Sweat

Most mornings, you just don't want to wait until 5:30am to start your morning workout. Seriously, what kind of lazy slackers have the time to hang around waiting for the gym to open up at such a late hour?

That's why I belong to 24-Hour Fitness. I usually get there around 4:30 or so, and feel guilty that so many others have arrived before I did. At that time, I'd guess there are about 30 people already working out...but there will definitely be weight machines and open treadmills available. It's pretty sweet.

For the next month or so, the closest club to my home (the Kipling and Bowles gym) is being remodeled. This is mostly a good thing (some of the floor areas are kinda grungy), but it does create some challenges. The swimming pool (pictured above) is closed...but that doesn't bother me too much, since I can swim at the far nicer pool over at the Ridge. And though I do sometimes try to relax in the jacuzzi after a good workout, I can certainly live without it. (It's not really all that hot, anyway.) But when they shut down the shower area as they did this week, well -- that requires some modification to my routines.

Not every day, though. On the days I swim with the Foothills Masters Team, I don't mind leaving the gym in my sweaty workout clothes when it's time to head to the pool. But on the days I go directly from the gym to the office, I prefer to shower, apply deoderant, and put on clean clothes before settling in among my coworkers. Having no operational shower facilities at the gym definitely forces me to make alternative plans.

What, exactly, will I do? I don't know. I might just try to swim every day -- so I can shower at the Ridge after practice. After all, I could still get in some good weight workouts (or running, etc) if I just got out of bed a little earlier. If I started at 4:00 instead of 4:30am, that would work. I can probably hit the hay a bit earlier each night, right?

The "swim practice every day" approach would be a more appealing idea if the Ridge had consistently hot water in the showers, and if the shower heads weren't those incredibly stupid "low-flow" nozzles that make you stand there three times as long (using twice the water) because the spray doesn't have enough power to rinse you off.

Lordy, I hope the 24-Hr remodeling project doesn't include plans for any @#! "green" improvements. I hadn't thought of that possibility until right now. I was just hoping for tile that didn't have fungus on it, and perhaps room for a couple more treadmills to accomodate all the latecomers who arrive at 5:30 or so. But rather than functional improvements, we'll probably just see a bunch of new motivational posters on the wall. (Sigh.)

Oh well, it's still something to look forward to. Have a great day, and I'll see you at the gym!

What's Snew?

I've been a wimp lately.

All it has taken is a little bit of snow and ice (or perhaps just a below-freezing temperature) to get me to skip running and glue my buttocks to the couch. I know I have a marathon to train for, but I have had a really difficult time in convincing myself that any sort of discomfort might be manageable in my pursuit of that goal.

I don't want to be cold, don't want to run in snow, and certainly don't want to risk slipping on any ice. Sure, you can spin it to say that I'm merely being prudent and condition-conscious, but the truth is: I'm being a wimp.

So, after staying indoors again on Saturday (which actually had some pretty pleasant weather, in parts), I made the commitment that I was going to run outdoors on Sunday, no matter what the conditions. It's been a while since I had run in Waterton Canyon, so that was my target exercise venue.

I took too long getting ready, so I didn't have all that much time for running by the time I got started. I wore running tights and a pair of nylon sweatpants, two shirts, a jacket and a windbreaker, gloves and a stocking cap. I debated whether to wear glasses, but as hard as it was snowing, I figured they'd just get splotchy, so I went with naked eyeballs. I dug out my heavy-duty "snowball fight" gloves, a face & throat cover wrap, and an extra fleece ear warmer, just in case. But I didn't need any of those things.

In fact, after a mile of running through the deep snow, I began to overheat. I took off the stocking cap and gloves and stuffed them in my pocket. I probably could've shed the jacket, too, but didn't want to hassle with carrying it. I was plenty warm for the rest of the run.

Mine were the first footprints in the canyon. The footing was fabulous -- the fresh snow was deep enough to provide a lovely cusion for each footfall, but shallow enough that my stride didn't need to be modified. It was slow going, though, and the blowing snow and ice would occasionally become an irritant, but overall it was a delightful run. The beautiful white blanket enhanced the loveliness of the canyon, and the sounds of the creek water dancing among icy riverbed chunks had a musical quality that made the run a serene aesthetic experience.

A couple of miles in, I had a mild panic attack as I thought about how alone I really was out there. I wasn't sure any other humans would pass by until after the storm had moved on, and I was conscious of the fact that recent winter weather may have made food scarce for pumas, yeti, and whatever other carnivores might live within the canyon walls. I started to think I could feel lions and tigers and bears eyeballing me from within the bushes.

But then a Water Department truck drove by -- so I was able to curb my imagination, and quickly resumed my bliss in the sensory experience of the snowstorm canyon run.

I turned around as I approached the 3-mile dam, and picked up the pace a bit to ensure that I'd make it to the Ridge in time for swim practice. There were times I had to squint a bit to keep my eyeballs from being hit by flying snow and ice crystals, but I still didn't need the hat or gloves.

With about a half mile to go, I finally saw some human beings. Three other runners passed by, and we all exchanged cheery greetings, taking comfort in knowing that there are other people just as crazy. I wondered if they would continue on past where my footprints looped around; probably. But I bet none of them would follow it up with a 5000+ yard swim workout.

Anyway, it was good to finally break through that cold-snow mental block my training had stalled against. Now the question is whether I can keep up the outdoor activities regardless what weather follows this last storm.

I hope I can. It's nice to know, though, that the solstice in less than a month away. A few more hours of daylight will surely help. And of course, you -- my friends and inspiring training pals -- can help, with your usual encouragement and support. I'd really like to take the weekend's momentum into the rest of the week, and turn my life into a no-wimp zone.

Wish me luck, and have a great day!

SFX

Do you ever think about how certain sounds are indelibly associated with certain events?

For example, the sound of a theramin automatically makes you think of spooks or creepy space aliens, and the sound of a bassoon instantly sends your imagination off to the fertile fields of Green Acres. For many of us, it only takes one timpani beat to get us started singing "George of the Jungle", and one rude outburst of apocalyptic flatulence to evoke memories of my college roommate.

I recently discovered a new radio station in town -- Comedy 103.1. All they play is standup comedy, so I occasionally tune in to find out why women are different than men, and which politicians are responsible for Global Warming. They broadcast out of the hinterlands (Greeley, I think), so I don't get very good reception. But I occasionally hear a joke or two that makes me laugh. (Example: Stephen Wright -- "When I was a kid, we had a quicksand box. I was an only child. Eventually.")

Listening to one-liners made me wonder which drummer first associated the rimshot with the punchline of a bad joke. Because of this nameless fellow, everyone who listens to standup knows when you're supposed to laugh. Heck, you don't have to be in a club, and you don't even need a drum to punctuate your efforts at humor. (Pah dum bum!)

I find it sad that someone who influenced our culture so dramatically remains forever obscure, while people who have made no contributions whatsoever wind up becoming well-known just because they sing for U2 or vote in Congress. Sheesh.

Can you think of other such examples? What about the guy who decided that doorbells should go "Bing bong"? Or that grown-up characters on Peanuts cartoons would sound like wah-wah muted trombones?

Well, OK--It probably is possible to discover who made that call. It might even have been Vince Guaraldi, himself. And I'm sure someone could tell us who came up with the Whooop Whooop red alert sound on the Starship Enterprise. But what about the wolf whistle? Who invented that distinctive melody? And who decided that banjo music must automatically denote the presence of inbred hillbillies breaking one or more Commandments? I just don't know.

Anyway, let me know if you think of any other culturally-shared audio cues whose origins are lost to history. Have fun with it, and have a great day!

Balance

Last Wednesday, I attended my first "climbing recertification" session at The Ridge. I had obtained my certification when the facility first opened, and had climbed the wall a few times with Tanner before he became too busy to hang out with his old man. But because so many years had passed, I was required to take the training again.

The instructor showed me how to put on a harness, tie into the rope, and use the belaying devices. The process is fairly straightforward, and I was ready to climb within a few minutes. But before I can just show up and ascend the wall during "free climb" times, I have to return for two additional certification checks before they'll pronounce me as safety trained. I'll take care of one of those checks tomorrow evening.

And then I have to talk some other certified climber into showing up when I do. One person climbs while the other person (the belayer) holds the rope that catches you if you fall off the wall. (The belayer also lowers you back down when you're finished climbing.)

If you're wondering why I'm getting involved in yet another sport when I already complain about my lack of free time, well, you wouldn't be alone. I'm a little puzzled, myself. But I've started the process, and we'll see where it goes.

I'm also committing to a program aimed at rehabilitating my uncooperative ankle. As most readers know, I broke my left ankle in a spectacular Water World accident a couple of decades ago, and have blamed some of my subsequent running struggles on my failure to regain my original range of motion. After being motionless in a cast for so long back then, my foot has remained stiff and inflexible -- but I'm finally going to try to fix that.

The physical therapist started by digging around to "break up the scar tissue" (also known as "make the patient scream"), and then assigned me a series of exercises to do. But the best-designed plans are still dependent on the disipline of the person responsible for execution, and my history of following doctor's orders does not inspire confidence. I am quite capable of undergoing pain and torture while I'm physically in the doctor's office -- but if you expect me to perform those same activities in the comfort of my living room, well...you may be disappointed.

But I am going to try. My running could improve drastically if I were to break through my flexibility and balance issues. And if running became easier, then I might actually do enough of it to lose weight and become fit. And then maybe I could have a social life that would be more interesting than dangling from a rope next to a racquetball court. (Sigh.)

OK, it's time to go do my exercises. Have a great day!

Fast Times

I had a fantastic weekend, but it was another example of how 2013 seems to be in "too much, too fast" mode. For a low-key, ultra-mellow guy like me, having so much going on can sometimes be a bit much.

Because there were so many activities, there is much I'm forced to leave out. But I'm sure everyone wants to hear about my trip to the dentist, right?

OK, maybe not. But the one noteworthy thing about that is they talked me into a new "fluoride lacquer" treatment. It made my mouth sticky and unpleasant for hours afterwards, like a coating of 6-week-old honey -- but it should further protect me from the Cavity Creeps.

Anyway, once I escaped from the land of drills, spit vacuums, and pointy metal tooth probes, I drove over to the emissions testing station, which is even less pleasant. While I do admire the cleverness with which the government extracts money from our pockets by promoting the idea of clean air, I seriously doubt that the hours wasted (and CO₂ expended within the tests, etc) provide an overall benefit to the world. It would be interesting to see statistics on how many cars are rendered less polluting for having gone through this testing. (My guess is: Not Many.)

As the dentist had done a bit earlier, the emissions folks eventually pronounced me free to go, and I embarked upon my next errand, which would take me over to the other side of town to take care of some financial paperwork. When I emerged from that appointment, I noticed that my gas cap door flap was wide open -- and the cap itself was missing!

How much pollution did that cause? Geez. The good news is that the emissions station DID still have the missing gas cap, and I was able to get it back in place before heading over to the car wash.

With teeth and car both clean and certified functional, I began to worry about how my legs would hold up in Saturday's "Snowman Stampede" 10-mile running race. I was confident that I could finish the distance, but I really wanted to test myself to see if I could hold a 10-minute per mile pace for the entire distance.

The race began at Hudson Gardens, and then went north to Dartmouth Street along the Platte River bike path (AKA the Mary Carter Greenway), and then returned along the same trail. It's a pleasant course, right by the river, with several areas where you can run on dirt or gravel rather than concrete sidewalk. There were also some interesting natural sculptures standing where where water from leaking pipes under bridges had created some impressive ice stalagmites.

People tell me it was windy, but I didn't pay much attention to that. I just ran as hard as I could, trying to stick with a few competitors who seemed to be holding a similar pace. We leapfrogged a bit, with me gaining an advantage by not stopping at aid stations...while my competitors had the advantage of being slightly better runners. It was good to have something to hold my focus, so I could ignore the fact that running is really hard, and not much fun.

I am very pleased with my overall time: 1:32:57. The astounding thing is that while I did fade on the back half, I was still able to hold every single mile under my target 10:00 pace, and even got a couple of them right around 9:00. Though I'm a LONG way from being in marathon shape, this race was a good confidence builder; not only was I able to run hard for 10 miles, but I also did it in relatively little pain, and was mostly uncrippled afterwards. I'm definitely making progress.

I know I promised you a summary of my belay certification class at the Ridge's climbing wall, but it will have to wait until later. I will also post links to official Stampede race photos once they become available (assuming I don't look too stupid in any of their pictures.) Until then, enjoy this lovely running weather, and have a great day!

Fairness

I'm not sure I've ever actually met anyone named Missy. But I do like the name (which I understand is usually a nickname for Melissa), and it seems like anyone who uses it would just have to be a cutie-pie. I also like the name "Misty" (and the Erroll Garner song), mainly because of Misty Rowe on Hee Haw.

Yes, I admit it -- I watched Hee Haw. All the time. You got a problem with that? (Hey, how could anyone not appreciate Roy Clark?)

Anyway, the point I'm trying to make is that almost all Americans would agree that things should be "fair"...but we seem to have two different ways of defining the word.

Some would argue that the result of fairness would be "equal opportunity for everyone." Others define that result as "equal outcome for everyone." The first definition carries with it the idea that while everyone has the same chance, some may achieve better results than others...and that's OK. The second implies that excellence and superiority should somehow be handicapped, so that everyone stays together at a lower level.

It's pretty easy to tell which way you lean on this one. Just answer this question: Should everyone who plays in a league get a trophy?

This topic came up because I heard about a girls' high school swim meet last weekend here in Colorado. Olympic Champion Missy Franklin lives here, and happens to be a high school girl. Therefore, she is eligible to compete in high school swim meets, and has chosen to do so. As you might expect, she tends to finish pretty far ahead of most of the other local gals who swim in these events.

Some of the meet attendees (for the most part, parents) complained about Missy being there. They argue that Olympians should not be allowed to compete in local competitions...primarily because it knocks all the other swimmers down a place. According to people I talked to, some of these folks were pretty vocal in their opposition to having the world's fastest woman whupping up on their poor defenseless daughters.

Well, boo hoo.

C'mon people! We should celebrate the fact that we have such a great swimmer in our midst. There's no shame in taking second place to an Olympic Champion. Heck, I'd be happy to get lapped in a 100 if I could say I swam in the same race with her! We should enjoy watching her swim, and be thankful that we can learn from the experience.

Perhaps I only feel this way because I was never in a position to win anything in high school swimming. (Well, OK, there was that one time I was seeded first in the 100 freestyle in our dual meet in Enid, Oklahoma. Unfortunately, I had to scratch because of the uncontrollable projectile vomiting I suffered after eating "the creeping crud" from the West High cafeteria. But that's a story for another time.)

I grew up in awe of both people with raw talent (Robin Messner, Mickey Canaday, Vernon Smith) and those blessed with the ability to work incredibly hard (Danny Robinson, Groovy Ben Wagoner, and the entire Smith family. Well, except for Daniel, who is a quaestor.) But because I never had a scholarship (or a championship) riding on my performance, I never felt anything but pure joy in being able to swim and compete. Sure, I got my butt kicked all the time, but I never resented the victors -- I just wanted to do whatever I could to become more like them.

So it bugs me when people gripe about wanting to make things more "fair." Rather than whining about those who succeed and wishing we could be handed what they have earned, we should instead be thankful we can compete in the same venues they do. We should seek out ways to become the best we can be, using whatever gifts we each have.

I know I'm never going to be as tall, talented, nor charismatic as Missy Franklin. But any time she wants to come swim in my lane and lap me 100 times, she'll be more than welcome.

Tomorrow: climbing. Have a great day!

(PS. Extra credit if you can tell me how the photo at the top of the page relates to the topic. Be excellent to each other. And party on, dudes!)

En voca cerrada, no entran moscas

Do you ever think about your historical legacy?

A few days ago, we talked about Sturgeon's Revelation -- and other timeless laws named after people who might not be remembered if they hadn't come up with a pithy way of encapsulating some sort of universal truth. So, for a nondescript fellow like myself who has stumbled through an admittedly modest career, and has remained unnoticed by both the athletic record books and the Billboard Top 40, it appears that if I want my name to be remembered, I'll have to come up with some outstanding aphorism.

Either that or finally get the Christmas song I wrote recorded. (Tanner volunteered to have Tellescope capture it...but I haven't sent it to him yet. Perhaps this sort of habitual sloth explains why my career path hasn't resembled Richard Branson's or Jethro Bodine's.) Even crummy Christmas songs make an appearance once a year forever.

I guess there's still a chance that the concept of "Chunks and Stacks" will catch on across the nation for Masters workout groups. But it's not like my name is forever attached to the concept. I should have called them the "Heggy count" and "Heggy distance," similar to how they named the Davis Mile and the Brierton Set. Oh well. If I ever come up with anything else creative, I'll try to remember this principle.

Anyway, what got me thinking about this is the fact that the first two months of this year have FLOWN by...which got me thinking about pithy sayings that summarize such a phenomenon:

Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana.

Or...we're all just dust in the wind, Dude.

The title of this post is a saying my 4th grade Spanish teacher had hanging on the wall. I've always liked that one. And someday, in one of my novels, I'm going to feature a seedy, verbose character named Moscavoca. (I also plan to have a disruptive female character named Tempest Fugit.)

Of course, I need to write stories in order to use these gems, and I don't seem to be able to get that done while I still have to work for a living. It's definitely a Catch 22 (which happens to be a phrase that will keep Heller's name immortalized, right?)

The point is that I need to get serious about my marathon training. Like sands in an hourglass, the days of February are dripping away. So I've decided to run the Snowman Stampede on Saturday. It's a 10-miler along the Platte, starting at Hudson Gardens. I enjoy that course, and it should be fun. I'll share my observations next week.

In the meantime, please share your favorite timeless sayings with me, so I can share them with other readers. And have a great day!

Taxes

As everyone knows, I am a very mellow guy. I help old ladies across the street, take in and feed stray kittens, and would never enact violence upon anyone. (Well, OK, I guess there was that one time.)

But I do get upset whenever I think about taxes, and would probably get great satisfaction from punching the guy that wrote the tax code. What a maroon!

You know, though -- the more I think about it, the more I suspect that the code was not written by a single dude. Not even Tolstoy could write something that convoluted and nonsensical. I bet it was cobbled together by those million typewriter monkeys that statisticians are always trying to blame for Shakespeare. In any case, preparing my tax returns is always a source of great frustration and colorful language directed at the folks in Washington who are supposed to represent us.

Don't worry -- I do not intend to turn this blog into a political bandstand, and I shall try to restrict my ranting to topical subjects of widespread interest. But because it is now tax season, I must urge you all to join me in doing a better job in choosing our next round of elected officials. We need to find people who understand that they MUST cut spending, simplify the stuff (such as the tax code) that is uselessly complex, and STOP TAKING AWAY OUR FREEDOMS!

We are capable of making our own decisions, thank you, and do not need the government telling us what to eat, drink, and listen to. I, for one, rather like the US Constitution, and really don't appreciate folks who want to nibble away at it. And I truly don't believe that anyone in Washington is better at running my life than I am.

Anyway, the point is that over the weekend I did somehow manage to claw my way through Form 1040 and its evil offspring, and have successfully fulfilled my federal and state funding obligations for one more year. It is a relief to have that particular task checked off my to-do list.

I also had a couple of good runs and a couple of good swims, and was able to successfully supress any hostile feelings that my tax-prep ordeal might have provoked. So, I guess it was a pretty good weekend.

But while our last quiz had nothing to do with taxes, it does (completely coincidentally) involve folks who are capable of engaging in violence. The quiz answer, of course, is "Craig."



The first panel features Batgirl, who is not only beautiful, but also adept at the manly arts of fisticuffs, kickboxing, and using the occasional noxious Bat-Spray as required. She's totally on the side of righteousness and apple pie, and has no problem with those guys named "Bruce" and "Dick" who have chosen to live together. Anyway, Batgirl fits our puzzle because she is portrayed by actress Yvonne Craig.

Panel 2 is the actor Craig Stevens, shown here in his role as Peter Gunn, a guy who occasionally shoots people (as his name would imply). His theme song might be the coolest TV detective song this side of Five-O.

The center panel features Craig Tucker, an animated fourth-grader from South Park. He's shown here in a scene from the episode where the boys procure ninja weapons and confront the evil Professor Chaos. There's some pretty good music here, too. But this particular Craig's real claim to fame comes when he travels to Peru to defeat the giant evil Guinea Pirate from Homeland Security. If you haven't seen it, you'll have to trust me -- there's some pretty high drama afoot in the Andes.

Next is, guess who? Yvonne Craig again, this time in her role as Marta, the green Orion slave girl who is totally hot, if a bit nutty. She's a minion of megalogmaniac shapeshifter Lord Garth, who wants to take over the Enterprise. Being associated with a bad boy like Garth would earn her enough violence points to be in our puzzle -- but she also tries to stab Captain Kirk (and the feeling is mutual, if you know what I mean), and then is involved in an unfortunate explosion. Does Garth take over the Starship and wreak havoc across the galaxy? I'll never tell.

And finally, we have Daniel Craig, who is best known for his recurring role as James Bond, Agent 007, with a license to kill. I suspect that the IRS (or whatever Her Majesty's equivalent service happens to be) would be quite content to let his returns go un-audited year after year.

And that's all I have for today. If anyone cares to rebut my position and send me a well-reasoned essay on why you LOVE to do your taxes, please do so. I look forward to hearing from you.

If not, that's OK, too. Either way, I hope you get a big refund...and have a great day!

Taking a Deep Breath

My recent proposal crunch has ended. We submitted the last of our documents last night, and I am in need of some serious recovery time.

I suppose any grueling task with deadlines takes a toll on a person, but there's something about the final push on government proposal projects that leaves me especially brain dead. There were several times yesterday when a co-worker's question would be met with a few seconds of a vacant stare...before my mind could engage to provide the answer. In the last days of a proposal push, I say "Uhhh" a LOT more than I normally do. There is significantly more incoherent muttering to no one in particular, and more silent prayers pleading for the generosity of whatever deities are in charge of Lotto drawings.

But despite the last week's corporate pressures, I awoke this morning feeling fine, and am looking forward to a few days of mental recovery before jumping into the next round of unreasonable deadlines. If I could just spend the day gazing out the window to watch the snow melt while the Crossfit athletes from across the street boogie up and down the sidewalk, I'd be well on the road back to mental health.

Yeah, yeah...I know that mental health is a relative term. But I don't consider my obsession with geekery to be an illness, merely a "charming personality trait." And speaking of things charming, let me offer a small quiz featuring one of the Star Trek Things I Wish Were Real.

(Perhaps I'll post the complete list tomorrow. Please stay tuned.)

What do the following people have in common? Good luck, and have a great day!