Run Like the Wind…
That was the name of the 10k race I ran last Saturday in beautiful Allenspark, CO (elevation 8,504 feet). Let's just say I didn't exactly "run like the wind," unless the wind was a really slow and tired wind that huffed and puffed up all kind of hills (and there were a lot of hills). But I did finish in under an hour and wound up in 12th place (of course, there were only 36 participants). And I got - yet another - t-shirt for the collection.
Speaking of Colorado…
We just got back from 3 1/2 beautiful weeks in the Rocky Mountains. Weather was mostly in the 70's and 80's, though we did have a couple of cold and rainy days. Lots of beautiful hiking, and lots and lots of hill training at high elevation to help try to get ready for Mt. Lemmon. Also watched almost all of "The Sopranos" episodes (still have one season to go), finally got around to reading the Stieg Larsson trilogy (liked the Lisbeth Salander character, didn't care so much for the Mikael Blomkvist character - seriously, how many girls can fall in love with a dopey guy like that?), and saw a moose and several deer. All in all, it was a beautiful and relaxing couple of weeks. So we drove back to Tucson on Monday, which was an all-day, 14-hour affair, pulled up at the house, and all I wanted to do was order a pizza and crash on my couch. But no, that was not to be, because for whatever reason, our thermostat was on the blink and said it was 35 degrees in the house (it was more like 100). So I messed around with the thermostat, and tried to call the toll-free number (no one was answering) and checked on-line for solutions, and messed around with it some more, and cursed and sweated quite a bit, but nothing worked. So we finally gave up, went to Applebee's for dinner, and drove across town to Katie's parent's house, where we spent the night. That night, there was a big storm and power went out in our neighborhood for several hours, which must have somehow reset the thermostat in some magical and mysterious way, because when we came back home the next morning, the thermostat was working and the AC went right on, and it's been working ever since. So I guess all's well that ends well. And I'm not sure there's anything that's quite as nice as a working air conditioning unit in July in Tucson.
Another note on CO
This just in from the "it's a small world department." While on vacation, we spent a weekend with our friends Alan and Val in Vail/Avon who took us river rafting through Glenwood Canyon (brought back lots of memories of summer camp days) and then for a hike in the Holy Cross Wilderness area the next day. To get to the trailhead, we had to drive a couple of hours, including about 10 miles on a fairly rough dirt road. So we were pretty much in the middle of nowhere. So we set off on our hike, and about halfway up the trail, we passed a group of hikers coming down, and one of the guys saw Katie's TNT jersey and asked where we were from, and when she told him Tucson, he said, "Hey, do you happen to know Rick?" to which I said that I did and that I coached with him, and it turned out that he was Rick's best friend's brother. So he snapped a picture of us with his phone and sent it to Rick to freak him out. Pretty strange stuff.
Training Update
In addition to ramping things up to get ready for the epic climb of Mt. Lemmon (which I continue to have serious doubts about, but remain committed to) we're getting ready to kick off another TNT season in about a week. We've got a fairly big group signed up already for the Phoenix marathon and half-marathon, with lots of alumni, so it should be yet another great season.
That's all for this edition, so until next time, may your world remain manageable, may your hills remain climbable, and may the wind remain beneath your wings.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Radio, Swimming, and Dangerous Addictions
Radiohead
After three weeks of building nine sets of storage units in the garage, I've had more than my fill of the local radio stations and I've come to the following conclusions. First, they all claim that they don't repeat the same songs, but that is a lie. Second, they all claim that they play more music and have fewer commercials, and that is also a lie. Third, they all lie. And fourth, I am really, really sick of Dave Aufmuth, and even if I ever decide to buy a used car, the one place I'm not going, just because his commercials are so annoying, is Aufmuth motors. But the good news is the storage units are finished and ready to be delivered (which is today's task of the day).
Swimming in Patagonia
On numerous and sundry occasions, Katie has told me that I should go jump in a lake (not because - perish the thought - she found me exasperating, but because she thinks I should experience an "open-water swim" and be a part of the group of people who have done "open-water swims, which apparently, is a pretty cool group to be a part of). So this past Monday, we drove to Patagonia (along with several of her buds and Caitlyn and her boy) to swim in the lake. I was warned that I might panic when I got out into the lake, and that it might feel very strange not being able to see anything, but I actually kind of liked the whole thing. The water was comfortable temperature-wise, and it turned out to be pretty fun experience (plus, I'm now part of the "open-water swim" crew). When we arrived, there was a group of teenagers at the beach, and several people took note of the fact that there were "four girls in bikinis with one muscular guy" like that was notable for some reason, which I found slightly ironic since I was one (somewhat) muscular guy with four women in bikinis (and wetsuits) and no one seemed to take note of that. There's some kind of double standard at work here, but I'm not exactly sure what it is or what it might mean. I'll leave that to you to figure out.
Speaking of interpretations…
I've been having really, really strange dreams lately, all of which I remember until I fall back asleep and then can't remember when I wake up, which is pretty frustrating. I do recall that several have involved people from my "distant" past in strange and unusual settings but that's about all I got. Which makes me wonder why I even brought it up.
Speaking of sleep…
This is a very loose connection, but I couldn't think of another way to introduce the subject of caffeine, so this will have to do. As you may or may not know, caffeine is a drug, and as you also may or may not know, many people are addicted to this drug, and if they don't get their daily fix, they exhibit withdrawal symptoms such as irritability and headaches. This has happened to my wife on several occasions this summer when she's gotten busy doing her swimming/running/cycling and forgotten her morning cup o' joe. One piece of advice - it's not generally a good idea to tell someone they're an "addict" and they're suffering from "withdrawal" when they've got a headache and are feeling irritable. They tend to get a little testy.
Short post for now because I've got to head out and deliver storage units, so until next time may your reception remain clear, may your water remain temperate, and may your addictions remain manageable.
After three weeks of building nine sets of storage units in the garage, I've had more than my fill of the local radio stations and I've come to the following conclusions. First, they all claim that they don't repeat the same songs, but that is a lie. Second, they all claim that they play more music and have fewer commercials, and that is also a lie. Third, they all lie. And fourth, I am really, really sick of Dave Aufmuth, and even if I ever decide to buy a used car, the one place I'm not going, just because his commercials are so annoying, is Aufmuth motors. But the good news is the storage units are finished and ready to be delivered (which is today's task of the day).
Swimming in Patagonia
On numerous and sundry occasions, Katie has told me that I should go jump in a lake (not because - perish the thought - she found me exasperating, but because she thinks I should experience an "open-water swim" and be a part of the group of people who have done "open-water swims, which apparently, is a pretty cool group to be a part of). So this past Monday, we drove to Patagonia (along with several of her buds and Caitlyn and her boy) to swim in the lake. I was warned that I might panic when I got out into the lake, and that it might feel very strange not being able to see anything, but I actually kind of liked the whole thing. The water was comfortable temperature-wise, and it turned out to be pretty fun experience (plus, I'm now part of the "open-water swim" crew). When we arrived, there was a group of teenagers at the beach, and several people took note of the fact that there were "four girls in bikinis with one muscular guy" like that was notable for some reason, which I found slightly ironic since I was one (somewhat) muscular guy with four women in bikinis (and wetsuits) and no one seemed to take note of that. There's some kind of double standard at work here, but I'm not exactly sure what it is or what it might mean. I'll leave that to you to figure out.
Speaking of interpretations…
I've been having really, really strange dreams lately, all of which I remember until I fall back asleep and then can't remember when I wake up, which is pretty frustrating. I do recall that several have involved people from my "distant" past in strange and unusual settings but that's about all I got. Which makes me wonder why I even brought it up.
