USAT Nationals Day 1 -- Into Darkness

The Road to USAT National Championships, Milwaukee WI

I've been entered in this race for almost a year. I've had my hotel room reserved for months. You'd think I would have packed my gear sometime before the very last minute. But no...

Somehow, though, I did make it out of town before sunset on the Wednesday evening before Saturday's race. I started my journey under an infinitely blue sky, but about 100 miles east of Denver, the deluge began.

With two bikes on the rack, I really didn't want to drive through a rainstorm, but there was no way to avoid it. I just hoped it didn't start hailing. It didn't, but the rain came down SO hard that my wiper's top speed wasn't enough to provide visibility. Traffic slowed to a crawl.

By Julesburg, though, it had stopped. And I was hungry. I pulled into the rest area and had my sandwich. You could see some of the clouds off in the distance. Very nice!



One thing I enjoy about road trips is the opportunity to learn things that I would never think about otherwise. For example, did you know that they had to invent and build custom truckbeds to handle those giant windmill blades? It's true. And I suspect that a child of someone reading this blog today will someday write a college term paper comparing the magnitude of American windpower farm construction to the Egyptian pyramids.



Them things are big.

But the windmills really do look cool as they silently materialize out of a grim Nebraska fog.



Speaking of Nebraska, I know that the people who live there must suffer numerous indignities and live with the embarrassment of being known as "the northern version of Oklahoma," poor sods. But seriously, when it came time to make their state's "welcome" sign, they really did just phone it in. (Click to embiggen.)



Colorado has the best Welcome signs in the country. (Wyoming also has good ones...and probably do have the best TV commercials.)

Anyway, I drove until almost 11pm, and then pulled over at a rest stop to get some shuteye. Unfortunately, the rest stop was both too bright and too noisy, and I couldn't sleep.

That's where the story gets interesting. I pulled back onto the Interstate and drove another 30 or 40 miles until I found a county road that looked neglected, and therefore optimal for nighttime solitude. About a half mile from the highway, there was a convenient pulloff next to a soybean field. I backed in, cracked the windows for ventilation, inflated my mattress, and crawled into my sleeping bag.

I had barely closed my eyes when I heard the sound of an approaching vehicle. A moment later, I saw blue and red flashes reflecting throughout my car.

I guess this pulloff wasn't as isolated as I had thought.

Envisioning an encounter with JW Pepper, I quickly dug around for my wallet, put my glasses on, and opened the car door.

"Is everything OK?" he asked. "Why, yes, Officer, thank you for asking. I was just trying to get a little sleep before I resumed my drive."

"Where you headed?"

"Milwaukee."

"Why in the hell would you leave Colorado to go to Milwaukee?"

A fair question. "I'm doing a race there." He shined his flashlight toward the back of my car. "You have two bikes."

"I'm transporting one for a friend." He thought about that for a minute, obviously calculating the odds of whether I was telling the truth...or whether I was accompanied by an invisible ninja bicyclist companion hiding amongst the soybeans. He looked me over again, and then asked "Do you have any identification?"

He inspected my driver's license as he continued to process the plausibility of my story. Eventually concluding that I wasn't a terrorist, he returned my license and said "This probably isn't a good place to sleep. A lot of farmers drive down this road, and every single one of them will stop and ask what you're doing here. There's a rest area up the road a piece, and a Wal-Mart in the next town."

I thanked him, we said our goodbyes, and he drove off. I climbed back into the driver's seat and started up the car. I have to say that the young officer was unfailingly polite, and my transcript probably doesn't do justice to his friendly demeanor. I pulled back onto the highway feeling that he had indeed done me a favor by giving me sound advice.

The good news is that I was able to find a relatively secluded and quiet space at the next rest area, and ended up getting a pretty good night's sleep in the back of my little car.

Day 2 -- Arrival!

Thursday's travel was uneventful. Just more windmills, cornfields, and long straight slabs of concrete and asphalt. I had my MP3 player loaded with every Blue Oyster Cult and Stray Cats album and rocked my way across America's Breadbasket in fine spirits.



I can't say I was really paying attention, though. The Mighty Mississippi came up on me suddenly, and I was over the bridge before I could get the lens cap off my camera. I had noble intentions of documenting the trip for you guys, but can't say I captured much in the way of visual treasures. Sorry about that.

I rolled into Milwaukee as evening approached and pulled up to the hotel. I checked in, and then walked across the street to have a salad at McDonalds. I made sure all three of my cable and bar locks were adequately entwined to protect the bikes, and retired to the room for the night. My only other chore was to get the rest of my gear organized for the race.

That is where our story shall resume tomorrow. I hope you'll stop by then. Have a great day!

A Vast Commie Conspiracy

I've heard some of the rumors that have circulated during my absence from this blog. A few are at least partially true. Others, not so much.

