100 Days of Stupid: Day 10

Felt lazy today. It's starting to be a recurring theme. Maybe that's the lesson I'm supposed to learn? At least I scored some oral antibiotics to battle my ear infection. Hoping they don't make me sick this weekend. Anyhow, back to the laziness, I did the easiest thing I could do today: A 3.5 road run around town.

100 Days of Stupid: Day 9

Today was the first day I would have definitely taken off if not for this ill-advised, self-imposed challenge. I have a painful ear infection and barely slept last night. But the weather was decent and a couple of Advil kept the pounding of the ear at bay. So I headed over to Pack for some mountain running. Took the Wapack trail to the summit for a much needed change of scenery. I don't usually run this route as it is more technical than the Marion Davis trail and all the rocks and roots make twisting an ankle a much greater possibility. Felt fine once I started though...More proof, if any was needed, that starting is 90% of the battle.

100 Days of Stupid: Day 1-8

"For us, there is only the trying. The rest is not our business"

-T.S. Eliot

"Try not. Do or do not. There is no try."

-Yoda

Blatantly ripping off an idea from Inspired by an old PCHS classmate's goal of practicing her musical art for 100 straight days, last week I decided to attempt the goal of 100 straight days of workouts.

In part I do this because I don't plan on doing any other major races this year; the Wildman will likely have been it for me this year. Now I don't race to win, there are plenty of people faster, younger, and/or more motivated than myself, plus I am fundamentally too lazy to train enough to win anything. I race because it forces me to prepare to race and preparing to race injects some healthy struggle into life -- If you think struggle is all bad then I weep for you. I'm doing it for other reasons too, some pragmatic some quasi-spiritual, but to talk about those would be either boring or would exceed my daily allotment of philosophical mumbo-jumbo.

So I'm trying to engage in a moderately hard physical activity each day for 100 days in a row. What's a "moderately hard*" activity? For me it would be:

• A road run over 5k
  

• Any track workout totaling 5 miles or more

• A trail run or hike equal to or better than my regular 2.56 mile 1000' vertical climb up Pack Monadnock

• Any mountain bike ride over 15 miles

• Any road ride over 20 miles

• 30 minutes or more of the Ashtanga primary series

* Please, spare me tales of "some guy you know" who has only one leg and ran the Obscurity 200 Nightime Ultra Marathon in January while juggling flaming chainsaws. Unless you are Dean Karnazes, Lance Armstrong, or Chris Sharma, then stuff it, because there is always somebody doing something harder than you :-) If you on the other hand are doing something, then let's hear it!

I'm fairly confident I won't pull this off without some luck and an unhealthy doses or self-deception since I face at least four daunting obstacles:

1. Injury (both my Achilles are creaky these days)
   
2. Vacation (a week at the beach in two weeks...in the middle of which is the Bride's opening)
3. Work (busy as always)
4. Going to the Kingdom Trails this weekend for a long Saturday day ride *and* a night ride. Sunday looks grim.

~~~~~

I had to get several days into this before I wrote about it (in case I fell in a hole on day 2). I've been at it eight days and so far, so good:

Day 1 - 6:

Starting last Monday August 17th I ran my regular run up the Marion Davis trail on Pack Monadnock and then down the access road. The heat and humidity here have been off the charts, with 90F/90% not being uncommon. Still it was pretty easy as I've been doing this regularly for a couple years now. I even managed my third fastest ascent this year on Thursday when the heat wasn't that bad. I'm already feeling cocky, this is going to be too easy!

Day 7:

I was pressed for time so went right out the front door for a 3.5 mile road run. Again the humidity was crushing, but it was easy motivation-wise because I don't want to deal with the self-loathing that ending the streak so early would entail. How long till that well runs dry and I simply don't give a shit?

Day 8: Nicest day so far, so why did I have the hardest time getting out? Somebody said this was going to be easy right? Couldn't face another trip up Pack so I went to the track and warmed up for 2 miles, then ran a hard 3 mile @ 6:32 pace. Sadly it really felt faster, but clearly I am getting old. The brain perceives pain consistent with 6:10 pace, but the legs can't deliver that.

Wildman

Friday night the Bride and I headed up to Gorham, NH as we have on this weekend for the past 5 years. But this time we weren't headed up for the 24 Hours of Great Glen, but rather the Wildman Biathlon. I was looking for something "easier" to than the two-man team Todd and I have fielded these past 5 years as well as a race that would better leverage the mountain running I've been doing regularly the past two years. I also wanted to spend less time training, and I figured something that lasted about as long as a marathon had to require less time training than the 24HoGG. That only proved partially true...

Coming into the finish of the first leg in Shelburne, NH
Looking Good & Going Slow :-P

In its 21st year, the Wildman is a 10k road run, 22.3 mile road ride with a stiff uphill finish up the "easy" side of Pinkham Notch, and finally a 3 mile uphill-only mountain run to the summit of Wildcat Mountain. A few competitors run the race as a relay, but the bulk, like myself, were doing it solo.

The weather was close to perfect when we arrived for the 8:00 race start; the humidity was low and it was about as cool as it could be without needing to wear warmup jersey.

I didn't want to cook myself on the first leg, a fairly flat out and back with a couple short hills. I figure I'm good right now for 6:30 pace in a standalone race, so my goal was a sedate 7:30 pace. Things didn't go quite to plan as my first mile was way too quick, but I calmed down and finished in 45:20 at 7:18 pace. If felt odd to be leaving so much in reserve, but I still managed to be in 36th place, out of the 96 solo entrants.

Leaving T1 for a quick "lap" before heading to Wildcat.

Having dogged it a bit on the first leg I had a lot left in the tank for the bike. I got through the first transition quickly enough, at least by my own very low standards. Before heading to Wildcat we were required to make one 7 mile lap around some local Shelburne roads and return to the first transition area before heading out to Gorham. The lap was typical rolling New England hills, no big climbs. For those first seven miles I just tried to get into a consistent rhythm, knowing there was plenty of climbing at the end. I passed a fair number of people and was passed in turn by the better cyclists.

Here's how you know you are dealing with a mountain biker out of his element:

1) Full fingered gloves*

2) Earth tone socks

3) MTB shoes

4) Giro Xen helmet

5) Cheap no-name road bike
6) Crazy Mountain Man Beard
7) Loose and flappy shirt

* Probably the only person who bothered with gloves of any kind! I am Safety Paul after all.

After the local lap we headed for Gorham and then turned onto Rt 16. The course stayed the same with no climbs of note until the 12.5 mile mark. At that point the course climbs from approximately 800' to 2000' feet in less than 10 miles, with the last two miles climbing 500'. Hardly Tour de France numbers, but enough that you're going to feel it.

With the start of the real climbing at 12.5 I my legs felt good, surprising since I'd only ridden about 200 miles in preparation for this race, so I started to reel people in. My slack pace thus far paid off I was able to pass several riders before I reached Wildcat in 1:19:29, the 28th best bike time of the day.

Coming into T2 is a quick turn onto loose dirt with jelly legs. Fun.

T2 was a bit pokey as my legs were quite wobbly when I got off the bike and I grabbed some Sport Legs pills from the Bride. When I started the 3 mile 2000' trail run to the summit of Wildcat, my legs felt awful, forcing me into a painfully slow trot, but they would soon feel worse.

The Final Insult

After about a quarter of a mile my legs detonated and started cramping uncontrollably. If I straightened my leg my quad would seize, if I bent it too much my hamstrings locked up.

Master of the "Power Limp" (tm).

I gave serious consideration to quitting the race since I had barely started the last leg and could barely walk. Clearly I'd overdone the bike leg. But then I came around a corner and glanced at the other "runners" strung out up the trail. Almost all of them was doing some variant of the limp I was doing. Then I realized, "Ah ha! This is how it is supposed to be!", and I plodded on.

The merciful end!

Occasionally I was able to start trotting again (I hesitate to call anything I did on that last leg "running"). The one mile mark passed and I didn't feel any worse. I kept waiting for the 2 mile mark, thinking I'd try to run the last mile.

The finish area.

My thinking wasn't very clear and even as I approached the summit and saw the Bride snapping my picture I thought, "Gee, she (having taken the gondola to the summit) hiked down an awfully long way".

The course elevation profile...you get the idea.

"How much further?", I asked her dejectedly, that stupid 2 mile mark couldn't arrive soon enough. She looked at me with a puzzled look, and said "Only a hundred yards or so." I wasn't sure if I should believe her, since her distance estimation abilities are quite dubious, it might be 1600 yards. But I started running as best I could and sure enough, around the next bend was the merciful end.

Added another 4000-footer to my list today...the hard way.

I finished the last leg in 51:05**, the 37th best ascent of the day. Overall I finished in 32nd place and even beat 11 of the relay teams.

** For some reason my splits for the first two legs were missing in the race results. The splits listed above for the first two legs are from my Garmin 405 so the totals don't foot exactly. The total time per the 405 was 2:55:48, per the race results 2:55:49.

The Bride likes working support for races that last only a few hours and take place while the sun is shining.

If I was to do this race again, beyond the obvious of more miles training on the bike, I would definitely go harder on the 10k, something under 7:00 pace. I don't think it would effect my cycling too much and I don't think I could do the last leg any slower without going backwards. The main thing I'd do though is to train more for the second transition. My body was simply not prepared for getting off the bike and running. I'd done two shortened dry runs of the race in the past month but clearly this was not remotely enough. After every other bike ride I think a run, no matter how short, would be what is needed to prepare for this race.

I've only taken in this view previously with skis on.

And as to this race being easier than Great Glen, I'd tend to say it is, since it's certainly shorter, and mountain bike racing at night when you are exhausted is unrelentingly trying. But I've never done any race where my legs felt as awful as they did on the last climb; mentally I came pretty close to folding then. I suppose the real lesson is that while the race is shorter, you till have to train just as much!

Stop!

Not so powerful right now. Most misinterpreted vanity plate ever. Those who do get it however, love it, I've caught people taking pictures.

Yesterday, on my way home from my daily lunch run at Pack Monadnock I was driving through the idyllic center of my home town enjoying the fact that the rains have finally stopped. The idyll is shattered as a woman drives directly into my path from a side street. I slam on the brakes, thinking, "Surely, she is not running that stop sign. Surely she will see me and stop. Surely if she doesn't I will be able to stop in time." Alas I see her facing straight ahead, never apparently bothering, as we were all taught as children, to "look both ways". Her head never turns as she crosses into my lane. Fortunately I was able to scrub off most of my speed, with another 10' it probably would have only been a close call. Unfortunately I don't have that extra 10' and, as her head never turns, I hit her car in the right front quarter.

It would be worse if I was driving an FJ. Think mushroom cloud.

The impact is fairly minor, though I see the other car's airbag deploy. After a quick second to assess that I am intact (I only notice much later that I slammed my shin into the dash leaving a decent bruise) I jump out. By the standards of our town a "large" crowd was already milling about waiting for the children's Circus Camp performance to start. The other driver was already out of her car and being attended to. She was was none the worse for wear, excepting some minor abrasions on her arm from the airbag.

Subframe is toast, but hopefully the damage is all cosmetic.

Local mechanic and volunteer fire fighter Luke is soon on the scene and handles everything quite professionally. The police arrive later, take statements, and as far as I can tell, fail to cite the other driver for failing to stop. While that is that's their call, I can't help but think about all the little kids who ride their bikes around the center of town or the motorcyclists that come through. What would have happened to them in my place? Alternatively, if I was a semi, or one of the many driver who flaunt or local 30 mph speed limit, the other driver might not have walked away from this. I suppose I am just having a tough time getting my head around the fact that one would pull out from a side street onto the main drag through town and never bother to look. Eventually you are going to kill someone else, yourself, or both.

I was able to lash the bumper back together and as no fluids were leaking, I was able to drive the half mile to home. Then ensued a lot of time on hold with Geico. 90 minutes later a town truck came to pick up the XTerra, though not after making several calls to me in an attempt to find my house. Eventually I just went out on the street and flagged him down. Three letters for you guys: GPS. And welcome to 2009.

Now I wait till Monday to see if the damage is repairable or if the frame is bent and the truck is a total. I can't believe that it can't be fixed, but we've all heard the stories of folks in a minor fender bender whose seemingly pristine cars are declared wrecks due to some subtle damage not visible to the eye. I certainly hope that it can be fixed, I am quite found of the Exterra (or as S2 calls it, the "Etc.").

Sunny

Sadly his command of merge tracking issues is limited.

Occasionally at KRA we* take in orphaned kittens. Recently, a lone three week old male, dubbed "Sunny" by the Bride, was dropped in front of the shelter.

I love other cats...If by "love" you mean, "want to rip their faces off".

After having to drive the Bride to the shelter at 10:00 pm to bottle feed Sunny, I allegedly, in a sleep deprived haze, said something to the effect of, "Wouldn't this be easier if he was just at our house?"

Your shoe is untied. Well it's about to be anyway.

Cue to a few days later and not only is he in our house, he's in my office. Now we already have three cats, so we are fostering him only until he is adopted (and the Bride tells me we already have a hot lead). In the meantime I've learned more than I ever wanted to know about how kittens learn to poop.

I bite your face.

Now I'll say somebody hacked my account and wrote this sappy post if anyone repeats this, but I'll miss him when he's gone. Except the stink. That, I won't miss.


* I used to refer to any household affiliation with this organization only as it related to the Bride, but for better or worse I'm officially part of of "we".

This will go down on your permanent record

The paranoid among us believe that every keystroke and mouse click we ever make is recorded somewhere, by someone, for some nefarious purpose. It might not be that bad, but it's probably close.

Storage is cheap. Computers are fast. So why not archive everything? Seriously, 100 years from now somebody might really want to know what my first commit to Subversion was (other than the i5/OS port as that hardly counts now). Or what 'Paul a Cross Country Rider from Cambridge' thought about some overpriced bike bling.

Gimme Shelter

Tiny.

For the past several months the bride has been volunteering at local cat shelter.

A new arrival finally sits still for her pic.

Mostly her job involves, well, shoveling cat crap.

Zach

But as she is a graphic designer it wasn't long before their web-site was redesigned: http://kittyrescueandadoption.org/.

It's green. No it's some kind of blue. You can just be sure it ain't plain white paint. You never see plain white paint when you are married to an artist.

And with a former career in marketing it wasn't long before she was missing in action for a few days to clean up the front office so potential adoptees aren't scared off by the mess.

Bethany wastes no time taking over the bed of lesser cats.

As she is married to me and I have some vague idea how to use our camera ("point at subject, press button, repeat until photo good") it wasn't long before a web site photographer was found.

Unknown panther in the "Crazies" rooms. So named not for the cats, but for the nut jobs whose house they were rescued from. Note, people shouldn't have 60+ cats.

And as we both are suckers for the oddballs it wasn't long before we had a third cat join the household, the remarkable cross-eyed, never silent Bethany (a.k.a. The Gray Mouser, Boofanny, Springs, Pain in the Ass who never shuts up and jumps on me at 6:00 am like clockwork).

Cassandra.

It's pretty hard to work at this place and not fall for a few of them...

Solomon

...as the bride's mother soon learned after visiting the shelter several times...

If you have any old but serviceable cat furniture let us know.

...and coming home with two cats (who now run that side of the house).

Bitchin Throw blanket, circa 1973

Valentino

And lest I be accused of singing the bride's praises too loudly, there are a legion of other volunteers who make this place go with everything from cleaning muscle to the always needed supplies and cash.

This is what all the non-feral cats in the place do: Wait to be picked up.

If you think cats are aloof you've never been here.

The housing market here is still strong

LJ: One of the only blue-eyed adults in the place

Qita on yet another successful mission to smudge the lens.

Flowers (The Gray Mouser's Sister)

Zoe. Loves you with enthusiasm. Probably getting ready to leap onto someone's shoulder.

King Barry. He may not look it but he is the best cat in the place (and really, who looks good when photographed on a beige linoleum floor?) If it wasn't for the fact that our male cat doesn't like other males he would be sleeping on my desk right now.

Gloria. The Grande Dame of the Bride's Room. Frisky young males who mess with her get neutered the hard way.

The Gray Mouser settles in for another tough day at work in my office. Who the "master" is in this relationship is not entirely clear to me.

So, if you live in the southern NH area and need a good pet you know where to go.

ptb

Letting Go Is Hard To Do

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K1AWP/SK

Joseph T. Amaral Sr. Bridgewater Joseph T. Amaral Sr., of Bridgewater, Feb. 4, 2008. Mr. Amaral died at Good Samatitan Medical Center after a period of failing health, he was 88. Born in Bridgewater, he was a son of the late Manuel and Delphina (DaSilva) Amaral. Mr. Amaral was a good year stitcher for Lucy Shoe Co. for 40 years, retiring in 1984. He was devoted to his late wife Theresa (Brown) and his children, Theresa Craig Sloan of Florida, Thomas T. Jr. of Hanson, Nancy E. Reed of Halifax and Richard M. Amaral of Bridgewater; brother of Manuel of Bridgewater and the late Edward and David. Also survived by 10 grandchildren; and seven great-grandchildren.

1937

Mr. Amaral was a lifelong resident of Bridgewater, member and past grand Knight of the Bridgewater Knights of Columbus, Holy Name Society, St. Vincent DePaul and former alter server. He was active in the Civil Defense, V.F.W. and the Massasoit Amateur radio club. He also served in the U.S. Navy during World War II.

__________________________________________

Two months ago my last living grandparent died. His name was Joe but to me he was simply Grampa.

Grampa at his radio. K1AWP has signed off for good now.

Some of my earliest memories are of his and Nana's house, particularly on Christmas Eve. For almost half my life the evening of December 24th meant descending on 30 Aldrich Road in the company of my immediate family, various aunts, uncles, and cousins. On those December nights it seemed impossibly crowded at that house, even to a child who could squeeze through the press of revelers.


The highlight of the evening was crowding into the front parlor to pass out gifts. The nativity scene and Grampa's always spindly, Charlie Brown Christmas tree forever in danger of being knocked over by some wayward grandchild. Visiting the house after Grampa's funeral, that room seemed impossibly small. Likely it possessed of TARDIS-like properties to which only Grampa knew the secret.

Other memories float back from over the years. Eating Fruit Loops in the basement kitchen. The monstrous ham radio tower. The huge vegetable garden which to this day my best efforts are but a shadow of. The venerable ride-on lawn mower. Shooting a rifle for the first time in the back yard. Hanging out in the old camping trailer even though we were parked in the yard. The list goes on, but it is only a sliver of his life, as seen through my eyes.


Knowing one's grandparents can be a challenge. By the time we come along they have lived so much, seen and done so much that it's hard to grasp it all. We take them for granted sometimes, these elder statesmen (and women) of our families. They are just there, solid, reliable, forever old in the eyes of us much younger.

Until of course, they are gone. Then you recognize what they were. The center of orbiting families, their gravity holding otherwise distant relatives together. Some of those satellites may have moved far off since those days of crowded Christmas Eves and barely feel the pull anymore of that center. But when it's gone, you notice.

One of Grampa's ham radio plates in its new home.

ptb