We Found a Home

At a fork of a lonely road in Carroll County, Mississippi, sits a small, nondescript, white, wood-frame building. Despite its lack of size and grandeur, it has a picture postcard quality nestled as it is against the backdrop of huge oak trees where squirrels eat acorns and deer slip through the shadows unseen. The yard is always freshly manicured without a trace of grass clippings or mower lines or trash. Across the road lies a cemetery on the top of a football shaped hill. Sunday morning past, my wife crossed the road and peered over the chain link fence at the tombstones and yelled back at me, "There's Danny Jackson's grave." She called out several other names of people we had known but had no idea their bodies are entombed here.

Centerville Baptist Church

They, whoever they were, named it Centerville Baptist Church about 115 years ago. We almost never made our initial visit. Earlier, I wrote about how my wife and I, after twenty-three years and two months, closed our little church in Moorhead and found ourselves ecclesiastically homeless. (I posted on this: "Transitions," May 28, 2014.) Someone asked why we didn't just go back to the Greenwood Church of God from which we came when we took the Moorhead Church. There is more than one answer to that question, but the chief one is it's sort of like Momma's house. I like to visit; now I even spend some nights there caring for Mom in her poor health. But 422 West Harding ceased to be home many years ago. Just like Momma's house, our "home church" has ceased to be where we live. We grew up and left the nest long ago. It is just not where we belong now. We feel that; we know it.

So we found ourselves on a quest for a place to worship, a place to feel at home while we rested and recovered from our labors and the pain of being shunned by a denomination we served faithfully for over two decades. I had a couple of criteria when we started our search. I wanted out of the Delta, and since there were no Churches of God close enough to attend, I thought the next best thing was the Baptist.

Since I know a few people who aren't from around here read this blog (thank you), a brief geography lesson might be in order. The Delta, where Greenwood lies and Penny and I live, is a crescent-shaped strip of land that lies west and east of the Mississippi River and borders the Loess Bluffs on its east. It runs from just below Memphis, Tennessee south to the town of Vicksburg, that city lay siege to by Ulysses S. Grant and surrendered to him on July 4th, 1863. As a result, the fourth of July was not celebrated there until the 1970s. The land here is pancake flat, and besides being renowned for its agriculture, the area has been scandalized and immortalized by numerous books, one of which calls it, "The most Southern place on earth" (the actual title of a book by James Cobb, published in 1994).

Besides its geography, it is also historically and culturally unique. The Delta has a strange ability to grow cotton, produce mosquitoes, and be the home of people with a certain mindset. Everyone here is a genius. Really. They, we, know everything and we have known it for a long time. Everyone in the Delta immediately sees the negative side of any issue or idea and anyone who disagrees with us is a dang fool and better get ready to fight or shut up one. And everyone in the Delta is "high class" and better than everyone else. No joke. You have to experience the class consciousness of this place to understand how truly stupid people can be. I didn't want anything more to do with that mindset if I could avoid it. I can't always avoid it, but I don't have to go to church with it.

The hills and Carroll County lie only a few miles from Greenwood and the Delta but is light years from the flat land in terms of people and attitudes. The biggest difference is that people are just people, and I like people, but I don't like everything about people. The pride and pretentiousness of the Delta is surprisingly absent from people who populate Carroll County just a few miles away.

So our search for a church started with the Coila Baptist Church in the little hamlet of the same name. I also wrote of this experience (See "I Liked That," May 29, 2014.)  and was especially impressed with the three-legged dog who hung out at the church. The distance was a little farther than we wanted to drive, but we liked it. Next we went to the tiny New Shiloah Baptist Church which is located on the same road my wife's family and mine own land on. We went once. It was nice, but we wanted to look some more. Mount Olive Baptist was our next visit, and we went there two times. It had a lot to recommend it. The distance was better but still a little far. It had a fair number of people but was not too large. Then we went to Hill View. It was more contemporary in its worship. Unfortunatley the pastor was gone the Sunday we stopped by and when they sent us a form letter that visitors obviously get, it was addressed to someone other than us. What?!

