Having lived in the South for many years, I'm just not accustomed to more than a dusting of snow. Days before a trip south, we were slammed with a storm. The weekend consisted of staying in, going out to shovel and staying warm.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Snow!
Having lived in the South for many years, I'm just not accustomed to more than a dusting of snow. Days before a trip south, we were slammed with a storm. The weekend consisted of staying in, going out to shovel and staying warm.
Monday, September 21, 2009
War at the Shore - a Sunday morning
The alarm was set for 3:25 am. I turned over, awake, and saw 3:00 on the clock screen. I was alone. By 3:20 I was up. I needed to be out by 4; no time to shave the usual way, so I borrowed the electric shaver. Teeth brushed, I dressed and double checked the packed bag. I dragged the bicycle out of the house and maneuvered it into the back seat of the car. After farewells to husband and cat, I was off. Of course, I had no cash, so I stopped at the nearby Wawa to use an ATM. At 4:00 am Wawa is moderately busy.
The temperature was 55 degrees, a good one for a morning work out. Not too warm, nor too cold. Half-way across New Jersey with a desperate need to go to the bathroom, I stopped at a Wawa in Jackson. Temperature was down to 42 degrees and felt really cold. That Wawa, too, was moderately busy with people milling around in coats. I hurried in wearing only t-shirt and shorts and on the way out bought a nice, warm coffee–half regular, half hazelnut.
Back on the road, hoping to arrive there by 5:30, I realized that my Wawa stops took a little bit more time than I was allowing. I arrived at 5:55, parked the car, paying $5 for the privilege and grumbling to the attendant about it, and proceeded to Shore Runner to sign in and retrieve my number and packet. The Sandy Hookers tri club had hoodie sweatshirts for all of the volunteers at a volunteer sign-in table; I have thoughts of offering to buy one off of them, however I really don’t need another one. I reached into my packet and put on War at the Shore tee shirt over the one I was wearing–a big help.
After searching in the dark, I find the table with timing chips and the volunteer with marker numbering the participants. I get numbered and rush back to the car to retrieve my bicycle and gym bag.
Making my way back, I’m wandering in the transition area and ask a volunteer where to park my stuff. It can’t be by bib number because the others are all mixed up. A volunteer tells me that it goes by your swim cap color; the old guys are in the far north side of the area which also happens to be the least crowded. Several of the guys there marvel about us being stuck far from everyone else but happy about it being roomier than the rest of the area.
An announcer begins encouraging all of us to make our way down to the water. After about fifteen minutes, the encouragement is over and he tells us its time to do so. I give in, remove the shorts, two shirts, grab my cap and goggles and, telling myself it’s really not THAT cold, make my way to the beach. The sand is cold; the exact opposite of a hot summer day when the sand burns your feet. After shivering with the crowd for a while, I decide to check out the water. It was far warmer than the outside air and just having the feet in the water feels much better. I hang there, chatting with several people, until the swimming heats start and then have to get out of the water to be out of the way. A retired NYC firefighter who lives in Spring Lake has my ear. We chat about swimming, sports everything and definitely the Phillies when he finds out that I work at channel 17 and we air their broadcast games.
After a half hour of chatting and shivering, we’re finally ready to go in one minute. I put on the goggles and the right side strap slips off. I keeps coming off! Finally, just before were off, it stays. The 41+ males are the last heat to go. We run out into the water and start the swim. It seems crowded, and a wave rises up, hits me in the mouth and yes, a good drink of salt water. Otherwise, the swim seemed to go quickly.
I hurry up the bank, the stairs to the boardwalk and make my way to my bike. The sand is everywhere and I struggle with trying to get the sand off of my feet and in my socks. On Monday, the timing shows my transition at just under six minutes–a long time! The guy at the end of the row with the water bucket had a good idea. I finally get the socks and shoes on, helmet and gloves and hurry to the south end of the transition area to the mounting area and I’m off.
After about a mile and a half, number 547 flies by me and I manage to keep up with him. We stay close together for about the next six miles. Meanwhile, I pass a fellow with age 48 on his leg only to find him fly past me a mile later. Fifteen minutes later he’s coming up from behind and comments on passing me again. I told him I’d thought he passed me miles ago and he said we’d been going back and forth for a while. He dropped back and I didn’t see him again. I missed getting his number since I wanted to chat with him afterward.
I get to the end of the bike ride and drag my bicycle across the transition area to my section, rip off the helmet and gloves and jog off. A half mile up we turn around at a water station. I stop for a quick drink and start back, noticing the others coming the other way, where I’d just come from. Some nod.
A mile later I’m passing a public restroom along the boardwalk and think, gee, how nice it would be stop and relieve myself. Being halfway there, I elected to keep going. At mile two is a turn-about with another water stop. I stop for a quick drink and keep going. The run along the boardwalk with the early morning sun is a beautiful environment–even with the palm trees in New Jersey. Before I know it, I can see the finish about a quarter mile up. I was gaining on number 68, all of 33 years old. We jog together for a bit and at about a tenth of a mile to the end, he pulls ahead and finishes before me. Several people speed up and pass me at the finish. I cross the finish and stop to deposit my timing chip. I couldn’t get it off and all of a sudden had a feeling like I was going to throw up. Taking a deep breath, it passes, the chip comes off and I stroll to my stuff in the transition area.
While changing, an older gentleman parked near me asks me if I solved my goggles problem; he’d noticed me struggling with them by the water. I told him I finally had but was worried about it at the time.
After a few phone calls to home and my cousin, I make my way to the car, pack up my things and hunt for a place to have breakfast.
The temperature was 55 degrees, a good one for a morning work out. Not too warm, nor too cold. Half-way across New Jersey with a desperate need to go to the bathroom, I stopped at a Wawa in Jackson. Temperature was down to 42 degrees and felt really cold. That Wawa, too, was moderately busy with people milling around in coats. I hurried in wearing only t-shirt and shorts and on the way out bought a nice, warm coffee–half regular, half hazelnut.
Back on the road, hoping to arrive there by 5:30, I realized that my Wawa stops took a little bit more time than I was allowing. I arrived at 5:55, parked the car, paying $5 for the privilege and grumbling to the attendant about it, and proceeded to Shore Runner to sign in and retrieve my number and packet. The Sandy Hookers tri club had hoodie sweatshirts for all of the volunteers at a volunteer sign-in table; I have thoughts of offering to buy one off of them, however I really don’t need another one. I reached into my packet and put on War at the Shore tee shirt over the one I was wearing–a big help.
After searching in the dark, I find the table with timing chips and the volunteer with marker numbering the participants. I get numbered and rush back to the car to retrieve my bicycle and gym bag.
Making my way back, I’m wandering in the transition area and ask a volunteer where to park my stuff. It can’t be by bib number because the others are all mixed up. A volunteer tells me that it goes by your swim cap color; the old guys are in the far north side of the area which also happens to be the least crowded. Several of the guys there marvel about us being stuck far from everyone else but happy about it being roomier than the rest of the area.
An announcer begins encouraging all of us to make our way down to the water. After about fifteen minutes, the encouragement is over and he tells us its time to do so. I give in, remove the shorts, two shirts, grab my cap and goggles and, telling myself it’s really not THAT cold, make my way to the beach. The sand is cold; the exact opposite of a hot summer day when the sand burns your feet. After shivering with the crowd for a while, I decide to check out the water. It was far warmer than the outside air and just having the feet in the water feels much better. I hang there, chatting with several people, until the swimming heats start and then have to get out of the water to be out of the way. A retired NYC firefighter who lives in Spring Lake has my ear. We chat about swimming, sports everything and definitely the Phillies when he finds out that I work at channel 17 and we air their broadcast games.
After a half hour of chatting and shivering, we’re finally ready to go in one minute. I put on the goggles and the right side strap slips off. I keeps coming off! Finally, just before were off, it stays. The 41+ males are the last heat to go. We run out into the water and start the swim. It seems crowded, and a wave rises up, hits me in the mouth and yes, a good drink of salt water. Otherwise, the swim seemed to go quickly.
I hurry up the bank, the stairs to the boardwalk and make my way to my bike. The sand is everywhere and I struggle with trying to get the sand off of my feet and in my socks. On Monday, the timing shows my transition at just under six minutes–a long time! The guy at the end of the row with the water bucket had a good idea. I finally get the socks and shoes on, helmet and gloves and hurry to the south end of the transition area to the mounting area and I’m off.
After about a mile and a half, number 547 flies by me and I manage to keep up with him. We stay close together for about the next six miles. Meanwhile, I pass a fellow with age 48 on his leg only to find him fly past me a mile later. Fifteen minutes later he’s coming up from behind and comments on passing me again. I told him I’d thought he passed me miles ago and he said we’d been going back and forth for a while. He dropped back and I didn’t see him again. I missed getting his number since I wanted to chat with him afterward.
I get to the end of the bike ride and drag my bicycle across the transition area to my section, rip off the helmet and gloves and jog off. A half mile up we turn around at a water station. I stop for a quick drink and start back, noticing the others coming the other way, where I’d just come from. Some nod.
A mile later I’m passing a public restroom along the boardwalk and think, gee, how nice it would be stop and relieve myself. Being halfway there, I elected to keep going. At mile two is a turn-about with another water stop. I stop for a quick drink and keep going. The run along the boardwalk with the early morning sun is a beautiful environment–even with the palm trees in New Jersey. Before I know it, I can see the finish about a quarter mile up. I was gaining on number 68, all of 33 years old. We jog together for a bit and at about a tenth of a mile to the end, he pulls ahead and finishes before me. Several people speed up and pass me at the finish. I cross the finish and stop to deposit my timing chip. I couldn’t get it off and all of a sudden had a feeling like I was going to throw up. Taking a deep breath, it passes, the chip comes off and I stroll to my stuff in the transition area.
While changing, an older gentleman parked near me asks me if I solved my goggles problem; he’d noticed me struggling with them by the water. I told him I finally had but was worried about it at the time.
After a few phone calls to home and my cousin, I make my way to the car, pack up my things and hunt for a place to have breakfast.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Track Meet
Yes, at this age, I decided to participate in a track meet. A local running club, the Wissahickon Wanderers, hosts a track meet late each summer. Last year, my first that I was aware of it, I'd planned to go but since it is held on a weekday evening, couldn't leave the office in time to participate. This year I made a point of leaving with just enough time to get there.
I ran the one mile and half mile (800 meter) with times of 6:42 and 3:04, respectively. Not fast enough to win anything, but certainly competitive. One of the fellows behind me in the mile said to me at the end, "You did great....something for me to aspire to."
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