Barry
Been thinking a lot about the Barry-steroids story. I have opinions on the matter but haven't been sure what to write, as those opinions are sprawling and probably not very interesting. So I'll just share the initial emotion the story stirred in me, which I quickly typed up in an email to my friend Dan:
I'll never forget 1993 ('93, right?) when I went on a weekend solo mountain biking/camping venture in the mountains of Modoc County and, with a little transistor radio in my tent, listened to Barry hit three* homers at Dodger Stadium on the third-to-last day of the season to keep the Giants alive for one more day. Alone in the wilderness, I hollered and cheered until I cried. That was Friday. Saturday, another Giants win. Still alive. On Sunday, a victory from a playoff, the Solomon Torres debacle. Oh well.
Juiced Barry now strikes me as grotesque and unnatural and I miss the Barry of old. He was slender and powerful and fast. He fucked up in the playoffs. He made amazing catches in the field. That was when I could still remember in a visceral way what it was like to get in a groove for a few weeks and hit nothing but liners, shots, to all fields.
That was when: I had been married only once and never divorced. Writing wasn't something I used to do, gone forever. On my mountain bike, I went up and down terrain I now can't imagine even trying to ride.
It was never easy loving Barry, but it could be done. The concessions one had to make were not dishonorable. He was brilliant and not-perfect. Life sort of felt that way. I'm not saying I was innocent, but I didn't know, then, how cold abandonment could be.
I wish Barry could have known that it was all enough. People always think there's something wrong. They wreck things in pursuit of -- what? I still don't know. All I know is they wreck things. People always wreck things and hurt people. And then all they wish for is the one thing that's impossible, that they could turn back the clock.
*Just double-checked this memory, and found it to be faulty: Barry had two homers and a double that night, going 3-for-3 and knocking in 7 runs.
Friday, March 10, 2006
Thursday, March 09, 2006
Sunday, March 05, 2006
Marathon No. 4
I'd guess about a third of an inch of rain fell on me during the 3 hours, 52 minutes and 30 or so seconds I was running the Napa Valley Marathon this morning. Not that bad, you're thinking. Third of an inch. Hardly Katrina. And yet, heading into a steady wind of 5-15 mph, with gusts over 20, it didn't take long to become wet through the nylon jacket and the cycling jersey that was under it. Wet through the skin, too. Wet to the bone, as they say.
Wet, windy -- with the temperatures in the 40s, well, yeah, it was cold. Pretty miserable, really.
The kind of cool thing was, faced with these elemental impediments, I went out easy and that was good. I ran the first 12 miles with a colleague and friend, Laura from Chicago. She endured well my constant chatter (she didn't punch me, that's how I know), and we cruised along at an 8:45/mile pace. Then Laura had to take a toilet break. She convinced me that it might be awhile, so I soldiered on. Running alone and nearing the halfway mark, I noted that I didn't feel all that spent. Nothing like Sacramento in December, when I was pushing hard to stay on an 8 minute/mile pace. To be sure, there was the usual plate of delicious delights to feast upon: tightening quads, aching knees, throbbing hip, the beginnings of blisters.... But I felt well-fed and -hydrated, munching jelly beans and gels, sipping something at the aid stations every two miles. There was never the hint of a suggestion of a notion that anything was amiss with my tummy or the places farther along the digestive/excretory tract. Unprecedented.
So I kept up the pace. Even as the quads sang out in pain I kept up the pace. Even as the wind battered us on the uphill around Mile 20, I kept up the pace. Once over that hill, I knew I would be all right. My muscles didn't like the cold, but the rest of my body seemed to be accustomed to it by then. It seemed manageable. A couple of times I began to slide over 9 minutes/mile, but then I'd find a faster runner to pull me back under.
Turning off Silverado Trail, finally, near the Mile 23 mark gave me a psychological boost. Then onto Big Ranch for Miles 24 and 25. That seemed to go on too far. Then a turn, and a turn, and around one more turn, the finish chute. Finishers metal, space blanket, warm soup, all good.
