Hood to Coast 2006

In the last weekend in August, some running buddies and I took part in the 25th version of the Hood to Coast relay race. We had run the Providian Relay many times, but developed a strong interest in running the race it was modeled after. Unlike the Providian, we had to enter a lottery to get into this one and were actually turned down two years in a row before gaining automatic third try entry. Now was our chance to bring our running legs to a bigger stage. We we ready for the challenge and change of scenery.

By "bigger stage", I mean many more teams than we were used to. I'm talkin' 1000 vs 250, which was mind boggling to think of, coming in. Often times in the Providian, you'll find yourself running along stretches where you won't see another soul, much less another competitor. I had the feeling going in that this wouldn't be the case during this race. I was really looking forward to the mass of runners and teams as logisically complicated as it may have been.

My team consisted of several people from work and a few others that used to be from work. We formed a team called the "Barking Spiders", a name that we had used several times for the Providian, one which could draw chuckles for anyone who understands its meaning and curiosity from anyone that didn't. For those of you who fall into the latter category, consider a Barking Spider to be the imaginary scape goat for anyone who has distributed audible emissions that are gastrointestinal in origin. "Wow the spiders are really barking today!" you might say to fellow runners as you make your presence known. Feel free to try it on your next run.

The Barking Spiders descended upon Portland on Thursday and Friday before our time (5:30 PM on Friday) to begin the race, some by plane and some via road trip. I took the flight option, coming in with three teammates on Thursday morning. I wanted to do some exploring of the city before immersing myself into the 24+ hour relay that was ahead. I had last visited 6 years ago for a wedding and had enjoyed it. I wanted to take in some more.

We spent much of the morning exploring the Japanese Garden and Hoyt Arboretum, which are pieces to Washington Park. The Japanese Garden was peaceful to walk through, containing simple yet ordered arrangements that were pleasing to the eyes. There were sandy court yards with ripples coming from each of the objects contained within. There was a beautiful waterfall spilling into a small pond that contained many multi-colored fish. There were small bridges, switch-back walk ways and trees with branches which had been guided by braces to grow in interesting angles and ways. Supposedly this garden is one of the most beautiful of its kind outside of Japan (Afterwards I had asked some Japanese friends about the garden, who had visited it recently, and they claimed that it was authentic.


One of the Barking Spiders, Dick, was what I would call a "tree buff" and suggested we visit the Hoyt Arboretum. We were not disappointed as we ventured down some of the trails, named for the majority of the trees that we would see on them (e.g. fir trail, spruce trail). Each tree was marked with its english and latin names as well as its current home country or countries. Probably the most interesting tree that I saw was the "Monkey Puzzle". There was not explanation about its name, but it didn't need it as this prickly branched tree would clearly be a challenge to the most cunning of climbing monkeys.

After our day of visiting some of Portland's natural wonders and collecting more spiders from the airport, we were ready for a pre-race pasta feed. Almost every runner knows about carbo loading and we're not a team of newbies. After doing some Googling to see what Italian eateries were available in Portland, we decided to take a chance with Davincis Italiano Ristorante
It was a fairly classic Italian-American restaurant, nothing fancy with a very local feel to it and heaps of tastey Italian food. They had Fat Tire on tap, which we ordered several pitchers of. What else do you really need?

After stuffing ourselves silly, we got even sillier and capped off our night by watching Office Space, which we found among the DVD collection of the son of one the spiders, who was letting us use his house for relay as a crashing point and headquarters. I've seen the movie before, but it was fun to watch again. I think there's something cathartic about watching something that is poking fun at the corperate world that most of us toil in from time to time. The movie also provided plenty of laughter fuel for the relay itself as everyone in my van relayed impressions of the boss in the movie and and also used several expressions, such as "showing the 'O' face" and taking a ride on the "bone rollercoaster". We couldn't get enough of that.

After getting a full night's of sleep, something that would be lacking for the weekend, we all met up again in the late morning at Powell's bookstore in down town Portland. It's a wonderful place for anyone remotely interested in reading as it is a store which takes up a full city block (even has its own parking ramp) and is four stories high. I picked up a couple used books in the award-winning section, Life of Pi by Yann Martel and Charming Billy by Alice McDermott. It wouldn't be hard for most people to spend days in the store and not really cover it.

Afterwards, we ended up grabbing lunch from Whole Foods down the street from Powell's, joining a large lunch-eating crowd that had the same idea. We then went back to headquarters for the last arrangements before heading to Mt. Hood. We were quickly approaching race time.

Backing off for a second, let me try to describe the nature and logistics of this relay. The race goes from the top of Mt. Hood (well, as far as you can drive) to Seaside, which is a small town against the Oregon coast. The distance is 197 miles which causes most people's jaws to drop when you mention that to them. It's not as a bad as you think, since there are 12 people on a team, each taking on a share of course (comes out to about 16 miles per runner). The course is broken up into 36 segments of varying distances, called "legs" (not to be confused with the legs you run with). Before you start the race, your team decides who is going to run what legs, which must be run in a set order on your team. So for instance, the runner that takes on leg #1 also gets legs #13 and #25. That way, everybody gets 3 legs that are spaced 12 legs apart. To pull the feat of completing these legs off, each team is typically broken up into two groups of 6 that will share a vehicle (usually a mini-van) together. So vehicle 1 will transport runners 1-6 and vehicle 2 will do the same for runners 7-12. You basically drive ahead of the runner that's currently completing his/her leg and provide them support (water, heckling, etc.) along the way. You're also driving the next runner(s) that will need to be dropped off at exchange points, so that they can take the baton (which is a braclet) and carry on. Once you get rolling with the relay, it's amazing how quickly it goes.

We decided to drive both vans up to Mt. Hood so everyone could take in the view at the top, and view the teams that we would be up against. On the way, we saw several mini-vans like ours, some of which had absorbed a high level of decorative creativity from the team members within. We saw a familar team to us from the Providian relay in the form of "Snot Rocket". Snot Rocket promotes the use of what a midwesterner like myself might call a "farmer blow" (it's not as dirty as you think) Regardless, just imagine how you might cleanly clear out your nose without any handkerchief or tissue. Runners face this dilemma all of the time (and farmers too :-))

The view at the top was spectacular as we parked among the many teams that would be launching their races shortly before us, after us or even the same time. Every 15 minutes, roughly 25 runners would be flying down the mountainside after a count down initiated from the P.A. announcer and accompanied by the crowd. We were starting to feel the tingles of a running event form as we neared closer to our 5:30 PM starting time.







Compared to the Providian, Hood to Coast had a much bigger event feel to it, which isn't shocking given that it's been going on for 15 more years and they have almost 800 more teams (which is almost 10,000 more runners). There was a pretty good crowd there, with music blaring, teams with uniforms and vans dressed to the nines. A few of us spotted a couple teams dressed as French maids and cheer leaders, which are always head-turning sights to most of the male population. We were quite impressed.



Our lead runner Dennis lined up at the start with the group of 5:30 leaders. I was trying to enjoy the last few moments of sanity, though was ready for what looked to be a insanely fun race. The MC announced each of the teams, getting cheers from their respective teams on hand. He then had every lead runner shake hands and introduce themselves to each other in a gesture of good sportsmanship. With all of the formalities out of the way, all that remained was the count down to go time...10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1!!!!!


I was not envying Dennis as we drove drown the mountain, seeing the runners galloping down. He was practically pushed off of the top of Mt. Hood with almost 6 miles of down hill running ahead of him. For those of you who don't run as much as we might, down hill running may sound great, and to a certain extent it is, but the steepness of the slope that he was going down and the length of that slope is enough to given most people's knees and quadriceps a good pounding. Trust me, after doing a run like he was, I think most people would vote for doing an uphill climb instead.

But Dennis was up the task and came blazing through the exchange from leg 1 to 2. It didn't take too long to put one leg in the books as he passed the braclet to Jim, who had some tough down hill to tackle of his own. We now had a relay.

I was assigned to leg 5, which would continue along hwy 26, then parellel to it, up a country road at one point. I caught a glimpse of what I would be running on the way to peak, noticing that there was a hell of a lot of uphill to scale (maybe downhill running is not so bad. :-)). As Janna was completing leg 4 and after we parked at the exchange point, I decided to take a trip to the "Honey Bucket", which is an endearing term and company name for the port-a-potties (It reminds me of another midwest term "Honey Wagon", which is used in place of manure spreaders).

As I casually emerged from the honey bucket, Janna was practically right there. Thank goodness I had all my running gear with me because I actually needed to run from the bucket to the exchange in order to prevent her from waiting for me. That's something you generally don't want to do to a runner. Imagine running your guts out and not seeing your exchange partner waiting for you. It sucks.

But I made it and it probably provided me a little bit of a warm up as I snatched the braclet from her and let my legs rip down the road. I generally go out way too fast, emulating a bat out of hell. The adrenaline of a race often does that too me, but relays are especially the case because of the team element. I feel like I wanted to do my best for the Barking Spiders.

About a minute into the run, I found my first "road kill", which is a term often used by relayers when they pass someone. The second one wasn't too far away, but this guy sped up considerabley when I came within 5 feet of him ("no way you're passing me", he was probably thinking). Some people make it very difficult to pass them, which can be hard on your body for a little while. I just decided to settle into his pace for a spell and see if I could wear him down. A few minutes later, he was toast.

