'A fine line between genius and madness'...

Had a great visit with my kid.  

Seems like it's been months since she left. More like 5 weeks!

I asked how many DJ EDM gigs she's done since her first in September. The tally is up to around 20 already. 

She never turns down sushi....nor does her dad. 

I think this was her first drink in a grown-up bar; Lark's at the Ashland Springs Hotel....her wine-tasting class has been paying off, as she picked a really nice red. 

Later that night, she had a gig at the Trap Door, where she is now the official house talent. 

The next morning is one for the books. A little backstory...

I ran the insane 1989 Mt Marathon race in Seward Alaska while in the Navy. At some point, I shared this photo with my kid....i had just coughed up my toenails after (barely) surviving a 3000' climb in a mile, not to mention the subsequent descent.

When I visited her in Ashland and went to her semi-private art studio. I turned around as she pulled out her present, and then my jaw dropped.

Right before I burst out laughing. 

She has my sensibilities, no doubt. An incredibly thoughtful and hilarious gift. 

If you're ever in Ashland, check out the Ashland Springs Hotel. A century old renovation, simply gorgeous. 

Oh, but there's more...my man Chris, a Navy roommate from 87 years ago, tells me that he's getting rid of this contraption. 

It's some kind of synthesizer, mix master beat generator thingamabob, the perfectly tool for any EDM DJ nowadays. When Zoe started drooling, Chris agreed to ship it to her. 

And oh btw....Chris is the guy who took the picture of me at that Alaska race! It's a circular world, to be sure. 

Back in the day, I think he said this about me...

Too 'good.'

Happy July 4th...and possibly the most insane race I've ever done...

The other day, I saw a story describing how Allie Ostrander, fresh off her NCAA championship in the steeplechase, went back home to Alaska and destroyed the field in a local race.

And the memories came flooding back....

July 4th in Seward means the annual Mt Marathon race. It's not a marathon, more like a 5k, and a tradition spanning 90 years. It's been called the 'oldest, fastest, hardest, toughest...shortest' race in world.

Shortest? So what's the big deal?

Here's what: the course is just nuts. No other description makes sense.  3 miles on an out and back course, with three THOUSAND feet of elevation change. Meaning half the race is straight up.

The numbers are actually worse; the prime elevation gain happens over the course of a mile. Vertical rise of 2,675' in 0.9 miles. For comparison's sake, the final nasty push of the South Sister climb is 2.3 miles and 3000' of climbing. So, Mt Marathon is over twice as steep.

And it's a race, so you're less inclined to stop and enjoy the view while the masses leave you behind.

So why do I know this much?

Because I'm a proud alum!  Let me take you back to 1989...

I was a young, impressionable, bullet-proof Navy officer onboard the USS CALIFORNIA (CGN-36). Having reported a few months prior, I was designated the Reactor Electrical Division Officer (RE Div), responsible for leading the electricians who helped keep our two nuclear reactors humming (and intact).

Underway on nuclear power: I'm in this picture somewhere

In July of that fateful year, my ship made port in Seward for a few days of R&R. While walking downtown on the 4th, I heard about some crazy race that was happening that day, so I wandered to the starting line for the scoop. In talking with the race organizer, I found out he was offering free entry to any Navy personnel.

Hmmmmm.....

I've been underway for two months. Meaning, I'm not exactly in race shape. Far from it.  (Later that year, I was actually running laps on the main deck when the captain lit up the PA system with word that the SF earthquake just hit our home port. I remember stopping on the bow of the ship while he told us the news).

But back to Alaska, and an offer to enter this crazy race: Did I mention I'm bulletproof?

I'm in. Except one little problem...I'm nearly two miles from my running shoes; they are in the Junior Officer bunkhouse back on the ship. And I have an hour. And Uber doesn't exist yet.

Yep. Jog the two miles to the ship, get my shoes, jog the two miles back. About 15 minutes to spare.

