Save the leg! Don't take the leg!

It was a fine Thursday afternoon. The sun was out and the water was warm. We were out on Kim's boat, all set to enjoy a late afternoon/early evening ski on the Columbia. Smooth water, nice munchies, good people. What could possibly go wrong? Here I am - confidently surveying the scenery as we looked for just the right spot.

Now I'm in the water, that tiny little dot 70 feet behind the boat, on the right hand of the picture. Momentarily the ski would lift me into a marvelous display of jumping the wake and touching my elbow as I skate across the water like Tonya Harding on steroids:

I hadn't skiied in probably 10 years. But it's just like riding a bike, right? I was never as good a skier as my sister, but our years at Shasta Lake afforded us many opportunities to slalom to our heart's content. You just pop up out of the water and the river or lake is your playground. Nay gentle reader, my fifty year old body registered a violent protest. As I attempted to get up on the ski (for the second, or was it the third time?) I felt a ripple in my right hamstring, and instantly my leg flooded with pain. The kind of pain where you know you are severely injured. Kim pulled the boat around and Kristar helped hoist me out of the water.

Kim made an ice bag, and I sat on it all the way back to the dock. I limped up to the parking lot, the pain continued to increase. I had beads of sweat on my forehead but made into the driver's seat. We were in Scappoose, and it waves of pain washed over me as I headed home. I had a terrible night, and the next day I asked Sherry to take me to urgent care. The doctor ran through one of those "does this hurt?" examinations. I had a fleeting moment where I wondered if my massive muscles would hinder her poking and prodding, but it seemed to be going OK. Until she hit the tear. I'm embarrassed to admit this but I screamed, literally; and tears came to my eyes. It hurt so bad. She gave me a shot, it wasn't morphine but something like it; and then told me to take the maximum dose of ibuprofen every four hours, and Vicadin to help sleep.

Well, that didn't touch it. The next Monday I went to the orthopedic surgeon. He acknowledged that it was a severe tear but that (thankfully) surgery was not required. He prescribed Oxycontin and Flexeril. My typical regimen became 12 ibuprofen, 3 Vicadin and 2 Oxycontin in 24 hours. The pain was so bad that I couldn't dress myself, which was embarrassing but Sherry just laughed and told me it was preparation for my old age. Ha, I'll get her for that. I had to use a cane for 2 weeks.

Here it is two months later and with a dozen therapy visits I managed to run a half mile on the treadmill and cycle for 45 minutes at the gym last weekend. The road to recovery is now fully in progress!

Check it out:

The other side of the bib

Reed and Andrea are adventure racers. Unlike my puny efforts, they punish themselves with 24 hour and more races that may include running, mountain biking, kayaking, mountaineering, rappelling, and maybe even spelunking.

They had signed up for the Gorge Games this summer to do a 24 hour race, but the volunteer base was very thin. I like to support them when I can, so I signed up to volunteer. A few days later I received my assignment, which was at a 10K off road race. A realization settled in - a fixed race with a start time was not likely to be part of the adventure race! I was disappointed for two reasons - the first and foremost was that I would not see Reed and Andrea on their course. I was really hoping to cheer them on. The second was selfish - had I known there was a 10K trail run in advance - I would have entered!

However, having been on what I'll call "the other side of the bib" (see bottom of the post if explanation is needed) many times, I'm always appreciative and show my support of the volunteers that make a race possible.

I set my face to then be the very best volunteer that had ever helped at a race. I decided that I would take Kadie up to the gorge, knowing she would enjoy the great outdoors. The day dawned with a few sleepy clouds but the forecast was positive. I left before dawn, I'm one of those early rises who has to be early for a race early in the day before my early appointed post time. We drove the gorge and stopped a little park for a while to throw the ball for Kadie and wear her down a bit.

We then headed across the Columbia to White Salmon where the race location was. Even with my dilly-dallying I arrived an hour before the race. My assignment was to stand two blocks away from the start location with an orange flag. The printed directions given to the competitors had been wrong, and the organizers realized that a portion of the races would take the wrong turn and have to be flagged by none other than myself to go around the block and to the start.

I stood at my corner and as the first few cars came by me I gave them the appropriate wave of the flag guiding them down the correct street. I realized that this could then become very boring, for both myself and the drivers. So, I decided to spice things up a bit. As a car approached, I would go into elaborate flag drills, ending up with the flag pointing down the correct street! I contorted myself in various ways - whipping the flag over my head, behind my back, under a raised leg - in multiple permutations with a serious "this is my job" look on my face.

The drivers began to respond to my antics. Although there were a few sourpusses, most of them gave me an enthusiastic wave and smile. A carload of girls of the opposite sex even hooted at me, which only encouraged my direction pointing gymnastic endeavors. Soon, my back was aching and I was beginning to be plagued by a sore torso. Nay, physical hardship would not cause me to cave on my duties. I tried even more poses, getting sillier (and funnier) if I do say so myself. I was pleased when one driver reported to the race director that I was the most enthusiastic volunteer she'd ever seen. I'll say though that Sherry is the ABSOLUTE best athletic supporter, .....ah let me rephrase that - "motivational enthusiast" anyone will ever encounter.

Soon, all the cars had arrived and the race had started. It was an out and back down into a gully. I drove down to the gully to see if my services were still needed. Sure enough, I was placed at the finish to remove the timing chips from racer's shoes. I was intrigued because unlike the usual championchip that you affix to your shoes via the laces:

They had a timing system I had never seen before, it was like a credit card:

Very cool, except for one problem - because the chip card could be attached so firmly to the shoe it was very difficult to remove. The timing vendor gave myself and another volunteer those little blunt scissors they use for grade school projects. The blunt tip would not easily fit between the card and the shoelace, additionally the tiny finger holes on the handle cause my thumb to go numb after removing 3-40 of them from racer's feet. My thumb was actually numb for two days afterward, I feared I had some nerve damage or something but all is fine now.

