More on the Way
From the 1115 AM forecast discussion out of the National Weather Service's Monterey office:
NEXT BIG PROBLEM IS IS SYSTEM JUST CROSSING 150W BETWEEN 30 AND 50N LATITUDE. MODELS INDICATE THIS SYSTEM WILL BEGIN TO IMPACT THE NORTH COAST THURSDAY EVENING AND SPREAD SOUTH THROUGH THE DAY FRIDAY. THE HEAVIEST RAINFALL WILL STILL BE FOCUSED IN THE NORTH BAY BUT MODELS ARE INDICATING THIS SYSTEM WILL BRING HEAVIER RAINFALL TO THE CENTRAL COAST INTO THE SANTA LUCIAS BY SATURDAY MORNING. GIVEN THAT THIS STROM IS CLOSE ON THE HEELS OF THE CURRENT STORM EXPECT MAJOR FLOOD PROBLEMS IN THE NORTH BAY FRIDAY NIGHT AND SATURDAY. IN ADDITION THE COMBINATION OF HIGH ASTRONOMICAL TIDES OF 7 FEET COMBINED WITH HIGH SURF OF 16 TO 18 FEET AND STRONG SOUTHERLY WINDS AND MAJOR RUNOFF COULD CAUSE SOME COASTAL FLOODING SATURDAY MORNING. THIS FRIDAY AND SATURDAY STORM IS NOT AS STRONG AS WHAT THE MODELS ARE FORECASTING FOR NEW YEARS DAY.
LATEST GFS HAS A 969 MB LOW FORECAST OFF THE OREGON COAST BY LATE IN THE DAY SUNDAY. THIS WOULD PROBABLY GENERATE WINDS ABOVE WARNING CRITERIA...VERY HEAVY RAIN...AND AGAIN A VERY STRONG THREAT OF COASTAL FLOODING AS SEAS WILL EXCEED 20 FEET LATE SUNDAY INTO MONDAY. IT IS ALWAYS DANGEROUS TO MAKE COMPARISONS BUT HAVING LIVED THOROUGH FEBRUARY 1986...THIS CURRENT PATTERN IS BEGINNING TO HAVE THAT LOOK TO IT. BOTH THE EURO AND GFS CONTINUE THE ONSLAUGHT OF RAIN INTO THE LATER PART OF NEXT WEEK THUS MAKING THIS A VERY EXTENDED RAINY PERIOD. FEBRUARY 1986 WAS ALSO A VERY EXTENDED RAINY PERIOD WITH A GOOD SUBTROPICAL MOISTURE TAP AS THESE STORMS HAVE HAD.
AGAIN WITH THE SATURATED GROUNDS AND EXPECTED WINDY CONDITIONS WITH EACH STORM COULD SEE SOME MAJOR POWER OUTAGES AND WIDESPREAD FLOODING OVER THE NEXT WEEK. ALL CONCERNED SHOULD MAKE SURE THEY HAVE ADEQUATE EMERGENCY SUPPLIES OF FOOD...WATER...AND BATTERIES FOR FLASHLIGHTS AND PORTABLE RADIOS. THIS COULD BE A VERY SERIOUS AND POTENTIALLY DANGEROUS NEXT 5 TO 10 DAYS.
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
In the Rain
No offense to the old dudes and gals and others whose circulation might be challenged, but the pool where I swim is usually too warm. Especially during the summer. Swimming in an 83 degree pool when it's 90 out is ugly. It's worse than running in hot weather. It's suffocating. But come wintertime? Today I scurried from under cover out onto the deck and slid into the roiling waters and -- not fooled by the steam -- took off like a crazy man to battle the big chill when I noticed, woops, the water was warm and cozy. God, it was nice. Too warm? I flirted with the idea, but, no: With the rain pelting down and the air temp around 50, we were pushing the limits of bearability but just staying within bounds. Indeed, the contrast between the water and the cool rain was trippy and ... hmm... delightful. Question to me upon my return to the office: "How was the swim." Me to inquisitive colleague: "Delightful!"
It was the quickest 2000 yards I'd done in ages, maybe ever. Breaststroke, backstroke, freestyle -- swimming wasn't a chore today, with warm water below and cool water above. It was fun and in its texture conjured memories of the times in college when my buddies and I would head out in a big rain onto the fire trails in Strawberry Canyon, above the football stadium. We'd take the lower trail, fight our way up a brief steep stretch called "the connector," then do the upper trail for a few more miles. Jesus, we were 19 or 20 and we could run hard and long in the rain as it washed ashore, blowing through the Gate, falling on the hills, dripping through the trees, cutting culverts across the path, to be leapt. Didn't hurt that heading back, the last third of the run at least was a big decline. We'd fly home, just fly.
