I've always loved this word. It just rolls off the tongue. And it sounds so sophisticated. As far as first impressions go it may be a little strong. I mean - you're a dork weed if you actually use the word verisimilitude. Its pretentious. One smart dork I guess though.
How would you use the word? I think I could fit in it somewhere with tooth-whitener: "Despite the daily intake of black coffee and staggering amounts of red wine, the tooth whitening treatments gave verisimlitude to the fluorscently white smile of the beautiful woman". I don't know. I'm still a little unsure. And my grammer sucks. Cool word though.
There are many things in this word that give the appearance of being true or real. J.D. knew it all along.
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Friday, November 9, 2012
natural progression
Eventually I did a triathlon.
A few of them. A long time ago now it seems. Some people have a fear of the swim. Which is the good part for me - a boost in the beginning, a little self-talk, supporting the thought that I know I can actually do this. I jumped off a ferry into the great San Francisco bay last year and swam like a fishing minnow - you know, like those crowded tight in a minnow bucket. One of those yellow ones on the bottom and white on top, with the air holes. My dad and I used to fish, a long time ago now it seems. Swam like a minnow destined for a bicycle in San Francisco. What a trip. I'd like to do that one again someday.
It all started at Northampton Village. I lived there with my mom and my sisters. They lived there for a while I think anyway. Off Harcourt Road in Indianapolis. We moved all over that apartment complex for some reason. Still all the doors were hollow I remember with cheap shiny brass hardware regardless of which unit we landed in. Fairly generic kitchens. Apartment living sucks. The only thing I really found appealing about apartment decor was the large sliding glass door with access to the small patio area.
It was from this door that I would exit in the morning with my Incredible Hulk towel around my neck. Saddle-up on my Free Spirit 10-speed and ride to the pool. I spent all day at the pool. Every day, all day.
Occasionally the group would disperse for a round of Cops and Robbers, a game played while pedalling and shooting plastic Kmart guns at one another. I remember once I annihilated an entire group of the older kids because my position in the trees was so good (oh yeah - occasionally we'd hop off the bikes and set-up an ambush!). The game was fairly subjective. Usually the person that could make a machine gun sound with their mouth the fastest and the loudest was the victor. I kicked some ass in those days.
The pool was an apartment pool. Oval. Not a kidney shape thank God. My stroke would probably list one way or the other if that had been the case. It had good depth in the deep end. I rarely used the diving board. Once at the end of the summer the life guards coordinated a series of events. Things like: who can hold their breathe the longest. Who can swim the farthest under water. Who can host the best tea party in the deep end. And - who has the biggest splash off the board. I don't remember participating in the tea party? Foreshadowing perhaps. But I do remember losing at the big splash off the board contest. I cried like a frustrated little 6-year old that usually did pretty well in the water. Just like the Finn Brooks of today (he comes by it naturally). In hindsight - I did have to channel future losses in the pool to a more Zen like understanding of competition. Swimming became more of a meditation, a self induced test, searching for the nirvana of a rhythm of water, pain, breathing, and efficiency. Eventually, what place I got didn't matter much to me.
How do you become 'good' at something? Practice. Time. You have to want to be good at it. No - you don't have to really want it. You may not even realize your becoming good. I became a good swimmer trying to show off, even as a little boy, for the high school female life guards. They pushed me more than anyone. Woman can do that to you, you know. I was going to win the 'Who can swim the farthest under water' contest or pass out in the deep end trying.
A few of them. A long time ago now it seems. Some people have a fear of the swim. Which is the good part for me - a boost in the beginning, a little self-talk, supporting the thought that I know I can actually do this. I jumped off a ferry into the great San Francisco bay last year and swam like a fishing minnow - you know, like those crowded tight in a minnow bucket. One of those yellow ones on the bottom and white on top, with the air holes. My dad and I used to fish, a long time ago now it seems. Swam like a minnow destined for a bicycle in San Francisco. What a trip. I'd like to do that one again someday.
It all started at Northampton Village. I lived there with my mom and my sisters. They lived there for a while I think anyway. Off Harcourt Road in Indianapolis. We moved all over that apartment complex for some reason. Still all the doors were hollow I remember with cheap shiny brass hardware regardless of which unit we landed in. Fairly generic kitchens. Apartment living sucks. The only thing I really found appealing about apartment decor was the large sliding glass door with access to the small patio area.
It was from this door that I would exit in the morning with my Incredible Hulk towel around my neck. Saddle-up on my Free Spirit 10-speed and ride to the pool. I spent all day at the pool. Every day, all day.
Occasionally the group would disperse for a round of Cops and Robbers, a game played while pedalling and shooting plastic Kmart guns at one another. I remember once I annihilated an entire group of the older kids because my position in the trees was so good (oh yeah - occasionally we'd hop off the bikes and set-up an ambush!). The game was fairly subjective. Usually the person that could make a machine gun sound with their mouth the fastest and the loudest was the victor. I kicked some ass in those days.
