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.

Could'a, Should'a, Would'a - Swimming Edition

This past weekend, I entered the 2012 Marriott Summer Nationals Swimming meet, hosted in Omaha's Olympic Trials pool. I competed in the 400 Individual Medley (IM), the 100 Free and the 400 Free.

The 400 IM went better than I anticipated. I settled into a solid rhythm in the 100 fly and then negative-split the next 100 meters of backstroke. When I pushed off the wall at the beginning of the 100 breast, I was in fourth place in my heat. My breaststroke leg was solid. I overtook 3rd place and began to close the gap on second. But my power waned and I wasn't able to close the gap. Still, I managed to hold off any challenges to finish 3rd in my heat. When all the heats were completed, I ended up 6th overall in my age group, earning a medal (top 10), and five points for the united Nebraska Masters team.

I didn't fare so well on the 100 Free. Whereas the 400 IM is a race of muscle-endurance/attrition, the 100 free is an anaerobic thrashing. I took out the first 50 meters harder than I should have. I panicked and throttled-up too early when I felt that the field was slipping away in the first 50 meters. As a result, I struggled to maintain form on the final 20 meters of the race. If I had swam the race as my coach Todd Samland had advised, I probably would have performed better.  I finished 29th in my age group.  That was a let down.

I got some redemption in the 400 Free on Sunday. I swam a much smarter race by following the advice of my coach. I took the first 100 out pretty quickly, then brought it back a notch and slowly doled out the power over the course of the next 300 meters. For my cycling friends reading this, the 400 free is a race much like a time trial, where you try to 'roll out the rug evenly' until you're giving everything you've got left over the last 50 meters or so. That strategy paid off. At the 200 M mark, I was in second place by well over a body length. But over the next 200 meters, I was able to overtake the leader of my heat and then drop him. To those watching the race, it appeared as though I accelerated to overtake him, when in fact my evenly distributed splits suggested that I maintained power while the competition faded. I won the heat and managed to slip into 10th place in my age group for another medal and a point for my team.

While I was proud of having the courage to enter the 400 IM, I had the most satisfaction of racing in the 400 Free, especially after tasting disappointment in the 100 the day before.

My meet results here

July 5th At The Redemske's

My brother Matt has always been a shrewd business man. Even as a kid, he knew how to finagle and bargain to get the best deal possible. It didn't matter if we were playing a game of Monopoly or he was haggling the neighbor about raising the rates to cut their lawn, Matt was always good at sales.

I thought of Matt's the other day as I read yet another Bryan Redemske anti-fireworks social media tirades.  Bryan is a fireworks hater. He may tolerate the pros, but I'm quite certain he's annoyed by the locals shootin' off their bottle rockets, their shells and cherry bombs in his 'hood.

Back to Matt. My brother gets great pleasure out of shooting off fireworks. He always did, always does,  always will.  Matt represents everything Bryan hates about small-time pyros.

Let's recap. Matt has always been a good salesman. Bryan hates fireworks. Matt loves them.

--//--

Fenton, MO. July 5th 1985, 4:55 PM  Employees at a fireworks stand were about to start rolling up their tents. Another year in the books.

My brother Matt, 17 at the time, steps out of the 1981 navy blue Dodge Omni. His red-striped Nikes crunches the alabaster gravel as he approaches the entrance to the tent.  Inside, he heads towards the two men behind the counter, each with a beer in hand while a bunch of empties were scattered on the grass behind them. It was scorching outside, and not much better beneath the tent.

Matt was a shrewd business man. He quickly assessed the situation to find the weaknesses to exploit. It was hot. They were drinking. It was closing time on the last day of fireworks sales and there was a lot of merchandise left on the tables.

Matt:  Hot one out here today, huh?

Bubba:  Shoooot, I'll tell you what, it's hotter than a pair of sweat pants full of barbeque.

Matt: You guys closing up here, soon? How's business been?

Jethro: Not bad last week, but lately we couldn't sell ice to an eskim--

Bubba: Hey Jethro, you got it all wrong. Nobody sells ice to an eskimo.

Jethro:  "Really?" Jethro chugs another beer, belches and scratches his belly beneath his pit-stained tantkop.  "Then how they keep their beer cold?"

Bubba, annoyed with his cousin Jethro, turns towards Matt and continues.

Bubba: Listen kid, I don't mean to rush or nothing, but the store closes in five minutes. We're sold out of the  blackcat bottle rockets, but have pretty much anything else you want.

