I'd Be a Good Runner if I Ran...Gordons, Roy Orbison, and AMC Hornets

Apparently Gordon's gin is not compatible with quality training. In short, it does NOT count as pre-run hydration. Of course I've known this for some time. Yet I still try and beat the odds...you know...find that ONE instance where Mr. Gordon doesn't actually impede in any way, performance. It never works. So I've come to the conclusion that I'd be a good runner if a) I didn't drink Gordons and b) ran with some degree of frequency...or at least I'd be a better runner. Maybe I should design an experiment. I can assure you, there would be no problems in this experiment for the subject...i.e. me...to fail to take the treatment. It's the control group I worry about. By March 6, I'll have more data (Mar. 6 is date of the Napa Valley Marathon).

But I digress.

Today's run: planned 20+ miles. Motivation level: not-so-high. Weather: drizzly, upper 40s/low 50s, gray, concrete-colored skies. Terrain: F*ck...it's Davis: FLAAAAAAAAAAT. So basically, I walked out of my house, turned right and just started going. As I noted previously, my Garmin CrapMaster 305 no longer recognizes the existence of global positioning, so I must run by dead reckoning...that is, judge distance by just time. Distance is then evaluated by plotting route (manually) into Google Earth. Since there will be error in the self-plotting, the absolute distance is uncertain. I surmise I ran somewhere between 20.9 and 21.3 miles. I'll just call it 21.

Mind you, this was more like an interval workout. Run some. Stop. Take GU. Run some more. Stop. Take GU. Rinse and repeat. Also, my lower back was locking up so I had to stop and stretch just to keep going. Total running time was 2:39:19, which translates to about 7:35 minutes-per-mile. That's a passable time conditional on the veracity of the statements made in paragraph 1 from above.

On a long run like this, you'd think you might see something or encounter something worth remarking on. You know, a pretty scene or a deaf jack rabbit or some graffito of interest. Not today. Boring Boring. Boring. There is a caveat here. When I run, I wear glasses...no...I wear SUN glasses. Always. It doesn't matter the time. When I did intervals with the Interloopers in Tucson in the mid-2000s, I'd wear sunglasses at 4:55 AM. I wear them in the gloom. In the sun. In the dark. So on a gray day, the dark shades impede the sighting of interesting things. Moreover, the drizzly, damp weather creates a condition I call "low class wiper blades." The name stems from an experience I had once in a car driven by a ne'r-do-well from Missouri who had a derelict vehicle (AMC Hornet, I believe). While driving southbound on MO State Highway 291 (yes I remember...it was like 1982), an incredibly violent thunder storm engaged us. The driver remarked (something to the effect) "oh the wipers don't work" in response to my natural question: "You gonna turn the wipers on?" So here we are, pitch black, heading south, unable to see beyond the globlets of rain pulverizing the car (The jpg of the Hornet in this post is approximate...memory has it the car was a bit *rustier*) and me? I'm sure my time has come...and then?...the driver reaches blindly to the back seat, grabs what appears to be a towel, rolls down the window, stretches his body outside the window and ... I kid you not... begins wiping the windshield. Imagine the scene: car weaving because to get *proper coverage* of the wiping, he's half way hanging out the window, one hand steering the car, right side of his ass airborn to get the extension necessary for the window wiping, foot on accelerator alternating between no pressure and and FULL THROTTLE. Me? Pummeled by wind and rain as if Hurricane Hazel has found its way inside the Hornet. The wiping? Let's just say the wiping of my OWN ass after this hell ride was more productive than my friend's use of the towel on the wiping of his windshield.

But I digress...sort of.

So when I reference "low class wiper blades" it verily conveys the problem: in fog, drizzle, rain, humidity, or worse, I very quickly am unable to see. So intermittently, I must stick my finger between my eyes and the lens and "wipe". It works. For about 30 seconds. The bottom line is this: most of the time I actually cannot see anything during a run.

So today, here I am. Sunglasses and low-class wiper blades. It's like Roy Orbison chuffing along in the said AMC Hornet. I would have said Lou Reed (sunglasses reference) ... but body mass index suggests Roy is a better reference.

