A new way to HURT

Me, Brian, Miss Sonja.

Instead of a boring weekend recap, I decided to ask Miss Sonja a few questions about her first exposure to ultra racing at the 2013 HURT 100.  The following is a view of HURT through her eyes.

1. You recently paced Brian Recore at HURT, covering just shy of 26 miles on trail both overnight and the next day.  This was your first ultra experience.  What did you know going into the race.  Describe your expectations and your preconceptions.  

This was my first experience with an ultramarathon, and actually my first race experience. For those who don’t know, the HURT 100 course is 5 twenty mile laps of the same trail. Each lap is divided into 3 sections. Each section connects the 3 aid stations, which are in valleys. So each section starts with a climb out of the valley up to a ridge and a descent into a the valley and aid station.

I really didn’t know anything about this kind of event except what I picked up when we were crewing Brian for the first 50 miles of the race. Since I’d been sick and never run more than 10-12 miles, I thought I’d do one section at night and another in the morning to give Dave a break, depending on how I felt.

I really liked the casual small-event atmosphere. People were usually friendly and it felt low key. Once I got over feeling like I was not nearly bad ass enough to hang with these people, I had a great time. I showed up to switch with Dave and pace Brian at 11:30pm, which was about an hour before they showed up. So I schmoozed with the other crazy ultra runners who weren’t running and were volunteering or pacing, and cheered the runners coming out of the jungle in the middle of the night.

Every runner seemed to be handling it differently. Some were laughing, some were exhausted, some had their game face on, some were just going with the flow. A few just stared mechanically, downed some food and water and took off again. I set off with Brian up the trail after midnight, hoping that I wouldn’t totally blow it.

Brian at the finish

Brian was great. He pointed out the rough parts of the trail, where the rocks were slippery, or there was mud or roots. He was probably laughing at me because I couldn’t get over how cool it was to be going up this mountain through the forest. Blue and orange glow sticks hanging from tree branches marked switchbacks, low lying branches, or tricky parts of the path. The forks in the trail were marked with a bunch of tiny blinking lights in the trees. I felt like I was in Avatar, or some weird alien place. Every once in a while we’d cross paths with another runner or two, you could see the light from their headlamp bobbing in the distance. I learned to be nice to people and shield my headlamp, but I probably blinded a few people in the beginning when I was just staring around at everything like an idiot.

Pauoa Flats

We got to this place where the trail is laced by a network of roots, you can see a bunch of HURT 1000 pics from that part of the trail. You had to step carefully through the roots and trying to avoid the mud, and make sure you picked up your feet to avoid tripping, all in the pitch black and us just with our headlamps, me following Brian. The bamboo forests were something else too, spooky. Brian said it’s really nice to have a pacer coming through those. It’s totally quiet except for the bamboo rising up dense and dry on either side of you, creaking, snapping and knocking in the wind. Then there’s the descent near Manoa falls, with lots of slippery rocks to worry about. And there were a couple times where you could easily just put one foot wrong and you’d fall off the side of the trail. That’s it for you. At least if you have a pacer there’s someone to know where you went missing. Coming into the Paradise Park aid station was pretty awesome, the trail there is wide and paved just at the end, and they had lined either side of the trail with lanterns in paper bags. It was nice to see lights after a few hours in the forest.

2. You had seen the trails only once before, how did race day compare to this training day?  Were you adequately prepared for the terrain?

I didn’t really feel prepared but we thought I might not have to run much since more people were probably going to help out. But they ended up not being able to help so it was just Dave and I pacing Brian. We ran part of the course back in December and I’d been doing more trail hill runs in San Diego. I learned that I’m a decent climber. And a fast walker so I could take breaks from jogging and just walk for a bit. I hadn’t run for 2 weeks since I just had the worst flu I’ve had in years, so aside from still being a bit sick, my legs were fresh. I think that helped.

Easa's feasting pre-race

3. Were there any big surprises?  Anything unusual or unexpected?


The biggest surprise was how much I enjoyed it. Getting up at 11pm to go run through the jungle doesn’t seem like an awesome idea, but it wasn’t that bad. Getting up again at 11am the next day after 5h on the chilly trail the night before, only a couple hours sleep, a hacking cough and headache started to seem a little dumb, but once I arrived at the aid station, I was ready to get back out there. Plus, Brian had already run 85 miles, how the hell could I complain?

Post race dinner with Ray Sanchez

4. What was your favorite aid station and why? 

This buckle is a reward for 34 hours of movement.

They were all different. I really liked the Paradise Park aid station. They had a cute pirate theme, there were colored Christmas lights up and the lanterns lining the trail. The volunteers there were also really on top of it, getting stuff for the runners and making sure everyone was taken care of. I was pretty impressed. The Nature Center aid station was neat too, they had a lot of glow sticks and the lights on the bridge were hooked up to a motion detector so when a runner came down the trail they got brighter. Nu’uanu aid station was the smallest, but it was kind of fun because you had to cross the creek by jumping over the rocks—a little crazy at night—and for some reason they had a skeleton floating in the creek on a little inner tube. Whatever, I love it.

