March 9, 2008

Runners Wanted

Believe it or not, this is a real photograph:


It hasn’t been photoshopped or digitally modified – it’s just a plain old (yet amazingly cool) picture taken by a guy named Thomas Peschak, for an article called Shark Detectives in the September 2005 issue of Africa Geographic.

It’s a good example of how a still photograph can be even more captivating than a video, as the uncertainty of what happens next is mysteriously intriguing. At the very least, it’s an effective way to capture the attention.

That’s why I inserted the photo into an e-mail to my Friday running group.

For various reasons, the weekly gathering of my training partners on Friday mornings has dwindled significantly over the past several weeks. Injuries, illnesses, work/travel schedules, and general ambivalence have gradually taken their toll – and instead of drawing 4 or 5 other runners on a regular basis, I recently find myself thankful when anyone shows up at all.

So on Thursday, I sent the picture along with the regular reminder, as well as this message:

“The man in the kayak is you. The shark is complacency. Who’s in?”

I figured the symbolic kick in the pants, not to mention the pleasantly early sunrises we enjoyed last week, would get a few more people out to the 6AM start. The e-mail went out to a group of about 10 runners.

The result? Exactly one person showed up. So much for capturing anyone's attention.

Apparently I don’t have quite the persuasive power of a shark - but at least the two of us managed to have a nice run. And I was able to evade the predator of complacency for still one more day.

Finally, in a related story: I’m currently in the market for some Friday morning trail runners. If you happen to know of anyone in the Monterey area who might be interested, please tell them where to find me.

(P.S. in case you're wondering ... the shark didn't attack the kayaker.)

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March 6, 2008

35 Going On 50

A few administrative notes to follow up on some previous posts …

First: thanks to everyone who offered kind or sympathetic words in response to the post about my sister. It’s comforting – but more than a little disheartening – to hear that sibling issues are so prevalent.

To update the story - I spoke to her again on the phone last week. It was a nice talk, although I wouldn’t say there was any sort of meaningful shift that I could detect. So it seems like business as usual – although maybe one of these days I’ll be pleasantly surprised.

Second: the polls from the Choose Your Own Adventure post have officially closed, and (using my best Wolf Blitzer voice here) I’m ready to make a projection – the comic strip story prevailed. Thank you to everyone who commented or e-mailed me. I went strictly by popular vote, so I don’t have to worry about superdelegates throwing the election to the second place finisher, which was tentatively titled “Why I taught my son the F-bomb”. Although, as a few people pointed out, several of those suggested topics will probably find a way to seep into a post one of these days anyway.

Finally: the promised Foo Fighters post will come along in the near future as well – but in the meantime, answer me this: is anyone making more creative videos than the Foo Fighters lately? Their latest is on my sidebar – and whenever I see it on VH1 while I’m getting dressed for work, it’s far and away the best four minutes of my morning (or 12 minutes, if you count me rewinding it twice on TiVo). The title of the song is a little ominous for an ultrarunner to have on his sidebar, but what the heck - I’ll roll the dice with these guys any day.

That's all for now. On with the post …

**

In a previous post I described how I’ve made a habit of doing underwater laps after each swim workout, just to keep an element of playfulness in the regular routine. I typically do 2x 25 yards underwater, and if I’m feeling particularly strong, on the last attempt I’ll stay under and push off the far wall again, extending the interval another 10 yards or so.

I frequently do these intervals by myself, but sometimes the other swimmers in my group will join me, and that’s what happened one day last week. We did our first underwater rep, and the group waited about 30 seconds before dipping under the surface for the final interval. I lagged behind a couple of seconds longer to draw one more deep breath, then followed suit.

Approaching the far wall, I tapped it with my fingers, turned my legs around, and pushed off in the opposite direction. I managed a couple of breaststroke pulls and frantically kicked my way more than halfway across before finally coming up for air, completely wasted from the oxygen depletion.

Treading water in the middle of the pool, I slowly turned towards the wall where the others had finished, just a brief second before they turned around and saw me 15 yards behind them. It was the farthest I had ever traveled underwater.

