Has to happen at some time, I guess. For me, the first time was Memorial Day at Bob's house.
It was the kind of day you pray for on the unofficial start of summer - clear and cloudless skies, with the sun pushing the temperature close to 80 degrees. A perfect day for the pool, and Bob has a great one in the backyard of his house, which is located in a suburb a few miles north of Chicago. There would be grilling and beer drinking later, of course, but first, we had to earn our calories through vigorous exercise and game playing. At Bob's house, the game of choice was Full Contact Swimming Pool Basketball.
The players were me; Bob, aged 53 - a decent athlete when he was younger, but the recent recipient of an artificial knee and the body of a consultant who gets most of his exercise getting off and on planes; his son Tim, aged 14, all arms and legs, long and lithe, a runner and high jumper and a veteran of the 7th grade basketball team; Mike, aged 12, short and solid, built like a fire plug, personable and engaging, shaking hands with people and introducing himself since he was 3, and a dead ringer for Bob; Matthew, aged 10, smallish and copper haired, the "baby" of the family and great friends with Mike; and Jon, my son, aged 24, 6'1", 185 - not a gym rat, but a consistent 9 minute miler on the treadmill, a 46er, and a citizen of the world - seeing much of it on foot, carrying a backpack and pulling a giant wheeled suitcase.
The hoop was mounted on a three foot pole, embedded in the side of the pool, near the shallow end. We play 3 on 3: me, Bob and Matthew against Jon, Tim and Mike. Ball hits the rim on a shot - clear it past the flower pot located midway on the shallow end. After a basket, losers get the ball and take it in - but not before the ball is handed to an opposition player, "checked" and handed back. Simple, right?
First play, I have the ball, check it with Tim, and immediately pass to Mike, who is not on my team. He kicks it in to Jon, who jams it home. Oops. Next play, Bob takes it out, and passes to me. Matthew is camped on the steps in the corner to the left of the basket - Bob says he has a great shot from there. I swing the ball to that side and pass to Matthew, except Tim cuts in front, snags the ball, drive to the hoop and lays it in. Oops.
After the check, I take the ball in, and hit Bob with a pass. He gets a quick shot off and swish, we score.
Mike takes the ball out and passes it to me for the "check" I don't check anything and immediately give it back to him, failing to note that Bob has come up, too. There is no one guarding Tim, which Mike notes, hitting him with a pass, leading to another easy score. Oops.
Next time, Bob brings the ball in. He passes to Matthew, but the ball glances off his hand, out of the pool. He and Mike both jump out of the pool and race to the ball. Mike grabs it flips to Tim and he bangs it home.
Bob says, "On any balls out of the pool who ever gets it, keeps it." Oops.
Bob brings it in and after the check, passes to me. I see Matthew open in the corner, and pass it to him. Only Tim out of my vision to my left, suckers me. He anticipates the pass, takes a quick step, throws out a long arm, intercepts the ball, sets and shoots. Nothing but net. Oops.
Bob takes it in and passes to me. I see Mike in the corner, but this time I also know Tim is off to the left. I fake a pass, and when Tim steps in this time, I pivot back towards Bob and, back to Tim, I hook the ball up and backwards, over my head and over Tim. Only Tim is quick and he recovers, jumps and intercepts, again sinking his shot. Matthew says, "Uncle Ron is terrible, does he have to be on our team?" Oops.
The ball goes out of the pool again on the next play and Tim goes for it. Only this time, Bob grabs him from behind and drags him back into the pool. I begin to understand the "full contact" part. The ball skitters toward the deep end and Bob goes for it. Jon tackles him and wrestles him for the ball. I go to Bob's aid, and grab Jon's arms to steal the ball - only I can't budge him. I manage to slide my hand under the inside of his hand, leveraging his thumb away, just like they teach you in life saving, and I pry the ball loose. I move to the basket and Jon jumps on me - I can barely move him. I struggle to the basket and start to go up, but he reaches over me and slaps my arm down and the ball loose. There isn't anything I can do about it.
So it goes. Tim shoots over me, goes around me and generally scores at will. Every time I touch the ball Jon is on me, and it's 50-50 as top whether I will manage to pass it off to Bob or lose possession - scoring is not an option. If I do get an open shot, it clanks, falls short or slides out of the pool.
The game ends with Matthew crying because Mike has grabbed him in the deeper end of the pool - he doesn't swim well at all and is scared. The rule had been "No tackling Matthew" but Mike got caught up in the spirit of combat and went for him. (The crying jag continues for a long while, because Matthew, no fool, knows he is supposed to get to his homework right after the game, and he figures out that this is a great diversion.) Mike had to stop because he has scraped his big toe on the rough bottom of the pool and is bleeding - he knew better but had forgotten to wear his water shoes. Jon hobbled off because he had twisted the muscles on the back of his leg in one of the tussles.
