At a recent hospital board meeting, the term omnibus came up, and the presenter asked if we all knew what it meant. Of course, it means everything for everyone and, in that case, it referred to the Consolidated Omnibus Budget Reconciliation Act that we all knew as COBRA, but now we know as EMTALA. Our federal budgets seem to be providing “everything for everyone” without figuring out how to pay for it, but I digress. The title of the e-mail means that I have something to say about many things, so there’s an outside chance you may have interest in one of the things I say.

I didn’t, at that meeting, offer to reminisce about a TV show called Omnibus that was hosted by Alastair Cooke that was televised when I was a kid. It ran from 1952 to 1961. For those of you who do know about the show, I should say that I watched it all the time. But, in reality, it was a very, very boring show for a smarter, more sophisticated audience than I was at age six.

In my last epistle, I talked about problems I had in Europe, but I really didn’t give them credit for some of the things they do right (in my opinion of course). First of all, no one was wearing hats. I really shouldn’t say no one because, every once in a while, you would see an old codger (61 or so years old) wearing a “chapeau” style hat…one of those hats that French artists wear. But you never, and I mean never, saw anyone wearing a baseball cap. In and of itself, there’s nothing wrong with wearing a hat, and with the tiny amount of hair I have, a hat is necessary. More importantly, you didn’t see anyone wearing a baseball cap backwards. I guess if they were an idiot, they didn’t want to give it away by looking like one. Going along with that, you rarely saw anyone wearing their blue jeans around the lower part of their rear end with 2/3 of their underpants showing. Probably they didn’t for the same reason stated above.

Europe operates on a 24 hour clock. When you looked at the digital clock to see what time it was, it may say 17:30. I know, I know. It takes a minute to figure out what time 17:30 is, but you subtract 12:00 and it’s 5:30 PM. When you say you’ll meet someone at seven, they don’t have to ask “Do you mean 7 AM or 7 PM”? Anyone who was in the military knows what a 24 hour clock is and it eliminates a lot of confusion. It took a little getting used to since the train schedules were in 24 hour format. We’re so dominated by the decimal system, it was hard to subtract 12 to convert the time. I was always thinking that 17:00 was 7 PM, but it was actually 5 PM. Luckily Matt hasn’t fallen off his bike “yet” so he can think faster than I can and we didn’t miss any rides.

I’ve seen the same clips of the same election speeches many times and I’m growing as weary of them as the campaign commercials that have finally stopped. When we go around the Thanksgiving Dinner table telling each other what we’re thankful for, no more campaign commercials for at least a year should come up in every household. But, again, I digress. I know it’s been said many times by many of the talking heads on TV, but I don’t remember this kind of excitement and enthusiasm for a Presidential election since Kennedy and Nixon in 1960. This is the first election in decades that I haven’t gone into the voting booth trying to decide on the lesser of two evils. No matter who you voted for, we had two very good candidates with two very different ideas on how to get us to the same place.

I guess I’m a slow learner, or I have a short memory span (shame on you for saying BOTH, BOTH). I know it’s only been since this past spring that I raked leaves at the lake, carried them to Hastings in the back of the Jeep, and dumped them at the city garage. Then, for several days afterward, I whined about all the spiders in my car. Well, I’m at it again and, apparently, I didn’t get all the spiders last time. I’ll be driving down the road and they will start coming out from everywhere. I had one walking all over the inside of the windshield today and I didn’t try to kill him (or her). They eat flies and that’s a good thing. But I gave them a free ride to town, and now they should GET OFF THE BUS!!

Just (Not Ready For Winter Yet So Take Your Time) Jack

As I said before, I hadn’t been out of the United States, Canada or Tijuana, so this recent trip was my first overseas adventure, and I encountered some issues I hadn’t expected. We think our way is the best way, but some of their customs make sense and, then again, some don’t.

Bathrooms – I could go on and on about my struggle with European bathrooms, but I’ll try to keep it short and as close to G-rated as I can. First of all, in about half the bathrooms, you have to pay. Sometimes 40 cents Euro…54 cents U.S. and sometimes more. Sometimes one fee for a urinal and a different one for “other”. But when you do have to pay, it is often to a bathroom attendant. What a crappy (pun intended) job. It is usually a woman, often an older woman (yes…older than sixty one). There is a dish to put the money in and, if you don’t have the correct amount, you feel weird getting change. Often times the door doesn’t exist if you are using a urinal. In several of the places, you could see women and men walking by a few feet away as you did your business. That’s just wrong!! In Chez Moeder, a lambic pub in the Southern part of Brussels, there was a stool with a door on the left, a stool with a door on the right, and in between a urinal with no door at all. Standing there, if someone opened the door to the bathroom area, you could see all the way to the street. And what if you, all of a sudden, have severe abdominal distress (don’t say you never have) and didn’t bring any change with you? And if you did bring change, do you want the door open with an older woman standing six or seven feet away while your “evacuation plan” is executed? There are a few times in your life you want complete privacy and, for me, that’s at the top of the list. For the safety of others, you hope you can leave the door closed for a few minutes after you’re done and the fan does it’s work. But, on the plus side, the bathroom attendant keeps the bathrooms cleaner than they are in the U.S.

