Relative Distances

Posted on by
Reply

This weekend, I rode 35 miles. It was very challenging; I couldn’t help but compare it to some of the other long rides I’ve completed.

I’ve ridden my road bike to Troy, ID and back multiple times. That’s about 50 miles. I’ve ridden to Garfield and then on to Colfax before returning home. That’s about 60 miles. I’ve ridden STP. Two 100 mile days. Those are all on roads. Roads are fast. But 100 miles is still a very long day.

On dirt, I tend to maintain much shorter distances. 15 miles is a long day. I’ve done that a few times. The legendary Lewis River #31 trail is about 15 miles. Ascending the southeast flank of Mt. St. Helens is a 9 mile round trip.

Until yesterday, my longest ride was 20 miles—a loop and a half of the “Round and Round” course. It would have been 30, if I didn’t blow out a tire.

But it’s not just distance. It’s all relative. A mile on my road bike is just a mile. It takes about 3 minutes on a good day, rarely will it take more than 6. Yesterday, at one point I was traveling at slower than a walking pace.

What’s 35 miles on Moscow Mountain? Easily, it’s “longer” than the 50 miles of paved trail between Pullman and Troy. It’s not as hard as four loops of Round and Round, but it is far far harder than two. Perhaps even 3. It’s hard to compare, because during RnR, I get 4 hour rests between 15 mile stints. Yesterday, the longest rest was lunch—about a half hour.

I still haven’t figured out how to explain what 35 miles on Moscow Mountain is like. All I can say is that I’ve done it once. Now that I have, I don’t need to do it again for a while.

Back on track.

Posted on by
Reply

I ran today. It was a pretty flat, very slow run. But it was a run.

I was bit by a dog a couple weeks ago and beyond Round and Round, I haven’t exercised since. The doctor was not pleased about Round and Round, so it was fortunate that I did that before I visited her. Hey, the ER didn’t try to stop me…

But once I did see my normal provider, it was more antibiotics and a strict no on the exercise. While I now do consider myself a runner, it’s never going to be something I enjoy. Mountain biking I enjoy, running I do because it feels good when I’m done.

I discovered during this 10 day moratorium, I really need the exercise. It’s been hard to not have that outlet. It wasn’t the physical aspect that I missed, but the mental focus—or lack of focus. When I go for a run, I am not thinking. I’m just doing. Enjoying the moment, or at least pretending to enjoy it.

Today, I ran 5 miles. They were slow, sometimes painful, sweaty, lonely miles. I relished it. And when I got home again, it felt good. Now, I just have to get the fitness back; you lose a lot in 10 days.

Riding in circles

Posted on by
Reply

DSC_2083-14104

Round and Round is an annual event based in Riverside State Park in Spokane. I rode in a 5-person relay 2 years ago and did so again this past Memorial Day. Last year, I volunteered. Not because I didn’t want to ride, but because I needed the cash for my trip to Scotland.

When I rode two years ago, the first lap was a lot of fun. The second lap was pretty good. The third lap was miserable. And the fourth lap was unpleasant.

This year was better. The first lap was a lot of fun. The second, pretty good. The third was just hard, but enjoyable. And the fourth? In a word, “slow.” I had nothing to prove, and had been battling with the … unpleasant side effects of oral antibiotics for nearly 24 hours at that point. I was happy to finish without extra streaks.

But every lap was worth the go. I never wanted to just roll over and go back to sleep when it was my turn to go out. Preparation is key, I suppose.

In the end, in 36 hours, I rode 75 miles. In the 24 hours of the race, I rode 60 miles, 4 of the 19 laps our team completed. I was the slowest member of the team, and I’m ok with that. Because it’s fun just to be alive and enjoying it.

And it’s fun to tell people about a 24 hour race and watch their reaction. It only sounds crazy.

An adventure of a weekend

Posted on by

It was supposed to be a pretty nice, simple drive. A bit of curves, a lot of two-lane highway, and very little traffic. And it was. But as I approached my destination, it all went wrong.

