Daily Rant
Son of a bitch, it happened again.
Here I am in Paris, City of Lights. Not far away from the Gare de Lyon train station. My hotel is the Hotel Lyon Bastille, which is one of the nicer places you can get in Paris for around 100 euros a night (technically, it's still a dump, but a well run dump with nice staff and free wireless internet).
I ask the attendant (her name is Sophie) if they have a laundry service. She says no, but there is a laundromat around the corner. I said thanks, and the next day (this morning), I went with my clothes to get it done and over with (I hate laundry).
The machine is a bit different, they have a central system where you pick your machine, you pay, and it starts automatically. The machines are front loaders, and you can't open them until it's done. I check the chart, the two loads of wash, washers 10 and 9, will be done in forty minutes. Great, I'll come back in thirty-five minutes and I'll watch them in the dryer.
I get in after thirty-five minutes, and there is a guy that asks me in French if washer number 9 is my washer. I say yes, and he tells me that he accidentally hit 9 instead of 7 and my clothes are being washed and he wants his money back. I tell him that's his problem, but I was more concerned about washer number 10.
It was empty.
Dammit! How could this have happened? I'm five minutes early (apparently their clocks use the same scale as a fisherman's ruler). The only saving grace is that they got a short load of t-shirts, socks, and one pair of Ralph Lauren boxer briefs. That I have no more t-shirts is a pain in the butt, but if the guy didn't accidentally put more money in my machine, I would be out about $500 worth of shirts and slacks.
The guy was nice enough, and I gave him half his money back. We talked a bit more, and I'm not sure where he was from, but it was a good chance to speak some French. I told him I lived in California, and that I am here on business. He asked me if California has a lot of police. Then he talked more about police. He really liked talking about the police, like he looks out for them all the time. Frankly, I suspect that if I arrived about five minutes earlier, he would have been talking to them again, because I would have been calling for them.
But, I started this post complaining about it happening again. This is not a phenomenon local to Paris, it happened to me once in San Diego in a hotel laundry, somebody took my Red Sands beach shorts out of the dryer. My first thought then, as it was today, was if they try them on before they took them. After all, you don't want to look foolish in stolen clothes that are too short.
Farewell Reader, have a good day.
Hussman
Sunday, October 01, 2006
Friday, August 25, 2006
The Loneliness of a Long Distance Runner
I've got to keep running the course
I've got to keep running and win at all costs
I've got to keep going, be strong
Must be so determined and push myself on
"The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner" --Iron Maiden
The Setup
My earliest thought about running a marathon was when I was eight years old watching the Ironman Triathlon on ABC's Wide World of Sports, where they swam over 2 miles, cycled 112 miles, and finished with a marathon. At the time, I had thought that just the marathon alone would be more than enough.
Over the last two years, several people who have been close to me have told me that they have run a marathon. These include my cousin Joe, my ex-girlfriend, my half-sister's husband Philipe (more on him in a moment) and most recently, my friend Berni. Berni had just finished the Vienna Marathon in April, and when he told me about it, it reminded me that the San Francisco Marathon was at the end of July. The Saturday morning before Memorial Day, I thought about it, looked it up in Google, went to the website and registered for it before thinking about it. One hundred dollars later, I found out that my bib number is 5134.
The Training, Part I
I had asked a friend who had run the Bay to Breakers before if he'd be interested in running it with me. He was blunt about it, saying that he'll be in Mexico partying for three weeks, and there's no way he'd be in shape for it. But, many of his friends ran it, some competitively, and he then gave me a series of good pointers for training that I started on right away.
Feelings aren't always facts.
The Training, Part II
I have found that one easy guarantee that you'll do something is to tell everyone at work and home that you have stated a goal. This is why I never say that I've quit drinking for good.
I basically told everyone I talk to on a monthly basis or more that I was running a marathon. The usual replies were,
"Good luck."
"Are you f**king kidding?"
"You're crazy."
But it was out there, and I was committed.
Back to my brother-in-law, Philipe. This guy is a running fanatic; he runs ultramarathons and other endurance races. While I was in Paris last April (another story on that later) I went running with him. He quickly left me behind, but when I returned forty five minutes later, he showed me a bunch of stretches to conclude the run with. I told him about the training in June, and he started sending me one bit of advice for each day during the three weeks before the race.
