Friday, February 13, 2009
2/13/09 Drunken Thoughts
I love to draw. I love seeing what my mind conjures. I should warn you that my mind, my creative instinctual mind, is an entity completely separate from my mind that actually thinks. My drawings are often a sort of channeling of something else, someone else. This one is no exception. I have no idea where it came from.
2/13/09 Valentine's Day Eve: Sipping Mimosas
As I sit listening to the soft plinking patter of the rain,
I sip my fourth, perhaps fifth, mimosa,
shamelessly.
I'm tired.
I'm worn out.
I'm ready to sleep
the sleep that I crave,
the sleep of a man with little else to do.
That man is not me.
That man is care free.
That man lives somewhere else
in a place far from here,
in a place far from her.
That man may live in
a tree house,
high above the tree tops,
high above the clouds,
high above the troubles and
cares of the world below.
That man may live in
a bungalow
near the shore of
a beach,
a beach of pink sand,
the pink of ground coral,
where wild burros wander,
and sharks patrol the reef just beyond the break.
That man may think to himself
often
just how lovely
the world might be
if it were real.
The dream is real.
The dream presses on him.
The dream is all he knows.
I wish I were that man.
I know I am that man.
I see him from a distance.
I walk in his shoes.
Sorrow is a foolish indulgence.
Self-pity, just that — pitiful.
As I walk out into the soft,
warm rain,
I cannot help but
remember,
how she held me and said,
"I will always love you."
Just before she abandoned me.
I know now how the world works.
I just don't know why.
I sip my fourth, perhaps fifth, mimosa,
shamelessly.
I'm tired.
I'm worn out.
I'm ready to sleep
the sleep that I crave,
the sleep of a man with little else to do.
That man is not me.
That man is care free.
That man lives somewhere else
in a place far from here,
in a place far from her.
That man may live in
a tree house,
high above the tree tops,
high above the clouds,
high above the troubles and
cares of the world below.
That man may live in
a bungalow
near the shore of
a beach,
a beach of pink sand,
the pink of ground coral,
where wild burros wander,
and sharks patrol the reef just beyond the break.
That man may think to himself
often
just how lovely
the world might be
if it were real.
The dream is real.
The dream presses on him.
The dream is all he knows.
I wish I were that man.
I know I am that man.
I see him from a distance.
I walk in his shoes.
Sorrow is a foolish indulgence.
Self-pity, just that — pitiful.
As I walk out into the soft,
warm rain,
I cannot help but
remember,
how she held me and said,
"I will always love you."
Just before she abandoned me.
I know now how the world works.
I just don't know why.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
2/8/09 Sunday • Running Log
11.14 miles
1:24:08
average pace - 7:35
first half - 7:45
second half - 7:24
Sunny, low humidity, 70 degrees
left @ 10:30 AM • returned @ noon
Bostons, no shirt, tunes
I felt pretty sluggish today despite a decent pace. I ran on the levee down to Jefferson Playground and back. It was warm and sunny. There were quite a few cyclists out there. My hamstring is still a little achy, but getting better. I had a tail wind, for the most part, going out and a headwind returning. I was picking it up during the lat half and felt OK. miles 8-10 were the quickest. I never did settle into a comfortable groove.
1:24:08
average pace - 7:35
first half - 7:45
second half - 7:24
Sunny, low humidity, 70 degrees
left @ 10:30 AM • returned @ noon
Bostons, no shirt, tunes
I felt pretty sluggish today despite a decent pace. I ran on the levee down to Jefferson Playground and back. It was warm and sunny. There were quite a few cyclists out there. My hamstring is still a little achy, but getting better. I had a tail wind, for the most part, going out and a headwind returning. I was picking it up during the lat half and felt OK. miles 8-10 were the quickest. I never did settle into a comfortable groove.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
2/7/09 Saturday • Running Log
5 miles
Audubon Park
65 degrees and sunny
5:15 PM
Mizuno Precision
I ran an easy five miles after work at Southern Runner today with Kristin and Fitz. Fitz was tooting a Five Happiness tune. I think we got to hear the first four cuts, four of the five happinesses. We ran into his ex, Kelly, who was having some shoe issues. We tried to help her out then sent her and Fitz on their way. I think that she got to hear the last, the fifth happiness.
I felt fine. My hamstring is still letting me know that it's not quite all there. But I was relatively pain free all day and it didn't tweak out too badly on the run. I'm becoming more optimistic about it. All in all a good run. The weather was absolutely beautiful.
