Tour du Brockville

“Business Travel” – for me – is simply two different words synonymous with “Bike Trip”. For the past four days I have been delivering a Leadership development seminar at one of our company offices and, consequently, using the opportunity to tour the area from the comforts of my bike seat.  It’s true; the best part of travelling is my ability to throw Daisy into the back seat with me and use her to travel the back roads that I would otherwise never get to see once class lets out.

Here are some of the scenes and views in and around the Brockville area spanning nearly 150k over three days of riding including highlights from the townships of the surrounding Lyn, Mallorytown, Prescott, and New Wexford areas.

Day One encompassed a fast tempo ride out King Street E (County Rd. 2) along the St. Lawrence Seaway, past Prescott and Fort Wellington to New Wexford and back.  The going out was amazing; coming back not so much given the wind that was once on my back was now directly in my face.  The entire ride was littered with memorial battlefields, forts, commemorative plagues, historic buildings, monuments, etc.

Big old looking stone thingee by the water.

The CSL Niagara navigating the St. Lawrence Seaway outside Prescott, directly across from Fort Wellington.

Apparently this lighthouse was worth fighting over in 1873.

Gettin’ all artsy n’ shit.

“The Blue Church”. Yes, it’s really blue.

Day Two offered a longer day in the saddle to better scope out the surrounding countryside.  I found a route from the ‘Explore the Arch’ website called the Junetown Jaunt, a 56k  route through the surrounding Brockville townships of Mallorytown and Lyn.  Of course, I got a bit turned around once or twice so it actually ended up closer to 70k.  This ride was magical, with lots of farmland, quiet country roads, barns, and creepy, hidden rural shacks that you might otherwise expect to find helpless innocents shackled in the basement by axe wielding maniacs.

Climbing through billion year old rock sediment of the Frontenac Axis on Quabbin Hill (‘Cliffs of Potsdam’) where it pokes out through the younger 500 million year old layers of sediment.

Crossing Lyn Creek.

Barn and countryside along Country Rd. 2

A real “fixer-upper” along Sly Rd.

Barn along Junetown Rd.

Dare to see what’s behind Door #1? (Junetown Rd.)

Barn door along Caintown Rd.

Caintown Rd.

Day Three wasn’t even intended but since the weather was so nice, I decided to get an extra easy ride back out in the country through the township of Lyn which left an impression on me the day before.  Of course, I decided to choose the same day they were spraying the fields with fresh manure, but I digress.  Such are the hazards of country riding I suppose.

The Lyn countryside…minus the overwhelming stench of cow shit.

Okay, so I might have a wee obsession with barns.

Last one…I promise.

The view from Brockville Marina.

This is how they roll in Brockville…literally.

Until next time.

Cycling in Hindsight

I have recently acquired a new piece of equipment that has instantly become integral to my training plan this year and no doubt, will become a source of debate on our next group ride but, first, a little background.

A few seasons ago, a member of my TryForce group – let’s call him, Doug –  showed up to one of our organized group rides with this odd piece of equipment affixed to his sunglasses and was instantly on the receiving end of a flurry of good-natured ribbing from the rest of us.  Now, Doug is an accomplished cyclist and Ironman and someone who I hold in high regard and yet, just showing up with this weird thingamabob as part of his riding kit, was not, well, shall we say, immediately understood.  So, apparently, both roadies and triathletes alike tend to frown on using gizmos of this nature – this gizmo specifically.  And seeing as how triathletes are like the Batman of the athletic world in that they lust after and collect all types of crap, I found it surprising that anyone would actively voice such doubt about it.  After all, we’re talking about people here who will willingly wear aero helmets with tight, form fitting clothes so that they look almost alien-like as they cruise along on their customized $10,000 carbon fiber rocket ships.  So where this instant skepticism comes from I have no idea.  I felt for Doug, but I didn’t instantly run out and buy one for myself either…until this year.

In case, you haven’t figured it out, I’m talking about a helmet mounted rear view mirror for cycling.  I know, I know – *gasp* – you don’t actually wear one of those things do you?!  Horror of all horrors!  Well, yes, I do…now.  And I love it.  It’s actually mounted on the frame of my sunglasses and enables me to see what moolyak in a Dodge Caravan (sorry, Saskia) might be careening towards me from behind.  I think of it now as my ‘advance warning system’ while I’m out riding.  I mean, if rear view mirrors are mandatory for all other modes of vehicular transport, what’s the big deal on a bicycle?

