Getting over her

I hope no one on the packed jetliner saw me cry today. I was crying for her even though I barely knew her.

It was on Friday that she passed. She lay down nearby and never rose again. Summoned immediately, our response was swift. We worked on her for almost an hour, a tight circle of people kneeling clustered about her, working in tandem and issuing curt commands to each other which were instantly obeyed. But she didn't come back.

The trip member who had raised the alarm came up to me later that evening and rubbed my back briefly as I stood there glumly, and said we had done all we could in the circumstances. It felt so good to have a momentary physical connection with a living person. I inanely told her that coincidentally, I had taken a CPR course just six weeks ago. I earnestly told her how well everyone in the little group had performed.

On the plane ride back home five days later, as I was writing notes about that day, I became overwhelmed with the grief and disappointment of losing a fellow being. Of having someone die even as my hands were on her for almost an hour, beseeching her to hold on. When it was over, the living just got up and walked away and continued on with their lives.

I put down my pen, closed my notebook and my eyes, and leaned my head far back into my seat. I kept brushing those pesky tears off my cheeks as soon as they trickled down.

At that moment on the plane, I wanted someone I loved and who loved me that I could hold onto as I replayed it in my mind. I wanted to cry out my hurt and pain over the loss of another on a loved one's shoulder. But although I was soon to be home and my three adult sons live in town, they don't care for me nor speak to me. These self-absorbed young men are not persons I would ever look to for help. The rest of my family lives elsewhere.

I wish that lady had lived. I can still see her husband of 48 years, shock etched on his face, kneeling in the sand off to the side, holding her hand as we worked. Damn it all, we worked so long and hard and got such wonderful assistance from everybody there and we had no damn success.

So long.

On Wednesday I ran my monthly noontime 3K race around the Tidal Basin in 13:28 (7:17). My hamstring was tender from where I strained it last weekend at the Lake Tahoe Relay but it held up well enough. I was pleased with my time since I was still a little jet-lagged. I flew out of LAX on Sunday night at 10:30 pm, arrived at IAD at 6:30 am on Monday and went straight to work.

But here’s some real news. I’m going on another trip, the trip of a lifetime. I’m flying to Las Vegas today to hook up with my college freshman roommate and ten other freshman dormmates for a rafting trip down the Grand Canyon. Eight days and seven nights on the Colorado River. Most of us are divorced (surprise! In America?), and the wife of the one guy that I can think of who never got divorced isn’t coming. No girls allowed. Or ROTC guys either.

Here’s a picture, circa 1971, of part of the gang. I’m on the far right. Yes, we seem to be on somebody’s lawn. No wonder we all were handed our divorces.

The Sewell Hall Rafters. Sewell Hall was the first coed dorm there at CU-Boulder, a freshman dorm at that. Swell Hall, we called it. In 1970 it was a wild and crazy place.

Those were different times. I could tell you some stories, but I won’t because our society has become so intolerant. But I will tell you that Guy could tell a whale of a sea story. He would stand and make Steve’s waterbed rock with his foot while the rest of us lay atop the mattress being buffeted by the mountainous waves that Guy caused, as the strobe light created a stormy effect and Jimi’s guitar clashed and crashed on the stereo in tune with the rise and fall of Guy's tale about gales and shipwrecks and monstrous ocean dwellers.

Steve got to have a waterbed in the dormitory because he had a bad back supposedly. It was prescribed, by a doctor. I’m not sure that Steve ever got to actually sleep on it.

No laptops on the rafts in the Grand Canyon. I’ll see y’all next month.

Bye, Lake Tahoe

The shock was unbelievable. The instant I hit the surface, I thought I was going to die.

I was still sinking into the frigid water. I kicked my legs and waved my arms and arrested my progress towards the bottom of Lake Tahoe. I started to come up. The water was incredibly blue, and incredibly cold. "Only one degree above freezing," Brian had said just before he jumped in, twice. "A day ago it was probably snow in the high country." (Above: The perfect tonic for a long run. Photo credit Brian.)

I had never experienced total immersion in water this cold before. My head popped above the surface. Brian and the rest of the Band of Outsiders were laughing and waving at me from the pier I had jumped from.

