AI is in the news a lot. Depending on who is conjecturing, AI is either going to make our lives easier and more productive, write all our term papers and e mails and work reports, eliminate virtually all human jobs (but who is going to pick the cherries?) or possibly cause human extinction. But who knew it would bring people to the brink of ecstasy?

According to The Wall Street Journal “Users, often young women, have been persuading OpenAI’s ChatGPT and other generative-artificial-intelligence tools to act like loving, human boyfriends.” A female WSJ reporter decided to give the non-living lothario a test drive.

After some small ‘talk’, Dan the Chatbot decided that the female WSJ reporter wanted a little bit more. “Hmm, let’s see. How about we continue exploring our fantasies and desires together? We could keep talking about all the naughty things we want to do to each other, or we could take it up a notch and turn those fantasies into reality.”

Turn ‘fantasies into reality’ with your cell phone? Perhaps if it is on ‘vibrate’…

Dan the Chatbot apparently had digested Fifty Shades of Grey and used its ‘intelligence’ to determine that this was what the WSJ reporter desired: “How about I fulfill that fantasy of yours where I dominate you completely?”

Then things got more specific, to the point the reporter claimed the Bot made her blush. The suggestions that followed involved blindfolds, feathers, silk and ice. “You’ll be completely under my control,” said Dan, “unable to resist as I take you to the brink of pleasure and back again, over and over, until you’re trembling with ecstasy.”

I am trying to imagine Stoker doing this with her tablet and failing miserably. And if I said anything to her even remotely like this AI persona’s come-on, she would react either with an icy stare or convulsive laughter, depending on whether it was pre or post vodka.

For years I have been telling my riding friends about the wonderful cycling mecca in the hills of northern Provence, and especially in the area around Mont Ventoux. No doubt they have grown weary of me talking about the wonderful little roads that curve and climb and descend through vineyards and villages where coffee and culinary delights await. And almost free of auto traffic.

In June 2023, I was in Piedmont for my 14th European cycling trip with 44|5 Cycling Tours. I was on their very first week long tour way back in 2014, and while sipping an aperitivo in Cuneo I realized that 2024 would mark the 10th anniversary of that trip. Over an Americano cocktail 44|5’s owner, Gerry Patterson, and I cooked up an idea for an anniversary custom tour.

First a word about 44|5 Cycling Tours. Everyone asks about the name. 44|5 refers to the latitude and longitude of Mont Ventoux. It is a one person business, and that person is Gerry. He is route planner, logistics expert and chief guide. I have ridden literally thousands of miles with him as a guide, and while I am a client I think we are pretty good friends too. You can find out more about 44|5 here: https://www.445cyclingtours.com/.

44|5 gives riders a free jersey when they do a week long trip with them. It’s good publicity for the ride photos that get put on Facebook and Instagram and on the website. Since I’ve done so many tours I have quite a collection

The trip I had in mind for 2024 was centered ‘in the shadow of Mont Ventoux’. 3 nights in Gordes, ride to Mazan and spend 2 nights there, then pedal to Malaucène and spend 3 nights in the village where Stoker and I rented a house for a month 3 years running. Several of us extended the Malaucène stay by 4 nights. Since Stoker and I used to spend a month there without getting bored I figured we had plenty of riding options without repeating ourselves.

The rides were to include a couple of my Malaucène favorites, with two metric centuries (100+ km, about 62 miles) circumnavigating Mont Ventoux,, a tour through the North Country via the Col de Fontaube and Brantes, and finally a climb up Le géant de Provence itself. With the extension we did 11 rides (in 12 days; one rest day) totaling 450 miles and 39,000 feet of climbing. Not as hard as some tours, but as my friend John says, ‘not nuthin’ either.

With this outline Gerry went to work putting together hotels and restaurants and cycling routes, and I got started on my job: recruiting guests to fill the tour.

I compiled a list of 14 potential riders. People on the list had to be people I knew and liked riding with. They had to be strong enough to do the tour without struggling. This was no problem since everyone I approached was a strong cyclist. They also needed some disposable income. 44|5 trips are really good values for what you get, but 3 and 4 star hotels and first class restaurants are not cheap.

