Word clouds

I'm a fan of the word-cloud's function as a super-adjective. Now, some dude has done a really nice job of it in a java applet: check out Wordle. Below is a cloud representation of the text on this page (as it existed prior to this post). Common English words are ignored, then the font size in the cloud determined by the word's frequency of appearance. I don't think color has any significance other than demonstrating that the programmer has written a nice algorithm for aesthetically pleasing patterns.

Huntington sprint triathlon

On Sunday the 20th was the Huntington sprint triathlon at a lake-side park of the same name in nearby Bay Village. Here's the Google satellite view - the swim start was near those jetties.

I had a bundle of fun at this race: I did the same one (though the swim route differed) in 2006 and enjoyed it then; I've been itching to race again, not having sprinted into a lake with dozens of men in tight shorts in nearly a year; and a number of friends and occasional training partners were racing as well.

I was slower this year than in 2006, but the course was slower also: then, 16 people finished in under an hour; this year only the top 3 did. It looks like the swim course was the main difference: it was insanely short in '06 (with median swim times on the order of 5 minutes), but more reasonable this time with a median of, say, 10 minutes.

How to start a short tri swim: line up on the outside edge of the group, second or third row from the water. The 10-second deficit isn't worth getting trampled for, and I take kicks in the face pretty well. Take it easy jogging into the water, aim 15' outside of the first buoy, enjoy the water, relax, get aerobic.

How not to start: line up as suggested, at the edge of the group, next to a few big rocks. Sprint into the water, having enjoyed a very nice warmup while latecomers push the starting time back by 10 minutes, not considering that said big rocks might continue their stretch submarinially. Splash, splash, slip, whump. A few unexpected gulps of Erie and minor gashes and abrasions from my left shin to the toes accompanied my surprise, but I don't think I spend more than a few seconds dumbfounded before regaining my footing and hopping into the catch up with (some of) the group.

As it was, 11:19 for the swim, which may have included some barefoot jogging from the beach to the transition area. I felt like I spent many moons pulling on my socks and bike shoes, but the clock said 1:47, which is fair. I skipped a bike shirt this time, having noted that it takes at least an extra minute to try to pull on a jersey after my wimpy shoulders' version of an aqueous sprint.

The bike was a shallow uphill out, a quick blast down a blacktop trail through the woods, then a mostly-downhill return trip. 36:28 vs 37:17 last time. I'm not sure the difference is significant, except that my time this year included getting my shoes off while still on the bike, before hitting the transition mat. (All the cool kids are doing it.) I was not graceful. As an aside, I rode without the use of my small front chainring, thanks to a shifter problem either identified or caused by the friendly mechanics at Eddy's; but, the course was pretty flat, and if I was in better cycling shape I probably would have preferred to pound it out on the big ring anyway.

My T2 felt good; I racked quickly (thanks, stripey blue towel!), pulled on my now-ancient sneakers with new yellow stretchy laces, swapped ol' yeller for my favorite running cap, ditched sunglasses and hopped along. I'll bet I was under 45 seconds, but they didn't publish T2 times, only lumped T2+Run times. My official T2+Run was 25:57.

So, 2006: 1:12:09, place 100/219, in age group 6/8.
This race: 1:15:31, place 83/240, in age group 14/22.

Congrats to Rachel, who finished 1/8 in her age group, and Bob, who finished 2/26 amongst fat guys. Yup, that's a category.

Finally, a snapshot of some folks from our Sunday a.m. running group (a.k.a. the "Roads Scholars", as soon as we get our shirts back from the printer) who raced.

Training 2008-W26-28

We're definitely into unstructured-summer-training (also known as fit-in-exercise-when-I-can) mode. I have enough on my schedule that the training volume required to extend my repertoire to a half-ironman distance isn't in the cards. Failing that, my B goal is something like "stay in share and enjoy the warm weather," which I do.

2008-W26 was a bicycle commuting week (I'd hoped to dedicate at least one week this summer to riding every day). MWF to Highland Heights (a short ride in the morning, and slightly longer ride home to avoid pee-em traffic; TTh to University Circle, where the ride is longer but downhill both ways. All said, just under 100 miles for the week. Sunday I hosted the Roads Scholars for 9.2 mi around the suburbs at 10:30/mi.

W27 featured a Wednesday evening trail run with some CTC folks. (I should really send in my USD20 registration fee, given that I lurk their training groups semi-frequently.) The usual route: 5.5 mi at 9:50/mi with some quality hills and spirited creek-hopping for good measure. Assorted bike rides, say, 40 miles.

W28 snuck in commuting on T and Th, and the regular trail run on W. 35 miles by bicycle and 6.3 mi at 9:48/mi on shoes.

Those shoes, by the way, now have approximately 550 miles on them, and no longer feel good on my feet. I'm not sure what the rule of thumb is for running shoes, but I suspect that's a little long. I really dislike shoe shopping, mostly because I think a reasonable pair of shoes (sneakers, work shoes, dress shoes) should cost $50, and they don't.

That 550 miles figure is summed up by SportTracks, a freely-available, open-source alternative to Garmin's Training Center software or MotionBased website. It also seems far superior, in part because of the many plug-in modules written by various users. When downloading my GPS data (which ST can do directly), I tag a workout with my shoes, and it adds the distance into the total. I'm not sure what happens if I switch shoes mid-run; fortunately I'm not yet so into mixed-terrain running to worry about it.

Failure to launch

Upon leaving the office yesterday: load backpack, log off computer, check lab bench for cleanliness with detour to locker room to change into cycling gear, wheel bike into the elevator for the trip from my secret sub-basement lair to the cycling launch ramp, pivot bicycle on back wheel to turn it around in the elevator.

Squish. Wow, that is one flat tire.

I had a flat tire once before, soon after I acquired my road bike; at that time I didn't have a spare or tools, or any idea what to do about it, or perhaps, to quote the good Reverend, I just couldn't be bothered. This time, however, I had a spare tube, CO2 cartridge and wallet-sized "how to change your tire" instructions from the box the tube came in. Brilliant!

Half an hour later (yes, I'll be faster next time; I'm not sure I'd ever even removed a rear wheel before) I had the old tube and offending microscopic shard of glass removed and the new one in. Inflate halfway with CO2. Looks good. Still feels underinflated, squirt the rest of the CO2 in there... pop! The wheel rim relieves itself of about pi/6 of the tire bead.

Deflate, reseat bead, note that I have no more CO2 left (and anyone that I know who might have a pump in their office has long since left), carry bike up to ground level, note big rack of bikes outside. Surely enough, someone has an unsecured frame pump. Thanks, someone! That provided enough pressure to get me up the street to a convenient local bike shop, where I could borrow a proper pump to top off the tire for an uneventful remainder of a commute home.

All in all, just a dirty-enough job to feel manly - or, as manly as one can feel in spandex shorts.

Freedom

Apologies; I couldn't resist a blue-faced Mel to accompany the post title. I picked up Supergolf from the mechanic on a recent cool-and-sunny afternoon; it needed a strut bearing and minor body panel adjustment, the latter done free of charge by the nice folks who patched it up after my collision a few months back. From there back to the office, I have the option of 20 minutes by interstate or 30 minutes by backroads and parkland - no contest on a sunroof-worthy summer's day.

Partway along a shaded river's-side street, I noted a lady in a park lot standing next to an oversized pickup truck and wielding what appeared to be an equally oversized RF antenna with both hands. My first thought was "aliens!", but perhaps she had some more mundane goal related to testing her new CB radio. My second thought, though, was that whatever she was doing, while probably strange, was okay. As long as she wain't (wait, what's the past tense of ain't?) threatening those around her (which I would *totally* do if I had an antenna like hers), it's unlikely that anyone will stop her, under the notion that she doesn't have the right to pursue a funny-looking or otherwise unusual hobby. Antenna lady could have been a terrorist. People who hang around with terrorists might be terrorists. Social-sciences students in California might be terrorists. But let us always err on the side of letting people do what they want until we're really, really sure we need to restrict their freedom. Every so often, scary things will happen therebecause, and that's worth it. Huh.

Continuing my second thought (and I hope I didn't run anyone over while doing this thinking), I'm also (for the time being) free to zip down a country road at moderate speed, rather than taking the more practical interstate, for no reason at all. The most bothersome of my interactions with our friendly local law enforcement was once, several years ago, when I was stopped for alleged speeding. After ascertaining where I was headed (home) and from whence I came (work), the cop said something like "well, then this street is a little out of your way, isn't it?". That caught me off guard. The street was out of the way, but so? I remember feeling a deep, if momentary, empathy for people more suspicious than me, whether for good (pulled over while on parole, perhaps?) or poor (pulled over while in a permanent state of suspicious hue?) reasons. Never mind being an Arab in Israel (or Michigan). Wow. Anyway, I did resist my temptation to challenge his line of questioning, offered a mundane explanation about returning a movie to lackluster and went on my unhappy way.

Aforementioned motorcycle is for sale. I have more toys than time to maintain them, and the bike's primary uses have been replaced: commuting (done by bicycle when weather-appropriate) and spirited weekend rides or track days (the former usurped by long-bike or long-run training time, the latter, some day, by the Porsche). So, I decided to save a couple of years of insurance payments and depreciation, and hop back in the game when it fits my lifestyle better. Say, 20 years?