Speaking of sleep…
This is a very loose connection, but I couldn't think of another way to introduce the subject of caffeine, so this will have to do. As you may or may not know, caffeine is a drug, and as you also may or may not know, many people are addicted to this drug, and if they don't get their daily fix, they exhibit withdrawal symptoms such as irritability and headaches. This has happened to my wife on several occasions this summer when she's gotten busy doing her swimming/running/cycling and forgotten her morning cup o' joe. One piece of advice - it's not generally a good idea to tell someone they're an "addict" and they're suffering from "withdrawal" when they've got a headache and are feeling irritable. They tend to get a little testy.
Short post for now because I've got to head out and deliver storage units, so until next time may your reception remain clear, may your water remain temperate, and may your addictions remain manageable.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Marathons, Sawdust and Algae
San Diego
It's been a busy couple of weeks, even though school is out and I'm on "vacation." We took our TNT group to San Diego for the marathon (and half-marathon), which turned out to be a great trip. Everyone on the team did really well, even though it was pretty hot. That's right, a group of runners from Tucson thought it was hot in San Diego, even though the high was only in the low 70's and back home it was over 105˚ (but it was a humid heat - in San Diego, not Tucson - in Tucson it was a dry heat). I guess it was actually pretty warm, because there seemed to be an unusually large number of ambulances out on the course picking up people who had bonked, but all of our folks (thanks, of course, to some seriously magnificent coaching and preparation) managed to finish in fairly good shape (a few blisters, some dehydration, and a little bit of heat stroke, but otherwise okay). I did, for the first time in my coaching career, have to literally drag one guy the last half mile of the course to get him to the finish line. I spotted him as I was heading back onto the course from the finish area, and he was clearly in the loopy zone - as in ready to collapse - and I caught him just before he keeled over. He would walk with me for awhile, but then he kept trying to run and almost collapsing, and I kept pulling him back and telling him we were walking the rest of the way, and he kept saying, "I need to run," and I kept saying, "You need to walk," especially when he told me he was seeing white spots and asked me for the third time if we'd crossed the finish line yet ("No, dude, it's just a little farther," I told him every time). Anyway, he wound up in the medical tent getting an IV and being cooled down with cold towels. One thing that always strikes me is how different coaching a marathon is from running one (coaching, for the record, is much easier). I may put in more miles (32 at this particular event) but I don't run the entire course and there's a lot of slow running and walking to break up the time. This time, I ran back and forth between miles 5-9, which was looping through downtown San Diego, for the first couple of hours, then hopped on a train to get near the finish area (right next to Sea World) and spent the rest of the time running people in from around mile 24, which was on Fiesta Island (which, by the way, is really poorly named, because there's not really anything "fiesta-ish" about it - it's pretty much a completely barren island with a road going around it - apparently people camp there - I don't know why). Actually, running our participants into the finish area is probably my favorite part of the gig - I love being there when people (especially first-timers) reach the point when they realize they're actually going to make it to the finish line. For some of them, this is around mile 25, for others it's about 1/2 a mile from the finish, and a few aren't exactly sure they're going to make it until they're within spitting distance. But it's a pretty cool thing to witness. And now we're getting ramped up to start the new PF Chang season (Phoenix) and I've got to start getting ready for the Mt. Lemmon marathon (nothing like a little 6,000 foot elevation gain over 26.2 miles - but I got a really cool training shirt for signing up).
Speaking of vacation
It's nice not having to go to work and all, but I'm still pretty busy making some furniture for a group of teachers. Some people (my wife among them) refer to these as "cubbies" but I just can't seem to say that word, so I always call them "storage units." For some reason, I just can't bring myself to tell anyone that I'm making "cubbies." I'll see one of my neighbors, and they'll say, "Whatcha making in your garage?" and I can't say, "Cubbies," because that would just sound silly. It's much more manly and impressive to be building "storage units" than "cubbies" (just goes to show the power of a name). Anyway, I've created a whole lot of sawdust and sweated through a week-and-a-half of hot afternoons in the garage, and I'm currently about halfway done with the project.
Die, Algae, Die
For the past couple of summers, I've been battling the algae monster in our swimming pool. I treat the pool and get rid of the algae for several days, but the algae always comes back. I've tried lots of different things and have gotten lots of advice and spent a fair amount of money on various products, and whatever I try always seems to work for a little while, but then the algae comes back. It's never very bad, but it does add a definite green tinge to the water that just doesn't look right. But now, after lots of algaecide and lots of shock, the water is looking pretty darned good. I think I may have finally defeated it. The eternal optimist lives on.
Desert Blooms
One of the things I really love about the desert is all of the different flowers that come out in late spring and early summer. The ironwood trees are filled with purple flowers, our saguaros are still going strong, and this morning, I walked outside and saw a flower the size of my fist growing on a cactus that was about half that size. They don't last long, but they're really spectacular.
Okay, when I start writing about flowers, it's definitely time to wrap things up, so until next time may your eyes remain clear and bright, may your fiestas be festive, and may your vacations be restful and relaxing.
It's been a busy couple of weeks, even though school is out and I'm on "vacation." We took our TNT group to San Diego for the marathon (and half-marathon), which turned out to be a great trip. Everyone on the team did really well, even though it was pretty hot. That's right, a group of runners from Tucson thought it was hot in San Diego, even though the high was only in the low 70's and back home it was over 105˚ (but it was a humid heat - in San Diego, not Tucson - in Tucson it was a dry heat). I guess it was actually pretty warm, because there seemed to be an unusually large number of ambulances out on the course picking up people who had bonked, but all of our folks (thanks, of course, to some seriously magnificent coaching and preparation) managed to finish in fairly good shape (a few blisters, some dehydration, and a little bit of heat stroke, but otherwise okay). I did, for the first time in my coaching career, have to literally drag one guy the last half mile of the course to get him to the finish line. I spotted him as I was heading back onto the course from the finish area, and he was clearly in the loopy zone - as in ready to collapse - and I caught him just before he keeled over. He would walk with me for awhile, but then he kept trying to run and almost collapsing, and I kept pulling him back and telling him we were walking the rest of the way, and he kept saying, "I need to run," and I kept saying, "You need to walk," especially when he told me he was seeing white spots and asked me for the third time if we'd crossed the finish line yet ("No, dude, it's just a little farther," I told him every time). Anyway, he wound up in the medical tent getting an IV and being cooled down with cold towels. One thing that always strikes me is how different coaching a marathon is from running one (coaching, for the record, is much easier). I may put in more miles (32 at this particular event) but I don't run the entire course and there's a lot of slow running and walking to break up the time. This time, I ran back and forth between miles 5-9, which was looping through downtown San Diego, for the first couple of hours, then hopped on a train to get near the finish area (right next to Sea World) and spent the rest of the time running people in from around mile 24, which was on Fiesta Island (which, by the way, is really poorly named, because there's not really anything "fiesta-ish" about it - it's pretty much a completely barren island with a road going around it - apparently people camp there - I don't know why). Actually, running our participants into the finish area is probably my favorite part of the gig - I love being there when people (especially first-timers) reach the point when they realize they're actually going to make it to the finish line. For some of them, this is around mile 25, for others it's about 1/2 a mile from the finish, and a few aren't exactly sure they're going to make it until they're within spitting distance. But it's a pretty cool thing to witness. And now we're getting ramped up to start the new PF Chang season (Phoenix) and I've got to start getting ready for the Mt. Lemmon marathon (nothing like a little 6,000 foot elevation gain over 26.2 miles - but I got a really cool training shirt for signing up).
