Allow me to speak my mind.

Wake me when its over

2010-01-08T21:45:00.000-08:00

"The reason they call it the American Dream is because you have to be asleep to believe it."

~George Carlin

Trying to think of something worth writing, but I am too tired.

Tired of thinking of things to write.

Thinking of ditching this boring old blog and starting a new one.

I remember this.

2010-01-08T21:39:00.000-08:00

What's Right

Persistence vs. Diligence

2009-12-29T15:41:00.001-08:00

“Diligence is a good thing, but taking things easy is much more restful.”

~Mark Twain

Because they care so much, the fine people in charge of this place I work sent me this letter this morning. Thought I would share with everyone.

"Dear Aaron,

As we approach a new year, I want to take this time to discuss briefly your status in the Pharmaceutics doctoral program. As you know, you entered graduate school at the University of Washington in the fall of 2004, which puts you into your 6th year in the program. This exceeds the 5 year limit of guaranteed RA tuition and stipend support that the department provides to its students, as described in our Policy and Guidelines document. We recognize that individual progress to the PhD degree varies and is dependent sometimes on factors not completely in the control of the student. Nonetheless, we require that a student demonstrate “progress towards the degree” in order to continue receiving financial support beyond the 5 year limit. Provision of this evaluation is charged to the thesis advisor and the thesis advisory committee. With this in mind, I want to encourage you to meet regularly with your advisor and the committee to keep them apprised of your progress so that they can help you achieve your career goals and to discharge their duties. In your case, a meeting at least twice a year would be appropriate.

I am confident that you are working as diligently as possible to complete all of the requirements for the PhD degree and I look forward to the day when you can achieve that goal and plan for the next phase of what I am sure will be an exciting and rewarding career in the pharmaceutical sciences.

I would be glad to meet with at any time to discuss your status in the program, and even your thesis work, if you feel that my input might be helpful.

With best regards"

Now. Doesnt that feel good?

Christmas

2009-12-25T10:24:00.000-08:00

“Other things may change us, but we start and end with family”

~Anthony Brandt

Whether or not he was "pleasant" about it is debatable, depending upon the perspective from which you observed it, but my grandfather valued his family above everything else. It is obvious to me this morning on Christmas. It wasn't necessarily "fun" for him but it was important. Having the family together was important.

I am still probably too young to understand a lot. Ok, I AM too young to understand a lot. However, this morning, I miss my family. All the ridiculous emotional drama hasn't changed from the past, but I have also not spent a holiday with any member of my family for years. And each year I feel the pull getting a little stronger.

It was the eve of Christmas Eve, 367 days ago, that my grandparents, on the phone at the same time, called me. I was at the bus stop at school, on my way home. They called me and shared the news of my grandfather's lung cancer and he told me he had decided to give me his car. More than anything I remember wondering if I had missed my last opportunity to spend thanksgiving or christmas with him.

And as it turns out he is spending it with me still. I will take his car out for a drive today in the sunny Seattle christmas air, and remember the holidays in the past that I am fortunate enough to have shared with him and the rest of my family. And remember them fondly even if they weren't as fun as I think they ought to have been at the time.

Because I can't get them back now. And it can never happen again.

Mel 'n' Collie

2009-12-21T09:34:00.000-08:00

“It is one of the paradoxes of American literature that our writers are forever looking back with love and nostalgia at lives they couldn't wait to leave.”

~Anatole Broyard

Its a little bit frightening to admit, but I feel a little nostalgic about school today.

Its Monday before Christmas, and I have a lot of work to do. The lab is completely empty except for me. Its a double-sized lab, with two full labs connected into one big giant lab (by graduate school standards), which means it feels two-times as empty right now.

Graduate school hasn't been, most of the time, the greatest experience for me. However, being here alone, now, it is a little sad to me. The quote I chose for this blog entry I believe sums up my own experience and feelings perfectly.

I remember joining the prestigious Unadkat Lab. I remember it was packed with people to the point that there was no room for me to have a desk in the lab. When there finally was (another year later) I crammed into a nook and watched the machine whirring around me. It was impressive to say the least.

The lab is still prestigious, but now it stands mostly empty. I am getting ready to graduate. The people I knew over the years have either left for faculty positions or graduated. The science machine that we call Unadkat Industry is now little more than a messy storage space.

It is noisy with silence.

And as bad as things have been, I miss the buzz of activity, the pressure to work because everyone else is working, the lab meetings with standing room only.

This too shall pass.

The Science of Bathroom Stalls.

2009-12-17T07:12:00.001-08:00

“If there is a God, atheism must seem to Him as less of an insult than religion.”

~Edmond de Goncourt

I do not condone vandalism. However, here at the UW, the bathroom stalls have become the "philosopher's media of debate". And you rarely see a blank stall wall anywhere in the health science building. I really do not support it...

But in the name of research, 1 year ago on this day, I started a little, um, debate...

I did it after seeing that the entire bottom of this little bathroom stall wall was crumbling onto the floor in a rusty pile, and therefore will probably be destroyed under its own weight soon or replaced.

You notice in the upper left a few words written in a very dark pen.. "Math is God." I chose this for a lot of reasons, mostly because it is highly inflammatory and guaranteed to start good debate.

I wrote this on December 17th, 2008. The wall was completely blank. Follow the action.

I particularly enjoy the correction to "Math is God's Creation" followed by ""for that" would be an unacceptable construction in the eyes of the lord."

And, perhaps not surprising, it inevitably becomes a contemplation of God's fecal qualities.

But eventually someone decides that a probability algorithm should be created to solve using logic the question of math and God.

Doesn't that just prove my point???

Oh well.

Agenda

2009-12-08T08:33:00.001-08:00

"The new Siddhartha felt a deep love for this flowing water and decided that he would not leave it again so quickly."

From Siddhartha page 81, Hermann Hesse

Are we the flowing water or are we the rocks against and over which the water flows?

I am both.

One day I am immovable and determined, like the rock. Time and life must move around me, I stand firm and strong. But over time, the water eventually wears and shapes me, often without my recognition, until I crumble and am swept away by the water. The music of the water leaves its signature upon me, the song ever changing.

Another day I am the water. I flow with time, adapting and bending to the situation in order to find the path of least resistance. But the easiest path is not always the shortest or best path, and my way, while easy, is subject to the whims of the rocks.

Does the water become shaped by the rocks, or are the rocks shaped by the water flowing across, around, above them?

The Google Car Effect

2009-12-02T17:03:00.000-08:00

"Man is rated the highest animal, at least among all animals who returned the questionnaire."

~Robert Brault

If you see a camera, what do you do?

Let us say, hypothetically, that you are walking down the street in your city. You suddenly see a news reporter from a local TV station (gosh that sounds archaic when I read it--are their still "local TV stations?") giving a report in front of a cameraman.

What do you do?

Some people make a concerted effort to NOT move in the view of the camera.

Some people make a concerted effort to MOON the camera, or do something idiotic to be noticed. (For reference, I fall in the middle somewhere, but look idiotic anyway.) This behavior is deeply rooted in us all, and regardless of the media, will surface to some degree. Streakers at football games (that's soccer to us in the US), the crowd outside of the morning TV news show, it is always happening. But now, there is a new phenomenon.

Google Street View.

The newest craze is to get your picture in the google street view display. For example, my canadian friend Marc took the picture of the google car you see at the beginning of this post. At the same time, it was taking this picture of him:

Pic of Marc by Google

That was just an accident. But it's becoming a sort of contest.

"Man drops his pants to moon Google streetview car from his own front porch"
http://bit.ly/5ocGpw
http://buzzup.com/jga6

So far, one of the best I can find is this:

@Bestguitars on twitter proclaimed:
"I successfully predicted where the google car would go next "
http://ff.im/-ckIvf (click on the quote about the google car)
http://buzzup.com/jfmq

So, the next time you see a regular looking car with a giant 360 action camera mounted on top, do something silly. You might be famous.

Holiday.

2009-11-27T09:56:00.001-08:00

"I love Thanksgiving turkey... it's the only time in Los Angeles that you see natural breasts."

~Arnold Schwarzenegger

I dont remember when I stopped believing in the Tooth Fairy, Santa Claus, or even God for that matter. I do know that I must have been very young when this happened, because I never remember actually believing in any of them. I think the cerebral nature of me as a child, the propensity to over-think everything, even as a 5 year old, combined with the violent way our house celebrated these days provided little room or incentive for believing in little more than survival and self-preservation.

What do you believe in? When you think of holidays (not the english, snooty way to say "vacation"), do you think of Santa Claus, family, and being thankful for what you have?

I don't.

At least I didn't until last year. This year I find myself feeling a little different, a little more comfortable and happy as I contemplate why we as humans feel the need to partake in the recognition of "holidays." Some of the most important people to me are not around anymore to celebrate holidays with. It is sad when this is a motivating factor, but it really does drive home the importance of saying "I love you" when given the opportunity. And now I see that the holidays can be our choice. See, I can make a difficult choice by putting myself in a position to be around some people I feel the world would be better without, if it means seeing just one of the people I love. That is a choice I can make. And I can tolerate the bad for a while to be with the good. Sometimes I have a good enough perspective whereby I can even appreciate them for their ridiculousness.

Why is it so hard? Maybe its the few, very few times we are FORCED to see for ourselves what we have chosen in life. It is the times when we are too timid and polite and despite everything inside of us screaming to go the opposite direction we pretend. We pretend that we really can stand some of those "relatives" who bring the taste of bile to bear. We are forced to sit at the table, face to face with our choices. We stare at each other, perhaps pretending to enjoy it, perhaps not, and realize how we have chosen to live our lives. No hiding anymore; holidays will bring the truth out of you whether you like it or not. At least in my family, growing up, this truth was not happiness. These "holidays" were usually when the truth that surfaced was ugly and bitter. It is not a shock that I resisted these sorts of rituals for greater than 90% of my adult life.

I realized all of this on the Friday after Thanksgiving, just a few days ago, now, when I was driving on the unusually sunny day to the lab because I had work to do. It was beautiful and sunny outside-- strangely so considering it had rained almost 3 straight weeks. I was wondering what was wrong with me for going to work in a window-less lab, on a project that wasn't even really important to me. I didn't really have a choice, if I want to graduate someday...

See my articles on TriSwimCoach.com

2009-10-22T12:04:00.000-07:00

Those who can, do. Those who can't, teach.

I am contributing some triathlon training tips to a well read Tri-swimming website. Please go check this site out, and learn!

Triswimcoach Blog

Enjoy!!

Volume of Distribution: Part II

2009-10-19T10:55:00.000-07:00

"But to me nothing - the negative, the empty - is exceedingly powerful."

~Alan Watts

We are young and our minds are open to everything. Nothing is bound. We make no a priori determination about experience and importance. All is experience. All is important. The volume in which experiences distribute - infinite.

Our first thoughts rarely find their way to binding. They are communication at its basic, primal level. From early communication we experience the reactions of others. These reactions are added to our files from which we build our first meaningful thoughts.

Thoughts distribute into space, occasionally finding--and binding to--an open mind. We are young with open minds ready to be filled, and unknowingly accepting of each and every thing. We age and the ideas and thoughts are following their natural gradient from outside to inside our minds. We still believe we have far less to contribute than we have ability to consume, and consume we do. We collect information and slowly assimilate this into our own ideas, forming them into more meaningful outward gestures. We begin to see the power of our own ideas on others.

Constantly bombarded, spaces to bind become more rare. Also, and perhaps more importantly, we begin to screen the incoming ideas and images and experiences. The rate limiting step becomes our perception. Inside of us is a space between what we form and what we communicate. Zero distribution.

Competition between our own ideas and external thoughts and ideas soon dictate which find acceptance and finally purchase and are assimilated, filed away. Some days we are non-consumers. We only produce. Some other contributors are open to our ideas and our thoughts bind, there, chiseling at the assimilation formed inside of them.

Pharmacokinetics meets the Mystic.

2009-10-15T10:15:00.000-07:00

"Any emotion, if it is sincere, is involuntary."

~Mark Twain

The volume of distribution of a drug is the apparent volume into which a drug distributes in the body.

For example:

You have a jug containing one liter of water. Into that one liter of water you place 1 gram of table salt and mix until dissolved. If you were to take a sample from your jug and analyze it, the concentration of table salt dissolved in water would be 1 gram of table salt per liter of water, or 1 g/L. The volume of distribution is one liter, clearly.

Our bodies behave this exact same way with some drugs. We have a certain volume of water in each of us, and some drugs dissolve and distribute only into the water in blood, and between cells, and that is a finite volume. So if you administer this sort of water-soluble drug intravenously and then take a blood sample, the concentration of the drug you measure, like the salt in the jug, will equal the amount of salt you administered divided by the volume of water in the body. That is easy enough.

In our bodies something rather interesting happens to most drugs that makes measuring this volume less straight forward.

Let's say that you have the same 1 liter of water in your jug, and to it you add 1 gram of table salt and mix it like before, until it dissolves. This time when you sample it, however, instead of the concentration of the salt being 1 g/L (which is what you added) the concentration you measure is one-tenth of that, or 0.1 g/L.

What happened?

The salt is completely dissolved. The jug holds 1 liter of water... but the concentration of salt is 1/10 that of what it should be.

In other words, it is as if you put the same 1 gram of table salt into a jug that contains 10 times the volume of water--hence the concentration you analyzed is 1/10 of what it should be. And this is the apparent volume of distribution. The volume of distribution in this case is 10 liters. It is as if some of the 1 gram of table salt dissolved into the liter of water disappeared, or that the jug is magical and can actually hold 10 times more water than it appears.

The same thing happens in the body. Drugs can distribute into the body in such a way that when you sample blood or plasma, the drug concentration indicates that it has distributed into a space 10 or 100 times larger than the actual volume capable for the human body. It seems impossible.

The reason this happens is because drug partitions inside of the body. Few drugs only stay in the water space. Most drugs bind to proteins and tissues, such that the drug in blood gets pulled from there into places that can not be "seen" or sampled. Hence, it appears that drug is missing, or, like the jug of water, the apparent body volume into which the drug was administered is larger than the body can actually hold.

There are some assumptions that go along with this, as well. For instance, we assume that no drug has been removed from the body during that time, that only distribution is taking place. This is because elimination from the body of that drug before it is measured would result in a smaller amount of drug being measured per volume, thus a falsely large volume of distribution.

The volume of distribution is a physico-chemical and biologically based parameter that, in addition to the clearance, defines the half-life, or the amount of time it takes for half of the drug in the body to be eliminated. Now it is possible to see that where the drug goes inside of the body will play a role in how often the drug is administered. A long half life might mean it takes the body longer to eliminate half of the drug per unit of time, therefore adding more is needed less frequently.

There are proteins in the body that are important for processes such as distribution, such as the nucleoside transporters. These are the proteins I have spent the last 5 years studying more than anything else. How can these affect the volume of distribution, you ask?

Those drugs I mentioned previously, the drugs that only distribute into water are hydrophilic. They do not like lipid environments. Therefore these drugs, once in the body, will tend to stay inside of spaces filled with water. This also means they will not enter cells because cells are contained by membranes composed of lipids. Therefore the cell membrane, a lipid bilayer, keeps hydrophilic drugs, or drugs that dissolve and stay in water, outside of the cell. That will significantly limit the volume into which these drugs can distribute, because 80% of cells is water, but the drug can not access this.

What if the drug COULD get access??

The proteins I study, called nucleoside transporters, serve as a way for drugs that can not passively distribute across cell membranes to get into cells and distribute into the water there. They transport drugs into cells. Now a drug that formerly was restricted to plasma water and water outside of cells has a HUGE space into which it can distribute--as long as the transporter recognizes it. Therefore, it is possible that based on which transporter recognizes which drug, the volume of distribution can change more than 100 times!!!!

If the half-life of a drug is partially dependent upon this volume of distribution, then it is possible to see how a little tiny protein on a cell membrane can make all the difference in the world as to how this drug is going to behave, and how often it will need to be administered.

I think drugs aren't the only thing with a volume of distribution effect. I think intangible things have a volume into which they distribute...

Hocus Pocus, hard to Focus

2009-10-14T13:11:00.000-07:00

"One of the symptoms of an approaching nervous breakdown is the belief that one's work is terribly important."

~Bertrand Russell

Sitting here at my desk, where I have sat with my back at the entrance to the lab for 4 years. Sitting next to the door with the traffic of busy scientists scurrying about, the sounds of conversations and lunch time laughter just outside, the familiar jingle of the bosses' keys as he prepares to make his rounds.

Sitting here staring at my own writing. Getting little accomplished.

Its hard to focus on this now. Its getting to be very hard to maintain the level of integration an enthusiasm I need to finish all of this. I have been studying the same thing extremely hard for several years, and I think its safe to say I need a change. I am feeling burned out.

"Keep the larger, long term goal in your mind," someone said to me. "Remember this is the only way you get out!"
Yeah, yeah. Blah blah blah. I know all that. Right now, though, I am to the point of hearing my inner voice, that little person living inside of me always driving me to meet some impossible, unachievable expectation, now saying "Looks good enough. Pack it in."

And its hard. Its a tug-of-war inside of me; one hand knowing I can do better, the othe hand knowing it really doesn't matter and I am so damned sick of seeing it, why do I bother?

And on it goes. Another day to fight the urge to "pack it in." Another day in the ever growing saga.

Private (and not so private) Parts.

2009-10-08T07:10:00.000-07:00

“When did I realize I was God? Well, I was praying and I suddenly realized I was talking to myself.”

~Unknown (Maybe Dog?)

Try to stay with me, here. This is going to sound convoluted (it is) but I swear its the truth.

Where is the best place to have a conversation about the conversation you are going to have with your mother regarding leaving your wife (which apparently the family loves) to marry your cousin (who also is currently married)?

Why, I believe the correct answer is the Metro Bus.

I listened to this guy because that is what you do when people are talking on their phone 12 inches from your ear, with their back to you. What is probably, and admittedly, more amazing to me is what was going through my head during this tell-all. Very public tell-all.

Beginning with discussions of wedding rings. Sounded nice, sort of sweet, you know, newly-wed gibberish.

And then talking about "the conversation" and "are you ok with me saying this..." which included some discussion of "well when she asks 'what about Beth' I will just remind her how she has heard me vent about her so much and I just have made the choice to be with someone else..." Followed by a short discussion comparing the two women and really what good was marriage when all you could think about was this other person who was FAR superior in every way. Oh, and so much better in bed, too.

My attention was clearly locked in on this conversation now. I couldn't actually believe I was hearing these things out loud on the bus, but it got better--much better. Or worse, depending on how empty or full your cup is.

"Well, when she says 'But she's your cousin...' I will just tell her I can't control how I feel..."

SCREEECH goes the record player and everyone on the bus turns and looks, mouths gaping, eyes wide in shock and awe.

That's what should have happened, anyway, after that part. Instead no one reacted although everyone heard it. And why not react? This is great stuff! Now we are really getting somewhere!! A guy on the bus talking to HIS COUSIN about the conversation he is going to have with his MOTHER about leaving his wife for her. Wow. Rich. And I thought the bus ride was dull.

The next thing I heard was "What, that time in the closet?"
Pause.
"So you have had sex three times in the last 8 years?"
Pause. At this point, I thought maybe the cousin on the other end of the phone was single. Until this:
"Oh, so you have had more sex with me than with your husband in the last 10 years?"
Woah, daddy. This is no longer PG-13. Kids, you better go now.

Remember, this is on the bus.

And there is more. Much more sordid, icky details (apparently the Mother with whom the conversation is to be held is very detail oriented, so they had to get specifics straight--barf). However I don't want to share those. What was I thinking during all this? It is kind of an interesting thing to share. Do not worry, I won't be detail oriented. For you business types (the one of you reading this) I will keep it at the 30,000 foot level and use broad strokes.

I started out thinking it was kind of a cute conversation about newly-weds.
--Nice. Flowers and honeymoon and happy new couple getting married,

I was shocked and seriously curious when the fact came out that this guy was discussing the discussion he would have with mom re: leaving his wife.
--Morbid curiosity, voyeuristic weirdness. But stronger still came the searing feeling of why on EARTH is he discussing this in public? He clearly has been having an affair and lying to is wife and others. And he is sitting here talking about it on the fucking bus! And then... it was strange. I dissociated my personal feelings from it and thought of it another way. And please do not read this thinking I condone this sort of behavior. I feel certain people who know me will know this, but I just want to make sure there is NO mistake, I don't like it. However, I started thinking something like 'wow, he doesn't care who is hearing this. He is sitting here making obviously a difficult choice and about to have an intense conversation and he seems so committed and accepting of his choice that he can sit and talk about it freely, with a bus load of people around. And while still in revulsion to the whole concept, I suddenly had this hint of admiration for someone who truly did NOT care for what the people around him thought. And I realized, then, that I have always had that admiration for people who, regardless of the popularity of their choices, can stand up and say what they think.

Its his freakin' cousin.
-Barf.

That conversation (mercifully) ended. He quickly scrolled through his contact list and found someone, a guy, and started talking to him. It sounded very businessy, talking about making deals, working deals, options still in the works, who can swindle who---this guy sounded like a big time business guy. And then I heard the names of several NFL stars.

Fantasy football???

He was talking about trading fantasy football players as if it was a big time business deal, at 6:50 in the morning, fresh off a conversation that I would have been sick to my stomach about for MONTHS. Well, let's face it, my life will never be in a position to have that sort of conversation. If it was, I would be such a wreck I probably would take a swig of some of the fine chemicals we have here in the lab. But I wouldn't hang up and then talk FANTASY FUCKING FOOTBALL.

Head spinning, I got off the bus at the medical center to go through my day of writing and analyzing, this guy walking in front of me. I wondered what he did during the day. I wondered what on earth his life had been like. I wondered, also, what the other people obviously hearing this conversation on the bus thought. I wondered if they thought like I did.

Eventually I stopped feeling unnerved by that guy and settled into work.

I can't help but wonder how that conversation with his WIFE is going to go.

2009-10-07T13:44:00.000-07:00

Its ok, little mousie. Not many more of you have to die.

Generalizations

2009-10-06T20:23:00.001-07:00

"Calendars are for careful people, not passionate ones."

~Chuck Sigars

I find myself here, yet again, looking back over the time I have not been writing on my blog, wondering why. Well, I know why: I have been working my skinny little butt off at school, in the hopes of finding, in the pitch black, the switch on the wall that makes this carnival ride stop... but its dark in here, and I can't find the switch so easily. The other part of my brain is warning me that the switch does not exist.

My general exam is coming in a few weeks, and I have already had a couple of interviews for jobs--kinda premature at this point, but for fuck's sake, I need something to keep my going. And besides; my general exam should have happened a year ago, so my work is practically done. I am really not worried about this exam--after everything they have thrown at me for so long, I am just trying to make my deadline and get this over with. I do not know what they could possibly do to me now. Besides keep me longer. And I don't honestly think they will.

DId you all read that? There should have been a giant gasp after that last sentence.

"What? You don't think they will keep you any longer just because its in their power?"
No. They would have to pay me. They like money and its too hard to come by. Therefore, its in their best interest to let me out now before I get vindictive.

I interviewed at a large multi-faceted company in North Chicago for what seems to be the ULTIMATE job that am looking for. The job is ideal, the company offers extremely good salary, cash bonus at signing, a pension plan, 401k with matching, and yearly bonuses. Holy shit, in the days of dreary outlook, even for people WITH jobs, HOW MANY COMPANIES OFFER THOSE THINGS???

But the reality of the situation is that I can not see myself living there unless I interview at a few other places and find out that THAT job truly is The One.

So I have been spending my time since that extremely motivating excursion (its motivating to be wined and dined by a large pharmaceutical company that is interested in me liking them as much as I am interested in them liking me) first scheduling and now writing my general exam. Its a beast. Its the sum total of my current value as a grad student. I am not scared, I can look back, finally, and see all the work that I have done and the data that work has generated and understand how it all fits together into a nice package. And it really does. And I created it--no one else on earth can say that they have done what I have done. No one. Thats pretty cool.

And I can not wait for it to be over.

