Fun in the CSUN

Ran a 10K today at Cal State University Northridge. After injuring my calf running last Monday (locked up tight), I spent the week either in the pool or doing yoga to loosen up the muscle. And while it's still not 100 %, I felt strong enough to give 6.2 miles a go.

Except I didn't want to run.

I didn't want to get up, or drive to Northridge, or run once I got there. Horn sounds and the race starts. Off I go anyway. I wanted to quit at the second mile. Then I wanted to walk for long periods. Then I wanted to quit at mile 5. Yes, it was sunny and hot and the course teemed with race-etiquette challenged "Kids Run L.A." But I've been there/done that before and bounded along like a young deer. Today was different. A most unusal attack of the "quits."

Maybe 10Ks remind me too much of tempo workouts — hard, long mid-week runs at a faster-than-usual pace. They build endurance. And grumpiness.

Despite all that, I set a 10K pr of 52.56. That comes out to an 8:32 pace.

Afterwards, I drove to Brookside Park near the Rose Bowl for World Tai Chi Day. This is a yearly gathering of L.A. County T'ai Chi players and Chinese yoga practioners. Marjorie was there. We hugged good-bye again. She drives to Texas this Friday. I hung out with old chums Loren, Ed, Iren, Dave and Dede from my T'ai Chi class. Then I bought a tee-shirt and left.

Acres of writing, but it'll keep.

I don't want to do that either.

TNT, Car Buying, Paris

Bumped into Raul, Audrey and other TNT alum running the hills this morning. Ernesto and I met earlier than usual as my wife and I were due to car-shop.

We're looking at the Toyota Matrix and the Honda Civic. We checked out a fleet dealer, a used car dealer and Carmax. Very low pressure. Only the used car guy suggested we "talk with his manager." We declined citing multiple other car-buying commitments. I'm leaning toward a slightly used Civic: well-engineered and "tall-guy" friendly. But the car is for my short wife, so I may have to get used to something else.

Two folks I know ran the Paris Marathon today. You sprint past famous monuments, stop to have a smoke, race around Moslem "youths" burning cars, then pause on the banks of the Seine to read depressing literature. If you don't kill yourself, you pass a wine station, grab a paper cup of chablis, then cross the finish line where you either receive a medal or a beret full of snails.

In any case, I'll be interested in hearing their stories.

Marjorie Jackson Adieu

Monday nights are busy. I have several long-standing commitments that absorb the evening. Nevertheless, yesterday I made time to drive to a small park in Burbank and bid farewell to my T'ai Chi teacher.

I've known Marjorie for almost ten years. First intermittently, then steadily I attended her classes in T'ai Chi and yoga. Marjorie taught in parks from the San Gabriel Valley to Northridge. She flew from one gig to another. The rear compartment of her little blue Toyota SUV was crammed with registers and sign-up sheets, flyers for martial arts events, T'ai Chi swords and knives plus a CD player that gave every class a New Age underscore: Inca flutes, harps or Tibetean bowls with a crashing surf background.

For awhile, I was underemployed and immersed myself in T'ai Chi and yoga. On Thursdays in 2001 and 2002, I took Marjorie's morning yoga class at Victory Park in Pasadena. Afterwards, I'd student teach her T'ai Chi beginners, then attend the advanced class that followed. As a reward for helping out, Marjorie would show me next-level moves and correct my form. By the time I left around noon, I was floating on endorphins. Calm. Almost too calm. I never got much of anything done on Thursdays.

Chakras, auras, and past lives were a part of Marjorie's beliefs. She would laugh and call it "wo-wo" stuff. And if you were so inclinded, Majorie would teach "wo-wo" (as well as yoga) out of her rented home. Four years ago Marjorie and her beau bought a small house in Pasadena. Wind chimes and Buddhist prayer flags decorated the front porch while incense flotated through the house like spirits. A student painted a cloudy, blue sky on her ceiling so that while doing yoga, you could look up and see something other than ceiling.

That house is in escrow, the cloudy ceiling painted over. And by the end of the month, Marjorie and her beau will be in Texas. After 31 years in Southern California, Marjorie will teach T'ai Chi and yoga as well as quality "wo-wo" to the residents of Austin.

I didn't ask why she was leaving. I guess that's because I always sensed she would. Marjorie says we each have our destinies. Mine now lies in marathons and hers in Austin. But for a time, we walked the same path.

A teacher is someone who shows you a door that only you can open. And for showing me the T'ai Chi door, I want to thank Marjorie and wish her a safe journey, a rewarding life, and, in time, a destiny fulfilled.

Happy Easter!

Away to visit my darling wife's family somewhere in Central California. We'll be having Easter dinner by the sea. Back soon!

Damp

A misty moist morning with a temperature around 58 degrees. Rather perfect weather for running 10 miles. Ernesto added a new injury this week: a stiff back from weight lifting. Nevertheless, he put in eight miles.

