Register | Login
Attackpoint - performance and training tools for orienteering athletes

Training Log Archive: iansmith

In the 1 days ending Aug 29, 2011:

activity # timemileskm+mload
  Strength training1 1:00:00120.0
  Biking1 24:00 6.21(15.5/h) 10.0(25.0/h)2.4
  Total1 1:24:00 6.21 10.0122.4
averages - weight:87.7kg

«»
1:24
0:00
» now
Mo

Monday Aug 29, 2011 #

Note
weight:87.7kg (rest day)

I have elected to take a rest day today, to give my legs time to recover from the relative pounding over the past three days. I will resume on Tuesday with an easy run, and better alternate running stress and cross training. I will also be moving over the next two days (i.e. "strength training").

Scale this morning read 193.2. While it would be nice to weigh less, I have decided not to worry about my weight and instead focus on fitness, nutrition, and speed.

This month has been a training disappointment. The first two weeks, I was sick with a persistent respiratory infection that compelled me to abandon my plans to attend the OUSA Convention and A-meets. I have changed my activity from predominantly low intensity cross training to running and orienteering. Compared to 30 hours of mostly biking and kayaking last month, I will be fortunate to achieve 15 hours this month. I will do better in September. Do or do not; there is no try.
11 PM

Biking 24:00 [1] 10.0 km (25.0 kph)
shoes: Trek 7.1 FX

Out and about; to Zipcar, to apartment 3.0, to apartment 2.0.

Strength training 1:00:00 [5]

It's official: I am an idiot. The situation is even worse than that; I am an idiot who knows he's an idiot. I had originally planned to move the first parts of my equipment to my new apartment over the weekend after seeing the BSO at Tanglewood, but the hurricane interfered with those plans.

This evening, I procured a Zipcar truck to move the larger furniture elements. As the only time a truck was available was between 11:30 PM and 2:30 AM, I was reluctant to ask for help, despite several of my friends offering their assistance. Nevertheless, I thought I was up to the task. I abhor being beholden to my possessions, and while I have accumulated more than I would like, I consider them within my capabilities to move. That pride was my great flaw in this Greek tragedy. I had a plan suited to the task, and it immediately began falling apart.

The largest components of my furniture include a bed, bookshelf, chest of drawers, a number of chairs, a filing cabinet, and a couch. Among my possessions, a several boxes of books are the heaviest items. I had planned to leave the couch behind, but my roommate had already procured another. My former apartment is on the fourth floor of a building, and the new one is on the fifth - but the new apartment has an elevator. That elevator was the choke point, the lynchpin of my entire approach.

Since the couch was the biggest challenge, I set about moving it first. Carrying it downstairs was no mean feat - I had required assistance to bring it upstairs when I purchased it. The couch is massive, and it has a substantial moment. Its size requires delicate maneuvering to traverse a stairwell. Without the cushions, I found it within my abilities, but it was nonetheless a triumph to lower it safely to the ground floor and load it in the truck at about midnight.

My new building is old - from before the Second World War, apparently, and while it is comfortable in many respects, the elevator leaves much to be desired. It moves slowly - at 100 feet/minute, only slightly faster than the vertical speed at which Ueli Steck solo climbed the north face of the Eiger. It is small, perhaps the size of an archaic phone booth, or the Chokey from Matilda, and the door is narrow. I discovered that when summoned, the door only remains open for a few seconds before it insistently tries to close, and the door's pressure sensor is highly localized.

After the non-trivial task of unloading the couch from the truck, I discovered to my dismay that the couch would not fit in the elevator. In the process of attempting it, the elevator crushed my right hand against the couch no fewer than three times, and pinned me for about fifteen seconds while I searched for the pressure sensor. I concluded the only solution was to haul the couch up four flights of stairs alone.

Perhaps someone less overcome by the bounds of idiocy would have stowed the couch somewhere and summoned assistance the next day. I was irate at the engineers who designed the sadist, cramped, underpowered, elevator, and in the absence of a viable alternative, I began my herculean task. If I may be so bold, my upper body strength is not inconsiderable, and it required all my strength to direct the couch through the awkward passage of the stairs. I carried it entirely off the ground for most of the traverse, because I had more control and risked less damage to the couch. I did my best to be silent so as to avoid disturbing anyone. My arduous duel with the fates lasted about ten minutes, but after about ten minutes, I finally prevailed. The absurdity of the position into which I put myself is matched only by the magnitude of my triumph over the couch and the constraints of my dilemma.

Ultimately, I made 10 trips up and down the stairs of my old apartment ferrying loads. Propagating the theme of this story, if I were moving an item which should have been trivial, I found ways to complicate it - typically by carrying more. One item which proved to present many of the challenges of the couch with none of the psychological rewards was my chest of drawers. I have owned it for some time, and it appears to be made of a material as dense as depleted uranium with the material strength of matzo. It was assembled into a rectangular prism with numerous moving parts, sharp edges, and a propensity to deploy the drawers at the most inconvenient times. Fortunately, the chest of drawers (along with all my other items) did fit into the elevator of death, but I was so frustrated carrying the chest down the stairs of my old apartment, that I almost discarded it out of spite. I reasoned that replacing it would require at least as much work, so I persevered despite its pathetically poor design. Appropriately, an element of the baseboard of the chest broke just as I finished transporting it down the stairs.

I am not yet completed with my move, though most of my heavy equipment has made the journey. Times like this sorely tempt me to pull an Erdõs and start living an itinerant life out of a suitcase, crashing at the homes of my O-colleagues. While a casual reader might hope that I have appreciated the folly of my pride (in its various forms), my obstinate desire for autonomy suggests that similar foibles will transpire. As some might say, Holy Macaroni. Perhaps this is a Pyrrhic victory, since I don't see any method for getting the couch out of the apartment except by the same route or with the aid of an acetylene torch.

I should note that composing my log entry in my head helped me cling to the last vestiges of my sanity during this ordeal.

« Earlier | Later »