The Ugliest Word

Upfront, let's make it clear that I'm not including swear words. However, I feel this word is uglier than all but one of those - uglier even than the eff word. I contend the ugliest word in the english language is heifer. My stomach turns a little even typing it. My closest friends growing up were part of a ranching family, so I spent a considerable amount of time around cattle. Even then, the word always bothered me. It seems that recently I've heard more people use the word as a derisive term for a woman. Ouch. As much of a hater as I am, I'd still have a really hard time calling someone that - even behind their back.

Moving Violations

Dug's post today inspired a rant. The other day, I fell victim to the Timpanogos Temple Speed Trap - it's capitalized because it's a well-known speed trap. Plus, it's so well executed that even if you know about you eventually fall victim. Anyway, the whole traffic ticket idea is fundamentally flawed. I'm not talking about the principle of providing rules for how fast you can drive and punishing you for driving over that speed. That's fine. I'm sure it makes everyone safer, which is a good thing for government, right? My problem is that with the local governments receiving the money for the tickets they apparently spend the vast majority of their time lying in wait in speed traps because that makes them money. They have a direct incentive to write as many tickets as possible, regardless of whether it makes anybody safer. And a disincentive to go out and actually investigate crimes. Because that costs money. I don't like to trash on something unless I have a different solution. My solution - send the money from the tickets to a different group - like to the state general fund. I'm guessing there would be a lot fewer speed traps and tickets would tend to be issued more for people who were actually driving dangerously. I'm just saying.

All Stars

Today was open-mic day. And the All-Stars showed up to put on a show. We can usually count on one or two of them, but today they all showed up. In a surprise appearance, The Advice Column showed up, along with the always dependable Sewing Circle Storyteller, the Tattling Teen, The Ambling Adolescent, and that crazy old lady who says words without saying anything. The five of them dominated the time in impressive fashion - a true classic.

Unanticipated

Last night, something happened that I never thought would happen. For the entire length of my swim, I was the fastest person in the AF Pool. As I reveled in the glory of the feat, it occurred to me that maybe it had something to do with the fact that the only other people in the pool were a 350+ lb woman who was backstroking her way to better health (which I applaud) and a fellow who was clearly just learning how to swim. I take small victories however I can get them.

The Bike Cycle

No, it's not a mistake. I did mean to type "bike cycle." The "bike cycle" as explained to me years ago by Stu is the aggregate, rolling value a person has in bikes. "The stable" is only the current manifestation of the bike cycle - the bikes you have right now. But as Rick S. (not his real name) recently pointed out, the bike cycle allows you to trade a bike you currently have for one you really want. And there's always another bike, so you keep the money in the bike cycle and keep it rolling. So, I also remind all of us of Stu's sage advice - Never take money out of the bike cycle.

The Next Level

Most guys spend a considerable amount of effort to be one of the guys - often by taking care of their own, keeping an eye out, and knowing when enough is enough. And always being consicous not become "that guy." I always thought that was the worst thing to be - "that guy." I was wrong. I've been introduced to a new level - "that one guy" - he who stands out from even "that guy." It's a long story.

