Wall Art or Doomsday Clock?

According to popular media today was suppose to be the much heralded "end of the world."  At least that was the speculation based upon a terminal date on some ancient Mayan calendar.  It was also the beginning of the One Man's long over-due and much needed vacation.  What better way to say to hell with work than bugging out on Doomsday?

The last couple of years have found the stress of the Christmas holidays wearing on my family.  After last year we decided that the best defense was simply not to be there.  So we decided to forgo the usual Summer vacation and spend Christmas with just myself, the wife, and the kids on a beach somewhere.  A Christmas in, what to us would be, a very non-traditional environment.

So last night, I came home from work, picked up the rental car, packed, took a quick 30 minute "combat nap" and then hit the road for a 13 hour marathon drive (I am suppose to be an "endurance" athlete after all).  All the while thinking how cool it was going to be to watch the end of the world from the beach.  Well around 07:15 or so sunrise came just as it normally does.  No exploding stars, killer asteroid strikes, or alien invasions.

Sunrise on the East Coast.  Looking pretty good to me while I'm driving.

I'm not sure that the Mayans had a specific time picked out, so I considered that perhaps the end of the word might come sometime later in the afternoon.  Which I was perfectly fine with because I really hadn't made it to the beach yet and I was hopeful that I could get some sun and surf in before the cataclysm.  Now, I could have taken into consideration that 12/21/2012 had come to other parts of the world several hours earlier, but logically I dismissed this assertion as the Mayans were clearly located in the Americas and weren't really concerned with international date lines.  So with some expectation of seeing an epic solar flare or witnessing the switching of Earth's magnetic poles, I took the family to a nice lunch at a restaurant on a pier that sat over the surf.  Then we took a nice stroll along the beach.  The only celestial observance to note was that the moon was visible in the afternoon sky, but I hardly considered that ominous or malevolent.

An afternoon moon and no global destruction to be had anywhere.

By late afternoon my expectations for catastrophic planetary failure were pretty much dashed.  As the sun began to set along the Western horizon I started to wonder if perhaps the Mayans had just ran out of room on the round tablet that they had carved their calendar on.  Then I wondered if some overly-bright archeologist with a fedora and a bullwhip had stumbled upon an ancient Mayan interior decorator's design shop and confused some wall art with an intricate and sophisticated device for documenting cycles and the passage of time.  I'm sure that happens all the time.
 

Wall art or the basis for Microsoft's Outlook calendar?

So the day is nearly over.  12/21/2012 has come and (mostly) gone.  I'm a little disappointed in the ancient Mayans, but then again can you really put stock in a civilization that collapsed around the 9th century?  Guess the hotshot who chiseled out their calendar failed to add that little tidbit to the day planner.

Late afternoon and not a single Borg ship to be seen.

One thing I am certain of however, and that is that I am fairly pleased that doomsday wasn't today.  My kids will have an opportunity to get their Christmas gifts, the family will be able to enjoy the stress-free environment of Christmas away from home, and I will be able to leave work behind for a while and get in some awesome workouts and runs in the sand and sun.

For those that are still concerned that the end is nigh, I have heard that Obama and Boehner have invited Harold Camping to Washington to consult them on the "fiscal cliff".

Mirror, Mirror, On The Wall

I have an admission to make.  I'm in a very dysfunctional relationship...with my bathroom scale.

My old digital scale finally fell apart a couple of months ago.  I think the strain of my constant need for attention finally took its toll.  So, when the old scale's display finally refused to answer me with anything other than a very firm "E" (which I interpreted as meaning "I'm done."), I decided to replace it with a sleeker, sexier machine with more options.  Sleeker and sexier doesn't always equate to better reliability or comfort.  I should have known that I was in over my head when it came with an instruction manual that included more directions than just, "Step on.  Read weight."

 

The numbers shown are obviously not mine.

The new scale is a Health o meter Body Fat Monitoring Scale that allegedly measures not only weight but body fat, hydration levels, and calculates BMI (Body Mass Index).  It does this all through the magic of bio-impedance.  According to the literature the scale "sends a mild electrical current through your body, measuring both the strength and speed of the return current. From these readings, the software calculates your body mass."  I'm hoping it won't become self-aware in the future and decide one day to up the amperage.  The new scale also has a bunch of other functions too, like turning into robot with laser cannons I think, but I never read that far into the instruction manual.

My relationship with the scale is a twisted love-hate obsession of constant weighing in.  Almost each and every morning I climb on the scale to see how the glowing blue display will greet me.  Sometimes she is kind.  Sometimes she is less so.  I have often doubted her objectivity.  But what is more concerning is that recently I have begun to doubt her honesty.

At my heaviest I weighed in at nearly 235 pounds.  I do not have a genetic predisposition to being overweight or obese.  This was simply a result of a few years of idle contentment and indulgence.  When I was introduced to running as an enjoyable endeavor almost three years ago, I dropped 30 pounds of that.  Since then my weight has fluctuated, with a low of about 197 pounds last year (an unhealthy drop facilitated by the use of the thermogenic OxyElite Pro) and topping back out around 212.  On average my weight consistently ranges between 204 and 206.

This morning when I climbed on the scale I was met with the following:

32.6 % body fat?! Lay off the lattés, fat boy.

As my wife has often reminded me I am not "built like a runner."  And, given the stereotypical runner's physique, she's right.  I am not tall and skinny with long slender limbs.  I have a heavier, more solid build.  I am not obese by any stretch of the imagination and I can see my abs (sort of...no, really!) although they are not quite as defined as I would like.  The scale's bio-impedance technology however tells me that my body fat percentage puts me in an obese category.  Very disheartening for someone who considers himself to be fit.

The next set of numbers were no more encouraging:

According to the BMI I am still considered obese.

I'm also dehydrated.

This has been a consistent report from my new scale since bringing it home.  Other than occasionally watching the numbers of my overall weight decrease, there just never seemed to be any positive feedback.  Then just last night I read this article entitled "Your Ideal Weight Isn't What You Think It Is."  In the article the author makes this assertion: 

 "The best advice you'll ever hear in regard to weight management is throw away your scale. The focus, or obsession, on weight is the very reason why most people fail. It's misguided and dangerous. The focus on weight began back in the 1950's when the definition of appropriate weight was simple. Your weight was compared against the ideal weight tables developed by the Metropolitan Life Insurance Company."

