Forza Azzurren.

In response to yesterday's anticipatory post, Joe said, "I guess you think Totti is a Hottie?"

Well, sure. But that is not the biggest thing--so let me explain my thing for Italian soccer.

Really, it is not so much Italy as AS Roma. You may know that there are 2 teams in the greater Rome area, Roma and Lazio. The two teams have an interesting history: Roma was founded during the fascist period to build civic pride. But still: the first time I went to Rome, I learned what a big deal Italian soccer really is.

I should back up a bit: I was fortunate on that trip to run into 2 other travelers who allowed me to tag along on their outings. I was there for a seminar, but it would not start for four days after my arrival. I had planned to do some wandering around beforehand, but Rome was intimidating, especially since I only spoke a little Italian. Very little. Like almost none. But I had enthusiasm!

Anyway, I was staying in a little pensione on the Gianicolo, and so were these other travelers. These two men had traveled together before, but this was their first time traveling together in Rome. One of them was a classicist, and he had taken hoardes of students around the Forum, and Campus Martius, the Palatine, and probably many many others. They were headed to the Forum the next day, they told me: would I like to join them? You bet!

Friends, this was the most amazing introduction to Rome that you could ever imagine. We met up with another friend of the classicist's, a Roman who was eager to get the real story on the Forum. Even in my hopelessly jetlagged state, I learned so much and saw so much. They let me tag along for the remaining days before my seminar began, and in addition to seeing amazing churches and piazzas, I learned more restaurant Italian.

So one afternoon we were walking around, starting to feel a little tired from the day and ready to look for a beer. We started to notice that every time we passed a little bar, there were cheers from inside. Even the Communist Cultural Center was emitting more than the expected enthusiasm. When we did find a little outdoor table to sit down at, we learned that Roma was playing Parma. Sure, the ham there is outstanding, but Parma's soccer team is nothing much. So we did not pay more attention. Except that the cheering kept getting louder and more intense.

Then Roma won, and people poured into the streets, waving their arms in the air and singing "Semo noi," or "It is us": the Roma song goes something like "i piu forti semo noi"--we are the strongest, and notice the Rome dialect there.

Why so much excitement over beating little Parma? Because that win secured the national title.

As we learned.

As the evening went on, people got more and more excited, and finally we followed a throng of red and orange wearing people--waving flags, singing, cheering--to the Piazza Venezia, which had filled with fans. People were hanging banners on the Vittorio Emmanuelle monument. They were singing in fountains. Fans on motorini waved flags behind them. Cars had flags coming out their sunroofs. The procession of fans was filled with little kids in Roma jerseys, and men and women and grandmothers and grandfathers. Everyone was so happy.

There were no taxis to be found, so our long walk back to the pensione was filled with wonderful moments of people driving by and singing, or people hanging off balconies. And this was not like northern European soccer revelry: there was no violence, just lots of happiness.

As I fell asleep that night, my open window meant I heard every motorino that went by, and half their drivers were singing the Roma song. It was not long before people had downloaded the little tune to their cellphones. There were flags and banners everywhere that read ROMA CAPUT MUNDI. Indeed.

It is not easy to keep up with Italian soccer in the USA without satellite TV, but I manage. And I always look forward to the World Cup as a chance to catch up with some of my favs, and watch them play, even if they are wearing blue instead of purple-red and gold.

On this year's national team there are 2 other players from Roma. Totti is perhaps the most famous, we also have centerfielders [scusa: I see that centrocampisti translates to "mid-fielders"]Daniele de Rossi and Simone Perrotta. Not as many players as Juventus or Milan, of course, or Palermo, but still. And yesterday, they won!

Today, no soccer for me: I must get some work done. But Wednesday? Ukraine!

Totti gioca!

Excellent news: Totti will play in Italy's match against Ghana this afternoon!

Which means your favorite superheroine will NOT be working, starting at 3 pm EDT.

Friday Random 10: Do what you like with your groove thing Edition

No lake swim for me today--alas! But while I lunch, here is today's random 10:

1. "I Don't Remember," Peter Gabriel (Shaking the Tree)
2. "Shambala," Beastie Boys (Ill Communication)
3. "The Conductor (Thin White Duke Remix)," The Faint, (Muzik Presents...One Louder [Erol Alkan])
4. "Lifetime Piling Up," Talking Heads (Sand in the Vaseline, Disc 2)
5. "Even His Feet Look Sad," Leo Kottke (One Guitar, No Vocals)
6. "Can't Slow Down, TV Addicts," Information Society (Hack)
7. "Mambote na nje," Coro Bondeko (Besieged soundtrack)
8. "Fatso, Part 2: Yo Estoy Bien Asi (I Feel Fine the Way I Am)" The Story (The Angel in the House)
9. "Fiesta de la rumba," Afro-Cuban All-Stars (A toda Cuba le gusta)
10. "Shake Your Groove Thing," Peaches & Herb (The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert soundtrack)

Crowning achievement.

New mix up at Art of the Mix. Enjoy, O My Subjects.

Go jump in the lake.

I am sure that you had all been going crazy, wondering how the textual editing was going, sad not to be receiving daily updates. I know that this is the blog that people come to for the cutting edge of emendation methods, for breaking news about the use of copytexts.

Well good news!

I can tell you that one of the real pleasures of textual editing is trying to make the text itself (apart from any annotations or apparatus) as perfect as possible (or "apap" as we in the business might say). Making a text apap is an endurance event. It requires proofreading, re-proofreading, getting your friends to proofread, paying your students to proofread, and then—everyone’s favorite—pair-proofing. That is when one poor soul looks at the text you have prepared while another soul (really and truly, on the precipice of purgatory) reads aloud from the copytext, being sure to note capitalization, formatting, page breaks, etc.

That task, my friends, is DONE, but it did take about 100 hours. (I am not making that up.)

But NOW, I am in the enviable position of regularizing terminology. You see, the text in question is a wacky one, having been produced by a poet known for his poor habits of spelling and punctuation, and then published by a small house which seems not to have sprung for a proofreader. Or a copyeditor.

So the question facing me was, how many of the erratic capitalizations should I emend? How many leave, in order to allow for expression? How many variations in whether a particular term—especially a term used in a specific, technical way—is capitalized, abbreviated, or italicized can I allow?

The answer (and I am sure you are dying to know) is that this specialized vocabulary is being regularized, but all the other craziness will stand!

So now I am doing search + replace + emend (in my fancy dancy table) on all those terms. And this process, friends, is why I get paid the big bucks. It is dizzyingly boring work, and yet I must use my ultra-super powers to keep focused and not let a single instance of uncapitalized or unitalicized Daimon get past me.

It makes me think of the difference between swimming in a pool with lanes and swimming in a lake. In the pool, especially when you are swimming for a coach, and especially if you are doing a set of technique drills, everything has to be apap. Like today: we were doing a truly sadistic drill for freestyle, where you recover underwater (kind of like doggy paddle) but also where you keep your hands in fists, so that you practice the difference between having and lacking a feel for the water. (Guess which one it is when you are swimming with fists.) This drill is TIRING, and it also requires tremendous focus because you are not supposed to allow your elbows to drop.

Compare this with swimming in your average lake, where you don’t have a lane line, and no one can really see what your hands are doing, and you really cannot be certain how far you have swum. The sky is blue with little fluffy clouds and there are birds flying around. You are inside some boat-excluding buoys, so you don’t need to worry about being run over. The water temperature is perfect, and the fish are not biting.

How I long for a good lake swim! Yesterday I swam masters in the morning (3700 yards) and then swam in the lake. The person who organized the swim speculated that the distance was about 800 yards. At each buoy we waited for everyone to catch up, and enjoyed just being in the lake.

Luckily, if I can get this search + replace + emend task done by noon tomorrow, I get to swim in the lake.

Meet Report: What were we thinking?

So what exactly were we thinking signing up for a swim meet that would happen almost immediately after we returned from the land of duck confit? But we did sign up for it, so we did go. The exciting news was that another member of our masters team joined us for this one--which made it much more fun.

This was the Classic City / Georgia Masters Long-Course Meet, held at the Gabrielsen Natatorium at the University of Georgia.

My principal observation is that racing in a long course meters pool (i.e., a 50-meter pool) is very different from racing in a 25-yard pool. Or training in a 25-yard pool, for that matter. There you are, swimming along, and you think, "Certainly I must be at the wall by now," and you kind of look up, but no no no you are nowhere near the end.

My secondary observation is that I am relieved it was only a one-day meet, because I just do not think I could race tomorrow.

The only good news is that we had the sense to sign up only for short races, and that was a relief, because after two weeks out of the water I don't think I could have raced a 200 meter breaststroke or even freestyle. Especially since it would have been 220 yards.

Anyway, despite my continuing belief that we were crazy to sign up for the meet, I am glad we went. For one thing, the facility was amazing, with three pools and a very impressive diving well where the stairs for climbing the diving platforms were hidden behind a wall. Furthermore, it was fun to be at a very low-stakes meet. This was our first long-course meters meet, so there were no times to beat or anything. And knowing we had recently been on vacation meant I could not even pretend to be in peak shape for it. So we went and swam and had fun. And because it was a very small meet, they mixed men and women together. Sadly, they reseeded the meet, so although it had seemed that the PP and I would swim the same heat of the 50 Free, we did not. Just as well: he kicked my butt. But it was fun in the breaststroke events to be in the fastest heat, just swimming with men (and beating most of them--heh). And I know I am a bit of a kid about this, but it felt good to come home with 4 first-place ribbons.

Oh yeah, and there was a nice hottub by the cooldown pool!