 And how steep can the hill be, anyway?

Real steep. Insanely steep.  My ship was moored to the large pier on the left, above the small boat basin. The race started somewhere on the right side of the picture. Nice warmup, eh?

Then the race began. About a mile was through the city, then it headed up into the woods.

My goal quickly transitioned from "run hard" to "steady" to "I hope like hell I'm not on a gurney tonite." I believe I coughed up a burger and fries from a decade prior.

This race was not for the faint of heart or self-aware...fortunately, I was neither of these. Uphill was brutal, downhill was terrifying. I don't remember snow in 1989, just a lot of loose rock on the upper reaches. The fastest racers seemed to be taking a step every 15' on the way down.

From Lew Freedman's column in the Anchorage Daily News the next day: "This mountain has a personality disorder. It has a mean streak. It enjoys making people suffer...the wrong grip will slice open your hand as efficiently as a Veg-O-Matic."

No, I did not tell my mother of my holiday plans ahead of time.

Your not-so-atypical finisher who had some issues on the descent...

 As my fitness level quickly convinced me that I wouldn't be on the podium that day, I concentrated HARD on keeping my feet underneath me for that nasty descent. A few close calls and very wobbly legs, but no disasters like this guy...

Photo by Bill Roth/Anchorage Daily News

After what seemed like (and actually was) hours, I was back on flat ground. Shirt shredded, feet shredded, just a hot mess. The next two pictures are actual pictures, as in 'film.' 

Shirt in tatters, shoes destroyed. Just me, my shorts, and socks....

But all limbs still connected and intact. Call it a win. 

Great footage of this year's race. 

10 min documentary

Scratch one big one off the bucket list!

Cyclocross 2012

For those who don't know, Cyclocross is basically off-road road biking. Usually with lots of mud if weather permits. And obstacles.

Since it's near Halloween, costumes were also in order...

Mario and Luigi

Rare to see tandems in XC, but these guys were into it.

A well-respected member of the community...



Back at the Naval Academy, our government issued swimsuits were basically dark blue speedos; we called them Grape Smugglers. Take heed, Molly.

Some yummy treats...

A view from above...

 

Zoe and her good friend Zoe

 

Climbing the stairs

 

Anaerobic Hell...

 

Those are actual coffins to leap...

 

 

Warning: the next pictures are quite disturbing. 

 

 

 

That's one person, not two. I don't know why, but I think I'm having bizarre dreams tonite.

Oh, then there is this...

 

 

That is an actual candy bikini this 'guy' is wearing. As in 'candy necklace.' And the rider on the left is having a snack. This is wrong on so many levels...

Once I recovered and lathered myself in sanitizer, I took Zoe on yet another Ferris Wheel ride and saw this.  

 

 

 So I tried it.

 

 

I actually learned in 6th grade. Just like riding a bicycle; you never forget how.

 

Zoe wanted to wrap up with a boxing match. How do I take her seriously?

 

Good question.

How not to recover...

All races for the year are finally done.

I'm pretty burned out, physically and mentally, in need of a break. Next year's goal is the 29 April Eugene Marathon in 3:26, which will be good enough to qualify for Boston.

So my plan was to:

• Take the month of September easy so the body can recover,
• Build run mileage in Oct-Dec while taking core/plyo classes like last year
• Begin hardcore run training in January

With Hood to Coast done, and a slight calf strain to boot, it's time to slowly rebuild.

A friend told me there are only two things that are never bad for you, yogurt and swimming. Except somehow I thought he said yoga.

It's easy stretching, right?

Sure. Except when the class is called "Power Yoga."

It's been a year since I've been on the mat. After yesterday, just call me Shaky. Could barely hold most poses; balance seemed fine, but the muscles just weren't there. And today, the glutes were questioning my sanity. Very, very sore.

Anything with the word "Power" in the description really isn't a good recovery exercise.

Dumb. Just dumb.