Me? I was beat - and beat up. I still have a bruise the size of a half dollar on my left bicep.
Later, in the hot tub, Tim mentions he had gotten his fingers broken last year in a game against one of the people from Bob's firm. Seems the guy was 6' 6" and like to camp under the basket. Someone lobbed him the ball and he slammed it in for a score, his forearm coming forcibly down on Tim's fingers - Tim had gotten into position for the block, ignoring the considerable size and mass disadvantage. To Tim, it was just an "oh, well."
Later still Tim and I shot hoops at the real basket in the driveway. Tim scored often. It took me 30 attempts top sink one hook shot from the top of the key- and my shoulder felt like it was going to fall off when I was done.
I tried one more thing - a trick shot I used to make regularly in P I G games - I wedged the ball between my palm and forearm and brought my arm straight up in front of my body, snapping my wrist upwards to release the ball towards the basket. Only, I couldn't get my arm above my shoulder and the ball rocketed out directly into the neighbor's hedges.
When I reflected on my performance later over a bottle of a bottle of Spotted Cow Ale from Wisconsin - I apparently could still raise my arm high enough to get the bottle to my mouth - I remembered that I could not move or think fast enough to fool a 14 year-old, could not muster enough strength to out muscle my 24 year old son, couldn't remember the simplest rules or recognize my own team mates, couldn't sink a hook shot I used to make with ease, and that these simple things caused my body to ache.
Until this day, I felt I was doing all right. I am a triathlete, I train and compete regularly, complete every competition I start and have never finished last.
But today, for the first time, I felt old.
Thus, the title of today's entry. It's from a poem by T.S. Eliot - "The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock" and the lines I was reminded of go like this:
I grow old … I grow old …
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
I know how he felt.
See you out there - maybe......
After My First Tri: Pinebush '06
Me & Coach Andrea - Armed and Dangerous!
Friday, May 30, 2008
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Walking to China
We parked the car at 5 pm and began walking east, away from the bay. The sun was still high and warm enough on our backs as we walked to force a sweat. The road we walked paralleled the railroad tracks, elevated, aged, paint flaking off in chunks. The road rose as we started over the bridge, and the walking was a bit harder. To our left, and beneath us, the cars moved quickly along the good highway, but the water in the drainage ditch bordering it was brown and brackish. A few people passed us as we moved along, some walking, some on beat-up bikes. They said nothing.
We could see debris beneath us, too, mostly old tires or broken auto parts. The rusted chain link fences we passed were topped with curling razor wires, protecting the cars within, obviously valuable commodities. The signs atop the buildings were all written in characters, but the businesses were certainly related to the cars housed there, tire shops maybe, or repair shops.
We passed an open lot. The road at the rear lead to a large 3 story building, similar in size and shape to a warehouse, but from the evidence of the many signs and opening, housing multiple shops and stores. I pointed it out, but Jon said, "We're not going there. Keep walking straight."
I did, and within a block we came to a busy street, loaded with cars and bikes and people. We crossed, walked one more block and turned the corner onto a new street and into a different world. Its side were lined with shops, each one small, but packed with goods, which spilled out into street displays. Strange plants, fruits, herbs, vegetables. I recognized only a few.
The stores, most of them, were unfamiliar, and their signs were all in characters, too. I recognized a few by their wares - a florist, a bakery. Some were instantly familiar - McDonalds and Starbucks, their trademarks and color schemes recognizable anywhere in the world, even though their signs and menus were, of course, written in characters.
Outside some of the shops, old women stood with stacks of menus, also written in characters, handing them to each passerby, except us. We, obviously, were not from around those parts. Jon however, reached for some of these menus, and accepted them from the somewhat puzzled distributors. He speaks, reads and writes Mandarin.
The sidewalks were teaming with people, hundreds, thousands, shoulder to shoulder, in both directions somehow sliding past each other. At 6'1" with long legs and a familiarity and ease with the crowds, Jon moved easily and quickly through them, getting ahead of Kiera and me. A full head taller than most of the people around him, his height, pale skin and red hair made him easy to see. Kiera moved to catch up, but still trailed him. I lagged them both, a familiar position for me, but could pick out Kiera's orange shirt just ahead of me, and Jon's red hair, farther ahead.
He crossed another street, stopped and turned to us.
"Here it is" he said. "The 100 stalls of mystery!"
He turned to an open door, and went down a flight of stairs. The smells of sesame oil and frying shrimp instantly identified this as a food court, Chinese style. A dozen or so small stall, each 12 x 12 or so, lined the hallway. Each had a table or three, and each had a different cuisine.
