A Runner Is Born (maybe) or Who The Hell Is Cory Doctorow?

I’m feeling frisky today and thinking about blogging again. Hopefully, this feeling will go away, but I’ve got something interesting to write about. MJ ran with me today. I enjoyed it a lot more than she did. She doesn’t really do “hot” or “hard” so I’m not sure what we expected from the run, but she’s also got some pitbull in her so quitting wasn’t an option either. We did my regular 5k: down to Memorial Park and back. I don’t know if starting a running career in the middle of July in Florida is the best way to start or the worst; I guess it depends on how one looks at it. The upside is that it will never ever be as hard as this again. The downside is that it’s insanely hot and humid and heat stroke is more a probability than a possibility. The run started with us each calling divorce lawyers because the black and bitter hatred was palpable, but then we started moving and my mood picked up. The run went about as I expected. MJ was hot and wanted to get the whole thing over with so she complained expressed her true suffering that I was going too slowly. She decided to set a pace that would get her home and out of the heat a little quicker – we ran about a ¼ mile at a 7:20 mile pace. Then her lungs said, “Wait, what?!?” I’m only joking about it because I did the exact same thing the first time I tried to run. I think everyone does. It takes a while to allow yourself to fall into a comfortable pace. Exercise is supposed to be hard. Anyway, I was just happy to have a running partner. I don’t think it’s going to be long before she can keep up with me, and not much longer after that before she’s dusting me. She’s a lot smaller than me, and she’s able to follow instructions much better than I do. I hope she’s caught the bug.



I was going to write about our run anyway, and then MJ found a website called “I write like…” where you can post writing samples and have them analyzed to find out who you write like. I write like some guy named Cory Doctorow. It’s funny how quickly my ego got involved. My gut reaction – never having read a word Mr. Doctorow has written – was who the hell is Cory Doctorow? I don’t write in iambic pentameter so I didn’t expect William Shakespeare to come up, but I was hoping for Mark Twain. I write about dark stuff in a funny way. At least give me Carl Hiaasen. I read Doctorow’s Wikipedia entry, and I just felt worse. He’s a tree hugging Canadian communist sci-fi writer, which is kinda who I am but not who I want be. Aside from comparing myself to the most celebrated American humorist ever, I’d like to think I’m a little bit more gangsta than a sci-fi geek from Toronto. Maybe I should go rob a liquor store. Where’s my copy of Blade Runner: The Final Cut?

I Didn't Drown

I’m alive. I finished. I didn’t finish last. In the infamous words of our 43rd president, “Mission accomplished”. Sweet wounded Jesus that was no joke. My first impression of race day was that the bike makes everything a giant pain in the ass. It’s a pain to load. It’s a pain to unload. Next, is that there’s so much gear I had to bring along: the bike, the helmet, the shoes, the sock (I forgot one), the drinks, the gels, the sun block, the sunglasses, and the change of clothes. I showed up at 6am and because of having to get my chip, get marked in magic marker with my race number and age on various parts of my body, and having to stow my bike and all the crap I had to bring I barely had time to pee and get down on the beach.

Time is 100% perception. When MJ and I scouted the last race a month ago it seemed that they were starting the waves of swimmers rather slowly. This morning, as I was waiting to get in, it seemed that there was no time at all between waves. I can’t remember the last time I was this scared/excited about anything. They told us to go and I jumped into the water. I panicked about 25 meters in. I was so amped up that my heart was beating a mile a minute and I didn’t think I was going to make it. The thought that was in my mind was, “You can’t do this.” Fortunately, I kept swimming during my panic and when I reached the buoy to turn north I realized it wasn’t that far of a swim so I settled down. I also, and I think this was a HUGE key to me not freezing up completely, resisted the urge to find out if I could still touch the bottom. After that the swim was fun. The only awkward moment was deciding when to stop swimming and walk out of the water.

