It's a Long, Long Way...
I did it. I was in motion for 2 hours, 41 minutes, 26 seconds. I took a number of short breaks, bringing my out-of-the-house time to 3-plus hours, one to empty dirt from my right shoe, one to use the porta-potty, one to grab a Gatorade at the Sea Breeze market, one to lie on a bench and do 35 crunches. I am crediting myself with 14 miles, which is positing 11.5-minute miles. Chances are my pace was actually better than that, but I don’t want to overestimate my distance.
This run was harder than the 12-miler. I awoke with my heart rate at 54 bpm, 5 or 6 beats faster than normal. I know I was anxious. I consumed my usual pre-run breakfast, the one that usually gets my plumbing moving but doesn’t get me too jacked up. Miniwheats with a scoop of All-Bran and a couple of teaspoonfuls of wheat germ, along with two slices of melon and a couple of prunes (hey, they’re good!), a half-glass of o.j., two cups of coffee made 3 parts decaf to 1 part caf. And an 8-ounce glass of water for dessert.
I headed out the door around 10:15 a.m. Ran down to the Berkeley marina, then south along the Bay Trail to Emeryville, where I circled that marina. As I waited for the light on Powell Street to change, a guy came up next to me and offered to “coach” me for a minute—informed me that he’d been watching me run and thought if I’d land on my heels and roll forward, rather than landing flat-footed, I’d “have to work less.” I must have looked at him as if I thought he was being rather rude (I did), as he said, “Just think about it. I’m not trying to mess up your stride or anything.” I told him there was no danger of that because it’s an old stride. I didn’t add, “it’s been around too long to change for the likes of you,” but I didn’t. The encounter at least gave me something to think about for the next few miles. I was only at about mile four when this happened, so I still had plenty of time left to think.
Along the path along the Emeryville shoreline were many Chinese families, the little children all dressed beautifully in celebration of the Chinese New Year, which begins today. It’s the Year of the Dog—I was born in a year of the dog!—and an auspicious day. Yet something else to think about.
What does one think while doing the old left-right for 2 1/2 hours? I can tell you there is nothing like an endurance activity like this to yank the old brain right out of the realm of the theoretical and into “be here now” mode. Early on I was thinking about subjects like the source of happiness, the meaning of generosity and honesty, and on and on like that. Also about music, about money, about my old friend Janet, whom I got together with last night after some 15 years of not being in touch.
Then, somewhere around mile 6, I started thinking about my feet. Why were my shoes full of sand, and how long would it take that sand to grind the bottoms of my feet feel like sandpaper? How badly compressed was the midsole material of my Sauconys at this, about mile 300 in their life? How many of the toenails on my right foot (the larger of the two, the one that always feels squished) would be leaving their nailbeds before the day was over? How much hotter were my soles going to get? How much hotter COULD they get?
I headed back from Emeryville, still on the Bay Trail. I ran north, all the way to Gilman, where I headed east. I passed a guy standing at the bottom of the freeway ramp and holding a cardboard sign soliciting money. I had just broken my 5-dollar bill on a Gatorade, so I gave him a couple of ones. “I’m not a car,” I said, “but....” and I handed him the money without breaking stride. It was a continuation of my earlier thoughts on generosity. I am so rich. So blessed. What could it hurt to part with a couple of bucks. I doubt anyone stands at the bottom of a freeway ramp because he is running some elaborate scam. More likely he’s in need.
I ran up Gilman, across the tracks, and cut over to Harrison Street, then slogged through University Village and over on Jackson to Solano. From there it was up to the BART path, north to Portland Street, where a U-turn took me back along the Ohlone Greenway all the way across Hopkins, Rose, Cedar—and up to McGee, where I headed south and home. My mind never did feel hideous; that is to say, I felt pretty energetic and cognizant for the whole run. But my feet were sore. By mile 13, staying in motion was a damn chore. I was happy to get home and make myself a giant peanut butter and jam sandwich on a whole-wheat bagel! After stretching, of course.
So. It’s done. The next big one is in two weeks: 15 miles.
This run was harder than the 12-miler. I awoke with my heart rate at 54 bpm, 5 or 6 beats faster than normal. I know I was anxious. I consumed my usual pre-run breakfast, the one that usually gets my plumbing moving but doesn’t get me too jacked up. Miniwheats with a scoop of All-Bran and a couple of teaspoonfuls of wheat germ, along with two slices of melon and a couple of prunes (hey, they’re good!), a half-glass of o.j., two cups of coffee made 3 parts decaf to 1 part caf. And an 8-ounce glass of water for dessert.
I headed out the door around 10:15 a.m. Ran down to the Berkeley marina, then south along the Bay Trail to Emeryville, where I circled that marina. As I waited for the light on Powell Street to change, a guy came up next to me and offered to “coach” me for a minute—informed me that he’d been watching me run and thought if I’d land on my heels and roll forward, rather than landing flat-footed, I’d “have to work less.” I must have looked at him as if I thought he was being rather rude (I did), as he said, “Just think about it. I’m not trying to mess up your stride or anything.” I told him there was no danger of that because it’s an old stride. I didn’t add, “it’s been around too long to change for the likes of you,” but I didn’t. The encounter at least gave me something to think about for the next few miles. I was only at about mile four when this happened, so I still had plenty of time left to think.
Along the path along the Emeryville shoreline were many Chinese families, the little children all dressed beautifully in celebration of the Chinese New Year, which begins today. It’s the Year of the Dog—I was born in a year of the dog!—and an auspicious day. Yet something else to think about.
What does one think while doing the old left-right for 2 1/2 hours? I can tell you there is nothing like an endurance activity like this to yank the old brain right out of the realm of the theoretical and into “be here now” mode. Early on I was thinking about subjects like the source of happiness, the meaning of generosity and honesty, and on and on like that. Also about music, about money, about my old friend Janet, whom I got together with last night after some 15 years of not being in touch.
Then, somewhere around mile 6, I started thinking about my feet. Why were my shoes full of sand, and how long would it take that sand to grind the bottoms of my feet feel like sandpaper? How badly compressed was the midsole material of my Sauconys at this, about mile 300 in their life? How many of the toenails on my right foot (the larger of the two, the one that always feels squished) would be leaving their nailbeds before the day was over? How much hotter were my soles going to get? How much hotter COULD they get?
I headed back from Emeryville, still on the Bay Trail. I ran north, all the way to Gilman, where I headed east. I passed a guy standing at the bottom of the freeway ramp and holding a cardboard sign soliciting money. I had just broken my 5-dollar bill on a Gatorade, so I gave him a couple of ones. “I’m not a car,” I said, “but....” and I handed him the money without breaking stride. It was a continuation of my earlier thoughts on generosity. I am so rich. So blessed. What could it hurt to part with a couple of bucks. I doubt anyone stands at the bottom of a freeway ramp because he is running some elaborate scam. More likely he’s in need.
I ran up Gilman, across the tracks, and cut over to Harrison Street, then slogged through University Village and over on Jackson to Solano. From there it was up to the BART path, north to Portland Street, where a U-turn took me back along the Ohlone Greenway all the way across Hopkins, Rose, Cedar—and up to McGee, where I headed south and home. My mind never did feel hideous; that is to say, I felt pretty energetic and cognizant for the whole run. But my feet were sore. By mile 13, staying in motion was a damn chore. I was happy to get home and make myself a giant peanut butter and jam sandwich on a whole-wheat bagel! After stretching, of course.
So. It’s done. The next big one is in two weeks: 15 miles.
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