Arghhhhh

Arghhhhh.

The last three times we have included sprint intensity into our Saturday sessions I have gone into A-Fib. I felt that familiar ‘plop’ in chest, lump in throat and pressure in neck veins the moment we hit the gas for the 15 second sprint. I also watched my heart rate monitor hit a high of 220 and then proceed in the usual fashion of ponging between 118 and 185 for the remainder of the set. I suppose the good news is that it hasn’t knocked me to the floor yet, but it still is troublesome, making the morning anti-coagulation medication intake ritual crucial. This is to avoid the real killer of A-Fib, stroke. There will be no go if the blood don’t flow.

For now I deal with it, used to the symptoms and (self) treatment. Should be an interesting visit to the cardiologist next month. I am sure when we download the pacer’s data it will look more like a roller-coaster than a flat stretch of track. My job at this point is just to keep the train rollin’. Get to the UDub Medical station and see what the smart folks have to say. Obviously the top spot on the disaster menu is the aforementioned stroke. But in the number two slot, and perhaps with even greater disaster potential, is the intensity trigger. If I can no longer hit speed, wattage and power levels without immediately triggering this arrhythmia response, I would be, well, disappointed. No, I would be mad as hell.

For awhile anyway. I am sure that the reality of the situation would eventually foster a review prompting a Zen approach much like the one we discussed yesterday, just more goose shit on ball cap. I was hoping we wouldn’t need to go there - but looks like we are.

For the sake of analysis (the scientific method) here is what we did this morning to launch the current situation:

10 minute warm up.
.15 second seated sprint
.45 standing @ gear 16
.60 seated GZSS (groove zone sweet spot)
.60 standing GZSS
.60 recovery @ 7/120

We then repeated that structure adding a standing gear (17, then 18) and a minute to each recovery.
Total time - one hour. My actual calorie count was the usual 500 but two class mates reported over 700. A DGWO, dang good work out.

With the A-Fib exception of course.

It is somewhat ironic that in a few hours I will be eulogizing Dad. Dad died of a major stroke the weeks ago. He had chronic A-Fib as did his Dad, who died of a stroke in 1998. The folks in the semi-assisted living facility are hosting, from what I have gathered, an informal service in the rec room at 1300. I have been invited and quite confident that I will be asked to speak. Same way that I did for Mom in 1997.

I hope to do a little better this time than I did with the last.

I am going to jot some notes here in preparation.

Dad was one of a kind. He loved helping people, whether that meant fixing their car, providing taxi service or walking their dog. I first met him on August 31,1952, he saw me take my first breath and almost 66 years later I watched him take his last. It was a good run. We did a lot of fun stuff together, he was my first baseball coach, we went fishing for albacore, he taught me how to change a tire and jump start a stalled Ford. He paid for may education for 12 years and kept a roof over my head. We golfed, BBQ’d and mowed the lawn together. We went to college football games, from California to the University of Washington together, from Paul Horning to Jake Locker. When Dad moved up from Sacramento in 2002 we had a chance to re-connect. Dad felt he owed his youngest son, Michael and his son Elliott, some simple assistance. Nothing like having the extended family around. But, as you all know, hitting 80 takes a toll, and his health began to gradually decline. He lost a step, and the knee injury, to the same knee he injured playing HS football in 1949 & 1950, dramatically impacted his mobility. And he didn’t like the idea of sitting on the couch all day, patience not being his strong suite. So today we bid George a farewell. I thank all of you for your part in his last few years at the Winslow Arms. He spoke of you all in glowing terms. Thank you for your kindness and caring, the two traits that I will always remember Dad never shying from. God Bless Roseville George and God Bless you all. Thank you.

Arghhhhh.

Like Anything Else

Like Anything Else

Under What Conditions?

Under What Conditions?

Sadness to Acceptance

Dealing with sadness.

When the Buddha suggested that the first nobel truth should be ‘Life is Suffering”, upon learning this my first reaction was shock. A ‘no duh’, bada-bing rim shot. Looking back upon its sagacity and direction, it makes more sense to me than, say, ‘I am the Lord thy God, thou shalt have no other gods before me,’  commandment.

Because many times (many, many times) we are in the imperfect position to not so much seek a religious solution as a practical, non-secular one. Worldly, not heavenly. Here, now in this place and at this time.

After a few million years or so, we tweaked the message into a more contemporary slangy meme advising (not pointing or directing) that ‘shit happens.’

Hey there howdy does it ever!

As a result of these philosophical observations we find ourselves wishing for a little more detail, additional insight or even a new interpretation or two. Shit happens and THEN what? Life is suffering, yes, but what do we do with that? I am the Lord they God…OK, OK, OK I get it.

I am going out on the tree of life limb here in the hopes of answering a timely question for someone near and dear to me. Someone I have known for almost sixty years. My sister.

Dad died two weeks ago. Unlike Mom, his passing was quick. As I relayed to my lawyer, ‘he fell off his bar stool, banged his head on the floor and was gone in less than 36 hours.’ Good news - bad news to be sure. No longer will RG have to deal with failing health, dementia and the loss of his driving privilege. He won’t have to deal with his son and wife insisting that he take his medication regularly and in the proper sequence and dosage. His departure was fast, dramatic and final.

And now we deal with the emotional fallout as best we can. Everybody has their own style and pace. I admit to being slow, lethargic and calloused. I already miss the old guy tremendously and confessed to my younger brother that I feel guilty of not doing more during our 65 years together. This haunts me.

So many things I could have done to positively add to the mix. Yet after a time, the fog clears and the light streams down onto the lawn in my backyard. I hear the waves fall and the woodpeckers knock. I find that place in my heart where the tintype memories of the good times hang. I laugh aloud as his voice responds to mine in the same way that I gently sob when my request for him to hand me the 9/16 open end wrench will go unanswered. He is gone. I need to cope. I am in need of support. I need a hug.

If I feel this way - how my sisters must hurt.

If there is anything I can pass along to help, it might be simply this: It will pass. When we feel overwhelmed with sorrow, play back the funny tape, the memories of all the good times we had, the laughter we shared, the hills we walked, the dragons we slayed. Welcome the opportunity we all had to play a part in his life and be grateful he had 85 years in which to experiment. And then, take a deep breath and commit to your remaining time, pledge to go, see, do all those things that, perhaps, he didn’t. Learn from his life the things that will augment yours. What a great gift he has left us.

The memory of a better tomorrow.

Life is suffering.

Until we enlighten ourselves with the next step, that once we realize and truly accept that life is suffering, it no longer is. We grow from suffering to accepting.

I can see Dad saying Shit Happens.

That image makes me laugh. He never spoke truer words and for that, as much as anything else, I choose to let the sadness go and carry on (fully cognizant that there will be more suffering and more shit will happen) with a light heart and grateful smile. That is my reality.

Thanks Dad. Hang in there my brothers and sisters.

Listen Up

I see it as a gift.

I am tasked with leading indoor cycling sessions three days a week at one of our Island’s two gyms. Five nights, M-F, I facilitate operations in our boutique facility offering fitness enhancements and group training. Again using the stationary bicycle as the cornerstone of activity.

Especially with the former, as I sit on an elevated platform facing the group, I am expected to choreograph, lead, motivate, instruct and inspire. All this as we move through our progressions and strictly adhere to the protocol du jour.

My opinion, steeped in humility, and based upon my personal history with cycling, indoors and out, exercise physiology, music, motivational speaking and race preparation, is that the combination, the mix, the farrago, of all these elements is what creates a positive and enjoyable experience. You can execute the most difficult session known to man, but in a group setting, if you fail on the musical accompaniment score, post workout doubts creep in like a smelly red tide. Or one can succumb to peer pressure and play nothing but the current hits of the day sacrificing any flow or deeper dynamic available only through experimentation, operatic trial and error the fat lady might say.

All this is secondary to the main issue today. The issue of finding that delicate balance of the combination of all of the above. One must talk the talk and walk the walk, or in this case spin the spin. I have been doing this for a long time and deeply enjoy the freedom to ad-lib as the mood, music, magic and endorphin flow dictate. I look at every class as a teaching moment, not so much as sharing the many secrets gleaned from thirty years of riding, but more from sixty years of living. It is a powerful combination. Toastmasters on wheels. Buddha on a bike.

Truth be known (always our goal here) sometimes I don’t get it quite right. Heck, sometimes I miss by a mile. I am willing to take that chance however, because when I DO get it right, it is VERY right. Like Jerry used to say about the Grateful Dead’s extraordinary and dedicated fan base, ‘our fans are like people who like licorice, not everybody likes licorice, but those that do REALLY like licorice.’

And so it was with great interest and appreciation, awe actually, that I watched Emma Gonzales speak in front of the White House on Saturday. She did what I could never do in front of an audience. The lesson was of power. And silence was the tool. Profound. She stared down a crowd of half a million for 4 minutes and 22 seconds to illustrate a point. Please allow me to put that in perspective, it is something I cannot do in front of a crowd of a dozen. To put it even more bluntly, it might have been the most amazing ‘speech’ I have ever witnessed. I was that moved.

The gift I practice, the opportunity I have almost daily to motivate through speaking, has been shown by a teenager to be totally inadequate. I am, we are, capable of so much more.

I do not mean to compare what I do to the courageous actions of the Parkland kids. I preach a choir of like-minded professionals simply wanting some early morning camaraderie and exercise, not hostile republicans blinded by blood money from the freaking NRA (the intended audience - not the actual live audience).

In closing today, let’s mix a metaphor or two and see how they roll.

Money Talks and Silence is Golden.

Listen up.

New Theme?

New Theme?

Protect the Kids

Protect the Kids video

ENOUGH

ENOUGH

Do It Quick

Do It Quick

Be there in 20

Be there in 20

RIP RG

RIP RG

Teach your Children

Teach your Children

Make it a Crime

Make it a Crime

Day One or One Day?

Day One or One Day?

