Super Mario Runners

(Administrative note: This turned into a somewhat strange post, and much longer than I thought it would be - although that shouldn't really surprise anyone by now. If you're looking for something more tangibly related to running, well ... have you checked out Complete Running yet? I hear they're doing some cool things over there. Otherwise, read on...)


For his eighth birthday, my son received a Game Boy Advance.

Actually, I should clarify that statement a bit to say that the package he unwrapped had his name on it. As far as who has spent the most time with the Game Boy, it’s pretty close between my son and me. But I’m sure he’ll probably catch up one of these days.

Seriously - I’m hooked on this thing. It’s one of the best presents I’ve - I mean he’s - ever received. (So much so, that I’m currently revising my own birthday list for this fall. Right now I’d definitely pick a Game Boy over a GPS. You think I’m kidding.)

My son and I spend a lot of time trading the game back and forth with a shared purpose: traveling through the seven kingdoms of the Mushroom World to free all the princesses and reclaim the magic wands that were captured by the evil king Bowser.

The object of our infatuation is Super Mario Brothers 4 – an updated version of the game that altered the video game landscape more than 15 years ago.

Prior to the original Mario Brothers, most video games were about scoring the most points, reaching the final destination the fastest, or shooting the most aliens/asteroids/bad guys, etc.

The premise of Super Mario Brothers is quite different: it’s designed as an Odyssean journey, with new adventures awaiting around every turn. Each of the seven kingdoms is divided into multiple levels, with each level requiring a different set of skills to advance through it. The levels become progressively more challenging, but in conquering the earlier levels you acquire the skills to handle the more difficult ones.



Some relics of traditional video games remain. Mario can collect gold coins along his journeys, worth 100 points each. There is a timer on the screen, counting down the time remaining to complete each level. But these are secondary concerns; it’s not necessary to score any points to complete a level, and the clock is almost never a factor in Mario’s success.

Additionally, when Mario exhausts his 5 allotted “lives”, a player can continue the game with the push of a button. You can play for as long as you desire, and when you want to take a break, you simply save your progress, and pick up from that point next time.

Eventually you’ll make it through all seven kingdoms (and right now we're in #3), but the point of the game isn’t to make it to the finish. In fact, the adventure is so lengthy that many players never complete it. Rather, the fun lies in experiencing each new challenge that is encountered at successive levels, and testing your ability at whatever stage of the journey you find yourself.

(You can see where all this is heading, right? … )

In these regards, the game is an awful lot like running. It presents different challenges to different people. Some people are more skilled and progress further than others. But regardless of our abilities, we all get the same satisfaction and enjoyment out of the activity.

Runners acquire skills from smaller tasks and apply them to larger ones. Very few people are prepared to run a marathon as their first race. 10Ks grow into half-marathons, marathons evolve into ultras, and 50 miles turns into 100 (and beyond). The levels are progressively more challenging, but it’s in doing the easier tasks that we develop the ability and resolve to take on the larger ones.

You can try to collect accomplishments in our sport, but in the grand scheme of things they really don’t matter. Mario can rescue the princesses with zero gold coins or 500 – very few players really keep track. In running, it’s great if you’re someone who accumulates medals or age group victories, but that doesn’t mean that others don’t get the same satisfaction from their efforts.

Similarly, you can worry about the time on the clock, but in many races – especially as the distances get longer - that’s a secondary concern. Does someone who finishes a 50K in 8 hours take away something less from the race than someone else who ran it in 6? In Mario’s world, as in ultras, you don’t get extra credit for rushing to the finish – you only have to make the cutoff time.

Above all else, the main point is to enjoy the process, because the journey is never really over. We can run as far as we want on any given day, only stopping when we decide to. The next time we lace up our shoes (whether it’s the next day or several months later), we continue our own adventure with all those previous experiences saved into memory. Do we really want there to be an end point? Or would we rather continually discover and explore new worlds as we travel along?

