Saadiq

I've written about this cat before, but he continues to inspire me. Raphael Saadiq is a true artist with a wide range of influences that culminate in a hearkening back to Motown and the smooth vocals of Eddie Kendriks, The Temptations lead tenor during their prime (1965-71). Each performed track is a little different than when I have heard it the previous time, and distinctly different from the cut versions on the album, "The Way I See It." The Q and A at the end of this performance for Google is particularly telling of this man's gifts and vision for music and art.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p5g73nsIDfk

Particularly useful during the season of Lent, where the Church prepares to both mourn and celebrate simultaneously, was a line to introduce one of this artist's best songs of the performance. Saadiq introduces "Big Easy" at the 20:00 mark and says of this upbeat testimony to Hurricane Katrina victims, that the thing about folks in New Orleans is that when they mourn, they celebrate. Say what you will about New Orleans and Bourbon street, but we culturally begin Lent there with Fat Tuesday/Mardi Gras/Shrove Tuesday. It is a feast before a fast to mimic Jesus' fast in the desert to prepare for his death and celebration. Listen to this song and ask God, "Tell me what's goin' wrong?" But, don't leave it there, after naming what's wrong in the world, ask God, "What's comin' that's alright!" Lent is not solely about Lament, but a call to "Get Ready," as Eddie Kendricks wailed about 40 years ago.

Umstead Marathon Race Report (3/7/09)

In the weeks leading up to the Umstead Marathon, I was doubtful. I second guessed my health, my interest in running a marathon, my egos ability to withstand another poor marathon effort. As I was bemoaning my track record with marathons, my wife reminded me that my last marathon was the Black Mountain Marathon in 2006 where I finished 4th in 3:32. That marked a very good run on a very mountainous course. My memory was more negative, forgetting the good and reliving the bad, October 2005, Chicago Marathon where my hopes were so set on breaking three hours on a fast road course. Instead I dropped out at mile 19, defeated and broken in body and spirit, happy only to see the faces of my wife and newborn Kathryn who was then only three months old, and made the trip with mom and dad.

Where I have failed to some extent at road marathons, I have faired better on trails. My first successful day running a trail marathon was 1999 in Breckenridge, Colorado. High above 10,000 feet I ran what was called a marathon, the Crest Mountain Marathon (24.5 miles) in 4 hrs 15 minutes. I remember a banjo player at about 18 miles into the race who plukced for the runners with what to me was a hearkening back to Appalachia. I felt at home in the Rockies and scampered down the mountain, near Peak 7 of the 10 mile range that connects Breckenridge to Frisco, Colorado (where I met Sallie the wonder dog). That was a great day, yet I was slow to be fully converted. Still, the heart of trail runner who could do with less and less road running and racing was beginning to beat louder and slower. The following years brought squandered efforts on the roads when it came time to race the marathon. Someday, I’ll realize those dreams, or maybe not.

The day of Umstead arrived and pain had gone away from my legs in the week before. I was prioritizing a Lenten fast over the marathon, no question that it is more important, but I suspended my fasting routine on the Saturday morning of the race. If I was going to run 26 miles, I did need to eat breakfast and take more than water throughout the race.

It felt like summer by the time of the 9am start. Everyone seemed to wonder why we were starting so late, but it is still officially wintertime and even in Carolina it could have just as easily been below freezing. I ran early on the Wednesday morning before, and the weather channel announced that it was 12 degrees Fahrenheit. Water was nowhere to be found on MLK Parkway, even the bog like creek near Durham Public Works and Kroger could have doubled as an ice skating rink. Seventy six hours later at the start of a marathon and it must have already been in the mid 60s on the way to the high 70s. The temperature was just another reason to go out very conservatively with my friends Quincey and Ronnie. The other reason for a patient strategy was the undulations that would come in the middle and late miles of this tour of Umstead State Park. The three of us chatted away the early miles which was kind of fun. I never do this. I subdue my normally extroverted self in races. I am always running at a pace where talking is the last thing I would want to do. Conversation really did pass the time. It probably annoyed other runners around us, but their choice to run nearby. The three of us were probably around 15th place after three miles of running. We were way behind the leader and he looked strong at a turnaround at two miles. We passed some runners on the single track and the three of us were working well together.

