Posts Tagged ‘marathon’

Disappearing Marathon TV Coverage

Here in Sacramento, television coverage of the California International Marathon used to be huge, if relatively uninformed. Three years ago there was four hours of exclusive coverage that included Dick Beardsley and a local track coach for color commentary. A camera on a rigged motorcycle followed the leaders for much of the race. Two years ago, coverage was cut to three hours, with no commentators. Yesterday, we had two reporters, one at the halfway point and one at the finish, giving updates during the morning news.

They had no idea who was leading, where they were, or what was going on. They couldn’t identify the winner when he finished, and didn’t know the time of the female winner when she finished. But, boy, did we get a lot of updates about weather along the course and road closures.

Budget constraints are understandable, but if you cover something live, cover it. Otherwise just get some clips and show them on the six o’clock news. This was an embarrassment.

Marathoners Still Irked by L.A. Date Change

The Los Angeles Times published two articles about the reaction to the news that the Los Angeles Marathon is being moved from Presidents Day to Memorial Day. Hundreds of commenters vented their anger and frustration, prompting the Times to publish a column by writer/runner Tina Dupuy about the move. She quotes a friend in her running group as saying:

“Great. First we don’t have a football team, and now we don’t have a marathon.”

One commenter on Dupuy’s column was even more succinct about the decision: “Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!”

Marathon Race Report: 490 B.C.

The following is excerpted from a document recently discovered during an archaeological dig near Athens. It appears to be a running log with the name Pheidippides scrawled upon it. I translate it here from the ancient Greek, invoking the Muse as I do so.

August 31, 490 BC:

Sunny, with a little bit of wind. Did my final long run today. Was a bit of a struggle. These new Nike sandals don’t have much arch support. To add to my misery, I got an olive pit stuck in them at about mile 13. On the plus side, these FigShots are just the boost I need during my run.

It’s pretty hard to nail down my pace because my sundial doesn’t have a minute or second hand. But I’m pretty sure I can finish sub-noon.

Still can’t figure out what “BC” means and why we’re counting years backwards.

September 18, 490 BC:

Thank Zeus the tapering is almost over. I’ve got a lot of, uh, excess energy and Penelope says she won’t sleep with me unless I wear a Trojan. But it ruins the mood for me. Those guys are pretty heavy and the armor chafes.

September 22, 490 BC:

Race Day! Big crowd at the start - about 10,000 local dudes and boatloads of guys in long white singlets with names like Datis and Artaphernes. There was a lot of confusion, particularly since all the bibs had Greek numerals on them. This seemed to be a big problem for the boat people and they started to act up. There was a lot of jostling going on and it was getting ugly when everyone started running in all different directions, screaming at the top of their lungs. I figured the race had started and headed out.

The course was poorly marked and it didn’t look like they blocked off traffic on the E75. I almost got nailed by one of those chariots with the blades on the wheel hubs. And the aid stations were pathetic. Whose idea was it to hand out fennel juice?

As we got to the hills I noticed I had a pretty big lead on the rest of the field. In fact, I couldn’t see them at all. The coeds from Nea Ionia Women’s College were out in force, but they weren’t nearly as pretty as I had heard they were.

Anyway, my quads were burning pretty bad as I headed down the home stretch into Athens. I was starting to wish I had entered the Persian 200 Meter Dash for the Boats instead. I thought the finish line was at the Parthenon, but then I realized it hadn’t been built yet! (Damn backwards calendar again.) I saw a group of old guys in togas so I sprinted toward them. Running my last tired strides I yelled, “Victory, victory!”

I collapsed from a stomach cramp right at the end (fennel juice and FigShots, not a good combination), but I’m pretty happy with the finish line painting. Those thieves want five tetradrachma for a copy!

Maybe I should pay up. Who else will remember this race after today?

Roadkill

First published November 16, 2007

As I lay face-down in the gravel, bleeding, my mind searched frantically for the answer to the one question that was of immediate and critical importance to me:

What is the penalty for animal cruelty in Sacramento County?

I was eight miles into my one and only opportunity for a 20-miler. I needed it to determine whether I could run, as planned, the California International Marathon (CIM) on December 2. My greatly accelerated training schedule had led me to this point, this day, to make a go/no-go decision.

Things were going remarkably well. I started slowly, and gradually reached my targeted pace. I worked my way up the hill to the levee, where the next two miles of my route lay over a flat trail covered in small gravel.

Suddenly, darting up the hill came a yappy little pooch—looked like a pug, but it was only a mini-blur as the devil dog thought it would be great fun to launch its 12-pound body directly between my ankles.

Timberrrrr! Down I went in a cloud of dirt, rocks and dust.

So, having quickly computed the various moral, ethical, legal and monetary ramifications of punting his little ass into the Sacramento River, I dragged myself up and performed a systems check.

No broken bones, no torn ligaments, no major bleeding. I jammed my left shoulder, and it was sore. Pretty nasty road rash, particularly on my knees and forearms, and my palms were badly flayed. Along came the dog’s owner, calling for Hershey or Percy or Jersey, and then asking if I’m all right.

I was pretty cool about it, but then she left without leashing the dog. As I began to continue running, Hershey/Percy/Jersey came after me again. I stopped, spit a mouthful of mud and pebbles at him, and he took off running in the opposite direction.

That wasn’t a technique I picked up in my reading anywhere, but it seemed appropriate at the time.

I brushed myself off and resumed my run. I’d love to finish this story with “bloody but unbowed” details of my successful 20-miler and my decision to run CIM. In fact, I only made it to 15 miles before the stinging and the strange yaw to the left induced me to pull the plug.

Anyway, after antiseptic, bandages and Advil, I’m fine, but I was skirting the edge of good sense before this fiasco, and now time’s run out for a quality 20-miler before the race. So no marathon this year.

But I am thinking about taking up hawking.