Training Log Archive: Orunner

I woke up less than enthusiastic. I had not orienteered in 4 weeks. I wanted to go; I needed to go. The forecast called for sun by noon with the temperature sitting in the low 30s. I chose to wait for the sun to warm both my bones and my spirit. I'm glad I did.

I tinkered around the house all morning attending to my honey-do obligations while prepping for a run in the woods. Visualization is a practice I learned 22 years ago from Sue Johnston. I taught it to my Cross Country team. There is possibly no stronger force than the human mind. What it is prepared and set out to do, it can accomplish. During the morning I repeatedly ran through my mind all I would do to prepare and execute a flawless run. Hydrating, medicating, fueling up, taping, dressing, driving, registering, even paying to get into the park were all imagined over and over. I believe that this eliminated all stress from my mind and my body. There were no surprises; nothing bothered me; I felt invincible.

After arriving, I reviewed the map, mentally running the course, leg by leg. This is of course not something we would do at a sanctioned event, but I needed the crutch, the added feeling of confidence that the process lends. As I punched the start and implemented my first leg route choice I felt like a gladiator, armored, seasoned, awed (by whom I know not.) I would make no mistakes. I would never give less than 100% effort. I was ready. I was golden.

The stars were aligned. The preparation was working. Spike. Spike. Spike. The controls went down like God intended. I listened to my gut. This was important. The eyes say I am 'here', but the gut says I am 'there'. the gut was always right. It is those little subtle moves, small clues of inconsistent map contact, data in the back of the mind, not a part of the plan, but the most important part of the execution. Listen to the voices; just don't tell people about it.

Not a single observation went un-noted (nothing ignored.) Planning is just preparation. As soon as the implementation is started we must adjust the plan not the planner; elaborate, exploit, observe, move, win.

Control 8 scared me. I had gotten to 7 like a rocket. No mistakes, No hesitations. Surprises, yes, but I expected and handled them with extreme prejudice. They were summarily dispatched. Until now.

I looked at the route; no handles. I searched the feature; no attack point without severe risk of parallel error. My gut said 'Go'. I went. On compass alone I ran down to the stream, climbed up to the ridge, and there I searched in vain for the reentrants on the opposing hillside. I needed to see two major reentrants side by side. I could not tell what I was facing. Gut said 'Go'. On compass alone I continued to run towards what should be the reentrant to control 8.

As I ascended the last ridge, keeping the reentrant to my right, I wanted to check out the far right. But my gut said, 'stay with me'. My gut and I crested the hill keeping left and looking for the saddle. It was easy to see, someone place a red and white marker right on it.

9 was difficult to get to. There was an unmapped overly aggressive briar patch with apparent plans for world domination. I could see no end to it and worked my way through not unscathed. This must have momentarily broken my direct link to my gut. Reason started to bubble through.

I turned to face 10 and climb back to the ridge top. Fallen trees and vegetation pushed me left. I knew this. My gut knew it. But reason was active and, from the back seat, hollered concerns and suggestions. Cresting the hill I found myself facing a large reentrant system. I knew it was the wrong one, but reason said, "what if you didn't drift left, what if it's the right one, then you will have to come back, better to check now than be angry later". And so I checked. Nothing. Moved onto the correct Reentrant. Reason started sputtering comments, "check here, check there, check this one." finally my gut and I reached the correct position and found 10. Reason quieted down for a few controls, just riding along to the finish.

I was not thrilled with my time. 4.9 K; I was hoping to knock it out in under 10 Minutes per. Finishing at 72 minutes, disappointment tried to enter, but I was happy with my performance. I had risen to the challenge. My time was my time. It was what it was. I gave it my all. It was my best on this day.

C • The best we can do 2

OCIN_MWW_Feb_2013_Green - Splits

Every other morning when Steve and I run the second thing I do is check the weather. Precipitation, wind, and temperature are the inputs for my wardrobe selection, and a big factor in psychologically preparing for the pending feat. I look at my atomic clock for the current temp and then grab my iPhone, and pull up Wunderground. This has been reliable in providing what I need to know. If need be I will go to the laptop for some dynamic radar imagery. This morning was routine: atomic clock :: 22°, Wunderground :: 5mph winds, 0% precipitation.

As I absorbed this exciting news and prepared to ponder on my wardrobe, I noticed my iPhone screen stating 7:22 am as sunrise, and remembering from somewhere in my past a bit of obscure knowledge (accuracy unsure) that dawn precedes sunrise by 25 minutes, this would make today the first day this year that we start our run in ‘daylight’. “Hmmm”, I thought. I wondered how much daylight there would be today. I scrolled down and found that sunset would be at 6:22 pm; exactly 11 hours later. I remember thinking about what date the exact 12 hours of light would occur, from sunrise to sunset. Did it have any correlation to the Spring Equinox, etc.? Then I became engrossed in the third and fourth things I generally do before I run and the pondering ended; or so I thought.

Today’s run was normal, a bit short, but ordinary. We did 5.5 miles to coordinate with the 7.5 we did Tuesday and the undetermined distances, presumably longer, in the near future. Most runs with Steve are completely filled with nonstop conversation, most of which, although quite entertaining, lack enrichment, but certainly help pass the ugly truth of running for me; that being it is painful. When deeply engrossed, like driving to work, you often find yourself suddenly miles down the road, this is not a bad thing. Today, for no reason I can offer, there were gaps in our conversation. This we partially supplanted with some daemon mind thought I was initially unaware of. Before Steve and I arrived home, safely I do add after Tuesday’s near encounters with traffic, I became aware of some concepts hogging process time in the back of my mind (no humorous comments need be made by the imaginary audience.)

So the capsule version of the thought experiment concluded in the following with supplemental questions outstanding. If the daylight hours of today are exactly 11 hours then 5.5 should occur equally before and after the natural localized highnoon. Meaning it is locally a 6:30 am to 5:30 pm daylight day. But since we reside at the western edge of our manmade artificial timezone, the official highnoon occurs later. Simple math, although a strain in the head while running, went down something like this: Since the half way point was 30minutes shy of 6 hours the highnoon should be 7:22 plus 6:00 (1:30 pm) minus 30 minutes, or 12:52 PM.

That seemed about right for our position in the timezone. I wondered where the official and natural highnoon synced. Would it be in the center of the zone? Since a zone is only an hour wide, and we are 52/60ths west of Actual highnoon, it looks like the bastards put the Eastern edge of the timezone at the sweet spot. Oh well. Then I wondered, will the localized highnoon stay constant all year at our latitude and (lessor class) longitude. My gut felt like it should. Regardless of the season, the sun rises and sets at almost exactly the same angle North or South of due East and due West, each day. As the days pass the angle changes but the orbit around the sun is not so great as to change the average highnoon time. So while Steve and I were running I visited these thoughts intermittently. When I got home I showered, dressed, ate breakfast, did the Sudoku, the Jumble, and then pulled up wunderground once again. It had tens days’ worth of data. Initially the mental calculations seemed skewed, but then I realized that the daily times were rounded to the nearest minute. So I went to the Internet. There are sights that have data on everything. I was able to cherry pick different days of the year, over decades. Son of a buck. Two things: they call hignoon, Solar Noon. What’s with that? Second: The dang time drifts. It changes every day. I can’t get my head around it. How can that be?

What is more, today, this very day, is the day that, let me swallow on this, the “Solar Noon” will occur. 12:52 pm is the latest it well ever be in the Hamilton area. What are the odds I conjure up this problem on today? Where are the Mayans now?

Although I don’t understand it, it does not come as a surprise that of the 12 months 6 of them have Solar Noons later in the day than the previous month and six are earlier. What I didn’t see coming is that it occurs in a figure 8 cycle. Four months rising, three declining, two more rising, then three down again. Every year. Weird. I wrote this with only a question, observation, and a little data. I will now post, and go look up this phenomena on Wikipedia.

C • Aha - I get it 4

Windy morning. It is always a challenge to dress appropriately this time of year. Almost no matter the conditions, a runner will be uncomfortable at some point during a winter run. I prefer to place that period at the beginning. So being strategically underdressed is my plan. Start out a little cold, let the body heat build up, pull of the gloves, pull of the hat, unzip the top, roll up the sleeves, and then jog home as if it were a beautiful Spring day.

However, when the wind is blowing at 18 mph in irregular gusts, and the threat of rain or even snow has not been eliminated, what do I wear? What do I dress to? I can't run if my glasses get wet or steamy. Do I wear a billed cap, or a warm ear hugger? I changed back and forth in the final 2 minutes before I went out the door. The ear hugger was called to duty. And fortunately for me, it was the correct call. No precipitation this morning. Only wind. Some times the ears were covered, sometimes they were au natural.

Steve and I added some distance today, putting on an additional mile from downtown along the river and back for a total 7.5 miles. Oh baby, are we tough cowboys or what?

Oddly we had a couple of notable events with crossing the highway. Cars, unseen by me, appeared without warning, interrupting my progress in being the proverbial chicken - crossing the road.

Short run on a very cold but sunny morning. It is such a different landscape on Sundays. Nary a car passes as we run the highway; Steve and I briefly declare the center lane pedestrian. We cut 2 miles from our routine to prep for Tuesday's "long" run. Here we start building the program on our well earned base. Longs and shorts, fasts and slows, hills and flats, here we goes.