Advice to Expecting Parents

To random strangers surfing the net learning about the upcoming challenges of parenthood instead of working...congratulations on your upcoming baby!  I imagine that you are receiving an unending stream of unsolicited advice, so I thought I would help with just a few tips about things that really matter, and then maybe add a couple of musings.

ADVICE

Assuming you do not start the day with a hypodermic needle and a cooking spoon, you have what it takes to be a good parent.  You'll figure it out more quickly than you would imagine.  That being said, every parent believes themselves an expert and they'll tell you everything they think you are doing wrong without remembering every baby is different.  Nod your head and say 'Thanks for the tip.' while thinking about what Brooklyn Tony's grandfather did to live to 107 years of age (he minded his own fucking business).

MUST HAVE PRODUCTS

Everyone is going to say you have to buy this, you must buy this, if you don't buy this, your baby will DIE!...thanks for the tip.  So recognize that I suffered that social trauma and still thought the following were extremely useful for The Wife and me.

Baby411

http://amzn.to/lUiYSc

The signal to noise ratio on this book is very high, and it has answers to almost all questions that you may have about the new baby. 

Happiest Baby on the Block DVD (not the book)

http://amzn.to/mJuQLk

As soon as our lovely Daughter was pulled from the womb, the delivery nurses said, 'Man, that is a loud baby.'  Delivery nurses said this, we had the outlier when it came to crying babies.  If you think sleep is an annoying waste of time, then don't buy this DVD.  It shows you how to take a screaming baby and turn it off like a light by using swaddling, swings, and ssshhhh.  

Swaddles
One thing that they don't mention in HBOTB is that most swaddles are too small.  Aden+Anais swaddles are expensive, but worth every penny.

http://amzn.to/mSjzEE

Here's a youtube video I made to show a friend, she agreed that it works better than the video method as long as you pull tighter than you think you should.

http://www.youtube.com/wat ch?v=vcJzRs2uHf0

It lasts for about 4 months, then you need to go to the Ferber Method

Solve Your Childs Sleep Problems

http://amzn.to/lpnOM0

which basically tells you how to let your child cry itself to sleep without feeling guilty.

Also, Amazon and Diapers.com make life a lot easier than trying to drive to BabiesRUs, and they are a lot cheaper.

If you want to skip the Lamaze/birthing classes, this video, while not as funny as the title implies, is very informative and easier to watch with a glass of wine that The Wife will ask for a sip from occasionally.

Laugh and Learn about Childbirth

http://amzn.to/lJKawU

THINGS THAT START WITH A 'B' THAT YOU CANNOT BUY TOO MANY OF

Batteries, burp cloths, baby wash cloths, bibs

RANDOM MUSINGS AND OBSERVATIONS

Grandmothers--Grandmothers are a God-send until they try to kill your baby.  There is nothing better than Grandma saying that she'll take the baby for the night, and then she puts the baby on its belly with a blanket (SIDS), 'flavors' the pacifier with honey (botulism), feeds the baby peanut butter (peanut allergies), uses baby powder (lung problems, use Boudreaux's Butt Paste, yellow version), adds rice to the bottle (no impact, except it clogs the bottle)...it's amazing we lived past two years of age.  In short, we know now (because of Baby411) what they didn't know then, and you have to train them.

Breastfeeding vs. Formula--The Wife and I could never believe the audacity of people with their opinions on this...thanks for the tip.  Whatever you do, your baby will be fine.  If the mother wants to breastfeed, then go for broke with the Medela electric pump, but in the end, it's up to her.

Milestones (walking, talking, etc.)--Our girls have been early so far (because they are superior, as your child will be), but we've seen parents with kids that are late on some milestones, and they also grow up to be annoying toddlers that pull everything off of every shelf saying NO NO NO NO...very rarely are there problems.

Hospitals, Doctors and Nurses--One thing that will amaze you is that there is no agreement among anyone in the medical profession, they don't call it a medical 'practice' for nothing.  Expect a lot of conflicting information, general disdain for doctors among the nurses, general disdain for nurses among the doctors, and assume the labor nurses will be more competent than the post-delivery nurses. 

Rashes--All babies get them.  So will yours.

Hopefully there's something useful here for the both of you, if I can leave with one more piece of very useful advice (that I may have said already).

Go out and do everything you can while you can, do not spend a single weekend night at home.  When the baby arrives, your life will be completely different.

Good Luck!

Once More into the Breach

Oh crap, sitting in front of a computer on a Friday, and still reeling from the news two hours ago.

The biopsy results came back, he has moderately aggressive prostate cancer, and they need to start treatment immediately.


Project proposals, conference calls, budgets, it all seems a bit meaningless when that news hits.  Just at 1:30, I was thinking, "Man, the keys on this keyboard are getting sticky.  Maybe I need to order another one, that'll help me keep working."  A first-world problem if there ever was one.

Then you get The Phone Call.  It's someone you love, someone you grew up with.  The brief, selfish part of you says, "Glad it's not me." then you feel horribly guilty for thinking that, and then you feel even more stupid when you realize that it could be you any day.

Gleason Score.  What the hell is a Gleason Score?  Is a 7 good or bad?  Why are there two numbers, 3 and 4?

Pop up Wikipedia, look up 'Gleason' and then you see Gleason Grading System.  Surely that's the same thing, right?  A quick scan, I see the word 'prostate' and start to read.  Pictures, 3+4 is better than 4+3, anytime there is a 5 the prognosis isn't good.  Well, less aggressive and not a bad prognosis is a small favor I guess, but the word aggressive is there all right.  Probable treatments include radioactive beads and targeted radiation. My mind pictures gamma radiation blasting electrons away from complex protein molecules...

Radiation is an excellent cell killer, but not a very good carcinogen.


Memories of health physics talks in conferences that seem rather unimportant at the moment.  I hope those gamma rays take the right ones out.

Screw this, I'm getting some coffee.  I realize my eyes are watering only when someone else comes into the coffee room. I bypass the small talk and leave quickly even though she's senior because this isn't her problem, and I don't feel like sharing right now.

This isn't his first time, colon cancer in 2002-2003, he made it fine although the chemo was a bitch.  Then the aortic stint, now this. The Evil Me thinks 'I am Iron Man', and the guilt comes back.  We've always dealt with things this way though, Dark funny thought, Dark sad thought. Repeat.

Haven't made it to Alaska yet, and our vacation is already planned.  Enter more guilt, probably have to go in the winter.  That'll be fun, and dark.

Dark funny, dark sad.  Probably a bit of both coming soon to a warped mind near you.

From Father to Daughter

Obviously based on the content below, I would never give this speech.  But I thought it would be fun to write.

I have recently scheduled my vasectomy.  My wife and I made this decision, with me taking the lead, after the birth of our second daughter.  I have made the decision that I will remove myself from the gene pool after procreating two wonderful, beautiful daughters. The coin was flipped twice, and it was tails both times.  I'm happy with this.

I scheduled the surgery consciously and gladly, but I would be lying if I said that I didn't have fantasies of the Father-Son talks that I won't give.  The one talk that I will miss is the 'Father to Son Talk About Girls'.  In my head, I had given the talk a hundred times, simply because in reality I had given it four times before.  Results were positive.

I had 'The Talk' through a different source than most.  My biological father has not been a part of my life, and while I acknowledge the role my stepfather played, he was not exactly a role model.  I was too intimidated by my uncle for the chance to have that experience with him. 

No, 'The Talk' waited until I was in the Army National Guard with a man who later became my college roommate.  He and I aren't very close now because I was pretty much a jerk, but at least my memories are fond of him.  While he was only a couple of years older than me,  he was told he looked like Russel Crowe, except that he was better looking, and for reasons that other men always wondered, including me, the women always fawned over him.

I'm not talking about your average ladies man here, I'm talking elite.  We would come back from the bars, me alone, him with four women following him, all of them wanting him, and sometimes he would be bored and send them all home.  All of them were 9+ on hotornot.  You would think this would be great, but when you're in your room alone after seeing all these girls, you think differently.

So we were driving back from drill one Sunday afternoon, I think this was before we were roommates, and we talked about how I can't get girls.  Growing up I was always a bit of a dork, but nature was kind and gave me a decent body (before I quit smoking), a relatively handsome face, and a good sense of humor.  However, I was still a pariah to the opposite sex.  Or so I thought until I had 'the Talk.'  Allow me to quote.

"Dennis, I have to admit it puzzles me a bit too because you are one of my better wingmen.  Not the best, that's Joel, but you're pretty good.  You're good looking, really smart, and one of the funniest guys I know.  Even if you can't dance for shit, you should be pulling girls home at least half the time that I do.  I think we need to have a talk about How to Pick Up Women and Get Laid."

The God just told me I had The Stuff, I just needed to refine it.  Believe me, I was listening.

"Okay, first off, you need to understand that they want the same thing that you do.  They want to be liked, they want to be liked more than their girlfriends, and they want to feel special.  They also don't want a guy that's not a challenge.  That's easy to say, but hard to do.  Here's the Formula."

"You're at the bar, you and I start talking to girls.  Remember when that one cute blonde was leaning in towards you and touched your arm?  That's when you know She Likes You.  She didn't touch you by accident.  You didn't know it, but you were in already.  If you had done what I'm telling you next, you might have had a good night."

"When you see she likes you, leave.  Go somewhere without telling her where you are going, just go.  Walk around, talk with friends, hang out, whatever, but don't be where she is until you run into her again because she was looking for you.  When that happens, they always say angrily, 'You ditched me!' and act like they hate you.  Then you reply calmly with a smile, 'No I didn't, I had to go to the bathroom and ran into a friend.  I've been looking for you ever since.'  At that point, she should be on your arm at the bar the whole night, just be nice and say 'Really?' to everything she says.  Well, a little more than that, but I've seen you talk, you're alright when they like you.  Keep talking, say her name a lot, and if you're holding hands or kissing, all the better."

"Step 2:  The bar is closing.  She says she's got to go, and asks what you're doing.  Find a nice way of saying you don't know, but it would be more fun if she were there.  Usually you can say it exactly like that.  Then she'll talk about how we could go to a friend's house or whatever, and she'll ask how you're getting home.  Obviously you gotta play it by ear, you either go to their friends, you ride with her, or take your car, but whatever you do, you can't say straight to the bedroom.  The trick is to let her know what you want most is to be with her."

"So you go to the after party, or not, and she'll give hints about being tired.  If she touches you again throughout the night, she's not quite as tired as you fear.  Especially if she's ready for the first kiss (assuming you are still talking and holding hands).  Some way or another, you'll have the chance to be alone in one of your places."

"Now, you are on the bed with her, and this is where most guys blow it long before clothes are off.  Two things are important.  The first is that she needs to feel comfortable and in control.  The second is that you have a knee."

"What the hell am I talking about?  Okay, you're kissing like crazy, kissing her neck, by the way, don't slobber, feeling over the shirt, under the shirt, over the bra, and all that is nice, but remember, when she puts her hand on yours and gently pulls away, you respect that.  You stop.  She'll mention she wants to take it slow and you say only one thing.  'That's okay.'  No speeches, just 'That's okay.'  Then you hold her and let her start kissing you again and you'll put your knee and thigh between her legs and move it gently up and down against her crotch as you kiss and fondle.  This is important, it stimulates her without crossing any boundaries and she'll get excited, kiss you stronger and shirts will come off and while you are kissing her breasts while gyrating your knee she'll stop you.  You respect her wishes, say 'That's okay' and hold her.  More kissing, more knee, and before you know it you are both in your underpants and she'll stop you one more time.  She'll say that she doesn't normally do this, and she probably doesn't by the way, not every guy knows this, and all you need to say is that we're here together and I want to be happy with you."

"No speeches, no drama, then she'll kiss you and you'll need to take off her panties and your underwear and you use the condom that you should have hidden under the mattress already.  It's easy.  Except when they do put on the brakes, and it happens.  Although sometimes it winds up being a good night in some way or another, if you know what I mean.  Then you kiss some more, wake up together, and wait until the next date.  Any time they say stop, you stop.  No complaints.  If you complain, you'll be like you are now, alone."