Just then, as she was climbing out of the pool, the ringleader of our group initiated the following exchange:

Her: What happened, Donald?

Me (gasping): I ran out of air.

Her: Yeah, sometimes it goes bad like that. Don’t worry about it.

And with that, she turned and walked toward the locker room, and the others started climbing out of the pool as well.

It took my oxygen-starved brain a couple of seconds to realize, Wait - I'm facing them right now ... they think I only made it 10 yards underwater! By that time, everyone was headed to the showers - but I didn’t have enough breath to shout a response back to them anyway.

Once I finally made my way to the locker room, the thought briefly crossed my mind to track a couple of guys down to say “Actually, fellas – I went 35 yards, not 10.” But then I questioned exactly what the point of that would be, and ended up just keeping my mouth shut.

I know what I did, and that’s the important part. What’s more, the underwater effort pushed the envelope of my maximal ability to this point – and it stoked a small fire to blast completely through the barrier at some point in the future.

I think I can make it 50 yards underwater someday, so now I’m putting it out there as an official goal. This will be a fun one to chase (that is, if oxygen debt and prolonged episodes of sheer panic are your idea of fun – I’ll have to write more about this sometime). I'm not putting any deadlines or pressure on myself – it just seems like a cool challenge to go after from time to time.

Of course - knowing my luck - when I finally reach up and grab the wall at the same place I left it after swimming two lengths below the surface, someone will probably wonder out loud why I never left the wall to start the interval.

I’ll be way too far out of breath to correct them, but that won’t bother me one bit.

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March 3, 2008

I Report, You Decide

I guess there’s no getting out of this one.

I’ve been tagged – not once, not twice, but three times - to tell you seven random things about myself. It seems like an interesting premise – until you consider the fact that I describe random stuff about me nearly every day on this here blog. I mean … random is more or less my M.O.

You already know that I’m a good igloo builder, that I frequently shave my legs, that I got hooked on Lost over the past year (on that note – I just realized that I’m an idiot for predicting Desmond in an earlier post. He wasn’t even on Oceanic 815. The lesson, again: never listen to me.), and that I have a crazy/sexy crush on Shakira. Those kind of tidbits just come with the territory around here.

I usually justify inclusion of the random stuff by crafting very tenuous applications to endurance sport training and racing. But today, I’ve decided to take this tag in a different direction: I’m listing random stuff that has absolutely no relevance to the world of triathlon.

Any one of these topics could be a full-length post in its own right – and to prove it (and to throw another wrinkle into today’s mix), I’ll pledge to do exactly that with one of them later this month.

Your job is to vote for which topic you want to read more about. I figure if I have to go through this tag thing, I’m dragging you all along with me. Think of it this way: at least you don’t have to pay text messaging rates like when you vote for a contestant on American Idol. And I won’t make you read through a separate results post that takes a full hour to tell you what can be said in three minutes.

Got it? OK then - pick something from the following list, and the item with the most comment votes gets its own piece. You could find out …

1. Why I consider myself a Christian, and I love rock music – but I can’t stand Christian rock music.

2. Why I made my 9-year-old son a mix CD last summer that includes a couple of songs with the F-bomb in them – and my somewhat defensible reason for doing so.

3. How Salinas, California became one of the most illiterate cities in America – and how it’s directly connected to the town’s mistreatment of John Steinbeck.

4. What my backup plan is for channeling my competitive nature in the event that I ever become a quadriplegic.

5. How I inadvertently contributed to the early demise of one of my favorite comic strips in the 1990s.

6. Why I had to bite my tongue multiple times to avoid making a scene in front of schoolchildren inside the Carmel Mission last month.

7. Why the Foo Fighters are the best rock band of the past decade – and why their story should be a mandatory part of elementary school education.

Actually, the more I consider that last one, I’m starting to think that I can work a triathlon angle into it – so I’ll go ahead and write that post someday. And I just made your job 1/7th easier, because now you only have a list of six to choose from.

So those are your options. It’s like one of those old Choose Your Own Adventure books, only in blog form. Comment or e-mail your preference, and let’s see what page we end up on next.

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February 28, 2008

Reconnecting

My sister almost never calls me. I can’t really be critical, though - because I rarely call her either.