Audubon Park
65 degrees and sunny
5:15 PM
Mizuno Precision
I ran an easy five miles after work at Southern Runner today with Kristin and Fitz. Fitz was tooting a Five Happiness tune. I think we got to hear the first four cuts, four of the five happinesses. We ran into his ex, Kelly, who was having some shoe issues. We tried to help her out then sent her and Fitz on their way. I think that she got to hear the last, the fifth happiness.
I felt fine. My hamstring is still letting me know that it's not quite all there. But I was relatively pain free all day and it didn't tweak out too badly on the run. I'm becoming more optimistic about it. All in all a good run. The weather was absolutely beautiful.
Friday, February 6, 2009
2/6/09 On a Shelf: Homage to Dr. Seuss
The people and places and things that I see
are never so private and secret to me.
I feel them and touch them and live them each day
and view them as the steps on the path, the Way.
If I were to keep them all to myself
I'd just as soon put my soul on a shelf.
are never so private and secret to me.
I feel them and touch them and live them each day
and view them as the steps on the path, the Way.
If I were to keep them all to myself
I'd just as soon put my soul on a shelf.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
2/5/09 Sweet Pain (Feb. O8)
Insanity is all around me,
And she is a woman.
She is kind.
She is callous.
She is strong
small
thin
wild.
She has no real idea
what she wants.
She makes me feel
like no one else.
Why does it hurt
so much
then?
Why then
does it seem like
torture
to be away from her?
to be near her?
She is also wiry
bright eyed
intense.
She seems to
always want
to be the boss.
She cares deeply,
her language
inadvertently
curt,
authoritative.
She is gentle
and loves to dance.
Why then
do I feel like
a man
who owes someone
an explanation?
She is also curvy
and full
of laughter,
frenetic,
intensely distrustful
of men.
She has a
monstrous
work ethic
and a profound
propensity
for smiling.
Why why why then
is she just
outside
my reach?
Insanity is all around me,
like a shroud
of sweet pain.
And she is a woman.
She is kind.
She is callous.
She is strong
small
thin
wild.
She has no real idea
what she wants.
She makes me feel
like no one else.
Why does it hurt
so much
then?
Why then
does it seem like
torture
to be away from her?
to be near her?
She is also wiry
bright eyed
intense.
She seems to
always want
to be the boss.
She cares deeply,
her language
inadvertently
curt,
authoritative.
She is gentle
and loves to dance.
Why then
do I feel like
a man
who owes someone
an explanation?
She is also curvy
and full
of laughter,
frenetic,
intensely distrustful
of men.
She has a
monstrous
work ethic
and a profound
propensity
for smiling.
Why why why then
is she just
outside
my reach?
Insanity is all around me,
like a shroud
of sweet pain.
2/5/09 Cold Night Run (Dec. '07)
running in the night
the beauty is the night
in the wind lashing about
(not back in ya)
slapping
your knees
your cheeks
your cheeks
hard slapping
on your knuckles
the tip of your nose
your ears sticking
out below the
bottom of a
hat already pulled
as far down
as it will go
hair pasted in a
postmodern
architectural
creation never
before seen
west of
Singapore
or, perhaps,
someplace more
exotic,
someplace like
New Orleans
where it's proper
to wear a
sleeve
on your head
at least it's
baby blue
Streetcars grind
and hum
and screech
and clang,
sometimes
shooting a
stacatto spark,
a short,
a long
blue arc
pops off the
wheels as they
trundle under the
mighty, ancient
live oaks
older than me,
older than we
will ever get
to be
or not to be
like that.
At least I'm
not cold.
It's cold
out here,
you know?
the beauty is the night
in the wind lashing about
(not back in ya)
slapping
your knees
your cheeks
your cheeks
hard slapping
on your knuckles
the tip of your nose
your ears sticking
out below the
bottom of a
hat already pulled
as far down
as it will go
hair pasted in a
postmodern
architectural
creation never
before seen
west of
Singapore
or, perhaps,
someplace more
exotic,
someplace like
New Orleans
where it's proper
to wear a
sleeve
on your head
at least it's
baby blue
Streetcars grind
and hum
and screech
and clang,
sometimes
shooting a
stacatto spark,
a short,
a long
blue arc
pops off the
wheels as they
trundle under the
mighty, ancient
live oaks
older than me,
older than we
will ever get
to be
or not to be
like that.
At least I'm
not cold.
It's cold
out here,
you know?