COMPLETE RESULTS
50 LCM Free :34.17
50 LCM Fly :38.73
100 LCM Breast 1:31.43
50 LCM Breast :41.17

Friday Random 10: How does this thing work? Edition

So how does a person who is completely bound to music make it for two weeks without it? Easy: change the location, and everything changes. I could hardly sit in my study and work or play on the computer or read without music. I certainly could not drive around in the car. But on that terrace in Vabre, all I needed was the sound of the cuckoo (not simulated by Mozart or Vivaldi), geese, and the birds I could not identify.

One exception? We visited the market in Castres one morning, and there amidst the stalls selling vegetables, fresh meat, fish, paella, and cheese, was a group of three guys making the ultimate haywire go nuts. They had a stand-up bass, a violin, and simple drums, and their hair was everywhere.

Now that I'm back, I can hardly remember how to work my mp3 player. What does this button do? OH! It plays ten random tracks!

1. "Órgano de Bayamo," Up, Bustle & Out, Master Sessions 2'
2. Bach: Prelude for Lute, Christopher Parkening, The Artistry of Christopher Parkening
3. Stravinsky: Epilogue (Anne, Baba, Tom, Trulove, Nick), Jayne West & Wendy White (sop), Jon Garrison (ten), Arthur Woodley (bar), John Cheek (bass), Orchestra of St. Luke's, Robert Craft (cond), The Rake's Progress (disc 2)
4. "Music Will Not Last," Jamie Lidell, Multiply
5. Josquin Desprez: Sanctus, Pro Cantione Antiqua London, Bruno Turner (cond), Missa "L'Homme armé super voces musicales".
7. "Jump," Paul Anka, Rock Swings (I ain't the worst that you've seen--can't you see what I mean?)
8. Mozart: Symphony No. 41 in C, K551, "Jupiter": 1. Allegro vivace, Neville Marriner and the Academy of St. Martin in the Fields, Symphonies 34-41 (disc 3)
9. "Earth Sunrise," Meridian, Punjabi Lounge (disc 2)
10. "Yaar Dha," DJ H & Punjabi Outlawz, Essential Asian Flavas

Vabre

Joe asked, "How was Paris? Did you base jump off the Eiffel Tower?"

All I can say is no.

The biggest reason is that we were not in Paris, except when we madly dashed through the Charles de Gaulle airport on the way there and back. Otherwise, we were in the southwest, having flown into Toulouse.

But we did not stay in Toulouse either, except for one night at the end of the trip. The rest of the time we stayed in Vabre, in a partly-seventeenth-century-partly-nineteenth-century farmhouse belonging to a friend of the friends with whom we were traveling.

We spent two weeks in Vabre, a town of about 800 people. Unlike towns of that size in the USA, however, Vabre has two charcuteries, a decent baker, a newsstand, a pharmacy, two grocers, two bar/cafes, a 25-meter outdoor pool (not yet open, alas), a post office, a fabulous little stone bridge, a trout farm, a town hall, a gas station, two churches (one Protestant, this being the hotbed of Huguenots), and a really cool clock tower. The newsstand sells over 35 different postcards of Vabre, all different, some bearing historical photos.

The owner of the house had primed the people in the village about us, so the proprietor of one of the groceries welcomed us quickly. The next day, as the PP and I were walking up the street (I had gotten out of the car a little sick from the incredibly windy roads), two separate people walked up to us to ask, ah, are you the American friends of Mme X? and to say that if we needed anything we should get in touch with them right away. Now mind you: my French is not too bad, but it gets better the more I use it, and I have precious few occasions to speak French here in the upstate. And furthermore, one's abilities in foreign tongues do not improve when one is carsick, do they?

Our house had six bedrooms and one and a half bathrooms. When I say half, I mean that the ceiling and floor were exactly 5 feet 5 inches apart and that there was no sink in there. The back of the kitchen-diningroom opened onto a little terrace overlooking the back garden, planted with peas, fava beans, tomatoes, and salad greens. Up the hill from that was the chicken coop, with chickens (and, partway through our trip, a new chick) and geese. A neighboring horse grazed up the hill from them. One of the two living rooms had around its ceiling old framed photographs of family members and a plaster winged statue behind a sofa. The windows and shutters could block out all the noise and light, or, open, they let in beautiful (but often chill) breezes, and the honking of geese.

We were there with my parents and another couple: we all traveled together last summer, too. My mother, quite an outstanding cook, had been itching to cook in Europe, and visit markets and little shops. So each day she would see what looked good at the charcuterie/boucherie, or go to an adjoining town to visit a market, and come back with local strawberries (fraises and garriguettes), fava beans, fresh pork chops or veal or trout, beautiful breads and pastries, Norman butter, cheeses (both local and Basque, also fresh sheep and goat cheese), pates and sausages, pears and melons, and we would all benefit from her cooking. The stove was tiny and the sink and adjoining table (there was no counter, per se) were incredibly low, but she pulled together terrific meals, and no one complained afterwards when they did the dishes in the low little sink and came away with the world's most tired and sore lower back. Neither did the people who walked the trash and recycling down daily to the bins behind the gendarmerie.

Some days we went on little outings. Some days we went on hikes in the miles and miles of trails within a walk or short drive of the house. One day we hauled ass down the coast, seeing as we went the landscape change from craggy granite mountains, to rolling hills, to more mountains, to limestone landscapes complete with caves and canyons, to the Mediterranean coast. We sampled Gaillac, Minervois, and Collioure wine, and even had a bottle of Banyuls and some Pineau. Some days, though, we just hung out in the village, reading a little on one of the sunny terraces, playing with the neighbor's enormous sweet dog, taking a walk down to the Bar du Pont for a panache, visiting the geese or the newborn goats, or sketching the clock tower, or finding a little fingerling sausage (made of duck) at the charcuterie.

So we did not see Paris or the Eiffel Tower, but I can tell you this: that new viaduct they built near Millau, completing the autoroute from Paris to Barcelona, fucking rocks. Apparently it is now the tallest manmade structure in France--taller than the Eiffel Tower. But although we went to see it--and stood with mouths agape together with French people, Belgians and Swedes, all of us pulled off in little impromptu parking lots underneath it, since the hardcore tourist infrastructure hasn't settled in yet--there was no base jumping for me.

Enjoy the silence.

As Joe noticed, I have been stalling. I have been trying to figure out where to start with my exciting (but not overdone) tale of my time in France. And frankly, folks, I am stuck.

Perhaps here is why:

You know what they say—after a long layoff, you don’t want to jump right in with a big heavy post and maybe pull a muscle or something. We middle-aged bloggers need to take things gradually and rebuild our bloggering tolerance. It’s no use pretending we’re still 23 or 24, when we could just fall out of bed one morning after a three-week hiatus and blog a few thousand words before breakfast. Ah, those were the days.

Exactly.

NOW! with photos!

I finally got the pictures downloaded from my camera, and seeing them makes me nostalgic already. At the gym today, my coach-friend reminded me I am pre-qualified for next year--but I am not ready to think about that yet, and CERtainly not gearing up to work that hard.

But anyway, PICTURES!

Here is the Coral Springs Aquatic Center, during the 1000 freestyle on Thursday. Doesn't that water look refreshing?

For those of you in more northern climes, you must imagine temperatures in the mid-90s F. Now, doesn't it look refreshing?

This is the USMS banner: it was so inspiring to see it hanging there when I arrived.


To me, this photo captures a great deal of what is fun about masters meets:

It was hilarious, because the cheerleaders would back away as these guys approached for their flipturns, and then come back to the edge of the deck and cheer like mad. The guy in the towel was cheering right along with them.

Here is the finish of my 50 freestyle--which I am only including because it is proof that (although they don't give "heat winner" ribbons at adult swim meets) I did win my heat!

We did not take pictures during the breaststroke events, because that would have been distracting.

Here, though, is my first medal:

OK, kids. That's it for now. Tomorrow the PP and I are jetting to France for a much-needed and I think rather well-deserved vacation. No posting from there, but I look forward to catching up with you in June.

Nationals, Day 2: Keep Wearing Purple.

Greetings again!

Do you know what? I am FINISHED, and it feels so good.

So after I last wrote, the PP and I went out for pizza, and let me tell you, I have never eaten tastier pizza in my life than I found at Rosario's II here in Sunrise. We really wanted to find a place that was local, and we were leaning towards seafood, but then I just NEEDED pizza. So we got pizza.

Then we came back to the hotel and watched the 7 pm edition of Law & Order. Joe said, "have fun tonight but not too much." Don't worry, Joe. I don't even know who killed the guy in the nightclub, because I was passed out by 7:30.

12 hours later, we got the wake-up call, ate breakfast, and found that it is much cooler here today--great!

Then we went to the meet, and I got warmed up for my first event, the 50 FR.

I was feeling so psyched from yesterday's races, that I was ready to kick butt, so I didn't hold back as much in the 50 FR, and swam to a :30.57--2 one-hundredths faster than my best. Plus? I won my heat! By 3 seconds! How cool is that? The PP says I won it on my flip turn, so I have to be sure to tell Coach Jimmy that, so he'll know how his good training helped me.

Then we tried to see Rowdy Gaines and Gary Hall, Jr. swim their 50s of free, but they both scratched. I think they were afraid of my purple suit--as they should be, because it was extra-energized after I listened to "Start Wearing Purple" on my mp3 player, and realized that I had all the super-extreme power of Ukrainian punk behind me. I told the PP that next time we go to Nationals, I want him to wave a Ukrainian flag for me, so that all my big-legged, big-hipped, big-mouthed Ukrainian ancestors will remember that I am doing the family proud.

It wasn't too long before the 100 BR came up, so I rested a little and went to the blocks. I could not tell how this race was going to go. Would it be fast, building on the fast from yesterday? Or would I not be able to sustain the pace for 2 days?

