Parenting

I think the thing I enjoy most about visiting my kids' school is that it exposes me to the best and brightest adults around. Everyone in the town their mother chooses to live in is in shape, articulate, well-read, open-minded, educated, and progressive.

Wait. It's the opposite of that.

Today was my son's first day of kindergarten, and I got the pleasure of accompanying him. So we went to the classroom and found his little seat. We filled out a questionnaire together (his favorite food is hot dogs, in case you were wondering, and he is no longer afraid of the Mariner Moose). We introduced ourselves to the other kids and their moms (I was the only dad to be found in the building, of course). Then the kids went to recess and the moms and I went to the cafeteria to learn all about the wonderful world of Kindergarten. The Principal gave the same speech he gave when my daughter started Kindergarten 3 years ago, with the same jokes. He explained the bus schedule and how to pick kids up after school. He introduced the lunch ladies and the PE teacher.

SIDE NOTE: I have been wondering of late about Boy Kid's readiness for Kindergarten. He doesn't really trend toward the academic side of things (he is more into cross-dressing and playing with dolls). Any worries I had about his placement in the class and his standing among his peers is now gone. Don't worry about that.

Meanwhile, out of control toddlers and preschoolers who had been brought along by their mommies for big brother or sister's first day of Kindergarten, swarmed the room and generally tore the shit out of the place. The juice table the PTA had set up in the back was toppled, the Rice Krispy treats were ravaged, metal folding chairs were knocked over. And the screaming. My god the screaming! I looked up from my text-messaging (very polite, I know) expecting to see dozens of parents scrambling to calm their children down or maybe remove them from the room until they shut up. At the very least I expected to see their fat white faces flush with embarrassment at their kids' behavior.

Nope. It wasn't until one kid flat out decked another in the nose that any of the parents even flinched. And even then it went like this:

Mother of Puncher: "Dylan! You get over here right now or I'm going to swat you!"
Mother of Punchee: "Jonathan! Stop crying right now!"
GVB: WTF?

And then the question and answer period began. Holy Shi-



Are these the dumbest people ever? How do they dress themselves? How did they manage to raise kids to Kindergarten age without killing them?

Anyway, congratulations Boy Kid. Good job getting older. Don't shoot up the school with your mom's boyfriend's guns.

PR!

Today was the Super Jock and Jill Half Marathon in Woodinville. I happened on this race last summer and raved about it on this very blog. It is a well-run event that attracts good runners. And it starts and ends at Red Hook. Not hard to take.

Last year I ran the 13.1 miles in 1:38 and change.

This year I came into the race with about 3 miles of training under my belt and no delusions of any sort of real performance. BUT, I also came into the race with my usual attitude of "go fast and see what happens." This attitude has not served me well in full marathons, but I can't help myself. Hell, even in training runs I have a bad habit of going too fast for too many miles. It's an illness. I have a team of professionals working on it.

Also new this year: The Colleague and offspring were not just spectators. Nope. They suited up for the 4 mile run-walk that went off at the same time as the 13.1. Go ladies go!

(For those who are paying attention, the 3-Day Save the Boobs walk is 2 weeks away, which at least partly explains The Colleague's participation in a walking event.)

The pre-race situation involved a long port-o-john line (duh) and some milling about in the prematurely cold late summer weather. Once I wandered into the starting area I saw something that looked a lot like this:



This isn't the exact artwork, but the style is unmistakably that of Mr. Owen Connell of Parlor F fame. Owen is responsible for all of GVB's ink and one of The Colleague's stylish tattoos as well.

GVB: "Excuse me, who did your tattoo?"
Runner Girl: "Owen Connell. Why?"
GVB: "He did mine too. I knew that was one of his designs!"

As we wait for the start I learn that Owen just completed the Cascade Crest 100 Ultra Marathon in 30 hours. I can't even begin to imagine the pain and suffering involved. The bitch of it all is that Owen doesn't really even train. He just goes out and runs. Fucker...

Back to the race: this is a gun time race, which I loath. I lose 50 seconds because every dickhead in a compression top thinks he is going to run a 6 minute pace? Grrrr. I managed to sneak ahead pretty quickly and posted a 7:10 first mile (though with all the weaving I probably ran 1.2).

Mile two clicked by and all was well. A small downhill section let me cruise in at 7:00 on the nose.

I really wasn't going for a time on this race. If I had felt tight or tired at mile three I was completely ready to throttle back and do an even 8:00/mile for the whole race. But I still felt strong, so I kept going. Nothing at stake here. Even a massive bonk didn't matter. At the water station in mile three I decided to see what I could do.

From mile 4 through the finish, the course is on roads and trails I have logged hundreds of miles on. I know every turn and hill, and I know distance instinctively from hours of training runs. I can't tell you how much this helped. I stopped looking at my watch and I just started running.

Blah blah blah I made it through the hilly portion on the UW Bothell campus and hit the trail again at mile 9. A quick glance at my watch and I knew I had it. If I didn't crash I had my PR for a half marathon. No way I was letting that one go.

I kept myself pushing by imagining the finishing clock and seeing something in the low 1:30s. When I hit the grounds of the Red Hook Brewery for the last .1 miles, started kicking:

1:33:50.

7:08/Mile.

I couldn't help pumping a fist and yelling a little. Shaving almost 5 minutes off my previous time? Awesome...Still, I hope there isn't any video. I'm sure I looked like a dick acting like I had just won the race.

And after I had calmed down I found Cap'n Ron and RPD arriving to share in the finish festivities. A nice IPA with The Colleague, the Offspring, and my friends? Awesome. Thanks for coming out, boys!

Thanks to The Colleague for knowing why I was so excited with my time. Sorry about the sweaty hug.

Now we turn our attention to the Seattle Marathon. I'm not trying to BQ at this one, but it will be a good stepping stone to Vancouver, where I hope to run the 3:15:00 I need to get my fat ass to Boston in 2010.

We'll see.

-g

Drool Worthy

I went with The Colleague to Road Runner Sports today to get her outfitted for the 3-Day Save The Boobs Walk. While she was trying things on, I took the opportunity to check out the new Brooks T5 Racer. Yum.

I'm saving my pennies. There's still time to save the needed funds and get one short race on them before the Seattle 26.2! Right?

And yes, I do have a shoe problem.

