I haven’t raced since the Shakori 40 in November of 2019. It felt
great to get back out there and enjoy the thing again. The whole thing. The anticipation, the visit with JJW, the
getting limbs gnawed upon by his pit bull, the Purple culture, the witnessing
of the grits, the competition, the finish, and the Moscow Mules as a refreshing
reward. All of it.
Because physics. That
is why. Time dilation. The faster we travel, the slower we age. It is the Twin Paradox. Two twins are together on
Earth. One twin travels on
a spaceship at 80% the speed of light to a star system 4 light years away. To the twin on earth, it
appears that the sibling takes 10 years for his journey. But when the traveler gets
back, he is only 6 years older. One
brother is 10 years older, and the other is 6 years older. Let that sit for a dilated
second. Not magic. Science. Surreal. And very real.
It is mind-blowing, brain-bending, awe-inspiring, and the bald
fact that our species can conclude such a thing deserves far more attention
than it receives, and there are so many more spectacular things, too! Yet we continue to fiddle
with annoying little hobby shop causes in these inane days, losing the forest for the trees. This
is what I was thinking about during my trip.
This in-your-face, hilt-deep, science which leads to bizarre,
counterintuitive, Dali-esque, yet delightfully unassailable conclusions. It is
predicated upon reason, experiment, validation, repetition, and increasing
certainty. And humans did this. Damned
remarkable.
And it is not just time dilation, of course. It is everything. It is Epistemology: what
can be known, what counts for knowledge, and how we make such claims as
individuals and as organized human units. Sadly, we seem to have lost our critical
thinking capacity in most sectors of society. This issue, and the contemplation of the
perfect Dan Dan Noodle recipe occupied my mind during the race, when I wasn’t
listening to the wailing leather-clad bequeenery of Rob Halford glamming it up.
And speaking of time dilation, The Plague Year certainly progressed at a
pace more accelerated than the heartbeat of a frightened Etruscan Shrew. I started dealing with COVID-related matters at work in January '20 and that led to immediate inundation
and immersion in the crisis as the bug lowered its protein-crowned head and charged. Time flew however it does. And now, 15 months later, here I
sit, typing. What happened in that transition zone between then and now? Well, a few insights
emerged, not all equally significant and none directly related to the race:
·
COVID-19 is bad.
Granted. It has killed 3 million people
globally with many more sickened. But, I hope we have learned
from it because this isn’t nearly as horrible as it could have been. And it almost
certainly will be worse when the next one hits.
The 1919 Spanish (more accurately, “Kansas”) Flu killed 50 million
worldwide. The Black Plague of the Middle Ages killed possibly 175 million. We will prevail over COVID, but this was a
practice session. Stand by for heavy rolls.
·
Capitalism is fraught, but it works. The
speed at which private industry produced the vaccines for COVID was remarkable
and unprecedented. It begs the question
as to why the vax development cycle had been as slow and sclerotic as it
had always been portrayed to be by public health officials. I’d like to think
that a forthright and purely altruistic ethical position drove such innovation
and production, but it didn’t. It was
money. Profit motivates. Gordon Gekko was
right. But, I do wonder about what other technological breakthroughs could be realized and
efficiencies uncloaked around fusion power, energy storage,
aquaculture, bioengineering, tidal power generation, ethical AI, robotics, cyberdefense,
and such, if we put our minds to it. I would hope it will not always take a
crisis to impel us out of the innovation doldrums.
·
“Distributed Work” will become the
neo-normal. “Remote work” will go
the way of the dodo because there will no longer be a “place” of work for many
knowledge workers, but there will be a network of workers. The decentralized
network became the "place" over the past year and it worked just fine. I love my
home office gig, and look forward to continuing this kind of work at some level
in the future. Not an original idea,
btw, I learned it from Matt Mullenweg. Know him. And he is spot on.
·
I’m pretty unWoke and cynical, but oh so
lovable. I
live politically between two poles: the dangerous, violent, xenophobic, toxic, anarchic,
and thick-browed troglodyte fringe to the Right, and the naïve, intellectually
bankrupt, reductionist, strident, authoritarian, “progressive” elect to the
Left – the Diaconate of the new Church. But despite this clash of the terminally
enfeebled, which at once amuses and petrifies me, I do appreciate the baroque commentary
and exposure to diverse opinions however festooned with their many-hued ribbons of batshittery.