I knew, though, that the Force was with me, because once again, in the heat before mine in the other pool, Susan Von Der Lippe, a three-time Olympian and, at 40! prepping for the Beijing Olympic Trials, was swimming her ass off, beating the national record and in fact swimming faster than any masters age group other than the 18-24. Go Susan! She had been swimming fast in the heat before mine in the 200 BR also, so I knew there was good mojo in the pool.

I had another good start (read: goggles firmly in place) and got off to a decent start. I wasn't counting my strokes, but I was putting every bit of strength I had into the race, knowing that there was nothing more for me to do here. I had good turns--they felt quicker than yesterday--and swimming 100 yards is so under my control. But I felt a little sluggish, like I wasn't getting as much speed going today. But I didn't let that worry me: I just kept going as fast and strong as I could.

I looked up at the board and saw 1:18.52. Pretty good! I thought, cutting about a second. I got out, and the PP was laughing his head off, showing me the time he had written down: 1:16.81.

"You don't know how to read the board," I said (because yesterday he had misread my time). "I swam 1:18.52."

But then, humbled as I so often am by the PP, I reread the board, and realized that I could not read the board and he was right. I checked it on the timer's sheet for the lane.

1:16.81! About 2.5 seconds faster than my previous best!!!!!

My split for my 50 was :36.82, and that is my best 50 time ever. In all, it was a 7th place finish, and I was seeded 9th.

So what a great meet--3 of 4 best times, and serious improvement in both my targeted events.

So now I am going to kick back, eat a little left-over pizza, get out of my lucky purple swimsuit and take a shower. Then we get to go celebrate at dinner. Maybe I'll really rock out and stay up later than 7:30.

Nationals Report, Day 1

Hey--thanks for all the great comments!!!! It is so inspiring and encouraging to have so many of my co-conspirators here with me in the ether.

Hi.

I just finished my first day of competition. The meet began yesterday with the distance events, and I spent some time there, watching awesome swims (including 4 new national records--one in the men's 90+ category!), counting for someone for the 1650, getting a swim in to get more used to the pool. Then I came back to the hotel, got out of the sun, and watched Ellen. How great is that?

The PP arrived after dinner, and we had a little pow-wow, making a plan for the morning, getting my head in a good place so I could go to sleep. He is so smart, the PP, and so able to help me be smart in my thinking about big races and so forth. How great is that?

I even got a decent night's sleep (no hockey players in the vicinity), and choked down a little breakfast. Meanwhile, it was POURING DOWN RAIN outside. This was at about 6:45. Warm-ups started at 6:30, so I think the meet timeline was set back a bit, given they were using the word "hail" in the weather report on local TV.

We drove through MORE RAIN to the pool, but by the time we got there it was not raining (only 110% humidity, I'd guess). I found a good spot to plop down my towel and bag, and we got the lay of the land. The first event was the 400 IM, so there was plenty of time to look around before getting in the extra pool to warm up.

One real benefit of doing kids' meets was having the experience of warming up in a lane with about 16 other people--that made the warm-ups here NO PROBLEM. 6 people to a lane? No sweat. How great is that?

After the 400 IMs were over, they opened the competition pool for more warm ups and starts, then the 50 FL was the first event.

They are running 2 separate courses here, the "odd pool" (where I belong--heh) and the "even pool," with the odd heats in (guess which?) and the evens in the other. I preferred calling them dual pools, but whatever. Anyway, I went to the appropriate pool and waited for my heat.

In the heat before mine, a woman false started and was therefore disqualified. I felt very bad for her, but tried to refocus as I got to the block. They called the "take your marks," then we waited, then they made us stand, and 4 of us, including me, dumped into the pool.

Great, I thought. DQed in my first race at Nationals. But it turned out that the announcer had spoken over the loudspeaker after the take your mark, and the first false-starter had responded to that, so we were all cleared. How great is that?

Got back on the blocks, got a new start, and I swam :32.93, half a second off my best. Given that I was treating this as a warm up--and there was the crazy false start thing--this was just fine. The odd thing? I didn't get flustered by that false start, once I learned I could get back on the block and swim. The sad thing is I missed 10th place--and so a medal--by about a tenth. But that's OK: that's not what I was supposed to do in that race.

Then after warming down I waited around for a. long. time. Even got a little nap. Then I listened to MAKING THE ULTIMATE HAYWIRE for a while, got psyched, cooled off in the warm-up pool, and went to the blocks for the 200 BR (my target event, and the one I always dread in meets because it is so painful).

The really odd thing? I was nervous, of course, but SO MUCH less than I usually am at meets. I went to the blocks, they called for the start, my goggles stayed firmly in place, and I felt like it was going to be a great race. I pulled out of my streamline, got into my rhythm on the first length, with 7 strokes on the first length. How great is that?

My other lengths got a little less efficient, a couple of 8s, a couple of 9s, and then 10s and 10+s. But throughout the race, I felt GREAT, like I knew how to swim this race, like there was no question whether I could make it through the whole thing.

I finished with a time of 2:49.72--a best time by almost 3 seconds! HOW GREAT IS THAT????

I sat down for a second, got my wind back and got the little spots to go away from my eyes, and reveled in that moment, of knowing I swam a good race AND being able to see the scoreboard to know what the finish time was. I was the only person in my heat who did not swim in one of those fancy fast suits, and that felt kind of cool, too. But THEY did not have my lucky purple swimsuit, picked out for me by the PP and our friends from Asheville who came down for my last meet in Greenville. And who knows the power of the lucky purple swimsuit?

Warming down felt so good--being done with that race, and having honored my coaches and competitors with the best swim I could give--it all felt great.

And then I realized: given that my swimming background is summer league, and so outdoor meets, I had a natural advantage in this meet that I never have in the indoor meets. Swimming in that beautiful blue sun-filled water just felt so perfect, so cold, so familiar.

So one day down, and the PP and I are trying to decide what to eat for dinner. How great is that?

Greetings from South Florida!

Good morning from the highly air-conditioned lobby of my hotel. It is not, mind you, anywhere near the level of air conditioning in my room, which I had to set at its warmest setting in order to take off my coat.

The weather here is amazing--highs in the upper 80s, sunny. It is sunscreen central for me, but that's OK, because after all the winter meets in drafty aquatic centers, it will be great not to worry about keeping my muscles warm and loose.

I had my swim yesterday at the Coral Springs Aquatic Center, which is gorgeous. I was able to swim in the competition pool, to get used to the walls, which are (at the end without the touchpad) a tad slippery, so I'm glad to get the practice there. It has been a long time since I have swum outdoors, and while I was swimming backstroke I had to be careful not to get distracted by the birds flying around or the dragonfly perched on the wire supporting the backstroke flags. There were a number of people around, but there not so many that I did not get the swim I wanted. I did see Dara Torres with her new (very new!) baby. Let's just say that Dara 2 weeks after giving birth looks better than I ever have.

I'm also loving the radio stations around here. So far I have found 2 fabulous Spanish-language stations playing mambo, Spanish versions of hit songs ("Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da" is great in Spanish, by the way), and Latin hip hop. Awesome. Also a great West Indian station. So I almost hate to get out of the car to go into the pool.

I've done my grocery shopping (the hotel even has a fridge--excellent), although I forgot to get any little baggies to carry my pbj sandwiches in. I'll rectify that today.

Today are the serious distance freestyle events--the 1000 and 1650. I'm heading over to the pool now, to watch some swimming and get in my last pre-competition practice. Here's to no slipping on the walls!

Real-time results.

I am off. I see that USMS is posting real-time results for the meet. I don't know whether I'll be blogging from Coral Springs, so if you can't wait for the post-mortem, you can check up on me.

Here are my entries:

FRIDAY:
Event 7, Heat 15, Lane 3 (50 FL; entry time :32.48)
Event 13, Heat 14, Lane 2 (200 BR; entry time 2:52.59)

SATURDAY:
Event 23, Heat 20, Lane 5 (50 FR; entry time :30.59)
Event 25, Heat 16, Lane 8 (100 BR; entry time 1:19.43)

See you on the other side!

Making the ultimate haywire go nuts.

OK, I think I have my act together.

Joe reminded me not to forget the contact lens accoutrements, and lucky me, the boxes of spare lenses I ordered arrived today. So lenses, spares, case, cleaning solution--CHECK.

And estaminet in her wisdom reminded me to bring undies and spares--CHECK.

And I have made myself a new playlist and loaded it on the mp3 player: Yuri Yunakov, the Pogues, Brave Combo, Gogol Bordello, Les Negresses Vertes, the Ukrainians, Taraf de Haïdouks, Charming Hostess, Balkan Beat Box, Squirrel Nut Zippers--you get the idea. I am ready to make the ultimate haywire go nuts.

Huh? Let me explain.

Here is a bit of something Pem sent me by way of inspiration. I know it is about running, but it translates well to swimming too. It is from Jeff Johnson’s Border Clash 2001 inspirational remarks. He has some good things to say about running generally, but here is a part about competition:

So here’s another question for you: Why do you compete? Why do you race 3.1 miles? That’s gotta hurt. Why do you do it?

For most of you... I imagine that you race for the challenge... the danger... the rush of putting yourself in a place where you must do your absolute best...

... Because the race requires it. To give your best is to honor your fellow competitors... your teammates... your coach... your school... your family... your community... and all the good people who have worked so hard to put on the race.

To give your best in a race is a matter of honor... and duty... and you know that going in. You know, also, that the course will challenge you... that your competitors will challenge you... and that you will challenge yourself. You know, too, that there will come a critical moment in the race where you must make the decision to lay it on the line... to take your shot... or to fall back and regroup.

And you hope you’ll be up to the challenge, but you’re never entirely sure... and it’s that uncertainty that calls to you... because it is there, at that moment, that moment of decision, that you offer yourself up to be measured: by the clock... by your legs and lungs... by your guts, and by your heart.