We'd run one day in the rain and the next day, the storms still rolling in off the Pacific, we'd play two or three hours of pickup ball at Hearst. There was a roof over us, but the doors were open for ventilation and amid the shouts, the squeaking sneakers and the pounding of the ball on hardwood and off the backboard and iron, you could hear and feel the rain all around you still. We'd walk back home afterward, the rainwater washing down our foreheads, mixing with sweat and stinging our eyes. We were supermen, we were boys, we were in love with our own youth -- and well we should have been -- which seemed to sprout in the rain.
No offense to the old dudes and gals and others whose circulation might be challenged, but the pool where I swim is usually too warm. Especially during the summer. Swimming in an 83 degree pool when it's 90 out is ugly. It's worse than running in hot weather. It's suffocating. But come wintertime? Today I scurried from under cover out onto the deck and slid into the roiling waters and -- not fooled by the steam -- took off like a crazy man to battle the big chill when I noticed, woops, the water was warm and cozy. God, it was nice. Too warm? I flirted with the idea, but, no: With the rain pelting down and the air temp around 50, we were pushing the limits of bearability but just staying within bounds. Indeed, the contrast between the water and the cool rain was trippy and ... hmm... delightful. Question to me upon my return to the office: "How was the swim." Me to inquisitive colleague: "Delightful!"
It was the quickest 2000 yards I'd done in ages, maybe ever. Breaststroke, backstroke, freestyle -- swimming wasn't a chore today, with warm water below and cool water above. It was fun and in its texture conjured memories of the times in college when my buddies and I would head out in a big rain onto the fire trails in Strawberry Canyon, above the football stadium. We'd take the lower trail, fight our way up a brief steep stretch called "the connector," then do the upper trail for a few more miles. Jesus, we were 19 or 20 and we could run hard and long in the rain as it washed ashore, blowing through the Gate, falling on the hills, dripping through the trees, cutting culverts across the path, to be leapt. Didn't hurt that heading back, the last third of the run at least was a big decline. We'd fly home, just fly.
We'd run one day in the rain and the next day, the storms still rolling in off the Pacific, we'd play two or three hours of pickup ball at Hearst. There was a roof over us, but the doors were open for ventilation and amid the shouts, the squeaking sneakers and the pounding of the ball on hardwood and off the backboard and iron, you could hear and feel the rain all around you still. We'd walk back home afterward, the rainwater washing down our foreheads, mixing with sweat and stinging our eyes. We were supermen, we were boys, we were in love with our own youth -- and well we should have been -- which seemed to sprout in the rain.
Catching Up
Was getting ready to take Christmas pictures when I noticed that the camera memory was full. So I cleaned it out and found a bunch of pictures that had never been processed. Here's a couple of shots I liked of Niko. The first is from Halloweeen, when Niko put on a lab coat and went as an inventor (which he is); the other is from summer, when you could dig a hole without it filling up with rainwater in about two seconds.
Was getting ready to take Christmas pictures when I noticed that the camera memory was full. So I cleaned it out and found a bunch of pictures that had never been processed. Here's a couple of shots I liked of Niko. The first is from Halloweeen, when Niko put on a lab coat and went as an inventor (which he is); the other is from summer, when you could dig a hole without it filling up with rainwater in about two seconds.
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
A Few Updates for You Regular Readers (Yeah, Right)
1) The abdominal pains subsided within hours of me calling to make an appointment to see the doctor (a week ago Monday). Was it quitting coffee that did it? Going on a largely gluten-free diet? Eating less at a sitting? Drinking less wine? Or some combination of all of those? Who knows? Still eating and drinking less -- which feels good. I tend to overeat. Still staying away from coffee. The first two days were hard but now the routine of starting with a cup of strong, dark English breakfast tea, followed by several cups of mint-lemon balm tea through the day, is growing on me. In the winter, it's comforting to have a hot drink at your side.
2) In the days following the marathon I was insanely sore. My quads were destroyed. I literally could barely walk. I walked home from the office the day after and it took nearly a half-hour, twice the usual time. Curbs were a challenge. Stairs were impossible without clutching the railing. Three days after I could walk normally and almost do stairs hands-free. Five days and I wasn't thinking about any aches and pains.