Speaking of vacation
It's nice not having to go to work and all, but I'm still pretty busy making some furniture for a group of teachers. Some people (my wife among them) refer to these as "cubbies" but I just can't seem to say that word, so I always call them "storage units." For some reason, I just can't bring myself to tell anyone that I'm making "cubbies." I'll see one of my neighbors, and they'll say, "Whatcha making in your garage?" and I can't say, "Cubbies," because that would just sound silly. It's much more manly and impressive to be building "storage units" than "cubbies" (just goes to show the power of a name). Anyway, I've created a whole lot of sawdust and sweated through a week-and-a-half of hot afternoons in the garage, and I'm currently about halfway done with the project.
Die, Algae, Die
For the past couple of summers, I've been battling the algae monster in our swimming pool. I treat the pool and get rid of the algae for several days, but the algae always comes back. I've tried lots of different things and have gotten lots of advice and spent a fair amount of money on various products, and whatever I try always seems to work for a little while, but then the algae comes back. It's never very bad, but it does add a definite green tinge to the water that just doesn't look right. But now, after lots of algaecide and lots of shock, the water is looking pretty darned good. I think I may have finally defeated it. The eternal optimist lives on.
Desert Blooms
One of the things I really love about the desert is all of the different flowers that come out in late spring and early summer. The ironwood trees are filled with purple flowers, our saguaros are still going strong, and this morning, I walked outside and saw a flower the size of my fist growing on a cactus that was about half that size. They don't last long, but they're really spectacular.
Okay, when I start writing about flowers, it's definitely time to wrap things up, so until next time may your eyes remain clear and bright, may your fiestas be festive, and may your vacations be restful and relaxing.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Bad Movies, Inventions, and Bristol Palin
If something is really, really bad, what do you call it?
The other evening, I was watching TV with my lovely daughter, Caitlyn (actually, Caitlyn was reading a book, texting, and watching TV at the same time - kids these days) and a commercial came on for a new movie starring some chubby guy with curly hair (not sure what his name is) and Caitlyn said something along the lines of, "That guy really bugs me," and I said, "What guy?" and she said, "That guy in this movie - he's really annoying and he was in this really bad movie," and I said, "What movie was that?" and she said, "I can't remember, but it was really, really bad," at which point, I was ready to let the whole thing go because I didn't care that much one way or the other (about the actor, the movie he was in before, or the movie he was going to be in) but Caitlyn's obsessive button had been pushed, so she had to go and get her computer so she could search for the actor's name and the name of his "really, really bad" movie, which turned out to be called - can you see this one coming - "Superbad." As in, the name of the really, really bad movie turned out to be Superbad, which is pretty ironic - or maybe not really ironic, but it was definitely mildly amusing.
Idea for a new invention
The other evening, I was watching the "American Idol" finale (are you noticing a pattern here?) and I came up with a great idea for a new invention - the "Mute Ryan Seacrest" button. When you push the button, it mutes everything Ryan says, so you don't have to listen to his annoying nonsense. "So now did you feel when you were singing that song? So how did you feel when the judges said you were terrible/great/mediocre/pitchy, dog?" I could probably make millions of dollars.
Peripheral viewing
The other evening, I was watching TV with everyone but Connor, who was doing something on the computer in the other room. But the thing is, even though Connor isn't watching TV, he still makes comments on everything that happens on the show - from the other room while he's doing something on the computer. I don't know why I'm writing about this, but it's kind of funny when you're sitting there and every once in awhile, Connor fires off some random comment from the other room (guess you had to be there).
This next one has nothing to do with TV
I happened to spot an article in the newspaper the other day that caught my eye. Apparently, Sarah Palin's daughter, Bristol is "hitting the speaker's circuit" and will be paid between $15,000 and $30,000 per appearance, with the price depending on "which group she's addressing and what she must do to prepare." There are so many things wrong with this, that I can't even begin to list all the things that are wrong with this. Seriously? Bristol Palin? Who would pay to hear her speak? For that matter, who would sit and listen to her speak - even if it was free? All I can say to this is, "Wow."
Last Days
Every year, students and teachers all across this great nation (and possibly the world) experience the last day of school for the year. For me, this day is always a little bittersweet. It's strange to spend so much time with a group of people, and then suddenly it's all over. I still remember sitting all alone in my classroom after my first year of teaching and feeling strangely empty. That feeling hasn't really changed much over the years - I guess that's probably a good thing, though.
That's all for this edition, so until next time, may your movies all be super-good, may your idols remain American, and may all your speakers command top dollar.
The other evening, I was watching TV with my lovely daughter, Caitlyn (actually, Caitlyn was reading a book, texting, and watching TV at the same time - kids these days) and a commercial came on for a new movie starring some chubby guy with curly hair (not sure what his name is) and Caitlyn said something along the lines of, "That guy really bugs me," and I said, "What guy?" and she said, "That guy in this movie - he's really annoying and he was in this really bad movie," and I said, "What movie was that?" and she said, "I can't remember, but it was really, really bad," at which point, I was ready to let the whole thing go because I didn't care that much one way or the other (about the actor, the movie he was in before, or the movie he was going to be in) but Caitlyn's obsessive button had been pushed, so she had to go and get her computer so she could search for the actor's name and the name of his "really, really bad" movie, which turned out to be called - can you see this one coming - "Superbad." As in, the name of the really, really bad movie turned out to be Superbad, which is pretty ironic - or maybe not really ironic, but it was definitely mildly amusing.
Idea for a new invention
The other evening, I was watching the "American Idol" finale (are you noticing a pattern here?) and I came up with a great idea for a new invention - the "Mute Ryan Seacrest" button. When you push the button, it mutes everything Ryan says, so you don't have to listen to his annoying nonsense. "So now did you feel when you were singing that song? So how did you feel when the judges said you were terrible/great/mediocre/pitchy, dog?" I could probably make millions of dollars.
Peripheral viewing
The other evening, I was watching TV with everyone but Connor, who was doing something on the computer in the other room. But the thing is, even though Connor isn't watching TV, he still makes comments on everything that happens on the show - from the other room while he's doing something on the computer. I don't know why I'm writing about this, but it's kind of funny when you're sitting there and every once in awhile, Connor fires off some random comment from the other room (guess you had to be there).
This next one has nothing to do with TV
I happened to spot an article in the newspaper the other day that caught my eye. Apparently, Sarah Palin's daughter, Bristol is "hitting the speaker's circuit" and will be paid between $15,000 and $30,000 per appearance, with the price depending on "which group she's addressing and what she must do to prepare." There are so many things wrong with this, that I can't even begin to list all the things that are wrong with this. Seriously? Bristol Palin? Who would pay to hear her speak? For that matter, who would sit and listen to her speak - even if it was free? All I can say to this is, "Wow."
Last Days
Every year, students and teachers all across this great nation (and possibly the world) experience the last day of school for the year. For me, this day is always a little bittersweet. It's strange to spend so much time with a group of people, and then suddenly it's all over. I still remember sitting all alone in my classroom after my first year of teaching and feeling strangely empty. That feeling hasn't really changed much over the years - I guess that's probably a good thing, though.
