Gala Parade of Contractors

Decks and dry rot and termites, oh my. Like mile 20 of a marathon, we near the finish of our house sale, but the going gets slower. Our new place has its own contractor caravan lined up for the close of escrow.

Soon . . . it . . . will . . . be . . . over.

Sundry Notes

Breaking four hours took me 17 months, a torn calf, and a scrubbed marathon.

Each of my four marathons has finished in a different hour:

1. Honolulu 2005: 6.01

2. Phoenix 2007: 4.21

3. Chicago 2007: 5:48 (Unofficial)

4. Eugene 2008: 3.59

Don't look for "2" anytime soon, and I hope you don't see "7."

Post-marathon recovery has been slow. Following an ice bath Sunday, I felt fine. But Monday we drove two-hours to Portland, followed by a two-hour flight to LA, then a 35-minute drive home. The next day my quads were testy and sore. However, walks and the foam roller have struck soreness a telling blow.

The Summer Team runs 20 miles tomorrow. I'll be out there assistant coaching, but not running. I see my role more as a "go get 'em"-type guy. At least for another week.

My next goal is to run a 3:45 marathon and qualify for Boston. That means I'll need an 8:36 per mile pace. Which, in turn, requires pruning 34 seconds from my current pace. This can be done if I'm patient; more importantly, if I'm patient and unemployed. Work has ruined more peoples' running dreams. Sure, it pays, but look at the hit your training takes. Balancing full-time employment with marathoning requires careful thought.

Don't be hasty. Ha-hooom.

Eugene Marathon Notes

Looks like I finally caught a break on the climate. Eugene offered perfect marathon weather. Temperatures stayed down all morning, thanks to a chill breeze that felt rather refreshing several miles into the race.

Peter appreciated the tribute to Rosina. He closed an email with: "The only marathon I've participated in recently was watching all three Indiana Jones movies in a row with my son. Which, by the way, started out Okay, but took a lot longer than 4 hours and was ultimately just as painful as running."

A few words about chips. Pretty much all marathons use running chips. These plastic objects attach to your shoe laces with skinny plastic ties and contain various codes. According to an article by Douglas Fruehling: "When runners run over mats placed at the starting line, an electrical current in the mats creates magnetic fields that charge the chips. The mats have receiving antennas that send the codes on the chips to a nearby controller box and computer, recording data for the runners."

In monster marathons such as Chicago with 45,000 participants, a runner might need a half-hour just to cross the start line. Pre-chip (1996), that meant 30 minutes of dead time tacked onto your finish. Nowadays, runners begin their marathon the instant their chip passes over the starting mat. This is known as "chip time" or "net time" and measures how long runners run regardless of the official clock.

In a small race like Eugene, it took me about 20 seconds to cross the start line. As I ran the last kilometer, I mention seeing the official clock inching into four-hour territory. Thus I knew I had a few more seconds to reach my goal.

That said, there is finish line video of me at RunnerSpace.com If you click on the 4:00 - 4:05 Hour Finishers, check the extreme far right of screen between :38 and :50. After checking my watch, I raise both arms in celebration. There's more, but it's blocked by two very oval half-marathoners who stroll through frame.

On the subject of weight, Horizon Air was apparently the first airline designed for anorexics. The seats were very narrow. Airline staff cautioned passengers to please keep their shoulders out of the aisle so they could maneuver the drink cart.

Eugene is such a green town our hotel room had a special recycling wastebasket. I'm all for recycling and being good stewards of the Earth, but if a place gets too green it makes me nervous and I start thinking Wicker Man. Eugene borders on that.

Tales from the Eugene Marathon

Light shifted subtly over the Willamette River. You sensed God working the sliders on his heavenly lighting board, blending shade and tone while sipping coffee from an immense mug. As marathon day began in Eugene, temperatures hung around the low 40s. I was reluctant to leave the warmth of our rented Rav. But MDW (My Darling Wife) pointed out that no man ever raced crouched over a hot air vent. So it was out into the cold near Hayward Field on the University of Oregon campus. MDW vowed to meet me at mile 18. There I'd planned to leave my water belt: a symbolic act to "lighten the load" for the arduous last miles where head games are mandatory. Meanwhile, I lined up behind other shivering runners at a Port-O-Potty.

Back in January, around the time I began training for this race, the wife of a friend died battling leukemia. I asked Peter if he'd mind my dedicating the marathon to Rosina. He and the kids were cool, but I had forgotten to bring anything. Fortunately, MDW grabbed some art supplies and cobbled together a fine inscription for me to wear. As I ran that day, spectators called out Rosina's name, encouraging me to keep going for her. In those moments, it seemed Rosina was present but just out of sight, as if she'd gone to fetch something from the car.