2/5/09 From the Archives
I've always loved to read poetry, since I first learned to read. This may have something to do with all the Dr. Suess I grew up with. He's still one of my favorites.
I also love to write poetry. So, as with my visual artwork, I will be pulling a few pieces from my archives to post here. I'll also be writing some new stuff. I've lost two blogs in the past few years. They both seemed to have mysteriously vanished into the virtual ether. I'm sure it was some sort of unintentional mis-step on my part, some setting issue or check box thing. So some of my writing is lost forever. I like to look at those losses as an equivalent of a sand painting.
So pardon me if some of this is repetitious. But I like to see them out there again. And as I've mentioned before. It's my blog. I can post whatever the hell I want. Enjoy!
I also love to write poetry. So, as with my visual artwork, I will be pulling a few pieces from my archives to post here. I'll also be writing some new stuff. I've lost two blogs in the past few years. They both seemed to have mysteriously vanished into the virtual ether. I'm sure it was some sort of unintentional mis-step on my part, some setting issue or check box thing. So some of my writing is lost forever. I like to look at those losses as an equivalent of a sand painting.
So pardon me if some of this is repetitious. But I like to see them out there again. And as I've mentioned before. It's my blog. I can post whatever the hell I want. Enjoy!
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
2/3/09 Tuesday•Running Log
2 miles
Before track I went out for a little jog to test my hamstring. It's OK, but still tight. I didn't want to risk running 200's, so I bailed. I was running 200's last summer when I first tweaked this same injury. It really pisses me off to be in decent shape and have a nagging little injury.
Before track I went out for a little jog to test my hamstring. It's OK, but still tight. I didn't want to risk running 200's, so I bailed. I was running 200's last summer when I first tweaked this same injury. It really pisses me off to be in decent shape and have a nagging little injury.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
2/2/09 Monday•Running Log
OFF
My hamstring was bothering me and, frankly, I was feeling lazy. I took a rest.
My hamstring was bothering me and, frankly, I was feeling lazy. I took a rest.
2/1/09 Sunday•Running Log
19 miles @ 7:45 pace
50 degrees, mostly overcast, low humidity
MGM course pacing Berto
new Brooks Ghost
I felt pretty good today. My right hamstring is still giving me trouble. It's achy. But it doesn't hurt while running. It seems tight and gives me this dull, deep ache from just above my knee up through my butt cheek. It also seems to get more tender if I run particularly hard, like last Tuesday at track, or particularly long, like today. I'll keep taking it easy and rolling it with the stick and rubbing that ibuprofen/arnica cream on it. It seems to help.
The new Brooks Ghost felt pretty good. They are very much like the NB 826 — soft and cushy as well as light. I'm thinking that I really do prefer the ride of a stiffer shoe, like my Adizero Bostons. The softer shoes cause some tingling and numbness in my right foot after running for more than approximately 30 minutes. The Bostons don't bother me at all even on long runs. I'll keep experimenting and maybe I'll switch over exclusively to the Adidas.
50 degrees, mostly overcast, low humidity
MGM course pacing Berto
new Brooks Ghost
I felt pretty good today. My right hamstring is still giving me trouble. It's achy. But it doesn't hurt while running. It seems tight and gives me this dull, deep ache from just above my knee up through my butt cheek. It also seems to get more tender if I run particularly hard, like last Tuesday at track, or particularly long, like today. I'll keep taking it easy and rolling it with the stick and rubbing that ibuprofen/arnica cream on it. It seems to help.
The new Brooks Ghost felt pretty good. They are very much like the NB 826 — soft and cushy as well as light. I'm thinking that I really do prefer the ride of a stiffer shoe, like my Adizero Bostons. The softer shoes cause some tingling and numbness in my right foot after running for more than approximately 30 minutes. The Bostons don't bother me at all even on long runs. I'll keep experimenting and maybe I'll switch over exclusively to the Adidas.
2/1/09 Mardi Gras Marathon: Berto Pacer Report
I got up at 4:30 AM to get my morning ritual and coffee before heading out. I'm not a quick riser. I'd laid everything out the night before so things went fairly smoothly and I was on the road by 5:45. I drove to the 16/23 mile mark and parked in a spot that would allow me to drive out of there unimpeded if I chose to leave before the last runners had come by. I began jogging the 3 miles to the start, nice and easy, starting right at 6:05.
It was a glorious morning, 48 degrees with zero wind. The sun hadn't come up yet. I was the only one on the road. I could hear the PA system at the start all the way out along the bayou. I got about a mile from the Dome and thankfully found a bank of virgin Port-O-Lets at one of the not yet staffed water stops.
