Embracing My Inner Rodent

Mammals, as a class of animals, are rumored to first have made an appearance on this rock called Earth roughly 200 million years ago. It was a complicated period in time. Pangea was still a thing. Dinosaurs were walking around uninhibited. Trees hadn't been invented yet. The Banter was trying to figure out how to be a runner. It was utter confusion.

These mammals were egg-laying, pouch bearing creatures. If it weren't for them, cycling would have never invented the rear-jersey pockets. So sport has the Triassic Period to thank for that invention. How do they know this? Well, they found a tooth somewhere in China and they just sorta pieced the rest together. As it turns out, we were very rat-like.

The problem is that the real mammals, the ones that didn't behave like platypi crossed with genetically challenged kangaroos, didn't make an appearance until the Jurassic Period. Contrary to what Hollywood and Michael Crighton novels would have you believe, T. rex wouldn't be around for many more millions of years. T. rex's cousin, Allosaurus was the terrible lizard du jour. The longest animal ever recorded, Diplidocus, was meandering the plains. Stegosaurus was plundering around. Pangea broke itself into 2 halves. The Banter was still trying to figure out how to be a runner. Mammals continued to be rat-like creatures romping around in the underbrush. How do they know? Yet more teeth.

As the northern and southern halves of Pangea drifted apart, starting the Atlantic Ocean. As a result, land animals had to learn how to swim. They didn't like it so much, which is why the swim portion of a triathlon is so ridiculously short, compared to it's other multisport brethren. This is what's commonly known as the Cretaceous Period, which is Latin for "we hate the water but don't want to do a duathlon". T. rex finally made an appearance. Bees learned how to make honey. The Banter was still trying to figure out how to be a runner. An asteroid hit the Earth which spurred  a sudden onset of global warning, which the politicians require us to call 'climate change'. Most of the scary animals died out. Much like today, mammals didn't really notice. Triathletes applauded the extension of their season.

Flash forward by about 65 million years to the present day Quaternary Period. The dinosaurs have been reduced to chicken-like bird thingies. The Atlantic Ocean had expanded enough that even the most dedicated of open water swimmers paused before making the attempt. Triathletes immediately looked at the set and said, "No thank you." Mammals, without their terrible lizard competition, were thriving. Triathletes were still conflicted between the concept of climate change and a potentially extended race season. The Banter was still trying to figure out how to be a runner.

In an effort to understand  one of the most perplexing questions ever to elude the most brilliant of minds- what might make a runner out of the Banter- scientists had this brilliant idea to start studying the rodent (Aside: This had absolutely nothing to do with the Banter's physical appearance. At least, that's their story... /End Aside). Lab rats aren't really that popular and, historically, have had little scientific value. But, since the mammals got their start from rodent-like creatures, scientists decided to take a risk and study the most ancient mammalian form.

To do so, they traveled to the depths of the rain forest, where triathletes hate to venture because the heat and humidity ruin their ability to train hard. To test this idea, they placed a running wheel where no rat had ever even seen a running wheel. The hypothesis was that this stupid, foreign object would be completely ignored since rats can run wherever they want, whenever they wanted. Why would they want to use a device that let them go absolutely nowhere when they could go anywhere they wanted? Granted, they had to place a plate of food near the machine to attract the triathletes, err, rodents. The scientists were dumbfounded when several different rodents of several different species ignored the food, went to the running wheel, and spent an insane amount of time on the device.

Using the momentum of this experiment, scientists extended the lessons learned to a different, semi-talented triathlete currently living in northeastern North America. They went and got a large running wheel and placed it near the larger-rodent-type mammal of modern day known as the Banter. For years, nothing happened and the Banter remained a slow, sloth-like runner on the triathlon course. They revisited early experiments in vivo and tried again, only this time with food. Still nothing. The Banter remained resistant to intelligent training techniques.

The scientists were ever persistent. They re-worked their running wheel design. Instead of metal rungs, they went with a flat belt. The goal was to move the rodent from the inside of the running wheel to the outside of the running wheel. Hence, the invention of the treadmill. The Banter remained resistant.

Nearing the end of their funding period, the scientists were desperate to gain any kind of success in getting the Banter to resemble anything close to a runner. He'd been immune to all efforts for several millennia now, complete with race results to prove it. Such results do not prove well in recruiting sponsors. They tried putting down food, a la the rain forest experiment. Surprisingly, even that didn't encourage running. In fact, that particular action backfired as the Banter would just show up, eat the food, and leave without working out.

In a last ditch effort, scientists took a picture of the Banter as he readied himself for a race. They waited until he had predictably terrible results at that race. Then they sent him the picture. The hypothesis was that showing the Banter how he's leading with his belly instead of his brain might make encourage him to make the change. To their relief, it worked!! The Banter not only started to run more, which is the single most important criterion if you want to run faster, but he also didn't shy away from the flat, belt-like running wheel. If you're interested, you can see the exact picture that sparked the change, as presented in a previous post, found here. I do not suggest you click that link nor look at that picture.

Even though the experiment is still in it's beta stage, early findings are looking positive. The Banter has been running more, as evidenced in number of runs per week, number of minutes per week, and average number of complaints spewed. In the past 10 days, the Banter has logged 12 runs with 11 of them on the rodent wheel. There's a high probability that the Banter will develop a case of the Sudden Hatred of Indoor Training before the experiment's funds run out. But, as reported by his training log, his desire to be fast and fit might finally trump his hatred of the treadmill. And, based on all of the running without actually going anywhere, the scientists concluded that he's still mostly rodent. But you probably beat them to that conclusion.