The race medals were very cool, and every finisher got one. I had another few moments of envy when I saw the medals. But that's OK - I had a good time, Kadie had a good time and I was proud to help. And next year - I'll be racing and thanking some great volunteers!

Number Bib - a rectangular piece of Tyvek material printed with the race number of the individual wearing it. Typically affixed to the shirt with safety pins. I save mine from all the races I do and make comments on the back.

Mid Year Race Report

The Shamrock Run is the traditional season opener for the Portland area racing community. This year was a big dog deal is it was the 30th anniversary of the event!

This year saw 16,000+ participants -The event achieved its fourth consecutive attendance record and had an incredible 45% increase over last year's record total of 11,000 runners and walkers!

It's a fun race as a lot of people dress up in goofy costumes. I showed an admirable restraint and ran in normal running gear. It was quite cold, but not raining which in Portland is a bonus, especially so early in the year. I ran well and felt good. The course was incredibly crowded and as I maneuvered through the throngs. At one point I hopped a curb and almost lost my balance. I stumbled and instinctively put my hands out in front of me. Unfortunately my left hand landed on the buttocks of a young lady. Out of the corner of her eye she had seen me stumble so my appalled apologies were accepted gracefully and I finished the race without further incident....except the parking.

I like to be early for a race, and the Shamrock was no exception. I found a parking place a block away from the start line. I was able to sit in my truck with the heater on and enjoy a half hour of visualizing myself striding across the finish line with my chest like the prow of a battleship breaking the tape as I stride across in first place, 3 minutes ahead of the second place finisher. In reality my stomach crosses the finish line before my mighty chest. Anyway, I digress. My strategic parking led to my inability to egress the downtown area! Runners still on the course blocked all potential exits. Oh well, I had picked up the newspaper on my way out the door and had another peaceful half hour of waiting with the heater on as I waited to cross the course.


Next up was the Race for the Roses. The website claims that:

"Portland is a town of two halves, one part cosmopolitan quirkiness, the other active outdoorsiness. The same could be said of those of us who live in and around it. For years, this locally run race has allowed runners to exercise both halves in the name of an outstanding, local, cause: Albertina Kerr Centers. Come experience why Race for the Roses has become a must-do event on the Northwest running calendar."

While not as quirky as the Shamrock, it's still a great race that goes over two Portland bridges, the Broadway and Steel bridges. It's cool to see the views, and I mean that literally in the sense of both visual and temperature purposes! It was quite windy on the Broadway bridge, to the point of being quite chilly. Off the bridges and on the streets though it was comfortable. I saw a few friends, and it was a much smaller race. I suppose one quirk is that every finisher gets a medal, and a rose! The tables of cut roses were beautiful to behold.

My next race was one of my favorite events of the year, the Pole Pedal Paddle relay race. This year was memorable for two significant reasons.

First was the heat. It was the hottest race I believe in the 32 year history of the race. It was 85 degrees at the top of Mt. Bachelor and the snow was very slushy. I learned a new term, our downhill skier called it a 'yard sale' as the slope was littered with skis and poles. At the transition from the downhill ski to the skate ski, I watched a poor young lady fall about 10 times in a 15-20 yard stretch!

The second was that yours truly blew the transition from the skate ski to the cycling (my event). I have never, ever missed a transition but I suppose their is a first time for everything. Our skier, when arriving at the transition and not seeing me, left the transition area to look for me. I must have missed him by no more than 5 minutes, and ended up waiting for him not knowing he had been there already. It blew our overall time, but I was pissed and rode very agressively to make up as much time as I could, even knowing that there was no way to recapture our estimated time. The anger and adrenaline gave me a great ride. I flew by the other cyclists on the course at the same time as me like a TDF rider on HGH.

It was 95 degrees at the finish line with no shade! After a few beers we were a team again, and all was forgiven. But I still feel bad!

Triathlon Training - not for sissies

When I compete in a triathlon I put myself in the back of the swim. In the middle of the pack I've been hit, kicked and had people swim up on my back. I've hit people, kicked people and swam up on people's backs. I kicked a guy hard enough in the face once that I gave him a bloody nose, true story. We both stopped and I asked if he was alright. He said he was and we both continued the swim. Good thing it wasn't an ocean swim where the sharks might circle!

Anyway, I thought this was a superb way to train for the swim:

Run Like Hell Half Marathon

Fresh from running the Maui Marathon in mid-September 2007, I decided to sign up and run the Run Like Hell half marathon here in October. The race was just over a month from the marathon, and my spur of the moment decision led to a rigorous training routine in which I executed faithfully. I ran two times. No more than 5 miles each time! Seriously. Yeah, that's gonna win me a prize.

But, I was out to have some fun and fun it was. My next door neighbor Jesse, who ran his first Hood to Coast with me in August 2007, joined up with me on the spur of the moment and off we set for downtown. It was a chilly morning, and if the temperature is above 40 I'm ok with wearing shorts, as long as my upper body is warm. I used to buy cheap white cotton gloves to wear at the closest convenience or grocery store and just toss them afterwards. But no, couldn't find any but they had bulky black ones. OK, they'll do!

At packet pickup the coolest (no pun intended relating to how cold it was) thing happened - the number bibs were vertical! Maybe I'm just naive but in all the races I've done I've never seen bibs like that. It was perfect to put on the leg of my shorts instead of my top. As you can see I was very proud.

As we ran, I overheard a conversation that three young ladies were having regarding different translations of the Bible. Wow! I get to run and have a theology discussion too! I politely inserted myself into the conversation and we had a good discussion.

By that time Jesse had already pulled way ahead of me, go Jesse go! We began a gradual but long hill up Barbour Boulevard. The sun actually peeked out from the clouds and the fall leaves gave a vivid tableau of beauty that I enjoyed.