The crowd at the dome was all abuzz. I saw some friends, shook hands, hugged and got hugged. But I couldn't find Berto. Five minutes before the start I was starting to formulate a plan B in my head. Should I run out ahead of the start and wait hoping to see him coming by? Should I just run for the hell of it and hope to run into him? Then with about 3 minutes until the gun I saw him, nestled in the crowd. I snaked my way in, smiled, shook his hand, and got ready.
We're off! It took us maybe 15 seconds to get to the start, then another minute or two to get to a spot on the course where the field thinned out enough to run at a comfortable pace. I had to tell Berto to relax and not go out too fast many times in that first mile, a phrase I'd utter umpteen times through the course of the day. The reason I was there with him as a pacer was to try to ensure that he didn't make the mistake of going out too fast. We hit the first mile in 7:42, four seconds slower than 3:20 pace, but quicker than I thought we should be going.
Some Berto background: He's out of his mind! Berto is the single most erratically paced runner I have ever seen. When he first started running with us he would just take off with the leaders, the fastest group, regardless of who was running or their pace. Then he would die horribly and quickly. Just about every one of the more experienced runners in the group have, over the past year or two that Berto's been running with us, given Berto pacing advice. Almost without exception that advice has been not to go out too fast. He flatly ignores it. I will say that he's as tenacious as they get and he's shown tremendous improvement in his fitness and his race results are getting progressively and consistently better. But he still gets a goal, usually a very ambitious one, in his head then proceeds to nose dive early on by, you guessed it, going out too fast.
In the realm of running the marathon, even if you've done everything right — been religious about the training mileage, stuck to a plan, rested when called for, run long, practiced sound nutrition, hydrated properly— the single worse mistake a runner can make on race day is to run the first few miles too fast. And coming out of the gate too fast is Berto's trade mark. So today my self-appointed role was to see to it that Berto stayed within himself. The plan was that I'd run with him until mile 16, where I'd parked, and hand him over to Doug who would take him the last 10.2 to the finish.
Even though Berto's goal pace was 3:20, which I thought was a bit strong for someone of his ability who'd only run one other marathon before, and that one in nearly five hours. I knew he had done a lot of work and was definitely capable of running sub-3:30. So I figured if I could keep his pace at least a little slower than 3:20 pace he would a good chance of finishing well.
For the first ten miles Berto kept asking me if I was sure we were not going too slowly. I keep repeating myself. "Relax, Berto! We've got a long way to go." At some of the mile markers he actually glances at his watch then sprints for three meters to make his splits look better. I have to reprimand him for this too. Berto is carrying a hydration pack with him around his waist. The bottle is filled with Hawaiian punch. He's also carrying Sport Beans, electrolyte laden jelly beans. He has a 3:20 pace chart that he's printed out in 5 point type all folded over and tucked into his watch band. The thing is soaked and unreadable after about 3 miles. I eventually take it away from him. Other than a few sips from his punch bottle, he drinks only water on the course. I try to get him to make sure he's actually ingesting some of the water. I also try to get him to let me carry the fanny pack. He refuses.
We go through the halfway point, 13.1 miles, in 1:40:31 — 3:21 pace. I know this is a bit quick for Berto in a marathon. But he's actually listened (for the most part) and hasn't gotten sucked into going any faster, which I'm absolutely sure he he would have. Miles 14 through 16 Berto begins to fade, just a bit. But it's noticeable. We get to mile 16 and there's Doug, like clockwork. Doug hops in. I give him a quick briefing. And I jog over to a waiting mimosa.
Doug keeps Berto going, albeit still fading, for the last 10+. When they come back by where I'm standing, mimosa in hand, Berto is obviously laboring. But so is everyone at mile 23 in a marathon. Doug keeps him upright and churning it all the way in for what is eventually a 3:29:49 or so. He did it! He hung on for the sub-3:30 and a PR of over an hour — an impressive race, certainly by Berto standards.
I think, and hope, that he learned something in this race. I think he could have run 3:25 if he would have taken it even easier for the first half. But maybe suffering for the last 10k, the way I'm sure he did, will give him some insight and confidence to avoid that hurt and run an even better time. I also hope it gives him the insight to run his shorter races with more prudent pacing strategy. I truly feel like he's capable. But damn he's stubborn! Nice job, Berto!
