Only 27 Shopping Days 'til Christmas

Don't get me wrong: I am an ardent supporter of capitalism.

I have no objection to the secular side of celebrating Christmas---hey, if some fat guy from the Arctic wants to slide down my chimney and deposit useful consumer goods in my living room, I won't raise a protest. And besides, I like Tim Allen movies, pine trees, holiday cookies, and Brian Setzer's Jingle Bells, not to mention the boost that the seasonal conspicuous consumption provides to the economy. Oh, I could nitpick about certain holiday annoyances (e.g., Johnny Mathis, partridges that have nothing to do with Shirley Jones, etc.), but overall I'd have to say that I'm a big fan of this time of year.

However, despite my philosophical support for the holiday frenzy, the fact remains that I am by nature an extreme introvert. I have NO desire to go shopping when the aisles are packed with dead-eyed bargain hunters, zombie-shuffling down one row to the next, muttering about GI-Joe with the kung fu grip and sneezing on every surface they encounter.

In other words, I love online shopping!

But being the crusty old geezer that I am, I find myself mildly annoyed with the media's insistence on using terminology and labels that I don't remember approving.

I guess it isn't so much the use of the terms "Cyber Monday" and "Black Friday" that bother me as much as it is the desperate expectation that I should care. After all, I do understand where the names came from, and I get it that retailers have seized upon those two days as critical marketing milestones. But as someone who would rather eat anthrax-coated razorblades than shop on the Friday after Thanksgiving, I find the advertising onslaught to be exhausting.

When I was a kid, there was no such thing as Black Friday. Sure, the shopping season officially began on the day after Thanksgiving, but the day had no official nomenclature that I recall. The big thing for me was the beginning of the Santa's Workshop show on Channel 10 (aka KAKE.)

Santa (the real one -- not a Macy's part-timer) came on TV every weekday afternoon to count down the shopping days and share some cool gift ideas with the kiddies and their parents. He chatted and laughed with the TV station's puppet mascot (KAKE-Man), who usually wore a baker's hat and talked in a high voice. (I suspect that the character of Poppin' Fresh was a direct rip-off of KAKE-Man...but I haven't lost any sleep over that possibility.)

I had no clue at the time that the station was probably getting kickbacks from the toy stores whose products they featured. And I'm not sure if I ever received a gift that was featured on the show. But I do remember the anticipation I felt as the show's countdown to Christmas arrived at the single-digit numbers.

Anyway, my thoughts about how these formerly-nameless days are now every bit as much a part of the season as reindeer and grocery-store bell ringers has led me to wonder about the widespread acceptance of other terms that I was not exposed to as a youth. So I will ask you this: When the heck did the names for grandparents get changed?

It used to be that your parents' fathers were called "Grandpa" or "Granddad." The females that gave birth to your folks were called "Grandma." That was all I knew.

Now I hear terms such as "Nana" and "MeeMaw" and other variants that ignore the "Grand" aspect of having multiple generations of offspring. Where did this come from? And why are the traditional names no longer used?

In our family, my dad's dad was "Grandpa" and my mom's dad was "Granddad". No confusion there. My dad's mom was "Grandma". Since my mother's mom had died young, Granddad had remarried...so we called his wife "Grandma Inez". Again, no confusion.

I bring this up not only to express my puzzlement over the oddness of this particular nomenclature creep, but also because my next blog will discuss my recent trip to Kansas, during which I received numerous old family photos to scan and archive -- many of which include the aforementioned grandparents...and even their parents. Sorting through all those old pictures ought to be fun, and should provoke many more thoughts about how we become who we are.

Oh don't worry -- I won't get any more philosophical than I usually do. Mostly I'll just make fun of how silly the old folks looked back in the bygone days, what with their sepia skin and cowboy boots and such. For now, though, I'll just thank you for your continued patronage, and wish you a Happy Thanksgiving -- and all the joyous shopping experiences you can tolerate.

Have a great day!

Ish Kabbible

Enrico Pallazo is not only an opera singer, a baseball umpire, and a stalwart defender of law and order (which includes the heroic act of preventing Reggie Jackson from killing the Queen of England), but is also the primary element in the "Reverse Turing Test."

