Wetsuits? WETSUITS? We don't need no stinking wetsuits!

No, that's not me, and no, there was no snow on the ground last Saturday when I finally took my first dip into the Chatfield gravel pond. (The hearty fellow in the picture is my friend, the amazing Cliff Crozier--leading open water enthusiast and limitless source of swimming inspiration.)

In addition to needing a membership with USMS (or one of the other sanctioned groups), everyone who swims at the Chatfield gravel pond is supposed to take a turn monitoring access during one of our designated swim times. As with the TSA, I think this process creates more problems than it solves, but since depletion of liberty seems to be an irreversible trend these days, I agreed to take my turn as beach gestapo for a day. I picked May 25th because I figured it was early enough in the season where it might still be cold enough to keep attendance low (making my job easier). I also figured that just 6 days after the Colfax race, I'd be OK with missing my morning of exercise if that's how the day turned out.

I showed up with my folding chair shortly after 7:00, to find people already lined up to get in. (Wetsuit people, mind you. The real swimmers hadn't yet arrived.) I also learned that this was the day for Elite Multisport's "informal triathlon" race, so there was a gathering crowd rhubarbing around a pile of very nice bicycles. Several of their group are my friends (including coach Susan Williams and several Foothills swimmers like Paige and Kelly and Haley), so it was fun to watch them prepare for their competition.

The monitoring duties were not too intense, even though my co-monitor had been stuck in traffic coming up from the Springs and arrived late. (Well OK, there was one pinhead who wanted to argue about the rules, saying over and over that he had gotten approval from "the Rangers"...but such claims cut no soap with the beach gestapo, dude. Go get your COMSA card!) Several non-neoprene swimmers eventually arrived, and did not hesitate to immerse themselves.

My buddies Rich and Reynold also swam as a supplement to their other exercise. Rich had already ridden Highgrade Road on his bike before arriving at the beach, and Reynold finished swimming and slapped on his shoes as soon as he was dry and took off for a run. I had originally thought that I'd do my monitoring gig, then sneak off homeward -- but these guys shamed me into at least sticking my toes in the water to see what I thought.

Well, what I thought was..."This is too stinking cold!"

The consensus among They Who Should Know Such Things was that the water temperature was between 58 and 60 degrees Fahrenheit. Both my brain and my feet agreed that such temperatures were below my threshold of wimpiness, and I was about to withdraw to dry land when a trio of non-wetsuited swimmers stroked into the shallows. "C'mon, Terry, you'll be fine!" they encouraged. "You'll be used to it halfway to the sandbar."

OK. OK. Whatever. I took a deep breath and plunged forward.

They were right, of course. There's that initial face-freeze that makes you think your head will implode, and that feeling that your toes are being assaulted by carnivorous cactus, and the screaming plea from your lungs to just shut down...but if you ignore all those things, you find that your arms work just fine and you can stroke out into the deep water with complete confidence. I was comfortable (not warm, mind you, but comfortable) long before I reached the sandbar.

It took forever to get there, though. One of the side effects of the cold (or perhaps the old age and astigmatism) was that I couldn't see the opposite shore very well. I thought I was navigating toward the double bush target at the far end of the pond, but suddenly found that I was about to crash into the shore on the west side of the sandbar (see arrow in photo). I have no idea how I managed to get so far off course in such a short time. I corrected, though, and swam much straighter once I got myself back on course.

I didn't set any records getting across the pond and back, but I did actually enjoy myself. There were only a couple of folks on the far side of the bar, so I didn't have to swim with that constant fear of collision that will dominate the swims later in the season. Just put the head down and enjoy the beauty of open water swimming. Ahhh!

I even thought about going back out a second time. But...no. I spent the rest of the day taking care of chores and stuff. I knew the next few days would be interesting. More about that later. But at least we've established that open water season is officially here. Put away your wetsuit, and get yourself out to the pond! Have a great day!

Beer

Yeah, I know. The Bolder Boulder has come and gone, and I still haven't finished my discussion of the race from May 19th. I've been busy at the office (working over the Memorial Day holiday, darn it), and have another proposal due the first week in June. But I'll try to catch up a little bit in the next couple of days. As always, I am immensely grateful that you continue to check in here, even though I'm such a slacker no-show.

