Live Long and Prosper

Happy Birthday to Leonard Nimoy! He's 82 years old today.

Everyone knows that Nimoy is the world's greatest actor and singer, and that he set all of his athletic records without ever using steroids. I'd imagine that he also speaks multiple languages, has mastered jeet kune do, and can solve a Rubik's Cube in 17 seconds flat. But what you may not know is that Mr. Nimoy's Star Trek performance was the single greatest influence in developing my lifelong love of logic.

I even had a Spock haircut in the 8th Grade. (I'll try to find a photo of that and post it in a future blog. You've been warned.)

Of course, I remember that haircut as being something I requested to show my affection for all things Vulcan. But it's possible that I received that particular style because my dad was my barber, and only knew how to do the bowl cut. Oh well, either way, it was a good fashion statement.

I did actually go to a real barber a few times as a kid. I remember the smell of that blue disinfectant they kept the combs in, and the strange hierarchy that meant a poorer haircut the further down the line your chair was. It was the era of the ubiquitous crew cut, though, so I always wondered how it mattered which guy ran the clippers over your head. And for Landru's sake, what was the point of Brylcreem?

But Spock made sense. And I found myself embracing the beauty of living a logical life. Oh sure...I also understood that it was Kirk's human passion that allowed him to score with all the chicks, and that there was value in emotions such as empathy, love, and compassion. But the only things you could really count on for consistency and balance were science, math, and logic.

I even wrote a joke about Spock's demise in "Wrath of Khan"; What did Kirk tell Spock to do when he was glowing with radiation? Live long and phosphor! Ar ar.

Anyway, in honor of LN's birthday, please give the honored Vulcan split-finger salute to someone you care about today. And let a little of your own green blood influence your decisions as you go about your daily activities. Write your Congressmen and remind them that emotions should be fortified with actual data and logic. If you can let Mr. Nimoy's spirit guide you to find that middle ground between Herbert and the Space Hippies, the odds of having a great day are 12,432.7 to one.

Happy birthday, Leonard!

Highlands Ranch Swim Meet

For people who complain about having to get wet to start their workouts, swimmers are an amazingly hearty breed when it comes to braving the winter elements to get to a meet. The roads were a mess Saturday morning, and the snow was coming down with gusto...yet almost all of the registered competitors showed up at the Highlands Ranch Masters Swim Meet bright and early Saturday morning.

I was still a bit tired from running the Green Mountain trail on Friday. That had been an excellent run on a surprisingly pleasant morning, but it did leave me with un-springy legs for Saturday's swimming. No big deal; I had no delusions of achieving any speed at this meet.

And since I won't be tapering before the State Meet in two weeks, I don't expect to go any faster there. Why? Because with the marathon rapidly approaching, I just can't afford to back off on my training. Swim meets for me this year are about having fun with my friends and teammates...not about setting any personal records.

Perhaps when I change age groups...

Anyway, the HR pool is a nice one, with a continuous warmup lane, a diving well, and a hot tub. (Well, OK, it's a "lukewarm" tub, but at least there was a place to restore your body heat after your races.) The problem was that you could lose 20 degrees of your heat just by looking out the window -- the snow continued to pile up throughout the meet.

The fellow in the picture here sat motionless the entire time I was in the building. Kinda creeped me out at first, but I got used to him by the time the meet was over.

I swam about as I expected. Didn't feel great -- didn't feel horrible. Paced things fairly well, but am still having a problem adjusting to the fact that I'm just not as fast as I was in high school. Oh well.

I was able to take a few photos. This dude is the 68-year-old phenom Richard Abrahams. He and I had another grudge match scheduled in the 200 freestyle, but he was on the other side of the pool and I couldn't even see if he showed up for the event, much less whether he beat me or not. I'll have to check out the results once they're posted.

I had three different events that were moved up a heat because they combined us with the women to save time. I don't object to that at all, but when you think you have time for one more potty stop, and suddenly hear that they're calling your name to get you to the blocks, well -- it messes with your focus. I doubt that swimming in the heats as scheduled would make any difference in my race times, but it was just a tad bit more embarrassing to be lapped in the 200 fly heat by both a man AND a woman. Oh well. The way I look at it is that since there were only two males in the race, I can tell my friends that I took second place while he was next-to-last.

My favorite photo is the one I'll leave you with. If they gave points for style, Mike would definitely win the gold.

Anyway, since it's proposal crunch time, I'll have to put in extra hours at the office this week. I apologize for the ongoing lack of bloggery. Next week should be better. In the meantime, enjoy all those lovely white flakes of global warming, and have a great day!

π

I'm usually not that observant when I walk into the rec center in the morning. On days when I run first, I'm already tired and sweaty...and my glasses tend to be fogged up. On days when I don't run, well...I probably just woke up and am not yet firing on all cylinders. Either way, at that time of day I'm certainly not exhibiting Adrian Monk-like powers of observation.

But I'm coming up on 10 years of coaching the Masters Swim Team at the Ridge, so the details of my walk from the entry to the locker room are pretty well ingrained in my subconscious. I may not consciously notice anything, but if something is out of place, some primal awareness reflex gets triggered.

This morning, there was a small table set up beside the current pool. It held a pile of styrofoam plates and a large cake knife. My first thought was that the Political Correctness Police would probably get someone suspended for displaying an edged weapon in public. My second thought was that somebody forgot to clean up after a party. My third thought (which came to me after I recognized that the plates and knife were sparkling clean) was that somebody was setting up for a party to be held later.

It's an odd place for a food table, though. The party room is only about 20 feet away...so why wouldn't the table have been in there?

Such thoughts are too complex for my feeble mind to fully process at 5:30 in the morning, so once I had convinced myself that the cake knife was unlikely to have been placed there by Jason or Freddy (or any other mad movie slasher), I continued on into the locker room and forgot about it.

But then, about halfway through swim practice, Cody (the Head Lifeguard) dropped by and said, "Hey guy...there's pie!"

"Why pie?," said I.

He winked his eye. "I'll tell you why...if you'll drop by the pie supply when you are dry. Goodbye."

"I'll try."

It turns out that today is "Pie Day." I suppose the government could designate any day it wanted to be a celebration of slicable cylindrical pastries, but this one makes perfect sense. The date is 3-14. Get it?

Cody had generously purchased a bunch of pies for the regular patrons, and had set it up near the current pool for the convenience of the water walkers. A very nice gesture; it's no wonder he's the most popular lifeguard.

So, will I consume a hunk of pie today? Perhaps. Perhaps. I didn't have one after swim practice -- he had no chocolate, no Reeses, and no ice cream-based pies at all. But the day is young and there's a Village Inn a stone's throw from my office. We'll see.

In any case, I hope you'll have the most delightful and filling (get it?) pie day ever!

Memories

I can't even remember the last time I needed an alarm clock to wake up. On days I'm not coaching, I don't even set an alarm, and usually wake up in time to get in a short run before swim practice. And the time change (which seems pretty silly to me, anyway) has never required a huge adjustment.

But I know that some people are unable to wake up without a violent external stimulus. My son, for example, requires the equivalent of Yoko Ono shrieking played at jet engine decibel level if you expect him to get out of bed before noon. My upstairs neighbor's alarm buzzer rattles the commemorative Star Trek glasses (from Burger King) in my kitchen cupboard. If you also happen to be like that, well, you might want to take advantage of one of the cell phone apps that wake you with your favorite motivational messages.

Whatever works. As long as you get to swim practice on time. That's the important thing, right?

On an entirely different topic, I was recently contacted by the great granddaughter of my great granduncle (or something), who was interested in our family's genealogy. She has done extensive research, but was missing a few connections that I had managed to find. She also wondered if I had any photographs of some of our common ancestors. I told her I thought I did.

My dad had given me an old steamer trunk full of sepia photos, some of which are from the late 1800s. I also inherited my great aunt's collection of 35mm slide carousels. They've been sitting in storage for several years now, but this weekend, I got them out and began the thrilling process of discovery!



The first challenge was to dig my slide projector out of its moving box at the bottom of a large pile of other moving boxes. (Yes, there are many cartons that have not been touched once since I moved into this place four years ago. I recognize that I need to do some serious sorting and purging, but until I win the Lotto, my free time for such activities remains in short supply.)

The second challenge was that the carousels were not compatible with my projector. This means that I have to physically pull each slide from Aunt LaVon's tray and insert it into one of my own. Tedious, but not particularly difficult.

So far, I've been through a tray and a half. The first one was 80 slides of a 1968 circus performance. There were lion tamers, trapeze artists, elephants, and some random spangle-garbed performers standing around waiting to jump in the ring. Not one single shot of any of my relatives.

(Well, unless one of them was a tightrope walker or something. But I don't think that's the case.)