Nevertheless, the day is done. The run is in the books. It has been a good day from start until now (and I'm sure it'll finish nicely). 21 miles. 7:35 pace. I'll take it. I have some concerns about the marathon itself...but I'll bore you with that stuff later.

Best,

Brad

Fog Run Zia Work...and strap-ons.

Tule fog again and damn was it chilly to run in. Long sleeves and gloves and low visibility (though better than Wednesday). Ran 7.88 (as estimated by plotting run on Google Earth) but who knows. I assume it's somewhere between 7.8 and 7.9. Time: 57:26~7:17 mpm pace. So despite my best intentions to not improve (not running, drinking, poor sleep), my pace seems to be improving. The aches and pains seem to be under control Of course if you look at me I'm wearing a strap around my knee, a strap around my achilles, tape strapped around the other achilles...oh and I also have a Jenson radio strapped to my waist.

...Hell it just occurred to me I have more strap-on devices than a freaking sex shop.

But I digress. I love my weekday morning runs (usually M or W or F or some intersection of the two) because they work like this: 1) Get Jackson to school and play w/dogs in the park; 2) Come back home and get "motivated" to run; 3) Arlen drives to the UC-Davis Arboretum to do her run...me...I head out the door and run some route; 4) we converge at the car parked at the Arboretum; 5) THEN we go downtown to Zia's Deli and have the greatest time sharing one of their incredible sandwiches. Then it's time for work. But that short bit of time sitting inside the deli sets the tone for the day....a good tone. Calm. Easy.

Which is about the best thing to ask for these days.

Out.

PS: tomorrow I allegedly am running 20 something. We'll see.

First run, post-Napa Valley heat sink 14-miler. Actually injured my right achilles on that run, though it seems ok now and so back on the road today...though truth be told, I couldn't actually see the roads:

Tule fog (pronounced /ˈtuːliː/) is a thick ground fog that settles in the San Joaquin Valley and Sacramento Valley areas of California's Great Central Valley. Tule fog forms during the late fall and winter (California's rainy season) after the first significant rainfall. The official time frame for tule fog to form is from November 1 to March 31. This phenomenon is named after the tule grass wetlands (tulares) of the Central Valley. Accidents caused by the tule fog are the leading cause of weather-related casualties in California.

(Thanks Wikipedia). The fog is otherworldly to run in. It's like running inside a cloud (well, I guess it IS running inside a cloud):

Tule fog is a low cloud, usually below 1,000 feet in altitude and can be seen from above by driving up into the foothills of the Sierra Nevada to the east or the Coast Ranges to the west. Above the cold, foggy layer, the air is typically warm, dry and clear. Once tule fog is formed, turbulent air is necessary to break through the temperature inversion layer. Daytime heating sometimes evaporates the fog in some areas, although the air remains chilly and hazy below the inversion and reforms right after sunset. Tule fog usually remains longer in the southern and eastern parts of the Central Valley because more winter storms affect the northern Central Valley.

(Thanks again Wikipedia) One is nearly invisible and oncoming things are also nearly invisible. It's a comforting feeling in a strange sort of way. Running through fields of crows...you hear them, they likely hear you, but they do not disperse until you are on top of them...but for a brief time, you are among them.

To the run...here's the thing. I've become a slave to GPS. I have had a love-hate relationship with my Garmin 305 over the last few years. After the run on Sat., it all went to hell. Plug it into the computer and I get the message "Your device is in a bad state." WTF?! It's like my Mac is a freaking psychologist and the Garmin has become a manic-depressive. Bad state?

Apparently it IS in a bad state. It no longer accesses satellites which effectively means I am wearing a $250 (it's cheaper now but that's not the point) stop watch. Except worse. Understand that Garmin GPS units for running are NOT sleek. They are NOT stylish. They are NOT in any sense of the word, "attractive." Rather, they look more like some ridiculously oversized gadget that showed up on "Lost in Space"...the 1960s TV series that prominently featured oversized gadgets that writers, prop designers, etc. thought would be de rigueuer equipment by, like, 1997. Sometimes when I wear it, I have an urge to speak into it and ask to be "Beamed up."