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.)

Sudden Hatred of Indoor Training

People are constantly getting credit for 'discovering' new things, like countries, diseases and/ or conditions. And, I say 'discovering' because it's highly likely that these things have been around for quite some time. It's like when Columbus 'discovered' America despite there being ample evidence that there were people living here for at least 3 years before he traveled. And it's pretty clear that he wasn't even the first of the Europeans to make the trip, since the Vikings made it this way several times and took all the hot chicks for themselves (source: image search for women from Iceland). And he still gets credit despite the obvious liability that he didn't even set foot on anything currently classified as North America.

I have recently 'discovered' a condition that I am confident will solidify my enrollment in the Nobel Prize pool, along with all of the other greats who have simply identified something that's been around for ages but it took a genius to point out it's existence. I've been wondering what's been going on with me lately and I've narrowed it down to one just-now-identified condition called, "Sudden Hatred of Indoor Training." Those who know me are quite eager in verifying what I'm about to tell you, I'm full of S.H.I.T.

There are lots of reasons to train indoors. Some of them are actually practical.

• It's ridiculously cold outside
• You're a pansy
• It's unsafe training conditions due to snow, wind, rain, pansiness, etc.
• It's too dark and you're afraid of monsters
• You don't have any clean clothes that match
• You want to control the training criteria
• You can reduce the effect of environmentally caused injuries
• You're too lazy to put on extra layers

Last year at this time, my training was virtually nothing. I was on the road to recovering from an injury that set my season up for a summer of patheticness. This year, I vowed to approach my training a little more safely. Most of my running has been on the treadmill. I'd only venture outside if it was daytime and the roads were clear of sludge. That was n=7 out of 19 runs during the month of January. All of my riding has been indoors. I'm in decent shape.

I've been able to hold back my S.H.I.T.s for a pretty good period of time. This week, however, the pressure seemed to get explosively high. I went out to the treadmill the other day, felt sick to my stomach, and clenched myself back into the house. The S.H.I.T. was strong enough for me to layer up and head outside despite the chance of running into some darkness monsters. Yesterday, the S.H.I.T. was so powerful that I skipped a bike ride for the first time in 5 weeks. I just couldn't bring myself to sit on that pot of a bike. I sat on my lazy boy, brooded, and hoped to catch a glimpse of the lady who walks up and down my driveway on a consistent basis.

Today, I went for a nice run outside this morning with no problems. I still  can't seem to get up the nerve to head to the workout room for a ride. I'm procrastinating as much as I can.  Since the run, I've done some laundry, put away dishes, looked at images of Norse women, made lunch, took the dogs for a walk, made a second lunch, and started 3 separate blog posts (all of them crap). I know that I need to get up and out to for a nice 90 minute session of suffering. The S.H.I.T. in me is still quite strong and I'm not sure if there's a cure. I guess I'll have to wait for it to run it's course.

There are rumors out there that some athlete's train indoors all-year round. On purpose. That's gotta be weird, right? It appears as if they are immune to getting the S.H.I.T.s. They are probably going to be my next focus of research for athletic anomalies. It's quite possible that they are deficient of a few necessary genes that code for going outside. Agoraphobics know what I'm talking about. Their specific problem is that they view the interior environment as superior. They seem to have a, "Lack Of Sense in Exterior Righteousness". I'll tell you about these L.O.S.E.R.s later because they only give out Nobel Prizes once a year.

The Art of Being Consistent

There's this woman on my road. Retired. Friendly. Happy. GILF. Amazing human being.  In excellent shape. I'm pretty sure that when her age I get, look as good I will not. I see her just about every day. Our separate routines go something like this.

Monday
Me- sitting on my lazy boy drinking a frothy, caffeinated, chocolatey beverage.
Her- outside walking down the road.

Tuesday

Note: This is not her. I'm not that kind of a creep.

Me- sitting on my lazy boy drinking a frothy, caffeinated, chocolatey beverage.
Her- outside walking down the road.

Wednesday
Me- got my lazy bum out for a morning run.
Her- outside walking down the road.

Thursday
Me- sitting on my lazy boy drinking a frothy, caffeinated, chocolatey beverage, still recovering from Wednesday's run
Her- outside walking down the road.

Friday
Me- Feeling guilty about not running on Thursday. Went for a run.
Her- outside walking down the road.

Saturday
Me- sitting on my lazy boy drinking a frothy, caffeinated, chocolatey beverage. Will likely run later. (Maybe)
Her- outside walking down the road.

Sunday
Me- getting ready to take the Wife to the Y. She'll do a class, I'll go run around the Y- neighborhood, feeling excited that I'm getting in my 4th run of the week and taking the day off tomorrow!
Her- outside walking down the road.

Since I'm a sweaty, smelly male, I need ample time to cool down before I'm allowed back in the house. Therefore, I'll take a nice recovery walk. Every once in a while, I'll be on my desweatification jaunt right around the same time that she's going for a walk down the road. Much to her dismay (I'm assuming) I'll join her for the walk.

One time, I made it all the way to her turn around point. Understandably, it's right at the end of the drive. The drive ends at a road. Which has a line separating the shoulder from the main drag. She diligently walked right up to the road, looked both ways, waited until it was safe, and touched the white line with her foot. She said that the walk 'didn't count' until she touched the line. I asked her how many days out of the year she missed her walk. "About half a dozen, maybe." There's a lot to be learned in an amazing specimen like herself.