My experience in relays has usually been one in which I tend to always kill rather than be killed, so it was suprising to me to get passed about 2 miles into my leg as a guy came blowing by me. It wasn't quite the standing-still feeling, but it was close. This dude was booking and he wasn't looking back. I figured he was either his team's stud or on a stud team. After passing a handful more of people, I got killed again. This was a much different relay than what I was used to.

My run started in the twilight which became no light, other than the spread out beam of my head lamp. I veered up to the right, off of 26 and onto the wavy country road of cherryville lane. The tall trees with thick-leaved branches blackened my route and turned my race erie. I could only see 15-20 feet in front me and the bouncing ball of light owned by the racer who had passed me a few miles back. That would change slightly for a while as I came into a intersection that was lit by headlights and volunteers preventing runners from making a wrong turn without a mile left. "You've got one mile to go!", they said as I pressed on.

Up to that point, I felt as if the rating they gave that leg of "very hard" was not well deserved. Yes there was some climbing, but I felt as if I had been moving very well throughout. I felt as if I was sitting pretty until they threw a nasty climb in front of me. Ok, now I get it.

I huffed and puffed up the hill to the exchange. I could mark one leg down and two to go as I passed the braclet to Jacques, who was running anchor for our van. The air was cool and felt great against my heated and sweaty self as I made it back to van with Jim. There was a huge line of vans parked along hwy 26 housed with teams waiting for their runner. It felt great to have one in the book.

After we finished leg 6, we drove back to Larry's son's for a very brief snooze. The most challenging thing about relays like this is dealing with sleep depravation. Since it was only 10:00 PM when we ready to settle down, I found it impossible to do much more than lie down. At 1 AM, the alarm clock shattered all hopes of getting a night's sleep (I think I ended up falling comfortabley asleep at 12:30 AM!). Shortly after, we received a call from Larry, letting us know that their 6th runner, Tom, was running his leg. It was getting time to do it all over again, this time through the streets of Portland and the country side which beckoned from the west.

After much navigational folly, we found a parking spot by the Hawthorne bridge that Dennis would be running across, getting our team over the Willamette River. This would probably be one of the more challenging times for each of us to run as our bodies internal clocks thought we were scheduled to sleep. But that's part of the fun and the challenge of the relay is running at the small hours of the night.

Tom came flashing in with braclet in hand and transferred it to Dennis, who was off into the night. We briefly chit-chatted with our other van, asking them how their legs went and so forth. There actually isn't much time for conversation as we had a runner to support and they had showers and beds awaiting them. Time was awaisting.

Fast-forwarding to my leg, which is the most important one for me to describe here, :-), this time I had an "easy" one, complete with gentley rolling hills and pretty countryside that became prettier as dawn approached and I could see the morning star glowing in the western sky. The temperature had dropped to a comfortable 55 degrees, which is a lovely number to run in. I could see the steam coming off of me as I pushed through the early morning air, with a brightening horizon ahead of me.

Leg number two was in the books for me as I turned beside a church parking lot to where my exchange and Jacques were waiting. I found that no matter what a leg is ranked, whether that be "very hard" or "easy", I still feel about the same afterwards. "Very hard" means you're not going to be able to move as quickly, but the terrain should do a number on you. "Easy" just means should be pushing harder now because there are no mean hills to take you down. I ran my best pace on this leg and I was feeling it.

After a brief stop at a high school along the way, which provided us with showers and a pancake breakfast (wonderful), we took our sleeping bags to a open field near the next van exchange, which served as a parking lot and sleeping area. That combination is not a very wise one as Jacques can attest to. He claimed that several vans came within couple feet of my head and the heads of some of my van mates while we slumbered. He quickly gave up on sleeping and decided that living was more important.

Along with the traffic, I was eventually awakened by a very loud team by the name of "Hot Tamales". A few of their runners were standing about 10 feet from my sleeping bag and were speaking at such a volume that I'm not sure if I could yell at. Maybe the volume seemed higher than it actually was because I was trying to sleep, but I couldn't believe that someone could speak so loudly, especially when they see people sleeping around them. One of their teammates even tried to shush them, which worked for about 10 seconds before they resumed their ear-ringing and mundane conversation. At one point I just got up and thought, "Ok, I guess I'm up". They were another reason that Jacques had given up.

But that's part of the relay and our second van was on their way anyway, so it was time to go through the drill one more time. The time was roughly 10:00 AM when I noticed that the temperature was rising awfully quickly. We would be dealing with some semi-serious heat before our job was done.

All of us dealt with some heavy sun between the shady spots as we continued east through the beautful tree-filled landscape of rural Oregon. The weather had saved its toughest spells for last. Like all of my teammates, I would be carrying a water bottle this time, not so much for the intake, but to dump on myself to prevent overheating.

My third leg was the toughest by far as it started on a heavy incline and never quite leveled out until I hit the top after 3.4 miles. My road kill number was rising though as we were starting to come across some of the slower teams with runners who had had enough out there. I pushed myself to the top and then pushed harder on the severe downhill, just for the sake of getting my count up (my running buddy Chris had claimed 30 road kill on his run...I had to take a crack at it). All told, I took out 33 runners, which would sit as the record for a short while (Chris took out 45 on his next leg...bastard :-))

It's hard to find feelings that compare to having your last set of legs done. No longer would we be sleep-running through the mid-day sun. No longer would we have to watch what we ate, for fear of having an ill-timed accident on the course (we brought plenty of tums). Suddenly we didn't feel quite so travel-weary. We were ready for some well-deserved food and beer.

The perfect spot for this was at a place called the Portway, a bar and grill which had some marvelous microbrews on tap. We took down pitcher each of Black Hook and Alaskan Amber, which helped to wash down some tastey cheese burgers (all 6 of us had the same idea). I also had some clam chowder, which was delicious. I'd highly recommend a stop at the Portway if you find yourself in the area and especially if you find yourself in van 1 for the Hood to Coast relay. Though the food and beer amplified our growing sleepiness, it really hit the spot and the restaurant itself had a fun local feel to it.

Off we were to Seaside, the conclusion of our adventure. The town itself made me think of a combination of Santa Cruz and Palo Alto with a nice beach and ocean awaiting, yet a little more of a yuppified feeling to the down town. It was a nice place to finish. The beach was filled with tents surrounding a finish line that several teams were crossing as we approached. The atmosphere was festive and fun and quite a contrast to what I had seen in April at the scaled down Providian relay (you'd barely know that a race was going on).


Tom rambled into the beach over the finish line to capture our official time, then did it again with his team in tow. As hard as it was to get my legs going for a 4th time, it felt great to finish with the team. We collected our medals and posed for pictures, feeling like a group that had found its 15 minutes of fame. Sleepy smiles emerged on all of us as it felt so good to finish.





We gathered at tables strewn around the beach finishing area and grabbed some beers to cap off our weekend in style. Henry's was on tap and hit the spot as we toasted to our success. A bright white sun was slowly being swallowed by a lightly waving ocean, leaving a pink splash in its wake. Another night was coming upon us that would be full of slumber and recovering legs. We said our goodbyes and rode into the night towards sweet dreams in Portland.

The End.

p.s. The next day, Dennis and I tried a couple of great places to stop for eats and treats in Portland. We stopped for very good lunch at the Southpark Seafood Grill and Wine Bar on Salmon Street (very appropriate street for them to be on). I had Sturgeon over polenta cakes sauteed in a wine-based sauce whose names eludes me, but whose taste was memorabely appetizing. This is a nice place to sit outside for lunch. It's slightly pricey, but well worth it. We then resisted their dangerously-appealing dessert menu and headed to Mio Gelato, which is right across from Powell's book store on Brazee street. I've been Italy, tasting what Gelato is supposed to taste like and I'll tell you, Mio Gelato has done the job. I had some Nocciola which was heavenly. I'll be back there again when I complete the Portland Marathon in October.

Western States 100

The Western States Endurance Run (WSER) was always something of a myth to me. Of course I knew it existed and had even known a few people who had run it, but the experience had only come to me second hand. The distance seemed far too enormous to fathom and a paradox to picture. Imagine people running through snow and then through 100+ degree heat, all within a span of 24 hours or so (30 for those who wanted more hours for their buck). It was the stuff of legend.

That changed about a month and a half ago, when I had to make good on a commitment to pace Rob Byrne, veteren of the race, someone whom I had run a bit with before, but usually that's what it was, a bit. He'd usually tear up most Tullamore Dew Running Club courses that had been set before him, leaving everyone including myself in his dust. This time he "needed me" for an 18 mile segment of the the 100-mile course that he would be doing for the 11th time. I was game to give it a try.

His real goal was not to finish for this 11th time, but to break 24 hours for the 10th time, giving him the acclaimed "1000 miles in 10 days" belt buckle that repeat finishers envy and few have attained. So the 18 miles that I had signed up for took a little deeper meaning and I felt as if I had to some way help him make his mark rather than just getting him through another race. It was an honor to help him try.

The trip started via a ride with Larry England, a friend and fellow pacer, who would be taking Rob in for the last 20 miles after my segment. We drove up in his weathered Suburban and picked Rob up at a park and ride, just off of 580 . The weather was an ominous 111 degrees as indicated by the Suburban's thermometer. Actually, "ominous" is too soft of a word. How about hellacious? Either way, it was frickin' hot.