SO. No GPS means no distance. No GPS means no per mile pace. No GPS means freedom. Running like I've done most of my life. Just find a route and run. Time is what time is.

AND there IS google earth! So plot the route, get the distance and there you go. It's like slow-poke GPS. So the jpg is my run from today. WOW. Look at that elevation gain and loss. Wait. Nevermind. So today was 7.81 miles at 7:14 mpm. Who knew? With the Garmin, I would have gone 8. But isn't 7.81 more interesting?

I don't know but it is what it is. Like in 1980 when I first started running (hell with no watch). Or later when you just simply learned what your pace was. Guesstimated.

I'm sure I'll replace the Garmin. But for now, it's ok.

Out.

Tule fog, Garmin in a bad state, and a 7.81 mile run.

First run post-Napa Valley heat sink 14-miler. Actually injured my right achilles (note that the left is already injured) on that run but it seems to be minor and was back on the roads today. Though truth be told, I couldn't actually see the roads:

(Thanks Wikipedia). The fog is otherworldly to run in. It's like running inside a cloud (well, I guess it IS running inside a cloud):

One is nearly invisible and oncoming things are also nearly invisible. It's a comforting feeling in a strange sort of way. Running through fields of crows...you hear them, they likely hear you, but they do not disperse until you are on top of them...but for a brief time, you are among them.

To the run...here's the thing. I've become a slave to GPS. I have had a love-hate relationship with my Garmin 305 over the last few years. After the run on Sat., it all went to hell. Plug it into the computer and I get the message "Your device is in a bad state." WTF?! It's like my Mac is a freaking psychologist and the Garmin has become a manic-depressive. Bad state?

Apparently it IS in a bad state. It no longer accesses satellites which effectively means I am wearing a $250 (it's cheaper now but that's not the point) stop watch. Except worse. Understand that Garmin GPS units for running are NOT sleek. They are NOT stylish. They are NOT in any sense of the word, "attractive." Rather, they look more like some ridiculously oversized gadget that showed up on "Lost in Space"...the 1960s TV series that prominently featured oversized gadgets that writers, prop designers, etc. thought would be de rigueuer equipment by, like, 1997. Sometimes when I wear it, I have an urge to speak into it and ask to be "Beamed up."

SO. No GPS means no distance. No GPS means no per mile pace. No GPS means freedom. Running like I've done most of my life. Just find a route and run. Time is what time is.

AND there IS google earth! So plot the route, get the distance and there you go. It's like slow-poke GPS. So the jpg is my run from today. WOW. Look at that elevation gain and loss. Wait. Nevermind. So today was 7.81 miles at 7:14 mpm. Who knew? With the Garmin, I would have gone 8. But isn't 7.81 more interesting?

I don't know but it is what it is. Like in 1980 when I first started running (hell with no watch). Or later when you just simply learned what your pace was. Guesstimated.

I'm sure I'll replace the Garmin. But for now, it's ok.

Out.

Hot hot heat (relatively speaking) ... 14 miles in Napa Valley

The idea was simple: run 18-20 on the Napa Valley Marathon course. After all, the weather has been cold lately...most recent runs required gloves and/or long sleeves...most run in the tule fog that lingers feet off the road. Most runs done on the local farm roads around Davis, Winters, or Dixon. Flat. All flat. Not a hill to be found anywhere (unless you count the I-80 overpasses). So when the newspaper said sunny and 71 in Napa Valley, that sounded like a nice change...until I got there and found it was sunny and about 80 degrees. Those from the warm climes of Tucson will scoff at 80 degrees; those from the arctic zones of the midwest and the east will say "stfu"...it's like -25 degrees here. Fair enough. Add the heat to the "hills" of Silverado Trail (the route of the NVM) + me running out of water at 8 miles = not a fun run. So what was meant to be 20 or so ended up 14 (with lots of stops). Not so great.

Now on those "hills"...they aren't hills per se, but rather rolling risers...but to someone who only runs in Davis where a 5-6 foot deviation from our 55 foot elevation constitutes an assault on Pikes Peak, these risers seemed positively Everest-esque to my dull legs. In other words, between now and March 6, I better find some hills to run on or I'm toast by mile 13.