That's all for this edition, so until next time, may your movies all be super-good, may your idols remain American, and may all your speakers command top dollar.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
More Bees, Annoying Children, and an Empty Heart
Bad Day=Good Run
Last week, I had one of those days (actually, it was much worse for my lovely wife than for me, but I took a vow way back when, so when she suffers, I suffer). First, Katie found out that our adorable son is somehow managing to flunk P.E. (apparently, he hasn’t been finishing “The Ram” within the time limit). For those of you not in the know, “The Ram” is a 1-1/4 mile run that the kids at his school are supposed to do each week. And the time limit? That’s the kicker – it’s 24 minutes. Seriously? The kid can’t cover 1-1/4 miles in 24 minutes? I’m not even sure how it’s possible to go that slow – I mean, you would think he could crawl faster than that. So Katie went to school to talk to the P.E. teacher and see if there’s some way he can make it up, and in the course of their conversation, she burst into tears because this is just one of those final straws that’s broken the camel’s back (not to mention the whole irony thing here where both of his parents run marathons, and he can’t even cover 1-1/4 miles in 24 minutes – sheesh). Then, as she was leaving Cross and heading to her school, she got a phone call from our daughter who had nearly crashed the truck into a fire hydrant and/or a wall on her way to school because it (the truck) cut out on her just as she was turning a corner and she wasn’t able to steer/brake effectively. Luckily, she managed to avoid the wall and the fire hydrant, but it shook her up and Katie had to go rescue her and take the truck into the shop to find out why it suddenly cut out (vapor lock, apparently). I, on the other hand, was going along with my day, oblivious to all of this, until I got a message on my phone, which was Katie, who left a long and heart-wrenching message explaining all of the things that had happened, so I spent the rest of the day worrying about my son (the slacker), my daughter (the reluctant driver), my wife (the basket-case – justifiably so), and my truck (the clunker). Because I was feeling a little on edge when I got home from work, I went for a run. And I knew I was a little on edge, but I didn’t realize how much on edge I was until I finished my first mile (the “warm-up” mile) and looked down at my split and realized that I was running at a sub-8-minute pace. And I wasn’t even breathing hard. And it pretty much stayed that way for the whole run. I was knocking off the 8’s and sub-8’s without even trying. It was like I was running in a cloud. As a matter of fact, I did run into a cloud of sorts – a swarm of bees that I didn’t even notice until I was in the middle of it and they were buzzing all around me in a dust-devilish sort of way, so I kind of went, “Hey, I’m in the middle of a bee swarm,” but the bees didn’t seem to mind (or even notice) me, and I kept on running one way and they kept on swarming the other way and we went our separate ways (what is it with me and bee swarms – it’s kind of creepy). So I guess the takeaway from all this is whenever I enter a race, I need to have a really bad day right before (or maybe Katie has to have a bad day, then tell me all about it) cause I was seriously fast that afternoon (for me).
Speaking of my son…
I remember several years ago, I used to joke in a semi-serious way about what I was going to do when my daughters were both teenagers. I said something along the lines of, “When the girls are both teenagers, I’m going to take Connor and we’re going to go live in the woods.” Why would I say such a thing? you may be asking. I had this idea that when the girls were both teenagers, it was going to be pretty crazy, seeing as they were both going to be teenage girls, and my son would provide the point of sanity in my life. Oh, how wrong I was. I love the kid, but I don’t think I would last long in that situation (nor would he).
10/23
That’s the number of principals I’ve now worked for in the number of years I’ve been teaching. And I’m sure it’s significant in some highly significant way.
On a Serious Note
Twelve years old is too young to die. That’s all I could think when, on Monday morning, I opened up an e-mail and learned that one of my students had passed away in a tragic accident. There are certain kids who, for whatever reason, get under your skin (in a good way) and this was one of them. At the beginning of the year, he was kind of a slacker and didn’t seem to be putting much effort into things. It was obvious that he was smart, but he didn’t seem to be very engaged. I’ve always had a soft spot for this kind of kid – when you can tell there’s something there if only you’re able to find the key to get them motivated. And that’s what happened this past semester. I’m not exactly sure what it was or why it happened, but he turned things around and became one of the best (and definitely most prolific) writers in the class. He went from barely completing work to turning in lots and lots of extra pieces and going way above and beyond on projects. And all the time, it was obvious that he was enjoying himself – according to his parents, he was having the best year of his life. Which makes the empty feeling I have inside ache even more.
I ache for his siblings, for his parents, for his grandparents and great-grandmother (imagine attending a great-grandchild’s funeral) and for his friends. I ache for all the kids who knew him and who are struggling to understand what they’re feeling right now. And I ache for myself. For the loss of one of the kids that I know I reached. I take it for granted that the kids are going to return to my class everyday, and looking at that empty desk during 7th period is a stark reminder of how fleeting life can be. And yet, I can’t help but also be encouraged by these same kids who amaze me with their ability to deal with difficult circumstances - the compassion and support they show for one another when they’re hurting - the 7th grader who got up in front of everyone at the funeral and shared his experiences and his perspectives on what had happened, putting into words what just about everyone was feeling. I’ve said before how I feel like middle-school kids get a bad rap, and I feel it even more after the past couple of days. They really can be amazing if you give them half a chance.
Nothing more to report, so until next time, may your bee swarms stay far away, may children (if you have any) remain motivated, and may your moments of sorrow remain manageable.
Last week, I had one of those days (actually, it was much worse for my lovely wife than for me, but I took a vow way back when, so when she suffers, I suffer). First, Katie found out that our adorable son is somehow managing to flunk P.E. (apparently, he hasn’t been finishing “The Ram” within the time limit). For those of you not in the know, “The Ram” is a 1-1/4 mile run that the kids at his school are supposed to do each week. And the time limit? That’s the kicker – it’s 24 minutes. Seriously? The kid can’t cover 1-1/4 miles in 24 minutes? I’m not even sure how it’s possible to go that slow – I mean, you would think he could crawl faster than that. So Katie went to school to talk to the P.E. teacher and see if there’s some way he can make it up, and in the course of their conversation, she burst into tears because this is just one of those final straws that’s broken the camel’s back (not to mention the whole irony thing here where both of his parents run marathons, and he can’t even cover 1-1/4 miles in 24 minutes – sheesh). Then, as she was leaving Cross and heading to her school, she got a phone call from our daughter who had nearly crashed the truck into a fire hydrant and/or a wall on her way to school because it (the truck) cut out on her just as she was turning a corner and she wasn’t able to steer/brake effectively. Luckily, she managed to avoid the wall and the fire hydrant, but it shook her up and Katie had to go rescue her and take the truck into the shop to find out why it suddenly cut out (vapor lock, apparently). I, on the other hand, was going along with my day, oblivious to all of this, until I got a message on my phone, which was Katie, who left a long and heart-wrenching message explaining all of the things that had happened, so I spent the rest of the day worrying about my son (the slacker), my daughter (the reluctant driver), my wife (the basket-case – justifiably so), and my truck (the clunker). Because I was feeling a little on edge when I got home from work, I went for a run. And I knew I was a little on edge, but I didn’t realize how much on edge I was until I finished my first mile (the “warm-up” mile) and looked down at my split and realized that I was running at a sub-8-minute pace. And I wasn’t even breathing hard. And it pretty much stayed that way for the whole run. I was knocking off the 8’s and sub-8’s without even trying. It was like I was running in a cloud. As a matter of fact, I did run into a cloud of sorts – a swarm of bees that I didn’t even notice until I was in the middle of it and they were buzzing all around me in a dust-devilish sort of way, so I kind of went, “Hey, I’m in the middle of a bee swarm,” but the bees didn’t seem to mind (or even notice) me, and I kept on running one way and they kept on swarming the other way and we went our separate ways (what is it with me and bee swarms – it’s kind of creepy). So I guess the takeaway from all this is whenever I enter a race, I need to have a really bad day right before (or maybe Katie has to have a bad day, then tell me all about it) cause I was seriously fast that afternoon (for me).
