspring surpass them.

To which I say bullshit.

After I get this little run over with on Sunday, I will begin my quest to reclaim the family crown.  Just in case, please get Lance Armstrong’s pharmacist on the line (that was for you T!).

And yesterday, I watched years of personal economic progress erode in a few hours.  

So I guess yesterday I had my assets handed to me and today I had my ass handed to me.

At least a woman was nominated Vice-President.

Marathon Game Plan

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Nearly three-quarters of the way into this year-long experiment.  

A couple of months ago a friend asked how I was feeling about it.  He wanted to know if I planned on continuing next year.  My readership fluctuates a bit from week to week and he caught me on an especially strong week.  Consequently, I told him I was planning on continuing, but now, in all honesty, I’m unsure.

I wanted to see if I could build a readership and spark conversations without taking away from my off-line writing.  Even though it’s trending slightly up over time, my readership is still small.  

Based on the paucity of comments, I don’t feel as if I’ve sparked conversations.  

And while I think it’s possible, so far I haven’t managed to capitalize on my blogging to publish more off-line essays and commentaries.

I’ll keep you posted.  We now return to regular programming.

S and I were out the door at 5:35a Saturday to pound out our final 20 mile marathon training run.  D was in Australia on business.  Very suspicious timing.

Twenty two days to the Portland Marathon.  The early morning running conditions in Olympia, Washington right now are idyllic, high 40’s, clear, dry, still.  The only bummer is starting out in the dark again.  

I think of each long training run as a brick in a wall.  The longer, the higher, the stronger the wall, the better the eventual race.  

I felt good today.  Usually, I stagger in at the end and wonder how on earth I’d ever tack on another 10k. Today, I could visualize maintaining the pace and gutting out the remainder.

Now the challenge is assembling a game plan.  My marathon metaphor is a crystal carafe of water that contains 26.2 ounces.  The goal is to pour yourself out as evenly as possible with the last drop landing on the finish line.  

I’ve always left everything out on the course, sometimes though, I’ve poured myself out too fast and blown up like a car with a steaming radiator.  Sorry for mixing metaphors.

At what rate should I pour myself out, 7:30, 7:45, or 8:00 a mile?  Should I stay well within myself for the first half and strive to run a negative split or should I try to run 26 7:45’s or should I run 7:30’s for the first half so that a personal record is a possibility?

Two opposite factors make this a tougher than normal call.  First, my training has gone well.  My splits haven’t been especially fast, but I’ve been injury free, I have a solid base, and I felt good near the end today.  I don’t expect to ever lower my personal 10k record, but I’m not quite ready to throw in the towel on a marathon personal record.  Second, I’ve run poorly in my previous Portland marathons, and I admit, those performances still nag at me.

One of my cycling friends was a professional marathoner in the 80’s and I’ve enjoyed picking his brains a bit the last few years.  He emphasizes the mental aspect of performance and specifically, “Ignoring that whimp ass voice in your head that says you can’t do it.”  The voice in my head is saying, “What makes you think you can run well in Portland?  Go ahead, run 7:30’s and blow up again.” 

Then again, I feel like if I go through the half at 1:45 (8:00/miles), I won’t be taking full advantage of my solid training.

My sissy thinks I’m crazy for voluntarily running 26.2 miles.  She may be right.  

I’m not a talented runner, so I don’t race to win, but I do enjoy the challenge of fulfilling my potential on race day.  My goal is to be able to say, “I couldn’t have run any faster.”  To do that, I need to assemble a game plan, a plan that may need race day tinkering depending on the conditions.  

Given my uncertain state of mind, it’s a good thing I still have three weeks to piece together a plan.

[I wrote this while listening to Erin Rose’s Stay on acousticalternative.com, what a great track.]

Triathlon Season In Review

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I competed in my one and only triathlon of the season yesterday.  If you want the numbers, they’re here.  Click on the “results” tab at the top center and then the September 6th Black Hills Olympic Triathlon link.  Long story short, I swam, rode, and ran hard and enjoyed myself.  