Lessons for Me (and You)
Consistency is the key to long term success in training. Having one good workout is just that- good. Having a bunch on mediocre workouts, day in and day out, is the stuff that champions are made of. I have not been a good case study in consistency.

Here's most of my December training

A scrupulous eye would see that there seemed to be an emphasis on running (blue posts), which makes sense for a slow, sloth-like creature like myself. You'd be hard pressed to call it 'consistent'. And, exactly zero people would call 7 rides (featured in red) in a month "high quality levels of training"no matter how excellent those rides were. If I had any intentions of getting in shape and setting myself up for a good season, this is a good lesson in what not to do. Something had to change.

A short blurb on how my year ended- badly. On Dec 30th, I came down with one of those flu thingies. It hit me hard for the next week or so. Even for a loser like myself, this was pretty bad.

It was during this downtime when a lazy boy sitting, mocha drinking, slow-running boy like myself took to ogling noticing the habits of my neighbor and used it as inspiration to take the lazy out of the boy. I became healthy from being sick and sick of being slow. Here's how January ended.

Hell yeah! Just in case you are too lazy to count, that's 6 runs and 5 rides a week. Already I feel a little faster. Already I feel a little more powerful on the bike. I've lost 3 pounds of belly fat over this period (this is waaaaaaaaay overdue). If I had any intentions of getting in shape and setting myself up for a good season, this is a good lesson in exactly what I need to do. (Assuming you don't focus on the swimming piece, shown in yellow.)

Here's the thing: this is just one month of Banter-quality excellence (which should not be confused with actual excellence). But, triathlon is a long-con. You have to start sowing the seeds of consistency early on and keep them going again and again. Yes, there's going to be hiccups along the way. Eventually, one of those demons kids I teach will pass on a plague-like disease (see first week of January). At some point, the Wife will ask for something labor intensive like washing the dishes or going on a wine tour. There's a chance that I could step on a fantom rock and develop a freak-like injury. Putting those out-of-my-control factors aside, the more consistent I am, the better I'll be.

Winter will, hopefully, be over soon. I'll be getting outdoors more often and for longer. I hope that I get a chance to see more of my hottie neighbor out on the road instead of from the seat of my lazy boy (truth be told, both circumstances are pretty awesome!). And, I hope that the next time we meet, I'll be in decent enough shape that she won't wrinkle her nose at me. Although, I doubt that there's any kind of consistency that will get rid of that smell...

The Winter Hoot and Holler

Just in case you happen to be living somewhere outside of the continental United States, I've got some shocking news for you. It's been cold pretty much everywhere not called Florida, Hawaii, or Alaska. Mother Nature has taken vengeance on our misunderstanding of climate change and decided to punch us in the gut with steal-your-breath away cold temperatures. Still I run (or do my version of what other people call running). This winter, I set a personal low for temps, as seen on the right. This run was exceptionally fast for me. I give credit to the fact that, had I gone any slower, I might have frozen to the ground.

In the summer time, life on the road is much different. For example, I've got a larger section of road on which to run. In the winter time, much of the running lane is covered in ice and snow, forcing me and the dog out into the brine covered sections of black. We get to mingle with traffic, deer, potholes, the mail truck, the trashman, and, new to last week, a combine tractor finally harvesting corn. (And I thought I was a procrastinator.)

Summer running is louder. No, not me. I'm talking about the rest of the citizens. There are more decibel producers cruising the strip. Motorcycles that believe mufflers are unnecessary. Teenagers who believe that subwoofers in the trunk with the bass turned all the way up is da bomb. Canadian geese returning from where ever they decided to winter and honk incessantly. It can be ear piercing at times.

In the winter, everything is muffled. Kids are in the house. Motorcycles are in the garage. Geese are, um, elsewhere. All but one of the combines are in the barn. Plus, I've got my ears covered. It's a much quieter run. Peace. Serenity. Calm. Only me and the voices in my head (don't worry, I don't listen to them...much).

I have been missing something rather special lately. (Yes, I'm missing on pleasant temperatures, but I covered that already). I'm missing out on the Hoot and Hollers of summer time. See, when it's nice outside, people drive with their windows down. They sit outside of their houses. They go for walks. They ride their bikes. During this season, I share the road with many recreants. They see me coming on my bike or on my run and calculate that they have only a matter of seconds to interact. Why exactly they want to interact is a mystery to me (I've never been much of a social creature). Their version of interaction is commonly called a Hoot and/ or a Holler. I like getting yelled at while exercising. I've been known, on occasion, to deliver my own version of a H&H. Mostly, I stay silent save for my raspy chug of breathing.

Lately, I've been paying more attention to people on my sessions and I think I'm wrong. I get lots of Hoots and Hollers, only I've been too stupid to recognize them.

Take, for example, the above pictured -2º tempo run. If it weren't for the chill that day, it would have been a beautiful day for a run. The sun was, for once, shining bright. The streets were semi-adequately plowed. There was next to no traffic. I do remember this one guy though. I was running to the east while he was driving to the east. Meaning, we were not in the same lane. There was no needed action to be taken on his part to avoid the likes of me running. He, in his cozy white pick-up, heater blazing, steaming coffee cup move to and fro his lips. Me gingerly plodding through the soon-to-be permafrost of what was once a temperate climate. He could have just driven on by. Nope. He slowed down, made eye-contact, and raised his mug of Joe in a salute to my effort with a smile on his face. Then, of course, he just drove off never to be seen again.

Or, take for example, the garbage truck. Trash collection for most is on Tuesdays in my area. But, we have the freedom of trash choice in the neighborhood and a minority of people opt for a different company. I think it's because the other company has purple cans and not green. Well, the purple trash eater drives his route on Wednesday. As it happened on one particular Wednesday, I was out for a morning run with the PRP. He's a lot cuter than me and is, therefore, subjected to a lot more H&H's than I (I still pretend that they're mind- he doesn't argue the point- so it's all good). At this point in the tale, said purple truck was about a third of a mile in my future but closing the gap. Due to the Doppler Effect in both light and sound, I was able to recognize that the truck's speed was also slowing. As we neared eminent collision, the truck stopped and the trashman jumped out. His singular goal was to pet the dog. The dog was alright with this, as is his nature. This is not the H&H. The Winter H&H happened moments later. See, this was a narrow, residential style road and not much room for traffic. The large purple refuse collector was blocking a good portion of the drive-able space and a short line of cars were witness to the pettings while their forward momentum dissipated. After we started moving again, the 2 cars immediately behind the stench smiled and waved. That's the H&H.

One last example- I was riding my bike. It was cold outside and I was in the garage as usual. See, I'm becoming more and more selectively pansy. Whereas I'll run in just about any temperature, my bike won't see asphalt until it's at least 45º, probably closer to 50 (and that still depends on the rain and wind). Since Canada feels the need to keep sending her worst, it's into my partially finished workout space. I don't mind. The rest of the non-biking space is wide open or shelved off for storage. There's enough room for the bike, treadmill, and a small marching band. That's a good thing too since, on one Saturday afternoon, I was spinning away. Suddenly, my workout room door exploded open and the USC Marching Band filed in with Fleetwood Mac playing Tusk. It worked and I had one of my best trainer sessions of the winter! Later on, Lindsey admitted to me that he wrote the song about me because he missed hanging out when I was exercising instead.

Okay, that last one may or may not have actually happened in real life. But the other 2 definitely did. Regardless, the Winter H&H is a thing of beauty. You and I must train ourselves to recognize external inspiration when it happens. Even if it's only in our heads, the H&H can be a useful tool to gain an edge over our demons.

The Problem with the iPhone

The Wife can to me all proud and giggly about this new iPhone app that she found. It was a workout app and, much to her credit, she's caught on that I enjoy working out. It's nice to know that she's paying attention after all these years. Anyway, the premise of the app based on her description and demonstration was that you activate the app, hold it out in front of you, and do your squat. The device magically records how many squats you have accomplished. If you ask it, it will also tell you how many more you have left in your set and keep the results in a log for you.

I checked it out and apparently there are a multitude of free apps that will do this, free of charge. These same developers made one for push-up, pull-up and sit-ups. I think they've cornered the market on the 'ups' exercises.

On one hand, I am excited about any strategy that gets people up and moving. Motivation, for some, is in short supply. If a new app is going to coax you off the couch and into workout mode, have at it. The more you do, the better you are, and the happier that we'll all be (at least in theory).

On the other hand, I'm appalled. I can't imagine needing any sort of device that's greatest power is counting. How hard is it? One is followed by two. It's the same numbering system that you were taught when you were 3 years old and repeated when you were 4. Hey, remember that new technology called a piece of paper and a pencil? These are great devices that will aid in the recording of workouts. Plus, you don't need a separate sheet of paper to log sit-ups and pull-ups. They can be recorded on the same device.

Today's uber-reliance on electronics is getting out of hand. People now-a-days are living the slogan "there's an app for that". Whatever happened to just working out? It really is that simple. Want to do some push-ups? Lie on the floor, face down with your hands under your shoulders. Push. Up. Return to the starting position. Repeat as often as you like. Too hard? That's ok. There are variations (see left). Notice that in none of the cartoon drawings is there an iPhone. Those imaginary depictions of people get it.

Aside: Don't try doing an image search for 'push-ups' while you're at work. Sure, you'll get lots of hits. Mostly of hot chicks in bras. Oh, apparently there's also some new hiney-enhancing panties and, according to one source, a push-up thong. Advice- absolutely do that search, but save it for when you get home. End Aside.

It really would be nice if people ditched their iPhones for life once in a while. Just because there's an app for something doesn't mean that you need to use it. On the surface, people think that these tiny bits of technology are making their lives better. I disagree. I feel that they are perpetuating the laziness that keeps us on the couch in the first place. Ditch the iPhone. Down with the apps. They are like crack feeding an addiction which will never be quenched.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go for a run. I just need to check my Garmin and make sure the battery's charged and strap on my heart rate monitor. I'll upload the data to my database and analyze the workout from several different angles. When finished, I have plans to research about power meters that I hope to buy for my bike in the near future. 

But, I absolutely refuse to bring my iPhone during my run. That would just be silly.

WW- How NOT To Get in Shape

Welcome to my 3rd year of blogging. I am super excited to continue this thrilling endeavor in which I create fascinating, high quality, first class entertainment! At least for me. My guess is that it's semi-amusing for you, which is still pretty good in my opinion.

We have reached the time of year when a vast majority of people have started on a new adventure of their own that will conclude roughly 2-3 weeks from yesterday. You know what I'm talking about- New Year's Resolutions.

If you hit the reputable sports blogs or the nationally credited experts, they are chalked full of ideas on how to get started, how to keep it up, and new/ improved fitness ideas that are guaranteed to keep you motivated as you guide yourself towards the best you ever- all in about 6 minutes a day. I couldn't possibly compete with that, could I?

According to statistics that I have refused to research, most people have set exercise goals. They want to lose weight, fit into their favorite jeans, or smoke the Banter in a race. Roughly 95% of all the fitness goals that I didn't look up require swimming, biking, running, or lifting weights. Again, most people fall of the workout wagon before they have actually arrived to the barn. I think I know why...

The biggest reason that people don't achieve their goals is that they are afraid that they won't fit in with the regulars. See, contrary to popular habits, there are those who stay in shape year-round. We have names/ titles for these dedicated individuals: Hard-Cores. Regulars. Meat-heads. Die Hards. Bloggers. A bunch of people that I didn't talk to cited that they weren't sure how to behave amongst the natives.

I happen to agree with them. I don't know how to behave either. However, I do find that I am relatively comfortable in exercise laden environments. That's because I know how NOT to behave. And, it's just your luck that I am going to share some of them with you.

Here's how not to behave as a runner:

Here's how not to behave at the pool:

Here's how not to behave in the weight room:

Oddly, there are no "not to's" for cycling. Anything goes in that sport. It's all good. For the other areas, all you have to do is not to be that guy. If you hold true to that, you'll fit in nicely with the goobers who have been willfully paying full price on their gym memberships, including the joiners' fee, for many years in a row, without regret. And, isn't that the guy you really want to become anyway? (Especially true for my lady readers out there).

The Zen of Running

I had a conversation with a friend, recently, about running. Or more specifically, his lack of running. People often mistake me as a runner and I do my best not to correct them. In their eyes, I probably am a runner and it would be hard to explain the differences between what I do and what runners do. A big part of that problem is that I go running.

And I like it.

Which is the most challenging concept to explain to a non-runner from a semi-runner. How do I like running? What is it about running that makes you get up most days a just run?

Here's the thing about going for a run and enjoying it: It's not about the running. Or the exercise.

I think that running is a throw back to the original freedom. Before there were cars, there was running. Before there were bicycles, there was running. Running was the only real chance you had to 'run away' (think about the roots of that phrase and how we use it in today's life) from whatever it is that you need to get away. The freedom is so real you can taste it.

What I think most people miss out upon, including my non-runner friend, is the beauty of the land that is placed before you. The trees swaying in the wind. The grass landscaping my neighbors homes that gives them much pride. The squirrels going about their daily business of survival, bouncing to and fro. The birds soaring and playing in the breeze. The clouds gliding through the sky. The joy of my dog as he canters beside me without a care in the world. This is what I see when I run.

The wind blowing through the forest. The rustling of the leaves as they tumble across the field. The buzz of the insects as they practice their trade. The chirp of the crickets and the frogs as they search for their mates. The hum of the cars as they make their way on their daily business. The gurgle of the stream as it meanders towards its destination. This is what I hear when I run.

The pollen wafting through the air from the flowers readying new life. The slight woody smoke tingling the background as the people heat their homes. The fresh, humid scent of the lake as the air flows over its surface. The musk of my perspiration as I pound the pavement. The pleasant aroma of newly trimmed lawns. This is what I smell when I run.

The rumble of my muscles as they contract and relax through the movement. The warmth of the sun as I voyage across her illumination. The embrace of the wind as she wraps her arms around me. The kiss of the rain as it returns life giving water to the world. The sense of accomplishment and the knowledge that, on multiple levels, I am a better person when I am finished than I was before I started. This is what I feel when I run.

Those are the reasons I run. And will continue to do so until that privilege is taken away from me.

So, tell me, what gets you moving?

Angus Lessons- Perseverance

My mind keeps wandering back to the Angus', Julie and Colin. I hung out with them for a couple of days and listened to many of their stories. In doing so, I learned a lot of lessons, many which can be applied to sport. I'll share one of those lessons with you now.

To Recap
Colin traveled across the globe on nothing but the power of his own muscles. He had to row across the Bering Sea. And ride a bike through China, Russia, and Siberia in the middle of winter. What exactly does that look like? A little something like this...

And to think that I won't ride my bike when the temperature is below 40º F. 

Julie rowed a tiny boat from Europe to America, across the Atlantic, through a hurricane (and other obstacles).  When others before her had done this, there were distinct differences. First, they were all men. Second, they always had a support crew to feed them, water them, etc. Julie had a dude (see bearded guy above), fishing pole and a boat. What did that look like when they finished? A little something like this...

Here's what I learned from their Adventures: Don't stop.

That's as simple and as complex as you can get in sport. And, it applies perfectly to endurance training. When your goal is to get from point A to point B, guess where stopping gets you? Nowhere. And that was the Angus Point (patent pending).

Moving towards your goal, even slowly, is still helping achieve your goal. Good stuff right there.

A Case Study
How does this affect me? Great question. Take, for example, my triathlon obsession frosted with the Ironman. I'd really like to get good at it. So far, I suck. That's okay, I can cope with my crappiness. One of my underlying weaknesses is my running. Therefore, I have started to dedicate myself into trying to become a runner. Not an easy task for the slow and weak (meaning me).

To achieve this goal, I have started running more. Sadly, the only real way to get good at running is to actually run (a fact I have worked hard to avoid for a long time now). Currently I am at 5 days a week on my way up to 6 and doing them in the morning. Morning running is actually advantageous. It removes all the excuses later in the day for not running.