Speaking of my son…
I remember several years ago, I used to joke in a semi-serious way about what I was going to do when my daughters were both teenagers. I said something along the lines of, “When the girls are both teenagers, I’m going to take Connor and we’re going to go live in the woods.” Why would I say such a thing? you may be asking. I had this idea that when the girls were both teenagers, it was going to be pretty crazy, seeing as they were both going to be teenage girls, and my son would provide the point of sanity in my life. Oh, how wrong I was. I love the kid, but I don’t think I would last long in that situation (nor would he).
10/23
That’s the number of principals I’ve now worked for in the number of years I’ve been teaching. And I’m sure it’s significant in some highly significant way.
On a Serious Note
Twelve years old is too young to die. That’s all I could think when, on Monday morning, I opened up an e-mail and learned that one of my students had passed away in a tragic accident. There are certain kids who, for whatever reason, get under your skin (in a good way) and this was one of them. At the beginning of the year, he was kind of a slacker and didn’t seem to be putting much effort into things. It was obvious that he was smart, but he didn’t seem to be very engaged. I’ve always had a soft spot for this kind of kid – when you can tell there’s something there if only you’re able to find the key to get them motivated. And that’s what happened this past semester. I’m not exactly sure what it was or why it happened, but he turned things around and became one of the best (and definitely most prolific) writers in the class. He went from barely completing work to turning in lots and lots of extra pieces and going way above and beyond on projects. And all the time, it was obvious that he was enjoying himself – according to his parents, he was having the best year of his life. Which makes the empty feeling I have inside ache even more.
I ache for his siblings, for his parents, for his grandparents and great-grandmother (imagine attending a great-grandchild’s funeral) and for his friends. I ache for all the kids who knew him and who are struggling to understand what they’re feeling right now. And I ache for myself. For the loss of one of the kids that I know I reached. I take it for granted that the kids are going to return to my class everyday, and looking at that empty desk during 7th period is a stark reminder of how fleeting life can be. And yet, I can’t help but also be encouraged by these same kids who amaze me with their ability to deal with difficult circumstances - the compassion and support they show for one another when they’re hurting - the 7th grader who got up in front of everyone at the funeral and shared his experiences and his perspectives on what had happened, putting into words what just about everyone was feeling. I’ve said before how I feel like middle-school kids get a bad rap, and I feel it even more after the past couple of days. They really can be amazing if you give them half a chance.
Nothing more to report, so until next time, may your bee swarms stay far away, may children (if you have any) remain motivated, and may your moments of sorrow remain manageable.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Bees, Making Out, and High Temperatures
When Bees Attack
As many of you may be aware, Arizona is one of the places that has been infiltrated over the past decade or so by “killer bees” and this is “bee season” so one has to be on the lookout for swarms. In the past few years, we’ve had bees in our house, bees in our wall (both these swarms had to be removed by professionals) and bees in one of the wooden posts on our patio (I got rid of this one by spraying them with a bunch of insecticide, then cramming steel wool into the cracks in the post so they couldn’t get in or out). Because of all these experiences, not to mention the stories in the newspaper where people are killed by killer bees, whenever I see a swarm of bees swarming, I get a little itchy – which is what happened just the other day as I was preparing to turn into our driveway. I glanced up at one of the trees in our yard and saw this strange thing that looked like a bird’s nest, and I thought, “Hey, that’s a strange looking thing that looks like a bird’s nest, I wonder what it is?” So I parked the car and went out to take a gander, and when I did, I saw that it wasn’t a bird’s nest at all, but instead, it was a bunch of bees. They were hanging all over each other on one of the branches, buzzing around and squirming like an amorphous mass of, well, I guess, bees. I figured it wasn’t a big deal since they weren’t going in or out of anything, just hanging out on the branch, so I did what anyone of the male gender would do in my situation - I picked up a couple of rocks and threw them at the bees to see what they would do. When I hit the amorphous mass of bees, they buzzed a bit and flew around in a tizzy, which kind of was a scary sound, so I got ready to run for it, but then they settled down and went back to whatever it was they were doing. At which point, I did what anyone of the male gender would do in such a situation and threw another rock. Same result as before. At that point, I kind of “thought outside of the box,” and did what most anyone of the male gender would not do, which was to go inside and leave the bees alone (in case you’re wondering, the thing that most males would do at this point would be to throw some more stuff at the bees – or get a long stick and poke the bees – or get a can of WD-40 and a lighter and climb up on a ladder and use the WD-40 as a flame-thrower to throw flames at the bees – or get a pillowcase and try to capture the bees – all of which I considered but ultimately rejected by embracing my more feminine side). I figured the bees would fly off soon, but they were still there the next morning, and they hung around all that day, but by the following morning, they had disappeared without a trace. Quite an adventure, wouldn’t you say?
P.D.A.
No, this is not a story about a “personal digital assistant” (what would be amusing about that?). Instead, this is about the other PDA, which is, in case you’re not in the know, is a “public display of affection.” This all came up when Katie was relaying some information about a certain friend of hers (who shall remain nameless to protect their anonymity and spare them from any possible embarrassment) who, apparently had recently been making out in a parking lot (at this point, you’re probably burning with curiosity as to who this person is, and who they were making out with, and why it’s considered “news-worthy” that they were making out in a parking lot – you may also be wondering what parking lot they were in, though I’m not sure why since that really doesn’t have anything to do with anything - but we’re not going to get into any of these issues here, because I figure all of that stuff is that person’s business and no one else’s, and for that matter, I might be making this whole part of the story up, and there might not have been a making-out incident in a parking lot that ever happened, and the only reason I even mentioned it was because it served as a clever lead-in to the anecdotal incident that I’m reporting on – so let it go, already). Anyway, when our middle child heard about this possibly fictional event, she said, in that horrified tone that teenagers have at certain times (usually when they’re slapped in the face by the fact that adults are people too), “That’s ridiculous! Why would old people make out in a parking lot?” to which I said something like, “What’s wrong with old people making out in a parking lot? Are parking lots only for young people to make out in?” at which point she became even more horrified and said, “It’s gross. Like that time when we were at the Denver zoo and you and mom were making out in front of the penguins.” Apparently, this happened back when she was in 3rd grade, and she (and I’m assuming the penguins also) have carried the scars for lo these many years. I guess this is just another one of those incidents she’ll be covering with her future therapist at some point in her future. Not sure about the penguins, but I suppose it’s safe to assume they’ll need therapy as well.
Runnin’ in the 90’s
No, this isn’t referring to running in the 1990’s (or the 1890’s for that matter), instead it’s referring to the temperature – as in 90˚ F (which is approximately 32˚ C – which seems like it should be fairly chilly - or 305˚ Kelvin – which sounds really, really scorching). For whatever reason, be it El Niño or global warming or global cooling or whatever, it’s been a pretty mild spring in the “Old Pueblo” and we didn’t officially hit the 90˚ F mark until much later than usual. In fact, we made it all the way to May without ever breaching that particular benchmark (and we’re still waiting for the “ice to break on the Rillito” which is “Old Pueblo-ese” for hitting the 100˚ F mark). Anyway, we’ve lucked out weather-wise for the past few months, and have managed to hit nice temperatures on pretty much all of our Saturday morning group runs. It’s rained a lot (for the “Old Pueblo”) but always on Saturday afternoon or Sunday, so we’ve been pretty much cool and dry, which is really nice when you’re putting in the long miles (or any miles, for that matter). Actually, we just had our first real warm weather run (over 90˚ F) this past Saturday. And our final long run (the 20-miler) is scheduled for the upcoming Saturday, which is supposed to be in the low 90’s, so we’ll get a little taste of heat, but it shouldn’t be too bad. Anyhow, our group is gearing up for San Diego in a little less than four weeks, where I’ll be the official “Head Coach for the Desert Mountain States Chapter” which I volunteered for without having any idea what it actually entails, and which I’m a little surprised they accepted me for, since I’m the guy who couldn’t even manage to keep a mylar balloon safely inflated overnight when it was entrusted to my care. I guess we’ll just have to see how it all goes.
