February 2013 Running Log
2: treadmill
3: 15K in snow
5: fast treadmill
7: Felt really good on the treadmill. Pulled hamstring again (as in December doing fast intervals uphill. Stupid.
9: 10K in snow. Pulled my hamstring again!
10: Alpe d'Huez
11: 3K jog + stairs
12: Alpe d'Huez PR
13: 3K jog and stairs in the hospital
14: Alpe d'Huez broke on the simulator. Did Col d'Aspin instead. 5K jog
15: 3K jog
16: 21K (11 with the Girl and 4 with Natti)
17: 8K + Col d'Aspin
18: 3K jog
19: 18K moderate pace. Felt good. Hamstring held up well.
21: 17K. 10K in various efforts on the treadmill. Afraid to go faster than 10 mph due to hamstring, but otherwise it feels ok.
22: 3K jog
23: 5K Parkfun, some with Natti, some alone. Felt like I was going around low 17s 5K pace, almost all out, and the hamstring held up.
24: 22K with the Girl. Hard hill repeats around Næstved. Good stuff.
Don't remember the rest
Sunday, March 24, 2013
Sunday, February 24, 2013
World's Most Unemployed Hematologist
We are in a crisis. I am in a crisis.
We have no idea what we are doing after this summer. In the entire US, there are, at most, 10 hematology positions open. I have applied and gotten rejected - within minutes. I don't even get past the recruiter.
And what if I got a job? Cancer stresses me out so much that I feel myself aging by the hour. Within a span of minutes, I go from holding back tears for patients to resenting them for piling their problems on to me. Each individual story is terrible, and a new face comes through the door every 15 minutes. The Girl always quotes a mentor who told her "it gets easier once they break your spine", but somehow that hasn't happened yet. The getting easier part, at least.
And where are we moving? I have lived away from my son for 4 years, and now I may end up far away from both him and Natali. We are talking about Colorado, but that's a day's travel away from La Crosse. Where in the world did I go wrong? Natali is going to live with my Ex, starting in September, so this might be the last summer I get to live with her. I have been offered an okay job near La Crosse, but there is nothing there for the Girl to do.
It's so incredibly complicated. The Girl has to find a residency or post-doc, but she isn't sure what she wants to do or what she can get. It is virtually impossible that we are both able to find something good at the same time, in the same area.
And then on top of all this, I get injured. For the first time in 4 years, I get injured. One day, I am the fastest guy in town, running uphill intervals on the treadmill, and the next I am a guy who can barely walk. For over two months now, I have felt that same fiber bundle in my hamstring heal and tear.
It's all a sign of getting older. I am now 38 years old, unemployable and injury-prone. I have rarely been this depressed. Things have been confusing before, but never like this.
We have no idea what we are doing after this summer. In the entire US, there are, at most, 10 hematology positions open. I have applied and gotten rejected - within minutes. I don't even get past the recruiter.
And what if I got a job? Cancer stresses me out so much that I feel myself aging by the hour. Within a span of minutes, I go from holding back tears for patients to resenting them for piling their problems on to me. Each individual story is terrible, and a new face comes through the door every 15 minutes. The Girl always quotes a mentor who told her "it gets easier once they break your spine", but somehow that hasn't happened yet. The getting easier part, at least.
And where are we moving? I have lived away from my son for 4 years, and now I may end up far away from both him and Natali. We are talking about Colorado, but that's a day's travel away from La Crosse. Where in the world did I go wrong? Natali is going to live with my Ex, starting in September, so this might be the last summer I get to live with her. I have been offered an okay job near La Crosse, but there is nothing there for the Girl to do.
It's so incredibly complicated. The Girl has to find a residency or post-doc, but she isn't sure what she wants to do or what she can get. It is virtually impossible that we are both able to find something good at the same time, in the same area.
And then on top of all this, I get injured. For the first time in 4 years, I get injured. One day, I am the fastest guy in town, running uphill intervals on the treadmill, and the next I am a guy who can barely walk. For over two months now, I have felt that same fiber bundle in my hamstring heal and tear.
It's all a sign of getting older. I am now 38 years old, unemployable and injury-prone. I have rarely been this depressed. Things have been confusing before, but never like this.
