17k in December

My first “solo” run came on December 6th. This was the first tie I ran without any family members or friends running with me. It was sort of an experiment to see if I really wanted to do this running thing, or if it had always been peer pressure.

On the website for Pacific Coast Trail Runs it says that the 17k course at Woodside is 10.6 miles. I had run that far before, so I wasn't so worried about the distance. What did worry me was the almost 2000ft in elevation change, most of it on the first 6mi of the run.

Our car has been having sporadic problems. Some days, the shift lever will not move for several minutes. As a result, we have to plan almost 10 extra minutes into any trip. This morning was no different. Unfortunately, we did not plan 10 extra minutes and I hate to be late, especially to an event where I am only 1 of more than 100 others and I am the only one who cares if I am there or not.

We finally got going. The park was not too far from our home and looks like a good place for future picnics (exploration was always a secondary motive for a trail running course). It is a mountainous, wooded park with grilling pits, paved roads, and trails.

Of course, the parking lot was full, so as soon as we found the starting line (not hard to miss the large crowd of people in shorts at 9am on a cold December morning) I kissed Katie good bye and left her to park the car and bring the boys by later.

I let the organizers know I was there and began my warm up. The crowd of people was for the distance before mine, so I was right on time in my opinion. I had just enough time to warm up and not enough time to worry too much about the race.

The large crowd did not surprise me, especially since two distances (17k and 35k) were starting at the same time. I got in the middle of the pack, perhaps something I may reexamine if I run this course again. The online description was single track, and logging roads. I had never run a race in these conditions and was curious as to what that would mean for running.

It meant that when the director started the race there was a mad dash across the grassy field. I will always remember it because seconds after we were started, the race directed yelled in his megaphone “watch out for the kid.” This kid was none other than Sam, who Katie rescued from the stampeding runners just in time and held tightly on to both boys behind a tree as we passed. She had made it just in time to see us off.

About 100 feet after that everyone stopped and we were forced to walked single file through the trail head gate. We then continued on in single file for about a mile. It was possible to pass people, but not easy and the pace was way slow. It was not a big deal since the up hill started after that and most people dropped back.

The hills were not as steep as I had feared, but they went on forever. The distance that usually takes around 50 minutes, took more than an hour. At the turn around point I grabbed some sports drink and a piece of food and took off again. If anything, running down hill was just as difficult as up hill. Balance becomes the question of the moment as wobbly legs tried to carry me back down where I had just come.

I was passed on the downhill by a few people. At one point I was completely alone. I stopped for just a moment and all I could hear was my own heart beating. It was not a little eerie. No small part of me was afraid I had taken a wrong turn and was going to run the 6 miles back instead of 4, or worse—be lost forever and leave my children orphans.

I did finish. Katie was waiting for me at the finish line and life was good. There is little better in life than finishing a long race. For those of you who care about such things I cam in 30 out of 118 with a time of 1 hour 38 minutes and I am already looking for my next race.

Year End Fat Check

My first Christmas with Katie in 2005, a mere 6 months after we were married, I stepped onto her parents' bathroom scale in Omaha, NE. I was shocked to see the scale at 200 lbs. We did not own a scale and I had not weighed myself since High School when too much weight was never a problem. According to the BMI (body mass index) that's obese. Me? Obese? Well, I reasoned that the BMI must not be very good or accurate. Who would have said that I would weight that much? I fought off the depression and had a marry first Christmas with Katie.

In 2008 we went to Spain and Portugal for the Summer. After spending time in swim wear at a near by beach, my self esteem and body image took a heavy (pun intended) hit. Without a car, we walked everywhere and by the time we returned to California we felt pretty good and noticed some weight loss.

That Christmas we were in Phoenix I was now around 220. I joked that I was still dealing with pregnancy weight from the boys (who were one and a half). Not too long before my family had started a weight loss program and Dad had even started running. He half kidded that he could not make it around the block the first day he went out—but only half. He had a crazy goal of running a marathon and had his training planned out up to June.

When we got home, Katie and I decided that we need to do something about for our health. If I remember correctly, Katie was staring at my belly the entire time. Honestly, I did not feel fat or anything. So we started a running program in which we ran for a set amount of time and walked the rest. I lost about 1 pound week. We told our nieghbors, who are healthy people about our minor successes of running for 10 minutes without stopping and they politely feigned interest and congratulations. The same neighbor had that year run an ultra marathon and later told me he really did not know how to celebrate someone running 10 minutes.

By that summer Dad ran his marathon and had lost 50 lbs. Katie and I were running for miles without stopping (not marathon distance, but it was more than 10 minutes at a time). I run my first 10k on July 4th. We both felt better (except for Katie's knee, which began to hurt around this time and stopped her from running for some time).

Christmas 2009 at 1 pound a week, I have shed 40 lbs and have said so long to obesity.

Three Year Old Christmas

Perhaps it was the fact that they had been waking up every day at 7am asking us if it was Christmas day, maybe it was the spontaneous singing of Santa laden songs, or maybe it was telling the boys to get away from the wrapped presents over the past several days; but it was hard to sleep on Christmas eve. Now, we had struggled with a three hour time difference since we landed in Boston four days earlier. Everything we wanted to do was either too early, or too late—breakfast was lunch, early morning cartoons were over, and going out to play ended when it got dark (which is around 4pm in Maine).
Of course, when I say we I mean Katie and I (especially for early morning cartoons) and not necessarily Ben and Sam who found waking at 7am in Maine no different than waking at 7am in California. Although we got to bed a little late (well, it was 10pm for us), I went to bed expecting an early wake up.
At 5am—nothing.
At 6am—snoring.
At 7am—there was a little turning.
At 8am—more snoring.
At 9am—I could not longer wait and was about to poke Sam until he woke up and remind him what day it was when Ben popped up: “I'm going to pee.” No sooner said then we were running upstairs. By the time Ben was done Katie and Sam had come up the stairs looking for us.
The rest went as expected, but I will say that this was the first year the boys really had a grasp of the joys of Christmas which consists in getting toys from Grandparents. They did not understand that opening one present (i.e. a rocket that launched into the air when stomped on) required immediate opening followed by several minutes of dedicated play. In fact, it became difficult to tear them away from certain toys. If it had not been for the mystery of the wrapped gift, we may still be before the tree in our pajamas.
All their gifts were a success, especially the last one which Sam recognized right away and provoked the joyful squeal “Optimus prime!”

On Raising Post Modernists

My sons are fans of the show Word World on PBS. For those few of you who are unfamiliar with the show, the basic premise is that words form the objects they spell. (ex. The character “Frog” is composed of the letters F, R, O, G).

As disturbing as this concept may be for those derridians and other flavors of post-modernists out there that strictly separate signifier and signified, I believe my boys redeem some of your basic dogma.

We have a set of alphabet fridge magnets the boys often play with. It was at one time a complete set from A to Z, though, sadly, I believe some of the less essential letters like B and E are less present than people who want to form words with them would like. Luckily, Ben and Sam cannot read.

Just like the three year olds they are, they took some of their playing cues from TV and built a rocket using mentioned letters. Naturally, A is the top of the rocket because it is pointing and shaped like the front of the rocket. M is the end for similar reasons. R stands on the side looking at the rocket, along with J. And all they other letters are already on board.

Take that semiotics!

Where Everyone Knows Your Name

About a year ago, when Ben and Sam were around two, we started a tradition of going to a restaurant with them. This may sound very nice and even a bit snobbish, but please refrain your judgments until I have explained.

The tradition really started when Katie left me alone with the boys one Saturday afternoon as she attended to some job obligations as courtyard advisor. In her absence I walked with the boys about two blocks to the nearest restaurant—Jack in the Box. It was the first time the boys sat for an entire meal outside the home. That settled it for me.

Some may argue that labeling Jack in the Box as a restaurant is a little misleading. After all, this is fast food we are talking about. I respond that those same people are a little snobbish themselves, and despite indications to the contrary, I am not so concerned with snobbery that I am above teaching young children to eat food that is prepared in under 15 minutes.

Since that day, we have regularly (I would say religiously, but this particular word no longer implies frequency) walked down to Jack in the Box. As a result, at our most recent outing the manager on duty now recognizes the boys and greets them with a smile. (In our defense, though there really is no defense necessary for deliciousness, he does greet everyone with a smile. On this occasion he introduced himself as Shawn, but I digress)

This all amounts to the fact that we now have a little family tradition we will all look back on someday and a place where they may not know our names, but they do know we will come back.