If you suspect that a human is masquerading as a robot, you can show them this clip. Any human being would begin laughing, thus revealing the fraud.

That one was easy, but the other parts of our matching game may have been a bit more challenging. Here are the correct alignments:

Enrico Pallazzo	Saves the Queen
Chiwetel Ejiofor	Hunts browncoats
Shablagoo	Enables victory over Cthulhu
Ish Kabibble	Plays the cornet

I have no idea how you pronounce Chiwetel Ejiofor, and I certainly wouldn't give that name to a child. But someone did...and the kid grew up to be an engaging actor. He's the relentless Alliance agent who hunts River Tam and her Browncoat protectors in "Serenity."

River Tam is played by Summer Glau, who went on to play a Terminator robot (who was not probably not amused by Enrico Pallazo) in "The Sarah Connor Chronicles." Yet while it's obvious that we all need to be vigilant regarding killer cyborgs from the future, the real reason I included Mr. Ejiofor is so that I could remind you that "Serenity" is one of those movies that everyone should see. If you have Netflix, you should watch the entire "Firefly" TV series first, since "Serenity" is kind of the sequel to the show. It's all great stuff.



Shablagoo is the magic word that unleashes the awesome powers of youthful superhero MintBerry Crunch...who is humanity's only hope to stop the devastation wreaked by Cthulhu, dark lord of the underworld. Supported by South Park's homegrown hero group known as Coon and Friends, Mintberry Crunch intervenes to stop Cthulhu's evil rampage after the vile creature was released from bondage by a BP drilling mishap.

Hmmm. In reading the previous paragraph and looking at the picture above, I realize that MBC's epic journey into battle may sound a little...well, silly. But trust me, if you enjoy superhero tales at all (Spiderman, Iron Man, Thor, etc.), you'll get your money's worth from watching the Coon and Friends episodes.

I played the cornet for a while when I was a kid. I can't remember exactly when I graduated to the trumpet, but I suspect that the asymmetry in my running form originated in being unbalanced from carrying that heavy trumpet case to school and back every day. Probably knocked my hip bones all out of whack.

Judging from this picture, Ish Kabbible might have suffered similar ailments. He was a member of Kay Kyser's Kollege of Musical Knowledge, a musical humor big band. Kabbible (aka Merwyn Bogue) was involved in many of the funny sketches that Kyser performed between songs.

Many people in my generation credit Peter Frampton for introducing the idea of "singing instruments", but Kyser did it several decades earlier. And I suppose the Mills Brothers got the whole idea rolling in the first place. Good stuff (you really should click on those links.)

That's all for today. It's going to be a busy week for me, so I may not get much posted. But I'll try to share some photos from the weekend's swim meet, and a few other observations about interesting things going on in the world. Until then, remain vigilant -- you never know when you might have to deal with Cthulhu, Terminators...or Reggie Jackson. Have a great day!

Womp Rats

You know that dream where you're about to do something important, but you forgot your pants?

I never have that one.

My dreams usually fall into the "pleasant fantasy" category, like where Dorothy Hamill invites me to the prom, or I see an ad in the paper for a six-figure job where the major skill requirements are "stare out the window" and "complain about stuff." I also seem to have a bunch of dreams that take place in a swimming pool, usually involving girls wearing Star Trek yeoman's uniforms.

But this morning's events have shown me that even stuff you don't dream about might come true. I had a productive early workout at the gym--lifting, running, swimming, and soaking in the hot tub. But after I showered and prepared to get dressed for work, I discovered a slight problem.

Yep. Forgot my pants.

While this represents a significant mental lapse, I am not quite prepared to label myself as fully senile. After all, I still remember that Jane Wyman is the First Lady, and Jack Benny is Secretary of the Treasury...and I can name all of the movies in which William Shatner did his dialog entirely in Esperanto. But these little incidents of forgetfulness seem to be cropping up more frequently.

The good news is that my home is more-or-less on the way to the office, so it was no big deal to drive home in my gym clothes and get dressed there. I strolled into the office only 10 minutes later than I usually do, looking to all the world like a fellow who has his britches under control.

