Plan B Follow-Up

I wanted to tie up a couple of loose ends related to the previous post before moving on to other subjects. In particular, the question has been asked – more than once, I should add – about whether my wife freaks out after reading posts like that.

It’s a fair question, and one that I usually have to clarify with another question: Do you mean, the “extended analogy about cheating on my wife” part, or the “I’m doing an Ironman next year” part? Because they’re each, in their own way, potentially quite flammable.

Here then, I have some answers. Regarding the analogy – the answer is “not really.” I’ve mentioned before that my wife is extremely perceptive. She’s not threatened by the thought of me finding somebody else – primarily because she knows it would take too much time away from my training. (Or, in her words: I’ve already had a mistress all these years – it’s my running.) So I think she sees the whole analogy thing as a bemusement.

On the other hand, the Ironman business is a little more bothersome. Not that she doubts my ability to do it, but she worries about the commitment of time and energy it will take away from the family. They are concerns that I completely agree with. In fact, such considerations are the primary reason I didn’t go down this road several years ago.

But nothing about the announcement took her by surprise. My Ironman scheme has been gathering momentum very slowly over the years, and we had already talked it out well ahead of the time I finally posted it here. (I mean, yes – I’m an idiot, but I’m not THAT stupid.)

More practically, there’s this: over the weekend she asked me a couple of questions that offer a reasonable summary of her feelings about the whole matter.

First, while I was watching the Ironman World Championships: “So are we going to be watching every triathlon that’s on TV for the next nine months?” And then, while I was getting ready for bed on Sunday: “Wait – does this mean you’re going to start shaving your legs again?”

And I think those are really her primary concerns: the day-to-day idiosyncrasies and ridiculousness that she’s forced to tolerate when I get obsessive about triathlon. Plus the inevitable new quirks and wrinkles I’ll acquire in the midst of high mileage multi-sport training. All the little things that aren’t immediately objectionable, but cause her to roll her eyes and wonder how she got herself hooked up with such an oddball.

That’s what will bug her the most. And that’s why I almost didn’t have the heart to tell her – the answers were yes and yes. Let the craziness begin.


***Postscript: I started writing this as an introduction to another post, but it sort of took on a life of its own. So let’s stop here for today. I’ll post the new article tomorrow.

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Plan B: The Mistress

“It started out with a kiss - how did it end up like this? –
It was only a kiss – It was only a kiss …

But it’s just the price I pay –
Destiny is calling me –
Open up my eager eyes – ‘cause I’m Mr. Brightside.”

- The Killers, “Mr. Brightside”

***
At long last, it’s time to talk about my Plan B for 2007.

I realize I’ve been delaying this particular post for several weeks now. My intent wasn’t really to string people along – it just didn’t seem sensible to talk about something if I wasn’t really going to do it. (I mean, look at how much good that did me with Western States ... )

The unintended downside is that by this point, there’s no way that the announcement can possibly live up to the advance publicity. It’s like finally seeing a blockbuster movie that had been promoted all summer, only to walk out of the theater thinking to yourself, “Wait – why were we so excited about that again?” after discovering it was just an average film.

So think of this as the Da Vinci Code of race announcements. Except that there aren’t any homicidal albinos, sexy French policewomen, or cryptexes to solve at the end.

No more suspense - I’ll just come out and say it: During the 2007 season, I’m breaking up with my wife, and moving in with my mistress. So to speak.

It’s been almost 15 years now since I first fell in love with running. For most of those years, I’ve been a fairly loyal, monogamous fellow. Yes, I’ve had dalliances with other sports, but running has been my soft place to fall at the end of the day. No matter what other activities I enjoyed, I always thought of myself as a runner, first and foremost.

But over the last couple of years, that fidelity slowly eroded, as more and more of my attention was drawn to the younger, more seductive sport of triathlon. I’ve beaten this analogy to death (like here and here and here) in the past, so I won’t belabor it further now (at least not for the next few paragraphs). Just suffice it to say that the temptation became too overwhelming, and I couldn’t deny the desires of my heart any longer.

