Leap. Know that the net will be there.

Saw a woman wearing a Boston Red Socks baseball cap on the checkout line at a Manhattan Upper West Side supermarket.

Pretty gutsy.

She’s got an unshakable belief in her team, despite the fact:

• They imploded and blew a 9-game lead in the final weeks of this year’s season

• She was in Yankee and Mets territory

• It was dusk

Not fond of those BoSox, but I am a bit envious of her for wearing that hat.

Here’s to courage – even when your belief is shaken. Stay with it.

Thanks for staying with this post and reading all the way down here.

Exploring the Hudson - A soggy, first hand account.

Crickets cheerfully chirp as I slowly bicycle up Riverside Drive. It’s 5:50am, Saturday, September 22.

I creakily pedal through the dark to the start of a 6.2 mile race in the Hudson River. My palms are damp in the cool air. See, even though I’ve been preparing for months, my nerves turn the peanut butter and banana breakfast I washed down with coffee into a lead sinker in my stomach.

Arrive at 125^th and the Greenway and lock my bike just as the Fairway market gates clattered up (who knew they ever closed?).

I wait with other nervous swimmers. The sun dawns on a puffy quilt of gray clouds.

The smell of fat, black, sharpie markers hangs in the air. Volunteers tattoo me with number 175. Think the real estate on my arms disappoints them – my biceps don’t supply the canvass width that other competitors have.

Shuffle over to the table where the numbered, neon pink swim caps wait for their owners. Enthusiastic helpers are a stark contrast to bleary-eyed swimmers with nervous jitters and far-off stares.

Some competitors are pulling on their wetsuits as the race director calls us together. He’s reminding us to not swim over each other. “There’s plenty of Hudson for all,” he says.  He’s referred to the width of the river in the race. It’s the length that worries me.

You see, I never actually swam 6 miles before. Swam 4 couple times. In a pool. With an easy-to-follow black line down the center lane. In this race, though, there’s a cut-off: If you’re not past the 4 mile mark – the George Washington Bridge - within 2 hours and 15 minutes of the start, the race officials will make you stop.

To my fragile male ego, that’s a fate worse than death.

But I’ve got a plan: Get to the 4 mile marker fast as I could. The last 2 miles? Well, that’s where my mule-headed stubbornness would kick in. That, and a secret weapon.

The water taxi arrives. It’s yellow with black squares, just a like a taxi should be. We board as the race director keeps talking and pull away from the dock, heading north. With the tide, I notice – opposite from the direction we’ll be swimming. Hmmmm.

Race director had explained we’re split into 12 waves. Slowest first, with 2 to 5 minutes between each wave, based on our qualifying times. My qualifying time was 5,000 yards in a pool that took a little over 2 hours. No wonder I was in the 3^rd wave.

We pass under the George Washington Bridge, heading North to Riverdale, the Bronx. 253^rd Street. I pull on my wetsuit. My heart’s racing. The engine slows.

Splash. Wave 1 hops in. 3 minutes later, wave 2 jumps in.

Frantic last-minute double-checking – goggles? On. Swim cap? On. Mojo? Eh, not so much.

We leap 10 feet off the platform on the back of the taxi, into the Hudson. It’s just before 9.

Sinking down, I notice two things: the Hudson is icy cold in spots. And it’s dark. Like, muddy, hard-to-see-your-hand-in-front-of-your-face dark.  Water quality? I tell myself it’s like swimming in very big pint of Guinness. But don’t drink it.

I bob up to the surface, tighten my goggles and tread water with about 25 others, all waiting next to the twin starting pontoons. Easy to stay in place: there’s no current. Hmmm. Maybe I should’ve been in the previous wave?

Boat horn honnnnnnnnnks. We’re off.

The clear goggles I purchased to be sure I see everything are working great. I see inky dark with my face in the water. Creepy, but makes my stroke faster.

But, as I breathe left – hey lookit – it’s Riverdale.

Then see nothing with my face in the water as I stroke.

Breathe right – hey lookit – it’s the Palisades.

Every 20 strokes, look up. Hey wow – it’s the George Washington Bridge. Face back in the water. Stroke.

Breathe left – hey lookit – it’s Riverdale.

See nothing with my face in the water. Stroke.

Breathe right – hey lookit – it’s the Palisades.

Weeks of worry wash away. I can do this. Breathe left – hey lookit – it’s Riverdale again.

Stroke.

Breathe right – hey lookit – there’s the Palisades. Again.

But I’m no tourist. I’ve got an appointment under the bridge. Quicken my pace.

