Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

Is 46.875 Percent Enough? or If I Could Sing…

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged 'Merica, America, American, bigotry, Marc Anthony, racism, Real American, Sebastion de la Cruz, twitter on July 19, 2013| 8 Comments »

I was not born in the United States of America. I was born half way around the world in Nagoya, Japan. I am half-Japanese. I am 46.875% White – for those of you who inspired this post, that’s less than half…if you don’t understand the numbers, go back to the grade in elementary school when you stopped paying attention and try learning something for once – a lack of education is the only explanation I can come up with to explain the bigotry, the hate, the racism.

I have asked myself many times in life Am I White enough (or Asian enough)?

Generally it would be right before meeting a girlfriend’s parents. You see, I understood that both my parents’ and my grandparents’ generation came from a time when there was still great social unrest. When I was born in 1969 the Civil Rights’ Movement was in high gear; World War II had ended just 25 years earlier. Information traveled much more slowly then and so did change. My American grandfather (a Captain in World War II) forbade my father from coming home to Florida with his Japanese wife. My dad, ever the progressive called him after I was born and said, “I’m coming home with my wife and your first grandson.” When confronted with the reality of his adorable grandson, the barriers fell somewhat. Still, as a young adult, I was always conscious of the fact that the members of the generations that came before me may not be as accepting of a mixed-race person as those of my generation, and presumably those that came after.

Until recently, I have never asked myself if I was White enough to be considered a real American; but then there was the San Antonio Mariachi Kid thing

de la Cruz (click on the picture)

followed by the MLB All-Star Game Marc Anthony thing

Anthony – click on the picture

and I had to start to wonder…am I White enough to be considered American? Would White and Black America light up Twitter with words of hate if I sang the National Anthem for a game (assuming I could actually sing)? Did White and Black America wonder “who is that Nip throwing out a first pitch at Fenway?” when I threw out the first pitch at a Red Sox game a few years back?

Did anyone ask, “who is that foreigner up there?”

Did they ask, “What has ‘Merica’s game come to?”

Yeah…click on the picture of de la Cruz to see the nasty tweets sent his way. They are not just from White America.

Both Sebastion de la Cruz and Marc Anthony are American citizens. They were BORN here in these supposedly United States; and yet these “real Americans” tweet away, calling them all kinds of awful names. I was NOT born here, but because my father is an American, I was deemed a citizen of the United States of America the moment I was born. I have been a proud American since the moment I drew in my first breath of air and that pride had never and still has not wavered…but I am only 46.875% White.

And now I wonder…am I White enough?

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I am HAPA

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged george zimmerman, HAPA, race, racial communities, racism, society, trayvon martin on July 17, 2013| 6 Comments »

I’ve been watching the post-Trayvon Martin/George Zimmerman verdict drama unfold over the last few days. I’ve seen much of the African-American community absolutely flabbergasted that Zimmerman could be found innocent. I’ve seen much of the White community screaming and yelling that this trial was not about race, but about self-defense. I’ve seen posts on Facebook and Twitter and other social media supporting either Martin’s family or Zimmerman; demonizing one or the other.

If it weren’t so tragic; if a young man hadn’t lost his life; if another man hadn’t ruined his own life; if the underlying current of racism that still exists in this country wasn’t so clumsily exposed, I would find it all almost amusing – the media seems to.

I am not Trayvon Martin.

Nor am I George Zimmerman.

I am not African-American.

I am not White.

Nor am I Asian or Native American.

I have never had the privilege and comfort that White (Hispanic or otherwise), African-American or any other racial communities have long taken for granted – a true sense of community, of belonging, of “us”; one that goes to the very core of their being, of their identity.

I am a HAPA. You see, I am half-Japanese. My other half is mostly white with a sprinkling of Native American for good measure. I am both White and Asian, yet I am neither. I went to preschool, kindergarten and first grade in Japan – where I wasn’t nearly Japanese enough to be truly embraced into the culture or accepted by my peers. I finished my schooling in Miami and Seattle, where I wasn’t quite White enough to be part of that ethnic group either; again never truly fitting in with any of my peers.

All of my life I have never quite fit in to any group…except well, maybe my fraternity in college (we were truly the island of beer drinking misfit toys) but that is neither an ethnic nor racial group.

I’ve watched both Whites and African-Americans dig in their heels, point fingers, lay blame. If Zimmerman hadn’t… If Martin hadn’t… If only Zimmerman had… If only Martin had…

I’ve engaged some of the folks on both sides regarding the verdict. Nobody wants to listen to what the other has to say. They don’t want to know what they don’t know; they don’t want to understand what they don’t understand. They didn’t grow up in each other’s communities. They can’t possibly know the unfounded fear that each has of the other.

Now don’t get me wrong. A significant majority of my non African American friends seem to have fallen on the Trayvon Martin side of the argument, but even they seem unable to grasp what it means to be Black in America.

Jess recently wrote about finally understanding what a African American mother must goes through every time she sends her babies out into the world – the fear, the worry. I was somewhat surprised, in part, because growing up I felt like I was that baby no matter where I went. It didn’t matter if I was riding my bike through a White neighborhood, a Black neighborhood, a Latino one or an Asian one…no matter where I went, I was a stranger, I was different and therefore drew some underlying suspicion. The parents of the girls I dated were more often than not slightly uncomfortable at first, in part because they just were not sure “who” or “what” I was. Although I embraced the fact that I was half-Asian and half-White, publicly stating that I had the best of both worlds, internally I was constantly at sea, knowing that my ship could never dock permanently anywhere.

Ultimately though, I think my racial ambiguity has helped me develop the people skills I have to today. I was forced to figure out a way to connect with people without the luxury of either the unspoken racial connection I witness when two people of the same race meet or the racial recognition one has for someone of a distinctly different race.

My lack of race I think enables me to see the casual racism by both Whites and African Americans (and Asians for that matter) that others don’t see in themselves. This case exposed what still exists in this country – racial tensions that bubble beneath the surface, just low enough in some places that many people have learned or chosen to ignore it. We’ve come a long way in 60 years. We still have a long way to go.

