As you can see from the marathon countdown, the days are coming closer. Not going to lie, it’s very real now. I’m making plans with my dad and getting the last details together. What has been a dream, an idea and some plans is about to become reality.
And that’s terrifying.
No matter. My goal the next 2.5 weeks is to eat well. Aside from the Ben and Jerry’s ice cream I just ate, I feel pretty good. I ate some bread over the weekend to help ease the 20-miler. It does help but I was warned that nutrient deficiency will be in full force. Three days out, I’m still feeling it.
By the way, did I mention I ran a 20-miler? 20 miles! Combined with the 7 I ran the day before, I was pooped. Still am. With tapering, I should have enough time to regain my legs and have full energy going into the marathon.
Now the goal is to get to Argentina. Just get there.
It took about a decade and taking the day off from work but I finally got to see Travis in concert. Luckily, they haven’t broken up and are touring in support of their new album.
Travis is one of those bands whose songs have stuck to me. Many of their tunes are grafted into memories and experiences that have been incredibly formative for me in my 20s. If I could use one word to describe their songs, it’s vivid. Their songs are vivid, bright and colorful. They are often full of melancholy and sadness but the full spectrum of those feelings that once feels in a dream or in the early morning. That kind of vivid.
They played a great show at the Lincoln Theater, which is also beginning its own kind of renaissance here in the District. The set list was a bunch of old and new songs and the acoustics were fantastic (as judged by a great rendition of “Flowers in the Window” without mics or amplifiers).
But those songs, for whatever reason, they stick. “Sing” takes me back to a gas station on the way to Callicinto Ranch in Hemet. “The Invisible Band” was just released and when I first heard “Sing,” it stuck to me. I can still remember that moment now.
I heard “Why does it always rain on me?” in England and always hope that someone would have the cajones to play that in a church service. It demands to be played in church.
But for these purposes, there’s this song.
The first single from “The Man Who,” “Writing to Reach You” conveys a yearning. A yearning I had (and in some respects, still do) to say what I wanted to say.
Back in 2001, I was the editor in chief of my school newspaper in SoCal. It wasn’t much, a weekly newspaper, some spot color and stories about coming and goings and that was about it. I went to a fairly conservative Christian college, so journalism wasn’t given, well, a strong preference among the administration and many students.
One Sunday, I was called at my home. I was drinking my Venezuelan rum (don’t turn me in) when then-campus pastor Chris Brown called. He called me to his office, saying there’s been a major accident involving some students. I hustled over, terrified about having alcohol on my breath and more so, wondering why the hell he called the paper.
The day before, three female students were driving in Echo Park, coming back from a picnic or some gathering. Trying to turn onto Sunset Blvd, the car carrying them was t-boned and sent spinning. Melanie, the driver, died instantly. Andrea, one of the passengers, went to the hospital but died that night. Carrie, the third passenger, was left with minor injuries and was released.
The administration wanted the newspaper to cover the story and was giving me full access. Before this, most things were a fight. Often, it seemed like a fight parents and teenagers would have about curfew and well, mom and dad knew best. This was different.
We were unprepared for something like that. I was fully unprepared and when I tried to get someone to write the stories and they all freaked out on me, then I was completely aware of how unprepared I was.
I called LAPD and got the police report. No charges were filed because the students didn’t properly yield at the corner before turning. How do you put that in a story? You just do.
The paper decided, well I decided, to write the main news story and a feature on both students. The news story was straightforward. I talked with friends and some relatives about Melanie and Andrea. We found a photo of them posing in the Shire Mods. Andrea was a transfer student, Melanie grew up in Glendora. Melanie was in the school orchestra, Andrea played sports (I believe soccer, if memory suits me right).
Thus, it came to writing and there I was, in the Clause newsroom at two in the morning, completely unprepared to write and do this. I couldn’t write a thing. Then, “Writing to Reach You” came on and it stuck. I put that song on repeat and it played for more than an hour as I wrote.
The paper came out that Friday and every single issue was taken. That story changed our relationship with the administration and with the student body. That was already a tough year (our second issue was 9/11, just to give you context) and it didn’t get any easier.
I can say that that moment made me a journalist and that moment has stuck with me all these years. Those two women have stuck with me and I hope that the story did them some justice.
So, Travis played “Writing to Reach You” last night and just like that, I was in the Clause newsroom, age 21, trying to get something right.
The band also played this song from their new album and it’s a great song too. It’s sticking as I write.
Mobility: 30 jumping jacks, spiderman stretch, Lat ball shoulders, glutes
Speed deadlifts:
Romanian dead lifts (40lbs)
conditioning: 4 rounds for time (3:57), 16 medicine balls, 10 ball slams, 10 Russian twists, 10 wall throws
Saturday: 22.54km, avg 6:08/km
Last week was the last vestiges of summer. 70 on Monday, 99 on Wednesday, 70 on Saturday. Now, fall is in full effect. The air was crisp. Everything is now crisp. The running, the living, the road is crisp.
I stopped going to church some time ago. That’s a big deal. I grew up in church and for much of my life, church was the anchor point and the center of my working and relational identity.
During crises of faith and crises of relationships, I still went to church. There was a real comfort in the sense of routine and predictability and I truly feel God’s presence in (most) services and churches.