I had one more church on my list, Centerville. My wife didn't really want to go. She said, "You know at a church that small that much in the country, the pastor will be uneducated."

"I know," I answered, "but we are in a place in our lives that we might never be again. Now is a chance for us to look around. I want to at least go one time."

We went the first Sunday in July. Penny was right; the pastor was not highly educated, it was the smallest church we had attended, and it was next to nothing but pine trees and oaks. As we were driving away from that fateful visit, my wife asked, "What do you think?"

I just looked over and saw tears in her eyes. Before I could speak, she said, "I think this is it."

"I think so too," I agreed.

We've been going ever since.

I suppose the main reason we decided to set our bags down here is it just felt right, it seemed like this was home, where God was leading us. There are other things that have served to deepen that conviction as the weeks have passed. One of those is the collection of sounds that surround our experience at Centerville. When we get out of my wife's truck on Sunday morning, the sound of Jay birds, Robins, and others seep softly from God's free radio. Sometimes a crow reminds us we are in the country not town and the sound of wind whistling through the leaves is soothing to say the least. The smells of fresh mowed grass, dust, and pine needles further helps to create a mood of quiet rural serenity.

The sights we see on the way are a treat every time we travel to the church. We see birds of all sorts, deer, young and old, turkeys, squirrels, rabbits. We see the delta cotton and soybeans as we drive a road that part of The Rievers (1969)-- a coming-of-age story based on a Faulkner novel-- was filmed on. We motor past a pasture, also in the movie, where now resides a large herd of sheep, beautiful in their simplicity and innocence. It is impossible see the sheep without thinking of Psalm 23 or of Luke 12:32, "Fear not little flock for it is the Father's good pleasure to give you the Kingdom." We drive out of the delta and rise into the hills where we see the trees swaying in the breeze their limbs raised like human hands praising the Lord. That always makes me think of the verse, "Let everything that hath breath praise the Lord." We see the sky painted differently every time we drive that way faithfully fulfilling the Scripture, "The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament sheweth forth his handywork" (Psalm 19:1).



Brother Gary Moore

At the church we see real people, no fancy clothes, no expensive cars, no display of conspicuous consumption. We see everyday faith, not super spirituality, not people who are so "blessed" they can't admit struggle. We see people like us who enjoy eating and fellowship. But most of all we see Brother Gary Moore the pastor. My wife was right. He is not highly educated. He is not eloquent or polished. He does not dress in fancy suits. But he is real, not a hint of pretension in him. He loves Jesus, his humility is genuine, and he has a passion for souls. My wife loves him. So do I. Sometimes his preaching makes me cry. That's something these TV preachers in their thousand dollar suits can't do. That's why he's my pastor.

The Journey of August King

“Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?”

I can still hear one of my old professors read that line in class on the first day of a Shakespeare course I took way back in the 1980s. I was sitting in Keithly Building room 200 something at Delta State University, Harvard on the Highway as it is sometimes called.

“What does that mean?” John Ford, a Shakespeare scholar, asked us.

Like all the other stupid students, I thought it meant, ‘Where are you, Romeo?’

“Wherefore” is an archaic word. At least it is on this side of the pond. I don’t know it they still use it over there because I have never seen it on the Facebook page Did You Swim Today? my chief current connection to British English. But to us Americans it is a word from the past, so far in the past that it doesn’t even show up the King James Bible, which I am quite familiar with.

I heard it in an old movie I once watched on TCM. One character told another during a phone conversation that his wife had left him.

“Wherefore?” was all the other character answered in return. I felt smug with my newfound knowledge.

Speaking of movies, I thought of this word, which means “Why?”, when I viewed again The Journey of August King in my film class at MDCC this past Wednesday night. In this quest movie, there is a scene where the runaway slave, Annalees, says, “I never knew a man named after a month before.” She then goes on a spoof-binge, playing with August’s name saying things like, “July King, September King, November King.” Unwittingly she is asking the same question Juliet posed in the famous play: Why are you named that? What is the relationship between names and things? After all, Juliet retorts a few lines later: “A rose by any other name would smell just as sweet.”

Besides being a quest movie, which I am a sucker for, this story, starring Jason Patrick as August King, presents the most fully developed Christ-figure I have ever seen on the big screen. Not only that, but the Christ-figure is actually Christ-like, or at least he becomes so on this quest to achieve personal peace for himself and freedom, salvation, for the runaway played by Thandie Newton. On their journey he loses almost everything: his cow, his pig, his coffee pot, his geese, his horse, his house, most of his furniture, even his reputation as a sane man.

What he gains in return can’t be purchased with money. And what he becomes on the trip is summed up when the two climb the mountain through the clouds and to the start of the trail that leads to the North. Before sending her on her way, August gives her several sentences of advice.

She simply answers, “August King.”

She gets it.

It’s worth getting even as a viewer.

Watch this movie.

Several times.

More Beetsdown Training

I am late posting the Beetsdown training for last week (9/15-9/21). It was a mixed bag as far as training goes. I ran little and swam a lot but in a strange way. There was not intensity in any of my pool session. I am not sure why it turned out that way. Maybe fatigue had me where I couldn't stomach the idea of busting it up and down the pool so I just swam. I always enjoy a long leisurely swim no matter how tired I am or am not.

John was out of pocket Monday and at Twin Rivers I just got in and started doing laps and did 9,000 meters straight before I tapped out to go to work. After night class, I ran 4.06 miles in the dark. I am still enjoying running in the dark. The streets are deserted, the tree frogs still sing, and occasionally I see a bat swoop down presumably chasing a bug.

Tuesday John was back and he wanted to go four hours. That sounded good to me so once again I just swam laps, no sets.. I went for 11,000 in 3:53 before I tapped out. John, who got in before me, also got out after me and finished with 4:40. I was so fatigued that I didn't even run that night.

Wednesday my right pec was sore. WHAT!?!?!? Remember all  that from last spring? I stopped after only 1,400. I didn't swim or run Thursday but by Friday I was feeling good and I swan 8,200 straight. Pec OK.

Saturday was the Oaks, which I wrote about in my last post. Besides the 10K, I walked back to meet my daughter and ran the final half mile with her. Then I did the kids Fun Run so I wound up with 7.55 miles for the day, but no running between Monday and Saturday. How smart is that?

For the week, I

ran 11.65 miles,
rode my bike to work four times (one half mile each way),
walked 2.88 miles, and
swam 29,600 meters.

All things considered, I am still on track to do some a major Beetsdown on Sir Randy come October 11. One possible issue: I have a new pilot. Forrest can't make the trip, and Justin Nunnery has graciously agreed to help me. I am sure Justin will do a fine job, and I am happy he has hopped on the bandwagon to help take down Randy Beets. Forrest, however, had accumulated some experience, and he really helped me defeat the tall guy last year. In the last race, I was getting worried when Forrest said, "Relax, Dad, you're gaining on him." Later he reported: "I will tell you when he feeds. Then sprint." Not only that, but he has seen me swim so much that he can recognize me in the mass of thrashing water that is the start of the Suck. He finds me fast while some swimmers go miles without their pilot. Justin did watch me swim 17-miles last June, so I hope that translates into early recognition.

300 Hoax

Saturday, September 20th, was the 33rd running of Greenwood's 300 Oaks road race. The run was a fun event since I had my son, daughter, granddaughter, wife, and sister-in-law there. All of us were involved in some way. My son, daughter, and sister-in-law, and I ran the 10K while my wife and granddaughter did the 5K walk. The weather was nice and as usual the free food afterwards was excellent. A live band played on Front Street while the runners straggled in and found a place to crash and eat. What's not to like?

