I though to myself, 'Self. This is your ninth Father's Day. You should do nine."
Not having the mileage base to do nine miles, I settled on 9K. I have a mark that's about 2¾ miles out, which would be close enough. It was breezy and cloudy but dry ... for the time being.
I looked up when I got to the field at Mariel's school, for a weather check and saw glimpses of blue sky above the rush of grey and white clouds passing overhead. A darting shape caught to my right my eye, which I recognized as a bluebird ... no a pair of bluebirds, happily playing on a Sunday morning.
I crossed over the railroad tracks just as the bells and lights started flashing. Somehow, I spotted a quarter in a puddle at the bottom of a pothole.
'I've always wanted to do this!'
Quickly, I grabbed it and set it on the rail [don't worry, I knew I had plenty of time, before it arrived], and continued along. I'd look for it on the way back.
I made the two mile marker in a shade over seventeen minutes. It started sprinkling. No surprise ... it's been raining for about a week and a half now.
'What do you expect for June-tober?'
I trotted past the ducks, goats, sheep, chickens and geese to the turnaround. There were no stray peacocks to chase me around today; no JYDs lurking in the woods.
I recognized many expired Yard Sale signs on the way back.
'Kelly should come down here'
The wild geese and swans in the pond said hello as I went by again, although one swan did moon me ... Yeah, I'm sure she'd say "I just was diving for my breakfast," butt I know better, Missy!
I returned to the train tracks and looked for the quarter. No sign of it.
'It could have been blown up by the train's wake and be anywhere' one side of my brain said; the analytical Eeyore side. 'Or ... it could be right where you left it?' the other side commented; the dim-witted Pooh.
I went with Pooh. I've had enough of Eeyores, lately.
There it was ... a beautiful silver oval, pressure welded to the rail. No way was I bringing that home.
I turned and ran down the road that parallels the NJ Transit tracks. Over the past week, the NJDOT had cleaned up a bit. They have a machine they use to "tidy" up the right-of-way ... it's a big spinning blade, like on a riding-mower, but it's on a swing-arm; so it can cut down the turf, horizontally, or the over-growth on the chain-link fence, vertically.
The bastards cut all the honeysuckle down.
The sprinkle turned to drizzle, the stopped as I finished the last mile. I stopped my watch, then thought ... 'Y'know, you could go another minute or so and have 47 ... one minute for each year he was your Dad'
I started my jog around the block. I heard a voice.
"I'll NEVER stop being your DAD. I Always will be, and I'll always be proud of you"
'Huh? Proud of me? For what? You never saw me do anything?'
At his funeral, a woman Dad worked with said to me, "I never knew your Dad played golf" "That's okay," I replied rather off-handedly, "He never knew I surfed"
'I don't think he saw me run, either' I recalled this morning, as I took off my shoes and began my cool down walk around the block.
Then, it occurred to me ... When I set my 5K v1.0 PR [in Haddonfield, all those years ago] he called out my first mile split.
"Five-twenty-five!" ... The fastest mile I've ever run.
As I’ve said, surfers and runners are among the biggest weather-geeks you’re ever going to find. In fact, I am teaching Mariel the age old skills of reading the weather by sight, sound, smell, taste and feel. She has a knack for it.
"I don't smell the rain yet, Daddy, and the wind is going the wrong way still."
Even so, my holistic forecasting methods, however accurate, could never get me a job on The Weather Channel. I did, however, find one postion I am perfectly suited to, that wouldn’t require any meteorological background; in fact no advanced education whatsoever. I wouldn’t even have to relocate, either [alas, I wouldn’t be hanging out with Jim Cantore, Stephanie Abrams, et al.]
The Weather Channel Music: 'Local on the 8s' Forecast Music The music that is played during the 'Local on the 8s' Forecast changes every month. Find out what's playing this month or during a previous month.
June 2009 Playlist
The Smiths "Oscillate Wildly" - The Sound of the Smiths DEVO "Gut Feeling" - The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou The Allman Brothers Band "Blue Sky" - The Allman Brothers Band: A Decade of Hits 1969-1979 The Rolling Stones "Can't you Hear me Knocking" - Sticky Fingers The Clash "Time is Tight" - Super Black Market Clash
As I rolled my bike into the garage on Sunday evening, I noticed that somehow I had left an inner-tube in the middle of the floor. I didn’t remember changing a tire, but then it could have been a spare that had fallen off of one of the hooks. However, as I approached, the “inner-tube” got spooked and slithered across the cement and under the shelves I use as a pantry.
