Deuces Olympic Race Report

This year's "metals." This picture doesn't show it, but, I have a
giant blister on my third toe for my race effort.

I had done so many triathlons that I assumed that they would all be predictable. This turned out not to be the case with Deuces, except for the weather, which was always hot. The unexpected was not always good.

Deuces had evolved over the years, but not always for the better. It had a half iron, Olympic, Xterra and sometimes a sprint. A huge raffle used to occur on Saturday evening along with a dinner. The raffle and dinner disappeared. The Xterra this year was cancelled due to forest fire danger. I never wanted to stay late anyway, so it didn’t matter to me. The less time in Show Low the better. I couldn’t really explain why the town makes me want to leave as fast as possible.

Last year's metal.

I was nervous before the race because high altitude makes breathing difficult. The swim had  the danger of panic attacks. I usually felt alone on the bike course because it’s remote and everyone was ahead of me. The run, which was half trail was an ordeal.

The temperature was warmer than I expected at dawn. This did not bode well. I struggled into my wetsuit and tested the water. It felt chilly at first, but tolerable. The lake level was down nine feet, due to the water being used for fire-fighting. The channel out to the start was much narrower than usual.

The swim start was the typical struggle due to the lack of oxygen at altitude. My chest felt tight. I couldn’t see the far buoy because it was partially deflated. I had to ask the kayakers where it was. I turned the corner, went across to the next one, then started down the lake. I aimed toward the next yellow buoy, but the kayaker said I had to go around the orange ball buoy. 

This confused me. The race organizers had said all we had to do was right turns, but nothing about navigating randomly placed balls. At times, I actually saw the bottom of the lake through the murk. Time dragged on and I contemplated my inadequacy in this event. At least the water was smooth and I could breath. As I was going back past the start, I heard the announcer say “three minutes” for the sprint race. Great. I was taking forever and was soon going to be run over by sprint swimmers.

 I rounded the last far buoy, then the final one to come in and hit a thick jungle of weeds. The patch was enormous, the largest I had ever seen, and it extended all the way to the shore. The long plant tendrils clung to me, trying to drape themselves over my arms. I panicked, flailing my arms to escape their grasp and groaned. The only way I was going to get away was to keep moving. The swim exit was beckoning. The sprint racers had caught up, but passed by without slamming into me.  

I staggered out of the water through six inch deep muck and walked up to steep hill to be stripped of my wetsuit. I ran into transition, which of course was empty. I was last or near last out of the water, which was depressing. At least my bike was easy to find.

On the bike, it was hot already. Tall pines trees that lined the road did not provide much shade. The white sun seared my skin and sucked the moisture out of my body. Sweat salt crusted my face. Once off the main highway, Lone Pine Dam Road was empty past the sprint course racers. An out and back had been on the route last year, but none was marked this time. I worried that I had missed it, but all I could do was go on. No volunteers were out in the remote area to guide us. The sign I had gone past said “Olympic straight”, but I still felt lost on the lonely route that stretched on and on and seemed to go nowhere.  

The run was a reminder of race misery past; almost ironman level of deep despair. I knew it would be problematic since my hamstring was injured, but to run through soft sand resulted in sharp hip pain with every step. It eased off  to a bearable stabbing when I got to firmer ground. The path wound through the campground, then entered an out and back road. The slight uphill made it mentally a dark place. My legs were dead and merely plodded through the uneven ground. An unwelcome hill marked the turn around. I grabbed some gummy bears for quick energy. The sticky layer adhered to my teeth.  

On the back half of the run, the aid stations were out of water. I had my own bottle, but it was low and lukewarm. The threat of heat exhaustion worried me with three aid stations in a row lacking water and cups. I grabbed some vile-tasting Heed-laced ice, which made my water foamy, but cooler. The run ended up being 6.78 miles instead of 6.2.  

They managed to even run out of water at the finish line. I lurked around the water containers and poured some in my bottle whenever they re-filled it. Some athletes, unhappy with the situation, berated the volunteers, but they had no control over the ineptitude of the race organization. 

 I was hot and considered the kiddie pools that they had set up, but the water was dubiously cloudy. God knows what was floating around in that water with the many sweaty butts that had sat in it. I saw surprised to see some one actually wash her face with it. She might regret that later. I  jumped in the lake instead, and pushed aside the weeds. At least the bacteria would be diluted. The coolness of the water refreshed me, despite the hot furnace air.

I chose this race, not because I liked it, but mostly because it was good training for a half iron at altitude that I was doing later in the fall. I didn't  expect to do well, so I didn’t worry about it.  I had merely survived the lack of oxygen and water, the weeds, the running injury and the desolate bike course. 

People don't understand why I put myself through this kind of ordeal  Sometimes, I don't know, either. Maybe, the discomfort makes me tough. A little less pain, however, would have been appreciated.

Phoenix Comicon

I had no interest in anime, Steampunk, Legos, comics, superheros, wearing costumes nor Cosplay. I liked science fiction, Star Trek, Star Wars and zombies. But my daughter was doing an In Character Cosplay Challenge panel and I wanted to watch her with her friends. This was my year to try new things, so I bought a membership.

I hesitated to make the plunge. Phoenix Comicon was not cheap; plus I had to drive downtown, which I hate, and pay for parking, which I despise more. Even less incentive was that the weather this time of year was a million degrees. I didn’t even want to leave the house because it took too much energy.

My daughter has been doing Cosplay and going to these types of conventions for years. I was curious to see what she spends so much time on. The creativity of her costumes that she sewed always impressed me. I had been around when she and her friends discussed characters and I had no idea what she was talking about. It was a foreign language and an unknown world.

Adults dressed as make-believe characters was something that I didn’t understand, but accepted as “normal,” since my daughter did it. To wear costumes and pretend to be someone that they were not, must have been fun for them. I think that this behavior was weird because I hate to draw attention to myself. I would rather slink around in a crowd unnoticed.

Would I be bored to death? Could I find things to do? Would I have enough energy to endure the hordes of people?

The first hint of chaos was when I was driving down the street nervously looking for parking. The website said parking was generally $12, but the price was understated by half. The first garage was $25. Traffic was stopped at the crosswalk between the Convention buildings.  A river of people flowed in the street. The amount of humanity provoked anxiety. Panicked, I parked at the next garage that didn’t display an outrageous price. My head spun.

I walked outside into the sun-blasted air. Mermaids hung around in display outside. I wondered what genius set it up without much shade. The line to get a badge in the South Building was short. The fifteen minute, or more, wait to get into the North Building exhibit hall was not so short.  I joined the sweating masses. I pondered the fate all the unfortunates that wore heavy costumes in ninety degrees.

Inside, was all the vast space and intimacy of an airport. I forgot to get a map, so I had no clue where to go. Moving anywhere was a slow process with all the bodies in the way. The goal was to find a booth of a writer friend, but all I had was the number and a vague idea where it might be.

 I wandered into a hall, but it wasn’t the right one. I went into another. The sounds, lights of countless jewelry, anime art, comics and costume accessories displays assaulted me. Star Wars Stormtroopers, Star Trekkies and Zombies passed by. Halloween had run amuck. Long lines of people were waiting to get photographs or autographs of celebrities. The friend that I was looking for happened to run into me. I was dazed. We made our way to his booth and we chatted for a while. I was relieved to find a friendly face that grounded me in reality.

I went off to look at the Star Wars exhibit nearby. People dressed as characters were waiting around for photographs. There was R2D2. I also looked at an elaborate multi-building Lego city with a train running through it. I wandered through the booths and saw a masked guy with nicely defined abs and a tattooed arm dancing to some horrible Karaoke sung by another. I took a picture of a cool fake zombie soldier, after which my camera promptly died. This convention was actually amusing. Too bad I could no longer record it.

After a long walk and seeing a fraction of what was there, I got out of the giant hall.  The expensive food was tempting, but the lines were long, and Melissa’s panel was in thirty minutes. Luckily, I had brought along snacks or I would have been really hungry. 

I stepped into the crowded room and Melissa said, “Hi.” She looked pretty in a long purple silk dress trimmed with gold leaf with a blue chiffon overlay. The costume had elaborately beaded armbands. Her hair was in long smooth tendrils with a head ornament. Very princessy. I was not sure what character she was.  

Lego Town

Her and friends proceeded to pick people out to play skits. Somehow they knew who the audience was dressed as. One guy had a giant pie thing on his head with a bloodied shirt. He was actually Pyramid Man, but I didn’t know that. My favorite was an evil horned alien as a presidential candidate. “I will eat your children,” she proclaimed. Everyone seemed eager to act.  

When her panel was over, I had only been there for three hours and I was utterly drained. After spending forty dollars to get in and whatever parking was, I felt like I should see something else. The South building had the Haunted House. The strobe lights, corpses, and evil clowns weren’t all that scary. Maybe the Zombie Bootcamp would have been better.

Karaoke Dancer

I could see why people got hotel rooms. I wanted to take a nap. How people could do this for hours on end for three days? Of course I wasn’t passionate about it, so that made a difference.

Back in the heat again, I plodded back to the parking garage. The parking prices had soared in a few hours. Now they were $25-30. I nervously hoped that mine wasn’t that bad.

I felt faint walking inside the parking area. The air was stifling and I couldn’t breath. I wanted out. Luckily, it was only $15 to escape. In ordinary circumstances, this amount would have been outrageous, but now I didn’t care. My lair and a nap awaited.

The world I had entered as an outsider was strange. I didn’t speak their language and I didn’t dress like they did. I don’t know if I will ever develop an affinity for their ways, but the  culture was interesting.

 Not sure what the hell this is

Esprit de She Race Report

I had no expectation of doing well at this race. Recent life events had left me reeling. I had moved two weeks earlier, leaving me feeling disoriented. Where the hell was I and where was I going? My life had been packing, then unpacking. Then I crashed on my bike, which had removed large areas of skin from my leg. The painful wounds had mostly healed, but not entirely. I also had minor surgery scheduled for the next day. I was dazed.

As usual, the thought of swimming 1500 meters in Tempe Town Lake made me nervous. Despite  thirty-two previous immersions in the murky pea soup water, I always dreaded it. The water was warm, which helped hold the thought of drowning at bay. Warm temperatures made me happy.The possibility of dying was more likely in cold water to me, since the misery factor was so much higher. Cold water sapped my energy and will to live. Cold was bad.

They herded us into the water. The start line was fifty yards out. This event was open to women only. The unspoken assumption was that women appreciated the absence of aggressive men swimming over them and crowding the bike course. They would be right. Men don’t always behave themselves and I got in their way, especially in the water. The trade off was it attracted a lot of beginners who didn’t know what they were doing.

Every morning swim in this lake went directly into the sun. I had a vague idea where I was going because I knew to sight off of a high-rise in the distance. Others around me were puzzled as to how to navigate. The water surface shimmered with the guide buoys lost in the glare.

Time dragged and I was not enjoying myself. I swam slow, which made the ordeal longer. I tried to relax and succeeded for the most part. Finally, I turned and could see the line of orange buoys in a line under the bridges. I wondered what the bubbles on the surface were–nothing or something more toxic? People had been reporting a fish die off earlier in the season.

Most people had finished the swim by the time I got out after forty-six minutes. I ran to my lonely bike on the rack.

The bike course was definitely NOT empty and was littered with all the people doing the shorter version of the race. The hordes of riders were in my way. Passing them was an unusual activity for me, being almost as slow on the bike as I was on the swim. The ones who didn’t follow the rules about spacing and not blocking the passing lane, tested my patience.

The roads around Tempe Town Lake either had a flat option with lots of turn arounds or hills. The organizers picked hills, which was more interesting, except they had to be ridden multiple times. They had freeway overpasses, flats and climbs through Papago Park with its sandstone rock formations. I didn’t find it too taxing.

The second bike lap lost the newbies. I almost missed the incentive to go faster to get around them. I briefly thought about stopping at a port-a-potty, but didn’t want to waste the energy or time. This was always an issue at longer races, but miraculously, I had managed to avoid the smelly little huts.

I got back into transition, racked my bike and rushed out to the run. I had not been running much because of a hamstring injury. The back of my leg hurt sharply with each step. I had done a strenuous trail race in February and had paid for it ever since. I hoped not to suck too much.

By now it was fairly hot. Tempe Town Lake was always a heat bowl. It collected the sun and beat a runner senseless with the inferno. It forced me to slow down. The defense to this was pouring ice and water on myself at the aid stations. I wanted to go faster, but couldn’t and just kept moving. At least I wasn’t walking, and felt relatively good.  Usually, the run was the best part, but today it was a matter of survival.

I finally finished, and the mental daze was back, this time from the blood rushing from my brain to my legs. Fatigue had set in, but physical tiredness was better than reality tiredness. Unpacking could wait. A meh race was still better than being with my population of boxes.

Mountain to Fountain 15k Race Report

Great Horned Owl

My day started with a Great Horned Owl hooting from the top of a palm tree in Fountain Hills. Owls were always a thrill to see and hear. These creatures were otherworldly to me with their big eyes and haunting calls at night. Plus, they eat live, bloody prey. I peered into the tree to try to see him, until the husky bird flew away. Hopefully, he was a good omen for the day.

Fountain Hills was one of those planned communities on the edge of suburbia that was a little tattered around the edges. In the center of town was a giant fountain that spewed a large volume of water in the air. It can be seen from miles away. When it was not being a fountain, the structure was unsightly, like rusty remains of a ship wreck sitting in the lake. The charm was lost on me.

The race was point to point from McDowell Mountain Park, so runners had to take buses to the starting line. I was silent during the ride and ignored the conversations, since I had no urge to be social at this early hour. The last time I did this event, I didn’t get to Fountain Hills early enough and the bus took fifty minutes. I didn’t remember why it took so long to ride nine miles. Buses can get swept into a time warp and reappear at their destination much later than should be possible.

This bus got to the park in plenty of time, so that I had an hour to sit around and get really bored. This was a pretty area with lush Sonoran desert with Saguaros and Palo Verde trees. Silver  Brittle Bushes  bloomed  yellow daisies. The sun hadn’t yet warmed the air and I marveled at the stupidity of the runners who had taken  their warm clothes off well before the start.

This race had prize money, so it attracted a lot of elite runners far superior to lowly me. The route was basically downhill, with some nasty climbs. I had no illusions of a fast race and I lined up behind the faster people to stay out their way.

The first mile was an ascent, but I was in a good mood from seeing my owl friend. The next two miles were even better. Flying downhill on the scenic road was effortless and fun and my speed was what was fast for me.

Then the cramps hit, the lovely warning that my bowels were angry and wanted to empty themselves. For all the money the race organizers spend on beer and prize money, they use nothing for porta-potty rental on the route. The 9.5 miles was barren of anywhere to relieve oneself except for trees and bushes. I couldn’t hold it that long. Desert plants were not great cover with their tiny leaves.

Pretty, but not a good place to hide your business.

I briefly considered going off road to a side section with  real rest rooms, but that would waste a lot of time. I studied the configuration of trees and bushes on the side of the road as possibilities. Lots of people were streaming by and the thought of exposing myself to this crowd was not pleasant.

I found a likely spot, and hoped that it wasn’t someone’s private land that I had soiled. I felt better for a while, but I still had problems. I ran hard, then had to slow down repeatedly when the cramps hit. My expectations dived and I tried not to get depressed. No personal record for this race, just the attempt not to be totally terrible. To get to the finish line clean was now my ultimate goal.

The road has a steep, long climb a few miles from the end, but I was too consumed with controlling bodily functions to even notice or be tired. Cramps hit again partly up the hill and forced a rest .

The desert gave way to Fountain Hills suburbia and I could keep going without slowing down. My hip and glut pain from another event flared up, but it was bearable. I had done a tough eight mile off road trail race two weeks ago, under the delusion that my body would not have any lasting pain. That assumption was false. Everything was under control for now.

I reached the finish line in under ninety-two minutes. The time was nothing to get excited about, but at least my underwear was clean. Sometimes, the conditions had to be dealt with as they were and I could only do my best, which may not be much to others. The high had eluded me once again. No prizes, nor P.R.s, but at least I got a free beer.

The owl was just an owl, not an omen.

NEPTUNE

When I first saw him, he looked ordinary–one of many birds that flit around in countless pet shop cages. I was unaware that they had distinct personalities. He was a brilliant turquoise blue with a yellow head. My daughter had had a succession of failed pet experiments, including a goldfish disaster of 2992 that I still shudder to think about. “You mean you have to feed them?” Fish and crabs had all died. We already had a cat that didn’t express interest in children. So this parakeet was the next step.

Since parakeets are social, and he didn’t have a friend, I took upon myself to give him attention.  I put him in the home office and he would sit on the window ledge and talk. He emitted a long unmelodious series of chirps, squawks and warbles. Some of the sounds were vaguely human words. The bird would climb up my arm and sit on my shoulder. He pecked at my hair like he was grooming me. He licked the salt off my skin after a workout with his rough tongue. I found it soothing to have a bird perched on me.

I was one of his flock.

Neptune had special skills. He liked to fling his toys off of the top of the cage. He would spin his Ferris wheel. He dropped things that hung in his cage to wake my daughter up when she failed to arise soon enough to let him out.

After a year, my daughter decided that Neptune needed a friend. She saw the bright yellow bird in the store and had to have her. My daughter named her Saturn. After that, Neptune bonded with her more than people and started to talk “bird” more than “human.” They had conversations together and chattered nonstop. The first thing upon waking, Neptune would go straight to her cage.

These two birds lived for years. But recently, I found Neptune puffed up and lethargic. He squawked in pain whenever he had to move. His leg was limp. I realized something was seriously wrong with him, so I took him to a vet.

The vet suggested $900 worth of invasive tests and procedures, but if he was really that sick, the procedures would not prolong his life much. I took him home, not sure what to do. I hated to see him suffer.

He flew into Saturn’s cage, but all he could do is huddle on the bottom. When I checked on him later in the evening. I was shocked to see his limp body. I took him out and put him in a paper towel by his own cage, with the faint hope that he wasn’t dead. I was sad, but relieved that he wasn’t miserable anymore.

In the morning, he was in the same state, so I put him out on the patio. I don’t usually cry, but his death was unspeakably sad, touching some deep melancholy inside. The reaction reminded me of how I felt when I went back to the vacant house I had lived in for eighteen years and saw the empty hummingbird feeders. My ex had left me and I was stuck with a house that I had to sell.  Seeing the hungry hummingbirds reminded me of the sense of abandonment and loss and the inevitability of change. Like then, the intensity of sadness that came out of nowhere surprised me. Neptune was a connection to my old life that was gone.

Saturn

His companion was now alone and I worried about how she would react. Did she know he was gone forever? Would she be able to survive on her own? Without him she sat in her cage and didn’t move or talk much. She was unhappy and was a shadow of herself. I wanted to help her, but she wasn’t bonded to me. I was a poor substitute for her friend.

I had to tell my daughter that her beloved pet was gone. When I told her, she started crying and so did I. Neptune  meant a great deal to her, and she missed him.

I often wonder why humans are so fascinated with animals and form such strong relationships with them. Maybe we don’t want to be alone on the planet and animals are part of our world. They bring us joy, love and peace. A strong nurturing instinct makes us want to help them if they are sick or injured. Unassuming small creatures hop into our lives, steal our hearts with their antics and have a huge impact.  This ordinary parakeet wasn’t so ordinary after all.

P.F. Chang's Half Marathon Race Report

Every race is a chance to exceed what I think I am capable of doing, but the results aren’t always what I expect or hope for. Lately, I have been disappointed with my body’s lack of energy, and refusal to speed up to a pace that I could normally do easily. The possibility that maybe this time would be different, motivated me to try again.

I usually try to avoid this huge race. The hassle factor is high. The half marathon had over 13,000 participants, which meant a trip into downtown Phoenix for packet pick up the day before. I had to be at the race site two hours before to get parking, line up for the porta-potties and stand around in the corral for half an hour. I like low key, local races where I can arrive an hour early, get my bib number on the same day, warm up and line up ten minutes before the start.
The organizers assign corrals according to projected finish time, This system seemed to be widely disregarded and no one policed the corrals. I was supposed to be two corrals down, but my friend convinced me to be in this one, which was the two hour half marathon people. Some of these people were delusional.

The starting gun went off and we waited. And waited. Fourteen minutes later I started to run–except all the people in my way slowed me down. They weren’t running as fast as a two hour half marathon–maybe a two and a half. I got acid reflux, which is horribly painful and always plagued me at the beginning of any run. My lack of warm up was back to haunt me. Razor blades in my chest made speed difficult, so the first mile was slow. A chance of a personal record for this race slipped away. I tried not to despair.

A guy passed me carrying a six foot long Sun Devils flag. I had to get out of his way to avoid it. Possibly, he had a good reason for carrying it in a crowded race, like a noble charity cause, but I didn’t care and was just irritated.

The reflux went away, but sluggishness persisted. I forced my legs to go faster and they argued with me. This run was not going to be easy. I finally got up to an acceptable mediocre pace, but the terrain wasn’t cooperating. The slight uphill was obnoxious.

Normally a small incline isn’t a problem for me. Running as hard as I can for thirteen miles makes the hills grow substantially. The back of my legs hurt. I tried not to think about how many miles I had to go. My Garmin  G.P.S watch showed a lag in speed frequently.

A Garmin watch is a wonderful, but evil tool. The pace function kept taunting me, telling me that I was inadequate and not fast enough. My mind was the real tormenter, but the watch was easier to blame. I just couldn’t seem to please it. The distance reading also didn’t seem to agree with the race mile signs and always buzzed the mile before the sign, which meant the official time would be slower than the watch’s.

I kept hoping to hit the easy part, so that I could go faster. After 8.5 miles of pain, the route was an out and back, with the worst hill of the course. The placement was unusually cruel. The sight of the 2:09 pacer going downhill as I ascended distressed me. Race goals evaporated to mere survival. My mood grew worse as I cussed and struggled onward. Finally, the top.

I felt somewhat guilty to be in such a cranky mood. I was healthy and able to run on a sunny, warm day, but misery over-ruled positive thoughts. Crankiness is easier than gratitude and I had not expected it to be this hard. The last half marathon I had done, in 2010, was faster and not this arduous.

The road descended, then ascended, and I was unhappy. The up tick in speed wasn’t happening. Instead I was slowing down, which wasn’t what was planned. The bridge over Tempe Town Lake that arched up then led down to the finish line was up ahead.  Large groups of walkers  blocked my way. I couldn’t understand why these people strolled this close to the finish line, then realized they probably had done the five mile mini-marathon. I didn’t see any point to walking an entire race, but some people like do this.


I darted around the walker herds and sped up. The finish line was the incentive to get to the end faster. I couldn’t wait. This wasn’t the race I had hoped for and it was more difficult than  expected, but the self-flagellation  was done. Total time was 2:08:48, for 13.2 miles, not 13.1, according to my watch. At least I had the satisfaction of  the physical challenge of running that far and hard. The discomfort didn’t matter as much as being able to do the feat. It beat walking.

Valentine's Day Bug

You scurry across the floor in broad daylight.
Past a riot of heart-shaped balloons floating in the air, ribbons trailing among store aisles of shiny foil boxes of chocolates. Antennae waving, little legs moving in a blur. Rows of red and pink color cards proclaiming love, undying devotion, kisses.

You crawl on the rose petals, pausing to regard shoppers who blindly worship Cupid’s deceit with  obligatory offers of gifts.

You drop from the flowers to the ground with a plop and scramble off,
to seek darkness and safety.

Do you have cockroach candle-lit dinners for two?  Romantic cockroach kisses?

You cross paths with a heavy boot.

Squash.

Happy Valentine’s Day.