Hot Run in the Summertime

Run, Karla, Run

First five-mile trot in six months. Even in the early morning, it was still sweltering. Given all the people, dogs, strollers, joggers, runners, an occasional cyclist, and an actual horse on the horse trails it was splendid training for the crowded streets of a race.

If we ever have one again. 

Didn't time myself, focusing on running lightly and relaxed. Afterwards, I took a pair of salt tablets and wrote all day on a longish short story. 

 

Running Update and Pink Cataract

greatruns.com

 So rare, but I will report even though there's not much going on other than consistency. (I suppose that's something.) I am consistently running three days a week. One of my favorite spots in Griffith Park is overrun with unemployed runners, walkers, and dog-walkers. Filthy grandma-killers! (Notice I choose an image uncluttered by humanity, save for a solo Everyman.)

Last month's post mentioned my general aversion to virtual races. (There's no reason everyone can't qualify for Boston this year.) I also allowed that I might run a marathon with volunteer witnesses. However, my training could be curtailed once more for medical reasons. This time it's cataracts.

They've been around awhile, I never noticed anything until recently when my computer screen seemed a bit murky, obscuring certain naked Russian girls important story point. Rather than procrastinate until I'm wandering around with a tin cup and a cane, I'll attend to matters now. Unless something goes horribly wrong, I doubt there will be a book on this procedure. At least, I hope so.

Another Story Du Jour coming soon.

Grizzly Golfer

Griffith Park Wilson-Harding Golf Course

Surreal experience today at Griffith Park.

First off, excellent seven mile-run this afternoon on the bridal trails that encircle the golf course. Relaxed, practicing my various chi running focuses, finished strong. Then I begin my post-run stretches.

To better understand matters, there is a grassy area where I was stretching. Then a low concrete rail fence. Beyond that, the dirt bridle trail. Then a six-foot chain-link fence. On the other side of the chain-link fence is the golf course.

Golf balls occasionally drop into the grassy area. Not often, but occasionally, a golfer will ask you if you could bring over his ball. A polite request always results in a returned ball.

Today, there was a golf ball behind me as I lengthened various muscle groups. Something told me to kick it into the ivy. "What nonsense," I thought.

So on I stretched, working this muscle group and that. A voice sounded behind me from the golf course. "There it is. Behind that guy. Hey! Hey, you." Then "Hell-ooo" with a mocking lilt. "Right behind you. Get my ball."

Wow. It's like I was this guy's caddy. (He lost me on the 'hell-ooo.') But before I could brush him off, he erupted into non-stop profanity, cursing me for not quickly fetching his golf ball. My back was to Foul Mouth Duffer and I continued stretching, tossing off a curse or two of my own.

Back he came with his golfing partner. They hailed a woman walking past on the bridlepath. She was asked—politely I might add—to retrieve the cursed ball. Throughout, Foul Mouth Duffer stayed on his side of the chain-link fence and kept up a barrage of bile toward me involving the sexual act, the sexual act with my mother, me being fat and old, and, after I hoped he didn't have a heart attack, wished me death by heart attack while running.

At one point, he stormed over to his golf cart and threatened me with a golf club. When I didn't run, he grabbed his putter and stomped off, still cursing and swearing. I've known a few rageaholics in my day—been one myself a time or two—and realized this guy was in his own special land.

As soon as he was out-of-sight, I left. The whole incident reminded me of the that scene in Werner Herzog's documentary Grizzly Man in which subject Timothy Treadwell erupted in a fiery rant against absent Fish and Wildlife agents. I'll let Werner Herzog take it from here.

 h/t: Lionsgate at Home

Note: Thu. Feb. 20: I'm not normally so serene in the face of provocation. But after running over an hour and twenty minutes, my body was awash in yummy endorphins. Stretching out provided more. Were I paying my taxes, it might've been me chasing the feral golfer with a club.
      

Tomorrow's Pasadena 5k Plus Free Marathon Update

OOPS

Larry Cuban

Yesterday I picked up my race bib. Had to show a QR code and a picture ID. In return, I received my 5k race bib. (No technical shirt until after the race. I don't know why either.)