Instead of gong home, playing and training and blogging with the girl, I sit ad write. I work late, I sneak in training while I work at school. I take my computer with me everywhere so I can sneak in a moment to write. I am doing experiments and tissue analysis and data analysis and creating vast incredibly organized spreadsheets that take 5 minutes to scroll through from 7 AM till 7 PM. Then I come home and eat dinner and walk the dog and go to bed and lay there thinking about the work I didn't get done and how best to attack it the next day.

No Seahawks, no blogging, no random bullshit. Work, work, work.

They finally got me, didn't they? And, yes, as a result, now its time to graduate.

But do not fear, the two of you reading this. Do not think that I have become a slave, because its not that at all, really. The end is near, and when it is upon us, we shall throw our hands in the air and party. We shall dance. We shall laugh and look back like everyone before me; with the hilarious rose-tinted glasses covering my bitter eyes, putting wise words of retrospection in my mouth, savoring the sheer moment of completion.

Littering is not cool. Or KOOL.

2009-08-26T07:32:00.000-07:00

There aren't many things that are universally cool, and it's cool not to litter. I'd never do it.

~Matthew McConaughey

I really don't understand people. First, people actually still smoke, despite the overwhelming evidence indicting cigarettes as the harbingers of death they are. Second, littering. What the hell? Wasn't that the theme of the early 80's--don't litter? Before global warming became vogue, littering was the hot topic.

And Bette Midler running around on Earth Day in a goofy outfit.

Ok, maybe Earth Day isn't the most credible reference.

You can't get there, from here...

2009-08-19T07:21:00.001-07:00

"Many who would not take the last cookie would take the last lifeboat."

~Mignon McLaughlin, The Neurotic's Notebook, 1960

This morning I walked across the overpass that leads from the bus stop towards the health science building just as I would any other morning, but sort of deep in pharmacokinetic thought. I know, its shocking. I will get to that part later.

Let me set the scene for the following fable.

There are always a few buses unloading at once, and thus a good-sized armada of bus-riders walking along with me, at varying speeds and with varying levels of apparent discomfort.

There are two hideous double doors ensconced into the side of the large, drab concrete building at the end of the overpass that lead into the bowels of health science land, and an important difference between them. The right side doors have a button that launch the door open in a couple of long seconds--something for disabled people or people with "hardware" (wheelchairs, etc) to use but is generally used by everyone because people are lazy.

These days, in addition to being incapable of doing anything without an iPod or cell phone attached to their skull, few human beings can open a door under their own power. So this door provides them the necessary comfort of automatic opening at the push of a button.

The other door is normal. Or what I think is normal.

This particular morning I was sauntering across the overpass considering the pk of gemcitabine, and the compartmental model I would use to solve for the various rate constants. What I came up with looks like this:

I was engrossed in how the differential rate equations would be set to solve from some of the transfer rates, and at the same time I walked to the door on the left--the human powered door. I do this naturally because 99% of the people I see walk to the automatic door. Poor weak people. I am amazed they can walk all that way if they can't even open the door.

I see in the reflection, as I get to the door, that people are coming behind me. I open the door and, continuing with my mental mathematicals, I turn and hold the door for the next person. The next thing I know she is inside the door and turns to look at me and says, through a rather rotund face framed by over-permed, over-colored trailer blond hair, "You don't have to be so grumpy about it."

"What?" Was I all I could muster as she trundled away through the NEXT set of doors. This time she went with the automatic doors.

I was baffled by this "exchange." What on earth was she referring to? I held the door open, didn't I? What did she want--a hug and a kiss and a compliment on her disgustingly over-styled receptionist-do?

I gather my expression reflected one of unhappiness. After all, I was doing calculus/pharmacokinetics in my mind while holding the door for her royal pudginess, and I expect that because I didn't smile and make insipid, polite conversation as she gathered herself through the door that I fit into the category of grumpy.

Many mental notes based on this fun little event.

1) She only saw me as a means to not have to open a door and also not stand in line for the real automatic door--thus doubling her laziness in my estimation.

2) If you are doing something out of courtesy, it is simply unacceptable to just perform the act. You must show the person to which courtesy is being bestowed upon that you are sincerely thankful to them for allowing you the opportunity to bestow said courtesy.

3) Mathematics make people look grumpy.

I could have just kept walking. I wonder if she would have used the other door, then.

That is all.

Someone is out to get you. YOU.

2009-08-17T12:31:00.000-07:00

“Last night I dreamed I had insomnia. I woke up exhausted, yet too well rested to go back to sleep.”

~Bob Ingman

A small wooden rowboat. Colorless but made of thick, rich wood from long ago. Shapeless but endowed with the character of an eon of riding steady, open waters. I am rowing into stacks of waves, barely moving. It could have been raining, but I felt nothing.

I was on a journey to accomplish something, it was something important. The sky was dark and angry, and the boat was rocking heavily in the waves. The waves were black like ink, and the tips of each wave were gray and foamy. The wind was blowing the tops of the waves a hundred feet away, past me, to a place I could not see. I strained to keep the little boat upright.

The wind was ripping against me. At the same time, the wind was silent.

I rowed for all I was worth, and I never grew weary. My muscles would not scream as they do running uphill. Yet as hard as I strained, I wasn't gaining on the waves.

I turn around and see a rope tied to the stern. I drop my oars and swivel around on my wooden bench seat, noticing the fine, finished mahogany color for the first time. The thick, old rope is attached to a small loop carved into the wood of the boat's hull, just on the transom, and it is stretching at an angle down into the dark water where it disappears. Somehow the rope stays tight, even when I stop rowing against it, as if I were being dragged in reverse.

Motionless, all.

I pick up my oars and row, feeling the resistance of the rope. I can't budge this invisible anchor. I row the opposite direction and nothing happens. The boat is paralyzed, dead in the water, but held still. I realize the boat is completely immobile.

Could it be the very thing preventing my progress is the same thing keeping me from losing balance?

Maybe it wasn't a dream, really. Maybe it was a sleeping metaphor of real life. How often is my vision so narrow that I fail to see what is so obvious? How often are my obstacles and advantages the same, yet I am unable to see them because of perspective (or lack thereof)?

I rely on my brain to get me through a lot of difficult situations. Yet my brain, I believe, is often the biggest obstacle, the most difficult barrier I have to overcome.

Pride. Tough to swallow. I can be great, I remind myself.

Doubt. Easy to fall into. I could have been great, I scold myself.

Laziness. Comes from doubt. What's the point if I keep screwing it up? I ask myself.

Persistence. Comes from experience. I will learn from the last time I screwed up, remember I can be great AND make mistakes, and remove doubt by getting it right at least once. I smile inward at myself.

If I would only let it, that rope would push my boat for me.

Let it be.

2009-08-13T07:38:00.001-07:00

"And when the night is cloudy, there is still a light that shines on me,
shine until tomorrow, let it be."

~Paul McCartney

The memories of Lake mornings break into a thousand pieces like the sun reflecting off of a million tiny waves. All of them beautiful, some brighter than others.

Unlike the night previous (the fire-fly like sparks rose well into the sky, danced with the billions of stars visible, and disappeared)-- which coagulated the deepening red of the evening into a bluish ink sea, fading to black-- a pale gray/blue stirs in the east, over the mountains.

The rain stops, but the sound echoes in my thoughts. Pine cones falling through tree branches, a squirrel voicing its displeasure (or pleasure). The roof shakes with the wind and the creaking of loose boards sets me into a hypnotic state, alternative to sleep, something of a meditation. The light is soft and dramatic, a silky, flowing river of light upon my hand, which I have outstretched toward the drawn curtains. The dull roar of not too distant waves crashing on the beach are a metronome, soothing and constant.

I hear the sound of my grandfather coughing from the floor below where my bed is; his trademark cough in the morning.

It was always strangely comforting.

The heavy, cast-iron lid of the wood burning stove clangs into place after its morning feeding of tamrack. Popping and hissing as the pockets of air and pitch are released by the ensuing flames. Grandpa clears his throat, the TV clicks on, my grandmother scuffs into the kitchen.

Chatter, now. The simple morning chatter repeated a thousand times, with similar questions, similar answers. I maybe roll my eyes, but it's like mom fixing your hair. You love it and hate it all at once. Smells from the kitchen are now making their way up the stairs, and my stomach responds affirmatively. I roll over, excited for another wonderful day of lake things with my favorite people and favorite sights and sounds, and plant my feet on the floor. Cold, unfinished wood. Sand in the grooves.

And with each step down the old, steep stairs there is a groan and a creak, signal (and warning) to those already awake that the kid has arisen. Quiet time is officially over.

Use your head!!!

2009-08-05T11:13:00.000-07:00

Some things are too funny NOT to put out for everyone to see.

Behold, the test of manliness in the Unadkat Lab.

Doctor.

2009-08-05T07:35:00.000-07:00

“Beware of the young doctor and the old barber”

~Benjamin Franklin

Just looking at that picture above--man, I have a funny shaped head.

I find it to be interesting that I have a lot of distrust of people with PhDs or MDs. Funny that I decided to go get my PhD, isn't it?

I am trying to decide which is worse between two hypothetical situations:

The someone who thinks they are always right, or the someone who is always afraid to be wrong. And I think there is a difference. Something inside of me feels that the latter of the two is more dangerous. Especially with aforementioned MD after their name.

The belief that we are "right" is annoying, and certainly is not true for anyone. At least anyone that I ever knew. In side of my feeble brain, when I consider these two options, the first strikes me not as dishonest or with mal-intent, but with a sort of arrogance and piety that drives me nuts because they always have something to say. Holy crap, I think I am pretty darn close to describing ME, here...

The second option, always being afraid to be wrong, is different. I find myself feeling distrustful of this person because in their fear of being wrong they may choose inaction or silence, which often is the same as dishonesty. I don't know. I really could say a lot more about this but I haven't thought it through very well, it just sort of struck me as I thought about the last few years and my dislike of the established medical profession.

And, more pertinently, perhaps, being here in grad school-- I get to see both options... sometimes, I think, in the same person. Imagine that.

Life is a blues scale.

2009-07-31T10:15:00.001-07:00

"How old would you be if you didn't know how old you were?"

~Satchel Paige

One day, not so different from any other day, you wake up.

Knees are stiff.

Eyes are out of focus.

Back is achy.

It just hurts to be awake.

I think to myself; is THIS how life is going to go from here on out? Wasn't it just a few years ago I could handle just about anything and wake up feeling terrific?

Aging is not easy. And it's funny; we don't really think about aging until we feel it inside ourselves. It makes me wonder about people my grandparents age. The perspectives and the history and experience all conspire in different ways for different people. The aches and pains and difficulties could certainly and for good reason slow you down to the point of not wanting to move, surely. And few would begrudge you that at 85 and older, it might just be that way and it's ok. Society seems to accept it.

Then there are some people who as long as they can move are making the most out of their time; traveling, enjoying their lives. That is what I want to be. Or I don't want to be alive.

I feel like in the last 5 years I have aged so many more years than that. I don't enjoy as much as I used to, in general. I find myself being more negative. I am angry, virtually all of the time, angry. I feel overwhelmed. Tired. Beaten. I loathe going to the lab every day.

How can I be ok with what mediocre results I have when those before me made so much of what I look forward to possible out of sheer hard work, determination, and stamina through difficult times? Am I just weak and undeserving?

How can you possibly enjoy aging when it feels so awful to wake up and look at yourself in the mirror and be so utterly disappointed and unsatisfied with what is looking back at you?

One morning at a time, I suppose.

Another meaningful blog post!

2009-07-28T18:02:00.001-07:00

The Bacone: A cone made of bacon filled with scrambled eggs, topped with gravy and a biscuit!!

Ok, this is tailgating food. Whats not to love?

Jungle Fever

2009-07-25T22:03:00.000-07:00

Any time you can stay in a room that has a view of a sunset over jungle mountains behind a palm tree--your life is probably ok.

Bars in front of the palm tree? Probably a bad sign.

Status: Quo

2009-07-25T21:24:00.000-07:00

“God may forgive your sins, but your nervous system won't”

~Alfred Korzybski

I haven't felt so unconfident, if that is a word, about a race shorter than a half-ironman for a long time. But here I am, in Pearl City on the majestic island of Oahu, feeling rather tenuous about my first Hawaiian triathlon tomorrow. The Tinman Triathlon, a long running, large triathlon off the beaches of Waikiki that includes an ocean swim of 800 meters, a 40 km bike ride, and a 10 km run.

I have done this sort of distance and much, much longer for 12 years, numbering close to 90, and I sit here feeling extremely underwhelmed about the whole thing. What gives?

A lot of that most likely has to do with the fact that I am in an unfamiliar place, it's ridiculously warm outside (we have to get up at 2:30 AM. It will be 77 degrees already. That in itself is insane) and I don't have the "comforts" of home races. I have spent the last few days hydrating so thoroughly that I am a walking sports drink dispenser. I probably have urine that tastes like Gatorade by now. Yeah, that was uncalled for. Sorry.

My wave starts at 5:30. I think that includes all the people who look like me (male, skinny, shaved legs, beginning to bald) but who will mostly go much faster than me until the run when I plan to demolish the field. And about these ocean swims: I love salt, like salt on my french fries, salt on my tortilla chips, and some nice kosher salt on my medium rare steaks. But I don't regularly guzzle salt water, and that is what I will be doing for 12-13 minutes in the morning while getting my heart rate up to about 90% of max. Mmm, that ought to make the tummy feel good.

And, did I mention that the sun doesn't even rise until 6:05? For you mathematically challenged blog-fans, that's 35 minutes AFTER MY SWIM START. Should I have an underwater LED for safety? A blinky bike light around my head so no one mows me down?

One thing is for certain, I will not be setting any records. My plan is to go easy on the swim, go easy the first whole half of the bike, and then from there on, deposit my muscle and liver glucose stores out on the highways of Honolulu. Hopefully it will be fun. Hopefully there will be no Ironman-esque flat tires.

It could always be worse; I could be at school.

When I think of it that way, I feel like a complete moron. Who on earth would complain about doing a triathlon in Hawaii?

Apparently me.

Anyone seen my cup of salt water?

2009-07-25T17:18:00.001-07:00

Novel race gear transportation in Oahu...yikes.

Memory serves me right.

2009-07-17T09:01:00.001-07:00

“You never know when you're making a memory.”

~Rickie Lee Jones

That might be one of the more meaningful quotations I have ever come across.

It is scary to consider this. It truly, at least for me, brings home the importance of our actions.

We have our version of memory, but so does everyone else. Their versions may be different from ours, but we have no way to know. Of course we are not in control of how they decide to remember something, but we do have some control over how we handle every situation.

I have gone through my life making memories, impressions, with, for, and about other people. Things I have done and said are indelibly etched into the pages of countless others' life stories. For better or worse, I make memories whether I realize it or not. And that is startling. What stupid, mean, dumb-ass things have I said or done in my life that are now the way I am remembered?

It seems to be a bit like politicians speaking to the press. It might be helpful to myself to be reminded that all of this is going on the record. Honesty is always good policy; regardless of how you may be persecuted for being honest, one thing that memory will never accuse you of is falsehood. And that is powerful in itself.

Intentions are one thing, but being true to yourself, first, is probably the most difficult thing we can strive for. Ego is the biggest wall we as humans must hurdle before we can truly be happy in our own skins and truly approach each and every situation Honestly.

Do we really ever attain this? He who does is truly the champion of us all, for they have little or no fear.

At the instant they happen, memories may not be wonderful. Technically they are memories as soon as they occur, though the information we obtain and life we experience once the memory is sketched alter our perception. It is only through the lens of time and retrospection that we can see the value in them. Good and bad alike. We continually re-use our canvas of memory to paint and re-paint our vision of the past.

For now, I have memories of Grandpa Dick. I try to be objective and realize that I can cherish this stack of memories for what they are. Imperfect, of course, but they are mine forever. He was not a perfect person, and for much of my life my memory of him was one of fear. But that changed as he changed, and I believe the combination makes him even more remarkable in my mind.

I wonder how he remembered me.

What will we become?

2009-07-16T07:49:00.000-07:00

“Nobody can go back and start a new beginning, but anyone can start today and make a new ending.”

~Maria Robinson

We are born into the light of the world in the same fashion with which a fighter jet is launched from the deck of an aircraft carrier. Harsh, loud, violent and not yet ready for what is ahead of us. Somehow technology manages to save us early and often.

We bumble through life as only an arrogant, blind creature can, with barely enough sense about us to keep from dying. Soft and fragile in a world of predation and sharp edges, we can not smell, see, hear or feel anything as keenly as the other creatures around us. We have ruled the planet far too long. Our awareness is diluted by our status at the top of the food chain and our comfort there. Our lack of senses allows us to thrive, rather than being forced to assimilate into the world and risk sub-exponential reproduction.

As we grow, what senses we did have as children begin to diminish even more, and the world becomes less like the playground we enjoyed, and more like a giant virtual shopping mall. Our sensory stimulation comes to us in the form of flashing colors and videos of other humans sent through energy waves into our private boxes in front of which we sit for hours on end. We call it work. We are lazy and pre-occupied, and we have forgotten that we came from our world. Instead we create new ways to enhance our distance from reality and consider ourselves clever for making our lives so much easier.

The ultimate irony: Humans believe they are superior because they create ways to escape the world around them. Is this truly superiority?

We focus on what our "quality of life" should be. We worry about how we compare to other people and their stack of things. Our vision becomes our greatest asset as we forget how to smell and hear and feel life. Somewhere this person so alive has become another drone. We are already dying.

This goes on for years. The majority of our time is spent "building" something, but do we ever know when it's finished?

We age. We begin to lose the ability to focus clearly on the stream of media with which we are assaulted, and we turn away. We can not follow the flashing images and words any longer, and we are forced back into the world which we so long ago turned our backs upon. The earth is different than we remember, what little we remember, but we find joy again in simply being.

Perhaps we look around and see things, truly, for what they are. Perhaps not. Perhaps we are bitter. Perhaps we see that even one more day to breathe the smells and sounds of the earth is better than no more days.

And as the shroud thickens, and our consideration of our ego fades, do we remember the tickle of the cold water on our feet, and the smell of the forest? Are we scared because of our frailty? Are we confident because of our humanness? Are we calm?

What will be important when nothing is important?

2009-07-09T16:35:00.001-07:00

So true, so true.

Family, I love to hate you.

2009-07-09T15:32:00.000-07:00

"The reason grandparents and grandchildren get along so well is that they have a common enemy."

~ Sam Levenson

I was sick, having spent the entire previous night heaving my guts out. My leg muscles hurt and I couldn't really do anything at all besides lay on the couch and mope. I couldn't even properly mope.

I decided to call dad, and then, because I hadn't talked to her in a while, I would call my mom.

Insert ominous music here.

Dad informed me how poorly my grandfather is doing, health-wise, now. His condition has worsened so severely that they have begun the process for home hospice care. He has been in the hospital this week and growing increasingly difficult to work with. He is in momentous amounts of discomfort I am sure and, like anyone in a situation of this kind, is sick of the poking and prodding that happens when you are in a hospital for any real amount of time. Dad says the morphine drip did wonders for his mood--when he let them use it.

All in all it was a good conversation with dad, nothing special, but good considering how many years my father and I went without a real, decent talk. Now we are going on several in a row.

So I called my mom. It is painful to even begin to think about it, but it went something like this:
"Hello?" A rather loud, already perturbed sounding voice.
"Hey mom, how are you?"
"I'm fine, how are you?" Already I don't get a good vibe from her voice.
"Oh, I got really sick."I start and then debate how much I really want to say. "I threw up all night and today have a lot of muscle pain and feel generally crappy."
"Oh, wow, what do you think it is, some sort of bug or food poisoning?"
"Yeah, I think it's salmonella."
"Oh, god, where do you think you picked up THAT from?" Again, her voice gives away a lot. If I was wise I would have just said I needed to go and hung up. But no.
"I don't know, I have to think through everything I ate, it could be any number of things."

We talked back and forth about how I should take care of it a few more sentences, then it was quiet.

"Grandpa Dick is going into Hospice. " Wait for some reaction. Finally she said something.
"Oh, that's too bad."
"Yeah, he isn't doing really well, his lung cancer is really advanced." I say a couple more things about it I don't remember now.
"Well, he is pretty old, so that's the way it goes." This is already sounding bad. Loving confrontation, I continue.
"Apparently this week dad says he has been in the hospital and has been pretty belligerent with the doctors, but I think that's normal." This was the beginning of the end of this horrible experience. One moment later and I wished I never would have called.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am going to leave this here. I don't even want to regurgitate what was said beyond this point.

Sorry to leave the audience hanging, but this is just another sordid episode in the battle everyone I have ever met has had with my mother. And its title as a movie would be something to the effect of:

"You owe me"

or

"What have you done for me lately"

Or

"I have never been treated well, poor me."

I have had it. I am officially finished being judged, being the subject of passive aggressive self-fulfilling guilt trips, being told how much has been done for me and how unappreciative I am, and blamed. It's over and you know? I don't care anymore that it is my "mom" because there are plenty of people in the world who DO care, and treat me like a human being and don't hold things over me to be used later.

So Mom, have a good life and be careful how you treat people. Although I doubt you will ever let anyone get close enough to you to worry about it.

Some day, you will be alone in your world of hate, facing the end of your own days, swamped in judgment and feeling sorry for yourself... and then, well, I hope you are happy, finally. Because no one will be there to tell you you are wrong when you use your last words to once again blame the world for your faults.

Ironman: Part Four

2009-07-02T20:05:00.000-07:00

"There's no such thing as bad weather, just soft people."

~ Bill Bowerman

Ironman: It's not about facing your fear, its about challenging it to a footrace... and WINNING.

I was weary, but oh, so happy as I jogged into the transition tent. In the morning, when I left the trauma of the deep, dark lake-o-doom, the tent was dark, extremely crowded, and just makes you feel crazy. You feel like there is no way you will:

a) Leave wearing the appropriate gear--that you own
b) Leave having placed your swimming gear into your bag

But somehow it happens and you run off to fetch your bike and enjoy 6 hours of pain. I mean pedaling.

As opposed to the "morning transition" the "afternoon transition" is pleasant. It's quiet, bright, warm, and I am SO 'TARD HAPPY to be off the freaking bike that I am the worlds happiest kid on Christmas. I love everyone. Unfortunately, not everyone shares my enthusiasm (when you feel terrible nothing can make you smile) though I think they appreciate my smile.

I hope.

I found a seat in the middle of the tent that was very open, and set about my business:

-Off with helmet.
-Off with bike shoes.
-Off with bike shorts.
-Off with glasses. Wait, those have to go back on, better start making a different pile...always room for Virgo.

Now, dump out the run bag.
-Put on running shoes.
-Put on running hat.
-Put the glasses on. Yeeeeeah.
-Grab fuel belt of life saving juice.

NOW GO!! Creak, creak, creak, as I slog out of the tent. It's such a great day.

It was very easy this time to transition, and I was out in a couple of minutes. It seems after that point I always wish I would have enjoyed sitting there "transitioning" more... how weird. It is a fleeting, good, SITTING moment. The volunteers make it happen, and I kinda miss them a little.

(It took me a mile of running to remember I did not want to be wearing my arm warmers any longer, and I slipped them off and balled them up, planning on tossing them to the girls as I ran past. Which I did. And surprised the HELL out of them.)

Later, in the rain, I would dearly miss those arm warmers. Aaarrrrrrr....

The sun was behind clouds, this time, and I did not stop for any sunscreen (or leg rubs, which I received impromptu last Ironman). It was a decent temperature outside at this point, and I left the tent feeling reasonably well for how HARD I had pedaled. As I pushed into the first little out and back west of the park, about a half mile into the marathon, I was relieved. My training WAS good after all; after that hard of a bike ride, when I got finished and handed my bike off I was certain that my run would be doomed to a half marathon walk. It is one of those things where you start running and within a few steps you know.

You know if you are going to RUN the marathon or SURVIVE marathon.

Today, if I was going somewhere... I - WAS - RUN-NANG!!!!

I told myself, as I began the marathon, that I wasn't going to take anything from the aid stations until 10 miles, or if I had my own liquid left, 13 miles.

