Surfers Point Marathon Retrospective

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 Hindsight is 20/20, Fella

Yes, yes, but it's invaluable when assessing a race. First off, I'm jazzed to have:

A. Finished.

B. Finished ahead of my goal time. (5:30 or five hours and thirty minutes.)

C. Finished eight minutes ahead of my goal time. (5:22:49)

A set time helped me focus and not just in training. Without one I'd have settled for "just finish the wretched thing." (In the later miles, that temptation paced in the back of my mind, then settled in by the fire for miles 21 to 24.) Or else the more diabolically commercial "just finish the wretched thing and write a little book."

Loop Courses Have Issues 

Which is saying I have issues with loop courses. I didn't before. But then I'd never run one for a marathon. Every pleasing downhill grade must be run uphill twice. In the case of Surfers Point, the longest uphill grades were on the return trip. It was psychological. I kept thinking, 'I've got to do this again."

For slower runners such as myself, everyone passes you more than once. With multiple races and a wave start, runners from the half-marathon zipped by. Fast 10kers showed me their heels. Fortunately, zero 5kers left me in the dust. This constant passing triggers a hurry-up gene often experienced while driving. You must concentrate to suppress it and remain on pace.

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On the Subject of Pace

 I went out too fast. I knew I went out too fast. Prior marathon experience taught me I couldn't "bankroll" fast miles early for slow miles later. I'd risk bonking, missing my goal time, shuffling across the finish line, an abject example for the young. Yet I did it anyway. My half-marathon time was 2:33 instead of 2:45. During the latter miles of the race I felt myself grinding to a halt like a car running out of fuel. The virtue of patience should be exercised in the marathon's first half, then assess. 

Training Woes 

All self-inflicted. I didn't run enough days during the week. My cross-training fell away. My chi running form decayed at longer miles and I addressed the matter haphazardly. I didn't include enough pace miles in my long runs. And I neglected to generate enough faster miles in the form of tempo runs or track sessions. 

Nothing above detracts from my warm feelings. But should I attempt another marathon—unclear today—all these points would be addressed.

And I am writing a little book on my 13-year quest to complete 26.2. 

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Nam Killed Kurt Over Time v.3

Photo: Life Magazine. Kurt's unit patrolled these hills. (Mutter's Ridge and the Rock Pile.) 

Some veterans die in battle while others return home to perish on the installment plan. My friend Kurt passed away in 2003 from liver cancer. He went quick, maybe a hundred days. The cancer was partially brought about by PTSD-inspired drinking coupled with hepatitis from a bad blood transfusion he underwent in Vietnam. Kurt could have skated on that particular war, but extended his enlistment in order to fight. Serving in Marine Recon, he won a Navy Commendation medal for helping his unit battle clear of an ambush.

Several Purple Hearts later, Kurt joined an ultra-secret outfit that probed the Ho Chi Minh Trail in Laos. Hacked out of the jungle, the Trail was a highway for the North Vietnamese to funnel men and supplies into South Vietnam and Cambodia. Because of our odd political posturing, Laos was officially off-limits to U.S. ground forces. That meant Kurt and his unofficial comrades were forced to ditch the bodies of their dead. The fallen would be listed as "Missing in Action in South Vietnam." It always bothered Kurt that families would be denied the closure of burial—or the recognition of bravery from a schizophrenic government.

A good portion of Kurt's post-war years were spent in alcohol and drug-fueled rage and self-destruction. In time, he made peace with his past. Little by-little, Kurt cut a trail over to serenity from which he rarely strayed. Despite a Master's Degree in electronics, he took a job driving a truck and fixing vending machines. (Kurt worked well unsupervised.) Getting married, buying a home, his last ten years were good ones.

I was a pallbearer at Kurt's funeral. He received a Marine Corps color guard, taps, and a view of the 2 Freeway stretching below in the distance, flowing past Forest Lawn Cemetery on its way to Eagle Rock. (Transportation played a big role in his life.) I recall Kurt when I drive past and often wish he could call down artillery on erratic drivers.

