 After four years of triathlons, my Tri Fox racing jersey gave up the ghost. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say it became a ghost of its former self. While we have changed the layout a bit, the jersey on the right used to be nearly identical to the jersey on the left. Of course, the front of the old jersey is much closer in appearance to the new one. When my son was looking at them, he told me the old one was inside out. When he realized that wasn't the case, he wanted to know why it was so faded.
It's a good advertisement for sun block. The same forces that completely washed out my jersey were at work on my skin, as well.
I wonder if I could use that as an explanation for my bald spot. "No, really, the hair is there, it's just faded away to nothing because of the sun." Or, perhaps, "You've heard of 'beach blonde." Well, I'm beach bald."
I wore the new jersey for my 22 mile training run, last Saturday, and all is good. The old jersey was from Sugoi, whose products I love. Most of my gear is from them. The new jersey is from Louis Garneau. It's really comfortable, and time will tell how it holds up to the abuse I'll give it.
My one immediate "dislike" is the back pocket. On the Sugoi jersey, there are two small pockets, one on each side of the back. They are fairly tight, so I'm always confident my gels are staying put. On the LG jersey, it is one big pocket in the center of the back. While it does have elastic to help keep it closed, I'm far less confident things will stay put. The upcoming Green Bay marathon will be the first test. I'll carry one gel in that pocket to see how it goes. The rest will go in my Race Ready shorts.
 If a new jersey is right, the picture outside, this morning is just wrong. April 21st (Happy Birthday to my brother and sister, twins born five years apart), and it's snowing outside. Not only is it snowing, it's accumulating. That's about a half-inch of slushy snow on the windows of my cars. There was snow covering my grill in the back, and it's starting to stick to the grass.
The only positive spin is that we need the precipitation. But why snow? Rain would do the trick, just as well. Last Friday, I took the bike out for a 21 mile ride. Saturday morning I ran 22 miles, starting at 5 a.m., wearing shorts and that new tri jersey. And Monday and Tuesday bring snow.
I have a marathon in less than four weeks. This snow stuff needs to end.
 I'll sandwich that "wrong" between two "rights." And this one is super-cool. This picture shows both my kids out biking. My daughter finally put away her tricycle and moved to the "big girl bike." She's getting pretty good, and has even overcome her concern of crashing because of sharp turns (she sometimes fails to take into account the training wheels).
Just as exciting is that my son is on two wheels. One of the other boys in the neighborhood has the training wheels off his bike, and my son was quick to follow. He didn't care that the other boy is nearly 18 months older. I was amazed at how quickly he moved from two wheel novice to expert, and how little adult help it took. He spent one day with different adults helping him balance. Four days later, with no additional help, he was zooming around like a pro. He's even mastered the uphill sections of the driveways, 180 degree turns on the sidewalk, and avoiding his sister when she gets in the way.
We're going to start looking for a slightly bigger bike, which should make his next triathlon loads of fun. Last year, he had the training wheels. This year, he'll be on two wheels and (hopefully) a bigger bike.
*Sniff* They're growing up so fast!
 One of the most important "benefits" from my endurance lifestyle is when others take it to heart and find something that appeals to them. For two years I have coached junior high and high school youth as they prepare for a sprint distance triathlon. Two weeks ago, my kids completed their first kid's triathlon. And though she didn't officially swim or bike, my wife was right there with our daughter as she raced.
Like the "me" of nearly a decade ago (has it really been that long?), my wife "isn't a runner." I can relate, because a "simple" 1.5 mile run was about all I could handle in 2000. And let's face it, anyone returning to ANY sport after years (decades?) away will often struggle with even the most basic aspects of that sport.
After seeing the fun my wife had at the kid's triathlon, I suggested she could work her way up to and participate in her first sprint triathlon. While she hesitated in committing to that, she did sign up for a local YMCA program called "Walk to Win." It's a great starting place for anyone looking to ease into working out. Her goal, 30 minutes of walking five days a week.
If that sounds familiar, it should. It matches the recommended exercise levels for healthy living.
It is also a great way to become involved in shorter distance endurance events. The journey to 5K starts with those 5-10 minute walks. Misplaced somewhere in all my files is a "Couch to 5K in 30 days" plan. For my wife and anyone else interested, I'll find and post that plan.
For many of us, the finish line will never be 26.2, 50, 100, or 140.6 miles away. Sometimes, 3.1 miles is just enough to promote healthy living and encourage others.
My sister and I represent opposite ends of the same spectrum. She likes races that allow for minimum training and maximum flexibility. Her favorite distance? 5K. Why? As she puts it, "They only cost $10, they're easy to train for, they're over in 30 minutes, and you still get a cool t-shirt." Despite all my attempts to get her to run a half or full marathon with me, she's comfortable with the distances she runs, now.
For me, each accomplishment opens the door to the next challenge. Put another way, I'm crazy and just won't quit. I'll complete a 50-mile race because 26.2 has become something I can run any given day. After 50, who knows.
But the result is the same. My sister is a great example for her kids and others around her. My wife is setting a great example by starting this program, and I'll spend the next however many weeks supporting her efforts.
Maybe I'll even encourage her to start her own blog to give her an opportunity I missed. Documenting the journey from the beginning, regardless of the end.
This past weekend, we proved it isn't all about the bike. It isn't all about the run. This weekend, it was all about the kids. This was the weekend of the Oshkosh Area Triathlon put on by Midwest Sports Events. Saturday was the kid's tri and Sunday was the sprint distance race. My own kids raced Saturday, and the Brigade kids raced on Sunday.
I'll start with the kid's tri on Saturday. Mostly because the pictures from Sunday aren't yet posted. And it's my own kids.
After this brief race report, I'll post a bunch of pictures from the event.
I want to start by saying that Midwest Sports Events did an AWESOME job for the kids. From having them use the same assigned transition racks the adults use to a course loaded with volunteers, this race was very well organized. I saw lots of smiling children, and my kids went away feeling every bit the triathlete. If you live in the Fox Valley of Wisconsin or attend any race put on by Gloria West and her awesome staff, I strongly recommend letting your kids participate in the kid's events.
And now for the pictures. There are quite a few, as my kids apparently have better luck getting good pictures.
 I heard a statistic recently that helps explain the apathy or outright anger toward our military members in recent history. During World War II, pretty much everybody knew somebody (or several somebodies) serving in the armed forces. And a great many people knew at least one member of their extended family who wore a uniform.
Apparently that percentage has dropped dramatically. I don't remember the exact figure used, but recall it was somewhere in the range of 20 to 30 percent. That makes it easy to view those serving as anything less than superheros.
When it is your friends and family wearing the uniform, HERO is the only word you are willing to use. Words like terrorist, occupier, and any of the other pejoratives used so frequently, today, are unacceptable, and border on fighting words.
The picture above is the long awaited homecoming of my brother-in-law after his deployment to overseas combat zones. My sister was obviously overjoyed at his return. If you look closely, you can see just how big an impact these dangerous assignments have. One niece is standing by her parents. Another is only a hand on his chest as she refused to let go of her dad. These kids understand the risks our military face, and know their dad IS a hero.
 Now, only weeks after the safe return of a family member, a close friend is headed into harm's way, himself. The guy third from the left is my best friend's brother, John. After spending the last several months training in Kuwait, he is headed to Baghdad.
His job, to help teach the US and Iraqi military how to use new technology to defeat roadside bombs. So he is, in fact, heading directly into the jaws of the shark. And this is something in which he had a choice. With nearly 22 years of service and facing retirement, he had other options.
He believes the assignment demands the very best from people who believe in the effort. John knows how many lives his training can save, so he serves. And he does it with the always present smile you see in the picture.
For the past six months, my family kept my brother-in-law in their prayers as he was forward deployed. Due to the nature of his job, his exact whereabouts were classified. Now, we will add John to our prayers. Due to the nature of HIS job, we know exactly where he will be and the extent of the danger he faces.
For everyone out there who DOESN'T know someone serving in harm's way, think about how your perspective might change if you did. Growing up, I was taught to treat the girls I knew as if they were my mom. Take a look at the pictures above (or consider any of the thousands serving in combat zones) and imagine they are a father, brother, or son. Look at my sister and imagine if she were YOUR sister. Then carefully consider how to voice your opinions.
 First, a picture from the Green Bay Marathon. This is a wonderful picture showing how three co-workers spent their weekend. On the left (holding the Gatorade) is Lisa, who acted as sherpa during the race. She is collecting gloves from Casey and replenishing our Gu supply. Another friend was the photographer and captured several nice shots.
It is great to have co-workers willing to participate in endurance events. It puts it over the top to have others willing to spend the better part of a day off traipsing around town carrying gear, taking pictures, and cheering our accomplishments. And were it not for having a baby recently, she would have been out there with us.
As more co-workers join the ranks of marathoner (full or half), many more begin to see they also have the ability to tackle endurance events. It also helps people see there is nothing overly special about my accomplishments. Discipline and a bit of dedication make many things possible.
 In other "Congratulations" news, we received word that my brother-in-law was selected for promotion to the rank of Senior Chief in the United States Navy. For those unfamiliar with military rank structure, there is only one enlisted rank, Master Chief, above this. For those who are familiar with the military, you can understand my sister's pride in the fact that her husband was selected for this promotion his first time up.
To put it in perspective, only about 3% of the enlisted force can hold the rank of Senior or Master Chief. In a 100-person division, there will generally be perhaps one or two sailors of this rank. They are the managers, historians, and teachers of the Navy. Despite the grief less senior sailors are prone to giving "the Chief," they are deserving of and granted a great deal of respect for their accomplishments.
 My brother-in-law has always accepted the tough assignments that lead to rapid promotion. During a recent tour as a boot camp "Company Commander," (similar to Marine drill instructors) he accepted the added pressure of helping develop a new and successful training facility, complete with Disney style animatronics and Hollywood special effects.
After leaving that assignment, he transferred to a squadron that was forward deployed almost immediately after his arrival. In fact, the promotion announcement leaves my sister with about a month until she can congratulate him in person. He will wear his new anchors, complete with the shiny new star, when he returns.
So, to my brother-in-law, who just joined a community as small as those called marathoner, congratulations! Like the 26.2 miles of a marathon, he has reached another milestone in a long and demanding journey.
Two days from now, I will compete in my seventh full marathon (bib 1550 in the Green Bay Marathon, for those interested). Once again, this race is to support a co-worker in his first marathon. He is fairly talented and only the limits on his training schedule will allow me to be the rabbit. Even so, we are targeting a sub-4 hour race, which puts me quite close to PR pace.
With a marathon less than 48 hours out, it's good to have priorities set and begin to focus on important final details.
Which is why I spent last night looking for two very specific songs on the Internet and sending E-mails to a local race director.
The music has nothing to do with the race. They are songs I need for an upcoming sermon series at church. In case you've never tried, it can be VERY challenging to locate out-of-production Christian rock from the mid-1980s. Persistence paid off and I managed to get everything together and once again claim the world is mine and I can do with it as I please.
Obviously, the correspondence with the race director ALSO had nothing to do with the marathon. She directs several local races, but not this one. The extra time I had in the evening (since today is a rest day) seemed a good time to consider race opportunities for my kids, who are now 30 months and four and a half. After getting the answers to all my wife's questions, we are ready to register both kids for the Oshkosh Area Triathlon Kids Triathlon.
Is it at all wrong that the impending 26.2 mile venture is less exciting than the PROSPECT of registering my kids for their first triathlon? Well, much as Bolder always points out it's "all about the bike," it's all about the kids, for me. It was great helping three young men complete their first race, last year. And it was great watching a young lady break all kinds of personal records on Wednesday.
But the opportunity to sign both my kids up for their first triathlon is a huge thrill. And the funny thing is that I won't be able to even mention it to them for some time. Once we mention it, they'll want to do the race RIGHT NOW. And once they learn that there are kids' races all summer, I'll probably have to cut back on my own race schedule to be able to afford their races.
And by way of the shameless promotion of another, please consider any of the races put on by Midwest Sports Events. They put on some awesome races, bend over backwards to help out charitable groups, and truly deserve recognition for all they do. Anyone with room in their race calendar and time in the Wisconsin area should check out the race schedule at Midwest Sports Events.
Whether training for a 5-10K, a half or full marathon, sprint triathlon, or Ironman, sleep is one of those "overlooked" disciplines. Much like nutrition, getting the proper amount of sleep is vital to achieving the best results possible. Rest provides our bodies time to recover from the rigors of training.
A good night's sleep is so important, one bed maker developed a line called "The T-3" which is the (or at least was) the official sleep system of Ironman. While I'm unsure if one bed can meet the needs of every endurance athlete, we need to try to get the proper amount of sleep. For runners, at least, the general rule is one minute of ADDITIONAL sleep, each night, for every mile run during the week. So, if you usually get six hours of sleep and run 30 miles a week, you should try to get 6 1/2 hours sleep per night.
There, of course is the challenge. Ironman is tough. Getting the right amount of sleep can be nearly impossible. By the time kids are in bed, gear and work clothes are prepared for the next day, and a bit of housework or downtime is factored in, it's easy to find even six hours of sleep out of reach. Let's face it, 4:30 comes awful early.
In Iron Pol fashion, this week is proving to be more challenging than usual. One need only look at my race schedule to see why. I have a marathon on Sunday, and that means it's time to 1) get injured, 2) get sick, or 3) get lucky. Well, luck followed Elvis out of the building.
My daughter has been sick for quite some time, and she recently shared it with her brother. My son seems to have bounced back fairly quickly, and was better after just one day. Last night, Mrs. Pol fell victim and was down for the count. Though we thought our daughter was getting over everything, she was congested and had a hard time sleeping, last night.
So, I started the evening in a recliner trying to make her comfortable enough to get to sleep. I ended the night on the floor of her room trying to make her comfortable enough to get back to sleep. For a brief period between, I was able to make it to my own bed for a bit of rest.
That's why I question calling a bed The T-3. I'm guessing they weren't meaning that our time there should be the same as T-1 and T-2. Last night, that's about what it felt like.
When I made the shift from afternoon training to morning training, I also made the decision that little, if anything, would interfere with those workouts. The change was made to allow me to train without sacrificing time with my kids. For the most part, I've achieved that goal.
Last night, we ran into one of those few things that I allow to get in the way of training. It is, of course, the same thing that made me shift my schedules around in the first place. Children.
By the time I got home from work, yesterday, I was feeling pretty rough. I had a bit of a fever, wasn't all that hungry, and wanted nothing more than to go to sleep. After taking care of a few "have to" items, I did just that. I was in bed by 6 p.m. and napped until it was time to put the kids to bed. After helping my wife with that, I went back to sleep.
That turned out to be a good thing. About midnight, my daughter started squawking in between coughing fits. She was clearly distressed, and I could hear her breath rattling in her lungs. To top things off, she was so worked up that she didn't "like" anything. We offered her honey to try and sooth her throat, which she refused. We offered her a popsicle to pacify her. Suddenly, she "no like" popsicles. She even rejected orange juice. Perhaps she knew we had put cough syrup in it.
Finally, I just took her into the bathroom, closed the door, and turned the shower on hot. That helped enough to get her playing and laughing, allowing me to get her to drink the juice. She even allowed me to suck some of the "buggies" out of her nose.
Unfortunately, it took another couple hours for her to be comfortable enough to sleep. And if she's not sleeping, daddy's not sleeping. We sat in the recliner. We laid back in the recliner. We made a campsite on the living room floor.
She finally fell asleep around 2:30, and I held out hopes of making my training. When the alarm went off at 4:30, I decided another 90 minutes of sleep might be in order. After waking up, showering, and getting dressed, I went into the living room to find my wife had been rousted to assume my role as "co-camper" with my daughter.
Oddly enough, having to care for my daughter put all thoughts of being sick myself on the back burner. While I may have missed my workout, I feel much better. Tonight, we will take steps to help her make be comfortable through the night BEFORE she goes to bed.
Because Friday is now my "makeup" day for training...
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.
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.
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