The early results suggest that Mayor Daley was a better friend to both runners and bikers than his esteemed successor. This is the first year I can remember that the water fountains in the park were not on by the Shamrock Shuffle 8K, the unofficial start of the training season for the Chicago marathon. Its now long past St Patty's day, Easter, and the Shuffle and the only fountain I have seen that works is next to a turf soccer field that is used nearly 24/7 by various amateur and semi-pro leagues. I assume Chicago's conversion to "dry" status is based on our desperate financial condition to save on water bills, which if true, I would suggest fixing the water fountain by the soccer fields so it doesn't run all the time.
Another suggestion is to stop moving the distance markers in the park. There is no cosmically right answer as long as the markers are the correct distance apart from each other. It is idiotic to keep adjusting the start and finish of an 18 mile path and then slightly moving (and sometimes removing) the 34 half mile markers in between. You think this was "shovel ready" project for federal stimulus money? If not, a silly waste of money better spent on quenching the thirst of the thousands of lakefront athletes, most of whom already know where they are and how far they have gone.
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Running Pilgrimage
I am sitting on a bed in the Park Plaza Hotel at the corner of Arlington and Stuart streets in the Back Bay neighborhood of Boston. The Boston Marathon starts in 23 hours 45 minutes. It is a pretty lonely endeavor waiting out the pre-marathon day on a destination race. After many, many races doing it the wrong way, I have learned I just need to sit here with legs in the air. So I brought some work and an excellent John Le Carre novel -- The Spy Who Came In from the Cold -- and except for a light jog this morning and a little walk to see the stragglers at the 5K that was run this morning, I am pretty much staying put.
This is my third annual pilgrimage to worship at the temple of Marathon. I have not run the great races in the runningprofs' various home metropolises, so I am not able to opine on a relative basis, but as an absolute matter it is difficult to imagine an event that is more of a cultish endeavor than is the Boston Marathon.
Everything from boarding the train in DC yesterday until I arrive at home on Monday (hopefully satisfied) is part of a collective spiritual event. In line for the Acela I see others who are obviously heading north to run. On the train we exchange curt nods as we make our ways back and forth to the dining car and to the restroom, and I share the occasional brief conversation about how the weather looks better than last year. Disembarking at Back Bay Station and walking to the hotel I start to experience the throngs of skinny people wearing branded running garb, much of it reflecting far-flung nationalities. Checking in at the hotel is like joining a parade, and seemingly every conversation begins with "where did you qualify?" or "did the training go as you had hoped?" The race expo is a madhouse that I depart as quickly as I can. My jog this morning around the Boston Common felt more like a pre-race warm-up than a run a full day prior to the race. Literally hundreds were out there and to a one they looked ready.
I know what it will be like going home, too. The whole city is supporting this race, so on the subway to Logan, during the check-in process, in the security lines, even boarding the flight and taking my seat -- I would bet 25% or more of the passengers are on their post-marathon exodus -- people will be offering congratulations and back-slaps. (In 2011 I missed my flight. The gate agent waived the change fee without my asking -- "I wouldn't be able to get up that early after running a marathon, either!" -- and the flight crew on the plane I did take polled the runners while taking tickets about their finishing times.)
It is finally getting to me. I have been in a running funk for the last several weeks, so much so that I am already looking ahead to the next opportunity to attempt a PR. But as I finish my walk this morning and watch the stream of 5K finishers with their medals and bags of post-race nutrition, and I see the race-day infrastructure being set up and being tested -- my teeth began to itch.
Itchy teeth: that has always been how I know I want to run. It does not mean I will have a good race, but it does mean my heart will jump when the gun sounds.
This is my third annual pilgrimage to worship at the temple of Marathon. I have not run the great races in the runningprofs' various home metropolises, so I am not able to opine on a relative basis, but as an absolute matter it is difficult to imagine an event that is more of a cultish endeavor than is the Boston Marathon.