Yes, I’m a flawed person. But very soon, this flawed person is going to be getting a LOT of action. And if I’m gonna go, I may as well go with a smile.

Instead of an epic running event (Western States), I’ll be entering an epic triathlon: the Vineman long course in Sonoma County, California next August. It’s an Ironman-distance race, except that they can’t legally call it an Ironman - which is the topic of a whole separate post some day.

The Ironman (sorry - I mean Vineman) will be my primary focus of 2007, and for a tune-up race I’ll be at the Wildflower Olympic distance triathlon in May. Wildflower is only one week after the Big Sur Marathon – which I haven’t signed up for yet - so I chose the Olympic distance instead of the half-IM as an easier option of doing both races if I decide to do that.

If running has been my marriage, the Big Sur Marathon has been my wedding band: a constant reminder of everything I’ve gone through and everything I love about running. I’m not quite ready to throw that race away yet – there are just too many great memories - so for now I’m tucking the ring in the back of a sock drawer where I can still look at it every once in a while.

At first glance, it may not appear that doing two triathlons would automatically disqualify me from being a pure runner. But for me, it’s not really about the races I enter, but the mindset I have as I train for them.

I’ve mentioned before that when I’m committed to a major race, I think about it every day. During almost every training session, I’m considering how that particular workout will help me succeed in the main event. The race occupies my thoughts during work and family hours as well.

Consequently, the chosen event begins to influence my self-image. When I trained for the Pikes Peak Marathon, I considered myself a mountain runner. When I raced the mile, I thought of myself as a track demon. For better or worse, my identity is perpetually shaped by the task that lies ahead of me – with only one exception.

For whatever reason (probably that monogamy thing), even though I’ve done triathlons for several years now, I’ve always considered myself a runner who periodically dabbled in triathlons as a fun diversion. But training for an Ironman can’t be done in a secondary manner. In order to fully satisfy the mistress, I have to finally walk away from the wife. So that’s exactly what I’m doing.

I’m not simply a runner anymore. For at least the next nine months, I’m thinking of myself first and foremost as a triathlete. I’ll focus on running only in the context of how it can help my triathlon training. I’ll spend as much time pondering my stroke mechanics or pedal cadence as I do my one-mile track intervals.

And the training is bound to impact my writing. The subject matter of this blog will probably incorporate a lot more triathlon references in the months ahead - at least, as much as it did with running up until now. (Which – come to think of it - often wasn’t very much. So maybe you won’t notice such a big change, after all.)

For me, on the other hand, the change will be enormous.

In some ways, it’s much easier to have a mistress. You maintain your emotional (albeit fraudulent) foundation at home, while she provides as much excitement as you want whenever you call upon her. She keeps the relationship quiet, manages her own finances, and has no expectation of commitment - at least not at first.

But once the relationship is out in the open, everything changes. You feel the need to defend your actions to people (including yourself). The mistress expects you to be with her all the time. She needs to make up for all the lost time she spent while you pretended not to know her. She starts costing way more money than you anticipated. She wants to merge your life with hers – and what’s more, she becomes fiercely possessive, because she’s paranoid that you might leave her just like you left your previous love (she already knows you’re that type). Worst of all, you no longer have anyplace to escape when she completely overwhelms you.

That’s where I am right now. Welcome to my 2007. The first year of a new, crazy life. Sometimes I look back and wonder how it ended up like this.

I have no idea if this changed mindset of mine will be permanent, or if I’ll come crawling back on my hands and knees to pure running someday (but here’s a hint: a Western States bid for 2008 would have me begging to return). All I know is that right now, my heart tells me that the Ironman is something I just have to do. I’m not going to second-guess myself for a minute.

Whether or not my changed focus turns out to be a long-term relationship, one thing is certain: it promises to be quite an adventure.

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Blue Daddy

So the whole Western States thing didn’t work out. Whatever.

I’ll talk about Plan B at the end of the week. But for today, I wanted to post a conversation my daughter and I had on Sunday, after I spent a few hours in the morning mixing concrete for a foundation wall at the base of our driveway.