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
January 2013 Running Log
3 fast run on YMCA treadmills
6 fast run on YMCA treadmills
8 fast on YMCA treadmills
10 slow jog on Bandera course
11 Bandera 50K
17 10 in freezing Hartland
18 slow run in the woods
20 snow run
22 treadmill. 3x 2 miles @ up to 5% in 12:50, 12:35 and 11:49 (grade might be off on the last one.
24 treadmill: 2x 5k ("two peaks" up to 5%). 20:20 and 19:50.
26 Long run. Maybe 1 hour with Christian in the babyjogger and 1 hour alone.
27 5k slow with the Girl in the snow. 5K tempo. Good legs.
29 Treadmill: 2 miles @ up to 5% in 13:00 and 12:39. 3x800
3 fast run on YMCA treadmills
6 fast run on YMCA treadmills
8 fast on YMCA treadmills
10 slow jog on Bandera course
11 Bandera 50K
17 10 in freezing Hartland
18 slow run in the woods
20 snow run
22 treadmill. 3x 2 miles @ up to 5% in 12:50, 12:35 and 11:49 (grade might be off on the last one.
24 treadmill: 2x 5k ("two peaks" up to 5%). 20:20 and 19:50.
26 Long run. Maybe 1 hour with Christian in the babyjogger and 1 hour alone.
27 5k slow with the Girl in the snow. 5K tempo. Good legs.
29 Treadmill: 2 miles @ up to 5% in 13:00 and 12:39. 3x800
Saturday, January 19, 2013
Andreas the Dane, or "Timothy Olson has my Junk on his Hand"
Somehow, Blogger seems not to work on my iPad. If it did, I would blog more often.
We just got back from Wisconsin and Texas. Wisconsin was the usual game of fitting work, kids and vacation into a few weeks. It's always the same pattern of trying to make enough money for child support for the next few months, while spending enough time with Andreas to feel like a decent parent - and then trying to go on a little mini trip, just the Girl and I.
Andreas has matured a lot and I enjoyed being around him. He didn't seem sad when we left this summer, but he was definitely happy to hang with us now.
I think the years of living with his mom's violent girlfriend have finally been erased from his memory. I see his current life as stable and peaceful. My ex-wife moved out to a small town with her husband and his two daughters. They live in a large, immaculate house. Andreas has a large room to himself, his Legos and his video games. Three large vehicles ferry the kids around town.
Two episodes almost brought tears to my eyes.
First, we were at the gift shop in a space museum. They had a map of the US; tacks indicated where visitors came from. The woman asked where we were from and Andreas says: "Denmark". The woman designed a little piece of paper to the way right of the map and wrote Denmark on it. Andreas proudly placed his tack there.
In the car, I decided to push my luck. Me: "Hey, do you want to come visit us this summer in Denmark? We're moving back in the fall, so it might be our last chance in a while". Him: "Um, no". Okay, then.
The second episode was more remarkable. The boys had such elaborate dinner demands that I took them to an Old Country Buffet one night (I could think of no other place that had pizza, macaroni and cheese and fries). I told Andreas that the first night we moved into our house in America, he was almost 2. We had spent all day moving and had no food in the house. We had just moved from Denmark and didn't know where anything was, so we went to Old Country Buffet to eat. I described how the kids spoke no English and everyone looked at us.
Andreas almost immediately yelled, "I could speak Danish?!?!" Speaking to Andreas, for me, is often very tedious. I ask him question upon question and he answers in single words or grunts, if he answers. This time, he wanted to make sure that he, indeed, has been able to speak another language. I told him that for a long time, he kept using Danish words, like "legeplads", but by the time he was 3 he had forgotten all of it. I told him that I thought it would be easy for him to learn it again, and he was obviously considering the implications of not being the only uni-lingual sibling.
On the last morning, I drove him back to his mom's house in time for school. I was tearing up a little, as I always do, and gave him a hug. I said I loved him and that I would see him soon. He snickered and ran out to the school bus without looking back.
We went to Texas to run the Bandera 100. The Girl would run the 100; I would run the 50. Joining us was Alicia, who had planned on running the 100, but had some knee pain from the Tuscobia Winter Ultra.
