Dave Treadwell's Space

I bike a lot, usually between one hundred and two hundred miles a week.  I'm well aware of the risks involved, which I have always assessed as primarily about having an excessively close encounter with a couple of tons of fast-moving steel.

A situation I didn't assess as dangerous is riding in a deserted parking lot where the only things moving within 50 yards are air molecules.

Especially when I am riding at a speed of about 7 MPH.

Having fallen incorrectly, I now stand corrected.

What happened?
Monday, my wife Lynn and I ordered some take-out sushi for dinner.  Our normal sushi place is closed on Mondays, so we ordered from another place about a mile away.  That's too far to walk easily, but it is way too short to drive on a beautiful summer evening.  So I put on my helmet and jumped on my mountain bike.

After about eight minutes casually riding through Queen Anne's residential streets, I cut through a parking lot next to the restaurant.  The lot was empty, and I was going slowly as I was about thirty yards from my destination.

Suddenly something happened: the pedals were locked and I was falling forward while my bike was stationary.  The bike fell on its side with the flat mountain bike handlebars pointing straight up.  My abdomen fell right on top of the handlebars, taking nearly all of my weight.

Very shaken up, I looked back, wondering what caused the fall.  Maybe the chain came off the cassette and locked up the rear wheel?  The chain was off the chainring and the cogs, but the crash might have caused that.  Maybe I clipped a curb?  I don't know.  I suspect the curb.

I dusted myself off, and a pedestrian who had heard the fall came over and asked if I was hurt.  My gut hurt and there was a protrusion, but I thought I was OK.  I picked up the sushi and gingerly (pun intended) rode home.

Home
It wasn't bad riding, but when I got home and put the bike back in its hooks in the garage ceiling, I knew I wasn't doing well.  I told Lynn that I'd crashed, and when I showed her my belly and asked "do you think we should go to the emergency room?" she was adamant that we go immediately.

She grabbed our toddler Aiden and told me to get into the car.  Figuring that this would be like most of my prior visits to the emergency room where I spend a lot of time sitting around waiting for someone to see me, I grabbed my computer bag so I could get some work done.

Car Ride
Maybe from the jostling of the car, I started feeling much worse during the ride.  I had a cold sweat.   The pain was growing.  Lynn told me I had no color in my face.  Now I knew that going to the emergency room was the right thing.  When we arrived, it was hard for me to get out of the car and walk into the Swedish Hospital emergency room.

Swedish
"I need to see someone," I said to the emergency room receptionist.  She asked me to wait a moment, as she had to check in someone else.  I leaned against the wall.  I was declining.  Fortunately, I had to wait only a couple of minutes before she called me, and I handed her my insurance card.   I had trouble answering her questions, as talking was difficult.  After the basics of checkin, she told me to have a seat. 

A minute later, my wife arrived from parking the car.  Almost simultaneously the triage nurse called my name.  We started the Q&A routine, but I could not really talk, and I was starting to shake.  She correctly aborted the Q&A, and then I experienced what happens when an emergency room thinks someone is truly in trouble.  She got in the PA system and said with some urgency "we need a room for the abdominal injury, and call the doctor!"  There would be no sitting around for me on this night.

They put me in a wheelchair and took me to a room where numerous nurses and other staff were waiting for me.  Within minutes, I had IVs in both arms, oxygen in my nose, warm blankets, shirt cut off, various devices attached to monitor my vital signs.  I was now shaking severely.  Lynn was looking seriously scared and stressed, but Aiden seemed fascinated by all the tubes and wires.  Lynn had to grab him so he wouldn't pull on them.

They asked questions, often repeatedly.  Their voices were filled with confidence and urgency.  "His pulse is only 48!" a nurse yelled, expecting the situation to elevate my heartbeat and worried that I was crashing.

"Normal... resting... high 30s" I managed to get out.  They seemed slightly reassured.

A senior doctor came, and he made his decision instantly.  He sat down next to me.  "Dave, there are a lot of important organs in your belly like your liver, spleen and small intestines, and you have quite an injury there.  I am worried that you may have damaged your organs, and you may need surgery.  I am going to send you to the trauma center at Harborview.  It is a four-minute ride in an ambulance.  That make sense?"  His concern was obvious.  I nodded.

Five paramedics were there within minutes.  They asked more questions, then wheeled me out to the ambulance.  Lynn told me later that they also brought a fire truck.

Ambulance
As a precaution, they put me on a backboard and in a neck brace, apologizing for the discomfort.  The upbeat and professional paramedic sitting with me gave me an overview of what to expect at Harborview. I tried to be comparably optimistic, and I surely felt quite thankful for all the help these people were giving me.

He asked me how I got to Swedish, and I told him that my wife drove me.  Trying to cheer me up, he told me "the one guy who actually needs our ambulance walks into the emergency room.  Nice."  At this point, however, I was in no shape to walk.

Harborview, part 1
One word summarizes the first part of my experience at Harborview: competence.  The well-oiled machine checked everything: joints, nervous system, eyesight, vitals and of course my abdomen.  These people were really good at what they were doing; Harborview deserves its reputation for being a world-class trauma center.

The initial exam found nothing of note other than the obvious abdominal injury.  I wasn't shaking any more.  They sent me off to have what seemed like fifty X-Rays, focusing initially on my abdomen but also checking out my spine, neck, arms, legs and hands.  "It is the protocol" the main doctor explained when I told her that I was pretty sure that my spine wasn't injured.

To do the abdominal X-Rays, they put me in a huge cat scan machine and injected something into my bloodstream which helps to highlight in the X-Rays where the blood is going.  This substance has a side effect that makes blood go to the skin, so for a couple of minutes I felt strangely hot.

They developed all these X-Rays, and soon the doctor came back to give me the diagnosis.  In short, there was nothing seriously wrong with any internal organs.  The huge protrusion sticking two inches out of my belly was just fluid, not blood.  "We're probably going to keep you overnight for observation, but the odds are that we don't need to do anything."

Harborview, part 2
I then went from high priority to the bottom of the list in the Harborview emergency room.  Still on the hard backboard, I laid there while they handled other cases while my exceptionally supportive wife hung out with me.  Staff came and went, and, except for Fran, the helpful nurse who dropped by every thirty minutes or so, I was about as interesting to them as the sink.  They understandably had other priorities now.

I could hear the doctors and nurses talking to a fellow across the way who had been flown from Alaska.  He had been in a fight with his girlfriend and shot himself in the head.  There was a bullet in his brain, and he could not move his left side.  Eventually, they sent him off for brain surgery.

Moments later, his spot was filled by a 56-year-old who had been shot in the chest.  Police found him thirty minutes after the shooting.  They were trying to resuscitate him, but it was clear even to this layperson that he was not doing well at all.  They wheeled him off for some sort of surgery, but I later read in the Seattle Times that he didn't make it (article here, search for "56").

Finally, a few folks came to take me off the backboard and remove the neck brace.  Having spent a few hours lying on the hard wood, I was quite glad to be off of that thing. A while after that, they admitted me to the hospital and took me to a room where we spent the night.  They discharged me at noon the next day.

After
Three days later, I am quite sore and badly bruised with a huge protrusion in my belly.  I look like I am either a few months pregnant or I have an alien growing inside me.  Flexing my abdominal muscles hurts a lot, so even simple stuff like walking is a little painful.  I won't be able to swim, bike or run for several more days at least.  Maybe in a week or so?

We ate the sushi for lunch the next day.

Learnings 
I often wrap up race reports with learnings, so...

• Pay attention even when doing the most casual rides (duh).
• When hospital staff really thinks you are in trouble, they are seriously good at taking care of things.
• Falling on top of flat handlebars sucks.
• Sometimes, it is OK to call an ambulance.

At this time of year, I like watching the Tour de France on Versus--it is like a reality TV show for endurance athletes.  There are many layers and stories to follow, and I also feel like I learn about cycling by watching these guys do it so well.

My favorite moment so far in this year's Tour is the interview that Versus did with Stefan Shumacher.  Shumacher has a great time trial in stage 4 to take the yellow jersey, but then he crashed near the end of stage 6 and lost the jersey.  The funny moment in this interview was really easy to miss; listen carefully right up until the end, and remember that this is a broadly available cable network.

Somewhere, George Carlin is chuckling.

Putting on a good endurance sports race must be a challenge.  I have no experience with endurance sports from the race director's perspective, but satisfying all the stakeholders--athletes, spectators, sponsors, volunteers, local officials--must require a lot of effort and discipline. 

When people send many months training for a race and pay a decent chunk of change for entry fees, they understandably have high expectations that any problems during the race result from their own physical and mental limitations, not race logistics.  Events like the 2007 Black Diamond Triathlon, the 2007 Chicago Marathon and the 2008 Seafair Marathon are tough to hear about, knowing were people disappointed because, in a way, their training and racing efforts counted for less due to factors beyond their control.

Of course, the vast majority of races don't have issues of any real magnitude.  Still, there are often little issues like long check-in lines, confusion about directions, less than stellar post-race foods or awards, and more.  I try to be very understanding about this sort of stuff, knowing that there are a lot of things pulling on the race directors.

Today, I had the opportunity to do The Runner Stumbles 10k.  To give credit where credit is due, here's email I sent to the race info email account:

From: David Treadwell
Sent: Sunday, July 06, 2008 1:37 PM
To: 'runnerstumbles@hotmail.com'
Subject: great race!

Hi folks, I did your 10k this morning.

I wanted to pass on some positive feedback to you all: you ran a really great race.  The organization was really impressive, including:

· Very smooth checkin
· Especially impressive attention to detail by linking together four safety pins to make it easy for people to get them
· Started precisely on time
· Clear pre-race instructions
· Very well marked course
· Great volunteers at every turn where there was any possibility of confusion
· Nicely done awards ceremony including great food

All in all, I feel that this was one of the best organized endurance events I have ever done.  Thanks for putting on such a great race!

dave

Brief Race Report:  Although not a high-priority race for me, I had a fun time doing this one.  With fewer than 100 folks combined in the 10k and 5k, the small size meant for a very casual morning.  My family and I were staying out at the Suncadia Lodge, and since the race was held on the Suncadia property the logistics were easy. 

Knowing that this was a somewhat difficult course with numerous small hills, high winds in places, and lots of turns, I figured a PR (38:20) was unlikely, but I still hoped to go under 40 minutes.  Not having raced since Boston and having done only minimal training above zone 2, I was also looking for a fitness check from the race.

I treated the race as a zone 5 workout, basically trying to hit a constant effort around a 6:15 pace.  Here's how the miles went:

Total time 39:13, second place overall, first in M40-49.  Check out the official race results. 

Given the course difficulty, I feel pretty good about my time.  My Garmin 405 said that the total ascent was 965 feet, and while there were definitely a lot of small and mid-sized hills, I am pretty certain that is about double the actual ascent in the course.  I also wonder whether the fact that the prevailing altitude was around 2200 feet above sea level impacted my performance?  I couldn't tell.

These small races don't have the cachet of the big ones, but they sure are low-stress and fun in addition to being good training.

For the nine or so months preceding the Boston Marathon, I focused pretty much all of my training on running.  The only times I cycled were social events and a few exercise rides when I had some minor running injuries.  Since that race, I've re-started the cycling in order to get myself back in triathlon shape.  I'm doing roughly equal amounts of running and cycling, and in the process I'm remembering the pros and cons of each.  So here are some comparisons between the two sports in a variety of dimensions.

Overhead.  How long does it take to get ready to do it?  Running is pretty easy, just get on shoes, clothes and optionally a heart rate monitor and headphones, then go.  With cycling, there is much more stuff to deal with.  I have to get on the helmet and gloves, tighten up the shoes, pump up the tires, etc.  Winner: running.

Injuries.  Unless you're careful, it is really easy to injure yourself while running.  The constant pounding is quite hard on the body.  Cycling, by contrast, has minimal injury risk from the actual cycling motion (more on safety below, though).  If a bike fits, it is pretty rare to get injured from cycling.  Winner: cycling.

Duration.  Due to the stressful nature and injury risks of running, it is hard to run huge distances.  I find that 2.5 hours is about my limit for a training run; going longer than that is too risky.  With cycling, no such limit applies.  Sure the saddle can get uncomfortable after many hours, and I get physically tired, but there's not a hard limit like in running.  Winner: cycling.

Safety.  The need to share the road means risks with both cycling and running.  The difference in speeds and hence control, however, means that cycling is a lot more risky.  I can stop or change direction very quickly when running, whereas when cycling it takes more time and distance to avoid issues.  Running on sidewalks is easy and safe, but it is rarely smart when cycling due to the speeds and the fact that cars do not expect bikes on sidewalks.  Winner: running.

Fitness.  This one is a close call, since both running and cycling are good for fitness.  Ultimately I give the nod here to cycling, given that it has much higher limits on duration and lower injury risks.  Winner: cycling.

Headphones.  Listening to music or podcasts can make a workout more fun.  Due to safety issues, I almost never use when on the bike.  Using headphones does add a small amount of risk while running, but with moderate volume and extra attention, I feel that the risk is acceptable. Winner: running.

Gear cost.  Running requires a lot less gear than cycling, and running gear is generally less expensive.  While it is kinda fun to evaluate the different cycling gear options, it is also much more time and money to deal with it all.  Winner: running.

Route selection.  Selecting cycling routes can be challenging, as many factors come into play: traffic, safety, distance, and more.  While these factors are also relevant in selecting running routes, there are lots of places that are fine to run but where I would prefer not to bike.  Winner: running.

Distance.  Bikes can go faster, hence they can easily cover a lot more distance than a runner.  Winner: cycling.

Social.  It's obviously possible both to run and to bike with other folks, and this can surely enhance the experience.  The challenge in working out with others is that people have different capabilities and desired paces.  It is pretty rare for me to run with others, however, because it is harder to match paces.  Cycling has one enormous advantage here: if your partners have a different desired pace, then you can paceline.  The aerodynamic benefit of pacelining can really level the playing field.  Winner: cycling.

Workout measurement.  A bike power meter is a wonderful device: it allows you to know exactly how hard you pedaled.  This allows you to do a workout exactly as hard as needed, and fitness measurement is much more precise.  With running, pace and heart rate are OK measurement tools, but there is much less accuracy in them, as they do not account for hills, wind, body state leading to HR variability, etc.  Winner: cycling.

Workout precision.  Typically when doing a workout, there is a specific goal for exertion and length.  Maybe it is a strict zone 2 workout; maybe it is hard intervals.  With running, it is usually pretty easy to find routes that accommodate a given type of workout.  With cycling, I find it harder to follow a workout more precisely.  Things like hills, traffic, stop signs, and more often strongly influence how hard I can pedal at a given point in time.  Staying in zone 2 is hard on a big hill.  Nailing a hard 10-minute interval in zone 4 or 5 is tough when there are stop signs or lights.  Winner: running. 

Weather impact.  While it is usually better to do both running and cycling in good weather, cycling in really bad conditions is harder than running in bad conditions.  When it is cold, dark and rainy, cycling is really hard, while running is still reasonably viable with decent clothes.  Fenders and other gear help make it more tolerable to bike in poor conditions, but it is still tougher.  The one weather circumstance when cycling wins is hot weather: the wind you make for yourself helps considerably when cycling, yet with running the speeds aren't high enough to generate as much of a cooling effect.  Winner: running.

Commuting efficiency.  Because of the slower speeds and the distance of my commute, I usually need to include some time on the bus when I run commute.  With cycling, I can easily enough commute the entire distance.  Since I would rather be exercising than being on a bus, the bike wins.  Winner: cycling.

Summary

Hmmm, looks like a 7-7 tie overall.  I guess I will keep doing both!

(This race report is from my father, in his own words.  --David 3)

I took the first step of my Boston Marathon during a plane ride to Alaska last June. My wife Tina and I were sitting beside a young woman from Maryland who was flying to Anchorage to run a half-marathon for Team in Training. When I learned that Team in Training benefited the The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, I decided then and there that I should run the 2008 Boston Marathon in honor of my brother Tony who died of non-Hodgkins Lymphoma in December, 2006.  He's on the left in the photo at right.

The next steps included getting accepted by Team in Training, raising funds and training. The fund-raising went well (I raised over $23,000, the most on the 153-member Team for the Boston Marathon, helped by son David’s support); the training went well, thanks to a fine training manual called Run Less, Run Faster. The approach calls for three “quality runs” a week plus two-days of cross training.

Let me say that I’m an experienced if not speedy runner. I tote along a few handicaps (age: 65; weight: 182; heart flutter - taking a beta blocker; and exercise-induced asthma -taking Advair), but I love being out there training for a race. And the chance to run Boston with David, or should I say, the same day as David, was most appealing. He had to qualify, and I was confident that he would, given his great success at triathlons and his highly competitive and disciplined nature.