3) I ran this Monday evening, 15 days after the marathon. Felt good to run and my body responded well. It was just three miles but enough to leave me slightly sore the next day. I'll run on Saturday and probably Monday and then get back into the routine. Napa Valley Marathon, first Sunday in March.
4) I swam twice last week and also the past two days. Last week it was cold here in Napa and hard to work up the desire to get out into the pool; this week, the rain has a tropical feel to it and swimming today as the drizzle came down was fun. I did more backstroke than usual. I'm a terrible backstroker, but doing it anyway improves my feel for the water and makes me a better swimmer. Or so I like to believe.
5) Anna in the office got the flu. She sat out one day but has been working since, hacking and sneezing and wheezing. I've been steering clear of her and applying copious amounts of Purelle to my hands after touching anything outside my office -- doorknobs, the copier or fax machine, the microwave and anything elese in the kitchen. So far, I'm OK. Anna? Oh, I think she's getting better.
1) The abdominal pains subsided within hours of me calling to make an appointment to see the doctor (a week ago Monday). Was it quitting coffee that did it? Going on a largely gluten-free diet? Eating less at a sitting? Drinking less wine? Or some combination of all of those? Who knows? Still eating and drinking less -- which feels good. I tend to overeat. Still staying away from coffee. The first two days were hard but now the routine of starting with a cup of strong, dark English breakfast tea, followed by several cups of mint-lemon balm tea through the day, is growing on me. In the winter, it's comforting to have a hot drink at your side.
2) In the days following the marathon I was insanely sore. My quads were destroyed. I literally could barely walk. I walked home from the office the day after and it took nearly a half-hour, twice the usual time. Curbs were a challenge. Stairs were impossible without clutching the railing. Three days after I could walk normally and almost do stairs hands-free. Five days and I wasn't thinking about any aches and pains.
3) I ran this Monday evening, 15 days after the marathon. Felt good to run and my body responded well. It was just three miles but enough to leave me slightly sore the next day. I'll run on Saturday and probably Monday and then get back into the routine. Napa Valley Marathon, first Sunday in March.
4) I swam twice last week and also the past two days. Last week it was cold here in Napa and hard to work up the desire to get out into the pool; this week, the rain has a tropical feel to it and swimming today as the drizzle came down was fun. I did more backstroke than usual. I'm a terrible backstroker, but doing it anyway improves my feel for the water and makes me a better swimmer. Or so I like to believe.
5) Anna in the office got the flu. She sat out one day but has been working since, hacking and sneezing and wheezing. I've been steering clear of her and applying copious amounts of Purelle to my hands after touching anything outside my office -- doorknobs, the copier or fax machine, the microwave and anything elese in the kitchen. So far, I'm OK. Anna? Oh, I think she's getting better.
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
Looking Out the Window at Work
This time when the rainy season came
a gray blanket, the sound of passing cars kicking up water
I felt old. Not tired, weary or spent. Not bored.
Rather, this: I'd been around a long time
knew the routine well now,
shifting into the depth of winter.
Shallow and unassuming, for the most part,
I concede, on the valley floor
where little pools and nothing slides.
But warm sunshine, here our raison d'etre,
was now gone, absent forever,
until it would be revelatory.
This time when the rainy season came
a gray blanket, the sound of passing cars kicking up water
I felt old. Not tired, weary or spent. Not bored.
Rather, this: I'd been around a long time
knew the routine well now,
shifting into the depth of winter.
Shallow and unassuming, for the most part,
I concede, on the valley floor
where little pools and nothing slides.
But warm sunshine, here our raison d'etre,
was now gone, absent forever,
until it would be revelatory.
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Saturday, December 10, 2005
Not a Pretty Post
I've been suffering from abdominal pain for more than a week now, beginning mildly then becoming pretty intense the last 48 hours. The episode began a couple of days before the marathon; just a vague sense of things being slightly tight in the lower abdomen. It was such that it was easy to ignore. And on race day it never entered my mind; maybe it was gone. But on Monday it was back -- although, again, mildy. Of course, my quads were so destroyed by the race, I probably couldn't have noticed a little tummy ache. By Thursday my legs were fine but my gut was hurting. I woke up at 4 in the morning on Friday and couldn't sleep. Friday afternoon the constancy of the pain made it impossible to get any work done. I wasn't doubled over in pain, mind you. It was as though I had one big, full-abdomen -- from the ribs down to the groin -- cramp. Walking and moving around actually seemed to relieve the pain. Friday night was worse than Thursday, and today was worse than Friday. This evening, horrible. I don't have diarrhea, but I'm gassy (told you, not pretty stuff). I'm eating less, though I continue to have an appetite. BMs don't relieve the pain at all. Ginger ale helps a bit. Tums, nothing. I've had episodes like this before, but never lasting more than a couple of days. I think I may have a bit of irritable bowel syndrome. I think the stress of the marathon and some poor eating afterward might have pushed this to the degree it is happening. I think I may need to cut down on coffee -- green tea, here I come -- and alcohol. I'd also be curious to see how I'd do with less wheat and dairy. Whatever, if I'm not better by Monday, I'll go see the doc.
