theNoosphere.com

Three weeks into training, I'm finally getting some distance out of my runs. Not a lot, but something that isn't embarrassing to admit. The first two weeks all I did was walk. Week One was 20 minute walks. Week Two was thirty minute walks. Week Three, walk-running. And my last run I did thirty-five minutes of five minutes walking/five minutes running. Went over two and half miles.

For those of you who have been following this blog since the beginning you may be wondering why the heck I'm starting out so slow. Marathon training is different than 5k training. Keeping the legs strong and healthy is far more difficult, and so my runs will be much slower, and over much softer ground. Increases at this stage will be pretty gradual. Ok, back to the point of this entry ...

So yeah, I'm finally working up to a decent speed and a decent time ... and then I get a cold. It's funny, but throughout the winter ... through the H1N1 scare of October and November, to the Incomparable...

Henry

Alone.

Largely in the dark, with only the flickering light from our gas driven fire warming the ceramic logs and 55 inches of high definition art providing a view into what is most often some far corner of the world.

Night after night I sit ignoring the phone, e-mail, text messages and two very persistent family dogs. I am left up, alone in my living room with Mary Carrillo, long after my wife has gone to bed.

If you think that sounds a bit destructive, you might be right. I have a problem. I’m an addict, a junkie, a freak.

My name is Bob and I am an Olympiholic.

Roughly every two years, for 17 straight days, I get wrapped up in The Games.

It is likely somewhat genetic, my addiction to this modern version of the most ancient of sporting events. My mother, a woman who really couldn’t give a tinker’s dam for sports, never misses The Games.

We watched a bit of everything. Gymnastics,...

Neophyte

I dialed the number. I could hear the phone ringing. This was it. If he picked up the phone there was no turning back.

“Hello.”

Here we go. Full steam ahead.

“Hey Mike, it’s Hen.”

“Hey man, what’s up?”

Last chance. Make something up or you’re doing it.

“Mike. It’s been ten years. It’s time.”

Pause.

“No way in hell, my friend. But good luck to you.”

“Understood.”

And it was done.

I did understand, of course. Mike and I don’t live as close to each other as we did back then. And he’s married with three kids now. But he deserved the first call. He jumped into the breach with me ten years ago when I announced to the world I was planning on embarking on an insane, crazy journey of training for and running a marathon with no previous experience. He ran the long runs with me and kept me going when my knee gave out. He was at the starting...

Henry

And so the ground war, as quickly as it had started, was ending. There was no grand pronouncement signaling hostilities were over. There was simply a subtle shift from being prepared to mow down anything that moved to resisting that impulse. We’d gone as far north as the Kuwaiti International Airport, found there was simply no one left interested in a fight, and had ground to a halt. Then came the official word - President Bush had issued a cease-fire.

And a merciful cease-fire it was. We had executed Schwartzkopf and Powell’s masterful ‘left hook’ assault, a lightning fast westward flanking attack, to near perfection. We had outmaneuvered and surprised the Iraqi forces, and were in the process of decimating any that elected to resist. Most did not. Those that did paid a horrible price.

President Bush’s decision to cease hostilities just 100 short hours after the ground war began was not without controversy. Many of my own Marines...

Boone

It is time.

I have to apologize, loyal readers, for leaving you all in the dark these past months. Lately, 40 has been rearing its ugly head in my direction. I hit The Big Four Oh in two months, and since my last entry middle age has assaulted me with more bad ankles, kidney stones, a broken wrist, and several yards of impassable snow. So I have reacted to this onslaught the best way I know how: Sit on the couch, eat lots of snack food and nap a lot. Sadly, none of these activities make for very good blogging material. Hence, my absence.

In addition to my lack of blogging, I have to admit mild depression has set in. I didn’t think 40 would bother me when the time came, but I guess it has a little. I blame my various recent ailments (and the snow) but whatever the reason, I have come to realize I am now beset with a full-blown case of Mid-Life Crisis. This has led me to consider how exactly to deal with said Crisis.

My first option, research...

Henry

‘I just want to be inspired’ she said.