The pool was an apartment pool. Oval. Not a kidney shape thank God. My stroke would probably list one way or the other if that had been the case. It had good depth in the deep end. I rarely used the diving board. Once at the end of the summer the life guards coordinated a series of events. Things like: who can hold their breathe the longest. Who can swim the farthest under water. Who can host the best tea party in the deep end. And - who has the biggest splash off the board. I don't remember participating in the tea party? Foreshadowing perhaps. But I do remember losing at the big splash off the board contest. I cried like a frustrated little 6-year old that usually did pretty well in the water. Just like the Finn Brooks of today (he comes by it naturally). In hindsight - I did have to channel future losses in the pool to a more Zen like understanding of competition. Swimming became more of a meditation, a self induced test, searching for the nirvana of a rhythm of water, pain, breathing, and efficiency. Eventually, what place I got didn't matter much to me.
How do you become 'good' at something? Practice. Time. You have to want to be good at it. No - you don't have to really want it. You may not even realize your becoming good. I became a good swimmer trying to show off, even as a little boy, for the high school female life guards. They pushed me more than anyone. Woman can do that to you, you know. I was going to win the 'Who can swim the farthest under water' contest or pass out in the deep end trying.
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
What age will we be in heaven?
I was in the middle of it. Picked the kids up from school. Let the dog out. Piled the books on the kitchen table, Finn to my left, Liam to my right: homework ensued. To the right we worked first on the Assyrians, then the Babylonians, right there between the Tigris and the Euphrates. Oh my. Then on my left flank we knocked out a crossword puzzle, discussed the values of the tens place compared to the hundreds, and finished by memorizing the second half of the books of the old testament. Oh, but wait - there's the dog scratching at the door, and the oven chimed finally pre-heated for the chicken strips, and the peas are boiling over, and Liam wants a glass of apple cider, and Finn needs me to sign something from school, then a knock at the door from a neighbor with the check for the school fundraiser (to replace the check from three weeks earlier that we ran though the wash) then Zeke snagged a piece of bread and butter from the counter top when I wasn't looking, and, and....I thought I was going to explode.
I did in fact explode.
The type of parental explosion that quickly requires an apology. So, after calming, after looking at my two sweet angels, my offspring, the product of my life....I decided to go running. "Boys, I'm going running. Be back in 25 minutes". That's all it took. I was back in the game when I returned. And, it was then that Finn asked an interesting question.
"Dad, what age will we be when we are in heaven?"
I did in fact explode.
The type of parental explosion that quickly requires an apology. So, after calming, after looking at my two sweet angels, my offspring, the product of my life....I decided to go running. "Boys, I'm going running. Be back in 25 minutes". That's all it took. I was back in the game when I returned. And, it was then that Finn asked an interesting question.
"Dad, what age will we be when we are in heaven?"
Thursday, August 16, 2012
Really, and other words I hate.
Really. Well, not really, but reeealy. Or is it just a blunt matter of fact: really. People are using the word REALLY in ways it wasn't meant to be used. If you're shocked by something, or aghast, or taken aback, disgusted, disappointed, mad or miffed you cannot so simply express your discontent by deforming the prosody of the word REALLY. For that matter YEAH RIGHT is growing in popularity and grates upon me like chalk catching the board perfectly square - or better yet a finger nail. I hear it all the time as a means of agreement, confirming that you feel the same way. At Cross Fit, one will say "This is going to really suck", and others will chime in 'Yeah right". Not in the bygone days where the use of 'yeah right' meant that not all was truly right. People say "Yeah right" now and they mean it, darn it. And that's all they have to say. That's it. No contribution to the conversation whatsoever. I mean, really?
There's more. I hear them. I watch people's lips move closely and occasionally the word 'wholenother' pops out. Gag. Or, it pains me to even write this: 'It is what it is'. What the fuck does that contribute to anything? Of course it is what it is. But why? How did it come to be in the first place? Really, yeah right. It is what it is. I might as well ask "Where you at", but that's a wholenother thing.
There's more. I hear them. I watch people's lips move closely and occasionally the word 'wholenother' pops out. Gag. Or, it pains me to even write this: 'It is what it is'. What the fuck does that contribute to anything? Of course it is what it is. But why? How did it come to be in the first place? Really, yeah right. It is what it is. I might as well ask "Where you at", but that's a wholenother thing.
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Stats
Blogs have this tool where you can check the STATS of the activity. See how many page views they've gotten, which page was most popular, etc. My stats kind of suck lately. One must write in order to maintain readership. My mother doesn't even read this thing (at least I don't think so).
So, anyway. I'm alive. I'm getting gray. Really bringing on the gray. And I think my poor vision is going poorer. I thought my eyes had fallen off the cliff a long time ago but it turns out they can get worse. That first cliff was just a little talus field. Didn't see the big drop coming. Forty is kind of sucking for me in all kinds of ways. But there is beauty even in the bad days. There still days anyway.
Along those lines: I pulled my left calf in my bootcamp workout yesterday morning. That muscle is good for nothing. Fails me all the time. And then I have to sit for days on end trying to rub out the pain. An office worker shouldn't have to endure such things. Bootcamp has been going well this year - Crossfit set me up pretty well. I can almost slip an extra burpie between the cadence they call out whereas in years past I was praying for the count to end. I'm probably physically stronger upper body than I have been in years. I can kip 100 pull-ups in short order - which is really amazing to me.
My kids are super great. They both did amazingly well in baseball and are now putting some quality time in the water swimming for the community pool near our home. Good days for sure. I signed up for a marathon in November. Still enjoy a ride now and then when I can find the time. And swimming still enters my mind on a daily basis.
There. I wrote something.
