The Twain Shall Meet - 2008 Summer Olympics

I love the Olympics and I really love watching the Olympics.

Not in person- I've never done that. I blew the only chance I ever had to see an Olympic event in person out of sheer ignorance. In 1980 my father-in-law was on one of the Committees for the Lake Placid Winter Olympics and not only did he have event tickets - he had that rarest of all things, a pass to drive a car into Lake Placid and park. It was just a short hop from Ticonderoga to Lake Placid, and it is my recollection that he took advantage of both several times.

I don't know why he offered me the tickets - I was not "blood" and "low status" by his standards. Whenever he offered me a "cold one" for instance, it was usually Milwaukee's Finest, and not a Molson Brador- that was reserved for Bob or John, or for higher ranking company than me. But he did - 2 tickets to the Ice Dancing Finals. And I, stupidly and to my on-going regret, turned them down. I claimed I had papers to correct. That was true, but I always had papers to correct and they could have waited. The true reason was I had never heard of Ice Dancing and it didn't sound like a "real" Olympic event - why would I want to see that?

No, all my watching has been on TV, and every 4 years, I have been engrossed and riveted, openings to prelims, heats to finals, and award ceremonies to closing ceremonies. I could never get enough.

I loved it when the Winter and Summer Olympics were split out of the same year, so my wait was only two years from Games to Games. The TV coverage became better and more comprehensive and I loved that, too. But, it still wasn't enough. I guess my Type A personality extends to Olympics Watching, too.

I not only wanted to watch more, I wanted to watch more events. Sure I loved skating (including, it turns out, Ice Dancing) and gymnastics, swimming and track and field, but I wanted more. I wanted Team Handball, and Archery, Luge and obscure Nordic races. And I wanted to see the "Back of the Packers" from the other countries of the world, athletes like me who would never medal, but who were thrilled and proud to participate.

For the 1992 Barcelona Olympics, I was one of the few who actually bought the "Silver Package" of extra TV coverage offered by NBC through our cable company. I wanted to root for the obscure and the hopeful, but mostly what I got was a lot of boxing. I'm not opposed to boxing - as a kid I learned to box at my YMCA and I appreciate what it's like to hit and be hit, and I can get really excited by a good fight. But, I can see as much boxing as I want without having to wait 4 years.

But this year - finally - the Olympics and TV have been melded with the Internet! I can watch TV in the morning and in the evening. I can watch on NBC and MSNBC. And best of all - I can watch events on my computer - LIVE! It's wonderful.

AT 6 in the morning I've watched a prelim round of Women's Singles Badminton - England vs. Hong Kong. It was great! For those of you whose only experience with badminton is of the back yard or mandatory gym class kind - you ain't seen notin'! It's a fast and athletic game, filled with speed and grace, power and torgue, angles and touch. By the way, I've known this ever since 1970 when I was a waiter in a Howard Johnson's on South Road in Poughkeepsie - Millie, a personable and attractive "older" waitress of about 34 played competitively, and she set me straight about the sport.

So far, I've also watched fencing, field hockey, trap shooting, team handball (finally!),equestrian events and water polo. Did you know that men's water polo players often wear 2 bathing suits? It gets a little rough under the water, and it's not unusual for a player to have his suit grabbed and pulled right off. I learned this from our pediatrician - he used to play in Jamaica when he was younger.

I also watched soccer, basketball and swimming - I'm not opposed to the major sports. I like them , too. I am rooting for Michael Phelps and I hope he gets his 8 gold medals. But, I'm really rooting hard for Dara Torres - I know what it's like to be old and to go like hell for 50 meters in the water.

Here's a confession - sometimes I miss the announcers, especially when I don't know very much about the sport or the participants. I take the time to read the features on the website - there are lots of them and they are very comprehensive. But, I still don't know why the Italian fencer took off her helmet and complained after the South Korean woman scored a point. If it were basketball or baseball, an announcer would have let me know. I suppose I could always ask my daughter's roommate the next time I see her - she'll be the Captain of Boston College's fencing team in the fall.

Another great feature? If I missed it live, I can watch videos or photos whenever I have the time. There's a 52 minute video of highlights of the Opening Ceremony - I plan to make some room in my schedule to watch it. I found a pretty funny photo sequence of the Women's softball team goofing with President Bush, putting a chalk "Bird" hand imprint on the back of his shirt. He looks pretty relaxed, and was a good sport about it. By the way, he said the highlight of his 4 day stay at the Olympics was getting his picture taken with the men's and women's baseball teams. Good thing, too, since both sports will be eliminated in the 2012 games.

I'm pretty excited - there's still synchronized swimming, rhythmic gymnastics, modern pentathlon, and table tennis to go. This year they've added trampoline - I've got to check that out, too. If I click on the Video Control Room button on the left side of the screen, I can watch up to 4 events simultaneously - how can it get any better than that?

I'll be checking them all out on NBCOlympics.com. Click on the link and you can , too.

See you out there.

The Race

Two hundred yards. Two teams. Two swimmers per team. Two laps per swimmer, each swimmer alternating laps.

We were almost to the end of our last Stroke Improvement class, and this was Coach Aaron's final gift to us - a relay race. We were tired from the usual gamut of drills, and it was late, but this was a good idea, right? After all, we were all triathletes, and triathlons are races. So, let's figure out the teams and get to it!

Kelly and Sally are swimming without fins and they are the fastest - they can't be on the same team. Carol is swimming with long frogman fins and I am swimming with blue zoomers - we are the slower swimmers so we can't be on the same team. Carol is faster than me, and Kelly is faster than everyone else, so the teams should be Carol and Sally, and me and Kelly.

I want to be on Kelly's team - she's the best, and years of high school gym classes and neighborhood pickup games have taught me to size up the players and covet being on the team with the best. When you have been "blessed" with no talent and fewer skills, it's the only way to have a shot at winning.

Only this time, I am having second thoughts. I've been a triathlete all right, and I have competed in 8 tri's so far. But, because I am so slow, the only one I am ever competing with is myself, and no one else much cares whether I win or lose the competition with myself.

Kelly, on the other hand, is an athlete - a superb, competitive athlete, and she goes into races wanting to win, and she often does. Suppose I am on her team and we lose? Because of me? Kelly will say, "You did your best!" and "Good effort!", but she'll be disappointed. I'll decide that I'll risk it - I want to be on Kelly's team.

Kelly is faster than Sally. Carol is faster than me. Should be a good race.

Carol and I lead off. She is a bit a head of me, as I thought she would be. I am sloppy off the wall - no flip turns for either of us - and that ensures that I can't catch her coming back in, and she touches her partner first. I am not far behind and as soon as I touch her hand, Kelly drives off the wall and down the pool. She is really, really fast and she catches Sally, and has the lead on the way back in.

I swam my lap hard and I am standing in the shallow end of the pool, watching Kelly and gasping. Then it sinks in - in class, I always swim my "melt downs" - repetitive sprints - at a one-to-one ratio. That is, I sprint a lap in 45 seconds and then I rest for at least 45 seconds before sprinting again. Kelly always finishes her sprints in under 35 seconds. I am not going to be able to catch my breath by the time she comes in.

I am terrified of going hard into the deep end of the pool out of breath. I can't do it - won't try it. I tell Aaron I can't go. Gees, one lap in and I've screwed it up.

But Aaron asks Kelly if she can go again, and as soon as she figures out what's going on, she does! By this time, Carol is yards ahead of her, and kicking furiously. She beats Kelly back in, and touches. Sally knifes forward, arms churning.

By the time I start, Sally is five yards ahead. I'm pretty sure I can't catch her, but Kelly has swum her guts out and I go hard. I am sloppy off the wall - my suit has started to slip down my hips - and by the time I am around and kicking off, Sally is still five yards ahead. I hear Kelly cheering.

I picture Kelly's swift arm stoking in my head and I try to imitate her, cycling faster and faster. I shorten my kicks, and make them tight and strong, keeping my legs together. I am going faster, but my suit is starting to slide. I don't dare reach down to pull it up.

And then, a miracle - the five yards between me and Sally is down to three! By the middle of the pool I think, "I can catch her!" I put my face in the water and keep it there - breathing be damned. My lungs are screaming, but it's ok - I've done this in practice before and I know I can make it. I see the "T" at the end of the lane line, and then I am past Sally. I touch the wall and we've won!

I flop my arms over the edge of the pool, lean over and suck in the air. As soon as I can stand upright, I turn to Kelly and she high fives me. I tell her about almost losing my suit, and she tells her boys, who are watching, that there's almost been a full moon in the pool. They laugh - I guess it is pretty funny. I don't care, though - we've won.

I can tell from her expression and her exuberance and the sound of her voice that Kelly is very happy we have won. I feel like I have just taken a powerful narcotic. I can't believe how good I feel.

As soon as I catch my breath, Aaron has us all swimming cool down laps. He tells me I don't have to do them - he knows how tired I was after the race - but I'm on a high and there's no way I'm going to quit before I finish the workout.

As I climb out of the pool at the end of the laps, Kelly's husband Craig, who had been watching the class with their boys, comes over and says, "You were very strong in the pool tonight." This, from a superb athlete, who routinely wins races and triathlons. I am touched and the narcotics kick in again.

On this night, the stars and the planets aligned, and with the help of my friend and team mate Kelly the Quick, for one brief,ecstatic moment, I know what it is like to be and feel like a winner. It's amazing!

See you out there.

RAGBRAI 2009: I've Decided to Do It - Now What?

Ok - as I mentioned in my previous entry, with a little prompting from my brother-in-law Bob, I've decided to spend 7 days next summer riding my bike 470 miles across the state of Iowa. What now?

As the reality set in, I began to think about things like, "How do I get there?" "How do I get my bike there?" "What will I eat?" "Where do I sleep?" and "With 10,000 other people there, including a lot of women, just how long are those potty lines going to be?"

For me, the first step was " Google Everything Related to RAGBRAI"

I started with the Official RAGBRAI Website, which was pretty informative.

Then I went to the RAGBRAI entry in Wikipedia,which was interesting and which lead me to

R. Bruhn's Best and Worst of RAGBRAI®

Mr. Bruhn has been doing RAGBRAI for a number of years, and each year he does a wonderful, wacky, irreverent and very funny Best and Worst of Retrospective, complete with pictures, narratives, observations and rants.

I particularly enjoyed R. Bruhn's Best and Worst of RAGBRAI® XXX, 2002, which gives a RAGBRAI primer and explains some of the basics, like

"What is RAGBRAI, anyway?"; and

"How big is RAGBRAI, anyway?" and

"If RAGBRAI is so wacky and so much fun, how can it possibly be held in conservative, Republican Iowa? Any way?"

He also explains about such essentials as "SAG"; the various strategies for getting your clothes and stuff across Iowa, including signing on with a charter outfit; the RAGBRAI concept of teams; and the all important "kybo"!

I also enjoyed R. Bruhn’s Best and Worst of RAGBRAI® XXXV, 2007

As I mentioned, in addition to being informative, he is funny , very irreverent, and includes some definitely "R"- rated pictures to illustrate his points.

In short, if you'd like an insider's amusing view of RAGBRAI, check him out.

By the way, Bob's answer to "How do I get my clothes and stuff across Iowa?" is

"Rent a huge RV and find someone to drive it!"

See you out there.

RAGBRAI 2009

A week or so ago my brother-in-law emailed me - he is planning to do RAGBRAI next year, and wondered if I might be interested in going along for the ride, so to speak. RAGBRAI is sponsored annually by the Des Moines Register and stands for the Register's Annual Great Bike Ride Across Iowa.


Register Annual Great Bike Ride Across Iowa


Here's the deal-eo: for the small fee of $125 you can join 8,500 like-minded souls some place on the western border of Iowa and over 7 days and 6 nights, ride clean across the state, about 472 miles, and dip your front tire in the Mississippi River. That averages out to about 68 miles per day. Of course, for a small additional fee, on one of those days the organizers will map out a Century ride, just in case you are looking for something a little more challenging.

What do you get for your fee? From the website: "The cost includes wristbands, route marking signage, baggage transportation, camping accommodations, discounts, sag wagon services, emergency medical services, traffic control, souvenir patch, daily route maps, and entries into drawing for a free bike for riders and other prizes for support vehicle drivers."

In other words, after 6 hours on a hard bicycle seat, you get to spend the next 8 sleeping in a tent on the hard ground. But you do get a souvenir patch!

Bob plans to ride this on his tandem bike and figures he can get his 12 year old son Mike to go along with him. You might remember Bob and Mike from the entry I did on May 30 about their family pass time - Full Contact Swimming Pool Basketball.

I figure Bob came up with this idea while spinning on his exercise bike, recovering from knee replacement surgery - under the influence of some powerful narcotic pain killer.

Funny thing is, I'm intrigued by the idea and I have started researching it. Apparently I don't need a powerful narcotic to induce hallucinations. Actually, I've been thinking about doing a RAGBRAI ever since I first heard about it 15 years ago. Seems like the perfect way to spend a summer week if you're a Type-A personality with masochistic tendencies, which I am.

Of course, I am worried about one thing. As you know, when I ramped up my running mileage, I got a stress fracture, which means I got a crack in one of the bones in my foot. As I spend more and more time on a bike seat training for this event, will I get a - never mind.

Here are some pictures I found on the web of a recent RAGBRAI

I'm telling everyone here that I'm going to do this ride for the scenery:




Local Scenery

And I'm telling everyone here that I'm doing this ride for the local characters:



Local Characters

But what I'm really hoping to see on this ride is some local "color":



Local Color

See you out there.

Arriba la loma EMPINADA! or Marcy, Marcy, Marcy

My friend Milt is a 45'er - that means he's climbed 45 of the 46 highest peaks in New York State and needs just one more - Mt. Marcy, the highest of them all - to become an Adirondack 46er. He's invited his friends and hiking buddies, including me, to join him for his joyous ascent on, hopefully, August 16.

I plan to join him for the hike and celebration because it's quite an accomplishment. I know, because after 7 long years and a lot of blood, sweat (a tremendous amount of sweat), tears and other bodily fluids, I became a 46er in September, 2005. Milt helped me quite a bit to reach that goal, joining me for some really long, tough hikes, including Panther, Santanoni, Seward, Donaldson, Emmons and the descent of Redfield.

I met Milt and his son Dwight on top of Redfield. I had climbed up the mountain with my son Jon, my friend Chili Willie and his son Adam. I went up at my usually slow, plodding pace. My companions noted that every time we (I) stopped to rest, we caught up with the party ahead of us. They deduced, correctly, that at least one person in that party was probably climbing at the same pace as I was, which turned out to be correct.

My companions, of course, reached the top of Redfield before I did, and started talking to the party ahead of us. When I reached the top, they informed me that they had engineered a swap - they were taking the Assistant Scoutmaster from the other group, the faster hiker, and I would be joining Milt - the person hiking more or less at my pace - and his son Dwight. The faster hikers in my party wanted to climb down Redfield and then up and down Cliff, the next mountain over, and they knew they couldn't get that done before sundown with me in the group. They couldn't leave me there by myself, so they swapped me for the faster hiker. Kind of like a winning baseball team at the trade deadline, going out and getting a player to help them get over the top, so to speak. And no one had to clear waivers.

By the way, Dwight was perfectly capable of staying with the faster hikers, but he chose to stay with his dad. Turns out Dwight was going to spend the next 5 days out in the mountains by himself, while Milt was going to go home at the end of the hike, so he wanted to spend a little more time with his dad.

So, that's how I met Milt and Dwight. The hike down was fun - it's great to hike with people who go at your rate. Lots of good conversation, and no guilt about hiking too slowly and holding up the progress of the faster hikers.

I haven't been in the mountains in a couple of years, and although I have been biking and swimming and jogging, none of those are really climbing muscles. So, in preparation for joining Milt in two weeks, I have started doing the stairs at work - 24 flights Tuesday, and 32 flights yesterday, taken 16 flights at a time. Not exactly the 3,000 feet I'll have to do to get up Marcy, but at least my legs should be in good enough shape so that I can keep up with Milt - and so that he won't be tempted to engineer a swap of his own.

See you out there.

Walking to China II - NY Times Style

A little while ago in an entry entitled "Walking to China", I described a mini adventure guided by my son Jon, wherein we seemingly left this country and walked into Asia. Turns out, of course, that the exotic sights, sounds, smells and tastes we experienced were just a short stroll over the bridge from Shea Stadium into Flushing. While the title of the blog was mis-stated, the wonders we found definitely were not.

Recently, the New York Times did a piece called, Let the Meals Begin: Finding Beijing in Flushing which described in far more vivid detail the fascinating neighborhood Jon introduced us to.

Click the link above and read about it yourself. Or even better, the next time you are in the area of Shea Stadium - or Citi Field if you go next year - check it out yourself. If you are even slightly a fan of Asian food or culture, you will be delighted that you did.

See you out there.

Pinebush Triathlon 2008: A "Funner " Takes It All In

This year, due to a still healing stress fracture of the left foot, I attended the Pinebush Tri as a spectator, not a participant. Being social, I went to cheer on a lot of my friends, team mates and training partners who were competing, and to visit with a bunch more who were were volunteering. But mostly I went to support and cheer for my friend Donna, and to document this, her very first outdoor triathlon. I would have done this any way, but I felt a little guilty because I'm the one who talked her into this and now I wasn't even participating.

How did she do? I'll get back to that later. (Hint - she made it)


Coach Lisa and Donna

For more pictures go here and here.

I noticed a few differences between me as "spectator" and and me as "competitor." First, I slept the entire night before the tri. Second, a lot easier and quicker getting out of the house in the morning when the only things on my "list" were car keys and camera, as opposed to - well, you know. Didn't have to leave the house until just before 7 am, either, positively slothful by tri standards.

Donna, on the other hand, was there at 6 AM, and consequently had the primo spot in the bike racks, and no wait at all for her trip to the women's room, no small thing when you're contending with coffee, nerves and a triathlon suit! She was first in line for her chip, too. Only bad thing about this is that she arrived 30 minutes before the chips did!


Donna's Primo Bike Spot - Note Purple Milk Crate!


Chips Ahoy!

While I waited for her to wait for her chip, I had plenty of time to walk around, take pictures, starting with a picture of her, and talk to the amazingly large number of people I knew. Here's what I learned: a triathlon is not comprised so much of swimming, biking and running as it is of the emotions and stories and triumphs of the people participating.

Tammie - I met Tammie and her husband Bob two years ago while I was training for my first Pinebush. Excellent athletes and very nice people, they would ride their bikes the 5 miles or so out to Voorheesville from downtown Albany, train with us, and then ride home. At their suggestion, I replaced my really uncomfortable bike seat with a much better one, and both me and my backside are thankful for that.

This year, neither Tammie nor Bob were competing: they were here to cheer for their son Robert, aged 12, who was doing his first tri. A year of so ago, Bob stopped growing. It took a while before they discovered he was allergic to gluten and were able to begin treating it. There are few things more painful for a parent than knowing your your child is sick and not knowing why. I know this first hand.

Now he was well and growing. He had started running in the fall - I think I was in the first 5K he did - and now he was ready to tackle the PB. Here's something else I can tell you - there is no one more anxious or intensely proud than the mother of a young athlete.

I stood next to her at the finish line of the swim: "How did he do?"

Tammie, beaming, "He finished in under 7 minutes, his first swim competiton! Who knew?"


The Swim - Start to Finish


The Swim - View from the Finish Line Looking Back

Later, in the parking lot of the Guilderland Y, after the race: "How did Robert do?"

Tammie, glowing, "1:16, for his first tri!"

She was incredibly happy and proud - ah, if I could only bottle that.

Dorie - I met Dorie two years ago, too, while I was in Coach Andrea's class and training for the tri. Although she competed, she was also helping Andrea with the class. She was good at it, too. Over the next two years, I rode and ran with Dorie, and sometimes with her husband, Paul. I remember the night she first got clipless pedals for her new road bike, and how proud she was that she made it all the way from the Downtube to her home in Albany without falling.

Been a rough couple of months for Dorie: a friend drowned this summer; she had been sick for a week; and most devastating of all, very recently, they had a serious fire at their house. They almost lost their dogs, their "children." (Note - Dorie says the dogs are doing fine and recovering nicely)

Obviously, she had not had the time or inclination to do much training and was not going to compete. Her friends encouraged her, and helped her out by cleaning up her gear and equipment. She decided to give it a go, to not worry about time or performance, and on Sunday morning, there she was. It was really good to see her.

How did she do? Here's a bit in her own words, from an email she sent to us after the race:

"My swim time was about the same as in 2006, but the difference was that I felt good at the end and ready to go. My mother has never seen me race and when I looked up at shore I got a quick glimpse of her waving. What a feeling after what we had all been through this week!"

and
"As I returned to the apartments it starts to rain. A nice, fine, cool rain. It felt wonderful, not like 2006 when it was so hot I couldn’t breathe. There are three people ahead of me walking. I catch up to them as we get to the bottom of the hill. There are no spectators on the hill. I yell to them that we are going to have to cheer ourselves up the hill and they all yell encouraging words to each other and all start running. We get ½ way up the hill and it is starting to really rain. My husband and my friends are huddled under a tree yelling there lungs out for me. At the top of the hill, my mother and another friend are under an umbrella yelling as I round the corner. I’m sprinting now and I see Will’s 5 year old twins and his wife, cheering me on. They are completed soaked.

I finish the race but forget to stop my watch. When I finally look at it, it says 1:29: 14. I didn’t think that I could do it in under 1:30 without really trying. I can’t wait to see the official times as I must have been in better condition than I thought. It was great to see you all. Donna, I’m sorry that I missed you. (I was standing on line for the ladies room- who told those other women where it was?)

I really needed this distraction. Thanks again."

So, Tom ,in answer to your question, "Why do we tri?" for Dorie, the answer might be, "As an affirmation of life!"

Donna - 5 years ago, Donna, a smoker at the time, decided to walk in the Corporate Challenge. We started out together, but then a funny thing happened - she started running. She would stop and catch her breath, and then she would run some more. Did that for the whole 3.5 miles. Two weeks later she entered the Freihoffers. A year later she could run a whole 5K without stopping and she did that a lot. Did the Lake Placid Half Marathon last June, too, in a very respectable time.

This year she had competed in 10 5K's before the end of April, and a 4 mile snow shoe race, and a trail race through the woods in the rain. And this doesn't count the training runs, or the Thursday night fun runs with the Albany Running Exchange.

Then I talked her into an indoor mini-tri. As expected, she destroyed me in the run part - no surprise there. But she also edged me out on the stationary bike - my strongest event! Hey - I kicked her butt in the water, though (but not by much) I told her she looked like Stevie Wonder when she swam, head swinging back and forth. So she took lessons and learned bi-lateral breathing.

Then I talked her into the Pinebush. So, she joined the Saturday morning tri-clionic at the Guilderland Y. And began going to the Wednesday night clinics at the Bethlehem Y.

Oh, and she also turned 50.

On Sunday, in her very first ever outdoor tri, she placed first in her age group! In typical unassuming humble Donna fashion though, we left the Y before the ceremonies to go back to the lake to get her stuff, because she was certain she hadn't won anything. It wasn't until Monday morning when she got a call from our friend Carol that she learned she had taken a first, and Carol brought her the ribbon and medal to prove it.


Tri = Swim, Bike Run - Swim Again?

I've got pictures documenting the performance of this remarkable woman (and of a lot of some other really neat people, too). Check them out here and here.

See you out there.

PS Ever wonder what happens to the DNF's?

Magic Shave

I saw a guy shaving in the locker room at the Y last week. Nothing unusual about that, lots of guys shave there. In fact, the bathroom area in the locker room is equipped with 3 sinks, a wall to wall mirror and even a built in hair dryer, all supporting male grooming. But, this guy was shaving with a paring knife.

He was a young black man, maybe in his twenties. He was stocky and shorter than me, maybe 5'9", looked like he could have played nose guard on his high school football team, but was now a bit softer and rounder. And he was definitely using a paring knife. I know because I glanced over at him twice, since I couldn't believe what my eyes registered the first time. The knife had a brown handle, and a rounded tip. My mind wanted to make it into a straight razor, as that would have been unusual but within my realm of experience, but my confirming glance ruled that out.

He was using shave cream, but there was something funny about that, too. The puddles that lay in the sink weren't white, but shades of gray, almost running to blue, with dark flecks in them. The dark flecks I understood to be the remnants of his beard, but the other colors I didn't understand at all - the cream appeared white on his face.

He returned my second glance, and I didn't look over again, not even obliquely, or in the mirror. Three things darted through my mind.

"That knife must be really sharp!"

"Maybe he can't afford a razor"

And I'm not proud of this but "I hope he's not pissed that I looked over, because I'm a little afraid of a big black guy with a knife."

I left the Y with a story about a strange guy to tell to my friends and family, and some material for a blog entry. Thankfully, I did not get around to writing right away, as there was more to the story.

Saturday I went on a "man date" with my friend Rich, over to the Prime Outlets in Lee, MA. I wanted to go to the Rockport outlet store to take advantage of their "buy-two, get one free" deal on shoes. In addition having good prices (and no sales tax in MA on clothes), the Rockport stores also have a good selection of wide shoes for my stubby little feet. I hate shopping, but I was convinced that the worn down heels on my shoes had contributed to the stress fracture of my left foot, and I wanted to replace them.

On the way back home from our successful shopping, Rich and I got talking about the high cost of everything, including razor blades, especially the Gillette Platinum Plus blades - over $10 for 4 blades, and that's at the new Super Walmart in Albany, with a $2 off coupon. This lead me to my tale of the strange guy shaving in the locker room with a paring knife, causing Rich to blurt out, "Magic Shave!"

Earlier in his career, Rich had worked in an institution, and one of his responsibilities had been to help the residents with their grooming needs. One day, one of the residents sidled up and asked, "You down with Magic Shave?"

Rich was puzzled, until the guy, a black man, explained that he, like many black men had easily irritated, sensitive skin, and that traditional shaving frequently caused bumps on his face. Instead of using a razor and shave cream, he, like they, used Magic Shave a depilatory. Kind of like Nair for the face, I guess, but milder. The product is applied to the face and beard like a traditional shave cream. But, after it's been on the face for a while, the hairs dissolve, and the residue is gently scraped off with a dull instrument - like a paring knife. One of the more popular types of cream is blue, which could certainly look gray if it were mixed with stubble and sitting in the bottom of a sink.

Thus, at 59, I learn that I am not as cosmopolitan as I would like to think, and that I am not free of bigotry as I would like to imagine. A little humiliating, for sure, but at least I got a blog entry out of it.

See you out there.

Tattoo: Tin Man for a Tinman

"Schubin, you have any tattoos?" This was my friend Kevin.

"No. I've thought about it but every time I mention it, I get too much flack at home:
'How do you know that the needles are clean? How can you be sure they don't double dip in the ink? Suppose you're wrong?' "Why? You thinking of getting a tattoo?"

"Yeah, I want to get a Tin Man tattooed on my butt."

Kevin is a Tinman
and has done this event 4 or 5 times. He's pretty good, too - did a 6:27 or so last time out.

As you might imagine, he's wiry - almost skinny. I told him it would have to be a very little Tin Man if it was going to fit on his scrawny butt.

I, on the other hand, am not skinny or wiry or lithe or anything remotely connected to thin.

See the picture below, which was taken at the Cazenovia Tri a couple of years ago. See if you can tell which one is Kevin and which one is me.


I'm Going to Put the tattoo Right About Here!


I told Kevin that I, on the other hand (or cheek), could have the Cowardly Lion, the Scarecrow, the Wizard, and all of the Munchkins tattooed on my butt.

Not Dorothy or Glinda or the Wicked Witch though. I've already got enough women on my butt!

See you out there.

A Break from Running?

"Yes."

and "Probably."

As in, "Yes,I have not run in the last 5 weeks" and

"I probably have a stress fracture of my left foot."

First, "What's a stress fracture?" Here's a definition from an article about Yao Ming, whose season for the Houston Rockets ended this year with a stress fracture:

"The typical stress fracture results from an accumulation of stress on the bone that exceeds the bone's ability to heal that stress.

The bone then develops microscopic cracks that go on to yield a complete crack."

Basketball's big men, who do a lot of running and jumping on hard floors, are often prone to stress fractures. Bill Walton, the former UCLA and NBA star, and current TV commentator, is a prominent example.

Army recruits who are suddenly called on to do a lot of marching, and runners who dramatically ramp up their mileage, are other common examples.

I guess I fall in the latter category. Because I really wanted to become a better runner this year, I had been running very regularly, trying for 3 times a week. I was able to go about 2.2 miles on my LSD runs without stopping, usually running outbound, and walking or walk and running inbound, so the whole workout was around 4 miles. I felt pretty good about that, too, since I have never been able to run that long without stopping in my entire adult life.

The thing about LSD runs is that you are only supposed to do them once a week, and the goal is is gradually increase the distance run during each session - gradually meaning no more than a 10% increase per week. But, I felt good, and being a typical Type A, I began doing that distance during each workout. In addition, I began adding bursts into the inbound portion of my LSD's, and I began running up the hills. Hey - if some is good, more is better! The final ingredient? My running shoes were over a year and a half old. The recommendation for runners - especially for large runners like me - is to get new shoes at least every 6 months.

In one of my earlier posts, "DNS" I mention that my foot hurt while running, and that I reluctantly decided to skip a sprint tri and a road race. What I didn't own up to is what finally got me to go to the doctor. The day after my last running workout, I went for a walk on the bike path along the river - and just that easy walk caused burning pain on the top of my left foot.

My doctor listened to what was going on, and sent me down the hall for an xray. Xrays are not conclusive for stress fractures of the small bones in the feet, but this one showed a "callus" which is often an indication of a fracture which has begun to heal. After seeing this, he requested an MRI, which is more definitive. It is also more expensive, so I had to get pre-authorization from my insurance company before I got it done.

Two days after the MRI, Dr. Arnold got the results from the imaging lab, which he discussed with me over the phone. The report had a lot of medical terms - "edema of the bone marrow" is one I remember - that strongly indicated a stress fracture, but were not 100% conclusive. The imaging guy suggested that I go for a CT scan.

Kip and I talked it over - he is a really practical guy and I like him a lot. The discussion went something like this:

"Does the foot feel better since you stopped running?"

"Yes. And I did 35 minutes on the elliptical last night, and it's ok today"

"I don't see any need for a CT scan at this time. I suggest you continue not running on it. You can bike and swim and use the elliptical as long as they don't hurt your foot. Call me if it doesn't continue to improve."

"OK. Suppose it doesn't get better?"

"I will probably refer you to a foot doctor."

So, that's where we are. I must have gotten addicted to the running because I've been feeling pretty funky since I haven't been getting my fixes. Haven't felt too motivated to do any biking or swimming either. Got a lot of "Why me?" and "It's not fair!" stuff going on, too.

I'm not a total slug, though. I have continued to walk during lunch a couple of times a week - the company and walking up the hills are both good for me. And there are always chores to complete around the house - hey, you get 300 Fit Points for pushing the lawnmower for an hour. I hit the weights last weekend for the first time in 6 months, too, and I've made an appointment to see one of the coaches at the Y to make sure my form is good. Best of all, last night was Swim Night and even though I missed the last two weeks, and wasn't exactly Michael Phelps in the water, I did ok.

The Pinebush is coming up in 5 weeks, and I am registered. If my foot heals and I can start to run again in a couple of weeks, great. If not, I can still train for the bike and swim, and I can always walk the 3.25 miles. Given my blazing foot speed, there's not that much difference between me running and me walking, anyway. Sounds like a plan.

See you out there - I promise.

Perhaps I Should Roll the Bottoms of my Trousers

Has to happen at some time, I guess. For me, the first time was Memorial Day at Bob's house.

It was the kind of day you pray for on the unofficial start of summer - clear and cloudless skies, with the sun pushing the temperature close to 80 degrees. A perfect day for the pool, and Bob has a great one in the backyard of his house, which is located in a suburb a few miles north of Chicago. There would be grilling and beer drinking later, of course, but first, we had to earn our calories through vigorous exercise and game playing. At Bob's house, the game of choice was Full Contact Swimming Pool Basketball.

The players were me; Bob, aged 53 - a decent athlete when he was younger, but the recent recipient of an artificial knee and the body of a consultant who gets most of his exercise getting off and on planes; his son Tim, aged 14, all arms and legs, long and lithe, a runner and high jumper and a veteran of the 7th grade basketball team; Mike, aged 12, short and solid, built like a fire plug, personable and engaging, shaking hands with people and introducing himself since he was 3, and a dead ringer for Bob; Matthew, aged 10, smallish and copper haired, the "baby" of the family and great friends with Mike; and Jon, my son, aged 24, 6'1", 185 - not a gym rat, but a consistent 9 minute miler on the treadmill, a 46er, and a citizen of the world - seeing much of it on foot, carrying a backpack and pulling a giant wheeled suitcase.

The hoop was mounted on a three foot pole, embedded in the side of the pool, near the shallow end. We play 3 on 3: me, Bob and Matthew against Jon, Tim and Mike. Ball hits the rim on a shot - clear it past the flower pot located midway on the shallow end. After a basket, losers get the ball and take it in - but not before the ball is handed to an opposition player, "checked" and handed back. Simple, right?

First play, I have the ball, check it with Tim, and immediately pass to Mike, who is not on my team. He kicks it in to Jon, who jams it home. Oops. Next play, Bob takes it out, and passes to me. Matthew is camped on the steps in the corner to the left of the basket - Bob says he has a great shot from there. I swing the ball to that side and pass to Matthew, except Tim cuts in front, snags the ball, drive to the hoop and lays it in. Oops.

After the check, I take the ball in, and hit Bob with a pass. He gets a quick shot off and swish, we score.

Mike takes the ball out and passes it to me for the "check" I don't check anything and immediately give it back to him, failing to note that Bob has come up, too. There is no one guarding Tim, which Mike notes, hitting him with a pass, leading to another easy score. Oops.

Next time, Bob brings the ball in. He passes to Matthew, but the ball glances off his hand, out of the pool. He and Mike both jump out of the pool and race to the ball. Mike grabs it flips to Tim and he bangs it home.

Bob says, "On any balls out of the pool who ever gets it, keeps it." Oops.

Bob brings it in and after the check, passes to me. I see Matthew open in the corner, and pass it to him. Only Tim out of my vision to my left, suckers me. He anticipates the pass, takes a quick step, throws out a long arm, intercepts the ball, sets and shoots. Nothing but net. Oops.

Bob takes it in and passes to me. I see Mike in the corner, but this time I also know Tim is off to the left. I fake a pass, and when Tim steps in this time, I pivot back towards Bob and, back to Tim, I hook the ball up and backwards, over my head and over Tim. Only Tim is quick and he recovers, jumps and intercepts, again sinking his shot. Matthew says, "Uncle Ron is terrible, does he have to be on our team?" Oops.


The ball goes out of the pool again on the next play and Tim goes for it. Only this time, Bob grabs him from behind and drags him back into the pool. I begin to understand the "full contact" part. The ball skitters toward the deep end and Bob goes for it. Jon tackles him and wrestles him for the ball. I go to Bob's aid, and grab Jon's arms to steal the ball - only I can't budge him. I manage to slide my hand under the inside of his hand, leveraging his thumb away, just like they teach you in life saving, and I pry the ball loose. I move to the basket and Jon jumps on me - I can barely move him. I struggle to the basket and start to go up, but he reaches over me and slaps my arm down and the ball loose. There isn't anything I can do about it.

So it goes. Tim shoots over me, goes around me and generally scores at will. Every time I touch the ball Jon is on me, and it's 50-50 as top whether I will manage to pass it off to Bob or lose possession - scoring is not an option. If I do get an open shot, it clanks, falls short or slides out of the pool.

The game ends with Matthew crying because Mike has grabbed him in the deeper end of the pool - he doesn't swim well at all and is scared. The rule had been "No tackling Matthew" but Mike got caught up in the spirit of combat and went for him. (The crying jag continues for a long while, because Matthew, no fool, knows he is supposed to get to his homework right after the game, and he figures out that this is a great diversion.) Mike had to stop because he has scraped his big toe on the rough bottom of the pool and is bleeding - he knew better but had forgotten to wear his water shoes. Jon hobbled off because he had twisted the muscles on the back of his leg in one of the tussles.

Me? I was beat - and beat up. I still have a bruise the size of a half dollar on my left bicep.

Later, in the hot tub, Tim mentions he had gotten his fingers broken last year in a game against one of the people from Bob's firm. Seems the guy was 6' 6" and like to camp under the basket. Someone lobbed him the ball and he slammed it in for a score, his forearm coming forcibly down on Tim's fingers - Tim had gotten into position for the block, ignoring the considerable size and mass disadvantage. To Tim, it was just an "oh, well."

Later still Tim and I shot hoops at the real basket in the driveway. Tim scored often. It took me 30 attempts top sink one hook shot from the top of the key- and my shoulder felt like it was going to fall off when I was done.

I tried one more thing - a trick shot I used to make regularly in P I G games - I wedged the ball between my palm and forearm and brought my arm straight up in front of my body, snapping my wrist upwards to release the ball towards the basket. Only, I couldn't get my arm above my shoulder and the ball rocketed out directly into the neighbor's hedges.

When I reflected on my performance later over a bottle of a bottle of Spotted Cow Ale from Wisconsin - I apparently could still raise my arm high enough to get the bottle to my mouth - I remembered that I could not move or think fast enough to fool a 14 year-old, could not muster enough strength to out muscle my 24 year old son, couldn't remember the simplest rules or recognize my own team mates, couldn't sink a hook shot I used to make with ease, and that these simple things caused my body to ache.

Until this day, I felt I was doing all right. I am a triathlete, I train and compete regularly, complete every competition I start and have never finished last.

But today, for the first time, I felt old.

Thus, the title of today's entry. It's from a poem by T.S. Eliot - "The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock" and the lines I was reminded of go like this:

I grow old … I grow old …
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

I know how he felt.

See you out there - maybe......

Walking to China

We parked the car at 5 pm and began walking east, away from the bay. The sun was still high and warm enough on our backs as we walked to force a sweat. The road we walked paralleled the railroad tracks, elevated, aged, paint flaking off in chunks. The road rose as we started over the bridge, and the walking was a bit harder. To our left, and beneath us, the cars moved quickly along the good highway, but the water in the drainage ditch bordering it was brown and brackish. A few people passed us as we moved along, some walking, some on beat-up bikes. They said nothing.

We could see debris beneath us, too, mostly old tires or broken auto parts. The rusted chain link fences we passed were topped with curling razor wires, protecting the cars within, obviously valuable commodities. The signs atop the buildings were all written in characters, but the businesses were certainly related to the cars housed there, tire shops maybe, or repair shops.

We passed an open lot. The road at the rear lead to a large 3 story building, similar in size and shape to a warehouse, but from the evidence of the many signs and opening, housing multiple shops and stores. I pointed it out, but Jon said, "We're not going there. Keep walking straight."

I did, and within a block we came to a busy street, loaded with cars and bikes and people. We crossed, walked one more block and turned the corner onto a new street and into a different world. Its side were lined with shops, each one small, but packed with goods, which spilled out into street displays. Strange plants, fruits, herbs, vegetables. I recognized only a few.

The stores, most of them, were unfamiliar, and their signs were all in characters, too. I recognized a few by their wares - a florist, a bakery. Some were instantly familiar - McDonalds and Starbucks, their trademarks and color schemes recognizable anywhere in the world, even though their signs and menus were, of course, written in characters.

Outside some of the shops, old women stood with stacks of menus, also written in characters, handing them to each passerby, except us. We, obviously, were not from around those parts. Jon however, reached for some of these menus, and accepted them from the somewhat puzzled distributors. He speaks, reads and writes Mandarin.

The sidewalks were teaming with people, hundreds, thousands, shoulder to shoulder, in both directions somehow sliding past each other. At 6'1" with long legs and a familiarity and ease with the crowds, Jon moved easily and quickly through them, getting ahead of Kiera and me. A full head taller than most of the people around him, his height, pale skin and red hair made him easy to see. Kiera moved to catch up, but still trailed him. I lagged them both, a familiar position for me, but could pick out Kiera's orange shirt just ahead of me, and Jon's red hair, farther ahead.

He crossed another street, stopped and turned to us.

"Here it is" he said. "The 100 stalls of mystery!"

He turned to an open door, and went down a flight of stairs. The smells of sesame oil and frying shrimp instantly identified this as a food court, Chinese style. A dozen or so small stall, each 12 x 12 or so, lined the hallway. Each had a table or three, and each had a different cuisine.

Jon sat us at the first table in the stall on the left, and stood to study the menu. He summoned the owner and she came over to him and discussed the menu with him - in Mandarin. He asked about a few things, pointed to some others, and then expressed disappointment.

He turned to us and said, "They are out of chicken."

He quickly turned back to her and placed an order for food, got us three waters for the table, and then slipped down the hallway and disappeared. He reappeared a few minutes later and said, "I order some more food from another stall."

We drank our waters and talked for a few minutes, until a small Chinese woman came up to him and said in halting English, "They want you over there."

He followed her and soon returned with a rectangular aluminum container with a clear plastic top.

"Cold noodles, with sprouts and cucumber slivers, with a thin vinegar based sauce and a hint of red peppers. And some small waffles of bean curd. The noodles are fat and thick, very authentic and very good. Shaanxi style. Not too much heat."

"The bun is stuffed with shredded lamb and spices, also very good."

And they were very good indeed.

When we finished, the first women, whose table we were sitting at, brought over two dishes for us, and three small bowls of sticky white rice.. She didn't seem to mind that we had started on something from another stall.

"Twice cooked pork, with two kinds of peppers. Green peppers, which are native to South America and not China, and small round Szechuan peppers, like berries, which are. This pork is exellent. A little more heat in this dish."

The second back had squares of what looked like bacon. It was.

"It's the special today," he said.

It was smoky and rich, but a little undercooked for my taste. I had only a few pieces, and wished it had been cooked just bit more.

We ate the twice cooked pork with the white rice, using chop sticks. We ate heartily and finished nearly everything. Except the bacon.

Jon guided us down the hallway and past the other stalls, noting their menus and explaining their specialties.

As we turned back up the hallway, a middle aged Chinese man said something in English to Jon, and neither his voice nor expression was pleasant.

Jon said, "Oh, he's harmless. He just doesn't think non-Chinese should be eating here. Best to just ignore him." Which we did.

We exited the stalls and crossed the street, where we ducked into a bakery. Jon pointed out the softball sized sesame buns, stuffed with red bean paste and said, "I like sesame bun, but I prefer the smaller ones."

He ignored the pastries, and just ordered some cold lemon tea.

By now it was after 6 pm, and we began to head back to meet Pat. We returned the way we came, and soon crossed the bridge and headed down the hill and across the street into the parking lot, to Gate C, where we found Pat, who was early, too. After all, we were very excited about seeing the Mets, and getting to Shea in this the last year of its existence.

That's right - Shea Stadium. We had not crossed into mainland China at all - we had crossed the Roosevelt Avenue bridge, and walked by the El where the 7 train brings Met fans to the ballpark and turned down Main Street to its intersection with 41 Rd, in Flushing, one of the largest China Towns in the world. Much bigger and much more authentic than the famous China Town in Manhattan.

If you are Fitlinxx'ing it, it was a mile and a half, a leisurely 30 minute walk for us - an easy 12 minute jog for Kelly the Quick if she had been with us - that took us from an American institution to the heart of China, and we had our very own personal guide with us. Very cool experience, indeed.

The Mets, by the way, came from a run down in the bottom of the 12th, and won on a walk off two-run double by Fernando Tatis - that was pretty cool, too.

See you out there.

Funner

I went over to The Crossings in Colonie last Wednesday nite to watch my friends Donna and Deanne and Jen M. run in the Craig Ryder 2nd Memorial 5K Run, and to cheer them on.

I wasn't running because my foot was still bothering me. I knew about the race because Deanne told me about it - she tells me about all the races that are coming up. In fact, if I don't get at least 3 emails from Deanne a week about this 5K or that road run, I would feel lost. She runs in most of them, too. For example, a couple of weeks ago, she did a 5K on Friday nite in Washington Park (23:56) at 6 PM, then a 10K on the bike path along the Hudson River at 8:30 AM the next morning (50:14) and then ran a 5K with Jen M the same morning at 10 AM! I think she would have run on Sunday, too, except they did a little too much celebrating of Jen's birthday on Saturday nite! Ah, Sweet Bird of Youth....

Anyway, I no sooner got to the The Crossing when I heard some familiar voices - Jess and Christina from my swim class at the Guilderland Y were there, along with Marilyn, also from the Y.

Jess - "Are you running?"

Me - "No - my foot still hurts."

Jess - "So you're a funner."

Me - " ? "

Jess - " A funner. You're not a runner, so you're just here for fun - a funner."

Turns out she was even more right than I thought. Everywhere I turned, I found people I knew, and of course, I talked with all of them.

Donna and Deanne and Jen M, were there, and Donna's brother Rick and his daughter Cheyenne.

And Sara P from work and her boy friend, Tom. Turns out Tom had run the Boston Marathon, too - pretty good runner - he was 9 minutes ahead of Lance Armstrong at the 30 K mark - I looked it up. I introduced Sara to a lot of the people I knew there. More on Sara and Tom later.

I was pleased to see my good friend Kelly there. She was with Roxanne, also from the Y.

Greg, who I met at the dinner the night before the Spring Runoff, was there.

And then, Out of the Blue of the Western Sky (or some sky), Captain Mike! He had just gotten into the Albany Airport from his week of pilot duty - just gotten back from San Jose, and he had driven the quick two miles over from the airport.

"Great to see you! I must know more than a dozen people here!"

"Me, too. The Albany Running Exchange, is organizing the race, and I came over to see my buds."

Kind of a funny start to the race at 6 PM. The walkers got off, no problem. But, the runners got off to a false start - all of them. I guess the starter was trying to tell everyone how he was going to start the race - only they all thought it was the start, so off them went. And back they came, and did it again. (Not without a few muttered unkind words among the group - I don't even know what some of those words mean!)

The first mile took them out of the park and then back in, so I walked over to the clock at the one mile mark and waited for them. Five minutes later, Sara's boyfriend Tom blazed back into the park, with Chris from OSC right behind him.

Standing all alone, right across the path from the clock so I had a good view of the runners as they crossed the bridge and came back into the park, I cheered loudly for everyone I knew and most the ones I didn't know. Some of the walkers who were now starting to appear wanted to know why I wasn't cheering for them - well, I didn't know any of them, but what the hay, I cheered for them, too.

I pretty much cheered for 9 minutes straight, until the 14 minute mark, when a lady came jogging by with her dog - and the dog was definitely not a puppy! At that point I really wished I had been in the race - I just know I could have beaten that dog! More on the lady and the dog later.

As soon as they went by, I hurried over to the start line, because I was pretty sure the boys were going to be appearing any minute. Sure enough, at the 16 minute mark, I could see Tom round the corner and head onto the start of the grass chute - the finishing two or three hundred yards were all on grass, with ropes and pennants defining the borders. Tom finished under 17 minutes and Chris shortly thereafter.

Then I could see the first woman - and it was my friend Christina. I gave her my best cheers and I could see her smile as she turned for home.


Christina, First Place - Women

And then my friend Kelly was there, running in 5th. She smiled, too.


Kelly, Fifth Place - Women

9 seconds behind her, Jess whipped through the chute.

Then Deanne, and Sara, and Donna and Jen and Marilyn. I cheered wildly for each one of them by name.


Jen M, Chris - Second Place, Men, Deanne

Finally the lady and the dog turned the corner and headed down the chute. She raised her arms in triumph and the crown roared. Wait - she wasn't raising her hands in triumph - she was raising them to show us the doggy bag! Damn, I knew for sure at that point that I could have beaten that dog to the finish.

I was also thinking, "I'm so slow, I never bring s**t home from a race - if only I could find a dog to bring with me, that would never be true again!"

Captain Mike stayed almost to the end, cheering on all his friends, until his cell phone rang, and he knew he was busted. Sure enough, someone wanted to know why he wasn't home yet. So, he high tailed it, muttering something like "At least I'm not out at some bar drinking beer..."

I had a great time talking with all my friends after the race. Almost every one of them complained about running over the uneven turf while they chowed down on post race vittles.

I didn't eat any of the bananas or bagels though - hadn't earned them. Wait - I never eat any of the bananas or bagels after a race.

I talked with Sara and Tom after the race, too. I asked Tom what his last name was and he told me. Then he asked if my son was Jon and if he had gone to Tufts. Turns out that Tom has played on a little league team I had managed a dozen or so years ago. He told he had just graduated and was off to Temple for graduate work. We talked about a few people we knew in common, and I asked him about some other Colonie kids I knew who had gone to the same school.

Sara listened to this, and then asked me, "Do you know everyone?"

No - but I know a lot of great people, and many of them were at this race. I had a terrific time - funner, indeed.

See you out there.

Fallen

I watched "Once" on DVD Saturday night. This sad and sweet indie movie is a tale of love lost, love unfulfilled, and perhaps, love regained. You may know it for "Falling Slowly",the Academy Award winning song, sung by its leads, Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova. If you don't know the movie or the song, take a minute,click the link, and listen to "Guy" and "Girl" on YouTube - it will help you understand why I'm a fallen man - totally in love with the movie, the leads and the music.

Sometimes I have such vivid dreams that I wake up so emotionally committed to the dream that I move through the day in a "dream hangover", knowing, rationally, that the emotions are not real, but feeling that they are, that they must be. All Sunday I moved through the waking dreamscape of Dublin in my mind, and knew - just knew - that these were real people, that they were just outside the fame of my vision. I sensed them.

Is there anything more evocative than music? As soon as the movie was ended, as soon as I watched the extra features so I could see more of these extraordinary people, I went to the ITunes store, found the soundtrack, downloaded it and then copied it into my IPod. Now I could hear them, and see them in my mind's eye, while I was at the computer, while I was in the car, and even while I was at the Y, doing penance on the stationary bike. (It's a surprise to those of you who know me that I can be a little intense with things?)

Here's the thing: though "Falling Slowly" is melancholy and wistful and haunting, not all the songs are. In fact, I pedaled furiously to "When Your Mind's Made Up", and especially to "Gold", - I love the way the IPOd lets you hit the back button on the scroll wheel and repeat songs. There are a couple of other songs on the soundtrack that are up tempo, too, and make for good riding and maybe good running.

So, there's the connection, the stretch, between this movie and the general subject of this blog - some of the songs from the soundtrack of "Once" are good workout songs.

But here's my true confession - I wrote about it because I love this movie and I wanted to share it with you. Maybe you will love it too. And that's reason enough.

See you out there.

DNS or "The Game's Afoot!"

For the first time ever - well,since I started doing tri's and 5K's two years ago - I entered an event and did not compete: DNS = Did Not Start (or Didn't Show Up, as one of my children termed it.)

Why? 3 reasons. First and best, my left foot hurts. It started bothering me a couple of weeks ago while I was running. It bothered me during the Spring Runoff and was really tender after my last training run. It's on the top, inside of my left foot, and according to what I found on the various internet sites - yes, I'm one of those - if I'm lucky, it's just tendinitis and will heal with some time off. If I'm not - it's a stress fracture of one of the metatarsals.

I was still going to compete in the Indoor/Outdoor Sprint Tri at the Southern Saratoga Y. After all, I had paid the entry fee ( a stiff $45! for Y members) and I was pretty sure I could tough it out. Kathy pointed out the inherent stupidity of this approach, and, uncharacteristically, I listened.

The other two reasons? It was cold and looked like rain, and I didn't feel like I had trained enough on the bike. Truth be told, if my foot had felt ok, they wouldn't have mattered. After all, the same two things were true last year and I started and completed that tri.

So, I will lay off the running for a while and see how it feels. What the hell, I needed more bike time anyway.

See you out there (but it looks like it will just be on the bike for a couple of weeks!)

Nattering Nabobs of Negativity

You'd think that after running a PR on Saturday that I would be energized and fired up, ready to surge ahead. Instead, I was tired, I slumped, had almost no energy, and listened to those NNN's in my head for three days. They almost had me convinced that I was a fraud, that I couldn't run, didn't want to run, didn't want to do any exercise at all. 5K's and triathlons were beyond my puny and feeble abilities. I was lazy, but what did it matter because I was no good any way. And I was fat - let's not forget fat.

A day off Monday became an off day and slid into Tuesday. I declined a noon time run because it was cloudy and cold - only in the high 40's. Never mind that I started running outside in January in the 20's - besides, that wasn't the real "me". Tuesday became woe-is-me Wednesday. I planned a bike ride for Wednesday night - but I really wasn't going to go. What difference did it make?

Except I asked Donna if she wanted to go and she did - she's training for the Pinebush this year and she was anxious to get off the stationary bike and outside on a real bike. So I met her on the bike path at 6 PM and we rode. And it was good. Not great - it my first time of the season. But I went up Blatnick Hill, didn't die and kept going. And I geared up Knolls Atomic Hill in 2:1 and was suitably impressed with myself for such an early in the season ride.

We went 5 miles out and 5 miles back and I felt pretty damn good when we were done.


At noon on Thursday, Donna went with me and I ran two miles along the river without stopping, and jogged a chunk on the way back, including the hills.

On Thursday night, it was back to the Y and the ministrations of Coach Aaron. That felt pretty good, too.

In other words, I took "The Cure" and the demons left me.

Frank Hu, epidemiologist at the Harvard School of Public Health, had this to say in the Harvard Magazine, "The single thing that comes close to a magic bullet, in terms of its strong and universal benefits, is exercise."

I'll vouch for that.

See you out there.

St John's St Ann's Spring Runoff 5K

A flat, out and back 5K, on the river, on my "home course", the course I run twice per week, during lunch.

This was the Spring Runoff, and was a benefit for the St John's St Ann's Community Outreach Center in Albany's Southend. Our registration fee included a pasta dinner Friday evening and it was terrific - the food was donated by D'Raymond's Restaurant, and the food was delicious. Included a glass of wine, coffee and homemade dessert, too - not what I expected at all.

Good news - PR! Bad news - still didn't break 37:10, and 12 minute miles.

Time was 37:30, and rate was 12:06.

Used my IPOD, and listened to Ryan Adam's "Elizabeth, You Were Born to Play that Part" - 7 times. It kept me from going out too fast, and still got me thru the first mile in 11:33, another PR. Hit the turnaround at 18:36, and thought I had a shot at breaking 37, but I fatigued coming back in, with a lot of walking. I figured if I made it back to the boat launch at 30 flat, I had a real shot at breaking 37, since I had gone out in 7 minutes, but I was off by 33 seconds and while I came back in 7 minutes, I was too tired to make up any time. Too much walking, not enough kicking.

Oh, well - I'll just blame the wind, which was stiff and from the south today, and in our faces all the way home. It's usually from the northwest, so it's in my face going out and at my back coming home. So, I'll blame the wind for my 20 seconds. (Couldn't have been me, right?)

There was a 10K which went off at 8:30, and my swimming buddy Sky Pilot Mike ran that in a little over 50 minutes. I didn't recognize him, even though I was standing right on the edge of the path as he went by - because we were cheering for Deanne - who was right behind him. They don't know each other , but he followed her all the way out and back, catching her with a little ways to go. Small world. We introduced them after the race.

Pretty impressive for Deanne - she chopped about 18 minutes off the 10K she ran 2 weeks ago. Especially impressive since she ran a 23:56 5K just last evening. And then she turned around and ran the 5K with Jen M., who had also run the 5K last night. Jen is celebrating her 27th birthday today. Way to go, Jen.

Donna ran a 27 and change 5K today - her 10th race of the young season. She has been a great training partner for me, and there is no way I could have done so well today if she hadn't logged all those miles with me for the last several months.

Amusing story - as I was getting close to the turnaround point, the lead runners began passing me- as usual. I cheer for them, and often let them know how they are doing - first man, first woman, etc. When the second woman went by, I held up two fingers and said "Second Woman!" Well, she had her earphones in and must not have heard me, because she held up the same two fingers and said, "Peace!"

Lessons Learned
The IPOD and slower music really helped. Even though I was nervous before the race, the music calmed me down and I went out at a comfortable pace, yet still did a PR first mile, running all the way. Hopefully when I get stronger and faster I will need to choose some more up tempo songs to run to - but I'm not there yet.

I need to keep training, to get stronger. I'm up to 2.2 miles running without stopping in training, usually as part of a 4 mile session. I often include more jogging in the session, maybe as much as another half mile. I usually walk back, but try to run the hills. I just need to keep this up, to improve the distance I can run without stopping and to work on increasing my distance. When my base is better, I will work in more hills and add some speed work.

For now, though, I am reasonably pleased. B+

See you out there.

Boston Marathon 2008 - The View from Mile 18

We went to Boston - Newton, actually - to see the Boston Marathon and to cheer on Christina, my friend and Stroke Improvement teammate. Both were superb.

For thorough coverage and some terrific pictures, go to Boston.com. For some personal observations and a link to pictures of people who caught my eye from mile 18, read on, or go to the links posted on the right hand side of the blog.

Sunday night, we stayed at the Newton Marriott, a little over a mile from the corner of Washington and Commonwealth Avenues, about 17.5 miles from the start. We walked over to the course, carrying a two folding lawn chairs and a day pack with sandwiches, fruit and water. Turning this corner, the athletes begin to climb the first of the four Newton Hills, culminating 3 miles later with the famous "Heartbreak Hill". My friend tells me the first hill is the toughest. Heartbreak has the reputation, though, because it comes 20 miles into the race and it can break your heart, your quads and your spirit.


I Was Sad Because I Had No Shoes


The wheel chairs started in Hopkinton at 9:25, and the leaders rounded the corner and started the climb at about 10:15. There are two kinds - the traditional grab the wheel and turn chair, and the newer ones with hand cranks and gears. Big controversy in the handicapped racer community, with some of the traditionalists saying the newer chairs are more like bikes, and shouldn't be allowed. Very ironic - exclusion advocated by those who were excluded themselves for so long. If you are interested in a good article from the New York Times which explains this issue, let me know.

The elite women started at 9:35, and they appeared next. Among them was Albany's own Emily Bryans, who finished in under 3 hours. Deanne worked with her at one time and ran with her often, and had introduced me to her at a recent Corporate Challenge, so I felt like I had a small personal connection. She finished in under 3 hours.


Emily Bryans from Albany F106

There were no world class American women in this group, though - they had run the Olympic trials the day before. The race was won by Deena Castor, and included crowd favorite Joan Benoit Samuelson, who finished in 2:49:08, good for 90th place and an American age group record.

Both the women's and men's leaders are preceded by a pace vehicle, electronic timing clock prominently attached to the roof, officers on motorcycles, and tons of press: on bicycles, stuffing a half ton truck, and on electric motor scooters, with a driver, and a camera man, mounted on the back, facing backwards.

Speaking of motorcycles, cops on motorcycles spent a good portion of the day riding close to each side of the course, keeping the spectators back from the road. I guess that was a good thing.

The 4 women leaders were trailed by more women from the lead group, and a smattering of wheel chair racers. One of the lead woman had the men's lead vehicles right on her heels. You can see her, and the other elite racers in my webshots album, Boston Marathon 29008 Leaders and Elite.

Something I noticed about the elite runners - and you can see it in some of the pictures - when they stride, their heels come way off the ground in the back of their bodies - almost up to their butts. For me, each step is a struggle with gravity, and each step is more of a shuffle than a stride - I strive for minimal clearance, just enough to move me forward. Don't know how they do it.


Lead Male Runners Near Mile 19

After the elite runners passed, the street gradually filled up with those who followed, great athletes, but not quite world class. Eventually, the Wave arrived, and the streets were swollen with runners. You can see them in my webshots album Boston Marathon 2008 The Waves.

A very notable runner early in the wave - Lance Armstrong. I was lucky enough to get two pictures of him. (Mike - here's a wider shot - can you see your friend?)


Lance Armstrong and Fellow Runners at Mile 18


Also notable - Team Hoyt - very, very inspirational.


The Hoyts

There were about 14,000 people in the first wave, including my friend Christina. They started just after the elite men went off at 10 am. Each and every runner in this wave had to run a qualifying age-graded time at a sanctioned marathon to get in. To qualify at her age, Christina had to run a sub 3:40, which she did last year in the NYC Marathon.

If I wanted to qualify for next year's race, I would have to run a sub 4 hr marathon.

There were about 12,000 in the second wave, and almost every one of them had to qualify, too. The exception? About 1,400 charity runners, who raised a chunk of money for one of the official charities, including the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society Team in Training, the Campus School of Boston College, and Dana Farber Institute, all wonderful causes. We cheered for every TNT runner - Kathy's cousin is a survivor and she, Kathy, walked a half marathon last year at Lake Placid and raised over $4500 for the cause; for the Campus School at Boston College Team - Em is a junior at BC; and for the Tufts Team (I don't remember what charity they were running for) - Jon graduated from there a couple of years ago.

The number of entries for the Boston Marathon is limited because it starts in the narrow streets of Hopkinton. This tight limit on entries causes some strange behaviors and even cheating - before the race starts. Great article about that in the New York Times last week, too. Interested? Let me know and I'll send it to you.

Also causes some hostile feeling among those who qualified towards the charity runners - they think the charity runners should be eliminated to open up additional spots for "real" runners. Too bad - the only way I would ever make it into this race would be as a "charity case" - not that I'm even fantasizing about that (well, maybe a little).

Two things struck me about the wave. First, it went on for hours. Second, after looking down the street at the wave for a while, whenever I tried to look across the street, I got vertigo - the runners surging up the street made the road look like it was sliding down the hill. Very odd and unsettling.

Lots of very serious runners with a lot of character in this race - but lots and lots of "characters", too. We saw 3 nuns; 2 angels, complete with halos; an indeterminate super hero, in costume; two young men wearing black spandex briefs and over the calf socks; a band of Korean runners, all wearing the same running outfits, carrying flags at the front and rear of their group,




and chanting while running up the hill;and a group of American women wearing red with US flags atop their baseball hats. And, of course, Elvis.


Elvis



We stayed until the sweep vehicles brought up the rear. We cheered and clapped for all the charity runners and we clapped and cheered by name for every runner who wore a name on his or her body, bib or running outfit. We especially cheered for the back of the packers - you just knew I'd be rooting really hard for them, didn't you?


Back of the Packers - But They Are in the Boston Marathon!

At the end of the day, we felt wonderful and knew we had been part of something very special. We had an internal glow (and an unexpected external one from the unexpected sun) that lasted for well over a day. We will be going back again - count on it.

See you out there.

I Am Inspiration!

I liked "Serpentine Swimming" - thought it was well written, had an illustrative photo embedded (a first for me), a link to an instructive article. I thought it was a good piece. But I wanted my son's blessing, wanted him to tell me it was good and well written. At 23, Jon has already had two paid internships, reporting for the Scranton Times Tribune and the Wichita Eagle, unpaid positions for the Medford Transcript and Boston's Sampan, and was Managing Editor for the Tuft's Daily. So, I asked.

"Jon - is it good, is it well written?"

"Yes, it's well written..."

"But?"

"The subject is boring. Who cares about "Serpentine Swimming?"

"My teammates and anyone else who might be thinking about entering the indoor/outdoor tri next month. Besides, you don't care about sports and think everything I write about them is boring. The only piece you ever got even remotely excited about was the one about my IPod, and that's only faintly related to sports."

"My friends and I are still talking about that one. In fact, it's inspired us to create a new blog!"

"Really? Wow, I'm flattered!"

"Wait a minute, I'll show you. Here it is: 'An Alien's Guide to the Earth'"

" 'An Alien's Guide to the Earth'?"

"It's a series of detailed and instructive articles about common things that an alien visiting Earth for the first time wouldn't know about. Like a spoon or chairs."

"Or an IPod?"

"We're going to use your blog as our first article!"

Every dad wants to inspire his children, but that wasn't exactly what I had in mind. Hey, at least I have a purpose in their lives - I serve as a source of endless amusement. Everyone's got to be good a something.

See you out there.

Ganging Aft Agley

The poet Robert Burns knew it,
"The best laid schemes o' mice an' men Gang aft agley"

Or as we better know the lines,
"The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry."

That's how my training has gone the last couple of days - not bad, mind you, but just not how I planned it.

Thursday was beautiful - close to 60* at noon, with a bit of a wind from the northwest. Even though it was Swim nite, it was such a good day for a run, I went. Donna slogged along with me, and we ran the run we ran on Tuesday - from the building, down State to Broadway, north on Broadway to the pedestrian bridge over the highway, across the bridge and down to the ceremonial circle on the bike path - a half mile. Stop there and stretch. Then run 1 mile north on the path, turn around and walk/jog back, a total of 3 miles.

I like this route, because the first half mile is mostly an easy down hill, a great way to warm up, and the rest of the route is the same start and course I will run at the St. John's St. Ann's Spring Runoff, which will be my next 5K, on April 26. It's flat and scenic, as it follows the Hudson River, and because I run there often, I am familiar with the landmarks and distances. This helps me gauge how far I have to go and how I am doing.

Bringing me to failed Plan #1. Because I have been running regularly, I was sure I had a great shot Thursday at running a sub-12 minute mile. After all, I had run a 12:10 on Tuesday over the same course, I had rested Wednesday, so all me and my fresh legs had to do was pick it up a little and those 10 seconds were gone, baby, gone! Except, they weren't. For whatever reason, my thighs were lead and every step was an effort. Even, so I was pretty much on pace as I passed the boat launch and headed up the narrowed path into the last third of a mile. Then, with 200 yards to go and a real shot at getting under 12 - I stopped to walk. In the last 200 yards I paused twice more, and ended up at 12:16, six seconds slower than Tuesday's time. Maybe it was all in my head again, but it sure felt like it was in my legs and lungs, and I have no idea why.

Good thing I ran at noon, though, because instead of workout number two for the day, a phone call brought me failed Plan #2 - the Y called and said the pool filter was under repair and class was canceled.

The Southern Saratoga YMCA's Indoor/Outdoor Tri is coming in 3 weeks and the bike portion is a 10 mile outdoor ride. I need some training time on a real bike before then, no spinning bikes in this tri, so I called Maria and set up a ride. The weather had been spectacular for the previous four days, but called for rain Friday afternoon. No problem, I thought - we scheduled my first outdoor bike ride of the season for 9 AM Friday morning, well ahead of the forecasted start of the showers. Of course, at 8 AM, it began raining, and I called Maria and canceled. Make that failed Plan #3.

Not to be dissuaded, I went off to the Y. I logged a half hour on the stationary bike, jumped off and hied myself over to the track. This time I sprayed a paper towel and stowed it on the console of the bike before I started my session, meaning when I finished the ride, I could wipe down the bike immediately and get right over to the track to start my brick. Good plan, as I was on the track in one minute and I was running in less than 90 seconds. My idea was to jog a half mile, and then cool down with a half mile walk. Leading to failed Plan #4. Three laps into this, my legs were lead and I stopped. After a rest, I tried it again, and again I stopped after 3 laps.

Standing off to the side catching my breath, I recognized my friend Mike on the track, back from his flights to DC, San Juan and Rochester, Minn. He is a good runner, and trying to get back up to speed after his knee surgery last fall. To help him do this, he has a pretty spiffy watch, connected wirelessly to a gizmo that attaches to the laces of one shoe,and the system includes a GPS, and a computer and I'm not sure what all. Anyway, he was effortlessly loping around the track on a 7:30 pace or so, and I decided to lope along with him. I ended up doing one lap, resting, do another, resting and then a third. His lap times, in the center lane (14 laps to the mile) were 34, 33 and 31 seconds. For me, in the outer lane (13 laps to the mile), that last lap equated to a 6:43 mile. In other words, Mike's pace run ended up being my interval training!

I thought I might get a swim in today, but today is turning out to be more of a chore day than a training day, and that's ok. Tomorrow I really want to get my weekly LSD in, preferably outside, and I'd like to get in a 1,000 yard swim - my neck is still a little stiff from last week's mile (Yes, Dorie, if I had been using proper technique, I would have been my body would have been rotating my head and not my neck, and it wouldn't be sore - I'll work on that next time)

LSD and swim - that's what I'd like to do tomorrow - but I'm making a "Plan" - I already know how that will go.

See you out there.

Serpentine Swimming

The next triathlon will be an Indoor/Outdoor event at the Southern Saratoga Y in early May. The bike and run are both outdoors and straightforward: the ride is a fairly flat 10 miles, with a couple of minor hills and the run is very flat 5K through some quiet residential neighborhood streets. The swim, on the other hand, is interesting.

The swim is an indoor 325 yard "serpentine swim." It falls someplace between the "every swimmer in his or her own lane" of the indoor tri's and the "me and 50 of my closest friends swarming in a lake" of the wave format of an outdoor tri.

It's called a "serpentine swim" because the swimmers start start in lane one and then "snake" their way down one lane, under the lane line, up and down lane two, snake under the lane line again, swim up and down lane three, etc. The pattern, when seen from above, is a series of "s" shaped curves, or - serpentine.

When they register for the event, the swimmers are asked how quickly they can swim the 325 yards, and based on the answers, are seeded. The fastest swimmer starts first, and the remaining swimmers start about 10 seconds behind each each other, from faster to slower. In that way, the swimmers should form a single uniformly spaced line, start to finish.

That's the theory, anyway. In reality someone always overestimates his speed, or is having a bad day, leading to some swimmers catching up to others. The protocol is for the faster swimmer to tap the ankle of the slower, overtaken swimmer and for the slower swimmer to slide over to the side of the lane nearest the lane line and let the faster swimmer go by. In reality, there are often a number of rookies in the field who don't have a clue, leading to the inevitable bumping and collisions. I don't recall, however, seeing anyone swim over top of another swimmer, as I have seen in open water events.

For something new to me and this blog, I have included a picture of the serpentine swim at last year's Southern Saratoga Indoor/Outdoor Y, so you can get an idea of what it looks like. If you put your mouse on the picture and click, it will expand, and you can see more of the pool. Look for the swimmer in the yellow cap in the lower right side of the picture to see an example of the "standing turn" described above. (I am in the picture, standing near the lifeguard tower.)




The link below will give you some really good advice about how to swim one of these, and how to avoid some common problems. Since the author does a much better job in this area than I could, I will just talk a little about some of the things I experienced which he doesn't talk about.

First, you wear a chip for this race, and it starts when you step on the mat at the edge of the pool, at the direction of the starter. I jumped into the pool feet first to begin my swim, as did most of the participants. However, as we started at the deep end, some of the more experienced racers dove in and got off to a much quicker start.

Since the race is 325 yards and there are 8 lanes, you do not swim up and down each lane - that would be 400 yards. Instead you swim down lane one, up and down lanes 2-6, up lane 7 and down lane 8, ending up at the shallow end of the pool. There you can go up the steps to exit the pool and immediately out the door to your left, over the timing mat, and into the parking lot where the bikes are racked. There are cones on the pool deck at each end of lanes 2-6, reminding you that you need to swim up and down those lanes.

The article below also gives you some excellent tips on how to approach each lane transition, to help you shave time off your swim without shaving skin off your arm, wrist, fingers or head by coming up under the hardware which attaches the lane line to the end of the pool. They are great tips, and I did practice them a few times in the weeks leading up to the race. However, I forgot all about them in the race, and did whatever I could to get under the lines to the other side. Often this consisted of stopping at the end of the pool, standing up, turning my body around, and then ducking under the line and giving a one legged push off the wall. Not too elegant - but it worked.

A final note - the swim is actually a little longer than 325 yards because in addition to swimming up and down the lanes, you are also swimming side to side in the pool, starting on one side and ending across the width of the pool on the other.

I kind of like this event - it was novel, and didn't take too long. The worst part was coming out of the pool, soaked, wearing just my biking shorts, and dashing into the 40* air on the way to my clothes and bike.

I am looking forward to trying it again, and improving my technique and my time.

Here's the link:

How to Race a Pool Sprint Triathlon

See you out there.