Soft sand is not fun to move through after a swim. I got to the transition area, which was a lot farther away than I think it needed to be, and tried to make the transition to the bike. I took my time putting on my shoes (without socks) and shirt and drinking some water and eating a gel. I reminded myself to keep my heart rate under 150 and set my watch. The bike ride was boring. The course didn’t go through a neighborhood it just went through a section of road that seemed to connect a bunch of neighborhoods. I was really surprised that I was passing people, but I was. The bridge was tough going up but a blast coming down. I got passed by a hot chick at the U-turn point and followed her for most of the rest of the ride. She was Ponte Vedra “put together”. Other than that what I noticed was how much more efficiently her bike was working than mine. She shouldn’t have been going as fast as I was in the gear she was in. I need a new bike, but I don’t have the $850 to spend on the “entry level” road bike I test rode last week. I honestly think I would have dropped 20 minutes off my ride if I had a good road bike instead of the dump truck mountain bike I’m riding. It’s no big deal, just a note. I passed her going down the bridge, only because she was afraid of the speed. I wasn’t. I was tucked over and trying to be as aerodynamic as possible going down the bridge. I got up over 30mph and tried to glide as far as I could. The transition area was only a couple of miles away.

I got off my bike, caught my breath, drank some more water, and headed out on the run. It was a tale of 3 different miles. The first mile was hell. I was trying to keep a steady pace and a steady heart rate. I knew if I could maintain long enough I would get used to it. I got comfortable about a mile in and cruised. I was very happy to be passing people, and that kept me going. The running course was just out a mile and a half and back. The “out” was under a tree canopy on the east side of the road in front of the 8 figure mansions. There was no tree canopy on the ghetto ass west side of the road in front of the not quite as high 8 figure mansions for the “in”. I felt bad for the people that owned houses on the west side of the street. It must be pretty embarrassing when people can see your whole house from the street  - all 8 thousand square feet of it. I almost walked the last mile. The only reason I didn’t is because I wanted this sumbitch to be over, and I was still passing people. The finish line was around a corner so I was able to pick up the pace and look like I still wanted to be out there. I finished my first triathlon strong and that’s all I wanted to do.

The best thing about the triathlon was the support. It’s even better than the support at running races and I didn’t think that was possible. That’s before we get to JG, EG, and IG standing in the sun to cheer me on as I try not to die. There’s also no better sight than seeing and hearing CG, LMJ, and MJ cheer me on. MJ personally took 90 seconds off my time making the transition from the water to the bike with her encouragement and mere presence as I trudged through the soft sand. I know it was a Herculean effort to get LMJ up and out of the house in the wee hours to see me finish just before the awards ceremony started and I truly appreciate it. This was a lot of fun and my body isn’t torn up. I’m looking forward to doing another one, and I need to finish an Olympic distance before the end of 2011. No rest for the stupid.

Uh-oh!!!

I picked up my triathlon packet earlier today and immediately crapped my pants. I don’t think I’m as worried about the race itself as much as the setup. The biggest problem is that they, the organizers, seem to be taking this thing kind of seriously. When I pick up my packet for a running race – even one as big as the Gate River Run, which is a huge national race – I tell them who I am and they ask what size shirt I want. When I picked up my packet today I had to show a picture ID and my USA Triathlon card. They put a hospital style wristband on my wrist that will get me into the transition area. The race starts in about 17 hours. I have to wear this thing overnight. I have to have my bike number on my bike before I’m allowed into the transition area. I want to know who’s trying that hard to cheat for the BFAST Sprint Triathlon. I think the winning prize is $500. The guy that wins this thing tomorrow will have ridden a $3,000 bike, so it’s not for the money. I think if I polled 1,000 random people fewer than 20 of those people would know what this event was – even after I told them exactly what it was – so it’s not for the noteriety. The only people that do this are in it for the love of the game. No one is trying to cheat. But I am nervous about getting my bike, and all the stuff that comes along with it, into the right spot without getting disqualified before the race starts. Where do I put my keys? I can’t carry them with me into the ocean, but I don’t want to get shot if I try to hand them to MJ at the wrong time or at the wrong place. If I can get situated and down to the water then I’ll be happy.


The lady that handed me my packet was also different from the packet handlers that I’ve dealt with at other races. If I go to 1st Place Sports it’s either a skinny teenager who’s a bit clueless or a skinny twentysomething who’s not quite as clueless. The River Run is a mishmash of regular people volunteering. They’re efficient but not necessarily racing the next day. The chick that handed me my packet and put my wristband on was in her early 50’s at the youngest, and had a face, hairstyle, and manner of a schoolmarm. Everything below the neck was Jillian Michaels. She was straight up yoked. I felt a little guilty because I could tell that she’d rather be doing some pushups than explaining stuff to some fatass n00b.

