Wednesday, December 12, 2007

Sunshine Daydream


















Cold rain and snow describe our days for the last week. I rode my bike to work last Monday and though it was cold, gray and windy, it was dry. That was the last day until today, that its been dry. I should've, could've, ought to have-- but didn't ride today. The glaze of ice on everything was a bit of a deterrent, so I plugged in my MP3 player and walked to the EL. The sun was shinning and for the first time in a week I felt pretty well, the awful cold I got from Ryder now nearly gone. As I sat on the train, the sun beaming through the window, Ripple began to play. "if my words did glow with the gold of sunshine, and my tunes were played on the harp unstrung, would you hear my voice come thru the music, would you hold it near as it were your own?" the sweet voice of Jerry Garcia coursing through my brain as the sunshine played on my eyelids. It was a lovely moment that carried me off the EL, across the park all the way to the door of my lab. I have been in a very good mood all day.

Inspired as I was by this after Pilates class I did 40 minutes on the Precor AMT and burned 525 calories according to the digital output. I love that machine, like a hybrid Nordic Track and elliptical trainer. http://www.precor.com/comm/en/amt/amt100i/I kept my heart rate in the 135 range, maxing out at 152 for the whole workout. Then I did a handstand against the wall for over a minute which really jazzed me up. All and all, a very pleasant day. I don't care if it is cold, just as long as the sun is shinning, its a good day to me.

Monday, December 3, 2007

A winter's day--cold and dark December

All aboard the Holiday Train!

Clear, invigorating and cold-- but a wonderful ride this morning, 6:30 AM, 19 degrees, with my buddy Elissa. We both struggled through the getting dressed routine which nearly caused us to miss our connection. But we hooked up and breezed in. Easy. Into the not yet rising sun, the wind briskly blowing from the north, neither impeding nor delaying our eastward journey. My trick of putting sandwhich baggies over my toes in my riding shoes really has helped to keep my toes warm. The thumbs seem to suffer the most, regardless of the gloves. The rest of me verily boils under all those layers. Afraid to dress less, I suppose, since it is so cold getting out of bed and heading out the door, but once on the road and peddling , the heat from the core warms the whole being. Its those peripherals hanging out in the chill that let me know I'm alive! December 3rd and still riding. Three days last week in the first true taste of winter-- 20-30 degrees. Easy. The cold, the wind, the darkness-- no deterrent, yet. But the threat of snow and freezing rain, well, I balk at those obstacles. Riding the El, as it turns out has its advantages.


I felt remiss in not riding last Wednesday, believing the weatherman's forecast of snow and rain-- in fact it turned out to be the warmest day of the week, though the sun never did shine-- nor did it rain. I noted this as I trudged up Wood Street to the Medical Center stop, hoping to catch the 4:45 train so I could pick up Ryder at School and then celebrate his birthday. Alas, the 4:45 train never came. But then-- 4:54 and what do I see? The Holiday Train come straight at me. I'd seen the train many times from afar, all lit up and decorated with Santa Clause riding the middle flat car on his sleigh-- but I had never actually been on the holiday train before. Wow! What a delight. As I sat absorbing the totality of the decor, I felt giddy and excited, and couldn't stop smiling. The elves on each car handed out candy canes and a brochure listing the times and lines for the holiday express. The seats were upholstered in holiday themed material. The cars were fully decorated, candy striped poles, each of the advertising placards around the top were for Santa's elves, reindeer games, comet lanes, toy assemblers needed-- immediate openings. It was a trip! I noticed that everyone on the car was smiling and like me, whipping out their cell phones to take pictures. I checked the schedule and saw that 6:21 Friday the Holiday Train ran from Oak Park to the loop and my plan was hatched. So Friday, the three of us waited expectantly at the Harlem platform for the train. We waited as three other trains passed us by-- the first time I've ever skipped a train. Then it arrived in all its splendor and Ryder was as excited as me. We boarded the car and enjoyed the wonderful ambiance. This time, instead of surprised commuters, the train was filled with parents and their kids purposefully catching this ride. There was not a person who wasn't smiling. Everyone was happy! It was great! What a gift the city of Chicago and the CTA gave to us! We rode all the way to the loop to visit the Christkindlemarket at Daly Plaza. Under the Picaso there was a German themed outdoor Holiday market with many vendors selling ornaments or food. We cruised the stalls and bought some nick nacs, a few ornaments and then some food-- but when it came time to eat it was too cold to stand or sit outside and all the enclosures were packed with people, so we went underground to the El platform and ate our dinner while waiting for the train. There was an amazing busker with a fantastic voice serenading platform patrons, so we enjoyed the music and our food, despite the usual subway dour din. It was a most excellent start to the holidaze, and now, here it is December and the madness begins.

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

25 years later, still looking back

The Wall

I had occasion to be in Washington DC over the weekend, and finished my work early Sunday morning, so I took a long walk from my hotel on Pennsylvania Avenue, all the way past the White House to the Mall. As it turned out, Sunday was not only Veteran's Day, it was the 25th anniversary of The Wall-- the Viet Nam War Memorial. There was a big ceremony planned and the closer I got the Wall, the more Viet Nam vets I saw. By the time I got to the Lincoln Memorial, I saw some 10,000 vets gathered for the festivities. What struck me most was the look of these grizzled vets. We all sport the same fashion-- beard and gray pony tail. Though I was unusually dressed for a tourist expedition, in my Harris tweed and black slacks, not in jeans, vest and fatigue jacket, I felt very much a kin to my generation gathered there. It is a poignant testimonial to the more than 50,000 that died in southeast Asia, each of their names inscribed on the black marble facade. Each time I go to DC I try and visit the Wall, and am always taken back to the days of the war. And here we are, another senseless war in which our young soldiers are being sent to their graves, or are returning home mutilated and traumatized. The impact this war will have on this generation will no doubt be profound. The cost of this war even greater than WWII, when we had a real enemy, not the ephemeral global terrorist threat, that has actually be unleashed by this action. In 25 more years, perhaps I will visit the Iraq war memorial with my son, and we can ponder the idocacy of war. George W Bush's legacy will have scarred America forever, and it will be up to my son's generation, hopefully too young to serve in this arena, to restore America's dignity. We used to be respected in the world, now we are dispised. We had a balanced budget and a surplus 6 years ago, and the economy was surging to all time highs, and now, due to the inept and failed policies of the war mongering Republicans, we are on the brink of finacial ruin. The American Dream-- to own a home-- forget that, just hope to have enough to feed your family, and hope against hope you don't need health care. We know killing Iraqis is far more important than caring for our own people. And forget about funding biomedical research, a.k.a "pork" according to Bush. When his doctors discover his PSA levels are elevated and find that he has early stage prostate cancer that can easily be cured-- he will of course not be thankful for the NIH budget that Clinton passed, when the big break through in prostate cancer happened. No, he will instead think about his own personal wealth, and that of his rich buddies, glad that he had the wisdom to go to war with Iraq. Forget about the poor suffering women who have yet to benefit from early detection of their ovarian cancer. That research was NOT able to be afforded under his watch, it was pork. Paying Blackwater billions of dollars to protect Sheiks so that he could feed America's addiction to oil though, could be afforded.

On another note, the mild weather continues and this morning at 6:30 I rode in with my gal pals down Washington, the first time I'v taken that route, and it was great. A bike lane the whole way and little traffic. None of the denizens of the west side were on the sidewalk, no homeless shelter dwellers to great, no ice cream beckoning. We are being spoiled by this amazing weather. and the darkness for the ride home is not a problem. I know we are living on borrowed time here, surely the weather is going to change.

Wednesday, November 7, 2007

All that's left to do is smile, smile, smile....


Matthew P Hardy, 1957-2007

He's gone. Snuffed out in the prime of his life. My dear friend and colleague Matthew P Hardy. Matt died several hours after having completed the NYC marathon. He'd run 11 out of the last 12 NYC marathons and this event was the culmination of his running year. I'd hoped to lure him to Chicago to run the marathon with me here, and he flirted with the idea, but he was dedicated to his annual run in the Big Apple. The ironic tome from the good old Grateful Dead comes to mind with this loss. He's gone. Finis. The finality and completeness of death is never easy to accept. My first thought was about me not running any more marathons. One in a million chance, eh? Wouldn't that just be a terribly selfish thing of me to do, to indulge my passion for running marathons even as a crippled old geezer now-- and cost my family their husband and father? Whose to say Matt wouldn't have been felled by a coronary when he went up the stairs from the subway? There is no way to know. Words are inadequate to describe the loss the world has suffered with the death of Matt. He was kind, gentle, refined, sophisticated and so urbane. He loved living in upper east side and had worked at the Population Council at Rockefeller University since 1991. We have come up through the ranks together, starting our independent careers at about the same time. He was the editor of both volumes of The Leydig Cell in which I contributed a chapter. It was a joy working with him. He was one of the world experts on Leydig cells. There just aren't very many of us around, and now the preeminent one has gone onto the other shore. I am going to miss you Matt. Even though our communications were sporadic, we had an active collaboration and his vision was the guiding light for many of the projects we proposed. A 50 year old man in the prime of his life and at the peak of his career should not be taken from us. We were going to grow old and publish many books and papers together. I promise to dedicate my next publication to Matt, for what ever that's worth. My heart goes out to Diane, his closest friends and students, and all of us who knew him and were touched by his magnificence. His obit.