Red Chair

Red Chair

Coyote Calls

It was harder than I thought it would be.

Talking about our spin set this morning and not the vilely oft-quoted what's 'is face.

I was up late laying in bed listening to the hound under my care answering the call of a pack of coyotes. I have yet to decode that call as sometimes it sounds like an orgy invite and other times like the wail from a thousand lashes. In the response my dog, half bloodhound, was either baying an 'I'll be right over', or 'run like hell'.

As this call and answer medley played on, I thought I would use the time wisely and work up a new protocol for this mornings session. With fait acompli confidence, I worked out the details even ending with a suitably pithy moniker. And the Speed, Power for about an Hour set was welcomed to the world (as coyotes cry). Here it is with my notes in parenthesis:

10 minute warm up (standard).
60 second seated sprint. Your choice on gearing and cadence (Levels playing field).
60 second standing hill push. Again your choice (But attack).
60 second seated recovery at 7/120 (Again the standard)
60 second standing "survival" climb. (See if you can recover while climbing out of saddle).
60 second second recovery at 7/120. (Make it count).

Repeat this format ten times. (Fifty minutes plus warm-up provides its titularity).

This one killed. By the third set my power was heading South faster than a snowbird in November.

But then an interesting thing happened. As I monitored my heart rate, fully expecting to go into A-Fib at any second, I was presented with a timely and most welcomed gift. A wonderful present aka Second Wind. Wondering almost aloud who was presenting this mysterious and magical bequeathment I was shocked to find….it was me. Giving something back to myself in the form of enthusiasm, energy and hope. I had earned it, after all, our base fitness comes at the expense of countless repetitions, hours of practice and a dedication to continual improvement that might make a Navy Seal proud. I freaking deserved this almost as much as I needed it. And so I said a silent note of thanks to my spirit for having the tenacity and motivation to ensure that we all arrived (my body and mind make three) at the same time, grateful and full of life.

It matters little how much speed and power we generate, the brass ring is the experience of witnessing all this coming together, recognizing it and being thankful that we have the opportunity to grow and learn from the effort.

It was harder than I thought it would be.

As it should be.

Ahhh-ooooooooooooooow.

Go for a Ride

Go for a Ride

Tools of the Tirade

Tools of the Tirade

OMG

OMG

Would You?

Would You?

Boys will be Boys

Boys will be Boys

Bravo

Bravo

Wrong Answer

Wrong Answer

Pie

May I continue?

Again yesterday we discussed the fascinating relationship between what we do (specifically indoor cycling) and why we do what we do. The meta-cognition involved in thinking about our thinking of this incredibly important activity intrigues me like a moth to the flame. For a couple of reasons. Rightfully first is the search for as deep an understanding as possible. This is what artists, researchers, novelists, musicians, teachers, athletes, parents, and anyone interested in the mastery of their passion seeks. Therefore I seek the bottom line. I search for meaning and a depth of understanding that will allow a more successful retelling of the details necessary to properly, or more adequately, answer the questions that my clients may have. You know, the 'why do we do is this way?' questions.

Secondly, and I have no shame in this admission, is the simple fact that anyone in possession of these secrets will find themselves going to the bank quite often in the capitalistic fast-track of profit. Consider, humorously, the 30 days to washboard abs, the 'I lost 30 pounds in 30 days' conceit, our obsession with body image, or even the South Beach Diet, and, once you finish rolling your eyes, quickly see what I mean. Here is the caveat:

I am interested in increasing our quality of life. Starting with the way that we exercise. This absolutely simple as pie recipe is filled with goodies like kinesiology, nutrition, recovery rates, gastrointestinal malfunctions, cellular bio genesis, liver function, electrolyte replacement, sarcopenia, mitochondria, biochemical fatigue, proprioceptors, and even your hypothalamus, all filling that simple pie with a mash-up of individual tasty parts. Combined, they create the sweet you that you are. Or would like to become. Yet we have found that this is not nearly as simple as merely adding sugar.

All meaning that the baker, the candlestick maker or the exercise physiologist in possession of the appropriate amount, the precise details, the scope of understanding and the ability to capsulize it all into a formula, stands a very good chance of success. Success in this case meaning the sharing of  'the pie' with others. If a humble profit comes from that effort, one can forgive ordering the pie ala mode, as a scoop if French Vanilla is a small price to pay for a desert of this value.

In closing, sipping an espresso, we feel we have (a part) of that formula. What we do in the PowerBarn, is not rocket surgery or brain science, it is a proven, safe and supportive facility for folks to squeeze a workout into their busy day. We try to make it fun but most importantly it has to work. We all like results. I will offer this as food for thought: Last night I did a 10 mile TT in a very mediocre 27 minutes and change, actually taking heart rate, something I pay close attention to, to a new high in the process. Afterwords, as I sat in recovery feeling oddly empowered by my effort (not the time - the effort), I finished a cheese sandwich and thought how good a slice of my fave, strawberry rhubarb, might be.

And passed.

The Artist as Indoor Cyclist

The Artist as Indoor Cyclist