Mike Coffin is a friend and neighbor. Four years ago his daughter, Mary Hatley, was born 35 hours and 50 feet from my daughter Sarah, and they are best friends. Mike just won an Emmy for making a series of shorts called “I am CNBC”. Mike is overly modest, saying he doesn’t deserve it and that it doesn’t mean much anyway. Humbug! Winning an Emmy is a big deal! The whole neighborhood is proud of you, Mike. Besides, I want a picture of me next to the statue, so whatever you do Mike, you better not hide it in the closet!

In my last post I described my first marathon, in all its ignominy. It was hot and I started out too fast, and I hit the proverbial wall at mile 18. At that point, disappointment and pain led to dark thoughts – should I just give up? But I had something to keep me going, waiting to save me at mile 21.

My good friend William Howard has run several marathons, and when he heard I was running my first he made a remarkable offer: he would come to San Antonio, meet me at mile 21, and run the rest of the race with me. He knew all about hitting the wall and knew that a little encouragement for the last five miles of a marathon went a long way. He sure was right. Even though I hit my wall a little earlier than most, I could keep myself motivated with chants of “three more miles till William”, then “two more miles”, until I got to the 21 mile marker. He ran and walked (mostly walked) with me for the rest of the race, and I’m not sure I would have finished without his help. Thank you, William. An inspiring example of true friendship.

Yesterday, I ran my first Marathon. I survived. And that is the best thing I can say about the experience. It was exciting, fun, exhausting, absolutely miserable, worse than miserable, and finally over, in that order.

I had trained pretty well for the race, with a long run of 29 miles four weeks before race day. I felt good, despite a pulled muscle three weeks before the race (I recovered well from that injury, so I don’t think it had a major impact on my performance). Unfortunately, race conditions were not good – a temperature of 65F at race start and nearly 80F by the end. It was mostly cloudy, but there was enough sun out that I finished the day with a sunburned face. If you haven’t done any long running, let me tell you that this is at least 20 degrees too hot. But even more than the temperature, it was my race strategy that did me in.

Ask any marathoner for race advice and the first thing out of their mouth will be “Don’t start out too fast.” I knew this. But for your first marathon, how do you know how fast is too fast? I found out with great certainty what too fast was for me. I guessed that I could do a half-marathon that day in 1:55, so I slowed down my pace from there and crossed the half-way point at 2:05. That turned out to be way too fast. By the 15 mile point I was starting to feel spent. By the 18 mile point I was in trouble – I began walking more than I was running. At 24 miles, I thought death could not come too soon. I walked the rest of the way, running only the last 0.1 mile to cross the finish line. My time: 4 hours, 59 minutes. I started the race thinking I could do 4:20.

Their were 422 men aged 45 – 49 who finished the marathon. The median time for that group was 4:46, so I didn’t meet my goal of being in the ‘fast’ half. The winner, by the way, finished in 2:14:39. None of these stats make me feel good. But I finished (alive), so at least the primary goal was accomplished. They say you never forget your first (marathon), but I’m hopeful for some selective forgetting about yesterday.

And things could have been worse. I was saved at mile 21 by a true act of friendship. But I’ll tell that story later. For now, I think I’ll take a nap.

A month ago I wrote about the credit report scam website, freecreditreport.com. Obviously I am not alone in being agitated by the blatantly inaccurate web address – it was the subject of a front-page article today in the New York Times.

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/11/03/your-money/credit-scores/03scores.html?_r=2&hp

“In the last five years, Experian has paid $1.25 million to settle F.T.C. charges that it misled consumers who may have been seeking their free credit report at AnnualCreditReport.com, but ended up paying for a subscription on the similarly named freecreditreport.com.”

And yet, the scam continues…

It’s hard to admit when you have been the victim of a scam. In hindsight, it’s so obvious that just a little more attention would have averted the whole thing. You feel stupid. But you also feel used. After all, the scammers have spent a lot of time perfecting their scam and finding the best ways to trick you. And when the scammer is a large corporation, they have a certain resource advantage as well.

I am the victim of a credit report scam perpetrated by the biggest credit reporting company in the U.S. – Experian. Here is how it worked.

I am aware that I am entitled to one free credit report per year, thanks to federal legislation. Of course, however, I do not have the website address memorized where I can get that free credit report (answer: www.annualcreditreport.com). So, I Googled it. While the top search result was the one I wanted, I made the mistake of clicking on the second search result since it was titled “Free Credit Report”, and that seemed logical. The website www.freecreditreport.com looks quite respectable, and lists Experian, Equifax and TransUnion along the top. There is a very prominent button on the right with large print that says “Click Here to see your Free Credit Report & Score”. There is also some fine print on the left side that explains that it is not free. But like most people, I didn’t read that. The intentional design of the website encourages this, and like most people I was in a hurry to get past the minutia and get what I wanted. After clicking on the button and getting what I thought was my free credit report, I exited the website. They asked for my credit card number, but said they wouldn’t charge me and that it was required to “set up my account”. That was a clue, I know, but I didn’t pick up on it. I also ignored some more fine print that I should have read under the label “Privacy Policy”. Three weeks later I received my credit card bill and noticed a $15.88 charge from “info.ExperianDirect.com”. (I’m lucky I happened to look closely at my bill this month – it’s not something I usually do.) This, by the way, is not a one-time fee – it is a monthly fee. A little searching online and I found their customer service number and called to tell them they made a mistake and that I never intended to join their “Triple Advantage” monthly service. I had never even heard of the “Triple Advantage” service that I had apparently joined. But, looking back at the fine print that I had missed on the website, by asking for my “free” credit report I was in fact signing up for this service – unless I called within 7 days to cancel.

