Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

Rey Fire Closure

September 11, 2016

I went for a run out to Mono today, thinking I might run along Camuesa Rd a bit to see if I could reach the edge of the burn area for the Rey Fire. And, of course, I checked with Inciweb and the Los Padres website beforehand to see if there were any closures I needed to worry about. Both of these list a closure order for the Rey Fire that went into effect 25 August and “The order will expire when the Rey Fire is fully contained and controlled.”
° Los Padres
° Inciweb
Containment was officially achieved on Monday 5 Sept.
° Rey Fire, Final Update (Inciweb)

Therefore it seemed to me that there were no bars to examining the Rey Fire.

However when I reached the end of Cold Spring trail (about 20ft from the Mono parking lot). I found this sign.
Closure Sign
Now Mono is about 2 miles from the Rey Fire so even if there were a closure I did not expect Mono to be involved.

So I looked harder and found something else:
° Closure order (Inciweb)
Which claims the area will be closed until 1 Dec 2016.

So DAMN IT if it’s closed until December why claim all over the place that it opens on 5 September?


Another Song of the Weather

November 24, 2015

January brings the drought
Dries the little forbs right out.

February’s blazing sun
Burns the leaves back into dun.

Welcome desiccating March
Come to help the garden parch.

April brings the sweet spring days
Blazing heat on golden rays.

Farmers fear unkindly May
Wind by night and sun by day.

June brings fog that doesn’t drip
Thirty days and not a sip.

In July the sun is hot
Is it shining?
Quite a lot.

August, hot and parched and dry,
Kills the crops under the sky.

Bleak September’s hot simoon
Is enough to make us swoon.

Then October adds a fire
Wind and ash and air that’s dire.

Bright November brings more wind
Dries the soil till I’m chagrined.

Blazing dry December, then…
Bloody January again!

(Obviously stolen from At the Drop of a Hat by Flanders and Swan)

Thirsty Cat

October 25, 2015

When the cat first came to live at my expense, he was under the impression that the best place to drink was the bathroom sink — next best was the kitchen sink (but it’s harder to jump that high). He completely ignored the water dish I put out for him beside his food — I gather that is fairly common behavior but it was new to me.

Over time we came to a compromise solution — the bathtub. Whenever I went into the bathroom that cat would run in with me and get under my feet and try to trip me before leaping into the bathtub and waiting expectantly under the faucet.

Of course I put a water dish under the faucet, but the cat usually ignores this and expects me to turn on the tap.

This works fine when I’m home, but when I go visit my parents my cat-sitter tells me he doesn’t drink enough.

Toilet Water BowlA few months ago a friend in pottery class built himself a small toilet into which he placed a pump and a motion detector. It was a cat water bowl — his cats enjoy drinking from the toilet rather than a bathtub.

Now I don’t have pumps lying around, so I just went out and bought a motion detector and recirculating water bowl.

I filled it up, set it going, brought the cat in to view it — and he ran away.

Well, I’ll give him some time to get used to it.

Upper San Roque Creek

October 2, 2014

Every now and then I get the urge to follow one of our local creeks. I do this out of curiosity, I want to see where the creek goes, and what grows in it, and I do it out of stupidity as the creek bed is a pretty unpleasant place in which to travel. I generally pick the end of the dry season in an attempt to limit at least one unpleasant aspect of creek travel.

Today I followed the creek that runs along Jesusita trail. This is called San Roque creek down near Steven’s Park, but where the trail comes out on the road (near the little bridge) there is a junction and one tributary goes up to the left, along the road, and the other goes up to the right along the trail. I followed this latter tributary. I don’t know its real name.

I followed it downhill, starting at the base of the switchbacks on the trail. I went tromping off into the woods and then climbed down the steep bank of the canyon to reach the stream. Rather to my surprise it actually had running water. I haven’t seen running water in San Roque creek for months, but this high up there is some, and it keeps going for about a sixth of a mile.

