Tsunami Debris, Part 2

Tuesday, 22 Mar 11 – Yokota Air Base, Japan

Home sweet home.

When I wake, it takes me a few moments to piece everything together, but it all comes back. I’m in Japan. I’m on the 11th floor of an old family apartment housing tower on Yokota AB. And I’ve blown my show time by a good two and a half hours for this morning. Normally, this would incite panic, but today, I’m too tired to bother. My only thought is finding food, coffee, and figuring out a way to call Alaska. Once upon a time, I was scheduled to do a phone interview with the Alaska National Guard, and it was supposed to happen today from the comfort of my office in SC. The commander knew what was going on, however, and said we’d figure it out.

I shower, throw on my uniform, and head downstairs to where I know there will be a shuttle at some point to the other side of base. The weather outside is cold and wet, made worse by my lack of outerwear. On my way out, I’m lucky enough to find a pot of coffee that has been sitting on a burner for a good 12 hours. It’s enough to glue my teeth together, but it’s hot and has caffeine in it, so it’s good enough for now.

I catch the shuttle  across base, and make it to the dining facility just in time to catch breakfast. The base seems so quiet to me, then I realize that they’ve evacuate all the families living on base due to the radiation “threat.” The facility is nearly empty, and the food is mostly gone. Luckily, they have what I like: eggs, bacon, and fruit. After breakfast, I head to the US Forces – Japan HQ, which if I recall, is a few blocks over and away from the chow hall, but I certainly have no bearings at this time. I luck my way to the windowless door, where I see another major in a flight suit crossing the street from the flight line.

“Hey, are you Matt?”

“I am.”

“I’m Macky. Welcome to Japan. Let me show you around.”

Macky walks me into the basement of the building, which is the Joint Operations Center (JOC) and Air Operations Center (AOC) are located. The place isn’t exactly what I’m used to given my experiences on the other side of the world. In fact, it’s a dump. Think of a church basement that gets used once or twice a year and that’s what I’m looking at. It’s a dumping ground for second-hand fridges, hand-written notes reminding you to clean up after yourself, and dated cubicles. Wiring everywhere, everything looking cobbled together and jury rigged.

But despite the humble surrounds, the energy is palpable and exciting. This place is simply packed with people trying to help Japan. Still on Eastern time, my mind can barely digest everything Macky is throwing at me as we walk to his desk. Macky is here from the 33rd Rescue Squadron on Okinawa, comprised of the HH-60s can crews. My brothers from the 31st, PJs and CROs, have just left.

“We’re kind of out of Search and Rescue at this point, dude. 10 days, you’re not finding survivors at this point, you know? Now we’re doing this HADR thing.” He pronounces it hay-dir, and leads me to his desk.

“Humanitarian Aid and Disaster Response.  We’re doing resupply runs and the like, but to tell you the truth, we’re not doing too much any more. I don’t think we’ll be here too much longer. We want to help, but we’ve got a deployment coming soon, so we have to keep an eye on things.”

Macky introduces me around to all the people glued to their computer monitors. Two colonels sit at the head of a U-shaped formation of computers, a large drop-down screen at the other end. I mistakenly assume it serves a function like a projected image. But I will learn it’s actually just down to hide the rat’s nest of admin supplies hiding behind it. Macky tells everyone I speak Japanese, to include the colonels, and I make every attempt to downplay my ability.

The resulting questions are always the same:

“So, how did you end up deployed to Japan as a CENTCOM guy?”

I explain about Kesennuma, and my grandmother. How I felt like I should be over here doing what I could.

“What are you going to be doing over here?

Funny, thought you might be able to tell me…but for now, I say I’m here to do whatever needs to be done to help out.  The colonels, upon learning what I do on the other side of the world, immediately ask me if I’d like to run their Joint Personnel Recovery Center.

After I get in-processed and computer accounts all set up and running, Macky offers to take me across the street to the helos. There’s a flight headed out this afternoon, and it would be a great opportunity to build some awareness of what’s happening. Actually, Macky is just happy to get out of the basement. He’s been working 12 hour days without a break, and he’s been pulling duties as a liaison for the 33rd over in the AOC instead of just flying. So we head across the street. Macky pitches his idea about me flying up with the guys to Sendai, maybe check in with the CCT guys who opened the airfield and see if there’s anything going on for Personnel Recovery up there. As he was talking, I was calculating. All my kit was on the other side of the flight line, I had no means of transportation, and the wheels up time was fast approaching.

Luckily, they had a vehicle to loan me, and I was able to get there and back in time. As I was rushing to throw on my kit and pack a ruck with warm clothes if I needed them, I briefly considered taking my sleeping bag and pad, but in the end decided against it. This will prove to be problematic in the near future.

Tags: Japan, Operation TOMODACHI, tsunami, Yokota Air Base

Tsunami Debris, Part 1

I don’t want to write this series.