The swim.  This is my eighth year in a row of doing this race and I love the swim. Everyone else is always bitching and moaning at the start because you stand in a foot of mud. Fifty people times three waves means the water turns dark brown.  I told people it’s “good for your complexion” which drew a chuckle.  I enjoy the swim because it’s not a particularly fast crowd, there’s not that many people in each starting wave, and I can get into open water easily.  The water was glassy and cool, and the underwater vegetation made things more interesting.  

Some Phelps-like fish took off and 5-7 of us formed a chase group.  I was bilateral breathing for the first 300 meters, just stretching it out, and getting into a comfortable rhythm.  I swam just off a person’s hip to the first buoy, but then pulled away.  I pushed hard coming in, but felt good, and was the second person in the geezer (over 40) wave out of the water.  

Due to the 400 meter rocky transition run, I sat down to put on shoes and fumbled mightily with that most basic of tasks. About 5-6 guys that I was pulling through the swim streamed by. Geezer swimmers, be forewarned: next year, no shoes.  At least the BodyGlide worked brilliantly on my ankles and wrists and the wetsuit came off in record time.

The bike.  I don’t love the bike, but I like it.  We ride the roads a lot so I’m familiar with them.  The good news is I went hard and set a personal record bike split.  I passed a lot of people and only got passed two and half times.  The half was when a 63 year old passed me at mile 26 of 29.3 (adjust mph accordingly).  He shook me out of a lull.  I passed him right back on a climb (saying to myself, “Not today grandpa.”  At least I hope it wasn’t audible.).  What’s the time penalty for ageism? Of course the fastest cyclists were ahead of me since I was in the last swim wave and I got passed by the 5-6 guys in T1.  

The bad news, I still give up too much time in this segment.  I finished 18th overall out of 148, and the first 17 all spanked me on the bike.  I give up time riding on a road bike, no aero bars, no fancy race wheels, no aero helmet, but I don’t know how much.  I also need to ride more to get stronger.  I’m improving. If we all live long enough, I’ll close that gap.  

The run.  Love the run too.  Wooded fire trails and single track with some ups and downs.  And another personal record split.  I felt stronger than normal after a hard bike thanks to Portland marathon training.  I got passed by two very good local triathletes in my wave at mile marker 1 and decided I was on the perfect moderate-hard edge so I let them go.  My two and three mile splits were both 6:40’s so that was a very good decision.  If I had tried to hang with them I would have blown up near the end where there are a few hills.  I ran very even mile splits and went as fast as I could go.

One of the two guys that passed me on the run qualified for the world championships at Ironperson Hawaii by qualifying at Ironperson Coeur d’Alene in Idaho in June.  He beat me by 1:02, but his transitions were 1:24 faster.  Put differently, if I transition as fast as him, I beat him by 22 seconds.  Woulda, coulda, shoulda.

So, I set a new course record at my advanced age so that is pretty cool, but there were an unusually large number of fast guys as old or older than Palin, Byrnes, Obama.  I was 5th out of 15 in my age group.  I would have finished second in the 35-39 year old age group.  So maybe I should fib on my age on my entry form next year.

A highlight this year was carpooling and racing with T who is back in town after a year in D.C.  It was fun to catch up a bit.  His googles snapped seconds before the start and he flung them ashore.  Despite swimming through the muck goggle-less he tore up the course and finished second in his age group.  

A lowlight was the take over of the race by a triathlon company.  Already, the vibe is different.  Yeah, I suppose the new crew is more efficient and organized, but it doesn’t feel like a community gathering or a grass-roots celebration of health like it used to.  No articles in the local paper, no kids race through the old barn, no food tables out where kids could grab a piece of fruit, a higher entry fee, a cheaper t-shirt, and interestingly, about 50 fewer participants than normal.    

It was a successful season, except for the final score.  Distant corporation one, local community zero.

In Nike’s Swoosh We Trust

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Just returned from the Olympia High School Girls Swimming Parents Meeting. My 57 MA students from this summer would have enjoyed a big chuckle if they could have been there.  