Some People Send Christmas Cards

I throw the annual Fisherstyle Luau. In the past, I tried to do most of the work with just Cindy and I, but it's simply too big for that now - over 350 people showed up this year. And it's truly a family affair. Alika and Brittney postponed a hunting trip to help me prep the night before. Kuhia also postponed a hunting trip to make the haupia (which is legendary) and run a grill station. My sister decorated, including putting together pineapple centerpieces. B, Jon and Delena, Benson, and many others pitched in countless ways to help us pull it off. This year, we managed to avoid any trips to the emergency room, which allowed us a little more time for setup. It also decreased the stress level by several orders of magnitude. B and the Hansons showed up and setup started in earnest at 4:00. Ben was there shortly after and took over the first grill station in order to get the first round of chicken out while I ran the second grill station with sausages and kalbi. The pork was already holding as it had come fresh from the ovens. Kuhia showed up as we were finalizing the initial preparation and took over the second grill, leaving me to run the finishing station and to keep an eye on the line. The official send off was at 5:30, mainly because there weren't very many people there at 5:00. And then it was on. For the next two hours the three of us furiously turned out food as fast as we could. At any given time at least three of the four main proteins were available, with one of the four occasionally running low or even temporarily out while we scrambled to cook more. We kept up the pressure and managed to survive the rush, which started to taper between 7 and 8. Since I'd been head down and hammering, I had a tough time telling how it was going, but it seemed like people had a good time. Despite running out of plates (we had well over 400 plates to start) and rice, I think the luau was a success. But I saw for the first time this year signs that the luau was becoming a victim of its own success. Or at least that some people were willing to abuse my good will. For the last six years, the luau has been a time for me to bring together my various groups of family, neighbors, classmates, cycling friends, and coworkers to share a meal and for the various groups to catch up amongst themselves. I've always told people to bring others within those circles that I may have overlooked or for whatever reason didn't know about the party. Until now, all of the people who showed up had at least one of two things in common: 1) they knew me, Cindy, and/or one of my siblings well enough to pick us out of a crowd before the event and/or 2) they were appreciative of the effort. For the first time, some invitees took the liberty of bringing friends who were neither. It was disappointing to have someone I didn't know, nor could I immediately figure out who they were with, give my wife a strange look that almost questioned what she was doing there. Later being able who that person was with didn't change anything. It was also frustrating to be treated like a caterer on the line (by someone I didn't know) by something more akin to a demand for more of a particular item rather than a request. This didn't sit well with me at all. Some of these same people wandered off with all of the centerpieces, leaving me and those who helped out without the much anticipated pineapples. My immediate family, given that it's as much their luau as it is mine, have always had and will always have carte blanche to bring whoever they want. From now on, I'm going to ask everybody else to bring only people who 1) know me or my family and 2) can avoid boorish behavior. I don't think that's too much to ask.

Labor Day Weekend

Last night Cindy and I did our version of movie/date night - we watched "Adventureland" while we ran together on the treadmills. We cranked out nine miles and I felt comfortable the entire time. We're definitely sick, because we both loved it. Fall Perfection is upon us again. DR and I headed out today early and did the Road-Ridge-Tibble loop. A light drizzle kept us cool on the way up. Not only did the rain keep us cool, it kept people out of the canyons and packed down the trails to the perfect consistency. I've taken to calling those conditions point and shoot, since my tires stay where I put them I'm able to ride much more confidently and a lot faster. I was grinning the whole way down, even with the ruts the throttle monkeys put in the trail earlier in the year. I was encouraged by the prospects for the fall riding season - I have enough fitness to enjoy the long rides, which will help me extend my fitness long enough to start training for IM St. George.

Luau Countdown

I recently talked with a buddy who wondered if the luau was still on, since there had been a lack of luau related posts this close to the date. It's definitely still on. The park is reserved. The beef is currently aging. Soda has been stockpiled. Non-perishable items are at the ready. A trip to the Asian store and the final purchase of the more perishable chicken, pork, and sausage as well a few vegetables is all that remains to be done before cooking begins in earnest. September 12, after 5.
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Huntin'

My Dad is 78 years old. He went out to the National Forest and killed a deer. With a bow and arrow. I'm just saying, my old man is a badass.