My hope is that, as I have had to do all my life out of necessity, people will try to at least imagine walking in the shoes of someone who did not grow up in the same environment as themselves – imagine what it must be like when others assume you are a criminal; imagine what it is like when others assume you are a racist; imagine what it is like when others assume you are taking advantage of the system; imagine what it is like when others assume you are privileged.

We are more similar to each other than different; we all want personal happiness, we all want to see our parents live long and our children thrive. My hope is that people will recognize that these similarities should bond us together instead of letting our differences drive us apart. I envy the connection that people have to those within their own race, but I am grateful that my lack of race, my lack of belonging, my lack of “us” has forced me to simply see people for who they are.

Me and a fellow Hapa – not quite White…not quite Asian

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Hug Yourself

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged body sculpting, embrace it, exercise goals, fitness, Stay At Home Dad on July 10, 2013| 5 Comments »

It was over 12 years ago that I sought out the advice of a friend of mine. I was about to start a new “job” – Stay At Home Dad/Homemaker. This friend had done it for several years (an incredible story for another time). I trusted his judgement and advice. He started with 2 words – “Embrace It”. I remember cocking my head as if to ask, “what do you mean?” He told me that too often, whether or not a father had chosen to or had been forced to due to circumstance to become a Stay At Home Dad, men would brush off the title as a “temporary gig”. They would always follow up “I’m a Stay At Home Dad” with some kind of qualifier – “but it’s temporary” or “but I’m really a salesman, actor, lawyer, construction worker, businessman”, etc, etc. He told me that if I didn’t jump in with two feet, I would be unhappy and as a result, so would my kids.

“You’ve got to completely embrace that this is what you do. Yes, you are your kid’s dad, but you’ve got to understand that this will be the hardest, most rewarding job you will ever have…but only if you embrace it,” he said.

It sounded like sage advice to me, and so I did – and I have thoroughly enjoyed myself. What I have discovered years later it that the advice, when truly boiled down to its essence was not about child-rearing – it was about being happy with one’s self and embracing the choices made.

***

Recently a friend of mine, knowing that I am this close to getting my CSCS certification asked me for some advice. This person wanted to lose some weight and do some body sculpting by a certain date for a big event in the late Fall. After an intake interview, I drew up a plan that included both nutritional and exercise goals. Both started off very easy, practically guaranteeing early successes at small tasks requiring very little time that would serve as a foundation for the more intense and difficult work ahead. Although this person asked about specific exercises, I made it clear that we wanted to start easy to make sure there was a foundation in place when we introduced specific exercises later on.

From the start though there were excuses – I’m going to a party. I didn’t sleep well last night. It was a busy day. I pushed back a little bit with encouragement and a reminder of what the ultimate goal was and the fact that the current time demands were minimal.

Change is hard. I get it. It’s easier for some than others. Jess will tell you that I will change, but like a huge super-sized steamship on the ocean, it takes me a while to make a turn in a different direction – I’ll get there, but it takes a little while. I truly understand that making a change is scary, difficult and most of all, overwhelming even when the changes are small. After consecutive days of excuses, I stopped talking as Friend Luau and brought out Trainer Luau – I told my friend that change wasn’t going to happen simply by thinking about it. In order to achieve the stated goals, work was going to have to be done on a regular, consistent, daily basis.

“Fortunately,” I said, “there is a specific goal, both physically and chronologically. It gives you an endpoint, a peak, a destination.”

And then I remembered my friend’s advice from so many years ago.

“Embrace it!”

I then said, “in order to achieve the stated goal, you’re going to have to embrace the program, make it a priority OR embrace where you are and be happy with that. There’s nothing wrong with that. But if you half-ass it, you’re not going to be happy with the results because you’ll feel like you are over-sacrificing for less that optimal returns.”

We’ll see what happens.

I understand that not everyone is gung-ho about fitness and/or running like I am. I understand that embracing the vehicle of change is not easy for most (including myself).

I’m not sure what it is I am trying to convey in this post other than this – if you have a fitness goal and you are presented with a choice between immediate gratification that works against that stated goal and the goal itself, take a moment to think about what it is you really want. There’s nothing wrong with a day of debauchery every now and again – in fact, I highly recommend it to keep yourself sane, but at some point, a consistent choice has to be made, especially when there is a time aspect to your stated goal – am I happy where I am? or do I want to achieve this goal? And if you consistently choose the immediate gratification over the fitness goal, don’t beat yourself up for it. Perhaps you didn’t really want that goal in the first place. Perhaps that goal was placed there by others or by society.

Choose the spot where you will be happy and then embrace it because ultimately, happiness is beautiful.

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I Am a Villager

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged 100 miles, 100-miler, It takes a village, running, running club, tarc, Thank you, ultra marathon, ultra running, villager, words of encouragement on June 27, 2013| 8 Comments »

Running can be a lonely sport. Yes, you can’t throw a rock in certain parts of the country without hitting a running club or group, but ultimately, at its very core, running is an individual undertaking – YOU must put one foot in front of the other to move forward; YOU are the engine that makes you go; YOU and only you can take you from point A to point B.

But it’s rarely just about getting from point A to point B, is it?

I was reminded during the TARC 100 that running is truly the most team-oriented individual sport I have ever participated in. It is something I have always known, and even written about here, but I felt like I was completely immersed in the team aspect of individual running during my nearly 28 hour journey last weekend.

I would not have had the will or the means to cover 100 miles in so short a time had it not been for Erica & Maddy (my pacers from 54.5 to the finish), Doug (who crewed for me from 25 to 75), the volunteers at each of the Aid Stations and Road Crossings or my wife Jess constantly checking in via text offering words of encouragement.

On the Sunday morning after the race, still unable to collect my thoughts fully, I wrote this on the TARC Facebook Page:

Thank you to the TARC Staff and volunteers! Your enthusiasm throughout the night and day and night again was energizing and helped keep the darkness of doubt at bay. I know that my buckle-status was in part achieved because of you – THANK YOU!
Also, the tenderness with which you treated those of us who finished was amazing.

