My eldest daughter seems to think she's kind of funny…
As shown by her Xmas gift to her father (that would be me), which she was smirking about as I tore off the wrapping paper and discovered that she'd given me - a Princess Leia action figure. I'm supposed to hang it from my backpack - not sure if that's going to happen.
Kobe Bryant, like most other multi-millionaire athletes, is just a regular guy…
As shown by an in-depth feature on him which revealed that he - hold onto your hats, boys and girls - pumps his own gas. I know, I know, I'm just as impressed by this little tidbit as I'm sure you are.
My son has a secret desire to be a hippy…
As shown by his reluctance to get his hair cut. I finally took him in a few days ago, and the haircut lady kind of looked at him and said, "How long has it been since his last cut?" and I said I didn't really know, so she checked their records and it was way back in July. So I guess I'm not a very good parent. Actually, I wish he'd just let me take him out in the backyard and use the ol' clipper with the #4 attachment. It's simple, and it's free. Plus, how cute would it be if we had father-son matching hairstyles?
There's something about little creatures in big enclosures that tugs at the heartstrings…
As shown by the adorableness of our two baby tortoises (Uno and Dos, officially, though Connor is still lobbying to name one of them Fred Fredberg and the other one something else that's equally ridiculous but that I can't remember offhand) who are snuggled in for a long winter's nap in their den. Everytime I look at them, I flash back to the day we brought Caitlyn home from the hospital. Being young and ignorant, we didn't know there was a difference between a "child car seat" and an "infant car seat" so when we went to put her tiny little self in the "child car seat" it was kind of like putting a peanut in a… big, empty peanut cannister. But she was cuter than a peanut. Although now that I think about it, peanuts are kind of cute, aren't they?
There's something about certain weird dreams you have that makes you scratch your head and say, "Huh?"…
As shown by my confusion when I woke up one morning after dreaming that I was Barack Obama and I was surrounded by people waiting to hear what I had to say, but my mind was completely blank and I had no idea what I was supposed to say, and they were all staring at me with their microphones extended and their pencils poised, and then I woke up and scratched my head and said, "Huh?"
Some people get way too worked up about trivial issues and make mountains out of molehills and haystacks out of needles…
As shown by the annual December tradition wherein people feel the need to weigh in on the whole "Merry Christmas" versus "Happy Holidays" issue and write letters to the editor about the pros and cons of each side or the need to be reasonable and "accept the greeting in the spirit in which it was given," and then go on to let everyone who's reading the letters to the editor know exactly what they, as the most reasonable and mature and thoughtful and kind and wonderfully magnanimous human being on all the planet, use as their greeting, which I assume is implicitly hinting that we should all adopt as our own.
There's something about rainy days that just makes me want to curl up on the couch and read…
As shown by my plan to do exactly that as soon as I finish this posting and get off the computer. So until next time, may your children be appropriately respectful, may your haircuts be timely, and may your dreams lead you to new levels of self-awareness and self-insight.
Friday, December 26, 2008
Friday, December 19, 2008
Romance, heredity, a situation that was almost ironic, Starbucks, and librarians
Just another romantic evening at La Casa de Bindschadler
Katie received a slab of smoked salmon as a gift from one of her students, so she decided to pick up some brie and fancy crackers and a baguette and make a meal of it (no wine, but that's a whole 'nother story). The candles were lit, the mood was set, and she broke out some Ghiradelli's dark chocolate for dessert. We gazed into each other's eyes, whispered sweet nothings, and enjoyed the tantalizing blend of flavors and textures in this sensual feast. And then (along with Connor and Carrie) we settled in and watched the classic movie, "Spaceballs."
Sometimes, I am my father's son
Katie was telling me about her BFF's plan to run in the Berlin marathon, and the first comment out of my mouth was, "Why the heck is she going all the way to Germany to run a marathon?" which was pretty much the exact same comment my dad made a couple of years ago when Katie and I decided to run the Anchorage marathon (except that, obviously, he knew Anchorage was in Alaska, which is still part of the U.S. of A. last time I checked, so he substituted "Alaska" for "Germany"). Still, geesh.
My daughter, the hottie wannabe with a killer water bottle and a loose sock
Some kid at Carrie's school informed her the other day that she, "Had the potential to be hot in a couple of years." Unfortunately, this was not the same kid that got his head cracked open by her water bottle - which happened when one of Carrie's friends borrowed it to use as a prop in a skit (took the place of a beer bottle?) and was swinging it around, but the sock Carrie carries the bottle in was loose (you may be wondering why Carrie carries a water bottle in a sock, but I really don't know), so the bottle went flying, cracked this kid in the crown, and blood started pouring down his face so he had to go to the ER and get stitches. However, he's got a mildly amusing anecdote to tell about his scar, which he's pretty proud of, so I guess all is well.