While I was working, my two daughters walked around the yard dropping bread crumbs for the multiple birds that flock to our house on a daily basis. It seems the birds have pegged us as reliable crumb distributors lately.

Anyway, when I had finished, I sat next to my 5-year-old at the edge of our driveway, and we whispered to each other as various quail, robins, and sparrows rummaged through the feast my daughters had laid out.

Most of the birds just hopped and scurried from point to point in the yard, but there was one blue jay who kept swooping down, walking past the smaller crumbs, and lifting the largest pieces he could find in his beak before flying off into the trees again.

On his third or fourth swing into the yard, my daughter and I had the following exchange:

***
Her: That blue bird’s back again.

Me: I like him. He looks cool.

Her: He’s making a lot of trips back and forth.

Me: Maybe he’s bringing the food back home to give to his kids.

Her: He must be a daddy bird!

Me: Probably. He’s definitely cool-looking enough.

Her: He’s moving slower than the other birds when he’s on the ground.

Me: Maybe he’s pacing himself.

Her: What do you mean?

Me: Well, maybe he knows he has a lot of trips to make because there are a lot of mouths to feed at home and his kids always seem to be hungry. Or maybe he’s already done a lot of hard work today, and he just wants to take it easy for a while. Plus, he might be extra tired because he woke up early this morning to go for a long fly. So he’s probably trying to save some energy just so he can chase his kids around without falling asleep once he finally gets home again.

Her: (blank stare)

Me: Or … you know, maybe he’s just a slow walker.

Her: Yeah, probably. I’ll bet he’s a good daddy.

Me: I sure hope so.

***

So, um … perhaps this was one of those cases of seeing what you want to see in a particular situation. It’s also one of those exchanges that I think back on and wonder how screwed up I’m destined to make my kids as they're growing up.

On the plus side – we did have a nice time watching the birds. And that has to count for something, right?

I sure hope so.

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Rejected

I didn't get into Western States. I'm on to Plan B - I'll explain more next week.

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The Final Rose

Before we get to today’s post, a couple of people have asked for my take on the whole Britney Spears-Paris Hilton pairing. You know, the two straight weeks of partying and club hopping and generally making fools of themselves - occasionally without pants.

I have to say I was a bit surprised. I guess I figured that after her divorce, Britney would follow the lead of Jessica Simpson by making herself super-hot, then dating an NFL quarterback or some other alpha male. But apparently she has a different strategy in mind.

Now I’m thinking of it this way: Have you ever trained really hard for several months in anticipation of a race? And when the race was over, did you have a period of a few weeks where you blew off training, stayed up late every night, and ate as many dessert items as you could find? It’s almost like you say to yourself, “Screw it - I know all of this is self destructive, but I don’t care right now. I just want to enjoy myself.”

So maybe that’s what Britney’s doing with Paris – enjoying a brief self-destructive phase just to blow off some steam and enjoy herself for a while. Then hopefully after a couple more weeks, she’ll decide to get her act together and shift into training mode again. Hopefully.

Of course, the other (more likely) explanation is that I didn’t know what the hell I was talking about in that previous post. But I hope that’s not it.

OK, on with today’s post…

***

I’ve never really been one to believe in soulmates.

You know what I mean – the romantic notion that there is only one person in the great big world who is the ideal match to your personality. That your perfect companion is wandering somewhere around the great big world, and once you find that person, you’ll realize true happiness and enjoy a passionately rewarding relationship.

Honestly, I think that’s all a bunch of hooey.

When it comes to finding happiness, I tend to think in a more practical manner. It seems like successful relationships rely on fundamentals like maturity, humility, and a commitment to working through difficulties together. Yes, there are some personality types that naturally mesh well with others, but if the core values are too dissimilar, even those “ideal matches” will eventually become strained.

On the other hand, people with similar fundamentals can overcome a lot of obstacles. And if two such people dedicate themselves to each other, their relationship will most likely be a success.

This theory inherently contradicts the notion of soulmates, in that somebody could potentially create a happy, fulfilling relationship with any number of people (although not all at once. Unless you live in Utah.). For example, if I hadn’t happened to meet my future wife in college, there’s a pretty decent chance that I might have found somebody in grad school or later in my career who could have made me just as happy.

