I better go train.
Heading up north in about an hour. Team Angry will kick ass.
I will break 2 hours. And, as my personal massage therapist tells me to tell myself, I LOVE THE RUN.
I'll let you know how that worked out, Pat.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Monday, August 17, 2009
Bloody stump
Okay. You all wanted to hear this one.
2006.
This is the year we are all doing the Timberman Individually.
I had trained, a bit. Had the swim. I was ready for the bike. This is the first time Team Angry had a full showing. Todd is there. Captain K is there. I am there.
I puked, as always, on the way down to the starting point.
We stroll in. The volunteers marked our age, and the big C on our calves. We head down to the water together, joking, keeping it loose. Chatting with friends and acquaintances. I spot a lawyer friend from home, we see Team Flashner. The family is out in full force.
I hit the water, and almost immediately my chip comes off my leg. Luckily, the person I just passed grabbed me and gave it to me. I put it back on, and got going. The swim went well, I caught up to a few people in the prior waves, left a lot of people behind, and came in better than halfway through the entire pack, 416 out of 948.
Ok, pretty happy with myself. I even butterflied the last 10 yards, just to make my point.
I ran into the transition area, Shoes, socks, shirt, and headed out.
Onto the bike, quick right turn, then up the hill.
I was already hearing “Hey, OLD SCHOOL!” from behind, mostly because of the bike rack. I get to the top of the first hill, about 1.5 miles into it, and it happens.
The guardrail leaps right out in front of me.
Actually, somebody passed me, I was going to slow, wobbled, and hit the guardrail with my right shin. Hurt life a motherfucker.
Which I then said. I stopped, and looked. “Gee, that looks like blood. Kinda a lot, too.” Maybe I should do something about this other than swear?.? So I did step one in my lifeguard handbook. I rolled up my sock, took a few steps, to make sure nothing was broken, and got back on the bike.
As previously expressed from last year, I would rather die, with my sweet old mother watching me go down to a watery grave than not finish this damned race. So I start pumping, glad beyond expression that I am near the summit of this hill. I get to coast for about a half mile, taking stock, readjusting my GI Joe bandage, and just curse myself for my clumsiness.
Long story short, I finished the bike (937th) (How the hell did I still beat 9 people?) and headed out of the run transition. Only 3 miles to go. Past the family. Twice. The homestead as right at the one mile mark, so I sucked it up, and kicked it into a jog. Dad’s there, the kids, the spouses, and Cory, from Team Flashner. As they all cheer encouragement, Cory starts to jog along.
“Hey there Curt Schilling….what’s going on down there?”
“Shh…don’t tell Mom, she’ll freak.”
“Ok Dude, go easy”
“Urrmph”
So on I went, actually slowing to a walk, but kept going.
Those last hundred yards were the best of my life. K & T, done hours before (of a race I finished in 2:14) were pre-warned by Cory. I didn’t even get to the transition area, they walked me over to the EMT tent. Where one of Gilford’s finest pealed down my sock, and said, quite matter of factly
shinbone without puking my guts up.
2006.
This is the year we are all doing the Timberman Individually.
I had trained, a bit. Had the swim. I was ready for the bike. This is the first time Team Angry had a full showing. Todd is there. Captain K is there. I am there.
I puked, as always, on the way down to the starting point.
We stroll in. The volunteers marked our age, and the big C on our calves. We head down to the water together, joking, keeping it loose. Chatting with friends and acquaintances. I spot a lawyer friend from home, we see Team Flashner. The family is out in full force.
I hit the water, and almost immediately my chip comes off my leg. Luckily, the person I just passed grabbed me and gave it to me. I put it back on, and got going. The swim went well, I caught up to a few people in the prior waves, left a lot of people behind, and came in better than halfway through the entire pack, 416 out of 948.
Ok, pretty happy with myself. I even butterflied the last 10 yards, just to make my point.
I ran into the transition area, Shoes, socks, shirt, and headed out.
Onto the bike, quick right turn, then up the hill.
I was already hearing “Hey, OLD SCHOOL!” from behind, mostly because of the bike rack. I get to the top of the first hill, about 1.5 miles into it, and it happens.
The guardrail leaps right out in front of me.
Actually, somebody passed me, I was going to slow, wobbled, and hit the guardrail with my right shin. Hurt life a motherfucker.
Which I then said. I stopped, and looked. “Gee, that looks like blood. Kinda a lot, too.” Maybe I should do something about this other than swear?.? So I did step one in my lifeguard handbook. I rolled up my sock, took a few steps, to make sure nothing was broken, and got back on the bike.
As previously expressed from last year, I would rather die, with my sweet old mother watching me go down to a watery grave than not finish this damned race. So I start pumping, glad beyond expression that I am near the summit of this hill. I get to coast for about a half mile, taking stock, readjusting my GI Joe bandage, and just curse myself for my clumsiness.