I didn't really pick it up until I saw 3rd and 4th place on the way up from Corkscrew Hill (mile 9-10) and one of them pulled me along to a couple of 6:30 miles. He got in a hurry when he heard me coming and we put in a substantial surge from the roughly 7:15 pace we had been running. Ronnie and Quincey were not going with me as I picked it up and I was thinking I needed to go ahead and start picking off a few runners if I wanted a chance at seeing the guys in first and second place later in the race. I pulled away from Ben from Florida about mile 13 and later passed the 2nd place runner at about mile 21 after two great cheering encounters with my friends Tweak and Knocker and their kids. I even got some high fives from at least two of the little ones when I passed by the first time at about mile 12. This really gave me a boost.

All through the really nasty hills on the backside of the park I was feeling really good (miles 11-20), but as the third hour of running commenced there was no escaping the heat. At every aid station I would drink Gatorade and or water. I would dump water over my head and face, but it was just hot, hot, hot. My legs were slowly starting to cramp. I tried to really stretch my legs out going down toward the lake and the bottom of Corkscrew Hill, because I knew that hill was going to take a toll on my pacing. I kept it going up Corkscrew, counting five miles to go, four miles to go. As I approached the 22 mile aid station there was George IV on the right with a cup of Gatorade. He had mastered the hand off of liquids as well as any adult volunteer. I tried not to cry, either from fatigue or the sheer joy of having my son hand me a drink that I so desperately needed. Kathryn and William were in the stroller to the left, smiling and cheering. I knew I had to keep moving, or the temptation to stop and embrace my loved ones would be too much. I walked while I drank and then I got moving, down Wheel Fell Off Hill. This is an appropriate name. The race leader looked like his wheels were falling off and he was totally dominating the field, probably ten minutes ahead of me at that point. We passed each other on his way back up the hill and when he did not utter a “good job” or “keep going” I knew it was because this hill left no opportunity for extra expenditures of oxygen.

Coming back up Wheel Fell Off Hill on Cedar Ridge (mile 22-23) I was in a death march, but it was still running. Ben from Florida was not more than a couple of minutes behind and moving faster than me, I was certain. I had 2.5 miles to get to the finish line. Would I come second or third? Doubt and worry was creeping in. Oh, how I wanted to stop, but the fastest way to stop the pain was to get to the finish line sooner rather than later. I took two walk breaks up the inclines in mile 24 and 25. Each time was disciplined to a count of 50 and then back to running. It felt like the fastest way to get to the finish, but I knew third place was on his way.

Managed to hold it together and not cry at mile 25 when the wheels really were coming off and Ben from Florida was getting closer in my rearview mirror, and there at the top of the hill were Kristen, George IV, Kathryn, and William cheering their brains out for dad. George rode his bike alongside me for almost half of mile 26 and it was, without question, the only thing that kept me from no more walk breaks and a second place finish.

I managed to sneak in for second place (3:13) and not totally blow up in the heat. It was a well executed race plan.

I sent out an abbreviated version of this race report and here are the names of friends who added their specific congratulations in the couple of days after. One of the best parts about running is that we share the stories with one another and amazingly even some non-runners seem to want to know about these stories.

The entire REI staff, Hyjak, Ram, Mike Broome, Flame, Zap, Tweety, Bobcat, Willow, Freeq, Spinz, Gumbi, XXX, Pinto, Tweak, Knocker, Weez, Zbow, Wayne Crews, Squonk, Balto, Wort, Syren, Meredith Leight, Grynz, Flush, Raven, Zu, Paul Potorti, Proulx, Haggis.

Doesn’t this list make you want a trail name? Come out and run with us—www.trailheads.org.