I had eaten and hydrated well enough on the bike, and I had my fuel belt with the same mix of Sustain (from Melaleuca) in 3 flavors that I had trained with. I also had clif Shot blocks with caffeine (my secret marathon weapon) and Endurolyte tabs just in case. My plan was to finish the fuel belt bottles by halfway through the marathon, and if I for some reason went dry too early before I reached the special needs bags (where I had full replacement bottles), I could supplement at the aid stations. But O wanted to avoid the weird stuff this time.

My last Ironman I overdid the cookies and coke a bit. Heh...

But then again, I had very different goals in 2007, my first Ironman. This time, I stuck to the plan because I wanted to RUN the marathon. I passed through the aid stations, with their tasty looking assortment of foods and beverages being offered, and instead sucked down half a bottle of Orange Sustain. I popped in a Shot block and sucked on it for a mile. I felt tired, as I should, but good. I felt ready to run.

The other part of my plan was simple but more difficult. 9:00 minute/mile for the first 3 miles, and then steady 8 minute miles as long as I could after that, and if I was really doing well I could throw in 7:30 here and there. Just like training. I had my heart rate monitor/watch on and was tracking my time. I had been through this so many times mentally that I had the times memorized, and even had "contingency" times memorized. And I was sort of in between at this point.

I ran along, passing so many people it was shocking. I was not running fast yet, but as I ran back by the transition area in the park, realizing Brian indeed was not right behind me, I had already probably passed 50 people in the first mile. They were walking out of transition, these same people who had ridden the fighter jets on wheels past me earlier. Interesting.

As I started into and through downtown Coeur d' Alene, I saw Jan and Shawna on the sidewalk, totally unprepared for my arrival. I lobbed the arm warmers at Shawna who screamed with surprise, and they started cheering for me instantly. I love the marathon leg--I am always running so much faster than the people around me (at least through the first 18 miles).

To LOOK better really does help you FEEL better, I think. That is, if you can see yourself. So much of this thing IS mental, after all.

Case in point:
A guy who I caught up to and was about to pass was doing the same thing I was at the big corner at the end of the main street in downtown: looking at his reflection in a big store window as he ran past. We saw each other doing it, and he beat me to the punch by saying "FORM CHECK! Yep, I look GOOOOOD!!" It was hilarious.
I told him "The most important thing in this IS looking the part, after all. Keep it up!" And I ran past him. It was a joke, but it is kinda true. You can control a lot by imagining yourself "looking like a pro" just like the Golf ads on weekend cable television say.

Bounce bounce bounce. I felt so bouncy and strong. Like, if I have enough energy to run like this, I owe it to all the people who DO NOT to run as fast as I can.

I sped out of town, imagining myself running like a pro, trying to do all of the things I tell Jan to do when she works on her running. I don't really have to think about them except for during Ironman, when I am tired and have heavy legs.

As I trotted along past the 5th mile, I watched the runners around me. I felt out of place as they plodded and walked. I realized how now my bike riding was the lagging sport of the three. It used to be my (gulp) swimming...

(Insert "shocked hero" music here.)

I saw startlingly few "runners" out there. At mile 8 I started seeing the difference between "first lappers" and "second lappers". The seconds lappers are on their way to the finish and are just flying along, in momentous amounts of discomfort, but really running hard. The first lappers, like me I suppose, are in less discomfort but just hanging on for dear life to get through the first lap.

Jan really needs to see this--I think she would really take heart to see that it is true: if you can run the end of a triathlon that is longer than a sprint, you really are doing pretty good.

I saw how many people pushed too hard on the bike because now -- I was making the fighter jet sound as I ran past them.

I will never stop the rain by complaining...

The turn-around east of town is 2/3rds of the way up this evil hill that goes around a lazy right swooping turn. Its a tough hill to ride a bike up, and during the marathon its really tough. When I got to it during the first lap, I felt ok, but wondered if I could actually run up this thing. I started at the bottom by shortening my stride a little, staring just in front of my feet, and increasing my cadence. I forced myself to lift my knees a little--just like in practice. I started increasing my cadence a little more. I pushed off a little harder. Hey, this is going pretty well, I thought to myself. I was passing people like crazy--most everyone around me had started walking. I was feeling pretty good about things, and starting to think it was going to be a relatively easy run, all things considered.

Remember what I said about feeling cocky at Ironman?

That's is PRECISELY the moment the rain really started to come down. It had been sprinkling off and on, and the wind was really whipping, but it had not yet hit that point of making me want to stop running, point at the sky with my extended middle fingers and start swearing at the top of my lungs. At least not until that moment. And believe me, the thought crossed my mind.

"BRING IT ON!" I think is what came out of my mouth, followed by a few more words. Stupid rain. It wouldn't have been so bad if it weren't for the 25 mph gusts coming off the lake. It was really getting chilly out there. And dark, I couldn't believe it was only 3-4 in the afternoon and it looked so dark.

I was at mile 10 and holding 8:30 per mile pretty steadily. It didn't really hurt so much, but it didn't feel good. It just... did.

People started showing up in space blankets. The steam from the chicken broth out on the course started to make me feel like it was winter time. Everyone was looking miserable, like a cat being dunked into a cold bath. I was no exception, and my legs were tired as I rolled back into town. I wanted to look good when I passed Shawna and Jan. One foot in front of the other.

I see Brian as I run down the long, slow hill. He looks good. He is jogging. He asked if this was my second lap, and I think he really must need more blood to his brain because his math is REALLY bad. And then I say "No, no way!"

I see Mark Kendall as I go into town. He is walking. I am surprised. Always being a great buddy, he cheers me on, pats me on the back and tells me I am looking terrific. I feel for him and hope he can recover soon enough. I pick up the pace a little into town, probably to 8 minute miles. I know I can't hold this long, but I am really itching to get this over with now. My hands are pretty numb and I am missing my arm warmers, which I wished I had not thrown away. But I can't stop now.

I turn the corner into downtown... I start looking at the people lining the street, hoping to spot Jan and Shawna, knowing I have to be on the lookout because I always see them before they see me. I am flying along, much much faster than the people around me, and I realize I am being cheered on by the poor rain soaked spectators. I throw my right fist into the air, A-LA Jeremy Gerking Ironman Canada at the beginning of the bike leg, and get a round of screams. I love this shit.

Still no girls.

I ran into the park and slowed-up a little. "I have to ease up or I am done." I tell myself. I settle back to probably an 8:45 pace as I go through the little turn around west of the park. I swear I should have seen Jan and Shawna. Oh well, they were probably on the other side of the street. I will catch them on the way out. And that will force me to keep running strong through town. Don't want my cheerleaders to see me mopey.

Looking back on the situation, now, I realize just how miserable I was in that rain and wind, and how much I was looking forward to seeing them out there for a boost. That is NOT to say I would be upset or angry if they weren't, because I know firsthand from all of the Ironman watching I have done just how hard it is to keep track of the times. But on a totally selfish and personal level, I really wanted to see Jan.

Ironman is a pretty selfish thing, you know.

I made the turn and started back towards the park. As I hit the first bank of Honey Buckets I felt my tummy tell me it was time for a break. I had only stopped once to pee on the run so far, but my GI was feeling less than thrilled at my pace and had started complaining about it. Of course the potties are all full, and there is a line. I have to pee pretty bad, I realize now that I am standing there, and I know I can't hold it too long out there. Crap, what to do...

I decide to press on. I stop at the special needs bag hand off and pick up my bag. My fingers are completely gone. Useless. Somehow I manage to do what I need to with the help of a volunteer. Its amazing how you do not realize how far gone your mind is until you have to SPEAK to someone, and then at that moment you hear your own voice you think "oh man, I am really out of it!"

New bottles all around, fresh Aquaphor for my under arms, and I am off. Oh, man, stopping was not so good for my legs. There was a really big alarm going off in my head now, that one that says "YOU IDIOT! What are you DOING OUT HERE?? You can't do this!!!"

There WILL be a fight for your soul before this is over.

(CONTINUE...)

Even though you know its going to happen, its still awful when your body starts to tell your mind that no matter how determined you are, it ain't gonna go down so easily.

I ran through the park. Raining harder. As I pass the beach of the swim start I remember to give the swim a mental "fuck you". Ha. I felt a smile on my face as I realized that, like in 2007, I had arrived at the realization that I was going to finish this thing. It was much less satisfying this time, but it was still a relief. I decided to pick up the pace through downtown, and resumed my Jan watch.

No Jan.

I hoped she and Shawna were all right. I hoped they just had retreated from the rain because I knew Jan did not have rain gear. I suddenly felt horrible for her and wished we had prepared better for the weather. Now I really wanted to finish faster, to make sure she was ok. My legs told me it wasn't going to be that way, and I held my pace. Oh well.

I stopped at the first aid station I come to and grab a chicken broth. HOLY SHIT that is tasty stuff, and WARM. It feels really good going down and I decided that will be revisited later. It is amazing how much better that made me feel. I ran a bit faster, bumping it back to 8:30 per mile.

I passed Mark Kendall. He gave me a big pat on the back and cheered me on. He was wearing a space blanket, like almost everyone else. Only us real psychos were still running without any sort of protective gear. I didn't care, I was on the Ironman survival run mission 2009.

I don't remember a lot of the rest of the marathon, to be honest, up until mile 21. I kept running, and I managed to maintain 8:30 to 8:45 per mile, somehow. I was really hurting, but this was a test. This was not just a race I wanted to finish, I wanted to GO, this time. It was a test of my will, and a test of just how much I could push it. I could not run faster, I don't think, but I could maintain. I don't remember--I had the blinders back on and was staring at the ground 15 feet in front of me.

I remember passing the cemetery right when we turn into town, and all the motivational signs people made on the lawn across the street. I never saw Jan's , but I looked for them even this time, backwards and over my shoulder, as I ran by. I am still a little sad that she put all that effort in and I didn't get to see them. I ran by and around the corner, expecting to see Brian at any moment.

I passed mile 21. I was ecstatic. I was going to make it, and I was going to run the entire marathon--my first and most important goal. I decided to walk through the aid stations as a reward, and it was OK at that point. I didn't care what it did to my time anymore. I would run and then allow myself to walk just a few steps every aid station for the last 4 miles.

I ate a handful of cookies, too.

I couldn't control the emotions after this point. I looked at my watch, it said I was at 10:55 total time... So close, I realized, so close. Does the time even matter in a race like this, really?

I was laughing and joking with people on the sides of the streets cheering. I felt wonderful and terrible all at once. Typical.

I saw Brian, two turns before my finish. He looked tired, but determined as always. He was just heading out for his second lap. I walked by him and slapped him on the shoulder and told him that no matter what, he had to finish, because it would be the greatest feeling he has ever had. He assured me he would, probably a little wierded-out by my sudden End-Of-Ironman emotion, but he appreciated it, nodded and smiled, and told me good job. "Go finish!" He yelled at me as we parted. He was having a long day, but he learned a lot, I think, and really enjoyed it.

Finishers left, First lap, right. I GO LEFT!!!

I made the magical turn to the left for FINISHERS ONLY and ran up to my favorite corner on earth.

I made the corner, and it was PACKED with people, standing in the freezing cold and rain. I was all alone, this time, there was no one around me. I didn't think it was possible after 2007 to enjoy the finish more, but now I know I am wrong.

I cruised down the hill, waving my arms like a madman, pumping my fists. I dont know what I was doing, I was so tired, and so overwhelmed and happy. I really felt like this was a world apart from Ironman 2007 in terms of how hard I pushed and how much I overcame.

The finish chute in front of me. Tears in my eyes. So crowded compared to 2007, and it feels so much more alive. Slapping as many hands as I can reach. Pumping the fist. I see Shawna on the side and slap her hand.

All pain disappears.

I got to the finish line and stopped, and then leaped across it as my photo was taken. I landed with my arms in the air and looked at the sky, rain falling into my eyes.

I did it. Again. And this time, I really feel like I deserved to hear the words:

Aaron Moss, you are an Ironman.

Ironman: Part Three

2009-07-02T07:50:00.000-07:00

You mean I still have to ride 50 miles???

That was my grim realization when I started riding after my second flat tire at Ironman. I mentioned in Part One how quickly the complexion of the day changes. This is not to say I was suddenly feeling awful about life, it was just that stark, cold slap in the face by reality saying "wake-up".

What was worse, I had not even ridden out of town to the hills yet. Gulp.

Digression:
I must say, here, that there is a very important distinction regarding the hill climbing in 2007 and in 2009. See, a few weeks ago, I finally got smart. If you go back and read about the bike ride in 2007 you will notice my comments about the gearing on my tri bike being poorly suited to hill climbing. It is a big gear time trial bike.

A few weeks before Ironman, after doing a 110 mile ride in the heat with over 4000 feet of vertical climbing, I decided enough was enough. I bought a new Shimano Dura Ace cassette. My old cassette was an 11-22 (I know, and I waited 9 years to change that???) and the new one is an 11-25. I swear that I have never felt such love for 3 gear teeth in my life. It is WONDERFUL--compared to what it was like. It still is not a granny climbing gear, but let's be honest--it is nice to climb a hill in the saddle without fear of falling over backwards because you can't actually keep the pedals turning over.
End Digression

So there I was riding north, feeling ok, the wind at my back, occasionally looking at the watch. It was cloudy; the wind was gusting now to the point that I was fearful of being shoved off of the road at times when I was crouched in my aero bars. My legs felt very heavy. The burning was not my issue, it was that heaviness. Out at Hayden Lake the hills started, and the heaviness was a big problem.

I had been playing the passing game with a big 43 year old kahuna named Tom who was riding a beautiful black Cervelo P2C with deep dish Carbon Zipps and a "who's who" of finer carbon components scattered about his ride. Essentially, his bike was worth more than my car(s). It made the sound of an F-18 when it passed me, roaring down the hills. (As happened with so many people, he would pass me on the downhills and I would inevitably lurch by him on the hills. The old game of Gravity vs. Efficiency.)

One hill in particular is up above the lake after you have been swerving around, just before you head away into the country. Its a very steep, sustained climb that is really punishing. Here is the difference between the first lap and second lap--I didn't even remember climbing it the first lap!! I turned to Tom, looking deep in personal anguish and disbelief (as was I) and snorted "Tom, why does it have to be like this?"

He gave a sort of grunt and replied very plainly as he glanced back at me briefly, "We paid a lot of money for this pain."

That was it in a nutshell. We volunteered and the course delivered.

I trudged past him, up to the top, which actually turns out is a false top, and littered the countryside with expletives inappropriate for this forum.

Behold! Vanilla Thunder hath Vanish-ed!!

When I made the FINAL turn around on the bike and was heading back around the long swooping, gradual uphill turns, I fully expected to see Brian RIGHT there, still, clinging about 10 minutes behind me.

But I didn't.

It is selfish, I suppose, to say/feel this, but I was happy I didn't see him. First I was happy because it meant I had not fallen off my pace too much. Second I was happy I did not see him because it may have meant he got smart and held off the pace a little, given the crazy gusting winds out there. I didn't yet consider the third possibility, that he was having problems. Later, when I was riding into town, that thought occurred to me. I think I had had enough problems for us both, and maintained that he had just slowed down for his own benefit.

I saw the sign for 100 miles. 12 miles left. I mean... 12 MILES LEFT!!!! How awesome is that?? I swear, no matter how hard you train for this bike ride, and how well or poorly it goes, there is no better feeling than getting finished with the Ironman bike leg. You can not help but instantly feel better.

Of course I still had 12 very windy miles left. And it was DI-RECTLY into the southwest wind. Of course. How else would it be today?

I decided to go for it back in to town. I knew I couldn't hold the fastest tempo I wanted to, but I could push a little, spin faster... do something to feel energy in my legs which at this point were not energetic. I increased the tempo just a touch and started passing some of the people who had been with me. When we rode back on to the last long straightaway towards the "roundabout of tire-death" I really pushed it, getting up "on the rivet" and feeling my quads burn a little.

Soon there was a large opening in front of me. It was odd. I looked behind me and there, to my surprise, was a string of about 8 cyclists drafting off of me. They were not wheel to wheel, but they were definitely not legal, either. But this is Ironman and you have to be pretty damned blatant to get a card. So there they were. I chuckled--this is not how I saw myself from the inside, but apparently I was worth drafting off of. Or maybe I just smelled pretty.

I couldn't hold the pace all the way in. Some of the little ups and downs were too much and I backed off--unleashing the flood of fast 40 and 50 year olds behind me. It was amazing the whooshing sound it made as they all glided past, legs enormous and chiseled, bikes at least 3 times as expensive as mine. What a fashion show.

I just held on enough into the last small out to really stomp on it before rolling into transition -- where I was just disoriented enough that, when I got off my bike, I started running it back to its rack. DOH! In Ironman you just hand the sucker to the volunteers and they usher you directly into the tent.

The volunteers quickly corrected me, I felt stupid, and then happily scurried in moderate amounts of discomfort to what feels like heaven to me: the transition tent.

The GOOD part of my race was about to begin. Finally.

Ironman: Part Two

2009-07-01T08:23:00.001-07:00

"We have made it to the starting line. In this moment, the probability that we will do the event reaches 100 percent. The hundreds of things that can go wrong leading up to an Ironman have been cleverly averted, and the thousands of things required to get to the start are all now officially history."

~Mitch Thrower

You must UNLEARN what you have LEARNED...

We are taught early on that if something hurts--don't do it.

Somehow we forget these early, simple lessons during Ironman.

Leaving the water of Lake Coeur d' Alene was a moment of mixed emotions for me.

A) Ridiculously happy to be out of the water (what would ya do with a drunken sailor)
B) Terribly disappointed (and still am, I realize now) in myself for not slaying that swimming dragon.

Maybe the third time is a charm.

Based again on previous experience, I brought arm warmers and mittens for the start of the bike ride. The arm warmers did not slide easily onto rubbery wet post traumatic swim arms. Oh no. The first of many many wonderful volunteers to help me throughout the day managed to maneuver the appendages into the sleeves. It was remarkable.

And then the gloves. Oh, dear...

These are not aerodynamic, fancy-pants cycling gloves. Oh no, these are cotton knit gloves from some race back-east that appear from a certain distance like the gloves permanently adorning Mickey Mouse. I used to think they were silly, maybe Mickey is just a smart sonofabitch.

Anyway, I left transition on my wonderful old blue bike feeling much better than 2007-- albeit nervous, now, because this was the "meat" of the race for me. I can do well on the bike, but this year was a big test for me. I had trained very hard for the bike portion, working more hills, more centuries, and as a result I felt stronger than I ever had. I wanted to really hold 19 mph on this ride, really, really wanted to, so that I might have a shot at breaking 11 hours overall. I have huge faith in my running ability, but this year on the bike was new territory.

It was amazing as I rode away from town, finally able to see beyond the blinders of the swim trauma, the difference between the cyclists I was with in 2007 and this year. Much better cyclists this time around, men and women, and much nicer bikes. RIDICULOUSLY nice bikes. And leg muscles popping out all over the place.

I set off at my best warm-up pace, and wasn't shivering after 6 miles. That was definitely an improvement this time around. I settled into a group of very quick cyclists who were riding a pace that was on the verge of being fast enough for my race pace, but I knew I wasn't ready to push it yet this early on (about 12 miles) in the bike.

I forgot about that after my first flat tire. Yes, first. It was mile 15ish of the bike ride. There is a little traffic circle just north of town, and I was heading around the round-about when I felt my rear wheel go slushy around the corner. Oh no. I know that feeling. Please, not a flat. Please please please please please.

I looked at my rear wheel as I swung around and straightened out. Flat as a pancake.

Ugh.

Luckily for me there was an aid station right there, and I rolled up to it. I coasted to a halt and set about changing the tube. My land-legs had really just started to arrive after that horrid second lap of the swim, and I wasn't even close to warmed-up. I had been hovering around 18 mph, and felt ok with that, but the wind was starting to intensify from the southwest. Basically, my legs were not feeling great yet, and it was obvious that the weather wasn't going to be on my side today.

I checked the rim, rim tape, spoke nipples, and tire. I got the new tube in and was ready to inflate. I screwed the CO2 cartridge into the nozzle and put it onto the stem and PSSSSSSHHHH that sucker emptied without going into the tube. Don't even think about asking me HOW that happened! Oh crap--only one CO2 cartridge left. I decided that it was too risky to use it, since I would be without for the remainder of the lap, and went to walk to the other end of the aid station where they had a pump. Successfully inflated and ready to roll, I took off.

Total time lost: 5:25. Panic set in. It shouldn't have--5 minutes is NOTHING. Heck, 10 minutes. But this is where the bad things are going to happen, at the most insignificant times. I felt rushed for some reason after that flat, rushed and pressured, like I needed to push. I got back on my bike and hammered.

My legs were burning, burning more than they should have been. I cranked on, telling myself this was Ironman and I didn't train so hard to "just finish." I know, I know... but at the time, that kind of logic makes sense for some reason. Maybe its a blood flow to the brain issue.

My legs burned and I kept on, knowing full well I was going too hard. The wind kept getting harder. I couldn't eat yet, my tummy wasn't too happy with me. I was able to drink plenty, however, and at mile 35 sucked on a couple caffeinated Shotblocks which felt good, convincing me to just try eating. I did, eating half a Clif bar, and WOW did I feel better. It's amazing how we can trick ourselves so easily, right in our own brains.

The legs burned, and I ignored it. I was holding a pretty good pace, but I couldn't go as fast as I trained into the wind, which seemed to be coming from everywhere, but I maintained the fastest tempo I could hold. I was riding with a couple people who looked to me like as soon as they got off the bike, they were bound to walk a long way.

The hills were relentless, and occasionally we were even lucky enough to go downhill into the horrible wind, which resulted in having to pedal downhill more than usual to maintain speed. That is a wonderful way to suck extra energy! And it hurt. A lot. I went through town again and saw my cheer team, and smiled and waved to them. Jan and Shawna were screaming at me as I raced by, and I felt better. I didn't feel so alone at that moment. Out there on the bike, when everyone is hammering into a wind that is relentless, it feels a little lonely for some reason. Quiet and hard and alone all together. (Seems like an REM song.)

I went through the special needs pick up at Higgins point, just east of downtown, and grabbed my bag = two extra tubes and two extra CO2 cartridges. Just in case. At the time I did not even consider the possibility of getting another flat, but I was sure happy I had that extra bag out there.

I saw Brian Kirby a.k.a. Vanilla Thunder a bit behind me after I made the turn and I screamed at him and put my arms in the air. It makes me feel better when I cheer for people out there. He was hanging on to me pretty good, I hoped he wasn't going to hard but from the looks I guessed he was. That or I was going a lot slower than I thought. It didn't matter, really, because I sure couldn't go any faster!

I actually felt at that point like I was getting used to the hurt, the pushing. The wind was at my back heading north out of town, and I came to that roundabout where I got the flat tire. My stomach knotted up a little as I headed around it, even, remembering just a couple hours previous what I had spent my time doing.

And then it happened.

PSSSHHHHHHT!!

Oh dear lord. SERIOUSLY??

I felt the characteristic "bump bump, bump bump, bump bump" of a deflated front tire and I pulled over. Un-be-fucking-lievable. No way. I had to be dreaming.

I laughed--what else could I do? It was just going to be that way today. I looked at my watch and realized that I would have to finish the bike ride at 7 hours in order to be under 11 hours for my whole race. It was mile 50ish, and I was at 4 hrs. I tried to do math. Could I really average 22 mph the rest of the way? Nope. Not even close.

My heart sank a lot right then. I would be lying if I said I didn't shed some saline quietly to myself. But then something happened.

I sat up and got my shit together, breathed a few times, and remembered the training rides in the rain when Jan had her rash of flat tires.

(Continue.)

I remembered the really long hard ride that wiped me out just a few weeks ago.

(Continue.)

I remembered the swim, just a few hours ago, and how I thought the same thing then but overcame and finished still.
(Continue.)

I thought about my Ironman 2007.

(CONTINUE DAMN IT!)

That made me smile. Here I was, sitting on the Ironman course, angry because I might not break 11 hours. When I thought about it that way, it seemed hilarious and stupid. I bet there were 2000 people out there who would give their left arm to finish around 11 hours!! It was a very important turning point, mood-wise. I felt better. I changed my tube. I chatted with some volunteers. I ate a banana. I got on my bike and started again with the leg-killing pace, into the wind, feeling like this is what I was supposed to be doing, regardless of the time I would achieve.

