Thursday, November 30, 2017
“So…let’s pull that tube out of
you,” my urologist said as he entered the operating arena.
I was sitting on a table, pants
around my ankles and covered with a cloth of some kind with the body part he
wanted to operate on exposed to God and country. The nurse had given me three commands to make
the whole process less painful and I was going over them in my head. ‘Breathe deeply, wiggle your toes because
that relaxes your bladder muscles, and pee on the doctor slowly. You’ll feel like clamping shut when in puts
in the probe, but you don’t want to do that because it will make it more
painful, so just open up. The tube will
catch everything,’ she had instructed.
But there was no ‘tube’ to take
out. I’d had a stent in the last time I’d
seen him, one that had been in for ten days as part of the kidney stone
removal, and when he’d taken it out, I remembered thinking it hurt worse than
the kidney stone…which seemed impossible before it happened.
“Hold it doc! There’s no tube in my! Maybe you’re mixing me up with the guy in the
next room?” I said in a panic.
He smiled. Big joker.
Then, without as much as a ‘get ready I’m going to hurt the hell out of
you’, he shoved a tube the size of a fire engine hose where no guy wants a fire
engine hose all while directing my attention to the monitor at the side of my
head.
“See? There’s your bladder and it’s looking clean!”
I was busy looking for the
knife I was going to plunge into his neck, but must have left it in the car
with my Glock. I looked over and watched
what the camera saw as he moved it around looking for the cause of my bleeding.
“Yup. Looking good.
Nothing here to cause that blood in your urine,” he announced as he
pulled the fire hose out with a jerk.
I winced, but never made a
sound. I wanted to show him how tough I
was though that may encourage him to try harder the next time.
He told me he’d seen a cyst in
my kidney when he’d reviewed the CAT scan, but it was nothing to worry about.
“You have a kidney stone up
there, too, but it’s a small one,” he said.
“Doc…they’re all small. The last one you took out could have fit on
the head of a pin. They still hurt like
hell! And where was the blood coming
from I’d seen in my urine?” I asked.
“As well as I can figure, you
passed one of the two kidney stones you had left over from our last visit up there
and it caused the bleeding. I surprised
you didn’t have any pain,” he said.
“Well…I did today thanks to
you,” I said.
He smiled again and told me he
wanted to see me in three months. He
scheduled an ultrasound of my kidneys, ordered a blood test and told me I’d be
doing a 24-hour urine analysis which would be done on what I’d collect in a ‘jug’
for that 24-hour period. Yup…his words…a
jug. He wants to get to the bottom of
the reason I have the stones and why I was bleeding, but has ruled out polyps
for now and I’m happy about that.
I achieved my steps goal for the
month with a little to spare. I was shooting
to average 20,000 a day which would mean 600,000 for the month and I ended with
605,212. After getting only 42,000 for
the four days I spent traveling to Georgia and spending time with Jack, I figured
it was beyond me, but I managed to make up the lost 40,000 steps over the last
three weeks by going over 25,000 on five occasions.
All the walking was
eye-opening. I did none of it with a pack
on my back and since I take around 1,700 steps to the mile, I was averaging
close to 12 miles a day, which is far short of the twenty or so I would have to
average for a 5-month period to complete the Pacific Crest Trail in one
season! I have read by many thru-hikers
that one walks their way into shape over the first few weeks on the trail and
that the miles will start to come easier, but this is hard to imagine after the
month I just completed. Still...I proved
to myself once again that I’m good at accomplishing tough goals once I’ve set
and announced them. I need a
target. December’s will be announced
soon.
Hike:
Two hours.
Training
Heart Rate: 75 bpm.
Calories
burned: 700.
Bonus:
21,000 steps.
Monday,
November 27, 2017
Thanksgiving has come and gone
and tomorrow I will pay a visit to my urologist for my CAT scan to determine if
I have bleeding polyps or not. My goal
of averaging 20,000 steps a day for the month is still in play, though I managed
to get only 8,000 on Thanksgiving. Leaf
raking on Friday and Saturday at Mimi’s helped me make up most of the steps I’d
missed, though ten hours of it did leave my shoulder and elbows aching. Ahh…the beauties of getting old.
With temperatures heading for
the sixties over the next two days, I am hopeful of a bike ride or some other
serious workout. The CAT scan and
scoping may work to screw up that plan, but we will see. Otherwise, I need to pound out 23,000 steps
for the remainder of the month. My feet
are feeling the effort.
Tuesday,
November 21, 2017
“You’re supposed to be that
indestructible force in whom I can always be confident will never slow down. What’s going on with the blood in the urine
thing?”
My good friend Henry, a regular
reader of the blog, was appalled to find the chink in my armor. I explained the situation and assured him
that though I likely had some issue that would kill a mere mortal, I would
survive the storm with something akin to a Band-Aid.
I finally got a hold of the
doctor’s office and they quickly scheduled an appointment for me to see my
Urologist later in the day. I arrived at
that appointment and gave them the obligatory urine sample. They did not want to see the one I’d been
carting around since Sunday in the back of my car. What a waste of a perfectly good, and bloody,
urine sample.
Doctor Luria walked in the
office with an assistant and introduced himself.
“Have we seen each other
before?” he asked.
“The last time I saw you, you
were yanking a tube out of my penis and causing me pain that made me want to
hurl all over you…but no hard feelings, doc,” I replied.
He smiled and then asked me to
bend over and pull down my pants where upon he stuck his gloved finger where
the sun doesn’t shine and announced, “prostate is good.”
This man hates me.
“Did you have any pain while
passing the bloody urine,” he asked.
“Nope,” I said, assuming this
was a good thing.
“Okay…let’s order a CAT scan
and a scoping of the urinary tract,” he said to his assistant.
Clearly I’d pissed him off and
he was going to cause me more pain. I
countered…
“If I’d have said it hurt like
hell when I’d peed would you not have ordered those tests? Because I can change my answer right now…”
He explained that since I hadn’t
had any pain, that I likely hadn’t had a kidney stone and so he wanted to see
if I had some up there hiding and if I might have bleeding polyps, too.