No time for chit-chat. The ladder to the dock was 12 feet away. Like a triathlete crawling over everybody impeding his progress in the water, I flailed my way to it. I couldn't climb up it fast enough. (Right: Do I look cold? Photo credit Brian.)

"Aren't you going to go in again?" Brian asked. "I jumped in twice."

I looked at this young man, figuring that since he was about half my age, he was far better suited to repeated shocks to the system than me. "No," I said, standing there dripping on the dock, the 60 degree air feeling positively tropical after being submerged in the freezing water. (Below: Mission Accomplished. L-R, the 2008 BOO and the legs we ran in the Relay, B (7), Bex (3), E (5), Brian (1) and yours truly (6). Missing, Tami (2) and J (4).)

But it had been fun. Fun like going up the last hill on Leg 6 of the Lake Tahoe Relay had been fun. Sort of like, a highlight of my trip to Lake Tahoe, you know?

Two years at the Lake Tahoe Relay

The DeCelle Memorial Lake Tahoe Relay:
Ratings 1 easiest to 7 hardest.

Leg 1–9.6 miles. 3 hills in last half. Long downhill at end.
Rating: 2. Should be given to novices.
Leg 2–8.2 miles. The last half is an unrelenting uphill.
Rating: 6. A weak runner will kill you here.
Leg 3–10.3 miles. 7 miles of downhill onto flatlands.
Rating: 1, although going downhill is hard.
Should be given to an injured or weak runner.
Leg 4–12.3 miles. Longest, with a monster hill in it.
Rating: 4. You need a runner with a good base.
Leg 5–10.6 miles. Starts off with a tough hill.
Rating: 3. Give to a weak runner, go slow the first mile!
Leg 6–10.5 miles. 9 miles of sharp hills leads to a killer hill.
Rating: 7. Give to a strong runner, or expect runner to walk.
Leg 7–10.5 miles. Tough, long hill, dizzying, dangerous run.
Rating: 5. Give to a strong runner or you’ll lose places here.

Band of Outsiders, Team Captain Bex.
2007-------------------- 2008
1:19:37 (8:18) 43/97--1:30:41 (9:27) 91/113
1:32:27 (11:16) 77-----1:08:56 (8:24) 70
1:30:30 (8:47) 68------1:27:29 (8:29) 59
1:56:02 (9:26) 65------2:14:00 (10:54) 88
1:44:59 (9:54) 71------1:37:23 (9:11) 79
1:53:45 (10:50) 84----1:37:44 (9:18) 77
1:34:45 (9:01) 76/97--1:54:30 (10:54) 83/113

72 miles
11:32:00 (9:36)-------11:30:43 (9:35)
76/97 78%-------------83/113 73%

Thanks Tahoe Bliss!

The Denouement

As I hit the final hill on Leg 6 of the 2008 DeCelle Lake Tahoe Relay, I had a Net-Plus Two going, having passed three runners and been passed once. The last hill is a mile and a half straight up, ‘nuff said.

To run this hill in a race after nine miles is to go see the elephant, to engage in running combat. On this last raw hill, one and a half miles of nakedness as you continue up to the top without respite, you either pass, maintain your position or get passed. There is no other alternative, besides quitting. You can see who is ahead, and who is approaching.

Round and round the S curves I went, knees hurting, muscles aching, breath whistling sharply in and out. I heard some huffing and chuffing behind me and a runner smoothly went by doing sub-eights. He had come from a long way off and there was no keeping up with him. I returned to grinding up the hill. There was a runner ahead that I was approaching, however, and I went by her halfway up. I was back to Net-Plus Two. (Left: Early in my Leg 6 run.)

Then, to calm my racing heart and gasping, labored breath, I walked 50 yards when I saw my support team, imbibing some needed fluids. I broke back into a painful trot again. A runner had been gaining on me and he ran past. Revived by my walking spell, I passed him back immediately. I elevated my pace slightly and up the hillside the two of us silently toiled, sweat dripping off our noses and chins. Up ahead was a woman, whom we both passed. The warrior behind me clung desperately to me, six feet back. At one point he dropped to twelve feet back but then by a force of will, he closed the range again.

My leg muscles were screaming from the unaccustomed task of a solid mile and a half climb. I had trained for this race by running up hills, but nowhere in DC could I find a steep hill of such length that started out at a mile high already. Life became elemental, listlessly watching the roadway eight feet ahead of me, listening through pounding ears to the breathing and footfalls of the runner behind me.