Language – This is very obvious and it says a lot about how we, as Americans, think of our place in the world. Most Europeans speak at least a little English, so it’s easier for us to get around in their countries. We go to their countries and don’t make the effort to learn even the slightest amount of their language (me included…a minus sign in my book of good things and bad things done in my life). They make it easy for us to think that the world revolves around us, and it’s getting obvious that a few years down the road, it won’t. When we needed cash, or when we were buying tram tickets from machines, they all had a language feature that you could switch from Dutch, or French, or German, to English. The language barrier was a little more of a problem when eating. Most of the places didn’t have an English menu, so most of the time I had no idea what I was ordering. In one German restaurant in, you guessed it…Germany, I couldn’t figure out what all the choices were. When the waiter came back to take our order, I said “I can’t read the menu, but I would like a brat and some sauerkraut”. He pointed to a line on the menu and said this is what you want, so I ordered it. I was expecting a six inch Johnsonville Brat with a side of sauerkraut. What I got was a bratwurst that hung over both edges of a very large plate, a large helping of sauerkraut cooked to mush, and about a pound of mashed potatoes. After the meal, I looked like the guy in the old Alka Seltzer commercial who was sitting there in distress with his pants unbuttoned saying “I can’t believe I ate the whole thing”. This past Saturday, Matt and I took a train from Brussels to Liedekerke, about half an hour away. The downtown area is about a mile from the train station, so it took us quite a while to walk through the streets. On the way, we saw several bakeries with some awesome pastries, but we didn’t stop. We were on a mission to visit De Heeren Van Liedekerke, a pub/restaurant with a great selection of beers. When we got there , there were no cars in the parking lot, no lights on in the building, and a sign in the window. It may have helped if we had understood the line on their website that said “De Heeren zijn op verlof van 6 tot 29 oktober !” We settled for a visit to the Retro Cafe where we drowned our sorrows in Duvel, Boon Kriek and spaghetti. Again, on the way back to the train station, I kept saying, “I can’t believe I ate the whole thing”.

Waiters/waitresses – In the United States, no matter where you go, waiters and waitresses come to your table over and over, asking you if everything is alright, or offering you another drink or dessert. No so much in Europe. We would get seated and may have to wait a while before anyone came to our table. We would order a drink or a meal, and wouldn’t see the waiter again until the meal or drink came. During the meal or drink, the waiter would not stop by at all. When the meal was done, or the drink was finished, the waiter did not come over to ask if you wanted another drink or to take your plate away. You would have to catch their eye, sometimes not very easily, and they would come over with a look of surprise, wondering what you want. In Chez Moeder, there was one girl tending bar and waiting tables. It was a neighborhood pub that served drinks and a selection of fine cheeses with bread. She was so busy, it took an hour for us to get our second drink (Hanssens Oude Kriek) and another hour to get our third (De Strusse Black Albert-13% ABV). Maybe that’s a good thing! In Europe, waiters and waitresses are not paid a sub-standard minimum wage like they are in the United States, so tipping is not necessary. Maybe that’s why they don’t over-do the service part.

Greetings – I’m not sure if this is a plus or a minus. Most people, in the parts of the countries we visited, would greet each other with a touching of cheek to cheek (not that cheek…get your mind out of the gutter) on both sides with an “air kiss”. That was fine for women to women or women to men. But to see a couple of guys that looked like they were longshoremen or football players touching cheeks and blowing air kisses just doesn’t seem right. Again, at Chez Moeder, they went a little overboard. There was a table of young guys having a few drinks, playing some kind of dice game, maybe for drinks, and having a great time. When Matt and I got to the place, there were four of them. Soon, more guys would come and a couple would go, but the group stayed at about eight for an hour or more. When a new guy came, they would kiss each other on the cheek with a loud juicy smack. Girls came and went with some of the guys, so I don’t think it was anything other than a greeting, but a little over the edge for my taste.

PDAs – I’m not really a prude as you can tell from some of the things I write, but extreme public displays of affection are a little disconcerting. Here in the United States, couples will be holding hands, sometimes with a squeeze or a pat in restricted areas, but I witnessed many PDAs in Europe that went to extremes. The couples were locked in an embrace that resemble those little metal puzzles that you can’t get apart without knowing “the secret”, usually with the girl on the guy’s lap, groping and fondling like they were teenagers parked at the drive in movies that have pretty much disappeared (resulting from a concerted effort of a splinter parent group called Fathers With Daughters). To keep this G-rated I won’t even go into the tongue action or the targets of the groping. I wanted to yell “Get a room”, but I didn’t know how to say it in the local language. If they keep it up (no pun intended), it will lead to a population explosion that we don’t want.

I’ve just touched the surface and, I’m sure, I will bore you soon with more complaints.

Just (Had A Blast But Glad To Be Home) Jack

I’ll be leaving for Belgium on Thursday, landing there on Friday afternoon, and knew I would need some money (Euros) for tips, busses, etc. when I got there. So I went down to my local bank to get some just in case they had to have extra time to get it themselves. They couldn’t get it, or at least, that’s what the tellers told me. It is a local, independent bank, and I know most of the people there. I was a little surprised, and then I panicked, not knowing exactly where to go.