And if you want to win the race, in that moment of decision, you’re going to have to go a little crazy.

That, friends, is why I made that mix: to remind myself to go crazy, or as Eugene Hutz says, to make the ultimate haywire go nuts, bunkers buck wild. Because, my friends, it is nice to be hammered in the brain!

But back to Jeff Johnson:

You race, then, because races are a big deal. ...

Races are a big deal. Races are the culmination of all the forces that have brought you here:

desire... commitment... focus... sacrifice... suffering... self-discipline... hard work... responsibility. You race because you are invested in effort, and you are invested in success.

Moreover, you are invested together.

Look around you. Go ahead. Do it. Look around.

Who are those people you see? Do you think they are your opponents? People who oppose your quest for excellence?

Well they aren’t. They are not your opponents. They are your fellow competitors. In fact, they are your co-conspirators, for to compete is to enter into a conspiracy.

The conspiracy is revealed in the word itself: compete, which comes from two Latin roots, com and petere, which means “to strive together.”

Al Oerter, the 4-time Olympic gold medalist in the discus, once said: “I’ve never competed against anyone in my life. I’ve always competed with people. To compete against people is a negative thing. To compete with people is a celebration, a celebration of human capability.”

And so it is. The worthy competitor is essential to the race, not as an enemy, but as a co-conspirator. The race, you see, is a secret form of cooperation. The race is simply each of you seeking your absolute best with the help of each other.

Steve Prefontaine said: “To give anything less than your best is to sacrifice the gift.” What gift do you think he was talking about? The gift of your talent, surely. But perhaps also the gift of opportunity... and the gift of youth... perhaps even the gift of life itself.

In any case, you give your best to the race as a matter of honor. You can do no less, because your competitors are giving their best to you.

So before I go, a quick shout out to all my co-conspirators: it is my duty and my great honor to swim this race, to conspire with you, whether that conspiracy happens in the pool or not. Bolshoye spacebo to the PP for EVERYTHING and especially the support (and getting my ass out of bed at oh dark thirty several days a week), to Coach Jimmy and Coach Jim, and to all the Masters Team, and to everyone who has ever said anything encouraging (and dahlings, you know who you ARE!)

Stretch out and wait.

Grade exams and enter final grades . . . CHECK!
Buy sunscreen and new deodorant . . . CHECK!
Get garden ready to not die while I am away . . . CHECK!
Provide for the kitties . . . CHECK!
Confirm flight, car reservation, hotel reservation . . . CHECK!
Send travel info to the parents . . . CHECK!
Call credit card company so they don’t freak out and stop my card . . . CHECK!
Make back up copies of my research materials and tell my co-editor where they are . . . CHECK!

Flight goes at 9:30 a.m. (EDT) on Wednesday. That means the PP can take me to the airport. I do my final practice with the team (but not doing their workout) tomorrow. Then I get a massage!

Things I am taking care not to forget: my special Clemson Aquatic Team cap that says “NATIONAL TEAM” on it, goggles and spare goggles, swimsuit and spare swimsuit, ear drops, my fab new warm-up jacket, 5 Clemson Aquatic Team t-shirts for wearing at the meet, my good-luck pjs, copy of my USMS license, mp3 player with special meet and pre-meet mixes, my new cheap sunglasses, swimming notebook (with info re times at previous meets), copies of hotel and car and flight reservations, camera and spare batteries, copy of my meet registration, a book to read and a spare book, nice clothes for going out to dinner, a hat, my glasses and my prescription sunglasses (just in case), my heating pad and earplugs and neck pillow (for high-maintenance sleeping)--what have I missed?

Heat sheets.

I have emerged VICTORIOUS from Battle Grading!

Now it is on to meet preparation. My heart went pitter-pat on Friday when I discovered that the heat sheets are up. O my Gods and Goddesses, I am actually swimming in this meet! Then I had another freak-out when I saw the estimated meet timeline. I am really becoming able to envision these two days.

Here is something you should know about my entry times: they are OK, but not all that.

For instance, the 50 freestyle:

O Mighty Isis, age 34: entry time of :30.59
Ambrose Gaines, age 47: entry time of :21.90

If you do not recognize this man, it may be because you know him as "Rowdy." By the way, his is not the fastest time in his age group: that honor goes to Paul L. Smith. I would love to be Paul L. Smith if he beats Rowdy Gaines--how cool would that feel?

And just for kicks, let's look at the 50 butterfly:

O Mighty Isis, age 34: entry time of :32.48
Gary W. Hall, Jr., age 31: entry time of :22.98

That's right--just because it's a 50 does not mean he won't beat me by ABOUT TEN SECONDS!

But that's OK. I don't mind losing to former Olympians.

O My Queen . . .

. . . said the royal sorcerer to Hapsetphut, with this amulet you and your graduate assistants are endowed by the goddess Isis with the powers of the poets and the pedants. You will create difficult exams as T. S. Eliot creates difficult poems, grade with the speed of gazelles, and command the elements of paper and pen!

3000 years later, a young English teacher dug up this lost treasure and found she was heir to--the secrets of Isis! And so she became a dual person: Furious, teacher, and Isis! dedicated foe of interminable grading! defender of exhausted hands! champion of being done with the semester!

And so I venture this morning into my last batch of grading. And while I don't have a "grading psych-up" mix, I am finding that my meet psych mix works just fine.

Wish me the speed of gazelles!

GR&R: the Sunday afternoon edition

You may remember my post about race rehearsals, where I lamented not making the target times that my coach-friend had set for me.

He and I had a couple of discussions in the meantime, and determined that trying to do 4 race-pace swims (2x150 + 2x75) was not such a hot idea. I was intensely tired the following day, which is not the goal of Getting RESTED and Ready.

So on Friday I swam one 75, trying to muster my race pace for the 100 BR, and my time was :59 (instead of 1:01).

And today I swam one 150, trying to muster my race pace for the 200 BR. My time was 2:03 (instead of 2:07 and 2:09 last week)--well within the goal range!

And seriously, I think the rest is making all the difference. I felt like I was kicking ass (and taking names) during the swim, that it was not an impossible swim to do, and then I was able to recover quickly afterwards.

Now, speaking of Getting Ready, I have some packing to do.

Nasturtia

Friday Random 10: Editions Edition

I know you have been wanting to ask: O Mighty Isis, what are some of the most rewarding aspects of textual editing? Well, it's your lucky day!

First, there are the stylistic conventions that a series might silently adopt. That might mean, for instance, that although you have never written anything that adopts British standards of spelling and punctuation, you must use them. Never mind that the conventions of quoting seem counterintuitive, if only because you are not sued to them. Also note that titles of books, operas, periodicals, long poems, statues, plays, paintings, and drawings are in italics, while titles of stories, poems, and songs are in quotation marks. For you, that means identifying the nature of the work for each title that appears in the text. Should a philosophical treatise go in quotes or italics? How about a fictional book?

Then you get to decide which of your author's innumerable errors (well, maybe the author's, maybe the publisher's) to emend, and which to leave, in order to retain the sense of the crazy book that was privately published, only to be fixed up in its later edition. Sometimes special terms are capitalised. Sometimes they are italicised. Sometimes they are italicised and capitalised. Sometimes they are randomly abbreviated. And which of the author's favourite specialised vocabulary should you also capitalise in your own annotations, when you know full well that this guy capitalised all over the place? You May Find Yourself Deciding That It Is Easiest To Capitalise Everything. And Also To Italicise Everything.

How about page references in annotations? For which should you use roman numerals and for which arabic? How do you distinguish a reference to volume + page number from one to book + chapter + verse? Act + scene + line? And what about classical texts that are routinely cited by paragraph numbers?

Drinking, people. That is the only cure.

This is definitely the kind of rewarding work that led me to choose this profession. And it's why I get the big bucks. Or excuse me, British Style, I should say the supreme quid.

Please note that this week's random 10 is presented in British style (insofaras I am capable), and that all ampersands have been expanded to 'and':

1. 'Exactly Like You', k. d. lang and Tony Bennett (A Wonderful World)
2. Vivaldi: 'Magnificat, et miericordia', John Alldi Choir and the English Chamber Orchestra, cond. Vittorio Negri (The Great Choral Masterpieces, disc 1)
3. Bach: 'O Sacred Head', Richard Stoltzman (Spirits)
4. 'Sad, Lonesome and Blue', Queen Ida and her Zydeco Band (Caught in the Act)
5. 'Dead Letter', Elvis Costello and the Brodsky Quartet (The Juliet Letters)
6. 'Free Your Mind', En Vogue (Funky Divas)
7. 'Airport', dZihan and Kamien (Gran Riserva)
8. 'Smoke Rings', k. d. lang (Drag)
9. 'Maria Moita', Rosalia de Souza (Garota Moderna)
10. 'The Hero's Return', Pink Floyd (The Final Cut)

Garden Heroes!

In all my focus on swimming, I have forgotten to update you on the status of my ultra-super garden.

First of all, there is progress in the world of broccoli. If you look down into the center of the biggest of the plants, you can see the florets beginning to develop.

See?

And my curry plant, installed last year, I believe, is thriving.

And because it has needed pruning, we're cooking with curry leaves a lot. You can use the leaves of this plant (which look but do not smell like rosemary) in a variety of Asian flavas. For instance, tonight the PP is doing a repeat on Indianish stir-fried shrimp with curry leaves and zesty tomato sauce. The sauce tastes almost nothing like tomato, because there is also cilantro, coconut milk, salt and sugar, garam masala and cumin in there. You add the curry leaves to the shrimp while it is stir-frying. Yummy!

I am not having such good luck with the arugula, which is supposed to be a cinch as long as you water it at least daily while it is very young. But you can see that mine has already gone to flower, although it has not really produced tasty leaves.

