Arghhhhh

Arghhhhh

Like Anything Else

Like Anything Else.

I was distracted this morning. Something trivial happened and it upset the entire apple-cart of my awareness.

As I struggled with the minor annoyance, a thought I had yesterday flashed from storage to present moment reality and I laughed aloud.

I was finishing up a customer’s lawn, the first cut of the new spring. The grass was uneven, thick and lumpy for a bit and then barren and filled with dead leaves. It was still a bit damp making propulsion with the reel mower a challenge. On the more dense parts I was doing the cut and pull routine, about a foot of cut, pull back, reset blades with foot and repeat. By the time I neared completion my arms, especially shoulders, were screaming for a siesta. Needing to rally, I pull off my gloves and hoodie. As I am adjusting cap, sunglasses and attitude two Canadian Honkers fly overhead at low altitude. The lawn is harbor waterfront creating a nice opportunity for both my labor and their flight plan. I stop to gawk. They are beautiful birds, big and balanced. I totally buy into the concept that their ‘honking’ is actually audible encouragement from the captain to the squad - and then repeated, echoed to all. I am standing there in admiration, trying to catch my breath and find the motivation to finish strong, when one of them drops a fecal bomb on my head.

It could have been accidental or could have been retaliation for stealing so much of their natural habitat, or worse, I might have been mistaken for a trump supporter - a predator who protects the hunter but not the hunted.

I am standing there, embarrassed, when the above mentioned thought pops up. Poops up perhaps. I am cleaning my cap and I see/hear/feel this:

ZEN IS WATCHING MAGNIFICENT BIRDS IN FLIGHT KNOWING THEY MIGHT SHIT ON YOUR HEAD.

As I absorb and explore this experience I start the final mow.

Life is like this. Life IS this. Like anything else. We start. We move in the direction we call the goal. We encounter obstacles. Our will is challenged. We are tested. The grass is wet. Our arms become weary. We press onward. We learn. We grow. And we learn to laugh at ourselves.

As those above laugh at us.

Like anything else.

Under What Conditions?

Inevitably it pops up in post testing discussion. The difference between men and women. Specifically the methods and manners used to ‘successfully’ execute the incredibly difficult and challenging FTP test. For the uninitiated amongst you, the functional threshold power (FTP) test is a simple way to capture an accurate base metric necessary to train subsequently at appropriate wattage ranges. Fair warning to the uninitiated again, while the description and utility is simple, there is NOTHING simple about its demanding execution. Here is the test in plain, embellished English:

                                               TWENTY MINUTES ALL OUT.

Not kinda, sorta, maybe hard, but all you got hard. Where 20 minutes seems like 20 hours. Where one feels like heart will explode and lungs will bleed hard. Where one's darkest, bleakest, most deeply hidden fears, weakness and doubts come rushing up like a sea-to-air tomahawk missile. Where one might end up having the effort reveal one as a fraud. When that reality of exposed ego is shattered faster than duck eggs on a saltillo floor. When truth is revealed.

In The PowerBarn, the days that we test have become legendary. For several reasons, but mainly because they inspire so deeply. We all know what it takes to commit, saddle up and face the music. In response to the courageousness of the testee, support in the form of encouragement, bordering on the fanatical, horns honking, cow-bells clanging, shouts deafening, AC-DC blaring, is both spectacle and uniting. There is power in the outward display of bravery. In a word, it is awesome. Once baptized by the fire of the test, one takes the data, wattage, into a period of training that allows the adaptation process to unfold naturally and organically. It never gets easier, you just get stronger.

Or not.

There are as many reasons for joining our club as there are songs to choose from in the mashing up of a set list to accompany our testing and training. Some folks want to get faster to race. Others to rehab from injury, some to keep healthy and fit, and many to enjoy our supportive atmosphere, camaraderie in the torching of calories. The chances are slim that anyone joins specifically to watch my custom training videos, but every once in a while I get a golf-clap for a particularly juicy sequence.

Back to the testosterone vs estrogen comparison. Men do it differently. We like the battle, the war, the challenge, the in the saddle with reins between teeth and a 45 in each hand. We need the fight to keep the macho mucho. It is hard wired. To back down is to die an ignoble cowardly death. We cowboy-up and shiver the loins as validation of manhood and all things muscular and masculine. Here is a place where weakness is not tolerated, where the mantra is ‘harden the fuck up’. We all get to face our fears in a non-lethal battleground of pedal rotations and sweat.

And the girls do it different. There is no shame in it. The journey, the trip, the experience is altogether, well, softer. Where ours is black, their test is pink. We may see blood red but they see ruby and crimson. Hard is still hard, all-out is still all-out, and maximum effort remains the goal for both, but results, while everything to us, are not most important for them. What is important, I think, is the opportunity to visit that place, that focused, condensed, scary, confusing, threatening arena sometimes thought to be the sole domain of the male archetype. I think there is big value there, known only to my heroine counterparts who bravely go, see and do.

I have such respect for all who voluntarily (or otherwise) circle a date on their calendar and agree to test their ability to endure. Certainly this is only one of the many ways to get answers to this one critical question. Male or female the questions is the same:

                                            Under what conditions will you quit?

Sadness to Acceptance

Sadness to Acceptance

Listen Up

Listen Up

New Theme?

Seems as how this was supposed to be a blog about indoor cycle training, either using the RCVman (CompuTrainer Real Course Videos) platform or the PowerBarn, our small but pesky boutique multi-rider facility (located on the equally small but pesky Bainbridge Island, WA), as point of focus, I will make a concentrated effort today to stay on-point.

This despite the drama simultaneously radiating from so many other battle zones. At least we can call this a DMZ. For now.

In the good old days of my indoor cycling career, Monday mornings at 0530 were all mine. There was something especially sinister about starting a new week when the prior one was just concluding. Nothing like adding insult to injury we used to say, ready or not here we go. After my self imposed six month sabbatical last year, when distraction and depression reached critical emotional mass and I had to take some time off to heal, my return to Monday was moved to the rather mundane 0845. Almost half the day already gone. Marines have already taken the beach and have set up their tents by then. As much as I miss the early starts, the new time is growing on me. A new challenge, new faces, new opportunities.

This morning we did a simple ascending progression protocol. It was fun and although I was a touch slow with my initial delivery, by the time we have developed flow, frequency and some endorphin fueled firepower, we were, as the proverbial well-oiled machine, firing on all cylinders. Here are the parameters and a few of the tunes that accompanied the set.

10 minute warm up (present protocol) Afro Celts (feat Peter Gabriel) When You’re Falling
.30 seconds seated @ 16 Beatles, Got to Get You into My Life
.30 seconds standing @ 16, Jackson Browne, Walking Slow
.30 seconds recovery @ 7/120, Seal, Amazing
Repeat for .45 seconds, Os Gringos, Candy Coated Nightmare
Repeat for one minute, Lucinda Williams, Real Love
Repeat for two minutes, INXS, Don’t Change
Last set back to opening .30, Pete Yorn, I’m Not the One
Warm down, stretch and done. Stevie Wonder, Higher Ground

Obviously there was more music in there to fill the hour session, but I trust you get the musical idea.

It was a wonderful way to temporarily distance ourselves from the turmoil that has become the American norm. A great way to burn some calories and bring back the joy, beauty and truth we remember, and a fabulous road to traverse in our relentless quest of finding inner peace.

Maybe THAT should be the blog theme.

Protect the Kids

Protect the Kids, NOT THE GUNS  video, as promised.


Please.

Enough

An hour of high-intensity spinning and a boat ride into Seattle. That was all it took to get into the mix. There were a ton of high-school kids to be sure, but several thousand pounds of middle age and even a few hundredweight of senior added to the gross democratic weight of today’s March for Life.

I was going to run down to Silverdale, keep it on this side as the peninsula natives say, but battery/ignition problems with the truck curtailed that plan. Nancy was heading in so I caught a ride with her and even got to assist with their voter registration campaign.

Seattle has grown so fast, so far and in such an uncivilized manner that I hardly recognize the old Emerald. Calling it architectural gentrification, the grand, well-worn bricks that have stood in direct resistance to the rain and wind for a century are falling faster than hail pellets from Decermbral skies. Now, the few trips that I must take invoke sadness and disdain replacing the pride and a community sense of inclusiveness I once enjoyed. What happened?

Same thing that happened to the politicians we elected to put the citizens and their needs at the forefront of their policy. Blatantly, they now take the same huge sums from developers and contractors as they do from the NRA. The only difference being the soul of a city vice the lives of teenagers. It is, indeed, sadly, all about the money.

Sir Paul marched alongside thousands of others in New York today. He made a rather poignant comment when asked why. He said he too had lost a good fried to gun violence.

Pictured at top/right is the best sign I saw today. Amid countless others, this one stood out and in a rather concise and all too ironic manner.

Let’s work together folks. Like the kids say, run with us or stand aside.

We will not be stopped. Enough.

Do It Quick

Couldn’t sleep. Heart pounding a heavy metal beat with more palpitation than paradiddle. Ominous dreams. REM stress. Redundant alarm sounding at 0430 to remind me that no matter how I feel, how little I have slept, time, like ants, keeps marching. Where I don’t know.

I forgo the standard breath count and swing feet over bed to stand and start. Immediately I regret it and second-guess a consideration to return to the cozy warmth of my artificially heated crib.

By the time I carefully negotiate the treachery of the short-tread stairs and hit the bathroom, my gut has joined the queasy parade of bacterial imbalance. I brush my yellowing, cracking, ground-down teeth, gargle, eat 10 milligrams of anticoagulant drugs and look in the mirror.

Amazingly I look better than I feel. I think I do anyway. All this could very well be a sinister subliminal self gas-lighting ploy. The self I used to know seems to be a memory - leaving me as this pathetic imposter who keeps insisting that I am me.

On my way to the kitchen for hot water and lemon juice a ‘what the fuck is going on?’ cry escapes my soul like compressed air from a bicycle tube. It is the presta valve of my life, a two-way yin and yang no longer unscrewing and releasing, but stuck and non functioning.

I drink the juice and pour a cup of yesterday’s coffee into my favorite mug. I stick it in the microwave and check the outdoor manual thermometer through the window. it is March 23rd and 39 freezing fucking degrees. The only heat in my tiny cabin is upstairs in the form of the electric fitted sheet and the portable oil heater under the work station desk at which I currently sit. It appears that this time of year, THIS climate changing year, I need to be on one or directly in front of the other.

It could be that the stress from Dad’s passing, all that tangential trauma, has caught me from behind and dragged me to the turf with a nasty horse-collar tackle. I keep looking around for a flag but can’t see one. Somebody said the other day that I looked like I had just been hit by a truck. I replied that I have been hit by that truck, the one with shiny chrome hubcaps, so many times that now I just get up, dust off my pants and walk on.

There is lot’s to do. I finished the latest episode of PowerBarn video, send two follow up e-mails, washed the dishes and now I try writing (journaling or blogging) as therapy. Going to need more than a thousand words today.

There is a rumor circulating that Trump is going to fire Mueller today. I (kinda) hope he does.

So then we can, as the senator from South Carolina has predicted, start ‘the beginning of the end of his presidency.’

That would make all my petty little issues way more tolerable.

Do it quick.

Be there in 20

I'll take a stab at it.

Dad, RG, died last week. If there is any saving grace to it, he went fast. Unlike Mom who was in and out of the hospital, diagnosed with stomach cancer, recovered after major surgery, relapsed, re-entered and eventually succumbed after several long and painful months, Dad had the stroke sometime in the night, one week ago. By the time we air lifted him to Harborview in Seattle the damage has been done. He was gone in less than 48 hours.

I say this is saving grace not so much because of the incredible stress a passing family member, and in this case patriarch, puts upon the surviving family, but more because the whole circumstance is filled with suffering. Starting with the poor soul hooked up to life support all the way through to those who, informed on impossibly short time frames, simply could not drop all responsibilities and fly out for last rites and final good-byes. And everyone in between. It might have been toughest of all to stand bed-side and watch a person you have known and loved your entire life, die. I am still not sure of who held the better end of that sorry stick.

I will say that RG, never the fence sitter, always firmly on one side of the road, went out with typical flair and drama. As we stood, RNs in attendance, I holding his right hand warm with endema, dear old Dad took his last breath, and then preformed a flawless Lazarus sign. If you are not familiar with this neuromuscular phenomena, here is some info. It is comparatively rare, and still not 100% understood. It is a touch unsettling. And completely weird. I would expect nothing less from RG.

It has been a week. Brothers and sisters have returned home and started back to their normal lives. Most of the paperwork has been done and the scientific research folks have transported the body. After their forensics and autopsy we will receive ashes from the cremation. I will box a small amount for RG's six kids the same way that we did with Mom.

And that will be the end of it.

But it really won't be. I have my memories, recollections, biases and opinions. There is irony as well as paradox. For all his failures and weakness', Dad had a heart of solid gold. I miss him already. We had some good times. Our relationship goes all the way back to 1952. Now he is gone and I wish so much that I could have done more.

Maybe we all feel that way when the trauma of death takes the stage, when something we might have taken for granted is swept away, when someone we thought would be here longer is suddenly missing in action. I don't know.

What I do know is that all those things that I have always wanted to do….. Now need doing.

Life is short. Dad was 85.

I'll be there in 20. No time to lose.

There is the final lesson I learned from RG.

Thanks Boss.

RIP RG

George H. Lynch Jr. passed away peacefully on March 15 at Harborview Medical Center in Seattle. George was born in Los Angeles, CA in 1932 and moved to Bainbridge in 2004 following his two sons Northward. His professional career began in the automotive industry leading eventually to a successful Health Care business in Sacramento. He is survived by his wife Sarah, sons Kevin, Chris and Michael and daughters Debbie, Kathleene and Dianne, as well as six grandkids and twelve great-grandchildren. George was an avid golfer and became a Husky fan upon the recommendation of his oldest son. He was known widely for his warm smile, sense of humor and community involvement. He will be missed by all those whose paths crossed. 

This is the obit I sent to our local paper today. I will miss him.

Back to the daily posting routine tomorrow. I need the discipline. Thanks for your understanding.

Teach your Children

I will admit to the difficulty of staying on point. I wish I was better at it, correspondingly wishing as well that I had the discipline to separate 'my issues' from 'ours'. Specifically, today I am referring to my current issues, the ones that enter this precious space without a knock and proceed to dominate the conversation. They cannot be ignored for the room is too small and the elephants too big.

I am in A-Fib again. This has been happening with way too much frequency of late. Now it seems that high intensity workouts trigger episodes. And while disconcerting, uncomfortable and a touch frightening, the anticoagulation meds (warfarin) seem to be keeping me from the real killer, stroke. I have even developed a routine for self-treatment. For our public service announcement of the day I will share it with you. If you are white, over 60 and have a family history of heart irregularities, listen up.

• 1) Make sure hydration is topped off. I take EnergencC electrolytes with 16 oz. of water.
• 2) Make sure protein is present in diet. Think green.
• 3) Create a safe, quiet, warm and comfortable space to lay down. Then count breaths. Then take a nap. Then quietly give thanks for having the opportunity to practice magic and medicine without a permit, license or union.

In extreme cases, I lengthen the nap time. Do not be perturbed if occasionally this means overnight.

The other personal issue is Dad. We had to pull him out of the bar again last night, with the help of paramedics, and escort his drunk Irish ass to bed. Poor guy is simply bored. He has nothing to do but watch Faux News all day (which would make me drink as well). I feel sorry for him and want to do more to assist, but other than a once a day visit to cook, clean and manage his meds, his social security puts him over the acceptable income limit set by the DSHS. How anyone living on 1,600/mo is considered capable of long term care without assistance, is the million dollar question. One that I am finding difficult to answer.

Between these two, the solutions for world improvement I will have to defer to the youngsters.

With whom it seems they have decided that the world we have left them is in such a state of disarray, chaotic, corrupt and pathetic, that they must take time off from school and march in the streets to alert the adults that access to automatic assault weapons is causing collateral damage (death) to their pals.

Children teach for parents well.

You who are on the road
Must have a code that you can live by
And so become yourself
Because the past is just a good-bye.
Teach your children well,
Their father's hell did slowly go by,
And feed them on your dreams
The one they picks, the one you'll know by.
Don't you ever ask them why, if they told you, you will cry,
So just look at them and sigh
And know they love you.
And you, of tender years,
Can't know the fears that your elders grew by,
And so please help them with your youth,
They seek the truth before they can die.
Teach your parents well,
Their children's hell will slowly go by,
And feed them on your dreams
The one they picks, the one you'll know by.
Don't you ever ask them why, if they told you, you will cry,
So just look at them and sigh and know they love you.

Lyrics by Graham Nash.

Make it a Crime

I watched in horror last night a clip of Trump in Pennsylvania. He was insulting people faster than the needle moves on a lie detector. Faster than sodium thiopental gets into the blood stream of felons trying to create subterfuge. At one point he went into a 'how to act presidential' skit, mimicking, walking stiffly around the stage like a semi-trained circus monkey and mocking, evidently, his critics who suggest that a little more dignity might be appropriate from the figurehead many call the leader of the free world. It was embarrassing. Even for someone who has set the bar so low. I remember thinking as my jaw dropped closer to the floor that this is the guy to whom we have entrusted our peace, freedom, economy and relationship with the rest of the world. We have given this failed stand-up comedian the keys. He is a clown, worse he is a mean-spirited clown. This is NOT funny.

I began this post with the goal of a thousand words on the subject of respect. Yeah, nice try. I am continually amazed at how people, 35% of the population depending which polling agency you trust, actually consider this behavior acceptable. There are really a third of the population who harbor so much hate, fear and envy of those wishing only peace, respect, honor, truth and a level playing field with equal rights for all and special privileges to none, out there? This is anything but acceptable.

I refuse to accept that any group of people chould be so myopic as to be blinded by this gross dereliction of duty. Complicit to the gills, overtly corrupt and in laughable hypocrisy, congress and the House apparently 'look the other way', as the trump base, evangelicals say they can forgive his digressions because he gives them what they want.

Whatever nefarious end the means of deceit, immorality, corruption and now, comedy apparently justify. Funny. And we haven't mentioned global environmental devastation or nuclear war.

How can this happen? I thought we were better and smarter than this?

The short answer is money. We all know it.

With side dishes of power, prestige, entitlement, world domination, more money, class warfare, ethnic cleansing and (here is the punch line) adherence to family values and fiscal responsibility.

So here is my suggestion today. Yesterday we talked about taking personal responsibility for ourselves, staying healthy, helping others and keeping up the good fight. Today I would, like any self respecting comedian, offer a solution that would solve all our problems bada-bing.

Make hypocrisy a felony.

Day One or One Day?

If you have seen any of the 'this is how I work' episodes, my meager contribution today will seem paltry. Our third, yes I am counting, spectacular day in a row is literally happening as my fat and fatigued fingers hut and peck. So I am taking it outside for the first time this year. out to my million dollar deck where access is everything and ownership taxing. I am listening to the waterside sounds of gulls, geese and blackbirds all competing with outboard kickers, twin diesels and piston driven sea-planes. It is as peaceful as it is beautiful.

When we talk of the starving artist or the tortured author, this is none of that. When we hear that if you want to play the blues you've got to pay your dues, I sometimes cringe and sometimes agree. But none of those dire circumstances, the starvation, the torture or the blues, needs to be anything but a fleeting experience. IS THAT ENTITLEMENT TALKING? What if one is in a life/death battle for life in Syria or Peoria, tortured till you talk Mexico or North Korea, or having the fortune, good or bad, or coming into this mess in, say Mississippi, Somalia or Columbia?

Do the best you can, where you are with what you got. This applies to soldiers as well as students, the lucky as well as the addicted and the free as well as the oppressed. In his seminal opus Mans Search for Meaning, Viktor Frankl says you can take away a man's every possession, throw him in a internment camp, starve him and force him to long hours of painful labor, but you cannot take away his will, his sense of self or the identity he has with who he is.

What is our identity as individuals, and perhaps more importantly as a tribe, as Americans? Who are you? How are you part of the solution? I will assume that no one here thinks they are part of the problem, so let's move closer to the central idea of our time together today.

I will speak first and suggest that the state of America today can be found somewhere between greed and glamour. Between power and prestige. Smack dab equidistant from morality, integrity, honesty and compassion, and their counterparts, corruption, fraud, dishonesty and arrogance. We are, in a word, a mess. We are sacrificing our very home for bottom line profits. Thirty states have introduced laws that make it illegal to protest. We still cannot find the truth about gun violence due to the huge bribes buying politicians. We continue to extend and find new enemies with which to wage war and feed the always hungry military-industrial complex. Our leadership lies more often than Pinocchio and Joe Isuzu. We reverse engineer Robin Hood and rob from the poor to give to the rich. We are heartless, overbearing, compassionless and cruel. We built walls instead of building bridges. We use propaganda, media suppression and gaslighting techniques almost better that Hitler and Goebbels. https://www.history.com/topics/world-war-ii/joseph-goebbels We segregate, racially profile and use every racist trick in the book to further widen the chasm between the colorless and those of color. We divide. We use gays, abortion, education, health care, taxation, and our very environment as if they were commodities waiting for capitalistic manipulation by banks, investors, Wall Street and brokers. In other words everything is for sale. To the highest bidder.

Sucks.

This morning in spin class I offered the temporary and local solution of us taking care of ourselves. Making sure that our community, our kids, our schools, libraries, hospitals and parks are as safe and enjoyable as we can make them. Further that we take the first step towards that panacea by honoring the power that our bodies have the potential to provide. In leadership, in honesty, in friendship, in morality and in the way we respect animals, our environment and the people who might be different than us. It starts here.

And that here means now.

This is DAY ONE, not one day.

This is how I work.

Red Chair

First day of daylight savings time. Just for the record, I hate DST. Another example of capitalistic exploitation. It is just before 1700 with the sun still high. It is almost 62 degrees, which isn't exactly news for lots of folks but here in the GPNW after 6 months of gray, damp drizzle, power outages and record lows, it feels like Kona.

The truck is washed (a pressure washer I bought at a yard sale in January took its virgin voyage). The deck has been partly cleared of junk and partly cleaned and the laundry done. I also got back to running with a miserable slow 5K (sending me into fairly deep A-Fib which I currently am tending to).

Neighbor Mike brought over some ling cod yesterday so tonight seems a perfect time to pair the fish with the shitake risotto I found at Trader Joe's.

So that is about it sports fans, I am off to mash-up some grub, pop a Stone Go-To IPA and sit on the red deck chair and enjoy the sunset.

DST notwithstanding.

Coyote Calls

Coyote Calls

Go for a Ride

No duh.

Seriously.

Are you kidding me?

I flippantly respond to the study just released by British researchers making the incredible claim that, wait for it, PEOPLE WHO EXERCISE ARE HEALTHIER THAN THOSE WHO DON'T.

This revolutionary claim has stopped my world. Literally brought it to a screeching and skidding halt. Wheels locked up. I don't quite know how to respond. But I will try.

There are few things that we can depend on these turbulent and testy days, two of them, and perhaps they are they are the two sides of the same coin, are the trends of:

1) Somebody, somewhere will state the glaringly obvious trying in desperation to pass it as (hopefully profitable) news, and,

2) The current administration will dump something of relative importance upon the poor unwitting American populace as subterfuge to distract attention away from Mr. Mueller's pending knock at the White House front door.

They ARE the same thing. It is a modern ploy shamelessly ripped from the Marshal McLuhan playbook and tweaked to fit the modern media and the microscopic attention of its audience.  Since the days of Jack LaLanne we have been told that moving your body outside of the comfort zone established and guarded by the brain (or lack thereof) is actually good medicine, and that the news cycle treats noteworthy events (an exchange of wisdom between Little Rocket Man and The Deranged Dotard) far differently on weekends than it does to fill the clock Monday through Friday. So, as any self respecting dictatorship would do, bad news, questionable moves, outright political shenanigans and overt financial self enrichment, is leaked to those outlets supporting such deviousness. I need not name them.

It is not news, or shouldn't be, that regular exercise keeps one healthy. The study cited above does state that those that ride 30-55 miles a day have muscle mass, cholesterol levels and immune systems matching those 30 years their junior. So we got THAT going for us. I am now leaning towards the theory that the main reason more people choose to ignore this data is that we are inherently lazy. Capitalism has won another round. We would rather sit and watch others play, move, dance, ski, walk, march and run on a 70 inch curved flat screen, than actively participate in those activities ourselves. Or cruise in a shiny new BMW. WAY easier than pedaling.

We are also politically lazy, conditioned to obey. We have allowed a thoroughly corrupt regime to take control of our lives. Our quality of freedom has diminished so rapidly, so broadly and with such rancor (divide and conquer) that our personal identifications no longer call Yankees heroes but second amendment right-wing confederate morons. The mega-rich corporations are watching all this play out with a special glee and hubris usually reserved for Tour de France winners or Super Bowl champions.

They are laughing at us.

Guess I'll go for a ride.

Tools of the Tirade

As you are aware, I have primary care responsibility for my soon-to-be 86 year old father. The speed with which his sacropenia has, like a thief in the night, crept in and absconded with his muscle mass, is criminal. He is suffering from the ravages of dementia, the rate of which, they tell me, varies dramatically from person to person, case to case. Sometimes I have to answer the same question three times before he accepts either the reality, the meaning or the pending action necessary as a result of the Q&A to the third power. Left alone his eating habits would consist of a regular diet of Cheerios, cheap red wine and Swisher Sweets. His idea of hydration looks like water in free fall from a dam spillway, or a rotating sprinkler head watering a thirsty lawn. How he has made it this far, and remember he received from his father the same heart arrhythmia that I received from him, is a testimony to the power of gristle.

He is a tough guy, proud of his Irish DNA and ready to eat nails if the cause was right. He raised six kids. As much as he prefers to call himself a (republican and conservative) capitalist, he sees no irony in is bankruptcy and loss of property from the 2008 financial fiasco.

But he is Dad, and you only get one, so I do the best that I can, despite his sometimes bellicose treatment of his medication manager, head cook, butler, chauffeur, house cleaner, financial controller, and holder of medical power of attorney.

I have acted in this capacity for roughly the same amount of time that his current hero, his president, has been in office. They share numerous character similarities, so many in fact that space limitations keep me from listing them all here at one time. And while this no longer irritates me as it once did, we do occasionally 'talk about it'.

But even when I 'win', I still lose. He isn't going to change. He still thinks the wall should be subsidized by pesos and Hillary should be locked up. When I ask about adultery, treason, nepotism, corruption, environmental pollution (see photo), the price of gas, ICE, Russia, the collateral damage resulting from lax automatic weapons laws, the use of a militarized police force, or any number of this administration's atrocities, felonious or simply gross dereliction of the standards of dignity, ethics, morals, compassion or leadership, he shrugs, and blames Obama.

All that I have read and heard in regard to senior care indicates that the single most important tool in the care providers tool box is the one called, the 'don't take anything personally and take time for yourself', tool.

I personally use the Snap-On, heavy-duty, adjustable, bullet-proof, 3/4 drive ratchet with a 9/16 deep-well socket for this.

That and ear plugs.

OMG

Maybe it is something we can use. The utility and timing both seem appropriate and the result could be a win/win for everybody. Something I can definitely get behind. And push. The concept is this: As I struggle with the enormity of the resistance, the fatigue associated with fighting a non-stop, around the clock, 24/7 battle against the current evil administration and the felonious, unethical, immoral and illegal acts of oppression they install, all the while fully understanding the need for an equal and opposite energy tack, from this point onward (as we attempt to reclaim our very souls) when I isolate a crime, I will suggest some opposite, an ethical yin to the corrupt Trumpian yang. Ebony and irony. Heads to tails. Shall we try one on for size?

Just yesterday it was announced that three more items of chaos had entered the main stage of the White House's Theatre of the Absurd. Like failed slapstick comedians in a dramatic role, the hooker is suing the POTUS, the spokesperson broke the law and the head bean-counter quit. I know, I know, it is kinda comical, so go ahead and laugh. Until you realize that this is our leadership. These are the people tasked with defending our lives and liberties, of upholding the constitution and leading us by example to that higher ground of advanced civilization. Yet in one day they demonstrate their dearth of family values, disregard for the law and the pathetic level of corruption previously thought unobtainable. Worse is the continual complicity of the republican house and senate, and worse still, are those 40% of Americans still thinking that this is somehow OK.

Acronyms call this an OMG. And you wonder why beer, wine and liquor sales are off the charts, to mention nothing of recreational weed. Opioids anyone?

But I promised you a flip side. Some positive alternative we can sink our collective bicuspids into, a fair and balanced energy necessary to redirect the out of control flow of bigotry, discrimination, pollution, corruption and brutality so much in vogue with these spineless conservative republicans. I am talking to you Mitch and Paul. To you too Miller and Hannity.

For every high-priced Vegas call girl there is a girl scout selling cookies to support community programs. We are seeing an impressive outpouring of kids intent on changing the ridiculous American gun laws as a result of yet another AR15 rampage. I don't need to remind you that their demonstrations come as a direct result of the NRA ownership of the house and senate who consider the lives of high-school kids merely collateral damage.

An official spokesperson broke the Hatch Act by urging their base to vote for a pedophile in the Alabama gubernatorial election, this, of course on TV. When informed of this violation the WH responded with little more than a smirk. They (he) considers themselves (himself) above the law. The good side: Mueller is getting closer. With every tic of the clock.

The National Economic Council Director resigned over another off the cuff remark made by the POS. The tariff tirade. How bad is it when a Wall Street while-collar criminal working only for the benefit of the 1%, at the expense of the 99%, quits because he wasn't consulted prior to the launch of a loony trade war? Good news here is that the West Virginia teachers settled their week old strike accepting a 5% raise.

5%?

OMG.

Would You?

I find it difficult. Which, of course, is an understatement like calling an Ironman cake. But as much as it challenges, it simply must be done. The better we become at doing uncomfortable, important things, the better life will be for everyone, not just the immediate benefactors of short term ego gratifications. Or those who don't know any better.

What I am finding difficult is to stay positive. More, perhaps, to keep from using the same negative, hateful and violent energy (as tactics) that the 'other side' employs. As you know by now, I am 'forced' to watch Fox News when I care for my 86 year-old dyed-in-the-red-wool conservative republican father. They do a fine job of irritating, unnerving, frightening and spinning whatever semi-treasonous scandal happens to be spewing from the West Wing cesspool in the current news cycle to an audience sitting mindlessly nodding heads in approval. Most of the time I pretend not to listen as I scramble eggs and percolate coffee but occasionally I hear a zingers of lies that would make both Hope Hicks and Sarah Sanders blush. The sad news is, horrifically, that over just 40% of the American population approve of this felonious administration's behavior with a full 80% of the republican majority in the House and Senate likewise in agreement.

Yo stooges, money talks eh?

The long-term quick-fix (an oxymoron of delicious bi-partisan ramification) is to VOTE THE BASTARDS OUT. And we have been doing that to great success of late, even causing that bastion of bullshit, Ted Cruz to comment that democrats 'will be crawling over broken glass' to vote (him out) in the mid-terms.

What I really want to relay (other than the headline news that Ted Cruz finally said something truthful) is the degree to which the Nazi tactic of 'resistance fatigue' is playing out. We get tired of hearing the same deceitful crap every day. It is called psychic stress. They have stacked the deck with a militarized police force, superior weaponry and laws overwhelmingly in favor of the use of deadly force. All to keep us from protesting the sordid state of our country and the constitutional crisis in which we live. A place we used to call the land of the free and a government we used to call a democracy.

This I find difficult to counter. As has been rightly stated, one cannot change an evil using the same energy that created it. That means we cannot fight fire with fire or extract an eye for an eye as we will accomplish nothing but end up with a smoking heap of one-eyed jerks.  Good Lord, this was one of Jesus of Nazareth's primary tenants. Outside of making hypocrisy a felony, until we get big lobby money out of the prostitution ring currently running in that big white DC whore-house, change will be slow and painful.

The purveyors of this madness are the elites and mega corporations buying influence at the highest level. The souls of our elected officials, and those appointed by the elected, have been bought to do the dirty work of the corporations. I find this troubling as well as difficult, because, and please answer this single question with as much honestly as you can:

If I was a lobbyist for (pick one) Exxon-Mobil, Squibb, The NRA, Wal-Mart, Boeing, The NFL, Anheuser-Busch, AT&T,Google, GM, Kaiser Permenente, Phillip Morris, CitiBank, Home Depot, or some other slimy entity offering you ONE MILLION dollars to cast your vote in our box….

….would you?

Boys will be Boys

One of my former (and favorite) girlfriends had three kids when we met, three boys. Unceremoniously it was suggested that I could assist in the management of this totally chaotic circumstance by, well, helping out. It seems that I had again failed to read the fine print in the contract mandating responsibilities in our relationship. To my credit (perhaps) I tried.

Of the many situations that I recall, some humorous, some dramatic, was the game I officiated called "Silence". You can probably guess the nature, object and rules of the game without me spilling those beans, but I use this opening parable as precursor of another, so please indulge me. I'll try to keep it short and on-point.

The three boys, two of them twins, and I would sit in a circle, legs folded underneath. The game was to test our inner strength and self discipline, difficult and challenging concepts to many adults let alone ten year old boys. The nanosecond that one of the competitors made a sound, they were eliminated and had to lay on their back with crossed arms as the contest continued. Did I mention that the eventual winner of the three round sets would get two scoops of ice cream instead of the standard single? Being the umpire, moderator and enforcer of rules I would attempt to coerce a verbal reaction in order to add additional drama to the event. The results were always 'mixed'. Sometimes Mom would get her much needed and deserved quality time with herself and other times the games would end in bench clearing brawls. Boys, as they say, will be boys.

Last week, after a 2x20 set in the PowerBarn, as we sat, recovered and talked, I mentioned the mental aspect of our game, the ability to stay focused, to isolate the positive and to block out background noise, all playing major roles in the successful completion of a set, race or event. Another countered with the weak, 'I need the music to stay motivated and distracted from the pain.' While still another offered the idea of 'flow in motion with a free spirit.' All good, and all wholesome training goals.

At the completion of our caucus there remained one person unmoved by the discourse, not quite connecting all the tangential dots. He was defending his 'no pain - no gain' principle that had served him well for almost four decades. I asked if the ability to stay focused is part of that commandment. He said no, you either have it, or you don't, and it is not a necessary component to victory. If you are big enough, strong enough and fast enough - that is enough.

We all sat in silence, accepting his opinions while keeping respectful of his right to offer ideas and experience. ALL THE WHILE KNOWING HE IS MISSING AN IMPORTANT POINT.

Cautiously, and perhaps recklessly, I asked if he meditated. He gave the answer I was anticipating. I then asked if he counted breaths. Again the negative. When he asked what that meant I offered a sample:

It is an ancient, proven and productive training technique, popularized, if not perfected by the Samurai, that builds power from one's ability to focus, and most importantly, to stay focused. Surely you see how that could be an important skill in say, hand to hand combat? The practice is to sit quietly and do nothing but count your breaths with closed eyes, from one to ten. When the mind wanders, and it will, simply start over. One inhale and one exhale counts as one. It is very difficult but an amazingly beneficial and valuable tool to have mastery of.

'Sounds dumb, my time would be better spent doing some squats.'

'Maybe', I said, thinking boys will be boys.

Bravo

This time of year, albeit exceptionally cold this go-round, gives us a chance to stretch it out some. The old long, steady distance session. On Sunday's at the PowerBarn, our indoor training facility, we do this while watching movies. This is nothing new, we used the same format at least a dozen years ago as we diligently trained for Ironman races while watching Seahawk games on tiny tubed TVs with rabbit ears. If you want a first hand idea of just how long the NFL drags out their commercial cash-cows, ride a game and see (feel) for yourself.

Today, even as the temps were forecasted to reach a 'bearable' 40 degrees or so, I dutifully opened the Barn as one of our regulars was wanting to get in some work. He texted me as I drove to the facility apologizing for the emergency that was canceling his ride. Advanced demographic research indicates that 98.8% of the time that means some type of Honey-do chore, forgotten or recently assigned. And that is fine. I understand. It is why I remain a bachelor.

But now I have another dilemma. If I am going to be the only rider, should I cancel and take a day? After all I am house/dog sitting two clients at once, and have a ton to do, plus yesterday's high-intensity session at the club left me wrecked and deep in atrial fibrillation. It IS Sunday after all.

I cannot take the wimpy way. I suit up and start the movie, cold and lonely. It is a post-apocalyptic survivalist piece called, oddly enough, The Survivalist. Normally the genre we appreciate and prefer contains raw intensity, non-stop action, many things exploding, generous guilt-free sex and several high-speed chases. Guns, tanks, subs, fighter jets, knives, grenades and lots of blood helps too. There should be dialogue just enough to exchange guttural utterances or a judicial pledge of eternal love.

The Survivalist had its moments, however. I appreciate the nuance of filmmaking enough to follow, mostly, what a director, writer, actor or best boy is trying to do or say, but I was tested as much by this dark story as I was by the cadence and power settings I was struggling to keep. After the twenty minute opening sequence, devoid of any dialogue, I almost shouted my appreciation for The Road, asking for a more authentic depiction of doom, desolation and depravity. Nobody does that like Cormac McCarthy.

I ride it out, hoping that there will be a twist, some cinematic saving grace by either writer or director. There are three characters and I really cannot relate to any of them, making it a chore for me to root for a specific outcome. It is just bleakness. Still I watch, eyes glues to our new 60 inch smart TV, as I feel my power begin its gradual descent.

I know that the total running time, including credit roll, is 104 minutes. I need this to end so I can get back to work, feeding hungry dogs and making the rounds. I also have to author this piece, a time-consuming labor of love.

It ends. I am disappointed with the ending. I also remember thinking that I was also disappointed with several editing decisions. I cannot recall if there was a soundtrack or score, so there most likely wasn't, an possible attempt to use the stark sounds of rain and pain as ambient noise irritants (to augment the many visual metaphors).

38.87 miles. And a few ghastly images that I'll deal with later. Maybe we should go back to football. But then we, I alone today, would miss the artistry and courage (and cost and time) it takes to bring an idea into the reality of a motion picture or video. And I appreciate that.

After all it is something I do.

And I think this is one way that we improve; watching, assessing, rating, enjoying and sometimes even just surviving the work, the art, the effort, the incredible victory of completion that making something out of nothing provides.

Bravo.

Wrong Answer

Wrong answer.

In the global arena, the mega spotlight of the NFL, or in the comfort and safety of your own den, winning defined as 'easy' is not winning at all, but the misguided understanding of an immature, dull bully.

If you have been following my threads over the last ten years, you already know the direction I am taking this abbreviated post. Robbing the poor to pay the rich is not winning. Encouraging police brutality, deporting hard-working parents, allowing big oil to pollute the drinking water of Native Americas, bombing the beJesus out of civilians, re-opening banking loopholes to further enrich Wall Street, backing the NRA's assault on our children, re-upping the irresponsible and futile war on drugs, denying aid packages to areas ransacked by nature, selling America's national parks to the highest bidder, blocking technology, denying science, promoting white supremacy, hiring every member of one's extended family, belittling women and promoting grotesque treatment, IS NOT WINNING EITHER.

Anyone thinking so, needs to re-examine their core beliefs. If you can find any mention that advocates this type of behavior anywhere in any chapter or verse, then spin it to suit your sinful intentions, you need help.

So I will attempt to provide some. Here is the definition of winning that satisfies both hearts and souls. You can do with your body as you please.

Winning is doing your absolute best to achieve a wholesome result on a level playing field and with the highest intentions for yourself, your team, your fans as well as the fans, teams and participants of those you are in 'competition' with.

Every runner knows this. It is, sadly, taught without great success in schools, It is the antithesis of what we call the Lombardi Factor. Because it ISN'T just about having the highest score, the larger number of points, or the most runs, or the larger share of the profit pie, IT IS ABOUT HOW YOU GOT THERE. Morals, ethics, integrity and character all play big parts. Every wrestler knows this.

If you have to cheat to win, you haven't. If you have to lie, you lose. If you manipulate, coerce, collude, bully, badger or buy, you finish last and you have embarrassed yourself and everyone associated with you.

The lessons we need to teach our kids, a lesson they will get on their own eventually, is that honest, focused, altruistic effort will be rewarded and that the goal is not to get rich or die trying', it is to play hard and fair, learn from our mistakes, improve and appreciate how the opponents we face make us better with their own brand of style and acumen.

When your president boasts that trade wars are easy to win. It is……

…..the wrong answer.

Pie

Pie

The Artist as Indoor Cyclist

In defense, I tried again to plead my case.

One of our members, one who I will call The Artist, has never fully engaged with the program. I will say here and now, that what we do is not for everybody. If you are one who needs constant stimuli to get through a session, we definitely are not for you. If you are short on personal motivation and the discipline necessary to overcome the obvious challenges of indoor training, we most definitely are not for you. If you need a coach to hold your hand or a personal drill instructor to scream in your ear, we very most definitely are not for you.

But if you have the DNA, or commit to the process of adaptation, the techniques we offer, in the facility we have created, can be a valuable ally along your path. Whether you are training for an event, managing your BMI, seeking additional fitness, addressing power to weight imbalances, wanting more speed, strength or power, rehabbing from injury, looking for positive change or wanting a safe and supportive environment in which to share and socialize with like-minded adult-athletes, we could be.

I will stand at the front of the line admitting that what we do is inherently difficult. To ask one to sit on a stationary bicycle and spin nowhere for an hour (more or less) in a room, class, or in our case, a converted barn, is asking a lot. One must either be ready to commit to the unknown and allow the indoctrination and subsequent change to evolve, or have a modicum of experience with exercise physiology. It helps to have an empirical understanding of just how difficult is truly is to bring about physical positive change. It helps if you understand how painfully slow this process can be. We are not professional athletes searching for a (legal) magical elixir that will add speed and power propelling us towards fame and fortune. No one in our group is a member of an Olympic team.

However we can take myriad lessons from those that are. We can train like Pros and recover like world-class athletes. We can take the best from Navy Seals, Ironman Champions or countless others who have used certain proven techniques to become, and please pardon the cliche, the best they can be.

What are those proven techniques?

• 1) A genuine willingness to improve.
• 2) A commitment to doing 'whatever it takes'.
• 3) Setting a realistically achievable goal.
• 4) Developing the discipline necessary to dedicate time to the process.
• 5) Finding a support group.
• 6) Being patient.
• 7) Have the strength to 'see it through'.
• 8) Embracing failure and loss as part of the process.
• 9) Augmenting the training with tangential elements (nutrition, rest, structure).
• 10) Having a macro-view of the bigger picture.

These ten immediately pare down the candidates by about 70%. Seven of ten people simply will not do this. It is too hard, it takes too much time, and it is way too painful. Hand me the remote please and pass the pretzels.

But for those honestly interested in self improvement and an enhanced quality of life search for adventure and meaning, we offer one option.

We will measure your existing functional threshold power (FTP). We will assign the proven percentage of that metric to your trainer. From there all one has to do is show up twice a week and turn the pedals. We control the variables to produce the precise training zone proven to return the quickest improvement. All one has to do is turn the pedals and allow this magical process to unfold, to respond to the criteria, remain focused and witness the energy flow as the body 'proves' what the mind, heart and soul doubt. This takes time, patience and dedication. We try to make it fun - but it is always one's personal definition of fun that makes the biggest difference.

During this monumental process certain audio and visual stimuli are employed to make the 45 minute 2x20 sessions more tolerable to those needing such diversions.

Somewhat frustrated, The Artist wanted to know what she was supposed to be doing during the session and would not buy my 'just pedal' suggestion, thereby prompting the detailed explanation, a portion of which I have just shared with you.

I continually seek to advance both my understanding and presentation of said doctrine, so please, if you have a comment or suggestion as to how I might up my facilitation game, let me know. Cheers!