I started running almost exactly one year ago today. I remember that first one - it was cold, dark, and drizzling. I made it to my turnaround point a whopping mile and a half out, paused for a good two minutes while my heartrate slowly backed off the redline and fought to catch my breath, then slogged the return mile and a half, soaked with sweat and rain, exhausted. I've literally come a long way since then having logged some 469 miles since I started keeping track in late August.
Despite the usual complaining tone of my previous running-related blog entries what I remember most about the last 12 months of training is not the pain and the hellish wind or the eventual realization that running is at least a 75% mental effort but rather the beautiful things I saw along the way. It's hard to imagine a more picturesque place to run than the bike path along Santa Monica beach and beyond. Whether it's raining and desolate, blazing with the midday sun, displaying another jaw-dropping sunset, or giving me a shadow to chase with a big full moon, the beach is a magical place. I'll never get tired of it and I'll never take it for granted.
Here it is, January 13th, and we're currently enjoying probably the best weather we'll get all year long. There's a light breeze, the sky is crystal clear, and it's 81 degrees out. My last run was 8 miles on Sunday this past weekend. I started out as the sun neared the horizon and as it sunk lower, more and more people stopped in their tracks along the bikepath, transfixed by the blue luminescence of the sea and the sky and the slow fade to orange as the great ball of the sun finally touched the ocean. Then, as if by some silent signal, everyone turned around to watch the full moon, the largest one of 2009, creep skyward over Santa Monica, enormous and cool and white, the perfect balance to the blazing sun that had just disappeared. I ran on, glad I had made the decision to run this marathon and thankful I live in such a beautiful place.
For those of you interested in following my progress this Sunday there are a couple of ways to do so. Apparently the marathon website will have a map of the course on which I'll be represented by a little red dot. Another option is to click here to get text message updates as to my whereabouts during the race. If you're only interested in the money shot, the marathon website can direct you to a video of me crossing the finish line, hopefully in running mode and not on my hands and knees. I'm registered as Stu Royalty and my bib number is 3925.
At this point I'd like to say thank you to those who have been so supportive of me this last year. Thank you for listening while I droned on about the minutia regarding energy gels or my shoe laces or some other mind-numbing topic. Thank you for encouraging me when I was convinced it just wasn't going to happen. And Dad, thank you for inspiring me yet again.
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There are four kinds of bike wrecks: those due to Mechanical Failure, those due to Rider Stupidity, those due to Others' Stupidity, and those due to Natural Causes i.e. lightning, sinkholes, mountain lions, etc. As is usually the case, today's accident was 100% in the Rider Stupidity category.
I have four decades of bike wrecking experience under my belt. I'm a grizzled veteran of the two-wheeled tumble; an old pro at the slide and roll. Like I said, the vast majority of my wrecks have been caused by my own staggering lack of common sense. Early on, this was usually coupled with wheelie riding as I was the undisputed wheelie king of my block back in the day. Once, when I was about 12, I was riding a wheelie and went to jump off the back of the bike because I had pulled too hard only to find that my untied shoelace had wrapped around the pedal. As I sped along on only the back wheel, I slowly tipped over backward, unable to put my feet down, finally landing on the pavement on my back with the bike on top of me tied to my foot. Later, after my dad had come to my rescue because he'd heard me yelling at the top of my lungs, he admitted that he had no idea up until then that I could cuss like that. Another good crash occured on campus in Austin when I... well, let's just say I tried something incredibly stupid. I ended up at the Health Center with two dislocated shoulders and had to make the Sophie's Choice as to which arm would get the one sling I was allotted. I also used to enjoy riding wheelies down the length of those covered construction walkways and was doing so when my handlebar just clipped the wall inside and down I went in a bloody, splintery heap. Good times!
Today's wipeout was a bit more mundane. I was heading to work on the beach bike path, ironically considering the possibility of getting a helmet for the first time in my life. I have a shortcut through the outdoor dining area of one of those burger stands and to take it I have to ride through a ten inch gap in the curb that separates the bike path from the rest of the pavement. I was riding no-hands, of course, and thought it would "be fun" to try and shoot the gap without touching the handlebars. Naturally, mayhem ensued.
It's been a long time since I've wrecked my bike and as I picked myself up today - not daring to look at the people gawking as they passed by, hoping they hadn't seen the whole idiotic thing unfold - I found a certain comfort in the familiarity of it all, the dull pain from the bloody holes in my palms, the sting of the strawberry on my elbow, the new aches in my legs, the humility. Regardless of the circumstances or which of the four types of accidents you find yourself in, the bike wreck experience is always the same - one moment you're riding along happy as a clam, there's a split-second "uh-oh!", and the next thing you know you're on the ground, embarrassed, in pain, and assessing the damage. It's nice to know that some things just never change.
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