5. What did you notice about the other competitors?  Did anyone stand out to you? 

The other runners were all supportive of each other. Instead of saying hi, everyone we passed said things like “You got it” or “you’re doing great” which seems nice and encouraging but starts to feel like when people say “how are you doing” without really expecting an answer, kind of fake. But who cares? Better to be positive and encouraging. So I started saying my own little rah-rah stuff to the runners. Especially in the middle of the night. Cause yeah, you are doing pretty damn amazing, you’re still running through the jungle in the middle of the night. That’s freaking awesome. And by the next day, people were almost done with their 100 miles, so everyone really was totally rocking it.

6. How has your perception of distance changed as a result of this event. Do you feel any different about the numbers 26, 50 or 100 now? 

It’s hard to tell since this event is so unlike the shorter distance events or a road event. The trail is very steep at times and there’s a lot of it that’s almost un-runnable, unless you’re a freak, which I’ve heard there are guys that run it. It’s also muddy, rocky, and slippery. Parts of the trail are latticed with tree roots or rocks and you really have to pick up your feet and pay attention. There’s no opportunity to go on autopilot. It’s gotta be tough for the people who are out there all day and night.

Pre-race, circa 5:45 am

7. What methods were effective while pacing Brian.  Did you try anything which did not seem to help?

Brian is an experienced ultra runner and also had done the HURT 100 course before so I just followed his lead. I mostly tried to stay positive, chat when he was talkative and quiet when he was in his own zone. There were times when he was hurting and tired, I just stayed behind him and kept moving. I think he just liked having someone else around. When he stepped up the pace we kinda got a little goofy and I shouted encouragement or just that it was amazing to be running around all day and night, how gorgeous it all was and that he was doing awesome. Cause he was.

Manoa Aid Station

8. Did you pee on the trail and if so was this at all difficult being a girl? 

We actually talked about how your pee can turn brown from running all day and dehydration. He stopped to pee a couple times and I just went on ahead and waited for him to catch up or in the middle of the night I shouted that I had to pee too. He asked me if I checked for brown pee and I said I was more worried about his ass and did he check his pee? But it was night so neither of us knew.

9. What went through your head as you approached each aid station? 

I’m hungry, or yay I get to take a shower. I’m so glad I don’t have to keep going like Brian. I was also worried that Brian was getting bored with me and whether he’d prefer Dave but Brian seemed happy either way. It was pretty awesome to pace the last two sections of the race. We were counting down the miles and guessing cause both of our GPS watches were out of batteries. Brian found some more steam and pounded out the last couple miles with me hooting and hollering behind him. It was pretty awesome to follow him to the finish, even though I barely did anything, just to share in that was fabulous.

10. You had a number of conversations with Brian throughout the night and during the day.  Were there any that were particularly amusing or entertaining that you'd care to share with the vast readership of Irrelevance?

[[Editor's note, apparently not]]

11. Do you feel any increased understanding of the mindset behind someone who competes in 100 mile races?  Or does it seem just as looney as it might have before?

It’s totally nuts! But I guess I see more of why people do it. It’s the whole question of how far can I push myself? What are my real limits? I’ve found out I can go further than I thought I could go, so the next question is, how much further can I go? And how much faster? But I’m not one of those people who really likes to push myself to the extreme. And I like sleeping. So I don’t think ultras are for me. But I certainly enjoyed pacing this course. You get some of the fun with less of the mindnumbing hours and insane mileage. This course is also more in line with my idea of fun. It’s in Hawaii, so its absolutely beautiful, I remember pointing out some crazy flowers and trees. The views were gorgeous, and the technical trail keeps your mind busy. I’m not sure I’d like pacing a hot sweaty road marathon as much.


12. What did you like best about pacing? 


All the fun, none of the pain. Maybe just a little.

13. Which shoes did you wear and how did they treat your feet?

Adidas Boston 3. They were great. They’re not trail shoes and they’re nice and light, but they have a stiff enough sole to protect from rocks. I had no problems with my feet. Even though I shattered my navicular bone a few years ago and was told I might never run again. I thought that might to bother me or the screws would start to make my foot ache but it wasn’t too bad.

Nu'uanu Aid Station

Jackass Ginger

14. Would you do anything different if you pace the same race again? 


I would have been more prepared. I wasn’t expecting to race at all since I had been so sick and I wasn’t sure Brian and Dave would even need me to help out. So I didn’t bring warmer clothes for running at night (I would have brought a long sleeved shirt and a t shirt), it was a little breezy on the ridges at the top of the climbs, and being sick made me colder. But it was still Hawaii and cold here is not too bad.

The view from Tantalus

I would have been generally more ready to race, I probably would have enjoyed having a pack to stash my cellphone and maybe a bit more water. This isn’t a good trail to carry water in hand since so much of the climbs and descents are technical, you need your hands, I just put the water bottle between my teeth, plus there were a couple times Brian almost went over the cliff in the dark. Running downhill you also need your arms for balance and a bottle is annoying. Having hands free would have been beneficial. But with aid stations every 5-7 miles and relatively cool weather, you don’t need to pack much.

