U45+ Development

This post is a follow up to the Tour of KC Omnium Weekend recap.

My teammates joke with me that Harvest Racing has become my personal U45+ (uber 45) development team. In many ways, it has been, both in terms of my physical and character development.

I learned a lot about racing at this past weekend's Tour of Kansas City, but it wasn't all race tactics. What I learned most was how to conduct myself when presented with temptation to take what wasn't mine.

At least, that's the hope for next time.

As I mentioned in my race recap, I was not proud of how the weekend finished. My omnium win was only the result of taking advantage of a mistake that went unprotested. It was dirty, and I was wrought with personal disgust afterwards.

I'd like to say that my pre-motivation to take the win was due to the tempting lure of category upgrade points. But I'd be in denial to say that standing on the top step of the podium after several recent second place finishes wasn't also a strong factor. And of course, cold cash brings its own motivations.

But a motivator that I wasn't aware came to my attention the day after the race. It was from a story I heard on NPR, about how researchers have linked feelings of disgust to unethical behavior.

Research finds that people respond to feelings of disgust by trying to protect themselves from it — and this can quickly translate into self-interested behavior and cheating

Hearing this after personally experiencing it resounded strongly within me. In short, the research suggest that because I felt disgust from feeling cheated out of a chance to win on Saturday, I acted in my own self interest by cheating on Sunday.

Wow! I wasn't aware of the connection to this behavior previously.

By the time I heard that, there was nothing I could have done to take back what happened on Sunday. That had all passed. But what I have done since was to contact the Tour of Kansas City race promoter to ask him to re-review the omnium results, and if for nothing else, to award the first place check's payment to JJ Shepherd. The promoter thanked me for pointing it out, and said he'd follow up with the primary official to see if the official results could be straightened out as well. As of this writing, I haven't heard back from either of them.

I am ashamed by my lack of sportsmanship this past Sunday. I offer my apologies to JJ Shepherd, the peloton, and to my teammates for accepting this fraudulent victory.

One of the things that I appreciate about cycling is the lessons I've learned along the way. As I mentioned above, the team has chided me about the U45+ development program I've been a part of. Ribbings aside, I do believe that I am a work in development. While my fitness and skills are being refined, I hope there's been a healthy dose of character development mixed in as well.

Thanks for reading. Happy Friday.

Cyclocross HUD Warnings

"Your lines are driving me nuts," Shim said as he went around me during the first of five laps at the Oakley Night Cap Masters 45+ race this past Sunday morning.

I wasn't on my strong program that morning.

It wasn't that I didn't know it beforehand. During warmup, the Heads-Up Display (HUD) lit up with a pair of glowing amber warning lights:

It was true. The bad leg report was a direct result from the grueling Open Cat 1-2-3 race from the night before. At that race,  I took it out a wee bit on the spastic side (think Peter Boyd on crack) in order to hang with the alpha pack. Then, after say a quarter lap, reality set in. The next hour and nine minutes was a a wonderful experience of intermingled suffering and humiliation. Man, I can't get enough of this sport.

So anyway, that explained the CHECK LEGS warning on my HUD. The same can be said about the CHECK BALANCE alert. I was cornering for crap at the start of the race. That was mostly due to lingering doubt from a couple sloppy, fatigue-induced wipeouts from the night before. With my confidence still reeling Sunday morning, I felt slightly off-kilter on the bike and took to cornering cautiously. As a result, my turns were slow and with bad lines. This opened up gaps between me and the dude ahead of me, requiring some effort to catch back on. This was so evident that my good buddy and teammate, Shim, couldn't keep his cake hole shut about my crappy turning skills. After he mentioned it for the third or fourth time, I finally just gave in and let him go by.

I followed his wheel from there. Because he rides good lines, my cornering improved rapidly. The CHECK BALANCE light turned off shortly after. And though we had lost contact with the leader of the race, we had a nice gap between us and fourth place. Rather than try to catch back on, we rode a smart tempo around threshold for the remainder of the race. My legs were still fatigued. The wet course and heat didn't make it any easier. As a result, the CHECK LEGS* alert remained lit throughout the remainder of the race. Still, Sunday's race was more enjoyable than the night before. Finishing on the podium helped.

