Back when I was running on Colby High School's great cross-country team, Coach Johnson often had us run a speed/strength workout we called "Sheds." As in, we're going to run Sheds today.
This workout consisted of running all-out to an equipment shed built set back on the high school fields. All told, a Shed sprint was about 600 yards across grass. We usually did three Sheds, or so. One day Coach Johnson decided to see what we're made of. As I remember it, he had us run six Shed repeats, and told us that he'd buy a pop for anyone who puked.
On the last repeat, we were all on our knees in a circle around a pine tree. It looked as if we were praying to the tree god, but we really were retching our guts out. Nothing came up for me, but my ab muscles were sore from the dry heaves.
I'm 30 years older now, and still running. But running 'til you puke is a young athlete's game, and I rarely push myself to that point, even in a race. What? I'm going to kill myself so I come in 48th in a field of 130 runners instead of 55th?
But this morning I decided to run on some trails on the western edge of Rib Mountain, and the route begins with a long, steep incline. I powered along, trudging, basically, like an old four-wheel drive Ford F-150 grinding away in low range.
It felt pretty good, but as the heart rate rose, and the lungs pumped, I noticed a deep cough beginning. I had a nasty head cold a couple of weeks ago, and I think some of the stuff that was in my head drained into my throat, and maybe even settled into my lungs. The deep breathing was dredging some crap up, and found myself upchucking the junk. I wasn't throwing up, exactly, but the stuff was coming out.
And I continued to run.
As I negotiated the rocky trails, and found my way to Rib Mountain State Park's observation tower, I felt better and better. I went to the top of the tower, and looked over the patchwork quilt that is central Wisconsin in the fall. It was gorgeous.
I ran back on the trail that has a longer route down, but isn't as steep. I felt lighter and better than I have for weeks. I felt like a Colby cross country runner once again.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Monday, September 6, 2010
Paddling the Bay
It takes a certain amount of self-delusion to undertake any sort of epic human-powered journey.
Or at least it does for me. Because if I had really thought with common sense and logic about about the kayak paddle from Marinette to Egg Harbor, I likely would have -- should have, perhaps -- dismissed the idea.
But when Mike Clark, a fellow wooden kayak enthusiast posted on Facebook his intent to do the trip, and called on other paddlers to join him, most of my sense of reality took its leave.
All I could think about was how, while living in Marinette, I would stand on the shore and gaze over at Door County. I'd watch speed boats zoom back and forth, and I began to dream about owning a boat of my own. I would leave Marinette, the fantasy went, go over to to Egg Harbor or Fish Creek or whatever, eat lunch, and come back.
This goal never took a hard hold until I built my own wooden kayak. This boat is terrific to paddle, and I found I could easily go two, three miles with little effort. I took it on a four-day camping/paddling trip at Voyageur's National Park in northern Minnesota and the boat handled fantastically on rough water. "Wow," I thought, "this would be great to take over to Door County."
I am married, however. Kris told me she would worry herself sick if I attempted a crossing alone, and I respected that perspective. It IS dangerous to make such a crossing, and even though I would have tried it if I was single, it would be a foolhardy to do it on your own, especially as a relatively inexperienced paddler like myself.
I tried to find people to go with, but was unsuccessful. I made half-hearted attempts to line up a boater to escort me, ditto. So I let it go.
That's why Mike's post grabbed my attention. I would do it, I told myself, despite the fact that I hadn't wet a paddle in two years. It'll come back to me, I told myself. I'll just do it.
An experienced kayaker warned me off. "I'm not telling you not to go," he said. "But that's a serious crossing. And unlike a 100-mile bike ride, you can't just get off and walk."
I understood that. But I just had such a belief in myself and my strength and even my skills, that I knew I could do it.
In the end I was right. It was a perfect day for paddling, but there were some rolling waves we had to deal with on our five-hour crossing. It took a lot more out of me than I expected. My forearms began to burn and ache and shriek, and today, a day after the paddle, I can barely grab a coffee cup.
But the passion for paddling and my boat is back. I would go out for a jaunt on the river today if my body would let me. I hope to do more paddling adventures, and I vow to be better prepared and in shape for them. And I still would like to reach just beyond my grasp.
Or at least it does for me. Because if I had really thought with common sense and logic about about the kayak paddle from Marinette to Egg Harbor, I likely would have -- should have, perhaps -- dismissed the idea.
But when Mike Clark, a fellow wooden kayak enthusiast posted on Facebook his intent to do the trip, and called on other paddlers to join him, most of my sense of reality took its leave.
All I could think about was how, while living in Marinette, I would stand on the shore and gaze over at Door County. I'd watch speed boats zoom back and forth, and I began to dream about owning a boat of my own. I would leave Marinette, the fantasy went, go over to to Egg Harbor or Fish Creek or whatever, eat lunch, and come back.
This goal never took a hard hold until I built my own wooden kayak. This boat is terrific to paddle, and I found I could easily go two, three miles with little effort. I took it on a four-day camping/paddling trip at Voyageur's National Park in northern Minnesota and the boat handled fantastically on rough water. "Wow," I thought, "this would be great to take over to Door County."
I am married, however. Kris told me she would worry herself sick if I attempted a crossing alone, and I respected that perspective. It IS dangerous to make such a crossing, and even though I would have tried it if I was single, it would be a foolhardy to do it on your own, especially as a relatively inexperienced paddler like myself.
I tried to find people to go with, but was unsuccessful. I made half-hearted attempts to line up a boater to escort me, ditto. So I let it go.
That's why Mike's post grabbed my attention. I would do it, I told myself, despite the fact that I hadn't wet a paddle in two years. It'll come back to me, I told myself. I'll just do it.
An experienced kayaker warned me off. "I'm not telling you not to go," he said. "But that's a serious crossing. And unlike a 100-mile bike ride, you can't just get off and walk."
I understood that. But I just had such a belief in myself and my strength and even my skills, that I knew I could do it.
In the end I was right. It was a perfect day for paddling, but there were some rolling waves we had to deal with on our five-hour crossing. It took a lot more out of me than I expected. My forearms began to burn and ache and shriek, and today, a day after the paddle, I can barely grab a coffee cup.
But the passion for paddling and my boat is back. I would go out for a jaunt on the river today if my body would let me. I hope to do more paddling adventures, and I vow to be better prepared and in shape for them. And I still would like to reach just beyond my grasp.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Back yard bathroom
We've recently completed some home upgrades, a new tile floor in our entry way, and more significantly, a wood floor installation/revamp in our kitchen and dining room.
All home renovations create upheaval, and in this case, the wood floor project required that we stay out of half of our house for three days or so. We had to move all the furniture out of the area, and eat in the living room. We also fashioned a sort of plank bridge to have access to our bedroom.
One of the flooring contractors told Kris that he installed floors in an elderly woman's house in the Wausau area. He told her that, because the sealant needs to dry, she wouldn't be able to get to her bedroom for a night or two.
"That's OK," replied the woman, who he described as being in her 80s. "I can sleep in my recliner. It's very comfortable."
"Oh, good," the contractor said. "And, you won't be able to get to the bathroom, either."
"Oh, that's no problem," the woman cheerily answered. "I'll use the back yard. I'm an old farm girl."
All home renovations create upheaval, and in this case, the wood floor project required that we stay out of half of our house for three days or so. We had to move all the furniture out of the area, and eat in the living room. We also fashioned a sort of plank bridge to have access to our bedroom.
One of the flooring contractors told Kris that he installed floors in an elderly woman's house in the Wausau area. He told her that, because the sealant needs to dry, she wouldn't be able to get to her bedroom for a night or two.
"That's OK," replied the woman, who he described as being in her 80s. "I can sleep in my recliner. It's very comfortable."
"Oh, good," the contractor said. "And, you won't be able to get to the bathroom, either."
"Oh, that's no problem," the woman cheerily answered. "I'll use the back yard. I'm an old farm girl."
Monday, August 23, 2010
Long, rambling post about my first bike race
Oh, sure, if you want to look at the results, my first bicycle race, the 90-mile "Race the Lake," wasn't a stellar success.
I placed 893 out of 1,158 finishers, 774 out of 924 Individual Male Bike Race finishers. I finished the ride around Lake Winnebago in 5 hours, 12 minutes and 13.6 seconds, giving me a 17.007 mph average pace.
Really, that ain't very good.
But I loved it, for so many reasons.
First off, I rode it with my cousin-in-law John. John is a half dozen years younger than me, and an Ironman triathlete. He rides a high-end Trek time-trial bike he bought from e-Bay. He asked if I wanted to ride the Fond du Lac race a few months ago, and I thought it was a great idea.
John is a quiet guy, and frankly, I haven't gotten to know him very well throughout the years. So I thought this would be a great chance to learn a bit more about him, and I was right. He is low key, noncompetitive but a tough, stubborn and steady rider. We rode the first 45 miles together at a fairly moderate pace. I'm not exactly sure how fast, because my speedo was on the fritz; it was damp, and it doesn't work in moist conditions. (It started working later.)
At mile 45, there is a pretty decent hill, but before that, a rest stop. I wanted to get some food and water, John wanted to ride the hill right away. We agreed that John would take off, and I'd catch him either at the top, or at a next rest stop. So I pounded a banana and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and took off after him.
Over the next two and half hours, I went through a variety of emotions (none of them despair, however. That's pretty good for me) and states of generalized pain. I rode with a team of riders from Menasha, I helped pull a woman in pink sleeveless jersey for a few miles, I rode with an older guy on a hot Trek; and paced with the Menesha riders again. I crossed the finish line in a ball of pain that's hard to describe.
In many ways, it was a perfect race, because I believe I went as hard and fast as I could have on that particular day.
All along the way, I was looking for John. He was wearing an orangish/reddish sleeveless jersey, I'd see someone with a such a top off in the distance and I'd work hard to catch that rider, only to be disappointed in the end. I kept thinking, "Man, John is really going."
Turns out that John, after we split, turned back to the rest stop because his rear tire seemed soft. We must have missed each other, because I was ahead of him the whole time, never knowing what happened to him. Oh, well.
Meanwhile, here are some other notable highlights of the race:
*** There was a kid, maybe 16, 17 years old, who jumped in the race without registering. He stole food at the rest stops. He rode without a helmet on a cheapo mountain bike, wearing clunky sneakers and employing an erratic pace. As much as he annoyed me, what with stealing food that I helped pay for and all, I kind of admired him for his gutsy quest. The last I saw him was at mile 43, bobbing and weaving, trying to hold a 16 mph pace.
*** The Menesha team -- This was group of five riders, I think, four men and one woman. They rode a steady tempo in a draft line. John and I rode with them early on in the race, but we passed them. John doesn't like riding in a group, and I wanted to stick with him. Besides, we rode away from them. I went to the front of their group, with the idea of pulling for a while, but then I'd look back and they'd be back 200 yards or so. But they rode by us at the first rest stop, and I thought I'd never see them again. Wrong. Later in the race, we'd swap positions. I'd ride with them for a little while, then pass them. Finally, at my last rest stop, they rode by me as I was picking out some cookies.
I thought, I'm getting on their train. I rode with them from mile 75 to 80, about, then left them behind on a hill, and then a long downhill toward the end of the race. The same guy led them out the whole race; I didn't seem them sharing the workload at all. When I asked him if he was pulling the whole race, he gave me a brusque "No!" Maybe he misunderstood what I meant, but overall they weren't very friendly. Maybe they thought I was leeching off their pace, but every time I took the lead, they would back away. Weird. They became my rivals. I'm glad I beat them.
*** The woman in the pink jersey. I thought she was John from a distance, and when I caught her, she looked tired. "How are you doing?" I asked. "I'm beat," she said. "Don't worry, you'll make it."
I kept riding, and then looked back, and there she was, riding in my draft. "I hope you don't mind," she said. "No problem," I said. "I'm just making sure you're on."
I pulled for a few miles, and could feel the energy slowly draining from my legs. I caught a couple of big guys riding side by side, about 16 mph. I told her I was going to rest a while behind them. I felt the energy return to my legs, and pulled around them, and she went with me. A bit later, I looked back, and she was gone. I hope she did OK.
*** During the second half of the race, I passed a lot of people. I think I was passed myself only once, maybe twice. That's because I started in the last wave, because I wasn't sure how it would go. Because of that, I never could find a group of riders to help push the pace. The closest was the Menasha group, and they were a tad too slow. Next year, I want to move up a wave or two, and hopefully can find a group that can push the pace at 20 to 22 mph throughout the race. Of course, I'll be in better shape then, too.
I placed 893 out of 1,158 finishers, 774 out of 924 Individual Male Bike Race finishers. I finished the ride around Lake Winnebago in 5 hours, 12 minutes and 13.6 seconds, giving me a 17.007 mph average pace.
Really, that ain't very good.
But I loved it, for so many reasons.
First off, I rode it with my cousin-in-law John. John is a half dozen years younger than me, and an Ironman triathlete. He rides a high-end Trek time-trial bike he bought from e-Bay. He asked if I wanted to ride the Fond du Lac race a few months ago, and I thought it was a great idea.
John is a quiet guy, and frankly, I haven't gotten to know him very well throughout the years. So I thought this would be a great chance to learn a bit more about him, and I was right. He is low key, noncompetitive but a tough, stubborn and steady rider. We rode the first 45 miles together at a fairly moderate pace. I'm not exactly sure how fast, because my speedo was on the fritz; it was damp, and it doesn't work in moist conditions. (It started working later.)
At mile 45, there is a pretty decent hill, but before that, a rest stop. I wanted to get some food and water, John wanted to ride the hill right away. We agreed that John would take off, and I'd catch him either at the top, or at a next rest stop. So I pounded a banana and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and took off after him.
Over the next two and half hours, I went through a variety of emotions (none of them despair, however. That's pretty good for me) and states of generalized pain. I rode with a team of riders from Menasha, I helped pull a woman in pink sleeveless jersey for a few miles, I rode with an older guy on a hot Trek; and paced with the Menesha riders again. I crossed the finish line in a ball of pain that's hard to describe.
In many ways, it was a perfect race, because I believe I went as hard and fast as I could have on that particular day.
All along the way, I was looking for John. He was wearing an orangish/reddish sleeveless jersey, I'd see someone with a such a top off in the distance and I'd work hard to catch that rider, only to be disappointed in the end. I kept thinking, "Man, John is really going."
Turns out that John, after we split, turned back to the rest stop because his rear tire seemed soft. We must have missed each other, because I was ahead of him the whole time, never knowing what happened to him. Oh, well.
Meanwhile, here are some other notable highlights of the race:
*** There was a kid, maybe 16, 17 years old, who jumped in the race without registering. He stole food at the rest stops. He rode without a helmet on a cheapo mountain bike, wearing clunky sneakers and employing an erratic pace. As much as he annoyed me, what with stealing food that I helped pay for and all, I kind of admired him for his gutsy quest. The last I saw him was at mile 43, bobbing and weaving, trying to hold a 16 mph pace.
*** The Menesha team -- This was group of five riders, I think, four men and one woman. They rode a steady tempo in a draft line. John and I rode with them early on in the race, but we passed them. John doesn't like riding in a group, and I wanted to stick with him. Besides, we rode away from them. I went to the front of their group, with the idea of pulling for a while, but then I'd look back and they'd be back 200 yards or so. But they rode by us at the first rest stop, and I thought I'd never see them again. Wrong. Later in the race, we'd swap positions. I'd ride with them for a little while, then pass them. Finally, at my last rest stop, they rode by me as I was picking out some cookies.
I thought, I'm getting on their train. I rode with them from mile 75 to 80, about, then left them behind on a hill, and then a long downhill toward the end of the race. The same guy led them out the whole race; I didn't seem them sharing the workload at all. When I asked him if he was pulling the whole race, he gave me a brusque "No!" Maybe he misunderstood what I meant, but overall they weren't very friendly. Maybe they thought I was leeching off their pace, but every time I took the lead, they would back away. Weird. They became my rivals. I'm glad I beat them.
*** The woman in the pink jersey. I thought she was John from a distance, and when I caught her, she looked tired. "How are you doing?" I asked. "I'm beat," she said. "Don't worry, you'll make it."
I kept riding, and then looked back, and there she was, riding in my draft. "I hope you don't mind," she said. "No problem," I said. "I'm just making sure you're on."
I pulled for a few miles, and could feel the energy slowly draining from my legs. I caught a couple of big guys riding side by side, about 16 mph. I told her I was going to rest a while behind them. I felt the energy return to my legs, and pulled around them, and she went with me. A bit later, I looked back, and she was gone. I hope she did OK.
*** During the second half of the race, I passed a lot of people. I think I was passed myself only once, maybe twice. That's because I started in the last wave, because I wasn't sure how it would go. Because of that, I never could find a group of riders to help push the pace. The closest was the Menasha group, and they were a tad too slow. Next year, I want to move up a wave or two, and hopefully can find a group that can push the pace at 20 to 22 mph throughout the race. Of course, I'll be in better shape then, too.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Bike ride: Aug. 5, 2010
40 Miles: Wausau -> Marathon -> Mosinee -> Wausau
Soybeans
Jesus
Tractor
Sunflowers
Ginseng
Hay
Christmas trees
Cow
Soybeans
Jesus
Tractor
Sunflowers
Ginseng
Hay
Christmas trees
Cow
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