Feels Like Summer Might Be Over...

A lot has happened since my last entry here. Our Southwest Swing is over, our move is complete, the kids are gearing up to go back to their respective publicly funded learning factories, I signed up for my first race of the new training season...It's a busy time. Let's get started.

Road Trip!
SuperVan rolled up 3,335 miles on our last trip. Seattle to Boise to Sedona to Pasadena to Portland to Seattle with stops along the way in Malibu, Santa Barbara, and other places it wouldn't suck to live. Conclusions: I don't want to live in Sedona. I could handle living in Pasadena (that place might just be a runner's paradise with its wide sidewalks, gentle sloping hills, shade trees...I have to stop now before I start crying).


I understand why someone would live in Malibu (of course the money it would take to live in the home of the friend we visited would make living anywhere pretty tolerable), and I definitely get the Santa Barbara vibe. But I think I'll stick with Seattle for now, thanks. It is still relatively affordable (unlike Santa Barbara) and it isn't in danger of falling into the sea or being engulfed in a wind-driven inferno any time soon...


Our trip ended with an open-air Jack Johnson concert outside of Portland. And while the show was a good one, seeing him at Kokua Festival in Waikiki pretty much ruined us for any other concert experience. The people in Portland just didn't seem to get the idea. Chill out, folks.

I don't really care for Portland all that much. There. I said it.

If You Lived Here, You'd Be in My House Now
After 2 years of rental living to start our respective second lives, The Colleague and I swooped into the depressed housing market and lowballed a motivated seller into giving us a house. So we packed up the Palace and had three dudes move everything 5 miles west to the top of ANOTHER F-ING HILL. Welcome to the Shack. We're staying here for a while.

Buying an older house is always an adventure in other people's stupidity. As a general rule, most homeowners should NOT be allowed to own tools or to attempt remodeling projects on their own. It is customary, for example, to remove the appliances before re-tiling a kitchen. Who is so lazy that they leave the appliances in place and cut the tile around them? Oh, the previous owners of this house. Right.

In the Shack, GVB and The Colleague each have their own offices and all of the kids have bedrooms on the same floor. We got central heating, and we're alright. Ya Ya Ya. Come on over. Bring wine.

Train This
So back to this hill we live on. Shit. The Palace was at the top of a hill that gave me three or four running options. I could do the 3 mile loop on the hill and stay level, or I could go down to the valley at three different spots. Options. It still always sucked to have to come back up, but I had options. I like options. The Shack leaves me with only two options. Down our street (3/4 mile to the Burke Gilman Trail, by the way), or down the hill on the other side of the neighborhood, which is a 1.5 mile detour. Sigh. One compelling reason to take the back door route is that there is a neighbor 5 doors down that I really don't care for, and I wouldn't put it past him to run me over if he sees me running up the hill. Another compelling reason is that the hill really is steep. Brutal steep. 11 minute pace steep. Walk the bike steep.

Anyway, I'm officially on the training train for the Seattle Marathon. November 30th. Portland is too soon (though Cap'n Ron is still planning on limping the course on a broken leg and no training) and frankly, a weekend in Portland is just too expensive. The idea of sleeping in my own bed the night before a race is very appealing to me. The Seattle course is pretty rough (2 out and back sections and a nasty climb near the end) but I'll see what I can do. Who's in? Come on...

Up next is the Super Jock and Jill Half Marathon in Woodinville. Any race that begins and ends at the Redhood Brewery is just fine with me. I set a PR at this race last year, but I'm nowhere near ready to try for that again. Just going out for an 8:00 pace and using it as my first double-digit run of the season. We'll see.

Mr. Obama, Will You Please Be My President?

The Colleague and I watched the Democratic National Convention last night. Can we please just get Obama in office now and get on with it? Isn't it obvious? Please? Be my president. Please?

Then we wake up to find that McCain (who celebrates his 72 birthday today) has chosen...who? The Governor of Alaska as his running mate? What?

And then this story hits: GOP Says Hurricane May Delay Convention



New Orleans is Screwed
Karl Rove says the GOP "can't catch a break" when it comes to the weather. Hmmm. Maybe it's because the weather, which you can't control, is highlighting how stupid you are. McCain wants to expand oil drilling in the Gulf of Mexico (meanwhile, Hurricane Gustav is bearing down on the existing oil platforms in the Gulf, which are being evacuated, and oil prices are climbing in anticipation of the production slowdown). McCain wants to focus on foreign relations and military experience abroad (meanwhile, Gustav is set to clobber New Orleans in a reminder of how utterly broken the GOP's domestic policies are).

So how can we spin this one? I know, let's postpone the convention and over-compensate for Katrina by lavishing the 300 people left in New Orleans with attention. Of course, if the storm doesn't hit a major city, screw 'em. On with the convention!

One does wonder, if New Orleans gets hit again this soon after Katrina, does that increase the chances of the NBA leaving New Orleans to return to Seattle? Hmmmm.

Welcome to the LPGA. Speak English.
The LPGA has announced that it will require all players to speak English by 2010. What? They claim this is for the players' own benefit. In Pro-Am events, they say, it is important for the players to be able to communicate with sponsors. How very progressive of you.

College Football Season Begins
And GVB is nervous for his Huskies. Very nervous.

South by West - Part Three WARNING, ACTUAL RUNNING CONTENT

The Seattle Marathon is Sunday, November 30th.

I haven't even tried to run once in the last month.

Rumor has it one should train before running a 26.2 mile race.

Since you have to start somewhere, I started at the front door of our vacation condo in Sedona, Arizona.

Some variables for you:

1. I haven't run a single step in a month.
2. Sedona is roughly 4,600 feet above sea level.
3. I live more or less at sea level.
4. Today's high temperature in Sedona was 99 degrees.

The sum of variables 1-4 is a really shitty first run of the training season. 4 miles with a lot of hills and some seriously nice slickrock trails.

The conclusion of this research is that I have a LONG way to go before I'm close to ready for the Seattle 26.2. And if I am seriously going to try for my Boston Qualifier in May at Vancouver, I need to put some miles together and get things in shape again.

Since today didn't kill me I'll try again tomorrow and add a couple of miles. With luck I'll get out before the temperature hits 100.

