How I Spent My Spring and Summer

When they run, kids don’t worry about personal records or electrolytes or their mile pace and they don’t wear $100 running shoes or satellite-synched wristwatches that would make Dick Tracy jealous.  They just run.  I used to be like that, before injuries, a driver’s license, adolescence, and a lot of beer and late nights made running less attractive.  So I stopped running, for about 20 years.  Five years ago, fearing that I would not be able to keep up with my active children, I set out to see if I could recapture some of what it felt like to run as a kid.  One day, in the middle of a bike ride, I stopped by the Smith College track and ran a lap.  I barely finished.  Fast forward to this past week:  I completed the Monson Memorial Half Marathon, the last race of the Sugar Loaf Mountain Athletic Club’s 2010 race series. I ran 10 out of the 12 races in the series. 

But I don’t want to write about my own running achievements, because let’s face it, to anyone who doesn’t run, and to a great many people who do run, listening to someone else’s running stories can be a bore.   I’d rather talk about my dreams.  I regularly dream about running now, something I don’t recall ever happening before. In my dreams, I run without effort.  I don’t need a watch or fancy computer to tell me what I can feel instinctively: that thanks to effective training and a flawless technique, I am running as fast as I possibly can.  This is where I can see the payoff for consistently getting out of bed in the morning at while the rest of my house is asleep—and probably the rest of the neighborhood, as well.  I feel the wind in my face, but that’s pretty much all I feel.  I don’t feel too hot or too cold, I don’t feel worried about traffic or whether I’m late for work, and I don’t feel any impact from my feet hitting the ground.  I’m gliding, and it’s perfect. 

And then, as they say, I woke up. 

I haven’t come close to replicating that feeling during my waking hours, but it’s not for lack of trying.  My last entry in this blog highlighted a race I ran in April, the Ron Hebert Road Race, where every finisher gets a pair of socks.  That race marked the first race in a new racing series put on by the Sugar Loaf Mountain Athletic Club, or SMAC.  Before this race series, I’d never participated in such a thing before, and while I had a vague notion that these things existed, I had no real idea of how they worked.  But one thing jumped out at me as I read through the rules: participants who finished six of the 12 races in the series would get a prize.  That was my motivation.  I have run enough races to confirm that fact that I am too slow to win any of the “traditional” running prizes; you know, the ones you get for running faster than most, if not all, of the other people in the race. But I was pretty sure I could run six races in 8 months. 

I paid my series entry fee—a reasonable $10—and began to look forward to the email updates that the series organizer, John Reino, would regularly send out after each race.  I ran my sixth race in the series in September to qualify for a prize, and then I was pleasantly surprised when I looked at the standings that my name was much closer to the top of the list than the bottom.  I also realized that I had a chance at making 10 races in the series, so I signed up for the Monson Half. 

For running these races, I got socks, t-shirts, technical shirts, pint glasses, and even potatoes.  I got a couple of black toenails and some nasty chafing issues.  More importantly, I got to experience the hospitality of the race volunteers (I still can’t get over the pastries at the Lake Wyola Run) and the excitement of race day on both a big (2000+ runners at the Bridge of Flowers Classic) and small scale (a couple of races drew only 100 or so runners.)  I also got to experience a feeling of accomplishment and I got to share it with my family, who met me at the finish line on Sunday.  My younger son even held a sign up as I passed: My Dad=My Hero. 

It’s kind of a bittersweet feeling to know that the series is over.  There’s a race I’m thinking about running on Sunday, but part of me says it’s not worth it because I won’t get any points for doing it.  Another part of me says, haven’t you run enough already this year?  But still another part of me says that maybe, just maybe there’s another PR out there for me. 

Thank you, Sugarloaf Mountain Athletic Club, for putting on this race series and for allowing me to experience joy in running again.  I was a middle-of-the-pack runner who didn’t stick around much after the race was over, but I enjoyed every minute of it. 

Good Day for a Run

 I ran in the 42nd Annual Ron Hebert Road Race, an 8-mile race through Florence and Williamsburg.  I almost chickened out and didn't do it, because I was intimidated by the hills, like the one heading into Williamsburg on Route 9 by the driving range, and the hill on North Farms Road.  But I didn't.  And while I wasn't first, I did finish in the top 50.  That's right, you're talking to the 49th finisher.  Of course, the official results may not show that, because the part of the number that gets torn off after you cross the finish line, which had my name on it, was pinned on my sweaty shirt, so the pertinent information was washed away.  I was too tired to stick around to see what kind of a back up system they had in place. 