Anyway, today's column contains valuable advice for event planners.

After all, I'm completely certain that race directors everywhere are just dying to hear my suggestions for how to improve their events. I am frequently told that there is nearly unanimous agreement across the globe that my opinions should always supersede traditional and commonly accepted beliefs about how things are done. Therefore, I shall humbly submit my observations on how to improve the Colfax Half-Marathon.

Suggestion one: Don't put fenced-off storage pens right by the finish line. It was really hard for spectators to watch their runners cross the line. (Yeah, I realize that this may have been a knee-jerk reaction to Boston, but it's still stupid.)



I do recognize that handling umpty-billion people is going to be a challenge, no matter what. And trust me, the post-race crowd for Colfax is HUGE. But I'm sure with some brainstorming applied, they could come up with a way to alleviate the bottleneck at the exit of the finish chute.

Of course, some of these challenges will be solved by technology. When everyone's personal GPS can report to a real-time street view on each spectator's smart phone, you'll know exactly when your friends and family members should emerge. This would keep the exit-chute greeter crowd from becoming stagnant.

I should know -- I was one of those obnoxious clogger monkeys myself. When I finished the race, I intended to find a good spot to shoot a finish photo for Kim...but when I found that I couldn't get close to the finish stretch without elbowing my way through oceans of other spectators, I returned to the finish chute exit to greet him there. But because I couldn't see the finish and had no idea when he would emerge, I ended up being in everyone else's way as they moved to greet their comrades.

Oh, and by the way, please don't bring your dogs to an event like this. It's just too crowded, and avoiding randomly moving leashes is a lot to ask of someone who just ran a long, hard race. Thank you.



For the most part, the vendor booths were fine. They were far enough from the finish area that traffic was able to flow reasonably well.



But then there was the beer garden and the BBQ food line.

A little background: Each race entry entitles the runner to one free beer and a BBQ sandwich & slaw after the race. There are little tabs on your bib number you tear off and present at the booth to redeem these perks. But because beer is a controlled substance, proof of age is required in addition to the bib tab. You can either bring your ID to the beer garden after the race, or you can present your ID at the pre-race expo and receive a wristband verifying that you are of legal drinking age.

I thought it would be easier to just get the wristband. That way, I wouldn't have to worry about carrying my driver's license during the race. And indeed, if those were the only factors to consider, my choice would make sense. But what I didn't think about was how much of a pain it would be to wear that stupid wristband from Friday afternoon through mid-morning on Sunday. It was itchy and annoying...and it was only good for ONE Michelob Ultra. I survived the ordeal by wearing a terrycloth tennis wristband over it, and though it did continue to bother me (especially while sleeping Saturday night), it did allow me to walk away with a cup full of rather bland beer.

Not worth it. At all. But my real complaint was with the organization of the beer tent itself. There were no organized lines -- just sort of a random mob pushing their way toward the suds jockeys. The keg handlers were filling the cups quickly enough, and it really didn't require a long wait in queue before I had the beer in hand. But that's when the design flaw became evident. There was no egress from the table.

Let me ask you this: What do you think will happen when a fellow (whose balance isn't great even when he hasn't just run hard for 2+ hours) tries to shove his way upstream through a one-way throng of tired and thirsty athletes trying to get their own beers? Major spillage, you say? Ah yes, Grasshopper; that would be correct.

My apologies to the anonymous folks whose shirts absorbed the slopover. All I can say from a consumer's perspective is that it's a good thing it wasn't a particularly tasty beverage; so it was no great loss. Anyway, the same sort of thing happened at the BBQ platter booth. Easy enough to get in; tough to get out without getting your buns smushed by somebody's errant elbow. Even when you're desperate for food after a race, it's just not the optimal experience if you have smushed buns.

And somewhere among all the jostling, I managed to lose my keychain charm thingy that was attached to the finisher's medal. I guess that was one of the "gifts" we received for finishing. I probably would've just stuck it in a drawer somewhere to be discovered and thrown away a few decades hence...but I still felt gypped that I didn't come home with it. Oh well. At least I have the medal itself. And the rich and rewarding experience of having competed.

Which brings me to a discussion I was planning to include here, but have now decided to defer until later; the discussion of my future in the sport of running. What other races do I want to do? How much training provides the right balance between my fitness goals and my slothful nature? Should I sign up for another half marathon? A triathlon? A double IronMan? Or should I dip my zero-drop shoes in bronze and build myself a little monument to the running years. There's no shame in being focused exclusively on swimming, is there?

But we'll talk about those things some other time. For now, I have other topics to catch up on. There's a Rockies game to tell you about, my first lake swim of the summer, a new cookie discovery, and my first 2013 ride up Highgrade Road, among other things. I hope to get to those topics very soon. In the meantime, have a great day!

Colfax Half Marathon

Yay! I finished! And I got a cool medal for my effort!

I woke up before 3am, and was feeling pretty good. I remembered to apply sunscreen and BodyGlide, and even remembered to find my bib-number belt and wristbands for my GPS and beer bracelet. I threw my camera into the fanny pack along with some gels and stingers, and headed off to pick up my buddy Kim. I was only a couple of minutes late arriving at his house. He hopped in the car, and we both figured we'd get there early enough to get a parking space at the Museum of Nature and Science.

That prediction turned out to be in error, but after driving around the local neighborhoods for a bit, we found a parking place just a couple of blocks from the south edge of City Park.

Kim also packed all of the essentials, including a camera. It was a cloudy and cool morning, and looked to be a great day for a long run.





The extra security prompted by the Boston scumbags was not a problem, and we were able to check our bags without difficulty. I probably shouldn't have my photo taken at these things, though, because these pictures often make me look like a dork. Must be some sort of atmospheric disturbance, right?



Or maybe it's the lighting. I took this next picture just a few minutes later, and my friends Callie and Erin look great. Hmm.

(By the way, if you're looking for cute running skirts, be sure to visit Callie's Running Pretty website.)

By the time we were herded into the starting pens, it was warm enough to ditch the sweatclothes. But it did seem like forever before our corral was called to the front. (Jake Schroeder sang the National Anthem multiple times.) I was in group H, which was supposed to be the 2:15 pace group...but I could see the guy with the 2:15 pace banner take off with an earlier group. I wasn't really planning to try to run with him, anyway, but I was still kinda bummed to know that he was already gone.

I actually remembered to start my GPS as I crossed the mat. "That's a good omen," I thought. I had mixed emotions about running through the zoo, which was one of the changes they had made to the course this year. It was intended to help the runners enjoy the race by focusing on the animals and their habitats rather than thinking too much about pace and fatigue...but there were too many curves and corners for me. The lateral stress of each turn causes pain in my ankle, so I have to watch my footing carefully to avoid falling off the path or bouncing off a berm--which would have me screaming in pain. I did not see a single lemur or howler monkey.

I did appreciate the support and clever signs provided by the zoo staff. So despite the discomfort from the twists, I had a pretty big smile on my face as we headed out onto 17th Street.

Next up was a long, straight, and reasonably flat segment. It was during this stretch when I noticed that my bib number kept migrating to the left. I'm sure this is because of my stride anomalies, but I figured the problem could be solved by cinching up the bib belt to be a bit tighter.

Doing that while you're running is harder than it sounds. And I also discovered that pulling off the road and trying to do it while walking wasn't an easy task either. I should've just removed the thing and tightened it in my hands before putting it back on, but no -- I was determined to keep moving while I struggled with it. The result of this idiotic strategy was that I ripped the bib number. Since I was depending on the belt, I had no safety pins, nor any other sort of backup system. I folded the bib number and stuffed it into the pocket of my shorts.

No, that didn't make me look even dorkier. Why would you even ask such a thing?

Anyway, one of my pacing goals was to finish the first 10K under an hour, and I hit that target with a few minutes to spare. And right around that point, I was surprised to see that I had caught and passed the guy carrying the 2:15 stick. Perhaps I could beat my time from last year. I was feeling pretty smooth and strong as I approached the Aurora Fire Station.



At the firehouse, I tossed my camera to a bystander and requested a photo, but this photographer had the same problem as the others. You know -- bad lighting that makes me look goofy. Geez.



Over the next mile or so, I began to lose my form. I had reached the extent of what my meager training could support. I continued to look at my splits, and though I was slowing down, I realized that I still had a shot at beating last year's time, and perhaps even breaking my 2:10 goal.

It's good to have a target. I could've easily talked myself into coasting the rest of the way. After all, there were distractions such as the Chippendale Firemen taking photos with runners, and all sorts of clever signage from spectators and race supporters. I remembered the way my legs failed me last year, though, and just plain didn't want to finish with that familiar "call the paramedics" running form. So even though my strides were getting shorter, I really tried to keep the cadence and rhythm going.

I knew from last year that there's still a long way to go even after you get back inside City Park. It's hideously deceptive, though, and I made the mistake of thinking the starting arch was the finish line. I started my "last 200 yards" sprint about 600 yards from the finish line. I couldn't keep it up, and was completely out of gas before I crossed the finish mat.

But I'm glad I kept pushing. I ended up squeaking into the top 50% of my age group by ONE place (103/208). I beat number 104 by a single second. Here are my other stats:

Overall place 2037/5164
Sex place 986/1751
Halfway split: 59:46
Total time: 2:06:29
Per-mile pace: 9:39

Obviously, I faded badly on the back half, and the overall pace is a far cry from what I could do when I was young and had a mustache. But considering everything, I'm pretty darn pleased with this race. It gives me hope.

The jury is still out on whether it's enough hope to prod me into doing more running events, or into ever trying to tackle anything longer. I guess we'll just wait and see.

In the meantime, thanks to all the friends, family, teammates, and sundry bystanders who provided support and encouragement throughout the race, and during my training. I really appreciate the inspiration and mentorship I receive from each and every one of you. I'm glad this race is over, but I'm looking forward to whatever comes next.

Thanks again, and have a great day!

Conflicting Emotions

Am I the only person who constantly has to deal with the up-and-down emotions of love/hate relationships with his own choices?

Some of my internal conflicts are probably not uncommon. I love the comforting tastes of ice cream and chocolate, yet hate the fact that they make me fat. I love my job (and the fact that it allows me to pay my bills), yet hate that I can't use my office hours for hiking in the mountains or lounging in a hot tub with the Swedish Bikini Team. I love having a college degree in Radio/TV/Film, but sometimes hate the fact that my affinity for those art forms drives me to overindulgence in couch potatoism.

And so it is with running. I certainly recognize the benefits of running, not only in terms of health, fitness, and ice cream calorie absolution...but also in terms of being able to go places without requiring a vehicle. And if those reasons aren't enough, it turns out that I really enjoy hanging out with runners. In fact, next to swimmers, I'd have to say that runners are my favorite people.

But unlike some of my friends, I do not find running to be an unmitigated delight. In fact, most of the time, it's pretty darned difficult for me. In addition to the chronic ankle and hamstring problems, I find that the sport compares poorly with the sublime bliss of swimming. Not only do I miss the way the water shields me from the anguish of dealing with gravity, but I also miss the way the water humidifies the air I breathe and whisks away the sweat.

So it is with mixed emotions that I face tomorrow's race. On one hand, I'm excited...because I can't help but get a little excited about any sort of competition. Plus, several of my friends are also running it, and I know I'll enjoy hanging out with them before and after the race. On the other hand, I recognize my own failure to adequately prepare for the event.

Regular readers know that I was feeling optimistic back in March. My ankle was improving, the zero-drop Altras were helping me to run smoothly, and my mileage was increasing in accordance with widely-accepted training plans. Then came the State Championship Swim Meet. Long story short -- I got sick, re-tweaked the hammie, and missed a boatload of my scheduled runs. Since then, my attempts to get back on track have fallen far short of minimum expectations. At one point, I expected to run a full marathon in around 5 hours. Now, I'm wondering if I can even finish the half.

But I'll run it. On Friday, I went down to the race expo at Mile High Stadium to pick up my packet. I thought the fireplace looked cool.



I'm meeting my buddy Kim at 4:25 tomorrow morning, and then we will meet Rich, Raechal, and Erin at the Museum of Nature and Science near the starting line. It appears the weather will be decent, and I know the others are all looking forward to it.