Jon sat us at the first table in the stall on the left, and stood to study the menu. He summoned the owner and she came over to him and discussed the menu with him - in Mandarin. He asked about a few things, pointed to some others, and then expressed disappointment.
He turned to us and said, "They are out of chicken."
He quickly turned back to her and placed an order for food, got us three waters for the table, and then slipped down the hallway and disappeared. He reappeared a few minutes later and said, "I order some more food from another stall."
We drank our waters and talked for a few minutes, until a small Chinese woman came up to him and said in halting English, "They want you over there."
He followed her and soon returned with a rectangular aluminum container with a clear plastic top.
"Cold noodles, with sprouts and cucumber slivers, with a thin vinegar based sauce and a hint of red peppers. And some small waffles of bean curd. The noodles are fat and thick, very authentic and very good. Shaanxi style. Not too much heat."
"The bun is stuffed with shredded lamb and spices, also very good."
And they were very good indeed.
When we finished, the first women, whose table we were sitting at, brought over two dishes for us, and three small bowls of sticky white rice.. She didn't seem to mind that we had started on something from another stall.
"Twice cooked pork, with two kinds of peppers. Green peppers, which are native to South America and not China, and small round Szechuan peppers, like berries, which are. This pork is exellent. A little more heat in this dish."
The second back had squares of what looked like bacon. It was.
"It's the special today," he said.
It was smoky and rich, but a little undercooked for my taste. I had only a few pieces, and wished it had been cooked just bit more.
We ate the twice cooked pork with the white rice, using chop sticks. We ate heartily and finished nearly everything. Except the bacon.
Jon guided us down the hallway and past the other stalls, noting their menus and explaining their specialties.
As we turned back up the hallway, a middle aged Chinese man said something in English to Jon, and neither his voice nor expression was pleasant.
Jon said, "Oh, he's harmless. He just doesn't think non-Chinese should be eating here. Best to just ignore him." Which we did.
We exited the stalls and crossed the street, where we ducked into a bakery. Jon pointed out the softball sized sesame buns, stuffed with red bean paste and said, "I like sesame bun, but I prefer the smaller ones."
He ignored the pastries, and just ordered some cold lemon tea.
By now it was after 6 pm, and we began to head back to meet Pat. We returned the way we came, and soon crossed the bridge and headed down the hill and across the street into the parking lot, to Gate C, where we found Pat, who was early, too. After all, we were very excited about seeing the Mets, and getting to Shea in this the last year of its existence.
That's right - Shea Stadium. We had not crossed into mainland China at all - we had crossed the Roosevelt Avenue bridge, and walked by the El where the 7 train brings Met fans to the ballpark and turned down Main Street to its intersection with 41 Rd, in Flushing, one of the largest China Towns in the world. Much bigger and much more authentic than the famous China Town in Manhattan.
If you are Fitlinxx'ing it, it was a mile and a half, a leisurely 30 minute walk for us - an easy 12 minute jog for Kelly the Quick if she had been with us - that took us from an American institution to the heart of China, and we had our very own personal guide with us. Very cool experience, indeed.
The Mets, by the way, came from a run down in the bottom of the 12th, and won on a walk off two-run double by Fernando Tatis - that was pretty cool, too.
See you out there.
We could see debris beneath us, too, mostly old tires or broken auto parts. The rusted chain link fences we passed were topped with curling razor wires, protecting the cars within, obviously valuable commodities. The signs atop the buildings were all written in characters, but the businesses were certainly related to the cars housed there, tire shops maybe, or repair shops.
We passed an open lot. The road at the rear lead to a large 3 story building, similar in size and shape to a warehouse, but from the evidence of the many signs and opening, housing multiple shops and stores. I pointed it out, but Jon said, "We're not going there. Keep walking straight."
I did, and within a block we came to a busy street, loaded with cars and bikes and people. We crossed, walked one more block and turned the corner onto a new street and into a different world. Its side were lined with shops, each one small, but packed with goods, which spilled out into street displays. Strange plants, fruits, herbs, vegetables. I recognized only a few.
The stores, most of them, were unfamiliar, and their signs were all in characters, too. I recognized a few by their wares - a florist, a bakery. Some were instantly familiar - McDonalds and Starbucks, their trademarks and color schemes recognizable anywhere in the world, even though their signs and menus were, of course, written in characters.
Outside some of the shops, old women stood with stacks of menus, also written in characters, handing them to each passerby, except us. We, obviously, were not from around those parts. Jon however, reached for some of these menus, and accepted them from the somewhat puzzled distributors. He speaks, reads and writes Mandarin.
