I’ll Rise Above It, I’m A Professional - FNF

Has this ever happened to you?

Little Sandwiches

(You can click by the ad in a few seconds)

No, I don’t mean having a meltdown over the condiments backstage, I mean making the decision to not sweat the small stuff (oh, and just for the record, it’s _not_ all small stuff, Dr. Carlson(with apologies to his family)).

Most of it is, however. Certainly an olive lacking a pimento stuffing is small stuff, as is snapping the derailleur, bending a spoke, and twisting the chain off my MTB last weekend when a stick jammed in the rear wheel. Missing parts for an auto repair could be big, if it results in not being able to get to work and losing your job. However, in GeWillie’s case, we know it’s not.

I’m lucky. Very lucky. I’ve had some major incidents occur this year, but nothing that could qualify as ‘big stuff’, IOW – nothing that resulted in a serious disruption. Nothing that we weren’t able to ‘absorb’.

Many others are/were not so fortunate over the past year. I’m not going to go into a long list of the good and bad over this past year, there’s plenty of that about, but I will talk about my new years’ resolution.

It’s mundane, in the grand scheme of things, to say the least. In fact, it’s not as much of a resolution as it is putting a long-term plan into action. A plan I’ve been harboring for a few years now, waiting to unleash on an un-suspecting public.

In 2012 I will turn 50 years old (no, that isn’t my resolution, dipshit). Can you remember the first time you were cognizant of a 50-year-old being 50 years old? 30 years ago, there was old, and there wasn’t. I didn’t know too many 50-year-olds, and the ones I did know weren’t very tolerant of me (with good reason, I might add). Well, now I’m that age, and I think I’m more tolerant of impetuous youth than most of the people I knew who are a generation ahead of me. That isn’t to say though, that If I were to meet a 20-year-old me I wouldn’t feel like giving me/him a bitch slap.

No, It’s not a point of me being 50, it’s a point of goals. I don’t know of anyone in my demographic who has any goals of note, but that’s understandable. When you get to the half-century mark, unless your life has serious problems, your goals are generally “lose weight”, “eat healthy”, “spend less money on porn”, etc…..not me.

I’ve been planning something _big_.....for me anyways. Ready?

When I’m 50 years old, I want to run a 5 minute mile. Just one. I already know I can run a 440 in 1:10 with a reasonable amount of training, but it was painful, and I wouldn't be able to do it twice within a few days. A couple of years ago I ran 4 – 440’s at 1:15, but that was interval training, and I needed significant recovery in between. At that time, I could break a 6 minute mile and did so in quite a few running races – that would be for like, the first mile.

Now, I know it’s a tall order. According to the USATF 2011 masters outdoor track national championships results, very few 50-55 men can run that pace, and none of the 50-55 women can. Granted, those are for a 1500 meter event, but the math is easy. A five minute mile translates into about a 4:40 1500. If I could run 5 minute mile, that would put me in the top ten nationally. So, yeah…tall order. I live next to our local high school, and their track is open to the public for all intents and purposes. It’s a good track, one of those rubberized jobs designed to drain water. As an ancillary goal, I’d also like to run a sub-30 minute 5 mile road race. That’s going to be orders of magnitude easier, since I was able to get two races in the past few years at a 6:10 pace. Trimming that to a 6:00 pace shouldn't be too hard.

I’m giving myself until September 10, 2013 to reach this goal. That’s my 51^st birthday. I’ll train this year – lots of short intervals, and see where I am on September 10. Then I’ll hire a coach to get me the rest of the way. I don’t know who yet, but I’ll find someone by then.

Back to the point of this entry - sweating small stuff – Even if I don’t run a 5 minute mile by my 51^st birthday, I won’t view it as a massive failure. Who knows, I may be physically unable to run a 5 minute mile. I may _never_ have been able to run a 5 minute mile. I’ll never know until I try. If I do, great. If not, it won’t be because I didn't give it an honest effort.

In the end, in the grand scheme of things, no one will really care but me. My obituary won’t read “ran a 4:59 mile on September 9, 2013”. Even if it did, I would hope people would see it as something admirable, but not something that defined me, and not the sole notable accomplishment of my life. Because it really _is_ a little thing.

But, I know you didn’t come here to read some narcissistic blather about me and my goals. You know what you came here for, and here she is…

The Greatest Story Ever Told

Sorry my perverted peeps, no FNF today. Instead, I leave you with a link to a blogger/author with possibly the finest wit on the web.