I have a small Bank of America account that I use when I’m out of town to get cash from ATMs without paying any fees. So I came home, got on their web site and checked out their customer service. I found that I could order money!! Is that great or what?! I could order up to $5,000 worth from any country if I used my Bank of America  bank account or VISA card. I have both, so I ordered 200 euros. I could have it delivered to the closest branch (Grand Rapids or Kalamazoo) for $7.50, or I could have it delivered to my house, also for $7.50. I chose the house (duh!). I have to sign for it when it comes, so I’m tied down until then. The exchange rate isn’t very good, $1.45 per Euro, but it’s getting better every day. Apparently the jerks on Wall Street that screwed up our economy have affected Europe’s as well.

I did go to Kalamazoo last week to let Bank of America know that I would be in Europe, so don’t cut off my ATM or credit card availability when they see unusual charges. I didn’t tell them, but I’ve never been outside the United States other than trips to Canada (that’s like being in the US so it doesn’t count) and a day trip to Tijuana (that’s not really being in Mexico), so they’ve never seen foreign charges on my ATM or credit card.

Matt just sent me an e-mail telling me to be sure to have a suitcase with wheels since we’ll be walking a lot with our bags. The trip over shouldn’t be bad, but the bags may be loaded on the trip back. I’ll be bringing back refrigerator magnets for Margee, poker chips for Tommie Campbell, and rocks (not diamonds…actual rocks) for daughter Sara. Also, since I didn’t do any races in 2007 and only two in 2008, I’m running short of t-shirts that don’t have food stains on them. So I may (hold onto your seats) actually buy some clothes while I’m there. That won’t leave any room for beer, but I’m sure I’ll have a couple while I’m there.

I’ve checked out the weather over there and it looks like it will be much like it is here in the fall. Highs in the fifties and, sometimes, sixties and lows in the forties at night. The one downside is that there is likely to be widespread fog on Friday, both in Brussels where the trip ends, and Frankfurt Germany where I have a stop after an eight hour flight. The plane is supposed to land at around noon their time, so maybe the fog will burn off by then. If not, wherever we land won’t be in the US, so I’ll be in awe.

Matt is in Amsterdam this week after a long weekend in Munich for Oktoberfest. He and three friends left Munich yesterday for a few days there before meeting me in Brussels on Friday. I gave him the Dad advice…have a safe trip…don’t go anywhere with strangers…and don’t sample “the wares” in Amsterdam. He didn’t know what “the wares” were. He’s such an nice, naive boy, doesn’t know that prostitution is legal over there, and I didn’t want to let the cat out of the bag (no pun intended), so I told him it meant that I didn’t want him to break his teeth on hard candy. On the off-chance that he and his friends have gone there to check into the Amsterdam branch of the Betty Ford clinic for a couple of days after too much beer in Munich, I don’t want to know about it.

Just (Looking For My International Travel Clothes) Jack

Many of you who actually read this drivel I send out have read about my wars with our animal and bird friends in the past. You also know that I haven’t been very successful in my personal wars, especially with moles. At the cottage, without me being there, they have taken right over. I’ll be getting the cottage back from the renters by spring, so the feud with the moles will continue and I’ll probably still not win, but maybe keep them somewhat in check.

So my latest battle has been with skunks. I’ll be 62 in December, and in all those years, I’ve never had issues with skunks. Never been sprayed…never had them cause problems…until now! Sure, they stink, but we may stink to them, so maybe it’s even. Anyway, yesterday I was walking around the front yard and noticed that the turf is peeled right back all over and it looks like someone buzzed through with a rototiller. The neighbor had mentioned something about skunks the evening before, and I really hadn’t paid much attention to it, but it made sense that skunks were having a party in the front yard of the condo.

So last night, around 8:30 or so, I looked out into the front yard. Jean had left the front light on and there was a skunk having a blast in the turf. I walked out on the porch and he didn’t even look up. I walked to the edge of the driveway, and he looked right at me as if to say, “Thanks for leaving the light on so we can see these tasty morsels”. Boldly, or foolishly, take your pick, I took a couple of steps toward him. He looked up again and took about two steps, stopping at a better place to eat, and started digging. I clapped my hands several times and he finally took off for the back yard.

The back yard doesn’t have the topsoil that the front yard has, so it takes a jack-hammer to penetrate the clay. Hence, no grubs…hence, no skunks. I went back inside for a few minutes and was mesmerized by the President’s solution to all big business’ financial problems at your and my expense, but I digress. I went back out a few minutes later and our buddy was back. Again I went out to the driveway and, this time, he didn’t even look up. I threw a small stone at him, got him in the tail, and he raised it as if it were at attention. I clapped and he ran away again, probably to come back in a few minutes. So I went down to the basement, where the guns are stashed, and got one of the kids’ confiscated BB guns. Either the one used to shoot the neighbor’s cat or dog…I can’t remember… or the one that was used to shoot the windows out of the garden house. You kids know what I’m talking about.

