Running for Your Life: Cruising to Brooklyn

It’s not likely to be pretty, but I’m in. The Brooklyn Marathon 2015 http://bit.ly/1VXZSx7. That’s Sunday, Nov. 15. And no I haven’t put in enough miles (but I’ve got 60 days to rectify that somewhat.) I tried a less demanding “cruising” training program last year in preparation for the Nova Scotia Marathon in July. It didn’t work for a terrific time – my slowest since I got back on the marathon kick five and a half years ago with the Pittsburgh Marathon. But I finished, and damn it that’s what I’m going for this year. In Brooklyn, my own backyard.

Training is going much better than I expected – considering the hamstring pull that flared up during our July trip to Paris and Marseille – so the marathon plan is back on in earnest.

Brooklyn 2015 takes me around my regular jogging route, the round interior pathways of Prospect Park, but instead of, say, going around two times, I’ll be going six times, as well as other shorter laps that’ll get us up to a Boston Marathon-qualifying 26.2 miles.

As for being Boston strong … Well, as of Oct. 5 I’ll be sixty, so that’ll help some – I need to get a finish time of 3:55. We’ll just have to see. As to the New York City Marathon, I would need to hit a time of 3:34. Which is just not going to happen. (My PB is 3:33:52 at 2010 Steamtown Marathon of Scranton, Pa., when I'd recently turned 55.)

So, yeah, here goes nothing. My ninth marathon, sixth since Pittsburgh in May 2010. And if you’re in the ’hood on Nov. 15, c’mon out to the park. When you’re running around in circles, chances are you’ll see me. More often than perhaps you’ll like.

Next: Running for Your Life: Power of Tides    

Running for Your Life: If the Greats Were With Us Thursday

When I traveled by airplane to Managua, Nicaragua, in the summer of 1985, there wasn’t much in the way of post cards. (Yes, that’s what we did in those days, send post cards home.) I bought a few that I did find and didn’t get them in the mail because they showed the landscape devastation of the Managua earthquake of 1972. Not exactly what I wanted my mom and dad to see before I got home that year.

That year we lost one of our great ones. Roberto Clemente, who died on a humanitarian flight to Managua the last day of 1972. Before the appearance of my beloved Expos in 1969, I was a fan of Roberto Clemente and Pirates. (And since the demise of my Espos in 2004, the Pirates are my team again.) Clemente's last baseball game in his 18-year career was two days before my 17^th birthday. It was director John Sayles who said, “Most of what I know about style I learned from Roberto Clemente.”

Consider this. Career batting average: .317; total hits: 3,000; home runs: 240 and RBIs: 1,305. While Clemente didn’t play on the perennial champion Yankees, those stats compare more than favorably against the Great Derek Jeter, born after Clemente died in the plane crash. Jeter’s numbers in his 20-year career: .310, 3,465, 260 and 1,311.

But it was the grace of him that I remember. In many ways, the young outfielder Andrew McCutchen reminds me of his grace in the field, his determination at bat. His demeanor is reminiscent of Clemente, who as the Pirates make their way to their third consecutive postseason appearance, I can’t help but think how much Clemente would be a part of these exciting days. If he were alive today, he’d be 81 years old.

Next: Running for Your Life: Cruising to Brooklyn

Running for Your Life: Yankee Haters Dream Team

I was ten years old when the Yankees did the unthinkable – finished 26.5 games out of first place, with a 70-89 record. Ah, those were the days. Now, of course, the Yankees win. Pretty much every day and night. The season is winding down and they are in the playoffs, as per usual.

Time to dream a little. By offering up a Yankee Haters Dream Team. Let’s call them the lovable ones … Some unsung, some associated more with losing (think every other MLB club, with the exception of the Cardinals) than winning. Here’s my version of, yes, the Yankee Haters Dream Team.

Pitcher

Catfish Hunter

Color me nostalgic for the 1970s, and names like Catfish stedda letters

Catcher

Jake Gibbs

Because I’m a believer in strength of character down the middle … And Jake was a member of that losing 1966 Yankees squad that went 70-89. Losing builds character. Good times, times

First Baseman

Marv Thorneberry

Marv broke in with the Yanks in 1955, then proceeded to spur even the most humorless fan into uncontrollable laughter as the starting first baseman for the expansion 40-120 New York Mets, 60.5 games outta first place. Errors that year (1962): 17!

Second Baseman

Horace Clarke

How can you not find lovable someone by the name of Horace? Yes, 1966! Strength down the middle! (70-89!)