But the plan was a good one nonetheless: 1) drive to Napa. 2) drop Arlen and Jackson off at the CIA (Culinary Institute of America) where they have the best cooking store ever; 3) I start running while Arlen and J hang out at the CIA for a bit; 4) Approximately 30 mins later, Arlen and Jax head for Bouchon, Thomas Keller's French bistro in Yountville. 5) Me? I run there making up additional distance as necessary, culminating in an 18-20 mile run.

It didn't quite work out like that. By mile 6, I knew I was in for a bit of trouble. Water bottle was emptying quicker than normal. And the heat. My God the heat. It's here where I have to stop and apologize to the residents and visitors of Napa Valley. It became clear that to stay cool, I would have to run without a shirt. This is not, I am assuming, a pleasant site to either a) oncoming or b) passing traffic. I heartily apologize for this outrage. But I got 14 miles out of this thing.

To the times (acknowledging I had to stop at several points):
M1: 7:35
M2: 7:31
M3: 7:29
M4: 7:30
M5: 7:33
M6: 7:34
M7: 7:39
M8: 7:33
M9: 7:14
M10: 7:45
M11: 7:31
M12: 7:32
M13: 7:33
M14: 8:16 (wasted)

The part of the NVM course I ran was approximately mile 7 to mile 18 which would seem to be the hardest part of the NVM route. I can say the first half of this course will be tougher than the last half of the course (which is good). For my Interlooper friends (dudes from Tucson who are coming out to run), the hills will be irrelevant to you guys (though they *are* noticeable...as are the downhills). The banking and crowned roads are prevalent though if Silverado Trail is closed, then this isn't that much of an issue. Pray that the wind isn't blowing to the NE ... the route is exposed from the west so this could be an issue...but WHATEVER! It's a race. Today I would have loved a NE wind. I had wind to my back the whole way (for nonrunners....a tailwind is not always a blessing...if it's cold or moderate weather, then a tailwind is usually a favorable thing. But in moderately warm to hot weather, a tailwind is a disaster; it's like running in a heated vacuum (if you don't believe me, ask the participants in the womens' marathon in the 2004 Athens Olympics). But it's running. It's something I choose to do so one must put up with reality in all the way it manifests itself.

Still...I would've liked some freaking water.

It's a good day though. I learned something about the course. About my fitness. I saw the beauty of Napa Valley. Mustard greens in bloom. Hawks in flight. The unreal reality of the otherworld of Yountville. Hearing about a Thomas Keller restaurant and its food and service. Driving home. Recovering from exhaustion...heat induced I guess...but relaxed now. We just watched a great movie: Himalaya. We're all here. It's all good. Happy. Tired. Blessed. Not worrying about the worries that will come tomorrow.

Out.
Brad

The concept of a fast marathon

Fast marathon means under 3 hours (to me). I used to see this goal as an easily obtainable
one. Not now. Not in these days of running alone. When it's convenient to run, run. Convenience being highly correlated with motivation. Which seems always low. Yet when I do, it is fun. Not torture. Though I'm, for a runner, a fat boy, and I'm not exactly pursuing a pristine diet. But the thing is, I could run with dudes in Davis but I don't think I want to. Here's the thing about runners: we're boring. All they want to talk about is times, events, strategy, and distance. Boring. When I was a passable runner in Tucson, I ran with guys who talked about the band they saw last night, the various reasons why people die (we concluded age was a contributing factor), and preferred cocktail. I'm sure there is a group here that would satisfy this anti-runner mentality...but I haven't found them. SO it is all good. I ran today after 3 hours of teaching duration analysis (ironic)....here is the stats...

4k@17:09--6:54 mpm pace
2k@8:17--6:40 mpm pace
1k@4:06--6:36 mpm pace
1k@4:03--6:31 mpm pace

In other words, pretty freaking slow. OR, fast. Depending on how you look at it.

I'm not sure how I'm looking at it.

Best.
Brad

Post-regression run.