We’re less than 4 years apart in age, but seem countless miles apart in life. She’s taken some hard knocks that I’ve had the good fortune and/or good sense (most likely, a combination of both) to avoid. She still lived at home during the divorce of our parents, and took it very personally. She dropped in and out of college a few times, and started down various career paths that never panned out. She began having kids at an early age, and now has the fates of four little ones riding on her tutelage and guidance (not that kids are hard knocks - just a lot of stress and work).

She’s also battled obesity ever since high school - although “battle” probably isn’t the most appropriate term, since it implies some sort of balanced fight. Unfortunately, this particular war is very one-sided: obesity has taken command of her life as mercilessly and unrelentingly as General Sherman took control of the South.

There was a time, many years ago, when I tried to guide her in healthier living, but nothing really seemed to take. Eventually, I sensed enough ambivalence and resentment that I finally left her to her own consequences. She's had some health issues and anger issues and sometimes barely resembles the fun, happy kid sister I grew up with.

Over the years, it’s become harder and harder for me to relate to her. We live in separate states now, and have seen each other only a handful of times in the past decade. We talk on birthdays and holidays, but otherwise tend to stay out of each others’ lives. We’re not quite estranged … we’re just very much apart.

But she’s my sister, and I love her - so I occasionally worry about her, and frequently wonder if she’s healthy and happy. That’s why I was pleasantly surprised to hear from her earlier this week.

She called me in the middle of the day, and we soon had this conversation:

Me: So what’s up?

Her: Oh, nothing … just that I saw a picture of you in my new doctor’s office.

Me: Um … what? Really?

Her: Yeah – he’s a runner, and did the Marine Corps Marathon one of the same years you did.

Me: Yeah, but … I still don’t get it.

Apparently her doctor has one of those photomosaic-style posters that was made sometime after the 1995 Marine Corps Marathon. Thousands of thumbnail images of runners from that race combine to form the image of the Iwo Jima Memorial, which stands at the finish line of the race.

My sister noted the year, remembered that I had done the same race (coincidentally, this was about the time when I was bugging her the most about exercise), then searched the poster for about 15 minutes until she found my little thumbnail.

I’m not sure what part is the most surprising: the fact that there’s a photomosaic poster from that race (I had no idea these even existed), or that my sister remembered I had done Marine Corps the same year, or that she took the time to look through thousands of thumbnails until she saw a teeny tiny picture of me. All I know is that it was good to get a surprise call from her, for no reason other than to share a brief laugh together.

I’m also uncertain as to whether there’s any significance in the timing of her call. She was in a doctor’s office (this isn’t entirely happenstance – she has more doctors than any 30-something person should), looking at a picture of me running, and possibly remembering all the different ways I used to bother her.

And who knows – maybe something registered that hadn’t before. Maybe a seed that was haltingly planted years ago finally began to sprout. Maybe some of her health issues will finally, slowly, mercifully start to turn around. Maybe she’s a small step closer to being happy and healthy.

Or maybe she was simply calling to say hi - and I guess that would be OK, too.

Because my sister almost never calls me. But yesterday, thanks to an old running picture, she did. It was a nice little moment – and under the circumstances, I’m happy to leave it at that.

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February 25, 2008

The Blogger Who Came In From the Cold*

*a shout out to any old-school espionage fans out there

First, a confession: last week when I reported I was going the slacker route, I had an ulterior reason besides my standard one of just being lazy; I also knew that I’d be dropping off of the cyber-grid for several days.

(In a related story - I'm way behind on returning e-mails and visiting other blogs, and apparently I've been tagged not once, but twice. The lesson, of course: I can never leave my computer again.)

It seems hard to believe, but there are still some places in this world that don’t have e-mail or Internet access – even some places in California. One of them looks something like this:

The Sierra Nevada Mountains of Calaveras County – a favorite destination of our family for several years.

Despite my recent springtime serenades, the fact is that my kids periodically get the itch for some wintertime fun - snowball fights, snowmen, sledding, and all those other things they see in televised Christmas specials. So this trip is a nice compromise: we travel for a half-day to enter a snowy wonderland, have our cold-weather fun, then return to the warm climate of home a few days later. If winter were a restaurant, this trip is like ordering from the drive-through window. Which is just the way I like it.