However, there is a dark side to morning running. Specifically, it's dark outside. Worse, now that the sun has dropped below the equator, it's not as warm as it used to be. Plus, I am typically tired at 5:30 am. Then, the other day, it rained. That's 5 whammies: Dark. Cold. Tired. Rainy. Pansy (the last one is assumed). In the past, any 3 pack combination was enough to kick me out of my running shoes and back into bed.

That's where I draw on the experiences of the Angus Clan. I am seriously motivated by these people. It didn't matter if it was cold, or they were tired, or they had a boo boo on their pinky toe, blah blah blah. Stopping meant not getting home. The only real option was to keep going. Now, I won't be dragging the Wife around the world any time soon. (Aside: We talked about it. The biggest problem, in her mind, is that she doesn't like seafood and she has her doubts that I'll be able to reel in a cow while in the middle of the Ocean. End Aside.) I also won't be using crappy excuses to not train.

So, with Julie and Colin's lesson on perseverance, I went for my dark, chilly, rainy, tired, pansy-esque run. And guess what happened? It didn't suck. I had a great run despite the obstacles. And that great run motivated me to get up the next morning and run again. Guess what happened? I had a great run. And that great run... Well, you can see where this is going.

I'm pretty sure that's the way it goes with life and I'm definitely sure that's the way it goes with sport. Once you get into a habit of greats, more greats come. Once you get into a habit of laziness, more laziness comes. Being lazy will not solve my running problem.

The only way to get back home is to keep going. Persevere and you will get there.

My Time With an Olympian

The opening paragraph reads, "The United States held off Canada to win a second straight Olympic gold in the women's eight Thursday, maintaining its six-year dominance of the high-profile event."

I remember watching the event with my students during summer school. I'm always proud of the US of A when we take home the gold. The Canadians were expected to be strong this summer. But the Americans continued their excellence in women's rowing and took home the gold.

Little did I know that I would end up meeting one of these rowing superstars. Here's that story:

My school does an annual fundraiser, community awareness, 2-day awesome fest. Typically, we find a person or two that has excelled in some sort of adventure and has a story to tell. This year, we featured Julie and Colin Angus. I'll give you much more about them in the very near future. The Cliff's Notes version is that they have done some amazing things in traveling the world via only human power. On their list of accomplishments is long distance rowing excursions (seriously, I'll give you more later).

One of the Olympians pictured above, Meghan Musnicki, lives not far from here. (She is 5th from the left in the picture at the right). See the connections? Our headliners are rowers (among other things). The Olympian is a rower. The school is near here. The Olympian is near here. (Okay, not really. Meghan currently lives elsewhere, but she used to live near here. And her mom is still near here. Meghan likes her mom and is willing to come back and visit). We sent out a request and asked Meghan if she'd like to join us for the big presentation. We were all excited when she accepted and told us she would come.

My responsibility during the whole event was to look after Julie and Colin. We held a reception before the big presentation. Normal to Banter standards, we showed up fashionably late. Why I cannot get to an event on time is quite beyond me. As we (Julie, Colin, and I) were walking in, I briefed them that there was an Olympian coming. They, of course, were already aware of this and excited just the same.

I honestly didn't know what Meghan looked like. I had been busy taking care of other details to look her up. This pic is from her Olympic bio. When we entered  the room, the 3 of us scanned the environment to both get a feel of what we were walking in to and to see if we can spot our hero.

Amongst all of the unknown faces, one woman clearly stood out. "I think that's her," I said quietly to my charges. Not that I have much experience in this area but she certainly looked like an Olympian. For example, she was tall, as in towering over the common man. She looked solidly built, like you'd envision a world class athlete who spends hours and hours pulling wood/ fiberglass through water. Her bulging muscles were evident underneath modestly dressed clothing.

Let's not forget the more subtle details that tipped you off to her Olympian status. These include the official USA Olympics label on her shirt. Oh, and she also happened to be sporting a gold medal around her neck. Plus, she was blonde-a dead giveaway.

Having never met an Olympian before, I mentally put them in the same spot the Greeks put their Gods, up on a pedestal outside the circle of us mortals. When coming face-to-face with a goddess, would you know how to act? I surely didn't. There she was grazing at the hors d'oeurves table, comfortable in her surroundings.

Understand that I was not the only other person in the room that wanted to meet her. Everyone wanted to meet her. I knew that I was going to be busy most of the night, so I was hoping to get my chance early. One problem is that beautiful women intimidate me, a throwback from my middle school/ high school nerd-status that I haven't really overcome (read- I'm still a nerd). I approached slowly. Another problem is that most of the other people in the room do not suffer from hot-chick willies so they were a lot more aggressive than me. By the time I made it towards Meghan, she was already swarmed by a group of oglers, leaving this ogler to admire from afar.

In hindsight, this fact turned out to be advantageous. I started friendly, easy conversation with an equally beautiful, albeit shorter and slightly older, blonde woman. We were watching Meghan's interaction with the crowd. Meghan had obviously prepared herself in advance. She came with Olympic trading cards, which are much like baseball cards but with cooler athletes, and pens to fill out autographs. (Meghan, should you ever read this... How can I get one of those?)

Meghan, despite her best efforts, did not have enough hands to handle everything she wanted to accomplish. In one hand she held her food and pens. In the other hand, she held her medal and trading cards. She needed to lose something. She walked over in my direction and handed me her medal. HER GOLD MEDAL! I had it in my hands. Innocently given to me by an Olympian stranger I had never met before. "She does that all the time," said the beauty standing next to me. I turned and looked at this woman again and for the first time read her name tag. It was Meghan's mom.