But this year the new, exciting addition to our salad days have been edible flowers. Here are some nasturtiums (nasturtia?) that we'll be able to eat in a day or so.

I'm sorry, but I did not get the camera out before we ate two of them last night. You can find an accurate photo here (perhaps those came from the same source as ours). There would have been more nasturtia, but some cold temps did most of the plants in one night; only 2 of the 6 sent up new shoots. The calendula are also doing well:

But be warned (and look closely at the center of the photo): there are little bugs that love to walk around and hang out among the petals and the center of the calendula. They are really really tiny, but you can see them when they boogying around your salad. The PP was a bit grossed out by that. Mind you, few things gross out the PP. He is, after all, a waste-water engineer, and is used to dealing with all many of nasty stuff. He does not cringe at cat-litter clean-up, cat puke removal, big scary bug eradication, etc. But the wee calendula dwellers did not make him want to eat his salad. So we removed the offending flower from his bowl and I ate it.

"Ugh!" he said. "Now you have bug mouth!" and he pointed out that no one wants to kiss a bug mouth. He also mentioned that the bugs would no doubt reproduce in my stomach, kind of like how cherry trees grow out of cherry pits. He would not explain to me how those cherry trees could do it with no source of light. But still: beware the little bugs.

We've enjoyed a bit of baby romaine lettuce, too, and I think we'll need to harvest some more at the baby stage, or else all our lettuce might reach maturity while we're in France.

That funky Tut.

If you were not a watcher of the Shazam!/Isis hour, then you may be wondering who that is in the photo at the upper right. No, no, not the GODDESS with the long hair: if you didn't figure THAT out, then there is no hope for you. I mean the other one. On my arm.

This, my friends, is Tut.


Here is the way Tut looks when she is not in costume:

Tut has not gotten that much attention over at Fury, what with all the discussions of Jacques Monod. But that is OK with Tut, because, she has a lot more dignity than to go around quoting from Glengarry, Glen Ross. She does not get up right in your face and diss you. She does not whine like an idiot when canned food bowls are clinked together.

Here is the kind of thing Jacques Monod would do:

Tut would not do that.

At an earlier time in her life, Tut was the first mate on the good ship High Bough. During her adolescence she wrote moody poems and was known to stalk around the house quoting from Hamlet's soliloquies. She was a big fan of The Cure. She once explained to me that she wore black on the outside because black was how she felt on the inside. And then she'd add that she is feline and she needs to be loved, just like everybody else does.

Ever since she took on this alter-ego, however, she has felt much less angst. She feels that this time of her life is so much richer, so much more well adjusted. Now she would remind you that a tail is nothing but a long booty. And when she says things like that, how can you help but ask, "How'd you get so funky?"

There is no answer to that, but perhaps you'll join me in a little hymn to the praises of Tut?

Dancing by the Nile,
(Disco dancing)
The ladies love his style.
(Boss Tut)
Rockin' for a mile,
(Rockin' Tut)

Getting rested and ready, part next.

Today was my biggest practice, in terms of yardage and intensity, until after Nationals.

I took a rest day on Monday, and I did a "prep" practice yesterday (getting the rust out). But today was also my first "race rehearsal" day, which meant that I did rehearsals for both of my target events. Here is how it worked:

500 general warm-up
1000 prep: 20x50, doing the following 4 times:
* 25 drill/25 swim
* 50 build
* 25 fast/25 easy
* 2 x 50 easy
1800 race rehearsal
* 150 BR
* 350 easy
* 150 BR
* 350 easy
* 75 BR
* 325 easy
* 75 BR
* 325 easy

There were no intervals for any of this. I was aiming for a 2:00-2:05 on the 150s, and a :54-:56 on the 75s. I did not make those times. For the first 150, I swam 2:07, but I was able to realize that in trying to pick up the pace over the course of the 150, I was throwing myself off. So the second time I swam, I focused on maintaining my rhythm, which meant that I swam 9 strokes per every length, instead of starting to mess up on the last 50. The time was slower, though: 2:09. I can attribute some of that to having already swum the previous 150, which I was definitely feeling in my legs. And the pace I swam still sets me up for a best time, just not as fast as my coach-friend believes I can swim.

On the 75s, I swam 1:01 both times--again, slow. But I am hopeful that a certain amount of that was a result of having already swum the 2 x 150s, because my rhythm felt really good, my legs felt strong, and I felt as though I was getting a good pull every time.

At the meet, I will swim:
FRIDAY: 50 FL + 200 BR
SATURDAY: 50 FR + 100 BR
so on neither day will I need to do as much racing as I did today. That means that on future "rehearsal" practices (and I think I will try to swim 3 more), I will only swim 2 fast swims per day.

Meanwhile, please send all your super good wishes my way as I try to improve on those rehearsal times.

Dedicated foe of Bush.

Today I am using my ultra-super powers to bring this article to your attention. I guess Bush is the Decider after all.

Now in her own magazine!

The time has come, O My Friends and Readers, for me to dig up my secret amulet, save (with a mighty hand) every man every woman every child, drink my Chemical X, be forged in the heat of battle, leap tall buildings in a single bound, go to the batmobile, because, friends, all the world is waiting for me to look the coming week and a half in the eye and KICK ITS ASS.

Can Isis survive the final week of training? Can Isis manage to grade her remaining exams before the due date? Can Isis complete the research project that will not die? Can Isis' power defeat the other women entered in the 30-34 age group in the 100 BR and 200 BR?

Stay tuned!

Getting Rested & Ready

I wrote on Friday about the theory of GR&R, but I thought I would say a little about my Saturday's swim, because it shows something of the way this works.

Usually on Saturdays I swim 6000+ yards. This time it was 3700, about the same distance as a weekday swim.

Here is how the workout broke down:

1500 Warm-up:
* 300 swim
* 200 kick
* 300 drill/swim alternating by 25
* 7 x 100:
-- 2 x 100 moderate
-- 2 x 100 build
-- 1 x 100, 25 fast / 75 easy
-- 1 x 100, 75 build / 25 easy
-- 1 x 100, 25 fast / 75 easy

1000 Main Set #1
* 5 x 50: odds = BR descend, evens = moderate FR
* 250 easy, alternating 25 BR / 50 FR
* 3 x 50 BR on a :20 rest interval
* 350 easy, alternating 25 BA / 25 BR / 50 FR

1100 Main Set #2
* 4 x
/ 25 fast [FL, BR, FR, BR]
\ 5 x 50 moderate free @ :50

100 Cool-down

So first, let me explain the theory behind the first main set. I was building up to swim 3 x 50 BR perfectly, to simulate the last 3 50s of the 200. So the first round of 50s was sort of a practice, and that's why the 50s of FR were in there. So I was trying to descend the 3 x 50s of BR in the first part of the set (so that by the third one I was swimming my target pace for the 200), with a little recovery during the 2 x 50s of FR in between. I took the first 50 BR out really smooth and strong, and came in at :41. That was the target I thought I was going for by the end of the set. My coach-friend was also surprised, and suggested I just maintain that pace. So during the second one I tried to swim the same way, but then I got nervous that I was getting slower so I took the second half a tiny bit harder. I came in at :40. Then the last one was :39. So it did turn out to be a descend after all, but at a much faster pace than I anticipated. My coach-friend was also very pleased with how the stroke count was during this set: I was swimming 10 strokes/length on the first 50, then 9/length for the other 2.

Then I did the 250 easy and then the 3 x 50, which I swam at :39 low, :39 mid, and :40 flat.

The result is that if I could swim just like that during the meet, I'll be much, much faster than I have been in the past. I don't know what to make of that, whether to hope that this better training could cut time off my best time. We shall see shortly.

Then the second set was sort of a speed + aerobic pace set, where you swim your ass off during the 25s and then recover during the 50s. I was pleased with how that set, and it really seemed that by the end of the fourth round I felt better and stronger than at the end of the first round.

And then I was done! That was an amazing feeling, after so many Saturdays when I would be just past half-way.

Today is a rest day, then I continue with the GR&R the rest of the week, starting my daily yardage tomorrow at 3000 and shortening down to ~2500 by the end of the week.

Friday Rested & Ready 10: It's a shame the way she makes me scrub the floor Edition

It is the day I have been waiting for--the beginning of my taper! Only we are not calling it a taper, I learned mid-week. We are calling it Getting Rested and Ready. My friend who is coaching me through big weekend workouts and helping me think about getting ready for a big meet pointed out, "you're either rested and ready, rested and not ready, not rested and ready or not rested and not ready. Those are the only options I know."

Well yes, he's right. Let's hope I achieve the first option.

The idea is that you back off some of the quantity of swimming, so that by the end of the 2-week period you're swimming only the amount of yardage you expect to swim on a race day. I'm figuring 2500 as my raceday yardage: that allows for 1000 warm-up, 500 more warm-up as I get closer to my event (it's a big enough meet that there will be a gap between the warm-up period and my swims), 200+50 or 100+50 racing (depending on the day), and a total of 800 cool-down (including 200 between events and 600 at the end). Presently my workouts range from 3300-3700 on weekdays and 4000-6800 on weekends. It is going to be nice to bring the yardage down a bit.

But that is only rested: you also have to get ready. Doing that means lots of very targeted fast swims, which you treat as "rehearsals." By the end of the GR&R period, I will only swim fast the amount of swimming I'll do in competition on a given day. Ionly get one shot a day at the 200 BR, for instance, so I learn to get it right the first time.

I celebrated this morning by sleeping in to 5:30, then lounging in bed a little more than usual, and then heading to the pool for an easy 2000 yards. It felt really great to swim easy like that, focus on technique and efficiency and not ever look at the clock (even though I could have). Today, in addition to being the beginning of GR&R, was my recovery practice, between my 3 days of weekday masters practices and my 2 days of big weekend swims. This week I have been TIRED: heavy legs, tight shoulders, low capacity for speed. I know, then, that it is time to start getting rested and ready.

