The Eagle's Challenge

The Eagle’s Training, Week 1

enquidu — Thu, 19 Mar 2009 01:38:55 +0000

“My coach at Jackson State, Bob Hill, always said ‘If you’re going to die anyway, die hard, never die easy.’ So that’s what I try to do.”

–Walter Payton, Hall of Fame Chicago Bears Running Back

Dear Everybody,

And I have no idea what the hell I’m getting myself into.Do something adventurous, I told myself. Push your body and will to limits unheard of in years past. Increase your running. Take up biking. Learn to swim. And do it all for charity. Oh, and why don’t you keep a record of it for those couch potatoes at home, eating Devil Dogs, drinking beer, staying up late…basically everything you love to do. But remember, it’s for a good cause.

This is what I told myself. But right now, all I can think about…is Percy Shelley. And Natalie Wood. And Jeff Buckley.

Stroke, stroke, stroke…breaaaaaathe, stroke, stroke, stroke, breaaaa aathe…

Shelley, who wrote two of my favorite poems, Ozymandias and Ode to the West Wind (Yeah, I got favorite poems, wanna make something of it?) Natalie Wood, talented actress who played the little girl in Miracle on 34^th Street. And of course, Jeff Buckley, the guitarist I wish I could emulate the most, strumming Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” and making it his own.

Stroke, stroke, breaaaathe, BREAAAAAAATHE, stroke, stroke, breaaaaaathe…

Here I am, first time I’ve swam since the famous re-tasting of my lunch last Sunday, and I have a goal: to see how far I can swim without grabbing or pushing off of the wall. The key is to swim to the end, stop, turn around and keep going. My body constantly moving, not cheating by pushing off anything like a wall, the floor or another person unlucky enough to be in your lane. And that trio is stuck in my head. Shelley. Wood. Buckley.

All drowning victims.

So I focus on the past week’s events. On Jim Mauceri reminding me that to complete this triathlon, my body has to be a machine. That everything I’ll be consuming for the next three months is fuel for that goal. And I realize that beer is out…no matter the octane.

I focus on the late birthday gift I got from Lester “Terrible Terry Tate” Speight, a wonderful book and a great 8X10 signed, “To Travis, You Getting’ Older…B!TCH! WHOO! Terry Tate #56”, and I realize if Terry were around, he’d push me harder. Actually, he’d probably tackle me into the side of a building and tell me the Pain Train just pulled into its next stop…me.

I focus, stroke by stroke, breath by breath, until my muscles ache and surrender to the loving embrace of the starter block at the end of the pool. I pull the goggles above my eyes, spy the clock and–

24 minutes. Holy mother of God I just swam for 24 minutes straight.

Mind you, I’ll probably be swimming twice that long in a lake with a thousand other people mowing me down while jockeying for position but…that’s an improvement. First day swimming I lasted three laps. Second time was nine minutes. Third time…wow. And as a reward, I went right back to swimming, working on my form, seeing how aerodynamic I could make my frame through the blue.

* * * * *

“It’s all backwards.”

“Excuse me?” I asked the bike mechanic.

“I don’t know who put this bike together but see, if you make a left turn…” And then he showed me. The cables connecting the brakes to the handgrips were reversed. The first time I made a left turn, the front brake would’ve engaged, and Yours Truly would’ve gone over the handlebars and been the butt of jokes for weeks while in traction.

“Can you, like, rewire it?” I asked. The mechanic nodded while still admiring the bike. “Very good tires. Kevlar. Puncture resistant.”

“Good for a triathlon?”

“Road race? Yes, very good. You training on this bike?” Yes I informed him, then realized that since the last time I rode a bike consistently was in the eighth grade…”Sir, do you have any helmets?” He did his best Vanna White impression to the collection of headgear behind the counter. Cobalt Blue. Gunmetal Grey. Pink Flowers. One that was radioactive yellow, for lack of a better term. And then–

“The red one. Can I have the red one?” Ten seconds later it’s out of the display and being measured on my head, like a little boy trying on a top hat for the first time. “That’s snug that’s URRK!!! A-bit-too-TIGHT there, there…looser, good, good fit…” And here I am, looking spiffily aerodynamic.

“You will be SAFE on the road, hoo hoo HAHAHAHAAAAA!!!” OK, Mr. Bike Mechanic’s a little too into my Great Gazoo look. I ask him his name. “Sal. I’ll have your bike ready in a few hours.” And so, after lifting for the better part of an hour, I return to Sal, and take to the streets of Rockville Centre on Justin’s now properly-wired bike. And this is where I experience my first huge obstacle of training…TRAFFIC. Do you know how many cars are on Sunrise Highway?? Seriously? It’s like Human Frogger out there, and you only get one life. Gotta find a bike path around where I live….but at least I look good in this helmet.

