Day 40 - Pushing it in Vegas

Last night was a blast! For a night that was supposed to be a quick hit of some music and drink turned out to be an all-nighter.

At House of Blues we saw the last set of Ronnie Rose. Ronnie was wailin'. He was on his 6th night straight and his voice was failing him a bit, but the singing he held back from us he more than made up for with his harmonica (Sorry you missed it, Robin.)

Here are the kind of things that I notice... the guitar player looked just like Joe Mantegna, the bass player just like Derek Daly, and the guy sitting up from, from the back, was a dead ringer for Larry David, from the back.

Ronnie felt bad that he couldn't sing, so he gave out free CDs and autographed each one, as he apologized unnecessarily.

It was 10:00pm, pretty late, especially having traveled 3 time zones west, so we were about ready to... "Hey, what's going on over there?"

What was over there was the most fun I've had in Vegas, maybe ever. The band (I think they were called Lemon, never did make it out. First time I thought he said Women.) plays only requests. It's like a live jukebox. They played everything. They played great. They rocked.

Anyway, too many great moments in the 3 sets we were there for to call any out... ok, just one. Someone requested Spirit of Radio, which apparently these guys had never played before, at least not together. It wasn't perfect, but damn if it didn't rock hard.

Ok, this is a running blog... get to the point...

Was out past 4:00. Woke up just in time to jump onto a conference call. Midway through that call I realized I hadn't eaten in 24 hours. Lunch had to happen quickly.

It didn't.

I'd reached that point where you're so hungry that nothing sounds good. We picked an asian noodle place, pretty much by default because it was at its entrance where we decided we couldn't take another step without fuel.

The service was sooooo slooooooooow. I was eating drops of the lava-like sauces left on the table next to the soy sauce. I threatened to eat the place mat, which was made of natural fibers... I'm thinking a grass.

Eventually the food did arrive and we inhaled it. And it was fudging tasty. Better than the place mat would have been.

Somehow it had drifted past 2:00p. I had to work at 3:00p. Crap.

Booked it to the room and started to throw on my running gear in what was just short of a panic.

Then I realized there was just no way.

I dressed for work, and headed to the show floor for my 3.5 hour shift. Standing. 3.5 hours. Concrete covered by cheap carpet and no padding. This is pure evil on feet and legs and mood.

The good news, the floor was dead at 6:00. We bolted.

Another mad dash to the room, geared up, out the door to elevator gridlock. I guess everyone bailed at 6:00.

Coming off the elevator, I saw Seth, co-worker, fellow booth slave, and running bud. He was still wearing his blue blazer and a dejected look. He had yet another meeting to go to. He looked like the kid whose mom wouldn't let him play ball with the other kids, sitting in the front window, watching all the fun he wasn't having.

Forgot the GPS watch in the room, which was on the other side of that elevator mess, so repeated yesterday's tour of backstage Mandalay Bay. This time, it was dark. And chilly. And wet, having just stopped raining.

Las Vegas has the best sidewalks in the world. Smooth, wide, uniform.  Not a crack or toe-stubbing bump. This evening, I was the only one using them. It was like being at an amusement park before it opens. Not a soul on foot but me.

Got it in, though. And now, I'm typing as fast as I can so we can hit the "partner events" and then start the night.

Good running,
Doug

Numbers: 1.2 miles, again. Tomorrow, Seth.

Day 39 - On the road

After yesterday's race, today was bound to be a rest-mile day, regardless.

A night of almost no sleep and a day of being herded by the US airline industry, and I'm lucky to be standing, let alone running.

In keeping with my "get it while you can" philosophy, more worried that I'd fall asleep out on the road if I waited for the evening than anything else, I geared up and headed out, as soon as I hit the room, for what I'm afraid, dear readers, was an uneventful tour of the grounds of the Mandalay Bay Hotel and Casino.

Pools? Closed. It's 52F here.

Nightlife? It's lunch time. (Hey! I'm starving. Just noticed. Man, am I tired...)

Sun? Cloudy. Looks like rain is coming... in the desert.

I've seen an Elton John circa 1975 wanna be, a seriously asymmetrical breast enhancement, and a girl who we were trying to decide was an "escort" or a dancer. (I offered my travel companion $100 to ask... she declined.) Saw all of those were before landing in Las Vegas.

The room's nice enough.Shower is glorious. View is not so much.

"View" - parking lots, business parks, and rain on the way.

But I'm here. Run's in. Working tonight, then let's hope for a second wind.

Good running,
Doug

Numbers: 1.2 slow rest miles.

Day 38 - Groudhog 7

No, that's not the lunch menu, or a partial score for a pre-superbowl pickup game, it's a race.

Actually, it's more than a race. It's a free, yes, I said free, as in no cost, race put on by IndyRunners, a local running club. Not only is it a big fat "Thank You" to the running community, but also a food-raiser for Gleaner's Food Bank.

And... it doesn't start until 1:00.

Run + free + feeding the hungry + still get to sleep in after last night's minor tequila and Reese Cup binge = first race of the year, baby!