As I ground my way up the hill, I noticed the footfalls and panting of a runner that was attempting to pass on my right. I made some room but ever so gradually picked my pace. Sneaking a look over my shoulder I saw a girl probably 30 years my junior. She picked up her pace. I picked up mean. This was all very subtle, but it was clear that two runners would make it to the top of this hill, one would be first - and one would not.

I'm realistic with my abilities, and knew that it was inevitable that she would beat me. I could sense that she was the stronger runner. However, I'm pretty strong on hills and knew I could make her fight for it. And I did.

At about mile 11 a young kid, probably no more than 18; flew past me. I plodded along and then saw him with his hands on his knees, chest heaving at a dead stop. I plodded past him. About a 1/4 mile later - wham! He passed me like I was standing still. About a 1/4 mile later I passed him - he was, you guessed it - at a dead stop in the middle of the street. The cycle repeated itself twice, and by now the finish line was less than a mile away. I steeled my 50 year old muscles, dug in hard, played the Chariots of Fire theme song in my mind and ran past him, picking up my pace as I did so. It worked! I beat the young whippersnapper. However, I have no illusions that he will learn how to pace himself and become the threat to all us old guys.

Jesse ran out to meet me at about 5 city blocks from the finish. He gave me some gatorade and a good slap on the back as I ran across the finish line. I was tired, cold, and my knee hurt - and I'm sure I'll do this one again in 2008!

Maui Marathon 2007

I had decided in the winter of 2006 that 2007 would be a marathon year for me. The term can sometimes be used to signify the exertion of energy to obtain various goals in life, but I meant it in the literal sense - once again I would rise up on these massive pillars of energy I call my legs and transport my body over 26.2 miles of road. Although the Portland marathon in my home town is consistently rated as one of the best marathons in the U.S. I thought if I'm going to spend that much time training then I wanted to do a destination marathon. We go to Maui every other year, and 2007 was our year. I found that Maui indeed has a marathon, and we planned accordingly.

Our condo is on the west side of the island, and the marathon start is near the airport in the town of Kahului, then south on the 380 to the Honoapiilani highway where we then run northwest through Lahaina to the finish at the Westin Maui at Whalers Village. You can visit a detailed map of the route here.

The race would be at the end of our stay, so we had plenty of activities to look forward to with the marathon being the capstone. I decided to get in a few runs to acclimate myself to the island but being careful to not burn out so close to the marathon. Sherry and I have a nice route that we enjoy through lower Honoapiiliani highway and then winds up a steep hill to a luxuriousy neighborhood with fantastic multi million homes. I ran great and blasted up the hill like it was nothing. Later in the week I ran a few short runs on the treadmill at the resort. Our resort has a fitness center with four treadmills, two looking out at the pool and the other two facing a wall sized mirror. The two 'good' treadmills were occupied so I took one facing the mirror. It was interesting to watch my gait. As I ran I noticed that my right leg splays outward at a very slight angle, maybe 2-3 degrees. I had a remarkable moment of clarity! When I tire on a long run, I've noticed a peculiar very light scuffing, actually more of a brushing; as I lightly touch my left heel with my right heel. Now I could see that it was because of the slight angle when I run. Mystery solved.

Race day! The buses left the Maui Westin at 3:30 AM to deposit us in Kahului with plenty of time before the 5:30 AM start. I need time to wake up and not be rushed, so I set the alarm for 2:30 AM (the Westin was a 10 minute drive from our condo). I had carefully laid out my running gear the night before, so I enjoyed a leisurely shower and dressed with a half hour to spare to sip coffee and enjoy the pre-dawn warm breeze on the lanai. Sherry rose about 3:00 AM and drove me to the buses, kissed me goodbye and wished me a great run. I boarded the first bus out of the Westin and we headed down the highway on the marathon course. It was not lost on me that in the pre-dawn blackness that many hours later I would arrive back at the same place with my only means of transportation being the legs beneath me.

We arrived at the start line with more than an hour to kill. The time went fast though, wandering around, looking at everybody and stretching for the race. As I watched everyone gear up it dawned on me that I had not brought my goo! I was munching on some sourdough pretzel bites I took on the bus and realized that they must suffice to be my energy source throughout the race. I crammed the back pocket of my running shorts with bites.

Soon it was time to move to the start line. A nervous energy was apparent, everyone was ready to get the show on the road! As we queued up, the announcer asked us to observe the singing of the national anthem. Tears welled up in my eyes as groups all around the crowd (there were about 1,200 runners total) softly sang along with the singer. Then, we received a traditional Hawai'in blessing. I'm not sure what the words were, but it lifted my heart nonetheless. Instead of a starting gun - a blowing of the conch shell set us off!

I don't see well without my glasses, OK I'm probably close to legally blind but Sherry and I did not know what to expect. I was hoping she could meet me on the course and swap my prescription sunglasses for my regular clear glasses that I would need to start in the darkness with. Not wanting to risk it though I decided to leave my glasses at the condo and start with my sunglasses even in the dark. I bought some croakies to let them rest around my neck so I ran the first 5-6 miles in darkness, and with some focus issues! However, there were runners all around me and it did not present a problem.

As we began the run, some people around me were chatting and I met a girl from Beaverton Oregon, which borders my town of Tigard! Cool to meet a neighbor at a race on Maui. I broke a rule of racing three times - I have a tenet of never trying anything new in a race. So here I was - a hat on my head, which I've never done; carrying pretzel bites to eat; which I've never done in a race, and running a race with my iPod. We'll come back to that in a moment.

As we ran down the highway bordered by tall sugar cane fields, an unusual sight began to appear in my blurry vision. Ghosts were coming out of the sugar cane! Multiple apparitions began to move in and out of the cane. Indulge me in an indiscrete moment gentle reader - I realized that it was runners leaving the road to relieve themselves in the privacy of the sugar cane fields. I would NEVER do anything like that...

