Thursday, December 22, 2011

2011: From Running to Runner

Between 2008 and 2010, I entered and participated in six racing events in the region. Half of those came in 2010, and one was the California International Marathon (CIM). This year, I competed in 13 races and two non-entry community fun runs.

Before this year, I considered myself a casual runner at best. I ran perhaps 4 days a week--at most. In leading up to the CIM, Stephanie and I joined a training group operated by the Fleet Feet store on J Street in Sacramento. This "training" consisted of small, incremental workouts, weekly mileage goals, and friendly organization.

After a fairly successful marathon on what I now realize was insufficient mileage and intermittently adhered-to training, a coach (now friend and teammate) suggested I apply for the Fleet Feet Sacramento Racing team. Beyond the races, here are some end-of-year reflections on how I've transitioned from "someone who runs" into a runner.
  • Apparel - It seems so materialistic in nature, but I really can't say enough about how an upgrade in clothing and gear can make such a difference in comfort. I stopped buying inexpensive gear from big-box retailers, for one, and settled on Nike shorts and race-offered tech shirts (only the good ones though). I also invested in some sunglasses, gloves, arm and ear warmers, and a handful of pairs of quality socks (made by Balega and Nike). I still run in my synthetic Champion shorts for shorter distances, but anything longer than 8 miles or more intense than an interval run warrants the good stuff.
  • Amount - I often cite conversing after some of those initial practices with my Fleet Feet teammates in which I specified a clear opinion: If I found myself getting up before 6:00 a.m. or running 7 days a week, the joy would likely have been sucked from running. It's less than a year later, and I'm in my fourth month of pre-dawn running (sometimes, when things are hectic at work or the miles are needed, I'm up as early as 4:00 a.m.), and I just recently upped my running from 6 to the afore-dreaded 7 days. In those runs, I also never run fewer than four miles (for some weirdly compulsive reason, 6 has been the minimum as of late). Some call these facts hypocritical. I will gladly eat that crow.
  • Trinkets - I felt this category needed its own space outside the "apparel" section. Really, we're dealing with apples and oranges. The first items worth mentioning fall under the title of "safety gear." I now use a headlamp and a reflective bib or singlet. I still run with an iPod shuffle on distance runs, but it carries podcasts or a book on tape, and not loud, distracting, or pace-altering music. My most valuable trinket, though, is my Garmin Forerunner 605. This GPS watch is absolutely amazing. It measures my distance, my pace, my elevation changes, my interval workouts, and even feeds me when I need fuel. (OK, so I made that last part up, but it would if it could). I upload my workouts into an online database and view my runs using satellite technology. I cannot believe I ran, even as late as June 2011, relying solely on a stopwatch and the promise that I had a clue (I didn't, by the way). There has always been a bit of skepticism concerning the accuracy of these devices, but that's all fine and well and expected. I just can't argue with my results in using it as a runner, frankly. Beyond making things a bit more serious, the watch makes it a lot more fun.
  • Travel - Every time I went out of town this year, I packed running supplies. In many cases, I even scouted out running locations using Map My Run or word-of-mouth suggestions. On a trip to Idaho in June, I managed a tempo run on the world's oldest treadmill (seriously) and an 8-mile out and back on a gravel trail made from a converted railroad bed. Later in the summer on a trip to Portsmouth, New Hampshire, Stephanie and I ran 8- and 10-mile loops through the harbor and into Maine. On a later stop in Manchester, we found a high school track and completed a speed workout, then tried our hand at trail running in Mt. Holyoke State Park in Vermont. Our big plans to travel and run came in October when we flew all the way to Washington D.C. solely to run in a marathon (well, to visit Sara and see the city as well). Over the Thanksgiving holiday we managed a 12-miler from St. Helena, and we have a long-run planned for our short trip to Half Moon Bay. This trend continues next year; in April, we take our habits to Eugene for our third marathon.
  • Competition - My running started taking off when I summoned the desire to run a half marathon just to say I'd done one. Running is certainly more goal-driven these days. I now engage in friendly competition with myself, others in my age group, my teammates, and members of the community. The dedication has pushed my brain into continual consideration of my PRs (personal records), and each race at a given distance presents a new challenge. 
  • Community - It isn't all competition, though, and this last category is not something that, per se, makes me define myself as "runner" instead of "someone who runs." The final point here is really about what running has done for my family and me, and what our friendships with teammates has meant. I've definitely met some amazing athletes, and I've run and trained with some of the hardest working runners in the region. There is also a deep dedication to volunteerism, with all runners dedicated hours and days of their lives to supporting the team, the community, and the culture of running. It's here that I've connected with amazing, caring friends who, at the even the slightest hint of uncertainty, would race (seriously race) to my side. Success on the course isn't why the team is successful; it's the way people with common interests support one another and work toward something better.
As I exit the list, I realize that in writing this the reflection has transformed into an appreciation letter to my wife and teammates. But that's OK. It's not about me. And maybe that's another reason we're really all training for here?

Happy New Year, to you and to FOO.

Thursday, December 15, 2011

The long and winding road

that leads / to your door / will never disappear

This week, like clockwork, it grows.

The final day of finals week stands at the ready, and in the days that lead to its glorious arrival, my typically quiet break and prep roar to life with conversation. Students trickle in, form a line, and mumble among their colleagues as they wait to discuss the direction of their final papers--due tomorrow, by the way. With their colleagues, and with me in conference, these students disclose their concerns and articulate the process of their drafting. It's a heartwarming time for me because it validates the process I hope they'll grasp before they leave my classroom in June.

I am not a masochist; I do not assign composition during exam week in order apply pressure to their already stressful lives. I do not assign writing so that they'll suffer this week and perhaps truly appreciate the fact that they're given a vacation. I do not assign writing because I believe in unifying their collective thinking on the issues that shape our world. I assign so that I can depart confidently with a stack of unique, slightly confident voices in my tote bag, for the winter affords time to read. Slowly.

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I hear voices, one by one, as they move forward in line. "So here's my introduction, Mr. Petty." I don't really know if it's what you're looking for."

"Put the paper down," I say. "Tell me what the point of this essay is. Verbally. Please."

And then I wait for awhile. When the soft sounds start to fall forward, I sometimes make funny faces. Sometimes I close my eyes because, as they artfully stumble over canned thesis statements and familiar verbiage, I feel like I'm swallowing cubes of ice shaped like stop signs.

(Maybe a stop sign is the wrong figure, but I'm definitely ingesting an oddly shaped command.)

Despite my contortions and my countenance, I love the listening. I love hearing them come to terms with the purpose of their writing. I love listening to them realize they are not writing for me or to me, but instead as a means to prove something to someone somewhere.

When they realize this, their tractor beam eyes bore a hole through my frame and fixate on an attainable mirage. It's a plateau, a clover field of respite in the not-so-distant future.

They bounce off like elk in pursuit, but I'm sure this excitement subsides in time. Writing is, after all, a process. At some point, likely late at night, they'll bash their elk horns dramatically against the wall (or keyboard) in hopes of shaking the kernels of truth they found blossoming in our dialogue from their stems. Sometimes, amazingly, petals fall to floor where they're quickly collected and funneled onto the computer screen.

**************************
It's Thursday evening now, and tomorrow's submission deadline approaches (along with any round of exams). The long and winding road is not so long and winding anymore. At the last bell I spoke to only two students. There's a small queue forming in my digital inbox, but it's not the same.

I have high hopes for voices tomorrow. The kind coming from the essay of a developing writer, at least.