Goals

I rarely set goals for myself, whether qualifiable or quantifiable. I suppose I am not so wired? Or I don't find goals useful? I had a year or two when I set modest savings goals; I committed to running a marathon in 2006. What else? Not much.

Do you set goals? Do you write them down or at all publicize them? Are you far more logical and deliberate than I am?

When I think about the future, I do so emotionally. Does that even make sense? I construct a story—a dream?—about what the future will be, about who I will be. I do not say, by the end of 2012 I will have taken a trip to Alaska with a woman I hope to marry. Rather, an image of the future shifts and dances: I hope to be happy.

That Being Said

I set two goals for myself in 2011:

1. Get a dog
2. Run a mile in less than five minutes by my 30th birthday

Here were two hopes, one qualifiable and one quantifiable, that were nearly always a part of my story for the future. I decided 2011 was the year to set these concrete goals.

Chuquisaca Mona d'Avis

As you are well aware, I brought a darling and ridiculous little dog into my life in February: Chuqui. Goal, check!

Her initial hopes were uncomplicated: please don't let this heat grating turn off please don't let this heat grating turn off. Chuqui became more accustomed to this new world; she gained weight, confidence and character. She responded to training and grew to love our family (as far as I can anthropomorphize her reactions).

One hurdle persisted: Chuqui would not climb the stairs in our house from the first floor to the second. She would climb stairs in the park and everywhere else; she would go down the stairs in our house. But every time, no matter coaxing, commanding or treats, she would refuse that trip up wooden steps to our room, her bed and haven.

I carried Chuqui, every time. In July, I decided I was smarter (duh). When I would take Chuqui upstairs, I would carry her nearly all the way but place her down, paws ready to scamper, one stair shy of the top. The next day, I would place her another stair lower. And on and on. Eventually, I was placing her front paws on the first step and Chuqui would climb the rest.

Yes! So close!

Milestones

As you are likely aware, I put together a group of friends to run monthly mile races with me. I clocked a 5:08 mile in June and a 5:07 mile in July. We ran a gut-busting stair workout in July; I hit the gym and I hit the track. I bought fast new shoes, so flexible and light and bright.

I felt like August could be the month. I felt like August 10th could be the day. I had run a blazing track workout the week previous, culminating with a set of four 400-meter laps at 76, 74, 71, and 67 seconds. I felt strong and fast.

I showed up to the track—Sarah accompanying to watch the clock—to find Andy Lin warming up laps with a bit of good fortune: high school runners. Andy had befriended a 17-year-old miler. I watched the kid run blistering 1200 meter intervals.

"So you're actually fast, right?" I asked him. "What do you run, 4:20?"

"4:25." His name was Brian, and he was willing to pace me. Let's do this!

The young man, all helpfulness and humility, let me lead the first lap: 76 seconds. He gave me the inner lane on the curve then slipped easily in front of me so I could draft on the straights. We ran another 76 second lap, then another. I pushed hard on that third lap, as it was always my slowest. 3:48, and the goal was in reach!

I don't remember exactly what Brian said to me at the start of the 4th lap but it was something like "Well, we need to run this one fast." I pushed hard through the first 200 meters and couldn't even focus to check my time with the last 200 to go. As we entered the final curve, Brian told me, "Just 10 hard steps!"

I was thinking I needed a bunch more than just 10 steps but figured this was indication to kick. I kicked. I felt more tired in this final 200 meters than I ever had before at this point in the mile. But I kicked. I powered out of the turn and into the straight and pushed with my arms and finished hard through the end.

Sarah was all smiles. 4:57! And then I lay down on the ground.

Puppy Steps

That same week, indeed the next night, I was out having tea when Chuqui wanted to go to bed. Sarah and Charlie led her to the stairs and she trotted right up without any aid. My little wigglebutt was growing up, and she hasn't looked back yet.

What's Next?

I have no idea.

Since the beginning of November, I have mapped and saved my longer runs:

• November 2nd – 9 miles in 1:07:22
• November 5th – 6.35 miles in 48:00
• November 10th – 12 miles in 1:34:23
• November 16th – 13.5 miles in 1:42:14

I have twelve days until the Seattle Half Marathon and many fewer training runs remaining. I will be running Tuesday through Thursday this week, both days this weekend, and then Tuesday through Thursday again next week.

