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Saturday, July 29, 2006
Training on Lake George - This is The Life!
Greetings, Gentle Reader. Please accept my heartfelt apologies for my apparent sloth as a correspondent. Let me explain.
I’m in training. And, I’ve been off the grid.
I am at my Mom’s place at Lake George, NY. As I sit at her writing table on the porch, I am looking north through a series of rain showers which presently shroud the mountains that majestically flank this 32 mile lake. For those of you not familiar with Lake George…my “training ground” of the last six days…let me just say that twenty strides bring me to her dock. A large tumbler lowered into the water offers the most clear, delicious, truly ‘natural’ beverage imaginable. The largest predator in the lake is most likely the pike which, I am told, is more scared of us than we are of him. While, in my case, I doubt it, it’s nice to know that a capsize does not put one on the menu. The lake is roughly three miles wide at its broadest point, offering a quick sheltering lee in the event of a storm. Additionally, I know lots of people on the lake; a cup of coffee or a restorative vodka tonic are never far from hand. I sleep in a comfy bed each night, and my own caring, gracious mom sets a groaning table for my ‘training‘ each day. I am not going hungry. If I get thirsty, I lower my head over the side of the boat and drink deeply. If I get hot, I take a dip in the same fresh water that perked my coffee in the morning, free of worry of toxic hazards or marine predators.
Gentle Reader, what I am trying to say is that even though I am training every day, I am working up to my row in a halcyon environment that bears little resemblance to what I will be facing staring a week from tomorrow. Nightly shelter, fresh water, friendly fish, ready rescue…these will be but fond memories once I shove off from the Troy Dock at 7AM next Saturday. But then, the adventure has been the allure. Really, it has.
“Then is this indeed ‘training,’ Al?” you are no doubt asking. “After all, Rocky went to frigging Siberia to prepare for his epic battle with Drago. You, on the other hand, nestle into warm blankets each night, full of steak and creamed potatoes. What’s with that?”
A good question. A fair question. And yet I would submit that if Rocky had had my mom with him, it wouldn’t have gone two rounds.
Truth be told, I’ve been doing a lot of rowing. I’ve had three 17 mile days and a 35 mile day interspersed with several shorter “sprint” days. I made the mistake of waterskiing yesterday, an activity that awakens 54 year-old muscles that are best left sleeping. Happily, the blisters on my hands have gone to calluses. My lower back and derriere are developing greater tolerances for the seat. My arms, shoulders, and legs have not complained. In short, I’m getting ready.
My 17 mile-days are instructive. I typically finish by noon. I’m tired, but not exhausted. The prospect of getting back in the boat at, say, 2 PM and doing it again before dark is not daunting. Since I’ll have to average about 32 miles each day to get to Baltimore in time for school, this 17 mile “leg” thing seems to be a sensible practice for this, my first week of on-the-water training.
A highlight each day is always my first stop at Brian Rooney’s house, two miles up the lake. He and Cecile always have the (very) early morning coffee ready to go, and Brian then offers to be my “wing man” for the next few miles of my training in his own pristine wooden guide boat. Watching him pull that baby through the water is downright motivational: cherry oars piercing glass, the cedar cutwater raising a feather of transparency with each stroke…if I look half as competent (and elegant) as he does, my arrival at the Inner Harbor in a few weeks might be worthy of a photo. Hey, it could happen.
Peg has had to remain in Baltimore this week. Somebody has to keep the wheels of industry spinning, and I’m grateful beyond measure for her moral support and care. She arrives here tomorrow night to “supervise” my second week of training; I suspect my productivity will go down, but the fun quotient will skyrocket. I’m ready for the tradeoff.
Cosmic Riff: It’s surreal to be in this perfect place and to be reading the news. My own good fortune in family, friends, hearth, and health seem unbounded; in relief against the travails of current events, my blessings sometimes seem less a cause for thanks and celebration than a cosmic question of fate, equity, our shared humanity, and how to do good. It’s simply a difficult time, it seems, to revel in bliss when so much needs to be righted.
On a happier note…and germane, I hope, to the notion of doing some good…let me thank you all for pushing the Pledge Paddle over $10k. In supporting this venture, you will collectively make a material difference for families who are investing in their own - and our - futures, and your engagement has made this initially selfish adventure a morally worthwhile one. Thank you!!
I will get at least one more blog out before I depart on August 5; after that, Peg and Kathy will be offering frequent updates on my progress. Kathy, in particular, has been masterful in her administration of this blog, and I can’t thank her enough. But I’ll keep trying.
So, net net, Gentle Reader, I’ll be ready to go. Thanks for pushing me with your interest, support, and checks that clear.
Blisters to calluses is a good thing.
Latah!!Mr. Frei
I’m in training. And, I’ve been off the grid.
I am at my Mom’s place at Lake George, NY. As I sit at her writing table on the porch, I am looking north through a series of rain showers which presently shroud the mountains that majestically flank this 32 mile lake. For those of you not familiar with Lake George…my “training ground” of the last six days…let me just say that twenty strides bring me to her dock. A large tumbler lowered into the water offers the most clear, delicious, truly ‘natural’ beverage imaginable. The largest predator in the lake is most likely the pike which, I am told, is more scared of us than we are of him. While, in my case, I doubt it, it’s nice to know that a capsize does not put one on the menu. The lake is roughly three miles wide at its broadest point, offering a quick sheltering lee in the event of a storm. Additionally, I know lots of people on the lake; a cup of coffee or a restorative vodka tonic are never far from hand. I sleep in a comfy bed each night, and my own caring, gracious mom sets a groaning table for my ‘training‘ each day. I am not going hungry. If I get thirsty, I lower my head over the side of the boat and drink deeply. If I get hot, I take a dip in the same fresh water that perked my coffee in the morning, free of worry of toxic hazards or marine predators.
Gentle Reader, what I am trying to say is that even though I am training every day, I am working up to my row in a halcyon environment that bears little resemblance to what I will be facing staring a week from tomorrow. Nightly shelter, fresh water, friendly fish, ready rescue…these will be but fond memories once I shove off from the Troy Dock at 7AM next Saturday. But then, the adventure has been the allure. Really, it has.
“Then is this indeed ‘training,’ Al?” you are no doubt asking. “After all, Rocky went to frigging Siberia to prepare for his epic battle with Drago. You, on the other hand, nestle into warm blankets each night, full of steak and creamed potatoes. What’s with that?”
A good question. A fair question. And yet I would submit that if Rocky had had my mom with him, it wouldn’t have gone two rounds.
Truth be told, I’ve been doing a lot of rowing. I’ve had three 17 mile days and a 35 mile day interspersed with several shorter “sprint” days. I made the mistake of waterskiing yesterday, an activity that awakens 54 year-old muscles that are best left sleeping. Happily, the blisters on my hands have gone to calluses. My lower back and derriere are developing greater tolerances for the seat. My arms, shoulders, and legs have not complained. In short, I’m getting ready.
My 17 mile-days are instructive. I typically finish by noon. I’m tired, but not exhausted. The prospect of getting back in the boat at, say, 2 PM and doing it again before dark is not daunting. Since I’ll have to average about 32 miles each day to get to Baltimore in time for school, this 17 mile “leg” thing seems to be a sensible practice for this, my first week of on-the-water training.
A highlight each day is always my first stop at Brian Rooney’s house, two miles up the lake. He and Cecile always have the (very) early morning coffee ready to go, and Brian then offers to be my “wing man” for the next few miles of my training in his own pristine wooden guide boat. Watching him pull that baby through the water is downright motivational: cherry oars piercing glass, the cedar cutwater raising a feather of transparency with each stroke…if I look half as competent (and elegant) as he does, my arrival at the Inner Harbor in a few weeks might be worthy of a photo. Hey, it could happen.
Peg has had to remain in Baltimore this week. Somebody has to keep the wheels of industry spinning, and I’m grateful beyond measure for her moral support and care. She arrives here tomorrow night to “supervise” my second week of training; I suspect my productivity will go down, but the fun quotient will skyrocket. I’m ready for the tradeoff.
Cosmic Riff: It’s surreal to be in this perfect place and to be reading the news. My own good fortune in family, friends, hearth, and health seem unbounded; in relief against the travails of current events, my blessings sometimes seem less a cause for thanks and celebration than a cosmic question of fate, equity, our shared humanity, and how to do good. It’s simply a difficult time, it seems, to revel in bliss when so much needs to be righted.
On a happier note…and germane, I hope, to the notion of doing some good…let me thank you all for pushing the Pledge Paddle over $10k. In supporting this venture, you will collectively make a material difference for families who are investing in their own - and our - futures, and your engagement has made this initially selfish adventure a morally worthwhile one. Thank you!!
I will get at least one more blog out before I depart on August 5; after that, Peg and Kathy will be offering frequent updates on my progress. Kathy, in particular, has been masterful in her administration of this blog, and I can’t thank her enough. But I’ll keep trying.
So, net net, Gentle Reader, I’ll be ready to go. Thanks for pushing me with your interest, support, and checks that clear.
Blisters to calluses is a good thing.
Latah!!Mr. Frei