Wednesday, October 31, 2007

7-UP and it's over


The pre-dawn gathering of the Oak Park Bike Gang was a sight to behold. Resplendent with flashers and reflective clothing, our merry band of bikers gathered this morning for the "last ride" of the season. Though a few of us will persist in our commutes, today marks the final official group ride from Columbus Park, 6:30 AM MWF. Darkness at dawn, riding into the gathering light poses no difficulty, but riding home through the westside in the deepening dark is a menacing experience. Undaunted and illuminated though I may be, I too know my every days are numbered. The announcement from Paul that this would be the last ride prompted the whole crew to show up for the ride this morning-- all seven of us. Paul, Bob "ice cream", Cliff "the editor", Moe, Bill, Elissa and me, a.k.a. "the professor." Cliff was so inspired he composed a lovely poem, followed by Moe's limerick. Cliff's remark early on about our ride being the "Big Ugly" caused me to wax prosaic (see http://virtualbuck.blogspot.com/2007_06_01_archive.html "Beauty in the Big Ugly". Here is Cliff's poem, followed by Moe's.

pardon my erudition.
in answer to paul's pathetic sniveling
and Buck's intellectual poem
I am putting this plainly for the rest of us!

Ode to the "Big Ugly"

Screw the darkness
screw the light
I will be there
on my bike!
Guys and gals
in Jackson Park
head out with me
into the dark
Dodging bricks
and dodging glass
adding sore spots
to my ass

Paper vendors
hear Hakes' bell
cheer us on and
wish us well
Right on kostner
looking left
the skyline sometimes
takes our breath
Another vendor
says hello
where's the bellman?
he didn't show!

Thru the traffic
we're soon darting
as cars make way
like the Red Sea parting
Past the homeless
In dire straights
Strangely friendly,
when belled by Hakes
Professor Buck
now leaves the group
to find a cure,
in the chicken coop!

We cross the freeway
Paul's face reddens
a blonde throws kisses
as she beckons
Past Lou Mitchell's
Street Wise vendor
working hard
for legal tender
One more block
in half an hour
Bob says "Paul"
you'll need a shower!
Around the block
we take a right
and hardly ever
make a light.
We work our way
to Elston Ave
verbal sparring
With a cab!
Street is under
huge repair,
but no busses
travel there!
Hearing Moe's
sweet exhultations
on our way to
great libations
Starbucks beckons
in Logan Square
beware the preacher
he's always there!
after Starbucks
heading West
philosopher Moe
does not digress
He bequeathoth
his motley crew
a might morsel
on which to chew
before you know it
we're at George's
working through our
seven courses!

Our teeth are stained
and kinda bugly
from constant smiles
on the big ugly !
Cliff Carlson ©2007


to which Moe responded:
Boys and girls,

After reading the editor's ode I just have to join the last ride of
the year altho some of us old, retired geezers might continue at a
later hour.

A LIMERICK TO THE EDITOR
The editor did his poema
He'll never be the same-a
He hops on the spokes
And tells a few jokes
To forget that his tush is inflame-a.

As my little grandson would say, "See ya" tomorrow.

Moe

Tuesday, October 30, 2007

Season's Leaving

"Ice cream! Ice cream!" the mellifluous voiced paper vendor yelled to me as I cut across Kostner navigating between the lined up cars waiting for the light to change at Harrison. Every morning when we ride by, en mass or me alone, he greats us with this special call, thanks to Bob Hakes' old time bike bell. I am sure he means "vanilla" ice cream as he counts "ice cream one, ice cream two, ice cream three..." as our group passes him by. Dappled light and gusty winds swirl the leaves from the trees. Seeing the west side sentinels on my daily ride makes the bike commute special. I am going to miss seeing them as the 4th season takes us off the streets. Bright sun and blue skies, cold crisp pre-dawn rides give way to warm afternoons. Such a glorious time of year! The last week of Day Light Savings time and then, the dark descent to winter gathers speed. Now equipped with a powerful headlight for my bike, and able to draw from my ample wardrobe the darkness and cold should not be a barrier to my 4th season commute. The need to ride, the joy of the revolutions, getting to work and working out at the same time, not spending $$ on gas or CTA fares, not polluting, not sitting in traffic or stuck waiting on the platform-- so many reasons to ride. Yet I face the inevitability of the 4th season, at some point it takes over and we all just hunker down. I am determined, this year to ride as much as a I can, my saddle bags stuffed with all my clothes-- should I leave a coat at work? shoes? gads, much to consider. For now I am in the moment being aware of the beauty of these days. November is just around the corner.

Thursday, October 25, 2007

Apples, oranges, skin and bones

Now that the Denver marathon has become a warm and fuzzy memory for me, being 10 days in the past, I am still feeling the effects. It is painfully clear to me-- riding your bike 100 miles vs. running 26.2 is like comparing apples with oranges. Though the fabled century is oft equated with a marathon, in fact, it is more like a walk in the park by comparison. If you can live with a little peripheral neuropathy and some deep fatigue, the impact the bike ride has is minimal. But I am finding that this bag of bones I inhabit suffers mightily from the pounding the marathon gave me. Of course I could have been more well prepared and had I not run under adverse conditions I might not have been quite as beat up, but still, the invariant nature of repetitive foot strikes for so many hours exacts a toll.

One of the things I did to prepare for the marathon was lose weight (~25 pounds) over about a six month period. A remarkable outcome from this was that my skin is now baggy! As evidenced in the accompanying photo, my leg is just a loose skin wrapped rag! My chest is sunken, I feel skinny and still fat. It's kinda weird. I may have to lose another 25 pounds to lose the love handles, the last to go. I suppose I need to start hitting the weights, or something! My supreme challenge now that autumn is upon us, the leaves are on the lawn and the days are growing ever shorter. I am determined to commute as far into the winter as I can, but know my days are numbered. I have a new bright light and lots of flashers and reflective visible clothing, but the looming winter bodes ill for the daily ride. Perhaps I could take up spinning. And its not just the decrease in activity, but truly, its the holiday eating that is sure to do me in. no, no, no! say it ain't so. I weighed 204 Wednesday before the marathon. My lowest weight for the last ~30 years. Monday post marathon = 212. Today I weighed in at 205. my goal is to weigh 185 by the time I celebrate my 25th wedding anniversary on May 21st. Make it so!

Thursday, October 18, 2007

Denver Marathon-- rain, pain and da plane



City of my birth, site of my rebirth-- as a marathoner. 5280 feet, 40 degrees and pouring rain. What a fantastic experience, sacrificing two virgins to the marathon gods, and finding that my strategy to return to marathon was succesful. Despite this being my slowest marathon by nearly 45 minutes, this is the one I am the most proud of and the most excited about. 5:27:09, 12:29 pace. Crossing the finish line with Wendy and Herdis was the best experience I've ever had of the 20 other marathons and beyond I've done-- just barely eclipsing my 11:05 finish of the Ownens-Putnam 50 mile ultra with my running brother Saint Stephen. If only Steve would have been there to help with the sacrifice, this would have been perfect. Of course a nice sunny day (what one would expect in Denver where the sun shines >300 days a year) would have been nice too.

The journey to this marathon began one week to the day before my last marathon, Marine Corps Marathon, Oct 26, 2003. It was on that Sunday when Saint Stephen and I were in the last two blocks of my last tune up run before MCM when I took a step that sent shooting pain into my right knee. My knee swelled up and I could barely walk. But by week's end after icing it and taking copious amounts of ibuprofin, by the time we arrived in DC for the marathon, I was pretty much back to normal. The next time I ran was in the marathon, which I ran with my nephew Paul- his first. The marathon was OK for a hot humid day and it wasn't until the very end that my knee started hurting. Paul took off and stormed the Iowa Jima memorial while I just finished-- 4:45. All season long my leg hurt, not my knee as much as my outer lower leg. My base running decreased, I saved myself for the long runs. By the time the Lake Front 1/2 marathon rolled around in May, I was struggling through the pain. Steve noted I was dragging my foot when I ran. My last good run was in Vancouver Island, a seaside hilly run. The next Wednesday at track I took a few steps and felt like I had my legs cut out from under me. Greg Domantay's advice was to run through it, to run faster which was better for my form. I was relieved in a way because now both legs hurt equally. I bought new shoes, Adidas Stabils which were like bricks and felt very hard when I ran. Two more runs and I could barely walk. I went to see Dr. Nicola and came out on crutches. The MRI showed massive bone bruising and multiple stress fractures in the left knee due to the meniscus errosion in my right knee. Ah, that explained the pain-- bone on bone. Prognosis for more running was not good. Take up power walking was the suggestion. It took two years of therapy, strength training and Pilates, gradually building up to a graded run-walk program until I could actually run again. Steve nurtured me the whole time, but it was really not until 2006 that I started to actually do some running. I had to learn the difference between good pain and bad pain, and I stopped taking ibuprofin which evidently masked how much pain I was in. When I started to bike in earnest, commuting to UIC on my bike every day, and doing some distance riding, I started to feel so much better. So much so that I decided to run the 2006 Denver marathon to have a goal for my recovery. But Wendy and Edgar decided to get married on Oct 15, 2006, the date of the 1st annual Denver marathon, so instead of running Denver, Ryder and I enjoyed a lovely weekend in Santa Cruz at the wedding. I made a pact with Wendy at her wedding, that on her first anniversary we would run the Denver marathon together-- her first and in many ways, my fist marathon as well.

Wendy and I trained virtually together as she faced the challenge of ramping up her mileage while being an airline pilot. I had visions of her jogging up and down the concourse between flights. Just after Labor Day we exchanged stories of our longest run to date, each of us doing 18 or more miles. Amazing to me was that I was run/walking 8:2 and she was doing a 5:5 run/walk interval-- and we both did the 18 mile run at 11:00 pace. I had a sudden rush of confidence, I knew we could do this together, and both finish. She barely mentioned that she was doing her training with Herdis, so it was a real pleasure to discover I would have two companions to challenge the Denver marathon come Oct 14.

