Blog Master G

 “On this day we gather because we have chosen hope over fear.”
– President Barack Obama, January 20, 2009

This is a day for history. And we were all here to witness it. Congratulations, President Obama! You are bringing hope and change to the nation and to the world.

 

(Above photo from NY Times)

Yesterday I ran the Winter Wimp for the second year in a row — my 1-year racing anniversary. The race had special significance for me since a year ago it was the first distance race I’d ever run. And what a difference a year makes.

Just how much faster am I 12 months later? First, let’s put it in perspective: Then, I’d been running for a whopping 2 weeks, had logged a staggering 16.1 miles (total), weighed at least 20 pounds more than I do now, and hadn’t run more than 3 miles going into the 4.4-mile race (which also gives you the option of wimping out after the first 2.2-mile loop). A year ago, I remember feeling like the race was never going to end; I really had to push myself; it was a struggle to make that second 2.2-mile loop. I was huffing and puffing, wore a giant sweatshirt, cargo pants, came out way too fast, and had no idea what I was doing (I even ran with my cell phone and Jotted myself my splits during the race). But I still managed to have fun as I clocked in a respectable 38:33 (8:46/mile pace).

This year was an entirely different story: I’ve been running for a full year, have logged more than 1,500 miles, am 20 pounds lighter, and have run two marathons, three half-marathons, etc. I understand pacing, have actual running shoes and clothes now, and know what I’m doing.

Yesterday’s Winter Wimp was my 1st race of 2009, my 14th race since I started racing, and the second in which I placed in the top 3 in my division (first was the Operation Santa 10k). Yes, I placed 2nd in my division (20th overall) and took home my first running trophy. It was a pretty awesome feeling. I took more than 8 minutes off my overall time vs. last year’s race, and ran it at an average pace that was nearly 2 minutes per mile faster than last year’s pace. Final time: 30:15 (6:52/mile pace).

It was colder than last year — about 12 degrees — and the course was hillier than I remembered, but I gave it my all and had a great time doing it.

The funny thing about running a 4.4-mile race — what I now conisder to be a shorter race — is that it was over before I knew it. As I ran past the starting line that marks the halfway point and finish line, I thought, “wow, that was fast.” I took a cup of Gatorade from a friendly little girl, pounded it, and poured it on for the second half of the race, passing a number of other runners along the way. In the final stretch as I picked it up with my final sprint, I started lapping some of the 2.2-milers and had to weave my way between a snow plow truck and the “pace” vehicle that was bringing up the rear behind the older woman who was apparently the last runner among the 2.2-milers (but top finisher in her age group!).

I crossed the finish line, did a cool-down run back to my car for the camera, and waited for the results to be posted.

After the race, I headed straight for the library, where Jen was working yesterday, to show off my trophy. I presented it to her with a giant smile on my face.

I’ve come a long way in the past year. And what a way to start off the new year in racing!

(View more Winter Wimp 2009 photos.)

Jen and I spent an awesome and unforgettable 9 days in California with friends and family for Christmas and New Year’s. Hope yours was as special as ours!

 

As the sun sets on 2008 and 2009 begins, here’s wishing you the best in the New Year!

This moving piece was written by my late step-grandfather, Alan Pritchard (Nana’s second husband for as long as either of them was in my life), and was originally published 30 years ago today in The Sacramento Bee, the daily for which he was editor and columnist. Merry Christmas, one and all, and enjoy this excellent reflection on the holiday season.

Tuesday, December 26, 1978
p. A2 The Sacramento Bee
by Alan Pritchard

We have reached the betwixt days on this crazy, spinning spaceship. Christmas has gone wherever old Christmases go and the Fatherperson Time of the old year is doddering on his last pedal extremities. The diapered Newperson Year is just a few orbits away.
Even as you read this it is the 360th day. In just five more, New Year will leap upon us and I, for one, am scarcely prepared. I never am. Why don’t things go quietly slow? I don’t want to get off; I just want to coast a bit. It is not to be.

The earth has passed its farthest tilt and now it is swinging us back towards our life support, the warming sun. The days will grow longer, sure, but now the difference is not notable. We are in the grip of cold or clouds or rain, and complain. Not long past we were locked in sun and blowing dust and smoke from burning, wind-dried forests. And crops failed and animals perished of thirst and toilet flushes were rationed, and we complained then, too.