Deschutes Dash Olympic Triathlon: the Big Bonk

Or as Al Capone (DeNiro) said to Elliot Ness (Costner),

"YOU GOT NUTHING!!!"

Hey DeNiro (aka Travis Bickle), you talkin' to me? I think you are. I had nothing today.

Hey, at least I was first....in the water to warm up. 60F, not bad in the sleeveless. Meanwhile, a huge crowd of triathletes on the bank not eager to get in. The downstream river swim is fun; you go under bridges and think that you're a real swimmer when you see the relative speed.

After 200 yards with the field spread out, some guy literally crawled right over me enroute, going from my right hip to my left shoulder. Was that really necessary, dude? Then I took a kick to the jaw. Interesting.

Came to shore feeling strong.

On the bike after hitting a gel. Still working on getting into shoes on the fly, though this was better than last time. Then it's straight uphill toward Mt. Bachelor.

Already blown; legs are dead. No big, this is training race #2, with my target day coming in 4 weeks. It's ok to feel bad today. And I've been feeling really tired the last 6 weeks; training, work, volunteering, home, etc... And last night I spent 3 hours helping the organizers set up the transition area, getting home at 8pm.

Tip: if you're setting up fencing and bike racks, bring heavy gloves. Major blisters. And it poured on us.

Tip redux; don't set up fencing the day before a race if you want a good result in the race.

Anyhow, I just figured all the extra work will simply make the race harder, which is fine for training.

I was right. The race was harder. But I really need to throttle back on my recovery weeks.

Lots more rain uphill. Joseph and Kevin (fellow club members) crank past, and I wave goodbye. I was able to keep out of my lowest gear (23 cog), with a decent spin rate in the 21. I hit the turnaround 2 minutes slower than last year; didn't understand why.

Oh yeah; last year was a relay leg. This time, I was doing the whole thing. A little easier to ride when you didn't swim a mile beforehand. Selective memory?

Coming downhill, wet and cracked asphalt. Stay off the aero bars and take it easy. Nothing to gain and everything to lose by pushing hard now and wiping out. Never been as petrified on a descent like today.

Push the last flat four miles, out of the shoes without wrecking, into transition. Running shoes on, a drink of water, and we're going.

Except we're not.

Crashed hard/immediately, absolutely no energy, and I just started the run. This isn't going to be enjoyable, and it turns out I was right about that.

"Calories! I need Calories!!!"  At every aid station I'm screaming, to no avail. Water and HEED, no sugar or carbs. Later, when I tell my 8-year-old, she says, "Daddy, you should have eaten a chocolate bunny." No doubt.

After one loop, I'm on fumes. Okay, don't think. Just do. I cannot recall ever feeling that lousy in a race. I'm sure I've been there before, but it's been over 25 years.

BTW, only the last 4 years count. The previous 21? No races at all.

One aid station has half a banana. Not anymore. It's no magic elixir, but at least it doesn't get worse. How can it? I'm at rock bottom.

One nice thing about tri training is that it's given me a race-end kick. At least I can finish hard, sort of.

Had a free cosmopolitan afterward, courtesy of the race organizers. Nice touch, although an IV might have been more apropos. Then Joseph, Kevin, and I got back in the water for a bit.

Turns out Joseph took 2nd in our group! He had been dealing with a leg problem for a while, and this was his first race of the year. Nice way to come back, JB. Meanwhile, Kevin went for double-duty, with the sprint tri tomorrow. Today he was 13th OA (postscript: he was 1st AG in the sprint and the overall 2-day winner). Huge effort, Kevin!

Overall: good training day when taking the accumulated fatigue into account. Great workout for the carbo depletion effect, maybe my tired bod will start burning more fat like the books say.  Last tri of same length, I pounded about 5 ounces of gel underway. This time, 1 ounce and a major bonk. Hmmm, me thinks me sees a pattern.