So, in the spirit of same, here is my Friday Rested & Ready (and also Random) 10:

1. "You're Making Me High," Toni Braxton, CD single
2. "Maggie's Farm," Bob Dylan, Bringing It All Back Home
3. "Driving in My Car," Geggy Tah
4. "Dusic," Brick, Old School Volume 3
5. "Aspettanno," Pietra Montecorvino, Napoli Mediterranea
6. "Il dritto," Enzo Jannacci, I Miti Musici
7. Vivaldi: Largo from Concerto for flute in g-minor, Op. 10, No. 2, "La notte," RV 439, Trevor Pinnock and the English Consort, 8 Concerti
8. Dvorak, arr. Kreisler: "Humoresque," Fritz Kreisler (v), Franz Rupp (p), Original Compositions and Arrangements
9. "Alright Hear This," Beastie Boys, Ill Communication
10. "The Family and the Fishing Net," Peter Gabriel, Security

The continuing saga of my vision.

No, no, no, I don't mean that I'm having visions, or that I have completed the work on the book I've been editing.

I mean, it's freakin unbelievable how much detail I have been missing. For instance, I have never seen anyone's facial expressions during swim practice, except the people in my lane. Everybody else just looks like stylized stick figures with blobs for heads.

(Whoa, warning: I was going to put an image in here, and in looking at google for stick figures I came across a link for "all nude teen stick figures." I don't even want to know.)

Anyway, now they all have facial expressions, and I can see the second hand on the pace clock, and the ceiling tile that is hanging precipitously over lane 2 looks all the more menacing.

Last night when I took the contacts out to go to bed, I was aSTONished to remember how little I see through glasses compared with contacts. Peripheral zone in focus? Forget it.

But my face looks funny and naked. I suppose that is a small price to pay.

Look closely, you'll see luck in my eyes.

So one of my greatest annoyances at swim practice is not being able to see the pace clock. Yes, it's true: although the clock is giant, with its big old analog face there on the wall, not more than 10 feet away, I can't see it.

Part of this is because some genius designed the pace clock so that the minute hand, which no one uses for anything, nice and big and visible from a great distance. Then the aforementioned genius made the second hand, the only hand anyone ever looks for, nice and thin. Thanks, genius.

But the other reason is that my vision is BAD. I'm near-sighted and I have increasing astygmatism in both eyes, especially my left. I used to wear contacts before the astygmatism got bad, but before long the nice cheap lenses just didn't work anymore, adn I decided I would rather be able to see well, even if I had to wear glasses all the time.

So for several years--maybe 5 or 6--I've only worn glasses. I even have prescription sunglasses, which, you may recall, saved my butt when I was in Italy last summer and the left arm fell off my regular glasses.

But back to the point: the last time I did an open water swim, I forgot that I no longer wore contacts. If you are an open-water swimmer, you know that one of the great challenges of such a race is spotting the buoys efficiently, and so staying more or less on course. The trick is to learn to spot the buoys while you breathe, so you can more or less not break your stride--I mean your stroke--to allign yourself. (I personally do not recommend the method of simply drafting off someone else and hoping they know where they are going. In my experience, they do not.)

So you can imagine my surprise and dismay when I realized that, thanks to my contact-free eyes, I could not see any of the buoys, even if I came to a dead stop. And then you may sympathise with me as I paddled directionless around Lake Hartwell, hoping I might find a buoy. This might not have been so bad were it not a race, and were it not a 5000-meter race. Or, for me, perhaps a 6000-meter race.

But enough of the self-pity. I had pretty much just gotten used to this as something that would make my swimming life tricky. I try for the wall lane when I'm swimming alone, so I can be closer to the clock, and during masters practice I'd come to rely on the kindness of strangers and teammates to tell me when the interval had come around. If someone I'm training with wants me to help with their stroke, I run and get my glasses. And at meets I just wear my glasses between events, tucking the little arms behind my ears under my cap. Looks dorky, but it works.

I've been thinking about swimming again in that open-water meet, though, and about the fact I can't buy cheap sunglasses and expect to see out of them, and I decided to try the contacts again. Turns out the technology has improved quite a bit, and the astygmatic lenses are a lot cheaper than they used to be, and supposed to be easier to use.

Today, my friends, I am wearing for the first day my new test pair of lenses.

I had forgotten how much clearer the world is through contacts. Sure, my glasses were great, and they're easy-on easy-off. But as I was driving home today, I could see all the little individual leaves on the trees from the road. I had to be careful not to drive off the road looking at how different trees have different shaped leaves. And as is always the case with a new prescription, or a switch from glasses to contacts, my depth perception is a little wacky. Driving along in my 1993 Honda Civic, I felt so much closer to the ground than before.

So tomorrow morning will be the big test. Will I be able to get the things in my tired eyes at 5 a.m.? And then will I be able to read the pace clock?

Stay tuned.

Somebody's gotta go back and get a whole shitload o' dimes....

A few years ago a friend of mine suggested that we tax our vices. Spend an hour aimlessly surfing the web? $5 in the tax jar. 30 minutes blown on a computer game? $2. 2 hours in the evening surfing TV channels, but not finding anything worth that wasted time? $5. Her goal was to save up for laser eye surgery. I was saving to pay for my half-pay full-year sabbatical. The funds never did pay for the high ticket item, but it was an easy way to save money to do something constructive with, and somehow attone for the wasted time.

Katie P. on Basic Juice recently suggested a similar way to indulge your palate when it exceeds your means: the "wine fund." I don't have the designated jar she mentioned, but I do have a change cup, so what the hey.

When I called the PP at work to ask where the coin rolls were, he pointed out he had a change cup of his own on his dresser, that I could add it to the mix.

Then you're in that inevitable situation where you're close to a full roll on a few denominations, so then it is time to scrounge through the change pockets on purses, bookbags, and then out to the car to raid the ashtray collection of dimes and quarters.

An hour later: $80.50. Now to decide how to spend it.

T-minus 5 days, and definitely counting.

If you're wondering what the T stands for, then you haven't heard me whining as much as the PP has. In fact, the PP lives with a whole crew of whiners. The cats whine constantly, and I whine almost constantly.

So getting back to the T: it stands for TAPER, which is what I get to do starting Friday. I CANNOT WAIT.

These last several weeks have been my biggest weeks of the year, when you combine yardage with intensity, which unfortunately I have been doing. I did not beat my weeklong yardage record (21,200) this week, but I only missed it by 600 yards. (Actually, had I been aware of that, I might have put in an extra 700 today, just for grins. Actually, not for grins: for pain.) That means that my weekly average (last week was short thanks to the rec center closing for Easter) for the last 4 weeks is 18,900, which is just what it should be. And my weekly average since I recovered from being sick (7 weeks) is 17,650. That is OK too. I don't have the strength in my fingers to punch enough calculator buttons to tally my yardage since the season began last August, or I'd bore you with that information, too.

But the point of all this is, I'm tired. Tired of playing the game. Ain't it a freakin' shame?

Friday Random 0: PHEW! Edition

No tunes for your imaginative delectation today. Sorry about that.

Why, you ask? Because I had a computer FREAK-OUT today. Basically, there was a corrupted index on my drive, which "disk check" found and repaired when I ran disk check upon restarting the machine. Then, when it finished powering up, the files in that index, the files which contain the results of this entire academic year's labor, the files that include the output of a lot of annotating, proofreading, reproofreading, contemplating, reproofreading, e-mailing with my collaborator about, and reproofreading, were . . .

GONE.

So that sound that you probably heard even where you were at about 8:21 a.m. EDT was the sound of my gut falling out of my body and into the center of the earth.

And, so that you don't need to spend even another minute feeling (you are so empathetic) as I did for about 6 hours of my day, I'll tell you everything was recovered with no loss of data. Nevertheless, I spent the intervening hours figuring out what parts of those files I had in recoverable form elsewhere (on my memory stick, in printed form with or without written comments on them, on my collaborator's hard drive, etc.) and saying YOU DUMBASS!!! WHY DIDN'T YOU BACK UP YESTERDAY? OR LAST WEEK? OR THE WEEK BEFORE THAT?

Because sometimes I am an dumbass, that's why. And this was one of those time.

So now it is 5:43 pm EDT, and I am sighing great relief. The files were recovered. The files now exist in at least 5 places. I have printed clean copies of things. I have purchased a new external hard drive to use for backing up my files. I have not had as many scotches as I would like to have, because in about 20 minutes I'm going swimming, but that's OK. The scotch will be here when I get home.

Meanwhile, I'm going to go extra-random on your asses by presenting this Friday's Random 10 on some other occasion--it will be a surprise, and perhaps (as a result) even more random.

I know you are hanging on the edge of your seats.

Spiritual Death

Ian Williams wrote:

To which part of American culture do you assign "spiritual death"? And I don't mean the obvious ones. For me?

- Dockers™ pants
- all-afternoon happy hour at Ruby Tuesday's
- Kevin Federline listening to his own music
- the Lice Aisle at Wal-Mart

Maybe these are the obvious ones, but I'd say:

- Tooth whiteners
- Cosmetic vacations
- Payday advance service
- televised poker
- Weekend at Bernie's 2

How about you?

Psych sheets are up!

The folks at USMS have posted the psych sheets for the 2006 SCY nationals. After a lot of anticipation and fretting (let's be honest) it is exciting to see who and how deep the competition will be in the W 30-34 category--who has entered, who has aged up, etc. There are 1,270 swimmers registered in the meet, and 55 women altogether in my age group. And in my events: 16 in the 50 FL, 9 in the 200 BR, 25 in the 50 FR, and 15 in the 100 BR.