I've been suffering from abdominal pain for more than a week now, beginning mildly then becoming pretty intense the last 48 hours. The episode began a couple of days before the marathon; just a vague sense of things being slightly tight in the lower abdomen. It was such that it was easy to ignore. And on race day it never entered my mind; maybe it was gone. But on Monday it was back -- although, again, mildy. Of course, my quads were so destroyed by the race, I probably couldn't have noticed a little tummy ache. By Thursday my legs were fine but my gut was hurting. I woke up at 4 in the morning on Friday and couldn't sleep. Friday afternoon the constancy of the pain made it impossible to get any work done. I wasn't doubled over in pain, mind you. It was as though I had one big, full-abdomen -- from the ribs down to the groin -- cramp. Walking and moving around actually seemed to relieve the pain. Friday night was worse than Thursday, and today was worse than Friday. This evening, horrible. I don't have diarrhea, but I'm gassy (told you, not pretty stuff). I'm eating less, though I continue to have an appetite. BMs don't relieve the pain at all. Ginger ale helps a bit. Tums, nothing. I've had episodes like this before, but never lasting more than a couple of days. I think I may have a bit of irritable bowel syndrome. I think the stress of the marathon and some poor eating afterward might have pushed this to the degree it is happening. I think I may need to cut down on coffee -- green tea, here I come -- and alcohol. I'd also be curious to see how I'd do with less wheat and dairy. Whatever, if I'm not better by Monday, I'll go see the doc.
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
Rae Revealed
I didn't realize the California International Marathon folks had posted bios of all the pace leaders. So I've got more information on my guy Rae, beginning with, as you might have noticed, the fact that his name is spelled with an e, not a y. Sorry, Rae!
I've cut and pasted Rae's info below. As you can see, he's amazing. Not only has he done more than 130 ultramarathons, he holds the American record for a 100-mile road run, 12:12:19, set in 1989 at the Sri Chinmoy USA 100 Mile Championship (the run was done on single-mile loop course in Queens, NY). And in 1990 he set the American record for distance covered on a track in a 24-hour period -- 165.3 miles. All that, and from what I could tell, a heckuva nice guy, too.
Rae Clark
Home: Auburn, CA - Endurance Capital of the World
Age: 52
Occupation: Teacher/Coach
Date and name of first marathon: Mayor's Cup Marathon, San Francisco, 1978
Number of marathons completed: 154
Number of CIMs completed: 14
Marathon PR: 2:28:53
Marathon awards: 12 top finisher overall
Marathon finish of which you are most proud and why: my PR 2:28:53 at Las Vegas (1989) because I trained hard and it paid off. I felt strong the whole way.
Number of ultra marathons completed: 131
Ultra marathon awards: 30 top finisher overall
Ultra marathon finish of which you are most proud and why: SRI Chinmoy 100-Mile National Championship (NYC, 1989) and the 24-Hour Megan's Run. I set American Records at both events.
How many Boston Marathons? 5
Coaching experience: 11 years of track & field, 10 years of cross country both youth and high school
Other pacing experiences: I have paced dozens of runners to personal bests during the last 21 years. I've had a great time pacing the 3:20 group at the 2001 and 2002 CIMs, the 3:30 group at CIM 2003, and the 3:10 group at the 2004 CIM.
Other hobbies: backpacking, hiking, biking.
Anything else you think your Pace Group would like to know about you:
I have paced many individuals in the past and my CIM Pace Team Leader experiences have been so positive that I am looking forward doing it again this year!
I didn't realize the California International Marathon folks had posted bios of all the pace leaders. So I've got more information on my guy Rae, beginning with, as you might have noticed, the fact that his name is spelled with an e, not a y. Sorry, Rae!
I've cut and pasted Rae's info below. As you can see, he's amazing. Not only has he done more than 130 ultramarathons, he holds the American record for a 100-mile road run, 12:12:19, set in 1989 at the Sri Chinmoy USA 100 Mile Championship (the run was done on single-mile loop course in Queens, NY). And in 1990 he set the American record for distance covered on a track in a 24-hour period -- 165.3 miles. All that, and from what I could tell, a heckuva nice guy, too.
