Trim Tram Donovan

Yet Here We Are

Mr. Incredible: You know I'm retired from hero work.

Edna: As am I, Robert, yet here we are.

I'm very fortunate that Ian has changed his new favorite movie from "Turbo: A Power Rangers Movie" to "The Incredibles". When he takes on a 'new' favorite, he will play it almost non-stop from the car to the living room to the car to the living room to the office to the car and where ever it will go. He will question me when I tell him, "We can't watch it here." He is relentless. When he finishes with a movie's fascination, I have just about memorized the whole thing.

Mr. Incredible: Call off the missiles! I'll do anything!

Syndrome: You're too late. 15 years too late.

Open water swim classes continue in the wee hours of 6AM on Tuesdays and Fridays. It continues to stay around 50 degrees during that time, no matter the day's forecast. This makes it cold conditions to get into water. Since my wet suit is old, it has been gaining cracks in different areas including my crotch.

This makes it easy for me to slowly slink into the water and expose my most sensitive areas to cold water immediately. Since I have such a long ritual of getting into the water, I try to get in first before the rest of the open water swim class.

They will typically stand on the edge of the water, curious how cold it will be or even hesitant to just get into the water. I will usually cry out when the water hits those three cut slots and my fists clench up.

Edna: Men at Robert's age are often unstable...prone to weakness...

My attitude to open water has seemingly improved. I float more easily. I swim farther though not much more. My endurance needs to help and I still get scared easily. But I find that it's just putting my face in the water that is the hardest part. At least I've identified where the bulk of the problem lies.

I go through of ritual of being spooked then I simply put my face in the water without paddling and it seems to comfort me instantly. If I can breathe easy under water, then I can easily continue.

Violet: Weeeeeelll...I think Dad made some excellent progress today but I think it's time to wind down now.

I competed in the Lake Mills Triathlon last weekend. I have made excellent progress but it's still a very much a living, breathing fear of drowning in a race like this one. It's happened in the Devil's Lake Triathlon. In the words of my buddy Erik, "It's a very rational fear." Thank you. I'm glad I'm not nuts.

As I approached the first buoy of the swim, a voice yelled out in the distance THIS GUY NEEDS HELP THIS GUY NEEDS HELP THIS GUY NEEDS HELP. I look up to see a young man's face pointing up as his body seemed to be lost under the water line as if his face were floating by itself, gasping for air, struggling for words. I hear the splash and see the lifeguard jump in to retrieve him. As this takes place ten feet ahead of me, the rescue motor boat slowly motors up to pull him inside. A horn blows and I look back to see the next wave of swimmers start. I was trapped.

My heart raced and I breast stroked over to the motorboat. I asked to hang off it for a moment while the cold waves slapped up against everything around me. The crowd of swimmers drew closer as this boy was helped into the boat. I saw the opportunity to start back up again with this wave of racers. I started back up again and spent a long time finishing the swim.

Mr. Incredible: It's psychotic! They keep finding new ways to celebrate mediocrity but if someone is genuinely exceptional...!

The movie is ingrained into my memory.

Frozone: Super ladies? They're always trying to tell you their secret identity.

At one open water swim class, I ran into a fellow deep water phobe. This gal has found a way to live with it. During class, we had "starts". These exercises helped us simulate triathlon starts with groups of swimmers. I hadn't run into her in a long time. She told me, "Of all people, I didn't think I'd see you out here."

"And yet here we are."

Cold Water

Unfortunately, I've let my swimming lapse a bit. Like a week and a half lapse. I'll have to get back on the horse here soon.

I biked the Ironman loop on Saturday with Killebrew, followed by a short run. Wind and cold made it difficult to finish. A welcome stop in Cross Plains made the bike ride enjoyable.

The night before, I sent Killebrew a text message after two beers, "bring your wet suit and lets [sic] see what the waters [sic] like at firemans park [sic]". I believe he replied something like "Your [sic] crazy" or something close to that, then he turned to mention, "I like it".

We returned to the parking lot after our brick workout, we put on our wet suits. It was still a bit windy and cold. Our bodies, though, had worked hard enough that cold water would be a welcome relief. It might have even been that we put on our wet suits because neither of us wanted to back down.

