I almost never do it, but this time I had to make an exception, I could not remain silent, I had to stand up for world peace.
July 25 was like any other day of 2015's hot summer only this Saturday morning I was standing in line at Lake Tiak-O'Khata waiting for my turn to enter the water and begin my 35-mile odyssey called the Heart O' Dixie Triathlon.
Then I heard it.
He wasn't talking to me, so maybe I should have kept my mouth shut. But world peace demands voices, action, engagement. He said something about drafting while swimming.
I wanted to scream.
The last time I entered this debate, I was sent a link to a "scientific study" that allegedly proved the value of swim drafting. I know what you are thinking, and it will do little good for me to protest by saying I am not anti-science. But there is science and there is science.
And then there is the myth of swim drafting.
How can people be so simple?
It starts with anecdotal evidence which i know is enough to further brand me as anti-scientific. But here is goes anyway. During one of my swims in this same lake, I once got bunched up with a wad of fast swimmers and was having difficulty keeping pace. I feared the swim-over-the-back maneuver which can cause discomfort even death, so I shifted left, got out of the group, and then proceeded to out swim then all once I got into the calm water.
That is not the only experience that caused me to rethink the whole concept of drafting while swimming. Logic alone should be sufficient to dispel this error, but alas, the human race is far from logical. Think about it. In cycling we draft because it works. We power off the road and the cyclist ahead of us moves air out of his way. In swimming we power not off the road or the bottom but off the water. Big difference. Huge difference. We move the water we power off behind us so that the water is moving not in our direction, as in cycling, but in the opposite direction, into the face of the oncoming swimmer, if there is one delusional enough to be back there.
Think of this: one of the most effective and exhilarating workouts on a bicycle is motor pacing, drafting a car at speeds far beyond what can be achieved in a traditional pace line. The thrill of going so fast gets the cyclist so fired up that he cycles harder than he could in any other circumstance. Try it, but you have to have a smooth road and a trusty driver.
How many times have you seen swimmers in the lake motor boat pacing? I know the answer to that; you tell me the reason. It really doesn't take a socket rientist to figure out that motor boat pacing could never work because of all the turbulence and water coming back behind the boat and into the face and body of the trailing swimmer. Cycling and swimming are different sports that take their thrust from different sources.
So how did this erroneous concept of swim drafting get s tarted? Somebody thought it up that because you can draft on a bicycle, you can draft while swimming. The error is repeated over and over until everyone believes it despite the fact that you only have to think about it for almost two seconds to see the fallacy of it all.
I do admit that there is some potential for a swim draft IF you get very close to the swimmer in front AND to the side of that swimmer. The swimmer does produce a small slipstream which may be beneficial if one can avoid the turbulence necessarily produced to provide propulsion. But if you get directly behind a swimmer, you are NOT drafting but you are getting rough water thrown at you.
Stop being a warmongerer. Kill the idea of swim drafting. Do it for world peace.
Friday, July 31, 2015
Thursday, July 30, 2015
Fundraising
I have a lot to learn about all this fundraising and sponsorship stuff. Recently I contacted John Pace about sponsorship and he gave me some good and valuable information. Thank you, John. On the fundraising side, I was disappointed with the Chicot Challenge total this year which, at just over $1,700, was about $100 shy of last year's total. But I have a new plan.
Part one of the new plan involves picking up pennies from the bottom of the pool. During Tuesday's training session at Twin Rivers Rec Center, I scored 64 cents which is one of my largest hauls ever. I always swim in lane four, the center lane of the 50 meter pool. But if I am the only one there, or if it is only John and me, I swim every lane at least once. John asked one time, "What are you doing swimming all over the pool like that?"
"Well, duh, I'm looking for money."
My all time highest haul was 76 cents a couple of years ago, three quarters and a penny. Tuesday's score consisted of six dimes, four pennies, and a button. I took the coins home and put them in a bag. Fundraising for the 2016 Chicot Challenge has begun already. I normally take in between two and three dollars per year on pool coins. Pray that a lot of kids get careless with Dad's change. They didn't need those nachos anyway. My cause is better than theirs.
