A Cuppa Joe

Evening Workout
RUN
45 minutes
Lactate Threshold testing
Heart Rate Zone: As high as possible until it cain't go no high no more.

Random Comments: I was afflicted by the long-standing calf problems on the treadmill today. I haven't told you the details about my calf problems. Suffice to say, they've caused many problems, on and off, for the last 15 years of running. The good news is that I made it through the entire test today and the results look pretty promising. My fitness level hasn't dropped too much since this past June, when I supposedly was at my peak fitness. I think I'll go celebrate with a very large pizza. Actually, make it a lot of Thai food. I'll have the pizza tomorrow.
__________________________________________________________________

So here's the catch: I'm not a coffee drinker. Yet I drink coffee once or twice a week. One might say, You are an imbecile, young man, apparently you are a coffee drinker and you just haven't accepted it. Well, if one said that, one would be drastically wrong. Because, you see, I'm not a coffee drinker. I thought we've already been over this.

I don't necessarily like the taste of coffee. I don't even feel joy at the smell of coffee. Even the texture....um.... actually, I've got no problems with the texture. The fact of the matter is, I just don't like coffee. That said, I really like coffee shops. There is something about a coffee shop that is very relaxing for me. I love getting a warm cup of something-or-other, and sitting outside in the just-short-of-brisk weather, sifting through the newspaper, doing a crossword puzzle or, even better, reading a good book.

The thing is, though, I feel guilty hanging out at coffee shops without buying something. So I've kanoodled around with water and tea. I even had a hot chocolate phase there for awhile. But then I decided enough is enough, this whole coffee-thing seems so popular, I might as well give it a shot. Lo and behold, I soon realized that I could almost get used to it. Not like it, mind you, but at least get used to it. I mean, what with all the new fangled concoctions they have these days, there's enough powder and syrup and sweetners and dairy pourings and other assorted products to swish around in the cup and make the whole coffee experience somewhat palatable.

You see, in my world, the coffee shop has replaced the warmth and comfort of the couch. I don't have a fireplace, so what's the point of laying on the couch. Besides, laying alone on the couch has no social factor whatsoever. At the coffee shop, at least there's people watching. I don't necessarily want to talk to anybody, but I sure can get in some great people watching. Especially here in the LA area - there are very few places in the world with better people watching than on the west side of Los Angeles. Between the stuck-up celebrities, the stuck-up non-celebrities, the doctored, lifted and tucked bodies, the overwhelming vanity and the people watching people watching people, it's a veritable alphabet soup of good times. I love people watching with a warm cup in my hand.

I used to go to the local Starbucks every Sunday morning and stay there reading the paper and doing the crossword puzzle for a couple of hours. By mid-morning my solitary reading phase would meld into the people watching phase. And there are some wonderful people to watch on Sunday mornings. Lately, though, my coffee shop habits have changed. I no longer have a regular schedule that I adhere to. Rather, I just take a stroll up to the Coffee Bean when the mood hits me - and usually the mood hits me when I don't have an extensive morning workout. Like today, for instance.

This morning was one of those in-the-mood-for-coffee-shop mornings. So at 7:30am I grabbed my book, my Wall Street Journal and my blackberry, and took a stroll up the block to the Coffee Bean. I ordered some powdered non-fat, decaf, latte type thing (I find that it keeps the cup warm for an exceptionally long period of time) and set my butt outside on one of the strategically placed sidewalk tables, whereby I stretched out my legs, let out a heaving satsified sigh, and opened up the paper to delve into the news of the day.

I didn't get but one section into the paper when I hear a couple of kids a few feet away talking to each other. And talking very loudly, may I add. Then they started jumping on their skateboards (which apparently every single kid has these days) and grinded their way up and down the sidewalk for no apparent reason whatsoever. I tried to ignore them, but then a few more of their friends showed up. And then their friends showed up. It was kind of like a scene from the Hitchcock movie "The Birds". But instead of birds, this one was "The Kids". They kept coming and flocking. And they kept getting louder and louder. And cell phones were ringing, and skateboards were grinding, and homework was being talked about, and pop songs were sung, and talking turned to yelling turned to screaming and....and.... it just kept getting louder and louder. I couldn't focus, I couldn't concentrate..

Hey wait a minute, I thought. Shouldn't these kids be in school? I looked at my watch - uh, I mean, blackberry. It suddenly hit me. Today is Wednesday. Classes at the local elementary school don't start until 10am on Wednesdays because the teachers can have all of their morning meetings on Wednesdays. With the extra couple of hours in the morning, parents drop off their kids on Coffee Shop row and let them kanoodle around with all their friends for the extra time. Wednesday mornings are mayhem at the coffee shops. Yet, for some reason, I tend to find myself here in front of the Coffee Bean on Wednesday mornings.

I think it's because I need the relaxation mid-week. Clearly that's not working out so well.

Thank God I don't like coffee.

My Science Threshold

Morning Workout
BIKE (on the trainer)
45 minutes
Heart Rate Zone: Lactate Threshold (Zone 2)

Random Comments: Riding a bike on a trainer can be a very tedious event. The only time the scenery changes is when you blink. I'm not sure if it's actually more difficult to pedal on the trainer than to ride outside, or if it's the boredom that makes it seem more difficult, either way, it ain't always easy. Which makes the trainer a really great reason to have TiVo. My workout this morning was 45 minutes. By fast forwarding through all of the commercials, West Wing lasts 42 minutes long. Which left 3 extra minutes of focused bike time. As it turns out, they were the most difficult 3 minutes of the workout.

Evening Workout
SWIM
2300m
Main Set: 1 x 250m / 2 x 200m / 3 x 150m / 4 x 100m / 5 x 50m

Random Comments: A funny thing happened at the pool tonight. I was swimming along in my lane when all of the sudden I started smelling cigarette smoke. There is no smoking allowed in the YMCA, much less in the pool area. And that's not even the thing. The thing is that I was swimming. You know, face in the water swimming, turning my head only slightly and inhaling through my mouth. And there's definitely no smoking allowed underwater in the pool. At first I thought I was imagining things. Then I swam another lap and still smelled the cigarettes. Next lap... same thing. It was really wierd. Well finally I finished my set and stopped at the end of the lane for a brief rest. In the lane on my left was a 20-something girl. In the lane on my right was a 40 something man. They were talking to each other - in French. They were French. You see where I'm going with this one?! French people smoke. It's what they do - like drinking wine and eating brie. They smoke. Yet when I stood between the two of them, I couldn't smell the cigarettes. It was only there when I swam. Is that the wierdest thing, or what.
___________________________________________________________________

Tomorrow is test day for me. Tomorrow night I meet with the trainer (Coach Gareth, for those of you who forgot) and get my latest Lactate Threshold run testing done. Since the output on the run and the bike are different, I have two separate tests. As I just said, tomorrow is the run test. On Friday night I have the Lactate Threshold test for the bike. You excited? Yeah... me too. You know why? Because I love running faster than I knew my legs could move and pedaling harder than I thought is possible while having somebody stick a needle in my finger every four minutes to suck out more and more blood from my body, and continuing on until I've pushed myself beyond all possible limits and am somewhere past the point of hallucinating and just before the point of tossing my proverbial cookies. And, believe it or not, I pay to have this done. It's really a sick sport, this triathlon malarkey, and what better proof than Lactate Threshold testing.

Hey wait, do you know what the Lactate Threshold is? Honestly, I barely do. I just get the test done for the challenge of it all. Thing is, I never did very well in chemistry. Or biology, for that matter. I did so poorly, I don't even know if the Lactate Threshold conversation is a chemistry or biology subject. I was more of a physics guy. Come to think of it, I pretty much sucked at the electro-magnetic physics side of things. Couldn't figure out how a light bulb worked and really didn't seem to care. As long as it turned on when I flipped the switch, I was fine. Even if the bulb didn't turn on, I knew I could go down to the store and buy a new bulb. That was my expertise in electro-magnetic physics - a trip to the Rite-Aid. Truth be told, I was more of a mechanical physics type person. You know, which will freefall faster when dropped from the top of a tall building, a hard-boiled egg or Sarah Jessica Parker. That's the kind of problem I liked thinking about more. And even then I wasn't the brightest bulb in the Crayola container.

So when it comes to all of this Lactate Threshold testing, I mostly know that it helps me get a more personalized training schedule which helps me go faster in the long run. I leave the rest of the mumbo jumbo to Coach Gareth and his computer. I supply the blood, he supplies the training schedule. That said, I recently learned what the whole Lactate Threshold stuff means so let me impress you with a quick lesson before I forget... Please keep in mind that everything I'm about to say could be completely wrong.

The harder you work during exercise, the more lactic acid your body produces. In fact, lactic acid helps your body perform at high intensities. That's what it does. And that's good. High intensity is good. However, too much lactic acid for too long of a period, shuts down the muscles. That's bad. Muscles not working - bad. There is a point during exercise when your body starts producing lactic acid at a rate faster than it can process the damn stuff. Once you pass this point, you're workin' on borrowed time. That point is the Lactate Threshold. It used to be called the "Keep This Up And You're Really Going To Be In Big Trouble Threshold," but apparently they felt that name was too long. I don't know, it kinda flows to me.

You can probably imagine that ones ability to maintain an exercise level at the lactate threshold would increase their endurance abilities. Even more, the faster you can move and still maintain balanced levels of lactic acid in your body - well, that right there is a formula for success in endurance racing.

As you can see, this whole triathlon training stuff is quite the science. A fascinating one, even. Rather, I'm sure it'd be fascinating if I really paid more attention to it. As for me, I've always been more of a right-brained guy anyway.

Our First Half-Marathon Together

Morning Workout
RUN(Carlsbad Half-Marathon)
1 hour 53 minutes 12 seconds
Heart Rate Zone: Lactate Threshold (Zone 2)

Random Comments: The Carlsbad Half-Marathon is our first race of the season - and it's a beauty of a race as it winds and rolls along the gorgeous San Diego coastline. For the most part, Catherine and I had a wonderful run - and a fun one. We kept a steady pace that I think averaged somewhere in the 8:30 per mile range of life. Nothing overly strenuous or too easy. Unfortunately Cat's hamstring was really hurting throughout the run. We had to make a pit stop around mile 3 for her to stretch it out. But she's a trooper and didn't complain at all throughout the race. Around mile 11, it felt like somebody shoved an ice pick through my left achilles. I screamed a little bit in shock, and slowed down a tad for a couple of seconds until it faded away. In the end we finished together and we finished strong. Next on the list: the Palm Springs Century.
___________________________________________________________________

A 60% Chance Of Rain

Morning Workout
BIKE
4 hours 20 minutes
Heart Rate Zone: Aerobic (Zone 1) / Lactate Threshold (Zone 2) [all at a cadence of 90 rpm]

Random Comments: In retrospect, the ride went very quickly. In actuality, I think I blacked out for most of it. Shock does that to you.
_________________________________________________________________

A marathon, they say, begins with one step. What they don't say is that the first step is really the easiest. In fact, the last step across the finish line is pretty damn simple as well. It's the steps you take in the middle, particularly between miles 18 and 22, that are significantly more challenging. I'd venture to say a better quote would be, "A marathon begins with one step and ends with one step. As far as the steps in the middle, well, you're on your own, bucko."

Similarly, today's bike ride started off very easy. That first proverbial step was a piece of cake. And the end, the last pedal stroke home, was also pretty exhilirating. It was really the four and a half hours in between that had me mumbling conversations with the Grim Reaper. I’ve been on a lot of painful and challenging bike rides before. I've been in bad bike accidents, been hit by cars, fallen over cliffs, injured my feet, legs, arms, hands, wrists, fingers and face. But I've had few biking experiences as painfully challenging as today. Which makes me believe that Ironman couldn't be all that bad after all.

When I left my house this morning, it was a nice, balmy 55 degrees outside with overcast skies and no winds. Wearing my shorts, jersey, arm warmers and gloves, I met up with Catherine and we jetted out onto our ride. It started off with overwhelming beauty, as the orange and yellow glow of the rising sun reflected off the ocean. I mean, it looked a bit apocalyptic, but in a beautiful sort of Armageddon way. We reveled in this beauty for the first thirty minutes of the ride. Then, of course, it started to rain. I had heard that there was a 60% chance of rain but...well... I live in Southern California. It doesn't rain in Southern California.

It began with a light drizzle. A few minutes later it started building ever so slightly until we found ourselves amidst a steady downfall that didn’t seem to let up for the rest of the four hours we were out there. It's like the frog in the pot of water. If you throw the frog in the lukewarm water, he does just fine. Then you slowly, ever so gradually, raise the temperature and the frog doesn't notice a thing. That is, until the water is a bubbling, brewing cauldron and the frog boils itself to death. Welcome to our ride.

It’s very exhilarating to exercise in the rain. I love running and biking in the rain. It’s so refreshing and mentally cleansing. It feels great. At least it feels great for the first two hours and fifteen minutes, as I learned today. Somewhere around two hours and sixteen minutes into the ride, things took a turn for the worse. Phase one of my demise began when we stopped for a quick pee break. It wasn't the stopping that was the problem, it was the starting up again. You see, my heart rate had dropped down while I was in the Porta-John. When I came back out and got on my bike, suddenly my body realized how drenched my clothes were. I was a walking waterfall - arm warmers were like wet noodles on my limbs, the jersey was sticking to my body in a bad polyester type of way, the socks were all but destroyed with water and mud, and the shorts were so damp that every time I made the slightest movement on the saddle, a puddle would engulf my privates. Still, I dealt with it, cracked a few jokes and continued our ride.

Shortly thereafter, Phase 2 set in when I lost all feeling in my feet. Ten minutes later, my hands went numb. Then, woops, there goes the arms. And the butt – can’t feel the butt anymore.

The truth is, the first few minutes of numbness were kind of good, in a way. I mean, I was so damp and squishy from the downfall, the numbness kind of negated it all in a “sweep it under the rug” type of way. Suddenly I forgot about the sponges in my shoes that once used to resemble socks. I even forgot about the super-soaked maxi-pad between my legs that used to be the padding in my biking shorts. In a way, my physical numbness really led to my mental numbness. At this point, it was nice. The bad side of this is that the numbness became a bit challenging when I had to stop at red lights. Without feeling in my feet, I had a tough time flipping my ankle out to unclip from the pedals. Each of the three times I had to stop were three times I came dangerously close to kissing concrete. As for Cat, she could unclip from her pedals, but her feet and legs were so numb she didn't have the strength to push her shoes back into the clips.

It was around three hours into the ride, with the wind blowing the rain into our faces, that things suddenly took a turn for the worse. I’m not sure what the actual stages of hypothermia are, but I’m fairly sure I hit an advanced stage somewhere around this three hour mark. Right after we stopped for more liquids, the shakes began to set in. It started with my hands. I still couldn’t feel them, but I could see them shaking. Then it worked itself up my arms. And descended down my legs. And in a flash it shot up my spine. My upper body looked like it was in anaphylactic shock as my teeth were chattering like a group of lonely old ninnies. I tried to maintain a firm grasp on the handlebars, though they had become soaked and uncomfortable. I didn’t think I could make it home. I just wanted to curl up on a couch somewhere – anywhere that had a fireplace would be fine. But as I surveyed my options, I realized there was only one: pedal myself back or freeze my ass off.

Through the rain, the wet, the numbness, the shakes, the pre-hypothermic pain, I focused on keeping my feet moving in circles until home was in my sights. I don’t even remember most of that last hour – I think I blacked out part of the way back.