At the end of the week we'll be in Pasadena, where I'll try to get in a couple of long-ish days, so that by the time we get home from this trip I'll be back in the swing of things. In theory.

Other things I learned today:
•4 bedrooms with a view in Sedona will run you $1,000,000. Now, I don't know about you, but $1,000,000 seems excessive for an adobe in a forest fire zone. Without a pool. Why doesn't anyone around here have pools?
•Sometimes other people's kids are a serious pain in the ass. I'd say 90% of the time.
•I'm a fan of a full night's sleep.

South by West - Part Two

It isn't a mystery to anyone who glances at this blog that I have more or less given up running in favor of endless bouts of leisure and relaxation, punctuated only by air and sea travel. But with the Seattle Marathon on the horizon (Thanksgiving weekend) it's time to get back on the road and build up some miles.

Today I scouted out several good routes around our current location in Sedona, Arizona. A nice 5 miler tomorrow morning ought to get me back on the road in style.

On my scouting walk today I learned some things.

1. The only people who live in Sedona are very restless retirees from northern cities and totally fried hippies who aren't even really sure they live here. It's a scary combination, especially on the roads. I also encountered one resident who was a deadly combination of burned out hippie AND northern city retiree. She stared at me from behind the wheel of her Jetta with the sort of fixation that either said "I think I remember you from a past life" or "you seem threatening to me and I might run you down." I casually stepped into the gutter to avoid whatever was going to happen next.

2. If you cover your doublewide with Stucco you can turn white trash into desert white trash. Adding a wagon wheel or cow skull to the fence is the finishing touch.

3. No one really wants to live here. They think they do, but they wish they had made another choice. It's in the eyes. Everyone here looks like they are begging to be adopted and taken to a better life with less heat and fewer poisonous animals and plants.

4. The staff at the Wyndham Sedona is wildly incompetent. Luckily they are also rude.

5. Whoever designed the above mentioned resort had no training in traffic flow or pedestrian tendencies. No sidewalks connect to anything, and all of the natural flow of the place goes right through plantings and rockeries, almost all of which have signs that say "Please don't climb on Red Rock." Well, assholes, people climb on the rocks because it is the shortest path to your pool.

6. I also found the brewery. But that's my little secret.

South by West - Part One

The Colleague and I returned from Belize and stayed home for a week, during which we had our water heater and furnace replaced at the new casa, hung out with the kids, and packed SuperVan for a trip south.

Destination 1: Sedona, Arizona. A week of heat and beer and pool water in the mountains north of Phoenix. 21 hours of driving interrupted by a failed camping attempt and a super fantastic hotel room in Boise, ID.

SuperVan is up to the challenge. 1300 miles into the trip and she's happy as could be.

Cheapest gas: $3.89/gal. Most expensive gas: $4.29/gal.

More later.

Belize It. Wherein GVB Babbles About Travel, People, Food, Drink, and Books.

So, Belize doesn't suck. I'll give it that. The Colleague and I are back from 15 days on land and sea in what I can only imagine is the coolest, friendliest Central American country there is. The stories are endless, of course, but my patience for writing them out and is not. So here are some pictures:

Hotel Mopan in Belize City. If you want to watch "Police Academy" in a dark bar and drink warm Belikin beer, this is the place.


Speaking of Belikin Beer, here it is. The ONLY beer in Belize. So even though it isn't good, it's the best beer in the world.


Public Transportation in Orange Walk, Belize. Wherein GVB pissed off locals by keeping his window down. Apparently the hotter the inside of the bus is, the happier people are. This particular bus took us from Orange Walk to Corozal.


For some reason related to tropical heat and sleep deprivation, we thought this was hilarious.



Apparently the Mayans built some huge temples in the jungle. Not pictured: bugs the size of small aircraft.


Caye Caulker is a tourist nightmare, but if I have to suffer through a day or two with a private beachfront cabana and the only pool on the island, I guess that's ok...


Welcome to Placencia, where the streets are sidewalks and the people like their signs.

And then we got on this boat with The Colleague's family. This is a big ass boat. 47 feet long and at least as wide. It sailed like a shipping container with a stick coming out of it, but it had air conditioning and 600 gallons of water, which we went through in 3 days. It was comfortable though. I'll give it that.

Did me a lot of reading on this trip. Here I am reading "Thunderstruck" by Erik Larson. Maybe someday I'll make a list of what The Colleague and I have read this summer with some reviews. Maybe. What I have decided is that most writers can't sustain a good book through the end. I haven't read a book that was consistently good from beginning to end all summer. "Exit A" by Anthony Swofford came close and is so far my fave of the summer...

Oh yeah, Belikin. There was some of that on the boat as well. 12 cases to be precise. Most sailors worry about running out of fuel, water, or food. We ran out of beer. It was about this time that The Colleague swore she would never touch another Belikin again.


I've seen worse anchorages. This is Tabacco Caye, the local economy of which is apparently based on the frequent discovery of Colombian cocaine washing up on the reef. I believe this was the first night of charades on the foredeck, during which I had the pleasure of acting out obscure 1960's movie titles. Thanks Colleague's Dad!

After a week of almost not grounding the boat, we made our way inland to Maya Mountain Lodge. People there are too nice for their own good and the cabanas, as you can see, suck.

Go to Belize. And be ready to answer the following question every time you meet a local: "You want some weed, man?"

Not a Bad Start (and other thoughts)

I'm Sailing! I'm SAILING!" -What About Bob


The Colleague and I pulled back into port after 11 days afloat. I thought about writing a long narrative of the trip, but that seems like work, and this is summer. So instead here is a brief rundown of the adventure:

•Day One: Hope Island. Perfect weather on the longest day of the year. It was light out until 10:30. Tapped into the first box of our finest purple wine. Cruising Note: There ARE three mooring buoys at Hope Island, but only at low tide. We tied to the mysterious third buoy and watched as it disappeared as the tide rose. Dear Washington State Parks, please do occasional maintenance.
•Day Two: Blind Bay. After running Deception Pass and battling rips and currents in Rosario Strait, we sailed through Thatcher Pass and up to Blind Bay on Shaw Island, where we grabbed a mooring and kicked back. The decent cell phone coverage allowed us to buy a house while we were at it. Yep. Bought us a house. By the time we return to work in the fall we will have changed addresses. Goodbye Bothell. Hello Kenmore. Oh, and in case you are ever tempted to forget, the currents and rip tides in the San Juans are pretty epic.