15. You ran a lot more than planned, why did you choose to continue for extra sections?

Banyan tree (aka banging tree)

We thought we’d have more pacing help but I also felt like I could handle it, and I wanted to see what I could do. Pretty much I was enjoying the experience. When I woke up from 2 h sleep after my first sections, I was coughing up all sorts of fun stuff and I felt awful and I was all ready to tell Dave and Brian that I’d crew at the aid stations but as far as running was concerned, they boys were on their own. Then after I had coffee, I started to feel a little bit better. I thought, I’m in Hawaii, I might as well be out there enjoying it, so I decided to do a couple more sections and give Dave a break. Plus, Brian seemed like he didn’t need much other than a little company and I was pretty sure I could hang. Had we been running more, I would have had a harder time I think. But on those steep climbs and descents, I found I felt pretty good. Also, if Brian could do 100 miles, worrying about 5 or 12 seemed stupid in comparison.


16. There are a number of spectacular views along the course, any that you remember specifically? 

Post race

The night views were the coolest. There was one view on the second leg at night, I think it was 3 in the morning, and the moon was over the city of Honolulu. I’d been pacing Brian already for a few hours through the jungle and bamboo and whatever, and we come to the top of this ridge and have these amazing views of Honolulu or Pearl Harbor. How many people get to see that? It felt pretty special.

17. You were sick going into this and sick after.  Did you notice feeling sick during?  Did you think about that? 


There were some times when I felt pretty awful. I probably shouldn’t have run, but the only thing I was concerned about was keeping up with Brian and keeping him happy. This wasn’t about me. I felt bad that I was coughing a lot, and then right at the end I couldn’t stop sneezing, I think something just got to me. But at least that was only the last mile or 2.

18. How do you explain your experience to friends or family members who don't run more than 10 miles at a time?

This wasn’t really running. It was more hiking up and down some pretty crazy terrain and running where the trail was good. We did less running at night because the visibility wasn’t great. But there were some times when Brian totally turned it on during the downhill and I was pretty impressed that he could find that kind of speed after all that he’d already done. This course is really hard on your knees, hips and back. Brian predicts that I’ll get into this distance stuff, we’ll see.

Rudy

RR introduced me to the concept of time retarded-ness (a lovely double entendre isn't it?), which is certainly one of my personal character traits.  It has been far too long since I've had a chance to contribute to my blog, and the pressure created by my written constipation imparts a measurable increase in my craving to contribute.  Life has simply not slowed down enough for me tow write.  From an alternate perspective, I just have not made space to write, it hasn't been enough of a priority since I haven't managed to find time for all of the workouts I'd have liked to fit in and for whatever reason I place workouts on a higher rung than writing.  I will say that there has been no absence of desire to write and that makes me feel good.  Knowing that my interest has not waned helps confirm my original intention of starting this blog, the point was to force myself to reflect, and in so doing, to awaken my soul to parts of me which might otherwise have a tendency to lie dormant.  There was never any timeline, never any expectations, just a commitment to avoid being so buried in life that I forgot to check in and ask myself "how is it going?"  Today, that answer seems to be that while I may take a lot longer than everyone else, as I have with my yoga teaching intention, eventually I seem reach the same finish line, whether by persistence, stubbornness, ignorance, or basic survival.

As I sit, on a plane heading to Honolulu to crew and pace for Brian Recore at HURT, I finally have a spare moment to send my internal monologue into written words.  Spurred by recent conversation with Miss Sonja about friends who are trying to have kids, other friends who are pregnant and expecting, friends going through breakups, science and statistics and anecdotal stories surrounding the experience of pregnancy, the subject of marriage, and the magic of creating life, a myriad of thoughts run through my head.  The more I contemplate, the more it seems that my perspective tends to boil down to what I as an individual tend to like and dislike, what I approve and disapprove, far more than what I can justify or explain.  Call this gut reaction, or personal preference, it's a matter of taste instead of black and white, right and wrong.  This is probably excruciatingly obvious to anyone else, but I guess from my side I've tried to make sense of it and understand in what ways I may have cloudy vision, in what ways I may be closed minded.  I ask myself why I am not worried about a 31 year old friend who has not yet conceived but has been trying to do so and I have no real answer, no scientific study, just a gut feel that everything will work out well in the end.  Compare that to another friend going through a breakup at roughly the same age, who will certainly bounce back stronger than ever and yet who I feel a certain empathy for, most likely because of my own personal experiences with a similar situation.  I know I can never be pregnant and perhaps that is why I struggle to fully understand the fear of having all of the plumbing and yet still not being able to get the system to do the job it was designed to do.  Perhaps my summers working labor and delivery and my rudimentary knowledge of population growth make me slightly more pragmatic about childbirth.  I'm honestly not sure, and I'm just as amused by my perspective as Miss Sonja seems to be.

If I am to reflect a bit, I would say one of the bigger shifts in my attitude over the past 5 years is how I seem to have embraced non attachment, specifically with respect to deadlines.  I was raised by a father, heavily influenced by his own father, who incessantly repeated "pay now or pay later".  Shall I say he pounded this down my throat as a child?  It wouldn't be a tremendous embellishment to do so.  The guidance was to always take advantage of the plethora of opportunities I have been given, don't wait, don't be lazy, accomplish, achieve, hit the mark, pay the bill, set myself up for a better tomorrow.  Watching Lance's interview last night I felt that a lot of what he had to say, whether calculated, heartfelt, or likely somewhere in between, had to do with his own tendencies to do the same.  Lance seemed to have recently understood exactly how dangerous across-the-board application of ruthlessness can be, and how valuable a few critical judgement calls might have been.  Think for a moment how absurd it might be to theme a yoga class around "pay now or pay later" and you have some idea of just one of the very valid exceptions to this rule.