On the subject of BMI the author also says: 

"BMI provides an estimation of fat content in a person's body, and is probably accurate for most people. Results may vary, however, because BMI doesn't take into account the differences between lean weight and fat weight. For example, athletes may develop significantly higher muscle mass. Muscle contributes more to overall weight than fat. As a result their BMI may be higher than average despite a lower fat content."

So BMI for people with more muscle mass can also be misleading as well.  As I said earlier, I am far from obese, however according to the BMI charts I am considered just that.  The article goes on to say that Body Composition Testing (also known as Body Fat Analysis) "is the only proven method to accurately test whether or not you're at your ideal weight."

But wait!  Isn't that what my sleek and sexy new scale is suppose to do with it's super cool bio-impedance technology?  According to the bathroom scale I'm still cruising above 30% body fat.  I'm still fat!

So later today, lingering in a malaise of depression over my obesity, I spot this StayHealthy kiosk near the pharmacy in the grocery store.  It looked less high-speed than my scale, but promised a broader range of capabilities and technological sophistication.  Much like Optimus Prime while in truck mode.

Optimus Prime.

Unlike the old blood pressure kiosks that used to be found in most pharmacies, this one had the ability to measure blood pressure, BMI, body fat composition, and give a simple color blindness test.  So I gave it a try.  I had to input my weight manually to get the BMI, but the body fat composition was done with the same bio-impedance technique by placing your hands on the metal strips on each side of the screen.  Here are my results.

Holy crap! Do I even workout?

Wow.  So according to the kiosk my body fat percentage is only 19.1%.  That is 41% less than what my home scale is telling me.  Although there are some slight variations in body composition scales, according to this I'm "moderately lean" or considered in a "fitness" category.  That was certainly a much different (and refreshing) bit of news than what the glass, plastic, and silicone liar at home has been telling me!

Not to be outdone on the bad news front, the kiosk did tell me that my blood pressure is in the pre-hypertension category and my pulse rate is high (don't even get me started on this one).  My BMI is still in the obesity range of course.  Oh, and I'm also dehydrated (surprise).  On the flip side I was a pleased to find that I haven't yet gone color-blind.  After all these years, I'm starting to think Mom was wrong about that other thing making you go blind.

With all the charts and scales and variances in body mass who - or rather what - do you believe when it comes to achieving your ideal weight?  It can certainly be confusing, misleading, and above all frustrating.  It seems that the advice that a pro bodybuilder once gave me years ago in an old hole-in-the-wall gym where I used to workout is still sound advice today.  He told me to forget about the scale and focus on the mirror.  "It doesn't lie," he had said.  What you see is what you get and if you aren't happy with what you see then work to change it until you are.

So maybe the lesson here is that how I look and feel is more important that those glowing blue numbers.  And that, ultimately, will determine my ideal body weight.  But just like most dysfunctional relationships, I'll still continue to go back and step on the scale, secretly hoping that it will show me what it is that I want to see.

The Holidays Are Here...Run!

May the gods have mercy.  The holidays are officially, undeniably upon us.

Everyone seemingly looks forward to the holiday season, but I will confess to having developed an aversion to it all.  The rampant commercialization, the waning light of shortened days (rife with seasonal affective disorder), and the self-enhanced stress of meeting abstract holiday obligations related to family and friends.  While I can't deny that I enjoy the excitement and wonder that is still present in my children for the holidays, I personally would like nothing better than for them to pass quietly by while I give them nothing more than a nod of my head and a tip of my glass as acknowledgement.

Yesterday was Thanksgiving Day.  I knew that I was in for a stressful day and not particularly looking forward to dinner at the mother-in-law's house.  Not that the food wasn't going to be good (I was certain that it was) or that my children weren't excited (they were).  However, there would be volatile personalities present and a high potential for family drama that doesn't necessarily require a holiday gathering to be invoked but is much more certain with one.  Normally I would inoculate myself against the angst with a stiff drink or two before venturing out, but unfortunately I was on-call and therefore that removed that particular remedy from my list of options.

So on Wednesday night I decided to make the best of my Thanksgiving morning and run the Iroquois Hill Runners Thanksgiving Day Run.  The run is held each year on Thanksgiving morning and is a 5 mile run through the hills of Iroquois park, which is actually a pretty tough run with a hard climb the entire length of the first two miles or so.

IHR Thanksgiving Day Run Elevation Profile

At the urging of my co-worker, friend, and mentor Steve, I had ran this race last year under his entry as he wasn't able to participate.  Steve is the person who is singularly responsible for introducing the One Man to running for fun.  Running was something that I once loathed because of the inevitability of shin splints and severe discomfort that came from running.  Other than doing the absolute minimum that I had to do for PT tests (and struggling through the running portions of those), I wanted nothing to do with running.  Through intelligent suggestions and enthusiastic encouragement Steve guided me to pain free running and was the first person to encourage me to run in an organized road race, which he also ran with me.  That was almost almost three years ago.  Steve was running the Thanksgiving Day run this year and I could think of no better way to start my day than running it with the Jedi Master and being surrounded by the positive energy of the running community.

I was up and out the door just after 7:00 A.M. and on my way to late registration.  I stopped by Starbucks for my triple venti mocha and then made my way down highways and streets that were surprisingly empty for a holiday morning.  I did see a few runners who appeared to be making their way toward Iroquois Park.

The hills of Iroquois loom in the distance as I drive down Southern Parkway.

I arrived just before 8:00 A.M. and there were already tons of people present and parking was filling up.  I had printed out my registration form at home and brought it with me.

 

Late registration and packet pickup near the starting line.

A pleasant surprise at late registration was that I was still given a nice long-sleeve t-shirt with the IHR Thanksgiving day logo.  The temps were in the high 30s and climbing so I decided to return to the car and exchange the t-shirt and running jacket that I had been wearing for the IHR long-sleeve.

Run, Turkey!

