Hi everybody. I’m Oz Runner.
“Hello, Oz,” they reply.
I’m a Garmin-o-holic.
“That’s OK. We know what you are going through. We are here for you. Admitting you have a problem is the first step.”
Um, it’s not really a problem. As long as my Garmin works.
Today, my little buddy behaved like the good Garmin Forerunner I have known and loved for the past year and a half. 6 miles run. 6 miles recorded. 6 miles downloaded to the computer.
I love this guy, in a manly, recognizing it is – mostly – an inanimate object sort of way. It just seems like he really gets me.
Before my Garmin came into my life, I never was very diligent about keeping a running log. Sure, it is kind of fun to relive your training run while moving the computer mouse around the course on something like mapmyrun.com to figure out how far I went.
Or you can always drive along a running route before or after a run to check your mileage. Oh boy, that sure is a blast.
Not anymore do I have to do such things. No sir. I’ve got my Garmin.
On a whim, not really planning what route I need to run, I can get a quick glance at the training schedule, head out the door and create a route on the fly to hit just the distance I need that day.
OK, I recognize I can get a bit obsessive about this thing at times. On my weekly group runs, for example, sometimes according to my personal Garmin, I will come up short by a tenth, or maybe two-tenths of a mile from the 10, 12 or 14 miles or whatever I was supposed to run that day. Maybe my GPS was a bit off from the Garmin of the guy who plotted the course, maybe I cut some corners or maybe I just got off track by turning my Garmin off when coming in for a water stop, then walking a bit and then restarting it.
Sure, I try to be casual at the end of the run and all as I stop, sip a cup of Gatorade and chat with my fellow runners for a bit. And yes, then I have been known to run in the parking lot to get my full tenth or two-tenths of a mile in. Once I even drove home, then ran in front of my house for one-tenth of a mile.
It’s just so magical when my little buddy beeps and displays the completion of another full mile. Yes, it’s silly. I’m probably a little crazy. But I am a runner. Aren’t we all at least a little bit crazy?
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
My Garmin ate my homework, er, training run
I haven’t trotted out the-dog-ate-my-homework excuse since, oh, about the fifth grade.
While it didn’t work so well with Ms. Chase – she sure was a great teacher, but she didn’t put up with any nonsense – I am forced to try again. You gotta believe me. I did the work, but it just disappeared.
This time the culprit isn’t my once-beloved St. Bernard – you can’t imagine the size of the goobers that dog could produce, but I digress – but my Garmin.
Yes, yesterday I put in my miles. Seven of them. Really.
But then as I went through my morning routine – sitting around waiting for the sweat to stop dripping off my body so I could take a shower, brewing a pot of coffee, checking in on the Tour de France (Go Garmin!) – I plugged in my Forerunner 205 into my PC.
Got the electronic beep that said it was downloading the latest running history. But when I clicked into the chart……it wasn’t there!!!
What the heck?! It was like my seven miles in 1 hour and 6 minutes on a hot, steamy summer morning – July 22 to be exact – never happened. The sweat definitely was dripping off my nose so I know I ran. The hallucinations don’t usually cause me any problems until I am about 16 miles into a training run on a 90-degree morning in August. But the computerized chart wasn’t there.
Guess I am not the only one struggling to get out of no running vacation mode. Do you think the Forerunner is pouting because I only took him on one run while out in Colorado?
I had another dog once who hated to be left behind at home when I went out for a run. Even as Jesse aged and started dealing with a little arthritis that slowed his pace considerably, the dog went crazy if I put on my running shoes and didn’t grab the leash to take him along. Sometimes I would have to take him out for a warm-up mile, drop him off back at home and then finish my long run.
That dog was high maintenance. I sure hope my Garmin buddy gets back to his grab-and-go self by the morning. We’ve got to log 6 miles, according to the schedule. It’s time to get serious about training and, like Ms. Chase so many years ago, I’m not inclined to put up with this nonsense.
“The Garmin ate your training run?” I can hear her say, the scowl forming on her face. “Yeah right.”
While it didn’t work so well with Ms. Chase – she sure was a great teacher, but she didn’t put up with any nonsense – I am forced to try again. You gotta believe me. I did the work, but it just disappeared.
This time the culprit isn’t my once-beloved St. Bernard – you can’t imagine the size of the goobers that dog could produce, but I digress – but my Garmin.
Yes, yesterday I put in my miles. Seven of them. Really.
But then as I went through my morning routine – sitting around waiting for the sweat to stop dripping off my body so I could take a shower, brewing a pot of coffee, checking in on the Tour de France (Go Garmin!) – I plugged in my Forerunner 205 into my PC.
Got the electronic beep that said it was downloading the latest running history. But when I clicked into the chart……it wasn’t there!!!
What the heck?! It was like my seven miles in 1 hour and 6 minutes on a hot, steamy summer morning – July 22 to be exact – never happened. The sweat definitely was dripping off my nose so I know I ran. The hallucinations don’t usually cause me any problems until I am about 16 miles into a training run on a 90-degree morning in August. But the computerized chart wasn’t there.
Guess I am not the only one struggling to get out of no running vacation mode. Do you think the Forerunner is pouting because I only took him on one run while out in Colorado?
I had another dog once who hated to be left behind at home when I went out for a run. Even as Jesse aged and started dealing with a little arthritis that slowed his pace considerably, the dog went crazy if I put on my running shoes and didn’t grab the leash to take him along. Sometimes I would have to take him out for a warm-up mile, drop him off back at home and then finish my long run.
That dog was high maintenance. I sure hope my Garmin buddy gets back to his grab-and-go self by the morning. We’ve got to log 6 miles, according to the schedule. It’s time to get serious about training and, like Ms. Chase so many years ago, I’m not inclined to put up with this nonsense.
“The Garmin ate your training run?” I can hear her say, the scowl forming on her face. “Yeah right.”
Sunday, July 20, 2008
High-altitude cross training
So there I was, 10,000 feet up, and staring at my running shoes. My running shoes stared back.
And I didn’t go running.
It was vacation, after all. I didn’t mean to take a vacation from running. It just sort of worked out that way.
Last week I flew to Denver with a mob of family members. Between aunts, uncles, cousins, a grandmother and a very good family friend, we just about had enough people for our own traveling circus.
On the first day, I did strap on my Mizunos and go for a run around Denver. I cruised by Coors Field, the Lower Downtown area and then back up the state capitol.
Felt pretty good considering that I was a mile above sea level. It also was fun to get the runner’s view-vantage point to see how much my hometown has changed over the years.
But then we piled into a couple of vans and headed for the high country. Stayed in a cabin that was at least 9,000 feet high with a few dirt roads and a bunch of rocky trails nearby.
Between all of the horseback riding, river rafting and hiking – I did do a bunch of mondo hikes – I just didn’t make the time for a morning run. Best hike of the week: A steep, winding three-mile trail that takes you from the rim of the Black Canyon of the Gunnison down to a beautiful secluded reservoir. Then, of course, after visiting the site known as Hermit’s Rest, my son and I had to drag ourselves back up. The 7-year-old Ozling and his love of hiking in the mountains and fierce determination left his Daddy proud.
I drank more beer in the past week than I have in the past six months. Maybe as many as three or four for the week. I didn’t end up paying too big a price. Only came back with a couple more pounds than I left with.
My training schedule was waiting for me upon my return. It’s only a piece of paper, but I think it was glaring at me.
I realize I can’t get this week of training back. It’s important, I realize. Just before I left, I did take the plunge and sign up for one of those lengthy fall races.
Definitely time to get back to work.
Can we just call this past week a bout of high-altitude cross training?
And I didn’t go running.
It was vacation, after all. I didn’t mean to take a vacation from running. It just sort of worked out that way.
Last week I flew to Denver with a mob of family members. Between aunts, uncles, cousins, a grandmother and a very good family friend, we just about had enough people for our own traveling circus.
On the first day, I did strap on my Mizunos and go for a run around Denver. I cruised by Coors Field, the Lower Downtown area and then back up the state capitol.
Felt pretty good considering that I was a mile above sea level. It also was fun to get the runner’s view-vantage point to see how much my hometown has changed over the years.
But then we piled into a couple of vans and headed for the high country. Stayed in a cabin that was at least 9,000 feet high with a few dirt roads and a bunch of rocky trails nearby.
Between all of the horseback riding, river rafting and hiking – I did do a bunch of mondo hikes – I just didn’t make the time for a morning run. Best hike of the week: A steep, winding three-mile trail that takes you from the rim of the Black Canyon of the Gunnison down to a beautiful secluded reservoir. Then, of course, after visiting the site known as Hermit’s Rest, my son and I had to drag ourselves back up. The 7-year-old Ozling and his love of hiking in the mountains and fierce determination left his Daddy proud.
I drank more beer in the past week than I have in the past six months. Maybe as many as three or four for the week. I didn’t end up paying too big a price. Only came back with a couple more pounds than I left with.
My training schedule was waiting for me upon my return. It’s only a piece of paper, but I think it was glaring at me.
I realize I can’t get this week of training back. It’s important, I realize. Just before I left, I did take the plunge and sign up for one of those lengthy fall races.
Definitely time to get back to work.
Can we just call this past week a bout of high-altitude cross training?
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
An oasis for runners
I figured something out this morning.
You’ll probably think it’s silly that I haven’t noticed before now.
But here it is: I’m not a camel.