I would then later post this about my two pacers:

So the enormity of what these two women did for me on Saturday is just finally sinking in. Erica…paced me from mile 54.5 to mile 75 and Maddy…paced me from 75 to 100. Erica had never met me (online or in real life) yet she jumped right in and kept me going for 6 hours. Maddy, whom I have long admired as a runner, heard I needed help and drove over at the drop of a hat to shepherd me through the final stages…I cannot possibly do either of you justice with words (as my eyes start to well up). Thank you!

Without these people, I would have simply been just some fool running in the woods. I also would have had the common sense to stop after about 6 or 7 miles, probably even sooner.

To paraphrase Elizabeth Warren’s and Barry O’s often misquoted line, “You didn’t build that”, I didn’t do that…WE did that! And it is not just the volunteers or my fellow TARC racers or Doug or JB or Erica or Maddy or Jess. It wasn’t just the Charity Miles App that allowed me to raise funds for my charity of choice with every step I took; it wasn’t just Mophie, the company that donated two battery packs to keep my phone, and therefore the Charity Miles App, running for 28 straight hours; it wasn’t just Julie C and her beautiful daughter showing up at Mile 50 to remind me who I was running for…

It was YOU! YOU helped carry me to the end when my legs were failing. YOU helped drive me to the finish when MY will was breaking. YOU delivered strength when the darkness of doubt came over me. YOU made sure I got the silly not so little belt buckle at the end of the day.

This villager would like to thank his village for being part of and helping me finish my first 100 mile foot race.

Thank you.

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Mud – The TARC 100 Race Report

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged 100-miler, mud, running, TARC 100, ultra marathon on June 26, 2013| 42 Comments »

“If I NEVER see mud again it will be too soon…”
said by me (and many others I’m sure)…many times over the course of the TARC 100

***

THE START

As I looked around, I suddenly felt like maybe I had bitten off more than I could possibly chew. Everywhere I looked I saw people who looked like runners, I mean really looked like runners. As I weighed in (something they do I guess at the 100-mile distance), I glanced over at the guy next to me. He was about my height.

“145,” I heard the med staff call out. 145? I stepped onto my scale.

“175.”

Now don’t get me wrong – I am happy with my weight. Nobody wants to see me at 145. It just made me wonder if maybe I was too big to be running this distance. Before long they called us to the start. JB, Doug and I looked at each other and gave one last hug of encouragement.

Doug, Me and JB – pre-check in

We were about to undertake a challenge of truly epic proportions.

There was a plan in place. JB and I had it all worked out. Doug had his own plan that he would follow, but JB and I had been thinking about this for weeks. 4 miles of running followed by 1 mile of brisk walking – powerwalking any hills we might encounter during the running stretches; repeat 19 more times and we would be across the finish line in or around 24 hours. Despite the three days of rain that preceded the race; despite the warnings from the race directors that the course was “a little wet” we had faith that if we stuck to the plan we would get to the end. We had no idea just how wet and muddy the course really was.

Suddenly it was time to go. The race director gave the word and we were off running.

that’s JB and I…all the way in the back.

The course was broken into two loops – a 4.5 mile loop to start, followed by a winding 20.5 mile loop to complete the 25 mile lap. The first loop started innocently enough – what I had expected as typical trails – soft ground, a sea of grass, a trip into the woods, a few small streams to jump over, but about two miles in we got our first taste of what was to come in the larger loop – mud…

…mud…

and water…

…and water…yeah, we had to go through that…

In the words of local singer Jeannie Mack, “I can’t go around it, I have to go through it! Mud! Mud…”. And that’s what each of us did. But it was a wet mud that went straight through the shoes. I wondered if I was going to be running with wet, muddy feet for the next 98 miles.

Letting Jess know how I was doing…

***

MILE 15

“Don’t be a hero.”

I could hear myself repeating the words Jess had said to me over and over again, but I was not directing them toward myself. “Don’t be a hero JB. You’ve got a wife and a baby at home and you need to make sure that you are able to go home to them.” I was standing over him at the Aid Station at Mile 15. He had been heaving ever since mile 10. We had been clicking along nicely for the first 10 miles. At first we thought he had simply taken in too much fluid too quickly at the last Aid Station, but it was becoming readily apparent that this was not the case. Having thrown up a couple times over the last 5 miles, he sat on the ground, wanting to run but physically unable.

After 5 – 10 minutes he looked up at me. “Go,” he said, “you’ve got to go.”

“Are you sure,” I asked certain that this was where JB’s race was ending this night. I didn’t want to lose my wing man, but I had no other choice.

“Yeah, I’m gonna sit here for a few and if I can, I’ll catch up.”

I bid my running partner good-bye and stared down the road – 85 miles to go, the next 35 of which would be in the dark of night, essentially alone. I took a deep breath and put one foot in front of the other.

“Don’t be a hero,” I kept hearing Jess say in my head.

I was going to have to readjust my game plan.

***

It wasn’t long before I fell in behind a woman in a pink shirt. Martha was moving more slowly than I was, but having just lost my partner, I was more than happy to fall in step with her. It was now closing in on 11 PM – the runners had thinned out along the course, so that it would be long stretches before one would pass or be passed by another runner. As we made our way in the darkness, our paths lit by our headlamps, we chatted about running, ultras and the crazy people who do them. She mentioned that she was part of the Gifford Athletic Club, a group headed by her husband. We kept pace all the way to the next Aid Station at Mile 20. This next loop was only 2 miles, so I grabbed some orange and watermelon slices, thanked Martha for the company and was on my way, picking up the pace. It had to be the longest 2 mile loop in the history of 2 mile loops punctuated by a thigh deep pool of muddy water that one hit on both the way out and on the way back…and just as my feet were starting to dry a little.

***

Closing in on the end of the first 25 mile loop, I was confronted with had had to be at least 50 – 75 yards of ankle to knee deep mud. We had encountered this on the way out, but it felt like it had gotten worse (probably because it had). There was no way around it and by this point, I had given up on trying to keep my feet dry so I ran right through it. Coming out of the mud run, I ran by a large tent with a banner that read G.A.C. – the same letters that were on Martha’s (the nice lady who kept me company from 15 to 20) shirt.