SR waterfallThere’s a nice little waterfall here, I suppose it really is a waterdrip, but there is certainly water flowing.
SR waterfall
It is covered with venushair fern (Adiantum capillus-veneris) which means there must be water here year round.

Looking down the canyon there are lots of Giant Chain Fern, another sign of permanent water here…

The canyon is covered with lots of sticks, and as I move further down, lots of dead trees. I guess the stream is the lowest place in the area, and any nearby trees that might have been killed in the fire 5 years ago will fall and roll down into it.
SR deadfall

SR deadfall2
These deadfalls make progress very slow. It takes me an hour to go half a mile.

Further down there are bramble thickets, and poison oak.

Every now and then some kind person on the trail would notice me crashing around down below and ask if I were lost, to which I would reply “I’m not lost, just stupid.”

Next time I’m taking the trail…

Just follow the arrow.

September 27, 2014

Up and down, and in and out,
Here and there, and round about;
Ev’ry corner of the place,
Ev’ry twist is in the race,
Ev’ry outlet, ev’ry drain,
Have we run, and run again.

Yoemen of the Guard, W. S. Gilbert

I wasn’t expecting to run the Westmonster XC 5K, but when Rusty (or Mike) posted the workout yesterday it was part of it. A three mile marathon pace run on Mountain Dr. followed by the race on Westmont Campus.

My group agreed we’d go for a 6:50 pace on the MP run. But… well, Mike and Dan were running 6:30s, so the rest of us did too. 6:30 isn’t hard for 3 miles, but it is no longer a pace I could imagine holding for a marathon. Then I had about half an hour to trot down the mile between where we finished on Mountain Dr. and the race start on campus.

I was going to do the race with tired legs, which was what my coaches wanted, though my legs would be a bit more tired than they should be…

The course looked like crochet work when drawn on the campus map. Up here, down there, backwards, forwards, looping and recrossing… But on the ground it was well marked, with white chalk lines on the grass and little green arrows stuck to the pavement when we went on roads. And, even more usefully, lots and lots of students at every intersection to point us the way. And for me… there was always the back of the guy in front.

As we lined up I noticed that Cindy was behind me. Now Cindy is a (much) faster 5K runner than I, on roads at least, and I assumed she would be on a cross-country course too, so I encouraged her to move up. But she claimed injury and a race tomorrow and stayed where she was. I was in the second row, behind a guy who looked fast. Craig was beside me.

We were warned not to run into the photographer on a ladder about 100yds ahead.

We set off. There were a fair number of little kids in front. Some deserve to be there, but most have no idea what they are doing and are going to fade in a quarter mile which turns the race into an obstacle course for a while. Oh well. We start downhill and fast, and then uphill even more steeply, and then a quick right turn and down to the playing fields. And I have to dodge around a little kid who has slowed down. Ahead of me is Craig, and right behind me is Bob Tmur. Mmm. I would like to think I’m still faster than Bob. I hope I’ll pull away…

Oh, we go further down below the playing fields, and then up on the other side of them. I’m not sure who is behind me now. I don’t think it is Bob, but there is someone right there.

My legs do feel tired.

We keep going up. As we cross an open patch I see shadows. The person behind me has a pony tail, so I’m guessing it is Cindy. Hunh. Maybe, injured and with a race tomorrow, she runs at my pace?

Westmonster 2014 Cindy and Me
Taken by Brad Elliott, © Westmont

Now back down to the start line, and a second (but different) loop through the campus. Cindy is still behind, Craig still ahead (though both he and I, and presumably Cindy have passed a couple of other people). We come up to an intersection we went through not long ago, there are still runners from the first loop here, and the students directing us have to guess which loop each runner is on to direct us in our different directions. They seem to do a good job — at least for me.