Photo May 04, 2 16 40 PM

I’ve experienced a failure like this before. The previous hose developed a pin-prick leak, which hit me in the side of the face when I was diagnosing a timing issue. So I replaced the hose. This one was a bit more… energetic. I don’t know when it failed, but I had lost 3 quarts of oil before I was able to stop. Based on reading the oil pressure gauge, I suspect no more than a couple miles.

Fortunately, the timing couldn’t have been better to experience a failure. Family was coming. When I stopped dead under the western approach of Spokane International Airport, they were passing Sprague. The calvary was coming and I had a plan. I only needed to remove the bad hose, plugged the engine with a cap, and add enough oil to restore normal volumes. But since I was under the approach of Spokane International Airport, I had no interest in leaving the car unoccupied. I didn’t want the car towed as a threat to the airport.

So I waited. Because the calvary was closing in. And when they arrived, the plan was executed. Megan, Liam, and I went to NAPA. Corey sat with his iPhone and my car and waited. Parts were acquired. Supplies purchased. And in due time, it was all installed. One very scary moment to confirm the patch was leak free and we were off, leaving a smell of oil fumes behind me wherever I traveled. Sure, the pressure gauge now read 0psi, which is a very scary thing to see, but I knew better. Everything was ok.

The thing is, the drive wasn’t even the important thing. I chose the route because it looked fun, but this was very much a “destination” trip, not a “travel for the sake of travel” trip. It was Bloomsday weekend and I had cajoled my closest family to do it. So I was very happy indeed that the problem turned out to be so minor. In the end, it had no impact on the weekend, and much fun was had by all.

The race itself was hot. Too hot. It sapped me more quickly than normal; I ended up walking early and often. I wanted to turn in a time of 1:10:00 or less. I didn’t. But at a personal best 1:12:25, I did OK. I guess the goal stands for another year. Still, I wouldn’t trade this weekend of joy for one with less trouble. It was wonderful to see family again, wonderful to take on the challenge of Doomsday and beat it, and wonderful to simply enjoy life for a weekend.

Late Sunday, upon my return, I updated my facebook status to read:

180 mostly uneventful miles of sunny convertible driving. 7.46 miles of mostly enjoyable running. Spending time with Corey and Megan.
A pretty good weekend, which would have been epic if only I didn’t have to qualify what I did with “mostly”.

And you know what? Over time, the flaws will fade and the good times alone will feature in my memories.

But most importantly, Megan enjoyed it enough she wanted to come back. Maybe next time, we won’t forget to bring the cameras to the falls.

They don’t make them like this any more.

Posted on by

It’s fortunate, in many cases.

Today, I replaced the pillar seals on the windshield of my MGB for the third time in four years. I should have replaced them last year, but that would have been three times in three years and I just couldn’t bring myself to that.

It’s a frustration that while parts for this car are readily available, the quality of them is hit and miss. Some things last forever. Some don’t.

Aside from scraping my hands up during the dash removal and reinstall process, it wen’t well this time. Oh yes, that’s right. You have to remove the dash before you can get at the bolts that hold the windscreen assembly in place. I’m getting much much better at aligning the screen so the bolts go in. I don’t necessarily want to be better, because I’d rather not have all this experience.

Oh well.

The last time I did this, it took an entire Saturday and part of Sunday morning. Today, it took about 3 hours, including time that involved removing the radio to recover a socket that I had dropped and had to recover.

I just hope this time the parts last. I ordered from a different vendor, so I have hope.

Next up, replacing the side window seals. Joy, pop rivets.

Seaport River Run race report

Posted on by

The 36th annual Seaport River Run was held on Saturday. I didn’t have other plans, so I got in the green car and made the trek down. This is apparently the valley’s most popular run, numbering in the thousands (rather than the more typical “hundreds”). There are two choices, the “short” and “long” version of the run.

I selected the “short” option, a 2.9 mile run with one hill at the start—the bridge that crosses the Snake River. I started about 30 yards from the starting line, thinking it was a smart choice: not too close, so I wouldn’t be blocking faster runners, but not too far back, thinking I was going to be faster than most of the attendees (walking is popular).