My sister Ginni who hosted my visit for the marathon, arranged a grand pre-marathon feast for all the extended family. Much to my delight my sister Traci and her husband Pat drove up from their new home in Lamar, and my big brother John and his wife Barb flew in from California to see their daughter Wendy do the marathon. I arrived in Denver a few days early, having arranged to get invited to give a seminar at my alma matter, the University of Colorado Health Sciences Center. I got to visit the beautiful new medical center campus at the old Fitzsimmons Naval Hospital (the site of my pre-induction physical in 1970, before I didn't go to the Naval Academy-- but that's another story). Being in Denver for 3 extra days helped me acclimate to the altitude just a bit more, though truly, the altitude was the least of my worries come race day. At the gala dinner Wendy, Herdis and I strategized about our race, figured out where to meet and negotiated the pace we would run at. I had tried 5:5 on my last long, 24 mile training run and felt that the walk interval was too short-- I was dialed in to 8:2. Wendy and Herdis did not want to run longer than 5, so we settled on 5:3 as our prescribed pace, and Wendy set her watch timer accordingly. I suggested we might run 10:3 for the first two miles and they agreed.

I woke at 5:30 on race day and my sister had coffee ready for me. I was out the door by 6 to catch the light-rail from far south Centennial, all the way to Union Station. The one thing I was not pscyhologically prepared for was rain. And as I stood, with three other runners waiting for the train, it was pouring rain. Pouring rain in Denver? not at all what I expected. Cool, sunny, breezy, maybe even snow-- but not rain. And it was cold too-- 40 degrees. On the train I adjusted my gear accordingly and was glad to have a hat and gloves with me. As soon as the shuttle delivered us from Union Station to the captial/civic center and start area, I went straight to the john, knowing how busy it was going to get. I found Herdis and Wendy on the steps of the capital, near the engraved sign "5280 feet". They were wearing garbage bags. Edgar and Allen, their husbands were there to collect their gear after they waited in long line for the johns, but we made it to the start in plenty of time. Off we went into the rain soaked cold Colorado morning.

The course wound its way around downtown through Lo-Do and past Coors Field. We ran comfortably, nearly forgetting to do the 3 minute interval. But by the time we go to mile 2, Wendy started her timer and I kept track of our splits. We averaged about 12 minute pace for the first 4-5 miles. We dutifully drank at each water station, but because it was so cold, we were not sweating, and kept having to stop to use the johns along the way. The crowd was sparse but supportive and the runners spread out nicely so we could run comfortably at our own pace. The course wound around City Park and the Zoo-- and I noted this was where I began my running career in the early 1980s when I was in grad school and lived near the park. So far it was pretty flat, just one gradual hill up 17th to the park. We stuck to our pace and the three of us were having a comfortable run despite the cold and rain. Once you get wet, it stays about the same. My bare arms were the only place I was cold. Our next destination was Cheesman park, the site of my wedding nearly 25 years ago. When Wendy, Herdis and I ran by the park buildling where we had our reception, we all three of us cheered and waved our arms in the air, giddy with t he fun we were having. We saw John, Barb, Edgar and Allen for the first time about then. As we rounded the parked, Edgar and Allen had run across the grass to cheer us one more time before we headed west and then south onto Downing Blvd. Still running comfortably, but probably drinking too much, on 13th street near Wax Tracks, in the Bohemian disrict, I had to visit and ally, but easily caught back up with my mates on their next walk. It was about then when it started to get more interesting.

There was a very long hill from mile 13 to 14 and I found for the first time that the altitude did affect me a bit on the up hills. I was begining to huff and puff while Herdis and Wendy seemed unaffected. We got to the 1/2 marathon split and it was 2:55, much slower than we expected. Wendy said that we had to pick up the pace and took off up the hill. We saw John and Barb again who waved and cheered for us as we trucked up the hill. I caught Wendy when she walked and we stuck together the whole rest of the race. Our pace dropped from nearly 13 min/mile to 11:30, to 10:00 when we rounded the hairpin and headed back down the big hill. Herdis caught us on the downhill and we stayed together until she started to run/walk at 3:2 intervals. Wendy and I stuck to 5:3, and were staying pretty close to 11:30 pace. As the course neared Washington park it go progressively hillier and I had to suck it up to hump up some of the short steep hills. We made it to Washington park about mile 17 and caught the 5:30 pace group. Marie was the pace group leader carrying a baloon. She had a troup of 6 or so sticking close to her. The were running a mile and walking a minute it seemed as we kept trading places. When we got to mile 18 I heard them chant, in unison "18-17-16-15-14...3-2-1--5:30 rocks!" it was fun and distracting running near them.

When we entered the park, we ran past a one spectator who said "its hard-core today folks, hard-core". Indeed, the crowd had thinned and the runners were very spread out by then. It was now in the high 30s and still raining! The park was very exposed and the wind was gusting. We passed 19 and then 20, Wendy and I keeping pace with Herdis a few hundred yards back. We hooted and hollered at the camera man at mile 20 and he said "too bad we don't have sound!" 20 miles is always a great place to get to in a marathon. As we rounded the park, Wendy started to interview me about my ovarian cancer research. It was a nice distraction telling her about how omega-3 therapy had big effects on the hens and she asked intelligent questions as we plodded along. She had just explained several technical things about flying airplanes, about stalling them, about the Collins point of no return and how these planes were so fast you could make the wings break off if you throttled them up too much. Wendy is a captain flying for Air West, as if Edgar. Allen and Herdis are both pilots, but first officers (co-pilots). I was incredibly in awe of their tremendous accomplishment. Wendy is 33 and Herdis is 31.

As we made our way out of the park at mile 22 I noticed it had stopped raining and the temperature was dropping. The water station volunteer offered a foil blanket to me and said it was getting colder-- about 35 now. The sky had lightened but an ominous dark bank of clouds appeared to be approaching from the north. We ran north on Logan, then took 1st to Santa Fe Blvd, and entered the art district. Not the run down barrio of my youth, but a rapidly gentrifying funky adobe bohemian district now. Not that I could appreciate the architecture. As we hit Santa Fe and traveled north, the wind started blowing hard and rain picked up. It was like needles on my naked arms. I could not even feel my legs. I struggled with the walk as my quads and hips kept tying up in the cold. Herdis caught us about mile 23 and we stayed together the rest of the way. Wendy was excited to be at 23-- she said that her fist run was 3 miles and she knew no matter what she could run that distance. I remembered all the marathons I had done and recalled just how tough those last two or three miles can be-- that is what the marathon experience is all about-- when you are completely fatigued, in pain even, yet muster the umph to drive to the finish. I reached into my marathoner's toolbox and summons up what I needed to finish. I ate two gel blocks and got very nauseated. I hurt, my legs were tight and I was struggling. My buddies carried me through, never waivering. We took our last walk interval as we rounded Santa Fe and could see the Civic Center. We rounded the corner onto Broadway running and Herdis gave the Queen's wave with both hands-- 26 miles and 0.2 for the Queen! Such great spirit. Two blocks to go. We rounded the final corner and I felt my calf cramp on me, I thought I was going to crumple to the ground. No! I pushed through and we finished, the three of us at the same time, cheering and yelling, hooting and hollering, elated, ecstatic and relieved. We hugged and danced about as we were reunited with our family and Bella the wonder dog. 5:27. wow! 1462 out of 1563 finishers. Nearly the back of the pack. I was so happy-- and still am, to have completed a marathon again. This was such a special experience shared with two such wonderful people.

Of course it took us so long to complete the run, that by the time I had returned to Ginni's house, took a shower, had a bite to eat, and drove my rental car to the airport-- I missed my flight! I was faced with the possibility of having to stay in the Denver airport overnight-- there was one last Frontier flight at 8:45. By some freak of luck I got the very last standby seat on that last flight and was back in Chicago by 1 AM. A very long day, but what a totally excellent experience. Wendy, Herdis and I decided that perhaps we would train for a triathlon together for next year-- some place warm and interesting.





Wednesday, October 3, 2007

The Heat, Apple Cider and Potato Soup



I am just six days away now from my return to the marathon. My 21st marathon will be run this Sunday in Denver, with my niece Wendy. Much anticipation, a bit of worry, and tremendous excitement. I have been preparing for this mentally for two years, and physically for six months. I've lost 25 pounds, and am nearly down to 204, my target weight-- the lowest I've weighed since I started running-- my lowest sustained weight since I was in my early 30's, and that is a while ago now. The P-diet, distance training, and commuting to work by bike have me more ready for this marathon than I've been for the past several. Despite my low weekly run mileage, I am counting on the cross over from biking to carry me to the finish. I have several quality long runs, including a 24 miler, and the 100 mile ride I did on Sept 30th, the details of which follow. My running brother got me here, and I sure wish that Saint Stephen and I were to be doing Denver together. We will, but just not in the same dimension. Though I trained through the heat-- brutal 95 degree high humidity run at Salt Creek in August, hot, humid long run at Water Fall Glen on Labor day, and then the 80 degree 24 miler on Sept 23. Over 100 miles in September running, and more than 300 miles on the bike. Yesterday Steve, Ryder, Mirbabel and I did a 6 mile matainence run, just one loop up to Lindbergh park (instead of 4 loops) and it was HOT. We thought about all our friends who were running the Chicago marathon, and even more of our friends from UIC and the Oak Park Runners Club who were manning the water station at mile 18. when I read the paper and saw the news, my heart went out to all you brave souls who did the run, and I felt very bad about everyone who had their day cut short when they pulled the plug on the marathon at 11:30. When we ran London in 1996 it was very hot and there was too little water and it was a very scary and dangerous day, but it was nothing like yesterday. Just our little 6 mile run was hot enough. It was a good thing not to have run Chicago also, since I was out late Saturday night, seeing Phil Lesh and Friends at the Riveria theater, uptown, in Chicago. Talk about hot-- it must have been 120 degrees in the show. My goodness, we thought we were going to die. One beautiful religious experience, perhaps heat induced, when they played Uncle John's Band, I closed my eyes and saw the music, and when I heard "come hear Uncle John' Band-- he's come to take his children home" I thought of how lovely it would be to be that child, to be led home, to be swept into the comforting arms of a great protector, to follow instead of having to lead. One of those Grateful Dead moments that keeps me coming back for more after all these years. Indeed, what a long strange trip its been.