Starbucks is taking over the world - one cinnamon dolce latte at a time
I don't know what it is about Starbucks in particular, but at some point, I seem to have decided that I'm going to take my figurative ball and go home and not play. Which means that I may be one of the few living Americans living in America today who has never purchased anything from the mega-chain known as Starbucks. I try not to make a big deal out of it, but there's something about the whole idea of Starbucks that sets my teeth on edge. I ride by one of their establishments every morning on my way to work, and there's always a line of cars lined up at the drive-thru, which makes me grimace and shake my head in disgust. So what is it that bugs me so much? Part of it's the whole cost thing (and I'm cheap). I mean, it's a couple of bucks for a plain cup of coffee, and nobody seems to get plain cups of coffee. They put all these syrups and flavors and whips and creams and who-knows-what-else in what used to be coffee, and there are lattes and espressos and mochas and twists and half-cafs and frapuccinos that come in various sizes that they call "tall" and "grande" and "venti," which seems pretentious and silly to me, and the people making these concoctions are called "barristas" which also seems pretentious and silly, and after people purchase their concoctions ("I'll have a half-caf venti caramel macchiato with a twist of silky soy" - I could never, ever, force those words out of my mouth without crumbling into a pile of dust), they carry the cup around like a badge of privilege, and… okay, that's probably enough. Or it would be, except that as I was bouncing around the internet just now, I found that there are actually sites dedicated to "demystifying the Starbuck's menu." Give me a break. Okay, deep breath. Anyway, this particular stance o' mine gets a little awkward around this time of year, because many students like to give their teachers gifts, which is a very sweet and thoughtful thing to do, and lots of these gifts are Starbucks gift cards, which when the teacher is a normal person (e.g. not me) they love, because then they get to go to Starbucks and get a treat that they greatly enjoy. But in the case of a not-normal person (e.g. me) it doesn't work out quite so neatly, and I'm faced with what, for me, passes as a moral dilemma (and what does it say about me that this is as deep as my moral dilemmas tend to get?). But here it is. Do I slink into Starbucks and meekly order some lame concoction, when I'm perfectly happy with my Kroger's brand decaf that I brew every a.m. (like I said earlier, I'm cheap - plus I'm a little afraid of what will happen if I get a taste of the "good stuff" - I foresee a downward spiral where I spiral into a severe addiction that tears my world apart and wreaks havoc on my life and loved ones)? Do I let the cards go to waste, which seems like a total waste as well as being more than a little disrespectful to the gift-giver, who really was trying to do something nice, and I do appreciate the thought, which is very thoughtful. Or, do I do what I do, which is to pass the cards on to my wife and daughters, all of whom love to go to Starbucks along with the rest of the horde. Obviously, I do what I do, which is a win-win-win for all involved - the girls get their fancy frou-frou drinks, the gift-giver's gifts are gratefully accepted (hopefully, honoring the spirit in which they were intended), and I don't have to pay for the girls' fancy frou-frou drinks (again, I'm cheap).
Gotta love librarians - in fact, if I wasn't married to a non-librarian, I'd probably be looking for a librarian to love
If you've read this year's annual Xmas letter (which is due to be posted in the mail in the not-too-distant future), you may remember that I mentioned not knowing what the phrase "dollars to doughnuts" means. Well, soon after giving said Xmas letter to my school librarian, she brought me the answer to the question, which she had diligently researched and found at www.randomhouse.com. Apparently, it has to do with the idea of betting and odds. For example, if you feel like you've got a good chance of winning a bet, you might give 2 to 1 odds (you risk two dollars to win only a dollar). When you are willing to bet dollars to doughnuts, you're really, really sure you're going to win, because doughnuts are seen as worthless (this can't be good for the poor doughnuts' self-esteem, plus, I'm pretty sure my son, Connor, would disagree vehemently with this assertion, because he really, really likes doughnuts). Anyway, you can also say, "dollars to buttons," "dollars to dumplings," (this would really work well if you were referring to the dumplings that Katie tried to make one time many years ago, which were 100% inedible and had to be thrown out without being eaten - seriously, they were bad - the dog wouldn't even eat them), and "dollars to cobwebs" (I kind of like this one). So there you go.
Okay, that's probably more than enough, but it seems as if quite a few mildly amusing things happen to have happened in the past few days. So until next time, may your romantic evenings culminate in the viewing of mildly amusing spoofs, may your water bottles remain safely ensconced in their sock-holders, and may your doughnuts maintain a healthy and realistic self esteem.
Monday, December 15, 2008
True Confessions and Other Juicy Tidbits
Confession #1: My wife, is a vegetarian wannabe…
Every once in awhile, Katie gets the urge to be a vegetarian. I'm not exactly sure why this happens - it could be because she's never really liked eating meat, or because she's got a streak of liberal/granola-ness that sometimes pops up, or because she has a couple of friends who are confirmed vegetarians and she's pretty susceptible to peer pressure (mostly in a good way). Anyhow, quite a few weeks ago, she "became a vegetarian," which wasn't all that big an adjustment for the rest of us, but it did mean I was having to pick up eggplant, several different squash varieties, veggie sprinkles, etc. on my weekly grocery expedition. And she stuck with it - didn't have any turkey on Thanksgiving, made herself a veggie burger when I barbequed, etc. But then she went and got her blood work done as part of her annual physical, and lo and behold, they discovered that she has no iron in her blood (in case you don't know, that's not a good thing). So she's been ordered off the wagon by a licensed physician (who she listens to, as opposed to her husband, who told her several weeks ago that he didn't think being a vegetarian was such a great idea for her, because of the whole iron-in-the-blood issue, which has been an issue in the past). Anyway, Katie had steak for dinner Saturday night. But she didn't like it.
Confession #2: I'm wondering if I'm in a little bit of a rut …
Every once in awhile, one of my loved ones makes a comment about my predictability and I kind of shrug it off. Katie will say something about the way I move things around on the counter when I'm getting ready to make dinner, or Connor will see me when I get home from works and say, "I know what you're gonna do - you're gonna go for a run, then go outside and lift weights," and I'll start to wonder if maybe I've got a little bit of OCD going on. So let's examine this a bit more closely and see if there's any merit to this supposition.
