My running - 2013

Nothing more here than my mileage for the day (and my year-to-date mileage). Snoozer city, really, but it's as good a way to keep track of it as any.

Dec. 28 10.42 (506.57) in 1:44:10 / 10:00 avg. (GPS inaccurate) - 934' - Home-Panhandle-GGPark-Ocean-Panhandle(all)-Baker-BuenaVistaTerrace-UpperTerrace

Dec. 23 10.36 (496.15) in 1:41:22 / 9:47 avg. (GPS inaccurate) - 930' - Home-Mt.Olympus-Panhandle-GGPark-GreatHwy

Dec. 20 9.1 (485.79) in 1:17:35 / 8:32 avg. (GPS inaccurate) - 446' - YMCA-Embarcadero-AquaticPier-FortMason-CrissyField

Dec. 15 9.3 (476.69) in 1:32:53 / 9:59 avg. - 861' - Home-Panhandle-GoldenGatePark-Ocean

Dec. 13 5.52 (467.39) in 55:35 / 10:04 avg. - 522' - Home-Panhandle-GoldenGatePark-Transverse

Dec. 4 3.71 (461.87) in 28:36 / 7:42 avg. - 220' - YMCA-Embarcadero-AT&TPark

Dec. 1 3.29 (458.16) in 30:15 / 9:11 avg. - 225' - CrissyField (Run Wild SF 5K, official time: 27:20 or 8:48 avg)

2013: 206th of 1,051 overall; 126th of 411 males; 33rd of 103 in M40-49; 48th of 181 masters

2012: 29:55 or 9:38 avg; 400th of 1,112 overall; 242nd of 438 males; 66th of 103 M40-49; 113th of 204 masters

Nov. 28 2.66 (454.87) in 28:23 / 10:40 avg. - 544' - CityHall-Polk-Market-14th-BuenaVista-BuenaVistaEast-UpperTerrace-Home

Nov. 28 3.95 (452.21) in 29:36 / 7:30 avg. - 379' - 3rd-King-Embarcadero-Howard-7th-McAllister-Hyde-Fulton (Turkey Day 5K, official time: 29:06)

Nov. 28 4.28 (448.26) in 40:02 / 9:20 avg. - 143' - Home-CliffordTerr-steps-VulcanSteps-17th-Market-Noe-17th-Mississippi-16th-UCSF-4th/South-TerryFrancois (to start of Turkey Day 5K)

Nov. 25 6.18 (443.98) in 59:18 / 9:35 avg. - 599' - Home-KezarSteps-KezarDrive-AcademyofScience-Panhandle-Baker-BuenaVista-UpperTerrace-MountOlympus

Nov. 22 4.66 (437.8) in 44:06 / 9:28 avg. - 410' - Home-KezarSteps-KezarDrive-Panhandle-Baker-BuenaVista-UpperTerrace

Nov. 18 4.27 (433.14) in 39:05 / 9:09 avg. - 390' - Home-Panhandle-MusicConcourseDrive (cramping calf)

Nov. 12 3.04 (428.87) in 27:46 / 9:08 avg. - 267' - Home-Frederick-Kezar steps-Home

Nov. 9 7.03 (425.83) in 1:05:29 / 9:19 avg. - 579' - Home-Frederick-Kezar(closed)-GGPark-bridge-Panhandle-Masonic-UpperTerrace

Oct. 30 12.69 (418.80) in 2:09:28 / 10:12 avg. - 1,487' - Home-Panhandle-Arguello-Presidio-GGBridge (first tower)

Oct. 26 5.24 (406.11) in 52:35 / 10:03 avg. - 556' - Home-Masonic-Sacramento-Work

Oct. 20 9.85 (400.87) in 1:33:37 / 9:30 avg. - 927' - Home-GGPark-GreatHighway

Oct. 17 5.03 (391.02) in 40:09 / 7:59 avg. - 293' - YMCA-Embarcadero-4th St.-Terry Francois

Oct. 12 10.57 (385.99) in 1:35:58 / 9:05 avg. - 1,034' - Home-Arguello-Presidio-Lincoln Blvd.