My finishing time. That's what's not to like.

I was three minutes slower than last year at 57:08, a 9:13 pace. I can remember when a 9:13 cuased me to blush effusively. Those were the days. As slow as that was, it was good enough for second place in my age group. But I am in a very old group of geezer jocks who still run hard but get there slow. Having outlived and outlasted much of my competition, now I can usually place just by shuffling across the finish line. The three minute slow down, however, has me worried, frustrating, wondering. And to make matters worse, that has been my pattern for a few years in a row now.


The family, minus wife, at the Oaks.

It can't be my age.

It can't be.

That's what I've been telling myself for several years. But slowly I am starting to soften on that position. Maybe it is my age. I'm sure getting older has something to do with it. But I keep coming up with reasons for my decline that have nothing to do with my mounting years. Listen to a few:

•    I got a stress fracture in December and couldn't run for over two months.

•    I gained a bunch of weight while I was hobbled on crutches, and some of that adipose tissue still adorns my body.

•    My real focus for the last few years has been swimming not running.

•    This year I gained four pounds during race week. WHAT!?!?! Who does that?

Last year after the Oaks, I sat down and wrote out a plan for getting my running back on track. Somewhere along the way, I forgot about the plan and, consequently, I had a slower than expected race. See what I did there? I found a reason for my decline not connected to my birthdays. This year after the Oaks, I once more sat down and wrote out a plan to get my running back where I think it should be, to get me out of second place and into first among the geezers.

Am I hoaxing myself? hoping against hope to regain my lost youthful vigor? Or am I just too divided as an athlete, pulled in too many directions, diluting my energies and progress? I'm not sure I know the answer to that question or if I really want to know. Ignorance is bliss as they say. At least it can be.

Only time will tell if I stick to the plan this go round and at least get some of that performance back. In fact, I think I wrote something like this last year after the Oaks although I did not do a back search through EndangeredSwimmer to find that post. I think I may have said something to the effect that if I failed this year to lower my time I would give up on speed and just fade away into marathons and ultra-marathons.

Now there's an option.

Jay Unver Interviews Justin Nunnery

Interview with Justin Nunnery

By Jay Unver

 

I arose early to beat the morning’s sun to Greenville, Mississippi last Saturday, September 20, 2014. Fresh back from my trip to London where I interviewed Annabel Lavers, I was on my next assignment from the boss, Dr. Nomann, to have a little chat with Justin Nunnery.

Justin, along with Annabel Lavers, is one of the rising stars in The Association of Sports Swimmers. In fact, Justin competes in the other associations, The Association of Sports Shufflers and the Association of Sports Syclists, and is a full contract athlete with Big ASS Endurance. We sat down at the local Waffle House in Greenville and had a long talk about life in and out of the world's most interesting athletic promotion.

"Justin, you have had some real success lately. You must feel pretty good about your future."

"Yes and no. I am happy and disgruntled in some ways."

I was a little taken back by his statement. "Disgruntled? Tell me about it."

At this point the waiter came and took our order. I asked for a couple of eggs, grits, toast, and coffee. Justin put in for the supreme breakfast: two eggs, grits, toast, waffle, coffee and orange juice.

"Wait, wait," I said. "Let’s start at the beginning. Tell us a little about yourself. We can get to the other stuff later."

"First off, I think I’m the best looking athlete Big ASS has. I was born and raised here in Greenville, and was always good-looking. I was a little fat, but better than average on the attractiveness scale. That worked against me for a long time because I saw no need to lose the weight since I was already a chic-magnet. But eventually, I became concerned about my health. You know how that happens as we get older. I met Randy Beets and started swimming at the Y and then doing triathlons."

Our orders came and Justin, after first praying God’s blessing on it, dove in like a starving man. When he started back talking, some runny egg was drooling out of the right corner of his mouth. It eventually ran down his chin, and dripped to the table where he lapped it up with a piece of toast.

