Taper Blog, Part I

After having a lengthy discussion with some friends I took the time to consider the question: 'why write a weblog?' Unlike the comic strip above, I harbor no delusions of becoming a published author. Perhaps I will publish, however. I'm still putting together all of the materials. Who knows? You might even hear about it when it finally happens. Whether you care or not is another thing.
'Without music, life would be a mistake.' - quote by Nietzsche, on back of Beethoven t-shirt.
In order to avoid getting caught up in the commercial mess that now is the winter holiday season, I've had to focus on the marathon training. Face it, if you're going to do a marathon at the end of the year it means your most important long runs are occurring during the period between Hallowe'en and St. Nicholas. Positives to this would include the (obvious) fact you will probably burn off most of the calories you're taking in. Negatives would include the outside (negative) influences, like invitations to holiday parties from co-workers, friends, and every club or organization to which you are vaguely associated. It's hard to tell folks in a nice manner, 'I'm terribly sorry...but I cannot attend your function.' Well, it's easy for me, because I tend to say it in a tone that I consider to be sufficiently gracious...then I find out I was perceived a jerk.

Looks like the continuing resolution issue vis-a-vis military spending could widen the hole into which a lot of my co-workers could fall. I was fortunate during the last budget crisis, during the mid-1990s, because by that time I decided to go work in the outside world and start my college studies. However, right now it looks less likely I'll smoothly segue into a job in the office next door to the one in which I presently sit. My friend tells me every so often he's still working hard to get me moved over there, but I have a sneaking suspicion a move won't happen until the potential employer is told, 'hey, this guy is reasonably-qualified; you need to take him first.' It'd be nice if it happened before the New Year so my training plans are less-affected.
My buddy, Scott, received a Garmin GPS device from his girlfriend as a birthday gift. We've talked lots about the benefits and drawbacks of electronic gadgetry common now in distance running. I've retreated somewhat from the (knee-jerk) position I espoused as an athlete and coaching assistant; GPS devices were completely of no use.

I've come to the opinion that heart rate monitors, GPS and the like are tools to help the individual athlete quantify what the body is telling them. In short, I can determine (for example) what 90 percent of my maximum heart rate feels like, and the pace at which I'm running at that intensity. The difference between the good athlete and the very good athlete is found in what each does with the data. Sometimes, all they will do is look at pace...dude, what about heart rate? Are you going too hard? Are you getting enough rest? I tossed my HRM on the other evening, after cancelling my planned mid-week run; ten miles turned into one hour, one hour turned into 'dude, later for this. I'm taking the night off.' To say the least I was pleased with my HR while resting on the couch (closer to mid-40s).

Failure Is Not An Option, It's Relative...

In spite of our wildest fears, we had 22 persons show up on Thanksgiving morning to run and drink beer. Heck, that's about 18 more than we originally thought would show. Okay, so things were a little chaotic, but that's part and parcel for what normally is noted as an underground event. The times were not going to scare Josh Cox, Katya Schumacher or Peter Gilmore, but that was not the plan. The plan was to get out and do something. Thank goodness for the support of several friends and my loving wife, or this would have been closer to a disaster. Maybe not...however, a good time was had by all. I'll have to invite Dave from Jax next time.

My business partner is so much better at laying out the big picture stuff than I am, but then again, he has a little more time to do these things than I...well, he also does this for a living. When your livelihood is at stake, I guess failure is not an option.
The autumn time change, the increased training, the increased fatigue, and the lack of really good television (defined as programming my wife and I both want to watch) has made it simple (for me) to go to bed earlier in the evening. After a wonderful meal of pork loin, greens and rice, man, all you want to do is let everything (including your backside) go south. After a particularly harrowing 16-mile run on Sunday, I stayed on the couch for the rest of the evening. Three additional hours of sleep on Monday morning and I was (nearly) a brand new doggie. Strangely enough, the ache in my right heel from my tight calf and inflamed plantar fascia was almost completely gone when I got up, and stayed away for most of the day. Today, after six miles on the treadmill, the heel is a little touchy but not too bad.

I've made it to the taper, now all I have to do is get strong between today and the middle of December. This is my third attempt at the marathon and I have a 30-minute finishing window based on my training. After the last couple of weeks I'm looking toward the right side of the window and not the left. All I have to do is run under 3:30 and I'll consider it a successful day.

Warm Up My Carving Knife, Lola...

