Day fifty-nine whine

"Any man who fails in the attempt to improve himself, has earned a major victory."

Fresh with the bittersweet taste of a hard, yet diminished effort, I examine the results once more.

Fact: For over a year now I have watched helplessly as a yet to be diagnosed malady has reduced my fitness and power levels like a budget cutting bureaucrat. We have detected an irregular heart rate, atrial fibrillation, and Bradycardia, an abnormally low heart rate. What we haven't diagnosed, though not from lack of testing, is what other organ, chemical, hormone, nerve or 'itis" is causing these horrible and relentless angina-like symptoms. The worst of them being chest pain, stabbing GI pangs, constant dizziness and inability to sleep. No wonder stress levels are high and blood pressure rising.

Through all of this, punctuated by five visits to the ER when critical mass closes in, I have been able to hang onto indoor cycling as the sole balancing activity. Even with greatly reduced maximal power I can still, barely, eek out an hour. It is the only time I actuality feel OK, most likely as a result of increased HR during the joyous activity. There have been times when I have felt devastated after a session, but always glad for the effort.

Which takes us full cycle. Last night, I used myself as lab rat once again and executed our standard 20 minute FTP (functional threshold power) test. It is on a flat course with the sole objective to generate as many watts as possible. Some folks avoid this test like Superman avoids kryptonite. I was nervous. Not so much from fear of failure, but fear of inflicting additional damage to an already compromised system. The system of me. But I needed to know. I'll do the test and give me the results please.

I was testing with Gretch, a very skilled and talented athlete, one of our strongest ladies. Chris, the evening before had posted a house record, otherworldly 371. I was inspired by his effort and ready to dial it up and see just how far I had sunk into the dark hole of power mediocrity.

And off we went. It hurt from the get go. I could see from my real-time power display what my lungs and legs we telling with vigor and volume: YOU CAN STOP THIS HURT ANYTIME, JUST QUIT.

There are a million and one excuses. I could have claimed that my irregular heart rate was not transporting sufficient oxygenated blood to gluteus, quads, hammys and calves. I could have stopped peddling, grabbed my water bottle and left the room. No one would have thought the less of me.

Except me.

So I took a sideways glance at Gretchen who was fighting her own private war, on the same course, the same duration, the same battlefield on the same mission, and decided to carry on in the best, most efficient, strongest manner I could for the remainder of the test, now less than ten minutes from completion. OMG. I need a strategy and fast. OK.

One complete minute at a time. Gimme 60 solid seconds. Focus on now. Try to control the laboring of breaths. Make the circles round, relax. And above all enjoy the ride. ENJOY?Commit to this, this now. RIGHT FUCKING HERE. This opportunity may never have as much impact and value as does this next tenth of a mile, this next heart beat (whatever the distance between) and the creation of a glorious 250 watts of power, brought to life by MY EFFORT. Yes, yes, there is joy here. It is called focused effort. It is as pure as it is real. It is cathartic, transformative. I will die before I will quit.

With five minutes remaining I am shot. I can hold on but I have already done the math. I know I can hold 240. Now I am dealing with the take-away. Two years ago I was at 267, meaning I have lost 26 average watts. I gave 10% to a worthy charity somewhere. Lost it, gone.

And I was sad. For about ten seconds.

Finishing, catching breath, calming the system, analyzing damage reports, congratulating Gretchen, dealing with the enormous after-glow of maximal effort, it came into view:

That isn't loss or failure unless I label it as such. My power may be down but I am not out. I survived the demanding test and posted a number that reflects my current ability to maintain a power average. That average is an important indicator of many things, some of which, amazingly have nothing to to with fitness.

And everything to do with happiness, confidence and purpose.

Yes, my power is down. Here, now, I get to start climbing the road back. I have a target, a goal that will motivate, inspire and keep me moving in the altruistic direction upon which my soul insists. I have purpose, a primary objective. A bull's-eye on a hilltop ten miles away.

So I say again, "Any man who fails in the attempt to improve himself has earned a major victory."

To failure then. See you on the road. Cheers!

