The Heart of an Ultrarunner

A couple of administrative notes before today’s post …

*I’ve been tagged twice now to do that “describe your running” thing that’s going around. So that item has moved up about 5 slots on my list of future posts – but needless to say, you shouldn’t hold your breath waiting for it.

*A friend of mine is involved in a filmmaking contest featuring short videos on various aspects of running. I have to admit that before he pointed it out to me, I had no idea that such a competition even existed - but apparently it does, and the stakes are enormous. Remember when I won that blog contest, and the reward was the gold ribbon picture you see on my sidebar? Well, the winner of this contest gets a trip to Beijing. All of a sudden, my victory seems remarkably insignificant.

Anyway, when you get a minute, go to this website and check out the videos. My friend did the steeplechase video, so we’d appreciate your vote for that one – but honestly, they’re all pretty good.

OK, let’s move along …

**

Although I try not to place additional value on my friendships based on people’s occupations or skills, I’ll admit this much: sometimes, it’s nice to have friends who are physicians.

It’s especially nice if your friend is a prominent cardiologist with advanced training in diagnostic imaging, who just opened a clinic featuring a new multi-million dollar non-contrast time-spatial labeling inversion pulse (I know, I know … I don’t understand all those words, either) magnetic resonance angiography (MRA) machine, and is in need of volunteers for cardiac scans so that he and the clinical staff can get accustomed to instrumentation and calibration of the machine.

As you can imagine, it took me about 0.002 seconds to say “Where do I sign?” after the doctor asked if I was interested in volunteering – and that’s how I found myself getting prepped to undergo a free cardiac MRA earlier this week.

The nurses even shave your chest for you, so that the electrode contact surfaces are clean. I swear, sometimes I wonder how I luck into these things.

The procedure itself was uneventful, with the exception of when the imaging tech had to stop the test and extract me from the machine to shake me awake. (I’ve mentioned before that I have some sleep deprivation issues, haven't I?)

I wasn’t sure what to expect as far as results go - but leading up to the exam, two conflicting scenarios battled back and forth in my mind:

1) My doctor friend would sit down to review the images on the screen, and excitedly exclaim, “Whoa – that heart can definitely run for 100 miles!” Or …

2) He’d sit down and immediately say “Hmm – I think I see something here.”

Obviously, I was pulling for the first scenario over the second. But the official verdict was relatively anticlimactic: he sat down, spent a few minutes clicking the mouse and taking various measurements, and nonchalantly said, “Looks pretty normal.”

A normal heart. I’ve been running my butt off for the past several months so I can be normal. Needless to say, I wasn’t overwhelmingly flattered with the preliminary reading. However, with further discussion, the “normal” label took on greater significance than I initially thought.

It turns out that my friend has recently reviewed several journal articles discussing heart failure among athletes – in particular, the cardiac abnormalities that led to the sudden deaths of high profile athletes such as Hank Gathers, Reggie Lewis, and most recently, Ryan Shay.

Many of these athletes shared a specific variety of cardiac abnormality called hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, which is a fancy term for an unusual thickening of the heart wall. While it’s normal for elite athletes to have enlarged heart muscles, with state of the art imaging techniques, this ominous type of cardiomyopathy is more easily distinguished from the relatively benign hypertrophy (muscle thickening) often referred to as “athlete’s heart.”

State of the art imaging techniques, such as my friend’s new MRA. In light of that, “normal” is actually a wonderful diagnosis to hear.

So now I’m reasonably certain that I won’t drop dead during Western States – at least, not from a heart attack. As far as lions, rattlesnakes, heat stroke, dehydration, or a myriad of other things are concerned … I suppose the jury’s still out on those issues.

Finally, in a related story … my friend’s not the only one interested in examining my heart lately. At Western States, I’ll be one of many subjects for a study of cardiac function during prolonged endurance exercise. I’ll have an electrocardiogram to assess the increase in cardiac stress levels, and the depression in cardiac function. The tests will be administered one day before the start, and again after the race.

At the post-race testing area in Auburn, I’m not exactly sure what a “normal” heart would look like – but as long as it’s the heart of a 100-mile finisher, I know that mine will be a happy one.

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New Acquaintances

Western States is right around the corner – which means I’m having trouble putting intact paragraphs together, let alone writing an entirely cohesive post. Accordingly, all I’ve got today are a few loosely organized thoughts related to the upcoming race …

**

Several years back, I participated in a high school ministry program. One of our coolest activities occurred whenever a senior left the group for college; it was something we called “affirmation bombardment”.

The student sat in a chair in front of the whole group – then one at a time, each person told that kid something he (or she) liked about him (or her). It could be something minor, such as having a nice haircut, but usually the sentiments grew more profound, speaking to the person’s personality and character, and his or her ability to succeed in the larger world after leaving the comforting surroundings of home.

It never failed to be an incredibly uplifting scene – watching some anxious kid preparing for an unimaginable adventure, having his spirits boosted by a group of people who care about him, gaining confidence for the journey ahead. Those nights were my favorite part of the ministry – and they’re a memory that’s been on my mind for the past couple of weeks.

Recently, and with increasing frequency, I’ve been on the receiving end of e-mails and comments with well-wishes for Western States. What’s more, several of them are from random people I’ve never known before, who have approached me on the street, or dropped unexpected e-mails to my inbox. I guess I've never fully appreciated how many people were following this little adventure, either through my Monterey Herald articles, or via this blog.

I’m not sure how everybody’s finding me, but I know one thing: it sure feels nice to know that people are cheering for you. So if you’re one of the folks who has encouraged me with a kind word lately: thanks very much for the affirmation. It will definitely come in handy on June 28th.

**

Speaking of people coming out of the woodwork … if you ever want to increase traffic to your website, here’s what you do: find some way to get yourself mentioned on Scott Dunlap's blog. He was gracious enough to promote one of my Western States articles last week, and my hit count shot through the roof like Willy Wonka’s Great Glass Elevator. That dude wields some mighty impressive web muscle – he’s the Original Gangster of running bloggers.

I know there are a lot of newcomers who found me from Dunlap’s site, so for their benefit, I thought I should clarify a few pertinent issues:

1) First – you know I’m not nearly as good as Scott, right? I don’t yo-yo with the frontrunners in trail races, and the only time I see the elite runners is when I’m secretly taking their pictures from a distance. I just figured I should lower that bar of expectation right away. Also …

2) The whole ultrarunning vibe you feel here is prominent now, but after Western States is done, it will go back to competing for recognition against triathlon, spelling bees, reality TV, kid stuff, and whatever other nonsense comes to mind. I’m the first one to admit that it gets pretty silly sometimes. But if you'd still like to stick around, I'd love to have you. On that note …

3) Subscription info is on the right sidebar. And if you sign up within the next 30 minutes, I’ll throw in an extra month of posts at no additional charge. Welcome aboard.

**

This last item relates to something I mentioned in my previous post, about how Western States is consuming my thoughts with nearly every waking minute nowadays. Normally in these circumstances, I do a decent job of maintaining my focus at work, but now that mental compartmentalization is being challenged by, of all things, an interior decorator.

Periodically my company will reassign staff members to different offices based on shifting roles and responsibilities; and occasionally when this happens, the décor of particular locations will be altered to suit the tastes of the new occupants.

My little corner of middle management recently underwent this sort of makeover - and as a result, this is the painting that greets me every day on the way to my office:


Now … it is just me, or does this lion look strikingly familiar? Does it remind anyone else of the logo for a certain footrace that takes place in the Sierra Nevada Mountains on the last weekend in June? A footrace that I’m already driving myself crazy thinking about with each passing moment?
I mean … what are the odds that this kind of thing would happen two weeks before my race? There’s got to be some symbolism involved, wouldn’t you say? When the Western States mountain lion shows up unannounced in your place of business, it sure seems like there’s a larger force at work, or some sort of message to be heard – although exactly what that message says, I’m not certain.

I’m also conscious of the fact that after the race is over, when I eventually return to the office, I’ll have to look this lion in the eye and answer for my performance. Furthermore, I’ll most likely be reminded of my participation in Western States for every single day of my employment from this point forward. As if I needed any more pressure.

I’m not sure what story I’ll have to tell once the race is said and done – I just hope it’s one I can be proud of. While the anticipation is killing me, the good news is that I won’t have to wait much longer to find out.

And if you'd like to stick around these parts, you'll find out very shortly thereafter.

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Fiddy!

As in, fifty. Five-Oh. 50 yards underwater. 8 lanes across, 8 lanes back.

Remember when I compared this feat to climbing Mount Everest? Admittedly, that analogy was a little overblown – but what’s important is that I finally knocked the bastard off. Even better is that I actually had a witness.

Normally our swim group does two 25-yard underwater lengths at the end of workouts, which typically average about 2500 yards. But on the day that I broke the 50-yard barrier, some unusual circumstances during practice helped embolden me to the task.

On this particular day, only a few of us showed up, and we all got a late start in the pool, so our group workout ended up about 500 yards shorter than usual. Afterward, one of the guys had to leave quickly, and the other wanted to do some drills, so I was left on my own with the underwater laps.

Therefore, I was able to take a longer than normal rest break before the attempt. Regaining my breath while holding onto the wall, I felt a sense of determined assurance suddenly wash over me; in a split second, I simply knew that I was going to do it. The time was now.

I waited a few seconds longer before asking the lifeguard to watch. He likes to monitor us when we do breath holding stunts (I’ve always appreciated him for that), and he knew that I’ve been gradually stretching out my underwater distance. Even so, he seemed a bit surprised when I asked him, Hey, (lifeguard) - can you keep an eye on me? … followed a second later by, I’m going to go up and back.

That’s right … I said it. This wasn’t exactly Babe Ruth calling his shot, but it felt pretty awesome to declare it out loud like that, fully confident that I’d be able to make it happen. All that was left now was to do it.

In the aftermath, I knew that I would write a blog post about the accomplishment – that was a no-brainer. What took me by surprise were the parallels I kept drawing between the underwater 50 and the 100-mile race coming up in a couple of weeks.

(Then again, maybe I shouldn’t have been that astonished. My thoughts are consumed by Western States lately – it’s the only thing I can focus on. I think one of my kids had a birthday last month, but that sort of stuff is kind of hazy nowadays.)

So here’s the anatomy of a 50-yard underwater swim, complete with my thought process at key landmarks across 8 lanes in one direction, and 8 lanes back. Afterwards, go ahead and call me an idiot if this doesn’t also sound like the internal dialogue in the course of a 100-miler.

