Category Archives: Uncategorized

Slowing Down – Whether We Like It or Not

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In this time of Covid, some of us are finding our lives slowed down, with work hours curtailed, trips cancelled, commutes compressed from hours to seconds (for those lucky enough to be able to work from home).  Seems like there may be a few folks out there using some of that time to start – or get back to – a running habit, which is a great way to ameliorate the stress and stasis of their situations. For those folks, the Follow Dog has one suggestion above all – Slow Down!

“Wait a minute; running means going fast doesn’t it – I mean, isn’t that the difference between running and walking?” – Nyet! We say; a big, fat, ‘nyet’ to that!

The difference between walking and running is the stride – in walking one foot touches down before the other lifts off, so at least one foot is always in contact with the ground and bearing weight. In running, on the other hand (well, we’re not actually running on our hands, that’s another activity altogether), one foot pushes off before the other touches down, so there’s a moment in every stride when the runner is totally airborne. This can lead to speed, of course, but not always. What it does always do is require more and different muscle activity than walking, which requires – and therefore can build – greater strength and cardio-pulmonary capacity. It can also burn off tons of nervous energy, break our brains free from worries, help us to relax, sleep better and thus to be more effective at all the other things we do during our days, which is the best reason possible to get lace up those sneakers.

An earlier post (Slow and Steady, 9/4/14) talked more about this, and recommended beginning runners go as slow as possible for as long as possible, then build from there. That approach is even more valid right now: we do not need any more frustration than we already have, thank you very much!

So if you’ve got time on your hands (no, I’m not going there a second time), maybe try running, and if at first it doesn’t seem to work for you, try slowing down till you find a pace that fits. When life gives us lemons….

P. S. – The ‘oh yeah’ part: as some of our lives are slowing down, for others (health care workers, first responders, parents of young children), life has just gotten way more intense than ever. If you’re one of them, THANK YOU . For those of us who are not, let’s look for ways to help. And in the meantime, observing local restrictions and keeping a generous distance apart while exercising will ensure we’re not unnecessarily adding to their workload; it’s the least we can do.

Astrophysics for People in a Hurry, Neil deGrasse Tyson

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‘For people in a hurry,’ in the sense that it this is a tiny volume, pocket sized with barely 200 pages and not small type; and also in the sense that a universe of complex ideas are treated briefly and with concision. Perfect for those who want a general sense of what terms like multi-verse, dark energy and Boolean Algebra mean, without the years of schooling and boggled-brains it would take to really ‘know’ this stuff.

For those folks (of which I count myself one), Tyson does a great job, leading us in somewhat random-feeling steps from the relatively-intuitive astronomic understandings that give us a map of the nearby (solar system, asteroids) to the tougher concepts that make up our current best understanding what the entire universe consists of, how it was formed and how it behaves, at levels from the molecular to the quantum. Along the way he delivers plenty of staggering numbers such as:

the portion of all matter/energy which is visible vs that which is totally invisible except through its effects – that being ‘dark matter’ and ‘dark energy’ accounting, for if memory serves, some two thirds of all there is!

The number of molecules in a single cup of water – which is greater than the total number of cups of water in all the oceans of earth!

The number of bacteria in one inch of a human colon – which is greater than the number of all the humans who have lived through all time!

And many, many, more

Of particular appeal are passages recounting a few great miss-understandings which even great minds have labored under, and how those very mistakes eventually led them and others to new discoveries, an essential part of the scientific method which is sometimes lost in the shouting matches of reactionary culture wars.

 

Once all that knowledge has been disseminated, a final summation touts the intellectual and moral benefits of these concepts being understood widely, partly to cultivate the skills of thought that will lead to success in other pursuits, but more importantly  to instill the awe, wonder and humility that enable us to better appreciate and manage our environment and culture. Some of that falls flat, as when he suggests the absence of atmosphere in space means we should not engage in ‘flag-waving’ about space exploration – a very tenuous stretch of analogy. For the most part though, Tyson is an inspiring democratizer.

All in all, a worthy volume to read, and perhaps a good tool to raise the level of conversation at cocktail parties and Covid-lock-down video calls. Thanks NdGT!