I’ve put it off for almost a year, but I really have no good reason. It’s not like I had an awful experience in Japan. No PTSD, no harrowing missions, nothing more exciting than a 7.0M aftershock…the work I did, in retrospect, seems almost insignificant. But for some reason, the idea refuses to die. A few days ago, I started seeing articles regarding how the debris from the 11 Mar tsunami is now reaching North American shores. Evidently it’s made landfall in the Pacific Northwest already, and set to hit Alaska in the next couple of weeks. So here I am, halfway across the world, and the tsunami is literally following me. I guess it’s time, so without any further ado, let’s begin.

—

21 Mar 11, Narita Airport, Japan

It’s been ten days since the quake and resulting tsunami. The Japanese are now calling it something: Higashi Nihon Daishinsai. The rough translation is “Great East Japan Earthquake and Disaster.” But from my little window in first class, nothing I see suggests this place was hit by one of the strongest quakes on record. Japan, so far, looks like what I remember. Busy. Rainy. Crowded.

I am exhausted. The past week has stretched me to my limits. Once we learned of my grandmother’s death, Jen and I flew my sister Lydia out from Seattle so she could spend Spring Break with us as opposed to alone. Wheels were in motion to deploy me to the US-led relief effort, so I was unable to take any time off from work. Things were frenetic, as I spent days on the phone, trying to negotiate the system, then hustling home to spend some time with Jen and Lydia. I’ve been up for nearly 36 hours at this point. Lyd flew out early from Charlotte, so we drove up there to drop her off, turned around, and went to the airport in Columbia and Jen dropped me off. I’ve spent the entire flight immersing myself in Japanese. I have watched Harry Potter twice in Japanese, once in English, and have read through my Japanese phrase books ad nauseum. Before I boarded the flight for Narita, I spoke to my Dad, and he told me how proud he was that someone from the family would be in Japan to help since a medical condition limited him. I confessed to him my fear that my language abilities had been oversold in an attempt to get me to Japan. My greatest nightmare was the linguistic equivalent of the one where you’re naked: A US General says something in English, turns to me, and awaits my translation, and I’ve got nothing.  Dad assured me it would all come back to me eventually, I just needed some time. But I was less confident.

So, I spent the flight immersing myself as much as possible. Refreshing basic intros, questions, numbers, etc. But all that can’t keep me from screwing up my customs form when I arrive. I manage a perfunctory “Doumo arigatou” (thank you) in my exit from customs and proceed into Narita proper, where I wander like a sleep-deprived gaijin and try to figure out where the shuttle to Yokota Air Base is located. There is an information desk manned by several Japanese people who look pleasant enough, so after reviewing my phrase books several times, I approach the desk, ready to ask for the location of the shuttle in Japanese.

Instead, what comes out is: “English o hanashimasuka?” What a chicken. I’ve just asked if anyone speaks English.

“Yes,” responds one of the ladies. Tan as I am, I’m sure that wave of relief that just washed over me also left my face red.Turns out I’ve wandered past the shuttle point several times already, and it is conspicuously marked by the only other white people in Narita right now. When I get there, I swear I recognize one of the other servicemen standing there as an officer in my community. But, I can’t be sure as tired as I am, so I simply find a seat and continue to study my Japanese.

The shuttle ride is uneventful. The welcome packet sent to me before I deployed warned I should be prepared for a long shuttle ride on the order of several hours. But in less than an hour and a half, we arrive at Yokota. On the ride, all I can think about is how nothing I see suggests a 9.0 hit only a week ago. Or that right now, on the northeast coast, people are still in survival mode. Keeping up with my emotions at this point is a useless endeavor. I have been through a lot in the past week, I haven’t slept in two days, but I’m here. If I haven’t mentioned that I deployed without any real clue what I’d be doing when I arrived, well, now you know. I have on hand, exactly one name and one phone number to call, and I can’t do the math in my head right now to figure out whether it’s a good idea or not. The hangar is freezing, a sobering reminder of the plight of the survivors at this point. In-processing goes fairly quickly, and evidently I’m expected to show up at the US Forces-Japan HQ tomorrow at 0530 to start in-processing with them, and find my job.

I hitch a ride to my quarters, which are in an old apartment tower on the other side of the flight line, somewhere on the 11th floor. I arrive and find I’m housed with about ten enlisted troops from the Special Operations Group at Okinawa, who are spread throughout the apartment on sleeping bags and pads. I have no idea what the SOG is doing here at this point, but then again, I can’t even tell people what I’m doing here either. I pop a sleeping pill, briefly pause to consider the early show time I have tomorrow, then swallow anyway. If I miss it because I slept through, whatever. Right now, I just need to sleep. 10 minutes into a movie on my laptop, it hits me like a train wreck in slow motion. I turn off the computer, and fall into a deep sleep.