So where does all this controversy come from in the first place?  Do people consider it unnecessary or, maybe, feel that it’s just plain dorky?  I dunno really.  I’m not into cycling or triathlon to be fashionable, so that particular argument is lost on me.  Now, don’t get me wrong, I get that you can just look over your shoulder and when you’re out riding alone I still tend to follow this practice and leave the mirror at home but, when I’m out riding with either Kelly as we train four our epic 940k cycle ride this summer, or the kid as she prepares for her first kids triathlon in July, I prefer to know what’s going on in all directions all the time.  And considering some of the close calls I had last year while training for my Ironman, well, these are just chances I’m not willing to take with my family.  So if wearing a rear view mirror while cycling qualifies me as a pedaling faux pas, then so be it.

Where we live now, there are very few sidewalks and so, when I’m out riding with my eight-year-old, we have little choice but to ride out in the street.  Now, we do live out in the country, but that doesn’t also mean that everyone drives slowly and respectfully – far from actually.  It’s true, some bumpkin driving a farm truck down rural routes is every bit as likely to not give a shit for my safety as that moron driving within city limits. An idiot driver is an idiot driver and statistics have shown that idiot drivers tend to strike from behind.  The idiots.

Now, I understand the valid arguments against the use of mirrors, the most common being that they distract the rider from the road in front of them.  But, like I said before, idiots tend to creep up from behind.  The other rationale is that they may tempt a rider to be lazy and take a lane without actually turning to look over their shoulder.  I don’t buy the distraction argument—there are so many things that constantly distract us on the road, I don’t believe adding a mirror to the mix significantly changes the equation.  And while I agree that a rider should always look over their shoulder before taking a lane (and I do), there’s no reason why adding a mirror will necessarily cause a diligent cyclist to suddenly drop their guard.  Basically, when it comes to being safe and keeping my family safe, I welcome any opportunity to see the greater world at large beyond what’s immediately in front of me.

Now, I admit that a mirror does take a little getting used to but, as it turns out, there are several other uses for this miraculous device that I hadn’t anticipated.  For example, I can use it to check and reapply my makeup, use it to clip my nose hair, send signals to aircraft flying overhead should I ever become totally stranded and lost in the wild and, if I position it just right, I can usually catch a glimpse of my girlfriend jubblies on the off chance she’s riding behind me.  And THAT, right there, makes it worth its weight in gold, folks.

So should you or shouldn’t you?  I don’t really care and I’m not about to suggest if you should or shouldn’t.  It’s a personal choice.  When I’m on my own, that’s one thing but when I’m not, I’m making the decision that provides as much safety as possible for us to enjoy ourselves by recognizing those unseen dangers that might be coming up from behind at 80kph.  And for only $9.50 at Mountain Equipment Co-op, who can afford not to?

Gym Types

Similar to those you find in a yoga studio, the gym also has very specific personality types that are prevalent at just about every visit you make.  Over the course of the week, I can visit up to four different gyms in a week depending on what my schedule is calling for, so I’ve become particularly sensitive to spotting these different characters.   In fact, part of me feels like I’m turning into some sort of freak magnetic when it comes to attracting certain weirdoes but, ‘c’est la vie’  I suppose.

Here are but a few of my favorite character types you’re bound to encounter if you frequent any gym for any length of time as, unfortunately, they’re just as inevitable as sweat (in most cases).

The ‘Know-It-All’ – This is one of my least favorite of gym-goers.  They don’t go to the gym so much to work out as they do for the opportunity to offer everyone the gracious gift of their infinite gym experience and ultimate know how.  “Hey, did you know that if you turn your feet 5 degrees outwardly you can really fire up the glutes when doing that squat.” “You should really try clenching your butt when doing bench-press – it really helps develop your core.” “Acai berry supplements get you really jacked, you should try it!”  No topic is unfamiliar turf for the Know-It-All.  But despite being well read on just about every type of possible weight or exercise trend known to mankind, for whatever reason, you will seldom see them actually working out; instead, preferring to make the rounds checking up on everyone else, correcting posture, adjusting form, making suggestions, offering advice, the lot.  They’re like the policeman of the gym.  Should you ever do something that in any way disagrees with their own personal philosophy or beliefs on how to lift weights, then they will casually saunter over like the Prodigal Child and attempt to shepherd back in the lost sheep (i.e. you) to the correct way of doing things.  They simply can’t help themselves.  These guys piss me off the most as they will break one of the cardinal rules of the Gym Commandments on a very regular basis:  ‘The person needing advice is the person who will ask for it’.

If I ever actually saw them doing anything I might be a little more tolerant but, as it typically is, I just wish they would fuck off and leave me alone.  Hey, douchebag, should I ever need tips on how to sit on my ass and eat protein bars, you’re the first one I’ll ask…okay?  Now screw off.