Third Baseman

Charlie Hayes

He WAS the unsung hero of the 1996 Yankees, the only iteration of pinstripes except for that unforgettable 1966 squad that actually didn’t/doesn't revolt me. Why? Because of Charlie Hayes, without whom the Yanks would not have won, yet all we heard (and still hear about) were/are Jeter, O’Neill, Williams, Strawberry …

Shortstop

Tony Kubek

Because he had a cool broadcast voice. And he seemed like a relatively nice guy.

Right Fielder

Jesse Barfield

Because he was drafted by the Toronto Blue Jays. (One of the myriad reasons I identify as a Yankee Hater is that my folks at home in Canada cheer for the Blue Jays)

Left Fielder

Tim Raines

Because I am a die-hard Expos fan. (No, I don’t cheer for the Nationals  -- did true-blue Brooklyn Dodgers fans pick up and cheer for the LA team … I don’t think so)

Center Fielder

Roger Repoz

He didn’t patrol center field for long for the Yankees. But man, those were the days. (Yes, 1966 rules as the year of years for Yankee Haters … when they languished with that 70-89 record !

 Next: Running for Your Life: If the Greats Were With Us Thursday

Running for Your Life: Nonracial Politics Power

Sometimes you find inspiration in unlikely sources. Take “Citizen: American Lyric” by Claudia Rankine, winner of the 2014 National Book Critics Circle award for poetry. Rankine’s poetry sheds light on the great racial divide in America and is justly rewarded for her work by this country’s literary elites, who on a daily basis shudder with shame as yet another atrocity inflames this space and deepens the divide.

I say unlikely sources, not because I disagree with Rankine’s politics. Quite the contrary, in fact. Rather it is the lesson I learned about running for public life in YouTube America from those who feel persecuted by a society perversely conditioned to these atrocities that did come as a surprise to me. 

I’m referring to the following passage, in “Citizen,” page 23:

Hennessy Youngman aka Jayson Musson, whose Art Thoughtz take the form of tutorials on YouTube, educates viewers on contemporary art issues. In one of his many videos, he addresses how to become a successful black artist, wryly suggesting black people’s anger is marketable. He advises black artists to cultivate “an angry N exterior” by watching, among other things, the Rodney King video while working.

With respect Jayson, I’ve got a wry suggestion for both blacks and whites looking to be successful politicians. (I haven’t yet posted my videos on this …) Cultivate a simple, nonliterate exterior. For example, say you are running in a neighborhood with high dog ownership combined with a high percentage of porn consumers (when it comes to the latter, every ZIP in the country). Cultivate a simple, nonliterate exterior. Change your name to Dogget. Don’t campaign, don’t write anything down that could even remotely be defined as a position. Simply leaflet your district with the simple, nonliterate message. Do It Dogget Style. Vote Dogget.

Next: Running for Your Life: Yankee Haters Dream Team

Running for Your Life: If the Greats Were With Us Thursday

Some time ago we were in Freebird Books, a gotta-check-it-out used bookstore on Columbia Street, not far from Brooklyn Bridge Park. While browsing there, I found and purchased a treasure: the “complete stories” by one of my favorite authors, Alistair MacLeod, published under the title “Island.”

A few months before I was saddened to read that MacLeod had passed away. It was at least fifteen years earlier that I’d first heard of MacLeod from my friend Ray Smith, who with his wife Joyce Carol Oates ran the powerfully good literary journal, Ontario Review, until his untimely death in 2008.

At that time I got a copy of “The Last Salt Gift of Blood” and was amazed with the quality of the stories. I am not alone in thinking this way. In fact, and Colm Toibin and Carmen Callil included MacLeod in their book “The Modern Library: The 200 Best Novels in English Since 1950. “Knowing that I could tell other readers about [MacLeod] was the high point of The Modern Library Project for me,” Toibin said.

What a gift MacLeod has at describing a boy’s regard of his father: the proud working man. Here’s a sample, from the story “The Vastness of the Dark” …

“As long as I can remember [Father] has finished dressing while walking, but he does not handle buttons or buckles so well since the dynamite stick at the little mine where he used to work ripped the first two fingers from his scarred right hand. Now the remaining fingers try to do what is expected of them: to hold, to button, to buckle, to adjust, but they do so with what seems a sort of groping uncertainty bordering on despair. As if they realized that there is now just too much for them to do, even though they try as best they can.”

Alastair MacLeod: definitely a great who is missed. Get thee to bookstore and find out for yourself.

Next: Running for Your Life: Back On the Beam