Day fifty-eight

What shall I write about today? Out of the ten thousand possibilities I must choose one. I can narrow it down, categorically, to the things I most enjoy;

Fitness exercise in triathlon training.
Music, literature, film, art.
Witnessing this incredibly challenging phase of my life.

There should be a story of some kind there, one would think. 

I remember reading once about a Zen master that was so skilled at staying present, that even on his death bed he was instructing his gathered and grieving students on the power of awareness. He then made the transition with dignity and grace, totally in the moment.

This story provides mountains of inspiration for me as I practice its lesson with symptoms that feel increasingly similar.

End of story.

Start of practice.

Day fifty-seven fire sale

I hate to do this. However, I suppose I should get used to it because there is more in store. This bike, Phoenix Red, is a hybrid. The components initially energized my Softride PowerWing until she was put to pasture. We took all the good stuff, Ultergra, Spynergy, a huge 56 front ring and built them into a Kestrel KM-40 frame, and out of the ashes she rose. 650 wheels on a medium frame is perfect for a 5-8 - 6-0 pilot. She flies. Many, many times we have nodded in passing 6K worth of "faster" bikes. She can be yours for $950. I hate to do this.

And yes, the CompuTrainer six-person Multi-Rider set up is o/s as well. With computer, projector and big screen. Come and get it (we are in the Seattle area) all for $7,500. Bikes not included. These fire sales can be painful.

Day fifty-six

A blog bent as far towards triathlon as this one should take a clue from the title numerology. Connect those topical dots to finish with the bike leg distance of a half-ironman, I hear you say. Well, I love riding 56 hard miles and then seeing how long I can hold maximum run pace for another 13.1. In the sun. Drained. Sweaty, dirty, dog-tired and thrilled to be alive. Is that imagery enough for today? No way, more, I hear you plead.

Yesterday was a good one. Two indoor sessions, the first an interval set for 60 and the second, ten recovery hours later a 2x20 set at 90% of FTP. Man that felt good. Better yet was what happened after. As in nothing. No death-like symptoms, no chest pain, no dizzyness. I even had a couple of good dreams. Tell us about the dreams, you ask.

Alright. You know that for almost a year when I do sleep the dreams are dark, filled with enough anxiety to fill an Olympic pool. Foreboding and bleak. Grey as Seattle's winter skies. Bit last night (coming off the aforementioned sessions) I am walking along the path to my condo by the sea. It is sunset, warm and beautiful. The sexiness of Hawaii. I am walking behind a girl in a yellow bikini. She has long sandy-blond hair and a deep tan. I say hi. She turns and I immediately see pain in her big blue eyes. I ask what happened and as she is sharing the hurt she moves closer seeking physical comfort. Naturally I oblige. But as we are standing in embrace I notice people are watching. So I give her my room number (14) and walk away.

Once in my room (a mess) I get a knock on the door and it is another girl holding a huge softball trophy. She is elated, proud and wanting to celebrate her, and her team's victory. Before I can tell her that I am expecting company, she barges in and plants her sweet lips on mine with such beautiful intent that I cannot resist. Guess I am a sucker for gals in uniform.

In my dream I evoke the fourth estate and give the subconscious camera a wink, thinking, 'from famine to feast.'

Several sexual images ensue and I remember feeling a touch worried that I would soon be having to explain things.

Explain what, you ask?

I don't know. YOU TELL ME.

Lastly today, Day 56 you will recall, is this little spot I mashed up for Westside Pizza yesterday. Earn your Slice amigos.

Day fifty-five

This one kinda jumped up and stared me in the eye. Unblinking and deadly serious. Along with rapping index-finger jabs to my chest, each of which seemed to unleash 200 volts of challenge, truth and opportunity.

Amperage in the nano-second. The meter way right. Red zone with nowhere to hide. Hear this:

"It's the form praying takes in me."

I have borrowed this powerful one-liner from Pat Conroy, he of Beach Music, Lords of Discipline, Prince of Tides and the Great Santini fame. I love his style. As my old friend, author and entrepreneur Snorkel Bob used to say, 'He can really twist-up a sentence."