Pieces of advice, all of them good, came from people who ran them before. My racquetball partner, Jim, who is about 62 years old, told me that the halfway point of the marathon is mile 20 (out of 26). I asked him how he knew this. He said that after five marathons, you get a feel for how to do it. I took him at his word.
Long runs. I'll skip the details, but I must that they are mandatory.
The Race
It was the day of the race, just barely. The alarm clock went off at 3:00 am. I was dead tired, but instead of hitting the snooze bar, I got up, put on my running clothes, grabbed a banana and made the 45 minute drive to San Francisco.
I make it into the city at 4:15 am, the race doesn't start until 5:20. Parking was not as bad as I expected, I found a place only a few blocks away with no problems. The weather was as advertised, cool, a little misty, but not cold. Perfect conditions.
Eventually, I made my way to the start line corrals. Man, it was crowded. A large human wave was slowly making it's way south away from the ferry building, following a sign that said, "Runners only."
A nervousness crept into my belly, Have I trained enough? Will I finish today? During two of my long runs I had to walk, would I have to walk today?
The runners were being slowly corralled into general areas, but I was late enough such that I would be forcibly started in the faster times. I heard the announcer say that the wheelchair racer has begun, a guy was using a hand cranked chair that had him going at a fast pace. The time on the Ferry Building clock reached 5:20 and a roar of the crowd let me know the race had started. Runners started walking more quickly toward the start line, and before I knew it, I was on Embarcadero Street looking at the start banner. About 10 yards before the banner, the crowd started jogging, and my shoe with the chip on it crossed the mat. I had started the marathon.
Mile 1
One of the first pieces of advice sent by Philipe was to start slow. This did not appear to be an option, the crowd moved at what seemed to be a very slow pace. I almost believed P. Diddy when he said that he would have run faster if there weren't so many people. It was still dark, but I saw a white flag banner on the side of the road with black lettering that said 'rUnsfm Mile 1'
One down, 25.2 more to go.
Mile 2.5
First water station in front of the Aquatic Park. Also the first hill. The same hill during the Friday Night Skate could be brutal because of the rough road conditions and the steep grade, but while running, it was cake. A light sheen of sweat started to form on my body; I was almost warmed up.
Mile 4.8
The steepest grade of the course. It didn't hurt that much though, and I developed my running pace that was smooth and comfortable. Many people were wearing signs on the back with a picture of a young man. I assume the man died, but didn't know how.
Mile 6.0--Golden Gate Bridge
Of course the race promoters would die to get the bridge on the course, and they did. Trouble is, they only closed two lanes, so you have thousands of people in one lane running across the bridge, and thousands of more running back. This was the first out and back and it blew me away to think that the leaders were already over two miles ahead of me as they returned.
One interesting observation: a man was running wearing leather armor and carrying a shield and a spear. I know what he wanted (aiming for recreating Pheidippides), I hope he knew the distance between Marathon and Athens was 25 miles.
Mile 13.1--Halfway There
Up and down, up and down through wooded areas and residential streets. Overall, I simply felt great. I had a consistent pace throughout the course, and I knew I was doing great. Approaching the halfway point, running downhill, I see my time is just a few minutes over two hours. I would easily beat my goal of 4:45. So I thought.
Mile 14.0--Golden Gate Park
Fuck. This hill never seems to end, my legs are getting weaker and I have to pee. For the first time in the run, I stop quickly and take the bathroom break. The first of many breaks to come.
Miles 18.0-22.0
A blur. Alternating visions of walking and running, uphill and downhill. I blow right by an athletic male, and I get passed by an obese female. I numbly grab a Gu from the aid station, and with leaden arms I tear it open with my teeth. I take the smallest taste and realize This is how you should eat, slowly, give your body time to digest it.
Crowds, yelling and cheering, carrying signs saying 'You are our heroes!' and more signs of the dead young man. Other signs with AIDS, more pictures., now I got it, they were sponsoring an AIDS charity. But they were also cheering for me. Thank you.
The tiniest hill ruins me, I can't proceed without walking. I use tricks like doing four counts to 100 with each step (1-2-3-1, 1-2-3-2, 1-2-3-3, 1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-5...). Sometimes it works and I make it to 100, which should be near a quarter mile, sometimes it doesn't. Damn I should have started training earlier. Second-half marathoners are passing me left and right.