Another part of the new plan involves picking up change I find when out running. My wife got me started on this a few years ago, and we always gave the change we found to a pastor/evangelist in Kenya. But now that we no longer have our church, all my change is going to the Diabetes Foundation of Mississippi. I find around three to four cents per week while out running. Multiply that by fifty and you get a buck and a half. The problem is, however, for the past several years I have not run fifty weeks per year. If I can stay healthy and run more miles, I can get the coin total up. Also, I have plans to run some parking lots this winter when I do much of my training at night.
A third part of the plan involves my school parking lot. For some reason, students will not pick a penny off the pavement. They won't do it. I will. I estimate my take per semester from this source is around four to five cents. Per year that comes out to almost a dime. But wait, there's more.
If you are adding up the numbers, you can easily see I need that fourth prong. I have one: loose change around the house. The problem with this is I don't have much loose change anymore. While I once had heaps of coins at all times, with the advent of the debit card, I almost never spend cash anymore. According to my calculations, my yearly change now amounts to somewhere around five bucks per year. Ah, you say, but that leaves more in your bank account so you can give more. The problem with that is I am on a fixed income. Each year there is less and less in the account.
Whenever I hear someone say something about being on a "fixed income," I always ask, "What subject and what school?" They never answer. If you are on Social Security, DO NOT say you are one a fixed income because you get a cost of living adjustment each year. I DO NOT. I now make LESS than I made eleven years ago. This upcoming school year makes twelve years. Since the K-12 teachers did not get a raise this year, we will not get one next year because the K-12 teaches always get one or two or six raises before the community colleges are at the front of the line. Sorry, I just needed to rant.
The fifth part of my new plan is to clean out my truck console. That should easily come up to fifty cents per year. Like the loose change at home, this source has dried up also due to the rise in debit card usage.
That leaves me looking for number six in the new plan which I have not yet nailed down. I thought about selling sunglasses on Facebook. You've seen all the adds? Open a Group Page and see how many people want to join your group. I get dozens of request to join my Vicarious Butt Beets group by people wanting to sell sunglasses. Really? Can there me that much money in selling sunglasses on Facebook?
Another thing I thought about was that wrap stuff. You know, that plastic wrap you put on your body to make yourself lose weight and become beautiful. I'm giving that a real think up. What are your thoughts? Would you buy from me if I go into the business? Would you be a repeat customer?
It may be going slowly, but it is going. Bethany Theilman, I am working on the "boat bag" as I call it, for next year's swim. One way or the other, I am handing off a heavy bag to the DFM representative who shows up at next year's Chicot Challenge. You can take that bag to the bank.
 |
| Six dimes, four pennies, and a button |
Part one of the new plan involves picking up pennies from the bottom of the pool. During Tuesday's training session at Twin Rivers Rec Center, I scored 64 cents which is one of my largest hauls ever. I always swim in lane four, the center lane of the 50 meter pool. But if I am the only one there, or if it is only John and me, I swim every lane at least once. John asked one time, "What are you doing swimming all over the pool like that?"
"Well, duh, I'm looking for money."
My all time highest haul was 76 cents a couple of years ago, three quarters and a penny. Tuesday's score consisted of six dimes, four pennies, and a button. I took the coins home and put them in a bag. Fundraising for the 2016 Chicot Challenge has begun already. I normally take in between two and three dollars per year on pool coins. Pray that a lot of kids get careless with Dad's change. They didn't need those nachos anyway. My cause is better than theirs.
Another part of the new plan involves picking up change I find when out running. My wife got me started on this a few years ago, and we always gave the change we found to a pastor/evangelist in Kenya. But now that we no longer have our church, all my change is going to the Diabetes Foundation of Mississippi. I find around three to four cents per week while out running. Multiply that by fifty and you get a buck and a half. The problem is, however, for the past several years I have not run fifty weeks per year. If I can stay healthy and run more miles, I can get the coin total up. Also, I have plans to run some parking lots this winter when I do much of my training at night.
A third part of the plan involves my school parking lot. For some reason, students will not pick a penny off the pavement. They won't do it. I will. I estimate my take per semester from this source is around four to five cents. Per year that comes out to almost a dime. But wait, there's more.
