Author Archives: robinandrew0804

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About robinandrew0804

Robin Andrew is my pen name; I’m a runner, a writer, and a parent, from a small town in central Colorado. As a youngster, my biggest athletic aspiration was to not be the last person picked when teams were chosen for games. Since taking up running for stress relief (right about the time our kids entered their teen years - go figure) and fun, I’ve run fifteen marathons and dozens of other events, on both pavement and trails. This site is my way of sharing the joy and sense of accomplishment I’ve found in simply putting feet into motion, plus a few other bits and pieces of what I find interesting and worth caring about.

On the Inside, Looking Down

The December 2014 issue of Vanity Fair contains an article by Michael Kinsley about the battles between Amazon and Hachette over e-book pricing – and thus, quite possibly, the future of publishing.  Amid many entertaining anecdotes and some useful insights, Kinsley inserts own prejudices towards that future.

Speaking of “Amazon’s self-published authors’ books…” Kinsely blithely dismisses them as universally “genre” work (his quotes not mine), then goes on to characterize these authors as taking their revenues from those on the print publishers’ side: “biographers, historians, midlist novelists… the authors of books that sometimes took a decade to write…”  In other words, self-published authors are hacks, who are stealing the bread from the mouths of real writers.

This is, to put it in decidedly non-literary terms – bullshit.

First off, the financially-successful self-published authors  who so frighten Kinsley are a teeny, tiny, infinitesimal fraction of self-publishing authors (for convenience, let’s adopt the acronym SPAs), the vast majority of whom will spend considerable time and money creating, self-packaging, self-listing, self-printing and attempting to self-distribute their work, and make very little or no money for their efforts.

Second, while some of those SPAs may indeed crank out work quickly, so do plenty of paper authors – perhaps Mr. Kinsley is aware of one James Patterson, profiled in the very next issue of the same mag.?  For every crank-it-out SPA, there are far more who have spent years or even decades on their works too, many with no support from the “Universities and foundations” to whom Kinsley worries his more-worthy paper-bound scribes must turn for support when advance and royalty checks are not available.  Truth is, most authors, paper or print, will never make a living wage from their work (just like most actors, most musicians, dancers, visual artists and mimes), and whether or not a writer gets an agent or publisher depends on far more than either the quality of their work or the amount of effort which went into writing it.  That Mr. Kinsley seems to think otherwise, suggests that he – being an industry-insider, is ignorant of – or perhaps has just forgotten – the obstacles which most authors must surmount in order to achieve the elevated viewpoint.

A little farther along in the article, Kinsley recounts a visit to his agent’s palatial offices, where “I sat in the waiting room with Picasso’s grand-daughter – it’s that kind of place.”  Apparently Kinsley is so besotted with rubbing those surnamed elbows that he does not realize he’s just admitted one of the reasons the SPA movement is not only not evil but necessary: one’s admittance to the offices of today’s agents and print publishers is far more contingent upon having a famous name than having a great book, whether it took months, years or decades, to write.

This condition exists for a good reason; the limited capacity of the print-publishing marketplace .  Publishers daily face an onslaught of written work, not all of which they can possibly print and sell at a profit.  To deal with this, the industry has spawned exclusionist mechanisms; a complex and effective filtering system (of which agents are the first line of defense) to weed out all works other than those most likely to be commercially successful at the scale required by industrialized print publishing.  Add to that a celebrity-crazed culture, and it is growing more and more difficult for any work, regardless of merits, to be hard-published unless its author has a ‘platform’ – a pre-existing public identity to serve as advertisement without reference to the work’s merits.  Thus it is easier for a reality-TV supporting actor, minor pro-athlete or painter’s granddaughter to get an agent and a print deal than a previously-un-published biographer, historian, novelist or academic.

And yes, I am taking it as a given that print-publishers are less than perfectly-efficient; that they do not actually locate and publish every worthwhile work that has been created.  Trusting that Mr. Kinsley would not argue that point, I will in fact go farther; I believe there are large numbers of worthwhile writings that will never be seen by any but their authors unless those authors take upon themselves the financial burden and risk.  Fortunately, many of them are willing to do that, which is the real reason SPAs abound, not some rapacious desire to steal out of the mouths of their betters’ babes without doing the work of ‘real’ writers.

The true value of electronic- and self-publishing is this: no longer must an author convince first an agent and then a publisher that her work will appeal to a wide-enough segment of the hard-copy market to justify a five- or six-figure investment of someone else’s capital for printing, promoting and distributing hard copies. It is now possible for a work of value with (perhaps) more limited appeal to be brought to light, albeit usually for a much smaller audience.  This, Mr. Kinsley, is not a bad thing; for writers, for readers, for the general culture.  And it does not come about because SPAs are stealing the legitimate paychecks of paper-authors.  It comes about because the times they are a-changin’.

I am reminded of another famous inside-down-looker, Rousseau’s un-named “great princess.”

SPAs are not settling for cake either.

The Yiddish Policeman’s Union, Michael Chabon

The Yiddish Policeman’s Union, Michael Chabon

A joyful romp through an alternative future, at once familiar, and yet definitely not.  Around the bones of a noir-detective story, Chabon has draped the ‘what if’ of an alternate resolution to the Jewish people’s search for a homeland following the horrendous events of the mid- twentieth-century.  What if, rather than re-bordering the middle-east, world powers had somehow coerced those settlers to accept in its stead a sparsely-populated region of – southeastern Alaska?  Though less bluntly brutal than the real story, this hypothetical exile to Alaska gives vent still to that culture’s desire for self-fulfillment, along with their literature’s flair for tragedy, and for perseverance in her face.

Recognizable as relatives of New York tropes, these characters are just like anyone else, only more so – more ordinary, more battered, more lost in their own histories – and all the more sympathetic, for it.  Swept up in events they can barely comprehend, much less control, they search for small satisfactions wherever they can find them, which is mostly in one another – though “god-help-me if I’ll ever admit it to you,” is the universal attitude of greatest affection.

I raced through this novel, never wanting to put it down, till I saw the ending coming all too soon.  An ending, by the way, which felt not quite equal to an otherwise immensely impressive display of imagination and craft, but that is minor carping.  My final words on the subject?  Get it; read it, enjoy it.

Run-up to Boston – Part 4 – Why Bother?

Run-up to Boston – Part 4 – Why Bother?

One thing – maybe the thing – that makes Boston different from nearly all other marathons, is the qualifying requirement.  Where other events welcome all comers, and manage their numbers – if necessary – via lottery or ridiculously fast sell-out, Boston is unabashedly elitist, using its multi-tier registration process to ensure it admits only the fastest of those who apply each year, which pretty much guarantees that MPRs who make the cut at all will start and finish at the back of the field.  Yup; a person used to finishing in the middle of the pack at other events, could well find herself a ‘squeaker’ here, lining up in the last wave wearing bib number 26,236 out of 28,000 and, thanks to the multiple waves with multiple corrals in each, finishing hours after the big names have received their awards and headed for the showers.  On top of that, it’s expensive to travel and stay in Boston, an hours-long cattle-call getting to the starting line (which temporarily consumes the tiny town of Hopkinton like a nebula-cloud enveloping the Starship Enterprise), almost impossible to find friends at the finish, and requires seven to 14 months of forethought and planning.  So why bother?  Well, there’s…

Bragging rights – to a lot of your family, friends and people you meet now or in the future, the Boston Marathon may well be the only running event they know by name (except perhaps the Olympics, which is even more difficult to get to).  Civilians who know nothing else about this sport (pastime? addiction? religion? – whatever it is to you) will know that running this one is a landmark, so being able to say, with utmost casualness, ‘yeah, I’ve done Boston’ is one of the most satisfying ways to reassure yourself that you actually are ‘A Runner.’

Schwag – the BAA folks, who put on this event – have great taste. Their unicorn logo is cool in an ‘old-patrician-establishment meets new-age-mysticism’ sort of a way, and pulling out your participant shirt is always reassuring after a disappointing workout.  I have to admit though, to being of two minds about the jacket – seeing someone show up at a 5K wearing one engenders an odd mixture of respect with disdain – ‘you ran Boston – you must be good’ is immediately followed by ‘but what are you trying to say by flashing that here,’ which flows all too quickly into ‘are you gonna’ be good enough today to justify that flash?’  On the other hand, it’s a great way to connect with others who have shared that same experience. I manage my jaundiced attitude by wearing a t-shirt, logo-cap or visor – recognizable to those in the know, but less flashy than a bright yellow jacket with ‘BOSTON’ plastered across it.  Yeah, I didn’t buy the jacket ‘cause I didn’t need to go around ‘showing it off’ – but now I wish I had.

Ego – those jacket-musings point up the mixed emotion this MPR feels.  Is wanting to run Boston a grand aspiration that helps you ‘be all that you can be’ or is it evidence of an unenlightened ego with something to prove?  My current platform position – subject to change as the election cycle progresses – is that it’s all of the above and more, in which vein I take some solace from stanza 68 of the Tao te Ching –

“The best athlete wants his opponent at his best….

All of them embody the virtue of non-competition.

Not that they don’t love to compete,

but they do it in the spirit of play…

and in harmony with the Tao.”*

That’s an attitude I am happy to admit – we MPRs go to Hopkinton for the joy of measuring ourselves against its yardstick – not to prove how good we are, but that we have done our best.

(we also go for THE CROWD – but that’s a story for another day…)

*Credit: Tao te Ching, A New English Version, translated by Stephen Mitchell, Harper & Row, 1988.

I N A T O P – I A W Y C D -T

What is that, some Welsh tourist attraction?  Nope, it’s one of my running mantras, origin as follows:

This past summer I took part in a backcountry race which I was fully-aware would be – for me – downright grueling.  I’d run the same event two years before, finishing long-after the time for which I’d hoped; exhausted, lame, doubled-over sick, and emotionally wrecked.  And even though this year I had a better idea what to anticipate, and had trained assiduously for the series of long climbs, almost from the start it seemed my view was nothing but butts disappearing into the distance.  The one-third point found me watching two runners who, when they first came up from behind had looked like folks I should be able to hang with, but were now steadily pulling away, and as we neared the end of a quarter-mile-long open meadow I looked the other way to see – not a soul visible behind me.

As I watched those two runners disappear without apparent effort into the woods – where I knew another climb awaited – discouragement settled in like a thirty-pound pack.  What was the point, an inner voice asked, if I was feeling this depleted this early, and every other runner was handling the terrain better than I?  Was I really going to be the last person to finish?

What salvaged that day was, in retrospect, nothing more or less than experience; having run enough events by now for another inner voice to pop-up and remind the first one that ‘how you feel in the middle of an effort is not necessary indicative of how you will feel at the end.’  (“Of course not – you usually feel much worse at the end!  – that’s not really true, but I just had to say it, because I know a lot of runners will be thinking it…)

Enough events too, that conditioning and habit kept my feet moving while those and other thoughts got processed, by which time I was into the woods, cresting that next climb and headed for a magical stretch of gently-undulating single track through forest straight out of Lord of the Rings.  It was in those woods I remembered someone writing or saying, ‘it’s not about the other guy,’ and realized how especially true that sentiment is for a mid-pack (or rear-pack, as the day may have it) runner.

Lead-Dogs are there to fight it out, agonizing over who is ahead of who (whom?), but we MPRs are in the game for other reasons; to find out what each of us is capable of, on a given course, on a given day, which puts it all in a whole different light.  Everyone pulling away from me?  Wish them well. No one behind me? Less pressure!  It’s a beautiful day, a wonderful trail, a blessing to be able to run – period – and me doing my best is not dependant on how well or poorly anyone else is doing.

‘It’s not about the other guy,’ struck a chord, and began repeating in my head (though I quickly substituted ‘person’), but this was a long run, and pretty quickly that simple mantra become elaborated into:

It’s not about the other person

It’s about what you can do

Today

Repeating those words over and over again pushed discouragement out of mind, and when it threatened to return I switched over to figuring out the anagram –  I-N-A-T-O-P, I-A-W-Y-C-D, T – and figuring out a way to pronounce it (no, I’m not even going to try writing that out phonetically).  Those games distracted the left brain long enough to get me to the next aid station, where encouraging volunteers (THANK YOU!), a PBJ and the sight of other runners started to turn things in a better direction.  There were plenty of slow stretches still to come that summer day, but that early one proved the worst, as focusing on the right objective put the rest into perspective. I really did feel better at the finish this year, smiling – able to stand upright – and with plenty of room to improve next year.

So keep on running, MPRs; for yourself, for your own reasons.   Every run is more experience under your belt; more proof that –

I N A T O P

I A W Y C D

T

however you pronounce it.

Images of The Prophet?

In the aftermath of Paris, we’re hearing a lot of talk about whether or not Islam truly prohibits images of the Prophet, but that is an entirely wrong-headed question for the broad public debate. 

Sure, that particular question is important to practitioners of Islam, and if they believe it is so, they should be (and so far as I know, are) free to not create such images, not display such images in their homes, their mosques, etc., and to not purchase materials which contain such images.

But their freedom to practice their religion cannot be allowed to create a constraint on the equal religious freedom of others.  I am not a Muslim, and I do not accept that their religious teachings have any bearing on whether I wish to draw, sell or view images of the man they call The Prophet.  To accept or legislate that would be an abridgement of my freedom of religion.

If you are offended by Charlie Hebdo, don’t buy it!  If you are offended by even seeing it for sale,  stay away from places that sell it – or better yet, take control of your emotions, and walk on by.  Any human being can be (and probably is) exposed on a daily basis to appearances or behaviors they do not like, or by which they feel offended, but your feeling offended is not sufficient reason to curtail anyone else’s freedom.

Which exposes the true breadth of the issue at hand; that if criminality or prohibition of any behavior is determined on the basis of whether or not someone is offended or their feelings hurt by it, then all semblance of rationality, consistency or proportionality is lost, because persons can choose to be offended by anything.  That is neither freedom nor justice.

 

Run-up to Boston – Part 3

So, OK – you’ve made your BQ, sent in your registration, received the very nice notice they send out and posted it somewhere you cannot possibly miss seeing upon waking up every day. Now what?

First of all, it’s a wait. With registrations confirmed in September or early October and the run in mid-late-April, that’s up to seven months to anticipate. Seven months is 28 weeks give or take, and there are plenty of 20- or 16-wk. marathon training plans out there, so lots of latitude building your own schedule to arrive fully-prepared.  Set a plan and follow it; ‘nuff said.

Second – Boston is a big city, but close-in, affordable (everything is relative) accommodations fill-up early for race weekend, so find a place to stay as soon as you’re confirmed.  The event website has great info on travel arrangements and my experience is they are decent deals, so check them out and get something booked soon.

Plan other activities.  The race is held on Patriot’s Day, for goodness sake, and Beantown (beware, no one from or in Boston ever calls it that) has tons of U.S. history.  Touring the Old North Church or Paul Revere’s house takes on extra meaning when you’re in town to participate in one of its best-known events, and you’re sure to see other runners (recognizable by their jackets, shirts, caps etc. from the current or past years). For one or two days before and after the running it feels like the entire town is dedicated to marathoners, so plan time to soak it up – this weekend is a good as it gets for the sweat-soaked, black-toenailed crowd (and unless you tell them, no one knows or cares where in the pack you will start or finish).

Shop the gear – maybe I’m a dork, but it really fuels me to have a cap or shirt even before getting to the expo, plus it helps us loonies recognize one another.  Beware though, I’ve found the official Addidas shirts and shorts are proportioned for storks, giraffes, super-models and stick figures.  If you’re the least bit teapot-shaped (‘short and stout’) like me, they may not work all that well…

Tell people!  Many MPRs are kinda shy about their achievements – I mean we are the folks who bust our butts, consume our mornings, evenings, lunch breaks and weekends, spend our money and baffle our families – knowing full-well we will never actually win a race… But even most total-non-runners are aware that Boston is special, so drop a (brief) clue in conversation, and enjoy the reaction.  You’ve earned it!

More to come…

 

Wintervals – A Treadmill Workout

Winter is here on the Western Slope of the Rockies; long dark nights, cold temperatures, trails buried under several feet of soft snow, roads under a treacherous mixture of softpack, hardpack, ice, and hidden-ice.  It’s still possible to get out and run for endurance training, but pace?  Fu-gedd-abou-dit!

One answer (short of expensive trips to warmer climes) is the treadmill, and one way to use those treadmill workouts – and make them less stultifying – is what I call Wintervals – an interval workout on the ‘mill.