Everything from boarding the train in DC yesterday until I arrive at home on Monday (hopefully satisfied) is part of a collective spiritual event. In line for the Acela I see others who are obviously heading north to run. On the train we exchange curt nods as we make our ways back and forth to the dining car and to the restroom, and I share the occasional brief conversation about how the weather looks better than last year. Disembarking at Back Bay Station and walking to the hotel I start to experience the throngs of skinny people wearing branded running garb, much of it reflecting far-flung nationalities. Checking in at the hotel is like joining a parade, and seemingly every conversation begins with "where did you qualify?" or "did the training go as you had hoped?" The race expo is a madhouse that I depart as quickly as I can. My jog this morning around the Boston Common felt more like a pre-race warm-up than a run a full day prior to the race. Literally hundreds were out there and to a one they looked ready.
I know what it will be like going home, too. The whole city is supporting this race, so on the subway to Logan, during the check-in process, in the security lines, even boarding the flight and taking my seat -- I would bet 25% or more of the passengers are on their post-marathon exodus -- people will be offering congratulations and back-slaps. (In 2011 I missed my flight. The gate agent waived the change fee without my asking -- "I wouldn't be able to get up that early after running a marathon, either!" -- and the flight crew on the plane I did take polled the runners while taking tickets about their finishing times.)
It is finally getting to me. I have been in a running funk for the last several weeks, so much so that I am already looking ahead to the next opportunity to attempt a PR. But as I finish my walk this morning and watch the stream of 5K finishers with their medals and bags of post-race nutrition, and I see the race-day infrastructure being set up and being tested -- my teeth began to itch.
Itchy teeth: that has always been how I know I want to run. It does not mean I will have a good race, but it does mean my heart will jump when the gun sounds.
Friday, April 12, 2013
Entry Discount
Courtesy of Coach Mike Hamberger, here's a link for entry discounts for nearly all of the Rock and Roll series races, good tomorrow only. Among other races that may interest the runningprofs, they boast a 10K in Brooklyn in October and a 1/2 Marathon in Chicago in July.
I'm not a fan of Rock and Roll as a race promoter, but they have races in places that I like to run. I hope to knock out their 1/2 marathon in DC next March.
Note: I hesitated to share such a behaviorally exploitative exploding offer, but I did think there was a danger one or more of us might actually benefit from it.
I'm not a fan of Rock and Roll as a race promoter, but they have races in places that I like to run. I hope to knock out their 1/2 marathon in DC next March.
Note: I hesitated to share such a behaviorally exploitative exploding offer, but I did think there was a danger one or more of us might actually benefit from it.
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
In Class Merger Simulation
Most years, I try to teach merger law through an extended in class simulation. Its my way of forcing the students to actively learn and apply the material rather than passively read and take notes in class. It depends of course on whether there is a good pending merger case or investigation in an industry that is reasonably accessible and with a decent amount of publicly available information. Past years I did the United-Continental merger and the ATT-T Mobile merger.
This year was beer something I was confident the students know a fair bit about. I divided the class into thirds, 1/3 for the government and 2/3 for the defendants which always sounded about right from past real world experience. Each team had issue specialists assigned to market definition/market power; theories of harm; barriers to entry; efficiencies and failing firm (when relevant). Besides the class book readings, I assigned the sections of the Guidelines for each student's issues and the complaint DOJ filed against the InBev-Grupo Mondelo merger. Over the course of 4-5 classes, I gave very brief comments about each of the key issues in modern merger analysis and described a key case or two. The rest of the time was for the groups to work together and develop their positions. One class was all intra-group discussion, part of a later class an informal inter-group conversation where each side could ask the other for more information and their tentative positions on each issues. The final class was a more formal presentation by the defendants (with power points) to the government why they shouldn't sue, a response from the government, and negotiations over remedies in lieu of litigation. I served as the judge waiting to deliver my opinion if the parties did not reach an agreement. In the end, they reached a tentative consent decree that closely matched the later agreement that is apparently going to resolve the dispute in the real world.
Every year I was impressed with the professionalism and the seriousness with which the students take their roles. I also particularly appreciated the many exhibits that both sides had for their presentations and the spirited debate over whether hard liquor, wine, hard cider, craft beers, home brew, and something called Bud Light Lime-a-rita were part of the relevant market.
This year was beer something I was confident the students know a fair bit about. I divided the class into thirds, 1/3 for the government and 2/3 for the defendants which always sounded about right from past real world experience. Each team had issue specialists assigned to market definition/market power; theories of harm; barriers to entry; efficiencies and failing firm (when relevant). Besides the class book readings, I assigned the sections of the Guidelines for each student's issues and the complaint DOJ filed against the InBev-Grupo Mondelo merger. Over the course of 4-5 classes, I gave very brief comments about each of the key issues in modern merger analysis and described a key case or two. The rest of the time was for the groups to work together and develop their positions. One class was all intra-group discussion, part of a later class an informal inter-group conversation where each side could ask the other for more information and their tentative positions on each issues. The final class was a more formal presentation by the defendants (with power points) to the government why they shouldn't sue, a response from the government, and negotiations over remedies in lieu of litigation. I served as the judge waiting to deliver my opinion if the parties did not reach an agreement. In the end, they reached a tentative consent decree that closely matched the later agreement that is apparently going to resolve the dispute in the real world.
Every year I was impressed with the professionalism and the seriousness with which the students take their roles. I also particularly appreciated the many exhibits that both sides had for their presentations and the spirited debate over whether hard liquor, wine, hard cider, craft beers, home brew, and something called Bud Light Lime-a-rita were part of the relevant market.
Something about Marathoners
I recently had an early-morning flight home to DC on which I had been upgraded and had the first-class cabin to myself. It was one of those clear sky mornings when I could sip coffee and look out the plane window to the south, not yet caffeinated enough for my mind to skip around but no longer interested in sleep. As we flew eastward, crossing the Ohio River into West Virginia, I found myself thinking about Patrick Muturi.
My second marathon was in Carlsbad, California, in late January, in a race then called the San Diego Marathon. It is still run, now as the Carlsbad Marathon. That was 2001. I went there almost on a whim, and being in the middle of the US v. American Airlines litigation could not devote the time to a vacation, so I flew out on Saturday, raced on Sunday, and flew back that afternoon. It was a marvelous race. I remember coming through the first mile at 7:00, actually saying out loud "that was way too fast!", and somehow proceeding to run a steady 7:00 pace from start to finish. The race started in Carlsbad, headed south a short ways before turning inland into the coastal hills and the Lego-land theme park, re-joined Highway 101 at about mile 16, and then followed the highway back north to finish in Carlsbad. Somewhere there was an out-and-back early enough to see the race leaders, and it was my first ever experience watching elite marathoners running up close. My finishing time was a massive personal best, placing me 38th overall out of some 2000 runners, and remained my best until late in 2011.
In the San Diego airport, while standing in line for my seat at the gate (this was a Southwest flight), I saw a diminutive man with a chiseled face and a gentle expression. I might have mistaken him for a DC street vendor if I had not just come from the race. As it was I knew he had run, and flush with my excitement over my own time I was bold enough to ask, Did you race today?
Yes, he said, quietly.
Did it go well?
No, he said, I had trouble in the second half. I was fourth. And you?
I lost the excitement about my own amateur performance. I stammered something like, I ran, but it was nothing like you. I'm just a weekend warrior.
He asked, Was it your best time?
Yes, I replied.
That is good, then. You ran well.
And that was it. We both flew back to Baltimore. I returned home and he to his home, which I later discovered was in Maryland. I looked on the Internet and discovered I had been speaking with Patrick Muturi, a Kenyan-born American who had run sub-2:09 a few years prior in Chicago. In Carlsbad that day he had stumbled to a 2:25, but maintained the grace to tell a presumptuous amateur that the amateur had run well.
That race stuck with me for a long time. It is the first time I remember feeling like an athlete. It may have been the last, too -- there was something magical about running fairly well for a weekend warrior when I didn't know enough to realize that many, many were running much better. In contrast, now I am faster, but I hang out with runners -- so it seems that everybody is faster.
And that meeting with Patrick Muturi gave me a glow that did not dissipate. I remember telling my then-girlfriend C__ that "he was beautiful. He looked like he was made to do one thing and he knew what that thing was." Even as I said it I felt ashamed, as if I was minimizing him somehow, but Muturi had made a life choice, at that point in his life, to be a marathoner -- and a marathoner he was.
My second marathon was in Carlsbad, California, in late January, in a race then called the San Diego Marathon. It is still run, now as the Carlsbad Marathon. That was 2001. I went there almost on a whim, and being in the middle of the US v. American Airlines litigation could not devote the time to a vacation, so I flew out on Saturday, raced on Sunday, and flew back that afternoon. It was a marvelous race. I remember coming through the first mile at 7:00, actually saying out loud "that was way too fast!", and somehow proceeding to run a steady 7:00 pace from start to finish. The race started in Carlsbad, headed south a short ways before turning inland into the coastal hills and the Lego-land theme park, re-joined Highway 101 at about mile 16, and then followed the highway back north to finish in Carlsbad. Somewhere there was an out-and-back early enough to see the race leaders, and it was my first ever experience watching elite marathoners running up close. My finishing time was a massive personal best, placing me 38th overall out of some 2000 runners, and remained my best until late in 2011.
In the San Diego airport, while standing in line for my seat at the gate (this was a Southwest flight), I saw a diminutive man with a chiseled face and a gentle expression. I might have mistaken him for a DC street vendor if I had not just come from the race. As it was I knew he had run, and flush with my excitement over my own time I was bold enough to ask, Did you race today?
Yes, he said, quietly.
Did it go well?
No, he said, I had trouble in the second half. I was fourth. And you?
I lost the excitement about my own amateur performance. I stammered something like, I ran, but it was nothing like you. I'm just a weekend warrior.
He asked, Was it your best time?
Yes, I replied.
That is good, then. You ran well.
And that was it. We both flew back to Baltimore. I returned home and he to his home, which I later discovered was in Maryland. I looked on the Internet and discovered I had been speaking with Patrick Muturi, a Kenyan-born American who had run sub-2:09 a few years prior in Chicago. In Carlsbad that day he had stumbled to a 2:25, but maintained the grace to tell a presumptuous amateur that the amateur had run well.
That race stuck with me for a long time. It is the first time I remember feeling like an athlete. It may have been the last, too -- there was something magical about running fairly well for a weekend warrior when I didn't know enough to realize that many, many were running much better. In contrast, now I am faster, but I hang out with runners -- so it seems that everybody is faster.
And that meeting with Patrick Muturi gave me a glow that did not dissipate. I remember telling my then-girlfriend C__ that "he was beautiful. He looked like he was made to do one thing and he knew what that thing was." Even as I said it I felt ashamed, as if I was minimizing him somehow, but Muturi had made a life choice, at that point in his life, to be a marathoner -- and a marathoner he was.
Saturday, April 6, 2013
Ugh and a funny sight
Another too brutal 15 miles, this time 8 days before Boston. Some realities:
(1) I am not PR'ing in Boston.
(2) I am not breaking 3:00 in Boston (a necessary corollary of number 1).
(3) Boston is going to hurt.
Then I walked in to the office. I'm here to finish my edits on "Commissioner Wright and Behavioral Antitrust" for the Antitrust Source. (Euphemistic conclusion in 10 words or less: Commissioner Wright will not be leading any charges.)
I stopped by Potbelly's on the way for a roast beef sub and a chocolate milkshake. The picture depicts their decor over the register. It's a little hard to see (I'm no photographer, sorry to say), but yes, those are copies of West's Bankruptcy Reporter. Lost in the glare is an old John Couger -- yes, using the old name -- album jacket and a picture of JF and Jacqueline kissing babies. Is this a statement about print books or about the business of bankruptcy?
(1) I am not PR'ing in Boston.
(2) I am not breaking 3:00 in Boston (a necessary corollary of number 1).
(3) Boston is going to hurt.
Then I walked in to the office. I'm here to finish my edits on "Commissioner Wright and Behavioral Antitrust" for the Antitrust Source. (Euphemistic conclusion in 10 words or less: Commissioner Wright will not be leading any charges.)
I stopped by Potbelly's on the way for a roast beef sub and a chocolate milkshake. The picture depicts their decor over the register. It's a little hard to see (I'm no photographer, sorry to say), but yes, those are copies of West's Bankruptcy Reporter. Lost in the glare is an old John Couger -- yes, using the old name -- album jacket and a picture of JF and Jacqueline kissing babies. Is this a statement about print books or about the business of bankruptcy?
That Was Fun!
Okay, so one of my great white whales has been the 22 minute 5K (7.04 pace). I may have gone faster once or twice in high school, but those times are lost to posterity. I got close in the hilly Chilmark Road Race in 2001 (22:16), but haven't really come close since. This Fall, Nike+ told me that I'd run a 22.22 5K in the middle of a slightly longer fun run, so I thought the goal might be in sight. In the run up to Rome, I ran a couple of 4 milers and one 5K, but always the day after a long run, so my times were slower.
Today felt like it might be the day. On the up side, I rested yesterday, I'm still pretty fit from Rome, and I'd signed up for the Eileen Dugan 5K, a small (300 runners), flat, 5K in Brooklyn Bridge Park, less than a mile from my house. On the down side, my left achilles is still a bit sore, and all that pasta from Rome seems to have found my midsection.
Beautiful day, a bit cold, but that's not a bad thing. Actually knew the folks at the registration table. Nice! No line to pee!! Very nice!!! Lined up, listened to a couple of speeches, including my second speech of the week from Marty Markowitz (Borough President). Does that man ever sleep?
Took off fast. Concentrated on lifting my knees, and following through on both sides. Settled in with a group of about 4 guys. We kept trading places. Looked at my heart rate monitor. It said 213bpm. Decided not to look at my heart rate monitor anymore, as it was clearly not reading correctly. Feeling fine. Looked again a few minutes later and it as reading at between 95 and 98%. That seemed about right. First mile 6:45 pace. Woohoo!! Brooklyn Bridge Park is the home of many of my morning runs, so everything felt comfortable and familiar. There were a couple of sharp turns that were annoying and a fair amount of gravel, very annoying, but still feeling okay. Second mile 7:05 pace. Just hang in and you've got it. At this point, the guys I'd been running with started opening it up a bit, and I felt like I was drifting back slightly. Gunning it to stay with them felt risky. Checked heart rate, holding steady. Legs were beginning to hurt, but not too badly. The finish was visible, for the whole last mile. An old dude came up from behind, I pushed it some more. Third mile 7:14 (okay . . .), and then kick it in for the last bit. 21:22. Yess!!! I finished 15th, not bad for an old guy.
After a bit of a post-mortem, all of the Garmins polled seemed to measure the course at around 3.06 or 3.07, so it appears that it was about 160 feet short. But even if you add back about 10-20 seconds (I was kicking at about a 6 minute mile pace), I was still comfortably under 22 minutes, and set a new PR. Hooray!!
And, the nice thing about 5Ks, is that my morning workout was over after less than half an hour.
Took off fast. Concentrated on lifting my knees, and following through on both sides. Settled in with a group of about 4 guys. We kept trading places. Looked at my heart rate monitor. It said 213bpm. Decided not to look at my heart rate monitor anymore, as it was clearly not reading correctly. Feeling fine. Looked again a few minutes later and it as reading at between 95 and 98%. That seemed about right. First mile 6:45 pace. Woohoo!! Brooklyn Bridge Park is the home of many of my morning runs, so everything felt comfortable and familiar. There were a couple of sharp turns that were annoying and a fair amount of gravel, very annoying, but still feeling okay. Second mile 7:05 pace. Just hang in and you've got it. At this point, the guys I'd been running with started opening it up a bit, and I felt like I was drifting back slightly. Gunning it to stay with them felt risky. Checked heart rate, holding steady. Legs were beginning to hurt, but not too badly. The finish was visible, for the whole last mile. An old dude came up from behind, I pushed it some more. Third mile 7:14 (okay . . .), and then kick it in for the last bit. 21:22. Yess!!! I finished 15th, not bad for an old guy.
After a bit of a post-mortem, all of the Garmins polled seemed to measure the course at around 3.06 or 3.07, so it appears that it was about 160 feet short. But even if you add back about 10-20 seconds (I was kicking at about a 6 minute mile pace), I was still comfortably under 22 minutes, and set a new PR. Hooray!!
And, the nice thing about 5Ks, is that my morning workout was over after less than half an hour.
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