David and I shared many emails during the months leading up to the race – usually upbeat, sometimes not, when a cramp or a “just a bad day” would arise.

I did most of my training on a treadmill or an indoor track at Bowdoin College, as the weather up here was so snowy and icy. I did run a 15 miler and a 20 miler with the Team and Training in Wellesely, but all the other runs were on my own. I ran 5 different 20-milers, and let’s just say that running 20 miles on a treadmill on a Saturday morning is a bit crazy.

The marathon weekend, itself, was a true life highlight with all the family and friends, the great hotel (the Lenox, right at the finish line), terrific crowds and good weather.

At the expo, I bought a shirt from Reebok and had “For Tony” put on the front and “Bone Marrow Brothers” put on the back, as I had given him bone marrow three years before he died. The shirt proved to be a smart move.

Race day dawned bright and early as we met in the hotel lobby at 6:15 a.m. to head over to the Boston Common to take one of the many school buses headed out to Hopkinton – 26.2 miles to the west. What a mob of talented runners, heading to the buses from every direction. Everyone was in high spirits. David and I were fairly calm and collected, all things considered.

“Athlete's Village” at Hopkinton is another amazing site. 25,000 runners from all over the world, spread out over high school athletic fields. About half, statistics suggest, had qualified for the race, and the rest got in through exemptions – raising money from a charity, being a celebrity or a fireman, policeman, etc.

I was able to introduce David to Rick, my fine Team in Training coach which was cool. He, too, was appreciative of David’s fine support to Team in Training. A fine runner, Rick was eager to try out his new Newton running shoes, a purchase inspired by my wearing them. I, in turn, had been inspired by David’s suggestion a year earlier.

David went off in the first wave (read fast wave) of runners at 10:00. I was in the second wave (read slow wave) of runners at 10:30. My main goal was to keep it slow the first several miles, a tough job given the downhill nature of the course at the outset and the general excitement of the race. I succeeded – somewhat.

Fact is, I ran the first 7-8 miles at about a 10:10 pace, and I really should have run closer to 10:30. I used a big group of Korean runners as a pacer. They were running together in formation, almost like a marching band.

All went well until about mile 13 when I felt a spasm in my right calf. I immediately slowed down, even walked a little, hoping it would go away. It did. For a mile or so. Then it recurred more painfully at around mile 15, right when I saw my Team in Training coach. “What should I do about a calf cramp?” He replied, “Do the ‘runner’s shuffle.’” That worked. A little. But around mile 16 the cramps returned, this time in both calves. Oops…

I decided to take more walking breaks and hope that the cramps would ease. At mile 16, I was boosted by our great support team (wife, sister,  stepson, sister-in-law, brother-in-law, niece). Plus they’d made a great sign (“Go- D 2!”). They had converted the sign from “Go – D 3!” after David went through. Guess they figured that son David would get there sooner. Safe guess.

Around mile 17, the cramps were really bad and I was forced to walk, as even a step or two brought the camps back and me to a standstill. I decided to walk the Newton Hills and hope the cramps went away. I also began calculating what pace it would take the remaining miles to break 5 hours – my goal. I figured I couldn’t do it if I had to walk the whole way in as I needed a 12 minute pace. But…with about 3 and half miles left, I tried running slowly and…no cramps! Maybe I could still break 5 hours. I alternated between running slowly and walking rapidly.

The fans, mainly boozed up college kids, helped me keep going by yelling, “Come on, this is for Tony!” I’d start running or pick up the pace and they’d whoop it up. I’d give a thumbs up sign.

With one mile left, I figured I could break 5 hours if the cramps didn’t return. But they did. And I missed it by 40 seconds.

But that really didn’t matter. The whole Marathon experience was wonderful. I raised money for a good cause, shared a fine experience with son David – and many others vicariously who seemed to appreciate an old guy’s efforts.

Would I do it again? Absolutely! But maybe next time, David and I will head for the Big Apple and the New York City Marathon. And some day, some year, I’d like to qualify for Boston officially. With a few less pounds and a few more years (to ease qualifying times), it might, just might, be in this old bod. Hope springs eternal.