paul's space

I'm in Portland Oregon, for tomorrow's Foot Traffic Flat Marathon, on Sauvie Island.  I'm nestled in my motel room, about to turn in for a very early wakeup call.

It's very warm here, and is supposed to approach 90 tomorrow.  Theoretically, it will be 'only' 80 around the time I finish, but even that's higher than I'm used to running long in.

The course is out on a nature preserve, and is supposed to have many eagles and other wildlife.  That sounds very nice.  It's flat too, which means I just need to focus on holding a steady pace, and finishing strong.

Since our trip to Minnesota and Wisconsin in late June, I've been feeling a bit more tired.  I suspect that the miles and marathons I've been doing are catching up.  I did do some speedwork midweek too (4 repeats of 3:45 fast - roughly 800 meters or a bit more).  This may not have been the wisest choice, but I've found that pushing myself a bit helps to get the rusty feeling out.  Anyway - we'll see how it all works.

This will make six marathons in about three months.  That's more than I've done in the past.  Part of me wanted to try this to establish that I've recovered "with a vengeance".  It's also been a lot of fun.  My plan was to up my mileage, and try running more marathons than usual for a while.  Not so much for time as to build my stamina and strength so I could be confident about running hard in the late miles.  It's worked well.  I've also gotten to run some very nice, small events close to home.  Getting to know more of the folks in our Seattle-area running community, and from the Marathon Maniacs has been a real pleasure.  And I still can't believe that my father has made it to each of these events with me.  He's in his room here as well, ready to head out to the race early tomorrow.  Spending this time with him has been very nice.

It's probably time to gear things back a bit though.  Kris has Ironman Canada coming up, and that really needs to take center stage in our house over the next two months.  I may still try to do a marathon a month, but we'll see how tomorrow goes and take it from there.

Wish me luck tomorrow.  Most important is that it's fun !

On the heels of my own anniversary yesterday, I ran across the following story on seattlepi.com this morning :

One dead in car-bike collision near Aurora Avenue North

A bicyclist was killed Wednesday night after colliding with a car on an Aurora Avenue North off-ramp.

The man was struck about 10:20 p.m. in the southbound lanes of the Dexter Way North off-ramp. The driver was taken to Harborview Medical Center with minor injuries, Seattle Fire Department spokeswoman Helen Fitzpatrick said.

The driver may have been impaired, but police did not offer many details Wednesday night.

The KING5 version of the story has a bit more on how it happened :

"The cyclist was traveling southbound on Aurora, as was the vehicle that struck the cyclist," said Detective Mark Jamieson, Seattle Police public information officer. "The vehicle did hit the cyclist from behind."

Tragic, and it seems pretty clear that the motorist was at fault in this case.  Collided with the bicyclist from behind, and appeared to be impaired.  The reader comments caught my eye :

Posted by Carl at 7/2/09 7:12 a.m.

Does this prove that cars are unsafe and we'd better ban them? If the bicyclist had hit a light rail train, would it have been light rail's fault?

#325193

Posted by thebaldguy at 7/2/09 7:18 a.m.

really the laws need to be changed bicycles do not belong the streets, unless they have their own lane. all streets need a bike lane. until then however they need to stay out of the way!!!

… and it goes on.  In general, I find reader comments to be useless.  They’re usually a combination of trolls, idiots, and relatively few thoughtful comments.  In this case, there were some folks that pointed out that perhaps riding a bike along Aurora Ave (a very busy thoroughfare in Seattle) at 10pm might not be the safest thing to do.  Definitely a fair question.  And there were also folks that complained about bicyclists cutting in front of them, or darting across intersections, etc.  Irrelevant in this case. 

Let’s not lose sight of the fact that when you drive a car, you are responsible for seeing the other vehicles on the road (including bikes), and for using good judgment behind the wheel. 

Period.

One year ago this morning, things were very different for me.  You can read about what happened here, if interested.

Since then, so much has happened.  Lots of it has been very good.  I have my health, my family and friends, and get to do the things I love doing.  I’d say that’s about as good as things get.  I am about as physically recovered as I’ll get.  I live without much pain or discomfort (aside from facial numbness and a bit of asymmetry due to a deadened facial nerve.  I am still adjusting to having lost vision in my left eye, and continue to hold out hope that medical advances in the coming years will enable me to regain it.

Emotionally I’m still recovering a bit.  I reflect on what happened to me every day.  Some emotions still run close to the surface about all of this.  I guess that’s part of the ongoing process.

Over time, I hope that I will reflect on this past year as a positive experience, even including my injuries.  I’ve been offered such a wonderful gift – recognizing the love and support I have in my life.  Without these, things would have been much more difficult.  My wife Kris functioning as a single parent, life mate, caregiver, and medical advocate.  My kids offering their love and support, and rolling with a very difficult time last year.  My parents being there with me so much, and helping us with the kids.  My brother spending so much of his summer here.  My good friends spending time with me at the hospital and at home – talking with me, bringing positive feelings, even when I was somewhere off in dreamland.  And there were a couple of instances where conversations helped me to understand that I didn’t have to accept a doctor’s prognosis as gospel, or that healing really does take time.

I’ll be saying “thank you” for the rest of my life, and doing so happily.

I was explaining to one of my daughters the other day that healing doesn’t mean you necessarily put something entirely in the past.  It fades slowly, as scars do. 

We don’t always control what happens to us.  And these things remain a part of who we are.  It’s entirely up to each of us to draw the best lessons and positive feelings from them.

This past Sunday, I took my daughters to the Seattle Pride Parade.  I'd always been interested in attending Pride.  It's a great chance to show support for equal rights for all.

The girls took to the equality issue right away, and loved carrying the rainbow flag.

The parade was fun, albeit a bit long for us.  The beginning with "Dykes on Bikes" was LOUD.

There were many groups represented, many we'd heard of, and some we'd not.  For the most part, the day was all about equal rights and fairness.  The girls and I talked about the folks representing marriage equality and parental rights.  We also spoke about how things have changed over the years - even within my lifetime.  And we also spoke about how important it was to express support for equal rights, especially because their Uncle Matthew and Uncle Patrick deserve the same legal protection and rights as we do.

Not all of the people in the parade were "kid appropriate", but that was a chance I knew I was taking.  I could explain the nude roller bladers with body paint, but there were a few others I skirted explaining.

From my perspective, the point of taking the girls out there was to show them that not only is it okay to be gay, it's important that we treat them fairly.  We spoke about how gay couples face challenges in the medical rights realm.  I explained to them that if Kris and I had been a gay couple, the doctors would not necessarily have asked Kris for permission to operate on my brain bleed following my accident last year.  Instead they would have asked my parents, or made their own decision about it.  This despite the fact that Kris and I have talked quite a bit about how we each wish to handle medical life/death questions.  We trust each other to make the decision that the other would want made.  This level of trust is the basis for all kinds of love, independent of whether you're gay or straight.

And love is what binds people and families together, independent of whether you're gay or straight.

After watching much of the parade go by, we got to join in and march with the Unitarian-Universalists, including people from our church.  We'd not coordinated with my parents, but were very pleased to join them as we all marched together.  All in all, a good day, with some great learning experiences.

Today is my eldest daughter's 12th birthday.  Being a parent isn't always easy, but it's definitely a labor of love.  I've been reflecting on Kayla's growing up today, and thought I'd share some pictures and thoughts.

She was born at 9:25 on the morning of June 23, 1997.  This is the first picture taken of her, right after she arrived.

Here, we're celebrating her first birthday over cupcakes in beautiful Seward Alaska.  She braved the vacation nicely, even sleeping well despite the midnight sun.