Took a little while, but the novelty soon wears off. Start dreading my view of the GW Bridge. And all that coffee has my brain wondering: Y’know if George Washington never told a lie, how come his bridge is so deceptive? It’s so large that it looks close.

It so isn’t.

The whole first hour that great, gray hulking thing never. Gets. Any. Closer.

And the pristine shoreline of Riverdale and the Palisades? It’s blurring into the same dark-green. I hear echoes of my younger self, “How much further?”

Shut up and swim.

I’m swimming hard. And there goes the 1^st buoy. It’s big and metal, not like the inflatable orange pontoons dotting our course. Didn’t the race director say it they mark each mile? So there’s only 3 more till the bridge.

C’mon.

Now I’m swimming between two bright pink caps – can’t read their numbers, but at least I’ve narrowed my swim lane. This is great. We swim together, three in across. It’s a quick pace, but I’m busy congratulating myself on being so clever. This’ll save time and we’ll get there sooner. Then, I hear a whistle.

My head goes up. Two kayakers – there to keep us on course – are waving for us to swim closer to the shore. All 3 of us are off course, too far in the center of the river.

Arrrgh. I wasted energy getting there. Waste more getting back on course. Angry. I pick up the pace and look up more often – searching for the orange buoys.

Swim faster.

Left side: Riverdale. Stroke. Right side: Palisades.

Again. And again. Again.

And then? Rooftops. Tips of Tudor-style peaks, peeking out, among the trees tops.

Studying them with each alternating breath. They mark my position. Are we moving? No. Wait. Yes. I think so. Look again. Maybe. Yes. We are. Slowly I pass them. One. At. A. Time.

Swimming faster. And lookit - there’s Dykman’s Bridge. The north end of Manhattan. We’re done with the Bronx.

Now I see more landmarks to mark my slug-like progress.

But the clock is running fast. I’ve only got 2 hours and 15 minutes to the bridge – no time for dillydallying, even if it’s a nanosecond to course correct.

I hadn’t noticed but the tide was just changing when we entered the water. The race director said we’d pick up speed and the “Tidal assist” would help us more as the swim went on. Sweet words – but in the salty Hudson, about a mile from the start, it doesn’t feel like much help. Not that I notice. Focus on stroke technique. Pull all the way through. Make each stroke count.

Get to the bridg in time and the prize is I get to keep racing another 2.2 miles to the finish.

C’mon, c’mon. Swim.

Glancing up at the bridge, I can see there are two levels. That’s gotta mean we’re closer. Right? Shut up and swim.

Left side Manhattan. Stroke. Right side Palisades.

Somewhere close by the Manhattan side of the bridge is a little red lighthouse – the namesake of this race. It’s waiting. Hurry.

I’m a machine. Stroke. Breathe left: Manhattan. Stroke. Breathe right: Palisades. My hands’re big, flat paddles, pulling water toward me. Elbow out, hand back in. Breathe left: Manhattan. Stroke. Breathe right.

And then, I look up and the bridge is close. I swim harder. I look up and the pontoon is on my right – should be on my left. So I try to swim around it and it’s hard to swim up. The tide is turning and working with me.

I’m thrilled. I’m back to being a machine. Stroke. Breathe left: Manhattan. Stroke. Breathe right: Palisades.

I’m under the bridge. Take a break and breast stroke, looking up at the underside. I came all this way and I think, “Wow, they don’t paint the bottom. Kinda ugly.”

I break my stroke. It’s time for the secret weapon.

My wetsuit is a short-jack. Low collar, no sleeves and it only goes to mid-thigh. Tucked inside my right thigh is a packet of goo – a specially made jelly-like glob of sugar and caffeine for endurance athlets. I rip it open and swallow. A kayaker comes by, and I wave. He continues upstream, paddling hard. The wrapper goes back into my wetsuit.

I can do this.

Stroke. Breathe. Manhattan. Stroke. Breathe. New Jersey. Shoulders aching, but know I have the energy. Getting closer to the Water Treatment Plant, where we’ll see a yellow inflatable pontoon, where we make a left towards shore and the finish. Looking ahead, but just see orange pontoons.

Next thing I know, it’s getting crowded with more swimmers. Most are farther out in the river, keeping the kayakers busy. I’m looking up more, every 10 strokes. Don’t want to waste any energy. Pulling through each stroke – making it count.

C’mon. Faster.

There’s the yellow one. I start angling toward shore because I know I can’t swim and make a right angle there. Tide’s really pulling now. It’s hard to swim at an angle. Water’s pulling straight down the river. Some swimmers are too far out and won’t make that turn.

There it is. There’s the finish. Stairs – get to the stairs.

