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A crepe myrtle in bloom rains down magenta blossoms on me as I brush past. From my Mother's home at sunrise I trot to the LBJ High School track and do ten 200 meter interval repeats at 43-45 seconds each, with ~2 minutes of walking the 200m recovery between each. Two young men are also doing laps there. On the way back three families have already filled their front lawns with Saturday morning yard sale merchandise.
- Friday, July 30, 2010 at 04:40:18 (EDT)
Problems of Knowledge: a critical introduction to epistemology by Michael Williams is an interesting, well-written philosophy book. Its relevance to ordinary life? Mainly to raise awareness of issues, some quite subtle, associated with what we believe and why, how we can be wrong, and how to fix our inevitable mistakes. Epistemology is like the infrastructure of knowledge: the plumbing, electrical wiring, air handlers, etc. that make the rest of the job possible. We don't want to worry about infrastructure most of the time. But we do want it to be reliable and we definitely need to know when it's in danger of breaking down due to stress beyond what it's built to handle. Likewise knowledge.
In his Introduction Williams begins by defining epistemology, "the theory of knowledge". He lists five key problems that will be the focus of the book:
The answers to these occupy the next 250 pages, and are not always clear. (If it were possible to summarize briefly, then the book wouldn't be necessary!) Among the major conclusions in Problems of Knowledge:
Problems is far from easy reading. It's not a textbook, but as the author says in the preface, "I think that philosophical ideas are important, so that they ought to circulate outside narrowly professional circles; and I think that they can be made to do so, if not in full rigorous detail, then at least not in hopelessly garbled form." Problems attempts to bridge that gap.
(cf. EpistemologicalEnginerooms (2000-08-10), Red Patch Now (2008-06-21), Water Conservation and Epistemology (2010-07-03), ...)
- Thursday, July 29, 2010 at 04:42:56 (EDT)
Navigation is shoddy as I drive my Mother's car down to the reservoir formerly known as "Town Lake", renamed a few years ago for Lady Bird Johnson, to run the loop trail. From Pleasant Valley Rd I turn onto Cesar Chavez and then take Comal Av down to the waterfront, park, and set off shortly after 7am. This time I go counter-clockwise, the opposite direction circuits in past years, around the lake. Dozens of runners meet me, as do walkers with and without dogs. Before two miles the shirt is starting to chafe my chest so I take it off and wrap it around one hand. GPS says 10:11 min/mi for 10.1 mi, with splits 10:08 + 10:04 + 10:03 + 10:17 + 10:06 + 10:36 + 10:30 + 10:14 + 10:13 + 9:43 + 0:54 for final 0.10 mile.
(cf. 2006-07-08 - Town Lake Loop, 2009-07-18 - Austin Town Lake Loop, ...)
- Wednesday, July 28, 2010 at 04:41:30 (EDT)
During a recent training trek (2010-07-05 - Rock Creek Trail) Rebecca Rosenberg mentioned a film "... about a man training to run a marathon to get his girlfriend back ...". Neither of us could remember the title, but Paulette knew: Run, Fat Boy, Run in its US version, aka Run, Fatboy, Run in the original UK release. I found a used copy of the DVD via the Miracle of the Interwebs and watched it Saturday evening.
Make no mistake: Fatboy is not about distance running. It's a romantic comedy that has, as a plot element, a fictional "Nike River Run". Maybe some of the people involved heard tell of marathon training. Maybe they saw part of a marathon on television. There's no evidence that any of them ever ran one. "Wildly inaccurate" is an understatement for that aspect of this movie. If that bothers you, don't watch it.
"But aside from that, Mrs. Lincoln, how did you like the play?" Simon Pegg, of Shaun of the Dead fame, is the smoking, drinking, underachieving protagonist who leaves his pregnant fianceé, easy-on-the-eyes Thandie Newton, at the altar. Five years later she's being courted by another man, and Pegg decides to win her heart by training (for three weeks!) and running (loosely defined) a marathon. Silliness ensues.
Fatboy in many ways resembles Walk, Don't Run, a 1964 movie ostensibly about race-walking in the Tokyo Olympic games. Both are fun and foolish films, entertaining distractions. (And did I mention easy-on-the-eyes Thandie Newton?)