If you are adding up the numbers, you can easily see I need that fourth prong. I have one: loose change around the house. The problem with this is I don't have much loose change anymore. While I once had heaps of coins at all times, with the advent of the debit card, I almost never spend cash anymore. According to my calculations, my yearly change now amounts to somewhere around five bucks per year. Ah, you say, but that leaves more in your bank account so you can give more. The problem with that is I am on a fixed income. Each year there is less and less in the account.
Whenever I hear someone say something about being on a "fixed income," I always ask, "What subject and what school?" They never answer. If you are on Social Security, DO NOT say you are one a fixed income because you get a cost of living adjustment each year. I DO NOT. I now make LESS than I made eleven years ago. This upcoming school year makes twelve years. Since the K-12 teachers did not get a raise this year, we will not get one next year because the K-12 teaches always get one or two or six raises before the community colleges are at the front of the line. Sorry, I just needed to rant.
The fifth part of my new plan is to clean out my truck console. That should easily come up to fifty cents per year. Like the loose change at home, this source has dried up also due to the rise in debit card usage.
That leaves me looking for number six in the new plan which I have not yet nailed down. I thought about selling sunglasses on Facebook. You've seen all the adds? Open a Group Page and see how many people want to join your group. I get dozens of request to join my Vicarious Butt Beets group by people wanting to sell sunglasses. Really? Can there me that much money in selling sunglasses on Facebook?
Another thing I thought about was that wrap stuff. You know, that plastic wrap you put on your body to make yourself lose weight and become beautiful. I'm giving that a real think up. What are your thoughts? Would you buy from me if I go into the business? Would you be a repeat customer?
It may be going slowly, but it is going. Bethany Theilman, I am working on the "boat bag" as I call it, for next year's swim. One way or the other, I am handing off a heavy bag to the DFM representative who shows up at next year's Chicot Challenge. You can take that bag to the bank.
Wednesday, July 29, 2015
Big Hill Failure
I bombed. Totally. Not since I was a B 17 pilot have I bombed like that.
Yes, I made that up, the part about being a B 17 pilot. But if I had have been pilot on a bomber flying missions during war, I could not have bombed any more than I did Wednesday morning when I parked at Hill View Baptist Church to train for my Big Hill Challenge (see "The Big Hill Challenge" 7/16/2015). Two weeks ago, I make it up the tall monster twice in 11:37 and 11:52. Wednesday morning I hoped to go up another two repeats maybe even three and beat my times from before. I made one summit in 13:10. I attempted a second and stopped half way up at a 16:04 pace. I found a little patch of shade and tried not to die. Seriously.
The heat index was 102, but I have been running in that climate for weeks on end now. This morning, however, I knew I was on the edge of boiling my blood. I sat, panted, and wondered. What happened?
Was it
a) the temperature
b) the fact that I completed the Heart O' Dixie Triathlon less than a week ago
c) the fact that I squatted four sets at Plate City only one day before
d) all of the above
e) I am going backwards?
Over the years, I have noticed I always assign causation to multiple variables when I try to solve a riddle like this. I wish I could point to one thing and say that is it. Once more, I can't. The heat definitely was a factor. I should have been able to handle it better, but for whatever reason, I couldn't deal with it Wednesday. Also, there is no doubt I was not well recovered from the squat session the day before. Ordinarily I would not attempt a difficult workout following a difficult workout. But as they saw, nothing ventured nothing gained. Or maybe in this case, nothing ventured nothing lost.
I don't look at it as a total loss. I deposited another Big Hill into the bank account of my legs and lungs. Eventually I will make a withdrawal. I also learned a couple of things. First, I will not attempt this workout again until it either cools down some or I can get there earlier in the morning. Second, I won't try this after a leg-lifting day. Third, I still need to lose some weight. Fourth, I am still in the hope business. I fail but find a way to look on the bright side. I am not getting older, I just don't have my training dialed in yet. One day.
One day I'll get it right and run that hill like a child on the playground and ride that bike at the Heart O' Dixie like Lance Armstrong on steroids and EPO.