So, anyway. I'm alive. I'm getting gray. Really bringing on the gray. And I think my poor vision is going poorer. I thought my eyes had fallen off the cliff a long time ago but it turns out they can get worse. That first cliff was just a little talus field. Didn't see the big drop coming. Forty is kind of sucking for me in all kinds of ways. But there is beauty even in the bad days. There still days anyway.
Along those lines: I pulled my left calf in my bootcamp workout yesterday morning. That muscle is good for nothing. Fails me all the time. And then I have to sit for days on end trying to rub out the pain. An office worker shouldn't have to endure such things. Bootcamp has been going well this year - Crossfit set me up pretty well. I can almost slip an extra burpie between the cadence they call out whereas in years past I was praying for the count to end. I'm probably physically stronger upper body than I have been in years. I can kip 100 pull-ups in short order - which is really amazing to me.
My kids are super great. They both did amazingly well in baseball and are now putting some quality time in the water swimming for the community pool near our home. Good days for sure. I signed up for a marathon in November. Still enjoy a ride now and then when I can find the time. And swimming still enters my mind on a daily basis.
There. I wrote something.
Thursday, May 24, 2012
The Fort Wayne Country Club vs. The Brass Rail
I had the opportunity of spending time lately at two of Fort Wayne's finest. As I sat at the finely linened table with silver place setting, plates with silver embellishments along the edge, wine glasses, water glasses, small butter knives, cloth napkins, courteous yet phony servers, over looking a golf course like those on television I also took notice of the people. The men particularly, as it's mostly men at the country club you know. What happens to wealthy men? Why the conformity? Where does fashion go? I took note of several of them wearing shorts, Brooks Brothers likely, no socks, with heeled dress shoes. Leather, kind of high-end looking loafers I guess. With tassels - leather meaningless designs tethered to the top of the shoe. Skinny white legs. With mostly big bellies, 'chub' as my kids would say.
It all made me think of the Brass Rail, and contrast the two. The Brass Rail is a bar downtown. I'd classify it as a dirty punk band bar. A friend recently referred to the people there as 'dirty hipsters'. They conform just as much as the country club crowd. No doubt. The outfits are a bit different. The tattoo's rampant. Everyone's in close contact, real close, and loving it. It's dirty mostly. And loud. And real. Or maybe it's not real. Just as phony as the country club. Maybe. Just a different clik. There are no men in shorts with tassled dress shoes and Polo shirts at the Rail. But there's probably the occasional nose ring - which is also a meaningless design tethered to ones nose cartilage? Is that how those work?
Anyway...to each his own. I feel about as 'sorry' for the skinny legged guy in dress shoes with no socks as I do the kid with the nose ring trying to be cool. Fashion is a funny thing.
I'm doing a workout on Memorial Day at CrossFit called Murph. They're having a cookout, beer, barbeque, the whole deal. Sounds like fun. When I asked what Murph was I got the answer and it scared me: run 1 mile, do 100 Pull-Ups, 200 Push-Ups, 300 Air Squats, then run another mile. I don't know why, but I live for phsycal challenges like that. I don't know if I have the guts for the nose ring - but I'm going sockless in a pair of these babies:
It all made me think of the Brass Rail, and contrast the two. The Brass Rail is a bar downtown. I'd classify it as a dirty punk band bar. A friend recently referred to the people there as 'dirty hipsters'. They conform just as much as the country club crowd. No doubt. The outfits are a bit different. The tattoo's rampant. Everyone's in close contact, real close, and loving it. It's dirty mostly. And loud. And real. Or maybe it's not real. Just as phony as the country club. Maybe. Just a different clik. There are no men in shorts with tassled dress shoes and Polo shirts at the Rail. But there's probably the occasional nose ring - which is also a meaningless design tethered to ones nose cartilage? Is that how those work?
Anyway...to each his own. I feel about as 'sorry' for the skinny legged guy in dress shoes with no socks as I do the kid with the nose ring trying to be cool. Fashion is a funny thing.
I'm doing a workout on Memorial Day at CrossFit called Murph. They're having a cookout, beer, barbeque, the whole deal. Sounds like fun. When I asked what Murph was I got the answer and it scared me: run 1 mile, do 100 Pull-Ups, 200 Push-Ups, 300 Air Squats, then run another mile. I don't know why, but I live for phsycal challenges like that. I don't know if I have the guts for the nose ring - but I'm going sockless in a pair of these babies:
Friday, May 11, 2012
run for it.
Ran the Indy Mini Marathon last weekend. Beautiful weather. Usually starts out cold and everyone has to wear long sleeve 'throw away' shirts that you must dodge in the opening mile. Not this year. It was humid - which never seems to phase me. Even after a pretty good drinking night at the Vogue two nights earlier I felt mostly hydrated, as I ate the ice from my Vodka tonics as to be in top form. I had an OK run. I was repeating my normal mantra "all systems go" as I continually assess heart rate, quad, calf pain, foot strike, etc. Everything was fine until mile 8 when I planned to bust my move. Exactly at the mile marker I got a cramp in my right calf. "The right calf" I thought, "that's like old reliable. Never fails. The left is my Achilles". Age. And lack of training. So I had a code red cramp. Within a few strides I had to stop and sit down! It's hard to really go for it when you're sitting down in a running race. I quickly tried to rub out the ball of pain and then got back on my feet. Then it was Kosovo pace. No disrespect to Kosovo, in the least, or the pain those people had to endure - but I once had a running friend say to me something about Kosovo. People had to flee that country and literally run for miles to get away from the conflict. Running for their lives.