Anyway, as the light of the dawn broke behind us I saw a shadow of what appeared to be the horns of a bull behind me! Glancing back I saw a guy running with a Viking helmet. OK, whatever. But he had hand written on his shirt "running for peace". In a Viking helmet. Well, we all know that in our history classes we were taught that Vikings were a gentle race, interested only in a peaceful harmony and coexistence with those that they came into contact with.

Soon I saw Ma'alea harbor, and our first glimpse of the ocean. It was inspiring to then see, even without my glasses, Molokini rising up out of the sea. I had created a running playlist and as OMC started singing "How Bizarre" a bizarre thing happened. Two Japanese runners dressed as bowling pins passed me. Bowling pins? I had no idea what the significance was but it was truly bizarre.

The miles went by, and for the rest of the course I would have the ocean in view. It was overcast but not cloudy, just a haze that took the edge of the sun off. About mile 10 I figured it was time for a little sustenance. Hmmm - the sourdough pretzel bites to the rescue! Well, let me brutally honest at the risk of being potentially disgusting. The miles and the sweat had began to break down the bites, so you might say they were kind of mushy and pre-digested if you will. Hey, it's just carbohydrates - a little mushy, I just pretended they were salty oatmeal and gagged them down.

I suppose it was mile 13 when Sweet Child 'o Mine by Guns and Roses came on. I was in my moment - a good solid pace, the ocean next to me, and slowing a bit so I could sing at the top of my weary lungs "she's got a smile that seems to me, reminds me of childhood memories, where everything was as fresh as the bright blue sky". Seeing some local surfer dudes and wahines I nodded to them like "hey, we're cool - your're surfin and I'm running, and like we are so cool doing our thing man". I thought they would understand as I started wailing the chorus "ooooOOOOO sweeeEEEEeeet cHilD 'o MiNe". I tried to flash them the Hawai'in 'hang loose' salute but got confused and flipped them off. OK, just kidding.

However, I'm sure that there is a luau going on somewhere right now on Maui, and as the Poi and the pork is flowing that same group are watching some waves ushering in a sunset, and one of them is saying "hey remember that dork on the race" and they will all laugh except for the beautiful girl with the long brown hair and green eyes who secretly thinks I'm the most studly thing she ever saw - I swear I saw it in her eyes as a smile creased her delicate face as I plodded by, but then perhaps it was just gas.

Mile 16 approached and went into mile 17. I stopped at a water station and grabbed cup of water. As I slowed to drink it, my knee started hurting bad. Real bad. I'd never had the kind of pain I was experiencing. The thought even crossed my mind that I may DNF (did not finish). I have never, ever not finished a race. I walked, nay limped; for about a quarter mile before I started to run again. Oddly enough it did not hurt when I ran. But I could tell my pace was in ruins. That's OK though, my goal was just to finish.

At mile 19 I was struggling. I thought I would disassociate from the pain and selected a philosophy lecture I had on the iPod. I started to listen and contemplate the relationship between the material brain and our soul, mind and matter. Does the mind matter? Never mind. What's the matter? Oh yes I pondered the breadth and depth of our metaphysical, existential lives. And had slowed down to about a mile per hour pace! OK Dave, time to start associating with the race again.

I cranked up the playlists to some running favorites - "dum, dum dum dum, dum dum dum, dum - dum. It's the eye of the tiger it's the thrill of the fight, rising up to the challenge of our rival". Like Rocky Balboa I pummeled the air with my fists and summoned the courage and energy from deep inside and passed a 70 old runner. Who then passed me back. I kicked him in the shin and kept going.

Finally - mile 20! Six miles to go. Six miles is nothing. Six miles is not even a warm up. In my training I was consistently running 8 mile plus runs without even breaking a sweat, negating any need to apply deodorant to my underarms. But six miles after 20 was a little daunting. At mile 22 there were some Japanese kids with a big basket of treats. One of them handed me something, I don't know what it was; in a cellophane wrapper. It kind of looked like a round Hostess Twinkie. I tried to talk to them but the langauge barrier was insurmountable. I still don't know what it was I ate that day, but it was good and I was grateful.

Mile 23 was painful. It was just flat hard. My knee was still hurting bad, and everything in me was screaming to stop. But with only 3 miles to go I perservered. The 70 year old guy had caught up with me, and I had to kick his oxygen bottle away from him to get him behind me again. Running through the Front Street mile, past Snorkel Bob's and the Jesus Coming Soon church (yes, right about now would be fine with me Lord) I had two miles to go. Then I saw something that brought tears to my eyes. A purple unicorn was offering me a latte! Oh, sorry that was another hallucination talking.

There was a sign on the road that said "BELIEVE IN YOURSELF". It was a very emotional moment. Seriously, I had to brush away a few tears. It wasn't a commercial made-Nike logo'd Alberto Salazar type of bling - it was just a piece of cardboard that someone had scrawled on with a felt tip pen. I was so moved, I'll never forget that as long as I live - two miles to go now - I believe in myself! I could do anything for two miles. I could do cartwheels for two miles. I could hopscotch two miles. I could crawl for two miles, grinding the asphalt into my knees and leaving a trail of blood, sweat and tears as my legacy as I hobble across the finish lines on the stumps of my legs. But of course that was not necessary.

Oh dear reader, lest you think I'm bloviating, do let me assure you that those two miles were painful. But, I dug deep down inside again and actually ran those last two miles hard. I earned those miles. I had just run TWENTY FOUR MILES and two measly more were not going to stop me. As I looked across the water to the Maui Westin it seemed 30 miles away, but it grew gradually closer and closer until finally I had one mile to go. Perhaps it was coincidence, but the timing couldn't be better - the familiar strains of one of rock's most famous songs caressed my tired ears. To some, the Maui Marathon may have been run on the "Highway to Hell", but I finished to "Stairway to Heaven"! Isn't that awesome. And then, there was Sherry. Screaming her lungs out for me, ahh it lifted my heart! Seeing the finish line at last! "And as I wind on down the road, my shadow taller than my soul...yes I'm buying the stairway, to..heaven". I DID IT! I FINISHED THE MAUI MARATHON! I had just enough energy to blow air kisses to the crowd.

