 In the late 80s, I got into a bit of trouble with my parents over music. Now, my parents were fairly tolerant about music choices, so long as it was played at a reasonable volume. My parents accepted my punk rock music as easily as they accepted American folk. They even coped when I showed up at home with the remnants of a mohawk, a pierced ear, and tapes from the punk band of which I was a member.
So getting in trouble with my parents over music was a rare situation. Then again, it is safe to say that respect was more the issue than the actual music.
Our church has a tree farm where members frequently camp. While in high school, it was common for many of us to bike or drive there several times a month. And many families camped there over long weekends. Some of them, one in particular, were far less tolerant of alternative music, or any secular music, for that matter. My parents had voiced that concern to me and asked that I be respectful when playing music while camping.
After that, I always picked contemporary Christian music if this family was around. Apparently, that wasn't sufficient, as they continued to object about my music. Finally, I lost my patience and broke out my copy of Larry Norman's Only Visiting This Planet. The song I selected was picked for maximum impact. "Why Should the Devil Have All the Good Music." Lost patience was catching, as my parents realized what I was doing and got fairly tense. Not about the music, but about the disrespect being shown to another adult.
Larry Norman was often called the father of Christian rock. Through his music, he reached a lot of people otherwise shunned by the church. He was, himself, shunned by those who believe any "rock" music is bad. Others frowned upon his appearance. After all, the "hippie" look wasn't widely accepted by the more conservative factions of the church.
Those who looked beyond the person found a wonderful singer and songwriter. Often considered the Christian version of artists like the Beatles, Elvis, and Bob Dylan, Norman touched on subjects such as war, addiction, and faith in ways nobody else did. His influence on Christian music extended well beyond his career. Still today, many consider him to be one of the biggest influences on their music.
Sadly, Larry Norman passed away on Sunday, February 24. After battling heart problems for many years, he died peacefully with his family at his Oregon home. He was 60 years old.
He will be missed by his family and friends. He will be remembered by those who loved his music and ministry. And the contemporary church will always be better for his willingness to worship God in new and unconventional ways.
Rest, Larry. The trip is over, and we know you're home, now.
 I'm going to have to channel Nytro here, for a bit, and address the sheer evil of whoever created the single leg press exercise. An article in a recent edition of Triathlete magazine listed ten strength exercises every triathlete should include in their workouts. While the leg press is part of my normal routine, I had yet to perform it with individual legs.
Monday, I added it to the mix. I cut the weight I normally use by a bit more than half (90 pounds instead of 200) and did three sets of 10 reps with each leg. After two days, I feel confident in saying that the single leg press is much better at isolating muscle groups. And destroying them. By muscle groups, I'm pretty much referring to anything in the butt region.
Given the response of my body to the very limited experience with the single leg press, I'll have to abandon the exercise entirely or add a great deal more of it. Apparently I should add the writers at Triathlete (and a great many training sites) to the "evil" category, as all indications are that this is a VITAL exercise for all triathlon disciplines.
I was perfectly happy using the leg press machine to build leg strength. But NOOOOOOO! I was doing it "wrong." And "right" is much more painful (pronounced "effective).
It's all evil. With a capital EVIL.
Well, another crazy and busy weekend is over. The good news is that we had warmer temperatures and no snow. The bad news is that the good weather was wasted as far as training goes. It was still a good weekend, though.
I was up early Saturday morning to squeeze in a couple hours on the trainer before Mrs. Pol went to a mid-morning meeting. I threw Castaway into the DVD player, figuring that would get me through a decent workout. About half-way through the movie (1:15), I heard a pounding that wasn't part of the movie. There could only be one explanation for noise like that at 6:30 in the morning. My son was up.
To give you a feel for this pounding, allow me to describe the setting. I train in the basement and use headphones attached to my surround sound system. Because of the noise of the trainer, the volume is up fairly loud. And I can still hear my son beating on the door. I hope he master's the safety handles we use before he gets much stronger. I'd rather he open the door than put his fist through it.
After my wife got home, I prepared to head to a local Polar Plunge event to take pictures of some friends. There's an upcoming post on this insanity, because Weebly was being a challenge, last night. My kids decided they wanted to go along. We were able to convince my daughter she didn't really want to stand in the cold for a couple hours, but my son wasn't to be deterred. Some quickly shifted plans allowed me to take him, and his lunch, along.
We had a good time, with the highlight for my son being a participant dressed up as Charlie Brown. He liked the other wild costumes, but the simple shorts and shirt of his favorite character won out the day. And I got to spend most of our time there explaining things like dry suits, rescue divers, and odd behavior (mostly of which was related to alcohol consumption).
We rounded out the trip with a stop at Culver's, a local hamburger chain. I grabbed a burger and fries for lunch. My son just wanted the frozen custard, though he did eat a good bit of my meal. All in all, it was a fun day.
Sunday was dedicated to church and friends. After church, it was software installation time at my friend's house, rounded out with some Guitar Hero. It was great watching the wives play the game while the kids all "played along" using Elmo's Rock and Roll Guitar.
I ended the weekend how it started. On the bike trainer in the basement. I had to squeeze the workout in after dinner while my wife worked on getting the kids to bed. It wasn't a great weekend for training. Sometimes, family has to take the front seat.
 Growing up, it was fairly common to see lots of people outside during an eclipse. As a student, there was usually the opportunity to get extra credit in everything from writing to math. Apparently, things have changed.
Since it will be nearly three years before the next total lunar eclipse, we decided to let the kids stay up and see it. While it was too cold to sit outside for the full event, I set things up so the we could be outside during the total eclipse. That worked out well, as I doubt either of the kids (or me, for that matter) would have the attention span to watch the entire show.
When I stepped outside to set up chairs and blankets, I was surprised to find myself alone. None of the kids from the neighborhood were out, and my children are the youngest of the bunch. Shock aside, I made sure my son was dressed warmly and grabbed the binoculars. Before we headed out the door, I asked him about the color of the moon. He very confidently stated it was white, the answer for which I hoped.
He had no idea why he had been allowed to stay up so late, much less why we were going outside "to play" so long after dark. As we left the garage, I had him look at the moon. His reaction was pretty cool, and he wanted to know why it was red.
We discussed the eclipse a little, and I let him try the binoculars. In the past, he has struggled with them, and this time he was able to find the moon. It was priceless watching him find it for the first time. His eyes were probably as big as the moon. Though he is too young to really understand, I hope our little adventure will stick with him as he gets older.
He stayed outside for a good 25 minutes, and kept switching between the naked eye and the binoculars. He asked a few good questions, and was excited when he went back inside to "tell mom about the moon." Our daughter was less excited, though she did eventually go outside for a few minutes.
And one neighbor girl did find her way outside to watch some of the eclipse. She was equally as excited to look at the moon through the binoculars. Part of me really wants to pick up an entry level telescope and stand so we can see other features more clearly. It's tough to see the rings of Saturn when looking through binoculars. Steady as I might be on aerobars, I can't keep binoculars that motionless.
While staying up late one night when he is four probably won't lead our son to become a great scientist, it gave one more little push to help him understand how interesting learning can be. And interest in learning is always a good thing.
It's funny how sometimes the "silver lining" to things is just a matter of perspective. After six days fighting an upper respiratory infection, I have to consider myself the lucky one. While training has been curtailed and most of my excercise has come at the business end of a snow shovel, I can at least say I was the "survivor." Everyone else in the house went down harder.
The timing was at least fortunate. The past six days have pushed Wisconsin toward one of the harshest winters in recorded history, at least where snowfall is concerned. We've had 3-4 inches just about every day for a week. Over the weekend, it was nearly nine inches. While I've had to forego official training, I have done a lot of strength workouts hefting all the snow. We now have three foot banks of snow along our sidewalks, and six foot banks along the driveways. It's getting tough to get snow over the piles at the end of the driveway, both of which have gone over seven feet high.
There is more snowfall in the forecast, so I haven't put the shovels away.
Tomorrow, it's back to the pool, as it seems the worst of the chest cold is clearing up. While I will train with minor injuries, ear infections, head colds, allergies, or any of a wide variety of other ailments, pulmonary conditions will always get my attention. In this case, I opted for full (or really close to full) recovery.
If you're in Wisconsin, enjoy the snow. The farmers need it. If you're in the south, enjoy the warm. Because we really miss it. And if you're in the other hemisphere, enjoy your race season. I'm sure you've trained for it.
 During Iron Wil's Throughth3wall Challenge, one of my training runs turned into a fartlek. I generally run fartleks based on the music on my MP3 player, I refer to them as "musical fartleks." Referencing that in my training log earned one of Wil's weekly prizes. In my case, it was a set of Drymax socks.
As one of ten recipients of those socks, I will also be participating in a little contest to put these socks through some testing. Well, more like the wringer. The goal is to wear them in the toughest, wettest, dirtiest training we can find. And then report on how well they performed.
Since Drymax provided me with three pairs of socks, I've added them to my Training Partners page. The package contained one pair each of lightweigh running socks, heavier running socks, and trail socks. My initial impression is pretty good.
Since receiving them, I've been wearing the socks in various different situations. Only after listening to Wil and Kahuna on their latest podcast did it hit me just how effective these socks can be. Oddly enough, it was downhill skiing that made the point.
On a recent ski trip, I was unable to find the thermal socks I normally wear. Rather than tear the house apart, I grabbed the Drymax trail socks and a pair of heavy cotton socks. On the hill, I wore the cotton socks over the trail socks, an unplanned moment of genius (pronounced "luck").
As I was changing at the end of the evening, I was shocked to find the cotton socks were damp, almost wet. My feet were fine, though, and hadn't gotten cold. I just figured a bit of snow had somehow got into the boot. After listening to Wil interview a Drymax representative, the truth dawned on me.
Drymax socks are designed with a moisture wicking material next to the skin and a moisture absorbing material on the outside. Put a cotton sock over that, and it's a perfect system for keeping feet dry. In the end, I wound up with damp cotton socks, dry trail socks, and dry feet. Mystery solved and theory proved.
I'm excited to be able to test these socks in other adverse conditions. If they perform as well in snow and rain, they'll become a regular part of my training and racing wardrobe.
 The military is a lot like Ironman. First, everyone has a story. Second, lots of people have a difficult time understanding why anyone would sign up. Third, both the participant (servicemember) and their family share a great sense of pride in the journey being taken. And both require a great amount of determination, discipline, and support to ensure success.
Unlike Ironman, military service is a vital part of this country's past, present and future. While triathlon is a big part of our lives, the country would continue on if we never held another race. Not so with our military tradition. Every freedom we have rests on the shoulders of the men and women who serve in uniform. That includes the freedom to write this blog, as well as the freedom to disagree with what is said in it.
Recent events in Berkeley, California raised the hackles of military families around the country. The city council, forgetting the very freedom to voice their dissent is defended by the military, voted to tell the US Marine recruiting station in their town that they are "unwelcome" in the city. Only when faced with the very real possibility of losing millions of dollars of state and federal funding did they revisit the issue and indicate they support the troops while opposing the war.
Service members and their families find that very difficult to swallow. When the first reaction is to tell a recruiting station they are unwelcome in town, it is difficult to see the support they claim to have for service members. Their opposition to the war in Iraq is fine. Their dislike for the policies of the President are also fine. Telling recruiters, who by the way happen to be service members, they are unwelcome in town is not.
As many readers know, I spent 10 years in the Navy. That, however, is only the beginning of the understanding myself and my family have of the idea of supporting the military. Like many other families out there, we are a military family. My dad served more than 20 years in the Navy, as did my father-in-law. My brother served eight years in the Navy, and my sister served five. My brother-in-law, shown in the picture at the start of this post, has over 20 years of service completed and plans to complete his career with at least 26 years. With nearly a century of Naval service in our immediate family, SUPPORT is a very important word.
You'll note that in the picture my brother-in-law is holding a big gun in a very sandy location. That's about what we know. Forward deployed, no more. We can guess at locations, but never really know. We do know it's dangerous and we pray for his safety. We also pray for the safety of those in his command.
Support or oppose the conflicts around the world, we 100% support the mission of our soldiers, sailors, airmen, and Marines. They are an all-volunteer force doing what millions have done before them. Defending our freedom. All of them. They ask for little in return, which is good, because that's what we, as a country, give them. We give them little pay. We give them little recognition. We give them little understanding. All too often, the only thing we give a lot of is flack.
That's wrong. The next time someone says the "support the troops," consider it in terms of a race. Imagine running a triathlon with the kind of "support" we give our troops. The only people you see on the course are people protesting your use of the roads. The few aid stations on the course have insufficient supplies, because the race director refuses to spend the money needed to stock them. And everyone at the finish line is there to complain about how you went about finishing the race.
How many of those would you want to run?
I don't know if the Pol family is chanelling the Commodore clan, or just an ordinary victim of the bug that is floating around, but it looks to be a very hacky Valentine's Day. And no, the spelling is fine.
Both kids have been struggling with an apparent sinus/chest cold for about a week, now. Monster Girl started spiking fevers, and had to be stripped down to her pull-up on Monday when he temperature hit 103.7F. B-Boy, who we felt was over the hump, seems to have taken a turn for the worse yesterday.
The youth organization with which I volunteer had a ski trip planned for the eighth graders, meaning I had to head straight from work to catch the bus. As I drove that way, Mrs. Pol called and let me know our son had just thrown up for the third time. I offered to stop by the house or even skip the ski trip. She told me to go as she had it under control (a decision she came to regret).
After a nice ski outing, not counting the directionally and automotively challenged driver, I got home about 11 p.m. I set my stuff down, only to be told by my wife that I probably didn't want it sitting exactly where I had put it. Or anywhere in the general vicinity of where I put it. Or anywhere in the entire living room, including either recliner. That, apparently, was the field of battle.
My son had a rough evening, unable to keep anything down, and my wife bore the brunt of it. That left me to deal with the aftermath, including steam cleaning the carpets. The day had started at 4:30 a.m. after a night on the floor of my daughter's room, as it should be remembered she is also sick. I ran a 15K training run before work, and spent the evening chasing 13 and 14 year olds all over the hill. Steam cleaning carpets until after midnight wasn't exactly the end I had planned for the day.
Or changing my son and his bed linens after he got sick, again. And just to put it in perspective, he was so wiped out from the day that he didn't even wake up when he got sick that final time. We only found out when I went to check on him. That's tired.
The wife and I have yet to succumb to whatever plague it is that has a hold of our kids. If everything follows the same course, it looks like we may be celebrating Valentine's Day a week or so late. Otherwise, we'll have a nice gift for all the couples we come in contact with that day.
 Have you ever had a dream, Neo, that were so sure was real? What if you were unable to wake from that dream? How would you know the difference between the dream world and the real world? - Morpheus, The Matrix
That's sort of how I felt, Monday morning. It was about 3:30 a.m. when my daugther woke me up by pulling on my arm as she tried to climb into our bed. I climbed out of bed, took her back to her room, and got her to go back to sleep. I was back in my own bed by 4:00 a.m.
And promptly woke up by my son, who wanted me to hang out with him. I put him back in bed, only to find my daughter heading back to toward my bed, as she had woke up, again. This went on for the thirty minutes that remained until my alarm went off.
This is where you would cue the buzzing alarm, with Neo face down on his computer keyboard. I sat up in my bed, angry at having been kept awake since 3:30, only to realize that at least some of it had to be a dream. Obviously, I had been sleeping. I checked on my daughter and found her asleep on her bedroom floor. So, somewhere between her attempting to scale my arm and my alarm going off, I had been caught up in a very realistic dream.
Now, if I could only figure out how to race a triathlon in the Matrix. I'm sure my residual body swims much better than my real body. And, as Morpheus said, "Do you think that's air you're breathing?"
Irony. An incongruity between the actual result of a sequence of events and the normal or expected results. Most often used in sentences of the "isn't it ironic that" variety.
With a bunch of vehicle maintenance and one dentist appointment scheduled for Friday, we decided that it was a good time for me to use a vacation day. That allowed us to drop the car off Thursday night, and still arrange it so I could do my training and attend a meeting while Mrs. Pol could see the dentist and run some errands. With the extra time at home, I worked to finish installing network connections to our server.
The kids enjoyed that, as they got to help with things like operate the shop vac, steal my wrenches, and watch me put holes in walls. The high point of the day was when my son got to pull CAT-5 cable through the holes using a fish tape. He was excited, and it saved time. Well, until he decided to push the cables back INTO the holes, so they weren't "in the way." Even so, it was probably a wash.
As I was unable to actually complete the connections on Friday, I headed back downstairs on Saturday night (the server sits under the basement staircase). Here's the irony part. I stepped over a box to get at the cables and connection box and walked right onto the claw of a hammer. Though we avoided any trips to the hospital, my plans for the 15K race next Saturday may be shot.
There are three rules my kids are used to hearing. The first is a near daily comment. "Watch where you are walking." Whether it's walls, toys, furniture, or siblings, my children regularly run into or through things that mess them up. The other two are "workplace" guidelines. Always wear protective gear (including shoes and gloves) and don't leave tools laying around.
When I realized I had stepped on a hammer that I had left laying out, I had to laugh at myself. By failing to "do as I say," I had set myself up. The bright side? The kids were in bed. Only my wife saw the outcome of my choices.
Sometimes, we get complacent. In this case, the loss of focus only cost me a sore foot, and may possibly sideline me for a race I want to run. That's really a cheap price to pay. Other times, complacency can be more costly. Perhaps it's forgetting to replace items in your bike bag. Perhaps it's money left on the table when heading out for a long ride. Or maybe it's riding without a helmet because "it's just a short ride." The RoadID left at home the one time it's needed.
Triathletes tend to obsess over things. That's a good thing as one of those things is safety. Apparently, I need to apply some of the focus when I'm at home. I could have done with a bit of obsessing Saturday night.
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