One year later, we celebrated her birthday at her grandparent's house in California.  I'm not sure she noticed the duck.

We celebrated her third birthday on the east coast.  I'd had a business trip to NYC, and we decided to make it into a family vacation as well.  Here, Kayla is upset because she didn't understand that Aunt Sandy had gotten her an ice cream cake.  I think her words were "I wanted a birthday cake".

Her fourth birthday was celebrated at home, with her friends.  Here, she's covering her ears to avoid having to listen to her father sing to her.

Here, she blows out the candles on her fifth birthday.  This was her first birthday as a big sister.

Here, she observes the morning of her sixth birthday, over special pancakes prepared by her Grandpa Solem at the lake home in Wisconsin.

Just before her seventh birthday we visited her good friend Lauren in Bellingham.  Here, she cradles Lauren's gerbil during our visit.

In 2005, we celebrated birthday number eight in Sunriver Oregon, where Kris was doing her first half-iron triathlon.  My parents joined us for the occasion, and some very good cake.

Birthday number nine was observed with a knitting party at the "new old" house we'd moved into months before.  It was a lot of fun watching the girls enjoying learning the basics of knitting.

Kayla learned to sail just after her tenth birthday.  It was a big thrill for me watching her navigate the waters of Lake Washington on the fourth of July.  It's really something watching your kids learn to do things you don't know how to do yourself.

Here, Kayla smiles after blowing out the candles at her eleventh birthday party in Cottage Grove Minnesota, surrounded by grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins.

Here's a picture taken last week, just before the family birthday celebration in Wisconsin.  She's enjoying listening to music with her cousin Eric, sharing earbuds.

Pictures don't really ever tell the whole story of a person, but they do illustrate our daughter becoming her own person.  We're very proud of you Kayla - Happy Birthday!

It's a happy day for me.  This past year has definitely given me some new perspective on being a Dad.  It's a big part of who I am, and has been a big part of my recovery.  There's no better motivator than knowing your kids are looking to you, and learning about how you're working through difficult times, and appreciating each other.

I remember my first Father's Day, eleven years ago.  We celebrated in Anchorage, Alaska, a day after I ran my first marathon.  We also celebrated KK's first birthday on that trip too.

This morning, the Northlake Unitarian Universalist Church is marking Father's Day with talks from several dads in the congregation.  Originally, I thought I'd get off the hook, but my friend Mitch suggested videotaping mine.  It turned out to be a bit of work to do, but lots of fun.  Here's what I came up with :

I had help from my two girls making this, inspirationally and also in the practical sense.

Here's a picture taken of my father and I just after I completed The Light at the End of the Tunnel Marathon last week.  He's been to each of the five marathons I've run since recovering.  He's been a great role model to me, in showing his caring and love, through good times and not-so-good-times.  I love you Dad - thanks for everything you and Mom do!

I'm feeling very thankful today.  And yes - the nicest thing anyone's ever called me is "daddy".

I completed the Light at the End of the Tunnel Marathon, my fifth in just ten weeks.  My stated goal was to do six in six months, so this puts me most of the way there.  It's been lots of fun so far.

I ran the Green River Marathon the previous weekend, and I wasn't sure about doing another quite this soon.  I felt pretty good after Green River though, and am unsure when I'll be able to do another, so I thought "Light" was a good opportunity to run one.

In previous years, Light at the End of the Tunnel has started up near the Snoqualmie Pass summit.  We run down a railroad grade, with two miles heading through an old tunnel.  It's pretty strange to go through a dark tunnel with a hundred others.  I speak from experience, having biked through it while doing the Mountains to Sound Relay several years ago.  Riding through by the light of a bunch of headlamps was 'exciting' to say the least.  While safer, running through leaves you vulnerable to someone stomping on your limbs, tripping, or something else.  But it's actually lots of fun.  I'd registered for this run last year, but the bike accident interfered.  Naturally, I wanted to make up for lost time this year.

Small problem though - several months back, there was a partial collapse of the tunnel.  When the tunnel closed, race director Brian Pendleton had to decide whether to change the course, or cancel the race.  Fortunately, he took the first option, using part of the original (and certified) course to form an out and back course from Iron Horse State Park, near Rattlesnake Lake.  While the formerly all downhill course has acquired 13.1 miles of steady uphill, it's a beautiful place to run.

So we found ourselves lined up at 7:30 in the morning, looking forward to a run in the Cascades.

The first stretch was a bit steep, but the slope settled down pretty quickly once we entered the railroad grade.  These usually don't get to be more than 2%, so it felt pretty mild.  Surprisingly, my heart rate stayed between 145-153 while I was clicking off 9:15 miles heading uphill.  I figured I'd be able to maintain 8:30-8:45 on the way down, so the uphill pace led me to believe I'd be able to sneak in under four hours for the race.

After going out towards the front, a bunch of folks passed me in the first couple of miles, and then I settled into a solo run.  My mile pace was very consistent, as was my heart rate.  All I'd need to do was to stay smart and take it easy, so I had some steam left to speed up on the way down.  The morning was a bit chilly and cloudy, a change from the previous days of 75 and sunny.  Really it was a perfect running morning.

I tried to drink my Cytomax regularly, and ate a couple of Endurolyte capsules each hour, along with a gel pack.  And I enjoyed running over the high trestle bridges, although I made a point of not looking down (we were a couple of hundred feet over trees and creeks).  Very pretty.

Around mile 11 or so, a runner came up from behind and began chatting.  His name was Matt, and he was very pleasant, and quite clearly a faster runner than I.  We traded some running stories and talked about how to balance two competing endurance training schedules in one household (his wife is also a marathoner, apparently going for more Maniac stars).  Just before the turnaround, he sped up a bit and I was solo again.

By now people were passing us coming back downhill.  They looked pretty happy.

I reached the turnaround and grabbed some gatorade.  My watch told me that I needed to make up about two minutes in time in order to finish under four hours.  I figured that was accomplishable, provided I didn't try to do it too quickly.  So I tried to pick up the pace, but not overdo it.  My miles splits were regularly down around 8:30 now, which put me in good shape.  By the time I got down to mile 17 and 18, I'd made up most of the deficit, and was now aiming for 3:55.

My father surprised me by appearing at the aid station at mile 18 to snap some pictures.  I was hell-bent on making time by now, so didn't linger to talk.  I felt like I was on a roll now, with my mile splits mostly around 8:30 (plus or minus 15 seconds).  A couple of miles were longer (over nine minutes), and I'm not quite sure why.  By mile 23 though I was feeling some fatigue and getting concerned about maintaining a good pace.  By now, I was pretty sure I'd be under four hours unless I collapsed, but wanted to try to see how strongly I could finish.  After a slow mile 24, I tried to pick things up a bit.  Clicking off an 8:22, I decided to see how fast I could do the last 1.2 miles.

I leaned a bit forward and tried to increase my cadence and extend my stride a bit.  It was not as hard as I'd thought, meaning I'd run a fairly smart race so far.  I hit mile 26 after just 7:22 and pressed for the finish.  Zig-zagging around the final stretch was fun.  It was a bit steeper than the railroad grade, so I found myself careening a bit.  I pushed hard for the finish and hit it right around 3:51:48.

Very surprising to have negative split that much (to the tune of about nine or ten minutes less for the second half).  I'd expected to be much closer to four hours.  I'll definitely take it.  The support and atmosphere around this race was great - even considering that a number of the aid stations were self-service.  And Race Director Brian Pendleton is a really nice guy too - he allowed me to register at the last minute - even crediting me for last year's registration.  He didn't have to do that, and I'm very appreciative.  Lastly - the post-race eats were great too, especially the vegetarian chili that Brian found the recipe for!