'Other religions have confession...we have Thanksgiving.' - Robin Williams (2002)

While I sometimes cringe at the thought of spending a day packed into a house with all the relatives who can or will stand to spend time with me...eating too much food, watching too much football, trying to avoid too many political discussions...I am thankful for tradition around the holidays. Often the holidays are little more than a stress induction leading to the inevitable one-week illness that keeps me off the roads and makes me more miserable. However, I learned a neat little trick over the past two or three years that minimizes my stress level:

It all comes down to learning how to say, 'sorry, I won't be able to make it' in as sincere a manner as possible. I spend as much time as I can with my closest friends, at a pace and intensity level where we all feel good about it, without the obligation of dressing up or purchasing gifts. We still grab a bottle of wine or something nice for friends, but we're not going to break the bank.

So it's the last real week of training leading into our marathon trip. A good thing, too, since the pain in my heel is starting to get really intense. Guess when you bump up the mileage, the intensity, the cross-training and forget to keep up the things like rest, massage and equipment...proof we live in a stochastic world. Stuff happens.

What's going to be the toughest part of tapering toward the marathon? Well, first would have to be the dietary thing. Junk food is my friend. Somehow, my wife manages to pull together silk purses from sow's ears...don't ask me how she does it, she just does it. Stew, rice, beer and a bowl of ice cream. Lovely. I can probably keep at the caffeine, but I'm fearful the beer will have to be curtailed or cut out until the evening after the 'thon. I've done it before, but it was pretty miserable. Not like I drink great amounts, anyway...if I do more than two I pay for it the next morning.

The budget situation has really come down hard on us all. In fact, I've resorted to sharpening up the 'spare' pencils hiding in the big, honkin' ceramic mug over my workspace. Workers from other divisions start providing the stink-eye when we come in to pick up stuff off the printer. Soon, we may have (heaven forbid) to provide our own toilet paper...well, it's not quite that drastic.

My own personal political views notwithstanding, I'd like to see us get out of this continuing resolution stuff and receive the funds we need to get the day-to-day business out of the way. Every day we continue to do what we are doing is another day we pour money down a big rat-hole.

And unlike a turkey, where there's lots that can be done with the leftovers, the money keeps going away, away, away...

What A Difference A Day Makes, 24 Little Hours...

After Saturday morning's race, where three of my athletes ran personal bests and two (or three) earned age group awards, I was a fairly happy guy. Winning hardware in my age group or running a personal best isn't bad, but I'm enjoying it more from the outside looking in. The only thing I dislike about spectating at local running events is the inevitable question of whether I'm injured. Having an arm in a sling is usually a low-stress clue of injury, but the personal decision not to race (because of an upcoming event - a marathon) seems harder for folks to swallow. (I'm a little bummed, though - my videotape was f.u.b.a.r., so no training video for the team folks.)

I only have a few truly good races in me each year. Even in this, a "selective" year (not counting a practice race) I've run ten events, with one more to go. I cannot say I've performed to my satisfaction in all of them; one or two, actually, three...were efforts which made me unhappy.

But, if you hang out at the post-race and you haven't run, you feel like the kid with the banana saddle, butterfly handlebars and coaster brakes when all of your friends have the motocross-style bikes with caliper brakes...a little bit out of place. I take the time to stand by, chat with a few friends, cheer for the ones I know who won awards...and then it's time to get out of there. Sometimes the sooner the better. Sometimes the friends who ran will come by and shake a hand, other times they'll stay clear. I don't think it's personal.

Talk about an unhealthy time of the year. The stretch beginning the week before Hallowe'en and going right into New Years' Day...and perhaps even into St. Valentine's Day, are probably the worst time to be an athlete. Well, maybe it's just me, an athlete with a sweet tooth. From the office candy dish at Hallowe'en (which around here is restocked by my supervisor the day after) to the Thanksgiving pot luck (some offices are noted for the quality of their confections), it's like walking through downtown Beirut during the 1980s...you don't know what's going to get you. After Thanksgiving, though, it's a World War I-style no-man's land, with a barrage of everything fattening, sweet and addictive.

I used to marvel at the restraint of my coach, who worked out of his home, until I learned of his love for chocolate-covered Oreo cookies. Of course, he also had the option of jumping on the treadmill in his garage for an hour during the day should the need arise. My wife has the option of getting up and going for a quick trot around the park with our dog. I manage somehow to shoehorn 45 minutes of exercise in most mornings before I go in to work and feel like I'm cheating myself.