Monk, aka George

Fly by Night

Image at: mortesubita.org/.../fly-by-night-rush/view

Who remembers “Fly by Night” by RUSH? Have a listen and read along with the lyrics below. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xs07hbaKvug

A month or so ago I was doing a quick meander through Carolina North and I saw two deer and an owl. My fears and anxieties were set at full throttle at the sight of the owl flying away from me, leading me down the trail, soaring off into the distance. I turned the iPod off as I waited for what was a sure and stealth descent on my head. The descent did not come. The owl let me go this time. I let the fear go and savored the recognition that the forest is in control when I enter. Got to thinking about the Philosopher's Way Trail Run which will happen on May 2, 2009 on some of the same trails. Our heavy stomping will probably keep deer and owls hidden, but we might get lucky and get attacked.

I like the fourth stanza of this song in particular:
Start a new chapter
Find what Im after
Its changing every day
The change of a season
Is enough of a reason
To want to get away
Each run is a new chapter of life; a chance to get away. Seasons are changing right about now. Daylight savings time is Saturday and the twilight will push further and further out on the clock. Spring will be official March 21, by the calendar, but I think in North Carolina we can start on the 5th day of the Month.

Register soon for Philosopher's Way at: http://www.trailheads.org/pwtr/index.htm

Lyrics:
Why try? I know why
The feeling inside me says its time I was gone
Clear head, new life ahead
Its time I was king now, not just one more pawn

Fly by night, away from here
Change my life again
Fly by night goodbye my dear
My ship isnt coming and I just cant pretend

Moon rise, thoughtful eyes
Staring back at me from the window beside
No fright or hindsight
Leaving behind that empty feeling inside

Start a new chapter
Find what Im after
Its changing every day
The change of a season
Is enough of a reason
To want to get away

Quiet and pensive
My thoughts apprehensive
The hours drift away
Leaving my homeland
Playing a lone hand
My life begins today

A plea to 44 and me

Some said your inaugural words were condescending
I say prophetic
Your words were a call to service
A call to take responsibility
Critics said there was no memorable line,
like
Ask not what your country...
or
We have nothing to fear, but fear itself.
But you encapsulated both JFK and FDR when you charged me to fight poverty
I heard you charge me to educate the poor

Who are the poor?

In my world
they are children
they are boys of color
and while everyone around me wonders when will I arrive
When will George take a Church of his own?
Why?
So I can give up teaching and learning from the least of these,
adolescent boys who the world says are more likely to obsess over Wiis and Weapons?
No, they are going to school by God and they are learning on my watch
And I'm learning from them
Soaking up all they have to teach me

Will all your political goals be achieved?
Probably not. But we can do some things—end this war and feed the poor. Yes We Can. That's a start and if it is all we do, I'd be proud of these eight years.

Will the world ever be set to rights?
Setting the world to rights is the sole role of the Chosen One and you’re not Him.
But you are both a prophet and a leader. In you I see a rare combo of a King and a Judge. Stay faithful to both of these gifts. Don't cynically become one at the expense of the other.

Stay radical. That does not mean simply stay on the Left, no, stay radical. Remain prophetic, inspire us, lead us, plea that each one of us takes action and does our part.

There’s a knock at the door of humanity right now and it feels like midnight is the hour
or even later
maybe 4am
the darkest hour
but it is always darkest before the light
As the martyr said, we shall overcome because the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.

The arc of light is bending toward and even breaking on the shores of the horizon
Towards a time when things will be better
Where the poor will have rights and food and care
Where war will be no more

And for those who said there was no line for our memories, try,
With hope and virtue, let us brave once more the icy currents, and endure what storms may come.

Valley Forge was a dark time, darker even than now, and they got back in the boat. They crossed over. That line reminds me of the sea that's Red. We face fears. We get back in the boat or we cross with walls of water on both sides.

Thank you Mr. President.
Written by Rev. George E. Linney, III on January 21, 2009, a day after a watershed moment in our history, the inauguration of Barack Obama as the 44th President of the United States of America.

