It's an Ossur Flex Foot, and it's part of my newest running leg--the third one that I've had since I decided that just walking wasn't gonna be good enough.
The first one was pretty crude, being little more than a curved piece of hi-strength fiberglass laminate bolted to the back of a regular fiberglass and plastic leg sleeve. It wasn't adjustable for height or camber or anything, but my prosthetist is good and he got it chose enough to perfect on the first try that eventually I was able to run the Army Ten-Miler with it.
It wasn't much-in fact, the sole was covered by a hard rubber that started life as an industrial floor tile, but that leg served me well until I went down for more leg surgery, after which it never fit right again. So a second one was made, this one little more than a clone of the first, the exception being that the laminate running blades were now starting to evolve as companies began putting some serious research and development into them.
This one was somewhat adjustable (but not much) and the running blade had a pad, a double-thickness for more energy return, and a real running surface on the bottom.
Sadly, I never really got this one working right. There was always a spot inside where I'd get pain during a run, and we were never able to solve that problem despite cutting out large sections of the hard plastic. But after a second bit of leg surgery, this one didn't fit right anymore either so it joined the first one in a box of cast-off legs in the basement.
Enter the third one. This one is cutting-edge technology. It's fully adjustable in all directions and for height and it has a removable/replaceable sole make by Nike. It's also made of a new material and it's easily half the weight of the last one. This thing is cool beyond description.
On Saturday, I took it out for a test run. Rock Creek Park in Washington DC closes off much of Beach Drive on the week-ends, restricting the road to pedestrians and bikes only. I happened to be down there, and the fall colors made for a nice run along the creek in the company of countless other fitness-minded folks. This was my first off-treadmill run in over a year, so I didn't push it too far. I kept it down to a mile and a half, and though I really wanted to run farther at the end of that run just because it felt so good, I knew from past experience to cut it there per the plan, and lemme tell you, today I'm glad that I did; I'm feeling it a bit from that run, but not really bad like I would be had I decided to run farther and over-do it. But the stiffness today is all in my other joints--the leg feels great. This running leg fits perfectly and there were no hot spots under it when I was finished, so I'm thinking that me and this leg are going to be great friends indeed. Heck, maybe next year, we'll do the Ten-Miler again, or even a half marathon. And one day, before I'm done...a whole marathon. I've just gotta.
A nice promotional video put out by the Ossur folks:
Sadly--but good for me and others--the advances in technology on these legs over the last decade has been greater than at any other time in the history of prosthetics, and it's all courtesy military spending due to the large numbers of amputees coming back from Iraq and Afghanistan. Most of what I use today on all of my legs wouldn't even exist but for that.
Readers here for any length of time know that I also run with a similar set-up, although I only have one "store-bought" leg.
Using this leg, or more correctly, it's predecessor, I've engaged in a fair bit of running over the past few years, to include running the Army Ten-Miler in Washington DC in an hour, forty-one minutes in 2008, a year after getting fitted for it.
I've set out to run it again since then, but unfortunately, something has usually stalled my efforts, usually fit problems with the leg as it got older. And after I was sidelined for a while for other leg surgery last year, it wouldn't fit at all afterwards and a new one had to be custom made, a process that took months and we're still working out fine-tuning and adjustment issues that are keeping me from doing much serious running with it.
As one who knows all about these devices in a way that Michael Johnson can and hopefully will never understand, I can tell you that, yes, when they are fitting and working perfectly, they give you some extra spring. Maybe it's as much or even more than you get from a natural leg and ankle, but it's often offset by fit problems. If it's even a millimeter or two out of whack height-wise, it's not going to be as efficient and damage in the form of bruising or abrasions to the leg stump may occur. Sometimes the pain is a warning for me to stop, but other times the damage will start in one of those areas where there aren't many functioning nerves left, and when that happens, by the time I notice it, enough trauma has occurred to inhibit even walking for a few days. Oh, and adding to the game, my leg changes shape while running as a result of fluid loss through dehydration. Yours does too, and so does Michael Johnson's, but when mine does, now the leg doesn't fit as tight. It begins to slip and move, and at best it's efficiency is diminished. At worst, it moves far enough out of place that damage starts to occur, but that's rare. It also slips when I perspire and the socket liner starts to fill up with sweat. Now add to that the fact that it doesn't corner like a normal foot, and that it can't compensate for holes, rises and other sudden changes in topography like a regular ankle does, and when all is said and done, I'm grateful for my running foot but I have to give the advantage to regular feet at the end of the day.
On a perfect day when everything is working just like it's supposed to on a track, perhaps Oscar Pistorius might gain a bit in terms of energy return and speed. But if he does--and that's a pretty big "if"--it's almost assuredly cancelled out by fit problems and fatigue. Remember, that leg is still 5lbs or so of dead weight, and the calf muscle is totally useless if there's even one there. I have one, but it's no longer attached to anything at the distal end so it's effectively worthless.
Given a choice, would Oscar Pistorius trade the nebulous "advantage" that he allegedly gets from those prostethics for real feet? Hell, I know that I would. And as one who can fully appreciate the extra hard work that Oscar had to do to learn to run and run efficiently with those legs, especially to the degree that he has, I like to tell Michael Johnson to go fuck a duck. And if Johnson still has a jealousy problem over these legs, he can always go to the surgeon's and get one or two for himself. Funny how I don't see him rushing out to do that, though. He apparently doesn't want to raise himself up that badly; he just wants to bring potential betters down instead. Jackass.
So last night I went out for a run, my first in over a year. Of course I have many excuses as to why I haven't been running: too hot recently, an injury, massive overtime at work before that, waiting for a new running leg to be made and fitted before that...sigh. Hard to believe that I was doing ten-mile runs just a couple of years ago. But I've been sitting a lot since then..and eating well, too. Now I'm out of fighting trim, to say the least. And with the possibility of a second Obama term on the horizon, I can't afford to be out of fighting trim because we may well end up fighting for our freedoms and very survival if he keeps getting his way.