I met up with Steve and his family near registration and enjoyed talking with them prior to the start.  With twenty-five minutes or so to go until the race was to begin I decided to head to the bathroom to relieve myself of some of the coffee that I had.  The line was not that long but apparently many of the people in line had not yet enjoyed their morning constitutional.  By the time the I was five people away from the door it was nine minutes until the start and it was painfully obvious I wasn't going to make a bathroom trip before the race began.  So shrugging off the trip to the bathroom I headed back to line up for the singing of My Old Kentucky Home and The Star Spangled Banner.

The One Man with the Jedi Master.

Without much delay the race was on.  Hundreds of runners started up the climb up the hills.  I took it very easy as I made the ascent.  I haven't been doing a lot of hill work lately (read "none") and wasn't sure what kind of toll the hills would take on me.  The funny thing about running hills for me however is that I tend to unconsciously push myself.  This day was no exception and I found myself slowly and steadily passing other runners as we climbed.

Beginning the ascent.

Near the top of the park I was struck by the early morning view with the sun still low in the early Thanksgiving Day sky.  I paused to take a couple of pictures as did several of the other runners.

View from the top.

The rest of the race was pretty uneventful.  My photography stop allowed Steve to gain a good thirty seconds on me, but I was able to keep him in sight during the rest of the race even if I couldn't catch up to him again.

I was able to open up on the descent and felt like I was flying coming back down out of the hills.  The final stretch I really pushed myself because I knew I had a good chance of breaking 50 minutes if I did.  I crossed the finish line with an unofficial time of 49:51.  Not bad for someone who doesn't do hill work.

The post-race snack was a pumpkin muffin with frosting and chocolate milk.  You can't beat that.  Way to go Iroquois Hill Runners.

Best post-race snack EVER.

I felt good about the 49:51 time all that day and even smiled to myself today thinking about it; even if my quads are a little more sore than usual.

And for the record, the Thanksgiving Day meal was delicious.  The evening did end on a sour note, not unexpectedly, when the aforementioned personalities clashed.  But making the best of what was left of the evening, I took the family to the movies.  You'd be surprised how many people were actually at the theater on Thanksgiving night.  Maybe I'm not quite so alone in my aversions.

LSC Half Marathon 2012

The second running of the Louisville Sports Commission Half Marathon was on Saturday, November 3rd.  I would have written this blog post/race report before now but the very evening after the race I received a call from work that set off a cascade of events that resulted in me working around the clock for the following four days after.  Most of those days included repeated briefings that were way too similar to this (we all work with at least one Leroy Jenkins), and finally ended with a day spent flying around the city.

Not that my job isn't cool sometimes.  I mean, what other career lets you shoot guns, drive fast cars, and fly around in helicopters?  Certainly not the company IT department.

So on to the race report...

The Warm Up

I slept like crap the night before the race which is no big surprise.  I usually sleep like crap.  The race was to start at 8:30 A.M. so I set my alarm for 5:00 and was up and eating a breakfast that consisted of toast with peanut butter and some milk.  Jumped in the shower and then wandered outside to get a feel for the weather.  The forecast had temperatures in the 40s with a chance of rain.  Even though it was in the low 30s as I stood outside, it didn't really feel all that bad.  I opted for a pair of running shorts, the long sleeve tech shirt that the Sports Commission gave out for the race, and a "throw away" sweatshirt.  By 7:00 I was out the door and on my way to Starbucks to pick up Venti Mocha.  I opted for a quad and was on my way to the race venue.

View from the Yum! Center steps toward the Start.

I arrived around 7:30.  The race started in front of the KFC Yum! Center and I opted to park in the garage beneath the arena.  There weren't very many other cars doing the same and I was a little surprised given that the finish line was very close to where we would start.  I sat in my car and sipped my coffee for a while before I strapped on my Garmin and fired up my Bluetooth headphones.

I made my way to the front of the Yum! Center just as the National Anthem was being played for the Pure Tap 5K that started at 8:00.  Although there were a lot of people around, there didn't seem to be quite as many as last year's inaugural running of the LSC Half.  As the 5K race started I milled about aimlessly, crowd watching, before making my way to the port o' potty line.  The organizers had strategically (perhaps) located the port o' potties inside the parking garage across the street from the Yum! Center.  So I stood in the line that stretched down the sidewalk for a good 15 minutes before I had my turn.

I was out of the port o' potty just as the National Anthem was played for the start of the Half.  I smiled to myself as this was what had happened to me at last year's running.  Perhaps I'm starting a tradition.  At the corner of the street was an overly energetic girl who was doing some cross between plyometrics and cheer leading.  I wanted to slap her.  But instead I went about making sure my music was ready and my Runmeter app was fired up on my iPhone as I made my way to the back of the pack lining up for the start.

My view from the back of the pack.

The weather wasn't all that chilly and the sky looked like the forecast of rain might have been wrong.  I considered for a moment shedding the sweatshirt, but decided I would wait to see how things played out along the way.  For some odd reason I was feeling nervous about this 13.1 mile run.  My training long runs had been strong and even though I was nervous I was confident that I could pull out a PR (Personal Record for you non-running types) from this run.  From the back of the pack I could barely see the starting line and only when the crowd began surging forward did I realize the race had been started.

The Race

The first 3.5 miles were great.  I felt great.  I looked great.  I was running strong.  Around 1.5 miles in I saw my friend Ginger who is training for the 2013 Goofy Challenge at Disney.  I enjoyed seeing Ginger.  She looked great and asked me if I was "going for it," referencing my desire to beat last year's time.  I told her that I thought I was and I pushed on ahead.

At around 3 miles or so, just before entering Cherokee Park, I met more friends including Lenore who is currently sidelined with an injury but was still awesome enough to come out to cheer.  I paused long enough to give her a nice sweaty hug before rushing off into the park.  The strategy was to take it easy on the climbs in Cherokee and then turn it on during the descents and the flat portions in the latter portion of the course.  That strategy went out the window with the first hill as I maintained my pace without slowing.  I did throw silent curses at the elderly man who sprinted past me on the hill.  I had smug satisfaction at the top, however, when I passed him as he was walking.