“Are you guys with Martha?”

“Yeah, I’m her husband,” one of the guys replied.

“She’s not too far behind me. She kept me company for about 5 miles. Love her!”

“That’s great. You touch her I’ll f***ing kill you,” joked the husband. I laughed, fairly certain he was kidding and carried on

As I pulled into the end of the first loop, my watch beeped. The battery was dying. I would no longer know how fast I was going over the next 75 miles.

Crap!!!

***

MILE 25

As I crossed the start/finish marker, I thought, “okay, only three more times and you’re done!” I found my gear, changed my socks and headed out on the 4.5 loop that would bring me back to the start/finish before starting the 20.5 mile loop. It was now a little past 1:15 AM. The first lap had taken me 6 hours 11 minutes. I couldn’t complain. Considering the mud, mud pits and water hazards, I was right where JB and I had hoped we would be. Despite the 5 miles I had spent with Martha, the last 5 had been very quiet and lonesome and I knew I was looking at another 20 to 25 miles in the dark of night. Without my Garmin to help me track distance and pace, I was going to have to change my strategy from distance based to time based. I arbitrarily chose 45/15 – 45 minutes of running followed by 15 minutes of brisk walking.

Coming out of the 4.5 mile loop I saw my buddy Doug coming the other way. Something didn’t seem right. It took me a moment to realize that he had started the 4.5 mile loop in the wrong direction.

“I’m going the wrong way aren’t I,” Doug asked.

“Yeah, I’m afraid so.” He looked defeated. He had essentially wasted nearly a mile of energy.

“Conditions suck out there,” he said.

“Awful.”

“I think I’m gonna pull out and crew for you.”

This was one of those rare moments where I was both happy and sad. Doug, along with JB, had convinced me to run this with them. This was their race, not mine. They were supposed to finish, not me. They were supposed to be getting the belt buckles at the end, not me. At the same time, I was happy that there would be somebody who could have things ready for me at select Aid Stations. I would be able to think less and focus more on just putting one foot in front of the other.

***

The next 20 miles would pass in a blur. From time to time I would fall in step with another runner, but for the most part I spent the wee dark hours of the night running alone, only the soft shuffle of my footsteps and the occasional Aid Station to keep me company. Pulling into the Aid Station that served as both Mile 35 and 40 I was delighted to see that the volunteers had dressed up as if they were at a Luau. I took it to be a good sign. I was reminded that 25 miles earlier this was where JB had become sick and had to drop out. I said a silent prayer and traveled on.

It was somewhere between 35 and 40 that I fell in step with a runner named Jim. Jim was an experienced 100-miler (13 or 14) and told me, to my complete shock, that he had just completed a 72-hour race not two weeks earlier where he covered nearly 200 miles. (Jess, just so you know, I will NOT be signing up for that race…ever!).

4:55AM…

***

Running long distances tires the legs; it is inevitable. Add night running to the mixture and the feet begin to drag. This is where I ran into trouble throughout the night. As bright as my headlamp was, the resultant tunnel-vision played havoc on my depth perception and every so often I would slam my toes into either a large rock or root – toe catchers is what I think the race director called them. You do this enough times and the toes and their toe nails really end up taking a beating. It was somewhere around Mile 40ish that I realized that I was going to lose my right big toe nail when I hit a rock and felt a pop.

“There’s goes my toenail,” I said to the darkness.

“Don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about it,” I kept telling myself, “less than 60 miles to go.”

A few miles later I felt the other big toe’s nail go as well.

MILE 45

As I pulled into the Aid Station at Mile 45 I found Doug working as a volunteer. He had texted me about 45 minutes earlier and had asked if I wanted coffee (“yes” was my simple if not over-exuberant reply…you just can’t see the exuberance because, well, I was texting at 6 in the morning after running all night). He told me that he would meet me back at mile 50 and introduce me to his pal Erica. She would be pacing me over the third 25 mile loop. This is where I truly got to see and experience the kind spirit and nature that is the ultra-marathon. Yes, the 100-mile distance can be cruel and harsh and painful, but despite that or maybe because of that, this complete stranger was going to spend 6 to 7 hours with me, keeping me company, pushing me along, keeping me in the race.

***

MILE 50

When I arrived at the start/finish to reach the halfway point, Doug and Erica were waiting for me. I quickly changed my socks, shoes and singlet, slipped on some sunglasses. I had completed the second lap in about 6 1/2 hours, covering the first 50 miles in 12:39. That felt pretty good considering the conditions and the loss of my running partner 35 miles earlier. Erica appeared ready to go, but I paused. I wanted to do the next 4.5 mile loop by myself and have her join me for the larger 20.5 loop. I’m not sure what my logic was other than convincing myself that when Erica joined me for the next 25 miles there would really only be 20.5 miles left. They helped me fill my water bottles with my chia honey water, I jammed a pancake down as best I could and was off.

The sun had risen making the course look completely different. Maybe it was the exhaustion, maybe it was the light of day, but it almost felt as if the race directors had rearranged the course. I realized they had not when 2 miles into the third loop but once dry socks and shoes were soaked through with mud and water.

***

At 54.5 Erica jumped in for the big loop. Erica had planned on pacing a friend of hers but he had pulled out at 50 miles with a broken toe. Right from the start she said she would be happy to do all the talking, let me do all the talking, chit chat the whole time or run in silence. I think that over the course of 20.5 miles we ended up doing all of those things. She let me lead when I needed to and pulled me along when I needed that. As we pulled into each Aid Station, she would fill my bottles and make sure I ate something. Psychologically the third lap was going to be the hardest of them all (a large number of people dropped out at either 50 or 54.5). Knowing that after 25 more miles you would still have the most physically painful 25 miles ahead of you made it tough to go out and keep going during that 3rd lap.

But Erica kept my spirits light, reminding me that each step forward was one more step closer to the finish.

At some point during the run Erica told me that Doug had arranged for a friend of ours to pace me through the last 25. Maddy, who is a runner I have long admired was dropping her plans for the day because Doug had reached out to her for help.