(cf. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Run_Fatboy_Run and http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0425413/)
- Tuesday, July 27, 2010 at 04:58:38 (EDT)
In Austin Texas visiting my parents, I climb the traditional ladder on the 800m track at LBJ High School: 1+2+3+4+3+2+1 lap sets at ~8 min/mi pace with half a lap (~2 min) recovery walk between each. I start at ~6:30am with a 1.7 mile jog from my Mother's house. Swallows and swifts flit above. At the track the sun rises as a diesel semi warms its engine for half an hour before pulling away with its load of pipes. Three ladies, one African-American and two Latinas, walk laps. "How many more do you have to go?" I ask as I pass one. "Ten—this is the last!" she replies. "My last too!" I pant. Nipple abraison on my sweat-soaked t-shirt awards me a red badge and a painful shower afterwards. Splits from the GPS for the ladder = 1:51 + 3:50 + 5:44 + 7:51 + 5:54 + 3:51 + 1:49.
(cf. past ladders 2006-07-15 - Final Texas Heatwork (9:20 mile) and 2009-08-10 - Beep, Beep, Beep, ... (8:22 mile) ...)
- Monday, July 26, 2010 at 04:46:12 (EDT)
 | Me, age 11, at Molly B. Dawson elementary school in the sixth grade, probably early 1964. I remember refusing to smile for the photographer—but not why! |
- Sunday, July 25, 2010 at 04:14:29 (EDT)
Ken Swab lures me into running with him and Cara Marie Manlandro from Ken-Gar at 9am as we chat about this evening's baseball-watching plan: the Frederick Keys are playing the Kinston Indians, and Ken has invited me to accompany him. Paulette asks me to buy some fresh peaches at the Bethesda Farmer's Market—they're in season now—and the run is on the way and a good excuse to stretch my old legs after yesterday's tough Skyline Challenge 50k trail run.
CM is walking toward the parking area as I arrive a few minutes early. The lot is full of cars; several training groups got here before us. We sit on the wooden rail and swing our legs, chattering away for 20 minutes. No sign of Ken—perhaps he has been delayed, or had to park elsewhere? After a jog to CM's car to check her phone a text message from Ken reveals the latter is the case. Back at Ken-Gar we meet Ken and start running at Rock Creek Trail milepost 7.
CM wants to do a few miles with hills after her visit to family in flat Florida, so we head upstream to Garrett Park Rd and take it west, follow the path through Waverly Park, then cross the C&O Railroad tracks at the commuter station. We pass the Black Market trendy restaurant in the core of Garrett Park and soon reach Strathmore Av, which we take west to Rockville Pike at Georgetown Prep boy's school. A loop around the fire hydrant and it's back downhill along Strathmore to RCT, downstream to about mile 5.6, and back to finish with a kick at our starting point. Ken explains baseball lore to CM and me, including the story of "Spuds" Bresnahan who played in a minor league ballpark in Williamsport PA which Ken recently visited.
- Saturday, July 24, 2010 at 12:08:21 (EDT)
Stuck in my mind for a few dozen years: the story "Like Any World of Gree" by C. C. MacApp, a transparent pseudonym for Carroll M. Capps (1917-1971). It was a novelette that appeared in the March 1966 issue of the science fiction magazine Worlds of Tomorrow. The subtitle said, "Except that it was Earth!". The plot, half-remembered now, revolved around a protagonist who struggled against the Gree, a race of overlords that controlled the planet and could read minds. To fight against them, Our Hero (whose name was Steve something-or-other, maybe?) could flip from one mental state (obedient slave) to another (rebel saboteur). Was the yarn as good as it seems in retrospect through the mists of time? Or did it just lodge itself in my cranium for some random now-forgotten reason? Maybe I need to find a copy of that issue and see ...
- Friday, July 23, 2010 at 05:02:45 (EDT)
 | "Bear!" whispers Kate Abbott, as she stops on the trail in front of me. We're climbing a mountainside at mile 24 of the toughest 50k I've experienced, the 2010 Skyline Challenge. Less than 100 feet ahead an adult black bear is foraging in the brush. I peek over Kate's shoulder and contemplate fleeing. The bear lifts its head, sees us, and hustles away up the hill. Whew! Half a mile later a six foot long black snake sunning itself in the middle of the path is an anticlimax. |
It's the second year of the Skyline Challenge, the first time on a new course. Since the race starts ultra-early on a Saturday morning Kate's husband Victor kindly gives me a lift to their home Friday afternoon. I enjoy a dinner of carry-out Chinese food and friendly conversation with Kate & Victor's lovely sons. At 2am I rise and make coffee. Kate and I set off at 3:15am and arrive at the start/finish—a campground near Gore Virginia—a little after 5am in spite of torrential downpours on I-81. We miss the turn from US-50 onto Gore Rd but hook back and soon locate it. This is a small race, about 150 runners, so sign-in under the canopy proceeds quickly. Rain turns to drizzle. We retreat to Kate's minivan and await the 6am start.
