"I know that guy!"

Saturday, March 19, 2016

It was going to be a day of low activity as I tried to help Kimberly dealing with her fractured wrist.  She had a half cast applied in the emergency room, but would have to visit an orthopedic doctor to have a complete analysis and a permanent cast and that couldn’t happen until Monday at the earliest.  I’d gotten her some pain meds and they were helping, but hiking was out.

We went to an antique mall in Parkman, a sleepy farm community about 45 minutes from Cleveland and a favorite place of mine to take a walk down memory lane.  She seemed to enjoy finding items resembling those from her childhood, as well.  I rounded a corner from one of some 100 booths displaying all kinds of merchandise, when something jumped off the wall at me. 

“That’s a Willoughby South High varsity jacket from 1973 – which is the year I graduated,” I said excitedly.  I mean, what were the odd?

I took it from the wall noting the name ‘Rich’ on the waist band and thinking immediately of two different classmates to whom it could belong.  I looked inside the collar for clues as to its previous owner and then the pockets and struck pay dirt on the second one where a name tag was rolled up.

“Kirbus – I know this guy!  He was our all-state quarterback,” I said.  I laid it out on a chair and took a picture with my phone.  I was already planning the things I’d write when I posted it on Facebook and with whom I’d share the picture in an effort to get the information back to Rich so he could get the jacket if he wanted it. 

Exciting for me and a unique walk down memory lane, but for Kimberly, whose medications were wearing off, it was time to head for the car and more bed rest.  I did manage 10,000 steps for the day but sometimes in life you sacrifice a good workout for someone whose bones you’ve broken.

Bonus: 10,200 steps

The fall...

Friday, March 18, 2916

I’d already piled on over 11,000 steps when Kimberly and I exited the car at Headwaters Park in Geauga County.  It is one of my favorite parks – not for hiking but because it is the place I kayak when I want to see an eagle.  There are two nests on the body of water formed by a damming of the Cuyahoga River here and I have been fortunate enough to get some stunning pictures of the eagles in the past.  They should be in the nest at this point preparing to hatch a couple of eaglets. 

We walked through the camping area, which has been upgraded to include three lean-to’s with fireplaces.  We continued on the bridle trail, which winds along the lake’s edge for almost three miles, stopping to view the first eagle’s nest – a monster now as they have been expanding it for several years.  It looks to be in a very sturdy tree, which is a good thing since they will continue to add to it and nests can get up to a ton in weight.

We reached the end of the lake where Kimberly spotted an eagle in a tree a couple of hundred yards away.  On the return trip, we decided to leave the trail and hike through the woods the short distance to the water’s edge.  It required navigating a small creek, which I did first looking for the best rocks to place our feet.  I turned to point out the ones I used to Kimberly as she stood on a large, flat, sloped boulder at the edge of the creek.  And then she wasn’t standing.

Her feet went out from under her on what moss must have been on the rock.  She landed hard on her wrist and rolled to her side with her legs dangling in the water.  I hurried to her side to find she was in extreme pain, though I did not yet know where.  As I helped her to her feet, we could see her wrist was swelling.  She moaned as we walked the1.5 miles back to the car.  It didn’t take much time to decide a trip to the emergency room was in order.

Her wrist was broken and by the time we’d exited the hospital, all drug stores were closed, which meant filling a prescription for pain would have to wait until the following morning.  We did manage to get to 21,000 steps however, though I chose not to point out this plus to our hike. 

Bonus: 21,300 steps

Sixty-one

Thursday, March 17, 2016

St. Patrick’s Day was a huge holiday in my growing years because my mom, of Irish heritage, made it so.  We’d have the house decorated in green stuff and have a meal that included milk dyed green, green jello, green mashed potatoes, green peas, green cake and other assorted green food.  In fact, I thought for years everyone did this and was a little put out when Holly joined us the first time and turned her nose up at the green milk. 

In later years with the Cleveland Athletic Club, I came to dread the day.  It meant I’d be working hard from 5 a.m. to well past midnight trying to satisfy the needs of a thousand drunken members and their guests.  I did get to see the parade though, since it made its way past our entrance.

So it caught me slightly off guard when I wrote something down late in the day and included the date only then realizing it was the 17^th and it should matter.  In fact, I had a plan for dinner that included spaghetti, which seemed like a high crime. 