I purchased the shoes to the left yesterday. They are light weight trainers and I'm a heavy-weight runner. We'll see. Ran in them today. Post-teaching-regression-analysis run. Low motivation. 6 miles at 7:25 pace. The plan w/the shoes is to wear them at Napa. I think I need to lose like 10 or 15 lbs to make it a safe choice. For the week: 32 miles in 3 days of running (took Monday off). Strangely, I start my weeks on Saturday. That's how I roll.

Out.

Marathon for the weekend

14 yesterday + 12 today = marathon (almost) for the weekend.

Suppose I combined the times?

That would give me about 3:16:39 for 26 miles. Adding in time for stopping for GU, water, etc., that would be a much slower time. But at least 3:16 (note the rounding down) *sounds* good.

Today's first 6 were at about 7:20 pace. The last 6 were at about 7:40 pace (by design).

That's all.

Saturday Lonely Run = f(Tule fog + memories)

I think I'll be thinking of Bailey an awful lot the next few days. I suppose it's affected me pretty profoundly...her death...in pretty significant ways. When I go out to run...she'd lift her head and wonder where I was going. When she was in better health, she'd lift her body and ask why the F am I not coming too? Good dog. Fast dog. Strong dog.

But to today....a lonely, fog-laden day on flat, straight, farm roads from Davis to Dixon. My "coach"...Manny Katsanis from Tucson told me to run 18 miles w/10 at marathon pace. Hell, I don't know what marathon pace is. I know it's not what my guys in Tucson can run. But it is all ok. I'm doing my best!(?). I ran 14....a Davis to Dixon route. Why not 18? Not enough time to do it. So I told Arlen...meet me at Buds in Dixon for lunch. Daniel's last day before his trip to SE Asia was today. So time was of the essence. We had a great lunch. The run was ok. Did 14 with the following miles:
1. 7:47
2. 7:52
3. 7:42
4. 7:40
5. 7:17
6. 7:21
7. 7:25
8. 7:22
9. 7:34
10. 7:37
11. 7:41
12. 7:43
13. 7:59
14. 7:17

Avg pace was 7:35. That works out to a bit under 3:20.
Dunno what I can do. I'll see in 1.5 months I guess.

Best to everyone.

Brad

Back on the road...Run 13, Napa Valley Training.

First day back on the roads since our little Bailey died (see previous post). I thought a lot about her during today's easy run. I used to run with her pretty frequently in the late 1990s at Pima Community College in Tucson, AZ. The picture to the left shows Bailey (right) and Blaze (left). Blaze had less interest in running but Bailey was a damn athlete. She had no end to her energy and fortunately for her, between Arlen and I, we gave her plenty of exercise: runs, walks, play in the parks, etc. But to the run for the day:

Ran 5 at what I might call an easy tempo pace: 7:30, 7:22, 7:20, 7:10, 6:54. Then ran 2.2 easy. I'm meant to run long tomorrow. It was a nice day and an enjoyable run. Arlen and I meet on these days....she runs in the UCD Arboretum...and we go to early lunch at our favorite lunch place: Zia's Deli in Downtown Davis. Yep. I miss my dog. I love my girl Arlen. ...and oh yeah, my little boy Jackson kicked the hell out of the GATE test and is in-line to start the GATE program next year. Can you say 98th percentile. Yep yep yep!

Out.

For my dog, Bailey McKenzie, 1996-2011.