I felt like I flew through the park and as I navigated the course back out there was Lenore and the cowbell crew who had moved down to cheer us on out of the park.  I waved to them and smiled as I pushed on toward mile 7.  I checked my Garmin and I was on track to match my time from last year's run.  And although I was still feeling pretty good I knew something was going to have to happen if I was going to PR.

The clouds had moved in and it started to rain by mile 8.  I was suddenly glad that I had made the decision to keep the sweatshirt.  I could also feel my energy beginning to drop.  Moving forward was becoming increasingly difficult and I knew that my paced had slowed.  I took the single gel that I had brought with me and hoped that it would give me what I needed to pick back up.  It was also around this time that Ginger blew past me like I was standing still.  I commented that I thought that she was going to take this run easy but she said she had shifted into "race mode."  I watched as she slowly pulled away and disappeared into the distance as the rain began to fall heavily.

By mile 9 I knew that whatever that thing was that needed to happen for me to PR wasn't going to happen.  My legs were heavy and I felt sluggish.  I was cold and soaked and still waiting on that "runner's high" that people talk about but I never seem to get.  By this time we were in downtown Louisville and the only good thing was that the strong headwind from last year's race was absent; replaced instead by frigid rain.

At mile 11 I knew I was out of juice.  I kept trying to push myself but the fire was gone.  Runners were passing me on the left and right and when I glanced down at my Garmin I realized my pace was no better than that of a speed walker.  The last two miles were an exercise in perseverance.  I crossed the finish line in 02:26:24.  More than 16 minutes slower than last year's time on the exact same course.

After grabbing my super-cool finisher's medal I then met Ginger and Kevin just past the recovery snacks.  We were soaked and freezing but able to spend a few minutes talking before the chill finally motivated us to be on our way.  I headed up toward the pizza booth with the idea of grabbing a slice, but I began shivering and instead decided to make my way back to the car.

Soaked in AWESOME!

Post Race Thoughts

Damn I'm cold!  Well, that was my initial post race thought anyway.

Even through the rain and freezing temps I enjoyed my running of the Louisville Sports Commission Half Marathon.  The LSC puts on a good race and the organization seemed even more solid on this, their second year.  Last year's event was a pleasure to run and if the weather had cooperated this year I'm sure I would have had that PR on this quick and relatively flat course.  There's always next year.

But for now I can say that I've ran the LSC Half every year.  Both of them.

The Perfect Day

Have you ever had one of those days where everything went perfectly?  I mean absolutely perfect.  Everything falls right into place, your timing is impeccable, and every plan that you've laid out goes off without a snag?  You know!  One of those days where nothing could possibly seem to go wrong.  Everyone loves you; thinks you're the best thing since sliced bread.  You are the man!  Or woman, as the case may be.  One of those days where you love your job and the job loves you right back.  Ever have an entire week like that?  Yeah, me neither.

As a matter-of-fact the last couple of weeks have been made up of a combination of less-than-perfect days and days that I'm certain the Devil himself custom designed specifically for me.  Not that I haven't given Old Scratch his due from time to time, but I think we certainly have reached a trade imbalance with the last few weeks.

So as you can already figure out this isn't going to be a nice little blog post where I talk about rainbows and bunnys.  This is the post where my frustration, bitterness, and angst will come shining through.

I read recently how unbelievably awesome everyone's lives seem to be if you believe everything that you read posted on Facebook or Twitter.  As Beth over at Shut Up + Run said in one of her blog posts, "If you hang around on Facebook long enough, you may want to slit your wrists. It seems everyone is at party and you are at home cleaning the toilets."  You can read more of Beth's observations here.  So if you are looking for a party, I would suggest you navigate away from this page now and go read about someone else's perfect life on Facebook.  If you think you can handle a dose of some of what has been pissing me off recently, then by all means, press on.

Here is a funny cat picture while you make your decision:

Still here?  Okay then.  Where shall we start?

How about work?  For many different reasons I can't go into specifics, but I think you'll understand the crux of my frustration.

I'm certain that everyone has their own share of work frustrations - those that actually work.  I could rant all day long about everything that is wrong with my job; all of it a direct result of bureaucratic assholes who are so far removed from reality that they couldn't find their way back if they had a map and a team of Sherpa.  For the operators in the field the reality of what is happening and the resources that are needed to do their jobs effectively are painfully obvious.  At least the ones who give a damn.  There are those who have just given up and no longer care - if they ever did - and I blame that directly on leadership.  Without getting into those aforementioned specifics it comes down to these three factors:

1. Lack of manpower.
2. Lack of resources.
3. Lack of effective leadership.

Frustration or exhaustion?  It all looks the same.

The first two could be easily worked around if the third (and most important) factor wasn't an issue.  Imagine going to work every day and feeling like you had to fight your employer to let you do your job.  That is what it has been like for me for a very, very long time now and I've grown weary of it.  I could take the low road like others have: show up, be ineffective, and collect a paycheck.  But that isn't my nature.  And not only is it not my nature, it doesn't fulfill the oath that I took or achieve the mission objectives that I have been tasked with that attempt to ensure a free and secure society.  I do this job because, for all the frustration, all the angst, all the asinine mandates of fat-ass bureaucratic assholes, I sometimes do make a difference.  I do what I do because, like some idealistic boy scout, I believe in what I do and I love my job.

Next?  How about my fitness pursuits.  This blog is called One Man Running.  My running and training has also been exceedingly frustrating.  Work and home (another issue altogether which I will spare the general populous) has been pulling at me to the point that I am physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted.  My nutrition has also been less than stellar.  The end result is that both my motivation and my performance have taken big hits.  My gym workouts and my training runs have been lackluster and I've missed some of my weekly scheduled runs altogether.  Recent mornings I have started my workouts only to be interrupted half-way through or have a sudden loss of desire fall on me so heavily that I simply put down the weights, dress, and go to my office to start my day.  On a recent run I was not even a half mile in when I just didn't feel like running.  At all.  So I stopped without so much as an attempt at battling or pushing myself over it as I normally would.

How I've felt after most of my runs.