So I ran. And it wasn't an easy run, or a particularly fast run. But at least I hit my target distance and finished my run without having to stop or slow to a walk. It's a start.
Then I went to 7-11 to get gas and some bottled water. I pull into the parking lot and park, and I notice a Mercedes SUV sitting in the store's only "handicapped" slot. Out of habit, I look to see it it has a handicapped tag or a placard on the mirror. It has neither. Now this is a pet peeve of mine, since I well remember when I needed that spot, and since I still know people who legitimately do need it. I'm still looking at it when I see it's lights flash as if someone just deactivated it's alarm. Sure enough, a large blonde woman walks out of the store, head glued to a cell phone. She's walking just fine.
I shouldn't say anything, but right then I'm tired, and I'm hot, and I'm still wearing my running foot--the one that's just a fiber and steel "J" where a foot and ankle would normally be. So I feel like saying something.
"Excuse me," I say. "I can't help but notice that you don't have a handicapped placard displayed."
"Hang on a minute," she says to whoever is on the phone. Then she turns to me. "I'm actually in the process of getting one right now," she says. "Do you want to see a note from my doctor?"
"No," I reply. "That's between you and your conscience. You know whether or not you're supposed to be parked there, taking the spot from anyone who really needs it." I walk on into the store.
Now about a minute later, she comes barging into the store, just about the time that I get to the check-out counter. "I'll have you know that I have a concrete ankle," she exclaims. I have to walk about a thousand steps a day and.." I raise my hand to cut her off. I'm not really interested in talking to her any more or giving her a soap box to get up on. "We're done," I tell her. "If you're supposed to park there, then you're fine. If you're not, that's on you."
But she's not going to let it go. "It's not your job to police the world," she says indignantly. Oh, so now I'm the bad guy for pointing out her bad behavior. Well maybe I will play a bit now.
"Actually it is my job. It's every citizen's job to say something when people do wrong."
"I have a condition!" she exclaimed loudly, drawing the attention of everyone in the store.
I just looked at her, standing there on two feet yelling at the one-legged guy about a "condition". "There ain't nothing wrong with you that a little diet and exercise won't cure," I said.
"WHAT?!" she yelled back. "What did you say?"
"I'm just saying that maybe if you dropped ten or seventy pounds, maybe you'd be able to walk the extra couple dozen feet from the regular parking spaces."
This elicited applause from a guy over by the beer cooler and a string of profanity from the woman.
"You kiss your momma with that mouth?" I asked.
She cursed me again, then stormed out. She even tried to slam the door, but the door had one of those self-closing mechanisms and it wouldn't slam.
The store manager behind the counter just looked at me. "I thought you weren't going to do that here any more," she said. (OK, this wasn't the first time. Or the second. but in my defense, it has been a while.) I just shrugged. What can I say? I gotta be me.
I had business this morning near a place that I usually like to run, so after I was done, I went out to put some miles down. By the time that I got there, it was too late in the morning and too hot already but I doubled down on the stupid by trying to add distance on an out-and-back run.
And out-and-back is where you start from one place with a fixed mileage in mind, and run half way, then turn around and come back.
I almost scratched the run due to the heat, but I noticed that about a mile from my start/finish point there was a check point set up for some bike ride and they had water and gator aide that I was pretty sure I could tap on the way back. So with that in mind, and a desire to show those bike riders how it's done, I turned on my motivational music and started running.
Risin' up, back on the street Did my time, took my chances Went the distance, now I'm back on my feet Just a man and his will to survive...
It was hot, but I was running good on the outbound leg. The road I was on was shaded for the most part and it felt good to be out. And the music kept me pumped up and moving.
Come on, baby don't you want to go Come on, baby don't you want to go To the same old place, sweet home Chicago...
I'd considered turning back at two miles, depending on how I felt, but I was doing great when I hit the two mile marker, so I just kept going, running in time with the music.
Take my love, take my land Take me where I cannot stand I don't care, I'm still free You can't take the sky from me...
I was starting to feel it at three miles, but my turn point was so close. I just had to make it. So I started singing aloud along with the music.
They say that Richard Cory owns one half of this whole town, With political connections to spread his wealth around. Born into society, a banker's only child, He had everything a man could want: power, grace, and style....
The last half mile was out of the shade, in direct sunlight. By the turn point, I was soaked in sweat and the heat was sapping me. I started heading back, but I knew that I'd over done it. Still, there was only one way back so I just kept running, focusing on the music, which the MP3 player was pulling up at random.
From the halls of Montezuma to the shores of Tripoli There was never a leatherneck braver, a Daring Dragoon is he He’ll halt the bold advance of Napoleon’s attack There ain’t a French or pirate rogue who don’t... know Jack!
I kept passing bike riders, and I knew that I was going to have to hit their check point and beg a refreshment from their coolers of icy cold drinks. There was no doubt in my mind that they'd have one or two to spare.
It was Della and the Dealer and a dog named Jake and a cat named Kalamazoo Left the city in a pickup truck gonna make some dreams come true...
Finally I hit the point where I just couldn't run any more. I had to stop. I'd actually run further the other night, but it was twenty degrees cooler then. This heat had totally sapped me. But I still had to get back. And my running foot...great for running, but not made for walking. As I plodded on slowly back towards the start point (and the bike people and their icy cold drinks!), it really started to dig into my shin bone. The only way to relieve that was...that's right...back into a running pace. I turned the music up and tried to keep pace with it.
Lido missed the boat That day he left the shack But that was all he missed He ain't comin' back
At a tombstone bar In a juke-joint car he made a stop Just long enough To grab a handle off the top..
I'd run as long as I could--maybe a quarter mile or so--then I'd falter to a walk again, and walk until I'd built up a bit more energy and my shin was hurting, at which point I'd step up to a run again. but that bike checkpoint was up ahead...coolers. Cold drinks. Bike chicks in spandex. Screw the heat! Push it!
Up walked a Baptist preachin' southern funky school teacher She had a line on something heavy but we couldn't reach her We told her that we needed something that would get us going She pulled out all she had and laid it on the counter showing All I had to do was lay my money down and pick it up The cops came busting in and then we lit out in a pickup truck...