I still do not have a specific goal for my half marathon finish. I would certainly like to run faster than my 7:34 per mile pace from my last long run.

I use Gmap Pedometer to plan and measure my running routes. The site recently added a fantastic feature: automatic route tracing. Rather than using impossibly straight segments between two user-specified points, the application traces the road between the two points to calculate the true distance. Of course, this feature is no good if one does not follow the actual road but is a huge time-saver otherwise.

For now, I need to plow through a bit more work and then do my training. I will be running between 3 and 4 miles and then doing some sort of strength workout. Zoom!

Ben Kweller – Different But The Same

I don't have any "solution" to my life as it stands or, rather, as it sits—you all can probably guess how much time I spend in front of my laptop. But, regardless, I do know one bit that makes me happy, however rhetorical the original question.

I run.

It's really simple and despite this simplicity I literally forget sometimes that running makes me happy. Two and a half years ago I joked that I should get a tattoo reminder to run. I revisit this "joke" with reasonable frequency and I have to admit the notion has gained some merit. (As for the form or exact message of the tattoo, I will presently stay silent.)

Don't get me wrong—I love my family and my friends, I love Ultimate, I love eating and reading and music, and I do quite enjoy some aspects of my work. Still, I run alone, more alone perhaps than I find myself anywhere else in life. The motion and act are pure, independent of anyone but still irrevocably connected to my world. I run in rain and cold and sun and wind. I run on perfect Seattle days, like today, with weather so good I want to yell and exult and smile and greet every person I pass.

Today. I came down the first leg of Lake Washington Boulevard and was greeted by the aforementioned lake shrouded in fog so thick the other was side was actually invisible. The fog burned and lifted as I wound down the shore, feeling strong and free. I dreaded the turnaround a bit, the acceptance that I would have to stop running. I always take the halfway turn a bit slow and relish the point I've reached—today with a hazy Mount Rainier far off to the south.

But I turn and accelerate all the same. I think about the finish, and I think about why I'm running and my next run and how I'm getting faster. I think about the Seattle Half-Marathon in two weeks and I think about training to break a 5-minute mile this winter. I think about the next day, and on, and on.

Last week I ran an excruciating 12 miles after work on Monday, without enough sleep the night before or hydration during the day, and in the dark and cold besides. I struggled through the last mile, nearly all uphill, and arrived exhausted at my home. And I cried. I cried, out on the sidewalk in front of my apartment, because I was tired and felt sick, not just from the run but from every little bit that grates and weighs. But I also cried in satisfaction and happiness: I finished, and I would do it again. And then I didn't move for four hours.

Today. I ran 13.5 miles on the same route as last Monday but in the sun and breeze. I was fed and watered and rested well. I was happy at the start and finish and all throughout, enjoying the lake and killing the pavement and passing people and, as always, singing Beastie Boys in my head. Let's be clear: that last mile uphill still sucked. But, I stepped back in my apartment after the run and just started screaming in triumph.

Wait, what was the question?

Okay, we didn't actually sing to them. But we should have—and we did give them a photo shoot.

Life is complicated. My life is complicated. For a weekend, for some time approximating 48 hours, life was simple and pure. I drank and laughed and danced with my friends, and I lay about and sat and read and watched Buffy and ate delicious brunches and dinners. Bacon and home fries and roast chicken and focaccia and beets and biscuits and smoked salmon and pasta and scallops and apple crumble and tomatoes. Many a tomato.

A 25-pound box of tomatoes is not particularly complicated. It does not ask you about work tomorrow or what turning 27 means. It does not need query optimization. The box is heavy and red with purpose and potential and hope. Each tomato wants to be eaten—or sauced and frozen for the deep dark winter—and that is a service I know I can provide. Say yes.

Say yes, it's true: I ran again today. I really ran. Not three miles, but seven miles. My body thanked me by opening up and finding its stride and affirming that there is life and vitality and speed in me. In turn, I thanked it with a hot shower and typically-delicious Sarah dinner and, in a moment, with bed: now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my tomatoes to keep from spoiling.

