A Change in Pace

I am not an athlete. In the summertime you might find me in a gym trying to 'get stronger,' 'get in shape' or 'get fit,' but I am never 'training.' Training involves working toward a specific goal. Semantics, all of it, really. Outdoor activity is what summer is all about. Hiking, biking, skating. Well, add one to that list. The least likely one of all for me. Running.

I am certainly not a runner. Running has always been the antithesis of fun for me. Punishment. Run a lap. Run sprints after basketball practice. Get chased by some meathead and barely escape with your face on. I guess this summer I just thought I needed a challenge. I saw the incessant ads for the Warrior Dash. What do you know, it actually looks like fun! An obstacle course spread out on a three mile run. Seems doable. If I could run three miles in high school, I could probably get there in two months. It's on! Time to start training...

The first thing I found out when I started running (jogging interspersed with walking, mostly) is that my shoes were woefully inadequate. They were actually the same shoes I just used for an all-day hike around Mt. St. Helens. Fortunately, opportunity came knocking. Through volunteer work the Snowdays Foundation, I've gotten several invitations to visit the Nike Employee Store. The foundation won a grant from Nike and ever since we've gotten the invites to the store a few times a year. I've never taken them up on it. Until now, that is. Running shoes at wholesale prices are better than running shoes at retail.

Never thought I'd buy a pair of these...

Now I just have to break them in without breaking my feet. Also, the weather is not cooperating. The last few days have been sunny and in the high 90s. I'm not a warrior yet, I'm a warrior in training. I sit inside next to a fan and eat popsicles when it's 97° outside. Speaking of frozen treats, I've even developed a reward for myself.

Best ice cream ever. If I fail, I'm giving it away.

In order to have a reward, I need to set up some goals, though. First, I need to start the race. Harder than it sounds. Real commitment involved. Inherent in that goal is the preparation. Since I never start anything I don't plan on finishing (yeah right) I also resolve to complete all the obstacles and finish with a time, not a DQ. Check out the course map on their website. This could be tricky. Finally, I want to finish in the top half of the field. My age group is going to be full of people who are 'fit.' Probably even people who were running before they heard about this race. I'm banking on a bunch of heavy drinkers and octogenarians to pull the numbers down. That last one's more of a bonus. I'm not depriving myself of ice cream-y bliss just because other people are out for medals. If I finish the race and have fun blitzing the obstacles, then these two months will be worth it.

Here is where all of you come in. By now you can tell I'm the noob of all noobs at this. If anyone has any advice on running, endurance nutrition, willpower, etc. I'll take anything. I put myself out here so that I could hold myself accountable in the end. Between here and there are more 97° days and sunburns and I want the Ben and Jerry's at the end of the rainbow. Let's bring it home and never speak of this weird running shit again.

Family Times

Remember that winter a while back when Portland got buried under snow and refused to dig itself out? How 'bout now? OK. Amtrak was kind enough to give me a voucher for destroying my holiday travel plans, so I thought I'd give them another try. Free trip, what could possibly go wrong, right?

I'll skip the suspense, the train was altogether mediocre and nothing major actually went wrong. Chatty Cathy sat next to me half of the way there (with BO worse than mine) and the water on the train tasted like it came straight from a river. To solve these problems for the return trip, I bought some single-serving fruit punch mix packets and didn't sleep for 24 before departure. Most of the return leg was spent in dreamland and when I was awake, I was sippin' on some tasty artificial colors and flavors instead of straight fish spit. Yum!

The point of all this gallivanting was to spend time with my family. Everybody was back home for the first time since people were doing the macarena. Packed in to the house where I grew up were 14 of us, including little girls age 3, 4 and 7. They're cute, but when you get them all together they're too energetic for me. Something like five Nerf guns were rat-a-tat-tat-ing everything that moved (suction tips DO stick to bald heads!). I'm sure I heard the carpet screaming for mercy. Effective birth control, I say.

One big family. Wait... one big happy family!

My sleep schedule never seemed to mesh with everyone else's. My Pacific time body was up until 4am Central time playing poker every night. Since it always feels like midnight in the dungeon where I slept, the first day I woke up at 4pm. After that it was pretty well over. Everyone else got up when the girls got up (7 or 8am). Right about the time I was getting up, they were taking their afternoon naps. One morning, with the motivation of my mom's sweet rolls I rolled out of bed before noon. We generally just got together for the important stuff, dinner and one night of fireworks. Going by smells worked pretty well. If you smell coffee, it's too early. Go back to sleep. Bug spray and cut grass come later. The smell of food cooking always brings good news. The nights smelled like gunpowder and beer. No watch necessary.

Somehow, Amtrak messed up again, leaving me with even more money in vouchers. Maybe they just want me to see my family more often. Can't much argue that.

San Francisco Gives Me That Full-Body Glow

I didn't leave my heart there. I didn't put any flowers in my hair. I didn't even miss the mornings on the road without its charms. San Francisco, that is. It just seems like about half my friends live there and it was about time to go see them. With my aversion to air travel, I decided it was road trip time. The plan was to take I-5 there and the 101 back; the classic rush in, waltz home mode. But you know what they say about the best laid plans.

The trip there was mostly uneventful, save one unearthly rainstorm. Approaching said storm, I thought it was a strange patch of mid-afternoon fog. Upon reaching its perimeter, I was assailed by the fiercest of all torrents. It was like driving through a lake. I had to downshift. Its fury was matched only by its brevity. By the time my wipers made their second pass, I was back in the sun; car accelerating, wiper blades frantically screeching against dry glass. I nearly put her in the ditch on sheer shock. What sort of dream was that? Best not to turn and look... the things I might see.

When I say my friends live in San Francisco, I really mean the Bay Area. Does that annoy those of you who really live in SF? My path went from Vallejo to Santa Clara. Yes, I stopped in the city, too. Had to get my teeth checked by my recently doctored friend. Congrats, Ryan! I'm sure you'll make an above average oral surgeon.

After that it was Foster City and Maker Faire. As you may have guessed, Maker Faire is a large expo full of people who make things. What sorts of things? All sorts of things. Crafts? check. Clothing? an entire buildingful. Unique musical instruments? ding. Handmade 3D images? youbettcha. 2-ton hydraulic spider you could ride in? actually it was probably more like 3000 pounds, but yeah, I saw one. NASA. Yes, that NASA. They were there. Recoverable space vehicles or some shit. Sure made the paper airplane guy look like small potatoes. In amongst all the hardware and hubbub were two friends of mine who run macetech. You've probably never heard of macetech, but you've undoubtedly seen their work. The giant color-shifting balloons at the closing ceremony of the 2010 Vancouver Winter Olympics was one of their projects. They also supplied hardware for some color-shifting lights in the new movie Twilight: Eclipse (they tell me it's a party scene). In short, if you need some lights, but don't want just some standard, boring purple or red lights, give macetech a shot: millions of colors right at your 10 little fingertips.

macetech's balls get out of hand on full moons

From Foster City I went down to Santa Clara to hang out with my brother and his girlfriend. Visiting Vance is always super fun because no matter what we'll go for a leisurely hike. Generally that hike involves a drive, too, so we'll get plenty of time to catch up and most of it will be outside. This trip was no different. After we got done with the outdoor portion of the trip, we all went to the Winchester House in San Jose. The marketing team calls it the Winchester Mystery House and claims that it's haunted. Basically, the widow of the Winchester gun company founder got spooked at her husband's and daughter's deaths and moved out west. There, at the advice of a psychic, she started building a house and never stopped. Staircases lead to dead-end walls. Doors open to dead-end walls or worse, nothing but three stories of air under your feet. Some of this was the result of earthquakes, most just because she didn't have a plan other than to build. This happened for 24 hours a day, years on end. Hundreds of rooms, gardens, orchards, oddities, beauties (a stained-glass window that even Tiffany's can't put a price on). If you're ever in San Jose, check it out. The main house tour is the attraction, the behind-the-scenes tour was a little underwhelming for me.

A morning departure had me out of the city all bleary-eyed at about noon. Freeway traffic all the way out the Bay Area was a constant battle of stop-and-go, merging and mysterious lanes coming and going. One annoying bug in the middle of it all, one that I just had to smash on my windshield, took my eyes off the traffic for just long enough for me to rear-end some pickup. When we finally got to the side of the road, we saw the damage. His bumper wasn't even scratched and my hood was crumpled up like a wad of used toilet paper. The truck's driver gave me a 'sucks to be you' look and a handshake as we decided to forgo information swapping. I bent, sat on and smoothed out my hood until it looked like normal and I swear it even latched.

Fast forward to Petaluma. I wouldn't call it the Bay Area, but it isn't far away. I stopped for some BBQ lunch and then was off to the 101 when KA-BOOM! My hood broke free of whatever latch, flew up and smashed my windshield. I was showered with millions of tiny glass needles. It felt like some sort of Irish Spring commercial. Luckily I was on a minor highway with no traffic, so I could just move to the shoulder without incident. One look at the damage and it was clear, I was fucked. The inside of my car looked like a disco ball exploded. Including my body. I was sparkling like a sweaty stripper. Outside the car was even worse. Once I got the hood down (two bungee cords and a strap to keep it there) the car was a mess. Bent wiper, dented in roof and then the windshield. Driving back to town felt like I was wearing kaleidoscope glasses. Windshield repair wasn't due 'til the morning, so I had a day to hang out in lovely Petaluma. Pretty boring. As was the rest of the trip.

Not quite like I was on acid, but still not easy to drive

The windshield repair took up the time that I'd allotted for the drive and camping up the coast, so I went part way up the coast before cutting inland to the 5 and rolling home with my tail between my legs. I never did vacuum my car, so every once in a while, I'll catch a little sparkle from the passenger seat. It's like my old windshield is winking at me. Thanks buddy. Thanks for giving me that shine.