This is the betwixt season a friend calls the Januaries.
“I got the Januaries real bad,” he says this time of year. The days have shorted out so there is more dark than light. He has overdosed on Christmas giving and depression sneaks upon him as he contemplates the coming hangover of bills.  The present-bearing uncles have gone to other rewards. He is now the magus bearing gifts and the cost of frankincense and myrrh, to say nothing of hovering galactic spaceships and electronic playing fields, is scandalously high in these inflated times.
It comes to me that the betwixt time of the Januaries is a spiritual season precisely because that is what we need. In large dosages. By now i have had it to the clavicles with the seemingly senseless tragedies of the year, the suicides at Jonestown, the laden plane at San Diego, the wasted winos in the plaza.

Here we are in our trekless space craft, spinning on its axis, circling the sun, revolving in the galaxy — a wheel in the midst of a wheel almost as Ezekiel saw. And smugly confident that tomorrow will be tomorrow, just as it was yesterday and today. We are space pioneers, all.  Every instant is unexplored territory, every mile is a brand new time. Withdraw our life support — heat, light, and the insulating air — and our ability to be is done.

‘Tis the season such thoughts come upon you as you seek the bottom of the glass of holiday cheer. I do not want to think of them. I pause to write of them and it forces me to think and I would rather not. Even as most of us, I am much more comfortable playing out the myths of the season, being husbandly and fatherly and grandfatherly and avuncular and bearing gifts and carefree year-end greetings.

I am not a philosopher to contemplate my navel in search of solemn truths. I am mere human, with doubts and fears, hopes and wonder. My sphere of influence goes scarcely past my nose.
But I am not a pessimistic passenger on our spinning craft in space. I am eager for the unknowable days ahead. A madman in the jungle or iron rule in Iran are not the most important things. There are human triumphs to be observed and celebrated along with the tragedies to mourn. We will further probe the crackling space and cure old ills and seek out peace and prosperity, and put the bad things in their proper niche.
I will need help along the way, even as you and you. And as I write in these betwixt days I become aware of the greatest help of all — to help some other. It softens the hard places and levels the high places and sweetens the bitter places.

Happy holidays, whatever yours may be.

There’s no place like home.

Much like mine and Jen’s last trip to California in June, our last trip a couple weeks ago (my third to CA this year) was inspired by the marathon, but was, as always, tons of fun beyond the race itself, thanks, of course, to our awesome family, great friends, and good times.

 I arrived in Sacramento the day after Thanksgiving and, although it was a working vacation for me, had tons of fun hanging out in Sactown with Pete, meeting Sierra (and her delicious cooking), enjoying a late Thanksgiving meal with our mom, and meeting our dad for the most delicious burritos (short of Juan’s) in the most unexpected location: A strip mall in Fairfield (Pelayo’s).

After six long days apart from Jen, she arrived the following Thursday, just in time for the second annual Anderson Family Reunion, hosted at my cousin Val and husband Rik’s house in Davis. It’s always so wonderful seeing all my cousins, aunts, and uncles. I’m fortunate to have such a loving, just plain cool family.

We enjoyed spending time with James and Melissa — including shooting guns at the shooting range — an interesting first for me and Jen. And probably not something we’ll make a habit of doing. I’m generally very anti-gun, so I had mixed emotions about the experience, but figured it was one of those things that I should try at least once in my life to better understand it (kind of how Michael Moore is a lifelong member of the NRA). It was loud. Really loud. James’ shotgun has a hell of a kick, too. And he’s a damn good shot, shooting a smiley face into one of the targets toward the end of our outing.

 

The night of the marathon, Christmas came a little early as we helped Mike and Shannon decorate their Christmas tree. And Jen made friends with Quincy the reindeer cat.

Our last morning in California, Jen, Pete, and I enjoyed a delicious breakfast at Tower Cafe, where Pete and I conquered a full serving each of the house special French toast, where the waitress doubted our skills but acknowledged that “it’s always the skinny guys with the high metabolism who can eat the full order.” And polish it off we did. Good thing we’d run nearly 30 miles the day before.

