Green Day

I was green today. Oh yeah. This morning I went to the furthest outlying SmartBike rack, the one at Dupont Circle, to check out its actual location and to simulate a "bike commute" to work.

When I arrived in Dupont Circle, I checked out both entrances to the Metro Station but couldn't locate a SmartBike rack. So I asked a nearby downtown Hospitality Ambassador, standing around in her distinctive black and gold clothing (an "ask me" person), where the SmartBike rack was. She had never heard of the SmartBike program but she got on her radio and in minutes had the answer. As a matter of fact she chased me down with the information because by then I was wandering around asking other clueless persons. (Right: These Golden Triangle Ambassadors will get you answers in downtown DC.)

Mass Avenue on Dupont Circle. Sure enough, there was the bike rack, out of sight of either entranceway but loaded with the distinctive red and white bikes.

Rush hour traffic in DC is nuts. I decided the safest route over to the Union Station area where I work didn't lie in following the hypotenuse down Mass Avenue to Union Station, but rather going along the two legs of the triangle. So I gained Rock Creek Park, where there is a bike path, by going a few blocks down P Street, almost getting run over by a swiftly moving Metro bus in the process. After my traverse down Rock Creek Park, I hung a left and rode up the Mall to near Judiciary Square, whereupon I rode a few blocks on city streets to the drop-off bike rack.

Lo and behold, there was a SmartBike guy there, dressed in red and white clothing, unloading several bikes from that full rack to transport them in his red and white van to less full racks at other locations. I helpfully wheeled a couple of bikes over to his van to help him out.

Twenty-nine minutes on a bike. My legs were on fire. But this is a program that works. I have a stable of 100 bikes being kept downtown for my personal use anytime (between 6 a.m. and 10 p.m.), all being serviced by a legion of mechanics and drivers, for $40 a year. Nah-nah, do you?

I been hashing

It's been awhile. And I been runnin', finally. And bikin' (SmartBiking). My girlfriend says I've changed since I got back from the Grand Canyon. "People die," she assures me. "Life goes on. What's the matter with you?"

I dunno. She never liked my running anyway. It's always been between us. How could that be?

I raced a 5K on Saturday, the 7th annual Arlington 9/11 Memorial 5K at the Pentagon. It was my fifth running of it, and I brought it home in 24:15 (7:48). My right hammie seized up at MP 2 and I wondered if I could bring it in without walking. Since a former running student of mine was also running, I ran the whole way and dragged myself in a few seconds ahead of her. But now both hammies are on fire all the time. I dunno what's going on. I had even assiduously stretched beforehand.

I did a track W.O. yesterday (9X600, at 3:00 time). My hammies didn't get "warm" till about the fifth sequence.

This Palin thing has bothered me, a lot. I can see that she as governor (in my opinion) got into somebody else's custodial dispute in a big way, bringing that august office down hard upon the father of her nieces and nephews. Being a father who hasn't spoken meaningfully to any of my children in over five years, and whose three self-absorbed children haven't talked to a single relative of mine in over five years, thanks to American Domestic Law (which screws fathers), I am distraught that this vengeance seeking, anti woman's choice, celibacy espousing, gun toting, God-invoking former beauty queen lightweight has gained credence in America as a model for anything. Oh that's right, she wears lipstick and that's what differentiates her from a pit bull. But you could put lipstick on a pig and it'd still be a pig. Hey wait, suddenly you can't utter that venerable good ol' boy saying?

I been hashing, too.

Dark Pleasures

I feel like I've been untrue. Less than a day after I took my first whirl on a Smart Bike in downtown DC, thoroughly enjoying the ride although wary of the dangers of riding a bicycle in the wild woolly west of downtown DC traffic, I checked the SmartBikeDC website at the end of the workday (it electronically keeps track of the current whereabouts of every returned bike), discovered there was only one bike left at Judiciary Square, the bike rack closest to my work, and hastened out the door and over to Judiciary Square, five minutes away. I fought off the urge to run there.

Wednesday's ride was an experiment, a breaking in period, a getting-to-know-you experience. Yesterday's rendezvous was a guilty pleasure. I didn't need to bike on the surface from Judiciary Square on the Red Line to Metro Center on the Orange Line during rush hour. Trains come every three or five minutes then so the transfer is swift.

The bike was still there at Judiciary Square. Telling myself that I was cross-training a little, I took 'er out for a spin. I didn't have my bulky briefcase hung over my shoulder like the day before so I felt more nimble as I made my way through the busy, broken downtown streets over to Metro Center, using muscles that haven't been worked out in decades (you know, the "bike muscles"). I thought about maybe riding over to the further Foggy Bottom Orange Line stop on the next outing.

I hope this doesn't get out of hand.

A ride on the dark side

I bought a bike. For forty dollars. It came with a lifetime service contract.

I signed up for Smart Bike DC for a forty dollar annual fee. As my brother the economist says, it's grossly underpriced. With my access card, I can go to any of ten bike racks scattered about the core downtown DC area and take out a bike for free for up to three hours. I have to return it to any of the bike racks before its appointed time. And if I lose a bike, or it gets stolen from me, it's $550.

The hours of operation are 6 am to 10 pm. I can go here and check on the availability of bikes at any particular rack or, equally important, whether I can drop one off there. Sure there are lots of rules (the contract was eight pages, mostly liability stuff. I think it said I am gonna die on a bike and it's not the city's fault) but basically it's that simple.

The possibilities are boundless. I can go bike riding on a weekend on the C&O Canal with my girlfriend. She hates it that I don't have a bike. Well, now I do. For three hours anyway.

That 2.5 mile jog to and from my monthly noontime Tidal Basin 3K each way? I can pick up a Smart Bike on the way, bike there, run the race and bike back.

If I leave work at 9 pm and don't want to transfer from the Red Line to the Orange Line on the Metro (if I miss connections it can be a 35 minute wait), I can pick up a Smart Bike by walking to Judiciary Square on the Red Line (a 5 minute walk) and bike over to Metro Center (a 25 minute walk) on the Orange Line where I can drop the bike off.

That is, until I get killed. I had my first adventure yesterday. (The Program is one week old.) I walked to Judiciary Square at 6:30 pm, excited about the prospect of getting a bike to ride over to Metro Center. Hmm, no bikes, the rack was empty. Grumbling, I walked over to Gallery Place, still on the Red Line. There were six bikes there. Feeling like a child stealing a candy bar, I took a bike and rode the 3-speed contraption the eight further blocks to Metro Center.

It's illegal to ride on the sidewalks in the core downtown area. There were at least half a dozen idling double parked cars that I went by along the way, some with drivers on cell phones (they're as dangerous as drunk drivers) and some were taxis (they're deadly in this town). All waiting to do something impetuous as soon as I rode by like get underway suddenly or throw their door open or whip into a U-turn. With the ubiquitous downtown construction, there were little roadway bottlenecks all over the place for li'l ol' me to squeeze through on my bike. And me stop for red lights? Faghedaboudit.

I made it. It's a fabulous program, borrowed from a Paris model, and unique to this country so far. I love it already. But, we need more bikes, Mayor Fenty!

Lauren & Rachel

I was gratified to receive the welcome email that came in last night.

It said in essence, Please forget my crazy rambling this morning. I'm all right now. I had a heat related illness but the coaches took me to the ER and now I have a clean bill of health. Thank you.

Who would have suspected heat-related problems yesterday morning? It was beautiful for running, cool and overcast with a low dew-point. A remarkable August morning for the nation's capital.

My club's ten-mile training program which I direct is more than half-way over. We ran eight miles on the flat W&OD Trail, a beautiful 40-mile long paved-over railroad bed that marches westward from near the banks of the Potomac to past the bucolic town of Leesburg.

This strong runner had led most of the way but pulled up, fatigued, a half mile from the end. She sat for awhile with the volunteer coach who had been running with her in a shaded glen beside the trail.

Then they returned the rest of the way where there was water, Gatorade and cool pops. It was so cool and breezy that as I stood there in my damp running tanktop after my 72-minute run, I wished I had brought along a sweatshirt.

This runner started talking oddly. She said she was going to ace the club's 15K race next weekend. She became mildly insulting, looking at me and saying, Last year I ran straight 7-minute miles there, although that's not in your league.

Well, straight sevens for multiple miles is known to be beyond my ability, and I knew this runner's bio. While she is strong and fast, she has never run straight sevens in a race.

The runner lay down in the grass and still talking non-stop, reached up and started rhythmically clapping her hands above her head. The volunteer coach kept her engaged in conversation. Soon that coach and another one had coaxed her into a car where they ran the A/C and gave her water. After checking that they had a cell phone, I left. She was in good hands with these two.

Coaches Lauren and Rachel are great boons to the Program. Not only do they commit their time to run with slower runners and endeavor to give them a quality, learning running experience, but they had recognized this runner's slightly erratic behavior and acted. They stayed with her until her situation was resolved, in this case, by a precautionary trip to the ER where she received an IV solution.

A simple run in beautiful conditions can be on the margin of catastrophe, or even tragedy, without anyone noticing.

My lifelong search for heroes? Here are two.

Disruptions

At noon today I ran in the monthly Tidal Basin 3K race. There were about 60 of us mad dogs and Englishmen out there running in the midday August heat.

I haven’t been running too well this year so I have started doing track workouts. Last night I ran 8X600 at 2:50s (7:36 pace) with a 200M recovery jog. Those intervals about killed me so I wasn’t expecting to do well today.

I was thinking about the track workout as I passed by the half-mile mark in the 1.86 mile race. I was busy formulating in my mind how the prior evening’s routine had doomed today’s race so I could mentally quit and "walk it in" at an easy pace.

This monthly race has its own immutable rhythm. All of the regular males were ahead of me, along with at least one woman. Another woman, perhaps the second female, was practically on my hip. Suddenly my doppelganger, Peter, cruised by me.

Peter, who is about my age and about my speed, keeps me honest in this race. He is my conscience.

Usually he doesn’t pass me until late, after a mile and a half have been run. Then he puts me away with his finishing speed. Whenever I beat him, it’s always because I have built up too large a lead during the first mile and a half for him to overcome.

Today his pass was early. I passed him back. He passed me again. I passed him once more. Again he passed me. I returned the favor again.

This could seem to be a riveting battle if it didn’t merely involve a couple of middle-aged mid-packers in an obscure (but venerable–dating back to 1974) little noontime downtown race.

I passed by the mile marker in 6:55, about 10 seconds faster than usual.

I started casting covetous looks at the back of the septuagenarian who always goes by me early and beats me by a few seconds. Maybe today I would overtake the 71-year old and it would induce me to a sub-13 minute finish, a rarity for me.

This month’s race, unlike most months, didn’t stretch out interminably. It passed by swiftly and I was able to take deep breaths during its latter stages. Maybe the track work was helping, not hindering, me.

Two or three younger men passed me late, but the second woman didn’t, nor did Peter. The 71-year old finished five seconds ahead of me. I finished in 13:09 (7:03), a fifteen second improvement over last month.

Peter came in a few seconds later. I jokingly accused him of trying to disrupt the natural flow of this monthly race by passing me too early. He said he was trying something different, pushing it early so he could pass me sooner rather than later. It left him with nothing for the final stretch, he said. I told him his uncharacteristic appearance beside me so early in the race had induced me to run an extra-fast first mile.

He said earnestly, "You’re welcome," and we both laughed.

Give Me Eight!

Eight on the eighth. The Olympics started on 080808, so Non-Runner Nancy cooked up the virtual race of 8 miles on 8/8. Except anytime over the weekend would do. Like all virtual races, the rules are flexible. If you cheat, you're just cheating yourself. The point is participation.

I got up early and headed out to the W&OD Trail, a paved-over 40 miles former railroad bed that runs right behind my house. I was going to go sans shirt (it's August in DC, after all) but, unbelievably, it was cool out. So I slipped on my shirt and off I set. Four uneventful miles down the trail, at 33:32 I turned around. But my stomach was rumbling.

I started reviewing the possibilities. Walk 4 miles home. Take Metro back to near my house (didn't bring money or a farecard). Go into the EFC Metro stop when I passed it and beg them to let me use their WC (fat chance). Call someone to come get me (didn't bring my cell, just a Cliffshot, which I was not interested in at the moment). Hitchhike home (someone would pick up a sweat-soaked runner to sit in their car alright). Cry.

There was another possibility. I would pass by the Ranger Comfort Station in half a mile at Bluemont Park, which has running water. But would it be open before 8 a.m.? The Ranger vehicle was out front. That was a good sign. There were tennis players on the public courts. And there was an Army squad in the pavilion, taking their annual physical standards. Success. The heavily-padlocked bathroom door was unlocked.

Some people like to know where water fountains are on their customary routes. Since I always carry a half-liter bottle of water, I don't care about that. I like to know where the pit stops are.

I stopped my watch for my "rest." I had my Cliffshot. I have never consumed one before and it was awful. But then, so are GUs, which I normally eat. I'm leery of Cliffshots though, because they are rice-based. But it settled pretty well.

I watched a soldier do his push-up review. The Sgt. got down on all fours right in front of him and spoke quietly to him as he performed. Sweet nothings, I'm sure. He did 57. The first 40 push-ups were great, the last 17 were, well, not so great. The soldier was happy afterwards though, because 57 got him a score of 90.

Break time over, I clicked on my watch again and set off, feeling much better. I finished the eight miles back at my house at 1:08:18, not counting my ten minute "rest' stop.

What do you think? Am I cheating by reporting 1:08:18? If you're a purist, mark me down for a 1:18:18. I don't care. It was a nice run. Thanks to Nancy for setting it up.