Marty and I pre-race trying hard not to look dorky... not hard enough, I know...

Marty and I grabbed some non-perishables from our respective pantries and humped it to Zionsville.

The parking lot was pretty packed. No problem. Marty dubbed himself "Authorized Personnel", which immediately made us eligible for a sweet parking spot up front.

Once inside, I knew I was back home. The room, which I'm assuming is the high school cafeteria, was full of my kind of people, the kind of people who would come out on a Sunday in February to run with people like me... some kicked back around a table telling stories that I'm sure were mostly true, some were stretching on the floor or against a wall, some were on their third nerve-induced trip to the restroom.

Being in a room full of people with numbers pinned to their chest waiting for the right time to head to the start is like standing outside of the reception hall before a wedding... each of us took our own path to get there, we all have our own reasons for being there, but we are all there for the same thing, at the same time, and when it's over, we'll scatter again to continue our own journey.

The thing we were there for today was 7 miles on a gorgeous sunny 23F day in central Indiana. And the course, lined with trees still holding on to their frosting of snow, could not have been more beautiful.

Ok, that's a bit of a lie. It looked beautiful, as long as you didn't look down too often. Much of the course was littered with snow, slush, water, and ice, including the ever-evil black-ice. Less than a half mile in, we turned a corner, which was glare ice, then slid, literally down a hill of polished snow into a pile of slush that led directly to a huge puddle that in some states would be a named lake. Other than that, it was great!

One of the few patches of pavement on an otherwise wonderful winter course.

The run really was perfect. The footing just kept you in the moment... because if you weren't in the moment at the wrong moment, you were on your ass.

But more than 300 of us ventured out, and I'm pretty sure most all of us survived. I only know of one person who was thisclose to wiping out, and that was me.

Marty and I hung together nearer the back of the pack than the front, the whole 7 miles, passing the time talking about when we used to be faster, and about how many SuperBowl-beer-calories we were banking on this run, and about how girl runners look just a little hotter in the winter, and about how if we ruled the world we'd sure as hell LOOK OUT FOR THAT PATCH OF ICE!!!

We finished, in a totally unremarkable time, but couldn't have cared less. Cookies. Mongo-sized Powerade. Dry shirt. Homeward!

Good running,
Doug

Numbers: 7 most excellent miles.

Day 37 - Swim Sectionals and Snow

Somewhere between the end of my lunch run yesterday and 11a this morning, all of that slush falling from the sky turned into actual snow.

It's not the end-of-the-world snow, but there's 4-7 inches out there, depending on where you stick your ruler. The main roads are showing pavement, and the side roads have seen at least one pass from a plow.

My street, a dead end, is wuh-haaay down the ol' priority list for the plow patrol. I'm lucky to have anything better than meandering trenches from my neighbors' SUVs to guide me out for 3 days after a big dump.

On any other day, I'd crank up the heat, pull on some lounge pants, and rot my brain with "How It's Made", "Mythbusters", and if I'm lucky some really bad movies.

But my incredible daughter qualified for Swimming Sectional Finals in, by far, the toughest sectional in the state. Meet starts at 1p, and fills up quickly.

The choices I had were to shovel my driveway and then hope I was able to surf the snow to the end of my street, or take advantage of the fact that the sectional was only about 1.5 miles from my driveway and hoof it.

We all know what I chose, right?

Just because I was running, I wasn't going to leave my camcorder, camera, phone, book, and water bottle behind, and I wanted to take a shirt to change in to as well as some track pants to pull on. So I dumped my laptop backpack on my bed and packed it up for the meet.

I was out the door by 11:15, to the howls of the dog who just couldn't understand why she wasn't allowed to go, too.

The snow was averaging a little over ankle deep, powder on top of compacted slush. This made for uneasy, slippery footing. That and the additional weight and awkwardness of the backpack slowed my to the pace of one of those folks from Sarasota.

It was beautiful, though. The powder was spraying in front of me, and the ice on the trees was quietly creaking with the not-so-gentle breeze.  As I ran under the trees, I saw small holes in the otherwise smooth snow surface, rectangular holes, cut sharply, and deep. "Must be from the ice falling off of the limbs when the wind kicks up and what the heck am I doing under these limbs!"

I retreated to the middle of the street.

My route took me past some shops and restaurants, with freshly cleared sidewalks.

It also took me past an insurance agent and religious bookstore with  not-so-clear sidewalks. You'd think the insurance guy would know better. And the book store people might want to bone-up on that "doing unto others" chapter ... I'm just sayin'.

After leaping a few staked-up piles of snow left at the end of some plowing privateer, I made my way to the natatorium door.

The run home was uneventful, and a little bitter.

Good running,
Doug

Numbers: 3.6 miles, very slow but hard work nonetheless.

Day 36 - Hey look, weather

Only in Indiana could the SuperBowl-bound home team be knocked off the headlines for some snow.

At 11:15 schools are letting out early. I imagine the bread, milk, and eggs are flying off the shelves at the grocery stores. From my window, there isn't even any accumulation on the streets yet.