John and Don joined me for my special spaghetti sauce and a ‘baseball’ night.  As we have done many times before, we ate and then relaxed in front of my TV to watch what I consider the best baseball movie ever made – ‘61’.  Directed by Billy Crystal, it is the story of the assault on the most storied record in baseball, Babe Ruth’s single season home run record of 60.  Until 1961, baseball pundits considered it untouchable.  But it was an expansion year meaning that new teams had been added and the talent pool of pitchers depleted.  Sluggers like Mickey Mantle and Roger Maris would have more chances against marginal major leaguers to hit home runs – and that is just what they did.  Mantle was injured in early September and ended his season with 54 homers, but Maris continued to march towards a date with destiny, to the chagrin of most of the New York sporting world, which considered Ruth’s record sacrosanct.  Crystal paid painful attention to every detail about the season, the harassment Maris received, the mood of the fans and reporters and even Major League baseball itself.  The acting is superb and the actors can actually play baseball!  Even for people who know nothing about the game, it is entertaining and powerful. 

Because of all this, I managed to ice and splint my heel, which was sore from another 10,000 steps, but left me without the time to do a good workout.  It happens.  I’ll make it up.

Bonus: 10,600 steps.

Log lifting...

Wednesday, March 16, 2016
I’d contacted my friend Dan who heats his house with wood about picking up the tree we’d taken down at the farm.  He wanted it of course, but couldn’t get out until early next week.  This simply wouldn’t do because I’d have to look at it each day and that would make me crazy.  I jumped in the pick-up truck and backed up to the cut up sections.  I wrestled in the ones I was sure I could lift and then began on the marginal ones.  They were muddy and slippery and like a hundred pounds or more.  I bent, grabbed, hoisted, struggled, and finally pushed them onto the tailgate to be rolled in.  I had trouble even standing the final two pieces up, so they stayed in the grass.

Covered in mud, I drove to Dan’s place and dropped them off.  Once back at the farm and since I was already covered in mud, I dug my final post hole for the bluebird houses.  My muscles were aching and if that had been all I did for the day, it would have been a good workout day.  It wasn’t all, though.

I drove to the North Chagrin Reservation and began by doing 81 push-ups.  I hope to make it back to 100 by my birthday, which leaves me only four weeks.  I’ll make it if I do the workout consistently.  My back was sore from lifting the logs and I took some precaution in my back exercises, but otherwise the workout went extremely well and left me exhausted, but with over 13,000 steps.  It had become a most excellent conditioning day.

Survival Workout: 60 minutes
Training Heart Rate: 100-150 bpm.
Calories Burned:  600
Bonus:  13,100 steps

Big changes ahead...

Tuesday, March 15, 2016
I can remember quite distinctly where I was when I found out I was going to be a dad for the first time.  I was 29 and had been married for nine years and we’d been trying for five, but with no results.  There were times when I’d reached the conclusion it was never going to happen, which bothered me deeply.  But God was good to me and I was eventually blessed with four wonderful children.  I can recall thinking as Holly neared her delivery date that we would be bringing a stranger home from the hospital and wondered how Jeri, our dog, would react to the intruder.  After all, she’d been our baby since we’d gotten married!  I was telling Jason, our first born, this story as we sat at ‘The Local Tavern’ and were eating our burgers.  “And then suddenly you were there…in the delivery room…and it was like I’d known you my entire life and I had loved you forever and I’m betting you will feel the same way in just a little while.”

I had been told I was going to be a grandfather.  Theresa, his wife, was pregnant and would be delivering in October and my life as I’d lived it would change forever…and for the better. 

I was feeling tired throughout the day, though I still managed 10,000 steps.  I'd put in some heavy effort bringing down a tree, stacking the wood and digging three post holes for bluebird houses.  I was on my ride home and tried to call Jason to ask him out for dinner when I realized I couldn’t hear the phone ringing.  He picked up and then called me back and when I didn’t answer him, texted me that he could hear me on his end.  I drove to the Verizon store to have the phone checked out.

“It’s stuck on ‘headphone’, which means you probably pulled out the headphone cord too quickly and it still thinks it’s connected,” the technician explained.

Except I didn’t own headphones and none had ever been plugged into the phone...which I told him.

“Well…someone plugged in headphones because that’s the only way to trigger the ‘headphone’ switch and keep you from hearing without headphones,” he said smugly, sure that he was catching me in my lie.

“Okay…let me say this again more slowly.  I don’t have any headphones and when the phone isn’t in my hand, it’s in my pocket where I’m pretty sure I’d notice someone else reaching in and plugging in their headphones,” I said.

He looked me over, pretty sure I was still lying, but noticing a look that said 'don't f#$k with me' and plugged in his own headphones to reset the phone so I could use it.  It worked and he smiled.  “There you go…the only way to fix it and the only way it can happen.”

“Thanks,” I said, knowing it was time to either pick him up and toss him through a pane of glass or just let it go.  Clearly there was a way to trigger the ‘headphone’ switch without headphones and I was pretty sure he knew that, but I’m not a man of violence.

