Trying to avoid the wind...

Wednesday, March 28, 2012
I’ve been toying with the idea to put the kayak in the water since I got the second Jeep out of storage and had it sitting in the driveway.  I figured I should just put the kayak on the Jeep and leave it there…always ready when the impulse struck me.  I didn’t…but it was a good plan.

The temperature was in the 60’s again…but so were the winds.  They were blowing out of the northwest…pretty common in these parts…and since all of my rides headed east, that meant a tailwind out and a hurricane coming back.  I’d done a ride like that a few weeks ago and the painful memory was still fresh.  I drove home in my little Honda Civic, being bucked around by the blasts of air which seemed to be taunting me for my ride.

I reached my decision during that trip and when I got home, quickly put the rack on the Jeep and mounted the kayak.  An hour later I was putting it in the muddy waters of the Upper Cuyahoga River in Russell Park near Burton.  The wind was blowing so hard even there that a chop had formed on the river.  Bear in mind there’s only about two feet of water and the rivers about twenty feet wide with trees on both banks…not normally the setting for whitecaps.  As I was unloading the kayak…it’s a 17’ sea kayak weighing around 65 pounds and cumbersome to handle from the roof to the water…the wind gusted and grabbed it and smashed my little finger between the roof of the car and the kayak deck.

“Damn,” I yelled to no one at all…since I was alone.

I was bleeding quite profusely, with a large hunk of skin dangling below my fingernail…which was turning black and blue.  I had nothing in the car to stem the flow, so I cursed some more, manned up, and finished my preparations.  Once in the water, the cool river washed the wound clean and combined with the hurricane force winds, numbed the throbbing finger.  I’d lost about a pint of blood at this point, rubbing it into my t-shirt and bandanna, and wishing some hot chicks were there to see how tough I looked.  Chicks dig guys covered in blood who aren’t whining…at least I think they do.

The river was extremely high and I could see marks on the trees just off the shore at least 24 inches high that indicated it had been flowing much higher not too long ago.  My goal was the bridge over Route 422 for a turn-around…a destination about 45 minutes away and down river.  I passed two other kayaker’s on the river, but no one else.  There was almost no wildlife…no evidence of beavers other than the numerous lodges, no Great Blue’s a only a few ducks and song birds.  The wind though, was a constant companion and would certainly be in my face when I turned around for the return trip.

I had some difficulty keeping the kayak straight in the water…wind tends to want to spin it like a top…and with all the downed trees in the river, navigation was a challenge…but fun.  I hit the halfway point right on time, but quickly discovered just how hard the wind was blowing as I headed back upriver.  I was going to have trouble making it back to the take out before dark…but so what?

And then the temperature started to drop.  By the time I’d made it back to the car, it was easily 15 degrees cooler.  It had taken 10 minutes longer for the return trip…and it would have been longer if I hadn’t been putting so much effort into every stroke to keep the boat moving forward as fast as I could get it to go.  The good news…it provided a terrific upper body workout.

I was careful not to smash my finger while putting the kayak back on top of the Jeep…I no longer had the energy for the essential cursing should it happen again.  My wound…something that might have killed a normal human…had stopped bleeding, but was throbbing as those things do with every beat of my heart.  I suppose in the end, I’d tried to defy the wind and avoid a gut-wrenching ride and it had gotten even.  Next time, I’ll do what Lance would have done.

Kayak Duration:  One hour and 40 minutes.
Training Heart Rate: 100-120 bpm.
Calories burned during workout:  1000.

A short, pain-free run...

Tuesday, March 27, 2012
I’ve been doing my alternative push-ups for about four weeks now and was starting to wonder if they would have any impact on my ability to do the traditional style.  I decided to find out…knowing that I’d need to be near 100 if I was going to be happy about it.

I dropped and began, blasting past 60, 70 and 80 with no problem.  At 90, I started to struggle, but managed to eke out 100…but there was nothing left in the tank for one more.  I suppose I should have been happy.  I haven’t done push-up in that style for weeks, but could still reach the century mark.  I wasn’t though.  Since I could perform 80 with my legs propped on a fence rail and my body at a severe angle, I thought maybe I’d have done more.  Well…I’ll just return to the alternate form until I hit 100 of them.

As I walked to my next station, I played with the idea of running.  I’d ridden over four hours two days ago and my calf felt strong again.  I hadn’t had any pain in it for several days and I had to start at some point.  I decided five minutes of easy jogging would be a good test. 

As with everything I do, if a little is good…more is better.  I kept going and finally stopped after 10 minutes.  I really was quite pleased since this calf injury seemed more problematic than the ones I’ve suffered previously.  Maybe not.  I’ll give it a couple of days and try 15 minutes and maybe…just maybe…I can be ready in 3 weeks for the birthday triathlon.

Survival Workout: 60 minutes.  Run duration: 10 minutes.
Training Heart Rate: 100-150 for SW and 130 for run.
Calories burned:  600 for SW and 150 for run.

Will "Hunger Games" get people back into the woods?

Monday, March 26, 2012
I suppose you’d have to be living under a rock today to not have heard something about the book and movie ‘Hunger Games’.  All my kids and my wife have read them and seen the recently released movie.  The girls made a special trip to the Grand Opening midnight showing with a gang of friends.  I have not read the books because I was warned that I wouldn’t enjoy the fantasy of them, but something changed all that.

Darcy Egan has been writing about hunting and fishing for the Cleveland Plain Dealer since Moby Dick was a minnow.  Though I’m not a hunter or a fisherman, I often read his stories because of the outdoor focus of his columns.  When I noticed his story about the ‘Hunger Games’, I had to read.  He wrote about the plot of the movie and the main character and heroine, a teenage girl named Katniss.  He describes her as someone who learned outdoor skills “while sneaking into restricted areas to hunt, trap and gather wild plants to feed her family.  She’s adroit at finding water, bowhunting, fishing, trapping, creating a fire and wielding a knife.”  She lives in a post-apocalyptic America where these skills are essential to survival.

What I found particularly interesting was Egan’s hypothesis that “Hunger Games” may lead to a generation finding a reason to explore the great outdoors…attempting to learn more about the skills Katniss displays.  He expects an increased interest in hunting and fishing and all the good things that happen when anyone visits the woods.  He points readers to the book “Last Child in the Woods – Saving Our Children from Nature Deficit Disorder” by Richard Louv, one that I’ve read and truly enjoyed.  It’s based on the premise that today’s children don’t have nearly the exposure to nature, the woods and streams that surround them, or just the opportunity to be outdoors.  I read his book thinking how many of the things he described were things that I had done, but my children had not.  My home backed up to woods and we played in them constantly.  Salamander, turtle, frog and snake hunts were just what we did.  Parents were not to be seen and there were no worries about it.  Building forts in trees was the norm and there was no ‘Neighborhood’ organization to restrict this kind of play.  I’ll have to reread Louv’s book along with “Hunger Games”
to see the connection, but if Egan is right and more people of any age find themselves outside and learning these skills…then it’s a good thing.  

I decided on a recovery day after my long ride.  I actually felt pretty good, but felt that I’d earned it…and probably needed it.

Head to head with an Amish buggy...

Sunday, March 25, 2012
With my thinking turning towards riding a century in April, I’d decided I needed another long ride on what appeared to be a perfect day…overcast and mid-50’s.  I’d done 62 miles the previous Sunday and thought I should go at least 70 and maybe more.  It’s been twenty years since I’ve ridden that far and though I was sure my legs could handle it, I was dreading the ache in my neck and shoulders that was sure to accompany me over the second half of the ride…one I figured would take me beyond four hours.

