The Vehicle Always Wins

I represent what is left of a vanishing race, and that is the pedestrian.... That I am still able to be here, I owe to a keen eye and a nimble pair of legs.  But I know they'll get me someday.  ~Will Rogers

Rarely if ever do my wife and I vehemently disagree.  And even more rare is the heated argument between the two of us.  The only time a casual observer might event consider the slightest bit of discord between us is during those times when pedestrian and motor vehicle meet in the public thoroughfare.

The average person would think a running enthusiast and coach would take the side of the walker ambling from point A to point B through the center of a city street. 

Absolutely not.  I marvel at the foolishness of people who disregard common sense and common courtesy.  A marked and signal-controlled crosswalk, not 20 yards farther down the street at the intersection, has been placed there by traffic engineers with compassion and vision.  It drives me even more to fury when the same pedestrians cross during the rush hours, or at twilight while wearing subdued outerwear.

I'm not going to go out of my way to strike you, foolish pedestrian, nor will I blow my horn in an effort to startle you out of your reverie.  But please don't expect me to be exceedingly kind, either.

What caused Suzanne and I to truly exchange harsh words after a Sunday morning run and brunch at the beach, however, was a family crossing smack dab in the middle of the county highway.  With heavy early-afternoon beach trafic traveling both directions.  With a baby stroller.  I rolled up upon the gentleman with the stroller, but I was no closer to him than the large, honking van rolling up upon his back side.

Suzanne and I were both angry; she at my apparent lack of compassion, me at the gentleman's willful endangerment of his child.  I explained that legally, ethically and morally the guy was in the wrong; I would not willingly go out of my way to inflict harm, but in the unlikely event (with perfect weather and visibility, this would be highly unlikely) of a pedestrian strike the worst I would most likely incur is an overwhelming sense of emotional guilt.

"What if it were you and the grandchildren?"

"There's no way I would ever - ever - walk the kids across the street without being in a croswalk.  Period."

Normally, I would have not written or discussed this particular topic.  But I left home earlier than usual this morning, only to find I would need to take a detour to work.   An hour later I read the report of a runner struck and killed by an 18-wheel semi-truck.  As always, the details were very limited.  The road where the accident occurred is not known for being well-lit; I've driven it at 5:30 in the morning in months past.

Perhaps the runner was not paying attention.  Perhaps the trucker wasn't looking out for the other guy, didn't expect anyone to be out for their jog at 5:30 a.m.  It's a sad state for all parties.  A ton of internal combustion engine and related parts, traveling 40 miles per hour (64 feet/second) has force (128,000 foot-pounds) which far outweighs a 170-pound man traveling 7 miles an hour (11.2 feet/second, 1904 foot-pounds).  Even if the pedestrian was in the right, and did all the right things, and was entitled to the right of way, when it comes to close encounters of the vehicular kind, the vehicle always wins.  

It's easy to start looking at potential causes, like music player use, lack of lights or reflective clothing, and a lack of situational awareness, just to name a few which easily come to mind.  Did the runner decide to take a sudden turn across the street without taking a look behind him, or try to cross an intersection where the "big red hand of death" was displayed?  It's difficult to say.

Have I done a lot of things while running which would fall under the realm of self-endangerment; jaywalked, or ran across a street without using the crosswalk?  Yes.  In the overwhelming majority of cases the nearest vehicle hasn't necessarily been all that near. 

I hope that Will Rogers was wrong; that we're not all going to be eventually the victim of a motor vehicle encounter.  A keen eye and a nimble pair of legs can only get us so far.  Make certain to do the things which will allow you to see and be seen, hear and be heard on the roads.  Because if it's all left up to chance, we all know the numbers are not in the runner's favor.

Riders On The Storm

My cell phone almost rung itself off the hook - if there was a hook for things like cell phones to be rung off - during Saturday.

"Mike, this is ... is the Bull Run still going to happen? You know it's raining outside, right?"

I cheerfully joked with the callers, telling each one, "the only thing which will stop the event are life-threatening conditions; lightning, flash flood, earthquakes...stuff along those lines."

The first one or two calls are all right. After the fifth or sixth caller it takes a great deal of restraint to hold back the sigh and initialize the "grandfather" program. Frustration, or emotions which sound much like it, doesn't transmit a positive feeling to a potential participant.

Since this was a free event I was not concerned about lost income. Actually, I had an idea people would come out, regardless of the weather conditions. Some people bring their own sunshine, others make it. Runner safety was not my overwhelming concern; we passed along the "if you're silly enough to do this event you deserve what you get" message throughout the local media.

I worried more about the skaters. As you can guess the safe threshhold for stops, starts and maneuvers drops once rink wheels and tiny brakes enter the picture. I was watching cyclists topple like ten-pins on rain-slick Pyreneean roads during the Tour de France; enough to make you cringe in pain. Every five-minute stretch of hard rain only made me more nervous. Every ease-up in the drizzle relaxed me.

I decided to leave the safety call to the skate coordinator; I was more likely to err on the side of (wimpy) cautiousness. Fifteen minutes before I arrived at the course, the phone rang again.

It was the skate coordinator, fortunately for me and my nerves. "We're still on, right?" she asked.

"Oh, yeah. I was going to ask how you felt about skating in this junk. Think your girls will handle it?"

Once I knew she was good with the potential conditions I knew there would be no problems. We kept an eye on the radar, the front windows and the pavement...and quickly drew up an alternative plan in the event more stuff hit the fan. Fortunately for the 200-some runners and 30-40 skaters the weather eased up and the pavement dried a little; a couple of skaters went down, but that's why they wear all that body armor.