Rae Clark
Home: Auburn, CA - Endurance Capital of the World
Age: 52
Occupation: Teacher/Coach
Date and name of first marathon: Mayor's Cup Marathon, San Francisco, 1978
Number of marathons completed: 154
Number of CIMs completed: 14
Marathon PR: 2:28:53
Marathon awards: 12 top finisher overall
Marathon finish of which you are most proud and why: my PR 2:28:53 at Las Vegas (1989) because I trained hard and it paid off. I felt strong the whole way.
Number of ultra marathons completed: 131
Ultra marathon awards: 30 top finisher overall
Ultra marathon finish of which you are most proud and why: SRI Chinmoy 100-Mile National Championship (NYC, 1989) and the 24-Hour Megan's Run. I set American Records at both events.
How many Boston Marathons? 5
Coaching experience: 11 years of track & field, 10 years of cross country both youth and high school
Other pacing experiences: I have paced dozens of runners to personal bests during the last 21 years. I've had a great time pacing the 3:20 group at the 2001 and 2002 CIMs, the 3:30 group at CIM 2003, and the 3:10 group at the 2004 CIM.
Other hobbies: backpacking, hiking, biking.
Anything else you think your Pace Group would like to know about you:
I have paced many individuals in the past and my CIM Pace Team Leader experiences have been so positive that I am looking forward doing it again this year!
Sunday, December 04, 2005
Chasing Ray
I know why they do it. By making us get up at 4:30 a.m. and be on a bus to the start line by 5:15, and then beginning the race at 7 after we've stood out in the freezing cold for an hour, most of the time in line to use the typically inadequate number of portable toilets, race organizers can no doubt promise the cops and city officials the whole big stinking mess will vanish from their streets before nightfall. Still. Running 26.2 miles is pretty tough -- for me and for most non-Kenyans. If the race is being held April through October (we're restricting Pete's Law of Marathon Start Times to the northern hemisphere), by all means, start it early to avoid heat issues. But in December in Sacramento? Fat chance midday temperatures will peak higher than the mid-60s. So you start the race at 9 a.m. Most folks -- who also might be known as "paying customers" -- would end up running with temps in the 40s and 50s. Maybe a few people would plod the final, gruesome few miles with the temperature hovering around 63. Oh, the oppression! To me, this seems like a very good plan -- and even with a generous six-hour limit, it still leaves your course clear by 4 p.m.
But don't get the wrong idea. I loved the California International Marathon, begun in Folsom before sunrise and ended in the shadow of the state capitol with the sun very low in the southeastern sky indeed. I loved it in the way that this sort of thing is always loved by a me sort of person. (This sort of thing: a long, physically and psychologically challenging athletic event. A me sort of person: fairly fit and dedicated, but not especially gifted at the discipline.)
You get out there and you take your first step and you say to yourself, OK, one step closer to done. And you say that periodically but often for the next nearly four hours, maybe 6,000 more times. And in between you go a million places, pondering the (running) form of the woman up ahead in the black tights with fluorescent green shorts over them and a tight purple bib top with some red sports bra straps showing above the neckline; appreciating the subtle but helpful hand signal of the guy moving left in front of you to pass someone; noticing after eight miles of having a wet nose and finally wiping it dry that it felt better to have wiped it dry (with the $2 cotton gloves you bought at the expo the day before) ... the list could go on forever. I said your mind goes in a million places! Of course, most of those places are in the neighborhood of How You Are Doing. Also known as, the Pace Place.
Which is where Ray comes in. Ray was my pace guy. Maybe you didn't know this -- I only learned about it in the past few months -- but at a lot of the bigger marathons they recruit volunteers to run the race at a specified pace, allowing competitors gunning for a time to be pulled along to success and admiration among their peer group. Ray was the 3:30 pacer at CIM this morning. Ray looked like he was in his late 40s or early 50s. He was a little scruffy and ridiculously, perfectly suited for his job. The pace was easy for him to hold (easy for me to say) and he had big ol' biceps that made running the whole damn 26.2 while holding a stick with a red "3:30" sign atop it appear to be no great feat. This required keeping his carrying hand at shoulder level, which is hardly the way you want to run a marathon. Not to cast aspersions, but quite a few of the other pacers were not so diligent as Ray on this count.