We were approaching another runner. We got to within 30 yards of her when I saw the Bliss State Park sign heralding the top of the pass just ahead. A quarter mile to go! Close quarter combat was about to commence on top of the mountain between the three of us.

The runner behind me was steady as he matched my pace and trod on my heels. The woman ahead had attained the summit but she had not increased her speed despite having only 200 meters of flat terrain to go. I reached the level ground and saw my teammates at the exchange point, cheering me on. (Right: To get this beautiful medal, you're just gonna have to run the Lake Tahoe Relay yourself. If you want to have quiet satisfaction forever, run Leg 6 for your team.)

The top gained, I was now at Net-Plus Three and I hoped to pick off the runner ahead and hold off any charge from the runner behind. There wasn’t much space to operate in anymore. I pushed off on the level ground to begin a two football-field sprint to the exchange point.

My left hamstring muscle immediately clenched into a painful balled fist and brought me up short instantly. I hopped to a stop and started murmuring "OMG! OMG! OMG!" as I grabbed the back of my leg and tried to massage the fiery ball away. It was rock solid and incredibly painful. I was down, and out of the battle. The runner ahead went off towards the finish. She never increased her pace. The warrior behind, who had doggedly hung with me on the hillside while I was trying to drop him, swept by me. I didn't begrudge him benefiting from my sudden injury.

(Left: Late in my Leg 6 run. E has water for me.) I couldn’t even walk until I got my hamstring to relax a little. I stretched my leg and kneaded it for perhaps a minute. The grains of sand run out fast when you’re under pressure. Having just lost a place in the last 200 yards, and failed to gain another place, I started to worry about who was coming up the hillside next. I trotted down to the exchange chute as best I could and slapped B, the anchor leg.

We were in 77/113 place after my 10.5 mile leg. My 1:37:44 (9:18) run had gained two places. It wasn’t perfect, nor did its modest outcome seem very compelling, but I had just finished the hardest competitive run of my life and I hadn't let anybody down that day, including myself.

The Approach

Last year I ran Leg 1 at the Lake Tahoe Relay and got my part in the race over with early. It was 4.6 miles of gently climbing grade followed by three formidable hills in the next five miles. Or at least, the hills would have been formidable at any race back in DC. On this mountainous 72-mile course, these hills were practically laughable.

I finished Leg 1 last year in 1:19:37 (8:18), leaving BOO in 43/97 place. After tough Leg 2 we were in 77th place however, and in 84th place after hellish Leg 6. But Team Captain Bex muscled past eight runners in the anchor leg and we finished in 76th place a year ago. (Right: Leg 1 has a nice downhill at the end.)

This year Bex decided to place our strongest runners on the hardest legs to minimize our damage there. I drew Leg 6. Thanks, I think.

(Left: Leg 6 ascends seemingly into the heavens.) I admired Brian for running Leg 6 last year. Anyone could see from looking at the topographical map that it is pure runner's hell. Brian ran at altitude with attitude, because although he is an athlete, he is a non-runner who came up to 6200 feet from sea level to vanquish it. He faced down the 600 foot climb in the last mile and a half when his legs were rubbery from already running nine miles of sharply pitched hills to get there. Last year each BOO member did his or her own leg with its unique difficulties, but only Brian conquered The Hill and earned a swagger akin to, in another much more serious context, a Screaming Eagle at Bastogne or a Leatherneck at Tarawa.

(Left: Brian soldiers on last year on Leg 6.) So on Saturday as I waited in Homewood for for the tag, The Hill was nine tough miles away waiting for me. After running his 10.6 mile leg in 1:37:23 (9:11) which began with a monster hill the very first mile, E came sprinting into the chute at 3 pm in 79th place with four other runners closely chasing him. One was a mere eight seconds back. E had picked off nine runners. He slapped me and off I went.

I set off at an unhurried pace so I could get my breathing adjusted to the altitude, well aware that thirty-six hours earlier I had been residing happily at sea level. Within a quarter mile I was run down by a strong runner whom I didn't even try to go with as he was clearly running seven-minute miles to my nines. I had my sights on a runner up ahead. By the time I caught her that first mile, the other runner had disappeared from sight. I was back at Net-Zero. After overhauling another runner in the second mile, there was nobody else in sight anywhere. In eight hours, 113 runners can get incredibly strung out. (Right: Leg 6 starts at 6200 feet at lake level but climbs to over 6800 feet the last mile.)

I ran at Net-Plus One for the longest time, over hill and over dale. I alternated running on the uneven canted surface of the sandy shoulder and the roadway, depending upon whether traffic was approaching. The first little hill I came to disheartened me because climbing it took my breath away, but then I settled in and ran easy on the flats, purposefully on the uphills and hard on the downhills.

My support team was excellent, watering me every two miles. About every seventeen minutes I would start to look for them. They later said that I was all business, using one word guttural commands to indicate my preference for either Gatorade or water as I ran up.

I knew the course intimately, having studied it on the map and driven it several times. I put away the three teaser hills leading up to the The Hill one after another while running down one more runner. Finally I rounded a bend and came to the bottom of The Hill with its 1.5 miles of sharply ascending S turns stretching ever upwards. After well over an hour of running I was at Net-Plus Two as I started up.

The long approach done, a battle for position was about to commence on the hillside, with major combat awaiting on the hilltop. (Right: Last year's BOO. Three team members wouldn't be back.)

The 44th Lake Tahoe Relay

Update: I am back from my trip west to run on Bex's team in the Lake Tahoe Relay. I consider my handling of its most difficult leg a success, although I am slightly injured from it. It was the hardest competitive run of my life, a truly transforming experience. My team did great, shaving over a minute off last year's time with an 11:30:43 (9:36), finishing in 83/113 place (73%).

The Setting: The 2008 DeCelle Memorial Lake Tahoe Relay. 113 teams of seven runners each race counterclockwise the 72 miles around the lake, with each team member taking a leg ranging from 8.2 to 12.3 miles.

The Battlegrounds: Leg 1: In the coolness of the early morning, a 9.6 mile run from South Lake Tahoe, California, to Zephyr Cove in Nevada, passing through the shadows of the tall casinos at Stateline enroute. Three substantial hills at the end make this second easiest leg a challenging run. Leg 2: Starting at Zephyr Cove at lake level at 6200 feet, this 8.2 mile leg tops out past Castlerock at the course's highest point of over 7,000 feet. The last half of this next to hardest leg is just an unbroken uphill slog. Leg 3: A 10.3 mile return to lake level down a seven mile shelf road followed by 5K of flats at the end. The "easiest" leg. Leg 4: The longest run in the heat of the day, a 12.3 mile run from Incline Village up a significant hill, past the old casinos where the rat pack would sometimes croon and clown, and back into California. Of moderate difficulty. Leg 5: 10.6 miles of flat running after climbing a 250 foot hill in the very first mile, from Tahoe City to Homewood. Of moderate difficulty. Leg 6: This hardest leg is comprised of 10.5 miles of difficult terrain, ending in a hill climb that seems to go straight up after a nine mile warmup of long and steep rollers. Leg 7: Downhill past Emerald Bay then uphill on a killer shelf road, past a series of switchbacks with steep dropoffs on both sides, then miles of running through pine forests to the start/stop line in South Lake Tahoe 10.5 miles after the handoff. The hardest leg after Legs 6 and 2. (Right: Last year K tackled tough Leg 2, where we tumbled from 43rd to 77th place, in 1:32:22 (11:16). Here K emerges from the tunnel running through Castlerock.)

The Team: The Band of Outsiders (BOO), flatlanders all, sea level dwellers, assembled by Bex before she abandoned the east coast a year ago to return to her roots in the Golden West. Last year we finished in 11:32:00 (9:37) in 76/97 place (78%).

My Mission: To tackle tough Leg 6 where we lost 13 places last year, and either minimize the damage on this impossible ten and a half mile stretch or actually pick up places. The time to improve upon was the 1:53:45 (10:50) turned in by Brian, a non-runner who had a a transforming experience during his leg, running the whole way and arriving at the end exhilarated, having encountered both what running takes from you and what it gives to you. He had seen the elephant on his leg like none of the rest of the Band had. He became a warrior. (Left: The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner. Brian going to see the elephant last year.)

Next: My skirmishes on the "flats" leading to the battle for position on the hillside and close quarter combat on top of the hill.