You might think that seeing that I am in pretty good shape in my target events would make me calmer, but it doesn't. It freaks me out.

I start my taper on the 28th of April. I leave for Coral Springs on 10 May. I train and check things out on 11 May. On the 12th and 13th, I race.

Now, if I could just get my nerves settled in the meantime.

Where were YOU?

Tim asked: "So I have to ask: where were you when you discovered Arvo Pärt?"

I remember distinctly, Tim: I first heard his music on a tape from you, By the Waters of Babylon. If you have forgotten what was on this tape, the way I have with many a mix I have made, it is a beautiful collection of contemporary classical music, probably the some of the first of that that I had heard. It includes "An Du Wassern zu Babel" and "De Profundis" and "Pari Intervallis." In the liner notes, you recommended Te Deum, which I went out and bought.

But now for the where part, which stuck with me, even though there obviously were some "wheres" where I listened to your tape first.

I brought home the Te Deum CD, and I was very excited to listen to it. Then it was one of those Ann Arbor afternoons that broke out in a tremendous thunderstorm, and I was absolutely conflicted about whether to listen to the beautiful storm or the beautiful CD.

Pärt won out, and now that music always has violent weather in the background.

And incidentally, in those liner notes you also said, "You must get a copy of Górecki’s Symphony #3. I did, and you were right.

This whole story means, though, that really this question comes back to, where were YOU?

And Dear Reader, if you’re a Pärt listener, where were you?

Friday Random Rules

Joe asked: "What is the origin of your strange and wonderful 'Friday Random 10' lists?" and I realized I had gotten sloppy about posting the rules.

It is a strangely addictive game I heard about from a few places, but mostly from Jarrett House North, who plays religiously--now estaminet does, too. Although I do not know the exact origin of the game, here is some speculation.

I am a fan of ritual, especially communal ritual. This one helps me mark the end of the workweek--hallelujah.

Saturday, I mean Friday Random 10: buh Bah buh, buh Bah buh Edition

So even though my university does not recognize Good Friday as a holiday, the PP's company does, and I don't teach on Friday, so we get a long weekend. How great for us--could not come a moment too soon.

So I'm doing the Random 10 on the early side, so I can get on with my holiday (which, unfortunately, does not include skipping swimming).

Do you know, it is supposed to reach 88 degrees here each of the next 3 days, and maybe 90 on Monday? In April. This is the part of global warming I could do without....

1. Pärt: Berliner Messe: 5. Veni Sancte Spiritus; Tönu Kaljuste, Tallinn Chamber Orchestra, Estonian Philharmonic Chamber Choir (Te Deum)
2. "Bieggarajorri" (Weathervane), Wimme (Nordic Roots: A NorthSide Collection)
3. "Fair," Ben Folds Five (Forever & Ever Amen)
4. "The Wild Wild Sea," Sting (The Soul Cages)
5. Stravinsky/Auden: "Recitative: Nick," John Cheek (bass), Orchestra of St. Luke's Robert Craft (cond) (The Rake's Progress)
6. "Jingo," Santana (The Best of Carlos Santana)
7. Vivaldi: Concerto for 2 mandolins (RV 532): 3. Allegro, Trevor Pinnock and the English Consort (8 Concerti)
8. "Remember the Mountain Bed," Wilco and Billy Bragg (Mermaid Avenue, Vol. 2)
9. "Over the Moon," Pere Ubu (Worlds in Collision)
10. "Verso il terzo millennio," Giorgio Gaber (La mia generazione ha perso)

What doesn’t kill me almost kills me, or Why An All Breaststroke Practice Is A Bad Idea.

Yow. Our swim coach is still on spring break, so it was yet another create-your-own-practice day. I did not make my practice up, but instead did an old favorite from SWIM magazine, which used to be a membership benefit of USMS.

First I did our usual masters warm-up, which is 600 yards, broken into 300 swim, 200 kick, 100 drill/swim. Then I did the breaststroke practice from [I don’t remember the date of the issue, but I’ll fill it in here once I look it up]:

700 WARM-UP (yes, I know—2 warm-ups!)
200 swim, alternating free and breast by 50s
300 scull: 6 x 50 scull drills with freestyle kick (windshield wiper drill, etc.)
200 kick, on your back, breaststroke kick in streamline

2000 MAIN SET: MANY DRILLS
4 x 50 body dolphins: “press the T (i.e., your chest)” on each dolphin kick, keeping your hands in front and at the surface
4 x 100 body dolphins, but with a fast, powerful breaststroke pull every 3rd kick
4 x 100 body dolphins, but with a fast, powerful breaststroke pull and kick every 3rd kick
8 x 100 breaststroke “kick to a glide,” keeping your arms extended for 1 full second before beginning the next stroke
8 x 25 breaststroke sprint, trying to keep some glide at the front of the pull

400 COOL DOWN

That means 3700 yards all told, and MAN is it a tiring practice. I had gotten halfway through the 8 x 100 and I said to the PP, who was getting out of the pool to go to work, “I don’t think I can do 4 more.” He looked all sympathetic at first, like he might say, “That’s OK, honey. You’ve worked your ass off already,” but then he said, “Yes you can,” and enlisted the other swimmer who was there this morning to motivate me by cheering for me during the rest of the set. She was terrific and did just that. Then I was so proud of myself for not being a wuss that I had to go ahead and do the 8 x 25.

Anybody want to guess how ready for breakfast I was when I finally was done showering and dressing and driving to work? Peanut butter and jelly never tasted so good. And coffee!

Fauna.

So yesterday evening the PP and I were heading out to a reading at a bar in town, and while I was waiting for him to come out of the house, I was standing there looking at my azaleas.

My azaleas, as will come as no surprise to you, look like this:

So I'm standing there, looking at them and at the bumblebees who are doing their Flight-Of-The thing around the blossoms, and then I see something that initially is playing along with the "I'm a Bumblebee" routine, but the more I look, the more I see that it is not. It almost looks like a hummingbird, but smaller--very different body shape from the bees. But with a distinctly striped tail. And hummingbirds don't have antennae. And then, when it flew away, it buzzed close to my head, and I could tell that its buzz had a very different pitch from that of the bumblebees.

I've been wondering since then, what in the world this could be.

Turns out that a call to my mother was all I needed. I had barely launched into my description of the miraculous creature I had seen in my garden, when she said, "Oh. That's a hummingbird moth."

Of course.

Specifically, it was a Snowberry Clearwing Hummingbird Moth. Here is what it looks like when its wings are not humming:

That photo comes from this page, where you can also see a photographic narrative of its life cycle. Here is an even cooler photo narrative of the emergence of a White-Lined Sphinx Hummingbird Moth.

Ow ow ow.

MAN, did swimming feel bad this morning, or what?

Here's a hint: it's not what.

I guess the big yardage this weekend (6200 Saturday + 5000 Sunday, for a week's total of 21,200--my biggest swimming week since I started keeping track 9 years ago) is still with me. I know I was still feeling it yesterday--for instance when I was driving home from the post office and had a hard time holding my arms high enough to steer. And that was far surpassed when I showered and had to wash my hair. Ow!

But I thought maybe by this morning I would be recovered.

Wrong.

The kids' swimteam is on break this week, so we don't have a coach. We're starting later (6 instead of 5:30) which rocks, and since we're not doing as programmed a practice, I was able to knock out 3000 yards in less than an hour. Makes a big difference not to take much rest--but that is only possible when the intensity is low, which for me Oh Yes Oh Yes it was.

No place for beginners or sensitive hearts.

A while ago I remember Cooks Illustrated did an article about perfect smoothies. Unfortunately for me, their perfect recipe was made with milk, and my insides can only tolerate so much dairy. I like to use yogurt in my smoothies, so there is some protein, but if I add milk to that, I have a miserable day.

Sorry. More information than you needed, I know. But the point is that ever since I started making smoothies for breakfast four or five summers ago, I have been trying to figure out what liquid to add so that they don't have the consistency of oatmeal.

Juice.

Sure, you can use rice milk or soy milk, but those always make the flavor just a little odd. Though if you don't mind the slightly odd flavor, and the slightly brownish tint (which I think tends to ruin the bright freshness of the smoothie), then soy milk is your answer, given all its nutritious goodness. Rice milk doesn't seem to add much, I've found, except a little milki-that-is-not-milk-ness.

But apple juice (and probably white grape, though I've not tried that) keeps the fruit emphasis, and you don't use enough to mask the flavor of the real fruit in there. Also the juice adds a little sweetness so you don't need to add sugar.

Also, using frozen berries (that you buy frozen or freeze yourself) means you don't need ice, which can thin out the whole thing.

Here is a decent mixture. I often double it.

1 banana
1-2 cups frozen berries (blueberries or mixed)
1/2 cup apple juice
3/4 - 1 cup plain yogurt

Then blend the hell out of it. Feel free to play with the proportions to suit your preferences. Play with seasonal fruits. Play with frozen fruits (frozen mango chunks were disappointing un-mango-ish). When it's peach season around here, then peach is the answer.

Because I could not decide between Sade and Rob Thomas, there is no musical accompaniment. Sing to yourself.

Garden Update. NOW! with a picture

More stuff in the ground. Plants growing. Very exciting.

The plants I put in in mid-March are growing well. The buttercrunch and romaine lettuce is starting to look like lettuce instead of seedlings. The buttercrunch heads are getting all wavy but rounded, and the romaine heads are starting to coalesce, too. Even the arugula that I planted from seed has progressed to the point where there are real arugula leaves visible, not just the seed leaves. I have tried watering those seedlings more regularly than I have in the past, in the hopes that they will take off. We shall see.

The bad news is that nasturtiums are not that cold-hardy, and a low temperature one night mostly did them in. Two pulled through, and have sent up new umbrella-like leaves, but the plants are way behind where they were when I planted them in March. Sigh.