As to the course, imagine a drawing of a bolo tie such as gentlemen might wear in a square dance. Now imagine that same bolo tie drawn by an angry man. This will give you an idea of the route's shape. The opening miles led out from the campus, up a hill, down another, then into a park area where the metal tips would be if it really were a bolo tie. Doubling back to the U of O campus, the course led up another long hill, down to the Willamette River and across. Instead of a turquoise clasp, Autzen Stadium provided the center piece around which the race swirled, looping along bike paths around the Willamette. Tree-lined and tranquil, the river flowed under quaint foot bridges. The finish line was just outside the stadium where you could purchase bolo ties and other treasured souvenirs.






Finally, we go. Despite last-minute wavering, my goal was to break four hours. That meant a pace of 9:10, 49 seconds per mile less than my previous best in Phoenix. Since January 2007, my only marathon had been an extended walk in Chicago. The night before, I'd phoned coaches Jimmy and Kate for a little advice. They told me many useful, savvy things that I promptly forgot. But what I recalled was to stay on pace and save something for the end.

The first mile led uphill. I ran way too slow (9:40). I wanted to sob like a weepy old man, but didn't.

Mile 2: Mostly downhill.

Mile 3: More downhill. Now I was almost a minute ahead of pace. Cool.

Miles 4 and 5: Running the dangling string section of the bolo tie. Ate some yummy goo.

Mile 6: Doubling back to campus through Amazon Park. Still slightly ahead of pace.

Mile 7: Up a long hill. I slowed again, keeping my heart beat even. Runners blasted by, huffing and puffing. I smugly watched them pass.

Miles 8 & 9: Back through the campus, then across the Willamette on a foot bridge. At one point, I thought my legs were buckling. But it was only the bridge wobbling from impacting runner feet. Still, I hurried across.

Mile 10: On the bike trails along the river; more yummy goo with double caffeine.

Mile 11: We'd been running mixed in with a half-marathon. Now the half-marathoners veered off to finish their race. I remarked to a woman next to me, "I thought they'd never leave."

Mile 12: MDW surprised me at 12. I was still ahead of pace, feeling great. Perhaps I'd made too much of this marathon business? We confirmed our date for 18.

Mile 13.1: Half-way assessment. I was at 1:56:52, about an 8:55 pace. A little brisk, but no strain. Figuring I could hold it a bit longer, I decided to press on.

Mile 14: I encountered the Clopper. A lean man in his 60s with short, silvery hair, he slapped the ground loudly with every stride like a farm horse walking on cobblestones. Whock-whock-whock-whock! The sound grated. I sped past. But since I was walking a minute every seven minutes, there was no escape. I'd prepare to run again when I'd hear whock-whock-whock coming up behind.

Mile 15: What was on the menu? Surprise, it was another double-caffeine goo! (Damn the Clopper!)

Mile 16: Holding steady two and three minutes ahead of pace. I was looking at a solid finish. I uped my run/walk ratio to 8x1.

Mile 17: Something happened here but I can't remember.

Mile 18: MDW took my water belt after I washed down the last of my salt.

Mile 19: I finally ditched the Clopper. Hurray! Oh, God, hurray! First little twinges of leg pain.

Mile 20: Back across the Willamette. We're now running on the south side bike trails. I was still ahead, 3:00:06, but my pace had dropped to 9:00. My legs were beginning to feel a tad thick.

Mile 21: Now began the Track of Broken Dreams, better known as the last miles of a marathon. I dropped a full minute.

Mile 22: Dropped another minute. The same effort took tons of energy. My calves felt like iron knots. The four-hour pace group leader, whom I hadn't seen all day, breezed past with several runners in tow.

Mile 23: Leaking seconds badly, I dropped intervals and ran. All around, marathoners were breaking down: a young, bearded guy fast-hobbled on an injured foot; a husky Asian man cramped out in pain; a girl in tangerine shorts ran backwards to ease the ache; a guy in a floppy hat staggered off the trail and heaved a great spray of liquid. He heaved again and again. Meanwhile, sunlight shone through the trees and the Willamette flowed serenely.

Mile 24: For the moment, I'd plugged the time leakage and was almost exactly on pace, but fading fast. My hip flexors felt as light as a parking structure. Walking at a water station, I ate jelly beans and realized I enjoyed walking. Forcing myself to run, I focused on a large man in a red T-Shirt and passed him.

Mile 25: On pace, but maintaining the effort brought a bonus hurt. A side stitch arrived as I passed a balding runner in a blue and gold singlet. His feet quickened as he tried to catch me. Pretending I was in the Olympics staving off a Kenyan, I moved ahead to the next runner.

Mile 26: Reaching the shadow of Autzen Stadium, I was roughly on pace, but gassed. MDW waved and cheered. All the blood in my upper body had migrated to my legs. Woozy and light-headed, I lumbered along on auto pilot.