And now, the story of Apple Cider Century, my best event in years.

After all the anticipation, finally Sunday Sept 30th, the day of the Apple Cider Century in Three Oaks, MI arrived. I was on the road by 5:30 and rolled into Three Oaks before 8 EDT. There were thousands of bicyclists getting ready to ride, there was quite a buzz in the air as we registered, got our course maps, and then ate breakfast at the fire station. I mounted my trusty steed and was on the road by 9:00 sharp. These events are very relaxed and riders start whenever they are ready and keep track of their own time if interested. I zeroed out my computer and headed out. Within the first half mile someones mirror fell off their beater mountain bike, nearly causing a big accident as everyone swerved to miss the road hazard. One of the truly charming things about the ACC is the wide range of participants, from grocery basket beaters to ultra-light aero tri-bikes, some 5000 riders in all. Of course only a few hundred do the whole 100. There are rides of 25, 50, 62 and 75 miles. All rides intersect at various points on the course, especially at the 2nd sag stop in New Buffalo-- 43 miles into the 100 mile course, half-way for the shorter rides. As I settled in to the first miles of the ride, I found myself in a pack, a club of riders, in matching jerseys, some 20 or more of them. I was swept along, though had to keep braking as they were going along at a liesurely 18 mph. I stayed right with them, keeping to the back of the pack, until we go to the first big hill about mile 8 and the whole group of them rode away from me like I was standing still. Yikes I thought, I really have not ridden on many hills, no way I can hang with this group, though drafting them would have made my ride easier. It was rather hectic though being in the peloton and not knowing anyone. Soon, though, I was alone in my team of one and felt no pressure or urgency, after all I still had 92 miles to go. It was a beautiful day. Starting out in the low 60s and not a cloud in the sky. There was a bit of wind, but so far it was just beautiful. I really enjoyed the bucolic scenery, the corn fields rolling hills small farms with wooden fence lines, cows and goats, pumpkin patches, weather worn farm houses and barns. I rolled happily along, probing my body to see how I felt. A little sore in the ilial psoas, a little tight in my knees, but pretty comfortable. After the first big hill the course was only mildly hilly for several miles and I warmed up nicely, got into my groove and pushed the pace. In a ver short while I made it to the first sag stop at mile 22. There were 100s of bikes there, a psychedelic display of jerseys and riders. The accepted norm, apparently, for these events is too tight of a jersey which reveals the ample guts of many of the men, average age probably 45 years old. I felt nearly svelte in my Grateful Dead bike jersey. I had my first taste of apple cider and a cup of potato soup, yum! a banana, some water and was back on the road in about 10 minutes. So far, so good. The ride to the next sag stop at 43 miles was uneventful, except for the terrible broken pavement in Union Pier. The nicer the homes, the worse the roads. Feeling good, just after 12 pm and it was nice to have a bit of lunch. A cup of potato soup to wash the PBJ sandwhich down. I ran into my old buddy Zeck and his riding mate Denis. They were doing the 50, had started at 7:30 and we converged at this sag stop at the same time. We enjoyed conversation and the food, filled up our waterbottles and they took off. I had to wait in the bathroom queue for a while when they took off.

Just a few miles into the next leg, there was a stretch of dirt road we had to cover, just about 1/2 mile at the most. As soon as I hit the pavement and rounded the corner, I saw Zeck and Denis standing by their bikes. I asked if they were ok, yes, just resting their butts. On ward! I knew from my experience last year, and also from what I'd heard about the course, that all the really big hills were between miles 60 to 80. I dreaded this part of course, fearful of my lack of preparation and hill training. I was a bit surprise when I hit the first really big, and very long hill at about mile 55. I tried to push the pace up the hill, stood on my peddles a bit, but realized it was way too big and long of a hill, so I geared way down and spun my way up and over. At first I was sucking air and my quads were burning, but I crossed the threshold, got my second wind and kept spinning. All I could muster was 6.6 mph. I didn't care, as the panic subsided and the fear was replaced by the surge I felt as I crested the top. I decided at that moment to hammer the downhills and hang on, do what I could to get up the hills. So many riders coast down the hills, or crest the top and stop to rest. I found that I could gear up all the way to the highest gear and crank at 35 mph going down, and catch my breath! My strategy carried me up and over the next several hill. When I got near the top of short steep hills I stood on my peddles and marched right over, keeping my speed and momentum. When I hit a hill that was too tall to climb standing up, I geared down and spun. My friend and bike guru Giulia's words resonated as I pushed on " rpms are your best friend". I kept shifting gears, a lot, to keep my cadence high. I also knew that I should stand and peddle frequently to take the heat and pressure off my butt and crotch. Other than feeling a bit winded and my fingers going numb, especially my right thumb, I felt great. I was greatly relieved, none the less to make it to the 67 mile sag stop at Scio Springs.

By now, only the long distance riders were on the course, and every one was hot and tired by this stop. I knew I needed to eat something, but I felt nauseas and had fierce cotton mouth. The water was from a well and tasted like metal, and the gatoraide was so sweet and thick, tropical fruit punch, it was difficult to get any fluids in. So I lay in the shade amongst the other riders, and relaxed. I stretched, cooled off and enjoyed listening to the conversations around me. Not to mention the enjoying the view of the very fit riders-- the polar gods a group of triathletes, who discussed their 16 mile run the day before, doing a 100 for training for Hawaii. wow. Awesome looking folks. And the family of six on the big ride. Someone asked the dad, who was wearing a skeleton jeresy, what is was like having 4 kids. He said when he only had two it was man-to-man defense, but once you had three kids, you had to shift to zone defense, so having four kids was really no harder than having three. Wow! finally, I had cooled off, ate a bit, drank some of the fluids, and rallied myself. I felt pretty good, but was worried-- after all the hills were the biggest between miles 60 and 80, and it was only 67 miles when we stopped.

I started out with a group of young riders who had some fine wool jersey's and a few tatooed and nose pierced fierce and fit looking women in their group. Immediately we hit a big hill and it was tough getting started. A guy rode past me and he was breathing rhythmically, loudly through his mouth, and it reminded me to breathe. The took off, and three or four of the guys stormed up that first big hill. I decided to pace myself and spun over the hill in a low gear. When I got to the top I saw the fast guys had pulled up to weight for their crew, so I took off. I hammered the downs and hung on for the ups. We got to a huge downhill and I topped out at 35 before hitting the next up. I felt great, very strong and was glad to be doing the ride, but not having to ride with a group. Soon the course turned south. We headed into Indiana and there was a very long straight road that was exposed and seemingly more up hill than down. Into a 20+ mph headwind. It was brutal. All I could do was hunker down and spin. I managed only a 10 mph but kept going. Soon I found myself catching solo riders, hanging with them for a few minutes, then riding by them. I kept hoping we would get to the farthest south point so we could turn back to the north-- wind at our backs! but when we did turn around, the course took us into the woods which blocked the wind. None the less, I was able to pick up the pace and rode for then next 5-6 miles averaging close to 30 mph. I was flying! I continued to pass other riders and really hammered, ups and downs, standing on my peddles over the rail road tracks. I was cranking out. I passed more and more riders, and not a single rider caught me. The longer I rode, the stronger I felt!

It was a brutal stretch-- 28 miles to the final sag stop. I rolled into the 92 mile stop and as I walked to the bathroom I had a huge emotional rush, total body goose flesh and tears in my eyes-- I knew right then I was having the ride of my life! I was nailing this sucker! I didn't stay long, only 8 miles to go. I had one last cup of potato soup and chatted briefly with a pair of fit looking guys on a tandem hauling a 2 year old in a burely. Wow, and they were cranking out too. I hit the road, with one big last hill to climb and I took off in a hurry, riding strong and fast. Half way up the big hill I dumped my chain. Argggg. It only took me a minute to roll it back onto the front gear cluster. The worst part was the grease, which I tried to wipe off on some dirt. Nothing else wrong, so I was back on the road and finished just behind the threesome. 5:00 pm sharp when I rolled into TOES. 8 hours out, 6:21 rolling, 16 mph average, top speed 35 mph, low speed 6.6 mph. I felt great, excited, happy and relieved! That spaghetti dinner was great! I saw the rest of the 67 mile sag stop crew at the end. The polar gods, the tattooers, the threesome. Such camaraderie and a sense of accomplishment. My last long training event before the Denver marathon. The test of my strategy, riding long to save my knees for the marathon. yeah baby. go, go, go!