“I know there are some leftover
kidney stones because you told me when you took out the last one. You said they might stay up there forever and
not cause me any problems. Let’s not go
back up in there and start them moving again,” I said, using all of my medical
courses and operating experience to convince him of the foolishness of his
plan.
Again, he smiled and ordered
the tests. He did not seem to value my
expert council in the least.
So…I’m scheduled for both tests
next week. I went home and hiked my
four-mile loop, reaching the last mile, which follows the Towpath, just as
Miggie called to say she was dropping her mother off and was heading home. It was a little after seven and I was walking
in the dark.
“How about I walk into
Peninsula and meet you at Fisher’s. It
is rib night, after all,” I said.
“You want to walk all the way
there in the dark? Won’t you be scared?”
she said.
I’d already told her how I’d
heard a lone coyote howling near the trail I’d been following along the mostly
deserted road I hiked. I may have said ‘timber
wolf’ though when I’d told her.
“Why not? I feel great and we both know I’m indestructible
and that there’s nothing on the trails scarier than me,” I replied.
I hiked into town over the next
hour making it a seven-mile hike and getting over 24,000 steps in the
process. By the time I laid down in bed
to call it a day, I will admit that my feet were feeling every one of those
steps.
Hike:
Two hours.
Training
Heart Rate: 75 bpm.
Calories
burned: 700.
Bonus:
24,000 steps.
Monday,
November 20, 2017
Once again, I went on a writing
hiatus. Not intentionally, mind you, but
I did get out of the groove while visiting Jack in Georgia. My goal of 600,000 steps for November has
become a difficult challenge because of that trip. I logged 15, 13, 10 and only 4K on the four
days I visited. One of those did include
a three-mile run, however, and that felt surprisingly good. I was concerned that running on pavement for
the first time in this century might cause me some problems, but everything
turned out okay. Since my return, I have
been pounding the trails and averaging over 23,000 steps per day to try and
make up the difference. I had 389,000
through yesterday, so I still have to average 21,000 for the remainder of the
month to achieve my goal. Then…Sunday
morning happened.
“Why are you reading about
finding blood in your urine?” Miggie asked, looking over my shoulder as I
perused WebMD.
“Because I had quite a bit of
blood in my urine when I went to the bathroom at breakfast this morning,” I
said.
She was very concerned…and so
was I, quite frankly. I’ve had several
bouts with kidney stones over the years and my first thought is that I was
about to have another attack. I had no
corresponding back pain, however, and so I was reading on worrying about all
the other possibilities. I had gathered
a sample and planned to take it with me for a doctor’s visit the next
day…provided I could get one.
Regardless, I headed out for my seven-mile hike and 23,000 steps for the
day.
I called by family doctor, a
Cleveland Clinic MD, and went on hold for the obligatory ten minutes. Once connected to the appointment desk, I
explained my condition, but admitted it was much clearer this morning.
“It’s kind of rust-colored now,
but I saved a sample from yesterday, which was full of blood,” I concluded.
“I will pass this along to the
doctor’s office and someone will call you,” she said.
And that was the last I
heard. Since I am also waiting for a
call from my heart doc with the results of my wearing the heart monitor for
thirty days following surgery (that was several months ago), I’m not too
hopeful about receiving a call. I guess
blood in urine is not enough of an emergency to return a call, but I think I’ll
follow up today. It may happen to them
all the time, but it’s the first time for me and I’d like some answers…
Hike:
60 minutes.
Training
Heart Rate: 75 bpm.
Calories
burned: 350.
Bonus:
23,000 steps.
Tuesday,
November 7, 2017
You can always tell when
someone has no clue about the difficulty of a job when they set you up to do it
without asking you first.
“Home Depot will be delivering
the new washer and drier on Monday and I figured you could hook them up. Oh…and I told them not to worry about hauling
the old ones out because I figured you could do that, too. It would have cost us $30 for them to do it!”
the Director told me.
Now bear in mind these old
units are in a basement with narrow stairs and two doors leading to the
outside. The machines would have to come
up those stairs and make an immediate turn on a small landing. Two doors would have to be removed. Another person would have to be employed to
help lift the load up and out. I would
have to then load them both onto a truck and drive them somewhere since we do
not have curb side waste removal. All
these things are known by the person asking the question, though I highly doubt
she’s ever picked up a washing machine and tried to drag it up some
stairs…without a refrigerator dolly (or with one).
I’m no shrinking violet when it
comes too hard – or risky – work, but sometimes you need to push back. I laid out all the reasons I’d just stated
and said, “…and $30 would be a hell of a bargain compared to what it would cost
us to remove them.”
She considered this for several
moments…I’m thinking the math would be about $250 for me to move it in time,
money, extra person and gas…but she considered a couple of more moments before
agreeing with my line of thinking.
Sometimes I just want to scream ‘trust me to make these HUGE executive
decisions!’ Ah well…I’m just a man,
after all.
I brought Mimi over to see the
new place. We went to dinner at Fisher’s
where I ordered the ribs, but skipped dessert.
After dropping her off back in Gates Mills and driving home, I noticed I
was still 3,000 steps short of my daily 20,000 goal. This would not do.
It was biting cold outside, but
Dakota and I when on a 2-mile hike to make up the difference. No…not a workout and those have been few and far
between lately, but I continue to eat mostly Paleo and the extra steps seem to
be helping me drop a couple of pounds.
After the latest round of home improvements are complete and I have my
cycling trainer set up in my Man Cave, I think I will get my riding mojo back
in high gear and have a good winter of conditioning.
Monday,
November 6, 2017
Dale ‘Greybeard’ Sanders broke
a 13-year old record for oldest man to hike the entire Appalachian Trail in a
single year in 2017. He is 82. And it’s not the first impressive, physical
thing he has done. In 2015, he became
the oldest person to paddle the 2,300 miles of the Mississippi River. In reading up on him, it became clear that he
has spent his entire life physically active and constantly challenging himself
and his body to do amazing feats. His
next endeavor will be to paddle the length of the Missouri River – a 3,800 mile
quest.
