I got my first taste of real competition in the spring of 1982 at an indoor track meet in the Wausau West High School fieldhouse. I ran the 400 meters, or maybe it was 440 yards.
It did not go well.
I spent the night before worrying, with my stomach trying to turn itself inside out. I was almost trembling with fear as I toed the starting line. The gun went off and within the blink of an eye I was 20 yards behind my competitors, and I spend the next minute and 15 seconds experiencing acute physical and psychic pain.
I crossed the finish line not just last, but a spirit-crushing, crying into-your-pillow-at-night, I-can't-believe-how-slow-I-am kind of last. It is a testament to my stubbornness and masochism that I didn't quit track that day. But it also might be a testament to my stupidity, as well, because I was last in every single subsequent track race I entered, for the next three seasons.
Except for one.
It was a cold and rainy spring day in 1984 in Colby, and we were in a meet with two other teams. I can't remember where they were from. But it was an atrocious day to be outside, and the officials, in order to save time, decided to run boys and girls together in the mile race. Usually, the girls would run first, then the boys.
My ineptness as a track runner was surpassed by only one other quality: Sexism. I got to the starting line thinking to myself, "I cannot be beaten by a girl."
As the gun went off, I sprinted to the front of the pack, making sure that no one female was in front of my. As we headed around the first curve, one of my female teammates, a leggy miler named Bridget, tried to get in front of me, but I surged ahead of her, and kept on going.
That race was one of fear and determination, and my legs, instead of feeling leaden and dead, felt lively and strong, and I just ran and ran. I crossed the line in 5:04 for the mile. A mediocre performance by all standards, but wildly, incredibly fast for me. My regular times were 5:40 to 5:30.
I never ran that fast again.
As I've gotten a lot older, and have been beaten by girls, women and old ladies, I have dropped my caveman perspective toward female athletes. But more importantly, I have matured into a whole new attitude toward competition. I still get nervous before races, but I'm not really out to beat anyone. To me, we're all on the same team, and we're all there to help each other get the most out of ourselves. The competition is simply a catalyst for achievement.
And that's how I've come to view the Great Blog Showdown I've entered with my nephews Mark and Luke. It's not the winning or losing, it's that we're pushing each other to be better, more thoughtful bloggers and writers. It's about excellence.
That said, I've got to point out that I'm kicking their asses. Mark is several posts behind me, gasping for air. Luke, well, Luke is just pathetic when it comes to the Great Blog Showdown. All I can do at this point is look behind me, and see them choking in my dust. And it feels good.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
A photographer's lament
The title to this post is misleading. It's not a photographer's lament. It's my lament. And I'm not a photographer, although I occasionally take pictures.
More often, though, I wish I could (or would) have taken a picture. Such a situation occurred a couple of weeks ago.
I was running early in the morning -- pre-daylight-saving time change -- as the sun was coming up in the east. This is my favorite time to run, because the rising sun represents hope and the feeling that all things are possible, and I need to be reminded of both as much as possible.
By design, virtually all of my runs end along a street of quiet neighborhood street that overlooks Lake Wausau, and across the stretch of water, Rib Mountain. They are both pretty.
On this day, they were particularly pretty. As I said before, this was early, even more earlier than usual, and the first half of the run was predawn, and the sun was just blinking on the horizon when I reached this stretch of road. As I gazed across the water, a full moon planted itself just above Rib Mountain, and a ring of red from the sun colored the horizon where earth meets sky. It was astounding. It was breathtaking.
At one time on this planet of ours, people similar to us gazed up at the sky and made it their entertainment. They tracked the movements of the sun and the stars and made up stories around the pictures they saw above them. They were entranced by the flow of our universe, and found solace in its workings, even if they didn't understand them. When I saw the moon there, the red of the light, and the faint stars above, I felt a kinship with those forebears, and was jealous of them.
At that point, I thought to myself, I wish I could take a picture of this. And I vowed to bring a camera with me the next day.
The next day I didn't get up as early, and it was quite bright out by the time I made to the Lake Wausau overlook. The moon wasn't full anymore, but it still was kind of full. It wasn't as big as it was the day before, either. And it wasn't situated right above the mountain, but it was slightly askew. It was like this:
Damn you universe! You ruined my shot.
More often, though, I wish I could (or would) have taken a picture. Such a situation occurred a couple of weeks ago.
I was running early in the morning -- pre-daylight-saving time change -- as the sun was coming up in the east. This is my favorite time to run, because the rising sun represents hope and the feeling that all things are possible, and I need to be reminded of both as much as possible.
By design, virtually all of my runs end along a street of quiet neighborhood street that overlooks Lake Wausau, and across the stretch of water, Rib Mountain. They are both pretty.
On this day, they were particularly pretty. As I said before, this was early, even more earlier than usual, and the first half of the run was predawn, and the sun was just blinking on the horizon when I reached this stretch of road. As I gazed across the water, a full moon planted itself just above Rib Mountain, and a ring of red from the sun colored the horizon where earth meets sky. It was astounding. It was breathtaking.
At one time on this planet of ours, people similar to us gazed up at the sky and made it their entertainment. They tracked the movements of the sun and the stars and made up stories around the pictures they saw above them. They were entranced by the flow of our universe, and found solace in its workings, even if they didn't understand them. When I saw the moon there, the red of the light, and the faint stars above, I felt a kinship with those forebears, and was jealous of them.
At that point, I thought to myself, I wish I could take a picture of this. And I vowed to bring a camera with me the next day.
The next day I didn't get up as early, and it was quite bright out by the time I made to the Lake Wausau overlook. The moon wasn't full anymore, but it still was kind of full. It wasn't as big as it was the day before, either. And it wasn't situated right above the mountain, but it was slightly askew. It was like this:
Damn you universe! You ruined my shot.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Setting the bar low
So I ran my first race on Saturday, a 5-kilometer jaunt through the heart of Wausau.
I really didn't want to run this race. I had all sorts of excuses. I haven't been running enough lately. The runs I have been doing have been agonizing slow. I'm not in shape to waste $20 on an activity that will end in embarrassment, pain and low self-esteem. I always figure I can do all that for free.
But this race had a lot going for it. It was sponsored by Wausau's Bull Falls Brewery so I knew there would be beer at the end of it. I told myself that this would be basically a ramped up workout. There would be beer. My boss was walking, and I knew some of the others who would be there, so it would be a social thing. There would be beer. I could run it slow, and use it as a measuring stick for the rest of the season. And, there would be beer.
The money raised from the run also went to a good cause, a program called Never Forgotten Honor Flight. Honor Flight flies World War II veterans from the Wausau area, free of charge, to the World War II memorial in Washington D.C. And, there would be beer.
About running it slow. It's been more than a year since I participated in anything competitive. So I really had no idea where I was, fitness wise. A person needs to be pushed to see where his limits are, and I hadn't been pushed in any meaningful running way since ... well, I couldn't remember. But I do have a benchmark for this year. I'm thinking I may particularly want to focus on 5-kilometer races in order to make my (slightly insane) goal of running as fast as I did in high school. My idea was that this race would be the starting point. If I ran it slow, I figured, I would at least be able to see some improvement in my performances through the summer, even if I never get close to those high school times. It's my typical goal-setting strategy. Set the bar low.
About the beer. I am not a heavy drinker, although I on occasions enjoy beer, red wine, gin and tonics or expensive scotch. I've found the most satisfying time to indulge is shortly after exerting myself physically. The tiredness from a run or a bike mixes pleasantly with the effects of the alcohol. When I am in this state, one beer brings forth an incredibly deep feeling of relaxation and contentment, while setting off a very pleasant fizzy feeling in my head. I'm not drunk. It's much, much better. So I love, love, love runs which end with beer. And I must say, the beer at Bull Falls Brewery is particularly good.
So I started the run at what I felt to be a very casual, conversational pace. The great pack, at least 250 runners, were strung out in front of me. When I passed the mile mark painted on the street, I told myself, "Don't look at the watch, don't look at the watch."
I looked at the watch: 9 minutes. Ooo, I thought, that's a bit too fast. I didn't feel that fast. (Fast, of course, is relative. 9 minutes per mile is slow, of course. But I was aiming for 10 minutes per mile. So it was fast.) I told myself, hey, slow it down a bit. So I relaxed, and seemed to cut back on the throttle by a little.
Mile Two: "Don't look at the watch, don't look at the watch." Of course, I looked at the watch. It was almost 18 minutes on the head. Wow, I thought. That's kind of interesting. By this time I was feeling the effects of the pace, and my breathing was kind of hard. With about a half mile to go, I felt that old "my stomach is trying to crawl into my throat" feeling. But I kept going.
Mile Three: 27 minutes, almost on the button. I cruised the last tenth of mile to the finish line and looked at the watch. 27:48.
Now that's a long, long, long way off my goal of 21. And it's a good 10 minutes behind the winner. But when you run 3 minutes faster than what you expect, you feel pretty good.
It all made the Bull Falls bock taste better, and I stood there with some friends and enjoyed the fizzy feeling in my head.
Now, of course, I'll have to beat that time next time.
I really didn't want to run this race. I had all sorts of excuses. I haven't been running enough lately. The runs I have been doing have been agonizing slow. I'm not in shape to waste $20 on an activity that will end in embarrassment, pain and low self-esteem. I always figure I can do all that for free.
But this race had a lot going for it. It was sponsored by Wausau's Bull Falls Brewery so I knew there would be beer at the end of it. I told myself that this would be basically a ramped up workout. There would be beer. My boss was walking, and I knew some of the others who would be there, so it would be a social thing. There would be beer. I could run it slow, and use it as a measuring stick for the rest of the season. And, there would be beer.
The money raised from the run also went to a good cause, a program called Never Forgotten Honor Flight. Honor Flight flies World War II veterans from the Wausau area, free of charge, to the World War II memorial in Washington D.C. And, there would be beer.
