Hey, Look Over There
At the narrow column on the left side of this page, I mean. See the first entry on that roster of PRs? Notice the date? That's right, I got a new one this past weekend! (The old 5K PR was 19:57, established in August this year.) And Niko was great in the kid 1K. Pictures and a few details later this week.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Sunday, October 05, 2008
Abbreviated Race: Report
Would it be a DNS or DNF? I'd known for a while that, barring a miracle, my 2008 Portland Marathon would be one or the other: I'd either sleep in and the race would go in the books as a Did Not Start, or I'd give it a go and end up with my first Did Not Finish. Clearly, this Achilles/ankle/heel injury was only going to get better with an extended break from running (among other therapies). I kept testing it every week or so, only to find the pain rearing its head – yeah, just like Putin in Alaska's air space – after five or six miles.
Today, I felt pretty good through eight miles. By nine miles, there was aching in the ankle. By 10, the Achilles was stiffening. By 11, my stride was off-balance, my Achilles hurt, and it was time to go home. There was no point to putting my long-term health at risk in order to turn in a mediocre time. I'm not wigged out by the letters DNF, the way some runners are. I want to keep doing this stuff for many years and a torn Achilles (or whatever) would be very bad indeed.
I jogged the two miles back to the start line to fetch my clothes, then jumped on the train for the quick ride home. Along the way, I gained some clarity about what I want out of athletics in the next year. I want to run a faster marathon. I want to run a 3:10. That wouldn't win me a prize or get me on a podium but it would be nearly nine minutes faster than my current best, and it would be a fine personal achievement at age 46. I really want it.
So that means:
(1) Mixing regular cycling in with the running, because over the past couple of months that did help my injury. I'd always feel better the day after a ride, and even better after two consecutive days of riding. If I'd been on the bike exclusively during the time period, I'd probably be fully recovered by now.
(2) No ultra running. That 50 miles on the Pacific Crest Trail in July was fun, but on top of everything else, was too much. Next year, after Coeur d'Alene in June, I rest for a few weeks, then spend the latter part of July, all of August and the first half of September completely and totally intent on getting ready for Portland. That doesn't mean running like crazy. It means three or four keenly focused runs each week, mixing tempo running, speed work and a long run, along with two or three stints on the bike. Yep. That's the ticket. I can't wait!
Would it be a DNS or DNF? I'd known for a while that, barring a miracle, my 2008 Portland Marathon would be one or the other: I'd either sleep in and the race would go in the books as a Did Not Start, or I'd give it a go and end up with my first Did Not Finish. Clearly, this Achilles/ankle/heel injury was only going to get better with an extended break from running (among other therapies). I kept testing it every week or so, only to find the pain rearing its head – yeah, just like Putin in Alaska's air space – after five or six miles.
Today, I felt pretty good through eight miles. By nine miles, there was aching in the ankle. By 10, the Achilles was stiffening. By 11, my stride was off-balance, my Achilles hurt, and it was time to go home. There was no point to putting my long-term health at risk in order to turn in a mediocre time. I'm not wigged out by the letters DNF, the way some runners are. I want to keep doing this stuff for many years and a torn Achilles (or whatever) would be very bad indeed.
I jogged the two miles back to the start line to fetch my clothes, then jumped on the train for the quick ride home. Along the way, I gained some clarity about what I want out of athletics in the next year. I want to run a faster marathon. I want to run a 3:10. That wouldn't win me a prize or get me on a podium but it would be nearly nine minutes faster than my current best, and it would be a fine personal achievement at age 46. I really want it.
So that means:
(1) Mixing regular cycling in with the running, because over the past couple of months that did help my injury. I'd always feel better the day after a ride, and even better after two consecutive days of riding. If I'd been on the bike exclusively during the time period, I'd probably be fully recovered by now.
(2) No ultra running. That 50 miles on the Pacific Crest Trail in July was fun, but on top of everything else, was too much. Next year, after Coeur d'Alene in June, I rest for a few weeks, then spend the latter part of July, all of August and the first half of September completely and totally intent on getting ready for Portland. That doesn't mean running like crazy. It means three or four keenly focused runs each week, mixing tempo running, speed work and a long run, along with two or three stints on the bike. Yep. That's the ticket. I can't wait!
Friday, October 03, 2008
The Morning After
During the primaries I wrote some political posts. I took them down because, well, I wasn't impressed by them. Just more spouting off in a world long on opinions but painfully short on wisdom. I'll probably come to see this fresh rant in the same vein, and it may be gone before any of my three or four readers sees it. But ridiculously, right now, it is important to me....