I took the same route I had the previous Sunday and thought I’d just extend it further into Amish country.  I enjoy riding the country roads, passing the farms and homes of this rural community, and worrying more about hitting manure piles and dodging dogs than getting run off the road by cars.  I tend to ride about 5 mph faster than buggies and so it’s not unusual to overtake them…and they’re out in droves on Sunday.

I was coming up behind a buggy on a long incline.  It was moving considerably slower than I, but as I moved to pass it, the driver sped up.  I was still moving past and even with the horse when I noticed a car cresting the hill on the other side…speeding my way.  I had no place to go and the horse…or the driver…still thought this was some kind of race.  I pushed hard, but gaining speed on an uphill is a struggle.  With a maximum effort, I managed to get in front of the buggy before becoming road kill for the turkey vultures on nearby trees…watching the action with some disappointment.

I wanted to look back and flip off the guy, but he was still pushing his horse to overtake me and I wasn’t at the top of the hill.  I was reasonably certain the horse wouldn’t understand the meaning of a raised finger and would likely trample me…so I kept pushing to the summit.  Once there, I easily outdistanced the buggy while keeping my finger…and emotions in check.

I suppose you can no more generalize about Amish than you can about any other ‘group’.  There are great folks and there are butt heads.  I had a butt head on my tail and he’d probably enjoyed our little challenge.  I don’t think he was trying to get me killed, though it had been dicey, but I also don’t think he considered the consequences.  I would have liked racing him if it hadn’t been for the car…it was a good workout.  I’ll just have to keep the incident in mind on future rides.

I reached State Route 534 on Windsor-Burton Road and turned south.  When I reached a sign that notified me I was entering my fourth county of the ride, I was sure it was time to turn around.  My legs remained strong throughout the ride with no cramping, but my shoulders and neck were problematic for the final 90 minutes of a four and a half hour-75 mile ride.

Any bout of aerobic exercise that takes over three hours will have the muscles craving glycogen…the muscles form of sugar.  I needed it…and got it by consuming…in record time…three sticky buns that Holly had made earlier in the day.  I could have made a smoothie and accomplished the same thing…but time was a consideration and I wanted it now.  I’d burned close to 4,000 calories during my ride, so I suppose I could live with the transgression.

Bike Duration:  Four hours and 30 minutes.
Training Heart Rate: 120 bpm.
Calories burned during workout:  3775.

A screwup at the hospital...

Saturday, March 24, 2012
I went to see John in ICU in the late morning to find that his vitals showed a resting pulse in the 130’s and a blood pressure around 90/60.   Both numbers were extreme, which I commented on to Teri.  Additionally, John was feeling worse than ever.  When the nurse came in, Teri brought it up but she said it was no big deal…it had done that earlier and would get back to ‘normal’. 

First things first.  On a resting pulse for a 46-year old, normal could be anywhere from low 40’s in a highly trained aerobic athlete to the high 80’s of a completely out of shape chain smoker.  The resting heart rate is an indicator of the strength (or weakness) of this critical pump.  It’s a muscle and gets stronger with the right kind of exercise, doing its job more effectively by pushing more blood with each beat.  John’s normal resting pulse, something the hospital had no idea about, was in the mid-50’s.  When his heart reached the 130’s, it was 80 beats a minute over resting…and an issue.

When the surgeon heard the numbers and how poorly John was feeling, he quickly moved to put a scope into his stomach and found that the ulcerated artery was bleeding and things were critical.  They worked feverishly to stop the bleeding and only later, when he was again stable and out of the woods, did they share the seriousness of the oversight by the nurse and how close he had come to dying.

Since so much depended on that resting heart rate, I suppose I’m surprised that the hospital doesn’t make some effort to determine what it is on its patients.  I imagine that few non-exercising people pay any attention, but I can assure them that regular exercisers know.  Mine runs in the high 40’s, so if it was anywhere near 100, I should think that would be significant.  I don’t know what his nurse would have had to have seen for her to react…but it wouldn’t have gone too much higher before it would have been heading for zero.

Savannah and her boyfriend Kyle joined me for a Survival Workout.  He’s lean and looked to be in good shape, but I cautioned him not to push too hard on the first go round…words that would be lost on him as they would have been lost on me if the roles had been reversed. 

He did 30 push-ups, 12 pull-ups and 30 dips before we headed down the trail for some rock lifts.  By the time we were doing our kariokies up my steepest hill, he’d done many different kinds of exercises than he’d done in a long time…and had come close to maxing every effort.  One of two things was going to happen.  Either he’d get green and want to vomit…or he’d kill the workout and demonstrate that he was an incredible physical specimen…better even than the ‘old man’.  It was the former that manifested itself shortly after we reached the top of the hill. 

“Dad…Kyle’s not feeling too well,” Savannah told me when I reached the bottom of the hill we’d just climbed.  I hadn’t noticed that Kyle had stopped.  I knew what had to be going through his mind and tried to soften the blow when he rejoined us.

“You have got to take it easy, Kyle.  You’re in good shape…but the stuff we’re doing is functional exercise and you haven’t done it before.  If you push to the max, you’re going to get sick.  Try cutting it off when you think you could still do 5 reps of something.  By the way…I got sick the first time I did it, too.  Just don’t know how to go three-quarters effort,” I said.

I told them a story about how I’d been asked by a Sales Rep at a Fitness Club where I served as a trainer to take a prospective member through a workout and “make him sick.”

“Tell you what, hotshot.  Suit up and I’ll make you puke first…then you can tell me if you still want me to do it to your customer there,” I said.  He declined my offer.

Anyone…regardless of fitness level…can push themselves to the point of nausea.  I pride myself on not letting people I’m assisting get to that point.  It seldom accomplishes anything good.  I felt bad about Kyle and should have made him do less.  He’s young and strong and it didn’t do much but suffer his pride a tad.  He continued to do the workout, though and was really pleased with it by the end.  And then something happened that cemented our relationship.

“Look,” he said excitedly, pointing overhead

I turned to see a beautiful, immature eagle winging through the trees less than fifty feet away.  Savannah looked up and then back.  “Seriously?  You’re just like me dad.  Ugh,” she said, though I’m sure the ‘you’re just like my dad’ was meant as a compliment.

Survival Workout: 60 minutes.
Training Heart Rate: 100-150.
Calories burned:  600.

Pizza and chocolate milkshakes...

Friday, March 23, 2012
I received a call from Teri, John’s wife that he was back in the ER at Hillcrest Hospital Friday morning.  He’d thrown up the night before and was passing blood that morning and his surgeon wanted him in right away…suspecting another stomach ulcer.  Once there, they slipped a scope down his throat…the same one he’d had surgery around last week…and saw that in fact he did have one but that it had clotted.  He was quite weak from blood loss, though and they began putting it back in an ICU bed.  I spent some time with him there in the afternoon before leaving to pick up his son and bring him over to visit him.  By the time I’d taken his son home and returned to my own, it was after dark making the scheduled Survival Workout impossible.  Savannah had been calling because she wanted to do it with her boyfriend who was visiting from Columbus. 

“We’ll get up early tomorrow and do it then,” I promised.

“What do you consider early on a Saturday morning?” she asked.

“It’s light about 7 a.m. so…7:30 a.m.?” I said, knowing that a.m. was going to be pushing it.