[Thanks to Laura's hubby, Steve, for the ride to the start line, so I didn't have to do the gruesome predawn bus thing. And thanks to Max for driving my car from her house to the finish, so I could head directly home from there. Lastly, congrats to Laura, for gutting it out.]
UPDATE: Official time was 3:52:43, placing me 387th out of 1,438 finishers.
I'd guess about a third of an inch of rain fell on me during the 3 hours, 52 minutes and 30 or so seconds I was running the Napa Valley Marathon this morning. Not that bad, you're thinking. Third of an inch. Hardly Katrina. And yet, heading into a steady wind of 5-15 mph, with gusts over 20, it didn't take long to become wet through the nylon jacket and the cycling jersey that was under it. Wet through the skin, too. Wet to the bone, as they say.
Wet, windy -- with the temperatures in the 40s, well, yeah, it was cold. Pretty miserable, really.
The kind of cool thing was, faced with these elemental impediments, I went out easy and that was good. I ran the first 12 miles with a colleague and friend, Laura from Chicago. She endured well my constant chatter (she didn't punch me, that's how I know), and we cruised along at an 8:45/mile pace. Then Laura had to take a toilet break. She convinced me that it might be awhile, so I soldiered on. Running alone and nearing the halfway mark, I noted that I didn't feel all that spent. Nothing like Sacramento in December, when I was pushing hard to stay on an 8 minute/mile pace. To be sure, there was the usual plate of delicious delights to feast upon: tightening quads, aching knees, throbbing hip, the beginnings of blisters.... But I felt well-fed and -hydrated, munching jelly beans and gels, sipping something at the aid stations every two miles. There was never the hint of a suggestion of a notion that anything was amiss with my tummy or the places farther along the digestive/excretory tract. Unprecedented.
So I kept up the pace. Even as the quads sang out in pain I kept up the pace. Even as the wind battered us on the uphill around Mile 20, I kept up the pace. Once over that hill, I knew I would be all right. My muscles didn't like the cold, but the rest of my body seemed to be accustomed to it by then. It seemed manageable. A couple of times I began to slide over 9 minutes/mile, but then I'd find a faster runner to pull me back under.
Turning off Silverado Trail, finally, near the Mile 23 mark gave me a psychological boost. Then onto Big Ranch for Miles 24 and 25. That seemed to go on too far. Then a turn, and a turn, and around one more turn, the finish chute. Finishers metal, space blanket, warm soup, all good.
[Thanks to Laura's hubby, Steve, for the ride to the start line, so I didn't have to do the gruesome predawn bus thing. And thanks to Max for driving my car from her house to the finish, so I could head directly home from there. Lastly, congrats to Laura, for gutting it out.]
UPDATE: Official time was 3:52:43, placing me 387th out of 1,438 finishers.
Saturday, March 04, 2006
Sunday, February 12, 2006
Triathlon Update
Thanks to Dan, I got on my bike yesterday. He offered to come up to Napa from Berkeley for a ride, and I couldn't refuse. This was my first time on the bike since New Year's Day (yeah, that was with Dan, too). We went up Mount Veeder and down Dry Creek. I forget the distance; maybe 30 miles, with a couple thousand feet of climbing. It was great, as riding always is. Afterward, I declared it the beginning of my triathlon season. I'd been swimming and running, but it ain't triathlon without riding. From now on, I'm getting in at least a few rides every week. But, uh, no ride tomorrow. Tomorrow I'll do my last long run before the Napa Valley Marathon. Eighteen miles.
Thanks to Dan, I got on my bike yesterday. He offered to come up to Napa from Berkeley for a ride, and I couldn't refuse. This was my first time on the bike since New Year's Day (yeah, that was with Dan, too). We went up Mount Veeder and down Dry Creek. I forget the distance; maybe 30 miles, with a couple thousand feet of climbing. It was great, as riding always is. Afterward, I declared it the beginning of my triathlon season. I'd been swimming and running, but it ain't triathlon without riding. From now on, I'm getting in at least a few rides every week. But, uh, no ride tomorrow. Tomorrow I'll do my last long run before the Napa Valley Marathon. Eighteen miles.