Nothing that happened last night wasn't anticipated. His performance, her performance, the reaction ... it all fell easily under the heading Most Likely Scenario. And the net result is that our hope -- that Obama will win and we'll have a sane Democrat in the White House -- is just as viable now as it was before the debate began. And yet I find myself profoundly depressed. And here is why: Once more, the public and the press are carrying on as though the past seven years didn't happen, as though the election of a "plain-spoken" president who "connected with regular people," talked mostly about the need for lower taxes and "getting government out of the American people's way," all the while demonstrating little curiosity, depth of knowledge about issues or sense of how America's place in the world is changing didn't lead us to disaster.
I see everyone earnestly joining in on the debate after the debate, trying to determine whether Sarah Palin for 90 minutes pulled off looking sort of like someone who could (if we make sure to keep the answer period short, and don't ask follow-up questions) play the part of world leader. I'm aghast that none of the endless number of experts on the post-debate analysis shows -- CNN alone must have had a dozen -- climbed onto the desk in front of him and shouted, "Have we all lost our minds? Does anyone really think this woman truly has the depth of understanding to lead our country in a time of grave crisis? Does anyone really believe that John McCain showed good judgment in selecting her to be his vice president? The winks and nods, the scripted little zingers, the regular-gal shtick -- whether it was appealing to you or not -- how does it have ANYTHING to do with anything? Even now, at this juncture, are we STILL unable to behave seriously? Am I living in an alternate universe? Our country's future is not assured, OK? And we reporters and pundits, by playing the ridiculous games we play, are as responsible as Wall Street, Congress, Bush and the public for the state of the country. Do I have to say it again: We are in financial meltdown. We are fighting two hopeless wars. It's not simply that we're not addressing the social problems that for years have plagued us; no, we have gone so far and so quickly in reverse in the past seven years that simply staving off utter disaster appears to be the best we can hope for. And we all sit here and happily play the role of TV critic? This is reality, people, not a reality show." And with that, our hero falls to his knees and holds his head, his face the very picture of defeat, now dissolving into tears.
Am I done? Not quite.
What infinite power of pretending does it take for David Brooks in the New York Times, to write, "She was surprisingly forceful on the subject of Iran (pronouncing Ahmadinejad better than her running mate)." How is it that I even have to say, the question cannot be can she spout a few talking points and pronounce the name of a practically irrelevant Iranian politician. The question must be -- for our future depends upon it -- "Does this person have an impressive, nuanced read on the world that inspires confidence that the choices she will make will keep us and the world safe?" Right? Isn't that what we desperately need to know? Or are we going to go through the same stupid, devastating, deadly charade we've gone through since 2001? I guess we are. I guess we are.
F--- you, David Brooks. F--- you, all the punditocracy last night and this morning. You pontificate about Congress failing us, the president failing us. F--- you. You have demonstrated again your complete and utter lack of courage and sense of obligation. None of you deserves or has my respect.
During the primaries I wrote some political posts. I took them down because, well, I wasn't impressed by them. Just more spouting off in a world long on opinions but painfully short on wisdom. I'll probably come to see this fresh rant in the same vein, and it may be gone before any of my three or four readers sees it. But ridiculously, right now, it is important to me....
Nothing that happened last night wasn't anticipated. His performance, her performance, the reaction ... it all fell easily under the heading Most Likely Scenario. And the net result is that our hope -- that Obama will win and we'll have a sane Democrat in the White House -- is just as viable now as it was before the debate began. And yet I find myself profoundly depressed. And here is why: Once more, the public and the press are carrying on as though the past seven years didn't happen, as though the election of a "plain-spoken" president who "connected with regular people," talked mostly about the need for lower taxes and "getting government out of the American people's way," all the while demonstrating little curiosity, depth of knowledge about issues or sense of how America's place in the world is changing didn't lead us to disaster.
