When I was younger, most of my brother's friends were fairly crass. One of those was a girl who went by the same name as the title of this post. I'll leave the rest up to you. Like I said, my brother's friends were a bit rough around the edges.
This morning, this term took on new meaning as I had a banner day in the pool. The day started with a time trial for a "warm-up." The goal? See how fast I can do 1000 yards straight out of the blocks. Apparently, better than ever. I completed the time trial in 19:39, a full 10 seconds faster than my previous best time. After that, I joined the dolphins in the fast lane for some 50s and 100s. While I couldn't keep up, I was able to swim the 50s in 48 seconds, and the 100s in 1:48.
Apparently, I was either catching water well or I was particularly "slippery." Either way, it felt good to have such a fast morning of swimming. And to maintain the pace we did for the speed intervals AFTER the time trial was a good boost to the morale.
After a couple fast days, I'll try and put down some serious yardage, tomorrow. Sunday will be a long run of around 17 miles as we head into the final month before the Green Bay Marathon.
Have a great weekend of training!
Finally, a big thanks to everyone who has been stopping by in the past few weeks. The first ten days of March were a huge PR for the website. I appreciate every single reader that stops by and hope you find some useful things while you are here. If you're new, make sure you check out the Tri Blog Community page, and let me know if your site needs to be added.
5:07 a.m. is a good time of the day. It's just shortly after the YMCA opens, and it's about the time I walk out of the locker room, either onto the pool deck or toward the track. I'm awake and ready to hit the morning's workout.
Well... Normally.
At 5:07 THIS morning, I was laying in bed wondering if I should look at the clock and find out how long until my alarm would go off, or just go back to sleep until it actually sounded. Curiousity won out and I glanced at the clock.
Blink! Blink! "Funny, that looks like 5:07. It must be 4:07." Looking at the clock again, squinting to ensure I wasn't misreading, it dawned on me that the alarm had been set for 6 a.m. Apparently, I forgot to reset it before going to bed.
Mind you, all of that took place in about one second as I jumped out of bed berating myself. Quietly. After all, regardless of how late I was, everyone else in the house was still sleeping.
As I quickly got dressed and headed out the door, carefully making sure I wasn't leaving anything behind, one question kept popping into my head.
Why hadn't either of my children woke me up at 4 a.m. I ALWAYS get an early wake-up call.
Go figure. The one morning my alarm is messed up, my kids sleep through the night without incident. That should make me happy. Somehow, instead of feeling I've gained more sleep, I feel as though I've lost a backup alarm clock.
Each night, a festival of reading is held in the Pol household. The highest priority on the list is the reading of bedtime stories. Regardless of what the clock says, each of our kids gets a short story or a chapter or two from longer books. My son is already showing similarities to dad. We've read about 50 short books in the past year. Most are from the Magic Treehouse series, though we've read children's versions of The Time Machine, Peter Pan, and others. We have also read My Side of the Mountain. Twice.
We are currently rereading an old children's book called Ghost Town. In the book, some kids have the old diary of a great-grandparent who helped found the now abandoned community. The family makes a cross country trip just to see and learn more about the town.
That got me to thinking about our sites. Every so often I'll swing by some of my old posts and review them. I've never been one for traditional "diaries," but I've accumulated a fairly extensive collection of writings over the past few years. Others have been at it far longer.
Commodore recently posted a piece by Bob Mina. This year starts the second decade of race reports he has posted. Included in the mix are reports on some of the major training accomplishments.
A few members of our tri club have maintained similar records, including printed race reports, pictures, and news clippings. In fact, they have memorabilia from racing in Hawaii, PRIOR to the qualification requirements. Like Bob, they are a wealth of information accumulated from years of experience.
In the future, will my kids (and beyond) look at my posts in the way the kids in Ghost Town view their great-grandfather's diary? Or will they look back and be intimately familiar with the content because they live similar lifestyles? Will they look at the pictures and see a groundbreaking family member, or a wacky forefather who wrote about crazy undertakings?
Regardless, the collective writings of members of the Tri Blog Community are a tremendous resource. They will also serve as a historical document for future generations of runners, cyclists, and triathletes. Whether serious and technical or silly and irreverant, these pages are an important piece of the endurance culture.
So, the next time you complete a major workout or race, or experience an important endurance life lesson, remember to share it. Even if it's been said a dozen times before, put it down. You never know who will read it. It is quite likely that at least a few of your readers will learn something new.