•Day Three: Poet's Cove. Canadian Awesome. Motored out into San Juan Channel and then sailed downwind straight into Bedwell Harbor on the better side of the US/Canada border. Question: how does Verizon know where the border is out here? Cleared Canadian Customs with a phone call to a friendly young lad in Victoria, took a dip in the resort pool, sampled the cocktail offerings at the resort bar, and sent paperwork for above-mentioned home purchase. More purple was consumed.

•Day Four: Montague Harbor. Pub Bus. Is this the best cruising harbor in the Gulf Islands? It might just be. Perfect anchorage, friendly people, and the Hummingbird Pub. Did some boat cleaning and found that there was fiberglass under all the green shit on deck. The Colleague began the tanning plan. The bikini choice was met with great approval.



•Day Five: Montague Harbor. Lucky Lager. Why not stay one more day? No need to click off any nautical miles on this day. We hung out, went for a long walk, bought some provisions (an 8-Pack of Lucky Lager? Does it get any better?) and stopped back at the Hummingbird for a pitcher.
•Day Six: Winter Cove. Umm. Perfect? The cruising guides barely mention Winter Cove, and when they do all they say is that it is shallow. What they don't mention is that it is picture perfect and a rock solid anchorage. You tell me how good this is:


•Day Seven: Customs at Roche Harbor. Lame. Reid Harbor for the night. We turned back toward the states and had to go all the way into Roche Harbor to clear customs. Let's just say that the experience coming back into the country is not as pleasant as leaving it. These D-Bags they hire to act tough on Dubya's behalf piss me off and I'm not so good at hiding my disdain for the work they do. I don't feel an ounce safer, and I'm getting sick of the questions and the tough guy attitude. Also, it's none of your damn business how I know the woman I am cruising with. She happens to be my Colleague. Don't you read blogs? Shit. Any who...once we were reluctantly welcomed back into our own country, we topped off the fuel and the beer supply and headed for Reid Harbor, which for my money is the best anchorage in the San Juans. Once there all we did was eat, drink, read, play Scrabble, and basically chill the hell out.

•Day Eight: Reid Harbor. Hot Nasty Bad Ass American Leisure. Also hiking and swimming.

•Day Nine: Cypress Island? Nope. No room at the inn. Seems like people have discovered the new mooring buoys in Eagle Harbor. Anacortes? Sure. About time GVB had a shower anyway. We blew the day's budget on cold beer at the Rusty Trombone Pub.

•Day Ten: Everett. 45 nautical miles. Through the Swinomish Channel (nice little log collision to keep us on our toes) and into Skagit Bay in zero wind. Westerly came up in Skagit Bay and built all afternoon. Long story short: torn headsail, busted furler, fucked up rudder, and one bruised up Colleague (after a nice fall down the companionway stairs). But home is nice. Not ready to stay back on land, we hunkered down in the marina for one more night aboard.


•Day Eleven. Cleaned up the boat, loaded SuperVan, and headed to The Palace, which will no longer be our Palace as of August 23rd.

Next Up: Fourth of July Fiasco with the GVB Family and the McMillionaire at Hood Canal.

Next Next Up: Two Weeks in Belize? Ok. Sure. Why not?

Please note the absence of any running related notes. That is because I haven't even laced up the shoes in 2 weeks. I'm considering a nice easy 6 after I post this little entry, but will likely talk myself out of it in favor of a PBR on the deck. With a view like this, it's hard to do anything else:


I do have running-related news. Instead of running the Portland 26.2 this year I've decided to stay in town and try my legs at the Seattle Marathon. No travel costs and a chance to run near home. Also another month to train.

OUT OF OFFICE

We're out.

San Juan Islands
Gulf Islands
Hood Canal
Belize
Sedona
Pasadena

And anything in between.

Man Down!

Well this ain't good...Seems our beloved Cap'n Ron took a digger somewhere near Tonasket on the big GS. Of course our first concern is the bike, but apparently it is ride-able and suffered only cosmetic damage (a LOT of cosmetic damage, but still).

We haven't spoken with or seen the Cap'n yet, but early reports are of a broken tibia and some compression fractures of 2 vertebrae. Yes, that counts as a broken back.

We at SailRunClimbRide are worried about Cap'n Ron and hope to be able to join him for therapeutic alcohol ingestion soon. Speedy recoveries. And for those of you on two-wheels, watch for wet, oily patches of pavement. As the Cap'n has learned, guard rails hurt.

See you soon, Cap'n.

Random Things

...I have essays to grade...

...I don’t need a theme or a structure or even a cohesive idea. Right? I can just write some things down and upload some pictures and that makes it a blog post. Right?...

…Cap’ Ron mentioned some time ago that Anthony Bourdain was his new hero. I was more of a Les Stroud fan, but I’m leaning Bourdain’s way. This is why Jesus invented DVR technology. I’m pretty sure he is the guy that any of our significant others would leave us for, gentlemen…
…while I’m sort of on the subject of reality television I might as well cop to watching 4 straight hours of The Deadliest Catch the other night while The Colleague was out of town. Sure I could have been productive in my sleeplessness, but isn’t it better to watch someone burn through their own fingernail with a hot needle to relieve the bloody pressure building up behind it? Gross. Also, I don’t care how staged the fishing and filming is for that show, it would be a brutal, scary job. No thanks…

...this is pretty much how I spent Memorial Day weekend:


…The Learnin’ Factory is bound to be on the news soon. Someone is angry about no longer working for this fine institution of higher learning, and I have a feeling said someone is going to keep making a massive scene about it…

…My father doesn’t know a damn thing about boats, how they work, or how to sail them. Nor does his neighbor the McMillionaire. So they are of course the perfect candidates to buy a 1935 48’Atkins Cutter that needs to be completely refit and rebuilt. Great plan. It will either cost three times as much as they plan or take three times as long to get it finished and launched. Maybe both. The real wager is how much of the work GVB will be coerced into doing…

…congrats to Al B on the first tri of the year. Nothing like swimming in Long Island Sound in May. Al’s extremities will be back to normal temp any day now…

…and there’s this dickhead…

…Here is a picture of the student population of one of my Research Writing classes:

Now I know why their work is so stellar and why they are never in class…can you pick out the ones who will never play a single inning of professional baseball? If you said every guy making a hand gesture AND/OR flexing his arms, you’re right! Seriously, everyone in the front row is in my class. All of the future ex-ball players with eyeblack on were in my class in the winter. Sigh…

…but seriously, congratulations to our college baseball team on winning the championship. Enjoy your three year minor league careers followed by a crippling day-to-day job roofing houses outside of Mesa, Arizona…

…how much do the Mariners suck? Did someone from Oklahoma City buy them too and not tell us?...