One day.
Yes, I made that up, the part about being a B 17 pilot. But if I had have been pilot on a bomber flying missions during war, I could not have bombed any more than I did Wednesday morning when I parked at Hill View Baptist Church to train for my Big Hill Challenge (see "The Big Hill Challenge" 7/16/2015). Two weeks ago, I make it up the tall monster twice in 11:37 and 11:52. Wednesday morning I hoped to go up another two repeats maybe even three and beat my times from before. I made one summit in 13:10. I attempted a second and stopped half way up at a 16:04 pace. I found a little patch of shade and tried not to die. Seriously.
The heat index was 102, but I have been running in that climate for weeks on end now. This morning, however, I knew I was on the edge of boiling my blood. I sat, panted, and wondered. What happened?
Was it
a) the temperature
b) the fact that I completed the Heart O' Dixie Triathlon less than a week ago
c) the fact that I squatted four sets at Plate City only one day before
d) all of the above
e) I am going backwards?
 |
| Part of the Big Hill |
I don't look at it as a total loss. I deposited another Big Hill into the bank account of my legs and lungs. Eventually I will make a withdrawal. I also learned a couple of things. First, I will not attempt this workout again until it either cools down some or I can get there earlier in the morning. Second, I won't try this after a leg-lifting day. Third, I still need to lose some weight. Fourth, I am still in the hope business. I fail but find a way to look on the bright side. I am not getting older, I just don't have my training dialed in yet. One day.
One day I'll get it right and run that hill like a child on the playground and ride that bike at the Heart O' Dixie like Lance Armstrong on steroids and EPO.
One day.
Monday, July 27, 2015
Luvie's Post
The week of 7/20 - 7/26 was a decent but not big training block. I treated it as a recovery week since I was trying to taper for my 17th Heart O' Dixie Triathlon, which I wrote about in the last post. Monday I was pretty much overwhelmed with the heat and only managed to shuffle 5.36 miles by breaking the run with some cool down walking between each jog. I also managed a 3,000 meter swim at Twin Rivers.
Tuesday I ran with Andrea, (see "Run in the Sun") and swam 2,400 at DSU, and Wednesday I shuffled 3.22 miles and hit the squat rack pretty hard as well and did some upper body weights. Then I went out for an tippy 2.45 miler early Thursday morning. After that it was all rest as I tried to get fresh for the HOD.
For the week, I
ran 20.13 miles,
swam 6,500 meters,
rode 27.5 miles,
lifted weights two times, and
walked 3.94 miles.
Next up is Bikes, Blues, and Bayous for 62 miles on the bicycle. No pressure for I will just ride this for fun probably do it with my daughter.
Tuesday I ran with Andrea, (see "Run in the Sun") and swam 2,400 at DSU, and Wednesday I shuffled 3.22 miles and hit the squat rack pretty hard as well and did some upper body weights. Then I went out for an tippy 2.45 miler early Thursday morning. After that it was all rest as I tried to get fresh for the HOD.
For the week, I
ran 20.13 miles,
swam 6,500 meters,
rode 27.5 miles,
lifted weights two times, and
walked 3.94 miles.
Next up is Bikes, Blues, and Bayous for 62 miles on the bicycle. No pressure for I will just ride this for fun probably do it with my daughter.
Sunday, July 26, 2015
Heart O' Dixie Triathlon 2015
The 2015 Heart O' Dixie Triathlon has come and gone and once more I was near the bottom of my age group. Several things were different about my training this year. I swam less but biked a little more and ran a lot more. The results reflected that.
We left Greenwood, Penny and I, about mid-afternoon Friday. The sun was bright, the humidity oppressive, and the temperature outrageously hot, but on the north and eastern horizon dark clouds were building in a threatening fashion. Not long after driving out of delta and into the hills, the storm hit with a uncommon fury. The rain came down gently, then hard, and the intensity continued to build. Traffic slowed until by necessity we were all creeping along at just a few miles per hour. Somebody stopped dead in the highway and we all had to follow suit. I saw a little side road and decided to ease off the four lane. The rain was coming sideways and it looked like clouds blowing across the road. As I was pulling off, the truck moved, was blown a few feet sideways across the pavement. "You need to pray right now," I told my wife. She did and we sat there and watched the wind for maybe two or three minutes until it slacked up some and we were able to resume our journey.
When we got to Louisville it was still dry but looking more and more like rain. We stopped at Lake Tiak-O'Khata and picked up my packet then resumed our journey to Noxapater where we had reservations with Aunt Mary and Uncle Paul. Mary Darby is the sole survivor of my paternal grandmother's nine children and is always happy to see us and us her. She cooked fried chicken and butter beans and squash and fried corn bread. I ate too much and resented it the next day. What else is new?
That storm that hit us Friday afternoon came through in the night and cooled things off. The water in the lake was far from cool but it felt better than usual. Despite having swum 19 miles in June, I was not in top form on race morning because I just have not swum much of late. I did swim well, however, and knocked off a 12:37 which was actually a few seconds faster than last year's 12:52 and good enough for top spot in my age group. My T1 was even a few seconds faster as I decided to forgo wearing a shirt for the bike leg.
On the bicycle, the temp was comfortable and I quickly found a rhythm and felt confident on two wheels. Nevertheless, I was passed over and over just like a year ago. Once, some guy passed who had the biggest snot bubble on the end of his nose that I have ever seen in my life. It was flapping in the wind, hitting his cheek and upper lip. I was shocked, amazed, and sickened. After he passed, I alternated between gagging and laughing out loud. Later I saw a large woman crash and all her gels and bottles scattered across the highway. Since there was a firetruck, several firemen and some other race volunteers on site (there is warn people about the pavement), I didn't stop. I finished the 27.5-miles bike leg in 1:34:10 compared to 1:40:50 in 2014. A little more riding this year, a little faster time in the race.
The cool temps we had on the bike quickly left us as the sky cleared and the heat built just in time for the run. It always does, and that is one of the memories that has enabled much of my training in the heat this year. Every day I went out to suffer in the 105 and over heat indexes, I reminded myself that I would have to run in similar conditions at the HOD.
As usual, the run was a little less than I hoped for. I did it in 1:13:18 as compared to 1:16:40 of a year ago. I fell off pace after that hill at mile four, like I always do, and I even fell off more on the dirt horse track at the finish on the Neshoba County Fairgrounds. The heat had gotten dangerous by then. I dropped my overall time from 3:17:08 to 3:05:15. That was a nice improvement, but still short of the sub-three hour time I was shooting for.
Maybe next year.
When we got home, I was flipping through an old notebook and found where I had written out a strategy for achieving my time goal at the 2015 tri. Here is what I wrote down a year ago:
1. Ride the bicycle every week of the year.
2. Squat every week of the year.
3. Sign up as early as possible.
4. Work on my weight every week of the year.
5. Do transition work on the trainer and treadmill.
6. Get some new biking shoes.
7. Get running shoes I can wear without socks.
8. Build long bricks.
9. Commit to stretching.
The only one of those I did was number seven, buy new biking shoes. So to achieve a sub-three hour HOD in 2016, I am writing down one step.
10. Do the above.
This year's Heart O' Dixie Triathlon is another illustration of a biblical truth: You reap what you sow. Sow sparingly, reap sparingly. I hope to sow a little more for next year's race when I will be in a new age group. Maybe then I can climb off the bottom.
We left Greenwood, Penny and I, about mid-afternoon Friday. The sun was bright, the humidity oppressive, and the temperature outrageously hot, but on the north and eastern horizon dark clouds were building in a threatening fashion. Not long after driving out of delta and into the hills, the storm hit with a uncommon fury. The rain came down gently, then hard, and the intensity continued to build. Traffic slowed until by necessity we were all creeping along at just a few miles per hour. Somebody stopped dead in the highway and we all had to follow suit. I saw a little side road and decided to ease off the four lane. The rain was coming sideways and it looked like clouds blowing across the road. As I was pulling off, the truck moved, was blown a few feet sideways across the pavement. "You need to pray right now," I told my wife. She did and we sat there and watched the wind for maybe two or three minutes until it slacked up some and we were able to resume our journey.
When we got to Louisville it was still dry but looking more and more like rain. We stopped at Lake Tiak-O'Khata and picked up my packet then resumed our journey to Noxapater where we had reservations with Aunt Mary and Uncle Paul. Mary Darby is the sole survivor of my paternal grandmother's nine children and is always happy to see us and us her. She cooked fried chicken and butter beans and squash and fried corn bread. I ate too much and resented it the next day. What else is new?
That storm that hit us Friday afternoon came through in the night and cooled things off. The water in the lake was far from cool but it felt better than usual. Despite having swum 19 miles in June, I was not in top form on race morning because I just have not swum much of late. I did swim well, however, and knocked off a 12:37 which was actually a few seconds faster than last year's 12:52 and good enough for top spot in my age group. My T1 was even a few seconds faster as I decided to forgo wearing a shirt for the bike leg.
On the bicycle, the temp was comfortable and I quickly found a rhythm and felt confident on two wheels. Nevertheless, I was passed over and over just like a year ago. Once, some guy passed who had the biggest snot bubble on the end of his nose that I have ever seen in my life. It was flapping in the wind, hitting his cheek and upper lip. I was shocked, amazed, and sickened. After he passed, I alternated between gagging and laughing out loud. Later I saw a large woman crash and all her gels and bottles scattered across the highway. Since there was a firetruck, several firemen and some other race volunteers on site (there is warn people about the pavement), I didn't stop. I finished the 27.5-miles bike leg in 1:34:10 compared to 1:40:50 in 2014. A little more riding this year, a little faster time in the race.
The cool temps we had on the bike quickly left us as the sky cleared and the heat built just in time for the run. It always does, and that is one of the memories that has enabled much of my training in the heat this year. Every day I went out to suffer in the 105 and over heat indexes, I reminded myself that I would have to run in similar conditions at the HOD.
As usual, the run was a little less than I hoped for. I did it in 1:13:18 as compared to 1:16:40 of a year ago. I fell off pace after that hill at mile four, like I always do, and I even fell off more on the dirt horse track at the finish on the Neshoba County Fairgrounds. The heat had gotten dangerous by then. I dropped my overall time from 3:17:08 to 3:05:15. That was a nice improvement, but still short of the sub-three hour time I was shooting for.
Maybe next year.
When we got home, I was flipping through an old notebook and found where I had written out a strategy for achieving my time goal at the 2015 tri. Here is what I wrote down a year ago:
1. Ride the bicycle every week of the year.
2. Squat every week of the year.
3. Sign up as early as possible.
4. Work on my weight every week of the year.
5. Do transition work on the trainer and treadmill.
6. Get some new biking shoes.
7. Get running shoes I can wear without socks.
8. Build long bricks.
9. Commit to stretching.
The only one of those I did was number seven, buy new biking shoes. So to achieve a sub-three hour HOD in 2016, I am writing down one step.
10. Do the above.
This year's Heart O' Dixie Triathlon is another illustration of a biblical truth: You reap what you sow. Sow sparingly, reap sparingly. I hope to sow a little more for next year's race when I will be in a new age group. Maybe then I can climb off the bottom.
Friday, July 24, 2015
Little Red
It’s been a tough summer, and I told myself I had to stop falling in love; I’m tired of having a broken heart. Most people would think it’s silly, juvenile, and even unmanly that I keep falling for creatures, however lovely, that I hardly know. And then the disappointment always comes like the oppressive Mississippi heat with the month of June. I seem never to learn.
The first heartbreak of 2011 came with a routine bike ride I and a few buddies took out Money Road. As I rode up the ramp of the Tallahatchie Bridge going back into Greenwood at the end of our ride, I saw a cat. It is an odd place to see a cat, and I had never seen one there before. What struck me most about this feline, however, was his resemblance to a real-man tomcat named Tiger I knew from Webster County.
Tiger is a yellow tabby who works for Payne’s Country Store near the border of Montgomery and Webster Counties on Highway 404. Chris and Sheila Payne opened the store in the late summer of 2010. While remodeling prior to their grand opening, they were routinely visited by a muscular, scar-faced tom whom they eventually hired to serve as their store’s mascot. On my frequent Webster County rides, I always stopped at Payne’s store and never left until I had eaten, used the bathroom, and spent some time with Tiger.
Yellow tabbies aren’t that rare, but Tiger was a dark, dark yellow, a bit unlike any I had ever seen before. The cat on the bridge was dark like that, and I immediately thought of Tiger. I turned around that day and went back to take a second look. A walker was making his way over the bridge at the same time.
“Did you see that cat?” I asked. The cat by this time was gone, already only a memory.
“Yeah,” he answered.
“Is he yours?” I eagerly inquired.
“No,” was all he said as he power-walked up the bridge not missing a stride.
After a ride, we always stop at Bankston School just on the south side of the bridge. At Bankston, I asked my buddies if they had seen the cat. No one had and no one was even slightly interested in my concern. I felt a million miles from them all, like I was a totally different kind of person than them.
I was teaching summer school at the time, and the next day during break I dialed up Payne’s Country Store.
“Chris,” I said. “This is Zane, the bike rider. How is Tiger?” There was a slight pause before he answered, and I knew something was wrong.
“We haven’t seen him in a long time,” he responded.
I don’t remember anything either of us said after that, and I had great difficulty functioning the rest of the day. I just wanted to mourn, and I felt all alone, like no one would or could understand or care about the way I felt.
My second heartbreak of the year came after the Dragonfly Triathlon on June 18th. Young Marcus and I got up early and rode to the lower lake at Sardis. I call him Young Marcus because he is young, twenty-three, the son of one of my good friends, Brian Waldrop. While Brian has turned into a P 90 Ex-triathlete, Young Marcus has become one of my chief training partners.
On the way up, I promised him a tour of some of my northern riding territory on our trip home, and I also told him about Barney the tomcat who works security at a little store on the south side of the hamlet named Pope.
When we got to Pope, I checked the steps and not seeing Barney, I went inside to ask some questions. The girl behind the counter recognized me and quipped, “Long time no see,” she said.
“My buddy and I did a triathlon in Sardis,” I answered while I pulled a Diet Sprite out of the cooler. “Stopped by to check on Barney.” The look in her eyes said it all before she opened her mouth.
“We haven’t seen him in about four months,” she said. Then lowering her voice she whispered, “I think the new owner,” she cut her eyes hard to her right, “hauled in off.”
I was stunned and followed the line of her eyes to the back side of a fat man who was cooking on the griddle. After that I really don’t remember much. I do remember vacillating between rage and sadness. Luckily, after that Young Marcus went to sleep and never knew I cried all the way home. I have to quit falling in love with cats I told myself over and over.
My wife called him Little Red, and we saw him for the first time a couple of years ago. He lived in a ghost town, Money, Mississippi about ten miles north of Greenwood. We had driven to Money and ridden our bikes in the area. When we were leaving, she shouted out, “There’s a fox back there!”
I backed up and there he was sitting on an old concrete tire pit in front of what once was Ben Roy’s Service in downtown Money. He was grooming himself like a cat and his beauty lit up the landscape. When we got too close, he jumped down and just seemed to disappear into the earth. I stopped the truck and walked over to where he had vanished. There in the lawn of Ben Roy’s Service was an old culvert, going where I suppose only God and Little Red knew.
A week or two later, Brian Waldrop and I were riding our bikes through Money and Little Red came running across the road moving as fast as anything I’d ever seen. He was glorious in his speed, his long thin legs eating up the ground and road like a cheetah on the plains of Africa and his tail following behind like flames coming from a jet engine. I yelled out in surprise and delight, and even Brian did a double take.
I drive Money Road every Tuesday and Thursday night coming home from Masters Swim Practice at DSU in Cleveland. One night I saw Little Red’s eyes just barely in the light of my headlamps as he crossed the road right there at Ben Roy’s Service. Another night, I caught him on the first bridge north of Money. He must have been going forty-miles per hour by the time he made it off the bridge.
Then I didn’t see him anymore for a long time, maybe a year or more. Really, I thought he was dead. But one Tuesday night in June, the twenty-eighth to be exact, I was returning from Masters Swim and just when I was right there at Ben Roy’s, I saw a flash to my left and then there was a thud as my truck struck something.
“No, please no,” I cried out as I turned around and rode back to see what had happened.
But I already knew and when I got out of the truck I saw Little Red lying in the road. I put my left hand on his side and told him over and over how sorry I was. The only sign of life was a slight twitching in his back muscles. I am sure he did not suffer nor fear me, but that was little consolation. Not being able to bear the thought of other automobiles or animals mutilating his body, I took him home with me. Once there, I chose an appropriate T-shirt, my Eagleman Triathlon shirt, to wrap him in. I buried him in my wife’s flower garden. Then I went to bed and cried myself to sleep.
Thursday, July 23, 2015
Run in the Sun
Besides serving as a tour guide for the personable and charming Anna VanWinkle, Tuesday was special for another reason. I took a run with my daughter, which is always memorable. The run itself wasn't fun much, but that we did it together was.
It was hot.
It was very hot.
It was dangerously hot.
I rarely complain about high temperatures, but I made an exception this time because the afternoon was so blazing that I even got a little worried I might die out there. Seriously.
It was a spur of the moment sort of thing. "Let's take a run," I chipped in, and she was all for it. We did a quick change and were headed west on Laughlin Road in no time flat. Not too far down the gravel path, less than half a mile, we found a little entrance into a soybean field and we took it enjoying the soft dirt turnrow under our feet. But the farmer was irrigating and the 107 heat index the Weather Channel App on my phone proclaimed was most likely far short of the actual conditions we faced. It got so bad that Andrea walked several times, crying at her inability to run, while I barely kept a shuffle and doubled back from time to time.
We made a big rectangle around the bean field, and when we came upon a little patch of trees in the ditch that bordered the field, we stopped to avail ourselves of the only shade in sight. Lucky, Andrea's moose-sized rescue dog, was with us and he caught a mockingbird but was too lethargic to keep it, and the bird luckily lept back into the bush. The birds, which filled the trees and bush in that little oasis of cover, like us, didn't want to move. They too were suffering in the oppressive heat.
Before it was over, I shuffle 2.5 miles at lawn mower speed, and we both had to walk in. I loved on Smu, Buttons, and Caitlin, and then was off the DSU and masters swim for the first time in what seemed like forever. I saw Ricky Smith, Mark Blackwood, Manuella, and a couple of other people I did not know. I only did 2,400 was done, worn out from a long day of stimulation and exercise.
It was hot.
It was very hot.
It was dangerously hot.
I rarely complain about high temperatures, but I made an exception this time because the afternoon was so blazing that I even got a little worried I might die out there. Seriously.
It was a spur of the moment sort of thing. "Let's take a run," I chipped in, and she was all for it. We did a quick change and were headed west on Laughlin Road in no time flat. Not too far down the gravel path, less than half a mile, we found a little entrance into a soybean field and we took it enjoying the soft dirt turnrow under our feet. But the farmer was irrigating and the 107 heat index the Weather Channel App on my phone proclaimed was most likely far short of the actual conditions we faced. It got so bad that Andrea walked several times, crying at her inability to run, while I barely kept a shuffle and doubled back from time to time.
We made a big rectangle around the bean field, and when we came upon a little patch of trees in the ditch that bordered the field, we stopped to avail ourselves of the only shade in sight. Lucky, Andrea's moose-sized rescue dog, was with us and he caught a mockingbird but was too lethargic to keep it, and the bird luckily lept back into the bush. The birds, which filled the trees and bush in that little oasis of cover, like us, didn't want to move. They too were suffering in the oppressive heat.
Before it was over, I shuffle 2.5 miles at lawn mower speed, and we both had to walk in. I loved on Smu, Buttons, and Caitlin, and then was off the DSU and masters swim for the first time in what seemed like forever. I saw Ricky Smith, Mark Blackwood, Manuella, and a couple of other people I did not know. I only did 2,400 was done, worn out from a long day of stimulation and exercise.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)