About running it slow. It's been more than a year since I participated in anything competitive. So I really had no idea where I was, fitness wise. A person needs to be pushed to see where his limits are, and I hadn't been pushed in any meaningful running way since ... well, I couldn't remember. But I do have a benchmark for this year. I'm thinking I may particularly want to focus on 5-kilometer races in order to make my (slightly insane) goal of running as fast as I did in high school. My idea was that this race would be the starting point. If I ran it slow, I figured, I would at least be able to see some improvement in my performances through the summer, even if I never get close to those high school times. It's my typical goal-setting strategy. Set the bar low.
About the beer. I am not a heavy drinker, although I on occasions enjoy beer, red wine, gin and tonics or expensive scotch. I've found the most satisfying time to indulge is shortly after exerting myself physically. The tiredness from a run or a bike mixes pleasantly with the effects of the alcohol. When I am in this state, one beer brings forth an incredibly deep feeling of relaxation and contentment, while setting off a very pleasant fizzy feeling in my head. I'm not drunk. It's much, much better. So I love, love, love runs which end with beer. And I must say, the beer at Bull Falls Brewery is particularly good.
So I started the run at what I felt to be a very casual, conversational pace. The great pack, at least 250 runners, were strung out in front of me. When I passed the mile mark painted on the street, I told myself, "Don't look at the watch, don't look at the watch."
I looked at the watch: 9 minutes. Ooo, I thought, that's a bit too fast. I didn't feel that fast. (Fast, of course, is relative. 9 minutes per mile is slow, of course. But I was aiming for 10 minutes per mile. So it was fast.) I told myself, hey, slow it down a bit. So I relaxed, and seemed to cut back on the throttle by a little.
Mile Two: "Don't look at the watch, don't look at the watch." Of course, I looked at the watch. It was almost 18 minutes on the head. Wow, I thought. That's kind of interesting. By this time I was feeling the effects of the pace, and my breathing was kind of hard. With about a half mile to go, I felt that old "my stomach is trying to crawl into my throat" feeling. But I kept going.
Mile Three: 27 minutes, almost on the button. I cruised the last tenth of mile to the finish line and looked at the watch. 27:48.
Now that's a long, long, long way off my goal of 21. And it's a good 10 minutes behind the winner. But when you run 3 minutes faster than what you expect, you feel pretty good.
It all made the Bull Falls bock taste better, and I stood there with some friends and enjoyed the fizzy feeling in my head.
Now, of course, I'll have to beat that time next time.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Milwaukee
Whirlwind weekend in Milwaukee:
** Overnighting in The Pfister Hotel, and feeling like a rube when asking the valet whether I have to pay him to park the Toyota Matrix. The answer is yes, $35. I parked it myself for $25. Riding in the elevator with two men who I presume were Cleveland Cavaliers, who played the Bucks later that night.
** Eating a Serbian dinner at the Three Brothers Restaurant in the Bay View neighborhood. A half order of chevapchichi (Serbian beef sausauges served with raw onions and tomato) and a half order of chicken paprikash (a bone-in chicken breast simmered in a sweet paprika sauce served with a potato dumpling). Washed down with a Czech beer and ending with a small cup of sweet/strong Serbian style coffee. Sitting at '50s style tables in old converted bar. Awesome.
** Attending a concert by The Avett Brothers, a North Carolina band that blasted out bluegrass/punk at the Riverside Theater. Loved it. (Although I worried about the kid passed out in the second row.)
** Getting entralled by 18th-century German art and Biedermeier style furniture at the Milwaukee Art Museum. (And man, to I love that building, with its wings sweeping over Lake Michigan.)
All thanks to Mark and Jen. Whenever I am with them, I am dragged out of my rut and my vision widens.
** Overnighting in The Pfister Hotel, and feeling like a rube when asking the valet whether I have to pay him to park the Toyota Matrix. The answer is yes, $35. I parked it myself for $25. Riding in the elevator with two men who I presume were Cleveland Cavaliers, who played the Bucks later that night.
** Eating a Serbian dinner at the Three Brothers Restaurant in the Bay View neighborhood. A half order of chevapchichi (Serbian beef sausauges served with raw onions and tomato) and a half order of chicken paprikash (a bone-in chicken breast simmered in a sweet paprika sauce served with a potato dumpling). Washed down with a Czech beer and ending with a small cup of sweet/strong Serbian style coffee. Sitting at '50s style tables in old converted bar. Awesome.
** Attending a concert by The Avett Brothers, a North Carolina band that blasted out bluegrass/punk at the Riverside Theater. Loved it. (Although I worried about the kid passed out in the second row.)
** Getting entralled by 18th-century German art and Biedermeier style furniture at the Milwaukee Art Museum. (And man, to I love that building, with its wings sweeping over Lake Michigan.)
All thanks to Mark and Jen. Whenever I am with them, I am dragged out of my rut and my vision widens.
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