Glad it was today and not at the Half Ironman in Lake Stevens next month.

It's all good. Now I'm taking a nap. For about 4 days.

Post Script:
didn't look at results until the next day. My first ever tri last yr, I was 36th out of 37 in my age group. Yesterday, 6th of 17 and an 8:28 run pace. Now I'm confused; it felt like 10+ minute miles. My Half Iron goal pace is 9:00; if I can go substantially faster while on vapors.....

Holy cow. I'm right where I need to be.

Another great (?) ride...

Super day of training, thanks the Deschutes Multisport Club. A dip in the balmy reservoir, a 50 mile bike ride toward the mountain, and a couple mile run to get the legs ready.

Except.....

One of my aero bar pads lost its sense of Velcro and flew off the bike while driving to the swim. No big.

Then I started putting my wetsuit on backwards before I realized it. Duh.

Did I mention the 51 degree water? Anything that cold should have the Titantic in it.

The bike ride: my water bottle cages are behind the seat, making it hard to reach for a drink. And a triathlon bike by definition is unstable when one hand is off the handlebars. And I've been on this particular bike exactly three times. And I was trying to keep up with strongmen Riley and Joseph.

You can see where this is going. An unplanned swerve off the asphalt.

That ain't strawberry jam...

Good news; no damage to the bike, and my brand new club racing outfit remains unscathed. Well, maybe a bit scathed. The 'no bike damage' part was really good, since we were 25 miles from nowhere and the car.

Kinda wish I took a picture of the trench I involuntarily dug in the gravel ditch. I was spitting rocks for miles, but all teeth are intact. Too bad no pix of me flying o'er the handlebars;  just as well, since I forgot to do the less invasive somersault. Instead, I used my face to slow myself down.

Kids, don't try this at home.

How do I get myself into these things?

Encountered a software problem while signing up for a local race; couldn't get it to work, so I called the race organizer. She figured out the problem, got me in, and then dropped off last year's race visor for my trouble. Cool.

Then she asks if I knew anyone who would want to pace an upcoming race? Basically, run 11 minute miles for a half marathon.

Sure, I'll do it.

BTW, she says, it's a women-only race.

Not a problem. 6 guys and 700 women, that's my kind of odds.

BTW, she says, we want you to dress up. As in sparkly skirts.

Pause.

What the heck.

It looks a lot warmer out there than it really was.

And a Los Angeles woman in my running group took one look and proclaimed me "Laker Girl." I suppose I've been called worse.

Rolling down the highway...

Kinda broke a promise to a buddy today.

Not really, but....

CDH mentioned that he's primed and ready to break spouse BDH's marathon PR of 3:11 and change. Since she ran it over 5 yrs ago and they're both quickly approaching the ripe young age of 33, time is short. He ran a 1:24 half marathon on little training last June; with a concentrated effort, he could probably bust a sub-3.

Sorry, BDH. If he stays healthy, I think he's got you.

Anyhow, C is also a solid cyclist, having dragged my sorry tail up Mt Bachelor many a time,  not to mention Mt. Washington Drive. Short, steep, and a bastard. The hill, not him.

Since we finally got a nice warm day on Friday, I took my rebuilt road bike out for the first time. Up until now, it's been getting a workout on the rollers in the garage. Friday it was about 15 miles around the Butte, including a personal best up Mt Washington. My first time out this year and I'm setting records!

I'll say it again; Nordic skiing is the best cross training. Ever.

C had some knee problems that now seem to be resolved, so I asked if he's ready to bike again. "Sure am," says he. I mention that our triathlon club is putting together a 50-80 mile ride from Wickiup Reservoir up toward Mt. Bachelor. "Slow down," he tells me. "Let's do our 1 hr rides for awhile." Sheepishly I agreed.

Until yesterday, with my volunteer slot at the Pole Pedal Paddle, watching all these people busting butt in the rain. The race didn't fit into my schedule this year, but it got me thinking.