…I couldn’t make this one up: “On July 3rd, 2007, Amy Stewart purchased a vanilla latte at a Starbucks drive-thru in Kent. When she put it to her lips to drink, the top popped off, spilling the coffee down her front and burning her. She filed suit against the coffee giant in King County Superior Court on April 25th, 2008. Her husband joined the case, suing for “loss of consortium” – legalese for sex and other spousal-specific activities.” Does he have to prove that his sex life was good enough that the loss of that sex life was damaging to him? Can’t wait to see how this one plays out…



…you are all free to join the GVB-Colleague boycott of Starbucks, by the way. Not because of loss of consortium (which I assume only applies to married couples, right? Because no one else should be consorting) but because they keep fucking up our drinks at the drive-thru. Lattes mysteriously get flavor added to them, cappuccinos taste like lattes, and drip coffee is scorched beyond its natural life. Add to that the insult of the “upsale” (would you like more something expensive and fattening with that?) and we have a good reason to drive on by. Still, the convenience of our local drive-thru kept us going back. And then last week I ordered two drinks. Total $6.47. Bubbly Upsale Barista happily smiled and handed me $13.00 in change. “So, is it policy now to keep the change?” “Oh, you wanted the small change too? Let me get my manager to open the register for me.” Seriously? I know it isn’t much in the grand scheme of things, but you owe me $13.53 you bitch. Give me my money!

… The University of Colorado is considering a $9 million program to bring high-profile conservatives to teach on the left-leaning Boulder campus…

...it need to be summer now. That is all…

Race Report - Straight Up

The Colleague and I are back from Canada, where I ran the Vancouver Marathon on Sunday. We had a great time in one of our favorite cities, and I had a pretty good race, too!

The blow-by-blow report follows, but for those who only want the punch line, here it is: I ran the 26.2 miles in 3 hours, 34 minutes, 25 seconds. My time was a full 20 minutes faster than my last marathon (Portland last October), and I felt much better about it. Just let me say once again: 26.2 miles is farther than anyone should really ever run.

The Start: The race starts and finishes outside of BC Place Stadium. Cap’n Ron and I lingered about halfway back in the starting queue so we could chat with Hayden and Mrs Cap’n Ron as long as possible before starting, and so we could keep our jackets on until the last minute. At 7:00 in the morning it’s just too damn cold to be standing around in shorts and a t-shirt. But there was a consequence to this: When they started the race it took us over a minute to shuffle across the line, and the frustration of the crowd would last a while...But we were off. My second marathon. My goal was to finish, to beat my Portland time, and to not injure myself in the process. Anything from 3:20 to 3:40 as a finishing time was perfect with me...

Mile 1 (8:10): Get these people OUT OF MY WAY. The first mile of the course has a lot of turns and narrow streets to navigate, and it doesn’t open up until Mile 2. So I spent the first mile burning way too much energy trying to pick my way through the 9 and 10 minute pace runners who for some reason like to run 3 abreast in the middle of the course. They also like to suddenly and without reason weave and change directions. Not at all frustrating.

Mile 2 (7:38): The course started to open up a little bit here and I picked up. Cap’n Ron smartly stayed at his 8:00 goal pace, and I wouldn’t see him again for a while. This was more like it. I wanted to run 7:30s if possible, at least for the first 18 or so just to see what my Boston Qualifying pace felt like. I need to run a 3:15:59 marathon to qualify for Boston. And while I had no real delusions of qualifying in this race, it is my goal for Portland next October.

Mile 3 (7:25): Right on pace and cruising. This is part of a short out-and-back sequence with a small climb. Just before the mile marker we got to watch the leaders coming the other way (they were running 5 minute miles, and the winner - a Kenyan - finished in 2:15:15). It was great to watch them already battling one another for position and even greater was the load applause and cheering on they received from the rest of us slow people.

Mile 4 (7:23): At mile 4 the course turns back toward downtown and heads downhill. I hit the first water station here and slowed down to make sure I got a good full drink. One of the mistakes I made in Portland was running through every station at full speed. Slowing to a jog allowed me to take in plenty of fluids (and skip a few stations along the way as well).

Mile 5 (7:15): Too fast, but feeling really good. At this point I know I will see The Colleague pretty soon. She and Mrs. Cap’n Ron planned to be at mile 7 up in Chinatown...

Mile 6 (7:20): I grabbed another quick drink here and was still cruising. I was doing math in my head to see if I had caught back up to a 7:30 pace. Not yet. I also noticed a small annoyance that would piss me off later as my brain started to melt down: my GPS was off by about .25 miles from the race markers. And my miles were clicking by faster than the course markers. This meant that my watch would read 26.2 miles well before I was actually finished with the race.

Mile 7: (7:22): This mile takes the course through a part of town that I am not sure I would walk through alone in the daytime. Consider it a complete tour of Vancouver...in addition to Stanley Park, the Planetarium, the waterfront, and the Science Center, we got to see the methadone clinic and the burned out carcasses of several Buicks. And this is where The Colleague and Mrs. Cap’n Ron were hanging out? Yikes. Right before the 7 mile marker there they were! I can’t tell you how great it is to have that support along the course. In this race, knowing that The Colleague would be at miles 7, 11, and 17 gave me something to focus on as the miles added up. She had fuel and water for me, but I was still doing fine and had 2 gels with me for fuel. Hi Colleague!

Miles 8 and 9: (7:25, 7:32): Big climb here and the most boring part of the course. Miles 8 and 9 loop away from town through a fairly dodgy residential district. Unlike the rest of the course, the people on the sidewalks here seemed baffled by what all of these runners were doing, so there was no cheering on or support out here. Somewhere out in this wasteland I where I notice that I am starting to “slap” my feet down in my stride and I have to focus to keep a smoother motion going. This is also where I start talking to myself. At this point it is standard stuff - “come on, smooth strides” or “easy, easy”. Later I start the self abuse...