We made our way up to Auburn, town of the finish, a place which is conisdered by some, if not many, the "mecca" of ultra runners. It's got this very home town feel to it, with lots of pine trees sprinkled around and mountains waiting in the distance. The air is fresh and the area has a clean cut feel to it, perfect for those who enjoy putting their legs to the test.

The opposite of "clean cut" may have very well been the taco joint that we stopped at called "Jimboy's Taco", a place that Rob recommended and wanted to stop at for a bite to eat. Actually, it wasn't all that bad, just a place that I probably wouldn't normally venture into unless I was with a guy that was about to run 100 miles and wanted his burrito. It's his stomach and his race; let him eat what he wants. The food was as good as he had advertised, though there's no way you can eat their burritos with your hands as they pretty much fall apart upon contact. But that's what sporks are for.

After our respit, we continued on awhile to Squaw Valley, the site of the start. I had never been to Tahoe ski country in the summer, but I'd say it's just as beautiful seeing the mountains more green than white (though there was still a lot of snow up there) and not seeing my breath as I opened the car door and enjoyed the 70 degree temperature that the climate had settled to. The evening felt perfect.

The next morning led us to the WSER registration and check in, which started at 9 AM that Friday. There was a pretty good sized line of runners waiting to get registered. It is a little bit more advanced than your typical pick-up-your-bib-and-t-shirt type of affair. You actually have to weigh in at your hydrated weight. This is what they hope for, but supposedly some runners dehydrate themselves a bit so that they might catch a break on the course if they're caught a little under weight. The race experts do mention that this is a fairly stupid thing to do though, given that they've rarely had to pull a runner from the course due soley to a change in weight. It's usually just one of the symptoms they'll use to determine whether someone should be cut off. Anyway, along with the weigh in, the runners get their pulse and blood pressure checked and are invited to go further by offering a sample of their blood to help researchers get a sense of what this kind of activity does to folks. I don't think it's enough to say that 100 miles kinda screws people up.

While Rob went through his ordeal, Larry and I checked out the expo. We found that a lot of the things that the expo offered were exactly what Larry has offered over the years of running his Tullamore Dew Running Club. Every Death Valley and Benedict Arnold run that he's organized features a trinkit that he offers with the TDRC logo on it. He's had head lamps, t-shirts, map/scarves, blankets, gloves, bucket hats (kinda like Giligan wore, but beige), travel coffee mugs, wool jackets and other stuff I'm not remembering. WSER had all of that as if they'd been on the same page with him from year to year. They did finally trump Larry tough with a white pair of WSER briefs of all things. I hope he doesn't resort to copying them.

After the resigtration and the expo, we dropped off three camping chairs (two of them were TDRC chairs) in this grassy open area that would eventually serve as the pre-race meeting space. Obviously I was with veterens that had been through the drill a few times. After killing some time, lo and behold we were sitting in the shade, right towards the front, listening to all of the ins and outs of the race that would follow the next day. We were in perfect position.

Probably the most memorable part of the pre-race talk was the mention of all of the volunteer work that had gone in to clear out a new section of trail that was once overrun with trees, as well as all of the volunteer work that would be going into the race. Supposedly Tim Tweitmeier, the president of the race and another volunteer, whom I unfortunately cannot remember the name of, had spent 100 hours and 500 hours respectively using chain saws to work on the trees, even having to take a class on chain saw usage to get certified. They also mentioned that 1300 volunteers (not inclding crews and pacers) would be working the race, which is an astounding 3 volunteers per runner. I was beginning to perceive the magnitude of the event.

Another memorable part of the talk was seeing the top 10 runners from last year brought up to the front. Among the men was Dean Karnazes of ultra marathon fame through his book and many amazing running feats he's pulled (350 miles in last year's providian relay). But it was the women that impressed me the most. Larry leaned over to me as they assembled out front and whispered "Are these women buff, or what?" Yes they were. Their legs and arms had the appearance of being cut out of stone. I was delightfuly impressed.

The evening brought us a nice dinner at a bar and grill just above Lake Tahoe as we enjoyed the cooled temperature that duplicated the night before. We saw several people with green braclets on their arms, like Rob's, indicating that they were signed up to run tomorrow. The waitress became bug eyed as we told her what Rob was about to do. It's fun to brag about something that just seems so ridiculous and better yet, something I wouldn't actually have to do.

The rest of the evening was all about lounging and getting our running supplies in order. This is a ritual that all ultra runners seem to go through, spreading out their gu, salt, drugs (advil) , adhesives, lubricants and all that fun stuff. It's almost as if you're about to partake in some sort of strange orgy. I guess in some sense, that's what it is.

I took a walk outside of the lodge and tilted my head up into the night sky. Without any moon or major city lights to shade the stars, the view was gorgeous, and with the sounds of crickets coming from the grassy base of squaw, I felt a bit like I was back spending a summer night in Minnesota at my grandma's lake home near Mankato. I always enjoyed the intense feeling I had, staring up into the vastness of the illuminated universe, unhithered by anyone or anything. I need more of that feeling from time to time.

An altogether different feeling came about at 3:45 AM, one accompanied by a thought of, "Is it time already???", as I heard Rob's alarm go off the next morning. The man is deaf without his hearing aids so he continued to sleep soundly as the grating sounds spat out into the room. "Rob? Rob?"..."Rob!!!"..."Thanks Mark". What would he do without his pacer? :-)

Soon enough we were among the mass of runners that were making their way to the beginning of the madness. What we noticed right away was that the temperature was way too comfortable for 5 in the morning. It's not that it was really warm, but we weren't standing there with arms crossed and legs bouncing like most ultras and marathons begin. It was pleasant enough to cause worry about what the passing day would bring to this group of runners that would be toiling in the mountains and more importantly, in the canyons during the hotter hours.

I made my way up about a quarter mile past the starting area, so I could get a better view of the runners as they were rising up and passing by. I didn't see Rob come by in the rush. In fact, the only person I recognized was Tim Twietmeier, who was galloping among the front runners, racing up this mountain for the final time as a WSER participant. As I watched them disappear into the darkness that still enveloped the mountain at this hour, I thought about how fresh everyone looked and how long it would take before that freshness was gone. I was guessing one or two canyon's worth of heat may be all that it would take.

Now that Rob was off, it was time for Larry and I to begin a long day of "hurry up and wait" (Rob had told me that CREW stood for Cranky Runner Endless Waiting when it came to crewing for someone). We had several hours to kill before meeting him at Robinson Flat, the first major checkpoint for the runners at mile 29.7. We killed most of the time hanging out at a Starbuck's in Auburn, then taking a ride along Foresthill Rd., probably the main thoroughfare for pacers and crew as it ran paralell to most of the course after Robinson Flat (30 mile mark). It's a beautiful drive, complete with mountains and valleys of pine and the tallest standing bridge (Auburn-Foresthill Bridge) in California, 730 feet above the North Fork of the American River. Larry commented that it would be a better choice for a suicide jump than the Golden Gate Bridge with a chance of survivial being significantly slimmer. Thanks Larry.

We arrived to the chaos that prefaced Robinson flat aid station, which consisted of a lot of parked cars along the side of the road, lots of cars wanting to get parked and a group of volunteers with flustered yet cheerful looks on their faces. It reminded me a bit of some of the busier exchange points of the Providian Relay, though much busier. Larry ended up nudging me out of the car at one point so I could get to the checkpoint while he found some parking. I think he ended up finding something a half mile away.

A large crowd gathered around the premises of a large tent-covered aid station. A lane made by two parallel streams of caution tape was stretched out beyond the aid station to allow each runner a clear path to continue on after he/she had taken what they needed. Bags of all shapes, colors and sizes were neatly arranged inside the perimeter of another taped-off boundary, representing the drop bags that each of the runners can have left at 8 check points. Rob had this pink and yellow school-bag-looking thing that could have belonged to a 7-year-old girl. He actually was able to find 8 of them at a garage sale and scooped them up, thinking of WSER. There's no way they could be mistaken for anybody else's.

In Rob's bag, along with some snack items, the most important thing to him was a bottle of Ensure. It was this 350 calorie, milky, protein-fortified stuff that he claimed worked wonders for him as a form of runner gasoline. It tasted better than GU and went down much better, even as he got close to the end. He had one bottle in each of his bags that he would end up drinking religously. He even had one in the morning in the room.

I arrived to this site at around 9:30 AM, which according to the program is about 15 minutes after the front runner should have come through. Rob had predicted that he'd come through around 10 AM, though he scoffed at this goal the night before, thinking that the heat would prevent him from making such a time. The first guy that I saw come through was Jim Huffman, who ended up finishing 5th. He wasn't in until around 10 though, which is a sign of how hot it was out there.

I saw Dean Karnazes come through without a lot of fan fare, looking pretty heat-weathered himself. He put his singlet and hat into the bucket of ice water and took the sponge bath they offer. The third place woman from last year, a French citizen, came through soon afterwards and had to be convinced to not bow out (she did finish). "It's too hot", she gasped, as she stumbled into the station. Chikara Omine, a runner whom I've been following ever since seeing him be the first runner to ever break 4 hours in a Pacific Coast Trail Runs event, looked very worse for wear as he came in. As he stood on the scale, I noticed he was wearing trail shoes and socks, which are a far cry from the track shoes that he usually wears, sockless. He looked very pale and somewhat concerned. This is a guy that ran the Ruth Anderson 100K at 7:26 per mile pace. I mean, come on, 62 miles at that pace??? Robinson flat was where his finish was for that day. They listed "Metabolic" in parentheses when I looked at the updated drop list at the next aid station, which I guess meant he had stomach problems. It was a tough start for these runners.