Later that day, I check the weather. What was supposed to be a rainy Sunday was now partly sunny. And I was trying to decide if I should drop six hundred on a lightly used triathlon bike.

Softride Power Wing



Funky looking, all right. The upper beam floats in space, giving a nice measure of shock absorption. Good news for those of us who are missing a couple of lumbar disks. The guy selling it owns Pisano's, a local pizza place. Awesome food, great guy. I make some small adjustments to see if it'll fit ok. He says it's really fast.

Ed let me take the bike on an extended test ride; with a bad back, I need to know if I can handle hours in the aero position. So off I go to the reservoir, with Michelle, Nan, Shellie, Kevin, and Riley, all charter members of the local triathlon club. Pretty soon, we're truckin' up the Cascade Lakes Highway, miles from anywhere. And no cars in sight, just us 6 crazy cyclists.



Just gorgeous out there, isn't it?

Lots of snowpack roadside at higher elevations, too. Michelle is training for her first Half Ironman, Shellie has done a bunch of long races and is monster strong, and Riley, Nan, and Kevin just flew down the road and were out of sight fast.

Incidentally, trying to eat energy gels while riding is a losing proposition. Sticky goo all over the place. Pretty soon, I looked like my daughter sampling the cake on her first birthday.

One big sticky mess...

Soon I hear an ominous rattle, rattle, clunk. Remember when I said I made some tweaks to the bike? Seems I didn't quite tighten everything down.

I couldn't make this up if I tried. The seatclamp was a little loose, and the seat was tilted down in the front. When I leaned forward in the aero position, the net result is a backward push from  my forearms, which means a backward force against the seat. And the whole thing just slid off in mid-flight.

I can exaggerate a lot of things, but not this. Fortunately, I brought every wrench in my arsenal. Problem resolved in minutes.

Then I remember that Ed had told me that the bike is fast.

How fast?

I answered my own question today; it's stoopid fast. We're talkin' filthy.

Ed put a ridiculous 64-tooth platter-sized chainring on the bike; just insane. Most bikes have a 53 or so. 64 teeth need a lot of torque to spin; the gears help you go fast, of course, and the bike frame itself has the aerodynamic footprint of an F-14. Very slippery, and less effort needed, so it's awfully fun on the flats and downhills. Ed has hit 57 mph on this sucker.

Did I mention we were riding toward Mt. Bachelor?

Going up was ok, long and gradual. Coming back was pure nuts. Heart rate about 10 beats per minute lower than on the same course last year, and much higher speed. 56 miles total; sorry, CDH, couldn't help myself. And my grand total for the year is 71, with those two rides in three days.

I already knew the motor was better than in 2010, and now the equipment is, too.

Game, set, match; I'm buying the bike. Thanks, Ed.

Now I'm really looking forward to racing season.

Oh, the things people do on vacation (lit fog???)...

Received a great email from an aunt; you know, the one who is younger than me! Casey married my wife's uncle and is an awesome lady. We had a blast at a cousin's wedding recepton awhile back, when Casey dared me to run the several hundred steps from the Seattle waterfront to Pike Place Market. Fun to do at 0600 in February while trying to dispose of a wedding reception hangover.

That run was surreal. Foggy, cool, misty. I'm running near the ferry docks when I hear a rumble-like growl coming out of the mist and getting louder. Alligator? Got a bit tense before I realized it was a man sleeping on a park bench and snoring loudly.

Casey mentioned a vacation they took to Maui. After reading my account, she shared hers. Narrative follows:

Hana: Crazy drive. Cool that you came back the other side. You know Doug, he had that rental contract memorized and no chances were to be taken. So we came back the way we went in. We actually swam in those 7 pools, which I later found out had pig waste runoff from the fields above the waterfalls. Uh, not so nice. I prefer not to think too much about it. I console myself with the fact that I'm still alive 20 years later and hopefully nothing really got stuck in me. Gag.

