Today's Mystery
We do not know today whether we are busy or idle. In times when we thought ourselves indolent, we have afterwards discovered that much was accomplished and much was begun in us."
--Emerson
Friday, July 22, 2005
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
Road Trip
Niko and I are back from our southern sojourn, our jolly jaunt to San Diego County for my sister Liz's wedding . We drove 1,100 miles in just over four days, did a night-before-the-wedding party, the wedding, Legoland and I snuck in a 9-miler on foot and a 40-miler on the bike. It was all grand, even the 400 miles of I-5 that we conquered Monday evening/night. Fellow cyclists will want to know I found the ride on the excellent website of the local Sierra Club chapter and while it was never stunning or even lovely, it provided plenty-interesting exploration. It seems so obvious but it bears repeating: You see so much more on the bike than you do in the car. What stood out most starkly about this harsh and brown part of the world is how relentless, god-awful and phony the development is. I noted this as well on my long run, conducted in post-noon blazing heat up in southwestern Riverside County, in Murrieta -- everywhere you turn you find a new housing development going up with some cheesy name intended to suggest that the tract is unique from the one to the north, south, east or the west. Rancho This, That Bluff, Some Crest, Quite-A Canyon.... It all just reeks of cheap, stupid marketing. But I guess in California, you don't have to market a housing development well, do you? There are plenty of prospective buyers making the rounds in Lexuses and BMWs, not troubled at all by signs that say, "Starting in the low-800s."
Back to the ride: Mostly it was on wide roads snaking their way through the canyons, softened by grading. Bike lanes and wide shoulders everywhere -- good. Aggressive drives and lights always turning red every mile or so -- bad. I made a wrong turn that added a few miles to the trek, but no big deal. I got close enough to the ocean to enjoy the seabreeze and I went hard at the steady climb up Pomerado, well into the ride. Good stuff. Thanks to the grandparents and great-grandma for watching Niko while I played!
Niko and I are back from our southern sojourn, our jolly jaunt to San Diego County for my sister Liz's wedding . We drove 1,100 miles in just over four days, did a night-before-the-wedding party, the wedding, Legoland and I snuck in a 9-miler on foot and a 40-miler on the bike. It was all grand, even the 400 miles of I-5 that we conquered Monday evening/night. Fellow cyclists will want to know I found the ride on the excellent website of the local Sierra Club chapter and while it was never stunning or even lovely, it provided plenty-interesting exploration. It seems so obvious but it bears repeating: You see so much more on the bike than you do in the car. What stood out most starkly about this harsh and brown part of the world is how relentless, god-awful and phony the development is. I noted this as well on my long run, conducted in post-noon blazing heat up in southwestern Riverside County, in Murrieta -- everywhere you turn you find a new housing development going up with some cheesy name intended to suggest that the tract is unique from the one to the north, south, east or the west. Rancho This, That Bluff, Some Crest, Quite-A Canyon.... It all just reeks of cheap, stupid marketing. But I guess in California, you don't have to market a housing development well, do you? There are plenty of prospective buyers making the rounds in Lexuses and BMWs, not troubled at all by signs that say, "Starting in the low-800s."
Back to the ride: Mostly it was on wide roads snaking their way through the canyons, softened by grading. Bike lanes and wide shoulders everywhere -- good. Aggressive drives and lights always turning red every mile or so -- bad. I made a wrong turn that added a few miles to the trek, but no big deal. I got close enough to the ocean to enjoy the seabreeze and I went hard at the steady climb up Pomerado, well into the ride. Good stuff. Thanks to the grandparents and great-grandma for watching Niko while I played!
Monday, July 04, 2005
Making the Grade
"No breaks, no shade, no fun" -- that's what earned Oakville Grade the top spot on one man's list of the toughest Napa climbs. After tackling the hill today for the first time this year, I concur. Six-hundred and fifty feet in a mile in the afternoon sun. Man. But I made it, and continued on up to the Veeder summit. (One of the fascinating aspects of riding Mt. Veeder Road is the microclimates you pass through. I'm talking micro, tight 20- or 30-yard redwood-shrouded stretches that get no sun ever and the temperature drops 20 degrees, only to rise 30 when you pop into a perpetually sunny spot around the bend. Just one more thing you notice on the bike.)