Mr. Happy Hour – Similar to the ‘Know-It-All’, these people are not at the gym to really work out; they’re there to socialize.  They’re the Perez Hilton of the gym.  But, to me, the gym is no place to be all Dale Carnegie and attempt to ‘win friends and influence people’.  It’s a place to – you know – work out.  Lord knows if these types of people were to actually exercise their muscles as much as they exercise their yapper then they’d be absolutely huge.  Unfortunately, they tend to congregate around and monopolize the various machines under the guise that they’re really using them but, instead, they’ll be completely engaged in full blown conversation with someone else about last night’s big UFC match, the  proper technique for doing fly’s, or maybe just the ever-changing political climate of the Middle East, whatever.  Hey, if you really want to win friends, then finish your damn sets and let me use the freakin’ machine, you moron.  I don’t give a rat’s ass about who rained down with ‘hammer blows ‘on who, I just want to finish my damn work out and get my ass home before dawn, thanks.

The Cardio Bunny – You will recognize this particular gym goer as they will inevitably have the acquired body mass of a meth addict and will spend insane amounts of time on all the various cardio machines.  There is nothing wrong or annoying with the Cardio Bunny, per se, as long as they aren’t over-monopolizing the machines by ignoring the sign-up boards when it’s busy, but, geez, eat something already!  You look like someone out of an Ethiopian famine relief commercial.  Seriously, I want to wrestle these people to the ground and stuff a candy bar into their mouth.

The Strong Man – He’ll be at least 50 and will inevitably have a moustache, but not the fabulous Freddy Mercury kind; more the “I don’t give a crap what you think about my face”  kind. He’ll also have a sizable gut as probably every meal he eats will include either bacon or beef, or some kind of hard protein.  He’ll probably look like a myocardial infarction waiting to happen.  But regardless, he can bench-press you and your entire family.  He won’t talk to anyone (which is a good thing) as he has muscle to build and iron to pump.  As far as he’s concerned, there isn’t anyone at the gym worthy of his attention as he’s been lifting since Schwarzenegger wore short pants, and he makes everyone else look feeble by comparison.  Forget asking to work in between sets, your best strategy for encountering this type of gym goer is to simply avoid them and try not to piss them off otherwise he’s likely to eat you.

The Juicer – These types will usually be male, but not always, and they tend to follow the herd mentality and hang out in hardcore gyms that cater to their lifestyle of injecting whatever toxic concoction they can get their hands on in an effort to build stupid amounts of muscle mass.  Seriously, they look like aliens.  When they’re not off lifting minivans or inquisitively poking their biceps, they’ll inevitably be hanging out in the locker room drinking protein shakes from noxious looking bottles and leafing through the pages of magazines with the word “muscle” in the title, and ogling other scantily-clad muscle men.  Yeah, not weird at all…

The Screamer – These gym goers, while also possessing traits from all the other gym personality types, are the guys who, while lifting, sound like they’re either giving birth to a harbor seal or getting a colonoscopy from a guy operating a jackhammer.  These guys are super annoying and I’d love to be able to gag them with a gym sock.  They are there to show off, and they desperately want you to notice them.  Be wary, however, as the Screamer may actually be a ‘Know-It-All’  in disguise, and their grunts of exertion may actually be a ploy to get you to notice them and therefore lure you into unsuspectingly into their infinite web of gym knowledge.

The Maggot Gagger – This is always a guy.  Women can get a touch of the BO, but only a man can smell so bad that the stench could knock over the guy who cleans the bathrooms at Taco Bell and leave a bad taste in your mouth for an hour afterward.  I think gyms should have a stink detector alarm and security personnel who escort such offenders off the premises in as humiliating a manner as possible.  It’s the only way they’ll learn.  But there’s always that guy…

The Gang – These guys travel in packs of three to five and typically fall into two categories, the ‘Noobs’, or the popular ‘GQ Gang’.  The ‘Noobs’  group together because they’re probably not confident yet (or mature enough) to actually enter the gym environs without an instant support system and they usually don’t have a clue what they’re doing.  They will show up and believe the goal of weight lifting is to show off for their friends by lifting as much weight as they can by whatever means necessary. The concept of proper lifting technique never occurs to them.  They hover together around one bench and spend about 10 percent of their time lifting (see ‘Mr. Happy Hour’) and the rest shouting encouragement to their brainless buddies who are doing the funky chicken in an effort to lift far more weight than they are capable of.  Natural selection should take care of them in due course.