Alicia has always made it very clear that she accepts abnormality. This acceptance is key, when traveling with us. The Girl gets so nervous and intense before races that her behavior can be a little terrifying, but Alicia seems cool with it. Maybe that's how she gets before races.
Bandera is a cool little cowboy town in Texas Hill Country. I imagine it gets intolerably hot in summer, but in January it was 60s to 70s every day. The hills are rocky and technical and a few hundred feet tall. The race is held in Hill Country State Natural Area.
The thing about combining different ultra distances is that the shorter ultra always becomes the de facto fun run. One can spend the whole weekend apologizing for only running 50K on technical, hilly trails. But, sure, the 50K was not remotely as competitive as the 100K. Not even close.
Going to the briefing the night before was like an ultra Academy Awards. There was Karl Meltzer quietly smirking behind sunglasses drinking Red Bull. Sage Canaday was smirking a little more insecurely, like he didn't like the attention. Megan Arbogast had a friendly baby face and a body that looks like it's made out of steel. Dave Mackey looked huge.
I realized at the start of the 50K that Timothy Olson had switched from the 100 to the 50. He apologetically made his way to the very front of the pack, while quietly encouraging people to have a great race. Olga was yelling out instructions at the start and demanded "Where is Rahs-moose?". Pressure on both syllables; it almost sounded like "Race Moose", a giant wilderbeast waiting to gallop up hills. I raised a pale, hairy hand and 100 eyes looked me up and down. She yelled something about the course record and I made every possible gesture to show how ridiculous it was to yell Race Moose and mention the course record. She screamed: "just stay behind Timmy. Otherwise, you probably won't finish."
I should have met Olson's eyes with a "so you have won Western States and countless other ultras... But have you beaten a Race Moose? Huh?" Instead, I mumbled something and looked down.
At the gun, Olson sprinted into the muddy fog. I had thought about sticking with his pace for a while, just so I could say that I stuck with Tim Olson's pace for a while. But no, instead I got passed by one young athletic runner after another. We ran up steep, rocky inclines and jumped down dangerous ascents. I kept losing positions, until I was in a depressing 15th or so, feeling old and inferior.
The first aid station was manned by Olga, who yelled something to the effect of "just run your own race".
After 10 miles (that's 5 miles into the 100, btw), the trail flattened out and became very runnable. There was a lot of mud, but overall, it felt more like my kind of terrain. I started re-passing a lot of 50Kers, while also starting to pass more and more 100Kers.
I passed the Girl at about 16 miles (her 11 miles, I think), and she was motoring along, somewhat frustrated by the mud. I felt great and even had a little runner's high. With 10 miles to go, I fell painfully, causing both my legs and right ribs to cramp up. I took a little break and peed in the cacti, while trying to recompose.
Alicia was at the Cross Roads aid station with 5 miles to go and I still felt pretty good:
The last five miles were very hilly and apparently way too hard for me at the end of a 50K. I passed one 100K runner, only to seize up in violent cramps in both legs. It must have looked ridiculous; it hurt so bad I couldn't even get out of his way. The last few miles consisted of mainly walking and standing, while waiting for the cramps to subside. It always surprises me how fast and reckless everyone starts out, taking chances to gain a second here and a second there, when most ultras end up so very slow and painful.
Well, I got third, so all ended well.
Alicia wanted Timothy Olson's autograph so badly that she made me go ask for it. Or was it the other way around? In any case, he seems like a pretty approachable guy. I shook his hand, thanking him for his autograph, and then quickly realized that he probably preferred no contact with some random guy's greasy, sweaty, HammerGel-infested palm. To Alicia I lamented: "he was just about to eat, and now he has my junk on his hand". To which she answered: "and there is the post of your next blog post". Yes!
The poor Girl. What can I say? She is training for shorter distances, but thinks like an ultrarunner. But thoughts will only take her so far, and she dropped out at 70K. This year, she has PRed in everything up to the 50K (4:09, 33 minutes faster than my time at Bandera, btw!). She will PR big in the marathon this year; she will get her ultra moments in due time.
We just got back from Wisconsin and Texas. Wisconsin was the usual game of fitting work, kids and vacation into a few weeks. It's always the same pattern of trying to make enough money for child support for the next few months, while spending enough time with Andreas to feel like a decent parent - and then trying to go on a little mini trip, just the Girl and I.
Andreas has matured a lot and I enjoyed being around him. He didn't seem sad when we left this summer, but he was definitely happy to hang with us now.
I think the years of living with his mom's violent girlfriend have finally been erased from his memory. I see his current life as stable and peaceful. My ex-wife moved out to a small town with her husband and his two daughters. They live in a large, immaculate house. Andreas has a large room to himself, his Legos and his video games. Three large vehicles ferry the kids around town.
Two episodes almost brought tears to my eyes.
First, we were at the gift shop in a space museum. They had a map of the US; tacks indicated where visitors came from. The woman asked where we were from and Andreas says: "Denmark". The woman designed a little piece of paper to the way right of the map and wrote Denmark on it. Andreas proudly placed his tack there.
In the car, I decided to push my luck. Me: "Hey, do you want to come visit us this summer in Denmark? We're moving back in the fall, so it might be our last chance in a while". Him: "Um, no". Okay, then.
The second episode was more remarkable. The boys had such elaborate dinner demands that I took them to an Old Country Buffet one night (I could think of no other place that had pizza, macaroni and cheese and fries). I told Andreas that the first night we moved into our house in America, he was almost 2. We had spent all day moving and had no food in the house. We had just moved from Denmark and didn't know where anything was, so we went to Old Country Buffet to eat. I described how the kids spoke no English and everyone looked at us.
Andreas almost immediately yelled, "I could speak Danish?!?!" Speaking to Andreas, for me, is often very tedious. I ask him question upon question and he answers in single words or grunts, if he answers. This time, he wanted to make sure that he, indeed, has been able to speak another language. I told him that for a long time, he kept using Danish words, like "legeplads", but by the time he was 3 he had forgotten all of it. I told him that I thought it would be easy for him to learn it again, and he was obviously considering the implications of not being the only uni-lingual sibling.
On the last morning, I drove him back to his mom's house in time for school. I was tearing up a little, as I always do, and gave him a hug. I said I loved him and that I would see him soon. He snickered and ran out to the school bus without looking back.
We went to Texas to run the Bandera 100. The Girl would run the 100; I would run the 50. Joining us was Alicia, who had planned on running the 100, but had some knee pain from the Tuscobia Winter Ultra.
Alicia has always made it very clear that she accepts abnormality. This acceptance is key, when traveling with us. The Girl gets so nervous and intense before races that her behavior can be a little terrifying, but Alicia seems cool with it. Maybe that's how she gets before races.
Bandera is a cool little cowboy town in Texas Hill Country. I imagine it gets intolerably hot in summer, but in January it was 60s to 70s every day. The hills are rocky and technical and a few hundred feet tall. The race is held in Hill Country State Natural Area.
The thing about combining different ultra distances is that the shorter ultra always becomes the de facto fun run. One can spend the whole weekend apologizing for only running 50K on technical, hilly trails. But, sure, the 50K was not remotely as competitive as the 100K. Not even close.
Going to the briefing the night before was like an ultra Academy Awards. There was Karl Meltzer quietly smirking behind sunglasses drinking Red Bull. Sage Canaday was smirking a little more insecurely, like he didn't like the attention. Megan Arbogast had a friendly baby face and a body that looks like it's made out of steel. Dave Mackey looked huge.
I realized at the start of the 50K that Timothy Olson had switched from the 100 to the 50. He apologetically made his way to the very front of the pack, while quietly encouraging people to have a great race. Olga was yelling out instructions at the start and demanded "Where is Rahs-moose?". Pressure on both syllables; it almost sounded like "Race Moose", a giant wilderbeast waiting to gallop up hills. I raised a pale, hairy hand and 100 eyes looked me up and down. She yelled something about the course record and I made every possible gesture to show how ridiculous it was to yell Race Moose and mention the course record. She screamed: "just stay behind Timmy. Otherwise, you probably won't finish."
I should have met Olson's eyes with a "so you have won Western States and countless other ultras... But have you beaten a Race Moose? Huh?" Instead, I mumbled something and looked down.
At the gun, Olson sprinted into the muddy fog. I had thought about sticking with his pace for a while, just so I could say that I stuck with Tim Olson's pace for a while. But no, instead I got passed by one young athletic runner after another. We ran up steep, rocky inclines and jumped down dangerous ascents. I kept losing positions, until I was in a depressing 15th or so, feeling old and inferior.
The first aid station was manned by Olga, who yelled something to the effect of "just run your own race".
After 10 miles (that's 5 miles into the 100, btw), the trail flattened out and became very runnable. There was a lot of mud, but overall, it felt more like my kind of terrain. I started re-passing a lot of 50Kers, while also starting to pass more and more 100Kers.
I passed the Girl at about 16 miles (her 11 miles, I think), and she was motoring along, somewhat frustrated by the mud. I felt great and even had a little runner's high. With 10 miles to go, I fell painfully, causing both my legs and right ribs to cramp up. I took a little break and peed in the cacti, while trying to recompose.
Alicia was at the Cross Roads aid station with 5 miles to go and I still felt pretty good:
The last five miles were very hilly and apparently way too hard for me at the end of a 50K. I passed one 100K runner, only to seize up in violent cramps in both legs. It must have looked ridiculous; it hurt so bad I couldn't even get out of his way. The last few miles consisted of mainly walking and standing, while waiting for the cramps to subside. It always surprises me how fast and reckless everyone starts out, taking chances to gain a second here and a second there, when most ultras end up so very slow and painful.
Well, I got third, so all ended well.
The poor Girl. What can I say? She is training for shorter distances, but thinks like an ultrarunner. But thoughts will only take her so far, and she dropped out at 70K. This year, she has PRed in everything up to the 50K (4:09, 33 minutes faster than my time at Bandera, btw!). She will PR big in the marathon this year; she will get her ultra moments in due time.
December 2012 Running Log
At some point, I got injured.
Missed almost two weeks.
Ran a 3:09 Skodsborg with a slow start but a serious second half.
Missed almost two weeks.
Ran a 3:09 Skodsborg with a slow start but a serious second half.
November 2012 Running Log
3: Long run on trails.
5: 2 x (2 miles @ up to 5%) 12:21, 12:24
6: Long run with the Girl (Green Tunnel)
8: 3 x (2 miles @ up to 5%) 11:51, 11:49 (new PR?), 12:05.
10: Gorgeous fall run on the perimeter trail. Maybe 2 hours?
12: Treadmill. 2 miles @ up to 5% grade. 11:44 (new PR?). "4 x 800" 4K in 14:20. 2K@ up to 8% in 8:11.
Don't remember the rest
5: 2 x (2 miles @ up to 5%) 12:21, 12:24
6: Long run with the Girl (Green Tunnel)
8: 3 x (2 miles @ up to 5%) 11:51, 11:49 (new PR?), 12:05.
10: Gorgeous fall run on the perimeter trail. Maybe 2 hours?
12: Treadmill. 2 miles @ up to 5% grade. 11:44 (new PR?). "4 x 800" 4K in 14:20. 2K@ up to 8% in 8:11.
Don't remember the rest
Monday, November 12, 2012
November thoughts
Say. You know how you are awoken by something that will not go away if you ignore it?
On that spectrum is, perhaps, a room that got too cold because of an open window. You get up and close it, right? Maybe Christian is crying, because he rotated in bed so many times that he ended up with his head hanging over the edge. You pull him back up and cover him with a blanket.
Mattias may cry and you have to find a pacifier or maybe even sing a few bars while stroking his fat face and covering his eyes with the corner of a blanket.
Maybe you are in a tent and you didn't put the rain fly on. It rains; you have to get up and fix it.
Forget all of the above. I was deep into some dream last night, when I was awoken by the sound of someone gagging, followed by... vomit hitting me in the face!
There is Christian, stricken by the evil stomach bug that has tormented the family of late. He sits up, spews his contents on the pillow right next to my head and I am awoken by the lukewarm spray of last night's dinner.
For that, one has to get up quick and tend to his final hurling efforts. One has to strip the bed down, find new sheets and new covers for pillows and duvets. You scrub the floor half-heartedly, thinking you will do it right in the morning. Then you have to comfort Christian and get him to sleep, while telling him about the beaches of Florida and Mallorca.
I tell him the sharks are only in the deep water, and that he needn't worry about them. Finally he falls asleep.
He wakes up at 4:45 am, completely rejuvenated after a day of being sick. He pulls my face to make sure I understand that crocodiles also live in deep water, and that they don't bite people on the beach. I have to get up, fix him breakfast and put a movie on the DVD.
Damn kids. And yet I feel desperate, when I think about how fast they are growing. It's a realization that life may never get better than this; that a million things could go wrong and, even if they don't, things will slip away by default.
-------------------
I'm getting into running again. After a few slow uninspired weeks, I rediscovered the treadmill. The machines at our gym are not as smooth as the ones at the La Crosse YMCA, but just getting back on the belt has motivated me. At this point, I am doing long intervals, say 3 x 2 miles. The 2 miles are run basically all out, but I vary the grade from 0% to 5% and back down. Even at the end of a session, I am amazed at how fast I feel when the grade comes back down.
These types of workouts were my training backbone last winter (and spring, until the trails opened up). I PRd three times this year (5K, marathon and 50K), so I'm following the same formula. My achilles heel is mileage. I run such a pitiful number of miles a week (maybe 25?) that upping my mileage is a logical step. But somehow I can't, especially not in winter, when it's dark out. I don't have a group, or even a single running partner (except for the Girl, and she reliably hates me after an hour of running).
The Girl runs 80 miles a week, often with 2 slow marathons. She needs speed, I need mileage.
A few years back, I tried running LSD with spanish lessons on the iPod. Maybe I will try that again.
On that spectrum is, perhaps, a room that got too cold because of an open window. You get up and close it, right? Maybe Christian is crying, because he rotated in bed so many times that he ended up with his head hanging over the edge. You pull him back up and cover him with a blanket.
Mattias may cry and you have to find a pacifier or maybe even sing a few bars while stroking his fat face and covering his eyes with the corner of a blanket.
Maybe you are in a tent and you didn't put the rain fly on. It rains; you have to get up and fix it.
Forget all of the above. I was deep into some dream last night, when I was awoken by the sound of someone gagging, followed by... vomit hitting me in the face!
There is Christian, stricken by the evil stomach bug that has tormented the family of late. He sits up, spews his contents on the pillow right next to my head and I am awoken by the lukewarm spray of last night's dinner.
For that, one has to get up quick and tend to his final hurling efforts. One has to strip the bed down, find new sheets and new covers for pillows and duvets. You scrub the floor half-heartedly, thinking you will do it right in the morning. Then you have to comfort Christian and get him to sleep, while telling him about the beaches of Florida and Mallorca.
I tell him the sharks are only in the deep water, and that he needn't worry about them. Finally he falls asleep.
He wakes up at 4:45 am, completely rejuvenated after a day of being sick. He pulls my face to make sure I understand that crocodiles also live in deep water, and that they don't bite people on the beach. I have to get up, fix him breakfast and put a movie on the DVD.
Damn kids. And yet I feel desperate, when I think about how fast they are growing. It's a realization that life may never get better than this; that a million things could go wrong and, even if they don't, things will slip away by default.
-------------------
I'm getting into running again. After a few slow uninspired weeks, I rediscovered the treadmill. The machines at our gym are not as smooth as the ones at the La Crosse YMCA, but just getting back on the belt has motivated me. At this point, I am doing long intervals, say 3 x 2 miles. The 2 miles are run basically all out, but I vary the grade from 0% to 5% and back down. Even at the end of a session, I am amazed at how fast I feel when the grade comes back down.
These types of workouts were my training backbone last winter (and spring, until the trails opened up). I PRd three times this year (5K, marathon and 50K), so I'm following the same formula. My achilles heel is mileage. I run such a pitiful number of miles a week (maybe 25?) that upping my mileage is a logical step. But somehow I can't, especially not in winter, when it's dark out. I don't have a group, or even a single running partner (except for the Girl, and she reliably hates me after an hour of running).
The Girl runs 80 miles a week, often with 2 slow marathons. She needs speed, I need mileage.
A few years back, I tried running LSD with spanish lessons on the iPod. Maybe I will try that again.
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