Among all the other things I loved about taking a trip through national parks in California was spending roughly six days without cell phone reception. No calls. No texts. No news app alerts. If something happened I didn’t know about it, and I didn’t miss a thing.
I think the statute of limitations for talking about a vacation is one month. At least, that’s what I’m going to say since I’m writing about a vacation I took sliiiiightly less than a month ago.
I went to San Francisco to run the U.S. Half Marathon, which even though I was expecting hills and certainly didn’t train as much as I should have, was harder than I expected. It probably didn’t help that after cruising through the first three miles of the race at 8:15 mile pace, I ran a 7:06 in mile four. Up a giant hill. Whoops.
My time of 1:58:26 was by far my worst ever. But it was still an immensely fun run:
Another thing I’m going to use as an excuse for my less-than-record performance is that I spent the two days before the race walking all over the city — not exactly ideal for resting the legs. But I don’t regret that at all. About 18 hours before the race I was near Coit Tower, a 210-foot structure sitting atop Telegraph Hill. I read about a scenic set of stairs climbing up to the site, and with no regard for the half marathon, I didn’t hesitate to climb them.
The view from up there is spectacular. To the south, you’re eye-level with the tallest buildings in the financial district:
To the west, the city stretches out along the bay to the Golden Gate Bridge:
Alcatraz is off to the north, and the Bay Bridge linking San Francisco to Oakland is east of the site. I have some pictures of the Bay Bridge from way up high, but I think sunrise was a little more picturesque:
I ran over the Golden Gate Bridge and back as part of the race, which was a pretty cool experience. A tour on my first day in the city provided a slightly more relaxed view:
I almost left without taking a ride on the iconic cable cars. Originally, I had planned to walk the roughly 3 miles to the Giants baseball stadium and then the Metro to the airport, but somehow I didn’t factor in that my legs wouldn’t be so up to that plan on the day after the race. Fortunately, the cable car route covered most of the distance:
The stadium itself was pretty cool, even though I couldn’t see much of the inside (being the off-season and all). But it was interesting to see how it fit into the surrounding neighborhood, and gave a glimpse of what the area around Nats Park may look like soon. Of course, you can’t go wrong with any place that has an entry gate named after Willie Mays:
I’ll have to go back for a game some day.
I have slept a lot of places in my life — a few different beds at home, hotels, high school desks, a nice chair on my patio in Florida.
But not a lot compares to my attempted string of naps last night in the back seat of a Nissan Versa as it traveled from Charlotte, NC, to Dulles Airport.
The day started off well enough, relaxing at a resort in Hilton Head, SC. It was the day after my cousin got married and the end of a great long weekend with the family.
We left the hotel around 2 p.m. with plenty of time to get to the airport before our flight. The plan was a 5:50-something flight to Charlotte followed by an 8:06 flight home. Then it rained. The first plane was late. We missed the second one.
And then we waited.
Stepping into the Charlotte terminal just after 8 p.m., we saw there was a 10 o’clock flight to Dulles that seemed like an easy solution to the problem at hand. We got in the line to re-book flights along with about 30 of our best friends (or at least others in the same predicament). It was downright impressive seeing how slowly that line could move; I believe we went about 10 feet in the first hour.
It was as if the airline crews in Charlotte had never experienced a day in which weather forced cancellations and delays, meaning lots of passengers would need to change their flights.
I felt bad for the teenaged girl behind us, who was apparently traveling alone on her way to Miami. She struck up a conversation with an older woman behind her, from which I learned she was trying to get home so she could go to school this morning. I saw her later as we were leaving, and it looked like she was at least heading for a terminal and a possible flight home.
By the time we got to the front of the line the 10 p.m. flight was gone. So too was our chance of flying out of Charlotte into any of the three airports in the D.C. area before 6 p.m. the next day. Not ideal.
The decision was made to rent a car and spend the night driving home. We struck out at the first three rental agencies, who apparently weren’t willing to allow one of their precious cars to be taken to another region. Fortunately the final option had a car for us (thank you Hertz).
When you are exhausted, you can sleep just about anywhere. On more than one occasion I have passed a lunch break at work with a nap in the back of my Nissan Altima or my former Pontiac Grand Am. The key to sleeping in any car is finding the perfect position for melding your body to the various contours of the seats.
Usually that means finding a dozen different positions, ones you can shift to every 10-15 minutes as your body searches for true comfort.
The night passed and we finally arrived in familiar surroundings — roughly 10 hours later than planned. Fortunately our luggage did make that elusive 10 p.m. flight and was resting comfortably at Dulles.
A quick shuttle ride to our car, a short drive to my parents’ house, then on to my house for some quick unpacking and a bowl of oatmeal — all just in time to head to work.
I have a feeling this is going to be a pretty good night of sleep.
[Update: It was a great night of sleep.]
After a brief hiatus, I have found my way back to the keyboard. I hope you didn’t miss me too much.
At least I had good reasons for being away, most notably a long weekend in my former home of Jacksonville, Fla.
I was there to run the half marathon of the 26.2 with Donna, which was my first run of more than six miles since mid-November. Given the results, maybe not training for events is a decent idea.
A year ago I trained all winter for a half marathon in Washington, D.C., and finished in 1:49:45. This winter I spent most of my time in a recliner thanks to a stress fracture in my foot, ran for only five weeks before the race and finished in 1:50:46. Of course I also ran the same distance in November after a ton of training and went 1:43:06, so maybe there’s something to be said for preparation.
But outside of the race, it was kind of surreal being back in that city. I left in October 2008 to return to the D.C. area. Driving on the same streets and spending an evening at my old workplace felt like taking a vacation back in time to my former life. Even the race featured a portion of running on the beach ending at a pier that I used dozens of times as the finish line for runs when I lived there.
My job back then entailed working overnight shifts on the weekends, so after the 11 p.m. news was over I had to watch every single soul in the station leave at once. It got quiet in there real fast. But last weekend I was able to be a part of the exodus for the first time, and that was a rather nice change. I certainly don’t miss that portion of The Weekend Morning Show life.
Of course it was nice to leave a place with two feet of snow on the ground for weather in the 60s with bright sunshine. It’s a heck of a lot more enjoyable to run on pavement than on packed snow and ice.
The run wasn’t all gravy though. In the seventh mile the course goes through Jacksonville Beach, on a street right next to a bunch of shops and restaurants. I spent a lot of time in this area on my days off — down to the beach to read for a while and often taking a break for some pizza at Happy Stephanos. The good thing about sightseeing during a half marathon is that you have time to process the things around you. In this case, it was noticing that Happy Stephanos no longer exists. Crying shame.
I also feel the need to mark the end of the line for the Saucony Grid Triumph. They were on my feet since July I believe, playing an integral role in setting big personal bests in the half marathon (noted above) and 5K (20:24). Of course that 5K was done after suffering the stress fracture in these shoes, so maybe they shouldn’t get too much honor here. Back to the Nike Structure Triax starting tomorrow.
Six days without a post? How did you possibly survive? Trust that I was slightly busy with some important stuff.
Now I’m back to confirm that my brother has been a dork for a really long time, and I was an entertaining 12-year-old.
Both pieces of information come to us thanks to an audio file created during a trip to Staunton, Va., in what I believe was the summer of 1996. We were heading there to play in a baseball tournament, which seemed to be a frequent destination for us during that period of my life. I think we made four trips to the tiny town in three years.
It’s about a three-hour drive, and despite its relatively nice scenery along I-81, it can get a bit boring. Joining me in the car for this journey were my brother Ben, teammate Corey, Corey’s mom and my mom behind the wheel.
I brought a little tape recorder, which the boys used to document the trip. The tape has everything, including music from the band Seven Mary Three, a little ditty from the Game Gear game Winter Olympics, a fake commercial for “Nationwide Bearhouse,” discussion of an imaginary ape and some high quality storytelling.
You’ll hear Corey first, I chime in for a second before he continues with his log of things that are happening, and then I get the fun going again with something about pressing a button.
Enjoy.
I’ve learned a lot of things during my time on this planet. The sky is blue. Oreos are tasty. Winter can be cold. Dodgeballs are usually red, though sometimes blue or green.
Most of these things were gleaned from observation of the world around me. Many of the other things I’ve learned came from a classroom. Some of the most interesting came as a combination of the two.
I went to quaint Susquehanna University in the heart of central ….Pennsylvania….. It’s 169 miles and just under three hours from my house. I know those numbers from the quite numerous times I made the trip, either going to school in the fall, fall break, winter break, spring break, Easter break or going home for the summer.
It would be hard to make so many trips on the same road–lovely Route 15–without noticing some of the things along the way.
Here’s what I learned on the way to Selinsgrove:
Bill loves Brandee. This declaration of love is spray-painted in green on a bridge overpass just as you enter ….Pennsylvania…. on Route 15. I don’t know who Bill is. I don’t know who Brandee is. I hope they are living a happy life together. The paint is faded, so it’s likely this relationship has had to face the test of time. Who knows, Bill could have been shot down in 1978 when asking Brandee to the prom. Maybe this was his way of proposing, “The Great Valentine’s Bridge Stunt of 1988,” where a stunned Brandee immediately called Bill to accept after seeing such an incredible showing of his commitment. Hard to say.
Wal-Mart is not the only one-stop shop. North of Harrisburg, Route 15 shrinks to one lane in each direction as it winds through some small towns. There you’ll find a store on the right (going North) that bills itself as a sporting goods and produce market. This is one place I always told myself I’d visit one day, just for the experience, but sadly I never made the stop. From the road you can see a display of fruits and vegetables like any self-respecting farmer’s market. It’s only from the multiple signs near the entrance from the road that you learn about the availability of hunting boots and bullets. Maybe this is just a convenience for many nearby marksmen who like to shoot into cantaloupes. Hard to say.
Verb agreement is optional. On the same stretch of narrowed Route 15 there is a butcher shop. Perhaps this blows my cantaloupe theory, but apparently people in the area have a need to have dead animals, um, dealt with in order to become food. The sign at this establishment is in the shape of a burly, plaid-wearing woodsman. In his stomach area there is a white sign that reads, “Meat cut, wrap & froze, $45.” I always laugh at that sign. I don’t even know where to begin. Maybe some day I’ll send them a little note, or maybe a copy of “Eats Shoots and Leaves.”
..Central Pennsylvania.. is very boring. Hence the need for a strip of half a dozen porn shops near the end of the trip. Including good old Adult World, an establishment rumored—sworn by many people I know, but never confirmed personally—to be owned by the head of the Communications Department at SU… ..
Going south, you naturally hit all of the same locations, but are treated with one additional nugget of information.
It is possible to go backwards on Route 15. About 10 minutes before reaching ….Harrisburg…. an incredible anomaly takes place that I feel is not being taken seriously enough by authorities and Stephen Hawking. On the side of the road is a sign that says “….Harrisburg…. 12 miles.” The sign is just before a bridge. Just after that bridge is an identical sign. That sign reads “….Harrisburg…. 14 miles.” So in crossing that bridge, you actually go back two miles. And nobody seems concerned.
