Weighty issues

Judging by the stats on Americans and obesity, I am in danger of becoming a minority. To make it plain, I feel like I'm a minority because during certain parts of the year, I become the rarest of creatures; a skinny heterosexual male who is trying to lose weight.

I do so not because of some eating disorder, self-esteem issue, or latent manorexia. I get that way because simple physics and 15years of running road races tells me that extra pounds slow me down. I know, revolutionary right? So, I have developed the following weight scale that gives me an approximate idea of where I am in terms of running performance.

180 lbs and higher: Training hurts, climbing stairs hurts, life hurts. Even on days when I think I'm going fast, I look down at the watch at the end of a run and am dismayed by how slow me and my jiggles just turned that six miler.

175lbs: Just light enough to fool myself in to thinking I am in "shape". Enough pounds shaved off that I can have the odd good day and like what I see on the watch. Heavy enough that I still don't like running very much and am not very good at it.

170lbs: The threshold to real running. Around here races can happen. None of these races will be PR's, but neither will they be embarrassing ordeals complete with a death crawl at the end. I can even do some decent track workouts at 170.

165lbs: OK, I am really running again. Some PR's have come at this weight. I am getting a tad skeletal, but I am generally and unequivocally in shape.

160lbs: I look like a skeleton with a condom pulled over it (to borrow an expression from Mark Wetmore), but am fast (for a 42 year old dude without any natural speed). This is also a lot of fun, because some sort of critical synergy of mileage and enjoyment occurs to where I can just about eat anything I want at anytime. I couldn't bench press Dawn's 10lb dog, but as far as running goes...it's on.

This is by no means a scale meant to assess health or attractiveness. It's a purely running thing. However, like most minorities, I get comments and accusations. First, and foremost, my wife puts up with anything under 180 and abhors anything under 170. Second, friends, including chubby friends, comment that I'm "too thin" or "unhealthy" looking. This really intrigues me. Anyone feel a personal freedom to tell them they are "too fat" or "unhealthy" looking? No, but let's hold an intervention for the skinny guy. I kid, no interventions have happened yet.

These comments are also met with the vague concerned look that I can only assume is related to a concern about an eating disorder. Again, to clarify, I eat more calories than just about anyone I know. I'm focused on weight entirely because of running performance. When running performance isn't an issue, I think about what I eat about as much as your average trucker.

As of this writing, I don't have definite racing goals in the forseeable future. Thus, I will probably be helping myself to several upcoming Holiday treats. I guess in the minds of several, this will make me more "healthy"?

What kind of prison?

So, I'm always talking about how cool it is to have a teenager. How you can relate to them, do fun stuff, avoid watching the same inane program 50 times in a row. Stuff like that.

Well, at some point the teenager bill comes due. Teenagers are fun, but the stakes are just a wee bit high. Your little one messes up and they skin a knee. Your teenager messes up and you are a grandfather or getting them out of prison.

.....speaking of prison, Landon has a girlfriend. When I heard this, I calmly asked Dawn and Landon about her. They said it was one of the football managers and told me which one. "Cool" I said, as all my dealings with this young lady have been positive and she seems very nice. Dawn then switched to a tone that she often uses when she wants to tell me we're overdrawn or that we need a new car.

"Yes, she is very nice, but there are a few issues at home. She's being raised by her mom because her dad's in prison".

"Oh"

I honestly didn't know where to take it beyond "oh". I mean, I shouldn't think worse of this kid because her dad screwed up. Furthermore, I don't know whether this is tax evasion or whether this guy cut someone up and set the parts on fire. However, when it's your kid, every stereotype and worry you can have comes out and comes out quick. While leaving the "oh" hanging in the air, the real me is thinking:

"She's gonna get pregnant because she's looking for male attention"

"This low-life prison dude is going to try to suck off of Landon's athletic future"

"I'm going to turn around and this guy is going to have Landon jumped in to his gang"

(as an aside, why are there gangs in Harrisonburg VA????????)

Not that I'm proud of any of this inner dialogue, that's just what rolls through your mind when it's YOUR kid. Not very progressive, but this is my kid; not a court of law or human resources.

Dawn made my night complete when she said I should have a talk with him. About what? He hasn't done anything. Actually nobody's done anything except apparently this girl's dad. Should the talk go something like "Landon, avoid any gang this guy is in while keeping this girl from roping you in to getting her pregnant. Also check for signs of crack....you know how it is. Oh, since we're in a rural setting, check for meth as well; can't be too careful. Anyway, I love you and trust you, no matter how many progeny of incarcerated felons you date. Need anything to drink?"

Well, maybe I can join the rival gang......just in case I need backup.

Hurry up and wait.......

What a great morning. I just had an incredible weekend seeing my college friends for Homecoming. One running highlight is that I did an 11-miler w/ Riz and Beth. I'll also interject that Beth is going for her first marathon and has some talent based on her strength during said run. I'm predicting a burgeoning runner for Mrs. Risdon.

Anyway, it was fabulous to see everyone and I didn't stop laughing the whole time.

I also made a final decision to do shorter races this spring instead of Boston. I knew I made a good choice as I did an hour and 18 minutes this morning instead of my short shake out run. The thought of busting some fast times this spring really got me motivated.

Five hours later, I find myself with chills and aches and pains. These symptoms exactly describe the malady that has plagued my wife for the past two weeks. So much for today being the first day of a new training cycle. Such moments in a training program teach us that training plans and schedules are what we make before God tells us what actually happens.

In the immortal words of Dan Patrick. I'm day to day........we're all day-to-day.

I GET to do this.........

As anyone can surmise from my last post, running was becoming a job again. I had also grown too old and too busy for another job. Thus began a series of days when instead of following my running schedule, I went for a run. What's the difference? Plenty.

Today I laced 'em up and went out the door not knowing if I was going for 20 minutes or 2 hours. I headed to Purcell park and hit each loop not knowing if I would continue or not. As I went along I slowed up when I wanted, sped up when I wanted and just enjoyed a great fall day. Reminded me of so many things in life that I let myself get in the way of enjoying.

Dawn is forever telling me that I don't enjoy the process. She's right. My type A-task orientation has always got me thinking one step in the future. It helps me get a lot of things done, but it also causes a fair amount of angst. No coincidence that I have a lifetime pattern of picking up activities, wringing the life out of them and then stopping once I burned out.

I thought I was getting to that burned out point with running, but the last few days have reminded me that I can go for a run whenever I feel and do it however I feel. After all, this is my freakin' recreational pursuit as I tell myself often.

Frank Shorter was right.

Shorter is a marathon legend and the last American to ever win an Olympic gold in the marathon. He once said that you aren't ready to do another marathon until you forget the pain of the previous marathon.

Right now my memory is a little too good. About one year ago I was burned out on all things running and truly thought I had run my last marathon. The combination of getting fat and out of shape with going to Kenya made me change my mind and set my sights on Boston 2009. Yet again, I got sucked in to another marathon.

I'm not sure why I keep doing this. I have somehow managed to do 8 of these things without really liking the distance very much. Marathons aren't really my strength as an event, yet I eschew opportunities to lower my times in the 5k, 10k, etc in order to plod along for 3+ hours. I also get really tired of how they just shred my body up. Finally, if you have a bad day on a marathon, you can't just pick up and run your best next week. You are in for another training cycle before you can make it up.

I achieved just about everything I ever wanted to achieve when I qualified for Boston the first time and then subsequently did the race in 2006. Then I got the idea that I could get under 3 hours in the Richmond Marathon. After that awful race, I felt like I needed to redeem myself in the next Richmond Marathon. That was the one that occurred a year ago. Ran a decent race, but killed any joy I ever had for running (as I mentioned previously).

Now I find myself registered for Boston without a shred of eagerness for the race. As it stands now, I think I've made a donation to the Boston Athletic Association, as they won't refund and I don't think I'll be going. There's a little hesitation as my friends David and Becca have qualified and we were all going to run together. However, this is my freakin' recreational pursuit and I'm tired of it turning in to a job.

Well, I guess the silver lining is that I have time to change my mind since I can't ditch the registration. I'll train for the shorter races (C-ville 10-miler, Clyde's 10k, Capital Hill Classic) and then switch if I feel incline to do the marathon.

Why can't I be normal and like golf like everyone else my age?

Baby Huey

My highlight for the week was watching Landon walk. I wasn't there for the exciting first steps that were dutifully recorded in the baby book. However, since breaking his ankle, we have all been instantly transported to something resembling that time. I take him his meals, I clean up after him, I make sure he's safe and that I don't leave him for too long lest he hurt himself. I am SOOOOOO relieved that he's potty trained.

To put this in the proper perspective, Dawn and I are teenager people. Through the years we've noticed that parents vary on what age they are most excited about. Of course, you love your kids during the entire life span, but there's that one age range that you hit your stride as a parent. For example, Dawn's sister-in-law is absolutely clutch in the 2-4 year range and gets bummed when the kiddos take those steps to kindergarden. She's a little-kid person. Little kid people think up fun and elaborate activities (usually art projects) on a constant basis. They have no problems watching the same movie 55 times and convey to the child a sense of concern and empathy when a 50 cent toy is broken or lost.

We know people that unbelievably adore the middle-school years (That's a different topic in itself but this always amazes me. NOBODY should like the middle-school years since the kid rarely likes the middle school years. I digress).

Dawn and I, on the other hand, are teenager people. The good news about the teenage years is that the kid is as independent as they will get while still living with you. The bad news about the teenage years is that the kid is as independent as they will get while still living with you. In short, the stakes are higher. A bad day in the teenage years can involve a trip to the police station. Don't get me wrong, nothing even on the radar suggests that for Landon. He's a great kid, but you worry about what could happen. Despite the high stakes, it's fun to interact and have discussions with Landon at a depth that wasn't even possible until a year or so ago.

We can still do that, but the broken leg thing has taken away his ability to do many things for himself. I get the feeling he's not too broken up about this. So, the "delegation" of duties (i.e. mow the lawn, clean the room, help out around the house) that I've enjoyed has been put on hold and he spends his time playing video games, going to physical therapy and going to school. My time is coming though. He's off the boot, walking with crutches and even sometimes without. He is about to be a full-fledged independent teen again. At which point I'll probably need to clean his room.......

The Greatest

That's Haile Gebrselassie (Geb) becoming the first human being to ever run 26.2 miles in under 2 hours and 4 minutes. For those of you keeping score, that's 4 minutes and 40 seconds per mile pace.

For those of you keeping score further, he has now held numerous world records in the 5K, 10K and marathon in a career that dates back to the early '90s.

There are many people who run. There are recreational runners, competitive runners, sub-elite runners, elite runners, and then there is Geb.

Well, I gotta get a run in..........I only need to shave another 66 minutes off my PR to catch this little bastage.

Running slower to get fast.......

This is one of the many running paradoxes I've discovered in my attempts to lower my pedestrian PR's. For me, I don't do well unless I run a lot of miles. I also don't recover from workouts very well, so if I want to be at all sharp, my easy days need to be easy so that the workouts can be hard. Fortunately, the knowledge that I need some days where I'm simply plodding along comes along at a time in my life where I could care less if I am running slow in full view of everyone in town. My newfound running humility courtesy of the following:

1) I'm older and less hung up on that crap.

2) Athletes in Action camp last summer

3) The amazing realization that people in town could give a crap how slow I am.

4) The amazing realization that people in town don't know what slow is in running terms.......or fast for that matter.

This morning's run was a pleasant slog up around Eastern Mennonite University and back. I looked amazing.

No room for error.........

Up until exactly 5 days ago, I was starting to feel like a runner again. My daily runs weren't met with a sense of dread; chunky frat boys and sorority girls with ipods weren't passing me in Purcell Park. Doggone it, I just was enjoying myself.

Then.........THE BOYS. THE BOYS, of course, are my college friends. Our friend Glenn's dad passed away and so Pat and Ken came in to town for the funeral. One thing about college friends is that the relationship seems to be more permanent. You lose touch with high school friends and never seem to get to a great deal of depth with your adult friends. But college friends are there to stay no matter how long you go between visits. It's like you pick up where you left off. Unfortunately for me, where we left off was being able to stay up all night drinking beer and chewing tobacco.

I got three hours of sleep last Weds and was completely crushed the rest of the week. Worth it? Absolutely...... Am I paying for it now? In freakin' spades with loan shark interest. Ran today and felt like an old man again. Absolutely brutal. I couldn't wait for my hour run at marathon pace to be complete. Of course I can look on the bright side and say I did a good job of pacing. That's because I feel like crap after a marathon, just like I felt after today's run.

Kind of depressing that minor lapses into adolescence affect us so quickly when we get older. However, it really also made me realize I have to make decisions. I can't actually have it all anymore. Today's run was ugly, but met with a lot of resolve. We'll get the rust kicked off again and it might take all week. I'll also just read this anytime 3 hours of sleep and bad habits sound like a good idea.

The big Mizungo

That's what I'll be in Kenya, where I'm headed for the next 3.5 weeks. I wanted to make sure all of my readers (all none of you) knew that I was gone, but would be returning. If you need me, I'll be the fat, white runner in the Rift Valley of Kenya. You shouldn't have any problem finding me......

Runnin' is a mutha

Today was my first HHH (hazy, hot, humid) day of running in what promises to be many this summer. Usually, I at least meet this season with good fitness, thus better able to handle HHH. Not this year. My condensed 20 year running story is thus:

Act 1- Self-indulgent college student runs to recover from lung surgery

Act 2- Exercise Physiology grad student runs because it's the cool thing to do among his professors and student peers. "Cool" is used here with a lot of latitude since we're talking about dorks who talk about lactic acid all day. Some racing during Act 2. Most of it involves not knowing what I'm doing and posting relatively pedestrian times.

Act 3- Exercise Physiology post-doc "gets in to running" in a Runners World sort of way. That is, I start doing 40-50 miles a week, running marathons and accumulating races. Times come down, but I never can seem to do stuff like break 40 minutes for a 10k or qualify for Boston in the marathon. These aren't monumental achievements, but they seem like Everest to me at that time.

Act 4- Exercise Physiology professor goes bat-crap over running after reading "Running with the Buffaloes" by Chris Lear. Ramps mileage up to 80+ miles a week, becomes a skeleton and achieves aforementioned unreachable goals quite easily.

Act 5- Exercise Physiology professor goes really bat-crap and gets up to 90-100 miles per week. I run 2 hours a day for a while and then have a "what's this all mean?" moment after finishing the 2007 Army Ten Miler in a dissapointing 67:30. I get through the Richmond marathon (3:16:02) and then swear that I'm done running. I purposefully eat crappy food, sit around and do everything but buy an electric scooter to ride so that I don't ambulate. I gain 20 pounds and feel old.

That brings us up to speed to today, where I have decided I like being obsessed, skinny and in shape more than I like being fat, cranky and slow. I'm aiming towards the Boston Marathon 2009. Right now I jog along for 30-40 miles a week at something like 9 minute pace. Probably 10 minute pace on a bad day. I'm also 180 pounds. From personal experience, I know that I'll need to double or triple that amount of miles and get to where an easy run is normally <8 min/mile pace. I'll also need to lose at least 20 pounds and be able to do workouts in the neighborhood of 6 min pace and faster. That seems like an awful long ways away. Well, at least it beats sports cars and alcoholism for a mid-life crisis (or does it?).

55 minute shuffle today. Ran shirtless through Purcell park so that all the 'burg residents could see my jiggles.

RIP Dell

I just found out yesterday that my high school baseball coach passed away a few years ago in a car accident. Dell Norwood was the coach of the W-L (Va) High School baseball team for years and was inducted in to the VHSL Hall of Fame (justifiably so). He was also the father of Scott Norwood, All-Pro kicker for the Buffalo Bills.

Finding out Coach Norwood was dead caused a profound sadness in me. I wasn't all that close with him. As a matter of fact, I could have called him a week before his passing and he probably wouldn't know who the heck I was. However, I was sad for how I thought about and spoke about him in the past.

In the Fall of 1983, my family moved back to Northern Virginia following a failed "return to Texas" experiment that lasted a year. One of the minor benefits of being in Texas for a year was that I got to start on the varsity baseball team. This was less due to any proficiency on my part than it was to the fact that I was at a small school and didn't have much competition for the part. I went through the year playing first base and hitting something like .280. The year ended with my being named "Honorable Mention" on the all-district team. My coach informed me that I had absolutely owned one of the teams in the district and that coach cast my requisite one vote needed to secure said honorable mention.

So, I took my mediocre baseball skills and honorable mention award back to Northern Virginia and went out for the Generals in the Spring of 1984; where Coach Norwood immediately slated me for the 3rd team catcher spot. For those of you unfamiliar with sports, a lot of crap has to happen before the 3rd team catcher is ever going to see the field. Seeing this, I asked Coach Norwood if I could try out at 1st base. I was a lot more confident of this as our 1st baseman wasn't nearly as good as our catcher. Also, I could always trot out my "Honorable Mention" credentials of the previous year. Before I could wow him with that awesome accolade, he informed me that 1st base "wasn't where I intended to use you". My response to this was sulking on the bench for the next few weeks and playing the role of victim. Ultimately, I ended up quitting halfway through the season. Coach Norwood had asked me to catch a JV game one week and I calmly quit rather than suffer the indignity of playing as a senior on the JV. I then proceeded to badmouth Coach Norwood to anyone who would listen. I characterized him as a bumbling, tired, old man who was past his prime as a coach. I would tell anyone who used the word "baseball" around me about the injustice thrown on me by this aging legend of Virginia baseball. The story would always include my accolade of "honorable mention" all-district the year before (sometimes without the honorable mention part) and would continue through the sad tale of not getting a chance.

As with many things, I was able to take a more objective look at my athletic past or lack thereof as I got older.

I've had the opportunity to coach a little. I've also seen my stepson excel at high school athletics. From these experiences, I'm able to put on Mr. Norwood's shoes a bit better. In truth, I wouldn't give me much of an opportunity either. The fact is that a coach can't be expected to lie awake at night wondering how to get a .280 hitter more involved. You've got too many more important things weighing on you. By the time a kid is playing sports in high school, winning is important and decisions are made to better enable the team to win. The good coaches also develop character and teach the game to everyone who wants to be part of the team; but rarely, if ever, does everyone get an equal shake every time, all the time.

So, after realizing this, questions about athletics and high school have been rejoined with the basic answers that I played baseball, I played 1st base and catcher and that I wasn't all that good. Now that I can see this, I have a much more objective vantage point to my experience with Dell. I can say that he was a little older and a little tired by the time he coached me. We all saw that he could appear a little disinterested at times and seemed like he was tired of herding adolescents together to form an effective baseball team. He could also seem personally detached, not unusual for an older coach at the end of his career. However, his record speaks for itself and suggests that these latter years were an aberration. One thing I cannot accuse him of any more is being unfair to me. As a matter of fact, I was the one who was unfair to him by spreading around my tale of baseball woe.

By all accounts, Dell Norwood was a great husband, father, educator and coach. Mine is the loss for not taking advantage of the latter two qualities. Rest in peace Dell.