After I looked at the times for my particular age group, I did briefly kick myself in the butt. The chances of earning hardware were quite good, even if I had run comfortably. The race director for last weekend's race has a flair for doing something a little different (printed towels instead of t-shirts), even along side the comfortable and familiar (such as the turkey chili and light beer). The overall, masters, grandmasters, senior grandmasters still received their Butterballs to stuff, but the age groupers received their own stuffed turkey. How cute.

One more long run (16 miles, next weekend) to prepare for the marathon. If it feels anywhere as bad as I felt during the front end of this weekend's ten-miler, I'm not going to be looking forward to it. Every time I looked down at my heart rate, it seemed to be at least ten beats higher than I would have liked. Even if the pace was closer to 30 seconds slower than I estimated, that either means I've been working too hard or I'm overtraining. One of my athletes intimated that St. Nicholas may be showing up with a gift of increased fitness just in time for December 16. I certainly hope so. This week will be one of those where the work will be just hard enough to keep the body recovering.

I cannot wait to take the time over the holidays and dig through my training logs to figure out what worked and what didn't so I can start laying out what I want to do for the spring. Now that I'm done here I'll get the coffee started. I need more of these three-day weeks.

Tell Me What Kind Of Day To Have...

Warning: The following blog posting may be considered offensive to young children who plan to visit Santa Claus at the mall, or persons who lack a modicum of humor.

As always, life is too darn short to get wound around the axle about stuff that isn't going to mean anything years from now. And, if you're part of the local running community you know I don't take much of what goes on too seriously. I mean; dude, if there's no money at stake, then get past it. Well, I don't want short courses or walkers going five-or-six abreast slowing me down during a race, but most of the bragging rights tied into local races are transient at best.

I was approached last night at a beach bar by the director of a one-mile run held in conjunction with the local holiday parade, and decided to let the sense of humor fly. First, the course is questionable in length; I measured out a course for them, but I can never tell whether they're going to use it or not. Second, it's two weeks out from my goal race, a marathon. If I even decide to show up, I won't run hard.

A couple of years ago, some of my team and I decided, 'what the heck, let's have a little fun. We'll run at the back of the field in costume.' I dressed as an April Fool, my consigliere dressed as the Easter Bunny, others grabbed Santa Claus hats and stuff...and we carried a banner at the back end of the field. It was a screaming hoot, in my humble opinion, because the spectators and local media didn't know what to think. We got a little exposure on the local newscast, more than what the race received.

Ah, but I digress.

So, I asked the race director if I could race in a Speedo. My wife didn't say a thing, because she knows I'd do this just to watch a person's eye get stuck on the end of my thumb. The director looked at me and said, 'you can wear a Speedo under whatever you want.' I told her, 'wait, you don't get it. I want to know if I can run in a Speedo.' At this point, she became snooty and overbearing; bad idea. She made a snide remark asking where I would pin my number, to which I mentioned, 'look, keep this up and I'll show up butt-naked.' Again, she asked where I would pin my race number (a non-issue; there are awards for only the first male and female, and everyone has the same race number), to which I said, 'no problem. I'll use a number belt.'

Ask a stupid question...

Speaking of stupid (or stoopid, which is a higher form of stupid), I want to know who the genius was in Australia that told shopping mall Santas to change their laugh from 'ho, ho, ho...' to 'ha, ha, ha...' Somehow, it appears someone felt women would be offended by this display of proper response to humor by the jolly old fat man; it sounded too close to an urban slang term for a female member of the worlds' oldest profession.

Of course, nobody in Sydney is owning up to this massive display of cranial density. Go figure.

Bottom line - if anyone tells you what to do and it sounds stoopid, think about it before you decide to acquiesce. If you're the one thinking about saying the stoopid, STOP IT, ALREADY.

Oh, and have a nice day, that is, if you really want to...

(A special thanks to Ernest Lombard, my father-in-law, for providing some inspiration for today's posting.)

Count Yer Blessings, Stupid...

Not you, dear reader. Me. I'm talking to myself here over a cup of coffee and wondering whether I can hold out until lunch or should make a run for the Golden Arches now while breakfast is still being served. It's a slow day today here, where we do our little part to save the world for (choose one): a) democracy b) cheap oil c) white male demagogues. Oops, there I go, getting cynical and angry-sounding again. Someone's going to send me a nasty-gram telling me to get over myself and lighten up, threatening to stop reading my rants and perhaps, heaven forbid, take me off their holiday greeting card mailing list.