We timed the trip perfectly, as it ended up snowing almost six inches during the days we were there. This was the view from our cabin:


Although, truth be told, this is the view I enjoyed the most:

This picture was taken from the big easy chair where I spent most of my days sitting under a blanket, curled up with a book, drifting in and out of sleep. There are certainly worse ways to spend your time.

Of course, we did a lot of outdoor activities, and most of my hours were spent with snow shovel in hand, as lead engineer for the sledding slope. We eventually got around to building a snowman:

And decided to give him a funky hairdo – you know, seeing as how we’re still in California and all.

I also made this igloo:

For a kid who was born and raised in Los Angeles, I’ve got some crazy igloo skills. The inside of this was big enough for all three kids to play in, and tall enough for my daughter to stand up:

See? There’s another kid picture for you. I think she’s got her father’s feet.

All things considered, it was a great little vacation. The only downside was that I didn’t get any training done while I was there. (Unless you count building the igloo, which made me sweat like crazy during its construction. I must have burned a lot of calories building that thing – although probably not as many as I consumed in lemon bars over three days.) I packed my running gear with me, but there’s something about 30 degree weather with ice and snow on the ground that made me a little reluctant to lace up the old running shoes. I’ll have to get some tips on this from Stronger someday.

But that’s a problem for next winter. In the meantime, I’m hoping a high mileage week with a few midday swims will whip me back into shape relatively quickly – because pretty soon, I’ll be counting down the weeks until my first races in April and May.

Slacking time is over, and winter’s almost officially in my rearview mirror – which means it’s time for me to get serious again.

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February 20, 2008

Runner Watching

"Well I'm just people watching -
The other people watching me -
And we're all people watching -
The other people watching we."
- Jack Johnson, "People Watching" (click to play)

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In last week’s Monterey Herald column, we took a fairly common observation – the fact that everyone’s running form is slightly different – and had some fun with it. In case you hadn’t guessed, this is one of my favorite styles of writing – lighthearted, creative, and (thankfully, from my editor's standpoint) generally unoffensive.

Hopefully you’ll enjoy reading it as much as we enjoyed writing it. And to answer the inevitable question you’ll have afterwards - I tend to think of myself as an ostrich: big, awkward looking and clumsy, yet somehow able to get limbs and trunk moving sufficiently well to gain a decent head of steam every now and then.

It may not be the sexiest bird in town, but it gets the job done. It’s a compromise I can definitely live with.

**

Running Life 2/14/08 “Runner Watching”

Most runners become amazingly adept at recognizing their friends from a long distance away by their unique running styles. Even in the dark, a distinctive posture or tilt of the head or arm swing gives everyone away. Running styles become your own personal signature, almost like a fingerprint.

Some runners are regal and elegant, and others are blue collar and industrious. Some prance like fillies, others plod like Clydesdales. If you watch from a distance, you’ll see all styles and types.

One of the great things about running is that nearly any method is acceptable. We’re not figure skaters or gymnasts, so style points don’t count. However, while any form is OK for recreational runners, only a highly efficient style will suffice for the competitive racers.

Running style is largely influenced by your body type and biomechanics. Virtually everyone has some quirk created by bone structure, core strength and symmetry, muscle imbalances, foot alignment, and other minor abnormalities we all live with.

All of these traits are helpful in playing a little game that’s similar to bird watching; trying to spot as many different running species you can find. We’ve helped you get started, by developing a beginner’s field guide to indigenous runners of the Monterey Peninsula:

The Happy Hummingbird: Characterized by short choppy steps and boundless energy, this runner bounces from tree to bush with optimism and flair. They are a joy to watch. These carefree runners often drift back and forth across the trail, wandering wherever the spirit leads them, travelling nearly everywhere but along a straight line.

The Cowering Crow: Unfortunately, you see these depressing runners all the time. They frown. They groan. They sneer. They grunt. They look like they’d rather be doing anything but running. Typically they are fitness or weight loss runners who really don’t enjoy running, but are just going through the motions because they know they should. This is the species of runner that non-runners spot while driving in their car, and think to themselves, “THAT’S why I’m not a runner!”

