No, this is not an announcement for the long anticipated sequel to Four Weddings And A Funeral, but it does describe, quite succinctly, my day yesterday...in reverse.
The night before the race (Fri) I stuck both feet in a bucket of ice for 20 minutes and tied ice bags to my knees just before going to bed. I think that I perhaps peaked a bit early in my training for the half marathon. The balls of my feet and my right knee were beginning to tell me they needed some time off. I was concerned that they would not be able to withstand the 13.1 miles that would be asked of them the following morning.
The day began at 3:45 am when the alarm clock sounded. Time to suit up. I was 'that guy' who wore the shirt provided by the marathon organizers...for free! It's awesome how much free stuff you get when pay $85 just to run at the same time as 25,000 other people. Add the shirt to some high riser soccer shorts, and I was a vision in blue and pasty white (the shirt and shorts were not pasty white). Last but not least, I doubled up on the band-aids over the nips to prevent chafing/bleeding. It was at this time when I reviewed the long distance race business model in my mind. I wish I were involved in the brainstorming session where the first marathon EVER was discussed. I imagine it went something like this:
Dummy1: We need to think outside the box. How can we get thousands of people to give us money for something that they could really do on their own if they really wanted?
Dummy2: Ooh, I know, we can create a machine/robot that punches people in the face. They'll flock from all over and pay us money so they can prove to themselves that they can take a punch. They'll even train at home. We'll attract sponsors from all walks of life because our crowds will be so huge.
Dummy1: Nah, that'll never work.
Dummy3: I've got it! Organized fitness. We'll charge people to run with other people. And I'm not just talkin' short 5 or 10K jobs. I'm talkin' 26.2 miles, baby, and perhaps half that for people with less mental toughness. They'll train for months. They'll fly in from the nether regions of the world just to say they've run the race in a specific location. We'll provide a shirt, and perhaps a bottle of water and a granola bar at the end of the race, but our margins will be ridonculous. That's BEFORE the sponsors! We'll attract advertisers in droves due to the sheer size and diversity of our demographic. I'm tellin' ya people, this is our Mona Lisa!
Dummy1&2: By George, he's got it!
I am no longer guiltless. I fell victim to the ploy. Perhaps it was my unwillingness to give in to age and a slower metabolism. Perhaps it was to prove to myself that I could do something I neither wanted to nor thought I could ever do. Perhaps there was a part of me that wanted to catch a glimpse of what it's like to live in my wife's shoes. Somehow a combination of the 3 found me leaving the house at 4:15 am Saturday morning driving to Seattle for the inaugural Seattle Rock N Roll 1/2 Marathon.
I carpooled with my neighbor. He's the one that dared me to register for the race in the first place. We parked at the Qwest Field parking garage and caught a shuttle ('shuttle' is a fancy name for School Bus) to the Starters Village in Tukwila (south of Seattle). In reality, the only thing about the 'Starters Village' that resembled a true village were the miles of outhouses as far as the eye could see. I believe you modernists call them 'port-a-potties'. Evidently the thought of running that far scared the pooh out of more than just me!
It was a gorgeous day. I'm generally not that generous with my praise of the Seattle climate, but this was truly a beautiful morning. I was prepared for cloud cover, in that even on sunny days here it doesn't get truly sunny until later in the morning, but just before the start of the race it was relatively warm and I decided to shed my long sleeve shirt and started with short sleeves.
After some final stretches, the celebrity race starter got on the microphone. It was UW Football Head Coach, and former BYU Quarterback Steve Sarkisian. Once I crossed the starting line, I hit Play on the Zune 8GB and the voice of Duke from Rocky IV filled my head, "You're gonna have to go through hell, more than any nightmare you've ever dreamed. But in the end, I know you're gonna be the last one standin'....you know what you gotta do....do it...DO IT." I enjoyed putting my playlist together for the race. I was really looking forward to running if, for no other reason, I got to listen to ~2hrs of my favorite music. I mean, I'm talkin' Kris Kross 'Jump', Van Halen 'Jump', House of Pain 'Jump Around'. Who can listen to that stuff and not be pumped up?
I underestimated what 25,000 people meant. Claustrophobia set in at the starting line. I didn't feel like I could really hit my stride until close to Mile 3. I had to fight the urge to burst out of the gate and start passing people. I think that's why I have such a hard time with the concept of running just to run. I consider myself very competitive, but I have absolutely no interest in simply beating myself. Since everyone knows the only way to truly feel good about yourself is to make others feel bad, I started keeping a +/- total of how many people I passed vs. how many people passed me.
I saw a sign at Mile 1 that read 'only 12.1 to go!' At first I interpreted the sign as a daunting reminder of how much ground I still had left ahead of me, but then I thought to myself 'that's 1 mile I never have to accomplish again on my quest to say that I've completed a half-marathon'.