As you can imagine, this line of thinking could potentially get me into big trouble with my current wife. Except for one thing: she happens to agree with me.

Each of us often says that the other person would have no problem finding a new mate should something tragic ever happen. Then the other one of us denies that he/she could ever find a relationship as great as what we have now. We both know the response is basically a lie, but it’s always the right thing to say. (Aren’t we sweet that way?)

The reason I bring all this up is that this Saturday is the lottery drawing for the Western States 100-mile Endurance Run. Yes, it makes sense. Just hear me out.

I’ve wanted to run Western States for several years now. It’s at the top of my list of races that I haven’t yet done but dearly want to. So to say I’ve been looking forward to this lottery day for the past few months would be putting things very mildly.

If I get in (about a 50/50 chance), that race will be the primary focus of next year’s race calendar, and of my immediate training plans. Between now and next June, I’ll run countless miles on the hilly trails of Monterey County. I’ll run in the dark. I’ll run at midnight. Heck, I’ll probably even run hilly trails in the dark at midnight.

In short, I’ll commit myself to doing all of the necessary training that will maximize my chances of finishing the race. And I’m very confident that I’ll succeed.

Considering all of that, I’ll be somewhat disappointed if I don’t get in. But I certainly won’t be crushed by the rejection. That’s because I don’t believe in soulmates - in relationships or with races.

As much as I’m dying to do it, Western States isn’t my soulmate race. If I’m left out of the lottery this time around, I have a backup plan in place (that many of you have already guessed by now) that I’m equally enthusiastic about. And I would be perfectly happy in that situation as well.

The training would be different. The race schedule would be different. But I’ll still dedicate myself to doing all of the necessary work, and I’m very confident that I can succeed at the other race also.

All I need now is to establish where my loyalties lie. In that regard, this week I’ve felt like The Bachelor before the final rose ceremony: there are two totally hot options in front of me, but I can only keep one of them. They’re each a little crazy in their own quirky ways, but I can truly envision myself being happy with either one. What’s most important is that, in my heart, I know that I’m ready to fall in love.

(Except that, thanks to the lottery system, I don’t actually get to offer the final rose myself – it will be given vicariously by some dude in the Placer High School cafeteria. So the analogy isn’t perfect. But you get the idea.)

Anyway, the drawing takes place on Saturday, and the results will be posted on the Western States website that afternoon. I’ll also place a short post here with the news.

You don’t have to wish me luck. Just wish me love.

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When I'm 59

Sometimes all it takes is a quick e-mail to remind me why I love running.

I’ve mentioned my friend Mike in this blog before. He’s the co-author of my Monterey Herald column, but that’s not his primary vocation. For as long as I’ve known him, his main preoccupation seems to be figuring out how to actively defy the aging process.

He’ll try any food, drink, or supplement that’s been found to prevent disease or slow the body’s natural rate of aging. But he doesn’t look for shortcuts. His knows his best weapon against growing old is his running, and he works harder at it than almost anyone I know.

He also happens to have a great genetic predisposition for running – which, when combined with his work ethic, makes him a very tough guy to beat. When we started running together, I was 26, and he was 50 – and it took me almost five years to finally beat him in a race.

We’re still competitive with each other, but it’s more of a friendly thing now. We don’t often enter the same races, and when we do, we each want the other person to have as strong a race as possible.

Which brings me back to the e-mail.

I decided to not run the Big Sur Half-Marathon last month, so in the course of a routine e-mail exchange before the race I asked him what time he was shooting for. I got the following response:

***

I'd like to run 1:18 in the half. HA HA. Not realistic.

Longer story: Two years ago I ran 1:26:55 which was the 55-59 course record and last year 1:26:50. Unfortunately [another runner] ran 1:26:40 last year which is now the course record for 55-59. I don't know if he is running this year or not. Or any other 55-59 years olds who might be faster.