-Item #1: I get up every weekday morning at the same time (except Friday, when I get up earlier to swim), but I would guess that most people get up to go to work at the same time everyday, so that doesn't mean anything one way or the other.
-Item #2: I follow the same routine every morning (turn off back-up alarm, check temperature outside, pack up keys/water bottle/lunch/change of clothes, etc.), then eat a banana and hop on my bike, but that's because having a routine means I don't have to think about what I'm doing and I wind up at work with all the stuff I need - it's really a bummer to get to work and discover I forgot my pants (actually happened one time).
-Item #3: I have the same breakfast/lunch everyday - okay, I'll concede that this is a little weird, but I go through phases with food and tend to stick with certain things for months/years before making a switch (I've been like this ever since I was a kid - off the top of my head, I remember a two-fried-eggs phase, a toast phase, an onion bagel with cream cheese phase, a muffin phase, a banana bread phase, and (currently) a bagel with peanut butter phase.
-Conclusion: Am I in a rut? Maybe, but it's a nice little rut, so what the hey.
Confession #3: I sometimes wonder about random things for no good reason…
Like "what is love?" - although this does kind of make sense, because exploring this idea was one of the topic choices for my 8th graders after they read, "The Lady and the Tiger." Actually, I was mildly amused by some of the responses they gave. One student asked various other students for one sentence definitions, and it turned out to be almost like a personality test. There were the romantics (love is a feeling like someone else is a part of you), the philosophicals (love is giving someone the power to destroy you and trusting them not to), the hormonal (love is a burning sexual passion), the immature (love is hot girls), the Romeo & Juliet-ish (love is going kamikaze for the one you love - when they die, of course), the cynical (love is something that most people think they are in but truly it is artificial), and the metaphorical (love is the confluence of two rivers resulting in raging rapids and twisting turns - oops, that one was mine). Seriously, though, what is love? Is it a phenomenon that is physical, psychological, hormonal, chemical, hopeful, natural, and/or instinctual? And how is it possible to say that you love another person, a pair of pants, banana cream pie, and/or a favorite book, movie, or TV show and somehow, people know what you're talking about? Truly, love is a many splendored, crazy little thing that will keep us together forever and is all we need, unless, of course, it hurts, is blind, or is a crime, in which case, you might find that you're a victim of love.
Confession #4: I continue to wonder about random things for no good reason…
Like "what is courage?" This one is actually a little serious, because I saw several things this week that I would consider to be highly courageous.
-Thing #1: Each week, several students in each of my classes give a presentation on something they feel is interesting. They share websites, talk about books, show pictures of vacations, and all kinds of other things. This week, one of my students gave a presentation on autism because she has a younger brother who is autistic and she wants people to know what it is so they understand and don't make fun of him because she loves him and it hurts when people do this. She was on the verge of tears the entire time, but she held it together and finished with a slide show that had several others in the class (including one stone-hearted teacher) also on the verge of tears. When the slide show ended, it was completely silent (other than some sniffling). It was one of those moments when you just knew something important had happened. And I would say that it was one of the bravest things I've ever seen someone do.
-Thing #2: Our TNT group was scheduled for their 18-mile run this weekend. For several people, this was a true test of perserverance. I ran several miles with J., who hates to run to start with, but he wants to do a marathon, and he wants to do it for a good reason, so he joined our group. He was hurting, and he couldn't understand why he had gotten up at 5 a.m. to do this to himself, but he gritted his teeth and gutted it out and managed to finish the entire run. Then I ran the last three miles with L., who I could tell was not feeling too good when I joined her for the final stretch. Her pace had slowed dramatically from what was normal for her, her hips were killing her, her shoulders were slumped, her stomach was churning, and you could tell that she was deep into the "bite me" zone. But she finished (and promptly said that it was the hardest thing she'd ever done). What's more, both of these people, along with all the rest of the group, will be back out there running next weekend, and the weekend after that, and in just about a month, they'll complete a marathon, and more importantly, they'll have raised thousands of dollars for cancer research and support.
I suppose that's enough for this week, so until next time, may your meals be filled with all the appropriate nutrients, vitamins, and minerals, may your ruts be voluntary and enjoyable, and may your love be selfless and pure.
Every once in awhile, Katie gets the urge to be a vegetarian. I'm not exactly sure why this happens - it could be because she's never really liked eating meat, or because she's got a streak of liberal/granola-ness that sometimes pops up, or because she has a couple of friends who are confirmed vegetarians and she's pretty susceptible to peer pressure (mostly in a good way). Anyhow, quite a few weeks ago, she "became a vegetarian," which wasn't all that big an adjustment for the rest of us, but it did mean I was having to pick up eggplant, several different squash varieties, veggie sprinkles, etc. on my weekly grocery expedition. And she stuck with it - didn't have any turkey on Thanksgiving, made herself a veggie burger when I barbequed, etc. But then she went and got her blood work done as part of her annual physical, and lo and behold, they discovered that she has no iron in her blood (in case you don't know, that's not a good thing). So she's been ordered off the wagon by a licensed physician (who she listens to, as opposed to her husband, who told her several weeks ago that he didn't think being a vegetarian was such a great idea for her, because of the whole iron-in-the-blood issue, which has been an issue in the past). Anyway, Katie had steak for dinner Saturday night. But she didn't like it.
