The Dinosaur Forest

What do I think about while I’m running?  What goes through my mind?  What goes through your mind?  Each footstep sending electron jolts through my body, step, jolt, step, jolt, think, feel, think.

I am accompanied only by my thoughts while running.  No music, no books on tape, no external words hitting my mind like thrown popcorn in the wind.

I run through the dinosaur forest, a Tyrannosaurus Rex behind a bush, a Pterodactyl flying overhead, roaring like a faint memory.  Terrible lizards surround me and I run carefully, quickly, through them.  Always forward, through time, racing against the Nike+ application on my iPhone.

I slow to a quiet stop—the Brontosaurus, the largest and steepest, is before me.  It is time.  I realized he conquered me last week when I was vomiting while leaning over a piece of wood.  Only spit came out, and little pieces of my spirit, left to wither on a pile of leaves and twigs.

This time he would not win.  I ran headlong towards him, and stepped on his tail.  One foot.  Then two.  Then I was halfway up his back, among the trees, and I could glimpse the waters of the San Francisco bay, and behind that, the Golden Gate and San Francisco.

The Brontosaurus rumbled and I tore my attention back to it, stepping carefully over loose twigs and rocks.  It was treacherous, waiting for me to trip, waiting for me to get tired.  I stopped running and walked for a while, through trees heavy with leaves, the air light with the scent of fertile plants.

When I had caught my breath, I started running again, one step after another.  One step after another and—

Before I knew it, I had passed over the hump, the arch, the back of the Brontosaurus, and was going downhill, around corners, over streams, and braking.  Each step took me closer to the end, and there it was—

And just like that, I was out of the dinosaur forest, and back into two thousand and eleven.

Acing the blue

I sat on the ground, laughing, looking up at the mountain in front of me.  It was there in front of me. I had just gone down it at breakneck speed on skis, zig-zagging left and right to slow myself down.

When you take those corners, shifting your balance, moving your feet just so — something happens.  A piece of the puzzle clicks in place, and you know what you need to do, and again.

From the top, starting from the top, after the long lift ride up and up, and up — until you can’t see any more ‘up.’  Your fear knows that there is only down left, and on slippery sticks tied to your feet.  When you get off the lift, at the top, up there, there’s that waiting, the pause.  A pregnant pause, when you collect yourself.  Take a deep breath.  Look down.  Take another deep breath (this one perhaps more quivery than the last).

Then its time, time to stop thinking and do.  Time to go.  Start moving, maybe start out with a gentle sideways zag (or zig as you prefer).  Curve around a little, go broad across the run, take your time.  Get your bearings, even though its mostly… down, and more down in front of you.

Then the next ten minutes are working on that ‘down’ part, going left, going right, going fast, going slow.  No time to reflect, no time to think, just go.  Make curves written in the snow.  Zig, fear.  Zag, fear.  Leave fear behind you only to see it on the next curve.

Sometimes you’ll hit a slower part of the run, where you can make slower, more gentle turns and appreciate the scenery a little bit.  But something funny happens.  You point those skis forward, down, and you lean forward.  Something in your mind says, ‘more.’  More.  Faster.  Come on.

Point those skis ahead of you, straight down.  Go.

Then you’re at the bottom.  How did you get there?  And in one piece?   Legs trembling, heart pounding, you turn to look behind you, at the mountain.  You follow the run you just did with your eyes.  You did…that?

The first coherent thought that comes to your head is a surprising one:

“Fuck, let’s do that again!”

To Tri or Not to Tri

A rally was held today in the general vicinity of my left calf; I can hear the Gastrocnemius and Soleus shouting slogans like “Down with the knee!  Down with the heel!”  My right calf is responding in kind, although in a subdued manner.  Now, in hindsight, perhaps I should not have played benevolent dictator and forced my calves to run through the cramps.

Yes, I’m sore.  Incredibly sore, after the triathlon yesterday.  Teach me to do a triathlon under the following conditions:

• Tail end of a chest cold (decreased lung capacity, hello?  mucus!)
• No training for the last month
• 4 hours of sleep
• Dual calf cramps during the run

The swimming part was my bag of tea, but by the end I was already exhausted.  Halfway through the bike, I wanted to quit — I had a persistent catch in my chest that wouldn’t go away.  When I started running, my calves rebelled and seized up.  I had to run-walk 75% of the run, with occasional stretching at stop signs or any vertical surface along the way!  I thank my athletics experience in high school for giving me the mindset to just keep going (plus the embarassment of quittin’).

The results are in, by the way.

My time:  1:01:44 (one hour, 1 minute, and 44 seconds)
Place:  186th out of 350+
Place in splits:  53rd place swimming, 194th place biking, 241th place running.

Obviously, I need to improve my biking and running fitness!  The best time at the tri was a 47 year old man who got 39:15.  Whoo.  A full 22 minutes faster than me!   The third place winner got 93rd place in swimming and still got third place.  The swimming part really is the least important, sigh.  Too bad.