Rob finally came through at around 11:40, which is about even with the 24 hour pace. He was in good spirits and seemed to be in decent shape at the time. He didn't complain about the heat in the canyon, though he didn't seem overly comfortable with the temperature either, spending some extra time hydrating and icing down. This seemed to do the trick for him though, as he came out a new man. We just walked walked him through the shoot and saw him off, nothing too demanding for this crew of his at this point.

We traveled back on Foresthill Road to Auburn to check into the Comfort Inn that Rob had us staying at. Afterwards we had some lunch at a nearby Denny's, where I think I had my third meal of the weekend that included french fries (great diet for a runner!). We were just killing time again before meeting him again at Michigan Bluff, another big checkpoint after a round of some serious canyon running and climbing.

On the way to Michigan Bluff, we picked up Rob's wife Chris, who came up from Oakland to join our crew. After many years of dealing with her husband's addiction to running, she still doesn't quite understand it and doesn't understand why we'd want to take the time to pace him. But she was appreciative of us being there. "So you run?", she asked me, as we walked down the hill to Michigan Bluff. "No", I joked, bringing in a bit of my midwest sarcasm. "I just thought 18 miles sounded like a fun thing to try."

Probably the most attractive part of the Michigan Bluff aid station are these burgers that I had read about in their program and saw first hand, being sold at a counter, completely smothered with fried onions. I have a weakness for hamburgers that I've never tried to fix, but I'm proud to say that I resisted the urge to buy one. Given that I'd be runing in a couple hours, I decided to stay healthy, opting instead for a orange-ice cream dreamsicle. Yes, I know this isn't that healthy, but it is a healthy alternative to a burger (I think). Regardless, I had to eat something fun.

As beat up as the runners looked at Robinson Flat, they looked more so, by a factor of 10 at Michigan Bluff. Several runners staggered in and had be physically guided to the scale and the refreshments. Several runners had to be strapped up to IV's, which essentially ended the race for most of them. To me this was the make it or break it point of the race. The weather was still warm but cooling, and the time spent toiling in the heat of the canyons was over. Yes, there was still that small factor of having 45 miles yet to run, but c'mon, the weather was now perfect. :-)



Chris, Larry and I arrived at Foresthill High School, the checkpoint where pacers could come into the game. As we rode by to hunt for a parking spot, we noticed a famous runner in the unfamiliar guise of a pacer by the name Scott Jurek. I had seen his picture in the WSER program in a few spots and his name by all of the records and first place finshes. I had also seen him at the inaugaral Bizz Johnson Marathon, where he had finished at a time of 2:56. Now he was pacing someone that was actually the front runner at the time until 30 feet from the finish, but more on that later.

I checked myself into Pacer Central, picking up my yellow bib that shared the same number as Rob's (48, the one he picked as it reflected his age). I filled a bottle full of water and the other one with sports drink. I was feeling locked and loaded. At that point, I started to feel the butterflies of being involved in a race. I knew I wouldn't be racing, but somehow I felt the juices flowing like I would be. Though Rob would be beat up enough for most runners to hang with him, I felt like I needed to be on my game to be a pacer to him and not someone he needed to worry about. As I pinned the pacer bib to my shorts and started to stretch my legs, I felt all of the elements of a race coming together. I love the feeling of being part of a running event. It was show time.



There were several runners whom we saw in the distance and spouted out a "Is that Rob?" in reference to. They were ones which either had the same hat, shirt or shorts as he did, but God help us we didn't learn our lesson at Robinson flat nor Michigan Bluff where we were confused by the same people. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me three times, please, have you figured it out yet?

A siren-blaring ambulance sped by in the direction that the runners were coming from. "I hope that's not for Rob", Chris said, then quickly apologized. She claimed that even after all of these years, she still worries about her husband, especially these days when she feels that he's "getting old". I think no matter what age you are, there's always a risk of something serious happening out on this course. An accomplished Iron Man triathlete had a heart attack 11 miles into the race. The winner-to-be (or not to be) collapsed 30 feet from the finish line. Every spouse and loved one related to these runners has the right to worry a little.

Chris's worry vanished, however, as we we saw Rob finally coming in. His energy level seemed somewhat low, but his spirits were high as evidenced by the smile he was still able to flash. Larry grabbed his running pack and proceeded to go get his water bottles filled. I walked along side of him as he appeared eager to depart. He called for a bottle of Ensure, which he downed and followed with a grimace (I think most people might have had that same look). John Medinger (Quad Dipsea director) reminded him that he was just on pace to break 24 hours, to which Rob responded with "I'm not sure if I can do it this year." A few people surrounding John shook their heads and yelled out words of encouragement. "C'mon, you can do it."

Speaking of Tropical John, as he's called or at least calls himself, I found that Western States is quite a who's who of the ultra running crowd. I saw Wendell and Sarah of Pacific Coast Trail Runs crewing at Forest Hill, Guy Palmer of the Marin Headlands 50K running the race itself, not too far in front of Rob, Ann Trason who had won the race several times, walking into Michigan Bluff to check out hte runners. Larry and Rob themselves are in that who's who list as well, being the race directors of the Ohlone wildnerness 50K. Several people recognized both of them, though Rob admitted to me that he recognized very few of the folks that said "hi" to him. He said he probably "handed them a plaque at the finish line" of his challenging race (by the way, if you're looking for a very challenging 50K, this it the toughest one of done...see abovethefog.net for details).

Without much ado, we launched from Forest Hill, taking advantage of the downward slope of the road to gain some momentum. We turned left at the next intersection and soon after, we entered a trail head that was marked with sign reading "Western States Trail" Ahh, so that's where the race gets its name.

From what little daylight we had left, I caught some beautiful views of a mountain ridge across a valley that dropped from trail. The ridge was catching the day's last rays of sun (a gorgeous affect) and below I caught green glimpses of the the American River, raging with a beautiful emerald glow. I'm glad the trail was smooth and fairly flat or I may have taken a header for all of the gawking I was doing at the infrequent vistas of these two magnificent sights. I now have first hand evidence as to why they picked this trail to host a race.

Rob, on the other hand, was not such a pretty sight. :-) Not that he's an unbecoming man, but this early stretch after Forest Hill found him in rough shape. He was battling the digestion of a turkey sandwich, which didn't quite want to go down without a fight. He slowed several times and finally just stopped to let go of it. As good as a turkey sandwich sounded to him at the beginning of the race, it had pretty much lost all of its appeal at that point.

After being doubled over for a spell and collecting himself, he rallied and we were able to pick up the pace again. His stomach may have been out of order, but his legs were working just fine as we came across some down hill and let gravity take on some workload. I could tell he still had that 24-hour finish in mind and was doing his best to keep it in sight. Though we got passed by a couple runners (and their pacers) who seemed as fresh as daisies, I felt like we were moving at pretty good clip.

The daylight started dimming as we approached about 5 miles (for me, 67 for Rob. :-)), dim enough to make the neon feature of an "Open" sign effective, a clever decore for the first aid station that we encountered. "Are you open?", Rob quipped. His sense of humor was still firmly intact. I sampled a few of the goodies at the aid station while Rob was getting his bottles filled. I felt a little guilty, given the fact that I hadn't beat up my body like Rob had, though I was appreciative of the attention that the aid station volunteers were giving me.

I was a little embarrased as I saw Rob in the distance looking back at me, already back on the trail while I was still grazing. I think I enjoy the ultra aid stations too much with all of their junk food and fresh melon. I quickly scampered out of there though and got back to work.

Twilight transformed into nightfall quite quickly as we continued along the trail. We put on our head lamps and flipped on the lights. Outside of running the Providian Relay, I had never done a race in the dark. The section of the trail that we were on was challenging in that there was a very steep and sudden drop off to our left. I kept wanting to look left, down into the darkness to see what perils awaited me, should I have any slip ups. This proved to be the exact wrong thing to do though, as looking left took away my light source on the trail, making slip ups more likely. I found that it was best to keep my eyes (and light) on the road.

I'm not much of a conversationalist on the trail (or off the trail for that matter), but tried to come up with some things to keep Rob awake. Mainly I got him to speak about other ultras and 100-milers he had done, which led to some pretty interesting stories. He told me had done a grand slam (four 100's in a year), which boggled my mind even more than it was. He said his favorite 50 miler is the San Francisco Fear and Loathing, one which follows the 49 mile scenic route through the city. His favorite 100 miler was the one we were running, of course, as he was doing it for the 11th time. Favorite 50K? The Ohlone Wilderness, of course, the one that he and Larry organize. :-)

We came into the next aid station, which was a welcome sight for both of us. For Rob, he was ready to try out his stomach again with something other than GU. For me, it was nice to be able turn off my head lamp and make use of another source of light as the station was well illuminated. One thing I discovered at this aid station were some bite-sized pieces of salted nut roll. I love that candy bar and found it to be a stroke of pure genius to see them incorperated into the junk food table.