As far as cheesy, pull-at-your-heartstrings movie dialogue goes, that single line from ‘Jerry Maguire’ says it all.

As I’ve wound my way through the twisting careening career paths of adulthood, I’ve developed an intense and illogical aversion to mail from the Social Security Administration. The periodic letters that show up unannounced in my mailbox detailing just how many hours I’ve toiled away at any assortment of lifetime jobs are vaguely disturbing to me. While my Federal Government’s official interest and pride in my productivity is heart-warming, those mile markers leave me feeling hollow and a little forlorn, a living tribute to my own career indecision.

I remember the school scrapbooks of my childhood. You know the ones your Mom kept for you – a historical record, in case you actually grew up to be the President, the next Merv Griffin, or...

Boone

when on the road. Go figure, at 59 years of age, Brad had never eaten at a buffet before. It took him a bit to get the drill down, but came away with a generally good impression and heart burn form over doing it at the Golden Coral. I do tend to digress on this type of trip, and some how some mother nature found it’s way into the hotel room. It was truly a smoking room, and poor Josh was a victim of circumstance as Brad and I misbehaved in a way we don’t often do. We were back on the bikes at sunrise, again in search of food. Brad needs a counter for breakfast, but alas, all we could find was a breakfast buffet. Poor Brad…. I thought he was actually going to go into shock, but he handled it like a trooper. We were going to a party in the paddock that night, so I knew there was good food on the horizon. On the road again, the sky wasn’t lookin good at all, but we had less than 100 miles to cover, and were all use to riding in the worst rain imaginable, we’re from Florida. I had mounted...

Pete

A long road, and takes many turns to get where you’re going.

October was such a great month when all is said and done. The schedule had but one event on it, the Vintage Festival in Alabama. Being generally smart in early prep for trips like this. I ordered tires, chain, and sprocket set for the bike in mid September. Of course, Mr Murphy was around, and the SNAFU that ensued almost kept me from riding up. It started with a wrong sprocket, which held me up a full week from starting the work on the bike…… 3 weeks to the event. Once the sprocket deal was straightened out, I installed everything. Taking the bike for a test ride, I have a severe thumping in the front end. Mr. Murphy shipped me a defective front tire. Call the rep, and he’s got another tire on the way, and should have it in four to five days………… 2 weeks to the event, and I have no clue on how the new brand of tire I’m putting on will be at speed, having not been able to do over 50mph with the bad tire. New tires...

Pete

Wow, life has had me so crazy, I forgot to post this entry well over a month ago.......

As the rainy season is on the downhill side of its 09 run, one can only feel that I haven’t been spending enough time on the bike. Between the training schedule, and the weather, I haven’t ridden with my boys in months. My last good ride was solo to school on the other coast, and what a trip it turned out to be. Don’t ya know it was one of the hottest days on record. I had a side stop at Mike’s house, and that’s when it started to go downhill. While heading out for lunch, his 70 Triumph quit on him, and I had to trek back to his house, grab truck and trailer to rescue his sorry arse. On arrival back at his house, the 74 Norton wouldn’t start, so we said the hell with it, and went out in the truck for lunch. Parting ways, I thought it would be nice to take scenic RT 1 a while. As I’m riding along, something hits my right calf. Not with any force, but enough to know something did hit me....

Pete

Sitting in the pitch black Saudi Arabian night in a reinforced fighting hole, I pulled a set of night vision goggles from their hard plastic case and strapped them on. Shivering in the surprisingly cold desert air, I looked starward and watched what seemed like an endless cloud of US and British bombers stream like angry hornets north towards occupied Kuwait and on to Baghdad. I couldn’t help but silently ask ‘Am I really here, living this?’ It was just one of many surreal moments to come. As we listened to Armed Forces Radio and the BBC give the play by play to the start of Desert Storm, we glimpsed a cacophony of dancing flashes on the horizon, felt the ground rumble ominously as if mighty dinosaurs once again walked the Earth, and wondered what the experience felt like from our enemies vantage point. War was no longer an if, or a when. It was real, and we were now in it, a few miles down the road from whatever was to come. Of the possible emotions one could feel...

Boone