Mr. Conroy was using the metaphor of basketball with this twist up. But by the time the full impact of his meaning met me at eye level, I was heart and soul

What form does MY praying  take?

I think you might know.

When I turn the pedals in perfect harmony of mind, body and spirit, breathing into the groove zone, that is pretty close for me. Running sometimes, swimming hardly ever.

I think we should be working towards bringing this concept into everything we do. Practicing full awareness and flow. Be that cruising down the highway with the top down on a summer evening, or practicing our craft, hobby or passion. There is no doubt that I could use some more didgeridoo practice.

And I could work on my power game. And ability to self heal. And patience, and….

into my own version.

Purchase at K-Yard

Day fifty-four; More?

I'm trying not to whine. Stay positive and focused, once a mantra for getting things done, is now on my lips constantly. This thing is gaining momentum and is relentless. Last night was another struggle, chest pressure, palpitations, muscle spasms, sharp pains, numbness, and the worst by far, inability to sleep. Going on month fourteen of sleepless nights. And when I do doze, absolute, unmistakable anxiety dreams of looming disaster.

You would hallucinate too.

With everything else around me nearing disaster, I guess it should't surprise me that my health, one the bedrock of my sense of self, is now a distance memory. The scale yesterday informed me that I am up 15 pounds from a year ago. I can guarantee you it is not muscle. Sometimes simply getting out of the car causes shortness of breath that feels like I just waxed Andy Potts in a sprint.

A week from tomorrow I get to go outside the hospital and specialists I have been meting on a regular basis since last February and see a neurologist at UW Med. There are more than a few that think it might be nerve related.

I can say with all honesty my nerves are shot. Bright lights, harsh noises, pops, bangs, booms set me five feet off the ground with a head full of adrenalin and dopamine. I think I should start wearing my bike helmet 24/7.

I will hang in there as long as I can. Red wine seems to help but it puts a crimp in my productivity when I start medicating before noon. They got me on some synthetic crap called omeprazole. The Internist says I don't have GERD, but every night it sure feels like an army of acid-heads are invading my heart, lungs and esophagus. Why would he prescribe a pump inhibitor designed to control excess acid when by his own testing methods, I don't need it?

I am not whining. I just feel like shit. Have been for over a year as I watch helplessly as my fitness, power, speed and QOL continue their southbound escape.

My plan for both the immediate and long-term, should that come about, is to stay positive and focus. Try to relax. Smile some.

Cause really how bad can it get?

Day fifty-three: Gold in Kiev

Day fifty-three

I am celebrating today with my comrades. The proletariat. Not because we won some silly contest, but because we did something brave. We put courage on display and risked all to bring about social change. We threw rocks at the bastards until they gave up!

This to end oppression. To turn the tide of tyranny into something sustainable. To give our kids a fair shake. The word humane comes to mind.

Of course all this makes some of my friends very nervous. They like things the way there are. They like the barbarians miles from their gates, controlled and corralled. They have little heartache with gas at $4 a gallon, a loaf of bread at $3 and apples a buck apiece. They will always have health insurance and coverage, a roof overhead and big screens to ogle. They watch the news. We ARE the news.

Lots of our global neighbors have nothing. They do have misery in spades. Some will starve and others will freeze to death. But as long as dividends from big oil, big pharma, big data and big government continue to be directly deposited (mail is unsafe) it's easy to look the other way and vote for continuation of this putrid world-wide exploitation and political corruption. Some of these folks even claim to be Christian.

The shallowness and hypocrisy of the winter Olympics is appalling. A guilty pleasure some say. More like a felonious frolic. How did it become somehow okay to lie, steal and cheat if the ROI was large enough? Must one really kill the opposition to sleep in a bed of money? I love the term obscene profit, it is so languid and vile. Oh, and pleasant dreams you capitalistic bastards. How does that worm Vladimir Putin square this?

So I will continue my puny personal, silly and simplistic boycott. Olympics? Go fuck yourself.

With that as background (!!!!) please share with me this one tiny and wonderful 2014 Olympic moment. Imagine my surprise and glee when I read this morning's headlines:

"Ukraine protesters take Kiev."

WAY TO GET THE GOLD comrades!

The K-Yard is open on Day 52

The K-Yard is here! A user friendly site designed to connect the on-line bargain hunter dot with the motivated seller dot. Due to a number of reasons ranging from the praiseworthy to the pathetic, I am selling almost everything I currently own, a list that includes collectables like Buddha sitting patiently or a spotless 1986 Honda Magma 750 ready to rumble. From my collection of books, CDs, DVDs, dress shirts, tools and posters to exotic objects collected on my three trips around the world. A lotta shit. Some junk, sure, but also some gems.

We accept PayPal and will deliver in Kitsap County if you wanna spring for gas and lunch.

I will be posting as many pix as possible in the upcoming weeks as well as advertising on Craig's List, Amazon.com and staging several on-site yard sales. Everything has gotta go!

So make your move. Make an offer. Inquire within. Let me know what you're after and I'll try to accommodate with a quick inventory check.

The K- Yard is open, on Day fifty-two.

Day fifty-one, weird

Now that spilled coffee has shorted out my trusty laptop, I am back to multi-tasking the quad-core G5. This information added to the 'weird series of events' that have led us to this very morning.

As any competent (employed) screenwriter knows, conflict is everything. When things appear to be at their absolute worst, toss another monkey wrench into the works and watch (raptly) as your hero responds.

Indy summed this up perfectly with a single word:

Snakes.

You get the idea. My sister asked just a few mounts ago a simple question.

What has happened so far?

OK.

Risk.
Speculation.
Cost.
Taxes.
Insurance.
Unemployment.
Debt.
Interrest.
Hope.
Work.
Collapse.
Ruin.
Hospitals.
Doctors.
More debt.
Bankers.
Overdrafts.
Depression.
Fear.
Anger.
Love.
Loss.
Violence.
EKG.
Endoscopy.
Collections.
Insomnia.
Anxiety.

And of course, another pair of ambidextrous pearl handled monkey wrenches added as bonus. The laughing cosmos says, 'no extra charge'.

So the cabin that was once an art project, providing three decades of solace and soothing escape from the horrors of this modern world, needs to be knocked-down and hauled off in a dumpster so that I can salvage the value of the lots, sell, and escape this 'weird series of events'. And thereby move forward towards another place and time.

Where I can employ the myriad lessons offered in this final chapter of high drama (comedy) and try again.

My loss, however, could be YOUR gain. Have 150K disposable? Cash me out.

Really, how weird could it get?

Day fifty, FSBO

Day fifty.

I figure, why wait?

As we scour the West Coast for a "sympathetic" realtor, let's cut to the chase. When I said last week that 'everything goes' I wasn't fooling. So here is the story in sales-speak:

Distress forces sale of knock-down cabin on three choice wooded lots. Across from Battle Point Park, bordering on Fairy Dell Trail, power, water, approved septic, and partial views of spectacular Olympic sunsets. Half an acre for you to build upon. We can demo, or you. Seller is highly motivated. FSBO $150,550. Hurry before I change my mind and finish the pizza oven.

Day forty-nine

Day forty-nine

From the 3.23.08 RCVman blog post.
Shows the new Zoob in a much better light. It is a home cinema couch, brown swede and ultra cool, perfect for Cohen Bros, David Lynch or Tarantino. Yours for $550. The Fender lap steel is a 1959 Cadet, a couple are on sale on eBay for three times my $550 asking price. They are a grand together. Superbo!

Day forty-eight, I call that a bargain

Who doesn't love a good yard sale?

The one where everything seems to be staged with your interests in mind. There is THAT book, the boxed set of CD's, the print that will work perfect to cover that feng-shui free zone on your den wall. The one where you finally find that diamond in the rough.

Call it what you will, garage sale, moving sale, estate sale, patio sale, it means the same to buyer and seller. My thirty years of accumulated stuff for a little of your disposable cabbage. Call it urban composting.

Today I am officially in barter mode. EVERYTHING GOES. At the end of this sale, I want (need) to be left squatting above nothing but an acre of dirt. With one shirt, one pair of Levis and a pair of boots.

You all get a head start. I am gong to list something here every day until the liquidation is complete. From here the "Special of the Day" moves to Craig's List. What doesn't move by June 1, will end up at Goodwill, Children's Hospital or St. Vinny's.

There will be bulldozers and demolitions, trips for recycling and refuse, a whirlwind of gale force cathartic transformation. And you can play a part.

A lot (and I mean a LOT) of this stuff, carries deep emotional attachment. It will be a good practice for me to deal with letting it all go. I would rather have someone I know, love and respect (all three?) assume stewardship. If they bring you the same joy they have provided me, I will scamper happily along.

So here we go.

TODAY'S SPECIAL; Acoustic Monday.

All my strings and a banged up trumpet. Not shown is a 1959 Fender lap-steel guitar, which will probably end up with its own page, somewhere down the line.

Items:
Banjo: $50
Mando: $50
Uke: $60
Epiphone guitar: $95
Electric GTX (and practice amp): $80
Banged up trumpet: $35
Jerry in cedar relief: $50
I Get Around Gold 45: $45 (natch)
Japanese print: $65

All of the above: $495.99

And yes, we do Pay Pal and deliver on Island.

The cedar is going too, from Cosmopolis, locally grown. Make offer.

Let's get this party started.

Day forty-seven and Destiny

Sometimes a man can meet his destiny on the road he took to avoid it.

Sometimes.

How does that play in the real world?

Pay attention. Wherever you are, whatever the circumstance or terrain, stay in the moment. Ride it out. Embrace the magic and power in the absolute that this could be it. Your destiny patiently waiting for you to notice.

Acknowledge and address. Initiate the dialogue.

Be bold. Get her number.

Should she refuse, take that other road.

Or that other 1.

Day forty-six, Richard

Maybe all this time you have been setting up an experiment using yourself as crash test dummy?

Remember that one of your most precious tenants is the one about being happy no matter what.

Subconsciously then, the theory goes that you have been intentionally attracting all this misery to test your ability to stay happy in spite of the level of challenge that you have created for yourself. Yah?

Whoa.

Are you satisfied yet?

I think I have done a fair job of laughing in the face of financial catastrophe.

Agreed, we all think so. But quite possibly it's time to close the book on this test and put yourself in another petri dish. Perhaps one a touch more, how should we say, abundant?

You seriously think I have been sabotaging my "success" all this time?

You don't have to do that with your fingers, I know what you mean by success. And you have achieved it. You remain happy, no?

Paradoxically, yes.

But you also recognize that this phase is over with another about to begin, one that includes all those things that you once derided?

I do.

What should we do next, then?

Get going?

Move in the direction of your dreams. Think it so. Your vision of success has been here all along. You simply need to allow yourself the rewards of your effort and experience. And, yes, get going.

I feel better already.

And one other thing.

Yes?

Try not to be such a dick.

Day forty-five

Destinations do not have nearly the value as journeys. The adventure is getting there. The challenge of the road, as goal. I think its how you get to the volcano rim that matters, one's personal lava quest.

Means that one has to have some faith and trust in the process, secure that sometimes shit happens for reasons we aren't sure of or totally agree with. What has to be done is putting one foot in front of the other and staying in the game.

Are you good with that?

That sometimes falling apart can actually be things finally falling into their proper place?

That the very same process we call adaptation in training can also apply to the physiological and emotional.

Even in the darkest, most pluvial circumstance, we can adapt to the suffering, challenge, unknown, and move forward with grace and compassion.

Going through hell?

Keep on going.

Heaven awaits?

Maybe. Maybe more hell. But eventually…..

We will adapt to the heat?

Happy Valentine's Day.

Day forty-four

We have all seen it. 

Frequent flyers in biz class too many times. 

It is a great ad.

Businessman with serious, stoic and staid look.

He means it. 

You don't get what is fair. You get what you negotiate. 

You want a gel?

Put one in your special needs bag. 

Day forty-three, see?

People come and people go.

Some leave permanent and powerful impressions.

Others pass like the wind on a stormy February night.

I have been inspired by many, motivated by some and led by few. 

I look deeper these days, impatient with the mundane.

It has to have meaning. It must provide value. Love is the magic. 

In every session, every day, every heartbeat. See?

 A 'Come on In' sign is duct taped over the old 'No Trespassing' one. 

But you enter at your own risk. 

Between the comings and goings hangs the team photo. 

Day forty-two, proudly

Mom gave it to me and I think I know why.

That scar under your eye?

Ha, yeah, well, that too, but I was more in reference to that little paperweight she gave me for my desk after my sophomore year.

It had special significance?

It always got me to thinking, and even though I had a phenomenal season, which pleased her immensely, I was struggling with the humility aspect, because I knew I could be, should be, better.

OK, what did it say, take two and hit to right?

It said, "It's hard to be humble when you're as great as I am."

She was very proud of you.

Yeah. But I let her down so many times. Makes me sad.

Maybe she would be most proud if you payed it forward and helped out her son and his son.

Be like winnin' the Super Bowl.

Better.

Do something now that will make the person you’ll be tomorrow proud.

Day forty-one, loser

How do you define it?
Winning?
Yes, by score, time, points, awards?
Well, yeah, isn't that the idea?
Once I was sure, today, I am not so sure.
Why, what happened?
I lost.
Everybody loses.
Not everybody competes.
Those that do, will lose.
But if I know what winning means to me, and, to be clear, it has nothing to do with traditional values, but more like giving maximal effort, setting high goals, committing to the challenge of a disciplined chase and finding sustainable motivation, will I still be branded a loser?
Yes. But no.
One of our great misunderstandings, a perfect paradox. You have to lose to win. Society will rule you a loser, how your heart rules is what counts.
Lombardi?
He added the don't quit part.

Day forty and a cuppa Joe

At lest I got half.

Half?

While my cuppeth don't exactly runneth over, it is filled to about half. We can work with that.

At least it's not empty?

Exactly.

A lot of folks are running on E, I see them everywhere.

Sometimes it's not their fault.

Not passing judgement, just an observation. Same as here. Half empty or half full, makes no nevermind, it is what I perceive it to be, and then what I change it to.

Fill 'er up or let it leak.

'Nother cup?

You bet.

Day thirty-nine

You.

There can be only one. You have the power. You decide. You expand or constrict. You love or you suffer. You sing or you lament. Even in the maw of oppression one retains the power to control one's thoughts, and therefore, one's actions. 

Things can get rough. Another insidious reminder came last night. He could tell from the tone of the boss'  voice in the first ten seconds that this conversation would end with his asking 'what now'? 

Back to the drawing board. Make something up. Re-invent. Have faith. And above all, stay present, focused and create like a mad man. Down, trampled, bludgeoned, bloodied, berated and bent. BUT NOT OUT. Not yet. 

A red letter day, this thirty-nine. One way to go, and one person in charge. 

You. 

Day thirty-eight, YES!

We've got a lot of work to do. 

Then we had better get started.

I have dug a pretty deep hole.

I have gloves and a shovel. 

You really think we can pull this off?

We will never know unless we try.

I think I was paralyzed and overwhelmed, a little scared even.

That was yesterday. Today is a new beginning. Let's break ground. 

Rome wasn't built in a day. New York started as a campsite.

We can do this.

YES WE CAN. 

Day thirty-seven

Busted a couple more today.

Bones?

Myths.

Sometimes one can be painful as the other. Which ones?

The one about not being able to teach old dogs new tricks. 

So wrong. 

And the one about fighting fire with fire. 

Has caused as much heartache as 'an eye for  an eye'.

Yeah, today old dog tricked evil bitch with wag of tail, not bark or bite. 

Yo, some details to follow?

Don't think so, over and done. Lessons learned. 

Life is short, time flies?