Saturday, February 04, 2006
On and Off the Road
Back from my Sacto-Houston-Miami-Dallas-Houston-Sacto trip, pimping Sokol Blosser to south Florida and Texas, two huge wine markets. Snuck in two short runs in Miami -- actually, Hollywood, Fla., a beachtown north of Miami, near Fort Lauderdale. I liked the slightly rundown old two- and three-story pastel-colored art-deco-tinged hotels along the beach in Hollywood. Steelers placards in many windows and old folks walking along the promenade in the morning. We also ventured farther up 95 into Palm Beach county. Yawn.
Houston: Why do cities choose 14 slight variations on a theme for street names? Atlanta has its Peachtrees. In Houston, it's Post Oaks. We were lost and said we were on Post Oak and the concierge at the hotel we were trying to find asked which Post Oak.
Dallas: Dallas has neighborhoods with homes that people live in, and restaurants nearby with outdoor seating, and lots of people in them, and it has Central Market, my God, makes Whole Foods look like a Safeway. Dallas is not all bad.
Home to Napa late Friday, I snuck in a swim just to loosen the joints. This morning, I was on the road putting in a 15-miler in two hours. Napa couldn't have been more gorgeous, all fresh and clean and sunny after early morning showers.
Napa Valley Marathon is four weeks from tomorrow. As usual, I wish I had another two or three weeks to work in a long run. It will always be thus.
Back from my Sacto-Houston-Miami-Dallas-Houston-Sacto trip, pimping Sokol Blosser to south Florida and Texas, two huge wine markets. Snuck in two short runs in Miami -- actually, Hollywood, Fla., a beachtown north of Miami, near Fort Lauderdale. I liked the slightly rundown old two- and three-story pastel-colored art-deco-tinged hotels along the beach in Hollywood. Steelers placards in many windows and old folks walking along the promenade in the morning. We also ventured farther up 95 into Palm Beach county. Yawn.
Houston: Why do cities choose 14 slight variations on a theme for street names? Atlanta has its Peachtrees. In Houston, it's Post Oaks. We were lost and said we were on Post Oak and the concierge at the hotel we were trying to find asked which Post Oak.
Dallas: Dallas has neighborhoods with homes that people live in, and restaurants nearby with outdoor seating, and lots of people in them, and it has Central Market, my God, makes Whole Foods look like a Safeway. Dallas is not all bad.
Home to Napa late Friday, I snuck in a swim just to loosen the joints. This morning, I was on the road putting in a 15-miler in two hours. Napa couldn't have been more gorgeous, all fresh and clean and sunny after early morning showers.
Napa Valley Marathon is four weeks from tomorrow. As usual, I wish I had another two or three weeks to work in a long run. It will always be thus.
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
Another in a Series of Simplistic Tales of Moral Illumination
You step into the world out there, and you don't know what you'll come across.
Tuesday night was rainy and cold. I was on my run after work, contemplating how much I had in me after a hard swim earlier in the day. I like running in the rain, but not at night when it's cold. Six, seven miles. That would be enough.
I was headed down a dead-end street that has houses on only one side, leaving it darker and a little spookier than the norm. It was part of the regular route. I knew all the distances and could adjust the run to fit the workout.
Up ahead, I noted a flash of fabric move in some bushes along the boulevard. A car was parked on the street in the way, so I didn't get a great view. I didn't think much of it. As I passed by, I glanced again and thought it was just a blanket thrown aside; just something billowing in the breeze. But then I heard a moan and a call, a weak, pathetic, "Hey." And a woman suddenly came down from the doorway of the next house.
"She fell down and can't get up," the woman said, pointing back at an elderly lady on her behind in some bushes off the sidewalk. A walker was tipped over beside her. She held an umbrella against the rain -- that was the fabric I'd seen. "There's no one home next door. Can you help?"
The fallen woman was Myrna. She was large, in a puffy sort of way. She was embarrassed and wet. She just wanted to get up and into her house so she could stop causing trouble for people. Myrna's friend had come over to take her to dinner, but a few steps shy of the car, Myrna had tumbled. "I'll pull you up," I said. "I can't get up," Myrna replied, almost defiantly.
