Liam's Turn

Finally the day has come. After twelve years on the Earth, it was Liam's turn to mow the yard!

Happened because my second-hand mower refused to start and Pawpaw Mac brought his over as a loaner. Since it is easier to steer as well as dead-simple to shift, Liam took the wheel.

Some practice laps and a couple of tips on carving the yard into squares, and he pretty much did the whole thing by himself. Bit of a tussle with Anxiety Lass, but other than that, I had a great time turning over the reigns of yard work to my first born. Now if only he'd do his OTHER chores my sanity might return to pre-child levels!

Mighty Magnolia 2011

Good news: I slept! First time I've ever managed to get more than three or four hours before an event. Bad news? I had an hour and a half drive followed by a two hour wait for the race to start. All while wearing tights and a t-shirt in low 60 degree weather.

Fortunately for our wayward hero, the sun paid the site a visit and quickly raised the temperature a few degrees. I stopped shivering around 7AM. And as 8AM approached, the water climbed into the mid 70s.

The swim went well. My wetsuit kept me warm and floaty. The course hugged the shoreline and most of the time I was in less than six feet of water. I did drift to the right too much. I couldn't find anyone decent to draft. But I didn't drown and finished the first let in about ten munutes.

The bike course was mostly good. Only a couple of challenging hills. I attacked most of them. Didn't gasp for air the majority of the time. And didn't have to touch my second water bottle. Before I pulled into the sub-division and slowed down, my bike computer said I averaged about 20.1MPH. And finished the 20 mile run in something close to 54 minutes.

The run was my best run, yet. Still had to stop a couple of times, but not for long. Usually 10 - 20 seconds. And only twice during the first two miles. Even jogged up most of the hills. And for the first time in any race, I actually passed a couple of people. As a result, wrapped up the run in a touch over 29 minutes.

Total time with transitions? 1:40:28. About 20% faster than my first event (2:02!) and good enough to finally break me out of the bottom 25% of competitors. I came in 98th out of 156 people. Only 5min behind Lisa (pictured) who is 10yrs younger and a much better runner than I am.

So I'm thrilled thrilled thrilled with my performance, enjoyed the event, and looking forward to my second triathlon season in 2012!

Pre-Race Day

I took the day off. Have time to burn. And can use a stress-free day for a change. Less thoughts dedicated to digital woes. More thoughts dedicated to not drowning.

Started with a bit of a swim at 0745. Testing out the wetsuit. Getting a taste of the cold water.Robinwood Lake was appropriately cold. First ten seconds stunned me. Had to catch my breath. Focus on reaching forward. Trying to glide through the water, minimize my effort, concentrate on spotting my destination, keeping straight. That was the plan, at least. Of mice and men, and such. Ended up constantly pulling to the right. Taking me off course. Forcing corrections. All of which wasted time and effort. But, on a bright note, the suit provided a ton of buoyancy and I had no worries about drowning. First lap was the hardest. Second a bit easier. Third easiest, ever. I purposely took my time on the last lap. And it didn't slow my average pace at all. Showed me that fighting for speed resulted in nearly the same lap speed as keeping my cool. A trick I hope to use tomorrow.

After lunch, I drove over to check out the course and pick up my race packet. Thought the event was in North East Hattiesburg, MS. A big national park or such. I was quite wrong. I actually drove to West Hattiesburg, MS. Less than five minutes from Cindy's family farm! I could have brought all my equipment with me and stayed the night. Sparing myself an hour and a half drive. Waking up at 5:30A rather 4AM! (sigh) Oh well, maybe next year.

And the site was a bit odd. Nestled in the back of a stillborn subdivision out in the middle of No Man's Land. I couldn't get a single bar of cell coverage and if there was another human soul within a mile of the transition area, I'd be shocked.

But, aside from the isolation, it was actually a very nice course. The swim portion of the show was a point-to-point across a fairly nice lake. The bike leg covered some rolling hills through lightly populated back-roads. And the running section was entirely inside the un-trafficked neighborhood. If the weather holds up, it should be an interesting event!

Three hours on the road. Forty bucks worth of gas. But it beats sticking behind a desk resolving digital woes. Best day off I've had in a while. Hopefully tomorrow is even better.

Deckhands

"Your hands remind me of my father," she says.

Sometimes I don't recognize my hands. Wrinkled from age.Veins more prominent now. Calluses. The training and all.

"He worked on a boat," she says. "A deckhand. Tending the rigs. Oil mostly. Sometimes gas. Only the hard jobs for deckhands. He would work a month on and a month off. Straight. No calls while he was gone."

"You only saw your father every other month?" I ask.

"Yes. But it was always a good month. He took care of us. Worked like that for twenty seven years. We were happy."

I know a couple of guys who work on rigs. Oil and gas. I know a couple of former deckhands, too. All tough, wizened old bastards. But I never heard of any local boats that are gone more than a week at a time. Certainly not a month at a time. And not for a quarter of a century.

"He always had such strong hands."

I'm sure she and her family were happy. I bet another family was, too. I don't tell her, though. She knows. Even if she doesn't tell me. Or admit it to herself. She knows where he was. And his hands.

Your Legacy

Steve Jobs passed away some long moments ago. The media already eager to brighten  the mewling California night with a thick swarm of digital pyres. Pre-written eulogies crawl on the scroll line of every channel. Maybe the Apple Stores will stay open longer. Flowers piled outside their polished glass doors. All the tech elite will make their pithy comment. His family will release a comment. Probably mention a charity. And then they will begin the long droning diatribes about Steve's contribution to the world. As if he alone was responsible. Parted the digital seas. Spread his jean-clad legs and birthed out the iPhone and iPad and iMac and iWhateverElse. The rebel Messiah of a billion fanboys. Hopefully the newshounds will keep the teartime to only a week or two.

But it all makes me think: What is your legacy? What will I leave in my wake? Crates of dogeared books. Dusty computers. Notebooks of unwritten novels. Bags of dice for forgotten role playing games. Known for my snide mouth? My dreams that always outpaced me? I don't want my name writ in water. I want to stand on the shoulders of giants, like Steve did.

Supposed

I was supposed to have a vacation day.

I was supposed to train.

I was supposed to visit my massage therapist.

I babysat a semi-sick redhead. I sat on four hours worth of calls. I fixed some computer woes. I drained the battery on my cell. Twice.Didn't visit my massage therapist. Didn't train. And no vacation emerged from the depths. Nothing went as supposed.

But there's always tomorrow.

Down With The Sickness

Started with Meg. Odd lethargy. Exceptionally quiet. Reserved. Diminished appetite. And then the fever. Slightly north of one hundred. Tapered off with some OTC meds. But re-appeared twice yesterday and over night.

My Mom to the rescue. Swung by to watch Red Meg. Then (surprise) gets a call from The Boy. Liam, knowing his sister is home, develops some stomach woes. Home Again, Home Again for him. Two for two.

The Trifecta of McDougal Sickness occurs in the ninth inning, after Lady McDougal returns from her Day Job. Symptoms present as a sore throat, perceived thickness in the right lung, and reduced energy levels.

Papa McDougal feels great, though. Excessively hungry from training. Full of vigor and venom. Elevated mood. Eagerness to take on the world. Certainly not down with the sickness.

The Distance

Started off sideways today. Did not get the yard mowed. Did not work on the gutters. Or the kitchen walls. Usual conflict on the long term endeavors: lack of vision, lack of commitment, lack of resources. Soured my mood rapidly. So I threw in the towel on being productive.

Somehow, a nap flipped all my bits. Resynched everything under my hood. And I found myself going the distance at the gym. Three sets of 900 meters in the pool. A strength and drive that I hadn't felt in a long while. 54 laps. 2700 meters in total. Almost 1.7 miles. A new record, for me. Better part of an hour. But I did it. And felt incredible afterwards. The sense of accomplishment sweeter than anything I might shoot into my veins or drink from a glass. Leaving me, of course, wanting more.

Newness

September mostly sucked. Traumatized early into it by an all-too-intimate brush with unemployment. Tens days of uncertainty and doubt. Weeks to regain my footing. Skipped a couple of triathlon events. Didn't have the mental or physical (or fiscal!) reserves. My buddy Ron's encounter with a flood. My bro-in-law Darren's vigil with his friend Wade. Nudging Jason towards closure on his legal liabilities from a failed union. Continued mysteries with the source of my Father's twenty thousand dollar ER visit. Just not a good month.

On a brighter side, the kids are doing well. Meg's new dance class. All her tales and drawings. Liam's taken to the trumpet. Continued success with the bass and the piano. And all A's for him thus far at school. Cindy is continuing her education as well as trying to get in better shape by running with me. So I do have blessings to count amid the slings and arrows I suffered.

October has a newness. An end to the blaze of summer. An end to the threat of hurricane season. Only two more triathlons. The holidays. Long sleeve weather. Lower power bills. And the opportunity to let wounds heal. Maybe one day I'll look back and laugh. I hope so. But right now, I'm still a bit sore. So I need some newness.

Ron says

Ron says via email: I used to have furniture. It went to the dump today.

Shortly after September 9th, 2011, Ron started IMing me about his unexpected disaster. In the wake of Tropical Storm Lee, the Susquehanna River reached record levels in Pennsylvania. It crept over its banks and submerged dozens of towns and neighborhoods. Including Ron's.

Apparently, Uncle Romei was having a good time with his would-be bride in sunny FL, when a friend calls to tell him that his dog was wandering the neighborhood. When the friend goes to return the dog, he discovered Ron's property was several feet under water. All of which was news to Ron. And promptly ruined his weekend. And the rest of the week. And probably the next couple of months

I offered to fly up and help. Repeatedly. Ron declined. Repeatedly. Ultimately, I gave him his space. Know from experience that dealing with a disaster is a personal practice in anger management. Some things are best done alone. In angry silence.The pain and confusion and hurt work themselves out of your system. Eventually.

Good luck, Ron. I'm here. When you're ready.

