As I continue to close my Yahoo email address, I continue to check it from time to time. As I continue to sever ties, I see things that I never noticed before.
In my Yahoo email start screen, it usually has a
quarter-page size online ad that advertises one product/service after another.
A year ago, they started advertising "Classes USA", an online degree
service. It had headlines like "MOMS MAKE $50k A YEAR!" or "STAY
AT HOME DADS MAKE EXTRA INCOME!" and it would have a graphic to support
whatever they were saying. When it was Moms, it would have a MILF with an eerie
happy, surprised look. The Stay At Home Dads would be sitting with a child in
his lap and a laptop at the center of their gaze.
Soon, the corresponding graphic got more confusing. I think it's being noticed here and there.
This past week, I received the most confusing ad yet. It boasts once again, "OBAMA ASK MOMS TO RETURN TO SCHOOL" and features what seems to be a bearded man.
Finally, today, I got the CRAZIEST ad on the landing page. What's this supposed to mean?
If only this entry could encompass everything I experienced from the dates August 19th through August 25th, 2009. Every now and then, you have to be reminded who you are and what you can do. What you can accomplish and what you're made of. Who you were and who you are. People beg for these things--Not epiphanies but a time to cleanse yourself. Not about getting back to who you were but moving forward to who you are. Exhausting every sentiment and emotion would be arduous and relentless but neglecting moments doesn't abandon them but keeps them private and important. The kind of things that you tell people about when you only feel like it's the right time.
For you, I want this time (we have here) to be about the race. This is about making something out of nothing. When the laws of nature are against you and you feel like it's a relentless pursuit to follow your gut and your heart rather than your head. Our time in this report is about what I have become rather than who I was.
I showed up to five classes in my college Beginner Aquatics Class. I was certain I failed it but, instead, I got a 'B'. Out of 36 classes, I arrived five times and received not only a passing grade but a higher mark of 'B'. During that class, I witnessed people crying. I saw people so helpless in the water. It was like going into a battlefield every time we got into the water. My indigent water skills were the summary of a culture of a family who didn't think water skills were important. That's because their parents didn't think water skills were important. Think of my fear as a trait handed down through generations.
Standing on the edge of a diving board, my nerves were thin. One summer I was left to swimming class with my cousin Arthur. I was pushed off the high dive and I don't remember anything after that. I asked my Uncle Bill about those classes and he reminded me that he took us to all those classes.
"By diving off that board," my therapist points out, "you take ownership of the choices in the water." I was pushed when I was younger but when it came to working with a coach like Jessica, she told me that I could jump off the diving board and I did.
Time and again, I would keep showing up to Jessica's open water swim class while I kept a low profile. Trying to hope that I would fit in someday, I would go about my own set of rules. Jessica, incredibly understanding, kept an eye on me. She kept me under her wing in my first longer distance triathlon. I froze up time and again. She would help me float on my back and remind me that everything was ok. She told me jokes; I laughed. I felt like she was desperate as I was to find out what was happening to me, "There's like this moment where you panic," she contemplated, "and if you can just get over that sense of panic, you'll get it."
Two years later, I swam across Devil's Lake very slowly and she told me that there wasn't any way to get back except to swim. That's when the wrestling gave away. My mind and my body found some kind of middle territory amongst Clay's Michael Jackson jokes. I competed the next day in a triathlon with no swim anxieties.
In two years, I had gone from hope to 'hell yea'. I told Jessica that I owned Timberman. People encouraged me that I'd make it. But something told me that I could do it. Something deep inside me knew that I was different. Something changed and I liked it. Only a few weeks ago, I got kicked off the Door County Half IM course because I was too slow on the swim. Timberman, on the other hand, was my race for the taking.
"You should try nightswimming," Erik told me, "it's like running with a blindfold on." I stayed at the place that his wife called the 'place in New Hampshire'. Erik, his wife MP, Kitty and Christina all were competitors in the 2009 Timberman Half Ironman. Erik and MP made us at home in their amazing home close to Lake Sunapee in New Hampshire. I was far away from everything and came alone--without wife and kids.
Staying there was like a mini-camp for the race. Every day, there was an early morning swim. Every day, there was somebody running or cycling. I was only interested in swimming each morning. My bike had to be put back together. And my run was no worry to me since I knew my legs could endure virtually any 13 miles.
We had to attend the expo the day before the race. Our bikes were required to be racked on Saturday and our registration materials were waiting for us. We were given bracelets that matched the bike numbers. We had numbers for the bike. We had numbers for the run. We got numbers for our helmets and numbers for our bike.
We left at 3:40AM for the 2009 Timberman Half Ironman from their place on Lake Sunapee. Gathering our things, all of us were silent. Gathering our needed materials, we were like worker ants insuring that we were creating a good future. It was dark on the drive and we clutched onto our respective travelers mugs of coffee. Each mug boasted a white line drawing of a moose. Beneath the moose, it read, "New Hampshire. Live Free or Die." Erik had already given his choice the day before, "I choose Die."
In many ways, this race would be the litmus test to Ironman. My choice to compete in upcoming FULL Ironman competitions would rely on today's events. How long could I really compete and fail miserably? I felt like I jumped a emotional/psychological hurdle, so this would test the pudding of that accomplishment (or so-called). Ironman cut-off is 2:20, so I would have to break 1:10 to even come close.
THERE HAS BEEN A DELAY TO THE START. WE APOLOGIZE FOR THE INCONVENIENCE. THERE IS AN ACCIDENT ON THE BIKE COURSE. WE WILL START THE RACE AS SOON AS POSSIBLE AFTER THEY CLEAR THE COURSE. THANK YOU FOR YOUR UNDERSTANDING.
I was trying to warm up my swim my going out on the buoys of the finish. The only thing it did was make me even more paranoid. Jet Skis flew by me and people gathered along the shore. Erik and MP were warming up but turned in early. The water was calm (outside of the Ski Doo's who flew by) and I tread water. I thought that I didn't deserve to be here. I don't really need to be here. I can walk away and no one would fault me. That's when I knew 1. I was going a little crazy 2. I needed to get Happy Steve back again.
The announcement went out over the loud speaker: THERE HAS BEEN A DELAY TO THE START. WE APOLOGIZE FOR THE INCONVENIENCE. THERE IS AN ACCIDENT ON THE BIKE COURSE. WE WILL START THE RACE AS SOON AS POSSIBLE AFTER THEY CLEAR THE COURSE. THANK YOU FOR YOUR UNDERSTANDING. DO NOT MAKE YOUR WAY TO THE START LINE.
I was in my wet suit and forest green cap with goggles. Erik, MP, Kitty and I started making our way over to the start line. I went off by myself for a few moments by myself in the water. I let my body float on the shallow water in a dead man's float and shut my eyes. Like night swimming, I let myself drift.
People start suddenly. Then more. I'm in the 4th wave, I have to hurry and be prepared. I get up there. It's a clockwise swim in a 60 person wave. Every where I look, there's white men in black wet suits with forest green swim caps and see through goggles. I made the brash decision of shaking every hand of people who I thought looked nervous. I said, "Good luck" to each of them. I told myself the one and only mantra I managed to author for myself, "Define Yourself."
GO. GO. GO. GO. GO. The announcer over the bullhorn wanted to keep saying "GO" until everybody was swimming. The floor of the lake stayed with me then dropped off. It was clearest open water I've ever swam. So when it drops off, you can imagine what it made me feel.
The draft of the swimmers ahead of me as well as the excitement brought me to the first buoy in very little time. I would guess 12 minutes. Very fast. I probably sighted two times. I got to the orange triangle and was pointed way, way off. That's where the swim actually started for me.
If the mile was 1.2 miles, then the tangent after the turn was a half mile. It didn't stop. Since I veer to the left on long swims, there were lifeguards who held their oars to remind me to get back closer to the buoys. By the time I got half way through the stretch, the sun beat into my eyes. One lifeguard told me, "You're more than half way though, brotha!" A drastic change in lifeguard tone from the Door County Half IM.
I stopped for a moment to put my head up and looked to the shore and saw the huge number of people on the shoreline. How awesome. I was so far away and it felt so close. I knew I had a long way to go. Oar after oar from the lifeguard reminded me of my veering left problem. It frustrated me a bit but it wore way after I got the the second orange pyramid.
The number of lifeguards dwindled which told me that they weren't worried about the swimmers on this leg. There were three (that I saw) and they funneled you to the finish. This where I was hit and swam-over and so on. I didn't care because I was finishing.
The signals that I finished were slow coming.
C'mon.
C'mon.
Ok. There's the boat. Can I stand up? No. Not until you can touch bottom with your hands. Now? No. Now? No. Now? WTF? ROCKS. STAND UP. I just did it.
SWIM: 55 MINUTES.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Thank you, God. I have been blessed with the power to overcome and own what I want to own when I want to own when I want to own it. I am thankful. Some people talk to you when they're desperate but I am talking to you in thanks. Genuine, open-hearted thanks. Not that disingenuous prayer given every Sunday from those who muster up thanks. It is Sunday and THIS IS MY CHURCH.
My bare feet ran along the grass to transition while I dragged my wet suit off my torso. The wet suit rippers stood ready, WHO'S NEXT? WHO'S NEXT?
I laid down and they ripped it right off me.
My triathlon towel draped over my aero bars. It has the sketch outline of a dead body. A joke gift that Susie gave me. But her joke has the sublime understanding that my irrational fears are actually rational to me.
Dry off. Get ready to bike. Remember to keep it simple the front 15. Reserve it.
But, first I gotta pee.
T1: 6:09
If somebody tells you that Timberman is hilly, believe it.There were people walking their bikes at three points inside the front half. I can see if it's the back half and you're out of energy but these people are already trying to either conserve or they've lost the gusto to climb.
Even though there's 1700 people on this course, I find the cyclists very spread out by mile 40. It's lonely and boring for a runner like me. Then the city creeps up on me and I'm surprised by my time. I have no computer on my bike nor a Garmin on my wrist.
The day got hotter as I turned into transition.
Bike 3:27 (16.2 MPH)
I was having some real bowel issues.
T2: 5:33
I ran out of the porta john, ready to take on the half marathon! Could I have some sunscreen? They spray me down. It felt like a very thin layer but I trusted the volunteers.
The run course was two 10K course loops. Up. Down. Up Down. The best part was seeing every one. Where Christina was. Where MP was. Where Erik was. Where Kitty was. There was something comforting in knowing they were still there racing.
I took just about every ice cube, Gatorade, Water and cold sponge they gave me. The temps were heading close to 95. I caught up with Kitty and Erik on loop 2. We discussed about the importance of the course where the "Bubble City" was.
Slowly, we separated. I thought it was important to finish together but I knew what would happen at the end. I would gain my legs. Erik would lose his. Kitty was starting to crash. Inevitably, we separated.
By the time I got to the finish line, I wasn't sure what I had to do. I simply crossed the finish line.
RUN 2:32
FINISH: 7:08:39
I knew that this was just the beginning. Just the beginning. I started crying, I was in pain. I held my eyes. They handed me a wet towel.
A camera taking photos to happy finishers, but he dropped his lens as I walked by him.
I cried. I cried some more.
My sister Annie was there with her husband and sons. I needed to sit down. They helped me out.
Not only had I just finished a lot work but I have a long road ahead of me. I have to finish something I started in 2006 and it's already 2009. Ironman Wisconsin wasn't just a race that I didn't finish but it was unfinished business.
UW has a small collective of music critics who publish a quarterly magazine Emmie. I stumbled across this at the local favorite pizza joint The Roman Candle. Chomping on two slices of supreme pizza and sipping on a plastic cup full of Mountain Dew, I was happy to find a review of the Yacht/Vampire Weekend concert that I attended at the High Noon Saloon.
Much of the article addressed how impressed authors Blohoweak & Crickman were with opening act Yacht. They recalled the show with "homologous to those of Panther, another dancy, electronic artist from Portland" and "Bechtolt moved from song to transition with ease".
The review of VW was less impressive. They described their energy level as "less than that of their music."
Their review distorted the facts and focused on insulting the audience. YACHT's show had technical issues that not only had music dropping out but also had a set piece (a large anchor with light bulbs lighting it) fall of its strings. I don't think I would categorize the show as moving with 'ease'. He had issues and dealt with them well but it took away from the grand spectacle that he was attempting to achieve. Also, it's true that Panther is from Portland and they make funky music that makes you dance. I'm not sure if I would compare the two. I'm not even sure why bring that up? If you have to explain who Panther is, then it loses its power in comparison.
I thought Vampire Weekend did a great job and I enjoyed the show. I didn't see this lack of energy. In fact I danced just about the whole time. Something I rarely do. There were a lot of people dancing who were wedged up front. The show was sold out so there was little room to dance.
The review's authors went on to insult the audience. "[T]he Vampire Weekend crowd shot dirty looks at our friends as we attempted to move our bodies...the unresponsive crowd, however, did not deter our concert-going spirit...Here is the bottom line: if we wanted to stand around, we would have stayed at home and listened to sad bastard music." At one point, audience members were described as empathetic, unparticipatory onlookers drinking "vodka cranberries".
These guys made their disdain the focal point of the review when they forgot there was show up on stage.
There are two types of employees in vehicle repair shops. The guys who actually fix the cars (we'll call them 'techs') and the meet & greet guys (we'll call them 'the know-it-alls'). When I visit a garage, I typically want to talk to the techs because they won't give you crap and just tell you what you need done. The Know-It-Alls have learned a couple things about cars from the techs or they were techs who didn't like working in a garage. Both types of Know-It-Alls believe that they have a right to deliver lectures on your car.
The Know-It-All who was administering my tire troubles was well groomed with a blonde hair and blue eyes pedigree that would make Hitler tee-hee in delight. As he stapled my papers together, he continued his lecture to me about my axle problems. "Do you understand what a C.V. joint is?"
I was almost afraid to answer.
"You put that baby in four-by this winter and it could fall apart. You let it go longer, it will fall apart completely and you'll be walking in the snow. Anyways, you drove this thing on flat for a while. We replaced it. The other tires weren't bald enough to replace but let me warn you that driving on bald tires are a recipe for an accident. If anyone ever plows through a stop sign and get into an accident with me, I'll be reaching for this thing (tire tread measurement tool gets pulled out of his breast pocket) and see how bald they are."
He holds it about three inches from my nose.
He's right about me driving on a flat tire though. It was a slow leak that I ignored and would fill up with air again and again. I was just glad it was fixed and I wouldn't have to endure this all over again anytime soon.
Today, I woke up to find one front tire a little flat. It has that look that it's gonna be slow leak as well. I got to the local gas station and filled it up. I left to drop off Franny at Camp Bead Bonanza (this week is all about crafting with beads). All I could do is think about how I'll soon have to visit that damn place again.
As my car flew down county highway M, we were quickly approaching a man in a day glow vest carrying something on his back while strolling up the road. As I got closer and closer, I see he has ten foot cross on his back. He sees my lone car on the road and as I pass him, he smiles and waves to me.
I gave a short wave but had to get Franny to Camp Bead Bonanza. My tire seems to be losing air again.
I'm never on the Edgewood campus and I was all over it yesterday. I was trying to find the theater where auditions for a large project are taking place. Coincidentally, it was move out day. Hundreds of middle aged men and women were moving products purchased at Target for their college-aged children were being carted into their larger cars, double parked with blinkers flashing. If the sun had gone down at that time, it would have felt like Christmas with all the lights blinking.
I found the theater and walked outside to see if anyone needed help finding their way into this hidden black box stage. Instead, I ended up holding a door for a woman who was carting things out.
I joked with her that "I get paid $11 an hour if you need help."
She chuckled and said, "I'll give you a tip instead. Don't swim alone."
Now, I would like to use all capital letters because I think this is important and worth yelling.
IN ALL THE RANDOM PLACES IN ALL THE RANDOM TIMES, TALKING TO THE MOST RANDOMEST PERSON OF ALL GENERATIONS, THIS WOMAN SUDDENLY SUMMED UP EVERYTHING EVERYWHERE ABOUT ALL THE IRONMAN TRIATHLON LESSONS OF ALL TIME THAT I HAVE EVER LEARNED IN MY LIFE.
I held the door for a moment longer while she kept carting to her large vehicle. I was in shock. All that angst and anger and fear and deliberation and salvation and pain that I had felt, I never, ever swam alone. There was always someone there. There was always people right there to help me. Even if they couldn't believe that I could finish Ironman, these friends of mine never let me swim alone.
To anyone who swims with me, thank you. You know who you are. You help me face one of my biggest personal challenges.
I was turning right onto Williamson Street. A bright yellow car with a woman driving it (alone, mind you!) was behind me while I sat at the right turn red light where a sign reads, "No Turn on Red Light". I sat there and observed the woman behind me stretching her neck to see something out of her sight line.
I believe she was looking to see why I was just sitting there while traffic was clear. She was surely preparing herself for a small honk but the light changed just in time.
With the advent of my new commute downtown, my drive has taken on The Beltline. This stretch of road is at the very heart of the morning rush. When traffic reporters look at hold ups, they look to The Beltline and tell you where it's congested. No other stretch of road in Madison attracts so many morning commuters like this road.
In turn, I have been a part of the morning's hurrying crowd. This is the first time that I've really been a part of this, so I'm experiencing a lot more driving incidents. These are some of my favorites so far.
Rearview Mirror Lady
The stop light five cars ahead of me was red. I had to turn right but the car ahead of me left little room to squeeze into the right turn lane. Since I'm a patient person and don't mind listening to an extra minute or two of my favorite podcast, I sit there and wait for the light to change or the cars ahead of me to inch forward to make space.
The woman behind me, on the other hand, wasn't so patient. She was turning right as well and saw the opening ahead of me. After waiting about thirty seconds, she laid on her horn. I looked into the rearview mirror and saw her.
Like the the scene from 'Dial M for Murder', she revealed herself in the rearview and shocked the crap out of me--an unsuspecting victim. She looked straight into my eyes and let go of her own steering wheel to sweep her hands in a forcing motion. Reading her lips, I could see she was yelling, "GO! GO! GO!" She kept looking at me. She placed her hands back on the steering wheel and pulled her shoulders to her ears in anger. Her head turned in a 'no' pattern as if to say, "I don't believe this guy. He has a perfectly good opening and he's not taking it. Drivers are idiots."
Soon after that, the light turned green and I went into the right turn lane and moved on the perpendicular street. I'm pretty sure she would have complained about me when she got to work.
Left Turn Lane Lady
Here's another story where I'm at a light and a lady behind me thinks that I'm making poor decisions. As the light is green, I sit at the left turn lane waiting for the oncoming traffic to allow me an opening. A car behind me has a driver who is a lady with big glasses that transition with the natural light.
I choose to make turns where it's safe. I don't make many hasty driving decisions with oncoming traffic. It seems most of the major fender bender accidents involve someone turning and the oncoming traffic is going about 10 miles per hour too fast and can't stop. That's why I choose just the right opening.
The lady behind me thought I made poor decisions about my left turns. She communicated this by pressing her car horn after waiting for me to execute a left turn. When I checked my rearview mirror, she gestured with her shrugging shoulders and hands in the air and I read her lips as well, "C'mon! C'mon!" She placed her hands back on the steering wheel. Soon after, I turned left and she was left to make her own decision in terms of oncoming traffic.
She didn't seem overly aggravated as the right turn lady. It seemed more like a hasty decision to hit the horn. She may have seen a left turn that she would have taken and on a whim, she hit the horn. If she went back to the office to complain, I would believe that she would just complain about the traffic in general.
Is is a coincidence that these events has so many similar elements?
-Older women -Frustrated over turning incidents -No one else in the car
Two nights in a row I have gone out drinking. The end of the job and looming weekend of race management made for great reasons to drink during the quiet before the storm. It was also an ideal time to drink heavily because I had two days off from work.
Planning binge drinking. It makes me sorta chuckle (internal chuckle) at the thought of it.
I planned on closing the bar on Wednesday. After what could be described as the most f*cked up day (I won't disclose details because of privacy issues), I gave myself the license to drink a lot into the wee hours of the night.
People came and went through the night as I stayed strong at the Natt Spill drinking establishment. I ate a big plate of mussels. A couple of friends ate some of my food. [sidebar: I love it when friends eat my food and drink my drinks. Is that crazy? I have my reasons that can summed up in this: they feel THAT comfortable with you that they don't mind doing it. Love it.] I stayed up late. My bedtime is usually 9:00PM [or even 8:30 during heavy training periods], so finding myself up at 1:00AM was HUGE for me.
I was sitting with Chuck, Jon and Jill. Chuck: Unemployed. Jon: Unemployed. Jill: Second Shift. These are people who are used to staying up late. None of them have kids nor do they have spouses. This is exactly my type of challenge.
The night got to a stop and I knew I needed a ride home. Jill gave me a ride home. It was one of those favors that came at the right place and at the right time. The kind of favor that will stick in your memory forever. On the record a couple days later, she said that she was happy to grant me this favor and that I was "crazy". I wonder what the hell I said to her on that ride home.
The next day, I woke up at 5:00AM for a television appearance to promote the race that I help organize. I was tired and the rumblings of a hangover were resonating like the start of an earthquake.
I came home to change and get ready for a 9:30AM indoor cycling appointment I made. [Don't ask. I don't know what the hell I was thinking.] I told Lauf, "Somebody sent me a text message that said 'You smell like beer'."
"That was me." Jessica answered my riddle.
I felt like I was still drunk. I was sleepy and missing very obvious things like text message authors. I got on my bike and rode for about 50 minutes with Stephanie.
Making it home, I cleaned up and turned on the movie "Michael Clayton" while laying on the couch. I fell asleep and my good conscience kept waking me up every ten minutes.
Pick up the kids and Jeni comes home, "I have that other goodbye party tonight."
"I know." Jeni replies. Read into that all you want.
I arrived at the piano bar where the good bye party for me and two other employees was taking place. In my opinion, I should not have been there. I was about two hours late and didn't feel like drinking. Got home about 11PM after driving someone home.
Today, I'm lazy and lethargic. The stuff from the past two nights caught up to me and I need to sleep about ten hours. But if you're a parent you know that doesn't happen to mommies and daddies. They get, at best, eight hours.
I'm hurting. I'm tired. I keep hitting the bathroom. My hunger comes and goes in huge fluctuations. I'm getting old. I used to be able to go out two nights in a row and drink both nights. Now, I go out two nights and drink hard only one night and I'm still hurting.
On News3's coverage, there's a headline attached to Favre's picture that read, "Tears in Titletown". Just a quick reminder, that's he alive and he's simply tired.
The hype surrounding this isn't limited to odd graphics choices. When I picked up my nine-year-old Franny from school yesterday that Brett Favre had announced his retirement. Franny has an idea of who is he and watches the GBP games with me so she can see what Favre does/says. When I made this mild announcement to her, she told me that she already knew.
"But this just happened this morning?"
"Our teacher told us."
It's not just a hype that's existing inside the media. As my co-worker Marc got back from reporting on the Favre story in The Bay, he said that it's unreal up there. People were in tears. One woman wanted to return to Lambeau to help herself mourn.
Suddenly, this started to look and feel like the fake assisination of Buckwheat on Saturday Night Live. May I present to you, the first of three videos posted on NBC.com that document the fake events that took place around this childhood star. (All three videos are posted on NBC.com)