Some context.  A few weeks ago, one of my teaching partners challenged our students to think through the pros and cons of corporate sponsorship of public school athletics and academics. A spirited debated ensued with intelligent arguments on both sides. I sat in silence which was remarkable because I believe very strongly that public schools should be as free of corporate sponsorship and logos as absolutely possible. Most of my world is gray, this is an exception.

School attendance is compulsory so students are a captive audience. Why should we help corporations build brand loyalty as soon as possible? I also believe some corporations want to squash debate about the merits of free market capitalism. Try developing a thoughtful, rigorous social studies program in that environment. How will we ensure a vibrant democracy if our youngest citizens aren’t challenged to consider the advantages and disadvantages of free-market capitalism?

Near the end of the debate, my colleague turned to me and asked me to weigh in. An impassioned rant ensued.  By the looks on their faces, I’m guessing half were inspired to think about it in new ways and half wondered what type of institution grants an insane person tenure.

Flash forward to tonight’s meeting.  Damn if the first handout didn’t have an effin’ swoosh on the bottom of it.  Shortly after coming to grips with that, I learn Nike has been given the team’s suit, cap, t-shirt, and sweats bidness in an “amazing deal”.  The “spirit package” (suit and cap) is only $55.  So maybe we’re saving five to ten dollars.  

I’m guessing I might have been the only parent in the crowded room that immediately started wondering what does Nike get for their $5-$10. What are the trade-offs?  

The Quakers have this great concept that if you feel compelled by “that of God within you” to say something in a meeting you have an obligation to the group to do so.  I didn’t feel obligated to the group since I didn’t know many of the people, but I knew I’d be upset with myself on the drive home if I didn’t speak out.  

So here’s the jest of what I said, “I know the cost to swim has gone up this year, the economy is poor, and people are hurting, and so the savings matter, but I for one would rather pay a little more to not advertise for Nike. [The coach, a friend who I assisted last year, had more of a “Ron you’re insane” look on his face, but I pressed on.] The students are a captive audience, and I think we should think through what Nike is getting out of ‘our great deal'”. The wonderful senior captain tried to alleviate my concern by spinning the deal.  In turn I encouraged her and her teammates to think critically and decide whether they want to advertise for Nike.

A few minutes later a parent said, “I for one just want to thank you for finding a good deal.”  In other words, go back under the rock from which you emerged.  

It’s moments like that when I have to really fight cynicism because I think if parents don’t challenge their kids to think through decisions like that, critical thinking is an impossibility, and without critical thinking, can we really maintain a vibrant democracy?

One other parent complimented the “eloquent” way I expressed myself, but I suspect she was questioning my sanity at the same time.

When I got home I learned this wasn’t an isolated incident. Olympia High School is now a “Nike-school”.  

Here’s my question to “great deal” swimming parent.  Where do you suggest we draw the line?  Why not a Reebok middle school and a Puma elementary school with free Usain Bolt “I enjoy reading” posters? I’m sure we could get more and more corporate sponsorships to subsidize more and more of public school costs. You want lower property taxes, then fine, let’s plaster billboards on school busses.  Let’s return to Channel One televised news with Skittles commercials every 90 seconds.  Let’s sell football stadium naming rights to the highest bidder whether they’re a good corporate citizen or not.  Let’s sell computer lab rights to Intel and plaster a placard on the door.  

If we get creative, we can probably avoid paying any property taxes.  Then we’ll have more than enough money to go buy more sports shit with swooshes all over it.

Housing crisis, foreclosures, financial institutions teetering on the brink.  Say you’re about to lose your house, forget walking away from it.  Offer it to NIKE or some other corporation. They’d probably assume half the liability and half the payments in exchange for painting giant swooshes on the roof, garage doors, and sides of the house.  Housing crisis averted.  No harm done.  

Running a little low on cash, get branded.  I’m guessing Nike would pay you $1,000 to have the swoosh tatooed on the back of your neck.  That is unless you’re a public school teacher and around 150 kids, 180 days a year, in which case I’m guessing they’d double it.