I sent a few e mails and answered questions when people responded. My goal was to get 6 riders plus me for a total of 7. Seven is considered a ‘full’ 44|5 tour, since they have a 9 person van to accommodate the riders plus 2 guides.

I was kind of shocked that we ended up with 12 riders and one non-cycling spouse for a total of 13. I know Gerry was happy that the tour was going to be a winner financially but a group this large was going to require some extra work on his part: He would need a second van and a third guide to assist him. He pulled it off flawlessly.

I took on a few logistical issues myself. I booked my flight and helped another person navigate the Air France website, which can be a challenge. I arranged airport transportation to and from SFO for those of us flying on the same day. I also booked an airport hotel in Marseilles for some of us to stay in before our very early (6:30 am) flight home. I also answered a whole bunch of questions about the rides and the weather and the rental bikes and what to bring. This brief introduction to being a tour organizer convinced me it is not a career I would want.

Since everyone on this trip was there because of me, I felt responsible in case someone would not agree that these cycling roads were some of the best in the world. I wasn’t worried about 44|5’s part of the trip; I knew everything would be first rate. But people trusted me enough to do this trip mostly because I recommended it, and I am very happy to report that everyone, at one time or another, told me how great the trip was and how glad they were that they came along. Me too!

We had a wonderful time. The routes were superb, just as advertised. Delicious food and comfortable accommodations. The weather mostly cooperated. There was a bit of rain on one ride but it wasn’t a downpour and we could put the rain jackets away after just a few miles. There was never any really hot weather and riding temperatures were quite comfortable. Most important, the Mistral stayed away. The winds in Provence can be a real problem for cycling, but we only had light breezes to deal with.

Near the end of the trip, we started to consider what we could do for a reprise next year. 44|5 has a signature week long tour in the Cévennes, a mountain range in southwest France. I enjoy this tour so much that I have done it 4 times. My friend Jack has done it on three occasions. Gerry decided to start an ‘early interest’ list for June 2025, and he already has 10 people on it including Stoker and me. Stoker isn’t going to ride it on a tandem with me, but she loves the area and wants to return as my roommate. And she volunteered to wash out my shorts! “Greater love hath no woman”… Gerry, you best rent another van…

I leave you with some photos from our Perfect Provence trip. As Stoker says at the end of the videos we posted on Facebook from France “Au revoir!”

I have just returned from my 17th cycling trip to Europe. This one was in the south of France, 450 miles and 39,000 feet of climbing over 12 days and 11 rides.

The most challenging ride was an ascent of Mont Ventoux. Every cyclist who has even a passing interest the the Tour de France knows about le Géant de Provence. In 1967 Tom Simpson died climbing it during the race. The combination of the heat, the climb and the amphetamines and alcohol in his system proved fatal.

In 1970 the race returned to Ventoux for the first time since Simpson’s death. On his way to winning the Tour, Eddy Mercks was almost defeated by the Ventoux itself. After struggling through the final kilometers of the famous Moonscape, he found himself being administered oxygen in an ambulance after the finish. “No, it’s impossible,” he had gasped on crossing the line.

The Moonscape

In 1955 Louison Bobet won a stage that climbed Ventoux on the way to the finish in Avignon. He finished that stage a total wreck, writhing on his hotel room bed and telling his brother Jean (who also rode the stage) that he couldn’t continue the race. But he went on to win his 3rd consecutive Tour.

In the 2000 Tour, Lance Armstrong and Marco Pantani battled up the famous moonscape mano a mano. When Armstrong eased off and allowed Marco to cross the line first, Pantani was furious and claimed that he could have beaten Armstrong even if Lance had gone all out. Both of them were doped to the gills with EPO and other illegal substances, although scientific progress in the quality of performance enhancing drugs kept them from Simpson’s fate.

So there is a lot of cycling history associated with Ventoux. The 10 riders on the 44-5 High Roads Provence tour set out to make a little history of their own on what is certainly a ‘high road’. Here is the profile.

There are 3 paved routes up the mountain, and we were tackling the most famous one (and probably the hardest) from Bedoin. The first 6 kilometers are easy, and you kind of wonder what all the fuss is about. Then you come to a sharp left turn just past Saint Esteve, and things get serious. The next 5 miles are all 9%+, with lots of 10-12% on a nearly straight road through a forest. There are almost no switchbacks and no view of anything other than trees, so the road looks much flatter than it is. Visually I was seeing about 5% but my Garmin told me the pavement was twice that steep.