There hasn't been any Napa training in the last three days. My beloved dog Bailey died this week. And of course by "died" I mean we had to make the decision to end her life and end the suffering that she so rapidly descended into beginning Sunday (1/9/11) and ending Wednesday (1/12/11) at around 10 AM. Bailey was the best dog ever. Yes, I'm biased. If you read this and you have a dog then you will think your dog is the best dog ever. And of course we would politely agree to disagree. She was nearly 14 and half years old. Born on the day after my birthday in 1996. Born just days after my eventual family--Arlen, Mitchell, and Daniel--returned from New Zealand. Here on earth even before Arlen and I were married. Here on earth several years before Jackson was born. 14 years. It IS a long time. I know that. As someone commented on my facebook page, there are a lot of memories packed into that 14-year period. He was right. They are all good memories. Or, I suppose, mostly all good memories. Certainly the last two days were not good memories. Our little girl was most likely riddled with cancer (so supposes our vet) but this riddling was not evident until Monday morning. Indeed, Sunday she was herself at the park...smiling in her way. Yeah, she was deaf--lost her hearing about 2.5 years ago. Yeah, she had severe neurological damage to her hind quarters--this became accute about 9 mos. ago--which made walking difficult. But it didn't matter. If you saw her at the park...saw the smile...you would know it was all ok. So when it was not ok...early this week...well...those are the memories I will retain, will honor, but do not smile at. At Xmas, I gave her a knowing look and said little girl, we'll have you another 1 year. She seemed that good. But she wasn't. And I know now I was deluding myself. But we got 14+ years from her. A near decade and a half. And I can live with that. Or more to the point, I'll have to live with that. But that's ok. Though if truth be told, I'd give a lot for just 1 more day. One more time for me to take her to the park. Just her, not the other two dogs we have. One more time for me to walk in the door from work and see her lift her head, see me, and wag her tail. As old as she was, she did that every day...or at least until the last two days. But she was so sick then. But I'd give an awful lot for just one more day. Just 1 more day.

And I would.

But I cannot.

So let me talk about Bailey a bit. You can indulge me. You choose to read or not. I thank you for reading btw.

Bailey was too smart. You could see the gears in her head move smoothly. You could see her brows furrow with worry as she thought through things. Pros, cons. Costs, benefits. July 2000. Somewhere in Ohio. Me, Bailey, Blaze (our other sweet dog [who died in 2008]) and Newman [my cat who died in 2010]) and a large moving van I was driving. On our way to Long Island for our move to SUNY-Stony Brook. I was tired. We had driven the following distances: Tucson to Tucumcari, NM. Tucumcari, NM to Kansas City, MO. Kansas City, MO to this part of Ohio. Dead tired. Blaze complied. Newman was in a box. Bailey thought through things too much.

We had a second-floor room. This was a motel. The stairs were open-air stairs insofar as you could see through the lower and upper steps. Bailey didn't like this. This worried her. Just to be clear. Here are the things that worried her: wood and/or smooth floors, open-air stairs, bathrooms, garden hoses (because of the possibility of a bath), and a variety of things that existed but that I cannot remember. So here I am: dead tired. Blaze in room: check. Cat in room: check. Bailey in room: Shit. I turned around and Bailey was nowhere to be found.

Mind you, it's past midnight. I'm in *this* part of Ohio. It's hot and humid. I could sleep for days. And I have to drive to New York tomorrow. And Bailey is nowhere to be found.

So I go down THOSE steps and call for her. Nothing. Look around. Nothing. Go to the parking lot. THERE. In the distance. A border collie. Running, yelling, pissing off every redneck, traveler, amateur porn filmmaker staying here at Motel Sex looking for my too-smart, overthinking dog. But I find her at the very end of the motel. Pacing by the door that leads INTO the interior of the motel. And I could see why she was here. Through the glass of the door, you could see stairs. The stairs were not the "see-through" variety but standard stairs. Like we had in our house in Tucson. This was her proposed route upstairs. I reached for my key to unlock this door....remember this is Motel Sex so card readers were (and no doubt still remain) features of the distant future. No key. No fu*king key. And I don't need to tell you what no key means (though I will anyhow): no key= no access to my room where my compliant dog and boxed cat were. I also have no leash. So I take Bailey by the collar. Go to the front desk. Let go the collar (why you ask? A: Pets were not allowed in Motel Sex so how could I have an oversmart border collie in tow?) Anyway, I get my replacement key, pray to Jah Bailey is nearby and exit the office. Jah came through. Bailey is pacing around. I pick her up (she was about 55 lbs then) and carry her to the menagerie I call my room. Open it up. Go straight to sleep.