My goal is to finish, and I don’t care if it’s DAL. I plan on surviving the swim, resting during the bike ride, and jogging during the run. I want to keep my heart rate under 150. The race starts at 7am and if I had a time goal it would be to finish before 9am. It’s not that I want to go fast; I don’t want to give the sun a chance to get too high. It’s been really hot this week and I don’t want to get stuck running in 90 degree weather.

If I post tomorrow it means I survived, and we’ll be calling that a win.

A Father's Day Eve At The Beach

It’s the middle of June. MJ’s out of school. It’s a Saturday. There was no chance that we weren’t going to go to the beach. It wasn’t all fun and games for me. I wanted to swim in the ocean as soon as I could to get a feel for it. My triathlon is coming up. I’m glad that I didn’t blow this off.

Swimming in the ocean is much different than swimming in a pool. The one thing that I didn’t expect – and didn’t really notice until I was done swimming – was how much easier it is to move through saltwater than fresh water. The things I did expect were much worse than I expected. I brought my water resistant watch because I wanted to time myself. I was all set to head out when MJ made me take it off because sharks like shiny things and she didn’t want me to get eaten. I thought she was being silly but I took it off. That battle wasn’t even close to being worth fighting.

After I was swimming I realized that being phlegmatic about shark attacks while standing on dry land and being phlegmatic about shark attacks while swimming in murky water are two very different things. The water was calm – a Lake Atlantic day – and I was never deeper than five feet, but I still haven’t seen the bottom. I had goggles on but couldn’t see more than 18 inches in front of me. I was also swimming alone, which is a pretty big no-no in the ocean.

This led to two instances of absolute butthole puckering terror. I don’t know how long I was in the water. Remember, MJ made me take my watch off, but I swam from about 6th street to about 10th street. Both instances happened the same way. I was thinking about how easy the swim was going, which somehow led to me thinking about how I couldn’t see and how I wouldn’t know if a shark was there until it bumped into me or bit me. I thought about how it wouldn’t be that big of a deal if the shark bit me on the leg, if it wasn’t that big of a shark. But a big shark could bite me in the side and eat my liver and I’d die right there – I GOTTA GET OUTTA THE WATER! All this went through my mind in an instant. The first time it happened I stopped swimming, stood up, took my goggles off and had to think about whether or not it was worth it. I knew if I got out of the water I’d never get back in so I kept swimming.

Strangely, other than the two instances of abject terror, I never thought about it. I thought about swimming straight and if I was splashing enough for MJ and how far fisherman cast their lines.

I got a fishing line wrapped around my arm. After I was done being annoyed – go find your own ocean a-hole – I felt kind of bad wondering if the guy thought he’d caught something. I swear I almost caught me a 230lb. Blackfish, but I was casting 60lb. test so I really didn’t have much of a chance. I also thought the waves would push me in and the swim back to land would be the easiest part. I was wrong. Undertow sucks.

I felt great getting out of the water, even if I was a little bit out of breath, and started the run back to base camp. I figured why not simulate as much as I can of the event. I’d never run immediately after a swim, and I was surprised by how heavy I felt. It wasn’t that my swimsuit was waterlogged; it was that I was much lighter floating in the water. I got used to the air not holding up as much of my fat ass as the ocean and cruised what I’m assuming was the ¼ mile run.

When I got back the whole crew was playing in the water. LMJ was wearing her brand new crab floaty and trying some kind of joint manipulation to get her mom to let go of her so she could swim by herself. She hasn’t been this comfortable in the ocean since before she could really walk.

After everyone was tuckered out from swimming and playing we were sitting on the beach and saw a whole pod of dolphins slowly making their way south. They were about 50 yards off shore or much closer to shore than I was when I was swimming. I can’t even imagine how much of a little girl I would have sounded like when I started shrieking if I had seen a fin pop out of the water between me and the shore. I’m glad that I was on the beach as they swam by because seeing dolphins (from the shore) in the wild is magical. The beach was pretty crowded and everyone stopped to watch them. It wasn’t just us.