That’s all I have for now, so until next time may your temperatures remain temperate, may your balloons remain inflated, and may your make-out sessions remain your own personal business and not be spread all across the internet for any yahoo to read as they please.
As many of you may be aware, Arizona is one of the places that has been infiltrated over the past decade or so by “killer bees” and this is “bee season” so one has to be on the lookout for swarms. In the past few years, we’ve had bees in our house, bees in our wall (both these swarms had to be removed by professionals) and bees in one of the wooden posts on our patio (I got rid of this one by spraying them with a bunch of insecticide, then cramming steel wool into the cracks in the post so they couldn’t get in or out). Because of all these experiences, not to mention the stories in the newspaper where people are killed by killer bees, whenever I see a swarm of bees swarming, I get a little itchy – which is what happened just the other day as I was preparing to turn into our driveway. I glanced up at one of the trees in our yard and saw this strange thing that looked like a bird’s nest, and I thought, “Hey, that’s a strange looking thing that looks like a bird’s nest, I wonder what it is?” So I parked the car and went out to take a gander, and when I did, I saw that it wasn’t a bird’s nest at all, but instead, it was a bunch of bees. They were hanging all over each other on one of the branches, buzzing around and squirming like an amorphous mass of, well, I guess, bees. I figured it wasn’t a big deal since they weren’t going in or out of anything, just hanging out on the branch, so I did what anyone of the male gender would do in my situation - I picked up a couple of rocks and threw them at the bees to see what they would do. When I hit the amorphous mass of bees, they buzzed a bit and flew around in a tizzy, which kind of was a scary sound, so I got ready to run for it, but then they settled down and went back to whatever it was they were doing. At which point, I did what anyone of the male gender would do in such a situation and threw another rock. Same result as before. At that point, I kind of “thought outside of the box,” and did what most anyone of the male gender would not do, which was to go inside and leave the bees alone (in case you’re wondering, the thing that most males would do at this point would be to throw some more stuff at the bees – or get a long stick and poke the bees – or get a can of WD-40 and a lighter and climb up on a ladder and use the WD-40 as a flame-thrower to throw flames at the bees – or get a pillowcase and try to capture the bees – all of which I considered but ultimately rejected by embracing my more feminine side). I figured the bees would fly off soon, but they were still there the next morning, and they hung around all that day, but by the following morning, they had disappeared without a trace. Quite an adventure, wouldn’t you say?
P.D.A.
No, this is not a story about a “personal digital assistant” (what would be amusing about that?). Instead, this is about the other PDA, which is, in case you’re not in the know, is a “public display of affection.” This all came up when Katie was relaying some information about a certain friend of hers (who shall remain nameless to protect their anonymity and spare them from any possible embarrassment) who, apparently had recently been making out in a parking lot (at this point, you’re probably burning with curiosity as to who this person is, and who they were making out with, and why it’s considered “news-worthy” that they were making out in a parking lot – you may also be wondering what parking lot they were in, though I’m not sure why since that really doesn’t have anything to do with anything - but we’re not going to get into any of these issues here, because I figure all of that stuff is that person’s business and no one else’s, and for that matter, I might be making this whole part of the story up, and there might not have been a making-out incident in a parking lot that ever happened, and the only reason I even mentioned it was because it served as a clever lead-in to the anecdotal incident that I’m reporting on – so let it go, already). Anyway, when our middle child heard about this possibly fictional event, she said, in that horrified tone that teenagers have at certain times (usually when they’re slapped in the face by the fact that adults are people too), “That’s ridiculous! Why would old people make out in a parking lot?” to which I said something like, “What’s wrong with old people making out in a parking lot? Are parking lots only for young people to make out in?” at which point she became even more horrified and said, “It’s gross. Like that time when we were at the Denver zoo and you and mom were making out in front of the penguins.” Apparently, this happened back when she was in 3rd grade, and she (and I’m assuming the penguins also) have carried the scars for lo these many years. I guess this is just another one of those incidents she’ll be covering with her future therapist at some point in her future. Not sure about the penguins, but I suppose it’s safe to assume they’ll need therapy as well.
Runnin’ in the 90’s
No, this isn’t referring to running in the 1990’s (or the 1890’s for that matter), instead it’s referring to the temperature – as in 90˚ F (which is approximately 32˚ C – which seems like it should be fairly chilly - or 305˚ Kelvin – which sounds really, really scorching). For whatever reason, be it El Niño or global warming or global cooling or whatever, it’s been a pretty mild spring in the “Old Pueblo” and we didn’t officially hit the 90˚ F mark until much later than usual. In fact, we made it all the way to May without ever breaching that particular benchmark (and we’re still waiting for the “ice to break on the Rillito” which is “Old Pueblo-ese” for hitting the 100˚ F mark). Anyway, we’ve lucked out weather-wise for the past few months, and have managed to hit nice temperatures on pretty much all of our Saturday morning group runs. It’s rained a lot (for the “Old Pueblo”) but always on Saturday afternoon or Sunday, so we’ve been pretty much cool and dry, which is really nice when you’re putting in the long miles (or any miles, for that matter). Actually, we just had our first real warm weather run (over 90˚ F) this past Saturday. And our final long run (the 20-miler) is scheduled for the upcoming Saturday, which is supposed to be in the low 90’s, so we’ll get a little taste of heat, but it shouldn’t be too bad. Anyhow, our group is gearing up for San Diego in a little less than four weeks, where I’ll be the official “Head Coach for the Desert Mountain States Chapter” which I volunteered for without having any idea what it actually entails, and which I’m a little surprised they accepted me for, since I’m the guy who couldn’t even manage to keep a mylar balloon safely inflated overnight when it was entrusted to my care. I guess we’ll just have to see how it all goes.
That’s all I have for now, so until next time may your temperatures remain temperate, may your balloons remain inflated, and may your make-out sessions remain your own personal business and not be spread all across the internet for any yahoo to read as they please.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Bobcats and Boston
Bobcats Gone Wild
Just before school started this morning, one of the students noticed a bobcat in a tree. The bobcat then moved from the tree to the top of the ramada next to my classroom, where it climbed onto a post and settled in. And so, we went into “lockdown” mode and herded all the children into the library, commons and MPR so that they wouldn’t be attacked (not sure there was much chance of a student being attacked, but in this day and age, you can’t be too careful). Meanwhile, just about every adult on campus came out to the commons so they could get a look at the bobcat, who was not a happy camper. And so, we spent the next couple of hours waiting for someone to show up and take care of the bobcat. First, a deputy from the sheriff’s department showed up – all he seemed able to do was to stand guard and make sure the bobcat didn’t escape (not sure how likely this would be, but he did have a gun). Next, someone from Game and Fish showed up, scoped out the situation with binoculars, and took some video (with a camouflaged video camera). At that point, we were asked to “clear the area” and I’m assuming he went and got the tranquilizer gun. After that, I’m not exactly sure what happened, because we weren’t allowed outside, but the bobcat moved from the ramada onto the roof of the building, where it hid behind one of the air conditioning units. Eventually (two hours and forty minutes after the first sighting) the guy managed to tranquilize the bobcat, and once it conked out, they boxed it up and hauled it away, and we were finally released from our “lockdown.” Ah, the excitement of dwelling in the desert.