Finally I rounded a bend and saw the parking lot where the bike check point was. I'd been pushing myself just to get there, figuring that once I'd had a chance to get a cold drink and talk to some cute bike girls, I'd be good for the last mile. But when I rounded the bend, all I saw in the distance was an empty parking lot. They'd moved on. And I was out of energy AND options.
Long as I remember The rain been comin' down. Clouds of myst'ry pourin' Confusion on the ground. Good men through the ages, Tryin' to find the sun; And I wonder, Still I wonder, Who'll stop the rain...
That last walk sucked bad. But I finally got to that last quarter mile and I could see my vehicle in the distance. I had water in there, too. Time to finish strong. There had to be something left. Besides, the shade was gone now and I just wanted out of this sun. So I kicked it into a run for the last quarter and gave it every last thing I had.
Sometimes I wonder what'll become of me There ain't much left of what I used to be Her love shone on me just like the morning light But now here I am alone again tonight
Look out my window, it's still rainin' Look out my window, it's still rainin'
I got to my ride, pulled out a gallon jug of water, and drank the last half of it left. Then I put my radio on and just went over and sat on a stone wall nearby and listened to Laura Ingraham for a while while the sweat just pored out of me. This was good, because as long as you're still sweating, you're ok. It's when the sweating stops that you've got a heat problem.
After about ten minutes, a gal came running down the road from the other direction, going to another vehicle in the lot. She was smoking hot, too. I just had to chat her up, so I told her that it was too hot to run today. She laughed and said that she had started to run but decided that it was too hot so she was going to go back and do yoga instead. I admitted that I hadn't been bright enough to quit, but hey--I'm back now.
She was actually pretty conversant and friendly and we bantered a bit until I swung myself over the wall and she saw my running leg. She stared at it just a bit too long, and then pretty much stopped talking to me. Aw, hell. On second glance, she was fat anyway. And only fruitbats do yoga.
I went back into town for beer. Beer cures all. And no more running in the heat of day from now on.
So I was running this evening. (Side note: I just got approved for a new walking foot and they start work on it Tuesday. Yay! Funny how I can now run and ride bikes but not walk or stand for prolonged periods, eh?)
Anyway, I was into my fourth mile when I happened to see this woman with long read hair bending over to tend one of her yard plants. She was wearing a bikini top and a short, tight pair of black shorts. And she was in great shape. Did I mention that she was a red-head?
Thus distracted, I stepped off of the asphalt and put my foot into the gutter. My ankle flexed, my leg twisted, and I went down hard in the grass next to the road with numerous "pain" warning alarms going off in my head.
The Goddess I had been ogling admiring stopped what she was doing and came over to see if I was ok. And I think that she bought my claim of the setting sun being in my eyes as the cause of my mis-step. She thought that I should accept a ride back to my car instead of trying to run any more. I agreed, thinking that this could be the start of something nice.
But then she volunteered her husband to drive me back. And I'm not so sure that he bought the "sun in my eyes" excuse at all. Big sigh...
And the year's already half over. Pathetic, right?
Since having leg surgery in February and having nothing but trouble even trying to walk again since because my accursed prosthetic leg just didn't/doesn't want to fit properly after being off for a couple of months, I've been looking forward to getting out and actually being able to run again. Heck, I signed up for the Army Ten Miler in October and I'm already behind the curve training-wise. But it's nothing I can't make up if I get serious about it.
So while me and the walking leg still aren't exactly best pals yet, tonight I crossed my fingers, dusted off the running leg, and went for a light one-mile run, just to get the feel for it again and to blow some of the cobwebs out of my lungs.
No prizes for best time tonight. Actually I didn't even time the run. My only goal was to finish it, to run one measly mile without stopping or dropping dead.
I did it. Yay me. But my body's telling me that I really got out of shape since my last run in...what was it? Fall of 2010.
Still, it's a start. And a reminder that I've got a long way to go.
With one final three-mile run last night, I met the final requirements for a President's Fitness Challenge Gold Medal.
I started this in October, 2008, just a week before I ran the Army Ten-Miler for the first time. Since then, I've kept track of time spent running, swimming, weight training, martial arts, cardio work and even walking. It's simple: Do the exercise then log in and plug in what you did and for how long. It keeps a tally and eventually you can earn awards. It's a great way to track your progress and at least in my case, it motivates me to get out there because I feel slack if I don't log some work every few days or so.
My proudest achievement: Per the records, since starting, I've logged 76 hours running. (Would that be 152 hours for someone with two legs?) At my average distance pace of 10 minutes per mile, that's 456 miles.
I also logged 17 hours of swimming and I can easily swim a mile now without stopping.
Lagniappe gets credit too, of course. I also logged all of our walks that were over half an hour in duration, and together we logged over 90 hours of walking and hiking, to include quite a bit of time spent on the Appalachian Trail and Maryland Heights across the Potomac from Harpers Ferry. If you've climbed to the Old Stone Fort as we've done numerous times, you'll know that the hike's no joke. We worked, and he earned his own Gold Ribbon, which is on the way along with my medallion. We celebrated last night with a glass of Bushmills for me, and a deer bone for him. Very happy.
Now that I've hit the Gold Medal on this program, I'm at a loss for something else to work on. I can't stop now, and I'm in search of another workout program. Any of you have any suggestions?
So early this morning, I found myself downtown Washington DC a bit before dawn and decided to get out and get a run in, the first since I damaged my leg a week and some change back.
I do love DC in the early hours. The bums and panhandlers are off sleeping on steam grates somewhere and even the Capitol is silent; the legislators and their staff are mostly still home sleeping and the disturbances in the Force that they normally cause are at a minimum. The city is silent--it's mine for an hour or two. So on rare occasions likethis morning, I like to get out and enjoy it.