The game reminds me of running in another way, in that my son and I make a nice team. I’m good at figuring out the best path through each level, and he remembers the special tricks that Mario can use along the way. We have a lot of conversations like the following:

Me: I almost know my way through here. You stay on the floating log until the flying fish sails over your head, then you jump onto the spinning stick and land on the drain pipe. I just need to figure out how to get past the hatchet-throwing turtle.

Him: Did you get a magic flower from the mushroom house?

Me: No – I bumped the mystery box and got a raccoon suit, but I still get eaten by the fire-breathing plants.

Him: That’s because the raccoon suit only lets you knock bricks over with your tail. Get the flower suit, then you can throw fireballs at the turtles and plants, and swim through the quicksand.

Me: Cool. Then I just have to defeat the pipe-smoking warthog.

Him: Yeah … he’s tough.

Sometimes my wife thinks we’re speaking another language. But honestly, it all makes perfect sense if you know the game.

Playing the game with my son is a lot like having a good training partner: our strengths complement each other's weaknesses, we trade ideas to help each other get better, and we encourage each other to continue the journey.

Best of all, we enjoy each other’s company. No, we’re not getting exercise when we’re playing, and there are certainly more productive tasks we could be doing, but here’s the thing: we’re having fun. And he’s a kid. And – like everything else in life - as long as we maintain a reasonable balance, I’m not inclined to change anything.

Especially when there are still four more princesses out there for us to rescue.

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A Post About Nothing

Before I sat down to write this post, I had almost nothing to say.

48 hours between posts is usually enough time for one of the nebulous concepts bouncing around in my head to distinguish itself more prominently. Even when I don’t know for sure what I’m going to say, I at least have a pretty good idea what the topic of the next post will be.

The time I spend running is typically when I’ll play around with sentence structure and phrasing, so that when I finally sit down to write, my fingers can barely keep up with my thought process. It’s been a fairly reliable system, until this week.

On Wednesday night, I had no clue what to write about, but I figured something would come to me on Thursday. Unfortunately, neither the hour I spent on the track in the morning nor the time in the pool at lunch brought me any closer to a tangible idea.

I resigned myself to skipping today’s post altogether. So instead of opening my laptop last night, I flipped open my son’s Game Boy Advance – one of his birthday presents from last month.

Two hours later, I was still playing.

Then while running along darkened trails this morning, the idea came to me as clear as the rising daylight. By the time the sun was up, I knew what the next topic would be.

However, I have to get to work now, and I don’t have time to write the post. So you’ll have to wait until Monday. (In journalism, this is called a teaser).

Yes, it has something to do with the Game Boy. But for now, that’s all I’m gonna say.

***
On an unrelated note, I’m headed to the ocean after work today for another open-water swim.

Remember how some people told me that my yellow swim cap might attract sharks? And how I said that next time I would wear the old pink cap I had leftover from a previous triathlon? Well, I pulled out the pink cap last night … and it has a hole in it.

Which means I’ll be braving the waters in my sharkbait cap again tonight. So if you hear of any shark attacks on the news tomorrow, you can say you knew me before I got famous.

Also, on the plus side – I mean, if I DO get attacked – is that at least it would give me something interesting to write about.

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Back to School

Without question, the best athletic facilities in Monterey County belong to Hartnell Community College.

I’ve been running on their all-weather track for years. It’s ideal in several ways: conveniently close to my workplace, centrally located for my running partners, and accessible at all hours of the day (well, almost. We usually have to climb over the fence for our 5:30 AM workouts. Nobody from Hartnell security reads this, right?). Best of all, it’s available at absolutely no cost.

For the past few months, I’ve been using their Olympic-size outdoor pool for my swim workouts. It’s 50 meters long by 25 yards wide. We swim the long course without lane lines on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and short course on the other days.

During the summer, the swim program is organized by the local masters club, but once school starts, oversight of the pool returns to the college. The fall semester started this past Monday – three weeks before my triathlon.

I didn’t want to skip the last three weeks of swim training before the race. I’ve also decided that I’d like to continue swimming for cross-training throughout the year (because we can do that in California – lucky us) once the triathlon is finished.

So I utilized my only option to continue using the pool: I walked across campus to the registrar’s office, and enrolled in a 1.5-unit class – P.E. 134, Swim Fitness. I paid $43 to the cashier, and just like that, I became a student again. Hey, everybody … I’m goin’ to college!

Walking back to my car, I got a few “Hey”s and “Whassup”s from some of my fellow students, which led me to wonder: would I actually fit in here? Could I really pass as a student?

In a flash, I had another thought: how many people get a second chance at living the college life? Suddenly this new fitness endeavor seemed like my ticket to a lot of collateral benefits.

I considered all the ways my life might change now that I’m back on campus:

1. Chillin’: As an undergraduate at UCLA, I spent a lot of time in the student coffee house or the main outdoor plaza, just watching the girls go by (whoops … I meant world. Watching the world go by.). It’s a habit I reluctantly gave up once I acquired some of those so-called “important” things like a job and a family and hobbies. But hanging out in the courtyard yesterday, I realized that people watching was an activity for which I wouldn’t mind polishing my skills a bit.

2. Study groups: In every college movie, there’s one very cute, very smart girl who helps some dopey guy through a difficult class. Remember Tommy Lee's tutor at the University of Nebraska last summer? How do I go about requesting something like that for myself? I think a little individual attention while I’m in the pool might be just what I need to survive such rigorous coursework.

3. Partying: I wasn’t a fraternity guy in college, which at the time seemed like a mature, responsible decision. But part of me (that little guy with the devil’s horns) thinks I might have missed being a part of something special. You know, things like being publicly hazed, learning to drink from a gravity bong while standing on my head, or waking up on a stranger’s front lawn with somebody else’s underwear on – such moments must be precious.

I need to do some investigating on this one, but I’m wondering if there’s a nearby fraternity like the one in Old School that recruits folks of any age. That way, if I ever get the urge to run naked and drunk down the middle of the street at 2AM, I’ll have somebody to share the experience with. After all, you can’t put a price tag on those kind of memories.

4. Drugs: The only time I ever saw illegal drugs in person was at an undergrad party. Do college students nowadays get a discount on marijuana or ecstasy? Would I be assigned a drug dealer in addition to a career counselor? I thought I could look into this, and report my findings here, in the spirit of journalistic curiosity. (Then again, I just finished a whole series on drug use – that’s probably enough for the next year or so. Let’s move on.)

5. Speaking of discounts: Will my student ID get me cheaper meals or movie tickets anywhere in town? If so, I’m all over it. I mean, every couple bucks I save is like an extra GU packet or bottle of Gatorade. This class could potentially pay for itself after a couple of months.

Obviously, this swimming thing has opened a whole new realm of possibilities that I never imagined during all those years I was cluelessly running laps around the campus track. I can’t believe I didn’t think of this plan years ago.

However, there is one point of concern now that I’ve enrolled in a college class: getting grades.

I’m not quite sure how this works for elective classes yet. Am I going to be graded on my swimming now? Is there a final exam? Do I get credit for effort or improvement? Will the grading be done on a curve? Is there a pass/fail option? Should I tell the coach that I’ve already been running in the mornings when I’m swimming at lunch, so he can consider that in my evaluation? Do I get extra credit for also knowing how to bike and run?

I never had to worry about having my performance evaluated when I was merely a runner, and before I re-entered college. It’s enough to make a guy pretty nervous.

Thank goodness there’s a back to school mixer this weekend – because I just might need to blow off a little steam.

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Fractured Fairy Tales

I can’t overemphasize what a nice outlet blogging has been for me.

After all, it’s not like I started this blog and then became a quirky, neurotic, running-obsessed oddball. Those elements of my personality have always been present – but prior to Running & Rambling, they just manifested in other ways.

Exhibit A: Last night I found a spiral notebook belonging to my 5-year-old daughter. It’s about 4 inches high, covered in fuzzy purple felt, with a crowned-shaped mirror above the word “Princess.” The notebook has served as my daughter’s doodle and art book for the past few years.

This particular daughter is the budding artist in the family; she constantly makes paintings and pictures that end up all over the walls of our house, my office, and even her grandparents’ house. We have a designated craft table for her, and when she was younger I used to sit there beside her doodling my own sketches and stories while she colored.