"Randy recruited me into the Fasttrack Fatties Athletic Club and when my tri times started dropping, Dr. Nomann offered me a contract with Big ASS. I jumped at the chance. I had long been inspired by the Hodge/Beets rivalry. Beets and I became training partners before he moved to North Carolina. Now we are adversaries."

"I hear you trained with Hodge one day last May."

"I did. We went to a catfish pond and swam in some pretty cool water."

"Cool? In what sense?"

"Temperature. I think it was 68, which for me is cool."

"So besides the water temp how was it? How did you and Hodge get along?"

Justin was finishing his food. He wiped his plate clean with his remaining bite of toast and then picked the empty plate up and licked it. He motioned for the waitress and when she came he ordered, “A waffle with as many sunny-side up eggs as you can put on the top of it. And more coffee and more juice.”

Hodge and Nunnery before
the fighting started.

Then I got him back on track.

"He was OK. Hodge. I mean, we didn’t fight. Not then. I had heard he is pretty easy to get along with two times per year. One is when he does his Chicot Challenge, and the other is whenever he goes to a catfish pond."

"Boy, that opens up a lot of questions for me. Let’s start with the time y’all did fight and then move to the Challenge."

"He tried to sucker punch me after I kicked his butt at the Heart O’ Dixie Triathlon," Justin said with a sneer. "So I whipped him. Plain and simple."

"You defeated him there for the Big ASS World Triathlon Championship. But he says he whipped you after the race," I added. 

"I won the race and the fight," Justin said with anger.

"OK. You two, along with Randy Beets, were a team at the Chicot Challenge. How did that work out?"

"It was fine. Like I said earlier, he’s easy to get along with at a catfish pond or at the Challenge. If you beat him in a triathlon, though, he comes unglued."

Justin’s next order of food arrived and he attacked it like he was mad at it or something.

"I enjoyed the Challenge," Justin started back. He had food falling out of his mouth when he talked. "I mostly drove the pontoon boat. I did some swimming with him late in the day when he was tiring. Randy swam with him some and finished with him. It was all for a good cause and it was inspiring to watch someone swim that far."

"What about next year. You two have fought since then. Will you work the 2015 Chicot Challenge?"


Nunnery, commentating for the Big ASS TV Network.

"I plan to. I think we can put our hostilities aside for one day."

"You mention earlier that you are partly disgruntled. Would you elaborate on that?"

"What pisses me is Hodge being allowed by Big ASS to be pretty selective in the events he competes in. He outright ducked me and Beets at Pensacola. Nomann ought to make him do that event. I think Beets could take him there."

"You know, that comes pretty close to the Chicot Challenge," I added.

"He’s ducking us. He told me himself, that day we trained at the pond, that he told me himself that he didn’t want to face Beets at that distance that early in the year."

"Still, you know he sinks a lot of money into the Chicot Challenge. Even with Big ASS paying his entrance fee, that is a lot of extra expense he can’t afford."

"Are you taking up for him?" Justin asked, galring at me with jelly on his face.

"No. I'm jjust sayin'."

Justin finished his second order of food and waived the waitress over. "How about a plate of hash browns, grits, and a couple of more eggs on top."

"Coming right up," she said with a smile.

"I just think a real champion should take on all challengers," Justin started back after slurping down the rest of his orange juice and burping loudly. "Randy and I both called him out at Pensacola and he didn’t answer the challenge. I have a problem with that."

"Maybe you can get him down there next year."

I ain't holding my breath."

"Shifting gears. You just did very well in an open water swim in Louisiana. Tell us about that."

"I went down there with rage towards Hodge and kicked butt. One day I’ll get him in an open water race, and I will whip him just like I did at the Heart O’ Dixie."

"I hear you are going to pilot him at Swim the Suck? True?"

"Yes. Strange but true. It will be an oportunity for me to be involved in defeating Randy Beets."

"So you won't try to sabatage him?" I asked in all sincerety.