So I would love to run 1:26:39 or faster. I'm going to try to run 6:30's for as long as I can. That gets me around 1:25 I think. But my recent 10K time of 39:15 indicates I would run about 1:28. So we'll see.

Another factor is that Bryan [Mike’s 31-year-old son] is probably ready to beat me. He hasn't beaten me in an official road race yet. I'll start faster than him so when he catches me at some point in the race it may spur me on to run faster for awhile. We'll see.

ABSOLUTELY PERFECT DAY would be sub 1:26:40 and finishing with Bryan.

***

It’s only a few short paragraphs, but they speak to a lot of things I admire about Mike.

Somehow, his times at this race have improved from one year to the next, which – last time I checked – isn’t supposed to happen at age 59. And while he may not be competitive with the best 30-year-olds, he remains one of the fastest guys in his age group. He usually looks to take down the course record at various races, and frequently succeeds.

He raises his game for big events, regardless of objective data that tells him he shouldn’t run so fast. He's extremely competitive, but uses it solely to optimize his own performance, rather than wishing poor results upon others. This guy won’t even let his own son beat him without putting up a strong fight, and using the occasion to make himself faster as well.

And when I read his response, my first thought was this: that’s EXACTLY how I want to be when I’m his age.

Fundamentally, running means much more than the races we’ve run or the PRs we’ve posted in our best years or the competitors we’ve defeated. At the core of the sport is the simple goal of continually making ourselves better – physically (staying healthy), physiologically (improving our performance), and emotionally.

It doesn’t matter whether you’re 20 or 60. And that’s what Mike’s e-mail reminded me of.

The half-marathon turned out mostly the way Mike predicted. He ran 1:26:28, or 12 seconds faster than the old course record. His son passed him in the later miles on his way to a 1:24 finish, defeating his father for the first time in an official race, but pulling several extra seconds of speed out of his old man in the process.

Unfortunately, the same guy who set last year’s age group mark ran 1:25:05 this year to set a new record. Mike won’t get another crack at the record, as he turns 60 in early 2007. But he’s already talking about rewriting the 60-year-old course record books, a goal which seems firmly within his grasp.

That’s the kind of fire I want to keep burning. I want to still be a racer when I’m 59. I want to continue challenging myself to be as fast as I can be. I want to race against my children and only relinquish a victory when they truly earn it.

And even if our head-to-head competitions will be done by then, I want to keep racing Mike.

Personally, I hope he puts up some numbers next year that last a long time. Like, maybe 25 years or so. I’d like to flip through a race program sometime in 2031 and see his name next to the course record. Then I’d work my tail off to take the record down.

It’s very unlikely that I’d succeed, but even if I did, I have a feeling Mike probably won’t even mind.

After all, he’ll be too busy trying to break records in the 85-to-89 age group to worry about some upstart 60-year-old.

**

(postscript: I e-mailed this article to Mike for approval before posting it, and he wrote back: “The only thing you left out is that I still plan on beating you.” So there you go.)

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Monument Tour

(Administrative note: I wrote the following article shortly after a business trip in October. I planned on using it for a Monterey Herald article, but Mike and I had a couple of other topics we wanted to cover first, so this one just sat idle on my laptop for several weeks.

As it happens, our next column runs on Thanksgiving Day. This article wasn’t meant to be a standard-issue “giving thanks” type of column, but after looking it over a couple of times, it sort of fits the mold. The original version is posted below, and a modified (i.e. more Thanksgiving-y) version will appear in Thursday’s Herald.

With that said … happy reading, and have a nice Thanksgiving.)

***

Thankfully, I haven’t been to a lot of memorial services.

Honoring the lives of those who have passed before us is generally somber business. Although we try to celebrate life, the overwhelming emotions are usually those of sadness and grief.

And to show our respect, we would never dream of showing up in sweat-soaked running clothes.

But with the passage of 100 years or so, the rules change a bit. Instead of memorial services, the lives of our predecessors are remembered in monuments, open for contemplation in whatever manner touches us the most profoundly.

I thought about this while running through Washington, D.C. last month.