I have never been so tired, and I realized Jim was right, Mile 20 is the halfway point.
Miles 22.0-25.7
It finally flattens out. I can see Pac-Bell Park in the distance, and I remembered from the map that there isn't that much farther to go. An older lady, at least 65-70, runs by me wearing a blue bib like mine, and it takes me a minute to realize she was passing me.
Stereos blaring. Roger Daltrey is singing "I can see for miles and miles, I can see for miles and miles, I can see for miles and miles and miles and miles and miles and miles..."
Very funny, thanks random stereo guy.
Some guy in his twenties blows by me at a near sprint yelling, 'TRACK!', clearly the 5K race has started. My internal reply was 'FUCK YOU!', but being so tired I give him the evil eye that he didn't see in my sunglasses. I wanted to trip him so badly. Someone else did tell him off, good for him. To this day I hate the race organizers for throwing that load of crap in the middle of this.
My thighs barely feel like they can move. Eminem blasts, "You better lose yourself in the music, the moment, you own it, you better never let it go..."
Better, random stereo guy. Thanks.
Mile 25.7
The milk of human kindness flows more often than one would believe, and I think it's worth a few minutes to write this one down.
I was trudging one slow leg at a time along the Embarcadero (1-2-3-24, 1-2-3-25...) and I just gassed with a moan of 'Shit', and started walking again. My head looking down, I barely had the energy to lift it. I saw a pace setter at 4:40 ahead of me, and I knew that the 4:45 was behind me. It wasn't far, but it felt like forever.
A voice from a man whose face I never saw, although I could see his rather tall and stocky frame in my periphery, says smoothly,
"It's okay, you're almost there. Your body is tired and you're starved for oxygen. Notice how your shoulders are pulled forward? They compress your lungs and prevent your body from getting the energy it needs. How about pulling your shoulders back for me?"
He made perfect sense. I pulled my shoulders back and damn if he wasn't right, I started breathing deeper. He must have been a coach, and a good one too.
"That's good, now you need to pull your head up and look where you are. You see that tower over there? The finish line is right behind it. I'm not gonna let you go yet, take a few more breaths. Keep your head up, that's it, you're feeding your body with oxygen. Alright, shoulders back, take a look at that tower. Now, I want you to take a few more breaths," which I did, "and it's time for you to finish your marathon as you clearly started it four and a half hours ago. Finish it as a runner. Now go!"
And I ran, my head high, shoulders square, and legs pumping. I yelled thanks. I never saw his face, but his voice will remain with me to my grave.
Mile 26.2--Finished
It's almost anticlimactic after that pep talk, but I ran across without stopping and felt a lot better than I thought. It was done, 4 hours, 43 minutes.
It's funny after the fact. Everyone with blue bibs looks at those without them and thinks a little less of them. Nananana, I ran farther than you did...I try not to feel superior, but sometimes you can't help it.
The Next Day
Imagine every single muscle cell in your legs completely blasted by working out for a hundred hours on weights, and it's half of what I felt. I walked like a duck for a week. I must admit a bit of admiration from all of those who asked if I made it. I was modest about it, and told them I walked a bit, but they, like me, thought and said the same thing.
"Hey, you finished."
You're damn right I did.
I've got to keep running and win at all costs
I've got to keep going, be strong
Must be so determined and push myself on
"The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner" --Iron Maiden
The Setup
My earliest thought about running a marathon was when I was eight years old watching the Ironman Triathlon on ABC's Wide World of Sports, where they swam over 2 miles, cycled 112 miles, and finished with a marathon. At the time, I had thought that just the marathon alone would be more than enough.
Over the last two years, several people who have been close to me have told me that they have run a marathon. These include my cousin Joe, my ex-girlfriend, my half-sister's husband Philipe (more on him in a moment) and most recently, my friend Berni. Berni had just finished the Vienna Marathon in April, and when he told me about it, it reminded me that the San Francisco Marathon was at the end of July. The Saturday morning before Memorial Day, I thought about it, looked it up in Google, went to the website and registered for it before thinking about it. One hundred dollars later, I found out that my bib number is 5134.
The Training, Part I
I had asked a friend who had run the Bay to Breakers before if he'd be interested in running it with me. He was blunt about it, saying that he'll be in Mexico partying for three weeks, and there's no way he'd be in shape for it. But, many of his friends ran it, some competitively, and he then gave me a series of good pointers for training that I started on right away.