The sidewalks were teaming with people, hundreds, thousands, shoulder to shoulder, in both directions somehow sliding past each other. At 6'1" with long legs and a familiarity and ease with the crowds, Jon moved easily and quickly through them, getting ahead of Kiera and me. A full head taller than most of the people around him, his height, pale skin and red hair made him easy to see. Kiera moved to catch up, but still trailed him. I lagged them both, a familiar position for me, but could pick out Kiera's orange shirt just ahead of me, and Jon's red hair, farther ahead.
He crossed another street, stopped and turned to us.
"Here it is" he said. "The 100 stalls of mystery!"
He turned to an open door, and went down a flight of stairs. The smells of sesame oil and frying shrimp instantly identified this as a food court, Chinese style. A dozen or so small stall, each 12 x 12 or so, lined the hallway. Each had a table or three, and each had a different cuisine.
Jon sat us at the first table in the stall on the left, and stood to study the menu. He summoned the owner and she came over to him and discussed the menu with him - in Mandarin. He asked about a few things, pointed to some others, and then expressed disappointment.
He turned to us and said, "They are out of chicken."
He quickly turned back to her and placed an order for food, got us three waters for the table, and then slipped down the hallway and disappeared. He reappeared a few minutes later and said, "I order some more food from another stall."
We drank our waters and talked for a few minutes, until a small Chinese woman came up to him and said in halting English, "They want you over there."
He followed her and soon returned with a rectangular aluminum container with a clear plastic top.
"Cold noodles, with sprouts and cucumber slivers, with a thin vinegar based sauce and a hint of red peppers. And some small waffles of bean curd. The noodles are fat and thick, very authentic and very good. Shaanxi style. Not too much heat."
"The bun is stuffed with shredded lamb and spices, also very good."
And they were very good indeed.
When we finished, the first women, whose table we were sitting at, brought over two dishes for us, and three small bowls of sticky white rice.. She didn't seem to mind that we had started on something from another stall.
"Twice cooked pork, with two kinds of peppers. Green peppers, which are native to South America and not China, and small round Szechuan peppers, like berries, which are. This pork is exellent. A little more heat in this dish."
The second back had squares of what looked like bacon. It was.
"It's the special today," he said.
It was smoky and rich, but a little undercooked for my taste. I had only a few pieces, and wished it had been cooked just bit more.
We ate the twice cooked pork with the white rice, using chop sticks. We ate heartily and finished nearly everything. Except the bacon.
Jon guided us down the hallway and past the other stalls, noting their menus and explaining their specialties.
As we turned back up the hallway, a middle aged Chinese man said something in English to Jon, and neither his voice nor expression was pleasant.
Jon said, "Oh, he's harmless. He just doesn't think non-Chinese should be eating here. Best to just ignore him." Which we did.
We exited the stalls and crossed the street, where we ducked into a bakery. Jon pointed out the softball sized sesame buns, stuffed with red bean paste and said, "I like sesame bun, but I prefer the smaller ones."
He ignored the pastries, and just ordered some cold lemon tea.
By now it was after 6 pm, and we began to head back to meet Pat. We returned the way we came, and soon crossed the bridge and headed down the hill and across the street into the parking lot, to Gate C, where we found Pat, who was early, too. After all, we were very excited about seeing the Mets, and getting to Shea in this the last year of its existence.
That's right - Shea Stadium. We had not crossed into mainland China at all - we had crossed the Roosevelt Avenue bridge, and walked by the El where the 7 train brings Met fans to the ballpark and turned down Main Street to its intersection with 41 Rd, in Flushing, one of the largest China Towns in the world. Much bigger and much more authentic than the famous China Town in Manhattan.
If you are Fitlinxx'ing it, it was a mile and a half, a leisurely 30 minute walk for us - an easy 12 minute jog for Kelly the Quick if she had been with us - that took us from an American institution to the heart of China, and we had our very own personal guide with us. Very cool experience, indeed.
The Mets, by the way, came from a run down in the bottom of the 12th, and won on a walk off two-run double by Fernando Tatis - that was pretty cool, too.
See you out there.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Funner
I went over to The Crossings in Colonie last Wednesday nite to watch my friends Donna and Deanne and Jen M. run in the Craig Ryder 2nd Memorial 5K Run, and to cheer them on.
I wasn't running because my foot was still bothering me. I knew about the race because Deanne told me about it - she tells me about all the races that are coming up. In fact, if I don't get at least 3 emails from Deanne a week about this 5K or that road run, I would feel lost. She runs in most of them, too. For example, a couple of weeks ago, she did a 5K on Friday nite in Washington Park (23:56) at 6 PM, then a 10K on the bike path along the Hudson River at 8:30 AM the next morning (50:14) and then ran a 5K with Jen M the same morning at 10 AM! I think she would have run on Sunday, too, except they did a little too much celebrating of Jen's birthday on Saturday nite! Ah, Sweet Bird of Youth....
