Magicians, Movies, and Mangoes

Hurricane Felicia was on it's way, downgrading all the time, and scheduled to hit O'ahu as a tropical depression on Tuesday--so on Monday night when Mark and I went out for a movie, we had the entire theatre to ourselves.

Limited seating.

20 Barca-loungers.

When the lights go down, the usher tells everyone to please recline their seats--it's mandatory.

You can bring in food and drink.

And there's a different movie five nights a week: Old, new, foreign, indie, classic, any genre you can think of.

The woman at the entry took our money, and gave us two ripe Hayden mangoes, picked from the proprietor's tree, who's great, great, great grandfather just happened to be the one to introduce Hayden mangoes to the islands.

Here's Mark, getting comfortable--with his mangoes...

Those mangoes were 'ono!

(Good movie, too. Magicians, 2007, UK: A black (and entertaining) comedy.)

Bike Adventures

Mark is having bike adventures in Washington.

On June 1st, one week after touchdown for a summer job in the capitol, he competed in the Clarendon Cup criterium in downtown Clarendon, a trendy suburb of DC.
Well, sort of.
I'm not sure he would call it “competed.”
I think for him it was more like “survived” 10 minutes on the course before being nearly lapped and pulled by the ref as the field containing the current national elite time trial champion and a former Iranian Olympian along with a coterie of 1-2 masters men who were added to Mark's wave at the last minute.
He went into the race knowing he would be lapped, but thinking he would be able to hang on for 45 minutes, get in a good high end work out, and eventually be lapped after about 25 miles.
This was before the 1-2 masters were added to his wave of Cat 3,4,5, Master's Men. On the day of the race. And, a criterium at that.
In the end, he was one of about 40 people lapped and pulled--2/3rd's of the initial field of 60—which, judging from the remainder of the summer, only served to whet his appetite.

The next day was a chipped and timed “non-competitive” ride with awards that was part of the Air Force Classic in Crystal City just before the UCI rated Pro race. 72 miles in three hours on a rainy morning. It hurt, but out of 2000 entrants, he was only one of two riders to do the highest number of laps—9--on the course. About 100 people made 8 laps. And the rest did what they could—or got smart and quit early because of the rain.

He's taken really well to Washington. Within the first week of being there, he’s already seen several familiar faces from last year's summer sojourn. Last year, Peter was kind enough to direct Mark to some of the local clubs, and this year he's already reconnected and riding and drinking beer with the boys (Peter is a dedicated DC runner—and enjoys 3k sprints on a regular basis).

Church Creek Individual Time Trial the next week, pretty much the same course and the day before the Eagleman 70.3. Hot, muggy, windy. 40K in 1:01, 7th out of 52 in category.

A few weeks after Mark's 10 minute foray into riding with the East Coast boyz, he went for a solo ride on a popular route along the WOD recreation trail—and broke a shifter cable 0 miles out, but too early for any bike shops to be open. Stuck in his 39-11, he prepared to ride his newly minted single speed, over hill and dale, 40 miles to Purcellville town, but (and this is the power of advertising on a mobile, human billboard), he spotted a rider in a “Bike Shop” jersey, flagged him down, and found a bike shop only 8 single speed miles away. Whew.

That same week he went for a ride around Haines Point, was 6 miles into it, did a nothing in particular pedal stroke—and pulled his shoe away from his cleat.
Since they were Mark's favorite cycling shoes, and a giveaway several years back from fellow Outlaw Bones—he mourned them.
But not for long.
There's nothing like a good excuse for new cycling equipment.

Next week was a DC Triclub training triathlon followed by a barbecue. 400m/26k/5k. Sold out at $5.00 and 200 entrants. Fully supported and marshaled. Definitely the right price and fun. Mark went home with a 7th overall.

