Who Dat?

With apologies to The Riot for a tardy post, I bring you....

The Crawdad Boil.

The Riot, a born and bred Cajun, gets an annual craving for the hometown goods. And this isn't exactly a guy who does things halfway; he once ran 7 hilly trail miles after pulling a calf muscle. Why? Because he wasn't done yet.

Anyhow, once a year he places an order with a supplier in Loosana, who ships about a hundred pounds of the bad boys on an overnight Southwest Airlines flight.

Then the Riot's brother picks up the shipment and drives 3 hours to the High Desert, just in time to see the kettle prepped and ready to boil.

 

We raise our glasses for these brave soldiers who are about to sacrifice for the greater good.

They're big suckers, too.

But when it's your time to go, it's your time to go. Fire in the hole...!

 

 

Life is good.

1972 Olympic 800m

They are flying along the backstretch, 150m into the race.

American Dave Wottle is behind. Way behind. There is a shot of him running alone, with no one else in the picture.

Announcer: "We don't know if Dave is seriously injured or sliding back to stay out of trouble." Cracks me up; of course, I know what happens next.

The field comes through in under 51; Dave is back at 53 or so. He starts pushing at the 300m mark, slowly gaining. Off the last turn, he's still 7-8 yards back, but the Russian is slowly coming back. Dave's strides are long and quick, while Arzhanov's are choppy and short. Wottle cuts down two Kenyans and keeps going, nailing the Russian with 5 yards to go.

Wottle came from way behind, but he ran back to back 53s laps. Dead even splits. No wonder he had a big kick when he needed it. But can you call it a kick if everyone else is dying?

Sure, why not?

Then he commits a minor indescretion by forgetting to remove his golf cap on the victory stand. Not intentional, he just forgot. Which, of course, gives birth to maybe the best nickname ever:

The Cat in the Hat.

1964 Olympic 5,000m

Here I am, in the Somerset County Library at age 10, reading about a race that happened a year before I was born. By now, I was a fairly decent runner, having won my third grade cross country race at my school's annual Field Day. I had run enough to know that sometimes, running hurts a little.

And I knew enough to know that Olympic races hurt a lot.

So why is this guy smiling?

One lap to go. Frenchman Michel Jazy, WR holder in the mile, takes the bell and blasts off. By the end of the first turn, he has a gap and keeps flying down the backstretch. Behind him, American Bob Schul gets out of traffic and takes off in pursuit. For 100m, there is little change in their positions.

Then they hit the turn, and Jazy hits the wall. Coming into the finishing straight, he's tying up. But Schul isn't. Our guy pulls even with 80 remaining, then doesn't hesitate. He's gone. And he's laughing as he crosses the finish line.

German Harald Norpoth comes up on Jazy and also walks him down. "By then, the disheartened Frenchman was so disorganized that Bill Dellinger of the US snatched the bronze from him with the last stride." Disorganized? Not a term you normally hear when someone describes a race. Thank you, Arthur Daley (NY Times writer).

By the way, Schul ran a 38.7 for the last 300m. That's on a rain-drenched cinder track almost 50 years ago. That kind of finish puts him on the podium's top step in many races today.

With Schul's 5000m and Billy Mills's 10,000m, this remains the only year in which the US has one both distance golds. Or any gold.

There must have been something in the water that year.

1992 Olympic 1500m

This one always cracks me up.

Barcelona Olympics, 1992, and the men's 1500m race. Lots of Africans, an American, and a non-descript hometown Spanish boy named Fermin Cacho, definitely the crowd favorite.

I had never heard of this guy, but I had been away from track for a decade. Before the gun, he looks like the kid in the neighborhood who always wanted to play but was never picked for a team. I could just see him with his hand in the air, yelling "Me! Take Me!"

He's looking around, wide-eyed, floppy head of hair, the token Spainard in his hometown Games.

The gun. First couple of laps are slow, as the 1500 usually is. No one wants to lead, everyone is biding their time until 600m to go. Then it heats up. But our hero is stuck on the rail, absolutely buried in 4th place with a guy on his right hip, a guy just behind that, and 3 guys ahead.

He's screwed. He's absolutely screwed.

They pass the finish line, one lap to go, and the pace starts screaming. 300m left, the poor guy is still pinned on the inside with a handful of guys to his right. No path, no escape. And he's over-striding like a madman, knowing that he's about to get gapped.

Now he's the little brother trying to keep up with the older kids, and they are about to leave him behind. You can almost see his eyes get bigger, and you can't help but feel for the guy. It's no use trying to keep up with the best African runners in a middle distance event, especially at the Olympics. 250m left, and there's no hope.

Except...

The leader begins to tire and begins a slight drift to the right as they approach the turn. A small alley opens along the inside.

Cacho is fairly thin. He basically turns sideways, squirts through the opening, and keeps going.

Did I mention he's a Spanish guy running in Barcelona? Around the last turn, the crowd is going nuclear.