*
Start–5 yards: There’s no way, this is crazy … it’s too far, I won’t make it. This was a stupid idea.

Yards 5-20: Relax … be confident … be brave … get focused … strong strokes … keep good form … smooth movements, conserve energy.

Yards 20-25: Quick touch and go, don’t waste time … stay relaxed … you can do it!

Yards 25-30: Halfway done! … don’t get excited, there’s still a long way to go … keep relaxed, it’s about to get painful …

Yards 30-40: It’s too much, I can’t do it … I need to breathe … this hurts.

Yards 40-45: Oh my God this hurts … keep fighting … give up! … stay focused ... it doesn’t really matter … no fear … don’t give up …

Yards 45-50: I’m dying … I’m going to make it … I’m dying … I’m going to make it … I’m dying … I’m making it … get there get there GET THERE!

Finish: *blank*

Finish (30 seconds later): Everything hurts … I feel great … that was incredible!

*
Seriously … just double all of those numbers, replace “yards” with “miles”, and the psychology of the two feats seems pretty much similar. In other words, the underwater challenge offers all the emotion of an ultra, in less than a minute. No wonder it feels so intense.

Of course, I’m so neurotic that I couldn’t simply enjoy my achievement on its own; after the initial exhilaration, I worried that the extenuating circumstances of the workout made it less than genuine. Then I worried that maybe the swim was a Bob Beamon-like happenstance, never to be duplicated again in future attempts. (I’ve mentioned this before, but it’s worth repeating here: I can find the downside of anything.)

So this week, after a regular swim workout, I did it again. Just like the first time, it punished my body, but strengthened my spirit - all of which makes me believe that it’s even more like ultras than I thought.

I guess that's why I enjoy it so much.

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A Moveable Feast (Western States Diary)

I commented to Craig last week about how there seems to be a “sweet spot” in the relationship between training and blogging. For many of us, training is the stimulant that triggers our creative juices – so when our training volume slows down, it’s hard to come up with things to write about.

For others, the balance is skewed to the opposite extreme: we’re training so much, there are tons of things on our minds from day to day, but we don’t have nearly enough time to write about them. In this second group, lately, would be me.

For the past couple of weeks, I’ve spent almost all of my time either: 1) working, 2) training, or 3) falling asleep in front of a computer or television screen. I’ve got a list of about 20 things I want to write about, but carving out time to do so is getting harder and harder.

A good case in point is the following Monterey Herald article, Part 6 of my Western States series. Normally I finish these things a few days in advance of my deadline, then tinker with them for a couple of days before sending in a polished final version. Last week, I kept putting it off and putting it off, until Thursday rolled around and I finally realized, “Oh, crap – my article’s due tomorrow!”

So what follows is essentially a first draft. Under the circumstances, I’m relatively happy with the way it came out, but deep inside I know that it definitely could have been better had I dedicated a bit more time to the task. Or if I hadn’t been too exhausted to care about it any more.

One final thought in regards to the phase I’m currently in, and in regards to the new song on the sidebar: “Fully Alive” by Flyleaf. This is a band that I could write a whole post about (and maybe, someday, I will – but I’ve learned to stop promising such things), but for the time being, just know this: despite the fatigue, despite the difficulty getting routine tasks done nowadays, I feel more fully alive right now than at any time in recent memory.

I think that goes with the territory of tapering for a huge event. I mean, if you don’t get amped counting down the last few weeks before Western States … somebody might need to check you for a pulse.

**

Journey of 100 Miles: A Western States Training Diary

Part 6: A Moveable Feast

*

“Nothing would be more tiresome than eating and drinking if God had not made them a pleasure as well as a necessity.” ~Voltaire


It’s only human nature that when a guy thinks about running 100 miles, his thoughts initially dwell on all of the worrisome aspects of the task: physical discomfort, potential danger, risk of injury – basically, all the things I’ve written about to this point.

Not everything is unpleasant, however. Ultramarathons features some unique perks that are unlike anything else you’ll find in the sport of running.

For example, you get to eat a lot of food.

Caloric intake (along with hydration) is probably the most important factor in an ultrarunner’s ability to finish the race. Energy stores need to be continually replenished in order to keep the body moving through 100 miles of treacherous terrain.

A general rule of thumb is that each mile of running burns approximately 100 calories. Now multiply that number by 100, then add another 2000 calories to account for the body’s baseline metabolic rate, and that comes out to a minimum of 12,000 calories that a runner expends going up and down the mountains and valleys of the Western States Endurance Run.

So eating during the event isn’t merely an option - it’s a necessity.

At first glance, the prospect of consuming 12,000 calories in 24 hours doesn’t appear incredibly daunting. For example, if I could somehow arrange to have a Jamba Juice shop available every 4 miles or so on the trail, 25 power-sized Strawberries Wild smoothies would have me well on my way.

Although there aren’t any smoothie stands on the course, runners at Western States have plenty of opportunity to fill their fuel tanks between the start in Squaw Valley and the finish line in Auburn. No fewer than 24 aid stations are located at various points of the trail, stocked with all manner of goodies to keep a runner moving.

You know how some high-society types like to hold those progressive dinners, where partygoers travel from one house to another for each course of a luxurious meal? That’s what an ultramarathon is like – except that you have to run 5 or 6 miles between each station, the food is served from paper plates instead of china, the offerings at each location are nearly identical, and there aren’t really any chairs to sit on. (But, you know … other than that, it’s exactly the same.)