I stood in front of her, above her, and put my feet against her feet to give her some stability. I grabbed each hand to pull her up. She almost did it. She was like a weightlifter who gets the bar up to his neck while in his squat, but just can't get out of the squat. Myrna didn't have the strength to straighten her legs out. She moaned, back down on the ground. "Oh, it hurts," she said. "Where? What hurts?" Everything, she said.
Now I was a bit afraid of doing this all by myself. What if I did get her up? Could it be dangerous to move her? And, OK, what if I get her back into her house? Do I just leave her there? What if she's got some more serious injury or problem? I imagined getting a knock on the door the next day from the cops, asking if I was the one who left Myrna to die alone in her house.
"I think we need to call for help," I said.
Myrna was not keen on this idea. Vaguely so. I said I didn't think there was a choice. Myrna moaned. "They were already out here today. She fell in the house," the friend said.
"They don't want to come back," Myrna said.
I told her they were paid to help people in her situation. "It makes their day helping beautiful ladies like you," I said. "Let's call 911."
That's when they told me about the little gizmo around Myrna's neck that signals an emergency.
"All I have to do is click this," she said.
Meanwhile, I was soaked. I didn't care, but I noted the irony: I had hurried to get my run started in the hope of avoiding the worst of the rain that was just moving into the area.
So Myrna clicked to signal the emergency and get the crews on their way, and told me to go in her house to stay dry. I told her nonsense. We chatted, me standing over her with the umbrella, she plopped down on the walk (I had gotten her out of the bushes). Around us, the street lights illuminated the rain into orange speckled drifts. A car or two went by.
"I can't do nothing," Myrna said. "My back is gone and my legs are gone."
Ten minutes later, a Napa Fire Department paramedic engine arrived, followed soon by an ambulance. Myrna was brought upright and asked lots of questions. The determination was made to take her back into her house. I told Myrna I hoped she'd be OK. She said, "Sorry for doing this to you. Thank you."
I was on my way and so was Myrna's friend. As I ran in the rain, happy to be able to, I wondered what the evening would hold for Myrna, alone -- and the day after?
We think it's a cliché that each new day is an opportunity. We sometimes convince ourselves that it's a burden, to have to wake up and face the job, the struggles the come with relationships, the boring routine, or loneliness or allergies or whatever. We tire. And then comes Myrna on the street, like out of a Mitch Albom novel. Seismic perspective shift, baby! You can run. You are strong. You can chase your kid on a bike.
You, truly, can chase any dream you want to. You can.
Well. This we've told ourself before, no? This psuedo-wisdom that has made ol' Mitch and even less clever authors across the fruited plain millions. This piercing Hallmark-worthy insight. Today is the first day of the rest of your life. Ugh!
The key of course is actually living it, if not every moment of every day, then darn near that. The key is acting upon the knowledge that the seconds are ticking away, that time is counting down until its you or me on that sidewalk, wishing we weren't a burden.
You step into the world out there, and you don't know what you'll come across.
Tuesday night was rainy and cold. I was on my run after work, contemplating how much I had in me after a hard swim earlier in the day. I like running in the rain, but not at night when it's cold. Six, seven miles. That would be enough.
I was headed down a dead-end street that has houses on only one side, leaving it darker and a little spookier than the norm. It was part of the regular route. I knew all the distances and could adjust the run to fit the workout.
Up ahead, I noted a flash of fabric move in some bushes along the boulevard. A car was parked on the street in the way, so I didn't get a great view. I didn't think much of it. As I passed by, I glanced again and thought it was just a blanket thrown aside; just something billowing in the breeze. But then I heard a moan and a call, a weak, pathetic, "Hey." And a woman suddenly came down from the doorway of the next house.
"She fell down and can't get up," the woman said, pointing back at an elderly lady on her behind in some bushes off the sidewalk. A walker was tipped over beside her. She held an umbrella against the rain -- that was the fabric I'd seen. "There's no one home next door. Can you help?"
The fallen woman was Myrna. She was large, in a puffy sort of way. She was embarrassed and wet. She just wanted to get up and into her house so she could stop causing trouble for people. Myrna's friend had come over to take her to dinner, but a few steps shy of the car, Myrna had tumbled. "I'll pull you up," I said. "I can't get up," Myrna replied, almost defiantly.