Anyway, I no sooner got to the The Crossing when I heard some familiar voices - Jess and Christina from my swim class at the Guilderland Y were there, along with Marilyn, also from the Y.
Jess - "Are you running?"
Me - "No - my foot still hurts."
Jess - "So you're a funner."
Me - " ? "
Jess - " A funner. You're not a runner, so you're just here for fun - a funner."
Turns out she was even more right than I thought. Everywhere I turned, I found people I knew, and of course, I talked with all of them.
Donna and Deanne and Jen M, were there, and Donna's brother Rick and his daughter Cheyenne.
And Sara P from work and her boy friend, Tom. Turns out Tom had run the Boston Marathon, too - pretty good runner - he was 9 minutes ahead of Lance Armstrong at the 30 K mark - I looked it up. I introduced Sara to a lot of the people I knew there. More on Sara and Tom later.
I was pleased to see my good friend Kelly there. She was with Roxanne, also from the Y.
Greg, who I met at the dinner the night before the Spring Runoff, was there.
And then, Out of the Blue of the Western Sky (or some sky), Captain Mike! He had just gotten into the Albany Airport from his week of pilot duty - just gotten back from San Jose, and he had driven the quick two miles over from the airport.
"Great to see you! I must know more than a dozen people here!"
"Me, too. The Albany Running Exchange, is organizing the race, and I came over to see my buds."
Kind of a funny start to the race at 6 PM. The walkers got off, no problem. But, the runners got off to a false start - all of them. I guess the starter was trying to tell everyone how he was going to start the race - only they all thought it was the start, so off them went. And back they came, and did it again. (Not without a few muttered unkind words among the group - I don't even know what some of those words mean!)
The first mile took them out of the park and then back in, so I walked over to the clock at the one mile mark and waited for them. Five minutes later, Sara's boyfriend Tom blazed back into the park, with Chris from OSC right behind him.
Standing all alone, right across the path from the clock so I had a good view of the runners as they crossed the bridge and came back into the park, I cheered loudly for everyone I knew and most the ones I didn't know. Some of the walkers who were now starting to appear wanted to know why I wasn't cheering for them - well, I didn't know any of them, but what the hay, I cheered for them, too.
I pretty much cheered for 9 minutes straight, until the 14 minute mark, when a lady came jogging by with her dog - and the dog was definitely not a puppy! At that point I really wished I had been in the race - I just know I could have beaten that dog! More on the lady and the dog later.
As soon as they went by, I hurried over to the start line, because I was pretty sure the boys were going to be appearing any minute. Sure enough, at the 16 minute mark, I could see Tom round the corner and head onto the start of the grass chute - the finishing two or three hundred yards were all on grass, with ropes and pennants defining the borders. Tom finished under 17 minutes and Chris shortly thereafter.
Then I could see the first woman - and it was my friend Christina. I gave her my best cheers and I could see her smile as she turned for home.
Christina, First Place - Women
And then my friend Kelly was there, running in 5th. She smiled, too.
Kelly, Fifth Place - Women
9 seconds behind her, Jess whipped through the chute.
Then Deanne, and Sara, and Donna and Jen and Marilyn. I cheered wildly for each one of them by name.
Jen M, Chris - Second Place, Men, Deanne
Finally the lady and the dog turned the corner and headed down the chute. She raised her arms in triumph and the crown roared. Wait - she wasn't raising her hands in triumph - she was raising them to show us the doggy bag! Damn, I knew for sure at that point that I could have beaten that dog to the finish.
I was also thinking, "I'm so slow, I never bring s**t home from a race - if only I could find a dog to bring with me, that would never be true again!"
Captain Mike stayed almost to the end, cheering on all his friends, until his cell phone rang, and he knew he was busted. Sure enough, someone wanted to know why he wasn't home yet. So, he high tailed it, muttering something like "At least I'm not out at some bar drinking beer..."
I had a great time talking with all my friends after the race. Almost every one of them complained about running over the uneven turf while they chowed down on post race vittles.
I didn't eat any of the bananas or bagels though - hadn't earned them. Wait - I never eat any of the bananas or bagels after a race.
I talked with Sara and Tom after the race, too. I asked Tom what his last name was and he told me. Then he asked if my son was Jon and if he had gone to Tufts. Turns out that Tom has played on a little league team I had managed a dozen or so years ago. He told he had just graduated and was off to Temple for graduate work. We talked about a few people we knew in common, and I asked him about some other Colonie kids I knew who had gone to the same school.
Sara listened to this, and then asked me, "Do you know everyone?"
