tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51955617592310978432024-03-20T00:16:14.911-07:00The Gaunt LifeCulture, history, distance running.Sam Robinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515534179065532478noreply@blogger.comBlogger27125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5195561759231097843.post-33958222071183122712017-07-28T11:29:00.002-07:002017-12-17T16:05:14.977-08:00I Dropped Out of a Beer Mile And It Was Still Awesome<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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If you study literature and politics in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, you will read a lot about vomit. </h3>
I'm not kidding. It was a useful metaphor in an age of philosophical dispute, religious division, and self-reflection. For example, Shakespeare turned to the gut for the presentation of truth. Overwhelmed by sadness, Titus Andronicus explains, “my bowels cannot hide her woes, but like a drunkard must I vomit them.” The religious reformer Martin Luther condemned Roman Catholics as doing “nothing but vomit, throw, and blow out devils.” Even the poet John Milton got in on the purgative action, declaiming monarchical bishops as giving “a vomit to God himself.” The bishops were so odious even the Creator couldn’t keep his lunch down.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Annunciation (or When God Ate a Bad Chicken Sandwich) by Melchior Broederlam </td></tr>
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It is a sign of the times then that emetic activities have returned to the cultural forefront—perhaps a reflection of the <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/news/ryan-lizza/anthony-scaramucci-called-me-to-unload-about-white-house-leakers-reince-priebus-and-steve-bannon" target="_blank">new medievalism</a> of the political moment? In any event, no endeavor squares our corporeal fascination with distance running and the mysteries of the gut better than the beer mile.<br />
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Indeed, beer miles are now <a href="https://www.outsideonline.com/1927726/allure-5-minute-beer-mile-your-mark-get-set-slosh" target="_blank">hip</a>. The event broke into pop culture in the wake of James Nielson’s sub-5 effort in 2014, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HZ-XFC5qzyM" target="_blank">documented on YouTube</a>. Before long, other professionals had jumped in and the beer mile—drink a beer, run a lap, and repeat three more times—had gone mainstream. Even Ellen got in on the action. Lewis Kent’s chugging prowess added a bit of spectacle to day-time television:<br />
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Since then, the beer mile has quietly become even more professionalized. </h3>
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The world record is now a mind-boggling 4:34.25, set by Canadian <a href="http://www.beermile.com/query_indy/submit_1/ref_query/name_Corey+Bellemore" target="_blank">Corey Bellemore</a> at last year's Beer Mile World Classic in London. And there is a striking amount of depth in the event. There have been over <a href="http://www.beermile.com/records/ref_wr" target="_blank">170 verified sub-6-minute beer miles</a>, the majority of which have occurred in the last five years. <br />
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So when <a href="http://www.beermile.com/query_indy/submit_1/ref_query/name_John+Markell" target="_blank">John Markell</a>, one of the organizers of the <a href="http://www.beermileworldclassic.com/" target="_blank">World Beer Mile Classic</a> and owner of a 5:29 best, invited me to a beer mile at SF State University, I had to check it out. <br />
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I was pretty exhausted when I arrived to Cox Stadium. I’d spent most of the previous afternoon, evening, and morning up in Tahoe, running 25-odd miles around the Sierras for a trail-running relay event. And bear in mind: a beer mile is not a light undertaking. Novices imagine something akin to a hash-run: “Hey, another combination of beer and running. Sounds swell!” But the beer-mile culture was established by male collegiate and post-collegiate runners. So it shares in the self-flagellated, pushed-to-the-limit culture that defines competitive running circles. In other words, it ain’t no picnic.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.beermileworldclassic.com/" target="_blank">2015 World Beer Mile Classic</a></td></tr>
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I decide that since my body is in pretty rough shape, I’ll stop after two beers. And then I will watch the front runners finish up.</h3>
Among the athletes milling around the starting area is <a href="http://www.beermile.com/query_indy/submit_1/ref_query/name_Brandon+Shirck" target="_blank">Brandon Shirck</a>, whose <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CzzcYOMgVYg" target="_blank">beer-mile best of 4:47</a> makes him the fifth fastest in the world. When he takes off his shirt to change into a singlet, Shirck outs himself as an elite middle-distance athlete. His torso is a symphony of right angles. I start to feel guilty about shirking my own core routine as he flexes into some pre-race strides. <a href="http://www.beermile.com/query_indy/submit_1/ref_query/name_Garrett+Cullen" target="_blank">Garret Cullen</a> is also here, a former American-record holder in the event. And quietly warming up is <a href="http://www.beermile.com/query_indy/submit_1/ref_query/name_Jonathan+Charlesworth" target="_blank">Jonathan Charlesworth</a>, who is going for a best in the “Chunder,” a variant in which runners drink larger imperial pints from open glasses.<b>*</b> It’s much more beer, but an easier pour.<br />
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There are a few others on the line. And you can tell by their confidence that this is not their first rodeo. It's evident from the start. After the signal, most down their first beer in seconds and fly off the line.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I have actually finished a beer mile.</td></tr>
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My run ends almost as quickly as it begins. The beer hits my gullet and collides against acid reflux. “So this is what middle age feels like,” I think, taking breaks between gulps of my <i>first fucking beer</i>. The fluid glugs down my throat unwillingly, burbling through my constricted esophagus between inflamed tissue and bile. I step last off the line and by the time I reach the second turn, I’ve some wicked heartburn. Nope, nope, nope. I stop after the first lap, without the least regret. Cutting my attempt so short means I get to watch the leaders run their last two laps. <br />
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And it is a thing of wonder.</h3>
Anyone who’s run a beer mile knows the event is not a pretty affair. But Jonathan Charlesworth's consumption of beer is inspired. He tips the beer over while simultaneously snapping back his head, mouth opened into a something like a smile. The movement is strikingly sudden. It looks near instinctual, the way a dog might shake a bit of water of its coat. This is all the more stunning considering he is consuming four extra ounces of beer for each lap. <br />
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Shirck doesn’t have Charlesworth’s advantage of drinking from a pint glass. He has to wait for the beer to bubble out of a bottle. But his movement with the beverage is impressive. He never pauses throughout the race; his body is in constant forward motion. Entering each transition zone in a near sprint, he grabs his next bottle. As he pours beer into his mouth he continues to walk forward, finishing his beer as he approaches the last foot of the exchange zone. And then he’s off again, approaching 4-minute-mile pace by the time he reaches the 100-meter mark. <br />
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There are casualties. </h3>
I hear Markell gag as he finishes his third beer. He almost saves it. He heaves up a bit of malt, but shuts his mouth quickly to force it down. For a few moments, we bystanders witness a battle play out: a man locked in tense combat with his own gastric complex. And then, it is unleashed: fluid erupts from John, refracting in the sunlight as a visceral fountain of foam. Everyone winces. Markell drops his head, defeated. But he carries on to his final beer and an additional penalty lap.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brandon Shirck, left, and John Markell, center, at the 2015 World Beer Mile Classic</td></tr>
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Despite the extra beer, Charlesworth passes Shirck during the final chug. He takes off with a sizable lead. But on the back straight, Shirck starts to crank up into his kick, dragging Garrett Cullen along. As they approach the home straight, Shirck moves into the lead and dips just under 5 minutes. Charlesworth and Cullen finish right behind him, notching 5:00.4 and 5:02.2. Admirable runs for all. But I’m utterly astounded when someone reminds me that Charlesworth’s effort meant he ran a five-minute mile whilst consuming 4 pounds of beer. <br />
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<a href="http://www.beermile.com/query_indy/submit_1/ref_query/name_Reed+Lyon" target="_blank">Reed Lyon</a> and <a href="http://www.beermile.com/query_indy/submit_1/ref_query/name_Todd+Rose" target="_blank">Todd Rose</a> kick in just under the six-minute mark. It’s a testament to how fast the beer mile has become that sub-6 runs have been relegated to also-ran status. Back in college a decade-ago, if someone on my track team had cracked 6 minutes they would have achieved legend status.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.strava.com/athletes/1690564" target="_blank">Reed Lyon</a> finishes a beer with style at the 2015 WV Summer Classic</td></tr>
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Todd and Reed shuffle to the grass beyond lane eight. Bent over, they gag and cough. They stare at their shoes, spitting at the space between their feet. Their eyes are fixed as they do some internal wrangling and debate with their GI-tract. They seem to have the upper hand in the negotiations; I don’t see anyone retch.<br />
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All of this is just a tune-up for the World Beer Mile Classic, a championship event that will bring together some of the best European and Anglophone runners to north London on 12 August. I’ve been told there is an open heat for mere mortals, so I have a chance to redeem myself. It looks like I’ll have to check a bag with a few Bud Heavies.<br />
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See ya’ll in Barnet.<br />
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A stream of the 2017 West Valley Summer Classic is available <a href="https://www.facebook.com/beermileworldclassic/videos/vb.374407839397239/825849304253088" target="_blank">on Facebook</a>.<br />
This year's World Beer Mile Classic will be held at Allianz Park (Saracens Stadium) in North London on 12 August. <a href="http://www.beermileworldclassic.com/race-day" target="_blank">Registration and race details here.</a> <br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">*Sadly, Charlesworth's Chunder attempt was unofficial. He used American pints, which are smaller in quantity than the required Imperial pint.</span>Sam Robinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515534179065532478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5195561759231097843.post-71303495221819580352017-07-06T15:42:00.000-07:002017-07-06T17:13:59.590-07:00The Blue-Collar Guide to Running in the East Bay<h2>
The Best Climbs of the East Bay</h2>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking east from Grizzly Peak Boulevard. Photo: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/8073513@N03/5788669034" target="_blank">Daniel Parks</a></td></tr>
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In Part I of our blue-collar guide to the East Bay, we reviewed some of the <a href="http://thegauntlife.blogspot.com/2017/06/the-blue-collar-guide-to-running-east.html" target="_blank">most scenic trails</a> in the area. This next installment surveys some of region's best climbs! From sustained mountain ascents, to punchy hills, these quad-busting runs will get some vertical into your training.<br />
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As in the first installment, we've included Strava routes, directions, and bathroom advice. There are also post-run food and drink recommendations...on a blue-collar budget, of course!<br />
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1) Mt. Diablo</h3>
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Contra Costa County</h4>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mt. Diablo. Photo: <a href="https://www.wunderground.com/wximage/WindandFire" target="_blank">WindandFire</a></td></tr>
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Standing over the East Bay is Mt. Diablo, a 3,849-foot mountain protected as a state park. When approached from the west, the mountain is a striking feature, rising up above the city of Walnut Creek and the surrounding environs. For those seeking sustained uphill running in the East Bay, Mt. Diablo provides a number of accessible options.<br />
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There are several different upward approaches. From the south side of the mountain, Summit Trail will lead you up to the top. There are some really neat rock formations on this trail, but the climb is more exposed and, arguably, a bit less scenic.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMmOwaDzkzdMEAGn3PiDfWkISkQXYxZsiSA0JLvqiePutuX23jvj2s32TcJJDMqb0CIYsWQ91mEw661qHOhTOcaPBWQtmAaecADaT2LDEj5VY_weyl7FvDW3fVkkIfT8yg2-YP53Ov0gud/s1600/eagle_peak_redwoodhikes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="967" data-original-width="1450" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMmOwaDzkzdMEAGn3PiDfWkISkQXYxZsiSA0JLvqiePutuX23jvj2s32TcJJDMqb0CIYsWQ91mEw661qHOhTOcaPBWQtmAaecADaT2LDEj5VY_weyl7FvDW3fVkkIfT8yg2-YP53Ov0gud/s400/eagle_peak_redwoodhikes.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eagle Peak Trail. Photo: <a href="http://www.redwoodhikes.com/MtDiablo/Summit.html" target="_blank">Redwood Hikes</a></td></tr>
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I prefer starting from the mountain's north side at the Mitchell Canyon visitor center, where there are reliable toilet and water facilities. I usually take the steady ascent up the Mitchell Canyon fire road, however more punchy climbing on the lower slopes can be found on the Eagle Peak trail. Both routes hit the Meridian Ridge fire road, which curves around the west side of the mountain into the Juniper Campground area. It can be a wee bit difficult to pick up the “Juniper Trail” as it heads up the hill. The single-track is on your left as you head through the campground. If you hit the paved Summit Road, you’ve gone too far. <br />
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The last section of climbing on Juniper Trail is exposed. It can be windy and chilly, even in summer. You’ll run through a parking lot before you can see the beacon tower at the top. Make sure you tap the door at the base of the beacon tower or the summit does not count! There are water fountains and bathrooms near the summit. You can take an alternative route down: North Peak trail descends and intersects with Eagle Peak, which returns down to the Mitchell Canyon trailhead.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOpmgjIZ3DqLc3rJWnpFQzaGkr94-ms1gdFxf82Pi60JfnxdSsCWUTrTlAwKb0a_lEN7NO9UAIEFAmsr-LACvTtB38bpATTyLP7_wTbQnsrBoulxVJ1jnGEBeyrBWlwn-NTIYMcXhWs_t9/s1600/summitMount-Diablo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="356" data-original-width="800" height="177" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOpmgjIZ3DqLc3rJWnpFQzaGkr94-ms1gdFxf82Pi60JfnxdSsCWUTrTlAwKb0a_lEN7NO9UAIEFAmsr-LACvTtB38bpATTyLP7_wTbQnsrBoulxVJ1jnGEBeyrBWlwn-NTIYMcXhWs_t9/s400/summitMount-Diablo.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The visitor center and beacon tower at the summit. Photo: <a href="https://www.mountain-forecast.com/peaks/Mount-Diablo" target="_blank">Mountain Forecast</a></td></tr>
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<b>Bathrooms:</b> There are plumbing bathrooms and water fountains at the Mitchell Canyon trailhead. There are bathrooms and water at the mountain summit. There are seasonally open bathrooms at the Juniper campground. <u>There is a parking fee at Mitchell Canyon, which requires cash or check.</u><br />
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<a href="https://www.strava.com/routes/9387006" target="_blank">Strava Route</a> - (for the Mitchell Canyon fire road out & back): 13.5 miles. Vertical gain: 3,360 feet. Average grade: 5%<br />
<a href="https://goo.gl/maps/KSfXLNvH2yD2" target="_blank">How To Get There</a><br />
<a href="http://www.parks.ca.gov/?page_id=517" target="_blank">Mt. Diablo State Park Website.</a><br />
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<b>Post-Run Lunch:</b> <a href="http://www.edsmudvillegrill.com/" target="_blank">Ed’s Mudville Grill</a> - Located near Mitchell Canyon in the town of Clayton, this spot is a local favorite with a sports-bar ambiance. The menu is an extensive array of pub food—burgers, sandwiches, BBQ, etc. It’s a good place to indulge in a burger and a beer. The outdoor patio seating has a leafy Main-Street-America atmosphere. ~$15-20<br />
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<h3>
2) Claremont Canyon</h3>
<h4>
Berkeley, CA</h4>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivAfQmcLkAll6sE5qAnM9w3rXE8QNrjf1-RbvS4VdAVmxeOXvMDoNkFWQjMyqDxcjzBcGjCsKKayDI3mULHvcNWrnVixAAuixJfAVZzilkEsInBbJWIPNXSe2oiH9NdBjbmV5ka-SacPNM/s1600/claremont_canyon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="484" data-original-width="725" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivAfQmcLkAll6sE5qAnM9w3rXE8QNrjf1-RbvS4VdAVmxeOXvMDoNkFWQjMyqDxcjzBcGjCsKKayDI3mULHvcNWrnVixAAuixJfAVZzilkEsInBbJWIPNXSe2oiH9NdBjbmV5ka-SacPNM/s400/claremont_canyon.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view midway up Claremont. Photo: <a href="http://www.redwoodhikes.com/EastBay/Claremont.html" target="_blank">Redwood Hikes</a></td></tr>
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Located south of UC Berkeley’s campus, the Claremont Canyon path is a remarkable urban fire trail that winds up a steep spine of ridgeline. Featuring pitches up to a 30% grade, Claremont Canyon is a great option if you need accessible vertical close to the East Bay’s urban centers. The trailhead into the Claremont Canyon Regional Preserve is approachable on foot from both north Oakland and downtown Berkeley.<br />
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Technically called the "Stonewall-Panoramic Trail," the path begins at the edge of the Clark Kerr campus, a southeast extension of Berkeley’s main campus. After a few mellow switchbacks, the trail pitches audaciously upwards. After some serious uphill, runners reach a gate and some reprieve at a road. Follow this paved section a few hundred meters to where the trail starts up again. At this point, the trail continues with short descents that punctuate super-steep climbing. The uphill finishes in a little grove of trees, about a quarter mile away from Grizzly Peak Boulevard.<br />
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Be aware, the footing is a bit treacherous, especially when you descend on your return. There is loose gravel on a few of the steepest pitches, making slide outs possible. So wear shoes with a bit of tread on them.<br />
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The trail is a great option for those in Oakland or Berkeley looking to work on their climbing and descending skills without spending an hour in a car. But don’t take my word for it. Hoka One One ultrarunner <a href="https://chrisdenucci.com/" target="_blank">Chris Denucci</a> used the trail extensively in his buildup to the 2017 Western States Endurance Run, where he finished 5th. Check out one of <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/1030595038" target="_blank">Denucci’s Claremont Canyon workouts on Strava</a>. <br />
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<b>Bathrooms:</b> There is no toilet or water access along the trail. But there are *usually* toilets not far away in the Clark Kerr campus. As of late, portable toilets have been set up north of the trailhead near a volleyball court <a href="https://goo.gl/maps/dspZJiNizwm" target="_blank">below the dirt track</a>. There is sometimes a portable toilet on the track itself, but not always. A water fountain is available on the east side of the dirt track.<br />
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<a href="https://www.strava.com/routes/9397601" target="_blank">Strava Route</a> - Distance: 1.9 miles. Vertical gain: 1,410 feet. Average grade: 14%<br />
<a href="https://goo.gl/maps/v1tiMdJRiV82" target="_blank">How To Get There</a><br />
<a href="http://www.ebparks.org/parks/claremont_canyon" target="_blank">Claremont Canyon Regional Preserve webpage</a> (includes trail map)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXMr7AwV7cZOnU0inB0xInv_HJMfAItL2bTjIA8U86THotGFPB8ehDKHwru34nMIBdzCjvJl754a0jZszChmTJABS6UIFRYLjg2IyJ3qM5b35Hl7yLi59GXKvKcdxlw-FGLw-9xiuijF0t/s1600/kingfish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="1000" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXMr7AwV7cZOnU0inB0xInv_HJMfAItL2bTjIA8U86THotGFPB8ehDKHwru34nMIBdzCjvJl754a0jZszChmTJABS6UIFRYLjg2IyJ3qM5b35Hl7yLi59GXKvKcdxlw-FGLw-9xiuijF0t/s400/kingfish.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: Kingfish</td></tr>
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<b>Post-Run Beer:</b> Follow Claremont Avenue away from the hill and you will reach the <a href="http://kingfishpubandcafe.com/" target="_blank">Kingfish Pub</a>, a neighborhood staple and unofficial bar of the <a href="https://www.instagram.com/thatsfinetrackclub" target="_blank">That’s Fine Track Club</a>. This place is so beloved that the entire building was <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jWnsaSKFlHs" target="_blank">lifted and moved</a> from its original location to a new space at Telegraph and Claremont. With a dive-bar interior, you’ll stoop into the dimly lit space, which features low-ceilings, free popcorn, and a shuffleboard table. But the cramped interior opens out into a huge open patio. You can get a beer and bump for $7.<br />
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<h3>
3) The Woodmonster</h3>
<h4>
Oakland, CA</h4>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6uk7on1hoMExwz-klz2BlMzdL9sG35rb7kFCFh7gh_l2YvwW8AHs1UYCHwfwhfVlTEYwkTHRQlmwttfck2z6-Kb7nNI-UzBpJqPOomLd44ahDz33XaVT_EhRlfTOKy0KbymYpZlXGUqOf/s1600/IMG_1309.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6uk7on1hoMExwz-klz2BlMzdL9sG35rb7kFCFh7gh_l2YvwW8AHs1UYCHwfwhfVlTEYwkTHRQlmwttfck2z6-Kb7nNI-UzBpJqPOomLd44ahDz33XaVT_EhRlfTOKy0KbymYpZlXGUqOf/s400/IMG_1309.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Madrone Trail. Photo: Author</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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Perhaps the gnarliest climb in Redwood Park is “The Woodmonster,” a tough hill that occurs midway through the the annual Woodminster cross-country race. While only about 0.8 miles long, the Woodmonster forces runners to change gears several times. The terrain changes from switchback ascents, to punchy rock-laden pitches, to stair-like logs, to some awkward tree roots. But the climb is quite scenic, as the sheer ascent brings runners directly through the different floral ecologies of the park.<br />
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The route is not intuitive. The climb starts amid the redwoods on Stream Trail, cutting up Tres Sendas Trail, before a quick left turn onto Star Flower. One then takes a hard left, switchbacking onto French Trail. After a false flat on French, one turns right onto Madrone Trail, which yawps barbarically upwards on a set of rocky steps. This climb is a stout effort.<br />
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The Woodmonster <a href="https://www.strava.com/segments/12205788" target="_blank">Strava segment</a> ends when Madrone Trail intersects with West Ridge Trail (about 200 meters beyond the top of the climb). However, you can add a few more feet of vertical by following a path upward to the very top of Redwood Peak. There’s an interesting sandstone formation up here, with some decades-old graffiti carved.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgggkNunSmvqBhqQrBwjxRUUblrZVNdYtrIvFiRHvDb2fcOYq2CffWVDV-G80VUPPLCGx_TL1uV15s4C7vyioT44WcqNwZwnKtui6nMx_UCB3UmgjtjRi_LjjUZfNNM-d9iQZ087j8CKy8z/s1600/Screen+Shot+2017-06-29+at+2.32.53+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="670" data-original-width="930" height="287" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgggkNunSmvqBhqQrBwjxRUUblrZVNdYtrIvFiRHvDb2fcOYq2CffWVDV-G80VUPPLCGx_TL1uV15s4C7vyioT44WcqNwZwnKtui6nMx_UCB3UmgjtjRi_LjjUZfNNM-d9iQZ087j8CKy8z/s400/Screen+Shot+2017-06-29+at+2.32.53+PM.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Redwood Peak. Photo: <a href="https://www.google.com/maps/contrib/110705682885561731811" target="_blank">David Hodson</a></td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
It’s easy to make loops from this climb by running either direction on
West Ridge Trail. If you’re looking to run repeats of the hill, consider
taking Redwood Peak Trail down to French Trail. Turning right on French
will lead you back to Star Flower Trail, where you can run back down to
the start at Stream Trail.</div>
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<b>Bathrooms:</b> Can be tricky. There is a toilet in Redwood Bowl about 500 meters from the top of the climb down West Ridge. There nearest toilets at the base of the climb are nearly a mile down Stream Trail toward the park entrance.<br />
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<b>Race:</b> The mid-summer <a href="http://www.lmjs.org/woodminster" target="_blank">Woodmonster Trail Race</a> features the climb during an 8-mile handicapped tour of the park.<br />
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<a href="https://www.strava.com/routes/9398103" target="_blank">Strava Route</a> - Distance: 0.8 miles. Elevation change: 685 feet. Average grade: 14%<br />
<u>How To Get There</u> - You can start nearby (and descend) from <a href="https://goo.gl/maps/Dcc2LEWJFHp" target="_blank">here</a>. Or enter the park <a href="https://goo.gl/maps/5igum3QESCw" target="_blank">from Redwood Road</a> ($5 parking fee).<br />
<a href="http://www.ebparks.org/parks/redwood" target="_blank">Redwood Regional Park Webpage</a> (includes trail map)<br />
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<b>Post-run Breakfast:</b> Check out the <a href="https://www.yelp.com/biz/the-coffee-mill-and-bakery-oakland" target="_blank">Coffee Mill</a> on Grand Avenue for caffeine and a bite. There’s an older feel to the space and it lacks the manicured coziness of second- and third-wave coffee shops. The drip coffee is so-so, but I recommend the Dirty Chai, especially if you’re coming off an early morning workout. There’s a sizable breakfast menu to help start the post-run day. ~$6-14<br />
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<h3>
4) Las Trampas Regional Wilderness</h3>
<h4>
Danville and San Ramon, CA</h4>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAb6BSj6LWkY_8aUvfaO4K8f9SWKwB6VqFFJ1U8OU4s00ekcF2oBRCf_SRrZyoMMQ7SKLgXepuhw4iV4sWfM84IlgRx_DzPkPJEJphiIfXoWwmkkwClRtHqEWzh4VlJRJlMIoSk8Os6QvA/s1600/LasTrampas-view-from-RockyRidge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAb6BSj6LWkY_8aUvfaO4K8f9SWKwB6VqFFJ1U8OU4s00ekcF2oBRCf_SRrZyoMMQ7SKLgXepuhw4iV4sWfM84IlgRx_DzPkPJEJphiIfXoWwmkkwClRtHqEWzh4VlJRJlMIoSk8Os6QvA/s400/LasTrampas-view-from-RockyRidge.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Las Trampas Ridge. Photo: <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Las_Trampas_Regional_Wilderness" target="_blank">Wiki Commons</a></td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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Those in search of rugged, rolling trail should check out Las Trampas, west of Danville and San Ramon. These fire trails feature some rugged running with steep climbs and descents. Indeed, <a href="http://bahiker.com/eastbayhikes/lastrampas.html" target="_blank">Bay Area Hiker</a> called this open space "the tough guy of the East Bay Regional Park District." So it's no surprise that local race series <a href="https://brazenracing.com/" target="_blank">Brazen Racing</a> uses this beastly stretch of terrain for their championship half-marathon, which features almost 4,000 feet of vertical change.<br />
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Las Trampas is exposed. It is very warm during the summer and muddy during the winter. No surprise that the wilderness was named for the Spanish word for "traps." So bring water.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4ohCD_Sye2PuuW2xzrWQmc0CHn-alI9hyzkcH4uSpWMD0XigbXV4rbOLHGO4GF9_aJ3Peb9fPE-76rD4ANOWm_4gmiSE7WF8CtwlpnZrpFUfK3e73OQoX-iWzzjoo1AI6pU6DWQEsqwpR/s1600/Screen+Shot+2017-06-29+at+2.53.05+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="661" data-original-width="1005" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4ohCD_Sye2PuuW2xzrWQmc0CHn-alI9hyzkcH4uSpWMD0XigbXV4rbOLHGO4GF9_aJ3Peb9fPE-76rD4ANOWm_4gmiSE7WF8CtwlpnZrpFUfK3e73OQoX-iWzzjoo1AI6pU6DWQEsqwpR/s400/Screen+Shot+2017-06-29+at+2.53.05+PM.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The crest of Rocky Ridge Trail. Photo: <a href="https://www.google.com/maps/contrib/108837102753587647324" target="_blank">Nitin Tomar</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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If your quads need a thrashing for an upcoming ultramarathon, Las Trampas is an ideal playground. As a reward you'll be treated to incredible views of Mt. Diablo and the surrounding foothills. The Brazen race starts at a staging area at the end of Bollinger Canyon Road, well into the wilderness and a five-mile drive from I-680. There are also trailheads in the neighborhoods west of Danville or San Ramon. Just be mindful of parking restrictions on these residential streets.<br />
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<b>Bathrooms:</b> There are portable toilets and drinking water at the staging area off Bollinger Canyon Road.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIlr3jecpHTBcujO21H-RRyTy-5jyWGiDrEaZf_gn85GkyYuN3VjSiY2Ou0t3MpxPcV_0jaZ_56lEGdt0EgEfr9lDutcQNCsyIqUBHpw1I5yohcS7SczPwyf5_J3gRyDVLgSiM0dPI9YnK/s1600/Trampas_Wiki_Commons.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="683" data-original-width="1024" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIlr3jecpHTBcujO21H-RRyTy-5jyWGiDrEaZf_gn85GkyYuN3VjSiY2Ou0t3MpxPcV_0jaZ_56lEGdt0EgEfr9lDutcQNCsyIqUBHpw1I5yohcS7SczPwyf5_J3gRyDVLgSiM0dPI9YnK/s400/Trampas_Wiki_Commons.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Las_Trampas_Regional_Wilderness" target="_blank">Wiki Commons</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<a href="http://brazenracing.com/r/brazenchampionship.html" target="_blank">The Brazen Championship Course</a> - Distance: ~13 miles. Elevation change: 3,989 feet.<br />
<a href="http://www.ebparks.org/parks/las_trampas" target="_blank">Las Trampas Regional Wilderness webpage</a> (includes trail map)<br />
<u>How To Get There:</u> <a href="https://goo.gl/maps/dZb2SUttNJ52" target="_blank">Danville Suburbs</a> (steep start) or <a href="https://goo.gl/maps/JtPQH7LxPMs" target="_blank">Bollinger Canyon Road</a><br />
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<b>Post-Run Brunch:</b> My affordable-food radar gets dim on this gentrified side of the hills. But I've found <a href="https://www.yelp.com/biz/millies-kitchen-lafayette" target="_blank">Millie's Kitchen</a> outside Lafayette to be a pleasant place to refuel after a run in Contra Costa county. It's a convenient location for those heading back west on Highway 24. The All-American breakfast fare won't appeal to the most smug of foodies, but I like the unpretentious atmosphere and big portions. It you're feeling indulgent try the coffee cake. ~$15-18<br />
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<h3>
5) Tunnel Road</h3>
<h4>
Oakland, CA </h4>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbvs7z8HYXVtbk3HR5AmNvCxPHF61D67nU2uLoRKPruO6s8UYOvzzkn_qTwjODzLZcm6UawNO6F77YVOt2668FHq0pcYJm1CLSvXCJk5AeccoJnaxZHdi1jxDo5AIJ4Ai65I3xhvQ8sRXB/s1600/tunnel_road.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbvs7z8HYXVtbk3HR5AmNvCxPHF61D67nU2uLoRKPruO6s8UYOvzzkn_qTwjODzLZcm6UawNO6F77YVOt2668FHq0pcYJm1CLSvXCJk5AeccoJnaxZHdi1jxDo5AIJ4Ai65I3xhvQ8sRXB/s400/tunnel_road.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Most of the images of Tunnel Road are from upscale realtors.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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A favorite among cyclists, Tunnel Road is a great option for runners seeking a sizable climb with moderate elevation gradients. The road itself is narrow, but with low traffic. Indeed, on a weekend you will see more bikes than cars on the climb. So it’s easy to get into a nice rhythm as you move up the curving pavement. Tunnel Road winds from Highway 13 up to Grizzly Peak Boulevard near Sibley Regional Preserve.<br />
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This is an interesting part of the Berkeley/Oakland hills. Much of it was burned during the <a href="http://www.sfmuseum.org/oakfire/overview.html" target="_blank">1991 Oakland firestorm</a>, which blazed through 1,500 acres, destroying over 3,000 homes. New housing developments have sprung up since the fire, including some pretty funky home designs. The road also passes the old western portal for the original tunnel. Variously called the <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2011/10/02/us/the-kennedy-tunnel.html" target="_blank">Kennedy</a> or <a href="http://www.eastbaytimes.com/2013/11/10/before-caldecott-opened-mysterious-tunnel-connected-counties/" target="_blank">Broadway</a> Tunnel, a plaque remains at what was once the western portal to the road’s namesake. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitj-y9cRVKzpE8Yn-DzZhiS3mHUSY0qi-YOmCAl7jiiB__BLs7fVchHM3GlRXpFDvWWoBmrxso_nQ7HWsQ9EVquFuxC46i20p9rBkw_SaN1KqVCJ9TWpvOzgLWpbqS5ymwAuCS16GuDDb9/s1600/kennedy_tunnel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="683" data-original-width="1024" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitj-y9cRVKzpE8Yn-DzZhiS3mHUSY0qi-YOmCAl7jiiB__BLs7fVchHM3GlRXpFDvWWoBmrxso_nQ7HWsQ9EVquFuxC46i20p9rBkw_SaN1KqVCJ9TWpvOzgLWpbqS5ymwAuCS16GuDDb9/s400/kennedy_tunnel.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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The climb treats runners to views of Highway 24 and the Caldecott Tunnel. If you run at rush hour, you’ll get a depressing sense of the incredible volume of automobile traffic in California. Near the top, the road bends southwards to offer more scenic views of the Bay Bridge and downtown Oakland.<br />
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The <a href="https://www.strava.com/segments/8935020" target="_blank">"formal"</a> start of the climb begins at the Oakland Hills Fire Memorial Park. From this point it is almost exactly 5 kilometers to the intersection of Grizzly Peak. Technically, Tunnel Road becomes Skyline Boulevard when you pass over the Caldecott Tunnel (hundreds of feet below you), but there is ample signage (designed for cyclists) that gives you updates about how far you are to the summit.<br />
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It is very easy to extend this climb by starting lower at the famous Claremont Hotel, and running up to the turn-off at the Fire Memorial. Be aware, this section of road is highly trafficked, especially during commute hours. There are very few opportunities to safely cross this section of Tunnel/Hwy 13 on foot during rush hour. Make sure you run up the left side of the road, which will lead to the more residential sections of the climb without danger. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy2mdaYwA25A4skUVTi60PWO3jabyEe4S_OfBxWFPd6t6i9AcirenZdNyzMXpOE-5J-RJUjmfPexaqqdOcJrn1iMIP0nCMubPQRryVhlM29WQcpoPEYuucKpyl1EbRiHSO2a6qAzyRQl3t/s1600/claremont.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="526" data-original-width="1000" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy2mdaYwA25A4skUVTi60PWO3jabyEe4S_OfBxWFPd6t6i9AcirenZdNyzMXpOE-5J-RJUjmfPexaqqdOcJrn1iMIP0nCMubPQRryVhlM29WQcpoPEYuucKpyl1EbRiHSO2a6qAzyRQl3t/s400/claremont.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Claremont Hotel. Photo: Expedia</td></tr>
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<b>Bathrooms: </b>There are no bathrooms at the start of climb. However, on the other side of Highway 24 there are bathrooms at the North Oakland Regional Sports Center. <a href="https://goo.gl/maps/SoaNVFWupA62" target="_blank">(Map link here)</a>. <br />
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<a href="https://www.strava.com/segments/8935020" target="_blank">Strava Segment</a> - Distance: 3 miles. Elevation change: 762 feet. Average grade: 5%<br />
<a href="https://goo.gl/maps/oEUYSrtxavs" target="_blank">How to Get There</a><br />
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<b>Post-run Coffee:</b> This part of town is a coffee fanatics dream. Follow Claremont Avenue down the hill from the hotel to a cluster of options. <a href="http://www.colecoffee.com/" target="_blank">Cole Coffee</a> is a neighborhood staple, featuring a social atmosphere and custom-drip cups. If you're feeling peckish go to <a href="https://www.yelp.com/biz/spasso-oakland" target="_blank">Spasso</a>, where there are affordable sandwiches, ample table space, and super cheap "day-old" pastries. $4-10<br />
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<b>Honorable Mentions:</b><br />
<b> </b> <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI5SMe2qoynKC6Ph4q_2hwheFz6D4a7yXgIZmbUzjs17J63dDnfwE1YdfzljKuLDtwj-R7dIn_WCIr3onagJpN5njEh676EAcMvnYSq_9ldnqukNi7sWTRcaV_ut38XbAVOlXrrnDzSWfw/s1600/Mission_Peak.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="967" data-original-width="1450" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI5SMe2qoynKC6Ph4q_2hwheFz6D4a7yXgIZmbUzjs17J63dDnfwE1YdfzljKuLDtwj-R7dIn_WCIr3onagJpN5njEh676EAcMvnYSq_9ldnqukNi7sWTRcaV_ut38XbAVOlXrrnDzSWfw/s320/Mission_Peak.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The queue at Mission Peak. Photo: <a href="http://www.redwoodhikes.com/EastBay/HiddenValley.html" target="_blank">Redwood Hikes</a></td></tr>
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<b>Mission Peak:</b> Mission Peak is a victim of its own
greatness. Proximate to the large populations of the South Bay,
accessing the trail that leads to the summit has become almost
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=czTS_yMzzKk&t=252s" target="_blank">nightmarish</a>. If you can find a place to park your car, the climb is
still a stout one. However once you reach the summit you might have to
get in line behind folks waiting to take a selfie before you can tap the
landmark pole. <br />
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<b>The Cal Fire Trail:</b> We are going to save
a lengthier description of the Cal Fire Trail for another installment,
but it’s worth noting that the trail begins just east of UC
Berkeley’s campus and climbs up the canyon to the top of the ridge line.
The trail is a generally mild climb, but it does include the gut-busting
<a href="https://www.strava.com/segments/1268136" target="_blank">“Connector”</a> a 200ish-meter section of trail that zooms up to a 25%
grade. Rumor has it that Nike trail running pro <a href="https://www.strava.com/pros/727367" target="_blank">Alex Varner</a> once did a
session of 20 repeats up and down this beast. <br />
<h3>
</h3>
<h3>
</h3>
<h4>
</h4>
<h4>
Forgot your Running Shoes? </h4>
For shoes, gear, and info on local events and races, check out <a href="http://www.transportsrunswim.com/" target="_blank">Transports</a>,
the local running store with locations in both Berkeley and Oakland.
The store also hosts weekly events around the area, so it is worth
signing up for their <a href="https://www.facebook.com/TRANSPORTS-104025942961099/" target="_blank">social media and emails</a>.<br />
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<b>Special Thanks</b><br />
<br />
A special thank you to Dave Baselt at <a href="http://www.redwoodhikes.com/" target="_blank">Redwood Hikes</a>, for allowing use of his photography. Check out his extensive and detailed list of trails and hikes across California. Redwood Hikes has an extensive number of trail maps <a href="http://www.redwoodhikes.com/Store/Home.html" target="_blank">for sale in print or digital download</a>.<br />
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<h4>
Disagree with this list?</h4>
Throw some shade on Twitter toward <a href="https://twitter.com/SF_Robinson" target="_blank">@SF_Robinson</a><br />
Or follow me on <a href="https://www.strava.com/athletes/2700726" target="_blank">Strava</a> <br />
And check out <a href="https://www.strava.com/clubs/eastbay-strava-runners" target="_blank">East Bay Strava Runners</a> for upcoming local events<br />
<br />
<h3>
Check out the previous installment... <a href="https://thegauntlife.blogspot.com/2017/06/the-blue-collar-guide-to-running-east.html" target="_blank">"The Most Scenic Trails in the East Bay"</a> </h3>
Sam Robinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515534179065532478noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5195561759231097843.post-37788208874485182622017-07-02T17:59:00.000-07:002017-07-04T14:11:14.040-07:00'American War' sheds new light on our current conflicts<br />
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<i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKJ5pSv56sedS-7euYhOYRNbDktcjaaMGb6D3srGv0-MyYZs7rHoVjmQCO2VD8pk5xUNRPv8yStmelAEIu_Sg7QAfE-FBEnl95_MMFFyuhOEEX-qK5h4kNwhl8LVLQwH9Frb4r2haAFXC7/s1600/novel_cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="313" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKJ5pSv56sedS-7euYhOYRNbDktcjaaMGb6D3srGv0-MyYZs7rHoVjmQCO2VD8pk5xUNRPv8yStmelAEIu_Sg7QAfE-FBEnl95_MMFFyuhOEEX-qK5h4kNwhl8LVLQwH9Frb4r2haAFXC7/s400/novel_cover.jpg" width="262" /></a></i></div>
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<i>American War </i>should be required reading amid the continued tragedy of the global war on terror. Omar El Akkad's first novel combines the horrors of modern sectarian warfare with tropes from American history to create a horrific blend of speculative violence and social breakdown.<br />
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In El Akkad's vision of the future, the last decades of the 21st century are defined by a second American civil war. Northern states are again fighting Southern secessionists, but this time all the horrors of modern conflict are brought to bear upon familiar locations and current political issues. In this new American war, violent political cleavage falls not along issues of race but rather climate change and energy policy. Global warming has fundamentally disrupted American society. Coastal cities and regions are flooded (all of Florida is gone), forcing massive resettlement and dramatic economic interventions. Radical climate-change mitigation policies are the basis of the dispute: Southerners atavistically refuse to stop using fossil fuels, and an internecine war breaks out across an already-shattered nation.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFkwMAgZIznu3PelX_rOMBCEYcAKDrioJ6RpZhyphenhyphenKj5VQYw9ojkUH3PGPMWiIjpfdB12pdHECICo8VGRX2FDx_OTJ6A8-lMroT0enFZI5MMX5OB4-VTLwqDwcYcRgDRnf0i1fmqMxoXqGf4/s1600/map_war.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="403" data-original-width="540" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFkwMAgZIznu3PelX_rOMBCEYcAKDrioJ6RpZhyphenhyphenKj5VQYw9ojkUH3PGPMWiIjpfdB12pdHECICo8VGRX2FDx_OTJ6A8-lMroT0enFZI5MMX5OB4-VTLwqDwcYcRgDRnf0i1fmqMxoXqGf4/s400/map_war.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Much has been made about how <i>American War</i> paints a panoramic dystopia of America's future, in which the toxic partisanship and ecological catastrophe of our political moment is further exacerbated and realized. This is the world that "many of us are anxiously speculating about in the Trump era," <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/entertainment/books/american-war-follows-todays-vitriol-to-a-dystopian-future/2017/04/03/79ac6952-186d-11e7-bcc2-7d1a0973e7b2_story.html?utm_term=.c1b5296977bb" target="_blank">writes Ron Charles in the Washington Post</a>, "a nation riven by irreconcilable ideologies, alienated by entrenched suspicions." Focusing on the climate, <a href="http://www.latimes.com/books/jacketcopy/la-ca-jc-american-war-20170331-story.html" target="_blank">Jeff VanderMeer notes in the LA Times</a> that's El Akkad is actually too <i>optimistic </i>in his depiction of future ecological calamity. Somehow the basic structures of society circa 2020 remain recognizable—industry and agriculture have survived. People mostly just complain about the hot weather. <br />
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But these critiques miss the point of El Akkad's use of dystopia. <i>American War</i> is not so much a speculative American future as it is a fabulist re-envisioning of the original Civil War to translate the global war on terror into an American idiom. El Akkad sacrifices a bit of dystopic realism to keep the former United States recognizable. By recreating the war on terror on American soil, El Akkad allows us to see the results of our interventions in Afghanistan and Iraq through the light of our own culture and place. All the characters are American; as readers we are never inclined to pick either side as right or "just." Instead we only know the functional result of sectarian war. We watch the violence that drives thousands into refugee camps, the Manichean worldview that turns young boys into jihadists, the vengeful brutalism that drives folks to murder their neighbors.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkUjbkHreIEeNkFaM5zaZSsMjM5ggJWfMLL9n2NDgavnTXv_OMzovyhwZdIvcrfbknAbEMhJToo8pV67eB6lEA1c7yBalDyDjDhD8q_dMh7ySzFM2jsXaj2DMtiG0zS0DOoU0YJfT1cVqv/s1600/Ashoura_Day_Attacks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="680" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkUjbkHreIEeNkFaM5zaZSsMjM5ggJWfMLL9n2NDgavnTXv_OMzovyhwZdIvcrfbknAbEMhJToo8pV67eB6lEA1c7yBalDyDjDhD8q_dMh7ySzFM2jsXaj2DMtiG0zS0DOoU0YJfT1cVqv/s400/Ashoura_Day_Attacks.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aftermath of the Ashoura Day attacks in Kabul, 2011. Reuters.</td></tr>
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Although the narrative is recounted by an historian of the conflict, the protagonist is a woman enmeshed in the conflict from early childhood. Sarat, her name an idiosyncratic contraction of her first name, “Sara,” and her middle initial, “T,” is an outsider throughout the story, brimming with malleable potential:<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>“The new kindergarten teacher accidentally read the girl’s middle
initial as the last letter of her first name—Sarat. To the little girl’s
ears, the new name had a bite to it. Sara ended with an impotent exhale,
a fading ahh that disappeared into air. Sarat snapped shut like a bear
trap.”</i></div>
At first Sarat reminds us of recent protagonists in young adult dystopia, similar to the plucky female lead of Katniss Everdeen from "The Hunger Games." But her path takes a more realistic turn in a story about civil violence and insurgency. She becomes a terrorist. <br />
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We watch Sarat experience family members killed as bystanders to military strikes. We feel the bewildered fog of war that blinds families fleeing toward refugee camps. We wince at the insecure masculinity permeating militia groups. And we cringe at how systemic violence strips away an individual's layers of humanity. <br />
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<i>American War</i> is at its most striking when it allows us to empathize, indeed sympathize, with the terrorist. We view the world through her eyes. We see in stark exposition the sorts destruction, malice, and tribalism that drive people to retributive violence. The story discards the facile simplification of terrorists as <a href="https://twitter.com/realdonaldtrump/status/826060143825666051?lang=en" target="_blank">"bad dudes"</a> or <a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/international/archive/2017/05/trump-manchester-losers/527745/" target="_blank">"losers,"</a> and it forces us to reckon with the broader processes that create trajectories of violence. When an atrocity rips apart the refugee camp where Sarat lives, we feel a warm glow of justice that she can enact a modicum of vengeance on a young man in the opposing militia. But that glow is quickly dispelled by viscera of the moment:<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>“A cascade of blood erupted from where she’d cut him open. She pinned
him down and kept slashing, the neck slippery now with blood. Soon the
man stopped fighting, but she kept moving the knife back and forth, back
and forth, until she hit something deep within the body she could not
sever. She screamed.”</i></div>
This most primal of moments is a reminder that the use of war as a means of constraining ideas only continues cycles of violence. Massacre for massacre. Rape for rape. Atrocity for atrocity.<br />
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The horror here is the realization that we<i> </i>Americans have created these exact conditions in the Middle East. <i>Our</i> policies have created sectarian nihilism, <i>our</i> military has broken entire societies down to Hobbesian states of brutality. As one character puts it with quiet verve, "Everyone fights an American war."<br />
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This translation of recent Middle Eastern history into an American idiom does make the narrative forced and predictable. There are clunky interjections of primary sources, which provide unneeded context. The conversion of Syrian and Iraqi militias into a Southern form does not quite work. And El Akkad telegraphs so blatantly how Sarat’s life will culminate that elements of the story are almost presumed. Sarat inevitably experiences horrific torture at an offshore military prison, an obvious reference to the <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2017/03/17/us/politics/guantanamo-bay-abd-al-rahim-al-nashiri.html" target="_blank">grotesqueries</a> of Guantánamo Bay. She’s subjected to light/sound torture and forced feeding. She’s made to live stooped in a cage. She’s treated like an animal.<br />
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Since American War has been understood as a dystopic novel, I found myself making comparisons to Room 101, the torture chamber in George Orwell’s <i>1984</i>. In Orwell’s novel, the scenes are so catastrophic to read because Winston’s very reality is besieged. Torture undermines Winston's sense of moral and political compass. We’re invested in his struggle and suffer with him as he is forced to betray his most basic idea of the world. But when Sarat is tortured the interweaving of developed characters and relationships is missing. No ideology is at stake, only the tribe of South vs. the tribe of North. So the climatic moment of ruinous, character-breaking torture falls flat. <br />
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But this is perhaps intended. Anyone who has paid attention to the world knows where modern war leads. We've all seen in Manchester and Paris and London the long-term result of Operation Iraqi Freedom and Abu Ghraib. We've watched in Syria and Yemen and Afghanistan the outcome of bombing missions in the name of peace. By reading <i>American War </i>the reader is merely rehearsing both past and future. All of these interlinking chains of violence were, and will be, inevitable.<br />
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You can listen to <a href="https://ww2.kqed.org/forum/2017/04/19/in-american-war-a-second-civil-war-over-climate-change-and-natural-resources/" target="_blank">a discussion with Omar El Akkad</a> on KQED's Forum.<br />
Follow me on <a href="https://twitter.com/SF_Robinson" target="_blank">Twitter</a>.Sam Robinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515534179065532478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5195561759231097843.post-88505882791856324062017-06-21T16:32:00.000-07:002017-07-03T14:02:13.793-07:00The Blue-Collar Guide to Running in the East Bay<h2>
Part I: The Most Scenic Trails</h2>
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California features some of the greatest running destinations in the world. Fitness tourists flock to the striking clash of land and ocean in the Marin Headlands above San Francisco. Trail runners in the Sierras can climb transcendent single track above Yosemite Valley and Lake Tahoe. Olympic hopefuls spend time at Mammoth Lake. And the tony elite of the Peninsula coalesce around the Sawyer Camp Trail for tempo runs and workouts.<br />
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But what about regular folks, those of us just trying to make rent and get in a few runs? Well, that's why there's the East Bay. That's right, the overlooked areas around Oakland, Berkeley, and beyond are rife with a unique set of park trails, paved paths, and urban running routes. And while these areas don't get the attention of more famous venues, they are worth a visit. So, where to run in the East Bay?<br />
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This four-part guide features the best trails, paths, and running destinations in the nebulous metropolitan area that runs roughly from the city of Richmond, to Oakland, down to Fremont. Organized by theme, the Blue-Collar Guide is intended for both locals and visitors… the greatest hits, if you will, of East Bay running. These lists are not exhaustive, but they've been extensively vetted by local running authorities. Each run also features a nearby (affordable) eatery for refueling. These spots won't break the bank... or leave you squatting in the bushes the next day. <br />
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Starting us off in the series are the <u>best scenic trails<b> </b>in the East Bay</u>. These are the gorgeous forests, the epic views, and the buttery footpaths of the area. If you live here, consider this the “you’ve got to run these at least once” part of the Guide. And if you're visiting the Oakland/Berkeley area, these are the must-do scenic routes.<br />
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<h3>
1) French Trail</h3>
<h4>
Redwood Park, Oakland, CA</h4>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0qwHuAsDwnK-464nNo1RbpKkqGdd-gScOp2JE7UJsuyVOcV8qD_Ptgzlzp8ubCXj3vuTc6ClpbfMQdjKXr7JSlecG9VIperFKVQX0rXrhkipG6x8YrutER_pBqN3cPFzkD81uc9P-hqrF/s1600/RedwoodRP3.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="484" data-original-width="725" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0qwHuAsDwnK-464nNo1RbpKkqGdd-gScOp2JE7UJsuyVOcV8qD_Ptgzlzp8ubCXj3vuTc6ClpbfMQdjKXr7JSlecG9VIperFKVQX0rXrhkipG6x8YrutER_pBqN3cPFzkD81uc9P-hqrF/s400/RedwoodRP3.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">French Trail. Photo: <a href="http://www.redwoodhikes.com/EastBay/RedwoodRP.html" target="_blank">Redwood Hikes</a></td></tr>
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French Trail is, arguably, the most beautiful trail in the East Bay. Carved along the southwest wall of a canyon in Redwood Regional Park, the trail meanders through a lengthy grove of Redwood Trees. The path, mostly singletrack, is hilly (especially on its western half). And there are some particularly steep sections of rooted, technical trail. But it is well worth the effort as green-leaf ferns carpet the trailside and redwoods tower overhead. Running down French for the first time (with my now fiancée) was the moment I began to enjoy living in the crowded zaniness of the East Bay. The trail is an Oakland treasure.<br />
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Interestingly, the redwood trees are sustained by a belt of oceanic moisture that flows through the Golden Gate, churns across the San Francisco Bay, and washes up against the Oakland hills. This being the case, the trail can be damp, even in summer, and temperatures are generally cooler than elsewhere in the park. <br />
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Many trails connect to French in Redwood Park. Perhaps the most accessible is West Ridge Trail, which runs from the Skyline Gate Staging Area. Parking here is crowded on weekends and weekday afternoons during pleasant weather. However other trails intersect with French, and it’s easy to make a loop—like <a href="https://www.strava.com/routes/9282648" target="_blank">this gorgeous route</a> incorporating French and Stream Trails. French is a <i>challenging trail</i>, but the slopes tend to scare off the bigger crowds of day hikers. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguCHlUDC88GrzOMIL4st9knKlwXbDSG8MqyBsy0e_IAni9WZRHt9JXoxR_8pBq1FuUr5S9HDLh0cxaiWXxOYpTcRcgiVSTXiBptVrOlPaze1U0_dndxO_D483wxXoRgcu53ggZUxL9jCsy/s1600/RedwoodStream.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="484" data-original-width="725" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguCHlUDC88GrzOMIL4st9knKlwXbDSG8MqyBsy0e_IAni9WZRHt9JXoxR_8pBq1FuUr5S9HDLh0cxaiWXxOYpTcRcgiVSTXiBptVrOlPaze1U0_dndxO_D483wxXoRgcu53ggZUxL9jCsy/s400/RedwoodStream.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stream Trail is also pretty nice. Photo: <a href="http://www.redwoodhikes.com/EastBay/RedwoodRP.html" target="_blank">Redwood Hikes</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>Bathrooms:</b> There are pit latrines at the Skyline Gate Staging
area. Once on French, you'll need to drop down into the canyon on a side
trail if you need to use a toilet. There are several portajons along
Stream Trail. <br />
<a href="https://www.strava.com/routes/9282648" target="_blank">Strava Route.</a><br />
<a href="https://goo.gl/maps/5mYv4QhaGG52" target="_blank">How to Get There.</a><br />
<a href="http://www.ebparks.org/parks/redwood" target="_blank">Redwood Regional Park Website</a>. (includes trail maps)<br />
<br />
<b>Post-run Brunch: </b><a href="http://www.montclaireggshop.com/" target="_blank">Montclair Eggshop.</a> Located just below Redwood Park in the nearby shopping area, Montclair Village, this is the neighborhood's main brunch spot. With hobby-shop decor, the restaurant gestures at the Village’s suburban origins as a train-line stop. On the menu, I’m a big fan of the "Ed’s Welsh Scramble," which features potatoes, spinach, and other veggies scrambled into eggs. It’s one of the more filling options. There is bottomless coffee but, like anywhere in the Bay, brunch is very crowded on the weekends. $11 <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<h3>
2) Inspiration Point </h3>
<h4>
Tilden Park, Orinda, CA</h4>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoDlvbN7OxGjRjbKuOihTBqpVdt41NCYM_1sT_xdW_KvllpmHntY_aY2q5vqVPDNkByLfJ6SrcMMcGn7YACR64cx93waglyxvmVJfHNO7LxgZGtAbVv0EDKRdI3DUCCzDVw4eZIMW-IXaa/s1600/inspiration2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="562" data-original-width="1000" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoDlvbN7OxGjRjbKuOihTBqpVdt41NCYM_1sT_xdW_KvllpmHntY_aY2q5vqVPDNkByLfJ6SrcMMcGn7YACR64cx93waglyxvmVJfHNO7LxgZGtAbVv0EDKRdI3DUCCzDVw4eZIMW-IXaa/s400/inspiration2.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: <a href="https://www.yelp.com/biz_photos/inspiration-point-berkeley?select=noa18YYnTBwVxfPPynGjtw" target="_blank">Simon W.</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Tilden Park is located just east of Berkeley, and features an eclectic mix of hiking, golfing, and even a <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tilden_Park_Merry-Go-Round" target="_blank">106-year-old carousel</a>. But if you're interested in scenic views, head for eastern side of the park to Inspiration Point. There are multiple route options, but perhaps the most intuitive is to head north on the paved Nimitz Way toward Richmond. On a clear day, you can get 3-bridge views of the San Francisco Bay: the Golden Gate, Bay, and Richmond bridges. But the surrounding hills, reservoirs and mountains to the east also make for striking vistas. While Nimitz Way is paved, the path eventually gives way to fire road and there are numerous side trails that descend west down into Wildcat Canyon. This being the case, it is easy to make a loop from Nimitz Way.<br />
<br />
During the rainy season, when moisture turns many Tilden trails to sticky muck, the pavement of Nimitz is a nice out-and-back alternative to the hurly-burly on city streets. But keep in mind that Nimitz Way is very exposed, and is thus warm on clear days. Water is very limited on this side of the park. Off-street parking is available. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyV_l4liz8wfp1mNeB0y6-v7M6RW05rCqtXE0cmGAqcK2Hnpgl5LhnDWxn8dgDuoxhO2w-v6cGb3TQVCPzy0YZ0RRFgDVN7-w63GkDb9uN_xnR19iTi72R7Y1g3vSRgOrP7K289D72csIj/s1600/inspiration.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="1000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyV_l4liz8wfp1mNeB0y6-v7M6RW05rCqtXE0cmGAqcK2Hnpgl5LhnDWxn8dgDuoxhO2w-v6cGb3TQVCPzy0YZ0RRFgDVN7-w63GkDb9uN_xnR19iTi72R7Y1g3vSRgOrP7K289D72csIj/s400/inspiration.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: <a href="https://www.yelp.com/biz_photos/inspiration-point-berkeley?select=dzQcBYYAiSNwNZ3P1QLGGA" target="_blank">Tiffany H.</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>Bathrooms:</b> There are pit latrines located at Inspiration Point. <br />
<a href="https://www.strava.com/routes/9282906" target="_blank">Strava Route.</a><br />
<a href="https://goo.gl/maps/CyoAerHcRZA2" target="_blank">How to Get There.</a><br />
<a href="http://www.ebparks.org/parks/tilden" target="_blank">Tilden Regional Park Website</a>.<br />
<br />
<b>Post-run Sandwich:</b> <a href="https://www.yelp.com/biz/the-stuffed-inn-berkeley" target="_blank">Stuffed Inn.</a> This neat little sandwichery features delicious rolls, hearty meats, and perhaps the best split-pea soup in the East Bay. Cheerful and family-owned, Stuffed Inn features cozy booth seating and large photos from the Sierra Nevadas. Step inside and its like the 2000s never happened. My recommendation: the Farrah sandwich (turkey-avocado) on a soft sour french roll, with a bowl of soup and a half pickle. Located on Euclid Avenue just north of UC Berkeley, this spot gets crowded during the weekday lunch hour. ~$6-8<br />
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<h3>
3) Brandon Trail to Columbine Trail</h3>
<h4>
Anthony Chabot Park, Oakland/San Leandro, CA</h4>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq8JqemwhyAzto9g70eA_wOZb07kCfKOF_uydRwj1nU9oYTszzUDsBz5gew3FpYExVh8bL87p6854uJK7_DgDrUBQSLqtb9664B54f5QTMDszmNQJnhNznGyQw9zde0YUD_sao4CMUEKU4/s1600/Chabot_REdwood.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="484" data-original-width="725" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq8JqemwhyAzto9g70eA_wOZb07kCfKOF_uydRwj1nU9oYTszzUDsBz5gew3FpYExVh8bL87p6854uJK7_DgDrUBQSLqtb9664B54f5QTMDszmNQJnhNznGyQw9zde0YUD_sao4CMUEKU4/s400/Chabot_REdwood.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Columbine Trail. Photo: <a href="http://www.redwoodhikes.com/EastBay/Chabot.html" target="_blank">Redwood Hikes</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Southeast of Oakland’s city center is Lake Chabot, a reservoir and recreational space. The nicest trails north of the lake are Brandon and Columbine Trail. On Brandon trail's northern sections, one is surrounded by groves of eucalyptus trees. Heading further south, toward the lake, one reaches a scenic intersection of trails, the western fork of which leads to Columbine Trail. Columbine features winding single-track through laurel woods. There are a few rolling hills, but approaching from the north you’ll be treated to nice views of the lake and the surrounding canyons. Definitely worth a visit. Watch for extensive poison oak.<br />
<br />
In terms of routes, I recommend a favorite of <a href="http://www.marinij.com/article/zz/20141026/NEWS/141027652" target="_blank">Richie Boulet</a>, a former professional runner in Oakland. Starting at the <a href="https://www.google.com/maps/place/Anthony+Chabot+Equestrian+Center/@37.7718476,-122.1295914,272m/data=!3m1!1e3!4m5!3m4!1s0x0:0x977105d404288fe6!8m2!3d37.7714499!4d-122.129061" target="_blank">Anthony Chabot Equestrian Center</a> off Skyline Boulevard, descend down Goldenrod to Brandon trail, hanging a right on Brandon. A mile later, at the intersection over the creek, take the middle trail to Columbine Trail. You can continue for an out-and-back along the lakeside or turn left up Honker Bay Trail to create a loop through the park campground.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoILdY8ZKiU3o616gK_D52USCTCinTJMF1erermVcC5qcSN0GOOB4mCbQmuhdnLD9ZEtki5JqgY21ELN62gHc7V2KDFC0dbLXmcB6jDahcIHmIY56P-gBDNDFOtmK6FfFevHDQCWUPF9Yk/s1600/view_columbine.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="484" data-original-width="725" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoILdY8ZKiU3o616gK_D52USCTCinTJMF1erermVcC5qcSN0GOOB4mCbQmuhdnLD9ZEtki5JqgY21ELN62gHc7V2KDFC0dbLXmcB6jDahcIHmIY56P-gBDNDFOtmK6FfFevHDQCWUPF9Yk/s400/view_columbine.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from Columbine. Photo: <a href="http://www.redwoodhikes.com/EastBay/Chabot.html" target="_blank">Redwood Hikes</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>Bathrooms</b>: There are restrooms and a water fountain at the equestrian center.<br />
<a href="https://www.strava.com/routes/9282531" target="_blank">Strava Route.</a><br />
<a href="https://www.google.com/maps/place/Anthony+Chabot+Equestrian+Center/@37.7718476,-122.1295914,272m/data=!3m1!1e3!4m5!3m4!1s0x0:0x977105d404288fe6!8m2!3d37.7714499!4d-122.129061" target="_blank">How to Get There.</a><br />
<a href="http://www.ebparks.org/parks/lake_chabot" target="_blank">Lake Chabot Regional Park Website</a>.<br />
<br />
<b>Post-run Dinner</b>: <a href="https://www.yelp.com/biz/old-weang-ping-oakland" target="_blank">Old Weang Ping</a>. Oh man, Old Weang Ping. Featuring authentic Thai with unpretentious prices, this menu is a really good deal. Foodies get scared off by the location near neighborhoods of endemic violence. But this place is a hidden gem. Walk in and you will forget all your worries in the floral atmosphere. Order off the chalk board. It doesn’t matter what, just pair it with an order of sticky rice and a Singha. ~$15-20 <br />
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<br />
<h3>
4) Huckleberry and Sibley Preserves</h3>
<h4>
Oakland/Moraga, CA</h4>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7w96TXu0jZ8lZL2fP2_hh8UJJONLUc_AtIN2kzkjM342TTsbq8chj_4dfFoVwIZWNX0Lmy89a7SqvbnqVOJu29i3f_kgQCzCyLWOg7RB564Y-l9a0y8o6nraaaqCTZ7G63tjcu2qutmyI/s1600/huck.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7w96TXu0jZ8lZL2fP2_hh8UJJONLUc_AtIN2kzkjM342TTsbq8chj_4dfFoVwIZWNX0Lmy89a7SqvbnqVOJu29i3f_kgQCzCyLWOg7RB564Y-l9a0y8o6nraaaqCTZ7G63tjcu2qutmyI/s400/huck.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Huckleberry Trail. Photo: <a href="http://o.bahiker.com/eastbayhikes/huckleberry.htm" target="_blank">BAHiker</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Whenever I reach a clearing on the paths of Huckleberry, I usually think, “Ah. OK. <i>This</i> is why I live in this crowded, expensive place.” Huckleberry Botanical Regional Preserve features a singletrack loop that winds up and down the hills rolling away from Oakland. The top trails feature manzanita shrubs, huckleberry bushes, a variety of ferns, and stunning easterly views of open-space canyons and Mount Diablo. The trail is a botanical preserve, and the single track is narrow and
visibility down the trail is limited. So be mindful of other trail
users. <br />
<br />
I recommend running through Huckleberry early in the morning at sunrise, as it provides a few wide open views of Mt. Diablo to the east. If you start on the top trail and head south, the rising sun reflects off the land, turning the hills into a glowing tapestry of purples, reds, and golds. On certain days, you can see rivers of fog, that have rolled over the ridge, flowing through the canyons. It's unlike anything I've seen elsewhere in the world. <br />
<br />
Just nearby is Sibley Volcanic Regional Preserve, an old rock quarry now converted into parkland. This park is an entirely different animal, featuring striking man-made excavations of the hillside. All this extractive industry, however, exposed the ancient volcanic activity that shaped this section of the East Bay hills. So there’s a bit of geology to explore in the park. Additionally, there are a number of stone labyrinths that have been arranged amid the larger quarry formations.<br />
<br />
For the best scenery, I recommend a route starting from Huckleberry's staging area. Head down the upper path a mile before turning left to the downward half of the loop. Follow the switchbacks until you reach the Bay Area Trail, which heads toward Sibley. You'll do some<i> steep climbing</i> before you reach the Round Top Loop trail. Bear right and you'll eventually be spilled on an old fire roadway with quarry excavations on your right. You can explore around here for the various labyrinths. Eventually you will reach a paved road which will wind down to the base of the park. Then hang a left back on the Bay Area Ridge trail to slog back up to the Sibley parking entrance. Run downhill from the entrance on Skyline Boulevard. If you want to take in a view of the Bay, veer left off the road to a clearing that's just a few yards north of the Huckleberry staging area. You can follow this path back to parking lot. <br />
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<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCCFZtoNF9iL8-jK1ZB5Cw_GkTN_31DF-NX-wTFd1234Z4s1s4F6szN6YgXUyfG56w6hgkIHWuXBcP-SvxU1ICcj_8BKIEC4hyphenhyphenQHdcmCjQEX2sgiA7VviKQAHPFEXOPqOt9zWVvHUSE_Sm/s1600/kevin.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="401" data-original-width="600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCCFZtoNF9iL8-jK1ZB5Cw_GkTN_31DF-NX-wTFd1234Z4s1s4F6szN6YgXUyfG56w6hgkIHWuXBcP-SvxU1ICcj_8BKIEC4hyphenhyphenQHdcmCjQEX2sgiA7VviKQAHPFEXOPqOt9zWVvHUSE_Sm/s400/kevin.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A labyrinth in Sibley. Photo: <a href="http://kevingong.com/Hiking/200504Sibley.html" target="_blank">Kevin Hikes</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<b>Bathrooms:</b> There are toilet facilities (and parking) at the main entrances of both parks.<br />
<a href="https://www.strava.com/routes/9283191" target="_blank">Strava Route.</a><br />
<a href="https://goo.gl/maps/wdWtZEUCQC82" target="_blank">How to Get There.</a><br />
<a href="http://www.ebparks.org/parks/huckleberry" target="_blank">Huckleyberry Botanical Regional Preserve website</a>.<br />
<a href="http://www.ebparks.org/parks/sibley" target="_blank">Sibley Volcanic Regional Preserve website. </a><br />
<br />
<b>Post-run Burritos</b>: <a href="http://cactustaqueria.com/" target="_blank">Cactus Taqueria</a> - Oakland has dozens of taqueria and trucks that <a href="https://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/2015/06/18/bay-area-bites-guide-to-10-favorite-east-bay-burrito-spots/" target="_blank">foodies drool over</a>. But I’ll be frank: most "authentic" taquerias give me mudbutt. (Blame it on my Anglo-Saxon constitution and high mileage.) So if you've got a workout in the morning, I highly recommend the burritos from Cactus. Spring for the “mejor” large-size burrito as it’s a better value. They make a delicious cilantro rice which you can swap into the burrito. Try the pineapple salsa. Cactus is just down the hill from Sibley Park, and off Highway 24 in Rockridge. ~$8<br />
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<br />
<br />
<h3>
5) Sequoia-Bayview Trail</h3>
<h4>
Joaquin Miller Park, Oakland, CA</h4>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLN9mZqerXCSNtsm4xGYeSsB67wYBaDCn-o0gW1ZwK6YibpKEBMUs575QsilBgf-ZzS65m0WFUQyHZOxQumwRy7Udtv3_K_v06Q4oOseTJTKyzgrhvtEOmdUgT1gf4M9fkunbYX8o6hu7B/s1600/JoaquinMiller3.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="484" data-original-width="725" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLN9mZqerXCSNtsm4xGYeSsB67wYBaDCn-o0gW1ZwK6YibpKEBMUs575QsilBgf-ZzS65m0WFUQyHZOxQumwRy7Udtv3_K_v06Q4oOseTJTKyzgrhvtEOmdUgT1gf4M9fkunbYX8o6hu7B/s400/JoaquinMiller3.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sequoia-Bayview Trail. Photo: <a href="http://www.redwoodhikes.com/EastBay/JoaquinMiller.html#PalosColorados" target="_blank">Redwood Hikes</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
If you are a fan of redwood trees, you should head up to the Sequoia-Bayview trail in Joaquin Miller Park. This trail is mostly flat, rare for the East Bay, as it winds along a contour line below Skyline Boulevard. There are verdant switchbacks and you'll catch glimpses of downtown Oakland to the west. Unbelievably, the gorgeous open space below the trail is actually a municipal park, managed by the city of Oakland. But you can descend from the trail to reach the <a href="https://localwiki.org/oakland/Woodminster_Amphitheater" target="_blank">Woodminister Amphitheater</a>, which is very much the result of federal economic intervention. The art deco amphitheater was a <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Works_Progress_Administration" target="_blank">WPA Project</a>, and is now an architectural vestige of America’s peak cultural and political greatness.<br />
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In terms of routes, many folks run out-and-backs from the trailhead on Skyline Boulevard, often connecting into Redwood Park. But I highly recommend the climb up Palos Colorados trail, further below off Mountain Boulevard near Montclair Village. Although a stout climb, the trail winds up a beautiful canyon along Palo Seco Creek, before spilling out at a meadow beneath Sequoia-Bayview. The park has multiple trails so it’s easy to get turned around, but keep heading up the hill, following Palos Colorados or Sunset Trail, and you will eventually reach Sequoia-Bayview, which runs the length of the park. See the Strava route below.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPlXeh12k18d1WZqG72IOVO1hm8XAmztxiE8ySzNhu5UJxeSPpJrBmpRwRY7PajDw5zxJQI5K9jqbm00MPs9OBmsynnLQoqGyjANZzvgaFyo7FOLLN3ek3q4juLvKqmHNRpiCEo9rPJhuD/s1600/Joaquin_Miller_Park-Oakland-California-19ee428c024c458aa073432ccf7e1a07.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="372" data-original-width="500" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPlXeh12k18d1WZqG72IOVO1hm8XAmztxiE8ySzNhu5UJxeSPpJrBmpRwRY7PajDw5zxJQI5K9jqbm00MPs9OBmsynnLQoqGyjANZzvgaFyo7FOLLN3ek3q4juLvKqmHNRpiCEo9rPJhuD/s400/Joaquin_Miller_Park-Oakland-California-19ee428c024c458aa073432ccf7e1a07.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Woodminster Amphitheater. Photo: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/taylar/" target="_blank">Ingrid Taylor</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>Bathrooms:</b> There are <i>no</i> bathrooms at the Skyline Blvd access point. However there are portajons (and a water fountain) on the opposite end of the trail about 1.5 miles away. There are several plumbing restrooms in the lower sections of the park.<br />
<a href="https://www.strava.com/routes/9283714" target="_blank">Strava Route</a>, short out-and-back starting on Bayview-Sequoia.<br />
<a href="https://www.strava.com/routes/9283797" target="_blank">Strava Route</a>, loop starting at Palos Colorados.<br />
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<b>Post-run Grub</b>: <a href="http://www.parkburgeroakland.com/" target="_blank">Park Burger.</a> Just down the road on Park Boulevard, you can refuel at this burger shop. While it gets loud on the weekends (family crowds), the burgers are solid. I once met a friend there for lunch, and he asked about my academic research. The burger ruined my response because I kept interrupting my explanations of arcane seventeenth-century theology by moaning after each bite. The menu features the now standard hipster-variety of baroque burger options, but you really can’t go wrong. ~$10-13<br />
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Honorable Mentions:</h3>
The Ohlone Wilderness Trail. When’s the last time you were in a “wilderness” within a few miles of a major city? The <a href="http://www.ebparks.org/parks/ohlone" target="_blank">Ohlone wilderness</a> stretches eastward from the foothills southeast of Fremont into the rugged, but beautifully sparse landscape south of Interstate 680. Bring water and you’ll need a trail permit. The parking situation near Mission Peak is a <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=czTS_yMzzKk" target="_blank">disaster</a>.<br />
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Wildcat Canyon, Richmond, CA. <a href="http://www.ebparks.org/parks/wildcat" target="_blank">Wildcat Canyon Regional Park</a> lays on the north side of Tilden Regional Park. The park is generally more exposed, though there are some tree groves at the base of the canyon. The park’s main trail follows a rolling path alongside Wildcat Creek. It makes for a nice out-and-back. Interestingly, the remnants of a early twentieth-century <a href="http://museumca.org/story/sanitarium-palm-grove" target="_blank">sanitarium</a> are still visible in the park. You’ll notice some out-of-place palms and other exotic trees near the Belgum Trail (named after the sanitarium’s founder). There was a large house on the estate, the foundation of which <a href="http://logdriver.tumblr.com/post/107069551757/belgum-sanitarium" target="_blank">is still evident</a>.<br />
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Forgot to pack Running Socks? </h4>
For shoes, gear, and info on local events and races, check out <a href="http://www.transportsrunswim.com/" target="_blank">Transports</a>, the local running store with locations in both Berkeley and Oakland. The store also hosts weekly events around the area, so it is worth signing up for their <a href="https://www.facebook.com/TRANSPORTS-104025942961099/" target="_blank">social media and emails</a>.<br />
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Special Thanks</h4>
A special thank you to Dave Baselt at <a href="http://www.redwoodhikes.com/" target="_blank">Redwood Hikes</a>, for allowing use of his photography. Check out his extensive and detailed list of trails and hikes across California.<br />
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Disagree with this list?</h4>
Throw some shade on Twitter toward <a href="https://twitter.com/SF_Robinson" target="_blank">@SF_Robinson</a><br />
Or follow me on <a href="https://www.strava.com/athletes/2700726" target="_blank">Strava</a> <br />
And check out <a href="https://www.strava.com/clubs/eastbay-strava-runners" target="_blank">East Bay Strava Runners</a> for upcoming local events<br />
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Coming up in our next installment... "The Best Climbs in the East Bay"</h3>
Sam Robinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515534179065532478noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5195561759231097843.post-61852527231467611662017-02-16T16:26:00.000-08:002017-02-16T16:26:16.064-08:00Video Games and the Myth of Process<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This past December, Nintendo released their first video game for Apple’s iPhone. Curiously, it is about running. Mario Run, a zany side-scrolling game in the Super Mario universe, features the eponymous Mario, the famous overall-wearing plumber, on yet another quest to save his girlfriend, Princess Peach, from the evil turtle-king Bowser.<br />
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In Mario Run, the heroic Mario runs... and runs... and runs. You, the player, guide Mario as he dashes through numerous levels filled with pipes, chasms, and creatures that block your way. Unlike other versions of the game franchise, in Mario Run you cannot stop Mario’s forward movement. You can only adjust how he sprints, jumps, and flips his way through each level. Mario <i>always</i> tries to run forward. If he gets stuck at an obstacle that requires a jump, he waves his hands in discombobulated confusion. If he slams into an enemy, he wails in despair as he falls off screen.<br />
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Mario’s run after Princess Peach is like something from a Samuel Beckett play. He simply never stops running. Mario cannot pause, even for a moment. While he might momentarily vault backwards off a wall, the plumber immediately turns his head back to the quest, compelled inexorably forward. “Onwards! Onwards!” he seems to say to himself. It’s like watching the agonies at the end cross country race, when every runner’s face is set in a sneer of self-flagellation toward the finish line.<br /><br />Mario’s movement is constant, a red blur of unstoppable forward momentum. His is an un-arrested flight, like the Internet videos of crazed parkour athletes in post-Soviet nations. Except rather than sliding through the ruins of failed totalitarian economies, Mario flips, vaults, and sprints through a Technicolor dreamscape of mushroom forests, yellow deserts, and spooky caverns. He careens through dungeons and zooms over clouds. He bounces incessantly over Goombas. Indeed, it is Mario that is the aggressor here, hurdling over his opponents and smashing in the heads of creatures that seem to be otherwise minding their own business. No matter. Mario is, quite simply, unable to stop running.<br />
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When I played Mario Run, the experience felt strangely personal. It wasn’t just that I had grown up playing Super Mario Brothers on Nintendo. Indeed, Mario Run is utterly different from its predecessor video games. In the earlier games, the player also guided Mario forward on a quest to save the Princess. But you needed to explore each world, to ponder Mario’s route through a level. Success required ferreting out secrets and discovering secret passages. Sure, there was a count-down timer that forced you to the finish of each level, but the point wasn’t just to win. You were also supposed to have an adventure. It was far removed from the headlong rush of Mario Run.<br /><br />I realized that the evolution of Mario from red-overalled adventurer, to over-caffeinated super-marathoner, paralleled my own changing relationship with distance running. <br />When I started running, it was to see what was out there. I ran along neighborhood roads, cutting through the woods of new-growth forests that divided the sprawling suburbs. I was curious what was hiding under and along the trees. I ran out on country lanes. I was not really trying to get anywhere in particular. I ran simply to see were the road went.<br />
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Things changed in high school. I became consumed with that deep and laudable goal to become the best possible runner I could possibly be, no matter the cost. It was, like Mario’s run for the elusive princess, my own personal quest. <br /><br />When you devote yourself to competitive distance running, “process” is important. Indeed, commentary emphasizing “process” over “Big Goals” is everywhere in running <a href="https://medium.com/ekiden/7-habits-of-highly-effective-runners-40aab4e2c98a#.ek1r3skhs" target="_blank">coaching</a> and <a href="http://nymag.com/scienceofus/2016/08/why-having-big-goals-can-backfire.html" target="_blank">journalism</a> these days. Pay attention to yourself, be mindful of your habits, be aware of your approach to life and your surroundings. Adjust the little things for optimal results. Even good efforts like a PR or strong race, are merely the means to the end of further self-improvement. Only process is important because there is no stopping, not really. There are many finish lines, but a distance runner can always go faster and train better. She can get a bit more sleep and do a bit more core-work. She can push a little bit farther, a little bit harder. Process is the end in itself. <br /><br />“I do the same thing over and over, improving bit by bit,” the famous sushi chef, Jiro Ono, once said in describing his life’s vocation to prepare the best possible food. “I’ll continue to climb, trying to reach for the top… but no one knows where the top is.” All of us, like Mario and Jiro, are constantly striving forward to a destination that is everywhere and nowhere. Process is everything. But only because we are on an endless treadmill of self-overcoming.<br />
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<br />“How very bleak,” I thought as I powered down my phone after a bout of running Mario through a veritable genocide of Goombas. Had I become a fleshly facsimile of Mario? Was I so relentless focused on my own improvement that I had stopped enjoying the sport? <br /><br />These thoughts followed me out the door as I went out for a run. Maybe I need to reclaim a bit of the innocent juvenilia of my youth. A light winter snow flurry picked up as contemplated my interest in the sport. Perhaps I might schedule certain runs as moments of exploration, discovery, and play? Hmm. Scheduling adventure seemed the very antithesis of thing itself. <br /><br />I had jogged myself into a paradox, a dungeon of my own making. I winced away some snow from my eyes, put my head down, and, like Mario, ran onwards.<br />
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Sam Robinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515534179065532478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5195561759231097843.post-41349405665702484652016-12-07T07:47:00.000-08:002017-12-14T12:40:14.373-08:00Running in TrumpLand<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The month after I graduated from high school the local textile mill closed down. It was the largest single-day layoff in the history of North Carolina. The mill near my hometown had been an economic institution since the late nineteenth century. Globalization was mostly to blame for the closure: the shift of capital to cheaper labor in South Asia shut down the remaining textile plants in the South, which still had to pay for things like a minimum wage and occupational safety standards. <br />
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The writing had been on the wall for some time. Years earlier—the month my family moved to Concord, North Carolina, just outside the mill—Wal-Mart stopped buying the textile plant’s products after the owners refused to move production overseas. After that it was just a matter of time. Wal-Mart started buying their towels and bed linens from south Asian manufacturers. Creaky textile mills in India and Bangladesh, employing folks at slave wages in buildings prone to collapse, ultimately shuttered my town's biggest employer. The immediate region’s economic core was hollowed out, but hey, everyone else in the country got cheaper towels and pillow cases. The town immediately surrounding the mill declined into a series of empty brick buildings and sagging houses with peeling, whitewashed walls.<br />
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This was where I grew up. <br />
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I was twelve when the mill started to collapse under the pressures of the global economy. Like most twelve-year olds, I really wasn’t paying much attention. My parents, professional imports to the area, were safe from layoffs. It wasn’t until I started running competitively—and began logging in training miles—that I came to know my hometown on foot.<br />
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There are few parks in the South; open space is mostly contained to the Appalachians. Instead there are country roads, long streaks of shoulderless pavement curve along low-slung hills. When I run back home, I always feel close to the ground, like a marble rolling low along the features of the terrain. In the Carolina Piedmont, the horizon is short. One cannot see far beyond oneself. Thick, new-growth trees have emerged from sharecropped fields, held back from reaching the asphalt by decaying fences. One’s view is constrained and the sky is a band of blue limited to path of the road. In the winter, the ground along the road is soggy and fecund. In the summer, the air sits heavy on the road like a pressure cooker, dank with heat and humidity. It is warm and stagnant and beautiful.<br />
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I ran along roads made obsolete by the interstate system. Some streets were named after families that had settled there: Neisler, Burrage, Peninger. Other roads recalled former work commutes and destinations: Old Concord-Salisbury Road, Gold Hill Road, Mt. Pleasant Road. Still others were memories of cultures and economies that had faded from existence: Flowe's Store Road, Pioneer Mill Road, and Irish Potato Road. This was the tarmac that defined my life for eight years: neighborhoods bounded by unproductive rural spaces, small-town streets lined by homes with fading paint, burgeoning subdivisions alongside freeways.<br />
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On summer weeknights, I would run through town. My loop brought me past the methadone clinic, complete with a queue of skinny folks stretching out the door. Some would look up as I jogged past. Most kept their heads down, baseball caps pulled low over their eyes. I would pad over broken, uneven sidewalks that bounded restaurants off the freeway. Several chains rotated through the same buildings over the years: Shoney’s, Chiles, Long John Silvers, Applebees. The few local businesses here—a furniture store, a local hardware shop—eventually closed, and were replaced by gas stations and consignment stores. Others sat empty. The town wasn't blighted. It just wasn't very good either.<br />
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For a time, the housing bubble veneered over the economic rot. Contractors would zoom past me on older trucks, laden with construction gear. Sometimes they would give an encouraging honk. Usually they just leered at the shirtless white kid, boiling in the summer humidity. For me, the steady expanse of housing sprawl meant an ever-ready
source of portable toilets. I could be anywhere in town and
facilities were nearby if needed. Were I to experience an unexpected
quiver of the bowels, it was certain that a portable toilet rested
within a quarter-mile. But it was not to last. When I graduated from college, the last big manufacturer in the area, a Philip Morris cigarette factory, was shuttered. With it the large-scale industry ended in Concord. In short order, the fake housing economy popped, and the unsustainable exurban growth outside towns like Nashville, Atlanta, Charlotte, and Raleigh collapsed. In 2008, the plastic toilets disappeared.<br />
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My parents, hoping to downsize from the house I grew up in, moved into the home of a former factory manager at Philip Morris, who was forced to move because of the closure. My folks erroneously assumed they could buy first, and then sell their old place in the ever-hot New South housing market. But they were caught out when the bubble burst weeks after they closed on the new house, stuck with the mortgages for both homes. It took them years to finally sell the home of my childhood. Between 2008 and 2012, I would return home from France, or Colorado, or England, or wherever I was in my slow transition to the “global elite,” and I would see ever more for-sale signs hanging before empty houses. Out running my usual loops, the town was quieter. Roads had less traffic. The sidewalks in Concord’s ever-struggling downtown were even emptier. Even the fast-food joints near the interstate struggled.<br />
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It got better. My hometown transitioned into the Obama-era service economy with some success. Several big box stores opened up. These sprawling parking-lot warehouse complexes hawk cheap Chinese-made computer and electronic widgets. Low-scale eateries offer starchy sandwiches. The area's endemic diabetes and cholesterol-induced diseases can be treated at a local hospital, now part of an ever-growing corporate hospital system that employs my father. The post-industrial pivot to the boutique is also happening in Concord, albeit haphazardly. An old mill warehouse is transitioning slowly into a mixed commercial-residential site. The town’s first couple breweries have opened there. A bar with decent beer has actually survived downtown. My brother plays there with his country-music band. And, to my utter shock, a bike lane was painted onto a major thoroughfare…though it ends abruptly and without warning at a clavicle-smashing storm drain. Coming home for visits recently, there is a tangible optimism in my hometown that has developed in the last five or six years. Ask anyone, anywhere and they will say that their hometown is doing great. It's just the country that's in the wrong direction.<br />
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Class, however, is not just about <a href="https://newrepublic.com/article/138754/blame-trumps-victory-college-educated-whites-not-working-class" target="_blank">money</a>. It is about <a href="http://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2016/09/the-original-underclass/492731/" target="_blank">sensibility—</a>perspectives of relationships to others. It is how one experiences the world as an embodied self, one related in situ to a network of operating forces. Class is a story of people and, from my perspective, people in motion.<br />
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Large numbers of my high school friends served overseas in the military, usually the Marines. Many of these people were my teammates on high school track and cross country teams. I ran intervals with these guys, got rides to practices from them, sat beside them on smelly school buses to meets all over North Carolina. We held each other up after races, keeling over in oxygen debt. I recall being on a 1600-meter relay team that won our county championship meet. I was the only person on the relay team that didn't go to Iraq.<br />
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2016 revealed how startlingly far apart we had traveled since graduation. Judging by what they post online, many of my old friends hold deeply authoritarian views. They are skeptical of American democracy as set of norms, beliefs, and Enlightenment practices. They are deeply invested in the jingoist cult of violence that has festered since 2001. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Donald Trump speaking in Concord, North Carolina on November 3, 2016. I got my high school diploma on that stage. Getty Images.</td></tr>
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When I went to college, to run at Furman University in South Carolina, I descended deeper into this worldview. To describe upstate South Carolina as "more racist" is not quite correct—though its <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Benjamin_Tillman" target="_blank">legacies of white nationalism</a> are well known—rather its peculiar cultural mythos is more intense. The lapel-pin patriotism that developed during the Bush years was acute. Evangelicism was vocal and present, a form of identity one wore like a Gamecocks sweatshirt. This was a culture of militant Americanism—one defined by portly white men, extreme skepticism toward non-Christians, fear of ethnic urbanism, and anger toward smug, white liberals. In the Carolina Piedmont, the horizon is short. One cannot see far beyond oneself.<br />
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Elites from the coastal cities cling to Berkeleyish sentiment that the white-working class, despite the flaws in its worldview, consists of fundamentally good people. This has not been my experience. People are not fundamentally good or bad. People are not fundamentally anything. People are fundamentally plastic: shaped by the cultural, communal, and social values out of which they are constructed. And when those values appear threatened, people can be utterly vile.<br />
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Running along Carolina roads between 2000 and 2010 was an experience of sustained hostility, punctuated by moments of real violence. While out running in rural Carolina I have been spit on, had lit cigarettes and bottles of beer thrown at me by passing cars. Both men and women have called me a “faggot” more times I can count. (Being the target of homophobia is an inherent risk if you wander outdoors in running shorts.) I have gotten into scuffles with white men of all ages. Running with my college team in Greenville, an old man in his seventies once pulled off the road to curse us out because we forced him to swerve around us. How do you argue with a 70-year-old about whether you have a right to run down a road? This kind of harassment was constant. Almost weekly, a car would swerve toward us at high speed, forcing us to scramble off the shoulder. When we traveled to northern California for the Stanford Invite, my team was utterly baffled when cars actually stopped to let us run through a pedestrian crossing. “Can you believe it?” my teammate asked, astonished. “They would have simply run us over in South Carolina, before calling the police to report us for jaywalking.” It was a nice reprieve. Two weeks later, back in the South, a carload of high school kids nailed me with a Solo cup filled with beer. The year after I graduated, two guys came up from behind me with their car and knocked me over with their door. They gave me the bird as they drove off. I used to joke with friends that, while I couldn’t be certain of the exact details of my death, I knew it would involve an angry white guy and a pre-owned Chevy Cavalier.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trump Rally, Concord, NC, November 3, 2016. Getty Images.</td></tr>
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We might explain this hostility as the result of <a href="http://www.theamericanconservative.com/dreher/trump-us-politics-poor-whites/" target="_blank">broken economies and broken spirits</a>. This is the explanation <a href="http://www.cracked.com/blog/6-reasons-trumps-rise-that-no-one-talks-about/" target="_blank">trending now</a> as metropolitan elites <a href="http://www.politico.com/story/2016/11/hillary-clinton-rural-voters-trump-231266" target="_blank">struggle</a> to process the presidential election of a bigoted, misogynist incompetent. I certainly saw the communal breakdown that enabled Trump out along the streets and roads of the South. Once out running through rural Kentucky, I made the mistake of cutting through a trailer park. Old furniture and appliances in various states of decay were strewn across lawns. Eyes stared out from darkened windows. Eventually, a pack of skinny dogs set after me and chased me half a mile beyond the park’s boundaries. A few years later, wandering through the Appalachian foothills near Caesar’s Head, I stumbled upon a meth lab set up in an RV. Another time, running strides on my high school’s soccer field, I stepped on a set of used syringes. Thankfully, the needles did not break through my shoe. Once eating a post-run brunch at Cracker Barrel, our waitress went into insulin shock because she hadn’t had time to eat during her shift. After sipping on some orange juice, she was back waiting tables before we left. In 2010 I took a detour on a run through a new subdivision outside Charlotte, one built two years earlier on the eve of the Bush recession. For two uninterrupted miles I ran past empty, bank-owned houses. Here was the American dream, indefinitely deferred. Trump’s America was in plain sight if you were moving through it on foot. <br />
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The Left is now overcompensating—as it usually does—scrambling <a href="https://www.jacobinmag.com/2016/11/trump-speeches-populism-war-economics-election/" target="_blank">to find new empathy</a> for the <a href="http://www.slate.com/articles/news_and_politics/interrogation/2016/11/how_democrats_lost_touch_with_the_white_working_class.html" target="_blank">white working class.</a> But if the Trump voter deserves empathy, she does not deserve lionization. It's easy for me to fall quickly into scorn. I think of a college teammate, who once told me on a run he would never vote Democrat because “they only help niggers who don’t want to work.” But for all his valorization of white labor, I never once saw him studying in the library. I also think of the guys in high school, who told me every semester they were going to join the track team, but ended up not having the grades because they skipped trigonometry to huff chemicals in the boy’s bathroom. I recall conversations on runs with Republican <a href="http://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2015/01/the-tragedy-of-the-american-military/383516/" target="_blank">chickenhawks</a>, who put yellow ribbons on their cars in support of the troops, but bristled at the idea of raising more taxes to pay for their body armor. <br />
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Finally I recall Matt, one of my first training partners from high school. Matt talked a big game about his running goals, how he was going to get super fit the next season. But whenever I would call to ask him about joining for a training run or some interval work, he would opt out, citing a party, or tendonitis, or some girl. A few years ago I was home for the holidays, running around town on a long run. Matt happened to drive by in his car. He noticed me and called out hello. I waved in response. The car drove past, then Matt strangely slammed on his brakes and pulled the car over in front me. To my surprise, he stormed out, screaming, “What the fuck was that man? What the fuck? Are you wanting to get messed up today?” It was, yet again, a moment where a white southerner had me utterly flummoxed. “Oh, I thought you gave me the middle finger,” Matt eventually confessed, after I explained I had no idea what he was talking about. I hadn’t seen the guy in years, but a perceived slight led him to nearly take my head off.<br />
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This is the honor culture that has infected America through Appalachian migration, motorsports, and Benghazi memes. My brother, who went to Clemson and now lives in Salisbury, North Carolina, (which went for Trump by <a href="http://www.politico.com/2016-election/results/map/president/north-carolina/" target="_blank">37 points</a>) knows the culture better than I do. He once told me, “People call southerners, ‘rednecks’. But they should know that the rednecks aren’t just in the South. They are everywhere... And they are really pissed off.” He was right. A couple years ago, I was up in rural New Hampshire for the US mountain running championships. After the race I jogged through a tough looking neighborhood in the hosting ski town. I came up on a group of kids, all of them no older than nine or ten. They sat on bikes and eyed me with suspicion as I ran past. “Go on back to Boston, you fairy,” they called out after me. I figured explaining that I actually live near San Francisco wouldn’t help matters, so I ignored them. <br />
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This was my experience running through Trump’s America. Even in my hometown, where I spent fifteen years of my life, if I leave the house in running shorts I become a foreign import. My jogging body is another example of the cosmic forces besieging local lives: NAFTA, hipsters, Mexicans, headscarves, Obamacare, liberal professors. Coastal elites discovered this year how deep the resentment runs. Run through rural America and you’ll quickly find a zero-sum worldview, one in which leftist-populist ideas of social democracy, tolerance, and fair trade hold little appeal. These will be tough sells. <br />
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More worrying is the evisceration of the values that, until last November, defined America. For me, running is hopeful audacity made manifest. Competitive running is a sport in which the fastest person wins. It doesn’t matter if you are black or brown or purple, if you worship Christ or God or snakes, if you are gay or straight or celibate, if you like burritos or meatloaf. Being the best, the fastest, the smartest, that is what truly matters in running. Everything else is just background. But after this year, being the best doesn’t matter as much. Anyone can be president. Anyone. Being a decent person matters less, holding onto moral decency matters less. Being the fastest, being the smartest, being the strongest, these things are <i>less important</i> after 2016. Cruelty, bigotry, blind zeal, and double-think are the order of the day. We are now in the wilderness. Thankfully, I have spent a great deal of time there already.<br />
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<i>Thanks for reading. You can find a portfolio of my published writing <a href="https://www.robinsonsamuel.com/" target="_blank">here</a>. </i><br />
<i>I'm on Twitter as <a href="https://twitter.com/SamSonOfRobin" target="_blank">@SamSonOfRobin</a>.</i><br />
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Sam Robinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515534179065532478noreply@blogger.com42tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5195561759231097843.post-70348908639787954172016-04-10T21:03:00.000-07:002017-12-14T12:42:02.542-08:00My Sub-Elite Life with an Elite Girlfriend<h3 class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
LA Marathon, 2015. </h3>
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This is the first in a series of entries on my life as a sub-elite runner with an elite girlfriend. My partner is a talented, respected distance runner on the elite marathon and ultra-marathon scene. I am not. Here are some stories of life chasing after her coattails. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Starting corral. Photo: <a href="http://jasoninhollywood.blogspot.com/2015/03/surviving-sweltering-30th-la-marathon.html" target="_blank">Jason in Hollywood</a></td></tr>
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Caitlin and I arrived at LAX the afternoon before the race. We sit in traffic for ninety minutes, crawling through the Friday commute. Our driver, sent by the race organizers, is friendly. Caitlin is part of the elite field for LA, which provides certain amenities for its invited athletes. If I did not date Caitlin, I would currently be in a cab, paying a nickel a minute for this awful drive through Inglewood. Instead, the driver offers me a bottle of water: “I have Powerade too, if you need some electrolytes.” Let me be very clear, I have exploited my elite girlfriend. I have milked the perks. I have cooled down with Meb Keflezighi and Deena Kastor. I have filched coffee from hospitality suites. I have played the voyeur at the Olympic Trials. I have sat behind Kara Goucher and Dathan Ritzenhein at pre-race meetings, silently freaking my shit out. I am an imposter—a phony, hiding behind a skinny mien and over-sized quadriceps. <br />
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As I mentioned, Caitlin is part of the elite field for the race, which is serving as the marathon championships for the USATF. I am not part of the elite field. But I have been training like a madman, hoping to crack 2:25 for the first time. I am fit. I am ready. I have 1,500 recently minted miles in my legs, aerobic currency I hope to cash in this weekend. My sinews are steel springs. I am ready to scald dogs and race Satan himself through Brentwood. But first I need to find my bib race number.<br />
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Caitlin’s race number is in the race hotel in downtown, where we are staying. The hotel is dated; it was once a grand building that hosted the celebrities of the last century. Now the molding is cracking around the edges and in the corners; eggshell paint is lifting off the walls; chandeliers twinkle bluntly in memory of the excesses of a bygone age. We find Caitlin’s bib easily enough at the hospitality suite, which takes up an entire floor of the hotel. But this is distance running, so the floor feels empty and weirdly like a music video set from the 1990s. I help her fill up her water bottles that will be arranged conveniently on the course. Several semi-famous professional runners are also in the suite, filling up their bottles. I will not have pre-filled water bottles. I will drink from those waxy cups offered on course. This is fine. I have come to accept these little inequalities. Running is one of the last meritocratic institutions in American society, and my previous marathon efforts do not measure up for a national championship. So it goes. <br />
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But, I do need to find my bib race number. I am told non-elite bibs are at the Staples Center, nearly two miles from the hotel. “You’ll have to wrestle with the masses and all the other normals,” a race official says cheerfully. I laugh and thank the man, secretly praying he passes a kidney stone tonight. A heat wave has settled over Los Angeles and it is over ninety degrees outside. I spring for a cab. Arriving at the Staples Center, I try to figure out a way to cut through the race expo. I do not want to try on shoes, or eat free samples of Cliffbars. I do not want to take selfies in front of the marathon “selfie-wall.” I want my bib, which I find without too much duress.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The marathon expo, sponsored by an infomercial blender company.</td></tr>
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I struggle to get a cab for the return trip since I’m competing with hundreds of others at the expo. I walk a few blocks away from the Staples Center and manage to snag a taxi in the thinning crowd. I get back. Caitlin and I eat dinner, and we go to bed early for the race morning.<br />
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The morning of the race, as we snap on our various polyester garments, we look over our travel plans. As an elite athlete, Caitlin will be shuttled from the hotel over to the start line with the other invited runners. The printed marathon program for the masses, myself included, mentions buses that will pick up runners from a few spots around downtown. Our friend Linn shared a room with us last night. She is also racing and, like me, she does not warrant an elite shuttle ride to the start at Dodger’s Stadium. She and I walk the several blocks to the bus pickup. <br />
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Dozens of LA Metro buses have been commandeered to ferry runners up to the stadium. Linn and I line up at the stop, behind other runners waiting. It is 5:30am, but ungodly warm. The night has done little to cool off the air. We are loaded up onto a bus. The driver shouts, “We need to fill to capacity! Every seat! Up until standing room only!” Linn and I enter the bus as the seats fill up. Some sort of high school training group take all the seats. (What insane PE teacher has suggested high school kids run a marathon?), Linn and I are forced to stand. The bus is literally 4000 feet away from the starting line, but the driver makes the mistake of getting on the freeway. We sit in traffic. Linn and I make idle chatter in the hot stagnant bus air, but it’s hard to hear because the school kids are loud and excited. <br />
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After fifteen minutes, I decide I should try to get off my feet and sit down in the bus’s exit stairwell. I immediately regret the decision. I have sat in something wet and greasy. I shift positions and try to wipe the damp off my butt. Oh, gross. I hazard a sniff. Thankfully it is probably just a mix of soda and dirt, but I pick up slight scents of urine. Someone peed on this bus once. <br />
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My phone starts buzzing in my jacket pocket. Caitlin is calling. <br />
“Hi,” I say, over the screams of the high school students.<br />
“Woah,” Caitlin responds to the din. “Where are you?”<br />
“I’m still on the metro bus with Linn. Where are you?”<br />
“Oh, ok,” she says. “I’m in the Ketel One Lounge.” Christ. Here I am, sitting on the floor of a public bus, surrounded by giddy fifteen-year-olds, my hands covered in God-knows-what, and my girlfriend is in a stadium VIP room sponsored by a vodka company. <br />
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Well. So it goes.<br />
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Caitlin wants to know if I am interested in warming up with her; but at this point the bus lurches into movement, sparking off another round of chattering by the high school group. I lose cell signal. We finally roll into the stadium parking lot. We unload off the bus. I never connect with Caitlin before the start, and I lose Linn after we queue up for separate bathrooms. I take in my surroundings.<br />
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LA is a hellish place in the best of times. But this morning seems particularly apocalyptic. There is an acid taste in the air. Santa Ana winds are supplementing the LA basin’s usual quota of monoxide by blowing a dry dust across southern California. It is 80 degrees at 7am. Herds of people are being corralled via fencing and blow horn instructions into various holding areas. It is like a disaster film, but with a lot more Lycra. “So, this is how the world ends,” I think as I take off on my warm-up.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The air tasted like Bladerunner.</td></tr>
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The race has hired an event management squad for the specific purpose of preventing people from peeing in the bushes around the stadium. One threatens to take my race number if I hazard a piss in a collection of shrubs. Lacking time to wait again in the port-a-jon line, I pee in a bottle and then empty it into a potted plant near the starting line. My hands are now most certainly covered in urine. I hope, with no small amount of envy, that Caitlin enjoys the Ketel One Lounge and its flushing toilets. I see her as the female elites are ushered to the starting line. The elite women are sent off fifteen minutes before the rest of us. It’s one of those staggered affairs like in Boston. Eventually, I find myself in the third row back from the start line. I am already thirsty and wondering at which mile the first aid station is located. The gun goes off.<br />
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I run terribly. Most people do, given the temperature and toxic air quality. I run conservatively, realizing early on that 2:25 is most certainly not in the cards today. But by the sixteen-mile mark, despite a pace that felt pedestrian two weeks ago, the wheels are most certainly falling off. I suffer through. Otherwise I have no idea how else I’ll get back to our hotel. <br />
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What a tough day. But as I approach the finish line, I am struck by the sudden thought that I should try to pass a set of runners a dozen yards ahead of me. I doubt I am anywhere near the money payout; but won’t I feel like an ass-hat if it turns out I missed out on a bit of cash because I was lazy in the last 250 meters? So, I lean into the last little stretch and out-kick the group. Victory! Yet, as I cross the line, I look over at my opponents. I realize the group contained <a href="http://blog.ryanandsarahall.com/my-debut-marathon/" target="_blank">Sarah Hall, who is suffering quite badly from heat stroke. </a>She has collapsed on the asphalt, legs seizing in cramps. Damn it. Now I feel like the ass-hat that kicked down a nice lady suffering from heat exhaustion.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What. A. Bastard.</td></tr>
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I hang out in the finish corral as other finishers arrive in ones and twos. I passed Caitlin (who had started earlier with the elite women) in Beverly Hills, and she arrives at the finish in short order. She has suffered in the heat as well. It is a bad day for both of us. After a quick recap of our morning-thus-far, we are again separated. Caitlin is loaded onto the elite charter bus. I hear someone offering beer and lattes in the elite/VIP mix zone around the bus. I am left in the finish corral, pondering how to get myself back to downtown LA from Santa Monica. <br />
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There are rumors of a shuttle bus that will ferry finishers back to the start. But none of the volunteers seem to know where those buses meet. I wander around, asking anyone who seems to be affiliated with the race. Does the shuttle even exist? Money-less, succumbing to despair, and wondering whether Uber drivers accept payment in sexual favors, I happen upon a policeman. “Oh yeah,” he says, scratching his beard. “I think I saw a whole bunch of school buses lined up behind the mall.” Victory. <br />
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Off I go, dehydrated, quads shot from running on desiccated muscles. I cut through the mall, cutting quite the figure as I limp through Nordstrom’s in my sweat-soaked singlet and racing shorts. I take off my race number, content with being just a weirdo, as opposed to the particular kind of weirdo who shops for menswear immediately after a marathon. “Have you seen any school buses?” I ask a vendor selling Dippin' Dots near the mall’s exit. He doesn’t know about any shuttles, but gives me a free sample.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Dippin' Dots! Because who needs food when you can eat a high school chemistry experiment?"</td></tr>
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Eventually, I find my way to the Santa Monica City Hall, where there is a line of school buses, nearly a mile from the finish line (or four department stores depending on how you reckon the distance). “At last! I’m saved!” I drag my dehydrated body onto the school bus; the driver graciously unwinds the door with a smile. I drop myself onto the beautifully fake leather of the plastic seats—the first moment off my feet since the grimy Metrobus stairwell. Again, I take solace in another small victory. Then we sit. And sit. And sit. <br />
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You see, I am well ahead of the bell-curve of the race’s participants, and this bus is not going to move until it is filled to capacity. After twenty minutes, a second runner finally enters the bus. Holy pancakes. I am going to die. <br />
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I am incredibly hungry. I eat the half of a banana I picked up in the finish corral. I have already eaten the free wooden spoonful of Dip-n-Dots. Some time later, we reach a critical mass of bodies that the driver deems suitable for departure. Someone, also suffering from dehydration, throws up in the back of the bus. <br />
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I am thirsty. I am tired. I am sad. I will, for some reason, irrationally do something like this again. The bus cranks loudly into life. We lurch forward, up onto the 10. So we beat on against the traffic, our butts against the pleather seats, borne back ceaselessly into the past. <br />
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<i style="background-color: white; font-family: Lora, serif; font-size: 16px;">Thanks for reading. You can find a portfolio of my published writing <a href="https://www.robinsonsamuel.com/" style="background: transparent; color: #bf8b38; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">here</a>. </i><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Lora, serif; font-size: 16px;" /><i style="background-color: white; font-family: Lora, serif; font-size: 16px;">I'm on Twitter as <a href="https://twitter.com/SamSonOfRobin" style="background: transparent; color: #bf8b38; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">@SamSonOfRobin</a>.</i></div>
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Sam Robinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515534179065532478noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5195561759231097843.post-18996671386083408082016-03-26T10:47:00.001-07:002020-07-15T14:42:57.072-07:00Heritage in Light of Atrocity<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvgIn0aPL-PBcbmD5yAYPuwRKeiKiUjuzTCQDKVic4SA7Og2tIqsiPySVDm6C5-EKOOmqqYyG3PY6bkNX7PGyUqGdyGYf1Pd2x_6Qw4r5qCRKjyIzxQIcxoKYtcPqHbJt5u_lz_XV8WxgB/s1600/Houghton_STC_24518_-_Underhill%252C_Newes_from_America%252C_Palizado.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="169" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvgIn0aPL-PBcbmD5yAYPuwRKeiKiUjuzTCQDKVic4SA7Og2tIqsiPySVDm6C5-EKOOmqqYyG3PY6bkNX7PGyUqGdyGYf1Pd2x_6Qw4r5qCRKjyIzxQIcxoKYtcPqHbJt5u_lz_XV8WxgB/s320/Houghton_STC_24518_-_Underhill%252C_Newes_from_America%252C_Palizado.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John Underhill, "The figure of the Indian's fort or Palizado", from <i>Nevves from America; or, A new and experimentall discoverie of New England</i>, London: 1638.</td></tr>
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My grandfather once told me that my personal heritage did not make me better than anyone else; but that it was mine to use and draw strength from. Part of this usage requires unveiling and staring deeply into the grotesque moments that are part of my own past. I thought of this as I recently came across a passage from William Bradford, part of the separatist Scrooby congregation in England that was led by my forebear, John Robinson in the early seventeenth century. Bradford would go on to become governor of the Plymouth “Pilgrims” Colony in Massachusetts.<br />
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During the Pequot War, the first of several genocidal conflicts in seventeenth-century New England, the English colonies fought the Pequots, a tribe of indigenous people in a vicious series of battles during the 1630s. Bradford, a thoughtful and com<span style="font-family: inherit;">munity-oriented man, was involved in the fighting. He rejoiced while watching the destruction of a Pequot village in 1637:<b><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></b></span><br />
<i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">It was a fearful sight to see them thus frying in the fire [of their burned village] and the streams of blood quenching the same, and horrible was the stink and scent thereof; but the victory seemed a sweet sacrifice and [the English] gave praise thereof to God, who had wrought so wonderfully for them and give them so speedy a victory over so proud and insulting an enemy. </span></span></i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">– Bradford, <i>Of Plymouth Plantation</i>, Boston, 1898 edition, 425-426.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />It's easy to condemn Bradford. Even with</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> the smell of burning human flesh in his nostrils, Bradford believed the scent a tribute to God.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> And while his were the motivations of another time—a period when divine providence gave justification to violence—<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">ha</span>d I been f</span>orced to inhabit</span> the anxieties of the moment, I would have felt similar to Bradford. Indeed, my family woul</span>d settle in the eastern spaces of Connecticut, territory cleared out by the immolation of the Pequot tribe. Part of my heritage is the holocaust of native peoples. <br />
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This history is unpleasant to think about, but it is important for manifold reasons. No one—not Bradford, nor me, nor you—wakes up in the morning considering themselves to be evil. Such binaries are not helpful. They duck our own complicity. And we cannot understand the horror of the world until we realize our deep involvement and implication in it. We can't begin to rebuild society until we realize the roots of visceral rage and our own complex webs of complicity in the innumerable injustices of humanity. <br />
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Just a thought, written as the forces of violence and moral absolutes continue their steady march to oblivion, feeding upon the fears of otherwise good people.Sam Robinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515534179065532478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5195561759231097843.post-11020270154639130352016-03-18T19:58:00.001-07:002016-03-18T19:58:23.010-07:00Five Things I Wish I'd Known When I Started RunningSixteen years ago I started running competitively. Here are five things I know about running now that I wish I had known then.<br />
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1. Cadence</h3>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pamela Jelimo, London, 2008. Photograph: Joe Klamar/AFP/Getty Images
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Check out the lower half of every professional runner (and cyclist for that matter) <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1BZvfkk7-5Y" target="_blank">during a race</a>. They have a high cadence of steps-per-minute. As late as college, I took lumbering, heel-striking steps. I think it had something to do with high school coaches encouraging a "longer stride." But an overly long, extended stride does you few favors in terms of efficiency and will lead to knee, hip, and glute injuries. Some people swear by minimalism, others believe in forefoot striking. I believe in cadence. Running ~180 steps-per-minute has saved my post-collegiate running career. <a href="http://www.evolutionrunning.com/" target="_blank">Evolution Running </a>is a nice, non-gimmicky place to learn about cadence and running form.<br />
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2. Shoes</h3>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Runners Roost, Denver, CO</td></tr>
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There are only two points of contact in distance running. So it is worth investing in your feet. I wore footwear that was hard on my legs and hips for nearly eight years. These shoes were of good quality, but they were overly stiff for my neutral arch and mid-foot strike pattern. They were designed for feet different than mine. By the end of my collegiate career I had so many muscle-strains and so much scar tissue around my hips, I had to lay on my bed to put my pants on. Awkward. It turns out I had been training in overly supportive shoes. Everyone should go to a <a href="http://transportsrunswim.com/" target="_blank">local running store</a> and get fitted. One piece of expert advice is worth a thousand opinions. <br />
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3. Be Patient, Think Big</h3>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Calm down there, kid. Photograph: Mark Robinson.</td></tr>
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This is the hardest thing for beginners, from 14-year-olds starting cross-country, to 44-year-olds flush in the excitement of their first 10K. You should not think of improvement in terms of days, or weeks, or months, or perhaps even years. Running (like most things) requires a time horizon that goes well beyond the limits of a calendar year. If you want the most from your self, you need to think beyond individual workouts or four-week cycles of training. If you are preparing for your first 50k this summer, you don’t necessarily need to run a winter 50-mile as the next logical step. Be patient. Play the long game.<br />
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I wish I had been less eager at the end of high school and the beginning of college. I logged big miles: 90-110 in singles every week. I thought I needed to be working my hardest every single day. I ran through illness, including a summer of 100 mile-weeks with mononucleolus. I ran through tendinitis, muscle strains, and rolled ankles. I nearly died one summer evening during a post-dinner track workout, which led to exercise-induced anaphylaxis. A couple years later, I collapsed after a workout with heat stroke one awful Carolina afternoon. My senior year, I ended up in the emergency room with gastritis after taking ibuprofen before an intense track session.<br />
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I wish I could go back and tell 19-year-old Sam to chill out. Now, every morning, I struggle with a bit of weariness that feels premature. At the age of 31, my legs feel better than when I was 21. But mentally, some days I feel like I'm 60. There are only so many matches, make sure you burn them when they count. <br />
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4. Balance Rigor with Fun</h3>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWXJNxn_is71OuBMElIS-mCkXbPYOdPJUG5wHgflIafe-8CdeOcfbc4ioReqRlFxeYlUjn6h8wgWrXLy4TCir00tlqFHGKbNDEb2KqeFG2lWYTp4XyyBaWJFZLxcC3borpq14sS9cRcVAs/s1600/BATC.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWXJNxn_is71OuBMElIS-mCkXbPYOdPJUG5wHgflIafe-8CdeOcfbc4ioReqRlFxeYlUjn6h8wgWrXLy4TCir00tlqFHGKbNDEb2KqeFG2lWYTp4XyyBaWJFZLxcC3borpq14sS9cRcVAs/s320/BATC.png" width="255" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bay Area Track Club morning miles. Photograph: Magda Lewy-Boulet.</td></tr>
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After eight years of seasonally focusing on track, summer base mileage, and fall cross-country meets, I've learned to not take myself too seriously. I have a tendency to bounce between disciplines: road half-marathons and marathons, punchy 25k trail runs, mountain races, and the occasional return to short cross-country courses. The sport is supposed to be fun, and being overly rigorous in one’s approach to what is (for most of us) a hobby can lead to burnout. <br />
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But… <br />
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5. Be Committed</h3>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">David Torrence, 2015 USA 5K Road Champion. Photograph: kevmofoto.</td></tr>
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There is also something to be said for specialization, devoting yourself to a single craft and honing your abilities and technique for years and years to achieve excellence. When I think of developing a technical skill-set, what the ancient Greeks called <i>tékne</i>, I think of <a href="https://twitter.com/David_Torrence" target="_blank">David Torrence</a>, a professional runner for Hoka One One with collegiate roots in the East Bay.<br />
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One damp Berkeley morning, I arrived at Cal’s track at 6:30 in the morning for a long tempo-paced effort. It was going to be a long slog of a workout. But as I parked my car, I saw that Torrence had already jogged his warm up. When I finished my own warm-up, he was doing activation exercises. As I ran my first segment of six miles up-tempo, Torrence began an intensive set of drills that lasted well over half an hour. As I went into a recovery session, Torrence finally began his “real” workout varying between 600s and 1K intervals. During my second block of up-tempo, Torrence spiked up and began speed work of 150-200 meter strides. We cooled down together. Afterwards, I headed up to the rec locker-room to take a shower. Torrence headed to the weight room for another 90 minutes of weights and stretching. All told, I think he spent nearly six hours working out. Oh, and then he did a shakeout run that evening. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Torrence and the loneliness of the distance runner. Photograph: Paul Chinn, The Chronicle.</td></tr>
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Torrence is a professional runner with support from sponsors. But his is a grueling life—one of disciplining muscle fiber for the singular goal of moving David Torrence as fast as possible around an oval track. I might enjoy scenic vistas on my runs, but I will never beat Torrence in a footrace. Just something to keep in mind. Sometimes the pursuit of excellence should supersede the frivolity of inspiration.<br />
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<span class="st">"Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large, <i>I contain multitudes</i>."</span></div>
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<span class="st">- Walt Whitman, "Song of Myself" </span> </div>
Sam Robinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515534179065532478noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5195561759231097843.post-67600123611914415132016-01-22T15:55:00.002-08:002016-04-18T08:16:58.411-07:00My Favorite Fiction from 2015 Is it too late to do a year-in-review three weeks into 2016? Eh, whatever. Sorry, I had some thoughts about summer reading that I wrote over the fall and I wanted to share. Here is the memorable fiction (and one work of non-fiction) that I read over the past year. Arranged thematically. <br />
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<u>I. Dystopia</u><br />
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Margarate Atwood, <i>Oryx and Crake</i> <br />
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These first three books fit under the realm of dystopian speculative fiction. George Orwell's <i>1984</i> was the first book of "real literature" I ever read, so dystopian books have a special place in my icy, post-apocalyptic-loving heart. Atwood's novel (she recently finished the story-arc's trilogy) about the end of the modern world creates an interesting setting in which our collapsing neo-liberal world reaches its endpoint of economic inequality and environmental collapse. Basically tech and bio-tech companies rule the world from isolated compounds (think the Googleplex with gated housing) as urban centers continue to erode. It reminds me of <span class="st">Edan Lepucki's first novel, <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18774020-california" target="_blank"><i>California</i></a>, which has a similar West Coast libertarian endgame. Ultimately, Atwood's story never really grabbed me and I found the protagonists a bit too self-pitying. It was a far cry from the strength shown in the internal monologues of <i>The Handmaid's Tale</i>.</span><br />
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<span class="st">Cormac McCarthy, <i>The Road</i></span><br />
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<span class="st"><i><br /></i></span>
<span class="st"><i></i></span><br />
<span class="st">Cormac McCarthy’s <i>The Road</i> kept reminding me of a striking moment, featuring Heath Ledger as the Joker in Christopher Nolan’s film, <i>The Dark Knight</i>. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_3RWGwzzYT0" target="_blank">Ledger’s rendition of the Joker</a> in <i>Dark Knight</i> was so very disturbing because his performance made the Joker into more than a character: he transformed Batman’s traditional opponent into an almost natural force, a malignancy endemic to humanity. The Joker was not just a villain, he was the Hobbesian tendency of man—the social entropy of self-interest and the desperate violence of survival. “You’ll see,” the Joker says smugly to Batman, “when the chips are down, these civilized people... they will eat each other.”<br /><br />And in <i>The Road</i> they do. Cannibalism is the horrifying endgame of social breakdown in McCarthy’s novel. It is the fulfillment of an Ayn-Randian logic, where any sort of social cohesion has collapsed and individuals (or bands of human-eating individuals) move across the dying landscape of the world. As the last bits of life slowly hemorrhage from the earth, a father and son, themselves physically deteriorating, move through the void. Both son and father have no illusions. They know the world is over. Humanity, with all its values, is winking out. There is no redemption in the story, only the particularity of hope amidst the inevitability of the collapsing cosmic. </span><br />
<br />
<span class="st"><i></i></span><br />
<span class="st">Michel Houellebecq, <i>Submission</i></span><br />
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<span class="st"><br />This is such a strange book, but one that has motivated some interesting conversations. Houellebecq imagines a plausible scenario in which a moderate Islamist government is elected into office. Is the book xenophobic? Or actually about some sort of deep apathy of the soul that confronts we hapless post-moderns? My sense is both. There is also some fantastic sexual imagery in the book, noted with a sort of glee in <a href="http://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2015/11/the-tyranny-of-desire/407839/" target="_blank">this Atlantic article</a>. <i><br /></i></span><br />
<br />
<u><span class="st"><br /></span></u>
<u><span class="st"> II. Hopeful Reads</span></u><br />
<span class="st"><br /></span>
<span class="st">Marilynne, Robinson, <i>Gilead</i></span><br />
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<span class="st"><br /><br />Oh my. This is a slow burn of a read. The book is a meditation of sorts–a dying father’s thoughts and recollections of his faith. This book takes effort, especially, if like me, you tend to read fiction right before you go to bed. At times, I felt as if I was doing more primary source research on western spirituality. Perhaps worth borrowing a copy–especially if you’re interested in religion, theology, or curious about ideas of transcendence in the modern world.</span><br />
<span class="st"><br /></span>
<span class="st"><br /></span>
<span class="st">Catie Diabato, <i>The Ghost Network</i></span><br />
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<span class="st"> </span><span class="st"><br />A neat, compelling, weird little book. Disabato, a new author, was recommended to me by my brilliant friend, <a href="https://twitter.com/_harperbole" target="_blank">Katie Harper</a>. This is worth checking out if you are into celebrity pop-culture, and/or if you majored in philosophy or critical theory. Yeah, it is an interesting combination. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/review/R3PDLGARHXGOWC/ref=cm_cr_dp_title?ie=UTF8&ASIN=1612194346&channel=detail-glance&nodeID=283155&store=books" target="_blank">Check out more thoughts in my Amazon review. </a>Worth buying a copy. (Support a young author.)</span><br />
<span class="st"><br /></span>
<br />
<span class="st">Michael Chabon, <i>Telegraph Avenue</i></span><br />
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<span class="st"><br />I enjoyed reading about this book about the East Bay and, given <a href="http://www.wcaitlinsmith.com/#!doula/ckiy" target="_blank">Caitlin’s side job as a doula</a>, gaining some perspective on the cottage industry of midwifery. While I did not find the story that compelling, I did enjoy Chabon’s meandering tour of Oakland and Berkeley. Actually it made me a bit resentful I didn't do my Ph.D. here in the 1990s. My sense is that the Bay Area sucks a bit more with every decade. But maybe that sense of resentment is what defines NorCal culture across all periods. </span><br />
<span class="st"></span><br />
<br />
<span class="st">Philip Pullman, <i>The Subtle Knife</i></span><br />
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<span class="st"><br />Since I have been incorporating John Milton’s views on materiality and the cosmos into my dissertation, I’ve really enjoyed reading Pullman’s Dark Materials trilogy. Indeed, “Dark Materials” is the working title for a chapter draft I’m reworking. The fictional series is Pullman’s riff on Milton’s <i>Paradise Lost</i>. It is worth checking out if you have any interest in English literature, culture, or fantasy. So... Harry Potter fans?</span><br />
<span class="st"></span><br />
<span class="st"><br /></span>
<span class="st"><u>III. The Bad</u></span><br />
<span class="st"><br /></span>
<span class="st">Christopher McDougall, <i>Natural Born Heroes</i></span><br />
<span class="st"><br /></span>
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<span class="st">Ok this is not fiction, but I had some thoughts on the book. McDougall, hoping for an interesting follow-up to <i>Born to Run</i>, flops pretty miserably here. The postscriptural matter nails down the issue: McDougall actually had two projects floating around</span><span class="st"><span class="st">—</span>one on the physiology of "natural movement,"(paleo-diet!) and the other on Cretan resistance to the German Occupation. He tries to combine the two into a single narrative through an exploration of the physiological and physical realities of Greek mythology. He fails. And it is oh so </span><span class="st"><span class="st">Discovery-Channel, reality-TV-terrible.</span></span><br />
<span class="st"><span class="st"> </span> </span><br />
<span class="st">McDougall has the best of intentions. He is part of the same constellation of naturalist anxieties that have arisen in reaction to modernity’s real human costs (obesity, climate change, the meaninglessness of our lives), and he wants to provide solutions to deeply embedded social views of the human body, cultural approaches that are obviously failing. Such an effort is commendable. But what mars McDougall’s view of the body is his erroneous methodology. He is, as the title of his book implies, searching for an occult knowledge. These are “secret” or “hidden” techniques that if we would only find them in the hidden corners of human history or society we will find them undamaged by the expansive, insidious march of the Modern. "The Secret" will unlock incredible health, amazing physiological performance, athletic prowess, thin bodies, better careers, etc. ad absurdum. This is the same question posed in <i>Born to Run</i>. What is the Secret? The secret to ultramarathons? (run barefoot) To incredible, seemingly random, acts of heroism? (parkour) To kidnapping a Nazi general and ferreting him across the harsh scab-land of a Mediterranean island? (read Greek mythology) Not once in his frantic narrative does McDougall ever stop and consider</span><span class="st"><span class="st">—</span>as anyone who actually tries to run a marathon quickly realizes–that there are no secrets—at least, not legal ones. At best, this is intellectual laziness; at worst, hucksterism. </span><br />
<span class="st"><br /></span>Sam Robinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515534179065532478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5195561759231097843.post-21608474281188673652015-12-14T16:40:00.000-08:002015-12-15T09:39:03.020-08:00Quick Thoughts: What is Lance on? He's on the trails.<style>
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<span style="font-size: x-small; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“What am I on? I’m on my bike, busting
my ass six hours a day. What are you on?”</span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Lance ran a 35k race this weekend at
the Woodside Ramble, organized by <a href="http://insidetrail.com/" target="_blank">Inside Trail Racing. </a>Here are a few quick thoughts
provoked by Lance’s run and the ensuing internet chatter (see <a href="https://www.blogger.com/%3Cdiv%20id=%22fb-root%22%3E%3C/div%3E%3Cscript%3E(function(d,%20s,%20id)%20%7B%20%20var%20js,%20fjs%20=%20d.getElementsByTagName(s)%5B0%5D;%20%20if%20(d.getElementById(id))%20return;%20%20js%20=%20d.createElement(s);%20js.id%20=%20id;%20%20js.src%20=%20%22//connect.facebook.net/en_US/sdk.js#xfbml=1&version=v2.3%22;%20%20fjs.parentNode.insertBefore(js,%20fjs);}(document,%20%27script%27,%20%27facebook-jssdk%27));%3C/script%3E%3Cdiv%20class=%22fb-post%22%20data-href=%22https://www.facebook.com/InsideTrail/posts/868772936553886%22%20data-width=%22500%22%3E%3Cdiv%20class=%22fb-xfbml-parse-ignore%22%3E%3Cblockquote%20cite=%22https://www.facebook.com/InsideTrail/posts/868772936553886%22%3E%3Cp%3EHello%20running%20community,We%20would%20like%20to%20briefly%20address%20the%20current%20controversy%20regarding%20our%20decision%20to%20allow%20Lance...%3C/p%3EPosted%20by%20%3Ca%20href=%22https://www.facebook.com/InsideTrail/%22%3EInside%20Trail%3C/a%3E%20on%C2%A0%3Ca%20href=%22https://www.facebook.com/InsideTrail/posts/868772936553886%22%3EMonday,%20December%2014,%202015%3C/a%3E%3C/blockquote%3E%3C/div%3E%3C/div%3E" target="_blank">here</a>, <a href="https://www.facebook.com/ethan.veneklasen?fref=nf&pnref=story" target="_blank">here</a>, and <a href="http://trails2brews.com/2015/12/14/who-exactly-is-welcome/" target="_blank">here</a>). As you can see below I started thinking about doping and then started hunting bigger game: why is our sport so broken? <span style="font-size: x-small;">Full disclosure: I am on Inside Trail Racing’s 2016 team of racing
ambassadors. I received an informal
invitation to run the race but declined. </span></span></div>
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<b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">1) “It can’t happen here.” </span></b></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">If I had
been in the position of the Inside Trail organizers, I would <u>not</u> have let Lance
run in my race. I understand their perspective: “He’s another entrant, there
was no money on the line, etc.” So I am not terribly offended by ITR’s decision
to let Lance run. But I am troubled by it. There is,
currently, no way to stop doping from happening in trail running. For all you
know,<b> I myself</b> have cheated to every single one of my victories at a trail races over
the last 6 years (it is a lot). I have never been tested, I have never been questioned about doping since my days in the NCAA.
This includes 6 top-ten placements at USATF trail championships, one as recent as this October. I am <b>certain</b>
there are people in the world, probably folks enjoying the semi-celebrity of trail running
success, who are currently cheating. Systematic testing, itself no real panacea to a larger cultural problem, appears currently unfeasible in trail races because of the cost. My
worry is that if we create an atmosphere that is tolerant or lenient toward dopers,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> it will become easier to rationalize cheating. The absence of prize money as a justification seems nebulous to me. I understand that ITR is not UTMB or Western, but we should try to create clear lines of acceptable behavior within an admittedly blurry ethical context. People will certainly cheat for more than just money; <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2012/10/15/sports/runner-christian-hesch-describes-doping-with-epo.html?_r=0" target="_blank">reference Christian Hesch.</a> This being the case, I generally agree with <a href="http://www.irunfar.com/2015/12/doping-and-the-effect-on-ultra-and-trail-running-what-to-do-about-cheaters.html?fb_action_ids=10208725871683934&fb_action_types=og.likes&fb_ref=.Vm7wA1EQAXc.like" target="_blank">Ian Sharman's thoughts</a> on iRunFar, which I came across while I was proofing this. <u>In Lance's case, I could certainly be wrong in my thinking. </u></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><u>I think this is an open debate.</u> I certainly look forward to chatting with ITR race organizers over beer about this. What are your thoughts?</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2G7j1pPmaT-m8KjRHX5jIwYigfdfAc21nZ7oWren4suVYnCljV9A5dBq4f4gUUSWSQZTKMqUfeBOeZwCBl4Avo9QmZAwMAxh2sfY5ba0h44feWdaCQksEwpTywV1VA7JVfYlTGihboWYr/s1600/Hesch-Christian.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="135" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2G7j1pPmaT-m8KjRHX5jIwYigfdfAc21nZ7oWren4suVYnCljV9A5dBq4f4gUUSWSQZTKMqUfeBOeZwCBl4Avo9QmZAwMAxh2sfY5ba0h44feWdaCQksEwpTywV1VA7JVfYlTGihboWYr/s320/Hesch-Christian.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Christian Hesch, a cautionary tale</span></td></tr>
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<b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">2) Lance highlights the <u>real</u> tension
within trail running as a “sport.” </span></b></div>
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Competitive running is mostly moribund as a sport, having devolved into a mass-market pay-for-entry affair. In the world of running,
a race entry can cost into the hundreds of dollars, causing the subjective experience
of a running event to be more important than the race itself. For ITR, one bad Yelp review is infinitely worse than the race for the win lacking any sort of drama. I understand (and accept) the
fiscal incentives behind this: my money to run 6 minute pace in the hills is no
better than the money of someone who runs 12 minute pace in the hills.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> So, why the hell shouldn't Lance be able to pay to do a supported run in the tony hills of Woodside? </span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">However, we are trying to have our cake and eat it too: trail running is both a mass participation "festival" event <i>and </i>an actual sporting event. Both events usually (and weirdly) share the same starting line and lead to difficult questions that an organization like the PAUSATF would never even consider. If we think that it is ok to let in a man who
cheated his way to victory seven times at the greatest endurance race on the
planet because his money is the same as anyone else’s, well okay, I guess. But
then the legitimacy of trail running as a sport is certainly up for continued debate. </span></div>
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<b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">3) The issues of competitive running’s
devolution into pay-per-run festival is especially true in trail running.</span></b></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Trail running came into its own in the
last 6-7 years within an increasingly privatized race environment. There are few
organic races in trail running (Dipsea, Western) and those are now nigh
impossible to get into in any given year. (But, if you are in the East Bay check out the <a href="https://eastbaytriplecrown.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Triple Crown challenge</a> next summer.)</span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">3a) Additionally, there are few
non-market incentives toward developing “trail running” talent. There is no
natural feeder from the NCAA—though the <a href="http://www.irunfar.com/tag/us-mountain-running-championships" target="_blank">iRunFar coverage and Nike sponsorship of the US MTN champs </a>was a great step in the right direction. I think that the current trail running "competitive turn" has less to do with a <i>pull towards</i> the sport, as it is a <i>push away</i> from road marathoning with the raising of the Olympic
marathon trials standards. <a href="http://www.usatf.org/News/Amendment-of-B-standards-for-U-S--Olympic-Team-Tri.aspx" target="_blank">Up until last week,</a> the time requirements excluded all but the truly rarefied
running talent. </span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">3b) Worse still, there is little
likelihood of doping anxieties being mitigated by a movement toward organizational governance, given
American skepticism toward <i>any</i> governing body at the moment. There is surely a
correlation between the skepticism toward organizing sport bodies like USATF and the
cynicism toward government more generally in the wake of Washington’s takeover
by militant Republican ideologues.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Additionally, generalized </span>skepticism toward organizational reform—still the best solution to doping in endurance running—is likely exacerbated by trail running’s
gravitational and institutional proximity to the plutocratic libertarianism of Silicon
Valley.</span></div>
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<b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">4) The sport of running should be about
people… people racing.</span></b></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><a href="http://trails2brews.com/2015/12/14/who-exactly-is-welcome/" target="_blank">Eric Eagon suggests, “our sport is about relationships. It’s about people.”</a> True, but me hanging out with some bros playing Halo over beer is not sport. I’m all
for community, and <a href="http://us10.campaign-archive1.com/home/?u=7568311043578ea6c901d111d&id=23376f4243" target="_blank">work each week to encourage folks in the East Bay </a>to attend local runs, but I would also love to turn on my TV every Sunday and watch a cross
country race instead of the NFL. Community is a necessary part of
sport, but it is <b>not</b> sport in and of itself. So we should work to build communities that also facilitate the creation of excellence.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHqb_lOkhJpwHRdQFMqGIYWhKgmSVUIUmXt4-6ihPy2dc1bAS5uSizX2DecSBmknSXjkh_ievgS8WZiUiH_0RY1toIX2RQb0QiyH6wooHjq8tL6AoihRf5JCtKWHMdw-jtm_mDOXUBWtwA/s1600/Dipsea.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHqb_lOkhJpwHRdQFMqGIYWhKgmSVUIUmXt4-6ihPy2dc1bAS5uSizX2DecSBmknSXjkh_ievgS8WZiUiH_0RY1toIX2RQb0QiyH6wooHjq8tL6AoihRf5JCtKWHMdw-jtm_mDOXUBWtwA/s320/Dipsea.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The beautiful carnage of Dipsea</span></td></tr>
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<b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">5) We need to rebuild the spectacle of
running.</span></b></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Running is dead. Can you name who
finished 2<sup>nd</sup> at this year's Women’s NCAA Cross Championships? No? Me
neither; <a href="http://www.letsrun.com/news/2015/11/molly-seidel-breaks-footlocker-course-new-mexico-makes-history-2015-ncaa-cross-country-championships/" target="_blank">I had to check Letsrun to refresh my memory</a> and I watched the damn
race live. Last Saturday I stood with hundreds of people watching Club Cross Country
Nationals in Golden Gate Park. It was awesome. But nearly all of us had friends
in the race, and I would guess the number of disinterested spectators to be in
the dozens, if not fewer. </span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Moving forward we need to rebuild the sport back into something that draws non-runner eyeballs. </span>But how to do so? </span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">5a) <u>Some idealistic off-the-cuff ideas:</u> i. We need to work with sponsors and race groups like ITR and Brazen
Racing in their efforts to develop organic races. ii. There should be at least one or two USATF
MUT running championship near <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">major</b> urban centers like San Francisco, Seattle, Denver, or LA. (I'm selfishly interested in an “up year” mountain championship on
Mt. Diablo, which has featured Tour of California summit finishes.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> iii. </span>There should be team scoring
at major marathons and ultra-marathons. iv. Big races should feature in-race
premiums to create more drama in the race for the casual viewer. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">v. </span>We should stop using drones to kill people in
Syria, and start using them to film trail races. vi. Why the hell is there not an
Ekiden in the US? vii. More races should try to emulate the local idiosyncrasies of
the Dipsea, using local terrain and roads to create non-traditional race
courses. viii. People love beer; <a href="https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=video&cd=1&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0ahUKEwjgsIqxxNzJAhVEx2MKHfdJBBYQtwIIHDAA&url=http%3A%2F%2Fellentube.com%2Fvideos%2F0-4k7em7p0%2F&usg=AFQjCNG9O-pfCClMiFaLgWc2MSsFT5eJ-Q&sig2=G29s2hDZB1VpX3Y8EPXx0Q&bvm=bv.109910813,d.cGc" target="_blank">Lewis Kent was on Ellen. </a>Beer meshes (sort of) well with running, so why fight it? ix. In general we need to create agglomerations out of niche markets (trail, road, ultra, track). Bring more eyeballs and you bring more money. Bring more money and you start to have revenue streams outside of race entries.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">6) Finally, we need to support the
professional journalists who keep the sport honest.</span></b></div>
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History has shown that organizing sport governments,
sponsors, and athletes will bend and break the rules unless free and
disinterested journalists are willing to investigate and hold feet to the fire.
The <a href="https://www.propublica.org/article/former-team-members-accuse-coach-alberto-salazar-of-breaking-drug-rules" target="_blank">BBC/Propublica expose </a>on the Salazar group and the steady journalistic
pressure that led to the IAAF ban on Russia are topical examples. As
journalists’ income continues to switch toward a contract labor model (<a href="http://nypost.com/2015/12/07/running-times-to-quit-competing-next-year/" target="_blank">goodbye, Running Times</a>; hello, Medium), we can at least signal our continual interest
in the sport by supporting local running journalists. Need a place to start?
Sign up for <a href="http://mariofraioli.com/" target="_blank">Mario Fraioli’s Morning Shakeou</a>t for good (and quick) takes on the world
of running.</div>
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<b>7) Lance provides an opportunity for a conversation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></b></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How do we police cheating? Is it a cultural problem? An organizational issue? Funding issue? Do we even care? W<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">e should stay civil, even in disagreement, even on the Internet. </span>If Lance would like to run the MUT stuff, I
would love to ask him (or hear him be asked) hard questions about doping at
a forum at SFRC or Sports Basement or Transports or on UltraRunnerPodcast. </div>
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Anyway. Just some quick thoughts. Lance reveals big
problems that require sustained and laborious effort… but I also need
to finish my dissertation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cheers and see you on the trails.</div>
Sam Robinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515534179065532478noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5195561759231097843.post-12701793426764199672015-08-07T13:31:00.000-07:002015-08-07T13:31:12.028-07:00Hitler Loses His CRs on Strava<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I am about five years late in making a <i>Downfall </i>(<i>Der Untergang</i>) parody video. Hah, I definitely missed the moment for this meme, but I was inspired to make one during a lunch break this week. I had a lot of fun subtitling this and hope you enjoy, especially if you like Strava and running in the California Bay Area, as I do. The real movie is fantastic and worth watching.</div>
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<iframe width="320" height="266" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/03Z-WQpHFhw/0.jpg" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/03Z-WQpHFhw?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">My apologies for a couple typos in the subtitles. Mea culpa.</span></div>
Sam Robinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515534179065532478noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5195561759231097843.post-17794046978072460202015-01-20T11:53:00.002-08:002017-07-04T15:37:29.861-07:00Does running hurt your knees?<div style="text-align: center;">
When people ask me whether running will hurt my knees, I usually think of this: </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKxTZlLDaVt7waR67-tsm4QtbzgY5c5Q-ESIDg4GRRLuIy61NsftFp46uMo0j0tBkNplfmx7TARPAXncXIZNW0O2AXJZj8ABORkKAO1z7aWwjHpW3vljfUUtcB3ehGka3F-bq7k_sAT6n5/s1600/football+knee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKxTZlLDaVt7waR67-tsm4QtbzgY5c5Q-ESIDg4GRRLuIy61NsftFp46uMo0j0tBkNplfmx7TARPAXncXIZNW0O2AXJZj8ABORkKAO1z7aWwjHpW3vljfUUtcB3ehGka3F-bq7k_sAT6n5/s1600/football+knee.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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or this... </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuDLV01uPrGZF_PvvTwSHe2IbAXc0WTDWnAC36a455VnpB1hDbLIqEGSM325VCB42ELBsasZs8w6V2PDvVzwu8OVihTHrTVUh7YltTjHkNfOT2DrxuWdDSetjEWmT2hauYNnQm9tq8d7WQ/s1600/crossfitlift.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuDLV01uPrGZF_PvvTwSHe2IbAXc0WTDWnAC36a455VnpB1hDbLIqEGSM325VCB42ELBsasZs8w6V2PDvVzwu8OVihTHrTVUh7YltTjHkNfOT2DrxuWdDSetjEWmT2hauYNnQm9tq8d7WQ/s1600/crossfitlift.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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or this... </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifZlA5JxPQ1fL2dkjtuKYql8hD4o4CNE8q63WWOafXV80UYprltOzXCX2hJTV8jUo1CuOP_yk1zSTTY0Dg21hPXaBA9CxATs5TIcFXqqnXpP4FF5dQZ3IO_LS1pzT8FDuQrRP0w8arMkNX/s1600/hard-travelling-bike-crash-during-portland-oregon-twilight-criterium119655_119655.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifZlA5JxPQ1fL2dkjtuKYql8hD4o4CNE8q63WWOafXV80UYprltOzXCX2hJTV8jUo1CuOP_yk1zSTTY0Dg21hPXaBA9CxATs5TIcFXqqnXpP4FF5dQZ3IO_LS1pzT8FDuQrRP0w8arMkNX/s1600/hard-travelling-bike-crash-during-portland-oregon-twilight-criterium119655_119655.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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or I think of this...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifZIfX8xcSpf_jiJ1iXXELTdDRHR4KmAiE27EzZYwzrwmFQioSMy00QjEz4BlzlX7jv570Bk2i99QrqXsbscW84MnGLxjJq23hwHmBdj5KV8UR1lfOWYyHZSNrucii7qvmTgIngl_PUHl1/s1600/Nacra+17+-+Crash+&+Burn+06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifZIfX8xcSpf_jiJ1iXXELTdDRHR4KmAiE27EzZYwzrwmFQioSMy00QjEz4BlzlX7jv570Bk2i99QrqXsbscW84MnGLxjJq23hwHmBdj5KV8UR1lfOWYyHZSNrucii7qvmTgIngl_PUHl1/s1600/Nacra+17+-+Crash+&+Burn+06.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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or this... </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtmTiCgqCd4bagk24qaEuFYgv4lbvFy4NVTGp-bkZdvo-4qoLmMo5zBUPI9ZaGtOxTRkpQDMkPROz1BN-TWGxL6_ozqJl2Ge7xAYA4hpLFg8SeBNWbX8tImgH7gt0vW0WC3lIk-Z3msXLf/s1600/slidetackle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtmTiCgqCd4bagk24qaEuFYgv4lbvFy4NVTGp-bkZdvo-4qoLmMo5zBUPI9ZaGtOxTRkpQDMkPROz1BN-TWGxL6_ozqJl2Ge7xAYA4hpLFg8SeBNWbX8tImgH7gt0vW0WC3lIk-Z3msXLf/s1600/slidetackle.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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or this... </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimino8p0T9AAxnA_h1uBibECfq9UWI6shFunNeAAVDLsIsvhJ7HmaggPGWY2XlBUvmIdsrrfAA0I7MOqitBhpoJRKd-7AwsUZCtr-f7d5s5sQ19lM4DZpNT7fGNS7uB_3hwLtl9nX7WUi9/s1600/Spartan-race-workout-routine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimino8p0T9AAxnA_h1uBibECfq9UWI6shFunNeAAVDLsIsvhJ7HmaggPGWY2XlBUvmIdsrrfAA0I7MOqitBhpoJRKd-7AwsUZCtr-f7d5s5sQ19lM4DZpNT7fGNS7uB_3hwLtl9nX7WUi9/s1600/Spartan-race-workout-routine.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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or I perhaps think of...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimpP21x_ONQDPxAvXXxv-EEjpI5PpyOxlYXXRaUaxr4aRvG6mz5th2HEm3_Q3EVWcy0k3lO37YnUhVmCgRncpXYbezn0Y2nT71KNAQy5VmJSIkTgzvk5918UshqgROADwDiO9HJ0-lBFLf/s1600/Hang-Gliding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimpP21x_ONQDPxAvXXxv-EEjpI5PpyOxlYXXRaUaxr4aRvG6mz5th2HEm3_Q3EVWcy0k3lO37YnUhVmCgRncpXYbezn0Y2nT71KNAQy5VmJSIkTgzvk5918UshqgROADwDiO9HJ0-lBFLf/s1600/Hang-Gliding.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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or...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsQBtUGlH3dbubaLnUlQYI4paCCpmb_gymE4lbWjP6iYuKyBHdoCZCjdJJb5ccCWeQAl882b6eNOGtG6A2tfg_kpte_ehYFMLOmwzIVCOg9P12jMvsMEsg0pJoqXn8vXqKjsHMPlf1xX8C/s1600/gymnas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsQBtUGlH3dbubaLnUlQYI4paCCpmb_gymE4lbWjP6iYuKyBHdoCZCjdJJb5ccCWeQAl882b6eNOGtG6A2tfg_kpte_ehYFMLOmwzIVCOg9P12jMvsMEsg0pJoqXn8vXqKjsHMPlf1xX8C/s1600/gymnas.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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or even... </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8LM2Ni0wQe_g1FPiXYGvEbSuHs7aTuzQXLRio2RvzXa_hijqMye7rSzZlnL-P0bQI4KNle5S2EaHC3iek1CW_vPCavIhIlVm9oUnblUhMHOJo5BBKGtcgrgIWQ9Mpv13gdENWvoYn6JLc/s1600/slouch-desk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8LM2Ni0wQe_g1FPiXYGvEbSuHs7aTuzQXLRio2RvzXa_hijqMye7rSzZlnL-P0bQI4KNle5S2EaHC3iek1CW_vPCavIhIlVm9oUnblUhMHOJo5BBKGtcgrgIWQ9Mpv13gdENWvoYn6JLc/s1600/slouch-desk.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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or...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3LFj6gd7SwgJgpTng5Ew2_F1ZEmBxHHJGavzTHqKIjq9_29NarXUuqSEHW8Pt70-F7EsFQTEmJUFEHijq6GfTQuUIsWjtL5bcrE3otraqjERSIsDpiscrKWPZb7txQ3mj6sPK3RcQdgFV/s1600/skateboard-fail_fb_638536.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3LFj6gd7SwgJgpTng5Ew2_F1ZEmBxHHJGavzTHqKIjq9_29NarXUuqSEHW8Pt70-F7EsFQTEmJUFEHijq6GfTQuUIsWjtL5bcrE3otraqjERSIsDpiscrKWPZb7txQ3mj6sPK3RcQdgFV/s1600/skateboard-fail_fb_638536.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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or maybe... </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB5EOj9-QZhU6_fjrho3PeNHgOZCPAXhRpMLw0mnWDwCyyY-VDC13hlyfG38EqLotenY2UFJtYRGrYRjC3SFFRjs7i34xgzDdXw6CqHH5o9IUbaL7IrvM6BjJdNG0hoc74SEUhSpXtwCfU/s1600/baseball.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB5EOj9-QZhU6_fjrho3PeNHgOZCPAXhRpMLw0mnWDwCyyY-VDC13hlyfG38EqLotenY2UFJtYRGrYRjC3SFFRjs7i34xgzDdXw6CqHH5o9IUbaL7IrvM6BjJdNG0hoc74SEUhSpXtwCfU/s1600/baseball.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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or this... </div>
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or this...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCsm5Tm6N8AkbbgRmN7ZeHNr10gRNWhgkqN8PLRMLs4tQWn6kmGIt0YMYrKQP2itFHWUmE66kk2E-eflzItJx6J5ylAuid0n174ByJGTYEB8Hbd-O6H5VDeogsinAmeu8wj4QJ3vJBucvQ/s1600/Bike_Crash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCsm5Tm6N8AkbbgRmN7ZeHNr10gRNWhgkqN8PLRMLs4tQWn6kmGIt0YMYrKQP2itFHWUmE66kk2E-eflzItJx6J5ylAuid0n174ByJGTYEB8Hbd-O6H5VDeogsinAmeu8wj4QJ3vJBucvQ/s1600/Bike_Crash.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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or even this...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN7zjs-dyV2m9h1A8yUNs_99xD0UNiSQoU4c1NsZG0yZjmi3atEJ1wBgqtNhIgpR2GH8p737neAS9IbndkoS5MGl9xHvG-LeieX0lJTSC5HX2UW3MfIamFChuwFVNCAaPbffg8wmB_UOBg/s1600/crash_formula_one_racing_indycar_3988x3000_wallpaper_Wallpaper_3988x3000_www.wall321.com.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN7zjs-dyV2m9h1A8yUNs_99xD0UNiSQoU4c1NsZG0yZjmi3atEJ1wBgqtNhIgpR2GH8p737neAS9IbndkoS5MGl9xHvG-LeieX0lJTSC5HX2UW3MfIamFChuwFVNCAaPbffg8wmB_UOBg/s1600/crash_formula_one_racing_indycar_3988x3000_wallpaper_Wallpaper_3988x3000_www.wall321.com.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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No. I don't think that running will hurt my knees. </div>
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Sam Robinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515534179065532478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5195561759231097843.post-65205065373388758822015-01-12T08:40:00.000-08:002016-12-15T09:54:06.308-08:00Strava and the Death of Solitude<br />
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Social media is endemic to our society. The endless need to cultivate an
image has become embedded in our everyday routines as we exist in constant interaction, a network of
connectivity that enmeshes our lives. With the rise of the 'Internet of
Things' this network is penetrating ever deeper expanding ever wider into our activities. This includes running. The rise of GPS devices was a
game changer for outdoor activities. Given the metricized nature of running, a
sport that exists through the quantification of time, distance, and space, the allure of GPS was
inevitable. </div>
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Strava has been the most successful attempt at integrating social networking with GPS data. There were early attempts. Nike
had/has its Plus system. The Apple app store is filled with competitors. Every device
manufacturer has its own in-house network. But, Strava's system is pretty exemplary.