Utah Half '09

Several years ago the Ironman company tried to do a couple of races in Utah Lake in June. The first year a fellow had a cardiac episode in the choppy conditions and died. The next year they canceled the swim because of the chop, and the next year they moved the race to Coeur D'Alene, Idaho. Two years ago a local group brought the half distance back to Utah with the Utah Half in August, which I skipped. Last year DR talked me into racing the Utah Half with him. There was little wind, but it was scorching hot. I won entry to this year's edition in a raffle, so I was back again this year. The other half distance races I've done this year (Oceanside, CA and Boise, ID) both ended up being windy and cold, so I was actually looking forward to warm weather and calm winds. But, apparently the long-course-triathlon gods hate me. As the start time neared, the wind and clouds picked up to end what had been a pretty calm morning - and ruining any hope of a calm swim. I bobbed in the water as the original start time came and went while the race directors tried to figure out what to do. Then my guts sent me the emergency launch sequence notification. I barely noticed the five minute warning over the din of the alarm bells from my stomach. There was no way I was going to make it through the entire swim, nor any way I could make it to the port-a-pottys all the way over in transition and back in five minutes, even if I wasn't wearing a wetsuit. So, I became a cliche. You know, one of those you-know-you're-a-triathlete-when cliches. Fortunately I have a two-piece wetsuit. So, I swam to the very end of the pier (well away from the other swimmers), pulled down my wetsuit pants, and released what had already become at best a tenuous grip. Unfortunately, I race in a one-piece trisuit. So, strenuous and liberal irrigation was necessary, which I accomplished via the opening in my trisuit. For once, the merkiness of the water worked to my advantage, hiding me and my deeds. I did this all in less than the five minutes I had left before race start. And before they announced again that they were going to wait another fifteen minutes, despite the calm conditions. It bothered me. I mean, apart from the obvious inconvenience, the way I saw it the waves weren't that big since we were swimming in the harbor. Besides, anybody stepping up to the long distance shouldn't be whining about the chop. In my usual, subtle and understated way, I suggested that to one of the race directors that they make the swim optional: "Hey, why don't you make the swim optional? That way, those guys who don't want to swim can go put their pullups on while those of who brought our big boy pants can swim. I'm just saying." Yep, I was making friends and influencing people Saturday morning. The race directors decided on a compromise - instead of cancelling the swim altogether or doing the entire two loop course, we'd swim a single loop. The start line was about 100m from the exit, so my best guess is that the course we did was about 1000m. (1900m=2L+100, Ts=L+100). The swim went better than expected. I was able to stick with the group swimming into the wind until we made the turn. The tailwind pushed me back in. I was to the exit at the ramp in about 18:30. And out of the water at about 21:00 - I couldn't get out of the ramp. My one complaint with the race was the lack of carpeting on the snot slick ramp. I slipped and fell back in no fewer than four times and ended up crawling out of the water. I burned too many matches on the bike, despite the 3:00 flat split. Most of the course wound through the back roads of South County near the lake. I hate that route from having ridden it countless times in punishing crosswinds that seemed to hit me at a yaw angle that negated any tailwind component, regardless of which way I was riding. Saturday was especially bad since I was riding a disc wheel, the winds were at 25+, and I was actually worried about my time. It may also have had something to do with the fact that the rinse cycle portion of the emergency launch process had washed off all of my anti-chafe. 56 miles on a bendover bike with no chamois and no anti-chafe - it sucked a lot. At least the hail on the way back in distracted me from my broken junk. Cold and chafed, I was not happy coming in to T2. Shortly into the run, I met up with DR, who had flatted twice on the bike and called it a day. Despite his official DNF, he decided to run with me anyway. The first lap went well, better than expected even. I slowed a little on the second (and final) lap, but was still on pace for a comfortable PR both on the run and overall. I was also on pace to go sub-six for the first time. And then I paid the price for the bike at mile 11 as I imploded. I was still able to 'run', but was doing so at a pace that was 2:00-3:00/mile slower than my previous pace. I ground it out, with DR's encouragement, coming in at 5:53. It was a good day - a PR day, in fact - despite falling apart on the run. I estimated that if the swim course hadn't been shortened, I'd come in around 6:10. I figured that 18:30 put my 100m times at 1:51, which would put the extra 900m at around 17:00. I'm comfortable with this since I'm always faster after the first 1000m.