After 4 weeks in DC, learning a new job, and getting into the swing of a new training routine, Mark participated in the Dextro ITU World Cup Triathlon. 100% closed course through Potomac Park, Downtown, the Mall, Capitol Hill and Penn Quarter. A great way to tour the city without the worry of traffic. Prior to the race, enough rain fell to warrant the title of DC as “the new Calcutta” (Washington Post). Rumors of strong currents, sewage run-offs, and cancellation of the practice swim lent an air of pre-race apprehension, but the swim itself turned out to be odorless and the water “tasted fine.” Mark characterized the swim as a constant stream of debris hitting him in the forehead, and the 1500 meter choppy and misty swim was impossible to sight, marked as it was by 5 buoys, with two of these obscured by a large stone bridge, and 1 buoy flagging the finish dock. It was this swim that likely cost Mark his goal of going under 2:20, but he did PR and rode his fastest 40k in a triathlon and ran his fastest 10K ever.

In July, he did the “Total 200” Double Century ride and felt good except for a lull at miles 125 to 150 and two flats during the final 8 miles.

The following weekend, was the Giro di Copi Road Race in Barnesville, MD. In his words:
“Three beautiful laps, 39 miles. Caught in a crash in the first mile, stayed upright, but then chased hard for the next five miles to catch the field. Made the selection of about 20 riders, but got dropped in a 150 degree corner, chased till eyeballs bled for about eight miles but caught the break. Cooked. Dropped on last hill, last rider shed from the finishing field. Fun.”

That same evening, he did the Rockville Twilighter 8K run in 35:07, followed by listening to a band, drinking too much beer, and getting home way too late. Recognized the name of former Texas/New Mexico runner and triathlete, “DeHeer,” as the 4th place finisher with a time of 24+, but did not locate him. After a late night, rallied the next morning to get up at 5 a.m. for an 83-mile ride.

The last weekend of his DC stay was a ride up Mt. Weather with members of the record setting RAAM mixed team. A punishing 55 miles. Followed by a very rainy Crystal City twilighter that evening. Heavy legs, but 20:52 for a 5k. Found DeHeer. Not as much free beer this time, and got back home a little earlier. 91 rolling and rainy cycling miles DC to Sugarloaf the next morning.

1500 cycling miles.
5 cycling events
2 triathlons
2 running races

That's Mark's adventures in DC.

Grumpish

So, I finish my run tonight, and I am hot and sticky and grumpy.
The cloud cover that had deceptively intimated a coolish run had, instead, supported a scirocco-like wind.
I am tired of the heat.
And I am irritated.

There's a knock on the door.
This has been happening with increasing frequency in the evening.
The front lawn, which has been growing unfettered (sorry Muffin), is attracting all manner of itinerants wanting to make a few dollars.
Generally, I ignore the knocks.
But this time, I am on the phone with T, which somehow makes me a little braver, so I pull the curtain aside to look out the window.
There's a man standing there, white T-shirt, long, brown hair in a pony tail to his mid-back, sunglasses. He has a bag over his shoulder.
I say (grumpish) "Can I help you?"
He just stands there and looks at me.
I repeat myself.
He says he can't hear me.
I raise my voice and say, I don't want want anything, please go away.
He raises his arm and points above my front door and says he wants to know if I want (something unintelligible) stripped.
I say "What?" Because whatever he is saying makes no sense. And, besides, most people want to mow the lawn, and I wasn't expecting him to point above my front door. Then, I immediately say (remember I was grumpish), "Go away, I don't want anything."
He says, "Huh? I can't hear you." Just standing there and not moving. So, I repeat myself and he says he can't hear me again. And, again, not moving.
Since I am on the phone with T, I am only partially analyzing this conversation but somewhere in the back of my head I'm sure I've had conversations through this front window--and the recipient has been able to hear me.
A bit confused but tiring of this, I drop the curtain and turn away, feeling rude, to resume my conversation with T.

When I get off the phone, it dawns on me, that perhaps the man was trying to get me to open the front door.
Do you think?

Swim Thoughts...

Having the nose piece to my goggles literally fall apart just as I touch the wall at the end of my last lap--must be some significance here.

Allergies in New Mexico--learning to sneeze under water.

Stretching my neck every chance I get--especially after hearing the story of the triathlete who damaged a disc in his neck after doing a 6000 yard session, resulting in weakness in one of his arms. Of course, I don't swim 6000 in a session...