It is very clear that the business model of this website is to trick people into signing up for services and fees that they are unaware of and have no intention of agreeing to. When I called the ExperianDirect customer service number to complain, they told me they were unwilling and unable to refund the $15.88 already charged to my account. Requests to speak to a supervisor resulted in me being disconnected. A scam, pure and simple. And probably perfectly legal.

As George Orwell so clearly demonstrated, our language is important not just because it determines how we speak, but because it greatly influences how we think. It’s not surprising, then, that advocacy speech seeks to carefully control the use and meaning of its words, while simultaneously demeaning or muddling the words chosen by the opposition. But if you think such behavior is confined to the ungentlemanly pursuit of modern politics, think again! Consider, as a harmless example, the sport of running.

I am a runner, not a jogger. It is a sport for which I train; it is not exercise. (The difference – I compete in races, even if “winning” to me is beating my personal goal for the race.) I don’t have running clothes, it is equipment (compare running 10 miles in the Texas heat in a cotton T-shirt versus a technical shirt and you’ll know what I mean). The words and their use are all meant to convey a seriousness of purpose, something more than just having fun or getting fit.

Another common phrase among runners is the “long run”. How long does a run have to be before runners consider it long? It took me a while being around runners before I finally figured out the exact definition. Here it is: A long run is either the longest run you’ve ever done, or any run that is 20+ miles long. Thus, the first time you run ten miles you can call it a long run, but not the second time. Any time you run 20 miles or more it is a long run.

I had a long run this morning. 25 miles. My longest to date.

Aside: Speaking of long runs, my next door neighbor turned 100 years old yesterday. He still lives independently with his wife (they’ve been married for over 70 years) in the house they bought in 1942. He is my hero. Congratulations, Carroll!

Now that I have started distance running, many friends have asked me if I am enjoying a “runner’s high”, that burst of endorphins that comes from a body’s response to prolonged and inexcusable abuse. I know that my experience with various types of highs is more limited than others (I admit it – I’ve lived a boring life), but I don’t think that any part of running a very long distance can be compared with getting high. But don’t get me wrong – there is pleasure associated with running. In particular, I feel really great when I stop.

That reminds me of an old joke: A man walks into a doctor’s office, raises his arm over his head, and says, “It hurts when I do this.” Doctor: “Then stop doing that.”

But I don’t think I’m confusing a lack of pain for pleasure. The feeling is much more than that. At the end of a long run, where I really wear myself out, once I get my breath back I feel totally and completely relaxed. All the stress of the day or week has escaped the muscles that are now too tired to support it. And if I’m lucky enough to be able to spend the rest of the day on the couch with a cold drink and the Sunday paper, that stressless state can last a long time. As far as I’m concerned, that’s better than any high I can think of.

Last Saturday I attended commencement ceremonies at my alma mater, Rose-Hulman Institute of Technology, a small science and engineering college in Terre Haute, Indiana. It is the first time I have sat through a graduation ceremony at Rose since my own graduation way back in 1982. It was a bit different this time, seeing it from the outside, so to speak. The graduating class of ‘09 was quite a bit bigger than in ’82, and as a result the ceremony quite a bit longer. The commencement speaker was a bit different as well.

I don’t remember the name of the guy who spoke at my college graduation, but I know why he was chosen. He was a Rose grad whose most famous contribution to the engineering profession was the invention of the 2 liter plastic soda bottle. And he spoke about what he knew – how he invented the process for making those bottles. Inspiring.

This year was a little different. The national reputation of Rose-Hulman has grown in the past 27 years, in large part due to ten years of being ranked #1 by US News and World Report in its category (engineering schools that don’t offer PhDs). As a result, the prominence of commencement speakers has also grown, with the governor of Indiana, Mitch Daniels, Jr., giving this year’s speech.

It started off as exactly the kind of commencement address one would expect, with humorous anecdotes, praise for Rose and its graduates, and calls for citizenship. But a politician with a large audience is sorely tempted, and the governor finished with a 15 minute tirade against the global warming “conspiracy”. Calling climate scientists “theologians” and their belief in global warming “a religion”, he lambasted them as graduates of “PC University” who refused to listen to honest skeptics like himself. Quoting the noted climate authority Michael Crichton (he wrote a novel on the subject, after all), he said “scientific consensus is the last refuge of scoundrels”.

Wow. I guess Governor Daniels thinks that science is too important to be left to the scientists. Fortunately, we have politicians like him to help us make sense of it all (making use, I am sure, of the well-deserved reputation of politicians for the reasoned and determined pursuit of truth regardless of the impact on personal or political gain). I feel cooler already.

For any serious basketball fan, the NCAA tournament of 1979 has to stand out as possibly the best one ever, with the final match arguably the best college basketball game ever played. Indiana State University and Larry Bird went undefeated that season until they were finally bested by Michigan State and Magic Johnson, 75-64. Being that game’s 30 year anniversary, and with Michigan State once again making it to the National Championship, there has been much talk lately of that great contest of March 26, 1979. I’d like to share my recollections, not of the game, but of its aftermath.

Indiana State University (ISU) is located in Terre Haute, a town that is most impressive in being completely unimpressive. So when its equally unimpressive state university began winning basketball games, the town took notice. I was a freshman that year at a small college on the other side of town, Rose-Hulman Institute of Technology. Basketball was the last thing on my mind – surviving my first year of chemistry, physics and calculus consumed all of my mental energy (and most of my sleep). Still, it was hard to escape the basketball excitement that was engulfing the town that spring. When ISU made it to the National Championship game, Terre Haute knew it would be an historic event for the city. A victory parade down Wabash Avenue was planned for the evening after the big game, and my roommates and I decided that studying could wait that night.

We drove into town soon after the ISU loss (I didn’t even watch the game), hearing on the radio that the “victory” parade would go on as planned. The parade went on, but it was anything but “as planned”. We parked a few blocks off the main drag and lined up along Wabash Ave. to watch. Within minutes of the start of the parade, things went completely crazy. The lone police car in the parade was soon covered with people and the cop inside wisely fled the scene as his car bobbed up and down under the feet of a dozen people jumping in unison. Street signs and traffic lights started toppling and windows started breaking. A bonfire was lit in the middle of the road as a van from the local radio station blared rock music to the crowd. I was witnessing a full-fledged riot.

My friends and I were in complete disbelief (none of us were serious basketball fans, so we didn’t get what all the fuss was about). As at the scene of an accident, however, we couldn’t turn away. I noticed people breaking into a bar on the corner. Like an especially virulent virus, word of free liquor spread quickly and a huge crowd began to form at the bar. I then witnessed a truly amazing scene. Self-appointed bouncers soon appeared at the entrances, deciding who would be allowed to enter and who would not. When turned away, the less fortunate revealers meekly accepted their status as not being part of the “in” crowd and moved on. I watched this for more than half an hour as impromptu class divisions and a “first-come-first-stolen” hierarchy spontaneously developed. Even in the middle of a riot, society must have its rules.

It seemed like I watched my first riot for at least two hours, though it is quite possible that my sense of time was completely distorted by the strangeness of the events. I then watched how a riot ends, at least in small-town Indiana. I didn’t see them drive up, park, or get out of their cars and vans. I didn’t notice them getting into formation. I just saw as they finally approached the riotous crowd on Wabash Avenue: a neat row of 15 or 20 state police officers, each holding a snarling German Sheppard on a tight leash. They moved slowly up the street like a wall of fleshy teeth, and the crowd simply melted away. As fast as the riot started, it was over. I guess when the purpose of your mass destruction is the loss of a basketball dream, it doesn’t seem worth tangling with a vicious animal over.

So there you have it – my first riot. I too quickly left the scene when the dogs arrived. Is this how most towns deal with the loss of a major sporting event? I don’t think so. I guess Terre Haute is a special place after all.

It is funny how arbitrary numbers (usually round ones) can take on undue significance in a sport like running. When I began running half marathons, I became fixated on the goal of finishing in less than 2 hours. While the number is arbitrary (would my performance have been a failure if I’d have run the race in 2 hours and 10 seconds?), setting a goal and striving for it is an extremely valuable motivational tool that keeps me pushing and, ultimately, succeeding.

Now that half-marathon season is over, I decided to run in the Capital 10K race in Austin on March 29. But what goal to set? My first race ever was a 10K last August, and my time was a disappointing 64 minutes (granted, it was my first race and it was 95 F at the start of the race). My best 10K split during a half marathon was 55 minutes, so I decided that a goal of 50 minutes made sense. That would mean that I would have to trim my half-marathon pace of 9 minutes/mile by about 1 min/mile – not an easy task.

With the goal set, I began to train for that goal. Then, my father-in-law had to make his opinion known (something he is very good at): “You know, anyone over forty should be able to run a 10K in their age in minutes.” I was perfectly happy with my 50 minute goal, but this new challenge kept haunting me: I would need to run the race in 48:54 min (yes, I counted the days/seconds). Only about a 1 minute difference, but that can mean a lot when you are running at your limits.

So on race day, I ended up with two goals, the “official” one and the more aggressive one that I couldn’t get out of my mind. The final result? I finished the race in 49:42, for a pace of exactly 8:00 min/mile. I was very happy with the result (after all, it was a 15 minute improvement over my last 10K), though I didn’t meet the “run the race in your age” goal. Maybe next year.