Now some people are artists and can paint anything you ask them. Matt wasn't like that. But he was still an artist. His artistry was driving a hard bargain. And Bubba, Jethro and that fireworks tent was the canvas on which he was about to paint a masterpiece. Matt took off his cap, wiped the brow of his forehead, and began his first stroke.

Matt: Since there's only a few minutes left, and you guys still have a lot of merchandise left on your hands, how about playing a little round of  Let's Make a Deal?

Jethro:  I love that game! I get to be Monty < -- belch-- > Hall!

Bubba:  Dammit Jethro, shut your effing pie hole or I'll give you a mouthful of teeth.

Jethro: I'd like that Bubba, seeings that I only gots four teef left, three if you count dat loose one. Jethro wiggles the loose one with a dirty finger

Bubba:  Shuddup yer face, Jethro. So help me God, I'm warning you!  He turns back towards Matt with a sly smile  What do you have in mind, kid?

Matt:  "How about this: I give you twenty bucks for that basket there and thirty seconds to grab whatever I can put into it."  Matt flashes the crisp Hamilton in front of Bubba's eyes.

Bubba: "You're on kid" he says as he snatches the twenty dollar bill from Matt's hands.

Matt instructed me to hold the basket while he dumped baskets of m80s, smoke bombs, missiles and whistler bottle rockets into ours.  He then built up a supporting wall of roman candles, effectively extending the depth of the basket, then went after the big shell artillery. Meanwhile Bubba was on the count-down, counting aloud the final ten seconds. By the time had expired, we had stuffed the basket easily three times over.  I'm not kidding. It took five paper sack grocery bags to carry our loot back home.

When we got home, he dumped the haul onto his bed to take them all in at once. He then produced a calculator and started adding up their retail value.  When it was all said and done, that one teetering basket, producing five grocery bags of fireworks tallied over $700 worth of stuff.  It was a breath-taking masterpiece.

Fast forward to the future. I wonder what would have happened if grumpy old-man Bryan Redemske was our neighbor when we were teens.

See Bryan, you don't have it so bad.

Wheelers Peelers

I grew up in Kirkwood, a suburb of St. Louis MO. We lived on the 18th hole of a golf course. The swimming pool was probably 500 yards from our house. In the summer time, I lived at the pool.

I started with swimming lessons when I was four and joined the swimming team when I was five. At swimming meets back then, the only kids who got ribbons were those who finished first, second or third. The only participation prize you received was a small commemorative plaque given to all swimmers at the end of the summer. I didn't earn a ribbon until I was six. It was a blue ribbon for 25M breaststroke. I was hooked.

My swimming coach was Jim Wheeler. He was the pool's general manager, swim coach and all-purpose rock star. He really did have a rock band. In fact, they were quite good. They played a full set in the clubhouse ballroom after our home swimming meets. And it wasn't any of that soft rock crap either. He covered the Stones, Beatles, Eagles and Clapton like the best of them. We kids paired up with our age group girlfriends to dance slow songs; for the faster ones, we'd scream along the words while he played. It may seem tame in modern times, but I still find it remarkable that when he sang the words, she don't lie, she don't lie, she don't lie... we kids would answer: COCAINE!!

And that was when I was eight years old. Then again, it was the 70s.

Our team was awesome. We won the swimming championship almost every year. Jim Wheeler was the glue to our team. He was a motivating coach: an encourager when you needed a boost and an admonisher when you got out of line. And at night, he was a rock star. Mostly because of all these traits, he retained a solid core of kids to swim for him each year. Though our team was called Greenbriar, we knicked named ourselves, "Wheeler's Peelers" in honor of our coach.

Wheeler's Peelers - can you find me?

As I mentioned earlier, I lived at the pool in the summer. From 9AM swimming practice until the pool closed at 9PM, I was there. Our practices were an hour long and twice daily. We also had a diving team. I did that, too. My skin bronzed and my hair turned straw white. I would have grown gills if I could.

I was decent at all the strokes, but was a natural at breaststroke. As a result, I often swam the 100 M Individual Medley (IM).

Later on in high school, I also played water polo. I was the deep-end goalie. Unless you're 12 feet tall, you can't stand on the bottom there. My Mom said that I looked like a duck jumping across the surface of the water to block the shots that were rifled in at me. My waterpolo coach instructed me to position myself by throwing my head at the incoming ball. He reasoned that if I didn't block the shot with my arms, my face would.  I had a lot of zits on my face back then. I didn't mind sacrificing my face so much.