I hadn’t seen the notebook for several months before last night, so I started flipping through it to see what she had drawn and I had written. The stories are very short (remember, it’s a 4-inch page), but they give a glimpse of the future blogger at a formative stage.

Also, based on the content of my writings, I could tell what book or TV program I had been exposed to at that time. For example, here is one story I came across:

***
“Will you accept this rose?” asked the princess.

“Of course I will,” he replied, “but I’ll have to skip the champagne. I was hoping to go for a long run tomorrow, and I have to get up early. Plus, I sometimes get migraines if I’m dehydrated, so I’m trying to limit my alcohol intake. And would it be OK if we just hang out at home for our next date? I’m kind of worn out from ramping up my mileage this week.”

The princess considered this and said, “Um ... Can I have my rose back?”

***
Obviously that was during a season of The Bachelorette. Another time, after reading a book of princess stories, I jotted this down:

***
From across the table, their eyes met, and they both knew it was meant to be this way; for them to meet in this exact place at this precise moment. He wanted everything she had to offer, and she had been long awaiting his arrival.

As their bodies drew closer, everyone around them faded from view. The time they shared seemed frozen, as if God intended this instant to linger longer than all others. But despite their mutual infatuation, they both knew it couldn’t last.

He reached for her … then took the Gatorade cup from her hand, and shouted “Thanks!” before continuing down the road.

***
And one more - after watching Shrek, sometime during a marathon training period:

***
“Attention! I have an announcement to make!” shouted the king.

“In a dragon-guarded castle in a faraway land, the princess awaits your arrival. Take heed - the journey before you is long and treacherous.

“A route map and course elevation guide were provided in your goody bag. Each mile will be marked, and a volunteer will shout your split times as you pass. Aid stations every 3 miles will provide Gatorade and GU, and Vaseline will be available during the final 10K. The winner will be the first person to rescue the princess, regardless of chip time.

“Friends of the princess will be available at the castle to provide massages to all participants.”

***
And so on and so on. But now instead of jotting down mindless stories in my daughter’s sketch book, I have this blog to accommodate such ramblings.

No longer limited by a 4-inch page, I can write as much nonsense as I want. And my daughter’s probably happy that I’m not taking up so much of her notebook space. In those regards, the blog has been beneficial to each of our respective interests.

On the other hand, the question of whether anyone outside our family is better off for such a development is certainly debatable.

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See Me Rollin'

One administrative note before today’s post: After my last post, a couple of people mentioned that my yellow swim cap might actually attract sharks, which is obviously a situation I’d like to avoid. Apparently they forgot to mention that little fact on Mythbusters. So next time out, I’ll be wearing the pink cap that I’d shamefully buried in my sock drawer - you know, unless someone tells me that pink attracts orcas or something.

It’s also a good reminder of what I’ve said multiple times in this space: sometimes I’m a complete idiot.

On with today’s post…

***
“They see me rollin’ … they hatin’ …
Patrollin’, they tryin’ to catch me ridin’ dirty …”
- Chamillionaire, “Ridin’”

(Before July, I thought those lyrics referred to Chamillionaire’s experience with racial profiling while driving his pimped-out SUV. But recently, another thought occurred to me … do you think Chamillionaire is a Tour de France fan?

And yes, I heard that song on my newly reformatted rap/rock radio station. They’re still tormenting me with that.)


In the summer of 1998, I decided to train for my first triathlon.

I was on a limited budget, so instead of investing in a tri-bike, I bought a pair of slick tires and aero bars, and gave my Specialized RockHopper an extreme makeover.

I did hundreds of training miles on that bike, until a friend decided to upgrade his own racing bike. He knew about my bike, and asked if I wanted to use his old tri-bike (which he called the Green Machine - see below) for the race.


He and I are roughly the same height. The bike weighed about half as much as my RockHopper. And it was free. It took me about 2 seconds to accept the offer.