I had a 3½ foot long snake loose in my second favorite room in the house.
Quickly I snatched my LED headlight off The Tick and used it as a flashlight. I soon found out the no matter how hard you try, you can never get your head low enough to see under a stack of shelves. I moved all the boxes I could from the space I’d seen him crawl into and slid the empty coolers across the floor from their usual storage places. No luck … I could not locate my little friend.
Later that night and Monday morning still no sign of him. I moved things around at random, and listened for movement … Silence.
Then, I remembered that behind the shelves was a small hole in the garage wall where the condenser drainage hose exits the house. I figured he’d slipped out that way, which is why I couldn’t find him.
Live and let live.
**** “Rand, your little friend is still in the garage,” D’Wife told me, about noon on Tuesday, “But he’s not moving. I hope he’s dead and not just sleeping”
“Snakes don’t sleep, hon,” I assured her, “They’re like sharks; they’re always moving. He must be dead, since we haven’t seen him for two days.”
This wasn’t entirely true; they do sleep actually.
“I’ll take him out when I get home.”
Poor little guy.
****
“Oh, Rand … he wasn’t dead,” D’Wife informed me just as I was on my way out from work, “I asked Brian [our neighbor] to take him out, and he crawled back under the shelves.”
Uh-oh.
“Okay,” I reasoned, “Just leave the door open, and he’ll leave on his own accord”
“I’M NOT LEAVING THE DOOR OPEN!!! The kids will go in and out, I don’t want them getting hurt.”
“Okay, then. Close the door, and I’ll track him down when I get home.”
After changing out of my work outfit when I arrived home, I set to work calmly and methodically exposing every nook cranny and hiding space Mr. Squirmy could be in.
After shuffling 75% of the garage contents and just about to give up, I looked in one more place. There he was, coiled around the handle of my CD player in an alcove by my shelf of paints and gardening supplies. I made two quick and relieving observations. I noticed at our first encounter that he had no rattle and his skin was not “argyle” mean this wasn’t a rattler. My other two fears were that he was all black [a water moccasin] or brown and orange [a copperhead]. Nope, he was black and dark brown with a reddish orange belly. Also, his head was smooth and round, not angular, like a venomous species would be.
Fourth-grade reptile-geekishness came in handy.
Brian had returned to help out and grabbed a trash can to deposit my friend into. I tried to hook my reptilian pal with a rake, but he slid under this stack of shelves, much like he had done the other one. One by one, I removed paint cans, hoping to get close enough to grab for him, but he had settled too far back for me to reach. I slipped a broom towards him, hoping to scare him out of his cubby and into the open. I had moderate success … he moved out of the space, but could quite find his way to freedom.
When he stopped for a moment, either out of fear or confusion, I swiftly made a grab for him, catching him right behind his head
“Crikey!!!” I got him!!!
He quickly wrapped his tail around my arm, but there was no way I was letting go. Snakes are weird to handle, because their center of gravity is constantly changing.
Of course I had to show of my bravery and skill to D’Kid’s little friends, but soon the time can to release him once and for all. There was no way in hell D’Wife would let me just let him crawl under the chain link fence in the backyard. So, as much as it pained me to do so, I took a grip on his head and tail and chucked him as far as I could over the fence. He flew about 20’ towards the middle of the stand of cat-tails that used to be our pond and fell 12’ or so into the reeds. Hopefully, they gave away just enough to slow his impact with whatever water, mud or dirt lay below.
****
To the Native Americans, the snake is a symbol of transformation and healing. Snake ceremonies involved learning to transmute the poisons within the body after being bitten multiple times. These activated the energy of kill or cure, ultimately leading to dramatic healings.
In the Meso-American societies, the serpent or snake was depicted as feathered and flying, a symbol of their greatest god and hero, Quetsalcoatl, the embodiment of the dying god who would someday return. In many ways he was the patron of the Toltecs, and it was said that the heavens and stars and all the motions of the universe were under his dominion.