No - but I know a lot of great people, and many of them were at this race. I had a terrific time - funner, indeed.
See you out there.
I wasn't running because my foot was still bothering me. I knew about the race because Deanne told me about it - she tells me about all the races that are coming up. In fact, if I don't get at least 3 emails from Deanne a week about this 5K or that road run, I would feel lost. She runs in most of them, too. For example, a couple of weeks ago, she did a 5K on Friday nite in Washington Park (23:56) at 6 PM, then a 10K on the bike path along the Hudson River at 8:30 AM the next morning (50:14) and then ran a 5K with Jen M the same morning at 10 AM! I think she would have run on Sunday, too, except they did a little too much celebrating of Jen's birthday on Saturday nite! Ah, Sweet Bird of Youth....
Anyway, I no sooner got to the The Crossing when I heard some familiar voices - Jess and Christina from my swim class at the Guilderland Y were there, along with Marilyn, also from the Y.
Jess - "Are you running?"
Me - "No - my foot still hurts."
Jess - "So you're a funner."
Me - " ? "
Jess - " A funner. You're not a runner, so you're just here for fun - a funner."
Turns out she was even more right than I thought. Everywhere I turned, I found people I knew, and of course, I talked with all of them.
Donna and Deanne and Jen M, were there, and Donna's brother Rick and his daughter Cheyenne.
And Sara P from work and her boy friend, Tom. Turns out Tom had run the Boston Marathon, too - pretty good runner - he was 9 minutes ahead of Lance Armstrong at the 30 K mark - I looked it up. I introduced Sara to a lot of the people I knew there. More on Sara and Tom later.
I was pleased to see my good friend Kelly there. She was with Roxanne, also from the Y.
Greg, who I met at the dinner the night before the Spring Runoff, was there.
And then, Out of the Blue of the Western Sky (or some sky), Captain Mike! He had just gotten into the Albany Airport from his week of pilot duty - just gotten back from San Jose, and he had driven the quick two miles over from the airport.
"Great to see you! I must know more than a dozen people here!"
"Me, too. The Albany Running Exchange, is organizing the race, and I came over to see my buds."
Kind of a funny start to the race at 6 PM. The walkers got off, no problem. But, the runners got off to a false start - all of them. I guess the starter was trying to tell everyone how he was going to start the race - only they all thought it was the start, so off them went. And back they came, and did it again. (Not without a few muttered unkind words among the group - I don't even know what some of those words mean!)
The first mile took them out of the park and then back in, so I walked over to the clock at the one mile mark and waited for them. Five minutes later, Sara's boyfriend Tom blazed back into the park, with Chris from OSC right behind him.
Standing all alone, right across the path from the clock so I had a good view of the runners as they crossed the bridge and came back into the park, I cheered loudly for everyone I knew and most the ones I didn't know. Some of the walkers who were now starting to appear wanted to know why I wasn't cheering for them - well, I didn't know any of them, but what the hay, I cheered for them, too.
I pretty much cheered for 9 minutes straight, until the 14 minute mark, when a lady came jogging by with her dog - and the dog was definitely not a puppy! At that point I really wished I had been in the race - I just know I could have beaten that dog! More on the lady and the dog later.
As soon as they went by, I hurried over to the start line, because I was pretty sure the boys were going to be appearing any minute. Sure enough, at the 16 minute mark, I could see Tom round the corner and head onto the start of the grass chute - the finishing two or three hundred yards were all on grass, with ropes and pennants defining the borders. Tom finished under 17 minutes and Chris shortly thereafter.
Then I could see the first woman - and it was my friend Christina. I gave her my best cheers and I could see her smile as she turned for home.
Christina, First Place - Women
And then my friend Kelly was there, running in 5th. She smiled, too.
Kelly, Fifth Place - Women
9 seconds behind her, Jess whipped through the chute.
Then Deanne, and Sara, and Donna and Jen and Marilyn. I cheered wildly for each one of them by name.
Jen M, Chris - Second Place, Men, Deanne
Finally the lady and the dog turned the corner and headed down the chute. She raised her arms in triumph and the crown roared. Wait - she wasn't raising her hands in triumph - she was raising them to show us the doggy bag! Damn, I knew for sure at that point that I could have beaten that dog to the finish.
I was also thinking, "I'm so slow, I never bring s**t home from a race - if only I could find a dog to bring with me, that would never be true again!"
Captain Mike stayed almost to the end, cheering on all his friends, until his cell phone rang, and he knew he was busted. Sure enough, someone wanted to know why he wasn't home yet. So, he high tailed it, muttering something like "At least I'm not out at some bar drinking beer..."
I had a great time talking with all my friends after the race. Almost every one of them complained about running over the uneven turf while they chowed down on post race vittles.