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

Wheels and fortunes


Just about 10 days ago I was riding my bike home from work when I got run over, literally, by a car. The only damage to the bike was my front wheel, which got bent like a taco. I was determined to ride the North Shore Century just a few days later so my bike guys hooked me up with a temporary replacement wheel so I could do the ride. And do the ride I did, the metric 100 was 95% a good experience and the bike did well. Last week my new wheel came in and Dan laced up the Mavic and swapped it for the loaner wheel. What a difference! Like they say you get what you pay for and the difference in a $50 rim vs. a $150 rim is rather dramatic. Suffering through the NSC on the other wheel will prove to be a good training experience for the Apple Cider Century this weekend when I will ride 100 miles through the hills of south western Michigan and northern Indiana. I am feeling good about this ride. My 24 mile run this weekend was an excellent experience with virtually no pain, despite the difficulties I'd experienced in the week preceding my long run. I feared I might leave my marathon on the streets of Oak Park, but instead, I am infused with new confidence. I am sure that as much as biking crosses over to train for running, that running crosses over to build strength and endurance for the bike. I will put this theory to the test this weekend when I face the big hills between miles 60 and 80 of the century.

As I sat meditating before bed last night I rejoiced in all that I am thankful for. This was a conscious effort to drive the demons away, those work related worries, the angst of the work-a-day world. I celebrated my great fortune. Here I sat, comfortably, in baddha konasana (the cobbler's pose) with the soles of my feet pressed together, legs splayed open, and as I probed my body with my mental radar, I could find no pain, not even a hint of it. As I rolled the mala beads through my fingers and watched my breath, all that I am grateful for washed over me like a delicious cool crisp bed sheet. Each time the jagged edged thought attempted to rip through, I acknowledged the thought and watched it vanish away, all the while rolling the beads. Two trips around the mala and I slipped under the covers, snugged my eye pillow onto my face and listened to BBC on the radio while I descended into sleep. Awake again at 3:00 AM, unable to defend myself from the insomniacal thoughts, I emerged from my slumber and listened to my heart beat instead of my mind scream. Morning came too soon, but I defied my inclination to catch another 15 minutes, and faced the day. In my more lucid state standing in the kitchen drinking that first cup of coffee, looking out into the dark pre-dawn, I felt fortunate, once again. to be alive and savoring this excellent cup of joe.

Monday, September 24, 2007

The long road and Fire

Fearing that I might leave my marathon on the streets of Oak Park, and considering the pain I'd experienced in my knee all week long, I set out, none the less, on my longest run since the 2003 Marine Corps Marathon. There is a very nice run from my house in south Oak Park, all the way through the heart of the village to the northwest corner to Lindberg park, about 6 miles round trip if you include the Kenilworth parkway in the return. I left the house just after 7 accompanied by Mirabel and my MP3 player. The eclectic mix and early morning cool made for a very pleasant first loop. Joni Mitchell, Gershwin, Charlie Parker, Soul Asylum, Chet Baker, Ani DeFranco, The Clash-- I would listen to that radio station! It was very clear and blue sky day with low humidity. I ran almost the whole first loop, mixing in very little walking, feeling quite good in fact. As I crossed Madison on the way back home I saw a familiar figure heading away from me-- Steve! He turned and ran back to me and we took it on home. Mirabel was so good the whole loop-- spotting squirrels and going into jogging stealth squat mode, but not bolting. She did not bolt until she saw Steve, it was just too much for her. Loop one, 1:09.

We dropped Mirabel off, had a drink and Ryder joined us. He carried the water in his backpack and rode along. This loop we ran 8 and walked 2. Ryder babbled loudly the whole time keeping us quite amused. We made it to Lindberg park and convinced Ryder not to play in the park this loop. We made it back home in 1:17, 12 miles down. Next loop Steve and I went alone. I felt remarkably well, no pain, but it was starting to get warm, and our water carrier was not with us this loop. We also did 8:2 for this loop, and finished in 1:15., 18 miles down. The grand finale loop, we were accompanied by both Ryder on his bike and Karen running. We planned on doing the Wendy Walk-- with whom I am going to do Denver-- who said she did her 18 mile run walking 5 and running 5 the whole way. impressive. Walking for 5 minutes seemed like it would make it very easy to do. Our traveling entourage covered the distance to Lindberg park pretty easily, though the last 1/2 mile found Karen struggling. This was the longest she'd run in years. She opted to go straight back while us boys took the Kenilworth loop. We met up at StarBucks and enjoyed iced coffees and cold water, all the while basking in the sun. The perennial Louie was guarding the trash can, so we gave him some $ and he collected our cups so he could have some water. Oak Park's resident homeless guy. We opted to walk the 1+ last mile from StarBucks home, but once I crossed the Home avenue bridge, I ran it on in-- and felt just fine. loop #4, 1:25. Total run time, 5:15, 24 miles. Zowee. My longest non-marathon run. And I never encountered much pain. Loop two was the toughest, sore knees and screaming ilialposas, but these subsided. I changed into a singlette for the fourth loop and the sun was very intense.

Almost as soon as we got home Ryder and I had to hit the road for the Chicago Fire game. Major League Soccer in the Toyota park stadium. We made it just after the game had started and as we were making our way in the Fire scored and of course they shot off fireworks. Immediately freaking Ryder out, causing him to stuff his fingers in his ears-- and he kept them that way the whole game. I asked him if he wanted food, yes, but I wouldn't buy it for him if he wouldn't take his fingers out of his ears. no matter, his fingers stayed. I enjoyed the game but we sat in the bright open sun and got fried. I am so sun burned today. Poor Ryder, I am sorry to have been impatient with his ears in fingers. He even complained that his arms were getting tired from holding them up, but he was freaked. How fun was that? Well, when the game was over, he removed his fingers and claimed to be having fun. Well, I did. Watching the skill and stamina of the players was quite something. Those guys are awesome. I would definitely like to return to see more games but will have to devise some strategy for Ryder to be able to cope with it.

Friday, September 21, 2007

Nothin' but the flax, mamm....


Seven days, its hard to believe all that has transpired since last Thursday when I was run over on my bicycle by a car. Riding 64 miles on Sunday in the North Shore Century, limping around on a very sore knee for the next several days, driving to Champaign-Urbana on Tuesday and getting a flat tire 20 miles north of Rantoul on I57 and having to change the tire using a screw driver to wind the jack up not being able to locate the jack handle (DOH!), sacrificing 189 3.5 year old hens, half of which had been on flaxseed diet for a year, sleeping overnight, but not two nights in Champaign, driving back to Chicago and arriving in the Gold Coast at 10 PM to deliver my workmate to his apartment in the midst of the throbbing al fresco crowds at State, Clark and Division, waking up in my own bed and able to walk my son to school, take the dogs for a walk and then drive the car to UIC to deliver the samples, leave early to get the tire repaired, a nice walk to pick Ryder up from school, and then a fitful night of sleep dissecting chickens in my dreams, then hours ago, up before dawn to ride my bike to work with the Oak Park Bike gang, all of whom were so very interested to hear the results of the flaxseed study. Me too. Lot's of numbers to crunch and analysis to conduct. Whew. The build up for the big chicken harvest lasted for months and months, and then in 20 hours of necropsy we were done. The tough thing about dissecting chickens is the feathers. The ones with really gross metastatic cancer and bellies full of ascites definitely challenge the senses. Slashing fingers with scalpels with fingers immersed in metastatic soup is not a good thing either. Standing head bent dissecting for hour after hour certainly a physically demanding thing to do as well. The camaraderie unsurpassed, the gathering together of the troops to do the big project was really extraordinary. Now, the analysis. Our first take on the data looks very promising. Flaxseed appears to have a definite preventative and suppressive effect. We won't know about the suppression until we do the histology and processing 500 samples is going to take a lot of time. But we are sitting on a treasure of data. Nothing left to do but write the papers. Yeah, right.....

Monday, September 17, 2007

That old familiar feeling....


Pain. I had been in pain for so long during and after I suffered my stress fracture in my knee in '04, that it took me a while, once I had improved, to realize I was no longer in pain. I was near the threshold and each time I ran (if you could call it that) there it was, the pain. Radiating down my right outer calf, anterior tibialis? peroneus longus? the pain seemed to originate in the outer lower leg-- this preceded my contrlateral stress fracture which resulted, no doubt, from compensation. Fast forward to Saturday September 15, 2007, when for the first time since I *recovered* I experienced the full force of that old familiar pain. OK, rational thinking analyzes the situation and tests various untestable hypotheses. The car accident, glancing blow on my leg caused this? Hard to reconcile considering I was OK Friday, even ran on the dreadmill with out any pain-- testing to see if in fact I did suffer any injury from the accident. Apparently not. I was fine Saturday morning as we strolled the farmer's market. But then, I laced on my new soccer cleats to assume the guise as assistant coach for Ryder's team and as I ran around the field I almost immediately felt IT. So, I reasoned at the time, must be a bit sore from it all. UGH. Pain persisted. All day Saturday I limped around, miserable, in a state of disbelief and denial.

Undetered, and equipped with my trusty Cannodale with the new front wheel (stock wheel on loan while Dan laces up a replacement Mavic for me). I ventured forth to Evanston for the North Shore Century. Tempted though I was to ride 100 miles, I opted to do the metric 100. My longest ride this year being 50 miles, going double that seemed like to be a bit of stretch. So I decided to do the 62 mile route. It was a lovely day, a bit chilly in the morning, but clear and dry. I was on the road before 8:00. A little later than I had planned on, but I was riding alone and just doing the 62, so I took a liesurely approach. I missed the first turn, within 100 yards of starting, but managed to catch myself and get on track. I rode in comfort, cruising 18-20 mph keeping company with similarly paced riders, to the 20 mile rest stop. I ate a peanutbutter and jelly sandwhich and was back on the road, sans jacket. The 62 mile route has a 12 mile loop that takes you back to the same rest stop, then the course follows the same route as the 50 mile tour. Once again I had a PBJ sandwhich (just 1/2 each time), loaded up my water bottles and hit the road again. So far this was an easy ride, relatively flat and little wind. We rode through Lake Forest and passed some giant mansions where a few of the truly richest people in the world live. Though they live in big mansions their roads suck. A very bumpy ride.