As I've been training for the Louisville Sports Commission Half Marathon which is this Saturday, the only positive has been that I haven't missed any of my long runs, simply from the sheer force of determination.  But those training runs have been slow and difficult.  It seems as though I've been beset by one pin prick of irritation after another for each of those runs.  Constant interruptions, missed meals, dehydration, forgotten BodyGlide (and the consequences of that), dead Garmin, dead Bluetooth headphones, the list goes on and on.  This past Sunday for example I missed out on running in the morning, which is when I feel my performance is best, and had to settle for running in the mid-afternoon.  I also realized that I had forgotten my new running shoes at work and had to opt for my recently retired pair for my scheduled 12 mile run.  The purpose of retiring those shoes was the shin pain that I was beginning to experience.  Around 8 miles in and the pain was definitely there.  At 10.25 miles I had hit the wall anyway and that was where my run ended.  It has been a very long time since I've seen the proverbial "wall" and was a little surprised when I did.  And did I mention that at the start of my run my Garmin was dead?  If it hadn't been for the Runmeter app on my iPhone I might have packed it in right there.

Since Sunday's failed 12 miler I haven't run at all.  This was suppose to be a taper week with three small runs scheduled before the Half this Saturday.  None of those runs have happend.  Even though I have put in the training and the long runs, like the KDF Marathon this past April, I'm just not feeling it.  I have a not-so-secret goal of beating my time from the inaguarl running of the LSC last November.  What I don't have is a lot of confidence that will happen.

If there is a silver lining it is that my knee is feeling better since the PRP procedure.  There is still some residual ache and discomfort at the beginning of my runs, but that pain abates and eventually disappears as I warm up.  The problem is that I realize that the effects of my knee injury will never go away.  I will live with the consequences of the injury for the rest of my life and, unless there are hyper-advancements in orthopedics, this knee could be a show stopper in my later years.


Every day is a bad hair day.

Oh, and speaking of silver linings I have absolutely had it with my hair.  As narcissistic as I am (or at least regularly accused of being), I'm obviously very concerned with my closely cropped coiffure.  In 2005 I was involved in a very serious auto accident.  That accident ripped a little scalp off of my skull.  The trauma doc pulled the skin together and put a few staples in to hold it together.  Ever since one section of hair grows in the opposite direction than the rest, in some faux, twisted attempt to make me look like Alfalfa from the Little Rascals.  To keep it under control I have resorted to bi-weekly visits to the barber shop and the use of "relaxing" shampoos in an attempt to coax the rogue follicles into compliance or at least mitigate their undeterred rebellion.

Perhaps the most disturbing thing however, is that there is all of this natural "highlighting" that has begun to appear along the sides of my hair.  It used to be easy enough to keep the grey concealed by keeping my hair cut closely, but that is no longer working as well as it once did.  The steady march toward the grave is heralded by the visible ravages of age.  Getting old sucks.

So there, in not so much of a nutshell, you have a few of the sources of my irritation.  If I launched into the complete list - along with sub-catagories - this would be a book and not a blog post.  Did I also mention that I've been writing this post for almost a week?  That is the way things are going for me at the moment.  But I will do what I'm used to doing: suck it up and keep moving.  Because in reality there are no perfect days, maybe just perfect perspectives, and the only way to change your view is to keep moving forward from where you are.

And in case you are wondering, you won't find the One Man on Facebook.  I'm quite convinced that Facebook was designed specifically by the Devil, and is probably his best invention yet.

On The Move

Late last week my daughter texted me while I was at work to ask if she could run a local 5K race.  I, of course, consented and asked her if she would like for me to run it with her.  She said that she did.  The race that she wanted to run was the We're On The Move 5K that benefited Down Syndrome of Louisville.  The race was Saturday, which was suppose to be my 10 mile long run, but after a rough night I decided that I would push the long run to Sunday and spend the time encouraging my little girl's desire to run.

After a quick breakfast and a trip through Starbucks we were at the Louisville Waterfront and at the Start by 8:00 A.M.  The race started at 8:15.  As the morning temperatures were around 45 degrees, Isa was able to experience her first Fall morning pre-race chill.

The turnout seemed modest - I would guess very easily less than 1000 runners.  We arrived just a few minutes before the race and we started out only about 15 yards from the starting line.  All without much fanfare or ceremony.

The race itself was a simple out and back that started out from the Waterfront and traveled down River Road, ending back where we had started.  There were no chip timers or race clocks (except for a single one at the finish line); placement was old school with bib tags being torn off and put on a string as runners came in.

Isa did great during the race.  She took my advice not to start out too fast and I let her set the pace and lead the way the entire race.  Just past half way and she wanted to walk.  The walk didn't last long as a passing runner commented on how proud she was of Isa to be running the race.  With that encouragement the little girl picked it back up and our pace increased.  I could tell that she was struggling however, letting herself start to focus on the discomfort that I know she was feeling.  So I told her to start targeting other runners ahead of her to pass.  We took turns then, choosing runners ahead and picking them off one by one with a high five after each.

The last runner that she chose to go after was a real challenge.  At least 300 meters ahead and with only about half a mile to go to the finish.  But Isa turned it on and pursued her target relentlessly, closing the distance and passing the other runner as we turned for the final stretch to the finish.  I think she really was proud of herself.  Especially considering she wanted to wait around at the finish to look for the other runners that she had passed.

We spent the rest of the morning having breakfast and shopping for Halloween costumes.

Sunday morning I had to work.  As I had made the decision to push my training long run off to Sunday and since my best runs are usually in the morning.  And since I needed to be available to respond quickly while at work, I decided that the best thing to do was to hit the treadmill in the gym.

Now 10 miles on a treadmill is a mind numbingly painful thing.  I have put in as much at 18 miles on a treadmill before (training for the KDF Marathon in March of this year).  However, realistically I can say that anything beyond a 10K on a treadmill is really pushing it for me.  The treadmill at work is actually not a bad one at all.  The problem with it is that it is rarely used (I'm probably the one who uses it the most) and therefore it is relegated to a corner of the gym, where your only forward view is staring straight at a blank wall (see below).

My view for nearly two hours.

As you can see from the pic above, there isn't a whole lot to keep oneself occupied with beyond watching the digital readout on the screen as the miles go by; much akin to waiting for water to boil, which is why I often cover the screen with my sweat towel.  You can see my hydration to the left and my fuel (in the form of the reliable triple venti mocha) to the right.  Of course the work radio is readily within reach as well.