I didn't eat any of the bananas or bagels though - hadn't earned them. Wait - I never eat any of the bananas or bagels after a race.
I talked with Sara and Tom after the race, too. I asked Tom what his last name was and he told me. Then he asked if my son was Jon and if he had gone to Tufts. Turns out that Tom has played on a little league team I had managed a dozen or so years ago. He told he had just graduated and was off to Temple for graduate work. We talked about a few people we knew in common, and I asked him about some other Colonie kids I knew who had gone to the same school.
Sara listened to this, and then asked me, "Do you know everyone?"
No - but I know a lot of great people, and many of them were at this race. I had a terrific time - funner, indeed.
See you out there.
Monday, May 5, 2008
Fallen
I watched "Once" on DVD Saturday night. This sad and sweet indie movie is a tale of love lost, love unfulfilled, and perhaps, love regained. You may know it for "Falling Slowly",the Academy Award winning song, sung by its leads, Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova. If you don't know the movie or the song, take a minute,click the link, and listen to "Guy" and "Girl" on YouTube - it will help you understand why I'm a fallen man - totally in love with the movie, the leads and the music.
Sometimes I have such vivid dreams that I wake up so emotionally committed to the dream that I move through the day in a "dream hangover", knowing, rationally, that the emotions are not real, but feeling that they are, that they must be. All Sunday I moved through the waking dreamscape of Dublin in my mind, and knew - just knew - that these were real people, that they were just outside the fame of my vision. I sensed them.
Is there anything more evocative than music? As soon as the movie was ended, as soon as I watched the extra features so I could see more of these extraordinary people, I went to the ITunes store, found the soundtrack, downloaded it and then copied it into my IPod. Now I could hear them, and see them in my mind's eye, while I was at the computer, while I was in the car, and even while I was at the Y, doing penance on the stationary bike. (It's a surprise to those of you who know me that I can be a little intense with things?)
Here's the thing: though "Falling Slowly" is melancholy and wistful and haunting, not all the songs are. In fact, I pedaled furiously to "When Your Mind's Made Up", and especially to "Gold", - I love the way the IPOd lets you hit the back button on the scroll wheel and repeat songs. There are a couple of other songs on the soundtrack that are up tempo, too, and make for good riding and maybe good running.
So, there's the connection, the stretch, between this movie and the general subject of this blog - some of the songs from the soundtrack of "Once" are good workout songs.
But here's my true confession - I wrote about it because I love this movie and I wanted to share it with you. Maybe you will love it too. And that's reason enough.
See you out there.
Sometimes I have such vivid dreams that I wake up so emotionally committed to the dream that I move through the day in a "dream hangover", knowing, rationally, that the emotions are not real, but feeling that they are, that they must be. All Sunday I moved through the waking dreamscape of Dublin in my mind, and knew - just knew - that these were real people, that they were just outside the fame of my vision. I sensed them.
Is there anything more evocative than music? As soon as the movie was ended, as soon as I watched the extra features so I could see more of these extraordinary people, I went to the ITunes store, found the soundtrack, downloaded it and then copied it into my IPod. Now I could hear them, and see them in my mind's eye, while I was at the computer, while I was in the car, and even while I was at the Y, doing penance on the stationary bike. (It's a surprise to those of you who know me that I can be a little intense with things?)
Here's the thing: though "Falling Slowly" is melancholy and wistful and haunting, not all the songs are. In fact, I pedaled furiously to "When Your Mind's Made Up", and especially to "Gold", - I love the way the IPOd lets you hit the back button on the scroll wheel and repeat songs. There are a couple of other songs on the soundtrack that are up tempo, too, and make for good riding and maybe good running.
So, there's the connection, the stretch, between this movie and the general subject of this blog - some of the songs from the soundtrack of "Once" are good workout songs.
But here's my true confession - I wrote about it because I love this movie and I wanted to share it with you. Maybe you will love it too. And that's reason enough.
See you out there.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
DNS or "The Game's Afoot!"
For the first time ever - well,since I started doing tri's and 5K's two years ago - I entered an event and did not compete: DNS = Did Not Start (or Didn't Show Up, as one of my children termed it.)
Why? 3 reasons. First and best, my left foot hurts. It started bothering me a couple of weeks ago while I was running. It bothered me during the Spring Runoff and was really tender after my last training run. It's on the top, inside of my left foot, and according to what I found on the various internet sites - yes, I'm one of those - if I'm lucky, it's just tendinitis and will heal with some time off. If I'm not - it's a stress fracture of one of the metatarsals.
I was still going to compete in the Indoor/Outdoor Sprint Tri at the Southern Saratoga Y. After all, I had paid the entry fee ( a stiff $45! for Y members) and I was pretty sure I could tough it out. Kathy pointed out the inherent stupidity of this approach, and, uncharacteristically, I listened.