This is what always cracks me up. He takes the lead, he's still over-striding, yet he's pulling away ever so slightly, with a look on his face like he's late for school or something.  How do I know he's out of his league? Because he looks over his shoulder at least 9 times in the last 150 meters!! He knows they're coming back at him.

Except they're not.

This is a guy scared for his life but not waiting around for the wolves to attack. He's gone. With 10m to go, the game is over and he throttles down with his arms in the air. The stadium implodes.

I still don't believe it.

But every time I shake my head, I check the clock. This unknown overachiever ran a 50-second last lap, and his last 700m were at 1:46 half mile pace. I guess he earned that medal.

And he came back 4 years later to win a silver. Nice set of hardware, Senor Cacho.

Things I like (and things I don't)

Likes:

1. Running in crappy weather
2. Running in good weather
3. No longer getting injured by forefoot striking
4. Negative splitting
5. Keeping pace with my trusty Garmin 305
6. Running by feel without a watch
7. Knowing I can run after two back surgeries and 30 yrs off
8. Finding a kick at age 45 (triathlon training helped a lot)
9. Running 32s on Hayward Field for the final 200 of a Half Marathon
10. Seeing #9 on Runnerspace.com; smoke, baby
11. Negative splitting
12. Getting up early
13. Planks, lunges, plyometrics
14. Learning how to really swim for the first time in my life
15. Getting bumped up to lane 2, then 3, then occasionally 4 in the master's swim group
16. #15 translation; faster swimmers are in higher lanes
17. Running at 4am; no cars out there, just quiet
18. Laughing through my disastrous 1st marathon
19. Cutting 78 minutes off my Half Ironman time in one shot
20. Running a HM PR while on a tempo run (it was a really nice tempo)
21. Learning how to do flip turns
22. My annual visit to The Nike Employee Store (it's like Disneyland but half-price)
23. Setting a BHAG like qualifying for Boston at age 47 (BHAG = Big Hairy Audacious Goal)
24. Swimming in a 51F reservoir as a veteran among newbies
25. Running much farther at 46 than I ever did before that age
26. Blowing past people in the late stages: see #4,8-11
27. Fast friends who encourage me to run faster without saying anything
28. Getting rejected 3x by Annapolis and still getting in (and finding out that Douglas MacArthur was rejected 3x by West Point and still got in).
29. Having a buddy tell me that his brother applied to Annapolis but got rejected. "Me too," I said. "So how did you get through?" buddy asks. My reply, "I kept asking until they got tired of saying no."
30. Going from a class rank of 982/1300 to 504 by graduation
31. Picking an engineering major with 49 others and doing so with a lousy 1.89 GPA
32. Finishing as one of 18 in that major and getting my best grades in my last semester
33. Knowing that #s 28-31 are another form of negative splitting
34. Realizing I really don't need to find a harder activity than running, swimming, or nordic skiing
35. Realizing decisions made at 18 don't have to be permanent, even if many years have elapsed
36. Did I mention negative splitting?

Dislikes:
(Disclaimer: you might like some things I don't. Doesn't make either of us wrong)

1. Excessive consumption and greedy pigs
2. Black Friday: better than syrup of ipecac
3. Treadmills: I'd much rather freeze or get soaked
4. Realizing that the 8 minute pace that used to be recovery is now tempo
5. Second-guessing
6. Hills: I used to like them, and I'm again trying to, but they just suck right now
7. Staying up late; doesn't work anymore
8. Draft-dodging politicians who are quick to send others' kids to war
9. Giving up on running when I was 17 and not yet an Olympian
10. Not realizing that the best runners are 28 or so
11. In other words, lack of patience
12. Not questioning whether I could run after back surgery and letting lots of time elapse
13. Never winning a race in high school and thought I just didn't have what it took
14. Never knowing that Kenny Moore didn't win a race in HS but later ran in 2 Olympics
15. Going out too fast and dying late
16. Disengaged people
17. Doing what others wanted without really thinking about what I wanted
18. Learning that stones aren't as valuable to most as Mensa brains (See #28-33 above)
19. Cable TV: we disconnected it, and I'm spending the time better
20. Politicians who make preferential rules for themselves
21. Career politicians: it's not supposed to be a lifetime appointment
22. Politicians who make an amendment for presidential term limits but not for themselves
23. I think I'm talking about Congress: Throwing them all out = a good start
24. Incentives to agribusiness for not growing food
25. Incentives to agribusiness for ethanol when it produces less energy than gas
26. Loopholes in general, and lobbyists
27. Bonuses for lousy work: 'but we need to retain our employees.' You mean the ones that lost all the money in the first place? Nah, cut 'em loose.
28. College football coaches who are the highest paid employees in the state. Something is inherently wrong with this.
29. Cottage Cheese:

It's just good...

Most of the time, I'm not really particular about food. Since I re-booted my diet into something paleo-like, it's a lot of salad, nuts and the like.

But....

My wife's college buddy Mike came down for a visit and did us right by making some superb meals.

Life is good.

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.