The 114th Running of the Boston Marathon
Having participated in several marathons now, I have to say that this one was unique in several ways. There’s a kind of a cultish ambience surrounding the whole thing that grows more pervasive the closer you get to Boston. We got up early Saturday morning to drive to the Tucson airport, and as we were waiting for our flight, spotted several other Boston runners (they were easy to spot, because they were wearing the official Boston marathon jackets, which are bright blue with yellow stripes – apparently, this is a badge of honor, and just about everyone seems to have one of these). As we made our way across the country, we imagined a wave of these bright blue jacket wearers converging on New England from every direction (except from Europe, of course, which was inaccessible because of the giant cloud of volcanic ash), and by the time we landed at Logan airport, the bright blue jackets with yellow stripes seemed to be everywhere. And the people wearing these jackets all appeared to be really, really fit. This was especially apparent at the Expo. Normally, there are a fair number of people who you can tell are serious runners just by looking at them, but there are also plenty of people who you would never pick out of a line-up as a marathon runner – they just look like ordinary folks you’d see at the mall, or the movies, or just about anywhere else. Not so here. Seriously, it was like a gathering of Stepford Runners (wearing bright blue jackets with yellow stripes).
The next big adventure was making it to the starting line. Actually, this was kind of a “marathon before the marathon” scenario, because it actually took about half an hour longer for me to get to the start line from my hotel as it did for me to get from the start line to the finish line during the race. First I had to hop on the train and ride to Boston Commons, where the buses were waiting for more than 20,000 of us to load up. And if you’ve never seen 20,000+ people try to load onto school buses, well, suffice it to say is that this process involves a lot of standing and waiting in line. It was a serious mob scene. Once on the bus, it was then an hour-long ride to get to the starting area, where there were the usual long lines for the porta-potties and lots and lots of people milling around. Thankfully, the rainy weather from the weekend had cleared out, and though it was windy and chilly (in the 40’s) it was dry. Within about an hour, it was time to strip off layers and turn in my drop bag, then we had to walk about a mile to get to the actual starting line where we were directed into our corrals so we could stand around and wait some more. As the clock ticked closer to 10:00, you could feel the tension building, they played the national anthem, and a couple of jets flew over (the announcer told us that, just in case we were interested, these jets would be reaching the finish line in approximately 12 seconds – like I needed to hear that). And then the race began. Like most races of this magnitude, there’s a corral system, and you’re assigned to one of them according to your time, with the faster people lining up in front of the slower people. I was back in corral 12, which meant there were 12,000 people in front of me, so it took around 10 minutes of shuffling forward before I actually reached the starting line. With that, the first “marathon” ended, and the real one began.
From the very beginning, it was obvious that the people I was running with were pretty fast. More to the point, I spent almost the entire race getting passed by other runners, because I was running at a slower pace than my qualifying time (on purpose). Strangely enough, though, I found that I didn’t really care, because there were spectators cheering us on from the moment we crossed the starting line, and it never, ever stopped. The course runs from town to town, and since it’s Patriot’s Day, it’s a tradition for people to come out and cheer on the runners. And they take this tradition seriously. Thousands upon thousands of people lined the course, and since I was wearing my purple TNT jersey, I heard lots and lots of “Go Teams” as I piled up the miles. The weather was perfect (in the 50’s with a nice little tailwind), I felt good, and the miles slipped by. Earlier in the week, I had decided that I was going to try to run this race like Tiger rather than Phil (if you happen to be a golf fan, you may know that Tiger snarls and Phil smiles - Tiger stalks and Phil saunters - Tiger glowers and Phil waves - Tiger curses and Phil laughs – and then there’s the whole other issue, that we won’t get into here). In the past, I’ve kind of had a Tiger approach to marathoning (this is not as bad as it might sound, so read on) where I go inside myself and focus completely on running as fast and as hard as I can so I don’t leave anything out on the course. This works well as far as running as fast as possible, but it takes a lot of concentration and I find that I almost get angry as I’m running in this mode. Instead of that, for this race, I decided I was going to try to focus outward and enjoy the experience without worrying so much about how I was doing time-wise. I wanted to run a decent time, but I didn’t feel any need to run as fast as I could, so I waved at people and high-fived little kids and chugged along at a reasonably comfortable pace. And then we reached Wellesley.
At around mile 12-1/2, the route passes by Wellesley College, and this particular stretch is known as the “Tunnel of Love” because all the Wellesley girls come out and scream (and yes, I do mean scream) for the runners. And many of them are holding signs that say things like , “Kiss me, I’m Jewish,” “Kiss me, I brushed this morning,” “Kiss me, I should be studying,” “Kiss me, I’m drunk,” and so on (are you seeing a theme here?). At this point, I was faced with an obvious choice. As in, who, and how many, was I going to kiss. Here’s the thing. I haven’t kissed very many girls in my life. In fact, you could probably count the total number of girls I’ve kissed on one hand (actually, I think you can count then on one hand). So here was my opportunity to double, triple, maybe even quadruple that number. The girls were practically begging for kisses. But then I remembered – I’m Phil, not Tiger (plus, I’m way too shy). So instead of passing out kisses, I smiled and waved and slapped hands as I continued to run, but I never kissed a Wellesley girl.
After that, the course continued over rivers (the Charles), through woods, past lots and lots of cheering spectators (and probably houses belonging to grandmothers), and though I started feeling fatigued, I was still chugging along at a pretty steady pace. We entered Newton, which is where the famed “Newton Hills,” including the most famous one known as “Heartbreak” are located between miles 17 and 21, and ran by Boston College, where lots of students who were, shall we say, “celebrating the holiday,” were screaming, yelling, and carrying on like college students who have been celebrating a little bit excessively, and after that , it was pretty much a straight shot into downtown Boston. During the last three miles, the crowds grew even larger, and the course was lined three-to-four deep on both sides as we made our way down Beacon Street to the finish line. It was like the final 200 yards of some of the other marathons I’ve completed, but this was for three continuous miles, and the cheering never let up. Once I spotted the giant Citgo sign that marks the one-mile-to-go mark, I knew I was going to make it, and I cruised along the homestretch feeling tired but good, and watching my pace to make sure I made it over the finish line before the 4-hour mark ticked off.
Overall, it was a pretty amazing experience. I’m not sure I’ll ever want to do it again (or, for that matter, that I’ll ever be able to qualify again) but I’m very grateful that I got the opportunity to run it, and I’m really glad I was able to finish feeling good and with a respectable time (almost exactly my goal when I set out).
Time to go, so until next time, may your carry-on always fit in the overhead compartment, may your luggage always reach your destination, and may your flights always depart at their scheduled times.