On Friday as I was driving to work, I was think, "Hmmm. The last frost date for this zone is 15 April. The weather forecast looks clear of frost until then, though, so I should be getting some more things in the ground." Usually the PP and I drive out to Park Seed to buy tomato plants and herbs and random other things, but it is a bit of a haul: really the errand eats the whole day. And with planning to swim both days this weekend, I could not see how that was going to happen. But they have such good plants, so I was having a dilemma. But then, when I came out of my workshop, I found that the horticulture students were having a plant sale. Hooray! I buzzed over there and a few minutes later I had spent $18 for 18 plants: 8 tomatoes, 2 bell peppers, 3 basil, 3 arugula (in case the seed-planted stuff doesn't work), and 2 cilantro.

Yesterday it rained like mad, so today I planted. All but 2 of the basil went in the raised bed, and it is now full for now (until the lettuce, cabbage and broccoli is harvested). There are 2 each of 4 kinds of tomato: Park Improved Whopper, Brandywine (the best tasting tomato ever, but an heirloom and a little vulnerable to South Carolina weather), Mr. Stripey (also an heirloom--I have never tried this kind before), and Carolina Gold (a yellow tomato). I'm interested to see how those all do.

Some of the plants are still a little tippy from the transplant + watering shock, but this gives you a sense of things:

(And that's not a bad looking white azalea back there either!)

Precisely how my ass was kicked yesterday.

I should be doing some grading, so I'll have a jump on that but let me just say this first: ow ow ow ow ow.

I slept so well last night, because of my big swim yesterday and also I am using a brand-new set of earplugs, which means, What outside world? Snoring, meowing, car engines, meowing--all are outside my world. That rocks.

But STILL, I am hurtin'. Not so much that my muscles are sore, but I just still feel tired. So much of my training usually happens in the morning, and having a big afternoon swim means I still feel it the next day. I hope I will be over by 2:30 when I go and do it all again.

Here are the two big main sets from yesterday (in yards):

MAIN SET #1
6 x < 150 (50kick/50drill/50swim) + 100 swim fast
odds = breaststroke
evens = freestyle
[these were on a rest interval: 20ish seconds after the 150 and then 30ish seconds after the 100]

MAIN SET #2
6 x < 100 smooth free swim + 3 x 50 swim descend
odds = 3 x 50 breaststroke
evens = 3 x 50 freestyle
[these were on a 1:40 for the smooth free and then 1;05 for each of the 50s]

These were excellent training sets for me, as both emphasized quality swimming into the second half of the 200 breaststroke, which is the event that I need the most work on before May. In the first set, the 150 of mechanics (which are the same stroke as the 100) kind of simulates the fatigue you feel from the first 100 in the 200. Then you can really work to keep the pacing and stroke quality up in that fast 100. In the second one, 100 smooth free is kind of a recovery but kind of not, since I had to keep up at least a moderate pace in order to have a little rest before the 50s. Then the 50s descending are like the 2nd 3rd 4th 50s of the 200.

In all it was a great workout. Total yardage 6200, which was enough for me, thank you.

So now to see what the pain is like today....

Commitment.

Last night I noted that I am certifiable, and now I can tell you I am committed.

Specifically, in addition to having made my hotel reservation a few months ago, and having registered online a couple weeks ago, the PP and I have now also purchased our airline tickets to Fort Lauderdale and made a rental car reservation.

In short, there is no backing out now of my plans to compete in the US Masters Swimming Short Course Yards National meet.

Ack!

I'll compete on two different days: on Friday, 12 March I'll race the 50 fly and the 200 breast. Then on Saturday, I'll swim the 50 free and the 100 breast. The 50s are in there as warm-up events, so that I can get my jitters out before the events I really care about.

Check out the aquatic center:

The downside is that my swimteam is mostly an age group team, and based on the public school schedule, they are on spring break for the coming week. So that's when our coach gets a much-needed week away. But that means I'm on my own during one of the more crucial weeks of my training.

The good thing is that I think I have roped a fellow swimmer into helping me through this stint, so that is good. He was our masters coach briefly, before our present coach could arrive but after the previous coach had left. I also swam with him some a couple years ago, before I was swimming with the age-groupers but when I wanted a little extra than our 3-days-per-week masters practice was offering. So I like him, and he is very knowledgeable. I go swim with him in about a half an hour, so before long I will be exhausted, but also more fortified with a plan about how to handle the next few weeks.

Wish me luck.

Friday Random 10: OMG! Edition

OMG! OMG! I almost forgot one of my favorite things to do of a Friday--and not just because pressing "RANDOM" on my mp3 player (or secret device, as I prefer to call it) allows me to see the word QUEUING, a word I don't get to see enough.

My excuse is that today I was at a workshop getting certified. It is kind of like Black Angus Beef. For some reason waitstaff at our favorite restaurant always insist on saying that the steak special is "Certified Black Angus Beef." Who certified it? And does Black Angus beef really taste different from other kinds of beef that I don't know that name for?

But anyway, like the beef, I am now certified to be something I already was, but that's OK, because the workshop itself was a pleasure, and that's not a bad way to spend a Friday afternoon.

But OMG! OMG! I had almost forgotten the Friday Random 10!

1. Patrick Doyle: "Let this acceptance take," Sir Simon Rattle and the City of Birmingham Orchestra (Henry V soundtrack)
2. "Speed the Traktor," 2 Mustaphas 3 (Play Musty for Me)
3. "Mamma Mia," ABBA (Priscilla, Queen of the Desert soundtrack)
4. "You and Me and the Moon," The Magnetic Fields (Get Lost)
5. "Miracle," Swati Natekar (Essential Asian Flavas)
6. Arvo Pärt: "Pregando (Lamentate - for piano and orchestra)," Alexei Lubimov and the SWR Stuttgart Radio Symphony Orchestra, Andrey Boreyko (Lamentate)
7. "Rainmaker," Maura O'Connell (Stories)
8. "High 5 (Rock the Catskills)," Beck (Odelay)
9. "Nortada + O Malhao," Rui Junior o o que som tem? (Exploratory Music from Portugal, a Wire sampler)
10. "Whenever, Wherever," Shakira (Laundry Service)

Have a great weekend, whatever you're listening to, and whether you're certifiable or not.

Musica di ciclismo.

I hope you're all sitting down as you read this because I have surprising news: I got on my bike on the trainer on Monday.

Granted, it was hard to find it under all the dust, and I almost could not remember how to pedal (forwards or backwards?).

But finally I did ride the trainer for a half an hour. I was a little worried that if I went further than that either my head would explode or the stars would fall from the sky or at least I'd end up really sore the next day.

And it was really fun! I could remember then why I used to like to ride my bike so much, and even did not mind the trainer if I had decent music. I admit it: I have this experience a lot, where I get on the bike, have a great time, remember that I like it, deal with the sore crotch, ride a few times and then don't. I am not sure why it happens. Well, I have some theories, but that is not what I am going to write about.

What I am going to write about is music and stationary cycling. For a very short time, I taught spinning classes, and apart from yelling directions at people, what I really loved was that Spinning combines sweating and DJ'ing. What a great thing! The idea is to put together a musical program to accompany the workout you have in mind, and the music is supposed to allow different paces but also encourage specific activities (climbing, sprinting, etc.)

Ever since then I keep one part of an ear open for good cycling music.

Lately, as some of you know, I cannot get enough of the gypsy rhythms, and it turns out--you will maybe not believe me at first--that polkas make great cycling music. Why? Because of the repetition of the musical theme, and the way that they often either get faster or more intense, which makes them perfect for my favorite stationary cycling game, "Another Notch!" I admit I took the name from Emeril, but it is just so perfect: you start off at a pretty easy pace, but each time the tune comes around (perhaps on the guitar), you crank you rear derailleur up ANOTHER NOTCH.

Cyboc has been thinking lately about running music. He asked me if I make running mixes, which I don't much, since I can't really run these days, but here is a cycling mix from a couple (um I mean 7) years ago. Maybe it is time for a new one.

Swimming to the Pain, Part 2

Good thing I went into this morning's practice with SPEED = PAIN AND FATIGUE in my mind because oh MAN did it kick my ass. This is par for the course for Saturday mornings, since I swim with the age-groupers, but this was a real doozy. Perhaps part of the problem is that I had skimped a bit on Saturday practices when I was sick and after, and then there were a couple of meets in there, but still.

It is the main set that is of interest, although please remember this came after 3000 yards. Also please forgive me for forgetting the intervals, but I can tell you I was getting about 5-10 seconds rest early on, until the coach took pity on me:

500 free swim
1 x 150 IM fast (which I swam 25 FL / 25 BA / 50 BR / 50 FR)
400 free swim
2 x 150 IM descend 1-2
300 free swim
3 x 150 IM descend 1-3
200 free swim
4 x 150 IM descend 1-4

Apparently this is a set Janet Evans used to do. (FYI: the kids' free swims were 600/500/400/300.) I tried to really push the 50s of breaststroke in the IMs, since it is that stroke that I'll race at Nationals. And as we moved into the descend part (where each 150 is supposed to be faster than the previous one), I tried to think about the parts of the 200 breaststroke race, and treat the 50s of BR as if they were parts of that race. But my coach was also on me for not kicking enough on my freestyle (which was a problem in my 200 FR at the last meet).

According to the coach, I managed to descend the last 4 x 150, cutting about 5 seconds each time through. I was astonished to hear that, because all I could think about was "fly back breast free" and then trying to race the breast. And trying to move my legs enough during the free to keep him off my back.

The whole practice was 6800 yards, which is plenty for me, thank you. The excellent news is that the PP got a beautiful berry tartlet from the Fresh Market yesterday, and now he's frying up some sausage. Saturated fat be damned!