It was definitely a good morning for a run in the mountains.

pictures included courtesy of hal david

Charts and Graphs for Running Geeks

The difference in between uphill and downhill is clear.  I recovered about twenty seconds of average split after running the 13.1 uphill.  That's good.  Also, my uphill splits were pretty consistent (though they did trend upwards).  Downhill was a bit more varied, but I feel very good about my strong kick at the end.

I've added some pictures to the Green River Marathon race report.  My intrepid father was out on the course with us, as was Stefanie (Matt's wife, who also ran with us for the last 10k or so).  One of the course photographers has posted his pictures from the race as well.  They're a lot of fun, and help to tell the story of the race for us.

I'm feeling very good about this race, primarily because it reminded me of some of the big reasons I love running.

First - it's all about enjoying the process, not just running to the finish.  A marathon is a long time to be out there, so you're best off enjoying yourself.  We have good days, and not-so-good ones - so it's important to remember that's it's supposed to be fun.

Second - it's definitely fulfilling to share the experience with others.  I'd run a first marathon twice before, once for myself, the second time with Kris.  Most recently ten years ago.  This was a great reminder of how much you pour your heart into the process. 

In some ways, I felt like I was running another first marathon a couple of months back while doing the Yakima River Canyon Marathon (being my first post-recovery 26.2 race).  But a lot of that was about trying to prove something to myself.  This one was about enjoying the miles.

I am very impressed with the way Matt ran his race.  With a steep training ramp, and a maximum training run of 18 miles, he made it happen.  Watching his family and friends rally around him was very special too.

I'm hoping to do another marathon tomorrow morning.  This would mark five in just ten weeks.

The Light at the End of the Tunnel Marathon is being held with a course changed because of a partial collapse of the tunnel.  Rather than being a certified all downhill course, we're going out and back, half up, half down.  I'm not sure of the ascent on the course, but it's pretty clear that I'm not going to set any speed records out there.  It should be a nice training day, in line with my expectations for running marathons in quick succession.

Kayla invited me to join her sixth grade class from Seattle Girl's School for a three day biking trip on Lopez Island this past week.  Given the chance to spend three days camping and biking with my nearly-twelve-year-old daughter and her classmates, how could I say no ?

First of all the organization put in place by the teachers and staff was great!  There were detailed timetables governing when we were to drop off our gear, how/when we were to help out, and what the trip rules were.  Kayla and I spent several evening packing our stuff for the trip : sleeping bags, a tent (for me), clothes, mess kits, and some books to read.  Then we were ready.

We gathered at the school on Wednesday morning, ready to go.  The bikes were packed into a rented truck.  Our gear was packed into another truck.  We gathered into carpools and set out for Anacortes.  At the ferry terminal, we unloaded the bikes, then walked them onto the ferry.

After landing on Lopez, we gathered up and rode out to Odlin County Park. where we would camp for two nights.

A slight bummer was that there was chip seal on the road to the park, which meant we rode the whole way on gravel.  I was counting the minutes until I got a flat on my road bike, but it never happened :).  The road work meant that there were a steady stream of gravel trucks on the road while we were riding to the park as well.  It took a bit of the shine off our first ride, but the work stopped that afternoon.  Once there, we gathered again to set up camp, and enjoy a little down time before dinner.

The really great thing about this trip is that the girls were responsible for lots of the setup, and the work.  This meant they all needed to work together, and to depend on each other.  If only we spent as much time priming adults in our workplaces for such strong teamwork and collaboration!  They assembled the tents quickly (and correctly), and then set out to begin setting up the eating area and to cook dinner.

The adults were charged with "supervising" the girls as they performed these tasks.  While there was a bit more to it than simply "supervising", the girls did a great job.

There was a little bit of time to enjoy the beach before dinner too.  That first day was pretty warm, so some of them went into the water.

After dinner, we gathered around the campfire for some sing-along, and some skits that the girls performed.

This time of year in the Pacific Northwest, it stays light until nearly nine-thirty.  Right around then, we headed for the tents.

The next day was our big bike ride.  We were split into two groups : the long ride (about 25 miles), and the short ride (about 12 miles).  The girls got to choose which group they preferred.  The idea was to pick the ride they'd enjoy the most, with the hope that they'd want to go out and ride some more.  If they finished thinking they could have gone a bit farther, that was ideal.

We started getting our stuff and ourselves ready early the next morning.

Then the girls started making breakfast, and we all ate a hearty meal.  They also set up lunch stuff for everyone to make sandwiches to eat on the ride.

And then we were off.  Kayla and I were part of "Pod A" on the group doing the shorter ride.  We wound eastward across the island, out to Spencer Spit State Park.

Once at Spencer Spit, we dismounted for lunch at this beautiful beach.  The girls spent some time looking at some crabs on the beach, and watching bald eagles fly overhead.

After taking a nice long break to enjoy the beach, we began riding up a long hill to traverse the island and go to Lopez Village to enjoy some ice cream.

Back at camp, we gathered for another campfire, and more skits.  The second night Kayla and her friend put together a couple of hilarious mad-libs for the group to enjoy, and we did some fun sing-alongs again.

As it began to get dark, the girls were asked to each take two index cards.  On one, they wrote down something from this school year they wished to leave behind.  They would put these into the fire.  On the other card, they wrote down something they wished to take with them.  These they put into their pockets to keep.

Then, they took turns saying something to J, the teacher responsible for the trip, who is leaving SGS at the end of this year.  Their words were funny and heartfelt.  The evening ended later than expected for the girls, so the parents were asked to take responsibility for cooking the breakfast the next morning.  The picture below was taken just after the sun went down over the Puget Sound, with an evening ferry approaching.  It was beautiful and very quiet.

Preparing breakfast with the parents the next morning was a lot of fun.  It was a good group of people, all working together nicely.  In addition to preparing regular French Toast and a big mound of Veggie Scrambled Eggs, I was given responsibility for preparing Kayla's gluten-free French Toast.  Then we broke camp, packed things up, and rode back to the ferry.  On the way, one of the girls in my pod became upset when she had trouble riding up the hill because her legs were cramping from the ride the previous day.  I hung back with her while we walked together, reassuring her that there's nothing wrong with having to take the hills slowly - and boy do I mean that truthfully !  I shared a funny story about a friend of mine who found himself trying to run through waist-deep snow because he thought it'd be a lot easier than it turned out to be.

They gathered for a group picture at the ferry dock, and then we all walked our bikes onto the ferry, and rode back to Anacortes.

If this all sounds mundane, that's not my intent at all.  I was amazed at how well-organized things were (thanks SGS teachers and staff!), and how well the girls braved the ride, and how well they worked together.  Sometimes it's easy to overlook how much effort and positive spirit it takes to get things to work so well.

A great trip!

Yesterday’s Green River Marathon run marked four marathons in nine weeks for me.  My stated goal has been to complete six marathons in six months.  This is really just a means to accomplish a training goal – to build my strength and stamina to the point that I can run better and faster.  And obviously, to have lots of fun doing it.

I’ve run several different kinds of races along the way.  Yakima River Canyon sits by itself – my goal there was to show myself that I could run a marathon following my recovery.  The Tacoma City Marathon was a real surprise – I’d no idea that I’d be able to run that fast so soon.  Call of the Wild was another surprise.  There – I felt strong throughout, and I was able to maintain a strong pace all the way.  During the Green River Marathon, the focus was on pacing Matt to his first marathon – a great experience I’ll remember for a long time.

In my writeup about the Green River Marathon, I focused a lot on the support Matt’s family gave us along the route (and during training I’m sure).  But I need to mention some great support I’ve gotten over my recent marathon spate.

