tougher than your average mail carrier

After I played tonight, and was pulling my guitar and fake books from the car on a rainy night to take inside, I was reflecting on how much my parents - my mother in particular - enjoyed watching my concerts in high school and college.

I don't think they missed any of the jazz competitions that they could drive to in high school - they didn't go to the Reno Jazz Festival in 1979 but they did pay for my plane fare to fly to Reno and play with the rest of the band (that's all they could afford to do... in 1979 $300 was a lot of money for a pink collar film editor to cough up for a plane ticket. When I was cleaning out Mom's house I found some of my Dad's bi-weekly pay stubs from the 1970s. He did not make very much money. I'm amazed we weren't eating beans and weenies after looking at some of the stuff that I found).

When I went off to UNI freshman year, they made nearly every concert, including one where they drove the 100 miles up, in the dark, and the fog, and frickin' freezin' rain - to see me play in Jazz II for a grand total of 20 minutes, and then after the concert I dumped them because "Hey, I have a date!"

Most of the jazz competition season in Iowa still takes place in the throes of winter, which means you're driving to some college campus at the crack of butt on a Saturday morning, with temps often in the single digits or worse. We were lucky in that we rarely rode in a "regular" school bus or packed into our friends' and parents' cars. Junior year, one of the kids in regular band had a parent that was licensed to drive a bus, and he just happened to have access to an old Greyhound bus the Des Moines Police Department used for various events, and that we were "free to borrow" for the cost of the diesel fuel to fill it up.

It had the reclining seats and was a hell of a lot more comfortable than your average yellow 1940s suspension technology death trap masquerading as a school bus. Anyway, we'd show up at jazz festivals all relaxed and fairly well-rested compared to our counterparts that were stuck in the yellow spine/and/soul crushers. Senior year, our conga player, Sam, joked about how when "we get off of the Police Bus we should get out in chains and shit."

That bus *was* nice, and warm and comfortable. Sometimes, my folks would ride in the bus, and sometimes they'd follow in their car, along with some of the other parents. I remember hearing someone whine during jazz band class (which was 6th period at the end of my day - kind of a great way to end the day - which started with the torture of regular band and classes in between that I had to pay attention to in order to graduate) "Are the Carsons (referring to my parents) coming with us *again*?"

Hey, they only had one child - me. So in my totally unbiased opinion, I think they were entitled to tag along.

We took that bus down to Wichita, Kansas one year for a jazz festival at Wichita State. The competition was the same weekend as the early Spring dance, Spree. Well, since none of us were going to Spree, they kind of celebrated it on the bus... not that I would have gotten anyone to go with me to Spree anyway. But, thanks to Linda and Kelly, at least I had two girls who weren't embarrassed to be seen with me at a dance so I wasn't totally dateless in high school (although I surely was one of the most socially retarded persons ever).

Anyway, thanks Mom and Dad, I sure as hell missed you tonight, and I'm sorry I dumped you back in 1981 for some floozy whose name I can't remember, although I'm sure she was a perfectly fine human being.

(Man, its getting dusty in here)...

shamrock'n' half marathon race report: "its a HAWKEYE jersey."

Those of you who followed my blog from back when I thought I Had The Ability To Be A Triathlete And Was On Beginner Triathlete All The Time saw how over a period of a couple of years - between 2006 and late 2007 - I really knocked down my running times, bagging a puke-inducing 5K of 24:57 in March 2007 and surprising the hell out of myself by pulling off a sub 2:00 half marathon in the first American River Parkway half-marathon in May 2007, shortly after moving to California in the wake of an ugly divorce maelstrom... that year culminated with me bagging my first (and only to date) marathon at California International Marathon in December 2007, where I beat the hell out of myself for a couple of months being disappointed that I missed my goal time of 4:30 by 10 minutes... you figure the percentages out.

For a non-athlete, I had done some pretty remarkable things after rediscovering running in 2006 after getting back on the bicycle the year a couple of years before, finishing a few recreational metric and english centuries, and wanting a new challenge. I was always the last picked for everything in school - I was short, fat (5'5" and 180) in high school, and about the only thing I excelled at was killem football in the backyard, where I would stomp on the fingers of people who attempted to tackle me...

"Damn it, Carson... FALL DOWN."

(Of course, I refused to fall down,  I would merrily drag 3 or 4 people along with me for three yards and a cloud of dust, also risking knocking my retinas loose every time my helmetless head would smack someone's backyard turf. There was also the fear when my body would hurl, cannonball like, towards the basket in a pickup game of basketball and I'd throw up a running jump hook. I wasn't really playing with guys that were that much bigger than me, but it still hurts to get run into by a short fat guy that doesn't care if he hurts you when he runs into you).