This Veteran's Day Kurt came to mind. And while he's at peace, I send prayers and best wishes to those still struggling with the silent baggage of war.

Happy Veteran's Day to all who served.

(This is a 2014 repost from Veteran's Day 2010 reposted once more in 2021.)

Google Doodle Veterans Day Joke

I'm guessing that reducing the sacrifice of many to a mawkish ideological poster is a jest of some sort. In truth, I'd be surprised if anyone in Google served in the military. Hence, they would know zero about the importance of unit cohesion. Somehow I don't feel honored by this. 

Happy B-Day to the Marine Corps

Update: Ten years have passed since this post. Make it 246 years etc. Each year on this date—circumstances permitting—units will have a cake. The birthday cake is cut by the unit's oldest and youngest Marines, signifying that the Corps continues on.

236 years of shooting people and breaking stuff on behalf of the United States of America. In 1950 10,000 men of the First Marine Division were surrounded by 120,000 Chinese troops near the Chosin Reservoir in North Korea. Below is a trailer for a 2010 documentary detailing the Marines' fight to break free. An amazing tribute to amazing men.

 

I Finish a Marathon After 13 Years

My Finishing Time

As Winston Churchill once said: "If you're going through Hell, keep going." Achieved my goal of finishing in a certain time. That helped keep me going several times. Training is over for awhile. What ever shall I do now with all my extra time?
 

Obligatory Pre-Marathon Gear-on-the-Bed Shot

Not Really His Bed—A Fold-Out in a Back Room

Well, now it's serious. We leave tomorrow morning for our drive to the coast. Then its pick-up my gear pack including race number, check into our hotel, off to evening Mass, then a fine pasta meal. The end of Daylight Savings allows me a spare hour of sleep, but I won't. The pre-dawn hours bring with them a complicated dance wherein my wife drops me off at a shuttle bus location then goes back to sleep, then finds a parking space and walks to the finish line for my arrival around 5 hours and 30 minutes later. 

So that's it. Thirteen years have passed since I prepared to run a marathon. Pain, operations, depression, quitting running for good, stupid injuries when I didn't quit running for good, learning a complex way of covering ground that didn't stress my bad knee. It seems surreal, big. Part of me wants to stay in bed Sunday morning and not race.

But I've come this far. I want to see how it all ends.

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Better Chapter

Last Training Run

 Taper Complete for Surfers Point Marathon

That's that. Ran four miles yesterday and will run no more until Sunday's race. My emotional state has been in flux: catastrophe—glittering success. But I'm confident now. Over the intervening years I've recalled a lot about distance running, learned more about chi running, and lost a great deal of weight. (Down to 220 pounds from 260 back in January.)

The weather is slated to be sunny and mild. Ocean views throughout. It's been a long, long time, but I'm prepared to run another marathon. 

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Learning to Be Ineffective

 

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Strategic Delay in Play

Here's a stunning revelation: I've gradually reached peak efficiency in teaching myself how not to finish writing projects. A recent shelf cleaning expedition uncovered a dozen first draft novels, novellas, long short stories over 5k words. Leafing through my canon I read a lot of rough but quite serviceable material. 

My pattern is to complete the first draft. Then let it simmer. Then start something new. But I never seem to return to the original draft. Plus I rarely outline, leading to me following each new shiny plot point or character so that the original tale no longer fits the new story that has metastasized into something unwieldy.

I've got hundreds and hundreds of pages, tens if thousands of words, and only a handful of completed works over the last five years. This writing malady started awhile ago, but it's really picked up steam since 2016.

The answer to more completions is not drastic: Do a simple outline. Then focus on the next word, sentence, paragraph, page, chapter. Staying locked on the process of story telling is more important than front braining a slew of new plans, approaches, and goals. 

I return now to culling my backlog. 

Old School Cops Spoof

Prehistoric parody of Cops using Star Wars Imperial Storm Troopers. Really nails the cop talk.

Alex Derevin