Tags: Higashi Nihon Daishinsha, japan earthquake, Operation TOMODACHI, tsunami

End of Mission

Baghdad, 2004. Me and Wanker in between runs on RPG Alley (MSR Tampa)

This week, Iraq has been on my mind quite a bit. What was once Operation IRAQI FREEDOM became Operation NEW DAWN, which officially ends on on the 31st of December. I hope Iraq, with its controversy and its bloodletting, is not doomed to suffer the same fate as Vietnam within American culture. Tom Ricks, over at The Best Defense, has shown concern over the past year about the rate of decline in the number of books written on Iraq being picked up by publishing houses. As divisive as Iraq has been, and felt, it is not nearly as divisive as Vietnam, which gives me solace.  But I fear that in our collective haste to move past Iraq, and focus on domestic issues, the needs of veterans will fall by the wayside.

The remarkable transformation of the VA; recognition of TBI as an actual injury; the post 9/11 GI Bill; these are all good things that have happened as a result of national awareness of veteran issues. Awareness that would have never happened if Iraq wasn’t going on at the time. This why organizations like R4V are so important. Wars end; the experience of of the veteran never ends. As we move into a post-Iraq/Afghanistan world, someone will have to remember the vets. I hope that someone is you.

 

 

Tags: Iraq, Operation NEW DAWN, R4V, VA, veterans

The Road Not Taken

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood,
and I—I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference

-Robert Frost

Each day, before I step out the door, I have a choice. I can go or stay. This morning, the choice wasn’t easy. My legs were tired from accumulating 16 icy miles yesterday. The memory of a fall crossing an iced-over bridge over Ship Creek was fresh in my mind (and on my rear). Last night I slept like a dead man and awoke like one too. I piddled around, drank coffee, checked the weather, checked Facebook, checked my blog, checked Facebook again, contemplated what witty status update would truly capture who I am as a person… the procrastinating was interminable. Finally, I packed my breakfast, lunch and fresh cookie from Jen into my trusty North Face, and set out. My legs felt like wood. Clumpy. My core felt sloppy. I wasn’t looking forward to meeting up with the glare ice I encountered yesterday. But, with a little help from Pandora and a reluctant but willing cardiovascular system, the gears got into motion. As much as I wanted to catch a ride into work this morning, by the fourth mile, I was loving it. An inch of fresh under my Yaktrax kept the slip factor low, and conditions were downright pleasant. 31 degrees, and lightly snowing; perfect for a lovely crunch and bite underfoot.

Point is, you make your choices and you commit, in running as in anything else. Like Frost said about this poem, taking the road less traveled might seem loony to others, hence the ironic sigh. But only you can judge the path you’ve taken. I hope your path rewards you as much as mine!

Tags: Morning run, Poetry, Robert Frost, Winter run

Up Close and Personal with the R4V Executive Director

Megs crushing a triathlon.

A few weeks ago, as I thought about some new posts, I thought it might be a good idea to spread the word about R4V. Even better, I thought, if I could get the word straight from the source (as ‘up close’ as email allows). I’ve known Meghan Lederer for a couple of years now, through her husband Eric. For Eric and Meghan (Megs, as I know her), a good time involves heading to the hills with fanny packs full of PB&Js for a 30-50 mile run, or maybe something longer. What follows below is an email interview with Megs concerning R4V. For more information, please visit their website.

1) What is Team R4V for those who haven’t had a chance to check out your website yet?

Team Racing for Veterans (R4V) is a non-profit organization whose mission is to support the rehabilitation of and provide opportunities for veterans in the United States through their involvement in athletics, races, and adaptive sports. Our mission involves empowering veterans to follow through on a path of healing with a sense of pride and accomplishment.

2) How did you come to be involved with R4V?

As I was finishing up the second year of my Master’s Degree, my husband got a phone call from one of his Air Force Academy friends, Joey Plank. Joey was calling to see how life was going and mentioned that he was thinking about starting a non-profit that focused on supporting disabled veterans.  Eric mentioned that I was going to school for non-profit work and if Joey wanted any feedback to send me an email. Joey sent me an email that week and I provided feedback and assisted him and his wife, Bethany, in the initial stages of R4V. We collaborated over the next 6 months and eventually got to meet when they drove down to Tennessee to hang out and race in the Rev3 Knoxville triathlon. We hit it off immediately and they offered me the Executive Director position the next month. I happily agreed. Married to an OEF and OIF veteran, I have seen first-hand the effects of war on service members and their families. I also believe that being active can fundamentally alter a person’s life, and have witnessed this phenomenon while coaching 5k, 10k, half-marathon and marathon training groups. I consider myself extremely lucky to have a job that I am passionate about and look forward to every day!

3) Why R4V as opposed to one of the other veteran’s support NPOs?

Team R4V is taking a unique approach to rehabilitation and reintegration in that we are tapping into the power of sport to rehabilitate the mind, body and soul, foster camaraderie, and to instill a sense of pride and accomplishment in oneself. Recent research has proven that self-empowerment is a critical component to the rehabilitation process, especially in healing injuries such as PTSD and TBI, the “signature wounds” of Iraq and Afghanistan. Through sports and physical challenges, veterans begin taking back the power that trauma stripped of them and developing the confidence and strength to take control of their lives.  That’s why Team R4V is focused on giving disabled veterans the opportunity to set goals and compete again.

Another way in which Team R4V is unique is that we serve all United States disabled veterans with a service-connected disability, both active-duty members and those that have retired, separated or been discharged from the military. They do not have to be wounded in combat, as we believe anyone who has served their country and sustained a life altering injury deserves support and assistance.

4) When you think of who R4V will support, is/are there a/some individual/folks whose story really keeps you motivated in your work with R4V?

Second Lt. Ryan McGuire prepares for his swimming competition, during the Wounded Warrior, Games Colorado Springs.(Photo by TSgt Samuel Bendet)

More than I could have ever imagined. I think about the people that I have met on this journey, and they have this fight about them – this raw determination to live and passion for life. I don’t know what makes someone like this – it may be that they have looked death very closely in the eye and realized that this is the one life that they have. What they do not know is that they inspire me daily to live life passionately, enjoy quiet moments, and love with all that I am. One individual that stands out in particular is Chief Master Sergeant Damian Orslene, or the “Chief” as he likes to be called. The Chief was an accomplished triathlete, and competing in races was a favorite pastime of his; however, all of that was put in jeopardy during his 2007 deployment to Kirkurk, Iraq where he sustained multiple injuries. The Chief “twisted” his hips, tore his shoulder, blew vertebrae, damaged his ears and was diagnosed with a Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI). These injuries along with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) have brought with them many challenges. Post –injuries, the Chief thought about taking his life. He told me he had never felt that kind-of low before; the pain was so intense and that was all he had to focus on. Then, he was asked to represent the Air Force in the 2010 inaugural Warrior Games (an Olympic style event sponsored by the Department of Defense and the U.S. Paralympics for disabled veterans). He trained for 10 months as hard as he could, and competed in multiple swimming events and wheelchair basketball. The Chief says that sports absolutely saved his life. It gave him hope, empowered him to focus on healing, and gave him the much-needed self-confidence that is crucial to following through on a path of healing with a sense of pride and accomplishment.  The Chief is an absolute inspiration, but he is also in need of a wheelchair to practice basketball in, and a bike that is adapted to his abilities. He has reached out to multiple organizations for assistance, but no organization has been able to help him. This is where Team R4V will fill in the gaps of support.

5) Explain how R4V will work – what is the model? (Looking for an idea of the moment someone donates/raises money, where it will go from there, the end product, etc.)

Team R4V strives to be as lean and transparent as possible. In such, we have made the process very simple and straightforward for our veterans and donors. Donations will be used one of two ways: to directly support wounded veterans or to support our charitable athlete program. A simple process for veterans is of utmost importance to our organization. We have heard complaints that it is way too difficult for veterans to get support form other organizations, so we have taken that feedback and made our process straightforward.  In order for a veteran to get R4V assistance, all they have to do is log on to our website (www.teamr4v.org) and go to the “Veterans” tab. The application to receive funding is posted on our webpage. They fill it out and then email it back to us. We will have an answer for them within 8-10 weeks regarding funding. Let me also explain the charitable athlete program of Team R4V, which is our primary renewable source of funding for wounded veterans. A charitable athlete is an individual who commits to raising funds for Team R4V in exchange for an entry into a race along with a top-notch training program. Our charitable athletes will be coached by Coach Cami Stock, who is the founder and owner of Wild Blue Racing. For more information about Team R4V’s charitable athlete program, visit: http://www.teamr4v.org/Athletes-Corner/Overview.html

6) R4V is brand-new, and you obviously see a lot of potential in the organization. What can we expect to see from R4V over the next year or so?

We have a very exciting race calendar in 2012 in which charitable athlete teams will be racing for Team R4V. Our inaugural event is the Anthem Half-Marathon in Virginia Beach, and after that we have the Air Force Marathon, Army 10 Miler, Marine Corps Marathon and New York City Marathon. We need athletes who will run for our organization for each race. If all charity slots are filled, we will raise over $200,000 that will go directly to assisting disabled veterans. Team R4V is also very involved in the CrossFit community. We have set up a fundraiser that will take place during the 5-week Open Competition leading up to the 2012 Crossfit Games. We have quite a few gyms involved, but anyone in any gym can participate. Details are on our website.

7) If there is one thing the readers of this post take away, what would do you hope they get from it? 

Matt, your blog says it all: “Run for Something”. Of course, I would love for your readers to run, race, CrossFit and fundraise for Team R4V, but giving to any veteran support organization is a worthy cause. The number of disabled veterans in the United States has jumped by 35% since 2001. Deployments have been longer and redeployments to combat without breaks have been common. Not only have many suffered the serious physical consequences of war, but many have also paid the grave psychological costs. Over 300,000 military service members who have returned from Iraq or Afghanistan have experienced symptoms of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) or major depression. Over 170,913 veterans have been diagnosed with Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI).

I hope that your readers will continue to support each brave man and woman that has served and is serving our great nation.