At that instant, I rethought my strategy and could see a couple of flaws. First of all, I hadn’t gotten on the internet to see how far a skunk could spray. With my luck, as I stood 20 feet away, I would find out the hard way that they spray 21 feet (I still haven’t looked so don’t hold me to that number). Second, even if the spray wouldn’t go that far, it would make the entire neighborhood reek for days and I may be drummed out of the homeowners’ association (maybe that’s a good thing). Third, if by some stroke of luck, good or bad, I hit the skunk in the head and killed it, I would have a dead skunk in the yard and now what?? I checked a couple of more times but the skunk hadn’t returned.

This morning, I started looking at the internet, where we all know you can find out real solutions to all your problems. I went down the Google page, and most of them said something like, “The skunks are after the grubs, so if you kill the grubs, they won’t be back”. That’s fine, but it takes quite a while to kill grubs and, in the meantime, our lawn would turn into a plowed field. I was looking for some quicker action. One of the web sites said that skunks are repelled by the urine of their predators. I read farther into the blog and a woman said that her husband just went out and peed in the yard, “marking his territory”, and it kept the skunks away. In Michigan now, if you are caught urinating in public, that’s a fourth degree criminal sexual conduct charge, and you would end up on the public web page as a convicted pervert.   I can see the Banner headlines now. PENNOCK HOSPITAL BOARD MEMBER ARRESTED IN SEXUAL DEVIANT STING. The story would read: Jack Walker was quoted as saying, “I was just peeing in my yard, in front of everyone, to keep the skunks away”. If nothing else has derailed the building of a new hospital on the Ferris property, that might tip the scales.

So I went to the garden store today and bought some fox urine. All the way home I was thinking of the guy that had to run around chasing foxes, holding a cup for them at just the right time. That’s a good candidate for one of those DIRTY JOBS for Mike Rowe that I watch on the Discovery Channel all the time. Around that same time, Jean figured that I wouldn’t have enough time to get anything with my meetings and all, so she got a canister of “Pest Away” granules. I put drops of the fox urine on cotton balls pegged into the ground with roofing nails at regular intervals. I also sprinkled the granules around the perimeter of the yard, so we’ll see how that works. I thought when you moved into a condo, you had “people” to do all that stuff for you. Now, $30.00 or so later, I’m beginning to wonder.

Just (If You Can’t Smell Me Coming I Was Successful) Jack  

P.S. I already thought of peeing in a jar while inside, then sprinkling it around the yard from a watering can, but Jean won’t hold the jar.

My triathlon season has ended after having done only two races, and I’m not training for any running races, so I don’t have that inner desire to drag my lazy bones off the couch and go out and train. I’ve had some busy days lately and I leave for San Francisco tomorrow, so I’ve missed swimming this week Monday and today and I’ll also miss swimming Friday and next Monday while I’m gone. The water is getting colder and the mornings aren’t all that warm either, so lake swimming may be over for the year, at least for me.

I know I should start going to the fitness center to lift weights and do some cross training on the spinning bike or the elliptical machine, but I haven’t mustered up that motivation either. I know I’d miss tomorrow through Monday on my San Francisco trip and October 9th through the 19th on my Belgium/Germany trip, so I can think of a whole lot of reasons not to get started until my world travels end. I have been running, two days of five miles each at a slightly faster pace than normal, and eight miles on Sunday at a slow, endurance pace.

My run this past Sunday was not the best. First of all, I had a disastrous brewing day on Saturday. Without going into a whole lot of detail, my 6.5 gallon carboy wouldn’t fit in my small basement refrigerator to ferment (yes, I did try it before I filled it, but the weight of 5.5 gallons of wort made a difference). It was awkward to get in there in the first place, then to spend 15 minutes trying to get the door closed, then haul it back out and transfer it to a 6 gallon carboy, then put it back in, also awkwardly. Anyway, I strained my back muscles…nothing was pulled, but it was sore and the muscles were tight.

I thought they would loosen up as the Sunday run went on, but they got worse. I ran “around the block” from Broadway, to Willitts, to Hammond, to State Road and back to Judy’s where I started. It ended up being 7.78 miles, not the eight I expected, but I hurt too much to run any farther and round it off. For those of you who think I broke one of the “Jack Rules” by not continuing to 8 miles, you forget about Part 2, Subpart (a) that says if you do a loop run, you have the option of rounding it to the next mile or leaving it at exactly “loop distance” even though the promoter of the loop says it’s an even mile distance. It was raining most of the way; not hard, but enough to get everything wet, which leads to my second problem. Without getting too graphic, I’ll just say that I had some chafing in some delicate areas that got to the point of bleeding. Jean’s extended family came over for a get-together Sunday afternoon, and I must have looked like a toddler that had soiled his diapers and no one would change them for him.

I have thought that Jean has been losing it for a long time but I’m sure of it now. We went to a family wedding Friday night and hardly knew anyone. It was Jean’s brother’s wife’s brother or, maybe more confusing, my brother-in-law’s brother-in-law, but it wasn’t me…think about it. Anyway, I had swam that morning and my sinuses were acting up. I leaned over to Jean at the church and said that I could be the designated crier since I was sniffling all through the service and my eyes were watering. Anyway, I digress. We went down, after the wedding and the three hours of pictures (it seemed like three hours…maybe it was thirty minutes), to the County Seat for a reception dinner. It was a sit down affair so there was no walking around and mingling.