- Get good shoes.
- Run at least twenty miles a week, but step it up to thirty-five as you go along, and finish each week with a long run that goes from eight miles to about eighteen.
- Give yourself two weeks before the race to rest.
Feelings aren't always facts.
The Training, Part II
I have found that one easy guarantee that you'll do something is to tell everyone at work and home that you have stated a goal. This is why I never say that I've quit drinking for good.
I basically told everyone I talk to on a monthly basis or more that I was running a marathon. The usual replies were,
"Good luck."
"Are you f**king kidding?"
"You're crazy."
But it was out there, and I was committed.
Back to my brother-in-law, Philipe. This guy is a running fanatic; he runs ultramarathons and other endurance races. While I was in Paris last April (another story on that later) I went running with him. He quickly left me behind, but when I returned forty five minutes later, he showed me a bunch of stretches to conclude the run with. I told him about the training in June, and he started sending me one bit of advice for each day during the three weeks before the race.
Pieces of advice, all of them good, came from people who ran them before. My racquetball partner, Jim, who is about 62 years old, told me that the halfway point of the marathon is mile 20 (out of 26). I asked him how he knew this. He said that after five marathons, you get a feel for how to do it. I took him at his word.
Long runs. I'll skip the details, but I must that they are mandatory.
The Race
It was the day of the race, just barely. The alarm clock went off at 3:00 am. I was dead tired, but instead of hitting the snooze bar, I got up, put on my running clothes, grabbed a banana and made the 45 minute drive to San Francisco.
I make it into the city at 4:15 am, the race doesn't start until 5:20. Parking was not as bad as I expected, I found a place only a few blocks away with no problems. The weather was as advertised, cool, a little misty, but not cold. Perfect conditions.
Eventually, I made my way to the start line corrals. Man, it was crowded. A large human wave was slowly making it's way south away from the ferry building, following a sign that said, "Runners only."
A nervousness crept into my belly, Have I trained enough? Will I finish today? During two of my long runs I had to walk, would I have to walk today?
The runners were being slowly corralled into general areas, but I was late enough such that I would be forcibly started in the faster times. I heard the announcer say that the wheelchair racer has begun, a guy was using a hand cranked chair that had him going at a fast pace. The time on the Ferry Building clock reached 5:20 and a roar of the crowd let me know the race had started. Runners started walking more quickly toward the start line, and before I knew it, I was on Embarcadero Street looking at the start banner. About 10 yards before the banner, the crowd started jogging, and my shoe with the chip on it crossed the mat. I had started the marathon.
Mile 1
One of the first pieces of advice sent by Philipe was to start slow. This did not appear to be an option, the crowd moved at what seemed to be a very slow pace. I almost believed P. Diddy when he said that he would have run faster if there weren't so many people. It was still dark, but I saw a white flag banner on the side of the road with black lettering that said 'rUnsfm Mile 1'
One down, 25.2 more to go.
Mile 2.5
First water station in front of the Aquatic Park. Also the first hill. The same hill during the Friday Night Skate could be brutal because of the rough road conditions and the steep grade, but while running, it was cake. A light sheen of sweat started to form on my body; I was almost warmed up.
Mile 4.8
The steepest grade of the course. It didn't hurt that much though, and I developed my running pace that was smooth and comfortable. Many people were wearing signs on the back with a picture of a young man. I assume the man died, but didn't know how.
Mile 6.0--Golden Gate Bridge
Of course the race promoters would die to get the bridge on the course, and they did. Trouble is, they only closed two lanes, so you have thousands of people in one lane running across the bridge, and thousands of more running back. This was the first out and back and it blew me away to think that the leaders were already over two miles ahead of me as they returned.
One interesting observation: a man was running wearing leather armor and carrying a shield and a spear. I know what he wanted (aiming for recreating Pheidippides), I hope he knew the distance between Marathon and Athens was 25 miles.
Mile 13.1--Halfway There
Up and down, up and down through wooded areas and residential streets. Overall, I simply felt great. I had a consistent pace throughout the course, and I knew I was doing great. Approaching the halfway point, running downhill, I see my time is just a few minutes over two hours. I would easily beat my goal of 4:45. So I thought.