Another memory (filed under Bailey thinking too much): Fall, 2000. Long Island, NY. We actually did make it to Long Island. Port Jefferson, NY specifically. We settled into our rental well enough. But here's the thing. In Arizona it does not rain. In New York...it did. So the dogs would get very dirty requiring a bath. Also, unlike Arizona, New York would get cold. So I devised the brilliant idea that I would give Bailey a bath in the large, ceramic tub installed in this hell hole of a rental. It seemed a good idea at the time. Now presciently, Bailey KNEW when a bath was coming. It made no matter how dirty or clean she was. It made no matter the season. It made no matter the proximity of me to a water spout. She would know. So as (which is most likely the case) Arlen was drawing the water, I went for Bailey. Yes, I got her. Picked her up. Guided her to the bathroom. As we approached the bathroom, she, much like a 747, opened the landing gear. In this case, landing gear means her 4 legs. Sprawled. Spread eagled. Me: arms around torso. Here perpendicular to the floor. Legs, 180 degrees spread (back and front). Mind you, when Bailey was a fully flailed death machine, her horizontal distance was many inches wider than the width of the bathroom door frame. Undeterred, I proceeded, though I soon detected a problem. Getting her in the door would require repositioning Bailey. Unfortunately for me, my mind moved more slowly than Bailey's urinary tract, for as I approached the door, the tract opened for a steady and unbroken stream of Bailey piss for what seemed like an eternity. So picture this: dog hyperventalating, floor inches deep in dog pee, water filling to near overflowing in bath, and me now also needing a bath. As my shirt cuffs were drenched in you-know-what. Yes. Bailey thought through things too much.

Which is why we loved her.

Other memories.

Bailey loved the desert. Between Arlen and I, we took here out there while living in Tucson countless times. She would explore. Smell. Mark her own territory. Go off willfully to do whatever she thought she needed to do. She loved it. It was her domain. She was an Arizona-born dog and Arizona was here territory. I ran miles and miles with her at the trails around Pima Community College. Cactus needles? So what. Rocky terrain? Who cares? Packs of coyotes? Uh oh. Bailey didn't do so well against the coyotes. Or maybe she did. Attacked twice by a pack of coyotes, Bailey held her own. She came out with some wounds but she was ok. Willful. She was very willful. And that's ok. Today, I miss that willfullness. I miss it so much.

She also was a very beautiful dog. A rare reddish border collie, she never developed "mature fur." Her fur was perpetually like a puppy dog's hair, even as she grew old. She never had a gray muzzle, even in her old age. She was a young dog. Young in an old body. Her body betrayed her. Her mind never left her.

Another memory: Last week (1/2011). She couldn't run so far or fast but I will tell you that the border collie in her...her instinct to work...NEVER left. I would throw the ball. The dogs would "herd" the ball. Sunday (1/9/11) I hold the ball up. Bailey lowers her head, steps so so so slowly as border collies do: track the object without making yourself conspicuous and does not release until she needs to. Then she gets the ball. I cannot throw it far...she wouldn't get there...but I throw it short...and she does. Success. This was last Sunday mind you. Now she is gone. (5 days, or so, later). But you see, that was Bailey. She has gone away. I'd give a million for another day. Just one more day. With her here as she so recently was. But she is not. And I have to accept that. But she will never leave my thoughts. A dog right? Just a dog? No. She was a member of our family. Full-fledged. Here through the best and the worst and the best. She'll always be here. But what I'd give for 1 more year. Selfish? Yes. I know she had to go. I know she is not suffering. But I miss her so much. My eyes are like lead weights with tears. I wish she were here to irritate me. Irritate for a few more years.

Goodbye Bailey.
Goodbye Coconut Legs.
Goodbye Shaky Town.
Goodbye to the best dog ever.

PS: And my beloved Arlen misses her like I do. She wants me to remind you all of Bailey's love of rocks. That is, to find a big rock in the desert, and push it over the sand or gravel with her two front paws. She loved this. Random memory huh? I tell you what, Arlen and I gotta million of 'em.

Peace. Arlen and Brad

Run 12 Napa Valley

Post-21 miler today. Cold + fog + tiredness + low motivation=unfun run. Did about 9 miles. Felt pretty lousy the first half of the run into the fog but last half, while I felt crappy, I felt stronger. Avg. pace was only 7:45 but the first couple of miles were well over 8 mpm.

Napa Training Runs 10 & 11

Updates....

Friday 1/7/11: 7 miles with easy temp for first 5 miles (7:15 pace). Dreary day.