I ran for a bit with a 59-year-old-guy who did the Chicago Marathon last year. He'd qualified for Boston, which meant a time of at least 3 hours and 45 minutes. Certain sports have their Meccas, that place where the amateur athelete can strive to reach and where, having arrived, are entitled to feel special, even smug, (but not too smug or someone will slap them). For distance runners, Boston is such a destination. You must complete a qualifying marathon just to get in. I hope to reach there within the next two years.

Perhaps there is also a Mecca for curling. Why shouldn't there be? Let a curler's reach exceed his grasp, broom and all.

Spring Fall

In honor of last year's big fat injury, I took my spring tumble on Monday. Melissa and I were running a good pace on trails when I hit a rock. This time my palms absorbed most of the impact. A bit bloody, I walked for awhile then we finished the run.

Turned out to be our fastest time yet.

Come Saturday a year will have passed since my broken foot. I was so bummed to miss the San Diego Marathon. That's why Phoenix still resonates. Down, but up again. Somewhat in keeping with the season.




A blessed Good Friday to those awaiting Easter.

Eight Miles and No Writing Gas

Met Ernesto at the Rose Bowl. His hamstring continues to heal slowly while my half-marathon rapidly approaches. So we ran different paces and distances and met back at the start line. During my run I encountered Faith and Sarah, former Fall '05 teammates with Ernesto and I.

The hills swarm with TNT alumni.

And now more writing. The script I'm working on is due Sunday, postphoned from Friday when I ran out of gas. Knowing my draft will be picked apart by fussy executives saps all initiative. I look for ways to avoid writing. Hence, this post.

However this morning I was bummed about my running and felt weak and slow. I psyched myself up mentally, then went out and performed well.

I may have to do something similar to get up for this script. Perhaps a cheer?



Space bar, space bar,
Fast and funny,
Finish this script,
And pocket the money.

Don't you care,
What they think.
They're executives,
Silly with drink.

Pre-Phoenix Marathon Photo 2007

Campaign manager Melissa of the Winter Team just posted this photo from Phoenix. It is probably around 5:30 AM. We're gathered in the lobby of our hotel, waiting to be bussed to the marathon start line. We already know it's stinking cold out. We don't yet know it's 29 degrees and that we'll be milling around outdoors for over an hour waiting to run.

I love the lights and reflective glow stuff. It's like we're at a convention for Radioactive Runners.

Deadline Fatigue

Mentally sapped. Since Sunday I've written 36 pages on two animated scripts and a short story. Prose fiction averages about an hour a page. Animated stuff I can usually do much faster. In any case, I haven't been sleeping well and that's affected my running. Tried to do a five-mile tempo run yesterday and simply gave up after mile three. I went home, ate dinner, wished my wife well as she sped out to her writers' group, and crashed early, drool rolling down my chin like a great torrent.

My training schedule for the half-marathon unravels more each week. But I'll press on and adjust as necessary. My goal is Chicago in October and I still have time.

And a tidy income once all my invoices are paid.

Then more sleep.

Meeting Mr. Sulu

This morning, Nick and Ernesto joined me for a race in Griffith Park. (In 1995, I did a 5K there. That turned out to be my last 5K for eleven years.) Small field, very informal. I finished in 25:18. That's an 8:09 pace. Not what I wanted but slightly better than my 1995 time. And I smoked back then. I wonder how my running career might've gone if I'd eased off the Kents sooner.

Today George Takei was Master of Ceremonies. A nice guy, he sat at a table and signed autographs for free. (Many celebs charge.) Naturally we lined up. Nick just turned 30. He had never seen Star Trek and that included the original series as well as the movies. He knew George Takei from the Howard Stern Show. Ernesto knew about George and Star Trek but dug him on Howard Stern. I overheard a teacher say her students only knew George as Kaito Nakamura on Heroes.

Well, he'll always be Mr. Sulu to me. I asked him to please sign my picture: "Live Long and Perspire." He laughed and did so, asking me about running. George finished up and I thanked him. As I left he told me to "live long and perspire."

God willing, I shall, and the same to you, Mr. Sulu.

Thoughts on 300

My wife and I just returned from seeing 300. Based on a graphic novel, the movie featured enough stabbing and beheading to make Braveheart look like Remains of the Day. A handful of six-pack-abbed Spartans stands against the hordes of a giant, fruity Xerxes. The historical Xerxes was something of a logistical wiz. He moved a massive army from Asia to Greece across a boat bridge and pre-positioned supplies in their path. Subsequent armies well into the 20th century floundered on the march far worse than the Persian troops. What's more, Xerxes practiced early disinformation by bribing the Oracle at Delphi to put a negative spin on Greek war prophecies.

A few years back, author Steven Pressfield covered the same material in his book, Gates of Fire. The story of Leonidas and his Spartans was told through the character of a Spartan servant, found gravely wounded at Thermopylae, who relates the tale to his Persian captors. Gates covers the culture and politics of Sparta as well as other city states, divided on whether to resist Xerxes. Pressfield's descriptions of the Greek phalanx, or shield wall, are particularly riviting. (Essentially a big shoving match with spears.)

A few large historical liberties, but overall 300 was a fun film.

Did I mention lots of stabbing, rending, and slashing?