The Cost of Obesity

I recently made a few comments on my Facebook page about obesity. I have learned that you can say something akin to “water is wet” on the internet and someone will be either offended or confused.  So let me start here by saying, I don’t hate fat people. (Sad I had to do that.) I hate obesity.

Given my athletic background, people assume I have never struggled with maintaining a healthy physique.  Along with death and taxes, people making assumptions are the only guarantees in the world. So when I attack the weight problem this country is simply being overrun by, I do it from a place of knowing and caring.

Here’s the thing: I know how hard it is to maintain a healthy weight. I have averaged 2500 miles of running alone each of the past 5 years. Meanwhile, my weight has, at least in the past two years, edged ever so higher. If you don’t think that running thousands of miles and still needing to watch your weight doesn’t put you fully aware of how hard it is to win the battle of the bulge, you obviously aren’t getting me.

One of the things I have most taken pride in is the fact that there are not many 6’1’’ 180+ pound marathoners out there who can run under 2:50.  I have to take pride in it because even at my lightest, I have rarely gone under 170 pounds as an adult.  I simply am a larger fella then some. I was also a 225 pound rugby player in college who let that body get fat post-collegiate athletics. I have not always been fit. In addition, I still have to battle to keep myself in shape even as my total marathon count approaches 150.

I tell you all of that as precursor so that you will hopefully understand where I am coming from when I sound off on obesity. I despise that some of my closest friends and family battle weight problems. I very selfishly want them to be healthy not only for their own sake but because I want them around as long as possible. I am also completely aware there are many factors that go into why America is the unhealthiest it has ever been. In addition, there are many theories as to how we can fix it.

We are, undoubtedly, fighting an uphill battle. I know there is sloth and laziness and gluttony amongst some obese people. But I honestly believe that many who are overweight are trying their best not to be. We have problems with labels where we think that foods are healthy are not. We think that drinking juice over soda pop is an improvement (which it rarely is.) Many across this nation have limited access to fresh foods and if they do have access, cost can sometimes be prohibitive.

I often hear we should shop local as well as supporting farmers and markets in our area. This is where the hashtag “suburbanproblems” was invented. Not too many people in Brooklyn have a farmer and his cattle ranch on speed dial. The market down the street is as close as they will ever come to a farm. Our own government does not help by making foods that are better for you more expensive to buy. Although, I will admit, that with a little time and creativity, healthful foods can be just as inexpensive as their costlier fast food alternatives.

However, therein lies one of the many problems in American life: finding time. Americans work too much, doing too little for too long. The 40 hour work-week is a thing of the past. Getting eight hours of sleep every night is stuff of legends. Every day gets long and every night gets shorter. We commute too far, vacation too little and are dying too young.

To wit I have often heard the reply that “If I want to be fat, that is not your problem.”  If only it was so self-contained.  Take a look at these statistics.

$190 billion -- That's the amount of added medical costs every year that are estimated to stem from obesity-related problems. It’s nearly 21% of total U.S. health care costs.
105% -- According to a study conducted by the Brookings Institution, this is the increased amount that obese Americans pay for prescription drugs compared to individuals who aren't obese.
$3.4 billion -- Cars are burning around 938 million gallons of gasoline per year more than they would if Americans weighed what they did in 1960.
$164 billion -- The Society of Actuaries estimates that U.S. employers are losing this amount in productivity each year due to obesity-related issues with employees.
$6.4 billion -- Every year, this amount is estimated to be lost due to employee absenteeism related to obesity.
$1 billion -- U.S. airlines are consuming an extra 350 million gallons of fuel per year due to overweight passengers.
$14.3 billion -- This is how much childhood obesity costs the U.S. each year, according to a published study from the Brookings Institution.
$62 billion -- Medicare and Medicaid are spending nearly this amount every year on obesity-related costs.
$66 billion -- Columbia University researchers say that if current trends don't change, annual obesity-related medical costs in the U.S. could increase by this amount by 2030.
$580 billion -- The Robert Wood Johnson Foundation predicts that annual economic productivity loss due to obesity could hit this staggering amount by 2030 unless the current situation changes.
(Source)

At what point did your eyes glaze over?  Or did you read all of those sobering statistics? Do you see how letting yourself die of obesity is not only hurting you but hurting others as well? It is now not just a self-contained problem. It is a problem that affects everyone in this country. Add those numbers up and the total is nearly 1.1 trillions dollars. TRILLION!