Mile 10 (7:20): I know I’m running a little fast here, but at this point I have decided to go as fast as I can as long as I can and then suffer through whatever is left. Not exactly a sound or recommended strategy, but I do have a disease that always makes me want to see how far or fast I can go. Even in training runs. By now I am also having serious delusions of a Boston Qualifying time. That doesn’t last long.

Mile 11 (6:52): WAY too fast. Woops. Cruising up Hastings Street I see The Colleague again. She is screaming and yelling and making me very happy. AND she has some Clif Blocks for me to eat. Solid food is great about now, even if it is in gummy form. See you in 7 miles!

Mile 12 (7:10): Here I fall in with a group of 4 friends who are pacing each other and running in a close pack. I short of draft them and zone out, but they are chatting and telling jokes to keep themselves busy, and I just can’t take it, so I let them go ahead of me. We’re just about to Stanley Park which I was looking forward too...

Mile 13 (7:37): Coming up to the halfway point I’m still feeling strong. Stanley Park has a lot of little hills that don’t show up on the elevation chart. Ugh.

Mile 14 (7:42): Past the halfway point now, and the miles remaining start to shrink. From here on out, the marathon is just an exercise in not quitting. This mile turns and climbs a long hill through the park and I see my first real human wreckage – a guy younger than me rolls his ankle on the edge of the pavement and tumbles into the brush. By the time I get up to where he crashed several people are helping him so I keep going. And I start to think that a twisted ankle would be one way to get out of this race more quickly than running another 12 miles...

Mile 15 (7:52): Notice anything? It’s the slow-down portion of the race. Here’s how it went. In mile 15 I was cruising along and still feeling somewhat human. I had a gel here and looked forward to seeing The Colleague at mile 17. I don’t know if my stride got longer or I stepped wrong or what, but my right hamstring gave me that twinge that said, “Hey man, stop running or I’m going to lock up on you!” So starting at this point I am running at whatever pace feels like it is right on the edge of cramping or pulling a muscle. I slow down. Still doing fine, but slower than my muscles and lungs could go. The damn hamstring is my limiting factor now. Grrrr.

Mile 16 (7:44): This last bit through Stanley Park is slightly downhill and really pretty. I zone out...

Mile 17 (8:05): Along Beach Ave now. They use this street for the Sun Run 10k too, and I have to say it is much easier to take when it is mile 2 than when it is mile 17. There is always good crowd here though, and the energy is high. Second human wreckage sighting – a young woman passes out on the grass. Soft landing, anyway. My last Colleague time before the finish is coming up!

Mile 18 (8:11): Climb! This is the start of the biggest climb on the course. Up and over the Burrard Bridge. And there is The Colleague! It is so great to see her at this point and it keeps me going up and over the bridge. The climb isn’t bad this direction (but my hamstring is threatening to revolt on me even more). And, knowing that I have to come back over this bridge on the return just sucks.

Mile 19 (8:13): Mile 19 is a blur. I remember none of it.

Mile 20 (9:42): Blow up! I found the wall, and it is at mile 20. It is still more my hamstring than my endurance or anything else, but I’m not quite ready to push it and run 6 miles with a cramp or a pulled muscle, so I have to throttle back a lot. I have started walking through all of the water stops to rest a little bit and get as much fluid as possible.

Mile 21 (9:03): Mile 21 has a short out-and-back section in it after the turnaround and this is where I see Cap’n Ron for the first time since Mile 1. He is definitely catching me, and I figure that if he is able to stay on pace he will get his Boston Qualifying time. He needs a 3:30:59 to make it. A big high five as we pass each other.

Mile 22 (9:01): I am totally frustrated because I know I could be pushing harder than I am. This part of the course is very hilly and I am tired enough now that the uphills seem steep and the downhills seem flat. Still talking to myself, I start in on the self abuse. Insert your own negative self-talk here. Sprinkle liberally with profanity.

Mile 23 (9:18): I make the mistake of thinking about the upcoming bridge. There’s no way I can climb it. After about 22 miles everything just hurts. The instincts in your brain start to take over and tell you to quite, and when you don’t listen, your body starts shutting things down to save itself. Finding a reason to keep running through this stretch of miles is the whole trick to running a marathon. The urge to quit is amazing. And it is a constant from this point on. Every step feels like it might as well be the last one you run. Just quit. The anti-Nike campaign. Just quit. Screw it. I remember reading about tricks to keep going in the late miles, and one is to count steps and figure out how many make up a mile. I got to 100 before deciding that was the stupidest thing I had ever read. Visualizing the finish helped a little. Not much.

Mile 24 (9:56): Cap’n Ron catches up with me here. We chat a little. Mostly “this sucks” and “I just want this to be over.” I tell him about my hamstring and basically complain a lot. We’re quite a motivating pair.

Mile 25 (10:21): Yep. You read that pace correctly. I walked 100 yards of the bridge to settle myself down and get the energy for the finishing push. After 25 miles it is amazing how impossible the last 1.2 miles seems. There is no WAY I can do this. I have to stop. Right? Wait...am I going downhill now? Awesome. Cap’n Ron is in front of me now as I come off the Burrard Bridge for the second time. I hate that damn bridge. As predicted, my GPS told me I was done here. 26.23 miles. I love technology.

Mile 26 (8:35): The finishing push. I run past the last water station and past Cap’n Ron. Telling myself I can suffer through anything for 8 minutes, I just run for it. Finishing a marathon is an unbelievable experience, and when the crowd is as good as it is at Vancouver, it is even better. I watch as someone loses their legs and wobbles to a slow motion crash in front of me. I see a cameraman snap my photo and hear him urge me on. And I see The Colleague screaming on the side. (Wait, is that guy hitting on her? I think I just saw him ask her for her phone number). A guy I had been running near for the last 5 miles or so is there and struggling and when I catch him I urge him on and we sprint to the finish. DONE! 3 hours, 34 minutes, 25 seconds. I’m not supposed to, but I linger in the finish chute waiting for Cap’n Ron, who comes in right behind me at 3:36 and change. Great run! Hugs and tears and hollering follow. Then it is into BC Place to get some food and meet up with The Colleague and Mrs. Cap’n Ron. Unlike in Portland, they actually wait until you finish to give you a finisher’s shirt. I’ll wear this one happily!