Katie got a hold of Jess’ phone….

I was so touched. Regular readers may recognize that Julie C is the race director of the Leprechaun 5K. The two of us have become friends via Facebook and occasional runner tweet-ups. We are both runner and both have daughters with autism and that has created a special bond between the two of us.

Closing in on 75, I passed Martha’s group again. There was Martha, hanging with her husband and friends. Seems she had thought better of it after going out for the mini-loop after 50 and decided that she would fight another day. The cheer I received from that group was energizing. They hardly knew me, but they got up and hooted and hollered as I went by. The last thing I heard from that crowd was Martha’s husband again yelling, “if you touch my wife, I’ll f***ing kill ya!” As the laughter receded into the distance, I focused on the last quarter-mile of this 3rd loop. I would finish the 3rd lap in about 6:40. I wasn’t complaining.

MILE 75

The first person I saw coming into the start/finish area was Julie C. It was good to see a familiar face. She followed me to where my gear was. Waiting for me at my gear drop was Maddy, suited up and ready to go. As I changed my socks yet again, Erica filled my water bottles. Both Julie and Maddy gave me a big hug despite the fact that I probably smelled awful.

“I have a surprise for you,” she said, “can you wait a second?” I was more than happy to sit just a little longer. Julie ran off and when she came back she had her daughter Helen with her. I had only met Helen briefly once before, but had never been able to interact with her.

“I wanted to remind you why and for whom you are running,” Julie said. I was running with the Charity Miles App and thanks to the battery packs donated my Mophie (thank you Mophie!!!), my phone was still going strong. I was about to offer Helen a high-five but then I looked at my hands. They were muddy and grim from just over 19 hours of running in the mud. So I offered her a high-one, not sure if she would respond.

To my great delight, she put her pointer finger to mine and we tapped. I apologized to her for my dirty fingers and she then wiped it off, but not before we took a picture together.

Me and Helen (Julie C’s daughter)

It was now time to head back out. I knew if I sat too much longer my legs would refuse to restart. So one quick photo of me and my pacers and it was time to go.

Me and my pacers, Erica (center) and Maddy (right).

I would later write this about Erica and Maddy:

So the enormity of what these two women did for me on Saturday is just finally sinking in. Erica (center) paced me from mile 54.5 to mile 75 and Maddy (right) paced me from 75 to 100. Erica had never met me (online or in real life) yet she jumped right in and kept me going for 6 hours. Maddy, whom I have long admired as a runner, heard I needed help and drove over at the drop of a hat to shepherd me through the final stages…I cannot possibly do either of you justice with words (as my eyes start to well up). Thank you!

Of course, I also had to do a little problem solving from afar…

***

Maddy has become somewhat of a local superstar in our little neck of the woods – that happens when you enter your first 100-miler and win, yes WIN, the whole thing. I was a bit nervous about having her pace me because she is just that fast and at the pace I was going, I was sure she was going to feel like she was walking…backwards…on her hands.

Her pacing strategy was a little different than Erica’s. Where Erica was gentle in letting me lead the pace, Maddy immediately pulled me along, pushing the pace ever so slightly whenever she felt like she could. It was exactly what I needed. Where the third 25 miles was psychologically the hardest, the last 25 was going to be physically the hardest. My right knee had been bothering me since 50 and now the bottom of my right shin was getting very, very angry. Hitting the water hazards at 77 popped several blisters in my feet. I realized I was going to have to get taped up before heading out for the final 20.5.

As we pulled into the start/finish area at 79.5 I hobbled over to the medical tent.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” I tried to sound chipper, “I just need some tape on my feet.”

“Where,” they asked.

“Uh, I think everywhere.”

When they took off my shoes and socks, the look on the medics face did not provide me with a lot of comfort.

“Uh, you’re a mess.”

No Shit! I thought. “Can you make it better?”

“We’ll see what we can do.” And so they taped up my toes, the balls of my feet and my heels.

getting taped up at 79.5 – just 20.5 to go.

I was hoping the tape job would hold, at least for a while. Less than a mile into the big (and final) loop, I felt the tape just rip away as we made our way through the mud.

The miles were coming much more slowly now. Part of it was fatigue, part of it was the heat. We would run for 40 minutes and I would look down at my watch and realize that only 10 minutes had passed. It now became a game of simply getting to the next Aid Station. Spread out about 5 miles apart as they were made for long stretches. At some points the mud was so bad and my shin was barking so loudly that I had no choice but to walk slowly. The pain and lack of sleep were starting to catch up to me, but Maddy kept me moving.Maddy had originally thought we could maybe make in by 9PM – that would have been 26 hours total, but when it took 3 hours to get from 75 to 85, reality began to set in. Physically I was crumbling. I wasn’t even thinking about the finish or the belt buckle at this point, I was simply thinking “next Aid Station”. If I could get to the next Aid Station then maybe I could get myself to try for the next one and then the next one.

As we left 85, Maddy point out this sign

I tried to smile…how was I doing?

At some point around this time we picked up another runner, Marcus. We very slowly picked up the pace and for about a 20 minute stretch, all the pain and doubt was gone. We were trucking along at what felt like 10 minute pace or better. We were just trying to get to the Aid Station at Mile 95 and every time we thought the next turn would bring us to the stretch that would take us there, it wouldn’t. Finally the burst of energy left us and we were once again trudging along at a pace a toddler could pass. My shin and knee were killing me, especially going downhill. Every time I would build some momentum and a decent clip, the path would turn ever so slightly downhill and I would not be able to maintain my balance without slowing down to a walk. It felt so strange to be running up hill and walking down.

MILE 95

It had taken up 3 hours to go 10 miles. All that was left was a small 2-mile loop back to this Aid Station and then 3 miles back to the start. With five miles to go, there was no way we were getting back before the sun went down completely.

“Pretty nice to have a friend pacing you,” said one of the volunteers.

“Yeah,” I said rubbing my shin, “and I will never return the favor.” Everyone laughed but I felt the need to clarify. “She’s too fast. I would be doing her a favor by NOT pacing her.”

***

My shin was raging. I hesitantly went over to the doctor at the Aid Station.