Come On, Irene

The little hurricane that could: Irene. My friends along the East Coast blogging and tweeting and Facebooking their every waking hour. Mandatory evacuations potentially affecting an area with a population forty million. NYC shutting down its subway. A seas of boarded windows. Obama in some kind of Death Star Control Room, warning people and pretending to devise response situations. Then, she sputters out. Come on, Irene! Only  a million folks without power? Winds dropping down to CAT1 level? And yet the media is covering it as if Irene were the Second Coming of Jesus Christ. Every single station and live show with their own footage and their own reports leaning into the wind. Anderson Cooper standing up to his ankles in rapidly draining flood water, calling it "a boring rain." Same thing on every damn channel. You can see the disappointment on their eyes. They needed some carnage and wholesale destruction to distract us from everything else happening these days.

If Irene entered the Gulf Of Mexico, you'd only be able to find detailed information online. And nobody other than The Weather Channel would send a report to cover it. Would anyone honestly care if the Gulf South gets crushed again? But, oh, God forbid, NYC is endangered! And Wall Street might flood? Washing up the corpses of our 401Ks and retirement accounts. Credit Default Swaps and Collateralized Debt Obligations bobbing to the surface. They've been dead a while though. And instantly stink up the thick New York air. Didn't we bury those toxic bastards deep enough? Won't see THAT on the news, though. Just enough East Coast misery to make the West Coast forget it is circling the drainpipe of bankruptcy. Nevermind that we've got Hurricane Double Dip Recession peeking over the horizon. We can't find any of those invisible, bearded, religious ninjas we've spent trillions defending against, so now maybe we'll have to declare a War On Weather! Those terrorist winds hate our freedom. Lightning wants to convert us to sharia law. And hail has declared jihad on our car windshields. So let's pony up about $50B for Irene and see where we can waste some more tax dollars. But keep your eye open for Jesus. Fox polls show their viewer still favor his return. He is coming back to end taxes, raise employment from the dead, and cast Obama's Healthcare Reform down to the Liberal Hell where it was conceived. Can we all join Perry and Bachmann in an AMEN? Amen.

Saturday Night. Non-stop.

Some days never end. Thankfully, this was an endless Saturday.

Started with a trip to the gym. My first visit in over a week. Back and biceps. Then a long hour in the pool with Meg. That girl is part mermaid. And she never gets tired of me hurling her through the air. I gorilla press her as high as I can manage. Sometimes she has to be 10' up. Always screams on her way down. Making a splash twice her size. I never held my breath that long. Or swam so well. She'd still be swimming twelve hours later if I didn't have her check for Wrinkled Feet. Not sure how much longer that trick will last. But it still works, for now. If her feet are wrinkled, it is a sign from God. And she listens to that!

Ate at Cici's pizza afterwards. Liam always complains when we try to go. Have to say, he's right. It is cheap ($5 for me, $4 for Meg) but not exactly the most diverse selection, aside from the actually pizzas. I was hoping I could avoid the carbs and bulk up on some salad. No such luck. The salad was dull as a slug, didn't even have cheese, and the pasta sauce tasted like a heavily processed canned product. But, Meg did get a balloon and the manager performed a magic trick. She was happy. So I was happy. Her bar isn't raised quite as high as mine. Plus Meg said Cici's brownies were excellent. Still. Might be a while before we go back there.

After a couple of hours of babysitting, I concluded the night with some business-based drinking at The Quarter, in Gulfport. Bunch of issues to sort through. Some critical decisions and clarifications. Interesting stuff abounds. Just have to find the time and energy to make it all happen. But could be some exciting stuff if it lives up to the promise. Great drinks at the Quarter, as always. And a fine fine chicken sammich from next door.

Excellent Saturday night. Even if it was non-stop.

Dog Days

Home last night. Just before midnight. Entire day wasted on travel. Lunch of peanuts and pretzels high over the prayer field of Texas. Dinner in the form of overly expensive, excessively spicy Chinese fastfood overlooking a runway in Atlanta. But so damn good to be in my own bed. With my old schedule. Up at six with the kids. Jostle them off to school. Early to work. Try and catch up. Meetings. Meetings. Meetings. Practice sessions and writing for my Woodstock tribute next week. New phone rapidly approaching. New storage en route. A quarter million in other hardware juggled over head in the form of paperwork and project plans. More than four hundred emails. Up to my waist in them. Finger numb from hitting delete. Costumes. Schedules. A storm on the horizon. Approaching the grim anniversary of Katrina.

These are the dog days of summer. A time where old hound dogs like me are so hot and tired we sit panting and drooling. Trying to catch our breath. Trying to think our way out of this tarpit of heat and sweat and heavy handed profanity. But thinking gets us nowhere. We have to muster the strength to chase down our meals. Even under the glare of an August sun. It is feast or famine these days. And even if I'm short on sharp teeth, this dog still has some bite left in him.

Leaving Las Vegas

Las Vegas is too much for this old computer dork. Too much drink. Too much food. Too much skin. Too much looming sin. I really WANT to enjoy myself. But I feel guilty. I don't feel like I deserve such delicious treats. Or extra time in bed. (6AM in Las Vegas is 8AM to my internal clock.) I should keep watching my diet. Spare my liver. Actually commit to some training. But I do none of those. Thus, Las Vegas is one, long, non-stop cheat on every private promise I've made to myself. And the city knows it. Knows I'll cave in. With my wallet. With my waistline. With my every waking moment. Its laughter thrums like all-too-distant cicadas.

I do enjoy one thing: the people. So many names I've only known through email or IM. Meeting them in person is always interesting. Even if I'm older than some of them. Even when they inevitably confess, "I thought you'd have more of an accent." Hey, we do have running water and electric lights in MS, you know? Not all of us sound like Haley Barbour.

How these people resist the temptations of this city is beyond me. Don't they see it? Are they somehow numb to the scope and screams and and shot glasses and chink chink chink of slot machines in every conceivable corner? I'd live paycheck to paycheck. Never go home. Or bother changing clothes. Like some sort of living dead geek. But all these folks are immune. They've built up a tolerance. Me, I'd be an addict if I didn't escape.

I'm ready to be home. Far fewer choices and temptations. Boring food. Boring drink. No sign of skin or sin. I like my life simpler. Less tempting. Nothing to think about. Just slow Southern habits moving in endless gray circles. There's a comfort in my tedium. Maybe I don't have as many options back in the balmy depths of South Mississippi, but I have no guilt, plenty of time to train, and a healthier relationship with my liver!

Narratives Of Las Vegas

I'm fascinated by the many narratives of Las Vegas. The obscenely vast scale. The unsustainable dreams. Sleek beautiful serpents coyly eating their own tail. All these slow gray dreams crawling across the same space, fighting for too much attention. You may miss them if you blink. And I blink too much.

My breakfast so perfect. And so impossibly cheap. A three egg omlette. Add ham. And tomatoes. And spinach. Almost too light and fluffy. My fork barely finds purchase. While I eat, a gang of 20-something hipsters mix ranks with a gang of silk suited businessmen. The hipster leader in a bright pink Polo shirt. Drinking bourbon at seven thirty in the morning and speaking non-stop French. Four other hipsters at a different table, like children cast aside during Thanksgiving. The adults sitting around Pink Shirt are all in black jackets and short on hair. French for everyone. I'll never know the depth of their story.

Polish off my omlette while watching three awkwardly skinny Asian girls wandering through the lobby. Their dresses too short. Their hair too tussled. Impending hangovers obvious in their step. I'll never know what they were doing while I slept.

On the way to the office, I catch a ride with the only cabbie that knows less about Las Vegas than I do. Pilot Road, I say. Pee low, he said. Pilot, I repeated. Pie lots, he said. End up typing my request into Google Translate on my Blackberry. Technology turning my slow Southern drawl into Arabic. GPS appears to be the same in any language. And off we go.

Thai food for lunch. Ping Pong. Really. That's its name. A dive by Las Vegas standards. Lovely, by mine. Open architecture. Clean lines. Lots of natural light. And just the right amount of spice on the Thai dishes. Good service. Great food. Cheap price tag. Just my style. And speed. But this is Las Vegas and nobody can slow down for very long.

Memorable Day

Approaching midnight but Las Vegas still sweats through one hundred and three degree temperatures. Thirty five floors below my floor-to-ceiling windows: people are playing golf, a plane lands every three minutes, and there is no end to the traffic on the ever-under-construction streets. This city never catches its breath. It is too big. Lumbering ever forward with too much weight on its spine. Inertia and alcohol and an unfulfilled promise of instant wealth. If you play enough, you're told, eventually you win. Everyone here keeps playing. Waiting for that jackpot to hit. My theory states: you can't lose if you never play.

Four hour meeting at eight this morning. Two hundred and some odd computer geeks gathered under one roof. Won't do the math on the cost. Too many zeros there. Not including the food or coffee or transportation or facilities costs. Lots of cheering. Plans about plans. Implied promises. Requests for continued patience.

Then a financial wizard I admire says the oddest things. The economy is doing well. Concerns over Europe are overblown. The threat of a second recession is mostly empty. Leaving me wondering if I'm living in an odd distopian fantasy or he is. One of us is wrong. But I'm a computer dork and he's a high ranking financial professional. So what are the odds on me winning a debate with him? Hopefully he is right. I'm just not seeing it.

An earthquake outside Washington D.C. today. No, really. The capital shook and was evacuated after a 5.8 quake. Nobody notable injured. My buddy Peter verified he had survived via text. Unfortunately the White House remained intact. And I'm sure Obama will find a way to make this Bush's fault.

Libya has a historic turn as unrelenting rebel forces push Gadhafi out of the Libyan capital of Tripoli. The opposition claiming victory. Loyalists putting up their own resistance. New casts of nothing but gunfire and tracers. More revolution crawling Westward. How long until it comes to our shores?

And a Cat 3 or Cat 4 hurricane dragging along the Eastern seaboard.

All coming together to make it a memorable day.

The Future In Already Here

In the 90s, William Gibson wrote: "The future is already here, it's just not very evenly distributed." Twenty years later, I'm sitting in a thick swirl of modernity, expensive paranoia, and hyper-connected technology that has transformed today's American airports into a Lucas-esque Creature Cantina.

Bluetooth equipped businessmen dragging their streamlined Mobile Sales Platforms behind them. Public announcements every ninety seconds thanking me for being the airline's "Partner In Security." My fellow Southern rednecks waddling between crowded waiting aisles, praying for an extra-wide seat to magically become available. And at the High Tech Anti-Terrorist Checkpoint, an unarmed micro-army of minimum wage, tattooed Post-Tweeners assure me that the "non-invasive" porn scanners will not record the images, nor share them on Facebook, and my naughty bits are blurred so that they cannot determine scientific width or girth of my naughty bits. But that doesn't make me feel any safer from the invisible religious ninjas they've been protecting me from so effectively for the past decade. Fortunately, my obedience and an extra $25 per bag rewards me with access to a Starbucks, semi-clean bathrooms, and optional $3.95 worth of wireless connections.

So, here I sit. Typing and waiting to launch skyward. This is our new America. The future is already here.

My Own Rome

I am fortunate. I usually like my job. Pretty high on the ladder. Lots of leash to wander around and do what I need to do. Folks depend on me. Treated fairly. Given responsibility. And respect. Usually that is all good. But bad days at work can be really bad days. Which never seem to end.

Today, for example. There were fires raging through my own Rome. Vendors trying to line things up. People needing support. Departments needing support. I'm getting hit with emails. And phone calls. And tickets. And alarms. And instant messages. All made worse by servers that are puking up their gut, endlessly rebooting, or locking up with a Blue Screen Of Dead. 

Ten hour day. Twelve? I dunno. Fixed most of the woe. Fled the scene as quietly as possible. Saw the kids for maybe an hour. Had some left over lasagna. Didn't train. Fighting off odd preludes to a vertigo attack. And generally did nothing productive with my few remaining moments away from the bed. 

Hopefully tomorrow will be a better day at work. But if there's fire, I'll be fighting it.

Visiting Meg's Classroom

Somehow I'm forty and my beautiful little girl is in rocketing into fourth grade. Meg is part dancer, part artist, part actress, part singer, and part athlete. All bundled together into a redheaded atom bomb. I don't think there's anything that can stop or and nothing she cannot do. When I grow up, I want to be like her!

I rushed home from work and ended the day visiting Meg's classroom. She showed us her journal full of drawings, an "All About Meg," poster (complete with big-eyed Molly) and a hand-made 3D rendering of her "perfect meal." And afterwards the entire class went outside to bury their version of a time capsule. (Which they'll unearth at the end of the year.)

She's growing too quick. Exploring so much of the world. Finding stray pieces of reality and completely remodeling them around her. I get caught her gravity sometimes. Waiting to see what she comes up with next. What she'll write or how she'll interpret music into her own modern dance. Life is never dull when Meg is involved. If only she could remake the world for everyone the way she's remade it for me.

On Running

I don't like running. Cindy likes it less than I do. And today, we ran together.

Run - N - Tri is staring up a new "Couch To 5K" program. Designed to take you from the sofa to a real 5K run in eight weeks.

Today was the first day. About 20 of us showed up for some stretching then 60 seconds of jogging followed by 90 seconds of walking. Rinse and repeat. For twenty or so minutes. Added up to almost a mile and a half.

I hung with Cindy. She did great. We weren't first. But we weren't last. It made for a great sweat and excellent way to end a Monday.

Sunday Cravings

Trained again this afternoon. Later in the day. Hotter, but more prepared. Far better swim More focus. And energy. Did 1320 meters, without stopping on the far side.

(Quick side note: Bumped into Varnado at the gas station. Hello. Hello. Good to see you. You, too. You've lost weight? Something like that. Okay, bye. Bye!)

Did not WANT to bike. But I biked. Terrible headwind on half of the trip. Like pedaling through syrup. But I found a good pace for myself and nailed it. Came in last yesterday, came in first today. Another small victory for my collection.

Craving protein the rest of the day. Grilled up a chicken breast. Made another spinach & lentil omelet.  Easy and exceptionally num.

And thus was my weekend of training and sweating.

Saturday Morning

Six in the morning. The mind is willing. But the body is weak. Not firing on all cylinders as I hit the water. Too much mental noise. Only three of us swimming. I'm too slow to draft them.  Doubts lingering behind my eyes. Fear simmering slowly. Up from my belly. Thinking about everything except swimming. No focus so fear. Just reaching out and dragging myself through the lake, ten thousand times just to make 880 meters.

Follow it up with an equally pitiful ride. Chewed through my inertia by the midway point. Couldn't find the right gear. Or a second wind. Relegated to last place. Of six riders. Couldn't get comfortable or keep up. 

Started to cut my ride short. Wanted to throw in the proverbial and meet everyone at the cars. Made the motions, but a hundred feet later told myself not to give up. Just finish it right. Regardless of what place I'm in or how long it takes. Just practice. None of that matters. Just go the distance. And do - not - quit. 

So I didn't quit. I turned around again. Back on the course. And eventually, I finished.  Not the pace or performance I wanted. But I didn't quit. So I'll chalk it up as another small victory. Need all of them that I can get!

Meg's First Night Away

Meg's friend had a birthday party. And some twenty 4th grade girls were all invited to spend the night. Meg, however, has never stayed over night anywhere other than with us, or Gigi.

Until tonight!

Cindy and I have both phones turned on. And we've been expecting the call any moment. But it never happened. So it looks like this will be Meg's first night away from home!

The Omlette

Six in the morning isn't my best time for culinary experiments. But I tried anyway. Sauteed the spinach in a little oil. Beat up an egg. Pour it on top. One lone egg didn't go very far. So I added a second. Then the lintels. Everything turned the right color. Eventually.

Spatula'ed it off the skillet. Paired it up with some sriracha and a protein shake. Little fresh ground pepper. Wanted some sour cream. And a bunch of cheese. But didn't want the risk of affecting my morning workout.

Overall? Not bad. Not the best breakfast I've ever had. But certainly one of the best I've made! I am not too fond of the lentils. They're pretty damn  boring. But tomorrow I'll give it another shot. Maybe put the spices on the INSIDE of the omlette. And I'll start off with two severely beaten eggs.

If nothing else, at least I tried something new and fixed it all myself.

What the hell are lentils?

Trying to make gradual improvements to my eating habits. Read that legumes (ie: beans) are a great source of protein and fiber. Unfortunately the only beans I actually like are pork & beans, or bbq beans. So a bit of research reveals that lentils are not only low in carbs, but they're second only to soy beans in protein. One problem. Not only have I never tried a lentil, but I've never even seen a lentil or attempted to prepare one! But, why let something like inexperience and a fear of new foods stop me?

So I bought some lentils. Plan to make a spinach & lentil omelette in the morning. See how that does. Probably have to spice them up a bit, but at least one day I'll be able to go to glory knowing I tried lentils at least once.

Eating Habits

Most of my lunches look like this:

• Ham or turkey on whole wheat
• Small salad
• Cup of water
• Bonus: tomato soup (if available)
• Bonus: grilled/baked chicken (if available)
• Bonus: grilled veggies (if available)

Usually, it is just the sandwich and a salad washed down with water. Very boring. Very mundane. Almost to the point of maddening. I look at hand made pizzas every single day. And I want a slice. I look at fried foods every single day. And I want them. I see deserts every single day. And I want TWO! I get my water from a dispenser with almost 10 different sugar-saturated drinks. And I want that, too! All of it is effectively free and endlessly available. I could pick up a whole pizza and take it with me and do it every day. 

But I know what it costs me. The price my health pays. I realize if I scarf down that slice of pizza, I have waste a couple of miles of bike work. If I enjoy that double cheeseburger the lunch lady wants to grill for me, I obliterate an hour of swimming. And I could easily drink over a thousand calories worth of Coke in one sitting, if I didn't know the price. 

So every day I sacrifice my tastebuds. I turn my back on my palate. I skip the pizza. And I skip the friend mozzarella sticks.  But my waistline and my energy levels thank me. Every day.

Tri Training

Swam at Robinwood Lake. First time in three weeks. And it turned out to be one of my best swims to date! Had it in my head to do a lap (down and back) without stopping. Usually I'll go across, catch my breath, then come back to the start. Today, I did three laps without stopping on the other side. 1320 meters all together. And likely had more to give.

But, we went biking. I was sweating by the time I put my helmet on! Then we did 20 miles. 17.9MPH average. Rained briefly. Sweated a lot. All around great training day.

Now if only I can get my running up to speed!

Sang Soprano

Driving to the gym. Middle of a thunderstorm.  Traffic at a glacial pace. Thirty feet of visibility.And a sun-bright peal of lightning detonates on the other side of my passenger seat. The shockwave bouncing off the door. And my lungs. Ghostly phosphenes fills half the world. Everything layered in white. And I sang soprano during that unexpected instant of pure panic. A teen-age horror show scream. As traffic rolled past, unaware.

I think a stray bolt struck a road-side light pole. Afterwards, my face felt sunburned.

Hours later, my brief brush with lightning still lingers, Like the leftovers from an old slap.

Training Again

Good to be REALLY training again! Crushed a ride on the bike then did a one mile run. Drenched in sweat. Stoned on adrenaline. 12 days until my next race. The Sunfish in Meridian. Hope to be better on my feet this time. Break the 30min barrier. Or die trying.

At The Lake

Another Sunday. Another day of training at the lake. Liam behaved himself very well while I swam 1200 meters. (Helped that there was some a Labrador Puppy there, owned by some 13yr old girls splashing in their bikinis!) Really powerful swim for me, too. Found a good pace. Passed a couple of folks. Lots of strength left over, too. Liam loves jumping off the pier, but he really leaps when I'm doing it with him. So we practiced doing cannon balls and one of the other swims (Lisa) snapped photos.

The folks training for longer distances (Half Ironman and beyond) did several more laps. Liam hopped in the rescue kayak to paddle around for a while. Really cool tandem unit. Would love to get one for the family. Maybe once we get some bills paid off. Would crack me up to have them paddling along side me as I train. Something for everyone to enjoy.

We neglected to put on sunscreen, though. Paid a painful price for that. But it was a great time. Hopefully I'll get Meg to join us next time!