Why? What’s the point? Couldn’t you just hike, bike, or paddle
around the neighborhood every day and be equally as fit? Of course you could. So why does Dale do these things and more
importantly to no one else but me, why do I want to do them? I mean I really don’t know!
I had mentioned bragging rights
a couple of days ago and in the context that hiking the Pacific Crest Trail
just to brag about it was not nearly a good enough reason – or one that would
get you to the finish line. This written
by an author who had hiked the Triple Crown of long-distance, American trails
and was advising others on how to do any one of the three if that was their
plan. And it’s not the only reason I
want to do it, though I am a bit of and ego maniac, I am just struggling with
what goes on in my brain that makes me even think about doing it.
I think I may be looking for
the thing to define myself and my existence.
For many decades now, I’ve been that fitness kook guy, always trying to
do something no one else is doing. I
started on that path when I realized at an early age I was no more than an
average athlete. I didn’t hit a ball
well, sink baskets with any regularity, or run particularly fast. When I played, I won more than I lost, but
not by much. I was never going to beat
those more gifted…or determined…or both.
Nope. I could, however, go longer
or do things no one else was doing and therefore be the best at it.
Am I still doing that? I mean Tour Ohio was something I invented and
then did. Riding the perimeter of the
state on a bike, kayaking some river from source to mouth and then hiking the
Ohio/Erie Canal Towpath hadn’t been done so I tried doing it. It was challenging…and fun…and something to
build upon.
As I head into retirement, I know
I need to stay busy…and active. I do
like to write and I love to inspire others and so if I can do inspirational
things and then write about them so that someone will actually read them and
act – well – that’s a pretty good thing.
At least I think it is. In any
event, I will continue to ponder why I do what I do and report back. In the meantime, I hiked another three miles
through the results of an overnight storm that blew down 25 trees on my
trail. That’s a lot of climbing over,
under and around debris for me…and for Dakota.
It was a hell of a storm. I
pushed myself to 23,000 steps for the day and continued through six days well
ahead of my goal of 20,000 a day for the month of November. I have a long weekend coming up that will
challenge the average though. I will be
driving to Georgia on Thursday to see Jack and then back on Sunday. I see a few more 30,000-step days to make up
for what I will miss. Poor feet…
Hike:
60 minutes.
Training
Heart Rate: 75 bpm.
Calories
burned: 350.
Bonus:
23,000 steps.
Sunday,
November 5, 2017
First…I managed over 25,000
steps on Friday because, well, because I can and then Saturday it was over to
Mimi’s to see what needed to be done. I
knew that the landscaping crew had cut the acre of grass in front of her house,
but she calls it ‘the field’ and doesn’t have anything else done to it. This time, though, the grass had been too
tall and the clumps were laying heavily on the lawn.
“I don’t want you to kill
yourself out there. I know how hard
raking that damp grass is,” she said.
Well…it is a bitch, but rather
than drag it the length of the Yellow Brick Road, I decided instead to
wheelbarrow it to the tree line to the sides of the property. Excellent decision. By the time I’d raked the leaves and grass
and gathered it all for deposit, I’d managed 23,000 steps. Twenty-five would be a snap since I had the
rest of the afternoon, but I was thinking thirty – something I’d only done two
other times since Christmas when I’d received my Fitbit.
Miggie was supposed to meet me
at Horseshoe Pond, but she was tired from cleaning a house all morning with her
mom so Dakota and I plowed on to 30,000 steps alone. Between that and the heavy raking, I was
ready to collapse for the evening when I arrived home.
I ate the Paleo Salad I’d made
on Friday for dinner with thoughts of the fat I must have lost from a good,
hard day.
Sunday was not quite as
productive. I did get up and paint first
thing, but after a sausage omelet, I went to Home Depot to pick out supplies I
would need for three building projects I was doing. Once home, I got the notion that some dead
pine trees in the yard needed to come down.
As I began cutting with no plan for where the pieces would end up, it
dawned on me that I was surrounded by a national park full of dead trees that
had fallen and were decomposing for the good of the earth and that my trees
should join this circle of life. Problem
was, I needed to drag them the length of a football field to the tree line
beyond…and they were heavy. I grabbed a
long strap normally used to attach a kayak to my roof, looped it around the
base of each tree and one-by-one pulled them like a draft horse across the
field. My legs and lungs were screaming
by the time I completed the fourth and final pull, but my Fitbit said only
9,000 steps.
Sweating, exhausted and filthy,
I made my way to the porch where I announced to Miggie that I wanted to go for
a hike.
“But you’ve been working pretty
hard. Don’t you want to take it easy?”
Fair question…and yes, I did
want to take it easy. But that wouldn’t
be the ‘cowboy’ way and besides, I’d just read an article about an 82-year old
man, the oldest ever, who had completed the Appalachian Trail in one year. I had a lot of conditioning to do over the
next two years and pushing my body when it was pleading for rest was one of the
best ways to get ready. I headed out
with an umbrella in hand for a 4-mile hike.
So…thunder, lightning and rain
accompanied me. My Fitbit was acting up
and not recording steps, but I did manage to push it over 20,000 by the end of
the hike. I plopped at the kitchen table
for dinner after a shower to eat and write up construction plans for shelving
and a closet before collapsing in my chair to read more about the Pacific Crest
Trail. God help me on that trip…
Hike: 90 minutes.
Training
Heart Rate: 75 bpm.
Calories
burned: 550.
Bonus:
20,000 steps.