All I had to do was run for five more miles with a code red burner in my right calf. So I put things in Kosovo perspective and just kept on going. I think my pace may have quickened a bit near the end - like a horse heading for the finish line.
When you can see the end goal you can endure a lot of pain.
All I had to do was run for five more miles with a code red burner in my right calf. So I put things in Kosovo perspective and just kept on going. I think my pace may have quickened a bit near the end - like a horse heading for the finish line.
When you can see the end goal you can endure a lot of pain.
Thursday, May 3, 2012
Gone Daddy Gone
Violent Femmes. Sometimes my phone and the music on it plays at exactly the right time.
I've not written in a bit. Makes for a dull blog. Just haven't had much to say I suppose. Or time.
I've been working out. I swam this week and felt pretty good in the water, nailed my flip turns. I think it's CrossFit burpies...that jumping down tuck, jumping back, jumping up move is a little like doing a flip turn. Sorta. I do feel a little more power off the wall. My stroke feels a little 'musclely' though, as if I've been doing pull-ups and push-ups lately.
I ran this week, in the rain. Started out just a nice sprinkle, but then as I finally got into motion it turned torrential on me. Of course I was wearing my only nice pair of running shoes which I intended to wear this Saturday at the Indy Mini. They're still soaked. I may run in my semi-running, semi CrossFit shoes, Brooks Pure Connects. I haven't really trained a wink so what does it matter? Might as well blow my feet out in style.
Running in a warm rain is life affirming in some way. Cleansing. You run faster. It seems easier and more exciting. Jumping over puddles, or splashing through them, standing at intersections looking like a wet noodle as the vehicular passers by look on. I had a good CrossFit workout last night, finished with the most reps in the allocated time - we had to do 200 meter sprints carrying a 20lb medicine ball over head. Then a series of wall ball shots, dumb bell push presses and dips. It was a burner. Entirely burned out my quads the Wednesday prior to a Saturday half marathon? Who knows - maybe CrossFit will improve my running? I doubt it - my cardiovascular engine has been running at idle for so long its forgotten how to process oxygen. Nonetheless, running the Indy Mini is kind of fun. This is likely my 8th running of that event. I hate running.
Its a beautiful day. The earth is back - all full bloom. Warm. May 3rd of 2012. It really has been a long time of this.
____________________________________________________________________________
Beautiful girl,
love the dress
I've not written in a bit. Makes for a dull blog. Just haven't had much to say I suppose. Or time.
I've been working out. I swam this week and felt pretty good in the water, nailed my flip turns. I think it's CrossFit burpies...that jumping down tuck, jumping back, jumping up move is a little like doing a flip turn. Sorta. I do feel a little more power off the wall. My stroke feels a little 'musclely' though, as if I've been doing pull-ups and push-ups lately.
I ran this week, in the rain. Started out just a nice sprinkle, but then as I finally got into motion it turned torrential on me. Of course I was wearing my only nice pair of running shoes which I intended to wear this Saturday at the Indy Mini. They're still soaked. I may run in my semi-running, semi CrossFit shoes, Brooks Pure Connects. I haven't really trained a wink so what does it matter? Might as well blow my feet out in style.
Running in a warm rain is life affirming in some way. Cleansing. You run faster. It seems easier and more exciting. Jumping over puddles, or splashing through them, standing at intersections looking like a wet noodle as the vehicular passers by look on. I had a good CrossFit workout last night, finished with the most reps in the allocated time - we had to do 200 meter sprints carrying a 20lb medicine ball over head. Then a series of wall ball shots, dumb bell push presses and dips. It was a burner. Entirely burned out my quads the Wednesday prior to a Saturday half marathon? Who knows - maybe CrossFit will improve my running? I doubt it - my cardiovascular engine has been running at idle for so long its forgotten how to process oxygen. Nonetheless, running the Indy Mini is kind of fun. This is likely my 8th running of that event. I hate running.
Its a beautiful day. The earth is back - all full bloom. Warm. May 3rd of 2012. It really has been a long time of this.
____________________________________________________________________________
Beautiful girl,
love the dress
Friday, April 27, 2012
Pour Some Sugar on Me
I had a chocolate dipped vanilla ice-cream cone from Zesto last night after shivering at Little League practice with my kids for a couple hours. Mmmm-Mmmm. Cheap soft serve ice cream had never tasted so good. I stood in line with all the walks of life that frequent the south side Fort Wayne ice-cream mecca. Noticed the mostly dirty side walk, dark splotched and sticky little ponds, from the days ice-cream spilling activity. There is something innocent, true and genuine about the south side Zesto. It's kinda dirty, super old, tightly placed at a relatively busy corner. The ethnic diversity is strong. I don't think I would even flinch if shots rang out; just get the kids to the car. My kids love the place. Liam announced to me that we could get a better price on our goods if they had any 'Mess-Ups'. Sorry kid, - no mess ups last night. Had to go full price, even had to scrounge for loose change to settle the bill. That Zesto will forever be a good memory for my children. And me. Sure wish they took debit though.