Today's ride marked the beginning of a big week as I try to pull things together for Half Vineman on July 31. This is my fourth year in a row doing the race and I've improved my time each of the past two years. Despite the sketchy nature of this season's workouts, I have it in my head that I can take last year's 5:38:23.4 down to 5:30. Here's the recipe, with last year's times and this year's goals:
Swim…….42:58.7 / 41
T1…………4:48:6 / 4:15
Bike……2:54:58.0 / 2:52:30
T2…………3:25.7 / 3
T2……...1:52:12.2 / 1:48:15
Total…...5:38:23.4 / 5:30
Yeah, I've got myself saving a minute in the transitions. I've done no special training or practicing in order to make that happen; I just know that in the past, I've made no effort to be quick in the transitions. This year I will.
Anyway, the key to preparing myself for a good race-day effort: Getting in three rides of 50+ miles in the next two and a half weeks.
"No breaks, no shade, no fun" -- that's what earned Oakville Grade the top spot on one man's list of the toughest Napa climbs. After tackling the hill today for the first time this year, I concur. Six-hundred and fifty feet in a mile in the afternoon sun. Man. But I made it, and continued on up to the Veeder summit. (One of the fascinating aspects of riding Mt. Veeder Road is the microclimates you pass through. I'm talking micro, tight 20- or 30-yard redwood-shrouded stretches that get no sun ever and the temperature drops 20 degrees, only to rise 30 when you pop into a perpetually sunny spot around the bend. Just one more thing you notice on the bike.)
Today's ride marked the beginning of a big week as I try to pull things together for Half Vineman on July 31. This is my fourth year in a row doing the race and I've improved my time each of the past two years. Despite the sketchy nature of this season's workouts, I have it in my head that I can take last year's 5:38:23.4 down to 5:30. Here's the recipe, with last year's times and this year's goals:
Swim…….42:58.7 / 41
T1…………4:48:6 / 4:15
Bike……2:54:58.0 / 2:52:30
T2…………3:25.7 / 3
T2……...1:52:12.2 / 1:48:15
Total…...5:38:23.4 / 5:30
Yeah, I've got myself saving a minute in the transitions. I've done no special training or practicing in order to make that happen; I just know that in the past, I've made no effort to be quick in the transitions. This year I will.
Anyway, the key to preparing myself for a good race-day effort: Getting in three rides of 50+ miles in the next two and a half weeks.
Sunday, June 26, 2005
Again with the Racing
Today I raced. In subpar shape after a spring and early summer of illness, business and generally sporadic training -- a friend described the phenomenon as "barely holding onto fitness" -- I went out and did the San Jose International Triathlon (1.25K swim, 40K bike, 10K run).
It had been since Half Vineman -- mid-summer last year -- that I raced. In the interim I did run a couple of marathons but for me that's not racing; that's called surviving. This race is just a couple miles from my parents' house, the house I grew up in, so I drove down yesterday evening and slept in one of those tiny kid beds in what used to be the room I shared with my brother Phil but is now Mom's sewing room. The birds woke me ten minutes before my 5:30 alarm was to go off. Good! A few extra minutes always come in handy on race morning, to be spent (as they were this morning, for example) standing in line at the portapotty, then jogging back to the car to retrieve the forgotten goggles.
In good time, there I was, in my wetsuit and my maroon swimming cap (marking me a male, 40-44), standing in a couple of inches of fetid Lake Almaden waters, waiting with my fellow tri tribe as the waves of age groups set off, separated by four minutes and practically catapulted forward by a booming cannon shot.
It occurred to me that I wasn't nervous. I wondered if this was a change from previous races, but -- customarily, not trusting my memory -- I couldn't be certain. I was dreading the swim, but that's par for the course. Mostly I was enjoying the scene and the scenery (lots of fit girls, people chattering about all the ailments that have held them back, that kind of thing), and speculating, to myself, about how I'd do. My thought: it wouldn’t be a bad showing if I finished 10 minutes slower than last year's 2:36, with most of the lost time coming on the bike.
We maroon caps finally got going and the swim in Lake Almaden featured many familiar elements -- thick green unappetizing water, guys swimming up your back, guys weaving back and forth in front of you and kicking you in the head (or, just as likely, me weaving and crashing into feet) and of course the indignity of the next group's leaders catching and leaving you in their wake. Despite all that, my level of distress remained low and I actually began to believe I was moving along OK. Not quickly, mind you, but better than usual. And sure enough, my time out of the water was 27 minutes, 23.3 seconds -- pretty awful, but about 90 seconds speedier than last year and 85th out of 134 in my age group. That's far and away my best swimming placement ever. Of course, I didn't know any of these facts at the time; it just seemed pretty good.
