8 Days Without Training Makes 1 Weak

Warning, the blog post you are about to read has been rated PG-13 by the Blogging Association of America (BAA). It has been deemed that some information may be considered inappropriate and possibly awkward for young readers, sensitive readers, or readers that have at least 8 functioning brain cells. The subject matter has been deemed as highly sensitive in nature, not very exciting and on par with Vogon Poetry. The reader is advised to proceed with the utmost caution.

Let it be known that this will be the only opportunity I am granting on this particular topic in person or in print. I'm not one who normally hands out personal or private information but for some reason I'm feeling the need to tell this story in this medium at this time. Should you see me in public and ask, I'll likely make a distracting joke and not really dive into the topic nor answer the question. Sorry.

Here's the thing, after all the recent attention I've given on being consistent and then on feeling S.H.I.T.ty, if one were to look closely at my training log, I dropped off the face of the exercising Earth. Here's what I mean. If you look at the first 3-weeks of February, things look pretty darn good.

The biking fell off a little bit at the end, but that was in the middle of a biking-based recovery week and some other life stuff happened (more on this in a moment). That was also linked to my drop in indoor exercise motivation.

Here is the last 2 weeks, including today's exercise, in all of it's lack of glory.

What you see here is the excellent bike ride I did with the Boy and the Outlaw on the 20th. And you see a couple of runs. And then there's this great big gap in training. That's the first time I went that long without training in more than 2 years, which includes a stretch of time when I had a fractured bone in my foot. I went back in my training log and discovered that the last time I took 8 full days off of training was in 2016 after my final race of the season. I took a 10-day off-season and promptly got busy doing the next rounds of doings. 

This week wasn't considered a planned off season. I had some work done, umm, down there. Now, let me promise you that I'm not going to dive into too many details or specifics about what they actually did to my crotchal region. All the major parts are intact and I won't be receiving a sympathy call from Lance Armstrong any time soon. After the follow-up visit (tbd), it's highly likely that this will be the last time I pay a man to put his hands on my groin. The reason I won't be broaching the subject again is that I've found that most people really aren't that interested in anything my crotch has to offer. Every time that I've brought up my crotch in conversation or tried to provide a visual, the patrons cringed. Here's a re-enactment. 

The procedure took place on the first Friday of down week. It was quick and I'd like to tell you painless, but I'm not one to lie. Perhaps I'll embellish a bit for comedic reasons but that's not the same thing. I did not cry. I did almost bite my lip off and was congratulated on the record amounts of perspiration left on the examination table. So I got that going for me.

I asked the Doc about the recovery. He says that I'm to be on light duty for at least a week. Then after 7 days, give 'er a try. He speculated that biking might be the most challenging of the disciplines due to pressure points. I suspected that running would be worse due to the impact forces and jarring on the body. He said that I might have a point and to make sure I run slowly. We both had a good laugh at that one, as if not running slowly were an option. I asked him about swimming. He paused and we both had our second good laugh in as many minutes knowing that I have no intention on getting in the water.

The recovery period was tough. Not because of the procedure but because of the gluttony and sloth. Whereas the average American bloke relishes in the concept of being forced to not exercise, it's not something at which I excel. I could feel my muscles atrophy, which is significant since I don't have much to start with. On the bright side, my hunger was boosted meaning that I managed to pack on all of the pounds I took off in the previous 7 weeks. Score one for the Banter! Oh, wait. Never mind.

Day 8 arrives. It was a chilly but pleasant morning. The type of day that I wouldn't have hesitated to run outside.  I decided to head out to the treadmill. I had no idea how my body was going to react to the first day back and I didn't want to be miles away should it take a turn for the worse. I hopped on the dreadmill and pushed the 'slow' button (easily recognizable due to it's overuse while the faster ones are seemingly untouched). It was clear that after the first mile, my legs were happy to be back. My crotch was still a bit sensitive. My lungs were on fire. O.M.G! It was as if someone reached inside my chest and squeezed all of the life juices directly out of my alveoli. This would be considered pretty good had I been attempting to make wine. But for a slow run?

I eventually got to 45 minutes and all of my cells, crotch-related and the other ones, were for once in agreement that I'd had enough. I came in and got cleaned up. I was afraid to wash my nether regions in fear of the pain. I shuddered to think about what I'd become.

Now, a smart man would have called it a day. The Banter? (I think the question answers itself.) I decided to put on some lycra and head back out to the workout room for a bike ride. I just had to know if I was more correct than the doctor about which discipline would be worse for wear. Since the run was slow, I decided to attempt to be fair to the competition and make the bike slow too. Normally I finish a weekend workout in 90 minutes with a normalized power around 230 watts (out of about 270). This day I went for 60 minutes with an NP of 183 watts. On a normal crotch day, this would be considered a recovery ride. And, since I'm recovering...

You'll be pleased to know that I was indeed, from my anecdotal n=1 pseudoscientific experiment, more correct than the doc. The areas of concern were not in contact with the bike saddle. The legs felt pretty good. The lungs weren't leaking any ethanol. I have to go back for a follow up visit in late April. I can't wait to tell him. (Ya know, because I'm trying to boost his knowledge base.)

Based on my running experiment, I decided to take one more day off. I have expectations to re-start normal training on Monday. It'll be more of the same. Run slowly, not necessarily by choice. Bike in the garage, begrudgingly by choice. Play with my crotch. Repeat. I'm happy to put this experience behind and am pleased that I can again get jiggy with it it happened early in the season. I'm so motivated that I may even get back in the water. (<--You're supposed to laugh at that.)

The Disappointing Significance of 38:44

A couple of disclaimers before we get to the meat and potatoes of this post. First, I'm going to update the status of my injury. This will be, hopefully, my last blurb on this particular injury (a bit of foreshadowing, perhaps?). Partly because I am personally bored in thinking about it and partly because I don't want to bore you on the subject anymore. I've got other stuff I'd like to bore you with.

Second, I was talking to some people who have read some of my back work. Anytime I put in some historical or societal references, I research them first. It helps out with the creative flow. See, I like to learn the facts before I completely distort them to benefit my needs. It's so real that Fox and CNN are currently in a bidding war for my services. Having said that, I'm going to do you a favor and advise you to NOT research the numbers 38:44 on your own, just to see if I'm telling the truth. What you'll find is a lot of information about guns. Then you'll get put on a list. You might get a visit from an undisclosed government official who "happened to be in the neighborhood and just checking things out." Let this be a lesson to you youngsters out there- Incognito Search is your friend.

Now, on to the story...

Do you know how long it takes a strain to heal? I do. It's roughly 5-7 days. If you're unlucky (which sums me up pretty nicely), it'll take 10-14 days. Therefore, an injury that took place on, say, January 26th would, even under the most dismal of circumstances, would be healed by now.

Do you know how long a hairline stress fracture takes to heal? I don't. You know why? Because the darn thing ain't healed yet. There are rays of light on the horizon (metaphorically speaking since the sun is afraid to show it's head in these parts of the country at this time of year). This past Friday, I went 75% of the day without a noticeable limp! Sure I was still the slowest person in the building. One of the snails that inhabits one of the other science teacher's room escaped and said, "Excuse me please," since I was blocking it's path in the hall. I'm also pretty sure that that stupid gastropod gave me a virus because I had a roughness in my throat and a tickle in my nose for the rest of the day. Still, injury progress is progress. I anticipate it being at least another week before the discomfort is gone and another week after that before I attempt running again.

So, what's a guy to do with all of this free time? Ideally, whatever he wants. In reality, it's whatever the Wife wants. Thank goodness that she always has brilliant ideas and wants to do things that are Banter friendly!

On Saturday morning, she suggested that we pack up the dogs and head down to the Keuka Lake Wine Trail. I like dogs. The dogs like the car. I like wine. I like the Wife. The Wife likes wine. She tolerates me. I was immediately thrilled. I didn't even flinch when she suggested that we go to the outlet mall on the way back. (True foreshadowing here-I would grow to regret this lack of flinching.)

The day went exactly as you'd hope. We drove into wine country with the intentions of tasting some delicious vintages along with a few undesirables. Hey, take the good with the bad.

Here's the Wife doing a handstand in 40º temperatures on a picnic table with Keuka Lake in the background. She's a fine specimen and I'm a lucky man.

Here are the dogs. Different winery. Same lake. They absolutely refused to do a handstand. My dog is the one on the left side of the pic. The Wife's dog is up on the rock. The dog on the right is the dog-in-law, which came over for a play date with the Wife's dog.

As far as visiting the wineries went, the harvest was good. We got roughly 1.5 cases mixed between whites and reds. That should last us through the weekend.

We stayed on the wine trail until they kicked us off. I'm typically not the kind of guy who appreciates closing down a joint. But, we drove 2 hours and they closed at 5:00. Stepping up to a tasting table at 4:45 isn't nearly on par with walking into a restaurant 15 minutes before closure. We are efficient drinkers and could easily sample everything on the list before the clock runs out.

Having collected our spoils, we headed towards Waterloo. The Wife had a $5 coupon to use at one of the stores. It makes sense to spend $30 on gasoline just to save $5 on a hat, right?... Right? ... We couldn't just hit one store. Well, with the doggies stuck in the car, we rescued them from their 4-wheeled crate and took them around. I hung out with the pups outside while the Wife went in. This is another version of win-win for me.

Until it wasn't. I lasted only 1 additional store. Even though I have no idea for how long I was out there, I am quite confident that I developed a minor batch of hypothermia. Sore foot from before? Check. Sore throat from before? Check. Runny nose from before? Check. Brand new full body vibrations? Check. (<-- Not as sexy as they sound.)

As you can probably predict, I didn't wake up in good shape. The shivering had long since stopped. The nose faucet, however, went from a slow drip to a steady stream. The voice is so deep that I actually sound like a male. The foot is marginally better.

If you haven't figured it out by now, I'm kind of an idiot. In case you need more proof than what's already contained in the posts of this blog, I'll toss at you some more evidence. A person of near average IQ would take some medicine, drink some soup, eat some crackers, and take it easy with a book, movie, or nonsensical gibberish on the Internet. A Banter-caliber intellect will try and exercise.

In a normal world, I would have gone for a run. The foot said, "Nope," so I headed out to the, um, bikey place. At least I had the foresight to bring a snot towel with me. Knowing that I wasn't going to be able to put forth any impressive numbers on the bike (duh), I was hoping for an easy ride of about 60-90 minutes. Despite the lack of, um, smart stuff in my head, I have learned that there's healing and therapy in exercise. Not today.

As a life-long athlete(ish) guy(ish), most structured workouts that I've encountered end at a highly predictable and recognizable number. Almost always, those numbers are in multiples of 5. Sometimes a 2. If I was adhering to a plan, I would have ended my ride at 30 minutes, or 40 minutes, or 45 minutes. Here's my ride data:

As I was riding, my energy systems did not improve. Nor did my mood. Or spirits. Or overall well-being. Not once would I have ever predicted of getting off the bike at 38:44. It's disappointing on multiple levels.

Oh, just in case you were wondering, if a guy shows up to check your browser history, here's what you do: open the door, blow your nose with an old tissue, offer to shake his hand (with the tissue still in hand mind you), give off a cough, and invite him in. If experience holds true, he'll turn and run without ever stepping foot into your house. And then, apparently, he'll call Fox and CNN to cancel the story and they'll rescind any job offers.

A State of Intolerance

My whole life, I've been an eater. I like food. Luckily for me, I also have this cardio addiction. The 2 are forever at war with each other. Sometimes, the food-loving portion of my existence tips the scales (literally and figuratively). Other times, I let the Wookie win the calories-out side of the equation dominates. The result has been a rather life-long equilibrium of non-overweightness coupled with my fair share of sweaty, smelly clothes.

Should anyone ask, my favorite food is, hands down, chocolate. I can't remember a day going by when something chocolaty has not crossed my lips. Usually, chocolate hits my system multiple times a day. Sometimes, it's 100% of my daily intake. This is not to say that I don't like other foods. Quite the contrary, I like almost every food (except for bacon- I loathe that vile excuse for a meat's existence). I've always had this endless, cast-iron stomach; able to handle food in epic portions and random mixtures of organic compounds.

In the past year, I've met my match. It took a rather surprising form. Upon it's ingestion, I am rendered even more useless than normal, which makes me about as valuable as a 3 dollar bill. My new nemesis: the Almond.

Nutritionally, it's supposed to be a healthy nut. It's loaded with protein and fat. And, not the bad kind of fat, but the Glinda- the Good Witch kind. Regardless of it's accolades, I cannot tolerate this food.

That's not to say that I don't like it. Quite the contrary. I think it's remarkably delicious. I've enjoyed its flavor in its 'raw' form. Its 'roasted salty' form. Its 'sliced and mixed with other foods' (such as chicken or green beans) form. Its 'lubed for her pleasure' form. Its 'mashed up 'butter'' form. They're all good.

Except that my digestive system, for some reason, stopped agreeing with me. I have what's commonly known as adult onset almond intolerance. This is not the same thing as an allergy. Nut allergies usually impact the respiratory system. The resulting lack of ability to breathe can be quite deadly for the allergee. As opposed to an intolerance, which can be quite deadly to the others in the room.

With any of my food problems, I will occasionally re-validate. Like I said before, I like to eat and I hate it when an item is removed from the palate. Yes, I've even re-validated my hatred for everything bacon. I've never liked it and it seems that I never will.

Recently, I revalidated my almond intolerance. The Wife made some almond butter based chocolate chip cookies. Once she decided to put chocolate into the mix, I was sold on the attempt (addiction is not pretty). Plus, I was curious to a couple of things: 1. Will cooked almond butter cause a reaction? 2. What are the individual Banter Intolerance phases? This time, I took careful notes to try and understand the process scientifically. Sure enough, the cookies were extraordinarily good. I am saddened to report that I'll probably not eat another one again.

I'm posting this now so that you, dear Bantee, can be aware of the symptoms and have an understanding of what is happening in your body.

Step 1: Ingestion
This seems simple enough. Simply introduce the intoleragen (yes, I just made that word up) into your digestive system. The best way is through eating. I have not experimented with other methods, probably since I am unwilling to purchase almond suppositories.

Step 2: Gestation
This part is purely psychological warfare. See, you've eaten something that you think will cause a problem. Only thing is that it's not immediate (at least not for me). There is this time period in which the food travels the length of your esophagus and enters the stomach. Now, I'm not exactly sure where the reaction takes place. It could be in the stomach. It could be in the duodenum. During the wait-period, there is nothing but joy. I am cured! Then, you start thinking of all of the other food opportunities that await you newly found intolerant-free existence. Until Step 3 hits like a bully's punch to the gut.

Step 3: The Build Up

Your intestines are designed around the movement of solids and liquids. Sure, there are some gas molecules down there. Partly, there is marginal amounts of air leftover from the swallowing process. Majorly, there are some products as a result of enzyme-aided chemical reactions. Well, one or ten-thousand of these processes has just been ramped up. As a consequence, your belly fills up like an airbag during an automobile collision.

Whereas modern-day man will point to an infinite expansion level of the mid-section, that is a slow build up. In Intolerant Land, it feels like something is about to burst. You look at your belly button in hopes that you'll find the secret pressure release valve. No luck.

Step 4: The Churning
Initially, the pressure is in your upper abdominal region. But, you can feel it migrate. There are approximately 22 feet of small intestine in the average human (I haven't measured mine just yet. Been meaning to, but who has the time for such things?) If you put your hand on your stomach, not only is it extra sensitive to your touch but you can feel a creature moving its way south. You start to think that it's going to burst out. (Don't worry, it will. But that's in the next step.) I'm pretty sure that the origin of the famous scene from Alien(s)/ Spaceballs (pictured) was influenced by someone with a food intolerance.

Step 5: The Release
Note- sometime during step 4, it's probably best that you communicate to anyone in your immediate vicinity of situation and the risks of their proximity. This is especially important if you have only 1 bathroom.

The Release happens suddenly. You'll likely be curled up in the fetal position due to the never ending presence of steps 3 and 4. However, once the Release comes a knocking, all other sensations and discomforts are forgotten as panic sets in. You run to the nearest depositing station.

What comes out in no way resembles what went in (but isn't that always the case?). The main ingredient is water, meaning that your large intestine has stopped functioning normally and switch all of its effort on the evacuation procedure. The large intestine does its new job well, adding an extra layer of intensity. Now, depending on the volume of food you have consumed that day, a courtesy flush or 2 may be in order.

Step 6: The Cycle
I'm sorry to report but this whole process does not end after the Release. In fact, it starts over at Step 3 (unless, of course, you are stupid enough to continue eating) (which I, umm, may or may not know through experience). Upon leaving the bathroom (or wherever you made your deposit) after step 5, it's nice to turn on a vent fan or light a candle out of respect for those that may live with you, including your pets. It is unlikely that you had time to do so on the way in. Advanced tip: leave the fan and candle running for a while.

Here's what's going to happen. You'll resume your fetal position on the couch, bed, -or for the experienced intolerators- the bathroom floor. The Build-Up, The Churning, and The Release will happen again and again rendering you useless for the next several hours.

There is, however, a gleam of hope. The amount of time between one episode to the next increases. During round 1, the cycle make take a total of 2 minutes between Releases. Round 2 may take 2.5 minutes. And, with each passing Release, intensity lessens.

Scientifically put: time and intensity are inversely related. This means that as the time interval (x-axis) increase, the amount of discomfort (y-axis) decreases. Be advised- units may vary. Even better, it's an exponential relationship (see graph). You'll start feeling better and for longer periods of time. Soon, you'll be able to tolerate non-fetal positions. After a few hours, you might even be able to turn off the bathroom fan and blow out the candle. Your loved ones may attempt to use the bathroom again. If you have any respect for them, you should run some cleaner around the pot.

Conclusions:
1. Will cooked almond butter cause a reaction? Yes. The mashing and baking process did not denature whatever chemical(s) that my discomforts.

2. What are the individual Banter Intolerance phases? Ingestion, Gestation, Build-up, Churning, and Release. Lather- rinse- and repeat.

The Take-Home Message
Please don't feed me almonds. There is a high probability that I will eat them. It won't be pretty for either of us.

Going Viral

I'm still a little under the weather. After my week-long flu virus, I started working out again. However, it feels like I am getting the making of a cold. Nothing like getting over 1 virus in order to be invaded by another.

The problem with having a cold is that I'm pretty sure that I've had a cold before. The last time I remember having a cold was sometime in my youth. Perhaps back in the 70s.

One of the great aspects about being sick for so long (I'm working really hard at being an optimist with varying degrees of success) is that I got to sit around all day long without any obligation or guilt in not doing any chores. This is indeed good because, as we all know, doing chores might actually make you sicker.

So, if I wasn't training and I wasn't cleaning, what in the world was I doing? Well, I did spend a lot of time on the computer. Okay, this isn't much different than my ordinary life. It's, perhaps, my internet time that was the official cause of my illness.

Now, if it weren't for my browsing, I would have never come across this video. I normally don't appreciate fat, middle aged men dancing in speedos, but this guy's got game. If it hasn't already, I'm pretty sure it'll go viral any time now.

Trip to the Doctor's

After the fateful trip back from Arizona, it became increasingly clear that something was not right with my throat. Recently, someone on the trip got diagnosed with strep and I'm pretty sure they passed it off to me. As a teacher, and a science guy at that, I felt it necessary not to inoculate the rest of the school with a pesky little bacteria. I, for the first time in over 2 years, made an appointment to see my doctor.

Here's the thing about visiting my doctor anymore, I'm not sure he actually works there. I got to see a physicians assistant, who is not an MD but still on orders of magnitude smarter and more learned than I. As I reflect on the experience, I can understand why people just don't like to go. Here's a breakdown of the events:

-Leave work and commute to doctor's office. Forget the exact location, drive right by, attempt to turn around but get blocked by traffic, finally make it to office. Elapsed time- ~12 minutes

-Enter doctor's office, greet nice woman at counter, check in, and receive a clipboard of stuff to sign. Elapsed time- 2 minutes flat

-Fill out forms and sign. Elapsed time- 38 seconds

-Stand in line to turn in my forms behind a woman who is not a patient but a friend of the nice lady behind the counter. Finally hand in my form. Elapsed time- 4 minutes 09 seconds

-Sit and wait in the aptly named 'waiting room'. There is only one other person in the room. Make awkward conversation and learn that he is also not a patient but waiting to drive home his wife. Finally get called into the inner circle. Elapsed time 3 minutes 22 seconds

-Get weighed in on a digital scale. Kept on shoes, belt, pants, work keys, car keys, wallet and phone (and I still weighed less than my scale at home). Elapsed time- 51 seconds

-Enter room and begin to undress. Look around for robe or gown. None obvious. Open various cabinets and drawers. Still no alternative clothing. Finally come to conclusion that I am getting my throat checked and probably won't turn and cough. Re-don my clothes. PA finally enters room after I am full clothed. Elapsed time- 6 minutes (allotting for some nudity error)

-Explain situation to PA. She takes vitals. BP 118 over 80. Pulse rate= 58 bpm. PA looks quizzically at her watch. Rechecks watch and tests again. Now down to 56 bpm. She asks, "Do you workout?" I assume she's asking because of my incredibly muscular wrist muscles. "They've been like that since just after puberty." "Yes," I respond. She walks over to computer and types in vitals. Elapsed time- 3 minutes 37 seconds

-She leaves room and returns with 2 throat swabs. She apologizes in advance for my discomfort then proceeds to jam them done my throat. It feels like she's trying to swab my lunch. Perceived Elapsed time- 42 hours 17 minutes 4 seconds. Actual Elapsed time- 4 seconds.

-She writes a prescription for antibiotics and sends me on my way. Elapsed time- 1 minute 16 seconds

-I go to the counter to pay. The update all information since I moved. I pay co-pay. I ask for a detailed receipt as I can claim my copay against my Flex Spending Account but only if I have a detailed receipt and not a credit card receipt. She tells me that she'll print one. Apparently the in-office printer is broken and she needs to pick up the copy downstairs. Which means that she needs to go outside, around the building, down the stairs, into another doctor's office and pick up print job. She returns, checks computer, says, "Opps, forgot to press print." Then leaves and returns. Elapsed time- 23 minutes and some change (emotions kept me from accurate time keeping in this instance)

-Drive to local pharmacy. Hand in Rx. Elapsed time- 4 minutes 41 seconds

-Wait for pharmacist to pull box off of shelf, slap on a label, and put medicine in bin. Elapsed time- 18 minutes 24 seconds (they predicted it would take 20 minutes so I guess I should be happy)

-Drive back to my workplace and get ready for the afternoons coaching session. Elapsed time- 8 minutes 58 seconds

I was late to practice. I am still trying to pinpoint why.