The city loves to get into a lather, for any reason. But man do we love our snow.

And actually, I have to take issue with this particular "snow." I was out in it. This is not snow.

If you can hear it hitting the ground, it's not snow.

This is slush. Slush falling from the sky.

Slush has no redeeming value, and is particularly unpleasant when it's being whipped at your face by a nasty headwind.

Since I was looking for a rest-mile day, and could use some shelter from the wind and cold globs of icy goo, I decided to give the nearby trail another look. This time, running the opposite way. This meant that I'd start on the now mostly ignored asphalt path around the pond.

I hadn't set foot on this path since the building managers sent out a note last summer warning everyone of a "large snake" seen near the path that had been "lunging at cyclists and pedestrians."

For those who don't know, I have an unnaturally strong fear of snakes. I don't want to have anything lunging at me. If a snake were to lunge at me, I would shriek like a little girl, wet myself, and most likely die from some panic-related cardiac rupture.

Considering the temperature, and slush storm, I was pretty sure the snake wouldn't be around. Or if it were, it wouldn't be lunging.

The path was mostly covered in, you guessed it, slush. It looked like snow, all white and pretty. But it wasn't snow. Every step made a little "squish" sound. Every step slopped a little slush onto my shoes. It was just lovely.

But the "piddly run-off" was once again piddly and the "gorge" was easily passable. So the loop was mostly uneventful.


By the end of the short run, the wind had subsided a bit, and the slush was falling mostly straight down. If I didn't know better, I'd have said it looked kinda pretty.


Good running,
Doug


Numbers: 1.4 easy rest-miles

Day 35 - Group behavior

Today we had record attendance for a run from to office.

All of us have run together at some point, but this was the first time we'd amassed six of us (Bill, Bob, Mark, Mike, Eric.)

(Wait, that's only 5... oh, and me... 6).

It's interesting to watch the group dynamics on one of these runs. I'm not talking about the incessant insults to one's manhood/womanhood or the inappropriate-in-any-other-setting topics for discussion (like whether or not Eric found his hat in the "family planning" aisle*).

In this case, I'm talking about how the group itself morphs as the run unfolds.

For example, after a mile or so, our group of 6 split into 2 groups of 3. This happened without a word or a nod. The group just organically divided into one group that wanted to go just a bit faster, and a group that wanted to go just a bit slower. The group split perfectly on either side of the average of the 6 different paces that each of us would have run on our own.

Everyone got pretty much the run they were looking for. Everyone had someone to talk with. No one got dropped.

This happens all the time. A runner taking off to prove he's faster than everyone else doesn't happen very  often. And you just don't see a group letting someone fall off the back.

When the group "gets it", there's this unspoken "no runner left behind" code. Despite differing paces, the group takes care of its own.

Oh, and it doesn't stop when the run's over. When one of us noticed the free-lunch feast of extra Qdoba-to-go in the break room, we made sure our fellow runners got to it first.

Good running,
Doug

Numbers: 4.3 comfortable miles.

*Eric's hat looked very much like a condom. It's not shown the in picture. He'd already taken it off so that he could more fully enjoy the sensations of the run. Despite Eric's reckless choice, this blog advocates safe running.

Day 34 - My dog the runner.

My best running buddy is my dog, Mandee.

Good running dogs are, by definition, high energy dogs. They need exercise. If they don't get exercise, they will go crazy and take you with them.

This morning, I was faced with a dog that was bordering on insanity. She was jumping and twirling and generally behaving like an ADHD kid on a meth and Red Bull cocktail.

I'd hoped to run with my bipedal running buds at work, but this could not be ignored. Faced with a full day in her crate, if I didn't take her out for a run, she might quite possibly vibrate to the point of exploding. And that's a mess nobody wants to clean up.

So we geared up and off we went into the cold and the dark and the morning commuters with their high-beams on and their travel mugs topped off. I was a blast.

She's a great, great running dog. She can go for ever. Hot, cold, whatever. Bring it on. The beep from my GPS watch as I power it on to find it's place in the world sends her into an anticipatory frenzy. At stop lights she sits patiently. She mostly behaves when dogs pass. She's always disappointed when the run ends.

I love that my dog loves to run with me. She never complains about the weather. She's never late. She wags her tail every step of the way.

I don't have a great running dog by accident.

• First, I chose her well. She's genetically predisposed to run. She's sturdy stock, svelte, and strong. (Shar-Pei, Golden Lab mix)
• Second, she loves it. Not all dogs do.
• Third, she's been trained. We went through obedience training. She knows to heal. She wears a training collar. More importantly, she knows I'm in charge. THAT my friends is critical. You do NOT want to be running with a dog that you can't walk without them trying to separate your shoulder.

Having a dog that can run, that loves to run, is a treat, and a responsibility. If you're considering getting a running dog, remember that they need to run, often. And please check the animal shelters first. They are full of dogs that are ready to run as often and for as long as you want.

Good Running,
Doug (and Mandee)

Numbers: 3 miles that felt fantastic. My legs were actually springy. Springy!