(which now that I’ve typed it out, looks like an algebraic designation of some great import…if I assign the value of G as 27 to tenth power, and T as the length of time since the big bang, and d as the cosmic constant, can I solve for the value of N?  Hope your not holding your breath!)

An Off Day, A Day Off

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Yesterday’s run started OK – legs tired and stiff, but I expect that for the first two miles anymore, given age, and the extra miles I’ve been putting in since work was curtailed by the Covid-19 situation. (I’m not discounting the social distancing we’re all following right now, by the way, but I’m fortunate to be able to run on streets and paths where keeping mucho-distance from others is really easy, and fresh air and sunshine are pretty integral to keeping healthy and strong, if you ask this dog). Mile three was back to normal but it was downhill (the wrong kind of downhill) from there, a struggle to complete even slow mileage as the ol’ gas tank was clearly on empty.

Turns out there is only so much work my body can take, so this morning I settled for a walk around a nearby lake amidst a wet late-season snowfall. Stepping off the path I so regularly run, I wandered to the water’s edge, where slush dripping from tree branches pock-pocked rhythmically on the water and geese eyed me with suspicion. Moving slowly and stopping frequently I could scan the sandy bottom, where crawfish shells rested and a golf ball hid from the clubs of any locals intent on practicing their swing.

Farther along I walked a sandy stretch I’m used to seeing filled with toddling toddlers in the summer, now silent and smooth except for the toothy imprints of my trail shoes. A smattering of saplings which have sprung up from the muddy margins displayed their graceful curves against a misty distance, and even the nearby highway noise seemed muted by the density of moisture-laden air.

Heading back to the house ready for some coffee and warmth, I felt a great appreciation for the change of pace, the sights and sounds and smells. Not better than another run, not worse; just different. And different is good, in almost all things.

“Infinite variety, infinite combinations.” Those Vulcans are no dummies.

Owsley and Me, Rhoney Gissen Stanley with Tom Davis

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Propelled by the excitement of the times and place – mid to late 1960’s San Francisco, this memoir of life in the Grateful dead family is a quick and fascinating read. Like more than a few other members of that scene, Rhoney Gissen came from wealth and dysfunction, and found in the hippie movement a refuge from the former, but not necessarily the latter. Her relationship with August Owsley Stanley III, better known as ‘The Bear,’ and later just Owsley Stanley, was very different from that with her parents, but no more healthy. It is a credit to Rhoney’s character that she not only survived, but overcame that treatment, to raise an apparently healthy and productive son (with the charmingly period-appropriate name of Starfinder Stanley.

Besides affording an entertaining travelogue, and a devastating portrait of the rampant misogyny of the movement (including the Dead, contrary to their counter-cultural reputation), this is Owsley’s story; the self-driven and self-centered genius who simultaneously revolutionized the recreational drug industry and the state of sound-system art while rubbing elbows and other body parts with a who’s who of psychedelic rock celebrities. Hendrix, Joplin, Jefferson Airplane, Joan Baez, Elvin Bishop, the Stones and the Beatles all make appearances, as do Bill Graham, Melvin Belli and many more. Seeing them from inside the movement puts lots of new spin on peace, love and freedom (which seems a better way to complete the trio than ‘happiness,’ given the bad trips, legal troubles, poverty and heartbreak we see).  The detailed accounts of Stanley’s LSD manufacturing are perhaps the most eye-opening part of the book; to paraphrase our current mad-scientist genius, “who would have guessed it was that complicated?”

Fluidly written by Davis, a comedian best known for being half of Franken and Davis (along with fellow SNL writer – later turned politician – Al Franken), the adventure is mostly cheerful and melodic, even when not harmonious. Owsley’s drug business appears to have thrown off enough cash to keep him and his followers in crash pads and the rest of their practicalities were handled with the frugality of artists, trusting to fortune. Brushes with the law are treated as inconveniences, until Stanley serves several years and abruptly shows how much aging he has accumulated. His last years feel bittersweet, as they must have been after such a brightly blazing youth.

A useful antidote to blissful images of the Summer of Love et al, but not one that justifies totally discounting them, just adds another unique perspective.