The moment I got home, I ran into the shower. I turned the hot water up to the maximum. I could see the water beating on my body, but had no feeling. I could see the smoke rising from the shower, but couldn't tell the water temperature. And then slowly the blood started flowing back into my extremities as my hands, legs and feet began to thaw. Thawing, in case you don't know, is very painful. Surprisingly painful. It hurts. It itches like all hell. It’s really fucking annoying. I stood in the scalding shower shouting in anger and pain. With each thawing moment, it became more uncomfortable and my shouting became louder. "STOOOOOPPPP!" "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!" I tried to soap myself, but with no feeling in my fingers I coouldn't grasp the soap and continually dropped it each time I tried to lather. I tried to shampoo my hair, but couldn’t bend my fingers to open the shampoo bottle. So I stood there. For about ten minutes I stood in my lame paralysis, wondering if I was singing my skin from the heat of the water.

Ironman can’t be any worse than this, I thought. It can't possibly be worse than this. There isn’t a lot one can do in a day's exercise that is worse than this.

I got out of the shower, put on jeans, a long sleeve t-shirt, a sweatshirt and then wrapped my big warm robe around me. I sat on the couch shaking violently. I made soup to warm myself, and shakingly tried to bring the spoon to my lips.

A few minutes later the shaking subsided.
I survived.

Now here we are down in the San Diego area. Tomorrow we run the Carlsbad Half Marathon.
It’s supposed to be a cold morning with a 60% chance of rain.

How Do You Like Them Apples

Morning Workout
BIKE (on the trainer)
1 hour 15-ish minutes
Heart Rate Zone: 25 minutes Lactate Threshold (Zone 2) / 20 minutes Aerobic Conditioning (Zone 3) / 15 minutes SST (Sustained something-or-other) (Zone 4)

Random Comments: I wanted to quit just 10 minutes into the workout this morning. But the thought of Cat kept me going. Catherine would motivate me to keep moving. So I told myself I would pedal for another 5 minutes. Then another 5. Then another. And next thing I knew, I was an hour and fifteen minutes into the workout and had watched one episode of The Daily Show and two episodes of The Office. I'd say it was a pretty good workout. In retrospect, at least.
__________________________________________________________________

I’ve started eating apples. My sister eats a lot of apples, so does my dad. Yet I’ve never been an apple guy. I’ve tried - I really have - but I just never liked them that much. I don’t think it’s so much the flavor as it is a mixture of the consistency combined with the physical act of eating one. The dripping of juices, the sticky fingers, the rebellious pieces that get caught in my teeth or float on my cheek… It’s just not fun for me. It’s why I don’t eat oranges either. Too messy. Too high maintenance. Yet with all of this traveling I do, it is very difficult to maintain a healthy diet. I usually find myself unbearably hungry when I get to airports. I don’t know if it’s some sick Pavlovian response where the act of being in an airport triggers the hunger button in my brain, or if the stress of getting ready and getting to the airport suddenly dissipates once I’m there, at which point I suddenly realize that I haven’t eaten anything in hours, if not days. Once I pass through the security area at the airport, I usually end up mindlessly surveying my food choices as I stroll to the gate. Burger King, Chili’s Too, Starbucks… none of them are ever very appealing to me. Nor do I want yet another one of those prepackaged sandwiches where two thin strips of processed turkey are playing hide-and-seek with a head of wilted lettuce and crammed into what seems to be a half-loaf of two year old white bread. (I don’t like my bread aged. Or my lettuce wilted. While we’re at it, don’t process my Goddam turkey either.) And the thought of buying another over-priced “trail mix” turns my stomach. I’ve trail mixed myself to death lately. I’m one pecan away from going completely postal. Lately I’ve reverted back to the ole standby: Fig Newtons. But even those have approached the point of over-saturation. So I’m trying to be healthy. Which means when I’m hungry in the airports I’m opting for a banana or an apple. You can’t get much more healthy than that without tofu being involved somehow.

I bought some sort of greenish tinted apple when I flew to St. Louis the other day. I don’t know what came over me, what prompted me to buy it. I think I was just ruminating over the fact that apples are so healthy and so good for me. Or perhaps it’s the sense of nausea when thinking of my other airport food choices. At the very least, the fact that my sister and father love them so much, well, there’s GOT to be a way for me to start liking apples. Lo and behold, the apple was pretty good. I shockingly enjoyed the experience for the first time since I can remember. Not a lot of juice leakage, no sticky fingers, and a fairly satisfying taste. Have I picked up a new, healthy habit? One can only wait and see.

When I got to the St. Louis airport yesterday morning to catch my return flight to LA, I had reached my usual state of extremeairport hunger. I didn’t even bother to look at the so-called-sandwiches, and passed by the Panda Inn and Hot Dog Mania without even a glance. I walked right up to the food kiosk and grabbed myself a Red Delicious apple. It’s temptingly large, beautifully red and has got “delicious” right in the name – I mean, how much more obvious can you get.

I bit into the apple. Hmmm… tastes a bit sweet. A bit sandy, even. I tried another bite. Juice ran down my fingers. And another. I wiped the apple piece off my chin. It's definitely not the "delicious" that has been advertised. Three bites later I had had enough and threw it away in disgust.

Maybe I’ll start taking the train.
I wonder what my Pavlovia response will be to train stations.

I Don't Want To Bite It Like Goose

Morning Workout
RUN (on the treadmill)
45 minutes
Heart Rate Zone: Aerobic Conditioning (Zone 3)

Random Comments: The Figure Skating National Championships are being held in St. Louis this week and apparently my hotel is the epicenter of activity. There are 10 year old girls running around with their families in tow as if this is the most important week of their lives. As it turns out, it might very well be. None of the figure skaters made it to the fitness room this morning. Their pudgy mothers were there in full force though.
________________________________________________________________

Ummmm…. does anybody see the plane out there? Isn’t it a bit too close?! Helloooo?!?! I look around. Nobody has noticed. In fact, most people are asleep, which is odd for an afternoon flight.

The meetings in St. Louis ended much earlier than expected. In fact, they started much earlier than expected. I originally booked my return travel on the 7:45pm flight back to LA. When I found out my meeting was moved from the afternoon to the morning, I looked at the flight schedule and realized that there is a 12:00 direct from St. Louis to LAX. In fact, that’s the only other flight direct to LA. If I don’t get on the stand-by list for that one, it’ll be a loooong stay in the airport.

The presentation went very well. We’ll need to go through a few more rounds but it looks like we have a great chance of getting the business. I worked on the presentation yesterday for the better part of seven hours. Of course, when the clients showed up to my hotel room at 9pm, halfway to sloshed, I’d say my productivity took a fairly rapid downturn. We sat around talking – or, rather, I was talking they were slurring - while I half-heartedly tried to finalize the changes to the presentation. Once the clock passed 11pm, I escorted their drunken asses out of my room. An hour later I was asleep… and five and a half hours after that I was up again. I didn’t get a chance to workout at all yesterday and there was no way I was going to miss it today. So with 5 ½ hours under my belt, I dragged myself out of bed and went down to the fitness room for an exhilarating 45 minute run on the treadmill.

My 8am meeting this morning started promptly at 8:40. When it finally ended, I looked at my watch and realized it was 10:45. Damn the two hours went by quickly. Not wanting to miss the noon flight, I hightailed it outta there and got to the airport lickety-split.

So here I am now, about one hour into the flight back to LA when I see the plane out there. Not but a few minutes ago I was calmly sitting here in my exit row window seat, happily playing Solitaire on my computer when I glanced out the window. In the distance I saw a plane heading towards us at an extremely rapid speed – as planes tend to go. My heart began to speed up a bit. I remember hearing something somewhere at some time that planes are supposed to stay two miles apart from each other. I don’t remember if I read it in a newspaper or heard it in that movie with Jon Cusack and Billy Bob Thorton, the one where they play air traffic controllers. Or maybe I’m just assuming it’s true after that whole Top Gun drama where Maverick and Goose get caught in the tailwind of another plane and spin out of control. Goose died; he broke his neck when he ejected from the plane. It was sad. I don’t want to go out like Goose did. Either way, I know for a fact that planes aren’t supposed to be flying close to each other. Regardless, there’s a plane heading towards us at an extremely rapid speed. I watch from right outside my window as it comes zooming in parallel to us. My head turns a full 180 as I watch it zip out of site behind us. This plane looks like it’s only, say, a quarter mile away from us. At the very most, a half of a mile. I can see the people through their windows. It sure ain’t no two miles apart. Was that a close call or is that normal? These are the types of questions I really don’t want the answers to.

Lose Yourself

Morning Workout
BIKE
1 hour 23 minutes
Hills
Heart Rate Zone: Aerobic (Zone 1) + Lactate Threshold (Zone 2)

Random Comments: I had a 6:30am conference call this morning, which means we didn't get out on the bikes until after 7am, which means there was a tremendous amount of commuter traffic when we rode, which means it was not only really dangerous out there but also really busy, which means our ride involved a lot of stopping and starting and going slow to avoid traffic, which means I didn't really stay within my heart rate zones at all, which means it didn't feel like a consistent ride, which means we didn't even get to the top of the main hill we were climbing, which means when I got back home I didn't feel like I had a good workout. And that just plain sucks.
__________________________________________________________________

"No more games, I'm gonna change what you call rage...

I was playing in the beginning, but the moods all changed.."

Things are changing in my life. I can feel it. I've felt it for a few months now. There is a whole transition - a metamorphisis. It's been lurking around the corner, peeking it's head out when I'm not looking. I couldn't quite make it out in the past, but I've felt its tentacles in me. And while my back has been turned, it has been bleeding into different parts of my life.

It is in my Ironman dreams - after years of wanting, I am finally doing. And the road to Ironman success is not just a physical challenge, it is a mental and emotional feat that encompasses all parts of my being. It hasn't taken full control of me yet, but I feel it grabbing on and pulling. It keeps pulling and pulling.

The change is in my personal life - I am in love with an amazing woman. For years I've been searching for my match, my other. I've been looking for the one person that fits so boldly into my life, who I can grow with and learn with and build a world around. Catherine may very well be that woman; that woman to help me turn my life into all that I have dreamed.

The transition is in my work - after ten years of building successful companies, I boldly decided to take a job working for somebody else. In the past year that I've been at this job, my role has been changed, my expectations have been quelled, my drive has been mitigated. My eyes have been opened to the realities of corporate life, the challenges of senior management and the obstacles I encounter on my path of growth. It may be time for me to move on. It may be time for me to search for a new path; a path that more clearly leads to growth and personal development.

I have to get up at 4am tomorrow morning for my 6am flight to St. Louis. I come back on Thursday night. Catherine and I are then spending the weekend in San Diego, where we'll be running the Carlsbad Half-Marathon on Sunday morning.

There will be a lot of thinking this weekend. Thinking and planning. Thinking about the headhunters that have been calling me for the past few months. Thinking about the friends at senior level jobs who have inquired about my desires to change positions. Planning for my next moves. Planning for my life.

By Tuesday of next week, things will begin to be dramatically different. I've made that commitment to myself. My life begins again on Tuesday. No more games -- I was playing in the beginning, but the moods all changed...

The Eyes Have It

Morning Workout
Nothing

Random Comments: I’ve got to start work really early today and then fly to Seattle. I’m forced to take a rest day. It’s going to be a tough week of exercise.
___________________________________________________________________

I went to Seattle today for a client meeting. In fact, I’m on the plane right now and it’s bouncing up and down like a yo-yo. The plane, that is. Not Seattle. There’s no bouncing in Seattle. I look out the window of the plane. It’s dark outside, I can’t see anything. Don’t know if we’re in the clouds or deep in outer space. Though with all of the bouncing, we may very well be going from clouds to space to clouds to space and back and forth again and again, over and over. It’s a lot of bouncing. I glance around the cabin and everybody seems calm and collected amidst this cosmic bounding. They’re just reading their books, typing on their laptops or munching on their nibblies (which smell curiously like burnt bagels with stale lox spread. I’m not sure if it’s the bouncing or that smell that is making me nauseous.) How can they be so calm with all this yoyoing? I look out the window of the airplane again to see if there is any light. Nothing. Nothing at all except the reflection of my face. I look into my eyes. I look calm. I don’t feel calm, but I look it. It’s a front. A façade. I guess that explains it. Maybe everybody is putting on a front, like me. Come to think of it, that guy over there has had his laptop open for 10 minutes and hasn’t typed a single word. And the flaming fellow in front of me hasn’t turned but one page on his book since we took off. As for this smelly little fat lady next to me, well, she is shoveling those burnt lox bagel smelling snacks into her face so quickly she’d give the rolly-polly boy from Willy Wonka a run for his money in a food face shoveling contest.

But the truth is that I didn’t mean to start typing about this plane ride. I really wanted to talk about my week of travel. And, more importantly, my trip to Seattle. So that’s what I’m going to talk about now.

There’s been a bit of drama over the past couple of weeks surrounding this Seattle client. Specifically, we were supposed to win a piece of business and we didn’t. We came very close to winning – extremely close. But, as we all know, extremely close only counts in horseshoes and nuclear war (and something else, but I always forget the third one). So I flew up to Seattle on short notice to do my very best job of convincing them to give us the business anyway. Tough sell, trying to get a company to change their minds after making an announcement that they’ve selected a winning agency. I have to admit, though, I came up with a compelling offer. I don’t think it worked, but it sure was compelling. Offer aside, it’s really the travel to Seattle that I want to discuss.

The road to Seattle started at 5:15 this morning. I woke up to start working while Catherine went out to run and swim. This is one of those weeks heavy travel weeks for me - my training is really going to suffer. And the suffering started at 5:15. I got up and got ready to get on the phone with our east coast office so I could put together the aforementioned compelling deal before I went to the airport for my 10:30 flight. I went back and forth with the east coast team for a few hours. By the time I had most of it together, I looked at my watch and saw it was just short of 9am. With 90 minutes before my plane leaves, I decide to hightail it to Kinko’s in order to print out the deck for the client. Giving myself 10-15 minutes at Kinko’s would give me more than enough time to get to the airport for my plane. Of course, I always seem to forget how annoying Kinko’s really is. I mean, they really go out of their way to be a pain in the ass there. It’s quite impressive.

I walk into Kinko’s at 9am and begin to set up my computer. After 15 minutes, though, it doesn’t work. Surprise. I call the clueless Kinko’s customer service fool, and after he plays around with my computer for 2 minutes, he tells me to restart. Of course, whatever he did kinda screwed up my computer. It took a full 5 minutes to restart the damn thing. I finally get it up and running and send the files to the printer. I sit and wait, staring at the clock the entire time. It’s getting late – my plane is leaving soon and I’m still 30 minutes from the airport. I’m sweating. I wait a bit longer. What the hell is going on here? Suddenly I get a message on my computer… there’s been an error, the files won’t print. Damn! I look at my watch, its 9:35. Uh-oh. I’m in trouble.

I’ll find a Kinko’s in Seattle. I pack up my computer and rush to the airport. At LAX they don’t let you get a boarding pass if your flight is leaving in less than 30 minutes. That means I have 25 minutes to get to the terminal before they won’t let me past security. Twenty-five minutes on what is a thirty minute drive. Not good planning. Forty minutes later, I show up to the American Airlines terminal and try to check in. Of course, with my plane leaving in less than fifteen minutes, the automated computer won’t spit out a boarding pass. I rush to customer service and complain. My plane leaves in ten minutes, I say in frustration. I need a boarding pass. She looks at me with a pathetic, you-have-no-chance-in-hell type of stare. Where are you going, she asks. Seattle, I say as hurriedly as possible. Umm…we don’t fly to Seattle, she responds. Huh? I say in disbelief. What? We don’t fly to Seattle, she repeats herself a bit louder, as if I didn’t speak English and her volume may help me understand. Could you be on Horizon or Alaska? She asks in a way that mimics a rolling of the eyes. Shit shit shit shit.

I’m not flying American Airlines today. I’m flying American Airlines to St. Louis. That’s on Wednesday. Today is Monday. Today I’m flying Alaska Airlines. Shit shit shit shit. I look at my watch. It’s 10:15. My Alaska Airlines plane leaves in 15 minutes from Terminal 3. I’m standing in Terminal 4. Shit shit shit shit. I turn around and run outside without saying another word.

It’s a bit less than a half of a mile from Terminal 4 to Terminal 3. I sprinted as fast as I possibly could. I need to make this flight. I need to get to Seattle. I probably covered the distance in 4 minutes, in work shoes, wearing a suit and carrying a computer case. I was frustrated but not frustrated enough to pat myself on the back and thank myself for being a triathlete – fit enough to chase a plane without keeling over. I arrive at Terminal 3 and look at my watch: 10:20. My flight leaves in 10 minutes. I try to get an automated boarding pass but, of course, the computer won’t let me in. I rush to customer service and jump in front of the line. Please put me on the next flight, I demand. The ticket agent looks at me with the same eye roll I saw in Terminal 4. I wonder if they called over in advance. Regardless, the agent managed to get me on the 11:45 flight. I grabbed the boarding pass out of her hands and high-tailed it up the stairs and into security. I must do everything in my power to make it on the 10:30 flight, I tell myself. I’m now confirmed on the 11:45, but if I rush, I can get my seat back on the 10:30. I muscle my way to the front of the security line, my body in a full sweat, my face red in heat and frustration. I need to get to Seattle for this meeting. I must get there. I make it through security and sprint to the gate for the 10:30 flight. Of course, my gate is the last one in the terminal. My feet are hurting from the shoes, my shoulder is hurting from the computer bag, and my lungs are hurting from this unexpected workout. But I run. Ironman must be harder then this, I think. So I run faster. I see the gate in front of me. I turn the corner. And stop. There is nobody standing at the gate. There is nobody in line to get on the plane. Shit shit shit shit.

I look at my watch. 10:25. This can’t be happening. Where is the plane? What is going on?!?! I go to the gate next to mine. I need to get on that flight, I mutter out between breathes. Can you get me on that flight to Seattle?

Again, I get the eye roll attitude. What the hell is it with all the eye rolls today? Somebody will be back shortly to help you, he responds. Why don’t you just go back and wait at the gate.

Arrrrgh!

I walk back to the gate and stand there.
As I’m standing, I look at the sign.
Expected Departure: 10:50.
The flight has been delayed.

I step back to take a seat.
And roll my eyes.

The Hurting

Afternoon Workout
BIKE
3 hours
Heart Rate Zone: Didn’t bother to even care today

Random Comments: Catherine had two friends in from Minneapolis this weekend: Mark and Jay. Mark and Jay are bike racers. On-road, off-road, cyclocross….wherever there is a race, they bike. Don’t really care what the surface is like. Tarmac, dirt, snow. If they could find people willing to race bikes on the moon, they’d probably do it. Needless to say, they’re a tad better riders than Cat and I. Category 3 riders, to be specific. Whereas Catherine and I might be somewhere in the Category 29 zone, if there were even one that low. Which there isn’t. Being the wonderful mid-western fellas that they are, Mark and Jay amused us and went out on a little roll today (their second ride of the day, mind you). We climbed up Topanga Canyon. All in all it’s only about 7 or 8 miles up, not overly difficult. But boy-o, were my legs tired. And I could tell Cat was hurting too. Mostly because she’d say things like “I’m hurting.” Dead giveaway. But, as they say, what goes up must descend very quickly. And that we did, as I pedaled my little legs off to stay on the tail of Mark and Jay while we zipped around turns. Left and right. Right and left. Fun times, I tell ya. Fun times. Thank God I didn’t wear my heart rate monitor. I don’t even want to know what it said.

I Didn't Throw Up

Morning Workout
BIKE
1 hour warm-up, 30 minutes Time Trial up a really long, steep hill, 1 hour cool-down
Heart Rate Zone: As high as the motherf***er can get without me keeling over.

Random Comments: If you haven't figured me out yet, it's these short bursts of pain that make me happy. Needless to say, the 30 minute Time Trial up the long, steep hill is just my cup o' tea. It was tough. It was hard. But, for the record, I did not throw up when I finished. Sure, maybe there was a lot of coughing and spitting. But definitely no yakking this time.

SWIM
2550 yards
Main Set: 1x 250, 2x 200, 3x 150, 4x 100, 5x 50 (whooeee!)

Random Comments: I really didn't want to go swimming today. Even when I got to the pool I didn't want to be there. Somewhere within the second of the three 150 yard sets, I came to a little understanding that I should at least accept the fact that I'm here swimming and try my best to enjoy it. So maybe I wouldn't go so far as to say "enjoy", but I finished without complaining any more.
_________________________________________________________________

My Comedy Of Errors

Morning Workout
BIKE
90 minutes
Heart Rate Zone: Aerobic (Zone 1)

Random Comments: It was supposed to be an easy ride this morning. If "easy" means "frustrating", then yes, Mr. Oxford, it was easy.
_________________________________________________________________________________

Sometimes you wake up in the morning and find yourself the lead character in a comedy of errors. Welcome to my life.

I got up a bit early this morning (5:45am) to make sure I hit the road by 6:15. I wanted to get back at home before 8am and get a little downtime before work. It was going to be a big day in the office... I needed to relax. Ninety minutes of Aerobic riding, that's easy anyway. The ride should be relaxing. The post-ride should be relaxing. It's going to be a good day.

I clamp my brand new headlight onto the bike and head out at 6:15am. Right on schedule. I hop on the bike and ride, oooh, maybe 5 yards. Something doesn't feel right. I stop, check the tires. Yep, got a flat. I lug my bike upstairs into the light, and quickly change the flat tire.

I look at my watch: 6:32am. So maybe I won't be back before 8am, but it should still be relaxing. No problem.

I heave my bike on my shoulder and scamper back outside again. I hop on the bike and am off. I get maybe a 1/2 mile down the road and hit a red light. I stop at the red light, my bike stops at the red light, unfortunately my headlight decides to keep on moving. I'm stopped in the middle of the road trying to shimmy, jiggle and wobble, but the damn light doesn't want to stay on. Meanwhile, I'm to focused to move myself out of the middle of the road. Cars are passing me on both sides silently wondering what I'm doing (and most likely whispering words about me that perhaps children should not be hearing. Frankly, I don't want to hear them either - so I don't even look at their faces). After a few minutes of further inspection, I come to the conclusion that I used the wrong clamp on the headlight. Oops.

I look at my watch: 6:37.

The sun is coming up already so I jam the headlight into the pocket of my jersey and continue rolling, praying to the dear Lord that I won't be flattened by a car. So maybe I'll get home a little after 8:00, but I'm still focused on relaxing. I ride on.

I get down the rode another 1/2 mile and turn onto the main avenue. Just my luck, as I'm turning down there, the big La Grange ride comes breezing by. La Grange is a bike club here in Los Angeles. It is comprised of a lot of Cat 2 and Cat 3 racers (which basically means, "they're really fast"). Most of the La Grange rides have the 20-30 rider group flying down the roads so quickly you need slo-mo vision to find out what's going on. Friday rides are different. Friday rides are the recovery rides, meaning they go so unbearably slow I could practically run faster than them. I'd been on the Friday recovery rides before and some of the folks actually do the entire thing sitting up straight, hands free from the handelbars, cup of coffee in one hand and the other free to gesticulate during their seemingly intimate conversations about seemingly vital worldly matters. That's how slow it is. And because it's so slow, the Friday ride usually attracts a whole bunch of other not-so-fast bike riders so they can boast to their friends that they ride with La Grange. Whatever.

So I make the turn onto the main Avenue only to find myself in the back of the 30-40 person group of La Grangers muddling along at the aforementioned unbearably slow pace. With the group 4 people wide, cars passing by on the left and me suddenly cornered on the inside right side, I could barely get past the group. So there I was, lumbering along at 12-14 mph with my heartrate at pretty much the same rate as when I'm in full REM sleep. I spend the next 20 minutes trying to piece my way to the front of the group, each second becoming more and more frustrating as my heartrate drops down closer to mortuary-like levels. Finally, 30 minutes in, I take a right turn onto the beach path and escape them. I pick up the pace and get my heart into the Aerobic levels I was supposed to be at in the first place.

I flounder along for the next while, my mind in a bit of a tizzy from what was supposed to be a relaxing ride. I begin to try to relax. The sand on the bike path makes that difficult. The cars on the road make that difficult. I finally make it home.

I look at my watch: 8:27am.

Damn - I'm late for work.

The Zone vs The Pocket

Morning Workout
RUN (on treadmill)
40 minutes (including 10 minutes warm-up and 16 seconds cool-down)
Heart Rate Zone: Lactate Threshold (Zone 2)

Random Comments: There's something very soothing about running on the treadmill. Well, soothing in a "trying to relax while somebody's pounding your legs with a hammer" type of way. But soothing nonetheless.

SWIM
Main Set: 15 x 100m (off 30 seconds)

Random Comments: How come it's always sprint #11 that hurts the most? What is it about the 11th sprint that makes it so painful every single time? I'm baffled. I mean, the first ten 100 meter sprints are nice and fine, then all of the sudden I hit the proverbial wall on sprint #11. It hurts. A lot. Every. Single. Time. And to make matters worse, the 12th and 13th sprints are usually my fastest splits. I guess it's just one of those mysteries of life. Like blackholes. But wetter.
__________________________________________________________________

Life is perfect in The Zone. It's so peaceful, and calm, and soothing. And free. There is complete and utter freedom in The Zone. If you are a runner, or any type of athlete for that matter, you most likely know what I'm talking about. You've probably even experienced being in The Zone at least once in your life; that feeling where you've mentally cast aside the concept of tiredness for athletic immortality. Where you feel like you can go on forever, in a very Forrest Gumpian type of way. I know you know what I'm talking about.

The thing is, The Zone can be so elusive. You never know when you're going to get in The Zone - it usually just sneaks up on you when you're least expecting it...like gas, but with less of an odor. There are those times when you're out for a run and everything feels great, you're in your groove just smiling and laughing and focused... and then - whooosh! - you suddenly realize your perception on life has changed. And you know, without a doubt in the world, that you're smack dab in The Zone. And you live to be in The Zone. You love to be in The Zone. And when you realize you are there - in The Zone - it is like you've grown wings (sans Red Bull.) Like your feet aren't even touching the ground. The angels of exercise have lifted the velvet rope and escorted you right into nirvana. Nothing could be more peaceful. Nothing can be more satisfying. [Cue the cherubic harp players]

At other times when you're out for a run, you might be struggling a bit more. You are striving to stay focused, to get all of the week's stress out of your mind. But it isn't easy. And there's nothing more you want than to be in The Zone. So you concentrate and you focus your mind and you do everything you can to get in The Zone. But it just doesn't feel like it's working. Until you stop. And the moment you stop you suddenly realize you were in The Zone the entire time after all. It wasn't until you left The Zone that you knew you were there in the first place and all you can do is wonder where the heck it all went off to and curse yourself for feeling like you just went to the best movie ever and slept through the whole damn thing.

This morning's run was just that. I was in The Zone, I just had no fucking clue. I went through the entire 40 minute run striving for peacefulness and serenity, doing everything in my power to quiet my mind and be one with the treadmill. Then, just as I was stopping - literally, as my feet stopped moving - I suddenly realized I had been in The Zone the entire time after all. And I missed it. Frankly, I want my damn Zone back.

I was pretty P.O.'d, if you know what I mean. It's an anger inducing thing when you've been so peaceful and serene for so long and never even recognized it. This whole missing The Zone thing got me all flustered, so I cut down my cool-down period to 16 seconds. It's all I could muster with the anger swelling so quickly inside of me. Besides, I had to go for a swim.

I changed out of my sweaty running clothes, put on my bathing suit and went down to the pool. I started the 100 meter sprints right away - I love this workout but, knowing the pain it usually enduces, I wanted to get it over with as soon as possible. The thing that surprised me, though, is that it felt so good. I mean, my swimming was on. My form was locked in, my bouyancy was great, my speed was inspiring. Hell, I was In The Pocket. Getting In The Pocket when you swim is such a satisfying place to be. Like golf, swimming has so many moving parts and so many little tiny teensy idiosyncrasies, that when they all come together - when you're truly In The Pocket - it's a very exhilirating feeling. When I'm In The Pocket I tend to shout out in excitement. I'll belt out a "Yeah!" or a "Yesss!" or maybe even a random "Come on!" (The thing is, my face is usually in the water so it comes out more like "Yabblgah!", "Yegglgges!", and "Combbble olggn!" And I usually end up swallowing a bunch of water at the time, which causes me to lose my breathe for a few strokes and slow down a little bit... but I'm In The Pocket, so stop bringing me down, wouldya..)

It's always a great swim when I'm In The Pocket. Just like it's always a great run when I'm in The Zone. Of course, I need to know I'm in The Zone at the time for it to really be great. Otherwise it'd just be great in retrospect, and that defeats the purpose of The Zone. And The Pocket, for that matter.

I'm going biking in the morning. If all goes well, I'll really get In The Groove.

The Cannonball

Morning Workout
RUN (treadmill)
Test: 30 minutes at Lactate Threshold (Zone 2) pace (6.7 mph, in case you care), record heart-rate average (142, if you are curious)

Random Comments: I wore my new running shoes for the workout this morning. They're a half size bigger than my old running shoes. Don't ask me why - I'd be forced to come up with a reason to justify it. I felt like Bozo the Clown on the treadmill. Without the big red nose. Which reminds me of the guy in the cow suit that passed me halfway through the Chicago Marathon. There are few things more humiliating than a cow running faster than you in a marathon.

Evening Workout
SWIM
Main Set: 4 x 300m at Aerobic pace

Random Comments: The swim seemed so easy tonight. I love easy swims. I wish every swim were this easy. Maybe I should quit while I'm ahead.
______________________________________________________________

This really obnoxious late-40 year old, fairly overweight fella did a cannonball into the slow lane at the pool tonight. I don't know why he did a cannonball, I don't know what prompted it. All I know is that there is no diving allowed in the pool, much less cannonballing. There's even a sign that says it. "No Diving," it says. You can't get much more straight-forward than that. One would assume this sign also covers cannonballing; that cannonballing is a form of dive in the same way, say, a zebra is a form of horse. One would assume that you don't need an extra "No Cannonballing" sign. If there is no diving, of course there can't possibly be any cannonballing. It seems so obvious. Yet there I was just standing at the edge of the pool, right next to the slow lane, when I watched this guy walk up to the pool's edge with a smile wrapped about his porky little face and, without a moment's hesitation, do a cannonball right there into the slow lane.

Being the overweight gent I described, the splash had some real force to it. It took me by surprise. Even when you expect the cannonball - when you watch it glide through the air and thwack onto the surface of the water - you still are never really prepared for the splash. It always seems to make you cringe. Being one lane away from the cannonball, I was about as close to the epicenter as you can get. Needless to say, I was drenched by the water shrapnel as it bounded upon its journey across three lanes.

After having landed the cannonball, and perhaps causing a bit too much displacement for the lifeguards well-being, the cannonballer stood up and planted himself right there in the middle of the slow lane, directly blocking the person doing laps. One can only assume that the cannonballer knew the lap person. The smile on the cannonballer's face even implied some type of genial connection. In fact, that kinship could explain the very reasoning behind the cannonball itself. However, when the lap swimmer swam right into the cannonballer, practically bouncing off his belly, I thought something was afoot. And then when the lapper stood up in the water, looked at the cannonballer and said "What the fuck?!" well, that's when I realized they didn't know each other. Something was definitely afoot in the slow lane of the YMCA pool.

The cannonball guy stood there in front of the lap swimmer, that clueless smile still draped across his face, and said "Happy New Year!" That's it. That's all he said. Just "Happy New Year!" Then, just as suddenly, he moved to the side of the lane, got out of the pool and walked into the men's locker room. And - with a whoosh and a waddle - he was gone.

The lapper was in disbelief. He looked at me with a "What the hell was that about" look in his eye. I looked back at him with a "beats the hell out of me, I thought you knew him" look. I then glanced over at the lifeguard who was looking at the both of us with a "did that fat guy really do a cannonball into the slow lane" stare. And for a moment, the three of us circled around in our band of bewilderment. And then the lapper started doing his laps again. The lifeguard started guarding lives again. And I stepped softly and quietly into the pool and continued on with my regularly scheduled training activities..

Ducks And Cats

Morning Workout
RUN
2 hours
Heartrate Zone: Aerobic (Zone 1) / Lactate Threshold (Zone 2)

Random Comments: As my Godson says, its raining ducks and cats out there today. I love running in the rain. It is wonderful. Exhilarating. Invigorating. And wet. Mostly wet. I'm going to log it in as a swim workout as well.
________________________________________________________________

The New Years Travels

It's the evening of New Years Day (which sounds a wee bit funny to write, the whole "evening of day" thing), and Cat and I are home from our trip to Tahoe and Mammoth. We had a great - if not a very funny - time. So instead of me rambling on about the details of the trip - and we all know how I like to ramble - I thought I'd just give you a few key highlights. Here goes:

1. The Workouts: Well, there were none. No wait, I take that back, there was one. On Thursday in Tahoe we went to the gym and puttered about on the treadmill for 40 minutes. The rest of the trip we pretty much just ate. Which I guess means our jaws got quite the workout. Do you need a strong jaw for Ironman? I suppose a strong jaw helps for more efficient breathing during the swim. I'll take any angle I can get.

2. The Gym: What a great gym we went to in Tahoe. The hoity-toity Sports Club LA can learn a thing or two about this gym. This joint was high class, and I mean that in the "hiiiiiiiiiiiigh class" way of saying, where you have to bob your head for extra emphasis as you say the words. All of the equipment was so clean I think we may have been the first people using it. And it was all top of the line stuff. I nearly needed a few extra years of post-graduate education to figure out how to work the treadmill. And the locker room? Whoooeeee! I've never seen a locker room as wonderful as this: individual lockers with individual locks, individual showers with individual changing areas, individual sinks with individual combs, razors and other accoutrement of cleansing. I was so excited to be there, I over-conditioned and spent the rest of the day with flat hair.

3. The Ski Rentals: You notice I say "the ski rentals" and not "the skiing". We had a bit of a Keystone Kops moment with the Ski Rentals. You see, we rented ski's in Tahoe and started to go to the mountain, but it was too late and too packed so we turned around. Then we woke up the next day all eager to go skiing, but it was raining. So with two days of ski rentals in Tahoe, we got a grand total of zero minutes skiing. Then we go to Mammoth ready to ski the next day only to go up to the mountain and have it be a white out. No skiing for us again.

4. The X-Country Skiing: The first day in Mammoth greeted us with a Winter Storm Warning. There were 30-40 mph gusts at the bottom of the mountain and 100+mph gusts of wind at the top. Snow was falling sideways, and they were expecting 2-3 feet of the white stuff within 24 hours. We definitely couldn't go downhill skiing, mostly because they closed the mountain, so we decided to go Cross Country Skiing. The fact that the X-Country rental folks said "it's brutal out there, I wouldn't go" didn't seem to stop us. Nope, not us. Even when 30 foot trees were crashing down around us, we still didn't stop. And when football-sized chunks of ice fell onto our heads, we didn't stop. And when the 30 mph winds were slamming sheets of ice into our face until we were numb, nope, no stopping. Hard core, baby.

5. The Downhill Skiing: It was a five day trip and it wasn't until the last 1/2 day that we got to actually go downhill skiing. This morning was the only time we got to spend on the slopes. But it was AMAZING! The storm had dropped about 2 feet of fresh powder, the lift lines were short and we were damn excited to be out there, regardless of the 19 degree weather and pounding winds. We went on a five day ski trip and, godammit, we were going to ski if it was going to kill us. Fortunately, it didn't (aside from maybe a couple of tired quads and sore buttcheeks.)

6. The Drive: We made the 6 hour drive back from Mammoth tonight. It was easy to tell when we hit LA - we ended up smack dab in the middle of a high speed car chase on the highway. Hey OJ! Wait for me!

7. The Family / The Laughs: We spent the Tahoe sector of our trip with my good friends from high school and their families (including my Godson). We spent our time in Mammoth (including New Years Eve) with Cat's brother, sister and brother-in-law. There are few things more special in life than enjoying these wonderful moments with people so close to your heart.

If your weekend was even half as good as mine, it was pretty damn incredible.
Happy New Year.

The Cost of Being Ripped Off

Morning Workout
BIKE (trainer)
3x (10 minutes Aerobic Conditioning (Zone 3) + 10 minutes Lactate Threshold (Zone 2))

Random Comments: Nothing like watching Blazing Saddles while doing a somewhat strenuous workout. It becomes a bit challenging when you're pedalling ferociously and the Gatorade-type substance you drink to keep hydrated comes squirting out your nose as you laugh so vigorously your stomach begins to pound in pain. Badges.... we don't need no steenkin' badges.
__________________________________________________________________

So it's 7:00AM and I'm pedaling maniacally on the bike, going nowhere. Granted, I'm inside my place with my bike attached to a trainer. Still, I'm going nowhere. Sweat is pouring off of me in buckets like the pore levee has been penetrated, and Class V sweat rapids are spouting from every inch of my skin. It feels great, this going nowhere stuff. I'd imagine it is fairly disgusting to anybody around, but it definitely feels great to me. I pedal on. Suddenly the phone rings. I know it's Catherine - who else would call me at this time of the morning. With only 20 minutes left in my workout, I don't want to stop to answer. She'll understand. In fact, why isn't she working out now? Peculiar... However, I know that if it were a crucial, life or death situation, she'd call back immediately. The immediate double callback (IDC), it's the internationally standard sign of distress.

I wait to hear if the phone rings again. And wait. Nothing but the sound of my pedal stroke drowning my anticipation of hearing that ring. I don't want it to ring again. Another ring means trouble. Another ring means bad news. I don't want bad news.

Sixty seconds pass. Nothing.
I sigh a waft of relief and continue focusing on my workout - or, rather, focusing on Blazing Saddles playing on the television ten inches in front of my nose as I workout.

Twenty minutes later I get off the bike, coated with sweat, and check the phone messages. As expected, it's Catherine. And, as expected, it's not distressing news. To the contrary, my friend, it's good news. The cops found her car!! Happy day! Happy, happy day!

Seeing how the Toyota is one of the easiest cars to break into, apparently some young whipper-snappers decided to take it out for a joy ride. Damn kids. Back when I was a lad, if we wanted to go out for a joy ride, we hopped on our banana seat Huffies and pedaled down the street, lifting our hands off the handlebars and whooping an overwhelming "yeehaa!" in defiant freedom halfway down the block. Today, they steal Toyotas. Life has gotten so much more complicated.

After I get dressed and pack up my car with the winter wear for our Tahoe/Mammoth trip, I pick up Catherine and we head off.

The cops had told Cat that her car was found parked somewhere in Culver City and that it was then towed to the Culver City tow yard. We stop by the police department to pick up the paperwork and head over to the tow yard to get the car. I won't go into extreme details about the tow yard because I'm guessing you can picture it in your head - the assortment of crashed, banged and mangled wrecks piled two high and sprinkled with a smattering of nicer Lexus', Hummers and other assorted repo's that has you making up cops & robbers stories in your head the moment you set eyes on them.

We go into the main office and hand over our paperwork. It'll be One Hundred and Seventy Dollars, he says. What?!?! The car was stolen and WE have to pay for it? Where is the justice? What happened to all the good in the world?! I toss out some annoyingly sarcastic comments which nobody - neither Cat nor the tow yard manager nor, frankly, me - find the least bit amusing. You should check out the car before you pay and see if it works, he retorts. Good thinkin', I think.

We walk back into the yard and look for the car. But we can't find it. Nothing. Nowhere. No car. After a fair bit of back and forth, we come to find that the car was towed to a different tow yard last night, and they're supposed to tow it to this one sometime today. We're told that we can go see the car in the other tow yard, but we'd have to come back and pay for it here, at Tow Yard #1.

So, we hop back in my car and drive the amusingly short 2 miles to Tow Yard #2. Cat is allowed to look at the car. The ignition is broken because they had to jam it in order to start the car, the trunk lock is broken because apparently they were too goddam stupid to find the Open Truck button next to the steering wheel and so they jammed that lock as well, and then random stuff was stolen from the car. There was a box of ski clothes, for instance... they took everything in the box except for one sweater and a set of goggles. They took the portable CD player, but none of the CDs. It was like they picked their way through a flea market. I can picture them standing there, trying on each of the clothes and only stealing the ones that complemented their eye color, or latest hair style. Perhaps their body type was "autumn" so they only wanted to take the items with browns and oranges and other flattering hues in order to look their finest for their next car-jacking. Just our luck, these car thiefs were the only two metrosexuals in the Crips street gang. (They left a pale blue bandana on the front seat - a sure sign they were Crips. And perhaps a sign that they were more Winter than Autumn.)

Seeing how there was no irreparable damage to the car we jumped back in my auto and high-tailed it back to Tow Yard #1 again, where we paid the money to release the car. Once paid, we drove yet again to Tow Yard #2 so we can get it moved. Here's where the fun got funnier. You see, Tow Yard #2 is a certified AAA tow yard. So when your car breaks down and you frantically dial the AAA number for help, the fine folks at Tow Yard #2 often come out to save your sorry ass.

What with the ignition broken, Cat's car was unable to be driven. It had to be towed to the dealer to be fixed. However, Tow Yard #2 would charge $85 to tow the car. The only place that they would tow it to for free is to Tow Yard #1. And the last thing we needed was to go to Tow Yard #1 for the third time this morning. On top of that, seeing how Cat already paid $170 to have this car stolen, she wasn't anxious to keep racking up the bill.

Being the smart one she is, Cat decided to call AAA to tow the car. That membership must be good for something. Realizing that Tow Yard #2 is an AAA agent, I sat there wondering whether they now would have to tow her car for free and eat the damn $85. Apparently they wouldn't. AAA sent a completely different tow truck to the AAA tow yard #2 to tow Cat's car. Now I'm no efficiency expert, but it seems fairly ridiculous that AAA would send a tow truck to their own tow yard. Having spent far too much time at tow yards that morning, I decided not to harp on the thought for too long.

The AAA tow truck lugged Cat's car from Tow Yard #2 to the Toyota dealer for a mere $8.

At the Toyota dealer, we jumped out of the pot and into the proverbial fire when they told us that the cost to fix the ignition is an additional $325. Crime is expensive.
There sure is a hefty cost of being ripped off.

The Wrong Side of Surreal

Morning Workout
BIKE
1 1/2 hours
Heart Rate Zone: Aerobic (Zone 1)

Random Comments: 16+ years of living in Los Angeles, and I still am amazed every day I ride or run along the beach. Just another beautiful day in paradise.

RUN (treadmill)
3 x (7 1/2 minutes in Aerobic Conditioning (Zone 3) + 2 1/2 minutes easy)

Random Comments: It's always the first one of these three runs that hurts the most. That's probably the only part that is exercise anyway... the rest is just some sort of sick compulsion fueled by God knows what.
________________________________________________________________

It started off as a great day. Cat and I woke up and had a wonderful, relaxing ride. That led us right into a strenuously exhilirating run. Then we both went off to run our errands and get some personal stuff done before we met up for the evening. Oh... but then we found out Cat's car got stolen.

FUCK!!!!

It got stolen right out of her garage-like area. Right in the same place she's been parking it for 8 years. Right next to all of the other cars. Right under the windows of all of the neighbors. Right there.

On Christmas.

They stole her car on Christmas! Now I don't know who this proverbial "they" are, but I think I can pretty much say without fear of being wrong that they don't believe in Santa Claus. And they didn't get any good gifts for Christmas. And I could really give a shit about what they want and need at this point. I just want Cat to have her car back.

And now we leave for Tahoe and Mammoth tomorrow morning. And Cat needs to deal with the police, and the insurance broker, and the adjuster, as she tries to remember everything that was in the car. Though most of it can never ever be replaced as its sentimental value far outweighs any monetary value placed on it.

The odds of her actually seeing her car again is somewhere between slim and good fucking luck. She had a Toyota, the most popular car amongst the LA car-thief set. Toyota's get stolen quite frequently for their parts, which are so common that they've got great resale value and fuel the auto parts black market. So by the time Cat actually realized the car was missing, it was probably already somewhere in East LA, in the back of a warehouse garage, broken down into a million little pieces scattered about the floor, each one stacked side by side with similar parts from thousands and thousands of other never-to-be-seen-again Toyotas and Hondas that, too, once held stuff of great sentimental value which will never be seen again.

It's almost surreal.
But the sad type of surreal. The sad and aggravating type of surreal.
Not the type of surreal I like.
Not at all.

Morning Workout
RUN
50 minutes on le treadmille
Heart Rate: Aerobic (Zone Une)

Random Comments: The treadmill I was on had 89 channels of cable TV attached to it. I also had my iPod which was filled with 3,265 songs. No matter what you do or how you amuse yourself, it all boils down to the fact that 50 minutes of running on the treadmill is just plain boring.

SWIM
Main Set: 3 x 800 meters

Random Comments: Catherine sure is becoming a faster swimmer. She is so going to kick my butt at Ironman Lake Placid.
__________________________________________________________________

The Christmas Runs

Morning Workout
RUN
1 hour 49 minutes
Heart Rate Zone: Aerobic (Zone 1) / Lactate Threshold (Zone 2)

Random Comments: Tired can be used to describe a variety of things. There is physically tired, as in "my legs were so tired from yesterday's bike ride, it's a miracle I got them to move at all." There is emotionally tired, as in "I'm just not excited to run, my mind is too tired to focus on anything serious... like moving my body." And there is mentally tired, as in "Run? Are you f***ing kidding me?! I'm still sleeping. I'm tired. Go away."
__________________________________________________________________

I love the Christmas morning runs. Always have. They are second only to the New Years morning runs. It's just so goddam peaceful so early on Christmas morning. There are no cars on the road and nary a soul outside. I love the freedom of running down the middle of the street - straddling the double yellow line with not a care on my mind. It's a Runner's World moment if I ever had one.

When I run through each neighborhood early on Christmas morning, the houses are so calm and quiet, I can practically feel the people nestled all snug in their beds and taste the visions of sugar plums emitting from their fat little heads. I can sense the anticipation of Christmas morning. Everybody sleeping so soundly only to wake up to a bevy of gifts under the tree, overflowing the room in ribbons and bows and all sorts of other recyclable products that will most likely not be recycled. Every once in awhile you pass by a house with a child out front already playing with his new tractor or trying to ride his new bike, despite the inherent challenges of pedaling with pajama feet on.

There's nothing but happiness in the air on Christmas morning. And no matter how tired you are from the previous day's bike ride, and no matter how emotionally drained you are from month after stressful month of work, and no matter how tuckered out you feel from never catching up on all of the missing sleep you've been desperately searching for - the Christmas run brings peace, happiness and tranquility. In the same way so does Christmas. Regardless of your religion, your belief, your age, race or mindset, there's something about Christmas time - about the feeling of Christmas, the unaffected honesty and beauty of it all that just makes the entire day a magical moment.

Of all the deeply profound and meaningful things he's said in his life (and there have been many), I do believe Bryan Adams was at his most profound peak when he sang : There's something about Christmas time, something about Christmas, that makes you wish it was Christmas every day.

True dat, Bry. True dat.

Merry Christmas - today, tomorrow and forever on.

Peace.
j.