So here I am standing and chatting with an Olympic mom, admiring the interaction between the Olympic athlete and her fans, and holding a Gold Medal from the 2012 London Olympic Games. Mind you, I was supposed to be tending to the needs of Julie and Colin, whom I have temporarily forgotten existed in this world. It took me about 2 minutes to realize that I needed to bust out my camera. Here are my shots of the medal itself:

I'm not really sure which side is considered the front and which is the back. I'm also not really sure if it matters. I'd have to guess that it was about 1/2 inch thick. I am very sure that this piece of magnificent artwork is quite heavy. I'd probably put it at 3-4 pounds, making it understandable why Meghan didn't want to keep it around her neck the entire night.

I'm kicking myself for not bringing it up to my science lab (we were in my school and I am a science teacher) to run some measurements and tests. Then again, you don't want to anger an Olympian. There's no doubt in my mind that she could crush me like a grape. Not that she would actually do it. After my interactions with her, I found her incredibly sweet. Regardless, I kept the medal near her.

(Note: you can catch glimpses of Meghan in the background of both of those shots. She has her back to me. That's her green skirt with the chiseled legs. I didn't actually notice her legs at first. Another woman in the reception told me to check them out. I'm pretty sure I lose man-points for: A. Not checking her out, and B. Having to be told to check her out by a woman.)

As you can probably surmise, I wanted to get some evidence that included more than my hands. The iPhone has a front facing lens. Here's one of those shots with me and the medal.

Naturally, since I'm a tool, I showed these pics to pretty much anyone who would look at them. The most common question I received was, "Why didn't you put it on?" The answer to me was simple: Respect. In reverence of the toil, sacrifice, and dedication that it took for Meghan and the other Olympians to earn this piece of gold, I feel that they are the only ones with the right to actually wear it around their necks. I can touch it, grope it, lick it, and hold it, but at no time should I wear it. That honor, at least in my mind, should be reserved for the Olympians and whomever's neck they actually decide to place it around. I was content with just holding it in my hand.

After snapping back to reality, I resumed my regularly scheduled responsibilities. Before handing back the medal to Meghan, I continued to chat with Mom. I knew that I wasn't going to have an opportunity to get my picture taken in the near future. Mom promised me that she would ensure that I got my chance at her daughter. Mom held true to her promise. Here's the photo op that happened a couple of hours later.

I stand 5'10. Meghan is about 5'11, if you believe her bio sheet. She is wearing heels thus increasing her stature. After all of that, she still had the gumption to put her arm around me. I may never wash that shirt again.

--------
Aside: True to form, Meghan let pretty much everyone play with her gold that night. It was quite amazing. She even stayed long after the reception was over to continue to interact with her fans (myself included).

I have read stories of other gold medalists who keep their hardware in safety deposit boxes and even sell them on e-Bay. Not Megan: she respected the Games and the enormous sacrifice it takes to be a champion. Here's a shining example of an awesome person humbly allowing others to touch her goodies. Most of us have never, nor will ever again, have that chance. Meghan is a great example of humility and I, for one, recognize and appreciate the effort it takes for her to make these public appearances. Whereas winning a gold medal is never an easy accomplishment, neither is sharing that accomplishment. Olympians, in reality, are not gods and goddesses. They are regular people who need the support of countless others around them. Meghan certainly knows what the symbol and her status means for the rest of us and was quite willing to share it. In doing so, she gains respect, support, and credibility from many. She touched and inspired countless individuals that night. She continues to represent her country well and I am proud to have met her.

In my opinion, even more amazing was her commitment to those close to her. She refers to her teammates as "The 8", which immediately told me of the bond she has with the other girls on her team. To further illustrate her commitment, a small intimate group was heading out for a drink after the presentation, including Julie and Colin. I invited her out with us. She told me that she hasn't seen her mom in a while. She drove many hours (I think 9) to arrive at Mom's house. She visited for only about 45 minutes before having to leave and see me. Since most of her night was spent with star-struck strangers, she didn't hang out with Mom much. She was honestly looking forward to Mom time. She declined my invitation.

Good stuff Meghan! I have learned quite a bit from you. Good stuff indeed.

Post Ironman Stress Syndrome

There are several Post <something> Disorders on the books. Take, for example, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. PTSD is commonly found in soldiers returning from war. Or car crash victims. Or those who have have heinous crimes committed against them. Some spend their lives trying to reacclimate to society while living in the personal hell of their mind forever scarred by the travesty they had just experienced. There are various degrees of horror on the PTSD spectrum, none of them are fun. Without help, sufferers may remain in a state of disorder for a very long time.

Some women have been known to experience Postpartum Disorders. PPD happens after giving birth. These new mothers can have mood swings, grumpiness, or full blown depression. It should go away on its own but, in persistent cases, therapy is required.

Most of the Post Disorders are caused in similar fashion. First, there was an event. Second, stress hormones were released. Third, body chemistry was thrown out of balance. Symptoms arise as a result of imbalanced chemistry as order is attempted to be restored.

Shortly after I did IMLP 2012, I diagnosed myself (because, as a guy, I don't normally go to the doctor), with a new Post Disorder that I'm pretty sure exists but no one has done the research yet. I named my disorder "Post Ironman Stress Syndrome." That's right, I was PISSy. My PISSy-ness helps explain the lag in posts during the month of August. But there's more to the story.