Tags: adaptive sports equipment, Chief Master Sergeant Damian Orslene, Meghan Lederer, R4V, veterans

Stay Tuned…

True believers, I’m excited to let you know that I have some new posts coming your way. Keep yourself in the know by subscribing or checking back often…I’ve got a great email interview with the Executive Director of R4V, Meghan Lederer, all teed up, and you are going to want to read what she had to say. 

Tags: Japan, Meghan Lederer, R4V, Run For Something

Race Report: Anchorage Turkey Trot

Well, the good news is, I won. The bad news is, conditions weren’t exactly PR material. Temps were good – 10 or 15, but it was snowing and we ran on variable packed snow.

I got up early yesterday to get some food prep rolling, then kissed Jen and Rider on my way out the door. Driving up to Bartlett HS, the driving was a little tricky in the snow, and vis wasn’t great. Pulling in to the parking lot, I saw what I expected: super small race, just 100-odd folks around trying to stay warm. Luckily  they opened the school for us, so I was able to duck in and drop some things off before warming up.

The course was three loops around the school, pancake flat. On a summer day, it was PR material. Yesterday…not so much. As I jogged around, I found myself on decently packed or shallow snow one minute, slipping and punching through crust the next. My hopes of ideal conditions were dashed in about the first 100 yds. So, I decided the day needed to be about effort, not time. Not any easy mindset shift for me, but necessary nonetheless. I felt pretty good, but I was still disappointed in the conditions.

I decided on spikes after warming up in my Yaktrax, hoping they would give me some traction when I needed it while staying light on my feet. On the starting line, the cold didn’t even bother me, thanks to the unseasonable weather last week, which was good.

I took the lead from the start, trying to pick paths with the best footing, but some of the turns required me to slow way, way down lest I risk eating it. In my head, I felt like my effort level was honest. I resolved before the start to avoid looking at my Garmin, so I had no idea how fast or slow I was going, but I guessed 5:30. As we neared the end of the first lap, I strained to hear the timer…

“5:56, 57, 58, 59, six minutes,” was the unwelcome cry I heard at the first lap.

Say what? Six minutes? I tempo runs faster than that pace! I tried to just let it roll off my back and focused on the task at hand. It was hard. Luckily, there was one guy on my shoulder to keep me honest. For the next half mile, I did my best to drop the pace, working the stuff with good footing and just kind of making it through the bad stuff. I dropped 2nd somewhere around 1.5-1.75 on a short surge, and never looked back.

I started to lap people, which got tricky. We were all looking for the good traction, but I made the standard pleas for space as I approached slower people. But, some folks just don’t know what “On your left!” means. So that was tricky too. Coming into the last mile, I really dug for another gear, but just as I felt like I was picking things up, my feet would slip and throw me off. It was a little frustrating but I didn’t let it bother me too much. I just kept thinking that I needed to work each section as hard as I could, and that kept me on track.

I finished in 17:48, which is not fast at all, but how do you account for conditions? There were times when I felt like a Loony Tunes character, feet spinning out as I tried to ratchet down the pace. I was able to negative split each lap, but not by much. And even those precious few seconds each mile came with a bill attached.

On Monday, I had to do a PT test I forgot about, which included a 1.5 mile run on an indoor 200m track. Without even a warmup, I ran it in 7:56 (5:17 pace). It was the fastest I’ve run the distance since my college days, and I while wasn’t jogging, it wasn’t 100% either. As a result, coming in to yesterday, I didn’t think that holding 5:25 pace for 5k was a stretch. So, it was definitely disappointing to run 17:48.  But, keeping things in perspective, I think I raced as well as can be expected for the conditions. It’s a tough pill to swallow, because I want to be the guy who is fast regardless of how slippery the roads might be.

But, first is first. I even got a Butterball for my efforts so how can I complain? I know where my fitness level is at, and if I have to wait until spring to prove it in a race, so be it.

Tags: 5k, Anchorage, running, Thanksgiving, Turkey Trot

Cold Weather Running

The Alaska-stache at rest.

As a newly re-born cold-weather runner, I thought I’d share some advice and thoughts on running through the winter. Okay, check it out:

Alaska.

Quick – what was the first thing that came to mind? Bullwinkle the moose? Frozen, barren wasteland? Endless winters and months within literally no sun? The answer is that all responses are correct. Alaska is the size of about 30% of CONUS, and with it come the widest variety of climates you will find anywhere in this great nation (Author’s Note: non-scientific response, of course, but feel free to wiki or Google it at will.) Here in Anchorage, we sit next to a rather large body of water known as the Pacific. Technically, we’re on the Cook Inlet, which is an extension of the Pacific, but you get the idea. That large body of H2O likes to warm up slowly, and cool down slowly as well. As a result, it moderates the affected climate significantly. For example, average temps here in the winter are actually much warmer than where I grew up in northern Minnesota. More snow, but warmer for sure.

Daylight – yep, head up to Barrow and you will indeed lose the sun for a bit. But here in Anchorage, the shortest amount of daylight is about 6 hours, not including dawn/dusk, on 21 December.

