Walmart to Wolf House: Sonoma County Essays

by Rob Loughran

  Other wannabe marathoners err on the other extreme. They follow the same intensive training program that led Frank Shorter to Olympic gold. At that time in his life running was Shorter’s job. I don't know (or care to know) about Shorter’s sex life before the 1972 Munich games, but the fact remains that all world-class marathoners are monomaniacal runners with little time in their lives for anything except running, eating, physical therapy and sleeping. But, again, that’s not the goal here.

  THE PROGRAM

  It’s very simple. How far can you comfortably run today? We are dealing with reality here. It doesn’t matter how far you could run in high school.

  To illustrate, let's say our Everyman Marathoner, Orson T. Plugger, is 30 athletic, involved in a relationship and gainfully employed. And he wants to run a marathon. He’s done a few 5K and 10K trail runs with his nephews and works out at the gym three days a week. How does Orson T. Plugger go from wannabe to marathoner with a minimum of pain and a maximum of enjoyment?

  He puts on his running shoes and drives to a trail where the miles are marked off in increments. A circuit trail of 3-5 miles without extreme changes in elevation is ideal. Otherwise, use a marked out-and- back trail and run 2 miles out; 2 miles back, etc.—you get the picture.

  Orson T. does not warm up by stretching. (We’re not doing Hatha yoga, we’re taking baby steps toward a marathon.) Orson T. Plugger starts running. Slowly.

  Plugger sees how far he can run comfortably. (Comfortable: adjective, the ability to run without getting so winded you can’t carry on a conversation.) He manages (on a three mile circuit trail) almost 3 laps, or about 8.5 miles. Round down to eight miles, and that is our starting point.

  In two weeks, Orson T. Plugger will do a ten mile long slow run, again on a marked trail. Two weeks after that, he’ll plug out 12 miles. Two weeks following, 14 miles. And so forth until our Plugger is able to run 28 to 30 miles comfortably.

  These subsequent and increasing 20+ mile distances don’t necessarily have to be run on a trail. Orson T. can, for his convenience (and safety in case of injury or fatigue) use his car to map out courses and distances, running past schools and gas stations for water stops and an occasional use of the facilities. Again, a series of out-and-backs on a six-to-eight mile trail, where the starting point has water and a bathroom, is ideal.

  This is only half the program.

  “Aha!” Says Orson T. “You sunovabitch! Now is when you tell me about the wind sprints and running stadium steps and squat thrusts and weight training and a carbo loading diet!”

  Nope.

  This is where I tell Mr. Plugger that the other half of this program consists of that nasty four letter word, R-E-S-T.

  Between each two-week, two mile increase, Orson T. Plugger is not to run more than one 6-9 miler, once a week. A little three-mile jog every other day is perfect. Some tennis or basketball or Orson T’s thrice weekly gym gig is wonderful.

  The body needs time and rest to adjust to the strain of long-distance running. If you don't get this rest you will get:

  1)The flu.

  2)A large bill from an orthopedist.

  The goal, remember, is a marathon without giving up a large chunk of your time. Not to mention your sex life.

  If, unlike Orson T. Plugger, you started at four miles, it will simply take a little longer to incrementally increase to marathon distance. If you can run 12 miles at the outset, you’ll reach “Marathon Threshold:” a month earlier than Orson T. Plugger. The program works no matter where you start.

  YOUR MARATHON

  Now it is time for Orson T. to choose a marathon to finish. He gets a throwaway calendar from an auto parts store. He picks up a copy of a running mag and turns to the event listings in the back. On the calendar, he writes an “8” on the day he ran eight miles. (This is not a tricky program.) Then he extrapolates forward, two miles per two weeks, until he reaches the month he’ll be doing a 28 mile run. He can pick any marathon he wants in the next six weeks and finish comfortably.

  Orson T. Plugger should now do two things:

  1) Pick a marathon in a town he’s always wanted to visit, or one that has special features that appeal to him.

  2) Find the entry form in the magazine or go online for registration info. Then fill it out, write a check and mail it in.