Haleakala (the 10,000 foot volcano/tourist trap): You are a nut!!!! I enjoy being able to say we're related, though, when I talk about your exercise regimes. :-) I am willing to live vicariously through your lunacy. Ok, so picture this: Maxx (oldest son) broke his leg just before the trip, so among many plans for that trip, our plan for all 4 of us to go to Haleakala was over. It was just me and Sam (youngest) that morning, Doug had no interest really in doing it a 2nd time (we did it on our honeymoon, the whole ride the bikes down the hill thing).

Sam and I arrived at the tour company, and realized we had forgotten our warm clothing! It was all safe and sound, folded up back at the condo, and the company we were riding up with didn't have anything warm.  So Sam and I went up in just regular shirts. Then, it was completely 100% overcast. So we waited for FOREVER, in the MOST BORING PLACE, to see LIT FOG. (those were Sam's words.) I kept telling him it would get better, but it really didn't.

Next came the bike ride down. Because of course Doug and I had such a great time 20 years ago, we wanted to share that with the kids. It's a few hours leisurely bike ride down, a breakfast stop at a little restaurant on the way, and then lunch in ... Paia? (That fish house on the corner of that main street was delicious! We ate there with the boys another day.) We got on the bikes, mine wasn't too comfortable, but Sam was already pedaling ahead and I couldn't get his attention. The company planned a pit stop ahead for everyone to double check their bikes and get a group photo so I figured I'd work it out there. Ummm, that was pretty much the last time I saw Sam until we got to the bottom.

I am not kidding~ Every turn I expected to see him splayed over the guard rails, but he was never in sight. Not once. Luckily he is my son, and we BOTH took the SAME wrong turn. Just as I was about to turn around after realizing I'd gone the wrong way (talk about silently freaking out! lol), I heard, "Mom!" Oh my god, I was never more glad to see someone - not only because I was so glad he was safe, but because I had no idea where in the hell we were! I was still riding that awkward bike, it was so painful and wobbly. I laugh a little hysterically still every time I think about it.) Thankfully someone in a van stopped and gave us a ride. (It was no time to care about killers and kidnappers, these were desperate hours man, 8 a.m., in Maui, on a bike, the stuff nightmares are made of!)

I think it was a guy who used to work at the bike shop, and I think he said something about knowing when he saw people on bikes on that road that they'd gotten lost. He drove us back to the road we needed and dropped us off to finish the route. I was wishing he'd just take us all the way. After all that, we STILL were the first back, back in Paia at EIGHT THIRTY AM, and I swear I had never been so scared and exhausted (and just a tad irritated ;-)) in all my life. Nothing was open yet to eat, so we just drove back to the condo (an hour drive or so I think). God, what a trip. I think they called us Mashers, people who ride straight down without stopping. No pictures, no time together looking at the view, no chit-chat, nothing. Sheer terror. In hindsight, I am so thankful Maxx couldn't go. I think it would have been way worse. Sam thought the ride totally made up for the sunrise! Of course he did.

Me again: Don't you feel bad for the schmucks who go on vacation and absolutely nothing goes wrong? How boring is that? Incidentally, all names have been unchanged in order to indict the guilty. And I put this posting into the "Stoopidity" category merely to reflect the stoopid things that happen.

How not to ride a bike...

Last weekend was windy, blustery, nasty. In other words, a great day for a bike ride.

Had a nagging wobble somewhere in the drive train, so I dropped both wheels at the local shop for a true job. As in 'truing,' which is biker talk for adjusting tension on the spokes to make the wheel a circle again. The spokes attach the hub to the rim; if you don't have an equal pull on the spokes all the way around, your wheel is more like a square.

I drove back home, then got into my running gear for a trot to the local park and a group workout. On the way there, the blood sugar began to plummet, so I stopped at the bike shop for refueling. No cash, but a credit card on hand, so I paid for the repair work and bought some gels and stuff. Then I kept running to the park, figuring I'd retrieve the bike on the way home.