Jean sat next to me and also the groom’s mother who is 92 years old. Jean was helping her get some things to eat and trying to convince her that it wasn’t the waitress’s fault that she got a huge piece of prime rib because she was the groom’s mother, even though that isn’t what she ordered. I looked over and Jean was talking to Mrs. Hale and was putting coffee creamer in her own rice. I asked her what she was doing and she said she thought the creamer was butter. Now I ask you…have any of you ever mistaken the creamer for butter? The question is rhetorical…no need to respond.

I drove a friend to Grand Rapids this morning for radiation treatments and memories (what I can remember) of the bike wreck came streaming back. The more I thought about it, it was really all of your memories that you have told me about ‘cuz I don’t remember much. When my friend went for lab work, she was complaining about all the times she has had to fork over what little blood she seems to have left. I remember, to some extent, being poked and prodded by everyone who came along including the janitors. I feel guilty whining when I see what she’s having to go through.

Just (Thankful For The Friends And Family That Helped Me) Jack

I haven’t written in over a month so I thought I’d fill in the blanks on what’s been going on. Living in Hastings, that should take one paragraph. In case you haven’t heard, there was a group of us that decided to skip signing up for Lake Placid Ironman next year with Bill, Kim and Gary, but we were gung-ho about signing up for Ironman Wisconsin. In order to do that, you almost have to go to the race site since the races fill up so fast. Well, our gung-ho got up and went somewhere, but it wasn’t to Madison. The race is going on today and none of us are there. Maybe it sounded better at Lake Placid with Ubus still affecting our judgment. I shouldn’t really say none of us are there because Matt Toburen (not a Trilander…yet!) and John Hopkins are doing the race. I hope the weather cooperates for once. Cheer them on!

A group of us did do the Three Rivers Triathlon a couple of weeks ago and all had a decent race. My training partner Bill, who had an excellent race, was the only one to not place in the top three of his age group. His age group was tough and had some “ringers” who ran the run in a 7:30 or so pace! For the first time ever, I was last in my age group. Usually I’m in the middle of the pack, but my small chain ring (a 42 which means nothing to you non bikers) was too hard for the relentless hills. Although I’ve lost some weight, it wasn’t enough, and it was tough pulling that lard over the top of those peaks. Luckily I was going fast enough not to start rolling backward down the hill I had just climbed.

Of course, I’m old and use my brain injuries from Ironman Wisconsin 2003 to excuse doing dumb things. I wore shoes that I thought I always used in the past for short races. They had speed laces so you slide them on like slippers and away you go. They had very little wear so I knew they would be fine. WRONG!!! After the first mile I remembered why I didn’t wear them any more. They have a rub spot on the forward part of my right instep. It was annoying at mile two, quite sore at mile three, and a real pain in the “you know what” from there through mile six. I went through all the stages from a red abrasion, to the beginnings of a blister, to a full blown blister, to a torn open blister, all in less than an hour. Matt (my son) went with me to the race. He had stayed up late the night before, winning a couple of hundred dollars in a poker tournament, so he was quite tired. On the way back, I made him go by the area I used to live in and past the church his Grandfather preached at when I was in grade school. If that wasn’t punishment enough for staying out late, I made him listen to stories about my childhood.

Bill, Diane and Kim are all doing the Grand Rapids half marathon in late October, so they’re into their training mode. Thankfully, I’ll be in Belgium during that race so I don’t have to make any excuses about why I’m not doing it. Matt and I will be visiting breweries and pubs in Belgium and Germany, so I’m training for that. It’s tough work, but I’ve mastered the American twelve ounce right arm curl and I’m starting to set my sights on the half-liter “lift and tilt”. Europe is metric…they all learned it while we in the USA tried but couldn’t…so Judy…how fast is 100 kilometers per hour?

I’ve had several Sundays in a row of  “…those days where you feel like you could run forever”. Today I felt really good, but my legs were a little tired so I ran slow and went 8.26 miles. Yesterday, Jean was having lunch with her high school classmates…no, from the class of 1966…she’s not having to go through high school again. Anyway, I was bored, and the Michigan and Michigan State games were over, so I walked to the Dairy Queen on the new sidewalks our tax dollars just paid for. I walked right along, but not all out as fast as I could go, and it took 47 minutes one way. I figured it was between 2 3/4 and 3 miles. Since I am trying to watch my weight, I counted the calories burned up when a 200 lb. person walks at a 3.5 mile per hour pace for one hour and 34 minutes and came up with 540 calories. I got a medium butterscotch sundae which, in my The Complete Book Of Food Counts, is 400 calories (actually a medium chocolate sundae is 400 calories so they must be close to the same). So I burned 140 more calories than I took in. Great diet, huh??

Just (Bored But Not Looking For A Job Or More Chores) Jack

From the title, you would expect me to report on a whole lot of new things that are happening, but you also know I have no life, so there isn’t anything new. No, the Green Street house hasn’t sold; no, the cottage at Crooked Lake hasn’t sold; no, I haven’t looked for a job…you get the picture.

In my last epistle, I relayed the weather fiasco at The Muncie Endurathon, and how I’ve been a weather “good elf” at the races where I don’t compete. Well, that streak is broken! The weather at Lake Placid was just as rainy as Muncie, but it lasted all day. It was extremely hard on the spectators and I heard a lot of complaining. I had to change clothes three times and all my shoes were “squishy-wet” and still haven’t dried out. I’m sure the participants were bothered a bit too. Congratulations to Diane, Brian and Martin for enduring some tough conditions and finishing the race.