Email this morning. I was issued the wrong bib, receiving one for the half-marathon. Now I must return today, or arrive extra early tomorrow, negotiate the pre-race crowd, and exchange bibs. Issuing race bibs shouldn't be a complicated process or involve extra effort on the part of a runner paying today's inflated prices. But alas, so many things are fouled up in California. Why not 5ks?

Wife Joy shall join me this year. Due to a ruthless work schedule, her training suffered, but she'll amble in whenever for a medal and a technical shirt.

Being 34 pounds lighter than 2019, I should do better. This brings me to:

Dream Time

IMPORTANT FREE MARATHON ANNOUNCEMENT 

From such 5k and long run data as I've collected, it appears I could run a 5:30 marathon. That's around 12:32 a mile for 26.2. A reasonable pace for a guy my age, in my condition, informed by competent medical authority eleven years ago that he'd never run again. (Always gotta throw that in.) Right now, I'm only running three days a week. I'd like to add a fourth day while building up my core.

In May, I'll be running my first 10k since 2008. Should my finishing time be around 1:13, then I'll increase my weekly mileage in preparation for a half-marathon. By the time this theoretical 13.1 rolls around, I'll know whether or not I can manage 26.2.

If all goes according to plan, I'm thinking this November might see me lined up once more on the marathon start line.

We are our dreams.

And mine are to finish 26.2 miles before the water stations close. Hence, running aspirations will be to focus on good form, strong core, greater flexibility through yoga, and no more stinking injuries. 

YOU good blog reader will be updated as the year unfolds. 

sivanna east

Fear of Elderly Male Runners

WBUR Maybe it wasn't this crowded. 

Running in Early 2020

Normally, I don't run Saturdays and I most certainly don't run in Griffith Park. Like the Rose Bowl, the park's trails are alive with runners, almost all of whom are faster than I. One also encounters a fair number of runner/dog walkers.

Gerontophobia

Alamy There was a dog, too, and no track. Just read the copy

Leading a little mutt on a leash, this chick in her thirties zipped past me. Fine. I'm used to it. A few hundred yards ahead, she slows and allows her mutt to nose around the leaves on the side of the trail. I continue on pace. But as I near her location, she tugs the dog by the leash. "Come on." Off she goes at a good clip. Whatever. I continue on pace. Rounding a curve, I spot her again, letting the mutt sniff away near a telephone pole. This time I ran past her. Behind me I hear, "Come On." Yanking the dog along, she speeds up to pass me. This time the woman burned some calories. At one point, she turned around and checked the distance between us. Then I lost sight of her.

When young male runners find themselves passed by young female runners they call it being "chicked," I believe there's a corollary. Gerontophobia is fear of the elderly. From my observations, I suspect certain young women detest being passed by older men or "fossiled." Having coined the phrase, I will now translate it with my college German:

 Befürchtungen Alte Männer

Brittanica A German scholar.

Nothing says dead serious like a German translation. So now you know two words and a phrase to describe the aforementioned condition:

1. Gerontophobia - far too formal.
2. Fossiled - Just the right touch of breezy American slang.
3. Befürchtungen Alte Männer - Only if you enjoy being a snotty show-off.

Choose whatever you will, but I suspect such a phobia may've been in play on this chilly morning.

Black Days in 2018

Without creating a link web that no one ever follows, 2018 was a brutal year for my physical fitness. In toting up my 2019 mileage, I noticed I didn't really start fully running until July. (That means running my training distance with zero miles walking.) Curious, I checked my stats for '18. In June, I injured my good right leg—not the benighted left leg—climbing over a construction fence. And that was it. Save for a brief half-mile, I did not run again for six months. And I did not resume where I left off for over a year. No wonder I weighed 271 pounds.

More news on a possible marathon coming soon. Soon. Oh, so very soon. Did I tease it enough? SEO, SEO, click, link, SEO.