*CHECK LEGS finally cycled itself off during Monday afternoon's taco recovery spin.

Well that's all for today.  Thanks for reading and Happy Friday. 

The Strong Program, Part II

This past week, my mom and dad were on a road trip that brought them through Omaha. Katherine and I put them up with us in the yellow house on 52nd Street. It was grand. We had a fun evening catching up. When it came time to retire, I commented that I was planning to get up for 5:30 AM swimming practice the next morning, but to help themselves to anything should they get up before I returned.

Mom was already up when I went to make coffee the next morning. She asked if she could tag along with me at swimming practice.

I thought watching swimming meets were boring, but watching a swimming practice? Eessh.

Still, who am I to deny such a request? Especially from my mother?

We arrived as practice was starting. Coach Samland was busy delivering instructions to the 35 or so gathered on deck. After warm ups were underway, I introduced them and then hopped in. At the end of warm up, my friends were asking what was up. Some of them had already guessed that it was my Mom. One of the younger female swimmers said that she was "so cute, with the biggest smile on her face while watching me."

I sorta felt like I was in sixth grade again, and mom had the dreaded playground patrol. Imagine how mortified I would have been if she started doing calisthenics right then and there on the pool deck, like she did on the playground back in the day, bless her dear heart.

But truly, it was a delight having her there. I'll always have the memory of that big grin on her face. Or, how she was clapping for me when I emerged from the water when practice was over.

Afterwards, she had nothing but compliments to hand out to my friends. She remarked how wonderful it was that so many people, spanning multiple generations, got up that early to workout. She even said that she was inspired to get in the water when she returned home.

I hope she follows through with it. My parents recently moved to a condo that has a heated indoor pool with lap lanes a few hundred feet from their front door. And she'd have a partner, too. Dad's already a regular swimmer these days.

Swimming is an activity one can do for a lifetime. It's never too late to start. Affordable adult swimming lessons are widely available at YMCAs, fitness centers and many local universities.

You can do it, Mom. Shoot, in no time, I bet you'd have your own strong program.

Cheers and happy Friday

My Friend Scott

It was 25 years ago this Summer that my Dad took a promotion that moved us from our home of 17 years in St. Louis to Denver. I had just completed my junior year at St Louis University High School (SLUH) and my parents gave me the responsibility of choosing whether I would stay with them or finish my senior year in St Louis. That decision was a lot of responsibility for a 17 year old!  I look back now and think how supportive my parents were entrusting me with that decision. Thanks Mom and Dad.

St Louis had a lot going for it. It was familiar. My sister was there, as were many friends. And I loved attending SLUH. But moving to Denver had its merits too. My parents and two brothers were there. There was excitement and adventure in exploring the unfamiliar. And there were those majestic purple mountains...

It was on a visit to Regis Jesuit High School earlier that Spring that I had met Scott Alter. I had told the school's Dean of Students, Michael "Mr D" Doherty, that I had wanted to know more about the swimming program there. As it turned out, Mr D was also the coach of the swimming team, and it was a strong program (Missy Franklin goes there today). Anyway, Mr D's eyes lit up as he said that he knew the perfect student to show me around. His voice then crackled over the school's PA system as he called Scott down to the principal's office to be my chaperone.

It was immediately apparent that Scott had well-rounded social skills. He was that kid who was respected by classmates and teachers alike. From the get-go, he was accommodating to me; he didn't ask much -- no needling questions -- but just enough to know a little of my background.  After that, it was as if he simply accepted me as part of his circle of friends. And his circle was wide as it was deep. He had this charisma that just drew people to him. Everybody like the guy.  At the end of my visit, I remember feeling that if I did decide to go to Regis, I already knew that I had one friend there. Thanks, Scott.