* * * * *

“It’s all about heavy weight, three sets at a max each, doing full body workout exercises,” Jim Mauceri tells me. And I’m doing exercises I’ve never done before. Deadlifts into military presses. Upright rows. Tricep dips, but without the weight support. And to finish…reverse preacher curls. The bad news is my muscles ache, and I know full well any idiot who comes and gives me a bear hug in the next 24 hours could possibly cripple me. The good news: the weight I lifted was slightly less than what Jimmy was lifting. Many times, it was the same.

“Jim, how much do you weigh?”

“235.” And he’s 6’4”. So for a guy who’s 5’9”…er, 5’8” (We’ll go with 5’8”, OK?) and 187, I’m holding my own. Wait a sec…I was 187 AFTER New Orleans, and I’ve been doing this training for a week, so I hop on the scale. 180. One week, down seven pounds. Making progress, inch by flabby inch…

* * * * *

So I decide after one week to test myself, and combine two cardio workouts, one right after the other. So this was Monday20for me:

5:45 AM: Wake up.

6:00 AM: Breakfast of granola and banana.

6:20 AM: Check email for any job leads/responses.

6:30 AM: Iron Gym, 20 pull-ups, 20 neutrals, 20 chin-ups (trust me, that piece of metal hanging from the doorway to my kitchen WORKS…).

6:50 – 7:30 AM: Stretching, and lots of it. I am the most inflexible person in the world. I focus on hip flexors, abdominals, even crack my lower back. Stretch each quad 90 seconds. Hammies get the same treatment. I keep my focus by turning on ESPN to witness athletes display their prowess, but this fails when all that’s aired is Bob Knight and Digger Phelps talking March Madness…

7:50 AM: Start running. From my house in Rockville Centre to Freeport High School is two miles, and back makes four. Done by 8:40 (after a one-block cooling off walk…).

8:50 AM: Change into second pair of workout clothes, shoot over to Sky Athletic Gym.

9:30 AM: 45-minute spin class, which is 12 miles long. Know it’s not the real thing but it definitely takes effort to keep from throwing up. Finish all my water 25 minutes; not a good sign…

10:30AM: Back home. Protein Shake. Shower.

11:15 AM: Take a short nap.

2:00 PM: Wake up. Whoops! Guess my body’s just not ready for the big time…yet…

2:15 PM: Begin searching for jobs until dinner. Still got a “day job”, y’know…

* * * * *

So here I am, 10 days in, still standing, a bit leaner, a bit tougher, a bit more chiseled (the Starbucks clerk commented on my arms; I thanked her as I bought a bottled water.). But I’ve still got a ways to go. Biking a long distance. Swimming more than 24 minutes. And running the full 6.2 miles. Oh, and doing all three, back to back, outdoors at 7:30 in the morning.

The longest journey starts with but a single step. That step’s been taken…just gotta keeping walking.

Please remember I, along with Chris Kittel and Jim Dunn, am running for The Schneider’s Children’s Hospital, dedicated to providing the highest level of care that addresses the special needs of children. Please donate what you can during these economic times, and feel free to put “Chris Kittel” as your honoree. Any donation is greatly appreciated.

http://support.northshorelij.com/site/PageServer?pagename=SCH_TriForKids

Another update coming soon; aiming to have a20formal blog set up in the next few weeks. If anyone wants to train with me, let me know. Have to go bike a few miles now; please pray I don’t get run over by a Hummer on Merrick Road. As always, hope to hear from you all soon.

The Eagle’s Challenge

enquidu — Mon, 09 Mar 2009 01:37:03 +0000

It all started with an email. A message drafted and delivered by one of my best friends, the eloquence of which surprised and humbled me enough that, rather than describe the message, I’ve taken the liberty of re-printing it below…

Dear Friends and Family,

This year I am part of a Triathlon Team called Tri-ing for kids, that is raising money for Schneider’s Children’s Hospital, part of North Shore Long Island Jewish Hospitals. Schneider’s has a special place in the hearts (literally) of the Kittel family as before we were even blessed with her on this earth, Claire was cared for by Dr. Bierman, who now happens to be head of Pediatrics at Schneider’s. There was concern for a period of time that she may have had some complications resulting from a heart that was not developing at the same rate the rest of her body was. Well much to our delight we know how that story ended. With the care and consult given to us by Dr. Bierman and Schneider’s, Claire was born happy and healthy and now has one of the biggest, strongest hearts of anyone I have ever met. I see evidence of it every day. God bless Claire Isabelle.

(This is where I segway from sappy to race details)

The race is Olympic Triathlon length which in layman’s terms is a 1 mile swim, followed by a 24 mile bike, and then a 6.2 (10k) mile run. I have competed in these races in the past on smaller courses, but nothing of this magnitude. I have also committed to this race in support a friend who took on the huge challenge last year and completed it. I will have the privilege of swimming, biking and running the race by his side this year with his brothers and friends. Not to mention, the race takes place on the hallowed grounds of one of my favorite spots on earth, next to 128 S Penataquit (our new home) and the South Shore Mall during the holidays. That place being Montauk, NY. Who could have a better back drop?

(This is where I segway from race details to plea for cash)

While I know it is a very difficult time to ask for money, and everyone is struggling to make ends meet, charities are also in more need of our support than ever before. It does not matter what you give, but please try to give something. Just as in the race this June, while the race is individual, by collectively donating what you can collectively we can accomplish great things. Thank you.

Below is a link to donate. Please list my name as your honoree. I greatly appreciate your support!!

http://support.northshorelij.com/site/PageServer?pagename=SCH_TriForKids

Sincerely,

Chris Kittel

And then, at the bottom, a beautiful picture of Chris’s daughter, smiling radiantly from my computer screen (see attached photo).

Heh. Couldn’t help grinning in return, and if you’ve got a heart, I bet you can’t either. That smile was exactly what I needed, especially after the past 48 hours. After having a second interview for a job in Soho, followed by the expectation of finally being gainfully employed…an eleventh hour decision was made not to go forward with Yours Truly. Story of my life for the past ten months. So now I was sitting in Starbucks, sending out resume’s yet again, trolling the job boards yet again, and trying to figure out how much one of my kidneys could get on the black market, and whether it would cover the cost of my rent.

Moments after reading Kittel’s email, “Voodoo Child” started playing from my pocket. Dug in, grabbed the cellphone, and greeted Jim Dunn, another great friend and Chris Kittel’s cousin. “Hey Jim!”

“TB! Sorry I couldn’t get back to you earlier.” No need to apologize, I told him; knowing how busy he is at work, I always appreciate Jim taking the time to reach out to me, and see how I’m doing. We rapped about the job market, my current situation, our ability to keep our chins up in these economic times. And then, just on a lark…

“You read Kittel’s email?” Knowing full well Jim has done several triathlons in his time, I was curious to know if he would be participating. “You going to compete with Chris?”

“Rather, Kittel’s gonna compete with me. I’ve been doing these since I was 29…and you should think about it, too.”

Compete? Me? Wait a sec, I thought to myself, but instead I said “Hmm….” That was all I could muster. A polite little Hmm. In case you glanced over the details above, here’s what the triathlon consists of:

1) A one-mile swim in Lake Montauk.

2) A 24-mile bike ride along Montauk’s historical routes, crossing within view of the famous lighthouse, with the occasional hill or two.

3) A 6.2-mile (10km) run over scenic, challenging hills. This description is right off the triathlon website.

“Hmm…” indeed. But I was also intrigued. “Hey Jim, could you shoot me over some details, maybe take a look at what it consists of?” Jim obliged immediately, and soon I was looking at registration information, course details and—

WAIT A SECOND!!! WAIT ONE FREAKIN’ SECOND HERE!!! Am I seriously considering this? I mean, I run about 30 miles a week, and lift somewhat regularly but…but I looked down, and noticed what I like to call my “Cajun gut” after my most recent exploits (Email coming soon on this, stay tuned…). I got the running down, but…swimming? The last time I swam was in the ocean for Dave’s wedding in Mexico. Before that…ummm, puberty, perhaps? And what about biking? I did some on Mt. Etna three years ago but still….still….still….

Still, I was pretty intrigued.

* * * * *

Three hours later I’m sharing my third Sam Adams White Ale with Justin Muscolino at Croxley Ale House. He’s consoling me after my latest job disappointment with the standard cure-all: beer. And quality stuff at that. Justin’s been fantastic these past few months as well, always keeping an eye out for any career opportunities that might come along. But it’s Friday; the work week’s over. Time to talk about something different.

“So what’s next?” Justin inquired, and I told him about Kittel, about Jimmy Dunn, about…”Oh, I don’t know Justin, not sure. I mean, I do softball on Sundays, and I couldn’t even get through an entire season last year catching behind the plate. Catcher is the most demanding position on the field, bar none. And my knees, my legs really felt it. And now…I don’t know…”

“I gotta step outside for a minute,” Justin informed me. “We’ll get another round when I get back.”

“Sure thing…” and as Justin excused himself, I got the second fateful email. From Patrick Mauceri, who was taking steps to rally the Berserkers for another shot at the title. I’m sure this was good news about the lineup or schedules or registra–

Pulling the Plug was the message line. Oh s#!t. And the enclosed text was the exact opposite of encouraging. “The Berserkers are finished boys. We don’t have enough players and I have exhausted all my contacts. It was worth a try…” No softball?

NO SOFTBALL? What the hell am I gonna do on Sundays now?

A light shone through the window, and I could’ve sworn I heard a pipe organ and the Gregorian chant, but then I realized it was just the trailer for “Watchmen” playing on the TV. I shook my head blasphemously. And then…Justin walked back in, hunkered down on the stool next to me, and listened as I told him the bad news…

“Really? Damn…hey, maybe there’s still a shot we can play. Maybe we can hook up with a bunch of other guys later on.”

“And maybe I just got a lot more time to train for this…nah…” Still not believing I could possibly do this. “’Sides, I need a bike anyways…”

“I got a bike.”

The beer I was lifting to my lips froze an inch from my lips. “Uh, ‘scuse me?”

“A bike.”

“Mountain bike?”

“Mountain bike. I haven’t used it in a while. It’s like brand new, might need some air in the tires…You could use it to train.” And Justin took a swig of Sammy as I studied his face. He’s serious. He’s dead serious. Could there be this many coincidences in one day?

That night we hit the barbecue place across the street, taking down a bunch of baby-back ribs, burnt brisket ends, and Genny Cream. Because if I’m gonna even consider being in training, might as well get some last minute fun in….

* * * * *

OK, so I’ve got a bike. I can run. I’m in pretty good shape, but…swimming? A mile? Heck, how long is a mile anyway?

I’m at the Eisenhower Park Aquatic Center, wearing surfer trunks I bought last summer for the beach. Hey, it’s the only bathing suit I have. The stares from the Speedo-wearing clientele around me cast aspersions immediately. I’m the rube in the room, and everyone knows it.

“Excuse me,” I call up to the lifeguard on duty. How long is this swim lane?”

“25 yards.” Hmm…that’s not bad. “OK, how many laps are in a mile?”

“Laps? 75.” I bite my tongue. I ask if he could repeat that; he does so immediately, with a bit of fervor in his voice and a smile on his face, like that kid at school whose known the correct answer for weeks but hasn’t been called on until today. OK, let’s make this kid feel even better about himself. “So, um, does that mean to the end and back, that’s one lap?”

“Yep. 75 of those.”

OK, deep breath, literally. Y’see, my relationship with swimming is not unlike my relationship with…hair. We were close growing up, had fun times together but…but over the years we parted ways. And I’ve lived without both for so long I never thought I would miss either, or even have a need or desire for them again. And yet here I was, back in the pool, the water feeling comfortable and challenging at the same time. 75 laps? I can do this…

After three laps I was gasping for breath. After five I wanted to die. At the seven-lap mark I spit up in my mouth, swallowed it, and kept going. 75 laps? OK, I bargained with myself, let’s start with 25 today, shall we? So I got out of the pool, went to the men’s room, dropped off my lunch and jumped back in. Biggest difficulty is getting my breathing down. I’ll take three, four strokes, then turn my head side to side for three strokes taking deep breaths. So if I were to describe my swimming motion it’s something like this…

Stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke, GASP! AUUGH!! HEAVE!!! Stroke, stroke, stroke, GOD IN HEAVEN!! WHAT AM I DOING! GASP! GASP!!!! Stroke, stroke, stroke…

Ladies and gentlemen, I am the ugliest swimmer ever. A mile of this. I gotta do a mile of this. With other people around. In a lake, with nothing to cling to if I fatigue out. Would somebody tell me if I’m out of my mind?

I kept swimming, a lap or two at a time, in between talking to myself out loud. “10 laps, 10 laps to go…” Back, then forth. “Nine more, just…aheh, , nine more to go…” Back, forth, back, forth. “Seh–seven more to go…” The more I talked, the more I sounded like Riggs at the end of Lethal Weapon when he’s fighting Mr. Joshua on Murtaugh’s lawn.

“RIGGS! Let me take him!”

“NOOO!!!”

“Please!!!”

“NOOOOO!!! BACK OFF!!!” And then he gets Mr. Johsua in a chokehold with his legs, doesn’t snap his neck, then shoots him dead in slo-mo. Great movie, gotta see that one again. By the way, if you’ve never seen the movie, don’t read that previous section, or see the attached YouTube clip…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PnSHQHXvaTU

With three laps to go (and I am NOT making this up) the loudspeakers started playing “Goodnight Saigon” by Billy Joel. “COME ON!” I yelled aloud, and every lifeguard in the place looked at me. At least I know they’re paying attention if I drown…

After the last lap, I climbed out of the pool. Actually, “climb” really isn’t the proper term. More like focused all my will into my shoulder muscles and hoped to God I didn’t flop backwards into the water. And when I was on solid ground, I caught my breath, using a starting block as a crutch to stand up straight. I need a calendar. I need a calend–

And then I puked my guts out.

* * * * *

96 days. I have 96 days to get in shape for a triathlon. Justin has the bike. I have new sneakers. And I didn’t drown today, which means I can only get better.

So I had a choice to make: admit my limitations, tell myself this 35-year old frame with more mileage than a New York Subway Car can in no way, shape or form possibly pull this off, or…

I collapsed in the chair in front of my computer. Deep breaths. Rubbing my forehead as my shoulder blade twitches, as I puff out a gasp reflexively. And I feel…aware.

Just a bit more aware. My body was telling me I would pay for the abuse I gave it today but…in some sadistic way, it was thanking me. To my left was a mirror on the back of my bedroom door, reflecting back a man who hasn’t attained very many goals he’s set for himself in the past ten months. Only pushing to fill a void for his career, thinking his life would be happy, be complete if he could just do that one thing. And the abuse I’ve put on my body shows. 187 pounds, at least 15 pounds overweight. I can still run the miles but the sad reality is…my body’s used to it. I haven’t pushed it harder in months. Not until today, where I subjected it to something different.

I logged back into my email account, re-opened Kittel’s message. Claire’s visage beamed again on my screen, and knowing there’s a cause greater than my own limitations, greater than my own happiness, greater than my own need to fill some void that in the larger scheme of things is trivial at best…I made my choice.

98 days. I’ve got a lot of work to do.

* * * * *

So here’s the deal: I haven’t written in a while. As for those of you who are asking when the “other email” is coming out, the answer’s by week’s end. Promise. I just want to make sure I get that one right. For those of you who have no idea what I’m talking about, suffice it to say there will be a second Eagle Email by Friday.

Second, I’M NOT A NATURAL ATHLETE. There’s no denying it, I’m not a Mauceri or a Sinclair, not a Dunn or a Kittel. I’m me: short, loafy, bald, unflexible me, with the muffin-top gut to boot. So if you want to catch a bite or a drink and I order a salad, or I don’t drink as much as you, be aware I’m getting ready to subject particular horrors to my body in ways you’ve only seen in movies and during the Olympics. Seriously. You’ll learn this…

Third, I’m alone out here in Rockville Centre. I work out at Sky Athletic Gym (thanks again Dawn and David for the wonderful birthday gift!), I’ve got a loaner bike (thanks again Justin!), and I’m a crappy swimmer. What I’m trying to say is I will always be looking for workout partners, people to push me, show me the better way to compete and complete this thing. So for anyone who wants a biking, swimming, running or lifting partner….count me in. Trust me, I’ve got a lot of free time, and a little competition never hurt anyone. But I’m gonna be serious. None of this “quitting after a few laps around the track” bit…

Fourth, I’m still looking for a job. If anyone knows of anything that might be right up my alley…you know the drill…

Finally, and the most important point of all…donate to Schneider’s Children’s Hospital through Chris Kittel’s website. I may be doing this triathlon for a number of reasons, but he and his daughter have been the true inspirations. Every Sunday night, I pledge to publish a log of my training regimen, complete with all the gut-busting details of my exercise exploits. And every time, I’m going to continue to ask you to donate to such a good cause. Heck, I’m not working, and I STILL am gonna donate. Please find it in your hearts to give whatever you can, and list “Chris Kittel” as your honoree. Together we can make a difference.

http://support.northshorelij.com/site/PageServer?pagename=SCH_TriForKids

So there it is: Yours Truly is going to be a triathlete. If you haven’t begun laughing yet, feel free to commence. If you have, take a breather, wipe the tear from your eye…and feel free to continue.

But 96 days from now…we’ll see who’s laughing, won’t we?