Brian had his usual good race and looked really strong when he finished, although I’m sure he was very tired. Every time I saw him, he looked fresh and upbeat. “Never again Diane” had her usual solid, consistent race until the last few miles of the run. She got Jack Walker-itis, ended up a bit dehydrated, and felt lots better after an IV of fluids and anti-nausea meds. Better living through chemistry. And, yes, she did say “never again”, again. Martin had the race he expected, although I detected a little frustration during the bike. That part of the race is his strong suit and he was frustrated on the downhills where he was continually blocked and couldn’t make use of the speed. He finished with a flair and seemed to feel really good. He did mention wanting a big greasy burger after the race, but by the time we all got back and the racers got cleaned up, there isn’t anything open.

At the hotel, the “boy’s room” looked like a college frat house with clothes drying on all the lamps, and the bathroom looked like a tornado had gone through. We all had our own little space, and could always find our things after looking for a while. The girl’s “kegger room” looked like you would expect with all the beds made all the time, more food than you could possibly eat in a week, and the bathroom smelled like a boutique with scented candles, pot-pourri and everything in its place. Wine and cheese were consumed in the girl’s room, and beer and chips were the fare in the boy’s room. Diane and Jean had the quiet room. I’d like to report on that room, but I wasn’t allowed in. Gary and I went Ubu hunting on Saturday and bagged a dozen between us. On the way home, I tripped and bumped Gary through the open door of a tavern, so we celebrated with a couple of Samuel Smith’s Taddy Porters.

Monday, the girls couldn’t wait for Bill and I to head back, Judy drives much faster than me and it hurts her to drive that slow (the speed limit), so they decided to leave early. So they left fifteen minutes before Bill and I did and got home ten minutes before we did. There are unsubstantiated rumors that they may have taken a wrong turn or two, may have stopped at an ice cream store or two, and I’m told that Judy may have met a new friend in Sarnia. I guess you’ll just have to ask them how things went.

The weekend after the Lake Placid trip, Robert and I played in the Hastings Country Club Member Guest Tournament. Before we teed off on Saturday, I had played two nine-hole rounds and my game showed it. I hit some good shots, but a lot of bad ones and our opponents said they really, really, really enjoyed playing us. I bet they did! You play five nine hole matches and each match is worth ten points. There were only five teams in our flight, so one match was played against “the par dummy”. It’s assumed that the par dummy makes par on every hole, and you have to beat par to get a point, tie par for a half point, and bogey for zero points. Whichever team has the most points after nine holes gets one bonus point. Except for the par dummy, which we beat 6 to 4, we got 3 1/2, 3 1/2, 3 1/2 and 3 1/2. We didn’t get any “closest to the pins”, no “skins”, and didn’t place at all in the Calcuttas.

I did win thirty dollars though and that was nice. There were no gross skins out on the first two nine hole matches so I got my twenty dollars back. And, twice, when we got to the par three number four hole, I didn’t put in five dollars for the closest to the pin contest and I didn’t hit the green either time. In accountant’s logic, I’m up thirty dollars. Robert, un-be-known to me, had a couple of side bets and actually won one of them. The team he won from went to the Margarita Party on Friday night, had a huge party Saturday night, and may have been a little under the weather both Saturday and Sunday.

I’m sure you all went through the same dull couple of weeks as I did.

Just (Recovering From The Ubu Hunting Trip) Jack

I’m sure all of you think that, with my style of self-deprecating humor, I’m stretching the truth about things, and you probably have good reason to doubt some of my stories. But I’m here to tell you that my prior e-mails about me being a “weather pox” in all the races I do are true. Yesterday, at Muncie, was no exception.

I kept checking the weather all week. The predictions started out at 89 degrees with high humidity, not unusual for central Indiana in mid-July. As the week went on, the high temperature started to drop and it looked like it was going to be a high of 82 by the time we finished the race. Since it was going to be a bit cooler, the chances of rain popped up. It was to be partly cloudy until around 10 AM, then a chance of “isolated thunderstorms” until around 1 PM, then a chance of “scattered thunderstorms” the rest of the afternoon.

When we got to Muncie on Friday, the temperature was 92 and it was a little humid, so I really thought the weatherman had slept through all the updates and it would be another hot, steamy race. Well, the weatherman not only slept through the updates, but must have been on drugs (prescription of course) when he put isolated and scattered thunderstorms in the forecast. As we got our transition areas ready on Saturday morning, the race director called us all together to make an announcement. There were some storms on the way and would get to Muncie within two and a half hours, so they were going to accelerate the swim start times to get everyone in and out of the water by the time the storms got there. He also said, and I quote “Once you get out on the bike we’ll have people stretched out over 56 miles of road, so if a storm hits, you’re on your own!”