I got to thinking about Easter this morning. It's cold, and I have a cold, and Lent is almost here, but there in front of me was the loud scream of yellow Easter lilies announcing that He is Risen. He is Risen, Indeed.

Did you know that He delights in you? The things that you are doing whether you know him or not, are all part of his plan for you and His plan for the world. I take comfort in moments when there is seemingly no comfort.

He delights in you. Embrace that Good News today.

Which Church Father Are You

You’re Origen! You do nothing by half-measures. If you’re going to read the Bible, you want to read it in the original languages. If you’re going to teach, you’re going to reach as many souls as possible, through a proliferation of lectures and books. If you’re a guy and you’re going to fight for purity … well, you’d better hide the kitchen shears. Find out which Church Father you are at The Way of the Fathers!

Musings on the Uwharrie 20

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.*

Yesterday, I finished third in the Uwharrie Mountain Run 20 miler. My time was 2 hours and 51 minutes. I ran without a watch which turned out to be a great stress reliever. When we went through the eight mile aid station there was lots of jostling for position, because prior to that time we had been in a row of runners—just like a Wednesday morning run in the forest. I thought to myself, it is great that I don't know my split because I have enough to worry about right now. This line of runners included just about everyone in the top ten excluding the guy who took off before the top of the first hill. We never saw him again.

I was very nervous going into this race, thinking I would blow up as I had at Shut-in on November 1, 2008 and that generally I am just incapable of racing more than about two hours. The week before had been a little bit of an over-taper. I did not run Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday. It was just one of those weeks with work and family where running was not happening. I went out Friday at about noon to Little River and ran the back half of the course with Sallie the wonder dog. I wondered, “Have I ever run before? Did I just wake up from a six-month hibernation? I think, no, I’m sure, the lower half of my body is in constant throbbing pain.” But a little hopefulness crept in, as I remembered sometimes this sort of terrible run filled with fear and self-loathing in the 24 hours before a race is the body’s way of conserving both physical and mental energy.

But I really should attend to the race. Oh what fun to go up and down the first hill without being in total kamikaze oxygen debt mode! The eight mile race, my only racing experience in these woods, is really a blur of dodging trees and trying not to land face first in a mud-bog pit. Instead, I was enjoying the morning, even taking in some views as we danced across the ridge. I was glad I had started miserably cold with no gloves and no warm hat for by the time we crested the first climb, the sun was doing its thing and it must have been nearly 50 degrees. By late morning it was pushing high 60s. I casually counted back places as we billy-goated our way up the first hill. I was in eighth. That will do for now as I have many miles to go. Over the next few miles, as we approached the first aid station, which though it seems a marathon away is probably not even five miles from the start, we stacked up single file and the banter began. I was almost at the back of the pack and I kept silent. I could see up ahead a few runners I recognized. I could hear the steady breathing of a few potential contenders on my heels. Up ahead, there was tall Tim who I had spoken to after Run at the Rock. Cid from Inside-Out was right in front of me. Keith, who I knew the best as we had raced last spring together at Owl’s Roost and Anne Springs Greenway and at the latter we had a nice time to get to know one another. Just these last two runners represented two of the top three finishers from last year’s 20 mile race, so I knew they meant business or else they would not have been back in Montgomery County on the first Saturday in February.

My race plan was pretty loose. In a perfect world I might have waited to break from this crowd of 8-10 runners until mile 14 or even later, trying to conserve and avoid a blow up. But things got to moving pretty snail like around mile six and I moved into second place in line (third place in the race) and hoped we might move things along a bit. I did not have a really great plan for what I was about to do, but it was probably motivated by one runner in the crowd who mentioned that he had run the 40 last year and gotten third. I thought to myself, I don’t want to wait around and play the stamina game with this crowd. Most of these folks are much better at long distances than I am, but maybe if I make a move they will forget about trying to race hard. I don’t know what I was thinking. I was probably just being my usual impatient self.