Sitting there I fully expected Brian to go whizzing merrily by me. Thankfully (for him) he did not.

Ironman: Part One.

2009-06-29T10:37:00.000-07:00

“Courage is the discovery that you may not win, and trying when you know you can lose.”

~Tom Krause

Finishing is victory at Ironman.

I believe that every Ironman has a defining moment. There is some point during every single person's ironman experience as a competitor that becomes the attitude, the emotion, the feeling of the day. And it will make or break you.

For me, during this Ironman, it was at 2/3rds of the swim.
And the feeling was: "Continue".

I was initially confronted with that idea when I stopped about 1.8 miles into the 2.4 mile swim, dry-heaving and gagging on lake water and pure, unfiltered fear. Tears were in my eyes. It felt worse than the first Ironman. No one said it would be easier the second time--in fact, I spoke with the founder of ART and he told me he thought the 2nd Ironman was the hardest. Mentally, I had believed I was prepared, but maybe I was not. However, I at least thought I would be ready for just how punishing the swim was. How did this happen?

The first lap had been a personal record for me; 33 minutes for 1.2 miles. Not rocketing through the water by any stretch, but during a 2.4 mile swim I rarely feel good enough to swim towards my upper limit and I had today. I re-entered the water at the beach after my first lap feeling cocky. First lesson in Ironman racing: NEVER feel cocky and over-confident. It really is amazing how the moment you do, nature senses it like a swarm of bees and unleashes revenge of heavenly proportions upon you. For me, the wind had picked up during my first lap, and I swam fast enough to catch up to a large crowd of very angry, aggressive swimmers.

The waves at the distant end of the course, furthest from shore, had grown unconscionably large. The waves were so large in fact that two people could swim up and over one of them single file. Undoubtedly, the weather had gotten worse. Bad weather was to be the second biggest theme on June 21st, 2009. The first most important theme I already stated at the beginning.

Finishing is victory at Ironman. For me at this point, finishing the swim again was victory. This year, at the gun and into the first lap I had stayed back and toward the outside--a lesson hard learned from the titanic beating I received during Ironman 2007. As a result I earned my best 1.2 mile swim time. What I did, however, was swim well enough to place myself smack into a pack of swimmers that I was trying to avoid. It hurt and it was scary. I did exactly what Dr. Gerking told me not to do: I lost my wits. I lost energy trying to push through the crowd, only to be beaten back. I couldn't find a rhythm in the enormous waves. I couldn't breathe. I got sick.

I felt sad as I thought about my wonderful swim time melting away in the waves. I pushed around the turn and felt like I was going to throw up. I stopped and looked towards shore. Through the tears forming in my eyes I could make out the finish arch. 0.6 miles away. I could do that, I told myself over and over. I could swim that any day of the week. AND the waves were going with me. I gagged and tried to puke up the bad emotions. Every time I started swimming my stomach revolted. It was by far, to date, the hardest 0.6 miles of my life. I remember seeing the enormous crowd along the concrete steps in front of the resort as I swam in. I wondered if I was noticeable, flailing along.

And then... it was over.

The clock said 1:12. I think it ended up being longer than that, 1:14 for some reason, but the clock said 1:12 as I tried to hold it together up the beach, onto the grass, towards the army of waiting peelers who would make my ascent onto land official. I kept thinking about 1:12. Thats 13 minutes faster than my last Ironman swim. I made it. And it was a lot faster. But what's more--

I only lost 7 minutes that second lap! How the hell...?

The next huge lesson at Ironman: nothing is really as bad as it seems. It is like the weather in Colorado. When it seems like a terrible day or like nothing is going well, wait five minutes. It will usually feel completely different.

The Morning.

I remembered the morning of 2007 being a little chaotic in the hotel room, so this time I had my ducks in a row the night before. When the alarm roostered at 3:45 (it really is a rooster alarm), I laid there for 5 minutes and thought about what I needed to do. I waited a moment for the nervous energy. It didn't happen.

I was remarkably calm. I thought about my training and how prepared I felt physically, and a wave of excitement rushed through me. I was excited, this time, and not terrified of the unknown. I was well rested and healthy. Having the first Ironman race under your belt makes a significant difference.

The morning continued in this way--very calm and smooth. We easily found parking a few blocks from the transition area. Not too bad of a walk before the race. We dressed warmly and arrived to feel a little breeze blowing, but not too bad yet. NOTHING like 2007.

So far, so good. I can do this, I told myself. I have done it before. I can do this, over and over.

I felt like I was so prepared that I had so much of an easier time getting everything in order before the race; I could swear I was forgetting something. But no, it was just me having that previous experience. I arrived at the immense, flood-lit transition area with my beautiful wife/Ironman cheerleader before the thing even opened; I was among the first 15 in. That was a cool scene, what with the flood lights and anticipation. Jan and I walked back to the car and I dropped off the extraneous stuff I wouldn't need during the race. I smooched our dog good bye, and Jan and I walked hand in hand towards downtown Coeur d'Alene.

She decided it was time for her first ENORMOUS cup of coffee, I think it was 20 ounces, and I went back to transition to fiddle. It was sunny and pleasant walking along the water. I started to really feel the excitement of it all when I saw how crowded the swim start was already, and all of the other triathletes, much more nervous than me, scrambling around in the final 30 minutes before we were kicked out of transition.

The bike was in terrific shape, as always. It was hard for me at the first Ironman to leave it overnight, I am super anal about that. This time it was a relief to have it out of sight before the race so I could really be at ease... Even though, it's a Virgo outlet for me to keep my tri-bike in excellent condition and now, considering that I wouldn't have it if it weren't for my grandpa, well, now it means an extra special amount to me. I will never get rid of this bike. Or let anything happen to it.

Anyway, I checked my tires (cough for later in the story), filled my bottles, fidgeted a little,grabbed what I needed, and had just figured out where and how to put all my crap on my bike when I hear my name being called. I turn around and see some frantic waving over outside of the transition area fencing. It was my dad and my Aunt Siri, the latter all the way from Alaska. All of my dad's siblings had come in to town (Spokane) if they weren't there already for my grandparents 60th anniversary, so Siri decided to come see the start of an Ironman--fresh from knee surgery. We walked around to the grassy knoll where just days before, at the base of the gigantic blow-up gatorade bottle, Brian, Jan and I swam the course and laughed. Hardly the state of Ironman swim start.

The mass-swim start of 2600 people is ridiculously awesome to see.

I got the chance to hang out with Dad, Siri, Jan and Shawna before I had to go to the beach. I felt good. I felt really good. Calm, fun, warm once dad let me borrow his jacket, ready. I knew in the back of my mind that it was probably bad to feel so good before the race. When or how that would play out was to be determined. It was time to march with the other athletes towards the beach.

At that moment, who should walk past me but Mark Kendall, one of my early triathlon mentors while I was in college. He was largely responsible along with Jeremy Gerking for my enthusiastic start and successful beginnings in triathlon. Mark and I walked along together, chatting about how we felt, neither of us willing to really go out on a limb and claim we were going to have a brilliant day. I assumed he would smoke the sucker.

But do any of us really do that well at Ironman? I guess it's all relative.

The march was agonizingly long to the beach among the crowd of a thousand other athletes, clad in super neoprene suits nervous as hell. Finally, finally my chip crossed the mat and beeped--one slight portion of the myriad of other beeps.

The sand was cold on my feet as I made the final commitment to this day, and stood on the beach wondering, again, what on earth it was about this that I felt compelled to do. And then I smiled.

You are an IRONMAN... AGAIN!

2009-06-26T21:29:00.000-07:00

"The first requisite of success is the ability to apply your physical and mental energies to one problem without growing weary."

~Thomas Edison

This one's for you, grandpa.

11 hours, 23 minutes, 48 seconds after trudging reluctantly into the dark, cold, wavy waters of Lake Coeur d'Alene, Idaho, I emerged from the marathon to the sound of cheers and laughter and the announcer telling me what I wanted to hear.

Aaron Moss, from Kenmore, Washington... YOU are an IRONMAN, for the second time!

It was a very hard day. Much more difficult than the First Ironman. But, after enormous waves, again being beaten-up pretty handily in the water, 2 flat tires, a RIDICULOUS 15 mph headwind on the bike, rain and 50 degree temps on the run-- I managed to shave 1 hour and 21 minutes off of my time.

It really is an experience that is hard to describe to someone who has never done it, or even seen it. It is a sustained effort over so long, and it requires so much mental exertion; so much time is spent in doubt...its hard to imagine it ending at ALL during a number of points during the day.

My race report will be coming soon. Until then, I am on vacation!

Tomorrow!

2009-06-20T18:15:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow is Ironman. For now, this is my pre-sleep wind down in the form of blogging. I am so excited to go do this. And, to make things better, I found the pics of my last race. These are good!

Samples Picture of Aaron.

Another

biking in...

GO!!!

Still Going!

I would love Ironman to look as good as these pictures!! Hopefully it will just be a fun day. I am starting to get a little AMPED up, but so far, its not as bad as the last time I did this craziness.

Talk to you apre-tri!

Whew.

2009-06-20T10:46:00.001-07:00

Ahhh.... controlled chaos! There really is a method to this madness!

Rain, wind, waves... oh my.

2009-06-19T18:13:00.000-07:00

"The trouble with weather forecasting is that it's right too often for us to ignore it and wrong too often for us to rely on it."

~Patrick Young

Right on, Mr. Young.

The weather will not be ignored. Today was cold, windy, rainy and downright icky. The waves seemed smaller at first, but then as we swam further out it was the familiar 3 foot giant swells. Still, the swim feels good, almost fun. Now add the 2500 other lunatics thrashing all around me for instant, giant washing machine effect. Barf.

Still, I look forward to it.

Today I opened my race stuff and looked through my bags for race day. I changed the cleats on my bike shoes. I cleaned my bike chain one last time. I will lube it race morning before I am off. It was too wet today to ride, and even Jan just ran after our activities on-site. The weather was cruel today.

Still, I am excited to get out there and do triathlon for over 10 hours. Hopefully not 12. I am ridiculously excited to this race. I am just NOT excited about the weather forecast: 62 and rainy. Crap, it was better in SEATTLE!!!!!

I handed out around a hundred samples of Aquaphor today, even got booted from the area of the registration line when they saw me handing them out. Apparently, this activity is frowned upon, because nearby are vendor booths where companies pay primo coinage to have the opportunity to hand out stupid stuff. I didn't see anyone else capitalizing on the line of hundreds of tri-geeks, so I was just being entrepreneurial...

But the race director gave me a lecture so I left, and handed the rest out just as easily across the street in a popular parking lot. Good enough!

Well, its almost race-meeting time. I hate this. Its all a bunch of over-anxious, anal type-As in one big tent listening to a bunch of shit that really is not useful whatsoever. Oh well, as Brian would say.

One final thought is the value of planning ahead. This is a crazy chaotic mess if you have not thought through every minute at least once. And thank god for the ART tent (Active Release Therapy).

OK, enough. My battery is about dead which is a sign I need to turn this off. I will sleep well tonight. And I will sleep in a bit tomorrow. After all, its my last day before Ironman!!!!! Woooo hoooo!!!

Arrival in Ironland and other Tales

2009-06-18T18:30:00.000-07:00

"It's a cruel season that makes you get ready for bed while it's light out."

~Bill Watterson

This picture look familiar?

It should, it is exactly like the picture from 2007, the last time I engaged in this lunacy called Ironman.

Aah, its wonderful, though! We arrived last night, around 9, into Coeur d'Alene (how elegant a name--so annoying to spell!) Along the way over I phoned my dad who told me my grandfather, experiencing all of the age-and-smoking-related ailments a human can experience, had been put back in the hospital for a variety of reasons I will not go into. So, seeing as how his hospital in Spokane was right off the freeway, and I knew my way around ok, we decided to stop and see him. And I am glad we did.

My grandfather has always been a stoic, kind of stern figure. But lately his own mortality, as a result of aforementioned age-and-smoking-related health issues has caught up with him and he has softened quite a bit. Over the last few years he has appeared to me to become almost an entirely different person--and one of my favorites.

So Jan and I stopped by and he was, in his own subdued kind of serious way, thrilled to see us. Hospitals have a way to make all those staying in them seem older and sicker than they really are, and he was no exception. I was and am concerned for him, but what he is really experiencing I will never know. He is a Male and a Moss, and from a generation that does not complain--they just motor on. And so it goes, and so it goes... I will never appreciate what he has gone through for me, for my country, for himself and his family. The least I can do is listen to him and show him I care.

After we stopped in Spokane we kept on to Coeur d'Alene (CDA). We are staying in the Motel 6, which on Wednesday before Ironman, was woefully understaffed. I waited in line to check in for about 40 minutes while Peggy managed to answer phones, make reservations and patiently deal with the 80 year old in front of me who did not know how to use a credit card swipe machine. Ack. It was torturous (at best), but eventually it ended-- and I was hurriedly cramming the bikes into the room so that we could head downtown for my LAST pre-ironman beer: Vanilla Bourbon Stout at the CDA Brewery. Oh man, it is worth waiting for. Thick, rich, not too hoppy, yummy!!

We met Brian Kirby, my labmate, and his dad there, had dinner, and enjoyed a lot of laughs--most of which were at Brian's expense as his dad more than willingly shared embarrassing details of Brian's somewhat misguided youth.

The last time I was here it was just me; and I had a few notes to go by from my Ironbuddies. This time, I am the veteran and Brian is the newbie. And I have to say that it's really nice to have him here. The humor and laid-back attitude is well suited to counteracting my anal, serious, anxious demeanor. We blend together into about the perfect level of attentiveness to the tasks and schedule at hand.

This morning we swam in the lake down at the actual swim start, just like last time I was here. BUT this time, the water was about 64 degrees. The waves, however, were ridiculously huge, like last time. As Brian would happily state, "OH WELL!" We will deal with that on race day. After that we rode our bikes over the run-course and enjoyed the gusty winds sweeping in off the lake, rather annoying. There were a lot of nice bikes with people on them doing the same thing as us. Its amazing how many people converge on the towns which host the Ironman events. The population of the town is literally 30% larger for one week of the year. And hopefully everyone is spending their out-of-town dollars accordingly!!

After our bike ride we did the Ironman check-in game, waiting in line then going in the dark tent of reckoning. I remembered last year the psychological evaluation they hold, and warned Brian not to look too shifty... he apparently did ok because he emerged with the same blue Irongeek bracelet as me.

Now the day is over and its time to rest. Its almost 7 and mentally I am done for the day. Its an intense experience from start to finish, and every day the bed is calling me... the cardboard Motel 6 bed and its sleepy spell are pulling me again.

Till tomorrow.

2009-06-18T17:13:00.001-07:00

But, alas, no beer for Ironpeople...

2009-06-18T17:12:00.001-07:00

A good Thursday before ironman is complete! Now its time for dinner in the sun and sleep. Aaaah, life.

Ironman Thoughts

2009-06-15T08:20:00.000-07:00

"There are mental demons we fight and mental angels that we all carry around; it’s how we deal with them that will determine if we can finish this thing called the Ironman, this thing called life."

~Mitch Thrower

Ironman Race Day Thoughts

Sitting at work. All I can think about is Ironman.

I am standing on the shore with a couple thousand other triathletes. It is quiet but for the sound of the waves, the voices over the loudspeakers, the helicopter and the demons screaming.

We stand together in solitude.

Strangely experiencing a mix of fear and curiosity.

Looking ahead to T1.

Not looking forward to the impending beating in the water by my fellow athletes.

Wonder where Jan is? I wish she were here with me now.

Sitting at my desk, 400 miles away on a beach filled with anticipation and adrenaline.

Go Team!

2009-06-15T07:21:00.000-07:00

"The key is to make mistakes faster than the competition, so you have more chances to learn and win."

~John W. Holt, Jr.

Team Moss had a good day, Saturday, at the Five Mile Lake Sprint Triathlon, in Federal Way, WA...

Brian Kirby had a fantastic pre-ironman tune-up race! In just his third triathlon ever, I believe, he went home with 3rd place in the Male 30-34 age group. Sweeeet!! Watching him fly into the park at the very end of the run was something. That big dude can really move! I dare you to get in his way!

The beautiful and amazing Jan Howard earned her first hardware by improving on her previous time on this course by 10 minutes, winning 3rd place in the Women 30-34 age group. This girl has worked RELENTLESSLY on her running especially, but on all parts of her racing and it is really paying off. Not only did she train right through this race, but the day before she came home from a week long trip to Atlanta, complete with booze and southern cooking. Indeed, her accomplishment is special. But most importantly, the part that means the most, is that she has figured out how to race the best way for her. She has taken the tools taught to her and figured out HER OWN WAY, and it is working. I am so ridiculously proud.

I managed to use the entire length of the 5K run to catch and pass someone and earn 5th overall and 1st in the Men 30-34 age group. It might have been 3rd or 4th overall if my timing chip had not stuck inside of my wetsuit after the swim to bike transition. Oh well. I felt really good all day and feel good today. I forgot how hard going fast is!!

Shawna Hengel, in her first triathlon EVER, flew around the course and earned 5th in Women 30-34. She looked waaaay too comfortable out there, and I fully expect her to experience exponential growth throughout this season! She has talent!

Now, as the unofficial coach of this rag-tag bunch of wanna-be trigeeks, I have to say I am damn proud. All in all, I would say that Team Moss had a spectacular showing.

And if the season stopped there, well, maybe I wouldn't be so nervous still. Today is Monday. This coming Sunday is IRONMAN. All I can really do now is rest, be smart, and stick to my pre-race plan. The water appears to be cooperating temperature-wise, and the training is behind me. That is really the best I can hope for. I will be blogging from race headquarters, the Motel 6 in Coeur D Alene. Woo hoo!!!

Ironperson #568

2009-06-10T07:58:00.000-07:00

"I am not a number..."

~Number 6 (The Prisoner)

Bib Number: 568
MOSS --AARON --32 --M --30-34 --KENMORE --WA --USA --STUDENT

If you can not be in Coeur D'Alene in person to watch #568 do the Ironman shuffle, please feel free to watch him do it here:
IronmanLive.com

New title for the blog: Training and Complaining

2009-06-08T12:00:00.001-07:00

"Sweat silently. Let's have no squawking about a little expenditure of energy."

~Martin H. Fischer

We should all take some time to help those a little less fortunate than us. For instance, whenever possible, after a forest fire, share your water bottle with adorable little critters most of us only read about in books or see on television.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yesterday I was loading a few things into the car for a trip to Goodwill, which occurred because I am cleaning out the garage in an effort to make room for two vehicles instead of just one. Incidentally that didn't happen. I closed the garage door, walking by the button and giving it a tap, and was walking to my car on the other side as the door is closing(I deftly step over the laser-beam sensor as the door closes--don't try this at home, kids). Lo-and-behold my canine companion Cappie followed suit. I don't know if it was dumb luck or if she knew, also, how to avoid the beam that stops the door from unleashing its squishing powers, but she squirted out into the driveway, obviously pleased with herself, before the door closed. She pranced to the car while I stood in utter disbelief.

I realized that she saw the current situation (I had the garage in such disarray, and was carrying a huge armful of crap) and thought I might be trying to run away, and that she had better get a move-on if she were going to keep an eye on me.

Then she got to go to Goodwill.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My muscles and tired limbs are healing.

One of the very coolest things about training for an Ironman is that, unlike training for shorter races, you get to really taper. You get to, in a controlled fashion, dwindle your training volume down (while maintaining intensity of course) towards the race in an effort to rest and recover and sharpen towards race day.

Tapering for Ironman is great for two reasons (at least for me):
1) I am training much less distance and therefore training takes up a lot less time out of the day, and therefore I have much more time to do useful things--like clean bikes, organize the garage, and vacuum.

2) Since I have been training so damn much until now, I do not feel that overwhelming urge telling me I "should be running" or something. Nope. Nada. No training.

The unfortunate thing is that I am not too good at resting. I may not be training, but I am, as I mentioned, tearing apart the garage. That is not restful (and you would agree if you saw this in action). Therefore I do need to work on resting.

But the no training thing? I have that down.

2009-06-07T10:29:00.001-07:00

The last ride. The bike is different, the speed is faster, but the partner is the same.

Insanity to the Nth--plus one.

2009-05-20T09:19:00.000-07:00

“The thoughts written on the walls of madhouses by their inmates might be worth publicizing.”

~Georg Christoph Lichtenberg

Pedaling upon the Burke-Gilman trail towards school. Legs burning. The whirring sound of my tires and the creaking of my old aluminum frame compete with my thoughts for the virtual stage. The microphone picks up nothing but static.

In the distance the sun rises, for the trillionth time I wonder?? Seeing the same rising sun as the first humans, I stop and wonder for a moment if this is something I should be taking more seriously. I wonder if I take everything too seriously.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Over the last four weeks I have ridden 4 centuries, run over 100 miles, swam over 20 miles, and eaten more than my body weight.

I rode the Urban Assault race as hard as I could, but we only came up with a 6th place finish. I really wanted that one.

The next weekend we went to Bellingham for the Ski to Sea race, which was on Sunday. I was doing the mountain bike leg--my first time. Its a 14.5 mile leg as hard as you can possibly ride. I rode it on Saturday this way, then ran a few miles around lake padden. The next morning I woke up and spent most of the day waiting for my turn. When I got the baton, I rode into a division win and 32nd overall out of 416. The next day, Monday, I set a PR for 110 miles on my tri bike and then ran 8 miles.

My body has, as my friend and triathlete mentor Jeremy Gerking put it best "...found the razor's edge, and stayed there..." for a month.

I have done workouts in consecutive weeks that have simulated the Ironman wipe-out experience so well, I almost felt as though I needed a month off after one of these monsters. But the next week I would show up, ready to roll. In the process I found new depths of strength and endurance, courage and tolerance for pain. All good things in the Ironman Triathletes weapon cache.

I have made it through another ridiculously hard training season. Ironman is now 15 days away and I am in full-on taper mode. It almost feels weird not to be sitting here already worried about my 112 mile ride with 3500 vertical feet of climbing followed by a 12 mile run... I almost feel like I am cheating. Until I think back to last weekend, when I did just that, and then I can't help but be a little sad that once again, its almost all over.

Except for one last thing. Ironman itself.

For all the training and fatigue and emotions--the race is still where it all is headed, it is still the focus. Don't lose that focus, not ever. The instant you do, you get swallowed up and spit out by Ironman.

I made my plan.
I am training my plan.
I can't wait to race it.

Until next time...

Castles Made of Sand

2009-05-07T09:11:00.000-07:00

"I've been imitated so well I've heard people copy my mistakes."

~Jimi Hendrix

How long have I been listening? The music of intimidation, the song of insecurity, the gospel of graduate school.

I have listened to the lectures and the speeches and the seminars.

I have listened to defenses and breathing capitalist info-mercials.

I have heard the gospel and the sermon, the prayer and the confession.

The sound of failure and survival over the years has begun to sound the same, the soul among these voices almost non-existent. Am I destined to become one of these? Will my ultimate comfort some day be the sound of my own voice like it is for those around me?

~~~~

It is the 18th week of Ironman training.
I am strong and getting quicker, but approaching each workout takes its own brand of strength and conviction. Each time I step to the edge of the pool, each time I snap into my pedals, each time I lace up the running shoes; determined, yet afraid. The rain, the cold, the wind-- yet again. Hours and hours. The fatigue of each pedal stroke to pass over yet another hill. The numbness in my toes and fingers. Again and again I push the limits of my willingness to perform at an unprecedented level (for me) in the hopes of... what was it again?

There is never enough sleep. Never enough time. Only more to do, more pushing and exerting. More thinking and planning. More organizing. More more and finally, more.

Eating, sleeping, working, training. I become Microsoft Outlook.