I was enjoying the few hills and cruising averaging about 18 mph until about mile 50, then IT started to hurt. Each revolution of the peddle and I felt the pain radiate down my leg. The peroneus, whatever it was, outside right leg just below the knee was really singing. I found that if I pointed my toe down on the peddle swing it didn't hurt. As I lapsed and started peddling flat footed the pain would return. I was very distracted by it, and also very concerned. NO! bicycling CAN NOT HURT ME! I refused to accept the reality of what I was experiencing. NO! But with each revolution, as I tested the angle of my ankle, I could find comfort zones and I could test the limits of the pain as well. It became very clear to me what was going on and I gained new insight into the origin of my initial insult. Bone on bone grinding away, no meniscus, each scrape sending pain down my leg. The trigger point in my peroneus and pain in my lower leg came from the knee, not my feet. Ah ha! Well, this explains a lot of things. My 2003 training season, that one step I took 7 days prior to marine corps marathon which caused THIS SAME PAIN. Yet I trained through all of 2004 with this going on, not recognizing the source, until, stupidly, it caused the stress fracture in my left knee. Which, by the way, is feeling just fine. My right knee is my bete noire. The beast that haunts me. So, does this mean I am screwed? Won't be able to bike either? These troubling thoughts haunted my next four miles until, as if by miracle, the rest stop appeared and I pulled over. No more PBJ sandwiches for me. I stretched to see if I could help myself out and felt ok. I tightened my headset and water bottle cage which were loose-- from the bumpy roads or the accident, hard to say. I was back on the road, just a few miles to go, and struggled, now over the hills and into a 15 mph headwind. I finished in 3:58, 16.1 mph average, having covered 64 miles. Top speed 27.5 on one of the downhills. It was quite festive in Dawes park at the finish. The Honey Bees, a bopping rock billy band were serranading the crowd. I relaxed a bit, and then got on the massage table to get stretched. It was quite pleasant and when I walked my bike to the car I felt OK. I went to bed at 8:30 last night, imagine that.

So this morning I was slow to leave the house. I had to reconfigure my ride for commuting instead of riding long, find my clothes in the laundry and hit the road. I immediately could tell I was going to be OK. Riding the bike this morning, spinning in a low gear and not pushing it was completely comfortable. My knee felt stiff and a bit swollen, but NO PAIN. Now as I sit at my desk in my office blogging this instead of working, I have an ice bag on my knee and am encouraged. This weekend I plan on running 24 miles and then next weekend riding 100 miles. After that all that is left to do is run the Denver marathon. And one thing for sure, I am not going to lace those soccer cleats back on my feet.

Friday, September 14, 2007

Blinded by the light, a recipe for disaster

Perhaps it was the angle of sun as it approach the horizon, or maybe I pushed the envelop just a bit too far, but somehow I managed to get run over by a car on my bike. It was surreal, slow motion and certainly could have been avoided, but none the less, as I hovered mid-intersection waiting to turn left, waiting for the oncoming car to clear, the car on my right turned left and ran over me. Holy cats! It happened so quickly, the first thing I knew was that I was laying on the street and his car's front wheel was sitting on my bike's front wheel. He leapt out of the car to ask if I was OK. I stood up and tried to pull my bike up, but it was trapped, crushed under his car. I asked if he could please back up so I could get my bike out, then proceeded to drag it to the side of the road. He pulled around, parked and ran over to talk with me. Another gent ran ride over to see if I was OK. I was OK, not even scraped up, just hit on my knee. Somehow I must have popped out of my peddles. Damage assessment- front rim bent like a banana. No apparent further damage. I was rattled, not exactly sure how I felt, as I stood in the street with my bike leaning against a light pole. Everyone kept asking me if I was OK. I just stood staring in disbelief at my beautiful bike with the bent in half front wheel. "Crap!" was all I could think. The gent who ran me over, understandably, was quite concerned. He kept saying he'd never run any one over before. He offered to drive home and return with his wife's SUV to give me ride home. I was not able to formulate an answer. I thought about walking my bike home-- I was only about 1/2 mile away, but then realized, it wouldn't roll, sure, said, I'll take a ride. He jumped in his car and drove off. He told me his name and address and promised to be right back. I called Karen and told her what happened, and that I was OK. She offered to come get me but I told her to wait. Within a few minutes the driver returned in his same car and explained that his wife was not at home. He attempted to make room in his small sedan for my bike, but his trunk was full and there was no way to easily put the bike in. So I called Karen back to come rescue me. The driver and I chatted and he gave me his contact information and told me to let him know what happened. I didn't think to call the police and guess that is OK, for surely they would've made me ride in an ambulance. We parted ways an Karen drove home. She went inside and I took my bike straight to Dan's bike shop. A quick look and Dan said-- new wheel, fork is OK, that he would lace me up a new one and check the bike out to make sure its OK. I told him I was planning to ride the North Shore Century on Sunday-- he was not sure he had the same wheel in stock but would set me up with something so I could do the ride, while the wheel was on order. I should find out today what the damage is and then will give the driver a call and see if he wants to contribute to the repair. I sense he will. Wow, considering what happened, just having my wheel bent and not getting hurt, I was indeed lucky.

This is how it happened. I was having a tough ride home, alone, nearing the 6 o'clock hour, riding into a head wind, and feeling very tired. I was lamenting the cost to one that marathon training exacts, a cumulative fatigue. A good feeling and it makes for sound sleep, but it takes a lot out of you. I was contemplating not riding today, but then decided, no, I must push on through, ride in at 6:30 and hit the treadmill for a 30 minute run. I just have to make sure I get a good night's sleep. I drank some water and pressed on, and finally made it to Oak Park. As I was nearing the home stretch I approached the intersection of Oak Park Avenue and Harrison from the east, heading into the bright sun on the horizon. There was a line of perhaps a dozen cars queued up at the intersection of this narrow street. As I always do, I passed all the cars on the left to get to the front of the line so I could turn left. A car made a right turn from Oak Park Avenue heading north, so I had to squeeze over to my right, getting close to the westbound cars, waiting at the light. The light turned green, I kept my momentum and just as I got to the front of the line, I entered the intersection adjacent to, and slightly in front of the first car in the line, but then paused for the one oncoming car. The driver to my right did not pause, evidently and ran into me. The El had just come, there were people everywhere, and lots of cars waiting to turn, the sun was right in our eyes, a recipe for disaster. Neither the driver nor I really know what happened. But it did. I know I pushed it a little farther than I should have, passing all those cars on the left and then attempting to turn left with them-- but the driver never saw me. A lesson learned? A cautionary note received? Shouldn't I feel angry? I turned over many thoughts about omens and karma and such, and shouted them down-- it was just a freaking accident and I was lucky I didn't get hurt, and my bike is OK and it won't cost all that much to repair and maybe the driver will help with the cost.... but still, I am a bit unsettled about this. Sore, but not hurt? Damage assessment still underway. I still plan on riding that metric hundred on Sunday. I may find myself even more battered feeling tomorrow. Especially when I go pay Dan for fixing my bike.

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

blur of activity, and its only September

wow, talk about hitting the ground running this fall. We eased into the first week of school, Ryder very excited about being in 1st grade and pleased to be in the after school program with the other kids. He went from 3 hours of kindergarten a day, to 8 hours of school and after school program. He seems to be adjusting quite well to school, but he and I are both having a harder time adjusting to having his mom working so much. We miss her!Her 12 hour Monday and Wednesdays make for even longer days for her. I so admire how she has taken all this on and soldiers through-- teaching at two colleges and working as a consultant at UIC, wow, too much. And of course last week really set me back. The two day ordeal of colonoscopy post longest run of the year was just the start. On Thursday we flew to Charlottesville for a wedding and returned Sunday evening. Then back to the grind, only more ill prepared for everything this week, and tired, too. Our flight out of Chicago was delayed by over three hours stranding us in the waiting area for five hours, making it a very long day by the time we landed in Richmond, got our rental car and drove to C'ville. We rented a mini-van to provide shuttle craft service for the assembled family. It was, in fact, the first time I'd ever driven a mini-van. Pretty nice ride with satellite radio etc. Less than a half tank of gas though cost $40 to refill. ouch. Friday I visited UVA and realized that I will forever be known as an andrologist. Everyone I know in science knows me for my Leydig cell work. I have yet to break into the ovarian cancer world. A whole new cohort for sure. But it is good to be known for something I suppose. And these relationships transcend science-- I have known my friends at UVA for nearly 20 years and truly we are friends. The tour of the grounds and seeing Mister Jefferson's university was very cool. The rotunda is awesome and all the southern bells, well, a fine sight too. C'ville, as the locals call it, is a very nice place indeed, quite a college town, an island of liberality in the heart of the red state. Lots of hippie types intermixed with the Greeks, rastas and sun dresses with high heels, frat boys in khaki shorts long sleeved white shirts and neckties drunk on their butts, and tatoo-pierced dreaklocked hairy underarmed delights, all strolling about the historic downtown mall. Nice hills too. I had a great run on Sunday, up up up and then back down. Feeling pretty good about the running now. The wedding was at Ash-Lawn James Madison's estate, but the big deal there is Monticello, Jefferson's plantation. As Ryder declared on our tour-- "impressive!" indeed it was.

and now back to work, curriculum night, soccer, gymnastics, riding back and forth to work through the big ugly my sanctimonious escape and simultaneous exercise and commute. Not a bad combination. It was COLD this morning, but we haven't seen anything yet. 44 degrees? a taste of what is right around the corner. it tastes pretty good too after the big heat of August, and the 90s of C'ville. Autumn is the most beautiful season of the year.

Wednesday, September 5, 2007

walking on the moon

Like the doctor told me this morning, the bad part of this is behind you. And so it was. Now enjoying afternoon alone at the house gathering my wits about me. The flash back hospital scene of nearly 40 years ago, summer of '69, Woodstock, Viet Nam, walking on the moon, and my mother's precipitous decline through those last months. A boy shouldn't have to endure losing his mom when he had just turned 16 years old. The image of the TV in her room the live news report, Neal Armstrong stepping onto terra luna, the camera pans over US soldiers sitting on tanks in the jungle, the voice broadcast through the quiet dusk light. It was eiry I remember it as though it was yesterday. Sitting on my mother's hospital bed, watching this. We heard vague reports of somewhere called Woodstock where something was going to happen. By the time the festival was making head line news, "a whole lot of freaks!" my mother had passed away. I guess this why going to hospitals makes me squirelly. Remembering today will cement my aversion. And now, lunch!

Tuesday, September 4, 2007

Rites of passaging

T-minus 97 minutes, waiting for the miralax to bolus. I had a dream last night, like the Estee Lauder commercial, a beautiful swimming pool with shimmering blue water and I was suppose to drink the whole thing. And now I have accomplished this and wait the outcome. My doctor told me I would live to be 90 years old it would be stupid to let something so completely preventable get me. Make the appointment. Tomorrow, 8:30 AM. Bombs away. So it was a really weird feeling being restricted to clear liquids today when yesterday I ran 19 miles, twice around Water Fall Glenn, and was strangely not hungry all day. I reckon it was because I consumed two nearly full CamelBacks of Gatoraide. And now I suck more down with a saturating solution of polyethylene glycol. yeow. It was a great day. New Hurricane 9s, I felt positive. I visualized running erect, not dropping my head, pressing forward from my hips-- and as we were 2/3rds around lap one I pictured myself in the same spot on the next loop when I would be close to finishing. Usually where I blow up-- 15-16 miles. Somehow it worked. We ran one mile then walked 2 minutes, all the way to 17. Then steve had to walk it in. His longest previous run was 13, since Grandmas and he wasn't really up for more than 15. But I am programed to have run a 20 miler this weekend, and figure that 2x around WFG is 19miles plus on rolling hills. Fabulous run. The last 1.5 miles when I took it in alone, I picked up the pace, plugged into the visual and pumped my arms with a slight sway in my hips to help me track my feet in single file. No real heel lift, but circularizing my knees felt comfortable, but too fatiguing. The only pain I experienced was in my ilalposas which tightened up around 4 miles on the long uphill. I ran through it and at the 1/2 rest I stretched it and it seemed to help. We ate one Cliff Shot Blocks at each mile or so. the big difference between us was that I was carrying my CamelBack and Steve just carried a single bottle. As I sucked down the Gatoraide today I calculate that I consumed ~750 calories worth of the stuff on my run. No wonder I was not hungry. I had a milkshake and then barbeque salmon for dinner. yum. So maybe the reason it is taking so long to start is because I am empty. Just like when we did Owens Putnam 50 miler, the chicken broth at the half way point, mile 8 of the three loop course. Nothing ever tasted so good and I was a vegetarian! Today the chicken noodle soup sans chicken and noodles is sustaining me. Actually not having to work tomorrow and having such a weird day today will aide in my recovery from the 3:43 minutes it took me to go 19. OK, bombs away, the verdict is being deliverd.

Friday, August 31, 2007

the inner life and times of change

Friday before Labor Day weekend, ceremonial end to summer, the begin of fall's full slate of activities. Tired and feeling rather dull, though I had a nice ride to work into the rising sun, enjoying the cool crisp air, I cleared my Inbox and headed to the gym. I was pleased to remember that I had a new load of music on my MP3 player and began to look forward to my workout. After warming up my knees doing ball squats against the wall, I climbed onto the treadmill and eased into the routine. Two minutes of walking, then 6 mph until I covered one mile, two more minutes of walking, then 6.3 mph until I got to two miles. The last two minutes of each mile I nudged the speed up to the next interval. So I ended the 2nd mile at 6.6. Mile three went by quickly, 6.6 mph, then 6.9, then 7.2 and finally 7.5-- racing to cover 3 miles before the 30 minute limit elapsed. I was at 2.95 miles when "cool down" flashed on the control panel. One of the annoyances of running on the treadmill. Driven by the tunes, Charlie Parker and Joe Strummer I had worked up a tremendous sweat, I felt great, strong, stable, no pain at all even cranking out at the end of the run. I hit the mat for my post run "yogalates" session. As I gathered my breath and my thoughts dissolved into the mat, I felt a body awareness, a sense of my whole being vibrating, humming, shimmering-- as I stretched I felt elegant and composed. Plugged back into the continuum, the flow coursed through me as I lived the inner life. A purely meditative moment, punctuated with scissors, crunches and rollovers. I did some push ups and then inverted progressively closer to the mat-- handstand, pincha mayurasana and then head stand. Drenched with sweat and feeling holy, I faced the day. thoughts of pending colonoscopy (yikes), figuring out how to do the laxative regimen and still get done what is required. Then what really is the turbulence beneath the calm surface of the water-- the looming large Denver marathon. The run on the treadmill today is about as much as I have been running. Not out the door four days a week getting in 40 miles, my training is on the bike with weekly long runs. My panic subsides as I draw upon the old marathoner's toolbox. What I lack in training I will make up for with wisdom and experience. yeah right....

times of change, indeed. Ryder started First Grade this week. Karen started her three jobs. I am now full Professor. The latter having the least impact on our daily life. Ryder woke up early on Tuesday, his first day and said "what a great day for the first day of school!" This is in marked contrast to our neighbor, with whom Ryder has a very antagonistic relationship. His mom reported that Nicky woke up on Tuesday and declared this to be the worst day of his life. While Ryder was at school Tuesday, just until 11 AM, I rode my bike 25 miles, and got back with 15 minutes to spare to walk him home. Wednesday, first full day plus after school program. He woke up and reprised the naked man song, dancing around the bedroom singing "beware, beware, beware of the first grade man!" When I went to gather him at day's end, he was diligently working on a drawing, and though he had been at school and park kids for nearly 10 hours by then, he had to finish his drawing before we could walk home. Then it was boys night out-- Karen at her Triton gig that night. Wow. busy times. Ryder is adjusting to this amazingly well and I am so happy that we have the routine nearly established. He misses his mom being away from her all day, and the dogs are now orphans too. I get to spend more time with him and my duties are increased and I just couldn't be happier about that. Change is good. Happy Labor Day!

Wednesday, August 22, 2007

thoughts on back bends and inversions

I used to be in the yoga way, practicing rather seriously for almost ten years before an injury sidelined me. A true yogi would have practiced through the injury and it is likely doing so might have hastened my recovery. But not being able to do standing poses as I was not able to do any weight bearing exercise, or bending my legs due to my knee injury, left me out of the main flow of any yoga class. So I discovered Pilates and now three years later have gained significant core strength and fitness from these exercises. The true test of this strength comes as I now return to more and more yoga practice all the time. I was relatively competent at inversions--handstands, shoulder stand and head stand. Though I was still relying on the belt and the wall. I had even managed to get vertical in pincha mayurasana, the feathered peacock pose (http://www.yogajournal.com/poses/1711_1.cfm) where you balance on your forearms, feet over head. Since my injury felled me in the fall of 2004, I have neglected backbends and inversions. I have discovered that now, with the core strength I've gained from Pilates, I can do shoulder stands with ease, just curling my tail bone right up and over. Finally I can do halasana, the plow pose, touch my toes over my head when I do the shoulder stand. So I thought I would give it a try and voila, kicked right up into handstand. I strapped the belt around my arms, just above my elbows, shoulder width apart, did downward dog facing the wall, fingers 6 inches away, and kicked up. voila. I have been doing handstands now, again for a few weeks, each time getting up easier, though I have yet to shed the belt. Today, for the first time in years I thought I would try the peacock pose. It was easy! Easier in fact than handstand! Then I rolled over into shoulder stand and found the floor with my feet-- halasana, the first time ever. No scrunched up throat, I felt sufficient lift and space in my thorax to make it comfortable. Wow! I am energized and excited by this. As I free myself from the belt, and move from the wall, I will enjoy the dual benefits of backbends-- energizing me, and inversions-- bringing clarity and enhanced circulation. I am so psyched. Then, to top it off, I weighed in post work out and much to my delight the scale tilted sub 210 (just barely). Zowee. no doubt about it, losing weight really helps with the asana practice. I am inclined sign up for a yoga class, once again. Of course I still can't really bend my legs...

Monday, August 13, 2007

Humble Pie for Breakfast

On Friday afternoon, I had an errand across campus so I took Roosevelt Road home instead of my usual route. Roosevelt is awful with traffic and little in the way of bike lanes, but it was the most direct way so I braved it. While there are bike lanes, they end abruptly west of Independence, leaving bicycles on their own to navigate the west side industrial corridor's heavy traffic. As I rode west, really cruising with a tail wind, going about 21-22 mph, I caught up with a guy on mountain bike. He had a ball cap on, a vest with a bottle of water in his pocket sticking out, jeans and work boots. He was moving pretty well, but I humped it up and passed him, nearly getting smashed by one of those stupid huge Lincoln Navigator SUVS, driven by someone talking on their cell phone. I peddled on, keeping the pace up and when all of a sudden mister mountain bike blew past me. It was all I could do to keep up with him. We cruised about 2 miles with me on his tail. I decided to follow him and not try and pass again, and it was pretty fun having company. I was impressed that he could muster so much speed on such a beater bike with huge knobby tires. Made me wonder about my riding buddies who are hard pressed to make 18 mph on their commuter bikes. I paced with him until nearly Cicero and then he peeled off, and we gave each other thumbs up. I didn't realize this at the time but this was an omen for my scheduled ride on Saturday morning.

Though I have ridden over 1000 miles this year, it has mostly been in 8 mile chunks with lots of stop and go in the city. My goal is to used distance bike riding to help train for running a marathon, to save my knees, so I thought I better get out and start putting some miles in. I hooked up with my friend Giulia who is quite an avid biker, and she invited me to join her two friends who wanted to get a hill ride in-- 50 miles. So I showed up at 5:30 as the first light of the dawn was gathering, and Giulia and I rode to Chris' house, just as John was unloading his bike. My first impression was one of pure intimidation. These guys were total stud triathletes on $4000 bikes. 5% body fat and chiseled physiques, sleeveless skin tight bike jerseys-- yikes, what was I thinking. They were very nice guys and we had a great ride for about 15 miles, I had no problem keeping up with them on the flat as we headed west and south, and then we got to the hills. Poof. they were gone. I died! At one point Giulia looped back an picked me up and finally we made it 22 miles out to Waterfall Glenn. It was just 7 AM and the huge groups of runners were massing getting ready to run. Other bikers showed up. I was the only guy on a commuter bike with fenders, and amazingly, Giulia was the only woman on a bike. They chatted with the other bikers and took some calories in. I sucked down two gel packs and drank water. The ride home was good, Giulia coached me, gave me advice about keeping my rpms up and perhaps raising my seat etc and then told me to draft her, to sit right on her rear wheel and she would carry me up the hills. This was a new experience for me and I found that it took a lot of concentration but definitely helped. We got to some bigger hills and I couldn't keep right on her wheel, but fortunately did not drop off too much. once we were back in town I had no problem keeping up and we cruised happily along 19-22 mph. I finished the 45 miles in 2:45, 16.6 mph average and 32 mph top speed. I very much appreciate how generous those guys were to not drop me and let me tag along. A very humbling experience, indeed. This weekend I will repeat the route and do the metric 100 in the Wright Ride, but I do not plan on trying to keep up with Adonis on a tri-bike this week.

Friday, August 10, 2007

It's OK to feel good, right?

Friday and I am dragging today. My plans are to run in the zone this morning, getting some good cardio going, then after we dance the night away at Nacionale 27, doing 50 on the bike at dawn tomorrow, and then run long on Sunday. Yet I am struggling to keep my eye open after my Friday morning ride to work with the boys. Bolstered though I am by Cliff's comment-- he noted "losing some weight there?" and I told him about Hakes and his comments. We all agreed that people are quick to point out that you might have gained a pound or two (or three or four....) but that have to be nearly emaciated before they would notice you'd lost any weight. Now, two people have commented on my weight loss. Yeah. And it was Cliff who commented to me, a few months back, that I was "keeping my weight up" as though that was a desirable thing to do. Well, thank you sir! As a fellow big guy he can relate to the vagaries of weight loss and is suffering a bit this summer, not dropping his usual 5-8 pounds by now, due to his injuries. I hear you there! When I was sidelined with stress fractured knees and couldn't really run for almost two years, I gained a good SOLID 15+ pounds that I have now more than lost. Interesting how their advice rang true to me-- beer and pasta, the cause of weight gain. Indeed, my diet if you will, the P-diet addresses the common fattening component of those foods-- carbs. I am pleased to be dropping weight as I approach 210. The motivation to run-ride-run in no small part is my desire weigh 07, like the year. I haven't been under 210 in quite a while and it seems like when I do get down there I don't stay long. Not this time, mark my words. When bike commuting season runs into winter, then my challenge will begin. Riding the 1000 miles I have to work this year certainly is one of the key factors in my loss. So, losing weight and having someone notice definitely makes me feel good.

I feel good too, because I finally got that letter I've been waiting for. From the Board of Trustees appointing me to Full Professor in the Departments of Physiology & Biophysics, and Obstetrics & Gynecology. It took one year from the time I started to put my package together, the committees at each level, Department, College, Provost, Chancellor and then the Board. Yeah, baby, Bucky's now a full professor. I made the passing comment that I would have been more excited to have gotten a letter from the NIH telling me my grant was going to get funded. Despite my elation over the letter, goose bumps and tears in my eyes-- well, I almost got that letter from the NIH. I had a formative discussion with the program officer in the National Center for Complimentary and Alternative Medicine, who has my flax seed-ovarian cancer grant, and she told me that they really want to fund my grant, that it was as close to the pay line as it could be with out actually being guaranteed of being funded and she was all but positive that it would get funded. She was going to defend the funding decision and advocate for it when council meets in September. So here we wait, encouraged, but still uncertain.... Yet ever so optimistic. I believe that good things happen to good people and I am doing all that I can to be a good person. Of course I could do more, and I know I am flawed and have my difficulties, but I do keep trying to do the right thing and to be that better person. I think it's OK to feel good about myself and about things, right? Might as well, it sure beats feel bad. Which brings me to that age old tome, religious music o mine, going down the road feelin' bad, woo oh oh, ain't gonna be treated this a-way. uh huh, no more, no way, going where that water tastes like wine. Sure, why not, wine has low carbs!

Wednesday, August 8, 2007

756

Last night Barry Bonds smacked his 756th home run, eclipsing Hank Aaron's 33 year old record. He made his historic shot at home in San Fransisco t the wild cheers of his hometown crowd. Willy Mays was on hand to help him celebrate and Hank Aaron sent his congratulations via video. Of course all this comes with a giant (*) due to the steroid taint, the theme of this year's pro athlete accomplishments. The Tour du France was besmirched by the doping scandal, Michael Vick's dog fighting controversy, NBA referees beating on the games-- an on! None the less when I listened to the story of Bond's 421 foot home run this morning on NPR goose bumps crawled up my arms and tears came to my eyes. A significant accomplishment for an older athlete, and history was made. Meanwhile A-Rod hits his 500th, the youngest player to ever do so, and Glavin brought down his 300th victory, at the expense of the Cubs.

Our national pastime taking our minds off the bigger news stories-- the Minnesota Bridge Disaster, the Utah Mine Collapse, and of course, the war. As the death toll continues to mount and the insurgents continue to wage their civil war, our president is determined to stay the course, pour more fuel on the fire and sacrifice more and more of our youth to this stupid and lost cause. The reason they are waging this war is because we are there. The longer we stay, the more they will fight us. The oppressed, the dominated, the occupied will continue to gain strength and resolve and eventually rid themselves of us-- of US! And the death toll will be in the 100s of thousands of Iraqi's and 10's of thousands of our soldiers, to what end? the Bush legacy. Failed, disastrous and destructive presidency. the worst president ever, setting the new standard for BAD. Such a legacy! And when we elect a democrat in 2008, likely our first woman president with our first African American vice president, and they will have his mess to clean up. There may be few Republicans still standing, so that all the blame will then fall on the Democrats. History will not be kind to George W Bush. One can only hope the economy and our environment will survive him. Just think of all that has happened on his watch....

Monday, August 6, 2007

Begin where you are....

Take a deep breath, feel the moist summer air fill your lungs, turn your head to the left and exhale, deeply, over your left shoulder. Blow all that trouble away. Now turn your head forward, breathe deeply, feel the air filter through your nose and fill your lungs, your chest rises and you pause in the space between, and then let the breath out. The inner calm supplants the panic and with each subsequent breath comes an infusion of clarity. Better now. Begin. Begin where you are. Don't worry about all that lead you to this point, the steps you've already taken on this journey, the journey begins again, here, now. You've traveled a great distance and come at last to the mighty river, but can not get across-- so you stop and build a raft, lashing together what ever you can find, whatever you have at hand, until finally you've constructed the raft you need to cross the river. Though the current may be swift and the crossing dangerous, you ford the mighty river and land on the other side. Now, ask your self, do I carry this fine raft with me? After all, it is built out of all that carried me to the other side of the river. I lashed it together and it carried me across so that now, I stand here, facing the path on this side of the river. No! Of course not. You leave the raft on the river bank and journey on. It has gotten you where you are. It's work is done. It would be such a burden to try to carry it with you. No, you leave it behind. You begin where you are, the journey continues, the journey starts here. It is not where the journey takes you, but the journey itself that matters.

As I face the job of completely revising the manuscript I have been working on for months, after getting some much needed (evidently) and very thorough review from my colleague, I groan and then feel grateful. Clearly it took them some significant effort to dissect my manuscript and I know how much it will thus be improved. So here, I begin again, where I am on this project. And in a greater sense, as I journey through my career, my research path came to a river which I could not cross, and so I have managed to get to the other side of that river. But my journey does not end here, no, it starts here. yes, it is like starting all over, and so I do. And getting this first important paper published with the help of my knowing colleagues, who do have the experience in my new field of study, will be my first step on this new path as I leave that raft behind. yes, breathe deep into relief. don't look back, don't look back.