Being PISSy is not fun for you or for those around you. Symptoms include, but are not limited to:

• Lack of desire to remove yourself from the couch
• Penchant to watching bad movies
• Sleeping more than normal
• Overdeveloped desire to eat more than your activity level
• No motivation to exercise
• Urge to blow off normal household chores
• Neglecting or half-assing your blogging responsibilities
• Basically, you have gone from Ironman to what you perceive is the average person

After my PISSy self-diagnosis, my August starts to make perfect sense. In late July, I had an event, I.E. less than stellar IM performance (worst of my lifetime). This crushed the dream that I spent 10 months working towards. To say that I was stressed over the lack of performance would be quite accurate.

This emotional stress was compounded by the physical damage of an Ironman. You muscle tissues are shredded from the effort and distance alone. Then, I learned that the cramp I experienced during the IM run was an actual injury that took more than a week to subside.

My stress was worsened when I realized that for the first time in 6 years, I did not sign up for IMLP. As of this moment, my 2013 calendar is IM free and I am struggling to cope with that reality- which was slowly slipping away from me. IMLP fills up in a matter of minutes so I can't change my mind even if I wanted to.

When you are sore and hurt, what else do you do in your free time? If you're anything like me, you sit on the couch and watch bad movies. This position and activity lends itself to napping and snacking. Before the race, I was eating on par with my exercise. My stomach didn't get the memo that it was time to back off. I gained weight. I never actually want to do chores. As for the blog half-assing... that speaks for itself.

Luckily for me and my loved ones, I have found the cure. Should you find yourself in a PISSy situation, here's what you need to do.

Part 1- Watch this semi-NSFW video (turn down the volume if you're at work or in the presence of innocent/ judging ears).

Part 2- Go for a swim, bike and/ or run. Force it. You don't need to go hard. You just need to go.

Part 3- Sign up for races. Nothing cures PISSy-ness like spending money on sport.

I did all of these and I am seemingly cured. Since my condition, I have done 3 races (race reports soon to follow) and I signed up for a half-distance event in late September. I am training again. Losing weight. I have a plan for a 2013 IM.  I have focus. (Jury's still out on the blog.) I am no longer PISSy.

As with most Post ___ Disorders, PISSy can take over your life if left untreated. Everyone will know you as the PISSy guy/ gal. They'll avoid you as who wants to socialize with someone who is PISSy. They'll say things behind you back that they think you cannot hear, like, "Don't mess with him/ her, they're PISSy." Of course, these acts will only make your syndrome worse. You could slip into a state of depression. Then, you'd be PISS'D. And no one wants that.

The Art of Delivering a Hoot and Holler

I'm a big fan of the Hoot and Holler. I relish in them and they have never failed to provide inspiration for a better performance. I am, for the most part, on the receiving end of the H&H. This is really because I lack the confidence to hand them out. The problem is that there are no cues as to who likes the H&H and who hates them. I know that there are people out there who don't appreciate being yelled at by perfect strangers in the middle of a workout.

The Set-up
I went out for a 7 mile tempo run. My goal for the run was a 7:30 per mile pace or better. I may have been over-reaching a bit as it was morning (I am not a morning runner), I had not taken in many calories (I normally eat breakfast), and I am a pansy (I am a pansy).

By mile 4, I was feeling better than expected and about 30 seconds faster than my goal time for that mark. Mile 5 led me down into a ravine, upping my lead on the virtual pace guy by more than a minute. But, as Sir Issac Newton (who was a triathlete, in case you didn't know) pointed out, what goes up must come down. Or, in this situation, what goes down must go up. At the end of mile 5, I had to climb out of that ravine.

The uphill is roughly 0.35 miles long at about a 10% grade. It's a beast. I can count on the hill itself to sap at least a minute off my average pace. But, as I said, I was feeling good and I was ahead of schedule. My confidence levels were rather high.

The Delivery

About half way up the hill, I spy this woman trudging up the hill in the same direction. Don't ask me many details about her as I don't normally pay attention to such things. Granted, I did happen to notice that she was in her upper 20s to lower 30s. She was about 5'6 and had wavy black hair pulled back into a pony tail. It wagged left and right with her neutrally-pronated gait. She sported a red, short sleeved Under Armor shirt and black arm warmers. Her lower half featured black Reebok spandex-style shorts with about an 8" inseam. Her white ankle height socks disappeared into white and blue Saucony running shoes. As I neared to about 50 yards away, she glanced at her watch, which was mounted on the inside of her left arm. I have absolutely no idea what kind of watch. As I told you, I do not have a good eye for details.

Shortly after glancing her watch, I heard a familiar beep as she hit a button and came to a walk. This was one tough hill. It can eat you up, spit you out, and laugh in your face. I have felt this agony before. Not today. I was tackling this hill with efficiency and verve. I didn't want this woman to be defeated. My brain rummaged for the perfect choice of words. Here's a brief mental list of my options:

-Get your @$$ moving
-You start running now
-There's no walking in running
-Suck it up and run
-You can do it (in my Rob Schneider from 'Waterboy' voice)

I picked one and went with it. I took a deep breath and handed out my H&H, "HEY, YOU GOT THIS!"

She turned her head and finally noticed me running up the hill behind her. Her shoulders rose, the watch beeped again, and she resumed running.

I finally passed her about 80 yards from the crest of the hill. She glanced in my direction. I gave a nice smile coupled with a, "Nice work. You look great." She smiled back and replied, " Thanks <cough cough> You too." I made the pass and we both kept running.

So there you have it. A well timed, well placed H&H was more powerful than that killer of a hill. It might also be proof of the elusive female-ego gene.

P.S. My pace for the tempo run was 7:28. Good run indeed.