Confession #2: I'm wondering if I'm in a little bit of a rut …
Every once in awhile, one of my loved ones makes a comment about my predictability and I kind of shrug it off. Katie will say something about the way I move things around on the counter when I'm getting ready to make dinner, or Connor will see me when I get home from works and say, "I know what you're gonna do - you're gonna go for a run, then go outside and lift weights," and I'll start to wonder if maybe I've got a little bit of OCD going on. So let's examine this a bit more closely and see if there's any merit to this supposition.
-Item #1: I get up every weekday morning at the same time (except Friday, when I get up earlier to swim), but I would guess that most people get up to go to work at the same time everyday, so that doesn't mean anything one way or the other.
-Item #2: I follow the same routine every morning (turn off back-up alarm, check temperature outside, pack up keys/water bottle/lunch/change of clothes, etc.), then eat a banana and hop on my bike, but that's because having a routine means I don't have to think about what I'm doing and I wind up at work with all the stuff I need - it's really a bummer to get to work and discover I forgot my pants (actually happened one time).
-Item #3: I have the same breakfast/lunch everyday - okay, I'll concede that this is a little weird, but I go through phases with food and tend to stick with certain things for months/years before making a switch (I've been like this ever since I was a kid - off the top of my head, I remember a two-fried-eggs phase, a toast phase, an onion bagel with cream cheese phase, a muffin phase, a banana bread phase, and (currently) a bagel with peanut butter phase.
-Conclusion: Am I in a rut? Maybe, but it's a nice little rut, so what the hey.
Confession #3: I sometimes wonder about random things for no good reason…
Like "what is love?" - although this does kind of make sense, because exploring this idea was one of the topic choices for my 8th graders after they read, "The Lady and the Tiger." Actually, I was mildly amused by some of the responses they gave. One student asked various other students for one sentence definitions, and it turned out to be almost like a personality test. There were the romantics (love is a feeling like someone else is a part of you), the philosophicals (love is giving someone the power to destroy you and trusting them not to), the hormonal (love is a burning sexual passion), the immature (love is hot girls), the Romeo & Juliet-ish (love is going kamikaze for the one you love - when they die, of course), the cynical (love is something that most people think they are in but truly it is artificial), and the metaphorical (love is the confluence of two rivers resulting in raging rapids and twisting turns - oops, that one was mine). Seriously, though, what is love? Is it a phenomenon that is physical, psychological, hormonal, chemical, hopeful, natural, and/or instinctual? And how is it possible to say that you love another person, a pair of pants, banana cream pie, and/or a favorite book, movie, or TV show and somehow, people know what you're talking about? Truly, love is a many splendored, crazy little thing that will keep us together forever and is all we need, unless, of course, it hurts, is blind, or is a crime, in which case, you might find that you're a victim of love.
Confession #4: I continue to wonder about random things for no good reason…
Like "what is courage?" This one is actually a little serious, because I saw several things this week that I would consider to be highly courageous.
-Thing #1: Each week, several students in each of my classes give a presentation on something they feel is interesting. They share websites, talk about books, show pictures of vacations, and all kinds of other things. This week, one of my students gave a presentation on autism because she has a younger brother who is autistic and she wants people to know what it is so they understand and don't make fun of him because she loves him and it hurts when people do this. She was on the verge of tears the entire time, but she held it together and finished with a slide show that had several others in the class (including one stone-hearted teacher) also on the verge of tears. When the slide show ended, it was completely silent (other than some sniffling). It was one of those moments when you just knew something important had happened. And I would say that it was one of the bravest things I've ever seen someone do.
-Thing #2: Our TNT group was scheduled for their 18-mile run this weekend. For several people, this was a true test of perserverance. I ran several miles with J., who hates to run to start with, but he wants to do a marathon, and he wants to do it for a good reason, so he joined our group. He was hurting, and he couldn't understand why he had gotten up at 5 a.m. to do this to himself, but he gritted his teeth and gutted it out and managed to finish the entire run. Then I ran the last three miles with L., who I could tell was not feeling too good when I joined her for the final stretch. Her pace had slowed dramatically from what was normal for her, her hips were killing her, her shoulders were slumped, her stomach was churning, and you could tell that she was deep into the "bite me" zone. But she finished (and promptly said that it was the hardest thing she'd ever done). What's more, both of these people, along with all the rest of the group, will be back out there running next weekend, and the weekend after that, and in just about a month, they'll complete a marathon, and more importantly, they'll have raised thousands of dollars for cancer research and support.
I suppose that's enough for this week, so until next time, may your meals be filled with all the appropriate nutrients, vitamins, and minerals, may your ruts be voluntary and enjoyable, and may your love be selfless and pure.