Anyway, after CIM in 2007, I took a breather from running, and did the Davis Half in early 2008 and just "ran it easy" and still pulled a 2:10 even though I'd done hardly any running after CIM, and then ran a sub 26:00 5K at Shamrock'n' 2008. So I thought I needed to spend more time on the bike, and got trendy and got a Schwinn Madison single speed.

And promptly killed my left IT band by pushing a gear too big for my late 40s body (forgetting that even with all the hard work, I'd gone from a sucking the BOP to sniffing the MOP in run races. And that I completely sucked at cycle races (I have this rather healthy fear - from my perspective - of crashing and breaking body parts (and messing up the bike)) no matter what, but I thought I should get in better cycling shape, and I hurt myself riding that single speed (I had it in freewheel mode, but still) way too much.

2 rounds of PT followed. If I rode, the knee hurt; I'd quit riding, and try and run, and it would hurt differently. Finally in late 2009 I was able to run - a little - and the hip/leg/knee slowly got better as the year went on but most of '10 sucked, I still wasn't able to run much and cycling - the leg felt weak.

I ran in Race for the Arts last fall, and afterwards, at the mini-expo, there was a acupuncture clinic and I thought "WTH... I'll go in for a consultation". 20 odd treatments later, my leg had finally improved enough that I could run OK again...

Then plantar fasciitis struck BOTH feet. I was beginning to think "God, I'm falling apart, but I can ride if the PF doesn't get better" and then, suddenly, a little over a month ago, the PF got a lot better and went away. It was like magic. I took a chance when the PF seemed to be on the wane, before it got worse and then BANG! disappeared, and signed up for Shamrock'n'. Then after some 9 and 10 mile runs, I realized that I could finish a half, how fast would be the question, certainly no where near my PR but I should be able to crank it out < 2:30... and I thought "why not sign up for Parkway while you're at it, its a fast course and in six weeks you should be able to improve your time - or at least run it more comfortably."

So, when I woke up this morning at 5:00, and puttered around for a while, after taking an entire week off of running to make sure that my legs would be fresh for today, I was fairly confident I could finish well and not be completely dead at the end, even if I wasn't speedy by my old standards. I'd already decided that I would try something I'd never done before, and that was to stick with a pace group. Based on my run times in practice and how I felt, I figured I could probably finish 2:20, maybe even a little better.

So, as I was getting my clothes together, I put on the new yellow Hawkeye football short sleeve wicking shirt over a black long sleeve wicking shirt, but it didn't look right, so I grabbed my trusty black #12 Iowa football jersey that I wore at Race for the Arts, which is really where my comeback to running well again (if not fast) started. People think its a Steelers jersey - and they should, as Iowa's jerseys are based on the 70s Steelers uniform. When Hayden took over at Iowa in the late 70s, he wanted to break twenty years of losing and that was in the middle of the Steelers dynasty; the colors were similar, and the Steelers were more than happy to send a uniform at Iowa's request that the Hawks, well, pretty much copied. What makes them also think its a Steelers jersey is the #12, which was Bradshaw's # (and was Ricky Stanzi's who just finished up 2+ years as Iowa's starting QB).

I figured the jersey had been good to me, so why not wear it (and so few people wear football jerseys running - although I did see a guy wearing a Riggins Redskins jersey at CIM in 2007 - that it is a way to make you stand out in the crowd LOL). 

The weather was perfect today... it was 50, a little windy with rain coming in later in the day, and mostly cloudy when I got downtown. My parking garage that I use for work is about a 10 minute walk to Raley Field, where the AAA Oakland affiliate Rivercats play. The route for Shamrock'n' was a little different this year; rather than run all over West Sacramento (whom is a lot easier to deal with the permits for races than Sacramento), due to construction on the roads around Raley and the Tower Bridge, most the route ran through Sacramento. "You get to cross the Tower Bridge 2x". Woo hoo :-p (you can look up the bridge online, its painted the most ass ugly color of yellow you've ever seen - baby shit color, basically).

It was chilly, and I made a note after the race that next time, I'm going to check some fleece at the sweats check if its this cold at a race, because I had a fun case of hypothermia afterwards and 20 minutes of standing in a hot shower at home, I was still cold. The start, which was in three waves based on speed (I opted for Wave 2), is right outside the stadium, you finish on the field, if you're lucky, you're not bunched in where they can't call your name (although I'll bet they simply read your name off a chip prompt, as there was a chip crossing *before* the finish line, so the names were probably popping up on a screen - I had people a second ahead and a second behind me at the end and they called all of of our names), and you spend a nanosecond on the Big Screen (another woo hoo).