If we could channel that seething bolus of heterodox ideas toward a more meaningful and practical
enterprise, and away from dimwitted, emotion-laden performative scoldcraft,
then that would be a good thing for our society.
·
Divorce
sucks. My marriage officially ended in October of this
Plague Year. Nothing I ever expected, wanted, or intended, but there it is.
Still recovering from that heart-pain and wishing the best for everyone involved.
Hope springs eternal though it seems like it springs infernal more often than
not. An upside is that I am really enjoying
having grownup independent relationships with my three boys. All these guys are in the process of becoming
and are a sight to see as they continue upon their collective and individual journeys. I love to spend time with them. But, for the love of God, why do they continue trying to get me to like hip-hop? Other than the Sugarhill Gang, I mean - they are clear masters of the craft.
·
Bodies
are fascinating and responsive. Inspired by David Sinclair’s
book, Lifespan, I conducted an experiment for 3 months where I used
InsideTracker, a private laboratory and analysis company, to analyze 46 blood
markers before and after I initiated a significant lifestyle change program.
The results were notable. What I did was: switched to a pescatarian diet, broke fast
with a probiotic yogurt, took resveratrol, ashwagandha, and NMN supplements,
practiced time-restricted eating (only between 2pm and 6pm), dialed back
my weekly running volume to around 50 mi vice my norm of 60-65 mi, exercised
upper body and core, practiced daily mindfulness meditation, stayed well-hydrated, and spent more time reading than watching things. Bottom line is that it lowered my weight,
lowered LDL, increased Vitamin D, increased T, lowered C-reactive protein, increased
Vitamin B12, mitigated tendon and ligament pain from inflammation, and gave me
something interesting to talk about with my friends. It also helped
my running.
· Bidets have potential. I’ve never been a bidet enthusiast, but Ward had one at the Snake Farm, a gift from his brother. He got it early on in COVID as a way to mitigate against the toilet paper shortage. I tried it and it was disconcerting; yet I see the appeal. There were sounds, there was movement, there was water, there were pressure and temperature gradients, there was a control panel with colored lights and icons. There was sensation. I smile secretly to myself when thinking of the initial research, planning, and engineering that went into the design. Questions were asked. Plans were drawn. Decisions were made. Bemused heads were shaken in shock as career choices were questioned. Take that, e. coli.
It was so refreshingly normal to fly again. In fact it was the
first time I had flown anywhere since Shakori in November 2019. Other
than the obligatory mask-wearing (I’m a neck gaiter guy but had a regular institutional
blue medical style mask for when I would get chastised by airline staff), travel
seemed like it always had: early wakeup, drowsy drive, tepid airport coffee, $17 chocolate bars in
the market, lines to endure, struggling to not laugh at the caricatured seriousness of the
TSA overseers, and assiduously avoiding conversation with adjacent seatmates.
Jonathan picked me up at RDU around noon on Thursday. He opted to drive the RAV4 his Mom, Joan, gifted him rather than the usual large, white, menacing panel van which could as easily be used to haul drywall as house gagged captives. Greeting me in the van, along with JJW, was Pogo, Jonathan’s newest canine companion after Tugboat, his zestful, friendly, and sturdy Cane Corso succumbed to brain cancer on New Year’s Eve just a few months ago. Pogo is a loathsome cur. But, we became friends soon after he lacerated my arms with his talons.
I enjoyed the company of young Pogo, but also really missed Tugger. I took a walk out to the back field to his burial place to pay tribute where he lies in peace adjacent to the cairn-topped tomb of Oliver the Airedale. Fare thee well, sweet Tugboat.
Jonathan seems to be doing well.
A writer, mechanic, engineer, luthier, musician, philosopher, heavy equipment
operator, and boss-level curmudgeon, Ward keeps moving inexorably forward. He encounters information, gives it due
consideration, and typically dismisses it as nonsense, all in the service of
wanting to be left alone and unfettered. I
think a bunker and MREs may be in the offing for him. He has what he describes
as “an unpleasant personality.” This is a
true statement. But indeed, a truer friend I could not find. We’ve been pals for 39 years now.
