Thursday, December 27, 2007
Secrets of Greatness
Crash sent me a text today saying she met with her new tri coach. For the past year or so she has dabbled in about 3 triathlons, but decided that she really wants to make a bid for doing IronMan in 2009. However, for the majority of her life she's race motorcycles, which has been her great love. Guess what her coach told her. PICK ONE. This came as no surprise to me, since I've seen first hand how hard it is to do two sports, especially two sports well (for those that might not know, at one point I had a Women's World Wakeboarding ranking of 47th and 4th in the US). I decided that tri was where it at and I have tried not to look back. After some thinking it over, Crash has picked to follow a similar path. I hope she really sticks with it. (Yes, Crash, I'm talking to you) There's no waffling. If you get wishy washy you will not be pleased with your results in either arena. It will be a failure (Don't say I never speak it straight as I see it). If you pour your heart into it though, the rewards will be huge! Also, this applies to either sport. Or anything in general.
On the heels of Crash's decision, I found this article on what it takes to be great. I thought it was releavant, although it's more directly related to business.
What it takes to be great
Research now shows that the lack of natural talent is irrelevant to great success. The secret? Painful and demanding practice and hard work
By
Geoffrey Colvin, senior editor-at-large
October 19 2006: 3:14 PM EDT
(Fortune Magazine) -- What makes Tiger Woods great? What made
Berkshire Hathaway (
Charts) Chairman Warren Buffett the world's premier investor? We think we know: Each was a natural who came into the world with a gift for doing exactly what he ended up doing. As Buffett told Fortune not long ago, he was "wired at birth to allocate capital." It's a one-in-a-million thing. You've got it - or you don't.
Well, folks, it's not so simple. For one thing, you do not possess a natural gift for a certain job, because targeted natural gifts don't exist. (Sorry, Warren.) You are not a born CEO or investor or chess grandmaster. You will achieve greatness only through an enormous amount of hard work over many years. And not just any hard work, but work of a particular type that's demanding and painful.
Buffett, for instance, is famed for his discipline and the hours he spends studying financial statements of potential investment targets. The good news is that your lack of a natural gift is irrelevant - talent has little or nothing to do with greatness. You can make yourself into any number of things, and you can even make yourself great.
Scientific experts are producing remarkably consistent findings across a wide array of fields. Understand that talent doesn't mean intelligence, motivation or personality traits. It's an innate ability to do some specific activity especially well. British-based researchers Michael J. Howe, Jane W. Davidson and John A. Sluboda conclude in an extensive study, "The evidence we have surveyed ... does not support the [notion that] excelling is a consequence of possessing innate gifts."
To see how the researchers could reach such a conclusion, consider the problem they were trying to solve. In virtually every field of endeavor, most people learn quickly at first, then more slowly and then stop developing completely. Yet a few do improve for years and even decades, and go on to greatness.
The irresistible question - the "fundamental challenge" for researchers in this field, says the most prominent of them, professor K. Anders Ericsson of Florida State University - is, Why? How are certain people able to go on improving? The answers begin with consistent observations about great performers in many fields.
Scientists worldwide have conducted scores of studies since the 1993 publication of a landmark paper by Ericsson and two colleagues, many focusing on sports, music and chess, in which performance is relatively easy to measure and plot over time. But plenty of additional studies have also examined other fields, including business.
No substitute for hard work
The first major conclusion is that nobody is great without work. It's nice to believe that if you find the field where you're naturally gifted, you'll be great from day one, but it doesn't happen. There's no evidence of high-level performance without experience or practice.
Reinforcing that no-free-lunch finding is vast evidence that even the most accomplished people need around ten years of hard work before becoming world-class, a pattern so well established researchers call it the ten-year rule.
What about Bobby Fischer, who became a chess grandmaster at 16? Turns out the rule holds: He'd had nine years of intensive study. And as John Horn of the University of Southern California and Hiromi Masunaga of California State University observe, "The ten-year rule represents a very rough estimate, and most researchers regard it as a minimum, not an average." In many fields (music, literature) elite performers need 20 or 30 years' experience before hitting their zenith.
So greatness isn't handed to anyone; it requires a lot of hard work. Yet that isn't enough, since many people work hard for decades without approaching greatness or even getting significantly better. What's missing?
Practice makes perfect
The best people in any field are those who devote the most hours to what the researchers call "deliberate practice." It's activity that's explicitly intended to improve performance, that reaches for objectives just beyond one's level of competence, provides feedback on results and involves high levels of repetition.
For example: Simply hitting a bucket of balls is not deliberate practice, which is why most golfers don't get better. Hitting an eight-iron 300 times with a goal of leaving the ball within 20 feet of the pin 80 percent of the time, continually observing results and making appropriate adjustments, and doing that for hours every day - that's deliberate practice.
Consistency is crucial. As Ericsson notes, "Elite performers in many diverse domains have been found to practice, on the average, roughly the same amount every day, including weekends."
Evidence crosses a remarkable range of fields. In a study of 20-year-old violinists by Ericsson and colleagues, the best group (judged by conservatory teachers) averaged 10,000 hours of deliberate practice over their lives; the next-best averaged 7,500 hours; and the next, 5,000. It's the same story in surgery, insurance sales, and virtually every sport. More deliberate practice equals better performance. Tons of it equals great performance.
The skeptics
Not all researchers are totally onboard with the myth-of-talent hypothesis, though their objections go to its edges rather than its center. For one thing, there are the intangibles. Two athletes might work equally hard, but what explains the ability of New England Patriots quarterback Tom Brady to perform at a higher level in the last two minutes of a game?
Researchers also note, for example, child prodigies who could speak, read or play music at an unusually early age. But on investigation those cases generally include highly involved parents. And many prodigies do not go on to greatness in their early field, while great performers include many who showed no special early aptitude.
Certainly some important traits are partly inherited, such as physical size and particular measures of intelligence, but those influence what a person doesn't do more than what he does; a five-footer will never be an NFL lineman, and a seven-footer will never be an Olympic gymnast. Even those restrictions are less severe than you'd expect: Ericsson notes, "Some international chess masters have IQs in the 90s." The more research that's done, the more solid the deliberate-practice model becomes.
Real-world examples
All this scholarly research is simply evidence for what great performers have been showing us for years. To take a handful of examples: Winston Churchill, one of the 20th century's greatest orators, practiced his speeches compulsively. Vladimir Horowitz supposedly said, "If I don't practice for a day, I know it. If I don't practice for two days, my wife knows it. If I don't practice for three days, the world knows it." He was certainly a demon practicer, but the same quote has been attributed to world-class musicians like Ignace Paderewski and Luciano Pavarotti.
Many great athletes are legendary for the brutal discipline of their practice routines. In basketball, Michael Jordan practiced intensely beyond the already punishing team practices. (Had Jordan possessed some mammoth natural gift specifically for basketball, it seems unlikely he'd have been cut from his high school team.)
In football, all-time-great receiver Jerry Rice - passed up by 15 teams because they considered him too slow - practiced so hard that other players would get sick trying to keep up.
Tiger Woods is a textbook example of what the research shows. Because his father introduced him to golf at an extremely early age - 18 months - and encouraged him to practice intensively, Woods had racked up at least 15 years of practice by the time he became the youngest-ever winner of the U.S. Amateur Championship, at age 18. Also in line with the findings, he has never stopped trying to improve, devoting many hours a day to conditioning and practice, even remaking his swing twice because that's what it took to get even better.
The business side
The evidence, scientific as well as anecdotal, seems overwhelmingly in favor of deliberate practice as the source of great performance. Just one problem: How do you practice business? Many elements of business, in fact, are directly practicable. Presenting, negotiating, delivering evaluations, deciphering financial statements - you can practice them all.
Still, they aren't the essence of great managerial performance. That requires making judgments and decisions with imperfect information in an uncertain environment, interacting with people, seeking information - can you practice those things too? You can, though not in the way you would practice a Chopin etude.
Instead, it's all about how you do what you're already doing - you create the practice in your work, which requires a few critical changes. The first is going at any task with a new goal: Instead of merely trying to get it done, you aim to get better at it.
Report writing involves finding information, analyzing it and presenting it - each an improvable skill. Chairing a board meeting requires understanding the company's strategy in the deepest way, forming a coherent view of coming market changes and setting a tone for the discussion. Anything that anyone does at work, from the most basic task to the most exalted, is an improvable skill.