Anyway, my trip to the gym also reminded me of another product design rant that I intend to share with you -- but that will have to wait until another time. For now, let's examine our quiz from yesterday:

Scaramanga
A. A Japanese horror comic book
B. The Lion King's evil Italian cousin
C. A guy with an extra nipple
D. A pasta dish usually served with applesauce

Answer: C. Scaramanga is the Bond villain we talked about yesterday...you know, the one whose sadistic nature caused him to use demonic French midgetry as a torture device. He was an incomparable marksman, and could've shot Bond at any time to put him out of his misery. But instead he subjected the poor fellow (and the unfortunate moviegoing public) to massive doses of Herve Villechaiz. Gah.

Until 007 found him, though, the only thing known about him (other than his fondness for gold weaponry and ammo) was that he had a superfluous nipple. Bond uses this knowledge to infiltrate a Chinese group that...ah, you know what? Never mind; it's a stupid plot that doesn't make any sense even when explained. Let's just be happy with the fact that the crappy car can fly, and that Villechaize gets killed in the end. That should be enough.

Grand Moff Tarkin
A. A lesser-known Sousa march
B. A victim of womp rat marksmanship skills
C. A particularly severe type of seizure
D. A long, fancy evening gown

Answer: B. Grand Moff Tarkin (pictured at the top of this post) was blown up on the Death Star when Luke used his uncanny blaster accuracy to hit the intake port that was about the size of a womp rat, which is what he used to practice shooting in his youth. (Obviously, neither the ASPCA nor Sarah McLachlan had a strong presence on Tatooine.)

As happens often in this column, surprise relationships among questions appear among the quiz sections. In this case, Christopher Lee (who played Scaramanga) and Peter Cushing (who played Tarkin) were the two main performers featured in the Hammer Studios horror films of the 1960s and 70s. They appeared in tons of movies together, and sometimes played the same roles (vampires, for example.) And of course, Christopher Lee appeared as the evil Count Dooku later in the Star Wars saga. (Or is it earlier? It was a prequel, after all.)

Kananga
A. Something inflated by a CO2 cartridge
B. An Australian marsupial
C. An African tour guide
D. The country whose capital is Quebec

I apologize for this one; I made a typo. Answer A should have said O2 (oxygen) cartridge...not CO2. Then it would be the correct answer. Kananga is this guy:



A couple of people thought it was the African tour guide on the Simpsons, but his name was Kitenge.

Lumpy Brannum
A. High-fiber, granola-based breakfast food
B. A fellow with a monochrome trouser fetish
C. Pudgy shot-putter for Mayfield High School
D. A skin condition suffered by John Merrick

Answer B. You'd know this one if you memorized every little factoid from every previous blog. We've talked about him before: Hugh "Lumpy" Brannum is best known as Mr. Green Jeans on the Captain Kangaroo show.

The pudgy shot-putter from Mayfield was Clarence "Lumpy" Rutherford, son of Fred "Mel Cooley" Rutherford, who worked with Ward Cleaver. Lumpy's sister Violet was played by a couple of different actresses, one of whom was Veronica Cartwright, who is best known as the older sister of Angela Cartwright, who played Brigitta in "The Sound of Music" and Penny Robinson on "Lost in Space".

For today's quiz, let's try a matching game. Simply pick the description from the right column that belongs with the text in the left.

Enrico Pallazzo	Enables victory over Cthulhu
Chiwetel Ejiofor	Plays the cornet
Shablagoo	Saves the Queen
Ish Kabibble	Hunts browncoats

That's it for now. Thanks for stopping by.

Midgets

Many of the A-list henchmen from the James Bond movies have a certain charisma and charm. Oddjob and Jaws obviously stand out as the cream of the crop, but Bambi and Thumper, Mr. Joshua, the Cola Nut guy, Robert Shaw, and Famke Janssen all have their appeal as well. Even Lotte Lenya (the old bat with the poisoned knife in her shoe) is fun to watch as she dances around while Connery blocks her kicks with a chair. Most of them have little moments of comedy that makes us like them despite their dastardly menace.

But I'm sorry, I just can't stand Herve Villechaize.