I had sugar guilt later and did a series of Manbuilders. Manbuilders you ask, suspiciously? Why would a man such as myself need to pursue building? Nothing intellectual of course. Manbuilders are kind of like burpies with dumbbells. Squat down, kick back into push-up position, row with one 25lb weight, do a push-up, row with the other arm, do a push up, jump to squat position, then stand, dip with the weight, then press over-head. Oy vay. A very fitting name. Sick and sweating after a while I sat with the boys and slowly did sit ups watching TV. Some new series about a kid that sees patterns in numbers, something along those lines. The son has autism maybe, not sure, and Kiefer Sutherland, the dad, runs around telling people that he thinks his autistic son wants him to meet them for some universally parallel dimension bull shit. It's really quite interesting. I just kept doing sit-ups.
I had sugar guilt later and did a series of Manbuilders. Manbuilders you ask, suspiciously? Why would a man such as myself need to pursue building? Nothing intellectual of course. Manbuilders are kind of like burpies with dumbbells. Squat down, kick back into push-up position, row with one 25lb weight, do a push-up, row with the other arm, do a push up, jump to squat position, then stand, dip with the weight, then press over-head. Oy vay. A very fitting name. Sick and sweating after a while I sat with the boys and slowly did sit ups watching TV. Some new series about a kid that sees patterns in numbers, something along those lines. The son has autism maybe, not sure, and Kiefer Sutherland, the dad, runs around telling people that he thinks his autistic son wants him to meet them for some universally parallel dimension bull shit. It's really quite interesting. I just kept doing sit-ups.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
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Wednesday, April 25, 2012
It's Over
My seven week Paleo diet and CrossFit Challenge has come to an end.
It was a good experience. Mostly. I was faithful to the diet. As best as I could be - cutting sugar out of your life is a hard thing to do. As you see there is sugar in red wine.
OK, I failed on the wine part. Shame. But - I did workout a fair amount. I can do those pull-ups finally. My dead lift increased by about 60 lbs. I lost three inches in my waist. But - only dropped one silly pound. Of course I quickly reasoned that I must have gained an incredible amount of rock hard muscle. Then they took the bicep measurements: nothing. No change. Those fibers just won't do it. They are slow twitch to the end. Barely a pulse. So, I don't know. I ate mushrooms, spinach, carrots, avocados, eggs and bacon for 7 weeks. Ah, bacon huh? I did hit the cashews pretty hard also. And I almost forgot the bananas. I put down some serious bananas.
I never have taken the time to monitor what I consume. I rather miss the days in college swimming when Hendrix and I would go to Arby's after practice, each get 5 roast beef sandwiches for $5 then in a matter of just a few minutes sit and eat all of it. Youth. We burned a whole lotta calories in those days.
I need something else. A race. A triathlon. And maybe even carbohydrates again. I don't know about the no sugar life. It's still life without sugar. It's just not as sweet. My pancreas loves it though apparently.
It was a good experience. Mostly. I was faithful to the diet. As best as I could be - cutting sugar out of your life is a hard thing to do. As you see there is sugar in red wine.
OK, I failed on the wine part. Shame. But - I did workout a fair amount. I can do those pull-ups finally. My dead lift increased by about 60 lbs. I lost three inches in my waist. But - only dropped one silly pound. Of course I quickly reasoned that I must have gained an incredible amount of rock hard muscle. Then they took the bicep measurements: nothing. No change. Those fibers just won't do it. They are slow twitch to the end. Barely a pulse. So, I don't know. I ate mushrooms, spinach, carrots, avocados, eggs and bacon for 7 weeks. Ah, bacon huh? I did hit the cashews pretty hard also. And I almost forgot the bananas. I put down some serious bananas.
I never have taken the time to monitor what I consume. I rather miss the days in college swimming when Hendrix and I would go to Arby's after practice, each get 5 roast beef sandwiches for $5 then in a matter of just a few minutes sit and eat all of it. Youth. We burned a whole lotta calories in those days.
I need something else. A race. A triathlon. And maybe even carbohydrates again. I don't know about the no sugar life. It's still life without sugar. It's just not as sweet. My pancreas loves it though apparently.
Friday, April 20, 2012
callous
I'm getting hands like a cowboy. Gristled. Calloused. Torn-up. That's what you get when office hands meet the pull-up bar. We did a nice workout at CrossFit a couple days ago - 10 pull-ups, then 15 box jumps, repeat 5 times. The workouts always sound so short and sweet. It's two little moves. But at the completion of 50 pull-ups, and 75 box jumps, dripping wet, torn, pained, laying on the floor looking at the steel beams in the warehouse roof you get a different perspective. It's not like working out at the YMCA. No one falls to the floor in a pool of sweat at the Y. But people routinely do it at CrossFit.
When I get up there's a nice little sweat angel on the floor. Eewww.
Yesterday we did medicine ball cleans for 1 minute, then burpies for 1 minute with 30 seconds rest between each move. Repeat 5 times. Again, sounds kind of easy but I felt weakened after the first round. CrossFit is intense fitness. I can see why and how people are getting hooked on it. I think it was likely created by the Orthopedic and physical therapy industries as a means to increase revenue. My long term swimming shoulder is throbbing even now.
When I get up there's a nice little sweat angel on the floor. Eewww.
Yesterday we did medicine ball cleans for 1 minute, then burpies for 1 minute with 30 seconds rest between each move. Repeat 5 times. Again, sounds kind of easy but I felt weakened after the first round. CrossFit is intense fitness. I can see why and how people are getting hooked on it. I think it was likely created by the Orthopedic and physical therapy industries as a means to increase revenue. My long term swimming shoulder is throbbing even now.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
If I only had a brain.
When I was a kid I participated in a play. Third grade I think. Maybe earlier. All I can remember is singing the song "if I only had a brain". You know - the one that the scarecrow does when he's flopping around, refilling his straw and limberly strutting about. At least that's how I remember it.
"I could while away the hours. Confirrin' with the flowers"
Memories. They stay forever huh?
I've been continuing my endless pursuit of outputting mediocre artwork. Confirrin' with my own flowers. The flower has to be one of the most universally attempted objects to paint. They have so much going on: color, depth, shadowing, beauty. Every flower has an interesting perspective. Like the crocus. Those little beauties come up first, early in the Spring, and do take my breathe away. I can remember long ago telling someone my own brief glimpse of life, my outlook: we are like flowers. We have a season, a prime, we flower, stand around in the sunshine for a while. And then fade. Lose our petals. We too each have an interesting perspective. Some of us have good qualities even. It's what you do with yourself before the fade thats noteworthy. Enjoy your days in the sunshine. Enough rambling. Enough perspective.
I'd hate to be a Narcissus. Spending all my time starring at myself. Although I've been trying to paint them. Queen Anne's lace isn't all bad, but it's a weed. Sure looks pretty cycling past it in the summer though. A Tulip? No way. Classifying yourself as a Tulip is as common as drinking Merlot, and "I'm not drinking any fucking Merlot" as so poignantly stated in the movie Sideways.
Cheers! You've just read one of my most twisted efforts to date. Go smell the flowers. I'm drinking Pinot Noir tonight, otherwise known as the heartbreak grape. And, I'm proud to say I was an actor in a third grade production of The Wizard of OZ!
"I could while away the hours. Confirrin' with the flowers"
Memories. They stay forever huh?
I've been continuing my endless pursuit of outputting mediocre artwork. Confirrin' with my own flowers. The flower has to be one of the most universally attempted objects to paint. They have so much going on: color, depth, shadowing, beauty. Every flower has an interesting perspective. Like the crocus. Those little beauties come up first, early in the Spring, and do take my breathe away. I can remember long ago telling someone my own brief glimpse of life, my outlook: we are like flowers. We have a season, a prime, we flower, stand around in the sunshine for a while. And then fade. Lose our petals. We too each have an interesting perspective. Some of us have good qualities even. It's what you do with yourself before the fade thats noteworthy. Enjoy your days in the sunshine. Enough rambling. Enough perspective.
I'd hate to be a Narcissus. Spending all my time starring at myself. Although I've been trying to paint them. Queen Anne's lace isn't all bad, but it's a weed. Sure looks pretty cycling past it in the summer though. A Tulip? No way. Classifying yourself as a Tulip is as common as drinking Merlot, and "I'm not drinking any fucking Merlot" as so poignantly stated in the movie Sideways.
Cheers! You've just read one of my most twisted efforts to date. Go smell the flowers. I'm drinking Pinot Noir tonight, otherwise known as the heartbreak grape. And, I'm proud to say I was an actor in a third grade production of The Wizard of OZ!
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
no cyclometer
It was nice to finally get my bike out yesterday, track down all my gear, and pedal in the wind. Everything is blooming in Northeast Indiana. The day before I even had a nice butterfly flutter deftly into my mouth. Poor fella. Everything was going so well for him. He just came out of his shell into the beauty of the world only to be quickly salivated and spit to the ground. A Spring casualty. Or fate? We just happened to collide at the wrong time.
I felt half way strong in the saddle (i.e. CrossFit legs). We went East to Hoagland, IN (not even sure how we got there - I just followed) then West to Poe. Hadn't been down Poe way in a while. Not much had changed.
I've been riding without a cyclometer. Those little electronic devices that tell you your distance and your speed. I used to obsess over my pace, forever trying to maintain at least 17 miles per hour, even in a headwind (which at times is incredibly difficult if not impossible). And I always had to hit a certain mileage, log it, know what my cumulative mileage was for the month, for the year, etc. I really had my bearings.
But now I'm just pedaling.
I felt half way strong in the saddle (i.e. CrossFit legs). We went East to Hoagland, IN (not even sure how we got there - I just followed) then West to Poe. Hadn't been down Poe way in a while. Not much had changed.
I've been riding without a cyclometer. Those little electronic devices that tell you your distance and your speed. I used to obsess over my pace, forever trying to maintain at least 17 miles per hour, even in a headwind (which at times is incredibly difficult if not impossible). And I always had to hit a certain mileage, log it, know what my cumulative mileage was for the month, for the year, etc. I really had my bearings.
But now I'm just pedaling.
Friday, March 23, 2012
shoes.
When life's not going your way, join a Cross Fit gym, go on a Paleo diet, and buy new footwear.
There you have it. That was easy huh?
I have noticed something slightly peculiar about Cross Fit: it's in the shoes. I resisted in the beginning. Me and my high heeled running shoes were just fine. But as we did more and more box jumps together, and jump roping (double unders suck, btw, but I'm getting better), and progressed along toward the more complicated and heavy lifts with the bar my shoes and I decided to part ways. Running shoes are good for running. (And, I'm not even so sure of that as I have ran a few times recently in a pair of Brooks Pure Connect and felt like a gazelle).
I too decided to join the club with a low rise, light weight shoe. People are wearing those funny things where your toes fit in like a glove, a lot of New Balance Minimus going on, some other CF specific brand called Inov. Everything is either black or fairly bright and light weight. I started out with a pair of super odd bright blue beauties from Brooks mentioned above. I look and feel strange in them. I ran in them at Foster and I swear people were staring at my feet. I felt compelled to stop and ask the heavy-set walkers if their snickers and sideways glances were directed to my shoes. Obviously they don't understand Cross Fit fashion.
(Reebok does. They are all over the marketing of CrossFit and have sunk some money into the trend...a little business oriented sidenote).
Anyway, in conclusion of this blog entry that should be titled "Much Ado About Nothing" I settled on a pair of New Balance myself, not Minimus, but some funky silvery trail running shoe. They feel lighter than a good pair of Smart Wools. Happy Trails!
There you have it. That was easy huh?
I have noticed something slightly peculiar about Cross Fit: it's in the shoes. I resisted in the beginning. Me and my high heeled running shoes were just fine. But as we did more and more box jumps together, and jump roping (double unders suck, btw, but I'm getting better), and progressed along toward the more complicated and heavy lifts with the bar my shoes and I decided to part ways. Running shoes are good for running. (And, I'm not even so sure of that as I have ran a few times recently in a pair of Brooks Pure Connect and felt like a gazelle).
I too decided to join the club with a low rise, light weight shoe. People are wearing those funny things where your toes fit in like a glove, a lot of New Balance Minimus going on, some other CF specific brand called Inov. Everything is either black or fairly bright and light weight. I started out with a pair of super odd bright blue beauties from Brooks mentioned above. I look and feel strange in them. I ran in them at Foster and I swear people were staring at my feet. I felt compelled to stop and ask the heavy-set walkers if their snickers and sideways glances were directed to my shoes. Obviously they don't understand Cross Fit fashion.
(Reebok does. They are all over the marketing of CrossFit and have sunk some money into the trend...a little business oriented sidenote).
Anyway, in conclusion of this blog entry that should be titled "Much Ado About Nothing" I settled on a pair of New Balance myself, not Minimus, but some funky silvery trail running shoe. They feel lighter than a good pair of Smart Wools. Happy Trails!
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Tire flipping?
No chaulk yesterday, although I could have used it. Our workout was a series of tire flips and jumps with 200 meter sprint runs between each flipping set. I'd never squared up to flip a huge truck tire before - tires from large farm implements. I just kept muttering "Nothing runs like a Deere" the whole time.
It's a pretty interesting move. In order to flip a truck tire you must squat low, put your whole body into it, really want it to rise from the ground, then once it's up you got it. A quick shove and it's over. More difficult may be what happens next, two quick jumps, hops really, one into the tire and one out. Repeat. Then run. I loved it.
It's a pretty interesting move. In order to flip a truck tire you must squat low, put your whole body into it, really want it to rise from the ground, then once it's up you got it. A quick shove and it's over. More difficult may be what happens next, two quick jumps, hops really, one into the tire and one out. Repeat. Then run. I loved it.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
chalk.
We use chalk in Cross Fit. At least I do anyway. Some of the more experienced have moved on to gloves when doing the workouts where really all we do is hang from a bar and pull up. Knees to elbows. Feet to hands. Pull Ups. I didn't even think feet-to-hands was possible until I tried it - folding your body into a V while hanging from that silly bar. Pull ups, kipping, swinging and 'flying' up over the bar. Sure wish I could do 'em like some of the people with whom I exercise.
Chalk. When I chalk-up my hands I have some odd distant memory of an enormous man, from the Olympics or something, getting ready to pick-up an equally enormous amount of weight. I think my Dad would stop the channel on those scenes. And we would together watch the belted neck-less men chalk themselves then strain under the load. Seems like the crowd, or coaches I suppose, would crescendo in loud encouragement as the bar rose. Then the red faced giants would drop the bar to the ground, taped fingers and wrists work completed, then scream a little or grunt satisfactorily.
Cross Fit is nothing like that in the least. Most of us have very nice proportional necks. But it's still a little grueling, and I like it. The point: if you have to 'chalk-up' to do something it's fairly serious. Guess I do feel a little like the neck-less power lifters from my childhood memories.
Get ready! Here I come:
Chalk. When I chalk-up my hands I have some odd distant memory of an enormous man, from the Olympics or something, getting ready to pick-up an equally enormous amount of weight. I think my Dad would stop the channel on those scenes. And we would together watch the belted neck-less men chalk themselves then strain under the load. Seems like the crowd, or coaches I suppose, would crescendo in loud encouragement as the bar rose. Then the red faced giants would drop the bar to the ground, taped fingers and wrists work completed, then scream a little or grunt satisfactorily.
Cross Fit is nothing like that in the least. Most of us have very nice proportional necks. But it's still a little grueling, and I like it. The point: if you have to 'chalk-up' to do something it's fairly serious. Guess I do feel a little like the neck-less power lifters from my childhood memories.
Get ready! Here I come:
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Paleo
This morning I poured myself a nice glass of almond milk. Then I carefully cut open a single serving of egg white protein powder and mixed it in. Then, with little egg white chunks poorly mixed I downed it. Chewed down the powdery parts. Followed it up with two Omega-3 fish oil pills. Gag.
At my desk I've had a few cashews, handful of blueberries, and about four nice raspberries. I always feel like I'm really living well when eating raspberries. They're so delicate. Must be costly to deliver that fresh little morsel from where ever it grew.
This is my life now. The CrossFit cult I joined has gone into the brain-washing phase of modifying my diet. No processed foods. No soft drinks. No refined sugars. Fine. Not even grains. No beans. No rice. But no dairy? For goodness sake. A guy likes to get his Gorgonzola on every now and then. What's so blue about cheese? OK, fine, I'll do it. No red wine either? Is that even healthy? I'm finding out, mostly, via the 8-week Paleo diet I'm attempting.
I must say, going into week two of this all vegetable, fruit, seed/nut, meat/seafood diet, that I feel 'clean'. I'm taking food into perspective. Something most people don't do. We just eat. And boy we eat a lot. I sat in a business lunch recently, drinking a small V-8 (which I hope is allowed) and watched four grown men devour heaping piles of pizza. How pretentious I must have looked to them?
When you're not a participant in the frenzy its not nearly as attractive. I didn't even salivate. Just rolled my eyes now and then with each passing bite.
At my desk I've had a few cashews, handful of blueberries, and about four nice raspberries. I always feel like I'm really living well when eating raspberries. They're so delicate. Must be costly to deliver that fresh little morsel from where ever it grew.
This is my life now. The CrossFit cult I joined has gone into the brain-washing phase of modifying my diet. No processed foods. No soft drinks. No refined sugars. Fine. Not even grains. No beans. No rice. But no dairy? For goodness sake. A guy likes to get his Gorgonzola on every now and then. What's so blue about cheese? OK, fine, I'll do it. No red wine either? Is that even healthy? I'm finding out, mostly, via the 8-week Paleo diet I'm attempting.
I must say, going into week two of this all vegetable, fruit, seed/nut, meat/seafood diet, that I feel 'clean'. I'm taking food into perspective. Something most people don't do. We just eat. And boy we eat a lot. I sat in a business lunch recently, drinking a small V-8 (which I hope is allowed) and watched four grown men devour heaping piles of pizza. How pretentious I must have looked to them?
When you're not a participant in the frenzy its not nearly as attractive. I didn't even salivate. Just rolled my eyes now and then with each passing bite.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Cross Fit.
If you haven't heard of CrossFit you will. It's an addictive little burner. Works all the kinks out - adds a couple too. I've been back at CF for a little over a month. There were a few days when I could barely walk. Couldn't get my arms up to my hair in the shower. Had to walk down stairs backwards, that kind of stuff. Last night we did burpie bar jumps and power snatches. Olympic bar moves just kind of make you feel strong. For me just picking the thing up is an accomplishment. Particularly after doing 55 repetitions as fast as you can in a timed competitive situation.
Anyway - I like it. The CrossFit gym I'm going to is having an I AM CROSSFIT team challenge that I am seriously considering: 8 weeks of no carbs, no sugar, no alcohol, soft drinks, or juice...but it's a must that you consume a daily hit of fish oil. Now who can pass that up? Top it off with loads of box jumps, sit-ups, push-ups, pull-ups, handstands, and wall ball squats. Yes! Body composition included. Before and after pics, the whole deal. I could stand to benefit from this type of intense team based lifestyle change. They even expect you to get a certain amount of sleep. I might even start going to church on a consistent weekly basis. Who knows!
Running you ask? Yeah, well. It's not that I don't like runners. I do. I really do. They're good people - a little off - but mostly sound and level headed. I sit in close proximity to one at work. And we banter daily about the upcoming Indianapolis 500 Mini-Marathon that for some reason unbeknowst to me I formally challenged my running friend to compete; setting the stage for another dual. That was when I was in the mood to run, one day back in January. That mood past the next day and I've been running the equivalent of about 3 miles per week.
Running is like cycling. You have to spend time in the saddle to get good. There aren't short cuts to it. You can't Crossfit your way to a good half-marathon. At least I don't think so?
Anyway - I like it. The CrossFit gym I'm going to is having an I AM CROSSFIT team challenge that I am seriously considering: 8 weeks of no carbs, no sugar, no alcohol, soft drinks, or juice...but it's a must that you consume a daily hit of fish oil. Now who can pass that up? Top it off with loads of box jumps, sit-ups, push-ups, pull-ups, handstands, and wall ball squats. Yes! Body composition included. Before and after pics, the whole deal. I could stand to benefit from this type of intense team based lifestyle change. They even expect you to get a certain amount of sleep. I might even start going to church on a consistent weekly basis. Who knows!
Running you ask? Yeah, well. It's not that I don't like runners. I do. I really do. They're good people - a little off - but mostly sound and level headed. I sit in close proximity to one at work. And we banter daily about the upcoming Indianapolis 500 Mini-Marathon that for some reason unbeknowst to me I formally challenged my running friend to compete; setting the stage for another dual. That was when I was in the mood to run, one day back in January. That mood past the next day and I've been running the equivalent of about 3 miles per week.
Running is like cycling. You have to spend time in the saddle to get good. There aren't short cuts to it. You can't Crossfit your way to a good half-marathon. At least I don't think so?
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