Long story short, I finished the bike (937th) (How the hell did I still beat 9 people?) and headed out of the run transition. Only 3 miles to go. Past the family. Twice. The homestead as right at the one mile mark, so I sucked it up, and kicked it into a jog. Dad’s there, the kids, the spouses, and Cory, from Team Flashner. As they all cheer encouragement, Cory starts to jog along.
“Hey there Curt Schilling….what’s going on down there?”
“Shh…don’t tell Mom, she’ll freak.”
“Ok Dude, go easy”
“Urrmph”
So on I went, actually slowing to a walk, but kept going.
Those last hundred yards were the best of my life. K & T, done hours before (of a race I finished in 2:14) were pre-warned by Cory. I didn’t even get to the transition area, they walked me over to the EMT tent. Where one of Gilford’s finest pealed down my sock, and said, quite matter of factly
“OK, you have 2
choices, ambulance, or on your own.”
choices, ambulance, or on your own.” So I look down, and found out that I can actually look at my own exposed
shinbone without puking my guts up.Went to the hospital, patched me up by 1:30, so that I could make it back the Gunstock to go see Tim, and the rest of Team Angry, Jr division, compete in their trialtlon.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Gears are for pussies
At least during training.
A week to go, and doing more bricks.
The swim seems fine. The bike is there. I decided about 3 weeks ago that all training will be in top gear. The few hills I have need to be conquered the hard way, because New Hampshire’s hills are…
never mind, I’ll just sound like a wimp.
The transition still has a bit to be desired, and I am leaving the MP3 at home now, just training with the soundtrack of my mind. Kinda difficult, since the only music I have committed to memory is a few choice Zep, a few choice Doors, one or 2 AC/DC, a Proclaimers, a Jace Everett, and Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.
Oh well, me pace will be interesting.
Back soon, I still have to explain the scar to all my followers.
A week to go, and doing more bricks.
The swim seems fine. The bike is there. I decided about 3 weeks ago that all training will be in top gear. The few hills I have need to be conquered the hard way, because New Hampshire’s hills are…
never mind, I’ll just sound like a wimp.
The transition still has a bit to be desired, and I am leaving the MP3 at home now, just training with the soundtrack of my mind. Kinda difficult, since the only music I have committed to memory is a few choice Zep, a few choice Doors, one or 2 AC/DC, a Proclaimers, a Jace Everett, and Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.
Oh well, me pace will be interesting.
Back soon, I still have to explain the scar to all my followers.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Great day
Better than a baby in a microwave.
The neighbor kids even came over to see the carnage. Is there anything better than chainsaws?
Bouve very well could be the best brother-in-law on earth. Thanks for the military chainsaw. It was almost as awesome as the Iraqi Panty Knife
Sunday, July 19, 2009
We’ve been busy. Not doing Triathlon stuff.
I threw T in the truck, and we road tripped huge the day he got out of school.
We went on a Mighty River Trek. We drove through 17 states, only 6 on the same roads, and did a big circle route down to the Mississippi in Mississippi, up to the Missouri, and up the Ohio, back home. 
We swam in all three rivers; I stood with one foot in Old Man Mississip’ and one in the Ohio, at the same time. I plowed the Trucoma through the Big Mo’. We ate "Throwed Rolls" grilled bologn
a in a restaurant, camp food, fried chicken, and bugs.and a gallon jug of s
weet tea. Celebrities dropped like flies, and a tree fell in my driveway at home, where I could do nothing, 
(Thanks Mark for moving it)
a in a restaurant, camp food, fried chicken, and bugs.and a gallon jug of s
weet tea. Celebrities dropped like flies, and a tree fell in my driveway at home, where I could do nothing, (Thanks Mark for moving it)We went to Memphis and avoided Graceland like it was Neverland, but did see a cool statue of BB King.
We went to the top of the Gateway to the West, (the Arch),
We went to the top of the Gateway to the West, (the Arch),
in St Louis. We saw the Louisville Slugger plant, and Churchill Downs, got hazed as a tourist,
and drove down Mohammed Ali Blvd. And we spent a fantastic day at a water park on the Mississippi just outside of St Louis. We Geocached in 5 or 6 different states, 
much to T's chagrin. Got a parking ticket that was spotted from the top of the Gateway 
Arch, and a speeding ticket for 56 in a 45 coming off the highway in Cairo Illinois. Good luck collecting that fine…dick.
We are back, and fine, and I am finally rested from it all.
Getting ready!!
32 Days, 21:20.13 to go.
And I am more serious about the training this year than I have ever been. About frigging time.
I’m over training the bike this year, because Bridgewater may as well be West Memphis Arkansas when I want to find a hill. I figure if my bike ride is longer than the actual course, it all washes out in the end. I know I am just kidding myself about this, but it’s still a better plan than I have historically been executing.
I finally replaced the battery in my odometer, and it was almost a mistake for the first few rides, because I have seen my speed, both top, and average. I’m averaging 1?.3 MPH. I’m almost Lance-like in my efforts.
Today I did something different. I brought the MP3 player. Completely illegal. They will penalize me if I use it at the Timberman, but I was in a mood.
I had forgotten about the power of good music. And, the power of crappy music as well. I figure the time I make up will more than compensate my penalty minutes.
Once I have the soundtrack down, I will repeat it constantly until it is ingrained into my soul. The same way I still feel like I should be doing a flip turn at “back to school, yeah” in Zep’s “Whole Lotta Love” and picking up my head to “Looooooooove ba boom ba boom” and climbing out of the pool at “I wanna be your back door man”. If I can time this so that I am climbing hills to the sounds of AC/DC’s “You Shook Me” I’ll be golden. And if I can
time The Proclaimers for the last hill, I’m gonna soar.
And I am more serious about the training this year than I have ever been. About frigging time.
I’m over training the bike this year, because Bridgewater may as well be West Memphis Arkansas when I want to find a hill. I figure if my bike ride is longer than the actual course, it all washes out in the end. I know I am just kidding myself about this, but it’s still a better plan than I have historically been executing.
I finally replaced the battery in my odometer, and it was almost a mistake for the first few rides, because I have seen my speed, both top, and average. I’m averaging 1?.3 MPH. I’m almost Lance-like in my efforts.
Today I did something different. I brought the MP3 player. Completely illegal. They will penalize me if I use it at the Timberman, but I was in a mood.
I had forgotten about the power of good music. And, the power of crappy music as well. I figure the time I make up will more than compensate my penalty minutes.
Once I have the soundtrack down, I will repeat it constantly until it is ingrained into my soul. The same way I still feel like I should be doing a flip turn at “back to school, yeah” in Zep’s “Whole Lotta Love” and picking up my head to “Looooooooove ba boom ba boom” and climbing out of the pool at “I wanna be your back door man”. If I can time this so that I am climbing hills to the sounds of AC/DC’s “You Shook Me” I’ll be golden. And if I can
time The Proclaimers for the last hill, I’m gonna soar.Not today
Monday, June 8, 2009
Part one of training...talking about it.
There are reams of articles out there about triathlons. How to train. How to pace yourself. What to eat, when to sleep, how to evacuate and keep going.
None of them touch on the most important part. How to brag about it, yet not sound like a complete douchebag.
People act impressed when I casually slip into the conversation that I am competing in my fifth tri this summer. Some of them actually are. I’ve learned there are three different classes of people who I can discuss it with. I’ll mention one today.
Other triathletes, and to a lesser extent, marathoners, and their family support groups. They either get Team Angry, or are angry.
Either way, we can schmooze for hours.
“Hey, don’t you love starting the swim in the last wave?” “I swam right over that fat guy at the first turn!”
“My transition would’a been 1:15 at the Middleboro race. but my wetsuit got stuck”
“Oh god, that second hill at Timberman went on forever…I passed 8 people on the way down though”
"Yeah, my kid, niece, and nephew all do it too. They are studs"
“I’ve seen the Hoyt’s 12 times now, they are everywhere!”
“A buddy of mine is doing Placid this year!”
“Oh, you run Boston? That’s cool. My little sister is afraid of the water too.”
“Wanna see my scar? Yeah, my time sucked that year, but I finished.”
"I've run one in 29 different states so far. Someday...Hawaii"
I've seen this on the back of a lot of SUV's with bike racks
If you aren’t in the club, or very close to someone in the club, these conversations are torture. Which is why I usually have them in private areas, like at the soccer games, at Cub Scout jamborees, and in crowded elevators. Just to get the second group going. The looks we get from the others is worth it all.
Wannabes.
None of them touch on the most important part. How to brag about it, yet not sound like a complete douchebag.
People act impressed when I casually slip into the conversation that I am competing in my fifth tri this summer. Some of them actually are. I’ve learned there are three different classes of people who I can discuss it with. I’ll mention one today.
Other triathletes, and to a lesser extent, marathoners, and their family support groups. They either get Team Angry, or are angry.
Either way, we can schmooze for hours.
“Hey, don’t you love starting the swim in the last wave?” “I swam right over that fat guy at the first turn!”
“My transition would’a been 1:15 at the Middleboro race. but my wetsuit got stuck”
“Oh god, that second hill at Timberman went on forever…I passed 8 people on the way down though”
"Yeah, my kid, niece, and nephew all do it too. They are studs"
“I’ve seen the Hoyt’s 12 times now, they are everywhere!”
“A buddy of mine is doing Placid this year!”
“Oh, you run Boston? That’s cool. My little sister is afraid of the water too.”
“Wanna see my scar? Yeah, my time sucked that year, but I finished.”
"I've run one in 29 different states so far. Someday...Hawaii"
I've seen this on the back of a lot of SUV's with bike racks
If you aren’t in the club, or very close to someone in the club, these conversations are torture. Which is why I usually have them in private areas, like at the soccer games, at Cub Scout jamborees, and in crowded elevators. Just to get the second group going. The looks we get from the others is worth it all.
Wannabes.
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