Author Archives: Matthew Komatsu

Gear Reviews That Don’t Suck: Lifeproof iPhone Products

July 22, 2012 By in Gear Reviews Tags: , , , 3 Comments

I have two confessions:

1) I used to hate on iPhones something fierce. Now I own one and love it.

2) I used to deride anyone who ran with an MP3 player. Now I rarely run without music.

Not too long ago, I had a phone, and I had an MP3 player. I tried a couple of times to use a phone as my MP3 player, but it just never worked. In the end, I settled on a player that supported music subscription service, which is far more economical than actually buying the music in digital or physical forms, provided you download more than an album a month (which I do). But when my last MP3 player was phased out by the manufacturer, I realized it was time to combine the two functions. Smartphone tech has blown up over the past couple of years, so I figured I’d take a shot. I tried it out on my Samsung Captivate, and boy did it suck. I used a Rhapsody app, which crashed my phone repeatedly. When the phone finally quit on me, Jen talked me into an iPhone. I’m not sure if I’ll ever go back at this point. I’ve had no problems with using the Rhapsody app, and iTunes works just fine for music you actually own.

One of the clear draws of the iPhone/iPod has been the wide propagation of peripherals. For crying out loud, you can’t go to a Walgreens without finding a whole endcap of products. Enter LifeProof, which makes cases that are water/dustproof and impact-resistant. Anyone who knows me will vouch for my ability to destroy phones. I drop them, drown them, throw them into oblivion, and sweat profusely into them when I run. In fact, I deposited so much salt in my last MP3 player that it actually warped and broke a portion of the casing.

So LifeProof made sense for me. Additionally, they make armbands compatible with the case, so it made even more sense, considering the transition to using my phone as an MP3 player as well. I picked up the iPhone 4S case and armband back in Feb/March, and I’ve put each through the ringer over about 1000 miles or so of winter/spring/summer AK running. I’ll address the case (~$80) first and the armband (~$40) system second.

The case’s nearest competitor has to be OtterBox, which uses complementary silicon sleeves and ruggedized plastic skeletons to provide impact resistance. But unlike OtterBox, LifeProof is completely waterproof, and much lower volume. One my main complaints about OtterBox is that they take slim-engineered technology and double the volume to the point that you can barely fit it into your pocket. LifeProof’s impact-resistance likely falls short of OtterBox, which makes sense. Put a boy in a bubble and he can live through just about anything. Put a boy in a bubble wrap, and he can survive some bumps and bruises and that’s about it. LifeProof’s slim case is supposed to be able to take a drop of a couple of feet, but that’s contingent on the phone falling on its edges. The face is protected only by a thin sheet of plastic, so I’m confident that a good hit on the faceplate will shatter the glass.

Once you snap the case together and screw in a little widget that secures the headphone port, you have a completely functional, waterproof iPhone. Before you go scuba diving with your phone, you are supposed to to do an hour-long dunk test, which I’d advise you do if that’s your angle. For me, I just need the phone to survive a good rain and my sweat, and I can vouch for the case’s performance under those parameters. After 1000 miles, I’ve had no issues with moisture finding its way inside the case. I’ve also managed to drop it a few times with no ill-effects. 80 bones seems steep, but worth safeguarding your investment if you ask me. I think a new iPhone 4S runs about $600 off-contract, so you have to do your own math. For me, running with it all the time and being pretty clumsy, it’s a no-brainer.

The armband emerges as one of the better-designed systems I’ve seen. It’s got thin neoprene, and addresses a complaint I’ve had with every single armband I’ve ever used: buckle slippage. Most systems, as you tighten them, are apt to cause the buckle to slip from its intended orientation, which is uncomfortable and annoying. LifeProof uses a metal buckle and semi-rigid, thin neoprene to keep the buckle from slipping. With the phone in its case, it simply mounts to a bracket on the armband, which makes it the slimmest armband setup I’ve used outside of an old Rio MP3 setup. If you don’t have Bluetooth headphones, you have to screw a little adapter cable into the headphone port, which keeps the system water proof. Instead of plugging your headphones straight into the phone, you plug them into the adapter cable.

I do have three complaints about the armband. One is that after a month of use, I tore a surface layer of the armband neoprene while tightening the armband. It didn’t go all the way through, but still, it’s either a design flaw or an isolated case, and unsatisfactory if you ask me. My second complaint is that the bracket can dig into your arm, depending on how you orient your setup. On a long run, I actually caused some bruising on inside of my arm, which wasn’t too comfortable. Finally, unless your earbuds are also designed for talking or you have Bluetooth headphones, it’s a pain in the butt if you have to to take a call in the middle of a workout. Maybe it’s not a problem for you, but some calls I have to take regardless of what I’m doing. So I would have to stop my run, unscrew the adapter cable, call the person back, then screw everything back together and continue on my way. I solved this by getting a Bluetooth earbud setup, which I will address in a separate gear review.

In the end, going with a LifeProof setup will set you back about $120, and while far from perfect, it’s the best setup I’ve seen in nine years of running with music in my ears.

Race Report: Bear Paw 5k

July 16, 2012 By in Racing Tags: , , , 1 Comment

When I wake, the first thought on my mind is the weather. It finally started clearing a bit yesterday, although I still managed to find some patches of rain to run through during my afternoon commute. I peek outside – ain’t sunny, but it ain’t raining either. I’ll take it. For breakfast, I change things up. This time it’s two hard boiled eggs, some cereal with whole milk, and half a banana. Plus coffee, of course. After breakfast, I do a little light mobility work on the rumble roller, just to get things moving. The race starts at 10:30, which is great for me. The later, the better, if you ask me. At around 8:50, we load up and head out to Eagle River. At one point during the drive, Jen asks if I’d like to talk about the race. I tell her no, which some people might take as rude, but it Jen know the deal. I’m in my head now, gaming the angles and contingencies. My plan? Go out strong through the first mile, somewhere around 5:15-20. Work whoever is around me and let them pull me along through the second mile, hopefully hitting 2 miles around10:40. From there, maintain or step it up, and I should be in the 16:30s.

16:30s? What makes you think you can run that fast?

My best this year is 17:33, and my road PR is a modest 16:50something, back when I was 27. It would be a huge SB (season best) and a big PR. But then I think of my last track session, where I floated 5:20 pace intervals like it was nothing. Or how chill my tempo runs have felt at 5:45 pace.

Why not?

Warming up confirms what I’ve been told about the course. It is flat and fast by just about any standard. There are a few inclines, but some good long gradual downhills as well. I run into Jake Moe, one of the guys from my track club, and jog a bit with him. He’s run under 15 for 5k, so I don’t expect to see him until the finish. He points out where he thinks the mile markers are, and I try to correlate them to what I’ve been playing in my head over the past week. Every run for the past couple of days, I’ve tried to run the race in my head. Not so much visualizing the course, but my mental dialogue and perception of feeling. I have a big problem with pre-loading negative thoughts of failure and disappointment, so I’ve been focusing on breaking the race up by each mile, and gaming how I might feel, what I need to do, and develop positive mental strategies. Sometimes it helps to have a positive phrase like “Come and Get It.” Sometimes it’s an image, and the past couple of days I’ve thought of an imaginary “+” symbol floating lightly in front of me through my race, pulling me through rough spots. It might sound silly, but elites hire coaches whose sole focus is the mental game, and these are just some of the techniques employed by those coaches.

I warmup over the entire course – no surprises. I feel loose and limber, not hurried or rushed. I’ve literally missed the start of races before, so it’s nice to be here with plenty of time to spare. I swap into my Asics Piranhas (which will be retired after today), kiss Jen, and scratch Rider. It’s time to line up.

The start is a little crowded with kids, which always annoys me. But luckily, I’m not afraid to move some people out of the way by backing my shorty shorts up on some folks. They make room. I line up next to a girl who can’t be more than 12, and spends every moment before the start of the race shaking her head and talking to herself, saying things like, “Oh no,” and “Uh, oh…” and “I can’t believe this…” Pretty funny stuff. Here, I’m about 20 years her senior, have hundreds of races under my belt, and I feel the exact same way.

I do some drills and strides off the line, and then wait for the start. It’s a moment I dread and relish at the same time. Half of me wishes for a stay of execution: “Just kidding folks, no race today!” But the other half is a slingshot ready to do this. The starter gives us a countdown.

“Three!”

I lean over, ready to release.

“Two!”

I am still.

“One!”

Get it.

“Go!”

And like that, we’re off. We make the first turn into a gradual downhill, and the lead pack is making steady progress away from me. I’m surrounded by other runners, which is exactly what I want – to be pulled along. But I’m also trying to do the math, and if the lead pack is going to run around 15:00, I’ve got no business being in their neck of the woods come Mile 1. So I try to just keep it even and somewhat under control. But I know I’m going fast, just based on my legs. I actually feel the pace in my hamstrings, which isn’t what I’d expect if I’m running 5:15. I’m half tempted to check my GPS but damn that thing. Just race.

Sure enough, I crest a small hill where Jake surmised Mile 1 to be, and I see 4:56 on my watch. Ouch! What’s weird is that it feels fast, but I’m not in oxygen debt. Sure, I’m working, but I’m still spending my money wisely. I want to hit that line and trade in my last penny, and it feels like I’m doing it right. Still, to be safe, I dial it back just a hair. At this point, I’m in 9th or 10th place, the leaders are streaking ahead, and a second chase group is in front of me about 20m. Moving along, I marvel at just how far 20m feels when you’re racing. Then, I am surprised by the sound of someone catching up to me, then passing me. I recognize the moment with a sense of deja vu. Sit back, or go? I go for it, attaching an imaginary line from his waist to mine. Yep, I feel it, but it works. I hang on. And, I’m closing on the second chase pack. Come and get it…

I spend the next mile+ closing the gap, passing a guy who is running shirtless. I know we’re well past two miles at this point. And then something awful happens. I get a little bit of drainage in the back of my throat, and it triggers a slight heave. Then another. Then, it’s too much. I’m gonna puke. I try to stumble a few more steps, then bend over the bushes, salivating and heaving. Shirtless Guy passes me and asks if I’m ok. Yes, I’m fine. I’m busy dry heaving away my PR, if you don’t mind.

I gather myself and I calculate I’ve lost 10-15s, and I’ve got less than a half mile to go. Somehow, I just know it’s still possible.

So I stand up, wipe my mouth, and commence to hammering. Somehow the nausea fades, and when I hit the last turn, I can see the finish. Ahead, the leaders are seconds from breaking the tape. My watch says 15:00. I’ve got less than 2:00 to cover the next 600m. I tell myself I can do this, but I have to throw down.

I muster everything I’ve got and pull together the semblance of a sprint. I can feel the nausea rising again as I drive my knees and arms. In my head, I’m Usain Bolt. In real life, I’m sure I’m a slow motion train wreck.

With a hundred meters to go, I’m closing on Shirtless Runner, but I don’t think I’m going to catch him. Who cares. Gotta slow that clock down.

I look up just before I cross the line and see 16:4-. I give a little fist pump, then collapse and dry heave on my knees. It’s been a long time coming.

Come And Get It.

July 13, 2012 By in Racing Tags: , , 2 Comments

Tomorrow is the Bear Paw 5k, and I’m crazy nervous. It’s my last race for the summer, and everything I’ve done over the past six months culminates tomorrow on 3.1 miles of pavement.

Earlier this week I emailed my mentor and friend Matthew Whitis for advice. See, I’m feeling good. My last couple track workouts have left me feeling like a caged animal, hungry for more. My threshold work has been solid, almost dare I say, “easy?” I’ve finally shed some of the extra muscle mass I was carrying around from the winter, and I feel lean and strong.

This is a strange place to be, this feeling of confidence. In two years of trying to break 17, I haven’t felt as prepared as I do right now.

But despite all this, there is a constant battle of internal wills. The weak me is full of doubt, second guesses, and negative examples. The strong me knows I’m ready, have been, and tells me I can do it.

Matthew’s email was great and closed like this: “Know you’re ready, execute the plan, and finish strong. Concentrate! Be present and don’t give in.”

Don’t give in.

Don’t give in to doubt, fear, or pain. In a small way, it echoes the message R4V pushes to Chief, Stacy Pearsall, and Nate Beard, folks who face a daily struggle on the road to rehabilitation. Don’t give in to the easy way out. You are strong and capable.

So in the name of our collective ideal realities, whether we’re racing for a PR, healing, or simply trying to get out the door for Sweet Mother of Mercy, another run; I say to our doubts and fears, “Come and get it.”

What we seek is already within us, and nothing can take that away.