I should have started closer to the line. Fortunately, my Thursday adventures on Kamiak Butte have prepared me for some off-pavement running. In about 30 seconds, I must have passed 300 people. That was fun.

I completed the first mile in 7:52. Way too fast, I exclaimed. But I was pacing with an older woman that appeared to be a strong runner. “Surely I can keep up with her. Or at least try.” So try I did. Second mile, 14:59. Hoo-boy. I’m fading hard, but there’s only nine tenths of a mile to go. I can do this. I do this every week. So keep going. Just keep going.

In the end, I couldn’t keep up with her. But when I crossed the line, she was the first person I spoke to. “Thanks. I couldn’t have gone that quickly without you to set a pace.”

22 minutes and 37 seconds is a reasonable 5K. This was less than a 5K, but the time is perfectly respectable. But it’s not all that fast.

But it was fast enough.

Official times, per the Sunday Lewiston Tribune

Men’s 18-49 -
1, Connor Smith, Lewiston, 16:02.48.
2, Dave Ross, Lewiston, 17:00.57.
3, Aaron Taylor, Lewiston, 18:07.13.
4, Tyler Wendt, Moscow, 18:37.24.
5, Jake Maetche, Peck, 20:24.88.
6, Erik Lenington, Ft. Benton, Mt., 20:49.25.
7, Levi Gibson, Lewiston, 21:05.06.
8, Kellen Probert, Ellensburg, 21:07.93.
9, Aaron Whiteman, Pullman, 22:37.88. 
10, Justin Gimlin, Clarkston, 22:45.95.

WSU 100K Race Report

Posted on by

It’s strange. A few years ago, I ran in zero races. Until very recently, I ran in just one. This year, I’ve already run in three. The only one I really care about comes in two weeks, at which point, I’ll have completed four.

This time, it was the relay race that spends a day traveling 100 kilometers around the Palouse, end the end “going nowhere.” The weather often seems to be especially good for the weekend of this race, this year was great for runners, less so for others. A high of 50 on the Palouse, just a bit higher in the canyon, so nobody had to be especially concerned with overheating.

Catch it while you can

While not taking pictures of my team-mates running, occasionally I did get the chance to take in the scenery.

But for me, it was never going to be a concern. I started at 7:30 AM. By the time the earth warmed under the rays of sunlight that snuck past the clouds, I’d be long done. I had leg one. Two weeks ago, my optimistic goal was to complete my leg with an average pace of about 9:30 a mile. Last Tuesday, I ran the course with my friend and coworker. We averaged 9:00.

Yesterday, I ran the course in 57 minutes. I averaged 8:42, rather a lot faster than I had planned. I shattered my goal. And the funny thing about that pace, I felt slow. I was frustrated. Frustrated by the hills. Frustrated by my own body. “Why can’t I go faster!”

I was sure that I was nowhere near my previous pace. As it turned out, I right. 8:42 is nowhere near 9:00. Bloomsday is going to be awesome.

I finished around 8:30 in the morning, and spent the next 8 hours drinking beer and taking pictures. It was a glorious day of camaraderie and shared joy.

No ordinary Monday

Posted on by

Just yesterday, I wrote of the importance of sport. Today was Jackie Robinson Day. It’s Patriots day. Today was the day of the Boston Marathon. There’s a lot of symbolism in this day.

It’s a day that is meant to be cherished. Celebrated. And for a while, it was. And then everything changed. They call it terrorism because the senseless act of violence incites terror. It works too.

Everybody I know that was in Boston today is fine. I’m happy to hear that. But at the same time, like New York 12 years ago, I have this pain in the pit of my stomach. There’s nothing I can do. I’m helpless. All I can do is look forward to tomorrow, another day. And when I do, I can think about the marathoners that ran directly to the hospital to donate blood. I can think about how all over the world, people got together to gather in peace and remember. There was no talk of revenge tonight at the vigil for Boston. Just a few words, some anguish over the sadness of it all, and a run. It was a simple gesture, but it was exactly the right thing to do.