The 2nd tray contained shots from a 1969 trip to Colorado. Aunt Von and her husband Virg lived in the godforsaken wastelands of Bartlesville, Oklahoma, so I'm sure they were greatly impressed and inspired by the majesty of the Rockies...but I get to look out my window every single day and see stuff that's totally as spectacular as what they photographed. And again, there was not a single shot of any family members.

I'm guessing that I won't find anything of great interest anywhere in these boxes. They're all labeled (which is nice), but appear to all contain various vacations -- which means that I'm in for several hours of clicking through landscapes, city streets, and non-Oklahoman statuary, etc. Yawn.

Oh well. I dug them out and got the projector set up. Might as well see it through. If I unearth anything interesting, I'll share it here. But if you find me snoring with my head on my desk because I stayed up too late screening snapshots of limestone caves and zoo critters, just let me sleep, OK? Thanks, and have a great day!

Gadgets

The Jetsons may have possessed levitated dog-walking treadmills, cushy jobs in automated cog factories, and genetic advancements that allowed two redheads to give birth to blond children...but I'm not sure their lives were any better than ours. After all, their house was monitored by a horrifying robot scullery drone, their pet was as annoying as Scooby-Doo (but without any mystery-solving abilities), and their son was beaten up at school every day for having the misfortune of being named "Elroy."

Our society, on the other hand, has grocery aisles full of Easter candy shortly after New Years, videos of girls playing VanHalen solos, and all sorts of electronic training aids for data-starved athletes.

My friends and training role models Kim and Rich recently acquired the Garmin Swim training tool, which uses an accelerometer to measure your yardage in a pool workout. Since GPS devices don't get a signal within a building enclosure, several vendors have developed these doodads, which are supposed to sense your wrist movements and deduce what stroke you're swimming. A sudden change in direction is interpreted as the completion of a length of the pool.

The device pictured here is the Finis SwimSense.After reading comparisons of the Finis to the Garmin, it appeared that they both did the same thing about equally well. The Finis, though, was supposed to detect idle time (standing at the wall), while the Garmin required you to hit the button if you didn't want the rest period to be included in your swim time. That was enough to sway me toward the Swimsense.

I've used it at a couple of workouts now, and it does seem to detect my strokes and lengths reasonably well. But as with any technological tool, the biggest problem is the operator. Since your arm doesn't have interpretable accelerations during kick and drill sets, you're supposed to pause the watch when you do those things. This is tough enough to remember, but the part I've really struggled with is remembering to un-pause it when the swim sets start back up. So far, I have managed to accurately record my warmups...and that's about it.

New habits must be developed. Oh, I'm sure I'll be able to master the pause/unpause mindset eventually, but it's going to take a while. I've been doing the same thing for too many years to break out of my old routines easily. And it's not just when the set starts and ends -- as coach, I have to remember that my accelerometer doesn't know how to interpret my movements when I stop to yell at the slackers who aren't streamlining off the walls or doing two-hand touches on their butterfly. (I don't want to take time out from my own workout to harrass people, but it's my job. And if that requires pausing my watch, well, so be it.)

After I'm figured out the online tracking software, I'll share my thoughts about it, and about whether I think such a gizmo is a valuable training aid...or merely a distracting toy. Stay tuned. In the meantime, have a great day!

Progress

When I was in grade school it was commonly accepted that by the year 2000, we would all have flying cars, robot servants, and handy nutrition capsules that would obviate the need for the tiresome chore of eating actual food.

I personally thought that there would also be world peace, racial harmony, and holy shrines in every city where Blue Öyster Cult had played -- but not everyone agreed with me on those points.

Flying cars, though? Absolutely!

Hmm. I guess we didn't quite fulfill all those promises. Yet. But there have been amazing technological advances. We have online shoe shopping, ubiquitous mobile communicators (though they still don't make that cool tribble noise like Cap'n Kirk's did when he flipped it open to call Scotty for help), and the ability to summon up every movie, book, or song ever made about Godzilla...with a few mere taps upon your computer keyboard. Amazing stuff.

So why the heck haven't they figured out how to put new products into packages that can actually be opened by humans?

Oh, sure, I'd expect to need tools to help me open up a pallette full of Mars Rover parts, or perhaps a well-cusioned crate of fragile Deinonychus fossils. But a toothbrush? A toothbrush?

