Pictures

Unpacking has gone slowly, strung out now over several months. The first week was a rush of getting the necessary things situated, but after the kitchen, clothing, bedding and other furniture found their new places, things slowed dramatically. I went through the odd box now and then, mostly to thin things out, but I didn't do much of anything that would be considered decorating. It was probably a combination of things, but now that I had this new place, I sort of hesitated to make it "mine".

Naturally, part of it was because much of those things stored away were from a house shared with another. Each item had a certain not-so-ephemeral emotion memory attached to it. I sorted out the things that had little or too much attached, and put away the stuff in the middle. Boxes began to disappear, but nothing really came out.

When I hosted a couple of friends for book club a few months ago, I finally threw three or four prints on the wall so it would look like someone actually lived here. Outside of the painting of Sierra that Holly gave me, the few things didn't really reflect anyone in particular. Someone lived here, but it wasn't clear who.

I made plans to print out some of the ten years of digital photos, to get them out of their sad purgatory of being stored away in bits and bytes, never to be seen. It is no way for a photo to live. I spent an evening a while back copying some into a "to print" folder, but the size of the task was somewhat overwhelming. Like many of those boxes, the computer folders held memories of their own, and I set aside the project to be worked on later.

I invited my parents over for dinner this past Saturday. They had offered dinner at their place, but I wanted them to come over for a couple of reasons. I wanted them to see the Christmas tree I had put up, the first in a few years. That was its own adventure in memory mining, but I am really glad I did it. I did it for myself, but I sort of wanted someone else to see it, to make it real and share in the Christmas traditions. The other reason I invited them over was to kick myself in the butt to get the place looking like something beyond a faceless (messy) hotel room.

Friday, I opened that neglected "to print" folder and spent several hours adding to it, digging through pictures over the last few years. Even staying away from most of the stuff before 2009, the folder was soon overflowing and I had to start picking and choosing memories all over again. The looming dinner deadline fortunately cut short the time to second guess. By evening I had most of the prints in frames and had a few on the walls. It eventually grew too late to be hammering nails into shared walls, but even before I quit I know I wanted to get more photos printed.

Saturday I finished round one, then made another trip to Kohl's for 60% off frames, and to Costco for prints in under two hours. I split the afternoon between hanging pictures, prepping dinner and cleaning up after both projects. I finished up a half hour before they arrived. I actually fell three nails short of finishing, but in a little more than a day I went from no photos on the walls to fifty-six (yes I just counted).

For a while I hesitated to put anything on the walls. It is an apartment, a rental after all, so was it worth sinking nails into the walls? It was the same in San Diego. I wasn't sure how long I would be there, so it sort of felt like the walls should match that uncertainty. I was staying with friends, so the living situation seemed even more temporary, but eventually pictures went up and it felt more like home. I don't know why it took months to remember that lesson, or to realize that even though I am renting, I may be here long term. With lots of pictures up, it now it feels more like home, more like me.

Another lesson learned and remembered is that making lighter connections does not make it any easier to move on. It doesn't spare the pain of leaving some place or someone. You might as well risk sinking some anchors in. You can almost always patch the holes if you have to.

We ended up having a lovely evening. The pictures led to stories old and new, as did the ornaments on the tree. Home can be anywhere I suppose, but it has to be something you create and carve out. The welcoming in of someone to share in it seems to complete the picture.

Winter warmth

I still have a couple weeks of comp time built up from the tax season(s), so I made a three day work week into a two day work week. Extra time to be thankful I say. I pushed the alarm clock to 8:00am, and was frustrated to wake up at 7:00. It didn't seem like I was going to be able to fall back asleep, but somehow five minutes later the alarm went off. Success!

During the three years down in San Diego, I transitioned to running primarily in the mornings to avoid the heat. Back in Washington, and with a job that started at an earlier hour, I shifted back to running in the evenings. With the shorter daylight hours lately though, it has been difficult to get out. I am not training for anything specific these days, but I want to keep moving to avoid digging too deep a hole to climb out of in the spring, and also to counteract the holiday stuffing. Without a race on the horizon, it is much easier to skip a run, but I laced up my shoes this morning and headed out.

I ran my normal path along the Sammamish trail. The proximity to the trail was definitely a factor when I was apartment shopping, and it is really a blessing to have miles and miles of traffic-free roads to run. Though it was a weekday morning, I expected more people on the path, extending the holiday week as I had. The path has never been this empty, so it was mostly just me and the wildlife. Before I even reached the trail, a crow flew across my path, a full piece of wheat bread in its beak. It alighted on a concrete pillar, probably just out of my reach, but it eyed me suspiciously as I passed. I told him, "nice score" as he waited to tuck into breakfast. Seagulls circled, birds chirped, squirrels darted, and I ran.

There is something different in winter sunlight. It illuminates things in a more focused way, exposing different colors and shadowy textures. I suppose it is mostly the lower angle of the sun, but I think it is also the contrast of bright sunlight against a cold day. The fall colors on the hillsides come alive as if they were aflame, and spaces under concrete overpasses seem luminescent rather than shaded in darkness. If light could play across the steam of your breath hitting the cold air, it would put to shame the twinkling lights of Christmas.

It has been cold lately. Of course it is only "Seattle cold" and not "Minnesota cold", but it was still in the 20s for several nights. Another bonus for my apartment choice was an underground parking space. Not that my truck needs the protection, but it was a designated spot I knew would always be empty. I briefly thought about the winter benefits, but they didn't stick in the brain when I moved in July. Driving down the hill past all the iced over cars this past week made me extra thankful to not have to scrape windows every morning. The disadvantage of the apartment is that is on a hillside, however, and I am not sure if I will be able to make it out when it gets truly icy and snowy.

I came home late last night, looking forward to the extended Thanksgiving weekend. As I rounded the corner halfway up the hill, I saw the manager's office decorated and lit up in Christmas lights. The Christmas creep into Thanksgiving and even Halloween bugs me, but rather rail against it coming too early, I just enjoyed the light in the cold darkness.

Tomorrow officially begins the holiday season. My wish is that we all feel warmth in the cold, light in the darkness, and that we see magic hidden in the shadows.

Quiet time

It is a strange, wonderful, lonely experience to come home to an empty house.

After the wife and house went on to live their new stories with a different set of characters, I have lived with others, metaphorically sleeping on someone else's couch for the last three or four years. Great strides were made, and setbacks were had in the meantime, but it never really felt like I had truly found my feet and started life anew.

I moved into my own place at the start of the summer. Beyond the last few years of living under someone else's roof, I had not lived alone for fifteen or twenty years. On the one hand, I longed to set up my own camp, cook in my own kitchen, have the mess or cleanliness be mine, but I also wondered what it would be like to be left entirely to my own devices. Though people may not actually put expectations on you, their presence nonetheless acts as a monitoring or filtering device. What would it be like with no one to consider or watch over.

I have found that now living alone, the battle against slipping into bad habits is more difficult. I'll have that larger helping of food, a second beer, or call chips and humus a meal with no one else around. Maybe I veg out to a marathon of Pysch episodes instead of shutting it off after an hour and reading a book. Since alone time is mine to be had, there is less of a push to go out and say go for a walk or hide out in a coffee shop where writing seems more likely.