Debunking

I've often lamented by descent into becoming a triathlete, not someone who does triathlons. And I still am. Part of that is because of the stupidity exhibited by tri geeks. They (and I'm not including myself in this discussion of the group) swallow whatever anyone tells them, as long as they promise it'll make them faster. There are several, many of which I'm sure to touch on later. The first one is the best: You should ALWAYS ride in the aero position. This is my absolute favorite - common sense be damned, the tri-geeks persist in this. It seems like common sense that there are three things determine how wind acts on you as you ride: 1) How big of a target you present, 2) How hard the wind is apparently blowing, and 3) the direction the wind is blowing. Apparently, since tri-geeks can only control one of these three things, they believe that presenting as small a target as possible is the solution that makes you faster all the time. Not so much. The aero position only provides an advantage if the apparent head wind is greater than 17-18 mph. Apparent wind is the remaining vector after you factor in your direction of travel and the direction the wind is blowing. With that in mind, there are three common situations where staying in the aero position (which is as uncomfortable or even more so than it looks) is stupid or maybe even dangerous. First is climbing. On a calm day, riding uphill in your aerobars at 12-13 provides no aerodynamic advantage. Yet I see tri-geek after tri-geek grinding away up AF Canyon in their aerobars, convinced in the truth that its faster. You know, because somebody told them it was. Second is descending. A friend of mine, let's call him Jared, called me one day as he left the emergency room to tell me there was a hazardous section on the road up AF Canyon. Apparently hazardous for cyclists anyway. When Jared explained to me where the spot the spot was, I knew it immediately. It's really nothing more than a slight dip. Unless you're in your aerobars. Descending a curvy road. With no access to your brakes. And all of your weight is over your front wheel. Which was exactly what the genius Jared had dropped off at the hospital was doing before Jared found him. Based on the evidence, Jared said it looked like genius had hit the dip and then hit the road, leaving large patches of his face and several teeth as he skidded along before slamming to a stop into the hillside adjacent the road. I prefer to have my weight and hands positioned so I can control my bike when I'm descending, even if it is 1-2 mph slower - I'm picky that way. Third is in a stiff tail wind. At the Vikingman last year, we battled 30+ mph headwinds on the way out. I was lucky to do 12 mph on the flats. With an apparent headwind of 40+ it made sense to 'get aero.' But at the turn, that same headwind turned into a tail wind. I passed scores of people at 30+. You see, they were all tucked away while I made myself as big as possible by sitting straight up to catch the wind. Each person I passed shot me the same confused look, wondering how I could possibly be going faster than him while not being aero. Apparently the idea that wind can push you where you want to go, you know, the sail concept, was completely lost on them. Or at least ignored. Ignorance of the realities of something as basic as wind, that's one of the reasons I hate grouping myself with triathletes.

Off Topic

Most of the time, my perseverations rotate between family, food, bikes, and combinations of the three. Lately, I've been thinking a disporportionate amount about Southeastern Utah. You should skip this one if wrestling with small town issues isn't your thing. I was born and raised in Southeastern Utah - in Blanding. Blanding is a town that was founded by Mormon settlers sent from St. George. The vast majority of the people who stay in the town for more than a year or two are descendents of those original settlers. At least tangential descendents. The student body at the local schools reflects this. Blanding is also near both a Ute resevervation and the Navajo Nation. As a result, the other significant group that attend the local schools are native americans. My family moved to Blanding in 1971 and frankly, I'm not sure what kept us there. Since we were neither native nor really white, it seems we were caught between the two groups. Friends of mine from Blanding may challenge that assertion, but I'm pretty sure they never had a girl they were sweet on tell them, "My grandma, and I guess my dad, don't want me to see you anymore because you're . . .mmm . . . well . . . you know . . . not white." I also doubt they ever had to stand up in front of the class and proclaim they were the pineapple capital of the world. I'm glad I grew up in Blanding - for good or bad it shaped me. I've made friends that will last a life time. Some of the best people anywhere live there. However, as time marches on, my feelings about the town have become mixed as I think about generations-old, town-wide issues of racism, xenophobia, and family cliquishness. And never more so than the last couple of weeks. The FBI recently conducted raids in which 24 people from Blanding were arrested for violating the Antiquities Resource Protection Act of 1979 (ARPA) and/or the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act. The actual raids and arrests were ugly enough, but the fallout is more far-reaching as many people from the area take one position and the Salt Lake media and others (including many who aren't familiar with the area) are taking a position that is the polar opposite. Both positions are based on over-simplifications, exaggerations, and name-calling. What's worse, the simplifications and exaggerations appear to be based on a lack of understanding of either the law, a desire to sensationalize, or both. This past weekend I loaded the family up and headed to Blanding so my kids could spend some time with their grandma. As I sat watching the parade, I overheard the comments of several people on the whole situation. Unfortunately, in general it seems that the raids polarized people there in such a way that they feel entitled, even proud, of the xenophobia and racism that had previously lurked just beneath the surface. Although many of the residents remain grounded, it seems like the area has taken a step backward. Or maybe the only thing to change about Blanding is my perception of the place.