Mile .2: An orange snow fence lined the final kilometer. On the race clock ahead, red LED numbers inched into the four-hour district. I tried recalling how many seconds had passed before I crossed the start mat. However calculations were oafish folly as I lacked blood north of my waist.

I made it by six seconds: 3:59:53.

MDW helped me to a curb where I sat and stared at nothing for several minutes. I was fortunate to have reached my goal. Nevertheless, I finished what I set out to do. Plus, I honored Rosina and pumped money into the Eugene economy so they might purchase yet more commemorative bolo ties.

It's been two days since the marathon, we're back home and life proceeds. We have to move in a few weeks. And there's still the TNT Summer Team and preparing them for their first marathon. Oh yeah, and finding a job. And jury duty.

But today I'll rest and eat pizza and think about running another marathon in a few months.

That'll be fun.



(Start line photo by Rick Russell. All others by MDW Joy.)

Sam Plenty: "Hat of Doom"

Sam Plenty wears one and sings in Episode Seven, now up and available for your viewing pleasure.

Victory at Eugene!

3:59:53!

Hyperspacing I-5

Early this morning, my wife and I exited I-5 Freeway in Burbank, parked, and flew to Portland. Enroute, Horizon Air held a contest: the passenger with the oldest penny would win a bottle of wine. Half-asleep, I watched my traveling companions rummage through pockets and purses. The winner produced a 1942 penny and was awarded a large bottle of wine wrapped in gray paper.

A few hours later, we're back on the northern branch of the same interstate 5, driving south to Eugene. Green countryside everywhere, with small hills rising in the background. Oregon appears to be a teenage version of Washington.

As Oregon has legalized assisted suicide, my wife and I joked how any public expression of discomfort is interpreted by state employees as "suffering" and you are summarily executed.

Our hotel is only ten minutes from the finish line at Autzen Stadium, (home of the University of Oregon Ducks.) I picked up my race number (1116) and goodie bag. I've gone from nervous to excited. Now, out for the traditional pre-pre-race meal of Chinese food.

Going Up

In Eugene, Sunday's temperature is now forecast in the low 70s. I'm going to ask the weather to stop. The mercury has climbed high enough. Let's not sully a fine marathon with excessive heat as was done with certain other races.

A few notes:

A brief four-mile run today wraps-up my marathon training, begun in late January.

April marked the third consecutive month of 100 + mileage. This was a large amount of running for me, aided by steady, persistent unemployment. Sunday will tell whether greater mileage equals faster times.

My goal is to break FOUR HOURS! There. I've used large attention-getting letters. As race day approaches, my nerves have been gnawing on me like rats in a town house made of peanut butter. I've caught myself telling other runners how stressed I've been over moving, thus advancing an alibi for failure. Enough! No! I commit to breaking FOUR HOURS!!

Captain of the 10K

Today I was placed in charge of coaching 10K runners as SGV TNT held its annual half-marathon and 10K. Teams from all over LA, including the San Fernando Valley and South Bay, turned up as well as alumni. It was also a race against autism as that particular affliction was holding a huge rally/walk-around-the-Rose Bowl. The goal was to have our runners off the course before the walk began. This was done successfully, despite rising temperatures, thanks to good planning by staff members other than me.

I am really excited about my marathon. This time next week I hope to have my feet up on the bed as I sip water and watch bad movies in the hotel while outside the temperature hovers around 50 degrees — and stays that way for the next day.

I still have to move, but right now I'm thinking Eugene.

Sam Plenty: Episode Six

"March of Doom" is now up as Sam Plenty ponders the undergarments of the underworld.

Boston Marathon Tidbits

Very successful indeed, as Coach Kate, bib #15941, broke the three-hour and twenty-minute mark at Boston - twenty minutes faster than her previous best marathon time. Beau Jimmy ran alongside in the 50 degree weather. As the bulk of marathons are completed between 3:30 and 5:00 hours, Kate has stepped into the upper ranks of those who dare 26.2.

Speaking of which, the U.S. Womens' Olympic Trials were held yesterday in Boston. Congratulations to top three finishers Deena Kastor, Magdalena Lewy Boulet, and Blake Russell who will represent America this summer in Beijing.


Who Dares, Wins!

Who Gets Up Last From A Restaurant Table, Pays!

Lately

Double escrow as our bid is accepted on a roomy condo in Glendale. At Knott's Berry Farm last week, I ran a 10K with Team in Training - 53:07. I was fourth in my age group behind three guys who all finished within 42 seconds of each other. (They may well have been the famous Gallipto running triplets who haven't been heard from in years.) In any case, they edged me out of an age group medal and I will have my vengence one day. Oh, yes. The Eugene Marathon is in TWO WEEKS! I ran my final 20 miler ten days ago and feel confident that I can break 4 hours. Also running this year in Eugene are Amy and April from Tennessee. Follow their training exploits, plus marathon fashion updates, as they taper down for the big day. Furthermore that same Sunday, May 4, my friend Tom's wife, Annie, will be running Avenue of the Giants Marathon in Humboldt County, CA on the Oregon border. If you like big trees, this is the race for you. I think my wife and Tom will probably call each other that morning and discuss how absolutely bored they are by marathons. Coach Kate will run in tomorrow's Boston Marathon. Her goal is to finish in 3:19. How fast is that? Pretty darn fast on a hilly course. (7:38 per mile.) More on the move soon.