The stretch between miles 4 and 5 miles was mostly uphill, but my neighbor and I matched stride for stride. Well, that can't be quite right in that he's just a tad shorter, so perhaps his stride was a hair quicker than mine, but I digress.
It was at Mile 6 that Randy (neighbor) and I were separated. He had been running at a slightly faster pace than that for which he had trained, so he decided to fall back a bit. Miles 6-9 was a beautiful stretch overlooking Lake Washington. Again, gorgeous day. The furthest I had ever run in one outing prior to race day was 10 miles, so I was bit nervous about how the body would respond to miles 10-13. At 9.2 miles the pack hooked a left onto the I-90 tunnel. It had not occurred to me that my GPS watch would not work in the tunnel, so I had to go approximately 3/4 miles without knowing how far I had gone or how fast I had gotten there. Oh, the perils of this generation. I'm fairly certain my ancestors just planned a flat tire on my way to work tomorrow as a result of that last complaint. In my defense, however, I'm an analytics geek. I prefer to run on a treadmill rather than consume all that fresh air and scenic views because, well, I'm a numbers nerd. I need to know how many calories I've burned, what pace I'm at, how far I've gone, how far I've got left, the square root 1,349, etc. Anyhow, the fortunate part of my 'wardrobe malfunction' was that I was pleasant surprised to learn, once I emerged from the tunnel, that I was at the 10 Mile mark and that I only had a 5K left. That seemed to be doable. I was boldly going where my body had never gone before, but I was feeling good. Miles 10-12 I found my 4th or 5th wind (I couldn't keep track of 'winds' AND keep a running total of passed vs. got passed at the same time!) and started to get a glimmer of that elusive 'runner's high'. I've always equated 'runner's high' with likes of Big Foot, the Lachness Monster, or right-winged media. Ya know, things that you'd like to see but pretty sure don't exist. I also once thought that 'runner's high' meant the runner was high for wanting to run in the first place, but it turns out it's something entirely different. I couldn't feel the pain in my feet or knees anymore and honestly (because everything written previous to this line is sketchy, at best) I didn't even feel like I was moving my legs and arms forward anymore. It was like I had been doing this for so long that my body just kind of took over and switched to autopilot. That was until Mile 12.
Mile 12 to Mile 13 was difficult. I definitely incurred a deficit on that leg of the race from a pass-or-get-passed perspective. I hit a wall of fatigue. I kept running, though. I never walked. I saw a sign that read 'Pain is Temporary, Quitting is Forever!!' I certainly had no intention of quitting, ever, but realizing that pain and exhaustion were temporary helped me to Mile 13. I could see the finish line. More importantly, I could see someone I knew from church about 50 feet in front of me. I zeroed in on him as my last goal of the race. I ran as fast as my legs would take me at that point and willed myself to the Finish Line ahead of him at 1hr 54 min 07 sec, crushing my goal of 2 hrs. Just 3 minutes later my friend/neighbor Randy crossed the line, beating his goal time as well. What a great feeling. I overcame my own doubts and lack of desire to accomplish something of which I am proud. I've gained a renewed respect for those that train for and complete full marathons. Having done a half, I'm pretty sure that with enough training, the body could take the punishment and bounce back, but I just don't think that I'm mentally strong enough to pound out 26.2 miles. As it is, there's not a second that goes by while running when the voices in my head aren't reminding me of how much I can't stand running. And that's just how the nice voices say it. I can't even write what the angry voices say, after all, this is a family friendly blog!
Anyhow, the rest of the day was spent at a 6-yr old's birthday party a la Chuck E Cheese and a 30 something's birthday party later that night. Before sundown I had eaten nearly half of a pizza, and two burgers piled high with a supporting cast of chips, soda, and chocolate cake, because...well...I earned it baby!
The greatest, most iconic pop star of my generation left this world today. It could be said that he had checked out of this world for quite some time, but I was surprised to admit to myself that I spent more than a couple of moments reflecting on the impact his career had on my upbringing. After much analysis, I've narrowed the impacts down to the Big 3:
1. I must have been 6 or 7 years old when the 'Thriller' music video was released. I had no real desire to see it because, well, I was 6 or 7 years old. But my oldest sister had a desire to see it, and when my folks went out on their weekly date night, she was in charge. As I remember it, and she may recount an entirely different version, my little sister and I were banished from the house and locked out during the 14 minute video for our 'own protection'. I was angry and resentful at the time, but I know now that my sister was only saving me from inevitable nightmares. As it is, I have intense nightmares every Monday night Jan - May when I become Jack Bauer and have to save the world before morning.