After dinner, I came home and went into relax mode.  I’ve been sleeping on my family room floor in front of the fireplace lately...pretty much because I can...and laid on the mattress to rest my foot and watch an episode of ‘The West Wing’.  Shortly thereafter, I was in la-la land, probably still catching up on all the sleep I’d missed over the weekend.  Maybe tomorrow I’ll be back to exercise of some kind.  For now, I will relish in the thought that I will be a grandpa and hope I can be half as good as mine was for me.
Bonus:  10,400 steps

MiraLAX...breakfast of champions

Monday, March 14, 2016
I drank my final 32 ounces of Gatorade laced with Miralax a little after 4 a.m.  By seven, it was kicking in with a vengeance as I came to the conclusion my doctor’s office was pissed off at me.  I’d been there in November and gone through the colonoscopy and probably said some stupid shit while under the influence of the drugs they’d used to knock me out.  Then I came back and they had me for another one and the lady in the office prescribed not eating for a week and giving me enough laxatives to fill the manure pit at the farm, which holds shit for 36 horses!  That’s all I could figure as I headed for the toilet and saw only Gatorade filling the bowl.  I was more than cleaned out, but would be doing this for another five hours, at least.

I waited until there was at least 30 minutes between trips to the bathroom to climb in the car and make the drive to the farm.  I figured I could hold it for that long and just sprint to the bathroom once I got there.  It kind of worked that way…but it was more of a waddle than a sprint once I arrived.  Ironically, I’d come in to push up the manure pile.  Good place for me.  After handling several small items, I got back in the car and drove home to await Kimberly’s arrival for my trip to the doc’s.  Though I’m sure I could drive after having all those drugs, I’m definitely a good driver-definitely, the office insisted I have someone to take me home.  Kimberly wanted to hear me say stupid shit and make a fool of myself and so she’d volunteered.  Silly girl.

We arrived a couple of minutes late and then I had to sign something that took away all my rights to complain later and headed back for the procedure.  The nurses and anesthesiologist recognized me from the last time and everyone was fighting over who was going to get to take care of me…or at least that’s how I saw it.  They wheeled me into the probing room and the last thing I remember before nodding off was a discussion about Trump and politics.  I suppose the place he was about to stick his camera reminded him of that man…

I came around to find Kimberly sitting with me and a nurse telling me I’d been terribly concerned about the time and Donald Trump.  “You said you support him and that you want hair just like his.”

Well sure…what bald man wouldn’t want a head of hair like that!  I challenged her to the veracity of her story, but she stuck to it.  “Tell me you didn’t record me saying that,” was all I could think.

Kimberly helped me to the car...I felt a little drunk…and we drove to Bob Evans where I downed a ham and cheese omelet with three pieces of buttered toast and a side of hashed browns.  I hadn’t had solid food in almost 72 hours and it hurt a little.  We did make it to the park a little later and enjoyed the tree frogs chirping their melody in the vernal pond on one of the bridle trails.  I ended up getting in 10,000 steps for the day, which I felt was quite an accomplishment considering my condition. 

Hike duration: 60 minutes
Training Heart Rate:75 bpm.
Calories burned: 350.
Bonus: 10,200 steps for the day.

More pooping...

Sunday, March 13, 2016
I started the morning with 10 ounces of grape-flavored magnesium citrate.  It wasn’t too bad, but I knew what it was going to do to me so I headed for the farm to take care of one chore that needed to be done.  As is always the case, I discovered a couple of more before I left.

I returned home and spent the rest of the day between the bathroom and watching movies.  At 7 p.m., I drank 32 ounces of Mirilax, which is the real kicker and by nine, I was going to the bathroom every 15 minutes until about 2 a.m.  I was getting hungry and a little raw out the back.  I nodded off for ten minutes at a time, but that was about it.  I also knew that at 4 a.m. I’d need to drink the other 32 ounces.  Well…what a joy.

Purging begins...

Saturday, March 12, 2016
With spring around the corner and Mimi’s yard a mess, I drove there first thing in the morning for the beginning of the clean-up season.  We had some coffee, but I declined the offer of a bagel because I was beginning the cleansing process for Monday’s colonoscopy. 

“I have to take pooping pills at noon or so, then drink magnesium citrate tomorrow morning and then half the Mirilax at 7 p.m. and the final 32 ounces Monday morning at 5 a.m.  There won’t be a solid thing anywhere near my digestive system by the time I take that test,” I said.

I worked for the next three hours raking and gathering downed branches and cutting down all the tiny growth things in the woods next to her drive so we can walk through that area without being molested by thorns and little prickly bushes and saplings.  From her place I headed to the farm to push up the manure pile, which was encroaching on my parking lot, mixing with the mud there and making an unholy mess.  I walked through the barn with my food radar on high alert and couldn’t miss the conversation about cookies between several volunteers.

“You did say ‘chocolate chip peanut butter cookies – right?” I asked no one in particular.

