The Handicapper General Has Determined...

Not one of the typical threats we see on the road. Bart Yasso in Indonesia, I believe...

One of my wife's favorite science fiction short stories is a satire on social equality written by the late Kurt Vonnegut. In the story, "Harrison Bergeron," the more intelligent, athletic or beautiful a member of society is, the more they are handicapped so no one person will feel inferior to another. The main character, Harrison, is exceptionally intelligent, strong & attractive; the Handicapper General forces him to wear eyeglasses designed to give him headaches, black caps over his teeth, forty pounds of birdshot around his neck, another 300 pounds of weight strapped to his body, a rubber ball on his nose...& headphones which play distracting noises.

At first, we laugh at the thought of a society which forces each of us to be equal by handicapping the more gifted; if we were better than someone else we would never willingly submit ourselves to such a regime. If we were less gifted we wouldn't mind being enhanced some, but we wouldn't feel right about the more gifted being handicapped.

Would we? On either account?

I was at a Rock n' Roll Marathon event & heard about a conversation between a Rock n' Roll staff member & an out-of-town participant asking about headphone use. The participant asked if headphones were going to be allowed on the course. The staffer decided, rather than give a yes-or-no answer, to find out exactly what made this participant tick:

Staffer - "Okay...let me ask you something. Do you know the name of this event?"

Participant - "Yes. It's the Rock n' Roll Marathon."

Staffer - "And you're from out of town?"

Participant - "Yes. Philadelphia."

Staffer - "So you flew here to run this event?"

Participant - "Yes. We've been here all week."

Staffer - "Did you use the discount registration code for the event?"

Participant - "No."

At this point, the staffer quickly estimated what the trip cost the participant & said: "...so, you're willing to spend thousands of dollars for a week at the Rock n' Roll Marathon, an event with some of the best live music this city has to offer, & you would prefer to listen to your own music...?"

How many times have we run races in headphones, never listening to the cheering of spectators, the sound of our own labored breathing as we run, the music playing from stereos in houses or on curbs or corners, or, if we spent a few (more) bucks at an event like RnR, there are bands playing local music for our pleasure at every mile? Running closer to the middle or back of the pack at races can often sound like a silent movie without the piano background; every runner is tuned into their own little world. No one talks to any one.

Yet, we tell our non-running friends we go to races to meet people.

So, we willingly handicap, isolate, ourselves on the course with 100 decibels of sound blaring into our ears, enough to drown the siren of the emergency vehicle taking the unfortunate runner who "crashed & burned" a mile away from us to the hospital...we might have passed without knowing they were in distress because we were in our own little world. Those same 100 decibels are only a little less damaging to our ears than standing next to our mother's Electrolux vacuum cleaner...right now. Over time we handicap ourselves more permanently; wrecking our hearing with long-term exposure to loud everything, until we can't hear even the most sublime of sounds.

Why? Because we seek pleasure & avoid pain. We want to go to our happy place. We want to detach ourself from the message our brain is sending. Timothy Noakes' Central Governor Theory of Endurance says the brain tells us to stop or slow down because our brain wants the glycogen our muscles burn as fuel for itself, as well as the heart & lungs...it wants to keep us alive, even if we cannot run. Our brain is greedy. But when we detach ourself from the brain's "message center" which warns us of the damage we "might" do if we keep running, we also detach ourself from the same message center which warns us a threat (overtaking runner, bicyclist, mugger, automobile, etc.) is approaching from behind.

I hear the often rhetorical question, "well, what about folks who are deaf?" There are folks who are unable to hear, but as a result the senses of sight & touch have become more acute. Not so with those of us who still retain the ability to hear until we place headphone in ear. We can't see behind us & probably don't even think about looking because our happy place is better than anywhere we want to be at the moment.

We don't need a Handicapper General. Most of us do it to ourselves. Rather than be a Harrison Bergeron, willing to die as an unfettered person & release people from long-tolerated handicaps, we'd rather wallow in our equality & accept when others are shackled.

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.

How Are You, Where You Been?

Sometimes I wonder about the folks who come out, train for a while, then suddenly "fall off the face of the earth." I understand what I call (for lack of a better term) parentism, as well as juggling jobs, home lives, spouses, other commitments, and taking up new and added challenges (Golf!? We're talking golf!?). I've said 'we're not getting paid to do this, so don't make it a job.' One of my newer runners mentioned to me the other night about scout meetings and ball practices that would keep him away. I told him, 'no problem. Make it out when you can; run on your own when you can't. Even one good track workout a week is better than none, as long as you get some easy runs in the meantime.'

What gets under my skin:

First, the assumption I should chase people down. I guess I would be more active in this endeavor if my livelihood were based on their attendance/dues. But I'm not making a living from it. My first few months were about keeping up with everyone, trying to keep them coming out. Now, I try not to take it too personally when they decide to not show for a time. Doesn't mean I don't love them, but I've got business to take care of.

Second, the assumption I should phone/e-mail/visit in case I don't see the athlete once a week. While I maintain a religious undertone when talking about running, I'm not a pastor. Athletes missing practices are not committing a mortal sin. I usually send out an e-mail every week-to-ten days about races, workouts, social functions, so I can be reached by punching the reply key on the e-mail. My voice mail works pretty well, as well as my four e-mail accounts. And with three track workouts, one long and two short road runs during the week, and the Friday night dinner/social, the only way to keep from communicating with me is - like my junior college American History professor said about how to fail his course - with great difficulty. The only way to do it is by avoiding me on purpose.

Third, the assumption I should laud or applaud an athlete's return. I'm pleased to see anyone who's been away a while, but unless the rationale for absence is parentism, work/school or injury/recovery, it's 'glad you're out here, now it's time to get with the program.'

I love each and every person who shows up to train with me; while they may not be the toughest or fastest runners in the area, they all show great potential. And it's neat to see them improve. As they say in Maori: Kia Kaha. Stay Strong.