Monday, December 8, 2008
A Boston Tea Party in Tucson
Here's an obvious observation: it's both dark and cold at 4:30 in the morning, even in Tucson (the cold, I suppose is relative, but the dark is absolute). That's pretty much all I'm thinking when I walk outside on Sunday a.m. at the aforementioned time. The stars are shining, the air is still, and I shiver in the chill, wondering (not for the first time) what I'm doing. The idea of running a marathon is much easier than the actual running of a marathon, and it all begins with hauling your bones out of bed way before dawn and forcing yourself to eat something. Which I do as I drive to the shuttle, feeling groggy and slightly disoriented and a little bit nervous about what's to come. After parking, I walk to the shuttle, climb aboard, and settle in for what I know from past experience is a fairly long ride (over 26 miles) to the starting point of the race, which is up above the town of Oracle, north of Tucson. The good news? The bus has heat. The bad news? The driver, who's wearing a Santa hat (actually, he looks a lot like Santa) decides to "amuse" us by telling jokes he's either read in Reader's Digest or heard from his granddaughter, who is in kindergarten. Since my wife has taught kindergarten, first, and second grade for a lot of years, I've surpassed my quota for this kind of humor, and they're even less funny at five in the morning. So he tells the jokes, and people groan/laugh good-naturedly, and we make it to the starting line without incident (unlike last year when we were supposed to go to the half starting point and the driver mistakenly took us to the full, then realized his mistake, made a quick u-turn (on a highway), drove back to the turnoff where he should have turned, then refused to drive up the road because it was "too narrow" and made us walk about a mile-and-a-half (uphill) to the starting point).
Anyhow, after the usual pre-race rituals, I join the starting group (right around 1000 people) and wait for the signal to start. I position myself right behind the 3:30 pacer, figuring I'll stick with her as much as possible since that's the time I'm shooting for. As usual, people run fast at the beginning, especially since the first mile or so is down a pretty big hill. I soon lose sight of the pacer, but I'm not too worried, because I know I'm going faster than my goal pace. We wind around the Oracle area, up and down hills, and I'm enjoying the views (the sun is up by now) and starting to get in a rhythm. Overall, I feel pretty good - I'm working, but my stride feels loose and relaxed, so I figure I'm okay. Within a couple of miles, I catch sight of the pacer again, and I settle in about ten yards behind the group that's clustered around her. I have my IPod, and I'm not in the mood for conversation. I like to run with people on training runs, but when I'm running for real, I'd rather turn my focus inward and ignore everyone around me as much as possible.
After about 6 1/2 miles of ups and downs (mostly downs) we hit the edge of town and turn onto the highway, which we'll follow all the way to Catalina. For the next three or four miles, I concentrate on maintaining an easy pace, remembering the old advice about how to run a marathon - run the first 10 miles with your head, the second 10 miles with your legs, and the last 6.2 with your heart. My mile splits are all between 7:45 and 7:50, so I'm actually a couple of minutes ahead of my goal pace when we hit the 10-mile mark and turn onto Biosphere Road. This is the part I knew was going to be a challenge - a four-mile up-and-back with a pretty good climb for the "up." My pace slows for these two miles, but so does everyone else's, including the pacer's, so I don't worry about it too much. The worst thing about these out-and-back sections is that when I'm going out, the people who are faster than me are coming back, and I'm always tempted to pull a Rosie Ruiz and join them (which is not possible, since they put timing mats at the end of the "out" so people can't cheat - plus, I don't really want to cheat… okay, maybe a little).
Once I finish the "out" portion, I pick up my pace again on the "back" part, and pass the 13.1 mark in 1:43, which is still two minutes ahead of my goal pace. So I'm still in good shape, but I'm starting to feel tired. My left hip is beginning to hurt, and my feet are getting sore. I could slow down, but I've decided that I'm going for it today. I'm going to push it for as long as I can and see if I can make it. We turn back onto the highway, and there's a long downhill stretch to Oracle Junction. Actually, it turns out to be longer than I remembered, and I keep thinking it will be at the bottom of the next hill. The pacer switched with a buddy at the halfway point, and the new pacer is obviously feeling energetic, because she pulls steadily ahead of me, even though I'm still doing my miles at a regular 7:45-7:50 pace. I decide to stick with what I'm doing and not worry if she gets ahead. She'll probably slow down at some point. Either way, I'm still on track for my goal.
The miles pass. I see my wife and a friend on the side of the road - they wave and shout encouragement, and I wave in return - sorry, no time to stop and chat. By the time I reach 15, I need to start setting sub-goals. I can't think about having to run another 11.2 - especially at this pace. There's no way I could do that. Instead, I focus on managing one mile at a time. Just make it to 16, I tell myself. Then 17. 18. 19. When I reach 20, I'm getting seriously tired. I've managed to keep my pace under 8's, but my right calf is starting to hurt, my hip has gotten worse, and my feet are starting to burn. Plus, my legs are beginning to feel a little numb. Only 6.2 to go, I think. It's only a 10 K race. This is the part you run with your heart. It's okay if you're hurting. Everybody is hurting at this point. You've been through this before. All you need to do is hang on for another 50 minutes and you'll have it. So I keep on pushing, one mile at a time.