"Oh, no. Beating Beets' butt will be great even if I am not the one doing the swimming."

"Speaking of beating butt, have you given any thought to the new MMA league?" I asked.

"A little. You think they’d let me fight Hodge?"

"I don’t know. There has been some talk of you and Annabel Lavers facing off."

"Really? I thought the plan was to match her with Beets."

"It was. But when his mother heard about it, we were contacted by her lawyer. Again."

"Gee. I don’t know if I want to fight a woman. Bel looks pretty strong. What if I lose?"

"Then we would match you with a smaller woman."

"Who?"

"Robin Bond," I answered.

"Robin Bond? Wow. Me fight Robin Bond. You have the contract?"

Off the Cliff

Friday mornings are made for coffee drinking and blogging. That's why my sister had me pick up Ollie this morning. Life is tough.

This week's training has been like a yo-yo. That's not accurate. It has been more like a cliff. I scaled the walls then fell off the rock face. Monday started with me getting in alone and just swimming. John was out of pocket and I didn't feel up to my Beetsdown set with him gone. It really does help to have him there when I swim hard. He usually watches when I am putting the hammer down and that gives me that little extra humph I need to pull off tough sets.

So I just swam, up and down, down and up. I figured I would come up with a practice while I warmed up. After 2,000 meters I was still working on a workout scheme so I just kept swimming. Then I realized I could get more distance in if I just swam and didn’t have the down time between sets so I just kept swimming.

After 3,000 I was doing the math and realized that if the kids came in at 4:00 I would be very close to my biggest swim of last week which was 7,200. So after 4,000 I just kept swimming.

For some reason, when I do a straight swim in the pool, everything seems to speed up after 4,000 so I just kept swimming. When I hit 5,000 I was still doing mental math and was hoping the kids would be a little late. Maybe they wouldn’t come at all, so I just kept swimming. When I hit 6,000 I tried to pick the pace up so I could break 7,000 before 4:00 but that didn’t work so I just kept swimming.

I hit 7,000 right around 4:00 with no kids in sight. I decided on 7,500 but when I got there I just kept swimming. Then I decided on 8,000 but when I got there, I just kept swimming. I was sure by then that the kids weren’t coming and neither was John, so I just kept swimming.

At 9,000 meters I did not just keep swimming but got out and went home. The swim was nice. The swim was long. The swim was nice and long. The kids were gone. Thank you God.

Comp I that night was very pleasant. Normally night classes are better than day classes. The students who sign up for night classes usually have jobs and families and are not there to play around. We are writing our second paper on diabetes. I rode my bike to school, further Beetsdown training. When I got home I went out for a Beetsdown run. Poor Randy, he can’t catch a break.

Tuesday John was back with a vengeance and said I had to beat yesterday. That's what he told me on the phone. When I got to the pool, he had already been in for thirty-minutes. I swam three hours and fifty-three minutes straight without nutrition or water. When I got out with 11,000 meters. John piddled around and got another ten minutes in. After I got home, we had to make a trip to the hospital in Grenada, so I didn't get to run.

Wednesday Johna and I met up at the pool and my right pec was pretty sore. I stopped after only 1,400 and after work I just couldn't make myself go out for a run.

Thursday I was headed out the door for the pool when my phone went off. I had to attend to some business and when I finally was able to make it to Twin Rivers, the sky had filled with dark clouds and lightning threatened to kill unwary swimmers. Disgusted, I went home and ate four Nutty Buddies, and three Oatmeal Cream Pies. Then I warmed up some sloppy joe mix and ate it like soup. All of that wasn't enough so I ate a sandwich and a loaded potato. Then I found the cookies my wife had hidden and I murdered a handful of them. Jeez Louise, I was grossing myself out, but not enough, so I ate some pecans and crackers and mayonnaise. I ran out of mayonnaise so I licked the spoon clean and finished off the crackers with half a jar of peanut butter. I hate myself. Did I mention all the candy I ate at work? Like I said earlier, I fell off the cliff. John and I are supposed to train today if I can waddle my fat butt out the door.