Over five or six minutes of warm-up, (with at least 1% of incline, to take the place of air resistance) work yourself up to a resting pace; whatever that is for you.  (I use a minute or two longer per mile than overall hemithon time.)

(This works best on a ‘mill that displays PACE, but if yours only gives MPH, you can do your conversions sometime on a calculator and memorize them, or just remember a few helpful landmarks along the scale and interpolate between them. 5 MPH = 12 min. pace, and 6 mph = 10 min. are nice round ones, then  “7.5 MPH = 8 minute pace,” and “8 MPH = 7.5”  are easy to remember ‘cause they’re sort of reciprocals.  10 MPH = an even 6 min pace if you’re at all into that league…).

Anyway, after the warm-up, accelerate to a moderately fast pace – maybe what you’d try to maintain on a shorter distance like a 5-k –  and stay there for two minutes, or three or four, until your heart rate and breathing get up pretty high, then drop back to resting pace to recover to a moderate level of breathing.

After two minutes recovery, accelerate rapidly to a 30-seconds-faster pace for two minutes (if you can maintain that long, or one if not), then drop back, for two or three minutes.  Repeat similar intervals, increasing the fast pace each time, shortening its duration if necessary, until you reach a pace you can only maintain for 30 seconds. Then cool-down and head for the shower.

(If you’re using a monitor, you can gauge the paces and durations by heart rate – the goal is to push to a peak rate for a minute or two, then rest until it drops down to a cruising rate, then push again.  What I find interesting, is that my I hit pretty-much the same max heart rate, even as the interval paces get faster – one of the reasons I think this interval workout may help to increase overall cardio effectiveness and build speed for the future.) Another benefit of the format is that anticipating, implementing and keeping track of all those intervals, paces and times breaks up the workout and keeps the mind occupied, making it seem to go much faster than just maintaining a single pace on a moving rubber belt while Judge Judy rambles on.)

I find about five increasing-pace intervals gets me to where it’s just not safe to push the pace any faster (legs getting fatigued so’s I can barely keep up with the belt – falling on a treadmill would not only be harmful, but really, really embarrassing, in a public gym …).  With warm-up and cool-down, that’s about a 30 minute workout. If you want more, instead of going directly to cool-down, try stepping the pace back down in similar increments, each interval a little less fast, but longer duration. Or/and, add hill-work intervals, each one at a steeper incline until you reach a combination of pace and incline you can only hold for thirty seconds.  That can extend the workout into the forty- or fifty-minute range, and guaranteed jelly-legs territory…)

I try to do these workouts at least once a week thru the winter; to build/maintain maximum foot speed and sprinting pace, as well as overall oxygen-processing ability.  Combined with longer and necessarily-slower outdoor runs, Wintervals help me maintain a good base-level of conditioning until the roads clear –

Which I know will happen…

Eventually….

 

Hit the Reset Button

‘Some days you get the bear, and some days, the bear gets you’ – I learned that expression back in the days of final exams, and it applies just as well to running. There are days the conditioning and commitment pays off and days it just doesn’t seem to make a whit of difference.  A recent run gave me reason to wonder how to get back on the right end of that bear.

I’d planned this event for months, trained and tapered and travelled hundreds of miles, thoroughly checked-out the course and carbo-loaded, even laid out my clothes the night before.  Early-morning wake-up, shuttle bus ride and standing in a crowd of thousands to hear the national anthem, all went great, as did that joyous adrenaline rush of starting out in the crowd.  At the halfway point I was dead-on goal time, but within a couple of miles after that could feel things going solidly the wrong way, pace slowing, fatigue like weights on my ankles, thoughts of futility and dropping out…

For an elite that might mean the day is lost – some other dog is going to finish first and nothing else matters – but for a Mid-Pack Runner the real issue is how to make the best of it – to salvage something out of all that effort and anticipation. A few suggestions:

Replenish – unless you’re sure you’ve overhydrated, or your gastro-system is obviously screwed-up, it’s probably worth taking a few good hits of water and/or calories.  Being short on one or the other is at least part of most distance bonks, especially if you’ve properly prepared for the effort, so try a thorough replenishing and see if you feel better in ten minutes.

Take a break – when what you’ve planned is just not working, maybe back-off and walk thru an aid station, or slow to a jogging or walking pace to listen to your body’s signals and see if there is something specific to address. Are you dehydrated?  Need to fuel ( gel or electrolyte)?  Is there something wrong with shoes or gear that’s taking extra effort (are you overdressed and overheated, carrying too much gear, or hobbled by an ill-fitting belt, pack or that hoodie you tied around your waist that’s now dropped halfway to your knees?).  Important point: set a limit on the break before you relax (to that phone pole, to the trash can, one minutes..), and then start back up on that schedule, building gradually back to pace.  Even if you haven’t figured out a specific cause to fix, that little pause can sometimes refresh enough for other reserves to kick in.

Or the opposite – make a break for it.  If you can summon up a temporary commitment, you might try speeding up for a short burst – 15 seconds, the next traffic cone, that kid with the sign up there… then letting your pace fall back.  If you’ve ever run Fartlks, you’ve probably observed that you can maintain a faster pace for the same perceived level of effort after a burst, than you could before the burst – though this is probably only going to work if you’re not really all-that bonked, or in the last push to the end of a run.

Set a new goal on the fly – if it’s clear you’re not going to get back to your intended pace, do not despair! Think up a new goal that will keep your effort focused and give you something to anticipate.  On my recent run I had a goal of making a new distance PR, with a secondary goal of matching the old one.  When it became clear neither of those was going to happen, I figured out (after the requisite Kubler-Ross period of denial, despair, etc…) that I’d be lucky to hit a certain significant number (X:55 mins.) and that became my new goal.  Boom – instant incentive to keep the walk breaks short, and to keep watching and pressing the pace in-between.  When I ended up beating that new goal by a couple of minutes, it actually felt like a small victory, instead of a total loss, enflaming my desire to get out and do better the next time.

So change it up: take a break or make a break; listen to your body, replenish, and if necessary re-calibrate your goal: for us MPRs, even a bad day is a chance to learn and excel.

Go for it – all the way!

Run-up To Boston, Part 2 – Qualifying

One of the running mags had an article* a while back about ‘squeakers’ – folks who qualify for Boston – but only barely.  Having made my first qualifying time by 1:03 – just a minute and 3 seconds below the requirement – I put myself firmly in that category, and have spent a few idle moments considering what that means.

First, is the randomness of any finishing time.  I once finished an event in 4 hours, 0 minutes and four seconds – after having dropped my water bottle along the way and run back two steps to pick it up and replace it in my belt – easily worth five seconds.  A couple of years later, another runner I know started that same event well-conditioned and focused for an under-four-hour finish, and received an official time of 4:00:00 – I after having had to stop to re-tie a shoe.

Second, it helps to find the right event to qualify on: fairly straight route (turns slow you down, right angle intersections are the worst), trending downhill (but only enough to reduce fatigue, not so much as to pound the knees and create pain that slows you down). Also helps if it is closer to sea level than wherever you live and train – even a little extra oxygen makes a difference when you are pushing your limits.  Personally, I’d pick a small- to modest-sized field as well – it’s easier to set and keep a goal pace with at least a few feet of open space around you, than in a massive pack like the photos I see of some big-city runs.

(Not every marathon will get you into Boston either; only those that meet certain requirements of measurement and course are accepted.   Marathons that have met the standard generally make a big point of it on their websites and ads. For a list of the top contenders check out:  http://www.baa.org/races/boston-marathon/participant-information/qualifying/top-qualifying-races.aspx )

Third, is to know your training cycle – living in snow country, my fitness and speed are best toward the end of the summer – my successful qualifications have been in August and October.  If you live in a hot humid climate though, you may be fastest in the spring, when weather is more forgiving.

Fourth; know the rules.  While it varies a bit each year (and could always change in future) the recent Boston regimen has been registration in early September, based on times recorded in the previous twelve months. That means you can hit a qualifying time in October of one year, register and be accepted in September of the next, then run in April of the following; up to 17 months after your qualifying event!

(There’s no carry–over, so if you qualify in one twelve-month period but can’t make the trip the following April, you’ll need to re-qualify during the next twelve month period.  Clearly, it helps to plan ahead.)

Finally, be aware that, since the tragedy of 2013 and resulting upswing of interest and support, qualifying has become more competitive than ever.  If you beat your time by more than 20 minutes, you’re in the first group accepted. The next group is those who beat their time by 10 minutes or more, then 5, and at least up through 2015, if you were in any of those tiers you were assured of getting in.  A few days after those applications are all sorted out, registration opens up to those who made it by less than five minutes – but even then it is not first-come-first served; the faster times still take the places until they are all filled. So, if you’ve made it by, say 1:03, you won’t get in until all the 1:04 qualifiers are seated.  For 2014 the organizers increased the size of the field as much as they could accommodate, and still there were qualified runners (margin of 1:37 or less) who could not be accepted, despite having qualified and gotten their registration in on time.

 

For a summary of the 2015 qualifying process (a margin of 1:02 made it, 1:01 did not) check out http://www.baa.org/news-and-press/news-listing/2014/september/2015-boston-marathon-qualifier-acceptances.aspx

 

It’s a tough way to do things, but fair, and having seen what it takes to put on this event, there’s no question in my mind that they’ve got to limit it.

 

So, dream, imagine. Pick a qualifying event that suits your training rhythm and your running strengths, put a reminder on your calendar for September 1, and you too may find yourself stepping over the line in Hopkinton one year.  I can’t imagine you will ever regret – or forget – it!

 

(* Life of a Squeaker, by Tish Hamilton in Runner’s World, May 2013)

On the Bookshelf

Thanksgiving Day today; so many things for which one can and should be thankful and a new one just hit me:

In the room where I write is a deep bookshelf, and over the years it’s been packed full – valued volumes first in normal line-up, then lain down sideways and piled till they filled the space right up to the shelf above, then when that was still not enough space, a second row stacked in front of those, so you had to pull out one bunch to even see what was behind. Later small stacks inserted on the rest of the shelves wherever a small niche afforded – six books here on top of the board games, ten over there next to the stereo equipment.  Down there, they were packed in between boxes holding the good china we used to bring out for holidays but rarely do any more. Wall to wall books, eventually, and something of a reassurance, a comfort.

Lately though, I’ve been culling.  Pulling out volumes one by one and asking if each of them really deserves to be kept. If I were to pack up and move tomorrow, would I really want to carry this book with me?  Or that?

Three boxes have gone to local libraries so far, for their used-book sales (funding local libraries being an unalloyed good cause, in my book).  Gone the collected copies of every novel by John LeCarre (still revered, but I know I can find them if I ever wish) keeping only the Smiley series and Little Drummer Girl, favorites to which I might want to refer for some hint at character or pacing.  Gone too, Philip Pullman’s Golden Compass series – fun and valued, but I’ll be fortunate if I can ever get around to re-reading Tolkien, I seriously doubt I’ll never make it to Pullman.  Gone are several volumes by Ann Patchett and Michael Chabon – favorite authors but I’ll keep only my favorites of each, and not necessarily the most widely known.

No big surprise that it’s been satisfying to see the space become less full and a bit more ordered, but what struck me just now, looking at the remaining titles, is how my bookshelf has been concentrated and fortified.  Names pop out,; there’s Woof and Winterson, there Krakauer and Gaiman and next to them.  Attwood, Ishiguro, Ondatje and McEwan.  Like grape juice fermented into wine, and wine distilled to brandy, so my library is improved with editing.  Now when I turn away from the computer to ponder an idea, I find myself confronted with a collection of truly-valued works; a chorus of voices worth looking up to, a challenge to emulate.

So this year’s Thanksgiving resolution is to keep culling and selecting, to create a bookshelf that truly inspires, reflecting the literary abundance available to us in this age of free libraries, portable e-books, and self-publishing.   Bookstores are struggling( a real loss) and hard-copy sales declining (I rate myself a lover of the hard-copy experience) but e-books are growing quickly, and self-publishing means voices that would never gain a for-profit publisher can now be heard, if only be a lucky few.

My bookshelf may someday be replaced by an index of file names – but one way or another, story-telling will be with us as long as human beings have imagination and the ability to visualize what is not physically before their eyes. So long as humans are humans, that is, and as long as there are stories being told, even a small collection can be a treasure trove, and an abundance.

Happy Thanksgiving!