I hung around the inside of the stadium out of the wind, along with about 4,700 of my best friends. The field was full at 5,500, but it appears they had more than 800 no shows. I was kind of stunned to see so many unpicked up numbers outside, but hey, people get injured.

First wave went off. I shuffled through the crowd and got up next to the guy with the 2:20 pace sign. Now, I've never done a pace group at any race before, but I felt that being forced to maintain a pace by Someone That Knows What They're Doing would keep me from slowing down and shuffling - you know, knowing that I would finish but that Time Doesn't Matter. Well, it kind of does, actually, because if you go too slow it can actually make you slower and more exhausted, so its a good idea to just keep going even if it hurts. Chatted with Will, the pacer, who as the race went on, is apparently very well known in the area running world. He was running a his first race since breaking his ankle 5 miles into a recreational century ride in October. Someone kissed his wheel from behind, he went down on his right side, and his left ankle didn't come out of the pedal, snapped a bone. He'd been in the cast and had just started running in January, but just taking a look at the dude, well, he's a specimen. Very fit looking dude in his 40s (I didn't ask how old he was, but I'm guessing somewhere in there). :-p

I can't tell you if he was a good pacer or not, but he did a great job as he got those of us who stuck with him to the line at 2:20. I stayed glued to him the entire way, only losing contact at a couple of water stations, where I gulped water and then raced back to get right beside him. I even got to carry the pace sign for part of Mile 3 when his arm got tired, but after the first couple of miles he no longer was required to hold it up. I thought we went out maybe a little too fast - we were cranking well down into the 9s the first three miles, but eventually he dropped back to 10:15 - 10:50 to keep us in the 10:40 range needed to make 2:20. One of the nice things of staying with a "slower" pace group is that we had some nice conversations as we ran along.

And after this race, I've also decided to dump the iPod/iPhone from here on forward. At least on the race belt; the iPhone is too heavy, and I ended up carrying my iPhone in my right hand most of the race as it was driving me crazy around the waist. Listening to music if you're running with a pace group also makes no sense, as people tend to chat as they run along and they have interesting things to say. I may keep my iPhone on my arm so if I need to make a call I have it handy, but I'm through screwing with headphones. I'm probably going to run with a pace group at Parkway as well to see if I can improve on my time.

I'd put in my contacts so I wouldn't have the "bounce effect" of glasses while running, but honestly, I can't see a damn thing with my contacts - at least not as clearly - as I can with glasses and I may experiment with wearing my glasses at the Zoo Zoom on 4/10. Yeah, I'm vain, but hey, if you don't think I'm hot wearing glasses, that's YOUR problem. I'm not 25 and scoping and hoping in some meat market. OTOH, if I wasn't screwing with the iPhone I really don't need reader quality sight.

Anyway, as usual, it took me a while to adjust to running (why I bother with any distance less than 10K I don't know) as I feel like crap until I get about 4 miles into a run, and then my body, like the old Buick that it is, warms up sufficiently that I feel like I'm in a good rhythm and then its just reverse counting "how much distance" I have left in my head. I had brought 4 Gus with me, consuming one with a bottle of OJ walking to the start line as my "breakfast", and I used two of them during the race at miles 4 and 8. I probably should've choked down the last one in the middle of mile 10 as for the most part, I had gas in the tank until I got to Mile 11, and then I felt my soleus muscles starting to cramp a little in each leg, but again, running with Will made a big difference. I wasn't going to be lazy and drop off. This guy had HTFU'ed, was being really encouraging the whole way, and I kind of didn't want to let *him* down by not sticking with him the best I could.

They had a lot of good rock bands along the way... some of the musicians barely looked older than my kids :-p One thing that struck me as a guitarist as I saw NO Stratocasters today, and that surprised me. You almost always see Stratocasters, but Telecasters have become very popular again and I saw a bunch of those, a Jaguar, and some classic Les Pauls. There was one band called "Walking Spanish" that was playing the Hendrix version of "All Along The Watchtower" and the guitarist was on a Tele and doing a smoking job on the wah wah pedal on the solo. It would be fun to get a really loud fusion trio together and play one of these races (like Cowtown in the fall - I can still do the Four Bridges Half Marathon up on Lake Natoma). This guy and the guy that was playing the Jaguar were the players of the day.