The bike was already about 15 years old at that time, but still had the stiff frame and smooth machinery that was top-of-the-line material in the 1980s. And at that year’s triathlon, I rode the thing like I stole it. The bike segment was undoubtedly my favorite portion of the race, and I nearly matched the pace that my friend posted on his new mack-daddy ride over the Olympic distance course.

After the triathlon, my friend told me to keep the bike (and wouldn’t take any money for it – now that’s a friend), and the Green Machine became mine. It typically hibernates for the winter, but when the weather gets warm and I’m training for another tri, I’ll log several hundred miles on it over the course of a few months. Last October I did a very hilly 100-mile ride from Carmel Valley to Hearst Castle (picture below) like it was a ride through the park.


However, the Green Machine is starting to show its age. While the bike itself hasn’t become much slower, the world of bicycle technology has continually advanced, to the point that any $800 road bike today has a much lighter frame and more superior components than I can compete with. (Although I still hold my own pretty well – more on that in a second).

So if you’re somebody who uses the term “bike porn” for pictures like these, think of the Green Machine as Vanessa Del Rio. Back in the day, there wasn’t anything as well-built or immediately exciting. She had the best geometry around, and set the standard for high performance. Nowadays she’s got about a million miles on her and looks totally overworked and outdated, but under the right circumstances she can still deliver the goods.


Today there are models who are much younger, better-looking, and come augmented with expensive components to make your ride even more exhilarating. And sure, I could go out and get myself a Jenna Jameson, but sometimes I don’t see the point – especially when I’ve got a model that gets me to the same, um, finishing point anyway. Yes, Jenna would probably get me there a little faster, but I’m not shooting for an age-group win or an Ironman slot – so isn’t it OK to take a few extra minutes to enjoy the ride? Sometimes the experience is about more than just speed, right?

Each summer, I tell my wife that this might be the last year before I upgrade to something lighter and faster. I’ve been saying that for almost nine years now. I’ve done several more triathlons since that first one. So I guess you could say that my needs have been met – and that’s really all that any guy can ask for.

Finally, about the name: I didn’t pick it. My friend called it the Green Machine for years before it became mine. I never gave any thought to naming my bike like a lot of cyclists and triathletes do. Perhaps since I always thought it would be a temporary companion, I purposely didn’t name it, to avoid becoming too attached – you know, kind of like finding a stray puppy. So even though I sometimes called it the Green Machine, I just always considered it “my bike.”

Then this past weekend I went for a ride with a group of guys riding Kestrels, Trek Madones, Cannondales, and similar high-end bikes. I felt incredibly strong, easily chasing down any riders who went off the front, and lowering the hammer to pull away on every major climb. As we regrouped at the top of a hill, one rider looked my bike over, and came up with this:

“It’s big, green, ugly as hell, and can rip our legs off. You should call it Shrek.”

I thought it was a fantastic idea. And seeing as how I’ve watched that movie about 100 times, it’s amazing that I didn’t think of it first. So even though I’m not into naming things, I’m actually going to think that one over.

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Shark Bait?

"Takin' on the jellies ... awesome."
- Crush (to Marlin), from Finding Nemo

Conventional wisdom says you should never swim in the ocean alone. Yet I frequently do solo open water swims in Monterey Bay.

It’s not that I’m purposely irresponsible. I just don’t see the paranoia about this particular aspect of training.

It’s also a matter of convenience. I only know about three people who would take me seriously if I were to say, “Hey, I’m planning an ocean swim this week – want to join me?” When we try to coordinate days of the week, or particular times of day, pairing up with somebody never seems to work. It’s easier and faster to simply go it alone.

The thing is, I don’t consider it a particularly high-risk behavior. In many ways, open water swimming seems just as safe, if not safer, than the other two triathlon disciplines. But I’ve never had people tell me not to ride or run alone. So what gives?

In the spirit of due diligence, I’ll examine the main reasons people use the buddy system, and give my justification for ignoring them.

Reason #1: Someone knows where you are

Here’s what I do in Monterey: I head about 200 yards away from the shore, then turn and swim parallel to the beach. I’m never more than a quarter-mile from the sand. I wear a bright yellow swim cap, which catches the eye of observers on the beach.