Kris and the kids continue to make it possible for me to chase these dreams.  Without their logistical and emotional support, it just wouldn’t happen. 

When I ran Yakima River Canyon, my parents made the lengthy trip over the pass and were there to see me finish.  I don’t think I fully expressed my thanks to them at the time, possibly because of the tangled emotional state I was in, feeling like I needed to prove something to myself.  But it was truly wonderful of them to brave the weather over the pass, and endure a long trip home, all to spend literally about 30 seconds watching me labor across the finish.

And for all four of these races, my father has joined me.  In a number of ways, I’m surprised that he’s interested enough to come out.  After all, watching an endurance running event means a lot of standing around and waiting – punctuated by thirty seconds of action each time you see your runner.  That’s a huge boost for me each time I see him.  I can only hope he’s enjoying himself doing this – the positive vibe, the stories, and getting to know some of the people too.

All of these examples demonstrate that we usually don’t run alone.  Usually there are a number of folks in our lives who make the miles possible.

This morning I set out along the Green River to run 26.2 miles with my friend Matt.  This race turned out to be lots of fun.  It was a great opportunity to share in Matt's first marathon.

Backing up several months, shortly after I began running again, my friend Landy told me that Matt had wanted to do the Green River Marathon.  We've known each other for a couple of years, although not very well.  Matt's son was on a baseball team that Landy had recruited my dad and I to help coach.  He's a great kid - great attitude, and a pleasure to work with.  Having spent a bit of time with Matt, it's clear that his son comes by this honestly. 

I'd tried to connect with Matt and his wife Stefanie a couple of times in the months before the race, but we weren't able to get together.  I'd heard that Matt training curve was steep, meaning he'd ramped quickly and perhaps not done any 20+ mile runs, which made me a bit nervous.  I worried that he'd get out there to do this, and it wouldn't be fun for him.  In my view, the key is to balance the challenge with fun, otherwise you won't necessarily want to do another one!

So when I rode up to the start of the race, I was pleased to see a bunch of folks out there to support Matt.  Experience with running and lots of other things tells me that when you have lots of support, even difficult challenges (like doing a marathon) become much easier.

I'd not originally planned to go out on the early start, but the chance to run the course with Matt was too good to pass up.  I'd missed the start by a little bit, but ran out to meet them.  I'd not seen Matt since he'd run out to Marymoor Park back in January.  He and Landy had run up some steep hills on the way, stopping to say hi.  Matt tells me that starting out on those hills was pretty difficult, but having someone like Landy to enjoy the run with helped motivate him.

I ran up behind Matt's pack, including his son, his dad, as well as Landy and his son (all on bikes).  We shook hands, and I asked him if it would be okay to join him on the run.  At this point, Landy assured Matt that if he ran with me, he could count on me to talk most of the way - that's either entertaining, or it's a good reason to run faster.

Since we'd gone out with the early start, there was scant aid station coverage in the early miles.  I shared some Endurolyte capsules with Matt, and encouraged him to take some of my sport drink as well.  As we went on, Matt's support team provided him with fluids and Power Bars, and the aid stations opened up.

We ran together, and I told some running stories.  We talked a bit about my recovery, and exchanged some training stories.  Winding along the Interurban Trail as we traveled up the Green River, I began to recognize how much fun it was to share the run with a first-timer.  Make no mistake, running 26.2 miles is hard.  And running it for the first time can be even harder.  But running it with a guy like Matt who rolled with the challenge, kept positive, and laughed a lot was great.

0

Before we knew it, we reached mile 19.  Matt pointed out that this was a mile farther than he'd ever run.  We observed that after a couple more miles, it'd be a matter of doing the equivalent of a weekday training run after work before we reached the finish.

Through all of this, I was reminded that I enjoy running distance because I love the stories it generates.  The connected conversations, jokes, and the fulfillment of meeting a challenge together.  Earlier in the week, I'd remarked to someone that I'd easily trade off any future PR's for assurance that I'd be able to run into my 70's or 80's.  Running marathons is an excellent way to clarify perspective on many things.  You don't evaluate yourself based on a single day, it's more a matter of working towards longer term goals.

Stefanie joined us again around mile 20.  I ran a bit ahead, letting she and Matt spend some time talking, while I talked a bit with Matt's dad, who was with us on the bike.  The thing that really touched me was just how warm and genuine the family is.  I'd seen this before when we were coaching the baseball team - there was always a big turnout to cheer on Matt's son.  It made a huge difference for him playing baseball and other sports too.  And it made a huge difference today too.

So as we loped along the Alki waterfront for the final stretch, Matt was definitely feeling the miles.  His stride had shortened, and he was quieter.  But he never complained, and was always able to reflect on how huge the occasion was.  It's easy to lose sight of this when you're at mile 24 and hurting all over, but Matt's spirit definitely prevailed.

When we crossed the finish, much happiness followed.  It was good to call the run complete, but I'd definitely like to capture what carried us along the course.

Running a race takes support from other people - friends and family.  Thanks go to Stefanie for joining us for the hardest miles, after the wall can hit you.  Thanks go to Matt's father for riding the whole course with us.  Special thanks go to Matt's and Landy's sons, who rode around 15 miles of the course with us.  And of course thanks go to Matt's and Landy's families for being there on the course, cheering us on, and providing fluids and fuel.

Running a marathon is a great metaphor for so many other things in life.  It can get difficult, it can hurt, you can focus on any number of negatives.  Or you can make the most of your time out there, and enjoy yourself.  So - thanks Matt for reminding me of that, and sharing the run!

pictures are included courtesy of hal david, stefanie hodovance, and robcat.net

(more pictures to follow when they're available)

Several weeks back, Kayla invited me to join she and her classmates on a bike trip over on Lopez Island next week.  I figure I’m dangerously close to being the world’s most embarrassing man.  Being that Kayla’s nearly twelve, this is expected.  So, how could I say no ?

The trip itself sounds like a lot of fun.  We’ll take the ferry over from Anacortes on Wednesday, camping on Lopez for two nights, and doing a good 25-40 mile bike ride on Thursday.  The girls get to choose which of two rides (short or long) they do.  I figure I’ll ride whichever they prefer to put me on.

Last year, they apparently had horizontal rain for the bike ride.  Here’s hoping the weather from this week holds.  It would be wonderful to have sunshine, or at least no rain when we’re camping.

One of the prereqs for taking the trip was to join them on a ride from the school out to Genesee Park yesterday.  Taking 37 12 year olds on a bike ride through Seattle city streets is not dull.  Fortunately, the teachers organized things and kept the girls safe.  All I had to do was to ride along and cheer them on.

We didn’t set any speed records, but I was pretty amazed at how they did.  Each girl was supposed to convey directions down the line of bike by shouting them out - “turning left!, slowing down!  car back!  stopping!".  This they did with zeal, which was pretty funny.  Imagine a whole line of girls barking out these directions in a steady ripple, down the line. 

The trip back was punctuated by several hills carrying us up from Lake Washington Blvd, through south Leschi.  These hills were not easy ones, and the girls handled them very nicely.  Some of them took a bit longer, but everyone seemed to push themselves a bit, and the folks gathered at the top of the hill cheered the rest of the bikers on.

This was pretty spontaneous – no one told the kids they had to cheer.  They just did.  The positivity was infectious!

It made me wish we spent more time teaching adults to focus on the positive things, including encouraging each other to push ourselves up out of our comfort zones a bit more.

Anyway – it was a fun afternoon.  Hot too – the thermometer inside my car said it had gotten to about 85 – which is nearly as warm as it ever gets here.  Wow.

Results are in, and I was the third place finisher in the Call of the Wild Marathon.  This is proof again that if you find a small enough race, you too can place.

