What Stayed in Vegas...

I took a road trip to Vegas with friends last weekend.

We didn’t play blackjack at the card tables. So, I didn’t lose my shirt. I did, however, lose my favorite pair of running shoes. And I've been sans running shoes ever since.

As a runner, I’m embarrassed to say that I don’t have a “backup” pair of running shoes. In fact, I’d venture to say that my closet is a cross between a Sex & the City/New York-style closet (think: 4-inch heels and peep-toe shoes) and the closet of a California beach bum (all manner of flip-flops present and accounted for). But, no extra sets of running shoes. Thus the predicament.

I survived about three days without running. I cross-trained instead, wearing my flip-flops to weight-training class (I’m pretty sure that’s against club rules). And I avoided the urge to jump on the treadmill Zola Budd-style for fear I might get stange looks (or worse, kicked out of the gym entirely.)

But after three days, I couldn’t take it anymore. I broke down and went to Target and bought a pair of cheapie tennis shoes ($15.99, thank you very much). They are pretty stylish and they’re from a brand I trust (Champion).  But they’re not my shoes, if you know what I mean.

A good pair of running shoes is, well, much like a "woobie" blanket. It makes us feel comfortable when we slip down into it. If you ever lost a woobie blanket as a child and your parents tried to replace it, I bet you weren't fooled. It was scratchy. Not the same as your woobie, right? Well, I’ve been imagining all manner of things happening to my feet in the cheapie shoes (is that my ankle popping? I think I just heard something.) Alright, so I may be a bit paranoid -- and spoiled with my $85 Saucony Italian running shoes. But you'd miss them, too, if you logged these training miles!

I will survive. After all, there are far worse problems to have these days. Hard economic times. High unemployment. Shoot, some people in the world have no shoes at all. (To give soles to those souls, btw, you can visit Tom's Shoes here.) 

Tonight as I go to bed missing my woobie, I’ll say a prayer to count my blessings. I'll also send out a prayer to the Catholic Saint Anthony -- saint of lost and stolen items -- in hopes that my wayward shoes will make their way back to me soon.

Fast Friends... yet Slow to Depart



Exhibit A: The burger, fries, and Guinness beer I consumed post-race.

Five weeks ago I crossed the finish line of a Marathon, then proceeded to redeem my post-race reward: a meal I had been craving during the last several miles of the marathon. A hamburger, fries, and a Guinness beer.

Sure, I deserved it. In fact, after running 26 miles, I felt I deserved a million bucks.

Little did I know this single burger would spark a chain reaction (literally) that would take the next five weeks to break.

You see, after arriving back home, I continued to crave this all-American beauty. There wasn’t a drive-thru window I didn’t visit. I knew the location of every McDonald’s chain within a 50-mile radius. I consumed more hamburgers than Bill Clinton during both of his Presidential terms combined.

It didn’t take me long to realize I had created a monster. One that (what's that saying?) felt so good on the lips but even after several turns on the treadmill was starting to cling to the hips.

So, I went straight to someone who could help: a holistic doctor I've visited over past year who has helped me align my eating habits to a healthier lifestyle. As I sat in the office of Southern California's founding preventative medicine doc -- he, too, seemed puzzled by my meaty addiction. Mostly because I’ve never even been a big meat-eater. In fact, my diet has almost always been vegetarian. Damn near vegan, really.

While he needled me with his tiny acupuncture tools, he began to needle me with questions as well. “Tell me. What was the first meal you ate immediately following the Marathon?” 

“The first thing I ate?,” I replied. What does that have to do with anything, I wondered. Then I thought back to that fateful night. My eyes grew as big as my little stuffed tummy. Sheepishly, I replied: “A hamburger."

Bingo.

He grinned slightly. I could tell he was impressed with himself.  I admit, I was impressed with him, too. Not even pausing to take a victory lap, he went on to explain that when the body goes through a period of physical exertion or exhaustion (such as it does during a Marathon), at some point the body starts to tap into precious protein stores. That can leave a person ravenous for protein once the event is completed. With this craving, I had reached for the lowest common protein denominator: the good ‘ol American hamburger.

As if I was being read a line straight out of “Eat This, Not That!,” he went on to describe how making one simple, smart choice after the race could have helped me avoid all of this. Instead of meat protein, I could have opted for a healthier source of protein in the form of nuts, seeds, or legumes. This one simple choice would have saved me weeks (not to mention countless dollars) at the drive-thru fast food window. It is a tip I feel compelled to pass on to my fellow racers.

Fast forward to today: I’m happy to announce I’m off the hooch. With the help of the holistic healer, I downed my last hamburger several days ago. I’m back to eating healthy. And more importantly, I am equipped with the knowledge to make smarter choices after my next long race. Oh sure, I'll probably still go a little crazy, throw caution to the wind, eat something I wouldn't normally eat. But I'll be much, much more careful to choose a food companion I'll be willing to have around for weeks afterward.

25 Days of Running

There's nothing like the beginning of a fresh, new month to serve as a great motivator to reinvigorate one's running routine.

So, during the month of December as I'm decking the halls, I will also be running throughout the "25 Days of Christmas."

It may sound crazy at first blush. I mean, most people shut things down during the holidays. Take the month off. Throw their fitness routine to the wind, right? Surprisingly, I find that running actually helps keep me centered during harried times. It relieves holiday stress, helps me sleep at night, and oh yes! keeps me firmly in those fun, sparkly, holiday dresses.

Oh, don't get me wrong. I still intend to partake of the holiday festivities. Have a bite of a holiday cookie. Enjoy a hot toddy. Eat so much on Christmas Day I wish I'd never been born. But keeping up my 5KaDay running routine will at least help take the edge off of the holiday stress. And help keep the Santa-sized pants at bay.

So go ahead. Join me. This Christmas season, while you're out doing things for others, get out and do something for yourself. Give the ultimate gift to yourself - one of good health.

'Tis the Season to run!

For Love of the Game

The recent scandal at Penn State has got me thinking.

About our “Love of the Game.” And the unfortunate number of sports figures who've allowed their love of the game to be surpassed by a love for something else.

In the case of former Assistant Coach Jerry Sandusky, he let his love of something quite else stand in the way of his love of the game.  And we have watched as it has robbed him of the greatest gift he could have given to an entire generation of fans: a pure, unadulterated contest on the field.

Looking back over the past decade, you needn't look far to witness this flaw toppling great men -- and entire sporting empires.

Golf legend Tiger Woods let his love of women surpass his love of the game. He lost everything as a result. His wife, his children, his career. He hasn’t played as well since.

In the case of track-and-field star Marion Jones, she let her love of winning supercede her love of the game. After testing positive for performance-enhancing drugs, she paid the ultimate price by having to give back her Olympic medal.

It happens just as often in the game of life. You see it in the person who allows their love of alcohol to rob them of their God-given relationships. An overeater who allows their love of food rob them of the life they wish they had. A politician who lets their love of power outweigh their love for public service (the love that put them in power in the first place). Let the downfalls begin.

The bottomline is this:  When we let our game on the field become surpassed by a love of something off the field, we rob our fans – and ourselves -- of the very innocence that makes sports so great. True grit. Sweat. Tears. Hard work. Struggle. All of the things that make us human and allow us to connect with other human beings on an authentic level.

When you’re focused on your game, you’ll let nothing deter you. Not even the greatest temptation. Sure, it takes great skill.  But then again, isn’t that what true athletes are made of?

Love the game. Keep it pure.

Where Does All the Fat Go?

We’ve all heard the phrases “fat-burning,” or “burning calories.”

A good workout will do both.

The other night I had the privilege of visiting the newly-renovated State Capitol 24 Hour Fitness in downtown Sacramento, and I was struck by how many people were working out in this spacious new facility. At least a hundred people. Huffing and puffing. Pounding the treadmills. Working the stairmasters.

Maybe I’m weird, but – as I looked out among the crowd from my perch atop the goliath stair-stepping machine – I could almost picture tiny thought bubbles above each of their heads: “320 calories burned” and so forth.

As I thought about it further, a curious yet disgusting question entered my mind: Where does all the fat go?

It has to go somewhere, right? So I wondered, does it propel into the atmosphere around us, in some vapor-like force? Or does it melt inside of our bodies like some sort of liquid, alien-like plasma? Both theories thoroughly disgusted me.

So, I did a little research. And I thought I’d pass on the answer to you, in case your brain is as curious and peculiar as mine.

According to the Mayo Clinic's registered dietician Katherine Zeratasky, body fat breaks down in a series of complex metabolic processes.  When you “burn” fat, resulting waste products of that metabolic fire get expelled through sweat, urine, and carbon dioxide that gets exhaled from your lungs.

So, I was half right. The fat does enter the atmosphere around us at the gym. Your lungs serve as a “chimney” of sorts that expel the fat by-product into the air. And the internal metabolic “burn” is exactly that: a process that occurs inside, among the body’s 10 to 30 billion fat cells. Physical activity stirs up friction like two sticks rubbing together to create a fire, and the result is your fat literally getting burned into oblivion.

This all gives new meaning to the phrase “Let’s get fired up!”  Here's to your next inferno.

'Twas the Week after the Marine Corps Marathon...

‘Twas the week after the Marine Corps Marathon
And all through the house
Not a Runner was stirring
I was sore like a louse

My feet needed a warm kerchief
My poor head, a cap
No, I think I changed my mind:
All I want is a nap!

My feet needed to be nestled
All snug in my bed
But psychotically, visions of the next Marathon
Danced in my head.

When out on the race trail
There arose such a clatter
I tried to spring from my bed
But my bones, they all chattered

So away to the window I hobbled, toes smashed
I threw open the window, threw up the sash

Then what to my sleep-deprived eyes did appear...
A vision of race day my self had once feared.

New crestfallen runners
As if fallen like snow
Had tripped on Gu packets
On the unforgiving course below.

Then, Sleigh-like objects
So shiny and clear.
The rear pace car
And stragglers bus coming near!

Some handsome Marines
Offered a tempting ride
“It’s so nice and cozy,” they said
“Step in, take a ride!”

They looked oh-so-nice
And the bus looked the same
But then they whistled and shouted
And called us by name

On dasher! On dancer!
On prancer and Loser
Come on, speed it up
You regret being out last night – don’t you, you Boozer!

I waved them around
Said no thanks, I shall pass
I may be late in this race
But at least I’m not last!

And laying a finger aside my frozen nose
I waved them around
And up the final hill I rose

To the top of the Iwo Jima
I’ve already conquered the National Mall
Let’s dash away, dash away, dash away, all!

It was then I awoke
Suspected it was all but a dream
‘Til I turned over, and from the medal
Caught that sparkling gleam!

The lesson I’ve learned,
26 miles is no fright.
Happy Marathoning to all,
And to all a good night!

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words...

They say a picture is worth a thousand words.

Take, for example, the picture of the “Finisher's Medal” from last weekend's Marine Corps Marathon in Washington, D.C. The most stunning medal I have ever seen, this beauty certainly represents a thousand words. A thousand footsteps. And a thousand days of training (yes, Virginia – my training was, in fact, three years in the making.)

I'm not certain where this legendary quote originated – some say a writer coined the phrase in December 1921 to promote the use of photography in ads. He suggested that when it came to beautiful cable cars: "One look is worth a thousand thoughts." Some say it has roots in a Chinese proverb that, when translated, means: "A picture is worth ten thousand words." Other historians say it was French general Napoleon Bonaparte who uttered the phrase: "A good sketch is better than a long speech."  (If only politicians today would heed the suggestion!)

Whatever the case – and whomever the author – it is a statement as true as a Marathon is long.

For me, this picture is worth not only a thousand words. It's worth a thousand thoughts. A thousand hopes. And at one time, it probably represented a thousand fears.

Now, it represents a thousand tiny accomplishments. And a thousand more possibilities that are still to come. And that makes me smile... yes, you guessed it... a thousand times over.