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."
Thursday, August 26, 2010
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
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Sentimental pain
For reasons that defy logic and I can't begin to explain, I decided to run the East Hill Loop this evening after work.
The East Hill Loop was the staple run of the Wausau Hill Runners, a dedicated group of harriers that consisted of three Wausau Daily Herald staffers, Dave, Kyle and Me. We would attempt to meet Wednesday mornings before work at the Y. From there we would run up winding city streets that climb the hill on the East Side of Wausau.
For those not familiar with our little slice of paradise in central Wisconsin, the hill is steep climb out of the Wisconsin River Valley. It's not the Rockies of Colorado or the Palisades of NYC, but it is a steep pitch, maybe three quarters of a mile long.
Dave picked the run because he liked pain. So he would look for running routes that featured the best and longest hills. At first I hated him for this, but then, I too, grew to love the hills. My resurgence as a runner began on that hill, what, five years ago now?
Today I ran the four mile route in 36 minutes and 11 seconds. Since I can barely remember my times from the Hillrunners era, I'm not sure this is a personal record, but I think it is.
Dave, do you read this? Let me know.
Dave marked all the routes, found out their distance and kept track of all our times. He wore this old-school LCD stopwatch around his neck, thinking that it made him some kind of Bill Bowerman.
Of course Dave and Kyle kicked my ass up and down that hill. But I still loved it, and I missed them as I felt that clawing feeling in my lungs as I plodded toward the top of the hill.
And I especially missed sitting in a booth at The Mint after our runs, swilling coffee and gulping down the best corned beef hash in the world while solving the problems of the world, the city and the newspaper for which we worked.
The East Hill Loop was the staple run of the Wausau Hill Runners, a dedicated group of harriers that consisted of three Wausau Daily Herald staffers, Dave, Kyle and Me. We would attempt to meet Wednesday mornings before work at the Y. From there we would run up winding city streets that climb the hill on the East Side of Wausau.
For those not familiar with our little slice of paradise in central Wisconsin, the hill is steep climb out of the Wisconsin River Valley. It's not the Rockies of Colorado or the Palisades of NYC, but it is a steep pitch, maybe three quarters of a mile long.
Dave picked the run because he liked pain. So he would look for running routes that featured the best and longest hills. At first I hated him for this, but then, I too, grew to love the hills. My resurgence as a runner began on that hill, what, five years ago now?
Today I ran the four mile route in 36 minutes and 11 seconds. Since I can barely remember my times from the Hillrunners era, I'm not sure this is a personal record, but I think it is.
Dave, do you read this? Let me know.
Dave marked all the routes, found out their distance and kept track of all our times. He wore this old-school LCD stopwatch around his neck, thinking that it made him some kind of Bill Bowerman.
Of course Dave and Kyle kicked my ass up and down that hill. But I still loved it, and I missed them as I felt that clawing feeling in my lungs as I plodded toward the top of the hill.
And I especially missed sitting in a booth at The Mint after our runs, swilling coffee and gulping down the best corned beef hash in the world while solving the problems of the world, the city and the newspaper for which we worked.
Friday, June 11, 2010
The art of relaxation
The goals of this six-day "staycation" was to run, bike and to make some progress on building that basement laundry cabinet that has been in the works for the last seven months.
Oh, and I was supposed to make the dinners this week, too.
Along the way I had hoped to quaff coffee in the downtown coffee shop, take naps, read books and eat some food that is high in sugar and fat content.
I can say, at the start of my third day of this bout of R&R, that I've been successful on all fronts. Even made a dinner or two. (Granted, throwing hamburgers on the grill is pretty easy, and opening a bag of chips is more so, and Kris still whipped up a tasty side dish, but still...)
All those undertakings, however, were secondary, surface activities meant to help me realize the ultimate goal: To relax and recharge.
It would seem simple to take it easy, but that's not exactly the way I'm wired. I've taken these stay-at-home vacations before, and they've gone badly. I end up on the couch flipping through channels, looking for gumption to do anything but sit on the couch and flip through channels. At that point I usually turn to cookies and chips. And then I start thinking about all the things I should be doing. Then I started thinking about my life, and my career, and all the things I wanted to do but never quite got around to completing, or even starting. Then I end up in a worry loop of misery, with my stomach churning and my heart skipping beats every now and then.
I got close to the worry loop a couple of times, especially on the rainy days. But then I got up, and went out into the garage, and started fooling around with plywood and tools.
And it made me feel better.
The key to this staycation, I've found, is to find activities that allow some freedom of thought, but also require a sort of concentration on the task at hand.
A good strong drink after a bout of strenuous exercise seems to help, too.
Oh, and I was supposed to make the dinners this week, too.
Along the way I had hoped to quaff coffee in the downtown coffee shop, take naps, read books and eat some food that is high in sugar and fat content.
I can say, at the start of my third day of this bout of R&R, that I've been successful on all fronts. Even made a dinner or two. (Granted, throwing hamburgers on the grill is pretty easy, and opening a bag of chips is more so, and Kris still whipped up a tasty side dish, but still...)
All those undertakings, however, were secondary, surface activities meant to help me realize the ultimate goal: To relax and recharge.
It would seem simple to take it easy, but that's not exactly the way I'm wired. I've taken these stay-at-home vacations before, and they've gone badly. I end up on the couch flipping through channels, looking for gumption to do anything but sit on the couch and flip through channels. At that point I usually turn to cookies and chips. And then I start thinking about all the things I should be doing. Then I started thinking about my life, and my career, and all the things I wanted to do but never quite got around to completing, or even starting. Then I end up in a worry loop of misery, with my stomach churning and my heart skipping beats every now and then.
I got close to the worry loop a couple of times, especially on the rainy days. But then I got up, and went out into the garage, and started fooling around with plywood and tools.
And it made me feel better.
The key to this staycation, I've found, is to find activities that allow some freedom of thought, but also require a sort of concentration on the task at hand.
A good strong drink after a bout of strenuous exercise seems to help, too.
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