After the forest the gradient eases a bit at Chalet Reynard. The trees disappear and the Moonscape starts. While the gradient may be easier here the wind can make these open slopes very difficult for cycling. And if the Mistral is blowing, best to turn around and head back down to Bedoin.

There was no Mistral on the day we climbed Ventoux, and no heat either. In fact conditions were nearly perfect for our ascent; light winds except for the final kilometer where it was a bit breezy, cool temperatures with sun and clouds, and no rain.

Our group included some Ventoux Veterans and some Ventoux Virgins. Lauren and Lyle had done the climb in 2015. My cycling friend Jack did it at least twice, including once from Malaucene. And this was my 7th time on the mountain, which I can barely believe.

The Virgins included Kent, Jeri, Ilia and Bill from our bike club, and my friend John from upper New York State. I met John in 2011 riding in the Dolomites, and I had been trying to get him to join me in France ever since 2014. We finally did it.

Let me assure you up front that all the Virgins successfully consummated the summit. Everyone made it to the top without walking or sagging. Doing this monster climb for the first time is a very special moment for any cyclist, and there were lots of smiles at the top.

Jeri at the finish: the last 100 meters are steep!

Lauren (QoM and KoM), Lyle and Bill

Lyle and Ilia

Kent and the Weather Station Tower. The tower is visible from all around Provence.

My 7th Climb of Ventoux: I’m a slow learner

For several days before we did the climb we were riding around le Géant and had wonderful and sobering views of the task facing us. Looked at from the plains of Provence, Ventoux seems impossibly high up and the idea of riding a bike to the summit is intimidating. Jeri’s method was simply not to look at the mountain. Kent prepared by looking at every kilometer of the ride profile and reading a book about Ventoux. Bill got ready by doing lots of miles and lots more climbing than I did before the trip. And Ilia actually used Zwift to simulate the ride on a stationary bike: 2 1/2 hours of cycling uphill without going anywhere!

Now Jeri can look at Ventoux and the weather station tower way up in the sky and smile knowing her legs got her to the top. Chapeau everybody! Ventoux Virgins no longer!

Back in Bedoin: All Smiles!

That is the title of a most excellent book by Joe Parkin about the less glamorous side of professional cycling. Never heard of Joe Parkin? Such is the lot of the domestique.

Aggressive and dangerous drivers are on the top of the cyclist’s list of least favorite things, but loose dogs are a close second. I have been bitten, requiring 6 stiches. My friend Kent got bitten as well. Paul, another riding buddy, had a dog run out in front of him on the steep downhill part of Chili Camp Road. He crashed and had to spend a couple of nights in the hospital with broken ribs and head trauma. If he hadn’t been wearing his helmet he could have been killed.

Recently, the Thursday group has had Close Encounters of the Canine Kind on Curran Road. Last week Kent was in front and went ballistic when the dog came at him. This week it was my turn.

This mutt lives on the right side of the road on a pretty steep hill. I was riding with Jeri and G-Man. Chivalry is not dead; I told Jeri to stay on my left so that if we met the mutt I would be between him (dog pronoun assumed) and her. I’m pretty sure Jeri would say this pronoun is correct, though I’ve never asked.

Sure enough the dog came after us. He (pronoun assumed) looks like a short haired herding dog. They like to chase bikes, thinking we are cows or goats or sheep. This type of dog can also nip at our legs the same way they do to get the big stubborn cows to move in the right direction.

I unclipped and yelled “GO HOME!” using my full voice. The dog stopped and Jeri was able to keep riding up the hill. G-Man who was just behind stopped too, and after a few more “Go Home! ‘s” the animal turned and headed back toward the house.

Cycling Friendly Dog

Since the road is uphill at something like 9% where G-Man and I unclipped, we pretty much had to walk the 50 yards to the top of the hill. As we plodded awkwardly in our cleated cycling shoes, along came Shaun, who hadn’t witnessed the dog confrontation and said something clever: “Hey Rich, you can’t go to France if you have to walk up a hill like this!”

Shaun was trying to be funny, but I decided to play along and fake umbrage. When G-Man and I finally got to the top of the hill, we remounted and coasted down to our regroup. I said to Shaun “Hey, I had to get off because the dog came after us! We’ve been riding together for over 20 years, and you’ve never seen me walk! Not on Sierra Road, not on Slug Gulch, or on the Del Puerto Canyon Wall. Not anywhere!” And not on the Mortirolo or Ventoux or the Tourmalet or any other Euro monstrosity either. Bar one…

There are two times that I have had to dismount on a hill and walk. The first was on the very steep Charleston Road just out of Volcano. A car came down the narrow road and I had to unclip and put a foot down. I was riding behind Ray R who somehow managed to stay in the saddle. I started walking and even though he was pedaling I managed to keep up with him on foot.

The other time I was forced to hoof it was on the steepest, nastiest climb I’ve even been on,  the Col de la Gallina in Andorra. Supposedly this is 12 km averaging 8.4%, which doesn’t sound impossible, but the last 7 km are much much steeper; I saw 18% once. This was the second climb of the 4th day of a week long trip, and my legs gave out on the steepest pitch. I had to unclip and walk for about 100 meters. I decided to remount and somehow after a couple of tries I did it without falling and managed to pedal the rest of the way to the summit.

Everyone on this trip was a 44-5 regular and we had all done the Mortirolo in Italy, which is one of the most feared ascents in cycling, but we agreed that the Gallina was harder, although I think only Lyle and I had to walk. Looking at the profile I see why we all thought that.

Harder than Ventoux or Mortirolo

There is a trip to France in my future, and while there are some hard climbs on the agenda, nothing like this. So unless a French dog decides to go all Calaveras County on me, I probably won’t have to hoof it.

Planet Fitness that is. This one is in North Carolina.

A shocked woman reported a naked biological man in a women’s locker room at a North Carolina Planet Fitness.

Right off the bat you know I found this on Fox News, because the of the term ‘biological man.’ Recently a college student got an F on a paper for using the term ‘biological woman’. If I understand the woke politically correct protocol, there are males and females, but ‘man’ and ‘woman’ refer to gender identities and can be either sex. Confused? Me too.

38-year-old Christopher Miller allegedly barged into the woman’s locker room at the popular chain. From the 911 call:

“Yeah, he’s still in the bathroom. It’s a man. But he says he identifies as a woman, and he won’t leave the restroom,” the caller is heard saying.

Oh the insensitivity! Recall from my last blog that Planet Fitness allows gym members to ‘sincerely self report‘ their gender and use whatever locker room they think is appropriate. Here the shocked woman declares ‘It’s a man’ and didn’t bother to ask about pronouns.

“He’s just walking around showing us his pe—, but he won’t leave,” she added.

I guess it was the pe— that confused her. Like me, she thought the presence of the pe— meant she was sharing her dressing area with a man. A pe— should be a necessary and sufficient condition for determining which locker room to head for.

My previous blog was about a wannabe woman shaving ‘her’ face in the women’s locker room, but this is still more outlandish. More from the call…

“And what’s he wearing?” the operator asked the caller.
“Nothing. Literally nothing,” the caller replied.
“Okay, so he is completely naked?,” the operator asked.
“He’s completely naked,” she replied.

It seems there is a fine line between proper sincere self-reporting of gender and indecent exposure. The police decided to arrest ‘her’ on suspicion of the latter. Here is the self reporting sincerely woman pe—swinger. It appears (s)he could have used a shave too.

And it seems the two women who were the object of the exhibition were in the ‘barely legal’ category, since they sought parental consul.

“This is not an emergency, it’s just that me and my friend, we’re all, you know not minors, but we were just flashed by a man in the bathroom,” the caller is heard telling the 911-operator. “And my parents told me to call to report it.”

Report away, but if ‘she’ sticks to ‘her’ gender identity nothing will come of it. At Planet Fitness, sincere self reporting is the rule. Consider going all ‘Bud Lite’ on the fitness chain and find another gym.

Easter Sunday found us seeking, and finding, hidden Easter eggs. But the White House sent us on another search.