Oct. 6 6.79 (375.42) in 1:00:27 / 8:54 avg. - 368' - YMCA-Embarcardero-Fort Mason-MarinaGreen (Bridge-to-Bridge run) Official Info: 57:50 chip time / 9:19 Compared to 2012: 1:06:56 chip time /

Sept. 29 9.4 (368.63) in 1:31:21 / 9.45 avg. - YMCA-Embarcardero-Fort Mason (GPS had 10.24 miles.)

Sept. 26 6.40 (359.23) in 1:00:04 / 9:23 avg. - YMCA-Embarcardero-Fort Mason (Questionable GPS mileage)

Sept. 21 3.64 (352.83) in 38:51 / 10:40 avg. - Home-Roosevelt-14th-Market

Sept. 21 1.45 (349.19) in 11:55 / 8:13 avg. - Home-Roosevelt-Buena Vista Terrace

Sept. 14 5.18 (347.74) in 50:49 / 9:49 avg. - Camp Meeker-Occidental (Sonoma County)

Sept. 9 5.69 (342.56) in 50:58 / 8:58 avg. - YMCA-Embarcadero-Fort Mason

Sept. 6 6.35 (336.87) in 1:00:09 / 9:28 avg. - Home-Twin Peaks-O'Shaughnessy-Piedmont Terrace

Sept. 1 5.53 (330.52) in 54:21 / 9:50 avg. - Home-Twin Peaks-Portola/Woodside-Piedmont Terrace

August 28 5.69 (324.99) in 39:58 / 7:01 avg. (gotta be wrong!) - Y-Embarcadero-4th-Terry Francois

August 18 12.77 (319.3) in 1:58:18 / 9:16 avg. - Home-GG Bridge (first tower)-Mt Olympus

August 14 9.6 (306.53) in 1:25:40 / 8:55 avg. - Home-GG Park-Great Highway

August 8 4.29 (296.93) in 42:33 / 9:55 avg. - Home-GG Park-just past DeYoung

August 4 9.17 (292.64) in 1:27:24 / 9:32 avg. - Home-Presidio (Immigrant Point overlook)

August 1 5.60 (283.47) in 52:51 / 9:27 avg. - Home-Twin Peaks-Portola/Woodside-Piedmont Terrace

July 30 5.63 (277.87) in 51:44 / 9:11 avg. - Home-Panhandle-GG Park-Transverse Drive

July 24 5.77 (272.24) in 54:13 / 9:24 avg. - Home-Twin Peaks-Portola/Woodside-Roosevelt

July 21 7.32 (266.47) in 1:09:01 / 9:26 avg. - Home-Panhandle-Spreckels Lake

July 14 11.68 (259.15) in 1:48:14 / 9:16 avg. - Home-Panhandle-Arguello-Presidio-GG Bridge

July 10 4.54 (247.47) in 39:38 / 8:44 avg. - YMCA-Embarcadero-AT&T Park-McCovey Cove-Mission Bay Blvd.-Fourth Street-Mission Creek

July 2 9.49 (242.93) in 1:28:50 / 9:22 avg. - Home-Panhandle-Arguello-Presidio-Immigrant Point

July 2 6.66 (233.44) in 1:04:49 / 9:44 avg. - Home-Panhandle-Arguello-Presidio

June 27 5.39 (226.74) in 54:46 / 10:10 avg. - Home-Twin Peaks-Portola/Woodside

June 22 5.97 (221.35) in 1:02:42 / 10:30 avg. - Home-Panhandle-Arguello-Presidio

June 17 1.64 (215.38) in 20:52 / 12:43 avg. - Paris: Apartment-Tuileries Gardens-Place de la Concorde-Tuileries Gardens-Apartment (w/ Benny)

June 13 5.72 (213.74) in 58:40 / 10:16 avg. - Paris: Apartment-Rue de Rivoli-Place de la Concorde-Champs Élysées-Arc de Triomphe-Eiffel Tower-Quai d'Orsay-Pont de la Concorde-Tuileries Gardens-Apartment

June 9 3.61 (208.02) in 35:39 / 9:52 avg. - Canterbury, England

June 1 5.10 (204.41) in 47:05 / 9:14 avg. - YMCA-Embarcadero-AT&T Park-McCovey Cove-Mission Bay Blvd.-Fourth Street-Mission Creek

May 27 4.65 (199.31) in 41:55 / 9:00 avg. - YMCA-Embarcadero-AT&T Park-McCovey Cove-Mission Bay Blvd.-Fourth Street-Mission Creek

May 19 7.73 (194.66) in 1:12:11 / 9:20 avg. - Bay to Breakers: 3,629th of 22,467 (officially 7.46 miles in 1:10:37 or 9:29 pace)

May 12 7.41 (186.93) in 1:12:31 / 9:47 avg. - Home-Panhandle-Arguello-Presidio

May 5 8.37 (179.52) in 1:22:20 / 9:50 avg. - Home-Panhandle-Arguello-Presidio

May 3 5.55 (171.15) in 56:36 / 10:12 avg. - Home-Panhandle-GG Park-Hellmann Hollow

April 29 4.24 (165.6) in 38:04 / 8:58 avg. - St. Joseph, MI: YMCA-Hollywood-Glenlord-Washington-Maiden Lane

April 27 3.1 (161.36) in 26:51 / 8:39 avg. - Benton Harbor, MI: SuperHero 5K: Riverview Drive-high school

April 24 3.80 (158.26) in 36:44 / 9:40 avg. - Chicago: Wabash/Madison-Grant Park-Navy Pier

April 22 0.85 (154.46) in 8:34 / 10:05 avg. - Chicago: Grant Park to Wabash/Madison

April 22 3.13 (153.61) in 26:41 / 8:32 avg. - Chicago: Astellas 5K in Grant Park

April 22 1.04 (150.48) in 9:53 / 9:32 avg. - Chicago: Wabash/Madison-Art Institute-Balbo/Columbus

April 18 3.15 (149.44) in 29:19 / 9:00 avg. - YMCA-Embarcardero-Fourth/King-AT&T Park

April 16 6.14 (146.29) in 1:01:04 / 9:57 avg. - Home-Panhandle-GG Park-Hellmann Hollow

April 11 9.41 (140.15) in 1:30:42 / 9:39 avg. - Home-Panhandle-GG Park-Great Hwy

April 4 8.38 (130.74) in 1:20:05 / 9:33 avg. - Embarcadero-pier-Crissy Field

March 29 6.36 (122.36) in 1:00:27 / 9:30 avg. - Embarcadero-pier-Fort Mason

March 23 5.15 (116.0) in 51:58 / 10:06 avg. - Twin Peaks

March 15 3.8 (110.85) in 35:50 / 9:26 avg. - Hellman Meadow-Great Highway

March 14 3.18 (107.05) in 27:50 / 8:45 avg. - Embarcadero-AT&T Park

March 9 6.52 (103.87) in 1:01:04 / 9:22 avg. - Golden Gate Park-30th Ave.

March 5 6.56 (97.35) in 1:02:28 / 9:32 avg. - Golden Gate Park-30th Ave.

March 2 4.77 (90.79) in 53:09 / 11:08 avg. - Corbett-Glen Canyon

Feb. 23 5.28 (86.02) in 52:06 / 9:52 avg. - Twin Peaks

Feb. 17 6.73 (80.74) in 59:58 / 8:54 avg. - Chinatown-North Beach-Embarcadero Chinatown YMCA 10K

Feb. 13 6.54 (74.01) in 1:02:39 / 9:34 avg. - Golden Gate Park-30th Ave.

Feb. 10 7.46 (67.47) in 1:16:40 / 10:17 avg. - Arguello-Presidio

Feb. 3 13.69 (60.01) in 2:35:16 / 11:21 avg. - Golden Gate Park-Great Highway Kaiser Half-Marathon Official result: 13.1 in 2:31:34 / 11:34 avg.

Jan. 28 4.0 (46.32) in 44:17 / 11:05 avg. - Twin Peaks

Jan. 25 9.98 (42.32) in 1:51:06 / 11:08 avg. - Embarcadero: Y-Fort Point

Jan. 21 9.23 (32.34) in 1:32:36 / 10:02 avg. - Golden Gate Park to ocean

Jan. 19 6.07 (21.11) in 1:06:10 / 10:54 avg. - Arguello-Presidio

Jan. 6 5.26 (17.04) in 53:34 / 10:11 avg. - Twin Peaks

Jan. 4 6.51 (11.78) in 1:00:41 / 9:10 avg. - Embarcardero: Y-Fort Mason

Jan. 1 5.27 (5.27) in 57:25 / 10:54 avg. - Twin Peaks

Thank you, Louis Simpson

Tonight's news that the poet Louis Simpson had died returned me to the second floor of the Shaman Drum bookstore in downtown Ann Arbor. Mr. Simpson was giving a poetry reading, but I was in attendance for a purely selfish reason: My professor, who had brought Mr. Simpson to Ann Arbor, had selected one of my poems and that of another student at Eastern Michigan University for Mr. Simpson to read and critique.

A Pulitzer Prize winner … reading my poem … and then giving his thoughts on what I had written. I was puffed up, ready to hear Mr. Simpson praise my poetry as the ripplings of the literary world's next tidal wave. He must, he would say, read more.

And in Ann Arbor, to boot. This was not Ypsilanti, or even Detroit. This was the center of the academic and free-thinking universe, as far as I was concerned.

Perhaps he would call me "the next Allen Ginsberg." Perhaps even Ginsberg himself would call after he and Louis Simpson discussed me over coffee in a chic cafe in New York or San Francisco or while they strolled along the Seine. ("Al, old pal, I came across this kid in Michigan who will make your 'muscles big as a vagina' howl!")

As I've described the critique to friends since then, Mr. Simpson savaged my poem. Ripped it. Left no word unscathed. He played Sherman to my Atlanta.

"Overwrought" may be one of the words he used.

I should have been upset, but I wasn't. "How many people get their poem ripped by a Pulitzer Prize winner in front of the literary elite?" I told myself.

I fear that the words of poetry's next revolutionary leader, written during and for a few years after that class, unfortunately have been scattered in one of my many moves to, within and from Michigan, Prague and San Francisco over the past 25 years.

Perhaps Mr. Simpson's death is a sign to start writing poetry again with a clean slate.

Regardless, in remembrance of Louis Simpson tonight, I say thank you to Mr. Simpson and to my professor, Lawrence Smith, for the opportunity to be shredded by one of poetry's best.

I hate shin splints

I'm trying to concentrate on writing a short blog post, but it is difficult when NBC is broadcasting the women's synchronized diving competition. I never knew there was synchronized diving, but then the camera keeps showing what appears to be a hot tub every time the Italian women are in it. Tough to keep my focus. Anyway, today I went for a run for the first time since running in Wisconsin on July 5. My right leg was in pain all that night and it really didn't let up for a couple of weeks. It hurt when I slept. It hurt along the shins. It hurt along the calf muscle. It hurt when I walked. It … hurt. Well, it was shin splints. The best thing to do was to rest. And buy new shoes just for running. I used my old shoes for running, walking, working out at the Y, bike riding, hanging out -- everything. But Saturday I bought new shoes, Brooks Beast 10 is what they're called, and my feet and legs love me for it. I have flat feet, and I've had seven knee surgeries, so I shouldn't be playing around. Now I'm not. Benny and I walked to Kezar Stadium today. With the walk itself, my leg felt better. Benny and I ran six laps around the track, stopping after each lap to assess how we both felt. He was fantastic, finishing each lap at least a minute ahead of me. At home tonight, my legs still feel good. Now if only I had a hot tub with the Italian women's synchronized diving team.

Confessions of a (new) running addict

I flew to Boston last week to cover a biotech industry convention. I always look forward to the annual gathering -- the only only out-of-town, work-related trek I get to make each year -- but this year I was excited about something more: Running in Boston.

After nearly 47 years, seven knee surgeries and the discovery of a heart murmur, I have become an unlikely running addict.

Mind you, I run like an old man. It takes more than a mile into a run before my knees stop sending nasty messages to my brain. Even then, I must consciously work on relaxing my muscles -- all my muscles -- so my body doesn't go on strike in mid-stride.

I've even hit a couple of At-One-With-The-Universe moments, when my mind sees clear of any obligations and the running is easy. That lasts about a half-mile.

I record my routes on the RunKeeper app. I track all my workouts on Fleetly.com, which creates mini-competitions, either with others or with one's self, to spur workouts.

I joined one of Fleetly's challenges -- run 100 miles by the end of the year -- in February. I started on the treadmill, not even hitting a mile. By mid-May, I completed the nearly 7.5-mile Bay to Breakers run in San Francisco.

Now I want to do more … more … more. I made an appointment with my doctor to get her opinion on whether I could/should increase my running, especially considering the heart murmur. She sent me for a stress test. I'm having some blood work done, too. I have no doubt that everything is fine: Just checking.

My goal is to run a half-marathon yet this year.

While waiting for the stress test and lab results, though, I didn't want to miss a step, so I found a couple of routes to run while I was in Boston. I ended up running two of the four full days that I was there for a total of about seven miles, mainly along the Charles River. The total would have been greater except for the 97-degree heat that translated into 70 humid degrees at 5:30 a.m. on two of those days.

I ran on our family vacation earlier this month, taking a short, two-mile jog around the beautiful Oregon Gardens, and a slightly longer route in Cascade Locks, Ore., that took me across the Bridge of the Gods into Washington state. When visiting family next week, I'll run in Wisconsin.

Years ago, I didn't have to train to run 10 kilometers in my native Michigan.

So, that will be Michigan, Wisconsin, Massachusetts, California, Oregon and Washington. Only 44 more states to go.

Yeah, I'm addicted.

Baseball, Father's Day and simple lessons

While cleaning up around the apartment today, I came across this piece I wrote as editor of Business Direct Weekly — later Ann Arbor Business Review — around Father's Day eight-plus years ago. It may be particularly apropos with our Tigers in the playoffs for the first time since 2006.
I've tried to clean up some of the more atrocious writing, and I've added what I hope are less clunky transitions, but the column is otherwise how it ran on June 5, 2003.
.................................................................................
It was a warm summer night and the Detroit Tigers were on national TV — back in the day when networks carried baseball during the prime-time hours.

The Toronto Blue Jays were knocking on the Tigers' door in early June, threatening to banish the Detroiters' record 1984 start to the league of could-have-beens.

My mom had gone to bed innings before utilityman Dave Bergman strode to the plate in the bottom of the 10th inning of a tie game. My dad and I, however, held out in the darkened living room, the tension building with each pitch.

Bergman fell behind, as I recall, but eventually took the count full. He then fouled off seven consecutive pitches.

When the last pitch finally flew off his bat, climbing toward the darkness of Tiger Stadium's right-field upper deck, my dad and I bolted from our chairs. It was a moment that defined the season and a memory of unadulterated joy with my typically conservative dad that I'll always cherish.

No, this column isn't really about business. But it is about mentally taking time away from work for more important things — something to keep in mind as we head toward Father's Day or as co-workers' summer vacations cause their workloads to fall onto our shoulders.

Bergman's homer, during the slim couple of weeks that I was home from college, has always seemed like a turning point in my relationship with my dad. Perhaps it was a simple transition from childhood to adulthood.

As my friends' parents saw their jobs melt away in the foundries, metal fabrication shops and auto parts factories, unemployment — defined as those who hadn't already lost hope and exited the workforce — climbed over the 40 percent mark. My dad did whatever it took to stay employed at the shop where he was an industrial motor repairman before the industrial economy collapse of the late 1970s; as the factories that his shop serviced closed their doors, he mowed the lawn of his employer and he made deliveries as the shop shifted from fixing motors to selling new ones.

Through it all, my parents sent four kids to college. My dad coached our sports teams. He drove a packed family station wagon — which included his mother-in-law in the back seat — on at least one weeklong vacation each summer. He and my mom kept vigil at marching band practices and concert band performances.

Every morning, Dad and I would have breakfast together, and every night the family gathered around the dining room table for dinner.

These were subtle lessons; others were more jarring.

I reminded him of one recently, after I called before he entered yet another surgery to find yet another blocked artery — the same problem that was acute enough a couple years ago to force a quadruple bypass.

I had just covered our incredibly ineffective City Commission as a 19-year-old reporter for the local community weekly newspaper, and I had returned home frustrated and ranting about the stupidity of elected officials. I threatened to use my pen as my sword. "Report the news," he chastised, "don't be the news."

There were other lessons about respect, kindness, loyalty, humility and dignity. When one-time Tigers relief ace John Hiller was bounced out of a game late in his career, I booed him from the right-field stands of old Comiskey Park in Chicago. My dad, in a few stern words, let me know that was wrong and, well, just plain stupid.

It's appropriate then that my early Father's Day gift to Dad was a trip to Milwaukee to visit my sister's family and to see the Brewers play Boston. Baseball, it seems, is the string around the family core of our relationship.

A father, my mother once told me, was the best thing she gave my siblings and me. That's an amazingly simple truism in this era when so many parents are prodded to be Super Dads or Super Moms.

Some of the best lessons we teach our children are the simplest — sometimes while sitting and watching the late innings together.

One Pokémon to Rule Them All

As I throw a playing card marked "Mamoswine" onto the floor, Benny just laughs.

"Are you kidding?" he says, the 7-year-old boy mocking his father. "He's so weak."

Benny slaps one of his cards alongside Mamoswine, a cross between a walrus and a tick that looks like it's been caught in a snowstorm. Or is it Wilford Brimley?

"That was too easy," he says.

"Whoa — wait a minute, ringmaster," I say. "How so? How does Magmortar beat Mamoswine?"

The time has come. I want to know. I want him to know that I am onto his little game.

"Magmortar has 130 life, Daddy," he says.

"But Mamoswine has 140," I retort, with the confidence that my logic surely will pull the curtain back on his charade.

Without a blink of an eye, he asks, "What's 130 minus 70?"

"It's 60 — just like 13 minus 7, but put a zero on the end."

"Oh," he says. "Yeah, Magmortar wins."

Sure, he may have wiggled out this time, but I'm working my way inside the world of Pokémon, like a CIA agent infiltrating the KGB. I'm learning their language, their ways, their code for moving messages back and forth.

Pokémon — is the plural form "Pokémen"? — is a game developed by Nintendo about 15 years ago. A Romanized contraction of the Japanese brand Pocket Monsters, according to Wikipedia, it has been commercialized in video games, playing cards, toys, books and movies.

But, really, this isn't some cutesy card game. Don't let their "rules" — "this one has lightning power, but the other one only has a water defense" — disarm you. They know that adults will chalk up Pokémon talk to just another phase when kids learn socialization skills or some other psycho-social babble.

I know the truth: These kids are out to take over the world, one Pokémon card at a time.

They build up huge collections of these cards, with print so fine that it induces migraines in adults that try to decode it. Seemingly innocuous trades are made, back and forth — Kricketot for Geodude, for example — but it's really a trade of information. About what? I don't know yet, but give me time. Deciphering is a slow process.

How else can you explain that Venonat would beat Kingdra? It makes no sense to the undiscerning eye.

Yet these first-grade Saurons make it look so academic, so easy. All the while they make adults untrained in the language of Pokémon believe that it's all so childlike.

"I know about you and your people," I tell Benny.

He glances up at me, his blue eyes twinkling with mock 7-year-old innocence. "What, Daddy?"

I move slowly.

"I know about your 'cards,' your people, your plans for world domination, what it means to have 130 hp" — actually, I don't, but why should he know — "and I can put an end to it."

"Oh, Daddy!" he says. "You're funny."
Yeah, we'll see who has the last laugh, my friend.

Every day …

It's more fun to read blogs than to write them — at least for me it is.
That may seem a betrayal of my profession, but I write all day. Must I really tap out scintillating commentary here?
Not that anything I've written here is groundbreaking, earth-shattering, Lady Gaga-in-an-egg sort of stuff. I just don't have the energy.
I feel like that old cartoon character, groaning over and over again at the slightest hint of promise, "It'll never work."
Besides, all I could ever hope for now is the occasional reader willing enough to let me slip onto the figurative psychiatrist couch. We could talk about how sorely I miss my dad, who died more than three months ago; how, every day, something happens that I say, "I've got to tell Dad about … Oh, yeah, I guess not"; how I wish he could be here to watch Benny's upcoming first baseball practices and games. We could talk about how I have to tell myself not to push Benny too hard into baseball as a way to reconnect with my dad; or how baseball season's started again, and it's the first one where we can't discuss the Tigers' prospects.
Everyone's been through the loss of a parent, but having both gone just bites.
I'm trying to channel my energies into other things: I've joined the handbell choir at church; I'm working out more regularly; I took my first yoga class tonight, and if I can get out of bed tomorrow morning without my muscles contorted into some weird pose, I'll be just dandy; and I've even started working — ploddingly, mind you — on a novel and a kid's book.
Every day, and in every way, I'm getting better and better.
Really.