When it comes to weather conditions there's a point at which we all have to decide whether our personal safety, our health, or our workout takes the first priority. I have many hard-core runner friends who are going to run, regardless of what's falling out of the sky. I've done long runs in a torrential downpour; track workouts in lightning, tempo runs in near-pitch darkness. Those are usually the workouts where I wonder whether the benefits outweighed the risks, then say quietly to myself 'that might have been a stupid decision.'

I'm not saying we need to toss our planned workout into the dustbin if it isn't clear skies and light breezes, nice temps and low humidities. A run, even if it's truncated, in nasty conditions can make runners more resilient. We never can tell what hand Mother Nature is going to deal us on race day, and when it comes to some events bailing out can make for a rather expensive "did not start" or "did not finish," so there are times that rainy, cold, seemingly-miserable long run may need to happen...and may teach us a little more about ourself.

The Greeter of the Pack

Another weekend in the great out-of-doors has ended. While there's still a bit of a chill in the air, there's no doubt spring is just around the corner. While it's still difficult to get myself motivated and out the door some mornings, at least I don't feel so badly about it once I'm on the move. Suzanne managed to somehow talk me into a near-instant replay of last Saturday's run: Do three miles to a coffee joint, stop for a cup & a bite, then do three miles back to the house. Seemed like a lousy idea at first; Weather Channel had the conditions listed as in the low 40s with a wind chill in the high 30s. While I had my Garmin & my HR strap on to keep track of the important data it wasn't the be all, end all for the morning. Suzanne wanted to get out of the house for a run & she wanted to have coffee. So be it.

Fortunately, the sun was bright, the air was slowly warming up & the sidewalks even seemed like a welcoming environment. It wasn't Esplanade Avenue to Community Coffee or the 5:20 Club, but it was close enough. The very combination of ingredients, including the presence of my loving wife, was just enough to make the morning's first effort seem like just enough.
Once we got back to the house the trials of real life, such as they are in Chez' Bowen, reared their head once more: Walk the dog, get the last-minute business accomplished, fit the swim workout in & go work packet pick-up in Gulf Breeze for Sunday's Midway 8K.

Sunday was just as nice, but the solo 10-miler hurt like hell. Perhaps it was still too soon since the half-marathon to do that many miles as a long run, but I can never tell when I'm going to have a nice Sunday morning...so... Home to walk the dog, then clean up & get some breakfast before heading over to the race to set up. Okay, so I forgot my laptop & had to go back home for it; I owe the company a round of brewskies for that transgression. I never forget my "coach hat", my "RRCA rep hat", and my soapbox. And I got to use them all yesterday at the event.
A young lady asked the inevitable question about headphone use at the registration table. Beverly was almost dead-on accurate with her response; I think she's heard my sermonizing as much as Steven has. We mentioned to her that as a RRCA event club, & because our event was covered by RRCA's event insurance, we were obliged to strongly discourage her from using the headphones. However, we were only going to strongly discourage her because of the inherent safety risks; she was going to run on a course which was not completely closed to traffic. While we did have volunteer workers at as many intersections as possible (another topic for future rumination - volunteers...) we could not completely guarantee her safety in the event an insane (or even sane!) motor vehicle operator decided to suddenly overtake her.

As a small event we want to develop a clientele. We also want to help educate runners & triathletes on safe practices. The first baby step we can do, & intend to do, is mention the hazards the headphones can cause...especially if the volume is jacked up so high the wearer cannot hear. (I still laugh at the comment of the masters' winner: He was doing a cool-down on the course with his phones on, & heard my car's stereo blaring about a quarter mile away from where he was. I thanked him for keeping the volume down low enough to hear his surroundings.) It's not like we have a means to enforce such a policy right now. But if we begin to tell participants it's hazardous to use those things, perhaps when we put a prohibition statement on a race flyer they'll abide by the request.

Okay, I'm off the soapbox for now. My wife has always told me I should participate in a race from the rear of the field in order to see (as Jacob Riis might have put it:) how the other pack lives. Since the local constabulary sent only one patrolman to cover the course, the race director & I were responsible for the lead & follow vehicles. George took the lead vehicle; I had the follow. There's a whole different dynamic when you're following walkers, compared to the elbows-&-a$$#@(@s pack you see at the front end of a race. I suspected I was going to spend the next 60-to-75 minutes following along with the walk division. Close, but not close enough, moose-breath. The last participant took a little over 90 minutes. That was the bad news. Was there good news? Kinda-sorta.

The weather was wonderful. We're talking roll-the-window-down,-lean-your-elbow-out-the-window-because-hanging-your-whole-head-out-would-look-silly wonderful. Unfortunately, I couldn't find a good radio station to play outside of the local NPR stations. Ah, one of those moments where I kick myself in the butt for leaving my favorite CDs at home...& not snagging up Suzanne's iPod to plug in the accessory jack, Jack. Oh, and this lady wanted so badly to give up at the first half-mile. She turned to look at me and wave me on forward, but I told her I was the follow vehicle, & while she was the last participant she was going to make it just fine. I didn't want to tell her how badly it would bite to not finish an eight-kilometer walk. So, I rolled along just behind her with the flashers flashing, plucking up course signs after she passed.

When she got to the last half mile to go, her husband came out to walk along with her. I continued to do my thing & she continued to do hers. At the last 100 yards before the finish, I rolled along side her & called out: "You know what that feeling is right now? What you're feeling is accomplishment!"

After that, I rolled into the parking lot & made a beeline for a beer & some italian bread. My day was pretty much complete. I can't say I picked up any observations from the @$$-end of the field, save for the fact that sometimes it's just something to finish...which was more than I could say for the two teenagers who turned off the course a block ahead of the woman an hour before her finish.