Training Log Archive: iansmith

To Horn Pond for the NEOC event. I forgot to record the return trip, so I doubled the time and distance. I had to stop twice en route to pump up my leaky rear innertube (which I have since replaced).

The 3.8 km sprint course had a technical difficulty of an easy orange course. Bill Pullman had put the best time of the day with 38 minutes after losing some time at one control. After getting to the 7th control (of 9) at 15 minutes, I thought I had a solid win. Unfortunately, we had run out of maps, and I copied the course incorrectly. I spent about 7 minutes looking for the control before bailing. It was fun to get out, despite the DNF. I didn't have the physical stamina to push as hard as I would have liked; most of the course was on trails. As some might say, holy dugabugawug.

This was a prototype event - the courses offered were WY and the sprint, and the objective was to target beginners and newcomers with an accessible event with instruction. Several NEOCers were out in force in our snazzy new uniforms - including Peter Frykman (and Wheezy the dog), Jim Crawford, Joanne Sankus, Bill Pullman, and Bill Binnette. Marketing these sorts of events is really important; I mean to start each season with 2 or 3 such events.

Afterward, I met a young woman with her mom who is getting her Ph.D in physiology in Toronto and has some association with TOC. She has run a few adventure races, and knows Mike Waddington. We chatted a bit, and they both expressed interest in getting the Middlesex Fells map. With a little effort, I might be able to recruit her for some CSU activities.

Picking up the white course. I was running as aggressively as I could until I hit the sixth control, at which there were two gallons of water.

Actual time out was 1:05, but I was probably running for only thirty minutes. I picked up the remaining controls and garbage from the other water control. Once my payload became too heavy to really run with, I slowed to a walk. I really punished my body today - commuting to and from the race, running the race, and spending an hour picking up controls was more than I was ready for. Also, I didn't eat breakfast, so until a Chipotle burrito at 4:30 to revitalize myself, my only sustenance was a dozen-ish meet cookies. Tired.

These controls were trivial, so I won't count them in my running total for the year (apart from the race controls).

Control count: 8/2000

Rest and recovery. I need to sleep more.

Frisbee at work; 7 vs 6. My team (of 7) won decisively.

Run over to the field and warmup.

But I am le tired.

Out and about.

I have elected to take a rest day today, to give my legs time to recover from the relative pounding over the past three days. I will resume on Tuesday with an easy run, and better alternate running stress and cross training. I will also be moving over the next two days (i.e. "strength training").

Scale this morning read 193.2. While it would be nice to weigh less, I have decided not to worry about my weight and instead focus on fitness, nutrition, and speed.

This month has been a training disappointment. The first two weeks, I was sick with a persistent respiratory infection that compelled me to abandon my plans to attend the OUSA Convention and A-meets. I have changed my activity from predominantly low intensity cross training to running and orienteering. Compared to 30 hours of mostly biking and kayaking last month, I will be fortunate to achieve 15 hours this month. I will do better in September. Do or do not; there is no try.

C • But better quality training this month 13

Out and about; to Zipcar, to apartment 3.0, to apartment 2.0.

It's official: I am an idiot. The situation is even worse than that; I am an idiot who knows he's an idiot. I had originally planned to move the first parts of my equipment to my new apartment over the weekend after seeing the BSO at Tanglewood, but the hurricane interfered with those plans.

This evening, I procured a Zipcar truck to move the larger furniture elements. As the only time a truck was available was between 11:30 PM and 2:30 AM, I was reluctant to ask for help, despite several of my friends offering their assistance. Nevertheless, I thought I was up to the task. I abhor being beholden to my possessions, and while I have accumulated more than I would like, I consider them within my capabilities to move. That pride was my great flaw in this Greek tragedy. I had a plan suited to the task, and it immediately began falling apart.

The largest components of my furniture include a bed, bookshelf, chest of drawers, a number of chairs, a filing cabinet, and a couch. Among my possessions, a several boxes of books are the heaviest items. I had planned to leave the couch behind, but my roommate had already procured another. My former apartment is on the fourth floor of a building, and the new one is on the fifth - but the new apartment has an elevator. That elevator was the choke point, the lynchpin of my entire approach.

Since the couch was the biggest challenge, I set about moving it first. Carrying it downstairs was no mean feat - I had required assistance to bring it upstairs when I purchased it. The couch is massive, and it has a substantial moment. Its size requires delicate maneuvering to traverse a stairwell. Without the cushions, I found it within my abilities, but it was nonetheless a triumph to lower it safely to the ground floor and load it in the truck at about midnight.

My new building is old - from before the Second World War, apparently, and while it is comfortable in many respects, the elevator leaves much to be desired. It moves slowly - at 100 feet/minute, only slightly faster than the vertical speed at which Ueli Steck solo climbed the north face of the Eiger. It is small, perhaps the size of an archaic phone booth, or the Chokey from Matilda, and the door is narrow. I discovered that when summoned, the door only remains open for a few seconds before it insistently tries to close, and the door's pressure sensor is highly localized.

After the non-trivial task of unloading the couch from the truck, I discovered to my dismay that the couch would not fit in the elevator. In the process of attempting it, the elevator crushed my right hand against the couch no fewer than three times, and pinned me for about fifteen seconds while I searched for the pressure sensor. I concluded the only solution was to haul the couch up four flights of stairs alone.

Perhaps someone less overcome by the bounds of idiocy would have stowed the couch somewhere and summoned assistance the next day. I was irate at the engineers who designed the sadist, cramped, underpowered, elevator, and in the absence of a viable alternative, I began my herculean task. If I may be so bold, my upper body strength is not inconsiderable, and it required all my strength to direct the couch through the awkward passage of the stairs. I carried it entirely off the ground for most of the traverse, because I had more control and risked less damage to the couch. I did my best to be silent so as to avoid disturbing anyone. My arduous duel with the fates lasted about ten minutes, but after about ten minutes, I finally prevailed. The absurdity of the position into which I put myself is matched only by the magnitude of my triumph over the couch and the constraints of my dilemma.

Ultimately, I made 10 trips up and down the stairs of my old apartment ferrying loads. Propagating the theme of this story, if I were moving an item which should have been trivial, I found ways to complicate it - typically by carrying more. One item which proved to present many of the challenges of the couch with none of the psychological rewards was my chest of drawers. I have owned it for some time, and it appears to be made of a material as dense as depleted uranium with the material strength of matzo. It was assembled into a rectangular prism with numerous moving parts, sharp edges, and a propensity to deploy the drawers at the most inconvenient times. Fortunately, the chest of drawers (along with all my other items) did fit into the elevator of death, but I was so frustrated carrying the chest down the stairs of my old apartment, that I almost discarded it out of spite. I reasoned that replacing it would require at least as much work, so I persevered despite its pathetically poor design. Appropriately, an element of the baseboard of the chest broke just as I finished transporting it down the stairs.

I am not yet completed with my move, though most of my heavy equipment has made the journey. Times like this sorely tempt me to pull an Erdõs and start living an itinerant life out of a suitcase, crashing at the homes of my O-colleagues. While a casual reader might hope that I have appreciated the folly of my pride (in its various forms), my obstinate desire for autonomy suggests that similar foibles will transpire. As some might say, Holy Macaroni. Perhaps this is a Pyrrhic victory, since I don't see any method for getting the couch out of the apartment except by the same route or with the aid of an acetylene torch.

I should note that composing my log entry in my head helped me cling to the last vestiges of my sanity during this ordeal.

C • oh, Ian 16