Sam Plenty: "Purification of Doom"

Was Marzipan the horse really exploded? Find out in the latest installment of Sam Plenty.

Eugene Bound

That's what it's felt like the last three weeks. What with realtor caravans, open houses, and showings, my wife and I have been absent from our dwelling more often than not. Coach Katie from TNT said that someone we both knew attended an open house and discovered that she was in my home. (A combination of framed animation cells and a Team in Training tee-shirt gave it away.)

But today marks our second day in escrow. We're off this afternoon to scout out new places to live. I'll miss the quiet up here. Too bad you can't bottle it. Meanwhile, the Eugene Marathon draws closer. I'm worn out from all this moving business and look forward to Oregon. I believe I'll break four hours. My one fear is that we'll be forced to leave our hotel room in order for prospective buyers to mill around.

What I Learned While Running

Busy with selling the house. We have become guests in our own home, leaving when prospective buyers arrive. We like to set out little treats such as bowls of steaming corn beef hash in every room. Our realtor has asked us to stop doing that.

My assistant coaching continues. Yesterday I ran with different pace groups. You pick up a lot about people on long runs. For example, at least three of my teammates were college athletes: two swimmers and a tennis player. Another teammate works for an elevator company. (Apparantly, you're in more danger from an elevator falling "up" because of counterweight problems then you are of crashing down to the basement.) Another runner owns a Ph.D and moonlights as director of a Civil War brass band.

Big open house today. I must go and prepare the hash.

Orgins of Paul Rugg's Sam Plenty

Sam Plenty roots. Paul Rugg saw this serial in 2004 and was inspired.

h/t: Tom Ruegger.

In Tuesday's NY Times

Critic’s Choice
New DVDs
By DAVE KEHR
THE PHANTOM EMPIRE

For indigenous American surrealism, it’s hard to beat the Saturday
matinee serials of the 1930s, and I’m not sure that “The Phantom
Empire,” a 1935 release from the Poverty Row studio Mascot, can be beat
at all. Very likely the world’s first singing-cowboy science-fiction
adventure, this 12-episode chapterplay, directed by Otto Brower and
Breezy Easton, features Gene Autry in his first starring role — as
“Gene Autry,” the proprietor of Radio Ranch. This curious institution
seems to be at once a working cattle concern and a full-scale
broadcasting business from which Gene and his pals (including his
longtime sidekick Smiley Burnett) send out a daily program of
country-western songs.

Life is sweet at Radio Ranch until a band of “renegade scientists”
arrives, looking for the massive radium deposits of the secret
underground nation Murania, the gateway to which happens to be located
in a canyon behind Gene’s ranch. Before too long, Gene and his two l’il
pardners (the child actors Frankie Darro and Betsy King Ross) find
themselves caught between the rampaging savants and the legions of
Wagnerian Thunder Riders (accompanied by appropriate sound effects) and
lumbering mechanical men (whimsical robots built for a production
number in MGM’s “Dancing Lady” but cut from the final film) sent forth
by Murania’s “She”-like Queen Tika (Dorothy Christy) to prevent her
land of peace and plenty from being invaded by rapacious “surface men.”
It’s a lot for Gene to handle, particularly since he has to get back to
Radio Ranch by 2 p.m. every day for his broadcast, which he carries on
as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

It is said that Wallace MacDonald, one of the serial’s five credited
writers, came up with the concept while under the influence of nitrous
oxide at his dentist’s office. That seems quite possible, given the
screenplay’s furious imaginings, which include an interesting kind of
television that requires no cameras (but has an inconvenient,
floor-level circular screen) and “radium bombs” posed to destroy the
entire planet.

What gives “Phantom Empire” its enduring charm is the refusal of the
filmmakers to play any of its outrageousness for laughs. As extravagant
as the action becomes, the picture never loses its sense of complete
conviction.

Long a victim of third-rate, public-domain releases on home video,
“Phantom Empire” has been nicely restored by VCI Entertainment for a
new two-disc edition that also finds room for a complete Autry feature
from 1937, Joe Kane’s “Boots and Saddles.” The VCI catalog, which
includes an extensive collection of serials and B westerns, is online
at vcient.com. ($19.99, not rated.)

Happy Easter!