Behold....The Year Kenny Loggins Ruined Christmas

Totally safe for work and family, provided you don't take immaculate conception too seriously

FNF - An Homage To Steve Jobs

There's probably nothing in the following blog entry that you either don't already know, will change any opinions you have about the late mogul, or possibly even care about. However, in a diversion from the usual pabulum the readers of this blog usually endure, I felt a compulsion to regurgitate an entirely different flavor of pabulum. I know there are at least a few of you who will appreciate this blog entry, and it's for you that I publish such nonsense.
Love him or hate him, Steve Jobs was an enigma who in no small part helped shape society as we've come to know it. While I'm sure he _imagined_ the ubiquity of his "I" devices, it's probably not possible he could have predicted how smartphones and personal audio devices have be ascribed the generic labels of Iphone and Ipod, or how the "I" prefix would be been co-opted by just about every two bit marketing douche trying to sell some useless and unusable low-cost gadget. I'm sure he was satisfied how Pixar animation studios created an entirely new genre of movies that redefined what the world has come to expect in animation, while lamenting how The windows operating system 'adopted' the apple 'point and click' graphic user interface to become the worlds predominant computer operating system.
But, I'm sure even the visionary Jobs couldn't have predicted what is arguably one of the most appreciated results of his drive, ingenuity, and tenacity (by those of my ilk). Of course, I refer to the "sext message". Certainly, sending spontaneous sexually explicit text messages and pictures predated the introduction of the Iphone by several years, but it took the integration of sexy hip applications into a sexy hip package sold by a sexy hip marketing plan - all created and driven by Steve Jobs - to bring us the delightful cornucopia of media by sexy hip hotties that people of my age could only imagine when we were young and single enough to actually consider doing any more than reposting them in a lame blog entry.

I leave you with a special FNF treat, an Iphone photo essay.

FNF - If I was any less motivated my heart would stop and I would die

Just fucking die. Yes, it's that end of the season doldrums. I have no more racing scheduled, and don't want to. I _should_ be attempting to motivate for my weight training phase...ok, got one set in monday...but when I got home tonight...

nothing...

nada.....

zzzzzzz.....

I had full intentions of riding on the road at work today (I'm actually writing this wednesday night), but had a dr's appt in the afternoon so I couldn't afford the long 'lunch'. Got to the Dr's office and it was closed. Checked my phone for a message....found it was off....turned it on....there was the message.....recorded at 9:30 this morning.

If I had the thing on I would have got the message before lunch and gone on the ride....

Get the message?

So now I'm doing one of my default uber-boredom pastimes: web surfing for my two favorite things in the world - bikes and lesbians. So here it is, written wednesday and thursday for a FNF post - Bikes and Lesbians (in special consideration for my friend-from-down-under)

Enjoy.

Peace Out, Mother Fuckers

Paradise

(Click here for the soundtrack to this blog entry, turn it up)

I've been thinking about death lately. I can't say there's been any specific reason. I don't recall any specific trigger such as the death of anyone I know that started it, but it occurred to me that death has been on my mind for some time now. Sporadically, though often enough that I've begun to think not only about death but I've also to think about thinking about death.

A couple of weeks ago I saw the old Italian film by Vittorio De Sica " Bicycle Thieves " on the TCM network. I can't say it was particularly compelling. It seemed strained....contrived. Probably that it was filmed in 1948 and was subtitled didn't help. Probably that it was intended for a post-war Italian audience didn't help.

One thing it definitely was - nihilistic.

I'm not nihilistic, but these thoughts I've been having regarding the nature and implications of death from both personal and influential perspectives certainly seem to be. Bicycle Thieves makes no bones about nihilism. De Sica might just have well ended the film with a graphic that said "what's the fucking point" instead of "Fine" (that's pronounced "feen-ay" for you English-only types).

From time to time, I look at my life and everyone else’s on the planet in the context of the implications of the consequences of our actions 100's of millennia from now. Realistically, it won't fucking matter. It won't matter to anyone (if anyone is still alive) 10,000 years from now if I'm rich or poor, altruistic or greedy, industrious or lazy. It doesn't make any difference to me now if Oog drew a woolly mammoth on his cave wall in Lascaux 20,000 years ago, and it won't matter 20,000 years from now if I publish this blog post or not.

(spoiler alert!)

In Bicycle Thieves, Antonio Ricci is scrambling for a job to support his family in post-war Rome. He gets one as a bill poster, but it requires a bicycle to get to the job locations. His bicycle is broken, and in order to pay for the repair he is forced to sell his wedding linens. The first day on the job his bicycle is stolen and the rest of the movie is spent on the recovery effort. His relationship with his young son is pushed as he tries to maintain a sense of morality for his sons benefit in the midst of the sinking depression that he knows he might not be able to feed him tomorrow. In the end, in order to keep his job he attempts to steal a bike, but is caught immediately. He is surrounded by friends of the owner of the bike, ready to beat him to a bloody pulp at the word of the victim. The victim orders them to let him go, as he can do no more harm. I got the impression that De Sica was trying to evoke the sentiment that Antonio was already dead inside, and the owner of the bike knew that. Antonio started the movie living as an inconsequential member of the nameless masses, and that's how he ended it, if you can call that living.

I'm not dead inside. I realized that when I watched the movie. I have a sense of purpose, regardless of whether that sense has any long term implications or not.

Now, I suppose the argument could be made that Oogs cave drawings did indeed have a bearing on humanity 20,000 years hence. One could argue that Oogs drawings were created with a sense of purpose, much like the sense of purpose this blog is written with. One could argue: as Homo sapiens sapiens evolved, the expression of daily life in cave drawings evolved into art as it is known today. One could argue that Bicycle Thieves had a critical influence on modern cinema. These things may be true. This is why I’m not a nihilist, still, I’m hardly an optimist.

One day this drifting mass of rock mostly covered with water and suffering from an infection known as the human race will be reduced to its constituent elements as our sun transforms into a red giant and engulfs all the planets in the inner solar system. We'll be long gone by then, and any mark that any one of us is arrogant enough to consider to have been relevant will cease to be. At that instance, the shit I left in my toilet this morning will be roughly equivalent in importance to the entire works of Shakespeare and Mozart, and Oog combined.

But I have a sense of purpose. To be honest, I have no idea what it is. I know it’s what gets me up in the morning. I know it’s what makes me want to draft trucks at 46 MPH (NSFW), or drink the occasional toxic distillate. It's what makes me want to defend my wife and daughter with my life, and why I know I'll be an emotional wreck when the day comes that I'll have to put my dog into her final sleep. I am alive inside.

I may be cynical and pessimistic, and I may not get the point of it all, but I’m not a nihilist. I’m not dead inside…….yet....but one day I hope to find paradise, be it here or in any possible existence after.

FNF - Drafting Revisited

You kind of expect to hear that bad 70's porn music right about now - bow chicka wow wow...

Anyways....

Generally speaking I don't find that new hampshire has much to offer a socialist liberal atheist like myself. However, they do two things very well - they maintain the national forest land, and they keep their roads in great shape. One of the sections of road I have to travel to get to my job now is a 4 mile stretch of route 111 where it crosses route 3 and heads west ( yes, in new hampshire, just in case you aren't aware). I actually take route 111 from Windham near the route 93 interchange to quite near the Mass border for my commute, but for the purposes of this blog entry, we'll stick with the western terminus.

This section of road is - much like the rest of route 111 all the way to the seacoast - in great shape. Smooth, wide shoulders, very few patches or any other non-asphalt items to break up the tarmac. Add to that very gentle sweeping corners, very flat terrain, no stop signs or stop lights, and nothing but residential side roads, and you have a good road for driving and riding...and drafting.

Wednesday morning I crossed the highway and saw a large box truck waiting at the last stop light for the next 4 miles. It popped it into the big ring, passed a few cars and tucked in behind the truck. I had no idea how far he was going. He could very well have pulled off at the next side road.

But he didn't.

He kept going...and going....and going.

He kept a smooth steady pace of about 40 for most of it, but as he crossed the town line from nashua to hollis, he pushed the speed up to about 45. My computer registered a maximum speed of 46.8. That's a drafting record for me, my previous some years ago being 46.


Now, I know what you're thinking...."47 mph on flat ground? something is wrong with your computer".

Well, no. You can see from the downloaded data above my cadence was in the high 120s.

Do the math.

A 700c wheel with a 23C tire has a circumference of 6.67 feet. I have a 53x11 on this bike which is a ratio of 4.81, so one turn of the cranks moves the bike 32 feet (4.81*6.67 = 32.13).

47 mph is 4136 feet per minute. Therefore, if you divide the speed by the distance for each pedal revolution, you get you cadence in revolutions per minute. 4136/32.13 = 128.7 rpm. Check the max cadence in the data above, you get...128 RPM.

You can also see from the data I wasn't working very hard. My heart rate actually dropped as my speed increased. Aside from the initial effort to catch the draft (peaked at 650 watts), it was pretty easy going.

But, I know you didn't come here today for a math lesson, so here is what you _did_ come for, Fully Naked Friday, Gotta luv a woman that can accessorize.......

Enjoy

FnF - on the precipice of a cataclysm

Sometimes the irony of life really makes you stop and wonder. Regular readers of this blog probably know that I do rather stupid things on a regular basis, generally involving going very fast on bicycles behind large vehicles on public roadways. You need to have a bike you can trust for that, as well as be very trusting of the the condition of the road and the driver of the vehicle you're drafting.

Some of you may remember last winters' project - the Quasi-Kellog built up as fixed-gear (39x14). I rode the bike to a cookout last weekend, 22+ miles, relatively flat with a few short steep hills that require getting out of the saddle in the drops and muscling the bike over the pitch. Less than a mile from my destination, I hopped into a truck draft while it cruised through danvers at 30 mph.



It only lasted about a 1/4 mile, but spinning a 39x14 at 30 mph in 95 degree heat takes a bit out of you (that's a cadence of about 140 for you non-math majors)

So I get to the event, ride up to the hosts and my wife (she drove down) to let them know I'm there. We chat for a minute, and I get my car keys to go load my bike in the car and get my clothes. I step back into the pedals, and with the first stroke I hear this sickening slow crack. The handle bar snapped.

The initial crack.



This is after I ripped it apart.



Less than a mile earlier, I was drafting a truck at 30 mph.

Gotta luv the irony of life.

Here it is, Your Fully Naked Friday