I stood in front of her, above her, and put my feet against her feet to give her some stability. I grabbed each hand to pull her up. She almost did it. She was like a weightlifter who gets the bar up to his neck while in his squat, but just can't get out of the squat. Myrna didn't have the strength to straighten her legs out. She moaned, back down on the ground. "Oh, it hurts," she said. "Where? What hurts?" Everything, she said.
Now I was a bit afraid of doing this all by myself. What if I did get her up? Could it be dangerous to move her? And, OK, what if I get her back into her house? Do I just leave her there? What if she's got some more serious injury or problem? I imagined getting a knock on the door the next day from the cops, asking if I was the one who left Myrna to die alone in her house.
"I think we need to call for help," I said.
Myrna was not keen on this idea. Vaguely so. I said I didn't think there was a choice. Myrna moaned. "They were already out here today. She fell in the house," the friend said.
"They don't want to come back," Myrna said.
I told her they were paid to help people in her situation. "It makes their day helping beautiful ladies like you," I said. "Let's call 911."
That's when they told me about the little gizmo around Myrna's neck that signals an emergency.
"All I have to do is click this," she said.
Meanwhile, I was soaked. I didn't care, but I noted the irony: I had hurried to get my run started in the hope of avoiding the worst of the rain that was just moving into the area.
So Myrna clicked to signal the emergency and get the crews on their way, and told me to go in her house to stay dry. I told her nonsense. We chatted, me standing over her with the umbrella, she plopped down on the walk (I had gotten her out of the bushes). Around us, the street lights illuminated the rain into orange speckled drifts. A car or two went by.
"I can't do nothing," Myrna said. "My back is gone and my legs are gone."
Ten minutes later, a Napa Fire Department paramedic engine arrived, followed soon by an ambulance. Myrna was brought upright and asked lots of questions. The determination was made to take her back into her house. I told Myrna I hoped she'd be OK. She said, "Sorry for doing this to you. Thank you."
I was on my way and so was Myrna's friend. As I ran in the rain, happy to be able to, I wondered what the evening would hold for Myrna, alone -- and the day after?
We think it's a cliché that each new day is an opportunity. We sometimes convince ourselves that it's a burden, to have to wake up and face the job, the struggles the come with relationships, the boring routine, or loneliness or allergies or whatever. We tire. And then comes Myrna on the street, like out of a Mitch Albom novel. Seismic perspective shift, baby! You can run. You are strong. You can chase your kid on a bike.
You, truly, can chase any dream you want to. You can.
Well. This we've told ourself before, no? This psuedo-wisdom that has made ol' Mitch and even less clever authors across the fruited plain millions. This piercing Hallmark-worthy insight. Today is the first day of the rest of your life. Ugh!
The key of course is actually living it, if not every moment of every day, then darn near that. The key is acting upon the knowledge that the seconds are ticking away, that time is counting down until its you or me on that sidewalk, wishing we weren't a burden.
Thursday, January 12, 2006
Talk Technical to Me
Dan's reference to Chicago weather, in a comment below, led me to check the temperature in Chicago (56F at O'Hare, midday), which led me to notice that the National Weather Service site for the region includes links to "technical" and "non-technical" discussions. See if you can identify which is which:
Sample 1
...THIS AFTERNOON, WE CAN EXPECT VERY MILD AND PLEASANT CONDITIONS, WITH WELL ABOVE NORMAL TEMPERATURES. A SYSTEM DEVELOPING OVER THE ROCKIES AND MOVING EAST INTO THE PLAINS TODAY, IS PUSHING UNUSUALLY MILD AIR NORTHEASTWARD ACROSS THE MISSISSIPPI VALLEY AND INTO THE GREAT LAKES REGION. AS THIS STORM SYSTEM CONTINUES EASTWARD TO THE MISSISSIPPI VALLEY OVERNIGHT, IT WILL BRING A CHANCE OF RAIN, WITH THE RAIN CHANGING TO SNOW, TO OUR REGION FRIDAY. ALSO ON FRIDAY, COLDER AIR WILL RETURN AS WINDS TURN FROM SOUTHWEST TO NORTHWEST.