Adopting a new mindset
Armed with that mindset, people go at a job in a new way. Research shows they process information more deeply and retain it longer. They want more information on what they're doing and seek other perspectives. They adopt a longer-term point of view. In the activity itself, the mindset persists. You aren't just doing the job, you're explicitly trying to get better at it in the larger sense.
Again, research shows that this difference in mental approach is vital. For example, when amateur singers take a singing lesson, they experience it as fun, a release of tension. But for professional singers, it's the opposite: They increase their concentration and focus on improving their performance during the lesson. Same activity, different mindset.
Feedback is crucial, and getting it should be no problem in business. Yet most people don't seek it; they just wait for it, half hoping it won't come. Without it, as Goldman Sachs leadership-development chief Steve Kerr says, "it's as if you're bowling through a curtain that comes down to knee level. If you don't know how successful you are, two things happen: One, you don't get any better, and two, you stop caring." In some companies, like General Electric, frequent feedback is part of the culture. If you aren't lucky enough to get that, seek it out.
Be the ball
Through the whole process, one of your goals is to build what the researchers call "mental models of your business" - pictures of how the elements fit together and influence one another. The more you work on it, the larger your mental models will become and the better your performance will grow.
Andy Grove could keep a model of a whole world-changing technology industry in his head and adapt
Intel (
Charts) as needed. Bill Gates,
Microsoft's (
Charts) founder, had the same knack: He could see at the dawn of the PC that his goal of a computer on every desk was realistic and would create an unimaginably large market. John D. Rockefeller, too, saw ahead when the world-changing new industry was oil. Napoleon was perhaps the greatest ever. He could not only hold all the elements of a vast battle in his mind but, more important, could also respond quickly when they shifted in unexpected ways.
That's a lot to focus on for the benefits of deliberate practice - and worthless without one more requirement: Do it regularly, not sporadically.
Why?
For most people, work is hard enough without pushing even harder. Those extra steps are so difficult and painful they almost never get done. That's the way it must be. If great performance were easy, it wouldn't be rare. Which leads to possibly the deepest question about greatness. While experts understand an enormous amount about the behavior that produces great performance, they understand very little about where that behavior comes from.
The authors of one study conclude, "We still do not know which factors encourage individuals to engage in deliberate practice." Or as University of Michigan business school professor Noel Tichy puts it after 30 years of working with managers, "Some people are much more motivated than others, and that's the existential question I cannot answer - why."
The critical reality is that we are not hostage to some naturally granted level of talent. We can make ourselves what we will. Strangely, that idea is not popular. People hate abandoning the notion that they would coast to fame and riches if they found their talent. But that view is tragically constraining, because when they hit life's inevitable bumps in the road, they conclude that they just aren't gifted and give up.
Maybe we can't expect most people to achieve greatness. It's just too demanding. But the striking, liberating news is that greatness isn't reserved for a preordained few. It is available to you and to everyone.
_____________________
How one CEO learned to fly. Boeing chief James McNerney has now made his mark at three major companies. How? "Help others get better," he says.
Want to learn more Secrets of Greatness?
Get the new bookFrom the October 30, 2006 issueposted @ 12/27/2007 11:43:44 AM
(0) CommentsThursday, December 27, 2007
Bhutto: "She has been Martyred"
Thursday, Dec. 27, 2007
Bhutto: "She has been Martyred"
By Aryn Baker
Just days before parliamentary polls in Pakistan, leading Prime Ministerial contender and anti terrorism crusader Benazir Bhutto was shot dead during an election rally in the garrison city of Rawalpindi, near Islamabad. "She has been martyred," said party official Rehman Malik. The Associated Press, citing Malik, reported that Bhutto was shot in the neck and the chest before the gunman blew himself up. At least 20 bystanders were killed in the blast. Bhutto was rushed to a hospital But, at 6:16 p.m. Pakistan time, she was declared dead.
""How can somebody who can shoot her get so close to her with all the so-called security?" said a distraught Husain Haqqani, a former top aide to Bhutto, shortly after news of her death flashed around the world. Haqqani, who served as a spokesman and top aide to Bhutto for more than a decade, blamed Pakistani security, either through neglect or complicity, in her assassination. "This is the security establishment, which has always wanted her out," he said through tears.
For the past several months Pakistan has been plagued by a wave of violence that has seen hundreds of civilians killed in similar bombing attacks; and hundreds more military personnel, prompting President Pervez Musharraf to declare a state of emergency. On December 16th, Musharraf lifted the state of emergency, stating that the threat had been contained. The bombings, however, continued. Just hours before her assassination, Bhutto, 54, met with visiting Afghan President Hamid Karzai to discuss the threat of terrorism against both countries.
The U.S. has long supported a return to power by Bhutto, who was perceived to be a moderate willing to work with Washington on the war on terror. She was also seen as a democratic leader who would serve as a counter to the plummeting popularity of Musharraf, who took power in a 1999 military coup. It was thought that a power-sharing deal between the two, in which Musharraf stayed on as president while Bhutto lead as prime minister, would promote stability in this nuclear armed nation of 165 million. But from the day of her arrival in Pakistan after eight years in exile, Bhutto's return has been marred by violence.
On October 18th, a pair of bombs detonated in the midst a welcome home rally in Karachi for the former two-time prime minister, killing some 145 in a deliberate attempt on her life. The organization responsible for the carnage has not yet been identified, but Bhutto said she suspected al Qaeda and some unspecified members of Musharraf's government who did not want to see her return to power. Despite the clear threat to her life, Bhutto continued to campaign publicly with the kind of mass rallies that are the cornerstone of politicking in Pakistan. "I am not afraid," she told TIME last month, "I am ready to die for my country."
Haqqani, now a professor at Boston University, isn't sure what the latest bloodshed means for his country. "Will the Pakistani military realize that this is going to tear the fabric of the nation apart, and so really get serious about securing the country and about getting serious in dealing with the extremist jihadis?" he wondered. But he made clear he feels the best chance for such a policy has just evaporated. "She did show courage, and she was the only person who spoke out against terrorism," he said. "She was let down by those in Washington who think that sucking up to bad governments around the world is their best policy option."
Pakistan can ill afford to sacrifice the few moderate leaders it has left. Bhutto's death will plunge the upcoming elections into uncertainty and the country further into instability. And that's good news for terrorism. With reporting by Mark Thompson/Washington
posted @ 12/27/2007 7:46:35 AM
(0) CommentsWednesday, December 26, 2007
Bike on plane, flight vouchers, traveling with a bike...
random thoughts, if you have any insight email me:
triswimcoach@yahoo.comI called USAT to get some bike vouchers today- they don't have them anymore. So it's going to cost me about $50 each way to get my bike back and forth to the races. I'm a moron and didn't count that in, so there's another $200. Man this stuff adds up.
However, before I can fly my bike, i have to get a case for it. Anyone selilng a case? I'm not paticular if it's soft or hardshell. Prefeably NOT the cardboard kind. Anyone have one to sell to a poor broke triathlete?
Also, is there anyway I can get a bike travel voucher? Ok, fine, what about a plane ticket voucher. I know you can buy Southwest travel vouchers to San Fran, but you have to know somebody, and that would only do me good for Vineman, not so much for WildFlower.
anybody? Anything?
posted @ 12/26/2007 11:57:19 AM
(0) CommentsMonday, December 24, 2007
Night Before Christmas!!
THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMASby Clement Clarke Moore
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the houseNot a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;The children were nestled all snug in their beds,While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.Away to the window I flew like a flash,Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snowGave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,With a little old driver, so lively and quick,I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!On, Comet! on Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roofThe prancing and pawing of each little hoof.As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;He had a broad face and a little round belly,That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,And laying his finger aside of his nose,And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."
posted @ 12/24/2007 6:01:11 AM
(0) CommentsFriday, December 21, 2007
From the Greatest Movie EVER Made.
From the Greatest Movie EVER Made.
Office Space
Peter Gibbons: The thing is, Bob, it's not that I'm lazy, it's that I just don't care.
Bob Porter: Don't... don't care?
Peter Gibbons: It's a problem of motivation, all right? Now if I work my ass off and Initech ships a few extra units, I don't see another dime; so where's the motivation? And here's something else, Bob: I have eight different bosses right now.
Bob Slydell: I beg your pardon?
Peter Gibbons: Eight bosses.
Bob Slydell: Eight?
Peter Gibbons: Eight, Bob. So that means that when I make a mistake, I have eight different people coming by to tell me about it. That's my only real motivation is not to be hassled; that, and the fear of losing my job. But you know, Bob, that will only make someone work just hard enough not to get fired.
posted @ 12/21/2007 11:42:40 AM
(0) CommentsFriday, December 21, 2007
Dara Torres: The Female Chuck Norris?
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/08/01/AR2007080102538_pf.htmlAt 40, Torres Is Back In the Fast LaneIron Will and Phalanx of Experts Aid 'Mind-Boggling' Comeback
By Eli SaslowWashington Post Staff WriterThursday, August 2, 2007; E01
INDIANAPOLIS, Aug. 1 -- Just after 9 a.m. on Wednesday, Dara Torres unrolled her yellow yoga mat on a patch of grass near the
Indiana University Natatorium and moaned. She had been awake since 6 a.m., tossing restlessly in her hotel bed. Her shoulders ached. Her sore ankles cracked when she walked. She felt nauseous, so she rubbed her hands over a midsection that had been swollen by pregnancy only 16 months earlier.
At 40, Torres felt like a tired, middle-age woman, which presented a major problem this particular morning. In a few hours, Torres was scheduled to swim the 100-meter freestyle at the
USA Swimming National Championships -- a race she considered crucial in her attempt to qualify for a fifth Olympic Games. After spending more than six years out of the water, Torres would compete at nationals against an elite field consisting of swimmers less than half her age. She lay down on her yoga mat and turned on her pink
iPod to listen to
Led Zeppelin.
Two physical therapists, who work full time for Torres, bent over her and began the daily process of coaxing her body into swimming condition. Anne Tierney squeezed and rotated Torres's quadriceps. Steven Sierra pumped Torres's rib cage to force toxins out of her lungs.
"We're trying to take some years off of you," Tierney said.
"Yeah," Torres said. "I guess that might be good."
In her historic attempt to become the first swimmer older than 40 to compete in the Olympics, Torres has devoted herself to overcoming age. She hired a team of experts to facilitate her comeback: two physical therapists; two masseurs; a strength coach; a nanny; a sprinting coach; a head coach. She special-orders food from an organic company in
Tampa.
The holistic approach yielded surreal results again Wednesday. Torres, a nine-time Olympic medal winner who first competed in the 1984 Games, won the 100-meter freestyle in 54.45 seconds, outracing favorites Dana Vollmer and Amanda Weir. Less than 15 months after launching her comeback with aspirations of making an Olympic relay team, Torres has emerged as a threat to qualify -- and possibly even medal -- in the individual freestyle sprints.
"Her comeback is just mind-boggling," said Michael Lohberg, Torres's coach in
Coral Springs,
Fla. "I don't think people can actually comprehend what's happening here. It hasn't happened before and it probably won't happen again. A 40-year-old who hasn't been swimming for years should never go this fast."
Torres announced her comeback to the swimming world Wednesday by dominating her first national competition in seven years. She jumped ahead immediately in the 100 free and then out-kicked the rest of the field down the stretch, finishing only .02 of a second behind her career-best time. Vollmer, 19, and Weir, 21, looked at each other quizzically at the end of the race, seemingly miffed at the 40-year-old mother who had stolen their event. Torres entered the final seeded fifth, and her finish earned a standing ovation.
"It's all a little crazy," Torres said. "This is happening so much quicker than I expected."
Torres won five medals, including two relay golds, at the 2000 Olympics in
Sydney. When she came home, she told friends that she would never swim again. She took jobs as a television reporter for
ESPN, TNT and the Resort Sports Network. She started running and bicycling to stay in shape, forcing two knee surgeries. When the 2004 Olympics came on television, Torres hardly watched the swimming. She just didn't care, she said.
Torres became pregnant two years ago, and a doctor recommended swimming as a low-impact exercise to keep her in shape. Torres joined a local swim club near her Florida home, and her old addiction took hold. At five months pregnant, she wanted to race again. At eight months, she mentioned the 2008 Olympics. In April 2006, Torres swam and lifted weights on the same day she gave birth to her daughter, Tessa Grace.
Ever since, Torres has led a life so dedicated that even her elite swimming peers -- all of them conditioned for obsession -- can only watch and marvel. Her holistic approach to training, typical of European swimmers, strikes some U.S. coaches as excessive. She sleeps for at least nine hours each night and then wakes and drinks an all-natural, berry-flavored powder shake to supplement breakfast. A nanny cares for Tessa Grace from 7 a.m. to 2:30 p.m., so Torres can train.
"It's hard to leave her," Torres said. "Sometimes I definitely feel selfish. But when I'm done in the afternoon, the rest of the day is just me and her. That's something to look forward to after a rough practice."
Torres weighs 10 pounds less than she did in 2000, and her primary training goal is "to feel light in the water." She spends almost 10 hours each week stretching with her two physical therapists, who help strengthen her lower back and pelvis to improve her rotation in the water. The
Florida Panthers' strength and conditioning coach spends seven hours each week toning Torres's core muscles. One of her masseurs, Jonathan Gellert, visits Torres for frequent 90-minute sessions to help relieve muscle kinks and aid her recovery.
Torres swims only five days each week, and she rarely stays in the water for more than a few hours. She rests Thursdays and Sundays. Her training partners, including 50-meter backstroke world record holder Leila Vaziri, lose to Torres in sprinting races and then listen to her complain about aging.
"She's like a different species," said Vaziri, 22. "If I come back from a two-week break, I feel awful and unmotivated. Six years? That's crazy. Dara could probably make another four Olympics if she wanted to. She just doesn't get old."
Said Lohberg, Torres's head coach: "It's a combination of God-given talent, of being tough as nails, of having a complete understanding of what it takes. She has the will to accomplish anything."
And she has the staff, too. Fifty minutes before she jumped into the pool to swim in her first national meet since 2000, Torres sat in the corner of the natatorium surrounded by her experts. Two coaches advised her on strategy for the upcoming 100-meter race. Gellert, the masseur who had just flown in from Florida, unfolded a massage table and worked briefly on Torres's shoulders.
The two physical therapists ran their fingertips over Torres's back and shoulders, a method of touch intended to rid the body of excess energy and tension.
"Maybe this works," said Tierney, one of the physical therapists. "We're not really sure.
"I love the way it feels," Torres said, "and what can it hurt? You know I like to try everything."
Dara Torres To Continue Olympic Quest after Surgery
http://www.competitor.com/article/?Guid=d357089b-6978-46c1-b225-6aedf1c62c02Dara Torres, who earlier this month set an American short course record in the women’s 50 meet free at the FINA World Cup in Berlin, has had shoulder surgery. The Miami Herald reports that Torres underwent successful arthroscopic surgery on her right shoulder Nov. 21 to remove a bone spur responsible for a partial rotator cuff tear.
The Herald reports that a full recovery is expected and Torres, 40, plans to be back in two to three weeks, continuing her quest for a fifth Olympics next summer in Beijing. If she makes the U.S. team at age 41, Torres would be the oldest female Olympic swimmer ever.
(See Herald story)''It was an excruciatingly hard decision to make, to have the surgery, but I've had this pain since the 2000 Olympics, and the past year it was getting worse and worse,'' Torres told the Herald. “It got to the point where physical therapy wasn't helping. Now that it's done, I feel a weight lifted off my shoulders and hopefully I can be pain free.''
At the FINA World Cup in Berlin, Torres swam the women’s 50 meter free in 23.82 to eclipse the former U.S. record of 24.21, set in 2004 by Kara Lynn Joyce. Torres’ effort earned her a silver medal Berlin, behind the Netherland’s Marleen Veldhuis, who had to swim a world record time of 23.58 to beat Torres.
In a sport where Olympic careers usually end in the 20s or earlier, Torres just keeps stroking Father Time into the background, but her second shoulder operation – she also had surgery after swimming for the University of Florida – suggests just how difficult it is to keep swimming at an Olympic level as a 40-year-old.
This summer, the four-time Olympian became the oldest national champion in U.S. swimming history when she won the 100-meter freestyle. It was the latest capper to career begun in 1982 when Torres won her first national title. She was all over 14 years old then.
Flash forward 26 years and Torres, in the middle of her second comeback, has not only given her career a remarkable new highlight, but put her into a position where she needs to re-think her goals.
She decided to come back to Olympic swimming after the birth of her first child in an attempt to make a U.S. relay team in the 2008 Beijing Games. Now, the nine-time Olympic medalist clearly is thinking even bigger.
If she makes it to Beijing she will be 41 years old. If she wins there, and she now must be counted as a serious threat not only in the relays but in individual events as well, she will become the oldest gold medal winning swimmer in Olympic history.
It will be a story for the ages, and it started modestly. She said she started to get in shape by swimming with her daughter. Then, she went to a couple of meets and swam “real fast.”
With encouragement from fellow masters swimmers, she plunged head first into a comeback that on Saturday got her a silver medal at the World Cup and an American record.
Click Here for more articles on Dara Torres.
var comments_url = "http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/08/01/AR2007080102538_Comments.html" ;
var article_id = "AR2007080102538" ;
posted @ 12/21/2007 8:30:28 AM
(0) CommentsThursday, December 20, 2007
Thought of the Day: Norman Stadler's Meltdown
Thought of the Day:
When Norman Stadler got his second flat of the day at Kona in 2005, the viewing audience saw and heard his hissy-fit-tantrum (hey, I probably would have laid on the pavement kicking and screaming).
But what was odd in the clip? He had a freak out in ENGLISH. Not German.
“Anotha flat tiyuh! I have no powuh!” (Another flat tire! I have no power!)
Somebody please explain why the World Champ didn’t have his meltdown in his native tongue.
posted @ 12/20/2007 8:34:42 AM
(0) CommentsThursday, December 20, 2007
10,000 Views!
10,000
Thank you to everyone who has visited my site in the last 7 or 8 months. In just that time I have recieved over 10,000 hits (As of 8:56am we're at 10,024). That's over 1000 hits a month or 48 hits a day.
Pretty darn cool for a no-name amatuer tri girl in the midwest.
Keep it up. I REALLY appreciate everyone that reads my ramblings and views my updates.
posted @ 12/20/2007 6:58:41 AM
(0) CommentsWednesday, December 19, 2007
Name The Movie Quote
Remember, where ever you go
There you are.
posted @ 12/19/2007 12:43:56 PM
(0) CommentsTuesday, December 18, 2007
Stupid Is As Stupid Does
5 Falcons fined for displaying Michael Vick messages
5 Falcons fined for displaying Michael Vick messages
td.yspwidearticlebody { font-size: 13.5px; }
December 18, 2007
NEW YORK (AP) --
Roddy White and four other
Atlanta Falcons were fined by the NFL for violating uniform regulations with tributes to
Michael Vick during last week's Monday night game.
Vick, Atlanta's suspended Pro Bowl quarterback, was sentenced to 23 months in prison on federal dogfighting charges the morning of Dec. 10. The Falcons played at home against New Orleans that night.
if(window.yzq_d==null)window.yzq_d=new Object();
window.yzq_d['lbI7HNG_RvE-']='&U=13b8ggrbu%2fN%3dlbI7HNG_RvE-%2fC%3d562746.11953537.12401417.1806201%2fD%3dLREC%2fB%3d5099898';
After scoring a touchdown, White displayed a "Free Mike Vick" T-shirt under his jersey.
He, along with tight end
Alge Crumpler and cornerbacks
DeAngelo Hall and
Chris Houston, were fined $10,000 each. Crumpler, Hall and Houston all wore black eye strips with written tributes to Vick, which the league called "displaying an unauthorized personal message."
Wide receiver
Joe Horn was fined $7,500 for pulling up White's jersey to show the black T-shirt with handwritten white lettering. The fines were confirmed Tuesday by NFL spokesman Randall Liu.
Hall also had a poster of Vick on the field during pre-game introductions.
The Falcons lost the game 34-14.
Need last-minute expert fantasy football advice? Watch
Fantasy Football Live Sundays at noon ET/9am PT
Updated on Tuesday, Dec 18, 2007 11:07 am, EST
Email to a Friend View Popularhttp://sports.yahoo.com/nfl/news?slug=ap-falcons-fines&prov=ap&type=lgnsposted @ 12/18/2007 11:59:54 AM
(0) CommentsMonday, December 17, 2007
Capt. Cranky Rows Her Boat Alone
Today is already really tough for me. I have a lot going on and I can say I am truly stressed to the max. Money, health, Christmas, friends, everything is rocking my boat right now.
I am the captain of a row boat crossing the turbulent sea of life. Peg leg, Parrot named Long John, glass eye and skull and cross bone hat. I have it all. You must in order to be the captain of your own misery. Call me Captain Cranky. I want to blame a bunch of people and circumstances and pretty much everything but me. However, the Captain knows. The Captain knows that the little wooden dingy is kept only a float by my mistakes and even no-fault actions of others and myself.
So, here I sit, having a conversation with Long John, whom, by the way is terrible conversationalist, about the choices I have made, the changes I need to make, and how to reach dry land. Or at least calmer waters.
Captain Cranky: Argh, Long John, I haven’t a shilling for swag or travel.
Long John: SQUAWK! You spent money on matters you needn’t.
Capt. Cranky: But I did pay the beasts and varmints. (Ya know, bills)
Long John: SQUAWK! Lots of beasts and varmints! Lots of beasts and varmints!
Captain Cranky: How ‘bout yous row a spell? For I’s growin’ weary.
Long John: I haven’t any arms to help! SQUAWK! You shall row alone. You shall row alone!
Captain Cranky: Be gone, mangy fowl.
Long John- flies away but poops on my hat when leaving.
I know I know, I’m twisted, but it’s a good way to keep my mind off what’s really bothering me.
posted @ 12/17/2007 8:45:56 AM
(1) CommentsFriday, December 14, 2007
Mele Kalikimaka
Mele Kalikimaka
For B-Wee!
http://www.melekalikimaka.com/meleka.wav -Click here for the Bing Crosby Christmas Classic
posted @ 12/14/2007 2:24:56 PM
(0) CommentsFriday, December 14, 2007
Open Letter for KC Training Partners
12/14/2007
Hey, KC area tri ladies! Hope you're enjoying the off season. I got in pretty darn good shape for IronMan Florida, but, alas, that was over a month ago, and I've put a few back on. I guess sitting on the couch eating cookie dough doesn't constitute training. Surprise, surprise.
I'm really looking to get faster this year. I have a new coach writing my workouts starting in January. But, I'd really like to try to train with some gals that are faster than me and will push me.
If possible I would really like to get in some workouts with faster ladies this spring. I mostly need someone to push me running- especially my 5k to Half Marathon pacing. I'm so slow! My cycling really has come a long way last season, and my swimming is what it is (it's hard to get in the pool and push yourself on your own, you know that. I did manage to go just over an hour in my swim at IronMan, though). I'm joining TriKC to get some more tri friends and training buds, but I'd really like to find some faster and more experienced ladies on the Eastern side of KC.
Anybody make schedules out for next year? I was planning on staying close to home but I had an opportunity come up that I just can't pass by, so I'm going out to California for Wildflower (Olympic) in May, and VineMan (70.3) in July as my "A Races". I'm also planning to race the Kansas 70.3 and a handful of local races. After VineMan I can concentrate on sprints for the last of season which will free up some after work time for wedding planning that I pretty much neglect.
If you're interested in training with me, please contact me at the information below!
Thanks and Happy Holidays!
Courtney Crutcher
triswimcoach@yahoo.composted @ 12/14/2007 8:05:07 AM
(0) CommentsWednesday, December 12, 2007
2008 Race Schedule
2008 Race Schedule
What, When, and Where I'm Racing in 2008
March in Motion- Olympic March 22 (San Luis Obispo, CA) c-race/training race
WildFlower- Olympic May 4 (Lake San Antonio, CA) A- RACE
Heritage Park- Sprint May 18 (Olathe, KS) c-race/training race
Kansas 70.3- 70.3 June 15 (Lawrence, KS) B-RACE
Shawnee Mission- Long July 6 (Shawnee, KS)- c-race/training race--Entry Depends on Taper
VineMan 70.3- 70.3 July 20 (San Fran area Guerneville, CA) A-RACE
KC Women’s Tri- Sprint August 9 (Smithville, MO) B-RACE
Jackson County- Sprint August 24 (Lee’s Summit, MO) c-race/training race
Midwest Meltdown- Sprint September 7 (Kansas City, KS) c-race/training race
posted @ 12/12/2007 8:48:56 AM
(0) CommentsTuesday, December 11, 2007
My Latest Creation
This actually has Staton on the arse, which will be my married name, but not for some time. It looks freaky to me to see it! aahh! If I do have the suit made anytime soon, it will be with CRUTCHER on it though.
posted @ 12/11/2007 12:53:03 PM
(0) CommentsMonday, December 10, 2007
For the 'Fridge a/k/a Look What Julie Made
I recieved this email just now from (a very very bored) Julie.
I created this portrait of you riding your bike in Florida. I hope you like it….
Julie A. Hurley, AICP
posted @ 12/10/2007 1:37:28 PM
(0) CommentsMonday, December 10, 2007
Team TriSports.com 2008
I'm super excited to announce that I am returning to TriSports.com for 2008. They are hands down the best online sporting good retailer.
Be sure to check out their store online at
www.trisports.comAlso, use this code at check out to reap some discounts!! CCrut-S
Thanks!
Courtney
posted @ 12/10/2007 11:36:25 AM
(0) CommentsFriday, December 07, 2007
The One With the Lobster
A quote from my favorite FRIENDS episode, titled, The One With the Lobster....
Phoebe: Hang in there, it's gonna happen.Ross: What? Okay, now how do you know that?Phoebe: Because she's your lobster.Chandler: Oh, she's goin' somewhere.Phoebe: Come on, you guys. It's a known fact that lobsters fall in love and mate for life. You know what? You can actually see old lobster couples walkin' around their tank, you know, holding claws like...
Eric is my Lobster! :)
posted @ 12/7/2007 11:05:49 AM
(1) CommentsFriday, December 07, 2007
I’m Not Really Running, I’m Not Really Running...
Robyn brought this article to my attention, via The New York Times.
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/12/06/health/nutrition/06Best.html?_r=2&oref=slogin&adxnnlx=1196960854-8s5etBol09x4NbUDuF1Kvw&pagewanted=allPersonal Best
I’m Not Really Running, I’m Not Really Running...
Filip Kwiatkowski for The New York Times
By
GINA KOLATAPublished: December 6, 2007
BILL MORGAN, an emeritus professor of kinesiology at the
University of Wisconsin, likes to tell the story, which he swears is true, of an
Ivy League pole vaulter who held the Division 1 record in the Eastern region.
His coaches and teammates, though, noticed that he could jump even higher. Every time he cleared the pole, he had about a foot to spare. But if they moved the bar up even an inch, the vaulter would hit it every time. One day, when the vaulter was not looking, his teammates raised the bar a good six inches. The man vaulted over it, again with a foot to spare.
When his teammates confessed, the pole vaulter could not believe it. But, Dr. Morgan added, “once he saw what he had done, he walked away from the jumping pit and never came back.”
After all, Dr. Morgan said, everyone would expect him to repeat that performance. And how could he?
The moral of the story? No matter how high you jump, how fast you run or swim, how powerfully you row, you can do better. But sometimes your mind gets in the way.
“All maximum performances are actually pseudo-maximum performances,” Dr. Morgan said. “You are always capable of doing more than you are doing.”
One of my running partners, Claire Brown, the executive director of Princeton in Latin America, a nonprofit group, calls it mind over mind-over-body.
She used that idea in June in the Black Bear triathlon in Lehighton, Pa., going all-out when she saw a competitor drawing close. She won her age group (30 to 34) for the half-Ironman distance, coming in fourth among the women.
When it was over, she ended up in a medical tent. “I felt like I was going to pass out or throw up or both,” she recalled. “At a certain point in a hard race, you’ve pushed yourself beyond the point of ignoring the physical pain, and now you have to tell your mind that it can keep going, too.”
The problem for many athletes is how to make a pseudo-maximum performance as close as possible to a maximum one. There are some tricks, exercise physiologists say, but also some risks.
The first thing to know, said Dr. Benjamin Levine, an exercise researcher and a cardiology professor at the University of Texas Southwestern Medical Center in Dallas, is that no one really knows what limits human performance. There’s the ability of the heart to pump blood to the muscles, there’s the ability of the muscles to contract and respond, there’s the question of muscle fuel, and then, of course, there is the mind.
“How does the brain interact with the skeletal muscles and the circulation?” Dr. Levine said. “How much of this is voluntary and how much is involuntary? We just don’t know.”
But since most people can do better, no matter how good their performance, the challenge is to find a safe way to push a little harder. Many ordinary athletes, as well as elites, use a technique known as dissociation.
Dr. Morgan, who tested the method in research studies, said he was inspired by a story, reported by an anthropologist that, he suspects, is apocryphal. It involves Tibetan monks who reportedly ran 300 miles in 30 hours, an average pace of six minutes a mile. Their mental trick was to fixate on a distant object, like a mountain peak, and put their breathing in synchrony with their locomotion. Every time a foot hit the ground they would also repeat a mantra.
So Dr. Morgan and his colleagues instructed runners to say “down” to themselves every time a foot went down. They were also to choose an object and stare at it while running on a treadmill and to breathe in sync with their steps. The result, Dr. Morgan said, was that the runners using the monks’ strategy had a statistically significant increase in endurance, doing much better than members of a control group who ran in their usual way.
That, in a sense, is the trick that
Paula Radcliffe said she uses. Ms. Radcliffe, the winner of this year’s
New York City Marathon, said in a recent interview that she counts her steps when she struggles in a race. “When I count to 100 three times, it’s a mile,” she said. “It helps me focus on the moment and not think about how many miles I have to go. I concentrate on breathing and striding, and I go within myself.”
Without realizing what I was doing, I dissociated a few months ago, in the middle of a long, fast bike ride. I’d become so tired that I could not hold the pace going up hills. Then I hit upon a method — I focused only on the seat of the rider in front of me and did not look at the hill or what was to come. And I concentrated on my cadence, counting pedal strokes, thinking of nothing else. It worked. Now I know why.
Dr. Morgan, who has worked with hundreds of subelite marathon runners, said every one had a dissociation strategy. One wrote letters in his mind to everyone he knew. Another stared at his shadow. But, Dr. Morgan asked him, what if the sun is in front of you? Then, the man said, he focused on someone else’s shadow. But what if the sun goes behind a cloud, Dr. Morgan asked?
“Then it’s tough,” the runner conceded.
Dissociation clearly works, Dr. Morgan said, but athletes who use it also take a chance on serious injury if they trick themselves into ignoring excruciating pain. There is, of course, a fine line between too much pain and too little for maximum performance.
“The old adage, no pain no gain comes into play here,” Dr. Morgan said. “In point of fact, maximum performance is associated with pain.”
The brain affects everyday training as well, researchers note.
Imagine you are out running on a wet, windy, cold Sunday morning, said Dr. Timothy Noakes, an exercise physiologist at the University of Cape Town. “The conscious brain says, ‘You know that coffee shop on the corner. That’s where you really should be.’” And suddenly, you feel tired, it’s time to stop.
“There is some fatigue in muscle, I’m not suggesting muscles don’t get fatigued,” Dr. Noakes said. “I’m suggesting that the brain can make the muscles work harder if it wanted to.”
Part of a winning strategy is to avoid giving in to lowered expectations, athletes and researchers say. One friend tells me that toward the end of a marathon he tries not to look at people collapsed or limping at the side of the road. If he does, he suddenly realizes how tired he is and just gives up.
Marian Westley, a 35-year-old oceanographer in Princeton, N.J., and another running friend of mine, used several mental strategies in the recent Philadelphia marathon.
She slowed herself down at the start by telling herself repeatedly that she was storing energy in the bank. And when she tired near the race’s finish, she concentrated on pumping her arms. “I thought about letting my arms run the race for me, taking the pressure off my legs.”
She finished in three hours and 43 minutes, meeting her goal of qualifying for the Boston Marathon. “I am over the moon!” she wrote in an e-mail message the day after the race.
posted @ 12/7/2007 5:59:25 AM
(0) CommentsThursday, December 06, 2007
New Zealand's Rotorua Half Ironman
I HAVE to do this race. It's held in December every year. So, I know, no 2008, but maybe 2009?? Although I was planning to do an Ironman in 2009... maybe I'll do IMWA in 09 then just hang out in AUS/NZ for the rest of the year...
http://admin.eventdirector.net/resources/BND2/SITES/487/default.asp?PageID=8707you won't believe how cool this race sounds.
posted @ 12/6/2007 6:08:38 AM
(0) CommentsWednesday, December 05, 2007
So I Signed Up for a 5k
So I Signed Up for a 5k for Saturday. Last year, on the same course I went... hold on to your knickers.. a super duper fast time of 35:23. No, I'm not kidding.... but I was about 30 lbs heavier...
(note picture)
(or better yet)
hahahahahaha. Yeah.
Well, since IMFL I have ran... twice.. for a combination of... about 3 miles. ::Mehh:: Should be interesting. Maybe I'll go 1 min faster per mile for every 5 lbs lost. That sounds like a decent equation...
Christmas Story #2
The Little Match Girl by Hans Christen Anderson
It was terribly cold and nearly dark on the last evening of the old year, and the snow was falling fast. In the cold and darkness, a poor little girl with bare head and naked feet, roamed thru the streets. It is true she had on a pair of slippers when she left home, but they were not of much use. They were very large, so large, indeed, for they had belonged to her Mother and the poor little girl had lost them in running across the street to avoid two carriages that were rolling at a terrible rate. One of the slippers she could not find, and a boy seized the other and ran away with it saying he could use it as a cradle when he had children of his own.
So the little girl went on with her little naked feet, which were quite red and blue with the cold. In an old apron she carried a number of matches, and had a bundle of them in her hands. No one had bought anything of her the whole day, nor had anyone given her even a penny. Shivering with cold and hunger, she crept along, looking like the picture of misery. The snowflakes fell on her fair hair, which hung in curls on her shoulders, but she regarded them not.Lights were shining from every window, and there was a savory smell of roast goose, for it was New-year's eve yes, she remembered that. In a corner, between two houses one of which projected beyond the other, she sank down and huddled herself together. She had drawn her little feet under her, but could not keep off the cold. And she dared not go home, for she had sold no matches. Her father would certainly beat her; besides, it was almost as cold at home as here, for they had only the roof to cover them. Her little hands were almost frozen with the cold. Ah! perhaps a burning match might be some good, if she could draw it from the bundle and strike it against the wall, just to warm her fingers. She drew one out-``scratch!'' how it sputtered as it burnt. It gave a warm, bright light, like a little candle, as she held her hand over it. It was really a wonderful light. It seemed as though she was sitting by a large iron stove. How the fire burned! And seemed so beautifully warm that the child stretched out her feet as if to warm them, when, lo! the flame of the match went out! the stove vanished, and she had only the remains of the half-burnt match in her hand. She rubbed another match on the wall. It burst into a flame, and where its light fell upon the wall it became as transparent as a veil, and she could see into the room. The table was covered with a snowy white table cloth on which stood a splendid dinner service and a steaming roast goose stuffed with apples and dried plums. And what was still more wonderful, the goose jumped down from the dish and waddled across the floor, with a knife and fork in it's to the little girl. Then the match went out, and there remained nothing but the thick, damp, cold wall before her. She lighted another match, and then she found herself sitting under a beautiful Christmas tree. It was larger and more beautifully decorated than the one she had seen thru the rich merchant's glass door. Thousands of tapers were burning upon the green branches, and colored pictures, like those she had seen in the show-windows, looked down upon it all. The little one stretched out her hand towards them, and the match went out. The Christmas lights rose higher and higher till they looked to her like the stars in the sky. Then she saw a star fall, leaving behind it it a bright streak of fire. "Some one is dying," thought the little girl, for her old grandmother, the only one who had ever loved her, and who was now in Heaven had told her that when a star falls, a soul was going up to God.She again rubbed a match on the wall, and the light shone round her; in the brightness stood her old grandmother, clear and shining, yet mild and loving in her appearance. "Grandmother," cried the little one, "O take me with you; I know you will go away when the match burns out; you will vanish like the warm stove, the roast goose, and the large glorious Christmas-tree." And she made haste to light the whole bundle of matches, for she wished to keep her grandmother there. And the matches glowed with a light that was brighter than the noon-day. and her grandmother had never appeared so large or so beautiful. She took the little girl in her arms, and they both flew upwards in brightness and joy far above the earth, where there was neither cold nor hunger nor pain, for they were with God. In the dawn of morning there lay the poor little one, with pale cheeks and smiling mouth, leaning against the wall. She had been frozen on the last evening of the year; and the New-year's sun rose and shone upon a little child. The child still sat, holding the matches in her hand, one bundle of which was burnt. "She tried to warm herself," said some. No one imagined what beautiful things she had seen, nor into what glory she had entered with her grandmother, on New-year's day.
posted @ 12/5/2007 12:38:51 PM
(0) CommentsTuesday, December 04, 2007
Sit A Bit, While I Spin You a Christmas Tale...
Remember your favorite Christmas stories? It's 3 weeks until Christmas and I thought it would be nice to re-hatch some of those. Every few days until Christmas I'll post a story that I enjoy. Hopefully, you will too.
The Fir Tree by Hans Christian Andersen
Out in the woods stood a nice little Fir-tree. The place he had was a very good one; the sun shone on him; as to fresh air, there was enough of that, and round him grew many large-sized comrades, pines as well as firs. But the little Fir wanted so very much to be a grown-up tree.
He did not think of the warm sun and of the fresh air; he did not care for the little cottage children that ran about and prattled when they were in the woods looking for wild strawberries. The children often came with a whole pitcher full of berries, or a long row of them threaded on a straw, and sat down near the young tree and said, "Oh, how pretty he is! what a nice little fir!" But this was what the Tree could not bear to hear.
At the end of a year he had shot up a good deal, and after another year he was another long bit taller; for with fir-trees one can always tell by the shoots how many years old they are.
"Oh, were I but such a high tree as the others are!" sighed he. "Then I should be able to spread out my branches, and with the tops to look into the wide world! Then would the birds build nests among my branches; and when there was a breeze, I could bend with as much stateliness as the others!"
Neither the sunbeams, nor the birds, nor the red clouds, which morning and evening sailed above them, gave the little Tree any pleasure.
In winter, when the snow lay glittering on the ground, a hare would often come leaping along, and jump right over the little Tree. Oh, that made him so angry! But two winters were past, and in the third the tree was so large that the hare was obliged to go round it. "To grow and grow, to get older and be tall," thought the Tree--"that, after all, is the most delightful thing in the world!"
In autumn the wood-cutters always came and felled some of the largest trees. This happened every year; and the young Fir-tree, that had now grown to a very comely size, trembled at the sight; for the magnificent great trees fell to the earth with noise and cracking, the branches were lopped off, and the trees looked long and bare; they were hardly to be recognized; and then they were laid in carts, and the horses dragged them out of the woods.
Where did they go to? What became of them?
In spring, when the Swallows and the Storks came, the Tree asked them, "Don't you know where they have been taken? Have you not met them anywhere?"
The Swallows did not know anything about it; but the Stork looked musing, nodded his head, and said: "Yes, I think I know; I met many ships as I was flying hither from Egypt; on the ships were magnificent masts, and I venture to assert that it was they that smelt so of fir. I may congratulate you, for they lifted themselves on high most majestically!"
"Oh, were I but old enough to fly across the sea! But how does the sea look in reality? What is it like?"
"That would take a long time to explain," said the Stork, and with these words off he went.
"Rejoice in thy growth!" said the Sunbeams, "rejoice in thy vigorous growth, and in the fresh life that moveth within thee!"
And the Wind kissed the Tree, and the Dew wept tears over him; but the Fir understood it not.
When Christmas came, quite young trees were cut down; trees which often were not even as large or of the same age as this Fir-tree, who could never rest, but always wanted to be off. These young trees, and they were always the finest looking, retained their branches; they were laid on carts, and the horses drew them out of the woods.
"Where are they going to?" asked the Fir. "They are not taller than I; there was one indeed that was considerably shorter; and why do they retain all their branches? Whither are they taken?"
"We know! we know!" chirped the Sparrows. "We have peeped in at the windows in the town below! We know whither they are taken! The greatest splendour and the greatest magnificence one can imagine await them. We peeped through the windows, and saw them planted in the middle of the warm room, and ornamented with the most splendid things--with gilded apples, with gingerbread, with toys, and many hundred lights!"
"And then?" asked the Fir-tree, trembling in every bough. "And then? What happens then?"
"We did not see anything more: it was incomparably beautiful."
"I would fain know if I am destined for so glorious a career," cried the Tree, rejoicing. "That is still better than to cross the sea! What a longing do I suffer! Were Christmas but come! I am now tall, and my branches spread like the others that were carried off last year! Oh, were I but already on the cart. Were I in the warm room with all the splendour and magnificence! Yes; then something better, something still grander, will surely follow, or wherefore should they thus ornament me? Something better, something still grander, MUST follow--but what? Oh, how I long, how I suffer! I do not know myself what is the matter with me!"
"Rejoice in our presence!" said the Air and the Sunlight; "rejoice in thy own fresh youth!"
But the Tree did not rejoice at all; he grew and grew, and was green both winter and summer. People that saw him said, "What a fine tree!" and toward Christmas he was one of the first that was cut down. The axe struck deep into the very pith; the tree fell to the earth with a sigh: he felt a pang--it was like a swoon; he could not think of happiness, for he was sorrowful at being separated from his home, from the place where he had sprung up. He knew well that he should never see his dear old comrades, the little bushes and flowers around him, any more; perhaps not even the birds! The departure was not at all agreeable.
The Tree only came to himself when he was unloaded in a courtyard with the other trees, and heard a man say, "That one is splendid! we don't want the others." Then two servants came in rich livery and carried the Fir-tree into a large and splendid drawing-room. Portraits were hanging on the walls, and near the white porcelain stove stood two large Chinese vases with lions on the covers. There, too, were large easy chairs, silken sofas, large tables full of picture-books, and full of toys worth hundreds and hundreds of crowns--at least the children said so. And the Fir-tree was stuck upright in a cask that was filled with sand: but no one could see that it was a cask, for green cloth was hung all around it, and it stood on a large gayly coloured carpet. Oh, how the Tree quivered! What was to happen? The servants, as well as the young ladies, decorated it. On one branch there hung little nets cut out of coloured paper, and each net was filled with sugar-plums; and among the other boughs gilded apples and walnuts were suspended, looking as though they had grown there, and little blue and white tapers were placed among the leaves. Dolls that looked for all the world like men--the Tree had never beheld such before--were seen among the foliage, and at the very top a large star of gold tinsel was fixed. It was really splendid--beyond description splendid.
"This evening!" said they all; "how it will shine this evening!"
"Oh," thought the Tree, "if the evening were but come! If the tapers were but lighted! And then I wonder what will happen! Perhaps the other trees from the forest will come to look at me! Perhaps the sparrows will beat against the window-panes! I wonder if I shall take root here, and winter and summer stand covered with ornaments!"
He knew very much about the matter! but he was so impatient that for sheer longing he got a pain in his back, and this with trees is the same thing as a headache with us.
The candles were now lighted. What brightness! What splendour! The Tree trembled so in every bough that one of the tapers set fire to the foliage. It blazed up splendidly.
"Help! Help!" cried the young ladies, and they quickly put out the fire.
Now the Tree did not even dare tremble. What a state he was in! He was so uneasy lest he should lose something of his splendour, that he was quite bewildered amidst the glare and brightness; when suddenly both folding-doors opened, and a troop of children rushed in as if they would upset the Tree. The older persons followed quietly; the little ones stood quite still. But it was only for a moment; then they shouted so that the whole place reechoed with their rejoicing; they danced round the tree, and one present after the other was pulled off.
"What are they about?" thought the Tree. "What is to happen now?" And the lights burned down to the very branches, and as they burned down they were put out, one after the other, and then the children had permission to plunder the tree. So they fell upon it with such violence that all its branches cracked; if it had not been fixed firmly in the cask, it would certainly have tumbled down.
The children danced about with their beautiful playthings: no one looked at the Tree except the old nurse, who peeped between the branches; but it was only to see if there was a fig or an apple left that had been forgotten.
"A story! a story!" cried the children, drawing a little fat man toward the tree. He seated himself under it, and said: "Now we are in the shade, and the Tree can listen, too. But I shall tell only one story. Now which will you have: that about Ivedy-Avedy, or about Klumpy-Dumpy who tumbled downstairs, and yet after all came to the throne and married the princess?"
"Ivedy-Avedy!" cried some; "Klumpy-Dumpy" cried the others. There was such a bawling and screaming--the Fir-tree alone was silent, and he thought to himself, "Am I not to bawl with the rest?--am I to do nothing whatever?" for he was one of the company, and had done what he had to do.
And the man told about Klumpy-Dumpy that tumbled down, who notwithstanding came to the throne, and at last married the princess. And the children clapped their hands, and cried out, "Oh, go on! Do go on!" They wanted to hear about Ivedy-Avedy, too, but the little man only told them about Klumpy-Dumpy. The Fir-tree stood quite still and absorbed in thought; the birds in the woods had never related the like of this. "Klumpy-Dumpy fell downstairs, and yet he married the princess! Yes! Yes! that's the way of the world!" thought the Fir-tree, and believed it all, because the man who told the story was so good-looking. "Well, well! who knows, perhaps I may fall downstairs, too, and get a princess as wife!" And he looked forward with joy to the morrow, when he hoped to be decked out again with lights, playthings, fruits, and tinsel.
"I won't tremble to-morrow," thought the Fir-tree. "I will enjoy to the full all my splendour. To-morrow I shall hear again the story of Klumpy-Dumpy, and perhaps that of Ivedy-Avedy, too." And the whole night the Tree stood still and in deep thought.
In the morning the servant and the housemaid came in.
"Now, then, the splendour will begin again," thought the Fir. But they dragged him out of the room, and up the stairs into the loft; and here in a dark corner, where no daylight could enter, they left him. "What's the meaning of this?" thought the Tree. "What am I to do here? What shall I hear now, I wonder?" And he leaned against the wall, lost in reverie. Time enough had he, too, for his reflections; for days and nights passed on, and nobody came up; and when at last somebody did come, it was only to put some great trunks in a corner out of the way. There stood the Tree quite hidden; it seemed as if he had been entirely forgotten.
"'Tis now winter out of doors!" thought the Tree. "The earth is hard and covered with snow; men cannot plant me now, and therefore I have been put up here under shelter till the springtime comes! How thoughtful that is! How kind man is, after all! If it only were not so dark here, and so terribly lonely! Not even a hare. And out in thewoods it was so pleasant, when the snow was on the ground, and the hare leaped by; yes--even when he jumped over me; but I did not like it then. It is really terribly lonely here!"
"Squeak! squeak!" said a little Mouse at the same moment, peeping out of his hole. And then another little one came. They sniffed about the Fir-tree, and rustled among the branches.
"It is dreadfully cold," said the Mouse. "But for that, it would be delightful here, old Fir, wouldn't it?"
"I am by no means old," said the Fir-tree. "There's many a one considerably older than I am."
"Where do you come from," asked the Mice; "and what can you do?" They were so extremely curious. "Tell us about the most beautiful spot on the earth. Have you never been there? Were you never in the larder, where cheeses lie on the shelves, and hams hang from above; where one dances about on tallow-candles; that place where one enters lean, and comes out again fat and portly?"
"I know no such place," said the Tree, "but I know the woods, where the sun shines, and where the little birds sing." And then he told all about his youth; and the little Mice had never heard the like before; and they listened and said:
"Well, to be sure! How much you have seen! How happy you must have been!"
"I?" said the Fir-tree, thinking over what he had himself related. "Yes, in reality those were happy times." And then he told about Christmas Eve, when he was decked out with cakes and candles.
"Oh," said the little Mice, "how fortunate you have been, old Fir-tree!"
"I am by no means old," said he. "I came from the woods this winter; I am in my prime, and am only rather short for my age."
"What delightful stories you know!" said the Mice: and the next night they came with four other little Mice, who were to hear what the tree recounted; and the more he related, the more plainly he remembered all himself; and it appeared as if those times had really been happy times. "But they may still come--they may still come. Klumpy-Dumpy fell downstairs and yet he got a princess," and he thought at the moment of a nice little Birch-tree growing out in the woods; to the Fir, that would be a real charming princess.
"Who is Klumpy-Dumpy?" asked the Mice. So then the Fir-tree told the whole fairy tale, for he could remember every single word of it; and the little Mice jumped for joy up to the very top of the Tree. Next night two more Mice came, and on Sunday two Rats, even; but they said the stories were not interesting, which vexed the little Mice; and they, too, now began to think them not so very amusing either.
"Do you know only one story?" asked the Rats.
"Only that one," answered the Tree. "I heard it on my happiest evening; but I did not then know how happy I was."
"It is a very stupid story. Don't you know one about bacon and tallow candles? Can't you tell any larder stories?"
"No," said the Tree.
"Then good-bye," said the Rats; and they went home.
At last the little Mice stayed away also; and the Tree sighed: "After all, it was very pleasant when the sleek little Mice sat around me and listened to what I told them. Now that too is over. But I will take good care to enjoy myself when I am brought out again."
But when was that to be? Why, one morning there came a quantity of people and set to work in the loft. The trunks were moved, the Tree was pulled out and thrown--rather hard, it is true--down on the floor, but a man drew him toward the stairs, where the daylight shone.
"Now a merry life will begin again," thought the Tree. He felt the fresh air, the first sunbeam--and now he was out in the courtyard. All passed so quickly, there was so much going on around him, that the Tree quite forgot to look to himself. The court adjoined a garden, and all was in flower; the roses hung so fresh and odorous over the balustrade, the lindens were in blossom, the Swallows flew by, and said, "Quirre-vit! my husband is come!" but it was not the Fir-tree that they meant.
"Now, then, I shall really enjoy life," said he, exultingly, and spread out his branches; but, alas! they were all withered and yellow. It was in a corner that he lay, among weeds and nettles. The golden star of tinsel was still on the top of the Tree, and glittered in the sunshine.
In the courtyard some of the merry children were playing who had danced at Christmas round the Fir-tree, and were so glad at the sight of him. One of the youngest ran and tore off the golden star.
"Only look what is still on the ugly old Christmas tree!" said he, trampling on the branches, so that they all cracked beneath his feet. And the Tree beheld all the beauty of the flowers, and the freshness in the garden; he beheld himself, and wished he had remained in his dark corner in the loft; he thought of his first youth in the woods, of the merry Christmas Eve, and of the little Mice who had listened with so much pleasure to the story of Klumpy-Dumpy.
"'Tis over--'tis past!" said the poor Tree. "Had I but rejoiced when I had reason to do so! But now 'tis past, 'tis past!"
And the gardener's boy chopped the Tree into small pieces; there was a whole heap lying there. The wood flamed up splendidly under the large brewing copper, and it sighed so deeply! Each sigh was like a shot.
The boys played about in the court, and the youngest wore the gold star on his breast which the Tree had had on the happiest evening of his life. However, that was over now--the Tree gone, the story at an end. All, all was over; every tale must end at last.
posted @ 12/4/2007 12:30:06 PM
(0) CommentsMonday, December 03, 2007
365 Days of Respect
Over a year of cumulated thoughts...
It’s exactly 30 days since IronMan. Julie and I were reflecting a bit on our past year and I decided I’d post some of my thoughts:
Number one rule: RESPECT THE DISTANCE 110%. You can’t wing this shit.
If you aren’t going to commit your ENTIRE being to the training and the sacrifices, DO NOT sign up. Since you must sign up for all M-Dot events a year in advance, this means you truly will need to be focused for 365 days.
Train to train. You train to race and will race the way you train. … You need to be preparing yourself physically with base miles and mentally by getting your mind focused on the training to come- this was huge to me about 20 weeks from the race until the morning of. If you train like crap, you’re gonna race like crap. If you don’t even train, then don’t expect to finish.
It’s all about forward motion. I don’t mean in the IM alone. You have to keep moving in the training, in the preparation of each workout, move forward on tightening that nutrition, and in life in general.
You will make some of the biggest sacrifices you can ever imagine. If you can’t imagine giving up Grey’s on Thursday nights for spin class, dinner with family you haven’t seen in a year for a 2.5 hr run after work in 90 degree heat (as your second workout of the day)- if you can’t imagine telling your co-workers you can’t go to happy hr because you have a 5:00am open water swim in the dark, or just plain telling your friends “see you after (insert date of race here)” you are not going to be ready to make the sacrifices.
Will your loved ones be understanding about your sacrifices? Triathletes, especially ultra distance racers, are the most self centered A-Type people I have ever met. Case and point, have you ever met ME? Will those you love- spouses, children, friends- be ok with letting you go for a year? From about 8 months until the race, Eric and I started seeing each other significantly less- I was always training. The last 18 weeks he may as well have been sleeping next to a stranger. I only saw him when I was finishing his dinner- usually a different dinner than what I ate because of my nutritional needs. I’d be asleep before he even got into the shower and be off on my workout hours before he’d wake up. He stuck beside me, encouraging along the way. But, be ready for fights. “When will you be done?” “Can’t you just skip tonight?” “Why can’t we eat that?” They don’t mean it, but like above, you’re someone new to them. ESPECIALLY if you’re the one in charge of the cooking and cleaning. When the floors aren’t swept as often, and there’s recovery drinks sitting on the coffee table in the morning, your spouse will get frustrated. You have to try extra hard to be accommodating. Don’t think they’re not bending. They’ll bend so much for you they’ll almost break. No one knows this better than an IronSpouse (Right, Dan & Eric?).
You will literally have put in BUCKETS of blood, sweat, and tears. I cried so much on one particular 20 mile run that I eventually stopped being able to cry and just had crusted salt deposits on my face. I tore open my feet countless times- I’m still missing toenails- I shredded my knees, hips, and a pair of bike shorts in separate incidents.
Over confidence will get you to the medical tent/ chip return before the finish line. Don’t be cocky. Gain real confidence by the work you put in. Then trust it and be proud of it.
You’re not going to remember the muscle aches, or what your shoulders felt like after 22 x 200 yard swims on the 3:10. You’ll remember having to clean tears out of your goggles. Then you’ll remember smiling, albeit still crying, while sitting on the bench in the locker room.
It doesn’t matter when your race is. You’ll train in the cold, the heat, sleet, snow, and rain. Don’t forget the wind. Never ever forget the wind.
Death before DNF. Barring a medical emergency, you should finish. Think about all those around you during the race, and even training sessions, that are having to tough it out just like you. Bring your mental A game.
If you did all the training you know you needed to do, you will be on you’re A game. You will have earned the right to toe the line. By virtue of paying your money you don’t get the right to start. Sure, no one will say “Let me see your training log so we can decide if you’re allowed to race,” but really, you should be doing that to yourself.
“You know, it almost makes me cry now thinking about all the shit I/we went through to get to the finish line. Like having my cassette fall apart in the middle of nowhere and having to figure out how to put it back together on the fly because I was by myself and had no cell phone coverage. Or running 14 miles in a freaking monsoon with my feet being rubbed raw for the last 4 miles. But, that’s just what you do. You know you have to get the miles in, so you do it regardless of whether or not you want to, or how hot/cold it is, or whether or not it’s raining, or whether or not you’re tired. You just do it because it has to be done if you want to reach your goal.” –julie h.
Every second of training, each time the alarm went off before 5am, every packet of Gu, gallon of Gatorade, blister, sore muscle, swollen joint, every “runner’s stomach” issue, every bloody tennis shoe, every missed dinner, happy hour, and party will have a reason-
Your reason is to run down the finisher’s chute and high-five your dad, hear him yell “I’m proud of you”- and collapse in your fiancé’s arms.
If you have made this similar scene, or know you will, then you made the dedication, and the sacrifice. You respect the distance.
110%
Courtney Crutcher:
Julie Hurley:
posted @ 12/3/2007 2:14:38 PM
(0) CommentsMonday, December 03, 2007
I'm a Rockstar! Ok, not quite...
Crazy night Friday night at the Beaumont Club. Thank you Cowboy Kenny for the tickets and getting us backstage. Big thanks to Rocky, Bucky Covington, et al for the major "southern rock tour bus style" hospitality.
We all had a great time. Better pictures to be posted later.
-- Eric and I
-- Alyson, Bucky, Courtney (me)
posted @ 12/3/2007 10:20:11 AM
(0) Comments