Arrive at the park. Hmmmmm....no group run. Of course, now it's raining. Canex the run (cancel) and get back to the bike shop.

And now the rain has turned to snow. Sideways snow. Meanwhile, the gel hasn't kicked in, and it's uphill to get home. But I'll take the shortcut through the woods.

Except the dirt trails are kinda muddy, and really soft, and some serious uphills. All of which means I dumped the bike in the slop. Being a committed rider, I have pedals with clips, and I can't get my foot out fast enough.

The dreaded slow-motion descent sideways into mud. Nice.

Next morning, time to resume my gym workouts with a 0545 spinning class. Of course, I have to leave the car at home and ride the bike to the gym.

Now I have a long and gradual downhill. With no cars on the road, I'm flying along.

Did I mention the rain had frozen on the roads overnight?

Black Ice added to high speed added to a traffic circle added to a loss of memory about where my brakes are equals lil' Nicky splattered across the road.

In this battle with asphalt, I lost...

Some nice road rash on left elbow and hip and ankle. I limp to the sidewalk and assess the rest of the equipment. My expensive lighting system doesn't work any more. Turns out the plugs yanked out of the battery pack. No harm, no foul.

So I take my spinning class looking like Rocky Balboa in Round 14. Blood dripping through my sock and all.

Two wipe-outs in two days. It doesn't get much better.

Houston, we have a problem...

Getting pretty disciplined with the nordic skiing, and I'm nervously psyched to get through Part II of the race.

But today was a little ridiculous.

Got ahead of my work schedule a bit so I could leave at 2pm and get some work done on the snow. FWIW, I'm starting to get sick of the drive up the mountain. 23 miles or so, and the asphalt is horrendous. Hey ODOT, can you put Century Drive on the repaving schedule, pretty please?

I usually keep all seasonal gear including boots and skis in the car at all times; helpful for when I get a wild hair. Works great for swimming and running, too; always have clothes and such on hand, and it will cut down on excuses. Harder to keep a bike on the rack around the clock, especially with a garage. But you get the point.

Anyhoo, I arrive at the Nordic Lodge only to remember that I had taken my gloves out of the car. Crap. But every Lodge is going to have a huge box of stuff that others have left behind. So I ask to borrow a pair. Decent thickness, good dexterity, and cool-looking. Very important when it's mid-afternoon and there's about three people scattered among 56k of trails.

Feeling not so good as I move out. Kind of sluggish and heavy. Might be the snow conditions in combination with the wrong ski wax; that's a topic I need to learn about. For now, though, let's get some work done.

About 3k out from base camp, my hands begin to get numb. Fought it off as long as I could until the fun factor disappeared. I can handle muscle/lung pain better than the average bear, but cold extremities make a boy miserable. Fast.

Trying to get back as quickly as possible, I had to stop multiple times and shove my hands under my arms, between my legs, anyplace warm. Note: hands down pants is a hard way to ski uphill.

Yeah, the downhill plunge away from the lodge didn't help the windchill factor. Now I have to slog against gravity. And remember, I'm a lousy (ie slow) skier to begin with. The extra exertion keeps my torso warm but does nothing for my fingers.

Finally back in the lodge and damn near hugging the enormous wood stove. Carol at the desk tells me the temperature has dropped to 10 degrees. Meanwhile, I'm sweating and freezing at the same time.

Then it gets worse.

I doubt that I've entered the frostbite zone, since I wasn't outside for very long. But man o man, now my hands hurt.

Bad.

Thawing out all right, and too fast. Hard to describe the sensation; aching, compression, just a worse than  lousy feeling. Like having a really bad flu. And a bit scary since I've never been sick from cold before: I don't know what's going to happen next. This is bizarre.