The race was more of a training run, being so small.  Also – judging by the times overall, it’s pretty clear that the superfast folks weren’t there.  That said, I’m very happy with my results – primarily because I felt good while running.  Even in the late miles.  I’d feel the same about the run even if I’d finished in 24th place.

Between Tacoma and Call of the Wild, it is clear that Yakima was scheduled about a month too early for me.  I fell apart after mile 20 there, with fair warning from my legs (and head) for about 5 miles before that.  It’s been a matter of building more strength and stamina, which has paid off.

I’m aiming to do another in about a week and a half – the Green River Marathon, from Kent to Alki Beach in West Seattle.  The only problem with that is that I’m joining Kayla for a three day field trip to Lopez Island.  Should be lots of fun – it includes a bike ride of between 25 and 40 miles too!  She invited me along, so I couldn’t very well say no.

One other thing to mention is that I’m halfway to my goal of running six marathons in six months.  I really can’t believe this has been possible.  Definitely counting my blessings.

This morning I joined some friends and maniacs in running the Call of the Wild Marathon.  It was a grass-roots event, organized by Adrian Call, with help from a bunch of nice folks.  The race was held on the Burke Gilman and Sammamish River Trails.  The route was formed with a simple 3.95 mile out and back to the north, followed by a 9.15 mile out and back to the south.  All flat, on a paved trail.  The danger in this event is getting winged by rogue bicyclists who are also trying to make the most of a sunny spring day.

Kris was alerted to this event by her friend and running buddy Chrissie, who guided the half marathon group.  The price (donations to cover the cost of sport drinks and breakfast) was right.  There were about 23 people signed up for the full marathon, another 7 for the 50k, around 20 for the half marathon, and perhaps 5 for the 20 miler.  A real mix of people and events.

The flexibility is great, but you definitely need to make sure to carry your own fuel for something like this.  There were perhaps four unattended aid stations scattered along the course, which was very nice, but I need to drink more often than they'd have permitted.  So I packed a bottle of Cytomax, four gels, and some Endurolyte tablets.  I also packed enough Cytomax mix to make another bottle.  This is pretty easy to carry.

hanging out at the start.

At seven AM sharp, we were off.  We headed north on the trail, for a 3.95 mile stretch.  I'd gone out a bit fast (apparent in my split chart), so ended up slowing a bit on the way back.  Early on, I felt some tenderness in my ankles and calves, possibly the result of a heavy than average couple of weeks running.  They seemed to calm down within the first 6-7 miles.

and we're off!

going out in front - first time ever.

embarking on the trail, northward bound.

Oddly, I was actually the lead runner for about a half mile.  Never before, possibly never again.  Shortly after, the eventual winner overtook me.  I think he wanted to hang out and chat a bit, but his pace was going to be too fast for me, so I dropped back pretty quickly.  By the time we hit the turnaround, I was runner #5 or so, reflecting my better judgment taking over.

kris just before the start of the half.

Coming back to the starting area just shy of eight miles, I noted that I'd slowed a bit.  This was a conscious decision.  I'd already given myself permission to take things slow today, not even pushing to get under four hours.  With that in mind, the results would surprise me.

heading back into the start area to refuel for the trip south.

As we headed south towards Marymoor Park, I let my mind wander.  I checked my pace (between 8:30 and 9 consistently), as well as my cadence (always between 82 and 84).  It was very sunny by now, and I started to feel a bit warm.  After heading about 5 miles to the south, I began seeing the half marathoners coming back the other way.  Kris passed with  her cadre of friends, all of them looking strong and appearing to have a very good time.

kris and friends heading into the finish.

I hit the south turnaround after nearly two and a half hours.  I'd not spent any time computing how far I'd gone, and couldn't remember which trail mile marker the start was near, so I guessed I'd gone between 16 and 18.  With that kind of range, there's really no way to figure out how I was doing though.  All I knew was that if I was able to hold a reasonable pace, finishing in under four hours wouldn't be an issue.

And so I did hold a good pace.  In fact, I sped up a little bit for the last nine miles.  The conditions were great - sun, not too hot, and no headwind.  And even into the later stretch, I didn't feel very tired.  I kept watching my cadence, and trying to consciously engage my core, in order to get the best from my stride.  Both in Yakima and Tacoma, I felt too tired to do this later.  Seems like my plan to increase strength with more miles (and more marathons) is working.

For the final two or three, some fatigue set in.  But when I rounded a corner and saw my father positioning for a camera shot, I felt great.  I cruised into the finish in 3:48:23, possibly good for placing overall (although I have not confirmed this yet).

just before the final turn across the bridge.

This was less than a minute off my time from Tacoma.  Granted this course was a lot easier, but repeating the quicker time, and feeling good about it tells me that I'm doing things the right way.

And I'm definitely enjoying myself, which is the important part.

All photos were included courtesy of Hal David.

Charts and Graphs for Running Geeks

The mile splits weren't marked, so my splits were from the stretches between each turnaround.  Although I went out a bit faster than I should have, my pace was pretty consistent overall, and I finished faster than I started.  Definitely a good day.

Several weeks back, I wrote about Crashing Through, a biographical work about Mike May.  He'd lived as a blind man for 43 of his first 46 years on this planet, recovering his vision following a revolutionary stem cell procedure and then a corneal transplant.  At the time I was only about halfway through the book, but couldn't keep myself from writing about it.

Many reviewers have talked about how May's story is inspiring, particularly as so few (perhaps fewer than a dozen) people have ever regained sight after so long. 

Mike May is an inspiring person, with or without sight.  In fact the thing that made such an impression on me was illustrated by the way he decided to pursue the surgery which gave him his sight.  He made a list of pros and cons.  There were many potential risks, some of which could have proved life threatening.  He had a rich life, with a wonderful family.  He didn't feel he needed sight, because life was just fine without it.  The only reason to pursue the surgery was because he'd not experienced sight in his memory.

I found the period after he regained sight to be interesting, because it reflected how it feels to see.  His way of thinking, and his approach to life in general is a great model for all of us.

He has never shied away from challenge.  And after regaining his sight he faced quite a bit of unexpected challenge.  The book details several other cases of people who had lived without sight for years.  In all of the cases discussed, the subject suffers periods of significant depression after regaining sight.  That would appear to defy logic, but the probable reasons are intriguing.

May found seeing exhausting and confusing, largely due to the fact that the visual function in his brain was effectively dead.  Apparently seeing is as much a cognitive process as it is a physical one.  Our brains recognize objects based on years of learning experience.  When May lost his vision at age three, many of those neural pathways were effectively repurposed to other complex tasks.  When he regained sight as an adult, he could not reclaim those back for object recognition. 

After undergoing study with a professor and researcher, and after thinking a lot about his situation, May found a way to bootstrap some of the cognitive process necessary for him to recognize objects.  In effect, he readapted the mindset of a blind man, relying on his other senses to teach him about objects.  Then he'd try to commit them to memory.  It turns out that by relying on other senses (hearing and touch primarily) which he had developed over years of practical use, he was able to stir some object recognition without having the benefit of full cognition.

It's imperfect, and doesn't replace the lost neural pathways.  But it definitely help Mike May to proactively improve his sense of sight.  Working on recognizing what things look like is a more useful way to spend your time than feeling bad about things you don't control.  The subtext here is that people who are willing to challenge themselves perhaps can make their own "luck".

This is what inspires me about Mike May.  He has never ceased trying to find a way to make things work, even against insurmountable odds. 

That's the kind of person I want to be.