Terrorism only works if it break us. If it cowers us. The bombs today did change me. They galvanized me. No longer will I say “I am not a runner.” As of today, I am. I might not be any good at it. I might not run very far. But I am. A. Runner. Today and forever.

I will not succumb to terror. It will not beat me. Not today. Not ever.

The importance of sport

Posted on by

I watched two movies this weekend that are going to be in my head for a while. While they couldn’t be classified as remotely similar, it strikes me just how important the overall theme was the same.

The first was “Right To Play,” a documentary produced by ESPN that is the feature film of the traveling Telluride Film Festival. I saw it last night at the Kenworthy in Moscow (an excellent location for films like this). The second was 42, a well budgeted period film on the first season of Jackie Robinson’s career with the Dodgers. Both touch on the theme of sport as a unifier.

I never got into actually playing sport. I wish I had. But I am also happy enough to know the reason why I didn’t play was because I chose not to play. Right to Play, a foundation started by a Norseman has a simple goal. Just give every child the chance—the right—to play. Because if they play, they’re less likely to fight. If a child can play, then even the bleakest moments have moments of joy. Millions of children are starving and they’re bringing soccer balls. It’s exactly the right thing to do too, because everybody needs purpose, and for children play is that purpose.

With that simple premise still in my head, I went to watch 42. And once again, I’m watching a movie where the central idea is so simple, yet so important: that everybody has the right to play. It’s a hard movie to watch—it’s hard for me to believe that we were so callous, so institutionally racist. But we were. It was baseball the game of baseball that showed us what we were doing to ourselves. It was baseball that showed us that we can in fact be better than that. Jack Roosevelt Robinson might not have been the best player in the history of the game (though he is clearly one of the greats), but his importance to the the fairness of baseball—the egalitarian ideals of baseball—is second to none.

Which leads to to modern day. Race in sport is now a nonissue. Society is still creeping behind in fits and starts, but the progress continue. Now the big thing is sexual orientation. But that too is changing. When Robbie Rogers came out, the reaction from Major League Soccer was not one of revulsion, but one of enthusiastic endorsement. “So what.” I hope that he some day plays again, because just as Jackie showed in 1947, when it comes to sport, who you are is not as important as what you can do.

Where sport goes, society follows. Eventually.

St. Paddy’s Day 10K

Posted on by
Inaccessible

The Blue Bridge

I normally run exactly one race per year. Bloomsday. This year, I’ve already run two. The first was a wonderful trail race in Hells Gate State Park. The second was more traditional, a 10 kilometer foot race on pavement.

Both races had the advantages of being cheap and close. And both easily meet my primary criteria of being relatively short. I’m willing to do 12K, but no more.

The day started well enough—waking a half hour before my 6 AM alarm, but fortunately not earlier. I was able to eat a healthy, but not heavy breakfast of Cheerios, and then it was time to go. The forecast was a 30% chance of showers, so I took the chance and drove the MG down. Sure, it was cold, but the drive was lovely. There is no describing the fun of a convertible, you just have to own one to understand.

On arrival, I paid my $10, got my number, and waited for the start. Eventually friends appeared, and then we were off. That’s when I discovered my one and only annoyance of the race. The voice in my ear that told me how fast was going spoke in kilometers. So my pace was “5:29″, which would be way too fast for a mile, but for a K? Just fine. I hoped.

As it turned out, it was just fine. The course is fairly flat. Starting at “Granite Lake Park”, it meanders along the shoreline before crossing the Blue Bridge, then heads south on the eastern shore in Lewiston until it reaches the Southway bridge. There, runners cross over the river a second time and return along the western shores back to the start. I pushed myself just a little, finishing in 54 minutes and change, with a decent clip of 8:50 a mile. That’s far faster than normal. I didn’t have a lot left in the tank at the end, but I finished and was happy.

Of course, the best part about a run in Lewiston isn’t the run. It’s not the flat ground. It’s not the warm temperatures. The best part of running in Lewiston is what I dearly miss about running in Pullman last year—ending the run at a brewery. Just one, thanks. I have to drive home… up the spiral Highway.