The ‘GQ Gang’, while similar to the ‘Noobs’  in that they frequent the gym in groups, are different in that they aren’t necessarily inexperienced.  They just like to go to the gym together in the same way that girls like to go to the bathroom together, for whatever reason.  They will inevitably all dress the same and follow the same gym trends like wearing their Teva’s on the elliptical.  Watching these groups remind me of high school dances.

Miss Mountain Lion – Also known as the ‘Cougar’.  These women typically know their stuff.  You can see it in their eyes. They’ll hurt you if you give them the chance, and I’m not talking about your feelings. They’re usually older yet in really good shape, although parts of them are plastic and there has possibly been some strategic nipping and tucking going on at some point.  They often look amazing from the neck down, but the face is difficult to discern through the layers of makeup.  I can envision how the next morning could be a frightening experience.  Many of them work hard with the weights and they can lift as well as most men.  Like I said, they’ll hurt you.

The Flirt – Unlike ‘Miss Mountain Lion’, she’s probably not yet 25 and inevitably good looking.  She knows this.  She never makes eye contact with anyone apart from making sure you’re in fact noticing her.  She wears expensive and tight-fitting gym attire that show off a figure that has not yet experienced the ravages of gravity and her hair and makeup are done to perfection. She also wears jewelry - even perfume - to the gym.  She will show up, do 15 minutes at low intensity on a stair-climber, stretch a little, and then seek out a personal trainer to devout all his time to her.  Failing this, she will find the biggest, meathead in the place spread-eagle herself over the nearest machine and bat her eyelashes.

The Lurker – These gym types are creepy and are about as close as it comes to having a real honest to goodness stalker in my book as whatever machine you’re on, inevitably, the lurker will be waiting and looking at you disapprovingly.  If you rest for what he deems to long – even a second – he will then lean over and in a prickish tone ask ‘are you using this?’  It is blatantly obvious that if you are sitting on a bench in the gym you are using it; otherwise you would be at home sitting on the sofa.  Hey, the chances are good that if he’d just applied basic etiquette and politely asked to work in I’d let him have his go, but his obnoxious tutting and condescending manner make me want to gouge his eyes out instead.

The American Idol – It is increasingly popular that gym goers do their workouts while listening to their iPods, and given the range of unsavory noises you will hear (especially from the ‘Screamers’) I support this practice.  The problem arises when this certain type of person confuses the gym with a Karaoke bar. The American Idol has somehow arrived at the completely delusional conclusion that their tone-deaf interpretation of Thin Lizzy’s “The Boys are Back in Town”  should be appreciated and applauded by their fellow exercisers.

The Thomas Edison – I’ve learned to avoid this gym goer at all costs. There’s truly nothing scarier in the gym than the people who feel the need to invent their own exercises.  As you and everyone else go about your daily grind, these people are rolling around on a physio-ball while balancing a soft-spoken Peruvian child on their head.  Typically, they rationalize their whacked-out maneuver as an advanced way for working their ‘core.’  The truth?  It doesn’t work their core at all. In fact, it doesn’t work anything…except to bring utter chaos into a weight room.  Get these people on a treadmill and that’s when things really get dangerous.  These gym types are usually your future ‘Know-It-All’s’  in training.

To wrap up, here is a fantastic video that more or less sums up all of these personality types into four convenient stereotypes:

Tightwad Triathlete Tip #9

It’s been drilled into our heads that we must hydrate, hydrate, hydrate.  Hydrate like your life depends on it which, in a way, it does I guess.  But, regardless, it could be said that hydration is a unique discipline to triathlon all unto and in of itself, worthy of its own specific recognition and focus.  And I’m not talking about just any liquids here either like juice, coffee, tea, or whatever, I’m strictly talking about water, bitch, the free shit.  How hard should that be, right?  But then you throw in all the necessary electrolytes and all that other crap you also need and that simple equation becomes much more difficult.  And not speak for any others out there but, for me, it’s pretty freakin’ hard remembering to drink enough ‘good’ water throughout the day.  Sure, I hydrate during my workouts (refer to the linked article above), but drinking adequately throughout the rest of the day is extremely important too and this is where I often fall short.  Until now…

My problem is that basic, run-of-the-mill water tastes like, well, nothing really.  Flavor wise, it’s about as exciting as dust bunnies.  And given that I need to be consuming approximately 12-16 glasses a day, that’s a lot of dust bunnies to get excited about.  I find that hard to do, particularly when there are other more tasty options out there like juice, coffee, tea, or…*gasp*…beer.  Knowwhatimsayin?