Yesterday I rode my bike to work.  It was a beautiful day for a ride, much like it was last July the first, when I didn't complete the trip.  My excuse for doing this was that it was National Bike to Work Day.  But the real reason I wanted to was to complete the trip I couldn't ten months and a half ago  -both literally and figuratively.  Throughout recovery, I've marked a number of milestones.  Many of them are relatively small things that people do every day.  They're things I wouldn't necessarily have even mentioned before, but they mean I'm closer to recovery.  Closer to 'normal' again.  That's what this milestone was about for me.

Getting on a bike again was not really a physical challenge.  It's an emotional challenge though, another step in putting the bike accident into the past for me.  Closure.  A statement that I wouldn't let my accident define me, or limit me in any way.  A key step along this path took place a few weeks ago, when Kayla got me to do a short ride.  The whole family climbed onto our bikes, and we rode around the neighborhood.  Kayla and I rode together, venturing onto a couple of high-traffic roads, because I wanted to understand how that would feel.  I remember when the first car passed me - I was very aware of it, but not too nervous.  A good sign.

Then last Saturday, I did my first ride of any real length.  I rode from home to the kid's school, to attend their annual art festival.  A bite-sized ride. Only about 2 miles, along a road that didn't usually have much traffic.  After spending most of the afternoon at the school, I rode from there down to Enatai Beach, taking a mostly low-traffic route I'd ridden a fair number of times.  Lots of hills, which made the workout efficient :).  On the way back, I ventured up a steep hill about a mile south of home.  A couple of times going up this hill that I wasn't sure I'd be able to make it up, but I was able to tough it out.  Kris pointed out that it might not have been the brightest choice to try this hill on my first ride back, because I could have 'stalled' and tipped over (unable to unclip my feet quickly).  But it felt great to be able to do this.  The ride was about 23 miles all told, not fast - but challenging.  Because of the sparse traffic, I was able to experiment a bit - trying some faster downhills to see how I'd feel.  I definitely felt a bit nervous, but was able to push myself through.

So when yesterday rolled around, I knew that the only real challenge would be convincing myself to climb on and ride to work.  Symbolically, I chose the same route I'd ridden the day of the accident.  Aside from a couple of miles along Old Redmond Road (where the accident occurred), the traffic isn't too bad.

I got ready, but found myself stalling to get out the door.  Just after nine, I kissed Kris goodbye, and she told me to have a safe ride.  I climbed on the bike, and rode up the hill on 60th.  About a mile and a half into the ride, I turned onto Old Redmond Road.  This is mostly downhill, and there's a steady stream of cars coming from behind.  The irony of being hyperaware of them is that this wouldn't have helped avoid the accident at all.  The problem was simply that the driver made a bad choice, and cut me off when making a right turn.  I had about 1 second to respond, which wasn't long enough to avoid him.  So maybe it's strange viewing it as something I couldn't really have avoided, but that actually helped temper my nerves.  There's nothing I could have done about it, ergo, there's little to be gained by worrying.

I passed the corner of 144th (where it happened) with a lump in my throat.  But that was it.  I smiled as I headed down the hill and made my turn.  From here on it was easy.  What happened, has happened.  I have lots to be thankful for.  And it was a beautiful day.

The trip home was actually a bit more difficult, due to higher traffic.  I was motivated to take the same route home, because it allowed me to visit with Bob, Amy, and Mark, who met to run near Bridle Trails State Park.  They'd spent lots of time with me, both in the hospital and after.  It felt great being to ride up to them and visit.  From there, it was an easy mile home.  I rolled into the driveway and unclipped, feeling good to have this behind me.

Before the accident, I could not have imagined how long this recovery would take, and what would be involved.  I posted to Facebook that I'd done this, and got a bunch of nice messages from friends.  One of them asked me "is there anything (you) haven't done yet?".  Honestly, I don't know anymore.  And that's very good, because it means I can think less in terms of the accident. 

The next ride to work, will just be a ride.  And that's the way it should be.

I just added some pictures for the Tacoma City Marathon to my race report.  Check 'em out if you're interested.

This week hasn't been an easy one. 

Work's been tough.  The company announced a bunch of layoffs on Tuesday.  While no jobs in our group were affected, this definitely cast a pall over things.  We're also trying to get things in order for our current release, while kicking off some planning for the next one.  Not dull, and not entirely pleasant either.

Kayla has been sick all week.  On Sunday afternoon, she developed a fever, and demonstrated some signs of a viral infection (not H1N1).  It's always tough when your kids aren't feeling well, particularly when there are health concerns flying about.

The positive thing I've carried with me this week is the feeling that I can put the word 'recovery' behind me, with respect to the bike accident and my running.  As I've mentioned before, recovery of my whole person, physical and emotional, will take a long time.  But after running strong on Sunday, I no longer need to think about recovery in terms of my running.  This is a big milestone - and I'm very happy to have reached it.

There will always be good running days and not-so-good ones.  But it feels good to be able to put more of the accident behind me.

In terms of marathon recovery, things are going pretty well.  My legs are pretty tired, but that hasn't kept me from running.  Against my better judgment, I ran with my friend Ben the day after the race.  I've always rested at least a day afterwards before, but between the tensions at work and the chance for good company, I couldn't pass up the chance.  Today was the first day I tried anything other than a strict recovery pace.  I kicked hard for about a quarter mile towards the end of our run today.  Not impressive, but it felt good to stretch my legs a bit.

I'm trying to decide what my next race will be.  In keeping with my goal of 6 marathons in 6 months, I'm thinking about maybe doing the Capital City Marathon the weekend after next.  This isn't ideal, because I have plans to go to the Mariners game the night before.  A free alternative is the Call of the Wild Marathon, essentially a maniac-organized event about four miles from home.  The course isn't that exciting, and there appear to be fewer than ten people 'signed up' to run the marathon (there is also a 50k and a half marathon).  But you can't beat the convenience, the cost, and the spirit of the event.  I'll figure it out over the coming week.

In any case, things over the next month are going to be very busy on the event front.  Kris has a bunch planned as well (Tour de Cure, Call of the Wild Half Marathon, Issaquah Triathlon, and probably some others I'm forgetting). 

In Tacoma this morning, I ran my fastest marathon since September of 2006.  I'm tired, sore, and very happy.

wearing a smile while making the final turn

After running Yakima last month, I thought a lot about that race.  I'd gone out too fast, and lacked late-mile strength.  Since the ramp had been pretty quick, I was willing to bet that much of this could be addressed with some quality speed and hill work.  But it also seemed I'd benefit by just running longer.  This left me thinking about either Eugene or Tacoma.  Eugene is flat, fast, and a place I've wanted to visit for a while.  Tacoma is an hour away, so causes minimal disruption at home.  It's also a Marathon Maniac event, and has some great reviews on marathonguide.com.  So - it turned out to be an easy choice to head down to Tacoma.

I arrived the afternoon before, checked into a hotel near the finish line, and headed over to the expo.  I got to visit with local running legends Lenore and Bob Dolphin (organizers of the wonderful Yakima River Canyon Marathon), as well as chat with Steve "Prez" Yee at the Maniacs booth.  Then I wandered out to see a bit of the town.

It was very cool that I happened to pass by the Tacoma Art Museum while walking around.  This was a great chance to see the David Macauley exhibit there.  The author of very cool books like The (New) Way Things Work and The Way We Work, there's much to be learned about how he presents information and how he researches his material.  There were also lots of sketches from his books about Mosques and Cathedrals too.  I was really taken in by his work - very worthwhile!

After sleeping fitfully, I woke up and I ate a bagel slathered in almond butter, gathered my stuff and headed out.  When I got to the start, I saw several ESR friends right away - Paul Hansen, Mighty May Cheng, and Janet Howe, fresh from a great run in the Boston Marathon just a couple of weeks ago.  My friend Steve Supkoff was pacing the 3:45 group, so I made sure to ask him to hold the time sign up really high.

race director tp with the marathon maniac pacers.  I ran most of the way with kurt (holding the 3:50 sign in the back row, to the left).  my good friend steve is holding the 3:45 sign in the front right.