Food featured in the visit as it always does. Thursday, the day
I arrived, we headed up to Saxapahaw and enjoyed a heavy lunch and libations at
the Eddy Pub, sitting outdoors on a warm Carolina afternoon enjoying views
of the River Haw. I ate a spicy lollipop
chicken appetizer, an 8 oz Picanha steak, roast potatoes, and drank a couple of
local ales. It reminded me of times back in mid-‘80s Columbia, SC, when
we would head to the local, and just stay there, the world depending upon our conversations on world problems and the solutions we derived.
Friday morning involved a drive into Pittsboro for breakfast at
Verlie's where I felt compelled to abuse my body with sodium and nitrates
delivered via a skillet full of potatoes, eggs, bacon, sausage, ham, and cheese. Oh, so damned good. That evening was a
basket of smoked wings, slightly sweet hushpuppies, and a ¼ rack of baby back ribs
at the Blue Note Grill, where we also enjoyed some local bluegrass by a band called
Morgan Creek. I think the stand-up bass
player was named “Orville.” I really want his name to be Orville. There are too
few Orvilles in the world these days.
Pre-race day Chinese buffet has become a tradition for my NC
races with Ward, so we did that. Plates with heaps of sesame chicken, Sichuan shrimp,
dumplings, and greens did not last long.
And since I was carbo (and protein, and salt, and fat, and MSG, and
potassium…) loading, we finished off that day with a trip to Maple View Farm
for what many consider to be the best ice cream in the state. I opted for a couple of scoops of Toasted
Almond and Butter Pecan. So fresh it
needed to be spanked. A food coma nap ensued.
There was also the feel-good normalcy of checking back with my
Vermont people. It was my ex, Carol’s,
birthday so I called to wish her happy cake as she and the boys drove to a
raptor rescue center for a nice day out together. A spike of melancholy hit and then
I recovered. I also learned some great
news from my running group in Montpelier.
The indomitable Richarda E rocked through a quick Unplugged Half Marathon,
overcoming some pace challenges along the way to prevail, and the fleet,
fairy-footed Dylan B, who was accepted to run in the Western States 100 Mile Endurance
Run (WSER), but hadn’t been able to decide whether she wanted to or not,
opted to go for it. This is a really big deal and I am so psyched for her. Jim M inevitably overlayered as
he trained hard and quipped wryly, and Nathan S, I’m sure, ran exuberantly and with
the gratitude he so often exhibits blasting out of his big, beautiful, bleeding heart. Bravas and bravos to all.
The race was a success on a few fronts: style, result, and lack of
serious post-race body horror. I was
happy with it, as I decided to run a completely different race than I normally
do. My typical M.O. is to do the research, set defined and realistic goals, establish
pace targets, determine water and fueling strategy precisely, and execute with intensity
and focus. I threw all of that away in
this race, just to see what would happen. Honestly, the aforementioned Dylan
was an inspiration for this approach.
She is a supremely talented ultrarunner, especially at the longer distances,
and she doesn’t do any deliberate planning to speak of, or at least that I know
of. She runs by feel, does what her body
needs it to do, and sets no concrete goals. Excel spreadsheets are anathema to her. She does well and is happy. So, I thought I’d try it. I wore my watch but
kept it on the mileage display and didn’t look once at average pace or mile
splits, apart from checking in on pace at the 25K turnaround. (Note: I was
running 9:36 average at the turn, but didn’t know if that was necessarily good
or bad.) I didn’t do a comprehensive post-mortem on my 2019 race and set goals
to beat it, though I believed I had the early season fitness to do a sub-5 hour
run. I just decided to make it a pleasant morning run in the woods to culminate
a welcome vacation spent with my friend.
Bull City Running puts on a great event. Race communications were timely, clear, and comprehensive. I knew what I had to do and when. No issues. We picked up my number and schwag on Friday. Race day began with coffee and a stout breakfast sandwich at the Snake Farm and a 45 min drive to the venue. I got there at 7:00 for a 7:30 start, stretched, milled about with others, easily identifying the vets and the noobs. No jitters. In a 50K race with aid stations every 3 miles or so, all you need is a handheld and pocket belt, if that. Those that had more tended to be new to the game. I had a handheld, and my elastic belt with some Vitamin I and electrolyte pills, 1 x Gu, 1 x Stinger Waffle, 1 x pouch Sport Beans, and a packet of Tailwind. I also had my headphones and iPhone on my waist. Pretty self-sufficient.