The point of all this useless trivia is this: winter does in fact come to Alaska, but what it is largely depends on your location. Which brings us back to Anchorage, and the attempts of yours truly to continue to train through the colder months. And yes, it’s cold. Last week, when the above pic was taken, daily lows were in the negative 10s-20s F with the windchill. So, to make it through runs without ending up a frostbite victim, you have to equip yourself for the cold. The key here is layering. Try and head out in a something that looks like what your mom sent you out the door in when you were a kid, and you will quickly find yourself overheated and soaked with sweat under that sweet, neon-striped moon suit. Here’s how to break it down:

1) Base Layer. Your base layer should be tight, and next to the skin. Depending on temps, you can wear something very thin and light, or thick and warm. I prefer to keep it as thin as possible. The purpose of the base layer isn’t to keep you warm per se – it’s to transport moisture away from the surface of your body. Dry skin is warm skin – wet skin, not so much, and your body is constantly evaporating moisture as a part of its metabolic processes, whether it’s 50 below or 120 above. So, for example, last week I wore a Patagonia Capilene top and bottom, very light weight. On my hands were some tight-fitting polypro fleec gloves, and just the usual running socks on my feet. Oh, and before I forget…fellas. Invest in some windproof undies. So very worth the pain they prevent.

2) Middle Layer: This is where insulation starts to happen. Remember that warm clothes aren’t warm because they magically generate heat. They’re warm because they trap and reflect the heat generated by the 98.6 degree furnace beneath it. It still needs to breathe and wick, because the moisture your base layer transported needs to go somewhere, right? And that somewhere needs to be away from your body. For me, and this is all a matter of preference and body style, I actually wore a middle layer. I usually won’t until temps get to around zero, just because I prefer to err on the side of being cold as opposed to overheating. I should specify, however, that I did so only up top, not on my legs. My middle layers last week were technical running tops, half zips. A little thicker than the base layer, and a little more loose, but still wicking and still fitted enough not to be all baggy.

3) Outer layer. Your outer layer serves two purposes: keep what’s outside on the the outside, and move what’s inside, to the outside. Ideally, the outer layer should counter the environmental threat you face. If it’s raining, it should shed water. If it’s windy, it should block the wind. If it’s snowing, it should be water-resistant enough to shed the snow as it melts from the body heat escaping your layering system. Last week, my hat was a windproof North Face beanie, and my top was either a light softshell or an extremely light hardshell wind jacket. Over my fleece gloves I wore hard shell gloves to block the wind and trap heat. Oh, and I would be remiss if I didn’t mention glasses – I wear Rudy Projects with clear lenses, which are absolutely indispensable to keeping cold wind and snow out of my eyes. Also, I like to wear a gaiter around my neck when the wind is really bad and cold since breathing with a frostbitten neck can be problematic. My shoes are the same shoes I wear year-round, with Yaktrax to buy traction on the the snow and ice. I experimented with the pants – one day I wore some loose tights, the other day I wore the Saucony ones that highlight my curves. Both worked well, but the looser ones are the smart choice when it gets really cold since they keep the wind off your skin.

Okay, so that’s how I deal with the cold. Layer up, layer smart. The best rule of thumb is that you should always start the run feeling cold, and let the exercise-generated heat warm you as you progress. Now, let’s talk about how light (or lack thereof) affects how I train up here.

It’s dark here, boys and gals. Daylight is short, and doesn’t align well with prime running time (early morn/early evening). There are tangible effects and intangibles to short days…Tangibles: when it’s dark, you need to be able to see, and be seen. In order to see, I wear a headlamp to ensure I don’t run smack into a lightpole, errant moose, or another runner. Unfortunately, what I’m using right now is not putting out enough light for my comfort level, so I need to fix that. It also helps me to be seen, whether I’m on the trail or the roads. But while some manufacturers have gone to endless lengths to ensure their outerwear is easily visible (neon colors, reflective piping, and even battery-powered lighting), the cheap remedy is simply to drop about $3.50 on some adhesive reflective safety tape. Cut it up into some small pieces that you can stick/sew on your back, front, sleeves, whatever, and you achieve the same effect.

Intangible effects of the evil dark: who the hell wants to get up at oh-dark-thirty and crush a run in the cold? Nobody – that’s who. The human body is solar-powered and sun-timed. When days get short, bodies get lethargic and prefer to exercise jaws through the ingestion of peppermint bon-bons and frosty refreshments. There’s even a disease called Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD, get it?) that has to do with folks in norther climes getting so bummed by lack of sunlight that they get uber-depressed. While I’m not planning on offing myself anytime soon, I have noticed the lethargy. I want to sleep longer, later, and just generally have a hard time waking up. Even a cup of inky French-Pressed Ethiopian Go-Juice can’t seem to get me going. So, I bought a full spectrum lamp (known colloquially as a “Happy Lamp”) that essentially puts out sunlight. When I get up, I make my coffee, then sit in front of that bad boy while I enjoy my drank. Within 20 minutes, I feel like noticeably more energetic and motivated to get out the door.

So, that’s it. I’m happy to report that my worst fears moving from the Dirty Durty regarding running in the winter have proven unfounded. It’s true I won’t be on the track too much until spring, but maintaining a good base should be no problem. I’ve started running to and from work in the mornings and afternoons, and that gets me about 13-14 miles a day. For speed, I just hop on a treadmill. The conditions outside are a challenge – sometimes I’m on hard-packed trail, sometimes road, and sometimes, I’m struggling to hold 10 minute mile pace because I’m on soft snow or crust. But I like the challenge, and the variety. After two years of pounding nothing but pavement, it’s nice to get the same benefits on a multitude of surfaces.

Look, you can get super nerdy with this stuff. It’s not like summer: shoes/shorts/tee? Simple Check. And it’s all individual, and sometimes gender-driven. You’ll ge

Tags: Alaska, Anchorage, coffee, Darkness, Full Spectrum Lighting, geeking out, indiesummit, Layering, Light, Motivation, Patagonia, SAD, tights, Winter Running, Winter Training, Yaktrax

Veteran’s Day: Catching Up

Well, it’s been a while, huh?

Man, a lot has happened since my last post in March. It’s been seven months, to the day. I look back at that post, and it’s hard to imagine trying to even summarize everything that has gone down since then. I won’t try and do it all in one post – I owe those of you who actually take the time to read my posts some actual details. But I’ll hit the major points tonight, and try to go from there over the coming weeks.

For those of you who weren’t aware, we lost my grandmother, Tokuno, in the tsunami. Even as I type these words, it doesn’t seem real. It’s hard to think about, really. She died when the tsunami hit the rest home in Kesennuma at which she spent portions of her weeks. Some were evacuated to the roof of the building, but unfortunately she was not one of them. We don’t have a lot of detail on it, and it’s difficult to even try to imagine, so I try not to think about it too terribly much. It was an absolutely agonizing several days as we waited for word from our family, glued to televisions, Skyping with relatives who were not in the affected area, and watching news reports on the internet. For some time, there was simply nothing. For all we knew, we lost everyone. My dad carried an especially heavy burden for those days, as he received only a 30s phone call from his brother in the wake of the tsunami before the call terminated. For days, we knew nothing other than that. There was simply no information. Then, as we slowly started establishing accountability, we finally received word on the death of my grandmother. My youngest sister was the first to learn, and it was she who had to notify my dad. Finally, at least we knew.

In the wake of that, I pushed hard within my chain of command for release to deploy to Japan for what was beginning to be known as Operation TOMODACHI, which is Japanese for “friend.” Through the hard work of a dedicated network of peers, supervisors, and what I can only see as divine intervention, I was able to navigate the complex military bureaucracy and soon found myself deployed to Yokota Air Base, Japan. What followed over the next month, I consider the most honorable thing I have done yet in my career. My role was small, miniscule even, in comparison to the dedication the US military poured into that mission. But I count myself a lucky man to have been able to participate for even a brief period of time. Hopefully, I can capture in writing some of my experiences there and share them with you all.

Because life is life, while all this was going on, Jen and I were undergoing a major transition. We decided to leave active duty and pursue an opportunity with the Alaska National Guard, so as all this was going on, I was assembling application paperwork, conducting interviews, and praying for the best. Shortly after returning, I received word I was selected, and thus began major preparations for a huge life transition. Also no small potato! The summer passed quickly, between work, prepping to leave, and everything else, not a day was wasted. We sold cars, bought a new one, filed paperwork, and generally tried to figure out how we were going to live in a radically different location.

Oh, and there was also a lot of running. While in Japan, I didn’t have a lot of time to train, so I just tried to stay as fit as possible. Coming home and getting back in the groove was no picnic, but with the help of my friend and mentor Matthew Whitis, I got back on track. There were successes: at the age of 34, I posted a 4:47 mile / 10:44 2 mile in a local track series in the dead heat of the SC summer. And there were frustrations: my 5k race times were nowhere near where I wanted them to be. But through it all, I trained hard. Looking back, I consider some of those workouts achievements in and of themselves. The last track session I hit in SC was 20 x 400 with 200m jogs, alternating sets of four between 78 and 83s per quarter. I haven’t done a workout like that since college.

The move was incredible. Everything just seemed to keep working out and falling into place, to include finding a buyer for our second car literally days before we drove out of town. We spent time along the way with family (I built an earth oven with my pops in MN, which was super fun), and caught the fall colors on our way up the Alaska Highway in Canada. We saw wildlife, and scenery that would literally blow your mind. And then…we were here, in Alaska. Not for long for my better half, though. After ten days here, Jen got on a plane and spent four incredible weeks in Ethiopia. While there, she supported a new clean water/well rehab project and taught health and hygiene courses to the types of folks who still think disease is caused by evil spirits. You can learn more about her work at www.projectwuha.com, and I simply can’t express how proud I am of my wife.