Then we were off.  The race begins with a small circle through the southeast side of the city, and I fell in with the 3:50 pace group.  This felt like it would be ambitious for me, but I wanted to have good company along the way.  The split times were quite good, which made me wonder whether I'd fall on my face later.  Kurt, our pacer explained that we were putting a little time into the bank, because of the hills later in the course.  Hm - maybe I'd have to fall back soon to protect myself from an epic bonk.

we're off!

During miles 5 and 6, we were joined by Robert Lopez of the Maniacs.  His mission for the day was to try to run with all of the pace groups, going from slowest (4:15) to fastest (3:10).  I admire his ambition, but definitely would have done this the easy way myself (going fastest to slowest).  While he ran with us, he shared some stories about his battles with Leukemia (specifically A.L.L.), and someone remarked about how many of us have interesting medical challenges that prove to be big motivators.  Hard for me to argue with that.

heading up along the waterfront, around mile 7.

We made our way through the Ruston Tunnel, and then went up the first of several climbs.   This was a very nice stretch of the course, along the water as we made our way towards Point Defiance.  As we reached the famed Zoo, we began running along five-mile road, a woodsy stint with rolling hills.  We reached the one of the climbs Kurt had warned up about, and I began to slow down a bit.  I was getting genuinely concerned about how fast my splits were, and what that would mean later.  Still - it seemed that every time I tried to slow down, I'd click off another brisk mile split.  Part of this was due to the nice downhill stretches, but some of it was just a natural pace for me.  I'd slow to a brisk walk for some of the steeper uphill stretches.

As we crested the high point of the course around mile 15, I enjoyed the nice vista of the Narrows.  By now, I knew that as long as I didn't slow too much, I'd be able to break the four hour mark.  I faded a bit relative to the pace group as we passed the 18 and 19 mile marks, enjoying the sun.  Shortly after, we began running along highway 16, as we cut east across the city.  This part wasn't so much fun.  Running along a busy freeway never really is.  By now, I'd gone out a bit ahead of the pace group.  I was very tired, but felt better about my chances for hunkering down for the final 10k or so.  Over the course of the next four miles, I managed to alternate slow miles and faster ones, passing some folks along the way.  Definitely on my mind was leaving something in my tank to speed up during the final two (downhill) miles.  Even at my slowest, I kept at a nine minute mile pace, bringing my sights to the 3:50 time goal.

I make a point of mostly not looking at my overall time, just the splits.  This keeps me focused on mile to mile progress, without getting me hung up on specific time goals.  On the other hand, I can have no idea of how I'm really doing overall.  This was the case as I began the final downhill stretch.  I thought that it was quite possible to hit the 3:50 mark, as long as I kept my pace up.  I was under the required average pace from mile 23 on.  I was amazed when I did mile 26 at a 7:33 pace.  For the final 0.2 miles, I wore a big grin, feeling like I'd shown myself something good.  I was floored when I approached the chute and saw that I was under 3:48.  I crossed the finish in 3:47:43, the fastest marathon I'd run since PR'ing in Logan Utah about 2 1/2 years back.  Wow.

the look on my face notwithstanding, i felt great crossing the finish.

My father made the trip down to see me finish - which definitely made me feel good.  He and I stuck around visiting with friends and watching the awards ceremony (several folks I know earned age group awards - which was lots of fun).  Some of us reflected on how lucky I've been to have recovered so well since my bike accident.  We shared some stories about when some of them were watching after me in the hospital.  May told me that she got so concerned that I repeatedly tried to climb out of bed, that she had to ring for help from the nurse.  Now the story is very funny.  I remember the degree of frustration at being held back from doing even rudimentary things for myself.  It felt good to reflect today, especially after running so well.

I can't expect to click off races like this all the time, but definitely appreciate this one.  It's another way to put the difficulties behind me, and appreciate what's ahead.

Charts and Graphs for Running Geeks

My splits didn't vary as much as last time.  There's an upwards trend through mile 19 or 20.  My last couple of splits took the average back down.  Technically speaking, I negative split.  But that's based largely on the last couple of miles.  More accurately I was fairly consistent, with a mostly slowing trend until the end.  More miles and quality training should make this a more sustainable pace.  We'll see!

While on a trip over to Islandwood a few weeks back, another parent in Kayla’s class recommended a book called “Crashing Through”.  It’s a biography of Mike May, a man blinded by a chemical explosion at age three.

I’m not yet finished with the book, but have to say it’s possibly the most inspirational book I’ve read in the past year – a time which has required much inspiration.  The quote at the very front of the book drew me in right away :

"To dare is to lose one's footing momentarily. Not to dare is to lose oneself." – kierkegaard

This is an amazing adage.  I’ve been thinking about this since reading it last week.  More on Mr. Kierkegaard later.

Growing up as a blind child in 1950s America, Mike May was taught to embrace challenge, and not to accept being marginalized.  At the time, most blind children were not permitted to attend the same schools as sighted children.  Few were invited to risk injury by doing things such as navigating themselves around independently, or do things such as building an 80 foot tall ham radio tower.  May pursued a college degree, and became a record-setting paralympic skier.

Some have said that the book really takes off when May regains vision in one eye, following a new stem cell procedure.  I found much inspiration in May’s spirit and approach to life well before he became sighted.  Indicative of this spirit, he debates whether or not to pursue the procedure at length, asking himself what he’s likely to gain from sight, that he doesn’t already have.  He lives a very happy and fulfilling life as a blind person, married with two wonderful boys, and working hard as an entrepreneur.

The central question he asks himself is whether the procedure is worth the numerous risks he’d face.  He could lose his light perception, the mere glimmer of which helps him navigate.  The procedure could fail.  He risks cancer by taking the medicine necessary to reduce the risk of rejection of the stem cells and new cornea.  The only reason to try it, is because he’d not experienced sight within the realm of his memory. 

He accepts the risk and regains sight in one eye (the other eye was removed years ago as a result of an infection).  His vision is not perfect.  His brain strains to process the new information flooding it.  But the book conveys the feeling of this new journey very vividly.  Unfamiliar ground, but an interesting ride nonetheless.

This is where I am now – about 2/3 of the way through the book.  The story was so inspiring that I could not wait to finish before talking about it.  I would recommend this book very much.

Important to this story are the key people who encouraged May to expect the best from himself, and never to use blindness as an excuse for doing so.  Central to the story is his mother Ori Jean, who relentlessly looked for the best opportunities for Mike, even as a single parent raising several kids with not very much money.  Also central is the teacher that Mike has when he enters elementary school, who demands that the kids in his charge always strive for the best.

It highlights how much we benefit by accepting challenges, and climbing out of our comfort zones.  Consistent with the “effort effect” stuff written by Carol Dweck – in which she advocates that we embrace a “growth mindset”.

In a lot of ways I find Mike May's approach to life as an inspiration.  He's a human being, with fears and flaws.  But he comes across as honest about himself, and to others - and is all about living fully and appreciating all the goodness in life - love, beauty, adventure among those things.

Kierkegaard was right about the risk of daring, verses the risk of not.  This same spirit is exactly what I need to embrace in the next stages of recovery. 

Yesterday I had the pleasure of bringing Kayla to work, to observe "Take Your Daughters and Sons to Work Day".  She'd originally hoped to attend work with her mentor, who is an event planner, which is probably a lot more interesting to her than software engineering.  That didn't pan out though so poor Kayla had to come to work with me.