I ran a nice circuit of the National Monuments--the Jefferson, the Lincoln and the Washington--and I also took in the World War Two and Vietnam Memorials. I ran the length of the Reflecting Pool with just the ducks for company, and then rounded the Tidal Basin and ran along the Potomac for a spell. Traffic was light on the roads, and all I encountered was just a few other hard-core early morning runners. I say "hard core" because it was lightly raining, and while I had to watch my step because my running foot doesn't get the best traction on wet surfaces (like the Lincoln Memorial steps), it also kept me cool and let me run longer. It was a great run, and I was sorry to reach the end-point in a little under an hour, just as the sun was coming up behind the Capitol dome to the east. If you absolutely have to be in Washington DC, this is the time to do it, IMHO.
Two evenings ago, I went out for a run. Not a long run--just a few miles--but it was so nice out, and things were slow enough at work that I was able to slip out for an hour or so...
It was hot and the humidity was pretty low. I knew it, but I didn't bring water with me. I know that I need to stay hydrated just for my leg if nothing else. But I ran without any because I didn't have anything to put water in.
Then my leg started hurting about a mile into the run. Not the usual mild and temporary pain that I get for the first little stretch before my leg settles into the prosthetic, but a deeper, sharper pain suggesting that things weren't fitting quite right. I should have quit running and called back to work for someone to come pick me up. But vanity...vanity is strong in this one. I will not quit, and I will not show weakness, especially in front of these co-workers who have only heard tales of the incident that cost me half a leg a few years back. I will finish this run despite the pain, and when they day is over, everything will magically be all right again.
Self-delusion is strong in this one, too.
I did finish the run even though every step brought me a new, sharp stabbing pain, and I finished it in pretty good time because by the last mile, I was mad at myself because I knew that I'd caused some damage, and because I was mad, I drove myself that much harder. And when I got back to my workplace and stopped running, it was just about all I could manage to do to even walk once I switched back to my regular walking leg. I knew for sure that I'd done some significant damage indeed. Idiot.
I tried to ignore it yesterday, but it got progressively worse the longer I was up on it walking around. By the end of the day, I was really hurting, and when I got home and took the leg off, I knew right away that I wouldn't be putting it back again this morning. I called work and let them know that I wouldn't be in today. So now I'm just sitting home with my leg off, talking to Lagniappe, playing on the interweb and reading my new book about Air Force legend Robin Olds while trying not to spill too much coffee out of my mug as I hop around the house on one foot.
A lost work day, just because I didn't listen to my body and stop a run when it was telling me to. Now I won't be running for a week or more, and the upcoming 5k that I was ready for? Scratched. All because I wanted to tough it out in front of my peers instead of being smart and sensible and stopping when I knew that it wasn't going to work. I just had to show everyone that I can do anything, and that my missing leg never slows me down. I guess I showed 'em, now that I'm not there today.
One of my real pleasures. I love to get up right around sunrise and go out and run through the French Quarter and Marigny streets and down along the river.
I had to take it easy this trip because I'm coming off of a foot injury, but I still got out every other morning for a nice run. The typical run wove through the Quarter and into the Marigny and then down to the Governor Nicholls wharf.(Click on the pictures to make them larger.)Gotta love Governor Francis Nicholls. Before he fought in the Civil War, he was a lawyer. Fighting as an officer for the CSA (Confederate States of America for you yankee readers), he lost his left arm at Winchester. But he kept fighting and went on to lose his left leg at Chancellorsville. After the war, he returned to the practice of law, and in 1876, he ran for governor as a Democrat, but a good one--one who championed smaller government and lower taxes. He won the election, served two terms (1876-1880 and 1888-1892) and then became Chief Justice of the Louisiana Supreme Court and held that position for 19 years, from 1892 until 1911. Not bad for a guy with one arm and one leg. Now he has a street named after him and in 2009, another lawyer with one leg runs on it whenever he gets the chance, just because.From the Governor Nicholls Wharf, I ran along the river to the ferry crossing at the foot of Canal Street.Then I ran up the neutral ground on Canal (that middle strip between the traffic lanes, where the street cars run) to Dauphine St. and back into the Quarter for a return to our hotel, the excellent Hotel St. Marie. (I cannot say enough good things about this hotel.) All told, I put about ten more miles on my running foot, and it now sports it's own French Quarter Parking Permit.
I like to think that Governor Nicholls would be impressed.
And of course, once the healthy activity for the day was out of the way (and after I showered), we spent the rest of the day dining, drinking and sightseeing. I think Nicki will be writing a review on the various Bloody Marys served at each bar in the area. She typically started drinking them at breakfast and finished up around midnight or so.
She also ate oysters, both raw and broiled, something that she once said that she'd never do.
So today, since it was finally not stupidly humid, I went for another six-mile run in the District of Columbia.
This time, I parked on Hains Point and ran east over the Washington Channel, then down onto Maine Avenue. I followed this along the river to historic Fort McNair, an active military post since 1791 (third oldest military post in America) and now home to one of the military’s premier educational centers, the National Defense University.
I ran up to the main gate at 3rd and P streets, NW and asked if I could enter and run on post. After they checked my credentials, I was granted access and allowed to run on this beautiful campus where most of the impeccably-maintained buildings are over a hundred years old.
Fort McNair was originally provided for as a defensive point when the District of Columbia was platted out by Pierre L'Enfant. It was first known as the Washington Arsenal and used to manufacture armaments and cartridges, and while it played no role in any fighting, it was nonetheless the center of two notable incidents in it's early days.
The first came in 1814 when the damnable British invaded and set about to destroy our Capitol. The arsenal had been hurriedly evacuated, and a large stock of gunpowder that could not be hauled off in time was hidden in a nearby well. An overly-curious (or careless) Brit tossed a match down the well and the resulting explosion killed 30 men and some officers and wounded a bunch more. (Cue Nelson Muntz: "HA-HA!")
The second was similar in nature but considerably more tragic as the victims were 21 women working in the cartridge factory on June 17, 1864. They were killed when an open spark touched off some munitions and demolished the building. President Abraham Lincoln himself took a place in their funeral procession, which numbered over 150 carriages as it wound through the District.
A prison was also established here, and the conspirators in the Lincoln assassination were locked up there prior to their executions, including Mary Surratt, the first woman ever executed by federal order.
Also noteworthy is the fact that he post was also home to a hospital where Major Walter Reed did much of his work on malaria. The District's surrounding swamps were reportedly perfect for his study.
Lots of history here, and a beautiful campus that's virtually free of automobiles. I like it.
I then ran back north along the channel, looking at all of the nice boats in the marina there. I could not, of course, help but notice the number of live-aboard boats that had beautiful women lounging around on them. Obviously I'm doing something wrong here. Why don't I own a nice boat where Lagniappe can bask in the sun all day, joined by my pet redhead when she's done with the cooking and cleaning and such? I'm clearly in the wrong line of work.
OK, maybe not really, but I sure feel like it right now.
I just finished another run in Washington, DC. 7.5 miles. It was too hot and too humid today, and I ran too long. But I had a goal of running more than 100 miles in Washington DC and this run put me over the top.
Don’t ask me why I set such a stupid, pointless goal. I don’t know. I just do stuff like that.
And no, this hundred miles does not count the other miles run in West Virginia and Maryland. I’m up in the triple-digits with my runs in those places, too. Maybe someday I’ll be able to say that I’ve run more than a hundred miles in each of the 50 states.
Oh hell no. That’s over 5000 miles. Just shoot me now.
Anyway, my runs in our nation’s capitol city have taken me over the 14th Street Bridge nine times. I’ve circled Hains Point three times. I’ve run to the White House once, and the Capitol twice. I’ve circled the Washington Monument countless times and have become a virtual fixture around the Lincoln Memorial. I’ve run across Memorial Bridge a dozen times, and the Theodore Roosevelt Bridge four times. I’ve also crossed Key Bridge three times, each time running the length of Georgetown, either along the C&O Canal or up on M street. I’ve been to the Iwo Jima Memorial once, run the Pentagon’s parking lots once, and run to the visitor center at Arlington National Cemetery at least four times. Yeah, I know that these last three are technically in Virginia. I just don’t feel like quibbling that point since the runs originated and concluded back in the District.
Oh, and I also ran in Anacostia one day. Bonus points to me for not getting mugged or getting involved in any scandal having something to do with Marion Barry. I’ve run on the National Mall half a dozen times, including two full-length runs from the Lincoln Memorial to the Capitol Reflecting Pool and back.
I’ve also run Embassy Row in Northwest, and the campus of George Washington University, where I collided with a small tourist who wasn’t paying attention.
I’ve had some fun while boosting my fitness, and I’ve covered 102.5 miles in DC or on National Park Service land immediately adjoining it since beginning to run here in mid-April.
Today’s run was one of the toughest ones though. Like I said—it was too hot and humid to push as hard as I did, but I was so close to the hundred-mile mark that I just decided to go for it. And I didn’t want any punk run—I wanted a good one. So I started out on Hains Point and crossed the 14th Street Bridge to head north along the George Washington Parkway bike path. I ran up to the ramp to Arlington and took Key Bridge across to Georgetown. I was actually carrying a water bottle on this run because I tend to dehydrate quickly and when I do, my leg loses mass and then the running foot starts to give me problems. It only takes a little bit of shrinkage to cause big problems with it so I made it a point to drink as much as I could and refilled the bottle at every opportunity.
I also had some new music on my MP3 player, and that’s always a big help; when I tire, I just stop looking down the road and instead just concentrate on putting my feet (foot?) down in time with the music. I have some eclectic musical tastes and usually run to a mixture of older rock, blues and country, with a few TV and movie themes tossed in for fun. Sometimes these tunes give me that last bit of motivation that I need when I’m tiring, like today after I’d climbed up the ramp to Arlington. I was wearing out, but Eye of the Tiger from that Rocky movie came on, and it was enough to push me over the Potomac across Key Bridge. Then it was sing along with the Beatles as I ran down Georgetown’s M Street, loudly singing along with “You Never Give me Your Money”. Hey—I got a few smiles from a few pretty ladies, so it’s all good. Then I ran down Wisconsin Avenue, past that particular little shop that I know Nicki likes, and onto to C&O Canal Towpath, now joining Meatloaf in a rousing rendition of “Hot Patootie”. Then it was the long run back along the river, which was made a bit easier by Hoyt Axton’s “Della and the Dealer”—always a fun song. Finally I made it back to the Lincoln Memorial, just a mile from the run’s end-point. And I was spent.
The sun had been baking me, the humidity had been sapping me, and I’d just not been running hard enough these past few weeks. I knew by then that I’d already passed the hundred-mile point and that I could have called any number of people that I knew in the area and gotten a ride back to my car. But that would be quitting, and I don’t quit. I’m Boer stock, not French, and I subscribe to the motto: “Never give up, never surrender.” OK, I totally ripped that off from some otherwise-forgettable movie with Tim Allen in it, but I still like it. So I ignored my body’s protestations and finished the run in time with the Blues Brothers’ “Sweet Home Chicago.” And I finished strong, with 7.5 miles run in an hour, 27 minutes.
Of course now the music’s off, the adrenaline’s gone, and I’m just tired.
But it’s a good kind of tired. The kind that comes with accomplishment. And in other good news--the new extended-wear tread on my running foot seems to be holding up quite well indeed. I've got about 25 miles on the foot since it was re-soled and it's hardly showing wear at all. The old tread would have been seriously eroded already by now.
This one may last me more than the 80 miles or so that the old ones did and if so, it'll seriously cut down on those way-too-frequent repair shop visits.
So I'm out for my usual morning run today, and after a few miles in the hot sun, I come upon this neat little decorative chain fence that's blocking part of the sidewalk in my path. Now back in the old days, I'd have just jumped over that chain just because it was there, even though I could easily walk around it. And of course the temptation to do just that quickly becomes overpowering. But being older and wise now, I stop and think about it.
If I do this wrong and hook a foot on the top of it, I'm going to take a nasty fall.
On the other hand, if I do this right, I'm going to look GOOD. And there's people watching.
I weigh the costs, benefits and risk. Hell, I've fallen before. It won't be the end of the world. I go for it.
I run at it, leap, and clear the fence, and I look so damned good with my nice shiny running foot catching the sun. Yeah, I got this. I land on the other side, coming down squarely on my running foot, which takes the impact beautifully and bounces me another foot or so back in the air...
And then one of the worst charley horse muscle cramps that I've ever had tears through that leg. Apparently I overtaxed or overstreched something. The pain quickly ratchets up past "Damn, that hurts" and hits "Oh sweet mother of God, make it STOP!"
With no "real" foot on that leg and no distal attachment for the calf muscle, I can't just flex my leg and stretch it out. I have to drop to the ground and tear the foot off so that I can try to massage the muscle knot out.
Now I'm not looking quite so cool. And it took a few minutes to make it go away so that I could reasemble everything and commence to running again. So much for advanced athltetics. I guess that my appearance on Ninja Warrior is going to have to wait a bit longer.
Then to add insult to injury, as I ran past a family out walking, I heard their little boy ask his dad if I was a Transformer.
yeah, I got your "transformer", kid. C'mere...we'll transform you into a football and go for a field goal.
So having nothing much better to do today, since it was so nice out and not too hot, I took another run around Washington DC.
Parking--as usual--down on Hains Point, I ran north along the Potomac River, up past the Lincoln Memorial and the Kennedy Center, then I kept going up Rock Creek Parkway until I got to P Street, which I took east a block or two, looking for 23rd Street or Massachusetts Avenue, either of which I expected would take me to today's intended target, Sheridan Circle.
I wanted to go here for several reasons. First, I like General Sheridan. Second, I hadn't been here before. Third, it was in the middle of Embassy Row, and I like looking at all of the mansions housing the foreign diplomats, most of whom can't drive or park worth a damn. Finally, at approximately 3.6 miles from my parking area, the mileage just seemed to work.
It actually took me a bit to find it, because I did not know where to get off of the parkway and the first five people that I asked on the parkway bike path had never heard of it and didn't know where it was.
I'd have called them idiots, but then I didn't exactly know where it was, either.
So I got a bit off-route, but eventually some nice lady who actually did know where it was pointed me in the right direction and I found it.
It's basically a statue in the middle of a traffic circle. DC has lots of traffic circles, but only one with a statue of Gen. Phil Sheridan and his horse, Renzi. It looks like this: On a side note, that statue was designed by Gutzon Borglum, the sculptor who went on to design and begin the work on Mount Rushmore. Cool, eh?
So I took in the statue for a bit, then headed back down to my car, eschewing the parkway for a trip through DC's streets so I could see something new. The people were out on the sidewalks, some of them seriously not paying attention, and while passing through the area around Washington Hospital Center, I had to dodge through a whole family of head-in-the-clouds tourists who were looking everywhere but up the sidwalk. I missed most of them but finally collided with a boy of about 12 or 13, knocking him to the sidewalk. But he seemed ok so I carried on, Hopefully next time him and the rest of the Gawker family will pick up a little situational awareness.
When I passed a 7-11 store at 912 New Hampshire Avenue, I stopped in because I was pretty thirsty and getting a bit dehydrated. I was going to buy a bottle of water but damn it--I dropped the two dollars that I'd put in my pocket to buy a drink with somewhere along the route. But the manager on duty was a good duck and seeing how sweaty I was, he gave me a drink of water gratis. Note to self: patronize this store the next time that I have money!
I got a bit bottled up trying to run through the Watergate and Kennedy Center, causing me to backtrack significantly and adding several blocks to my run. But I didn't care, because I was just feeling good and enjoying the day. I took Virginia Ave down to 23rd Street, past the Magic Gourd--DC's best Chinese restaurant--and continued on down to the Lincoln Memorial again. (I could almost have my mail forwarded here...) I ran across the plaza, stopping for just a second to enjoy the view of the Capitol dome and the Washington Monument at the far end of the Reflecting Pool, and then it was back down the Potomac and back to my car. estimated distance covered: 7.75 miles, thanks to my meandering. Time: 1hr, 30 minutes. Going to have to pick the speed up a bit, but then dodging pedestrians on the sidewalks and waiting on traffic lights doesn't exactly help the speed.
All in all, it was a great day to be running, and well worth to trip down. DC is such a nice place at times, and it could be a great place if they'd just get rid of all the people.
Sorry I’ve been absent for a few days, but it’s not as if I haven’t been doing stuff.
Friday I went for another great run down in DC. I started out—as usual—on Hains Point and ran across the 14th Street Bridge towards the Pentagon and Virginia. I got on the Mt. Vernon Trail that runs up the George Washington Parkway and ran north. I took a slight detour at Memorial Circle and ran up to the visitor center at Arlington National Cemetery, both because I like to run past the statues there and because I wanted a drink of water.
Leaving the cemetery, I continued north along the Potomac to Theodore Roosevelt Island. I had planned to go run a circuit around the island, but I realized that I was running short on time because I was supposed to meet Nicki, so I just crossed the Theodore Roosevelt Bridge back into DC and ran down Rock Creek Parkway, back past my old friend, the Lincoln Memorial, and south along the Potomac again until I got back to my ride. It was only about a five mile run, but it just felt great because the weather was good and there were lots of other runners and bicyclists out. I usually like work-out company, even though I tend to overdo it sometimes when I see attractive women…got to represent and so them just how fast I can run, even if I can’t really run that fast for long. I know better but I will still kill myself trying look good. Ah well…
And Saturday…now there was a treat. I got to go to lunch with some great folks at Magnolia’s at the Mill in Purcellville. Besides Nicki, there was Bridget and her beau, and The Sniper and his lady. Truly, a finer table of dinner companions I have not had in recent memory. Nothing beats a good burger and great beer enjoyed in the company of great Americans and there was no shortage of any of these things. Even Lagniappe got into the act, as he rode down in the dog van just to see Bridget, who is apparently the president of his fan club’s Virginia chapter. (Man, I hate that dog sometimes…what’s he got that I haven’t got?)
We then all went gun shopping after lunch over at Purcell Guns. What’s a good lunch without guns for dessert? It’s a small store but it’s packed with great guns at decent prices, and thankfully it wasn’t infested with Glocks. (Someone in our group has this thing for Glocks. I will, however, let that individual remain nameless because I don’t want to embarrass Nicki by calling her out as a Glock-lover. Oops. Sorry, Nicki.)
But now it's Monday, and time to get back to regular blogging business, if there actually is such a thing. And since it's Police Week, you know that I'll be down there taking pics and participating in the festivities later this week, so stay tuned!
I've taken the liberty of running in Washington, DC lately, in large part because I really like being around the Memorials and other historical stuff, and because there are so many other runners and bike riders down there all trying to be healthy as well.
Tuesday I parked on Hains Point and ran a route up to the Jefferson Memorial and around the Tidal Basin to the Washington Monument. From there, I went up 15th Street to Pennsylvania Avenue and turned to run past the White House, a place I've always enjoyed. But somehow it just seems to be more sinister and less Presidential now. Damned shame. I ran back down 17th Street to the World War Two Memorial, then went west along the Reflecting Pool to the Lincoln Memorial before turning south and running back down the Potomac River to Hains Point again, detourling slightly to run through the FDR Memorial. This was about a five mile run and I did it in 51 minutes, which was not exactly a speed run, but hey--vehicle traffic and pedestrians tend to interfere.
I laid off running on Wednesday but just went back out again today. From the same parking space on Hains Point, I ran up the Potomac River to the Lincoln Memorial, then across Memorial Bridge towards Arlington National Cemetery. On the west bank of the river, I ran north along the bike path past Theodore Roosevelt Island and up to Key Bridge, where I crossed back into the Georgetown section of Washington DC. Ducking down through Francis Scott Key Park, I got onto the C&O Canal towpath and ran it down to Rock Creek Parkway, dodging one set of mules pulling a canal full of tourists along the way. I then ran back down the parkway past the Watergate and the Kennedy Center and finally past the Lincoln Memorial again. I followed the Potomac back to Hains Point and my ride. This was roughly a seven mile run and it took me an hour and twenty minutes. (I lost some time trying--and failing--to find a working drinking fountain or someplace willing to part with a cup of water.) The weather was great today--a nice sunny 65 degrees or so, but with one hell of a wind coming off the river. It was in my face on the outbound run and I had to work against it, but coming back, it was a nice tailwind that both cooled me and gave me an appreciated push when I was tiring.
I'm feeling good now, and I think that I probably burned off enough calories this week to justify grabbing a burger and fries at Five Guys in Winchester, VA when I go in tomorrow to get my running foot re-soled. I seem to have worn through the rubberized tread again and it has to be replaced.
But the best part? I got to run around, through and past all these places and things that people come from all over the word to see, and it was all free!
Today started out with a trip to the gym and a nice six and a half mile run.
Now I really hadn't planned on doing six and a half miles, but when I flipped on the TV by the treadmill, I saw that one of the greatest war movies of all time, The Longest Day, was playing.
Of course I couldn't quit while that was playing, so I had to keep running for the next hour and a quarter. But it was worth it to watch John Wayne, Dean Martin, Sean Connery, Henry Fonda, Eddie Albert, Paul Anka, Robert Mitchum, George Stewart, Rod Steiger and a young (and uncredited) Richard Dawson defeat the Germans and take that first costly but crucial step towards freeing Europe.
This movie was an epic in it's day, with over 42 big name stars from four countries, including many people who were actually part of the real battle for Normandy. It was worth the long run and it's worth you renting it. They really don't make them like this one any more.
After the run and a few errands, I came home to...a cold house. Was ist los, I asked Lagniappe. I know that it was well below freezing today, but I also knew that I'd left the pellet stove on. A quick look revealed that it was not on, however. It was cold and dark. And during the worst cold snap of the winter. Joy. So using an operator's manual that I found on line, I began to trouble shoot the stove. When I tried to power it up, I could hear one of the two auger motors trying to turn. Obviously one of the augers was jammed. The remedy, per the manual, is to remove the auger and clear the blockage. OK. Sounds simple enough. (HA!)
First I emptied the pellet bin, scooping out nearly forty pounds of pellets by hand. Then I pulled the first auger's motor (there are two). I hooked up the power to that motor and it ran fine. But the auger that it powered was definitely jammed. Worse, the other motor for the other auger--the one that feeds the fire box--was the one that wasn't turning. So it turned out that both augers were clogged. Not exactly rocket science here. The bottom one obviously jammed first, and with no outlet for the pellets that the upper auger was trying to feed to the lower one, the upper one jammed too. That meant that they both had to come out.
Oh--and did I mention that the stove is in a corner? There's not much room to work back there, and what room there is is full of ash and soot and pellets.
Then it got really fun when I discovered that in order to remove the bottom auger motor, I had to loosen one set screw so that I could detach the motor from the shaft. Of course the auger had frozen in place with that set screw blocked by other pieces of the stove, so I couldn't get a damned tool on it. That meant that I had to take the whole auger housing out--a more involved job by far. And as luck would have it--the bolts securing that housing were blocked by...the motor!
I won't go into the details or the drama that followed, but by the time I got the whole damned thing apart nearly an hour later, I'd lost count of the number of times that I'd smashed or cut my hands on other pieces of the stove, and Lagniappe had learned several new words and phrases, most of which referred to the ham-fisted alcoholic crotch monkeys at the stove factory who's assembled this nightmare and torqued all of the essential bolts down to about eight hundred foot/pounds, clearly savoring the thought of someone like me trying to reach those bolts with a box wrench (because socket tools won't fit in there) and get enough leverage to enable me to turn each bolt about 1/32 of a turn at a time. To say the least, I was way beyond angry by the time I got it apart. And thanks to all of the soot and ash, I don't think that I've gotten so dirty in recent memory.
But I finally got it all cleaned out, then I carefully re-aligned the augers as I put them back in, and re-assembled the whole mess. In fairness, it went back together quickly and easily. And when I turned it back on...it worked! It even worked better than before, as apparently my re-alignment of the augers eliminated a persistent and annoying squeaking noise that the stove's made since day #1. Still...two hours blown on that stove today...and for what?