Even though it was close to 10 PM, I dipped my hat in the bucket of ice water that they had. The temperature outside was not overly warm, but it actually never quite cooled down and the air even felt a little thick with humidity. This was an indication of what these runners had to go through during the heat of the day. If I was feeling a little warm then, imagine what they were feeling at noon time.

This time, Rob showed no anxiousness to hit the trails. "I need to stay here a little while", he said. I think the heat earlier was finally taking its toll on him. Several runners came through and were out as quickly as they had come in. This had no effect on Rob, he needed some time to feel human again. I needed some more salted nut roll chunks. :-)

Leaving the aid station was the start of what I would call a "death march". That's a point in a run where you're body has pretty much says "fuck you" to you and all you really care about is finishing before you become a casuality of the trails. It's no longer a race anymore, you just want to go home to your shower and bed. Rob was shot and anything that wasn't down hill, was time to walk, that is when he wasn't hunched over catching his breath. It was going to be a long time before we got to the river, which marked the 80 mile check point, where Larry would take over.
After slowly moving up through midnight, we finally did get to the welcoming lights of aid stations that stood on both sides of the American River. Usually runners would have to cross it on foot by this point, using a rope to ensure that they weren't carried away by the current. This time, however, we were aided by an inflatable rowboat, powered by a thick-armed, Austrailan-sounding bloke. "Climb aboard mates", he said (just kidding, he didn't really say 'mates', but he did have a thick austrailan accent...or maybe it was New Zealand). He swiftly brought us across the river, which was high and raging. There's no way anyone without fins could get across this thing.

We made a small stop at the aid station before starting an unfair 2-mile climb up hill to "Green Gate", which is where #2 pacers wait. We saw no sign of Larry, who said he'd come down. We figured he had given up and decided to hang with Chris (which he did). He did meet us with about a quarter mile to go and was in an excitable mood as usual. He had me undo my pacer's bib while he assessed Rob's condition, which seemed to be worsening by the minute. He had to stop several times on the trek up this unforgiveable hill. "Can I get you to do a power walk?", Larry asked. Hunched over again, Rob didn't even answer. I got the sense that whatever motivational powers which Larry posessed, which are many, he was going to try to use them.

We reached Green Gate, where Chris was waiting for us. She had a worried look on her face, which was eventually disipated by a sheepish smile from Rob. He comforted her with whatever kind words he had left. Larry was hopping to go, still hoping to push him across the finish line at a 24 hour clip. He was about an hour behind at that point though and had no second winds to speak of. I don't think Larry realized how spent Rob was, but was taking heed to Rob's words before the race started. "Larry, you're going to have to kick my ass when I get to you". I have a feeling he regretted saying that.

I wondered how those 20 miles would go as Chris and I ascended for another mile out of green gate to the parking lot. To be honest, as fresh as I still felt, that last mile was hell. It felt pretty much straight up and seemed more like 5 miles. She asked me to stop several times to catch her breath, which was reassuring and a good excuse to catch my own. We saw several crew members passing us, going down the hill, some carrying heavy coolers. I didn't envy their trip back up.

We rolled out of the parking area with Larry's suburban back to the hotel in Auburn. It was 1 in the morning and I was starting to feel the lack of sleep for the first time as the excitement of being part of the run wore off. The thought of a shower and bed was lovely even if it would only be for a few hours. I felt a little guilty that the race was taking its toll on me when I had only done a tiny portion of it.

After a wonderful, yet short refresh in Auburn, we were out again, looking to catch Rob and Larry at the Highway 49 crossing, which was 93.5 miles into the race. We took the shuttle to this point and plopped our camping chairs (and our butts) down and stared a slightly listlessly into what was quickly becoming dawn. I had tried to predict Rob's arrival, thinking he could do a 20-25 minute pace, which would place him there at 6 AM.

But that 6 AM arrival was not to be, as we checked several times with the aid station volunteers that had access to the internet and website that tracked runner's progress. The only information we could get is that he had left green gate at around 12:40 AM. C'mon, we could have told you that. After getting to the point that we were their number one pests, they finally gave us a better answer, telling us that he had just left a check point that was 3 miles away. Again the worry drained out of Chris's face and was replaced by relief.

She felt even better as Rob trudged into the aid station with Larry anxiously power walking behind him. He was still moving forward and seemed to have enough in the tank to get through a little over a 10K albeit at a slow walker's pace. He had had enough of aid stations, I'm sure, and mimized his stay there.

We stood at the very last aid station, Robie point, which was 99 miles into the race. One memorable part about standing there, was seeing Tim Tweitmeier drive up and drop something off at the aid station. He was bouncing around, smiling and exchanging pleasantries with the volunteers. Didn't you just run this race? It sure didn't look like it. Apparently he came in at around 20:30, which had been around 9 hours ago. I guess he had recovered.

Rob came through, looking like a man who was ready to finish that last mile. It was his worst finish ever, but one nice thing about it was that his wife could walk that last mile with him. It gave her a new perspective on the race and I think she really appreciated it. Rob asked me how I was. "I'm doing just fine...how are you?", I replied, followed by no response. I guess it's a bit rhetorical at that point.

We let Rob take the final quarter mile lap around the Auburn high school track while we waited at the finish. He posed for the picture, coming in at around 29 hours. There were a few others that came in closely in front and behind him. We found out later that about a quarter of the field finished in the 29th hour, the last hour you could officially finish at.

Not only that, but nearly half of the 400 competitors had dropped out, incuding a couple men and woman who had finished top ten last year. 77 dropped at the 30 mile mark. Later on, I had heard that the race course had been modified to what it was originally and a lot of runners felt that was part of the problem. I had also heard John Medinger made some comment that too many runners were winning the coveted 24-hour silver buckle and they had to do something about that. I think the heat helped keep the numbers down as well.

The biggest trivial (or not so trivial) bit on the race is that the front runner collapsed, 30 feet from the finish line and was recovering in the hospital at the time of the awards cermony. He was the one being paced by Scott Jurek. Sadly he'd only become a foot note for the race, having been carried the last 30 feet to prevent him from going into a seizure, which disqualified him. What a terrible thing to happen to runner.

On a positive note, Tim Tweitmeier was presented a plaque with all 25 of his silver belt buckles, indicating he had done his 25 Western States in under 24 hours. He promptly announced that he would be retiring and looking forward to life as a volunteer for the race. I was just blown away by his accomplishment and the fact that he looked so fresh.

And that, my friends, was the Western States 100. God bless you if you were able to get through all of this post which got completely out of control. For those of you who fell asleep, wakey wakey, eggs and bakey. Would I ever do this race? No way. I'm completely challenged by marathons and 50K's. Those who can complete this race are either not challenged by those distances through wonderful genetic dispotions to distance running or are completely out of their minds or perhaps have not found alcohol or Jesus in their life. I had a lot of fun experiencing what this race was all about, but that's as far as I want to go.

The End.

San Diego Marathon

This past weekend, I completed my 18th marathon, this time venturing down to San Diego for the Rock 'N Roll Marathon that they hold down there, joning around 15 thousand other runners.

The weekend began with a flight out of San Jose, a place that I rarely fly out of and was reminded of why. It's a horrible airport. :-) With about a million people in San Jose, you'd think they could put together an industrial strength airport by now, especially with the construction that's been going on for ages. After I got my ticket, I tried entering what I thought was the security line, but a uniformed man told me, "ahh, line is back there". Oh. Sorry. So I took a marathon-sized walk back to the stairs that lead down to baggage claim at the end of a line that barely seemed to be moving. It wasn't too long before the line extended behind me to another county. Oh well.

As I waited in the "C" line for the Southwest flight (they have a brilliant free-for-all seating plan, where you feel like you're trying to find a seat on an overloaded school bus when they get to the "C" group), I noticed a ton of Team in Training folks and secretly wondered whether any of them would be running the marathon (please excuse my humor...of course they were all running the marathon, but whenever I've seen them "train", it's a nice leisurely walk, like they've been cautioned not to break a sweat). Actually I shouldn't joke because they are a very strong organization, raising money for a great cause and getting people who would not normally engage in marathon-type activities in, well, marthon-type activities. Good for them.

Walking to my Hertz rental car, I noticed these electronic boards that flashed renter's names with an arrow pointing to their car (pretty cool). As I tried to find my spot, I saw the name "Dan Fouts" of all people. For those of you who don't know, there is a Dan Fouts who used to be a star quarterback for the San Diego Chargers and is now a fairly successful color commenator for ABC. The chances of coincidence are pretty slim, I think. I was almost tempted to hang out for a little while and see if he came by, but I had an expo to go to.

Speaking of the expo, I punched in the address to the "Never Lost" system and let the Never Lost lady lead the way to the convention center. Traffic became bad as I rolled closer, eventually coming upon this convention center, which was enormous, seeming to span the length several football fields. Speaking of fields, Petco Field was right across the street from it, home of the Padres. Petco field just doesn't seem to have the majesty of the name "Jack Murphy Stadium", which I think was what it was once called, unless this field is relatively brand new (not sure). But what team would be shaking in their spikes going to Petco Field?

After sitting in traffic for what seemed like forever (I kept looking at my watch and saying, "There's still plenty of time to get my packet"), I finally parked and took a b-line for the expo. This thing is big enough that they actually had 3-4 different things going on, independent of the marathon proceedings. It was interesting to see the different groups, especially the contrast between the laid-back runners with their plastic goodie bags and people in business casual carrying around brief and laptop cases.

