A Visit From Murphy

Saturday was 60F, sunny, and breezy outside – near perfect conditions for a long ride and tempo run immediately following. I had charted a bike course the night before, as plans for riding over in Illinois had changed in the previous 24 hours. I’m an avid user of MapMyRide.com (as well as MapMyRun). I can search for routes others have mapped and made public, or I can plot my own and return the favor.

Saturday’s itinerary was a combination of hijacking a portion of a stored route and tweaking it to fit my own needs. Besides providing road classifications, MapMyRide has another all-important metric on their site – the critical elevation measurement. This helps determine if the hills you’ll encounter during your jaunt will be simple speed bumps or real lungbusters that leave your heart about to pop out of your rib cage and your legs shaking violently from the sheer exertion they would rival Elvis in his early days.

Nearly all bikes have the ability to interchange the cogset (the set of gears on the back wheel hub, sometimes called a cassette). The number of teeth on each cog has a direct correlation to how “easy” it is to pedal – the more teeth, the easier it is to pedal and with higher revolutions, a true test of pedal stroke efficiency. Fewer teeth increases the effort but allows for more “torque” when pedaling downhill to gain speed for instance.

I have 10 cogs on the back of my triathlon bike that range in size from 11 to 23 teeth, (hence the phrase “my eleven-twenty-three”). This is pretty standard for riding flat to rolling hills. I also have a 12-27 for some of the more severe stuff in West St. Louis County. A painful lesson learned last August during the Steel Legs Century (100-mile) ride, I didn’t have enough “easier” gears to mitigate the ridiculous grades of nearly every one of the hills. I was standing to pedal and my heart was pounding just 1/3 of the way up each excruciating hill. I didn’t dare look straight up…remember the brain rules the body and my mind would’ve called for mass exodus of all currently employed muscle fibers. And that was just the first 60 miles! 45 miles later (yeah, I took a wrong turn and had ridden a bit before realizing it) my legs were shredded and I could barely drive home, much less RUN 45 minutes as the workout plan called for that day. The temperature that day also topped out at 98F. I went home looking like a modern-day replica of the Biblical character Lot whose wife who turned into a pillar of salt when looking back on the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah. Yup, there was waste and destruction in my wake alright…

Saturday was not that bad. However, the day held many more and different kinds of surprises. I DID underestimate the elevation readings prior to getting out the door and this was confirmed when I’d been riding for about 45 minutes, getting a really good warmup, and I made the first turn onto the less trafficked roads…all I could think was Hmmm…ok, it doesn’t look too long and ooooo, look at the line of cars coming behind you on this TWO-LANE ROAD…so hoof it woman!!

3 miles later another steep one loomed before me, then another…by the third one I was thinking Hello McFly -- WRONG CASSETTE!!! I actually dismounted and walked partway up the third hill – but just partway – before I got back on my steed and muscled my way up, hoping the name of the road – RIDGE ROAD – meant exactly that – a RIDGE.

It did; thankfully most of the serious climbing was behind me and I could focus on remaining tucked into my aerobars against the formidable wind and push my way up the now-so-called “speed bumps” which more closely resembled the race courses I’ll be facing this summer.

I was coasting down the last of the county roads - just over the 50-mile mark - and had just merged into the beginning of the St. Louis County area when suddenly I really really felt the road under my back tire…a FLAT – hah!!

No worries, I was prepared; in fact I had thought to bring two of everything needed to replace a flat: 2 tubes, 2 CO2 cartridges, 2 tires, 2 patches/glue, even 2 Snickers bite-sized squares to maintain equilibrium in my mood :) (besides the truckload of food in my Bento Box…)

I would need ‘em because it seemed I had thumbs for nimble fingers that day – I had trouble just loosening the skewer on my back wheel to remove it from the frame. Once I got that done here’s how things unfolded:

“Alrighty then, back tire off the frame – wait!! – is your aero-bottle empty?? Don’t want that precious elixir spilling out when you lay your bike down…”

“Ok, bottle is empty, set the wheel aside and lay the frame down – derailleur-side up!!”

“Just pop the tire bead off on one side...just pop it right off…come on now, just POP IT OFF…maybe you should just check to see the tube is completely deflated…”

[Hands are getting blacker by the second…]

“Amazing how much air can still be in a “flat” tire tube…Tire OFF, woohoo, put the new tube inside the tire…”

“Why so much tube left over??....rrrrrrrriippp…oh man, WRONG tube size, ha ha!!”

[Hands look like they’ve washed with coal…]

“Extra tube in pouch, nice…this one fits perfectly…pop the tire back on and grab a CO2 cartridge…”

“Oooooo, my hand and the little “gun” are suddenly freezing…nice, the safety wasn’t engaged on the gun and it just pierced the cartridge w/o being on the freakin’ valve…”

[I decide at this point I’ve ridden just shy of my workout plan and the hills alone compensated for slightly lower-than-planned mileage…with two coal-black fingers I grip my cellphone and call Steve…]

“pull out a second cartridge and this time I attach the gun to the valve FIRST...cool, tire inflates perfectly…”

“Steve on his way…wouldn’t it be funny if I get the bike put back together just as he pulls up, hee hee…”

“Just slip the tire back into the dropouts and you’ll be good to go!”

[Hands are SO BLACK I’m seriously considering a sudden color change on my bike frame…from burnt orange to matte black with black-on-black fingerprint accents…]

“Darn tire won’t go back in…aww, look at that – the chain is totally off the front chain rings now…”

The cellphone rings and it’s Steve who is sitting at the traffic light and can see me on the side of the road…

I got the chain put back on the front chain ring, secured the back tire lickety-split, re-skewered the skewer, and unbelievably the bike was ready to go just as he pulled up.

HA HA HA!!! I could hardly stop laughing…man, does God have a sense of humor.

We drove home and had a glorious tempo run together – a GREAT day in all :)

I’ll savor a visit from Murphy anytime :)

Life in the Laugh Lane

Living With Your Equal in Humor

Let’s just get it out in the open – I am married to an awesome guy :). Steve is a package deal: he’s smart, kind, compassionate, patient, funny, handsome, and a man of integrity – he does the right thing even if it’s unpopular or inconvenient; a rare find these days. He’s 49 years old and looks 35 – at 43 I have more gray hair and facial lines than he does, hee hee. Most importantly he has a deep love for God and it shows even in the most trivial details of his everyday living. In an age where Christianity regularly gets beaten up for weak explanations (misinformation) and bad applications (hypocrisy), Steve stands head and shoulders above those who talk the talk – he walks the walk without regard for the fleeting opinions of others and is an example everyday of how to place the best interests of others at least on the same line – if not above – his own desires.

We’ve been married for nearly 10 years, and truth be told it often seems like 10 days. Someone once said that the tone of your day is often set by the mood you’re in when you wake up in the morning. We often joke that if our house had a FBI wiretap, it would be hard to distinguish between the adults and children when listening in – we go to bed giggling and laughing and wake up exactly the same way, sometimes right where we left off the night before. The “bodily functions” theme is a real workhorse for humor, especially in the dark where everything is even funnier.

A hidden fear I have is that we’ll get to be 85 years old, in the “sunset years” so to speak, and I’ll wake up one day thinking “Wait! It’s not enough; it’s not been long enough!! We just got married…well, 50 years ago…”

Comedy makes such a regular appearance in our marriage it’s enabled us to weather a fair share of hardship and still keep a positive attitude. We don’t take ourselves too seriously and we’re able to take the most ordinary situations and turn them into our own private circus.

A prime example is the following: I was traveling to our corporate headquarters a few weeks ago. I had landed at the airport in NH and was in the McDonald’s (eeek!) drive-thru to get some lunch before heading to the office. The drive-thru employee was on the talk-box and Steve was in my other ear on my cell phone as I ordered a hamburger, salad, and yogurt. As soon as my darling husband heard me say “hamburger” he launched into 20 different variations of the word hamburger – right out of the scene in The Pink Panther, where Steve Martin is trying to say “hamburger” without the inane French accent. Here’s a link to the clip if you want to see something really funny:

http://youtube.com/watch?v=iUCDhvbQFmU

“I would like to buy a hem-beh-geah…”

“I would like to buy a HEM-bah-gah…”

“I would like to buy a hem-BEU-geuh...”

And Steve was LOUD – I mean I could hold the phone away from my ear and still hear him.

“Hem-beah-GEAH!!”

It was the ultimate test in trying to hold an adult conversation and not go off the deep end in a giggling fit. By the time I got to the cashier window, I was practically crying and having a hard time just steering the car down the drive-thru lane.

I laughed the entire way to the office – food coming out my nose – what a scene to nearby drivers :).

Another typical example is from last year when I was traveling internationally, and one of my trips took me to Bangkok, Thailand; Steve accompanied me for 2 weeks. I had an apartment that was actually a Marriott hotel, and while it was a beautiful property, they had a 25 meter pool on the top floor that was to die for. I would have the whole thing to myself at 6am and it was a slice of heaven.

The hotel also had a security system with cameras everywhere, including the elevators, and also one positioned behind the front desk aimed directly at guests who were checking in or needed assistance from the staff.

We discovered the front desk camera one evening while channel surfing. Thailand is a wonderful mix of traditional and Western culture, and they have a great satellite channel lineup. I could catch up on all my favorite episodes of Law & Order and CSI, and Steve was in heaven because they also broadcast all the History Channel variants; I wondered if he would leave the couch only to answer the call of nature.

The front desk camera was a channel all its own, meaning you could watch this channel and basically see anyone standing at the front desk and also see into the front lobby – it was as if you were behind the camera itself.

It took about 2 seconds for The Dare to be uttered: “Dare ya to go down there and do something while on camera…”

Suh-wheeeet!!!!

Remarkably he went first. I saw him on the TV, being filmed on the front desk camera. He said something to the front desk employee, presumably requesting the DVD catalog (our apartment had a DVD player and a wide selection of first-run movies available for checkout from the front desk).

The clerk disappeared and Steve looked straight into the camera and began half duck-walking/half doing the “Vogue” pose around the lobby, stopping just in time as the clerk reappeared.

When he got back to the room, I was rolling off the couch in laughter, holding my stomach. I could hear him practically stumbling down the hall, he was laughing so hard.

Things escalated from there…

I went downstairs, also making the same request of the front desk – may I see the movie catalog, pretty please?

No sooner did the clerk disappear into the back room, I launched into an exaggerated act of picking my nose, and when the clerk reappeared with the catalog I impulsively shook his hand – with the same hand I’d just been using to do a roto-rooter :).

Steve was howling when I got back to our room. It beat anything on TV that night - and for weeks after.

The funniest part was that this is a big hotel – hundreds of rooms – who knew how many people were watching us…those crazy “stoo-PEED” Americans…

I pray all marriages have as much fun as we do.

Reflections

It was my first “big” swim meet – ever. There had been a smaller one 4 months ago with about 25 athletes, but this one had more like 75, which I suppose is not as big as some of the nationals, but the atmosphere was electric nonetheless – more officials, more spectators, more swimmers, more events, more everything.

For the first time I became acquainted with the “psych sheet” -- a list of swimmers and seed times published a couple days before the meet. Each swimmer gets to see competitors’ names and projected finish times and hopefully gets “psyched” to swim even faster at the meet. My times were generally in the middle of others in my age group. I marveled at some of the published times for other athletes: 59 seconds for the 100 yard freestyle, 58 seconds for the 100 yard butterfly …clearly these were former collegiate All-Americans or Division III swimmers. Also, the ages of the swimmers ranged from those in their early 20s to athletes in their 80s – a testament to the conventional wisdom that one should be able to swim practically until the day he/she passes away.

The events I signed up for were the 500 yard freestyle, 100 yard Individual Medley, 50 yard freestyle, 100 yard freestyle, and the 100 yard butterfly - YIKES. I was hanging my butt out there and taking a risk with that last event – the “fly” :). What if I couldn’t finish? Would my seed time be ridiculously behind even the 80-somethings? Better yet, though, what if I could finish?? :)

I just learned the butterfly stroke 2 months ago and it came with a lot of work, determination, and patience – big surprise. In the beginning I knew absolutely nothing about the technique and when our coach would give us an “IM” (Individual Medley – butterfly, backstroke, breaststroke, freestyle) set, I would inwardly groan and outwardly sigh – I was clueless about how to even start with the “fly”.

Thankfully grumbling about something and doing nothing about it never lasts very long with me. If I had to list my own “Seven Habits of Highly Destructive People”, chronic griping followed by lack of action would be at the top. Sitting around “waiting” for someone or something else to do something when the keys are in my hand actually repulses me; few things are more revolting than not taking responsibility for my own actions.

One of our coaches, Liz, suggested doing a fly drill and this helped immensely. It consisted of a dolphin kick and working in just one side of the arm technique. Though awkward at first, I tried just the kick with fins on and it felt surprisingly good. Several practices later I had the one-sided arm technique down and my dolphin kick was now a graceful undulating motion – my hips, not my knees, would initiate the action and my entire body would follow. My head would naturally surface and I could actually take a breath – sweeeeet.

A few weeks later I tried adding in both sides of the arm technique for a full butterfly stroke -- and barely made it 1/3 of the way down the lane. Use yer head, my brain said. Right! Try it slowly and remember the undulating motion. I had trouble figuring out timing between breathing and my arms coming out of the water. Finally Hap said your arms and head should never be out of the water at the same time, meaning I should be tucking my head down to re-enter the water when my arms are surfacing.

That was the final piece of the puzzle. One morning I went down the lane with the full stroke and before I knew it I was touching the wall. It was HARD but I did it!! YEEEEHAW!!

25 yards of AGONIZINGLY HARD turned into 25 yards of MODERATELY HARD, then 50 yards of HARD followed by 50 yards of I CAN DO THIS – followed by 75 METERS of MAN, THIS IS OFF THE CHARTS BUT I CAN DO THIS…followed by dude, this makes freestyle look EASY…

Suddenly my staying power and ability to “grab” more water in freestyle was boosted, and 5 seconds came rolling off my 100-yard time.

So when I looked at the list of events for the meet, I saw “100 Yard Fly” and thought if I’m ever going to make friends with my head, now is the time. I knew enough to appreciate the sheer effort required to finish any event using this stroke – it’s all brute strength and besides being reasonably efficient in the technique, one must parcel out the energy required to be able to just finish. It’s all too tempting to go out too fast and have nothing left in the tank at the end. Even the pro’s are vulnerable.

But it’s like this in any event – does your mind rule your body – even when it hurts? Even when you’re tired? Even when you so want to quit?

I stood on the starting block, bent over looking down into the lane, and I could see my reflection in the water. I looked at no one else in the adjacent lanes – it was just me and the clock. In the final precious seconds before the “gun”, I thought did you ever think you would be standing up here actually competing, and in an event most triathletes – heck, most Masters swimmers – won’t attempt?...

…you’re just standing up here and you look GOOD. Take a long look at yourself… Think about where you’ve come from. Steve’s up there thinking man, that’s my wife and she looks HOT…you know it!! Now get out there and do what you came to do – suffer and move the line!!

The tone sounded and I dove cleanly into the water. I could see Kristin, my swim buddy and fellow super sonic triathlete, clapping at the end of the lane. By the end of 50 yards my arms ached but my head was totally in the driver’s seat. One more turn and the end was in sight – I can so do this!!

I finished nearly 20 seconds under my seed time – double personal bests (one for just getting out there) :).

I’ve grown to LOVE the water. I plan on swimming for the rest of my life and, God willing, being one of the 90+ year-old athletes still gliding down the lane.