I submitted my audition application this week, the beginning of the "tryout" process for CorePower.  I know more than I probably should about how it works, having discussed it with various friends, most of whom have made it through, some of whom have not.  I am amused at how I feel about this.  Part of me is nervous, not so much about speaking in front of people I have not met yet, nor of being judged, but simple nervousness about the perhaps 1 in 100 possibility that I don't give the best that I have to give on that day.  This is the healthy dose of nervousness, the kind which precedes a race of importance, and it serves as a barometer that I am moving in a direction which suits me, it serves as reinforcement that I care and it is almost always a good thing to care.  In addition to this nervousness, I also feel a fairly healthy dose of non attachment to the outcome, and this is an emotion that is relatively new to me.  If I make it through, I will be thrilled.  If it is not yet my time to teach, I don' think I will be disappointed.  I have decided to audition, I have decided to offer myself, in my current capacity, to guide others through their 60 minute moving meditation and if I am not yet deemed ready, that is completely fine with me.  It has taken me a year longer to reach this point than most of my peers and yet I feel no shame.  I firmly believe my practice continues to evolve as does my teaching and for that I am truly grateful.  Interestingly, the primary motivator to audition is that the one class I have been most involved in, the free karma class on Sunday afternoons, is reserved for the next round of teacher trainers going through their second round of training.  In essence, I have overstayed my welcome in the minor league and it is time to check in and see if I am ready for some big boy yoga pants.  The karma class was conceived as a bridge to the audition and eventually a permanent place on the schedule, not as the semi-permanent home which is how I treated it.

I am actually a little surprised at how much I have enjoyed being a part of the Sunday afternoon karma classes.  Perhaps it is the timeslot, or maybe the low expectations I carry into a free class?  There is an element of satisfaction in seeing some of the same faces on a weekly basis, of watching smiles head out the door and feeling that I have somehow contributed in a positive way.  Despite only having one sibling, I exhibit the pleaser mentality of a middle child in that my greatest happiness tends to come from contributing to the happiness of others around me.  In that capacity yoga serves me quite well, both as student and as teacher.

Another surprise I've unearthed is that I'm not getting bored, my practice feels just as dynamic as my running and on any given day I'd really prefer to make time for both.  There is a certain satisfaction waiting for me within the small details of my practice.  The daily work towards alignment fascinates me even if the progress seems infinitesimal.  I haven't gotten bored of teaching either, with every passing week I embrace the opportunity to throw a playlist together, pick out a theme, and attempt to create harmony in honor of those who have done so for me and as a celebration of our collective ability to breathe life into the otherwise empty space of the studio.  Part of the reason I took my sweet time getting my final done, turning in my hours, and submitting my application was to make sure that I did not burn out, to make sure that this was something I still wanted to do, and it seems to me that it is, it seems to me that I do.

Will I ever be good?  I doubt it.  I am not very good at most things I do and yoga has not slipped into any semblance of proficiency while I wasn't looking.  I'm not really shooting for good, I don't think that is going to by my schtick.  I see myself more as a "Rudy" type, someone who will inspire others despite my own shortcomings and very visible mistakes.  I probably won't ever be the guy who remembers to tell a new student that it's OK to drop a knee in side plank, just as Rudy doesn't get to spike the ball in the end zone (sorry for the spoiler.)  I come to my mat to celebrate my own intensity and enthusiasm and to share that with others in every way that I can.  I come to class to bring "it" in all forms and to then to give away all of "that" to everyone else.

In that light, do I think I have a place teaching a little bit of yoga once or twice a week?  Yes, yes I do.  I think this precisely because I know that when I give all of myself, others tend to take notice and want to join in the fun.

Wide Awake

Has my music taste changed so much that I actually listen to mainstream pop now?



I suppose that is possible.  Or perhaps, in search of a cure for my own acute insomnia, reading the most random comments imaginable interlaced with spam and profanity may be the key to dulling my senses.

In the meantime, the period between sleeping and awake, I contemplate the año nuevo.  Not the state park, but the first day of 2013, although I'd really like to work another SF-SD bike trip in this year which would include a flyby of the aforementioned state park.

What do I remember most from New Year's?  How could I forget when every muscle in my body still aches, even my intercostals and trapezius.  Rolling over in bed incites a vivid remind of just how human I actually am, the net result of 300 minutes of moving meditation.

I remember what it was like a quarter century ago when my father and I would spend all day at the club playing tennis.  We would come home wasted, cooked, and completely incapable of movement.  My mother would laugh while we sat on the wood floor in the hall.  Invariably my father would be asleep on the floor by 8pm, perhaps with a koozie of Olympia nearby.  It would be difficult for me to cleave apart nature and nurture with both influences seeming to align towards making me the fool that I have become.  However I do draw upon my past, specifically my college years when I did little to no exercise, and when I noticed how much I truly disliked being unhealthy.  I certainly feel that the desire to access physical transformation is buried within my DNA as well as baked into my brain from early childhood.