It started as an issue of logistics with work but then the real issue came forward. It wasn’t doubt (although there is plenty) or a denial of belief. It wasn’t a particular sermon or pastor or anything like that. I came out of the HOLE with a desire to face failures head-on and make changes. The hardest part to acknowledge was that my relationship with church was no longer working and hadn’t been working for a long time.
It’s like this: When you are a child, you have a certain kind of relationship with your parents. You are completely dependent on your parents, which is a mutually agreed-upon relationship that has benefits for both parent and child.
But you grow up and start to find independence and a sense of self-sufficiency and you confront the reality of the world. That reality drives you away from home and toward your new home, wherever that is and with whoever shares it with you. In order for that to fully happen, the dependency bond with your parents must break.
You get the point: I’m still a believer and always will be. Now, I am a member of the Church of the Long Run. Lately, I’ve been listening to classical music and the Latin hymns of Palestrina. It expedites the centerness that comes at that certain point in the run. It calms the mind, relaxes the shoulders, loosens the back and keeps the legs moving. At that point, it’s about the next step and the next breadth.
On these long runs, I imagine myself running the maratón. How will I feel on mile 5? Mile 20? I think about the crowds, the cheering, the music, the tango dancing. I see my father in the crowds as I finish the race. Achievement. Completeness.
Then, my mind travels to Westminster Abbey in London. The vastness, the beauty of the place. Or St. Paul’s Cathedral, the Cathedral in Canterbury, Urquhart Castle on Loch Ness. Cathedral of St. John the Divine in Morningside Heights. These places built as windows into Heaven. I look up and lose my breath.
I finish the run and I pray that God is pleased and glorified.
Wednesday: 13.58km, avg 6:03/km Thursday Crossfit: Deadlift deficit, 115lbs, standing on 25lb weight. Pull-ups 3×8 (did one set with 1/2 inch band), toes to bar (not so much.) Conditioning: 4 rounds for time: DB swings (40lbs), 15, renegade rows (10x side), ski jumps over DB, 5 times.Time: 5:17.
Friday: 9.7km, avg 6:05/km
Saturday: 28.04km, avg 6:12/km
Total kilometers ran (including Labor Day): 67.46. That translates to 41 miles.
I hit the Wall last week in the training. It wasn’t a nutritional element or an actual running element. In fact, I ran the most kilometers and the best runs in this training.
It was the wall that life threw me. Setbacks across the board but what did me in was bed bugs.
I live in the city in an older building and while, there’s all sorts of fun creatures lurking around these places. I had an infestation earlier this year and it cost me my couch. I thought they were gone but oh no, they were still around.
And has looked like this for the past week. My apartment has to stay in a state of lockup until the second treatment later this week.
Nevertheless, the training continued. Getting close to the 30 day mark towards the maratón. Amazing.
Wednesday: 3km around Meridian Hill Park with 25 jumping jacks, 25 bench pushups, 25 air squats
Thursday: 11:30km, avg. 6:11/km
Saturday: 8:08/km, avg 6:02/km
Monday (Labor Day): 16.14km/avg, 6:12/km
According to Runkeeper, I’m 66% of the way through training.
And I’m terrified. This is really happening.
Ok, that’s passed. The next two weeks will be the toughest in terms of distance ran. I’m aiming for about 50-60 km (about 40 miles), with an 18-miler this Saturday and the 20-miler the following Sunday. After that, it starts to taper down and we hit the home stretch toward Buenos Aires.
All in all, I feel good. I feel some soreness in my knees and legs but nothing that hinders me. It’s really the issue of just getting going on the runs. Once I do that and I hit my stride, it feels good to find the rhythm again.
In addition, most of the details for the trip are just about completed. I’m a closeted Type-A personality with a fair amount of low self-confidence, so I overindulge in preparation. That does wonders for me but it leads to issues of over-training and over-preparation.
By this point, I would have most of my trip planned out. However, my approach changed dramatically with my father coming along as a travel companion and support coach. A great man, my dad is as low-key as one can be. Combined with never traveling outside the country before means that every decision is “sure, whatever you want to do.”
That drives me crazy. I’m not quite sure why but part of it is that I usually travel alone. In fact, I’ve done most things on my own.
Part of it is circumstance and part of it habit but my default is to go solo. Nothing gives me more pleasure than seeing a movie during the first matinee showing in an empty theater. Or traveling on your own, where you discover whatever you want in however manner you choose. Such liberation and independence!
And really, it is. While I have lots of friends and have traveled with others, it’s becoming tiresome. Dare I say lonely? How about it was starting to get old.
When I first started thinking about the trip, it was going to be the ultimate solo adventure. Even when I signed up for the marathon, I thought about how I was going to take a picture on Facebook and have everyone celebrate with me online. Yet, it was my victory, my trip. Just me.
Truthfully, I wanted someone to come with me. I just didn’t know how to ask. Or, I haven’t been approachable. I get accused of being a cynic and while I don’t see myself as cynical, I do realize that my attitude isn’t always one of openness and accommodation. Again, there’s lots of reasons for that which are worthy saving for the therapeutic couch but I’ll just say I was grateful when Dad asks if I wanted company.
It’s requiring me to have patience (trying to plan with someone on the other side of the country about a trip on the other side of the world is ‘fun’), which I need. And flexibility, which I need more of and openness, which I need the most.
The Road to Good Air 