Ray talked, though wisely he did not keep up a constant chatter. He talked about the course -- letting us know when hills would come and when we'd have a chance to coast a bit, always spinning whatever we were about to encounter in a believably positive direction. He celebrated the arrival of another mile marker and reminded us that it meant that we had one fewer miles to go than we did before (analogous to the step thing I talked about earlier, but a good bit more powerful). He talked about Boston -- a lot. Most of the 3:30 group were aiming to qualify for Boston; it's the time 45-49 year olds need to race in the world's most famous marathon. As we ran, Ray said, "This sign shouldn't say '3:30,' on it. It should say, 'Boston.' We are on the road to Boston." Ray was confident, though not obnoxiously so, that we would all make it.
For the first four miles I ran just a little bit in front of Ray, then alongside him for a while, then just a few steps behind him for a very long time. I came into the race not really trusting I could run a 3:30. I'd run only two previous marathons, with a best of 3:41 at Napa in March. I was worried the 3:30 pace -- 8:01/mile -- was quick for me. Going out at that pace, I wondered what would happen come Mile 15 or 18 or 23. I wondered if I'd make it, period, after stretching myself from the start.
Wondered. Ha. The word I should use is "feared." I was afraid -- but a part of me wanted to take on the fear. Ray made it a lot easier to do so. Through Folsom and Orangevale and Fair Oaks I told myself to stay with Ray as long as I could. At Mile 8, I said that would be the halfway mark, at least. At the halfway mark, I said Mile 16, at least. (My left knee was hurting terrifically then, but I concentrated on staying with Ray and I listened to Ray and the pain eventually subsided.) At 18, I said 20. Still I stuck. And then, at 21, Ray began to pull away. But of course Ray was running the same pace he had the entire race. It was his job, his duty. I, meanwhile, was fading.
In many ways, I felt good. I had been enjoying the race. The crowds were great. I wanted to be all cynical and dismissive of the spectators shouting nonsense like, "Looking great, 755," when I had snot dripping out of my nose and I was listing and pallid. But it was all great. There was the guy who looked like he just finished the swing shift at the steel factory -- imagine there were still factories in this country -- reading from the Sacramento Bee's list of the entrant numbers and names, calling out, "Way to go (pause to find the name) … Suzy!" "Uh … (pause) … James, you are so all over this race it isn't even funny!" There were old folks, young folks, rich folks, poor folks -- the whole darn beautiful tapestry dipped in a melting pot that is this great nation of ours, all of 'em out early, in the cold, to watch people run by them and shout words of appreciation and encouragement.
So I was having fun and I was with Ray and then came the fade. Yes, the fade. Not stomach trouble. Stomach was great. Head, too, was solid, no foggy-groggy where am I stuff. It was my quads. Tight, tight, tight. I ran as hard as I could -- it didn't hurt any more to run hard than it did to run easy, really. Only stopping would have made the pain go away. But 9-plus miles were all I could manage. I hit the Mile 21 sign at 2:48, an even 8 minute/mile pace. The next 5.2 miles took me 47:32, a 9:07 pace. Miles 22-24 were the toughest. You dream of it being over and embrace and push back and embrace and push back again the sense of deliverance you believe the end will bring. Yet somehow, even as you sink deeper into your own pain and the contemplation of it, the experience moves beyond you and you beyond it. You notice among the scattered spectators a little guy just barely old enough to stand teetering and falling, plop, and another maybe three years old doing two quick toddler sneezes. It brings up a mental image of your little boy and you wonder what he'll think when he's 43 and looks at Dad's silly collection of marathon and triathlon finishing medals. You endure DJs spinning tunes way, way too loud, and an indiesh band playing a song whose lyrics capture you for five or 10 or maybe 20 yards, who knows? The marathon is a weird sort of parade but better because the crowd is performing too. One time, a woman in the crowd tailed her running friend for about 100 yards shouting encouragement, offering gu, taking her cap, always coming up with one more thing just when you thought she had been left behind. She was really loud and the guy running next to me kept muttering quietly but with scary intensity, "Shut up! Shut up!" I understood his point, she was obnoxious. But she was beautiful, too, this the Wacky Friend who so much wanted to help.
I don't know. It was nothing special -- there are dozens of marathons like this around the country every year -- but it was, like life itself, spectacular.
Oh, my time: 3 hours, 35 minutes, 32 seconds, according to my Garmin and the chip.