It was a glorious morning, 48 degrees with zero wind. The sun hadn't come up yet. I was the only one on the road. I could hear the PA system at the start all the way out along the bayou. I got about a mile from the Dome and thankfully found a bank of virgin Port-O-Lets at one of the not yet staffed water stops.
The crowd at the dome was all abuzz. I saw some friends, shook hands, hugged and got hugged. But I couldn't find Berto. Five minutes before the start I was starting to formulate a plan B in my head. Should I run out ahead of the start and wait hoping to see him coming by? Should I just run for the hell of it and hope to run into him? Then with about 3 minutes until the gun I saw him, nestled in the crowd. I snaked my way in, smiled, shook his hand, and got ready.
We're off! It took us maybe 15 seconds to get to the start, then another minute or two to get to a spot on the course where the field thinned out enough to run at a comfortable pace. I had to tell Berto to relax and not go out too fast many times in that first mile, a phrase I'd utter umpteen times through the course of the day. The reason I was there with him as a pacer was to try to ensure that he didn't make the mistake of going out too fast. We hit the first mile in 7:42, four seconds slower than 3:20 pace, but quicker than I thought we should be going.
Some Berto background: He's out of his mind! Berto is the single most erratically paced runner I have ever seen. When he first started running with us he would just take off with the leaders, the fastest group, regardless of who was running or their pace. Then he would die horribly and quickly. Just about every one of the more experienced runners in the group have, over the past year or two that Berto's been running with us, given Berto pacing advice. Almost without exception that advice has been not to go out too fast. He flatly ignores it. I will say that he's as tenacious as they get and he's shown tremendous improvement in his fitness and his race results are getting progressively and consistently better. But he still gets a goal, usually a very ambitious one, in his head then proceeds to nose dive early on by, you guessed it, going out too fast.
In the realm of running the marathon, even if you've done everything right — been religious about the training mileage, stuck to a plan, rested when called for, run long, practiced sound nutrition, hydrated properly— the single worse mistake a runner can make on race day is to run the first few miles too fast. And coming out of the gate too fast is Berto's trade mark. So today my self-appointed role was to see to it that Berto stayed within himself. The plan was that I'd run with him until mile 16, where I'd parked, and hand him over to Doug who would take him the last 10.2 to the finish.
Even though Berto's goal pace was 3:20, which I thought was a bit strong for someone of his ability who'd only run one other marathon before, and that one in nearly five hours. I knew he had done a lot of work and was definitely capable of running sub-3:30. So I figured if I could keep his pace at least a little slower than 3:20 pace he would a good chance of finishing well.
For the first ten miles Berto kept asking me if I was sure we were not going too slowly. I keep repeating myself. "Relax, Berto! We've got a long way to go." At some of the mile markers he actually glances at his watch then sprints for three meters to make his splits look better. I have to reprimand him for this too. Berto is carrying a hydration pack with him around his waist. The bottle is filled with Hawaiian punch. He's also carrying Sport Beans, electrolyte laden jelly beans. He has a 3:20 pace chart that he's printed out in 5 point type all folded over and tucked into his watch band. The thing is soaked and unreadable after about 3 miles. I eventually take it away from him. Other than a few sips from his punch bottle, he drinks only water on the course. I try to get him to make sure he's actually ingesting some of the water. I also try to get him to let me carry the fanny pack. He refuses.
We go through the halfway point, 13.1 miles, in 1:40:31 — 3:21 pace. I know this is a bit quick for Berto in a marathon. But he's actually listened (for the most part) and hasn't gotten sucked into going any faster, which I'm absolutely sure he he would have. Miles 14 through 16 Berto begins to fade, just a bit. But it's noticeable. We get to mile 16 and there's Doug, like clockwork. Doug hops in. I give him a quick briefing. And I jog over to a waiting mimosa.
Doug keeps Berto going, albeit still fading, for the last 10+. When they come back by where I'm standing, mimosa in hand, Berto is obviously laboring. But so is everyone at mile 23 in a marathon. Doug keeps him upright and churning it all the way in for what is eventually a 3:29:49 or so. He did it! He hung on for the sub-3:30 and a PR of over an hour — an impressive race, certainly by Berto standards.
I think, and hope, that he learned something in this race. I think he could have run 3:25 if he would have taken it even easier for the first half. But maybe suffering for the last 10k, the way I'm sure he did, will give him some insight and confidence to avoid that hurt and run an even better time. I also hope it gives him the insight to run his shorter races with more prudent pacing strategy. I truly feel like he's capable. But damn he's stubborn! Nice job, Berto!
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