As we stand at the back of the massed runners Kate and I hear an announcement: "Runner #1—the lights are on in your car!" Kate has bib #1 (as usual "Abbott" comes first; I'm last or almost so) and she's pretty sure it's just a map light that I failed to turn off. But as the pack roars away we decide to divert to make sure. (It is.) We're in no hurry today, which turns out to be a Very Good Thing. A quarter mile down the road, solidly in last place, we see a crowd of runners dashing toward us. They all took a wrong turn; the course is only intermittently marked, and the posted map is puzzling. Kate and I step aside for them to sprint by us, then resume our leisurely pace. A few other slow runners join us. I find a shiny new apple on the road, pick it up, and carry it to the next aid station.
The race zig-zags along dirt roads and footpaths that today are mud wallows and small ponds. We climb, descend, climb again. Kate slips and falls, bloodying a knee. Shortly thereafter I lose my footing and coat an arm with mud. It's warm, near 100% humidity, so we're totally sweat-soaked. We're briefly heartened when we see faster runners coming back to meet us from taking wrong turns, which happens frequently. But eventually even the schadenfreude fades. We're walking more than we're running, and the day is young.
At Aid Station #1, mile ~5, I send Kate ahead while I pause to apply grease to already-chafing nether zones. When I rush out of the latrine I overlook the course ribbons and head down a campground road. At the next T-intersection I veer left, see no markings or footprints, reverse course, and still find nothing. After a few minutes of befuddlement I retreat in shame to the aid station where volunteers soon put me back on track. I press hard up increasingly steep hills (see elevation profile below) and eventually—hooray!—see Kate picking her way carefully up a dizzying slope. At the top, where the race joins the blue-blazed Tuscarora Trail, we pause to catch breath. We're exhausted and now in both a figurative and literal fog: a cloud has settled on the ridge line. Through woods and over rocks we go. The next aid station is half a mile off to one side, along a power line right-of-way that traverses a deep valley.
Kate and I have run hundreds of miles together and can say absolutely anything to each other. Kate is braver than me, however, so she breaks the silence first: we're not having much fun. In fact, Bad Words are an appropriate description of our state at this point. We agree to contemplate dropping or cutting the distance short. We could skip the middle segment and make it a 20 mile training run, for instance. I note that there's rumored to be a significant country-road out-and-back for miles 12-22. It may be easier on us than the hills and mud. We confer and agree to reserve judgment until the next aid station.
More runners pass us now, some who went off course, others who started late. After a steep descent over mossy wet-leaf-clad rocks, on which I slip and bruise my hip, we arrive at Aid Station #3 and get confirmation that the next ~10 miles are on-road. Kate and I feel better now and unanimously decide to go onward. Trotting the level and downhill parts of the paved streets we make up some time. We're well ahead of the 12 hour cutoff, and Kate hypothesizes that we might finish in under 9. I remain skeptical.
The faster runners, returning now, are meet us as we proceed. Kate peers at one approaching: "He's carrying a kitten!" she exclaims. Yes, in his hand is a little heap of bedraggled fur. A litter of baby cats was abandoned on the roadside, apparently, and racers are taking them back to the aid station. They're cute; Kate is tempted to adopt one over Victor's certain objection. (Fortunately for her marriage, however, they've all found homes by the time we get back.)
Thus far except for my five-minute solo confusion at AS#1 Kate and I have stayed on the right path. We're in West Virginia now, on Mt Airy Rd. Damp insulators on the high-tension power lines buzz overhead. Mobile homes and small cabins border the street. Kate and I pat ourselves on the back for our navigational prowess now, as we chat about life, physics, family, fellow runners, and the wide range of topics that come to mind in the middle miles of an ultramarathon. Trail talk with a good friend is frank and fun—so much fun, in fact, that for half a mile we don't notice the absence of blue blazes or orange ribbons. Arggghhhhh!
Markers have been infrequent enough that we don't panic; maybe the aid station is just beyond the next hill? No ... perhaps it's around the next corner? Hope dwindles, and finally we turn back. Up hill and down dale we go, cursing our hubris and watching for course signage. Finally, blown halfway around a fencepost and obscured by brush, a streamer appears, and a blue blaze. The route to the mid-course aid station follows a dirt road that branches off.