Having done 17 marathons previously, I know the drill by now.

1. Find the line where my number falls into the range serviced (1000-2000 this time) and get my bib
2. Get my chip and test it out ("Are you Mark Taylor?"..."Yep")
3. Get a goodie bag
4. Get my t-shirt ("Extra Large?"..."Yep")
5. Get some GU and Body Glide (Somewhere in my apartment are 10 sticks of Body Glide, probably right next to 100 pens)
6. Graze (i.e. Eat and drink some of the sample stuff they have out)
7. Get the hell out of there

Seriously, there's not much more to it than that. I do the same thing practically every time.

Back at the rental I punched in the hotel address, which was the Sheraton in Mission Valley. Of course the Never Lost lady had no idea that Old Town San Diego (the area near the convention center) was under construction, so she kept re-calibrating my route as I tried to figure out where to go. Eventually I did get there, arriving to the hotel in a fairly urban sprawled part of town. I wasn't planning to see a lot of San Diego, even though I had never been there, but wanted to leave my exploration for the race and post-race.

Heeding to that thought, I drove across the overpass from the hotel to the urban sprawl strip mall and had my choice between a Fuduckers and Gordon Biersch. I almost convinced myself that a cheeseburger the night before a race has actually worked in getting me P.R. before, but better judgement came to my rescue and I opted for Gordon Biersch (Fudrucker's would be my reward). Taking my better judgement one step forward and resisting an order for beer or anything exciting on the menu, I opted for a simple pasta dish. Damn I was being good.

I then b-lined back to the hotel and pretty much spent the rest of the evening and night in bed, watching Dirk Nowitski take the Mavs to the NBA finals, which I think will lead to an interesting series with Heat. I then watched Star Wars episode III, which I hadn't seen since the big screen and enjoyed watching again, if at least for the great fight sequences. Kinda fun.

I had a hard time sleeping due to the warmth in the room. It turns out San Diego doesn't cool down at night like the SF Bay Area does, so I ended up cranking down the tempurature a bit. I awoke at what seemed to be every hour, which is indication that I was a little hyped up for the race. I finally caught some z's that were rudely shut down by my mom's call at 4:15 AM. "Hi Honey...are you awake...ok...Don't go back to sleep now." Of course I did go back to sleep only because I had a second wake up call coming from the hotel at 4:30. Some times you need two, and those 15 extra minutes were wonderful.

I jumped out a bed finally and hit the shower. I put on all of my running gear and started taking the elevator down, so that I could make the 5 AM shuttle. I was starting from the 12th floor and the elevator stopped at every floor down to the lobby to pick up another runner or two. By the time we hit "L", we could hear some unsettling creaking.

Soon enough we were on the shuttle and I was staring like a zombie at the seat in front of me. Why are races always so early? My trance was broken by a girl sitting beside me, who asked, "Have you done a marathon before?". After letting her question break through the fog I was in, which was similar to all of the fog hovering around outside, I sheepishly replied, "I've done a few, actually. How about you?" "Yes it is", she replied, "Do you have any tips?" I said, "Don't let the adrenaline of being in a race make you go out too fast, or you'll pay for it. Walk through the aid stations. Make sure you're drinking. Pour water over your head." I just blurted everything out that came to mind. It turned out that 18 miles was her longest run to date, not having ever ventured further. I told her to be careful out there, because the mileage can catch with you in a hurry. We both memorized each other's bib numbers so that we could check up on each other.

After a trip to the port-a-potty, I entered Corale #1,which was just behind Corale E (elite), which was filled with lean, fast-looking runners. I wondered how I had found my way into this bunch, but them remembered that I had said would be going for a 3:15 time. Oh yeah.
A pace runner carried around a 3:10 sign and I warned myself to stay away from that group. There would be another race to catch that breed of runner.

The national anthem was sung by an African-American woman with a beautiful voice. About mid-way through the song I remembered to remove my hat, which is probably due less to lack of memory and more to lack of patriotism. I'm always torn between standing there with some semblance of respect and just standing there as the person I am. I'm not exactly proud to be an American, but perhaps that's a little too black and white.

An army sargeant said a few words to us, wishing us luck and so forth. A gun went off and soon afterwards, I was running. Here we go again.

The first mile came by at 7:37, which is a little slow, though the 3:10 group was only few steps away and there was no way in hell I was going pass them. The second came in at around 7:19, evening out to the pace I wanted to be at. I was starting out at just the right stride and felt like I was comfortabley holding back.


Probably turning point for me was after completing the 10th mile. I had forced myself to use the bathroom just before the mile 9 marker, just to give my legs a little rest and lighten my overhydrated load a bit. I came into mile 9 at 7:48, which wasn't a bad recovery, considering the break. But then I was surprised to see my mile 10 turn out a time of 7:32 after I thought I had pushed myself a little bit more. I was wondering if I was just having a bad day and was feeling discouraged, but then thought to myself that if I wanted to P.R., I had to take some risks. I had put in the training and had lost weight, so I was ready. I had to stop pampering my legs and give them some hell.

Mile 11 was the perfect mile to start, with a pretty good down hill. Crossing the marker, breathing a little heavier, I read 6:34 on my watch. Too fast, but it brought a smile to my face. Mile 12 was up hill and I rattled off a 7:40, which was good for the incline. I followed with a 7:13 into mile 13 and was sitting at 1:37:30 at the half way mark, an almost perfect half for what I was trying to do. I was making a race out of it.

Mile 14 was a solid 7:32, but the important thing was that I was feeling pretty good, which hadn't been the case in my few previous marathons. What would end up being a pleasant surprise was that I would I be under 7:30 for every remaining mile, except for mile 20, which was also at a respectable 7:32 (something special about that number?), afterwhich I got a little faster. All the hard work I had put in was paying off.

I cruised through the remaining miles, barely noticing them, just pushing as hard as I could. As I reached a sign that said "1/2 mile to go", I felt something that I hadn't felt in a race for a good while: Rage. I ran the remaining half with a furrowed brow and furious anger. I wanted blood. I knew that I would P.R., but I wanted to squeeze out every second I that I could. No one passed me in this last stretch as I went by runners that seemed to be almost standing still. I felt awesome.

I crossed the finish line at 3:14:24 and heard the P.A. blare out my name "Mark Taylor from Mountain View". P.R., everyone. Finally, after a few years, I had P.R'd again. What a wonderful feeling. I pumped my fist and walked over to receive my medal. I felt high.

Here's the breakdown of my splits (yes, I'm anal when it comes to tracking pace) :

Mile 1 7:37
Mile 2 7:19
Mile 3 7:23
Mile 4 7:01
Mile 5 7:18
Mile 6 7:35
Mile 7 7:27
Mile 8 7:32
Mile 9 7:48
Mile 10 7:33
Mile 11 6:34
Mile 12 7:40
Mile 13 7:13
Mile 14 7:32
Mile 15 7:21
Mile 16 7:19
Mile 17 7:28
Mile 18 7:29
Mile 19 7:26
Mile 20 7:32
Mile 21 7:23
Mile 22 7:23
Mile 23 7:24
Mile 24 7:25
Mile 25 7:29
Mile 26 7:26

I found what really helped me were the 5K markers that they put on the course. I put myself in the mindset that I was going to run 4 strong 10K's, which is what I did with these splits:

1st 10K: 45:45
2nd 10K: 46:15
3rd 10K: 46:06
4th 10K : 46:13

Like all P.R.'s that I've had in past marathons, I ran a very even race, which is going to be my prescription for future ones.

The rest of my time spent in San Diego included a well-deserved trip to Fudruckers, followed by a traffic jammed trip to the northwest part of San Diego, where I found a nice overlook of the beach. "Nice" might be over stating it a bit. I have to admit that the beach itself looked really ugly to me, being a bit overcrowded and with some sort of dried up seeweed-looking stuff splattered all over the place. They also had horse shoe stakes all along the shore with plenty of people using them. It just didn't have this peaceful, wide-open feel that I like on a beach.

The residential area above the beach was more to my liking. It reminded me of Santa Cruz, seeing a lot of simple homes and condos and people carrying a care-free attitude around with them, along with their beach towels and surf and boogie boards. It felt so much more relaxing than the sandy shore that was a few blocks below.

It wasn't too long before I was sitting on the plane back to San Jose, trying not to keep my aching leg muscles in one position for too long, otherwise they would have had to pry me out of my seat. It seemed like such a long time ago that I had pulled myself out of bed to put the wheels in motion for a marathon. Even with the proof of painful legs and my finisher medal in hand, there's something surreal about running one. Was I really out there?

So that was the San Diego Marathon. I'm extremely encouraged by my time and now I have my sites on Boston. After recovering for a month or so, I'll be ready to train hard again and have high hopes to trim off those few remaining (and challenging) minutes from my time and perhaps some more pounds from my physique (I still have a Krispy Kreme layer that could go :-)) There's some work to do, but I have a rendezvous with Boston.