It was pretty fun.  I was able to trim down the number of meetings I usually have, which meant she didn't have to sit through too many catatonic displays of engineering goop. 

We exchanged some stories about software.  To her profound boredom, I drew a picture of how software and computers interact - layering Applications on top of Operating Systems on top of firmware on top of hardware.  Then I told her where I thought the terms "Bug" and "Debugging" came from - it turns out I may have incorrectly attributed the terms directly to Admiral Hopper, but she certainly brought the term into popularity.  In doing this bit of research I was reminded that Admiral Hopper invented the compiler - a tool without which my job would not be nearly as much fun.

And we got to play around with a bit of WPF code, which was fun.  Here's a snapshot of the program we wrote together.  The program animated the radial color gradient on the button, and made the image fade in and out.  Along the way, she got to see me accidentally write some bugs into the code, and even figured some of them out!

We wrapped the day up by visiting the pool table resident several floors down from me.  Definitely a lot of fun for me (even though I stink at pool).

I got home from work yesterday, and had just put my stuff down, when my eldest daughter came up to me and asked "Dad - will you go for a bike ride with me?".

I paused to think about this.  I'd not ridden a bicycle since getting hit last July the 1st.  I'd been saying that I'd ride once the weather changed.  And it was a sunny seventy degrees yesterday evening.

So we went for a family bike ride.  Nothing long or arduous.  Went went around the block.  I felt pretty clumsy out there.  My shifting was awkward as I went uphill, and I felt nervous about how to see traffic approaching form the rear over my left shoulder.  I need to do this more before I feel comfortable.

On the other hand, it felt good to get on the bike again.  I'm riding the same Giant OCR3 that was in the accident.  It's a good bike, and was a great buy when I found it nearly two years ago.  There are some flecks of orange paint on it, I presume from when the police outlined it after the crash.  The seat's torn, and there are a couple of dings on the frame.

Part of me really wanted to ride in to work today.  It's another seventy degree day.  Maybe we'll get to go around the block a few times again when I get home.

Anyway - thanks Kayla for inviting me to ride.  You've done your dad a big favor, getting him out there again.

I'm still feeling a high after completing the Yakima River Canyon Marathon a couple of weeks ago.  My hope is that I can focus more on running than on proving something about my recovery now.  Since running across the finish line in Selah a couple of Saturdays ago, I've felt really motivated to do another one.  Running a half last weekend didn't seem to exercise this out of my system.

So I think I'm going to run the Tacoma City Marathon on May 3.  Like Yakima, this is another maniac event - sure to include lots of friends and great positive spirit.  My hope is that I'm able to complete six marathons over the next six months.  One month doesn't seem like terribly more than normal - provided my expectations for each of these marathons aren't too high.

The goal here is to increase my mileage, while increasing the quality of my workouts (speed and hills).  That will increase my strength and stamina, to ward off the big bad bonk that happened in during Yakima.  Also - one doesn't run their best marathon once a month.  Many of these end up being training runs - with the focus on finishing rather than time.  Before the accident, I'd managed to run 4:24 (on trail), 3:58 three weeks later, and then 3:51 three weeks after that.  I don't think I would have continued to speed up each time had I been able to continue doing one every three weeks.  Rather - this demonstrates the cyclical nature of marathoning.  I'd hoped to do one on fourth of July week of last year.  I think it would have been another slow one, particularly because I'd done a 30k the previous week.  I was booked to do the Light at the End of the Tunnel in August.  That one may have been faster, because it was all downhill :).

A couple of points here.  First - you have to have reasonable goals.  Second - it's not about the time for me.  It's really all about the process of running.  Being outside, facing the physical and mental challenge, and enjoying time with friends or quiet time by myself.  That's exactly what I'm after.  Six marathon in six months is just one way of attaining the larger goal.

I've not really planned this out very well.  I'll try to run Tacoma in May, Green River in June, and then I need to figure out what happens in July, August, and September. 

We'll have to see whether this all happens though.  I've been fighting some bad foot pain lately - likely a Morton's Neuroma.  So far, I've been able to run through the pain.

All for the sake of some innocent fun.

One question I keep asking myself is whether or not I've recovered from the bike accident.  It's been nine and a half months now, and I'm back to doing the things that I love.  In a number of ways, I'm as "recovered" as I'm likely to get.  Mostly this is true in the physical sense. 

An aside : I still plan on regaining vision in my left eye - no idea how or when, but I'm going to see with it again someday!

In the emotional sense, many things are back to 'normal', although there are definitely some changes in me.  Claiming emotional recovery is harder.  There are some consequences to the accident that may never go away.  But it's way early to say that I'm as recovered as I'm likely to get.  That will take much longer.

I was speaking with a school friend over the weekend about this.  A couple of years back, he was shot while out walking one night in downtown Seattle.  You can read a Seattle Times article about it. My friend is the one named "bystander".  He didn't know the two guys who were fighting, but just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.  While his injuries were not life-threatening, there are still some physical and emotional aspects to deal with.

He talked about how he didn't want to "whine" about his injuries, but that some things still bothered him.  We agreed that in many respects, what happens to you becomes a part of you.  But that's different than allowing it to define you. 

That is the important distinction for me. 

Throughout life we all accrue different experiences, some of them not so good.  It's not possible to put every bad thing that's ever happened to you behind.  They stay in your mind, influence decisions, and change you.  In my experience, the thing to do is to make the best of it all. 

I will never let what happened last July define me.  It's just a part of me.

Interesting article in yesterday’s New York Times about immigration in the software field.  It centered on an engineer that Google had hired who was offered an H1-b visa to come work here.  He’d opted to live and work in Canada because his wife was permitted to work there, but not here.

Recently there’s been some controversy over whether engineers from outside the U.S. should be offered H1-b visas while American engineers are being laid off.  Even before the recession, people were wondering whether we want to encourage foreigners to work here, instead of hiring Americans.

As someone who has interviewed lots of candidates, I’ve observed a number of things.  Fewer Americans have been entering the software field these past ten years.  The numbers support this observation.  Put simply, we are not able to fill available positions with strong American-only candidates.  There just have not been enough good ones to select from.  On many interviewing trips, the majority of my candidates are folks who will require a visa, particularly amongst graduate students.

Illustrating this point, about seven years ago, my team consisted of nine people, eight of whom were from outside the U.S.  They were all fairly top notch engineers, and hailed from all over : South America, South Africa, India, eastern Europe, and also Montana.  Without all of this foreign talent, things would have been a lot tougher for me as a manager.  These folks earn the same amount of money as American engineers.  In fact - it's more expensive to relocate them here (relo costs as well as legal costs associated with the visas).  It's more expensive to hire H1-b candidates, but is generally worth it, because they're top notch engineers.  In essence, you're getting people who are 'one in a million' from these countries - verses a broader range of American candidates - so generally speaking the talent level is stronger.

In making this assertion, I'm drawing from lots of experience interviewing both American citizens from domestic universities as well as international candidates, interviewed overseas.

Folks who contend that the H1-b holders threaten American jobs are completely missing the point.  Bringing the best and brightest into the U.S. to work, pay taxes, and make American companies successful is the best way to protect the most American jobs.  It's also the best way to promote America as being the best place to come and pursue one's dreams, much the same way immigrants have done here for a couple of centuries.

Think about the alternative.  If you don't bring the best and brightest here, you create incentive for companies to open new subsidiaries overseas, and beef up R&D centers in India, China, the Middle East, and other places with strong or emerging university systems.

In addition, it's definitely healthier for American students to compete with the worldwide talent pool.  It drives their skills and aspirations higher.  It drives excellence in the university programs as well.

My $0.02.