I stumbled down the hall to the bathroom for a pee and several long gulps of water from the faucet---am I the only person who thinks bathroom sink water tastes way better than kitchen sink water? I stumbled back to bed and used my iPhone to set two (2) alarms and check my e-mail. Who knows what could have come through between midnight and 5 AM?

A bit over two hours later I yanked myself out of warmth for fast cereal and an even faster shower. No time was wasted considering wardrobe: clients are in town and we, NeonGecko, are heading back to the Columbia Tower Club for dinner with them. Today is a suit day, sans tie, and I snazzed up right quick. Watch on the wrist, pockets full, laptop bag---wait, what did my watch say? 7:36?

That means my bus is leaving the stop, what, right now?

I sprinted out the door and down the street towards 40th, seeing a car stopped, presumably behind the bus. The car started to pull away and, rounding the corner from Eastern to 40th, I caught a glimpse of the 26 Express heading up the hill. DEFEAT IS NOT AN OPTION.

I picked up the pace, knowing there would be a line of commuters at the next stop just two blocks up. The bus stopped, and I saw them start to board. One block to go. "Hold the bus! Hold the bus!"  Heads turned, and I knew I was safe.

I hopped onto the bus, thanking the bus driver and smiling at him despite his look of obvious impatience. The passengers wore mostly amused expressions as I found a seat in the back and fell down into it with a satisfied sigh. Victory.

Did attempting to run the Fantastico Gallery2 updater overload my CPU quota and break my Gallery2 installation? Yes. Yikes:
500 Server Error
A misconfiguration on the server caused a hiccup. Check the server logs, fix the problem, then try again.


I went for a run this evening when I returned from work, clocking a fun 2.75 miles in 18:30 or so. After my return and subsequent shower, I accompanied Claire and Deirdre to Pasta Pallino to join Claire's family for a spot of dinner and conversation. Now, I am watching Touching the Void with the aforementioned pair while I wait for a manual upgrade of Gallery2 to upload. I just hope that this works. The WordPress manual upgrade was, in contrast, quite simple.

Silly computers. So I have not been in the mood to write about Regionals.

EDIT: From the server logs, looks like .htaccess and directory problems. Should have it cleared up soon.

I have been practicing for a month and a half now with Shadrach, a mixed club team out of Seattle, and I could not be happier. Our team has some great talent and athleticism just waiting to coalesce, nearly ready to manifest as massive beatings. And I really enjoy the group as teammates and (drinking) buddies. We currently practice once a week and meet to condition one other day. I am more than ready to increase to two or three practices per week and three or two workouts.

Did I mention that we're Beastie Boys themed? Glee! Did I mention that I have had little to no free time with all the Ultimate and hanging out with related folks, not to mention my Ultimate housemates and their teammates? Glee!

My role on Shadrach, for now at least, is to run. I just cut and cut and cut and I love it. I like to score because then I don't have to throw. Seriously. I feel like I'm in great shape right now, approaching the speed and quickness I used to have in college, but I know how much more I can improve in the next two months until Regionals. Sprint workouts? Swimming and biking? Air Alert? Yes please.

This weekend is Kleinman Eruption, our first tournament and our first opportunity to play against other teams. Trial by fire! Wait, eruption... trial by lava? Regardless, I am expecting some eye-opening problems as well as glimpses of the quality team we can and will be. I will write up our results when I return on Sunday or Monday.

I ran yesterday evening, a run approximating long distance however inconsequential in comparison to marathon training. I cruised down Stone Way to Gas Works, hitting the first mile in an over-ambitious 6:33 and then relaxed on the Burke-Gilman Trail for an under 14:00 two-mile. I turned around at 22:32 and made it back to one mile remaining only a second behind pace. The last mile was however a bit slower---I blame said mile's entirely uphill nature---and so I finished with a 6:54 split and 45:27 total for 6.25 miles.

The run felt fantastic, especially after mile four when I fully expected to tire and slow. My body still has some endurance in it.  I hoped to run twenty miles this week and am not at all on track. Deirdre distracted me this evening with beers up in Greenlake and a run was de-prioritized. I will have to average 4.67 miles per day for the next three days to meet my goal. Totally reasonable.

Perhaps I need to simplify my life somewhat...