As good as the dolphins were they weren’t as good as LMJ, who saved the best line of the day for when we were getting ready to leave. I was standing in the nonexistent surf when she came running up to me and said, “Daddy, it’s time to go home.” I asked her if that’s what Mommy said, and without batting an eye she said, “No, that’s what I said.”

100 % Beast Mode

I planned on getting out before it got hot, but it was 78 degrees when I got out of bed at 5:30 a.m. Oh well. After breakfast I headed out to the Baldwin Trail to simulate the last two legs of the triathlon coming up. The plan was 15 miles on the bike and 5k running. I’d never done anything like this before, and I was a little bit worried. It didn’t slow me down though.

The best part about riding a bike is how quickly the miles pass, even on my albatross of a busted up mountain bike. I think it’s made out of uranium, which is a plus at night because it glows in the dark. The best part about today’s ride was the giant wild turkey in the middle of the bike trail trying to get his gobble on with a flock of hens. This thing was frickin’ huge, and he wasn’t the slightest bit frightened of me bearing down on him at 18 mph. However, I was a little bit scared of him. Giant birds are freaky. I gave him a wide birth, plus I didn’t want to harsh his gig. It’s a guy thing.

I cruised through the ride, jammed my bike back into the car, and started on my run. My legs and my heart – who rarely get uppity at the same time – both said “NO!” My heart rate never got above 145 on the bike. It never dipped below 160 on my run. I felt like I was waddling but I was determined to finish the run. I’ve got less than two months before the real deal, and if I can’t do this now, when am I going to do it? It was 85 degrees and there’s no tree cover for the first three miles on the trail. I was only going out a mile and a half so I was stuck under sun for the duration – and the crackling power lines. These aren’t the wires that squirrels run on in the neighborhood. These wires create magnetic fields that warp space/time and make kids who live near them retarded. There are new developments going up less than 200 yards away from them. I thought that was illegal. Anyway, I struggled with the run from beginning to end. Then I checked my watch and saw that I finished in less than a half an hour. I have no idea how I did it, but I dominated the slightly hilly course. Maybe the wires really did slow down time or shrink space. Either way, I win.

No One Said The Blue Lead Paint Chips Were Poisonous. I Thought It Was Just The Red

For crying the f*ck out f*cking loud.  It's 2010.  Tobacco is bad.  Inhaling smoke is bad.  How could it possibly be good to inhale tobacco smoke?  This isn't arithmetic; two negatives don't equal a positive.

Cat Stevens King Airlines

I got an idea on the way home from the beach. I was thinking about Thursday’s episode of 30 Rock where Jack Donaghey was talking about being on a flight to Japan that showed Rising Sun. It was funny for a number of reasons (if you want to see the episode just go to hulu.com). The reason that got me thinking in the car was that an airline would never show Rising Sun as an in flight movie. It’s rated R for violence, language, and nudity. It’s also full of awesome because it stars Sean Connery and Wesley Snipes. Airlines are beyond milquetoast when it comes to their movie choices. My idea is to go the complete opposite way. I’m going to start a bargain basement airline that shows only disturbing in flight movies: Airport, Airport 75, Passenger 57, Castaway, and the pilot episode of Lost. If a plane crashes in the movie, we’re showing it. If someone has a fear of flying, that someone should spend the extra couple of bucks to fly on Southwest or Jet Blue or Pan Am. All of our pilots are going to be of Arab descent. This is your Captain, Habeen Mohammed bin Mohammed. This will do two things. The first is that it will help continue to speed along the healing process between Arab-America and the rest of America. The second is that it will be an opportunity for Arab-Americans to become glorified bus drivers. I’ve flown with Black pilots. The coolest was when American Airlines plane broke (SURPRISE! SURPRISE!) and we got switched to British West Indies on our way to the Caribbean. I was expecting Captain Montgomery Worthington, 9th Earl of Worthington and Duke of Doucestershire. Instead we got some smooth brother from Jamaica flying the plane. I’ve flown with women pilots. I’ve never seen or even heard of an Arab pilot, not even on Air Egypt. Hijackers don’t count as pilots. Anyway, scary movies, Arab pilots, bargain basement prices, and we’ll get you where you’re going on time. Safe but sound isn’t necessarily guaranteed.