Inspirational Dishes

I love food. Big surprise I know - you probably believed my big-bone argument. In any case, I was thinking today of the dishes I've had that were inspirational. Not just good, or a little memorable, but ones that are benchmarks. Choripan (Argentina Sausage Sandwich), Chichi's Place, Buenos Aires Lengua a la Vinagre (Tongue Vinaigrette), Chichi's Place, Buenos Aires Schnitzel, Kuhia's House, Salt Lake Quail Fois Gras and Escargo (separate dishes), Inn on the Creek (Jean Louis), Midway Prime Rib, Magnum's, Chicago Oyster Shooters, Pacific Seafood Company Outlet, Rockaway Beach, Oregon Apple Cider Pork Ribs, Ben's House, Lindon Duck Spring Rolls, Metropolitan, SLC Braised Short Rib w/Horse Radish Cream and Polenta, Pizzeria 712, Orem Garlic Shrimp, Giovanni's Shrimp Truck, Kahuku Ribs, Pat's BBQ, SLC Baby Greens with Truffles, Vinaigrette, and a Soft Boiled Egg, Pizzeria 712, Orem Fried Chicken, Roscoe's Chicken and Waffles, Inglewood Lemon Grass Pork Bahn Mi, Dew, Provo Thai Basil Rice, Rooster, Provo Update: Duck Breast with Wilted Leek Risotto, Swiss Chard, and Cherry Gastrique, Pizzeria 712, Orem. It really was unreal - the standard by which all duck shall be measured.

Good Fortune

I'm fortunate that some of my very best friends are amazing artisans who are passionate about the same things I am.

For example, anyone who's seen a Sabrosa knows that Jon's attention to detail is unsurpassed. But as many mass-production companies have proven, there's more to how well a bike rides than how it looks. That's what makes Jon's bikes even more impressive - every aspect of the bike from the exact (and I do mean exact) head angle to the nature and type of the dropouts is thoughtfully selected. The result is a bike that handles intuitively from the first time you ride it.

Anybody who knows Racer knows in addition to being easily the best mechanic in all of Utah County if not the state, he's also the nicest guy in the whole world.

And then there's Rooster in Provo (in previous location of Racer's Cycle Service coincidentially). A foodie's kind of spot without the foodie's entry fee. Andy and Simi are providing something out of the ordinary.

1L Summer

Between my first and second years in law school (my 1L summer), with the help of some friends I was able to land a paying clerk gig at a law firm in Portland, Oregon. I'd previously only been to Portland once on a whirlwind 36 hour run with Jem. Surprisingly enough, that short trip wasn't enough for me to get to know the town very well and not the apartments at all. Cindy had recently been promoted at work and didn't want to leave her job. She stayed back in Provo. That left me to find a place on my own. Fortunately, another one of the clerks wanted to split an apartment. Cindy found a place for us that seemed (on paper) to be the right combination of price, size, and proximity to the office. We only had one car, so I built up a commuter bike, threw it in Jem's truck, and headed north. I had been living in student apartments for several years. And not the nice ones by Condo Row either. I lived in Miller for two years before I was married. There was a reason that Miller was the cheapest place on the approved list. After I was married, I lived in toaster oven of an attic apartment. My point is, I had very low expectations for the apartment. Even with these low expectations, to say I was disappointed with the apartment I ended up with would be an understatement. While the wet carpet in the place when I arrived pointed to management having recently cleaned the carpet, I remain convinced that nothing short of completely gutting the apartment could remove the smell of dog shit and stale smoke that permeated the place. Maybe not even that. And it was mine to stew in, with no car to get away from the place. My roommate had brought his girlfriend out and there was no way they were going to wallow in that mire any more than they had to. After a while I thought the smell had dissipated. Not so much. I'd just become accustomed to the smell. After a month of the smell B stopped by on his way to a family vacation. He informed me that the place reeked and it was then that I realized the smell must still be permeating everything in the apartment, clothes included. In all likelihood, I had been walking around the office smelling like a dog with a fecal fetish, an aversion to bathing, and a nicotine addiction. Not surprisingly, our co-tenants had some issues as well. As we learned through several police raids in the middle of the night, complete with battering rams and foot chases, for many Cornell Courtyard Apartments was subsidized housing. One afternoon as my roommate and I were getting home, we were followed in by a middle-aged women dressed in a smart suit. "Good to see someone in here getting out and trying to get a decent job," my roommate commented. A few minutes later, she emerged in her regular clothes to soak her feet in what a sign described as a pool, but what in reality was an infrequently cleaned duck pond. As she sat down, she made clear, "That judge was a total bitch!" Of course. She then recounted how the judge had made clear she needed to be doing more of what she agreed to do if she was going to retain custody of her six-year old girl and her infant/toddler, who appeared to be about a year old. Maddy, an ostensibly single mother, didn't seem to agree. All of this is background for what has to be one of my favorite overheard conversations. Toward the middle of the summer, Cindy and our ultimate travelling/dining companions Lani and Patrick came up to visit. After an epic day at the coast, the four of headed down town for some seafood at one of the restaurants on the Willamette. When we finally arrived back to the apartments, it was well after one in the morning. Maddy and another snaggle-tooth were out front smoking cigarettes and talking. As we passed, Maddy excused herself, "Well, I'd best get going - I've got a man in my bed." "Then you'd better go, you don't want to keep a man waiting," her companion concurred. "Nope, don't want keep him waiting." I never did actually see this man as he was gone the next day to never return, but I imagine he was a keeper.

Boise 70.3 Recap

The Short Version: - Boise is a pretty cool town - Wind and rain made for a long day - Two flats and only one spare tube made for an even longer day - I finished and enjoyed it, for the most part We spent Thursday night in Burley and headed out Friday morning for Boise. I'd allowed twice as much time as things could possible take to keep things relaxed and calm. It worked for the most part. Friday afternoon we spent leisurely getting ready - signing in, dropping off the bike, doing a practice swim in cold, open water, and driving the bike course. There was even time for a short swim in the hotel pool, which was too cold to spend too much time in. I'm used to waking up on race day and putting my game face on as soon as possible since most races start at 7 a.m. or earlier. The 2 p.m. start threw me off. Even after sleeping in and eating a full breakfast, I still had hours before I needed to board the bus to take me to the swim. It wasn't until we arrived at the swim venue that I started getting excited to race. The swim was a disaster. The wind kicked up enough to cause waves big enough to completely envelope people. It made it tough to find a decent rhythm. It also blew the buoys all over the place. The last turn buoy was blown nearly completely to shore. Of course, I followed it all the way there before making the turn. I was confused at the line the other swimmers were taking as I headed for the finished. I later learned that the buoy was several hundred meters off course and that some of the kayakers had directed the majority of the swimmers back to the swim finish at the right spot. I wasn't one of them. I completed the first half of the course in 21 minutes and felt stronger and faster on the second half of the swim. Based on this, I'm estimating the detour added between 400-500m extra (300 out, plus the difference between the hypotenuse and the opposite leg on the way back in). I also had the added benefit of calf cramps about 200m in, which was a nice bonus. I came out of the water in 50:20, but wasn't too disappointed as many of the bikes from my wave were still in the racks. It turns out the swim was slower for every body as I finished near the middle of the pack. The bike had promise. Shifting winds and rain were the order of the day on the bike. I do well in that kind of weather and was feeling particularly strong. I kept my eyes on my computer and tried to stay steady with a cadence over 85 rpm, HR below 160 bpm, and power over 200W and below 300. Everything was going according to plan until I flatted at mile 30. No big deal, I had an extra tube. Just over six minutes later and I was back on course, enjoy the only steady tail wind of the day. And then I flatted again. This time, I didn't have an extra tube so I walked the 500-600 yds to the corner that was manned by some police. 25 minutes later the volunteers showed up - apparently they had went to the wrong place and didn't realize it for several minutes. The time off had let my legs get cold and it took several minutes for them to come back. Once they did, I caught up with Devin, who had apparently passed me while I was changing my second tire. Though I have no proof, I suspect from that point forward I acted as a rabbit for Devin to chase as he picked up his pace and we traded places for the rest of the bike. I came in at 3:29:48, which was about the same time I did in California without the flats. Despite soaking wet feet that had started to numb my toes, I had a decently quick transition and felt very strong coming out of transition. Remembering the California run, I focused on rehydrating and saving something for the second half of the run. Despite what I thought was a decent pace, I'd only managed to put a few seconds on Devin and didn't see Dave until near the end of the first lap. I assume that he'd put on a burner and was finishing his second lap - which would have put his total time around 5:20. If he had been on his second lap. But to my shock,the wasn't and was in fact just over a mile behind me as I started my second lap. I was nearly a mile ahead of him and had thoughts of being able to push to the finish to pull out a very improbable win in the grudge match despite the flats. I continued to push on the flats, but despite the increase in effort (and an ever bigger increase in pain), I was only maintaining the same pace I had on the first lap. Then, completely unexpectedly, Dave caught me between miles nine and ten. And the wheels came off, motivationally speaking . We slowed and waited for Devin. Devin refused to walk and Dave and Devin traded sharp jabs while discussing running slowly vs. walking. And then we were done. All things considered, I had a good day. I enjoyed most of the swim, most of the bike, and most of the run. The venue was good and the Boise down town finish was awesome. This is a course that I'll be doing again in the future and I actually can't wait until next time. Next up is the Utah Half, where I'm hoping to avoid the mechanical demons and finish well regardless of the conditions.