This problem is not as simple as Calories In, Calories Out, as I touched on three years ago, but without a doubt exercising is just as important as what we eat. But this is not where I will tell you what to eat. Or how to train. Or how to lose weight. You see, you will never hear me tell you I have the answers for everything. Nothing bristles the hair on my spine more than the fads or trends which try to say they are the one true way. People who give advice in cookie-cutter form, so vague it could be used for any situation, sicken me.  In fact, I caveat virtually every bit of advice that gets dragged out of me with “This is what works for me and it can change at any time and has.” However, given the struggles I have had and how much I have fought through them, I do know there are ways you can improve your situation. The only question remains is whether you want to or not.

For your sake, for the sake of your loved ones and for the sake of this country and the world, I really hope you want to. This requires time, energy and education. There is much misleading information out there as well. But we can beat this problem.

One pound, and one step, at a time.

Heart Breaker Half Marathon Recap

A Runner's Ramblings: Volume 9; 4th Edition 
19.8 miles run in 2014 races
Race: Hearth Breaker Half Marathon
Place: Portland, OR
Miles from home: 14
Weather: 40s; humid; mostly sunny

I had been contemplating being elsewhere on this weekend but when I found myself staying home instead, the notification I received from the awesome people at AA Sports about the Heart Breaker Half Marathon popped into my head.  Given the great races AA Sports puts on (have run two in the past year at their First Run and Pacific Crest Marathon) I immediately signed up.

One of the first things I noticed was the challenge they had in the middle of the race. You see, from mile 3-4 there is a big honking hill. As such, their Heart Breaker Hill Challenge was to award the top 5 male and female runners who climbed this baby the fastest. I knew, given how badly I run uphills, it would not be me.  But the challenge was sort of the forward thinking AA Sports does with their races. In today's almost saturated world of racing, you have to do something different to catch people's attention.

The week prior to racing here in Portland, we received some record snowfall.  It was all melted by mid-week by some heavy rains but those rains threatened to make racing life miserable on this weekend.  In fact, for one race I thought about doing around Hagg Lake, the muck fest Saturday's rains brought surely made for some tough times for runners. I drove to the race the morning of and passed over the hills which are so often socked in with clouds on Portland's west side. Today was no different.  In fact, some rain began to fall pretty hard.  But after passing through the tunnels to the other side it was like a different world.  Blue skies laid in front of us and the clouds were behind us. Now if only they would stay this way for a few more hours!

The rain was holding off as we pulled into the parking lot of Liberty High School. Races that start at schools are usually nice because they provide shelter and bathrooms. While it was not raining it was still a bit chilly to be standing around. I knew it would be plenty warm during the race but right now in shorts and a shirt, I wouldn't have minded a roof over my head. So in we went.

With just enough time to warm up a bit, use the bathroom and get ready to head back out, I took advantage of the opportunity. As I hustled toward the front I had a tiny woman step right in front of me. I completely stopped myself and made sure even though she ran directly into me that she was OK. I then hopped into the starting corral seconds before the gun sounded. The woman took two more steps and then, very passive-aggressively stated under her breath "No, I didn't need that ankle."  I don't think she was expecting me to still be standing there. Here's a thing about me: I thoroughly enjoy calling people on their crap. I try my best to curb it but when you mix said crap with attitude it is hard for me to stop. So I looked her right in the eye and said. "I heard you.  And I said I was sorry even though it wasn't my fault. Was that not enough?" As she stammered something completely b.s. about "totally kidding" she was saved from further embarrassment by the crack of the gun. We were underway.

First Four Miles:

I simply wanted to get off on the right foot with this race and try to break 1:30 overall.  I knew with the big hill and my less-than-stellar calf, this would be a challenge. It was helped greatly when my first mile went by in roughly 6:30. It felt good but not great. I could definitely tell I was working. I had looked at the elevation profile for the race and noticed that while there was indeed the big hill all of us knew about, the race was filled with a series of undulating risers. Nothing too hard singularly but put together they would most definitely wear one down.

We raced down a breakneck hill on a curve and found ourselves going flat for just a bit before another riser. Two 90 degree turns later and we could see the formidable hill in front of us.  I was trying to decide what I wanted to do. Did I want to take what would be an outside chance at best to give it all I had and hoof this hill or did I want to play it smart and try to keep an even keel. The fact I was a little tired, not feeling great and mentally not really in a zone made the decision for me. I would be taking it "easy."

More than a few runners passed me going up the hill which was not a surprise. I figured more than a few of them would be dying later on. I can say that was indeed the case. All told, running a very conservative pace, I was 28th up the hill. That pleased me. Well, it pleases me as I am writing this. It hurt like heck at the time.

Snow My God: Portland Edition

Day Three: All hope is gone.

We haven’t seen the sun in 72 hours. The white cloud of despair has enveloped the city.  As I forage around the city, looking for signs of life, all is still.  In the distance I hear a wolf howl or perhaps that is the whistle of the last train out of town. Carrying with it are the lucky few who won The Lottery and are being whisked away to sunnier lands, where promise of food and shelter caused riots for seats.

Cars are abandoned. Stores are closed and locked with heavy steel gates. Rumors of marauders on skis are confirmed by tracks in the snow and the bicycle count meter on the Hawthorne Bridge continues to register their skis.

The yarnbombers have given up, keeping their warm thread to themselves in order to stave off the wintery mix. The bleating of the Belmont Goats is pitiful and heart-wrenching.  Like the citizens of the People’s Republic of Portland, the goats are distraught over the solid rain falling from the skies.

Discarded Voodoo Doughnuts pink boxes seem to be cobbled together by some to form crude shelters. The bacon, maple and Cap’n Crunch smells seem to be attracting many suffering from glaucoma and “chronic” pain.

As I round the many bridges, none move. The Willamette has become frozen six feet deep (possibly just an 1/16th of an inch but I can’t be sure) and all boats are locked in place. I make my way to the Pearl District, once known for its warehouse turned into trendy lofts. Without a doubt these lofts have been cut off from reality (as they were anyway) and will revert to warehouses again.

The smell of burning pages licks my nostrils. Discarded books from Powell’s are being used as tinder. Suddenly, a pack of crying bros skirts down the street, placards, scarves and axes in hand. From their throats rips the cry:

“Keep it up, Rose City!Don’t let up, no pity!”

They are on the warpath.  The bloom is off the rose. We have all become trailblazers.

All hope is gone.

Review for Head to Toe: Showdown at Shepherd's Bush and OOFOS Sandals

Wanted to do a quick review of two totally separate things. One for each extreme of your body.

First up is a review for your head as I look at Showdown at Shepherd's Bush: The 1908 Olympic Marathon and the Three Runners Who Launched a Sporting Craze.  This book chronicles the build up, event and aftermath of the 1908 London Olympic s Marathon.  If you are in any way, shape, or form a runner, you need to read this book to understand the roots of not only the marathon in its present form but how popular the sport once was. If you are not a runner, it is still a great read very light on numbers so as not to confuse you with split times, fartleks or what have yous.

The research that goes into this book alone is massive as is shown by the endnotes.  Moreover, you feel like the events just happened a few years ago, they are so vivid.  The shocking racism toward Irish and Native Americans in this book is a reminder of our not-so-distant past. Also surprising (but not if you think about it) is the rivalry between English and Americans. We often forget as Americans that our closest ally was the country we fought to be free from not all that long ago.  This battle between mother and stepchild is intense and vivid.

But it is the showdown itself, even with the conclusion known, that draws readers in. Seeing the whirlwind tours the marathon runners went on, trying to cash in as quickly as possible on not only the possible fleeting desire of people to watch runners but the quick window in which runners are at their peak, was remarkable. Many things you thought you knew about the marathon are corrected in this book.

With regards to your feet, stop what you are doing and get yourself a pair of OOFOS sandals. Sweet fancy moses are these comfortable.  I received a pair of sandals and flip fops from OOFOS to test ride and I was blown away.  I cannot stand flip-flops.  Having that little band between my toes drives me crazy.  But the actual footwear portion was so dreamlike I actually kept them on longer than my previous flip-flop PR which was about 15 seconds.

However, when I put the OOAHH slide sandals on, I knew I was in foot nirvana. I had once tried Crocs and thought if they weren’t the ugliest things in the world, I might want to wear them as they felt pretty good.  OOFOS feel even better and don’t look like you should be drooling in a dirty terrycloth robe with Jack Nicholson in an insane asylum.

I don’t like to have things on my feet when I do not have to.  But as I sit here typing this review, my foot is being massaged by these fantastic sandals. Honestly, you owe it to yourself to get a pair.

Choices (and a Look at Woody Allen and Philip Seymour Hoffman)

We make choices all the time. What to eat, where to live, how we exercise. Most of them are done without much thought, some are done with agonizing scrutiny. But our choices shape our lives.

I have always been intrigued by choices. Last night I listened to a speech by a runner and a hiker who set new records traversing the Pacific Crest Trail. What intrigued me more than anything were small choices they made. Why did they start at the time of the year that they did? What made them choose to run north rather than south? How did they decided to wear this, run in that, eat those?

Another thing that shapes our lives is the choices others make. These can have as much of a positive or negative impact on our lives as the ones we make for ourselves. Whether it is our government deciding who gets what tax break, how health care is handled, or the closing down of a bridge heading into New York City out of spite, others' choices often influence our own.

A chapter in my book 138,336 Feet to Pure Bliss talks about how we definitely should applaud those who make a choice about becoming healthy again. By this I mean they have eaten themselves into near oblivion or have almost died because of drub abuse but have fought back to health. Good for them, indeed. But we often forget to praise those who were faced with the same choices and didn't succumb to them, either totally or in part.

Woody and his lovely bride to be.

Two interesting stories about choices have cropped up recently. The first is about Woody Allen's adopted daughter, Dylan Farrow, claiming sexual molestation. Now, Allen is innocent until proven guilty but it is hard not to look at the large body of evidence working against him. He did, after all, marry his other adopted daughter and famously quoted "What was the scandal?" This is a choice that apparently Dylan Farrow did not make that has affected her life.  But, as I said, innocent until proven guilty, so let's move on to the next story of choice.

Philip Seymour Hoffman apparently died of a heroin overdose.  For those who enjoyed his acting, this is a loss. I am one of them. I have enjoyed virtually everything that he did. I also looked at him and saw a rather overweight guy who I was sure was:

a. going to drop dead in the next few years from health issues;
b. could not believe was just 8 years older than me. I would have easily put him in his mid 50s. He looked that terrible.

So where is the choice some might say? Well, while I know there is a feeling amongst some that drug addiction is not a choice I find that to be ludicrous. For 13,761 days I have chosen not to take drugs (obviously referring to the illegal, harmful kind.) Why? Because I am a big fan of being alive. I am not saying that some people are not faced with harder lives than me which might make them more predisposed to trying drugs. I am not saying that some people are not made up of different ways in which they cope with what is put in front of them. And I am definitely not saying that once you make a bad choice that it is easy to pull out of that life and start afresh.

But to equate drug abuse to a disease is insulting to all of those who actually get a disease without choice. Those who get lung cancer but never smoke a day in their lives. Those who are stricken with Alzhemier's or Parkinson's without once deciding to shoot up with a drug. Those who contract malaria or cystic fibrosis or a litany of other diseases which attack the body and try to kill it under no fault of the person who owns that body at all. These are the people I feel for. They did not make a choice. Like Dylan Farrow. She didn't choose to be molested.

Philip Seymour Hoffman may have been a great guy. He was a fantastic actor. But he chose very poorly.

Conversations With Runners I Have Never Met

It may be odd, but I speak with runners I do not know and who do not know me every single day.  I am not talking about on social media but rather in the real world. How am I able to pull off this feat? Well, because these chats are not actual conversations but ones that go through my mind when I see other runners out and about. Sometimes, I am running and enjoying the day with them. Other days I may have already finished my run and I see them running by. And still others are when I am in transit in some other form than running shoes.

Regardless, when I do see them, there is no shortage of questions I want to ask them. I wonder if this is a good run for them. If not, what is keeping them going? What made them start running? Are they training for a race or running just for fitness? Have they always been a runner or did other sports call their name first?

If I am running, I curse silently to myself if they are going the other direction because the chance to talk will be nothing more than a wave or head nod. If I overtake them, I wonder if they mind if I would stop and chat. Sometimes, it is all I can do to not stop them and ask them some, if not all, of the questions I have in my mind. I obviously resist, as I would not want my workout interfered with by some nosy stranger.

However, I do often shout words of encouragement. Sometimes it appears to be appreciated. Sometimes it falls on deaf ears that are plugged with earphones. There are even a few times where I get a look as if it is none of my business how good or not their run is.

Nevertheless, even when I never exchange so much as eye contact, I silently wish them well. I am no great runner to be "proud" of people I do not know, but I am nonetheless. I am proud regardless of their pace, present physical shape, or grace in running. They are not on couch. They are running.

Once I mentioned to someone that runners are the friendliest/most honest group of people that I know. She scoffed. She said it was an arrogant statement because she felt people on the whole are honest and friendly. I was curious why she said it was an "arrogant" statement. She said by my saying "runners" I was including myself. To be honest, for whatever reason I was not even including myself in that "runner" category. It was as if I as looking at the runner category from outside. But upon further review, even though I have so much to learn from those who came before me and much to share yet with those who are yet to follow me, I am indeed a runner.

So arrogant or not, I stand by my statement. I cannot count the times I have been racing against each other neck-and-neck, straining against everything and neither of us giving an inch. The finish line looms and neither wants to give in. Then the finish line passes underfoot and I turn around to either give a hearty handshake or a sweaty hug. In fact, I have hugged runners at the end of almost every marathon I have run. I have also handed water to other runners in a race when I saw they missed a cup from a volunteer. And every time I have done this, I know I wasn't the only one.Go ahead and count the nice things runners do for each other. Even in the middle of the race. You will soon run out of fingers.

Think about other walks of life. Doesn't happen much there, does it? I think it was renowned runner, doctor, writer (and many other things) George Sheehan who said something akin to "Tell me you are a runner and I will understand more about than you can imagine".

Dr. Fitness & the Fat Guy Interview

Thanks to the folks at Dr Fitness and the Fat Guy for an interview last night. We discussed my movie No Handoffs, the use of PEDs, my cruise ship marathon record and much more!

Click here for the interview. (I start in at 15:30.)

A Little Run on Easter Island

Growing up in Northwest Pennsylvania, I was not without the things I needed. My family, however, had some limitations when it came to finances. These limitations should have probably kept me from dreaming with largesse. Yet, one of the things of which I am most proud is how my mother tells me I ignored those limitations. I acted as if, and still do, what I shouldn’t be able to do is doable.

I loved mystery and intrigue then and now. The Loch Ness Monster, Jack the Ripper, Stonehenge and anything that dealt with the unknown intrigued me. One of the places which has always called my name was the remote, odd, and utterly befuddling Easter Island.

So, when Crystal Cruises asked me to be a part of their Southern Seas Soliloquy which would stop at Easter Island, you can imagine how quickly I said yes. In fact, the vast majority of people on this cruise were there because of the chance to set foot on this wonderful oddity.

When you sail for four straight days without stop from the shores of Chile and still need another half of a day to reach this speck of land in the middle of Pacific, you truly understand what the “middle of nowhere” really means. We had been warned that there was a decent chance we might not actually be able to get on the island itself given the swells which were hitting the shores. As we prepared to disembark on the western side of the island, it soon became clear this wouldn’t be possible. Our cruise ship then only had one more chance to get us ashore at Rapa Nui: the northern shore.

We heard that about 65% of the time ships cannot send their tenders (or smaller ships) safely to shore at this tiny pier. Fortunately, we were in this small 35% window. I cannot tell you the relief I felt knowing we would not be so close yet so far away.

By the time I had boarded the tender to head to land, most of the passengers on the boat knew me as the “runner” or “the jogger”  or “that guy.” (That's what you get for setting the Fastest Known Time for a Marathon on a cruise ship.) Heading to shore in a pair of Karhu running shoes, short shorts and a handheld water bottle would confirm anyone’s suspicion if they weren’t sure. You see, while most people were taking pre-arranged tours of some nature, me and my best friend Shannon were going to be running on the island.

Originally, there had been plans to run the Easter Island Marathon course. However, even on the best of schedules with everything going right, this would have been a very tight fit. Planning to leave the cruise ship at 8 a.m., we would have gotten onto Easter Island no earlier than 9 a.m. With a return at 4:00 p.m., you can see how little time we had to play with. In addition, communication with the organizers of the race was spotty at best. Emails I sent took so long to get replies I thought I might have a better chance of sending real mail.

Given all of this, I scrapped those plans and decided on different ones. Those were in turn changed when we didn’t land in our originally intended place. Now we had to think fast to see how we could see as much of the island as possible, on foot and not get left behind and become part of the folklore!  Finally, we figured out we could get off on Anakena Beach, the only beach on the entire island, run 6.5 miles inland to the stone quarry and the Tongariki and return in time. Now all we had to do was do it.


Starting this run just two days after running 26.2 miles left me with very tired legs. Throw in the fact that the humidity, whose lack of I usual love, was at just 3% and you have a very parched Dane. Finally, if you have not experienced sun in the South Pacific, you do not know what a soul sucking orb it can be. It mean, it really bakes you even in January.

Shannon and I landed, took some quick pictures of the moai around the beach and did not even dip our toes in the ocean. We figured we would be back in plenty of time to enjoy this tiny spit of sand. Right now, however, we had an island to run.

Past the vendors and taxis which had convened at the landing was our first order of business. Ships like ours are few and far between so when our landing was moved, apparently all those with wares to sell quickly moved to where we would be. We knew we would be helping to line their pockets later but not now with many miles to run.

The plan was to follow a rough rudimentary map we had which showed we could follow what seemed to be one of the only roads on the island and hug the coast. With our limited time on the island, and my tired legs from the marathon run two days prior, I knew we wouldn’t get to see nearly as much as we wanted to.  But we would see it like few others would.

Down a loosely packed red dirt road we ran until we came to what I am guessing is the only fork in the road on this side of the island. A paved road went off into the distance and I knew this lead to the main town on the island, Hanga Roa. We, however, were not going that way. Our path veered left and toward the ocean again.

After about 2 miles of running, we got misted with a soft shower. It was rather refreshing. While the temperature was not that high (only around 75) the sun was relentless. But just as quickly as it came upon us, the rain was gone. We later learned that this small shower had been part of a system that had stirred up some waves and delayed further tenders from leaving the cruise ship. We had been extremely fortunate to get on one of the first boats ashore.

By now a few taxis and tour buses began to pass us. We recognized some faces from the cruise ship and more than a few flashbulbs went off in our direction. I’d like to say they were taking pictures of the statues but none were around. It was quite clear we were more of an oddity than mysterious stone faces.

The vehicles snaking off into the distance allowed up to see where the well-hidden road would take us. We estimated that to make it to the quarry it would be easily 6.5 miles. We could also see from the vehicles climbing that we had a nice hill to get up and over in those 6.5 miles. Earlier in the day someone who had actually been on the island previously mentioned that our proposed route would be flat. I asked them if they had run it or driven it knowing full well in advance it was the latter. When they confirmed it was driving, I knew not to trust what their idea of “flat” was. Coincidentally, as we huffed and puffed up this hill, they passed us in a vehicle. I wonder if they still thought it was flat.

Cresting the hill, we could see off in the distance the line of statues numbering 15 with scores of vehicles surrounding them. In addition, one lone house was off in the distance. When out running like this, you get a chance to think about things like “Does any one person actually own any of this land?”  It seemed one person owned at least a portion of it.

A nice downhill section meant only that we would have to climb it on the return. I was also out of water in the one handheld bottle I brought. No bother. I have been thirstier than this before. Now I was just thirsty for the sight of these magnificent statues.

While today’s internet age puts everything we want right in front of us at the touch of a button, there are still sights which can leave you mystified. These statues can be counted as one of them. I sat down to look at them and then turned to look at the vast ocean behind them. How did anyone ever find this place? Why did they stay when they knew how remote it was? And seriously, what in the heck is the deal with the statues?!

This was the only time of the run that I had wished we had taken a car tour or at least had many more hours to explore. We knew we would not be able to make it up to the quarry. Well, actually we knew we could and we knew we could make it back but without water it would be a tough day. I wanted to explore every inch of the island. Learn more about its people and their day-to-day, non-selling-things-to-me lives. Perhaps be the intrepid discoverer of some unknown tidbit that unlocks the secrets of these statues. Also, I want to validate my reading of MAD magazine 25 years ago. More or less, I just wanted more time. But we were out of it.

So we had to head back to the ship.

Back up the hill we went and it felt like the ambient air had climbed ten degrees. In fact, again, while it was warm it was not all that hot. But stopping to take pictures had done nothing to cool our cores and here we were again exerting ourselves in a sapping sun.


As each car passed up and kicked up dust which seemed to then become a permanent part of our skin, we got drier and drier. After what seemed like forever, we crested this hill and could see the long slope in front of us with the deep dark Pacific behind it. Trees were so sparse we named them individually. (Hello, Eduardo!) Shade was only available if you dug a hole and climbed into it. Virtually everyone we encountered spoke of their sunburns and tanlines in incredulous ways. How can one get a burn sitting in the middle seat of a van all day?

At the bottom of the hill, I knew we had one climb left and then if memory served me we were mostly rolling downhill the rest of the way. Memory did NOT serve me.  I remembered essentially none of the downhill parts on the way out but they were making their presence known here as uphills on the way back.

We plodded along and a large herd of horses, which had been numerous smaller herds on our way out, appeared in front of us. Skittish in a way only a half ton animal can be, they were continually eying us and moving forward in a straight line on the road in front of us. We would trot and they would trot. If we happened to kick a stone or shuffle our feet in the dirt, one of the foals would skip ahead even quicker. If at any time they had simply move to the left or the right about ten yards we could have passed by them completely with no bother. But they continued forward on the road which was hardly any more smooth than the field beside us. Finally, the Einstein of the group crabwalked a few feet askew and realized we weren’t chasing them. In fact, unless there were sloths on Easter Island, we weren’t “chasing” anything.

At this point we could see the cruise ship around the bend. Too bad around the bend was still three miles away.

The remoteness of everything about this island really hits home when the only signs of human life you see, if you see it, is the human life you brought with you. As the occasional van or bus ferried cruise ship people back to Anakena Beach, we realized if we were not here, there was little to no reason for anyone else to be here. No rivers or streams, virtually no trees, brush vegetation at best; this is an inhospitable place to be.

Runners pride themselves on being able to tackle some of the harshest and remote terrains out there.
However, that is often for maybe a dozen hours at most after which they pamper themselves back in the luxury of air conditioning, plentiful food and drink, and an interstate highway system to drive to where they need be. Even as tough and remote as, say the Badwater race is, competitors know they can stop and be back to relative humanity within a few hours. Here, everywhere you look is ocean and the land you are standing on offers very little in the way of solace.

It gives you great pause to think about how fortunate many of us have it. The simple pleasure of amenities like running water are lost on many. I read accounts by athletes who claim to be so hardy as they go off gallivanting with their tech t-shirts and hydration systems, filled to the brim with the concoctions they either purchased at the grocery store or created from the luxury of having endless supplies of whatever powders and solutions they need. Then, after an air conditioned ride to the local trailhead, they endure physical activities for a few hours before returning to their comfy homes and down pillows to talk about how hard their day was on social media.

This is not me and not because I think I am a man who lives off the land. I know I am not. I like creature comforts. I just know how lucky I am to return to them after some exercise and don’t pretend otherwise. Here, laid bare to the elements, you have no choice but to become closer to yourself. Yes, I was just a few miles from being back on a freaking cruise ship and getting seven-star treatment, but knowing that even that cruise ship was thousands of miles away from what I was normally comfortable with really put it all into perspective.

One final up hill put us at the top of a climb that allowed us to see our cruise ship in the water and then a whole bunch of Pacific Ocean behind it.  The people who found this island hundreds of years ago probably weren’t aware of how amazing they were. I only hope that my own endeavors will be a smidgen as awe-inspiring after I have completed them.

The run was a hair over/under thirteen miles. But it was thirteen of the most eye-opening miles I have ever run.

Crystal Cruise Marathon Recap

A Runner's Ramblings: Volume 9; 3rd Edition 
32.9 miles run in 2014 races
Race: Crystal Cruise Marathon
Place: South Pacific
Miles from home: Many, many
Weather: 70s-80s; humid

I have been planning my first cruise for many months now as I was invited to be a special Guest Lecturer on Crystal Cruise Lines. As part of the trip, I had worked with the cruise on a number of ideas on how to help make this one of the healthiest cruises out there. If you have ever spent any time on a ship you can understand how many variables there can be which keep people from sticking to a health plan.

One of the main attractions of this cruise was its stop on Easter Island. The idea of running the Easter Island marathon course as a solo participant was one of our ideas on how to get people to test their boundaries.  However, from the beginning of the cruise, weather around Easter Island had left the water rather choppy.  As such, until we actually got to the island we would not know when we would land and even if we did land, which port it would be. Planning an excursion and all the things to go with running 26.2 miles was nearly impossible. Therefore, we decided to go with one of the alternate plans which was to run a marathon distance around the ship itself. While no one would be joining me for the full distance, many signed up to run a few miles at least.


With the cruise ship having a promenade deck on the 7th level equaling .27 of a mile, in order to complete a marathon distance, I would need to run 97.1 laps. I didn’t realize until my first run on the ship at sea two days prior how difficult that would be.

Traveling at 20 knots with a constant 15 knot headwind, I would definitely be in for an adventure.  I had done two different test runs on the ship to try and gain a feel for how to handle the curveballs ahead. Each run has presented difference challenges.

On one day the boat moved a little more side to side; the other it rocked more forward and backward. The former would pitch me around like a drunken sailor; the latter would give me a feeling of weightlessness for a few seconds before pitching me up a sudden uphill.  I wasn’t sure which was worse. Throw in the 388 hairpin turns with a variety of obstacles at your feet and head (if you are over 6 feet tall), a few dozen other runners and well, I knew this was going to be tough.

Because of my duties on the ship as a speaker, we tentatively scheduled my run for the first Saturday of the cruise. On Friday evening, I got the OK from the Captain to undertake the excursion as it looked like it would be the calmest day at sea we would have. I planned to start around 7 a.m. as I hoped to avoid as the heat of the day but also wanted some sunlight to see the deck underfoot. I forgot that the deck is constantly lit and I could have started much earlier. Alas.

As I readied myself for the run in the morning, the temperature was warmer than I would liked but not horrific. The wind was again blowing steadily at 15 knots at least, almost directly in my face on the right side of the ship. I had been very curious about what my GPS would measure my movement to be on this run but it became a null point. We had entered an area the captain had called a “dead zone” and not only were we receiving no satellite for the internet or television, we definitely weren’t getting any GPS signal for watches.  No matter. With countless other fellow cruiseateers onboard I would have no shortage of people counting laps, taking pictures, and cheering me on.

Moments before we started, I decided to grab another towel to help wipe off sweat. This put me down on the level roughly 3 minutes past seven, the stated starting time. Karl, a passenger on board from Germany, mentioned I was late. His punctuality was greatly appreciated and created a big laugh. Other fellow passengers, Lark and Lynn, were there to start with me as well. It was nice to know I would not be doing this endeavor completely alone. We counted down and started running.

There is no “world record” per se for the fastest 26.2 miles run on a cruise ship, or at least one recognized by Guinness. Nor did I particularly care for making sure the defacto gatherer of existing records knew I was trying to run the fastest time ever for such a distance. However, I did want to know what I should be shooting for and the fastest time I could find was 3:40. I knew if I ran 2:00 per lap I would finish right around 3:15. If I could do that, I would be ecstatic.


The first mile or so was spent just getting used to the way the ship was rocking that morning. It would definitely change throughout the three-plus hours of running but getting my sea legs under me at the start was most important. It was supposedly only 70 degrees but it felt much hotter than that already.

Right off the bat I knew this run would be challenging because at no point would I be able to really just zone out. I was going to have to be constantly in the moment watching for all the obstacles which could pop up. Before too long I surpassed 25 laps which was now the furthest I had ever run on the ship. Even though that was a only hair shy of just seven miles, it was a nice barrier to break. Another mile later and the first third of the run would be essentially done.

My nutrition rationale was going to fall in line with many of the timed races I have done around short courses. I have found that when drinks are made available to you very frequently, you tend not to take them in at all, always thinking the next half mile is when you will grab a drink. So after the first five miles, I knew I had to make sure I was getting something every three miles to begin with, moving on down to one mile near the end.

Dream Job

I have a Dream Job.  Or so I am told by those who think I do.

Understand me, I very much enjoy my life. I write and speak for a living. I travel the world (well, mostly the United States), seeing it by foot in many places, and interact with thousands of people.  As a full-fledged adult (even if I don't act like it) I know how lucky I am even on that last point alone. Once you leave higher education, what are the chances that you will actually converse with more than 10 different people each day? You commute to work, work, commute home, then hang out with your family, if you have one. Getting out and about to meet new people is not part of that equation, for the most part.

Which is why I love the work I do. That is also one of the main reasons I do it. I am not getting rich off of it. My two books are well-received but have sold like one millionth as many as 50 Shades of Grey. My work is not without constant headaches. I am an instant responder in a world growing increasingly slow in response time. I am one who loves "persons" but cannot stand "people": that collective which grows exponentially in rudeness, ignorance and just plain self-centeredness as they increase in numbers in a single place.

The pictures of the places I post are usually done with my smiling mug in the foreground; the dreaded "selfie." I think it gives the photographs depth and cannot stand plain scenery shots. I am also not skilled enough nor do I have a nice enough camera to simply take a picture of a sunrise and awe you with it.  And of course I look good in the pictures I post- I am not going to post the eyes half-closed, spittle in the corner of my mouth shots.

My reports from afar often tell about the wonderful places I go and the fantastic people I meet. Only when the situation gets exceptionally hairy, and mostly for comic relief purposes alone, do I talk about all the blech that goes along with getting from point A to B and back again. Standing on a concrete floor for 8 hours in a row for two straight days, answering the exact same questions hopefully in a new and different way, running fairly far fairly fast and then lugging myself, the rental car and my heavy books back to the airport to do it all over again probably 5 days later sounds fantastic, doesn't it?

Believe me, this is not a woe is me column.  Like I said, the end product of what I do is worth it. I have experienced more than this small-town boy from Northwest PA could ever have hoped to experience in a lifetime. What I have done and what I continue to get to do are by-products of a ridiculous amount of work both athletically and professionally.  I also know how fortunate I have been, as this Slate article puts it so succicntly. But I also believe strongly in the idiom that things only fall in the lap of people who happen to go where things fall. (If that isn't actually an idiom, I am claiming it right now.)

Which leads me to the point of this article (this is called "burying the lede.") Without a doubt some people on this planet are just going to have stuff handed to them. So be it. The rest of us have to work hard, scrimp and save and chances are we are still going to not get what we want or need.  Unrewarded genius or hard work is almost a constant on this planet. Life is exceedingly unfair. But it is remarkably rewarding every now and then.

Dream Job or not.