Yeah, it's getting close to that time of the year. I should probably have our team secretary set up a bowling social for some time after the marathon, shouldn't I? We did something like this on New Years' Eve, if I rightly recall, but since it was more expensive to bowl than to sit in the bar, sing karaoke and drink Abita beer, we did more karaoke/Abita than anything else. The last bowling social, anyway, was during the middle of the summer, while I had my right arm in a sling...definitely not conducive to bowling if you're right-handed. Of course, I might have done as well as a leftie. Stay tuned for updates.
Oil approaching $100 a barrel? Huh? Talk about a kick in the shorts. Even if you make a conscious decision to not drive unless absolutely necessary, all the stuff we have to have in order to make life tolerable (food, for example) has to be shipped somehow. I've always considered it patently unfair that CEOs, congressmen and other (useless mouths of) leadership make hundreds of times more than the average worker. Heck, I get a two percent raise at my job and my expenses go up at least ten percent because of energy costs. Used to be I could fill the tank of my car on an hour of my wages; now it's closer to 90 minutes. If I were working a typical job in this town it would be closer to half a day's salary before taxes. Makes me shudder.

So, when it comes to that point in life where you have to go to work, you figure out very quickly how to have the most fun possible. Hey, you're going to be there, you have to be there for eight-plus hours a day, five days a week. It would be criminal not to try to enjoy yourself at the same time...might as well multi-task during that 23 percent of the year you're forced to do what someone else wants you to do for money.

So, what's the point today? Well, I'm not really b!tching and moaning about anything, just figured I'd get this off my chest. I guess I'm pretty thankful I don't work a McJob, especially in this town ($10 an hour to teach for Sylvan? Are you mad!?). It scares the bejeezus out of me to think whose mother I'd have to sell to the gypsies in order to make the same salary...I keep selling mine for a faster 5K/10K/half-marathon/marathon time...and the gypsies keep sending her back.

Not really, Mother. Just kidding.

Finding Religion On (Or After) The Run

"Not forsaking the assembling of yourselves together, as the manner of some is; but exhorting one another: and so much the more, as you see the day approaching" - Paul of Tarsus, 'Epistle to the Hebrews', ca. 1st century BCE.

Mid-November. Second of three long training runs, preparing for a marathon. Let me tell you, if I had to do this all by myself I'm not certain I would have gone through with it, at least not the second or the third of three long runs. While I know it was truly nuts to do two hilly 8.2-mile loops as part of training for a (relatively) flat marathon, as I used to tell my coach, 'it seemed like a good idea at the time.' So, this time we split the hilly 8.2-mile loop into the front and back half of the training run, joining a relatively flat 6.9-mile loop to it by a smooth, shaded .6-mile stretch of road we used to use for tempo workouts. While it made the logistics of hydration a tad more challenging, it did have some conveniences (water fountains, bathrooms) which made up for the hassle.

We still were able to maintain our 'Blackhawk Down' policy, the idea of leaving no runner behind during training; the ladies were running at pretty much the same pace, and while one of our group went off the front, no one fell behind. By the time the girls showed up from their run we were nearly dry and very ready for coffee and bagels. There weren't any tables available inside the local bagel joint, but once the sun had come out and the temperature had risen into the high-60s or low-70s it was relaxing to sit outside, crack jokes and enjoy each others' company for an hour or so.

I rarely search for parallels between running and faith, but the Pauline exhortation makes more and more sense, especially if running takes on religious overtones for you. Long races, such as marathons, and competition periods that consist of several races can be seen as a test of ones' belief in their training, as well as the works (long runs, speed work, tempo runs, cross training, and so forth) that dovetail into the individual's 'faith'. Sometimes the best we can do for one another is be around to encourage our fellow runner, especially on those days when the run is little more than a slog and we begin to ask ourself, 'what the hell am I doing!?'

I guess you could go back and look at the letters in the New Testament, the schisms based on personality more than doctrine, and then look at groups of athletes and see, for lack of a better term, denominations. I keep thinking about Paul's statement of how each worker has a small role to play in the big picture, and then I can say, borrowing from Paul:

Igloi, Schul, Daniels, Hanson & Fox planted; DeFoy & I watered, & God gives the increase.