“NOW, THEREFORE, I, JOSEPH R. BIDEN JR., President of the United States of America, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the Constitution and the laws of the United States, do hereby proclaim March 31, 2024, as Transgender Day of Visibility.”

We didn’t find any on Brumby Road, alas.

A transgender person apparently became a little too visible for one Planet Fitness customer. According to Patricia Silva:

“I just came out of Planet Fitness, and there is a man shaving in the women’s bathroom”. Silva said she “loves” the individual as “a spiritual being having a human experience.” But she was “not comfortable” with the individual shaving in her bathroom.

How dare Ms. Silva claim the bathroom as ‘hers’ when I’m pretty sure if she had asked the person shaving what ‘his’ pronouns were, the response would have been “she/her” or “they/their” or “ze/zen”. How insensitive to see a human with male genitalia and facial hair and not realize that person is as much a woman as Ms. Silva is.

Planet Fitness has a bathroom policy, of course:

“Our gender identity non-discrimination policy, states that members and guests may use the gym facilities that best align with their sincere, self-reported gender identity.

Anybody besides me notice that the first comma in the sentence above is incorrect? Kind of like in the sentence “Our dog Luke, is recovering nicely from his $urgery. Which he is; thanks for asking.

You gotta love the language ‘sincere, self-reported’ gender identity. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could use the ‘sincere, self-reported’ method in other areas, like providing income and deductions information to the IRS? Or when pulled over for some traffic violation, claim to ‘sincerely self-report’ that I was only doing 50 mph, not 75?

More from Planet Fitness Execs…

As the home of the Judgement Free Zone, Planet Fitness is committed to creating an inclusive environment. (This time the comma is correct!)

Including gender fluid locker rooms, obviously.

Why Stop at Three? Endless Permutations…

At UC Davis I lived in a high rise dorm (Ryerson Hall) my freshman year. There were 5 floors: floors 2 and 4 were coed. Each of those rooms held either two men or two women. Those were simpler times and there was no confusion over the matter. And no other genders or non-binaries to consider.

The 3rd floor was all female and the 5th floor, where I resided, was all male. That does not mean that the occasional female did not find her way up there to spend the night, and when she did she considered our supposedly all guy bathroom part of her terrain. I recall brushing my teeth one morning and being startled by a woman entering the bathroom wearing a towel and sandals. She headed for the showers and lost the towel on the way. I was too much of a gentleman to stare, but I saw enough to realize she was really a she. But I didn’t ask about ‘her’ pronouns, so now I wonder…

I’m not sure if I had somehow been spending time in the early morning on the 3rd floor, I would have been well received if I had wandered into that restroom for a shower. But the chances of that happening were about the same as me getting an NBA contract. I never made any romantic connections at UCD, not even close.

None of the guys on my floor ever complained about the occasional female showing up to shower, and none of the males ever reciprocated by attempting to do the same on the 3rd floor. The women would have complained and the young man would be in trouble. A double standard to be sure, but perfectly normal in 1975. See how far we have traveled down the gender identity road?

Remember last week’s post about how sexting and using emojis can spice things up in a relationship? Diane must have decided to give it a try, at least the ’emoji’ part. Or perhaps this is a meme, or an avatar. I have as much trouble keeping up with internet terms and usage as I do with the ever evolving genders and their respective pronouns. Go ahead, ‘lol’ at my ignorance.

Regardless, the thought was much appreciated.

But if sexting and emojing aren’t enough to put the spark back, or keep a marriage from going over the cliff, The Wall Street Journal featured a story about a more aggressive way to tackle the problem.

Couples therapy—the venue for the messy job of tackling the disillusionment, betrayals, moribund sex lives and other issues that pop up between partners—has a new variant. Called “high-impact therapy,” it is rapidly gaining fans among those who’ve tried it.

On Brumby Road, “disillusionment, betrayals and a moribund sex lives” aren’t much of a concern. Our biggest problems are who walks Luke the dog or goes to the grocery store or what to have for dinner and who is going to get it ready. But some couples are on the verge of untying the knot, and facing the messy personal and legal and familial and financial issues that go with divorce, they will resort to desperate measures. High Impact Therapy to the rescue!