I'm nervous, though, and don't know what to expect from myself. The way I felt at the Snowman Stampede makes me think I have a shot at beating last year's 2:13 time. But the way I have felt in training the last few weeks makes me think that holding that pace might be out of my reach. But the only way to find out is to lace up the shoes and turn the legs loose when the gun goes off.

I hope I can sleep tonight. I'll try to post a race report on Monday. Have a great day!

Summertime

This is an exciting time for science fiction fans.

IronMan 3 is out. Star Trek "Into Darkness" is about to release, and I've even seen previews for "Ender's Game." Now, if they would just get going on the filming of "City of Baraboo," I'd be in geek heaven.

Come to think of it, how come no one has made any movies from the "Foundation" series? Dick Gautier would be the obvious choice to play R. Daneel Olivaw, except that he's about 100 years old now. Likewise Brent Spiner (though I think he'd make an excellent Hari Seldon.) But what about Neil Patrick Harris? Yeah, I know -- he is doing comic roles these days...but back in the Doogie days, he showed that he has the chops for serious stuff, too. If you think about it, I'm betting the idea will grow on you.

Anyway, I'm sure you've deduced that I've had a lot going on the last few weeks. It's been (mostly) fun, with some good bike rides, a couple of interesting parties, and a few excellent swim practices mixed in with all the brain-numbing work and personal chores. But I'm definitely back in that "I need a vacation" mode.

The bad news is that my ankle is still bugging me, and my hamstring has flared up again in response to the ankle soreness. I have very little optimism about the Colfax Half-Marathon this weekend. Two months ago I had my eyes on an aggressive goal for the full marathon; then it dropped back to merely wanting to equal last year's time in the half. And now, the goal has eroded to where I simply want to finish the silly thing without causing any further damage to my delicate bones and ligaments. Sigh.

So, then, let's talk about circuses, shall we? (By the way, the half-marathon runs through the Denver Zoo...so I might have some good elephant photos to share in next week's blogs. That sorta relates to the circus theme, doesn't it?)

What does the term "First of May" mean?
A. The opening show of the summer season.
B. A new hire.
C. An aerial trick involving 5 somersaults.
D. An annual pay bonus.

In circus lingo, "First of May" is what we Internet professionals would call a "Noob" -- someone who has just been absorbed by the Body, and is still inexperienced in the ways of the subculture they have just joined. I, for one, have never had even a microscopic desire to run away to join the circus, so I can't imagine the term ever being applied to me. Some may see the Big Top as a glamorous way of life with the opportunity for extended travel...but I would tend to see it as being confined with smelly pooping animals, hideous freaks, and amoral hucksters. In other words, it would be a lot like Congress.

What does the phrase "Hey Rube!" mean?
A. Someone is about to eat a 5-day old corn dog.
B. A bunch of clowns are about to swarm out of a tiny car.
C. There's a fight with townfolk, and assistance is needed.
D. It's an invitation to play a carnival game.

The call of "Hey Rube" brings the roustabouts a-runnin'. I'm not sure how often circus folk get in a "clem" with the locals, but since the crewmembers who are not on stage tend to be large folk who pound massive tent stakes for a living (and may carry such stakes into battle), I would be perfectly happy if I never experience such a thing first hand. Eating a 5-day-old corn dog, though -- well, that sounds like a challenge I'm well suited to tackle. Bring it on!

Who wrote the lyric "The calliope crashed to the ground"?
A. P.T. Barnum
B. Bruce Springsteen
C. Manfred Mann
D. James Taylor

As everyone with any taste knows, the group U2 is by far the most overrated musical act in the history of mankind. (It's a complete mystery how they have sold millions of records while artists like Susan Christie languish in obscurity.) But I would say Springsteen is right up there with Bono and Slash (or Sting, or the Vedge, or whatever the guitar-player's name is) in this puzzling category. I mean, seriously, "Madman drummers bummers, Indians in the summer with a teenage diplomat"? Zool wabba hababba chipewabba makes more sense.

If you want excellence in lyrics, the true master of the art form is probably one of the most under-rated musicians on the planet. If you have time and really want to examine lyrics that paint vivid pictures while simultaneously blessing you with well-crafted rhyme schemes, alliteration, and rhythm, then check out this gem.