January first started off gently.  My tentative plan was to run in the ranch with Luc, catch a 10:30 class with Fukumura, and finish the day off with 108 Sun Salutations at my home studio.  It seemed fine until I realized that New Year's eve called for a 5:30 wakeup to help out the retail manager who is tasked with a quarterly inventory count, coupled with a commitment to a New Year's eve party in Normal Heights which meant a 30 minute drive home.  I decided at 7am that the run would have to wait, and took a more leisurely approach to the first morning of the year.

Shelley met up with Sonja and I for the Fuku class and we giddily laid out our mats and waited in anticipation of the magic.  To watch this man move is to experience a sense of dance coupled with weightlessness and elasticity.  As if it were made of clay, his body can twist in ways that I have never seen and yet he can do so effortlessly, as a reminder of the truly amazing capability of the human body. The best part of a Fuku class is working through something basic, something you've done hundreds of times in the past, but doing so with a fresh and focused perspective.  Take the jump switch for example, the transition between low lunge with R foot forward to low lunge with L foot forward.  The novice approach this as a physical challenge, perhaps a half mountain climber, an obstruction to be pushed aside, and sends one leg violently backwards while driving the other deep into the front of our mat.  Fuku's jump switch is a little different.  He graciously lifts up and lightly lands on his toe, meanwhile his other foot has teleported between his hands.  You don't even see that second part because you are too entranced watching the first.  There is no noise or vibration when this happens, the transition between stillness and motion is so seamless that it completely disappears.  This man can do things that make a cat seem crude and awkward.

So, after that #mindblown two hour part-workshop, part-vinyasa, part-sweaty-fun, Shelley, Sonja and I gathered some quick calories and headed off to the studio for 108 sun salutations.  There was some discussion of the significance of the number 108 and I while I knew it was one of the special numbers (like 8 is for the Chinese), I am sad that I did not read this article or this blog ahead of time.  Specifically this little tidbit of trivia which is sort of #mindblowing as well.

This number also connects the Sun, Moon, and Earth: The average distance of the Sun and the Moon to Earth is 108 times their respective diameters.

The real beauty of 108 sun salutations, however, is that something which starts off as easy becomes challenging.  For those who don't practice, a sun salutation is equivalent to a stride before a run workout, a couple of laps before masters, or that first 2-3 minutes on the bike where everyone stays together and the bs quotient exceeds the work quotient.  While there can be vigor in downward dog, chaturanga, and tadasana, these poses are also some of the easiest and most natural to ease into with half measures and quarter efforts which are exactly how a warmup should begin.

Halfway through the class, which wound up corresponding to 45 out of 90 minutes but well past the 54th sun salutation, Ahlia gave us a verbal indication of having reached a halfway point.  This wound up being amusingly controversial as some participants took it as objective data indicating that 50% of the work remained.  Having experienced 108 sun salutations twice before, and having put myself through countless endurance events, I know how twisted numbers can become when scrambled into the context of a physical challenge.  Many of us who have finished a few marathons would agree that the increase in difficulty experienced during the final 10k cannot truly be measured inside the context of the difficulty of the first 10k.  It was therefore heartwarming that Ahlia chose not to give us any numerical feedback although she was counting with beads to make sure we did the correct number.

Once we reached the end and cooled off with a few supine poses, the net effects started to kick in.  While neither session was heated, both rooms were packed and body heat coupled with the humidity of a sweaty room had left all of us fairly depleted.  The call was for diet soda and a little recap at casa Melba.

One little gotchya, though.  Todd, having recently moved to the neighborhood, wasn't about to let me off the hook for a New Year's day run.  So, by the time I got home with soda, Todd has laced up and jogged the half mile to my door.  I threw on my shoes, grabbed Jack's leash, and we took off for a 60 minute tour of the Encinitas ranch trail system.  As sunset arrived, at the top of Westlake, I thanked Todd for the final beatdown and Jack and I headed home.  I slept heavy that night.

I'm not sure any of that explains why I am wide awake right now.  But it was a great tone to set for the new year, and it was a joyful day to remember, shared with friends, smiles, and plenty of sweat.  So I'm sort of still smiling as I remember how lucky I am, to be able to move, to be healthy, and to have the opportunity to share time with others in these simple ways.

Laptop

I used to be a desktop kind of guy.  It started out as economics, carryover from college days when laptops were an extra expense which wasn't nearly as reasonable as they have become today.  With the advent of corporate vpn access, things seemed to get even easier since I could leave my work machine all set up and remote desktop to it from any machine at home.  I still hate lugging a heavy laptop around, but something about the 15" macbook pro I was using three years ago turned the corner for me as far as laptops go.  Apple has done a phenomenal job at making their products sexy, all save a precious few as as much toy as they are tool.  I still don't frequently take my work laptop home.  But for home use, my primary machine has become my 13" macbook air.

There is such a thing as too small, namely the dell mini netbooks I have, a leftover relic from before the days of the iPad.  And there is definitely too big or at least too heavy, that defines just about every PC laptop I've ever used.

All of this got me thinking about the commercial above and how cute I thought it was back when it aired almost one decade ago.