As I run across a flagstone patio area I notice there is a white arrow on the ground. I don’t pay much attention to it, until suddenly it is stuck to my foot. I guess one of the green arrows somehow turned over and I just ran over the sticky part of it and it’s now mine for the rest of the race…

I wonder if there is any easy way to get it off my foot (without letting Cindy pass me, of course) and I can’t think of anything. So I keep running with a sticky paper arrow flapping around. It’s annoying but not really a problem.

We climb the monster hill now. I think I pull away from Cindy a little on the hill. Hmm. I might be a better climber than she, that would make sense given the kind of running I normally do.

At the top of the hill Mike and Ricky are spectating and cheer me on. Then they notice my arrow and laugh. As Cindy crests the top they cheer her too, and tell her “just follow the arrow”. I think this is about mile 2, and if I recall correctly it’s mostly downhill from now on.

Craig, who this morning was complaining of a hamstring injury is getting further and further ahead of me until I can no longer rely on seeing him to tell me where to turn.

Cindy now catches up with me and then pulls ahead too. Ah well.

The arrow continues to flap around my foot.

Back down around the playing fields, and then up to the road again. Somewhere my arrow disappears. Someone else can run with it now.

Then a little dip and on to the track. It seems to take forever to get around the track with Cindy about 50yds ahead and Craig out of sight.

20:47. Pretty slow for a road 5K (which this was not, of course). That’s a bit better than a 6:40 pace.

Cindy’s husband berates me: “You had a good lead at the top of the hill, how did you lose to her?”

A Mid-Autumn¹ Night’s Dream

September 21, 2014

I go, I go; look how I go,
Swifter than arrow from the Tartar’s bow.

Dream III.2.1135

Luis organized a training run for the Red Rock race at 7am going from Red Rock (day use area) to Camino Cielo and back.

But a week ago the temperature on the coast was about 100°F (and the trails were worse) and I didn’t want to do a 20+ mile run in that sort of heat. So I decided to start at 4am, thinking I’d be back about 9 before the day’s heat really kicked in. And I thought it would be fun to go for a long run in the dark… And that would get me to the top of Camino Cielo about the right time to watch the sunrise.

Yesterday I drove up to Camino Cielo with the intent of placing some water at the turn around point — only to be stopped about a mile from it. There was a skateboard race going on, and I had to wait for the current heat to finish. About 5 minutes. So I waited. Then they let me though. The finish line was where I had intended to stop and it was full of vehicles, so I drove on another quarter mile to the next pull out. Then walked back, hid my water on the trail, returned to the car, and had to wait once more for the next heat.

I didn’t even know we had skateboard races…

I wasn’t sure how long it would take to get to the end of Paradise Rd. but I figured if I left home at 3am that would get me there in good time. As it happened I got off a little early.

When I got to Lower Oso I found that there was a gate across the road there with no passage (for cars) allowed beyond. Damn it. There was a sign near the gate claiming “Gate closed Sunset to Sunrise” — clearly I’d never bothered to read it before. I grumbled quietly to myself as I parked the car. Let’s see… it’s about 5 miles from Lower Oso to Red Rock so… Mmph. That’s almost an extra hour or so each way. I don’t have enough food with me for that. I’m going to have to turn around before Camino Cielo, which means I won’t get to my water. Grrrr. I’ll miss the sunrise over the ocean too.

There were certain sections of trail that I really wanted to run on (sections I rarely do because they take so long to reach if I start from the front country). Turning back at the Grotto sounds about right. It’s probably ~3 miles from there to Camino Cielo, so it’s still going to be a bit longer than I intended but not by much.

All the bathrooms at Lower Oso appeared to be locked or out of order.

Nothing seemed to be going right.

But then I started out and everything was all right again. The stars were very bright. When I ran Nine Trails last month I was mostly running within the reach of city lights — even if the cities were small cities — and there was a (nearly) full moon, so the stars were dimmed. Tonight there was no moon, the night was clear and all cities were hidden by mountains. It was dark. The stars were bright. Orion’s Belt was dead ahead.