My business day ended at 5:00 PM, leaving about 90 minutes of sunlight before night descended upon the city. I quickly changed clothes, laced up my shoes, and headed out the door of my Georgetown hotel.

I took pedestrian pathways towards downtown, and noticed that several tourist groups were still making their rounds in large buses which stopped at the major monuments. I decided to use my evening run for the same purpose.

My first stop was the Jefferson Memorial at the Tidal Basin. Approaching the 130’ structure, my first realization was how large these memorials really are. Everyone knows what D.C.’s landmarks look like from photographs, but until you’re standing at the base of one, it’s hard to fathom their imposing size.


I ran up the marble steps and into the portico, to gaze upon the 20’ statue of our third President. From such a vantage point, his inscribed words on the walls and in the dome overhead strike a profoundly noble chord.

I started this run seeking inspiration; less than 20 minutes in, I had found it.

My path led me around the Basin to the FDR Memorial. I slowed to walk through the waterfalls and reflecting pools. Contemplating scenes from the Great Depression alongside inscriptions such as Roosevelt’s Four Freedoms, I felt grateful for the talents and comforts I’ve known for my whole life.


One reason for that prosperity was the next stop on my tour: the World War II Memorial. On the west side of the plaza I stood at the Freedom Wall, taking the measure of over 4000 gold stars – each one representing 100 American deaths. Nearly all of them died younger than I am now. My evening run had taken a somber turn.

I resumed jogging along the reflecting pool toward the Lincoln Memorial. Again I was impressed by the sheer size of the monument (and I could be wrong, but it sure seemed like the steps got steeper towards the top) and the stature of the man it honors.


I also found that despite the crowds at the base of Lincoln’s chair, it was unusually silent here in the inner chamber. I could hear my own breathing as we stood in reverence of one of our country’s greatest leaders.

I descended the steps and drifted over to the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. The black granite wall is simultaneously stark and sacred, and its aesthetic power was enough to stop me in my tracks.

Architect Maya Lin intended this to be a place of reflection. The granite is polished and glossy, reflecting the grass and trees and visitors that surround it. Images of life are reflected in the names of those who died, eternally connecting scenes from the present to the heroes of our troubled past.


Above all, this was a place of great sorrow. It seemed fitting that darkness was falling. I slowly walked the length of the wall, then continued onward, with just one stop remaining on my tour.

I ran through Constitution Gardens toward the city’s most recognizable structure. Approaching it, I saw that the lights of the Washington Monument had already been turned on, giving the towering obelisk a dusky hue against the orange and purple autumn sunset.

I ran up the sloping grass to the tower, and stood right against the monument, so the lights from the ground projected my shadow upward against the white marble and sandstone.

Standing at the base, it’s impossible to see the top of the monument. Even my larger-than-life-shadow projected up only a fraction of the tower’s 555’ height. The inherent message was simple: standing here, I was in the presence of giants.

Returning along the Potomac through the darkness, I considered the time I had just spent at these memorials. In particular, I remembered some signs I had seen along the way.

Many of the monuments have standard-issue “Quiet please - No smoking - No pets - No skateboarding” signs posted in common areas. But I was surprised to see that several of these signs also say “No running.”

Was this a simple liability issue? Or had I been disrespectful by showing up at these memorials with shorts, muddy running shoes and a sweaty Big Sur Marathon shirt? If so, I couldn’t really make sense of it.

Because whether they commemorate triumphs or sadness, the monuments inspire and challenge us. They force us to consider our own lives, our purposes, and how we influence the world around us.

In that regard, I thought it quite appropriate that I visited them in the midst of a run.

When I’m out running, I’m filled with inspiration and encouragement. And I’m never more introspective, more humble, or more contemplative than when I’m wearing shorts and running shoes. That night I was especially appreciative for my ability to run, and for freedom to do the activities I enjoy.

Running in the footsteps of giants, I was grateful to all of those who made it possible: the founders who established our great nation, and the generations who continually defend her ideals. Sharing my run with thoughts of such patriots is the best way I can think of to pay my respects.

And if I’m a little bit stinky and sweaty while doing so – well, hopefully Abe, George, and the others will understand.

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