This time the weatherman must have been on some street drugs ‘cuz I came out of the swim in 42:51, which was 48:51 after the first swimmers hit the water, and that’s when the storms hit, and I do mean storms. We had lightning, thunder, strong winds and everything from torrential rain to a “potato soaker” rain the entire 3:05:44 that my wet body was on that wet bike and for thirty minutes after the lightning started, people that started after my wave were still in the water. At times it was raining so hard, and the drops were so big, they stung when they hit your half covered body. It was so miserable that several people quit before the race ever started, several people got out into the swim, climbed up onto one of the boats that lined the course, and dropped out of the race. And thirty eight people out of the five hundred ninety who made it through the swim dropped out during the bike or the run. The swim was as rough as I’ve seen it in quite a while, but that gave me an advantage. The water was 80 degrees, but very choppy and rough. After growing up in St. Joe on Lake Michigan, I was used to choppy and rough, so I felt at ease. Not so with 99% of the rest of the field.

The ride was miserable and kind of eerie. Most of the people were riding head down, trying to keep as much of the rain off their sunglasses (we didn’t need them but that’s what we brought to protect our eyes) as they could. Every once in a while, as we rode past fields of corn and soybeans, you could hear a sound like there was a monster coming through the corn. It would start out with a dull roar and build to the sound of a freight train. It took me only once to realize that it was a gust of wind and torrential rain hitting the leaves of the corn from across the field and it was headed my way.

Almost everyone who passed me on the bike, and it was almost everyone in the race, made a comment about the weather except a few that commented on my bike jersey. I was wearing my Sierra Nevada Brewing Company bright green jersey, and I heard a lot of the same comments like “I’d rather be sitting in front of the TV drinking one of those than riding in this f&$%#*@ rain”. Libby, one of our “tri-friends” from Grand Rapids passed me a couple of times and made a comment or two. On the one and only time I passed her on the bike, I said “I’ve been looking at those dead animals on the side of the road and can’t help but think you lucky bas%&*$#.” They were getting just as wet as we were but they didn’t care any more.

When I got to the run, I felt good. I started out strong and kept it up for the full 9 miles. Oh, you probably know that the run is 13.1 miles so you can just guess what that last 4.1 miles was like. I was tired, but my legs still had something left. But I got that same puke-sick feeling in my stomach I’ve had in many of my other races. I’d run until I was just about ready to barf, then walk ’til the feeling went away, start running again and repeat all the way to the finish line. It turned what should have been a 2:05 run into a 2:28:16 ordeal. Does that sound familiar? I could replay from my race at Muncie two years ago and the words would be the same. Anyone want to buy an unused post-race meal ticket?

Congratulations to our Trilander racers who survived Muncie. Tom and Kim took third place in their age groups; Corrine and Bill had great races and placed well in their age groups; and Paul would have taken a second in his age group had he not worn his wet suit (when the water temp is above 78, you can wear a wet suit but you are not eligible for prizes); and then there is me. It sounds like I’m disappointed with my race and I’m not! My swim was much better than I expected after only six weeks of training; my bike was slower than it would have been normally, but I rode cautiously due to the weather; and my run was better than I expected for the first nine plus miles and just as I expected the last 4.1 miles.

All in all it was a good day of racing (as one racer put it…at least we’re still on the right side of the grass); we were surrounded by some really fit athletes (what was I doing there?); and we were there with some really good friends; what more can you ask for? Our thanks to Brian, Judy, Marge and Nancy for being our race support and listening to our “war stories”. When you are in conditions like we were in and feel as bad as we felt, you look forward to seeing people you know cheering you on. It’s a testament to how important family and friends are!

So my last few long races have been Ironman Wisconsin 2004…hot and humid; Muncie 2006…hot and humid; Ironman Wisconsin 2006…cold and rainy; Muncie 2008…thunderstorms. The Trilanders are starting to believe me and not enter the races I sign up for. On the other side, the races I go to support have been Ironman Florida 2006…great weather; Muncie 2007…great weather. I overheard Diane, Brian and Martin planning to offer to pay my way to Lake Placid next week just so I would be sure to be there. They know I can’t turn down anything free.

Just (Looking For Volunteers To Put Lotion On My Sore Spots) Jack

It’s one week and counting to the Muncie Endurathon. If you expect me to whine about being undertrained, I won’t. My training is what it is and one week isn’t going to change a thing. Since I haven’t raced in a couple of years, I’ll have to keep my wits (what few I have left) about me to make sure I think myself through the race and not let myself get under-nourished or under-hydrated. Maybe I’ll look at some of my old e-mails and see if any of them detail a food and hydration plan that I can follow. The accountant in me needs that cookbook approach to success, while the practical Jack needs to step up and think on my feet when things don’t go by the book.

This past couple of weeks I’ve been having PVCs while swimming, biking and running. I gave up caffeine a few years ago and haven’t had many problems, but I’ve been drinking some coffee lately and they’re back. If you don’t know what PVCs are, look them up on Google. I’ve already talked to my doctor about them, and they’re not harmful, so don’t tell me to go see him. And he’s told me that PVCs during exercise are not uncommon and they don’t seem to cause problems, so don’t tell me to stop swimming, biking and running and they’ll go away. The following link is from a discussion board on PVC’s during exercise so, Mom, don’t worry.

 www.medhelp.org/forums/cardio/messages/34574.html

I did have them during my bike ride today, but none on my run on Thursday. They started at the corner of M-179 and Yankee Springs Road and didn’t quit until I went by the Dairy Queen in Hastings (eight miles). Maybe they thought if they quit, I’d reward them with a big gob of ice cream covered with nuts and butterscotch topping. I’ll stop by the local DQ and ask Tyler if I can borrow a couple of his advertisement mobiles that hang from the ceiling. I’ll tape them to the front of my bike and the bill of my run cap during the Muncie race. Maybe that will get me through without any problems. The PVCs aren’t dangerous, they really don’t hurt anything, but they are extremely annoying!!! I may have used a couple of bad words when I explained to Bill today why I dropped back so quick on the return ride. Sorry Mom!

