Often, in the car, in the shower, on the toilet and during my runs, I talk to myself. I think this is a normal activity for the populus, mostly because thoughts and sentences sound differently when spoken as opposed to when held in the confines of the brain. People like to check what they are thinking, so that if they ever need to voice these thoughts, they are refined; so logically they do this when they are alone. What sets me apart from everyone else is that in addition to indulging in this activity, I extend it to the times when people are standing right next to me. Praise the Lord, I caught Cherish early.
At any rate, more often than not, I talk to myself about four things: 1) my religious exercises, 2) political desires (which are not limited to Ted Kennedy losing all functional speech), 3) how I would have jumped higher than anyone to make the catch across the field in Super Bowl XXXVII to keep the Eagles drive alive, and 4) my training plans (incidently, how those plans translate to winning the New York City Marathon). Since, per my preamble to this posting, my thoughts should be refined and ready for me to discuss number 4. At least they better be or I will be proven to be what everyone suspects and I (not to mention Cherish) already know - that I am a freak.
AJMac wrote about some of his obstacles. I have some, too. First, I am a big guy for a competitive runner. I also have a small gait. Probably the most daunting of my obstacles is that I have no burst of speed - it usually takes me at least two to four miles to get into my stride and desired speed (consequences of training to endure marathons). So, I need to train to overcome these things.
First, being larger, I need to pack on miles, but not too many, in order to lose weight.
Second, in the midst of packing on miles, I need to work on my speed. I can do this in two ways: mixing in speed workouts - probably two a week for six to eight weeks (and then restructure depending on my progress) - and also using fartlek runs as I am out running miles. Packing on miles and mixing in speed will translate to approximately 45 miles a week, definitely no more than 50.
This will also help me to work on my strength as well as speed. How? By running hills. Contrary to popular feeling, I love running hills. They are easy on the body. They give a great workout. They help with results and I feel a great satisfaction after I have conquered one. Most important, however, is what Alan Culpepper, the 2004 Olympic marathoner, was quoted as saying, "Hills are speed workouts in disguise."
Finally, I will need to strengthen my body, not just my legs. This is to support my lungs and heart while running hard and to help me keep form. So, I will do "floor workouts" three days a week. I call these "floor workouts" because I do them on the floor (genius, huh?). These will include push-ups and core exercises (some on the stability ball).
So, now you know what I need to do and what my plan is. My speed workouts will start in Florida next week. My floor workouts started at the beginning of the month. The cold air is making it hard to put on miles, but hopefully I will get in much needed long runs this and next weekend.
Okay, boys, keep me accountable and look for my posted progress.
Friday, February 29, 2008
And then there were three...
The three musketeers (I know they also had Dartagnon {sp?}); Julius Caesar, Mark Antony, and Cleopatra (someone did not fair well there, did they?), The Police (at least they performed together recently, right?)... Okay, so I am not good at setting up this post. What I am trying to say is that this blog and this training program are now complete because we have a third - NotsoflashGordon. This is very important because as strong as two may be, it is the third strand that solidifies a chord. No matter how much we love cookies and milk, it is the glass that allows us to dunk the cookies. "Three's Company" was a great show, because they had a third - Suzanne Sommers. So, though this started as AJMac and CGB, I am so excited to have NotsoflashGordon on our team. Welcome NotsoflashGordon!!! You are our Suzanne Sommers! (Geez, I am still no good at this.)
The perils of Southern cycling
I have spent considerable hours two-wheeling the roads of Maine, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, Michigan, Indiana, and Colorado. Seldom in those places has anyone placed my life in jeopardy. Never has anyone done so recklessly or intentionally.
Now I live in Alabama. Were it not for Alabamans, Alabama would be a terrific place to ride. For one thing, it is easy to ride year round. In the winter the high temperatures are frequently in the 50's and 60's, perfect for logging miles. Also, the city I live in is small, and within 4 miles I am out on rural highways, where the traffic is sparse. Unfortunately, getting home is hardly free from risk. My ride today topped every hair-raising experience I've ever had on a bicycle, for reasons I will explain.