  Nothing in the American psyche becomes official until it’s paid for. (Except, of course, credit card bills or wars.)

  Take the plunge and write a check, Orson T. Plugger! It will make that 18 miler ten weeks from now easier. Next, Plugger tells everyone he knows—girlfriend, ex-girlfriend, bank teller, mother, coworkers, pets— that he’s training to run the Rancho de Cumbres Grande Trail Marathon next September. Training for a vague and amorphous race is simply impossible. When he receives his race number in the mail he displays it proudly in a spot where he can see it every day, a simple but effective reminder of his commitment.

  Orson T. Plugger is doing the program, he’s zeroed in on a specific event and paid for it. He’s approaching the 20 mile barrier, a real accomplishment. He’s lost a few pounds and feels good about his body. He’s thinking about dieting, losing another kilo and fitting into those 501s he wore in high school.

  Another caveat: Don’t change your diet! In fact, Plugger should be indulging himself in some Ben & Jerry’s or a sixpack of his favorite microbrew, as long as he’s following the program. I know indulgence sounds contrary, but training for a marathon is a stressful activity. Don’t add to the body’s stress by going off the deep end with a carrot-and-beet juice macrobiotic extravaganza. The guys who win marathons look like extras from Schindler’s list, but we’re not planning to be Arturo Barrios or Alberto Salazar here. A few extra calories and a pound or two won't hurt. Remember, the goal is to finish a marathon. If you try to race a marathon you will suffer. I’ve limped home or DNFed more times than I care to admit. When I backed off from trying to run a PR every time out, I started to enjoy the race. Instead of training being drudgery I began to relish my biweekly long slow run. I also, ironically, ran races faster than before.

  Following his race, people will ask Orson T. Plugger how he did, especially if he followed my advice and told everyone—including the guy behind him in the grocery store line—that he was training for a marathon. Orson T. Plugger should tell everyone that he finished first in his division. That’s what I say, and exactly what I do. Of course, my “division” is 50-year-old Irish American males with gray hair, eight kids and one testicle.

  But I am number one, baby.

  EXTRA PREPARATION

  Two more nuts-and-bolts procedures:

  Buy two pairs of the same shoes. Whichever brand and style you prefer, but two pairs exactly the same. Run alternately in each pair until they’re both broken-in, then save one pair for the marathon. Shoes wear imperceptibly; putting on a pair of broken-in-but-not-broken-down shoes is like getting a hug from your favorite aunt. It’s a mental boost to don comfortable shoes before the race.

  Enter a few local 10Ks. This will get you used to packing for a race. You’d be amazed how many people forget shoes or socks or energy bars on race day. It will help to develop a checklist: water bottle, socks, shoes, Vaseline, shorts, shirt, et cetera.

  Warning! Don't start substituting 10Ks for your biweekly long runs and don’t race them to see if you can beat your brother’s best time. These are minor steps along the way to your ultimate goal. And after every race you get a T-shirt to train in which shores up your self-image as a runner.

  RACE DAY

  Orson T. Plugger’s got his good shoes and the knowledge that he can run 28 miles.

  Here’s a pre race pep talk for him: Start Slow, Then Taper Off.

  Leave the GIVE 110% and the JUST WIN, BABY! bullshit to Dick Vitale and Al Davis. If you’ve followed the program (which includes not dieting, not exercising every day, not running too much and not giving up sex, personal life or extracurricular activities) you
can run a marathon.

  My first marathon run in this style was the Avenue of the Giants marathon. The course winds through 26 miles of old-growth redwoods in Northern California. Sword ferns, vine maples, and rhododendrons are the underbrush. I had the opportunity to spend four hours running through one of the most beautiful places on earth. I did not speak to anyone. I ran comfortably and confidently, and kind of felt sorry for the faster runners because they weren’t able to spend as much time on the course, as much time savoring the experience.

  That’s running a marathon.