Including the nausea. That's the part that got me concerned. I figured my hands would eventually come around, but now I literally feel sick. Carol kept an eye on me until the color returned to normal (incidentally, thanks for the coffee, CM). Then I shuffled off to the car and the coast downhill.

Probably a close call, and it could have been much worse.

Mistakes:

• Forgetting the gloves at home. Not really a big deal; if I would have skied without any gloves at all, that would have been really stupid. I knew I could get a loaner pair
• Not checking the weather forecast right before I hit the trails. Things can change quickly at elevation.
• Taking a 5-fingered set of racing gloves instead of industrial strength one or even mittens
• Maybe a bad idea skiing alone at my skill level on a very cold day with few others around.

I'm ready for springtime and rain running. All that happens there is I get wet.

Portland Party 10/10/2010 (first 26.2)

2010 Portland Marathon.

Some party  J

Complete downpour during the 20 minute wait for the gun. I was in a singlet, started shivering a bit.

Then we get going.

Plan for sub-4 was to start slower, then go past the pace group and build up a cushion. Trouble was, I couldn’t catch up to the pace group without my heart rate skyrocketing. Then I started cramping at 8 miles.

What?  I did two 17-milers here on the trails at altitude, a great HM PR, and I’m hurting at 8 and at sea level?

Backtrack one day; we went out for dinner, and I ordered the most benign thing on the menu, chicken and mashed potatoes. Then I spent the next 3 hrs with major GI issues. Forgot to tell them no milk in the potatoes, I’m lactose intolerant. Uh oh.

Drank a little water before bed, got a good night’s sleep. Next time, I’ll forgo sleep in favor of staying up and drinking all night.

Major, major dehydration.

Flexors were nagging from the beginning, but didn’t feel like they were the problem. No, the legs started quitting at 13 miles on the climb toward the St John’s Bridge. That leaves a long way to ‘run’ on no legs Was still hopeful that I could recover on the bridge downhill and slowly get time back, as I was about 500 yds behind pace at this point.

No dice.

At the bottom of the bridge, it’s a sharp right, then another incline. Game over.

I stopped to stretch, hoping to loosen the flexor by pulling my knee toward my butt. Instant hamstring-lock and hopping around like on coals.

BTW, it was still pouring. The whole way. But every step past the bridge was a distance PR for me.

Hammys and calves were hitting me indiscriminately and without prejudice. At one point, I put my toes on a curb, then bent down to pull the toes up some more. A very painful and all-inclusive cramp started at my calf, went through the hammy, continued up my right pec at lightning speed, and terminated in my tricep. My tricep!

What moron gets arm injuries running a marathon????? Same moron who passes on the French dip in favor of lactose-laden potatoes.

At this point, I’m just laughing. And there’s still 7 miles to go.

But I start getting glimpses of downtown.

Now it’s just one foot in front of the other. Bummed that I couldn’t take advantage of a long downhill and just freewheel.

Head down, punching the time clock, just grinding it out. At mile 25, ready for this thing to end, I see a 6’4” guy in drag on the street corner in a Marilyn Monroe pose. Nice diversion.

No bonking in the low-energy sense, just had to deal with someone disconnecting the wheels. Head stayed clear, didn’t get crazy or emotional or pissed. This race wasn’t on my radar until just before the triathlon in June; after that, it took me a month to get motivated again, which basically left me 6 wks. I’m very glad that I didn’t get injured by ramping up the mileage too quickly.

Back at the in-laws, I iced down, then had a hell of a time standing up. Also didn’t think to bring my overnight bag upstairs from the basement bedroom before I left for the race. That meant I had to go down the stairs and come back up. Hurt worse than the race.

Very, VERY cool tech shirt. Actually two of them. But the prize is the one that says ‘Finisher’.

Funny thing is, I don’t hate running right now. Don’t feel like selling all my gear and taking up needlepoint. But, for the next week, I perfected a whole new style of walking.

If you could call it that.