An Important Issue

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And now, for a change of pace (yes, that is a running pun; an ‘rpun,’ perhaps?).

I’ve just finished reading Trail Runner’s 2020 ‘The Dirt Annual,’ an extra-thick magazine filled with stories about running and runners, and want to shout its praises.

While it naturally contains impressive tales of distance and exertion, this year’s selections have clearly been chosen to illustrate what the cover’s tag line aptly calls “The Soul of Trail Running.”   Mira Rai’s upbringing in a remote Nepali village nearly untouched by industrialization or ’modernization’ is eye-opening, and contrasts wildly with Ricky Gates’ crew sharing a magic-bus style run adventure starting within arm’s reach of Silicon Valley. The free-spirited deep-dive of Italy’s exhausting Tor Des Geants is buttressed by the ritualized extremities of Japan’s Mount Hiei monks, whose run/walk feats dwarf any ultra-marathoner you have ever heard of.

Claire Walla’s quick anecdote about abandoning all pretense of good sense for a spur-of-the-moment R2R2R of Arizona’s big ditch and then the ‘Parting Shot’ page featuring a child’s inspirational note during her father’s Bigfoot 200 endurance run both dilute any taint of hero worship with their humanity, reminding us that humor and connection are critical ingredients of the trail running recipe, as well.

Throughout, the stories place the head trip above the physical. Whether it is Tom Riggenbach dedicating first his teaching career to the Navajo Nation and now his post-career life to running as a way of enhancing their community, or Jim Eisenhart sailing the world to find new places to run in solitude and nature, the point is clear and the evidence broad: running regularly, and long, is a common feature of human culture, a way in which diverse folks experience the world in all its variety and a path (rpun alert, again) to becoming and remaining as fully alive as one can be during our brief strut upon the stage.

It’s not for glory, it’s for the journey. Trail Runner issue 139/2020, ‘The Dirt Annual.’ Get it. Read It. Live it.

A PR, Any Time You Want It

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Look over the starting crowd at any running event, and you’re sure to spot the runners who are out to win. They’re the stony-faced guys pushing to the front of the crowd, wearing one layer less than everyone else, no matter what the weather. The gazelle-legged women whose shorts and tops would be someone else’s swimsuit. They’ve warmed up and fueled up and geared up to run out in the open, with no one ahead and next to no one around. The fortunate few who honestly believe they have a shot at being first over the line – and more power to ’em.

(Currently trending for trail runners: FKTs, which basically mean you are in competition with anyone who’s ever, ever run that route before, or ever, ever will in the future. Talk about narrowing the field of contenders!)

Some runners could honestly care less about any of that; they’re just out for the fun and camaraderie of the sport – and even more power to them.

Most of us though, are somewhere in between those extremes. We love running for the running, but also wouldn’t mind some props now and then, some mark of achievement to record in our logs and remember as we’re sweating on the treadmill. For us, one of the most rewarding results to chase is a new PR – a Personal Record at a given distance or challenge. (I know, some like to call it a PB for Personal Best, but me, I can’t get over the association with lunch box pbj sandwiches).

A PR is something realistic to aspire to and work toward, but what happens when a runner reaches that certain age where nature takes its course and PRs become distant memories? Must every event be a reminder that we’re all getting older every day? Not necessarily, for there’s a sure way to guarantee a PR – choose a new event!

With turns and grades and surfaces, every course is different (especially if you’re into trail running, where distances are never exactly as advertised, and even very similar distances can have drastically different profiles and challenges), meaning every new course is a new benchmark.

So any time you need a bit of ego-boost, find a new event, go out at a your best pace, and you’ve got a new PR.

“Score!”

Bonus Round: since that event is new-to-you, chances are excellent you’ll learn something about the particular course or field that will allow you to come back next year and beat your time, for another PR.

“…and double Score!!”

Colder Boulder Smolder

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The Bolder Boulder is a marvelous Memorial Day event, with over 40,000 citizens running a densely-spectated 10K course around the town towards a hero finish that has them all entering the University of Colorado’s 53,000 seat Folsom Stadium via the team tunnel, to cheers and big-screen finish-line stardom. Not content with doing their splendid job of managing the logistics on that one, the BB crew also offer a December run, the Colder Boulder, with an unusual format.