After cleaning up and getting a little rest, we hit the pub for several celebratory Canadian beers. I think I ate 3 dinners Sunday night, but I can’t be sure. I know The Colleague and I ended the evening with sushi somewhere on Robson Street. Yum!

Overall it was a great race. For my second attempt at this distance I feel like it went pretty well, and I’m definitely excited about Portland in October. If I can keep shaving time with each race, I might actually qualify for Boston someday.

It would have been nice to not have to slow down so much in the last few miles, but I was able to run full speed through the finish and I felt good about the whole race. Yes, I went out too fast in the first half, but I went in knowing I might try it just to see what happened. What happened is my hamstring decided to be my limiting factor. I have never had a hamstring problem in my life, so it was a weird thing to have happen to me, but at least I recognized it and didn’t push until it actually exploded.

I am resting this week and will start running lightly again in 10 days or so. Then it’s back to the training routine. I’d like to find a mid-summer race in the 10k or half marathon range to keep me interested, but we’ll see how that goes. A new training plan is in the wings and will include more strength training (speed work and hills) and flexibility work (yoga). Training over the summer is hard because of our travel plans, but I can usually piece together a good schedule.

Taking Advantage of the Strong US Dollar

There's no getting out of it now, I guess. Back in October when I signed up for this damn race I was pretty sure that something would happen so that I wouldn't be able to race. I mean, chances were pretty high that:

• Bush would so thoroughly alienate every other country in the world that we wouldn't be welcome in Canada
• Enough Americans would flee to Vancouver to escape the Bush regime that there simply wouldn't be room for us to visit
• The US dollar would crash so far that my entry fee would double and we wouldn't be able to afford the pre-race pasta feed.

To be fair, all three almost happened.

But now here I am, healthy (no broken bones or torn muscles), trained (400 miles so far this year), and rested (funny how less stressful this year of my life has been. Hmmmm.)

So The Colleague and I are off to meet Cap'n Ron and Mrs. Cap'n Ron in Vancouver. The Colleague can visit some of the money she left there last time she visited. Cap'n and I will lace up the racing flats and join 5,000 some other idiots at the starting line of the 37th Vancouver Marathon. We'll be somewhere in Stanley Park when the Kenyans waltz across the finish line, but we'll get there.Here's a marathon course in context.

4,216,481.28 centimeters
1,660,032 inches
138,336 feet
46,112 yards
42,164 meters
42.164 kilometers
26.2 miles

The piece I can't figure out is how the course officials get away with making the first 18 miles actual miles, while the last 8.2 miles are actually 15 miles long. Weird, that.

I hope the "Your Are Not Kenyan" sign guy is there. He's my favorite. I am NOT Kenyan. True that.

Now, where did I put my Loonies.

Best Blog Ever...Just Kidding

Name That Prof!

Disgruntled Students Speak Out!


It is no secret that many characters in this little blog-o-world make their careers plying the waters of Academe. Our job is to educate all of those who grace our classrooms, and I think most of us do a fair job of it. What do we get in return, aside from our massive salaries and endless perks and kickbacks? Our ungrateful little students take the time to rave about our teaching at RateMyProfessors.com.

Reading their comments really gives me pause. I take every one of them very seriously, and I adapt my teaching to match their rants. After all, the students who fail our classes because their parents are actually cousins are exactly the ones we want to be judged by.

So I decided we would have a little test. Let's see who can match the RateMyProfessors entry with the appropriate SailRunClimbRide personality. To the winner: one pair of soon-to-be-retired (387 miles) Brooks Adrenaline GTS 7 runnings shoes, size 11 (you pay shipping and handling):

The Professors
1. GVB
2. The Colleague
3. Al Bangorhard
4. CAG
5. AW
6. RPD
7. MathDude

The Reviews
A. "...an awesome prof. talks about random stuff to prove a strange point such as making paper airplanes for 10 min to prove some point that was lost in the process."

B. "...willing to give help but then have a quick temper. BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU SAY OR DO IN CLASS, wants you to be in totall focus, if not, your gonna hear some things you have not heard from other teachers."

C. "...just a jerk about everything. i really didn't get anything out of this class and the teacher wasn't helpful at all."

D. "...tells us everything we ever learned was wrong...chooses a retarded theme for a hard class and expects to only spend time on this class stuff so assigns a butt load of crap assignments and then grades you horribly. grr."

E. "...NOT recommended. The average grade in this class is, 69%, 1.4 gpa, or considered a d+. That says it all."

F. "...seems to grade based on opinion only. Very little if any feedback is given on formal papers. When you get your paper back, there is no rhyme or reason given for your grade...doesn't tell you why you lost points on any given paper. You just receive the final grade. All our assignments were VERY feminist in nature."

G. "...the worst teacher at this school...as clear as Charlie Brown's teacher....You will only enjoy this class if you are a masochistic english geek. You have been warned."

Happy matching.

Back to the Factory

Spring Break has come and gone. I hope my students had as much fun as I did...Just as I was starting to get used to having the "out of office" auto-reply on, just as I was starting to forget the horror of the previous term, I had to face reality and fire up the CupertinoBookPro and get ready for the next 11 weeks of horror. Though I am sure this will be the quarter where everything goes perfectly and my students are engaged and deeply interested in learning about writing and critical thinking.

My InBox was full of wonderful news and joy. I stand to earn 15 million dollars just for letting the son of a wealthy Saudi oil man use MY checking account to store some money while he travels. I check my account daily. I also have several offers to cure my baldness AND my erectile dysfunction at the same time. These herbal remedies are amazing. The Colleague waits by the door for the discretely wrapped packages to arrive.