“Wait,” I stopped, “you’re not gonna pull me, are you?”

The doctor looked at me, head slightly tilted like a golden retriever trying to understand its owner.

“What?”

“I said you’re not gonna pull me if I show you where it hurts, right?” I had come 95 miles and unless it was broken, I was NOT going to get pulled because of the pain in my shin.

“With 5 miles to go? No, I will not pull you” I breathed a sigh of relief. After examining my shin the doctor pronounced that the extra stress of running through the mud had in all likelihood stretched out my tendon, but based on what he had felt he was sure that I hadn’t broken anything.

Another sigh of relief, a few orange slices and a filled water bottle later, I was ready to go.

***

As I headed out from Mile 95, things got a little weird. 200 yards in I suddenly got cold. Not “oh gee the temperature dropped” kind of cold, but rather “oh gee MY temperature just dropped” kind of cold. I panicked. I had just convinced the medical staff not to pull me and here I was possibly in for a complete physcial breakdown.

“Maddy, I’m cold,” I shouted as I walked along.

“It’s okay,” she yelled back, “you’re not going fast enough. Pick up the pace.”

Easy for her to say I thought, but that is just what I did, and I started to warm up a bit, but I was dreading the water hazards ahead.

this is what we faced throughout the 100 miles…

I’m not sure if it was my preoccupation with the water and mud that I would face over the next two miles or the chill or the exhaustion or a combination of all three but as I looked down on the ground, attempting to avoid slamming my poor toes into any more rocks or roots, I began to see faces. Yes, faces. They looked like faces drawn by Vincent van Gogh with chalk. Every few feet I would pass another and another and another. It didn’t help that about a half mile in we ran by a pentagram that had been painted onto the ground. I became convinced that these faces have been put there by the local residents to freak runners like me out; that is until I paused to take a closer look at one of the faces and it disappeared, becoming a leaf. I guess almost 27 straight hours of running will do that to a person. I decided to keep this particular incident to myself for fear that Maddy would have me checked into the madhouse.

As we pulled in to Mile 97, I had the common sense to request a blanket which I would run the last three miles with to keep warm.

***

At this point I texted Jess – 3 miles to go. May take me over an hour since I am only able to shuffle. We had three hours to make the cut off. Going into this last 25 mile loop I had told myself that if I reached 97 with an hour to spare I would be completely confident in finishing. I have to admit, even with three hours to make it to the finish line, I did not truly “know” if I was going to make. I thought I would, but I just didn’t “know”.

The final 3 miles put up a fight. The TARC 100 wasn’t going to make it easy for me. At this point, over 100 of the 170+ runners who had started the race had dropped out. The course wanted one more and it was doing it’s best to slow me down. Over the last 2 miles the mud got worse, forming running rivers of mud/water that flowed against me. I no longer had the strength or brain power to try to pick my way around and simply trudged through. At one point I realized that I was stuck. If I pulled too hard, I would lose my shoe and quite frankly, I wasn’t sure if I had the strength or where with all to put it back on if the shoe came off. I tried positioning my foot to keep the shoe in place as I lifted but the pain in my shin was overwhelming. I put my foot back down. I was not going to go out like this, stuck with 2 miles to go.

I paused, took a deep breath and tried again. This time the shoe and foot came free.

Maddy was up ahead, encouraging me along, reminding me that my belt buckle was waiting for me not even a mile away, but mentally I was at that point where I really wasn’t hearing anything. I had to get through the mud before I would let myself think of the finish.

I looked at my watch. We were closing in fast on 11PM. I had spent nearly 28 hours relentlessly moving forward.

“I don’t know if we’re gonna make 11,” I said.

“Maybe,” was Maddy’s reply. We hadn’t made sub-24, sub-26 or even sub-27 hours. Somewhere in my fried brain I knew that the mud had not only slowed me down, but had caused enough pain in my legs to slow me even further. I knew that today was just a matter of finishing, not finishing for time, but somewhere in my scrambled mind I knew I wanted to come in under 28 hours. On my next step the mud cleared and I came out of the woods into the final third of a mile. I tried running, but my legs weren’t responding. I swung my arms to try to build momentum. My legs followed.

I passed the tent where Martha’s friends and family had been, but they were long gone.

Slowly my legs started to move in a way that resembled running.

Less than a quarter mile to go and we re-entered the trees for a slight downhill stretch that was beyond painful.

200 yards to go and out of the trees and into the parking lot where the start/finish was I threw my blanket to Maddy. The crowd at the finish could see my headlamp and began hooting and hollering. Nearly 28 hours later and these people were still cheering like they were watching the winners come in. I picked up the pace and began hooting myself. I was going to finish! I was about to finish this 100- mile journey that Doug, JB and I had started!!!

Coming into the last 20 yards I thought of my friend Rebecca who ends a lot of her marathons with a jump and a heel tap. With a sudden burst of energy I ran across the finish line at took to the air. I just wish someone there had taken a picture.

I looked at the clock.

27:57:35.

I had done it. And with that exhaustion took over. A volunteer took me over to a seat and wrapped me in a blanket. The race director brought over a bucket of hot water, took off my shoes and socks and began to gently wash my feet. I was struck by the tenderness that these people treated their runners. Maddy checked in to see if there was anything I needed. I really couldn’t think straight other than to say that I thought I would need to sleep a few hours in my car despite being in desperate need of a shower. God bless her because she took my car keys and ran the nearly half mile back to my car to bring it to the start/finish. She then packed up all of my gear in the car, even offering to drive me home. I thanked her (profusely I hope) and said that I would sleep for a few hours before heading back.

I crawled into the backseat and tried to think over the events of the past day, but passed out almost immediately. I awoke a few hours later to the sound of someone’s car alarm going off. I looked at my watch. 4:30AM. Good enough I thought, climbing into the front seat.

On the way home I thought about the past day, of all the runners I had met and chatted with along the course, of Erica and Maddy, of Doug and JB.

Because of Mophie, I was able to post this.

that’s right, 104 miles!!!

