Trim Tram Donovan

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.

It's Just Too Damn Convenient

The Chipotle is only a few blocks away and their food is great for fueling up.

So today was number five in two weeks. I ate three soft tacos and a burrito. I have a 30.96 mile race on Saturday so it's okay for me to do that.

From the Desk of Ron Lehmann, CFP

Subject: Your lunch

Sent: 10/22/2008 9:42AM

To: Steve Donovan

Here is what you ate for lunch.  I will add that this is most likely UNDERSTATED.

Burrito:

Calories: 1038
Fat:  40g
Saturated:  17g

Tacos:

Calories:  705
Fat:  34g
Saturated:  18g

TOTAL:

Calories:  1743
Fat:  74g
Saturated:  35g

Burrito Update

Indulging in McDonald's is a weekly breakfast event for me. Typically, I'll buy a number two morning meal (Sausage McMuffin Meal) with a large coffee. About every month or so, I'll get the wrong order. I usually end up eating it.

This week, they gave me a breakfast burrito with my meal instead of a Sausage McMuffin. I would never choose this item to purchase but I was so hungry that I had to eat it. I found it surprisingly enjoyable! But, oh, it was so small. I need more food. As I threw my trash in the McDonald's bag, I realized that it was running a little heavy.

Joy! Another breakfast burrito! Life is good.

 And DON'T think that this is disgusting or revolting. I got an email today from everybody's All American Ron Lehmann who invited me to "continue the streak." He took me to Chipotle where I ordered a burrito. He told me, "C'mon. Aaaaaand..."

"And three soft tacos." I paused,  "this is so embarrassing." It was like I was putting on my costume for a circus show. But I can't stop myself. I was ready to eat all of that food.

Burrito Count for the last ten days:

4 Chicken Burritos

12 Soft Tacos

2 Breakfast Burritos

It's ok to be so gluttonous though. I have decided to run the North Face 50K race so I guess loading up on calories might be good for me. Maybe Ron can be my nutrition counselor.

No Body Can Beat Me!

This is the third time in two weeks that I've gone to Chipotle and ate three soft tacos and a burrito! Beat that! Yeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaah!

I'm Glad

I'm glad that I'm ambitious.

I'm glad that I'm a worker and not a manager.

I'm glad that I'm in the ring.

I'm glad that kicking up the sand from time to time.

I'm glad when I make people mad.

I'm glad when people make me mad.

I'm glad when shit hits the fan because it usually doesn't until I got my shit to throw it.

Update on the Failure: Dead Cheek

I had an appointment with Jess to determine why my right leg seized up during Lakefront. She looked at my running shoes and how they wore out on the bottom.

She had me run on a treadmill for a while to study my running form. She watched from many angles. She captured some photos. To a degree, it felt like those 'After School' specials about creepy older guys who tell kids to take off their shirt and pose for Polaroids. I ran on the treadmill with my shirt off and Jess told me, "I won't tell anybody." I was (almost) waiting for her to continue, "As long as you don't tell anybody."

To my dismay, nothing happened but pictures.

From the picture, she showed me that I would hunch to my left while I was reaching with my right foot. She told me to put my shirt back on. So I put it back on.

"Should I put my jeans back on?" I had my running shorts on. Eventhough I had worn running shorts thousands of times, I felt stripped down.

"No. I'm going to have you do some exercises."

Through some isolation exercises, she found that my right Glute was failing to work. It was letting my quads do all the work. It put too much work there so my leg so very tired very easily.

She prescribed some work to perform at least five times a week on my butt.

I have only six weeks until Philly Marathon so I'll have to focus very closely on this work.

Lakefront El Guapo

I suppose there are times in your life when you have to reach farther. Things may become stagnant and you want something more. You're not bored but you know that you're capable of more.

That's why fifteen of us signed up for this "Race to Boston" running program. We wanted to reach that brass ring that is qualifying for the Boston Marathon. For some, it's an easy task. Their bodies and minds seem to come to speed very easily. Some have trained for years. 

I believe I can speak for our group when I say that we have worked for our speed. But the challenge is that we have put a time goal onto this race. After my 14 or so marathons, there comes a time when you think that maybe you can do better. Maybe you can train better or have better discipline and qualify for something that a couple years ago seemed unattainable. 

But today, I am prepared to qualify for the 2009/2010 Boston Marathon. When I reach the starting line of the Lakefront Marathon, there will be a sense of fear. I'm afraid that I won't perform as well as I'd like. Maybe I'll dwell on past defeats and let them define me but I have to let it go. 

Like Lance says, "Feed the warrior."

Or as the Three Amigos say, "In a way, all of us have an El Guapo. For some, shyness may be their El Guapo. For some, lack of education may be their El Guapo."

This is one of my El Guapo's. Or El Guapi. Is that the plural? This is the task ahead of me. Feed the Warrior!

Speedster/Cold Like Your Blood

I stood among 200 competitors in a 5K/10K race on Saturday. A race this small only demands a spray painted line on the street and the race director making announcements on a bullhorn. 

I'm in the front pack but don't necessarily belong there. Among the front runners are people who are gunning to win or take their age bracket. One small group of women are chatting up a storm before they realize they're up at the front, positioned right in front of me and my buddy Aaron.

They chatter something about how they should move back. One of the women is Suzy Favor Hamilton, three time olympian and seven time national champ. She stands among these women and she looks directly at me and says, "We'll let you speedsters up ahead of us."

"Me?" I answer.

"Yea, you speedsters can move up." She smiles.

"Suzy Favor called me a speedster. I am sooo blogging this."

#####

When I work on installing anything around the house, there will be two things: blood and swearing. The range of these installations goes from something as little as hanging a picture to building a deck. All of these projects demand that I'm unhappy and I injure myself.

Lately, I've had a project that I've been putting off. It's the light/fan above the oven. I've been working to retro-fit this thing and it's been a little difficult. It's been sitting in the office for about five days now while I try to figure out each problem with hanging it.

Yesterday, I returned home from watching the Ironman Wisconsin swim start. As I close the door behind me, I saw that hood sitting on the floor of the office, "I'm putting this friggin' thing on." I walked directly downstairs to the breaker box to flip off ol' #4 so I can hook up the wiring. I stride back up the stairs and lift the hood up and put it into place. 

Jeni notices me wrestling this 30 pound silver metal saucer thing and asks, "Do you need some help?"

"No. I'll ask for it." I jostle it around some more and try to let it connect with the duct and the anchor screws. I get the duct then the screws are hard to reach. I try again to get the screws to anchor but the duct is pushed up, then the third try the duct work is pushed behind it. A fourth and fifth try leads to electrical cables slipping out of the back of the hood's metal framing.

The hood slips time and again. Let the swearing begin. With my frustration growing, my ability to focus on the task becomes more difficult and I turn to forcing it into position. 

When the time was right, the hood slipped back and the metal (as the doctor put it) "filet" the face of my thumb. 

"What were you doing?" the doctor asked me.

"I was putting in the fan thing over my oven."

"Oh--the range hood."

"Sure."

"Well, I don't think you'll have to get stitches unless you want stitches but men don't usually care if they get stitches because it's typically a cosmetic thing to avoid scarring. Men don't really care about that."

"I don't want stitches."

"I don't think you'll need stitches."

"Good. Because I don't want stitches."

"Great."

"I want the bleeding to stop."

"Well," the doctor backpedals, "stitches will stop the bleeding. That's what they're good for, too. I've had stitches on this hand a couple times. Then a couple times that I needed them I didn't get them."

By that point, I wondered if he was just bored that day and was trying to mess with my head.

"Whatever. Do whatever it takes to stop the bleeding."

"Good." He nods as he leaves. 

I'm left alone in this two bedroom cardiac ward in the clinic (don't ask me why) while one tech is taking inventory of the crash cart as part of his "monthly duties."

"Everything look ok? It's all there?" I try to make conversation with him because lag time between nurse/doctor/nurse visits are long.

"Looks good," he says. "How did you do that?" he gestures to my thumb.

"I sliced it while install the fan over my oven."

"Oh, you mean the oven exhaust."

"Sure."

"Ouch," he continues to inventory, "I had some electrical work done on my house and the guy tried to bill me for stuff he couldn't do. He said, 'I don't know how to fix this.' then he sent me a bill. Well, I figured out how to do it. I should bill him."

"Yea, I mean, what if you said, 'I can't inventory this crash cart.' ? Your boss wouldn't accept that, right?"

"Sure." he replied. I could probably agree that my analogy was pretty weak. He finished his monthly duty in the room and wished me good luck.

I sat alone for only a couple minutes until the doctor ducks his head in the room, "She's not here yet?" and quickly leaves.

A few minutes later, two women enter with a number of gauze pads and a metal pan. They tell me that they're here to cleanse my thumb as the doctor ordered. According to the older nurse, it wouldn't hurt because it's "cold like your blood." I wondered how she got that impression.

The other nurse seemed unsure of herself and it became obvious that she was new. I only gained this when the senior nurse said, "She's still being trained."

"You mean she's learning things like blood is cold?" I shouldn't have said that out loud to the woman who was holding my bleeding thumb.

She asked me how I did it, "If you haven't had a Tetanus shot in a while, you should get a booster."

"I cut it on metal."

"What metal?!"

"I was installing my fan over the oven."

"Oh, you mean the range hood."

"Sure. And I sliced it."

"You should be more careful."

The younger nurse chimed up, "It takes my husband forever to do anything around the house." 

As the conversation died down, the older nurse seemed to observe that everything was under control. The younger nurse put the surgical glue on my cut then wrapped with about twenty layers of gauze.

I returned to watching the Ironman. Ron Lehmann noticed it and made fun of me and told me, "What do you think? Thumbs up?" Things along those lines.

fifty-one

51 days until my 16th marathon. I'm gettin' ready to let the dynamite go boom.