In Greece the snake was also a symbol of alchemy and healing. The god Hermes carried a staff upon which were entwined two snakes. This caduceus symbol is the primary symbol of western medicine and doctors. It is the symbol of wisdom expressed through healing.
In India the Goddess Vinata was the mother of snakes and a symbol of water and the underworld. Also in India were the demigods, Naga and their beautiful wives Naginis, who were usually depicted as half cobra and half deity. The god Vishnu is often depicted sleeping on the serpent of eternity call Ananta. Shiva wears snakes for bracelets and necklaces, representing sexuality.
The serpent has long been a symbol of sexual/creative life force within humans as is taught in eastern traditions. The kundalini or serpent fire lies coiled at the base of the spine. As we grow and develop, the primal energy is released, rising up the spine. This in turn activates energy centers in the body and mind, opening new dimensions and levels of awareness, health and creativity.
In Chinese astrology, one of the twelve years is named for the snake. Those born within that year are believed to have the qualities of compassion, clairvoyance and charm. They usually need to learn lessons associated with forgiveness, superstitiousness and possessiveness as well.
In Egypt the snake has also has mystical significance. The uraeus is a head band in the shape of the snake. The head of the snake rests and sticks out at the brow area. It was believed to represent a state of inner sight and control of the universe. It was a symbol worn by those who were initiated. Some believe it to be variations of the eye of Horus, while others see it as the sacred eye of Ra. It represents a certain degree of wisdom and understanding.
Because it sheds its skin, the snake has long been a symbol of death and rebirth. Before the snake begins to shed its skin, its eyes will begin to cloud over. It gives the snake a trancelike appearance. To many mystics and shamans this indicated the ability of the snake to move between the realms of the living and the dead, of crossing over from life to death and then back to life again.
The snake has often been depicted along with its relatives, the serpent and the dragon as a guardian. It is found in myth and lore guarding treasures, the springs of life or sacred places.
Anytime a snake shows up as a totem, you can expect death and rebirth to occur in some area of your life. It can also reflect that your own creative forces are awakening. Physiologically, it can activate the sexual drive, bring more energy, etc. Spiritually it can stimulate greater perception of how to apply your insight and intuition. Your own vision and intuition will become more accurate. Learning opportunities, formal and informal will surface frequently. You will be able to swallow and digest whatever you take in.
Learning to use the eyes to mesmerize and look into the hearts and souls of others directly is part of what traditional snake medicine can teach. It may even indicate a need to look more closely into your own heart and soul.
Individuals with the snake totem will find themselves extremely sensitive to smells and fragrances.... the sense of smell is linked to higher forms of discrimination and spiritual idealism.
Snakes are symbols of change and healing. They have speed and agility, so those who have snakes come into their life will usually find changes and shifts occur quickly and are soon recognized and defined. When snake comes into your life you can look for a rebirth into new powers of creativity and wisdom.
****
Hmmm, “change, healing, and rebirth.” I could use a little of those, these days.
As you know, I pass by Assumption nearly every day on my morning run [it's about a mile and a quarter from home; where I turn around, depends on the day]
A friend of mine has been havng a tough time. She's Catholic and goes to Mass more than just Sunday, yet still feels overwhelmed.
One morning, a couple of weeks ago, for some reason, I decided to take a detour and not rush past the the church, but I stopped to spend a minute or two with the Blessed Mother out in front. I asked for her help and guidance on her behalf.
I mentioned that to her, and things started turning around. Not resolved yet, but on the way. A beacon has been lit, she can find her way to shore.
We came up with a nickname and it's become part of my morning routine.
Anyway, when she feels she in a bind, she'll email me and say, "Hey, Rand? Can you talk to 'Mom' for me?"
Early morning Number Two. This time, it was really raining. This was going to be serious fun!!! Hardcore points would be up for grabs, all around.
Again, I was up at my usual time, and got right into the shower [pre-race superstition]. I wasn’t sure whether any of the girls would be coming with me. I told them the night before that they were under no obligation whatsoever to come along. But they all surprised me and got up and going fairly well. There was no complaining or feet-dragging from “The Possum,” D’Wife was agreeable and enthusiastic, and Sharon was eager to see how well her coach would do in his event.
We left the house, gear in hand [and with plenty of umbrellas] almost exactly when I wanted, too.