I know why they do it. By making us get up at 4:30 a.m. and be on a bus to the start line by 5:15, and then beginning the race at 7 after we've stood out in the freezing cold for an hour, most of the time in line to use the typically inadequate number of portable toilets, race organizers can no doubt promise the cops and city officials the whole big stinking mess will vanish from their streets before nightfall. Still. Running 26.2 miles is pretty tough -- for me and for most non-Kenyans. If the race is being held April through October (we're restricting Pete's Law of Marathon Start Times to the northern hemisphere), by all means, start it early to avoid heat issues. But in December in Sacramento? Fat chance midday temperatures will peak higher than the mid-60s. So you start the race at 9 a.m. Most folks -- who also might be known as "paying customers" -- would end up running with temps in the 40s and 50s. Maybe a few people would plod the final, gruesome few miles with the temperature hovering around 63. Oh, the oppression! To me, this seems like a very good plan -- and even with a generous six-hour limit, it still leaves your course clear by 4 p.m.
But don't get the wrong idea. I loved the California International Marathon, begun in Folsom before sunrise and ended in the shadow of the state capitol with the sun very low in the southeastern sky indeed. I loved it in the way that this sort of thing is always loved by a me sort of person. (This sort of thing: a long, physically and psychologically challenging athletic event. A me sort of person: fairly fit and dedicated, but not especially gifted at the discipline.)
You get out there and you take your first step and you say to yourself, OK, one step closer to done. And you say that periodically but often for the next nearly four hours, maybe 6,000 more times. And in between you go a million places, pondering the (running) form of the woman up ahead in the black tights with fluorescent green shorts over them and a tight purple bib top with some red sports bra straps showing above the neckline; appreciating the subtle but helpful hand signal of the guy moving left in front of you to pass someone; noticing after eight miles of having a wet nose and finally wiping it dry that it felt better to have wiped it dry (with the $2 cotton gloves you bought at the expo the day before) ... the list could go on forever. I said your mind goes in a million places! Of course, most of those places are in the neighborhood of How You Are Doing. Also known as, the Pace Place.
Which is where Ray comes in. Ray was my pace guy. Maybe you didn't know this -- I only learned about it in the past few months -- but at a lot of the bigger marathons they recruit volunteers to run the race at a specified pace, allowing competitors gunning for a time to be pulled along to success and admiration among their peer group. Ray was the 3:30 pacer at CIM this morning. Ray looked like he was in his late 40s or early 50s. He was a little scruffy and ridiculously, perfectly suited for his job. The pace was easy for him to hold (easy for me to say) and he had big ol' biceps that made running the whole damn 26.2 while holding a stick with a red "3:30" sign atop it appear to be no great feat. This required keeping his carrying hand at shoulder level, which is hardly the way you want to run a marathon. Not to cast aspersions, but quite a few of the other pacers were not so diligent as Ray on this count.
Ray talked, though wisely he did not keep up a constant chatter. He talked about the course -- letting us know when hills would come and when we'd have a chance to coast a bit, always spinning whatever we were about to encounter in a believably positive direction. He celebrated the arrival of another mile marker and reminded us that it meant that we had one fewer miles to go than we did before (analogous to the step thing I talked about earlier, but a good bit more powerful). He talked about Boston -- a lot. Most of the 3:30 group were aiming to qualify for Boston; it's the time 45-49 year olds need to race in the world's most famous marathon. As we ran, Ray said, "This sign shouldn't say '3:30,' on it. It should say, 'Boston.' We are on the road to Boston." Ray was confident, though not obnoxiously so, that we would all make it.
For the first four miles I ran just a little bit in front of Ray, then alongside him for a while, then just a few steps behind him for a very long time. I came into the race not really trusting I could run a 3:30. I'd run only two previous marathons, with a best of 3:41 at Napa in March. I was worried the 3:30 pace -- 8:01/mile -- was quick for me. Going out at that pace, I wondered what would happen come Mile 15 or 18 or 23. I wondered if I'd make it, period, after stretching myself from the start.
Wondered. Ha. The word I should use is "feared." I was afraid -- but a part of me wanted to take on the fear. Ray made it a lot easier to do so. Through Folsom and Orangevale and Fair Oaks I told myself to stay with Ray as long as I could. At Mile 8, I said that would be the halfway mark, at least. At the halfway mark, I said Mile 16, at least. (My left knee was hurting terrifically then, but I concentrated on staying with Ray and I listened to Ray and the pain eventually subsided.) At 18, I said 20. Still I stuck. And then, at 21, Ray began to pull away. But of course Ray was running the same pace he had the entire race. It was his job, his duty. I, meanwhile, was fading.