Honolulu

The Honolulu marathon was a great exercise in humility today.  I seeded smoothly enough but as soon as the fireworks started things I felt myself working too hard.  I saw a bunch of familiar faces through the downtown loop and settled into something near 6:30 pace by the return to Ala Moana.  The stretch through Waikiki and around Kapiolani park seemed to take a big toll, I felt tired well before mile 10 was in sight.  Then, just when I began harboring some real doubt, the headwinds kicked in on Kalanianaole.  I'm not sure why but this wound up coinciding with a few stretches of "I feel good" so I somehow managed to get out to the turnaround only about a minute behind Mark and Joel, two local residents both on pace for a 2:50 finish.

Manoa Falls without much water

The loop in Hawaii Kai was a welcome relief as headwind turned into tailwind and running quickly became much easier.  The stretch home, however, seemed to coincide with a few fluctuations, sometimes I felt like I could push, other times I felt a struggle to hold it all together.

Nuuanu overlook at the end of Pauoa Flats trail

 The final climb up Diamond Head was a big challenge.  I was gu'd up but somehow I couldn't get the wheels to turn very well and it seemed to take a long time to reach the top.

The Goddess named this banyon the "banging tree"

 The downhill and final kilometer to the finish went by reasonably smoothly.  I picked it up a bit but wound up a second or two behind a marine who deservedly got all of the glory at the tape.

Kanikapila

The rest of the day was spent helping Ikaika in his quest to down 26 beers to celebrate his 2nd marathon.  We are off to the shack to finish off the 26/26 challenge.

NOTE:  The photos have absolutely nothing to do with the race but are from the trip so far.

TCSD 2012

The following is a letter I am sending to my team challenge peeps.  I thought I'd share it here so I can remember it.

-----------------------

Team,

Congratulations on reaching the finish line!  Over the prior 14 weeks you prepared for race day by logging 300 miles, you took 70 sweaty showers, and your feet hit the ground half a million times.

More than likely you feel fitter now than when we began.  With each training cycle, you took another step closer to your peak athletic potential.  WIth each season your body grows and just like a plant you will have seasons where the fruit is sweet and plentiful and others which may not be as bountiful.  With each race, you might find yourself learning a little more about yourself, if you are able to tap into strength of your body, the determination of your mind, and the desire within your heart.

In a modern world filled with conveniences which make it possible to live a life almost entirely devoid of physical effort, you all experienced a taste of one of the most basic aspects of humanity:  our ability to run long distances.  I saw many of you finish and my source of greatest happiness is that nobody gave me the impression that it was too easy, that they were too prepared, that they have learned all of the tricks.  Running is actually quite simple, you put one foot in front of the other and eventually you are done.  It is also so wonderfully complicated when you deepen into the interactions between mind, body and spirit.  To run well, we need agreement from our respiratory, cardiovascular, neuromuscular and digestive systems.  To run our best we need harmony, we need clear thoughts and a calm rage to sustain the effort.

While our finish times varied, I'd like to believe that many of us experienced a number of the same things throughout our evening.  I will share mine with you for perspective, and I would encourage all of you to continue to share with each other as well.  I believe that through discussion of shared sensations we come to a greater realization of our own journey and how we are all so very similar and yet also so entirely unique.

I started with Dan in Corral 3 and after a quick discussion we settled in to 8:00 pace in search of a 1:45.  The first mile I spent mostly dodging people, trying to develop a feel for the pace.  I find that if I calibrate myself well early on it helps when my mind starts to drift later in the race and I wasn't sure how well I know 8:00 pace.  We made the turn and settled into something close to 7:50 ish pace by the time we made it back to the start line just past the mile 2 marker.  The entire stretch from there until the turnaround loop on the other end of the strip felt smooth and effortless.  However, the massive tailwind was a prominent thought as the cape attached to my elvis suit was frequently blown over my shoulder and sometimes even into my mouth.  Dan was running strong here and I think he might have been tempted to drop down into mid 7's.  I figured we would have 3-4 miles back into the wind so it seemed OK to be a bit faster than goal pace on this stretch.  I was thinking if we banked 10s/mile from 2-9 then we'd have 20s/mile to give back from 10-13.  I assumed we would need to use most of that buffer unless the buildings somehow blocked the wind for us.  However, I also wondered if the extra 10 seconds per mile over 7 or 8 miles might put Dan past his breaking point.  Typically the best pacer is the one who sticks exactly to the pace with no deviations even though under these conditions that would mean a large increase in effort over the final miles.  I had no real way of knowing what Dan is capable of, having seen him run only once, so I went with raw hope, gut judgement and tried to do what I could to keep him from running any faster than 7:50 pace.

Well, we made that turn and Dan was still strong and on pace so I was starting to get excited that he might nail his goal on his first attempt.  Perhaps beginners luck actually does have a place in running?  However, as I looked around I began to see a fair bit of carnage.  After watching a few people peel off to the side and walk, and observing the pace slowing by nearly a minute per mile I realized that for everyone racing near their edge, the last 5k was going to be brutal.  As I shouted encouragement at various runners and receiving somewhat dirty looks in return I knew that the shift I was expecting was every bit as challenging as I thought it might be.  I've done enough racing to know how difficult the last quarter of any long race at full speed can be, but when you add in a drastic change from tailwind to headwind, the table was set for a memorable sufferfest.