If you are wondering what the sign on the wall says, it reads, "Do Not Strike Bob With Batons!  Do Not Kick Bob With Boots Or Shoes On!"  Now before you start wondering, "What the hell?" and worry about who Bob is and why anyone would want to beat Bob with such alacrity, meet Bob:

One mean and tough SOB.

Bob is actually an acronym and stands for Body Opponent Bag and is a life-sized mannequin that is used for more precise and realistic training of striking, etc. than the traditional boxing heavy bags.  Bob is pretty resilient and although he looks pretty mean, I've never once heard him utter a single complaint about how he is treated.

So ten miles and a couple of hours later and I was all too ready to be off the treadmill and out of the gym.  You see, not only is 10 miles on a treadmill boredom incarnate, it is also an express train for all those mental demons to show up.  You know the ones:  the self-critiquing, the after-action reviews of work, the list of things waiting to be done at home that you can never get to, etc.  The list goes on and on.  They wait for those all too infrequent moments when you are alone with your thoughts and then they show up to crash the party.  So the time becomes not only a test of your physical endurance but your mental endurance as well.  Definitely not for the weak of spirit.

Good thing for me I had mental images of a special little girl on the move, selecting targets and determinedly picking them off one by one.  That made watching the miles click by a little easier.

If You're Gonna Go...Go Big

A good friend called me a couple of months ago and asked if I might be interested in a whitewater rafting trip to West Virginia. He has been several times and said that he thought I might enjoy getting away.  I had never been whitewater rafting and therefore without much hesitation I said that I thought it sounded like a good idea.

There were, of course, a few little things that my buddy failed to tell me. The first was that we were going to the upper Gauley river during a scheduled release of the Summersville dam.  This would result in a flow of about 2,800 ft³/s.  To get a perspective of that, it is like 2,800 basketballs passing a fixed point every second.  That is a lot of fast moving water.  He also failed to mention that the Gauley is considered one of the most advanced whitewater runs in the Eastern U.S and the company providing the guide for the trip required that you have previous whitewater experience before going out (reference my prior sentence about never having been).  I did, however, do my research (albeit a little late) and with only a few days left before we set out I slowly began to realize what I had gotten myself into.

All the comforts of home - not.

Accompanied by my friend and a co-worker of his we left for West Virginia on a Thursday night after work and arrived at the camp around 10:30 P.M. that night.  We were going to be staying in a fixed tent at the camp site.  Nothing fancy, just some sleeping bags to get us through the night to the beginning of our rafting adventure the next morning.

We were up at 5 A.M. and the sky was incredible.  It has been a very long time since I was able to look up at a sky full of stars, unadulterated by electric lighting.  To try to describe it would be futile and the iPhone's camera wasn't designed to take long exposure shots that would have caught the beauty of what I saw.  Suffice it is to say that when I looked up that morning the first thing that came to mind was the quote from the movie 2001: A Space Odyssey, "My God!  It's full of stars!"

Dawn at the main camp.  Camera still can not do it justice.

It was 5:30 A.M. when we made it down to the main area to have breakfast.  Dawn was just starting to creep over the mountains.  Our breakfast at the camp restaurant was homemade offerings and good, but very overpriced.

At 6:00 A.M. we signed in and started collecting our gear: helmet, paddle, and PFD along with a rented wetsuit and splash jacket.  The option to go with the wetsuit and splash jacket would later prove to be a good one as the water temperature was around 50 degrees and even though the daytime temperature would rise to the mid 80s the water temperature remained frigid.

We loaded up on buses and headed out to the Summersville Dam.  The ride was about an hour as one of the guides gave an animated safety brief that wasn't quite the confidence builder.  If I distilled it down, being out of the boat was a bad thing and should that happen you were responsible for your own safety and "aggressive self-rescue".  Perfect.

At the dam everyone split into their boat crews.  Some were only taking a single "marathon" ride which would take them from the upper Gauley with the largest rapids through the lower Gauley with Class IV and lower rapids.  Our boat would be making a "double upper".  We were taking on the upper Gauley with its Class V+ rapids twice in one day.

Our boat consisted of the three of us who had traveled together, a group from Texas, and our guide John.  The Texans had prior whitewater experience and had even rafted in other countries which was pretty awesome, but this would be their first time down the Gauley.

After another quick safety brief and an equipment check we carried our boat to the river's edge and climbed aboard.

It is difficult to describe the entire experience and really what more can be said than the next several hours were filled with some pretty intense, extremely wet moments.  We lost people overboard and recovered them successfully.  We recovered other swimmers from other boats.  We navigated the "big five" - the largest rapids on the Gauley - and successfully dropped through Sweet's Falls - a Class V rapid with a nice 14 foot drop.

At Sweet's Falls we stopped for lunch.  The rafting company has a private deck area built along the canyon walls and they served a very nice meal that included pastas and grilled burgers.  Although I moderated what I ate, I still ate too much.  That would later come back to haunt me.

I can say that even with the breaks at the recovery pools between rapids, the experience was physically demanding.  I consider myself to be in above-average shape, however the demands of the river had required engaging muscles that don't normally see that level of sustained abuse.  It was during this time at lunch that I had the opportunity to talk with our Texan boat mates.  Of all of the whitewater that they had done, I asked, how did the Gauley compare?  They were unanimous in their declaration that without question the Gauley was the most challenging and most "technical" of the whitewater they had experienced.  I joked that it might have been a mistake for me to have chosen this as my first experience as everything else would probably be lackluster.  But as they say, "If you're going to go, go big."

We put back in the water and traveled another two or three miles downriver, through a few more minor rapids, to the extraction point just above where the lower Gualey begins.  We pulled the boat out and boarded a bus that took us on another hour long ride back to the dam where we once again put back into the water.  And so we began a second trek down the upper Gauley.