I also wanted to see who in this group really meant to start racing. I thought Cid would follow for sure, I didn’t know who else.

So I went through the eight mile aid station rather quickly and started to pull away. I wouldn’t call it a true surge, but a little pulse. I wanted to see who would shadow this move. I knew that whoever was still in sight as I glanced back in the next couple of miles had intentions as I did of getting on the so called podium. “We” like to call it that because it makes us feel like “we” are Olympians. I know it’s stupid, but I think it helps me run faster. Really what it means is slightly cooler pottery than the other pottery, which is also amazing and should be because just to finish this race is an outstanding accomplishment. I hope the new race directors read this and keep hiring Michael Mahan to provide the earthenware.

When a few folks caught up to me about 10 miles into the race, I didn’t freak out. I hoped they had used up a little too much energy in catching me, but by no means did I feel like I had to drop everyone then. In fact, if I got the right company maybe we could run under the delusional hope that we could reel in the leader. It seemed that somewhat seamlessly, there were only two of us after a bit. I don’t the distance of a “bit.” It is well, a “bit.”

Enter Wayne. He was on my heels and I suspected he was a little stronger than I was, but again no stress; we were still some 7-9 miles from finishing this little jaunt. Lots could happen. I think it was with Wayne that I secured third place. We shared some info, mutual friend in Haggis, and that Wayne was glad to be with a Trailhead and someone who knew the course. We zipped along and I think it was here, down along the river with its many crossings, that we separated considerably from 4th place on back.

We must have separated considerably, because at the big hill at mile 16 a pregnant full grown Kodiak hopped on for a ride. I asked if she would dismount and she would not oblige. Wayne went off on wings into the distance over the double horizon. If you ran the race, you know this hill and its double horizon. I thought to myself, oh something, I’ll be lucky to finish in the top ten. Oh great, here comes Shut-in where the next 30 finishers pass me with their pity—oh its love and concern, but its sounds like downright pitiful pity to the one who is bonking as you can hear in their voices, “I’m glad I’m not that guy.”

But I persevered and managed to finish third. I knew if I could just make it over the big hill that I could get my legs moving again on the down-hills and the flats. I know, you don’t remember any flats either. The term “flat” or “smooth terrain” has no place on this course. Instead, one assumes the role of Heidi or an extra in a Ricola commercial as he or she stumbles over boulders and roots before a descent which by now had even become depressing because the mind knows two things. We are about to cross that stupid stream again. And then, the real fun, where we get to go back up hill again. Yeah! More, More, Please!

It was a punishing quick-step to the finish. My left hip flexor pain had been present from near the start and it was spreading into my left hamstring and the bottom of my left quad. But it was just pain, no serious cramps. I kept moving--never really in the motion of walking because I knew I might not start to run again. As I slowly passed 40 mile racers they kept up words of encouragement. I wish I could have done the same, but I could not make any words. I dreamt of seeing the clearing that marks the power lines and 500 meters to go. From there I could make it, over the wooden bridge and then the wonderful sound of the cars buzzing on Highway 24. I trudged up the final incline, looking back over my shoulder and to my amazement there was no one in sight. I crossed the finish line and I felt as triumphant as if I had been the winner. Uwharrie Kim held me upright with a huge hug. Isn’t she just great?

From then on, it was all bliss. Watching my friends finish, basking in the sunlight and warmth of our best winter day yet, and nibbling and drinking as much as my stomach would allow.

Best part of the race: tiptoeing over that one log around mile 13 that most people went underneath. It was about five feet off the ground. I felt quite nimble, I must say. More importantly, it was just flat out fun. Probably not more than a thousand people on earth have a concept of what it means to break three hours at Uwharrie, yet probably more than a million, maybe five million, I don’t know, have a concept of what it means to do the same at New York, or Chicago, or Rotterdam. But none of those marathons allow the opportunity of seeing the banks of a river and a tree that has fallen across them as a balance beam.

Peace out,
Monk

*From Robert Frost’s Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening