Memorial Day 2014

Kids had to go to school, on Memorial Day.
Us adults were off.
And had an adult conversation.
Plans. Truths. Pasts. Futures. Her ideas. Mine.
Headache.
Cindy & Meg end up @ Gigi's.
Liam & Jon end up getting pub grub @ Irish Coast.

We'll see what happens.

Robinwood Training - 05/25/14

Great crowd  at the lake today. Familiar faces. New ones. Everyone smiling and talking about their training and their races.

Good to be back in the water, again. Some cold spots. Some hot spots. Won't be long before the whole thing turns into a cauldron. Did about two thousand meters. Felt great and fairly easy. So much different from previous years. From the back of the pack to close to the front. My one strength.

Hit the bikes after. The main group was training for Grandman, next week. They kicked it into high gear and averaged nearly 20MPH. Wasn't on my plan. Just happy to be on the road and work off some calories. Not really much serious effort, but still averaged 18.10MPH. Which would have been a struggle just a couple of years ago.

Closed out the day with a trip to a snowcone shack. Strawberry. Topped with cream. Time consuming. But dirt cheap.

Cooling off with sugar and friends and comrades.

Life is good.

The Memories

Kids were with me for the day. Cindy was off doing what Cindy goes off and does. Fortunately, we all had a good time. Kidd Maestro helped me with the yard. Wonder Girl helped with laundry and clothes. No fussing or drama and there's a rumor that we worked together pretty well as a team.

Afterwards, the kids got to pick where they wanted to eat. Thankfully, there was much agreement and we ended up around the corner, at Brooklyn Pizzeria.

Couple of slices of pepperoni for the son. Couple of slices of cheese for the daughter. Chicken Parmesan  for Your Humble Narrator. Kids enjoy it. Everything was peaceful and easy and relatively inexpensive. The three of us happy to be out of the house and doing something agreeable together.

Interesting historic reference. My first OFFICIAL date with Cindy was at Brooklyn Pizzeria. Not exactly where I would take a date NOW. But it was after a movie, we were young, and we were hungry. So we ate there and talked about whatever we talked about. Almost 20yrs ago, so those little details are lost to history.

Flash forward to the 21st and these days she's of the mindset that she made a mistake by going. She was in shape back then. She ate right. She never touched greasy pizza. Why, oh why, did she do it that night, she laments.

That's okay. The memories are still good, in my twisted mind.

Musicians Past

A typical scene at Chateau McDougal. Liam's plucking on the guitar and Molly's trying to figure out how to get some more attention. Interesting note here is that Liam's taking his sheet music for Game Of Thrones, which is for the double bass, and he's transmogrifying it in his head so he can play it on my old acoustic guitar.

Crazy talented kid. Doesn't even cross his mind that such things are almost impossible for NORMAL people, like Your Humble Narrator. Just comes natural to him. With almost every instrument he touches.

His Mom's side of the family, for certain. Etched into his chromosomes. The ghost of musicians past. Their music echoing across a generation. 

Enjoying it while it lasts.

Robotic Bastard

Back to the battle with technology. Second day of waging near-constant war against backups. Like playing digital Jenga with the smoldering soul of an unblinking, multi-million dollar corporation. Pull out the wrong puzzle piece and the whole delicately crafted construct falls down around your trembling ears. Summoned all the king's horses. Summoned all the king's men. And we finally put Digital Dumpty back together again.

First piece was a new backup-to-disk solution that didn't behave. Finally spanked it until it complied. Of course that means half a dozen of us on the phone with three different accents and an over-eagerness to control the mouse.

Second piece was the backup server. It didn't like the new storage. And of course IBM can't modernize to an actual Graphical User Interace (GUI) so my morning is spent on the phone with one of their lead nerds as he talks me through the specific, arcane syntax required to reconfigure their command line interface (CLI.) Tedious, painful stuff. One wrong keystroke could have wiped everything. But we managed to get it stripped down to the bare bones and rebuilt properly.

Final piece was the tape silo. Robotic bastard. Refusing to play nice. Lost count of the number of inits and reboots and replaced tapes it took to make the sun/moons/stars line up correctly. Week of no training. Headache for lunch. Not even a pat on the back, or a pack of cigarettes, for ol' Johnny. Par for the course, though. All a part of the gig. Still glad to be employed. While wrestling robots still pays well.

Modern Bad News

Packets. They can carry anything. Even modern bad news. Sometimes so serious it takes me several awkward minutes to figure out just how much fit has hit the shan.

"You will feel some pressure." Captioned with the picture. 

Results day. Supposed to hear from his doctor. Forgot check on him, trapped in my narrow world. But he can't forget. Reaches out to let me know. And amid what must be the definition of horror, he is still joking with me. Strongest man in my life.

Ones and zeros.  A digital tipping point. End up trying not to cry at work. Thanks to packets. Bastards.

Playlisted

In my old age, things are simpler. Bacchanal happiness comes easy. One part near-freezing cider. One part tunage. And one part comradeship. Of course the cider must be plentiful. (Too many pints tonight, though.) The music has to be loud. (But we playlisted too long.) And the comrade must be trusted and honest and forthright. (Hard to find.)

Post-work adventures at my favoritest super dive, Rooney's. 90s jams on TouchTunes. Plates of smoked brisket from Murky Waters. And not a sign of seriousness or responsibility or obligations to be found. Just a couple of hours of catching up and decompressing.

Cheap. Easy. Simple.

Keeps a man 95% happy. And helps steel him for the remaining 5%.

Lakeside

First swim in two weeks. Over at Robinwood. Old faithful. Did four easy laps (just about a mile) in 40 minutes. Familiar faces: Luke, Jack & Onnie, Bob, Kristen, Rachel K, and Brian S. Different distances. Paces. Skills. And comforts. But everyone enjoying the water while it is still cool and bearable. Won't be long because the lake turns into a bathtub and we go back to the indoor pool.

Cindy was taking care of her mother. So the kids & Molly tagged along with me. Dog's first time in open water. She lived. Meg & Liam had fun. Cindy & her Mom survived their sodium & potassium adventures. Everyone continued training. And summer bites a little deeper on us all. 

Afterward, shirtless and recovering, Molly sat in the backyard with me. Listening to Pandora (from the little speaker on the left side.) Enjoying the breeze. And the sun. And the solitude of a fresh cut yard.

Amazing how much better a quiet day makes you feel. If only they could all be like this...

Old & New

Caught up with an old classmate today. Malise M. swung through town with her husband, Chris. They've been in New Orleans this week. Indulging on good food, Southern music, and mild summer nights off Bourbon. We caught lunch at Harbor View. Met with Officer Mikey. Talked about fitness, old classmates' updates, Austin, Seattle, and their travels across the globe. Strange clicking so quickly after a twenty five year gap. They had great stories. We dug up old memories. And hopefully my tales didn't bore them.

Afterwards, caught a new movie with Liam & Bryce. (The truck next to us in the parking lot accidentally left a clean spot.) New Godzilla movie. Interesting spin on a classic. Enjoyed the clever opening credits. Thought the plot had some merit. But wanted some more giant monster combat and less unnecessary character development. The movie required a little too much suspension of disbelief towards the end. Couple of the critical pieces just too implausible for my tastes. But it was a monster movie afterall. And the kiddos loved it. If there's a sequel, we'll go see it!

Need Answers

After significant dragging of feet and far too much thought about options, here is the (new) plan for my leg.

• Step One - Get another professional opinion. 
• Step Two - Get the problem fixed. 
• Step Three - Resume the awesomeness/

Best case scenario, the doctor sticks a large, painful needle deep into the tender meats of my knee, injects the magic sauce, and bingo bango... everything is fixed! Get back up to speed for the triathlon season. And aim for competing at Sunfish as my next event. Wouldn't that be swell?

Next best case scenario, the doctor suggests physical therapy and it takes weeks of training just to get rid of the pain and return to normal levels of function. Not sure of the timeline. Likely measured in months. Skip Sunfish. Potentially shoot for Ironman Austin in late October.

Worse case scenario, the doctor says soft tissue is damaged and needs to be mended with surgery. Week of recovery. Months of physical therapy. Maybe get back online with time to train for Ironman Austin in late October, but potentially miss the rest of the triathlon season. 

Appointment is Tuesday, May 27th. Need answers. Can't keep hoping for relief. Have to create a solution. It isn't going to create itself. 

SERIES - True Detective

True Detective is a slow mellow groove. Best sampled in sips. Each of which can be considered and digested in small amounts. One at a time. 

The writing is smooth and extremely well polished. Acting that is nearly off the charts by most measure. Doubly so for a drama television series. Constantly challenging musical interludes. Gorgeous scenes with a touch of subtle effects. Excellent dialog. And a wonderfully slippery plot. But potentially the strongest characteristic is the minimalist, very purposeful and direct interaction between all of the characters. Nearly everyone is an anti-hero. And nobody escapes True Detective's gravity without a few scars. Inside or out. 

There are crimes to solve. Relationships to untangle. Villains to chase, or run from. Love. Violence. Sex. Pseudo supernatural elements. And more riddles asked than are ever answered. 

If you have the opportunity. Watch it. If you don't have the opportunity, make one. True Detective is that damn good. 

Test Ride

Back to the gym. After ten days of downtime. Some time on the indoor cycle. Test ride of sorts. See how the leg/knee holds up. Then a dip in the waaaay cold pool. Twelve minutes and everything was numb. From the waist down. 

Spin went well. Lots of sweating and panting. Old bastard getting older. No problems otherwise. Problem only materializes when pulling my foot up, from striking. Only a twinge normally. But with any additional resistance against my leg, there's a sharp pain. Also an issue when my knee takes all my weight, during a run. Then there is a pinch. Both issues are only slight. Maybe a 1 or 2 on a scale of 1 to 10. But those issues could certainly get acerbated. Then require significant surgical repair. Rest alone isn't going to do it. Have to get it checked out. By a professional. 

Gulfport Music Festival 2014 - Day Two

With the rains gone, we returned to the Gulfport Music Festival in time to catch the end tail of Ying Yang Twins. Must more pleasant weather but a far thicker crowd. Everyone in a good mood, though. No trouble at any point, as far I could tell. Love & peace in South Mississippi.

We brought collapsible chairs and bottled water. Significantly more comfortable. Sitting on wet, muddy grass for half a dozen hours held little appeal. Lots of cloud cover. Mildly warm. Nice breeze off the gulf.

Then Cypress Hill took the stage. Followed by a cloud of less-than-legal smoke. Wild to hear songs from the late 80s and early 90s that haven't been in my head in years but the words come back without any coaxing. Favorite part of their show was the DJ. Liam's generation is all about sound boards and samples. Rare treat for him to hear real scratching. And DJ Muggs was is excellent form today.

Ludacris followed. Very interactive with the crowd. Did a run down of all his previous hits. Made light of the fact that the majority of his fans today were Southern white folk. How's that feel for him? Uncomfortable? Redeeming? Or perfectly normal? And this will seem weird but imagine my surprise to find myself singing bunches of his songs without ever realizing before now that they were Ludacris songs. Never thought to attribute so many of my favorites to him.

Closed out the night with Kid Rock. All-live music. Four guitars. Saxaphone. Violin. DJ. Crazy afro-ed drummer girl. And three backup singers. Started off with a prayer. Played his newest stuff. Then broke into the old classics.

Great way to end a very long day. Enjoyed the time out. Especially with Liam.

Gulfport Music Festival 2014 - Day One

On the heels of (another) ten hour day. Dancing around the scars inflicted by my private demons: doubt and regret. Supposed to be in Panama City Beach, Resting. Trying to sleep. Before my second 70.3. But that ain't happening. Instead, my time gets voluntold for Gulfport Music Festival 2014. Not a place or band or time that appears on my wish list. Won't mention the associated price tag. Bitter taste for all of it. Somebody else's plans. And responsibilities. Thrust upon me. Without regard for what's going on behind my eyes. Yet another useless, one-sided argument piled atop the casket.

Still. Bonding time. With Kid Maestro. He's excited. So my thoughts stay semi-private. Helping me navigate the maze of cars and people. Walking to the venue. Could hear the show half a mile away from the entrance. Huge, two-story video walls glow in the fading sun. And the two of us snaking our way through the swarmed horde of Southern humanity. All makes and models. All ages. And manner of dress. And accents. Assembled to hear the same artists and music. Oh, the humanity.

Caught the tail end of Sir Mix A Lot. Then the beginning of The Pretty Reckless. Okay, sure, lead singer is a lovely lass. But apparently she'd rather be surrounded by mirrors than rednecks. Less narcissism, more talent  next time.

And then the rain. Between bands, we're huddled under blue ponchos when the DJ announces:  a 20 minute break until the weather clears. As if on command, things go from bad to shit storm. The crowd doesn't take kindly to it. And like some herd of ornery dingos, there is a mass exodus to safety. Loudly. And rapidly. Concert or no.

We're barely able to see through the curtains of near-horizontal rain as we make it to a semi-dry spot under a pavilion by the entrance. Temperature dropped. Wind picked up. The first tongue of lightning touches down less than one hundred feet from where we are sitting. Thunder erupts like a heavy metal kick drum sending screams from every mostly-sober woman around us. And half the men. Jumps into the nearby electrical grid and in mid-scream the lights fade to black.

There we stay. Nearly two hours. Surrounded by a soggy, motley crew. Drunks. Smokers. Stoner Fish. Rowdy Redneck splashing unhappy neighbors. Cute little tattooed girl, missing her left hand. And several hundred other unhappy concert-goers. All of us from across the Gulf South. Starting our weekend but ended Friday on a soggy note.

When Liam goes to find a better location, my weather app suggest we're barely mid-way through the thick of it. Which makes the decision for us: we are leaving.

Then the long walk to the car. Through puddles up to our ankles. Dodging traffic. Stumbling over half-seen curbs. We're totally soaked. Without towels. Past midnight. And, surprisingly happy to be done.

So ends Day One.

Meg Inducted Into NJHS

Meg was inducted into NJHS, tonight. So terribly proud of our little girl! Between her grades, her music, her art, and theater/dance, she's a superstar. So far beyond anything her parents did that we sometimes think she's adopted.

Barely made it out in time. Long day at the office. Long day for everyone. Snuck in during "the pledge." Seat in the back. Caught video of Meg receiving her award and crossing the stage. Oh, the places she'll go. Half way to college and Meg is already rocketing into orbit. Enough inertia behind her. She may never have to land. Maybe she never will.

Mower Part Two

Husqvarna made Mower Part One. Swedish company. Products probably assembled in America. Tennessee. Georgia. South Carolina. See the trend? As you can imagine, the brand new mower turned out to be Craptasticly American. And after less than four uses (not even a month of ownership) Mower Part One decides to gasp out its dying breath. And it would mow no more.

Familiar silly dance with the support line. Check the gas? Yes. Check the oil? Yes. Air filter? Yes. Spark plug? Yes. Sorry, they said, bad unit. Gonna have to do a big long dance, they said, with our third party provider. Haul the unit over there, they said, leave it for a week, Third Party will fix it for you. 

Hell with that, says Jon. Taking that sumbitch right back to Lowe's. Leaving it on their doorstep and disputing the charges, if need be. You don't take Ol Jon's hard earned money for a third rate piece of hardware that doesn't last even a month. Nope. Not gonna happen. Not without somebody catching bruises. 

Now there's a brand new Troy Bilt in the garage. Mower Part Two. And it's gonna got some damn grass!

This Plan

Gonna keep this plan simple. (Is there much choice?)

Step 1 - Take an entire week off from all forms of training. No swim. No bike. No run. No gym. Nothing.

Step 2 - See what a week of recovery does for the leg.

Step 3A -  If the pinch/pain/woe is gone, come up with a new plan that includes a very slow return to previous levels of performance.

Step 3B - If the pinch/pain/woe is not gone, follow up with the ortho and go from there. Likely start with an MRI. End with getting scoped plus a dash of physical therapy, and a very slow return to previous levels.

Step 4 - Race again

"Come, Watson, come!" he cried. "The game is afoot. Not a word! Into your clothes and come!"

Cinco De Numb

Celebrated Cinco De Mayo with a loud, prolonged visit to Rooney's. Super dive and supremely perfect place to numb one's wounds. Met by my life long chum, Roger. The two of us toasting to another fruitful trip around the sun. He with rum & coke. Me with icy pints of their finest Woodchuck. Tunes from the jukebox. A drunken lass showing us the stigmatic scars on her leg and tells of being impaled while climbing a fence in NOLA. Excellent BBQ from next door. Roger going for the pulled pork sammich. My plate heaped with terribly delicious brisket. And occasionally, we'd play Mexican music. In part to honor of the holiday. But mostly to have a chuckle and forget about everything else haunting our days. Our own holiday: Cinco De Numb.

Afterwards, back at Ye Ol House, the cider singing behind my eyes and my effing leg finally not hurting, Liam pulls out my old guitar and experiments. Taking classical tunes from his chamber group, his part on the double bass, and playing it on the acoustic. Tries to explain how he's able to translate the notes in real time. But none of the terms stick to my age-slicked gray matter. Harmonic this. Three octaves that. The technicalities aren't what matter. His awesomeness that does. And how effortlessly he does it. A gift we can only pray he grows to appreciate. Where ever it came from...

He's beautiful and talented. My pains are numbed. Roger's still among the living. And we all live happily after.

Meg's Sermon

Religion runs thick in Cindy's blood. Pastors. Gospel sings. And several family members who feel the call. Maybe Meg does. She certainly did a fantastic job today. Read from Luke 24: On The Road To Emmaus. And sang a couple of songs for us, too. 

Made us proud. How well she sang. The clarity of her voice. The smooth, pleasant reading of the gospel she gave. Beautiful and gracious and powerful. That's my Meg!

(Click the pictures for larger images!)

 

Done

My season may be done. Already. Can't keep denying the obvious. My left leg isn't right. Hasn't been since that one great run. Months ago.

Did a mock triathlon this afternoon. With Luke & Jack & Onnie. Swim was good. Felt strong. Finished in front. Bike was good. Felt strong. Finished in front. Run sucked. Only two miles. They were both disappointing and terrible.

Skipping Gulf Coast. Hoping to get my pass pushed to next year. Skipping Grandman. Likely skipping Sunfish. If a week, or two, of rest doesn't get me normal, there's an MRI in my future. And maybe get the knee scoped.

The worst part? My highest point, when the knee went sideways, was still slow. Only 9:15 per mile for a long run. Friends do 8 minute miles on their slow runs. Top guys do sub-six minute miles. And at 9:15 per mile, my machinery breaks down. That, my friends, is just sad.

So, maybe the season is done. Who knows? We'll have to see.

Spiritless

After the steel cage match at home, Your Humble Narrator is completely spiritless. Without joy. Or passion. Forlorn. No desire to train. Work feels cold and empty. Food has no taste. And there is no such thing as enough sleep. Like looking through a cracked mirror: everything is shattered.

Have to find my positivity. Recharge the mental batteries. Especially with a 70.3 looming in eight days. (Or less.)

Used to be lost. Now? Just stuck.

Diatribe

"You've been drinking," says she.

"Had to do something," says me.

Cheaper than lawyers. Or bail.

Off to bed, for she. Such is the ritual.

Decided not to scream.

But silence is the real crime against humanity.

Helping

Gave a speech earlier about charitable service. Helping the less fortunate folks in our community. Modern spin on being our brother's keeper. Doing what we can. Anything better than nothing. Our Food Fight raised over ten grand in cash. And received tens of thousands of pounds of non-perishable food. Combined efforts amount to roughly fifty thousand meals for local charities. Couple of rounds of praise. Interview with WLOX. Good to have my efforts recognized. But apparently Ol Jon can help everyone else except his own family. 

Worked a little later than planned. Didn't train. (Wasn't going to, after yesterday's brick.) Get home too close to seven. Walk into a brewing storm. And bad turns into worse. Blossoms into the same old argument about contributions versus expectations. Lots of one-sided yelling. Previous efforts going completely unrecognized. Topped off with acidic comments intended to hurt as much as possible.

The rest is silence. Until the cycle repeats.

Indoor Brick

Terrible storms raging, horizon to horizon. Something like twenty (or more) inches along the Gulf Coast. Front yards turned into lakes. And me trying to train for an Ironman.

End up doing some indoor brick work. Sixteen miles on the bike in fifty two minutes. Then a half hour of running seemingly endless circles on the track. Chasing Jack and Chris. Who do it as effortlessly as it ought to be for me.

Slick with foul sweat. Breathing like an old nerd. Slowing. Step by step. Until the anger is almost gone. Almost. But it is never completely gone these days. Just hunkers down for a bit. Biding its time.

Bring on the next race!

Gonna Try This

Given the fact that my run has returned to previous levels of craptasticness, changes are in store. First order of business: strengthen the core. Going to try the 30 Day Core Challenge from Active.com. Four weeks of crunches, back extensions, leg raises, planks, and adding some clamshells and side leg raises for hip strengthening.

In the meanwhile, Ye Ol Neck & Ye Ol Back are recovering nicely. Less stiffness. More flexibility. And (maybe?) better performance in the water and on the bike. Done with multiple visits per week. Down to just once. Stretching and exercising at home ought to help.

But how often do my plans go as well as envisioned?

Visiting Kimmer

Spent my Sunday visiting Kimmer & Family. They drove down yesterday. Staying in their favorite condo. Ethan breaking into his second year. Cute as a little bug. Wanting to pinch those pudgy cheeks of his. Full of energy and excitement. On the go, non-stop. Sounds like any little redhead in my life?

Here's the crazy orbit we spin through. My history with Kimmer goes back to the late 90s, when we worked at MindSpring. He had a grown son and my kids were still in the planning stages. We would hang out after work, eating incredibly stupid food, drinking insane amounts of alcohol, and occasionally going to the gym and pretend to train. Fifteen years later, Kim has a toddler, my kids have become teens, and neither of us drink or eat like we used. Neither of us ever would have predicted these crazy adventures. And we still talk almost daily.

Post food, Ethan (and Kimmer?) needed a nap. So we hit the beach for some open sea swimming, while Mommy babysat.Beautiful day for it. Touch breezy. Smidge over-cast. Interesting waves. But not brutal. wetsuit for me. Beach chair for Kimmer. He'd watch me do my version of laps. Out, through the breakers, maybe 200 meters, and back again. Much easier than Dauphin Island. (Thankfully!) Clearer water. Could see the bottom much of the time. But a stronger rip current dragging to the west. 6 laps. Maybe 1600 - 2400 meters. A good prep for Gulf Coast in two weeks.

Kim took a couple of pictures. If you squint and use your vivid imagination, you just might be able to spot the rare and elusive Aqua Nerd!

Afterwards, even more food! Some Mexican. (To offset the Cajun lunch we had at Stinky's Fish Camp!) And then Ol Jon had to hit the road for the long, lonely ride home to a quiet, sleeping house. Three hours each way. On the heels of my first triathlon of the season. Quite a task.

A great time, with great friends. Reminds me of what life is about.

If only it could have been stretched out for a week...

Scattered

A shotgun blast of a day. High velocity pellets hitting from too many directions. Nearly non-stop at the office. (Though my new plan is to only open email two or three times a day and avoid it as a constant distraction.) Mom calls while driving, tells me she is trailing an ambulance and G'Ma is en route to the ER, for chest pains. Many worrisome hours later it isn't a heart attack, but possibly intra-cranial fluid. That particular issue may linger for days. Cindy keeps taking tests. A friend's sole server at work gets completely ransacked by a Russian crypto trojan that encrypts the entire system and holds it hostage until they pay an anonymous account with fresh bitcoins. And another friend has voodoo invade his home network after a rainstorm so now all the packets are soaked and nothing works consistently. Feels like Monday all over again. 

On a good note, Dr J popped my back so well yesterday that it completely stopped hurting, at least for now. My knee isn't hurting when walking. And a test run is on the agenda for tomorrow. Still time to train for the 70.3 in May. But it is going to be close.

Things are always close in my life.

Entangled

"Hey," he said, "I was just thinking of you."

"Hi," she responded, "I was just thinking of you."

We're all entangled. You, me, them, us. Everyone. On levels we can neither see nor fully understand. And we feel it every day rarely considering how or way.

If you chose the path of religious belief, the universe as we know it was created by a divine being collectively called God who (depending on your faith) spoke his/her name or sang creation into existence.

If you chose the path of scientific belief, the universe began with a Big Bang and everything flowed forth from that immeasurably small point in space and time.

So previously we were a song. Or a name. Or a sound. Or light. And everything that has come since comes from one single point where everything we were, are, or will be existing simultaneously and collectively. We were light, once. We were sound, once. We all occupied the space of a name, once.

We were entangled together then. And we're entangled together now. We just have more space between each of us.

But in rare moments of selfless clarity, we can feel the connections.

We think about that person, and they call.

We send them a message to she how they're doing, and they say they were thinking of us.

One day, after the passing of our egos, we'll figure out that none of us ever existed and cannot exist, without the others. But it will be a long time from now.

Road To Traditions 2014 - Week 7

Woke to mid-40 temperatures. Warned to nearly 70 degrees by mid-day. Lunch with my parents, and Great Grandama. Everyone doing well and no complaints worth mentioning. A dozen buffalo wings for Your Humble Narrator. And off to the lake after.

Team assembled early. Bright and sunny. Then we hit the water. The FREAKING COLD water. After several days of rain, we muscled through the second coldest swim of the season. Barely above sixty. With several spots even colder. Crisp, painful cold. Not enough to numb you. But cold enough to resemble a burning sensation as it bites along the length of you.

Funny thing about the lake, when you're in it, the water doesn't LOOK that dirty. From above, it is like an ugly mud hole. Cleaner than Robinwood, though! Tradition never affects my sinuses, like our usual haunt.

One of the team members offered a running clinic. Bunch of the first-timers talked it. Some of the new club members, too. Running drills, techniques, and a bunch of Q&A. Good stuff from a great coach.

Meanwhile, several of us hit the bikes early. Started off strong. Pulled away from the pack. They (Jack & Luke) caught me at the mid-point. Then we hauled ass back. Full trip, we averaged 19.1MPH. Likely a new PR for me. If you discounted the first and last quarter mile, through the neighborhood where we have to slow, then our average jumps to 19.7! Definitely a PR for me.

Great day. Great training. Great friends & family. Life is good. And not everyone can say as much.

Recovering

So this is my new normal: Ice the affected area for 20min, electric stim treatment for 7 minutes, couple of minor strength moves on the left side, and trigger point treatment across the roller. Twice a day with all of that. No running in the meanwhile. Biking is okay. Swimming is okay. Rinse and repeat each day. Until further notice.

Best guess for recovering? 2 - 4 weeks.

Then decide what to do about the Gulf Coast 70.3. It might have to be skipped...

Dad's Birthday - 2014

Dad isn't big on celebrating, or even acknowledging, his birthday. Was lucky he even showed up at my office today. Not unusual for him to avoid attention. But, right on schedule, he peeked around the corner to see what was happening. Had a card for him. And a present. Nothing major. Just something to hold the skyrocket of loose bills he keeps in his pocket. Funniest part? He shook the box and said, "It's a Gerber?" Then couldn't immediately figure out that it was a money clip. And took him even longer to press the somewhat-concealed catch to release the blade. Neat little widget: Gerber GDC Money Clip. He seemed to like it. Hope hit makes him happy and he thinks of me on occasion when he uses it.

Happy Birthday, Dad. Glad to have you around for another orbit of the sun!

Finding The Problem

Second day of finding the problem, with Dr J. Yesterday's x-rays point to several minor issues: improper curve in the neck, shoulders aren't level, slight kink in the upper back, lower back too straight, and hips aren't level. The back issues could be causing less force to be properly absorbed in the upper body, thereby transferring it to the legs. The shoulders and hips are bringing up my right left, making my left leg absorb excess force. With two different problems there's no wonder my left knee is complaining.

Pretty simple plan: treat the back with standard adjustments. Treat the knee with stim therapy. Should be much closer to normal in 4 - 6 weeks. In the meanwhile, training shouldn't be affected. Other than the diminished running.

Electric stim was pretty wild. Muscle jumping uncontrollably. Fun to watch. Had no idea what was really injured until they lit me up. Some muscle or tissue deeeeep beneath the surface would holler like a banshee when the current hit it. Probing the knee manually doesn't reveal anything. But the electricity finds it. Then they get into a slobberknocker fight. Hopefully the treatment will get me back on the road.

Tune in next week to find out!

The 4HB "5K to 50K" 12 Week Program - On Hold

Completed Week 7, but too far off schedule. The issues with my left knee/leg aren't conducive to thousands of meters of sprinting. Or clean & jerks. Or jump ropes. Or much of anything other than swimming and biking, right now. And neither of those two activities are actually part of the official training.

So with a heavy heart, this initial at the 4HB Challenge needs to be cancelled. Have to fix this lingering issue. Then finish a 70.3 in May. And start back over.

For now, many of my my initial thoughts remain the same: the program is too difficult for the vast majority of people, involves skills most people have not developed, and the program is the furthest thing from making somebody "effortlessly superhuman."

But, if you can master the basic skills, and if you can stick to it, the program will make you faster. It certainly started to improve my sprints and my longer runs.

Will it have you prepared to run a 50K? Still not sure about that. Have to find out, next time.

In the meanwhile, if anyone has actually completed the whole thing, pleas contact me! Otherwise, there is still a chance Your Humble Narrator will be the first.

Don't Drown

The number one secret to being a successful triathlete? Don't drown. And not just at the race. Or the training. Or the details of coordinating everything. Or with the family. Or with the friends. Or with work. Or with any other facets of your complex and highly sensitive life. You have to keep breathing and fight your way through it with as much poise and strength as you can muster on any given day. And as long as you don't drown, you win.

Minor victory of the day for Your Humble Narrator: No damage in the left leg! After an early morning (and very cold!) swim, Dr. Kat checked out the wounds and gave me the thumbs up for further training. Just have to work on more stretching and strengthening the left side to be as strong as the right.

So mostly good news. Just have to re-educate my legs. Somehow. And we'll see how that goes...

Stupid Leg

So despite the somewhat-slow pace last night, my left leg did not do well this morning. Unsure of what hurts, though. Very weird. Moving onto my toes results in very pronounced soreness around my shin and deep in my calves. Much more aggressive levels of hurt than previously experienced after the Seaside Half Marathon. Smacks me as double odd that running less than half the distance creates significantly more unpleasant results.

Spent a bit of time lining up an ortho visit for tomorrow. First call: April 1st, almost two weeks. Second call: March 26th, one week. And then I get (of all things) a Facebook message with an offer to see me tomorrow at 1:30P. And that's the plan.

My own current theory is that the inserts in my shoes (for high arches) are not needed, because the shoes themselves already have support for high arches. And the double dose is negatively affecting my form during running, which results in extra stress and strain. Hopefully the doctor can confirm nothing is torn or damaged, and then we experiment.

More as it becomes available.

Pub Run - 03/18/14

Trying to remember my last run at the pub. Late January? Early Feb? Either way, just not the same without the alluring comfort of a cold beer afterwards. Not to mention the foodery is closing (again) and what remains is only passable. At best. So little to entice a nerd to get his run on. Except the company. The main draw is social. Since training solo sucks.

The run went okay. My first one since Seaside. Took it easy. 5 miles. 9:26/mile pace. Even with several breaks along the way. Would have been closer to 8:30/mile, without slowing. Felt good. Just tired from lack of sleep and too many wasps buzzing behind my eyes. Good starting point for the final eight weeks before my next 70.3 (in early May.)

The rest is just rust and space dust.

Saint Patrick Hates My Sobriety

Made the decision to stay away from Da Booze on February 1st. Been sticking firmly to that decision. 44 days!

But Saint Patrick hates my sobriety. He taunts me mercilessly. "Stop by the pub, Jon!" he says. 

"It's okay," he says. "You can relent. For one day. You will be forgiven." His hands form the Warding Signs. Soothing my nerves. Lowering my defenses. 

"Have some delicious corned beef. And drink these sacred green beers," he says. 

Mainly, it is the the cider which calls me. Not just the taste. But the calming embrace. The serenity. Softening all my edges. 

Thoughts of moderation begin to infiltrate my local philosophy. Just lapse for one day. My will is strong. Three is my limit. That will be okay.

But it isn't okay. Too many calories. Too many sugars. Too many carbs. Totally NOT worth the damage it will do to my training and healthy efforts. 

My brain knows the juice not worth the squeeze. 

But my heart needs its embrace. To hear its song whispered so softly in my lone good ear. Feel the warmth. The glow consuming me. Turning my outside in. 

(sigh)

Moderation isn't really moderation if the cider sings to you on a daily basis. Maybe my non-problem is a problem despite my protestations and claims of self-imposed moderation. Only way to know for sure is to maintain the sobriety. Stand on the wall. Shake my fist and scream into the night: Leave me alone, Saint Patrick! Sell crazy someplace else, we're all stocked up, here.

Road To Traditions 2014 - Week 6

The morning wasn't pleasant or cooperative. Several inches of water in the front yard. Tornado warnings. Thunderstorm warnings. Shakespearean skies. My weather app reported 60% chance of rain at 2PM. Not good odds. So RtT was officially cancelled for today.

The Brave & The Bold went out, anyway. Mostly team members: Luke, Lisa, Jack, Onnie, JG, Eddie, Allen, Meg, Jaci, Peggy, me, and more.

Top of the water registered 67 degrees. Probably closer to 63 on the face and hands and feet. Then, as we skirted the back stretch, several natural streams dropped it by at least 5 degrees. If not more.

Four laps for Ye Old Nerd. Roughly 2400 meters. A personal record, in the lake. First one was with the men. Second and third were escort missions for newbies. Last one was solo. They all felt good. And strong.

Rain threatened by the time we finished. Some folks ran. Some folks biked. Jon just left. Wasn't going to risk the weather. My luck, it would have gotten ugly.

Six weeks until Traditions. Looking like a record year.

Our values

Me: Thanks for picking up new shoes for me. Needed them. Have you seen these old ones?
She: (looking at the worn soles) Should have done it sooner!
Me: We couldn't afford it.
She: You could have just spent less on training.
Me: Rather have holes in my soles.

She?New stuff. Me? Health comes first.

And those are our values.

Pi Day 2014

March 14th. 3.14.. Pi. Liam says the school used to celebrate it. Not this year, though. So we had our own celebration. He and Bryce joined me for a brief jaunt over to Irish Coast Pub. Burgers and chocolate cake topped with candles 3 -  1 -  4.  No drinks or free shots  (not a drop for me since quitting on Feb 1st!) But some unexpected life lessons for the lads from a nearby table of mildly inebriated but terribly angry 30-something women who loudly and venomously disclosed their not-so-private thoughts about the value of my particular gender.

We'll have a bigger celebration next year. 3.1415!