On the bike, we headed out of the park and turned south/southwest almost immediately, embarking on a flat, straight 13-mile stretch that would make up just over half the entire course. The marine intrusion was still howling up the valley and we were slogging right into it. Tough going, especially after we crested a little hill that takes you out of San Jose's development and into the farmlands between the city and Morgan Hill. I was down to 14.5 mph at a couple of points, and it was a bit discouraging. For awhile there, I thought I was looking at a horrid 1:30 ride, way off my 1:13 of last year. But of course, we enjoyed the benefits of this wind returning to the start/finish area on rolling McKean Road, just to the west over the first ridge of the Santa Teresa Hills (which front the Santa Cruz Mountains). Even with the wind pushing me along I worked hard, often cruising at 25, 26 mph, and I brought it in at 1:17:43.2 -- just four minutes off 2004. Not as bad as I feared -- but not nearly what it should be, ranking 100th in the age group.
Finally the run. I nearly matched my time from last year, finishing just seven seconds slower in 46:01.7, 34th best in the age group. And really, what was cool was that it felt, well, easy. I kept up a nice even pace (every mile was between 7:20 and 7:35) and was in control, just cruising.
So: swim not an embarrassment; sucky bike; great run. Add it up and you get an official time of 2 hours, 39 minutes and 0.1 seconds, 76th in the age group and 473rd out of 1100 finishers. Mediocre and, as always, utterly exhilarating.
Today I raced. In subpar shape after a spring and early summer of illness, business and generally sporadic training -- a friend described the phenomenon as "barely holding onto fitness" -- I went out and did the San Jose International Triathlon (1.25K swim, 40K bike, 10K run).
It had been since Half Vineman -- mid-summer last year -- that I raced. In the interim I did run a couple of marathons but for me that's not racing; that's called surviving. This race is just a couple miles from my parents' house, the house I grew up in, so I drove down yesterday evening and slept in one of those tiny kid beds in what used to be the room I shared with my brother Phil but is now Mom's sewing room. The birds woke me ten minutes before my 5:30 alarm was to go off. Good! A few extra minutes always come in handy on race morning, to be spent (as they were this morning, for example) standing in line at the portapotty, then jogging back to the car to retrieve the forgotten goggles.
In good time, there I was, in my wetsuit and my maroon swimming cap (marking me a male, 40-44), standing in a couple of inches of fetid Lake Almaden waters, waiting with my fellow tri tribe as the waves of age groups set off, separated by four minutes and practically catapulted forward by a booming cannon shot.
It occurred to me that I wasn't nervous. I wondered if this was a change from previous races, but -- customarily, not trusting my memory -- I couldn't be certain. I was dreading the swim, but that's par for the course. Mostly I was enjoying the scene and the scenery (lots of fit girls, people chattering about all the ailments that have held them back, that kind of thing), and speculating, to myself, about how I'd do. My thought: it wouldn’t be a bad showing if I finished 10 minutes slower than last year's 2:36, with most of the lost time coming on the bike.
We maroon caps finally got going and the swim in Lake Almaden featured many familiar elements -- thick green unappetizing water, guys swimming up your back, guys weaving back and forth in front of you and kicking you in the head (or, just as likely, me weaving and crashing into feet) and of course the indignity of the next group's leaders catching and leaving you in their wake. Despite all that, my level of distress remained low and I actually began to believe I was moving along OK. Not quickly, mind you, but better than usual. And sure enough, my time out of the water was 27 minutes, 23.3 seconds -- pretty awful, but about 90 seconds speedier than last year and 85th out of 134 in my age group. That's far and away my best swimming placement ever. Of course, I didn't know any of these facts at the time; it just seemed pretty good.
On the bike, we headed out of the park and turned south/southwest almost immediately, embarking on a flat, straight 13-mile stretch that would make up just over half the entire course. The marine intrusion was still howling up the valley and we were slogging right into it. Tough going, especially after we crested a little hill that takes you out of San Jose's development and into the farmlands between the city and Morgan Hill. I was down to 14.5 mph at a couple of points, and it was a bit discouraging. For awhile there, I thought I was looking at a horrid 1:30 ride, way off my 1:13 of last year. But of course, we enjoyed the benefits of this wind returning to the start/finish area on rolling McKean Road, just to the west over the first ridge of the Santa Teresa Hills (which front the Santa Cruz Mountains). Even with the wind pushing me along I worked hard, often cruising at 25, 26 mph, and I brought it in at 1:17:43.2 -- just four minutes off 2004. Not as bad as I feared -- but not nearly what it should be, ranking 100th in the age group.