Beetsdown Mania

I don't know about the rest of you, but I really enjoyed Jay Unver's interview of Annabel Lavers. She is an interesting woman with a strong resume. Presently, Bel is the Association's only international athlete, but Dr Nomann assures me that will change soon. I saw Jay the other day when I went into a convenience store to buy some Oatmeal Cream Pies, and he told me he is attempting to contact Justin Nunnery. Future interviews of Big ASS athletes are forthcoming. Yeehaa.

The week of 9/8 - 9/14 was one of my best ever Beetsdown training cycles. I bet Randy Beets felt that rear-kicking all the way to North Carolina. Usually I do the day-to-day report with a total at the end. For this post, I am going to put the summary up front, in case that's all you want, and then add the daily details.

For the week, I

ran 31.59 miles,
lifted weights one time,
walked 5.56 miles,
swam 28,121 meters, and
biked four miles.

I don't care who you are, that's good training. The week consisted not only ample volume, but real quality as well. Monday I started with the idea of busting it in the water. I met John at the pool and swam

2,500
30 X 100 @ 1:57 (first nine @ 1:56)
14 X 50 @ 1:30 breathing every five
400 small paddles
total: 6,600 meters.

That filled my afternoon and Comp I filled my early night. After work I went out for a run. The air was cool, and I felt really good so I did 8.75 with a straight 2.37 miles of tempo. After that I added some more pickups. I am running on a different level than I was just a week ago. Running is like that. You train and train and you stay the same and then BOOM! everything is different. I noticed last Saturday that even though I had run eight miles the day before, I still felt like running and I ran a bit quicker. Monday night was confirmation. My tempo pace was a full minute per mile faster than it was Friday. It was cooler and that makes a difference but not that much.

Tuesday was another Beetsdown day. John  was out of town, so I went to the pond. The plan was to swim and run until I couldn't do it anymore. However, I was in a state of general fatigue from Monday and could only muster 2.81 miles in D6 (it has been re-pumped) and 2.55 miles of running.

John was still out of pocket Wednesday, and I was a little late getting into the water. I warmed up with 1,300 and then decided to see how long I could go @ 1:55. After nine reps, I tapped out. Then I was invaded by kids. WHAT!?!?! Starting last week, John and I have had the pool to ourselves with the lifeguards being laid off for the year. Not Tuesday. So I finished with only 2,200, but at least there was some quality in those 2,200. That evening I ran an easy 4.14 miles.

John and I were swimming by 1:30 Thursday. I did

3,500
2,500 countdown set
7 X 100 @ 2:30
total: 6,700

The kids invaded again. I hate that. Whoever heard of kids swimming. Don't they have some computer games to play or some cookies to eat? Why can't they leave me alone?

Friday morning I ran an easy 4.36 and met John at Twin Rivers a little after 1:00 pm. I made up my practice as I went along and what I did was

1,000 easy
6 X 100 @ 1:54
1,000 easy
7 X 100 @ 1:55
1,000 easy
2 X 100 @ 1:56
1,000 easy
10 X 50 @ 1:15
1,200 small paddles
total: 7,200 meters.

Saturday was the most pleasant day, weather wise, we have had here since last autumn. I toyed with the idea of going to the pond. I also thought about going to the pool and staying close to home. I settled on the idea of not swimming at all since I already had 28,000 in. Running, weightlifting, and college football seemed like a good plan. The cats liked that, and when I left them to go outside and run, it was so pleasant out that I ran nine miles instead of my planned two. Later that afternoon, I did a monster upper body lifting session. I was spent by the time I did my last rep, and the cats love me to be tired because I nap a lot and don't move much. Cats aren't very tolerant of moving humans. They want people to be as still as statues. When I exercise to the extreme, I can give them what they want.