“Yes!  And they’re amazing!  They’re in the Tack Room,” one of them replied.

I burst through the door and strode quickly to the cookie tray.  I reached to grab one…or seven…when it hit me that I couldn’t eat anything solid.

“This is absolutely, inhumanely cruel,” I mumbled to myself as I turned and walked away.

I went home and took my frustrations out on the trainer, biking for fifty minutes before Kimberly showed for our hike in the park.  She’d been running and was doubling up, like me.

“I want an off-trail, tough hike,” she said, which always suited me.

We covered another 8,000 steps through dense woods, down into the ravine and around the marsh before working back up towards the car and through more woods and ravines.  My legs, tired from the hard ride on the trainer, was feeling it.  My stomach was starting to grumble too, a result of the four ducolax pills I’d ingested earlier in the afternoon. 

By seven, things were moving through me and the thought of all I had yet to ingest to continue the cleansing was less than pleasant.  I’d had my last solid food Friday night and couldn’t have any more until after the test on Monday afternoon.  I was going to be getting hungry…

Bike Duration: 50 minutes.  Yard work: Three hours.  Hike: Two hours.
Training Heart Rate: 135 biking, 90 in the yard, and 75-120 hiking.
Calories Burned: 700 biking, 1,000 for yard work, 700 hiking.
Bonus: 14,000 steps for the day.

Preparing for some serious pooping...

Friday, March 11, 2016

I had a good day of hiking around the farm and from there, drove to the park for my Survival Workout.  Normally I would have left the phone in the car, but I needed it bouncing along in my pocket to record the steps I would take.

It was a tough workout.  I managed 20 different stations and moved quickly between them to maximize the effort.  My push-ups are down, hitting only 78 on the first set, but up from the 70 I was able to do earlier in the week.  Once I hit my stride again and find myself doing the workout three times a week, I’ll probably work my way back to 100 in as little as four weeks…just in time for my 61^st birthday fitness challenge.

I climbed into the car and found that my steps were over 13,000.  Interestingly, my heel was not hurting with each step, which must be a tribute to the constant icing and the night splint I’ve been wearing to stretch out the calf muscle.

Tomorrow would be the beginning of three days of cleansing I would be doing to prepare for my second colonoscopy in three months.  The doc had found a precancerous polyp on the last test and since it hadn’t been a ‘clean’ look, he wanted to do another.  I’ll be taking three different kinds of laxatives over the next three days, which should easily get all the shit out of me.  Since I was going on liquid food Saturday and only clear liquids on Sunday, I decided I deserved something special.  I put together some rice pudding and stuck it in the oven for the 90-minute bake time and sat down to watch a movie while icing and splinting my heel.  I hate to wait for food, by when it came out of the oven and I had a cup, I decided it was worth it.  I had another couple of spoonfuls before going to bed…the end of solid food until Monday afternoon.

Survival Workout: 60 minutes.

Training Heart Rate: 100-150 bpm.

Calories Burned: 600.

Bonus: 13,500 steps for the day.

"If this call is for..."

Thursday, March 10, 2016
“I can’t get it past that wood from the cabinet.  It’s warped and sticking out,” Derek, the installation service Home Depot used when selling appliances.

They were delivering our new Whirlpool dishwasher and trying to install it, as per my sales agreement, but nothing was going well. 

“Pull it out of there and I’ll rebuild the cabinet today so maybe you can get me on the schedule for tomorrow to finish,” I said.

He agreed and gave me a number to call to schedule the install. 

After a couple of hours working with a sawzall to cut out the rotting boards and shaping a new one to replace it, I took the number Derek had given me and called for the completion of the installation.  The '800' number rang, and then the real frustration began.

 “If you are calling for xxx, dial 1.  If you are calling for yyy, dial 2…”.  I went through several choices before landing on hold with the caveat that it would only be two minutes…or so the recorded voice promised.  I looked at my watch and began the wait.  Twenty minutes later, I heard the familiar sound of a disconnect and cursed loudly.  I called back immediately, went through the seven steps necessary to be put on hold and again listened to the announcement about ‘two minutes’.  I waited ten and gave up.

I had a number from my purchase with a Home Depot customer service rep, so I gave it a call.  “If you know the three digit extension…” I did and I tried it.  I went to voicemail so I called back in and tried another option to reach a human.  After several diversions, I hung up the phone and decided it was time to get in my car and drive to Home Depot.  It was 15 minutes away, but had to be quicker than what I’d been doing.

I walked to the appliance area and immediately recognized the salesman who had sold me the dishwasher and given me the customer service person’s card. 

“Can we help you?”

And so I told my story of frustration with the phones and begged them to schedule the completion of my install, which they did for the following Tuesday.  I miss the days when humans answered phones…but I’m old and grumpy.