Jack Odin: Viking Detective

What happens when a pacifist professor in a crime-ridden town magically acquires the berserker fury of the Vikings? As crooks quickly learn, justice can be swift and messy with big chunks of brain scattered everywhere. Watch for the first installment of "My Ax is Quick," a Jack Odin mystery. Coming soon. Here. And nowhere else.

Paul Rugg and the "Explosion of Doom"

Episode Four is up as Sam Plenty battles Queen Verbosa's invisible hordes.

Sometimes They Come Back

On Wednesday, I dispatched a large rat that had been causing mischief. I dumped the carcass in a drainage ditch that runs through the back of my property, knowing from experience that the ecological dining service — coyotes, owls, raccoons, bobcats — would handle matters from there.

On Thursday, I woke up early and took out the trash, leaving the garage door open. Two hours later, carpet cleaners arrived. One of them located me as I worked behind the house. He said there was a big dead rat in my garage. Sure enough, it was the same one I'd killed the day before. Perplexed, I deducted the following:

1. A large bird or animal seized the carcass, but for some reason dropped it by chance in my garage.

2. A human being(s) walked onto my property, into the drainage ditch, picked up a big dead rat, and placed it inside my garage.

3. Using cosmic rays, aliens reanimated the rodent. Seeking revenge, it attacked but expired once more before reaching me.

4. A human being(s) walked onto my property, into the drainage ditch, picked up a big dead rat, and accidentally dropped it inside my garage enroute to taxidermy class.

Then there's this possibility.

I invite theories.

Rumors A'Plenty

The Sam Plenty Cavalcade of Action! Show Plus Singing appears to be picking up some traction via viral marketing. But I've developed amnesia and can no longer remember why.

Plenty of Music

Where would a singing cowboy be without good composers? Old chums Steve and Julie Bernstein help keep Sam Plenty crooning about ranch life, evil underground armies and cow pies.

Steve, Julie and I worked together for many years at Warner Bros. on fun animated things. In addition, they also provided the score for my solo venture into filmmaking, the 1999 short The Glendale Ogre (one of only several trillion parodies of Blair Witch.) Post-Warners, they scored a public service announcement on land mines that I wrote and produced for USAID — Agency for International Development — and the State Department. (A project two minutes in length and three years in the making that took me to Cambodia twice and Washington, D.C. three times. A saga worthy of it's own blog.)

In any case, if you happen to have any old films or animation laying around the house and need them scored, give the Bernsteins a ring. Let them know if you have a coupon.

Sam Plenty's Cavalcade of Action! Show

If you like singing cowboys, cheesey special effects, evil people who live underground, and large Hawaiian gals who just happen to be on a ranch, then you'll love Sam Plenty. Written, produced and directed by Chilean auter Sanso Pontapuntaquenia, this comedy homage to Gene Autry serials of the 1930s captures all their goofy story points and bad acting . . . plus singing too! Presented by the Jim Hensen Company (makers of fine Muppets), Sam Plenty in Underdoom is now showing webisode three, "Test of Doom." Also check out Sanso's podcast interview.

Homes

Eleven years. I realize that I've lived in this house longer than I've lived in any one place. Second prize goes to my family's home in Skokie, Illinois. (Ten years until I left at age 19 to join the Marines.) And my friend Dave's guest house in Hollywood takes the bronze medal. (Almost six years.)

These thoughts arose as we looked at condos yesterday. There was one smallish condo in a nice building in a quiet area and that has become our template against which other condos/townhouses were judged. And they were judged harshly. There were nice condos in rotten complexes and rotten complexes with ill-kept condos, plus decently-priced, roomy condos in squalid, gang-diseased neighborhoods.

I really don't like viewing places where the people are home. They remind me of pet store animals, eager to be purchased. When our house hits the market, I'm gonna be parked in a coffee shop with the laptop. The only words I want to hear from a potential buyer are: "We'll take it!" ("We'll take it above the asking price" would be even better.)

Finally slept in my own bed last night. Our bedroom has been covered in plastic all week as the painters stripped wallpaper, sanded, primed, painted and conversed in Korean. We slept on a futon in my office. The painters are still here this week. I have a feeling they like the place. Possibly they'll make us an offer and save everyone a lot of trouble. Certainly they'll know what colors to paint once we're gone.

Run Down

Summer Team ran eight miles today. During and afterwards, there were many small injuries ranging from sore IT bands to tight calves. In fact, I've never seen so many people icing minor dings this early in a season. Coaches Katie and Kate held an injury clinic afterwards, instructing the disabled on what actions they could take. (Mostly ice and rest.)

My own training suffers from all the work being done around the house. Someone has to be here and I'm struggling to squeeze in runs when I can.

Contrary to my fine wife's opinion, I do not miss television. In fact, since she has cleaned out her old office, we've discovered a functioning TV. Of course, now it's covered in painter's plastic, but my computer plays DVDs should the urge arise. And when the urge arises, I can contemplate the fact that I sold most of them last fall.