But every dog as his day. LIke the brief time after the slowest rider finishes her TT, yet before the second rider finishes, the slowest is the fastest, if only for a few seconds. Those are precious seconds. 

No myth about it. 

Day thirty-six, andiamo

I think it's time to make a move.

Why now, why here?

Because we can make an impact. We can initiate positive change. We can go for it.

What about being patient?

Ya know what? I'm tired of waiting around for something to happen, it's time to make it happen, add some drama, risk factor to ten, do or die. Just because we aren't descendants of royalty doesn't mean one of us can't be King of the Mountain. 

Well, if you put it that way.

What other way is there?

I believe you're right, sire. Andiamo. 

Day thirty-five or 1%

So much for that.

Another failed experiment?

Looks that way.

Symptoms back?

And now they're pissed.

What you gonna do?

Test some more, cut the variables, or some of them, manage the others better and add a couple of universally accepted practices.

The ones you have been touting for decades now?

Same ones, but adding detail.

The 1% thing?

If I improve my diet, my exercise and my stress management each by 1%, that is an exponential gain of powerful proportions. It would be like adding 1% to swim, bike and run power.

Hummmm, may I join you?

Sure.

When do we start?

We just did.

Kona in May by CompuTrainer

You gotta dream big. Something has to grab you by the collar, toss your lethargy and fear out the window and drop you in the frothy sea of heroic challenge. You sink fast or swim big. 

Every athlete who's ever chased that dream knows the sour taste of defeat, how deeply it teaches. Only a few have the guts to keep coming back for more..until that taste turns slowly turns sweet. Big time sweet. Defining and transformative. 

Maybe you are one of those who dream big. With dreams of Kona. A qualifying spot racing with the best in the business for a world Championship. Now you can. 

For seven days in May, CompuTrainer, The Ironheart Foundation, The Four Pillars of Triathlon and Cycelvidz.com will host a fully supported training experience in Kailua-Kona on the same magical proving grounds where the lava is forged to glory. 

May fifth through the eleventh, 2014. Write today: KonaGuide@Gmail.com

Dream Big.

Big Island big. 

Day thirty-four

“One must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star.”

Yeow, who said that?

Not whom one would expect, take a stab.

Dylan.

No.

Prefontaine.

Nine.

James Dean.

Negative.

Lao-Tsu.

Not true.

Scooby Do?

Wazz the matta you?

I give.

Alright, one hint. Same guy thought that what ever didn't kill him, made him stronger.

Wow. Dude was on to something. I like them both.

Me too.

Kona by CompuTrainer

Kona by CompuTrainer from Kevin Lynch on Vimeo.

Day 33, a regular feature

it could be, like, a regular feature. 

I suppose.

You're not impressed?

I'm sad this morning, that's all. It'll burn off by noon. 

THAT dream again?

Yeah. But this time it was a little different. I was trying to convince them that a house built to withstand the shock and trauma of natural disasters has to be flexible and allow for sway, motion and sudden change.

They weren't buying it?

No margin for thought outside the box. 

Why is that such a problem?

Don't know. But it is. 

You have tried the tree swaying in the wind parable? Or the one about the waves washing hypocrisy from the shore?

The jury is still out as to who needs to be saved, could be me. Maybe what I need is MORE rigidity. 

Maybe you should simply wish them well and move along. 

Then I have that other dream. 

The failure one?

A regular feature. 

Day Thirty-two

How do we know when we are ready?

Ready for what?

Anything. A hard task. A monster hill. The tough part of the course. Any 'in your face' challenge. 

After a hundred practice runs? 

Perhaps, but I am thinking more about the initial one. How we know that the timing or circumstance is right when challenge comes riding up ready to rumble? 

Because we have subconsciously orchestrated it that way by our thoughts and subsequent actions? 

Sure, but what is the one defining element that removes any lingering doubt?

To know if we are ready or not? 

Yes.

Dunno.

When it's here. 

So any time something ridiculously challenging appears we know we are ready for it because it is simply present, here, upon us?

I think that's it, yes. The contrary would be equally true as well.

Not ready for "it" because "it" is not here?

Ready. 

Bring it.