It's tougher to run through the water stops now. I walk through every other one, pausing just long enough to swallow some water and sports drink, then forcing myself to start running again. It feels so good to walk, even though it's only for a few seconds. All I want to do is stop running and walk. I can't think about that. One more mile, I keep telling myself. All you've got to do is make it to 22. Then 23. 3.2 to go. It's only a 5 K. I've got to run a 5 K in 25 minutes to make my goal. How easy that would be if I was fresh and rested. There's nothing to it. But after 22 miles, I'm feeling spent. I don't know if I'm going to make it. I see my wife again - she's smiling and cheering me on, and all I feel is frustrated and mad. Easy for you to cheer, I think. I've definitely entered into the "bite me" zone. And then I hear the song on my IPod - it's "I Run for Life," by Melissa Etheridge. Could the timing be any more perfect? This is exactly what I need. The song starts, and I turn up the volume and force my legs forward as the lyrics from the chorus blast into my ears - "I run for hope / I run to feel / I run for the truth for all that is real / I run for your mother, your sister, your wife / I run for you and me my friend / I run for life." Okay, I think, this is tough. I feel sore and tired and like I can't go any further, but so many people have done things that are harder than this. This time, I'm going to push through the pain and discomfort and go as fast as I possibly can. I'm not going to stop for this last section. I'm not going to pause to take some water, because if I stop to walk, I may not be able to start up again. I don't have any time to spare if I'm going to hit my goal. The pacer is in sight, but she's at least a full minute ahead of me, so I don't have room to mess around. And I run. I'm mad, but I'm determined, and I grit my teeth and go as fast as I can till I reach 24. Then 25. Only 1.2 more. I know where the finish is. Down this road, a right turn, up a hill, then turn right and the finish line is right there. Now I'm starting to believe I can do this. I don't have any time to spare, but all I've got to do is keep up this pace. I've got 10 minutes to make it. Stop thinking about it. Just run. One step at a time.
I run past the final water station. There's a guy right in front of me, and I'm pretty sure he's got the same goal I do. We're both struggling, but I focus on staying with him, then I pass him. I can hear him right behind me. We're going to make it, I want to tell him, but I can't afford the energy it would take. Relax, I tell myself. Smooth and easy and relaxed as I make the turn and start up the last hill. Not even a hill. Just a slight rise, but anything seems daunting at this point. Still, I can sense the finish line. People are standing along the course cheering, encouraging, urging us on. "Finish strong!" they yell. "You're almost there!" And I am. Almost there. I hit the 26 mile mark and glance down at my watch. I've got two minutes to cover the last .2 - I know I've got that much left. And then I'll be able to stop. My anger evaporates and I start to feel a rush of what I guess is adrenaline. I round the final turn, and there's the finish line. I'm focused on the clock. It's passed the 3:30 mark, but I only have to finish before it hits 3:31 and I'll qualify for Boston. I realize I'm going to make it, and I almost smile, and then I'm crossing the finish line and finally, blessedly, slowing to a walk, which is little more than a shuffle, as I accept my medal and a bottle of water.
There's nothing like the feeling that washes over me as I sip my water and shuffle around, trying to figure out which part of my body feels the worst. I did it, with 26 seconds to spare. 26 seconds - one second per mile. How amazing is that? For awhile, there, I didn't think I could do it, but somehow I pulled it off. I talk to several people I know, basically telling them how wiped out I am, but at the same time, how great I feel, wipe the salt off my face, hug my wife, who is probably more excited than me (or just not as exhausted), and continue to shuffle around. I think about eating something, but there's no way. Not yet. I'm going to be really sore in a couple of hours. But it was worth it. Without a doubt.
Anyhow, after the usual pre-race rituals, I join the starting group (right around 1000 people) and wait for the signal to start. I position myself right behind the 3:30 pacer, figuring I'll stick with her as much as possible since that's the time I'm shooting for. As usual, people run fast at the beginning, especially since the first mile or so is down a pretty big hill. I soon lose sight of the pacer, but I'm not too worried, because I know I'm going faster than my goal pace. We wind around the Oracle area, up and down hills, and I'm enjoying the views (the sun is up by now) and starting to get in a rhythm. Overall, I feel pretty good - I'm working, but my stride feels loose and relaxed, so I figure I'm okay. Within a couple of miles, I catch sight of the pacer again, and I settle in about ten yards behind the group that's clustered around her. I have my IPod, and I'm not in the mood for conversation. I like to run with people on training runs, but when I'm running for real, I'd rather turn my focus inward and ignore everyone around me as much as possible.
After about 6 1/2 miles of ups and downs (mostly downs) we hit the edge of town and turn onto the highway, which we'll follow all the way to Catalina. For the next three or four miles, I concentrate on maintaining an easy pace, remembering the old advice about how to run a marathon - run the first 10 miles with your head, the second 10 miles with your legs, and the last 6.2 with your heart. My mile splits are all between 7:45 and 7:50, so I'm actually a couple of minutes ahead of my goal pace when we hit the 10-mile mark and turn onto Biosphere Road. This is the part I knew was going to be a challenge - a four-mile up-and-back with a pretty good climb for the "up." My pace slows for these two miles, but so does everyone else's, including the pacer's, so I don't worry about it too much. The worst thing about these out-and-back sections is that when I'm going out, the people who are faster than me are coming back, and I'm always tempted to pull a Rosie Ruiz and join them (which is not possible, since they put timing mats at the end of the "out" so people can't cheat - plus, I don't really want to cheat… okay, maybe a little).
Once I finish the "out" portion, I pick up my pace again on the "back" part, and pass the 13.1 mark in 1:43, which is still two minutes ahead of my goal pace. So I'm still in good shape, but I'm starting to feel tired. My left hip is beginning to hurt, and my feet are getting sore. I could slow down, but I've decided that I'm going for it today. I'm going to push it for as long as I can and see if I can make it. We turn back onto the highway, and there's a long downhill stretch to Oracle Junction. Actually, it turns out to be longer than I remembered, and I keep thinking it will be at the bottom of the next hill. The pacer switched with a buddy at the halfway point, and the new pacer is obviously feeling energetic, because she pulls steadily ahead of me, even though I'm still doing my miles at a regular 7:45-7:50 pace. I decide to stick with what I'm doing and not worry if she gets ahead. She'll probably slow down at some point. Either way, I'm still on track for my goal.