And I'll probably never do it again!

Hood to Coast 2007 - The Race

A long race such as Hood to Coast is a series of many small events. Here's a few from this year!

The first major exchange (where we hand off one van to another) took place at the Sandy Fred Meyer. With no exaggeration there were hundreds of runners and the parking lot was clogged with people. Not that they were wearing clogs, running shoes were the fashion statement. Sing with me now to the tune of "My Favorite Things" (bonus points if you sound like Julie Andrews) and you will start to get a sense for event:

Addidas and Brooks and racing flats too,

Velcro and arch support and running socks for you,

running shoes laced up with twine and with string,

These are a few of my favorite things,

Shorts made for running with liners so sweet,

Fashion statements matching the shoes on your feet,

Tops made for women and shirts made for guys,

Beautiful and handsome just made for your eyes,

Mizuno, New Balance, Asics, Saucony also,

Competitive shoes that you don't sing with falsetto,

So many Nikes it looks like a zoo,

Never five feet away from a swoosh it is true,

When the blisters start,

When the thirst kicks in,

When the sun is in my eyes,

I simply reach into my gear bag for relief,

And smear Bodyglide......on my thighs!

Well, didn't that set a lovely tone. Anyway it was amazing. Parked next to us was a team from europe with runners from Germany, Switzerland and Denmark. No kidding. We engaged them in conversation just to hear the broken english and the lilt of their native languages.

Soon our Van 1 runner came in and handed off to Jesse, our first runner in Van 2. As we egressed the exchange and began our first set of legs, there were a few demonstrators holding signs demanding troop withdrawals from Iraq. Now I'm all for that, but it was just kind of a twilight zone moment - thousands of runners and 2 demonstrators. But hey, whatever!

Jesse sucked up the miles like Jimmy Buffet on Long Island Teas. Kelly then ran like a duck on a June bug. Steve ran hard and fast like Oprah on a ham. Lauren blew away her competition like leaves before the unassailable force of a gas powered leafblower. Lauren handed off to yours truly for my first leg. I advised the newbies not to blow themselves out on their first leg, but enjoy the experience, run just hard enough but save energy for later in the race when you will need it. Of course I ignored my own advice. I left the exchange like the Road Runner fleeing from Wile E. Coyote. Bam! I passed 2 runners. And then it happened - the thing we all dread. Not blisters mind you, a red light - with a race official! He kindly informed me that if I crossed on a red my team would be disqualified. I watched in frustration as the 2 runners I passed caught up with me. When the light turned green we all bolted and I had to pass them yet again! But I felt great and ran strong.

I kicked it up at the exchange and ran in to handoff to Alisha. As I walked around a bit to regain my breath, one of my favorite things on Hood to Coast happened. Put this into perspective - there are one thousand teams with 12 runners - yes, do the math and that means there are twelve thousand runners on the course! I love seeing someone I know out there. At my first exchange I saw a guy named Jerry that was on our team in 1995 or 1996, I don't remember for sure. It was his first Hood to Coast and at that time he had just taken up running and it was awesome catching up with him and seeing that he was still running.


Alisha ran us in to Portland, and we met with Van 1 for the exchange. They took off and we drove to Hillsboro to Corillian, where half the team works. I don't remember the exact time but it was around 10:00 PM. We have a "Campus Center" that includes a small gym and locker rooms. We all prepared to take showers but...realized that my badge gave me access to the men's locker room, but not the women's! Sure, that makes sense but it left Lauren and Alisha in a small predicament. Gallantly, the gentlemen invited them to shower first while we stood guard. Everything was going fine until a guy from our neighboring business wandered in and headed for the men's locker room door! We screamed "hey don't go in in there!" Puzzled, he turned to look at us and I explained that there were women in there. Now, he really looked puzzled! I can only imagine (or maybe not) what was going through his head.


We quickly showered and jumped in the van to head down to the Old Spaghetti Factory (in Hillsboro not in Portland). I didn't want to gorge myself so I ordered a half portion of lasagna. Mmm good! Off to highway 30 and St Helens where we met Van 1 again for the major exchange. We started about 12:30 AM as I recall. At the exhange I was trying on Kelly's headlamp. I was in the middle of probably 60-70 runners, and I looked down so as not to blind anyone and flipped the light on. It was a surreal moment as in the dark, dozens of reflective piping on running tights and shoes lit up like the fourth of July. Very cool!


Soon it was time for me to begin my second leg. I'm guessing at this point it was around 3:00 - 3:30 AM. The exchange was very dark, with harsh divisions between the black night and the glare of the generator powered floodlights. I heard the race official down the road yell out our team number, and knew that Lauren would imminently come into the exchange and hand off to me. Sure enough, she came flying into the exchange and I stepped into the exchange zone to accept the wristband. She slowed down and I detected a funny look in the glare. She bolted past me to exchange with another runner! I realized then that 'she' was the wrong 'she'. I sheepishly (haha get it? she? she-eplishly?) turned toward the crowd and in a self deprecating confession mentioned that it is not unusual for girls to run toward me then at the last minute turn away! Everyone got a good laugh as Lauren did run in and handoff to me.


Another easy one where I could run strong and hard, but save enough gas for my third leg. Speaking of gas....as I ran in the pitch black, sweeping my flashlight along the road; I saw ahead of me another runner. I realized that at my pace I would pass her soon. Suddenly, being familiar with my bodily functions I knew that soon I would also engage, how can I say this delicately; in a wee bit of flatulence. Everyone says I'm a stinker but I don't think they mean it in a wooden, literal sense. But maybe so! Well, not to embarrass myself I timed the 'release' with the passing of a van at the same time I passed her. My strategy worked where the noise of the van effectively masked an audio expression, if you will; of the workings of my intestinal system. But, I also knew that an odiferous occurrence would likely hit our olfactory senses. In plain words, yes - I was a stinker. Thinking quickly, as I passed (get it - passed her, 'passed' gas? Hahaha again) I remarked "wow, that's a catalytic converter that's seen better days!". She agreed. My reputation intact, I trundled on through the night.