Of course, unless you work at home like myself, or have access to a proper water cooler at your office place (which I don’t), most of us probably will rely on the easily procured bottled variety.  Still the same ‘ol boring shit, but now it even comes with a rather substantial price tag attached to it.  It never ceases to amaze me that WATER, a basic building block required for life is more costly than your average can of soda pop, or whatever carbonated sugary beverage you prefer.  It’s as insane as it is unfair.

But never fear the ‘Tightwad Triathlete’ has the perfect hydration strategy to address this concern that simply goes beyond keeping your water glass full with the Brita filter in the refrigerator, or stocking up on cases of bottled water.  The answer:

An important investment in your health.

That’s right; you’re basic household Mason jar that you can find at any neighborhood garage sale or thrift shop for mere pennies.  Here’s the plan…

Each and every day, fill several Mason jars with not only water, but a selection of fruit and, sometimes, herbs.  After an hour or two, that water is automatically transformed into something healthy, delicious and instantly ready to be consumed.  You can then dump this water into your water bottle prior to your workouts, or simply into your water glass throughout the normal workday to ensure that you maintain your adequate hydration needs.  Afterwards, simply refill the Mason jar with another water-fruit concoction and place it back in the fridge for your next visit.  If you have to go to the office, just bring a few of those jars with you and then refill them when you get home for the next day.  Easy, right?

24 hours worth of hydration ready to go (minus the bottle of gin)…

The fun part is that you get to experiment with different fruits and herbs to create something that is both unique and tasty, while it is still practically guaranteed to be 100% healthy.  With a single trip to the market you can practically acquire enough ingredients to provide virtually an infinite number of possible water concoctions to consume throughout the regular day.  So far, I have experimented with mixing together strawberries, grapes, blueberries, raspberries, lychees, lemons, limes, oranges, grapefruit, pineapple, kiwis, cucumber, mint, basil, and rosemary…and I’m nowhere near finished experimenting yet.

Just a couple of possible flavor combinations…

Besides getting your electrolytes, practically any of these partnered water flavors will also aid in your digestion and assist with internal cleansing; help you with your weight management by reducing your appetite (for those looking to shed a few pounds – like myself); and help you alleviate everything from heart burn, to bodily wrinkles, to bad breathe to indigestion or gas.  In some cases, particularly if you add a bit of honey to the mix, they will provide you with new levels of energy or even just an improvement in your overall ‘blah’ mood during the day. Hey, a bloated, dehydrated triathlete is not a happy triathlete, am I right?  The best part is, that this constant circulation of yummy water through your system will also aid in the movement through your body of all those great vitamins and minerals you are, hopefully, conscientious about consuming throughout the day.  Pretty awesome, huh?

Not bad for a few cheap Mason jars.  Peace, love, hydrate.

Confronting Father Time

In the past few years of being a regular gym goer, I’ve become quite the locker room observer of human etiquette and behavior.  Of course, this is all for anthropological purposes rather than, say, the gay kind; kind of like Jane Goodall and the chimps.  I’d love to say that, typically, most people are courteous and accommodating in the change room but, unfortunately, history has taught me that this is seldom ever the case; particularly when it comes to the old gaffers.  Today then was just another classic example of what the few and the righteous such as myself, have to deal with from time to time between workouts.

Seeing as how it was a slow day at work today, I decided to slip in a quick workout in the pool since my ass was too lazy to crawl out of bed this past Thursday.  As it turns out, the middle of the day is the perfect time to swim laps since, like, hardly anybody is there apart from the odd old lady breast-stroking in the far lane.  Beautiful!  It was the near perfect workout, marred only by one schmuck who decided it was better to swim across my lane directly in my path rather than use the ladder to exit the pool but, other than that, it was great; in and out, 3k, no muss no fuss.  Until I hit the showers afterwards that is…

As I said before, the nice thing about going to the gym in the middle of the day is that it’s not nearly as busy as the peak periods of the day that I normally go at, and that includes the locker room as well.  One might say it’s like Shangri-la when you don’t have to immediately go all Frank Dux in ‘Bloodsport’ and compete for locker space, sinks, or just a seat in the sauna.  It’s amazing; except for today apparently.

When I finish my workout I like to take my time in the shower, get composed, and what have you, before I resume the rest of my day.  It’s my “me time” (when I’m able) so to speak.  So I deposited my stuff back at my locker, grabbed my shower and body gel and headed for the showers feeling pretty good about the extra training day results.