Wrist Rockets Aren't Toys

Elden's post today reminded me of my own encounters with skunks. And since I haven't had any real inspiration for blogging recently, I'm taking his inspiration. Recently, in a rare occurrence a skunk sprayed somewhere around the neighborhood. My guess is that someone hit it while it was crossing Canyon Road. My wife was sure it had sprayed our dog in our yard. I knew it hadn't- I had first hand experience as to what skunk spray smells like up close. The smell was just too weak, too distant. There are certain things you learn by growing up in the sticks. When I was young, one of my older brothers assassinated a rogue skunk that had been stealing eggs and killing chickens at night. It was a gifted shot from the roof of our house into some bushes over 25 feet away. Lit only by moonlight, my brother had hit the skunk in the head. But in its death throws the skunk managed to complete half a revolution while spraying wildly. So the bushes near our shed were a hemisphere of skunk spray. I was asleep in the room below my brother's vantage point, so I learned quickly what skunk spray smells like in your yard. I also learned I didn't want to have anything to do with that again. Several years later, I stepped out on the front porch one evening to feed my cat and see how she was doing. She was a long-haired cat, with fluffly dark fur and tabby markings. As I reached down to pet her, I wondered what she had on her coat as it was streaky. I managed to figure it out just before I touched its head that it was not so much my cat, but a skunk. Like any properly raised teenage hick, I instinctively ran for the .22. My dad stopped me, reminding me what happened the last time we shot a skunk. He had a different solution, one that still boggles me to this day. His solution: a wrist rocket. You know, the super-duper sling shots that have the extension that braces the handle to your wrist so you can pull back the super stiff bands? One of those. I figured it was exactly the wrong tool - too much force to keep the skunk from feeling threatened but not enough to be finish the job. Both of these scenarios ended in spraying. My dad insisted - he grabbed the wrist rocket and sent me to grab a marble from the marble can. Now armed with a wrist rocket, my father headed out to confront the skunk. The skunk saw my dad approaching and responded by lifted his tail and meandering away. My dad loaded the marble into the pouch, pulled back those bands further than I would have previously thought physically possible, and moved-in ridiculously close to the skunk. Instead of hearing the skunk spray (which I figured was immiment) I heard a terrific thump as the marble found its mark. I was stunned by the absence of an overwhelming odor - my dad had hit the skunk squarely in the spine, which disabled his tail immediately. I looked on in stunned disbelief, asking my dad as he came near, "Aren't you going to finish him?" "What for?" came his response. And that was that.

Pre-Race Jitters

I've come to terms with the fact that I'm a triathlete. Almost. And triathletes all have one or two 'priority' races they train for each year. My first priority race is this weekend, Ironman Boise 70.3. Which means I've been tapering since last week. The decrease in training volume has me doubting myself. Being well-rested has me feeling like I haven't trained all year. I think I have a pretty good idea of how my fitness will hold up, but the fresh legs have me wondering if I've done enough. Even though the odd and random aches freak me out, I'm not going to do anything rash and will instead focusing on my mantra during taper weeks - 'Run what ya brung.'

Rooster

Last night Cindy and I had an opportunity to go to the rehearsal dinner for Rooster Dumplings and Nooble Bar (DNB) in Provo. The way I understand it (from Google), Sriracha = Rooster = One of the Owner's Favorite Hot Sauce. If you liked Dew, you'll like Rooster, although there isn't too much overlap. The Chinese Dumplings, Pho', and Lava Cake carry over. New offerings we tried included four additional varieties of dumplings, a new noodle dish, a new rice dish, and new Sesame and Bean Paste Doughnuts. I very much appreciate the fact that each of the new dishes was different than anything I'd tried before. My personal favorites were the bulgogi dumplings and the new pork rice dish. It was definitely a culinary adventure and one I'll be repeating soon. It's exciting for me to see people in the UC willing to cook good food that is original. The P712 guys have been tearing it up for a while and I am excited to see others having success as well.