For those who run the BB and then enter the same year’s CB, they sort you into starting waves of folks who finished within two-minutes of each other. That means you toe the line with a whole pack (there were 92 in my wave this year) of folks pre-selected to run at very near your pace – more or less the way it always is for those pesky elites at the front of nearly every other event. Now, nothing says you have to get all competitive about running the CB, but if you do happen to feel the urge, there’s a built-in pace group all around you.

CB is also a much smaller event (it’s December, it’s 5200’ above sea level, it’s Colorado, so, yeah there is that…) but still has the same Bolder Boulder vibe. Pre-race milling-about is inside the cavernous Folsom Fieldhouse (right next to the stadium) and you get to use the same restrooms the football teams do, troughs and all (sorry ‘bout that part). It’s warm inside, with coffee and stuff, and the waves are really well organized so you can choose just how much or how little time to spend warming-up out-in-the-cold (Dog never said being a runner makes sense). Once your wave goes off, the course weaves around the picturesque CU campus and if you can raise your head from watching the footing and navigating the pack, there’re glimpses of the fabulous the Flatirons only a few blocks away. Temperature this past year was in the low 30’s, but dry and calm, so great conditions for running hard in a singlet and gloves, as long as you managed that warm-up wisely. (That’s the smolder part in the title; with good planning, this  could be your fastest 5K of the year)

Don’t get to use the stadium for this one, but you do get to run through a wide opening into the end of the field house and sprint down a chute with spectators on both sides, so still a pretty rewarding finish. Followed by refreshments, gear pick up for those winter layers and a chance to watch the next wave come in while you cool-down without having to worry about getting cold.

So if you’re within tripping range of Boulder, try it out, and if you’re a race director somewhere else, consider the Colder Boulder format as a fun variation to keep your runners energized between the big events.

Thank you Bolder Boulder crew!

A Dead Man in Deptford, Anthony Burgess

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The author best known for the dystopian future of A Clockwork Orange here delves into the life and death of sixteenth century British playwright Kit (or Christopher) Marlowe (or Morely, or Marley as the fluidity of the English language in those times would have it) and exposes a tale of spying, lying, more lying – this time in one another’s beds – and poetry. It’s a very impressive evocation of time and place as well as language, but even more striking is the mindset of his main characters, where religion and poetry are intricately bound to politics and money, life is cheap and brutality common, yet the bedrock of human nature is not at all different from what we know and struggle with today.

A challenging read, but one which rewards and also yields a new respect for the men (women figure very little in Burgess’ vision) of Shakespeare’s (or Shakespur’s, or Cheeckpurse’s) time.

Yields great respect also for Burgess the writer, as opposed to the pop culture figure he has become thanks to the notorious film version of his most widely-known novel.

P.S. – A Wikipedia query reveals that Burgess was quite the intellectual, a prolific writer of both fiction and non-, and an even more prolific composer. His earlier novel about Shakespeare, Nothing Like the Sun, focuses on the man’s love life and is now high on my want-to-read list.

Compress That, Buddy!

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In a recent on-line article about compression gear, the author cited a bunch of studies on elite runners and concluded– wait for it… that there was no conclusion. No scientific consensus on whether compression has benefits or not.   Well, this never-been-elite-and-never-gonna-be is ready to disagree!

Back in 2013 I had pretty much ignored the ads for compression clothing, figuring they were just another sexy way for manufacturers to part runners from their money. It seemed obvious to my innocent mind that having to stretch that heavy fabric every time my legs bent or straightened would bleed-off precious energy which was better applied between my feet and the ground.

But…I was also on the verge of quitting marathons. Not because my times weren’t progressing (they were, though only very gradually and not consistently), but because running 26.2 just felt plain wrong. Despite having followed a ramp-up training plan to build strength and endurance, every marathon left me feeling more mangled than majestic. Gutting out those final miles on legs that refused to respond, then staggering around for several days like a stiff-legged zombie, I figured I was simply not cut out for it. Until the horrific Boston bombings happened; after which my entire cardiovascular system wanted desperately to line up in Hopkinton the next year and join the hordes of other runners and spectators to show the world that those two impotent losers had not accomplished a damned thing.