Later that summer, I took a job life-guarding and coaching the 8 and unders swimming. My employer was also the same Dean of Students, Mr. D, who ran a summer business managing private neighborhood swimming pools that he staffed with students he culled from his swimming team. It was a good gig. He paid well and there were lots of lifeguard parties to go to. It was at one such party that I caught up with Scott again.

Scott helped me meet a lot of new friends that summer. So much so that when it came time to making the decision to stay in Denver or go back to St. Louis, it was already made. Although I could never replace the SLUH experience and life long friends there, I knew in my heart that I was only looking for a reason to stay in Denver with my parents before going away to college. I was also excited about the challenge of trying something new.  It probably would have all worked out anyway, but I was certainly more confident with friends, thanks in large part to Scott.
 
Scott's parents were also awesome. They had a cabin on Buffalo Mountain near Frisco, CO where they enjoyed entertaining during weekend getaways. Thanks in large part to them and their hospitality, I learned how to snow ski that winter over many weekends up at Copper Mountain. Thanks, Alter family.

My high school senior year was truly amazing. In less than a year, I went from a familiar and comfortable life in St Louis, to living like a rock star in Colorado. Again, thanks Scott.

Our Regis swimming team did well that year. Scott and I both had strong programs. Strong enough to earn athletic scholarships on Creighton's swimming team. That scholarship is what made Creighton affordable and was what brought me to Omaha. We were roommates three of four years in college.  Oh God, those were some fun times.  I could tell some stories...

After undergrad, Scott went on to Dental School, while I moved to Phoenix for a job. Our lives started diverging on different paths.  But it was okay. We had a friendship that was built on a solid foundation. Though we spoke less and less over the years, our friendship never shifted. When we talked or caught up on email, it was if time had never separated us.

--//--

Scott passed away suddenly this past spring at the age of 42. What started out as flu-like symptoms was later revealed to be a massive blood clot that had formed in his leg that eventually got lodged in his heart. He died in his home while the paramedics tried to revive him.

Katherine and I were driving back from a vacation in Santa Fe when I heard the news. In fact, we were on our way to spend the night with my parents in Denver when my Mom called me. I will never forget hearing my Mom's voice break up when she began to utter his name -- Scott Alter. I already knew in my heart the words that were coming next.

Scott left behind a beautiful bride, Jennifer, and two equally beautiful children: Samantha and Jack.

We buried Scott in Aspen on Passover, which was also the day before Easter. I cannot describe the mixture of grief and joy that was experienced that weekend. Heart wrenching. Even now, I am transported to that space and time as I think of that weekend...how we recounted tales that made Scott such a special gift to those who were fortunate enough to encounter him.

Because his funeral was on Passover/Easter weekend, and in Aspen, it was decided that a second memorial service would be held at a later date in Denver for those who were unable to attend. The memorial service is this weekend, and I'll be in attendance. Lately my mind has been filling up with those bittersweet emotions, thinking again about my good buddy Scott.

It's rare when you meet someone like Scott. Someone that has the ability to dispense with all the formalities and just become your friend in an instant. And not just your friend, but a best friend. He was that way to me and to so many many others.

Thank you for your friendship Scott. You were, and always will be living on in our hearts.

Strong Program

During one of my warm up sessions last week I took some tips from one of the Masters swimming coaches. He was helping me with my start from one of those new-fangled, rhomboid starting blocks with the finned tail on the back. We were working on my track-start. I felt like a rock star.  Back when I was swimming summer league and high school, we started off blocks.  Just square blocks. 

Anyway, that volunteer coach gave me some good pointers. And he also seemed genuinely impressed that I signed up to do the 400 IM and 400 freestyle in my first meet in decades.  He called it a "strong program."

I felt pretty good about my strong program until the meet announcer drew my attention to Bob Doud, who was swimming the 100 butterfly just two hours after competing in the 400 IM. I should also mention that Bob Dowd is currently 89 years old. Dang Bob, that's a strong program!

And then there was Joan Campbell, who started swimming masters at age 59, and was competing in the 200  butterfly at age 82. She also swam the 1500 free, 400 IM, 400 free, 200 breaststroke and 200 free. Dang, Joan, that's a strong program!

