The Blog is Back

Time to get excited. Long Sox Fitness is back for the summer! It was a busy school year but things have settled waaay down and there's more time to focus on fun stuff again. So what's on the agenda for LSF over the next few months?

1) Exploring the keys to success in the fitness and sports industries: That's right. I'm in business school so let's get to the bottom of how people basically make money by pumping us up and playing games. I'll spare you the financial statements but there may be anywhere from a few to many, many bar, line, pie, and scatter charts. Even a heat map if you're lucky.

2) General fitness tips: Yep, still working out. Full-body weights and cardio but always mixing it up. There will be a yet-to-be-named adventure race in the near future. 

3) Basketball tips: I'm working on finishing shots and dribbling this summer. You'll get a glimpse of some of the drills, metrics, successes and failures along the way. 

4) Some other things: Carte blanche to write whatever I want. I'll try not to turn it into an online diary. Nobody cares.

PS: For those still following the Surfcycle Diaries the other two were Spiders and Sand. I left my coat on a porch one night and got bitten all over my arms the next day.

Also, on the motorcycle I tried to stop too quickly, used too much front brake, and turned over a patch of sand and put the bike down. I made it all the way from Boston to Wilmington before that happened and will not be headed back by motorcycle any time soon. Thanks for reading.

Surfcycle Plague 4: Killer

Drunk bros in button down shirts and shiny necklaces with slicked up hair and foreigners of indistinguishable nationality were paying for their gas. I threw out the Twinkies wrapper and empty coffee cup and left the gas station on the east end of the Long Island Expressway. It's a good thing I had a full tank of caffeine because I did NOT fill up on gas.

Fifteen miles later I was near the geographic center of Long Island with an empty gas tank and no gas light indicating the fuel level. I ditched the motorcycle and bushwhacked off the expressway to a country road. I found a street light and started to call my insurance company. I saw a man walking his Great Dane and hung up.

“Excuse me, sir!” I waved my lit phone in his direction as I walked away from the streetlight, “Do you have a gallon of gas I could use?”

He was bald with a grey, maintained mustache and focused V-shaped eyebrows. He was wearing jean shorts and a t-shirt. He looked real serious for a guy walking his dog but not for a guy getting approached by a weirdo in the dark at 10:30PM on a Friday night in the middle of nowhere.

“Yeah, I do. You run out or something?” I explained the situation. He returned in ten minutes in a paneled van with his contracting company logo on the side and a foldable ladder tied to the top. The inside was a mess of paint cans, tools, and a gasoline canister... 

“I used to ride motorcycles too. Until the accident. Everyone has an accident.” Yes, he really said, "Until the accident."

Source

We talked about riding, wrestling (he was a high school coach), and Charlotte, where he went to college.

We added the gallon. It started. 100 feet later, it stopped. “I think we need more fuel,” he said as We continued to exhaust the charge of the battery.

We began to search for a gas station.  We started talking again. We didn't talk about anything important for about twenty minutes (I was wondering how he didn't know where the nearest gas station was) until he broke the casual nature:

“Here’s a piece of trivia you might like. Well, you may already know it.”

“What’s that?”

“There’s a serial killer in the area.”

I was still calm because I didn't really believe him, “Really? Still on the loose?”

“Yeah.”

“As in, has murdered recently and not been caught?”

“Yeah, they found some of the bodies… well body parts at least. Right near where you broke down. Over by uhhh, Wading River Road. It's the Gilgo Beach Killer. I thought it was national news.”

Source

I gave the dramatic chipmunk look and thought of when and how I would have to get out of this.

A leather jacket would SURELY soften the blow of a couple of bullets to the torso as I rolled out of the car and hid in the woods right? I would probably even kill the Gilgo Beach Killer in a one-on-one "First Blood" scenario. I took the junior cadet Leadership Training Course on survival, escape, resistance, and evasion and did all four of those things. No way the GBK was going to take me down. I had my plan for the spear trap laid out in my head when he eased my fears:

“Don’t worry though. He mostly just kills prostitutes." PHEW!!

Keep riding,
LSF

So The Spartan Race Went Pretty Well I Guess

I showed up for my first adventure race this last Sunday with vague expectations. I knew I would have to run a lot, hop over some obstacles, get dirty, and get hit in the gut by some Spartans?/Persians? at the finish line.

Finishing with a time of 52:18 I finished 2/300 in my heat (300, ahaaaa, well played), 4 out of many in my age group, 37/2280 for men and 40/3644 overall. Blew the top 5% thing out of the water.

Success contributors:

1. CrossFit Training: Full body workouts, able to move my weight more easily. Only 2-3 weeks.
2. Effort in Training: I push my limits every time I train. 
3. Effort on the Course: I was connnnstantly passing people which was positive reinforcement. My cardio recovery methods were a slow jog or negotiating the obstacles, others walked.
4. Patience: I learned to take my time on obstacles where falling could result in 30 burpees. I did not learn this until after the stump jump and monkey bars.
5. Hills: I think I'm better at them than most people. It has a lot to do with the fact that I weigh 160 and each leg is a 750CC V-twin.
6. General Studliness: Never thrown a spear before but I nailed it. Didn't even stop to show the girl next to me how to throw it. "DO YOU THROW IT LIKE A BASEBALL?" "Idunno, I guess." You don't.
7. Fun: The race was just plain fun. I had a stupid smile on my face from the second I got there until I went to bed that night. I love getting sweaty, muddy, tired, dirty, bloody, wet, and burned while leaving the general populace crying and puking in my wake. 

Hills are good. Hiiiiiiiills are good. 

Failures:

1. Walked Twice: Once on a major hill about half way through the course and once carrying a 40lb sandbag up the hill in the picture. I hold myself to a higher standard than running at road races but running was not an option at that point. You officially win Spartan Race.
2. Mamby Pamby Face: I was so determined to not get hit in the junk by the guys at the finish line that I believe I failed to meet my other goal of not making a Tom Brady waterslideface at the end. I covered the wedding tackle and took a pugil stick straight to the chest. It doesn't hurt if they don't step into it, loud though. I will you keep you posted on any pictures.
3. Short Sox: Should have kept them long. Booooooo.

Ahh! Spartans! Source

As for everyone else, I saw a huge sense of accomplishment, joy, relief, and confidence on every single person crossing the finish line. It was awesome to see people working together to help their friends when they really needed it. People who were unsure if they would finish had team members and even random strangers screaming them on and grabbing them by the wrist to help them over the next obstacle. It's the type of comradery you only see when intense physical pain is involved.

Even at the shower/hose station, strangers helped each other spray off in their underwear. It was almost like we had gone to war together. I don't like being overly dramatic but it seriously looked like a refugee camp. People accustomed to unlimited hot shower water who take their time with their moisturizing apricot face scrub and peach colored loofahs were grateful just to get a free hose. As cushy as we have made our lives, it's great to see us adapting when we need to. It downright gave me hope for our country.

Keep training,
LSF

Lax Flakes

Summer league lacrosse through Croart Inc. is wrapping up in Boston. I was on a "free agent" team named "Runaway Train".

Of course Soul Asylum's song "Runaway Train" came to mind when I heard the team name. There is some room for debate, but the song is about runaway children and the video features a number of mugshots of missing children in between Instagram-y shots of depressed alternative rock musicians. It was probably the saddest thing I'd ever seen at age nine, but then again, I wasn't supposed to be watching MTV.

Anywho, a "free agent" team is comprised of people that couldn't put together a team or weren't invited to play for one. Basically, it's the I-don't-have-friends-that-play-lacrosse team. Worse than having no lacrosse-buddies is the fact that lacrosse players, especially those that don't have lax-pals, are the biggest flakes in the solar system. We had nearly a full roster show up for the first game and averaged a mighty four players after that. And yes, it was the same four players.

It seemed as if most of the Runaway Train roster had run away from home. It's unfortunate.

Every night we had to recruit players from previous games, switch players over from other teams, and make up new rules for scrimmage-like games. During the last couple of weeks, Croart management shuffled players around and called in friends to fill up rosters. It showed great flexibility on their part. I had a blast with it and will be going back to Croart.

Keep training,
LSF

Surfcycle Plague 3: Sleet

Based on the previous day's jaunt through the rain, I considered myself a seasoned motorcycle rider. Could prolllly go toe-to-toe with Peter Fonda and Ghost Rider. I had stared Death in the face, looked away, looked back at it, looked away, pretended to check my phone, and kept riding once it got bored and walked away. It takes the heart of a lion to make Death lose interest in you.

Say hello to MS Powerpoint's Smart Art. You can't teach this level of PP savvy.

Weeeeelllll, I couldn't look at my phone this time. Independence Day alien ship-like clouds floated above the Garden State Parkway in front of me. I counted mississisppis after each lightning bolt. At the one mississippi mark, a rush of anticipation and adrenaline surged within me that can only be likened to the readiness of Leeroy Jenkins before his dungeon blitz.

Light rain turned into heavy rain. Visibility dropped. Traffic slowed. Some cars pulled over as I plowed through the elements like the Waterboy through an unsuspecting offensive line. Confidence rose. Excited anticipation turned into determined focus.

Plinks turned into tinks as sleet began to hit the motorcycle's gas tank. I started to think about how icy gravel would affect traction and how the balls of ice could damage the bike. I finally pulled over after five whole minutes of the manliest withstanding of a barrage since Braveheart (1:48 mark). The sleet immediately stopped.

Keep riding,
LSF