At the next major exchange we handed off to Van 2 as they began their 3rd and final set of legs. We managed to grab a few hours of much needed sleep. Steve G (driver extraordinaire, on my left in the pic) had the forsight to bring some camp chairs and a canopy. I pulled a blanked over me and in the chilly pre-dawn comfort quickly began to snooze. I awoke though to the sound of a train! I didn't think we were near any tracks. Puzzled, I looked back to see Steve in his sleeping bag on the ground behind me. He was snoring like a gas powered leaf blower in the Portland fall!

Soon we all awoke and readied ourselves for the last set of legs! This is the one where the excitement of the finish line keeps us motivated. We began to run in the same order as the previous two set of legs, with Jesse again leading us out into the early afternoon. Here's a pic of Steve A handing off to his wife Lauren. Aren't they just the cutest?!?

Soon Lauren handed off to me for my 3rd and final leg! It was a hard one, especially at mile 6 or so where I began to wear down. 3 runners passed me, but I was so excited when at last I saw the exchange and knowing that my race was almost done I summoned the last bit of energy and ran past them into the finish! Alisha then completed her final and last leg of the race. At the finish line on the beach at Seaside, the teams all gather and when the runner comes in we all run across the finish line together. It was an emotional moment for Alisha, and for the team as well! Well done, "They ran fine in January" (our team name). Here's to 2008!

Hood to Coast 2007 - The Van 2 Team

One of the most important things about Hood to Coast is the team. Although I trained hard for the race this year and was probably in the best running shape I've been in for five years, I know that I'm not looking for a competitive team. I've witnessed some nasty altercations out on the course with runners literally screaming at each other because they were a few minutes off of their projected times. That's not for me.

Not having the opportunity to spend a lot of time with the Van 1 runners, I have to limit my relational ruminations to Van 2!

I recruit runners for our van who are fun to be with. Actually, over the years I now recruit people who are fun to be with and if they can run too - bonus! When you are stuck in a van for 24-28 hours with 5 other sweaty tired runners, trust me - character counts.

This year, we had a crack team lined up for Van 2 - meet the team!

Starting from the left we have Kelly. He's a very funny guy and great to be around. I met Kelly at work, and he left over 2 years ago and is still missed. He's also a black belt in Karate. Trust me, I laugh at all of his jokes!

Next up is Alisha, a family friend of Sherry and I, and this was her first Hood to Coast. She's training for a marathon in San Francisco that is right around the corner, and one day at a camping trip we went for a long run and I thought she would be a great addition to the team. Bless her heart, I told her that newbies have a tradition of baking cookies for the team. She knew I was kidding, but made cookies anyway! Mmmm they were awesome, oatmeal with butterscotch chips.

But I digress. Continuing to move on, we have Squawk. He's our mascot, and although it may seem juvenile he has important contributions to make. At a major exchange there are hundreds of runners milling around look for their team mates. Hoisting Squawk into the air allows us to come together quickly. This year we even fitted him with lights on his little wings and he became a beacon in the night.

The handsome guy kneeling is me. Don't let the easy smile fool you. The crouch is reminiscent of a wild beast, ready to launch upon its prey and vanquish its foes. Similarly, the muscles in my legs are like coiled springs, pent up energy to unleash upon my competition. Whatever.

Kneeling next to me is my neighbor Jesse. Jesse is the kind of neighbor everyone should have. He's a great guy, kind and considerate. For years now I've been trying to talk Jesse into doing a race with me! To my surprise and delight, this year he said sure.

We end the introductions with Steve and Lauren. They are great friends and a lot of fun to be around. Lauren's a personal trainer, and she and Steve are both marathoners.

Not pictured is Steve G. Steve G is our driver. I'll freely admit that after many Hood to Coasts, Steve is a world class driver. He watches out for the team, makes sure everyone is OK and threads his way through some difficult and tight spaces. He can get the van into places you would never expect.

Now, let's get racing!

Hood to Coast 2007 - Packet Pickup

I'm back! In 2005, and 2006; I had seizures the morning of Hood to Coast. I can't believe that it was a coincidence and they somehow had to be connected to the race, but even after repeated challenges my neurologist said there is no connection. I'm back though, and ran Hood to Coast for I believe the 11th time. From the Hood to Coast official site we find that:

As the Largest Running Relay Race in the World, and The Mother of All Relays, The Hood To Coast Relay stretches 197 miles from the top of Oregon's majestic Mt. Hood down to the beautiful Pacific Ocean beaches in Seaside, Oregon. Over 12,000 runners and 4,800 walkers in The Portland To Coast, share in the experience of this annual event.

Yes, it's a big dog deal. 12 runners join in two vans, and then hand off to one other for 197 miles. Each runner runs three legs rated in different levels of difficulty based on elevation and length. The handoffs between runners in one van are called exchanges, and the handoffs between vans are called major exchanges. Exchanges are jammed with vans and runners as they manage the transitions as quickly and efficiently as possible.

But I'm getting ahead of myself! If your team makes it to registered status (the race is so popular that hundreds of teams get turned down every year) then packet pickup is the next step. Packet pickup quickly swells into long lines as hundreds of teams converge into the designated spot where they queue up to receive bibs, t-shirts and other necessities for the race.

I had a wedding to perform early afternoon the day of packet pickup, and felt that I had a good margin to pickup the packet, go home and change, and show up for the wedding on time. But, to not have any pressure I showed up at 8:00 AM to be first in line (hopefully) for the 9:00 AM start. As I entered the Tiger Woods building on the Nike Campus where packet pickup was to take place, there were already about 20 people ahead of me! Wow, these runners are competitive! As we milled around I noticed that many of them had on team gear from one of the more famous teams, the Headhunters. They began signing their names on a clipboard, and then it hit me - they were volunteers to help manage the logistics and check off and handout items to the various teams.