I would end up wearing that belt buckle for a week straight…it didn’t matter what I was wearing.

struggling to stay upright on Sunday

Over a week later I still haven’t washed off my shoes…I’m wondering if I should just retire them.

and these are relatively clean compared to how they looked during the race….

On Monday I would pass this at my younger daughter’s school and have a mild PTSD moment.

Gah! Mud!!!

***

So what did I learn over the course of 100 miles? What deep life lesson did I take away from it all? Honestly, I’m not sure yet. Over a week later I am still processing the whole thing. What I can tell you is that the human spirit is strong; that our bodies are capable of more than we believe; and that with a little luck and determination, if you set your mind to something and relentlessly move forward, reaching your goal is inevitable.

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All Good Things…

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged #autismstreaks, running, running streak' on June 19, 2013| 6 Comments »

*I am still processing the events of last weekend. I haven’t been able to put my thoughts about that on to paper yet.

***

I ran through colds and tendinitis. I ran through metatarsalgia and plantar fasciitis. I ran through Blizzards (Nemo) and knee deep mud pits. It has been a good 168 days, covering 958 miles. During those 958 miles I raced a 5K, a 5 miler and a 100-miler. I ran fast (in the 6’s) and slow (in the 16’s). All along you have been with me, supporting me, pushing me, giving back to me much more than I gave. I want to thank you for all of the love you have shown me and #AutismStreaks over the first 168 days of the year.

As Chaucer said so many centuries ago, “All good things must come to an end.” Unfortunately, the beating I took over the weekend was simply too much for me to continue my daily miles, even at walking pace. I will write in more detail in my race recap, but the mud was ultimately too much for my shin muscle. Two days after completing 100 miles in just under 28 hours, my leg just could not take the repetitive impact of covering a mile without swelling up like an overstuffed sausage. I am heartened however to know that there are others who will carry on based in part because of what they saw here and on my Facebook Page.

•My friend Diana just hit Day 80 of HER #AutismStreaks.

•My friend Lisa could not walk up a flight of stairs at the beginning of my streak without losing her breath. In her words, she now runs 2 -3 miles like it was second nature.

•My friend Shannon is running a mile a day in part because of #AutismStreaks.

Every day I get to see the both Diana and Lisa’s Charity Miles posts and it makes me smile.

I am sad despite knowing I am doing the right thing; and I know that ending this streak simply means I am taking a break. I will be back once I have healed, maybe even to start another streak.

In the meantime, keep running and as my friend Jack said to me last night when he saw my post ending my #AutismStreaks, “It’s Miller Time.”

See you on the roads and trails,

Luau

***

Some of my favorite moments from #AutismStreaks…

Day 34 – Super Sunday 5

Day 40 – 5 Snowmageddon Miles

With Julie C. - she did an amazing job directing her first race! AND it was for a good cause - raising funds for the Nashoba Learning Group (click this picture to learn more about NLG)

With Julie C. – Day 65 at the Leprechaun 5K

Day 100

Night after the Boston Marathon Bombings

Day 166 – 100 miles – done!

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The Distance

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged 100 miles, 100-miler, palm beach, running, TARC 100, ultra running, west palm beach, what is wrong with this picture on June 14, 2013| 4 Comments »

Boston to Portland, ME – 98 miles.

New York City to Philadelphia – 83 miles.

Washington DC to Richmond, VA – 100 miles

Miami to West Palm Beach – 67 miles.

San Francisco to Carmel – 91 miles

Los Angeles to Idyllwild – 100 miles

Weston, MA to Weston, MA – 100 miles

What is wrong with this picture???

The butterflies kicked in this morning big time! I had been pretty calm up until just after breakfast this morning and suddenly, FLUTTER FLUTTER!

Here’s a video preview of the race. See you on the other side of 100!

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Follow me…

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Autism Speaks, boston 13.1, Charity Miles, mophie, running, TARC 100, Team Up! with Autism Speaks, ultra marathon on June 13, 2013| 5 Comments »

Some of you have asked if it is possible to follow my progress during the TARC 100 this weekend. I didn’t think so and had planned on tweeting my progress live (@luau), but it turns out that yes, yes you can.

If you go to:

http:ultralive.com/tarc100

you will arrive at this page:

Just type in “Luau Wilson” at the top right where it says runner, this page will pop up:

from there you can follow along as I attempt to cover 100 miles in less than 30 hours. Keep in mind that the first 50 miles or so will be run through the night…perfect for you night owls and insomniacs. Another thing to keep in mind is that we won’t be running quickly. Although my peak marathon pace is in the mid- to low-7’s, JB, UltraDoug and I are planning on running the TARC no faster than 12 minutes per mile…and even THAT will be considered fast considering the distance.

***

On a separate note, after I wrote this:

many of you asked if there was a way you could sponsor me. The direct answer is no. I have not been actively fund raising for this race – however, if you feel compelled to sponsor me in this race indirectly or just want to help a crazy man out, I just registered for Boston 13.1 with Team Up with Autism Speaks. So if you still would like to sponsor me for this run, how about a pledge per mile that you can then donate to that run? You can write your pledge in the comments below and then calculate what you would donate based on the miles I cover (which of course is hopefully 100 – a 25¢ per mile pledge would max out at $25). The link is:

http://events.autismspeaks.org/boston13.1marathon/runluaurun

This will bring you to my fund raising page for Boston 13.1 which takes place September 15. I would love to have your donations for that race, but I would be even MORE excited if you joined me.

***

One day to go! So excited! Just have to fight off whatever this sore throat/headache-y thing Katie and I have going on these last few days. I will still tweet from the race, but now that there is a live progress feed, I will probably do less to conserve battery power.

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Sweat and Panic

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged 100-miler, dehydration, endurance runners, Hydration, running, sweat, sweat test, tarc, TARC 100, water and electrolytes on June 3, 2013| 2 Comments »

So the TARC 100 is now 11 days away. This past Saturday, with my very first 100-miler rapidly approaching, I figured I should collect some data as I tried to get my logistics in order. One of the aspects of running that we as endurance runners can control to some degree is our hydration level. Hydration is one of the factors that can determine whether you can actually even finish a race. Dehydration can lead to a breakdown in your ability to run and in extreme cases shut you down completely. What many of us often forget is that over-hydration can have just as devastating of an effect on our bodies and our ability to continue as dehydration. So how does one determine how much water and electrolytes to take in?