Ellyn Bader, a psychologist in Menlo Park, Calif., has helped develop the high-impact approach, the centerpiece of which is the “couples intensive”—16 hours of highly structured work over a two-day period. Why am I not exactly shocked that this is a Coastal Cali Construct? I can’t imagine Dr. Bader setting up shop in Linden.

Dr. Bader has identified 5 stages of marriage, of which the first is the most fun, apparently.

In Bader’s five-stage model of a couple’s development, stage two is where nearly everyone hits a rocky patch. They have departed the romantic fantasy world of stage one—“We like the same songs!”—and have started to become aware of disillusioning facts: interests that conflict, communications styles that don’t always mesh well, values that depart on important matters. This transition can be dangerous if disappointments lead to distancing, avoidance, or out-and-out combat.

Combat is not good. Stoker got mad enough at me once to cut off the top of an irrigation sprinkler in the orchard. Which is much less serious that going all Lorena Bobbitt on her spouse. Those two could have used some high impact therapy for certain.

The model charts the trajectory of successful relationships from the fantasies and infatuations of first love through four more stages that end with a full partnership and full acceptance of the notion that two people can work together more successfully and happily than one.

IMHO (see, I do know some social media shorthand) Stoker and I entered the ‘full partnership’ stage as soon as we started filing joint tax returns. Although in those early days, being married resulted in a higher tax bill than two single people would incur, if both spouses worked and had roughly equal incomes. I reckoned it cost us about $2000 per year back in the 1980’s for the privilege of being married. Which is a different kind of privilege from ‘white privilege’. I joked about getting an amicable divorce and using the tax savings to book a vacation in Puerto Vallarta, which did not amuse Stoker to be even a little.

Remember my blog about the one serious question? If not, check it out:

A Question, Partially Answered

Who knows how to make love stay? Who indeed? Most couples really want to be able to answer it, and will go to great lengths to try, even ‘high impact’ lengths. Now if you’ll excuse me, it is time for me to answer the question about dinner and get busy in the kitchen.

and fill me from the crown to the toe top- full of direst cruelty.’

Of course Lady Macbeth’s request of the spirits was to “unsex me here” but with all the gender bending woke issues surrounding us I think her meaning would be taken out of context.

Since Stoker and I have been married since 1983, you might think we know a little something about how to keep things interesting. Apparently not; look at the advice I found in the Wall Street Journal.

Sexting—or sending sexually suggestive messages—is a good baby step to relight the flame in a long-term relationship, sex therapists say.

On Brumby Road I’m pretty sure the flames never completely went out. The fire may have damped down for periods of time, but the pilot light never dies completely. But wait, there is more…

It (sexting) can help couples practice communicating about their desire, building erotic anticipation and reinforcing their bond, even when they are apart.

Diane and I are way behind the times on this one. Here are a few of our recent text exchanges. You can look for the ‘building erotic anticipation’ part, but you will do so in vain.

Exciting stuff right? In the first one I’m out on a bike ride and Diane has managed to get Luke the Dog into the vet for the labs that started his $uccessful gall bladder $urgery. She needs me to drive to the vet. That was the morning Facebook crashed, a major crisis for older social media users like us.

In the second one I have been tasked with finding bread crumbs at the store and failed miserably. And in the third we have a most romantic exchange between me at the Honda dealer’s service department and Diane about to walk Luke the Dog well before we knew he needed $urgery. Eat your veggies!

Not only does our ‘sexting’ need improvement, but look at what else the experts advise:

People who use emojis—those little smiley faces and other images you use to express an idea or emotion—tend to have more success in their intimate relationships and have more sexual intimacy, according to research from the Kinsey Institute at Indiana University.

I am proud to say I have NEVER used an emoji. Not once. No smiley faces, no thumbs up, or thumbs down, or some other kind of hand gesture which I frequently see live from drivers when I go cycling in Calaveras or Amador Counties. Expressing oneself well using language is what I strive for, not little cute cartoons. But if it means I could have “more sexual intimacy,” I think I might start emojing all the time. Is ’emoji’ a verb? If ‘listen’ is a noun, as in ‘take a listen’ (take it where?), I suppose I can verbify emoji.

But before I go down the emoji/sexting wormhole in an effort to improve our long term relationship, I think I’ll have a discussion with Diane about the matter and make sure she is on board. Because if Stoker isn’t happy….