Mile 14.0--Golden Gate Park
Fuck. This hill never seems to end, my legs are getting weaker and I have to pee. For the first time in the run, I stop quickly and take the bathroom break. The first of many breaks to come.
Miles 18.0-22.0
A blur. Alternating visions of walking and running, uphill and downhill. I blow right by an athletic male, and I get passed by an obese female. I numbly grab a Gu from the aid station, and with leaden arms I tear it open with my teeth. I take the smallest taste and realize This is how you should eat, slowly, give your body time to digest it.
Crowds, yelling and cheering, carrying signs saying 'You are our heroes!' and more signs of the dead young man. Other signs with AIDS, more pictures., now I got it, they were sponsoring an AIDS charity. But they were also cheering for me. Thank you.
The tiniest hill ruins me, I can't proceed without walking. I use tricks like doing four counts to 100 with each step (1-2-3-1, 1-2-3-2, 1-2-3-3, 1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-5...). Sometimes it works and I make it to 100, which should be near a quarter mile, sometimes it doesn't. Damn I should have started training earlier. Second-half marathoners are passing me left and right.
I have never been so tired, and I realized Jim was right, Mile 20 is the halfway point.
Miles 22.0-25.7
It finally flattens out. I can see Pac-Bell Park in the distance, and I remembered from the map that there isn't that much farther to go. An older lady, at least 65-70, runs by me wearing a blue bib like mine, and it takes me a minute to realize she was passing me.
Stereos blaring. Roger Daltrey is singing "I can see for miles and miles, I can see for miles and miles, I can see for miles and miles and miles and miles and miles and miles..."
Very funny, thanks random stereo guy.
Some guy in his twenties blows by me at a near sprint yelling, 'TRACK!', clearly the 5K race has started. My internal reply was 'FUCK YOU!', but being so tired I give him the evil eye that he didn't see in my sunglasses. I wanted to trip him so badly. Someone else did tell him off, good for him. To this day I hate the race organizers for throwing that load of crap in the middle of this.
My thighs barely feel like they can move. Eminem blasts, "You better lose yourself in the music, the moment, you own it, you better never let it go..."
Better, random stereo guy. Thanks.
Mile 25.7
The milk of human kindness flows more often than one would believe, and I think it's worth a few minutes to write this one down.
I was trudging one slow leg at a time along the Embarcadero (1-2-3-24, 1-2-3-25...) and I just gassed with a moan of 'Shit', and started walking again. My head looking down, I barely had the energy to lift it. I saw a pace setter at 4:40 ahead of me, and I knew that the 4:45 was behind me. It wasn't far, but it felt like forever.
A voice from a man whose face I never saw, although I could see his rather tall and stocky frame in my periphery, says smoothly,
"It's okay, you're almost there. Your body is tired and you're starved for oxygen. Notice how your shoulders are pulled forward? They compress your lungs and prevent your body from getting the energy it needs. How about pulling your shoulders back for me?"
He made perfect sense. I pulled my shoulders back and damn if he wasn't right, I started breathing deeper. He must have been a coach, and a good one too.
"That's good, now you need to pull your head up and look where you are. You see that tower over there? The finish line is right behind it. I'm not gonna let you go yet, take a few more breaths. Keep your head up, that's it, you're feeding your body with oxygen. Alright, shoulders back, take a look at that tower. Now, I want you to take a few more breaths," which I did, "and it's time for you to finish your marathon as you clearly started it four and a half hours ago. Finish it as a runner. Now go!"
And I ran, my head high, shoulders square, and legs pumping. I yelled thanks. I never saw his face, but his voice will remain with me to my grave.
Mile 26.2--Finished
It's almost anticlimactic after that pep talk, but I ran across without stopping and felt a lot better than I thought. It was done, 4 hours, 43 minutes.
It's funny after the fact. Everyone with blue bibs looks at those without them and thinks a little less of them. Nananana, I ran farther than you did...I try not to feel superior, but sometimes you can't help it.
The Next Day
Imagine every single muscle cell in your legs completely blasted by working out for a hundred hours on weights, and it's half of what I felt. I walked like a duck for a week. I must admit a bit of admiration from all of those who asked if I made it. I was modest about it, and told them I walked a bit, but they, like me, thought and said the same thing.
"Hey, you finished."
You're damn right I did.
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