Knowing I’d need all the help I could get, I scrunched up my tight little fists and sprung for a pair of CW-X ¾ length compression tights, after which – drum roll please….

What I did not experience was any sensation of resistance or wasting energy. My mental image now is that, just as much as your motion in one part of a stride stretches the fabric, the springy stuff acts to snap your leg back in the other, so fifty-fifty.

What I did experience was a big difference in how my legs felt in the later stages of long runs. Where before the heavy muscles around the thighs had been flapping and flopping like to tear themselves from the bones, now they were solidly in place, and because of that they maintained more strength longer. Day-after was the real kicker though, with noticeably-less leg fatigue and stiffness after running in compression than without.

Third conclusion? A couple of months after getting those tights, I wore them for an official marathon – and PR’d by over 15 minutes! I’m not saying that was all the compression tights (it was a downhill course, after all), but could I have kept up that pace in the last 6.2 if my legs were feeling flayed from the bones like I’d learned to expect? Not on your Lycra.

Since then I’ve worn compression tights for pretty much every event over half marathon distance. (But not for training; training is about applying stress to induce growth, so I save the stress-reducing super-gear for actual events.)

Thus sayeth the Follow-dog: get yourself a pair and see how they work for you. I’m already sold.

P. S. – Compression socks? Haven’t tried ‘em for running (I’m hooked on wool socks by Darn-Tough or Smartwool) but do use them after a big effort, for comfort and quicker recovery. Compression sleeves? Sleeves are a great layering option for warmth in marginal weather, have never tried compression up there. Compression shirts? Not with my mid-section, thank you very much!

Fingersmith, Sarah Waters

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If Charles Dickens had been alive in 2002 – and if Charles Dickens were a woman who loves women, or at least an author who wished to appeal to such – this is the book that Charles Dickens might have written. Sarah Waters gives us the dark alleys and stinking gutters, the unrepentant thieves struggling to make a living off of others’ innocence, the crumbling leaky mansion inhabited by an anti-social misanthrope (this one happens to be a scholar of the era’s pornography, soft-core though it would be to us today) and a cast that would warm the heart of any theatrical agent nursing a deep roster of character actors.

The plot too, is Dickensian in its intricacy, incorporating old family lore, false identities, willful deception and several rapid transitions between the world of wealth and that of poverty – not to mention servitude, orphaning, incarceration and consignment to a madhouse. For the most part it all flows and compels, though there are places that would have benefitted from less conversation and more activity. Given that Waters has had significant success, I’d guess her fans will be more comfortable with the blend than I.   They may also forgive several infuriating passages where characters prolong the drama by refusing to speak the obvious, leading this reader to feel manipulated and the tale prolonged beyond its natural scale.

At the heart of the story is the relationship of Susan and Maud, intricately-tied despite being separated until their teens and unaware until the novel’s very end of what those ties really are. Their interaction is told in alternating first person sections and it is to Waters’ credit that there is never any question which of the two we are inhabiting. As to which of these women is laudable and which detestable, that is always in question, again to the author’s credit. Neither is a saint, yet both have been placed by others into situations that make their conduct, if not excusable, at least defensible in a novelistic context. Their love story is handled very carefully it seems, as if aiming for just enough clarity to satisfy readers who seek that aspect, but obliquely enough not to deter those who are indifferent to it. For anyone who brings along an attitude antagonistic to the image of two women in love with one another, the lack of a single admirable male character in this tale will perhaps suggest a reason to consider it more generously.

Getting back to the women, Mrs. Sucksby, the mother and mother-figure who is in one sense the instigator of all the angst, is in another sense as much a victim. Her final act of love and protectiveness seems modelled on that of Charles Darnay in A Tale of Two Cities, perhaps another nod to the man who wrote that novel, as he might have this.

Thoughtful, empathetic; a rewarding and pleasurable read, though it would have been more so with a few tucks and darts in the right places.

(Fingersmith was adapted into a two part BBC movie, 2005)