The areas which could undercut my race were
pretty clear in my mind: humidity, heat,
pollen, lack of trail training due to the stubborn Vermont winter, mud, and
injury (falls and ankle sprains). But my training volume was good, weight was low(-ish),
speedwork was effective, and confidence was at peak. I felt ready and happy to race again.
The gun went off at 7:30 on the dot, and I took off with the lead
pack of 10 runners. There were 75 racers total.
This was a tactical move because I really didn’t want to start mid-pack and
have to pick off a bunch of runners on pretty narrow single track as I worked
my way up. It was effective and I ended
up running at #7 after a few miles and
there I stayed until near the end. I got
glimpses of #6, but lost contact with him after 8 miles. So, I was alone for
nearly the entire race interacting only with the terrific aid station
volunteers along the way. They were an
exuberant group and I am grateful for their service. I ran by gut at a pace which
felt fast enough to be comfortable and safe.
Single track is definitely not my best surface and I get anxiety about
bad falls and ankle sprains which I have experienced frequently in the past, and
this was 30 miles of rugged bony undulating trail.
I decided not to put music on for the outbound leg and ended up
thinking a lot about Chinese food, but even more about my overall concern with
the epidemic of misinformation and poor reasoning in society, and chagrin that
I feel powerless to influence it in any meaningful way. It seems we have regressed culturally into a
tribe-centric epistemology where content, trust mechanisms, and activism exist within
an algorithmically defined echo chamber thrumming at just the right frequency
for the compromised denizen. This leads to lemming-like behavior politically, and blind
obedience to one of the two prevailing orthodoxies. Once upon
a time the middle ground seemed like a reasonable terrain to inhabit. Now it
just feels like a barren, blasted Hellscape, missing the good loam required for
proper and fertile public discourse. The corpulent God of Confirmation Bias is enjoying flagons of strong
red wine and chuckling as he watches his work manifest. But then I thought again about the Twin
Paradox and marveled at the fact that human beings have the cognitive ability
to reason their way to such astounding and powerful conclusions. And they are True! Oh, the things we can know about the Cosmos. But, we can’t seem to get our collective shit
together as we interrogate fundamental societal challenges and determine the
most prudent pathways to generate positive change. As if I know the answers. I don't.
Then I tripped and nearly impaled myself on a wooden bridge handrail.
The return leg presented challenges, but it was accompanied by a 70’s
metal and 80’s hair band soundtrack so all was good. I twisted my
ankle after the turnaround, screamed at the Fates, then did it again, and
again. Three times in about 2 miles. I
had a loud and unkind conversation with the ankle which could have been a real joy to
watch if someone were around, and without context. I would have been deemed
mad. No individual twist was catastrophic,
but the cumulative effect caused me to dial the pace back and awkwardly lighten
the load on my left foot, which put a heavier pounding on my right
leg/foot. Then, at about mile 20, I felt
my right calf start to cramp and seize, probably due to the excess work. I stopped immediately, stretched the
little bastard out and it helped. I
managed to use pace and stride dynamics to control that calf for the rest of
the race, but it clearly slowed me down heading back to the finish. I reflected a bit on the 2019 race and
remembered that on the return leg I'd totally bonked at around mile 22 and
essentially death-shuffled into the finish.
This was accompanied by an odd loss of balance where I was constantly leaning to
the left as I ran, bumping into trees and almost falling over, for reasons not
understood. That didn’t happen this
year. No bonk, and no imbalance. My splits were slower for this race, as I
later discovered, but it was due to controlling for the injuries; overall I
felt spry.
I ended up overtaking a couple of racers who had been ahead of me in
the last 6 miles. One guy had fallen and
he was just getting his senses back when I passed, but was okay. Another guy
simply smashed into the Wall at speed, and needed to sit down for a while, drink some water, and regroup. I finished strong, coming in 5th
overall and got the age group win with a 5:13:32., slower than last year, but a better race.
Ward collected me, we headed back to the Snake Farm, enjoyed some pizza and refreshment, had a chinwag with his brother Eric for a while and then I crashed. It was an early flight back to the
802 in the morning. I feel fortunate to
be able to travel and race as I do and be supported by friends, family, and
strangers. Thanks, Ward, for your hospitality and conversation. Next stop, Montana in June
for a 50 miler. I’d love to have company.
Thanks for reading, tolerating, and lasting this long.