Walking down to the water, I could feel it getting colder. The water was actually emitting cold air. When my feet got into the water, I felt like I was putting them into a glass of ice water. I slowly put myself into the quarry's water while Shawn finished putting his wet suit on. Little by little, I knew that it was not the best idea to swim in this thing. It had to be close to 45-50 degree water.

"Let's just swim across and back," Shawn told me.

"No. You can. I'm getting out after a little while."

"Just over and back."

"No."

"20 Strokes. C'mon."

"No."

Shawn begins swimming across. By the time he made it to the other side, I was beginning to head back. I think I only made it out to the middle of the lake when I decided that my lungs were contracting and breathing way too fast to swim.

I stepped out of the water and I see Shawn look across the water at me. He swims back and hits his watch, "Two and a half minutes."

"Awesome." I shiver.

My open water swim classes started today but there was no way I was going to make it in THAT water THIS morning. I'm getting the chills just thinking about it.

One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer

There are three secrets to becoming a swimmer when you're not.

1. Put your face back in the water.

2. Keep making your swim challenging.

3. Try and have fun.

I spend two hours a week in an instructed swimming class. Some people find that this a lot, some people aren't a big deal.

When class began a few months ago, I had a really big problem coughing problem. My coughing at the end of the pool had some concerned. Just about every 25 yards, I would stop to cough.  Many in the class didn't talk about it. I thought nobody really noticed until one when a classmate patted me on the back at the end, "You're not coughing as much as you used to." She smiles and nods.

During a math class in the 7th grade, Mr. Miller allowed us to work alone on a packet of papers. Though it was typically a quiet scenario, he let some work in groups. Soon after this assignment, the working groups started getting louder and louder. I wasn't part of any of the groups since I was happy to work alone. The volume of the classroom was building and I felt comfortable singing to myself while I worked.

Knowing lyrics to George Thorogood songs was part of my musical landscape at the age of 12 or 13. I sang, "I ain't seen my baby since I don't know when. Gotta get high, man. Gotta get bent. I want one bourbon, one scotch, one beer..."

One other guy who was working alone overheard me. In his case, he was working alone and not at all while he crossed his arms at his desk. He leapt out of his angry pose, "Hey, do you know that song?"

"Yea."

"I love that song, man. I WANT ONE BOURBON, ONE SCOTCH, ONE BEEEEEEEER. Yea." He smiled and nodded.

He walked up to Mr. Miller's desk with his homework packet, camouflaged as a curious student, "Hey, Mr. Miller, what do you get when you mix one bourbon, one scotch and one beer?"

Mr. Miller is stunned for a moment and turns the ingredients into a question again. He finds a quick answer for him, "Sick. Get back to work at your desk."

I watched him walk back to his desk while he smiled and sang the song a bit more.

On Monday, I was in swimming performing drills printed on a sheet of paper and place in a plastic baggie at the deep of the pool. As I tried to finish one drill where I was told to keep your hands by your side and roll left to right to left and so on, I took in more chlorinated water than ever before. It didn't really bother me too much until I started feeling nausea. I stopped and the instructor had to perform the duty he had performed so many times before to me, "Are you ok?"

"I'm ok. I'm feeling a little sick."

"Just get out and try to let it pass," he continues instructing the 16 or 17 other swimmers.

As soon as he turns away from me, I make a straight line to the locker rooms and throw up. The gatorade I drank before class turned from acidic to highly acidic. It went from going down my throat to out my mouth and nose.

I groaned and paused. Shuffle over to the sink. I draw some water and splash it on my face even if I'm still completely drenched from swimming. I cup my hands and try to drink some cold water. I spit it out. I drink from the cupped hands over and over again. I keep spitting it out. OK. Now I'm ready to get out there again.

I stop the instructor, "I just threw up. Do you think it's a good idea to get back in?"

"If you're feeling ok, I think it would be ok. Just stay here until you're sure."

I waited for a few minutes and kept watching my lane partners continuing with the workout. I had to at least give it a shot.

I got back in and started swimming with no hands, rolling side to side. I just barely got to the other side of the pool. I took a moment to breathe and started back to the other side. I got out of the pool.

I walked straight to the locker room and threw up again. By that point, I needed to get dressed and get out of there.

Those three things work for swimming as separate entities but I wonder if they make you sick if you combine them together. Sorta like bourbon, scotch and beer. You gotta take one thing at a time.

Apathy and a Bowl of Cinnamon Life

It's usually difficult getting back to something after you've taken a long break. This journal, for example, has been left dark for a few weeks. Somebody once told me that the opposite of love is not hate. Rather, the opposite of love is apathy.

Her argument contended that apathy is the thing that provides the image that you don't care. Letting go for a while looks likes it doesn't matter. This look at apathy is also a comparison to 'hate' as a feeling that still has strong emotions behind it--a driving passion. And while there is passion, there is a fight that is still being made.

I'm getting around to it. Stay.

Since I didn't have swim class for a week, getting back into the water was a bit difficult. Losing practice and drills made for a clumsy swim. My warm up was very slow and my technique had suffered. I let people pass me at pool's end. I would get to the end and swallow a mouthful of water time and again.

All I could do was hope that the drills would agree with me. It started out ok until we got to a set that called on the swimmers to go 50 yards with tennis balls in your hands. At the deep end, you were expected to tread water with just your tennis ball holding hands for at least 15 seconds. This was the drill that was destined to take me down.

My technique got so bad and my speed decreased so bad that I was continuously stopping. After only two laps, I had to stop and collect myself when that old survival instincts started back. I felt like I was drowning and had to save myself--my heart was racing and my stomach was doing backflips. I collected myself and tried to start back again. During this time, my stomach was getting more and more upset.

I got to the other side of the pool and fully expected to throw up. Thanks to my training in college, I knew how to hold back from "tossing my cookies". I swam back a length and got out. I checked in with Jerry and told him that I didn't feel good and stepped away from class.

It was probably not something that most athletes should do. Choosing in between 'fight' and 'flight', I chose flight for my own health. Or, at least, what I thought was a better way to take care of myself.

This decision could be interpreted as apathetic and wimpy. But it was only made to help me come back stronger on Wednesday. And I could have brought up a banana and a bowl of Cinnamon Life into the Verona Natatorium's Masters Swim Class water.

I think it was in the best interest of everybody involved.

The Kickboard Under the Torso

As the melting and recovering of snow struggles, the hassle of digging your way out of this horrible weather continues. People tell me how ready they are for Spring. I'm ready too. I also feel a sense of not wanting to speed things up.

"Over the past month you've improved immensely." I was told at last night's swim class. I didn't answer him but nodded as I cleared up my goggles that continuously fogs up. We had many more laps of swimming at a high speed left.

After the speed swim, I had yet another couple laps of swimming on top of a kickboard. This drill tests your mental capacity to stay focused on your body keeping the board under you while you move forward. Last week, I was left with my board popping out from under me about three or four times per length. It would stay in my lane sometimes and other times it went into other lanes. My record is two lanes.

I struggled keeping the board under me and I made the personal oath that I would just move forward. I tried to tell myself, just maintain the long neck and straight back (at the instructor's suggestion) to keep it under me. The board wiggled and twitched and found its way out from under me and popped up to the first lane--two lanes away.

In horror, I spotted it and knew I had to grab it before somebody swam into it and became annoyed with my regular incompetence. I looked across the two lanes at the orange board floating. Swimmers drove their bodies up and down lanes disregarding anything around them. Typically, you don't have to worry about people swimming perpendicular in the pool.

Today, though, I had to get across to grab my board. I look both ways and crossed. Ducking under the lines, I made it to the first lane. In the second lane, I waited for the traffic to pass and I swam under the line to grab the board and try to swim under both lines back to my area. It had suddenly turned from a game of position my body into a game of underwater Frogger.

I was a mess and continued to let the board pop out from under me. I spoke the word "Sorry." more times than I think I ever have.

Last night, I was surprised to find myself finishing a lap while keeping the board under my torso the whole length.

But I was so tired from the speedwork. My shoulders and arms are sore today. The work I'm accomplishing in this class is great but I worry about what lies ahead. I look foward to warm weather and I need it but I worry what it brings. I don't think I need more heartache that I got from past triathlon experiences but I have to remain poised to be challenged.

Stretch and Relax

Monday and Wednesday evening master swim class continue. Jessica has suggested that I swim an extra day each weekend. My one pair of swim trunks are so worn that I had to throw them away. The fabric had worn so much that there were holes starting to reveal pieces and parts of my body that I'd rather keep hidden during swim class.

I dragged myself to Wednesday's class. My water time were spent talking to myself. Instructing my arms to reach out. Ordering my hips to rotate in order for my body to corkscrew through the water. "Armpits," I would send them a mental demand, "point to the floor of the pool. And you, Chin should tuck into Throat." Constantly ordering parts of my body until it's a jumbled mess and I have to take a break to calm down.

On Wednesday, it can get worse because I'm put into the second lane. The first lane is used by other lessons and I'm pushed over to the superior swimmers. More than anything, these are swimmers who simply have more endurance. It's harder for me to take breaks at my leisure.

My distance was keeping up with these other swimmers. I try and use the mantra, "The more you swim, the easier it gets." Not just a repeating phrase, these words were true. I seem to relax after beating myself up with all of Jerry's drills.

Some of his drills, I'm curious what they do. I can fathom (har har) a guess but they're usually not crystal-clear apparent. He had us do a drill "Stretch and Relax". We were told to perform a stretched out, face down float for a moment then relax for a moment. This drill was repeated for 50 meters. Ironically, I would freak out during the "relax" part and reach for air and drop down. I swore a lot and tried not to let others hear me.

The State of the Swim

Masters Swim Class rages on through the dreaded duldrums of late Winter. Jerry continues to pace by all the pool lanes giving notes while we try to accomplish the goals put on a moist piece of paper that sticks to an orange caution cone that sits on the deep end of the water.

We're given workouts that range from very easy to very hard. We're asked to bob in the water 10 times and exhaling all the CO2 from our lungs. We're allowed to come back up only when it's all gone, "When you think you've hit the end of your breath, pause for a second and come up. That will make sure that you have it all out," Jerry instructs us. We're given a plastic cup and told to fill it up with water a third of the way, do the backstroke and hold the cup on the forehead. Balance, as you might expect, is the key to this exercise.

I'm still having problems in certain spots. I've been suggested to rotate my body more so that my core brings my arm around rather than moving my arm. He's also suggested bringing my head more into the water along with my hands during the 'pull' of the stroke. I need to build endurance still. I get winded in a 50 meter workout and it's hard to stay completely relaxed.

There are times when I want to walk away but I keep telling myself that the more I swim, the easier it gets. Even if it's a bad workout, I have to keep swimming.

Jerry tells me that I'm not alone with my issues. He tells me that even guys in other lanes have the type of issues that I have. I know it's supposed to be a comforting thing to say but it only makes me feel more alone in the water for some reason.

The Coldest Day of the Year

I'm not going out on a limb to say that today may be the coldest day of the year. Schools in Wisconsin are closed and business are telling everyone to stay at home. Wind Chill warnings flood into my email box from local weather stations. Television Weather people say that exposed skin in this climate could get frostbite if left out for ten minutes.

Even if there's enough weather talk to make Chicken Little run in circles, my swim class marches on--without closing or easing up. About two weeks ago, my lane was charged with the duty of swimming 20 laps while holding tennis balls. It seems like some kind of hazing but I guess it has some functional value. It became increasingly frustrated and tried to walk out. To my dismay, I was stopped by the trainer who claimed I was improving. I told him that I would be back for the next class but, instead, skipped it.

This past Monday, I returned to swim. To my surprise, I had improved. By this point, temperatures had started plummeting into our current sub-zero temps. Though it was getting worse outside, I was getting better. I delightfully walked to my car after the end of class and my hair was frozen.

Wednesday was successful as well. I got through the whole workout and only got stronger as the class continued.

Today has to be the coldest day of the year but I can't really tell.

Somebody Died

My house has never been this quiet. Ian got burnt out on watching television and told me that he didn't want to watch it (believe it!). He's been playing quietly by himself. Time to time, he'll ask for fruit snacks. There's ice everywhere outside and it's not fit to leave the house. Now I have no excuse.

The Christmas decorations are still up and I need to take them down. There's something depressing about it all. The celebration is over and it's self-admitted too. Unlike the typical parties where you clean up plastic cups and lay on the couch, post-christmas activities force you to take these happy items and put them in a box. It's like I was telling them, "Thank you but we won't need you until next Christmas. Thanks." Wrap them up. Box them away.

Even worse: I was doing it by myself. It was so miserable that I stopped when I spotted a Rubik's Cube and tried to solve it. I realized my denial of obligation and went back to work packing Christmas decorations.

Needles were flying everywhere from the formerly fresh greenery. I carried the tree and the evergreens to the curb. I threw them on top of the ice covered snow piles so The City of Fitchburg can pick it up.

My house has never been this quiet. Ian wants to sit and talk. I let him. After a while, he lets me finish my post holiday duties. 

I talk to somebody who says that packing holiday decorations is like "Somebody died." It's true. You're taking these happy things and tucking them away. Thanks.

Best Laid Plans:New Years Eve::Great Menus:Recipe for Disaster

I actually just shook my bottle. Like I was in disbelief that my beer bottle was empty. Shake shake shake. What? OK. I should have a full bottle to recount these things. I switched over from a darker winter ale to a lighter traditional lager.

I'll take a sip.

J.P. told me to have the New Year's Eve party that led to disaster. At her command, I put a small affair together that went from being seemingly "OK" to, in my summary, a fucking disaster.

At the last minute, I put a menu together of food that tried to include the three very important groups of eaters:

1. People Who Like Good Food

2. Those Who Can Only Eat Gluten Free Food

3. Those Who are Allergic to Shellfish

I appreciate all those characteristics and built the menu to fill every tummy for all three groups.

And why shouldn't I have this party? Jeni and Franny went to Atlanta and I'm left with Ian T. "Curly" Donovan! We're bachelors, for Christ's sake!

I put together a genius menu of pre-planning. I let Spanish cuisine inspire me without forgetting that I wanted to be able to mingle with my friends. I would leave one dish and the ending of another dish so that people would see that I actually am doing work on this. I expected about twelve and it wasn't hard to make it easy on myself!

1. Italian Wedding Soup (prepared and simmering)

2. Shrimp & Roasted Red Pepper Quesadillas

3. Roasted Red Meatballs

4. Bruschetta and Toasted Gluten-Free Bread (or so I thought)

5. Cooked Shrimp with Cocktail Sauce

6. Mussels in White Wine Sauce

The only final touch (raise my left eyebrow) is a nice fire! Down side: My wood burning fireplace takes a long time to light. Put the big logs down and my usual scuttle of wood scraps in hopes that it will help light faster. I open the flue. Or so I thought. I walked away to "dress up" (read: plaid shirt and corduroys) and "clean up" (read: wash my face and make sure my hair isn't too fucked up). And I get out to the living room where Ian's watch Spongebob very, very closely and smoke has filled the living room.

I immediately understood that instead of opening the flue, I closed it and dealt with everything else. "IAN, GET OUT OF THIS ROOM. WATCH THIS IN OUR BEDROOM." He moved very quickly and kept asking why even if there was a cloud of smoke that filled the room. I shut our bedroom door. Ran to the the flue and opened it. I shut the fireplace doors and opened all the doors and windows available to me. Hoping the stream of wind would take it away, I stood there for about thirty seconds. In my opinion, it was moving slowly. Flying downstairs, I noticed the fan was tucked away. I picked it up and ran it up and pointed it to the window and put it on high. I stood there and supervised the dismal of all smoke.

After the smoke cleared, I sprayed Febreeze.

I had about thirty more minutes before my "party start" time.

As it all came together, it was a delight. I put the mussels out and announced it. The only things that disturbed the night were Ian's love for chocolate as well as Buster (the dog) feeling the need to prove that he is mentally incompetent to be with humans.

I was impressed when Breanne asked me, "Is that really Gluten Free Bread? It looks too good!" I impressed even the one who prepares food for those who suffer from Gluten allergies! Aren't I great? I went to the Gluten Free Bakery to find this bread! Ha ha!

As midnight came and went, we toasted the New Year 2009. It's like toasting a child. "Here's to the potential of what may be." About 1:00AM, many left. J.P. stayed and helped clean.

When she was done, she told me that she had to leave. Though I told her to stay and hang for a while, it was time for home. She had to get downtown and it was late. 

Something told me that I should stay up a little bit later. I proceeded to drink a few more and sealed the 'getting hammered' deal. Pffffoooot!

I got a text message from Breanne that the bread must have NOT been rice bread because her boyfriend was crapping all day long. She blamed the smell on me.

What is a successful party? I'm not sure if that was it.

Believe it or not, my bottle's almost empty. Hair of the dog. Works every time.