I have actually been doing some writing, though nothing has appeared here in quite some time. I started the NaNoWriMo challenge on November 1st, and it felt like if I were to be writing, I needed to focus on that. Well, I am not going to make it to 50,000 words, so I feel safe to "waste" a few words here. I am only about half way at this point, but I will press on even as the deadline goes whishing by me this Saturday. The point of the exercise was to get me back in the habit and mindset, and I will call it at least half successful. The habit is still spotty, but the light in my eyes is flickering more regularly.

I have always been pretty comfortable on my own, but I have become less so in the past few years, and I think that is a good thing. I am glad to finally get started again with a place I can call my own, but I do miss the random conversations that come from living with others. It is funny how someone you haven't seen in a few weeks will ask you how you've been, and what's been going on, and you can come up blank. All the details fade into the background that is your daily life. But a daily conversation with someone at home, and you share the little tidbits that may not seem important a day later, but made for a good story that night.

And of course I still miss Sierra. She wasn't much of a conversationalist, but she was a wonderful presence and beacon of love. I went for a bike ride last Sunday, and I swear every whitish yellow lab was out for a walk. Each one made me smile, and reminded me of what a special thing it is to have a dog in your life. There will never be another Sierra, but there will be another dog someday. I don't know that I am ready just yet, but since my apartment doesn't allow them, the decision is at least delayed until next summer. Cats are allowed here, and I will admit that thought has crossed my mind.

Summer was pretty busy with big biking events, the annual family trip to eastern Washington, a hiking adventure and the run around Chicago. For the first few months it felt like I was hardly home (that is my excuse for still having unpacked boxes stashed in the den). Work filled up some weekends through September and October as well, so for several months it felt like I was just home to sleep, shower and change.

Now things have slowed dramatically, and life has been pretty quiet this past month. The days are shorter and the freezing temperatures have kept me indoors, looking at the growing list of projects that were left for another day. The silence of the house is more noticeable without all the activity of summer, and the cold seems to creep in and it can be hard to shake the chill.

I am happy to say the quiet house and calendar has encouraged me out in a different way now, and I have kept up on the group bike rides the past few weekends - new places, and new faces. And the holidays are on the horizon, and the weekends will fill up with all that is wonderful in family and friends. Then it is on to another tax season in the new year, and the weekends will be filled with a different sort of craziness.

I relish the peace, but look forward to a little noise now and then.

Where the hell have you been?

I know, I know, the apology/excuse post has almost become a trope in blogging, short-lived as the medium is. Why after five plus years did it all come to a screeching halt.

I wish I had a better excuse for my excuse post. 

Truth is, I just lost it. The energy, the motivation, the belief that I had anything worth saying at any moment in time. Work was crazy while we made the mad dash to April 15th. In the weeks leading up to our deadline, it didn't feel that I had the time to pause and get anything down. Truth is, there is almost always time, but I didn't make any. I will say that my brain was pretty fried, and though there may have been time, I didn't have the mental space for anything creative, much less insightful.

And of course there have been events that shook me. Sierra's passing was difficult. Not only had I lost a great friend and companion, but I was actually lost in her absence. After three years of routine, I woke the next morning uncertain what to do. She was not downstairs waiting for me. No breakfast kibble to serve, no shot to prepare, no morning amble out to the front lawn. I actually stopped in the hallway, unsure that I even needed to go downstairs before getting in the shower. (I did, only to flip on the coffee pot).

Then on the day of our metaphorical tax finish line, finally able to pull up after weeks and months of leaning into it, the bombings happened at a real finish line on the other side of the country. Feeling rather beat up myself that day, and having run that kind of race in person, I could clearly picture the joy and relief of the finish area seconds before. What I couldn't begin to understand what happened next, and the stupid, misdirected anger behind it. 

People suffer, bridges fall, children and other innocents are brought down, and we argue over trivialities and do nothing. For fear or opportunity, we entrench ourselves further and understand less. Friends have turned on each other and have become unrecognizable. It has all been disheartening and I suppose I pulled back too. I stopped writing, stopped reading, stopped checking in on others who were still writing. 

Time passed, and getting started again became that much harder. I lost the habit, and imagined failure before taking a step (that first post back better be good). Silly, and no excuse, but that is some of what has been going on. I have probably lapsed long enough that people have stopped checking in, so I can just blather on until I find a rhythm again. 

Some good things have been happening while I have kept my head down and eyes away from the news. I have met a few new friends, reconnected with old ones, and my bicycle no longer gathers dust. Work is steady, summer is just around the corner, and I may have my next home lined up. 

I have described this time to a few people as Life 3.0 (sounds much better than 'mid-life crisis'). Round two began when I was shaken awake and then regenerated in the sun. I am home again, ready to start anew. Some things have changed while I have been gone, but I am different too. There are still empty spaces, but the slate is also pretty clean for a new picture to take shape. The first steps don't have to be perfect, and I will just stumble forward until I find a rhythm again.

The 20 year path to where I started

"There's not a word yet
for old friends who've just met."

~ lyric from "I'm Going To Go Back There Someday", The Muppet Movie

It sort of feels like I've returned to someplace I have never been. Returning to a job that I have never had.

I studied business and accounting in college, but I have barely worked in the industry. Before I graduated, I went through a series of interviews at school, but did not snag an accounting job. After graduation, I took a review course and studied to take the CPA exam. If memory serves (and it has been a long time) there were four parts to the exam stretched out over two days. If you passed at least two of the sections, you could keep those successes and only have to pass the remaining two parts on your next attempt. The wrinkle is that the exam is only held twice a year.

I managed to pass all four parts on the first try, something only 7% of CPAs accomplished at the time. With the passed test in my hip pocket, I thought it would help set myself apart from other recent graduates. More typically, beginning staff accountants have to split their time between learning the job, and studying to pass the exam. I returned to my college to go through the interviewing process again, and with that successful CPA exam highlighted on my resume, I got even fewer interviews.

I was pretty discouraged. I kept looking, but eventually gave up. I kept working at the restaurant, not sure what was next. Then I got a call. I had left my resume on file with the local CPA association, and was brought in for an interview. It wasn't a typical firm, and they dealt exclusively with clients in trouble with the IRS. Soon I had 350 clients, and I was putting out fires and trying to prevent seizures of property. There simply wasn't enough time to take care of our clients properly. It was chaotic, combative, and unmanageable.

In the end, it wasn't for me. I ended up going back to the restaurant full time. Not much later, I had the opportunity to work for a buddy in construction. It was great learning a new skill, working with my hands, and actually finishing a project. Instead of continually putting out fires and scrambling to cover other people's mistakes, at the end of each day, I was able to point to something I built. Something tangible that would last.

After about five years, I moved on to running the office, managing the jobs and crews, and yes filing the business returns. It was a great mix of the business skills I had learned in school, and the things I had picked up in construction. Construction being what it is, there were up and down times, and when the owner and I decided to move on to something different, I went into real estate and mortgage lending. I enjoyed the work and the finance part was another step closer to actually using my degree.

Of course I got into the industry just before the market crash. I tried to weather the storm, but clients disappeared and my broker closed up shop. When my marriage suffered the same fate, I moved down to San Diego and I returned to construction. I was back to working with my hands, on my feet and outside in the sunshine. I enjoyed it, but as before, the work wasn't consistent. When I decided to move back to Seattle, I really wanted to find something with steady hours and a steady paycheck.

But what sort of job? On paper, I wasn't really tailored for a particular job. I haven't exactly job-hopped, with jobs lasting between three and eleven years on my resume, but the changes of industry along the way wasn't helping my case. In a better economy, I could probably work my way in the door, but with so many out of work, there are lots of resumes out there with great experience for nearly every job opening.

I went through a couple of unsuccessful job searches while I was in San Diego. Initially, I was looking for a foot-in-the-door sort of job, a beginning position that could lead somewhere. Even with my accounting degree and experience in lending, I couldn't get a job as a bank teller. After failing to get a nine-to-five job of some sort, I decided to go back to restaurants. With eleven years of restaurant experience, I couldn't get a job as a waiter. It was pretty discouraging.

When I decided to move back, I didn't have a job lined up. After the failed job search in San Diego, I was open to most anything. I couldn't be too choosy. I just wanted something with a steady paycheck, and maybe some benefits. If I couldn't get a job that might start me on a career path, I wanted to at least shoot for a company that I believed in.

As I was drawing up a list of good northwest companies, I sent out an email blast to my family, and friends I had stayed in close contact with. Though I had little to back it up, I figured it would be easier to find work back in Seattle, where I had more long-term work connections. I also threw out a message on Facebook. I told everyone that I was moving back, and that if anyone knew a company that was hiring...

I have mentioned before, I have found myself defending Facebook lately. For the past three years, it has kept me in touch with friends both near and far. Now I have one more reason to appreciate it. I found my new job there.

A friend I went to college with has a CPA firm, and he needed a staff accountant. I was completely honest with Steve, and told him that I was 15 years gone from my last accounting position, and even that one didn't translate many applicable skills to his firm. He understood, but believed that those accounting lessons we had learned together so long ago would come forth, and more importantly he trusted me as a person, and that is hard to quantify on a resume. Steve and I actually come from the same, "If there's time to lean, there's time to clean" school of work ethic, picked up during our mutual stint at McDonald's in high school.

As a side note, I have always wanted to answer the interview question of what sets me apart by simply saying, "I actually give a shit." I have worked with so many people who just don't care. Whether I am flipping burgers, digging holes, or representing a client, I take my job seriously and want to do the best I can. I won't tell you I am going to give a 110%, but I am always shooting for a hundred.

So here I am, back in Seattle, returning to a job I never really had. There have definitely been challenges these past months, scraping 20 year's worth of rust off those old lessons, but  I am excited for this opportunity. As suspected, who you know can trump what you know, and I feel very fortunate to have the door opened so I could get my foot in. Now that it is open, I want to kick enough ass to show that this trust was well deserved.

Strangely familiar roads

Much remains the same, but things have changed.

I will be driving along, headed on a random errand, and I will turn a familiar corner and not recognize it. What was a low group of stores with one of the last remaining bagel shops, is now a three story mix of retail and condominium  A large garage has replaced the park and ride lot, hopefully implying more people are hopping on the bus these days. 

There are places with more meaningful connection that I haven't made time to visit yet, but I still stumble upon memories small and large just the same. I went out for another bike ride this past Sunday. We started along the Burke-Gilman path, a place I have biked and run a hundred times, but since we are training for the Chilly Hilly, we veered off and headed to the hills. We tackled Norway hill first, one of the eight hills on the S.O.B. ride from 2007. I am still several rides from good form, but my legs haven't entirely lost their muscle memory. 

Joe was in charge of the route, so after enjoying zipping down the other side of Norway, I wasn't sure where we were headed. We rode south toward Kirkland past a Juanita neighborhood more built-up than I remembered. We resisted the pull of the new coffee shop and made the right turn toward the next hill. 

I can't remember the last time I had been up this road, but I wasn't more than a few hundred feet before some random memories pushed forward. There was a parking lot where my car wouldn't start some 20 years ago. There was an apartment that I could completely visualize the interior, without remembering why I knew the place. A mile farther up the hill was a turn off to where a friend used to live, a place that seemed so remote when I visited it a single time 25 years ago. 

The hill was longer than I remembered. Of course that's no surprise with how random and suspect my memory seems to be. We rode past a wooded area with trees that looked like they hadn't seen full sunlight in those two decades. There wasn't much traffic out on Super Bowl Sunday, and the three of us climbed alone at our own pace, adding to the feeling I was farther away from civilization than I really was. 

As Hemingway said, “It is by riding a bicycle that you learn the contours of a country best, since you have to sweat up the hills and coast down them.” The physical effort tends to bring you into focus, and into the moment. The slower speed, and not being wrapped in steel and glass, also puts you into closer contact with your surroundings. And of course without the radio playing, you are left alone with your thoughts. 

And the random memories oddly tethered to the different, but strangely familiar landscape.

Frozen

I got nothing. My brain is fried.

Well that isn't exactly true. I have things, it is just that my brain is sort of full trying to learn on the fly at work. I am getting up earlier than my body is built for, and only see sunlight (what little there is) through the window at my office. When I get home each evening, I just don't have the mental space to write.

It feels a bit like an endless loop, this dark to dark routine, like the treadmill so hated by the runner. Much better to get outside where the random twists and turns keep your head up. With the days so short, I haven't been able to get out for a run during the week, and that isn't helping.

Each morning there is a new layer of frost on the windows. I had forgotten the many different textures of ice. Some days it slides right off like a light dusting, others I am going at it with an ax. A few mornings there was black ice, and the hill from the house was shut down. Luckily I remembered a back way out from my time running around with UPS.

Sierra wanders around the front yard while I thaw out the truck. With her fading sight, she jerks back when she moves from light to shadow, assuming the shadow means something is coming right at her. The other morning, the garbage truck pulled up, and the spinning yellow siren light had her flinching repeatedly. Some mornings are rougher than others.

I keep trying to tweak the routine to shave a minute here and there, but I think it will take longer days for me to get back out on the road. I did get out for a bike ride last weekend, though. I barely rode when I had endless sunshine and far more hours, but there I was pedaling in 30 degree weather. The tighter schedule may force me to make the time for a ride where I didn't before.

Weekends are going to start filling up with work as well, but I am going to do my best to grab the daylight when I can.

And write.

What a night for a sunrise

New Year's Eve was a quiet one as anticipated. I wasn't even sure I was going to stay up until midnight, but then the local coverage came on, and I stayed up to watch the Space Needle erupt in fireworks. It was a good show, but I was happy to watch it from the comfort of my couch.

This morning, there was an air of hangover in the house, but strangely it was the pets having a rough go of it. One had pooped the bed, and the other one hurled on the deck. Not sure what sort of partying they did after we went to bed, but they are getting too old to bounce back the next morning.

After feeding her breakfast, I let Sierra out front. The air was clean, and the sky clear of any clouds to blanket in any heat. The temperature gauge read 28 degrees, and rooftops and windshields were covered in a layer of clean, white frost. The grass crunched under the pooch's feet as she wandered around looking for the right place to mark her spot. The cold air knocked away the cobwebs of a short night of sleep, but it was nice not to wake up with a headache like so many past first day's of the year.

I waited until mid-day, and a temperature bump to 39 degrees, before lacing up my shoes for the first run of the year. It was still chilly, and I found myself running on the sunny side of the street to avoid the colder shade. I haven't been running much since the big weekend in November, and it was nice to be back out on the roads this morning.

Work is going to get much busier in the coming weeks. My boss joked that we should enjoy our last day off for the next four months (at least I hope he was joking). It is going to be harder to get out for a run, but I am going to try my best to sneak out when I can. It will likely mean running in the dark, on more nights of short sleep, so I am doubly glad I took it easy last night to enjoy the sunshine today.

What a night for a sunrise...

New Year's Eve

It is funny how much focus there is in flipping the calendar page from December to January. Such an arbitrary line, but adding a digit to the year seems to imply massive change. We vow to do things differently, and change our lives for the better.

Of course this year's calendar flip might have some national significance. It is no fabricated, Mayan end-of-the-world situation, but the "fiscal cliff" is certainly getting its own hype. I haven't heard the latest, but my guess is that our legislators will slap on a small band aid before the clock strikes midnight, and kick the can of hard decisions down the road a bit. Not sure that things will be made "better" anytime soon.

That said, each year (hell, each day) has significance. There are some that went well, and some we would like to leave permanently in the rear-view-mirror. Most of us didn't take the time to relish the good times while they happened, and they can get buried in the awful news of the day. The last 365 days can become a blur, though those that put out a Christmas letter each year have at least gone through the exercise of reviewing the highlights.

As I have mentioned before, for a decade I spent New Year's Eve working at restaurant, followed by a celebration with a bunch of friends in the bar as the calendar made its flip. The last few years, it has been a quieter celebration with Matt, Holly and Kristy in San Diego, followed by breakfast and a day at Dog Beach to start the new year.

2009 was a tough year, and as we clicked over into 2010, I made the decision to move down to San Diego to start over. The time down there was a period of recovery and growth, and for 2011 I actually made some specific resolutions. The 30 day rotation was an interesting experiment, and proved that even moving from month to month can bring improvement. 2011 also brought someone special into my life, and that was the best turn in the road.

Now I am back in Seattle, and as we move on into 2013, I am starting over once again. Life 3.0, or whatever number I am up to now. I have a new job back in my home state (which I really need to write about), and I am getting my feet back on solid ground. I haven't made any resolutions for the new year just yet, but like most, fitness, friends and finances will be major themes.

Though 2013 will likely be a year of change, the actual night of New Year's Eve is sort of a non-event this year. Just another Monday this time around. Maybe with all the hype about the Mayans and the cliff, I just wanted to ignore the end of a calendar page, or tablet.

Some of the best parts of any year are the times spent with friends, and New Year's Eve was always a good excuse. Part of me misses the party atmosphere of the Keg celebrations, and another part the quiet gathering with friends of more recent years. And of course I'll miss the kiss at midnight.

Adjusting

I have been back in the Pacific Northwest for three weeks now, and there have been some definite adjustments, but Seattle felt like home again relatively quickly.

Naturally, the weather is the most glaring for this particular switch of home base. Moving from "The Best Climate on Earth" to the rainy northwest, particularly in November was a kind of jarring change. The shorts and flip flops will be as rare as pants and jackets were in San Diego. I also managed to lose my sunglasses the day before I left, and sad to say I haven't needed them much.

I can remember flying back one summer and noticing how gray everything seemed. The colors just seemed a little washed out after spending a year in the sunshine. Since I drove up this time, the transition was a little more gradual, and now it is just part of the landscape. I don't feel the need for one of those Seasonal Affective Disorder lamps, so it seems that the rain never left my bloodstream

One thing that is pretty much the same about December in San Diego and Seattle - there isn't much need to check the weather forecast. You already know what is coming. It does make you appreciate when the clouds finally part, though, and the hillsides are lit up in brilliant fall colors.

Sierra still gets me up at the same time each day, though it is now by my alarm clock instead of her happy panting or clicking nails. My room is on the second floor, and the only way she would make it up the two flights of stairs is if I carried her. For the first five years I had her, she slept out in the living room rather than in the bedroom. She would hop up on the couch as soon as I left the room (we both pretended not to notice). In the mornings, she would generally wait quietly at the bedroom door, emitting the occasional heavy sigh if I slept in a bit. Once she heard the alarm clock though, all bets were off.

When we were down in San Diego, she slept in my bedroom instead. With no door between us, she was less patient when it came to breakfast time. She would wake me bright and early whether it was a weekend or not, and more than any job, this was what finally had me getting to bed at a decent hour. Back in Washington again, she is back to sleeping in the living room, though she is long past being able to hop on the couch.

I was a little worried how this would work out. With the health issues and declining eyesight, she has been known to panic when she feels lost or out of sorts. I imagined cries or yelps for the first few evenings, but she did pretty well from the start. She has had to learn a new house layout, but she seemed to figure that out in a day or two. I set an alarm every morning so her meal of diabetic dog food hits her system on schedule, but she has still had a number of hypoglycemic crashes. I guess she hasn't adjusted entirely.

When I moved down to San Diego after a lifetime in Seattle, I was surprised how easy the transition was. It helped to have great friends there waiting for me, but there was still a whole new city to map out. Coming back home, my own layout is much more familiar, and I haven't had to feel my way around as much. We're both transitioning pretty well, though now and again we both bounce off a wall that wasn't there before.

Seattle Marathon

Goofier Challenge, day two.

Wow.

When the alarm went off at 5:30am, I had already been awake for a few minutes. As I swung out of bed, I wondered what it would feel like when my feet hit the floor. How bad would it hurt, and was I really prepared to run another 26.2 miles. I was definitely stiff, and the heels of my feet were pretty sore, but there were no sharp pains. A good start. 

After taking care of the pooch and getting myself put together, I hit the road two hours before the start of the marathon. Even though the normal drive time was 40 minutes, two hours almost wasn't enough. Traffic was fine until I got off the freeway, but then it took an hour to move about a mile. Five cars away from making the turn to the parking garage, they closed that street. Then I made it another block before they shut down the next street to let the half marathoners run by. I was stuck in place for 20 minutes as my own start time ticked closer. 

After finding parking and walking to the start, I had five minutes to hit the restroom and hop the fence to get in the starting chute. Unfortunately, there wasn't time to find Brett, so I didn't know if he was queued up already, stuck in traffic, or still at home nursing an injury. The gun went off and we started shuffling to the start line. While we were still walking, I spotted a gal who was serving beer at yesterday's finish line. Volunteering for one marathon, running the next. We wished each other luck and headed out. 

Once moving, both my right shin and achilles tendon started to hurt. I have had troubles with the tendon off and on all year, but the shin pain was new. Just like yesterday, the plan was just to run at a pace that felt natural, and take the day as it came. Of course with 26 miles already in the tank, I had no idea what I was in for. 

It was colder than yesterday, and very foggy. On the drive in, a blanket of fog curled over the 520 floating bridge like a slowly crashing wave. As we ran through downtown, the fog added an extra mystical feel to the white lights in the trees that lined 5th Avenue. The fog would remain most of the day, blocking out all the great views I enjoyed yesterday. It was difficult to even see the water from the bridge or lakeside path.

Minutes later, I caught up to a woman I recognized from yesterday's race. She was doing the full Quadzilla, so this was her fourth marathon in four days. We chatted briefly, wished each other well, and disappeared into the crowd. I had run into her at the Seattle expo the afternoon before, and would see her one more time as I drove past the course after I finished. Weird coincidences in a crowd of thousands of runners. 

After leaving downtown, we headed over the I-90 floating bridge. This is a long stretch with little to look at, so I watched the faster runners coming the other way. The weird, random sightings continued as I spotted a friend I hadn't seen in a decade. She was walking the marathon, so I figured I would catch up with her later, but when I was actually looking for her, she passed by unseen. 

After making the turn, I saw Brett heading east. I crossed the road and we gave each other a low five. I was glad to see he had made it, and even though we weren't running together, it was encouraging to know he was out there as well. I would see him one more time on the long out and back on the lake road, and he looked even better by mile 10.

Much of the rest of the day was a bit of a blur. After getting off the bridge, the next 11 miles were on the same course we ran twice yesterday. We were running through a bank of fog, with blinders up blocking out the scenery, and my mind fell into a similar sort of tunnel. I tried not to think about much more than putting one foot in front of the other, fell into a rhythm and sort of zoned out.

Halfway around Seward Park, we reached the halfway mark of the race as well. There was a mat and a big clock at the 13.1 mile mark, and it showed that I had just run the first half in just under two hours. I was blown away. It felt like I was doing pretty well, but this was faster than either half of yesterday's race. 

Going in, I had no idea what a second marathon in two days would be like. There was no goal other than to do my best. I would have been very happy with a 4:30 finish, and I would be ecstatic if I could match the 4:15 from yesterday. Here I was seven minutes ahead of my dream time pace. If I could keep this time cushion, I could still net a good time with the walking I felt was inevitable. The four hour pace team was just ahead of me, and I just tried to keep them in sight.

At mile 20, the course leaves the lake road and heads uphill. Sharply. The first block is very steep, and I knew I couldn't run it much faster than a walk, so I walked. A left turn onto Madison and the road was still uphill, but I was running again. The pace group would disappear, and then I would reel them in. Up and down for the next three miles, though mostly up, and I lost sight of them by mile 23. I was more than spent, but kept pressing. 

A mile from the finish the road headed downhill, but so steeply that it was difficult to navigate. As a final insult, there is climb out of an underpass at mile 26. I ran about a third of the way up before deciding to walk the rest, hoping for a strong finish. Running again, there were only a few steps to go. I was mentally fuzzy, but the thought popped in my head that I don't get as emotional at finish lines as I used to. As soon as I turned the next corner though, it was all over. 

The course finishes inside Memorial Stadium, and soon as I entered the finishing chute I began to lose it. When my feet touched the field, I was completely gone. I was overwhelmed by the moment - running around my home city after three years away, the miles of the weekend, the effort I had put into finishing, and a finish time I didn't think possible. I was blinking back tears as I found a little something to sprint to the finish. The clock read just over four hours as I broke the imaginary tape. 

I walked through the finish area, unable to catch my breath. I had not only finished my second marathon in two days, but I had somehow cut 15 minutes off of my dream time. 4:00:11 on worn legs. I was just blown away, and I alternated between tears and crazy laughter. Relief and pride. Pushing up against my limits, and then to keep pushing. 

After walking around the recovery area, working my way out of delirium, I made my way back to my car. The pain was really setting in now, and the half mile walk felt particularly long. I was meeting friends in Bothell for a belated Thanksgiving Day celebration, and wasn't able to meet up with Brett afterward. Looking at our finish times, we both had surprising days. We both ran very steady races, each of us running the second half within a minute or two of the first half. Brett actually ran the hillier second half a minute faster. That is some great running.

It was an incredible day and weekend. Over 52 miles in a 28 hour period. To not only avoid breaking, but doing better than I could have imagined. Running with a few hundred, and then a few thousand. Running with a friend, and then running alone in the fog, but still seeing familiar faces. What a crazy experience.  

Ghost of Seattle Marathon

Goofier challenge, day one.

It has rained cats and dogs, buckets and tubs of water since I returned to Washington. After a near record dry spell over the summer, it felt like Seattle was trying to catch up on three months worth of rain in a single week. Running two marathons was going to be hard enough without sideways rain thrown into the mix.

As race day got closer, the forecast improved incrementally, and Brett and I were treated to near perfect weather this morning - temperature in the low 40s, clouds but no rain, and a bit of sunshine breaking through at the end. There was a open flame heater at the start line, and a few runners were huddled around it, but it was perfect running weather.

Brett and I set off together, and ran side by side for the first 13 miles. We hadn't seen each other in years, so we traded stories about family, work, running and other adventures. Though we weren't burning up the clock, the miles went by relatively quickly with the easy conversation.

Since neither of us had attempted running marathons back to back, we had no real clue as to how to approach day one. I figured I would run at a comfortable pace, similar to what I would do on a long training run, and just see how the day went. I had a rough thought that running a half hour slower than my best back in January was a good plan, but it was kind of a shot in the dark. And as I found out at the marathon a few weeks ago, going slower than you are capable is no guarantee of an easier day. You aren't as short of breath, but your body hurts just as much, if not more.

The marathon was two loops of the same course, so we ran through the finish at half way. Brett and I split up after that, ready to run the pace that felt best for each of us. The route first heads south and loops around Seward Park.

The road around the park was just off the water, but also bracketed by trees in many places. With only 300 or so runners, we had the roads mostly to ourselves as we made our way round.

After a 3.5 mile loop around the park, the route heads north for a long out-and-back run along Lake Washington. The paths were a little more congested in this section because you had runners going in either direction, but it was still far from crowded. Not overly worried about my finish time, I stopped and took a few more photos of the lake and fall colors.

With the long out-and-back run being run twice, it was easy to recognize faces as they passed by multiple times. Also, with relatively few people running the marathon, there was a certain extra camaraderie, and words of encouragement passed freely back and forth. As usual, things got a little quieter near the end as the fatigue and soreness mounted, but there were still smiles and nods.

All the muscles in my legs grew tighter, and certain pains would not be ignored, but I was able to hold off a crash at the end. I crossed the finish line in 4:15:17, almost exactly a half hour slower than my January time. I also ran my first ever negative split, running the second half about five minutes faster than the first. Brett came in a little bit later, and I was able to get my phone out in time for one last shot.

Brett and I hung out at the finish line and shared more stories over a cold beer. I also took a quick walk into the lake to get some cold water on my sore muscles. I am hoping that the natural ice bath will help reduce the swelling and help prepare my weary legs for tomorrow's challenge.

Today was a great run. Good weather, nice conversation, a scenic route and a relatively strong finish. I am sure tomorrow will be much harder, but so far so good. If I make it to the finish, I can use my finisher medal to crack open a celebration beer.

A goofier challenge

For the past seven to eight years, running has obviously been a big part of my life. I like to have a race on the calendar to keep me honest, and get me out the door on days when I am not feeling my strongest. I thought that running the Seattle Marathon would not only be a great way to mark my return to the city, but also give me a great tour of the city to see what had changed in the past three years.

I am blessed to have great running friends in both Seattle and San Diego. As I mentioned in a previous post, I ended up running a marathon with my San Diego friends a couple of weeks ago, and that run together was a wonderful way to celebrate our friendship, and my time down there. However, though I look forward to running again with my Seattle friends, I hadn't mentioned my marathon plans this time around, and planned to run it solo.

A month or two out, someone I had only recently reconnected with on Facebook mentioned he was looking for people to join him in a Thanksgiving challenge. For a little background, Disney World has a marathon/half marathon in January, and for a number of years, they have had something called the "Goofy Challenge". Those who take on the Goofy Challenge run the half marathon on Saturday, and then the full marathon on Sunday. My friend was talking about an even crazier challenge that is run in Seattle over the Thanksgiving weekend.

Apparently there is something called the Quadzilla. Marathons are held on all four days of the Thanksgiving holiday weekend, and some crazy people run all four of them. Brett mentioned the Quadzilla on Facebook, and was looking for friends to run one or more of the events with him. I said I was already planning on running a marathon that weekend, and that I would run whichever one he needed company on.

Then the seed started to grow. Maybe I could run two marathons over the four days. The past couple of years, I ran a Turkey Trot on Thanksgiving morning with Sean and Marci. I was planning on running a vicarious 5k with them that morning, and I thought maybe I would run the marathon that day instead. Then after a few days rest (and lots of turkey) maybe I could run the big Seattle Marathon on Sunday. I was trained to run a single marathon, but I had no idea what two marathons in that short of a span would be like. But maybe...

Another friend recently asked why I found marathons appealing. Training for them keeps me out on the roads regularly, but I think the main reason I continue to run them is that they keep redefining my breaking point. They force me to go beyond what I think I can do, and force me to find reserves I didn't think I had. I think that digging that deep when you don't think you can, and finishing something that seemed impossible, carries over into the rest of your life and makes you stronger.

So...the goofier challenge. Brett and I have now decided to run marathons on back to back days. We will run the Ghost of Seattle Marathon on Saturday, and the regular Seattle Marathon on Sunday. The two events have a connection in history (and route). From a recent email:

The Seattle Marathon began in 1970 with just 38 runners...In 1984 the Seattle Marathon changed from Saturday to Sunday of Thanksgiving weekend. In 1985 it was moved to October 13th for only one year but this was enough to get a group of people running the original course on the original day. The Seattle Ghost Marathon has been held every year since 1986. It has been held on the original 2 loop course from 1970 to 1985 on Saturday of Thanksgiving weekend...It has always been run on the sidewalks and never on a closed course.

Though the races have this common history, running them will be very different experiences. The Ghost on Saturday will have roughly 300 people running on sidewalks, no bibs or timing chips, and few water stops or spectators. The regular Seattle Marathon on Sunday is a more typical marathon with all the amenities, and there will be closer to 9,000 runners jostling their way through the downtown streets. Both share a section of beautiful Lake Washington Blvd, but the Sunday race also makes its way across the I-90 floating bridge, and has a much hillier finish. I have run the Seattle half marathon twice, so I know what the finishing hill is like, but I have no idea how hard it will be to climb by the time I get there this time.

52.4 miles in a span of 30 hours, and three marathons in three weeks. I think I will find my breaking point.

Home again

Sierra and All Day on the road.

The pooch and I set out from Ashland Thursday morning, with some 470 miles to go to the end of our journey. It would be our longest day on the road, but I was glad to have the mountain passes behind me.

It turned out that there was still plenty of climbing through southern Oregon, up and down short passes for the first hour or two. The fall-colored hillsides were beautiful, but muted, as we never quite descended out of the cloud cover. When the sun came out a couple of hours later, it felt like we had awoken a second time.

We pressed on and clicked miles and cities off the map. Sierra did surprisingly well on the trip, not whining once, but she was clearly ready for the trip to be over.

We hit Portland long before rush hour, but we hit traffic just the same. Stop and go traffic worked the weary clutch, and delayed our arrival in Washington, but crawling along did allow me to take a shot of crossing the state line.

Once into Washington, we were back in familiar territory. Having participated in the STP a number of times, the section between Seattle and Portland is burned into my brain. After passing Longview, a city with its own connection in memory, I was soon checking off small towns from the route as we made our way backward to the start line. Castle Rock, Vader, Winlock, Napavine, and then to the aptly named Centralia (halfway between Seattle and Portland).

We started hitting traffic as far south as Fort Lewis, and it was slow going from then on. We stopped somewhere around Fife so Sierra could have dinner and I could grab a cup of coffee, and pulled over one last time for her shot of insulin. The sun had already set, so there wasn't much to look at, or to trip the nostalgia meter as we made our way closer to Seattle.

We pulled up in front of my parent's house just before seven in the evening. I let Sierra wander the front yard for a while before going in, so she could sniff things out and I could take a few breaths. We were here, back after almost three years away. There will be plenty of changes in the coming months, and I suppose I was pausing for one more moment before leaving one road for another.

San Diego was more than just a place I lived. It was a second home, and it will probably always feel that way. I am going to miss all the people and much of the life I left behind. But Washington has always been Home, and I felt a certain pull the whole time I was gone.

I saw this somewhere a couple of months ago.

In some ways, I think I was a different person while I was gone. Nothing dramatic or unrecognizable, but an improvement on the person who arrived there. Part of the reason for the move down there was to break out of my routine and comfort zone, and now that I am back home, there is the danger of losing what I have gained. There is plenty left to work on, but I think I brought home enough of San Diego in my heart to keep moving forward.

The address has changed, but the journey continues. Thanks for continuing to follow along.

Second leg

I woke all too early after repeated nights of short sleep, but it did allow us to hit the road at a decent hour. Fueled up on gas, coffee, and a fast food breakfast, it was on to our next destination.

When plotting out our course, I decided to veer off of I-5 after getting out of L.A. to take the smaller highway 99 north. I remembered the stretch of I-5 between L.A. and Sacramento as being pretty desolate. Not much to look at, and not many towns to stay in overnight. Highway 99 offered multiple turn off points if we were running out of daylight or energy. I was happy to make it as far as Modesto on day one.

Much of the traffic on 99 (and probably I-5) seemed to be long haul truckers. I was constantly leapfrogging them on the flat portions of the two lane road, and struggling to keep pace on the climbs. Even though we shared the right lane for hundreds of miles, when I joined them again in the rest stops, my little truck trailer combo seemed a little out of place.

Though my truck struggled on the hills, I probably picked the perfect week to travel. Temperatures were cool enough to prevent any overheating, and snow and ice are still a few weeks off. Many years ago, my family got stuck in the passes of northern California, and memories of seventeen hours in Pollard Flat made me extra thankful for relatively smooth sailing this time around.

Highway 99 was nicely tree lined in some sections, and when we reached Sacramento (City of Trees apparently), the landscape started to change overall. The hillsides once folds of brown were now covered in rich textures of green. It also began raining off and on, so it started to feel like Washington with eight hundred miles still to go.

Once we reached Shasta Lake and the base of our last mountain pass, the trees started showing their fall colors. I tried to take pictures as I was driving, but of course most of them didn't turn out. The one semi-decent photo has the snowy peak of Shasta mountain hovering above the changing forest hills.

As I mentioned in the previous post, Sierra was doing much better this time around. I still tried to stop every two hours so each of us could stretch our legs. While leading her through parking lots and rest stop sections of lawn, it became apparent how much she was relying on memory to get around the house. When she would get to a painted line in the road, she assumed it was a curb (or small cliff from her reaction) and brace against moving forward. When I urged her forward, rather than test it out with an extended paw, she would leap ahead to dive in head first. Even a wet portion of pavement was enough color differentiation to make her think the bottom was falling out.

Our destination for the second night was Ashland, Oregon. Holly's cousin had offered up her spare bedroom  as a stop over on our journey. I had met her a couple of years ago at Thanksgiving, and we had become good (if distant) friends on Facebook. She ended up having the next day off from work, so offered to show me around town and give us a day away from the road.

I had heard stories about Ashland from my parents when they used to travel to the Shakespeare festival each year, but had never seen the town myself. While she tied up some work things in the morning, I headed out to a local coffee shop to get some writing in. I would have defaulted to Starbucks, but she pointed me to Noble Coffee, and it was a much better experience. We had a little time to spare, so Sierra and I went to a local park to walk around in the fall leaves.

Sara and I walked around the shops of the downtown area, through another beautiful park, and eventually out to a nearby lake. The town is lovely, and everyone I ran into seemed friendly and outgoing. I can see why she likes it here so much. Really glad we stopped, but now it is on to the last leg of our trip. We are setting out (relatively) early, and should be in the Seattle area later Thursday night. San Diego still lingers in my thoughts, but I am starting to get excited about getting Life 3.0 off the ground. I know Sierra will just be glad to be off the road.

On the road

The plan was to hit the road on Monday the 12th. Since I wanted to spend as much time with my friends over that last weekend, I tried to do as much to prepare ahead of time. When I moved down in February of 2010, I only brought what would fit in my pickup truck. But since I don't travel particularly lightly, I had it stuffed to the gills. The back was packed, the front seat was full of stuff I might need to get to, and Sierra rode in the shelf that is my back seat.

Of course over three years, I accumulated more stuff. I picked up mundane stuff like a laundry hamper, and during visits to Seattle I shipped down more tools and grabbed my golf clubs (which were ignored). I also started homebrewing beer in the past year, so that added more equipment to the mix. So, even though I did my best to thin out my possessions over the past month, it was clear that I was going to need to rent a trailer to get it all home. 

I packed the truck to the gills on Friday, and would throw the rest in the trailer I picked up first thing Monday morning. I ended up unpacking and repacking the truck to get some weight off of the sagging springs, but even so I was ready to hit the road by 10:00am. Matt, Holly and Annabelle were the last to see me off, and we hugged and cried until we couldn't take it any more. With a last look at my San Diego life, Sierra and I hit the road.

When we drove down to San Diego three years ago, I had planned to re-travel the route I had biked back in 2006. The Big Ride was one of the best times of my life, and I wanted to relive it in some small way. Sierra had other ideas. She whined and cried as we drove the twisting roads, and soon I gave up the nostalgia and headed inland to the straighter I-5. She was still miserable, but we were making better time. 

She was diagnosed with diabetes shortly after our arrival, so it is possible that had amplified her problems in the truck. Still, I was not sure how she would tolerate the drive north, three years older, more fragile and now easily disoriented. Since I was going to have the extra room in the trailer, I decided to take out the passenger seat in my truck to give her more room to spread out. She would be less confined, able to see me and stand up and stretch her legs now and then. 

Riding shotgun. 

 She has done great so far. I have no idea if the new seating arrangement has made any difference, but it is kind of nice having her right beside me the whole way. The other two things I was concerned with for the drive was making it through L.A. unscathed, and whether or not my truck would be able to climb the passes. On our trip down, we got stuck in a traffic jam that tested us both. Sierra would not stop whining, I had to pee something terrible, and my clutch leg was getting worked. I did not want a repeat performance, dragging a trailer, goosing the clutch to keep it in gear.

Well, we sailed right through L.A. Monday was Veterans Day, and that may have made all the difference in the traffic levels. My truck struggled to climb the hills of the Grapevine, but we made it as far as Modesto the first night. The planned hotel did not work out as there was no place to park my truck and trailer combo, but we found a Motel 6 farther down the road with tractor-trailer parking.

After sending off text messages and emails to update folks, Sierra and I tried to get some rest. Unfortunately, I am also dragging a cold with me, and we were both up way too early in the morning. More stories from the road to follow.

Saying goodbye

I was never much good at goodbye. Practice doesn't seem to make it any easier.

I sort of stretched out the goodbye to San Diego over a couple of months. It gave me time to see things again, or for the first time. Either way, it was now through the lens of a short-timer, knowing that it might be a long time until I experienced this place again. For a while things didn't hit me, but in the past few weeks with time running out, I could no longer pretend that I would be able to fit in another visit.

With my friends, I put off the goodbyes for as long as I could. They threw me a going away party on Saturday. It would be the last time I saw some of them, but for some reason it didn't hit me square in the face that night. Somehow, it felt like another gathering, another celebration, and that there would be one next week or something. I had been down for visits a number of times before moving, so maybe it felt like it was just "so long until next time."

It finally hit me on Sunday. I had reserved the last day for a final Sunday outing with Matt, Holly and Kristy. Before Kristy and I were dating, the four of us often did things as a group on Sunday afternoons. It was soon dubbed the Sunday Activity Club, or SAC for short. We visited parks, zoos, beaches, or sometimes just found a nice wine bar where we could sit in the sun.

My move down here sort of started on one of those outings. The four of us spent New Year's holiday together in 2009/2010. To start the year, we went to Dog Beach with their dogs, and we went out to breakfast at Tower Two, a dog-friendly joint by the beach. I ended up moving down two months later, and it seemed appropriate to spend my last day the way I spent my first.

2010

2012

Sierra wasn't with me that first time since I was down on vacation, and I left her home again this time. Getting her to the beach was on my bucket list, but I realized seeing her at the ocean was more for my benefit than hers. She can't walk all that far, so it would have been more of a chore for her than an adventure. But I wanted to get my feet in the ocean, so I walked through the waves and let it all sink in.

After breakfast and our walk on the beach, Kristy and I split off to go hike up Cowles Mountain to see the sunset. We had been trying to fit this in over the past month or so, but something always seemed to come up to derail our plans. The hike and the company were worth the wait. Seeing the sun go down for the last time in San Diego with her turned out to be perfect way to end the day and my stay, if a little bit too metaphorical.

After finding our way down in the diminishing light, we went out to dinner, and then back to her place afterward. I could have stayed there all night, enjoying each moment as it passed, but saying goodbye wasn't going to get any easier. We both wanted to pretend that I would be back over next weekend, but reality set in minute by minute. I would have a tearful goodbye with Matt and Holly the next morning, but saying goodbye to Kristy was the hardest.

There will be lots of great "hellos", "welcome backs", and a new life in my future, but as I drive the road north, alone but for my silent canine companion, I can only replay the goodbyes to what I have left behind. I suppose I am one to slowly peel away the Band-Aid, rather than rip it off in one fell swoop. I don't know which way is best, but it hurts all the same in the end.

I will be back down for visits, so in a way it is "until next time" rather than any sort of final goodbye. I am not sure how soon, or how often I will be able to make a trip happen, but it will happen. Texts, Facebook and emails will keep me in touch, but it is of course very different than being there, seeing friends on random Tuesdays and hearing all the small stories. It was like that with my Washington friends for the last three years, so the situation is simply reversed.

I am blessed to have such strong connections in two different places. But it does double the number of goodbyes.

Running through the list

As I mentioned in an earlier post, I sort of have a bucket list of things I want to try to do and see before I leave San Diego. Some items are things I never got around to doing, but most are things I just want to experience another time while I can.

Over the past couple of months, I took advantage of the Residents Free Tuesday program for the museums at Balboa Park. Each Tuesday, certain museums are free for San Diego County residents. The highlights of the tour were the Natural History Museum, the Museum of Art, and the Museum of Man.

The last one I made it to was the Reuben H. Fleet Science Center. Just like the Science Center in Seattle, it is an especially fun place for kids. Lots of levers to throw and buttons to push, but also great learning opportunities for adults and kids alike. One cool exhibit did a great job of encapsulating the hard to describe concept of chaos. After you spin the center dial, the three pendulums spin independently, but their motion influences the others in weird ways. They speed up, slow down, and even reverse directions in unpredictable ways.



Each weekend I tried to visit another of the San Diego places on the list - Coronado Island, Seaport Village, Old Town, Dog Beach, the Sunday Market - places I had been before, but wanted to soak in one more time. I tried to add in new places as well, but it is amazing how quickly the weekends have flown by. Plans for riding my bike from Oceanside to San Diego may fall by the wayside, but I did fit in a ride up Mt. Soledad. There were some incredibly steep sections where I was standing on the pedals in granny gear, but the view was well worth the effort.

Though I wanted to see so many things before I head out of town, the list is really just a structure to spend more time with friends. Kristy and I have spent most weekends together, checking things off the list. Last weekend we made it up to the mountain town of Julian for a fall foliage tour, a little bit of hiking, some wine tasting, and enjoying some of Julian's famous cider and apple pie.

Sean and I have been working through the San Diego brewery map for the past year or so, and we are closing in on finishing the tour. I have learned so much about beer (which hopefully has translated into better homebrew), but again the tour has been more about spending an afternoon with a friend.

One of the things on the list that has been hard to fit in is a long run with Sean. We have now become each other's sounding board when it comes to brewing and writing, but it all began with running. We have towed the same start line at many marathons and 5ks, and I wanted to go for one more long run together while travel times are still short. But try as we might, we couldn't coordinate a weekend where our schedules and training lined up.

So in true Drunken Promise form, after celebrating his son Keaton's birthday on Sunday, I signed up to run a marathon with Sean next weekend. He had been planning to run with a good friend to help him finish his first marathon, but Steve had to pull out due to injury. Marci had already signed up to run it on her own, but now all three of us will be running the marathon together. Since I was already preparing for one next month, I am more or less prepared, but this marathon will be more about miles with friends than a race against the clock.

The past month has flown by, and looking on to November, it is only going to get busier. Of course I have to fit in all the regular details of moving as well, so every spare moment is filling up. Just trying to run with it.

Eyes on the horizon

For the past few months, I have been back to running on a regular basis. As much as I enjoy running, it is easier to get out if I am training for a race. For a variety of reasons, it was difficult to commit to a particular race this time around, but I had a vague target of running a marathon before the year was over.

When I was running in Washington, I almost always ran in the evenings. As more of a night owl, it was just a better time for me physically. My body was warmed up, my mind was clear, and it was a great way to drop off any work frustration before I brought it home. For the past three years in San Diego, I have had to transition to running in the morning to beat the heat. For most of the year, if I didn't get out the door early, the sun would take more out of me than the miles.

And, I've actually gotten used to running in the morning. Still not the best time of day for me, but running seems to change that for the better. However, one benefit to our brief period of fall temperatures is being able to run in the afternoon and evening again. This past weekend I ran a 12 miler in misty rain, something that gave me some Washington flashbacks.

The previous weekend, I couldn't get out for my long run until after four o'clock. I had to get 18 miles in, and sundown was only two hours away. Not only was I getting to run in the evening, but I would end up running in the dark.

Every time I run around the bay, I pass by vacation rentals and hotels filled with out of town guests enjoying the sunshine. Seeing them sitting on their patios relaxing with a beer makes me a bit jealous at times, but it reminds me to appreciate that I get to run here all the time. I ran by these folks again on Saturday, but I also ran by five different weddings on my first 12 mile loop. White chairs on sand, flowered arbors framing the couples and the ocean backdrop. What a beautiful place to start your new life together, even with runners like me passing through their field of vision.

The weddings of course set my mind on a different path. What I've lost, what might have been, what the future might look like. How beautiful my own wedding day was, and how I didn't appreciate what I had until it slipped away. After finishing the loop around Mission Bay, the sun was now getting low on the horizon. I stopped at my truck to refuel, threw on a reflective vest, reversed course and made my way around the west side of the bay again.

The air was cooler, and the paths were starting to clear. Most everyone was heading inside, but there were a few of us chasing darkness. The chairs on the sand were now empty, the celebrations having moved on, but flowers still decorated the aisle they had walked down.

It is easy to get lost in your thoughts when running for hours at a time, and even easier to endlessly stare at the pavement in front of you. Sometimes it takes a conscious effort to raise your head to see all you are passing by. Recently, I have been looking around more, taking in what I can, while I can. This particular Saturday was something else though. The shift to running in the evening would have been enough to cast everything in a different light, but it really felt like there was more there, there.

Without a clearly defined target, my training hasn't been as disciplined as in the past. I knew I wasn't shooting for a personal best this time around, and the plan was just to enjoy the experience of race day. Things are starting to take shape, and the challenge is going to be tougher than planned. Time is also getting short down here, with my move day just three weeks away. Every time I pass by something now, I wonder if it is the last time for a while. It is starting to sink in, and I know it is going to get tougher.

I didn't have a camera with me, but as the sun went down, I remembered that my iPod could shoot video. So I stopped running, and stopped to appreciate it.