The Prancing Peacock: This is typically a female of the species who dresses to impress and to strut her stuff. Easily identifiable by ornamental clothing, this chickadee is often seen with colorful tights or running shorts accompanied by skimpy tops. Her bright tail feathering is often adorned with words such as “Pink,” “Juicy,” or “Abercrombie and Fitch”.

The Bare-Chested Bird of Prey: Easily identifiable on the trails by a shirtless look even on cold days. Typically, the male of the species strips down to impress any potential mates who may be nearby. (Not surprisingly, these runners are typically “available”). A commonly observed ritual sees the male flex his muscles around a prancing peacock, while chirping his “How you doin’ honey?” mating call.

The Wing-Flapping Vulture: This runner is easily identified by aggressive behavior and flapping arms. Often found running very fast with arms rotating in strange directions, this style often comes with head bobbing as well. Phoebe from Friends was the best pop-culture example of this species. Running close to this bird is not only embarrassing, but can frequently be dangerous as well.

The Delirious Dodo: You see this runner avoiding the safer trails and running paths in favor of routes through crowded traffic areas. They cross streets unexpectedly, run in the same direction as approaching cars, and drift across bike lanes on the recreation trail. In the darkness they wear dark colors with no reflective gear. It is no wonder that natural selection has made them an endangered species.

The Beast of Burden: This strange, Type A bird insists on trying to do two workouts at the same time. They are easily identified by running while carrying weights on their arms or tied to their legs. Sadly, this unusual behavior usually ruins both the joy and freedom of the running experience, while simultaneously lessening the effectiveness of their strength work.

The Red-Breasted Novice: This sorry creature is easy to spot in the final miles of a marathon with his distinctive red spots on the breast, caused by blood from chafed nipples without protection. His appearance often triggers shock and disgust amongst first-time bird watchers. The Red Breaster frequently has a distinctive cry of intense pain that sounds like the whippoorwill, which they repeat continuously during the last few miles of their race.

The Soaring Golden Eagle: These magnificent members of the species look like they were born to run. They move elegantly and magnificently with perfect posture, and their speed appears effortless. They glide over the ground and look like they could run forever. You’ll typically find these birds localized in the lead pack of any major marathon.

Now that you have your beginner’s guide, you’re fully equipped to take on your new hobby. Feel free to keep this column with you in your car to make field identification easier. Just remember to not judge the different varieties too harshly.

Like we said before, any running style is a good one – just so long as you’re not a Dodo.

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February 18, 2008

In Bloom

"Weather changes moods -
Spring is here again ...

And he don't know what it means ..."
- Nirvana, "In Bloom"

I’m shifting into slacker mode for the next few days: one “quickie” post now, a regular one on Wednesday, then I’m calling it a week.

For today, you’ll have to humor me a bit more on this springtime weather thing – because I really can’t fathom how we’ve been so lucky here lately, when most of the country is enduring blizzards and sub-freezing temperatures.

(I realize this could trigger another rash of “You suck” and “I hate you, it’s freezing here lately” comments and e-mails, but really, I don’t mind. Feel free to sound off – I won’t take it personally.)

I know it’s technically winter – but I can’t seem to convince myself that it’s not actually spring. And I’m not the only one having trouble; it seems as if the neighborhood trees have decided that we’re all ready to get our springtime groove on once again.

More and more, I find myself believing the trees. They make a convincing argument - especially when this is what I see outside my grocery store …


And this is a cherry tree outside of an elementary school …

And this is the parking lot of a church on Carmel Valley Road:

I know what the calendar says, and I know what the groundhog said - but I’m even more familiar with these trees. I run past them nearly every day, so many times that I can almost hear their whispers in the breeze. And lately, they’re assuring me that winter’s merely a fading memory.

Of course, it’s quite likely that we’re mistaken, and our area's in for a few more serious cold spells before the first official day of spring. In the meantime, the trees and I will just count our blessings, thankful that we’re included among the lucky ones.

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