Famous Last Words

In Los Angeles many, if not most people refer to “back east” when referring to the east coast. Even people who were born and reared in L.A. have adopted this nomenclature as if we are, in some way, from back east. As we’re all from Africa at some point this does hold an amount of truth, though I doubt Scandinavians refer to going home as “dropping south”. I was on Alaska Airlines flight 6 flying back east to visit my parents for my father’s 65^th birthday, see my sick grandmother in hospital, see my sister and her new boyfriend, and most importantly see my wife after two weeks of her in residency at grad school. An hour after we took off the pilot came over the intercom and announced that the vibration we felt upon takeoff appeared to be the rubber coming off our front tire and they were going to figure out their next steps. It occurred to me that I may not survive the flight.

On competing.

On competing

Thursday Brian had me scheduled to swim forty 100 meter reps with ten seconds of rest in between each rep. It should have taken 90 minutes. My regular pool was closed for repair so I decided to finally go to the Culver Plunge for their nighttime lap swim. The Plunge is a 5 minute walk from my front door but since I’m a cheapskate I’ve always driven the 10 minutes to the free pool at my in-law’s place. Last week I promised Coach Brian that I’d switch to the plunge because it’s a 50 meter pool and that will greatly expand my aerobic fitness for Ironman distance. First, switching from yards to meters, and second, not pausing for 3 seconds at the wall to turn will help a lot. As I walked to the Plunge I spotted a familiar face prepping to run with a small group of people.

Desert warfare.

I leave for the desert shortly, heading to my first “training weekend” with my coach and a few other triathletes. We’re all racing the Desert Tri on Sunday, and I am doing the Olympic/International distance. Saturday Coach Brian has us planned to do an AM 60 mile ride/6 mile run and then an afternoon 40 mile ride/4 mile run. I’m missing today’s long run because my wife works for a living. Frankly, I’m glad to be resting today. I did a double yesterday (swim in the morning and Core Performance in the late morning) and almost squeaked in a triple by adding an hour run to the day. But since I couldn’t actually nap I didn’t have the energy for the run, and I’m more than a little worried about the volume of this weekend. Yes, it sounds fun. It also sounds like a recipe for exhaustion. Going into the race fatigued will be interesting, as well as a good reminder that it’s a warmup race for Oceanside. By not being able to race at 100% I am essentially sabotaging my results, but if I do well (and secretly I hope to do better than the LA Tri Oly distance 5 months ago) I will have much more confidence going in to Oceanside in 4 weeks. That is assuming I survive this weekend. Transition bag is packed, gear is stowed, grocery bags of powdered foodstuffs ready. Goodbye, legs.

Going off the rails.

It’s been a hard week. Iron Tim warned me not to go back into training until Wednesday, to give myself some time  off after Saturday’s ride. I took Sunday off, but had already scheduled the last few sessions at Core Performance. Those sessions were set to expire at the end of January and they were kind enough to extend them another two weeks, so my frugal compulsion overrode the wisdom of my peers and I worked out for an hour Monday followed by an hour bodywork session that afternoon. Tuesday I swam an hour and change, about 1.75 miles, and then Wednesday back to Core Performance. Coach Brian moved me into 1.5hr workouts, and at the same time a bunch of clients had fires that needed to be put out quickly. One client in Burbank, which if you were looking for proof that space and time are expanding, try and drive to Burbank from Culver City at any time of day.  I’ve titled this post “Going off the rails” because it’s Friday afternoon, my brain is fried, and I’m right at the edge of severe exhaustion. At 4pm I haven’t eaten lunch yet, I’ve got another client appointment before evening, and I haven’t worked out since Core Performance on Wednesday. Oh, and did I mention that Monday’s Core Performance workout crashed their computer system so the coach punched me up a custom upper body workout that destroyed my pecs? I am a giant wad of torn up muscle fiber, mental exhaustion, and overall feelings of being behind on everything. Work, workouts, clients, writing, you name it. Oh, and it’s raining. And my tri bike is still down at Tri Lab because I haven’t had the time to go and get it after being serviced for a rear derailleur issue. Fuck it. I’m going home.

New car, old dog.

I’m now the proud leasee of a new Audi A3 wagon. I got it on the 25th, and I know I’ve been way behind in my blogging, but the headline should tell you why – my little dog tore her right ACL from soft tissue damage as a result of the car accident. Which means even though I finally got a new car, I’ve been overloaded mentally with juggling vet appointments, figuring out our new routine and schedule around a dog that must be immobilized 24/7, carried up and down stairs to use the grass, my client’s ongoing emergencies, and getting a script rewrite done. I know, somewhere the world’s smallest violin is playing just for me.

Dog in a cone, me in a box.

The past five days have been harder than expected. A dog only lives in the present tense, which means the greyhound is not fully aware of having lost her tail. But that also means that every time she moves she’s surprised by the pain. The greyhound is a screamer. Some might call it a cry, but to me it sounds like a scream. It is high pitched, it is piercing, and it immediately reminds me of seeing her pinned underneath the Jeep. I am trapped in my house with a randomly screaming animal. My joy at seeing Barack Obama elected 44th President was tempered by the grotesque results of California’s passing of Prop 8. Which means the last week has been highs countered by lows in a peak and valley graph that would kill someone if it were an EKG of their heart.

Waiting for the muse.

It usually begins as a tiny thing. A single fired synapse that links across my brain to another creating a connection that wasn’t there before. Like pregnancy, I can have many of these without a successful fertilization. But the moment the idea forms and hugs the inside of my mind, there is the potential months down the line for something to emerge. There’s a reason I have a folder in my computer called “abortions and miscarriages” because that is what every idea is that isn’t carried out to fruition. It’s not a loss, it’s part of the cycle of fertilization – not every embryo is viable, not every idea is going to become a complete story. But when an idea takes hold and begins to grow I pay attention to it, nurturing it along, and tempering my hope with reasonable expectation. I’m not painting the nursery, but having a viable idea feels good, it feels right, it’s what I’m supposed to be doing: fulfilling my creative (if not biological) imperative.

The Filet-O-Fish Challenge

Before I begin a humorous story about fish, here’s a more somber article about the shark attack that killed a triathlete back in April. It’s a much more detailed account of the victim’s joyful life, the people he knew, and the woman next to him at the moment of the attack. But since Julian requested it, why the hell would I eat 8 Filet-O-Fish sandwiches? In some ways, for the same reasons I do triathlons.

2 wheels good, 4 wheels bad.

My car lease is up in December. My Audi A4 2.0T Quattro has been the most exciting car I’ve ever had the pleasure of driving. I drive about 12,000 miles per year almost all of it in-city, heavy traffic, nasty, evil, Los Angeles driving. The Audi shines in the moments of instant need, where a slot opens up for the briefest of seconds and only a turbo charged piece of German rocketry will get through. I could write many an ode to my Audi, but its time is almost up. And the one thing it is not good for is triathlon. Thus, I have embarked on a quest to find the right car for my conflicting needs.

Spiraling without structure.

Well that didn’t take long. Two weeks off season and today I fell apart. Ate like a piggy all weekend culminating in a carb bonanza at the in-laws for Rosh Hashana dinner last night and then slept until 9am this morning. My client appointments have been shifting around due to strange communications, then my iPhone didn’t sync to my desktop calendar and for the first time I flaked on a client appointment today. I am a mess.