Without going into the details of a much improved college life, my college life was much improved.  I still had my flubs, but while I was in shape, good looking, and armed with the knowledge of The Elite, I learned how to not seduce women, but make them like being with me.

And that is The Talk that I won't have with my son.  I'm fine with that.  But at some point in my life, I know that my daughters will want to know something about the opposite sex, and at some point I will have to have the Father-Daughter Talk.  I have thought long and hard about what I should say to them when that time comes.  And in a moment of inspiration, I had the idea of what I should tell them.

I will tell my daughters exactly the same thing I would have told my son.

There's a New Kid in Town

Well now, the sands through the hourglass have moved a bit since the last time I stroked the keys in this little corner of the web.

Quite a bit has happened since the last post...I think the last time I wrote I had a girlfriend. Now she has become The Wife, and now we have The Baby to contend with.

I almost get sick of all the TV shows and movies that talk about 'the miracle of childbirth'. I was always thinking "Jesus, it happens 40,000 times a day, and almost 6 billion times within the last hundred years. What could possibly be new about this?" Even my brother has done it, twice.

It's easy to be dismissive from the Armchair, but when you're in the game yourself, it's a whole different matter.

First off, there's the realization that it's not a car or a DVD. If you lose the baby, break the baby, or hurt the baby, you don't file an insurance claim and get a new one. You go to jail.

Second, in order to keep from losing the baby, breaking the baby, or hurting the baby, you gotta do a lot of things according to it's schedule, which appears to be about a 2 or 3 hour repeating cycle. And man, does she remind you of her schedule with all four lungs a blazin.

Third, and truth be told, most important, you really love the baby. From the first second it starts screaming, you are hooked. Maybe because you realize that you had a hand in her creation, and that for the next twenty or thirty years (or as long as she listens to you), there is one person in the world that will always want to know what you think, always think about you first when a problem comes up, and hopefully always have a smile for you when she sees you. And you feel the same way about her.

Maybe I distilled it into fewer words than some third rate sitcom, but I'm guessing that this fatherhood thing is going to be a pretty cool ride.

Back in the (Writing) Saddle, again?

My god, has it been a long time since I've done this.

Every year I say to myself that I will start to keep a continuous journal of my life, and every year, I make a few posts and drop it.

I can think of a few reasons that I don't do it more regularly:
1. Work is ever time consuming
2. So is Mary, my girlfriend.
3. Even if there wasn't work or Mary, there would be something that kept me from doing it.

I think if I apply real introspection, then the truth is that if I record it, it may someday be used against me in the court of law.

I've always had this difficulty, I don't like to be recorded. I don't like pictures (unless they are good ones), and I don't like knowing that my thoughts are available for someone else's perusal.

But then there is the performer side of me that wants it badly, that wants to be famous and recognized and liked and doted upon.

It's a tough personal conflict.

Here's how I think I'll do it. I'll keep posting this as a Saved Draft, and then someday, someday when I'm happy with the writing, I will post it publically.

But not today. Or maybe I will, you never know.

I'm sitting in the Red Carpet Club at Washington Dulles Airport. As I've discussed with other travelers, when you travel for work, the first six months are okay, you get to see sights, learn the craft of navigating through the airports and rental car agencies, and eventually you feel comfortable anywhere in the world because are certain that your five words in their language and your patience in English will get you to the hotel.

But then, at some point, it stops being fun.

You get tired of the airline delays, you get even more tired of the people who seem to think that the person behind the desk can do anything about it by screaming at them.

You get tired of hotel soap, hotel shampoo, hotel exercise facilities, hotel towels, and hotel beds (which are never the same, anywhere).

You get tired of stopping what you are doing right then because you must realized you need to get to your next flight.

Like now.

Farewell reader, have a good day,

God I hate laundromats

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

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.

• 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.

That was good enough to get started. Berni was in the Bay Area and we did my first long run together. I made it ten miles while setting the pace, I never even had to stop. I felt like that I could be ready in two months.

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.