Oh yeah... Without the nice warm stove, Lagniappe and his little buddy would have to lie on a cold rug all day.
Tuesday morning, I got up with the sun, shook a few residual cobwebs out of my head, and grabbed my trusty running foot. I'd been so looking forward to running here and today was the day.I headed up to the river by the Governor Nichols wharf, predictably arriving just as one of the incredibly long and aggravatingly slow trains arrived at the crossing, forcing my to cool my heel for about ten minutes. Man, I remember when I used to hop these trains, only to jump back off because I could literally walk faster. A couple of times I'd even dropped to the ground and quickly rolled under them rather than wait for them to clear the crossing. Damn, I was dumb once. Well maybe I still am. I was tempted but abstained mainly because I wasn't drunk and because I didn't want to get my nice new Army Ten Miler running shirt all dirty. I'm reasonably sure that I could have done it, though, (Note: kids, it's never a good idea to hop onto or scoot under moving trains. Things were different back in my day. Leave the trains alone. Stay in school.)
As I waited, a girl of sorts about twenty years old slunk up next to me. The ratty, unwashed hair and facial piercings told me all that I needed to know: Gutter punk.
And that's ok. I generally don't mind individual gutter punks. They're only a nuisance when there's a pack of them. For those not from New Orleans, gutter punks are what everyone else calls the homeless Goth kids who loiter around the river and beg for enough money to buy drugs and booze. They're the lowest social caste in the French Quarter, even below the old alcoholic bums who sleep on the park benches, reason being that old bums don't steal...gutter punks are known for it.
As the train passed, I could see her getting all antsy. as it turned out, her friends were on the other side and they had the bottle of liquor. She loudly cursed the "stupid money train."
OK, I was bored and somewhat curious so I asked her what she meant. She pointed to all of the slowly-passing train cars and said "It's all the oil...nothing but money for the rich bastards!"
I looked at the train cars. "There's no oil in there," I said. "These are phosphates."
She looked at me as if she was trying to decide if I was messing with her.
"And these cars here, they've got grain in them. Taking it to the ports to feed the world," I said.
"How do you know that?" she sneered.
"Reading is fundamental," I replied. "It says so on the cars. Besides, these are bulk cars, not tank cars. And those ones coming? Pressurized tanks. Probably propane. Sorry, still no oil."
She turned away and didn't look at me or speak again, not even when several real oil tanks rolled past us. Not that she could tell. Finally the train cleared the crossing and I got to run along the river like I'd planned.
I ran along the waterfront down past the steamer Natchez and the aquarium. I then ran under the ferry ramp and back to the river, following it alongside the Riverwalk Mall, only mall ever to be hit by a ship, far as I know. I was actually in the Quarter when it happened and heard the ship's horn and the big bang. As Sheriff Roscoe P. Coltrane used to say: "What a horrendous crash!"
But I digress.
I ran back to the Governor Nichols wharf again (seen at the upper right in the photo), then turned around and ran back to the aquarium. I was just enjoying the river breeze. I then went back to the Governor Nichols wharf and ran down through the French Market as the vendors were setting up. I then ran up Barracks Street to the dog park at Dauphine and ran Dauphine back down to Iberville. The run took me about an hour and probably covered about four miles. It felt good, but not nearly as good at the hot shower that followed. Breakfast at Mena's concluded the AM festivities. I used to frequent Mena's back when I lived local because it was one of the few places where someone without the deep pockets of a tourist or a business professional could eat good food cheap.
Next, I wandered down Chartres street to one of my favorite used book stores just off Jackson Square. I grabbed a few paperbacks and retired to the Community Coffee shop over on Royal to sit in the big overstuffed chairs and read while sipping my overpriced but very tasty caffeine drink. I stayed there for a while then headed off to find some dinner.
This time, I chose Cafe Maspero, long a favorite of mine. (The shrimp plate is great, and they give you a ton of it.) By this time, I was having trouble with my walking leg since I'd taken it apart for cleaning earlier and hadn't gotten a spacer back in just quite right. All it takes is for it to be a few degrees out of place and it gets to be unbearable. So I was sitting in the restaurant, hungry and tired and my leg was sore. All I wanted to do was put my leg up for a bit, so I pulled the other chair at my table around into the aisle and put my leg up on it. Ahhh...that felt good. Of course it was in the way of the waitresses and anyone else who wanted to walk through, but this wasn't really registering on me, probably at least in part because of the steady diet of beer that I'd been consuming all day. Finally however, my waitress--a cute little gal who looked like she was about 14 years old--came up to me and very politely told me that I was blocking the aisle. I told her that I was sorry, but that my leg was kind of sore and I just needed to stretch it out for a bit. She sympathized but again asked if I wouldn't mind putting my foot under the table.
Well I'm nothing it not cooperative, so I reached down and detached my foot and put it under the table, leaving the rest of my leg right where it was. "How's that?" I asked.
Somewhere in my alcohol-dulled brain, this made sense to me, but she immediately got all flustered and began apologizing to me over and over, saying that she hadn't realized. I tried to tell her that it was ok, but she kept apologizing, and then she took off, and a minute later she came back with the manager, who also began to apologize. I finally got them to understand that I wasn't offended in the least, but the incident was definitely amusing, not only for me but for people at several nearby tables.
After dinner, I spent the rest of the evening cruising Bourbon Street, drinking the beer and taking in the feminine sights.
Then I hung out with with Detrick, a former neighbor and long-time acquaintance of mine, who is better known as Goldie, the French Quarter's most well-known street performer. Now I didn't film this--just found it on YouTube--but that's pretty much how he is most days. Great guy, even if he is an Obama supporter. We go back at least ten or eleven years and we've had some good times and more than a few deep conversations. His daughter just recently graduated law school and landed a pretty good job with a firm up in New England. I called it an early night because I had places to be the next day, so midnight found me back in my room hitting the hay. Man, I love this city.
