I think I was 13 or so when my parents attempted to instill in me an initial sense of financial responsibility by presenting me with my very own checking account. There it was emblazoned in bold, black font in the top left-hand corner of the check: TRENT E THURMAN. I felt important. I felt grown up. I felt independent. I felt the need to blow some cash.
So with the modest sum my parents placed in the account, plus the coins and currency I found stashed in piggy banks and sock drawers in my room, off to the mall I went. I’m more than a little embarrassed to reveal that my first purchase by check was at a place, surely defunct by now, called Jeans West. It was a mall staple in the late 1970s along with Orange Julius, Spencer Gifts, Chess King, Merry-Go-Round and a host of other purveyors of posters and polyester. My heart was set on a pair of Jordache designer jeans. Sadly, I walked out with a pair of boot-cut Sedgefields instead. I honestly don’t remember why I succumbed to the lesser brand, but assume it had something to do with the price tag. I guess that little lesson in financial responsibility was actually working.
My second purchase was right next door at the Record Bar where I picked up Stevie Wonder’s epic double album Songs in the Key of Life. Now, that would have been a much cooler first purchase, but alas I wasn’t thinking ahead at the time. By day’s end, I had managed to liquidate most of my account on various must-haves and scrambled to add up all the purchases to make sure I had enough in my account to cover it all. That night, my wise mother offered a very clever suggestion. She advised that I always keep a “cushion” or reserve in my account – an amount of money that I didn’t reflect in the balance that would serve as protection against overdrafts.
This was a splendid idea, really. In fact, I think my brother follows it to this day. Unfortunately, this “secret” reserve was always in the back of my mind, so if I saw a pair of mesh, lace-up Candies (yes, they made men’s shoes and yes, I did own a pair) I wouldn’t hesitate to dip into the cushion a little bit to bring home the goods.
Today, I am faced with a similar dilemma, although this time it is measured not in dollars, but in minutes. On Monday, I will be joining 25,000 of my closest friends for the 113th running of the Boston Marathon. It will be my third straight Boston and something I look forward to and prepare for year-round. This year’s goal is simple: re-qualify for next year. For a 44-year-old man like me, that time is 3 hours and 20 minutes. That’s fairly straightforward. The dilemma is that I move into a different age group next year. The qualifying time for men between 45 and 49 is 3 hours and 30 minutes. Since qualifying times are based on the age you will be on race day, I have a ten-minute cushion this year to re-qualify.
That’s a good thing, right? I mean who wouldn’t want a few extra minutes? Well, me for one. Maybe it’s a pride thing. Maybe I don’t want to admit that I will be 45 soon. I try to live younger than I actually am, sometimes to Francie’s chagrin. She often points out that she has to deal with three boys at home and that’s probably a fair statement. So, I don’t want to use those extra minutes – that cushion – unless I absolutely have to.
I have been training to run under 3:20 this entire season, yet in the back of my mind know that the extra time is there if I need it. Much like my spending urges of the past, it will be easy – very easy - to dip into this reserve simply because I know it’s there.
So selfishly, my primary purpose in writing this is to keep me honest – to keep me focused on the goals I have set. I want all of you to know what my target is and perhaps “knowing that you know” will help me grind it out those final miles and finish strong.
Will I be disappointed if I don’t hit my target? Absolutely not. There is nothing quite as satisfying as crossing the finish line at Boston…well, other than finding a great deal on a well-preserved pair of vintage Jordache jeans.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Friday, April 10, 2009
TEMBA Gazette, Running Commentary, April 10, 2009
There will be no clever analogies. No humorous antidotes. Don’t expect to find any thought-provoking analysis. Nope, this commentary cannot promise any of that. At this point, some of you are probably wondering why that would differ from any of my previous columns – and you probably have a point. But this is different. You see, today is Day 4 of my Caffeine Reduction Action Plan or, as I like to call it, CRAP, for that is how I feel. My head is pounding. I am irritable, or at least more so than I usually am – just ask Francie. I can barely keep my eyes open long enough to type this sentence. Yes, after many years of gluttonous coffee consumption, I am attempting to limit my java intake to one cup - one measly twelve-ounce cup - per day.
Why? I would like to say that it represents some noble gesture on my part to cleanse my body of any impurities. I would like to say it is about willpower and being able to give up a vice for good. I would like to say that I lost a bet. But no, sadly I can’t say any of that. The real reason is simply because I was drinking so much coffee it would make your head spin. Actually, let me rephrase that. I was drinking so much coffee it was making MY head spin – literally.
What do I mean? A few weeks ago, I began experiencing momentary bouts of dizziness. It would come and go and I initially ignored it – typical male response I suppose. After a week of this, I got a little concerned. It wasn't quite vertigo and I never felt like I was going to faint. It was more like the feeling you get when you try on a new pair of glasses with a stronger prescription, if that makes any sense. I was in the thick of marathon training, so initially thought it had something to do with my hydration level – not enough water I thought. So I began feverishly gulping water. The dizziness continued. Fearing the worst, I was about to schedule a doctor's visit when I realized something - the dizziness was usually occurring after I consumed a cup of coffee. I monitored this for a few days and confirmed this to be the case. I gradually reduced my daily intake and the dizziness went away. By Monday I was down to one, maybe one and one-half cups per day and that now seems to be doing the trick, though I am starting to wonder if a little dizziness is better than a pounding headache.
Now, I have no idea if this will be a permanent thing or if I will be back to my regular caffeinated self in a few weeks. What I do know is that this is potentially damaging news for the local coffeehouse economy. A recent Ad Age report revealed that 60% of the population is scaling back on specialty coffee. The reasons given by the respondents were overwhelmingly driven by the current economy. In fact, nearly 90% cited the economy as the main reason for their cutbacks.
Now couple this with the sudden demise of one of Austin’s more prolific coffee drinkers and the results could be devastating. Consider that the average American consumes 3.1 cups of coffee per day. I, on the other hand, was in the 10 to 12 range, sometimes more, before this week. So, from a statistical standpoint, I probably equate to four consumers. Consider also that I cleverly incorporated coffee into my work routine with the Wednesday morning coffee hours. Not only does that result in two solid hours of consumption by me, but also brings in, on average, three or four additional people to some of our city’s finest coffee venues. Francie has long believed that we bought our house in Memphis because it was a block from my favorite coffee shop. That would be ridiculous, right? Well, no, she was right. It’s also probably more than just a coincidence that the place closed down a few months after we moved. So you can see the potential problem here.
I would hate for some of our fine coffee establishments to suffer as a result of my sudden caffeine teetotalism, so I’m asking you all for a favor. Pick up my slack. Drop by your favorite coffee shop and stimulate the economy and yourself with a little caffeine goodness. Sure, you might experience a little dizziness, but it’s a hell of a lot better than decaf.
Why? I would like to say that it represents some noble gesture on my part to cleanse my body of any impurities. I would like to say it is about willpower and being able to give up a vice for good. I would like to say that I lost a bet. But no, sadly I can’t say any of that. The real reason is simply because I was drinking so much coffee it would make your head spin. Actually, let me rephrase that. I was drinking so much coffee it was making MY head spin – literally.
What do I mean? A few weeks ago, I began experiencing momentary bouts of dizziness. It would come and go and I initially ignored it – typical male response I suppose. After a week of this, I got a little concerned. It wasn't quite vertigo and I never felt like I was going to faint. It was more like the feeling you get when you try on a new pair of glasses with a stronger prescription, if that makes any sense. I was in the thick of marathon training, so initially thought it had something to do with my hydration level – not enough water I thought. So I began feverishly gulping water. The dizziness continued. Fearing the worst, I was about to schedule a doctor's visit when I realized something - the dizziness was usually occurring after I consumed a cup of coffee. I monitored this for a few days and confirmed this to be the case. I gradually reduced my daily intake and the dizziness went away. By Monday I was down to one, maybe one and one-half cups per day and that now seems to be doing the trick, though I am starting to wonder if a little dizziness is better than a pounding headache.
Now, I have no idea if this will be a permanent thing or if I will be back to my regular caffeinated self in a few weeks. What I do know is that this is potentially damaging news for the local coffeehouse economy. A recent Ad Age report revealed that 60% of the population is scaling back on specialty coffee. The reasons given by the respondents were overwhelmingly driven by the current economy. In fact, nearly 90% cited the economy as the main reason for their cutbacks.
Now couple this with the sudden demise of one of Austin’s more prolific coffee drinkers and the results could be devastating. Consider that the average American consumes 3.1 cups of coffee per day. I, on the other hand, was in the 10 to 12 range, sometimes more, before this week. So, from a statistical standpoint, I probably equate to four consumers. Consider also that I cleverly incorporated coffee into my work routine with the Wednesday morning coffee hours. Not only does that result in two solid hours of consumption by me, but also brings in, on average, three or four additional people to some of our city’s finest coffee venues. Francie has long believed that we bought our house in Memphis because it was a block from my favorite coffee shop. That would be ridiculous, right? Well, no, she was right. It’s also probably more than just a coincidence that the place closed down a few months after we moved. So you can see the potential problem here.
I would hate for some of our fine coffee establishments to suffer as a result of my sudden caffeine teetotalism, so I’m asking you all for a favor. Pick up my slack. Drop by your favorite coffee shop and stimulate the economy and yourself with a little caffeine goodness. Sure, you might experience a little dizziness, but it’s a hell of a lot better than decaf.
Friday, April 3, 2009
TEMBA Gazette, Running Commentary, April 3, 2009
It was a perfect morning for a run - temperatures in the low sixties, sunny skies and only a slight breeze. Sure, I should have gotten out of a bed a little earlier, but the thought of a hilly 17-mile training run wasn’t that appealing at 6 AM. It was Saturday, so nothing wrong with a little additional sleep.
I left the Rock at the Mopac footbridge a little after 8 AM. My path would take me down Lake Austin Boulevard, up Red Bud Trail, through the dreaded hills of Stratford, back to the trail and finally to the Austin High track for speed work. After a few minutes of stretching and procrastination, I trudged up Veterans onto Lake Austin. I passed a few friends nearing the end of their respective long runs and momentarily wished I had risen earlier. By Exposition, I had settled into a rhythm and began concentrating on my pace.
From behind me, I overheard a voice instructing others to stay to the right. It was a group of roughly 15 cyclists out for a Saturday morning ride. I wondered where they were going and was even a little envious of this group excursion. I assumed they were heading west to the Hill Country for what I knew would be a challenging yet picturesque ride. Every so often the lead cyclist would alert the rest of the pack to an approaching car or pedestrian, frequently looking back to ensure the group was all together. The experienced lead was obviously very safety-conscious and I remember thinking that the group was lucky to have someone so alert and aware of potential hazards. The cyclists sped past and my thoughts returned to my pace and the task at hand.
I checked my watch as I turned onto Red Bud Trail, pleased that I was on pace as I approached the hills. In the distance, I saw some commotion at the approach to Low Water Bridge. Cars had suddenly stopped. One guy was getting out of his vehicle. I heard yelling. Some of the cyclists were beginning to turn around. I quickly realized that one of the cyclists was down. I also realized that I was going to be one of the first to arrive at the scene. My mind was racing. Had the cyclist been hit by a car? What kind of medical attention would he or she need? I thought about Michael Argall, the Austin cyclist and tri-athlete coach who was killed in a cycling accident last year, and feared that I was about to witness a similarly tragic scene.
I arrived at the bridge at exactly the same time as two cyclists and one of the motorists. The injured cyclist was face-down in the center of the road - motionless and apparently unconscious. One of the other cyclists frantically asked what had happened. The motorist had seen the whole thing and conveyed that she had lost control and flipped several times, but that she had thankfully avoided the approaching traffic.
By this time, other cyclists had returned to the bridge. I asked what I could do to help. “Do you know first-aid…do you have a phone…we need an ambulance!” Regrettably, I did not know basic first-aid, nor did I have a phone. I watched helplessly as others sprang into action. A cyclist called 911. Others tried to get a response from the injured woman, being careful not to move her for fear of further injury. Another went from car to car seeking help. Miraculously, a doctor was found and was quickly summoned to assist.
I stood around for a few more minutes wanting to help, but not really knowing what to do. Shortly after the cyclist regained consciousness and the sound of an approaching ambulance could be heard, I reluctantly started running again. I felt guilty for doing so, but realized there was not much I could do to help. The traffic jam had grown considerably since the accident and I was repeatedly asked what had happened as I ran across the bridge and up the hill.
When I finally turned onto Stratford, my pace no longer mattered. I couldn’t get the injured cyclist off my mind. I was frustrated by my lack of basic first-aid knowledge and the sense of helplessness I had just experienced. I was not well-equipped to help a fellow human being in need and that bothered me. For the remainder of the run, I thought about what I had witnessed and resolved to do something about it.
I took my first and only first-aid class during my sophomore year in college. Regrettably, the only thing I really remember from that course is that it was the only “A” I received in a socially memorable but academically lackluster spring semester. Apparently, I’m not alone. A medical report issued last fall stated that the American Heart Association would like to see at least 20 million citizens equipped with CPR training, yet the actual number is only around 9 million. Further, the American Red Cross recommends at least one member of each household be certified in basic first-aid, yet this is far from reality.
When I returned home from my run, I immediately went to the U.T. Rec Sports website and viewed upcoming courses in both CPR and basic first-aid. The price was reasonable and the time commitment in each course was only four hours. I am now scheduled to take both later this spring.
None of us know when accidents will happen. The only thing we can do is be as prepared as possible should something like this ever occur. I realized that Saturday morning that “yeah, I need to do that” is not good enough. We all should feel a responsibility to our families, friends, co-workers, classmates and even complete strangers to know what to do in these situations.
I honestly don’t know what ultimately happened to the injured cyclist. My hope is that her injuries were not that severe and that she has now fully recovered. What I do know is that her accident opened my eyes to the importance of knowing how to provide assistance in these situations and spurred me to action.
My hope in writing this is that it will do the same for you.
I left the Rock at the Mopac footbridge a little after 8 AM. My path would take me down Lake Austin Boulevard, up Red Bud Trail, through the dreaded hills of Stratford, back to the trail and finally to the Austin High track for speed work. After a few minutes of stretching and procrastination, I trudged up Veterans onto Lake Austin. I passed a few friends nearing the end of their respective long runs and momentarily wished I had risen earlier. By Exposition, I had settled into a rhythm and began concentrating on my pace.
From behind me, I overheard a voice instructing others to stay to the right. It was a group of roughly 15 cyclists out for a Saturday morning ride. I wondered where they were going and was even a little envious of this group excursion. I assumed they were heading west to the Hill Country for what I knew would be a challenging yet picturesque ride. Every so often the lead cyclist would alert the rest of the pack to an approaching car or pedestrian, frequently looking back to ensure the group was all together. The experienced lead was obviously very safety-conscious and I remember thinking that the group was lucky to have someone so alert and aware of potential hazards. The cyclists sped past and my thoughts returned to my pace and the task at hand.
I checked my watch as I turned onto Red Bud Trail, pleased that I was on pace as I approached the hills. In the distance, I saw some commotion at the approach to Low Water Bridge. Cars had suddenly stopped. One guy was getting out of his vehicle. I heard yelling. Some of the cyclists were beginning to turn around. I quickly realized that one of the cyclists was down. I also realized that I was going to be one of the first to arrive at the scene. My mind was racing. Had the cyclist been hit by a car? What kind of medical attention would he or she need? I thought about Michael Argall, the Austin cyclist and tri-athlete coach who was killed in a cycling accident last year, and feared that I was about to witness a similarly tragic scene.
I arrived at the bridge at exactly the same time as two cyclists and one of the motorists. The injured cyclist was face-down in the center of the road - motionless and apparently unconscious. One of the other cyclists frantically asked what had happened. The motorist had seen the whole thing and conveyed that she had lost control and flipped several times, but that she had thankfully avoided the approaching traffic.
By this time, other cyclists had returned to the bridge. I asked what I could do to help. “Do you know first-aid…do you have a phone…we need an ambulance!” Regrettably, I did not know basic first-aid, nor did I have a phone. I watched helplessly as others sprang into action. A cyclist called 911. Others tried to get a response from the injured woman, being careful not to move her for fear of further injury. Another went from car to car seeking help. Miraculously, a doctor was found and was quickly summoned to assist.
I stood around for a few more minutes wanting to help, but not really knowing what to do. Shortly after the cyclist regained consciousness and the sound of an approaching ambulance could be heard, I reluctantly started running again. I felt guilty for doing so, but realized there was not much I could do to help. The traffic jam had grown considerably since the accident and I was repeatedly asked what had happened as I ran across the bridge and up the hill.
When I finally turned onto Stratford, my pace no longer mattered. I couldn’t get the injured cyclist off my mind. I was frustrated by my lack of basic first-aid knowledge and the sense of helplessness I had just experienced. I was not well-equipped to help a fellow human being in need and that bothered me. For the remainder of the run, I thought about what I had witnessed and resolved to do something about it.
I took my first and only first-aid class during my sophomore year in college. Regrettably, the only thing I really remember from that course is that it was the only “A” I received in a socially memorable but academically lackluster spring semester. Apparently, I’m not alone. A medical report issued last fall stated that the American Heart Association would like to see at least 20 million citizens equipped with CPR training, yet the actual number is only around 9 million. Further, the American Red Cross recommends at least one member of each household be certified in basic first-aid, yet this is far from reality.
When I returned home from my run, I immediately went to the U.T. Rec Sports website and viewed upcoming courses in both CPR and basic first-aid. The price was reasonable and the time commitment in each course was only four hours. I am now scheduled to take both later this spring.
None of us know when accidents will happen. The only thing we can do is be as prepared as possible should something like this ever occur. I realized that Saturday morning that “yeah, I need to do that” is not good enough. We all should feel a responsibility to our families, friends, co-workers, classmates and even complete strangers to know what to do in these situations.
I honestly don’t know what ultimately happened to the injured cyclist. My hope is that her injuries were not that severe and that she has now fully recovered. What I do know is that her accident opened my eyes to the importance of knowing how to provide assistance in these situations and spurred me to action.
My hope in writing this is that it will do the same for you.
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