Well, you have to have data, and one of the easiest ways to determine how much water you are losing while running is to take a sweat test. Before going out for a 60 to 90 minutes run, you strip down to nothing and weigh yourself. Then while on your run you do not take in anything – no hydration, no food, nothing. Upon returning home or to the gym, you once again strip down to nothing and hop on the scale. Subtracting your post-run weight from your pre-run weight tells you just how much water you have lost with each pound representing approximately 16 ounces of water. You then divide the number of ounces by the minutes you ran and then multiply by 60 and that is your hourly sweat rate in ounces per hour.

And that is what I did – I ran 7 miles in 59.7 minutes outdoors in the heat.

My pre-run weight was 176.8 pounds.

My post-run weight was 172.6 pounds.

I did the math. I checked it twice.

And then I panicked.

Just under 68 ounces of water per hour.

Granted I was running about 3 1/2 minutes per mile faster than I plan to at the TARC 100; granted it was 91° outside; but 68 ounces per hour??? That’s over a 1/2 gallon of water I am sweating out! That was nearly 2.4% of my body weight in an hour. Race officials don’t like that.

Now obviously I will not be running the TARC 100 without hydration, however, from what I understand, it is difficult for our bodies to comfortably consume more than about 28 ounces of liquid per hour. That leaves me with a 40 ounce hourly deficit. Multiply that by the 24 hours I hope to complete the race in and you get a 960 ounce deficit, better known as 60 pounds.

60 POUNDS???

Obviously I can’t lose 60 pounds in a race, but the numbers do have me concerned when it comes to my ability to replace what is lost over the course of 100 miles.

If any of my ultra-running friends (Steve? Maddy? Goji? Jeremy D? et al) have any words of advice or wisdom, I would greatly appreciate them right about now, because I am sitting here sweating…sweating because I’m in a panic about sweating too much!

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In Search Of…Bonbels

Posted in Uncategorized on May 31, 2013| 15 Comments »

Brooke loves cheese.

Actually, scratch that. Brooke loves a particular cheese – the Babybel Bonbels, or better known in our house as the Yellow Circle Cheese.

Most days she would be happy eating three or four of those little circles with every meal.

But it has to be the Yellow Wrapped ones…not the red or the orange or the green or the white. My palate really isn’t refined enough to tell a huge difference between the various Babybels, but to Brooke those differences make the difference between edible and non-edible.

So it was to my great dismay about a year ago when my local grocery store stopped carrying the Yellow Wrapped Circle Cheeses. Fortunately, I was able to find another store that carried them. I would make a special trip once every three weeks or so and buy out their supply of the precious yellow rounds.

And then one day, they were gone.

I began to spread my net in search of the suddenly rare cheese, but to no avail. After several weeks, I gave up. To be honest, Brooke wasn’t asking for them, so I decided not to pursue my search. Maybe it was a winter thing, I don’t know, but as winter turned to spring, Brooke again began asking.

Finally, earlier this week, while she and I were at Whole Foods looking for a special cheese for Jess, Brooke asked the cheese lady if they had any Yellow Circle Cheese. She seemed a little confused so I jumped in to interpret.

We were looking for the Babybel Bonbels, I explained. She offered up the other colors, to which Brooke gave the stink eye – gross!

The cheese lady laughed and said she would be happy to order some – come back Friday, she said. Brooke looked at me and said, “we will come back Friday.” I made a mental note and moved on, delighted that finally someone was taking my plight seriously.

Last night one of the last things Brooke said was, “I can’t wait for the cheese tomorrow.” This morning while coming down for breakfast she said, “We have to go to the market after school. They said they will have the yellow circle cheese.”

This morning, after running a couple of errands, I went to Whole Foods. I don’t normally shop there, but obviously they had an important package for me. I paused at the entrance wondering if I should grab a basket, but decided I could easily carry all the Yellow Circle Cheeses out in my arms. I headed straight for the Cheese Department with anticipation on my face.

As soon as I found the Circle Cheese section, my face fell. No Yellow Nuggets of Wonder. Maybe they hadn’t been delivered yet, I thought. Maybe they were keeping them safe for my Brooke so no one else could take them.

I spotted the cheese lady, who looked at me with mild recognition. I asked about the Yellow Cheese. She hesitated. They should be out there she said. I pointed out they were not. She said they had ordered all flavors and had put out everything that had arrived.

My shoulders slumped. What am I going to tell my autistic daughter, I asked aloud. The poor cheese lady, seeing the defeated look in my eyes could offer nothing. I didn’t blame her, but I was so damned mad.

I went home and took to the Internet, looking to see if anyone in a 20 mile radius carried these damned things. I left Babybel a message, I even called their media department. Their online folks were kind enough to respond but ultimately just directed me back to their website, which consequently was of very little use.

I looked at my watch – almost 3:00 – time to face the music. I knew the question was coming. After a quick chat with Brooke’s aide, I told her we needed to get ready for yoga.

“Wait,” she said, “we need to go to the market first. They said they would have the cheeses!” I nearly cried trying to explain to her what had happened. She was disappointed but kept it together.

Walking back to our car, I got a notification on Facebook. My best friend’s mother had called seven grocery stores in search of the cheese to no avail. A friend from Miami sent a picture of the Yellow Cheese at her market that she just happened to be walking by as she was scrolling through her feed. Another Facebook friend in Chicago had seen them there. My best friend even offered to FedEx them from Houston.

All very sweet, but what it all ultimately tells me is that they still make the Bonbels, they simply aren’t delivering them to my neck of the woods!

I’m not sure where I’m going with this other than to maybe ask you to help me convince Babybel and the Laughing Cow that there is a market for their little yellow jewels of deliciousness here in Boston; that there is one little autistic girl who would absolutely love it if they started delivering the Bonbels to the area again. I mean, they already send every other flavor up here already. It can’t be hard to add the Bonbels, right?