Thursday,
November 2, 2017
So the rains that weren’t
supposed to be continued, though it did warm up into the 60’s. After doing some more painting in the house
on a project that I’ve vowed to finish this weekend, I put Dakota on a leash
and headed out the door for a new hike I’d mapped out. Yes…I have over a hundred miles of towpath at
my disposal and never have to set foot on a road to access or use it. However, it is populated with hikers, joggers,
and cyclists and with Dakota on a leash this can all be problematic so I avoid
it. I have ridden on a road that dead
ends into a beautifully rehabbed covered bridge, now open only to foot traffic
and so I took a trail to this road and walked it for over a mile. It winds through the Park with a limited
number of homes off of it and, therefore, very little vehicle traffic. I had three cars pass me during the walk and
each waved and smiled as they went by respectfully slowly. The trees on both sides pushed up against the
road with their radiant fall colors and the silence was nearly complete. I made my way to the bridge where I picked up
a trail that led back to the towpath and to my house. It was the best and most peaceful walk I’ve
had since moving to the Cuyahoga Valley National Park and reminded me that you
can find beauty and solace in non-traditional hikes if you’re looking.
I had purchased a head lamp for
Miggie in hopes that she would come out on some hikes after dark. She tried it on and we headed for the towpath
after dinner in total darkness. This
doesn’t bother me in the least; the moon will illuminate the trail well enough
to see where I’m going and since there are no roots, rocks or other
obstructions over which I might trip, I feel entirely comfortable. Miggie, on the other hand, does not like the
dark and I found out just how much as we walked along.
“I’m freaking out! Let me hold your hand!” she said.
I accommodated and asked her
what made her feel so unsafe with me right there. She explained how, as a five-year old on
Halloween, three older teens had stopped her and stolen her candy. She had been walking alone in the dark then
and thinks maybe that’s why she still has the fear today.
We were lucky enough to have
heard several coyotes yipping and howling as we walked (I liked it, anyway) and
as we approached the path that leads to our home from the towpath, I noticed
several pairs of eyes glowing in the dark just inside the tree line.
“See those eyes?” I said as I
pointed.
She saw them and wasn’t too pleased. I moved closer expecting coyotes, but found a
mother cat and three kittens instead.
She anxiously steered me towards our street and the streetlights
illuminating the remainder of our hike.
So…probably won’t have Miggie’s
company on parts of the Pacific Crest Trail.
I will try to convince her to be part of a support team for resupply,
though. Daylight savings time is ending
and I think I’ll be doing a lot of hiking in the dark for some time.
Hike:
90 minutes.Training
Heart Rate: 75 bpm.
Calories
burned: 550.
Bonus:
25,000 steps.
Wednesday,
November 1, 2017
“…and it should hit the low
60’s with some sunshine later today here in Cleveland,” the radio announced on
my drive to work yesterday morning.
Good. I’m already sick of colder weather and when
you add the rain, I don’t want to even leave the house. I was anxious to get out and do a workout
after work in weather more attuned to the season.
Well…they lied again. Like Charlie Brown lining up the kick with
Lucy holding before yanking it away at the last second so he would fall on his
butt again, I was sure this time the report was right. Forties and rain as I drove home. I mean – really? That’s not even close. If I missed by that much when I was driving
the tractor at the farm, I’d run over a car or two parked nearby…and then
they’d fire me! Ah well…Cleveland
weather.
I painted for a couple of hours
waiting for the rains to stop, but they never did. Not even Dakota wanted to go out. I resigned myself to not having 20,000 steps
on the first day of the new month and picked up and finished my book about the
hiker on the Continental Divide.
He spent his final days of his
six-month trek plowing through snow and weather below zero in the mountains of
Montana and into Glacier National Park.
His final night in the high country found him face to face with his
first, and only, Grizzly Bear. Fortunately,
it walked away instead of eating him and he was able to complete the walk the
next day. Nothing I read about his
adventures made me inclined to walk the Continental Divide. He did his hike in 1986 and much has changed
in those thirty years to make it a more defined trail, but I’m still not
biting. I can’t get the snow and rain
out of my head, though. I’m sure I’ll be
spending countless days and nights in both in two summers.
The Houston Astros are World
Series champs for the first time in franchise history – which began for them as
the Houston Colt 45’s in 1962. Well…whoopee
doo for them. Our last World Series win,
the longest drought in Major League Baseball, will be seventy years this
summer. We had the best team in baseball
this year and the best Indians squad ever and still didn’t win. Can I live long enough to see it happen? What is the longest a human ever lived? I’ve read stuff about Moses and other Bible
stars making to 900+ years, so maybe there is hope. God help me and all Indians fans if the
weather man starts to predict us winning…
Tuesday,
October 31, 2017
Halloween. The day after Jim died in 2010. That day in 2010 was, to that time, the worst
of my life. I really had forgotten the
date and instead chose to remember my brother and celebrate his life on his
birthday – October 2nd. This
time however, I was reminded by one of the staff at the Farm who was
particularly fond of him. She asked me
how I was doing, thinking that I would be remembering Jim and I told her how I
chose to forget that day.
“That’s probably a much
healthier way to remember him,” she said.
And it was. In fact, Mitch, who knew Jim well and worked
with me, agreed that we should go out to the burn pile, get it started up, and
have our lunches out there in his memory.
He loved making fires you could see from outer space and so it would be
an excellent testament.
Anyway, I’ve been pushing
myself to get in 20,000 steps every day and was pretty sure I had over half a
million for the month. I had a small
window of opportunity before I was supposed to meet Miggie at Fisher’s for a
rib dinner. We’d have to hurry through
that and get home in time for trick or treaters at 6:30. Kathy had texted me about hiking, so I picked
her up and with Dakota in the back seat, drove to Horseshoe Pond. We were walking on Tree Farm Trail when I
mentioned how John had commented on the neat rows of pine trees through which
we were passing. He had thought they had
just grown that way, but I reminded him we were walking on property adjacent to
a Christmas tree farm, probably land donated by them to the park and that the
neat, perfectly spaced rows of pine trees were not an act of God, but planted
many years ago by some tree farmer.
“Nope…I think he’s right,” she
said.
I stopped her and pointed at
the rows to the left and right of the trail and said, “you think that these
rows of trees twelve feet apart and in perfect columns for the next 100 yards
just happened this way?”