Soon I noticed that the doors to the room I was in had been closed and locked, sequestering us from the cavernous entrance to the Tiger Woods building. Hmmm - my little mind began to think - I'm just here to pick up my packet. Now I'm locked in the room where my packet is, and hundreds of people (literally, I'm not exaggerating) were queueing up to pick up their packets. I strategically took up a post at the door. Pretty soon this guy wandered over and I knew that my pretensions would quickly be found out, so I took the offensive:

"Hi, I'm Dave - what's your job here"? "Hi Dave, I'm Greg - my job is to help the team captains find their team number if they have forgotten by cross referencing the team name". "Great", I said, "why don't you stand to my left". A younger guy had wandered over and again I took the offensive - "Hi, I'm Dave - what's your job here"? "I'm Steve", he replied. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do, they just sent me over here to help". "Super", I replied - "your job will be to stand on my right and help control traffic. Keep people moving not too slow but not too fast, just a good steady pace so we can get them in and out". He nodded his affirmation.

So, now I'm not just hanging around - I am in charge of the door that I'm supposed to be on the other side of, milling with the herd! Sometimes I'm almost shamed by my Machiavellian tendencies. This was not one of them!

At the appointed time we got the word to open the doors. I motioned to Greg and Steve to get ready and follow my lead. I opened the door and a hush went through the cavern as I hollered "can I have your attention please". "This is how it's going to work - Greg will help you find your team number if you need it, and Steve will help keep the line moving. Don't rush, we'll get you in and out quickly. As you enter the room, the lowest number packets will be on your right, ascending in number as you look counter-clockwise. Packet number #500 is almost right in the center. Are there any questions?" There were none, and then being somewhat puffed up in pompousness I pumped the air with my fist and screamed "are you ready to run?" "YES" cheered the crowd. "Follow me" I said, and ushered the first 50 people into the room. I walked to my table, picked up my packet and walked out!

Later I recounted this story to the Hood to Coast office staff and they were laughing so hard they almost fell off of their chairs!

Product Review - Fuel Belt

I've only worn a Camel Back once, and didn't really like it. Having the weight of the fluid in a backpack (even though not much) and the moving around was annoying. Now that I'm running some longer distances I know I needed something.

Enter Fuel Belt! This clever contraption does several things that attracted me to it. First, it puts the weight lower on the hips rather than high on the back. I think that is a more advantageous position to keep the back relaxed. Second, it distributes the weight so that it is not centralized. Finally, it's different bottles allow for different fluids rather than being the same necessitated by one container.


To be fair, I haven't looked at the current technology advances of the Camel Back or generic substitutes. They certainly have improved and become more sport specific but even so it was clear to me that Fuel Belt was designed for runners, not adapted to runners. If you are a Camel Back representative and want to send me one of your designs for product testing, email me and I promise to give it a fair review.

For a 17 mile run I filled the two back containers (the containers hold 8 ounces) with Powerade, and the front two with water. I put a gel packet in the zip container. The zip container is very small and will not hold much else. Off I set on the run! The first thing I noticed was that the weight in the back, albeit small; gave the sensation that the belt was going to pull my shorts off. Now I must say that I don't have large buttocks so this may be not an issue for most people. It just seemed to ride lower than I expected.

I was about five miles into the run when I first took a drink. It was awkward getting the bottle out of the back, and more awkward getting it in. It is likely a learned skill that gets better over time. Because the bottles are held in place by an elastic strap pocket, it's a tricky balancing act between being too loose and having the bottles come out, and being too tight where it is difficult to get them back in.

There was a small amount of sloshing when consuming some but not all of the fluid, but nothing too egregious. I can live with that. The sizing was too black and white. I am approximately a 33 inch waist. The medium was too small, and I had to exchange it. The large is nearly too big.

The price is fairly expense at $44.95, but overall I think the cost was worth it and I would recommend it.

Running Ruminations

Just a collection of random observations from my running lately:

I once was lost

Last weekend I went for a 15 mile run in preparation for the Maui Marathon. Knowing I would need some liquid refreshment (and I don't mean beer) along the way and not having a portable means of hydration I knew it was incumbent upon me to plant some water bottles. I mapped my route, and then left early in the morning to surreptiously stick my water in an unobtrusive place.

I found my first location just fine, in a tidy little shaded spot beneath the sign of a business about 7 miles into the run. Continuing on my route I went into a neighborhood - and got so incredibly miserably lost I almost ran out of gas. True story. When I left the house I had about 2 miles on the tripmeter, plus the 15 for the run, maybe add a mile or two for scouting. I should have returned home with no more than 19 miles. I'll tell you the odometer reading shortly! As I drove I realized Google Maps had not done the route justice. I ended up winding through neighborhoods, ending up at one dead end after another. As I drove hither and yonder I saw a guy running and wondered if he was running on the route I had chosen. I didn't want to follow him directly like I was stalking him, so I decided to drive around a bit and stealthily observe his route. Around I went, again becoming utterly lost. Then, I spotted him. He gave me this strange look, while I nonchalantly pretended that I'd never seen him before. Eventually I figured out where I was, planted a second bottle and made my way home. With 43 miles on the odometer!

Barking up the Wrong Tree

I occasionally (ok maybe once a day) let my ego get the better of me. Earlier this summer I had been cycling and had some high school girls holler at me. Now I'll confess that I didn't really hear what they said. They might have yelled something like "hey slugbait, speed it up old man!". What I heard was "wow! you go, hottie". So back to the present - I'm cruising down Bonita, feeling good, striding out - the world is my oyster. Hearing some high pitched screams as a car began to pass me I just chuckled - yeah, more fans. Girls follow me everywhere now. As the car passed I glanced over to see a Pomeranian in the back seat of the car bouncing up and down and yapping away. Maybe I'm not that much of a hottie after all.