One less thing to move.

(Note: This is the 3rd post I've ended with some reference to moving or not moving something. I'm as tired of this as you are. I promise I'll stop now.)

To Marathon Finishers

I present this little gem to all who just finished the LA Marathon.

Rich Human Moments

Showed up for a shift manning the Team in Training booth at the LA Convention Center. Loads of folk walked around with their goodie bags as the city gears up for this Sunday's marathon. Our booth neighbor was Pacifico Beer. Guys were lining up there to get pictures taken with two hot babes in cheer-leading outfits. TNT gave out free chap stick if you signed up for more information. Somehow the Pacifico Beer line was always longer.

Yesterday, an electrician arrived to replace a few light fixtures. He was a colorful old guy and we got to talking. Turned out he'd survived the Nazis in his native Hungary. He and a group of three hundred kids were slated to be shot when the Red Army arrived. The execution was cancelled and the Germans were chased out by the Soviets, who decided to stick around Budapest for the next 45 years. Just before the Communists locked the country down, his family escaped in the middle of the night. He drifted around the world from Germany to Palestine to Canada and, finally, the U.S.

"My father spoke nine languages," he told me. "Now, my mother: she was an idiot. She only spoke eight languages."

He was very proud of his children and grandchildren. His son, when in his 20s, had been placed in charge of a telemarketing office with dozens of employees. Concerned, he went to his electrician father and said: 'I'm just a kid. How can I give orders to people in their 30s and 40s?'

As his father related: 'I said to him, think of our rabbi. He is young and yet he is in authority. That is because he has greater knowledge than others who may be older. Trust those who have promoted you. And remember that your authority does not give you the right to belittle anyone."

"That's very wise," I said.

He shrugged. "You know what my son did? He went to work the next day, called all the older employees into his office, and beat them with a stick."

We had a good laugh.

Plus he replaced my light fixtures.

Weary with Moving

All this moving, cleaning, coordinating painters, electricians, termite slayers has worn me down. Much like mile 22 of a marathon, the goal no longer outweighs fatigue and quitting seems not only reasonable but long overdue. Plus I haven't worked in six months and have zero interest in writing anything other than an occasional post right here.

But, like mile 22, on I go.

Hot TV Night

So I'm watching television this evening when the set suddenly quits with a wierd pop. There's a high-pitched whine and smoke fills the air. I yank the power strip cord out of the wall and open an outside door to clear the smoke. I'm still enjoying tachycardia. On the bright side, a dead TV is one less item to move.

Lost in a Drizzle

Ran from Brentwood to Marina del Rey and back today. That's a 20-mile run — or 22.1 if you miss a turn-off like I did. Weather was chilly and wet, good for running but not for runners with glasses. (I needed tiny wiper blades.) A fair portion of the course was along the Venice Beach boardwalk. My company consisted of other runners, dog-walkers, seagulls, cops and bums. And while the sea was hidden behind a wall of gray, you could hear the surf boom-hiss against the shore.

A note on Westside/beach runners: they generally seem much faster and less friendlier than Rose Bowl runners. I usually smile at runners in passing and get a smile back, but there were a lot of dour faces along San Vicente and the boardwalk. Maybe it's the local parking situation in that there isn't any.

Next week is a most-welcome rest period. My long run will be 12 fine miles. Then back to 16-18-20 two more times. I'll either pr in Eugene or explode. I'm leaning toward the pr. Should I explode, I'll still have to box up and move the pieces.

TNT '08 Coaching and Training

Four. That's how many miles the team ran today. Positioned at the turn-around point beneath the 210 Freeway, I greeted all as they doubled back after two miles. This was followed by a stretching clinic in which I learned interesting positions that hurt.

As for my last post, a consultation with Coach Kate revealed that I had, in fact, run 20.2 miles and not the aftermentioned 18. That in no way alters any of the thoughts mentioned.

Now back to moving.

Thoughts While Running 18 Miles Today

"14 is far enough. I'll train harder next week."

"Half-marathons are more my speed."

"What's the point in this?"

"I'll just aim for a modest pr at Eugene. No need to pick-up the pace."

"Why not extend every walk break another minute or so?"

"If I throw myself over this embankment, I'll probably get hurt and have a good excuse for quitting."

"Not every marathon has to be a pr. I can pr at Pasadena this fall."

"Screw prs. What do I have to prove?"

"My feet are hot."

TNT Summer Team '08

First practice today for the summer Team in Training. Very exciting for me to be onboard as an assistant coach. I remember standing around on a hot August morning three years ago wondering what the heck I'd gotten myself into. Now I see other people thinking the same darn thing.

Participants ran their 5 kilometer pace assement. I hung out on the last mile and ran with many part of the way. Fascinating to see the reactions: the majority were tired but upbeat, a few curt, one or two sullen. Still, everyone made it and adjourned to a pot luck breakfast.