That last stretch seemed to break a lot of people, more so than is typical for a half marathon.  I do want to emphasize for the benefit of the first timers that not every race is like that.  Some races have hills at a specific point which can be trained on and prepared for.  I am thinking specifically of the La Jolla half or AFC since they are home courses and most runners know to expect some extra work on the climbs and a bit of faster running with higher impact on the descents.  Vegas has effectively zero elevation gain so it isn't a course which requires any thinking under ideal conditions.  In many ways it's a great first timer course and a great course to go PR hunting.  The fact that the last two years have seen some rough weather is more indicative of the time of year than anything, racing in December has a higher chance of wintery weather than spring (which can sometimes be wet) or fall (which saw a number of hot weekends for us.)

But perhaps one of the most beautiful parts about racing, is that it can be just so unpredictable.  You can be supremely fit and draw a short straw weather-wise on race day, and you can also be slightly underprepared or maybe just a little injured and stumble into that perfect day where the stars align.  Just like love or perfect surf or homemade cheesecake, there is some variability in the outcome no matter how much experience you have, how hard you try, and how diligently you prepare.  Most of the classic longer races have at least one of these "oh-s" moments when many of the athletes switch from "racing" into "survival mode."  This is actually my favorite part, the breaking point, because every time I encounter it I learn a little something about who I am, what I want, and how I'm going to go about getting it.  Much has been written about this breaking point and how it can be a metaphor for life, by writers much more capable than I, so I encourage all of you who might be interested in reading to seek out that out if it appeals to you.

If you watch the finish line at any endurance race you may get a false sense of how doable it seems because everyone is elated at the finish.  The finish line can be compared to a wedding day, a graduation, a retirement, it is where we are typically projecting our best, putting on a smile no matter how we feel about what it took to get there.  The start line is more like that raw moment before the start of an interview or moving into the dorms our freshman year of college, the process of arrival carries no inherent definition of who has actually arrived.  It is the stuff in between the start and the finish where s-happens, where life is lived, where we experience the ups and downs, the challenges and incremental victories, the moments of hope, the weight of our expectations, the intentions to achieve, and the brutal honest truth of how fragile and limited we all are.  There is no trick (beyond EPO and other PED's) which will allow us to run faster than our bodies are able to which is why we train and why I have tried my best to give you a window into your goal race pace.  Additionally, there are an infinite number of tricks our minds will play on us over the course of a long race, so many reasons to quit, so many reasons to come up short, to give less than our best, to take a break, to fall down and not get up.  Battling all of these elements is a chance to unleash our inner warrior, it is a chance to fight.  In the end, we fight for a meaningless number on a clock, a cheesy medal, some sweaty photos, and memories which are written in pain and usually fade into a sweet nostalgia.  It is not that we fight for something of value, it is that we find value in the act of fighting.

Why do we try?  Why do I encourage all of you to test your limits?  It is most certainly not to win because there is always someone faster.  The faster you go has nothing to do with the money raised for the CCFA so as much as Team Challenge might pretend that you are racing for a cure, it would be better phrased that you are fundraising for a cure and you have chosen to race as part of that effort.  So, if that's the case, why try?  In many ways there isn't an answer I can give you if you don't feel it for yourself.  Life just feels more colorful to me when framed next to the context of a deep sensation.  Without moments to test myself, I tend to feel a stagnation or complacency creep in.

I suppose that is the message of this entire long-winded recap of Vegas 2012.  I set out at the beginning of the season with an intention to either introduce you to distance running or for those with prior experience, to refine your development towards your peak potential.  Across the board I've seen this reflected back in your eyes and your hearts.  The reflection I saw on Sunday and the one I seek is not some glossy 3x5 print of you with your arms held high in triumph with tears of joy and a PR on the clock as you click your heels at the finish line.  As dramatic as that might appear to be, it's not real.  The reflection I saw on Sunday, the one I look for from myself and the one I am so very proud of seeing in you, is the reflection of a warrior who has survived a furious battle, who has risked, who has been thrashed, and who is now returning home a tiny bit wiser, stronger, kinder, and full of gratitude for the simple pleasure of life.

TCSD CCFA Vegas Rah Rah

Today marks the end of my 2nd season of coaching for Team Challenge San Diego to raise money for the CCFA.  As is often the case, the sophomore year tends to carry along a certain clarity of vision.  I don't want this post to mire the energy, enthusiasm or effort that so many have put into the CCFA and the event itself, but there are some things I have a tendency to dislike about Las Vegas.

1. Gluttony.  I still can't erase the memory of actor Bob Mack's death in the movie Se7en where he is forced to eat himself to death.  Las Vegas represents, embodies, and promotes gluttony.  As someone who has several hard-wired tendencies to over-indulge in all aspects of life, this environment tends to stray from healthy and balanced.  As a result, I feel a strong desire to leave as soon as I arrive, not unlike an instinctual gag reflex.

Gluttony can kill if Kevin Spacey has a say in it.