“Sure. Why not?”
This logical question was hard
for my brain and tongue to get around.
“BECAUSE…THEY…DIDN’T!” I said.
As perfectly a logical answer.
We agreed to disagree…agreeably,
though I reminded her, “your life would be better if you’d simply accept that
because I’m a man, I’m right.” She wasn’t
buying that, either.
I finished the hike with 20,000
steps and would continue to pile them on throughout the Halloween evening. I built a fire in my mobile, metal fire pit
and had several of the neighbors over to sit in my driveway and hand out candy
to the kids on a very crisp fall evening.
A hike over to the community center netted me some candied apples from
the owners of the development and over 23,000 steps. Not a workout, but not a bad day either. I went to the bother of totaling my steps on
my Fitbit for the month and was pleased to see I had 582,483 for the
month. I’m starting to think in terms of
the 5 million steps I will have to take to complete the Pacific Crest Trail in
a five-month period of time, so I am at least half way to the monthly total I
will have to achieve. Almost none of it
was with a loaded pack, though…
Hike:
60 minutes.
Training
Heart Rate: 75 bpm.
Calories
burned: 350.
Bonus:
23,000 steps.
Thursday,
October 26, 2017
I have begun to do a lot of
reading on the ‘Triple Crown Trails’ of North America, the difficulties, the
benefits, and the reasons. Without a
doubt from what I have read, the Continental Divide is the most arduous. Its greatest challenges over the other two
would have to be its length (at 3,100 miles it is over 500 miles longer than
the Pacific Crest Trail and is almost 1,000 miles longer than the Appalachian
Trail) and the difficulty in re-supplying as there are fewer food drops
possibilities. I have settled in on the PCT and began to focus my reading there
and the writings of one author in particular has caused me to ponder. She states that you should ask yourself ‘why’
you undertake such an endeavor as a thru-hike.
“Is it for bragging rights?
Because if you do not love to walk in the woods – don’t try a thru-hike,”
she wrote.
Bragging rights? I cannot deny that there is plenty of that in
me. I remember watching the Iron Man
Triathlon for the first time and thinking if I did that people would think I
was a beast and be likely to take my fitness advice more seriously. Even riding with my cousin 20 miles from
Massena to Potsdam at age 12 was partially about showing everyone I could do
something most of them were unwilling or unable to do. I think it has gotten me to do so many things
I otherwise would not have done. Egotistical?
Yes…I can admit that.
But I also DO love walking in
the woods. In fact, there is little I
enjoy more now than the absolute peace I experience when walking, camping,
climbing, or just sitting and taking in the sights, smells and sounds of the
outdoors. So yes, if I do walk the
Pacific Coast Trail you can bet I will be bragging about it. I will also try to share my experience
through my writings and verbally with anyone who will listen for I feel
strongly that the beauty and serenity of such a trip will be something that
should be shared and encouraged. And
maybe I’ll be able to head out again or to another destination and bring along
someone who has been moved enough to experience it along with me.
I got Miggie out to do
something unusual last night, though not for the serenity but maybe more for
the reward. I told her to park her car
at Fisher’s on the way home and that I would pick her up there and drive her
home.
“We’ll walk from home to Fisher’s,
have dinner, and then drive home,” I said.
“That seems crazy. We’ll do all that exercise and then eat? Won’t that defeat the purpose?” she asked.
"You’re going to eat anyway and
this way you’ll have burned off all the calories ahead of time. Win – win,” I said.
And so we did.
Hike:
90 minutes.
Training
Heart Rate: 75 bpm.
Calories
burned: 650.
Bonus:
24,000 steps.
Wednesday,
October 25, 2017
It was ‘Burn Pile’ day at the
farm – an annual event where I burn a large pile of debris accumulated
throughout the year in the middle of a field at the edge of the farm’s
property. Normally I handle it with
Mitch, my assistant, and at some point during the day when it has burned down
to the point that we can get close, we roast hotdogs. Well…I had the notion that I should invite
the entire staff of the farm for a barbeque this year thinking that I could get
them to fix a myriad of side dishes in which we could partake. Since the pile had been sitting for a year,
much of it was wet and that meant smoke.
Not a problem for me though, since I love the smell of a good burn on my
clothes. I got it started and burning
well before heading in to the offices to let everyone it was time to come out
and get some hot dogs.
“Oh my, John, you really smell
like a campfire,” one of the women said when I entered the room.
“Yeah…isn’t it great?”
“Ewe…no…you’ll need to wash
those clothes tonight,” she said.
Stupefied, I replied, “you don’t
like the smell of campfire? I’m not
washing these clothes ever. In fact, I
may sleep in them.”
She wrinkled her nose some
more.
I knew that I’d be staying late
to handle a delivery that would require me to unload a palate from a semi
loaded with fencing material using the tractor.
This would likely make a hike impossible, so I did my best to walk,
instead of use any of the farm vehicles, throughout the day. It worked.
I had managed over 20,000 steps before leaving and added a couple more
before retiring for the evening. It
wasn’t a traditional workout, but the Fitbit kept me on task and walking. The sore shin was much better too, and so
maybe I’ll give running a try tomorrow.
Bonus:
22,000 steps.
Tuesday,
October 24, 2017
Little in life can trump being
a grandpa and I became one exactly one year ago today when Josie came into my
world. When I think of what my dad’s
parents meant to me and to the person I have become (the better parts), I can
only hope I will have some positive impact on her life as she grows. I know she will have an impact on mine.
It was, after all, my
grandparents I wanted to ride my bike 550 miles to see when I was a senior in
high school. I believe this single event
was one of the most influential in my life.
It became my first great physical challenge and taught me the meaning of
pain and discipline as they relate to achieving a goal. I know I will do more of this kind of riding
in retirement and for as long as my body allows, so that part of their
influence will last forever. I know I
will be calling upon and testing that discipline when I first strap on my
backpack and begin a journey of some five million steps it will take to
complete the Pacific Crest Trail.
Memories of my time with them are vivid and recalled often as I walk,
exercise, and work. Their work ethic and
love of family though, will be what I will cherish above all else. It drives everything I do today and in the
future and if I have one quality of which I am proud and hope to have passed
along to my children, it is this one.
So…shin splints…an old friend
and nemesis has visited again. Friend
because it is a reminder that I’ve ramped it up again, though probably too
quickly. Shin splints, in the early
stages, are just pain along the front of the leg and in the tibia, which runs
between the foot and the knee. It can
come about as a change in surface upon which you walk or run, as in moving from
trails and dirt to harder surfaces like the road or sidewalks, or when distance
or intensity increases…or both. The ‘or
both’ would describe me many times in the past, but this time I wasn’t quite so
stupid. I did begin running again
though, and thought that all the steps I take in an average day would protect
me and allow me to start with 25-30 minutes of running. Just writing this down reminds me how stupid
a plan that was even for a young athlete…and I’m none of that. I walked/limped throughout the day at work, feeling
the sharp, stabbing pain with each step.
It was a run day – I’m shooting for every other – but I knew that wouldn’t
be happening. I wanted to get Dakota out
for a walk though, and complete my 20,000 steps, so we headed for the park and
a 2-mile hike.
When I returned home, I did
what you’re supposed to do, having skipped the ‘rest it’ part. With an ice pack wrapped around my shin, I
watched an episode of ‘The West Wing’ and again wished our President would do
the same and possibly adapt the one characteristic I look for in any leader –
the ability to tell the truth. I know…Fantasy
Island.
Hike:
45 minutes.
Training
Heart Rate: 80-100 bpm.
Calories
burned: 350.
Bonus:
21,000 steps.
Monday,
October 23, 2017
Throughout my fitness ‘career’,
I have identified myself in different ways.
I started out as a cyclist, I suppose, with my first distance ride a
20-mile excursion from Massena to Potsdam, NY with my cousin Donnie in
tow. We were maybe 12 at the time and
rode from his house to our grandparents.
We both had single gear bikes with foot brakes and balloon tires the
size of your arm. It probably took us a
couple of hours and we likely stopped at some local store for pop and ice cream
along the way.
Then the track team in ninth
grade and a couple of first place finishes in the mile had me thinking I’d be
the next Jim Ryan and break the 4-minute mile.
I was a runner.
By my senior year in high
school, I’d returned to the notion that I was a cyclist and with a friend, set
off from Willoughby, Ohio to ride bikes across Pennsylvania, into New York and to
my grandparents’ place just north of the city.
Round trip – about 1,100 miles and we carried our gear and camped along
the way.
In 1978 I watched Dave Scott
win the Hawaii Iron Man, a triathlon that encompasses a 2.4 mile open ocean
swim, 112-mile bike ride, and running a marathon – 26.2 miles. ‘I can do that,’ I said aloud and then spent
the next two years preparing myself to do it.
At different times I would
return to running or cycling only, but in later years – like right about now –
I’ve become the jack of all and the master of none. Last Friday I again launched into a running
career with a 2.5 mile slow plod along Tree Farm Trail in the Cuyahoga Valley
National Park. It was painful, but
pretty and the effort reminded me how much I enjoyed the challenge and freedom
of running. I followed that effort with another Sunday morning, which really
says something since I had to get out of a warm bed on a morning in the forties
to complete the run before heading to breakfast to meet up with my brother and
his wife at Fisher’s. I was the only one
on the trail and the morning mist that shrouded the fields through which I
passed made the effort more than worth it.
I’ve set the goal of hiking the
Pacific Crest Trail in two summers. I
will keep talking and writing about it so that I stay on-task. I’m looking hard at starting up the Paleo Diet
again and dropping some weight so that the runs, hikes and bike rides become
easier and faster. I don’t know how to
identify myself right now except to say that I’m back into a fitness ‘career’;
out of semi-retirement.
Hike:
70 minutes.
Training
Heart Rate: 80-100 bpm.
Calories
burned: 575.
Bonus:
21,000 steps.
Thursday,
October 19, 2017
I began taking the steroids for
my gout-swollen toe on Tuesday. By
Wednesday, the pain was almost entirely gone and I managed to again go over
20,000 steps for the day. Kathy was
going out of town to do a two-day ride in Shenandoah National Park, which meant
I would have cat duty over the weekend.
I stopped by on my way to hike to get any further instructions.
“I’ve got an hour before they
pick me up so I can go with you if we don’t get sweaty. I smell good right now,” she said.
She certainly smelled better
than me. I assured her it would be an
easy 3-miler since I had to spare my toe any trauma, so we headed for Horseshoe
Pond. Once on the trail, I began my pitch
for her to join me on the Minnesota hike next summer. Having someone to share the journey…and some
of the essential gear…would be a smart move.
“Thirty days and 400
miles? Are you stupid? How many a day is that?” she asked.
Quick math told me 13 miles,
but that’s if you don’t take a rest day anywhere. I told her that and she looked at me like I
was nuts. She’s probably not going to
get on board for the 2,650-mile trip on the Pacific Crest Trail either. As we walked though, I received a text from Alaska
Paul and wrote back telling him I had a plan that included him for the PCT. He texted back, ‘sounds like trouble. Let’s hear it’.
The biggest issue on
through-hikes is the resupply of food.
Setting up drops, places you can leave the trail and pick up food you’ve
mailed to yourself is the most common method.
I had a better plan. Paul could
drive ahead of me along the trail, hike back towards me since he likes hiking,
walk with me back to his camping van where I could resupply and spend a night
in relative comfort. Works for me and
now I only need to convince him.
I ended up with another 20,000
step day and very little soreness in the toe.
I think it’s time to try another run.
Hike:
70 minutes.
Training
Heart Rate: 80-100 bpm.
Calories
burned: 575.
Bonus:
21,000 steps.
Wednesday,
October 18, 2017
Though I haven’t posted
anything in two weeks, I have been working out and writing about it…in my head.
Some other things have been
crashing against the insides of my skull lately and I don’t want to blame that
for not writing, but maybe. It started
two weeks ago on Thursday night…the night the Indians won the first game of the
divisional playoffs against the Yankees, 4-0.
Savannah and I were in attendance, frustrated but happy at the outcome. It could have easily been 8-0 for the missed
opportunities. The next night Justin and
I drove to the Adirondacks listening to Tom Hamilton call the game from my car
radio well into the mountains of upstate New York. This may not seem like a big deal except that
we could not pick up our local station to hear him sixty miles outside of
Cleveland in Pa. The Indians were
playing lackluster ball again and down 8-3 with our ace, Cory Kluber, having
been shelled for six runs, before they staged a late-inning comeback to win in
13 innings. A week later, Savannah
called about the fifth and final game of the series to be played that night in
Cleveland.
“If I buy you a ticket, will
you go with me?” she asked.
I’d already jinxed the Indians
beyond recognition by telling her if they made it to the World Series I would
buy her a ticket. If you know anything
about me, you know that I believe completely in my ability to negatively affect
the outcome of any Cleveland sporting team, and particularly the Indians, by making
such statements. I really didn’t want to
go as I was having terrible misgivings, but how do you say ‘no’ to your
daughter – the one in whom you’ve instilled the kind of fanaticism now on
display?
“Of course I’ll go. I was saving money for that World Series
ticket,” I said. I always put on the
positive, brave face for the Tribe.
We went, they kind of played,
we lost. Depression. And relief.
I will admit that last year’s
team and it’s run to extra innings in Game 7 of the World Series against the
Cubs was one of the most emotionally draining experiences of my life…maybe the
most since I did sit through games 6 and 7 in Miami in 1997 with my cousin,
Donnie, and watch them lose that one in the 11th inning of the
seventh game, blowing a ninth inning, one-run lead.
For this season, the stress is
over. But it will be back and I will
suffer again. ‘Why?’ I have asked myself
over and again. The cliché ‘it’s only a
game’ comes to mind first. The fact
(okay…maybe not a ‘fact’) that I have NO impact on the outcome is second. How about we have Tito Francona calling the
shots as manager and he’s like the best manager in the history of managers and
I don’t have to second-guess anything?
But they do crawl into my skin and they do share my body and their
actions do affect my emotions to a point where I’m actually shedding tears
thinking about what might be if they win…and then when they don’t. I will admit that I actually closed my eyes
and tried to send some mental energy, as though I could, to the mound between
pitches so that Cory Kluber would have that little something extra to help him
retire the next Yankee hitter. It didn’t
work…but I REALLY thought it could. What
is wrong with that? Where does it come
from? Am I alone? And most importantly, will it always be that
way?
So life marches on in spite of
the Indians defeat. Justin and I did some
serious hiking in the Adirondacks. I
returned and continued to hike and work out including a day of the Survival
Workout. More importantly I think, I
began serious research into hiking one of America’s Triple Crowns of trails –
the Appalachian Trail, Pacific Crest Trail, or the Continental Divide Trail. I am definitely leaning towards the PCT.
I was crippled up by gout in my
big toe on my right foot last Friday and have been struggling with it ever
since. It was healing by Monday so I thought
a long hike was a good idea even though it was sore 400 yards into the
hike. I went three miles anyway and you
can guess the outcome.
The playoffs continue and the
Evil Empire Yankees lead Houston…another team that was supposed to handle them…3
games to 2. Sounds a lot like my Tribe a
year ago. There’s always next year and I
know I will remain a loyal, maniacal fan so long as I draw breath. Go Tribe.
Wednesday,
October 4, 2017
A week had come and gone since
the great depression of discovering Fisher’s was out of lobster. I had accepted my fate with a measure of
dignity, but Miggie was still out-of-sorts.
“We need to get there as soon
as they open! Five o’clock!!” she
reminded me the night before. I wasn’t
so sure that was necessary, but I also didn’t want to be in her crosshairs if
we missed out two weeks in a row. I
pledged to be there…around that time.
Justin was supposed to join us,
which would be followed by a trip to Appalachian Outfitters so that he could
buy himself a tent and backpack for the weekend trip. I was waiting at home for him. Our plan was to walk to Peninsula together,
but when he did call to say he couldn’t make it until later, I realized there
was no way I could get to the restaurant at the designated time if I was to
walk. I started out, but at a rapid
pace, dialing Miggie as I walked. She
was sure to be late. She never left work
on time.
“I’m walking out the door
now. Be home a little before five and we
can get there right on time,” she said.
Shit. “Umm…I’m walking down…remember? I don’t think I’ll be there right at five,
though. I was waiting for Jus…”
“WHAT? They’ll run OUT of lobster!”
“I’m pretty sure they
won’t. It was like 6:30 last week when
they did. I’m walking fast, though,” I
said. I was sweating, too.
“HURRY!” she said and then I
think she hung up.
I arrived at 5:17 and, not
seeing her car, breathed a sigh of relief.
She’d likely stayed a little later or got caught in the rush hour
traffic on I77. In any event, I asked
for a table and was being taken to it when I noticed her already seated in a
booth. I veered.
“You’re VERY late. I ordered for you!” she said. She had her game face on and was very serious
about her food. When it arrived, she
gave a little sigh of relief and joy and for the next twenty minutes attacked
that lobster with lust and vigor.
“You’re shooting lobster juice
and butter everywhere, Miggie. I’m going
to have to hose you down before you can get back in the car,” I said as she
cracked through shell and sucked for the remaining morsels. She looked at me and smiled. Not a word was spoken. There simply wasn’t time.
It was an okay meal in the
end. A full lobster with a baked potato
for $15.49 was a good deal, but I don’t like having to work so hard to get at
my food. I’ll stick to rib night, which
is Tuesday, from now on. At least I got
in a hike and hit my step goal for the night.
Hike:
70 minutes.
Training
Heart Rate: 80-100 bpm.
Calories
burned: 575.
Bonus:
21,000 steps.
Tuesday,
October 3, 2017
My daughter has been struggling
with problems of an existential nature.
‘Why am I here? What should I be
doing with my life? Why are my mom and
dad mortal – they won’t be here someday and I’ll have to deal with that?’ kind
of stuff. She has always been a deep
thinker; in her head and wondering about things way beyond what others might
consider normal. That, and she talks
about it.
Well…I know all those feelings
and I tend not to talk about them.
Instead, I soldier on figuring it will happen as it does or should and
I’ll deal with it. I guess that’s not
entirely true, either. Ever since my
wife of 39 years told me she was in love with another man, I’ve chewed these
questions harder than ever and the process brought me very low, indeed. I would escape in my exercise – Tour Ohio and
the Survival Workout, or a trip to the Adirondacks, but a plan for the
future? An understanding of what I was
supposed to do with my life or why things happen the way they do? Not so much.
I read the book ‘Wild’ and then
saw the movie starring Reese Witherspoon and will admit that this inspired me
to announce my intentions to hike the Continental Divide Trail once I’d
retired. Hike it, contemplate the
meaning of life…or my life, at least, and write about it. I said it out loud, wrote about it here many
times, and thought about it now and again – but really have done nothing to
start the process. Until now.
I ordered three books
on-line. Two on the Pacific Crest Trail
and one on the Continental Divide. My
thinking is changing as I do research on these two (I have decided against the Appalachian
Trail for now because, in my head, I was looking for something fewer people
have done) and I am now leaning towards the PCT. The CDT is still far from complete, with many
miles on roads, and not as clearly defined.
Most importantly though, it is 3,100 miles long, which is over 400 miles
longer than the PCT. For a
through-hiker, someone who hopes to complete the route in one continuous hike,
that could be the difference between making it or having to head home because weather conditions have made it virtually impossible.
Time is of the essence as the hikes are typically begun in the late
spring so as to avoid snow in the mountainous southern portions and/or the heat
of desert travel in the summer months, and to complete the northern portions
before winter socks in the peaks towards the end, which can happen in early
autumn. Five to six months of continuous
hiking at more than 20 miles a day is required to accomplish this task and I
have asked myself if it would be fun to push that number to 25 and have little
or no days off just to handle the CDT?
That would be a ‘no’. In fact, as
I do my research about distances, resupplying, weather conditions, and my own
physical health, I may decide that whatever I do needs to be done over two
seasons and not all at one time. For me,
the most important reason to do this hike it not to challenge myself as to
whether I can, but instead to immerse myself in my surroundings and gain as
much enjoyment as is possible from walking through some of the most beautiful
land this planet has to offer.
The Adirondacks are a few days
away and I have been alternating between hiking with and without the pack. My hip pain is almost completely gone and I
feel ready to tackle some tougher hikes.
Much will depend on Justin’s knee.
Though he cannot go in the back country with a pack, he still wants to
try hiking and climbing. I can
appreciate the foolishness of that thinking.
I do it all the time.
Hike:
70 minutes.
Training
Heart Rate: 80-100 bpm.
Calories
burned: 575.
Bonus:
22,800 steps.
Wednesday,
September 27, 2017
It was Lobster Dinner night at
Fisher’s and Miggie wanted to go there desperately. I like it, but could do without. I have been suffering with pain in the ball
of my left foot and had stopped earlier to pick up a Dr. Scholl’s insert in
hopes of mitigating the pain.
“I’ll meet you down there. I’m going to walk. Bring me a dry t-shirt if you don’t mind,” I
said when she called. The night before
I’d gotten cold while eating dinner in a sweaty t-shirt.
I had an hour before I had to
leave for the restaurant and chose to go the Deep Lock Quarry Metropark, which is within the
boundaries of Cuyahoga Valley National Park and abuts the Towpath. I’d driven past it many times and wondered
what terrain it offered and if there was a hole filled with water where I could
swim. I was thinking I might run the
trails and had put on my running shoes with one of the inserts. Once there though, I realized this might be
the place to re-create my Survival Workout.
It was loaded with heavy rocks and downed trees – two key ingredients.
I hiked the 1.5 mile loop trail
stopping to lift things as I did. There
were numerous park benches where I could prop up my feet to do push-ups and to
use for dips. The quarry itself, abandoned
since the early 20th century, had rocks the size of houses down to
ones about the size of a toaster oven. I
lifted the latter when the former wouldn’t budge.
My shoulder is still sore from
the exertion of pitching while Jack was home so I went easy on the calisthenics
and rock-lifting. Over the next hour, I
performed seven sets of lifts and none to exhaustion. I returned to the car with a mild pump,
encouraged that this would become the new home of my workout.
I’ve been slipping physically
over the past two years. I haven’t
written for some time because my workouts have been inconsistent. Jack has encouraged me to write again, but I
needed to be working out to write a workout blog – or so I’m told. I’ve lost tone and flexibility – things I don’t
want to lose as I age. I have too much
to do and a lot of it is physical. Deep
Lock should be getting a lot of press from now on.
I took a quick shower when I returned
home. I wanted to be clean once I
started sweating on the hike to Peninsula.
Though it was only in the upper 80’s, the humidity was somewhere near
what we had in the steam room of the old Cleveland Athletic Club. I was drenched when I climbed up the road from
the Towpath and into downtown Peninsula.
Miggie had brought me a dry shirt, but I didn’t want to change in the
parking lot, which was packed for Lobster night. I figured I could do it in the bathroom once
we ordered.
I walked in the door and up to
the hostess station for seating just as a waitress was writing the words ‘lobster
sold out’ on a dry-erase board.
“Couldn’t you have walked a
little faster?” Miggie said.
Well…no…I’m old and slow.
Hike:
Two hours and 10 minutes.
Training
Heart Rate: 80-100 bpm.
Calories
burned: 1,200.
Bonus:
26,300 steps.