I have officially declared "moving" to be a form of cross-training. I carry heavy boxes up and down stairs, bend, lunge, squat, and crawl to dismantle various things around the house. Despite my weekly running miles, I'm quite sore come day's end. Perhaps the Olympics will carry "moving" as a trail sport this year.

Sick of Stinking Boxes

I dream of them. We're packing up all our junk so painters and carpet cleaners can get in and do their thing. TNT kickoff was Saturday and training begins this week. As assistant coach, I'll be hanging around until the last runner finishes, then squeeze in my own training. Plus there's the matter of writing. I'm behind and need to pump up production on five book chapters, a short story, and a new sit-com pilot. But mostly I need boxes. Stinking boxes.

Refreshing Pause

Friend Ken sent me this awesome bit of improv.

Don't Say His Name Out Loud

One of the episodes we commented on yesterday was "Candle Jack," written by Paul Rugg. Paul really had a feel for using stock footage. Scott Jeralds directed and Kenneth Mars guest-starred.

Freak-a-Commentary

At a sound stage in Hollywood, Tom Ruegger, Paul Rugg and myself provided DVD commentary on several first season episodes of Freakazoid! The DVD is due to be released this summer. I learned things I hadn't known working on the show. For example, composer Richard Stone gave Tom the melody for the main title and Tom then wrote lyrics to match. (Winning an Emmy in the process.)

Paul kept the session moving with leading questions and compliments. Tom filled in with his knowledge of the artwork and what went into the making of each episode. I mostly sharked along, looking for spots to shoehorn in one-liners. In any case, I was reminded that animation can be fun and miss working with Tom and Paul. But I shall always be proud to say that I once wrote for the guy with lightning in his hair.

Fighting Back

Rosina just died from leukemia. While her family mourns, you can join the battle against this disease. On Saturday, Feb. 2, the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society'sTeam in Training will commence their summer season. For 20 years, people have signed up with Team in Training in order to fund raise and participate in endurance events. This season particpants may choose between the San Diego Rock 'n' Roll Marathon and the Mayor's Midnight Sun Marathon in Alaska. (There are also cycling and triathalon events at different locales.) The money raised helps smack down blood cancers. The marathon you complete will change you deeply. And, somewhere along the way, the teammates you encounter become friends.

I'll be an assistant run coach for the San Gabriel Valley Marathon Team. If you live anywhere in the LA area, head down to the Culver City Veterans Center, 4117 Overland Ave., Culver City, CA 90230. The event begins at 9:00 AM and there are teams located all across the city. Nothing will bring Rosina back, but let her memory motivate us not to be passive in the face of cancer. We can take the initiative in this fight. We can do it as Team.

Spirit of the Marathon Review

While up in Washington, my family and I caught a showing of the above-titled film. The movie followed runners ranging from rookies to Olympian Deena Kastor to Kenyan Daniel Njenga as they trained to run the 2005 Chicago Marathon. There was some marathon history and comments from top runners, including the distance dudes of my youth: Frank Shorter and Bill Rodgers. Spirit conveyed a sense that the distance measures the runner in many ways and that the experience is transformative. My favorite moment involved a first-timer telling her friends she was training for a marathon. They asked, "Do you think you'll win?" A theater full of runners roared with laughter.

I'm Not Lion

Apparently, the hills are alive with the sound of cougars. Mountain lion sightings are being reported around my running trails in the San Gabriel foothills. Perhaps the recent storms are washing panthers into our midst? Thanks to former TNT teammate Jeff for this interesting tidbit.

Frosty Running in Washington State

Still up near Olympia, Washington visiting family. Daytime temperatures linger in the teens and 20s. I thought the Phoenix Marathon was cold but today I ran 14 miles on chilly backcountry roads. Frost everywhere, horses in the fields standing head down, motionless as marble carvings. Mt. Rainer rose to the east like a huge white triangle. Dogs ran along split-rail fences, barking as I passed. A gray and black cat slunk across a two-lane, asphalt road, ducking under a fence and into a wrecked out-building, watching me warily from behind a board as I loped on.

Though light, traffic was occasionally a hazard. Certain roads are shoulder-free and I zig-zagged from side-to-side seeking the widest shoulder and trying to avoid cruising around a blind corner into a F-150 pick-up pulling a horse trailer.

Running negative splits, I stopped run/walks and picked up the pace for the last two miles. Most of this distance was on a straight away between Douglas Firs and Western Red Cedars. A Federal Express panal truck drove past me. The driver waved as Mt. Rainer filled the background behind him.

Afterwards, stretching out in the cold, early afternoon, I realized almost two-and-a-half hours had passed and I had hardly seen a single person. Only folk in pick-ups and SUVs, a gas truck, and a county crew that looked lost.

Still and all, a very nice long run.