It was a beautiful day for a run, and the breeze helped immensely.  And I must say, I really liked how I was greeted at the finish line: the race director shook my hand, congratulated me, and gave me a pair of gym socks. 

Here's a picture of my sweaty shirt, my number, and my prized socks.

Here's a picture of me actually running.  Check out those buff, white legs.  I asked the photographer to wait until I was in front of the blossoms. I think it was the right choice. 

Driving to a Standstill

I grew up in New Jersey, the most densely populated state in the country.  And I grew up in a pretty crowded area of New Jersey, where many times it seemed like cars outnumbered people, and where traffic jams weren't called traffic jams, they were just called the daily commute.  So I know traffic.  And I can tell you that yesterday's mob of cars throughout Northampton and Easthampton--and other towns--was some pretty impressive traffic. 


It turns out that the state's decision to close a lane of traffic on I-91 south to pour some concrete on the Friday of a holiday weekend wasn't the best one.  I will give credit where credit was due and say there was plenty of notice about it--I heard announcements on the radio and there was a front-page article about it in the Daily Hampshire Gazette--but that doesn't really provide much solace when you're stuck in traffic. 

Let's face it: being stuck in traffic sucks, and I've found the rarity of such an occurrence has been a major benefit of  living in the valley.  But because I'm not used to it, when it does happen, it makes it seem that much worse.  And I didn't have it that bad: while the traffic was slow from Easthampton to Northampton, I was heading north when most of the trouble was headed the opposite way.  There are a lot of people much more upset about it than I was, and that always makes me feel better. 

Here's my nominee for the least surprising quote in the Gazette's story about the traffic (emphasis added): "The root cause of the traffic, according to Maureen Glenn of the State Police in Northampton, was the closure of a southbound lane so workers could pour concrete near the East Street Bridge in Easthampton. Glenn said the site had been cleared by 5:30 p.m., far later than the Massachusetts Department of Transportation intended to have the lane closed."

The Real Madness of March

 I'm the guy in the red shirt. 

After yesterday's Holyoke St. Patrick's Day Road Race, I was talking to a guy who's run the race every year for the last 25 years. He said that without a doubt, yesterday's race was the warmest he could remember.

Warm temperatures + hilly course + 5000 people = bad results in the race for me.
I trained for six weeks because I wanted to do better than I did last year. I was ready. And then I got to the starting area and found a sea of people, many of whom were talking about how "perfect" the weather was for a race. Let's just say that I differed with them on that point, especially when I could feel the heat coming off the pavement as I waited for the race to start. But I should have known that this race wasn't the best place to try and set a personal best when I saw the rather zoftig woman with carefully applied makeup talking on her cell phone right before the race was going to start, in the front row where the elite runners line up. 
I had to pass people with dogs in the race, people who were walking the whole race in the middle of the road, and people with strollers. 


Yes, I'm bitter about this.  I need to remember for next year that this is a party race, a place for people to have fun.  It's a race where the spectators line the course and do a great job of cheering everyone on, and more than a few of them will give you a beer, if you want one. 

When I made that last turn and headed toward the finish line, all I saw in front of me was a sea of people--spectators lining the streets and runners running with me.  I finished in 2009th place, and that was an above-average performance.  It was a great day in Holyoke, and I'm sure that I'll be back again next year.  Just look for the guy in the red shirt with the expression of bitterness on his face. 

The Big Dance

Today marks the tip-off of the 2010 NCAA Division 1 Basketball Tournament, also known as March Madness or the Big Dance. 

Two days ago, my alma mater—two days after not being invited to the Big Dance—fired its basketball coach. 

Now, the situation with the coach is not as clear as I may have presented it.  That is, he was not necessarily fired because the team didn’t have a successful season. In fact, if recent news reports are correct, he was fired because he was a jerk who pissed off everyone he worked with and who recruited players of questionable character, including one who was arrested for armed robbery and kidnapping. 

I’m glad to see the guy go. 

But as I worked on my brackets this morning, I couldn’t help but wonder how many other awful coaches are out there, and how many socially maladjusted and academically unprepared players are out there.  And I couldn’t help but wonder about whether any limits can be placed on the greed that lies at the heart of this enterprise, as shown in the multi-billion dollar payments for television rights, the additional millions in licensing, and the money earned in everything from area advertising to concession sales.  And how all of that is born on the backs of the players, who may get scholarships but who don’t see a dime beyond that. 