The course would around downtown, midtown, and ventured out on the bike trails in Discovery Park as well. Many veterans of this race - which is in its 7th year - said this year's course was "much prettier" than last year's in West Sacramento, which is mostly flat and on "boring city streets". There were some decent spectating - I saw a lot of home made signs, including one for some dude (I'm presuming) named "Horsky". I yelled "Horsky? Who's that?" and the 20 somethings standing there yelled back "We don't know!" Same for this other group that was "Kimberly, Lisa, other name..." I said "Who the heck is Kimberly?" and I passed this group twice and they said "I don't know!"

Yes, wearing the Iowa jersey, which looks so Steeler like, I got a number of "Go Bradshaws" to which immediately yelled back "GO HAWKS! THIS IS AN IOWA JERSEY!" The last one of those I got was in the finish chute, and I had enough energy to pump my arms and scream "GOOOO HAWKS" all the way to the finish, where Will was waiting to high five all of us that ran all the way with him. I made sure to shake his hand and thank him.

Now you finish on the warning track at the baseball field, which means you have STAIRS TO CLIMB to get out of Raley. I made it up about 10, and then had to sit down, during which I discovered I'd managed to nuke about half of the iPhone icons on my phone holding it the entire race. I'd managed to get up later - after about 10 minutes of sitting, drinking water, feeling my legs shake and pleased with myself that I'd made 2:20 (and if I'd hustled just a little, I would have made 2:19something) and I was almost to the top when I heard them call out the name of a guy I work with professionally. Now, this guy is out of shape, but he's only 30, even with the gut and hardly training he pulled off a 2:13 and had never run this far before. Ended up hanging around with him and some people he knows and works with, including a co-worker of his who got 3rd place in 18-24 women (she ran cross country, is skinny and has the Total Runner Look). Eventually, we retrieved his sweats from the check (I was fricking freezing Dr. Evil-like at this point in the wind), I got my time, and hobbled back to my car, and took the previously mentioned 20+ minute hot shower and then treated myself to a big burger and a pedicure/foot massage.

I wonder how sore I'm going to be tomorrow morning... EEEEEP

OVERALL 2584/4654 AGE GROUP 153/197 2:20:09:09 10:42/mi pace

i like this email

Dear Daddy,

 

 

THE CMT"S  ARE HERE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!they make me nervous............................WOW!!!!!!!!!!!i hope i do good.wish me some luck!!

March is a very very busy month for me daddy

but who cares i luv u.

rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrooooooooooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! im very mighty

heres ten kisses for u. and here is ten hugs for dawn.

and here is ten butterfly kisses for Naomie.

 

 

 

         luv,

              meredith

i told you the planet isn't safe

Sardonic post title aside, please pray or do whatever positive imaging you can for the folks in Japan. With modern communications and videography equipment (i.e., anyone that has a smartphone with video can make a video), its pretty easy to snap good pictures and video of a natural disaster, and some of the shots of the tsunami running rampant over farmland... this isn't cheesy CGI in a cheesy Emmerich movie, its the real thing, and its pretty damned scary - amazing to see from an overhead shot. The destruction and just the *inevitability* of the waves ruthlessly chewing up everything in their path is jaw dropping to watch.

We'll probably never know the total death toll, but I'm going to be very surprised if the estimates are much < 10,000 and probably will go higher. Japan is like the 98 pound weakling that just got sucker punched without warning by Alex Karras Blazing Saddles style. Except Alex Karras is the size of Godzilla in this case. Watching the carnage, you start to truly understand why Godzilla and Mothra are still so popular in Japan; being on the Pacific Rim these folks truly are living on the edge every day.

So let's do what we can for Japan... and don't forget New Zealand. Even here in California some of the waves flipped boats over in Santa Cruz and up near the Oregon Coast.

What has got me worried at a lower level is this...

"Um, OK, now you've had a quake in NZ, and Japan, and if the quakes are moving in a clockwise pattern, that puts the next quake, um, near Alaska or the US west coast..." Add in the superstition of bad news coming in threes (although in Charlie Sheen's case, he's the entire Raman spaceship *fleet*), yeah, I'm a little twitchy. LA or San Francisco are nice juicy little targets for earthquakes (as are Portland, Seattle, and points north, etc.). Sacramento does get quakes but our local geology is such that we've never really had a "bad one" - you usually get the pictures rattling for a few seconds and you're done.

The larger question that's invoked by disasters on the scale of Haiti, NZ and Japan (not to mention other places that have been wacked recently by giant quakes or powerful storms) is just how, um, inhospitable our planet can be at times for those of us who live on its surface. There's the giant caldera in Yellowstone, for example, that blows up and throws a lot of ash into the planetary atmosphere roughly every 250,000 years or so, and the last eruption was ... um, about 250,000 years ago.

And here we are about to retire the only space transport (except for that secret stuff that our military has GOT to have - I do not believe for a second that we don't have a manned space capability or a plane that can fly to orbit. I can't see us giving up that capability when we have no shuttle) we've had for the last 30 years, courtesy of Nixon, who canceled several Apollo missions for cavorting in LEO in a giant space truck and an obscenely expensive orbiting studio apartment.

Yes, yes, we've got Virgin Galactic, and the creator of the DOOM game and some other dot-com and otherwise millionbillionaires who are underwriting private rocketry into LEO, but we still have failed - since the astonishing achievement of landing men on that hunk of rock in the sky 40+ years ago - to move the human presence in this solar system farther than 200 or so miles from the surface of what is probably (unless you're a Von Daniken fan) our planetary home of origin.

The Kepler space telescope already has confirmed what we've known for several years now, that exoplanets are plentiful and as the detection techniques get better, we'll find candidate Earths... and as space hardware gets smaller and smaller, and lasers more powerful, we should be able to orbit lasers that have the capability to push tiny probes pushed by photons to high enough velocities to fly to other star systems and take pictures... but that's not getting people off of Earth where either the combination of some stupid series of natural disasters or flesh eating zombies could do our species a serious turn to extinction.

We *could* do the one-way Mars missions that are proposed with the rockets we have now - its just a matter of throwing sufficient money at the project... anyway, it seems a shame that 40 years have passed and the space program still is struggling to get more than 200 miles from the launch pad.

We need to leave this solar system, and get at least a few hundred light years away from the stars capable of going supernova to ensure the human races' survival for the not so distant future...

In the meantime, though, we need to help Japan rebuild, because there just might be some young genius, or geniuses, huddling in the cold and dark right now, scared half to death through the aftershocks, who figures out how to build stargates or warp drive...

ephiphany of love

I do not believe that my father ever really loved me.

An epiphany (from the ancient Greek ἐπιφάνεια, epiphaneia, "manifestation, striking appearance") is the sudden realization or comprehension of the (larger) essence or meaning of something. The term is used in either a philosophical or literal sense to signify that the claimant has "found the last piece of the puzzle and now sees the whole picture," or has new information or experience, often insignificant by itself, that illuminates a deeper or numinous foundational frame of reference.

Sudden tears, a little while ago. It just hit me. I am a very passionate person, and sometimes I don't know when to let go of that passion, and talking with my little girl (and boy, when he wasn't busying wasting some poor avatar in the video game he was playing), and seeing just how much she, in particularly, fervently loves her Daddy... typing me little messages of love and endearment in the chat box while looking in the camera with such intensity and jabbering away in the manner of 9 year old girls.

It blows me away. She's not manipulating me for anything, she simply wants to be loved.

Up until the day my Dad had his final stroke that took away his power of speech and dying a week later, I spoke with him on the phone, every day, trying to make a connection with him, and feeling like I was always failing. He was listening, but I always felt like the "message" I was trying to make never really got through. Sometimes over the years, my mother would mention she was never really entirely sure that my Dad wanted a child, as they had difficulties having me (she lost a set of twins before I was born) and her pregnancy with me was difficult.

Anyway, the inability of me to establish a deep connection with my father, and my mother allowing him to run her life to such a great extent for their entire life together has made it difficult for me to form lasting long-term relationships. I always feel like I need to be "on the run" as I remember my Dad stuck in that recliner on 44th Street, never going anywhere and seeming to be angry at the entire world... I am agitated all the time, probably because I never got that warm security of knowing that somewhere, my parents loved me (and I do believe my Mom did, but she was always apologizing for Dad's distance but would say "he loves you". I think what she was really saying is "I love you and I think your father does but he isn't really able to show it.")

But if you truly love someone, sportsfans, you show it.

I know that my Mom, wherever she is, still loves me. And she's around; because I'll suddenly smell the strong perfumes she favored, or sometimes - as she knew how much I hated that she smoked - the distinctive smell of a person that's just come in from a cold side porch with unfiltered Pall Malls on their clothing. 

Dad... is just gone. It is his loss. I dearly miss him, but damn you for not loving me enough. The greatest gift any parent can give their child(ren) is for you to know that you are loved, in that warm snuggly blanket way, long after they are dust.