Saturday 1/8/11: 21.2 miles (meant to do 23 but it just got too cold and dark to worry about that extra 1.8 miles). Weird run. Got myself an AM/FM radio to run with (do I sound old) ... but got to listen to nearly the entirety of the Saints - Seahawks playoff game. So that was distracting enough. Weird also because today, there was a shooting rampage in my old hometown of Tucson and that made me think a lot about those victims (but see previous post about that). Weird also because during my jaunt down Stephenson's Bridge Road I was perpetually under seige by a crop duster. True. Whilst listening to said football game, I did a quick head turn to the right and saw, bearing down on me, a yellow crop duster with its cancer-causing, bug-killing juice spewing out. Seriously. I had to stop and sprint the other direction to avoid being drenched in its killing juice. The sound of the poison hitting the pavement was like rain on a tin roof... so that was sort of cool.

Average pace was slow....7:50 per mile...but I'm determining that I'm not a distance runner ;) Ran alone...cold and dark ... now I'm super tired but things are progressing ok. Sometimes it is nice to be alone in your own thoughts for so many miles. Even as Monsanto tries to eradicate me.

Out.

Some thoughts on Tucson

We lived in Tucson for a bunch of years and today's terrible tragedy has really had an impact on both Arlen and me. Six people dead. Rep. Gifford in critical condition. Some dumb fuck with a gun making his point. A little 9-year old girl dead. The shooter, 22 years old. The parallels passed in and out of my mind as I did my long run today (see next post for that). Our little guy turned 9 in November. Here is a 9-year old "cohort" of his...same town...parents just took her to meet the Congresswoman...to see how the government works...and they sit at home tonight without their 9-year old. Without their little girl. 9 years in the can. All for what? For some dumb fuck with a gun to make his point. The other 5 who died? One was Judge Roll (didn't know him). The other 4? Don't know who they are yet. Tucson is a big small town. Degrees-of-separation ensure someone I know will know. And will be terribly, deeply, sad tonight. Sad? Seems like an insincere word when something so random happens. My middle kid is 22. The dumb fuck with his gun is apparently 22. My kid graduated in 2006 from Foothills High School. The murderer graduated from Mountain View High School in 2006. Between then and now, I wonder what happened to this kid. His life is effectively over. Six others lives are definitively over. He made his point. And those parents of that 9-year old girl, numb, disbelieving, unable to think or speak, no longer have that little girl. They just wanted to show the little girl how the government worked (according to quotes in the Az. Daily Star)...she just wanted to meet the Congresswoman...a celebrity.

So what of the killer? The dumb fuck with a gun who made his point. Who knows what snakes this kid has in his head. But I do know he murdered 6 people. Including that 9-year old girl. Who wanted to know more about the government. In the 2010 election, Sarah Palin identified Gifford's district with a gun scope target. She advocated, metaphorically, "taking out" Gifford. She noted that Gifford's opponent, if elected, would be a fully loaded weapon (or something to that effect). In Nevada, Sharon Angle talked about "2nd Amendment remedies." Ms. Angle, WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN TO YOU? Now I'm not at all suggesting the murderer did what he did because of what scumbags Palin and Angle said; rather, I'm wondering how we have gotten to this point? And that little girl wanted to learn how government works.

Run 9 Napa Valley Training

Run 9 today made me realize, at least for the foreseeable future, the idea of running a fast ... or even moderately quick ... Napa Valley Marathon is a dream that will go unfulfilled. Goal was to run a tempo 4-miler at 6:50 pace in the middle of the run. Couldn't do it. Could do two@6:50 but felt like dead legs and dying after. Oh well. Rethink my assumptions. Two days in a row of not drinking ... hey maybe that's the problem! Probably not. Total miles: 8.25. YTD: 89.75.

Run 8 Napa Valley Training

8th run on path to Napa: Sunday, 1/2/10. 15 slow miles in the gloom. Rainy and windy during parts of the run. So nothing to brag about. Average pace was a slow 7:52 mpm. Today (Monday) I'm starting my goal of not having anything to drink (alcohol wise) during the week days. I've got to put a cap on drinking. So if anyone were to ever read this...wish me luck!