 Speaking of running nearly 30 miles, here’s a funny video Jen got of the marathon brothers and what our walk looked like after breakfast the day after the marathon:

 

View the entire California 2008: Trip III collection:

Marathoning is awesome. And unless you’ve experienced the grand feeling of accomplishment and personal triumph yourself, it’s hard to convey in words what a life-changing and moving experience it is — and what a difference it makes to have people there to share the experience with you and believe in you.

 I’m officially the rare breed who willingly puts himself through 3+ hours of pain not once, but more than once — a multiple marathoner. And, as of last Sunday’s California International Marathon (CIM), I’m incredibly proud to say that I’m now a 3:19 marathoner — a 3:19:34 marathoner, to be precise — who smashed his first marathon time by 20 minutes and 31 seconds, and beat his goal by 26 seconds. Then I enjoyed a beer and a bloody mary on the lawn of the California State Capitol.

Aside from the rush and personal challenge of pushing myself to the limit to maintain an average pace of 7:37/mile for 26.2 miles, the best parts about Sunday’s race from the dark hills of Folsom to the State Capitol in my hometown was running it with my bro (albeit at different paces) and seeing my incredibly supportive wife, my dad, and so many good friends at the  finish — Shannon, Mike, Enoch, Sierra, Megan, and Megan. Having so much support and encouragement makes a marathon worth all the pain and suffering.

Our ladies — Jen and Sierra — were awesome and couldn’t have been more supportive — waking up with us at 4am; dropping us off in the dark for our lonely mile-long walk to the start (yeah, so technically, if you count that, we ran an ultramarathon!); cheering us on at miles 6 and 14; greeting us at the finish line with the rest of our pit crew; bringing us a mobile bar from which to partake at the finish.

It was a day I’ll never forget, and I got choked up and shed a few tears while hanging out in the finish area while looking into Jen’s eyes and waiting for my bro to cross the finish line — next time let’s cross that finish line together, Pete!

As for the race itself, what a difference training makes. This time around I ran nearly 900 training miles (vs. 500 leading up to the San Diego marathon), logged three 20-milers (vs. one 20-miler last time), and read, read, and read some more about running. So I actually knew what I was doing and was well prepared for it.

The best word to describe the race experience and the distance this time around was manageable — I didn’t slow down until the 24th mile (vs. about mile 18 in my first marathon), maintaining right around a 7:30 pace for 23 miles, until I slowed to 7:43, 7:55, and 8:16 in the final 3 miles with a 7:30 effort in the final 0.2 mile (see detailed splits below). I even passed a number of people approaching the finish line, which is always a good feeling.

Gone this time around were feelings of deliriousness (though the utter exhaustion was, of course, there), near blackout moments (running with my eyes shut for some stretches in San Diego), desperation that the finish would appear at any moment (fighting that nagging feeling in San Diego that all I wanted to do was stop running), and near heat exhaustion. The cool 39-degree start and mid-40s finish of CIM were much more to my liking; in San Diego, I think it was 60-something at the start and 80-something at the finish.

Running with the 3:20 pace group for most of the second half of the race — after working to catch the group from a really crowded start (more in my full race report below) — was a big help, too.

Based on clock time, I placed 792 overall out of 5,198 runners. My official chip time, which is more accurate since it reflects the fact that I didn’t cross the start line until more than a minute after the race started, puts me around 750 overall. I was 140 out of 400 in my division.

Pete has a couple race reports here and here. Big congrats to Pete for finishing the race with a knee injury and basically no training in the weeks leading up to the marathon! There aren’t many people who can just pick up and run a marathon without proper training, and my little bro is enough of a machine to dominate it with a respectable time, given the circumstances.

After the race, we enjoyed a well-earned brunch with the gang at the really creepy Pancake Circus on Broadway.

View more CIM action shots here and all race day (and night) photos here.

A giant, heartfelt THANK YOU goes out to everyone — especially my wife who’s sick of hearing me talk about running all the time — who helped make CIM 2008 a day I’ll never forget! I love you all and couldn’t do it without you!

Oh yeah, and about that mustache-growing competition… the ‘staches didn’t quite make it to the starting line. There was something about a job interview and scaring off a potential employer with the sketch factor, but Pete did greet me at the airport in ‘stache solidarity (even if it was a mascara-stache, courtesy of Sierra):

And he did get a sweet pre-shave ‘stache photo of me (I’m kinda regretting not sporting that look at the marathon):

Finally, for those of you interested in my race report, here’s the full report I wrote in the Runner’s World forums the night of the marathon:

The race didn’t start as planned: The start was really congested, and my brother and I got stuck in the bag toss line trying to get our warm-up gear into the trucks. After that, we charged ahead to try to join the 3:20 pace group, but couldn’t get through the crowd. The race also began 2 minutes early, and we were on a hill on the side of the course on top of a rock when the clock started!

I crossed the start line after about 1:08 and spent the first couple miles navigating through the crowd and stressing out about trying to catch the 3:20 group; I was determined to run with the 3:20 pace group, but knew that I was more than a minute behind.

I caught myself running too fast iniitally, and kept reminding myself to hold back. I found that I was running a really comfortable pace close to 7:30/mile average over the the first 5 or so miles, which went by really fast, so after some quick calculations, realized that if I kept it up, I’d catch the 3:20 pace group around mile 10 or 11.

I kept a close eye on the Garmin current pace reading and tried to keep it close to 7:30, hydrating often and hitting my first GU around mile 6. Right around there was also the first spot where I saw my cheering wife and brother’s girlfriend, so that was a nice motivator. I pressed on with a really consistent pace and was excited to see if my math would prove right and if I’d catch the 3:20 group when I thought I would.

I had rationalized that, given my 1:08 delayed start, if I could catch the 3:20 group and finish with them, that I’d nail a 3:19. I realized that a faster first half was a risk for slowing down later, but with the 1-minute padding, I decided to go for it.

I was excited as I approached mile 11 to see if my calculations about cactching the 3:20 group were accurate. Sure enough, on a hill up ahead was the tell-tale red sign with white numbers: 3:20. I got a rush. I fought the urge to sprint ahead, but just kept the group in sight. By the halfway point, I was right behind the 3:20 group and still feeling strong (mile 13 was my fastest: 7:23).

Shortly after that (~14) was one of the largest spectator spots (short of the finish line), with hundreds of people lining the streets and cheering us on (another wife spotting!). I got a great boost and the chills.

By now, I was focusing on one mile at a time, trying not to get ahead of myself or focusing on how many miles were left. And I stuck right with the 3:20 pace group. I got delayed at a few aid station traffic jams and had to pick up the pace a few times to catch up, but managed to stay right with the group all the way through mile 23 (7:28).

And that’s when things got rough and the red 3:20 sign began to fade into the distance ahead of me. Good thing I had that extra minute on my side.

My calves were really sore — with the madness at the start, I didn’t do any proper warm-up runs and didn’t stretch enough — and things were starting to feel bleak But I only had another couple miles to go and was determmined to get a sub-3:20 time.

I felt myself slowing in the final couple miles (7:55 in 25 and 8:16 in 26, my two slowest), but gained on the runners ahead of me and managed to pass a number of other runners in the final 0.2 as I gave it everything I had left.

Clock time: 3:20:40. I knew I’d done it and couldn’t have been happier as I crossed the finish line and saw my wife, friends, and dad cheering me on!

Official chip time: 3:19:34. It’s good to be an exception to predicted time.

My mile splits (from my Garmin, so slightly off; 26.31 and 3:19:38 on the Garmin just after I crossed the finish and stopped it):

1: 7:34
2: 7:35
3: 7:29
4: 7:33
5: 7:31
6: 7:32
7: 7:34
8: 7:34
9: 7:37
10: 7:32
11: 7:34
12: 7:35
13: 7:23
14: 7:29
15: 7:33
16: 7:35
17: 7:40
18: 7:31
19: 7:27
20: 7:26
21: 7:33
22: 7:39
23: 7:28
24: 7:43
25: 7:55
26: 8:16
26.2: 7:30

Next marathon I will kick even more ass. And I know I’ll have the support of the greatest pit crew in the history of marathoning to cheer me on.

Happy birthday to my beautiful wife! I’m lucky to have known this hottie since she was 21 — for more than a third of our lives (!) — and to have been married to her for 5 wonderful years.

I love you, Jen! Thank you for being you.

Marathon Brothers, originally uploaded by Blog Master G.

Anderson brothers in the parking lot of Pancake Circus after rockin’
CIM 2008.

CA International Marathon 2008, originally uploaded by Blog Master G.

Smashed my PR by more than 20 minutes and beat my goal by 30 seconds:
~3:19:38 (Garmin time, not official time). Average pace: 7:35/mile.

Yesterday morning I ran my 12th race, which was my second 10k. Jen ran the 5k race, and it was her third 5k. It was the first race I’ve run where I did not get a new PR (I guess that happens after you start running a lot of races and start to repeat distances). But it was the first race where I placed in the top 3 in my division (43:40 with a 7:01 average pace; 7:02 if you round up, as official results do)! I placed 8th overall and 3rd in my division! I was pretty psyched about that. And so was Santa:

(Being the man with the ultimate ‘stache, it was also a great honor when he dubbed my ‘stache the most excellent of the race.)

Sure, there were only 39 of us who ran the 10k, but it’s still a pretty awesome feeling to be a 10k Award Winner and to have earned my first merit-based medal:

It’s also pretty awesome that the overall male winner was a 49-year-old dude! With a time of 36:14, that’s a blazing 5:50 pace! There’s hope for the rest of us after all.

But back to the race… I managed to pull off a near-PR performance in terrible conditions — about 20 degrees (a whopping 11 with wind chill!) — on a really hilly course with the worst course markings I’ve yet to experience. Nothing against race course volunteers since we runners really do depend on them, but I found myself on more than one occasion reaching an unmarked neighborhood intersection and having to yell at the volunteers who weren’t giving me any guidance, “Where do I go??” Many of the volunteers were helpful and did point me in the right direction, but all of them weren’t as helpful.

I almost turned down the wrong street a couple times. It was also a cluster back toward the school since I started to overlap the much larger field of 5k runners on their course, so suddenly there were runners going every which way — they were running toward me, I was passing them, and I was confused. I probably wasted 5 to 10 seconds trying to figure out where my course was and which way to go. But alas, I still crossed the finish line 8th overall, so I certainly can’t complain too much!

Considering my time yesterday was only 3 seconds off my first 10k, which was a much better course with much better markings and directions, and that it was ass-cold, I’d say it was a pretty damn good race.

It started off fine enough. I charged out ahead near the front of the crowd and maintained my position pretty much throughout the race (6:48 mile 1). The first couple miles were beautiful farmland through the rolling hills of Hudson Falls, NY. On one of the first hills, I was able to look ahead to the lead runner and count that I was in the 8 spot. Nice! This could be my first Top 10 finish, I thought. Shortly after that, two dudes passed me… but I kept them in my sight and maintained pace (7:03 and 7:05 miles 2 and 3).

Then came a big hill — my specialty. I had already passed the first dude who’d passed me, and while climbing the biggest hill of the course, I made my move on dude #2; he seemed surprised when I flew past him on the uphill. That was mile 4 (7:25).

Shortly after that, the mess of the course markings began.  There was an intersection with a parked police car and a small sign telling me to turn right. So I turned right and hoped for the best. I looked over my shoulder a few times to make sure my fellow 10k’ers were also going that way. I didn’t see them for a while — apparently I had gained a lot of ground on that hill — but eventually I saw them and felt better about going the right direction.

Despite the confusion in the last couple miles and some near wrong turns, I picked up the pace again, clocking in a 7:05 in both miles 5 and 6. I was gunning to beat my PR from my first 10k (43:37 back in October), so with just over a mile to go, I really turned it on. I started flying past some 5k walkers and slower 5k runners. My average pace in the final 0.21 miles as I cruised back toward the school parking lot and race finish line where my wonderfully supportive and cheering wife awaited was 5:39.

My signature sprint to the finish was alive and well, but I missed my PR by 3 seconds, but held onto my 8th place overall.

I was elated when they later posted the results and I saw that I was 3rd in my division. Santa bestowed me with my bronze. A good day. All that and 100% of our race fees went to benefit underprivileged kids.

View more race photos.

Congrats to my wife for a rockin’ race, too, despite the terrible conditions!

My Santa 10k mile splits:

• Mile 1: 6:49
• Mile 2: 7:03
• Mile 3: 7:05
• Mile 4: 7:25 (hill)
• Mile 5: 7:05
• Mile 6: 7.05
• Mile 6.21: 5:39