Crossing Guard Squirrel

A few weeks ago as I was running south on lower Boone's Ferry Road I rounded a corner as the bike lane narrowed, forcing me to run very close to some blackberry bushes on the shoulder. Suddenly, very close and startling me a squirrel came right into view on a limb from a small tree directly to my right, and literally 3-4 feet away. Seriously, it was that close. The limb was slightly in my way and I was going to just lift it with my arm as I passed underneath. I think we were both freaked out. As the squirrel reversed direction and ran back to the trunk, it was apparent that his weight was holding the limb in the horizontal position and as he scooted back the limb went vertical. It was just like a crossing guard lifting the gate! Doesn't take much to amuse me does it?

Meeting Jose

I have a new friend! As I was running along minding my own business out of the corner of my eye I spotted a guy pull in behind me. Naturally, I started running a little faster. Naturally, so did he. It is the nature of runners to be competitive I suppose! I picked up the pace to a point where it seemed I could keep him at bay. But I noticed that every time I would speed up, so would he. After two miles of this rather than throw down I decided to slow down. I was about 6 miles into a 13 miler and knew if I tried to keep the pace I'd burn out badly the rest of the run. I slowed down to allow him to catch up, which he did and we started to chat. Jose is a nice guy and a cyclist and triathlete too so we had some great conversation. Turned out he used to work with my next door neighbor! I was hoping he would be able to be on our Hood to Coast team, but schedules prohibited that. Jose altered his route to run with me another four miles, and we had a nice chat and agreed to meet up for some more training here and there.

I saw the light, I saw the light...

Yesterday I did a 17 mile run. Lest you be too impressed, let me reassure you that it just about killed me. The last 2 miles were torture, and I had mapped it to give me about a half mile cool down walk to get home. Let me tell you, when I reached 17 I didn't know if I could make it the next half mile to get home! Seriously, that's the state of fatigue I was in. My run ended in a little industrial park on a quiet street (during the weekends) and has some nice landscaping. I found a shady spot and flopped down on the grass. I laid there for a while and just looked up at the sky and clouds. I imagined I saw a horsie, a doggie and the devastation of Jerusalem in the year 70 A.D. by the Romans under the command of Titus. And then I saw a rabbit.

As my mind wandered I realized I was underneath a street light. And on the bottom of the light as it faced down to the street there was a number '10' on it. Interesting, I thought - I wonder if they are numbered ascending as I go north, or descending? Imagine my surprise when I got to the next light and it was also numbered 10! Turning onto Bonita, I continued to look up and now they were numbered 20! One after the other. Rather than being fixated by street light numbering schemes, I'm just going to believe that on a less busy street they have a number 10 bulb in them, and on busy streets they have a number 20 bulb. Life is just easier that way.

Radar Love

Last Tuesday I went for a run and rounded a corner right into the beam of one of those radar trailers. Let my email to Chief Bill Dickinson recount the narrative:

Dear Chief Dickinson, first of all let me say that I’m pleased to live in Tigard. That’s a reflection of several things, and one of those is what I believe is a fine police department and I’ve had the pleasure of meeting some of your officers.

The reason I’m writing is to bring your attention to the radar trailer parked at 76th and Durham. The trailer faces northbound traffic on 76th and displays the speed to the vehicle. I was running tonight and imagine my surprise when I turned off of Durham onto 76th and saw the trailer. Not that the trailer was a surprise, but that it clocked me at 17 MPH! I turned expecting to see a car behind me that it was registering, but there was nothing. Puzzled but pleased at this apparent pace I ran around the block again. What I thought was an aberration was again reality as the trailer clocked me again at 16 MPH!

Sir, I'm just a middle aged stressed out desk jockey trying to reclaim what shreds of youth may be clinging to me as I travail this earth. I'd like to think that I can run a 14 MPH pace, but just last Sunday I ran 15 miles and it took me 3 hours! Either the radar is off or my Sunday run was a really bad day. I suspect the radar may be off.

I know you have far more important things than to sift through this drivel and there is no need for you to respond to my note but you might want to have someone calibrate it a bit finer. However, I do thank you for the brief glimpse in the rearview mirror of my life, where I saw a strong, handsome young man running 15 MPH.

Sincerely,

Dave Mundt

The Perfect Running Playlist

I realize that there is a fair amount of controversy regarding if one should listen to music whilst running or cycling. Here's a case in point. Cycling for me is not an option, however I'll confess to being a runner that listens to MP3 songs as the miles go by. As I've bult my 'perfect' playlist I thought I would share it with you. Although it's dynamic and changes do occur, this is pretty much the standard and I rotate other songs through it.

I've noted that there are a few songs that are just too good to listen only, and that they are required to sing out loud as I run. Fortunately, one of my favorite routes takes me through an industrial area and then culminates running adjacent to a retirement community golf course. What do these two areas have in common? Usually a dearth of witnesses who would testify that my singing is one of the primary causes of global warming.

However, there are the occasional times when a musical infraction is overheard by an unlucky observer. So, there I was. Running through the golf course (on a trail of course!). Singing my lungs out to "Little Red Light" by Fountains of Wayne. Try it, go ahead - to use a lovely double negative you will not be able to not sing along. I was running on the proper side of the road, facing oncoming traffic. A minivan was making a right turn into a driveway, and he acknowledge me with a little wave indicating his approval to pass in front of him. I waved back acknowledging my gratefulness for not being run over by a minivan. As I passed him I was in full melodic bliss, belting out the lyrics like syrup on pancakes.

Guess what? There was a car behind him. I was looking slightly down watching the road when I glanced at the plate. To my horror I recognized the license plate. IT WAS MY WIFE! She had her window open and leaned over across the passenger seat and yelled "Hi Honey! You're looking good". I smiled and waved, and later on I tactfully asked her if, she maybe; had heard my singing. Thankfully, she had not.

Anyway, here's my current running playlist for your perusal: