Quick, get in the car and head to Milwaukee. Brian Y, our artist, cyclist and marathon runner has his work on display. Follow the link to learn more and then haul ass to the museum to feel what ones and zeroes arrayed on your screen fail to disclose.
Cheers to you, Brian Y, ThingsFogel is very proud of you.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
A little bit of running
Here's news: in the last 2 1/2 to 3 weeks, I have run about 5 times. The first few were runs of 10 minutes. Most recently (including today), I have extended that to 15 minutes. My leg is tolerating the running. Wow! I can't believe I just said that, but it is true, my leg is handling it and then not really hurting much later.
During the run, the left leg feels a bit weak behind the knee and there is even the slightest pinch of pain too, but mostly it is forward momentum.
My fitness is all out of whack. I have been riding my bike 140-150 miles/week with heart rates between 125-140 for most of the rides. Resting HR is hanging in the mid-40's. I jump on the treadmill, set it at 8:00 min/mile and my HR jumps to 140-143 and sits there. I need miles I guess.
During the run, the left leg feels a bit weak behind the knee and there is even the slightest pinch of pain too, but mostly it is forward momentum.
My fitness is all out of whack. I have been riding my bike 140-150 miles/week with heart rates between 125-140 for most of the rides. Resting HR is hanging in the mid-40's. I jump on the treadmill, set it at 8:00 min/mile and my HR jumps to 140-143 and sits there. I need miles I guess.
Sunday, April 30, 2006
Wake up. Call?
I hate the idea of a metaphorical wake-up call, but on Sunday, April 30 in a near Noah-summoning downpour, I got one. And how.
I knew that I wake up daily with a tight, painful reminder, centered behind my knee cap that I can't run. But, eleven months into a scrapbook filled with doctor bills, blurry photo copies of physical therapy exercises (there-band, anyone), MRI films (and CD's), and broken dreams, I had started to forget why I was still trying to get through this.
Sunday changed all that.
I volunteered at the Universal Sole Lakefront 10 (check the links on the right, Universal Sole is there). I want to explain the race before I get into the April 30 washout (well, drenching is probably more accurate, my washout came long ago).
Lakefront 10 is a 10 mile road race along Chicago's beautiful lakefront. Other 10 mile races of the same name have rambled along the lakefront over the years. The wonderful folks at Universal Sole revived the moribund race and repopulated the running community's collective memories with the joy of this race at what some have called the "perfect distance."
Perfect distance you ask? [ten miles requires endurance, speed, cunning and more than a working knowledge of race tactics. You can make mistakes early in a ten miler that can cost you the race, but it is just long enough that you can use your smarts to get back in the game, if you have the strength and the heart.
Lakefront 10 starts and finishes near the bump known as Cricket Hill, sometimes called Montrose Hill, it is located between Montrose Harbor and Montrose Beach. What a great Chicago spot. I could devote a full volume to the discussion of all that Montrose has to offer, not least of which Magic Hedge, Chicago Wilderness Magazine says this:
"The Magic Hedge is a small area of trees, shrubs and grasses on a small hill at sandy, wind-swept Montrose Point on the Lake Michigan shoreline along Chicago's north side. In the 1950s and 1960s, when the Army operated a NIKE base here, the Hedge grew up along the base's border. The base was dismantled around 1970, but the Hedge remained."
http://chicagowildernessmag.org/issues/spring1998/IWmagichedge.html
Back to my story:
On Sunday, I outfitted myself in man-made fabrics. I was ensconced in Gore-Tex, cool max, techwick, fleece, and all manner of spun polyester, all the fight the rain. Natural fibers (read cotton, wool, etc.) like to hold water.
I arrived at Foster Beach, near the Mile 1 marker, about one hour before the race started. Without a course map, my role was to ensure that runners made a correct turn from Simonds Drive onto the running path that hugs the Foster Beach beach house. I alternately shuffled around trying to figure out just where to place the orange cones and sat in my car listening to Death Cab for Cutie.
Finally, about 10 minutes before the race, I plotted a turn with the cones only to have race director and Universal Sole proprietor Paul Peters drive by in a Chicago Police car and hang is head out the window into the rain and say "just perfect."
It really was a great corner I had formed. The tangent (racers know, runners and joggers may not) required running through a puddle of unknown depth, based on those who traversed it, I suspect it was 5-6 inches deep. A sock soaker if you hit it wrong -- wet sock at Mile 1 makes for a long day.
8:00 A.M. - Race start comes quietly to Mile 1. About four minutes later, I hear a Chicago Police car sound its horn, and through the mist I see its flashing lights and then, after a moment, a cadre of bicyclists leading the runners. It was go time for my corner.
I stood in position as a trio of slender Kenyan runners galloped Gazelle-like through my puddle. The fast guys know how to shorten a course. They glided effortlessly across the water, barely wetting a toe. Next came a group of fast runners who also paraded through the puddle to my serenade of "nice job, way to go, looking good." This was a refrain I would repeat for about 12 or so minutes as the entire race snaked past.
As runners of my former ability (I once finished this race 30/1550 and 4th in my age group, you can look it up or just click here http://www.universalsole.com/results/lakefront10/lf10results2004.html) zoomed past, it suddenly hit me I HAVEN'T RUN IN NEARLY ELEVEN MONTHS! I say it so casually all the time, and usually people are more shocked hearing it than I am saying it. But here it was, right in face, a sweating, heavy breathing reminder of what I lost.
Mind you, I haven't forgotten entirely, but my focus has drifted. Each time I climb on my bike or obsessively look for one more bike part at the best price, I steal focus from my real mission - to return to running form and break 3 hours in the marathon. So now what do I do?
Standing at the finishing chute 45-50 minutes later, I saw my doctor, the great Dr. Nicola. We talked about what our goals were for my running. He has been with me on this injury since day one. I have seen him at his clinic, button-holed him at cocktail parties, and held him shivering (him more than me) at the end of yesterday's race, all with the same theme: how do we get me running again.
Well, the answer isn't available yet, but I am awake now and ready to work for it again. I should have been out there yesterday, running, running fast, doing something I love. A great quote I read from someone on the professional cycling team, Team CSC, wasn't something like "the rain never falls on us." As I runner, when I am out there, I know just what they mean.
Somebody know how to get me running? Let me know.
I knew that I wake up daily with a tight, painful reminder, centered behind my knee cap that I can't run. But, eleven months into a scrapbook filled with doctor bills, blurry photo copies of physical therapy exercises (there-band, anyone), MRI films (and CD's), and broken dreams, I had started to forget why I was still trying to get through this.
Sunday changed all that.
I volunteered at the Universal Sole Lakefront 10 (check the links on the right, Universal Sole is there). I want to explain the race before I get into the April 30 washout (well, drenching is probably more accurate, my washout came long ago).
Lakefront 10 is a 10 mile road race along Chicago's beautiful lakefront. Other 10 mile races of the same name have rambled along the lakefront over the years. The wonderful folks at Universal Sole revived the moribund race and repopulated the running community's collective memories with the joy of this race at what some have called the "perfect distance."
Perfect distance you ask? [ten miles requires endurance, speed, cunning and more than a working knowledge of race tactics. You can make mistakes early in a ten miler that can cost you the race, but it is just long enough that you can use your smarts to get back in the game, if you have the strength and the heart.
Lakefront 10 starts and finishes near the bump known as Cricket Hill, sometimes called Montrose Hill, it is located between Montrose Harbor and Montrose Beach. What a great Chicago spot. I could devote a full volume to the discussion of all that Montrose has to offer, not least of which Magic Hedge, Chicago Wilderness Magazine says this:
"The Magic Hedge is a small area of trees, shrubs and grasses on a small hill at sandy, wind-swept Montrose Point on the Lake Michigan shoreline along Chicago's north side. In the 1950s and 1960s, when the Army operated a NIKE base here, the Hedge grew up along the base's border. The base was dismantled around 1970, but the Hedge remained."
http://chicagowildernessmag.org/issues/spring1998/IWmagichedge.html
Back to my story:
On Sunday, I outfitted myself in man-made fabrics. I was ensconced in Gore-Tex, cool max, techwick, fleece, and all manner of spun polyester, all the fight the rain. Natural fibers (read cotton, wool, etc.) like to hold water.
I arrived at Foster Beach, near the Mile 1 marker, about one hour before the race started. Without a course map, my role was to ensure that runners made a correct turn from Simonds Drive onto the running path that hugs the Foster Beach beach house. I alternately shuffled around trying to figure out just where to place the orange cones and sat in my car listening to Death Cab for Cutie.
Finally, about 10 minutes before the race, I plotted a turn with the cones only to have race director and Universal Sole proprietor Paul Peters drive by in a Chicago Police car and hang is head out the window into the rain and say "just perfect."
It really was a great corner I had formed. The tangent (racers know, runners and joggers may not) required running through a puddle of unknown depth, based on those who traversed it, I suspect it was 5-6 inches deep. A sock soaker if you hit it wrong -- wet sock at Mile 1 makes for a long day.
8:00 A.M. - Race start comes quietly to Mile 1. About four minutes later, I hear a Chicago Police car sound its horn, and through the mist I see its flashing lights and then, after a moment, a cadre of bicyclists leading the runners. It was go time for my corner.
I stood in position as a trio of slender Kenyan runners galloped Gazelle-like through my puddle. The fast guys know how to shorten a course. They glided effortlessly across the water, barely wetting a toe. Next came a group of fast runners who also paraded through the puddle to my serenade of "nice job, way to go, looking good." This was a refrain I would repeat for about 12 or so minutes as the entire race snaked past.
As runners of my former ability (I once finished this race 30/1550 and 4th in my age group, you can look it up or just click here http://www.universalsole.com/results/lakefront10/lf10results2004.html) zoomed past, it suddenly hit me I HAVEN'T RUN IN NEARLY ELEVEN MONTHS! I say it so casually all the time, and usually people are more shocked hearing it than I am saying it. But here it was, right in face, a sweating, heavy breathing reminder of what I lost.
Mind you, I haven't forgotten entirely, but my focus has drifted. Each time I climb on my bike or obsessively look for one more bike part at the best price, I steal focus from my real mission - to return to running form and break 3 hours in the marathon. So now what do I do?
Standing at the finishing chute 45-50 minutes later, I saw my doctor, the great Dr. Nicola. We talked about what our goals were for my running. He has been with me on this injury since day one. I have seen him at his clinic, button-holed him at cocktail parties, and held him shivering (him more than me) at the end of yesterday's race, all with the same theme: how do we get me running again.
Well, the answer isn't available yet, but I am awake now and ready to work for it again. I should have been out there yesterday, running, running fast, doing something I love. A great quote I read from someone on the professional cycling team, Team CSC, wasn't something like "the rain never falls on us." As I runner, when I am out there, I know just what they mean.
Somebody know how to get me running? Let me know.
Please Hold
Please hold. There will be a brief silence while we transfer your call. Do not hang up and redial because we answer calls in the order they are recieved.
Unless we know it's you, dear caller, and then we let you budge, jump line, so you can get a quicker response.
Where have I been? Good question, but not one I intend to answer.
More is coming.
Cameron, if you're listening, you look fit.
Unless we know it's you, dear caller, and then we let you budge, jump line, so you can get a quicker response.
Where have I been? Good question, but not one I intend to answer.
More is coming.
Cameron, if you're listening, you look fit.
Saturday, January 28, 2006
Monday, January 16, 2006
That's How I Roll. . . .
Once a year, less frequently than a professional teeth cleaning (well, in theory, but I am overdue on getting the choppers shined), I take to the lanes to bowl with the runners on the Universal Sole racing team. I am no bowler and, fortunately, neither is anyone else I rolled with on Saturday night.
Our evening of strikes and spares occurred on a night few acknowledged for its special place in history. The scene was the Lincoln Square Lanes, a bowling alley hidden Anne Frank-like above a hardware store, adjacent to a McDonald's in a part of Chicago that is now home to fancy houses and new condos. LSL hasn't let gentrification change it.
To reach the lanes, one must climb a too steep flight of stairs with mashed down carpet that reveals both the many visitors to this hidden gem and the need for either a significant carpet cleaning with a cleaner that is yet to be invented or, what the heck, rip it out and put in some new carpet.
At the top of the stairs was a homemade sign that marked the history making day: "On Monday January 16, you will no longer be able to smoke here because of the new law," or words to that effect. Unsaid, but implied, was fuck Chicago for taking away our good, beer swilling, cigarette smoking bowlers. That sentiment was very real and obvious to me as I witnesses plenty of non-bowling patrons, puffing away, pulling on a cold beer and watching Denver end New England's playoff hopes.
We had arrived. Before the bowling starts, two important events must always occur, getting shoes and picking a ball.
Bowling shoe rental is always a funny thing. Who didn't have a friend or two in college who brazenly wore stolen bowling alley shoes? If that was you, well, nice job. It always strikes me as odd that I will wear a pair of shoes many other people have worn, but, of course, they have been professionally cleaned by the guy with the cigarette hanging from his lip (but not after Monday January 16) wielding an imposing can of some sort of CFC laden cleaning spray. Funny, you never see that spray in hospitals, but then again, I guess few infections have been reported from bowling shoes. If I am wrong on that, oh dear.
Finding a ball can be maddening. I am the bad combination of weak arms (give me a light ball) and fat fingers (I need big holes) that rarely mates in a lane-provided ball. Ultimately, I select a ball I can barely lift and then use balls others have picked out, some too heavy, some with holes far too small. If I was good at this, I would own a ball, but I am not, and, frankly, if you own your own ball people will talk.
Time to bowl.
We rolled three games, well, really 2 games plus eight frames of game 3 and then we ran out of time. Game 1 for the irregular bowler is always like getting reacquainted with an old friend. Things look familiar, don't feel familiar and most likely, you don't quite do what you think you want to do. In the first game, three of rolled and didn't manage to knock 300 pins down. We all got a chance to find our way into the gutter though.
Games 2 and 3 were much better. We all got the random strike and spare and that brings everyone to their feet for high fives and much cheering. Do real bowlers react this way?
I had a couple ice cold and, oh so delicious Miller High Life beers. There sure are an unnecessary bunch of fancy beers out there. High Life never fails to please me. Mmmm, mmm that is a good beer. As an infrequent drinker, I think I started to feel the second beer and I got a bit loud. In the late frames of Game 2, I found myself banging on the scorer's table everytime someone marked a frame. Is there anything that feels better than a heart felt "woo hoo!!"? For my money, well, ok, there is, but it sure feels good.
There's more, and I might write more later, but here's what I think - I need to bowl more often, and probably, so do you.
Our evening of strikes and spares occurred on a night few acknowledged for its special place in history. The scene was the Lincoln Square Lanes, a bowling alley hidden Anne Frank-like above a hardware store, adjacent to a McDonald's in a part of Chicago that is now home to fancy houses and new condos. LSL hasn't let gentrification change it.
To reach the lanes, one must climb a too steep flight of stairs with mashed down carpet that reveals both the many visitors to this hidden gem and the need for either a significant carpet cleaning with a cleaner that is yet to be invented or, what the heck, rip it out and put in some new carpet.
At the top of the stairs was a homemade sign that marked the history making day: "On Monday January 16, you will no longer be able to smoke here because of the new law," or words to that effect. Unsaid, but implied, was fuck Chicago for taking away our good, beer swilling, cigarette smoking bowlers. That sentiment was very real and obvious to me as I witnesses plenty of non-bowling patrons, puffing away, pulling on a cold beer and watching Denver end New England's playoff hopes.
We had arrived. Before the bowling starts, two important events must always occur, getting shoes and picking a ball.
Bowling shoe rental is always a funny thing. Who didn't have a friend or two in college who brazenly wore stolen bowling alley shoes? If that was you, well, nice job. It always strikes me as odd that I will wear a pair of shoes many other people have worn, but, of course, they have been professionally cleaned by the guy with the cigarette hanging from his lip (but not after Monday January 16) wielding an imposing can of some sort of CFC laden cleaning spray. Funny, you never see that spray in hospitals, but then again, I guess few infections have been reported from bowling shoes. If I am wrong on that, oh dear.
Finding a ball can be maddening. I am the bad combination of weak arms (give me a light ball) and fat fingers (I need big holes) that rarely mates in a lane-provided ball. Ultimately, I select a ball I can barely lift and then use balls others have picked out, some too heavy, some with holes far too small. If I was good at this, I would own a ball, but I am not, and, frankly, if you own your own ball people will talk.
Time to bowl.
We rolled three games, well, really 2 games plus eight frames of game 3 and then we ran out of time. Game 1 for the irregular bowler is always like getting reacquainted with an old friend. Things look familiar, don't feel familiar and most likely, you don't quite do what you think you want to do. In the first game, three of rolled and didn't manage to knock 300 pins down. We all got a chance to find our way into the gutter though.
Games 2 and 3 were much better. We all got the random strike and spare and that brings everyone to their feet for high fives and much cheering. Do real bowlers react this way?
I had a couple ice cold and, oh so delicious Miller High Life beers. There sure are an unnecessary bunch of fancy beers out there. High Life never fails to please me. Mmmm, mmm that is a good beer. As an infrequent drinker, I think I started to feel the second beer and I got a bit loud. In the late frames of Game 2, I found myself banging on the scorer's table everytime someone marked a frame. Is there anything that feels better than a heart felt "woo hoo!!"? For my money, well, ok, there is, but it sure feels good.
There's more, and I might write more later, but here's what I think - I need to bowl more often, and probably, so do you.
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