I trotted on into the darkness with the insects singing all around me.

After about 2 miles the road fords a channel of the Santa Ynez river. Or rather it would ford the river if there were any water in it. As it is there is just a dip that is covered with concrete (rather than asphalt) and then a rise on the other side. There are several of these crossings. All are dry.

After about 45 minutes I reach the end of the paved road. Red Rock trailhead. A dirt road takes off to the left (behind yet another gate) and that is my route.

Almost immediately I scare up a nightjar. There’s a great whirring of wings as the bird rises from the trail in front of me. — I think it’s a nightjar (or nighthawk, or whatever they call them here), it’s a little hard to be sure in the dark.

After a quarter of a mile or so a bit of single track takes off on the right. That’s the race route, but… I’m kind of interested in seeing were the road goes. I know the trail is just a short cut (also I’m not familiar with it and am a tiny bit worried about following unfamiliar single track in the dark — I’ve only run it once, and there was a steep drop off beside it). Anyway I take the road.

The road goes into darkness. But I do see a goldenbush beside it.

And then I pass the places where you can get good views of the dam (for Gibraltar Reservoir) but I have views of nothing but night at the moment.

And then down into the canyon below the dam, and up the other side.

I get a little lost here. There’s a junction, and one road is the main road, and the other is the driveway to the where the caretakers of the dam live. I end up running around their houses by mistake and waking up a rooster, and then a dog, and then a voice comes out of the darkness asking me where I’m going.

(Anyway that was the gist of the question)

Oops. I apologize. Find the real road again and continue.

It’s not far now to the turn-off for the Mercury Mine. And now we are getting into a section that is actually familiar and becomes more so as I go further toward the Grotto.

After about a mile I see some Matchweed, a plant I have previously only seen growing on the edge Cottam Meadow (of course it is pitch black still, but I recheck it on the way back — in the light — and that is what it is).

I, um, get a little lost at the Mercury Mine too, and I end up running down the road to mine itself, rather than taking the high road that skirts it. But when the road dead ends my mistake becomes apparent, and I run back up the hill a little way and find the junction which I missed before.

It has taken me two hours (and some seconds) to get here and I’ve gone almost 11 miles. It’s about 5:30 and it’s still pitch black.

Moon and DarknessA little before 6 I see a crescent moon rising over the hills ahead of me. My eye can see the hills underneath, and a bright crescent against a dimly lit (earth-light lit) rest of the moon. The camera has different ideas…

I’m currently running high above the riverbed/floodplain of the Santa Ynez river, so I have a good view of the moonrise and the coming dawn.

Moon CrescentTen minutes later I try again. This time with better effect. The hills are visible (as is my flashlight) and the moon is a crescent.

MoonCrescent2 MoonCrescent3

Now I head down into the canyon of the nameless stream the flows out of the Grotto, and the moon is lost to sight. I turn up Cold Spring trail and run the quarter mile to the Grotto. Last time I was here there were still a few Indian Paintbrush blooming at the waterfall, the last few of Castilleja minor for this year. Two are still here, and I peer at them in the dim light of pre-dawn. Yes, there’s a tiny bit of color left, and the top is still in bloom.

Time to turn around.

Brickellia-nevinii-plantBut a little further down Cold Spring there’s a Bricklebush that I’ve only recently identified. Not our common Bricklebush, but Nevin’s Bricklebush. I only know of three plants, so whenever I get close to one I like to check it’s status. So I go a tenth of a mile out of my way (this time down the canyon), and there it is. Still blooming.

It is now light enough that I can see the trail, and I turn off my flashlight.

Then back to the trail to the mine, and out of the canyon.

While I’ve been down there a fog has come out of nowhere and is covering up the dawn. In the next hour or two the fog will become more pronounced, and lower, until I’m running through it by the time I’m back at the mine.

ThreadleafRagwortI can now see all the blooms I missed on the way out. I’m seeing a fair number of flacid senecios (rather an unfortunate name, I feel). I was down this way about two weeks ago and didn’t notice any, but today they seem fairly common.

I trot along past the various landslides and wonder how on earth I got past these in the dark? More to the point there are some bike tracks here on the trail. How did they do it?

CalSeedsA bit further on I spy some Calochortus seeds. I’ve actually gone looking for these lilies on this trail a couple of times over the summer and never seen them. But I’ve always turned back to the Grotto before I got this far and so have been disappointed. I’m guessing these are C. fimgriatus (though there are a couple other species with this seedpod shape, still the plant size and habitat are right for C. f.). That’s good to see. There are only about 7 plants here now. I’ll have to return here next July (I hope it’s cool then…)

CalClavSeedsFive minutes later I find a very large patch of C. clavatus seedpods. This is a much bigger surprise; I really hadn’t expected to find that species anywhere near here. I’ll have to come back in May… And 10 minutes after that I find another (but smaller) patch of them. I guess they are more common than I had imagined.

I start calculating how long it will take before I see Luis’s party. Somewhere around the dam I guess… They started at 7, but didn’t have to run from Lower Oso (at least I hope they didn’t).

There’s a outlook point here, right above the Mercury Mine, and whenever I pass it I stop and look at Gibraltar Reservoir — the upper reaches anyway. It’s shrouded in mist, but even so it is clear that no water is visible at all. The lake floor is covered with shrubs. It’s been dry a long time here.

Ten minutes down the road I finally do see some water.

Then I hear voices, and turning a corner find Karen, Heidi and Andreas. But no Luis. Ah. They started at 6 (and the gate was open for them, lucky people). I tell them where I stashed my water (in case they go there). I realize that I seem to have plenty of water still. It’s a cool day, and now it’s misty. Less need for liquid. I’ve completely forgotten to worry about it.

We say our good-byes and go our separate ways.

I slowly climb out of the reservoir basin, and then back down toward the dam. I hear voices again, but I can’t see anyone. Oh well.

About 5 minutes later, down in the canyon below the dam I meet the first of Luis’s party, and then Luis himself. He wants to know if anyone else started early, so I tell him about the others.

GibDamA large group is running with Luis, but there are some stragglers. I pass Simone and some others (my glasses are fogged up and it’s hard to recognize people). I turn back to chat, and as I do I see the dam. I couldn’t see it in the darkness on the way down. It’s impressive. When I reach the top of the saddle there is an even better view, looking down from above you can see there is water behind the dam. Still. Some.

Now I need to find the turn-off for the trail (now that it is light, I’d like to run down it). I didn’t notice this end of it on the way out… Anyway as long as I can see the tracks of Luis’s party I know that I haven’t passed it. And here there are footprints spread all across the road. New prints too, the sand is speckled with mizzle and the footprints have disturbed it.

Eventually I find the trail, and plunge downhill to Red Rock and Paradise Rd.

Lots of cars here now, but not mine. I’ve got another 4.5 miles to run.

On I go.

After about two miles I can see a bit of blue sky. I’m still under clouds, but the mountains across the way are in sun. It’s nice to see the sky, but I fear that means it will heat up soon…

A couple of trails hit the road along here. I knew about the Mattias Connector, but now I also see where the Camuesa Connector comes in. A bit later, at the final stream crossing, a trail takes off to the left and heads down through the river bed. Lucky it’s dry. I’m pretty sure this is more of the Camuesa Connector and that it will take me back to Lower Oso. So I head out into the unknown. There are only two more miles or so…

The sun is out now, and it is getting hot.

The trail is a bit difficult to run on. It is alternately sandy and rocky. But it’s kind of fun to see what is growing inside the riverbed.

The great grey-green, greasy Santa Ynez River, all set about with sycamore-trees.

The great grey-green, greasy Santa Ynez River, all set about with sycamore-trees.

There isn’t just one trail here, as I had thought, there seems to be a maze of twisty little trails all alike. Still I guess that if I keep picking one going downstream I’ll be OK.

I cross Arroyo Burro Rd. now. Only about 3/4 mile to go now. Google Maps gets this trail wrong. They claim it stops here (among other problems). But it doesn’t stop it keeps going.

I pass a family out horseback riding.

Mmm. Maybe the maze of twisty little trails isn’t quite as easy to get out of as I hoped. I’m on the wrong side (south side) of the river now and climbing the bank away from it. Oh dear. As I recall the hint was “Don’t go west”, and I’m going west.

So I head north at the next intersection. And north again. And eventually I cross the river, and climb up the north bank, and am 50 feet from my car.

¹If mid-summer’s day is on the summer solstice, then surely mid-autumn’s day is on the autumnal equinox.

The Finish Line

December 2, 2013

For me, the finish line is magical. I often reach the line, healthy but am a shambles once I’m on the other side of it.

Three people told me I looked good in the last half mile of SBIM, but once I crossed the line everyone was concerned. June even ran up to me to help me… Then I sat down until I vomited.

And that’s not a unique occurrence. In my first 15K I ran fairly normally, but was unable to walk once I crossed the line — somewhere in the race I had acquired a stress fracture in my pelvis — and I’m sure that didn’t happen in that last step.

In many marathons and ultras I pretty much have collapsed with dehydration — once I cross the line.

Something happens during a race and I don’t notice pain or other problems, but once I finish I am finished.

The French word for the finish line is arrivée — arrival — which, to me, an English speaker, has completely different connotations. “Arrival” seems to focus on what comes next rather than what has been. It ignores the race that has happened in favor of — well, I’m not sure what.

Perhaps I’d race better in France.

Pacer song

October 19, 2013

I’ve got a sign, it says 3-flat
—[I’ve got a sign, it says 3-five]
—[I’ve got a sign, it says 3:10]
—[I’ve got a sign, says 3:15]
—[I’ve got a sign, 3:25]
—[I’ve got a sign, says 3:30]
—[I’ve got a sign, says 3:50]
Twenty-six miles on SBIM
I’ve a good old watch, which knows where I’m at
—[I’ve a good old watch, and for that pace I strive]
—[I’ve a good old watch, and so my pace I ken]
—[I’ve a good old watch, and that’s the pass I mean]
—[I’ve a good pair of legs, and they feel sturdy]
-[We’ll ignore the pace when the road gets Cliffty]
Twenty-six miles on SBIM

We’ve run some races in our day
Filled with striving, speed, and play
And we know every inch of the way
From Go-le-ta to Santa B.

High bridge, everybody run
High bridge cause we’re crossing one-oh-one
And you’ll always know your pacer
And you’ll always know your pal
If you’ve ever run a pace group on the SBIM

There seemed no point in adding entries for 3:35, 3:45, 3:55, 4:25 as they can rhyme the same as 3:25. Similarly there seemed no point in mentioning the 4:00, 4:10, etc. groups as they match the similar 3 hour groups. I couldn’t find a rhyme for 3:40 except naughty, and I didn’t like the implications of that.
Half marathon groups are similar except it’s only: “Thirteen miles on the SBIM” and “From Hollister to Santa B.”
A little after mile 2 on Los Carneros there is a short sharp rise to go over a bridge that crosses 101 freeway. And when going up Cliff my pace tends to slow by about 2 minutes/mile.

Today was a 13 mile marathon pace effort. By mile 3 I was alone. At times my mind would divert itself by bastardizing poetry. At other times it concentrated on running hard enough.

Weight loss during a running race

October 13, 2012

So what ways are there of changing weight during exercise?

Glycogen is the primary energy storage unit for muscles, and it is a complex of lots of glucose molecules. So muscles get their energy from the oxidation of glucose. If you trace through the glycolysis and pyruvate pathways and the Krebs cycle you see that each glucose (C₆H₁₂O₆) molecule + 3 O₂ ends up as 6 CO₂ and 12 H+. The CO₂ gets breathed out so counts as weight loss, the O₂ gets breathed in and counts as weight gain. My recollection is fuzzy, but I presume the lonely H+ will end up finding some oxygen to make water with, which will be retained; that’s another 3 O₂ of weight gain. So the combustion of a mole of glucose (= 180g) loses 6 moles of CO₂ (=6*44=264g), gains 6 moles of O₂ (6*32 = 192g) and retains 6 moles of water (6*18=108g). Or a net loss of 72g of carbon. In other words there is a net loss of 40% of original mass of glucose.

Now my handy-dandy heart rate monitor thinks I expended 2833 Calories to run my last marathon (bit more than 3 hours). And each gram of glucose produces about 4 Calories. So I lost .4 * 2833/4 grams = 283grams carbon. That’s about 5/8ths of a pound.

(The uncertainty here is whether the monitor correctly calculated calories burned (and I assume that includes a basal metabolic rate)).

Now when I take a breath, air enters my lungs at the outside temperature and humidity and leaves the lungs at body temperature and 100% humidity. So unless I’m running in 100% humidity at body temperature or above, I lose water with each breath. The question of “How much?” is going to depend on the initial amount of water in the air.

Last time I ran in Sacramento the temperature started out at 39, and probably climbed to 50 or so (I don’t know what it was at the end, but it still was chilly). I have no idea what the humidity was. As I write the humidity there is 50%. So let’s presume a humidity of 50% and an average temperature of 45.

Now Wikipedia tells me that the average tidal volume of the adult male or female is about 0.5liter. Now I bet that increases a bit in heavy exercise, but I don’t see any data on that, so assume 0.5liters. Now I take a breath each time my left foot strikes the ground, which happens about 85 times a minute when going at pace.

Now the amount of water the air can hold is determined by the temperature. At 37°C (body temperature), 100% humidity is about 40g/m³, while at 7°C (chilly Sacramento December morning air) it’s about 3.5g/m³. And there are 1000 liters in a m³. So every breath represents a loss of (40-4)g/m³ * .5l = 18 milli grams. Not much.

But we take lots of breaths. 85/minute * 3*60 (3 hours of minutes) = 15,300 breaths in a marathon. So that comes to about 275 grams of water lost (just from breathing) over a marathon. That’s a little less than 5/8ths of a pound.

(The uncertainties here are many. My tidal volume, whether that changes during heavy exercise, actual temperature, actual humidity).

And that leaves sweating. And I don’t have a good way to estimate this other than going out and measuring it. And I can’t measure it directly, but only my weight loss over the course of a run. I expect it’s going to depend hugely on factors like temperature, humidity, possibly wind, maybe even the phase of the moon.

(I must admit there is also a certain amount of mucus that runs out of my nose too. I shall call that sweat, and ignore it as a special case).

But the one test I have made so far says that running at roughly marathon pace on an indoor treadmill, I lose 3¼lbs an hour. Now if we assume I lose about a pound in 3 hours from metabolism and transipration, that still means I lost almost 3lb to sweat in an hour.

Sacramento will be cooler…

I just thought of something

September 28, 2012

My last three marathons:

California International Marathon 2007
No carbo-loading whatsoever
Fell apart at mile 18 3:07:38
Avenue of the Giants Marathon 2010
Ineffective carbo-loading (diarrhea)
Fell apart slowly starting at mile 9 3:06:19
SB International Marathon 2011
Effective carbo-load (I think)
Fell apart at mile 17 3:07:21

Hunh. Carbo-loading really doesn’t seem to make any difference whatsoever. Or else I haven’t the faintest idea how to do it right…

So I need to try something else…

Maybe I should carry a camelback in my next race and drink frequently?