I know this, because when I breathe to the side facing the beach, I frequently see someone doing the “one hand shading the eyes with the other hand pointed out toward me” stance while talking to a companion. Sure, they’re probably saying something like “Wow – look at that idiot swimming alone!”, but at least I know I’m noticed.

On the other hand, I can’t count the number of times when I’ve been on some remote trail, many miles away from anything resembling civilization. In those situations, if I were to break an ankle or have a heart attack, I might lie there for days before anyone discovered me.

In either case (swimming or running), once you venture into the wilderness, the only guarantee that you’ll return safely is your own self-reliance. Perhaps this is a foolhardy notion, but at least I’m consistent in my recklessness.

I realize, however, that those spectators from the beach can’t do much for me from the shore. Which leads me to…

Reason #2: You can get help if needed

People say the buddy system allows one swimmer to get help if the other is in trouble. This premise assumes a lot of factors that may not actually transpire.

Being in a group of ocean swimmers isn’t exactly like a social jog through the park. Everyone swims at different speeds. Very few people swim in a straight line. It’s nearly impossible to communicate above the noise of the wind and waves when everyone is wearing swim caps. Foggy goggles and choppy ocean swells often eliminate your peripheral vision. (Put it this way – there’s a reason every tri course is lined with kayakers. Is there any other sport that employs people merely to ensure that the participants stay in bounds?)

In these situations, each swimmer is practically on his or her own anyway. The best you can do is to have a designated turn-around point where you count heads to make sure no one is missing. But if someone starts choking and drops from the group, it could be 15 or 20 minutes before anyone notices and starts looking for him.

That’s assuming the group would even decide to look. I’ve been in groups where we count heads at the turnaround and come up a couple people short. Somebody usually concludes that those people must have turned back early, and thankfully, that’s always been the case.

My point is that merely having other bodies in the water doesn’t necessarily make you safer. Besides, if I had a medical emergency in the ocean, it’s not like my partner could do CPR on me out there. But could he help me with…

Reason #3: Predator attack

This is the thought that strikes fear into the hearts of novice swimmers everywhere. Nobody likes to picture getting attacked and devoured (on that thought – I loved Deene's comment on my last post, quoting Gil from “Finding Nemo” and saying that I would now be known as Sharkbait. It takes skill to trash talk someone by using a pop cultural reference that’s precisely topical. I wish I had thought of it first.)

Anyway, the potential for attack comes in two varieties: the “rip your limbs off and kill you immediately” method (like a Great White shark), and the “injure or paralyze you just enough that you’ll die a slow death before scavengers pick you apart” technique (like jellyfish). Granted, both of those ways sound pretty unpleasant. But think of them in running terms, and see if they still horrify you.

• Great White attack. This is a legitimate fear in some ocean regions, especially on the Northern California coast. But do you know how many shark attacks have been documented in the entire history of Monterey Bay? Exactly one. I know this statistic because my son and I saw it on Mythbusters – and those dudes wouldn’t lie.

Anyway, the Great White in the ocean is like the mountain lion in the hills: yes, it’s out there. Yes, it could kill you in a flash. But it doesn’t want anything to do with you, and would rather remain unseen.

The odds of you being attacked are a much lower magnitude than being struck by lightning. Sure, it could happen. But are you so terrified of lions that you avoid running on trails?

• Jellyfish sting. Unless you’re swimming in Australia, you’ll never find a jellyfish that can kill you with its sting. The real danger is suffering mild muscle paralysis, which can lead to drowning, so swimmers are advised to exit the water if they ever get stung.

Although I’ve seen several jellyfish in the ocean, I’ve never been stung – or if I have been, the wetsuit protected me from it. But if I do get stung, I’m close enough to shore that I could make it out of the water to get assistance.

Think of jellyfish as the rattlesnakes of the ocean. Your odds of being stung or bitten are roughly the same. Attacks usually happen by accident – stepping on a snake, or swimming into a jelly. The proper response to both incidents is to get antivenin as soon as possible. You should know these things, but you shouldn’t avoid the activity for fear of them.

In the end, what it comes down to is your willingness to take a calculated gamble. There is inherent risk of harm in running and cycling (I haven’t even mentioned getting hit by a truck yet) just as with ocean swimming. If you run or cycle alone, you knowingly diminish your chance of having help available should you need it.

Yet if you love trail running, you’ll take those odds to do something you enjoy. Ocean swimming is no different, and that’s why I usually don’t have any qualms about going solo.

(Finally, on a related note…if my body should wash up on the beach someday, would someone kindly submit this post along with my nomination for the Darwin awards? I’d appreciate it.)

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Mine! Mine!

(Administrative note: With my triathlon less than 4 weeks away, the next several posts will have a more noticeable tri-vibe than in previous weeks. Reader discretion advised.)

Friday evening found me at Wharf #2 of the Monterey Harbor, pulling on my wetsuit before heading out for an open-water swim. It was a nice evening by Monterey standards, with an overcast sky, air temperature in the high 60s, and a relatively warm water temperature of 62 degrees.

(Before you ask…yes, I was alone. More on this in another post.)

It had been quite a while since my last open-water swim, so I wasn’t sure how my stroke would feel. I started off fairly easy, and was pleasantly surprised to find that everything felt much smoother than anticipated. All that yardage in the pool must be paying off.

I maintained an every-third-stroke breathing pattern, stayed relaxed in response to the unpredictable swells and chop, and kept a steady course toward the faraway building I was sighting (one advantage of swimming in Monterey Bay is the curvature of the coastline, allowing swimmers to see land in the distance on three sides). Everything was going, well…swimmingly.

Seals are plentiful in the bay, and I’ve become accustomed to seeing their dark, rounded heads poking above the waves to stare at me as I turn my head to breathe. Sometimes when they are especially playful, they’ll criss-cross underneath my path, or swim parallel to me, keeping their head above water to keep tabs on my progress.

When I first started swimming in this ocean, it was somewhat unnerving to encounter various sea animals dashing in and out of my field of vision. Over time, though, I’ve learned to relax in the presence of the creatures that dwell in these coastal waters.

On the other hand, creatures of the air torment me incessantly.

Such was the case on Friday, when approximately 30 minutes into the swim, I noticed a gray seagull swooping down to within a couple feet of my head. He seemed to coordinate his descents so that he could see my face from close range whenever I turned to breathe.

There’s a back story involved here. For the sake of brevity, let’s just say that I have some, um…issues with birds. A checkered history, to put it mildly. (If you really want the long story, I wrote about it here.) So a hovering, possibly aggressive seagull directly overhead nearly put me into panic mode.

He stayed close above, repeatedly diving toward me for nearly a full minute before flying off toward a group gathered just offshore. I had a brief respite before the return of a different, white-and-black seagull, who also dropped in to get a look at me, coming nearly close enough to touch at times.

I was perplexed as to what could be causing such behavior. In my weary state, I envisioned a conversation amongst the nearby group of birds:


Bird leader: Hey – that looks like a wounded seal. Maybe there’s some scavenger fish nearby. Someone go check it out.

Gray seagull: I’m on it.

Bird leader (as gray returns): Well? Do we have a meal?

Gray: Nah…it’s some dude. Trying to swim, I think.

Leader: Really? That can’t be. Nothing swims like that. Is he wounded? Maybe there’s some scavenger fish anyway. Someone else check (white seagull departs).

White seagull (returning): No scavengers. It’s a dude. He looks bad, though. Let’s check on him later.


Luckily, it was only another 15 minutes before I was safely on shore, and the birds decided to go try their luck elsewhere.

I’m not exactly sure what being harassed by waterfowl says about my swimming prowess. Maybe I should be flattered to be mistaken for any type of seal – even a wounded one. Maybe I need to consult Stronger for some tips on my form. Or maybe I just presented a strange curiosity that the seagulls found interesting on an otherwise routine evening surf patrol.

All I know for sure is that they managed to make my relaxed evening swim significantly more nerve-racking than I intended. And they certainly haven’t made me grow any fonder of birds.

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