In many ways, I felt good. I had been enjoying the race. The crowds were great. I wanted to be all cynical and dismissive of the spectators shouting nonsense like, "Looking great, 755," when I had snot dripping out of my nose and I was listing and pallid. But it was all great. There was the guy who looked like he just finished the swing shift at the steel factory -- imagine there were still factories in this country -- reading from the Sacramento Bee's list of the entrant numbers and names, calling out, "Way to go (pause to find the name) … Suzy!" "Uh … (pause) … James, you are so all over this race it isn't even funny!" There were old folks, young folks, rich folks, poor folks -- the whole darn beautiful tapestry dipped in a melting pot that is this great nation of ours, all of 'em out early, in the cold, to watch people run by them and shout words of appreciation and encouragement.
So I was having fun and I was with Ray and then came the fade. Yes, the fade. Not stomach trouble. Stomach was great. Head, too, was solid, no foggy-groggy where am I stuff. It was my quads. Tight, tight, tight. I ran as hard as I could -- it didn't hurt any more to run hard than it did to run easy, really. Only stopping would have made the pain go away. But 9-plus miles were all I could manage. I hit the Mile 21 sign at 2:48, an even 8 minute/mile pace. The next 5.2 miles took me 47:32, a 9:07 pace. Miles 22-24 were the toughest. You dream of it being over and embrace and push back and embrace and push back again the sense of deliverance you believe the end will bring. Yet somehow, even as you sink deeper into your own pain and the contemplation of it, the experience moves beyond you and you beyond it. You notice among the scattered spectators a little guy just barely old enough to stand teetering and falling, plop, and another maybe three years old doing two quick toddler sneezes. It brings up a mental image of your little boy and you wonder what he'll think when he's 43 and looks at Dad's silly collection of marathon and triathlon finishing medals. You endure DJs spinning tunes way, way too loud, and an indiesh band playing a song whose lyrics capture you for five or 10 or maybe 20 yards, who knows? The marathon is a weird sort of parade but better because the crowd is performing too. One time, a woman in the crowd tailed her running friend for about 100 yards shouting encouragement, offering gu, taking her cap, always coming up with one more thing just when you thought she had been left behind. She was really loud and the guy running next to me kept muttering quietly but with scary intensity, "Shut up! Shut up!" I understood his point, she was obnoxious. But she was beautiful, too, this the Wacky Friend who so much wanted to help.
I don't know. It was nothing special -- there are dozens of marathons like this around the country every year -- but it was, like life itself, spectacular.
Oh, my time: 3 hours, 35 minutes, 32 seconds, according to my Garmin and the chip.
Thursday, December 01, 2005
How I Celebrated
- Worked.
- Swam 43 laps (one for each year)
- Put hot water in the watch-the-coasts-disappear-due-to-global-warming mug that Anna gave me.
- Had a cookie that Karen gave me.
- Got burgers and fries from In-N-Out with Niko: Good burgers, but what was with that goofy cashier? I say to her, "Double-Double with the works, including fried onions; cheeseburger, no nothing, just bun, meat and cheese; and an order of fries." She rings it up and we've got a Double-Double, a cheeseburger, two fries, and a medium Coke! As we wait for our food, I see that EVERYONE picking up food is noticing an error in their order.
- Opened a bottle of 2001 Ridge Lytton Springs to accompany burger and fries (no, this wasn't a la Miles; we brought the food home). Beautiful Zinfandel, he said, pouring himself one more glass than was prudent on a work night.
- Chatted with Niko about global warming while sipping '01 Lytton Springs. Niko: "Wine is a good way to tell if there's global warming because if there's global warming the wine will taste different. I can't remember, are they better wines with global warming or not as good?"
- Worked.
- Swam 43 laps (one for each year)
- Put hot water in the watch-the-coasts-disappear-due-to-global-warming mug that Anna gave me.
- Had a cookie that Karen gave me.
- Got burgers and fries from In-N-Out with Niko: Good burgers, but what was with that goofy cashier? I say to her, "Double-Double with the works, including fried onions; cheeseburger, no nothing, just bun, meat and cheese; and an order of fries." She rings it up and we've got a Double-Double, a cheeseburger, two fries, and a medium Coke! As we wait for our food, I see that EVERYONE picking up food is noticing an error in their order.
- Opened a bottle of 2001 Ridge Lytton Springs to accompany burger and fries (no, this wasn't a la Miles; we brought the food home). Beautiful Zinfandel, he said, pouring himself one more glass than was prudent on a work night.
- Chatted with Niko about global warming while sipping '01 Lytton Springs. Niko: "Wine is a good way to tell if there's global warming because if there's global warming the wine will taste different. I can't remember, are they better wines with global warming or not as good?"
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