Finally the run. I nearly matched my time from last year, finishing just seven seconds slower in 46:01.7, 34th best in the age group. And really, what was cool was that it felt, well, easy. I kept up a nice even pace (every mile was between 7:20 and 7:35) and was in control, just cruising.
So: swim not an embarrassment; sucky bike; great run. Add it up and you get an official time of 2 hours, 39 minutes and 0.1 seconds, 76th in the age group and 473rd out of 1100 finishers. Mediocre and, as always, utterly exhilarating.
Monday, June 20, 2005
Rilke. Always Rilke.
Once the realization is accepted that even between the closest people infinite distances exist, a marvelous living side-by-side can grow up for them if they succeed in loving the expanse between them, which gives them the possibility of always seeing each other as a whole and before an immense sky.
Once the realization is accepted that even between the closest people infinite distances exist, a marvelous living side-by-side can grow up for them if they succeed in loving the expanse between them, which gives them the possibility of always seeing each other as a whole and before an immense sky.
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
No vino
Did I mention I haven't been drinking wine the last few weeks? Oh, that's right -- I haven't mentioned anything! Blogger vacation. Recharding the batteries. Flaking. Just not into it. Well, anyway, yeah, it's been 17 days since I imbibed. Persistent sinus and throat problems were the impetus. More soon on this topic, as it is multifaceted. (Just wanted to get something posted to inspire me to get back in the flow here.)
Did I mention I haven't been drinking wine the last few weeks? Oh, that's right -- I haven't mentioned anything! Blogger vacation. Recharding the batteries. Flaking. Just not into it. Well, anyway, yeah, it's been 17 days since I imbibed. Persistent sinus and throat problems were the impetus. More soon on this topic, as it is multifaceted. (Just wanted to get something posted to inspire me to get back in the flow here.)
Tuesday, March 15, 2005
Plastics
Or was it "plastic"? I could look it up, but why don't you and let me know. Thanks.
Anyway, what brings this classic line from The Graduate to mind is an encounter I had with an older guy at the Paterno Wines Tasting Room Tent at Indian Wells Garden Tennis Center (whew). When I mentioned that I lived in Napa and that it was growing with the flood-control project making development more attractive, he leaned close and whispered: "Buy. Buy real estate. Bust your balls if that's what it takes. But buy real estate. Do it, Pete. This is your chance. This is OK, doing this wine thing. But if you're ever going to get ahead, buy. Buy. Whatever it takes. Buy."
And you know, he's probabably right, this retiree from West LA who has settled in Sun City to live out his golden years with his bride of 40+ years under the desert sun. Or at least, isn't this the lesson any sane Californian would have learned from history?
Or was it "plastic"? I could look it up, but why don't you and let me know. Thanks.
Anyway, what brings this classic line from The Graduate to mind is an encounter I had with an older guy at the Paterno Wines Tasting Room Tent at Indian Wells Garden Tennis Center (whew). When I mentioned that I lived in Napa and that it was growing with the flood-control project making development more attractive, he leaned close and whispered: "Buy. Buy real estate. Bust your balls if that's what it takes. But buy real estate. Do it, Pete. This is your chance. This is OK, doing this wine thing. But if you're ever going to get ahead, buy. Buy. Whatever it takes. Buy."
And you know, he's probabably right, this retiree from West LA who has settled in Sun City to live out his golden years with his bride of 40+ years under the desert sun. Or at least, isn't this the lesson any sane Californian would have learned from history?
Saturday, March 12, 2005
On the Road Again
If there is one definitive statement that could be made about the past five months of my life, it is that I have not been riding my bicycle. No-no-no -- the 45 minutes here or the hour there on the trainer in front of the television don't count. That is exercising. That is working out. That isn't riding the bicycle.
So today my friend Dan generously came up to Napa for the second time in a week and we went for a ride. We made our way through town onto the Silverado Trail, headed up the valley to Rutherford, sliced across the valley at Conn Creek, turned south on 29, did that pretty little jaunt on Yountville Mill, then cruised home down Solano (the 29 frontage road) and California.
A couple of quick observations on this 2-hour, 35-mile expedition:
1) It wasn't that hard. Riding with Dan took my mind off the work, so that helped.
2) Dan pulled my ass quite a bit. That helped too.
Seven weeks until Wildflower.