I see everyone earnestly joining in on the debate after the debate, trying to determine whether Sarah Palin for 90 minutes pulled off looking sort of like someone who could (if we make sure to keep the answer period short, and don't ask follow-up questions) play the part of world leader. I'm aghast that none of the endless number of experts on the post-debate analysis shows -- CNN alone must have had a dozen -- climbed onto the desk in front of him and shouted, "Have we all lost our minds? Does anyone really think this woman truly has the depth of understanding to lead our country in a time of grave crisis? Does anyone really believe that John McCain showed good judgment in selecting her to be his vice president? The winks and nods, the scripted little zingers, the regular-gal shtick -- whether it was appealing to you or not -- how does it have ANYTHING to do with anything? Even now, at this juncture, are we STILL unable to behave seriously? Am I living in an alternate universe? Our country's future is not assured, OK? And we reporters and pundits, by playing the ridiculous games we play, are as responsible as Wall Street, Congress, Bush and the public for the state of the country. Do I have to say it again: We are in financial meltdown. We are fighting two hopeless wars. It's not simply that we're not addressing the social problems that for years have plagued us; no, we have gone so far and so quickly in reverse in the past seven years that simply staving off utter disaster appears to be the best we can hope for. And we all sit here and happily play the role of TV critic? This is reality, people, not a reality show." And with that, our hero falls to his knees and holds his head, his face the very picture of defeat, now dissolving into tears.
Am I done? Not quite.
What infinite power of pretending does it take for David Brooks in the New York Times, to write, "She was surprisingly forceful on the subject of Iran (pronouncing Ahmadinejad better than her running mate)." How is it that I even have to say, the question cannot be can she spout a few talking points and pronounce the name of a practically irrelevant Iranian politician. The question must be -- for our future depends upon it -- "Does this person have an impressive, nuanced read on the world that inspires confidence that the choices she will make will keep us and the world safe?" Right? Isn't that what we desperately need to know? Or are we going to go through the same stupid, devastating, deadly charade we've gone through since 2001? I guess we are. I guess we are.
F--- you, David Brooks. F--- you, all the punditocracy last night and this morning. You pontificate about Congress failing us, the president failing us. F--- you. You have demonstrated again your complete and utter lack of courage and sense of obligation. None of you deserves or has my respect.
Wednesday, October 01, 2008
Up in the Air
Damn, I'm finding it difficult to give up on running the Portland Marathon this coming Sunday. I'm signed up and paid up. It's right here in my hometown. I've got to run! But I'm injured. It's "the Achilles thing" I mentioned several weeks ago. Except, now I'm not so sure it's the Achilles. Might be a "posterior heel thing." Whatever: I run for a few miles and there's pain and weakness. The pain isn't excruciating; I can keep going. But I can't run very fast. And my fitness has clearly fallen off. So what would be the point of getting out there on Sunday and risking further damage? I don't know. It's just hard to let go. I was thinking PR for Portland. Bummer!
Damn, I'm finding it difficult to give up on running the Portland Marathon this coming Sunday. I'm signed up and paid up. It's right here in my hometown. I've got to run! But I'm injured. It's "the Achilles thing" I mentioned several weeks ago. Except, now I'm not so sure it's the Achilles. Might be a "posterior heel thing." Whatever: I run for a few miles and there's pain and weakness. The pain isn't excruciating; I can keep going. But I can't run very fast. And my fitness has clearly fallen off. So what would be the point of getting out there on Sunday and risking further damage? I don't know. It's just hard to let go. I was thinking PR for Portland. Bummer!
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Market Bounty
Per Saturday custom, I walked over to the Hollywood Farmers' Market today. Couldn't wait to roast those eggplant.
Per Saturday custom, I walked over to the Hollywood Farmers' Market today. Couldn't wait to roast those eggplant.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Race Report: City of Portland Triathlon
Just the other day I was telling Niko, in that Dad-teaches-boy tone that he must really love, that not all failures are bad. "If you think about what happened, you can learn from the experience," I said, after he got scared, nearly fell and ended up dejectedly walking his bike down a short, gravelly descent. I could have stopped there, but if you're going to lecture a kid, why not belabor the point? "You can dwell on failing and never get better, or you can figure out what went wrong and improve," I added. "Your choice, but I think you'll be a lot happier if you learn how to learn from failure."
After Ironman, I did a few races that were fun and fulfilling. I didn't zero in on them in the way I did Coeur d'Alene, but when I got to the starting line, I had a good idea of what to expect of myself. Today, I had no clue. I bobbed in the Willamette, waiting for the start to the City of Portland Triathlon, coming up empty in my search for a point to the race. I finally asked myself if there had to be a point – couldn't just having fun be good enough?
Well, sure. But even if it's "just for fun," you have to lay the groundwork. You have to bring the race into some focus.
* * *
The swim was exactly like last year, starting south of the Hawthorne Bridge and heading around the west pillar of the Morrison Bridge. Is this swim really just 1.5K? Man, I'm slow (39:05), although who knows how much of that is running to the bike transition. I didn't notice where the timing mats were placed. One thing I noticed this year was that it was way harder swimming into the Willamette's current than swimming with it. Duh, but last year that didn't seem to be the case.
I lollygagged in T1. Why? Great question. It's as though I thought I should, or had a right to, because this race wasn't important to me, or maybe it was, or maybe I just suck, or maybe I just want to watch the scenery. Sheesh!
On the bike, I went half-assed up the big hill that eats up about half of the 8.3-mile loop, which we were to do three times. I did start to get into the race on the downhill. I noted that the road was pretty wide and the turns fairly gentle, and that I'd be able to stay in a good, fast aero position for loops two and three.
Oops, maybe not. The one negative about this bike course, much-improved over last year's inaugural event, is the rough patches on Naito Boulevard, along the west side of the Willamette. Another reminder that Portland has a billion dollar backlog in road maintenance, and a hazard for cyclists: Toward the end of the first loop I whacked a big crevice and heard my bike make a sharp noise. A few seconds later, I noticed that my right aero bar extension was broken, just past the arm rest. I guess the extender fits onto a base pipe, though when healthy it looks like a single piece, not a long piece fit over a shorter piece and glued on. With this loose, threatening-to-fall-off extender, I didn't ride much aero the rest of the way, and certainly didn't take the downhills aggressively. (Somehow, that seemed appropriate on this day.)
As I finished the bike with a mediocre time – 1:23:49, 58/113 male racers – I was itching to get at the run. I hadn't run in 10 days while nursing this little Achilles tendon thing, and was really missing running. For the run, I had some focus. I went out strong and stayed strong. I didn't push it completely; I read somewhere recently that a rule of thumb for racing short-course triathlon is that if you don't feel like quitting, you aren't going hard enough. I didn't feel like quitting. But I ran well, turning in a 43:58 for the 10K, an Oly-distance run PR.
So that was it, my Portland Triathlon. Crappy swim, so-so bike, excellent run. Pretty much a failure. Lesson learned: Every race needs and deserves some mental prep.
BY THE WAY: Thanks to Jeff Henderson for putting this race on. I hope it survives for another year. It's a great event. Thanks, too, to Dave and his Killer Bread – a free loaf for every finisher – and the Deschutes Brewery for their great organic ale … and all the other sponsors and contributors, and the volunteers. All terrific.
My results; full race results here, just click on "Olympic" in the pulldown.
Just the other day I was telling Niko, in that Dad-teaches-boy tone that he must really love, that not all failures are bad. "If you think about what happened, you can learn from the experience," I said, after he got scared, nearly fell and ended up dejectedly walking his bike down a short, gravelly descent. I could have stopped there, but if you're going to lecture a kid, why not belabor the point? "You can dwell on failing and never get better, or you can figure out what went wrong and improve," I added. "Your choice, but I think you'll be a lot happier if you learn how to learn from failure."
After Ironman, I did a few races that were fun and fulfilling. I didn't zero in on them in the way I did Coeur d'Alene, but when I got to the starting line, I had a good idea of what to expect of myself. Today, I had no clue. I bobbed in the Willamette, waiting for the start to the City of Portland Triathlon, coming up empty in my search for a point to the race. I finally asked myself if there had to be a point – couldn't just having fun be good enough?
Well, sure. But even if it's "just for fun," you have to lay the groundwork. You have to bring the race into some focus.
* * *
The swim was exactly like last year, starting south of the Hawthorne Bridge and heading around the west pillar of the Morrison Bridge. Is this swim really just 1.5K? Man, I'm slow (39:05), although who knows how much of that is running to the bike transition. I didn't notice where the timing mats were placed. One thing I noticed this year was that it was way harder swimming into the Willamette's current than swimming with it. Duh, but last year that didn't seem to be the case.
I lollygagged in T1. Why? Great question. It's as though I thought I should, or had a right to, because this race wasn't important to me, or maybe it was, or maybe I just suck, or maybe I just want to watch the scenery. Sheesh!
On the bike, I went half-assed up the big hill that eats up about half of the 8.3-mile loop, which we were to do three times. I did start to get into the race on the downhill. I noted that the road was pretty wide and the turns fairly gentle, and that I'd be able to stay in a good, fast aero position for loops two and three.
Oops, maybe not. The one negative about this bike course, much-improved over last year's inaugural event, is the rough patches on Naito Boulevard, along the west side of the Willamette. Another reminder that Portland has a billion dollar backlog in road maintenance, and a hazard for cyclists: Toward the end of the first loop I whacked a big crevice and heard my bike make a sharp noise. A few seconds later, I noticed that my right aero bar extension was broken, just past the arm rest. I guess the extender fits onto a base pipe, though when healthy it looks like a single piece, not a long piece fit over a shorter piece and glued on. With this loose, threatening-to-fall-off extender, I didn't ride much aero the rest of the way, and certainly didn't take the downhills aggressively. (Somehow, that seemed appropriate on this day.)
As I finished the bike with a mediocre time – 1:23:49, 58/113 male racers – I was itching to get at the run. I hadn't run in 10 days while nursing this little Achilles tendon thing, and was really missing running. For the run, I had some focus. I went out strong and stayed strong. I didn't push it completely; I read somewhere recently that a rule of thumb for racing short-course triathlon is that if you don't feel like quitting, you aren't going hard enough. I didn't feel like quitting. But I ran well, turning in a 43:58 for the 10K, an Oly-distance run PR.
So that was it, my Portland Triathlon. Crappy swim, so-so bike, excellent run. Pretty much a failure. Lesson learned: Every race needs and deserves some mental prep.
BY THE WAY: Thanks to Jeff Henderson for putting this race on. I hope it survives for another year. It's a great event. Thanks, too, to Dave and his Killer Bread – a free loaf for every finisher – and the Deschutes Brewery for their great organic ale … and all the other sponsors and contributors, and the volunteers. All terrific.
My results; full race results here, just click on "Olympic" in the pulldown.
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Cone of Silence
I'm excited to see how Ryan Hall does in the marathon, which started 20 minutes ago in Beijing. But of course because I live on the West Coast, I have to wait until after it's over to watch a tape of the race (and then probably suffer through lengthy cutaways). Anyway, until then I'll be doing my best to avoid hearing any news.
UPDATE: Ha! Getting it live and uninterrupted on the amazin' Internets. Wish I understood more Italian....
I'm excited to see how Ryan Hall does in the marathon, which started 20 minutes ago in Beijing. But of course because I live on the West Coast, I have to wait until after it's over to watch a tape of the race (and then probably suffer through lengthy cutaways). Anyway, until then I'll be doing my best to avoid hearing any news.
UPDATE: Ha! Getting it live and uninterrupted on the amazin' Internets. Wish I understood more Italian....
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Phelps Perspective
As the mainstream "analysis" of the amazing Michael Phelps inevitably gets silly, the boys at Science of Sport offer perspective:
As the mainstream "analysis" of the amazing Michael Phelps inevitably gets silly, the boys at Science of Sport offer perspective:
Beware the mythological physiology
One thing that we can be sure of though, is that as sports fans we must be careful not to portray Phelps as being a physiological superman. We saw this happen with Lance Armstrong where sports pundits and even Phil Ligget and Paul Sherwin kept the myth alive by gushing about Armstrong's larger than normal heart, bigger than normal lungs, lower than normal lacate concentrations, and his remarkable weight loss after cancer. None of these characteristics were ever measured or proven, and in fact his "remarkable weight loss" was disproven in a scientific paper in which his weight was measured yearly both pre- and post-cancer, revealing that actually he weighed slightly more post-cancer.
The reality is that the usual explanations are completely unable to explain why one athlete is dominant - when you put these athletes in a lab, there is NOTHING that can be measured that proves why one athlete is superior to another. In cycling studies, for example, a Pro-Team will be measured, and the best guy is often the one with the smallest heart and lowest VO2max!
So is Michael Phelps a great athlete? Indeed. Does he train hard? Most certainly. Harder than his competitors? Perhaps, yes. Is he motivated? Maybe more than anyone else in the pool. But this speculation about how his toes are so long that they wrap around the starting blocks and give him an advantage? Or that he is double-jointed in his knees and that gives him a better dolphin kick? Or that his heart is extra large to pump blood (so are the other 7 guys', incidentally)?
Come on, people, let's keep it real here. Until those things are measured and shown to be true, let's just say he is a great athete with a strong will to win who so far has done everything right, including wearing a Speedo LZR Racer (and he has even been a bit lucky, too).
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