Which pretty much leads us to the here and now. To be honest, I’m not sure where Run For Something is going in the future. Recently, I re-connected with some old friends, who have established a new NPO called Team Run For Veterans (www.teamr4v.org), and the focus will be on supporting athletic opportunities for disabled vets. Supporting vets has been on my mind for a while, and my new job up here in the AK opens some unique doors. I’ll continue to support Mocha Club’s clean water work in Sudan, but I’m considering making this year more about R4V. Today is Veteran’s Day, and to be honest, I’ve had vets on my mind for some time now, wondering how I can better support my own brothers and sisters.

Oh yeah…running…well, by now you should know me well enough to realize I’m 100%. 100% stop, or 100% go. I’m happy to report it’s still 100% go these days. My first act as an Alaskan was to participate in the Bonny Sosa Tuesday Night Run racing series here in Anchorage, and I didn’t suck. In fact, I manage to place top three in five consecutive trail races. The running scene here is vibrant and a rock-solid aspect of the community – the Bonny Sosa runs are essentially cross-country format trail runs, all hand-timed, and require only a 5$ entry fee. Volunteer-supported, and city-led. The courses are held secret until the time of the race, and each race, which occurs weekly in the fall, is held at a different location. One night, we saw over 1000 Anchorites ranging from newborns to octogenarians out there for the race. It’s one-of-a-kind and a definite kick in the ass.

It’s not going to be like SC, where I could race and train on the track and roads year-round. We’re officially in winter, and the snow ain’t going anywhere. But I feel strong. Strong-like-bull strong. Strong enough to post solid track workouts at altitude, and follow them up with a 3.5hr mountain bike ride of 24 miles and 2400′ of elevation change starting from 7500′. Strong enough to stomp treadmill workouts on the same day I post PRs for a 1000m row on the Concept2 (3:29 if you were wondering). Strong enough to get out in the backcountry on my splitboard and feel like I have miles of travel in my legs. Strong like…well, you get the idea. There’s a turkey trot in a few weeks, and if conditions aren’t heinous, I think I can get under 17. After that, Jen and I are looking at cross-country skis and running snowshoes for winter fitness, but we’re still learning the winter ropes up here.

Over the coming weeks, I want to tell you all some stories, and share some ideas and passions. If you want to hear about anything in particular, I’d love to hear about it in the comments section. I’ve already got a suggestion to talk about strength work as it relates to endurance, and I think it will be interesting to talk about how runners get through harsh winters and emerge ready for summer/fall racing. I’ll be honest…posting every day just isn’t realistic right now (or ever probably), but I think if I set the bar low enough (weekly sound good?), we can see some success. Jen, Eric, and Megs – thanks for your encouragement and re-igniting the embers of creativity. Until next time, true believers…

Tags: running, Mocha Club, Training, SC, Japan, Jen Erickson, Rescue, PR, Run For Something, Ethiopia, Aid, Matthew Whitis, Kesennuma, tsunami, Sendai, Skype, internet, news, media, Operation TOMODACHI, Minami-sanriku, Yokota, Alaska, Bonnny Sosa Tuesday Night Race Series, Project Wuha, Team Run For Veterans, R4V, trail running, cross-country ski, snowshoe, Anchorage, SAR, CSAR, Project Ethiopia, Tom and Theresa Rieder, Arba Minch, Turmi, Addis Abbaba, Megs Lederer, Eric Lederer, sustainability, sustainable aid, water well rehabilitation, mountain biking

12 Mar 11 Workout: An Easy Run / Uneasy Thoughts

Took it pretty easy yesterday. We took Rider for a hike out in Harbison State Park, a beautiful old-growth pine forest. It was a welcome relief from sitting in the house worrying, and a beautiful day.  The trails are well-maintained,  and the terrain is really very nice.

I ran through this exact area of Kesennuma a few years back

Last night, I went out for an easy 6+M jog. I started with my earbuds in, but stowed them after a mile. I needed the silence, some space to think. It was welcome. Naturally, I focused on what is going on with my family here and in Japan. It struck me, as I trotted through the neighborhoods and past a couple of house parties, just how insignificant suffering can be, even when it is massive. The world simply does not stop when tragedy strikes. Life, such as it is, goes on. Here, on the other side of the world, especially. Yet, it isn’t without a twinge of frustration that I open Facebook and find status updates regarding some sort of mundanity, while I write notes about unaccounted-for family members. You will forgive me if I occasionally find my environs trite and meaningless while my father anxiously awaits any news from Japan. Still, I find myself less apt to become bitter in these regards; I accept it as inevitable.  I accept it because I do the same. 10,000…20,000…100,000…they’re simply numbers until we find ourselves connected in some way. I guess that’s just how it is…but it does not make it any less painful for the people who are connected.

My run last night was awful. I was dehydrated, tired, stresssed. But even then, I felt lucky to be able to do it in the first place.  I tried to distract myself by thinking about what’s going on and what I can do to help. I thought about that night run in Kesennuma, when I ran north along the coast until the road ended and I could go no further on a cold and snowy night. I tried to imagine what it would be like to run there now based on the pictures, but I could not imagine it at all.

Tags: earthquake, easy run, Kesennuma, Sendai, tsunami