I'm In A State of Washington

Mount Rainer on a rare sunny day in the Pacific Northwest.

Training for Eugene

Yesterday was my first timed run in almost two months. I looped the Rose Bowl in 24:52. That's a 5K distance (3.1 miles). I was very pleased with the results. This marks the official start of my training for the Eugene Marathon. I will shatter the four-hour mark.

My fine wife and I shared pizza last night and planned our next moves. There's much to be done in order to stage the house for sale. I want to nap instead. Nevertheless, off we go into a new stage of life.

Writing lags. I have another project in addition to my book and short story: an original, live-action sit-com script. Changes in the animation industry include the arrival of live-action executives. They have little trust in animation scripts as a barometer of writing ability, preferring formats they are more comfortable with. I suppose I should be greatful they aren't arriving from the cattle insemenation industry.

Adeus Rosina

Rosina ended her struggle today. Keep the good thoughts and prayers flowing to the family. Grief is like a long bitter drink from a glass that seems bottomless. But one day the vessel is emptied and the taste fades. And a new and different life is lived.

Meeting Week Update

Outcomes from this week's meetings.

1. Met with the teen reading group and obtained volunteers to read the first three chapers of my young adult novel. I also scored some great gossip about Brandon and Keira at Jennifer's party.

2. The dentist was impressed with the state of my teeth. I asked him if they were clean enough to eat off of. He laughed and said he'd have to remember that. So if your dentist makes that joke tell him you heard it already — but make sure he's done working on you first.

3. Six people signed up at the information meeting for Team in Training. They will be training for the San Diego Rock 'n' Roll Marathon.

4. Director Tyler filmed my memories of Freakazoid! DVD release date is set for this summer. More soon.

5. My accountant agreed with me on all fronts, recommending that I sell the house, get a condo or a townhouse, and try again to earn a living. Right on, man.

Freakataping

Freakazoid! first season DVD taping was yesterday in Burbank. A whopping bin of fun. I'll have more a bit later.

Prayers & Positive Energy for Rosina

Tonight, I returned home from a Team in Training information meeting to learn the wife of a former Warner Brothers chum is nearing the end of her battle with leukemia. She had a bone marrow transplant several months ago that seems to have been the beginning of the end. Her moments are numbered, so please say a prayer and send kind thoughts to her husband as he waits for the curtain to fall.

Meeting Week

Next week I meet with:

1. Teens who will beta test my book's first three chapters.

2. The dentist.

3. People interested in joining Team in Training and running either the San Diego or Anchorage, AK marathons.

4. A nice director who will be filming my interview for the season one DVD release of Freakazoid!

5. My accountant who will probably tell me what I already know: "You're broke. Sell the house. Get a job somewhere."

Animalia, Writing, Running, TNT

A show that helped me pay bills last year airs this Sunday. Animalia started out in 2006 as a funny program for kids 8 to 12 in the spirit of Anamaniacs. Over the years, the vision changed toward a more serious, educational program for a younger demographic. Some of the CGI l've seen looks pretty good. Now the series "belongs to the ages" or PBS, BBC, CBC, etc.

Working on the 3rd draft of Dummy Fever. Six pages a day, come what may. That should take me to Monday, January 14. From there, my darling wife proof reads same, while I arrange with an adult book club, a teen literary group, and volunteers from two high schools to read and comment. Oh, and off to my agent as well. I'm excited. I think this book will go. I really feel the story is picking up momentum.

Ran 5 miles this morning. Heavy rains last night caused a mini-mudslide that dumped muck and roots across one trail. Plus a drowned rat drifted to its resting place in the bike lane surrounding the Rose Bowl. Perhaps someone will give it a Viking funeral, sailing it down a storm drain on flaming cardboard smeared with peanut butter.

First information meeting for the Summer Team in Training season will be next Saturday morning at the Covina Library. However all the coaches will be in Phoenix with the Winter Team for the Rock 'n Roll Marathon. Except me. This will be a splendid time to introduce my own unique theories of running to a captive audience. ("We use a lot of iron when we run. So buy some iron leg weights and an iron knee band. It'll toughen ya up.")

Weary, Weary Me

For the last 48 hours I've been writing a story to submit to a horror anthology. Right now, New Year's Eve, my darling wife is proofing the last draft. Submission deadline closes at midnight. I wrote from noon to 11:00 last night. Eight o'clock to 1:10 today, went to the gym, then wrote from 4:30 to 10:20. MDW assures me I'm getting the rapid proof that will merely nip the worst grammatical offenders.

This story actually started out as something called Behind the Scenes. But over three weeks, it's changed, changed again and finally become Tyto Alba, the tale of a slacker who pays a price for "going with the flow."

All pressure is self-imposed. I must return to my young adult novel and didn't want this almost-finished story lounging around, up to no good.

And so, as I await changes on my final story for 2007, I say to one and all: