Words and the Numerosity

of Their Meanings

Because English is a living language, some words force themselves into use—sometimes overuse—while others become anemic and die. You don’t hear “groovy” too much these days, or “psychedelic,” or even “rad.” “Awesome” has dropped off the radar screen, “wicked” (regionally confined to New England) is going the way of the Edsel, and “amazing” is currently way overused.

On the marketing and PR front, about all you hear these days is “branding.” It used to be that “branding” referred to applying a hot iron to the flank of a steer for purposes of identification. These days it refers to “the promotion of a particular product or company by means of advertising and distinctive design.”

At the annual Running USA convention in February, every other speaker used the term “branding” along with the accompanying jargon that is a required tool kit of an “in” term. To be frank, I was lost half the time, because although the words sounded like English, the cumulative effect was of a tongue I knew not. Glancing about, I gathered the impression that I was not the only one lost in a jungle of jargon and gibberish.

I think that what the speakers were trying to say is that you’ve got to get the news of your event or product out there, and in order to help raise the consciousness of your audience, you need to have distinct signs and symbols that people will recognize and associate with what you’re trying to sell. This is not exactly a new concept. The Roman armies carried standards on poles at the front of their armies. The hordes from northern Europe made it even easier: they stuck the heads of their enemies on the tips of their spears and rode into battle, often on horses sporting brands on their flanks.

The “branding” that the experts at the Running USA convention were talking about, though, were brands like the B.A.A.’s unicorn or Nike’s swoosh or the New Balance “N” on the side of their shoes. Or some association that when mentioned automatically causes your brain to make the connection witha distinct entity: Boston Marathon charities equals The Jimmie Fund, or five boroughs equals the New York City Marathon, or goofy costumes (or no costumes at all) equals San Francisco’s Bay-to-Breakers Race. Now, of course, it’s the ING Bay-to-Breakers Race, the ING being sponsor branding.

I guess we used to call it product or service identification.

One of the experts, who had a “swell” (another word not often used these days) PowerPoint (brand name) presentation, flashed a “slide” (another word not often used these days of digital everything) on the screen that virtually (an “in” word these days) exploded with well-known “logos”…er… “brands”: Ford (a brand that may not be around much longer if it doesn’t get its act together), GM, Exxon (previously Esso in the United States), 76, Tide, M&Ms, Wal-Mart, stuff like that. He then flashed the next “slide,” which was ripe with “brands” associated with the running industry: Nike, Gatorade, PowerBar, The Stick, USATF, “N” (as in New Balance—whoops! I guess if I have to explain it, it ain’t properly “branded’’), CamelBak, RRCA, and more.

The idea was, I guess, that we should all strive to get a symbol of our race or product in front of the eyes of our potential customers and then keep it there by whatever means possible. I suppose that means hiring someone who is an expert at knowing how to do just that.

At least I think that was the idea. When I looked at my notes at the end of the session, I couldn’t make hide nor hair (another old, out-of-date expression) of them. I had tried to jot down notes as fast as the “images”—I think that’s the acceptable word these days, used to replace the archaic “‘slide”— were flashing onto the screen but had obviously failed miserably. The branding hadn’t taken very well. Or perhaps it was smudged.

The fellow next to me, who directs anice little marathon in Southern California, had even less on his notepad than I had. In fact, he had absolutely nothing, not even a doodle.

“Did you follow any of that?” I asked him.

“T think you either have to get all of it or get none of it,” he said.

“So which did you get?” I asked.

He held up his notepad.

“Me too,” I said. “I’d be glad to share my notes of what I didn’t get.”

We wandered out into the little exhibition/registration area to look at the new clothes Leslie Jordan was showing off.

Many people these days make an occupation of being offended at any number of things they encounter in life, from how someone refers to an ethnic group to the color the neighbor paints his house. As we milled around waiting to go to lunch, I wondered to myself how offended cowpokes were at the word “branded” being usurped. Were they as offended as happy people were at losing the use of the word “gay”? Would they be willing to share the way Apple Records and Apple Computers eventually were? Or were cowpokes these days such a minor minority that what they thought didn’t much matter? It sure wasn’t like that when my grandfather and I used to spend Saturday afternoons watching Westerns on TV. Roundups and branding were very important—and integral—to the whole cowboy experience and to the development of our country. About this current “branding,” I wasn’t so sure.

Later in the day, though, a young feller—that’s how cowpokes, who know about branding, used to talk—got hisself up there and explained it from the point of view of ING. Up until a few years ago, ING was three letters that you attached to the end of words to denote a verbal action, an instance of this, or its result, like making “denote” into “denoting.” Adding “ing” can also form the present participle of verbs (for example, doing) or form adjectives from nouns (such as hulking).

Well of course, we know that ING has nothing to do with mutating already useful words. When ING invaded our shores, it spent a lot of money on advertising to let us know there was no word lurking in front of the “-ing,” it was just a financial organization invading us from Europe. And it was orange (more branding), and it had learned that people who run long road races were demographically just the people on whom it wanted to put its brand. So the company got into sponsoring major road races throughout the world, as long as it could attach its ING in front of the name of the race—just the opposite of the lowercase “-ing.” For that, it was prepared to pay a premium, it was prepared to respect the fact that the race committee with which it was teaming up was the experts in putting on the race, and it was prepared to follow up by investing additional dollars into promoting its brand. And it seemed to be working well. The young feller had the numbers to prove that it was working.

The young feller’s name was Steve Baskin, and still is, I suppose, and you

could tell that he was pretty high up in the company because his last name needed only the “g” added to the end and he would be president. (And dare I say it? When that happens, he will be “basking” in the glory of his new role. Sorry. Where puns are concerned…)

Actually, Steve’s title is Director Strategic Sponsorship, and he did a “swell” job of presenting his topic. He was smart enough to not turn off any of us old stick-in-the-mud (another old expression not seen too much since they paved most roads) types. He didn’t use “branding” in the title of his talk; instead, it was simply “Strategies for Both Sides of Sponsorship.” We old fogies could “dig” (another outmoded word) what he had to say. We could even understand some of our notes when we consulted them afterward.

One of the interesting things that came out of the sessions on “branding” was that most of the experts felt that the professional sport that was far and away best at “branding” was NASCAR, which makes sense, since most of the drivers and teams are gloriously and loudly tied to their sponsors: Tony Stewart (Home Depot), Jimmie Johnson (Lowe’s), Jeff Gordon (DuPont), Dale Earnhardt Jr. (Bud), and so forth.

Over a few beers (Sam Adams) that night, a handful of us custom retreads (some of whom actually follow NASCAR) came up with a plan for “branding” in our sport that would benefit our emerging running stars. Considering the skimpy modern running outfits that

top-class runners wear today, there is plenty of exposed skin, even if it is skinny skin. If NASCAR Cup cars and racer uniforms can be festooned with sponsor logos, why not runners? There is plenty of space on arms and legs and shoulders to “brand” sponsor logos. No reason Deena Kastor can’t sport a Chevron tattoo on her upper right arm. How about a pair of McDonald’s arches on the outside of Meb’s left thigh?

Since sponsors often move their support around these days, there is no reason to actually get branded. Temporary tattoos are popular and could be affixed to world-class runners the same way race logos and team logos are applied as temporary tattoos to middleof-the-pack runners at some races. If Meb runs in the front pack during live start-to-finish TV coverage, how much is his left thigh worth to a sponsor? Can’t afford his left thigh? How about his right ankle, just above the sock?

For years, major running-shoe companies have been showing off their logos on the racing singlet of elite runners. If “branding” is truly “in,” it’s time to expand the concept, to brand everything in sight. The NFL brands the end zone with team names and mascots. NASCAR brands the infield in front of the pits with sponsor logos. Let’s brand the green in Hopkinton and the world’s longest urinal on Staten Island and that Picasso statue in Chicago and The Empress Hotel in Victoria and Ocean Beach in San Francisco. Let’s get go-ING.

Eo * * Some of the biggest news out of Hollywood over the past year is the number

of films that have been red lighted. Yes, that’s not a misprint. Not green lighted, red lighted. It’s primarily because once the project got going, the costs began to escalate (frequently involving the proposed salaries of the stars) to the point that the studio pencil pushers realized that there was no way they could make any money on the project. Instead of the dreaded “developmental hell,” Hollywood now has the dustbin of half-started projects.

When you look at the price of a typical Hollywood film these days, you begin to think in terms of money figures more commonly associated with annual state budgets. “Wretched excess” is a term that most of us would associate with the typical Hollywood movie.

Fortunately laws of nature are at work within the universe we inhabit, and for every action, there is an opposite reaction. The reaction to Hollywood’s excess is living small in Portland, Oregon. He’s a fellow by the name of Kelley Baker, who calls himself The Angry Filmmaker (and yes, that’s his Web site: www.angryfilmmaker.com), who—Get this!—has made a decent 100-minutelong running movie for $6,000.

First off, let’s establish why Kelley is angry. He promotes several reasons, one of them being that people who don’t know him assume he’s a she. Another reason: he sees himself as an independent filmmaker, but that word has been usurped by Hollywood to the point that these days independent films cost a fortune to make. Another reason: people shouldn’t make fun of the unemployment department, since

Kelley financed at least one of his films with unemployment checks.

Kelley’s running film is titled Kicking Bird, and it’s his third feature film after The Gas Café (2001) and Birddog (1999). His specialty in filmmaking is sound. He worked as the sound designer on six of Gus Van Sant’s movies, including My Own Private Idaho, Good Will Hunting, and Finding Forrester.

As a result, the strongest aspect of Kicking Bird is the sound, which is exceptional.

Because the film was shot for $6,000, the production values are not always as first-class as we would like to see them. Some of the lighting is a bit off so that the shadows are sometimes a bit on the dense side, especially those shot indoors. And a bit of the plot is strained (Kelley wrote and directed the film), which I’ll touch on in a moment.

The story involves Martin “Bird” Johnson, a 17-year-old white-trash high school student whose running is the one saving grace within a life that is chaos. His father is not present, his mother is in jail, he has a brother in work camp, and gramps, with whom he lives, likes to drink and then beat up on Bird. It’s typically extreme dysfunctional-family stuff. One day the cross-country coach sees Bird outrunning his team, and all of a sudden the coach sees Bird as his ticket to a college coaching position. Naturally, after admonishing the other members of the cross-country team to not beat up on poor Bird, the coach recruits him onto the team. (Having run on cross-country teams in school, the part about the team wanting to beat up

on Bird because he could outrun them doesn’t ring true; the cross-country teams I remember would have welcomed with open arms a kid who could run that well.)

One hint to me that a movie is working is that I’m not occasionally checking my watch. Even though this film is 100 minutes long, it moves quickly, and we get caught up in the characters and the action. The characters are pretty gritty, and some of the action is fairly violent. And what helps the film work is that the low production values make it seem as though somebody is camcording someone’s miserable, dreary life and then editing it for time considerations.

One gripe is that the cross-country running takes place in and around Portland, Oregon, but doesn’t use the numerous parks and woody areas for which Portland is famous. It’s a little difficult to buy the big cross-country meet being run through urban and suburban areas. The race is well shot, but it seems that it would have been much easier to do the races in a woodland setting. (Kelley shot the film without filming permits from the city of Portland.)

If you’ve seen (or read) The Loneliness of the Long-Distance Runner, you have an idea of how the story will end. But it certainly isn’t disappointing in that regard; it rings true based on Bird’s motivations and character. (There is some good acting throughout; the best is turned in by the older fellow who plays the bar owner.)

Angry Kelley sells and distributes his films “independently” through his own Web site. Kicking Bird is worth a

viewing. It moves right along on several levels. Order a copy, go out and get in a good run with your friends, order some pizza and beer, and settle in for 100 minutes of moving movie;

save some time afterward for heated discussions.

A new type of novel is on the market from a company called One Flight

Fiction. The books are short enough that you can read one ona single flight. The company goes so far as to rate them on the back cover as to the intended length. Stephen Paske’s Breaking Stride is rated as one- to two-hour reading time, and that’s right in the ballpark. The novel is only 112 pages long, most of the chapters are short, and Paske’s writing style is quick and effortless.

Paske ran cross-country in high school and college (he graduated from Marquette in 2000). He was an all-state runner in Minnesota in 1995. He’s currently living and coaching in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.

Breaking Stride is a curious novel, well written but occasionally confusing as to when or why action is happening. Fortunately, it all becomes clear in the final pages, where Paske uses an O. Henry ending to bring together all the divergent strings.

His respect and love for the sport of running drips from each page. His insights into why someone would dedicate himself totally to a goal of going faster than anyone else in the league makes the scenes he sets up work while the banter and competition between team members are also realistic. Some of the characters are engaging, and the plotting is clever, but the book could have stood one more good editing pass.

The story is written with a great deal of energy, so if you’re taking a plane to a race and you should be relaxing the day before the starter’s pistol goes off, this might not be the one to read. It would be perfect for your return trip, however, when you want the ole

running juices to continue to flow long after the finish line.

The book is available at www. oneflightfiction.com.

x ok Ox God knows that runners could use a good massage on a regular basis, but too few of them take the time or make the effort to attend to massaging those overworked muscles.

Rich Poley, an attorney and multifaceted athlete who lives in Boulder, one of America’s running meccas, has come to the rescue. Rich is one of the world’s authorities on self-massage, and after working on it for five years, he has finally come out with his largeformat book Self-Massage for Athletes. For $19.95 plus shipping and handling, you can be intimate and loving with yourself without ever having to leave the house.

Rich provides a primer that misses nothing. He starts readers (and potential practitioners) with a basic course on massage and why it is beneficial for athletes. In part 2, he teaches you everything you’re likely to need to know about self-massage (complete with the necessary photos), and follows that with part 3, which takes the science of self-massage to the next, more-advanced step.

This is a tried-and-true, very simple way to take steps to avoid injuries from overuse. It’s so simple, even a marathoner can do it.

And, of course, there is a Web site from which it can be ordered: www. SelfMassageForAthletes.com.

—Rich Benyo

ON the ROAD WITH DON KARDONG

Kids’ Stuff

Have you ever wondered what it is in your constitution that predisposes you to marathoning (and beyond)? Ly Are we distance runners hard wired by genetics, biologically destined to embrace effort? Or is it nurture, the effect of childhood experiences, that prompts us to set our sights on a challenging goal and revel in the battle to achieve it?

Imagine, the next time you’ re heading for the finish line of a marathon, surrounded by other adults hobbling and wobbling on weary legs, what it was that compelled your fellow travelers to join you in this particular sport, an ambitious and occasionally acutely painful activity. Are you all just missing a gene somewhere in the sequence? Or is this, perhaps, the manifestation of severe toilet training by an overbearing parent?

Or think, for a moment, of the young cross-country runners in your town (who will eventually be the point of this column). It can’t be an accident that teenage runners are also so often the top students in school. Dedication and hard work pay off in competition inside and outside the classroom. But do those kids succeed because they were born motivated or because they were raised right? And whichever it is, what kind of nudge, spark, or arm-twist was

it that got them started running? What keeps them going and will keep them going, for years and years?

If you think running is a good thing and you think young runners should continue running as adults, these are important questions. But after spending a lifetime thinking about what makes us runners tick, I can only say one thing for sure. You can’t change genes, but you can influence behavior.

At a party a few years ago, I was kidded by a nonrunner who announced to our gabbing group, “Don thinks everyone should run.”

WHY RUN?

“Or walk,” I countered, but I was lying. I do think everyone should run, unless they’re physically unable to. The reasons are legion, and you already know them. Running burns excess calories and strengthens the cardiovascular system. It reduces depression and clears the head. Running promotes creativity and sociability. It gives us a reason to go outside in winter, breathe in fresh forest air, be amazed at clouds burning orange and gold at sunrise, watch an eagle wheeling overhead as it scans the territory below for a meal.

Running also provides opportunities to scour the cobwebbed niches of our souls for nuggets of worth we would otherwise never know we had.

If you’ve ever run out of fuel and felt motivation belly-flop at the 20-mile mark of a marathon but you somehow found the wherewithal to finish anyway, you know what I mean.

Running is golden and accessible to almost everyone. So yes, I think everyone should run. In fact, they should run marathons, at least sometime in their lives.

But, of course, everyone won’t. Nearly a half million Americans run a marathon every year, and that’s a lot. When I started running in the 1960s, that number might have been a meager thousand or so. But even with the boom in marathon interest in the past few decades, we’re still left with millions and millions of nonmarathoners in this country. SoI wonder, can we get some of those millions on their feet? What’s the best way to encourage participation ina sport with potential lifelong benefits?

Early last December I volunteered to help at the finish line of the National Junior Olympics Cross-Country Championships. The races were held in a park here in my hometown of Spokane, Washington. Kids from age 8 to 18 traveled from almost every comer of the country to participate, bringing their parents and other family members along. It was an impressive turnout for a sport that doesn’t suffer sissies gladly.

On race day, the temperature hovered at freezing, the course was slippery, and halfway through the meet sleet began to fall. The youngest runners, 10-and-under, raced first, and successive flights brought older and

older kids to the line, with the 17- to 18-year-olds competing last. In all, over 2,000 kids braved bone-chilling weather to see how fast they could race a few kilometers over icy terrain.

It was an impressive display. Here were young kids of a generation often accused of being lazy, out of shape, and generally lacking in discipline or ambition, and they were running their hearts out. Running is about as raw a sport as humans have invented, and here were hundreds and hundreds of kids who were pursuing it with passion. Stunning. Uplifting.

THE MOST BASIC QUESTION

Somewhere midmorning, though, I began to be haunted by a question. It percolated to consciousness as I watched a mob of 11- and 12-yearolds straining across the finish and into the chutes. More often than not, they broadcast grief more than joy, tears more than smiles, exhaustion more than exhilaration. Some fell and writhed in mud until they could be helped to their feet. A surprising number “spoke to Ralph,” retching GU or some other unidentified green liquid as they headed for the chutes. And that’s when the question surfaced: will these kids still be running as adults?

This was a pretty gruesome scene, lacking any obvious connection to fun. For whatever reason—talent, camaraderie, coercion—these kids had embraced a sport that is daunting in the best of weather and a frigid trial of mud and puke on this particular day.

It’s incredible that there are youngsters in today’s climate-controlled, instantgratification world willing to invest themselves in a sport like this. But are these experiences likely to keep them running well into adulthood? What were you up to at age 12?

Travel back with me to my own 12th year. Then, I played basketball and baseball, most of it unorganized and unstructured. I played in the woods too, for hours on end. Where I lived, kids met in the morning, played until noon, rendezvoused for lunch at whoever’s house was nearest, then trotted out for more of the same in the afternoon. Our stomachs knew when it was dinnertime, and then we trudged home for the evening, tired from a day of doing nothing in particular. We did have organized sports, but with the exception of the occasional track and field day at school, there was no organized running program. And yet here I am, almost half a century later, running four days a week, with no intention of quitting.

It wasn’t until high school that the running bug bit me. The cross-country coach spotted me in the lead during a two-mile run in PE class, and he conspired with the basketball coach to shame me into running cross-country to get in shape for the upcoming basketball season. The next thing I knew, Thad discovered a talent for traveling long distances on two feet. Those high school coaches knew a thing or two about influencing behavior.

But it wasn’t until then—well on my way to adulthood—that I was

introduced to the physical and psychological demands of training to run distances. Would I have been more likely to become an adult runner if I had started earlier, or would it have been the opposite?

For almost as long as I’ve been a runner, I’ve been asked my opinion about when, how far, and under what conditions youngsters should run. The questions come from coaches, parents, and the media, often in response to something they’ve seen that sticks in their craw. They read about an 8year-old finishing a marathon or see a 6-year-old running hill repeats under the instruction (that is, duress) of an overbearing parent, and they can’t help but wonder if something pathological is afoot. Is this exercise or child abuse?

JUST WHAT ARE LOGICAL GUIDELINES?

During the four years I served as president of the Road Runners Club of America, we tried a number of times, usually through our Sports Medicine Committee, to come up with guidelines for how far kids at certain ages should run. Is 10 kilometers too far for a 10year-old? Should a 6-year-old be in a running program at all?

For a number of years, pediatricians familiar with running had issued warnings about children running long distances on hard surfaces while their growth plates were still developing. A potential existed, they surmised, for harm to growing bones. But was there any proof of this?

As it turned out, we could find no research showing that any amount of running, on any kind of surface, at any age, is physically dangerous. To be sure, no one is orchestrating studies with large numbers of children to see how much running they can tolerate before their developing bodies break down. There are some painfully obvious ethical questions in the way of that kind of study. Even so, you would think there would be some research somewhere that might give a little guidance. If such a study exists, we never found it. In the end, our Sports Medicine Committee decided to offer some guidelines developed by the Australian Sports Medicine Federation, but with the caveat that “there are no published studies to either condone or condemn the participation of young runners in distance races.”

In fact, issuing warnings without evidence seemed to carry risks of its own, dissuading some parents from allowing their children to do “too much running.” At the same time, study after study showed that kids in the United States weren’t getting enough exercise, that the number of obese children was increasing, and that the seeds of future health problems were being sowed at an early age. The real danger seemed to be not running.

Which brings us back to those young cross-country runners. In a nation of children in desperate need of activity, isn’t this just what the doctor ordered? Even more to the point, in a nation of kids who spend the better part of their lives coddled, unable or unwilling

to walk a couple of blocks to a friend’s house and spoon-fed entertainment all day on any number of TV and video screens, isn’t the gumption of kids willing to puke their guts out in racing outdoors in freezing weather something remarkable and commendable?

The answer may well be yes. But let’s get back to that important question that haunted me in watching this remarkable and commendable activity: will these experiences influence these kids to continue running as adults? Beyond the possibility of physical harm, will this activity fuel the fire of interest in running later on or will experiences like these—highly demanding and intensely competitive at any early age—cause the passion to burn out, fizzle out, or die a damp, smoldering death?

There are no easy answers. Runners like Francie Larrieu Smith and Mary Decker Slaney trained and raced at an intense level as preteens and were still at it decades later as seasoned adults. Maybe someone in their lives knew something about coaching kids. Or maybe those two were anomalies, and most kids who train too hard, too far, too young are simply never heard from after their fires flicker out.

FOR YOUNG KIDS, KEEP IT LIGHT

There is, I’m sure, more art than science in working with young runners. Some kids may thrive on intense training. Others may need more coaxing, less intensity, more room to breathe. Most

high-school-age runners thrive on competitive challenges and tough training, while preteens are generally better off keeping their running light and enjoyable, without experiencing the rebellion of an unsettled stomach. With or without hard evidence, this is why most running programs for elementary-age kids focus on fun. Instinctively, it feels right. Keep the mileage low and the attitude light.

I remember a children’s running seminar I attended a few years ago where panelists were debating these issues, including the question of how old a runner should be before attempting a marathon. One panelist asserted that marathons were best left to adults, and a second challenged the assertion.

“You can’tissue a blanket statement like that,” said the second. “Some kids really like running long distances.”

I enjoyed the first panelist’s response. “They may like it,” he said, “but that doesn’t mean we should say it’s OK. We tell our children, for good reason, that they can’t do all kinds of things until they grow up—drive a car, drink beer, have sex. What’s wrong with telling them they have to wait to run a marathon?”

In fact, that might be the best way to influence kids’ behavior. Tell them

no, so sorry, you’ll just have to wait. Remember, it was Tom Sawyer who discovered, on a day when he influenced passersby to do his whitewashing for him, that “Work is what a body is obliged to do. Play is what a body is not obliged to do.”

For all of us, I suppose, who are not obliged to run a marathon and who therefore consider marathoning to be a kind of play, we probably judge what we did as children to be the correct way to influence kids to become adult runners. In my own case, that mostly meant leaving me alone. So when I chose to run, I ran powered by joy.

Looking back, I see that, without intending to, I spent a considerable amount of my free time doing things that kept my body fit and trim. More often than not, I found myself wandering through the woods in the company of friends, fascinated by the beauty of the natural world around me. And finishing each day of play feeling tired and satisfied.

Think about it. Isn’t that just like the long runs most of us marathoners enjoy? After all these years, we’re still having a good old time cavorting with friends through the woods. And that’s the kind of experience that, more than anything, influences us to continue.