2. Captain Eo. Anyone who visited Disneyland from 1986 to 1997 has to be familiar with this 3-D extravaganza. More specifically, anyone who visited Disneylad from 1986 to 1997 with my mother is painstakingly familiar with Captain Eo. That was her favorite attraction for 2 reasons: 1) the show was indoors and air conditioned and 2) the show was indoors and airconditioned. A distant 3rd reason would be that she found it fascinating how he could move his body. AWKWARD! The movie tells the story of Captain EO and the ragtag crew of his spaceship on a mission to deliver a gift to a wicked alien queen, the Supreme Leader, on her home world of rotting, twisted metal and steaming vents. Who thinks of this stuff? Pure genius.
3. Will You Be There? - Free Willy came out in 1993, when I was 16 years old. I loved it. Say what you want about the cheese factor, or perhaps the terribly forced dialogue, or even the punchlines pertaining to Pee Wee Herman, but the Michael Jackson song made the movie. I listened to it again tonight and a flood of memories and emotion came rushing back. Try it: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9iPWeu33s34 The speaking portion towards the end goes like this:
In our darkest hour
In my deepest despair
Will you still care?
Will you be there?
In my trials
And my tribulations
Through our doubts
And frustrations
In my violence
In my turbulence
Through my fear
And my confessions
In my anguish
and my pain
Through my joy
and my sorrow
In the promise of another tomorrow
Ill never let you part
For you're always in my heart.
Right back atchya MJ. Despite the train wreck that turned into the shell of what was once an internationally captivating Michael Jackson, you're always in our hearts.
I love the Mid-Summer Classic. To me it's a magical night. However, I can't say that I recall many details about most All-Star Games that I've watched. There are a few standout memories like Bo Jackson's mammoth home run off Rick Reuschel in 1991 and Chan Ho Park serving up a gimme to Cal Ripken in the Iron Man's last All-Star Game in 2001, but I can't tell you the final score, let alone who hit the game winning run in just about any of the previous 30 All-Star games EXCEPT 1987. When a replay of the game aired on the MLB network (greatest channel ever BTW) a couple of days ago, I was transported back to 10 years old again as I watched the announcement of the starting lineups. Eric Davis, Andre Dawson, Jack Clark (still can't say his name without preceding it with some sort of muffled expletive for making me lock myself in the bathroom for 30 minutes crying after the 1985 NLCS) Mike Schmidt, Darryl Strawberry, Dave Winfield, Donny Baseball, George Bell, etc. These were the premier power hitters of my childhood. These were the baseball cards that I still have stored in my house. Though I'm certain none of these guys are perfect individuals and some have even made mistakes publicly, I couldn't help but observe how different their body types were compared to sluggers today. They were skinny guys with muscle. They lifted weights, I'm sure, and were very strong, but I go to bed at night convincing myself that they were clean.
Watching the game, I remembered WHY I remember this game so well. This game took place just a couple of days after my grandmother passed away, and my family was still in Reno, NV for the funeral arrangements. All of my cousins were there and we had just finished a big family dinner. Our family was doing the dishes (because, as my father explained to me when I asked why it was OUR family that always got stuck doing the dishes, 'we got class') when rookie Mark McGwire of the I'm-not-here-to-talk-about-the-past fame came to bat. He had 33 HR at the break that year and was the biggest story in baseball. My dad allowed me to take a break and watch him bat. That was a very small gesture, but I'll always remember my dad recognizing how much that at bat meant to me. As I watched it again 22 years later, I knew that he would inevitably fly out to Dale Murphy in right field, but it was still exciting to feel like a small boy again.
The game reminded me of what baseball has perhaps forgotten since those times. There was a play where Dave Winfield plowed into Ozzie Virgil at home trying to score the winning run. Ozzie held onto the ball, Winfield was out, and that was the end of it. There was no taunting, no chest pounding, and no attempt at reaction or retaliation, just gritty solid baseball. Winfield cared about scoring, and Virgil cared about not letting him score, in an exhibition game, with nothing but pride on the line. All Star games these days have been too much about walking on eggshells and being careful not to let a pitcher throw too much, etc. I fear for the day when baseball All-Star games turns into the travesty that is witnessed every February at the NBA All-Star game where offense and entertainment trump defense and fundamentals.
Ultimately the NL won the game 2-0 on a 13th inning triple by Tim Raines (pre Rock Raines days) wearing a Montreal Expos uniform. Those were the days.
Father's Day Weekend started Friday night, when Brooklyn and I went on a 'Daddy/Daughter Date' to the Seattle Storm basketball game (WNBA). We had just signed up Brooklyn for Basketball Camp later in the summer, so she was excited to go see the girl pros. Brooklyn's first question before we were even seated was, "which team is the Storm?" Once she learned that they were wearing white uniforms, she wanted to know the score. Once she learned that the Storm were ahead, she smiled, relaxed and began her incessant cheers of "Go Storm, Go!"
A local middle school cheerleading squad performed a routine during one of the time outs. Brooklyn observed, "those look like cheerleaders, but I don't think they are." I dug deeper into her doubts, and she stated simply, "well, they don't have pom poms". How can you argue with that?
The game was awesome for 4 reasons: 1) I got to wolf down a foot long hot dog, 2) Brooklyn got to 'high five' Doppler (Storm mascot) and be involved in the end-of-third-quarter train on the court, 3) the Storm won in a blow out game, and 4) I got to teach Brooklyn about some basketball rules, how to keep track of the score, and how to tell how much time was left in the quarter/game.
Father's Day Weekend continued early Saturday morning at 5:45 a.m. Usually, I'm a nothing-positive-ever-happens-at-5:45 am kind of guy, but the prospect of white water rafting got me out of bed at that ungodly hour in order to get to the 'Put In' in Leavenworth at 8:00 a.m. As it turned out, I not only had a blast during my first river rafting experience, but my eyes were opened to an entirely new vernacular altogether ("but my eyes were opened to an entirely new vernacular" a la Airplane) Yes, indeed. I think it's awesome that there's a whole set of vocabulary meant only for river enthusiasts. For example, I was informed that we would have a snack break after we 'portage' at the 'weir'. Now, if I were to explain the same thing, I would say something like 'we'll get some food when we get out of the river before we go over the thing that looks like a dam but really isn't technically a dam'. Another example, I heard that the river was at 6500. I tried my darndest to think of a metric to make a number like 6500 make sense instead of having to ask the rookie question "What does 6500 mean?". Luckily some other rookie sap asked the question and I profited from the answer (cubic feet per second). I also enjoyed how various spots of rough water had names associated with them. For example, we rafted through Satan's Eyeball, Drunkard's Drop, and The Suffacator. I didn't see those names on the full page waiver I signed prior to getting on the water, otherwise I might have had 2nd thoughts. The weather and scenery were gorgeous and I pushed myself a bit outside my comfort zone. Truth be told (because I absolutely insist on post integrity) the experience was amazing and I had a wonderful time.
I returned home in the late afternoon in time for the babysitter to arrive. Rachelle and I went out to dinner at a new Mexican restaurant in the area and loved it. We miss good Mexican food since moving from Arizona, but this place we agreed merits a 2nd visit. We then went to see The Proposal at the movie theatre. Rachelle enjoyed it quite a bit, and I'm pretty easy to please (my own family doesn't value my movie recommendations), and it was just nice to spend an evening just the two of us.
Father's Day itself has been great. Brooklyn tackled me in bed at 7:00 a.m. and was excited to give me the card she had been talking about for the past 3-4 days. When I open the card, there's a funny song that plays thanking Dad for all he does for the kids. One line says that without Dad we'd be 'naked, homeless, no TV'. The word 'naked' still made her roar on the 32nd time we listened to it. I got to see Brooklyn sing with the Primary in church this morning. It's so fun to watch Brooklyn do anything that she's been looking forward to doing. Her excitement slash relief of finally able to unleash something she's had difficutly holding in is almost palpable.
I laid down this afternoon to watch Bolt with Brooklyn. It was my first time seeing the movie and Brooklyn 14th (we've had the movie for 2 weeks). Though I thought it was funny/entertaining, rafting from the day before caught up with me and I was zonked on the couch about 30 minutes into the show. Dad took a solid nap this afternoon. The crowned jewel of Father's Day was dinner and dessert. Roast beef and potatoes are not staples in my house, but they were much appreciated this afternoon. Oreo pudding pie for dessert. Are you kidding me? Roast beef followed up with Oreo pudding pie? That's like following Christmas with...well, Christmas!
Father's Day Weekend was awesome.
I spoke with my sister this afternoon, and she referred to the NBA Finals as Disney World vs. Disneyland. Though I hadn't thought about it in that light prior to that conversation, I should have seen this one coming given the amount of conspiracies of which the NBA is often accused. Admittedly I got caught up rooting against (would praying against be taking it too far?) a Lakers/Cavaliers Finals so as to be spared the Kobe/LeBron massive hind parts kiss fest that would inevitably ensue. I should have recognized a Lakers/Magic matchup as an acceptable 'plan B' should something go awry and the NBA not wind up with its coveted Kobe/LeBron showdown. Sure, the Magic doesn't demand the viewership that the LeBrons do, but I'm sure that somewhere in the underground tunnel that connects Magic Kingdom, CA to Magic Kingdom, FL a deal was made between David Stern and Walt Disney's frozen remains that would be mutually beneficial. I'm no conspiracy theorist, I just read that which is written on the wall.