I stopped playing Waterpolo and competing in swimming meets when I graduated from high school.

Then a few years ago I joined the Omaha Masters swimming team to get in shape for triathlons. I've been swimming year-around since.  We work out at 5:30 AM at the College of St Mary's.

When I heard that Omaha was going to host the Long Course Masters Nationals Swimming Championship this summer, I decided that I would suit up for it. I have since entered both relays, the 100 Free and two grueling events: the 400 Free and 400 IM.  The meet is next weekend, July 6-8th. While I've had this meet on my calendar for 18 months now, I have only given a higher priority to swimming during the past month. I'll need it. The 400 IM isn't for slackers.

When I was four years old and learning to swim like a Wheelers Peelers rock star, I had no idea that decades later I'd be climbing onto the starting block once again to compete in a swimming meet.

Thank you Jim Wheeler. I'll represent. I'm a Wheelers Peeler.

Time Trial Prep

Sid Dillon's Omaha Cycling Weekend is upon us, where this year's State road race and time trial championships will be awarded. While the road race returns to South Bend, NE for the first time in six years, the time trial course is on familiar territory in Yutan.

I'm excited about the races. Really. The road race is on a course that newer riders have never competed on. That's good for local cycling. And who isn't excited about time trialing? You know, just you against the clock?

OK, so I wasn't kidding about the road race. But let's face it: time trialing sucks. I mean, I respect it and all, but riding on the rivet for an hour in an uncomfortable position isn't exactly anyone's idea of a good time. That is, unless you also enjoy kneeling on tacks while yanking clumps of hair from your nose, or something. But still, I respect it -- at least enough to get out and ride my p2sl TT bike over the past few weeks.

So like your crazy neighbor who just has to show you vacation pictures, let's take a look at some of my TT training.

Workout #1 One day I brought my p2SL time trial bike along with me on the bus to work.

Tyler, a colleague also on the bus that day, was eyeballing my TT bike. After stating that this was the fifth bike he's seen me on, he then pointed to the aerobar's elbow pads and said, "do those things make it more comfortable"?

Yes, I suppose that's why the elbow pads are there. But really, there's no such thing as comfort on a TT bike. Time trialing is all about pain. Take Joe Friel's words:

Trialists have a superior ability to concentrate despite great suffering (The Cyclist's Training Bible,69)

While concentrating despite great suffering, I've never thought about the comfort those elbow pads brought me. In fact, I don't think about them at all. I suppose I might have noticed them if I had rubbed my elbows with 80 grit and soaked the pads with kerosene...

Workout #2: Another photo from the time trial training folder:

This workout brought me to the Ft Calhoun gas station where a mural depicts Lewis and Clark at Calhoun, the site of the Council Bluff.  Note in this picture that the army soldier is sitting on my TT bike while yapping it up with Meriwether Lewis at the campfire. Also note that this is the only photo I've ever seen where somebody's smiling near that bike. 

Workout #3 Some of you know that my cycling roots began with triathlons and time trialing. Eventually, I decided that I liked social/group riding more than trialing and became a road racer.  I haven't done a triathlon since.  I don't run anymore and I've lost contact with my old triathlete friends. The people I ride with now are roadies.  Therefore, I was surprised during a recent lunch ride when Wesley rolled out in a 2011 HyVee Triathlon jersey.

Now I know Wesley. He's picked up running over the past few years, and he mashes the big ring like nobody nowhere. But I'm not sure if he can swim. That's kind of a big deal for triathlons. So I asked him about the jersey.  He glanced back over his shoulder and said that it was given to him as part of a goodie bag from a recent charity ride he completed.

Oh, that explains it.

Wesley then clarified it further. "I would still be swimming since 2011 if I did that race."

I then rolled up to Wesley to inform him that in Nebraska, triathlete jerseys looked like this:

photos courtesy of Leah Kleager

I further clarified that in Council Bluffs, this is what was also called "riding a bike"

On a more serious note, I read recently that my buddy Eric "EOB" O'Brien broke his hand at last weekend's State mountain biking championships. That's awful.  You'll be missed at this weekend's road race.

You'll be especially missed at the time trial.

photo courtesy of David Seevers

Get well soon Eric.

Happy Friday everyone.