MOVIE: X-Men: First Class

Liam, Bryce (far right,) and I went to see X-Men: First Class after lunch. They loved it, of course. A very good flick for almost-teens. Though there IS an expected (and un-needed!) F Bomb dropped. But only once.

Bear in mind that I grew up reading X-Men comics and I still enjoyed this. It is BASED ON A COMIC, but the acting is fairly good. Plenty of action. Though developing a reasonable plot and background takes times. Could have used a quicker pace in places. But the story developed nicely, without too much divergence from the historical narrative. However I was extremely happy that there were several somewhat effective villains in this one. Not sure if I liked the re-tooling of some of the characters. "Angel" for example had dragonfly wings and could spit some kind of acid. Not sure where Darwin came from. And Havok as a criminal?

Taken on its own, without any knowledge of the original comic series, this was the best one in the series, to date.Fans of the other movies will love it. Fans of the comics ought to like it. And for matinee prices, it was a great way to spend two hours.

Three Bears At Arts Camp

Cindy, Gigi, and I visited three bears at Arts Camp, tonight. It wa actually the closing ceremonies. A three hour adventure featuring: ballet, gymnastics, singing, jazz, salsa, Zoomba, and multiple interpretations of Goldilocks & The Three Bears. Liam ended up playing Papa Bear. Did a great job. And danced his butt off during most of the other events (except ballet & gymnastics.) We were all proud of him and his performance. Hope he stays that adventurous a few more years. 

Meg was at a birthday party. With plans to convert it to a sleepover. Unsurprisingly, we received a call at 10:30P. She wanted to come home. The umbilical didn't stretch quite far enough. But she's home now. And Liam's sleeping like a rock. So a good night for all involved. 

Disappointment

Found the complete results of the Buster Britton Triathlon today. Out of 399 people who finished, I ranked 322nd. That's in the bottom 25%. Not even average. Well below average.

I guess I should be easier on myself. I'm a full time geek. Never competed in any sports in my life. And this is only my first year of trying. But I don't like knowing that everything I did only put me in the bottom quarter of the race. Didn't think I was in the top 10%, but I never thought I was below average...

Been struggling all day. Had a pitiful workout. Back and biceps. Then an even worse performance on the bike. Not into it at all. Feel nothing but personal disappointment. And an overwhelming sense of defeat. Training so hard to do so poorly?

Have to improve my perspective. I did beat 77 other people. And three fat guys in my age division! I've got that going for me. If I improve my running game and keep making improvements on my swimming, I should climb up through the ranks. Four more races this season. I plan to do better with each one. But for now, it hurts. And I'm having a hard time getting past it. For now.

Yawn

Up at oh four forty five this morning for some upgrades at the office.  Fortunately I had staged much of the work ahead of time. And nothing went sideways. Just eleven hours of expected drudgery and excessive CYA. Much yawn.

Training again this week. Chest and triceps yesterday, then an hour on the bike. Shoulders and legs this morning. Only two and a half weeks until my next event. Want to focus on my running. Get THAT time to less than thirty minutes. Much yawn there, too.

Feeling good. But making it an early night. Perchance to dream.

Mine Mine Mine

Proof arrived today. I own my car! Six years of payments. No major problems or complaints. Mine mine mine.

Cindy already owns hers.

And there's the Beetle. For now.

Feels good to have one less debt burden. Need to keep it this way.

Even the clown

Cindy worked all day. So I dropped the kids off at "arts camp," and picked them up after work. Surprised them by heading over to Buffalo Wild Wings, for some wings and things. Had a clown making balloon animals. Kids didn't think he was a clown since he didn't wear makeup. I said some people are clowns even without it.

Meg had a white swan. Liam had a green parrot he wore on his shoulder. I had two pints of cold cold Woodchuck. Everyone was happy! Even the clown.

Fathers Day 2011

When you're as fortunate as I am, every day is Fathers Day. The kids had cards and smiles for me. Then off to church with everyone, where Liam was Acolyte for the day.

Pastor Andy asked, "What did Your Father teach you?"

Meg said, "Happiness." Liam said, "Chicks dig scars."

Am I good, or what?

Afterward, we visited Cindy's Dad. Then I took Liam to Robinwood Lake so I could train in open water. He didn't think he'd like it. He was wrong. He loved it! We actually hung out more than I trained. Checking out the minnows. Tricking them into chasing little pebbles. Jumping off the pier. Doing cannon balls. Had a great time. And he wanted to stay longer than I did!

A very quiet, peaceful, restorative weekend. Just what I needed.

Day Trip

Resolved an unfinished project in Tunica, MS, today. A brief day trip. On the corporate jet! A Lear 40, that seats six and can hit Mach 8, if needed. Driving would have taken six hours. On the Lear, forty six minutes. And none of that unpleasant check-in / check-out, body frisking business associated with commercial flight. Only way to fly! (NOTE: I cleverly disguised my boss in the photo.)