• Abducted by aliens
• Waiting in line to see Carl Weathers at a Wal-Mart opening in Lubbock
• Frantically training to get in shape for the next triathlon after the embarrassment in Milwaukee
• Possessed by the ghost of Don Ho
• Overwhelmed by work at the office
• Focused on developing romantic relationship resulting from online dating service flirtation
• Spending hours on the couch trying to get money's worth from Netflix subscription
• Supporting Ted Nugent Presidential campaign
• Extended wilderness camping trip to track and capture Higgs Bosons.

The bad news is that I'm still suffering from a severe lack of time I can devote to bloggery. The good news is that I AM committed to publishing my race reports and summary of the exciting journey to and from Milwaukee. I hope to have the "Day 1" report published later this afternoon.

In the meantime, I want to thank you for your patience and willingness to check in here to see what's going on. I hope you will find the coming tales to be entertaining. Have a great day!

Last Minute Decisions

My friend Rich provided an interesting observation this morning: "I've never seen anybody so relaxed about a race."

That was a politically correct way of saying, "Dude, you really should take this more seriously." It IS the National Championships, after all, and my teammates have set very high standards for the type of performance expected from members of the Foothills Masters Swim Team.

But no, I think I have adequate justification for staying mellow. Even when I've had a good training season, my bike and run performance is mid-pack at best. And this has NOT been a good training season. Getting stressed and uptight about details might result in me beating one or two additional slow old farts, but it's not going to put me anywhere near the podium. The bottom line is that I just want to have fun and savor the experience.

Still, I have allowed myself to toy with the wetsuit question. Yes, I know that for most athletes, doing the swim in a Speedo is not even considered; neoprene is mandatory. In fact, many triathletes almost worship their wetsuits for their ability to mitigate stroke flaws and posture issues. I, on the other hand, have always been among those who laugh at those who are so dependent on their wetsuits.

Ha ha! You are a wimp because you choose to take advantage of legal performance-enhancing technology. You also think it's cool to have an aerodynamic bicycle and follow a scientific nutrition plan. Ho ho ho! Hear my derisive laughter and take note of my holier-than-thou attitude as you pass me by! Real men don't need no stinking trophies.

But now, I am forced to admit that I might appreciate the slight time advantage a wetsuit would give me, not to mention the additional warmth should the temperatures be borderline.

The problem is that my own wetsuit was purchased when I was somewhat more svelte. I'm not sure it fits anymore. A smart person would've tested it out at the lake a few weeks ago, but...well, you know. Fortunately, I have another option: Rich let me borrow his wetsuit, which might actually work.

Much like the "Star Wars Kid," I should probably videotape my efforts to try on the suits; YouTube fame could certainly become a possibility if the associated wriggling and cursing were entertaining enough.

No, not THAT Star Wars kid, the one that does the lightsaber dance.

Anyway, it's obvious that I still have preparation to do, whether it's mental, physical, or related to wardrobe issues. I'm running out of time. Guess I'd better get to it.

Watch out for rogue antibodies, and have a great day!

Darmok at Tanagra, Again

Most people think I became a swim coach because I love yelling at people.

I can see why people think that. Based on some of the workouts I design, it would seem fair to label me as cruel, heartless, sadistic, and demented.

But the truth is that coaching is the perfect way for me to hang out with the people I admire most. The folks on my swim team are friendly, fun, supportive, and above all, inspirational.

Here's an example: My friend Reynold Kalstrom is nicknamed "The Terminator" because of his relentless and unstoppable determination for peak performance. Last weekend at the Boulder IronMan race, he won his age group and qualified to compete in the Hawaii IronMan World Championships later in the year. He has a great shot at winning that one, too. And the impressive thing is that he led his age group from the start of the race, effectively "terminating" his competitors with his first few swimming strokes.

And yet you couldn't imagine a nicer guy. Smart, funny, humble, and always reliable, Reynold is the kind of guy I would like to be. Plus, he looks about 20 years younger than he actually is, which is something else I wish I could tap into.

Reynold's attitude is actually shared among MOST of the swimmers I know -- I'm just using him as an example because of his recent IronMan accomplishment. But this is why I love to surround myself with people like that; it provides a constant reminder of the possibilities. It's really hard to be a pessimist when you're on a Masters swim team.

It's such a contrast to the attitudes I encountered while growing up in Kansas. My grandmother was the queen of pessimism -- the only topics on which she could converse at length concerned disease, death, and the unbearable hardships that defined her life. Yes, she did live through the depression, and did suffer some lean and moderately difficult times...but by the time I was old enough to encounter her complaints, she was the beneficiary of a fully-supported retirement lifestyle in a comfortable home during the prosperous and exciting era of the Apollo program.

And yet, she constantly complained. When she turned 60, she announced that "No one should live this long. I pray for the good lord to take me away from all this misery." Though she had no physical health problems at all, she never once thought to try to accomplish anything. Turning 60 was supposed to be the end, and it made her angry that she continued to remain upright and processing oxygen.

Perhaps that's why I have the attitude I do -- when I heard my grandma talk that way, I promised myself that I was NEVER going to be like that. I wanted to live a LONG time and to fill my life with interesting challenges for as long as I could hold out. And I knew that hanging around with athletes was an essential part of that commitment.

(The saddest part of my grandmother's story is that despite her earnest desire for expiration at age 60, she lived another 23 years...every hour of which was spent watching the clock in anticipation of eternal midnight.)

Does this mean that I want to do an IronMan race when I reach the 70-plus age group? Probably not. There are equally interesting things to do that don't involve running. But...I won't rule it out.

Anyway, congratulations to Reynold, and to all the other Foothills Masters swimmers who have recently raced. We also have a good group doing the USAT Nationals next weekend, and I'll be sure to report on that.

In the meantime, let's get to the actual subject of today's blog: Movie terminology that has become part of mainstream language. (Sorry about taking the scenic route to get here.)

This topic came up yesterday, when a friend of mine was describing the racecourse for the Boulder IronMan. He noted that a segment of the course was "shaped like a flux capacitor." Is there anyone in the world who would not know what that meant? I doubt it. Everyone knows exactly what you mean if you describe a coworker as "the company's JarJar."

I know I've talked about this topic before, but my friend's reference to flux capacitors made me think that it would be fun to ask you which movie phrases you use as conceptual shorthand in day-to-day life. Sure, everybody uses "warp speed" to mean really really fast, and "catch 22" to mean, well, catch 22. It probably doesn't get used too frequently, but if somebody said "Rosebud," well, you would know that he really meant "I have wasted my life in pursuit of business and financial acquisitions when I really should've been playing in the snow or smelling roses or some stuff like that."

What others can you think of? Let me know...and have a great day!

Race Preparation

It's unusual to wake up to find that it's raining.

I suppose it does that all the time in places like Seattle and Xtapolapocetl, but here in the Denver area, it is almost always clear and calm in the early hours. Sure, afternoon thunderstorms are common during the summers, and wintertime pre-dawn snowstorms aren't at all uncommon. But rain that continues all night and into the meat of the morning...well, that's pretty weird.

It was warm enough that I could've run in the rain without needing any extra garments -- but I didn't want to. I went to the gym instead, and jumped onto the elliptical. I did not strain myself, but by the time I got to the pool, I just felt like taking a nap.

Fortunately, my teammates always provide good motivation. I eventually perked up and finished the workout with some reasonably solid sprints.

None of that has anything to do with haircuts, though, which is the subject of this post. Those of you who are hippies, rastafarians, or romance novel cover models will have no idea what I'm talking about...but those of us who prefer crisp and clean cranial grooming are burdened with the necessity of frequent trips to the barber. I probably get a haircut about once every two or three weeks.

Fortunately, the stylish simplicity of my elegantly understated coiffure enables me to save money by performing the necessary shearing operations all by myself. A few quick passes with the clippers (and an even quicker passage of the vacuum cleaner), and I'm done. Looking good and feeling fast.

The problem right now is that my hair is long enough to give me a bit of a Bobcat Goldthwait vibe. But I normally don't perform my "victory cut" until just a day or two before the race. I may have to make an exception here.

Of course, I'm required to wear a cap during the swim, so the length of my hair wouldn't matter for that leg -- and longer hair would probably help with sweat management in the heat and humidity of Milwaukee during the bike and run...so I probably ought to leave it long. But no, I can't do that; my anti-hippie reflexes are too highly developed.

Chronologic incongruity.

Ugh. Sorry about that -- The process of writing this post was interrupted by a series of events that kept me away from the keyboard. It was a good weekend, and I made some progress on my race preparation, but there is still much to do.

In the meantime, I did get a haircut. I'm looking' good, feelin' good, and ready to rock the racecourse. (I'll need an extremely absorbent sweat-wicking headband, of course, but unruly tresses will not be a distraction.) The only problem is that I think I might have some sort of allergen in my apartment. Whenever I sit down to watch TV, I get a little wheezy. Hopefully, my weekend housecleaning has taken care of it. But either way, I am looking forward to getting away for a week.

And this has nothing to do with any of that, but I realized the other day that I have become completely dependent on the Internet. Not only are there several thousand YouTube versions of Stairway to Heaven, but the Web is also my source for news, trivia, and questionable dating advice.

Here is a perfect example: I overhead someone use the words "Batman cat," and...well, you see the result right here.

Despite the problems in the world, I am delighted that I can still find reasons to smile. Have a great day, my friends!