And this gem from Forgettable Former Student in The Back Row:

i read the syllabus and it said all major assignments must be turned in in order to pass the class and i did turn in every major assignment. beside, my conference was at 9:30, i came 10-15 minutes late and someone else was already in your office and i'm pretty sure conferences were supposed to be 30 minutes long each. i don't drive and i have to baby sit and work and go to school at the same time. that means my schedule always have to fit my family's schedule so they could take me to school, work, and such. but most of the time things don't work out. if everyone in my family have to work on certain days and are not free to take me to school, that means i cant go to school. i know you wouldn't believe this, but i can provide proof. i really tried to make it to the conference, but i'm terribly sorry i was late, but i wasn't expecting that someone would be in my spot when i make it there. i was also waiting outside, but people kept coming in and i don't blame them because it was their appointments. im also a running start student so i have to be at my high school frequently. what i'm trying to say is that it is extremely hard for me to go around and make it to school everyday. that is why i only take online and hybrid classes (eventhough the only place that i can easily be at to have access to the internet is my aunt's house). so when i actually get the chance to be at school to attend another conference, you weren't in your office. i also emailed you a copy of my draft and you said you would read it and tell me what you think but you never replied me so i had no idea how i did on my first draft. with all due respect, i'm just trying to tell you that i really tried my hardest. participation points are worth 10%, and i looked at the grade book and i saw that most of the discussions that i participated in, i got an above average score, so i didn't think it would hurt me that bad. i agree with you that my final paper killed me, but greg, i had no idea how i did on my draft. please just give me a chance, this class is extremely important to me. failing it also means that i won't be able to graduate from high school. please, if you want me to rewrite my whole paper, i will do it, just give me a day. only 1 day, i will do anything. i respect your decision but please reconsider this. trust me i tried really hard, but this is life and my background and my family sometime make it really hard for me. please, give me another chance, i really want to graduate in june. i will do whatever it takes. i just need at least a 2.2. that's all i'm asking for. i also tried calling you, but apparently you won't be back until the 7th, and that will be too late for me to do anything. if you have the time please write me back, or you can even call me. my number is ________. i have a story, i have hardships, and i have a lot of explanation, and i'm also asking for a chance. please let me know.

Yes folks, this is our student body at its finest. I sure hope her sisters and cousins are in my class this term!


As I liquor up for the first day of classes and get ready for my students to miss every point and over-simplify every concept to the point of using "Jackass" as a "perfect analogy," I leave you with this:

Introduction To Poetry
Billy Collins

I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slide

or press an ear against its hive.

I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,

or walk inside the poem's room
and feel the walls for a light switch.

I want them to waterski
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author's name on the shore.

But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.

They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.

Are You A Douchebag?

The Colleague and I are freshly returned from San Francisco. It was an educational experience. And by educational, I mean that our time in the city reaffirmed things we already knew about people we don't like...

1. If you are in your early 20s and you walk around with your Powerbook talking about how "killer" your new startup graphic art studio is, YOU ARE A DOUCHEBAG.
2. If you wear white size XXL button down shirts with lace adornment and the cuffs turned up, YOU ARE A DOUCHEBAG.
   
3. If you drive a Ford F-250 with chrome wheels and a lift kit, YOU ARE A DOUCHEBAG.
4. If you don't realize that it is 2008 and calling two men "fags" is not only NOT offensive but illustrative of your deeply seeded homosexual fantasies, YOU ARE A DOUCHEBAG.
5. If you have any sticker on your truck that expresses your support of our current president, YOU ARE A DOUCHEBAG.
6. If you are over 30 and have a MySpace page which you actively update, YOU ARE A DOUCHEBAG.
   
7. If you are the two dudes sitting in front of us on Alaska Air flight #333 from San Francisco to Seattle on March 31st, YOU ARE MOST DEFINITELY DOUCHBAGS.

That is all.

Where Am I Going? Where Have I Been?

3,000 Miles on 2 Wheels. (Well, four if you add the two bikes together.)

Cap'n Ron and I are back from the moto trip to Joshua Tree and back. I'll let the narrative at Geomatic Guy do its thing. I am left with several unanswered questions:

• Which I-5 stretch is worse, 530 miles from Bothell, WA to Yreka, CA? Or 480 miles from Yreka, CA to Visalia, CA?
  
• Which is better, dirt riding in Joshua Tree National Park or paved mountain roads near Sequoia National Park?
  
• Which is worse, 29 degrees and snowing in the Mojave Desert, or 32 degrees and snowing outside of Bend, OR?
• Which town is more tragic, Barstow, CA or 29 Palms, CA?
• Which is worse, paying $4.39 a gallon for gas in Death Valley, or paying $20 for 2 gallons of gas from Stu the toothless hick in Shoshone, CA?
• Which is better, coasting into Shoshone, CA on fumes, or finding that an apparently normal power outage means there is no way to pump gas?
• Would you rather be killed by an angry military serviceman in Barstow or in 29 Palms?
• Why, exactly, are drivers in Washington the absolute worst drivers on the planet?
• Why does a 25 mph corner mean you can do 50 mph when a 10 mph corner means you can only do 5?
• Exactly what benign force kept Cap'n Ron and I from dumping the bikes in that deep, sandy corner on Geology Tour Road?
• Why is it my fault with Cap'n Ron drinks more beer than he planned? (And, I might also ask, why doesn't Cap'n Ron just plan on drinking more beer so he won't feel like he had too much?)
• How far into a trip do you have to be before 300 miles seems like a "quick hop?"
• Or, maybe the proper question here is this: How close to home do you have to be before powering through 300 miles seems like less torture than staying away for even one more day?
• Who the fuck lives in Beatty, NV?
• Is it worth playing $5 worth of video poker to get a comped drink that costs $6?
• Which is more interesting, 208 feet below sea level or 6,380 feet above sea level?

And now for the visual portion of the program:

Cap'n Ron making turns in the mountains:

Geology Tour Road, J Tree:

That Don't Look Good, Cap'n:

I'll give you one guess who had their wedding reception in this barn:

The Low Point, Death Valley:

The thing is, I would have paid $4.29 if they would have sold it to me. Shoshone, CA:

You can't see signs like this enough when your "Low Fuel" light is on:

Um...

Let's Go By Air
If it's all the same to you folks, I think I'll fly to San Francisco with The Colleague later this week...anything to get her off the streets. Work it. Work it. DVB will be there with all of the Media Studies geeks just DYING to give me their money at the poker table.

Let's Not Go At All
Still trying to pretend I'm training for a marathon. 4 weeks and 4 long runs left. Ouch.

In Fact, Why Don't YOU Go On Foot
The Colleague is walking 60 miles over three days to save the boobs. Send her your money. Help save the boobs.