This swimming meet was an eye opener. I had a great experience both competing in, and witnesses some fantastic swims from all ages and abilities. I'm looking forward to exploring more of these events in the future. Heck, I've still got nearly 50 years to prepare for doubling up on the 400 IM and 100 butterfly.  

Do your worst, Bob Doud. I'll be bringing my strong program.

Exclamation Marks are Yesterday's Burden

Enormous snowflakes were falling as I drove to swimming practice this morning. I had a sudden urge to pull over and tweet, "Crap! More Snow!! Somebody take Old Man winter off Viagra!!!"

But I was strong and refrained. Whew, that was a close call.

For those wondering what I'm talking about, I've come to a punctuation crossroads on the usage of the exclamation mark (!). Apparently, I use way too many of them. Recently, I read that it's in bad form to use more than one exclamation mark in every 100,000 words. Scanning through my writings, I found examples of using two or three at a time, sometimes with multiple references per page. Yikes.

I've hit rock bottom and have decided to make a change for the better. Unfortunately, there is no Betty Ford clinic for punctuation rehabilitation. Having nowhere else to go, I've turned to the internet for the help. As an aside, the internet is the best place to seek such help, because you can always find something you want to hear that you can believe in. Anyway, I settled on a modified 12 step program suited towards my needs.

Hello my name is Brady. I am a recovering exclamation-markaholic.

Allow me clarify that in no way am I making light of 12 step methods. These programs are quite effective in treating many who are desperate for change. It is for this reason I can take solace that perhaps I can break bad habits, too.

I'm a quick study. I breezed through the first few steps. I then discovered how cathartic it was to take a personal grammar inventory. Among other things, I gained an new appreciation for the English language. Whereas English has only the one, Spanish also has the inverted exclamation mark. Crikeys. One exclamation mark is more than enough; imagine having to give up both. ¡Dé gracias a Dios yo no sé español!

Now I'm on to step 8: making amends to all I've harmed.

First, to you my public audience, I am sorry for using the exclamation point more than once in every 100K words. It must have been unbearable to read my prose at times. Thank you for sticking with me.

Specifically, I apologize to Miles, who I believe once expressed his frustration on facebook about people who abuse the exclamation mark. While I'm unsure if you were speaking to me, I'm fairly certain you've cringed more than once when visiting this blog. Miles: I am sorry to have offended you. I'm glad you're still reading this blog.

And To Bryan, who's writing is the envy of the AP Style guide editors, I owe you an amends. I cannot even recall the last time I saw you use an exclamation point. Your unencumbered writing is a clear beacon to the internet's dark cloud. Thank you for not giving up on me.

Even though my third grade teacher ridiculed me as the 'Big Cheese' in front of the entire class, I owe Ms Hannebrink an apology for having clapped, "Hanabana is a bitch!!!!!" on the brick wall with chalk board erasers. I'm sorry to have displayed such bad form, Ms Hannebrink. One exclamation point was sufficient.

I'd also be remiss if I didn't apologize to the period (.). True, a punctuation mark is not a person, but I've still managed to hold the period in contempt for being boring and understated. This is especially the case with interjections. And though there have been documented shortages of periods affecting the Times Roman Font, the superfluous use of exclamation marks on social networking sites has created a glut of periods for years to come. Indeed, I'm in arrears for an apology to the period. Sorry, period(.), dot(.) and stop(.).(period).

To Shim I owe nothing. The email with subject,"How's work?" you sent last Friday while you were cycling in Texas was predictable. Jerk. Thanks for attaching the pictures, pig. I especially enjoyed seeing those while I was at the office, you miserable vomitous mass. And while you logged over 300 miles in the warmth of Fredericksburg, I got to chase Limpach's wheel in the 34°F with overcast skies. Yes, work and Omaha were grand, you LOUSY NO GOOD SONOFABITCH!

Crap! (Sorry Miles!) Double-crap!! Aiyeeee!!!!!

sigh.

Step one. I admit I'm powerless...