Do What You Love (So Long, Ryan Shay)

Ka mate, ka mate - Ka ora, ka ora - Tenei te tangata puhuruhuru - Nana i tiki mai whakawhiti te ra - Upane, upane - Upane kaupane - Whiti te ra. (If I die, I die - If I live, I live - This is the hairy man - Who caused the sun to shine again for me - Up the ladder, up the ladder - Up to the top - The sun shines.) - "Te Rauparaha Haka (ca. 1820)"

While I feel great sorrow at the death of Ryan Shay, who apparently collapsed and died from a heart condition at the 9K mark of Saturday's Olympic Trials Marathon, I cannot help but also feel a certain degree of joy...maybe jealousy. It sounds morbid, I'm certain, but I cannot think of a better way for an athlete to go out but while doing the thing they love. It sounds trite and of little weight, but you hear this statement all of the time from family and close friends of many athletes and adventurers who meet their end in the middle of exercising their passion.

Once upon a time, when I was a cyclist (recreational) I joked about wanting to leave this physical existence while descending a mountain slope somewhere in Europe; breeze in my face, pavement under my wheels, sun warming my shoulders, the whole click, it's over concept. Lance Armstrong said it a little better (with the help of Sally Jenkins) in his first book, It's Not About The Bike:

"I want to die at a hundred years old with an American flag on my back and the

star of Texas on my helmet, after screaming down an Alpine descent on a bicycle

at 75 miles per hour. I want to cross one last finish line as my stud wife and my ten

children applaud, and then I want to lie down in a field of those famous French sun-

flowers and gracefully expire, the perfect contradiction to my once-anticipated poign-

ant early demise."

Perhaps Shay's death should remind us all to (oh, no, here's the typical pithy statement) live our lives to the fullest. Better yet, live our life like we might pass away during the first thirty minutes of it, without a warning. Hey, man, take a chance: Michael Wardian held two marathon world records (running on a treadmill, running with a stroller) but was seeded 102nd on Saturday. He went out and blasted the first five miles of the course in a pace that was somewhat faster than the rest of the field, got himself some serious television time during the first half-hour. After that, who knows where he was? I'm certain the finish listing has him somewhere. But he did what he felt was the best thing for the day.

Know what you want to do. Do it. And if it isn't making you happy, isn't making your life complete, find what it is that will.

The Needs of the Many...

...outweigh the needs of the few...or the one. - Mr. Spock (Leonard Nimoy), "Star Trek II - The Wrath of Khan"

If there's anything I hate, it's saying goodbye. I've never been good at it. Usually it comes with a promise to keep in touch, which rarely happens. Well, now it's easier to do with the advent of e-mail, instant messaging, Skype and cool stuff like that.

Most of the time I've had to deal with good goodbyes, where everyone parts on the greatest of terms and say glowing things about the relationship. Then, you get bad goodbyes, where everyone saves their final, hurtful parting shots for the final salvo of bile, then circles their wagonload of close associates near to hear them say, 'yeah; you're right, they suck bilge.'

So, why can't people who don't see eye-to-eye and don't want to be associated with each other just agree to disagree, say adios, and get on with life? I sometimes wonder what Ron Warhurst, Mark Wetmore and Chris Carmichael do - or did - when their athletes decide to work with another system, another coach, a different location, or go a different direction.

It used to irk me to have someone no longer train with me without providing a reason. Now, I think I'd rather have them not provide one, that way I can still consider them a friend. As an athlete, I tied so much of my self-image and self-esteem to how my training was progressing and how my racing was going. Not much changes when you move over to the other side of the track; now I tie so much of what I am into what I think is good training for an athlete at a particular point in time. Disagreeing with me doesn't make me feel like I'm being personally attacked as much as it used to; a good solid reason for the disagreement might even make me think twice about what I believe...and adapt accordingly.

It hurts, though, to be blamed for everything that is going wrong in the perception of a single athlete. While I can look at it and say, 'consider the source, it's a disgruntled former athlete,' I guess it takes a while to develop a nice, thick skin.

In the meantime, I guess I'll find a Teflon warm-up suit and some Kevlar shorts. I've got a dozen others who depend on me to do the coach thing; guess I cannot stop at this moment to over-analyze the whole sordid situation. As I tell everyone else what the Maori say, I'll have to:

Kia Kaha. Stand Strong.