If the initial trip down the river had taken its toll physically, the second trip finished us all.  A third of the way through and we were all near exhaustion.  We lost more people overboard, struggled to keep in sync and paddle with any strength, and looked at each other with faces that clearly showed fatigue.  That fatigue became evident when, at a rapid that did not seem all that challenging, one of the Texans went overboard and became trapped beneath the raft.  The long seconds that followed were the most chilling as we searched for him and realized, almost immediately, that he was trapped.  Fortunately he was able to free himself from under the boat and make it to the surface where we quickly pulled him back in.

After once again successfully navigating Sweet's Falls, we made our way past our initial extraction point and into the calmer waters of the lower Gauley.  It was there that we came to a rapid that John called Swimmer's Rapid, where we were afforded an opportunity to voluntarily go overboard and experience swimming through a rapid.  I decided that I would give it a go for the experience.  I swallowed enough of the river water that I nearly vomited and I quickly discovered that trying to swim with the splash jacket (which very effectively hold in water as well as repelling it) and PFD was a feat that you do not want to try when you are physically drained.  To say that becoming an active participant in your own "aggressive self-rescue" under those conditions is difficult is a drastic understatement.

Later as we moved down into the New River Gorge we came to Jump Rock.  Guides steer the boat to the cliff's edge and allow individuals to climb to the top of a cliff where they can jump back from the cliff face into the river below; a height of about 25 feet.  John explained that if you left the boat that you had to jump.  "It's called "Jump Rock", not "Walk Up and Walk Back Down Rock"", he stated very matter-of-factly.

I will say that at this point I had no desire to jump off of a 25 foot high cliff into a river.  My lunch was still weighing heavily on me and my experience through Swimmer's Rapid had zapped what little energy that I had left.  But when the boat came alongside the cliff, my two partners immediately filed out of the boat along with one of the ladies from Texas.  I would be damned (even at the cost of my own life - pride and ego are powerful things) if I were going to be one of the ones left sitting in the boat.  So off I went up the cliff face.

I'll spare you the stream of consciousness that occurred on the climb and throughout the jump.  It is enough to say that it was a long drop, a deep submergence, a long ascent to the surface, and a very long swim back to the boat.

With my Texan boat mates.

We arrived back at the main camp around 5:30 or 6:00 P.M., turned in our gear, showered, and put on some dry clothes.  We had decided to make the five and a half hour drive back home that same night and without much delay we were once again on the road.  Thank god for Starbucks and the chocolaty caffeine goodness that is the triple venti mocha.

There was a general consensus that while the Gauley was an exciting adventure that probably one run at the upper would have been enough.  And while we had a very good time, we also agreed that once a year (or bi-annually someone else had suggested) would be more than enough time spent traversing the rapids during the Army Corps' controlled release and Gauley Fest.

The time away was worth every amount of energy expended.  Even though I had a waterproof bag, I opted to leave the smart phone in the car.  The fact that I was completely unplugged for an entire day had merits all its own.  And sleeping under the stars without the pollution of artificial light brought back a sense of peace that I had forgotten long ago.  I had gone to experience the adventure of the Gauley but when I really consider the trip perhaps the very best part had nothing to do with the rapids.

So Far, So Good

Today I am officially ten days past the PRP/Synvisc procedure.  So far things are looking pretty good.  The first two days following the procedure was hellish because I was essentially immobile while I iced and took enough Advil to instantly destroy any normal human's liver.  But I did get through a ton of episodes of Magnum P.I. on Netflix while I convalesced.

Day three I was out moving around with some light walking that included taking on some stairs in a parking garage when I went out to WorldFest 2012 (a local celebration of international culture -  food, music, and educational themes).  The weather was horrible and I left WorldFest soaked and with my knee aching from the walking and stairs.  I've noticed the last two years that WorldFest has really started to be taken over by flea market style vendors who are selling plain junk such as Halloween costumes and cheap knock-off sunglasses.  Disappointing, but I digress.

On day four I headed to the gym to ride the exercise bike.  I did an hour of moderate intensity on one of the spin bikes.  Day five I had planned on more of the spin bike, but family commitments killed those plans and I had to opt for some walking instead.

Finally on day eight I took the knee out for a nice 3.5 mile run.  Although there were a couple of questionable twinges in the knee, and a hint of pain once or twice I was pretty pleased with the overall performance.  So much so that I decided to do the Crossfit workout of the day, which included three 400 meter runs, after my initial test run.  More on that in a future post.

That night as I turned in for the night, a terrible and deep ache suddenly appeared in my knee.  It was painful enough that I again ingested more of the liver killing levels of Advil which, once again, seemed to do the trick.

And so it has gone, with a mild ache here or there but otherwise the knee seems stable.  And so today, for the first time in a long while, I went on a long run.  My pace was agonizingly slow, but I purposefully maintained that for a reason.  And while I put in an hour and twenty-two minutes on the run, my distance was actually very low.  The knee did ache at the end, but more Advil took that away almost immediately.  Considering that it was a little more than a week ago that I had a huge gauge needle driven into my joint, I think the knee is improving.

Don't leave home (for the long run) without it.

One thing that I did realize almost immediately was how much I missed the long run.  The alone time spent just moving where you have time to reflect, think, process.  I've needed that for quite some time and today it felt good to have that back.  As today's successful run marks the official beginning of my training for the half marathon in November, I'll hopefully have ample opportunity to get more of that reflection time in.

Oh, and one of the other things that I realized today?  How quickly I had forgotten that runs longer than 5K should be prepped with a nice coating of BodyGlide.  I'm going to have some painful chaffing for the next few days that will make that little negligent slip a self-correcting problem.

Moving To Hawaii

The PRP/Synvisc procedure was today.  All things considered, the procedure went very smoothly.  So now I am staring down the barrel of two days of hard down time.  I'm nine hours into it and already feeling like I'm imprisoned.  Riot and escape attempt to follow.  Stay tuned.

The morning started off very rocky.  Frustration was already thick because the wife refused to let me drive myself to and from the doctor's office.  My Army of One mentality and refusing to let her "take care of me" are sore points.  So we compromised by agreeing to allow her to drop me off on her way to work and then having my mother-in-law pick me up after the procedure was over.  We were out the door on time (a miracle in-and-of itself) and went through McDonald's drive-thru so that I could put something on my stomach before the appointment.  Interestingly enough the medical staff at the doctor's office suggested this as they said that many people become light-headed or pass out during the injection.  The majority, they said, were men.  Although I had no fear that I would swoon, I do have a very delicate image to maintain.