The miles pass. I see my wife and a friend on the side of the road - they wave and shout encouragement, and I wave in return - sorry, no time to stop and chat. By the time I reach 15, I need to start setting sub-goals. I can't think about having to run another 11.2 - especially at this pace. There's no way I could do that. Instead, I focus on managing one mile at a time. Just make it to 16, I tell myself. Then 17. 18. 19. When I reach 20, I'm getting seriously tired. I've managed to keep my pace under 8's, but my right calf is starting to hurt, my hip has gotten worse, and my feet are starting to burn. Plus, my legs are beginning to feel a little numb. Only 6.2 to go, I think. It's only a 10 K race. This is the part you run with your heart. It's okay if you're hurting. Everybody is hurting at this point. You've been through this before. All you need to do is hang on for another 50 minutes and you'll have it. So I keep on pushing, one mile at a time.
It's tougher to run through the water stops now. I walk through every other one, pausing just long enough to swallow some water and sports drink, then forcing myself to start running again. It feels so good to walk, even though it's only for a few seconds. All I want to do is stop running and walk. I can't think about that. One more mile, I keep telling myself. All you've got to do is make it to 22. Then 23. 3.2 to go. It's only a 5 K. I've got to run a 5 K in 25 minutes to make my goal. How easy that would be if I was fresh and rested. There's nothing to it. But after 22 miles, I'm feeling spent. I don't know if I'm going to make it. I see my wife again - she's smiling and cheering me on, and all I feel is frustrated and mad. Easy for you to cheer, I think. I've definitely entered into the "bite me" zone. And then I hear the song on my IPod - it's "I Run for Life," by Melissa Etheridge. Could the timing be any more perfect? This is exactly what I need. The song starts, and I turn up the volume and force my legs forward as the lyrics from the chorus blast into my ears - "I run for hope / I run to feel / I run for the truth for all that is real / I run for your mother, your sister, your wife / I run for you and me my friend / I run for life." Okay, I think, this is tough. I feel sore and tired and like I can't go any further, but so many people have done things that are harder than this. This time, I'm going to push through the pain and discomfort and go as fast as I possibly can. I'm not going to stop for this last section. I'm not going to pause to take some water, because if I stop to walk, I may not be able to start up again. I don't have any time to spare if I'm going to hit my goal. The pacer is in sight, but she's at least a full minute ahead of me, so I don't have room to mess around. And I run. I'm mad, but I'm determined, and I grit my teeth and go as fast as I can till I reach 24. Then 25. Only 1.2 more. I know where the finish is. Down this road, a right turn, up a hill, then turn right and the finish line is right there. Now I'm starting to believe I can do this. I don't have any time to spare, but all I've got to do is keep up this pace. I've got 10 minutes to make it. Stop thinking about it. Just run. One step at a time.
I run past the final water station. There's a guy right in front of me, and I'm pretty sure he's got the same goal I do. We're both struggling, but I focus on staying with him, then I pass him. I can hear him right behind me. We're going to make it, I want to tell him, but I can't afford the energy it would take. Relax, I tell myself. Smooth and easy and relaxed as I make the turn and start up the last hill. Not even a hill. Just a slight rise, but anything seems daunting at this point. Still, I can sense the finish line. People are standing along the course cheering, encouraging, urging us on. "Finish strong!" they yell. "You're almost there!" And I am. Almost there. I hit the 26 mile mark and glance down at my watch. I've got two minutes to cover the last .2 - I know I've got that much left. And then I'll be able to stop. My anger evaporates and I start to feel a rush of what I guess is adrenaline. I round the final turn, and there's the finish line. I'm focused on the clock. It's passed the 3:30 mark, but I only have to finish before it hits 3:31 and I'll qualify for Boston. I realize I'm going to make it, and I almost smile, and then I'm crossing the finish line and finally, blessedly, slowing to a walk, which is little more than a shuffle, as I accept my medal and a bottle of water.
There's nothing like the feeling that washes over me as I sip my water and shuffle around, trying to figure out which part of my body feels the worst. I did it, with 26 seconds to spare. 26 seconds - one second per mile. How amazing is that? For awhile, there, I didn't think I could do it, but somehow I pulled it off. I talk to several people I know, basically telling them how wiped out I am, but at the same time, how great I feel, wipe the salt off my face, hug my wife, who is probably more excited than me (or just not as exhausted), and continue to shuffle around. I think about eating something, but there's no way. Not yet. I'm going to be really sore in a couple of hours. But it was worth it. Without a doubt.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Black Friday (2), Star Wars, Escaped Felines, and More
Okay, I was wrong, and I'm man enough to admit it. In an earlier posting, I went off a little on the whole concept of "Black Friday" and people who get up early to participate in the shopping craze fueled by ganga deals. In fact, "Black Friday" is the greatest day of the year, and I never should have avoided the crowds and stayed away from the stores. Just think, I could have been part of a fun-loving, holiday-spirit-fueled crowd like the one that rushed the doors of Wal-Mart when they opened, trampling a hapless employee to death. After all, what's one human being's existence when compared to getting a great deal on a flat-screen television. Obviously, these folks have it all figured out, and next year, I promise to join the throngs. Without a doubt.