I came home after the hour long ride and 1/2 hour run only to begin staining the deck. I started at 1:30 and finished around 6:30, so I’m one tuckered out puppy. On the plus side, Jean told me to wear a hat so I didn’t sunburn my bald head. Thank goodness she suggested that ‘cuz I’m obviously not smart enough to think of it on my own. On the negative side, she waited until I had been in the sun for four hours before she asked if I wanted any sunscreen.

I was being pestered by wasps most of the day, so it was obvious that they had a nest under the deck boards. This evening I looked and there they were. They are usually pretty lethargic in the evening, so I got out the foaming hornet and wasp killer. The can was full and the directions said to shake it thoroughly, which I did. Apparently, the can has the prostatitis that I had last year ‘cuz it would only send the spray a couple of feet and it didn’t foam. If you shot it straight up, it only went a foot. So I climbed up on a chair, got within a foot of the nest, and hit it after 5 seconds of weak spraying. Luckily they didn’t all fly out at once and knock me off the chair. Don’t those home safety posters always say DON”T CLIMB ON A CHAIR INSTEAD OF A LADDER YOU IDIOT (I added that part)—MOST ACCIDENTS HAPPEN FROM CARELESSNESS IN THE HOME.

Do you think I’m looking for anything that will keep me from competing at Muncie next week?

Just (Uninjured And Really Want To Keep It That Way) Jack

As most of you already know, I took last year off from competition in triathlons due to health issues. Don’t ask me to repeat the actual maladies. It would be macho to say it was an old football injury, so let’s just go with that.

So my first race is a half ironman, The Muncie Endurathon. The 1.2 mile swim is in a reservoir. I’d like to say that I’m really going to do well in the swim, but that wouldn’t be true. Most of you know I’ve only been swimming for three weeks, so my training is woefully behind everyone else. I may be able to beat the guy who swam in high school, is fifty plus years old, and is cocky enough to think he can still swim fast with no training, but that’s it.

Before you think I can make it up on the bike, remember that due to my last year’s old football injury (wink, wink), I didn’t ride the bike all last summer and only rode for half an hour at a time on the trainer this past winter until my injury healed. I’ve been out on the bike since the weather broke this spring, but I’ve only done two rides over 56 miles, the length of the bike leg in the race, so I’m not really well trained there either.

After all my whining this past year on my running and sore hip, I don’t need to tell you that I’m also undertrained on the run portion. I’ve run three miles at a time for over a year, but have been able to ramp up the mileage, slowly, these past few weeks. My longest run so far has been 12.5 miles (if you count the three hills I walked up) today and the race distance is 13.1, so I’m not there yet and time is running out. My previous long distance was 11 miles (last week) and the longest before that was 10 miles (the week before last), and…you get the picture.

So why am I doing the race? I DON”T KNOW!!! Maybe it’s because I paid fifty dollars to get a rollover from last year’s race to this year, and I don’t want to waste the money. My friends used to say I was so tight, if I found a cold capsule, I’d go sit in a draft just so it wouldn’t go to waste. Maybe it’s because I have this same dream that lots of other triathletes have, usually first timers. It’s that, somehow, I’ll have my best swim ever, followed by an unbelievably fast bike, followed by a personal best run. When reality sets in, we all realize that your race is a reflection of your training. If you come up short in training, you will come up short in the race.

I guess the reason for doing the race is that I really enjoy the training with my friends. And in order to be a part of the “training group”, you have to be training for something. So, in order for me to fit in, I’m forced to pay the price and do the race. I had a really good way out this past week, but I either thought too fast, or didn’t think fast enough. I was running down the Michigan Avenue hill on one of my five mile, middle of the week runs. I came up on an intersection and a car pulled up coming from the East. I was running South, and I tried to make eye contact with the driver. He never looked my way, and I could see immediately that he was going to pull out in front of me. Instinctively I made a quick (for a geezer of 61) move to the left and went around the back of his car.

It’s confession time, so Mom, don’t listen…I may have yelled that he resembled a part of my “below-the-belt” anatomy that I’ve never seen, but I know is there, and thankfully so. Anyway, as I continued down the hill, a driver slowed, rolled down her window, and said “nice dodge” while shaking her head. If I had been thinking, I could have run into the side of the car, ended up with a race ending, superficial injury, and sued the guy for millions. As I look back on it, the car was at least fifteen years old, hadn’t been washed since the change of the millennium, and seemed to be held together by rust and duct tape. Maybe his estate wouldn’t be worth the legal fees. Oh, well, I probably made the right decision.

Just (Healthy And No Tire Tracks On My Back) Jack