John Wayne

About twenty years ago a friend and I were having a beer and talking about sports or politics or whatever and somehow the conversation drifted into the different foods that we grew up with. My family was middle America white bread and mayo, which means I can still get the same crappy food I grew up with if I just dash down to the Safeway, but my buddy grew up on the south side of Chicago and I guess they do things a little differently there. One of the foods that he had tried when he was a kid was haggis, which he said was a real treat if you hate good food. To make haggis, he told me you take a sheep liver, sheep heart and a sheep tongue and chop them up, mix in some suet and some oats, then put it in a sheep stomach and boil the whole thing for six hours. Yummy.

I don't want to make too big a deal out of it, but that conversation and the idea of eating some freshly made haggis has stayed with me all these years and it comes down to this; I need to eat some haggis. I cant stop thinking about it. My buddy said its hard to find good haggis unless you have a friend who's Grandma makes it fresh, and since I don't know anybody who has haggis for Sunday dinner, I am in sort of a bind. So I looked around and called a couple of the local restaurants and was surprised to find that haggis is something that you can't get in my zip code, so I am working on a plan to travel to Scotland to get some fresh yummy haggis. While I am there, I might wander around and see if a triathon pops up.

That whole thought process is sort of how I ended up committing to do the Kona half. They don't have haggis there, but still, a buddy and I were having a glass of wine and talking about sports or politics or whatever and somehow the conversation wandered into the best vacation places in the world. After talking it over, we agreed that the best thing we could do would be to go lay on the beach in Hawaii and drink a bunch of icy cold fruity drinks with the little umbrellas in them that were delivered by a saucy cocktail waitress on the beach in Hawaii. While we are there, if a triathlon wandered across our path, we might join in.

That is how I make the major decisions in my life. I find some small, inconsequential thing I want, like haggis, or laying on the beach and drinking icy drinks brought by a saucy cocktail waitress, then I spend five thousand dollars to make it happen. It's my haggis method.

For the past ten days, I have been having an emotional strikeout. It went like this –

Strike One - This one is job related.  Every six weeks, my employer requires I be 'oncall', which means I cant go anywhere without my phone, and that means I can't swim for a week.  I don't have a waterproof phone.

Strike Two -  I had to ship my bike to Kona, so I can't ride. No bike, no ride.

Strike Three - This was when I tried to run, I didn't make it ten feet. I had knee issues. My knee hates me and I hate it. I hate it so very,very much. My knee hurt so bad I was considering my triathlon future, or lack thereof. I know other people have a tougher road to travel than I do, but still, I was depressed. I honestly stared at the wall for an entire day. I wasn't suicidal, but you could have tempted me to go there with a twinkie.

All of that is behind me. Today I ran and I made it two miles before I had to sit and rub my knee and sniffle. Yaaaaa for me! It might seem like a junior varsity effort to you, but to me it's the world.  The swelling should go down tonight. Tomorrow at the latest.

My wife took my dog to the vet and got some pills because he is limping.  I don't know what is wrong with him, other than he is a little overweight and he runs too much and his knee hurts.  Wait,do dogs have knees?  I don't know but he is limping for the past few weeks.  His knee hurts so bad he can barely rustle up the energy to tip the garbage can over on the kitchen floor to sort the coffee grounds out from the meat scraps.  My wife took pity on the poor creature and took him to the vet and now he gets some doggy knee pills.  I get to sweep up the coffee grounds. 

I used to think John Wayne and I traveled the same path and were metaphysically bound together for eternity.  He made movies, I like movies.  I wanted to be a cowboy, he was a cowboy.  He was rich, I like money too.  We were exactly the same person.  But now he is dead so I don't want to be metaphysically bound to him any more.  As I write this, it occurs to me that my dog and I are more closely suited to each other than John Wayne and I.  And that is Strike Four.

Mother's Day

I have twenty days before my half-Iron event in Kona. If I stay on my calendar, the next week should be my best week of training. If things go right, I would run my longest runs, ride my longest rides and swim my longest swims. And if the stars are aligned just so, I would feel strong while I did it. That is the plan anyway.

Yesterday, I started my run, made it about a hundred yards when my knee started screaming. I walked fifty yards to let it warm up, then started to run again. Two steps into my run, it started to hurt again. I walked another thirty yards then tried to run. Same result. I turned around and walked home. Total workout time, three minutes, thirty seconds, including the time it took to put my shoes on. I wanted to cry like a schoolgirl.

I knew a guy at work who's desk was about twenty feet from my desk so we chatted everyday and I got to know him well. He was about seventy or seventy five years old when I knew him and all things considered, he was in pretty good shape.  He started work at five and did a full days work, but when he climbed the stairs, he had to stop half way up to catch his breath. We had an elevator three giant steps from the stairs, but he never used it even though it was hard for him to climb the stairs. I liked him for that.

He told me once he was financially secure, and he didn't need to work for the money. I asked him why he didn't retire, then he told me he just liked coming to work. I said I understood what he was talking about, but I was lying.  I didn't understand at all. If it was me, I would have just quit coming to work. I didn't understand why he didn't golf or garden or whatever it was he liked to do.  I could think of a thousand things I would rather do instead of go to work.  I didn't understand then, but I do now. I get it. Work was what he did to live. He came to work because without it, he wouldn't know who or what he was. Work defined him.  We all have something that defines us. Without it, I think we are lost.

When I couldn't run yesterday, a great realization fell on me and I almost staggered under the weight of it. For the past four or five years of my life, Ironman has defined me. When I get up in the morning, I am planning my workouts, when I go to bed at night, I am tending to my aches and pains from my workouts.  In between, training is pretty much all I think about. I work to pay the bills, but that is not who I am. 

I am not sure what to do. Working towards some goal associated with Ironman is what I do.  My knee isn't getting any better.  I think it is getting worse every week.  With my knee keeping me from running, I feel lost.  If I can't run, I can't do Ironman.  These are hard days.

There is a thermometer hanging on my dock thirty feet from shore and it says the water temp is 63 degrees. 63 is reasonable to swim in with a wet suit so I told all my buddies that we were swimming a Mother's Day swim this morning. A few of them believed me and they showed up. We swam a little over a mile.

The thing is, while it may be 63 degrees at my dock, if you swim ten feet past that, its a tad colder. I put my face in the water to start swimming and almost blacked out, it was that cold. I might need to call upon medical services to disengage my frostbitten toes and fingers.

Backwards

I was at a spin class yesterday trying to salvage my failed training cycle leading up to my upcoming event. There are 42 days left before the Kona half iron and I think if I train six hours a day, seven days a week, it wouldn't be enough to get me to the starting line in decent shape. It's too late. I just haven't committed enough effort training for this event and it shows. Oh my yes, how it shows.

I run one long run a week and a couple shorter ones when I can fit them in. Two weeks ago, I ran nine miles on the weekend, then some short runs during the week. The nine mile run was as far as my knee would go. If you take a dull railroad spike and jamb it in between your kneecap and your knee joint over and over like Norman Bates, that it what my knee feels like when I run.

Last Sunday, I ran in the Seahawk 12k. It's a local event for some charity that I should know about, but I was too lazy to read the literature when I paid my thirty dollars. My knee didn't hurt as bad that day, which was a pleasant surprise, but I needed three days to recover, so it still sucked, but for a different reason.

When I did my short run two days ago, my calf cramped up and I limped the last half mile. I wanted to cry. It wasn't the pain that made me feel bad, it was the realization that I don't have enough time left before my event to repair this training farce.

Today I ran nine miles. Time wise, it was nine miles. If you want to be really picky and use a map or a gps running watch, it was seven. The first three miles are uphill. Its pretty steep. I think the guys who climb Everest use that hill for training so they can try out their ropes and ice axes and spikey cleats on their boots. I ran up it. Norman Bates showed up at mile five and started to pick and claw his way into my knee with his evil fang claws. I wanted to cry but it hurt too much so I limped home. 

I had my dog with me on the run, which is great, because all the hot girl runners want to stop and pet the dog and then of course they ask me what my sign is and if I am single.   Honestly, it gets old.

Anywho, have you ever seen sharkweek on the discovery channel? Ten sharks are cruising around, minding their shark business when one of them pulls up lame and the others eat it. That's just how they deal with the weak link. So I am running with my dog and I start to limp because my knee hurt. The dog looked at me and growled and some drool slid down his lips. I think he saw me as the weakest link and thought he should tryout for a guest appearance on sharkweek.

It seems like I am slipping backwards. My swim is a little better than it was last year, my bike is a little worse, my run is a lot worse, if that is possible. I think my biggest problem is motivation. I am motivated to not run.  And I am afraid of my own dog.

Other than that, everything is peachy.

Gearheads

Last weekend I ran seven miles with my trusty running partner Tuggerdog. I felt great, my knee pain was only a three on the ten scale so I was pretty stoked. It had rained before my run, but the sky parted and the sun was shining on the dog and me as we splashed through the puddles and mud. We were running behind the lake on the trails through the woods which are the absolute world-wide best trails to run, honest. It just doesn't get any better than running behind the lake. Tuggerdog and I had a perfect run. It was glorious and for a brief time, I felt I had achieved oneness with the universe.

I was completely in touch with my less logical side at that moment and I thought that since I had become one with the universe, I should offer up an act of personal self-sacrifice. You had to be there, it made sense at the time. So, I decided that just this once, instead of making the dog follow me on the run, I would let my livestock running companion choose the route. He is a partner, not an indentured servant, right? Shouldn't the dog get to choose once in a while? Who am I to deny him his alpha dog status?

I stopped and stared at the dog, waiting for him to choose which direction to go. He stared back for a bit, scratched something, then he took off into the woods, jumping over the logs and weeds and rocks. I followed. From what I could make out, he thought he heard or saw or smelled a squirrel, then he was trying his best to catch it and eat it. I am not so sure there ever was a squirrel, but I wanted to support him in his quest, so I ended up running around and around the base of a tree with the dog chasing a non-existent squirrel. I got dizzy, then the dog lost interest and sat to scratch something. I scratched my personals. No longer one with the universe, I left him to fend for himself and ran home to eat some ice cream. Stupid dog. As far as I know, he's still out there trying snag a couple of squirrels for a snack.

I do the same thing the dog does when I train. I see a squirrel and I chase it. A friend says that if I run one mile repeats, I will get faster. So I do that. Then another friend says I should run long, slow distance, so I do that. Another friend says I need to run at least five days a week, so I do that. It's like the dog and the squirrel. I chase it, even if it's not there. I think the best training advice I ever heard was 'train with a purpose'. It makes sense. Don't just flog away at some B.S. workout regime that you heard about in the locker room. Decide on a plan and stick to it.

I received a Krupps coffee maker twenty nine years ago as a wedding gift. Some cheap relative bought it for me on closeout at the discount store. How do I know they bought it on closeout? Because I tried to take it back for cash to pay my gambling debt and the gal at the store said she couldn't take returns for discontinued items with a “absolutely no returns” sticker on the box I still remember that. Anyway, since I didn't have a re-gift opportunity on the horizon, I kept it.

When it was new I guess it worked OK, except that it has always leaked a bit of coffee on the counter when you poured into the cup, but no big deal, I was willing to put up with that. Then about five or ten years ago, the heating element started running at fifty percent power, so it didn't make hot coffee, it made room temp coffee. I was willing to put up with that. I just put the coffee cup with the tepid coffee, in the microwave and felt good about myself because I was being frugal. Then the lid broke. I don't need a lid. 

But about a month ago the plastic cover next to the on/off switch turned brown, then black, then melted through so you could see the wires inside that were frayed. My coffee smelled like a house fire. When I turned the thing on, 110 volts of pain shot through the switch into my arm. Enough is enough. I bought a new coffee maker last weekend and while I was looking at all the “absolutely no returns” stickers on the boxes at the discount store, it made me think that triathletes prioritize things oddly. Twenty nine years of crappy coffee maker is not a big deal, but if there is a upgrade for my bike, I am all over it. 

I put new matching green water bottle cages on my bike last year. The cages they replaced were gray. The new ones were green. See? I had to get the new cages. Do I care what they cost? No, I do not. It's my bike and I needed the upgrade. Triathletes are all gearheads.

A friend bought a new bike with electro-gizmo shifting. My bike shifts great, but the electro-gizmo thing seems like it should soon find it's way into my stable of tri-bikes. I am one with the universe and I am thinking that anybody who is one with the universe should have an electro-gizmo shifting bike.

Toenails

When my kids were little, they learned a song when they were in the first grade. The song was just a short list of some body parts they were learning about so they would point to the body part as they sang the song out loud. They would sing at the dinner table and point to the part of the body that the song was about, they would sing in the shower and point, they would sing while they played with the dog and point out the dogs parts: They sang it constantly, over and over and pretty soon, I was singing it at the dinner table, in the shower, in the car, on the way to work, pointing at my body parts while I drove.  I guess I am easily influenced by others.

The song goes like this (for some extra fun, point at your own body parts while you read the words)

Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes

Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes

Head, Shoulders. Knees, and Toe o o o o oes.

To sing it right, you need to make each of the 'o's it's own syllable, like Oh Oh Oh Oh and so on. So I was thinking about that while I drove to work today and of course I was singing out loud, touching my head, my shoulders, my knees and my toes like thirty times as fast as I could. On I-90. At seventy five miles an hour. I was just singing and touching and scaring the other drivers.

Then I got to work, got out of the car and limped into the office because my knees were super sore from my run yesterday. It occurred to me that the song is not only good for kids, but it's good for commuters and for triathletes too. Sing the song now and touch your body part while you read along. Try it - its fun. It's superfun.

Head - if you want to be a triathlete, get your head right. Some triathletes don't deal well with pain. It's a head thing. Fix that. Or, some triathletes don't believe in pace. They go out extra strong on the bike, then they wonder what happened when they blow up on the run. Fix that. Or, some triathletes don't like to swim in a crowd. Fix that. Whatever you need to do to get your head right, fix it. It's different for everybody.

Shoulders – Swimming is great, but your shoulders might revolt if you don't take care of them. Build your distance slow and lift some weights. That is what I do anyway. My shoulders ache if I swim more than three times a week. Maybe a little ache is ok, but I think my shoulders are getting old and I need to keep them safe.

Knees - My knees hurt when I run. They hurt more than they did last year, and they hurt twice as bad as they did two years ago. Use the I and A treatment to keep them happy. Ice your knees and down a bunch of Advil until the pain goes away. And don't run on pavement early in your training cycle. In short, do whatever it is that keeps your knees happy. Here's a thought; how many runners or triathletes over the age of forty do you know that don't have knee problems? I don't know any.

Toes - My toes don't hurt but they are mentioned in the song, so I guess I should say something wise about your toes. Hmmm. I got nuthin'. Maybe clip your toenails.

I ran four miles today, it was raining as hard as it can possibly rain in the jungles of Southeast Asia and like an idiot I ran in it.  Swim tomorrow, maybe ride this weekend if the monsoon lets up.

Fun-O-Meter

One of the things I have worked into my workout routine lately is a change of pace. I try to do something different everyday. If you follow the calendar that you get off of the internet, you swim/bike/run, swim/bike/run over and over. Since I live in the greater Seattle Metro area, I am usually working out in the gym because the weather sucks so it gets old pretty quick.  How many times can you run on the 24hour treadmill?  You need to mix up your workouts to save your sanity.

For instance, here is a daily recount of what I did last week and just for giggles, I notated the somewhat unrelated measurement of how that day measured up on the Fun-O-Meter.

 

Monday – Yoga. It's way too hot in there. Half the people in class were laying down for the last twenty minutes of class because they were dizzy or nauseous or whatever. I have to talk to the manager. Fun-O-Meter 3

Tuesday – Bike ride. First ride of the year after a long, wet winter. It was great, we pushed pretty hard and I was gasping for breath. Fun-O-Meter 8

Wednesday – Another bike ride. It wasn't hard, but it was still fun. Fun-O-Meter 7

Thursday - Ran on the trail around Lake Washington with my daughter. It was a Fun-O-Meter 7, but the run was on asphalt and my knees don't do asphalt without taking revenge the day after, so it netted out a Fun-O-Meter 4.

Friday – Swam. Fun-O-Meter  7

Saturday – Indoor tri. I swam for forty minutes, rode a spin bike for an hour, then ran on a treadmill for thirty minutes. It was a funnish 6.

Sunday – Swam. My arms were tired from the past two days swims. Fun-O-Meter  4

My neighbor just sold his Porsche 911. It was a great car, he let me drive it once. I don't know how fast we were going, but it was pretty fast.  I was going too fast to take my eyes off the road. After I drove it I lost all fiscal perspective and started looking for a used one, but my roommate explained how it was way more car than I needed as a daily commuter, then she threw the F word at me. She said “Forbid” That's rude, right? Can she do that? Yes. Yes she can.  She cuts me off of the laundry service when I do stupid shit.

I guess she was right. Now that I think about it, not only was it more car than I needed, but it was more car than my neighbor needed. Or could handle.  

It's kind of like the idea of getting a new tri bike. Do I need the ten thousand dollar bike with four thousand dollars in wheels? No. Do I want one? Well...

Can I handle a ten thousand dollar bike with four thousand dollars in wheels? Well...

If I borrow against my pension to buy a new ten thousand dollar bike with four thousand dollar wheels, will my roommate use the F word again? Well....

Smokey The Bear

Do you remember maybe thirty or forty years ago there was a commercial that showed a picture of a bear wearing a hat? The bear was holding a shovel and he said ' Only You can Prevent Forest Fires.' And he pointed right at you with his furry finger.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BIGvdb9J1UU

That bear with the black eyes. That freakin' bear with the coal-black eyes and the lifesucking black heart, he pointed right at me with his furry finger. He accused me of all manner of mis-deeds with his fat furry finger. He said 'Only You'. Only Me. Only Me. Well, I was a very impressionable youth and I took that message to heart so when the news said that there was a forest fire that burned thousands of acres, I felt guilty. I woke up in the middle of the night in a fevered guilt-sweat. I could just see all those little Disney forest animals running for their lives. Flower, Thumper, Bambi, running away from the scathing murderous flame that I failed to prevent. All Dead. Because I couldn't save them. Or I wouldn't save them. My parents had me on suicide watch for a year because of Smokey The Freakin Bear. I hate Smokey the Bear.

Two nights ago I was getting ready for the following day, preparing my little piles of stuff.  It takes a while.
I had my backpack for work, with my laptop in it and all my work stuff.  Check.
I had lunch packed, with a sandwich, greek yogurt, banana, orange, fat-free pudding.  Check.
I had my workout bag, with stuff for yoga, because I was going to stop on the way home from work for yoga.  Check.
And, I had my swim stuff, goggles, swimcap and whatnot, for my 5:30AM swim.  Check.

My alarm goes off at 4;55AM, I get dressed, grab my four separate piles of stuff and get in the truck.  I was going to swim with the local triathlon group that meets twice a week. There are usually about twenty five or thirty swimmers that meet and for the most part, 90% of them are faster than me, which is not a big deal. It is what it is. I show up at the pool at 5:25, get dressed in the locker room, go out to the pool, put my goggles on, put my swim cap on, then I jumped in the pool. Everybody else got out. As soon as I get in, everybody else gets out. That's weird. A couple of them asked what I was doing. Some of them laughed and whispered to each other while they stared at me. Somebody asked if I had heard of daylight savings time. Somebody else asked if I forgot to set my clock ahead. I stare dumbly, trying to figure out how twenty five individuals could all have the wrong time. Group hypnosis?  Are they all on drugs?  I am thinking the newspaper headline would read

                                                   Mass Hysteria Strikes Swimmers.

            25 Swimmers Have The Wrong Time, Only 1 Swimmer Knows The Correct Time.

Somebody pointed at me and laughed. She pointed her furry Smokey The Bear finger at me. Doubt starts to creep in. I got out of the pool and made a hasty retreat to my car.

I ran last night. I was late for that too.