Oh yeah, about the girl on the bus. She ended up ignoring my advice completely and just tore up most of the course, running at close to an 8 minute pace before crashing in the last 5 miles, which she did at 10 minute pace. Despite going out too fast, she qualified for Boston, coming in at 3:40 and change. Incredible. :-)

Movie Review: Brick

I'll be writing more about my trip to India, but in the mean time, I wanted to do a quick review on a movie I enjoyed recently called "Brick"

Brick is a fast-paced and mesmerizing journey taken on the coat tails of the main character Brendan, played by Joseph Gordon-Levitt (Yes, that Joseph Gordon-Levitt). The movie begins with Brendan in a catcher's stance, overlooking the limp body of his ex-girlfriend Emily who's found lying next to the shallow stream of an aquaduct that leads through a dark tunnel. The movie is much like this dark tunnel that Brendan moves through, covering suprises that leap out at him and the audience yet leaving much to the imagination as to what will happen next.

The movie's setting is in high school in a California-like area complete with coastal drives and ocean-splashed sunsets. Brendan is an outcast by preference who has distanced himself even further from the teenage society that he loathes after being dumped by Emily who has entered a shady counter culture ruled by sex, drugs and muscle.

He fearlessly returns to this world after receiving a cry for help from her on a pay phone, in the form of a confusing yet angst-filled conversation that is riddled with terms and characters that he must then decipher against the clock. Enlisting the help of his only apparent friend, a coke-bottle-glasses-wearing savant named "Brain", he follows a path that leads him from one seductress in the drug ring, another ex-girlfriend named Kara, to another named Laura as both girls perhaps represent the models that Emily aspires to be.

He trusts no one on his quest aside from his gifted side kick who provides him information on all of the the "players" in this deadly game that he joins in on. He takes multiple beatings and even an attempt on his life, narrowly dodging fatal blows and using his cunning to avoid a ticket out of the high drama that he has partaken in. Though Emily finds him disenchanting and refuses to recriprocate the feelings that he has for her, its these feelings that empower him in an environment that at first seems out of his league. Though he is by far the most clever character on the school campus and its shady outskirts, he must rely on his guts to move forward.

His progress takes him to "The Pin" a character played by Lukas Haas, one who is at the center of the ring and protected by a testosterone-filled and muscle-bound thug named "Tugger" played by Noah Fleiss. Both characters take Brendan into their inner circle as he avoids their suspicions, using his cool demeanor and quick-working intellect. He finds that Laura has also found her way into this same circle most likely by using similar traits along with her seductive charm. Brendan immediately finds her to be the most dangerous of the three as he understands his own lack of immunity against her sexual power.

The movie is beautifully done and filled with wonderful dialog, using some slang that will require some translation (I included a glossary provided through IMDB). I enjoyed the conversational warfare between Brendan and the bad guys as well the banter that he shares with the Brain. The words are very cleverly written and have somewhat of a rhythem to them. All of the main characters are intense and very intriguing. There's a great early scene in the movie in which Laura delivers a piano-accompanied soliloquy that's very easy on the ears (as she is on the eyes). I saw this movie twice, which gives you a sense of how much I enjoyed it.


Glossary:

Blow - to leave, depart
"Did she blow last night?"

Bulls-Cops; can also mean to turn over to the cops
"What first, tip the bulls?";"I bulled the rat".

Burg-Town, City
"He knows every twobit toker in the burg".

Copped-Stole
"She copped the junk"

Dose - To take drugs
"He dosed off the bad junk and it laid him out."

Duck Soup - Easy pickings

Gat - Gun

Heel - To walk away from (and show your heels to)
"I'm not heeling you to hook you".

Hop;Junk;Jake - Drugs

Pick - A ride in a car, (As in pick up)
'Did she get a pick?"

Reef Worm - A stoner (variation of reefer)
"he's a pot skulled reef worm with more hop in his head than blood."

Scape - a patsy to take the blame (scape goat)

Scrapped - Begged off of, cadged from
"Ask any dope rat where their junk sprang and they'll say they scraped it off..."

Shamus - A private detective

Shine - To wield (as with a weapon)
"He shines a blade"

Sprang - Orignated.
"His gat sprang from Tugger's gang."

Take a powder - To slip away
"Why'd you take a powder the other night?"

Yeg - guy
"They'd probably find some yeg to pin it on."

The never ending first weekend in India (final part)

Trust me, this weekend that I’ve been writing an inexhaustible amount on does have an ending. After our tour of the Hindu temple in Halebid, we headed to a neighboring town called Belur a place with the temple which supposedly is more beautiful on the inside. We arrived to more soap stone carvers, giving us the same lines that we had heard in Halebid. They must teach a class for these folks, letting them in on all of the tips and tricks for suckering the tourists into giving up some rupees for trinkets of questionable value. They got me in Halebid, I wasn’t budging in Belur, even though I have to admit that these trinkets looked a little nicer (damn it!).

Again we went through the same song and dance of removing our shoes and socks, this time a little more gingerly because our feet were cooked to at least medium rare. The temple was surrounded by a 15-20 foot stone wall, and centered inside a good-sized court yard. The distance from the shaded entrance to through this wall was quite daunting given the 4 PM sunshine baking the soap stone to a scalding temperature. We saw a red mat that led up to the temple, but there was still a lot of stone to cross and the mat didn’t offer that much relief. We basically ran to the mat, then skipped up the steps to the cool greeting that the inside of the temple offered.

I walked in one of the main entrances and was greeted by a seven-headed snake, a statue of one, that is. I was finding that snakes tend to be help up as sacred animals in the Hindu culture, which is a contrast to the Christian, which equates this creature to Satan. In fact I’ve heard that a lot of cultures hold a snake in high regards, perhaps because of its seemingly dual nature. It has the ability to move like water, yet its tongue draws analogies to fire. Even if you look at the symbol of the medical profession, its two snakes wrapped around a staff.

I have to admit that I didn’t pay the inside of the temple much mind, given that I was dragging a bit at the time and it was actually pretty dark in there. Even after standing for a while, my eyes couldn’t quite adjust to the light (or lack thereof), making it difficult to see what was going on in there. A tour guide that appeared to speaking in Hindi perhaps was shining a Bat-signal-like spot light on some areas of the temple. I wish I knew what he was saying.

The outside of the temple was much like the one I had seen in Halebid, with layers of animals representing respected qualities of human and animal kind. Again I was distracted by my baking feet, which were probably moving on to medium, with medium-well not too far away. I was ready to get to back into the air-conditioned car with my shoes and socks back on.

The ride back home had most of us in a trance with heavy eyelids. We stopped a truck stop called “Kamat”, which is apparently a chain in the area. It wasn’t quite like an American truck stop. It didn’t have a bar, or bake potato special or any travel-worn truckers to speak of. It was actually a nice little sit-down restaurant with about 8 people ready to serve us (ok, it was more like 3). We had the paneer tikki masala and some naan, which turned out to be pretty good. We saw a couple families come in for dinner after us. It just didn’t have that trucker feel to it, not that I minded.

And so that was Saturday…Sunday was a little more relaxed, with golf being the only thing on the agenda. I had made some reservations at Eagleton golf club at the advice of an IBM co-worker back in California. He told me I could play 18 with a cart, a caddie and a seven-course meal for around 40 bucks. He was just about right on that. That’s about what it costed me, though we had to settle for a lamb burger at the club house after getting through 18.

Speaking of those 18, what a beautiful course. After driving through the dry geography of southern India, it was nice to be able to see some green grass, fir trees and little ponds (though they also serve as water hazards). The course was a little longer than average length, with plenty of fairway to play in. It still didn’t prevent me from losing a few balls, which kinda pisses me off now because the ones I lost had “Eagleton Golf Club” printed on them. I still have the other ones I purchased which are just some “EV” brand.

It took me a while to get used to having a caddie. We had one for each cart, of which we had two, for the four of us. The caddies road standing up, hanging onto the back. I kept putting my own clubs back and reaching for the next one as my caddie, a 21-year-old named Ravi, shook his head and kept saying, “Let me do that sir” (man I hate being called “sir” – makes me sound old!). The kid claimed to have a 2 handicap, which is excellent, and I believed him. He gave me a lot of instruction that improved some of my shots and he seemed to read the green very well. He was brutally honest with me though when I had some tough holes, saying, “You’re not playing so well right now”. Thanks Ravi.

The temperature rose to a scorching 103, making some of the irons in my bag a little hot actually (first time I’ve seen that). But it was a dry heat and I liked it. It reminded me of playing in Las Vegas with a bachelor party. Everyone else seemed to be losing steam as we played, but I just kept pounding water and wore a hat and plenty of sun screen. I felt great.

Probably the prettiest area of the course was one with the goddess Shiva in the back ground. One of the holes (maybe 15 or 16), I’d call the signature hole. It had Shiva way off to the left and a beautiful dog-legged 5-par strolling right into it. It’s also where I probably hit my best shot, a 4-wood (that’s the biggest lefty club they had) I blasted it about 250 yards. The great shots were few and far between, but I liked that one.

We finished up and rewarded our loyal caddies with a good chunk of rupees (600 or so, each). I wondered what they usually made. I also wondered what the future held for them. I got the impression that Ravi wanted to be a professional, which is a one-in-a-million type of move. Would he still be a caddie there if I returned to that same course in 10, 20 years? If he could live off of the tips and money he made there, which is probably pretty slim, it wouldn’t be a bad life.

As promised, the weekend did end…I finished up Sunday with a jump into the hotel’s pool on the roof, which was actually a lot of fun. The view included the IBM and Microsoft buildings, which are talked about in the beginning of the book, “The World is Flat”, still something I need to finish.

I say that about a lot of books…and writing. ;-)

Weekend in India (part 2)

Let me begin this post by finishing up on last weekend. I was leaving the town of Srvana Begola, having visited the world's largest monolith, feeling like I had seen something pretty cool already. Rhagu wasn't happy when we entered the car, saying that we were a half hour behind. Who hired who? Regardless, the point he was trying to make is that we ain't seen nothing yet. This wasn't the main course.

We continued our travels to Halebid, to visit the Holysaleshvara Temple (say that 3 times fast). We continued on through a few towns, some of them somewhat modern looking. I say "somewhat" because I continued to see sections of what I would classify as something just a notch above a ghost town. Without the people walking around and inside these dilapitated, shack-like store fronts, I'd take them for abandoned. However, where my use of "modern" comes in, is that not too far away from these straw-man shops, I'd see beautiful, glass-windowed businesses. Sure they still had a dirt walk way up to them, but they looked just as nice as most small town, American stores. What was interesting is that most if not all of these places that seemed to have 99% of the town's investment in them were selling motor cycles and scooters. I guess the market for these two wheelers must be practically larger than life in some areas. I did happen to see a fair amount of bill boards in Bangalore, showcasing motorcycles as well. If you want to be cool in this country, you'd better own one.

As we came through Halebid and into the rural outskirts of it, I noticed several people breaking up rock into big piles, using wimpy-looking sledge hammers and other primitive-looking implements. They were not just men, but also women in bright-colored saris, breaking their backs in the sweltering heat. My only guess was the rock would serve as the foundation for the dirt road we were traveling on. It seems that they're building this country one swing at at time, using whatever players are available.

A large temple came into view. We saw several men by a fence and small open gate, with a dirt area that served as a parking lot. Rhagu casted them a glance as one of them raised their hand and gestured for us to park. He ignored their invitation at first, continuing to drive, but we eventually ran into a dead end in the form a large locked gate. We U-turned and decided to take up the man's offer to park afterall.

Again before leaving the car we were surrounded by post-card vendors and this time, soap stone craftsmen, who had carved up mostly small stone elephant figures, a representation of Genesh, one of the Hindu gods. "5 rupees mister, please...Look at these carvings. This took me 3 days to carve. What will you give me for it?". I put my hands in the air as they followed me through the small gate. "How about later?"..."Maybe"..."Great, my name is...".



After dealing with the vendors, we made our way down a dirt path towards the temple, snapping some pictures of two statues that flanked our way. The one on the left appeared to be one of a horse and warrior. The one on the right was of Ganesha, part man and elephant.

We came to the temple's shoe depository. Again we would need to tour with our bare feet, which would prove to be quite a challenge as the hot sun began to bake the dirt and the soap stone that we would walk upon. It only took a few steps up the stairs before I could feel a blister form on my right foot. My soles were getting cooked.

We entered the temple to find darkness. There was no artificial light used inside, which caused me to think that they had to have at least used candle light. A young woman in a blue sari approached and asked if we wanted a tour. She had a name tag with something official written beneath, like "Government of Karnataka". She said the tour would cost 200 rupees (~ 5 bucks) and we agreed. How can you beat that?

She told us that this temple in Halebid was known for its beauty on the outside, wheras the temple in Belur was vice versa. There were a few fenced off door ways that she took us to, with small rooms used as shrines. Inside was what looked like a decorated drum. She claimed these were idols, representing Shiva. We couldn't tell if these were the idols themselves or if the idols were underneath, protected from whatever elements there were. We didn't get a chance to ask as she continued on.

Moving outside of the temple, back onto the scorching surface, we quickly moved to a red matted carpet, which absorbed much less of the heat. It circled the temple that we would walk around, but contained several gaps that we would have to run across to avoid being burned too badly. Desipite the hot feet, the weather felt pretty comfortable to me. It was a very dry heat.



Our tour guide continued to point out the various features and carvings on the outside of this hindu temple. The amount of detail in her words and on the temple itself was mind boggling. Each character or group of characters told a story as we wound ourselves around the beautifully ornate building.






Like a lot of Hindu temples we've seen, you typically see layers of the same carvings starting from the bottom (right). The very bottom was composed of elephants, supposedly 1428 of them in all. They symbolized stability. The next layer consisted of lions, symbolizing courage and in the next we saw the horses, which symbolize beauty. The next layers were varying in their characters, often displaying some story, such as a war or a god getting out of some predicament, like Shiva going inside of an elephant to avoid being killed by it (left).

As we continued the tour around the building the soles of feet were cooking to a nice consistency. It become a ritual to brace ourselves for the red hot surface as we ran from old rug ending to new rug beginning, which was some times 6-7 running steps away. At certain points, even the rug itself was practically unbearable to stand on as the sun was unrelelentingly blaring down upon us. Our tour guide asked us if she was boring us, to which I said, "No, this is wonderful". Our attention was diverted by the heat.




My ears perked up though, when she mentioned a section which depicted a battle with Arjuna (bow-carrying guy, above). I've read a little about him in a yoga book I have. He's the main character of an important Hindu text, The Bhagavad Gita. He basically plays a warrior hero who is faced with the quandry of going into battle against men who are his friends and even his relatives. The Hindu god Krishna offers to be his charioteer (cab driver) in the battle, but ends up being much more as he takes him on a magical ride of self discovery. An American book which resembles the Bhagavad Gita is "The Legend of Bagger Vance", which is about a golfer named Runulph Junah (R. Junah) who is pushed by his home town to take part in a gold tourmament against two golf greats, Walter Hagen and Bobby Jones. I definitely enjoyed the read and highly recommend it. If you've seen the movie, that's not enough. The book is different and hundered million times better.

I'm missing a lot of the details of the tour, but the final stretch of it brought us to a section of the temple dedicated to the Karma Sutra, another Hindu text that's mainly known for the sexual positions it depicts. Our guide told us that this section was not meant to just depict a holy Hindu text, but was also meant to be educational. As my eyes passed over this scholastic wall, I found it pretty funny to think of couples approaching it to get some ideas of what they'd be trying out that night. :-)

We completed our circle around the star-shaped Hindu temple and took a b-line to our shoes. The baked bottoms of our feet were well done. We gladly paid the care taker a few rupees for them and quickly laced up. We then took a bit of a walk about the grounds, taking in a pretty view of a lake that stood nearby.

We left the grounds, battling soap stone trinkets held in front of our faces as we scanned the area for Rhagu. The salesmanship intensified as we drew nearer to the saftey of our car and their desparation heightened. "How much would you give me for these three?", one of them said. I had know idea what to say, so I thought a bit of what was in my wallet and said, "200 rupees?" "The person who asked sighed deeply, feigning the look of being deeply insulted. "I worked on this for 3 days". I entered the car and he put his arm, with the trinkets into door. "I'm going to have to shut the door", I said. "Ok, 300!"...and like a sucker, I dished it out. Sale closed.



Tidbits

One thing that is driving me nuts when I go to a restaurant, even the one in the hotel, is that waiters (and I mean plural) hover around you, watching your every move. As soon as put down a glass or a fork, they are right there filling it up or putting more food from the serving dish onto your plate. It's almost as if every resturant has hired a few too many waiters, because I don't think it's just the fact that they want to provide unbelieveable service, I think it has do with the fact that these guys have nothing to do. They just stand there, waiting to be useful. When I go to breakfast in the morning and find a table, someone is there waiting to pull my chair out for me. When I go to get my cereal from the little buffet table, someone insists on pouring milk into my bowl for me. This isn't all of the time, but if you give these guys enough time to figure out what you're going to do, they're all over it. I feel like saying, "why don't you go lie down in the back and I'll let you know when I'm done"

HOT HOT HOT...so the other night, I went out venturing with Mike to Nhandi, a restaurant he had tried with a local IBMer and enjoyed. It was actually pretty fun to take a walk there because one, I generally get driven everywhere and two, there was a neat little street we went down that was filled with shops and these obscure looking little restaurant/bars with food items pictured on their surrounding walls that we had no idea what they were. But anyway, I digress...So we go to Nhandi, this semi-upscale looking place, where they have like 5 waiters per table (no exaggeration) ready to blow your nose for you. We look at the menu and have no idea what these things are, but decide on some prawn dish and these "fried crispy corn" things (sound harmless, which they were). So we order, and the waiter says, "You need to order a gravy dish too, those two are both dry"..."How about this one...is it spicy?"...."Yes, very spicey"..."Ok, pick one for us that's not"..."Let's try this one". So they bring us our orders and lop it all on our plates. We get through the corn and prawns ok, though the prawns tasted a little funky. But then we get to the gravy dish,which is this chunk of vegetables drowned in this orange curry sauce and garnished with these long, hot red peppers that I know not to eat. So I take a few bites, and it's right at my tolerable limit for spiciness...I feel a little sweat, maybe the sinuses acting up, but not bad. Then I take a bite into this green bean and all hell breaks loose, inside of my mouth that is. I imagining smoke coming out my ears as this happened. So I take some water, which makes it worse, and I'm thinking, "No way am I going to swallow this thing." So I get up and go the bathroom to spit it out. But I get to the bathroom and the #2 area (can't call it a toilet, because they just had a hole) door is closed. There is no garbage can and they have no paper towels. I'm screwed. So ended up using the only thing I could use, which was the urinal. Sorry Nhandi, but you're gonna find a wad of bean next to the urinal cake. Enjoy.