  * * *

  Such a good title I had to use it again. This is also the name—and content—of my writing class. Appeared in Writer’s Journal:

  HOW TO WRITE YOUR NOVEL AND STILL HAVE TIME FOR SEX

  Not time for only sex; but for all those things we are obligated to do on a regular basis: job, family, exercise, finances, dumping the catbox. I just used SEX in the title to get your attention.

  The first step in writing your novel is to realize no one but you can write it. A writing teacher friend of mine begins each of her seminars by placing a pencil on 300 sheets of paper and saying, “Novels never write themselves.”

  The second step is realizing that a novel isn’t written all at once. Let’s dust off some math skills. Say your book will be 80,000 words. At 250 words/page that’s 320 pages; or a page/day for 10.66 months. Allowing 5 weeks for research and, outlining, writing up some character background, etc, that’s a novel in a year. If you started writing TODAY and wrote one-page/day, one year from today you could be printing out your novel while scouring your Market Guide for publishers.

  That’s simplified, of course: you must rewrite.

  But you’ll also have days when you write 500, 750, or 1,000 words. Jack London wrote 40 books by adhering to this simple principle: A daily writing stint of 1,500 words, every day, before breakfast. Ralph McInerny, author of the Father Dowling mystery series, mainstream novels, and books on religion and philosophy recommends getting a give-away-calendar from the auto parts store and hanging it in a prominent place. Then start writing your prescribed-daily-quota (PDQ) and don’t go back to rewrite UNTIL YOUR FIRST DRAFT IS COMPLETE. Every day you reach your quota, you X out that day on the calendar. That Xed out calendar will provide a visual, daily reminder to yourself of your novel’s progress. And a blank week or two will goad you out of procrastination.

  Adhere to your daily stint and you’ll have a novel PDQ.

  TO OUTLINE OR NOT TO OUTLINE?

  There’s the story about the backyard inventor who worked for years on this machine that featured electrical and gas engines; wires, screws, bolts, and buckets of every size. One day his neighbor popped his head over the fence and said: “That’s a magnificent creation. What’s it do?”

  The inventor smiled and said, “I don’t really know.”

  Obviously, this anecdote dictates the need for an outline, but, conversely, Robert Frost said, “No surprise for the writer, no surprise for the reader.”

  Who’s right? Should writers depend on creativity and spontaneity or plan as meticulously as an engineer? The answer (as to most of life’s dilemmas) is somewhere in the middle ground. If not a strict outline you should at least have a plan that includes genre, length, historical era, basic character sketches, and a short plot summary. All of which you can follow strictly or abandon when those all-too-rare moments of Inspiration dictate that the story MUST take this direction.

  But again, the most meticulous of outlines or the most profound artistic inspiration are squat if you don’t plop your butt in that chair and write.

  HOW TO PLOP YOUR BUTT IN THAT CHAIR AND WRITE

  Okay, let’s take out pencils and a piece of paper. Seriously, this is the hands-on part. I want you to make a list of the activities that you perform on a daily basis. Try to come up with 10 items. Include job, commuting, chores, school, leisure activities etc.

  Now, give each activity a 1 if it’s CRUCIAL, a 2 if it’s IMPORTANT, or a 3 if it’s something that can be put on a BACK BURNER. (Example: 1 = writing stint, 2 = clean office, 3 = watch Everybody Loves Raymond. Don’t just read this—try it.)

  Okay, you’ve got 10 or so items ranked in value. Go back through your list and circle all the items you awarded a 2. Now, take these #2 items and make them either a CRUCIAL 1 or a BACK BURNER 3. From my example above, I would take “clean office” and either DO IT NOW, or put it off until tomorrow, not on whimsy, but with good reason! If my office were so filthy I couldn’t write or perform another CRUCIAL item (i.e. make the car payment to avoid a late charge) it becomes a 1. If my office were merely in its normal state of dusty disrepair, but I could pound out a writing stint I’d make it a BACK BURNER item and attend my daughter’s soccer game.

  Now, here’s the true impact of this exercise: Did you do it? If not, what does it say about your determination to finish that novel? Please go back and do it. And remember, the circumstances of life are constantly changing. Use this tool as often as you need.