Two problems typically arise here. The first is, I suspect, a function of the NASCAR culture. I have come to expect the worst from Alabama motorists and all too often they prove me right. One reads on cycling blogs collections of all the life-threatening experiences riders have with motorists over the course of their lifetimes. I've enjoyed the thrill of all those experiences just in the past seven months, some on multiple occasions. There is the driver who pulls out from a side street directly in front of you going less then 10 miles an hour, oblivious to the fact that you are approaching at 20 mph or so. I've met several of those. Those are fun. There is the driver who passes you within inches of your handlebars for amusement, sometimes honking the horn for good measure. Usually his vehicle weighs in excess of five tons and has dual rear wheels. There is the little old lady (or man) who brakes suddenly for no apparent reason. There is the driver who approaches you in your lane while passing a car in the opposite lane, travelling directly at you at a combined velocity in excess of 80 miles per hour.
I have had the pleasure of becoming acquainted with all of these drivers here in AL. But my all-time favorite is the driver who passes you on the left in order immediately to make a right-hand turn directly in front of you. I've met so many of these drivers that I now instinctively reach for the brakes when I hear a car behind me and I am approaching an intersection.
Today as I was riding along in the aero bars, I heard air brakes over my left shoulder. A moment later, a school bus rolled by me on the left. I caught a flash -- a right turn signal? -- and noticed a road approaching on the right. He's not really going to... he's driving a school bus! School bus drivers are safe! I slammed on the brakes. Sho 'nuf, next moment a sea of yellow filled my entire field of vision and a 40-foot long vehicle was 25 feet in front of me, directly perpendicular to my line of travel and moving less than 5 miles per hour.
Somehow I managed to stop. I watched the bus drive away, incredulous. I mean really, who expects that from a school bus? A school bus! When the school district is trying to kill you, there's no point in even complaining to the police. That's like taking on the mob. I call the cops, within hours a janitor shows up at my front door with black roses drawn on a miniature chalk board.
The second hazard for Alabama cyclists is worse than the first, I have discovered. Alabamans are downright irresponsible with their dogs. I have been chased by big dogs, little dogs, and medium-sized dogs; shitzus, chocolate labs, and dobermans. The experience is always at least a little disconcerting. But today, on my school bus ride, I got the biggest shot of adrenaline my body has ever absorbed.
Have you ever been chased by a pit bull? Me neither, before today. It came flying out of someone's yard at full speed and chased me at least 200 yards down the road. The worst part of it was its silence. It didn't bark, it didn't growl. It wasn't even breathing with its mouth open. It wasn't playing around. The purpose of its existence at that moment was to destroy me. Michael Vick was nowhere to be seen, but I sincerely doubt that dog was trained for companionship.
And lest you think I am indulging in hyperbole, it was definitely a pit bull. I got a really good look when I rode by the second time, on my way home. I had my pepper spray unlocked and ready to discharge. But inexplicably, the dog sat complacently on its lawn and watched me ride by. It never twitched a muscle.
I'm thinking about upgrading from pepper spray to a nine-milimeter. And if the school district mafia asks, you never heard any of this from me.
Now I live in Alabama. Were it not for Alabamans, Alabama would be a terrific place to ride. For one thing, it is easy to ride year round. In the winter the high temperatures are frequently in the 50's and 60's, perfect for logging miles. Also, the city I live in is small, and within 4 miles I am out on rural highways, where the traffic is sparse. Unfortunately, getting home is hardly free from risk. My ride today topped every hair-raising experience I've ever had on a bicycle, for reasons I will explain.
Two problems typically arise here. The first is, I suspect, a function of the NASCAR culture. I have come to expect the worst from Alabama motorists and all too often they prove me right. One reads on cycling blogs collections of all the life-threatening experiences riders have with motorists over the course of their lifetimes. I've enjoyed the thrill of all those experiences just in the past seven months, some on multiple occasions. There is the driver who pulls out from a side street directly in front of you going less then 10 miles an hour, oblivious to the fact that you are approaching at 20 mph or so. I've met several of those. Those are fun. There is the driver who passes you within inches of your handlebars for amusement, sometimes honking the horn for good measure. Usually his vehicle weighs in excess of five tons and has dual rear wheels. There is the little old lady (or man) who brakes suddenly for no apparent reason. There is the driver who approaches you in your lane while passing a car in the opposite lane, travelling directly at you at a combined velocity in excess of 80 miles per hour.
I have had the pleasure of becoming acquainted with all of these drivers here in AL. But my all-time favorite is the driver who passes you on the left in order immediately to make a right-hand turn directly in front of you. I've met so many of these drivers that I now instinctively reach for the brakes when I hear a car behind me and I am approaching an intersection.
Today as I was riding along in the aero bars, I heard air brakes over my left shoulder. A moment later, a school bus rolled by me on the left. I caught a flash -- a right turn signal? -- and noticed a road approaching on the right. He's not really going to... he's driving a school bus! School bus drivers are safe! I slammed on the brakes. Sho 'nuf, next moment a sea of yellow filled my entire field of vision and a 40-foot long vehicle was 25 feet in front of me, directly perpendicular to my line of travel and moving less than 5 miles per hour.
Somehow I managed to stop. I watched the bus drive away, incredulous. I mean really, who expects that from a school bus? A school bus! When the school district is trying to kill you, there's no point in even complaining to the police. That's like taking on the mob. I call the cops, within hours a janitor shows up at my front door with black roses drawn on a miniature chalk board.
The second hazard for Alabama cyclists is worse than the first, I have discovered. Alabamans are downright irresponsible with their dogs. I have been chased by big dogs, little dogs, and medium-sized dogs; shitzus, chocolate labs, and dobermans. The experience is always at least a little disconcerting. But today, on my school bus ride, I got the biggest shot of adrenaline my body has ever absorbed.
Have you ever been chased by a pit bull? Me neither, before today. It came flying out of someone's yard at full speed and chased me at least 200 yards down the road. The worst part of it was its silence. It didn't bark, it didn't growl. It wasn't even breathing with its mouth open. It wasn't playing around. The purpose of its existence at that moment was to destroy me. Michael Vick was nowhere to be seen, but I sincerely doubt that dog was trained for companionship.
And lest you think I am indulging in hyperbole, it was definitely a pit bull. I got a really good look when I rode by the second time, on my way home. I had my pepper spray unlocked and ready to discharge. But inexplicably, the dog sat complacently on its lawn and watched me ride by. It never twitched a muscle.
I'm thinking about upgrading from pepper spray to a nine-milimeter. And if the school district mafia asks, you never heard any of this from me.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
To Climb a Cliff...
18:59... this is where the rubber meets the road, or in our case, the sneaker. It will be tough, it will be brutal, but to shave over 40 seconds off of a PR in less than one year (the equivalent of Hilary's Everest) will be rewarding. Yes, we do it from a distance, but perhaps, in spite of all things collegiate in the two individual's parallel walk of over 10 years ago, this maybe the one thing that brings us closer. In 1944, Army Rangers had the daunting task of invading Normandy by climbing the cliffs of Pointe du Hoc while under heavy fire. In 2008, Adam and I will try to climb a seemingly insurmountable goal or perhaps, die trying. 18:59... let us climb our cliff!
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Well...
If the last one there is a rotten egg, then I'm one that has been sitting on a warm window sill for at least a couple days. I've got a lot of catching up to do. My strategy? put my pants on one leg at a time, and then try to run in them. (after stretching, and maybe a couple calisthenics excercises.)
Monday, February 25, 2008
My strategy
I have two major obstacles to overcome if I am to get to nineteen minutes. First, having had a torn meniscus removed from my knee two years ago, I can't pack on the miles that Charles runs. Endurance is not my strong suit. So I feel the need, the need for speed.
Second, I am training for duathlon. So I spend almost as much time on the bike as I do in running shoes.
On the other hand, I have a sweet job that allows me to train during the day a couple of times each week. So I plan to do a lot of double workout days: ride early, run later, or vice versa. I will post my weekly training summaries so y'all can hold me accountable.
Second, I am training for duathlon. So I spend almost as much time on the bike as I do in running shoes.
On the other hand, I have a sweet job that allows me to train during the day a couple of times each week. So I plan to do a lot of double workout days: ride early, run later, or vice versa. I will post my weekly training summaries so y'all can hold me accountable.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
19:47 to 18:59
is a long way. That's the distance between three sets of quarter-mile intervals and gutting it out for one more . It's the distance between relaxing with a beer and adding one more lap onto my neighborhood tempo run... every night for the next ten months. It's the distance between, "I think I'll have some Oreos with this milk," and "I wonder what Charles is eating right now."I've got some ground to cover.
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