Before I continue with that particular diatribe, I'll go ahead and discuss the answer to yesterday's quiz. It's "midgets," or in the parlance of the politically correct, "little people."

Each pair depicted shared roles with a particular height-challenged actor. The guys on the top row (Christopher Lee and Ricardo Montalban) were each assisted by the aforementioned Villechaize. In "The Man with the Golden Gun", Herve used his abominable French accent to torment James Bond, and in "Fantasy Island," his very presence served to make everyone happy when they were finally allowed to leave the island.

I suppose in that respect, he could be considered a kind of a short and smelly Franco-Gilligan.

As regular readers know, I think Ricardo Montalban is one of Hollywood's greatest treasures. But how he managed to deny himself the fantasy of dismembering and burning Tattoo, I will never know.

Speaking of Hollywood treasures, the next row features the Greatest Actor of All Time, Mr. Bruce Campbell -- shown here in his role as "the guy who named Spiderman." Next to him is Dr. Evil, making it obvious that the little person they share in common is "Mini-Me," Mr. Verne Troyer. Troyer played Napoleon Bonaparte in Campbell's historical adventure TV series "Jack of All Trades."

(Yes, I know that Campbell has done more historical adventure TV shows than anyone else in history; most notably "The Adventures of Briscoe County, Jr." and "Xena, Warrior Princess." Both are worth checking out on Netflix.)

And now that you know the theme of the puzzle, it's pretty easy to figure out that row three is about Kenny Baker, the guy who played R2D2. Baker also played the adventurer Fidgit in "Time Bandits", which is a film by Monty Python alum Terry Gillium (the mad jailer in "Life of Brian".) Interestingly, Time Bandits also features Sean Connery, who once played James Bond. Now if Kenny Baker had played the henchman in "Golden Gun," I probably would've enjoyed the movie.

(Actually, I did enjoy parts of it. The flying AMC Hornet is a kitsch classic, and Britt Eklund is cute as the ditsy Goodnight. But otherwise, meh. Oh, and by the way, I know that Mr. Joshua is not a Bond villain at all, but instead was the creep played by Gary Busey in "Lethal Weapon." I just threw that in to see if anybody was paying attention.)

So with that, I'll leave you with a quick word quiz. In upcoming posts I'll go back to talking about training, scenery, the weather, and all the other stuff about which I generally enjoy blathering. But for now, your challenge is to choose the correct description that fits these terms:

Scaramanga
A. A Japanese horror comic book
B. The Lion King's evil Italian cousin
C. A guy with an extra nipple
D. A pasta dish usually served with applesauce

Grand Moff Tarkin
A. A lesser-known Sousa march
B. A victim of womp rat marksmanship skills
C. A particularly severe type of seizure
D. A long, fancy evening gown

Kananga
A. Something inflated by a CO2 cartridge
B. An Australian marsupial
C. An African tour guide
D. The country whose capital is Quebec

Lumpy Brannum
A. High-fiber, granola-based breakfast food
B. A fellow with a monochrome trouser fetish
C. Pudgy shot-putter for Mayfield High School
D. A skin condition suffered by John Merrick

Thanks for playing, and have a great day!

The Price of Style

Many people assume that I have an incredibly easy life. It's not difficult to understand why they might think that. With my movie-star good looks, phenomenal charisma, staggering intelligence, and utterly unfair handsomeness...well, it's only natural to assume that I'd be able to conquer life's challenges with ease.

Unfortunately, it doesn't really happen that way. I'm not saying I regret being wonderful--not at all--but there are pressures that bedevil us trendsetters while completely bypassing the great masses of normal people.

(Interlude: We have a challenging quiz coming in a minute, but first, an easy one: Who is the fellow pictured at the top of this post? The answer will follow shortly.)

Now you might assume that my number one challenge would involve fending off throngs of aggressively amorous females, but surprisingly, that has not been an issue. (I'm assuming it's because I am SO intimidatingly attractive that they assume they have no chance, and therefore don't even try. I mean...what else could it possibly be?)

And though talent and an overabundance of wealth are often associated, I have strived throughout my life to keep my bank account from becoming needlessly large. Whenever I've had career and/or financial choices to make, I have consistently chosen the path that minimizes my income...and therefore have been able to maintain a simple and austere lifestyle that keeps me from being hassled by pesky investment brokers and Lamborghini salesmen.

No, the problem I'm complaining about today stems from my responsibilities as a fashion leader. As you know, my hairstyle has been the inspiration for many thousands of civilian and celebrity copycats (including the fellow above, who, as I'm sure you've deduced, is known as "Salvador Dalai Lama".) It's a great style, compact, clean, and easy to shampoo. I haven't carried a comb for decades, and windy days don't cause me a single microsecond of hair-related anxiety.

Yes, I do realize that by cutting and styling my own hair, I am depriving the goth kids down at Supercuts of their livelihood -- but I am confident that our government will take good care of them when they're forced to close their doors because everyone wants to look like me. But it's that very same action that is causing me stress, I'm afraid. You see, I do rather enjoy cutting my own hair--But because I am cursed with far more than my fair share of macho manly man hormones, the problem is that my hair simply grows too darn fast. If I want to maintain my position as a hairstyle role model, I am forced to haul out the shears just about every other week. It's a lot of work. Geez.

I bet most of those Lama guys have some minion who takes care of haircuts. That would be sweet. And it would also be delightful to be able to wear the exact same clothes every single day. You have no idea how long I stand in front of my closet pondering which year's Brute Squad T-Shirt to wear on any particular day. It's a choice that deserves scrutiny; I do not want to disappoint the public. I'm sure you understand.

Anyway, here's today's challenge puzzle for you. The pair on each row share something in common; can you identify what it is? The entire puzzle has a theme, too -- and once you find the answer for one of the rows, the rest of it will probably be obvious.

I'll give you a hint in a second. In the meantime, I'll mention a few of the things I'll be posting in the coming week. We'll have a multiple choice quiz concerning unusual nouns, as well as some additional outdoor photos. In the meantime, please enjoy thinking about the puzzle...and have a great day!

(Hint: Think "co-workers".)

Underwater Photography

My obsession with underwater stroke analysis tools probably started when I first qualified for the State Championship swim meet in high school. The meet was held at the University of Kansas Natatorium, which had an underwater window in the side of the pool. I thought it was incredibly cool that you could go downstairs under the bleachers and watch people swimming by. I tried to figure out what the fast guys were doing that made them fast...but was never able to master the techniques myself.

But it planted the seed in my mind. When I started coaching several years later, I always wished for a good way to analyze strokes from an underwater view. Oh sure, I could just hold my breath and watch from the bottom of the lane...and I still find that a valuable tool...but I couldn't show what I saw to anyone else. What I needed was underwater videography.

More about that in a moment. First, I'll share my other KU window story from the high school State Meet.

For the 400 yard freestyle, I was in an outside lane, very close to that window I mentioned. (Yes, I know -- the 400 was replaced by the 500 a LONG time ago. But yeah, I really am that old. Someday I'll tell you about swimming our home meets in a 20-yard pool...where the 100 race took 5 lengths to complete, and the IMers swam a 160 instead of a 200. Those were primitive times, indeed.) When the gun went off and I did my patented bellybuster racing dive, I instantly realized that I had not tied my Speedo drawstring to the proper tightness level. Oops.

I could see vague human shapes behind the glass, and knew that people were watching the race through the underwater window. I should've been 100% focused on my race effort, but instead found myself wondering whether anyone was laughing at my not-completely-secured sagging swimsuit.

I did not hit my goal time, and did not come anywhere close to making it into the finals. There are those who would argue that my lack of talent and speed are to blame, but I know that my slow performance was totally caused by the presence of that silly submerged window.

The irony is that the very same venue became the site of my modesty-free participation in the fad known as "Streaking" just a little over one year later. That's an interesting story, too -- involving a small moment of fame accompanied by a critique of my running form -- but it will have to wait for another time.

The topic of today's post is underwater videography, remember?

As everyone knows, I partnered with cinematic genius Doug Smith to make Super 8 movies that featured members of the Wichita Swim Club displaying their acting and martial arts skills. The first purchase I made with my summer job money was a Canon Super 8 movie camera, which I also used to shoot hours and hours of really bad swim meet footage. I even shot movies of water skiing in what was that era's precursor to today's "action cam."

Super 8 was a noticeable improvement over Regular 8mm movies, but the quality was still pretty rotten, and the price of film and processing tended to suppress unbridled creativity. I cannot tell you how excited I was when videotape recorders finally dropped into my price range. I bought the Canon outfit shown here for about three grand. At 2 hours per VHS tape, the price of media was no longer an issue.

What was a consideration, though, was the bulkiness of the setup. It was NOT a camcorder; you needed both the heavy camera and the big brick of a recorder unit to take movies. But now that I had the thing, I wanted to figure out a way to take underwater video with it.

My first attempt (and oh how I wish I had a photo of it) was a homemade Plexiglas periscope. I am sorry to say that I don't remember who actually fabricated the thing, but I designed it with a camera-mount platform at the top and a couple of mirrors inside a rectangular tube that could be submerged while keeping the camera and recorder deck dry. It was an excellent design except for one minor flaw...I had failed to consider the Archimedes principle.

The dang thing floated. Actually, that's too mild of a description -- the submerged part of the tube pushed upward with about 30 pounds of force. To counteract this, I filled all available space below the mirror with a sand bag, but it was still a major muscular effort to handle the thing long enough to shoot any usable swimming video. Plus, the stresses from the camera, the sand, and the waves in the water caused the Plexiglas joints to give out after just a few uses.

The Mark II took a different approach, and I built this one myself. It was merely a topless Plexiglas box that was large enough to hold the tape deck and the camera, along with enough lead weights to make it buoyancy neutral. I glued extra supports on each of the seams, and it held together through repeated uses. But even though I weighted it so I wouldn't have to push it down like the Mark I, it was still a chore to manhandle the thing to fight the waves of a passing swimmer. And transporting it (and all the lead weights) was enough to make me ponder designs for the Mark III.

Fortunately, advances in camera technology came to my aid. I was able to buy a JVC VHS-C camcorder that was smaller and lighter than the Canon camera alone. I enlisted the help of Jeff Alleman, an engineer who worked at NREL, and together we designed a sealable PVC unit that could hold the entire camera and allow you to take it as deep underwater as you wanted. Of course, it was also heavy, because we had to duct-tape enough lead weights around it to counteract the buoyancy. It's the contraption on the right in this photo:



The other two cameras pictured here are what I've used since the VHS-C format went out of style. The center unit is the Oregon Scientific ATC5K Helmet Cam, which works great, but suffers from a low-resolution picture and a postage-stamp viewscreen. The Pentax camera on the left is the one that leaked when I forgot to get the battery compartment door fully closed. It's OK, but still isn't as robust and high-quality as I'd like.

When I was shopping for the Pentax, I considered the GoPro Hero, but opted for the less expensive offering. I have now become convinced that the GoPro would've been worth the extra expense. I'll probably end up getting one of those at some point. But the good news is that multi-unit recording rigs, bulky homemade housings, and underwater windows are no longer necessary. There are many good options available for a swim coach these days. I just need to make more money so I can keep trying to upgrade my equipment.

Anyway, I suppose you'd want to see some sample underwater video after that long, drawn-out, and pointless stroll down cinememory lane. But not today, my friends. Instead, I shall subject you to more photos from my climbing trip. Feel free to marvel at my impressive mountaineering talents, and have a great day!

Climbing

Despite its obvious limitations in capacity and processing power, my brain is capable of learning new things every now and then.

The latest factual acquisition is this: A "waterproof" camera is impervious to immersion ONLY IF you remember to close the battery compartment door before dunking it in the pool.

I was hoping to get some demo footage to show to students in the freestyle clinic that Stephanie and I taught last month. My brilliant idea was that I would take movies of my stroke by putting the camera on the bottom of the deep end, and swimming directly above it. As far as I know, there was nothing wrong with the idea...it was just that I apparently didn't get the pod bay door latched securely. The second the camera entered the water, it went all Outer Limits on me.

The battery was well and truly fried. But after drying out for a week, the guts of the camera seemed to have recovered. I'll admit, though, that my testing protocol was somewhat less than rigorous...but I thought the camera was fine. I took it along to document my re-introduction to the sport of rock climbing.



As always, you can click on the photo to see an embiggened version. But in the spirit of honest reporting, I must confess that some of the colors have been inadvertently "enhanced" by the camera's moisture-induced schizophrenia.

But that is the rock face I climbed on Sunday. My friends Chris and Angela invited me to climb on North Table Mountain with them. I was nervous and timid about the whole thing, but knew that Chris was extremely safety-conscious and patient. There was no reason not to give it a try.

I'm not in any of these photos, but will consider posting pix of myself climbing in a future post. Chris went up first to clip in the ropes, and then Angela and I attempted the same route after he had come back down.

The first route he picked looked a tad too aggressive for me, but I gave it a shot. Wearing borrowed equipment (climbing shoes and harness), I started up the rock face.

Once I was a few feet off the ground, Chris had me just relax and take my hands off the rock, so I could learn to trust the rope. This lesson was crystal clear to the rational part of my brain...but it's really a challenge to let go of the monkey-brain urge to cling to the wall like a superglued leech.

Each time I'd freeze up, I'd hear calming words and logical advice from below. Each time I felt stuck, my friends helped me locate a new foothold and take the next step upward. Time became distorted; I have no idea how long I was actually on the wall. After being so focused on the accomplishment of each tiny incremental movement, I was surprised when I suddenly found myself at the top of the route. Whoo hoo!

Of course, Chris and Angela looked like Spiderman compared to my Jabba the Hutt as they scampered up the same rocks in a tenth the time...but I feel like I have the potential to improve greatly if I decide to do this more frequently.

Sure, I have a lot to learn about technique and how to make good climbing choices. And I need to acquire the specific strength and fitness required for moving my body weight upward on a wall. But the biggest thing is probably just confidence. As I learn to instinctively trust the rope and belayer, it will become easier to trust myself. And that's when I'll start making progress.

Of course, all of those things assume that I'll be able to find time to climb, and people who are willing to climb with me. With snow expected tonight, it may be a while before we have another gorgeous day of bright pink climbing skies and shorts-friendly temperatures. In the meantime, I'll make an effort to talk my swimming pals into practicing with me on the climbing wall at the Ridge. Let me know if you're interested.

Thanks, and have a great day!

Fatigue

The problem with increasing workout frequency and duration is that, well, you get tired.

In my younger days, I could work out like a demon one day and then come back the next day and do it again. But apparently, the resilience I remember from those days is no longer available.

The trick, then, is to find the right mix of effort and rest. The equations are not resident in my head right now; it's been a LONG time since I've been focused on real triathlon training. For the last several years, I've been working out according to when free time happened to show up on my schedule...with no particular consistency or mileage goals. It's time for that to change.

I know I'm not a teenager anymore. But thinking back to those days, I can still remember that even though my body could handle a lot of stress, I swam fatigued throughout most of the season. That's why the taper worked so well at the end of the year. So...I want to embrace the fatigue. Work out 'til I'm whupped, and then just keep cranking.

Of course, I need to balance fatigue with risk of injury. I don't want to hurt myself. I want to have fun. I want to feel good. But I also want to perform well next summer.

Yeah. It's going to be an interesting winter, isn't it?

Daylight saving time is over for the year. (I would vote for completely doing away with this silly practice, but that's a discussion for another time.) My brother wants to have a track workout this week, but it'll be dark after work, so we'll see.

Anyway, there's a LOT going on in the next few weeks. We have swimming events coming up (Postal Brute Squad, 3K/6K Postal), and performance appraisals are due for both my day job and my coaching gig. (Oh, don't worry, I won't waste blog space talking about how stupid the standard performance appraisal process is. But...geez.)

But I will be reporting on my first attempt at rock climbing on North Table Mountain. If you want to place bets on whether I was able to climb more than 5 feet off the ground, how much blood was shed, and whether there was yodeling, now would be the time.

Until then, enjoy the early onset of evening darkness...and have a great day!