I want to make it clear that I'm not complaining about receiving a free brush from my dentist. While it's probably not adequate compensation for suffering through having my teeth cleaned with dungeonmaster-approved torture devices, I am certainly happy to have it. But without tools, I couldn't open the stupid package!

Oh, I'm sure that every dental hygienist in the world carries a variety of knives and other sharp tools on their person at all times. But when it came time for me to open the package to refresh my mouth with a visit from my sparkly-clean new toothbrush, I discovered that I couldn't break into the darn thing.

I tried flexing and twisting the package, looking for an edge to peel, and even an ill-advised fingernail jab into the cardboard backing. Alas, though, it appeared that access would only be granted to folks who keep a chainsaw in their medicine cabinet.

Haven't they ever heard of "perforation"? Or perhaps an unglued corner with a "pull here to open" decal on it? Or maybe, just maybe, they could join the growing group of companies who recognize just how deeply and passionately their customers HATE that indestructible encapsulation plastic. What's wrong with a nice little baggie?

Oh well. I suppose in the future when we all have robo-housekeepers, we can just order those metallic domestics to use their R2D2 extensible sawblades to deal with egregious packaging. Until then, though, I guess I need to keep a pair of metal shears in the bathroom next to the talcum powder and Brylcreem. I feel more like a caveman than a Jetson. Sigh.

How about you? What inventions were you expecting to see when you arrived in 2013? What certainties did you hold as a child that remain unrealized? DeLorean time machines? Reese's peanut butter pizza? A Macauley Culkin remake of "It's a Wonderful Life?"

Let me know. In the meantime, we'll each do whatever it takes to maintain proper oral hygiene, right? Have a great day!

The Thrill of Victory

We'll get to the thrills in a moment. But first, let's talk about the Agony of the Feet.

I suspect that having a bit of a sadistic streak is a requirement for a good physical therapist. They must be able to strap you down to a table during a lightning storm and laugh maniacally as you scream while they twist and hammer and fold your fragile body into positions it has no desire to experience.



The good news is that I am seeing some additional range of motion in my long-suffering left ankle. The bad news is that it hurts. The treatments have included some horrendously deep poking and gouging to break up scar tissue, as well as various exercises that would make Jack LaLanne cry. But I'm making progress.

I'm not saying that I ever expect to run with the fluidity of a Jamaican...but there's hope that I'll be able to run without being mistaken for a botched laboratory experiment.

Anyway, I apologize for the focus difficulties in the photos below, but I forgot to set the camera to adequately deal with action shooting under low light conditions.

Though there were many excellent and exciting races in Sunday's swim meet at the Green Mountain Rec Center, I'm only going to describe my own two "This time, it's personal" grudge matches.

The first one was a head-to-head matchup against my younger brother in the 100 backstroke. He had taken a multi-decade sabbatical from swimming, so you'd think I'd have a large advantage. In freestyle, I probably do...but in our younger days, he was by far the better backstroker, and has been beating me in some backstroke workout sets. I was expecting it to be a close race.



I think he actually did swim faster than I did. But I had the advantage on the turns, and came out of each wall with a lead. But coming down to the finish, it was pretty close.



This was the last photo of the race, and the timers were only paying attention to their watches. In fact, as far as I could tell, NO ONE in the building could definitively say which one of us touched first.

Therefore, I am claiming the victory.

The other highly-anticipated grudge match of the day was the 50-meter Tazmanian Hula (aka "Taz".) In our last dual meet, Jim Murphy had finished ahead of me in a 25 Taz leg on a relay, and was salivating at the chance to dethrone me in the 50. As we stepped to the blocks, the crowd was buzzing with excitement!

The rules for Taz say that the toes must never be submerged, even on the starts and turns. (I'm on the right.)



The stroke may be performed with hands over your head or by your sides. The overhead method is generally faster, but creates difficulty in breathing, since your head tends to submerge. I do the "sides" method, while Mr. Murphy has mastered the art of the overhead. At the end of the first 25, he was slightly ahead.



But he muffed his turn, and tangled himself in the lane ropes. I couldn't see that he'd been left behind, so I continued cranking as hard as I could.



I finished with plenty of time to relax and savor my triumph before he finally came floating into the wall. My time (1:06+) wasn't anywhere near my World Record, but I have more-or-less come to accept that such speed has vanished along with my youth. Sigh.



