Things you have to learn for yourself

Running with pneumonia is not as much fun as everyone makes it out to be.

Tied for the lead

I’m running on the treadmill. Just gliding along, getting in two miles as I wait for the lingering effects of the Bavarian Cocoa Puff Flu to bid my lungs farewell someday.

The guy two TMs away from me is fast. Really fast. I’m guessing he’s doing tempo.

We’re synched up perfectly. Our footstrikes are identical. Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap. There’s something about running that way. It’s like in a race when you lock on to the guy in front of you and stop thinking. You’re just hooked on to the train and it pulls you along.

I feel fast. I feel rejuvenated. I’m duking it out with a speedster.

The weird part? I’m running a 12-minute pace; he’s running a 6-minute pace. Exactly twice as fast as me.

I’ve always thought part of my longevity as a runner is due to my footstrike. I have an uncanny 180 steps a minute no matter the pace. This is likely what allows me to run in racers exclusively and avoid too many injuries. Treading lightly and often.

When I’m on the road, it doesn’t matter. That guy would leave me in a cloud of dust. But on the treadmill, I’m his equal. We’re running perfectly in step. He’s not gaining on me at all. I’m calling it even.

Soon I’ll be back on the road and he’ll be dropping me like a rock.

But for now, I’m tied for the lead …

Last job loss post ever. I promise

Jobs are like lives.

You are born into your little workplace. You grow up there. your coworkers become your family.

You laugh together, cry together, celebrate birthdays, mourn deaths, perform acts of greatness and drink bad coffee.

The days go by, the years pass, then decades.

Like life, you don’t really notice. You just assume it will last forever.

Like life, people come and go. Change happens, sometimes for the better; sometimes for the worse.

Then one day it ends. My workplace had, I suppose, the luxury of a slow, lingering death. We feared this day was coming, but pretended someone would come up with a miracle cure that would keep us alive. Sadly, the doctors pulled the plug this week.

You know you’re going to die someday, you just try not to think about it. That’s the way it was at work. One day, business at usual. The next day we were dead.

I know it’s happened to far too many people over the last couple of years, but that was different. That was them. This is us.

After two more months, I’ll never be a journalist again. It’s all I’ve known for the last 30 years. But times change. We move on. We die.

Once my mom called me early in the morning to say a plane had flown into the World Trade Center. My mom tends to exaggerate, but I turned on CNN just in case. Ten minutes later, still mostly asleep, I raced to work. I began calling my coworkers. Come to work, there’s been a terrorist attack, I told them one by one as they tried to wake up (we all worked nights, so noon was our usual time to rise.) Unfortunately I have a reputation as a practical joker, so this didn’t work so well. “Yeah, yeah, what do you really want?” I heard over and over. I switched to the strategy, “Just turn on any TV channel right now and then come to work as soon as you can.” The room filled up quickly. We worked nonstop for the next day and a half. It was a terrible time, but I wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else. I was with my family.

Next time there’s a disaster, or a moon landing, or a princess death, or an impeachment, or a war, or a dog driving a car down the freeway, I won’t be there. I’ll just be a spectator. That’s a hard thing to fathom.

I had the incredible good luck to work with some of the best journalists money couldn’t buy, the best boss I’ve ever had despite his misguided loyalty to Ohio State football, a sister I had never known existed, and a group of people throughout the building who shared my intense pride. I will carry their memories forever.

Like life, we had fun. Damn, we had fun. My friend Carlo said this week that the hardest part of leaving is knowing that he’ll never have another job that’s as much fun as this one. He’s right.

I mourn not just for us, but for our newspaper. I was there when it was born, I’ll be there when it dies. I love this paper and it’s just so sad to see it go. I’ll cry in the newsroom like a little girl while we’re putting out that last edition. I won’t care.

But life goes on. And ends. If work is a metaphor for life, it was a great life indeed. I wouldn’t trade the memories for the world.

It’s just so hard to die.

why my wife won’t discuss running

Actual transcript from Sunday (I’m not making this up):

Me: Meb won! Meb won!

Wife: Wasn’t that time kinda slow?

Me: Well, New York is a tough course.

Wife: Why can’t they get the world record holder to race there?

Me: Geb only races flat courses.

Wife: I thought you said Geb won.

Me: No, MEB won.

Wife: There’s a Meb AND a Geb?

Me: Yeah. Oh, and a Webb.

Wife: What time does football come on?

Mr. Pants’ Running Q and A, Jeopardy Style

Welcome to Mr. Pants’ Jeopardy Q and A. Remember, responses must be phrased in the form of a question. As always, Mr. Pants’ Q and A is for entertainment purposes only. No wagering.

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ASK MR. PANTS

A. 800 intervals
Q. How many intervals is too many?

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A. This time you’ve gone too far.
Q. What is a phrase used in everyday life that you’ll never hear a runner say?

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A. 4-hour time limit.
Q. What is the maximum period allowed for the person using the porta-pot in front of me at the race?

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A. 10K’s
Q. Exactly times does the letter K appear in the word used to describe a cat hacking up a furball. You know, “ackkkkkkkkkkkk” or something to that effect. I can’t find it in my dictionary.

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A. Fast twitch.

Q. What’s the name of that facial mannerism Mr. Pants develops when finding out the Boston Marathon is filling up six months before the race this year?

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A. I was dropped on my head as a child.
Q. Mr. Pants: Why are you so weird, anyhow?

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Do you have a question about running, life or the upkeep of taxi chandeliers? Mr. Pants is here for you.

Our cat’s guide to running

“Leave me alone, I’m sleeping.

I’m serious. I’ll claw your eyes out.

Oh, yeah, you declawed me? How’d you like a good face-licking? I thought not.”

Our cat is not supportive of the blog.

life is funny

i ran today. first time in two weeks. it felt really, really good. the familiar euphoria of being in motion. it was great.

i lost my job today. first time in 30 years. it felt really, really bad. the unfamiliar terror of being lost. it was not great at all.

but it was sure nice to run again …

lyrics i wish i’d written

genius can come from a tiny woman in dreads and doc martens. i bet when ani turns 90 she’ll be wearing some totally crazy shoes.

I’m calling from the diner
The diner on the corner
I ordered two coffees
One is for you
I was hoping you’d join me
‘Cause I ain’t go no money
And I really miss you
I should mention that too

— ani difranco

somewhere, someone is running

somewhere right now, someone is running. and i’m not.

maybe it’s a long run. maybe intervals. maybe hills. maybe he’s running in the snow, or the heat, or up the side of a mountain. he’s pushing right up to the red line, he’s smashing through the wall, he’s getting stronger. he’s getting faster. he’s getting smarter. and i’m not.

that doesn’t bother me. i’m not running against him. i’m running against the clock.

somewhere right now, a clock is running. and i’m not.

that bothers me a lot.

SB 30-Week Marathon Plan© Week 4

week four of the Spongebob 30-Week Marathon Training Plan © was no match for the Bavarian Cocoa Puff Flu.

as longtime readers know, the components of the Spongebob 30-Week Marathon Training Plan © are as follows:

1. watch spongebob squarepants.
2. run.
3. sleep.

except this week i did none of the three. i mostly hacked, dripped, slow-fried and shuffled about in a zombie manner only appropriate for halloween week. i lost the remote control somewhere around day 2, knocking out even the hopes of getting in a few spongebob episodes.

fortunately, i’ve still got 26 weeks left. and the annie theme is playing in my head: “the sun will come up tomorrow, you can bet something whatever.”

it’s only a day away.