On the way over, my cousin double-checked me, to make sure I had all of my talisman’s … Cross with St. Jude & St. Joseph? Check! Shark tooth necklace? Check! Sharky sox? Check! Magic seashell? Check!
Over the bridge and onto South Broad Street, we followed the parade to the parking lot; the far parking lot … The furthest away parking lot there was. Oh well, it wasn’t quite 7:30 yet, still plenty of time. A nice walk to the subway would serve as a good warm-up.
We got to the Pattison Ave subway stop at almost exactly 7:30. The school buses were lined up to take the girls to the finish area.
Hugs and kisses were shared and I moved toward the subway entrance
“Subway’s backed up people!!!” an official shouted, “The buses will take you to the start area!!!”
Oh, okay. No problem. I swung my well-travelled backpack over my shoulder and stepped aboard. Of course, the first vacant seat just happened to be next to a young blonde ponytail.
“May I?” I asked and sat down when given a nod and a smile.
I called Doe, explained the bus deal and txt’d our other “teammate” Nora.
I behaved myself and sat quietly [read: waited for an opening] until we drove by the water stop in front of South Philly High School … a pair of calf high Elmo sock absolutely invited comment.
Ice successfully broken, we chatted the rest of the way up Broad Street. I did remain silent as we drove by the Dolphin tavern at Broad and Tasker, out of respect to the strip club where I used to work, and the patrons and “staff” thereof.
Further up Broad Street we travelled, passing a couple other buses making the same journey. Time was starting to become a concern, for both the runners and the driver
“Don’t worry folks!!! I’ll get you there!!!”
At some point, I’m not sure where or why, we left Broad and continued up 13th Street. Being a less travelled street to begin with, and having no cross-town traffic due to the closure of Broad, our driver took it upon herself to commence running red lights! Each successive breach of traffic law, brought applause form the runners, not seriously concerned to the wisdom and timeliness of using the buses.
“I’m leaving even earlier next year,” became the sardine mantra.
Or not, as I found my new friend was from Lancaster, and didn’t realize there was a half-marathon out there today as well … As a friend of mine said “26,000 Runners? Yea, that's why I won't run Broad St. That race is way too big for me. I'll stick to my local, small HM on those weekends.”
Maybe next year, I’ll try something different?
At some point, and I’m not sure where exactly, our 13th Street Express ran out of street … we found ourselves at a dead end. Our driver again made an audible and proceeded the wrong way down a one-way street to bring us across the race course.
Except 15th is Southbound … Dammit!!! The driver continued up and over and around before crossing the course again and, with cheers and shouts of “Good Idea!!!” she hit another jet stream and headed up Old York Road.
While waiting for a light, and only half a block for the course itself, we heard a POP!!! And saw the first group [a.k.a. “The Kenyans”] take off. A couple more lights and the next group was unleashed. At this point, she opened the doors and wished us “Good luck runners!!!”
The rain had stopped for the time being, but I was sure that wouldn’t last. Now to find my bus, stash my bag, stretch and go.
You’d think #23-something would be assigned bus #23, wouldn’t you? Nope. #17 … Which, by the time I found this out, and had zigged & zagged through the crowd to the opposite side of the street, had left. I went to the nearest one, #30 and said,
“My bus left, can I leave this with you?” “Sure, just remember which bus we are.” “Will do, thanks.”
I stripped out of my sweats [making sure that as I took my shoes off to get my feet out, I didn’t step on the wet street; the slightest extra moisture, or the tiniest bit of gravel on my sharky sox could prove disastrous, blisterwise … or so I told myself]
A little bit of easy stretching [this not “having time to stretch” thing is becoming fairly regular now] and I lined up … well, not really in a line actually, more like “packed up” or “crowded up,” but you get the idea.
Finally, at 8:53 - 23 minutes after the first group left and nearly an hour and a half since I stepped on the bus - the air-horn blew and we were on our way.
There was the usual speed-up/slow-down, right-left-right-left, run-shuffle-run, chaos that accompanies any massive race start, as you find gaps and make space without tripping over others, or yourself, to get into something of a rhythm.
Basically, running like a bike messenger.