Still, with two wins in two important grudge matches, I am satisfied with the day. I also completed another legal 200 butterfly, a 400 that felt pretty good, and a couple of moderately hard 200s of freestyle. I didn't put in nearly enough yardage to account for the calories consumed at the potluck luncheon, but it's simply not realistic to expect to achieve caloric balance at an event like this. It was great to catch up with old friends, and to have a chance to get to know my new friends better, as well. If you missed this meet, you should definitely come to the next one.

In the meantime, keep working on your Taz (and other strokes, too, I guess), and have a great day!

Sidestroke Injury

Another action packed weekend -- full of excitement, drama, and no-so-pleasant reminders of Time's relentless march.

I won't bore you with the entire weekend's activities, for it was replete with countless modest adventures...but I will share some of the noteworthy happenings that relate to the world of health and athletics.

I was not personally involved in the first incident I'll mention; but it hits close to home, nonetheless. One of the regulars at our gym suffered a heart attack immediately after finishing a racquetball game. One minute he was darting around, enjoying some friendly competition, and the next minute he was flat on his back receiving CPR. My buddy Kim grabbed the defibrillator and got his heart going again before the paramedics arrived. I don't have an updated status report, but because of the quick action of those on the scene, we're hoping he'll be OK.

This is a guy who exercises regularly, and I'm guessing is several years younger than me. It's a shock to think of him being vulnerable. But I guess we all are. There are just SO many factors that influence our health.

It reminds me of dictum I learned back in my motorcycle gang days. At a refreshment stop during one of our rides, another patron took the opportunity to share his personal story between bites of ice cream. "Always check your chain," he said, "always check your chain." Then he told us a long and rambling story (I'm not completely certain he was sober) about the consequences of having an unlubricated chain seize up during a ride.

After sharing his tale, the somewhat wobbly gentleman finished his cone and walked away in the general direction of our motorcycles. About halfway there, he turned back dramatically and said it one more time. "Dudes, seriously, always check your chain." Then he turned to inspect our machines, and after a moment of befuddlement shook his head and muttered. "Oh...drive shafts."

It's OK, citizen. Despite the fact that none of the folks in my group even had a chain, we still could appreciate the metaphorical applications of his aphorism. It could be applied to many areas of life--and he had delivered the message with such gravitas that my buddies and I were unlikely to forget his warning.

Anyway, I just hope that Ron makes a full recovery and is back on the court soon.

As for me, well, my ankle rehab efforts continue. I ran Waterton canyon on Saturday, and continued to work on trying to get my foot to roll naturally--trying very hard to run like a normal person. I wasn't entirely successful, but at least I made it up to the Water Department barn and back.

I had just enough time to get home and take a shower before the refinancing closer/notary showed up. I signed a billion and a half stupid government forms, agreed to pay silly and outrageous "processing" fees, and finally was told that I am now deeply in debt to a brand new lender...and in return am able to make a slightly smaller payment each month. Whoo hoo!

Yeah, I know that my loan interest rates have nothing to do with health and athletics...or do they? By making a smaller payment, perhaps I'll be able to afford new running shoes, or maybe even one of those lap-counter swim watches. Such things would definitely enhance my fitness and longevity. Right?

Well, we'll see. On Sunday, we had our dual meet with the Dawgs at the Green Mountain Rec Center. Since I've blathered so much already, I think I'll save the detailed meet description for a later post. For now, though, I'll just explain the title of this entry.

In fun meets such as this one, I enjoy swimming some alternative events -- such as the 50 sidestroke. Normally, I'm a pretty good sidestroker (I tend to excel at the weird stuff), but wasn't really in a groove on this one. When I came out of turn, I was too close to the side wall and scissor-kicked the rough concrete surface. This scraped a dime-sized patch of skin off the top of my right foot, and disrupted my rhythm for a second. I managed to finish the race, and (being the stoic, manly macho he-man that I am), hardly complained about my injury at all throughout the rest of the meet. In fact, I wouldn't have even mentioned it today, except for the fact that I may use the injury as an excuse not to do a track workout with my brother tomorrow and needed to establish the incident as a point of credibility. I would take a photo of the hideous wound, but this is a family blog and I don't want anyone passing out from its ghastliness.

In upcoming entries, I'll tell you about the magnificent grudge match I had with Jim Murphy in the 50 Taz. I'll share other details about the meet and its social aspects, as well. And then at some point, I intend to comment briefly on the Academy Awards...so there's plenty of entertaining stuff coming in the days ahead. Stay tuned!

As always, thank you for your patronage. Have a great day!