  MUM’S THE WORD

  Don’t show anybody your novel until it is finished, rewritten and polished! The only result of “What do you think of my opening chapter?” will be doubt, second-guessing, and insecurity. Maybe it’s too wordy or sketchy. People will point this out to you. But you would have discovered and fixed that on a subsequent rewrite, right? Or worse, the person you’ve appointed Siskel-and-Ebert will say they really liked it; it was Nice.

  Trust your judgment.

  But there is a huge difference in hearing advice from a fellow writer and from Auntie Sarah. If there is someone whose opinion you value and honesty you can count on you, then please avail yourself of their input. My wife (who is a voracious reader, but breaks into a sweat when writing anything longer than a Xmas card) and I have worked out a system. She sits sipping tea or wine while I read in a flat monotonous voice (you want your words, not your inflection, to have the impact) from my stuff. At any point where I lose her—for whatever reason— she starts snoring and I mark that spot in the manuscript. I trust her and don’t take offence. And she’s usually right.

  Okay, she’s always right.

  (But please don’t tell her I said that.)

  Remember what Gene Perret said, “Nothing is written until it’s rewritten.” Don’t pass an uncooked book around indiscriminately. It’s a recipe for disaster.

  PEP TALK

  I hate pep talks.

  I was always mystified and confused when coaches demanded

  110%, so this isn’t a RAH RAH, YOU CAN DO IT! snappy, snazzy, quotable pep talk.

  Just the opposite. Here goes:

  How would you feel, one year from now, if your novel is still a misty-someday-dream with not a single word written? Project ahead five years. You still haven’t finished (have you even started?). How does that make you feel?

  Ten years?

  Now, think how you’ll feel, if when you finish this article, you put a calendar on the wall, and by this time next week see 5 or 6 X’s?

  Then a month’s worth?

  A year’s worth?

  Writing instructor Lew Hunter wrote: “We all have talent. How we use it and don’t use it is what the game is all about in writing and in life itself. We must not get beaten down by those who choose to simply take up space on this planet, by those whose lives risk counting for nothing.”

  * * *

  Again from Writer’s Journal:

  HOMER SIMPSON AND THE ART OF PROOFREADING

  Daerest Marge,

  Only inetgenillt poelpe can raed this!

  Mrage, you are so vrey srmat so I konw taht you undretsnad waht I

  am wtiirng!

  The hmuan mind, aoccrdnig to a rseerach taem at Cmarbigde Uinervtsiy, dosne’t crae waht oedrr the ltteers in a wrod are in! The only iprmoatnt tihng is taht the frist and lsat ltteers be in the poeprr plceas. The rset cloud be slleped like our sutipd boy Brat sellps (a taotl mses) and you can still rae
d it.

  Tihs is bceusae the haumn mnid does not raed ervey lteter by itself but the etirne word as a wolhe!

  Phennomeal!

  Lvoe,

  Hmoer

  PS: Pelsae don’t tlel Ned Flnadres, he mghit tinhk trehe’s smethoing

  wonrg wtih God.

  For my monthly critique group I sent Linda and Kate a 162 page non-fiction manuscript, Tomorrow & Tomorrow & Tomorrow: A Year-Long Guide to Publishing Success. As usual they examined every nook and cranny of the text with the precision of an anal-retentive forensics team. This was the first time Kate had seen it and it was the third time (under three different titles) that Linda had seen it. My older brother and oldest daughter had read the manuscript in earlier incarnations and had provided spelling, punctuation, and textual feedback. I’d since incorporated those changes and had confidence that I’d sent my compatriots a clean-bordering-on-sanitary text.

  “Page 13,” said Linda before her tea had cooled to sipping temperature, “you’ve quoted Homer Simpson and misspelled D’oh!”

  D’oh! has been selected, recently, for inclusion in The Oxford English Dictionary and means, well, D’oh!

  Only I had spelled it: Doh!

  I felt I was-up-a-critique-without-a-paddle.