~~~~

This morning I took 5 minutes to watch my dog after her morning walk. She rolls over in her bed that is too small for her and glances at me, upside down, her paws flapping around the ends of her legs like rubber. Her lips are hanging back from her doggy gums to reveal her dirty canine incisors. She sneezes. Surprised even at herself, she whirls herself up and shakes vigorously, her tags and emblems rattling on her collar. She looks at me and blinks, head cocked over and ears perked up.
I look at her and smile and appreciate the simplicity of her life.

Toys are GOOD.

2009-04-14T19:52:00.001-07:00

"Women are like cars: we all want a Ferrari, sometimes want a pickup truck, and end up with a station wagon."

~Tim Allen

My new toy. Its beautiful.

Potential Ride for April 11th

2009-04-08T08:49:00.000-07:00

But our ride will leave from Kenmore and cut across Redmond instead of originating from Beacon Hill.

That should eliminate 5 miles or so. Heh.

Check out the "view elevation" option. Holy moly.

Beacon Hill to Carnation Loop
Find more Bike Rides in Seattle, Washington

Moved to Speak.

2009-03-31T08:24:00.000-07:00

“When I was a kid my parents moved a lot, but I always found them.”

~Rodney Dangerfield

Its the 13th week of The Plan (formerly known as training). I was set on the all great calendar of pain to swim 3000 this morning, not a very big deal considering I swam 3000 last week already. I have been feeling remarkably strong in the pool. This morning was no exception and I surfed my way to 2800 comfortable and finished with 3200 uncomfortable. I pushed myself hard the last 1000 and it was worth it to feel that emptiness afterward when I stand up on deck for the first time and wobble my way back to shower.

The left knee is holding up nicely since I gave it a mini break from running.

Note to self--

Unsupportive Running Shoes
+
Bad Bike Fit
+
Crazy-ass skiing
=
BAD KNEES.

This morning I came in and saw a man sweeping stuff out into the hallway from our lab corridor. The door was open wide and he had his big, wide, floor sweeper/duster PILED with crap from our floor. It was obscene how much crap he had swept up. He was a pleasant enough guy-- a big, older mexican guy--who moved for me so I could get past and to my desk.

I came around the corner to my desk and saw that he had piled my nasty, dirty cords and stuff from the floor up onto the surface of the desk. I felt a little miffed that he had forgotten to put them down (its gross that they were there, anyway, but I figure I would have rather just not known at that point) again when he was finished. I look around and saw that the floor was remarkably clean. There was virtually no dust around. I was in awe. He had only dusted/swept, and our lab floor looked better than I had seen it look in years. So I told him that.

He explained our normal cleaning lady (oops, Custodial Technician) had been hurt on the job and that is why we have had different people in here every morning. He thought that our floor "looks neglected" and he "doesn't want it to get any farther behind" so he was scrubbing it this morning.

I don't think I could thank him enough, or more profusely.

My perspective changed. I took the cords and opened one of the drawers where I keep the computer overnight. I left the drawer partway open and propped the cords up on it. I returned to my desk and realized how shortsighted I had been-- he was leaving those cords up there so he could continue mopping. Duh, Aaron. So Smawt.

I moved some other things around and helped him by moving some waste containers while he mopped. Then he went to get a big scrubby pad and proceeded to hand scrub our floor. Amazing. This is amazing, I told him. It felt like Christmas. He laughed and we talked for a bit. I shared with him my history of employment, a significant percentage of which included scrubbing Golds Gym floors and bathrooms, and how much I appreciated just for myself seeing it be clean. My new amigo then went to get the big autoscrubber machine and is now scrubbing the heckfire out of our nasty floor.

It looks amazing. It smells clean. He takes pride in making it look nice just for the satisfaction of making it cleaner than it was when he got here. He isn't complaining about the time, the effort, or his lack of pay. He hasn't mentioned unions once. He hasn't stopped chatting with me or smiling or being polite.

I just sent his supervisor an email explaining how wonderful this man is.

He reminds me that regardless of what it is you do, you should take pride in it.

What is the Meaning of OW?

2009-03-23T15:30:00.000-07:00

"Monday morning. Time to pay for your two days of debauchery, you hungover drones."

~Monty Burns

Today is really March 24th.

It is Tuesday, the first day of the 12th week of Ironman training V.2009.

Where am I, now?

Saturday we rode over 60 miles. It was moderately hilly and very cold in the morning. No rain, though, which is always a bonus. [I had just started to write about how kind the weather had been so far this year, but at that moment a virtual "shhhh" came from virtual Jan who reminds me not to tempt fate and jinx us.] Some rides its ridiculous how swift the punishment is when I mention something about the weather not being too bad. The words leave my mouth and not 3 minutes later we are swamped in rain, pelted with ice crystals or hunkering into our jackets from the snow... or some mixture of all three.

Saturday was a tough bike ride, but Jan really crushed it and forced me to step up my game a lot. Good girl. She mentioned something about making a point not to sandbag this ride, and she meant it. From the very beginning she held a torrid pace and I followed her for much of the ride. She pushed up the early hills so hard that not only was I not slowing down for her like normal, I was pushing myself to keep up. Did you read that? I WAS PUSHING MYSELF to keep up. My legs were still tired from my ski day, but that was not causing this. Not only was I impressed for her, I was astounded. I knew what she could do, but never really knew how to awaken the girly- dragon within. Well, it woke up. And now that the secret is out, I wonder how she will ride in the future?

I realized she might be pushing waaaay too hard, so I reminded her we had some hilly sections heading back home. She agreed but kept pushing. I smiled and followed dutifully. Very, very proud coach. If she can learn to run like this... women triathlete opponents watch yourselves. There is a sleeper in Kenmore.

She is the exact opposite of me. When I bought my bike, I was a red blur everywhere I went. You could smell the lactic acid eeking out of my pores, because everytime I sat on the bike it was all or nothing, burn-the-daylights-out-of-my-legs kind of ride. Didn't matter how far or short, how hilly or how flat, who I was with. GO GO GO, as fast as I can, as long as I can manage. Everyone always asked me, "Why do you always ride so fast?" Or, "Do you always train this fast?" I thought they were just jealous. Ha. Turns out they knew something.

And now I impart to Jan the value of a huge amount low intensity work, year after year, and how after a few years, at the same intensity, you go much faster. And its working. I just had to learn it for myself, first...

Sure enough the hills hit and we both conked out. We did make it, encouraging each other on. Hill after hill, we slogged it out, until the very final downhill stretch. And then, like a dope-slap, I was riding behind (like a lot of this ride) Jan when all of the sudden a really loud HIISSSSSSSSS emanated from her rear tire, and it sank in a slushy mess flat to the ground. Of course. OF COURSE.

I ranted and raved for a few moments and Jan (kindly) suggested we stop complaining and fix it. After acting childish for a few minutes and watching Jan struggle with the tire changing, I grew up and helped and we got it done and were on our way.

Then the reality of the situation hit me: I was changing a flat tire, getting grimy and dirty after a HARD 60 miles, with the woman I love more than anything. Together we did it all. How cool is my life? And how cool is the woman I get to share it with?

Sunday I ran 1:15:00, 75 minutes, for 8.2 miles. Mostly flat. Easy pace. Felt good, on tired legs and sore left knee from crazy skiing the previous week. The knee troubled me enough that I accommodated it in my running style, but its not so bad that I am concerned. The tension and pressure put on it from skiing is a very certain kind of force that threatens to pop the knee cap off outward. It happens when I maintain the position of my skis being under me in the thick and heavy snow that, when I hit it at high velocity, slows the skis down considerably and wants to pitch me forward. Think about breaking a small branch in your fingers. You hold the branch in your fingers with your thumbs oon the branch pointing towards each other in the middle. Using your index finges, press down and oppose that force with your thumbs by pressing up to bend the twig in between your thumbs. Now imagine a knee cap right where the bend is occurring. That was my knee cap.

Monday was a day off. A seemingly short and useless day off, especially at 9:30 PM when your phone rings and its the lab in which you work telling you to come in because a critical freezer has failed and no one else is available. Forget sleep, big dude.

Today I swam 3200 yards. I swam 200 warm up, 4 x 500, 4 x 250. I had my own lane the entire time, and swam my perfect pace. It was awesome. Its one of those feelings to finally get to swim the way you want. The importance of occasionally having to deal with throngs of people and altering your tempo, swim hard then fast then hard--its good. 2007 taught me a lot, one of the most important lessons being the difficulty of the swim. That is not your normal swim and you will NOT be just swimming your training swims out there, no way. All that is great but some days you just want to have your training plan, get in the pool, and mentally check out. You want auto-pilot to drag you up and down the lanes. You want to be in the moment feeling the water slosh between your arms and head, hear the sound of your breathing, the flow of the water over your back. You don't always want to be thinking the best way to get around the backstroking 90 year old, the kicking girl and the two chinese guys swimming sideways. Today was ideal.

And so training goes. And then there will be this big exciting race and then it will be over. Again. And beyond that, where this life goes, is anyone's guess. But for now, I relish the tired body and the thought of the hills and the rain. Even the flats. I know its a different perspective when you are out there, but really, what is better than exercising because you want to, in a clean, free, beautiful place, with a wonderful partner? Obviously I guess doing all that somewhere warm and comfortable, if you asked the Girl. For me, there is something so satisfying of checking another day off the calendar, knowing that as long as I do what is posted there, I will be 95% of the way to my goal on June 21st. And the rest, that uncontrollable 5% or so, I just have to hope my preparation is sufficient to handle whatever comes my way.

Morning becomes... a cold dark bus.

2009-03-23T06:52:00.001-07:00

The morning becomes a cold, dark bus. I would rather be sleeping than making polite jokes with the other bus riders, but what choice do I really have?

2009-03-21T10:49:00.001-07:00

Aaah. The quickimart!

Bike Ride Test Post

2009-03-20T23:11:00.001-07:00

03/22/2009 Route
Find more Bike Rides in Kenmore, Washington

2009-03-02T17:45:00.000-08:00

2009-03-01T14:27:00.001-08:00

Its a good day. Two coffees, my girl and technology that allows me to blog from my phone...

Week...something.

2009-02-24T07:44:00.000-08:00

"Dont go searchin' for a mermaid if ya don't know how ta swim."

~Great Big Sea

This morning it struck me: I sometimes feel like a Moose swimming across a lake.

Questions to ponder:

Are you ever really "ahead of schedule" in training?

How little training is too little?

If you wait long enough, does someone really do it for you?

Are hills more resistance training on a bike than cardiovascular training?

Can I average 19 mph and then run a 3:30?? Really????

What shall we do with a drunken sailor early in the morning??

Yes, its Tuesday, which means its the beginning of another week. Man, this is going by quickly, now... I feel terrific; the bike riding is "ahead of schedule" about a month and the swimming is in the same place. My running is kind of lagging only because I wasn't planning on ramping up the marathon training until March, which is now a week away. Gulp.

Can you be ahead of schedule? This is such a hard question. Just because I am stronger and able to do more this time around than I was in 2007, is it merely the fact that I am in much better shape overall and have done a greater number of triathlons and therefore training miles/hours in the time since IM 2007? Knowing that my physical state is not the same, should I adjust to match my current fitness level and abilities even though that deviates from the plan, or do I stick stalwart to my plan, which I admit seems a bit light for my lofty goal. Gulp again.

Can I average 19 mph over 112 miles? Yes, I feel this now.

Can I do it after that swim, and before the marathon, though?

I am trying to weigh the value of hills versus all out distance. Jan and I rode nothing but crazy hills last year and it wasn't the distance I am used to cranking in, but man, I was really strong on the bike. So, this year we are kind of doing a mix. I can not believe, every time we go out, how good we are feeling. Sure, we have not increased our speed consciously yet, but we are getting faster anyway. And, we are approximately 1 month ahead of my planned mileage and I am considering staying that month ahead and working on some speed during my longer rides in May. Wow, can I last that long? My poor body.

My poor wife.

Now, try to LOOK like you're having fun...

2009-02-08T18:09:00.000-08:00

"After all, what is your host's purpose in having a party? Surely not for you to enjoy yourself; if that were their sole purpose, they'd have simply sent champagne and women over to your place by taxi."

~P.J. O'Rourke

Holy crap, I started writing this on the 8th? What is today, the 20th??

Oops.

When I started writing this, I believe it was the 5th week of training...the end of the 4th week. Today I write near the end of the 6th. And wow, its amazing how things roll on. With or without you, everything keeps ticking on by.

The 4th week was hard, the 5th week harder. The 5th week included a 3 hour ride around Whatcom and Skagit counties, South and East of Bellingham. The ride was difficult but fun, and the next day Jan showed off her excellent new running form on the trail between Fairhaven and downtown Bellingham in the sun. It was a terrific Valentines Weekend with terrific training to boot. It was a good end to a good week of training, and a much needed change of scenery.

Not to mention some REALLY amazing food. Holy shit.

The 6th week has been different, because I thought I was getting sick early on after taking Tuesday to go skiing all day. Wednesday I woke up feeling pretty bad, swam anyway, and by the end of the day was really feeling awful. When standing in the pool you get chills and feel kind of dizzy--thats not a good sign that you are on top of your game. Wednesday night I took it easy and also took Loratadine, a generic, Costco form of Claritin, and hoped for the best. Thursday I was pleasantly surprised to wake up feeling good again--whether from the drugs or the Vitamin C I was pounding all day Wednesday (to the tune of about 6 grams over 12 hours) I do not know. What I do know is that I am suspicious of my yearly February allergies, lurking at just the wrong time. In 2007 I dont remember the allergies, but we were religious about taking Claritin (the original form of Loratidine) so maybe I didn't know when I had them. Maybe I just forgot.

At any rate, its Friday now of the 6th week of training, and I had the best swim yet of 2009. It was perfect. The pool was empty enough that Jan and I were 2 of 4 in our lane and 3 of the 4 total swimming at a reasonably quick pace for me. One guy was swimming slowly enough that I could pass him without adjusting my effort--all in all, I was able to swim 3 x 500 and 2 x 250 followed by a set of 200, 2 x 100, 4 x 50 and a 200 cool down. Grand total yardage for the day: 2800. Not too shabby for 45 minutes of swimming in February.

Tomorrow is the Pharmaceutics Department ski trip, which I am attending. Not that I plan on being social, screw that. This last Tuesday Brian and I dodged school for the day, and it was THE best day of skiing I have ever had out of the probably 8 total outings I have had in my life; now I am looking forward to getting a little extra in tomorrow. Afterward the whole gaggle (approximately 20 pharmaceutics/med chem students) are ending up at our house, and so it will be interesting to see where all of these people sit... better clean off some extra chairs...

I have to figure out what my weekend training schedule is going to be, because I normally bike on Saturday and run on Sunday-- but Saturday is skiing, so I don't know yet how to adjust. Maybe a brick on Sunday. I think that may be it. Let's see what the girl thinks.

June 21st is so close. Its almost March already.

Marathon training is about to begin in earnest. Its a huge difference completing a casual 17 mph 112 mile bike ride and then a 4:15 marathon versus pushing the bike pace to average 19 mph over that same 112 miles and then plunging headlong into a 3:30 marathon. My fastest marathon ever is 3:24, but that WAS with terrible and less than minimal training. My point is that the times may not look so different but the effort required is HUGE, and I have got to experience these tempos in training soon.

And my stomach excitedly knots up. I love this shit.

One of THOSE People...

2009-01-28T13:02:00.000-08:00

"If you cannot be a poet, be the poem."

~David Carradine

Perhaps you have had this experience:

You do something, something completely "normal," and someone says:

"Oh...you're one of THOSE people."

So you say, "One of WHAT people?" Its hard not to feel defensive, right?

To which they reply, "Oh, you know, one of those people who ___________."

What?? Wait a moment. Did I just get criticized for that or was that just the way it sounded? I do believe it is entirely possible that the statement can be a compliment. For example, a girl who is looking for Mr. Right might hear about you making weekend Valentines plans and be really looking for someone to do that for them, and they sound critical but really wish it was THEY who were going to X place for the weekend. But what they actually verbalize is "Oh, you are one of THOSE people who takes their girlfriend/wife/whomever to _____ for the weekend."

In which case, YES, I am.

But it can also be a very tough thing to interpret.

Say you are picking up some things from around a common area at work. Someone sees you busy doing this kind of monotonous task and says:

"Oh you are one of THOSE people who sees something that has to be refilled or cleaned and just go and do it right away..."

To which you reply "Yeeeeeeaaah, and the bad part of that is....?"

Anyway, just an observation. Are YOU one of THOSE people???

2 out of 6? Perfect!

2009-01-27T19:25:00.000-08:00

"Whenever you are asked if you can do a job, tell 'em, "Certainly, I can!" Then get busy and find out how to do it."

~Theodore Roosevelt

I was grinning.

I shut the small viewing window on the front of the gel doc, an instrument that allows me to see and photograph the bands of different size DNA fragments which I had separated in an agarose gel. The bands, highlighted by the ghostly UV lights below the black tinted glass, were glowing brilliantly in patterns resembling the impression a spiral binding might leave on uncooked pizza dough. This little window gives me a pleasant view down onto my handiwork while protecting my eyes from burning into cancerous nodules protruding from above my snout after too much undiluted UV exposure. I clicked a few buttons of the digital camera menu toolbar on the computer screen to clarify and brighten the image, and took a snapshot.

Beep. Click. Done.

A few clicks later...
The photo came creeping out of the small, whirring, Mitsubishi printer. I tore it slowly and carefully across the serrated edge and held up the new photo. Everything about this was more pleasing than normal. Two things caught my eye and made me smile, yet again. A particular glowing band in lane 3 and 6, corresponding to the 2 KB mark in lane 7--the ladder. The other 4 lanes had no band at 2 KB. This remarkably small piece of data led me to some powerful conclusions.

I made some stupid remark to Jean and Brianne about the beauty of those two bands to which they rolled their collectively 4 eyes.

Those two bands meant a lot to me. To my thesis. To others in my lab group. A year of work, probably more, potentially saved from the magic "redo" box. Instead of attempting to troubleshoot and reinvent my previous work, I would only have a couple of small steps to perform. My mood reflected this potentially good fortune and I literally bounced off to my desk where a bottle of 15 year single malt awaited me.

And then, of course, the gym for day 1 of this weeks training.

Believe: Week 3 Done.

2009-01-25T17:53:00.000-08:00

"Survival is nothing more than recovery."

~Dianne Feinstein

2003, Lance Falls, attacks, almost falls again, attacks again. Yikes

Week 3 is over, can you believe it?

I believe I made it through another week, although it took more determination than the previous two. It took a lot of that self-talk. I believe I made it through some hard days and now can look back and say "I can do that, even when its not fun or doesn't feel good." I believe I made it through some other days that will now make it easier to complete the days to come.

I believe in the work I did and how much commitment it requires to wake up every morning and go to school and work even though it feels terrible, and to make it through that day to my workout at the end. I make it through, dragging myself and my spirit, but still I managed to get the time in towards my goal of Ironman. As hard as it gets, I am so motivated towards my goal of breaking 11 hours that I feel mechanical towards training--no thought required. That may very well be the best way to approach it, also, because when I start to think is when the doubt has a chance to sneak in, when the distraction of discomfort rears its unwelcome head. No, instead its better to approach it like a robot in a lot of ways, methodically and unfeeling. However, as hard as it is, I enjoy the hunger, I enjoy the burn, I enjoy the last 100 in the crowded lane and wavy water. It hurts in a wonderful way, training for Ironman.

Yesterday I could not bike ride because of the plans for the day, so it was a morning for a quick 30 minute spin followed by an hour of super easy running. It was sunny and perfect outside, albeit 35 chilly degrees. Jan and I went to the small tourist town of Poulsbo for the day, and on the way home it started snowing... it was like a bad dream--didn't it already snow enough this year? Jan and I kept on thinking winter was over; after all we have already received a couple years worth of snow in Seattle in December. But no, this was really happening. It IS still January, so it has "the right" to snow, but it's just mean for more snow to hit us.

Today is going to have to be biking day, since we ran Saturday. Hmph.

The snow had better stop... The weather.com report Saturday evening seemed to indicate it would, indeed, stop snowing and turn to sun at noon Sunday. But this morning when we got up it was snowing and there was a slight dusting on every cold, flat surface. I cringed at the thought of biking for 3-4 hours in that, and opted for a 2 hour trainer ride. Jan concurred and I set about getting our bikes ready for another hard 2 hour garage ride.

It was a hard ride. Trainer rides always are, especially when you watch the tour de france DVDs and see how hard THOSE guys are working. Damn, I am glad that is not ME!

Says the Ironman.

Thursdays are my Friend that Hurts Me.

2009-01-22T10:37:00.000-08:00

"A professor is one who talks in someone else's sleep."

~Anonymous

I am posting this a day late. Oh well.

Its Thursday. The day that the toll of not only the workouts from Tuesday and Wednesday begin to take effect but the mental toll of the week.The beatings and mental lashings. Thursday is also moving closer to Friday afternoon when I am not going to be in school for 2 and a half days straight. That is my weekly goal.

Not only that, but the recovery day, Monday, seems to mean next to nothing. Really I need a recovery week. But that would not be conducive to Ironman training, would it? Monday might as well be another training day because Tuesday, while I am excited and mostly feel ready for the workouts of a new week, my body is less and less able to get moving as the training wears on. In a few weeks malaise is going to be the word of choice. Its starting to creep into my thoughts, already. Its only the 3rd week.

But (and I know its improper to begin a sentence with "but") even as tired as I get I still look forward to workouts and I still feel "up" when I start going. I look forward to the early mornings on saturdays to get out on the bike and still have time left in the day to play. Or eat and drink. Or sleep. Or all of them. Its true the work is difficult and will only grow more demanding, but I am keenly aware of the rewards and dividends it pays.

I once heard someone say "what's the point of doing this (ironman) if you arent going to win or have a chance to win?" That's a tough question to answer. First, if you are asking that I hope you are not the one doing it because you will never experience the joy that it can bring and do not understand the nature of this sort of challenge. Second, you are a neanderthal driven only by your insecurity and ego and therefore not even worth arguing the point with.

When I cross that line in June, regardless of my time, I will have won.

Seattle Winter Sun!

2009-01-17T20:45:00.001-08:00

"My wife and I just prefer Seattle. It's a beautiful city. Great setting. You open your front door in the morning and the air smells like pine and the sea, as opposed to bus exhaust."

Ron Reagan

What does Ronald Reagan Junior have to do with Seattle, or biking, or anything for that matter? And who knew he liked Seattle. And...what?

The explanation will be startling to some, because it is the closest to A.D.D. I will ever be. What I will do is actually write-out my train of thought, as I decided to let the train run its course. It started with biking, and ended with Ron Reagan.

I like to begin every blog entry with a quote that usually has SOMETHING to do with that about which I am writing. In this case, I thought it would be a good blog to describe how surprising the weather was in Seattle today, during our 3 hour bike ride in the very middle of January. Typically, winter is a nasty time of year to be outside in this region.

I decided to describe the sun that came out and how surprised Jan and I were to be biking dry for a change and not be wearing our rain shells. I was even going to point out in the picture that the ground is DRY as a bone, and, if you look closely to the right of the bathroom building against which our bikes are leaning, you see the strangest glow... some parts of the world call it Sunshine. We believe it is a mythical event in the winter, here in Seattle.

Having formulated my basic topic for this blog, I set out on finding quotes about Seattle. I found a couple of interesting ones, including:

"I really liked the Seattle movement."

~Axl Rose

and

"My parents were laborers so we lived on South Park, which was a low-income region of Seattle. You had a choice - you either joined or formed a gang or you let others bully you."

~Jack Bowman

And there are others, less interesting, usually having to do with grunge music or rain or coffee. And then I saw the name Ron Reagan, and, like many of you (or both of you, seeing as how two people read this crap I post) I originally thought former President Ronald Reagan.

No, this is RON Reagan. The cast-away Reagan Jr. who because a liberal, atheist Ballet dancer who lives in Seattle...with is wife. In case you were wondering. He is about as ANTI-reagan as Stalin.

I became immediately interested in this individual and therefore arrived at the page which the link on his name takes you to. Its interesting how we get to where we are, literally, figuratively, and creatively speaking.