Our dilemma now: trek the extra mile or more to the official waypoint, or declare ourselves enough over-distance to make it a moral 50k if not an official one? Kate is irked at our mistake and favors cutting our losses, but after a brief debate (and some gentle chiding about her use of salty language) we decide to try the side path. The verdict is swayed by our dwindling total water supply; I have extra and am happy to share, but Kate is running quite low. Up another big hill we slog. At the top we find two cheerful volunteers who are about to close the aid station. We thank them, and though they say it's unnecessary I insist that we run around the woodpile that marks the turnaround. On the way back down to Mt Airy Rd we meet a few other laggard runners and applaud their determination.
| From here on our pace slows significantly. We coo over rescued kittens at the next aid station. We climb the hill, less muddy now in the afternoon sun. My energy level recovers after our adrenaline-charged encounter with the bear. Kate is cheerful and pulls me along the ridge. The fog has lifted and we enjoy views of West Virginia and the George Washington National Forest. The course is asymmetric and the return segment omits the uglier initial muddy roads, branching more directly down to the campground. When we can hear the announcer at the finish line we commence running, and arrive in 9:24, not quite DFL. |  |
(see Skyline Challenge 2010 for Kate Abbott's race report)
- Thursday, July 22, 2010 at 04:55:52 (EDT)
In some classes I've taken, where an individual is performing an exercise in front of an audience of fellow students, to enhance the training experience one of the members of the audience is secretly given a "Blue Card" with instructions on how to cause mischief: ask irrelevant questions, pretend not to pay attention, disagree vehemently with the speaker, etc.
A few months ago at a presentation one of my colleagues was raising lots of objections. "Are you the 'Bad Cop' today?" I asked him.
"No," he said, "but some people say I've got a permanent Blue Card!"
- Wednesday, July 21, 2010 at 13:59:26 (EDT)
For back issues of the ^zhurnal see Volumes v.01 (April-May 1999), v.02 (May-July 1999), v.03 (July-September 1999), v.04 (September-November 1999), v.05 (November 1999 - January 2000), v.06 (January-March 2000), v.07 (March-May 2000), v.08 (May-June 2000), v.09 (June-July 2000), v.10 (August-October 2000), v.11 (October-December 2000), v.12 (December 2000 - February 2001), v.13 (February-April 2001), v.14 (April-June 2001), 0.15 (June-August 2001), 0.16 (August-September 2001), 0.17 (September-November 2001), 0.18 (November-December 2001), 0.19 (December 2001 - February 2002), 0.20 (February-April 2002), 0.21 (April-May 2002), 0.22 (May-July 2002), 0.23 (July-September 2002), 0.24 (September-October 2002), 0.25 (October-November 2002), 0.26 (November 2002 - January 2003), 0.27 (January-February 2003), 0.28 (February-April 2003), 0.29 (April-June 2003), 0.30 (June-July 2003), 0.31 (July-September 2003), 0.32 (September-October 2003), 0.33 (October-November 2003), 0.34 (November 2003 - January 2004), 0.35 (January-February 2004), 0.36 (February-March 2004), 0.37 (March-April 2004), 0.38 (April-June 2004), 0.39 (June-July 2004), 0.40 (July-August 2004), 0.41 (August-September 2004), 0.42 (September-November 2004), 0.43 (November-December 2004), 0.44 (December 2004 - February 2005), 0.45 (February-March 2005), 0.46 (March-May 2005), 0.47 (May-June 2005), 0.48 (June-August 2005), 0.49 (August-September 2005), 0.50 (September-November 2005), 0.51 (November 2005 - January 2006), 0.52 (January-February 2006), 0.53 (February-April 2006), 0.54 (April-June 2006), 0.55 (June-July 2006), 0.56 (July-September 2006), 0.57 (September-November 2006), 0.58 (November-December 2006), 0.59 (December 2006 - February 2007), 0.60 (February-May 2007), 0.61 (April-May 2007), 0.62 (May-July 2007), 0.63 (July-September 2007), 0.64 (September-November 2007), 0.65 (November 2007 - January 2008), 0.66 (January-March 2008), 0.67 (March-April 2008), 0.68 (April-June 2008), 0.69 (July-August 2008), 0.70 (August-September 2008), 0.71 (September-October 2008), 0.72 (October-November 2008), 0.73 (November 2008 - January 2009), 0.74 (January-February 2009), 0.75 (February-April 2009), 0.76 (April-June 2009), 0.77 (June-August 2009), 0.78 (August-September 2009), 0.79 (September-November 2009), 0.80 (November-December 2009), 0.81 (December 2009 - February 2010), 0.82 (February-April 2010), 0.83 (April-May 2010), 0.84 (May-July 2010), ... Current Volume. Send comments and suggestions to z (at) his.com. Thank you! (Copyright © 1999-2009 by Mark Zimmermann.)