In the drive-thru I realized that I did not have the check book.  As this was a pay-to-play, out-of-pocket procedure, I would need it.  Then the rush back to the house to get the check book, which was never found.  We write checks for so few things that keeping up with its location is far from a priority.  Luckily I did locate a temporary check for the right account and back out the door I went; now running behind.  My frustration level was high.  Very high.  I didn't like the idea of being chauffeured like an invalid.  I didn't like not being at the wheel to cut through traffic like a trained stunt-car driver.  I didn't like the idea of having the mother-in-law come to pick me up, again like an invalid.  I sure as hell didn't like the idea of being bullied into any of this dependency BS, but there I was.  I am now, however, contemplating writing a book titled "Army of One: The Low Stess Life of Operating Independently".  Watch for it.  It will be a best-seller.

Where did everybody go?

I arrived at the doctor's office a few minutes late and walked into the reception area.  The first thing that I noticed was that the waiting room was vacant.  This is one of the best orthopedic and sports medicine practices in the the region.  The office is always crowded.  For it to be empty was a little disconcerting.  Or maybe they were afraid that the One Man would have a negative experience and for safety they had cancelled their morning appointments.  The latter makes me smile, therefore I'll stay with that assertion.

After the nurse drew my blood (which we now know contains magical healing properties) and took it to be spun in the centrifuge, the doctor came in to prep my knee.  I will say that the prep for the injection was the toughest part of the entire procedure.  Lots of sprays and needles to "numb" the injection site before he inserted a very LARGE gauge needle into the joint itself to aspirate fluid from the knee.  I was surprised when he was able to do so.  The knee hadn't seemed swollen or aching at all this morning.  But draw fluid from the joint he did.  That was the only part of the procedure that produced any sharp pain (no pun intended).  The injection of the PRP (3 1/2 cc), Synvisc (48 mg), and Kenalog (40 mg) was relatively painless - only a sensation of pressure - and very quick.

The highlight of the post-procedure was sitting outside the hospital and talking with a homeless man from Paducah, KY while I waited for my mother-in-law to pick me up.  He approached and introduced himself, showing me his ID as though he felt compelled to prove the name he had given me.  I showed him my ID which totally threw off his OODA loop.  Although I'm sure the original intent was to ask me for money, he seemed all too eager to put distance between himself and I after I gave him directions to the local shelter that was only a block or so away.  Maybe he didn't get the memo that everyone else around the doctor's office had received.

Why, yes, those are Balega socks.

So here I am locked down for three days of rest, ice, and Advil.  Luckily I still have the AirCast Cryo/Cuff from my surgery years ago.  Always knew it would come in handy again.  Days four and five are suppose to be light activity days - biking, elliptical - but no running until day seven.  That is a little different (more prolonged) than what I was initially told, but I will give the doctor the benefit of the doubt and err on the side of caution.

In the mean time I have set up camp on the the couch with the intention of getting caught up on work.  Instead, I've found myself watching episodes of Magnum P.I. on Netflix.  Which has me thinking: if you are going to police - or be a P.I. even - why not do it somewhere with palm trees?  So I have decided that as soon as day seven comes I'm packing up and moving to Hawaii.  I just need a cool Hawaiian shirt, a Ferrari, and a wealthy benefactor who'll let me stay in the guest house on their private estate.  That should be easy enough.  Oh, and I'll have to grow an awesome mustache too.  Better get started on that right now...

Check out that stylin' mustache!

The (not so) Bionic Man

Not just tallking about my personality.

The follow up appointment with the orthopedic surgeon to receive the results of my MRI was two days ago.  The meniscus isn't torn and the joint is intact.  Very good news to hear.  So much so that I had the surgeon repeat it three times just to make sure that my selective hearing power wasn't activated, or that I wasn't unintentionally "re-authoring" the facts (as my wife and I accuse each other of doing ever-so-often).  But the surgeons stuck to their guns: no meniscus tear.

Because of the residual chronic pain in my knee the doctor suggested that I might benefit from Platelet Rich Plasma therapy.  An experimental procedure (so deemed because of the lack of solid data from clinical studies) in which the doctors will draw my blood then spin it in centrifuges, then inject the separated plasma and platelets into the knee along with the drug Synvisc.  Theoretically the platelets in my blood will release growth factors that will initiate a healing and regenerative response in the bone and tissue in my knee.  Cool, huh?  The best thing is that I now know my blood has magical healing properties!  Who knew?  That automatically triples my awesome factor.  You can read more about PRP at the Scientific American page or at the all-knowing Wikipedia.

The down sides to the PRP treatment are a) as with any injection the potential for infection, b) the possibility that I will derive no benefit from the treatment at all (studies have shown inconsistent results - although I attribute this largely to a person's overall awesome score, so I should be just fine), and c) the $1000.00 out of pocket cost.  PRP, being an experimental therapy, is not covered by insurance.  I will also be "down" for about three to five days following the injection.  Doc says biking or swimming should be fine on day three or four and a return to normal activities on day five or six.  He is confident that this will give me the ability to return to all my normal high speed activities with no pain in the knee.  Considering that he was right about the meniscus tear, I'll give him the benefit of the doubt on this one.

So until the procedure next week, I have been given clearance to do what I like, provided that I can tolerate the discomfort in my knee. Yesterday I ran three and a half miles at a leisurely ten minute per mile pace.  There was little pain in the knee during the run, but it was sore the rest of the day.  This morning I put in around four miles at a mind-numbingly slow pace and so far the ache is minimal.  The plan is to get in my regular workouts between now and the procedure next week and to slowly return to my normal training after Labor Day.  I have committed to running with a team on September 29th at the Tap N Run and am already registered for the LSC Half Marathon on November 3rd.  After the PRP that gives me just under eight weeks to train for the half and I'm not confident enough in my base at this point to have much hope for an improvement over last year's performance.  But, hey!  If what the doctor says is right, then in the words of Oscar Goldman, I will be "better than (I) was before.  Better.  Stronger.  Faster."

   What I'm hoping for.