If there is one definitive statement that could be made about the past five months of my life, it is that I have not been riding my bicycle. No-no-no -- the 45 minutes here or the hour there on the trainer in front of the television don't count. That is exercising. That is working out. That isn't riding the bicycle.
So today my friend Dan generously came up to Napa for the second time in a week and we went for a ride. We made our way through town onto the Silverado Trail, headed up the valley to Rutherford, sliced across the valley at Conn Creek, turned south on 29, did that pretty little jaunt on Yountville Mill, then cruised home down Solano (the 29 frontage road) and California.
A couple of quick observations on this 2-hour, 35-mile expedition:
1) It wasn't that hard. Riding with Dan took my mind off the work, so that helped.
2) Dan pulled my ass quite a bit. That helped too.
Seven weeks until Wildflower.
Monday, March 07, 2005
Napa Valley Marathon
The day after the marathon -- that's pay day. You get to eat anything you want and do nothing meaningful. Guilt-free.
Half a bag of Terra chips? Hell, I ran an f-ing marathon yesterday, get off my case. Back-to-back Rachel Ray's? Hey, 26.2 miles is a very long way; I earned this.
The only problem is personal locomotion. Up and down stairs especially. But that's all right. Once you've got the snack foods and yourself into position in front of the television, there's no reason to move much.
Special thanks to Dan and Kate for entertaining Niko while I burned Asics rubber on the Silverado Trail. You think three hours and 41 minutes of running is tough? Try taking care of a too-smart-for-his-own-good 5-year-old for SIX hours!
And truth be told, the run was a blast. Weather was spectacular, cool with patchy fog to start, then brilliant, not-too-hot sunshine. A couple of months of off-and-on-but-mostly-on illness left me in tough straits the last three miles. It had been nearly two months since I did a long run, and even that was a mere 16-miler. My muscles and joints simply weren't ready for the stress of 26.2. At Mile 23, my hips, thighs and knees were ablaze, ready to seize up completely. But as Krukow would say, by then this big hoss could smell the barn.
Now some splits for the amusement of the 22nd century history graduate student working on the dissertation, "Rise and Fall of the Weekend Warrior: Athletics And the Early 21st Century White American Male."
Miles 1-4………..33:11 (8:18/M)
Miles 5-8………..32:53 (8:13/M)
Miles 9-12………33:10 (8:18/M)
Miles 12-16……..33:30 (8:23/M)
Miles 16-20……..34:03 (8:31/M)
And the last 10K..54:11 (8:44/M)
Final word on marathons and other acts of personal courage and commitment comes from the aforementioned Niko. After Dan had explained to him that marathons are very hard to do, Niko replied: "I try to avoid doing hard things."
The day after the marathon -- that's pay day. You get to eat anything you want and do nothing meaningful. Guilt-free.
Half a bag of Terra chips? Hell, I ran an f-ing marathon yesterday, get off my case. Back-to-back Rachel Ray's? Hey, 26.2 miles is a very long way; I earned this.
The only problem is personal locomotion. Up and down stairs especially. But that's all right. Once you've got the snack foods and yourself into position in front of the television, there's no reason to move much.
Special thanks to Dan and Kate for entertaining Niko while I burned Asics rubber on the Silverado Trail. You think three hours and 41 minutes of running is tough? Try taking care of a too-smart-for-his-own-good 5-year-old for SIX hours!
And truth be told, the run was a blast. Weather was spectacular, cool with patchy fog to start, then brilliant, not-too-hot sunshine. A couple of months of off-and-on-but-mostly-on illness left me in tough straits the last three miles. It had been nearly two months since I did a long run, and even that was a mere 16-miler. My muscles and joints simply weren't ready for the stress of 26.2. At Mile 23, my hips, thighs and knees were ablaze, ready to seize up completely. But as Krukow would say, by then this big hoss could smell the barn.
Now some splits for the amusement of the 22nd century history graduate student working on the dissertation, "Rise and Fall of the Weekend Warrior: Athletics And the Early 21st Century White American Male."
Miles 1-4………..33:11 (8:18/M)
Miles 5-8………..32:53 (8:13/M)
Miles 9-12………33:10 (8:18/M)
Miles 12-16……..33:30 (8:23/M)
Miles 16-20……..34:03 (8:31/M)
And the last 10K..54:11 (8:44/M)
Final word on marathons and other acts of personal courage and commitment comes from the aforementioned Niko. After Dan had explained to him that marathons are very hard to do, Niko replied: "I try to avoid doing hard things."
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