Drills. Still feel as if I'm drowning.

Getting excited when I pass someone in the pool, then realizing that it's pretty pathetic to take satisfaction in passing someone slower than me. It's not that I'm any faster, it's just that some poor soul is caught in a time warp bubble and the slow swimming is really just a functional illusion caused by the expansion of the universe resulting in a relative decrease in velocity.... As a frame of reference, just know that everyone swims faster than me.

And, finally,
After wearing contacts for more years than I care to admit (I saved up and bought my first pair when I was 15), and wearing contacts in the pool under goggles for maybe half those years, and using them during triathlons in the early 90's and then again starting in 2001... I finally lost a lens during a race. Those goggles which broke (see above) did so just before a race, so I grabbed a pair of goggles I was unfamiliar with, squinched them on to my head and eyes so tight that there was TITANIC suction (really uncomfortable, but I'm paranoid of drowning, and felt safer keeping the water out...), so that when I pulled off the goggles, I guess a lens went with them. I didn't notice until half way into the bike when I realized I couldn't get my right eye to focus. C'est la vie. It was a lens that had been giving me trouble for a long time. Even though it was a gas permeable, permanent (not disposable), pricey little thing, I was almost glad to see it go. I went home, dug out my old contacts (dare I say, from 2006), cleaned, scrubbed and rinsed, and voila, I'm almost good as new. It's just that now, I might look at you sideways--you know, one eye popping out, angled and fractured, like Picasso in his Cubist phase....

NDT Certified!

Graduation day!

These are the people I spent three weeks with,
in a dingy Norwegian dance hall,
learning a specific neuro-rehab approach to treating central nervous impairments (e.g., stroke, brain injury, cerebral palsy).

I am now a Neuro-Developmental Technique / NDT certified therapist.
Which, in my profession, is really pretty cool.

However, better than becoming NDT certified, is what I learned in the process-and how I am using what I learned to make improvements for the people I work with.

I wanted to take the course because I work with people with significant mobility deficiencies and abnormalities--some seemingly intractable and difficult to treat--and I wanted to make more of a difference, which I can truly say I do now.
I went to the course not really knowing what to expect.
If I had known in advance how difficult the course would be, and how it would tie up my life from February through early June--I might not have done it.

But knowing what I do now, how could I ever have gone without it?

The way the course was taught, it took a long time to pull all the pieces together, integrate the concepts and information, and finally understand the big picture.

After all of the angst, sedentariness, full days in the classroom followed by late nights doing homework (with pencil and paper), now that it's done, I wish there could be more. I miss the learning and the people--and the photo (above) makes me nostalgic.

I am a changed person.

p.s. I'm front row, third from right, in the white tank top--smiling!

Where's the O2??

What do you get when you spend a week at sea level?

Breathless!!

Seriously, I can't seem to breath during exercise. I run taking, long, shuddering breaths in, and vow to myself that I will eat right, and train right, and do everything right, so long as I can get back to being able to BREATH again.

Oxygen is a beautiful thing...

I've spent 5 weeks total at sea level so far this year: 2 weeks in Florida, and 3 weeks in California. Not half weeks, or weekends, mind you, but FULL weeks. It doesn't seem like much, but the breathing part lets me know that perhaps it is adding up.

This time it seems a bit harder to recover from.
However, on the plus side, I seem to have avoided gaining too many extra pounds. Just a little spare tire around the middle (which, on someone my height, makes me look/feel like the Michelin man)...

But, I did find an article by Matt Fitzgerald that heralds a bit of weight gain as good for you during the training season.
Good for me.
I am obviously doing something right!

More weeks at sea level to follow.
This time in Hawaii.
Even if it does sabotage an upcoming race, well...
Who can blame me for going?

Sitting on a Park Bench

"Sitting on a park bench..."

Remember?

Aqualung.
Base line.
Ba da da da DAH da.
Eww.
Yuck.

I hate that song.
Always have.
There was a boy next door who used to play it in his garage.
Every day.
Like it was the only song he knew.
Which it probably was.

Recently, one of my co-workers can't seem to get it out of her head.

A few months ago she asked me to help her find the lyrics (she's learning, but still a bit technically challenged). We retrieved the lyrics, and she then added them to her arsenal of one-liners that she belts out every now and then. Silly enough, but we periodically burst into song throughout the day. We're nothing like Snow White--more like the seven dwarves, Grumpy and Sneezy. Generally we sing 70's R & B and cheesy listening, Prince, doo-wop, Ramones, whatever, and now....Aqualung.

I'm a long way out of the office now.
Gone on another jaunt to improve the technical skill of what I do.
Far enough away to get that dreaded song out of my head.

I'm completing a course I started in February of this year.
2 weeks of in class coursework, 2 months of application and homework, 1 month of application and study. And, now for the final summation and education, followed, hopefully, by graduation and certification.
In February, when I attended the initial part of this course, I spent two weeks sitting.
I gained back fat and a level of decreased fitness which took a month to recover from.

This time around, on the first day, I took a walk during the break and found a bench to sit on for lunch. It was set back from the street, in a grassy little copse.
It was worn and warped and solitary.
A perfect back drop for tricep dips, modified push ups, planks, and various poses for abdominal strengthening.

I am such an exercise-geek.
Sitting on a park bench...
Now, I can't get it out of my mind.

My Stylist

My stylist cut off over half a foot of my hair--just before he left for DC.

I told him to cut off 5 inches, then said, "No, better make that 4 inches just to make room for any mistakes."

What I really meant, was "Please cut off the damaged, dry straw at the end, but leave the good stuff.

Unfortunately, I didn't say so.

Then I pointed to some obscure place on my back--which was pretty silly on my part, since I don't have eyes in the back of my head.

So Mark, given those excellent instructions, went to work.

I figured cutting the ends of my hair would be a cinch--since by the time you get to the bottom of what I have, it's pretty thinned out and there isn't much down there.

So, after a few minutes, I got a bit impatient and said, "Aren't you done yet?"

I should have known something was up when he said, "Well, no, there's a lot of hair."

I'm not really that particular. I'd actually toyed with the idea of just clipping off the end of my braid. No matter where I go to get my hair cut, it always looks a mess, so I figured I'd just have Mark lop off the ends and be done with it.

Well, lop he did.

It took him a significant amount of time, mostly because he wanted to make sure that he did a good job, but also because he was square in the midst of the thickest part of my flowing locks--and there was a lot of hair.

When he was done and I turned around, I had to suppress my reaction at all the hair that was no longer on my head. It looked like yards, and ropes, and hanks were littered across the bathroom floor.

When we measured a random hank, it was 7 inches long.

I guess I should have known better--asking a man who seeks baldness as hairstyle.

Fortunately, hair is a renewable resource.

Better yet, I love my new hair cut.

DC Reiteration

Mark is running around getting ready for Washington DC, packing and pensive about leaving for the summer.

In the past 4 days, he's been catching up on everything he's set aside for the past several months, trying to make up for being a distracted, busy student, and get the house, cars, and us in order.

He wants to make everything the best that he possibly can.
So much so that he is focused and distracted.
So much so, that he is in danger of letting the perfect get in the way of the good.

Part of his "I'm going to fix everything before I go away for the summer" mode is being fiercely independent--wanting to take the load on his shoulders, since I've been doing most of it while he's been squirreled away with his books.

When he packs his bike, I ask him if he would like the bubble wrap and scissors.
What I get is an explosive, "NO!"
(pause)
"Well, yeah...I guess I could use some..."

Then I ask, "Do you want something to eat?"
And there it is again, "NO!"
(pause)
"Umm, I guess I'm kind of hungry..."

Finally, we simultaneously giggle at the explosiveness of Mark's "No!'s" and at the same time, Mark says, "I guess I'm being oppositional."

The rest of the day is spent with Mark saying, No, no, I really mean it. No, I'm not just being oppositional. And me just ignoring what he says anyway (which would make anybody oppositional)....

When all is said and done, Mark has a personal bag (stuffed), a carry on bag (stuffed, books, heavy), a large wheeled duffel (stuffed), and a bike box (awkward). What a load.

Of course, I get irritated and ask him why he couldn't have packed everything during the week, while I was at work, so he could sweep me off my feet on the last day we had together--but that's what Hollywood movies will do for you--give you unrealistic expectations of relationships and romance. Neither of us expected the swamp cooler to take a dive the day before, the modem to go belly up, or for Mark to spend a good amount of time in front of the computer trying to get the darn thing back on it's feet...

And, who doesn't pack up until the last minute?

My favorite example is when I flew from Hawaii to California, just so I could join my sister for a turn-around flight going back over Hawaii to Japan, where we were going to travel for almost a month. Since I only had one day in the Bay Area, I asked her to get her packing done before I got there, so we could go out and play.

Right.

When I got there, she had a giant pile of maybe's, that she hadn't sorted out yet. Somehow the decisions and packing were so difficult that she (we) were up most of the night making it happen. I had flown 2500 miles and 5 hours out of my way to join her for an all-nighter of packing--just so I could turn around the next day and almost immediately get on a flight back across the Pacific.
Not fun, and I was fried by the time we got on the flight to Japan.
But that's life.
And that's family.
And that's packing!

Airport security didn't like Mark's carry-on, and removed all of it's contents, and proceeded to send each individual item through the X-ray.
As Mark says, "So much for early check-in."
But that's life.
And that's travel.

He should be in DC by the end of the day, but he won't be done yet.
The weather report shows it's raining there and he plans on hoofing it across town on the Metro with all of his bags.
Last year, his bike got stuck in the Metro door.

I'm guessing there could be more to this story...

Sitting on my Keister...

D-r-r-at!

Just when it feels like my training is getting consistent,
and just when it feels like I am getting my fitness "sea-legs" under me,
and just when the weather is starting to get nicer (well, sort of...),
I am spending, what looks to be, about two weeks on my keister.

I spent two weeks on my keister in February.
I was in California in a dim and exceptionally drab Norwegian dance hall (think dark wood paneling, '50's style greenish linoleum flooring, and 25 watt light bulbs), learning advanced technique for neurological rehab.
I was in that room for just about 10 hours a day.
The rest of each day was spent doing hours of detailed homework.
Hours.
With a PENCIL and paper, because that's how they wanted it.

I could have done the course elsewhere, but I chose this location so I could spend time with my sister.
Hah.
She spent her time putting food in front of me, because I had so much homework each night, I couldn't take a break--and that's about all we saw of each other.

I have since found out that courses in other locations are not nearly as rigorous.
They are a week shorter and teach applied technique.
My course appears to emphasize the theoretical. By the time I am done, I will be able to expound on activation, alignment, and missing components of movement--and probably be able to propel a rocket to the moon.
But, I am not sure how my technique will be.

I sat for just about all of my waking hours.
I felt sedentary and awful.
I gained weight.
I even gained BACK fat.
It took a month of being home and getting back to work and training, to finally feel normal.

And now I am doing it again.
For the same course.
Which hasn't ended yet.
Now it's a 28 page homework assignment.
One page alone has 24 questions on it. And some of the questions have multiple sub-parts.
So, I am sitting on my keister again.
Trying to dig through and complete a massive pile of work.
All, so I can become better at what I do.

It's not quite as bad as it was in February, and I try to squeeze in what I can.

Yesterday, after a week of not running, I went out for a neighborhood jaunt from my house to the university golf course. It felt great, but my quads, suffering from dis-use, started to feel actively sore before I made it home.
However, I was OK until today, when I went for a bike ride.
Ouch.
I felt like I might not make it home, my quads were so tired and sore.

I have another 2 weeks of trying to balance homework and training.
Even though I am learning a lot, and I like what I am learning, I am frustrated at how lopsided and unhealthy my life is right now.
I can't believe I have another 2 weeks of sedentariness coming up. Plus, I have to go back for another week of actual hands-on course work.
Just thinking about it gives me traumatic stress syndrome.
I hope I come out on the other end OK.
At least, I hope I can keep off the back fat.