And so, now, here we are. We have officially finished the second week of Ironman Training, and we are really feeling it. The 6 days in a row, every week, consists of Monday off, Tuesday Lift Weights, Wednesday Swim, Thursday Lift Weights, Friday Swim, Saturday Bike, Sunday Run. I will be soon adding in additional running and biking during the week, and eventually other things will change. We will eventually nix the weight lifting and increase the number of swimming days. 2.4 miles is a long way...

The second week felt good. I feel my energy level during the day increasing, which usually happens at that apex early in the season when my fitness level is increasing but my training is not completely sapping my will to live. This usually lasts a few weeks and gives way to the MALAISE PHASE of training. This nasty, tired, hungry, grouchy phase is no fun for anyone who has to work or live around/with me, and lasts all the way until a couple weeks before Ironman. So that being said, lets all enjoy ENERGY PHASE while it lasts.

Today my legs were strong, and felt good. The struggle will be to ride faster, this year, but Jan's greatly improved level of fitness (that damn girl was pushing me on the last 10 miles, today) should make it much easier. I remember the last time we did this, in 2007, we both started pretty out of shape, with Jan never having really done any serious long term training. This year she is a seasoned veteran to the world of triathlon and triathlon training, and it shows. She kicks ass.

I feel this week, now. And tomorrow is run day. I remember this feeling... and I love it and hate it all at the same time.

Imagine what Ron Reagan might say about it...

You're in Luck; I Speak 'Asshole.'

2009-01-15T09:33:00.000-08:00

"Don't be yourself - be someone a little nicer."

~Mignon McLaughlin, The Second Neurotic's Notebook, 1966

Some days more than others I realize I am not a "nice" person. I realize in the same instant that the statement preceding is just the kind of sweeping generalization that I detest with a fiery passion. However I am growing to believe I need a serious change of character.

Case in point #1:
I read Jan's blog this morning and finally, after fighting back a number of tears remembering with fondness and heartache our beautiful adventure in Europe this past summer, got to her recollection of our meal in the square in Brussels, the final night of being in Europe.

Here is the difference between a nice (my wife) person and myself. Go read Jan's blog about this situation, then come back and read the following.

We sat there, trying as hard as humanly possible to treat this, our last evening in this beautiful country full of beautiful people and now wonderful memories, like any other fun evening out in Europe. But the fact of the matter was we could NOT seriously delude ourselves completely. We enjoyed speaking, oddly enough, with another American couple who were traveling. We sat for a long time after we finished, talking and just enjoying ourselves. We had not ordered anything for some time, which in Europe we had found was never an issue. In the U.S., the wait-staff are relying on tips for a large part of their income, and therefore want the table to be ordering or make way for another table. Jan and I are increasingly fond, as we age, of drawing out our evenings at dinner into the long hours of the night talking and reminiscing or thinking out-loud together. And, we found, this enjoyment is well received in Europe, where you are allowed to linger virtually until they close the restaurant without ordering anything after dinner, just sitting and talking. And here we were, our final evening, in French speaking Brussels, doing just that for the very last time this trip. And this is where Jan's version of the story, and MY version of the story, diverge.

The waiter came to us, we did not summon the waiter. He came to our table and put the check down in front of me, pointed to the total owed. I said thank you and resumed my conversation, expecting him to leave.

He coughed, and said "No, you pay now."

There was no please. There was no courtesy. It was a demand. I bristled and felt hugely uncomfortable in this very public setting with other Americans who were experienced travelers nearby.

"Ok, here is a Visa." I said, trying to sound calm, at ease. I was nervous. I do not appreciate the manner with which the waiter was putting me on the spot.

"No," he said again, now pointing at the amount on the reciept, "you pay cash. We only take cash."

I forget how we covered the bill, but we covered it. Jan went in to use the restroom and I followed her in. I was fuming, still, and it was about to get worse. I glanced back toward the door and indeed saw the sticker clearly posted in the window that shows the VISA, MASTERCARD, DISCOVER logos.

I purposefully calmed myself and turned to the bartender who smiled and greeted me. I asked him if I could pay with Visa.

He looked at me as if I were crazy and said "of course, monsieur."

At that perfect moment the waiter had just come in and was standing nearby. I looked to him and said right at him "Excuse me..."
He said something in French. "Sorry, do you speak English?" He gave me a mean look and nodded."Hey, I see that the sticker in the window says you take visa, why did I have to pay cash?"

"No, we do not take visa."

Even more perfectly, the bartender turned to his coworker and saidin ENGLISH, "Yes we do, what do you mean?"

I looked again at the waiter, who was visibly angry at me, and I said "Why did I have to pay cash?" I understood and understand the futility of this, but I was angry, humiliated, and thought I could make my point better.

To my surprise the waiter rattled something off in French. The bartender even shook his head and walked away!! I assume it must have been an insult directed towards me.

"What?" I asked the waiter.

"Maybe you should learn French."

There is angry, and then there is RAGE. And THEN there is how I felt at that instant. I can not find adequate descriptors.

I said "Shut up, you stupid fuck!" But I said it in SWEDISH.

"What?" Said the dumbfounded waiter, who was obviously surprised I could speak something other than 'American.'

My moment of victory had arrived, at last.

"Maybe you should learn Swedish, I said with a BIG smile." I won. Checkmate.

Jan came up and he pointed to the door. "You go, now."

I am just not that nice.Oh well.

I Am GarlicMan...

2009-01-12T19:54:00.000-08:00

"You've got to spend some serious time training because you're going to spend some serious time racing."

~Jan Howard

I know it's an Ironman year because I spend 6 days a week training.

I know it's an Ironman year because people are avoiding conversations with me, knowing full well its always going to come back around to, well, Ironman.

I know it's an Ironman year because my bike toys are piling up already and its only January.

I know it's an Ironman year because I am graduating with my PhD and the ceremony is in June and the first thing I think is its going to interfere with my taper.

Finally,

I know it's an Ironman year because I smell Garlic all the time, emanating from my skin, my breath, heck, even my hair.

I just completed the first full week of training. Its not momentous, seeing as it was only the first week and I planned it to be purposefully uneventful. If I can make it consistent that's the best result possible. And consistent it was. I did not escape unscathed, however. My neck is hurting (I DID crack the "Ironman is a pain in the neck" line this evening, to which I received a chorus of BOOO!) because I seem to have strained some obscure little muscle with a very strange name that sounds more like it should connect my eyelid to my scalp, and yet is debilitating. For that there is hydrocodone...

The first week is behind and I made progress. Not as difficult as I expected, but we did not bite off too much hard stuff, either. I feel as though I am in better shape, as well... which might be because I have raced much more before in the last two years than I did before Ironman 2007. I am entering this year well prepared, mentally. I am now familiar with the requirements. All of the above.

Always in my head I have this number... and its not random, there are reasons for it. I finished Ironman 2007 in 12 hours 44 minutes, and felt ridiculously happy at the end, and remarkably healthy. This time its a different beast, a very very very scary proposition.

10:40:00

Think it.
Plan it.
Train it.
Believe it.
Race it.

A Pilgrim in an Unholy Land.

2009-01-09T08:11:00.000-08:00

"We grow neither better or worse as we get old, but more like ourselves."

~ May L. Becker

We stepped out onto the platform before the track encircling the upper-most floor of the elaborate IntraMural Athletic center at UW. On the readerboard ahead and above, arrows flashed the direction in which the track was to be run upon, pointing towards our left. We dutifully obliged and looked to our right, as one would do before crossing a street. Very responsible and very, well, rigid, we stepped out.

And then jumped against the wall.

Gasp.

An army of semi-belligerent college co-eds blitzed towards us, ponytails and patchy pubescent whiskers flying everywhere. One after another dozens of what I swore were 14-year-olds, in all shapes and sizes (though most seemed anorexic and maybe 100 pounds soaking wet--including the guys) bounded and clomped towards us in strides of varying degrees of awkwardness. All looking very resentful of our middle aged selves. The girls all wearing shorts that looked a little to low and short. Guys, well, looking like guys. And smelling like guys.

We waited and watched in some sort of convalescent, pathetic stupor while our age became an ugly truth. Jan and I shook our heads and started walking towards the cardio equipment to warm up.

Creak. Creak. Snap. "Ow."

Its like fishing.
"Wow--a 40-pounder just smacked into me and tumbled across the deck, I think."
"That's a big one. Can we keep it?"

It happens right under our very snouts. We become "those old people". As teenagers we look up to early 20-somethings as gods. 24 year olds? Super humans. They have their own bills, their own jobs, school only by choice, bar experience... 28 year olds? OLD. At least it used to be. But I think the blurry age barrier is even blurrier now, fortunately for the 40 year old male crowd.

31-year-olds? A gnats eyelash away from being the age of their parents. DREADFULLY OLD. Old enough to make fun of but not old enough to take seriously. Well, that is unless you are rich and can drink your weight in jello-shots, all after doing a dead-on impression of... wait, who are the popular musicians these days?

I wonder when it happens. When did I grow up? And when will I feel grown up?

I need some coffee.

Where is the Ibuprofen and Icy-Hot??

Crap, it happened.

In the Beginning...

2009-01-08T07:55:00.000-08:00

“Beginning is easy - continuing hard”
~Japanese Proverb

Ironman 2009 training has begun.

Ironman CDA 2009 is on June 21st. Today is Thursday, January 8th. There is a little over 5 months left of training.

Over the next 5 months there will be approximately:
-180,000 yards swam in the pool (approximately 102 miles)
-1,200 miles ridden on the bike(s)
-600 miles ran

Including weight lifting.

Not to mention the approximately 850,000 calories consumed. And that's just by me.

Today I feel invigorated, hungry (because of the two-day fast I just completed, a good way to get my diet and eating habits in order at the beginning of training), and excited about the transformation I will achieve in the coming weeks and months. I am excited about the places I will ride my bike, regardless of how wet I become. See Jan's blog for some history on this statement.

The next 5 months are about consistency, forward progress and positive thinking. The next 5 months is about training my mind as much as training my body.

With Ironman training and physical preparation comes preparation of the spirit--they are really inseparable. I have the knowledge that I have been there and done that before, probably my best asset heading into this; it is no longer the great unknown. I hear this drum beating, calling me to push harder... But at the same instant I am trying to remember that overconfidence has beaten me before. I am both my greatest supporter and my greatest enemy.

My spirit remembers the finish line, but it also remembers the start line. Which had a more powerful impact on me? The former was elation and endorphin and success. The latter was pure, unadulterated, cold-wind-waves fear. It's a good question that is shaping the way I am approaching this year's test, and one I have been considering privately long before now. The truth is the fear of the beginning and the overwhelming sense of accomplishment at the end are equal motivators for me. And I know I control both.

Ironman is unique. The physical aspect of the race itself is something we train for and is completely within the realm of possible. What could kill the most capable person is the unknown, the challenges which arise unexpectedly be it mental or physical, and not knowing how to handle it. So as much as we control the controllable, we as Ironman athletes have to prepare for the uncontrollable--and controlling our responses to that.

Ironman is June 21st. Today is January 8th.

Determine your plan.

Train your plan.

Race your plan.

And deal with the bullshit along the way.

And it helps to have a good training partner and spouse.

Cheers.

Waxing Pol-sophical

2008-10-29T08:23:00.000-07:00

"The trouble with America is that there are far too many wide-open spaces surrounded by teeth."

~Charles Luckman

I ask myself one question since going to Europe more than any:

What kind of freedom do you like?

This is followed closely with another question:

How much change can you handle?

Like anything, I suppose, I can make this as complex as I have time for. Truthfully, in my mind, it comes down to a simple decision. European freedom or American freedom? I don’t know any other to choose from, so those are what I can think about. And they are similar enough yet different enough in the areas I consider most important that as a result it is worthwhile to consider.

European freedom comes with limitations as does American freedom. The difference between the two seems, at first glance, to be one of perspective. But really, when I consider it more carefully, I think it’s only a difference resulting from leadership, historical choices and practicality. Not a greater moral understanding.

I am initially inclined to think that the Europeans are better than the Americans; that Europeans live the way they live out of a greater sense of self as a part of a whole: A sense of community. I am inclined to believe they make the choices they do solely out of a sense of moral obligation as opposed to self-fulfilling need for consumption, which would be the “American Way”. This was my modality while I was in Europe and I held it mostly until the last couple of weeks -- when I felt a shift in my thinking.

In all honesty I did not feel completely “right” in this rationale for why Europe is the way it is. I liked the idea that Europeans did what they did because they were better. It’s kind of fashionable to like Europe this way. This greater-sense-of-good theory seemed like a nice explanation and made me feel more valid in my dreams of moving there. After returning here, to the US, and living with a new perspective in my old lifestyle, I have had the obligation to rethink this philosophy and it has led to some important changes.

First and foremost, Europeans are no different than Americans are no different than Chinese are no different than Africans, etc. Humans will forever be driven by fundamental needs, requirements and tendencies at their basic, primitive level. I do not need to get into those specifics; I think we are all well aware of what drives humans. Altruism aside, we need to survive. Above that basic level I believe we are subject to forces that transcend the humanistic label of “ethnicity”. It has conditioning and history at its core. “What are you used to?”

Second, Europe is older and more mature than the USA. With respect to the attitudes of a country, I believe it is much like a developing person as an individual. An individual who is 80 and has been through several wars—both losses and victories, lost its family due to disease, traveled by foot for much of its life and had friends come and go will probably have a much different perspective than a 15 year old who was put into a nice neighborhood, given a car with gas and insurance, never seen death (or life, really) and did not witness the creation of a family. The former will have reverence for history and the things that have stood the test of time. The latter will look with impatience upon everything that the former respects, if only for the sake of being impudent. History is not respected by those who do not understand it, and those who do not understand it are usually those who do not know it.

Further, if you lived through two world wars and the industrial revolution you probably respect those things that brought about your survival and success in times like the great depression and the Jewish holocaust a lot more than iPods, having your own car, and what the shirt on your back looks like. And so it is with Europe and the USA. Europe is well traveled and 80, the USA is pampered and 15. It is not a viable comparison when dissecting the values and perspectives of the two based on historical “presence”. I am not using this as an excuse for choices; one merely has only to look at any country such as France or England and see that it, too, has been the USA more than once in its history.

This is also in no way saying that Europe is above consumerism. In fact, I argue that they are more steeped in consumption that Americans. The priority of what to spend money on is merely different. The difference lies in what they are consuming and the global implications of this. I can see, now, that the challenges of the present are the lens through which we judge the validity and philosophy of consumerism by a country and its people.

But back to the point: The maturity of Europe and the USA. Europe thrives within its history; it’s a maturity that comes from experience. There appears to be a sense of obligation to maintain some or all of the layers upon layers of personality derived from the mixing of histories and people over time that created some of the places I was fortunate enough to see. In the USA we are swamped with the idea of progress and NEW and FUTURE. We do not have a history to protect and admire, or so we are taught. Old buildings come down because they are ugly or can’t hold enough stuff or people. The fear of earthquake and death draws new building codes and architectural standards instead of learning to make-do with what was there. Certainly some things are warranted for human safety.

Now, walk three blocks in Amsterdam and then walk three blocks in Seattle. Count how many original ANYTHINGS remain in Seattle vs. Amsterdam. Our original caucasion history is barely 200 years old. Before the white man invaded the natives had their own rich history which has all but been exterminated.

Stand in the way of American progress and you might just be wiped out--whether architectural, cultural or financial.

To be continued…

Dr. Lemmings

2008-08-13T08:12:00.000-07:00

“Win as if you were used to it, lose as if you enjoyed it for a change.”

~Ralph Waldo Emerson

The triathlon season is over, officially. No more triathlons. In fact, the season is so over I have been taking time off from any training whatsoever for the past 2 weeks. (Aside--its weird to be writing this as if I am writing to an audience, when in reality there is NO audience, but I will write anyway.) So now that its been two weeks with no training other than sailing related activity, I am itching to get back to it. Funny how that works.

I felt tired this year. I felt like everything was more difficult than it should be. I wonder if thats because of age? I doubt it. I think 2 years ago I felt the impact of age, but not this year. Perhaps after doing essentially 4 marathons last year including Ironman and the hardest timed marathon on Kilauea I just overdid it. I never really recovered. Maybe everything is just more difficult. That, actually, while ambiguous and rather dreary sounding, is what I believe is the truth.

Everything feels more difficult. Stress has been so high for so long--I sometimes don't know if I remember what it feels like to NOT be experiencing high amounts of stress. School has created a new threshold of stress, and, as in the drawing above, I follow that degree wherever it takes me--even off a cliff. Thats what my advisor and this faculty wants created--a little Dr. Lemming following the carrot they dangle in front of me.

Yes, thats a PhD being tossed just over the head of our hero, there... but fortunately he is so numb to any fear or stress that he just dives headlong over whatever is in his way to get that fucking degree. Sweet.

And, as a result, I have this plan. (Drum roll.)
I am going to work my ass off at school and get as much done as I possibly can until my General exam, which will hopefully land somewhere in December, maybe January. Then I can focus a little more on feeling good during the spring leading up to Ironman. I want to see if I can minimize the stress during training that is not training related.

I have a goal for that little endeavor, and I want to focus on it without feeling like I am sacrificing my school goals. Ultimately, school rules all for me, until I graduate. Its the ultimate goal to get my Phd in the correct amount of time and I really need to devote the necessary attention to it and get it done right.

The sad thing is, as I go along, it feels like I am getting farther and farther from all of the really important kinetics I learned. Its like learning a new language--if you don't use it, you lose it. The real downfall of this program is that we are expected to produce a complete package when we graduate. We design our experiments, we make everything we need for those experiments and then we run the experiments. Then at the end we analyze and write-up and present our data. The really important part for those of us going into industry is the analysis and presentation. The experimental design is also equally important.

But here is what every graduate student and scientist knows, and that I know also, now: The most time consuming and overall exhausting part of all this is the MAKING the things you need for your experiment and then doing the work. The analysis and writing and presentation is such a small piece that you work on it, you focus, and then BOOM its over. What I wish we had was more opportunity to practice analysis. Then, next spring--hopefully my last spring EVER in this wretched place, I could at least feel some peace going into Ironman season that I have the skillset I need. Instead, I already feel this big gray cloud looming over the horizon. This cloud is getting closer and closer, and larger and more menacing. The cloud is the realization that I have a lot of work to do to recapture the really important kinetic background I worked so hard to obtain in the first place. And I can already see the competition between training and school that could happen.

Therefore, I will do what I can to get that done BEFORE training starts.

I will train happy. I will train strong. I will train without the cloud following me around. I will break 11 hours. I will feel good at the end of Ironman, and I will finish with the knowledge that I didn't sacrifice anything school related to get there.

That PhD being flung off the cliff is just a bad dream. Its not the PhD I am getting, its a fake. My degree is waiting for me, safe and sound. All I have to do is grab it.

Avalanche.

2008-08-07T14:38:00.000-07:00

“Love me when I least deserve it, because that's when I really need it.”

~Swedish Proverb

The caption to this picture might be:

Work can be such a bear. A huge bear biting your head off.

The load has fallen and is rushing toward you at increasing speed. The roar is thunderous, but sneaky. Sometimes you can hear it coming before you ever see it, and still not have any chance of getting out of the way. Other times you never know it is there until its too late. The sun disappears, the oxygen thins and you count the moments one by one.

Work overload. Followed quickly by burn-out.

Everything happens for a reason. Even work overload. The situation is usually easier to accept and understand once you are beyond the "thing" that must occur... that's a cryptic way to look at life, but its true. When you are going through hell, keep going.

Hindsight is good medicine, and the foresight to know that the hindsight is waiting is called wisdom. It can be enough to get you through at times. But like the cup I just poured hot tea in, the theory starts soundly enough, and sturdy enough, but in time the leak begins and the integrity starts to fail. The ability to remember that there is a good reason for the approach to burn-out is difficult at best. The ability to keep the faith that all of this adds up to something is at times heroic. Other times impossible.

I feel ultimately responsible for the amount of work I have to do. I have probably not used my time as well as I should have, and I vividly remember hiding from a couple of the things I am charged with doing. Such as approximately 650 gene expression assays. Okay, its actually 672.

But who is counting.

PICTURES!!!

2008-08-03T19:11:00.000-07:00

If you would like to see Lake Stevens Half Ironman pictures
Click Here

If you would like to see Lake Padden Pictures and read Jan's race report:
Click Here

Hope you enjoy them!

Beer Thirty?

2008-07-31T09:35:00.000-07:00

Not that I drink this much, but some mornings, like this, its tempting.

"Who taught you those new tricks?
Damn, I shouldn't start that talk,
but life is one big question when you're starin' at the clock.
And the answers always waiting at the liquor store,
40 oz to Freedom,
so I'll take that walk."

~40 oz to Freedom, Sublime

40 oz Archive

And just because its that kind of a day, here are some freebies for you:
Free Ringtones

Be Sciency.

2008-07-30T07:31:00.000-07:00

"Science is a wonderful thing if one does not have to earn one's living at it."
~Albert Einstein

Today is a busy science day:

1) Remove smelly bacteria cultures getting smellier overnight containing hopefully mCnt2 transporter inserted in LNCX2 plasmid from the shaker and isolate plasmid DNA from the bacteria using miniprep kit. Ooooh, kits are nice.

2) Run a PCR for mCnt2 to check that the colonies are positive for carrying the stupid transporter insert.

2.5) Pull out hair, play free pacman online (www.freepacman.org)

3) Apply antibodies to western blot membrane for mouse Cnt2 and mouse Ent1 using really expensive yellowish liquid to make funny little marks that I can only see on this really expensive scanner and claim its meaningful...

4) Make an agarose gel for wasting the PCR products. Run gel and check results. Swear and make foul face when the gel breaks and falls on floor. Update colony chart to reflect mouse genotypes. Plan to kill mice.

5) Get 1 mEnt1 (-/-) mouse for coworker. Complain that I don't have help with mouse colony.

6-11) Meet with boss.

So sciency.

It doesnt sound like much, right? Ha.

Sight of First Love

2008-07-29T06:34:00.000-07:00

"Love at first sight is easy to understand; it's when two people have been looking at each other for a lifetime that it becomes a miracle."
~Amy Bloom

I woke up and saw you sleeping in the morning light and felt your cheek. Warm like sleep and soft like the morning glow. I held that image as I got on the bus among the people and faces I do not know and never will know me. I remembered the sound of your breathing as I pet the dog and walked into my day.

I drive home and the fumes and clutter of life fill my car. Honking. "What the fuck was that??!" The large black woman yells at the asian couple in a large, American rental that just cut her off. Tension. Heat. I remember your smile in the cool morning water. The feel of your hand in the waves. The noise blur together but underneath is the steady rhythm of your constant, silent forgiveness.

The door opens with a beep and the smell of the rodents in their small ventilated micro-isolator cages is overwhelming. My senses seize as the air feels slow and hot. The sterility of the walls and floor. The sounds of lives, little lives, scratching. Anxiety and desperation. Your laughter over wine on the deck with my family. The way you grab an extra cookie for me without even having to ask. Refreshing feel of wind and smell of forest.

Surrounded, by life. But you still are there.

Lake Stevens Ironman 70.3

2008-07-16T12:56:00.000-07:00

"It's kind of fun to do the impossible."

~ Walt Disney

Sunday, July 6th was the Ironman 70.3 in Lake Stevens.

-------Total----Swim---T1-----Bike-----T2----Run

								5:14:57	34:01	2:40	2:57:47	2:03			1:38:2

I got finished with this race and was slightly disappointed in my bike time. However, I thought about everything that happened and now, instead of feeling bad about that, I feel GREAT about my other two times. For a recap... My friend Brian Kirby and I did this race together. I don't know that he trained much specifically for it, besides a few pool swims, but he has run and biked a fair amount so I knew he could finish fine. As we strolled out onto the dock where the swim start was, at the far north-east corner of Lake Stevens, I was more nervous about myself. Not whether I would finish, but whether I could reach yet another lofty goal: breaking 5 hours for the 3rd time. This was my 7th half, and I have ranged from 4:48 to 5:35. Oddly enough my fastest half time came at the well known and well feared Pacific Crest--not known, as you triathletes from the NW might imagine, for being a PR course. But although I know not to go too hard at this distance before halfway through the run, I still have trouble gauging my output during the bike ride. This year my bike training really wasn't bad, but didn't have the distance I would normally like. Then again, the year after training for Ironman, everything seems minimal.

The early morning: where are my honey buckets?

Brian showed up to ride with Mr. and Mrs. Triathlon at 4:45 ish, and we all piled into my Element for the drive to Lake Stevens. It was a nice morning, very relaxed. Maybe too relaxed.

I have always been the person who wants to arrive early at triathlons. It is bred, I suppose, from all of my early years of racing when the transition areas were first-come first-serve, hence getting there early was necessary if you were actually competing. The morning of this particular race, however, I was not so uptight about the time. I figured its a well organized, major race much like Ironman. Our bikes were put in transition the day before--maybe for that reason I thought we could get there a mere hour before the start? In retrospect, that line of thinking was dumb. The transition area closed at 6:15, our start time was 6:37, and we arrived at 5:35. In between was madness.

Lake Stevens 70.3 is NOT run like an Ironman. Not even close. Its like trailer trash in new shoes. Don't get me wrong, it was a nice race. But wearing the Ironman label, even for a half IM, should indicate the level of quality in the organization. That was not the case.

They did work hard, but the race morning strategy of dump your crap, warm up, dookie, stretch, start did not apply at all. There were multiple stops one had to make -- too few (as in 2) bathrooms in the transition area. No bike exit for warming up. We had to collect our timing chips at the SWIM START, which was nearly hidden from view. Then transition closed so make sure you have the right gear, that you don't crap your wetsuit and off with ya!

Brian and I fumbled around and got the order of events as backwards as possible. Everything I had told him about getting ready for the race went out the window as we scurried around in what felt like a pre-race scavenger hunt.

I finally found my pretty bride and gave her the car keys and told her to meet us at the start area, because they were booting us out of transition. Ugh. Too much stress and it was not even about the race. It was about when will I get to use a bathroom? Finally, finally, we get to the pottie line and make things right. Aaaah...

Why ya swimmin' in the poopy water, lads?

I don't know when it started really getting to me, but at some point during the swim I realized the water tasted eerily like... sewage. Ack, it makes me feel sick to my stomach just remembering it. Yes, I remember getting about a hundred yards out, and distinctly feeling like something was not right. Every time I breathed I smelled it. I tasted it. It was wretched. It disappeared, though, about 400 yards out. Aaah, non-sewage tainted water never felt so good. I sped up. I had left Brian long ago, and I wondered how he was doing. I was reeling in a lot of the wave which had left before mine--we were in orange caps, the wave in front of us navy, the wave behind red. I passed probably 15 navy caps before the turn, and then really stepped on the accelerator as I saw a frothing mess of angry red caps swirling in my direction. I stayed in front of most of the red caps (there were some guys with rooster tails going by, though) and actually found an opportune moment at my fingertips (literally) when I latched onto a red capper going a tad faster than I was. I pushed and got on his toes and passed probably 10 more blue caps, at least. There were not many orange caps around. I felt better, and was really moving well. I thought I might be around 30 minutes for my swim.

Then I tasted the poop. Oh god, my stomach turned and did a half-gainer. I was entering hell again, and the smell of sewage returned with the taste. I felt sick again and couldn't stay with ol' red cap and fell off. So much for my time. Was any one else tasting this? (Yes, I would find out later.)

Finally I arrived on shore. It was not as disorienting as Ironman, but for some reason I was kinda wobbly. Been a while since I swam that fast for that long. Ironman was more of just pure survival. This was actually a pretty decent swim, given the stankiness of the water. 34 minutes. Not too bad. Tummy really upset, though--not a great way to start. I jogged across the cobbly parking lot which hurt my feet (I had to run about 300 yards to my bike) and started thinking about how I am doing. Really, besides the tum-tum, I am fine. I feel good, and I am out of the water before all the people around me in transition. I notice out of the far left corner of my eye that all of their girlfriends/wives were standing there silently at the fence nearby waiting for their athletes. Silent. All of those guys had these really fancy, hot, carbon, sleek looking new bikes. I remember feeling 10 years late for the prom when we took our bikes into transition, and the girlfriends/wives standing around then beaming with pride. Hmm, so a fancy bike doesn't always mean the faster triathlete??? I knew that. But the reminder was nice.

Had the passing thought, though, that maybe I messed up the course or something--historically I am an average swimmer. Lately, my swimming has improved relatively speaking, and its a little startling sometimes.

When the going gets tough, check your brakes.

I fumbled through a very sloppy transition. It was obvious to all watching that I was not in the world's biggest hurry. I dropped things fumbling around in the pocket of my tri-shirt, had trouble getting my bike off the rack. It was comical. In the past I have learned that taking a moment longer in transition in these longer races can make a big, big difference later on. We will see.

My stomach upset as could be I set out on my bike. It took about 300 yards for me to feel like I was pedaling way too hard. I felt terrible. My legs were cooked, but that was impossible. I hadn't done anything to work my legs. I really didn't understand what was going on. I finally pulled over 4 miles into the thing and found the obvious--my rear brake caliper was twisted over and pressing onto my rear wheel. Well, sheesh. No wonder. The guy next to me in transition, one of the ones with the fans standing silently watching me in transition, kept banging into my stuff earlier in the morning. I bet his bike or something else whacked my brakes. Now I made it my personal mission to beat this guy. I will save the suspense: Yes, I beat him.

Brakes fixed, off I go. Now the bike ride should feel easy, right? Well, queasy is more like it. I couldnt eat or drink or ride hard until about mile 25 or 26 when my stomach FINALLY felt normal. I finally felt like I was ready to bike ride. What a difference that makes. I think I felt pretty decent the entire rest of the day as far as my stomach goes. I ate a couple gels and drank some and that was a huge comfort. I was concerned that the heat might come up at any time, even if it was currently cool and cloudy. THAT was a blessing.

I believe the first 26 miles I averaged a pedestrian 16 mph. The blur of fast bikers going by me, as usual, was equally as irritating as the brake pressing thing, but I have learned so many times to LET THEM GO. They usually can't run. If they could, after riding that fast, they would have been in the elite wave. And these guys were "off-the-hook" fast.

Sure enough, I torched the second half of the bike ride. The backside of the course is very hilly but nothing extreme. Its rollers with some AWESOME descents and some nice little turns. Also on the backside is a long straightaway with a tailwind during the race. It was a nice 10 mile stretch of 24 mile an hour aero riding. Sweetness. I passed many people whom had passed me eariler. It was once again proof of my belief in taking it easy and being steady instead of crushing the first half of the bike ride and surviving the rest of the race. I always try to remember there is a long run waiting, as well. I felt good the last 1o miles, but tired. The course changed from what we thought the course was, when Brian, Jan and I had come out and ridden before. They removed a part near the lake and turned it into a lollipop style course with a short out section at the end of which you do two big loops, then take that little short section back to town. Not spectator friendly at all. That little 5 mile out section was also very hilly and had some irritating winds on the way back in to town. My legs were tired. I was feeling good, but I felt a little bit concerned about how much I spent on the second lap of the ride.

I wheeled through town and surprised Jan, hoping to get a good pic, walking along. She wasn't ready and I watched her calculate and finally decide she couldn't get her mammoth camera ready in time, and instead started screaming cheers at me. She is so damned cute. I don't know what I would do without her. I turned that wonderful final corner and got my shoes unbuckled and pulled my feet out. I was so ready to be done with the bike ride at this point, I was excited about running.

Running is fun. Running fast for 13 miles and long hills is hard.

I love running. When I get off the bike and I am standing there at my transition spot, I love the feeling of being pretty good at something and knowing that although I had a tough bike ride, I can still count on a great half marathon. And then I actually start running and remember that I am closer to giraffe than runner in physiology. And giraffe-like is exactly how it felt to start. This was not Ironman, I was not merely trying to finish, I was aiming for a serious time. I needed to get out and take as little time as possible to feel my groove and loosen up. And boy was that difficult. I forced myself into a quick, but easy, pace the first couple miles. I took a potty break and told myself that when I got out I was going to slowly build the rest of this run.

It started getting warm for the first time. The sun was out, and it felt very good. I like racing hotter temps, personally. The aid stations are there and had plenty of everything, but usually during the run how well you started the day hydrated as well as how well you hydrated during the bike ride play a bigger role. If you have to drink a lot early in the run, well, its too late. Should of taken care of business earlier.

I was passed by a woman who didnt seem too much different than me in age, and was only slightly running faster. I decided to keep her in my sights as a gauge. I figured she was doing about 7:40 per mile or so. She pulled away a little, and I found myself struggling to hold that pace. The run has a figure eight kind of thing where you run out one loop which is NOT flat but is misleading in that its long slow uphill drains you and the long slow downhill rests you. I didn't figure out that was why I felt so up and down until the second lap. Going down the long easy downhill of the first half of the first loop I gained some speed and caught up to a different group, still keeping my eye out for my pacer. I held my speed through town, delighted by the screaming of Jan, Amber and Joe cheering me on. When we passed through downtown and came to the long, scary hill I tried to shorten my stride but maintain speed. For the most part it worked and I passed throngs of decent runners succumbing to the heat and hill. I caught up to the woman and stayed with her the rest of the run. Found out later her name was Jennifer and she was cheering on so many people as she ran it was ridiculous how much energy she had. Or seemed to have.

I saw Brian as I was finishing up my first lap, he had just come through downtown and looked good. Tired, but good. He had a really fine first Half IM. I decided to pick up my tempo a little the rest of the way. It was a very difficult second lap, and I saw a lot of familiar faces finishing and heading out. Its a benefit to a multilap course like this--you get to see people often and it doesnt feel so isolated. It was really amazing just how many people there were out there. Just because they wanted to. Mostly the second lap is a blur. I had been running as fast as I could and was very tired. My legs felt pretty heavy but I maintained a quick pace into downtown for the last time. Jan one the side of the road yelling at me to "RUN FASTER, BOY!" so I do. I take off as fast as I possibly can to the finish. I would be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed with my time, but I would be equally lying to say I wasn't happy to have worked through some issues and still have a great run.

All in all, it was a fun day. Racing is always fun; the circumstances that create the challenge are always different and will always be the unexpected part of being a triathlete. I ate way too much pizza after the race and got a very upset tummy for pretty much the rest of the day. Hurt like crazy. I can't blame it on the swim, though.

Become Triathlete Heart

2008-07-15T14:23:00.000-07:00

"Training is what you are doing while your opponent is sleeping in."

~Brian Owen

Triathletes, take heart.

Look to your left and right, and take note of the people you see. Are they like you? Do they shave their legs in anticipation of a race? Do they not only strive for greatness in one sport but in three all at once? Can they swim farther than anyone you know, bike farther than anyone you know, and run farther than anyone you know---in the same day?

You are a triathlete. That makes you different for a lot of reasons.

One difference is your heart. Your heart, as a result of training, is able to provide your body with more blood per heartbeat than the people you see to your left and right who are not triathletes (and given they are not freaks of nature, cross country skiers or rowers). This results in an ECG which you see above. This is my Ecg.

Triathlon induced characteristics include the low heart rate (BPM = 42), otherwise known as bradycardia, and abnormal voltages. These are indicators that you heart, and really your entire body, has, over time from training volume year after year, become a very efficient beast. It sucks the oxygen out of your blood at astonishingly efficient levels. Your heart has more voltage for a more solid beat and stroke. Your heart is strong enough to push blood around your entire body such that it beats less times per minute than other peoples hearts.

Triathletes, take heart. Because of your lifestyle choice, you most likely have lower circulating triglyceride levels, lower overall body fat percentage, and blood glucose that is well controlled. And as a result of these things, the chances of having one of the now typical American ailments is vastly reduced.

But be careful, you might be called obsessed, weird, crazy, or worse. Just look at the people calling you these things and feel bad for them. Count to 10 and realize in that time span, their hearts had to beat almost twice as many times as yours did to keep them conscious.

Pay Attention

2008-05-30T09:34:00.000-07:00

"Look, I get it; you come home, you work hard, and you turn on your TV... You kind of want to escape a little bit and be taken away by something. Our show required you to pay attention, and if that's not what you wanted to do, then it wasn't going to be for you, and that's OK."

~Will Arnett

How well do you pay attention?
How do you know if you aren't paying good enough attention, if you aren't paying attention to your attention span long enough to know? You know?

I find myself more and more distracted lately. So many deadlines, so many important things, so many fun things--all of them seem to demand my attention. There is a limit to how much I can do in a given unit of time, and generally I will get diminishing quality the more I try to pack into each of those units. Why is it so hard to stay focused on the priority? I have X to get done by the end of today. I A, B, and C which are due some other time. Why do I let the completion and execution of X be muddled by A, B, and C even though they aren't required at the moment?

Its more basic than a work list, though. Its every day life objects. I need to do a certain number of things every day, and mostly I can complete these things on auto-pilot. However, I have a certain number of things I want or need to do each day on top of that daily list, and these things require much prioritization. There are people and things I have to take care of which require attention. But maybe there is a finite amount of attention that can be given?

Additionally, how much can I really accomplish WELL if I am not fully immersed in it. I believe I surely can't get the most out of my life this way. Perhaps its another side-effect of graduate school...maybe its getting older. I don't know.

For now, enjoy this. But pay attention.

Awareness Test

The future is now... no, now....no, now....

2008-05-28T14:22:00.001-07:00

“My interest is in the future because I am going to spend the rest of my life there”

~Charles F. Kettering

In the future we will have better balance.

This blog makes me feel like the world's biggest underachiever.

davesbikeblog

Huh?
Um, yeah

What Motivates?

2008-05-20T08:02:00.000-07:00

"Just because you're not paranoid doesn't mean that no one's out to get you."

~unknown

We find our hero sitting at his desk, a deadline looming. The boss is away, the lab is quiet, and the course of action clear. Never has there been as perfect a time as this for finishing his manuscript and notching another milestone off the list.

But he waivers. He thinks. He is engulfed in an overwhelming, dark pool of apathy.

When the boss returns there will be hell to pay, and he knows this. The "action items" clearly outlined have seen less action than Rosie O'Donnell in a string bikini. Why?

Fear is a good motivator, but is it enough?
Passion is a good motivator, but is it enough?

Why do we get done the things we get done? Are we rewarded somehow? And if so, what is the reward?

George Erdman, the president of EREN Corp, says there are four main motivators:

==> Recognition
People who are motivated by "Recognition" are interested in
respect, admiration, regard, esteem, notoriety and
celebrity.

==> Influence
Those whose primary motivator is "Influence" find power,
control, competition, independence and order to be most
important.

==> Internal
If you are motivated by "Internal" factors, then morals,
duty, intellect, creativity, philanthropy, and honor are
important to you.

==> Profit
"Profit" motivated people strive for success with money,
possessions, acquisitions, wealth, income and growth.

But is it really that simple? I hardly believe I am motivated SOLELY by internal factors, but internal factors are one of my main drivers. I know I love a little recognition, but it doesn't mean anything without feeling like I made a difference and earned it. So what is it that motivates people? Why is it that when the end is clearly in sight, and he knows that all he needs is one concerted, hard effort and he will be finished, he simply can not finish the task? Even the fear of facing the disappointed boss is not enough to stir him to action. Even knowing the weight of his actions. Why?

No, this is not a particular person, but examples from many people I know. It really could be any field, any job, any situation that involves having to seek out some greater power to will ourself into action.

In my search for answers I found this site has some interesting concepts not just involving motivation but some other interesting things as well.

I am motivated to graduate. I am motivated to earn enough money to retire early and have fun while I am still mobile. I am motivated to do good work because I can't stand the thought of being associated with anything less than wonderful and polished.
I am also extremely, extremely tired.

I know no one will comment, because no one reads this except Jan, but if you want I would love to know what motivates you to get through something that feels like there is no reason to do "it" other than just to have done "it".

Victory is a Big Red Bike

2008-05-19T09:08:00.000-07:00

"You can't be a real country unless you have a beer and an airline - it helps if you have some kind of a football team, or some nuclear weapons, but at the very least you need a beer."

~Frank Zappa

We all need some beer. And we got some at the:
URBAN ASSAULT SEATTLE

WE WON!!!!

My buddy Jeremy Gerking and I entered the Urban Assault bike race thinking it would be a good time. We didn't really consider that we would actually win the thing...

In the morning we were there pretty early; it was obvious from our early arrival, shaved legs, and shiny, high-octane bikes that we were not representative of the typical competitor. We had not the fixed-gear, bland-colored urban machine used by couriers and urban cyclists around town. We had our gear-ful triathlon geek bikes, toe clips and all, leaning ominously against the Fremont Open Theater screen. We thought we COULDN'T win, what with the knowledge of the city so many local bikers would have.

Little did we know we would end up with a pair of brand new bikes specially made by New Belgium Brewing?? It was a unique experience, to say the least, filled with some weird events, weird sights, and hard biking.

I stayed up the night before on the USATF Route Mapping tool, figuring out based on distance and time the best route to take from checkpoint to checkpoint. I figured it was still a long shot at best. When we got to the last mystery checkpoint and heard we were the first there, it became a realistic thought: we might just win this thing.
We hammered as fast as we could go from our final checkpoint, Bike Works in Ballard, back to Fremont, on Market and then Leary. When we arrived we had one last challenge--two laps around a course in a modified, adult sized big wheel. And then it was over. We did it.

Jan met us downtown and was at the finish line and watched us go through our last challenge. It was NOT a run-away victory, either. The second place team was behind us by only a couple of minutes, and it actually came down to a race on the big wheels. When we emerged from the course in first place, Jan was waiting and screamed when I told her we had won.

High fives all around.

Then we drank free New Belgium beer, ate some yummy free pizza and baked in the sun for a couple hours until they awarded us our new cruisers. I took mine for a spin yesterday afternoon--indeed it is a different but pleasant experience.

And now I can say I have jousted from the back of a BMX, thrown newspapers from the basket of a tiny, pink, banana seat bike, been a human wheelbarrow, and raced a bigwheel. All while riding as fast and hard as I could around Seattle with a great buddy. What a great day.

Self....ish

2008-04-30T12:24:00.000-07:00

“Truly, nothing in the world has occupied my thoughts as much as the Self, this riddle, that I live, that I am one and am separated and different from everybody else, that I am Siddhartha; and about nothing in the world do I know less than about myself, about Siddhartha.”

~Siddharttha, from the book of the same name, Page 38.

And this is where, collectively, your eyes roll because Moss is about to embark upon yet another journey through the philosophical soul searching jungle. Oh joy.

Not so fast, jack.

Siddhartha. A "terrific little book" by Hermann Hesse that could probably be referred to in some more esoteric fancy-pants circles as a "Standard" or "archetypal" text that sets a classic and recycled character into literary life. As Heir Gerking put it, at one time or other we are all Siddhartha. In this story Siddhartha plays many parts, indeed.

Right now, I resemble Siddhartha up until and including page 38; he is locked in a battle against his own wits (what a conundrum). What is the point of learning about nirvana when no one has crossed the great barrier between it and mortal life (the pond is deep, but the darkness is shallow)? Siddhartha decides to attempt to lose the Self to attain a new state of enlightenment. And finally, who cares when I don't even know myself? The thinker is confronted with the fact that he can not think his way out of something. At this point in the story, Siddhartha comes to grips with the fact that how on earth can he know how to lose the Self when he doesn't even know what his-self is?

And who am us, anyway?

We're one of you... and you're one of us...I think. Maybe. Possibly.

The interesting part of reading this story is that I just finished reading "A Wrinkle in Time" before it. You know, the elementary school book we all have to read in 2nd grade... or maybe most people read it in 4th grade but I read it WITH the 4th graders when I was in 2nd grade. Precocious little snot that I was. Well, what comes around goes around, because here I am in grad school at 30 with all of the 23 and 24 year olds with giant brains flopping around all the time. Its ridiculous how smart these kids are. And I believe I have a right, now, to call them "kids." The difference between us is...well, several meters wide. Anyway "A Wrinkle in Time" is as deep of a read as you want to make it. I find these days that I can not help but make the Sunday morning comics deep. I manage to eek out existentialism out of the list of ingredients on a soup can for fuck's sake. But "A Wrinkle in Time" was great for me because it is such a childish book on the surface but really has a lot to say. It did not, however, prepare me well for 1922 Hermann Hesse. No sir.

But I digress. You know, I think I am always in a digression, and when I think I am stopping the digression, that is really when the digression begins...

Maybe I have turned the corner, like Siddhartha, and I am now onto a different set of problems. Maybe I have figured out who I am, but being who I am in graduate school took a little figuring of its own. Or maybe I just haven't gotten to the drunken, business, party stage yet.

Soul Finger

2008-02-01T07:14:00.000-08:00

"You don't have a soul. You are a Soul. You have a body."

~C.S. Lewis

Once again, I haven't written on my blog in a long time. There are a lot of reasons for this. Not excuses, just reasons. I haven't especially felt clever, for one, and I suppose I sometimes convince myself that if I can't write anything clever or funny, I shouldn't write. That right there is what is technically referred to as "bullshit".

The real reason is school. I don't know that I agree with calling it school anymore, because now it is a race. Its The Race. This race makes Ironman seem easy. It makes Ironman seem easy because in Ironman I knew what lay before me, I knew before I signed up, even, what I must do to finish. And once you finished, you did not have to consider anything. Not a thing. At Ironman you finish, feel wonderful, feel like shit, sit down with some pizza you cant possibly enjoy fully and go limp for a few... weeks.

This race that is graduate school is vastly different.

There is no "finish". That is the single most important thing to realize if you consider going to get a PhD in a hard science. The finish is really intangible. The final product is not the end--there is really no final product. The end is a state of mind when you, and more importantly your committee, and the faculty, can see you standing on your own two (too) pompous scientific feet before the world, proudly proclaiming "I am science. Let me be free to spread my science and the gospel of my predecessors thus to the world." More or less they feel that if they let you graduate, they won't be embarrassed. Perhaps more importantly, they now see you as a consumer of their scarce dollars instead of a producer of the rare scientific PK research commodity we produce.

Perhaps what is harder to understand, and vastly more difficult for me, is that at the beginning you are almost--no, you are completely--fooled into believing the drivel that the faculty shovels your way. That this is a very structured, well thought out process that simply involved doing your pieces along the way and then viola--PhD. Not at all. Nope. Nada.

I haven't written because I am a soul. I am a soul with a body with extremely high pressure placed upon it at times. In these times the brain overtakes the mind, and the mind overtakes the soul, and now we find ourselves not standing hand in hand with our shadow self, but looking back over our shoulder at it. The body has taken over because the brain says "hey, this pressure is pretty heavy right now. We are about to crack and YOU, SOUL, are just sitting there daydreaming and twiddling your little toes in the cool creek gurgling by. Soul, I am sorry, but you aren't getting this done."

We can appear soulless. We can even convince ourselves we are a body.

And when that point occurs, apparently, you are awarded your PhD in Pharmacokinetics.

Reality

2007-10-05T16:20:00.000-07:00

Maybe sometimes we can't control the way we look to others. But we can control the way we respond.

I got onto the MT 25 to downtown and rode quietly down Pacific Ave. When we stopped at the front of the University of Washington Medical Center a man got on the bus and was definitely disabled by something that resembled cerebral palsy or MS. He seemed unable to voluntarily move his legs such that walking was extremely difficult for him. His face was slightly contorted while he spoke. He was black, walked (obviously based on my description) with a cane, carried a neck brace and wore the typical hospital bracelet. He had strange ticks and involuntary spasms.

The bus was mostly full and the front seats were completely full. When this man walked on no one moved. The lady seated next to me got up, and in a clear voice told the people at the front of the bus that they were supposed to vacate those seats for disabled riders. They didn't move when put on the spot, but instead looked uncomfortable and nervous.

The lady next to me insisted he sit there, next to me. He resisted saying he would stand but she fairly ordered him to sit. He did, right next to me.

I had the thought; I felt uncomfortable and felt that pang of "why do the weirdos have to sit next to me?"

He started talking to me. I felt bad for him that no one let him sit up front, and I had a feeling everyone on the bus besides that woman who gave up her seat for him thought he was "weird" and would not want to talk to him, so I listened and smiled at him. I felt bad for him and I felt bad that at the same instant I felt somewhat annoyed that he was talking to me.

And I have to write about it now because of the impact it made on me.

I didn't get his name. I wish I had. He was at the hospital because he had surgery on his back about 5 weeks ago and was in for a follow up. His speech was slurred and forced and took effort to decipher. This was, I found out, because he had nerve damage. I asked him what happened to make him have back surgery, and he told me a remarkable story that I wasn't prepared for.

He was working at Fred Meyer and fell, cracking the ball part of the femur in his right hip joint. He went for surgery to have the fragments of bone that were floating in the joint removed. Somehow the surgery left metal fragments in the joint that calcified over time and started pointing and pushing into the sciatic nerve. As a result he had what he referred to as a "permanent stroke" symptom: the slurred speech and even less control of many functions that already was terrible. I should have recognized it before he told me. Anyway, he said his surgery 5 weeks ago which was to remove those fragments. It turned out during that surgery, however, the surgeons saw that removing some of the fragments would potentially injure the nerve permanently because of how much they had grown into the cavity. Therefore they removed a few fragments at that time and would re-evaluate and decide later on what to do.

I could sense his intelligence from the way he spoke, but it was obviously masked because of the disability. I imagine most people never got to see this, and never gave him a chance at all.

I asked him where he was going. He said he was going downtown to catch a bus to take him to Everett, but that no one would help him figure out where to catch that bus. He said he would ask the bus driver again but she wasn't nice. I imagined the bus driver's response was probably annoyed and judgmental, as they are to EVERYONE. Granted, they deal with a lot of people who aren't disabled but annoying and manipulative, such that the people who really need help suffer the wrath of the driver who had been through the whole day. I told him I didn't know anything about buses to Everett but I did tell him a couple of streets that had large bus stops and might be of help.

He said he had been there since 9 AM and was hungry and hadn't eaten. He did not look like he had much, if any money. This was confirmed when he said he just wanted to get back to the mission in Everett and have some food. My heart really sank to think I was going downtown to eat expensive food at a nice restaurant downtown in excessive amounts. He was going home to a mission and maybe a sandwich.

He was very uncomfortable and I could tell he was frustrated.

He said he didn't care what it took, he was sick of the pain and sick of feeling the metallic cold through his body that the pressure on the nerve caused, and the doctors didn't listen to him. Instead they just gave him Oxycodone, a pain killer with opiates. He reached into his pocket and took out a prescription of pills they had just filled for him to show me. He said he sometimes had to sell a few of them to get money for food.

Wow.

I asked him if anything had happened to hold the surgeons accountable for leaving metal in his hip and putting him in a more disabled state than he needed to be and he said he couldn't afford a lawyer and as a result how would he do that? I didn't have an answer. He said he trusted in God to take care of him and that some people had it much worse than he did. I couldn't imagine that I could have that kind of perspective in his situation. He had a legitimate beef with life, but he still saw that other people had it worse. When it comes to religion, I don't think the same way, but I can understand the way people turn to God when they have nothing else. At least its something to hold on to.

He put the pills back in his pocket and we didn't talk much more for a while. He struggled up toward the front of the bus, nearly falling because of his difficulty walking, and asked the bus driver where to catch the certain bus. The bus driver angrily told him she didn't know, that she had already told him that. The bus stopped where I was getting off in downtown, and she yelled at him--YELLED--to get out of the way for people. I shot her a seriously dirty look and patted the guy on the arm and told him I hope he could figure it out. He said thanks and waved. I thought that was the last I would see of him. However, he got off the bus and started walking, if you can call it that, through the crowds asking people where he could catch the 510.

Everyone--EVERY one--ignored him. He started approaching specifically black people and asking them, but they ignored him too. I thought he was going to cry, to be honest, as I watched him stand there in the crowd. I ran over to him, and, being down here early, told him to walk with me and I would try to help him figure it out. He smiled and I felt like I had done, finally, something worth my breath for the first time in my life. People actually gave me the weirdest looks as I walked next to him and tried to talk to him.

I can't say I know a single thing about how it must be for him, but in that moment I grew a brand new hatred for human beings. I already hated them quite a bit.

I told him to look at the big bus signs where the stops are located and see if he sees the 510. I realized, though, that the 510 is a different bus line, through a different organization, and was going to be difficult to find. He said he just wanted to get "home."

Finally I had to head in a different direction but I knew he had to keep heading in the same direction we had been walking. I tried to get him to listen and HEAR what I was telling him about where to look, but I don't know if he heard. I shook his hand and told him I was sorry people were so mean, but not to let it get him down. I told him he was better than most of us. He thanked me profusely and struggled away.

As he walked away I saw him approach three women at another bus stop. They turned hastily away, avoiding him. They must have thought he was a homeless beggar or drunk or something. He walked toward them again and I heard him asking where could he find the 510 bus, and again they moved uncomfortably away. And then a police officer on a horse, of all things, came over and, leaning down from the horse's back, said something I couldn't hear to the man, who held up his arms in question and I heard him say "I just wanted some help finding my bus, man! Maybe you will help me? Where do I catch the 510?" I think it was the saddest part of the whole thing when I next heard the officer say, leaning up straight and firming his voice; "I best think you ought to just head away from here as fast as you can."

The disabled man I had gotten to know just a little bit to be a genuine, hungry, tired, intelligent man could have gotten angry, or cried, or made a scene, or anything. You know what he did? He stood there, put his arms down, and said "God bless you." Then limped away.

Maybe sometimes we can't control the way we look to others. But we can control the way we respond.

Sleepy Time

2007-10-05T08:43:00.000-07:00

"I never get enough sleep. I stay up late at night, cause I'm Night Guy. Night Guy wants to stay up late. 'What about getting up after five hours sleep?', oh that's Morning Guy's problem. That's not my problem, I'm Night Guy. I stay up as late as I want. So you get up in the morning, you're alarm, you're exhausted, groggy, oooh you hate that Night Guy! See, Night Guy always screws Morning Guy. There's nothing Morning Guy can do. The only thing Morning Guy can do is try and oversleep often enough so that Day Guy loses his job and Night Guy has no money to go out anymore."

~Jerry Seinfeld

I can relate.

Responsible Guy was hanging out with the ever enticing Night Girl.

Night Guy showed up and kicked Responsible Guy in the teeth.

Morning Guy was depending on Responsible Guy to keep Night Guy in check, but it seems Night Guy and the fiendish Night Girl stay up too late together having good times.

Morning Guy now is jealous of Night Guy and Night Girl's interaction and plotting the demise of Night Guy by giving Day Guy headaches and lack of focus to get things done well. Day Guy then ruins the party by pre-empting Night Guy and going to bed before Night Guy and Night Girl have their fun.

The best part is Night Guy can't even function even when they do stay up late.

The only problem is there is NO Morning Girl.

Getting Through.

2007-09-21T08:12:00.000-07:00

"Restlessness is discontent - and discontent is the first necessity of progress. Show me a thoroughly satisfied man - and I will show you a failure."
~Thomas Alva Edison

The goal is not to be the best, but is it really up to me to decide that? Is there a difference in my own journey between just to finish and to finish leaving some impression upon those that remain that something, someone, special just passed through?

The goal is to finish. But can I truly just finish?

At Ironman to just finish was special... but I know I will be going back.

This is different. There is no going back.

It has grown obvious to me that work ethic does not determine success where I am. It has grown apparent that my own success may not be up to me entirely; two things that go against every fiber of who I am. I refuse to believe that in this world I am not responsible for my successes, my failures. If I work hard and do what I know to be right, I will succeed.

Therefore, the equation I have always lived by, my own recipe, no longer holds true. I can not, in this realm, rely on physics as I know them, but instead am sort of bound to the tides of wherever this is and will forever struggle with fighting against the current which is counter to my own truths or to succumb to the truths of "now" until it dispenses me where it sees fit.

I thought I knew the truth about things.
The truth may, in fact, be schedule dependent.

Volcano Pictures

2007-09-19T11:32:00.001-07:00

Without further adieu, see for yourself the madness that is the Wilderness Marathon at the top of Kilauea, HI. The pictures just do NOT do it justice. The most noticeable effect witnessed in person but unclear in the pictures is the steepness of the hills. At mile 22, for example, that sucker was probably a 10% grade for 2 more miles. That's fun.

Most of these were taken from a disposable camera I took with me during the run. One of the people I met in the middle of the thing was kind enough to take a pic of me at mile 14.5, which is a few down there. Jan and her dad also took a couple at the very beginning and at the very end.

IRONMAN FLASH BACK!

2007-09-19T11:09:00.000-07:00

"The critic has to educate the public; the artist has to educate the critic."
~Oscar Wilde

Watch closely, you will actually see me cross the line at Ironman CDA 2007. Ah, watching that makes me want to sign up RIGHT NOW for another one... but I promised to wait until 2009...

It is what it is... What is it?

2007-09-19T09:20:00.000-07:00

"They misunderestimated me."
~George W. Bush

Its fall. Thats what. I misunderestimated its effect.

I forgot how fall felt until this morning when it was on the verge of raining, cold and dark.

In some parts of the world fall is pretty and colorful, with changing leaves, "indian summer" (whatever that means) and gradualism. It means the gardens will begin producing a new bounty and the evening air will hang heavy in the early setting sun's red glow.

In Seattle it means ick. And get out your trusty rain-proof everything.

It means keeping plenty of towels in the garage for wiping dog feet.

Fall means another 10 months until summer. The beginning of going to work in the dark and going home in the dark.

Fall means its time to dust off the bike trainer in anticipation of garage riding for months.

Ok, this is a really bad view, I admit. Fall brings good things also. It brings another season of Seahawks football and more importantly, tailgating with the crew. Seahawks football brings its own set of ulcers and frustrations also, but we wont dedicate blog time to that, right now. Fall means marathon training for the hilly, chilly and wet Seattle Marathon. I think thats fun. Its fun getting done with it.

Fall means Oktoberfest beer-a-thons all over the northwest.

Hmph.

I dont know, its hard for me to paint it in a positive light when I love hot weather, beaches and 4:30 AM sunrise. I love swimming after coffee at 7 AM followed by running the mountains at noon and more swimming. I love seeing the sun rise beyond the cascades and Husky Stadium on my bike ride to work at 6 AM. I love summer. I can not lie.

But if it weren't for the 10 months of ICK, perhaps I might not enjoy summer quite so thoroughly every minute of every day.

Plate Champion

2007-09-08T20:11:00.001-07:00

“A big man is always accused of gluttony, whereas a wizened or osseous man can eat like a refugee at every meal, and no one ever notices his greed.”

~Robertson Davies

On friday I turned 30. I did something extraordinary on my 30th birthday to mark the occasion. It was my first foray into competitive eating, sort of. I became a SushiLand "Plate Champion."

This is truly an American art--overeating for the sole purpose of saying you overate... The feat of becoming Plate Champion involves consuming, in whole, 30 plates of sushi in 90 minutes. 30 plates means at least two pieces of nigiri-style sushi over rice per plate, or 60 pieces of sushi. Maybe this doesn't sound difficult to many of you out there, and indeed, for me, it was not as hard as, say, Ironman. But at 25 plates my body began to negotiate with me when it came to swallowing.

Body: You think you are going to really swallow that mouthful of salmon, rice, wasabi and soy?
Gluttony: Yes.
Body: Go ahead and try.
Gluttony: (chewing, chewing, chewing, chewing...still chewing...) So you have a point.
Body: Tell you what, dumb-ass. I will let you swallow HALF of a bite at a time, and only after you mix it with some tea and chew each HALF bite for approximately 5 minutes. And you will accept this deal or barf.

I turned 30. I ate 34 plates. I am a Plate Champion. Not only that but I set a new record for our department at school, the former record being 33 plates. I actually finished 20 plates in about 45 minutes. It was nuts.

I got a t-shirt and photos to prove it. Its really not something to be proud of, but somewhere on the edge of reason I tell myself that this might decrease the amount of wasted food that might have otherwise populated the garbage. It might be partially true. Maybe.

Debunking Health Myths

2007-08-06T17:19:00.000-07:00

"There's lots of people in this world who spend so much time watching their health that they haven't the time to enjoy it."
~Josh Billings

No, there are no hair growing herbs.

No, Rosemary does not cure toenail fungus.

Yes, several components of some red wines have been proven to lower blood pressure and reduce risk of heart attack while boosting your anti-oxidative state.

Ever had questions like these? Ever seen the stupid, cheesy, almost-too-dumb-to-not-believe ads online promising health miracles?

A few of us at UW Pharmaceutics have decided to provide the public who can find us with a way to find out the truth about these things. We would love to hear your health myth questions.

Please give it a shot, its free. Tell your friends, too; we want to spread the word and help people become informed about these false/misleading/unusual promotions and messages.

Discuss Debunking Health Myths

I hope to see some questions soon. We will provide any information we can to set the record straight!

Blank

2007-08-04T23:50:00.000-07:00

“Many people hear voices when no-one is there. Some of them are called mad and are shut up on rooms where they stare at the walls all day. Others are called writers and they do pretty much the same thing.”

~Unknown

I sit down for the fifth time and wonder where the witty commentary went. Why, it truly is possible to sit and stare at this device, fully eager and prepared to write, and then find that when the time has arrived to fill the blank space--its inevitably the hardest thing on earth to accomplish. Just one word?? Something?

A myriad of excuses clot my thinking into a jelly-like, brownish-blue glob that gets stuck somewhere between my brain and my fingers. Nothing happens. I stare. I fidget. I convince myself of something or other that prohibits me from communicating the written, or typed, word. No matter how much I want to, its stuck in me for yet another day.

I havent written about the marathon yet. Why? The classic response that I hear emanating from my own mouth is "I didnt have time." That there is a load of hooey. I have a million thoughts about the run across the lava, in the middle of nowhere, at 4000 feet with 182 other freaks of nature, but sitting down and writing about it feels impossible. Ironman was SO overwhelming, SO amazing I couldnt wait. It was like a bomb going off inside of me. The only thing about Ironman was that it took almost 13 hours to complete and was really a novels worth of emotional and physical extremes. The marathon was certainly a rare and wonderful event that many people will never experience (fewer than Ironman for sure) and yet its not so pressing for me to discuss here. How strange, because I truly loved doing it and cant wait to share.

Writers block. I think that is what I am experiencing. Wealth of ideas, lack of motivation to clarify them as written words. And boredom with the sound of my own "voice."

One of the things I love about blogging is the fact that a few degrees of separation are all that exists between most of the world, out there, and this blog. Its creepy how many people are just one, two or three clicks from being right HERE, reading this crap. And it really is. Some one once asked TS Eliot if college professors stifled budding writers. He replied that they do not stifle enough, and that there are many a best seller out there that did not have to exist if along the way some poor author had, indeed, been stifled.

Some of us stifle ourselves, I suppose.

Cheers.

Finisher!!

2007-07-28T18:22:00.000-07:00

"If you set a goal for yourself and are able to achieve it, you have won your race. Your goal can be to come in first, to improve your performance, or just to finish the race - it's up to you."
~Dave Scott

Just finished my Wilderness marathon! Talk about rough. There were more hills in the last 7 miles than I could even begin to describe in a short offering. Instead, I will post my results:

23/185 overall

2/7 in my age group

My first ever placing in a marathon---and what a marathon in which to do that!!

Soon my pictures will be developed (I took a disposable camera with me) and will post those.

Chi Hawaiian Running

2007-07-23T20:48:00.000-07:00

"Most people run a race to see who is fastest. I run a race to see who has the most guts."
~Steve Prefontaine

Sunday I am racing the Wilderness Marathon, not shown in the picture above... thats Jan's Dad running with me on the "Sugar Cane Road" between Honaunau and Kaelakakua. A fun 4 mile jog over rolling hills through a battlefield desert in the lava. Super cool, super hawaiian thing to do if you are a runner.

Lava java on Ali'i drive has wireless internet for the customers!!

Hawaii is an incredible place if you know how to take advantage of what it offers--and understand how its offering it. This sounds weird, I suppose, but the truth is its not "touristy" in the way you might consider Mexican resorts or the Caribbean. You are best off getting a car or having sturdy cycling legs and getting OUT. Just follow a road and inevitably, without exception, you are in for a super adventure/treat. Everywhere here has its own story, even the trees. Every bay has a drama, every wind you feel is thoroughly ensconced in local lore, every time it rains it has a special name. How can I write a feeble blog entry to encompass this sort of depth? Its impossible. In lieu of this I will write my stupid little diary-esque vacation entry for Sunday.

Sorry; this is incredible poor writing.

The morning is like awakening in a cool greenhouse; the mist delivers a bouquet of aromas just as you might expect in a flower shop, but with the softest feeling air anywhere on earth. My earthly experiences are rather limited, however, but this has been corroborated by much more well traveled individuals than I. The air is soft. Its easy to breathe. In Seattle, the air is cool and not soft. Its difficult. And the rain is hard and cold, the air smells not of a flower shop; perhaps the cheap Vietnamese restaurant next door. I like Seattle, but Hawaii is truly a place to live.

Saturday. Dinner with Lee and Wendy Maxwell.

Saturday we went out to dinner with, of all people, a man who worked for my grandfather in the mill he owned 30-40 years ago. This was on Oahu, of all places on earth. It turns out that he and Jan's dad have been friends since high school, where they both went to the same high school I went to. Again, its a small planet. We sat on the Honolulu port eating dinner and drinking good beer and watched the cruise ship load up with passengers and watched tugs of all shapes and sizes motoring in and out with their barges. Some container ships floated in and the tugs maneuvered them deftly into place as if they were toys of a few dollars weighing a few pounds, not the hundreds of thousands of ton 400 foot long million dollar behemoths they indeed truly are.

Sunday: fly to big island

Jan's ankle is doing so well that she was hobbling without the aid of the unsightly and gangly metal crutches. She is doing really well, in fact, given the previous entry to this. WAILING in PAIN in the middle of a rugged mountain trail, if I remember accurately. Today, Monday, much better. Smiling and hobbling. So well, in fact, that we went snorkeling yesterday. I helped her into the water and even thought of a nifty little way to keep her footses from sinking toward the coral below--water wings around the ankles. Yep, floaties of yellow which, when inflated around her ankles, allow her to effortlessly snorkel without the pain and potential of further injury from fins. And a double bonus--in the snorkel-busy waters of Kona, its easy to spot her in a crowd.

My first Hawaiian snorkeling adventure was splendid, replete with wildlife to the tune of my first in-person green sea turtle swim. He just floated along there with me, looking at me over his shoulder, flying underwater with those little hydro-wings. So cool. Unbelievably cool. I laughed like a little kid as I clumsily splashed along trying to keep up. I had a great time until I got kind of chilly.

After we were finished snorkeling, finishing up with our run to meet Jan and the car at the marine preserve Kealakakua or something like that, we ended up at the place known as "The Coffee Shack" pictured above. Seriously cool place!! Stand at the edge of the lenai and look out over the coast below, where we just came from. You can see a line through the desert and lava that is the Sugar Cane Road, and its so far down there its hard to believe thats where you just were. The railing of The Coffee Shack sports those small Jam containers like they serve you at Denny's with your toast. They are all open and the geckos line up on those railings and eat the jam out of them like funny little dogs. Its hilarious to see these WILD animals behaving like this. Truly unique--where else on earth would you see this? This place also has heavenly pies and Kona Coffee right off the bush.

Its interesting in Hawaii; everyone in this particular area seems to have a coffee plantation, regardless of whether its 100 acres or 3 coffee plants. I could go into business, here. Damn the government and their tax laws!!!

We wrapped it up, drove back to the hotel/rooms and washed up, ready to head out for dinner. Dinner produced another fine culinary treat dispensed by Hawaiian favorite, the marvelous L&L Drive in. Loco moco, anyone? No, this time I dined on fried Mahi. Yumm-o.

We ended the long day at Island Lava Java on Ali'i drive, sitting out on the famous Ironman Triathlon street reminiscing about past races and Jan and her dad talked about their previous times in Hawaii. They have been here so often and know it so well, its amazing. For me, its a hugely steep learning curve as I try to assimilate and remember and enjoy everything I can in this short vacation. The coffee was delish and the free muffin basket came around at 10 pm, of which we all partook. That was our morning snack today, Monday.

So I am finishing this up on Tuesday night, unfortunately. I wish I could both express the activities we enjoyed or didn't enjoy in both an informative and well written way, but now, I am on vacation, and the attitude seems to have enveloped even my blogging. How it is. Enjoy.

Aloha, mainlanders! Now break a leg!

2007-07-20T11:55:00.000-07:00

"A lot of people are afraid of heights. Not me, I'm afraid of widths. "
~Steven Wright

That is not a random quote, mind you.

On a narrow trail with slippery clay instead of dirt and twisting, tangling, gnarled roots every single step--width is very important if you are carrying a 140 pound sweaty person on your back. You might not think 140 pounds is very heavy until you have to carry it a few miles after already having run that few miles in 85 degree temperatures up hills and down slopes, looking down to the left at a hundred foot cliff. No pressure.

Its not always you run into serious trouble, but vacation is as good a time as any. The first day of this vacation I was fortunate enough to be tested in basic wilderness survival. Garnett and I were running up ahead maybe 100 yards over an extremely rugged trail that was, indeed, clay/soil. At one particular overlook, from where you can see two distant jungle ridges of the mountains of Oahu, I heard a yelp, and then what I thought was laughter. I hoped it was laughter. I turned and walked toward the noise. Not laughter. Crying. WAILING. SERIOUS, PAINFUL WAILING!!! Oh shit, I kept thinking. Oh shit, not out here in the middle of this crazy trail. Not out here where there is no road, no help.

Yes. Out here in the middle of nowhere it happened. There was Jan, frozen in pain ad in tears, me sprinting as fast as I could over the treacherous muck and roots toward her. The adventure was about to begin, and it taught me a lot.

Over the next hour and some, I learned the value of keeping cool in a very, very dangerous situation. I learned how valuable resourcefulness is. I learned the value of being fit. And I learned that I am capable of pretty amazing stuff. BESIDES Ironman.
Jan was going into shock, most likely as a result of the stress of the situation combined with the extreme pain she was experiencing and the fear of where it happened and its ramifications. She was unable to walk or even hop. It means she must be carried. I was the only one strong enough to carry her. So piggy back she went, for a long distance back toward the car. When I got really tired (I was doing a quick pace with 140 pounds on my back) Garnett (Jan's father) and I used a large stick on which Jan set and put her arms around our shoulders. We carried her along in sitting position until our hands and arms were so tired we needed a rest. Then we would do piggy back on me for a while. At one point Jan got dizzy and said she felt sick, and wanted to pass out and throw up. Maybe not in that order. She turned pale greenish and her pupils were different sizes. Aaron survival tip #1 : Don't let the patient pass out in shock while stranded in middle of nowhere. Only thing worse than a sweaty, slippery person who can't walk is a sweaty, slippery person who can't walk and is unable to hold on. Or even talk or breathe for that matter.

At the very beginning my main mission was to make sure Jan was calm and she focused on staying positive and on completing the task, which was getting back to the car. I didn't have any clever solution and I was sort of counting on Garnett to come up with some way to get us out of this jam while I used my ninja calming skills to quiet the injured girl. Poor thing; she was in a pathetic scared place.

We got out, never fear. We got out and my arms and legs hurt like never before. I think this may have been more difficult than Ironman because not only was it physically the most difficult thing I have ever done, but instead of having to tame the demons of my own head, it was the demons in Jan's head. That's a horse of a whole different color.

We spent 3 or more hours in the emergency room on our first day in Hawaii, on the island of Oahu. The girl sprained her ankle but it wasn't too serious. We all know how crucial our legs are for silly things like walking, so needless to say its not going to be an easy vacation. And Jan won't be able to run next weekend in the crater race she registered for.

Thats life. Its actually Saturday now, when I finish this, and Jan is hobbling around on her own, with crutches. In the house she manages without them, which makes me a little nervous...

We went swimming today, also. It was at a really interesting beach whose name escapes me. I will post pictures about that later but the long and short is I seriously want more beach time. Hawaii is beautiful, especially when you get out of the car long enough to sit and enjoy it.