I’d had another 11,000-step day to go with my work frustrations, but with the rain coming down continuously since the previous evening, the park was fit only for ducks and turtles.  Kimberly stopped by for another healthy dinner…she actually complimented my Quinoa mix though alerted me to how much better and healthier it could be with avocado added.  That’s something green, I’m almost sure, though I’d been thinking maple syrup would have added more.

My foot was hurting and so I wrapped my ice pack around it for the second time after dinner and then put on the night splint, opting not to do anymore exercise.  Even cycling puts undo stress on the plantar, which I’ll deny when I talk to the doc if he’ll let me ride during recovery.  The forecast for the weekend is fifties and sporadic rain, but since I’ll be in full blown colon cleansing by Sunday, I may not get much riding done.  Second colonoscopy on Monday, which always provides some entertainment.
Bonus: 11,000 steps

"He's right here..."

Wednesday, March 9, 2016
“John...Tutti’s halter got caught on her stall door and ripped it off!” a member of the barn staff told me.  She had Tutti on her halter next to her as she explained what had happened.

“So where is Tutti?” I asked…wondering about the stall – not the horse.

“Umm…she’s right here,” she said, nodding her head to the 1,200 pounds of horse flesh three feet from my nose.

“I see the horse…I meant the stall,” I said, smiling.

Another horse had knocked its locking mechanism all to hell on the way in and so my morning was all about fixing stall doors, which threw my prearranged plan for the day out the window…but I kind of like it that way.

Though I’ve been paying extra attention to my heel with icing and a night splint, I have found that by day’s end, or on this particular day…noon…I was hurting more than usual.  My steps were about what they always are and I would accomplish 10,000 by nightfall, but I must admit that I am very pleased with m decision to have surgery. 

I picked up Dakota and drove to the park for a Survival Workout just as the rain began to fall.  I did the workout regardless and then drove home thinking I had the night free and soon would be unable to do my workouts so that maybe a ride on the trainer was in order.  I managed an hour on the bike before deciding it was enough.

I’d made a batch of quinoa, which is really about what I add to it.  I chopped up fresh onions, tomatoes, green pepper, and mushrooms to which I squeezed in some fresh garlic.  I added two pounds of ground turkey meat and spiced it in a way I could never repeat and to this concoction, I added six scrambled eggs. I then dump the quinoa into this mix and I'm done.  It’s high protein, low in fat and calories, and actually tastes pretty good. 

After all that I’d done and the great dinner I’d ingested, it seemed only appropriate that I finish it with a bowl of ice cream topped with maple syrup.  Too much good health might kill me.
Bike Duration: 60 minutes.  Survival Workout: 60 minutes
Training Heart Rate: 135 biking and 100-150 for the SW
Calories Burned: 750 biking and 600 on the SW
Bonus: 10,500 steps for the day.

Perfect riding night...

Tuesday, March 8, 2016
I jumped in my car for the ride home and immediately pushed the little button on my clock that switches the indicator from time to temperature.  72 degrees flashed and I knew I had to ride.

I know that winter isn’t over.  You can count on at least one snow AFTER St. Patrick’s Day and that’s still a little over a week away.  I’ll leave the plow on the truck until then and I know I’ll still be doing some riding on the trainer, but Spring is almost here.  There is a new wrinkle in my 61-mile birthday ride though and it’s called foot surgery.  I could go before the surgery.  If I pushed myself through a bit of pain, I could do 61 today.  The idea is to do without the pain, or so I’ve come to believe over these past few years.  Or I could just go for the ride after the surgery.  I don’t think my doc reads the blog and he’d never know.  He knows me though, particularly after the medial meniscus surgery two years ago when he told me I could ride right after surgery.  I rode 200 miles the following week and my knee swelled up and was in pain.  When he examined me and discovered how much riding I’d done, he shook his head and commented, “I should have known I needed to tell you how FAR you could ride.”

Having said all that, I won’t do anything stupid.  This has to work.  I need to get back to hiking without pain and so I’ll take four weeks off if that’s what it takes.  I know someone who will make sure I eat nothing be roots and berries so I don’t gain any weight during the non-training period, too.  I do have a semblance of patience.

I headed out for a two-hour ride in perfect conditions.  I was sweating by the third mile, something I haven’t been able to do on an outside ride since last fall.  I rode until 6:30 p.m., which is about as much daylight as we have until daylight savings time kicks in.  I also looked to my ‘steps’ monitor to see that I’d done over 11,000 once again.  My heel ached to match that effort.

Kimberly and her daughter Kennedy came over to join me for a dinner of spaghetti and mocked my use of brown sugar in the sauce, amongst other things.  They did eat it though, and Kennedy said she actually liked it.  I held off on the ice cream, at least.

After an hour of icing my heel, I strapped the night splint onto my foot.  It is designed to stretch out the calf, thus relieving some stress on the plantar.  I’d used it the night before, aggressively tightening it to get the maximum stretch for the night.  Mark had said people couldn’t tolerate it while sleeping, which I naturally took as a challenge.  I woke after several hours with my foot having gone numb from the over tightening.  I planned to do better on night two.

Bike duration: Two hours.
Training Heart Rate: 135 bpm.
Calories Burned: 1500.

Time for foot surgery...

Monday, March 7, 2016

“It’s time to get you healthy again, John,” my doctor, Mark Mendeszoon said as I sat in his office with my right shoe off.

I’ve been suffering with chronic plantar fasciitis since August of 2014.  I’d let it go for six months before visiting him the first time and receiving a cortisone injection.  This had helped for a few months, but the pain returned in earnest when I began running again.  I waited another three months before getting my second cortisone injection, which didn’t touch the pain.  I’d written to him last fall wondering about what we might try next and received a link to a website describing a procedure known as ‘tenex’.  After reading over the information, I called some people and looked at other options.  There were essentially three and I was in the office with Mark to determine which of the three I would be doing.

“I can do a whole blood injection whereby we extract your blood, centrifuge it down to get the platelets and then inject the healing platelets back into the injured area.  It’s painful, not covered by insurance, and has about a chance of working,” he said.

“Some people cut the plantar and just leave it that way.  I won’t do that, but it is an option.  What I have been doing and getting about 75-80% success in the tenex surgery.”

He described a procedure whereby he used ultrasound imaging to determine the location of the injury.  Following a small incision, he would work with a tool that would deliver ultrasonic energy to the damaged tissue and slowly scrape it away. 

“Then I close you up and put you in a boot for the next four weeks.  You can walk and work in it, but you won’t be exercising.  After that, we have a slow recovery over the next two months with lots of icing, stretching, and every evening in a night splint.  After 90 days, we’ll know if you’re healed,” he said.

“And if I’m not?”
“Then I go in and cut it out,” he said.

Convinced this was the best course of action, I scheduled surgery for March 23^rd and began to imagine how I would perform my duties, which typically included some 11,000 steps per day, for four weeks with a walking cast.  Well…I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.  For now I know that I cannot go on with a heel that won’t allow me to do normal walking, let alone hiking with a fifty-pound pack for hours on end.  My lifestyle, which Mark and I are determined I should return to, does not allow for that result. 

I did manage 16,000 steps for the day, though a bike ride was in order.  The temperatures reached into the low sixties, but the doctor appointment kept me from having the time necessary to get in a worthwhile ride.  I hiked instead with Kimberly and her daughter, Kennedy.  Spring is in the air though, and I’m aching to take those longer rides.  I will be missing the birthday ride though, unless I can come up with a way to ride with the walking cast.
Hike Duration: 60 minutes
Training Heart Rate: 75 bpm
Calories burned: 350

Bread pudding is a dessert!

Saturday, March 5, 2016
I’d managed another 11,000 steps at the farm on Friday and finished the day with an hour on the trainer.  I hadn’t done a Survival Workout in some time though, and was really starting to feel the lack of muscular training and the flexibility that comes with it.

I woke up early Saturday with no side jobs to perform and so found myself on the bike and pedaling an hour, which turned into 65 minutes so that I could finish watching the true story of college basketball player, Cory Weissman, and his return to basketball after a devastating stroke in his freshman year.  His level of persistence and determination against all odds in the movie ‘1,000 to One’ is an inspiration to anyone trying to overcome obstacles of any kind.  My ride was easier watching him struggle and it also pushed me to plan a Survival Workout for later in the day.

“I’ll meet you shortly and don’t tell me it’s too cold.  We’re going to the park for a Survival Workout and a hike,” I told Kimberly when I called.  I had been inspired and I’d force her to suffer the consequences.

The trails were particularly muddy, which meant Dakota would be a mess when returning to the car.  I pushed up, lifted rocks and logs, hopped on benches and climbed hills with what seemed like boundless energy.  I knew I’d be feeling it later, but for the moment I was showing off and driving myself.  We reached a large pavilion with a huge fireplace and exposed chimney, which I challenged Kimberly to climb.  She was more than willing, but wondered out loud about getting back down once she reached the top. 

“I’m down here.  I’ll catch you if you fall,” I said with no confidence at all.

“Like you did when I jumped to you from that ledge in the woods a few minutes ago?” she replied.

She had been standing on one and had launched herself at me and I had been totally surprised and I had missed her and she had fallen in the mud and she had read me the riot act about being incompetent.

“Well…at least I’m ready this time,” I said.

Thankfully she didn’t fall and the workout continued.  I climbed the swingset once before returning to the car and a decent shower.  Later, she made a dinner that consisted of a tomato the size of my head stuffed with mushrooms, chicken, pepper, onion, garlic, spinach and some other spices.  It was quite good and a little too healthy for my taste.  She’d also made some bread pudding, which I was primed to eat for dessert.

“It’s not dessert…it’s a breakfast meal so you don’t have to go to Kleifeld’s and eat that garbage you eat there,” she said.

I stuttered, “it’s pudding!  You always eat pudding for dessert.”

But she was adamant so I called Donnie. “If the word ‘pudding’ is in it, doesn’t that automatically make it dessert?”

“Well…John…to a man’s way of thinking – sure.  But you’re dealing with a woman, so good luck,” he said.

I had it for breakfast.
Bike duration: 65 minutes.  Survival Workout: 60 minutes.
Training Heart Rate: 135 biking and 100-150 on SW.
Calories burned: 800 biking and 500 for Survival Workout.

Hay day and lots of steps...

Thursday, March 3, 2016

It was a ‘hay’ day at the farm, which meant I’d be receiving anywhere from 180 to 270 bales of hay, each weighing around sixty pounds, that I would have to stack in one of our two lofts.  I look forward to the workout, which I figure is simply a bonus on whatever else I will be doing by day’s end.  I saw the truck pulling onto the property around two and headed for the rear lot where he would back up to the loft and the work would begin.

I couldn’t help but notice that Steve, the primary delivery guy, was alone in the cab of the truck.  I was alone on the ground waiting.  That meant it was the two of us…and it was a big load.  He typically loads the elevator with bales and his assistant works with me in the loft stacking and hauling.  Alone, I’m forced to stack in threes and then wheel it the length of the loft, dropping and slowly working the piles back towards the delivery point.  It doubles the time and the work load, but it also doubles the calorie burn and the adds a ton of steps to the effort.  Two hours later, he sent the last of 270 bales up the elevator.

“Not bad for a couple of old guys,” Steve said as we lowered the elevator, a 200-pound piece of metal and motor, to the back of his flatbed trailer.

“Don’t know who’s old here, but yeah, they don’t make them like us anymore,” I replied.

He’s in his early fifties, but a lifetime of working on a farm and do hard, physical labor has given him the body of man much younger.  I know from talking to him he doesn’t work out…but why would he?  After leaving me, he would return to his farm and load his trailer with another 270 bales and head out to do it all again.

The loft walking and all that I had done leading up to it had me at 14,700 steps, according to my IPhone application.   I went home knowing that Kimberly was walking over to join me for dinner, but realized that if I walked to her place and then returned to mine, I’d have a huge step day.  I arrived there only to find she felt it was too cold to walk with wet hair (hers…I don’t have any) and that I had topped 16,000 steps.  Between that and the hay, I was pretty sure I’d done enough. 

Sometimes men are right...

Wednesday, March 2, 2016
My 61^st birthday is a little more than a month away and if I am to do a 61-mile ride plus other feats of athletic prowess, I need to get my butt in gear.  With that in mind, I pulled the trainer from the corner and set it up in front of the TV.

An hour later and another episode of ‘Mad Men’ behind me, I headed for the shower.  I looked at my phone health application and noted that I’d also traveled 11,000 steps for the day.  Not bad.  I have found this application to be quite useful.  When I could have easily jumped into a gator at the farm to run down and pick up the mail, I instead walked thinking that I’d be adding steps to the total as I went.  On other occasions, I walk the property’s 40 acres instead of using a vehicle for the same reason.  I park farther from entrances to stores and look for chances to climb stairs and all this because a simple display on my IPhone is going to tell me I’ve gone over 10,000 steps by the end of the day.  It works and so God bless it and any device that encourages people to do more than they would have otherwise.

Kimberly suggested we have sloppy joe’s and texted me a grocery list that included an onion, green pepper, catsup, and ‘either ground turkey or ground beef’.  It was a test and I knew it.  I walked to the meat department and unhesitatingly grabbed a pound of ground turkey with its lower fat and sodium content and the highest rating on good meat to eat on the Paleo glycemic index.  Even if she hadn’t tried to trap me into buying the poorer beef choice, I’d have gone with turkey because, well, it’s cheaper too.  I’ve been using ground turkey in all of my recipes for which I used to use ground beef and haven’t noticed a taste difference.  I know I don’t miss the additional calories, either.  As she emptied the grocery bag upon her arrival though, she looked at me while holding up the sweet red onion I’d bought and frowned.

“I texted you to buy a sweet, white onion,” she said with certainty of a woman who knows men always get it wrong.

I flinched, but reached for my phone because I was sure no mention of ‘white’ had been made.  I reached the communication and breathed a sigh of relief when I noted it read ‘sweet onion’ with no mention of color.  Then I made my next mistake holding the phone for her to read.

“See?  It just says ‘sweet onion’ with no ‘white’ anywhere,” I said.

“You edited it,” she declared.  How could a woman be wrong?

Then I made my second mistake. “Really.  I edited it.  Let’s look on your phone to the ‘sent’ message and see what it says.”

She smiled…the only acknowledgement I would receive that I could possibly be right.  And then I made my third mistake.

“I told you!  Just because I’m a man doesn’t automatically make me wrong.”

She really pinches hard.
Bike duration: 60 minutes.
Training Heart Rate: 135 bpm.
Calories Burned: 750.

Leave No Trace...

Tuesday, March 1, 2016
I love that it is March.  Although we continue to get snow, it is sporadic and Spring is almost here.  I guess I’m just getting old and don’t want to deal with the cold so much anymore.  Though the winter was mild by northeast Ohio standards, it was still too sloppy on the roads to get the bike out and that is about to end. 

I did a phone interview last night with the people from ‘Leave No Trace’, which is an organization that promotes the seven principles of how to comport yourself in the outdoors so as to leave the smallest human impact possible upon the environment.  I had noticed an opening for the volunteer position of ‘State advocate for Ohio’ from a newsletter I receive from the non-profit organization several months ago and written to the director.  We had gone back and forth, but nothing came of it until a second person reached out to me this past December. 

“How long do you suppose you’d be willing to spend time working in this capacity for LNT?” Faith asked.

“Umm…probably up until they scatter my ashes on Skylight Mt. and at Livingston Point in the Flowed Lands of the Adirondacks,” I said.

“Okay…so for a while for sure,” she said.

“For sure,” I replied.

And why wouldn’t I?  For many years I’ve promoted health and fitness not only by what I say, but by walking that talk with what I do.  As I head towards retirement and what I hope to be increased time exploring the amazing parks and wilderness areas of North America, I certainly expect to ‘walk the talk’ of LNT principles.  Having the chance to share those ideas and encourage others to join me in the back country is something I would do anyways…so hell yeah I’d want to be the state advocate for as long as they’d want me.  Though I totally enjoy the serenity of outdoor experiences where I never see another human being, I recognize that the more people who find their way into the same spaces I enjoy, the better the chance they will continue to be supported, protected, and expanded.  The challenge is to make sure those who join me do so without damaging what they visit…hence the Leave No Trace principles.  The interview seemed to go well…how could she not be enthralled with me…and I’ll find out more in a week or so.

I didn’t find the time for a formal workout, but did notice I again hit 10,000 steps at the farm.  Thanks for making me walk my butt off, but I know it is only the icing and I need more of the formal workouts to be ready for a spring and summer full of activity.  In fact, I’m only six weeks from my 61^st birthday, which traditionally has meant variations of 61 built into a workout.  For sure I’ll be doing a 61 mile bike ride and should enjoy 61 minutes of kayaking.  Running is out because of the continuing plague of plantar fasciitis, but I’ll find something else.

A simple hike...a lot of steps

Monday, February 29, 2016
Though my heel continues to ache, and probably worse than ever, I keep heading for the park and a hike.  It was in the middle forties and sunny…and February…so how could I resist?  Dakota jumped in the car and we drove to pick up Kimberly, who also didn’t think any hiking opportunity in the park should be missed. 

I’ve been rediscovering trails I’ve long abandoned only because I stick to the Survival Course and because I don’t run any longer.  When running, I’d try to mix it up quite a bit and there are so many to choose from in our park.  Now with Kimberly along, I’m trying to show her just how much this park has to offer. 

We walked along Butternut Creek ridge, stopping often to stare into the depths of the ravine that little creek had cut or to simply enjoy the wind, the beauty of a hollowed out tree, and the peace that comes with walking through any woods when you take the time to let all your senses enjoy the experience.  Though we didn’t go off-trail on this hike, it is worth noting that it burns about 25% more calories than walking the designated trails.

The hike took an hour and I found that I’d done over 15,000 steps for the day by the time we reached the car.  I suppose this is the reason my heel is always sore…I average over 11,000 without a hike Monday through Friday, which never gives my plantar any opportunity to heal.  I’m going to schedule a visit to the foot doc because serious hiking is just around the corner and I don’t like limping.

We went out to eat at Willoughby Brewery and as I often do when eating out, I ordered a burger and fries.  It’s probably only once every two weeks or so and I like them.  I could do better, and I did receive some crap from my dining partner, though she had little to say when I reminded her she was sucking on a candy cane when I picked her up.
Hike Duration: 60 minutes
Training Heart Rate: 75 bpm.
Calories Burned: 350