My primary goal was to find a groove that was pretty quick, while still being comfortable and not putting any undue stress on my problematic hamstring; which has been giving me momentary twinges of OUCH!!! In varying degrees moving randomly up and down the line … sometimes down by the knee, other times up high in the buttoski region.
My secondary goal was to find a nice pack of ponytails to settle in with for the next 90-100 minutes … For pacing purposes, of course.
Although the course is downhill overall, there a many mini-hills to conquer in the first half of the race and even a flat patch [as measured by GPS] feels like a rise.
Eagerly awaiting the first mile marker, to give my left-brain some math to do the rest on the way, we trotted along through the mist. The clock at Mile One said 32-something. Of course, joke like “We took that one too fast” and “save some for the finish” rippled through the [what we perceived to be] middle of the pack. I looked at my watch – 9:02AM. A 9-minute first mile; not shabby. I had been training at around 8:30 the past few weeks, but I wasn’t going all out today. D’Wife had predicted 1:33-1:38; the other two simply predicted that I’d be wet.
Almost on cue, at the 10-minute mark, my spex fogged up. More accurately, I noticed that they had fogged up. In my pre-race prep, I had forgotten to wipe them with a dryer sheet; somehow, that prevents the micro-particles of dust that act as fog “seeds” to adhere and keeps the clear. Someone had once suggested Rain-Ex to me also, but I’d never tried it.
The first water stop followed pretty close behind the Mile Two marker. I stopped to get a few sips. Although it was a wet day, it was pretty humid, the kind of morning that will wring water out of you, no matter what the temperature. I dipped my fingers in the cup, and squeegeed my glasses clear … Much better … although, once back out to the middle of the course I noticed that through the fog and rain, you couldn’t see City Hall or any of the building in Center City at all.
Crossing over the train tracks just past Lehigh Avenue, I received some sort of a blessing: When a pair of nuns, rattling cowbells shouts “Go runners!!!” you know it’s going to be a good day.
Mile three came at 9:20, exactly [I still haven’t learned how to do laps/splits on my watch properly, so I’m constantly doing math]
“We’re clicking off 9’s” I said to no one in particular, just whoever else might also be doing math.
“9:15” a voice beside me.
Ah … just like the Bridge Run; someone has to be accurate.
Like I said to Doe then, I though to myself now: ‘Of course, I’m moving forward through the pack, asshole, so I’m a little bit quicker. Just shut the fuck up, jackass.’
Sitting in the door way of a brownstone, a gathering of leather clad maidens, banged away on pots and pans.
“That one chik had a bucket on her head,” I said to a girl next to me “The one in the bustier?” she replied, “I think that was a dude.” “Interesting … They Gayborhood is still a couple miles away.”
It was at about Mile Four that the pale silhouettes of the tall buildings downtown began to appear. A few more minutes, we’d be around them and onto the long stretch through South Philly … at least it wouldn’t be a hot run, straight into the sunshine, like usual. In fact, at the pace I was going, running in the cool mist without the slightest discomfort, I was feeling pretty damn good. My longest run in the past month had only been 5 miles; we were almost at that point now, and I felt like wed only done a mile or two at the most.
I smiled to myself as we approached the next Water Stop at Spring Garden Street and exclaimed, “This is awesome!”
This is where the tall buildings, lofts and parking garages begin; Downtown starts here. The streets, although empty of traffic, felt a little more claustrophobic. People were getting anxious as, after running in pretty much of a straight line for 5½ miles with plenty of room to move, we would be suddenly compressed in the narrow bends around City Hall. I’ve seen someone take a dive nearly every year I’ve run this, and those were in dry conditions. Today’s slick pavement would make the likelihood of someone colliding with a planet very high.
Entering into the “City Hall Chicane” I heard a familiar tune, although since it was being performed by a large brass band it took a moment to place it. The Musical Rolodex in my head fluttered like the Arrival/Departure signs at 30th Street Station, as I scanned the musical library of iPod in my head … DING! DING! DING! … “All The Small Things” – Blink 182.
First nuns with cowbells, and now an orchestral punk-pop song? A good day, indeed.
We navigated around City Hall with nary a bump, bruise or jostle.
Ah, the familiar landmarks of my hometown … Including, standing in front of the Bellevue, America’s Mayor, Ed Rendell. Being on the far right of the pack, I easily glided up, paused and shook his hand … as had several thousand before me, I supposed, as his hand was cold and damp. The Gov’s jacket was soaked up to the elbow, but he smiled, patted me on my wet shoulder and wished me well.
An odd sort of collected memory took over here … Although both lane were clear of traffic, while in Center City, most people [around me anyway] stayed to the right, or the Southbound lane. It wasn’t until the Water Stop at Locust Street, with tables on both sides, did the pack widen again to take up the full width.
I arrived at the Mile Six marker at about 55 minutes. This was a fine pace and my longest run in weeks. I would be well within my 100-minute goal [1:40 or 10:00 pace] even if my hammy decided to completely boing out on me right now.
At this point, I could hear the SEPTA conductor in my head, reading off the station stops, just like I was going down to the Spectrum for a concert or Flyers game
“Ellsworth-Federal” “Tasker-Morris”
Again, I took special moment as we ran up to Tasker Street, and the Dolphin Tavern. A nod and wink to all who have passed though it’s turquoise door.
“... this place is like the bar in Star Wars...”
I used to work there. That’s all I say about it.
Being on the right side of the course, I didn’t have the opportunity to say “hello” to the volunteer at the Water Stop in from of South Philly High with the Elmo socks, but she was there all right … I wondered where my little friend form Lancaster might be? Had I gotten by her and not noticed? Could she be up ahead someplace, maybe only a few yards away? Where were Doe, The King and ReRun? The mind wanders, you know?
As we ran by Methodist Hospital, the mist we’d been running through for the past hour, turned itself up a notch to “Sprinkle” This produced an interesting excitement, and being wet just from excessive humidity was nothing to brag about, but running 10 miles in the rain, was definitely a badge of some sort. I would swear people were dumping cups on themselves at the Water Stops to make themselves look even wetter than they already were.
Once we crossed Oregon Avenue, all buildings disappeared. There are a few row homes far off the street between Bigler and the Schuylkill, but basically, it’s all park. You don’t get any sense of moving really, because the landscapes not changing much. Therefore the Nine Mile marker always seems to elicit “Already?!!!” from the pack.
Only a few minutes to go, as the fans constantly reminded us …
“Looking good” “Almost there” etc, etc. “Yeah, yeah, yeah”
“Sprinkle” had been upgraded to “Drizzle” now, and the excitement was high. Runners who were holding back, sandbagging if you will, now started to move through the crowd. I was being overtaken and soon myself caught up in the frenzy [well, a kind of pokey frenzy, but …]
Runners shouted with what lungs they had as we passed under The Schuylkill and [after passing the stadium complex] I-95. The Navy Yard Gate was the final landmark; wrongly assumed by some to be the finish line. Passing the fans, cowbells airhorns and thundersticks creating a wondrous racket, we flew under the gate. I was still in “chase and attack” mode, but Mr. Sensible in my head said, “Give yourself some space, dude. If you’re too crowded up, the girls won’t see you. Plus … maybe not good for photos.”
I found a space with about six feet on either side and front and back and called it “My Bubble” As long as I kept it clear, everyone can see me.
That was the plan anyway.
I did my best to sprint to the finish, keeping my eyes to the left, looking for my three special fans and crossed under the clock at 1:55 – about 1:32, I figured.
No time to waste, as we were now in full Downpour mode. I found Bus #30, got my phone, called D’Girls and told them I was done and to meet me at the “M” sign in the Family Meet-Up Area[they hadn’t seen me finish after all, as they were distracted my some young woman who had given her all and heaved right after the finish line].
Fully soaked, I then called Doe and said, “Sorry Dude, we’re outta here!” D’Wife relayed the same message to some of or 30s friends who had finished quite a bit earlier [due to that fact they started ahead of me, and were considerably faster]. I reconnected with my girls, each huddled under her own umbrella, and got the Hell out of Dodge.
After a half-mile walk back to Vicki, due to the outrageous wait for the Stadium Shuttles, and another half hour to get out of the lot; we finally got home around 1:00.
I showered, and everyone changed into warm dry clothes. The four of us went to Applebees for lunch, Sharon and I enjoyed a pint of Sam Adams each and with a heavy heart, let her return home to Connecticut around 3:00.
It was a massively exciting and action packed-weekend; maybe too much so. Next time maybe not so much racing?