Swimmers are all over, I bee line for the stairs. Grab the railing and pull myself up. Feet feel the bottom of the Hudson – oozing, soft mud. Gag from the feeling.

Pull myself up but nearly fall over, why’m I dizzy? Volunteers grab my arms and pull me up the last few stairs, onto the walkway. Stagger. Look behind me, everyone is getting pulled up the stairs. They’re just as woozy.

Take off the goggles and swim cap. Unzip the wetsuit.

Breathe.

Arm are like lead. So tired.

But it’s done. I’m done. Wobble over to the table – same one we got our swim caps from earlier. Now we get finisher t-shirts. Navy blue. Little logo.

There’s a hose hooked up to a showerhead. Line up behind the line of swimmers. I strip off my wetsuit and rinse off the Hudson from me, then the wetsuit.

It’s surprisingly warm. I sit on the steps, with other swimmers. They’re chatty. Joking. Nobody’s nervous now. I’m nearly dried off.

Slowly pack up my gear, put on the new shirt and unlock my bike. It’s an easy ride home, lots of people going about their day, shopping at Fairway, biking, roller blading as I take the greenway path south, along the river.

Finished 192 out of 240 finishers, but for me, this race is not about speed. This was about heart.

Think we’re all at our best when we try to do things we know are outside our limits. Maybe even things that scare us. We don’t always get it done. But sometimes it’s enough to try.

Here’s hoping you’re pushing your limits too.

This is one heckuva a long slog, so thanks for reading all the way down here.

Flash your brilliance. No matter who's watching.

This little lightning bug ignited 5 times in 60 seconds. Was it brilliant? I'll let his mate decide.

Wanted to share his attitude with you.

His tenacity.

And his ability to concentrate, even on Riverside Drive in New York City. Y'know, in the tough city that never sleeps.

Here's hoping you're doing all you can to make your brilliance shine. Whether the weather's rainy, foggy, cloudy or brilliantly sunny (you bring your A game when you're brilliant; no need to fear some healthy competition).

The firefly finds the passion to keep on flashin'.

Hope you will too.

And thanks for reading all the way down here.

Pete Pulls a Palin - Abandons Triathlon

Yeah, I hear you.

Pretty sure I know what you're thinking. (I'm thinking it too.) Click this link to hear the non-4-letter word describing my quitting that you're too polite to say out loud.

And yet.

- While I won't be taking any random-scheduled tours on a bus,
   I will certainly be touring on my bicycle more.

- While I won't taunt the media about possibly running for the highest public office,
   it is possible I'll be running for higher weekly mileage.

- And when things don't go swimmingly for me, I won't wade into safer water;
   I'll instead keep my mouth shut, dive in, and do some laps.

Before you know it, I may be posting a new challenge that's caught my fancy.

Meantime, feel free to:
• Dump duties,
• Run from responsibilities,
• Abdicate appointments,
• And otherwise shirk the shackles of assignments, just as long as you haven't sworn an oath saying otherwise.

Bottom line? The June 12 half-ironman I signed up for didn't mandate any swearing, but it did require sweating that I wasn't able to live up to. This time.

Thanks for reading way down here.

Please be green. But not with envy.

Green.


Means go.


Means Spring.


Spring into action.


Action and adventure.


Nothing ventured, nothing gained.


What, someone's gaining?


Better spring into action.


Gotta get going.


Go.


(The picture above is from a nutty guy named Hugh MacLeod and if you click on his name there, it'll take you to his other nutty drawings and musings. Some are even green.)


Before you get to springing into action, please accept my thanks for reading all the way down here.

Why is my cellphone more needy than my kids?

Why isn't it more self-reliant?

• It needs more juice (when the battery's low)

• It needs to be silenced (when I'm in a meeting)

• It needs to be told it can't interrupt me with a call when I'm already on a call

• It needs to be with me at all times because otherwise it'll get left behind.

To help wean it off this dependency, I refuse to take it with me running, biking or swimming (apparently, cellphones are allergic to water).

Hope you find time to fulfill your needs for exercise today. Without your phone.

And thanks for reading all the way down here.

Raise your hand if you're a raving lunatic

It ain't just Charlie Sheen. Although, I did have a bit in common with him as I bicycled in the pre-dawn chill today.

Yeah, it was cold.

Yeah, it was dark.

Yeah, I was the only one out there. And I do so mean Out There. Quasi-delirious.

See, I was deathly afraid of getting mugged by a raging, rabid raccoon in Central Park, not that either of us would've been more crazy than the other.

Turns out it was a false alarm about those furry fiends.

So g'head and get outdoors today for a little dose of crazy of your own. There's plenty of federal, state and local parks. Some doctors're even prescribing a visit to their patients.

But before you head on out, please accept my thanks for reading all the way down here.

In praise for evil plan C

Evil Plan A: Run this morning.
Outcome: Foiled again. It was cold and dark; I was too cranky.

Evil Plan B: Bike to work this morning.
Outcome: Foiled again. It was still cold and dark; I was still too cranky.

Plan C: Swim at lunch.
Outcome: Success. Got out, swam forever and now I'm excitedly cranking out work (this blog entry notwithstanding).

The key to my (self-labeled) evil plan? Tenacity and flexibility. Course it helps being spoiled rotten as I am with a job that lets me scoot out for an hour at lunch.

Hope you find the time to do something fun today. Even if it's your own evil plan. And if you don't may you find the flexibility to do something almost as much fun.

Oh, wait - I owe credit for that kooky drawing (above). It's by a nutty guy named Hugh MacLeod and you can check out his deranged thoughts - click on his name there.

But before you go, thanks for reading all the way down here.

Mother Nature is your secret admirer today

Whether you take advantage of today's weather or not, this is Mother Nature's Valentine's Day gift to you.

Biking to work, while sloppy, is encouraged.
So is wearing shorts (seriously - one guy in the agency actually did today - see the photo?).
Maybe it's time for a slightly shorter-than-usual haircut.

In any event:
• Unmuffle those scarves
• Unhand those gloves and - c'mon -
• Don't be a nay-sayer; skip that extra layer.

Enjoy thoughts of shorter-sleeves and longer, sun-doppled days. Okay ok. It's not quite sandal weather, but it's encouraging to think that way.

Happy Valentine's Day and thanks for reading down here.

Ice ain't nice and snow must go

Sorry to be rude, but Winter's overstayed its welcome. March 19 is its official exit and frankly, it can't get here soon enough.

Here's your hat, what's your hurry, Winter.
Don't let the storm door hit you on you way out, Winter.
Like to say I'll be sorry to see you go Winter, but I won't.

Maybe it's the infectious enthusiasm of Mike Keohane (a great running coach, if you need one) who said on his website: The ice is gone! See you in the park!

Regardless of whether the weather stays or goes, hope you're sure-footed in moving forward with your new year's resolution.

But if that promise remains frustratingly unfulfilled, don't fret. As Vince Lombardi once said, "It doesn't matter if you get knocked down. What matters is if you get up!"

Thanks for reading down here.

(*Yeah, he's the guy they named the Super Bowl Trophy after.)

Failure is too an option

Beg to differ with that Apollo 13 team. And every other board-room bore belching out those buzzwords.

Frankly, until you've failed fabulously, you really don't know the first thing about having fire in your belly.

Got a first-class reminder about that today:

- Flunked: a written test to be an advanced soccer referee
- Fiasco: missed another day of working out
- Flop: the paste fell off my brush before it got to my teeth tonight

(How was your day, honey? Mine's full of failure.)

Buuuuuut. Those visits from the Fraternal Order of Failure leave me feeling like my fuel tank's full for tomorrow.

Yes. Tomorrow, I'm in the driver's seat of my get up and go.

Sometimes knowing Failure is lurking is all it takes to motivate. Other times, it's like I need a good ole-fashioned whupping by Failure to get the mojo moving.

Here's hoping my failings fire you up to forge ahead.

Sorry I haven't written in a while (another failure!), but thanks for reading down here.

Six degrees ain't much of a separation

Went running this morning when the temperature was 6 degrees.

But you were right there with me. We weren't separated at all.

Like you:
- I stayed up to watch the Jets entertain (tease?) us and almost win.

- Felt the drag of Monday (which is clinically proven to be the hardest day to get out of bed).

- Saw it was dark.

- Noted that, yeah, it was mightily cold.

About the only thing that tried to separate us was consciousness. You had dreams gliding through your head; I had endorphins hurdling through mine.

And yet, I could feel the encouragement, well-wishes, high-fives, the atta-boys, the "yes you can" and the occasional "go get 'em."

Thank you for your support.

And thanks for reading down here.

Feeling Lucky? Well do ya?

Tomorrow morning, there's an 80% chance of snow and sleet at 5. My buddies at weather.com also say there's a 90% chance at 6 am and 100% chance at 7 am (is that really considered a "chance" when it's 100%?). (Check it out yourself here:
http://www.weather.com/weather/hourbyhour/graph/10025?begHour=21&begDay=17#hhView.)

Sounds like it could be a bit slippery for a morning run. But y'know what - that's why God invented hot showers for afterward.

Then, there's that pesky commute to work. Eh, that's another story (or, maybe that's why there's hot coffee?).

Hope this gives you a devil-may-care attitude about anything that Mother Nature's throwing in your way.

And thanks for reading down here.

Holiday Chopping - a new tradition?

A brand, spanking new year. What a perfect time to close the loop left over from last year. And it can help your neighbors, family, friends, heck maybe even the whole rest of the planet.

MulchFest.

It's the NYC Parks Department's way of recycling old Christmas trees into mulch for trees (and some hungry worms).

This past weeekend, I rode by bicycle (to recycle, yeah, I know) to Riverside Drive and 83rd Street to help out. I was greeted by the fresh scent of evergreens, hot coffee courtesy of one of the sponsors (Dunkin Donuts) and warm smiles from the other 8 volunteers.

Our job? Drag a tree off the pile, take off any leftover ornaments, then hand the tree to the guys at the chipper. They had chipper feeders who expertly slid trees into the mouth of the mulcher. (Hey, I saw that movie Fargo. I'm totally cool with letting professionals do the dangerous parts.)

At the end of 2-1/2 hours, we'd recycled the mountain of 260 trees (not including the artificial-scented one in the photo) into a molehill of green needles and brown twigs. It's a small part of MulchFest 2011, which recycled 16,665 trees total in all five boroughs.

I was surprised the trees're were light. Maybe because they're dried out. Four of the ones I grabbed still were in their metal stands. Had to take them off. Five had extra branches wired onto them. Untwisted that. But the biggest bummer were the six that had tinsel. Had a special holiday words going out to the Tinsel Inventor.

It was fun. But let me tell you, machines that make mulch ain't meek. About the only part I'd change for next year is bring earplugs.  Putting that on my list for Santa next year.

Think that's something you might enjoy? Maybe I'll see you there next year.

Is it still a new year's resolution if you can make it fun?

Biking to the office is underrated.

Sure, it's chilly. And the overcast sky makes the dingy subway seem downright sunny in comparison.

But man is it fun. Way more than I figured. And, as part of the triathlon I'm training for, every push of the pedal is one rotation closer to less pain on race day.

Makes me wonder: do resolutions HAVE to be heinous?

But wait. Before you answer, take a peek at this video. Think it'll help sway the jury in your mind. And maybe even give you an idea or two on how to keep your resolution. Just add fun.

Thanks for reading down here.

Not much makes sense at 5:30 in the morning

Getting out of a warm, cozy bed to go running outside does not make sense at that hour.

Not hearing birds when I'm out - if I could hear them over my huffing and puffing - does not make sense.

The fact that two - not one, but 2 - people were waiting for the bus along Riverside Drive at that hour so does not make sense.

And I ask you, does a school bus driving on Riverside Drive at that hour make sense?

Exactly my point.

And yet.

Haven't found a better time to run than those pre-dawn hours.

- Nobody passes me.

- No birds are on the sidewalk, mocking me as they languidly strut aside (in the daylight hours, I'm so non-threatening that pigeons don't even give me the courtesy of a half-hearted wing-flap to get out of my way).

- No muggers are out at that hour. If they are, they're in snuggy warm in the subway system, so maybe bundling up and getting on the bus is safer.

Ok, yeah. Seeing that big, honking yellow school bus zoom by me as I finished up was a bit odd.

Hope you're finding the time and get up and go for your resolution too. No matter how weird it feels.

And thanks for reading all the way down here.

2011 - This Year'll Be Different?

Each new year seems to dawn the same way: ripe with well-meaning intentions of This Year'll Be Different.

Yet, it too soon shatters into tiny shards of wouldas. Shouldas. And couldas.

Ever the optimist, I believe I've got a way through that.

Pain.

Yes, pain. It's an excellent teacher (so says my youngest brother, a wise, high school instructor who seems to know a bit too much about the subject for my comfort).

But wait, this isn't about comfort; it's about pain. The pain that could be inflicted on me during the half Ironman triathlon that I signed up for on June 12 in Columbia, Maryland. (I'd list the website, but the race is closed to new entries, lucky you.)

So I'm relying on the fear - the very real fear - of that pain, to keep me motivated in fulfilling my 2011 resolution. The resolution that, coincidentally, is "to complete a half Ironman triathlon."

If I'm not fit, the race'll be more painful. To be fit, I'll need to be patient (don't do too much at once). And persistent (do something each day). And - don't be afraid of a little perspiration.

I invite you to visit this blog whenever you get a chance and use the fear of my self-inflicted pain to keep yourself motivated in your 2011 resolution.

Thanks for reading all the way down here.