No, really. I just checked. I looked in the mirror – it was kind of hard to turn my head around to the back, but I did it – and found that I didn’t have any humps. Not even one.
So, I must ask myself, why have I been wandering in the desert without any water?
Well, in this case the desert consists of the streets in my neighborhood that I use to piece together routes of a few miles during the weeks. But on these steamy summer mornings, I might as well be running in a desert.
Hydration is important under those conditions. But I never liked to carry water. The sloshing in the bottles drove me nuts. Trying to stash bottles along my route didn’t really work all that well either.
I saw those runner’s fuel belts, but they always looked uncomfortable. I know how bad it feels when my shirt rubs in the wrong places. Can’t imagine what my hips would look life after five miles of chafing against a fuel belt.
But then I saw one of those Amphipod belts. I got a small one a while back to stash my cell phone in on longer runs. My ankle had a nasty run in with a pot hole a few years back and I made the not-wise decision to walk back home, more than a mile. I decided that if I ever have another problem like that again, I want to be able to get on the cell phone and call the Mrs. Oz taxi to come pick me up. But I digress.
The point is, the Amphipod belt worked great. No chafing. It made me start wondering, hmmmm….look at that other Amphipod belt that comes with a form-fitting water bottle tilted to the side. Bet that wouldn’t slosh too crazily.
I picked it up, admiring it, each time I went into the local running store over the past month. Price seemed a bit steep, but I finally brought one home.
It was amazing this morning as I took it along and was able to take a few gulps of water at two miles, then again at four. I didn’t feel nearly as run down at the end of the run.
So, to review, here are the big lessons: 1. I am not a camel. 2. Runner’s need water.
Give me time. I just might start to figure out some of this running stuff. Eventually.
You’ll probably think it’s silly that I haven’t noticed before now.
But here it is: I’m not a camel.
No, really. I just checked. I looked in the mirror – it was kind of hard to turn my head around to the back, but I did it – and found that I didn’t have any humps. Not even one.
So, I must ask myself, why have I been wandering in the desert without any water?
Well, in this case the desert consists of the streets in my neighborhood that I use to piece together routes of a few miles during the weeks. But on these steamy summer mornings, I might as well be running in a desert.
Hydration is important under those conditions. But I never liked to carry water. The sloshing in the bottles drove me nuts. Trying to stash bottles along my route didn’t really work all that well either.
I saw those runner’s fuel belts, but they always looked uncomfortable. I know how bad it feels when my shirt rubs in the wrong places. Can’t imagine what my hips would look life after five miles of chafing against a fuel belt.
But then I saw one of those Amphipod belts. I got a small one a while back to stash my cell phone in on longer runs. My ankle had a nasty run in with a pot hole a few years back and I made the not-wise decision to walk back home, more than a mile. I decided that if I ever have another problem like that again, I want to be able to get on the cell phone and call the Mrs. Oz taxi to come pick me up. But I digress.
The point is, the Amphipod belt worked great. No chafing. It made me start wondering, hmmmm….look at that other Amphipod belt that comes with a form-fitting water bottle tilted to the side. Bet that wouldn’t slosh too crazily.
I picked it up, admiring it, each time I went into the local running store over the past month. Price seemed a bit steep, but I finally brought one home.
It was amazing this morning as I took it along and was able to take a few gulps of water at two miles, then again at four. I didn’t feel nearly as run down at the end of the run.
So, to review, here are the big lessons: 1. I am not a camel. 2. Runner’s need water.
Give me time. I just might start to figure out some of this running stuff. Eventually.
Saturday, July 05, 2008
Runners and peer pressure
Don’t know if I set a very good example for the Ozlings this morning.
They both still are in elementary school, but we already have been warning them about the evil pull of peer pressure and, more importantly, how to resist.
Some of your so-called friends, we say, eventually may offer you drugs (“No, not like the ibuprofen daddy pops like M&M’s after a long run. Some drugs aren’t really medicine and don’t come from the doctor,” I say), some may offer you alcohol (“Yes, little Ozling, no need to be alarmed that daddy is drinking a couple of glasses of wine with dinner tonight. The kind of alcohol your “friends” may offer is different,” I say, drifting off for a moment as I recall various dalliances in the past – it really was a long time ago -- with wine coolers, pitchers of beer and the occasional pitcher of Kamikazes…..Mmmm, Kamikazes…), and some may offer you various forms of inappropriate hanky panky (“Umm, we aren’t going to get into the details of this just yet. Probably not a problem because I don’t think you are going to be allowed to date boys until you are 35, maybe 38,” I tell my little blonde daughter of an Ozling.)
But if the Ozlings’ peers offer them miles, my advice definitely is going to have to be of the do as I say, not as I do variety. Anybody offers me the chance to run a few extra miles, I obviously have no defenses.
I can’t explain it. This morning, I clearly gave in to peer pressure.
The all-important schedule for the race that has yet to be officially entered called for 12 or 14 miles this morning. I still am trying to be cautious and pretty much had decided I would put in a respectable 12 as I drove to the group run this morning.
Then as we all said our typical “Good Mornings” and exchanged our “How far are you goings?” a trio of the folks I typically run with all said 14. “I was thinking 12,” I said, “but what the heck? I’ll join you for 14.”
That’s how it starts, I guess.
My mother always wondered if all my friends jumped off a cliff into a lake, would I join them? Guess I proved this morning what kind of stuff I am made of. No making up my own mind and remaining true to my convictions for me. No siree. If my buddies ever went flying off a tall cliff, I clearly would find myself floating in air, screaming “Cowabunga!!!” before it dawned on me, “What did I just do?”
Guess I’ll need to be careful in the future if I ever see my pals going for a hike along a trail flanked by high cliffs and steep drop offs. And I’ll definitely need to make sure I stay away from the guys in the Saturday morning group who are training for an ultra marathon.
“How far are you going?” I might ask. “Oh, 24, 25,” they’ll reply. “Want to join us?”
Yikes.
They both still are in elementary school, but we already have been warning them about the evil pull of peer pressure and, more importantly, how to resist.
Some of your so-called friends, we say, eventually may offer you drugs (“No, not like the ibuprofen daddy pops like M&M’s after a long run. Some drugs aren’t really medicine and don’t come from the doctor,” I say), some may offer you alcohol (“Yes, little Ozling, no need to be alarmed that daddy is drinking a couple of glasses of wine with dinner tonight. The kind of alcohol your “friends” may offer is different,” I say, drifting off for a moment as I recall various dalliances in the past – it really was a long time ago -- with wine coolers, pitchers of beer and the occasional pitcher of Kamikazes…..Mmmm, Kamikazes…), and some may offer you various forms of inappropriate hanky panky (“Umm, we aren’t going to get into the details of this just yet. Probably not a problem because I don’t think you are going to be allowed to date boys until you are 35, maybe 38,” I tell my little blonde daughter of an Ozling.)
But if the Ozlings’ peers offer them miles, my advice definitely is going to have to be of the do as I say, not as I do variety. Anybody offers me the chance to run a few extra miles, I obviously have no defenses.
I can’t explain it. This morning, I clearly gave in to peer pressure.
The all-important schedule for the race that has yet to be officially entered called for 12 or 14 miles this morning. I still am trying to be cautious and pretty much had decided I would put in a respectable 12 as I drove to the group run this morning.
Then as we all said our typical “Good Mornings” and exchanged our “How far are you goings?” a trio of the folks I typically run with all said 14. “I was thinking 12,” I said, “but what the heck? I’ll join you for 14.”
That’s how it starts, I guess.
My mother always wondered if all my friends jumped off a cliff into a lake, would I join them? Guess I proved this morning what kind of stuff I am made of. No making up my own mind and remaining true to my convictions for me. No siree. If my buddies ever went flying off a tall cliff, I clearly would find myself floating in air, screaming “Cowabunga!!!” before it dawned on me, “What did I just do?”
Guess I’ll need to be careful in the future if I ever see my pals going for a hike along a trail flanked by high cliffs and steep drop offs. And I’ll definitely need to make sure I stay away from the guys in the Saturday morning group who are training for an ultra marathon.
“How far are you going?” I might ask. “Oh, 24, 25,” they’ll reply. “Want to join us?”
Yikes.
Tuesday, July 01, 2008
Mid-Year Running Check-up
Time to go to work.
Now that we are a full six months into the year, thought I would check in to see how I am doing on the goal of 1,000 miles for the year.
Turns out I’m behind schedule. But not by too much.
Through Monday I’ve logged 499.6 miles so far in 2008.
I’ve got plans to get in the other 500.4 – and then some – as I am ramping up the weekly mileage. Just started a marathon training program.
Should keep me out of trouble this summer.
I don’t have a completed entry blank for a fall race where I can put all this training to use just yet.
In the meantime I’ll just strap on the hard hat, pack a lunch pail – and lace up the Mizunos – and go to work.
Now that we are a full six months into the year, thought I would check in to see how I am doing on the goal of 1,000 miles for the year.
Turns out I’m behind schedule. But not by too much.
Through Monday I’ve logged 499.6 miles so far in 2008.
I’ve got plans to get in the other 500.4 – and then some – as I am ramping up the weekly mileage. Just started a marathon training program.
Should keep me out of trouble this summer.
I don’t have a completed entry blank for a fall race where I can put all this training to use just yet.
In the meantime I’ll just strap on the hard hat, pack a lunch pail – and lace up the Mizunos – and go to work.
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