Director's Dare

Ah Reckon That Horse Oughtta Be 'Bout 30 Hand High

2007-05-24T20:27:00.000-06:00

You know, height is a funny thing. It's really a matter of perception. For example, I'm six feet tall, exactly. I don't care that the chart on the doctor's wall during my last physical said 5 feet 11 and 1/2 inches. I'm six feet tall, and if you don't believe me, I'll show you my drivers license because it's right there in bold, black type right next to the BLD that describes my hair color;-).

When I was on one of those two-year, church-sponsored vacations to Brazil, I had a companion who was about 5 foot 3, and when we were together I was the tall elder and he was the short elder to the local members of the congregation. After Elder Samuel was transferred to a new area and Elder Montgomery with his 6 foot 8 frame replaced him, I suddenly became to the short one.

I've noticed that when you're on the ground looking up at the bridge, it's nowhere near as high as it is when you're on the top, watching the water flow beneath your feet and those with you are yelling and making sounds that fat, flightless birds make just before the Colonel gets them, while silent tears of terror run down your cheeks as you stand there shivering while you contemplate whether or not you should jump just because your friends did.

Most people I am acquainted with know that I've always participated in a sporting event at the Utah Summer Games every year since I became the director. Knowing this, it's not unusual that they might ask me what my sport is this year. So I tell them, "I'm Pole Vaulting this year."

After tears of mirth are wiped away and cramped abdominal muscles are relaxed, the very first question that follows is "So, how high can you go, about 20 ... 25 feet?" Of course it's said like that should obviously be a beginner's height and anything less than that must be just embarrassing.

Well, for those uninitiated in the world of Pole Vaulting, the current WORLD record for males, held by the indefatigable Sergei Bubka of the Ukrain is 6.14 meters. That translates to a mere 20.14 feet in American. The female world record, currently held by Yelena Isinbayeva of Russia, is 16.44 feet.

So no, I am not getting over 25 feet. I'm not getting over half of that. In fact, I'm not getting over ...

Well, anyway you get the idea.

It's all just a matter of perception anyway.

Want to know how high I'm really getting? Come and see on Friday, June 22, at the Utah Summer Games Track and Field meet.

Early "Poles" Show the Candidate Slightly Behind in Red States

2007-03-20T08:49:00.000-06:00

It's probably like most things. You know, the things you see people do, like on television, during the Olympics. You know that these people are world-class athletes. You know that they've spent countless hours in the gym or on the field, practicing. You know that they have coaches and videos and trainers helping them to get the most out of their bodies, helping them excel on a world stage. You know all that. And yet they make it look so easy, that even knowing all that, you still think to yourself that, while you certainly won't look as good as they do, and you definitely won't be able to do it as far or as fast or as high as them, you could do what they are doing. Sure, on a much smaller scale, but you could still do it. After all, you're in basically pretty good shape. You can't fit into the pants you wore in high school, but then neither can they... probably. You're 33 year old knees aren't exactly the same as they were at 17, but then what is?

Back at the end of January, you voted on the sport in which I would participate this year at the Utah Summer Games. There were a number of options, and out of all of them, Pole Vaulting was chosen. Now, I've seen pole-vaulters work their magic before. Like on television, during the Olympics. I even saw it up close and personal when I volunteered at an SUU Track & Field invitational last year. That's as close as I'd ever gotten to a pole, much less actually tried to engage in the activity. But your wish is my command. You wanted to see Pole Vaulting, so I am determined that you will see Pole Vaulting in some form at least.

It looks so effortless when they do it. And yeah, I know it's like most things; harder that it looks. But could it really be that much harder than it looks? I mean, I've used a shovel before to launch myself over a creek or a crick, depending on which side of the stream you come from. How much harder could it be that that? I'm not totally naive, sure it's harder, but it couldn't be that much harder could it?

Well, I'm here to tell you that yes, it actually is much harder than it looks. In fact, it's much, much harder than it looks. Pole Vaulting is a much more technical sport than I had imagined. You have to have your arms positioned just right aligning them with the rest of your body, so you'll ride the pole in a straight line rather than careen off to the side, which can only end in disaster. You have to have enough speed to propel yourself up 16 feet of pole and then fling your body over a bar while you turn around and push the said pole back the direction you just came so it doesn't knock the bar off. It's really quite a feat.

I've been practicing with the Southern Utah University Track and Field Team, and they have all been very encouraging, which is exactly what I need: encouragement.

Let me know if you have any experiences of being overwhelmed you'd like to share...

Survey Says

2007-01-26T07:55:00.000-07:00

For the past three years, I've participated right beside you in the Utah Summer Games. Each year I've done an event that I've never participated in before. While it's been challenging at times, the 2004 Triathlon for example, it's always been extremely rewarding.

This year, I put my fate in your hands. Your vote determined the event I will participate in.

Check out the graph below to see how the vote ended up, and then check back to see how my training progress is going.

Diver Down

2006-06-09T07:54:00.000-06:00

I'll admit it. I'm a little scared. Any one would be if they were truly honest with themselves. Oh sure, you'll hear people, especially men, but women who see them selves "assertive" also, full of bravado, denying it. But underneath, you know it isn't true. Anyone would be frightened.

Tomorrow I will dive for the first time in my live in a competitive meet. I've been off the diving board before. In fact, I've been known to hit the board at least once at pretty much every swimming pool we visit. I am not a diver, but there's something dangerous even exhilarating about standing on a somewhat narrow plank of fiberglass, staring gravity right in the face and not backing down.

Of course I had high hopes this year of really getting some training in for my chosen sport. I started off right away by recruiting a coach. To protect his reputation, I'll call him John. John was a diver in high school and has some experience at this kind of thing. We met a few times and his advice was truly very helpful. Of course my dives are not very difficult on the degree of difficulty tables (or DD tables as they are apparently called in the diving world). In fact they are very basic. Even so, I'm not very good at any of them.

As usual, as the event drew closer my time to train evaporated. Then, about two weeks before the meet, I went to the SUU pool like usual, and you guessed it, no water. Time for the semi-annual repairs that always seem to fall on the years I have picked water based sport. I was tempted to train any way, but thought better of it. Of course the lack of water threw off my groove and by the time the pool was operational again, time to practice was pretty much nonexistent. I did squeeze one more practice in one early morning, but probably nothing to really make a difference in my scores on "game day."

I've picked six dives from the one meter spring board. I'm not even sure of the official names of the dives, even though Janet Christensen, the Diving Coordinator tried to teach them to me as we filled out my "dive sheet" today, but I can't remember them. My list basically amounts to a forward pike, an inward pike, a back flip, a forward one and a half in pike position, a back dive that I really can't do, and a thing that I've always called a Gainer, with is basically a back flip facing forward.

So yeah, I'm a little scared. Oh, I'm not really worried about winning. I'm pretty much assured it's not in the cards for me this year to walk away with the gold this year. I'm not really even worried hurting myself, the dives are pretty elementary. Making a fool of myself with my lack of dicing prowess? Well that's pretty much a given.

So what is it that has my heart rushing even now as I sit here typing. What has my hands trembling and my breathing rapid and shallow? What is it that I'm scared about?

Two words.

Spee and do.

This is going to be interesting.

Might As Well Jump!

2005-05-31T07:53:00.000-06:00

When I was a kid, I lived on the trampoline.

I have a very vivid memory of going to what I thought was a "trampoline store" in Nephi, Utah and bouncing on that huge back disk surrounded by a ring of blue. Laughing, bouncing, falling and laughing more.

Later, I remember spending time with my dad, after our family had moved to Ashton, Idaho, as he held on to my belt loop and thrust my feet over my head as I learned to do a back flip.

Together: One... (bounce) Two... (bounce)

Me: Wait, wait, wait. Do you mean one, two three and THEN go? Or do you mean one, two, and then go on three?

Dad: One, two and then go on three.

After I had mastered the procedure I remember spending many afternoons teaching my younger sisters the techniques of flying over backward and avoiding the almost inevitable crash directly onto the head.

Together: (bounce) Two... (bounce)

Leesa: Wait, wait, wait. Do you mean one, two three and THEN go? Or do you mean one, two, and then go on three.

Me: "Why are little sisters so dumb?"

I remember hot summer days and the thrill of putting the sprinkler under the 'tramp' for a cool down. I remember lying on my back under piles of blankets and sleeping bags, head propped up on a pillow, staring into the cold darkness of the night sky, trying to make pictures out of the tiny, shining points scattered on the nighttime tapestry. I remember waking up the next morning with my brothers and sisters all clumped together in the middle of the 'tramp,' and bounding out from under the covers to wake everyone up at the crack of dawn. Obviously, I was the favored sibling of my clan.

I remember playing 'Crack the Egg,' 'Dodge Ball' and a peculiar game we invented and called 'Mutate,' which consisted of a sing-song rhyme and rolling around with one's legs up over one's shoulders and trying to touch the other players while they avoided contact at all costs. These wonderful competitions were interrupted only by the occasional meal and long, slurping drinks from the green garden hose.

I remember 'karate' fights and wrestling matches. I remember the exhilaration of flying through the air from the roof of the house or a shed, bouncing even higher on the rebound and straining to not fly off onto the ground.

I remember using the sturdy, metal frame as a makeshift boxing ring where my younger brother and I, with two pairs of last year's winter gloves on each hand acted out Rocky I, II, III and IV, pummeling each other for fun - no fair hitting in the face.

I remember family reunions and picnics, hamburgers, hotdogs and green Jell-O salad and all varieties of punches, sodas and juices, eaten in the sun or eaten in the shade, but always eaten on the 'tramp.'

I remember shoveling four feet of Idaho-winter snow off the trampoline so we could jump in January. Then doing it again so we could jump in February. I remember making snow angels, launching myself far into the air and sinking into the fresh, clean, unmolested powder, waving my arms, but not my legs because I didn't make "girl" snow seraphim.

I also remember the excitement I felt when my small family and I bought our first home and after everything was signed, dotted and crossed, the very first purchase we made for the back yard was a trampoline.

I've always had a special place in my heart for the trampoline. About the only thing I haven't done on one is compete.

Now, keep in mind that most of my relationship with the trampoline ended when I was about 16 and deemed myself much too cool to jump any more. But, what the heck, Mr. Timothy McGraw once said, "A heart don't forget, something like that." Of course he was also known for walking around with a Bar-B-Q stained T-Shirt and being a really bad boy, but that's beside the point.

I contacted Charity Christiansen, Power Tumbling Coordinator and got the low-down on the Trampoline event. She sent me a routine to practice.

The other night I went out to the trampoline in the back yard. With a confident swagger I approached the apparatus that had been such a huge part of my formative years.

"This would be easy," thought I, as I grasped the cool metal frame and surveyed the black jumping area. It was much smaller that I remembered.

In one graceful movement, I swung both legs up and out to the side, catching my toes on the frame and tying myself in to a knot with the springs and weathered blue pad.

Exactly three minutes and 17 seconds later I was gasping for breath, my entire head was crimson and I was staggering on weakened legs trying to remain upright.

Not exactly how I had remembered it.

June 17 - 18 will be a blast!

All's Well That Finally Ends

2004-06-25T07:51:00.000-06:00

I knew I was in trouble right from the start. I could tell just by the equipment the others had. Early Saturday morning, before the digital clock in my room rearranged itself to 5:00 AM., I arose. I had borrowed a Camelback hydration system from my brother-in-law. It had been awhile since it had been used and the fungus cultures growing in the straw / tube were quite impressive in a B-movie-space-alien-taking-over-the-planet kind of way. Therefore I had soaked it in a chlorine solution all night. I jumped out of bed, and put the water pack through the rinse cycle in my sink. I grabbed a couple of Snickers bars from the refrigerator, kissed my sleeping wife goodbye and out the door I went.

I got to Sand Hollows Reservoir slightly before 6:00 AM and unloaded the award stand, which would be the last time I touched that platform until I loaded it back up into my truck to bring it back home.

Having never done a triathlon before, I was only slightly confused at the staging area. I wasn't sure if I just grabbed a spot on the bike racks or if there was a certain order that needed to be followed, but it didn't take me too long to figure it out. I was quite intimidated by the bicycles that lined the racks. There were bikes there that obviously cost nearly as much as my house. Next I made my way to the end of the check-in line where I chatted with a nice guy who had done 'hundreds of triathlons.' I tried not to gag on my heart as it leapt in to my throat when I heard that phrase. Just what had I gotten myself into?

Checked in, I made my way down the boat ramp where I intently listened to the Sprint Course instructions and breathed a tiny sigh of relief to hear that the Olympic Length would start second. As Chris Bowerbank, the event coordinator explained the Olympic Length race, I looked at the buoys that were set in the water for the Sprint course and, thinking that the Olympic course was two laps around these buoys, thought, "Hey, that's not too bad." Then my eyes were directed to the real course which turned the easy two lap triangle in to an unbelievably long diamond shaped course. People I talk to think I am exaggerating, but I kid you not when I say that the far buoy was barley visible. It was a tiny orange pin prick in the vast expanse of water. I nervously tired to swallow the lump in my throat. No good, the lump was staying put.

Before I know it, the gun was charged and the Sprint race was on.

It didn't take me very long to notice that I was the solitary person without a slick, skim-through-the-water-with-little-or-no-drag-wet-suit on. I felt truly out of place, a feeling that would only compound like interest in a tech fund in the late nineties as the race progressed. These people really looked like tri-athletes. They were here to actually race, whereas I was still clinging to my goal to just finish and beginning to wonder if that wasn't too much to ask for.

I self-consciously held back toward the rear of the pack and continued to try to banish the lump in my throat. Still no good. The lump had set up camp to stay.

The countdown to start began and finished and before I knew it, there was a squirming, swimming splash of humanity heading for the first buoy. Knowing it was too late to turn back, I joined the fray and kicked off from the shore which would be the last time I felt solid under my feet for quite awhile.

I didn't take me long to fall behind the group and by the time I reached the first buoy, there were several that had reached that tiny orange spot so far away and began the swim back. There was nothing to do but continue. It also didn't take me long to realize that my fear of drowning was completely unfounded. Since it must have been obvious to everyone within a three mile radius I was not the strongest of swimmers, I soon had roughly half of all the boats and kayaks in the lake monitoring my progress asking if I was okay every few minutes. By the time I reached that far buoy, I had quite a following. As I rounded the great orange floating orb, which had grown considerably in size, I knew I had to put these boaters at ease.

"Where did everybody go?" I called out, "I thought this was the finish line." Hearty laughter all around.

By the time I finally reached the end of the swim, there was a knot of worried people, including my wife, Mindy, waiting on the boat dock.

"Am I still in the lead?" I called out as I stumbled, dripping and tired up the boat ramp.

Mindy helped me strap on my sandals asking if I was sure that I wanted to go on. I must have looked pretty bad. But I was as committed as the proverbial pig for breakfast and determined to finish no matter what. I thanked her for her concern and just for show jogged all the way up the ramp to my bike. I threw on my favorite Spiderman shirt, strapped on my mushroom shaped $19.95 Wal-Mart bicycle helmet, straddled the seat began pedaling. Over an hour later with the sun beating down on me and my legs feeling like they were made of Concord grape jelly, I began to wonder my wisdom in this determination.

During the bike part of the race it was again brought to my attention that I was not as well equipped as my contemporaries. I hadn't gone very far when all of a sudden I was passed by Kaye Nelson a 72 year young dynamo from Hurricane. We were going down hill and I was still pedaling, trying to take advantage of the grade when he came coasting by me. I had borrowed my friend's mountain bike, and it was a nice mountain bike too, but it was no road bike. Of course I was oblivious to the difference, but it didn't take very long to realize that there was one.

What seemed like hours and hours later as I puffed into the staging area again, my wife was there again, offering encouragement and consolation. I slid into my high top basketball shoes and began what was to be the running leg of the race. Of course by this time, the winners of the race had long since finished. There were a few people still out on the course, but I passed most of them at the very beginning of my foot race and the very end of theirs.

As I staggered to the one-mile check station I panted to those handing out water to the runners, "Is this where you fall sobbing to your knees and confess all of your sins so the torment will stop?"

"No, that's two miles down the road."

"Thanks for the encouragement," came my dry response. No I mean I was really dry. My tongue was sticking to the top, bottom and sides of my mouth by this time. Thankfully the lump had descended from my throat, but it had long since been replaced by a needle sharp pain in my side.

On I went.

By the time I reached the turn around point, the temperature had increased dramatically. I knew it was hot when I noticed that the orange safety cones were starting to melt and ooze on the road.

When I lurched my way back once again to the start/finish line, I was greeted by my wife and my five-year-old son, Christian; the latter ran with me to the finish line which finally ended the torture, four hours, three minutes and 30 seconds after it began.

When I started to talk to people about how I was planning on doing the triathlon this year, without exception, everyone tried to talk me out of it or at last tried to encourage me to do the shorter distance. "You're going to be too busy," they said. "You won't be able to train once the Games start." Or, "Why don't you just do the Sprint distance."

Well, to all the nay sayers and doubters, I only have one thing to say: "Please accept my apologies for not taking your well intentioned, timely and sage advice. I was a fool."

Thanks for all the email, advice and suggestions you've sent me during this entire process.

I'd like to take this opportunity to officially announce my retirement from triathlon. But, look for me to be participating in something else next year at the Utah Summer Games.

'Twas the Night Before Triathlon

2004-06-18T07:50:00.000-06:00

'Twas the night before the Triathlon
And all through my head,
Danced visions of drowning and
How tomorrow I could be dead.

My swim trucks were folded
And ready to go.
My bike wheels were oiled
And ready to roll.

I had swam in the morning
I had ran in the night
I had tried to ride my bike so
It all would all end alright.

I lay in bed wondering, with just a little fear
For in a few short hours the moment of truth would be here.

Did I swim enough laps?
Did I run enough miles?
Had I biked enough hills
So I could finish with style?

Did pack enough sun screen
To protect my bald head?
If not would I end up
All blistered and red?

Would I get in my groove
And breathe to the side?
Would I hyperventilate?
And just take a dive?

Would my legs turn to rubber?
And my lungs start to burn?
Would my knees just give out
On the first or last turn?

Would I come in dead last
Or cross the line in a hearse?
Would I be the worst "Case"
Ever seen by a nurse?

Would there be a big crash
On the road with the bikes?
Would I cross the finish line
Behind all the small tykes?

Would there be this or that
That would happen to me?
And what about that whatever
That could cause injury?

As I lay there in bed
With my head on my arm
I realized it doesn't matter
Come whatever harm.

I'll just do my best,
For that's all I can do.
I'd swim, bike and run
Until I'm all through.

The great lesson I've learned
Is to shoot for the star
If you just try your hardest
Then you've already Raised the Bar.

Wind in the Willows

2004-05-19T07:49:00.000-06:00

Training for a triathlon is a seemingly never ending series of absolute highs and rock-bottom lows. I'm not talking about the regular ups and downs of living on this great rock hurtling through space, I mean real extremes. One minute you're at the bow of the largest ship ever built with your arms thrown wide, the salty breeze blowing through your perfect hair and a beautiful woman at your side while you scream "I'm king of the world," at the top of your lungs. Then suddenly, the next thing you know, you're turning blue, hanging onto a floating plank in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean with an icicle hanging off the tip of your nose and frost forming in your eyelashes.

Yesterday I woke up and decided that I was going to ride my bike at least 25 miles even if it killed me. When my alarm went off at 5:32 A.M., my first inclination was to hit the snooze button, which I did. But when the alarm sounded again at 5:42 A.M. and I groggily sat up in bed, I felt impressed that the wind was blowing outside. I really wanted to go back to bed, but I decided to stick it out. Today was my day after all.

I threw on some sweat pants, my long sleeve T-Shirt from the ROTC 5K, my helmet and sneaked outside so I wouldn't wake everyone. My first impression was correct. The wind was blowing. I hate the wind.

I jumped on my bike and headed north. My plan was to ride up Minersville Highway until Mile Marker 12, which I figured was about 15 miles from my house. Some quick math told me that if I rode 15 miles one way, turned around and came back, I'd have ridden… well at least 25 miles.

All the way out there I paid close attention to the terrain. The last thing I wanted that early in the morning was to get caught going up hill both ways. My brother has graciously allowed me to borrow his bike, which is a fair site better'n mine, and I was really zipping along. I made careful note of the fact that most of my journey was down hill, meaning I would have to climb my way back. I was okay with that. I really seemed to making good time.

By the time I reached that blessed location known as Mile Marker 12 I was feeling pretty good. Then I looked at my watch: 26:47. Hey, now that's a pretty respectable time. Not record breaking, but on track for finishing this Triathlon before the sun goes down on June 19 th .

I felt great. My hopes soared. I was Rocky Balboa in Rocky IV standing atop that Russian mountaintop with my arms raised, bellowing out my defiance to the challenger. I was Simba roaring in triumph atop Pride Rock as the rain starts to fall and the Savannah is born anew. It was awesome. I could do this thing.

"Now all I have to do is turn around," I thought, "and..."

BAM!

That's when it hit me: the wind. I was taken aback by its ferocity. What had been my helpful comrade only seconds before had now become my most bitter enemy. I mean this wind was BLOWING.

Well, there was nothing to do now but press forward. I ducked my head and started pedaling. After straining for what felt like a long, long time, I looked to my right and noticed to my shock and dismay that the trees were passing me . At his rate, I'd be in Milford in no time. Milford, by the way is only about 45 miles in the WRONG DIRECTION.

By the time I got home an hour and a half later, there was no need to shave; my face and head had been sandblasted to a gleaming shine. Needless to say, the previous exultation was lost to the moment.

See what I mean about highs and lows?

Let me know if you've ever felt the same.

This Lane For Left Turns Only

2004-05-07T07:48:00.000-06:00

I have a confession to make. I've never really been a bike rider during any of my adult years. The vast majority of my transportation has been on two feet or four wheels and much more on the latter than the former. I agree with the environmental aspect of cutting down the pollutants that are emitted form our four wheeled friends. Hey, I breathe air, drink water and hate to peer through a smoky haze as much as the next guy.

My quandary has always been time, or so I've told myself. "I would ride my bike except I'm in such a hurry," I tell myself. "Once I get done with the project, maybe then I'll ride my bike to work. It's just quicker to jump in the car, truck, van, or SUV."

We've all used these same excuses before. Being prone to choose the gas-propelled option over the self-propelled, I've never really paid much attention to the bike riders on the road. In fact, and here comes the real confession, the only time I really notice them is when they are riding in the road like a car.

I've always felt a little uncomfortable in my car when a cyclist is in line with the cars for a left-hand turn at a stop light. In fact, I've even been know to scream in my head at the top of that little voice that talks to you sometimes when no one else is around, "Hey! Don't you know you are in the middle of the road? That's why they make crosswalks. What are you thinking?"

Well, since I began training for this triathlon, I've spent more time pedaling and less time riding the gas pedal. In many ways, I feel like I've rediscovered my youth. When I was a kid, I rode my bike everywhere. I grew up in a small farming community where my best friend lived about 5 miles away, it was 3.5 miles to town and 4 miles to the swimming pool. I couldn't even begin to count how many times I made those treks on my BMX Huffy purchased from the local variety store.

I loved to ride my bike and pushed the boundaries of common sense like most pre-teen boys will. I set up jumps with 2 X 4s and old, rusted oil barrels. I fancied myself quite a stuntman and even dared to jump over my sister while she lay on the ground in frozen fear as my bike flew over her body. In the dead of the Idaho winter when the snow was deep and frozen solid, I rode my bike up and down the banks of the “ditch” long before BMX bikers ventured into skate parks and rode the half pipes. Biking was like flying. It was pure freedom.

Then somewhere between 16 and old, I lost that.

Well, in many ways I'm regaining that feeling. There's a certain thrill in speeding around a corner. I love to streak downhill with tears squeezing out of the corners of my eyes, bugs slamming into cheeks, chin and forehead and feel the wind whipping through my hair… well, you know what I mean.

Yesterday morning I was glorying in this new found empowerment, swishing down hills and leaning into turns, when I came to a red light. My first tendency was to pull over to the sidewalk, push the pedestrian crossing button and traverse the street in the cross walk. Then, "No," I thought. "I'm going to do it."

I used my hand to signal a lane change and confidently pulled behind a car in the left turn lane at the light. I tried not to notice the raised eyebrow that examined me from the rear view mirror. I forced myself not to flinch when a huge Ford F250 roared up behind me and hid the nervous licking of my lips when another car of college girls pulled up along my right side.

The only thing that drowned out the noise of the motorized cage in which I had placed myself, was a voice, silently screaming in the back of my head, "Hey! Don't you know you are in the middle of the road? That's why they make cross walks. What are you thinking?"

Then the light changed to green and I was off.

I appreciate all of your emails. Keep them coming.

When I Was a Kid

2004-04-27T07:47:00.000-06:00

Well, I believe that I have actually found it. People have heard of it for years and speculated as to whether or not it really even existed. I'm here to tell you, seeing is believing. Feeling with the senses is proof enough for me. It is true. I have found the path that my grandpa, and your grandpa, used to trek every day to school. You know the one that is uphill both ways? Many have scoffed at the old ones' tales, but I can tell you that I am a true believer because I have experienced it. All this time, I had been misled because I had been searching for it in a wintry climate. But that was just to throw us seekers off the trail. This unholy phenomenon actually exists right here in Southern Utah.

The road leading from Sand Hollows Reservoir and back again is indeed uphill both ways. I hadn't noticed before because I was driving, and everyone knows that vehicles naturally take the steepest terrain and cause it to appear flat. But get out of the car, traverse the very same road on foot or on a bike, and what once was as flat as the back of a Hershey Bar, suddenly springs to its true Everestian stature. (I don't think Everestian is a real word. My spell checker is underlining it in red, but you know what I mean right - as high as Everest? Why is it called Everest anyway? I don't think there's any one that rests during that climb.)

Saturday I went to Sand Hollows Reservoir again and decided to combine the three parts of the triathlon again. Only this time I was determined to elongate the lengths I swam, biked and ran. When I arrived at the Reservoir, I was greeted by Ranger Norm Forbush. He informed me that several of those training for the Saint George Triathlon had been there earlier that morning, getting ready for that great event. I was a little intimidated until I realized that I couldn't tell them apart from any of the other people who were just there to enjoy the beautiful day.

I splashed into the water, nary hesitating at the slightly higher than frigid temperature and started swimming. I still struggled a little with the open water, but was able to swim a pretty good distance. I have no real sense of distance measurement in the water, so I really don't know how far I swam, but I was in the water for about 35 minutes. It felt like a pretty good swim.

I had planned my water-to-bike transition much better this time. I had set aside some sandals that I slipped into right out of the water, strapped on my helmet and jumped on my bike. The further I pedaled the more I noticed that the road had a very distinct uphill feel to it.

"No problem," thought I. "The trip back will be a total cinch."

I rode about 8.5 miles, from Sand Hollows up around Quail Creek Reservoir. There I turned around, prepared for an easier ride back with a fair share of coasting down the hill I had just labored up. Keep in mind; I'm still using my 75 lb. Blue Light Special. I was really looking forward to the restful glide. After a few pedals - to my horror - I realized that not only was I not gliding, but I was once again laboring UP HILL. Unbelievable!

I thought briefly about calling the Discovery Channel to report my breakthrough, but decided against it, thinking they wouldn't believe me anyway.

Oh well. Keep the emails coming.

Lessons Learned

2004-04-13T07:45:00.000-06:00

I've been thinking that I needed to do it. It's been nagging at the back of my mind for awhile now. So yesterday at Sand Hollows Reservoir I just went ahead and did it. For the first time I combined all three parts of the triathlon. Awhile ago I rode my bike to the swimming pool, swam and rode it home, but this was the first time. I put it all together.

Let me clarify that I did not go the distance on any of the events. I was a very mini triathlon at best. If fact, you might even call it Tiny-Triathlon. But the important thing is that I actually combined the three events. In the process I learned a few things.

Lesson #1
Swimming in open water is absolutely nothing like swimming in a pool. The first thing is the temperature. It's a little early in the season and I know it will be much warmer in June, but the water was downright chilly. I had a hard time getting a breathing rhythm going because my breath was taken away by the temperature.

Waves become a big factor in open water swimming. The wind wasn't blowing hard by any means, but it was blowing a little and the water was definitely choppier than it is in the SUU Aquatic Center . I also had to deal with the wakes of a few waterskiing boats that were enjoying the great spring weather.

Lesson #2
I really need to work on my transition from the water to the bike. I thought I'd just get out of the water, put on my shoes and start riding. I didn't think about being wet and unable to get my socks on until I dried my feet. I didn't think about the lovely red sand caked between my toes and creating a nice, fine-grade sand paper experience inside my socks as I rode down the road.

Lesson #3
My mountain bike is extremely heavy. I didn't think much about it before, but my $79 K-Mart clearance Blue Light Special is probably not going to cut it. I've contacted a few people I know and hope I'll be able to borrow a lighter bike. 25 miles is long ways to drag an extra 50 lbs or so.

Lesson #4
This triathlon training is really quite time consuming. My job, by default is very demanding. It requires more that it's fair share of extra hours and late nights. Last night we went to the reservoir for Family Night and the only real family time I got was the drive there and the drive back.

Lesson #5
My family is outrageously supportive and deserves many thanks. On the way there, Christian, my five-year old said "Dad, it doesn't matter if you win or lose, you'll do your best." Later, McKinley, my seven-year old seeing me pant my way up onto the beach clapped her hands and shouted, "Whoo-hoo Dad. You're doing good." Not to mention all the nights that Mindy, my lovely wife, has spent doing the dishes by herself while I was out running. Seriously, thanks you guys. You're great and I love you.

As always, send your comments, suggestions and encouragement.

Bad Hair Day

2004-04-01T07:44:00.000-07:00

You know, every week at least three times people, usually women but not always, come up to me and say, "Oh I just wish I could do what you do and shave off all of my hair. It would be so easy to get ready in the morning, blah, blah, blah."

Well, I'd like to set the record straight. First of all, ALL of my hair hasn't fallen out naturally, only a significant portion in the front has. Therefore, shaving is required. For any of you who have ever shaved, whether it be your chin or your armpits, you have to know that it's no cup of tea.

It takes me a minimum of 20 minutes every single day in the shower to get this Mr. Clean look. That makes me pretty unpopular when all the hot water is gone when it's my wife's turn to shower. Sunshine is definitely my enemy. The glare off of the old dome is so brilliantly blinding that it's been know to cause traffic accidents and left fielders to lose the ball in the gleam. All that, and I have to deal with the fact that I am BALD all the time.

The only reason I bring this up is that hair also provides an incredible buffer that is so taken for granted by those of you are not hair follicle challenged like myself. This morning, I was happily swimming away in the SUU Aquatic Center when I decided it would be good to back-stroke it a little. I flipped over and blissfully paddled my way down the lane, unaware of how close I was to the end. You guessed it. I bonked my head on the wall. For most people it wouldn't be that big of deal. It didn't really hurt anything except for my pride as I realized that the lifeguard and custodian had both seen my little blunder. I quickly ducked my head and kept swimming, you know, pretending that I didn't know that they knew that I had run into the wall. We've all done it before, right?

I swam 1200 meters this morning and felt great. I came home, jumped in the shower, filled my palm with shaving gel and began to lather it up.

Pain.

Stinging, vicious pain.

I gingerly touched the crown of my head and realized that I had skinned a quarter-size swatch off my dome. Now if I had hair, that would NOT have happened.

Anyway, enough of my You Really Don't Wish You Didn't Have Hair Because It's Not All You Think It's Cracked Up To Be Rant.

The training is going quite well. I dug my bicycle out of storage the other day and attempted a tune up of sorts. It still needs a little work, but is does roll.

I'm starting to realize the challenge of training for a three-disciplined race is the division of training time between the disciplines. At first I was very worried about the swimming part, so I really focused on that. Now I feel at least a little bit better about it, but realized that I've been really neglecting the running part. That's not even to mention that the only biking I've done was a quick jaunt around a couple of blocks to see if the wheels would turn on my old bike. They do, but training hasn't really begun in earnest yet. What I really need is a set schedule that I can stick to. If any of you have any suggestions, I'd love to hear them.

Until the next time, keep the emails coming. I haven't been able to answer you all, but I am getting to it, a little at a time.

Slow Week

2004-03-19T07:43:00.000-07:00

Well folks, some of the reality of this event has set in. This was a great week as far as getting things ready for June and the Summer Games went, but slow as far as training.

I've been experiencing some pain in my knee when I run. I tried to be tough and ignore it, like any self respecting man would. I figured I'd lay off it for awhile and focus on my weak area, swimming.

Monday, I spent all day at the Utah Recreation and Parks' Association State Wide Conference. It was great. I met some neat people and was able to get a bunch of Summer Games Sports Guides distributed to many of the directors.

That evening I met my wife and kids at the Sand Hollows Aquatic Center (SHAC) for some swimming. We had a ball going down the water slide and playing with all of the water toys they have there.

After about an hour of playing I decided I had better get my work-out in. I swam for about 450 meters, but my knee was really bothering me. That had me worried. If it was hurting during such a "low impact" activity, maybe there was something wrong.

That night I had my father-in-law look at it. He felt like there was a pulled tendon, worked on it a bit, and told me to lay off of it for a day or two. Which I did.

Wednesday morning I ran two miles. My knee felt great. That night I went to Provo and stayed the night with my brother-in-law so I could meet with several people on the Wasatch Front. I had the chance to meet with Tom Shimpf of the Utah Grizzlies about the Utah Summer Games Night at the Grizzlies. You need to check out what we've got planned for you on April 2 nd . It'll be a riot. I also saw one of our billboards, but didn't have a camera readily available to snap a picture.

That night I had a wonderful dinner with the Scottish Power Group, which is the parent company of Utah Power, one of our valuable Silver Medal Sponsors. The dinner, held at the Grand America Hotel was nothing short of amazing. The night was to honor long time employee and Utah 's adopted Scottish son, Bill Landels. Needless to say, there was no work-out on Thursday.

I got home at 2:00 a.m. on Friday morning and had a 7:00 a.m. meeting. I'm planning on going to the gym tonight if I can keep my eyes open long enough.

Incidentally, I had planned to write about my first bike ride as part of my training. Unfortunately, I didn't get to it. Maybe next week will be better for some consistent training.

In the mean time, keep the emails coming. They really help. If you have some good advice, maybe I'll share it with everyone else in this column.

Water, Water, Everywhere

2004-03-16T07:39:00.000-07:00

It's a fact that approximately 80% of the Earth's surface is covered by water. It's the thing that separates us from Mars. Without this wet stuff, our ancient fish ancestors would never have been able to crawl out of the primordial ooze and evolve to the creatures we see all around us today. After all, you have to have water to even make ooze.

Being practically surrounded by water on all sides, it's no wonder that we feel drawn to it. Every weekend from coast to coast, people flock by the hundreds of thousands the globe over to enjoy the ocean, reservoir or lake. We fish, boat and relax with water.

Water is also an integral part of the triathlon. You swim in it for one leg of the event and drink it for the others. I have to make a confession here. I haven't been swimming for years. I was a lifeguard at my local community pool when I was a Junior in High School, and that was the last time I really swam. I've taken my kids to the pool, played Marco Polo and applauded them when they garnered enough courage to stick their faces in the water. But I haven't been swimming for a long time.

Last Friday, at 6:30 am, I took the plunge and officially began swimming to train for the Utah Summer Games triathlon. This is the part of the race that gives me the most concern. I figure, worst case scenario, I can always walk on the running part and if I have to I can walk my bike. On the other hand, swimming won't allow for much walking. You kind of have to do it right.

I had a good conversation with Norm Forbush, our Law Enforcement and Emergency Medial Systems coordinator and he assured me that there will be a minimum of two boats and probably three in the water the whole time to fish people (like myself) out if need be. This made me feel a little less anxious about the whole ordeal.

Anyway... at 6:30 in the morning I arrived at the SUU Aquatic Center in the Sorensen PE Building, changed into my cool orange board shorts, showered and entered the swim area. Being Spring Break for us here at SUU, there wasn't too much going on. To my left was a group of ladies doing water aerobics and to my right were two guys swimming laps. The lifeguard with her watchful eyes observed everything from high above in her chair. I picked a lane, jumped in the water and started swimming. About 50 meters later my arms felt like lead, my lungs were now attempting to accept water as a substitute for air and I was coughing, sputtering and clinging to the side of the pool. After a few minutes and several deep breaths, I was ready for another lap. It took a while and I had to rest more than I would have liked, but all in all I swam 400 meters which I felt pretty good about. I've got a long way to go, but for the first time I feel confident that I'll be able to do this thing if I keep training.

Keep checking back and sending your tips, encouragement and ideas.

Next time: Biking, can't they make this seat a little more comfortable?

Running on Empty

2004-04-21T07:46:00.000-06:00

I had the opportunity to run in my first competitive 5K race this weekend. The closest I've come to actually running a race of any distance was when we used to have run laps around the football field during Hell Week of the football season. This was way different.

The 5 th annual SUU ROTC 5K took place last Saturday. Last semester I worked as an academic advisor for the College of Humanities and Social Science here at SUU. During that time I got to know a bunch of great students. Occasionally, some of these students stop by me new office to visit. A few weeks ago, a particular student stopped by and I told him I'd seen him running the other morning with the other ROTC cadets and he ought to sign up for the Summer Games 5K or 10K. He told me he would if I signed up for their annual race. Well, we made the deal.

True to form for me, I mixed up the dates of the race. All last week I was planning on running this race on April 24. Due to several factors I wasn't really able to run all week, but I wasn't worried because the race was so far away, right? Well, on Friday night I realized my mistake, but it was really too late to make much difference.

Early Saturday morning I found myself not hitting the snooze button on my alarm. Okay, I did hit it, but only once, which is way fewer times than I wanted to on a Saturday. I got up, quickly dressed and ate some Grape Nuts for breakfast. Being full of a big percentage of my recommended daily allowance for fiber and folic acid I made my way to the Eccles Coliseum where I paid my registration fee and then sat around and felt nervous.

This being my very first race, I was only slightly confuse by the race number I was handed. I quickly caught on when I was also handed a safety pin. I only wished I had grabbed a couple of them since the wind was (and almost always is) blowing and flapping of the number pinned to my chest got a little annoying.

I had planned to go over the route before hand, but obviously I had missed my window. I looked at a map and tried to figure it out, but then decided it would only matter for the person in the front and I was pretty certain that that person would not be me.

The race started at 9:00 a.m. sharp with the huge boom of the ROTC cannon, and I was off. Everyone says don't start out too quickly, and I tried not to, but by the middle of the race I had discovered that I had definitely started off too quickly. I have to admit that I was forced to walk twice, but overall, I felt okay about my race. I didn't break any land-speed records by any means, but I finished ahead of some and behind others. Now I am a little embarrassed to admit that I was passed by a 70 year old man and two 15 year old girls, but at the time I was only thinking, “Breath, gasp, gasp, pant, breath, pant, gasp.”

I crossed the finish line at 24:54, not a world record time, but I did finish 2nd in my age group. Overall I feel I can say that the race was very well organized, well staffed and I had a good experience. I also have a benchmark from which to start measuring my progress.

Well, keep the emails coming. Until the next time.

Email Kyle

The Beginning

2004-03-09T07:35:00.000-07:00

When I got this job in January, I was excited, overwhelmed and to be honest scared to death. This was truly my DREAM JOB. What did I do to deserve this? I started out with the Utah Summer Games as a student intern while I worked on my undergraduate degree at Southern Utah University, and now, here I am the Director. Wow.

My mind began whirring at about 100 miles an hour; ideas of how to get people to come and participate. Then it hit me. How could I ask anyone to come put themselves on the line and participate if I was unwilling to do so myself. I tried to ignore the thought but it kept coming back.

Well, I would participate, but I just don't have the time, I thought. I would be coordinating over 40 events for the Utah Summer Games. I am a father of two energetic and involved kids; I sit on the Board of Directors for the local United Way , and serve as the advisor for the local Circle K service club for SUU students, not to mention an active volunteer in my church and the list goes on and on. No. I'm sorry there just isn't enough time.

But the thought kept pestering me.

Well, On March 1, we had a wonderful meeting with our Board of Commissioners. During the meeting, President Bennion, Chairperson of the Board, President of SUU and long time Utah Summer Games participant, issued a challenge to the Board to participate in this year's event. Before I knew what my mouth was doing, I heard myself say, I'm committed to doing the triathlon this year.

What?

I've never done a triathlon before. I knew it consisted of three things; swimming, running and biking, but I had no idea even how far I'd have to do any of those things. I've not been even remotely active since high school. But it was too late to turn back.

Last Wednesday, March 3, I decided it was time to start training. I called my dog Tapanga over, put a leash on her, walked out the front door and ran one mile that evening, if you can call what I did running. When I crawled up my drive way and through the front door, I decided then and there that I was insane and this just wouldn't work. But after a good night's sleep the pain and agony seemed more bearable.

I'm happy to say that I've been running every night except Sunday since then and while it still hurts and I see star bursts in front of my eyes at the end, it is getting easier.

My next big challenge swimming. You know, a child can drown in less than an inch of water.

Check back soon to keep up on my quest to compete in my first ever triathlon.