The other two reasons? It was cold and looked like rain, and I didn't feel like I had trained enough on the bike. Truth be told, if my foot had felt ok, they wouldn't have mattered. After all, the same two things were true last year and I started and completed that tri.
So, I will lay off the running for a while and see how it feels. What the hell, I needed more bike time anyway.
See you out there (but it looks like it will just be on the bike for a couple of weeks!)
Why? 3 reasons. First and best, my left foot hurts. It started bothering me a couple of weeks ago while I was running. It bothered me during the Spring Runoff and was really tender after my last training run. It's on the top, inside of my left foot, and according to what I found on the various internet sites - yes, I'm one of those - if I'm lucky, it's just tendinitis and will heal with some time off. If I'm not - it's a stress fracture of one of the metatarsals.
I was still going to compete in the Indoor/Outdoor Sprint Tri at the Southern Saratoga Y. After all, I had paid the entry fee ( a stiff $45! for Y members) and I was pretty sure I could tough it out. Kathy pointed out the inherent stupidity of this approach, and, uncharacteristically, I listened.
The other two reasons? It was cold and looked like rain, and I didn't feel like I had trained enough on the bike. Truth be told, if my foot had felt ok, they wouldn't have mattered. After all, the same two things were true last year and I started and completed that tri.
So, I will lay off the running for a while and see how it feels. What the hell, I needed more bike time anyway.
See you out there (but it looks like it will just be on the bike for a couple of weeks!)
Friday, May 2, 2008
Nattering Nabobs of Negativity
You'd think that after running a PR on Saturday that I would be energized and fired up, ready to surge ahead. Instead, I was tired, I slumped, had almost no energy, and listened to those NNN's in my head for three days. They almost had me convinced that I was a fraud, that I couldn't run, didn't want to run, didn't want to do any exercise at all. 5K's and triathlons were beyond my puny and feeble abilities. I was lazy, but what did it matter because I was no good any way. And I was fat - let's not forget fat.
A day off Monday became an off day and slid into Tuesday. I declined a noon time run because it was cloudy and cold - only in the high 40's. Never mind that I started running outside in January in the 20's - besides, that wasn't the real "me". Tuesday became woe-is-me Wednesday. I planned a bike ride for Wednesday night - but I really wasn't going to go. What difference did it make?
Except I asked Donna if she wanted to go and she did - she's training for the Pinebush this year and she was anxious to get off the stationary bike and outside on a real bike. So I met her on the bike path at 6 PM and we rode. And it was good. Not great - it my first time of the season. But I went up Blatnick Hill, didn't die and kept going. And I geared up Knolls Atomic Hill in 2:1 and was suitably impressed with myself for such an early in the season ride.
We went 5 miles out and 5 miles back and I felt pretty damn good when we were done.
At noon on Thursday, Donna went with me and I ran two miles along the river without stopping, and jogged a chunk on the way back, including the hills.
On Thursday night, it was back to the Y and the ministrations of Coach Aaron. That felt pretty good, too.
In other words, I took "The Cure" and the demons left me.
Frank Hu, epidemiologist at the Harvard School of Public Health, had this to say in the Harvard Magazine, "The single thing that comes close to a magic bullet, in terms of its strong and universal benefits, is exercise."
I'll vouch for that.
See you out there.
A day off Monday became an off day and slid into Tuesday. I declined a noon time run because it was cloudy and cold - only in the high 40's. Never mind that I started running outside in January in the 20's - besides, that wasn't the real "me". Tuesday became woe-is-me Wednesday. I planned a bike ride for Wednesday night - but I really wasn't going to go. What difference did it make?
Except I asked Donna if she wanted to go and she did - she's training for the Pinebush this year and she was anxious to get off the stationary bike and outside on a real bike. So I met her on the bike path at 6 PM and we rode. And it was good. Not great - it my first time of the season. But I went up Blatnick Hill, didn't die and kept going. And I geared up Knolls Atomic Hill in 2:1 and was suitably impressed with myself for such an early in the season ride.
We went 5 miles out and 5 miles back and I felt pretty damn good when we were done.
At noon on Thursday, Donna went with me and I ran two miles along the river without stopping, and jogged a chunk on the way back, including the hills.
On Thursday night, it was back to the Y and the ministrations of Coach Aaron. That felt pretty good, too.
In other words, I took "The Cure" and the demons left me.
Frank Hu, epidemiologist at the Harvard School of Public Health, had this to say in the Harvard Magazine, "The single thing that comes close to a magic bullet, in terms of its strong and universal benefits, is exercise."
I'll vouch for that.
See you out there.
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