Everyone knows those funny little personality tests on the internet are completely valid, reliable, and trustworthy, right? Well, I took the "What Star Wars Character Are You?" quiz recently, and it confirmed all my suspicions - about these tests and about myself. I dutifully read through the prompts and clicked the appropriate responses, figuring I would either come out as a swashbuckling, sarcastic rogue (Han Solo) or a wise, mysterious, well-centered guru (either Obi-Wan Kenobi or Yoda). At worst, I figured I'd wind up as a somewhat naive, idealistic, well-meaning and courageous hero (Luke Skywalker) or a dark, powerful, tormented anti-hero (Darth Vader). So as I clicked my last selection and hit the "submit" button, I waited with bated breath to see which one it would be. The results? Read on, for the answer lies at the end of this entry.
The cat's out of the bag, the dog's run away, and the cow's jumped over the moon. I "accidentally" let it slip to a few people that my dream goal for the marathon I'm running in a couple of days is to finish in 3:30 or less which would qualify me for Boston (okay, it just occurred to me that as I type these words, which are certain to be read by millions of dedicated fans world-wide, I've now officially gone way beyond accidentally letting it slip - oh well). Anyhow, word has spread, kind of like an oil slick after a tanker mishap, so now lots of people know, which has ratcheted up the pressure more than a little for yours truly (one has to wonder - was this purposeful? Subliminal? Hmm…). Guess we'll just have to wait and see how the stars align. Tune in next week to see how it all falls out.
Two-hundred miles in a month. That's how far I ran in the month of November (actually 204, but who's counting? Okay, I am - obviously). This is significant because it's the most I've ever managed in a single month, and unless my feet fall off in the next week or so, I'll push past the 1,500 mile mark for the year. Coaching for TNT (which I started last January and will continue at least into the near future) seems to have made a huge difference for me - there's something about being out there helping people complete their runs that fills me with energy and motivation. We're currently training a group for the marathon in Phoenix on January 18, and they recently completed their 16-mile run, which for many of them was the furthest they'd ever gone. It's truly inspirational to watch dedicated people pushing their limits and going beyond what they believed was possible. I think I'm starting to bleed purple.
Finally, here's the answer you've been waiting for. The Star Wars character I'm most like (at least, according to the on-line quiz I took, which I have to say is probably not very accurate) is… Princess Leia! There was some nonsense about how that correlates with leadership and strong focus, blah, blah, blah, but Princess Leia? I mean, really. Oh well, at least I'm not C-3PO like my son, Connor.
That's all for now, so until next time, may your Fridays be bright and cheerful, your personality tests be accurate and acceptable, and your stars be aligned in perfect and pleasing arrangements.
Everyone knows those funny little personality tests on the internet are completely valid, reliable, and trustworthy, right? Well, I took the "What Star Wars Character Are You?" quiz recently, and it confirmed all my suspicions - about these tests and about myself. I dutifully read through the prompts and clicked the appropriate responses, figuring I would either come out as a swashbuckling, sarcastic rogue (Han Solo) or a wise, mysterious, well-centered guru (either Obi-Wan Kenobi or Yoda). At worst, I figured I'd wind up as a somewhat naive, idealistic, well-meaning and courageous hero (Luke Skywalker) or a dark, powerful, tormented anti-hero (Darth Vader). So as I clicked my last selection and hit the "submit" button, I waited with bated breath to see which one it would be. The results? Read on, for the answer lies at the end of this entry.
The cat's out of the bag, the dog's run away, and the cow's jumped over the moon. I "accidentally" let it slip to a few people that my dream goal for the marathon I'm running in a couple of days is to finish in 3:30 or less which would qualify me for Boston (okay, it just occurred to me that as I type these words, which are certain to be read by millions of dedicated fans world-wide, I've now officially gone way beyond accidentally letting it slip - oh well). Anyhow, word has spread, kind of like an oil slick after a tanker mishap, so now lots of people know, which has ratcheted up the pressure more than a little for yours truly (one has to wonder - was this purposeful? Subliminal? Hmm…). Guess we'll just have to wait and see how the stars align. Tune in next week to see how it all falls out.
Two-hundred miles in a month. That's how far I ran in the month of November (actually 204, but who's counting? Okay, I am - obviously). This is significant because it's the most I've ever managed in a single month, and unless my feet fall off in the next week or so, I'll push past the 1,500 mile mark for the year. Coaching for TNT (which I started last January and will continue at least into the near future) seems to have made a huge difference for me - there's something about being out there helping people complete their runs that fills me with energy and motivation. We're currently training a group for the marathon in Phoenix on January 18, and they recently completed their 16-mile run, which for many of them was the furthest they'd ever gone. It's truly inspirational to watch dedicated people pushing their limits and going beyond what they believed was possible. I think I'm starting to bleed purple.
Finally, here's the answer you've been waiting for. The Star Wars character I'm most like (at least, according to the on-line quiz I took, which I have to say is probably not very accurate) is… Princess Leia! There was some nonsense about how that correlates with leadership and strong focus, blah, blah, blah, but Princess Leia? I mean, really. Oh well, at least I'm not C-3PO like my son, Connor.
That's all for now, so until next time, may your Fridays be bright and cheerful, your personality tests be accurate and acceptable, and your stars be aligned in perfect and pleasing arrangements.
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