Imitation Incentive

We did it.

We joined the bajillions of other resolvers and bought ourselves a treadmill for Christmas.

If there's anything I know about myself, it's that I'm easily bored. (I get that from a father who likes to take a different route every time he leaves the house.)

So I know that I'm a likely candidate to give up unless I have some kind of incentive to keep using the behemoth bedside stand.

I've borrowed an idea from a friend of mine and have decided to pay myself by the mile (I'm not even compensating for the fact that treadmill miles feel like they equal 3 regular miles).

Another idea (nods to Mom) is to measure off distances to places you want to visit and when you've walked that distance, you get to go there. So, this week I might be able to go to Starbucks, next week to Target and by the end of the summer, maybe I'd earn a trip to Saskatchewan.

Do you use any kind of incentive to keep you going on things you really don't like to do?

On the Ropes

Oh I wish I had a picture, but the camera was tucked safely away so no evidence could be gathered. We couldn't help ourselves-- we had to try out the new ropes element out at Camp Yamhill.

You know how sometimes you read a book that changes your life and someone else reads it just for fun?

That's how the course was for me. We'd already observed the church planters and assigned all sorts of personality and relationships traits to them based on how they handled the ropes. But when the four of us climbed up there, all the learning was over and we were out to have fun.

Okay, I'll admit, I did learn something...

1. I am NOT Tarzan. Elements that involved swinging on ropes were the hardest for me.

2. There is a series of muscles under my arms and across my shoulders that have been on vacation since 1984.

3. Tree hugging is not all bad, especially if the tree just saved your life.

4. Church secretaries can be a stubborn breed.

5. A little exercise in the great outdoors is a good thing.

Back to Walking in the Dark

Not to Yada, Yada through 11 legs of the race (including Christine's incredible feat of shaving almost two minutes off each mile, David's sub-eleven minute miles, Rici's walk in the dark with nothing to light her way but the moon, and Kathy's cheerful six miles), but let's get back to me.

I had the team run me ahead to my relay station so I could spend some time in the port-a-potty. A combination of nerves, heat, motion, an odd assortment of food, and the fact that it was 3:30 a.m. left me feeling more like finding a bed to crawl into than going on a trudge in the dark. Bonnie, our fearless driver, even offered to walk my leg if I didn't think I could do it.

"I'll try..." I said, promising myself I'd take it easy.

It was the strangest feeling, walking away from the relay station with its handful of generator-powered lights. A motorcycle patrol up ahead shone its headlight across the pavement and, beyond that, total darkness.

As I approached the motorcycle, I noticed a sign pointing off the the left.

Elk Reserve. I was supposed to pass the elk reserve, but I thought I was supposed to stay on the same road. With no walkers in sight in front of me, I made the decision to keep going straight. As soon as I crossed the Elk Reserve Road, the lines on the one I'd chosen disappeared. No white line edging the street. No center yellow line. More than once I wandered off the side of the blacktop into gravel.

I glanced behind me. The light from the relay station had disappeared. No walkers, no vans, no anybody. I hoped I'd gone the right way. If I hadn't, how long would it take my team to find me and turn me around?

I had chosen to walk with a headlamp. Its small circle of light illuminated a gray circle of pavement in front of me, but beyond the reach of its beam, total darkness. Frogs chirped in the surrounding woods. Twigs snapped and set my imagination to work. A van zoomed by, but not a race van. I looked back again. Where was my team?

Finally, a pair of runners approached and passed me from behind, the first of many involved in The Portland to Coast high school running challenge. I breathed a sigh of relief and quickened my pace.

Funny how time stretches out as your imagination is at work. I couldn't have been on the road more than 7 minutes before my van approached and my team shouted encouragement. Bonnie paced with me and lit the road ahead for a while. Then, with a mile and half to go, the van pulled out ahead to prepare the next walker for his leg.

That last twenty minutes of walking was my favorite part of the race. I knew I was on the right road; I was feeling pretty good; and I saw another walker up ahead -- someone in striking distance. I passed her with a mile to go and covered the rest of the distance in the dark again.

This time, though, I reveled in the darkness, enjoying its peace on solitude for its very uniqueness. Those twenty minutes made the whole trip worthwhile for me.

Walking in the Dark, Part III

When I pictured the race, I imagined walking in a pack all the way from Portland to Seaside, but that's not how it happens. Race officials send off about 20 teams every 15 minutes to avoid congestion. By the time your team has covered a few legs, racers are pretty well spread out.

I walked the last miles into Scappoose, a distance I was used to covering, but never in the middle of the day. The 85 degrees reflected off pavement and sidewalk to feel like 185. When Joanne handed me the baton, I stepped out with great confidence that I could catch the walker 200 yards ahead. As I walked, though, he grew gradually smaller and smaller in the distance.

Another walker passed on my left. I quickened my pace to try to keep up, but she was much too fast. Then another, an older lady with a long gray ponytail, raced walked past so quickly that I could almost feel the breeze she created.

Good thing my team wasn't competing to win.

There was plenty to see on the route. Cars and trucks zoomed past on the highway. I could catch glimpses of the river to my right between the trees. As I approached the town, I passed a beautiful nursery and a not so beautiful ling cod processing plant. Other teams had scrawled encouraging messages on the sidewalk in chalk. The most entertaining activity by far, though, was watching the race vans leap frog along the road.

Support vans are not allowed to follow their walkers, but they can pull to the side of the road wherever there's space and shout encouragement, offer water and advice. One of the vans that kept passing me had Dorothy sitting on top of it with "Follow the Yellow Brick Road" emblazoned in window paint across the back. Another had a huge red plywood high-heeled shoe on top and still another sported the skull and crossbones.

But my favorite van by far was the gray one that read "Salt and Light Power Company".

One more person strolled past me as we neared the finish line. I only saw four racers on my leg. I was road kill three times.

Bummer.

But my team still cheered me in as I passed the baton to Ron.

Real as Life

I have a complex relationship with my personal trainer. I dread going to her classes since I know she'll gripe at me for not making it every day. I watch for her to turn her back so I can quit doing her eternal sets of heel jacks. I've even (gasp!) changed my name so I could rejoin her class after dropping out. I'm hoping she doesn't notice it's me and ask why I've gained 3 pounds since I joined.

The thing is, my trainer, Maya, is not actually a person. She's a computer animated trainer that lives in my X-Box.

I think it's a little weak-willed on my part to play mind games with someone who's not even real. But she's real to me. I put in a Billy Blank's Tae Bo tape this morning, but realized that if I didn't show up to Maya's class, she'd notice. So I popped out the tape, braced myself, and tuned in to Maya. She noticed I didn't work out yesterday, but she wasn't too disappointed this time.