The things you find at aid stations of an ultramarathon may surprise you; they’re filled with the types of foods that most runners wouldn’t be caught dead with under normal circumstances. Cookies, brownies, candy, soda, and chips are pretty much standard fare – it sometimes looks more like a kindergartener’s birthday bash than an elite athletic contest.


Aid station snacks fall into three general categories: salty (potato chips, pretzels), sugary for quickly accessible calories (cookies, candy, energy gels), or starchy for prolonged energy (energy bars, boiled potatoes). Cola drinks have the perfectly magic combination of sugar, salt, caffeine, and water – it’s enough to make you think that the creator of Coke must have been an ultrarunner.

My personal favorite ultramarathon snack is another old-school classic: the peanut butter and jelly sandwich. It has bread for sustained energy, jelly for quick energy, and the peanut butter provides protein to damaged muscles. Not to mention, they taste wonderful. It’s not unusual for me to consume several full PB&J sandwiches during the course of a 50-mile race.

Sometimes, even the runners are surprised by what turns up at aid stations. Last month, during a 62-mile race, a volunteer brought a box of chilled ice cream sandwiches to the aid station at mile 49. I mean … if given enough time, I might be able to think of some things that taste better after running 50 miles on hot, dusty trails than an ice cream sandwich - but it would be a very short list.

See? Running an ultra is starting to sound fun, right? Unfortunately, this moveable feast also has its share of downsides.

Taking in calories on the run is significantly more complicated than it first sounds – because doing so requires you to actively work against 6 million years of evolution (or, depending on your point of view, a few thousand years of intelligent design). In other words, you have to force the body to do something it wasn’t intended to do.

When we exercise, one of the body’s first responses is to divert blood flow towards our arm and leg muscles, and away from our internal organs. This enhances the delivery of oxygen and energy to areas of the body where they are most needed, and moves it away from the stomach.

Therefore, eating while running is what medical professionals call an “off-label” use of the body’s normal physiology. Caloric consumption doesn’t occur the way it was intended to, and the results are sometimes unpredictable. Stomach cramps and/or nausea are two of the most common maladies that befall ultrarunners during the course of an event.

Most people’s response to such conditions would be to stop eating – but that’s like hopping from the frying pan straight into the fire. If caloric intake is inadequate, most runners won’t have enough energy stores to make it to the finish line.

Food intake is crucial – and every ultrarunner knows it. Accordingly, many of us practice food intake during our training runs. In the same manner that we teach our legs to keep moving even when they feel like lead, we train our stomachs to process food with very limited circulation.

(It doesn’t always work: at every ultra, you’ll find runners paralyzed with stomach cramps, or bent over vomiting on the side of the trail. But we’re a determined lot, so most of us just shake it off and keep forging ahead anyway. Clearly, we’re not exactly the most glamorous folks in town.)

The irony, of course, is that when we’re not running, we try to eat as little as possible. Every extra pound of weight on our bodies is a pound that we have to carry for 100 miles on race weekend – and the heavier we are, the more effort it takes to drag our behinds up those mountains, which requires more calories to accomplish. Those are calories we then have to work to replenish to avoid dropping out of the race.

So when I want to enjoy a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, I have to lace up my running shoes and head out to the trails. Have I mentioned yet that all this training is making me act a bit crazy?

On that note, here’s one final thought: if you should ever see a sluggish-looking guy with dirty legs and sweaty clothes running around carrying a half-eaten peanut butter sandwich, don’t be alarmed. It’s not some homeless man stealing food from a grade-school picnic – it’s probably just a goofy ultrarunner gearing up for a big weekend of eating.

Which, in my case, is now only three weeks away.

(See previous entries of this series on the sidebar at right.)

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Great Moments in Spelling: Part V

I’m not sure when somebody officially becomes a TV junkie … but I suspect that one symptom might be when you realize there’s a 2-hour Lost finale on Thursday followed by 6 hours of spelling bee coverage on Friday, and start plotting ways to evict the rest of your family from the house for 24 hours so you can watch all the festivities in peace.

Short of that, the next best thing is TiVo, which became my most valuable possession over the weekend. I’ll leave all of the Lost references aside for now – because that show deserves its own post someday (seriously … what the heck is going on there?) – in order to focus all my attention on the 81st annual Scripps National Spelling Bee, from the Independence Ballroom of the Grand Hyatt in Washington, DC.

As you can imagine, this is a long one, so we'll get right to it. Lights, camera, laptop … action!

We pick up the action in Round 5, where 45 spellers remain. All times are from the West Coast broadcast, and all photos are from Reuters and the NSB website.

9:04 AM: As usual, our head pronouncer is Dr Jacques Bailly, who seems in an unusually chipper mood as the festivities get underway. He welcomes the first contestant of the broadcast, the fittingly-named So-Young Chung, with a cheerful “Howdy, So-Young”, and also greets second speller Samia Nawaz by name. Several of the first spellers reply with a “Hi, Dr Bailly”, and the whole morning feels like a big orthographic lovefest.

9:08: Here’s my girl! Before the contest, Momo and I each picked three spellers, with the winner of our wager determined by whoever’s speller advanced the furthest. I’m casting my fate with 13-year-old Tia Thomas of Coarsegold, CA (a one-horse town about 30 minutes from Yosemite National Park), who happens to be a 5-time NSB participant. Momo’s big gun is Matthew Evans, the only other 5-time participant in this year’s group.

It promises to be a clash of the titans in prime time – and as Tia breezes through mcleod (a combination hoe and rake), I feel very confident in my selection.

9:20: Finally - our first 1st Erin Andrews appearance! Holy cow, she looks good. I’d say she’s bringing sexy back to the Bee, only I’m not sure if the Bee ever had sexy to begin with. She introduces a taped segment about the pre-Bee picnic and barbecue – imagine a pre-race pasta feed with carnival games and sing-a-longs, and you get the idea.

Afterward, Andrews marvels at how “calm and collective” these kids are. She’s not actually nervous about covering the Bee, is she? There’s no way she could find these bookish grade-schoolers nearly as threatening as some lecherous college quarterback. Unless she has a thing for good spellers, in which case, um … on second thought, I’d better not say.

9:22 - 9:38: The Canadian Massacre! Seven straight Canadian spellers are bounced from the competition, including 13-year-old Anqi Dong, last year’s 8th place finisher from Saskatchewan, who misses hooley (an Irish party).

I’ve made fun (and at the same time, been paranoid) of the Great White Northern Invasion of our Bee in the past couple of years, but once 14-year-old Grace Tsai trips on cinerea (gray matter of nerve tissue), there are no more Canadians in this year’s competition. And we’re still in the first hour of the telecast!

Future historians might mark these 16 minutes as a very dark period in US-Canadian relations. I’m sure the Maple Leaf Project is already plotting its retaliatory measures for 2009. This is the kind of thing that can escalate.

9:42: The Bee is an absolute buzzsaw right now: 14-year-old Arushi Jauhari misses biedermeier (humdrum, artistically limited), making her the 9th straight contestant eliminated in Round 5.

There’s just no polite way to say it: to this point, the contest has been a bloodbath. Since the start of the broadcast, 13 of the first 21 spellers have been eliminated. So much for the kinder, gentler Jacques Bailly. At this rate, there won’t be any spellers left for prime time.

9:46: 13-year-old Matt Gabriele stops the bleeding by nailing pericope (a passage used for a sermon), and everyone omits a brief sigh of relief. It’s like when a batter breaks up a no-hitter, and the rest of his teammates immediately think, “Hey – this pitcher is hittable after all!” Or maybe that’s just what it’s like to me.

10:04: The prettiest voice of the competition belongs to 12-year-old Sade Dunbar of Jamaica, whose accent is almost melodic as she correctly spells flageolet (a small flute). Sade is also the most polite contestant in the group, capping every one of her questions with please, and her responses with thank you: “Could I have the form of speech please, Dr Bailly? Thank you, Dr Bailly.”

I like Sade a lot. Even though I didn’t pick her, she’s my sentimental favorite now.


10:06: An extended bio of Momo’s other pick, Kavya Shivashenkar, and her precocious 6-year-old sister, Vanya. Apparently Vanya’s an amazing speller also. Don’t ever agree to play Scrabble with the Shivashenkar kids. Kavya breezes through krummholz (a stunted alpine forest) looking poised for a championship run this evening. In fact, she’s beginning to scare me a bit.

11:14: My other pick for the contest is 13-year-old Justin Song, whom I explained to Momo this way: “I have no idea who he is, but he’s from a town called Carmel Valley, so I should cheer for him.” Since then, I’ve discovered two things: 1) Justin’s hometown is in a different part of California than mine (Do any other states have two towns with the same name?), and 2) This kid was a perfect choice for me.

Justin’s laid-back style exudes California mellow: his flat affect, slow speech, and chilled-out surfer drawl make him sound waterlogged from too many hours in the ocean. Or, as my friend described him in an e-mail to me in the middle of the competition: “He’s the Asian Jeff Spicoli.” As Justin correctly spells duroc (a large red hog) to move on to the next round, I’m thinking that my picking this kid was like some kind of eHarmony match.

(By the way, isn’t Duroc the name of Lord Farquaad's kingdom in Shrek? Shockingly, Dr Bailly makes no mention of this.)

11:44: The turning point of the contest: Matthew Evans, Momo’s number one pick, goes down! He looks defeated even before he slowly attempts the spelling of secernent (something that secretes) – and gives the judges a crestfallen look before he hears the cruel “ding” of failure.

Even though this is great news for me, I can’t help feeling devastated for the guy. That’s the thing about this contest – even when you want a kid to go out, it’s still a heartbreaking thing to watch.

(Actually, Momo wrote about this moment much better than I did – go check it out, then come back.)

12:17 PM: More heartbreak: Sade Dunbar, my new favorite Jamaican middle-schooler, misses hidradenitis (inflammation of a sweat gland – what’s up with all the glandular terms this year?), and is the last speller eliminated before the prime time broadcast.

12:19: However, there’s no doubt that our sister act will be in the finals. As Kavya correctly spells allotriophagy (a craving for eating unnatural substances), ESPN gives us a split split-screen shot of Vanya watching and spelling along. Have they mentioned yet that Vanya’s a good speller, too? I think I remember them mentioning that.

Big sister Kavya is looking strong – which means she’s now my biggest threat to carry Momo to victory. It also means we’ll probably see about 30 more shots of her little sister in prime time, where 12 finalists will duke it out over on ABC later tonight.

**

8:00PM: We’re live in prime time! But first we have to sit through some cutesy little opening skit featuring host Tom Bergeron trying to spell a word. Could we just get to the real spellers, please?

8:01: A new twist this year: for the final rounds, the spellers’ families are seated onstage across from the contestants. This seems wrong to me, like the parents are stealing a bit of the spotlight away from the kids. On the plus side, we get to watch Kavya’s adorable sister Vanya for 2 more hours! Did you know she’s a very good speller?

8:08: 14-year old Austin Pineda is seemingly trying to pull to the correct letters for tralatitious (passed along from generation to generation) out of his hair, which he continuously twirls with a single finger throughout his questions, and during his attempt to spell the word. It doesn’t work – one speller down.

8:12: Erin Andrews interviews the Shivashankar sisters. Kavya says she wants to get through the first prime time round to settle her nerves. Vanya just stands there looking adorable – and in case we’ve forgotten, Erin reminds us that Vanya’s an excellent speller, too!

8:28: You know how hockey and baseball players grow those playoff beards, partly out of superstition, and partly to intimidate the competition? I’m thinking that’s what 12-year-old Sidharth Chand is doing by sporting a mustache for the NSB. He probably hasn’t shaved since his regional bee.

Sidharth’s got the goods, too – he aces tautological (marked my meaningless repetition) to cruise into the next round.

8:39: A Tia Thomas profile: She’s read the dictionary 7 times. She can speak German, French, Italian, and Spanish. Her brother likes to wear a Darth Vader mask. It’s doesn’t quite match the Vanya level of cute sibling stories, but it’s OK. Tia looks cool and collected, nailing brankursine (a prickly European herb) to advance.

8:42: I love Rose Sloan! She bursts into a 1,000-watt smile after hearing the word alcarraza (an earthenware jug), which is clearly a word she’s studied before. After each correct spelling, she laughs and jumps for joy. She may not win, but there’s no question which contestant is having the most fun.


8:44: 13-year-old Sameer Mishra’s debut on the national stage is a memorable one, as shocked giggles ripple through Independence Ballroom in reaction to his assigned word. Sameer repeats what he heard with a slow, puzzled tone: “numbnut?” The giggles turn to astonished laughs.

It’s only after Dr Bailly pronounces the word more clearly that Sameer happily announces, “Oh – NUMNAH!”, and then with perfect comedic timing says, “That’s a relief.” He correctly spells the word (a pad placed under a saddle to prevent chafing), and sits back down with a relieved smile.

(Funny sidenote: Based on the definition, what do you suppose a numnah is used for? To prevent numb nuts, of course!)

8:50: Returning from a commercial break, Erin Andrews interviews Sameer, asking what he was thinking when he heard his last word. That’s exactly what a 13-year-old boy needs: to be questioned by the world’s hottest reporter about numbnuts on live national television. Even though I love her, I’m thinking that Andrews might be too sexy for this Bee.

9:04: Duuuuude! Justin Song misses satyagraha (a Gandhian method of achieving reform), and takes a seat alongside his parents onstage. 20 minutes later, a pizza delivery man enters the ballroom asking who ordered the pepperoni with extra cheese.

(OK, I made that last sentence up – but it wouldn’t have shocked me.)

9:13 – 9:31: We’ve established our Murderer’s Row of spellers: for several rounds, Sameer, Kavya, and Sidharth follow one another to the mic, ask a few perfunctory questions, then correctly spell their words without hesitation. Meanwhile, spellers all around them are dropping. Once Rose misses sheitel (a wig worn by married Jewish women), only 5 spellers remain as the tension mounts. Fortunately, my girl Tia is also hanging tough.

9:41: Kavya’s the first to crack: She stumbles on ecrase (crushed or flattened, pertaining to fabrics or leather), which is a terrible mistake for her. On the other hand, in a related story … I win! It’s the agony and the ecstasy of the National Spelling Bee.

Honestly, I’d like to feel happy … but Kavya looks so emotionally ecrase as she sits with her father that I can barely celebrate. She’s obviously disappointed. On the plus side, Vegas oddsmakers have her as the favorite for the 2009 Bee; sister Vanya is listed at 5:1 for the 2011 contest.

9:44: 14-year-old Scott Remer trips over thymele (an ancient Greek altar), and we’re down to our final 3 - including Tia, who carried me to a hard-earned (OK, I didn’t earn it myself … but I was very nervous) victory over Momo. She’s made it this far – why not cheer for her to go all the way? OK, I’ll do it – go Tia!

Meanwhile, we’ve moved onto the championship words – in case you thought they were all easy up to this point.

9:58: AAGH! Tia’s the first to falter in the championship round, looking confused for the first time all night while considering opificer (skilled worker; artisan). She misses the word – and just like that, her 5-year odyssey through the Bee is over. I’m going to miss her next year – and not just because I’ll need someone to topple Kavya again. She seems like a really great girl.

Go well into the world, Tia. Thanks for the memories.

10:05: Sidharth uses perfect French inflection to pronounce introvable (impossible to find), followed immediately by Sameer using an exaggerated phony accent to pronounce esclandre (an incident that causes scandal). In addition to spelling their words correctly, these two are doing an Felix Ungar and Oscar Madison routine on us. God, I love the Bee.

10:07: Sidharth blinks first, missing prosopopoeia (a figure of speech in which an absent person is present), leaving the door open for Sameer to claim victory.

10:08: Sameer correctly spells guerdon (a reward), and wins the title! His guerdon for the victory is $30,000 and set of encyclopedias, plus the opportunity to tell his numbnut story on The Tonight Show one of these days.

Meanwhile, I have to wait a whole year to tell another Bee story – not to mention, at least seven months for a new Lost episode. What the heck am I going to do with my summer?

At least I know the next 4 weeks are spoken for - beyond that, it’s anyone’s guess.


(See previous installments in sidebar at right)

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Dancing in the Dark (Western States Diary)

Not much to say right now, other than I'm going crazy with anticipation over watching the Spelling Bee - so much, in fact, that I had a momentary panic attack when I learned the contest started today (instead of tomorrow, as I thought), and briefly contemplated faking a seizure in order to get out of work early and watch it.

Luckily, it was only the preliminary rounds that were held today (Thursday), and I'm still on track to watch the final rounds tomorrow (Friday), blogging from the edge of my seat the entire time.

As for today's post, it’s the 5th installment of my Western States diary, which is actually a modified version of a blog post I wrote a couple of months ago about running in the dark. If you’re a consistent reader, I can’t honestly suggest a plausible reason for reading on, except perhaps to see how the same content is written differently for the newspaper than it is for a blog.

Otherwise, check back here next week, when I’ll have a full report of the National Spelling Bee, and I'll hope to report victory in my wager against Momo.

**

Journey of 100 Miles: A Western States Training Diary

Part 5: Dancing in the Dark

**

"The fight is won or lost far away from witnesses - behind the lines, in the gym, and out there on the road, long before I dance under those lights.”
- Muhammad Ali


In my preparations for Western States over the past several months, I’ve spent a lot of time running in the dark. It’s an inconvenience that just goes with the territory.

Running 100 miles takes most runners 24 to 30 hours to complete; therefore, I’m expecting to spend at least eight hours running through the night of race weekend - which, thankfully, coincides with the summer solstice, making the night as short as possible.

However, those final 30-35 miles of trail are just as rocky and treacherous as the first 70. Most runners use headlamps and flashlights to help light the way, but maintaining your balance during this stage of the race – which is also when your body is the most fatigued – is a significant challenge. Consequently, many ultrarunners practice running in the dark to develop the necessary skills to “keep the rubber side down” and avoid falling during the night.

Truthfully, logging mileage under cover of darkness isn’t that out of the ordinary for me. For the past decade or so - coincidentally, about the same length of time that I’ve been a father - running has always been a “do it early or don’t do it at all” proposition. Most of my weekday runs are completed by 7 AM, although on weekends I’ll stay out a little later.

On most Saturdays, I finish my morning workout by 9:00 AM. Under normal circumstances, this allows plenty of time to get in whatever mileage I need for the day.

Unfortunately, training for an ultra isn’t usually considered normal circumstances.

Over the last few months, my long training runs have stretched into multiple-hour jaunts through the hills and canyons of Garland Ranch Regional Park. And the longer I want to run, the earlier I have to leave the house.

As a result, on any given Saturday or Sunday (or, with increasing frequency, both) I walk out the door into pitch darkness, equipped with lamps to light my path on the trails.

I mentioned that running in darkness has some practical application for me: in developing balance and dexterity on unpredictable terrain; gaining confidence and familiarity with the lighting systems I’ll rely upon on race weekend; and learning to accommodate the uneasy, ambiguous possibility of becoming a mountain lion snack somewhere deep in the forest (honestly, I haven’t fully accommodated that feeling yet). It’s also a good chance to experience the solitude and isolation that runners frequently grapple with throughout such a long event.

That’s why I don’t mind setting out on my own into the darkness – well, that, plus the fact that it’s hard to convince people to wake up at 4:00 AM to run on dangerous trails in the dark. Like I’ve said before: other people can surprisingly reasonable sometimes.

The main entrance to Garland Ranch is a 4-mile drive from my house - but less than one mile from my street is an alternate entry from where I can access trails that eventually connect to the park’s visitor center. The only catch is that you have to go up a couple of ridgelines and down into a couple of canyons to get there.

After entering the park, my first climb takes me about 1400 feet up a winding fire road to the first ridgeline. The climb takes me most of an hour, and when I reach the top, the only view I’m rewarded with are a few distant lights flickering to life in the homes of all the non-crazy residents of Carmel Valley. In other words … it’s still dark out.

Descending into the first canyon before sunrise always seems to take about 10 times longer than it would in the light, mainly because I’m terrified of falling and breaking an ankle in the dark wilderness (that whole lion bait thing I mentioned before). But eventually I bottom out, and start climbing over the second ridge that takes me toward the park entrance.

This climb levels off in a meadow about 800 feet up, and as I hit the open space, I finally see the first signs of daybreak over the valley. That initial sliver of daylight on the horizon is one of the most welcome sights I ever see in the middle of a long run. No matter how tired I am, daybreak always energizes me to the point that I feel like I can run forever. Sometimes, I’ll continue climbing another 1000 feet to the ridgeline, and by that point, I enjoy the first light of morning from one of the highest vantage points in the whole valley.

That feeling alone is almost enough to make the early wake-up alarm worth the trouble.

After the second climb, it’s another long descent towards the main entrance, and a network of wide, flat fire roads that circumnavigate the visitor center and the Carmel River basin. By the time I get there, the sun has officially risen, and I finally see other souls who woke up early to enjoy a peaceful journey through the park.

I’ll see an older guy with walking poles heading out for a long hike. A twenty-something couple jogging, each one with headphones. A chatty group of women who always smile and wave. And a lot of people taking their dogs for a leisurely stroll.

As I’m passing, there’s nothing that really distinguishes me from the rest of the crowd. With my flashlight tucked under my vest, and my headlamp stowed away in a pocket, there’s no indication that I awoke any earlier than the rest of this group. With several miles on my legs, my cruising speed remains very pedestrian – for all practical purposes, I look like some big, slow guy who rolled out of bed to jog off a few beers from the night before.

Which is just the way I like it, really. I don’t need witnesses to understand the kind of tasks I’m undertaking right now, and these sunrises at Garland aren’t the lights that I’m meant to dance under. I remind myself that all the hours I’ve spent laboring before dawn are merely preparations for the larger battle that awaits me at the end of June.

So I circle the lower trails anonymously, then turn and climb back into the hills to start the long return trip home. This is where my fight is going to be won - behind the lines, out there on the steep climbs and deep canyon trails of this park, in solitude and under cover of darkness.

And when the time comes for Western States, I’ll be more than ready to dance.

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Weekend Update

A somewhat scattered collection of thoughts today - I'm having a hard time maintaining focus …

* First, in regards to the previous post, I’m leaning toward the hypothesis that the word written on the side of the Mystery Machine says “mean” - which also makes me reconsider my plan to approach the van’s owner to ask for sure. I’m guessing he might not be the most approachable guy in Salinas. But you know I’ll probably do it – because once my curiosity kicks in, there’s no turning back.

I also find it amusing that the first person to ring in with the consensus best answer to deciphering gangster-style graffiti happens to be a pastor. Blogging cracks me up sometimes.

* The National Spelling Bee will be televised this Friday, May 30th, with preliminary rounds in the morning on ESPN, and the final rounds in prime time on ABC. They made a couple of changes to the telecast this year that bear mentioning:

Most significantly, the day of the final rounds was moved from its traditional Thursday schedule to a Friday – which means we’re one step closer to something I’ve been recommending for years: a weekend showcase on par with Super Bowl Sunday or the Indy 500. Personally, I can’t wait until this happens – because it’s getting harder and harder to make up excuses to ditch work each year to watch the opening rounds.

Less importantly – but perhaps more interesting – is who ESPN has assigned as a “sideline reporter”. Remember last year, when I complained about how sports radio hosts Mike & Mike would clown around like jocks and make jokes at the kids expense? Well, this year, the network has taken a different approach.

Instead of Mike & Mike, ESPN and ABC will utilize Erin Andrews, whose drop-dead gorgeous looks have made her one of the hottest commodities – if you don’t believe me, just Google her - in broadcasting. For the record, Andrews knows her stuff – at least when it comes to sports – but I’m not sure what kind of a speller she is. But for one night, the spelling kids (well, the boys, anyway) will be the envy of nearly every collegiate and professional athlete in America – which is as unlikely a scenario as you could ever imagine at the Bee.

And, like we did last year, Momo and I have cast our fates with these awkward young phenoms, with a wager riding on whose contestant advances the furthest. Before you ask – yes, we’ve actually researched the competition, and yes, there’s a lot of pride on the line for us. As Momo said, we’re kindred souls that way.

Finally, some running-related items …

* I’m at the point now where I feel ready to take on Western States. The only problem is that the race is still almost five weeks away – which seems like too much time to just coast through the rest of my training. I need to keep the high mileage up for at least another 2 weeks, but I’m so fatigued lately that the prospect of doing so seems terribly daunting. What I need most of all is to stay focused and disciplined.

On that note: the new video - appropriately titled “Discipline” - from Nine Inch Nails is on the sidebar, and it’s, um … interesting. Kind of funny, very campy, and a little creepy at the end. Give it a click and see what you think.

* I didn’t go to the Western States training camp this weekend. I had every intention of going for at least one day, but another opportunity came up that I considered a much better offer. So instead of spending time on Devil’s Thumb and Michigan Bluff, I spent three days admiring this:


That would be Half Dome, at Yosemite National Park. My son’s 4th grade class took a field trip to the park last week, and I went along as a chaperone. I returned on Friday, and the prospect of getting right back in the car and driving 4 hours to Auburn seemed awfully unreasonable - not to mention, hard to justify to the rest of the family.


It was an incredible time to be at Yosemite: the weather was perfect, the crowds were below normal, and the waterfalls were raging with hurricane intensity. On our second day there, the entire class did a challenging 8-mile hike up the cliffs to the tops of Vernal Fall and Nevada Fall, and back down on the John Muir trail. On the other days, we hiked to Yosemite Fall, Bridalveil Fall, Mirror Lake, and through the giant sequoias of the Mariposa Grove.

So even though it meant skipping the WS training, I wouldn’t have missed the field trip for the world. I mean … how many times do experiences like this come along? For that matter, how many elementary schools take kids to Yosemite for 3 days? I’m certain that I’ve mentioned this before, but under the circumstances it bears repeating: sometimes, it’s very cool to grow up in California.

Truthfully, it's not such a bad place to be a parent, either.

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