No, it isn't a rest day. It's an OFF day. As in feeling "off." Perhaps it's the long runs this past weekend. Perhaps it's a rough night of sleep. For the kids and therefore, by default, for me. Perhaps it's just one of those days.
I planned an easy swim given the heavy mileage of the past three days. I decided the short swim was a good opportunity to combine some basic skills with some 100s for speedwork. I maintained a decent pace but still felt sluggish. Far different from the runs where everything seemed to click. Then again, I guess I'll take feeling slow over actually being slow (a relative term), any day.
I've always contended the best solution to motivation issues is race registrations. Nothing is better at focusing attention than money spent on a race. So, I completed my registration for the Green Bay Marathon, this morning. To be honest, though, it had more to do with the race director telling our tri-club that the race is nearly at capacity. If you're thinking about this race, it's time to stop thinking and start acting.
Once I dig up the paperwork, I will also hand in my registration for the Bellin Run 10K. That will be a total of four confirmed events on the race schedule. After the Spirit of Racine half-IM, my attention will be focused on preparing for a 50 mile running race in October.
In addition to these events, I may have inadvertently agreed to a long open water swim of either 3.5 or 7.5 miles, depending on which "wave" I join. Someone in our tri club thought it might be a good idea to swim across the local lake. The concept is taking on a life of it's own, and people are already talking about support boats, nutrition, and routes. At this point, the idea is to swim at least 6.5 miles, finish at the swim location of the High Cliff Triathlon, and walk up the hill saying something like, "Whew, even Olympians only swim 6.2 miles!"
Hey, we have the coolest outfits and the coolest club. Nobody ever said we have the most brilliant people.
For some reason, eight has held special significance for me and running. The first time I felt really proud of my pace was when I completed a 3.3 mile route at just under eight minute pace. While sub-8 pace isn't earth shattering, it represented a significant personal achievement, particularly over three miles.
Other marks have been achieved in the past half-decade, all of them huge successes. My first marathon, my first triathlon, my first sub-four hour marathon, and my first Ironman are among them. Still, those accomplishments that somehow relate to the 8-minute pace stick in my mind.
This past weekend was full of running and included yet another sub-8 milestone. Saturday was a training run with my co-worker. Scheduled for 18 miles, he made to choices that extended that distance to 19.5 miles. First, he opted to "touch the tower" (really just a bridge pillar) which added the first half-mile. Then, he guessed wrong on the end of the route adding another mile. He will be quite a runner if he gets to a point that he can devote solid time to training.
A divorcee, he has his kids every other weekend, which limits his ability to complete long runs. Even so, he finished this weekend's run at an average pace of 8:48. He's on track to go under four hours in his very first marathon.
Sunday, I opted for another run, and did just under 12 miles. I was unsure of the distance of the route I completed until I looked it up. I finished that run with an average pace of 7:59. Under eight minute pace for nearly a half-marathon. It's taken a long time to get from three to 12 at that pace, but it felt good (in a success sort of way, the actual physical effect was more painful).
Time, mileage, and study. With those three, an admitted sloth has improved his pace from 12 minute miles to sub-8s. For those of you who question your ability to improve your pace, I'm telling you it can be done. While I might never reach the levels of Khalid Khanouchi or Meb Keflezighi, I am steadily moving forward in the pack.
And if I can do it, anybody can.
On Friday, I came the closest I've ever come to about beating a child for misbehaving. However, I managed to control myself. Good thing, too. First, I was at the children's play area at a local mall. Second, it wasn't my child.
In bad need of a haircut, we had ventured to the mall for that and a few other things. My wife and I decided that one of us would watch the kids in the play area while the other accomplished their errands. After my haircut, I watched the kids, and my wife warned me that another boy had pushed our son, who responded appropriately by walking away.
With both kids running around, most of my attention was directed toward my daughter, who gets creative when trying to leave the play area to check out the rest of the mall. My son was playing with a flip board making different creatures. He was hidden by a play bridge, but I could see if he left.
At one point, my daughter headed toward that bridge, giving me the opportunity to check on my son. As I neared the corner where he was playing, I was shocked to see my son crying and screaming. Another boy of about the same age was behind him with two handfuls of my son's hair. He was pulling back for all he was worth and wouldn't let go.
I stormed over, pulled the boy off, and made sure my son was okay. After a quick check, I turned my attention to the other boy. I pointed out that it was my son he was attacking, that my son would get his butt whipped if he attacked another person like that, and that he owed my son an apology. The boy responded with a "No," and started to walk away. Seeing red, my only response was that we would then need to find his parents and ensure they removed him from the play area immediately.
Apparently, my input on that issue was unnecessary. As I sat my son down and tried to calm him down, the boy was getting hauled off by his mother. He was screaming about wanting to say he was sorry, to which his mother replied it was far too late. I don't believe she saw what happened, rather another person pointed out what her son had done. I was disturbed that she found it difficult to keep a close eye on that one child but appreciative of her response to the situation.
We bought my son a cookie as a treat for his handling of the situation. From discussions with my wife, it seems the same boy was involved in both incidents with my son (the pushing and hair pulling). Had our son reacted physically, his actions would have been justified, but it's challenging to teach a four-year old the fine line between unacceptable physical responses and reasonable defensive actions. For now, we are glad he was unwilling to respond physically to the attack. It will be far easier for us to explain defending oneself when he is older than it will be for this other mother to stop her son's attacks.
It was also a lesson for me. Even in a small play area with primarily little kids, constant vigilance is vital. The presence of other adults was insufficient to fully protect my children, and we were lucky this was only the childish attack of another toddler. There will be minimal lasting damage from my son having his hair pulled. As dad, my role as protector is to ensure such attacks are the worst my children ever have to endure.
Watching my kids, it is sometimes amazing the similarities I see between their play and Ironman. Well, other than the ability to go NON-STOP for 17 hours.
For many Ironman competitors, the swim is something to be endured. After the initial excitement of the start, things settle into the almost monontonous flow of stroke, stroke, breathe. Stroke, stroke, breathe. The only break in that pattern is sighting and the occassional bouy or a collision with another swimmer. As the swim progresses, many find themselves wanting one thing. To get out of the water and onto a bike.
Stop by my house some afternoon when I get home from work and you'll witness nearly the same thing. Nearly every day I have two kids standing in the doorway begging to "get out" so they can ride their bikes. It's a frantic "transition" as I try to drop off my gear/lunch bag/stuff and get changed into proper attire. Once out the door, I play referee, making sure helmets are on AND fastened before any bike is mounted.
As time winds on during an Ironman, an interesting shift occurs. The people who were so anxious to get out of the water and onto a bike find themselves wondering why they were so excited about the bike. Now, many hours and 112 miles later, they find themselves willing to run a marathon if it just means they can get off their bike. And for this Ironman, things were no different. The trepidation of the swim turned to excitement about the bike. Hours on the bike led to a shift in attitude. A marathon is a small price to pay to leave the bike course behind.
Like many an Ironman, they love and energy my kids had for their bikes has a limited lifetime. Soon enough, they have made several passes up and down the sidewalk and it's time to move on to other things. That "thing" is usually a mad dash up and down the same course. They will run from one corner to another, back and forth past our house. And like any good Ironman competitor, they love to have people cheering for them as they run.
For my kids and millions like them, their love of motion has little to do with competition or winning. They run because they can and it makes them laugh. They do it out of sheer joy. Whether it's my son tearing up and down at full speed or my daughter continuing to figure out her "running legs," there is always a smile on the face.
If you think about your experiences with endurance athletes, consider the ones who have the greatest impact. It's the ones who seem to truly LOVE what they are doing. A marathon or Ironman isn't a "chore" or a "challenge." It's something the do with a smile on their face (or at least in their eyes).
The triathlete who has probably impressed me most is Natasha Badmann. Whether crushing a world record or coming in well behind her goals, she has a HUGE smile on her face. It's tough to match that grin, but we should all have that as a goal. Outsiders who see childlike joy and excitement in the eyes of endurance athletes just might decide to share in the fun.
After all, who can watch a child at play and not yearn for at least some of what that child still has?
They are known as The Four Horsemen. And yes, that's the apocalypse, kind. They could be seen every Tuesday night doing everything they could to spend time together, generally causing one form of trouble or another. Every leader in the building knew them by name. And one of them was mine.
Eighth grade is the third year for Brigaders. For my "horseman," it was just one more opportunity to make it through an entire year without getting thrown out of the organization. His first two years had ended that way, and I am known for believing we can do more for kids IN the organization than for those who have been asked to leave. All four horsemen tested the limits, this year.
This past Tuesday was our last night. I went to the Brigade with high hopes and a bit of pride. All of my kids, including the horseman, had made it through the year successfully. In fact, the young man who had never earned a single award would receive his service medal (for completing the year) as well as a perfect attendance award. Quite an accomplishment for someone who usually ended his year early.
The night started normally enough. Eighth graders consuming more candy and soda then needed in the moments before our 7 p.m start. Young men antsy when asked to spend 15 minutes evaluating the year's programs. And excitement when we headed to the gym for physical activities, almost certain to be dodgeball.
It was then that I realized something wasn't quite right with the horseman. He was wound up, but lacked the usual attitude. Though chaotic and disruptive, he generally had a "this is funny" approach. Good or bad, he faced things with a smile. That night, he was withdrawn and seemed depressed. Trying to avoid a ball rolling his way, he slipped and cracked his head on the wall. Bad getting worse.
When other groups started arriving, one young man started right in on the horseman and things went downhill from there. Feeling his personal space and his "rep" being threatened, he lashed out physically, and I had to pull him off the other kid. As other leaders came down on him, he got more and more tense. Finally, he stormed off threatening to just go home.
I followed him and found him sitting on the stairs in tears. It was easy to see he was hurting, and I walked the fine line of correcting unacceptable behavior and reaching out to find the real source of the outbursts. After some time, he finally shared that he had just found out his parents were separating. I did the only thing I could. I told him I could understand his pain, though I couldn't really relate to it. I was 23 when my parents got divorced. I have no idea how that might feel at 14.
He asked if he could leave, and I asked him to stay for the awards. He figured he wasn't getting anything, so saw no point. I asked him to stay, and to let me be the leader who determines if he gets an award. I hoped getting something might help.
He stayed. He got his awards. And he ripped up the envelope on his way out of the auditorium. The small amount of respect paid was that he did this quietly. I followed him out and tried one last time to reach out to him. I could only let him know that regardless of his home situation, there WERE adults who cared for him unconditionally. I won't know until next year if it had any impact.
As I watched the four horsemen storm off, I realized how badly my back was hurting. And at that moment, it seemed so trivial. I looked back at some of the aches and pains I've experienced and realized how minor they were in comparison. My little horseman was experiencing more pain than I've ever faced. And I only know the surface of what he's working through.
I went and trained Wednesday and Thursday with a little bit better perspective. Everyone experiences pain in their lives. But the pain in this young man's eyes was something that can't be solved as easily as my back. I can take some ibuprofen or get some rest and the pain will vanish. Others face pain that only time and growth can help alleviate.
We all hear it and it's something we can't hear enough. Hug your children and TELL them you love them. When you're mad at them let them know that though you might not like them at the moment, you do love them. And don't stop just because they've moved past being the cute child of the toddler years. It's tough being a teenager, too.
Don't wake up one day to find out that your child has become one of the horseman.
 Last year, the Spirit of Racine triathlon was the second half-Ironman I raced with George Schweitzer and Iron Wil. Okay, "raced" might be a bit of an exaggeration. Wil and I were just close enough to George to see him on the run course. He was a full lap ahead of us, so we weren't a big threat to his finish position.
Racine was a great race. It was also a learning experience for my wife and I when it comes to "away" games. This was the first major race where we had to travel away from home. We learned things like "book your hotel early." And "no vacancy" on the Internet means something different than on the phone (in other words, call even if the Internet says a hotel has no rooms). Iron Wil apparently knew this and was able to stay at a fairly nice hotel near the race course. My wife, no not near and not so nice.
I will be racing the half-IM again, this year, and look forward to the opportunity to meet any bloggers who will be there. Whether racing or spectating, it's good to know who is around. Whether it's passing someone on the course or seeing someone cheering, familiar faces make any race more enjoyable.
If we get a feel for who will be at the race, we should be able to make arrangements for a get together, perhaps for lunch or dinner. This year should be easier for two reasons. First, I know the area better and won't spend as much time lost. Second, we should be able to get out of the Fox Valley without having to clean a bottle of nail polish out of my daughter's hair. That will make any meet-and-greet easier to attend.
In all the races I've done, the opportunity to meet other bloggers has been just as exciting as the race itself. So if you will be in Racine for this year's race, let me know. We'll put together a list and see what we can coordinate.
Along a similar line, if you will be participating in the High Cliff Triathlon, please let me know. I live in the area and will be volunteering at this year's race. At this time, I don't intend on racing, but will still consider a pre-race pasta feast at my house if people are interested. We had a great time, last year!
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