Now, lately, my left foot has been a bit tender and stiff so I’ve taken to giving it periodic massages when the opportunity presents itself, so seeing as how the showers were empty I plopped myself down on one of those plastic mobility stools they have for those with disabilities, or whatever, and proceeded to give my foot the once over under the hot spray.  After a minute or so of, oh, so wonderful self-indulgence, another guy who might have been Father Time himself entered the shower area and, noting that I was using the stool, proceeds to give me a very distinct ‘stink eye’.  However, being the polite guy I am, and assuming that he might actually need the stool giving that his entire frame looked about as sturdy as a coat hanger wrapped in cellophane, I asked:  “Oh, sorry, do you need this?”, indicating the stool under my bare nekkid ass.  I mean, I can continue my foot massage back at my locker on the bench, no big deal really.  So I offered up the stool which Father Time readably accepted with nary a look or statement of appreciation.  ‘You’re welcome’, I thought to myself but, oh well.

So what did Father Time actually use the stool for?  Did he need it to sit on?  No.  Did he need it for support of any kind?  No.  As it turns out, he needed this particular stool to rest his towel and shaving kit on.  I know, right?  Hey, pops, I’m sorry if my inconvenient inconvenience has in some way inconvenienced your convenience, knowwhaimsayin?  You could always use the provided shelves to rest your effects on, or whatever but, hey, just as long as you’re happy.  So I laughed it off in my head as just another nutjob doing nutty shit – as one might expect in the locker room from time to time – toweled off and headed back to my locker to resume the rest of my post-workout routine.

When I got back to my locker though, my nice, clean, organized and quiet little corner of the change room now looked like a war zone.  Pants, socks, shoes, underwear, and assorted toiletries were lying around absolutely everywhere; on the counters, the stools, the benches… everywhere.  And seeing as how it was only me and Father Time in the change room at the time, it wasn’t hard to figure out to whom it all belonged.

According to my prescribed Locker Room Commandments, Rule #1 goes thusly:  “Thou shalt not take up more space than necessary”.  Typically, the amount of space you can safely occupy in the change room is proportionate to the amount of space directly in front of your locker.  In other words: not much.  But given that there was nobody else around, I can understand wanting to spread out a little bit but, seriously, buddy had shit EVERYWHERE!  Every stool either had his dirty yellowed drawers on them, or a soaking wet towel, or his smelly old man socks, or his Geritol, etc.  Bad enough that he needed every level surface available to fan out all his old man shit, but he needed my shower stool to boot.  Fucking RI-DIC-U-LUS!  Somebody needs to school grandpa on basic locker room etiquette 101. God can only wonder what he’s like at home.  He must have either the most understanding, patience, dutiful wife, or an entire team of Oompa-Loompa’s to follow him around and pick up his shit; certainly not me.

So, with all the careful dexterity of a military bomb disposal soldier, I delicately removed a few of his garments and tossed them in the general direction of his open locker in order to clean out a space large enough to sit down and get changed.  Once I had adequately concealed my dangly bits (as is also part of the Locker Room Commandments, see Rule #2) I grabbed my shaving kit because, you know, I like to get all clean and smooth for the girlfriend every once and a while too.

But, once again, each and every possible surface and sink basin in the washroom had been left in some sort of disorder, or with a carelessly discarded towel.  Seriously, dude?  At this point, my congeniality began to waiver.  Unfortunately (for him), at this exact moment, Father Time appeared around the corner with a rather sour look on his face.  “Did you move my stuff?”

Now, I’d like to say at this point that I reminded calm and rational but, instead, I chose to channel my inner black ghetto woman:

“As a matter of fact, yes, I did.  I’d like to sit down somewhere at some point, and you seem to feel that you own every surface in the joint.  Oh, and while we’re on the subject, is this yours too?”, as I hauled out a soggy hand towel from the sink behind me.

The look of surprise on his face did nothing to mask his guilt.

“Yeah, well, I’m not your wife and it’s not my job to clean up after you, dude, so I’d appreciate it if you stopped leaving your shit everywhere since we all have to share the same space.”

He gave me that discernible look like ‘I can’t believe you’re talking to an old man like me in that fashion, sonny’  but, really, I couldn’t give a shit at that exact moment.  He can do and act any way he pleases at home but if he was going to cop an attitude with me over having to move his stanky ass gym socks and underwear from one of the stools just so I could sit down, then he was also going to hear about it. Then, just to prove my point (while adding a little insult to injury), I added:

“Oh, and by the way, you’re shaving kit is still in the shower on the stool I was using.” 

Take that, grandpa!

“Well, I’ve been coming here for…”  he started, but I cut him off.

“I don’t care; a slob is a slob is a slob.  And, you sir, are a slob.  If you’ve been acting like this for that long then it’s high time somebody told you to pick up after yourself.”   There.  I said it and gave him my best ‘Buddy, I will wear your ear as a necklace‘  look.

Fuck him.

Rather than press the issue any further he retreated back around the corner from whence barnyard he came from and I went back to the business of making myself beautiful.  A few minutes later (hey, when you look this good you don’t need a lot of time) I returned back to my locker and was pleasantly surprised that he had picked up most of his crap off the floor and surrounding area and either had tucked it in his locker or back into his gym bag but, whatever the case, it wasn’t spread out all over the locker room anymore.  Excellent!

Signed, sealed, and delivered.  Message obviously received.

Of course, we didn’t exactly shake hands or even make further eye contact, but I’m happy that my point had been made.  We all have to use and share the space provided and it only takes one slob to ruin that experience for everyone else.

So, for the love of God, PICK UP YOUR SHIT!

4/20 Playlist

Today is April 20^th.  So what you ask?  What’s the big deal?  Well, it just so happens that 4/20 (April 20th – get it?) is the infamous all-haloed holiday for smokers, jokers, and midnight tokers everywhere.  Of course my marijuana days are long behind me but that doesn’t mean I also don’t appreciate celebrating the holidays, particularly if it comes with a whole host of awesome tunes.  After all, I may also not be Jewish but I do love me some Latke’s and Matzo Ball soup, dig?  Same difference.  So while others might have chosen to celebrate the 4/20 holiday today on the couch doing bong hits to reruns of the Teletubbies, I decided to celebrate with a different type of high.  Man, just think of how far I’ve come in three short years when my then aspiration was simply to be the first Stoner Ironman.

Now THAT’S my kind of workout…NOT!

*sigh*

What an idiot.  But I digress…

So, anyway, my usual Saturday morning swim with the coach today was uneventful enough as there’s not really anything particularly pot-themed that you can do in the pool (not that she would have been as enthusiastic as I was to “celebrate”), although we did do 4 sets of 200m  at one point, but that hardly qualifies as a real celebration.  Afterwards, though, I chose to hit up the gym with one of my prearranged 4/20-themed iPod playlists to hit the weights doing 4 sets of 20 reps each and, VOILA! , we have our special 90 minute ’4/20 Playlist’.  Now, I realize that this is, like, totally contradictory to the typical triathlete’s lifestyle but, hey, don’t judge me.  It’s just all in good fun.

Casey Jones – Grateful Dead

Comin’ Into Los Angeles – Arlo Guthrie

Rainy Day Women #12 & 35 – Bob Dylan

Burn One Down – Ben Harper

Panama Red – New Riders of the Purple Sage

Two Hits and the Joint Turned Brown (live) – Yonder Mountain String Band

Indica & Sativa> Rocky Mountain Way> Indica & Sativa (live) – Ekoostik Hookah

Muggles – Louis Armstrong

Reefer Man – Cab Calloway

Champagne and Reefer – Muddy Waters

The Pusher – Steppenwolf

Last Dance with Mary Jane – Tom Petty

I Love You Mary Jane – Sonic Youth and Cypress Hill

Light Up or Leave Me Alone (live) – Traffic

Recreational Chemistry (live) – moe.

Eight Miles High (live) – The Byrds

If anyone has any recommended additions that I can add to next year’s playlist, please consider outing yourself and leave them in the comments.  I won’t judge you – I promise.

Frank & Friends 10k Swim for Strong Kids

A few weekends ago, I had a rather unique opportunity to participate in a worthwhile charity swim for Strong Kids, as promoted and sponsored by my local YMCA.  The goal for the event, “Frank & Friends 10k Swim for Strong Kids” (yes, it says ‘100k‘ in the advert, but it’s a typo as that would be freakin’ ridiculous!), besides raising money for noble cause, was to keep a continuous swim going among its volunteers and thereby complete a 10k swim inside a three hour period.  Hey, volunteering and offering something back to the community that has been so supportive of my past athletic endeavors was definitely on my radar this year, so I figured, ‘yeah, why not’?  Even though I’d completed my two designated swim workouts for the week, I could use a few extra easy laps in the pool to work on my form anyway.

The original plan was to go in and do 4 x 1 kilometer sets with 30 seconds to 1 minute intervals of rest between them.  Ideally, I’d like to hold my Ironman pace from this past September, but I would see how things went as form and technique were definitely my priority over speed or pace for this particular session.  All in all, if things went well I’d be out in an hour and onto my intended weights workout for the afternoon.  Perfect.

And just think, this glamorous shot was taken BEFORE the swim.

12:55pm – Arrived on the scene, last of about a dozen other swimmers slotted for the 1:00pm  start.  A few photographs later and we were ready to get rolling.  I jumped in my lane, for no other reason that that’s the lane I always swim in, and pushed off the wall promptly at 1:00pm, the first to go.  A few of the others swimmers started out fancy in butterfly stroke, but they were pretty easy to go around for the few hundred meters or so, and I quickly settled into my usual pace, focusing on my catch, core rotation and quick hand entry; the techniques I’ve been working on improving this year.  After the first initial 500-600m  or so, a couple of the younger collegiate swimmers from the Ridley Swim Team in the next lane over began sprinting so I used the opportunity to motor it out with them, raise my heart rate a little and just send a subliminal message that the chubby old boy next door still has a few chops.  After about a 100m of sprinting they were completely spent and clung to the wall panting for air, so I went back to my normal pace and got back to the business of being awesome.

Gettin’ er done…

2:05pm – I completed my first 4k with a few minute rest breaks between each kilometer to hydrate, stretch, etc.  My shoulders were feeling great and I was happy I was more or less able to complete my kilometers on pace with minimal effort.  By ‘minimal effort’, I mean I didn’t have to kill myself to do it and felt pretty comfortable throughout.  For the most part I was the only one doing a consecutive swim that I could tell so by the time I had finished my intended workout,  but I was the only one left in the pool so I figured ‘hey, might as well keep going’.  The whole point of a ‘swim marathon’ to my mind was to have people swimming continuously, so I decided I’d simply keep going until someone else showed up to keep the event alive and kicking.  So after begging a granola bar off one of the lifeguards, I pushed off the wall and starting back swimming again.

2:45pm (ish) – A few girls have jumped in my lane now and are swimming laps at a good pace.  After an extra hour swimming on my own, just having some extra bodies around to help pace me is a huge welcome.  I completed kilometers 5 and 6 nearly on my own, so having some company has lifted my energy and motivation somewhat.  I’ve also become a pro and eating while still swimming.  I thought enough to bring my water bottle, but not figuring I’d be going this long I don’t have any real fuel so I’ve been begging granola bars off the lifeguards.  Every 400-500m, or so,  I stop quickly, take a bite, flip over on my back and continue backstroking whilst I chew and swallow, hopefully, without breaking the pace I’ve established with the other two girls.

Just over half way to my goal of 400 laps.

3:15pm (ish) – At the 8k  mark my shoulders began to show the first signs of reluctance in turning over smoothly and began to get a little stiff and a sore.  Remembering that the longest swim I have completed to date was around 4.5k, around this time last year, I figured it was prudent to stop briefly and stretch them out for a bit before attempting to continue.  I will admit that the urge to call it quits had been building pretty well in my mind over the last kilometer but, once again, I found myself the only one in the pool after the two girls I was swimming with left.  ‘C’mon, buck up sissypants.  It’s only two more kilometer’s to go’, I told myself.   So, albeit with a little reluctance, I cinched up my now extremely pruny apple sack and pushing off the wall…again.

The next two kilometers went pretty well actually.  I swam, nibbled granola bars, backstroked, and otherwise kept going as best I could, counting out the laps in my head as I went.  For the final 200m, I even amped up the pace just a bit to simulate that last few meters at the end of any triathlon swim.  Just it was just the pool at the YMCA and the only ones around were the oblivious teenage lifeguards who could care less how long I had been swimming but, in my mind, it was the home stretch in the FKCC Swim Around Key West.

3:35pm – Done!  10 kilometers!  Ho-lee shit.  I’m so exhausted and spent that it’s all I can do to lift myself out of the pool and collapse again at the wall with a well-deserved apple and about a dozen oatmeal cookies the organizer brought for me.

My official time – official, in that this is what my polar stop watch recorded anyway – was 2:35:30, for a pace of approximately 1:32 min/100 m.  Not too bad for my first real endurance swim.  Of course, we’ll forget for the moment the short 5 minute break at the 8k  mark to stretch, or the current urge I have to to puke but, generally, I feel pretty good with myself.  My shoulders feel relatively okay, but I look like I’ve aged about 60 years given that my skin now has the texture of pudding skin and my hair feels like straw.  But I can live with that for the time being in light of my accomplishment.

All in all, I REALLY enjoyed that impromptu challenge.  It was a validation, that while still not perfect, my swim technique is coming along nicely and that I can maintain a decent pace when needing to do so.  I can see myself doing a few more of these long distance swim events in the future; maybe even complete an official aquatic open water marathon someday.  I’ll definitely be putting this event on the calendar for next year as an inspiration to keep up my work in the pool through the next off-season.