Now this isn’t intended as a screed against Big Time College Athletics and its inherent evil.  You can find those anywhere. No, this is more of a rumination on a personal realization that I’ve had this week: I don’t seem to be doing as good a job this year of being able to turn a blind eye to some of the wrongheadedness that schools engage in when they seek success in athletics.  I graduated from Seton Hall in 1989, the year the basketball team made its spirited run to the NCAA Championship game, only to lose in overtime.  After graduating, I spent ten more years at the school, first as a graduate student and then as a faculty member who had athletes in his class.  As an alumnus, I like it when my school’s team does well.  As an educator, it bothers me to think about the hypocrisy involved in promoting student athletes who are participating in a three-week, nationwide tournament at a time when classes are in session. 

To put it mildly, it seems unfair to expect college kids to learn under such adverse conditions. 

So, in the end I find myself wondering if, when, and how anything might change.  This year my two sons filled out their brackets for the first time.  Will they be doing the same with their children in 40 years, wondering how things got so out-of-control? 

Random Thoughts on Turning the Corner

Daylight Saving Time began on Sunday morning and spring officially begins on Saturday.  After a lousy few days filled with cold temperatures, high winds, and rain, it's now sunny and almost sixty degrees outside. I'll risk angering the gods of winter and say it: Winter's over.  Pack away your shovels and winter coats, because it's going to be clear sailing from here on out. 

Not only is Saturday the first day of Spring (I can't help capitalizing it), but it's also the day of the Holyoke St. Patrick's Day Road Race, a 10k race through the streets of Holyoke that this year will mark its 35th year.  The forecast calls for sun and a temperature in the mid sixties.  That might be a tad too warm for runners around here who haven't had time to get used to such warmth.  (I'm saying that because it gives me another excuse to put into my excuse arsenal in anticipation of having to figure out why I didn't do as well as I wanted to in the race. This will be my third time running it.  The last two times, the course got the best of me.  I have high hopes for this year.  We'll see.)

The weather is breaking at the right time for St. Patrick's Day and its parades and general carousing, as well as for the NCAA Basketball Tournament, which doesn't really need nice weather but we'll take it.

I've never really been a big fan of March, but this year I'll take it. A little bit of sunshine is all I needed.  

Watching the Watchers

In Woody Allen’s 1971 movie Bananas, the lead character finds himself in the middle of a revolution in Central America on the side of the rebels. After the government is overthrown, the head of the rebel group addresses the cheering crowd and outlines some of his agenda items now that he’s in charge. Among his new rules: underwear must be changed every half hour and be worn on the outside so that it’s easier to check, and every child under the age of 16 is now 16 years old.

You can see the clip here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qff098NCNDE&feature=related

This scene ran through my head as I watched the video clip posted on Northamptonmedia.com from the most recent meeting of Northampton’s Veterans Affairs and Social Services Sub-Committee. In the clip, councilors Tacy, Plassman, and LaBarge discuss items they’d like to put on their agenda, primarily raising the fine for possession of marijuana, putting drug-sniffing dogs in the schools, and restricting access to the Meadows. None of those topics falls under the purview of this particular committee, but none of the councilors seemed to worry at all about that. Then, in a somewhat surreal video moment, the voice of an unseen person can be heard asking that the prohibition of escort ads in the Valley Advocate be added to the list. Was this person an elected official? No, he was a member of the public who just happened to be there videotaping the meeting.
I suppose I should be grateful that the person behind the video camera didn’t suggest something worse, like…wait: he suggested throwing out the First Amendment. There’s not really much worse than that.
Let me just say that I’m glad that people are videotaping this stuff and putting it online, frankly because I’m too lazy to go to all of these meetings. And I think that’s what most people want out of their city government: to keep things as convenient as possible. That means that City Councilors shouldn’t go and mess with things that aren’t their job to mess with, because that just upsets the general order of things. We don’t need to make our schools more like prisons, we don’t need to usurp the role of parents or assume that 75% of voters who voted for Question 2 in 2008 were wrong or duped. And we certainly don’t need to strong-arm private businesses by promoting censorship.

I'm pretty confident that these proposals won't go anywhere, but I'm going to be keeping an eye out just to make sure.