2. Weather.  Vegas roasts in the summer since it is, after all, smack dab in the middle of a desert wasteland.  Vegas is also frigid in the winter for much of the same reasons.  There are a small handful of months with reasonable weather but it tends to be hit or miss.  Last year I was as cold as I've ever been.  This year looks to be more temperate, in fact it might be ideal racing conditions if the wind doesn't get in the way, so I'm not complaining too loudly.  But the simple fact is that when in Vegas, being outside is rarely an enjoyable experience.  As a Hawaii boy who lives in San Diego, routine exposure to the sky is a big part of my happiness.  I lived in NJ for 4 years and NY for another and I didn't like feeling cooped up inside, I was very unhappy there.  I don't think I would survive living in Vegas either, since I don't even like visiting.

3. Money.  Vegas represents the extreme ends of the spectrum, the haves and the have nots, along with plenty of in between.  I don't like what money does to people.  I think it can be a more destructive force than alcohol.  Part of my attraction to yoga is that for the most part the practice is focused on non-monetary pursuits.  Of course in the westernized world, studios have to pay rent, utilities, etc so classes cannot be free, but it has always been my intention to teach a weekly free class, to promote free yoga.  There are already way too many things in life with a price tag, and I think yoga for free (not talking about donations or work for trade here) is something that an established corporate studio like CorePower can do without much of an impact on their financial picture.  My home studio currently offers two such free classes and I think it is one of the best decisions the company has made.  I strongly support those who chose to focus their efforts in spaces where they aren't compensated for their time at the same rate as other less altruistic pursuits.  The flip side of all this is how uneasy I feel fundraising, asking people for money, and even sitting in a big room to recognize top fundraisers.  I understand that charities are about fundraising just as corporate America is about bottom lines.  But I just don't really like that part of life, I appreciate the space to ignore that when I can.  I work because I have to and so that I can then spend my leftover time with the types of pursuits and passions I believe in.  I don't like mixing the two.

Someone actually thought this was a good ad???

4. Crowds.  At almost every race I go to I feel like a tremendous introvert.  I hide from the masses, I start on one side or the other or I do whatever I can to sneak into the elite tent just to get some separation from the bodies.  Contrast this with how I feel at my home studio, where I am genuinely excited and happy to see all my friends, where I am at times boisterous and effusive.  I like groups of 20-30, up to 50 or 60 even.  Once a crowd swells to multiple hundreds or even thousands I shrink away.  This is yet another reason why I think I could never be a politician or public speaker, not that I mind speaking to large numbers of people, but more that I just don't like being that close to a crowd.

5. Hotels.  I've had some fun travel and some less fun travel over my 38 years of life.  I used to be a total race whore but I've cooled substantially.  I believe my father enjoys the hotel experience, and all of the associated newness of a space that starts off foreign and often slightly different than any other space previously encountered.  I've always been more apt to want to customize my space to suit my daily life, I slant more towards preprogrammed routine than spontaneous improvisational living.  While I've made some strides towards being flexible, while I think I can have a good time just about anywhere, I've noticed as I age that I really prefer to be in my space.  I think that is the whole reason for owning, for remodeling, and for attempting to create a "home" out of a house.  Vegas is the opposite, a place to go to escape all of that.

Dice is the only show other than Cirque which interests me.
Too bad I miss him by a couple of days.

So, I find myself oddly homesick.  I'll be in the car heading home in just a bit over 12 hours.  I'm probably letting the team down a little bit by skipping any post-race festivities but part of me strongly objects to the attitude of the Competitor Group who structures this even around as many hotel days they can get out of the predominantly out-of-town entrants.  I quit triathlon precisely because of how ridiculous the Ironman experience is when you factor in time off work, travel fees, hotel fees, bike fees, etc.  Running seems to be trending in the same direction and I guess that is one reason why I've drifted out of the running scene progressively.  I don't really want bigger nor better.  I'm a fan of reasonably priced, well run, local events.  The current trend just doesn't seem sustainable, it feels a lot like the housing bubble.  Perhaps the more low key events will regain some of their prominence in the future, just as local farmers markets seem to be doing fairly well these days.  But for the time being, I'm sort of avoiding all of the hoopla with my intention to spend even more time at my local yoga studio.

So, there you have it.  The race starts in about 5 hours but we group up in 3.  I'll be outside from about 4 until 9 and hopefully I won't be too frozen at that point.  Then I hop in the shower, try to find some food, pack, and head back to San Diego at midnight.  The intention is to be at my studio at 5:15 in time to set up for the first day of boot camp.  It'll be an endurance event of sorts, but not one which fits into the mold.

I'm unsure how I feel about heading to Honolulu on Wednesday.  Part of me just really wants to be home, to finish up my geekdesk (photos soon) and maybe get my nas squared away and start work on bringing the leftover parts back to life as either a web server or htpc.  The observer notices this and wonders why I am trending towards introvert, what is causing me to seek out this time to balance myself?  Most of me really wants to get some quality workouts in, some longer runs, some yoga, and I can only do that when I hide out from the rest of the world so maybe I'm not feeling healthy because I don't feel fit?  A big part of me feels that I've been a lousy dad for Hunter, that his days are numbered and I'd really like to spend some time around him, give him a bath, get him to the vet, get his nails clipped, pay them their $500 fee to tell me he's an old dog.  Then there is Cody who I haven't seen since Halloween.

Waking up in Vegas today feels kind of strange.  I don't know why I am here.