Sample 2
MODELS CONT TO ADVERTISE MORE AMPLIFIED BUT PROGRESSIVE PATTERN ACROSS NOAM FOR OVR NEXT 7 DAYS. THIS MORE WAVY PATTERN RESULTS IN LARGER TEMP SWINGS DURG THE PD AS FLO BACKS THEN VEERS WITH EACH UPR TROF APPREACH AND PASSAGE.
Dan's reference to Chicago weather, in a comment below, led me to check the temperature in Chicago (56F at O'Hare, midday), which led me to notice that the National Weather Service site for the region includes links to "technical" and "non-technical" discussions. See if you can identify which is which:
Sample 1
...THIS AFTERNOON, WE CAN EXPECT VERY MILD AND PLEASANT CONDITIONS, WITH WELL ABOVE NORMAL TEMPERATURES. A SYSTEM DEVELOPING OVER THE ROCKIES AND MOVING EAST INTO THE PLAINS TODAY, IS PUSHING UNUSUALLY MILD AIR NORTHEASTWARD ACROSS THE MISSISSIPPI VALLEY AND INTO THE GREAT LAKES REGION. AS THIS STORM SYSTEM CONTINUES EASTWARD TO THE MISSISSIPPI VALLEY OVERNIGHT, IT WILL BRING A CHANCE OF RAIN, WITH THE RAIN CHANGING TO SNOW, TO OUR REGION FRIDAY. ALSO ON FRIDAY, COLDER AIR WILL RETURN AS WINDS TURN FROM SOUTHWEST TO NORTHWEST.
Sample 2
MODELS CONT TO ADVERTISE MORE AMPLIFIED BUT PROGRESSIVE PATTERN ACROSS NOAM FOR OVR NEXT 7 DAYS. THIS MORE WAVY PATTERN RESULTS IN LARGER TEMP SWINGS DURG THE PD AS FLO BACKS THEN VEERS WITH EACH UPR TROF APPREACH AND PASSAGE.
Not at Home on this Range
In order to have a range, you must have two points. Something like, say, $10, is not a range. It is a single point. Now, $9-$11 (read as "$9 to $11"), there's space between $9 and $11. That space -- that's a range. If you don't want to conjure an actual range and just want to say, "around $10," then fine, say, "around $10." But don't call $10 a range. At least around me.
In order to have a range, you must have two points. Something like, say, $10, is not a range. It is a single point. Now, $9-$11 (read as "$9 to $11"), there's space between $9 and $11. That space -- that's a range. If you don't want to conjure an actual range and just want to say, "around $10," then fine, say, "around $10." But don't call $10 a range. At least around me.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Weather Trivia
Well, yeah, in some circles all discussion of weather is trivial. Nevertheless.... The KPIX weather chick has a daily item on the Chronicle's weather page. Usually it's nothing notable, but the other day she said that there's never been a temperature of 100 degrees or greater recorded in the United States in December or January. I would not have guessed this. And though this claim was made by a professional TV weather chick and published in a big-city daily newspaper, I must say, I remain skeptical.
Update: Immediately after making this post, I Googled the issue. Took about five minutes to find contradiction to the 100-degree assertion:
According to Information Please: The highest temperature ever recorded for the month of December occurred on December 8, 1938, in La Mesa, Calif. (elevation 539 ft), where the temperature reached 100°F.
Well, yeah, in some circles all discussion of weather is trivial. Nevertheless.... The KPIX weather chick has a daily item on the Chronicle's weather page. Usually it's nothing notable, but the other day she said that there's never been a temperature of 100 degrees or greater recorded in the United States in December or January. I would not have guessed this. And though this claim was made by a professional TV weather chick and published in a big-city daily newspaper, I must say, I remain skeptical.
Update: Immediately after making this post, I Googled the issue. Took about five minutes to find contradiction to the 100-degree assertion:
According to Information Please: The highest temperature ever recorded for the month of December occurred on December 8, 1938, in La Mesa, Calif. (elevation 539 ft), where the temperature reached 100°F.
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