You can upload your activities, look at other people’s training runs, give and
receive encouragement, and most importantly, compare your efforts to those of
others.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaBxq_eLaNdxfqQcD-6wzQPqC4AfGRzI4kjYLSzru-MC6YdJ3R0jYYhU9jvZt5PnnPu70JI-phTmH5y_9IBgBF_4vcVThO18I6gkrEWLE9MlqPque4BL3NvSrjy6R_pzZgCG6VCzAOvyrS/s1600/Strava.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaBxq_eLaNdxfqQcD-6wzQPqC4AfGRzI4kjYLSzru-MC6YdJ3R0jYYhU9jvZt5PnnPu70JI-phTmH5y_9IBgBF_4vcVThO18I6gkrEWLE9MlqPque4BL3NvSrjy6R_pzZgCG6VCzAOvyrS/s1600/Strava.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Originally popular with cyclists, those wheeled custodians of disposable
income, it has become increasingly popular with runners, particularly
on the west coast. The website and mobile app have the sleek gloss of venture capital. The site is well managed with very few bugs. The <a href="http://www.atrailrunnersblog.com/2014/03/strava-scores-with-latest-mobile-upgrade.html" target="_blank">site is visually appealing</a> and <a href="http://www.strava.com/pros/karagoucher" target="_blank">populated with professional athletes</a>. Their marketing department is talented: users who raced the 2013 Boston Marathon were sent a neat care package before the race. As social networks
become more ubiquitous and ever larger, Strava is part of the growing 'niche'
networks, sites designed for specific communities of shared interests. </div>
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A few years back, <a href="https://twitter.com/wderesiewicz" target="_blank">William Deresiewicz</a>, essayist and former
professor of English at Yale, <a href="http://chronicle.com/article/The-End-of-Solitude/3708" target="_blank">argued in the </a><i><a href="http://chronicle.com/article/The-End-of-Solitude/3708" target="_blank">Chronicle for Higher Education</a> </i>that the culture of
connectivity was ending solitude. Technology is eroding our privacy
and concentration, but it is also removing our ability to be alone. Through
texts, tweets, updates, photos, kudos, yaks, pins, yelps, vines, and
check-ins, we are enmeshed in social life. The bustle for digital society
crowds out the subjective silence. The space in which we read, meditate, and think
about ourselves is shrinking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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This has changed us. As Deresiewicz points out, the
contemporary self now aims toward a peculiar blend of connectivity and celebrity:
‘It wants to be recognized, wants to be connected: It wants to be visible. This
is the quality that validates us, this is how we become real to ourselves – by
being seen by others.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So we are not just distracted. This digital creep is existential. For example, though I still over-share, I now try to maintain a more curated
approach to what I say on the internet. But this curating worries
me. As I’ve begun to think about what it is appropriate for me to say, post, or
visualize on the Internet, I’ve begun to view the
‘real’ world through a reversed lens. Rather than judging social media by
physical interaction, I’m starting to think about the physical world through categories
of meaning crafted by digital spaces.<br />
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What we are losing, Deresiewiscz argues, is a sense of solitude. In an earlier
world, people thought that you could not hear God when others were chattering
at you. The banal twitter of everyday life obscured the voices that might be
otherwise heard. So, monks and mystics retreated from the world into their
cells. Secular society also valued solitude. Nineteenth-century Romantic philosophers and artists
moved to cabins and slums to put some creative distance between themselves and
society.</div>
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The American running boom of the 1970s and 1980s had this Romantic
desire for solitude in its very DNA. While football and basketball stars were
becoming millionaires, Prefontaine lived in a trailer in Oregon. Frank Shorter
would log hundred-mile weeks in a definitively less-gentrified Boulder,
Colorado. <a href="http://www.ambyburfoot.com/" target="_blank">Amby Burfoot</a> didn't even eat meat when he was logging 120-140 mile weeks in New England. Indeed, the fictional ideal of the distance runner, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Once-Runner-John-Parker-Jr/dp/1416597891" target="_blank">Quentin Cassidy</a>, famously
retreats to a rustic cabin in the Florida Panhandle. There he lives as a hermit
and runs mythical workouts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Would Pre be on Twitter? </span></div>
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The modern sport thus evolved as a solitary affair. There
are few people who want to wake before 7am to log miles in the rain. Even fewer
who are willing to pound out intervals or hill repeats before or after work. Alan Sillitoe famously called this ‘the loneliness of the long distance
runner.’ In his <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Loneliness-Long-Distance-Runner-Vintage-International/dp/0307389642/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1420842667&sr=1-1&keywords=loneliness+of+the+long+distance+runner" target="_blank">short story</a> about emotional escape from the social blight of midlands England, Sillitoe encapsulated running as a transgressive activity. He was right. There is an anti-social element of
running. We skip happy hours, social dinners, and work related-schmoozing for
the run. During a race there is a lactic void that nothing can fill. Of course running can and should be social and fun, but it is one of the few sports that rewards solitary training.<br />
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<a href="http://www.ultramarathonman.com/" target="_blank">Until recently</a>, running never aspired to celebrity. Its drama pales in comparison to soccer, football, and basketball. Generally
the best guy wins and an informed crowd usually knows the handful of
competitors with a shot of victory. This can be entertaining, but usually lacks
the exciting contingency of other sports. In short, there are no miracles in running. So the
sport draws an odd crowd of athletic outsiders: those who are either willing to
work very hard for little compensation or those seeking some deeper aspect of
the self.</div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">After Colorado's upset victory at XC nationals in 2013, head coach Mark Wetmore stayed out off the podium and out of the limelight. Watching from the parking lot, he was <a href="http://www.letsrun.com/news/2013/12/wtw-progress-1212/" target="_blank">"standing by himself with a bemused expression."</a> Wetmore is a dying breed.</span></span></div>
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Yet Strava, with other social media, has killed this
loneliness. When you are running with Strava, you are running with digital
rivals, anyone who has trod the ground before you. These runs, immortalized as
GPX maps, haunt trails and roads like ghosts striding between that nebulous
divide of physical and digital reality.</div>
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Strava <a href="http://www.outsideonline.com/fitness/biking/How-Strava-Is-Changing-the-Way-We-Ride.html" target="_blank">naturally and blatantly</a> incentives competition. <a href="http://velonews.competitor.com/2012/06/news/family-sues-strava-over-descending-death_224889" target="_blank">Much has been written</a> about the problems of chasing after CRs and KOMs. Indeed, it is
very difficult to fight off the urge to accelerate and gain the coveted crown
for “Uphill Vomit Run” or “Grab Your Balls and Go” or “Counter-clockwise 0.21
mile loop around parking garage.” But critiquing Strava for its digital
competitions is unfair. If folks want to chase Strava
CRs, good on them. They certainly should. However such incentives are part of a
deeper problem in which Strava influences running more generally. With Strava
we can no longer run by ourselves. Solitude is impossible.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidwDhrNOnbkWEZDW6SSjUkS168zu-WNX-H1WoMsbsfowP9xfGnhaGZXLOixjAQGD-DTYh_di8lebLmhPyTkYOQl-uDx05-AImQ-EXXtOSi9IPhP8L8KGz2CsZCb5J8ldjtLuJaSBRM0aME/s1600/Strava.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidwDhrNOnbkWEZDW6SSjUkS168zu-WNX-H1WoMsbsfowP9xfGnhaGZXLOixjAQGD-DTYh_di8lebLmhPyTkYOQl-uDx05-AImQ-EXXtOSi9IPhP8L8KGz2CsZCb5J8ldjtLuJaSBRM0aME/s1600/Strava.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Prove it.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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Let me elaborate. I live in a hilly part of Oakland. The
slopes are steep, the trails are windy, and the footing is uneven. I usually
average a minute slower on a run from home than when I run in the flattish areas
closer to the San Francisco Bay. This should not bother me, yet it does
immensely. Sometimes I dread looking through my Strava feed: Woah, Alex just
ran 6:12 pace for an easy twelve miles. My average was 8:23. Yikes, Tim and
David just demolished some hilly tempo efforts at 5:20 pace. I limped up the
firetrail at 7:35 pace. When I run now, I run with digital partners, an immanent comparison of effort
and fitness, that follows me for every step of my run. </div>
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<br /></div>
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It gets worse. Even when I run alone, <a href="http://www.trailrunnermag.com/training/training-plans/1580-the-oversharing-trap" target="_blank">I am running for an audience</a>. With Strava I not only have to ‘prove it,’ I have to think about how
this run will be perceived. What was I thinking about when I was running? Will
that make a fun title for this run? Will folks chuckle or grimace if I entitle my
interval workout something snarky? If I upload this race will I get more
followers? Do I really want more followers? I worry about pace, distance, vertical
gain, and that damnable four-week mileage comparison between users. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With Strava, we run for others. “Wow, what a sunset.” <a href="http://www.runselfierepeat.com/" target="_blank">Post it on Instagram</a>. “Goodness, my legs feel great this morning.” Tackle that
hill and gain a crown. “Christ, what a tough week of mileage.” Take solace from
your weariness with an improved MTS standing. There is constant affirmation. Kudos
make you smile as they chirp in on your phone. Encouraging comments push you on
through the midweek slump.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj-I1lW-0ChIBpch26Wzbq2Fod1CyugKlVdtoL44r35kmLEKF0ff26KgTnD0X8hvGffUpcppZR8rK1TA86cG34LXhMfG1pPRaO-lUY2mtYsEN85IOIEFwrRWXQh25T2gjTPbqdsr_FfMXc/s1600/o-BULL-RUN-SELFIE-570.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj-I1lW-0ChIBpch26Wzbq2Fod1CyugKlVdtoL44r35kmLEKF0ff26KgTnD0X8hvGffUpcppZR8rK1TA86cG34LXhMfG1pPRaO-lUY2mtYsEN85IOIEFwrRWXQh25T2gjTPbqdsr_FfMXc/s1600/o-BULL-RUN-SELFIE-570.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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These last bits are what makes Strava <u>awesome</u>. The greatest
benefit of social media is that it creates digital spaces for distant peoples of
similar interests and values. When someone from across the country leaves a
comment on my activities, it is literally energizing. Strava enables people to
meet and learn from other runners across the world. This is incredible, valuable, and fun. </div>
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<br /></div>
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But we are losing a propensity for introspection, that deep
mournful wonder about our selves in this world. Solitude gives one perspective with which to approach a changing world. As Deresiewiscz writes, solitude was a social mechanism of self-correction, ‘a way of burning
out the underbrush of moral habit and spiritual custom.’ For me, running
provides a distance with which I can better see the world around me in all its
messy irregularity. It is only when I go run in the hills and the forests that
the problems of the city present themselves. This distance is being collapsed
into the same digital immanence that is consuming the rest of our lives.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I might conclude with some sort exhortation for folks to
‘unplug.’ I might suggest you leave your GPS watch at home to try to rekindle some
sense of the loneliness of the long distance runner. But, that strikes me as
naïve and a bit tawdry. Asking people to avoid useful social tools is an attempt to put the toothpaste back in the tube. Life will become increasing
digitized. More devices will clamor for our attention. Western life will
continue to devolve into a buzzing, chiming,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and blinking cacophony. But if you’ve read this far, and not swiped away
with your smartphone, I might suggest we at least be aware of solitude’s
decline. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our children may never have the desire to be alone. So perhaps we
should endeavor to cultivate that sentiment while it still exists. Solitude
isn’t easy, and it isn’t for everyone. But neither is running. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy7SviLyttUZMRQsKsgqrlCq2ZRwo3hKB112r9snyiyQzSPPHvno2Ns_R4BxWcLEx71hjZRq3eFf8umvGL3cRQ_xIYRHicU4XUZ4Tjqf8xeTdECralSddHTDcH57YSUdMXgLy3X34GMhu_/s1600/2014LoonMtnRace-863-XL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy7SviLyttUZMRQsKsgqrlCq2ZRwo3hKB112r9snyiyQzSPPHvno2Ns_R4BxWcLEx71hjZRq3eFf8umvGL3cRQ_xIYRHicU4XUZ4Tjqf8xeTdECralSddHTDcH57YSUdMXgLy3X34GMhu_/s1600/2014LoonMtnRace-863-XL.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo credit <a href="http://www.joeviger.com/" target="_blank">Joe Viger</a>.</span></span></div>
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Sam Robinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515534179065532478noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5195561759231097843.post-50234075028244331592014-12-10T13:59:00.001-08:002016-12-07T08:33:56.758-08:00That time Hawaii tried to kill me: Xterra World Championships 2014<style>
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Last March, Caitlin Smith and I both ran in the Oakland
Running festival. Caitlin ran in a marathon relay with some other fast folks. I
ran the half and besides a nice tempo run, got a tour of industrial decline in the late 20<sup>th</sup> century. We both won our events. I won this plastic
cup. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwKoCNGmBC-k67neHs6BCqp_-8XH9U5USOzqc5ysfkZIE_MenryzQ_M67-Voct5V9qG_g1RWkdAGzs3EHylZA3uW-ahSo84dGoJC3DGFCTNPrjknaXz-UBS8sgk6J2Osbgl-gvZSqavS6M/s1600/Cup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwKoCNGmBC-k67neHs6BCqp_-8XH9U5USOzqc5ysfkZIE_MenryzQ_M67-Voct5V9qG_g1RWkdAGzs3EHylZA3uW-ahSo84dGoJC3DGFCTNPrjknaXz-UBS8sgk6J2Osbgl-gvZSqavS6M/s1600/Cup.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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But Caitlin’s relay was rewarded with airfare points from Hawaiian
Airlines for any trip between Oakland and Honolulu. Suh-weet. After dragging
our heels a bit, Caitlin and I decided to use the tickets for the “Xterra World
Championship Trail Half-Marathon: Presented by Paul Mitchell Shampoo.”</div>
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I’ve run a couple
of the XTerra races. They are generally tough with a fair amount of steep
climbing. Although the NorCal Xterra series closed shop a few years ago, I’ve
kept my eye on the World Championships, watching Max King, Joe Gray, and Pat
Smyth claim some picturesque looking victories there. My lead up to the race
was far from ideal. After taking about ten days of active recovery after the
half marathon in Washington, I started the build-up to some longer efforts this
spring. I finally resolved the persistent hamstring issues that dogged my
summer and fall, but am not in any sort of form. Also, I am ostensibly supposed
to be writing a book about religious spiritualism and materiality in
seventeenth-century England. Even graduate students waking up at the crack of
noon have time constraints on training. </div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4buvrQLyDlLBlhuwRRLkpoR-A4tdAEOz_WhY3a_z6pyNkHAdSy2ZjM69D5jsOL_2RLLszEK_KR-Jk6KA7SOepZY-9w8eL08x64KUh_5Q1_-0G7YetTiZruwDszfhbnZbbK0zw9vLy_7Pa/s1600/IMG_0313.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4buvrQLyDlLBlhuwRRLkpoR-A4tdAEOz_WhY3a_z6pyNkHAdSy2ZjM69D5jsOL_2RLLszEK_KR-Jk6KA7SOepZY-9w8eL08x64KUh_5Q1_-0G7YetTiZruwDszfhbnZbbK0zw9vLy_7Pa/s1600/IMG_0313.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Hawaii sits very
uncomfortably in the nationalist narrative of the United States. Even that
weird quasi-mystical phrase of American jingoism, ‘manifest destiny,’ struggles
to describe why we had any right to claim some volcanic islands in the middle
of the Pacific. I grew up in the South and most of my high school textbooks were
edited by historians that made <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Lincoln_Rockwell" target="_blank">George Lincoln Rockwell</a> look like Jimmy Carter. I
recall watching the editors’ acrobatic
ratiocinations to justify the overthrow of the Hawaiian monarchy. The short
history is that wealthy businessmen <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Overthrow_of_the_Kingdom_of_Hawaii" target="_blank">overthrew an indigenous Hawaiian monarchy</a>. This facilitated American annexation and a more favorable tariff regime for Hawaiian
sugar plantations. Cagey operators those wealthy businessmen.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">The US Navy sent a ship to make sure things were tidy.</span></div>
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So Hawaii is an
odd place, less a state than a for-profit venture. But whatever your politics,
the islands are a neat testament to the fact that human beings are an innately
improvisational group of beings. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After
all, these places only exist because of a small leak in the earth’s
crust. </div>
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We hopped on an
Hawaiian Airlines flight in Oakland. Hawai'ian Air is pretty much like every
other airline except they serve guava juice, force you to watch video of buxom
ladies dancing the hula, and end every service announcement with ‘mahalo.’ </div>
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‘Ladies and
gentlemen, welcome to Hawaiian Airlines Flight 433. Mahalo!’</div>
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‘Ladies and
gentlemen, we shall soon be coming around with a beverage service. Mahalo!’</div>
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‘Also, this is a
cashless flight so please have your credit cards ready. Mahalo.’</div>
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‘Ladies and
gentlemen, the plane is apparently venting fuel. Mahalo.’</div>
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‘Folks, this is the
pilot. We are going to have to make an emergency water landing in the Pacific.
Mahalo. </div>
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‘Don’t panic…
Mahalo.’</div>
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But, we landed without issue. Shaking
out on a trail near a marsh on the eastern side of Oahu I began what became a
dramatic decline in health over the next 24 hours. I had picked up a cold during
Thanksgiving travel and this progressed into a pretty serious sinus infection.
After the run my face hurt. My teeth, jaw, and parts of my skull were
throbbing. Furthermore, some tendonitis flared up in my knee making running a
sniffling, achy mess. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Anyway, I ended up in an urgent
care where I had to get a script of antibiotics. The next day, feeling not that
much better, I tried to get a morning run in but my knee was not
enjoying the pretty Pacific scenery. I stopped after a couple miles, venting
gunk out of my nose like people were paying for it. Walking back to our room I
stepped in dog shit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jeez, Hawaii! Later
that day things actually got worse as the antibiotic besieged bacteria built up
into my jaw and started draining into my mouth. Fantastically gross. Eventually things levelled out. The pain in my face abated and my knee actually felt a bit better. I still consumed so many
tissues that people started <a href="https://www.google.com/finance?q=NYSE:KMB" target="_blank">short selling Kleenex stock</a>.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I was feeling much better that
evening. So much so that I started contemplating actually running the race. Not
to compete, mind you, but just to run. Get a solid effort on different terrain.
Even this seemed a disappointing concession, I had wanted a top three finish! But
I decided to make it fun, enjoy the location, not push through too much
unnecessary pain, and maybe get hopped up on Sudafed during the race. </div>
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<br /></div>
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The Xterra race is on a privately
owned ranch in northeastern Oahu. The Kualoa Ranch's major claim to fame is that a
number of television shows and movies have been filmed there. Jurassic Park,
Battleship, Lost, and Journey 2: featuring former WWE wrestler Dwayne
‘The Rock’ Johnson. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/x1aNIOIAiUk?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">You know you want a dog-sized elephant.</span></div>
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It’s an odd venture, a
grass-fed cattle ranch that features ATV and bus tours of the decaying remnants of movie
sets. </div>
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<br /></div>
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The Xterra races are polished. But in many
ways this reads as corporate veneer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
off-road race series is run by Team Unlimited LLC, a television and event
marketing company. It is similar to Competitor Group in that, to quote the company's language, ‘TEAM’s primary
business revolves around the licensing and merchandising of its XTERRA® brand,
the sale and syndication of its television shows.’ That’s all well and good but,
like Competitor, TEAM has helped carve out the market of ‘running-qua-festival’
that has developed since the 1990s. The events are less races than they are
feel good, moving parades. </div>
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<br /></div>
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So at Kualoa ranch there were big shiny
tents everywhere. Muscle Milk was giving out samples. Energetic DJs spun hits
from Katy Perry. Paul Mitchell was on site cutting hair for charity. But as we
did some pre-race strides David Roche, Caitlin, and myself struggled to figure
out which side of the starting line we needed to line up on. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg5UYB8Ng8AbpAvMiC4V2vNlI_YqEHHvW03b5RQRHZ2yeVuWHbuKjxrvAOEVR3O9kz9juv4vq8Ffs7c18Zc3MY4wo5IujAgvlFwae4QcLQyfN2d47Dgq3le5x1r9KUdSNm3rJiJiJ6a8eW/s1600/IMG_0808.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg5UYB8Ng8AbpAvMiC4V2vNlI_YqEHHvW03b5RQRHZ2yeVuWHbuKjxrvAOEVR3O9kz9juv4vq8Ffs7c18Zc3MY4wo5IujAgvlFwae4QcLQyfN2d47Dgq3le5x1r9KUdSNm3rJiJiJ6a8eW/s1600/IMG_0808.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "cambria";">But you can't beat the view.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: .5in;">
I don’t mean to sound like a sour
sport. Obviously a great deal of energy and effort went into this race. I am
thankful to the organizers for putting on a safe and interesting race. There
were no problems on course and I’m very thankful for the volunteers who took
the time to stand in the sun and give my dehydrated ass some Gatorade™.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, I’m ambivalent about the increasing decline of races into spectacles and for-profit ventures. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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Anyway.</div>
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It was the anniversary of Pearl
Harbor, something I had not realized until the morning of the race. In typical
form, I was sitting in a portable toilet when the MCs asked for a moment of
silence in commemoration of the attack. As I sat, trying to take a moment to be
grateful for the fact that my life is good and peaceful when for many people
war and hardship are a fact of life, I wondered why profundity kept sneaking up
on me in the shitter. </div>
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<br /></div>
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So we started with some fanfare. <a href="https://twitter.com/patrickgsmyth" target="_blank">Pat Smyth</a> devastated the field. Seriously, someone needs to program a drone to
follow Smyth during a trail race. There are many good cross-over runners doing
trail runs. There are only a handful in the world however who have
13:30 speed over the 5K. Also, keep an eye out for Brett Hales, a Weber State
steeplechase All-American, who finished second this weekend. Hales won the
Xterra national championship this year, besting Mario Mendoza, Bret Ferrier,
and Bay area elite Nick Scalfone. I’m not sure of Hale’s PRs, but he does boast
a 1:03 half time from this year… at elevation. Jeez! <a href="http://beautyandchange.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">David Roche</a> ran studly for
third, though mentioned afterwards he felt off his best. Here is Strava data from <a href="http://www.strava.com/activities/227326484" target="_blank">David's run.</a></div>
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<br /></div>
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Upfront in the lady’s race. Kimber
Mattox took the ‘W’. Kimber actually was next to me at the start of the race
and eventually working up from Allie McLaughlin’s and Megan Roche’s <a href="http://www.strava.com/activities/227339878" target="_blank">vicious opening pace.</a>
Actually, I think the ladies might have gone out a bit harder than the men.
<a href="http://wcaitlinsmith.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Caitlin</a> struggled with leg issues in the first couple miles before moving up
through <u>a third of the field</u> into the <a href="http://www.strava.com/activities/227547884" target="_blank">5<sup>th</sup> female overall spot</a>. She
actually finished only a minute or so behind me!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Caitlin’s been dealing with a peculiar
cramping issue that has plagued her races for a couple years now. It has eluded
diagnosis, but we are drawing nearer to the causal problems and I’m optimistic
next year she’ll be able to tweak things to have more solid races like she had
at Bellingham.</div>
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<br /></div>
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My race was not a race. It was
barely a run. Of course, I knew that with an ache in my knee and pain in my
face I’d just be out cruising. But I figured I could at least cruise at 7
minute pace!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Alas, it was not to
be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The course was difficult with the
warm temperatures and humidity, but not absurdly so. The only bit that was wild
was an odd descent down into the start valley which featured the slickest mud
I’ve ever seen. I actually spent most of the climb down on my back, sliding my
way back to the fire roads. It was silly, but made me smile. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijrpqkOdCXicWqYviaVFzVb-dka8V6e05GEQBqg2TvCOhAPyc_tA6SM_EjPd8OTn0qCiEHUPMQE1rwwn8V0fsbYV1O9V2-sICE04KbxiOYNfNU6zSyWkKSIqLb5iL7YT0qaSFrZaI_R-S8/s1600/IMG_0810.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijrpqkOdCXicWqYviaVFzVb-dka8V6e05GEQBqg2TvCOhAPyc_tA6SM_EjPd8OTn0qCiEHUPMQE1rwwn8V0fsbYV1O9V2-sICE04KbxiOYNfNU6zSyWkKSIqLb5iL7YT0qaSFrZaI_R-S8/s1600/IMG_0810.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGZ_DA8vUm5nK643FRpY59nLPve33FSZTUo4SZmuIugC3XjyjRC-cDA1_MeZGjz7JX94NUswcLYTHjJitveyzyPvUhR2TrXKc_bKWbzJrdnfN_vmQg4cGiLTpCDkEJtpzVc2e6TA1_zXG5/s1600/IMG_0809.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGZ_DA8vUm5nK643FRpY59nLPve33FSZTUo4SZmuIugC3XjyjRC-cDA1_MeZGjz7JX94NUswcLYTHjJitveyzyPvUhR2TrXKc_bKWbzJrdnfN_vmQg4cGiLTpCDkEJtpzVc2e6TA1_zXG5/s1600/IMG_0809.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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But it was a mistake to run. And yet another mistake not to stop running after the first loop. The sad bit was that I did not
enjoy the race. I tip-toed the downhills to spare my knee. I hiked up the
uphills because my meager fitness was ravaged with illness and the
slash-and-burn therapy of antibiotics. I was drained and unhappy with myself. So, it is
difficult to create much of a narrative out of my run. Not much happened. I
jogged. I did not really pass anybody. I finished with this happy lady running
the 10K. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3m1sZfLC6dj1pW_-8kr8CT8iJJ9y9LeOQs6tVWSfJoRm3pgAdk6Wq8akvYWsl4G2Ssz976zWhILUjVH8Ibv4yU_QspwuoLCXyTtrU_DR-WdRWmqsLccmAb4cYTYTCwkiEJcDO2VRH1gfe/s1600/Finish1531605_880373537494_163312947731671421_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3m1sZfLC6dj1pW_-8kr8CT8iJJ9y9LeOQs6tVWSfJoRm3pgAdk6Wq8akvYWsl4G2Ssz976zWhILUjVH8Ibv4yU_QspwuoLCXyTtrU_DR-WdRWmqsLccmAb4cYTYTCwkiEJcDO2VRH1gfe/s1600/Finish1531605_880373537494_163312947731671421_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">I certainly felt like a grey smudge.</span> </div>
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But the rest of the trip was
great! We had a beautiful beach near our rental in Kailua. Indeed, we were a quarter mile from the President’s vacation home. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjpqtaMSp0zjcL09cJVRdej5iEaF6xGAo6QHki2QKvCbh_3XTfJkPXBVeZInYIFI5OV3DZivmU3GyYWhCP8ZP2ajKdMlsMtLFfxa2VDUut_fg1WaVX7i980TcPiA6fNuleDWHr7-qI1cEO/s1600/IMG_0804.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjpqtaMSp0zjcL09cJVRdej5iEaF6xGAo6QHki2QKvCbh_3XTfJkPXBVeZInYIFI5OV3DZivmU3GyYWhCP8ZP2ajKdMlsMtLFfxa2VDUut_fg1WaVX7i980TcPiA6fNuleDWHr7-qI1cEO/s1600/IMG_0804.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">POTUS's vacation digs. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9fPrqiVMKyFbW3temH_T9LTJLD9jqIO2CoeeIVnXpmWf5j2l2sEapvF1uuydROEEUjbZ3dyGmOUA5hoVGRhVgnUscbINA2wMCCznS6KgfbeLP9qfMJMFoOvlbKtfxob-yKxVSG2QtNrAE/s1600/IMG_0806.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9fPrqiVMKyFbW3temH_T9LTJLD9jqIO2CoeeIVnXpmWf5j2l2sEapvF1uuydROEEUjbZ3dyGmOUA5hoVGRhVgnUscbINA2wMCCznS6KgfbeLP9qfMJMFoOvlbKtfxob-yKxVSG2QtNrAE/s1600/IMG_0806.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 0.5in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Not a shabby view for the President.</span></div>
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We visited the U.S.S. Arizona
memorial at Pearl Harbor. If you are on Oahu you simply must do this. The huge battleship exploded when a Japanese bomb exploded the ammunition
stores on the ship, killing nearly everyone on board. </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Dramatized rendering of the sinking of the Arizona at 2:00.</span> </div>
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There were hundreds of
tons of fuel on board much of which is impossible to reach. So gas and oil are
continually leaching out of the wreck. So, despite the immobility of the
wreckage, the water around the ship is a continually changing tableau of petrol
fluidity. It is incredibly striking. </div>
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In retrospect, it was an
interesting trip. I will certainly remember it. Now it’s time to recover my
health and start rebuilding for the spring. Fingers crossed for certain
lotteries. Cheers. </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "cambria";">Be calm. Like a North Shore lizard.</span></span></div>
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Sam Robinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515534179065532478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5195561759231097843.post-90143340667414446472014-10-19T14:06:00.001-07:002014-10-19T14:09:14.107-07:00Quick Thoughts: Lake Padden USATF Trail Half-Marathon Championship<style>
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First off, the most important thing that happened yesterday was my brother got engaged!!! Woo hoo!! And Ben proposed atop <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cold_Mountain_%28novel%29" target="_blank">Cold Mountain</a>! </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Congrats Ben and Maxine!!</span></div>
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So, Bellingham! What a well-managed race. The course was beautiful and
infinitely complex with dozens of turns, multiple loops, and dual
directions run on single trails. Yet there was great work from the
volunteers who kept multiple directions of foot
traffic on course and heading in the right way. No easy task! Bellingham is gorgeous and reminds me of that town in the first <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rjptQSfuTy8" target="_blank">Rambo movie</a>. Actually we were not far away from <a href="https://www.google.com/maps/dir/Bellingham,+WA/Hope,+BC,+Canada/@49.1010213,-121.8547368,9z/data=!4m13!4m12!1m5!1m1!1s0x5485962ef2458717:0xd57a9ca9cd39e0f0!2m2!1d-122.4781473!2d48.74908!1m5!1m1!1s0x5483f5ca1983c7d7:0x7797106dac92bc3!2m2!1d-121.441944!2d49.385833" target="_blank">Hope, BC</a> where the movie was filmed. Thanks so much to Al Coyle and Tad Davis for a fantastic experience. </div>
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We started in a pleasant Northwest mist before heading out to damp and leafy trails. The course was a pleasant reprieve from the dusty California trails with their vinegar smell of
fermented dog urine (one of the side effects when it does not rain for two years). I
love dogs. But in a world that is increasingly urban, where more
people are living in ever-closer proximity to one another, we need to have a
<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2014/10/20/pets-allowed?utm_source=tny&utm_campaign=generalsocial&utm_medium=facebook&mbid=social_facebook" target="_blank">serious conversation</a> about <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sg0Yl7fQZmU" target="_blank">pet ownership</a>. </div>
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This now makes two races where I have had the pleasure
of watching <a href="https://twitter.com/PatrickGSmyth" target="_blank">Pat Smyth</a> fly up a trail for about 1.5 miles. One of my goals for the
future is to keep him in sight for more than ten minutes. I’m not holding my breath
on this one. Pat is a really nice guy. Leading wire-to-wire yesterday, he was a league above. But you would never know it from his gracious attitude and comments before and <a href="http://www.bellinghamherald.com/2014/10/18/3920925/hometown-runner-dalzot-captures.html?sp=/99/110/" target="_blank">after</a> the race. A true professional. </div>
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So, I went out in <a href="http://www.strava.com/activities/208991430/overview" target="_blank">5:08</a> for the first mile. You would think
that having done this now for 16 years I would know better. But honestly, this
race felt more like a Euro-style cross country race than a ‘trail’ run. Such
categorical distinctions are arbitrary, but here’s evidence
that I actually finished 9<sup>th</sup> at the<b> ‘USATF Über-Long Course XC Champs’</b>: </div>
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<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>We started in a wet grassy field.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiNfLKYiTycZQNdRYK-Y74VD_C-42dQzNb1sLuS4L0aUA2EytxQhXmJ29zuUbZP982lakPIfgcOPl_w9AmH63DnLi3_Q2MQ6hW9Z68zfnCI320YUTDqSJDWBj2qMLBviAHKW4wzbg8qXDr/s1600/start.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiNfLKYiTycZQNdRYK-Y74VD_C-42dQzNb1sLuS4L0aUA2EytxQhXmJ29zuUbZP982lakPIfgcOPl_w9AmH63DnLi3_Q2MQ6hW9Z68zfnCI320YUTDqSJDWBj2qMLBviAHKW4wzbg8qXDr/s1600/start.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="text-align: center; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>There were American flags everywhere and a
baritone sang the national anthem.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>After the gun went off I caught myself jockeying
for position to catch the first corner. I fell into
an old habit of whipping my head around to see how everyone was settling in
after 75 meters. This is a terrible habit. I’m going to <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qDsZb8T3-8I" target="_blank">crash into a pole</a> some
day. </div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>I got mud in my nose. Mud-nose is no laughing
matter.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">5)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>Everyone was wearing Nikes.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju4rMvS8P-ssXfp4QtGHPeTlVCJLqwF9BG4ccJTm69NfhYvXPriLlucLuBXo9mjgKyjenhRyNkMS1rVwj-Rbjy8ttGK79A9H7_Xe3wV-DnATCcfGCXzTeXyHOBZCBfUAmFxVh8XhFKD6n_/s1600/FootLocker2002BoysPack.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju4rMvS8P-ssXfp4QtGHPeTlVCJLqwF9BG4ccJTm69NfhYvXPriLlucLuBXo9mjgKyjenhRyNkMS1rVwj-Rbjy8ttGK79A9H7_Xe3wV-DnATCcfGCXzTeXyHOBZCBfUAmFxVh8XhFKD6n_/s1600/FootLocker2002BoysPack.jpg" height="203" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">6)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>There was that kid who went out too fast and
dropped out two miles in, looking like someone stole his lunch money.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">7)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>What aid stations?</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">a.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>Actually there was an aid station. But who
stops? <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aqDwqdSF6Ec" target="_blank">This is cross country! </a></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">8)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>I had absolutely no clue I was near the finish
line and… oh, and now I’m done. </div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5dtqaRm1BVMEqR3Q88jXmGyC5W8iYwbJgQ1Pb-5lomE7mqSbRlPAduwfXGJ2WcWucr7gKMDhlGJK0ybeOqWOtxnbxzNKnFsVReD5RjJMvaIDkfDIpSDVgUeloGfhyphenhyphenbUbRXsPC-Z6EbdeH/s1600/Finish+first.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5dtqaRm1BVMEqR3Q88jXmGyC5W8iYwbJgQ1Pb-5lomE7mqSbRlPAduwfXGJ2WcWucr7gKMDhlGJK0ybeOqWOtxnbxzNKnFsVReD5RjJMvaIDkfDIpSDVgUeloGfhyphenhyphenbUbRXsPC-Z6EbdeH/s1600/Finish+first.jpg" height="292" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Seriously, bro? Just finish the race before you stop your watch.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Photo credit <a href="http://richardbolt.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Richard Bolt</a>. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
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<a href="https://twitter.com/wcaitlinsmith" target="_blank">Caitlin Smith</a> is a bad-ass. Despite transitioning toward the faster stuff for this Olympic Trials cycle, she threw down a fantastic off-road effort. And a big congratulations to <a href="https://twitter.com/mariadalzotRD" target="_blank">Maria Dalzot </a>for a <a href="http://www.bellinghamherald.com/2014/10/18/3920925/hometown-runner-dalzot-captures.html?sp=/99/110/" target="_blank">splendid win</a> for the home team. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijzsX_xYIilNgIGvVcSRURJJRC1oFpIU5b7TLBgM7584pX-K4GSGLG0WWLLQrQCHWe7Ocg4ygG5rwx4zPpPkVVmncxvT1-jFeleTo5MJ6pibuIlI4Uqd9_YFNE6OytI2fwxSBMQlRDHRjt/s1600/cait.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijzsX_xYIilNgIGvVcSRURJJRC1oFpIU5b7TLBgM7584pX-K4GSGLG0WWLLQrQCHWe7Ocg4ygG5rwx4zPpPkVVmncxvT1-jFeleTo5MJ6pibuIlI4Uqd9_YFNE6OytI2fwxSBMQlRDHRjt/s1600/cait.jpg" height="292" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;">Even Google Glass can't keep up. </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;">Photo credit <a href="https://plus.google.com/+RichardBolt/posts" target="_blank">Richard Bolt</a>. </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Flying back to Oakland I looked out the
plane window and watched the big peaks drift by: Rainier, Hood, Bachelor,
Shasta. The northwestern pines faded into Oregon scrub and then into California
desert. Dried lakes pocked the land like rashes on ashen skin. Endless lines of
freeway headlights stretched to the horizon in neon veins of highway. It looked as if
they were pumping some alchemical concoction into the sprawl. We looped around
Diablo, killing time on our flight path before we descended back into the
desiccated heart of California. </div>
<br />Sam Robinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515534179065532478noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5195561759231097843.post-66356211873529351022014-09-22T15:48:00.000-07:002014-09-22T16:33:32.520-07:00Flagline: USATF 50K Trail Champs<style>
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“I wonder how many times a year the average American uses a
port-a-john.”</div>
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<br /></div>
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This was the question that entered my head as I sat using
the portable bathroom at the foot of Mt. Bachelor thirty minutes before the US
50K trail championships. For me using a port-a-john is nearly a daily affair.
One of the things people rarely tell you about competitive running is that
one’s life becomes weirdly oriented around a twofold process of consumption and
excretion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Couple this with the fact
that running events often occur in places without plumbing infrastructure and
over the years you will eventually accumulate an incredible number of hours
sitting in plastic cubicles designed for bowel movements. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRAJTQF23oL2nJy6Bxwg7f4Gsdp_Nknsc9C0ZhPX5VDJCVAbxZEgx12SgWrK6GhXkUP0uN2pq_uqXrv2vx9eVzdhQyN5UfrpIainYsGFw56pi3eMeVmCoXpF76VobAN3Waouxy6m3qBuZr/s1600/boston-marathon-2014-photos-27.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRAJTQF23oL2nJy6Bxwg7f4Gsdp_Nknsc9C0ZhPX5VDJCVAbxZEgx12SgWrK6GhXkUP0uN2pq_uqXrv2vx9eVzdhQyN5UfrpIainYsGFw56pi3eMeVmCoXpF76VobAN3Waouxy6m3qBuZr/s1600/boston-marathon-2014-photos-27.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: x-small;">A landscape of portability. Boston, 2014.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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“Surely, this is not a normal experience for most people,” I
thought, contemplating the neon blue color of the john and the curved aesthetic
of the portable toilet’s door. (Why do manufacturers bother putting sculpting
detail into the mold of a plastic port-a-john-door?) <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think most of my non-running friends hardly
ever use a port-a-john. Perhaps for them such an experience is incredibly rare,
gross, and contemptuously blue-collar. Unless you spend a fantastic amount of
time outdoors, jostling around the contents of your intestines, why else would
you voluntarily choose to void yourself into a portable repository?</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifhU-iND3MUccpxz8wRzzF2pki62K05186U5-stoROK5S5Egtxak3urR6n-D5STv5FH0jcej-1tT56-3FF7ktq6KQ8w5T3wuSTUsdXhni40KVuRywJq9TI18qTtZn5dRXnjihvbhLtqZe9/s1600/Forthwith.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifhU-iND3MUccpxz8wRzzF2pki62K05186U5-stoROK5S5Egtxak3urR6n-D5STv5FH0jcej-1tT56-3FF7ktq6KQ8w5T3wuSTUsdXhni40KVuRywJq9TI18qTtZn5dRXnjihvbhLtqZe9/s1600/Forthwith.jpg" height="504" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"> The inevitable pre-race queue. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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Anyway, after I finished musing about portable toilets <a href="http://www.strava.com/activities/198053557" target="_blank">I ran a 50K</a>. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIjd8xIlHroKyvBC69co8uaSmdGt403n10njS-tL22Ax6oLLcQFS1OeZNOwzAtgIiOpcq-UY2RKTgFvosYmZK7RofLSY9H3sWsHdhMkjsSEv1ugFDKBY1KFyVK2kZWyzotAPf32jisPEJ4/s1600/Flagline+50K.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIjd8xIlHroKyvBC69co8uaSmdGt403n10njS-tL22Ax6oLLcQFS1OeZNOwzAtgIiOpcq-UY2RKTgFvosYmZK7RofLSY9H3sWsHdhMkjsSEv1ugFDKBY1KFyVK2kZWyzotAPf32jisPEJ4/s1600/Flagline+50K.jpg" height="346" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo credit Richard Bolt.</span></div>
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I had been eyeing the USATF 50K trail champs since my
lackluster run at Boston this spring. Wanting a change of pace (har har), I
decided to spend the summer and fall running off-road, focusing on <a href="http://www.strava.com/activities/163328417" target="_blank">improving my climbing abilities</a> and <a href="http://www.strava.com/activities/184471208" target="_blank">lengthening my longer runs</a>. I’ve always run well in
Oregon, so I figured the Flagline 50K in Bend would be a nice place to get a good
result.</div>
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<br /></div>
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The race went out fast. Obligatory comment about trail
running ‘paradigm shift’ or ‘new road fast people’ or ‘I hope the culture
doesn’t change,’ etc.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In any event, the
race went out super quick with tangible aggression. This was spearheaded by the
incredible <a href="https://twitter.com/MountainRoche" target="_blank">David Roche</a>, who in his first run over twenty miles led a lead pack
of <a href="https://twitter.com/TimTollefson" target="_blank">Tim Tollefson</a> , <a href="https://twitter.com/RyanBak_BuyBend" target="_blank">Ryan Bak</a>, and Zachary Ornelas at a blazing pace. Tollefson
would go on for an incredible win and CR, leading Bak by mere seconds. You can
see a bit of data from his incredible effort on Strava <a href="http://www.strava.com/activities/197976203" target="_blank">here</a> and David Roche’s debut <a href="http://www.strava.com/activities/197756462" target="_blank">here</a>. <a href="https://davidlaneyblog.wordpress.com/2014/09/22/flagline-50k/" target="_blank">David Laney</a> would move through the front echelons to claim a well
fought third. </div>
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<br /></div>
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For my part, I decided to play the role of the ‘wily veteran’
who would overcome these fast guys with my vicious accelerations over the last
ten miles. At least, this is what I told myself at mile seven, as I sat in eighth
place four minutes off the lead. With so much firepower in front of me, I was
realistic that there was no chance for a win, but perhaps there would be enough
carnage so that I could slip into the top three or four.
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</style><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS 明朝"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Alas, it was not to be. </span>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS 明朝"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I ran a splendid race to mile 25, steadily moving
up into 5<sup>th</sup>. “Aha!” thought the wily veteran. “Now I shall reap
carnage over the bodies of my opponents! I will destroy their expectations of
victory and glory as I gallop up the trail! I shall consume their hopes and
dreams with great anger and furious vengeance!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9PCzkCd3MZGeUItCFB7N3O6SxVusG1z2ardYsGPgiV950e4GqWCV6E0B1-erwSK88KDf6i3lxehuQbG12dlwQp6xvFCb4-GMzDjpwYAMuZVDo1KOHoOF9vaZOFQcBkg_RXo6OKVXmrz1K/s1600/Pulp-Fiction-pulp-fiction-13197286-1920-810.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9PCzkCd3MZGeUItCFB7N3O6SxVusG1z2ardYsGPgiV950e4GqWCV6E0B1-erwSK88KDf6i3lxehuQbG12dlwQp6xvFCb4-GMzDjpwYAMuZVDo1KOHoOF9vaZOFQcBkg_RXo6OKVXmrz1K/s1600/Pulp-Fiction-pulp-fiction-13197286-1920-810.jpg" height="135" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">"Where's my BAMF?"</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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Instead my calves started cramping.</div>
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<br /></div>
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So, as everyone in front of me started to slow, I did to an
even greater degree. Interestingly, my left adductor muscle also gave out around mile
26 making descending and the slight lateral movements along the single track
feel like agony. Instead of looking up the trail for more bodies I moved into
damage control mode, trying to hold my pace somewhere between amputee turtle
and sea snail. Having been channeling my inner Samuel Jackson, I switched into
a more contemplative mode, comparing my current plight to late medieval
self-flagellant mysticism. </div>
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</div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkeil6Ow_WtE_Q4xORJpc74ppLsUAS1cCIH9bKV730snjv-7uuW6JXlM8IcUkRsxxrnapE4ar3IcDr8UqSvEY_jdICAJpBDFoc9-M1MnUTa17XgEvxAg-pNB_SQHKBME6-uHJxn9Sstx1q/s1600/Flagellants.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkeil6Ow_WtE_Q4xORJpc74ppLsUAS1cCIH9bKV730snjv-7uuW6JXlM8IcUkRsxxrnapE4ar3IcDr8UqSvEY_jdICAJpBDFoc9-M1MnUTa17XgEvxAg-pNB_SQHKBME6-uHJxn9Sstx1q/s1600/Flagellants.png" height="310" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">It's pretty much the same thing as ultrarunning.</span> </div>
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<br /></div>
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I survived and arrived at the finish line with battered
legs, but without being in severe distress. I was glad to place near such fast
folks in the race, but was a little peeved I was 0.5 seconds away from breaking
3:40, my time goal for the race. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Thanks so much to the race directors, volunteers, and the USATF / <a href="https://twitter.com/usmrt" target="_blank">US Mountain running folks</a> who were on hand. The aid stations were great as volunteers were incredibly
responsive as runners arrived. I’d like to thank one volunteer in particular at
the (I think) mile 17 station who scrambled to get me a salt capsule. The
course was well marked and I look forward to one day actually enjoying the
beautiful scenery of the Flagline trail. Thanks to <a href="https://plus.google.com/photos/111086436274184492529/albums/6061672016921526017" target="_blank">Richard Bolt</a> of the US
Mountain Running team for taking great shots of the day with his Minority
Report techno Google glasses. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdYz6pgJWi4ZCw0BBDJofAr5CjJ_5I9m06hSk8I9BGVusT7ATh5lbDy7F8VBqk2YEULJOSQlPYBt127nBv_hHw0ysU4iwl7D_jnpmdFoAJpTW3d1KULVYu5XPpPa0FJ6VF4V497F6v_eNT/s1600/Postrace.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdYz6pgJWi4ZCw0BBDJofAr5CjJ_5I9m06hSk8I9BGVusT7ATh5lbDy7F8VBqk2YEULJOSQlPYBt127nBv_hHw0ysU4iwl7D_jnpmdFoAJpTW3d1KULVYu5XPpPa0FJ6VF4V497F6v_eNT/s1600/Postrace.jpg" height="235" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo credit Richard Bolt</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
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It was great sharing an AirBnb space with Richie, <a href="https://twitter.com/RunBoulet" target="_blank">Magda</a>, and
Owen Lewy-Boulet as we had a great pre-race meal the night before. Sixteen
years ago when I started running in Concord, North Carolina, I would have never
thought I’d be breaking bread before a race with such amazing and
talented people. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLIXI070g5DuAfhcqqtzhKWPyXS3g7QcDzpB3Q3Zuv_TbgES52q1izziGzfaVoCTVvbheyP1Gb4Hrea3cR3WLEd15RFns8FSu6XKwI8q2bV1qLw3fhA4Lg4pBGnO1hV6eAP9L590WtRmhs/s1600/PreRace.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLIXI070g5DuAfhcqqtzhKWPyXS3g7QcDzpB3Q3Zuv_TbgES52q1izziGzfaVoCTVvbheyP1Gb4Hrea3cR3WLEd15RFns8FSu6XKwI8q2bV1qLw3fhA4Lg4pBGnO1hV6eAP9L590WtRmhs/s1600/PreRace.jpg" height="400" width="225" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo credit Richard Bolt.</span></span></div>
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Biggest thanks however goes to the indefatigable <a href="http://wcaitlinsmith.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">CaitlinSmith</a> who made the trip up to Bend and cheered me on to the finish. She also
took the lion’s share of the drive home later that day in a car with an engine
so small it struggles to run the AC in the Central Valley. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgPMN6EndXJGR0cgAqWOd-D_KNEnsuL41LcPeQ2XDquH0EN3RcY8PDYqRR8zXLtcVPKdPzynDGrgRynPQv54P6MtvteGfpydcmAp1hRg7jm-UITN4LDq_blzeCb0J8vBFmV9yi01Ixy3Xt/s1600/Postrace+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgPMN6EndXJGR0cgAqWOd-D_KNEnsuL41LcPeQ2XDquH0EN3RcY8PDYqRR8zXLtcVPKdPzynDGrgRynPQv54P6MtvteGfpydcmAp1hRg7jm-UITN4LDq_blzeCb0J8vBFmV9yi01Ixy3Xt/s1600/Postrace+2.jpg" height="293" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo credit Richard Bolt. </span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
All the race gear I used can be purchased at <a href="http://www.transportsrunswim.com/" target="_blank">Transports</a> in Oakland and Berkeley, California.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nike Terra Kigers 2 </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nike Tempo Shorts</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ultra Aspire Isomeric Pocket</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Gu Lemonade Roctane</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.webscorer.com/racedetails?raceid=28943" target="_blank">Full Results. </a></div>
Sam Robinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515534179065532478noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5195561759231097843.post-29741937055589159692014-08-24T19:30:00.000-07:002014-08-26T10:46:59.846-07:00Quick thoughts: Headlands 50K<style>
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<ul>
<li><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Oh my gosh this race is hard. Despite
ultrarunning’s <a href="http://www.irunfar.com/" target="_blank">normalization of the insane</a>, from any objective standpoint 31
miles in the Headlands is difficult. There was maybe 2-3 miles of flat running
yesterday. The rest was up or down. If you are contemplating ever running the
North Face 50 mile, this race would be a great tune up or preview for the world
of pain you’ll be entering.</li>
</ul>
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<object class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="https://ytimg.googleusercontent.com/vi/t_TdCs9GA4w/0.jpg" height="266" width="320"><param name="movie" value="https://youtube.googleapis.com/v/t_TdCs9GA4w&source=uds" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="https://youtube.googleapis.com/v/t_TdCs9GA4w&source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<ul>
<li><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>The race directors and volunteers were great.
There was incredible support out on course. Thanks in particular to the volunteer at mile 11ish who pried
open my handheld when my hands were too sweaty to twist the cap off. Volunteer
crews were yelling cheers after runners even as they were 100 yards out from
the stations. Pure awesome. It was also fantastic getting some love from the <a href="http://www.sanfranciscorunning.com/" target="_blank">SFRunCo</a> and <a href="http://andmilestogobeforeieat.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">other fast folks</a> as I jogged out of Tennessee Valley. Thanks so so much!</li>
</ul>
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<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<ul>
<li><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Ivan Medina is tough as nails. Galen Burrell
practically skips up trails. It was a pleasure to watch them eat up trail over
the first ten miles. After that, they were out of sight. They were a league of
their own yesterday. Outstanding and inspiring performances yesterday, gentlemen! </li>
</ul>
</div>
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<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<ul>
<li><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>I’ve never struggled up the Dipsea climb like I
did yesterday. This was a disappointment as I usually enjoy this rambling ascent from Muir Woods. While it
is continuously uphill, the steep pitches are punctuated by a few sections of
lower gradients so you can recover a bit. However, yesterday I was in misery
after only ten minutes of uphill. My stomach felt gross, my exertion level was much
too high for a 50K, and strangely I had a headache. Worse, when you feel that
bad with so much running to go, you succumb into real despair. At mile 17ish,
at the aid station atop Cardiac Hill, I stopped for a couple minutes.
I sipped a Coke and looked up the trail toward Pantoll campground. If I kept
running from here - down Matt Davis to Stinson beach - I would be committing to
running the full distance. ‘Live to fight another day,’ echoed through my head.
Yes, I should stop, chalk it up as a loss, and jog back to the start. But,
then I thought, ‘Hell. This IS another day for me. Who do you think you are, Mo
Farah? Got some big Euro champs race coming up, eh? Didn’t think so. Quit
feeling sorry for yourself, harden the fuck up, and get your ass to
Stinson.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or something along those
lines. So I got my ass to Stinson.</li>
</ul>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiADjzDOH5Tru68hyphenhyphenUD34BhAmKJXwGuYr4fqbeFRBaiVFBgfXa5wmHtXsXMWKDCwhKOq5rGvcU7phvJPtU58vG6k2yXICEh05RBERdF91dLh1WAGE754S6MBeTobe3PiIcka7OiNXKK9ycw/s1600/facebook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiADjzDOH5Tru68hyphenhyphenUD34BhAmKJXwGuYr4fqbeFRBaiVFBgfXa5wmHtXsXMWKDCwhKOq5rGvcU7phvJPtU58vG6k2yXICEh05RBERdF91dLh1WAGE754S6MBeTobe3PiIcka7OiNXKK9ycw/s1600/facebook.jpg" height="241" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Photo courtesy of <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pamsuewendell/media_set?set=a.10154543776885010.1073741962.745560009&type=3" target="_blank">Pam Wendell</a></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<ul>
<li><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>Those 28 switchbacks on Heather Cutoff were
designed by Satan. He used his pointy tail and pitchfork to carve out a trail
that progresses in 30 yard increments down the hill. </li>
</ul>
</div>
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<ul>
<li><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>This makes three consecutive marathon to ultramarathon
efforts where I've avoided vomiting. Slowly dialing in my metabolism and
energy consumption. Maybe I’ll figure it out before I switch sports to team
racquetball. </li>
</ul>
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<ul>
<li><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>I think Rolling Rock is the greatest post-race
beer. Does Rolling Rock sponsor athletes? If so, sign me up. </li>
</ul>
</div>
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<a href="http://www.rollingrock.com/images/gate/gate-logo.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.rollingrock.com/images/gate/gate-logo.png" height="320" width="319" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
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<ul>
<li><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>Later in the day, I caught myself jogging up the
stairs from my apartment. Perhaps I’ll recover quicker then I thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>See you in Bend. </li>
</ul>
</div>
Sam Robinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515534179065532478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5195561759231097843.post-22395692273470313622014-08-12T15:09:00.001-07:002015-01-31T18:36:45.159-08:00Running through Film<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO0ntAhyphenhyphen7Hms-1sLb6lyIYQRThbvp8w9WdjrU71jZdeQRSfRGNRDsF3gNFOSYptrcvI1mD6ayxnJ8vSwZwbxBgTeXQsi-CN4mUNZLZOpL-dd8FeQdLYcKVwO9vMgqOu3M-r7pHKPXQd6Rp/s1600/tom_cruise-mission-impossible-4-01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO0ntAhyphenhyphen7Hms-1sLb6lyIYQRThbvp8w9WdjrU71jZdeQRSfRGNRDsF3gNFOSYptrcvI1mD6ayxnJ8vSwZwbxBgTeXQsi-CN4mUNZLZOpL-dd8FeQdLYcKVwO9vMgqOu3M-r7pHKPXQd6Rp/s1600/tom_cruise-mission-impossible-4-01.jpg" height="188" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zv2bAqk9PLw" target="_blank">Run!</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Here is a list of my favorite running scenes from film. I got to thinking about interesting bits of running in film up over the past couple months (excluding movies about sports). So, in no particular order, here are my favorites. Do you have any favorite running scenes from movies?</div>
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<b>“Vanilla Sky”... Time Square Sprint</b></div>
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Glorious music from Radiohead welcomes us as we get the first glimpse of Tom’s Cruise’s descent into a Cartesian nightmare. Is this a dream? Faced with a frightening absence of people, Tom Cruise randomly decides to leave his Ferrari and go for a run. There are rumors that Cruise ran a quick two mile in high school. He certainly runs a lot in his movies: </div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/zv2bAqk9PLw?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>“Great Expectations”... Kissing in the Rain</b></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
One of my favorite scenes in film, running or otherwise. Honestly, I probably love the music more than Finn’s jog across town to say f*ck-all to social etiquette and win Estella’s heart.</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>“Gallipoli”... Archy's Last Run</b></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/Z0Ankn-AzC4?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
“Gallipoli” deserves to be placed on any running list simply because it has the greatest pre-race pump up speech in the history of film. “What are you legs? Springs! Steel Springs!” Archy, an accomplished sprinter from the Australian outback, is shown running throughout the film. Besides winning his provincial championship, he also races a horse across a desert barefoot and wins. But the final scene of the film is stunning in its abruptness. The violence which ends the film is so sudden and vicious it leaves the viewer with a single conclusion. War is awful. In the end it generally involves old men telling young men to die for abstractions. </div>
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<b>“Glory” - Charge of Battery Wagner</b></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
I’m drawn to these moments in which, despite the extreme effort put into motion, all might be for naught. This futility is evident in the final scene of “Glory” as the 54th Massachusetts races across the walls of Fort Wagner during the American civil war. The scene is extraordinarily violent, but I’m most moved by the singing of Harlem boys choir in the movie’s red-tinted climax. As the shattered regiment of free black men breaches the fort’s exterior walls, we are given a single moment of hope that the attack will succeed. But the movie ends with a sudden drum roll of Confederate cannon. </div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>“Fight Club”… Edward Norton and the lead salad</b></div>
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A slightly lighter note is Edward Norton’s sprint across town to stop Tyler Durden from destroying the world’s financial systems. Chuck Palianuk’s writing about ‘battery acid’ is a little heavy-handed, especially with Norton’s voice over. But it’s become an iconic line for millennial age runners. Norton’s character also threatens the police with a ‘lead salad’ which is just wonderful. </div>
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<b>"Chariots of Fire"</b>... <b>Race around the Quad</b></div>
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Everyone remembers the oceanside jog with the Vangelis synthesizer, but for me this is the film’s iconic run. It represents not only the fun amateurism that running used to be, but the quirky indolence of Cambridge. This is a real thing. The Great court Run takes place at Trinity College on the day of the Matriculation Dinner. Runners have 43 seconds to navigate the the 341 meter perambulation of the courtyard. In 1988 Coe and Cram tried unsuccessfully to beat the clock. In typical English fashion every run is idiosyncratic: the Trinity College clock is governed by a hand-wound mechanical fly that is affected by air pressure, humidity, and the strength of the last person who wound the clock. Incidentally, the clock has its own website: <a href="http://www.trin.cam.ac.uk/clock/">http://www.trin.cam.ac.uk/clock/</a></div>
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<b>“Skyfall”… Parkour opening chase scene</b></div>
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In an age of CGI, it’s great to see some swashbuckling action as Bond chases his villain across a construction site and over some cranes. The fight sprints across steel beams, a crane, and even the diplomatic immunities of an embassy. </div>
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<br />Sam Robinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515534179065532478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5195561759231097843.post-91438794643834654562014-01-15T15:55:00.000-08:002016-01-31T16:39:04.213-08:00Storage Wars, E.T., and Theories of Stuff<br />
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James Parker has recently written <a href="http://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2014/01/pawnshop-nation/355737/" target="_blank">an article in the Atlantic</a> about the rise of reality television documenting the overwhelming amount of stuff that American consumer culture of the past seventy years has accumulated. Many of these shows are focused upon the public appraisal, the auction of storage lockers, pawnshops that delve briefly into culture or history through the monetization of objects, and yardsale 'picking' shows. All of these programs hinge upon turning a profit by finding and selling other people's stuff. They document the dramas of secondary (and even tertiary) scavenger economies that have arisen in the wake of a recessed economy and the American population reaching new heights (literally) of material possessions. Other shows, such as Hoarders, document the pathology of stuff, how stuff has become a mental disease that people have to deal with. 'How sad,' we think, 'these people can't get rid of all that silly stuff.' (Though it's interesting how often we condemn ourselves and our society for creating a culture of disposability as we sheepishly toss out that old Blackberry we got in 2007.) <br />
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Parker covers all this reasonably well, arguing that these shows are both a specific cultural and historical moment. Namely, the steady extension of reality tv's commodity fetishism into everyday life and an economy so crummy has made weeding through trash bags of a stranger's clothes seems like a sound financial strategy. I would note that it's probably also a supply-side story: baby boomers who have now been at peak earning income for over a decade and have blown most of it on stereo speakers, workout equipment, and other household accoutrement. <br />
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Of all these shows about stuff, my personal favorite is Storage Wars. I discovered this show during a history conference in New Haven a couple years ago. The first panels of presenters began at 8am the next morning, but after stumbling upon this gem on A&E, I was up till four on the first television binge I had since Battlestar Galactica. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We pay rent to hold things we don't use.</td></tr>
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This is a well-structured show broken into three parts: <br />
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1) Angsty and competitive bidding for storage lockers: 'If Barry thinks he's getting this locker… well, let's just say he's got another thing coming!' <br />
2) Treasure hunts through a Tetris puzzle of a storage unit with cliff-hanging commercial breaks: 'Hey, hand over that flashlight… wait I can't quite see in the corner…. Oh my God, this is incredible!…' (Abrupt commercial break and the viewer is left waiting to find out if they found a Faberge egg or someone's dildo collection.)<br />
3) Dramatic appraisal from exotic antiquary to determine profitability of the purchase: 'Well normally you might get $200 for a pair of these…' <edited appraiser="" cue="" dramatic="" in="" looking="" music="" of="" pause="" ponderous="" shot="" steady="" synthesized=""> '…but… given the condition of these you could get $800!' (cue enthusiastic trumpet ditty, high fives, probably the only triumphant dancing that ever occurs in a second-hand store) <br /><br />But, here is what I would like to add to the conversation.<br /><br />Whenever I watch the characters of Storage Wars root through these lockers, the stuff piled around those steel rooms reminds me of Elliot's home in the Steven Spielberg film, "E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial." For whatever reason, there was a lot of stuff in that house. I suppose it gave E.T. lots of things to interact with (E.T. hiding as a stuffed animal scene, E.T. bumbling around drunk bumping into things, etc.), but man, just watch it. Like most middle class homes in the late eighties and nineties it was a warm, kind of tacky environment with a ton of stuff. Toys, tools, dishes, furniture, etc. If Elliot's household really existed, almost thirty years later, pretty much all of that would now be obsolete and unwanted.<br /></edited><edited appraiser="" cue="" dramatic="" in="" looking="" music="" of="" pause="" ponderous="" shot="" steady="" synthesized=""><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/6xZif3WmG7I?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></edited><br />
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Think about it. Elliot has long since grown up, finished college at UC Whatever (or CSU Whatever if he was a slacker in high school), got a job doing tech at Netscape, got laid off in the dot-com bust, visited India, worked at Best Buy for a spell before bouncing back and rising to middle-management at Linked-In. Anyway, at some point his Mom got fed up with all of his stuff still hanging around in his old bedroom (which she really wants to turn into a place where she can do yoga or maybe pilates). She gives him a call and Elliot dutifully drives his Prius C (or perhaps rents a truck on ZipCar) and loads his old crap up and brings it back to his apartment. After two weeks of tripping over cardboard boxes, Elliot caves and buys a storage unit near the Colma BART station. Elliot then tragically dies in Prius battery fire and unfortunately leaves no record that he had a storage unit. After several months of missed rent, the storage company auctions off his locker and we watch hopefully as our lovable scavengers paw through his things and think about profit margins. <br />
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Now.<br />
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Compare the ET vision of stuff with the latest paradigm of stuff. This is the distinctively different form of consumer materiality that has been increasingly marketed over the last decade. I'm thinking sleek Apple minimalism. This form of marketing views clutter as a hindrance, an obsolescence that we can replace with 'data dressed as pixels.' It is a society of glass, of the image, of the plasticized glass-glow of touch screens and digitization. <br />
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To continue the movie allusions, let's take as an example the apartment where Tom Cruise's character, Jack Harper, resides in the recent film Oblivion. It's like a iPhone 5S shat out a condominium unit.<br />
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This isn't itself that surprising since the evil alien mastermind villain is some sort of queen of the Android cellphones. Seriously, the villain in the movie is probably what Siri aspires too. <br />
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Anyway, the point is to compare the visions of material possessions in lumpy, frumpy, stuff-laden E.T. with the gleaming, tabula rasa of digitization in Oblivion. Indeed Oblivion makes this comparison itself. Jack has built a cabin in some mountain oasis that escaped the apocalyptic destruction of the earth. He fills the cabin with stuff: books, paintings, pencils, sporting knick knacks. The idea is that humanity isn't represented by the linear world of linear iPad angularity. Whenever Jack comes back to the glass cube, he's not working for humanity. He's actually unwittingly working for Evil Space Siri who wants to suck the world of resources and then fly away in her spaceship (which itself looks like a Google TV Dongle). Indeed, Jack has to keep grounding his humanity in his stuff and continues to visit his cabin in an unconscious attempt to hold onto his personhood by… well, touching his stuff. Seriously, dude goes to the cabin just to hold, finger, jiggle, and wear his stuff. Indeed, after Jack dies destroying Evil Space Siri his female love interest goes to live in his cabin and commune with him by again… hanging out in and touching his stuff. It sounds odd when you think about it, but onscreen it comes across as a very human form of memorialization through material possessions. Jack's stuff seems particularly important because unlike in E.T., there is actually not that much stuff left in wake of the apocalypse. So Jack's cabin of curiosities represents not only his memory, but also the memory of broader humanity on the verge of disappearance. It's a far cry from the saturation of Storage Wars, where we have so much stuff that we literally organize it with garbage bags. <br />
The point is, that we now have competing theories of consumer materiality. We have the inundating, flood of asymmetrical, tangible, stub-your-toe-in-dark-trying-to-get-to-the-bathroom theory of stuff. This is the Nineties aspirations of stuff. Or, as was suggested to me by a friend, this is the 'Atomic Theory of Stuff', a cold-war era materialism that defined itself by the colorful contours of things. Think of the family in A Christmas Story, a lovable tale of a family that really is just about stuff (decoder rings, leg lamps, and air rifles!). This theory revels in tangible, material, stuff. It is the age of QVC, Sears catalogs, and VHS cartridges. More stuff is better! Get stuff! So much of it that you can hide an alien in your stuff for several weeks. <br />
I would suggest that this is being replaced (at least in terms of marketing) by an alternative theory. No stuff. Ditch your stuff in favor of a few 'devices.' Contain your stuff digitally, not tangibly. Fit all your stuff into a widget that's slimmer than a deck of Magic the Gathering cards (which you can play online). Of course it's not that we don't have stuff, it's just that we've converted it into a format that measurable in gigabytes. Toss out your Scrabble set and play Words With Friends. Of course, this is just a sales pitch. That Apple is hitting record sales at the same time that reality TV shows about stuff are proliferating is proof that the Atomic Theory of Stuff is still alive and well. But, it will be interesting to see if we really do respond to the minimalist marketing. Perhaps we are entering an age that is not only 'post-recession,' but also 'post-stuff.' Perhaps the Millennial generation will decide that it wants to consign its stuff to oblivion.Sam Robinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515534179065532478noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5195561759231097843.post-77049648448985233672011-04-21T11:40:00.000-07:002017-07-05T17:37:13.170-07:00Pool running<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">It is a surreal moment when a young man realizes he is doing water aerobics with a half-dozen elderly women. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Up until</span></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"> that moment in the spring of 2011, I had not thought of my cross training in the pool as water aerobics. But there was no denying it. There we all were--methodically kicking, paddling, and wading through the water in a slow march up and down the slow lane of UC Berkeley's Hearst gym pool. The epiphany made me choke on a mouthful of chlorinated brine. The sting of yet another "f*ck-my-life" moment was compounded by the fact that I knew the faces of all the women in the pool. Not only was I doing water aerobics at the Hearst pool, I was a regular.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Six weeks earlier I had broken my foot. I was <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">mindlessly <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">out running down the trails in northern California</span></span> when I noticed a sharp shooting pain in my left foot. One moment I was <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">whipping</span> through the<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> woods, beginning to contemplate lunch<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">;</span></span> the next I could barely walk. I had to limp the two or three miles back to my car. Three weeks later I could still barely walk. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"What kind of tendonitis is this?!" I asked myself as I tried, through excruciating pain, to test the injury with sets of calf raises while waiting <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">for the </span>bus. Eventually an x-ray showed that I had completely broken my second metatarsal. The bone was displaced<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">, the ends skewed away from each other. It</span> looked like a mangled steel girder, sheared <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">apart</span> <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">through</span> structural strain. I was lucky I did not need surgery. I<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">n hindsight, I</span> doubt the calf raises helped.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">So here I was pool running with the ladies. My only solace was that I could not afford the bright blue flotation vest that makes pool running easier; so I looked slightly less geeky. But let us be honest: no one will never look bad-ass treading water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">You should know that I loathe pools. I dislike wearing goggles and garish spandex. I really hate the feeling of chlorine in your ears and that initial shock of cold water engulfing your genitals. When I was a child, <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">my parents forced me </span>to do summer swim league. I hated it. I mean, I'm glad I learned how to avoid drowning. If I ever happen to be thrown from a ferryboat while holding my cat, <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">will send</span> prayers of thanksgiving and praise to m<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">y parents </span>as I</span> backstroke our way to safety. But the experience was generally unpleasant<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">: sitting </span>at swim meets in <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">the summer heat, waiting nervously for </span>for the fifty-meter breaststroke, watching pre-pubescent bodies leak various fluids as they flailed across the pool, waiting hours for 90-second race, sitting on hot concrete in my Speedo as fire ants bit my crotch. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">All this to be able to move across a short body of water at about the speed of a brisk walk. I just don't get it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Compounding the present situation was Northern California generally lousy spring weather. Most of my little pool workouts took place in the rain.</span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"> So
I did not even have the luxury of getting a nice tan during my buoyant
workouts. Only in the San Francisco area can you spend hours outside and
still look anemic. But the sports doctor said I couldn’t even get on a
bicycle, so what could I do other than return to the pool?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So,
reluctantly, I signed up for a 6AM swim class in Oakland and spent the
early evening of most days at the Hearst gym pool bobbing through the
water and literally going through the motions of running.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Calvin gets it.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">So why bother? Why not spend the time wasted on pool running reading a book or catching up on work? Why, when we have so little time on this earth, would I spend even ten minutes every day doing something I really don’t enjoy? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Have we not, however, been trained, perhaps indoctrinated, to think that we shouldn’t give up? That we should persist through hardship? That persistence is, in and of itself, of some sort of value? However vaguely articulated, are we not told there is some payoff to pointless grit by our parents and teachers and presidents? If we work just hard enough, we were told, if we put off just enough social evenings to grab an hour of sleep, skip just <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">enough N<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">etflix</span></span>, then we will create something in ourselves that is truly worthwhile, important, and admirable... or at least marketable.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Naturally, doing water<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> aerobi<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">cs in the rain </span></span>leads one to</span> question this effort. What is to be gained, really, from running a 10K faster than I did two years ago? Why<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> struggle? </span>What will it change? How will it put food on empty plates, <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">or help<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> those struggling with end<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">emic illness,</span></span> o<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">r</span></span> stop sectarian violence? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">I still can’t answer that.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">But, I am an experiment of one. And loath though I am to say it, there is little that I can control outside of myself. So maybe, if I push a little harder, run that extra two miles, stay up the extra hour reading, then maybe, just maybe, it will be helpful. Someone might realize in my history class that the violent boundaries between us are historical constructions<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">.</span> <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">O</span>r that if a redneck kid from North Carolina can run in the NCAA, then they can finish a marathon<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">.</span> <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">O</span>r that if we all just pushed ourselves a little harder, we might understand ourselves and thus each other a little better.<o:p></o:p><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span>But we shall see. </span></div>
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<!--EndFragment-->Sam Robinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515534179065532478noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5195561759231097843.post-64425897706852638012010-08-10T15:57:00.000-07:002015-01-31T16:24:27.663-08:00Roadtrip Part I<!--StartFragment--> <br />
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Prior to moving from Denver to Berkeley last August, I downloaded an audio version of Jack Kerouac’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">On the Road </i>to listen to as I drove across the western half of the country. I could barely hear my car stereo due to the enormous drag my overloaded Civic created as it strained down I-80. In Wyoming, a vicious crosswind, whipping dust across the freeway, was so strong that for five hours I was reduced to listening only to the steady roar of the air turbulence. </div>
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Despite the breezy distractions, I was able to listen to Kerouac’s trips across the country and his misadventures in San Francisco and Denver. I thought it was neat that the two major cities Kerouac and company seemed drawn to were the start and end points of my own little trip. But for me, the drive was not very interesting… a straight shot west once I’d driven up to Wyoming. After passing through Cheyenne and those dusty fields, I entered Utah with only brief glimpses of it’s alien landscapes in the distance. Then it was Nevada, a state so desolate that it was using its entire package of economic stimulus money to improve I-80 and slow my drive through the necessary construction. Passing through Reno traffic appeared from nowhere and the ride became more difficult, hundreds of cars barreling down the turns of the highway rushing home from weekend trips to Tahoe. Then I was passing through Sacramento and reached the Bay.</div>
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Flash forward a year and sometime in May I was being distracted from a research paper by the internet and I noticed that the United States Association of Track and Field was holding a new 15K trail championship up in Spokane, Washington. It was a great excuse to go explore some of the northwest for a few days. So at the end of July, Caitlin and I finagled several days away from work and headed off early on a Thursday morning. </div>
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There is a perennial fog that presses down on the city and most of the San Francisco bay. It keeps the area cool and seasonless and the morning that we left was no different. This was partly the reason why I needed a break from Berkeley. There really isn’t a summer here: the mornings are nearly always damp and dank, burning off into a bit of sunshine before again succumbing to the Pacific moisture. </div>
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Don’t get me wrong, it’s much nicer then the Carolina summers that made running such a humid ordeal, but it would be nice to wake up to sunshine and some heat once in a while. The meteorological stasis is depressing. In the fall, the leaves don’t change color. They simply die and fall off the trees with all the suddenness of a suicide. So, I smiled a little as we drove east out of the dank Bay morning into the central valley and the first sunshine I’d seen before noon in a long time. </div>
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The stretch of Interstate 5 that extends from Sacramento to Redding will always struggle to make it onto postcards. Unlike the coast, it has real weather and experiences the heat and humidity that geologic contingency has seen fit to exempt the Bay from. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is a farming area, the freeway lined with olive trees, which border the road like crooked forks with jagged, black prongs stabbing at the sky. After a couple hours of driving, one gets quite sick of the endless fields punctuated by the occasional Indian casino or trailer park. There are the distant mountains both east and west that would be pretty if they were thirty miles closer, but they aren’t and the straight road stretches northward besides the burnt, dry grass. I see now why California still deserves the moniker of the ‘Golden State’. With little exception the land is dried out for most of the year, giving the grass a desiccated yellow and brown hue. It sounds a bit morbid, but it is pretty in it’s own way. Rolling hills of chaparral can catch the sunlight and glow like the side of a lampshade. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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Once past Redding, we weaved around the formidable Mt. Shasta. Then we were in Oregon! I have a small love affair with the state. It is open, forested and sparsely inhabited with a balanced mix of conservative people in the hinterlands and some of the most progressive cities on the country. It’s also green. Pines line the highways through most of the state and on the road one dodges logging trucks hauling trees to make notebook or toilet paper. Perhaps it is romanticism but the state seems to hold onto a frontier allure which other western states have lost. For example, Colorado occasionally poses itself as the rugged archetype of the West, but it usually comes packaged as tacky tourist traps like Colorado Springs or trips of nostalgia like the National Western stock show.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Furthermore, anyone who has ever ordered a latte or met someone from Seattle will never confuse Washington with the west and it’s just hard to see Napa wineries or San Francisco gluten-free bakeries as rough-and-tumble. </div>
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But Oregon is different. There may still be legions of boys like me adjusting themselves in their skinny 511 Levi jeans in Portland, but get into the woods and it’s desolate. We stopped at a state park somewhere south of Bend and ran up an exposed trail and got a bit cooked in the dry heat. In a few minutes we were totally alone and climbing a ridge towards some ancient caldera. It’s always a bit exhilarating to distance oneself from other people by foot, to be really alone with several miles separating you from civilization’s outlying tendrils. Maybe it’s an underlying reason elite distance runners are abandoning their altitude abodes to settle around the Nike headquarters. Even amidst corporate sponsorship, one can be a bit more grizzled in Oregon. </div>
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The state is volcanic and the next morning, running along a river in Bend, Cait and I followed a lava flow with a friend’s German shepherd in tow. Sharp, broken fragments of black rock line the trails and sunshine, unmitigated by fog, singes the skin. Mosquitoes swarm over you when you pause to ensure you’re on the right path or let the dog gulp some river water… <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then we were back on the road leaving the irrigated parts of Oregon in our wake before we ran into the Columbia River Gorge. </div>
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The river is an impressive, visual debunking of creationist theory. The scoured banks rise high above the water, funneling the air and creating a natural wind tunnel for anyone lucky enough to be traveling by sail. Dams bisect the river and create monstrous, frothing cataracts at points where the Columbia is allowed to pass through. There’s an incredible amount of energy floating across the surface of this land. Windmills with arms like airplane wings cut through the air and dot the horizon like a field of malignant flowers; a forest of pallid white steel, waiting to wreak havoc on flocks of migratory birds. Then we climbed out of the gorge and were again in farmland. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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I’ve always been impressed with the ways American farmers water their fields. It’s indicative of everything our country does well. Massive fields are traversed by huge wheeled contraptions which slowly roll across the rows of crops. Several steel cross bars connect the wheels and hosing runs along the length of the machine, sprinkling water onto the earth. It’s as if a giant was playing with an Erector Set and gave up on an attempt to create a multi-wheeled go-cart. These are commonplace across the country’s interior, but I’d never seen one until I drove to Denver a couple years ago. It is an unelegant, but simple and smart way of approaching the problem of watering hundreds of acres of plants. </div>
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It reminds me that this is a country originally peopled by Type-A personalities. Only someone with moxy and a bit of kookiness would risk his slight farming profits to invest in some cockeyed watering contraption.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Extended to a broader scale, one gets to thinking that every wave of immigrants from the puritanical English to the Irish to the Chinese to the Latino consisted of the go-getters of their communities. You would have to be. I certainly have never contemplated leaving my family, friends and familiar neighborhood to seek a better life in Switzerland or New Zealand. Even the people chained and shipped across the Middle Passage had to be made of the sternest stuff to get through such a hellish lifelong experience. Every one of us thinks we can improve our lot, create a neat little life for ourselves. But at the same time very few of us believe we are <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">entitled </i>to such a thing. For the most part, our liberalism extends only to wanting to give as many people as we can the opportunity to create those neat little lives. Political debates never wrangle over the validity of equal of opportunity, but how it should be done and when community assistance towards that end becomes an undeserved handout. </div>
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And maybe that’s why I chuckle at the Spanish idea of siesta. And shudder when I hear a Greek protestor on the radio argue that a job is a natural right, not a privilege. And maybe it’s why the East Bay’s more relaxed pseudo-European/Eastern/balanced strain of lifestyle seems invasive and a bit toxic. For better or worse, this country has never been made up of balanced people. We work too much, think too much, train too much… take drugs to help us stay awake, think better, deal with the unnaturalness of a cerebral lifestyle… we’re anxious, increasingly infertile and struggle with our weight. But as a naturalized citizen once reminded me when I was criticizing the US for whatever reason, this is also the center of creative thought, entrepreneurial ideas and political innovation. We fucking invented the internet. Balanced people do not do such things, do not go to such lengths. Go us! </div>
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So among other things, we water fields well. This is still a place ripe for growth and people still want to come here so their kids can go to Cal or UNC or Brown and think up the next iPod or effective cancer treatment. And as we drove into Washington, past those half-built irrigation go-carts and dodged the American Recovery Act highway construction, I thought for the first time in a long while that maybe things will be ok after all. </div>
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<br /><!--EndFragment-->Sam Robinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515534179065532478noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5195561759231097843.post-25722111331003372332010-05-30T16:18:00.000-07:002010-05-31T11:15:53.088-07:00Review<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It has been without a doubt the most interesting, frustrating, exhilarating, heart-breaking, exhausting, different and painfully beautiful year of my life. After a fall of rabid mental health issues that led to a strange oscillation between depression and active interest in the world, my life took an unexpected <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">volte face</i> in December just as I was finally becoming myself again. It took another three or four months before I did not feel like the living embodiment of a Pink Floyd lyric. I got through it of course, eventually becoming grateful that I went through some rather nightmarish months. The pain eventually wore down, stung less. Time I suppose does heal all wounds… or at least scars them up a fair amount. This comes across as a bit overly dramatic. Things weren’t that bad, mainly some bad luck, terrible reactions to a few prescription drugs and the end of a lengthy relationship. But, it was the first time that life has leaned over the table and smacked me across the face, knocking me out of my chair and spilling beer all over my shirt. It just took me some time to figure out what had happened and how to get back on my feet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So now, like I said, I’m grateful. In all likelihood this is not the last crisis I’ll have to get through. People will change interests and leave my life, fights will happen, friends and family will pass on and I know there is a Chevy Cavalier somewhere out there on the roads with my name on it. These things happen, so it’s good that my quarter life crisis hit when I had an incredible system of relationships to support me and even walk me through things. I am a rugged individualist, am convinced that the most interesting things in this world are the products of single minds, but it takes a bit of existential upheaval to realize how dependent we are on others for help. My family was a godsend this fall. No way I’d be writing this without them. My girlfriend of the time was a saint. I probably would have dropped out of grad school had it not been for her and parting ways does not make me less grateful for all she got me through. New friends and old friends stepped up and I had a number of conversations that might have seemed mundane, but really helped me feel better about life, school and everything. I learned the value of therapy and that it is not a weakness to ask for help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">No way I would have figured this out by more success, happy times and the status quo. Sometimes, to quote the late Kurt Vonnegut, ‘the excrement has to hit the air conditioning.’ I’ve always liked that line in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Once a Runner</i> about how improvement in the sport is not this steady ascent to new heights of performance, rather it is cyclical with trough periods and upswings. Find a runner who sets a personal best every time she races and you’ve pointed out the next big drug bust. In a similar way, one does not grow in life like the stock market of the 1920s. There are ups and downs… and both make us better.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Of course, this is pretty hackneyed stuff and it’s is very easy to say these things from my position. I really don’t have problems… and you probably don’t either. If you’re reading this, you’re probably upper or middle class, you’ve gone or are going to a fine four year institution of higher learning, you are probably brilliant or creative or entrepreneurial, you have money or your parents have money and thus you will eventually have money too. You probably don’t wake up in the morning wondering whether you should take the bus to work or buy lunch. And it’s pretty likely you’ve never worked at a fast food restaurant and if you did, you probably did not have to.<a style="mso-footnote-id:ftn" href="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=5195561759231097843&postID=2572211133100337233#_ftn1" name="_ftnref" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character:footnote">[1]</span></span></a> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Maybe crises of the sort I went through this fall are yet another luxury of the landed class. How many people wake up in a cold sweat because of their work in a doctoral program? In all likelihood, not many. So, I guess we have to remind ourselves that even our low points are probably not as bad as we think they are at the time. We may have been laid off or divorced or injured, but we don’t have to carry our drinking water two miles from the nearest clean river. And once we heal and move on, we will be better for it, will have a perspective we lacked before and experience to better shape our decisions. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Again, hackneyed stuff. Ah, well… whatever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>See you on the trails.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <div style="mso-element:footnote-list"><br /><hr align="left" size="1" width="33%"> <div style="mso-element:footnote" id="ftn"> <p class="MsoNormal"><a style="mso-footnote-id:ftn" href="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=5195561759231097843&postID=2572211133100337233#_ftnref" name="_ftn1" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote">[1]</span></span></a> Emphasis on ‘probably.’ If you have done these things, you’re a stronger person than I.</p> <p class="MsoFootnoteText"><o:p> </o:p></p> </div> </div> <!--EndFragment-->Sam Robinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515534179065532478noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5195561759231097843.post-30809559491210970592010-05-18T16:42:00.000-07:002010-05-18T16:52:12.793-07:00Some things I’ve learned in a quarter century.<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--StartFragment--> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><!--StartFragment--> </p><p class="MsoNormal">Some things I’ve learned in a quarter century. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">On a very good blog, someone posted a few of her thoughts on life. I found it absolutely charming and brilliant. So here are some of mine.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.25in">Get a job washing dishes. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.25in">Try to speak the native language wherever you are even if you only know a few words. Simple manners.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.25in">Go see <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">Rent</i>. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.25in">Work with people who are more talented then you. It will push you further. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.25in">The best conversations with your father will occur on a bike ride.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.25in">Get astoundingly drunk at least once a year.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.25in">Say, ‘sir’ or ‘ma’am’ to people who are older than you. Even if they are serving you food or shining your shoes. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.25in">Don’t vote along a party ticket.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.25in">Don’t judge people for eating fast food. What person on minimum wage can afford locally produced, fair-trade, fresh market organic avocados?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.25in">Take dancing lessons. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.25in">Be poor at least once.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.25in">Lose with grace. Because you will lose a lot. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.25in">Check your iron levels.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.25in">Don’t forget your toothbrush.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.25in">Thank your high school teachers. They deserve it. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.25in">Be suspicious of mobs with slogans. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.25in">Tip.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.25in">You are the most important person in your life.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.25in">Fight for your beliefs. But realize they are only <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">your</i> beliefs. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.25in">Read to your children.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.25in">Read to your self.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.25in">Read poetry.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.25in">Read anything and everything.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.25in">Therapy can help… a lot.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.25in">Why half-ass something?</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.25in">Sleep in a small car for a night or two. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.25in">There is nothing important on television. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.25in">Smart people don’t know all the answers. Smart people ask good questions.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.25in">Never walk past suffering… and we all have.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.25in">Date someone from the country’s interior. Even if things don’t work out, you’ll be better for it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.25in">There is such a thing as a good death.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.25in">Sailing upwind with a fierce breeze is the most fun you will ever have. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.25in">Support American soldiers. They are risking their lives, not making policy. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.25in">Besides alcohol, drugs are highly overrated.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.25in">Hold the door for people.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.25in">No one promised you universal justice.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.25in">Eat at Waffle House at 2am. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.25in">Nothing is beyond criticism. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.25in">Move. Don’t stay still. Hop, run, skip. Climb a wall, jump in a pool, ride a bike, hike up a mountain. Get off your computer. Life is outside, not on the Internet and especially not on this blog.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.25in">Love your mother.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <!--EndFragment--> <p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <!--EndFragment--> <p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <!--EndFragment-->Sam Robinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515534179065532478noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5195561759231097843.post-44176893928945222162010-05-09T18:28:00.000-07:002014-10-24T09:47:10.343-07:00Definitions<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sKVEjYeyiV0/S-dl_9CTi3I/AAAAAAAAAA8/2GdRQUfg4Wc/s1600/Palin+Running.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><br />
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For me, running is what Foucault called <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">la grande recherché nietzscheene</i>, the great Nietzschean quest.<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>It is my personal, intrinsic endeavor at self-improvement. It is a task that is entirely self-interested and entirely my own. It’s something I’ve been working at for well over a decade. And it’s a habit that for the life of me I just can’t quit.</div>
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I’d perhaps like to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could switch to recreational racquetball, smoke an occasional cigarette, go out more, dance more, drink more, take up what a good friend of mine calls ‘the exquisite art of lawn maintenance’. But, I just can’t. In spite of myself, I can’t give it up… though my dreams have been clipped down to realistic size (unless a savage pandemic of swine flu occurs, there are no world championships in my future). Furthermore the romanticism of it has dried up a fair amount and I’ve really stopped caring about running as a team endeavor.</div>
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But it’s not just inertia that keeps me out there. It’s that basic quest that seemed alluring in the first place: to be faster than I was last year or last month or last week. To touch (or pretend to touch) the metaphysical as you crest that last goddamn hill or make the beautiful left turn onto the homestretch. If there is anything transcendent in this slimy, dirty world then the desire to make oneself better than one currently is must count.</div>
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But this is interesting because I chafe at the thought of defining myself as ‘a runner.’ I cringe just writing it. I cringe when people call themselves by it. This is partly because running is nothing particularly special.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is what we were meant to do. I buy whole-heartedly into the anthropological argument that human beings evolved through running. It’s why we have big brains, reasoning skills and the ability to complete immense feats of physical and mental endurance.<a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=5195561759231097843#_ftn1" name="_ftnref" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;">[1]</span></span></a> We are supposed to do this. Everyone is. But that means that calling yourself a ‘runner’ is akin to calling yourself a ‘breather’ or a ‘heart-beater.</div>
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‘Oh yes, I do it all the time. I’m a Breather. In fact, I breathed over 30,000 times yesterday… How much did you do?’ </div>
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This is what I think every time I pick up a running magazine or see a running advertisement. They are just sort of stating the obvious…</div>
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Also for better or worse, the activity has been exported into a mass market. It’s become a means of consumptive identity like everything else. You’re a runner. Buy some shoes and go find yourself… but come back for a shirt and socks. Then buy some gels, shorts, Cliff bars, sports drinks and water bottles before you spend $150 to run 26 miles. Go buy a copy of Runners World, Running Times, Trail Running and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Born to Run</i>. Have you tried barefoot running? Chi Running? Gallowalking? Pose Method? Check out this other book for sale.</div>
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Sure, you’re a runner, but so is everyone else that goes for a jog… or spends two hundred dollars. You’re ‘a runner’ because someone wants you to buy something.</div>
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So why define yourself by it? I wear Levi skinny 511 jeans most days of the week… in fact, I spend more time in jeans then in running shorts. Does this make me a Levi Jeans Wearer? </div>
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Furthermore, running’s revolutionary fringe, what gives the sport an avante garde status, is fast dying out too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The James Dean ethos of Bowerman, Sheehan and Lydiard is long dead. The track and roads have been the realm of multi-national banking firms and credit cards for decades. Now the tentacles of capitalism are extending onto the trails and finding a nice niche in ultrarunning, a sport that prides itself on its aesthetic freedom.</div>
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Ok, so now that I’ve offended every one of my friends who run competitively or recreationally or for health or for altered states of consciousness or for whatever, I should add that I’m as guilty as anyone. I’ve worked in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">three</i> running stores… and after this summer it will be four. I’ve sold thousands of pairs of running shoes to as many people... so, I’m part of the system. In fact, I made a living off it. I’ve spent a small fortune on shoes and gear. I have raced competitively for thirteen of my slight twenty-five years and to my estimate probably run enough to circumnavigate the world... twice. Indeed, running gives a fair amount of meaning to the title of this blog. </div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">So what gives? Why slam on the sport and more importantly attack an important part of a lot of people’s lives? You, Sam, are again acting like an intellectual snob, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">practicing a cavalier, laid-back attitude to your own beliefs. You’re hoping to distance yourself from the masses that aren’t capable of such self-irony and thus put them down by it.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Maybe.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">But, listen.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
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Identity through activity makes little sense if only one person is doing it. </div>
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‘What does he do?’</div>
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‘He walks on ceilings.’</div>
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‘What?’</div>
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‘Yes, he’s a ceiling walker.’</div>
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There may actually be a ceiling walker out there, but it’s just something he <i><b>does</b></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>until a couple other folks join him up there. Then he <i><b>is</b></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>a ceiling walker. We need others to create a sense of solidarity. It’s human… but in the process we also have to separate ourselves off from others to find meaning from this solidarity. We need our clans, need to exclude people from them so that our relationships in the clique have meaning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s why people with few options join gangs, why thousands of people in North Carolina wear an ugly color of light blue, why people throw bombs at other people. It’s a defense of identity. We are runners… and the rest of you aren’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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My hyper-criticism is just a reminder. This sense of unique being, the feeling of embodying a lifestyle of distinction is a fiction. I’m no more a runner than the co-ed sprinting for the bus on College Avenue or the child wobbling across a playground. We have our activities and they will define us, but these definitions are ultimately creative endeavors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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So we really aren’t anything. And this gets back to our attempt at transcendence… and it’s why I don’t think the creation of a running market (even though it is more than a bit perverted) should keep us from getting out on our own two legs. I know that I am a personal, visceral, perhaps vengeful experiment of one, but it’s the realization that there are other experiments out there on the roads and track that make the effort worthwhile, that give it meaning. It’s why someone working their butt off to set a personal best of 23 minutes for a 5K is just as important as the skinny fellow who won the race nine minutes ahead of them. It’s why I think age group awards are actually kind of neat… even if there are too many of them. It’s why I think that if more people went jogging on the trails the world would indeed be a better place. </div>
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‘Do I contradict myself?</div>
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Very well then I contradict myself,</div>
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I am large, I contain multitudes.’</div>
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best,</div>
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<!--EndFragment-->Sam Robinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04515534179065532478noreply@blogger.com2