The project wrapped up nicely. We had a delicious lunch to celebrate. On the way home, Warren (bald guy in front of me) gets a call that one of our competitors is having a major malfunction with their gaming floor that just re-opened. Brand new technology. A complete failure for them. To the tune of millions of dollars if it is as bad as it looks. Warren laughs and says, "That's what we get for depending on geeks." Warren is old school, from Atlantic City. He grew up without instant access to a player's financial data and had to make decisions based on gut feelings and established relationships. "The Good Old Days," Warren calls them. Otherwise, the trip was quick and uneventful. Home by dinner time. And I will sleep better tonight.

Caught Up With Me

My efforts this past weekend final caught up with me. Terribly sore. Especially my quads. And unusually tired. Certainly won't be able to train today. My plan is to get more rest and just recover this week. Shoulder was acting up for a while, too. Probably over did a workout.

Need to work on my running game. But I'm glad to know all those hills only added five minutes to my 5K time.I just loathe running. Soooo boring.

But I'm getting better and seeing constant improvement. My swimming game is much better. Biking is great. Just have to refocus on the running portion. That's AFTER all this soreness is gone!

Lunch And Racing Fuel

Driving home after my triathlon yesterday. An hour south west of Tuscaloosa and I pull off to refuel the car and my belly as a small gas station / grocery. Grabbing a bite at Subway, inside the store, when I noticed the oddest stack of cans I've ever seen. Had to look three times. Thought is was a joke, actually. Like cigarette-shaped candy for kids. But it was real. Miniature barrels of racing fuel, conveniently located next to the potato chips!

So you could pick up a pecan log, some pork rinds, and a half tank of jet fuel for the dragster on your way to the track.  Only in The South...

Buster Britton Triathlon 2011

Seven in the morning. Five hours from home. Nestled in a quiet valley amid the green peaks of Oak Mountain State Park. Surrounded by four hundred other eager competitors. The 25th Annual Buster Britton Triathlon. A minimalist transition setup. Just the bare essentials. Trying to keep it simple, quick, and clean.

The swim was great. One of my best performances. Was shooting for ten minutes. Did it in 9:32. Could have done it quicker, but I made the mistake of following somebody who went off course! Wasted a good thirty seconds to get back on track. However, I was really pleased with my performance in the water. Training in the lake at home made a huge difference.

Transitioned to the bike and hoped to do the ride in 42 minutes. Did I mention it was held in Oak MOUNTAIN State Park? MOUNTAINS being the critical part of the name. The hills CLOBBERED me at two points, and my computer showed I was down to 5MPH. Of course on the downhill, I hit 32MPH, which was a new personal record. Eventually, I made the trip in 45:11.

And then, the run. (Did I mention mountains? And do recall that I live in the flatlands of Coastal Mississippi.) My last triathlon run time was 39 minutes. I was only hoping to beat that. But the hills at Buster Britton were brrrrrrutal on me. I pushed through it. And ended up doing the run in 34:05. For me, a great time!

Was shooting for a total race time of 1:30:00. With transitions and all, I made it in 1:35:05. For my division I finished 29th out of 32 men. Meaning the old computer dork beat three old fat guys.

Next time, I'll bring the wife and kids. They'd LOVE the park. And then I'd have somebody ELSE to drive me home. For my 2nd actual event, I think I did pretty well. I finished. And that was enough for me!

Pre-Game in Pelham, AL

After an excessively dull drive, five hours from home, I find myself at the pre-game show in Pelham, AL. Pick up my race pack. Listen to the Q&A. Bunch of other beginners. We're all eager and bright eyed. Amazingly, I'm #400. And the lake is akin to a warm bath.

I walk the transition area, getting my bearings. Go over the process in my mind. Try to take notes of directions and the likely flow of contestants. Eventually drive along the bike course. Getting a taste for the hills and where I'll need to shift to easier gears. And then the rain comes. Ending the research.

My hotel is nearby. Cell signal is shit inside the valley. I'll grab a light dinner, chicken and salad. Then pack and try to sleep. Even though I know I won't.

FOOD: Noodles, Biloxi, MS

Noodles, in Biloxi, MS, opened today. I was expecting a place called "Noodles" to be something akin to the noodle shops we had in Atlanta, like The Real Chow Baby or Doc Chey's Noodle House. Nice location. Nice decor. Interesting feel to the place. Lots of potential!

We must have missed the grand opening lunch rush. Nobody else there when we arrived at nearly 1PM. Only one lone waitress. And a bartender.

Then one look at the menu told me I was going to be disappointed. None of the "lunch specials" even had noodles on them!

Turns out that Noodles isn't a noodle shop. It is just a Chinese restaurant with a bar. Not a "fusion" place. No touches of Southern style on traditional Asian themes. Nothing remotely inspired or unique. And as far as I could tell, very few noodle dishes!

I had the spicy beef. With a cup of hot & sour soup. The soup was the best part of the meal. The rest was just average. The same thing I could get at any Chinese place or buffet.

I really wanted Noodles to be something special. An interesting place in Biloxi where I could take my friends and say, "Check this out! Isn't this cool!" But there's nothing cool about Noodles. And I doubt I'll ever return.

There really is nothing remotely appealing about another Chinese menu serving the same dishes the same way as everyone else. I'd pay less and have a bigger choice at a buffet.