Good Earth tea bag quote of the day: "Always bear in mind that your resolution to succeed is more important than any one thing." - Abraham Lincoln.

No kidding, that was on today's tea bag. Combined with the William James quote I had after a hard workout last week, I've had this crazy tea bag karma over the past couple of weeks - I'm like the Earl Hickey of tea drinkers.

As I've been reading people's resolutions this week, I think Lincoln's point is valid: It doesn't really matter what your goal for 2006 is. All that matters is that you are determined to succeed in reaching it. If you are determined enough, you'll make the appropriate changes in your life and/or training to progress toward that goal.

If you want to, you can use the old goal as a stepping stone to something even grander in the years to follow. As long as you have strong mental resolve, your chances of finding success are overwhelmingly positive.

So good luck to everybody in reaching their goals for 2006. I'll look forward to hearing about your progress.

On a completely unrelated topic, my wife and I have a tradition that dates back to before we were married, of doing a puzzle together on New Year's Eve. We used to do easy puzzles that we would finish in one night, but in recent years we have chosen increasingly challenging puzzles that have and taken us longer than a single night - either that or we're steadily becoming dumber on an annual basis.

Anyway, we spent about five hours on this one last night, and we're probably only 15% done. I'll post another picture as we get closer to finishing - but you can already tell the image, can't you?

Enough for now. Time to get back to the puzzle.

Just a quick observation for a Friday...

I was in the employee gym today on my way to shower after running at my lunch hour. In the gym were two very overweight ladies - one waking on a treadmill and another making slow circles on the elliptical trainer.

We have 3 TVs in the gym, two of them were on, and both were tuned in to the Food Network. On the screen was a woman making a chocolate souffle, talking in endearing terms about the richness of the ingredients, and what a mouthwatering delight the finished product would be.

Now, I'm all for these ladies trying to exercise and lose a little weight (two days before New Year's, even!). But as I glanced back and forth between the ladies and the TV screens, the air of helplessness in the room was almost palpable. Their faces looked miserable.

I peered over their exercise machines. The timers had been running less than 10 minutes.

I wanted to ask...why were they doing this to themselves? Not the exercise part, but watching a dessert chef on TV while they were doing it. Isn't this like a gambling addict watching the World Series of Poker, or a group of monks watching the Playboy Channel? Why were they tempting themselves in such a fashion, when there are almost 60 other channels to choose from? Why purposely stack the deck against themselves?

Honestly, I wish them well, but I just can't imagine how this undertaking of theirs is going to succeed. Then again, maybe they'll surprise me.

Maybe I'll see them in the gym again next week, and I can encourage them more than I did today.

At the very least, I can recommend a different channel for them to watch.

Yesterday brought another winter storm, very dark and blustery and wet all morning long. I went running in the storm at lunch time, then took my workout bag downstairs to our employee gym for a shower.

One of our security guards was lifting weights in the gym. He's very muscular, with a shaved head, goatee, and a general "tough guy" look to him -basically, exactly what you want a security guard to look like.

So as I entered the room soaking wet in my running clothes, muddy to the knees, and shivering slightly, it prompted the following exchange:

Him: Were you out there running?

Me: Uh-huh.

Him: It's still raining, right?

Me: Yup.

Him: And still windy?

Me: Yeah. Blowin' pretty hard.

Him: (long pause) Damn, dude...

Me: I'm tough too, bro.

And with that, I ducked into the locker room.

(I've gotta say, I just never get tired of exchanges like this...)

I'm back from my brief blogging hibernation. Hope everyone is having a nice holiday season so far. I got the trail shoes my daughter asked Santa for (see previous post) - Montrail Diez Vistas. Took 'em out for a muddy Garland Ranch run on Monday and they felt right at home.

Did you see who Time magazine named a Person of the Year? Bono! Have I mentioned before that I really admire Bono's humanitarian work? Or that I've grown up loving his band? What a great choice. It probably means way more to him than another Grammy would. Not the honor itself, but the exposure it generates for his causes.

So way to go, Bono. Very well-deserved.

(Oh, and congrats to Bill and Melinda Gates, also.)

I can't remember where - I want to credit Pete Pfitzinger of Running Times magazine, although I'm not positive - but a couple of years ago I read an article recommending that on a regular basis, you should do a consistent speed workout thst you hate.

Such workouts are good for two reasons: they are extremely demanding (the reason you hate them), and they help build mental toughness to help you overcome larger psychological obstacles as race day approaches, and during the race itself.

The speed workout I fear the most has always been the long time trial. Sometimes I do a 10K on the track, monitoring my heart rate and running just one notch below race effort. More often, though, I do a 4.1-mile time trial on a gently rolling stretch of road near my house.

When I'm in shape, I fear this run because it hurts like hell, and if I finish a few seconds slower than usual, I start obsessing about where my training is going wrong.

When I'm out of shape, I fear this run because it hurts like hell, and my slower times are a sobering reminder of how much work I have ahead of me to return to form.

During my marathon buildup, this run is a weekly staple. Lately, though, I've had a hard time dragging myself out of bed on the mornings when a time trial was on the schedule.

My fitness currently is middling somewhere between "marathon shape" and "lazy slob", so I've had no expectations about reaching a particluar time for these time trials yet. The only part I know for certain when I head out the door is that it will probably hurt like hell.

This morning's run was no different than previous time trials: apprehension during the first mile, anxiety during the second, weary tenacity during the third, and a determined race effort during the final mile. I crossed the line in 25 minutes, 53 seconds.

When I'm in good form, I'll dip into the high-24s for this run, so I'm far from being race-ready. But last week I ran 26:08, and the trial before that was in the mid-26s. One month ago I was over 27 minutes.

So I'm getting faster. Maybe there's something to this "doing things you hate" idea after all.

To hammer the message home, when I got to work I sat down with my customary cup of green tea. The Good Earth company places famous quotes on its tea bags, and this morning my quote was from American psychologist and philosopher William James: "Do something every day for no other reason than you would rather not do it."

I'm familiar with the quote, and the rest of it reads, "so that when the hour of dire need draws nigh, it may find you not unnerved and untrained to stand the test."

That was today's "wow" moment. It's almost like James was a marathoner or a coach in his spare time. He identified one of the primary tenets of sports psychology more almost a hundred years before such a field even existed, and more than a century before I began laboring with the misery of these darn speed workouts.

I know that I need to keep doing the time trials. I've always known that liking the workout is not a prerequisite. And now I know that because I still hate the workout, it actually benefits me more than if I enjoyed it.

William James would be proud of me today.

Monday morning started with an 8-mile trail run through Garland Ranch (my sanctuary). I began in the dark, and stayed on fire roads for the first couple of miles, climbing to a high meadow area.

Reaching the meadow, the sky was becoming gray, but the horned owls hadn't gone into seclusion yet, for I heard their constant hooting as I floated through the vanishing early morning darkness.

We had a major (by California standards) storm the day before, making the trails muddy, the fallen leaves thick underfoot, and the stream crossings a bit more treacherous due to high water. Most of the usual critters hadn't ventured out to their normal stomping areas, and I was struck by the unusual quietude of the surroundings.

When I finally emerged from the woods, it was like stepping out of some Narnia-like setting and back into the real world. The kids were just waking up as I arrived home, still wearing their pajamas and reveling in the first day of winter vacation.

In the afternoon our family went to Monterey On Ice, a small outdoor skating rink set up for the holiday season, and laced our kids up in skates for the first time ever.

We inched our way along the outer walls of the rink for almost two hours as our kids gradually got the hang of things. Glancing around the ice, it looked as close to a winter wonderland as we'll probably ever get in Monterey County.

Kids learning to skate. Couples wearing winter coats and holding gloved hands. Spectators drinking hot chocolate at the side of the rink. Christmas trees and decorations around the perimeter, with carols playing over the loudspeaker all the while.

Sure, I know it's not Rockefeller Center, but here's the thing: in how many towns can you go on a secluded trail run in the morning, take the family ice skating outdoors in the afternoon, and comfortably walk around without a jacket for the rest of the day? Sometimes I can't believe how grateful I am to live here.

Plus, I like my winter in very small doses. Our family left the ice behind and walked back through the grass under the tall oak trees of the Monterey Fairgrounds, soaking in the sunlight of another 60-degree afternoon.

Just another day of Christmas season in California. Ho Ho Ho.

Wow, I've been tagged twice in three days - apparently these things traverse the blogosphere like a virus in the winter. This time the challenge is from Karen to pick one word to describe my 2006 training season and/or goals.

I haven't pondered my schedule in great detail yet, except for a couple of perennial favorites: the Big Sur Marathon, and the Dipsea Race in Marin County. But I do have an idea of how I want the year to play out.

I want to run a fast marathon again. For me, that means sub-three hours. I've done it a handful of times, but not for a couple of years now because I had different goals. In 2004 my main goal was to run a sub-five-minute mile, and in 2005 I was focused on the Pikes Peak Marathon and then with running my first ultra. I really had no fire in me to also pursue marathon PRs.

So 2006 is marathon year. And I'd love to run sub-three again. Especially at Big Sur.

Yet I can never tear myself fully away from running the trails. In June I'll do my 9th Dipsea Race, which is simply the most fun and most intense trail race anywhere. The race brings out this wild side of me that is normally kept under wraps. I don't ever want to let that wildness slip away completely.

And then I have this thing about triathlons. Here's my deal: I've always known that running is my true love. It's uplifting, comfortable, reliable, beautiful, and brings out the best parts of me. It's always available when I need it, and able to provide almost anything I ask of it. I hope to dedicate my whole life to it.

But triathlon is like this totally hot, youthful, passionate mistress that I just can't get out of my head, and can't resist chasing every couple of years. It would never work out for me if I tried a long-term commitment with the sport, but there's nothing more exciting to me during the brief periods that I embrace it.

My last triathlon was in 2004, so I'm getting the itch again to do a tri in September 2006, either in Pacific Grove (Olympic) or Santa Cruz (Half-IM).

That's the year in a nutshell. As for the right word, I thought of this:

Have you ever watched football or basketball on TV, when one team scores an impressive victory, or another team pulls off a major upset? Announcers often call such events "statement" games, meaning, the team's performance announced what kind of team it really is, and what it is capable of when running on all cylinders.

So that's my word - statement. The events I'm entering each reflect a different aspect of me, but when considered together, they describe the person I aspire to be. And hopefully the results will accurately show what I'm capable of.

I want this to be a "statement" year. A fast marathon, a hardcore trail race, and a triathlon. This is who I am. This is how I roll.

My first version of this article was written a few years ago, and I’ve published slightly different versions of it over the past two years. I think the message is appropriate for the Christmas season, and I’d like to re-tell it here.

"Simple Gifts"

One of my great frustrations about being a marathon runner is the rate at which I need to buy shoes.

Good shoes last about 400 miles before needing replacement, and for most recreational runners this life span usually works out to about two or three pairs per year.

Marathon runners, however, are a different breed. Many of us typically run more than 75 miles per week, and it’s not uncommon to buy several pairs every year. This is by far the most cost-prohibitive aspect of running.

So it’s not surprising that every time I’m at the shoe store shelling out for yet another pair, I think about one of my favorite runners of all time, Ethiopian Abebe Bikila, and consider how much money I could save by emulating him.

Bikila’s story is legendary among marathoners. He was one of the greatest marathoners in history, and his Olympic triumphs foreshadowed the domination of distance running by East African nations that has lasted over 40 years.

Prior to his competitive running career he served as an imperial bodyguard for Emperor Haile Selassie. He had only run two previous marathons before lining up at the starting line of the 1960 Rome Olympics in nothing more than a pair of shorts and a singlet- he chose to race barefoot, as he did in his youth (typical of many East African children), and as was his custom while training in the hilly farmlands of his home country.

He is best remembered as the solitary figure pulling away from the pack as darkness fell, traversing the torch-lit cobblestone streets on his approach to the stadium, winning the Olympic marathon while running barefoot. There is no better personification of everything that is simple, noble, and inspirational about running.

Bikila found more success in the years that followed, and in 1964, became the first person to win back-to-back Olympic marathon gold medals (although this time, he wore shoes).

Unfortunately, his triumphs couldn’t protect him from heartache and tragedy, in both his running and his life. He dropped out of the 1968 Olympic marathon due to an injury. About a year later he was involved in a car accident that left him paralyzed and no longer able to run through the fields he loved as a child.

In 1973, he died from a brain hemorrhage at the age of 41.

This is the season when people get caught up in having more “stuff” that ostensibly makes us happier. Runners are just like everybody else in this regard.

We talk about all sorts of gadgets and methods that are certain to improve our performance: the latest supplements, the best heart-rate monitors, computer software to analyze our training programs, the most blister-proof socks or the most effective moisture-wicking clothes.

This is in addition to all of the technological advances that are found in our once-basic pair of running shoes.

Yet one of the most beautiful aspects of running is its simplicity. Unfortunately, its beauty can easily be overshadowed by materialism if we’re not careful. When we are too focused on our shoes and gadgets and gizmos, we lose sight of the greater benefit.

An old Shaker hymn says, “It’s a gift to be simple, it’s a gift to be free.” The most basic kind of simplicity and freedom is readily seen in children. We’ve all observed kids at play, and marveled at their inherent love of activity, and the pure gratification of movement.

East African children are just like American kids in this regard, yet many of them – like Bikila - are able to retain this perspective into their adulthood. In western society, many of us seem to lose our youthful enthusiasm and simple delights as we grow up.

Thankfully, running provides an opportunity to experience those emotions anytime we like. The trick is learning not to dwell on the superficial things that we think will help us run better or faster.

I like to remind myself that Abebe Bikila trained without a watch, did long runs without drinking Gatorade, and won the Olympic marathon without shoes. I like to watch my own children run around without inhibition, delighting in their bodies and the basic abilities with which they were blessed.

I’m not advocating that we all start running barefoot, but we should rediscover such simple gifts in other ways.

Leave your watch at home sometimes when you run. Savor the child-like joy of moving across the earth under your own power. Run barefoot in the grass. Stop and look at the view at the top of a hill, or gaze at the water in the stream you are crossing.

Seek out your own valley of love and delight. Be thankful for your ability to run, and take pleasure in the fact that you are able to do it. Enjoy every mile of the journey, because we never know when we may be in the homestretch.

Really, these should be the easy things to do. You don’t even need a pair of shoes.

I was tagged by Anne to reveal five random facts about myself. This is the 21st century version of those old chain letters, right? I'm fearful that something horrible will happen to me or my family if I don't comply.

So in the interest of self-preservation, here are five random things about me you didn't already know:

1) I wore Forrest Gump-style leg braces when I was a little kid, because my legs were severely inwardly rotated. I'm pretty much OK now, but to this day I still can't touch the backs of my heels together.

2) The first music I ever bought with my own money was "Synchronicity" by the Police on cassette tape.

3) I think I have a crush on Anne-Sophie Mutter, but I'll probably never act on it.

4) At first I found Elmo completely annoying, but now I can't imagine Sesame Street without him.

5) My favorite Christmas CDs are Go Tell It On the Mountain by the Blind Boys of Alabama, and Bluegrass and White Snow by Patty Loveless. A Charlie Brown Christmas is a close third.

OK, there's my list. Now go and check out these blogs I like. I don't know if they'll play along with the tagging game, but they're all worth a few minutes of your net surfing time:

1) Rob the Runner - a Washington trail ultrarunner and marathoner who is recovering from an injury and already has a busy 2006 race calendar.

2) The Thinking Runner - who is, along with me, one of a dying breed: a passionate fan and student of the sport of running. He has an awesome video library of classic track races.

3) Oldman - a triathlete in Florida who also happens to be a cancer survivor.

4) Kim - a 30-something mom, aspiring marathoner, and fellow Californian who tries to balance her training with the rest of her hectic life. Can anyone relate to that?

5) Stronger - a young Colorado triathlete who writes beautifully and has already overcome more than her share of difficulty in life. Reading her candid writings, there have been times when I've wanted to reach through the computer and give her a hug.

Go give them a visit. Tell them I sent you.

And thanks for letting me play.

I've written before about "the loop", a 13-mile route through Steinbeck Country that is our running group's Tuesday morning staple. My friend Mike has ben running it consistently for over 15 years, and I've been running it for almost 10 years. Our latest Monterey Herald article looks at how some things around Mike have changed in that period of time, while others haven't. Link to the article here.

Since I declared marathon training officially on, I figured I had better drag my tail out and try a long run this weekend.

I started my 20-miler in Carmel-by-the-Sea, and here are some of the areas I ran past or through: Carmel Beach, Carmel Mission, the Pebble Beach golf links on Stillwater Cove, mansions and cypress forests along 17-Mile Drive in Pebble Beach, and about 4 miles of the most beautiful rocky coastline anywhere in America.

It was a crystal-clear morning, temps in the high 40s on their way to the 70s by the afternoon. For whatever reason, I spent a lot of time thinking about the snowstorm on the East Coast, and the frigid temperatures across the rest of the country.

I know Thanksgiving has passed, but, I mean...I just couldn't have ordered it any better than the day we were blessed with today.

The run was pretty much what I expected: comfortable through about 13-14, then I worked too hard to keep a steady pace during miles 15 and 16, and struggled dearly through the last 3 miles. But it was 20 miles, and I'll take it.

Later in the morning we attended Santa's Fly-In at the old Carmel Valley Airstrip. The field is in disrepair and has been closed to aircraft for a few years now, but every year the Community Center arranges for Santa to fly into the airport in a helicopter, with a Christmas parade through Carmel Valley Village afterward.

It's totally small-town America, and totally charming. Families turn out in droves, and somehow it feels like Christmas despite the 70-degree temps.

I drove a truck in the parade, and my son rode in the back, waving to his classmates. My daughters watched with their mom from the road and collected pocketfuls of candy.

So, to recap: a solid long run, memorable family time, and a sunny December day in California. It really doesn't get much better than that.

Marathon season is on. Christmas season is on. God bless us every one.

Planned workout for this morning: 8 miles, with 4x 1-mile speed intervals.
Actual workout this morning: 4 miles easy, no intervals.

Planned workout for last Monday morning: 6 hilly miles through neighborhood.
Actual workout last Monday morning: none.

Planned workout for last Friday morning: 5 miles easy, followed by core work.
Actual workout last Friday: 10 minutes on rowing ergometer, 10 minutes of core work.

I could go further back, but the pattern is already evident. I've been terribly lethargic over the past few weeks, I've reduced or skipped at least two workouts per week, and I haven't done any running of higher intensity for almost a month.

For some reason, when the alarm goes off, I can't get myself out of bed. So 5:00 AM start times turn into 5:40 start times, 8 miles turns into 4, hard workouts turn into easy cruises.

I don't have winter weather to blame, for although it's been cold by our standards (low 30s in the mornings), it's nowhere what anyone would call real winter weather.

I'm really just battling Newton's first law: a body at rest tends to remain at rest.

After my ultramarathon in October, I took several weeks of very little exercising to let my body recover and to free myself mentally from the grind of one workout after another.

Now that I've been trying to train consistently again, I'm still battling the inertial effects of that layoff. I recognized what was happening, but it didn't bother me too much.

But this week I looked at the calendar, and noted there are only 20 weeks until the Big Sur Marathon, my favorite race of the year. That initially seems like a lot, but for me to go from minimal training to top form, that's cutting things pretty close.

So now the missed workouts and shortened runs are bothering me a little bit.

And maybe that's what I need. The second part of Newton's first law is a qualifying statement: unless acted upon by an unbalanced force. In this case, the unbalancing force is my own motivation. I've always been confident that when the need arises, my willpower can conquer my body's natural instincts to take the easy path.

I care now. The unbalancing force is back. It's time to get serious and overcome my physical inertia. Marathon training is on.

I never know what to do with space blankets.

I've always considered those blankets given to marathon finishers worthy of respect, similar to the deference some people have for marathon medals.

Plus, they were developed by NASA, so it just seems pretty cool to walk around for a while in something that astronauts use (I had this astronaut dream as a kid. At least, until I understood there was a lot of flying involved.)

My kids like playing with them, too. After most marathons, I'll bring the blanket home and toss it on the floor for them to use for a fort, or a blanket, or a tablecloth, whatever.

Unfortunately, they take up a lot of space, make a lot of noise, and become unsightly laying around the house for several days in a row. My wife and I reached an agreement that space blankets shall be kept for only one week after a race, then thrown away.

So I was surprised last month when she told me to keep the blanket from my last race, the Big Sur Half-Marathon. She had a plan in mind.

Every December our kids cut out paper snowflakes and we hang them from the ceiling, to create as wintery an atmosphere as possible in central California. This year, I folded the space blanket in half about 6 or 7 times, and cut out a circular shape. The kids then used the circular pieces to cut snowflakes to go alongside the paper ones.

And you know what? The space blanket snowflakes look pretty cool. They reflect bits of light around the room at times, almost like they are sparkling. They make a gentle rustling noise when the heater vents are open, which sounds like a winter's breeze without the chill.

If you look at them closely, you can see parts of the race logo on different flakes, just to remind us that this is definitely a runner's house.

A runner's house with a Christmas tree, cloth snowmen, and pretend snowflakes. For this California boy, that's as ideal as winter can get.

Actual conversation between me, my 7-year-old son, and my 4-year-old daughter this morning in my bathrom while I was shaving:

Daughter: Christmas is coming! I can't wait.

Me: I know, it will be great!

Son: We need to remember to leave some cookies and milk for Santa.

Daughter: And maybe some Gatorade.

Me: Yes, he has a long night of flying around. Gatorade might help him.

Son: No, it should be milk.

Daughter: We should leave a present for Santa, too! He might not get too many gifts.

Son: Good idea.

Me: I'll bet Santa could use a wrist-mounted GPS system, so he can tell how high he is flying, how far he has gone, and so that he doesn't get lost.

Daughter: (blank stare)

Son: Umm...no, Dad.

Me: He probably would like one, though.

Son: Whatever we give him, we should leave it in its original box. That way if he doesn't want it, he can just leave it at some other kid's house later on.

Daughter: Good idea. (To her brother) Want to watch Dora now?

Son: Sure. Bye, Dad.

Daughter: Bye, Dad.

So I probably won't be getting a GPS. On the plus side, I did a 90-minute trail run this morning without any real soreness from my nagging injuries. And it ws 32 degrees outside, making this the first day of hat-wearing in these parts. The days are finally getting colder.

And Christmas is coming. I can't wait.

It was pure coincidence that shortly after I wrote the Candy Land piece below, we bought a Dora the Explorer Christmas video for our kids.

Imagine my surprise, then, when one of the first previews on the DVD was for a Candy Land video, coming soon to a Target, Wal-Mart, Toys R Us, and every other mass-marketing outlet near you.

Actually, I wasn't surprised so much by the fact that there is a movie version in the works(I guess that was inevitable), but that there have been substantive changes to the Candy Land game we purchased just a few years ago. I Googled the Candy Land home page, and confirmed that indeed the characters have been modified.

For example, Queen Frostine on our board game has been demoted to Princess Frostine on the website. Our Princess Lolly is now identified simply as Lolly.

Well, what the heck happened in Candy Land to cause the stripping of these regal titles? Sometimes when a new CEO takes over a troubled company, there is a downsizing that results in widespread layoffs, pay cuts, and demotions - is that what happened here?

Was there a coup in Candy Land that somehow went unreported in the midst of another flare-up in our global war on terror? Because in our household, those are equally noteworthy developments. At the very least, it should warrant its own 60 Minutes piece.

If there was a takeover, the new Candy Master must also be somewhat sexist to demote the highest ranking female characters. Thankfully he didn't change Gramma Nutt into just Mother Nutt.

Most shockingly, Plumpy, the charatcer closest to the start, is nowhere to be seen. In his place now stands something called Mama Gingertree, who "gives you a great big welcome to your adventure." Huh? Where'd Plumpy go?

Now, there may be several explanations for this, but I'm afraid it's a case of political correctness run amok.

Have people become so sensitive that we can't have a character named "Plumpy" anymore? If so, is the opposite also true - would it be offensive to have a character named "Skinny"? What about sarcastic nicknames, like big guys named Tiny or scrawny guys nicknamed Muscles? Are any nicknames acceptable any more?

(Purely random tangent: One of my favorite relay team names at the Big Sur Marathon is the Fat White Kenyans. Now these guys could be accused of offending three groups of people simultaneously - but I don't think it has ever been taken that way.)

Not only that, but they kept the obese gumdrop character named Jolly. Now...isn't that the more offensive stereotype to perpetuate: the jolly fat man?

I thought it was great to have Plumpy at the start of the game. In addition to my whole "similar spacing as the marathon" concept, it's good for kids to have a few negative role models, also. The story on the game box says that all Plumpy does is eat candy - well, isn't that a good example for kids of what happens if you eat too much and don't exercise?

I mean, the game is called CANDY LAND!! Shouldn't there be some indication of what happens if you just sit around on your butt stuffing your face instead of going out on your great adventure?

OK, that's enough. I mean...it's a children's game. Maybe I'm reading too much into this. I swear I get too attached to my ideas and writing for my own good. I guess I've rambled enough about Candy Land for now.

Well, except one more thing. On the website, there's a FAQ page with an e-mail address for customer service. I wrote them and asked two questions: 1) Why did Queen Frostine and Princess Lolly get demoted, and 2) What the heck happened to Plumpy? I'll post the answers if I get any.

And for anyone who didn't think anyone could write 2,000 words about Candy Land...just know that I'm quite an unusual breed. The next post will be about running, I promise.

The board game Candy Land was recently inducted into the National Toy Hall of Fame, taking its place alongside such distinguished members as Mr Potato Head, Silly Putty, and the Etch-A-Sketch.

The game also has a prominent place in our family, especially for our 4-year-old daughter, who will solicit a game with anyone who happens to be around. On my days off from work, it has become a morning ritual: wake up early to run, come home and have breakfast, then play Candy Land with her before I have the luxury of showering.

So after playing what must have been my 100th game of Candy Land with her this week, I decided to investigate further to find out just what the game was instilling in us.

Candy Land was the creation of Eleanor Abbott, a polio victim who devised the game in the 1940s for children who were recuperating from the disease to entertain themselves while passing long hours in bed. The Milton Bradley Company first marketed her idea in 1949, and the game has been in continuous production ever since.

Modern versions of the game contain a back-story inside the game box which explains the players’ task. King Kandy and his castle have mysteriously disappeared, hidden away in the sky by the evil Lord Licorice.

Optimistic Gramma Nutt believes that only a special boy or girl can find the castle, and Princess Lolly describes the potential heroes as “courageous, clever, and ever so determined."

Sounds simple enough. So...what lessons can this game teach a marathon runner and his young princess?

Lesson 1: Despite the perceived element of competition, the journey to Candy Castle is an individual one. Only the color-coded cards determine how far players move on each turn, and one player’s movements can never affect another player’s.

In other words, run your own race. It’s the oldest advice a marathoner can hear.

A player who draws a character cards is automatically sent to that character’s square on the board. Early in the game, any character is a boon, but as you get further along the trail, the character cards can also pull you backwards.

So if you draw Queen Frostine early, your chances of winning are pretty good – unless you also draw Plumpy on one of your next turns. (It’s interesting that the rotund character closest to the start is called Plumpy, while those nearest the finish - Princess Lolly and Queen Frostine - definitely have a runner’s build. In a marathon field, they would probably be similarly positioned.)

This second lesson for marathoners is similar to the first. Don’t try to hang with runners who go off the front. Chances are, they’ll come back to you in the later miles if you keep a steady pace.

Lessons 3-5 involve three spots on the board where a player loses a turn. The first one, at about the halfway point, is “Stuck on a Gooey Gumdrop” – not unlike getting a stomach cramp after drinking too much at an aid station. It’s a minor annoyance, but early enough that you can regroup and hit your pace again soon.

The next pitfall, “Lost in Lollipop Woods,” comes about two-thirds of the way into the course. It’s like developing blisters before the 20-mile point, and is frequently problematic. You’re forced to slow down as your competitors catch up or pull away from you. It’s emotionally damaging, but not debilitating enough to prevent you from continuing along the path to the finish.

The final setback, “Stuck in Molasses Swamp,” is like getting muscle spasms in the final 5K. At this point, you are so close to the finish, you’re almost certain to make it there, but at least a few minutes slower than your expected time.

Eventually somebody will reach the Candy Castle and be declared the game’s winner. But for preschoolers, winning isn’t the real goal of the game.

Since the game is entirely dependent on the draw of the cards, kids learn that they have the same odds as grownups to win the game. The ability to compete on equal footing gives my daughter a sense of importance that she doesn’t demonstrate when playing other games (like checkers, for instance) where she recognizes she is overmatched.

Candy Land is one of the few games that kids can play by themselves, without needing assistance to count numbers on dice, and without developing a strategy. They learn lessons like taking turns, identifying colors, and following rules.

All these factors lead to Lesson 6: For marathon runners, winning is secondary. We participate in the sport for what it teaches us about ourselves.

Princess Lolly's descriptions of the ideal children - courageous and determined - are also required of marathoners in order to succeed. Many novice runners don’t know their own capacity for these two elements until they pin on a bib number and embark on the 26.2-mile test.

Finally, Lesson 7: Just like in running, there’s no certainty about the Candy Land game. I don’t rig our contests so that my daughter wins, because I want her to learn how to handle disappointment graciously in addition to winning joyfully.

In a marathon, you never know what the miles will bring. Some days will be great. Others will be tremendously disappointing. Either way, you have to process it and move on to the next game, the next race, the next stage of life.

So, it turns out there are some things to be learned by this game after all.

Very soon my daughter will grow out of playing Candy Land, and she’ll move on to other challenges. She’ll navigate other Peppermint Stick Forests, and scale other Gumdrop Mountains as she journeys towards her castles in the sky.

When she does, perhaps she’ll retain some memory of the mornings spent on our living room floor, and carry some of the lessons of Candy Land along with her. And hopefully they’ll serve her well at some point along the way.

Thursday morning found me lacing up my shoes in the morning darkness, then heading out the door for a long trail run.

What better day than Thanksgiving to ponder the place I run most frequently: Garland Ranch Regional Park, a 4500-acre open space of oak forests, maple and redwood canyons, with rugged trails stretching up and down the ridge lines of Carmel Valley, and access points less than two miles from my house.

I've spent more hours and run more miles than I can count on these trails over the past ten years, yet instead of growing complacent, I seem to appreciate it more and more each year.
Thursday morning stared cool (low 40s) for our standards, with wisps of fog drifting down the valley and dancing around the trees and hilltops throughout the park. I set out at a cautious pace to prevent aggravating some nagging injuries, but once I tiptoed my way across the rocks to ford the Carmel River, my body settled into a comfortable rhythm - a little slower on the hills, a little faster on the level portions - like the forest was coaxing me to leave my concerns behind and just run.

Before long, I didn't give my soreness a second thought, and was able to take in the surroundings. Climbing up and down single track switchbacks, I spotted animals through the tree cover, and heard birds calling and taking flight overhead. The soft crunch of pine nedles and fallen leaves was the perfect accompaniment to the rustling of smaller critters in the brush, or swaying of branches high above.

Two hours into the run, I still hadn't seen another soul. It was like this 4500 acres were my own sanctuary, available for me anytime I choose. Finally, reluctantly, it was time to head for home, but I reassured myself that it wouldn't be long before I returned.

I'm thankful for crisp autumn mornings, and for long rugged trail runs that leave me physically drained but emotionally content. I'm thankful that a place where I can escape from the complexities around me to find peace of body and mind lies within running distance of my front door.

But most of all, I'm thankful for the ability and the opportunity to experience mornings such as these.

Mike and I have a new Monterey Herald article today called "Giving Thanks," which recognizes some of the countless people who assist runners at races. The link is here. Happy Thanksgiving to everyone.

I planned on running about 10 miles this morning, but it seemed awfully dark when the alarm went off, so my 10-miler became an easy 6-miler instead. On the plus side, I think I ran far enough to eat a couple of these pilgrim cookies that my wife made to take to our daughter's pre-school class. Cute, huh?

I'm sorry this blog is starting to sound frighteningly like Chocolate Runner - I'll try to trend away from that in the future, I promise.

Last night's 60 Minutes featured two stories that grabbed my attention: one on the current condition of New Orleans, another on the incomparable rock band U2.

The segment on New Orleans painted a grim portrait of destruction and decay, eventually questioning the logic of rebuilding the city on its current site, or commencing a gradual relocation.

12 weeks after Hurricane Katrina, almost 3/4 of the residences are either completely destroyed or uninhabitable. Such a tiny percentage of the population has returned that businesses are not sustainable. And according to one expert, the Gulf of Mexico could potentially turn the city into an island - a concavity supported only by artificial levees - within the next 80 years.

The other story about Bono and U2 didn't actually reveal anything I didn't already know. For the record, I've been crazy about this band since I was in grade school - I even wrote an article comparing them to my running career once.

What always strikes me is the passion and conviction that Bono displays in taking on causes that others say are impossible. One of his major goals is to end world hunger, a task of such monumental difficulty that Bono himself has called it "this generation's moon shot."

Honestly, I don't think that's accurate - the moon shot was probably easier. After all, it didn't rely on widespread geopolitical cooperation. But Bono believes that such lofty ambitions are firmly within our reach, once enough people care enough to be called to action and contribute in some manner.

So where am I going with this? Curiously, not too long ago I received an e-mail announcement for the 2006 Mardi Gras Marathon, reporting that the event would carry on as scheduled in February 2006.

To say the least, I was shocked. I can't fathom how they could stage an event in the city, not to mention finding 26 miles of roads that aren't damaged or contaminated. Assuming people travel from out of town, where will they stay? The complications seem overwhelming.

Yet at this point, they plan to carry on. It would be the first major athletic event held in the city since Katrina.

No, I'm not planning to run it. But the marathon web site describes a way that anyone can contribute: by making a donation to the race, with all proceeds going to the rehabilitation of New Orleans.

With a donation of $50 or more, you'll receive a race t-shirt with the slogan "Come Back to the Big Easy."

Should New Orleans be rebuilt? Should they be attempting to stage a major race in the wake of such tragedy? These aren't questions I'm qualified to answer.

But I like it when a running event has a positive fiscal impact on a community, and I like it when this normally self-centered activity we do embraces an outreach cause.

Even if the race is terrible, putting on the event can send a symbolic message - that people of the area are soldiering on, persevering despite enormous hardships ahead of them. Who better to represent this sentiment than marathon runners?

Not all of us can travel to the Gulf Coast to participate in the race or assist the rebuilding effort. But if enough people feel called to action, their contributions can collectively sustain the relief effort for a short period of time, and have a lasting influence on a community in need.

So check out the race website, and consider supporting their efforts. And spread the word.

I know one thing: if Bono were a runner, he would definitely do it. And he wouldn't think it's impossible to rebuild the Big Easy.

After all, restoring a historic city shouldn't be as tough as a moon shot.

Over the weekend I've done more posting on Anne's site than on my own. We've been knocking around the issue of charity runners at marathons, in particular the group that got busted for cheating at this year's Marine Corps Marathon. Check out the story here, and Anne's post on it here.

More from me later.

I've never really been much of a cake eater. When it comes to baked goodies, I've always been more partial to cookies and brownies.

Which makes it ironic that I would marry one of the best cake-bakers in Monterey County.

Unbeknownst to me when I married her, my wife harbored a latent talent for making adorable birthday cakes, that only came to light after the birth of our children. Over the past seven years she has made cakes shaped like ladybugs, trains, Oski the Bear (a long story I don't want to tell right now), dump trucks, dogs, and gumball machines.

The cakes taste fantastic, also. So whenever one of our kids' birthdays draws near, the whole family looks forward to what kind of cake Mommy is creating.

We all check to verify that there will be enough cake for all of us to have leftovers the next day. It's one of our family's traditions: when someone has a birthday, we all get leftover cake for breakfast the morning after the party. This is a tradition we don't mess around with.

So although I'm not a big cake-eater, I never pass up a chance to have a piece of my kid's birthday cake.

Which brings me to this morning. Sitting on our kitchen counter right now is a birthday cake, shaped like a hunny pot for a Winnie the Pooh themed party tonight.

Today is my baby daughter's second birthday, so I had to make sure I dragged my butt out the door to go running this morning. Like most runners, I feel much better about indulging myself if I've already put in some mileage earlier in the day.

So I did six fairly easy miles on the road, and thought a little bit about my daughter, how special (and crazy and sleepless and frustrating) the past two years have been with her around, and about what a blessing she's been to our family.

But mostly, I was thinking about having some of that cake. And hoping there would be enough leftovers for tomorrow.

I meant to run today. Really, I did. But it seemed like the fates conspired against me.

Strike 1: I just couldn't get myself out of bed this morning. I can usually string several days of getting up early in a row, but occasionally I simply need the extra hour of sleep more than I need a short run. Besides, I can always run at luchtime, right?...

Strike 2: "Code Triage" was called at about 11:00AM at the hospital where I work. It's essentially a disaster-preparedness drill, with all involved parties required to attend a debriefing, which of course extended into the lunch hour. Thankfully, it ended early enough that I still had time to squeeze in a short run...

Strike 3: the 64-oz water bottle that I left in my exercise bag wasn't properly sealed, and had been leaking into my running clothes for the past 4 hours. Everything I intended to wear was drenched, and I had no spare clothes.

Deciding against putting on soaking wet clothes to run in the breezy autumn afternoon, I called myself out for the day. Which means that since my promising run on Tuesday, I've run a grand total of 4 miles.

But tomorrow is another opportunity to do better. As long as I don't do anything stupid.

Yesterday's small dose of mojo came at a price - today one of my hamstrings was so sore that I could barely hobble through 4 flat miles.

So I might as well talk about the Ironman.

I watched the Ironman Triathlon World Championships over the weekend, and as always, came away with mixed emotions.

First, let me say for the record that I LOVE the Ironman. Just adore it. It's probably the most demanding athletic event in the world. It's been on my athletic "wish list" for several years now, the same way the Boston Marathon used to be before I finally qualified and ran it.

But NBC's coverage of the event drives me bonkers. Here are my main gripes:

1. Al Trautwig's completely over the top dramatization of every aspect of the event. Sure, his delivery is great for the stories of athletes who have overcome hardship to compete, but seeing athletes moving through the transition area doesn't always have to be presented like Greek theater.

Thankfully, for portions of the telecast NBC utilized the services of Phil Liggett, otherwise known as the voice of the Tour De France. They don't make commentators any better than Liggett. He's knowedgeable, passionate, and enthusiastic about the events he covers. He could be working the National Barbecue Cookoff and make you excited about it. His style is dramatically different than Trautwig's, and very refreshing, so - nice move, NBC.

2. Last year NBC made a big deal about saying all the competitors were just a number (like a bib number) until they crossed the finish line in Kona, at which point they became Ironmen. The point was that no matter who you are, you have to deal with the same circumstances as all the others to get to the starting line and compete at Kona.

Which would be a nice thought...if only it were true. However, if you happen to be a former professional football player, television reporter or Baywatch star, there's a slot with your name on it at the starting line, just for the asking.

I understand that this helped increase exposure for the sport in the early days. But I don't get why they still use this gimmick. Is there anyone out there that really doesn't know what the Ironman is, or not respect how demanding it is to finish? It seems like they have an established audience now, and aren't reliant on celebrities to increase their viewership.

3. The overriding sentiment throughout the broadcast is usually something along the lines of, "These are everyday people who had the ambition and drive to take on the Ironman." In other words, if you had the same talent and drive, you could be there with them.

And yet, triathlon's crown jewel excludes vast numbers of people. To start with, it's extremely cost-prohiitive, when you consider the expenses of equipment and race entries beforehand, and travel to Hawaii (usually with family) for the event. It's even expensive to particpate in the lottery proces each year, which is the primary means of entry for many of the athletes.

Qualifying slots for the race are brutally difficult to obtain, and only the top fraction of athletes gain entry this way. I know that the event can't beome much larger than its current size, but wouldn't a qualifying system based on age-graded times, like the Boston Marathon uses, make much more sense? It seems that too many gifted competitors are being left at home, especially in light of the whole celebrity-entry issue I mentioned above.

So in addition to being courageous and determined, you also have to be rich and/or very lucky to get into the Ironman Hawaii. Somehow that doesn't get mentioned too often.

Yet despite all these things, I watch that darn show year after year. And I always go through a similar progression, from cynicism, to envy, then admiration, then inspiration, and finally come away marveling at what a fantastic event it is.

There's just no way to see those athletes taking on an ultimate challenge, struggling to continue as the day stretches into night, and not feel completely inspired to challenge yourself in a similar manner.

Watching the Ironman always reaffirms my appreciation for the ability of the human body to persevere and overcome tremendous hardships - a lesson many endurance runners eventually discover and cherish.

So congratulations to everyone who participated. I was thankful for the opportunity to watch you on TV last weekend. And hopefully someday many years from now, I'll be there competing alongside you.

That way, I won't have to watch it on NBC.

This morning our training group did our regular Tuesday run, a hilly 13-mile loop through two adjacent valleys in Steinbeck Country, an area the late author famously named "The Pastures of Heaven" (pictured).

Our two fastest runners were absent, and the rest are in tapering mode in preparation for the California International Marathon in 2 weeks. They would be taking it much easier than usual today.

Which meant I could probably keep up with them.

Normally I can hang with this group, but lately my speed has been lacking, as I've explained before. I was happy to be able to stay in the pack as we strung out across the major climb from miles 4.5 to 6.

Down the backside of the hill, I let my legs turn over more quickly, and slowly pulled ahead of the others. I figured it would only be a few seconds before they caught up to my pace once we were on level ground again.

Then the weirdness started. One mile later, I was still running by myself. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw everyone in the distance, but not gaining any ground. Knowing they were sure to catch me soon, I kept my stride comfortable and didn't overexert myself trying to hold them off.

Another mile went by, and another, and I realized that I was going off the front. The group had strung out now, and only one other runner was in sight behind me.

Just to clarify: any one of those guys could have reeled me in. They just decided not to.

So I assumed the mentality of a frontrunner.

I've pulled away from this group at other times, usually when I'm in much better shape or when the others are plodding through very high mileage weeks. But it hasn't happened since last spring, and the feeling was unusual at first.

Running off the front changes your perspective, and instills a sense of confidence, regardless of what speed you are running. If you pull away from a pack of 10-minute milers by running 9:30s, the feeling is probably the same as I felt stringing together 6:30s this morning to lead the pack home.

Although the pace started hurting with about 5K to go, my determination to hold off the pack propelled me through the final miles. When I inevitably began to tighten up in the last mile, I was far enough ahead that I could cruise to the finish and still feel great about my overall effort.

When I clicked the stopwatch, I found that I had run about 4 minutes faster than last time. And at that moment, I felt a trace of my long-lost mojo coming back.

Sure, everyone else was taking it easy this morning. At this point, I'm taking every moment of encouragement I can find to eventually regain my groove, and today's run was just what I needed.

Karen’s post about race shirt rules reminded me of an article I wrote for our running club about how marathon runners should avoid bad juju on race day.

Juju is a term that is adopted from African culture and has various meanings.

It is not exactly superstition. It can be a charm or object with magical powers, or any ritual act that influences the forces of nature for better or worse.

As it relates to running, juju is a specific behavior that really shouldn’t have any affect on race performance, but inevitably does.

Acts that directly affect physical performance, such as inadequate training, improper race preparation or foolish strategy, do not count. For example, wearing a new pair of shoes on race day or eating something unfamiliar before the race isn’t bad juju, it’s just stupidity.

Experienced marathon runners are careful to avoid bad juju before and during their event. The following are the most common examples:

Rule #1: predicting your own race time is bad juju. This is the “pride goeth before the fall” postulate of juju. On race day, there are too many variables that can conspire against you, to assume that they will all come down in your favor.

Nevertheless, runners of all speeds frequently break this rule. As soon as you state “I will run in x amount of time”, you are almost guaranteeing yourself a finish time that is much slower.

Try this experiment: ask a veteran marathoner how fast they are going to run an upcoming race. If they know anything about juju, they will hem and haw and be more evasive than Mark McGwire in giving you a specific answer.

To avoid bad juju, never forecast a specific time. It’s much safer to say, “I’m hoping to run x time,” or “My goal is to run it in x time”; statements that don’t tempt fate nearly as much.

Rule #2: wearing the shirt of the exact race you are running is bad juju. This falls under the “don’t count your chickens before they hatch” category of juju. It’s never acceptable to wear the t-shirt for the race until after you have actually completed it.

Just because you show up at the marathon expo and pick up your packet doesn’t guarantee that you’ll finish the race the next morning. Unforeseen injuries, stomach cramps, blisters, or a myriad of other problems can quickly lead to a DNF, and there you’ll be at the side of the road, advertising the event that just kicked your butt.

It would be like the losing team deciding to go ahead and wear those “Super Bowl Champs” hats that are printed in advance for each team, but only given to the winners. How ridiculous would that look? That’s the risk you run by wearing the race shirt during the actual event.

(By the way, what happens to all of those unusable hats and t-shirts? Hopefully they are sent to impoverished villages that don’t have TV or Internet access. There must be a whole society somewhere in a remote corner of the world that thinks the Buffalo Bills won four Super Bowls).

Rule #3: wearing the shirt from one race while racing in another is bad juju. The worst mistake a runner can make is underestimating or disrespecting any given course.

In order to race well, you have to focus all of your energy on the challenge at hand, and not look ahead to the next race, or dwell excessively on a past event.

Wearing the shirt from another marathon demonstrates conflicting interests and loyalties.

It’s the equivalent of going out to a special dinner with your girlfriend, while wearing a sweater that was an anniversary gift from a previous lover, and having your current girlfriend recognize it. This is the “how can you be committed to me when you’re thinking of another girl?” tenet of juju.

The only exception to this rule that may be considered is if the race distance of the shirt you are wearing is longer than the distance you are currently racing. Some people do this to psych themselves up during rough stretches, saying, “If I finished that race, I can finish this one.”

However, this is a pretty unreliable argument, as I have passed many people wearing Ironman singlets or Western States 100-mile race shirts who looked desperately exhausted while racing at the Big Sur Marathon.

Rule #4: Telling your finish line posse that you’ll be done at a certain time is bad juju. This is a more severe variant of Rule #1. It could be called contagious juju because it affects not just you, but everyone who is awaiting your arrival at the finish line as well.

Imagine the worry and embarrassment inflicted on your spouse and friends when they are looking for you, but you are nowhere to be found. Progressively bad thoughts cross their minds for every minute you are over your predicted arrival time.

When you finally arrive, instead of finding people who are sympathetic to your bad day, you’ll be facing an angry or stressed-out mob. Instead of being a hero, you are merely late, and a bearer of bad juju.

To avoid this plight, give your loved ones an “approximate window” of arrival times.

These are the most obvious cases of bad juju in action, but I’m really just scratching the surface with these examples. While there is no rational explanation for these phenomena, I have had enough experiences and observations to believe in the power of juju.

As race day approaches, don’t ruin all of your hard training with foolhardy behaviors that can tip the scales of karma against you. After all, running a marathon is hard enough on its own.

Knowing that it will be a long process to develop my "speed legs" again, I figured I might as well get started at the track today to see how I felt, and establish a point of comparison for the future.

I decided on my marathon-training staple, 1600m repeats.

When I'm in fighting shape, I can click off six or seven of these in the 5:50s or better. For today's workout, I gave myself a guideline that whenever I topped 6 minutes for a repeat, that would be the end of the workout.

1st 1600m: 5:56, at approximately 85% of max effort. So far, so good, although I have a feeling the other shoe is about to drop, so to speak.

2nd 1600M: 5:58, at 90-95% effort. A very quick transition from "comfortable fast pace" to "My gosh, this is harder than I remember" by the final lap.

3rd 1600m: 5:59, but only after an all-out race effort during the last lap to make up for drifting gradually off the pace during the first three laps.

A very old woman is bundled up in a jacket and hood, walking laps very slowly in the outside lane. Our paths merge as I'm walking to recover from my 3rd repeat. I'm panting, moaning, gasping for breath, and weaving across the lanes. Which leads to the following exchange:

Old lady: "It looks like you've done enough already."

Me: "Um...yeah, probably."

But as I slowly jog into the recovery lap, I think maybe I have a bit left in me. So I try another 1600, which becomes...

800m: 3:05. There was no way I was going to break 6 minutes, and I was completely out of gas. Workout over.

2 very humble cool down laps later, I give a wave of acknowledgement to the old woman, and head for my car.

She was right. I should have stopped sooner.

I woke this morning to the sound of rain on my roof, which was good news for two reasons:

First, I love running in the rain. It rains so infrequently around here that the occasional showers don't become depressing. And in the character-building sense, I feel like mileage run in the rain deserves extra credit in some regard.

The main reason I got excited is that this weekend several of my running partners are joining me on a 2-hr trail run here in Carmel Valley. It's an annual event to celebrate the autumn season.

Towards the end of the run, the trail leads down to the Carmel River, and the runners have to cross without benefit of a bridge. The river is about 40' wide at this time of year, and when the water level is low in the summer, its fairly easy to hop from stone to stone and stay dry all the way across.

During the winter, the rocks will be completely submerged, and the river becomes impassable unless you wade in up to waist or chest level.

I like the crossing best during the transitional period of autumn, when the tops of the rocks peek out over the current, and you're never sure if the next crossing will be your last for the season.

That's when I invite my friends to run the trails with me. Occasionally some of them topple into the water, but the river is still shallow and the failed attempts are received with more applause then laughter.

The run instantly becomes more memorable when several people get their feet wet. But this year, the water level seems lower than usual, so I've been hoping for some rain to make the crossing more of a challenge.

And this morning it happened. So I went outside and did my 5 miles, and looked forward to celebrating the season again this weekend at the Carmel River crossing.

Despite significant soreness in my legs, I was planning on getting out of bed this morning to run. But a couple things happened along the way...

Last night, I sat down with The Rule of Four, a novel I had been pecking at for the last couple of weeks. Before long, I was two-thirds of the way into the book, and found myself sucked into the vortex of the story, unwilling to set the book down again as the hours grew late.

The problem is, it's not a real fast read. The plot is convoluted and complicated, drawing heavily from obscure 15th century literature, intertwined with modern-day academia. Cross The DaVinci Code with Ivy League esoteria, and you get the idea.

And yet, it's a great book. And I'm a sucker for great books. So I didn't get to sleep until the book was finished, a few hours past my usual drop-dead bedtime.

So when the alarm went off this morning, and I was sleep deprived, and it was dark outside, and I could still feel the pain in my legs from Sunday's race just by stretching my legs...well, I didn't have a chance, really.

I actually don't feel too bad about it. Unfortunately, it's a pretty rare book that hooks me and carries me along into the night at the expense of sleep and running. When those moments occur, they are definitely worth missing a morning's run to savor them.

But tomorrow, I'll be back on the road.

Today was the Big Sur Half-Marathon on Monterey Bay. I certainly wasn't expecting greatness after a summer of ultramarathon training. A few of the lessons I learned...

Training for several months on steep trails averaging 12-15 minutes per mile apparently doesn't prepare you well for running sub-7 minute miles on the road.

Running for several hours below 75% max HR has no residual benefit when your heart rate hits 90% max during mile 2 of a road race.

When you're accustomed to taking walking breaks every 15-20 minutes, an hour and a half seems like an awfully long time to run without stopping.

Just because you used to be fast doesn't mean you're always fast.

Road racing hurts a lot more than long distance trail running. Or, maybe it's the same total amount of pain, just intensified to compress into a smaller time frame.

It's frustrating running a race several minutes slower than in previous years, but sometimes your finishing time isn't the most important thing about a race.

And finally...

I really enjoy long distance road racing. Today's race reminded me of what great rewards can be achieved at these events, and inspired me to train hard this winter to make my body more accustomed to the demands of racing.

So for now, it's back to a gradual mileage buildup over the next 3 months, and then hit the marathon circuit with a vengeance in the spring.

I can run fast again. I just have to earn it.

I've mentioned earlier that the Monterey Peninsula has a microclimate unlike most of the rest of the country. It's generally mild all year long, with moderate temperature fluctuations, and without the dramatic weather events that characterize other areas.

We're also a bit out of rotation. During what everyone else calls summertime, we experience foggy mornings, overcast skies, and high temperatures in the 60s. This is the season when tourists who come to Carmel thinking they will soak up the rays realize they should have brought jeans and a sweatshirt with them instead.

September and October are our summer months, when coastal fog recedes early in the morning, and the sun has all day to bring our temperatures into the 80s. This is also when everyone returns to school and the tourist season ends, leaving the most beautiful days for those of us lucky enough to live here.

By November, a chill gradually fills the air as the days grow shorter. Carmel Valley vineyards take on red and yellow hues, while leaves slowly turn colors and break from the trees through December. It's not uncommon for fall colors to still be visible at Christmas.

January and February are the coldest months, with morning temps in the 20s. It's also our only rainy season of the year, with slow, steady downpours sometimes lasting several days at a time. Fortunately, it's a short-lived winter (if it can truly be called a winter by Midwest or East Coast standards), as March usually brings signs of warmth and renewal.

By March, blossoms are seen on trees and flowers, wildflowers bloom, and mornings are warm again. It's an unpredictable time, though, as cold mornings and rainy days still assert themselves from time to time.

Usually by May, the rains have stopped and we we have a few nice weeks of typical springtime before the grey fog of summer rolls in.

All things considered, it's an ideal running climate almost all year long.

I'm explaining all this as a preface to the manner in which I gauge the seasons: by the clothes I need to wear when heading out the door for a run. In our unorthodox climate, it's a much simpler way to mark the passage of time than looking at the calendar.

I'll detail this further in another post. But for now, just consider it the beginning of pants season.

Against my better judgment, last week I decided to sign up for this weekend’s Big Sur Half-Marathon on Monterey Bay. Normally, this is right up my alley – a long distance road race through spectacular scenery, testing the limits of my fitness.

This year, however, will be different. I’m not nearly in good enough shape to attempt this race.

My two primary races of the year were August’s Pikes Peak Marathon, which took me 6 hours to complete, and October’s Firetrails 50, my first 50-miler, which took almost 9 hours. Training for these races entailed a lot of long, steady distance running, but almost no speed work.

As a result, my body is very accustomed to a slow pace, multiple walking breaks, and negotiating steep hills over treacherous terrain. On the other hand, my fast twitch muscle fibers have long since gone into hibernation.

So last week, I tried to wake them up.

On Thursday I showed up for my first track workout in months, and ran 5x1000m. On Saturday, I did a 4-mile tempo run as close to my lactate threshold as I could tolerate.

Both workouts felt miserable. But as I was laboring through them, I had a similar thought each day: I missed this.

There’s an entirely different dynamic to running when you are pushing the limits of your engine, struggling to keep pace with fellow runners when your natural inclination is to slow down. Compared to training for ultras, it’s really a whole different sport.

Although I love the ultras, I’m not quite ready to give up the road racing yet.

Sunday’s race will definitely be difficult and painful – both in a physical sense (dealing with the shortness of breath in my chest and lactic acid in my legs) and an emotional one (watching countless runners that I beat last year pass me by).

But despite the difficulty, I already know what my overriding sentiment for the day will be: I missed this.

Then I’ll spend the winter on the roads, building up to the high mileage weeks, and come back ready to roar in the springtime.

I hadn't run for more a week after finishing last weekend's 50-miler, so on Saturday I headed out for an easy neighborhood run.

I had been feeling pretty good during the week, so I was somewhat surprised at how absolutely terrible this run felt. Everything ached - every muscle group in my legs was sore, and I felt like I had gained about 30 pounds (10, I could believe - but 30 seemed high even for a binger like me.)

The run was only 4 miles, but it felt like 40. I guess I shouldn't be surprised. After all, running 50 miles must take its toll on the body somehow, right? I misread my lack of resting soreness as a sign that I was ready to run again.

A full recovery will probably take weeks, but that's OK by me - I've got nothing on the calendar until springtime.

Additionally, today was the first day of the year that I had to wear long pants. California's central coast has a generally mild climate and somewhat different seasons than the traditional calendar would indicate.

We seldom have tempurature extremes, or severe weather like thunderstorms or blizzards, so I keep track of the seasons by what I need to wear for my morning run. I'll write more about this later.

But today was the first day of pants...and it finally feels like autumn.

Reading about Jeff's track workout got me to thinking...

I'm beginning to dislike Bart Yasso.

He's the Runners' World contributor who came up with the smarty-pants theory of predicting marathon times based on 800-meter interval track workouts.

The theory is this: during the course of your marathon training, include a weekly track session of 800m repeats. Build up the number of repeats until you do a workout of 10 repeats, with a rest break equal to the interval time between each one.

Whatever time you can run consistently for ten repeats corresponds to your marathon time, by changing the units. For example, 3-and-a-half minutes equals a 3:30 marathon. If you run them all in 2 minutes, 50 seconds, you're in shape to run a 2:50 marathon.

Sounds simple, right? And according to the RW website, this formula was tested on hundreds of runners, and holds true all the way up and down the line, from 2:10 marathoners to those who need over 5 hours.

The problem is, I have tried this particular strategy several times, and have never even come close to my predicted marathon time. The closest numbers I have ever put together were a 3:03 marathon at Napa after running ten repeats of 2:49 to 2:53.

I have also used this formula in preparation for marathons at Humboldt, Los Angeles, Big Sur, and San Francisco, with similar disappointing results. The rest of my training included all of the usual recommendations- long runs, hill training, easy days, tempo runs, etc.

So...am I the exception to the rule, consistent over six different courses? Or is there something more complicated than meets the eye? And how can you predict uncertainty, anyway?

The Yasso formula had me so screwed up that sometimes after a marathon I was unsure whether I should feel good about it, or be discouraged.

I typically use a heart rate monitor to pace myself in marathons, and I typically run withing a few minutes of even splits nearly every time. So even if I run an evenly paced 3:09, and kept a solid effort throughout the race, Yasso's formula tells me I should have been at least 10 minutes faster.

That's a tough thought to contemplate on a long drive home after the race.

What I've decided is that there is absolutely no reliable way to predict what anyone's time will be on any given day, especially for a marathon.

Have you ever played team sports? f you were lucky enough to play on a good team, there were always some games where you could "take it easy", knowing you could probably win even without playing your best. A team's win-loss record can be deceptive, based on the quality of the opponents they had played - just look how screwed up the college football polls get every year.

Luckily, there are no such illusions with running. It is a brutally honest sport, both in training and on race day. I can't run fast without training hard. And even if I do all of the arduous work to prepare for a race, I have to produce an exceptional effort during the race to achieve a PR.

When I do attain a PR or any other particular goal, I know that it was hard earned and well deserved. I know there's no reliable way to predict a race performance, and no way to fake it. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Every November, Mike Dove and I use our running column to express all the things we are thankful for.

This year, I'm definitely going to thank Dean Karnazes and David Letterman.

In March, Karnazes went on The Late Show to promote his book Ultramarathon Man. I had previously had only a passing awareness of Karnazes, seeing him in photos from running magazines.

Letterman was in good spirits, but seemed genuinely confused about whether to be amused or impressed by Karnazes's exploits. The interview was equal parts absurd and inspirational - not unlike the sport of ultrarunning, really.

I bought Karnazes's book and tore through it. For many years I had wondered if I could complete an ultra, and by the time I had finished Ultramarathon Man, I was absolutely convinced it was possible.

I trained throughout the summer, and last week I finished my first ultra, the Dick Collins Firetrails 50 in Castro Valley. It was a beautiful race, and one of my most rewarding experiences in running.

I don't know if I'll continue my foray into ultrarunning, but I definitely know that I wouldn't have started when I did if it weren't for that Late Show interview. For giving me the impetus to start, I'm grateful to both of them.

So thanks, Dean. Thanks, Dave.

(The interview can be seen on Dean Karnazes's website here.)

At long last, the day I circled on my calendar months ago had finally arrived: the 2005 edition of the Scripps National Spelling Bee! Five hours of coverage on ESPN, live from the Independence Concourse of the Grand Hyatt Washington in downtown Washington, D.C.


Why in God's name do they have this thing on a weekday? I mean, not all of us can skip work to watch year after year. What on Earth did people do before TiVo? The Scripps folks should have the Bee on a Sunday, like the Super Bowl, or on a holiday weekend, like the Indy 500. It's that important.

To commemorate the day, I compiled a real-time diary of random observations that occurred to me when watching this year's event. Herewith, a runner's thoughts on the 78th annual Bee:

10:02 (all times PDT) - Today's co-host: Katie Kerwin McCrimmon, winner of the 1979 National Spelling Bee. It's like having Frank Shorter doing commentary for the Olympic Marathon. I'm guessing she kept her maiden name so that people would recognize her: "are you that Katie Kerwin, from the 1979 Bee?" She's still basking in the glory, 26 years later. This has to be about as far as anyone can milk having "former National Spelling Bee champion" on her resume, right?

10:13 - The first seven spellers have all spelled their words correctly. There are a finite number of words used for each Bee, so there is always the possibility that the entire word list could be used up before all the contestants are eliminated, resulting in co-champions. It hasn't happened since 1962, but today we're starting out on course record pace...

10:14 - Nevermind. Maithreyi Gopalakrishnan just tripped over "lignapurdous" (something that destroys wood). Game on.

10:32 - Katherine Seymour is struggling with the word "incunabula" (books written before the year 1500). In the process of asking her permitted questions, she tries to slip in "How do you spell that?" The judge pauses and smiles, and everybody in the room has a good laugh, thankful for the light moment. Katherine then misses the word and is escorted offstage. The lesson: never lose your focus. It's a fatal mistake.

10:33 - I know this one! "Matutinal" describes an activity that habitually takes place in the early morning hours. I got this word a few weeks ago on my word-of-the-day e-mail from dictionary.com (thaat's right...insert your geek joke here), and I've been waiting to drop it in a column about running. I mean, my training group is definitely comprised of matutinal people. Way matutinal. They don't make 'em much more matutinal than us. Apparently Sahiti Surapaneni is familiar with the word also, as she easily nails it to advance to Round 6.

10:37 - Returning from a commercial break, ESPN shows the clip of the legendary "euonym girl", Rebecca Sealfon, who jumped up and down while shouting the letters of this final word to win the 1997 Bee. Quite simply one of the best Bee moments ever. It was like watching Alan Webb's high school record mile at the Pre Classic - an electrifying, unforgettable breakthrough performance by a young phenom at their absolute prime.

That type of performance at the Bee will never be duplicated. It's a lose-lose situation for any kid with the temerity to imitate that response on the final word. Spell it correctly, and you're just copying the girl from 1997. Miss it, and you look like a complete choker.

11:02 - 12-year-old Nidharshan Anandasivam is stumped by the word "muesli", taking almost all his allotted time before tripping up and omitting the "e". My goodness - muesli? That word knocked a kid out of the contest? I could understand if it were "Cap'n Crunch", with that unconventional p-apostrophe-n variant, but wow - "muesli." For the rest of his life, whenever he goes down the cereal aisle of the grocery store, this poor kid is going to flashback to his most disappointing moment ever.

11:33 - Monterey County has the Big Sur Marathon and the Wildflower Triathlon on successive weekends; in Washington, 11-year-old Bonny Jain finished 4th in the National Geography Bee one week before his appearance here at the Spelling Bee. I wonder how the training between the two events compares. Does studying for one event impact your performance in the other? There may be some good cross-training potential: after you manage to locate places like Uzbekistan or Kuala Lumpur, their names provide great opportunity to polish your spelling skills. Is fatigue a factor in entering back-to-back events? Did he purposely not taper for the Geography Bee, so he could stay sharp for the Spelling Bee? I'm full of questions about this.

Come to think of it, why don't these geography kids get more dap? The spellers have become superstars in recent years with movies and national TV coverage, so why is the Geography Bee neglected? They must be equally strenuous events. In fact, geography is probably harder in many ways - I don't remember any catchy rhymes like "i before e..." to help remember the highest point of each continent. It's probably a much larger volume of information to learn, with capital cities, rivers, mountain ranges, and relative sizes of every country. Geography kids deserve much more attention than they're getting (gosh, it's even more like triathlon than I thought).

11:38 - Every year, there are lots of musical terms (dolcissimo, pianissimo, notturno) and medical terms (pleurisy, trichinosis, spondylitis). People joke that the first step to being a great runner is to pick the right parents. I'm thinking if there were some kid with a doctor father and a concert pianist mother, he would be almost unstoppable in the Bee.

12:00 - 1:00 - Lunch break. 29 spellers left. P-R-E-S-S-U-R-E.

1:23 - After they hear their assigned word, some kids like Alexis Ducote and John Minnich turn their placards upside down and pretend to write the word on the backside. They aren't allowed pencils during the bee, but this practice helps them to visualize the word as it is written. Sports psychologists are always yammering at us runners to visualize success, and picture ourselves running strong and effortlessly. I've always thought it was bunk, but most of the kids who do this at the Bee end up spelling the word successfully. Ducote just nailed "persifleur" (one who indulges in banter). Maybe I'll give that visualization thing a try sometime.

1:48 - As contestants miss a word, they get escorted to the "comfort room" off stage. The cameras don't go there, which of course makes me wonder- what goes on back there? Are there free sodas and video games to cheer you up? Do they play Hilary Duff CDs and hand out stacks of Yu-Gi-Oh cards? Why can't they go interview the kids back there, like they do in the "kiss and cry" area with figure skaters who have just crashed a triple axle? There's a lot of ratings potential here.

2:27 - After Marshall Winchester is eliminated by missing "serang" (the boatswain of an East Indian army crew) in Round 11, the remaining four contestants are of Indian descent, guaranteeing us another Indian winner. This makes three years out of the past four with an Indian winner, and numerous second through fifth place finishes in the last five years. If the Spelling Bee were the Boston Marathon, these Indian kids would be like the Kenyans, increasingly dominating the event year after year. Am I the first person to notice this? Ten years from now, it will be a shocker if the winner isn't Indian.

2:38 -11-year-old Samir Patel has made the Bee look effortless to this point. Often, upon hearing a word such as "hooroosh", he asks some show-offy question about the definition such as, "Does that mean a great commotion?", or about the origin of other words like "Is that of Latin origin, translated from the Greek form?", which of course he knows are correct before he even asks them. He's in the final two and a clear favorite to win, but suddenly in Round 19 he stumbles on "roscian" (relating to or skilled in acting), and there is a collective gasp through Independence Concourse. The door is now open for Anurag Kashyap to win, like a patient runner who drafts the leader for the whole race before sprinting past him in the final straightaway.

2:40 - Anurag nails "appoggiatura" (another musical term! It's an embellishing note one half-line above or below the note that precedes it) and claims the prize. Like last year's winner, David Tidmarsh, Anurag's response is to hide his face behind his placard and cry. What does it say about the stress of the competition that these kids are reduced to emotional wrecks- even the ones who win? Remind me to keep my kids away from this sort of thing when they get older.

2:42 - In his post-Bee interview, Anurag is asked to describe how he feels. He stammers for a bit before finally coming up with..."ecstaticness". What? Is that even a word? Apparently not, for he quickly corrects himself to say "ecstatic, sorry." After completely wrestling the English language to the ground, the kid finally bonked and went into multi-system shutdown. It's like watching a marathon runner run a strong race and pump his fists across the finish line, and then collapse and get carried to the medical tent by an elderly volunteer. He still gets to keep the marathon medal, and Anurag still keeps his trophy.

Watching at home, I can only hope he's headed for some refreshments and a massage tent somewhere. After his performance today, he certainly deserves it.


See other installments of this series on sidebar at right