Just before school started this morning, one of the students noticed a bobcat in a tree. The bobcat then moved from the tree to the top of the ramada next to my classroom, where it climbed onto a post and settled in. And so, we went into “lockdown” mode and herded all the children into the library, commons and MPR so that they wouldn’t be attacked (not sure there was much chance of a student being attacked, but in this day and age, you can’t be too careful). Meanwhile, just about every adult on campus came out to the commons so they could get a look at the bobcat, who was not a happy camper. And so, we spent the next couple of hours waiting for someone to show up and take care of the bobcat. First, a deputy from the sheriff’s department showed up – all he seemed able to do was to stand guard and make sure the bobcat didn’t escape (not sure how likely this would be, but he did have a gun). Next, someone from Game and Fish showed up, scoped out the situation with binoculars, and took some video (with a camouflaged video camera). At that point, we were asked to “clear the area” and I’m assuming he went and got the tranquilizer gun. After that, I’m not exactly sure what happened, because we weren’t allowed outside, but the bobcat moved from the ramada onto the roof of the building, where it hid behind one of the air conditioning units. Eventually (two hours and forty minutes after the first sighting) the guy managed to tranquilize the bobcat, and once it conked out, they boxed it up and hauled it away, and we were finally released from our “lockdown.” Ah, the excitement of dwelling in the desert.
The 114th Running of the Boston Marathon
Having participated in several marathons now, I have to say that this one was unique in several ways. There’s a kind of a cultish ambience surrounding the whole thing that grows more pervasive the closer you get to Boston. We got up early Saturday morning to drive to the Tucson airport, and as we were waiting for our flight, spotted several other Boston runners (they were easy to spot, because they were wearing the official Boston marathon jackets, which are bright blue with yellow stripes – apparently, this is a badge of honor, and just about everyone seems to have one of these). As we made our way across the country, we imagined a wave of these bright blue jacket wearers converging on New England from every direction (except from Europe, of course, which was inaccessible because of the giant cloud of volcanic ash), and by the time we landed at Logan airport, the bright blue jackets with yellow stripes seemed to be everywhere. And the people wearing these jackets all appeared to be really, really fit. This was especially apparent at the Expo. Normally, there are a fair number of people who you can tell are serious runners just by looking at them, but there are also plenty of people who you would never pick out of a line-up as a marathon runner – they just look like ordinary folks you’d see at the mall, or the movies, or just about anywhere else. Not so here. Seriously, it was like a gathering of Stepford Runners (wearing bright blue jackets with yellow stripes).
The next big adventure was making it to the starting line. Actually, this was kind of a “marathon before the marathon” scenario, because it actually took about half an hour longer for me to get to the start line from my hotel as it did for me to get from the start line to the finish line during the race. First I had to hop on the train and ride to Boston Commons, where the buses were waiting for more than 20,000 of us to load up. And if you’ve never seen 20,000+ people try to load onto school buses, well, suffice it to say is that this process involves a lot of standing and waiting in line. It was a serious mob scene. Once on the bus, it was then an hour-long ride to get to the starting area, where there were the usual long lines for the porta-potties and lots and lots of people milling around. Thankfully, the rainy weather from the weekend had cleared out, and though it was windy and chilly (in the 40’s) it was dry. Within about an hour, it was time to strip off layers and turn in my drop bag, then we had to walk about a mile to get to the actual starting line where we were directed into our corrals so we could stand around and wait some more. As the clock ticked closer to 10:00, you could feel the tension building, they played the national anthem, and a couple of jets flew over (the announcer told us that, just in case we were interested, these jets would be reaching the finish line in approximately 12 seconds – like I needed to hear that). And then the race began. Like most races of this magnitude, there’s a corral system, and you’re assigned to one of them according to your time, with the faster people lining up in front of the slower people. I was back in corral 12, which meant there were 12,000 people in front of me, so it took around 10 minutes of shuffling forward before I actually reached the starting line. With that, the first “marathon” ended, and the real one began.
From the very beginning, it was obvious that the people I was running with were pretty fast. More to the point, I spent almost the entire race getting passed by other runners, because I was running at a slower pace than my qualifying time (on purpose). Strangely enough, though, I found that I didn’t really care, because there were spectators cheering us on from the moment we crossed the starting line, and it never, ever stopped. The course runs from town to town, and since it’s Patriot’s Day, it’s a tradition for people to come out and cheer on the runners. And they take this tradition seriously. Thousands upon thousands of people lined the course, and since I was wearing my purple TNT jersey, I heard lots and lots of “Go Teams” as I piled up the miles. The weather was perfect (in the 50’s with a nice little tailwind), I felt good, and the miles slipped by. Earlier in the week, I had decided that I was going to try to run this race like Tiger rather than Phil (if you happen to be a golf fan, you may know that Tiger snarls and Phil smiles - Tiger stalks and Phil saunters - Tiger glowers and Phil waves - Tiger curses and Phil laughs – and then there’s the whole other issue, that we won’t get into here). In the past, I’ve kind of had a Tiger approach to marathoning (this is not as bad as it might sound, so read on) where I go inside myself and focus completely on running as fast and as hard as I can so I don’t leave anything out on the course. This works well as far as running as fast as possible, but it takes a lot of concentration and I find that I almost get angry as I’m running in this mode. Instead of that, for this race, I decided I was going to try to focus outward and enjoy the experience without worrying so much about how I was doing time-wise. I wanted to run a decent time, but I didn’t feel any need to run as fast as I could, so I waved at people and high-fived little kids and chugged along at a reasonably comfortable pace. And then we reached Wellesley.
At around mile 12-1/2, the route passes by Wellesley College, and this particular stretch is known as the “Tunnel of Love” because all the Wellesley girls come out and scream (and yes, I do mean scream) for the runners. And many of them are holding signs that say things like , “Kiss me, I’m Jewish,” “Kiss me, I brushed this morning,” “Kiss me, I should be studying,” “Kiss me, I’m drunk,” and so on (are you seeing a theme here?). At this point, I was faced with an obvious choice. As in, who, and how many, was I going to kiss. Here’s the thing. I haven’t kissed very many girls in my life. In fact, you could probably count the total number of girls I’ve kissed on one hand (actually, I think you can count then on one hand). So here was my opportunity to double, triple, maybe even quadruple that number. The girls were practically begging for kisses. But then I remembered – I’m Phil, not Tiger (plus, I’m way too shy). So instead of passing out kisses, I smiled and waved and slapped hands as I continued to run, but I never kissed a Wellesley girl.
After that, the course continued over rivers (the Charles), through woods, past lots and lots of cheering spectators (and probably houses belonging to grandmothers), and though I started feeling fatigued, I was still chugging along at a pretty steady pace. We entered Newton, which is where the famed “Newton Hills,” including the most famous one known as “Heartbreak” are located between miles 17 and 21, and ran by Boston College, where lots of students who were, shall we say, “celebrating the holiday,” were screaming, yelling, and carrying on like college students who have been celebrating a little bit excessively, and after that , it was pretty much a straight shot into downtown Boston. During the last three miles, the crowds grew even larger, and the course was lined three-to-four deep on both sides as we made our way down Beacon Street to the finish line. It was like the final 200 yards of some of the other marathons I’ve completed, but this was for three continuous miles, and the cheering never let up. Once I spotted the giant Citgo sign that marks the one-mile-to-go mark, I knew I was going to make it, and I cruised along the homestretch feeling tired but good, and watching my pace to make sure I made it over the finish line before the 4-hour mark ticked off.
Overall, it was a pretty amazing experience. I’m not sure I’ll ever want to do it again (or, for that matter, that I’ll ever be able to qualify again) but I’m very grateful that I got the opportunity to run it, and I’m really glad I was able to finish feeling good and with a respectable time (almost exactly my goal when I set out).
Time to go, so until next time, may your carry-on always fit in the overhead compartment, may your luggage always reach your destination, and may your flights always depart at their scheduled times.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)