And by the way, circus people pronounce it "callie-ope," not "kah-lye-o-pee." Thought you'd like to know. (And by the way, even though it sounds similar, I regret to inform you that "Dopey Opie" is NOT a musical instrument.)

What is a "bullhook"?
A. A promotional poster with exaggerated claims.
B. The device used to harness draft animals to a wagon.
C. The trick behind a rigged midway game.
D. A training and control stick used by elephant handlers.

Elephants are called "bulls" by their handlers, and since the stick used to control them has a curved segment on one end, it makes sense to call it a bullhook. It's really pretty amazing that a puny human with nothing more than a stick can get a multi-ton beastie with sharp tusks and barrel-sized feet to follow his commands, but I guess there's a reason we're the only Earth species who has been to the moon and can play the guitar.

As for non-Earth species, well, somebody had to build the pyramids, right? Hmm. Perhaps on remote planets like Ceti-Alpha Five, they have circuses where harnessed Gungans pull the calliope wagons while hooded Sith card sharks work the midway, using Jedi mind tricks to scam people at 3-card monte.

It's a nice thought, isn't it? Oh well, for those of us would are stuck on this rock (for now, anyway), at least we have good movies to watch. I'll try to check out some of the current flicks out there and provide some reviews in the next week or two. In the meantime, enjoy this warming weather, and have a great day!

First of May

Ah, 'tis a Winter Wonderland on the day the gravel pond is available for open water swimming. I'm guessing that some fanatic soul with more guts than sense will be out at Chatfield this afternoon, kicking off the season with splashes, shrieks, and shivers. Not me, though. I'm thinking more about egg nog, fruitscakes, and yule logs. At this particular moment, I'd have to say that relaxing beside a fire holds a lot more appeal than swimming across a frosty lake.



It's a good thing Al Gore changed it from "Global Warming" to "Climate Change", cuz this sure don't feel "May Day warm" to me. When I was a kid on May 1, we'd be dancing around the May Pole and delivering May Baskets, and generally romping around outside...probably barefoot.

Does anyone else remember May Poles? Or was that a product of the local culture where I grew up. I seem to remember that a May Pole was merely a tetherball pole with some streamers attached. The "dance" we did was some sort of elaborate over-under weaving routine, with counter-rotating groups of confused children trying not to run into each other. If the dance was successful, the streamers would wind up wrapped around the pole in a pattern that resembled Chinese finger cuffs.

OK, I realize that everything I'm talking about here clearly brands me as an inhabitant of a black & white TV world, where motorcyclists were "hoodlums" and moms wore pearls while cooking dinner. In my formative years, Maynard G. Krebs was the most subversive influence you could find, and people who received money from the government were simply called "bums." You could swim in a lake without needing to sign a waiver, and the school session ended before Memorial Day.

Don't get me wrong -- I'm not suggesting that those were the "Good Ol Days". I would never argue that life was better then. I certainly would not want to face life without computers, HDTV, or CG movie aliens. (Well, OK...JarJar is an exception. But you know what I mean.) All I really want is just to see three or four days of sunshine without a snowstorm interrupting. It's almost summertime, dagnab it; I want to be doing stuff outside.

Anyway, one of my friends was talking about how clowns were scary, and that got me thinking about some of my favorite books: the "Circus World" series by Barry B. Longyear. So, with that in mind, here are a couple of trivia questions relating to the circus.

What does the term "First of May" mean?
A. The opening show of the summer season.
B. A new hire.
C. An aerial trick involving 5 somersaults.
D. An annual pay bonus.

What does the phrase "Hey Rube!" mean?
A. Someone is about to eat a 5-day old corn dog.
B. A bunch of clowns are about to swarm out of a tiny car.
C. There's a fight with townfolk, and assistance is needed.
D. It's an invitation to play a carnival game.

Who wrote the lyric "The calliope crashed to the ground"?
A. P.T. Barnum
B. Bruce Springsteen
C. Manfred Mann
D. James Taylor

What is a "bullhook"?
A. A promotional poster with exaggerated claims.
B. The device used to harness draft animals to a wagon.
C. The trick behind a rigged midway game.
D. A training and control stick used by elephant handlers.

That's all for now. Stay warm, keep your distance from clowns and beatniks...and have a great day!