And things went downhill from there.  We were supposed to get a pizza from Jet’s and Holly asked me to pick up ice cream for milkshakes.  I make a killer chocolate shake and couldn’t resist drinking one with my half of a sausage pizza.  I remember a time when every Friday night was pizza and chocolate shakes, so I suppose once in a blue moon isn’t too awful…but the guilt had me thinking about going out and doing something.  Savannah suggested we watch ‘The Green Mile’ because Kyle had never seen it and the knowledge that I would be introducing him to one of the greatest movies ever made assuaged my guilt…and I did nothing but gain weight.

Baseball's 'Inning Five'

Thursday, March 22, 2012
Though my options are limited right now as my calf muscle continues to give me trouble even when walking, I headed out on the bike again, expecting that I’d have thigh cramping before I was done.  I picked a different course and targeted a two-hour ride.  It would make my third such ride in five days…and that’s okay when you’ve been doing that kind of thing, but I hadn’t.  My concerns were cramping thighs, chafing in sensitive areas, shoulder and neck soreness, and something new…butt pain.  All joined me before the completion.

I’ve been riding since…well…since Moby Dick was a minnow.  I’ve never really had any issues with butt soreness from too much time in the saddle, but I am now.  Maybe it’s age.  Maybe it’s a result of almost four hours in the saddle on Sunday and not enough preparation for that…or recovery since.  In any event, coupled with a sore neck and shoulders, riding becomes more of a chore for me and less enjoyable.  I’ve seen fellow riders with the slick, new split seats and wondered about their comfort.  It may be something I need to try because I love riding and hope to do a lot more of it this summer.  I don’t know that there is any cure for the neck and shoulders short of an upright riding position that cannot be achieved on a road bike…which is out of the question for me…and something I’ll continue to live with.  The thigh cramping will likely disappear as I put in more miles on continuous days…conditioning.

Don arrived at my place two hours late for our fifth installment of the Ken Burns documentary, ‘Baseball.’  He’s usually late and never has his cell phone on, so I’d kind of given up on him and ate the spaghetti I’d made without waiting.  When he finally called and said he had a flat and was waiting for AAA, I suggested we make it another night.

“Did you make the spaghetti?” he asked…a pleading note in his voice.

“Yeah…and it’s great.  I was starving and figured you weren’t coming so I ate,” I said.

“Oh man…I love that stuff.  Hey…I could be there by nine if I hurry.  Keep it warm.”

I did and he made it.  The 5^th inning covered the demise of Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig, the beginning of Bob Feller and Joe DiMaggio and the continuing tragedy of our National Pastime…the exclusion of the black man.  What the white American baseball fan missed in not having the opportunity to see the great Satchel Paige, Cool Papa Bell and Josh Gibson, except in barnstorming games against the major leagues during the off-season, is tragic.  It is estimated that the best teams from the Negro Major League’s played the best of the Major League’s about 500 times…and won over 350 of those meetings.  The next episode will bring us up to the Jackie Robinson era…and the best baseball ever played in America.

Savannah made her way to the midnight showing of ‘The Hunger Games’.  I’ve yet to read the books and the more I’ve seen about them has convinced me that I need to.  It seems like they could be a very beneficial influence on getting more young people outdoors and into the woods in an attempt to gain an understanding of survival skills manifested in the book and movie…and that’s a good thing.

Bike Duration:  Two hours.
Training Heart Rate: 120 bpm.
Calories burned during workout:  1675.

Savannah hits Survival Workout again...

Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Thank God it’s Spring.  Now I can get my bike out and ride in some decent weather.  Oh…wait a minute.  We never had a winter and I never stopped riding. 

It was another amazing day as the temperatures climbed into the lower 80’s again…breaking all kinds of Northeast Ohio records.  This is the part of global warming I like since time outdoors riding is infinitely better than the trainer.  On the flip side, if it means the summer temperatures will be running around 100 degrees for weeks on end, I’d gladly put time on the trainer through the winter.  Time will tell.  For now, I’ll continue to take full advantage of great riding weather.

Which I did with a ride through Gates Mills and on to my Mulberry course.  I’d ridden it in pr time on my last out and decided that I needed a little restraint to avoid cramping legs.  I rode conservatively through my first hour and found myself only two minutes behind my record pace.  I still held myself in check and ended just that way…two minutes off the course record…and feeling good about my conditioning.

I drove to the Metropark to meet Savannah for a Survival Workout.  She’s been talking about it since our first one, saying she was a little sore but looking forward to trying again.  I started with a new push-up pr of 80, but with the inverted positioning and the blood pooling in my head, felt like it would pop towards the end.  I dropped my feet from the rail and looked up at Savannah, holding up eight fingers.
“Dad…you’re head’s purple…and I’m sure you did more than 8,” she said.

“Eighty,” I mumbled as I climbed to my feet and headed for the pull-up branch and she began her dips.

She did 13 push-ups and 20 dips…both numbers higher than her first effort, which pleased her greatly.

“Just challenge yourself to do one or two more every time you come out.  Having a goal makes you do more…and that’s what brings the improvement,” I said.

She pushed herself harder on the picnic table hops…she’d practiced them in the playground near our house the previous day..and managed 12 in sixty seconds.  She’d struggled trying to shimmy the swing set pole the first time and that pattern continued.  She just didn’t possess the upper body strength, even when using her legs, to pull herself up the pole.

“Did Heidi make it to the top?” she asked, wondering if her sister was stronger than her.

“Yeah…but she was using her legs and seemed to have a better grip with them,” I said.

She tried the swing set abs exercise, saying it was her favorite.  Everyone seems to feel that way.  It involves hooking your feet on the swing seat, face down and in the push-up positions and then bringing your knees towards your chest as your butt moves up.  Balancing on your hands and conducting this move forces the involvement of upper body muscles and the core working together…something you’d like to make happen in as many different exercises as you can…the point of the Survival Workout…functional movements.

Savannah noticed the time…about 7:30 p.m. and worried that we wouldn’t be home in time for the beginning of ‘Survivor’.  As we began picking up the pace for the return to the car, I noticed a huge presence overhead and looked to see an eagle.  I excitedly pointed it out to her…and got the typical Rolf girl response.

“It’s really just a bird, dad,” she said.

Aagghhh.   Holly poisons another one.

Survival Workout: 60 minutes.  Bike duration: One hour and 45 minutes.
Training Heart Rate: 100-150 for SW and 80 for the hike.
Calories burned:  600 for SW, 1475 for the bike.

"You WILL give me your Facebook login..."

Tuesday, March 20, 2012
I was walking up the stairs at work when the twinge I’d been feeling in my left calf became more of twang (medical term for it hurt a lot more).  I’d noticed it becoming a twang the day before when taking Savannah on an off-trail sprint during our Survival Workout.  The prudent thing would have been to lay off at that point…but I’m no prude… so I did the picnic table hops and karaokied up the hill to complete the twangential possibility.

I limped to my office and spent the remainder of the day debating a bike ride.  The temperature was again a record for winter’s last day…82 degrees.  And it was sunny.  I asked myself “what would Lance do?” already knowing the answer.

So I went home and read a book.  I did get out to clean up the Jeep I’d been storing for the past two years so Savannah could take it back to Columbus after Spring break.  It was full of stuff mice leave behind, and baked on tree sap that was resistant to her elbow grease (but not mine).  She’ll be leaving behind her identical 2000 Jeep Cherokee for me to work on…and then use to take the kayak out.  It wasn’t a workout, but I did break a sweat.

I have to comment on the Associated Press story from this morning’s PD regarding employers requiring job applicants to ‘friend’ them on Facebook.  During an interview with a Seattle company, Justin Bassett of New York was asked by the HR Nazi to provide her with his login information because she was unable to see his “private” profile when she went to his Facebook account.  Justin refused and withdrew his application stating that he didn’t want to work for a company that would make such a request.  They incarcerated and tortured him until he provided the information…okay…they didn’t do that, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t assholes.

A law professor from George Washington University was quoted as saying “it’s akin to requiring someone’s house keys.”  I don’t know that I’d go that far…no one would hire me if they could see the way I keep my toothpaste drawer…but it doesn’t take law professor…or a Pulitzer Prize blog writing author to point out the obvious…this is going too far.  A sheriff’s department in Illinois couldn’t hire me, either.  They want Facebook information to assure that their employees aren’t friends with ‘underage’ people.  I happen to have a number of teens that I coach as ‘friends’, primarily so they can access the pictures I take at the track and cross country meets to use as their Facebook profile pictures (I get some great shots sitting on the infield and because I have press credentials).  And just when I wanted to move to Illinois and join the sheriff’s department.  The Chief defended the practice saying applicants have the right to refuse…and not get a job…but few do and it “speaks well of the people we have apply.”  Not anymore…I withdraw.

Many companies are asking employees to sign non-disparagement agreements.  E. Chandlee Bryan, co-author of the book “The Twitter Job Search Guide” defends this practice.  “I think that when you work for a company, they are essentially supporting you in exchange for your work.  I think if you’re dissatisfied, you should go to them and not a social media site.” 

Funny…I thought they were just giving me a paycheck for the hours I’m clocked in.  If they were ‘supporting’ me, they’d be on the line for things like student loans to get my kids through college, assuring me they’d always be there in good times and in bad, and loving me unconditionally.  I suspect though that they’d downsize me in a heartbeat if the marketplace, a merger, or any other term you’d like to choose for the employer’s right to get rid of us…with little or no notice.  And taking your complaint or gripe up with your company is problematic at best.  Suddenly, you’re a trouble maker…depending on the recipient of the information.  There are no perfect human beings…and if there were…they wouldn’t be working in HR departments.  If you want to vent about your employer and you work for one of those, you’ll just have to do it the old-fashioned way…bitch out loud to anyone who’ll listen.  I mean…c’mon.  Griping about the place you spend over half of your waking hours has always been a national pastime.  I’m almost sure it’s in the Declaration of Independence, or the Constitution of the state of California at the very least. 

Anyway…I don’t feel too strongly about the whole Facebook issue thing…but I needed something to write about since I didn’t work out.  By the way, I’ve never been concerned about anyone seeing my Facebook page because I’m so vanilla.  I don’t drink or do drugs, sell favors for sex, beat my wife or kids…and I love my dog.   I don’t bitch about my employer, not because I’ve been asked to sign something, but because I prefer to do it out loud if I’m going to.  I’m not perfect…and neither are they.  Facebook to me is more like a picture album.  I post things for my friends to see…and if one of my co-workers is my friend…and some are…then they can see them.  But it will be a cold day in hell before someone tells me that I “have to” friend them and I do it.  Unless their name was Holly.

Backyard Conference is still the best...

Monday, March 19, 2012
My first memories of playing any sports involved two on two baseball at the bottom of Debra Lane in Bristol, Connecticut.  I was probably six and just able to swing a bat.  My brother Jim, me and the Miller boys would head for the turn-around at the bottom of the street where the only thing that ever turned around were the kids in the neighborhood riding their bikes on this dead end street.  We’d use a telephone pole for home plate, first was the curb, second was a rock and third, a pile of dirt we’d replace after rains from the vacant lot behind home plate.  With only two players on a side, we had to have invisible runners, use the pitcher’s mound as an out if the ball could be gotten there before the runner reached first, and you’d have to call your field…anything hit to the wrong side of second base was an out. 

It worked…and it grew as more kids reached the age where they could be used to fill the gaps.  We chose teams and who would bat first by throwing and catching the bat and placing hand over hand on the barrel to see whose hand fit last.  And some players, usually the girls, came with extra strikes so they weren’t automatic outs.  The goal was to play as long as people could stay…usually until lunch or when the ball would no longer stay together regardless of the amount of tape we put on it.  The score didn’t matter so much and was just another source of something to argue about…like the made-up rules that governed the game.

And in all my years of playing this game, I can never recall a single adult anywhere in plain view.  Sure…we had organized leagues, but their importance paled in comparison to the backyard conference.

All of this came to mind when I read a story in the PD sports about three fathers at separate youth sports events behaving so badly that felony charges followed.  One was shining a laser light in the opposing team’s goalie’s eyes in an effort to assist his daughter’s high school team.  Another attacked a pre-teen basketball coach in a Catholic Youth Organization and bit off a portion of his ear because the team had beaten his son’s, and a third punched a coach into unconsciousness because he had made his daughter run extra laps after practice.

There’s probably more to each of the stories and I’m sure the dad’s felt justified…acting to protect their kids or some foolish thing.  And I know verbal abuse is happening in every practice and every game and in every sport all across the playing fields, gyms and arena’s of the American youth sports landscape.  For many kids, it’s enough to keep them from wanting to participate.  It would have kept me from coming back.

I have no answers.  I’ve watched runners compete for years and love to be a spectator and coach.  I’ve enjoyed my own kid’s involvement and was always excited for them when good things happened and they appeared to be having fun.  But I always thought things were a little too serious and that it was a lot less fun than it had been for me when no adults were involved…and we called it ‘play’.  I have it in my head that if kids today were having fun and staying active longer, then discussions about childhood obesity would lessen.  I don’t think it will change anytime soon and I pray that the craziness of these three dads is the exception and not the rule.

Savannah joined me for the Survival Workout.  She’s really thin now that she’s away at college, but recognizes that she’s out of shape and without tone.  She can go to the fabulous facilities offered on the campus of Ohio State, but finds it inconvenient and wanted something she could do as soon as she heads out her door.  Well…I gave it to her. 

We did push-ups (I managed a new pr of 70…had to show off for my little girl), rock and log lifts, picnic table hops and fence rail dips.  She tried climbing the swing with the aid of her legs, and pull-ups which were just ‘let-downs’.  We karaokied up a hill and balanced on downed tree trunks…walking their length.  By the time we finished, she was covered in mud and her soft hands were hurting…but she was smiling and still pushing herself.

“I feel tired…but not sore.  Do you think I will be tomorrow?”

“If you’re not, it means you don’t have any muscles and you’re just plasma,” I said.

She’ll be sore.

Survival Workout: 60 minutes.
Training Heart Rate: 100-150.
Calories burned:  600.

Sixty-mile bike ride...

Sunday, March 18, 2012
Holly had a Sunday morning plan.  We’d rise early and head for the Metroparks to walk before church.  Sounded good, until I woke to the racket of another raging thunderstorm.  She cruised past the alarm, but did manage to get me out for a hike around the block after the rain stopped.

My concern was that Mimi’s creek might have jumped the bank again and undone all my engineering and sweat from the previous day.  I would find in an email later that my dyke had held and the creek was still within its banks.  The Army Corps of Engineers would be proud.

The temperatures were again climbing towards the 70’s and the roads were drying quickly.  I had the afternoon for riding before I would be expected to re-grout the shower…it needed extra time to dry I had explained…and planned to use every minute for a long ride.

My plan was to go on my 54-mile ride out to Middlefield via Pekin and Butternut Roads.  It’s typically a route with very little traffic…cars or bikes…and provides the serenity I crave with the challenges of some good climbs and much rolling terrain.  I just wanted to ride…not race…and I went out at a moderate pace and decided to hold it there.  If I felt good, I could always come back hard.

It was ideal riding weather.  There was a wind coming out of the south and blowing pretty strongly, but most of my ride was east/west and would have little effect and be at my back on the return.  I reached my destination with apparent ease and, looking at my watch, figured I still had plenty of time to extend the ride before family dinner…so I kept going. 

I crossed over State Route 608 on Windsor/Chardon Road, which seems to be the dividing line for Amish country.  There are some Amish farms before this intersection, but east of it seems to be made up almost wholly of this fascinating community.  I saw more buggies than cars over the next several miles and received friendly waves from the occupants.  I had to swerve to avoid a large snapping turtle moving slowly across the road to a pond on the other side and piles of horse manure, but seldom had to leave the middle of the road for automobile traffic.  If I hadn’t already traveled 30 miles, I would have ridden deeper into the community, but I knew I was reaching the limits…since I was only half way…of what my body was ready to do.

The ride back home was not so much tiring as it was painful from an aching neck and shoulders.  I reached home almost four hours after leaving, having ridden over sixty miles for the first time in probably 15 years.  I had no doubt that I could cover that distance and more, but always seemed to get to around fifty and turned around.  It makes me want to ride another century (100 miles), something I haven’t done since my trip to Columbus by bike in the early 90’s.  Though the discomfort in the shoulders is great, it’s worth the effort.  Maybe later this summer.

We had a dinner of baked spaghetti…a wonderful meal loaded with bacon and cheese…which we followed with a trip to our neighbor’s extended St. Patrick’s Day party and more eating.  She makes wonderful soda bread and had a crock pot full of corned beef and the only polite thing to do was to have some of both.  Besides, I’d ridden  four hours…right?

Bike Duration:  Three hours and 50 minutes.
Training Heart Rate: 120 bpm.
Calories burned during workout:  3200.

Mother Nature creates a workout opportunity...

Saturday, March 17, 2012
Thursday evening’s thunderstorm had done more than make my hiking trails in the Metroparks a quagmire, which I discovered as I pulled in Mimi’s driveway Saturday morning.  I couldn’t help but notice the small creek, normally found separating her property from her neighbor’s, moving through the middle of her lawn.  I had to start by trying to divert the portion of the creek that had hopped the bank and headed through her yard, which I did with some fancy spade work.  I then spent the remainder of the morning shoveling sludge, river bed stone, bricks, sticks and rocks into a wheelbarrow for a return to the banks of where the creek was supposed to run.  I learned quickly that a fully loaded wheelbarrow moved poorly across a sodden lawn and cut back to half loads.  The temperature quickly climbed to a St. Patrick’s Day record 77 degrees and I had the sweat to prove it.  I could see that this was likely to be my workout for the day since I’d be too pooped to do much else later, so I put my back into it and tried to burn every calorie I could.

I worked until 3 p.m. before crawling into my car for the return home and more chores.  I’d promised Holly I’d pull out the old grout in our shower, clean it with the muriatic acid Donnie and I had purchased, and re-grout for that cleaner, fresher look.  It didn’t matter how tired I was…it had to be done.  I tackled it with vigor and a face mask…muriatic acid is really nasty stuff…and after a couple of hours, had it to the point where, after an overnight drying, I could re-grout.  I’d also promised to wash the van and headed outside for fresh air and my final chore of the day.

Sometimes you get in a workout…and sometimes you just let life be your workout.  Today was the latter.  I knew I would have extremely sore hamstrings the following day from all the bending required to pick up the sticks and twigs that had covered portions of Mimi’s lawn…and that would be good pain.  The shoveling and hauling of a creek bed had exercised muscles I’d been training with the Survival Workout for the last couple of years, but adding the wheelbarrow and transporting the slop had plugged in the cardio portion to the workout.  In all, I burned more calories than I would have in a 3-hour bike ride and managed to get plenty accomplished and make a couple of folks happy…something my workouts seldom achieved.  A good day.

Yard and Shower work duration:  About 9 hours.
Training Heart Rate: 75 to 150 bpm.
Calories burned during workout:  3,000.

Home from neck surgery...

Friday, March 16, 2012
I’m a bit of a traditionalist.  Having grown up in Willoughby, its hard not to know about a little diner in the downtown area called Kleifeld’s.  It’s nothing special…kind of a throwback to the 50’s with a counter and stools that spin to go along with the 8 or so tables packed closely behind.  The food is good, fast and inexpensive and Donnie and I go there because it’s the right thing to do.

I had a ham and cheese omelet with a double order of rye toast…and 5 cups of coffee.  We drove from there to visit with John, who was home convalescing from successful neck surgery.  Though barely able to talk…they move the windpipe to conduct the operation leaving the voice raspy and soft...a welcome change from the loud and obnoxious person he normally was…he welcomed our visit.   He knew Donnie from our climbing trips to the Adirondacks.  Donnie lived in Massena, a short drive to the Adirondacks, and had joined us on several occasions.

John explained the surgery and reiterated that he would be unable to do any training of any kind for at least 60 days, after which a visit with the surgeon would determine his next move. 

“You may as well take the bike.  I won’t be riding it anytime soon,” he rasped in reference to his very sleek, carbon fiber machine.

“I’ll sweat all over it, get it dirty and then you’ll whine like a little girl,” I said before leaving.

Later that evening, I went through a tough Survival Workout over extremely muddy trails.  The storm from the previous evening had left many flooded, but my shoes were so caked that it really didn’t matter.  I tried to do a little jogging between stations to test the calf, but found it to be painful in a matter of minutes.  Not good.  Holly joined me at the conclusion of the workout for a one-hour hike.

I was hoping for a longer workout to try and undo some of the damage I’d done to myself during Donnie’s stay.  I’ll be busy trying to accomplish that over the weekend, instead.

Survival Workout: 60 minutes.  Hike duration: One hour.
Training Heart Rate: 100-150 for SW and 80 for the hike.
Calories burned:  600 for SW, 300 for the hike.

Eating fest includes Slyman's...

Thursday, March 15, 2012
Donnie and I try to maintain certain important traditions whenever we’re together.  Though cousins, we grew up as brothers, spending much of our summers together in ‘The North Country’ or upstate New York.  He always had a good appetite, but knew he took a back seat to me and never ceased to be amazed at the quantity of food I could eat…and how quickly.  French toast was always our breakfast of choice and I prepared a batch as he showered.  I had four in the pan when he sat down at the table, but when I tried to unload them on his plate…he balked.

“I can’t eat that many.   Give me three,” he said while reaching for the maple syrup (real stuff…none of that Log Cabin crap for us).

“Seriously?  You’re only going to eat three?  I’ve got batter enough to make 12 pieces,” I said.

“You can eat nine…I have faith in you.”

And I could…but with lunch at Slyman’s on the horizon, I wanted to have some room left.   I went with six to play it safe.

I’d called my brother Jeff to join us for lunch…he’d never been to Slyman’s either and he brought another first-timer, his wife Bonnie.  As we approached the store, I counted 70 people waiting in the take-out line.  I’d never seen so many in line for take-out and assumed it was the proximity to St. Pat’s…maybe they were getting warmed up.  We moved to the shorter, sit-down to eat line and were at our table in 15 minutes...where Jeff and Bonnie did the unthinkable.

“Could we split a sandwich?” Bonnie asked the waitress.

Heads turned at the tables nearby…regulars wanting to get a look at what might happen next.  I blushed, dropped my napkin and kept my head under the table until the waitress asked me what I wanted to eat. 

“Corned beef sandwich,” I called from the floor.

Donnie ordered a sandwich, as well, but I knew from comments he'd made while waiting that he wouldn’t be eating the whole thing and that he was planning to embarrass me too when he picked up a fork.

“Tell me you’re not going to eat that sandwich with a utensil,” I pleaded while watching the amateurs across from me dividing their sandwich between their two plates.

“John…it’s just too big.  You’d have to have a mouth like yours to be able to fit it around this thing…and not many people do,” Donnie replied.

"Watch...and learn."

I opened my sandwich, slipped horse radish between the many layers of finely sliced corned beef, added some mustard and then began to press down on the top of one half, squeezing until mustard was popping out and running down.  I picked it up with both hands, opened my mouth wide and took a bite.  Chewing and talking, I said “that’s how you do it,” though my enunciation was a little off since I was determined that not a crumb should escape my lips.  To my utter shame, he continued to use a fork.  I should have yanked his Man Card.

They all loved their sandwiches…how could you not?  Donnie and I headed to Home Depot from there to get the supplies we would need to re-caulk the bath tub in the kid’s bath.  One of the items was muriatic acid.  There would be no time for exercise, which was a concern since I’d already eaten, to my nearest calculation, about 8,000 calories.  And dinner was spaghetti and meatballs.

Though neither of us was very hungry, we sat down to eat dinner around 7 p.m.  By the time I’d finished my second plate, I was really uncomfortable and unable to move.  Then Donnie asked me if I was planning on making a smoothie.

“For real?  You’d drink one?”

“You make it…I’ll drink it.  Those things taste great,” he said.

I told him he’d have to drink the whole thing since I was near bursting, but when he couldn’t handle it, I poured a glass and found a place to put it.

I don’t care to know the final caloric total for the day…nor will I try to ascertain the three-day total that I’ll consume before he leaves.  I do know that whenever we’re together, I’m a kid again and all discipline heads out the door.  And to be honest, I’m glad it does and I am.

Donnie's in town...

Wednesday, March 14, 2012
I gave John a call around noon.  He was scheduled for surgery at one and I knew how important it would be for him to hear my voice before going under.

“Just so we’re clear on this…I’ll grab your bike tonight if you don’t make it,” I said. 

“I put air in the tires and it’s ready to ride,” he confirmed.

And that’s what friends are really for.

I spoke to my cousin Donnie as he was driving through Rochester.  He was on schedule for a evening arrival…and joining me on the Survival Workout. 
“I’m going to kick your ass on that thing, and carry you back to the car,” he said.

Donnie eats well and hikes all the time with his two labs, but profuse sweating for exercise in not part of his routine.  He’s an avid reader of the blog and wanted to watch me do the Survival Workout so he could finally put images with my less than descriptive writing.  I’d decided ahead that I had to be impressive and set a pr in something…preferably the push-ups.

I had time for a ride before he arrived, but I’d have to push the pace…which can be difficult on a day following a long ride like yesterday’s.  I did well and was on record pace for my Waite Hill course over the first hour of riding, but cramping in the quads began shortly after that and I needed to cut back on the speed.  I still managed to equal the fastest time I’d ever ridden the course and know that without the cramping, I’d have shaved 3 minutes off of it.  My cycling is in great shape coming off the winter…thanks to the trainer and Netflix.

Shortly after Donnie arrived, we were in the car and driving to the park.  I went to work quickly, hooking my feet on the fence rail and knocking out 64 push-ups.  I found out just how religiously Donnie reads the blog when I told him the number at the conclusion.

“Nice job, John.  Broke your pr of 60,” he said…which I’d mentioned in my last article.

I did a slightly abbreviated workout just to give him the flavor so we’d have time to visit the marsh before darkness set in.  He was determined to join me in making another eagle spotting, but it just didn’t work out.  Like me though, he loves any opportunity to stand in the woods and just enjoy anything and everything nature throws your way. 

I called John later that evening.  He was a little groggy and couldn't talk because they'd moved his windpipe to do the surgery...but he'd survived and was doing well.  I'll have to keep riding his old bike until another opporutnity presents itself.

Survival Workout: 60 minutes.  Bike duration: One hour and 43 minutes.
Training Heart Rate: 100-150 for SW and 120 for the hike.
Calories burned:  600 for SW, 1450 for the bike.

Another long ride in perfect conditions.

Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Someone remind me when I start complaining about all the rain…or the heat…or whatever I’m whining about regarding weather in the future that early March was the most amazing Spring month I’ve ever experienced since moving to Ohio.  Again…the temperature hit the 70’s and the sun was shining.  Though it continues to rain and the ground is saturated to the point that flooding is inevitable, it seems to be decent enough to do it mostly in the evenings

I climbed aboard the bike for what I hoped to make my longest ride of the year.  I headed through Waite Hill and up Kirtland/Chardon Road, but instead of following Mulberry back, I kept on going towards Chardon.  I kept an eye on the setting sun, but was alone for most of the ride on Pekin Road as I headed back towards home and made it just as the lights were coming on.  I’d managed close to three hours and the longest ride of 2012.  If I can get my calf healthy, I’ll be in good shape for the birthday triathlon in a month.

Long rides lend themselves to smoothies and I made sure to jam the blender full using two bananas, 3 Clementine’s,  blueberries, yogurt, frozen fruit and cider.  It was amazing and kept me from wanting to eat and with my cousin Donnie due in tomorrow night to surely be followed by some bad eating decisions, I needed a dinner like that.

Bike Duration: Two hours and 45 minutes.
Training Heart Rate: 120 bpm.
Calories burned during workout:  2300.

The 'Grizzly Man'

Monday, March 12, 2012
It was less than three weeks ago that I first hooked my feet on a fence rail and did my push-ups in that fashion.  I’d managed 31 at that time and figured it would be months before I was able to work my way to 100.  And then I did 50 three days ago and 60 today.  I suppose the primary muscles doing the work…those of the chest and triceps…are still actively involved and even though I’m at such a different angle and effectively adding weight…I’m moving up quickly because I’m in shape for that exercise.  I still think it’ll take some time to make it the rest of the way…but less than several months.

The trails were under water again.  I’ve been reading about ground saturation from the record rainfalls of last year and how that could lead to flooding this spring.  I can’t remember the last time we had 3-4 days without precipitation…or when the trails were really dry…but I think it’ll be two years this summer.  I’m so used to splashing through the mud that I hardly try to go around it any more.  What’s the point?  I couldn’t get across Clear Creek without submersing, so I altered my workout course and found other rocks and logs to lift.

I returned home and hopped on the trainer watching ‘Grizzly Man’ – the Tim Treadwell story as I rode.  John and I had gone to the theatre to see the movie when it came out a few years back and I remember thinking and discussing with John that the guy had a death wish and was extremely unbalanced.  My opinion changed little in the rewatching. 

For those of you unfamiliar with the story, Tim Treadwell was a self-professed protector of the Grizzly Bears of Katmai National Park for 13 years.  He spent his summers camping amongst the bears and studied them as an amateur biologist while claiming to be protecting them from…well…no one knows for sure.  He clearly crossed the line by habituating the animals to humans, going so far as to touch them during his observations.  He admitted to wanting to be one of them and in the last few years, made numerous comments that led people to believe he thought he had connected on some higher level with the animals and was accepted by them...having left the human race, which he seemed to despise…far behind.   As a Leave No Trace Master Educator, back country back packer and amateur nature photographer, I completely concur with the ‘see…but don’t be seen’ philosophy of animal encounters.  As much as possible, humans should never interfere with normal animal behavior…don’t feed, disturb, or increase their already heightened sense of tension.  Tim paid no mind to these basic principles, feeling it would seem that he knew better than the collective world with regards to animal behavior.  In any event, the show is definitely worth a watch.

Survival Workout: 60 minutes.  Bike duration: 72 minutes.
Training Heart Rate: 100-150 for SW and 120 for the hike.
Calories burned:  600 for SW, 1000 for the bike.

Perfect riding day

Sunday, March 11, 2012
I started the morning with a quick hike into the marsh hoping for a photo op with my eagle friends.  After spending about 10 minutes searching the tree tops and seeing nothing, I was forced to return and begin the rest of my day.  I know from experience that diligence will pay off, so I’ll keep visiting.

I had to pick up Heidi and drove to her place in Akron to find she wasn’t there.  I’d called her on the phone about 10 minutes earlier to tell her I was getting off the freeway and to expect me soon.  I rang her bell and called her again, but without success.  Finally she called and asked where I was.

“I’m sitting on the step in front of your door waiting for you to let me in,” I said.

“Why aren’t those animals barking?” she asked.

“Because you have a cat and a chinchilla and I’ve never heard either of them bark,” I replied.

And then she reminded me she wasn’t at her place...but at Jason’s where she’d been dog sitting...in Kent.

“Remember?  I told you a couple of weeks ago that I’d be dog sitting for Jason this weekend.”

Seriously?  She thought because she’d mentioned something to me two weeks ago in passing that I’d put that together with her request to pick her up I’d received the day before with no reference to her new location?  My computer doesn’t remember stuff for two weeks.  I’m happy when I remember to zip up my fly.

I made the extra drive, but realized it was cutting into riding time.  It was perfect weather for the bike...60’s, sunny and only a light wind.  Damn...I needed to get home.  I didn’t give her a hard time, but as soon as we arrived back in Highland Heights, I was out the door and on the bike. 

The ride was perfect and the weather could not have been better.  If the family wasn’t coming for dinner, I’d have ridden for three hours.  As it was, I had to settle for half that.  Holly was making pancakes and bacon for dinner...not exactly Paleo...so I made a giant smoothie after the ride and skipped the bacon. 

Somewhere in the middle of that day, I received a call from John that he was heading to the ER...again.

“Dude...seriously...don’t leave once you get there.  It’ll save you lots of time,” I said after he described the agony he was experiencing in the area of his rotator cuff.  He thought he might have fallen when he was suffering with the intestinal blockage the week before...but had been in such agony at the time that he didn’t remember falling.  I called him later to find that yes...it was likely torn...but to deal with it until the surgery for his neck scheduled for Wednesday.  I’m wondering if this guy is ever going to train with me again.  And John...Donnie is bringing you a bag of lollipops.

Bike Duration: One hour and 35 minutes.
Training Heart Rate: 120 bpm.
Calories burned during workout: 1330.

"I'm not angel...but I'm not a crook," Jimmy Dimora found guilty.

Saturday, March 10, 2012
Dimora Guilty!

As Gomer would say, “surprise…surprise…surprise.”  Except, maybe not.

I mean sure, everyone’s entitled to their day in court, but really Jimmy…did you think anyone was really going to buy that defense strategy?  Yeah…all those contractors, politicians, business people, and just plain folks were giving you gifts, picking up your dinner tabs, flying you to Vegas and getting you hookers because they liked you?  You were gambling a 20-plus sentence in the slammer that a jury of your peers was going to buy that story when you had 65 witnesses ready to testify what a totally corrupt MF’er you were?  And what a defense team you picked.  I mean…how does your attorney, in his closing argument to the jury say “I’m sure you’ll find my client guilty of all charges”…needing to be corrected by his co-counsel for his Freudian slip.  You picked them.

“I’m not angel, but I’m not a crook either.  I haven’t done anything that any other public official hasn’t done,” you were quoted as saying.  Well…you may be right but I’m hoping you’re wrong.  Convicted on 33 counts including racketeering.  You’ve cost this county’s tax payers a millions, tremendous embarrassment and the need to completely revamp the way the government is structured.  Congratulations…quite a legacy.

I started the run the way I’ve started everything lately…with a sore left calf.  It was okay for about 19 minutes, but then the pain started radiating…and I stopped running.  I walked for five minutes before beginning again…at a much slower rate.  I limp-ran back to the car and drove home for time on the trainer.  Even there it was giving me trouble and that means one week off running and a slow return. 

Later that afternoon Dakota and I made our way through soggy woods to the marsh.  We were standing close to the water, hidden amongst the cottontails when the immature eagle I spotted a week ago dove in front and away from me.  I managed a couple of pictures before the mother headed from a similar spot but in another direction.  I was lucky enough to capture her on film, as well.  I could see that both had only flown a short distance and found another perch where they could observe me and continue their hunt.  I hunkered down and waited, figuring I had about 30 minutes of light.  I used every minute of the sun’s last rays listening to a cacophony of red-winged black birds, geese, ducks and the scree of a large red tail hawk and waiting for another photo op…but it never came.  I could see the younger eagle 300 yards across the marsh on his perch, but he knew how badly I wanted a picture and wasn’t moving.  Dakota spooked a beaver during our wait…which spooked her and sent her scrambling back towards the woods.   I followed her out, but felt exhilarated over the time we’d spent watching and listening.

Run duration: 30 minutes.  Bike duration: 42 minutes.
Training Heart Rate: 130 running and 120 for the bike.
Calories burned:  500 running, 575 for the bike.

Keep the car in the garage...

Friday, March 9, 2012
My legs were still sore and I was debating taking a second day off, but it was so sunny and pretty in the park that I just had to do something. 

It was a Survival Workout day, but I knew I’d be doing no lower body activities, which mean ratchet up the upper body.  I started with my new style push-ups…feet hooked on top of a fence rail…and crushed my old pr by 11 by reaching 50.  I guess I’ll keep up this style until I hit 100, though that may take some time…something I hope I have in abundance.  I followed the push-ups with a set of dips and pull-ups, but I’m finding that my dip totals are way down since starting the new push-up.  Still…I’m going to exhaustion, which means I’m getting the full benefit to the muscle group regardless of the amount I can perform.

I went home after the workout thinking about getting on the trainer, but as is often the case, once I get home and get into the flow of what’s happening there, exercise is done.  Holly and I decided on pizza and a movie from Red Box, which is when the guilt of only doing the Survival Workout set in.

“How about we hold off on ordering that pizza right away,” I said.  “I’m going to walk up to Red Box to pick up the movie instead of driving and then hike over to the grocery store to get some more bananas.”

It’s only a mile and a half to the Walgreen where I pick up the movies and the grocery store is across the street.  It wasn’t strenuous walking…but it was better than driving the car and I needed something if I was going to eat that fatty pizza again.  I slung my daypack over my shoulder and started out the door to see how quickly I could make the round trip.

It took around 45 minutes to walk the three miles to and from my shopping destinations.  It felt pretty good to load my purchases into a daypack and walk out of the grocery store knowing that I was burning calories instead of fossil fuels.  I do it all the time…climb in my car for trips under two miles.  What a waste of an opportunity.  With the way Jack and I are going through smoothie ingredients, I need to make this a regular practice.  I’ve always known that regular trips to the fresh food sections of the grocery store would help me cut calories…but walking to get them cuts even more and does something good for me in the process.  I really need to practice what I preach…whenever I can.  It really adds up.

Survival Workout: 60 minutes.  Hike duration: 45 minutes.
Training Heart Rate: 100-150 for SW and 80 for the hike.
Calories burned:  600 for SW,  350 for the hike.

Centurion establishes one-hour cycling record...

Thursday, March 8, 2012
I suppose as I get older, I’ll notice stories like the one concerning a 100-year old Frenchman, Robert Marchand more often.  He recently established a world one hour record for cycling by covering a hair over 15 miles in that time.  He was timed on a track in a velodrome riding a fixed gear bike but without aero bars.  Since it says he ‘established’ the world’s record, I’m guessing he may be the first centurion to attempt the feat. 

Mr. Marchand’s feat is amazing.  He’s 100 for crying out loud and should be hardly able to get up out of a chair…and he’s riding fixed gear bike on a banked track 15 mph?  You know I’ve read ‘Younger Next Year’ and believe completely in being able to keep so much of our physical fitness well into our 80’s…but this guy is another 20 years past that!  He commented that, for the past five years, he’s no longer taking rides over 62 miles.  Okay…I’m reading that to mean that at age 100, he’s still able to ride over sixty miles at a crack.  And if we can assume he’s riding slower than his world record pace for an hour, that means he’s out on a bike for probably 5 hours at a crack, on occasion. 

"Basically, I am like everybody. I am lucky that I haven’t had any major health problems. My advice to anyone, young or old, is to keep moving. I do ‘physical culture’ every day. It works out my whole body and keeps me supple. Some people when they reach 80 years old, start playing cards and they stay immobile. Not me.   I’ve never been able to keep still,” he said.  Truly…there is hope for anyone…at any age.  It’s never too late.

Unless you’re me and tuckered out from a simple 42-mile ride.  My legs were all kinds of sore and I don’t think it was from yesterday’s ride.  I’ve been having issues over the past three weeks, particularly in the muscles of my right glut and hamstring.  My left calf has been sore on the previous two runs, as well.  I felt them all…and not in a good way…during the ride and decided it was time for a ‘zero’ day. 

Yes…some guy who’s 100 would think I’m a candy-ass…but I know to listen to my body.  If I do, I’m hoping I’ll keep going and maybe be like him someday.

A very tough, windy ride...

Wednesday, March 07, 2012
I visited John in the hospital again and found him playing with his internet connection through the wide screen TV mounted on the wall at the end of his bed.  He was struggling because the remote was acting nothing like a mouse.

“You try it,” he said, handing it off.

Well…I went right to my blog.  I wanted to see it on the big screen and it would give him the chance to read about himself since I’d immortalized him twice in two days.  I found it and watched as ‘Back to Basics’ came to life on his huge monitor.  He began reading…and contradicting.

“I’ve told you before but I suppose it bears repeating…it’s my blog and I write whatever I want to.  You want an opportunity to rebut…write your own,” I said.

When I arrived home after work, I was still trying to decide which course I would take on my bike ride.  The winds were blowing steady and gusting over 40 mph…normally a signal for all cyclists to take a day off…but it was 60 degrees in early March.  I was riding.

I headed south and east for my Pekin Road ride hoping to get in 40 miles or more before dark.  The wind was out of the south…the direction I was traveling… and progress was difficult over the first 30 minutes.  I did what all cyclists do at this point…I cursed the wind.  This has the effect of making it turn direction…following the path of your bike…and regardless of the turns you make, it will always be in – your – face.  Lovely.

I pushed hard to try and reach a turn-around point that would get the miles I wanted and have me home before dark settled in.  I made it out past Butternut on Pekin and kept going east…beyond my turn-around time.  I’ve ridden the final miles in the dark before and knew plenty of safe side streets I could ride over the final miles to avoid trouble…so what the hell.  At 21 miles, I turned…into the wind again…and headed for home.

At the 30 mile mark fatigue overtook my efforts.  The backs of my legs were aching from the effort of climbing up Berkshire Hill and the final miles home were filled with cursing and pain.  I kept reminding myself how great it should be to be out riding instead of locked to a trainer…but my brain and body were having none of it.  When I finally pulled into the driveway about a half an hour past dark, I was shot.  I ached everywhere but this was a perfect example of “good pain”.  It was nothing more than fatigue from a tough effort and would likely be unnoticeable tomorrow…at least that’s what I was hoping.

I made a dinner of green beans, mushrooms and onions and chased it with a huge fruit smoothie.  I’d burned a lot of calories and didn’t want to put them back too quickly.  A good day.

Bike Duration: Two hours and 35 minutes.
Training Heart Rate: 120 bpm.
Calories burned during workout: 2150.

More revisions to the ever-chaning Survival Workout

Tuesday, March 06, 2012
I stopped by the hospital to check on John’s progress…and there was some.  They were giving him liquids and moving to ‘soft’ food…stuff like Jell-o, pudding, and mashed potatoes…later in the day.

“I’m almost sure a Slyman’s corned beef sandwich…one of those things about the size of my head…would be considered ‘soft’ food if you’d like me to grab one for me and you,” I volunteered.  I brought one for Jim when he’d been in the hospital…and they always made me feel better.

The doctor didn’t seem to know what Slyman’s was…but wasn’t endorsing my ‘soft’ food choice.  He needed more time away from the hospital. 

John’s neck surgery was getting pushed out by a week because of all this nonsense…which meant our training was really getting screwed up.  I may have to find another climbing partner…he’s messing with my serenity.

I’m taking renewed energy into my Survival Workout now that I’ve gotten out of the rut of same old, same old.  I began with my feet hooked on a fence rail…in the push-up position…and set a new pr of 39.  As I climbed down following the last rep, I thought about how long it might take me to get to 100 of these.  Awhile…was my closest estimation.  I immediately moved to pull-ups and followed with dips.  My dip numbers were way down…a testament to the efficiency of the new style push-ups ability to tax my muscles in a new and exhaustive way.

I did a longer Indian run through the woods…about 90 seconds of finding as many logs to hurdle as I could…before returning to the bridle trail.  I also added a 50-yard sprint at the end of my high skips…and that proved to be a great addition… and a butt-kicker.

I was about to start up the steep hill I do my karaoke’s on when I noticed a large rock at its base.  I hefted it to my shoulder…it weighed 25-30 pounds…and decided I’d carry it to the top, alternating it from shoulder to shoulder as I went.  This proved quite taxing by the end of the climb…about 3 minutes…but now the rock was at the top and unavailable for my next workout…I head off in a different direction from the crest.  I suppose I’ll have to go up and retrieve it…or get some sucker doing the workout with me to bring it back.

There are so many ways to add in new moves and exercises in the woods.  I just have to start thinking…what would make me really tired…and something comes to me to try.  Anything involving climbing, sprinting, bounding, jumping or lifting works…and there are a thousand variations and ways to execute the moves…or put them together.  It keeps it interesting and it keeps it outdoors and both of those things keep me coming back and doing it…which is the real key, of course.

I decided I needed more after the Survival Workout, so I went on a 40-minute run.  Doubling up is important with the birthday celebratory triathlon a month away…and this year with prospects of decent weather.  Clearly, John won’t be joining me, so I’ll either go it alone…or search for fresh meat.

Survival Workout: 60 minutes.  Run duration: 41 minutes.
Training Heart Rate: 100-150 for SW and 140 for the run.
Calories burned:  600 for SW, 700 for the run.