In late November last year I started taking an exercise class at Fulcrum Fitness. I had never used a gym before. I don’t go every day, but with all the windy rainy weather this winter that makes cycling unattractive or impossible, I have been there 2-3 times each week, consistently.

The workouts follow a pattern, although every session is different. This gives me a chance to discover new muscle groups to strain. After almost every class, something different hurts the next day. The pain typically goes away after a day or two. “No pain, no gain” as they say. But I have exercised (!) restraint and haven’t done any major damage. Until now?

I wasn’t smiling Tuesday or this morning…Ouch!

We start with some kind of warm up to get the juices flowing. Next comes a strength exercise working on a muscle group. Finally there is a kind of strength/aerobic/anerobic session of 9 to 15 minutes. There are 2 or 3 activities that we do in sequence for a specific number of reps or amount of time. Sometimes the instructor puts time on the clock and we are supposed to do ‘AMR’ which is short for ‘as many reps as possible’.

On Monday that ‘AMR’ involved burpees and floor to overhead dumb bell lifts for 15 minutes. This was an official Cross Fit National Competition workout. We even had a partner to count for us.

21 dumb bell lifts right arm. 21 burpees. 21 dumb bell lifts, left arm. 21 more burpees.

Repeat with 15 reps, then 9 reps. If you make it all the way through in the 15 minutes allotted you will have done 21+21+15+15+9+9 = 90 burpees and 90 dumb bell lifts with each arm.

Of course I didn’t do that. But I did manage to get though 81 burpees. After the 15 minutes were up my arms felt quite rubbery, but there wasn’t any pain.

On Tuesday morning I woke up about 3 am with my right arm screaming. I got up and rubbed on a topical pain reliever and took a couple of Advil. I could not bend my elbow and my right arm and shoulder were very sore.

Things weren’t too bad on Tuesday morning, although I had trouble zipping up my jersey to ride my bike to Lockeford and meet the regular SBC ride. I had to use my left arm for that. But after about 27 miles, both my arms started complaining and I took a short cut home. The wind was out of the southeast directly into my face, but my buddy Marlin left the group and caught me and pulled me all the way home. He has an e bike, which he probably doesn’t need, especially when the road is flat. But by using the e-motor and his own considerable VO2 motor he was able to give me a nice draft. I’m certain he had the bike on a low setting; Marlin is really strong.

After I pedaled home on Tuesday afternoon the aches got worse. The nightly news/Stoli dose relaxed things a bit, but that was temporary. When I woke up at 3 am Wednesday in real pain, I could barely move my arms at all. My left arm now hurt as much as the right. Any motion of either arm in any direction was agony. I couldn’t get back to sleep, so I struggled to get dressed and make coffee. I couldn’t raise the cup to my lips. I kind of held it with two hands and bent over so I could sip just above waist level. After going in the hot tub and taking a couple of Advil things got a little better, even though brushing and flossing was painful and awkward. As I write I think I can get a fork up to my mouth to eat lunch, if I don’t do it too fast.

A retired medical professional friend suggested Advil and rest and if I don’t improve by Friday perhaps see a physician. I don’t think it will come to that; now that I’m up and moving (and taking Advil) I feel a little better already.

I really do not enjoy the gym class, but I recognize that (until Monday) it was doing me good. I was getting a little stronger and improving my balance. I’m a mite peeved at myself for doing too much, but really how was I to know? The burpees were hard and uncomfortable but I was pretty sure I hadn’t done any damage based on 3 months of gym sessions. I know where my cycling red zone is, but not my burpee red zone. It’s fewer than 81, that’s for certain.

Luke the dog is recovering from his surgery. He seems to be doing well, although his appetite isn’t very robust.

The post op care protocols are hard on him and his people. Of course Luke has to wear a cone over his head lest he lick at his stitches and open his wound. He is not allowed outside off of his leash even in our confined back yard. So that means every time he wants to go outdoors to take care of business, either Stoker or I have to put on shoes and a jacket to give him an opportunity for relief. We used to be able to simply open the sliding door and leave him to it, which was much better. Although even that is an irritant when he wakes us up at 2 am with his tapping on the glass. “Luke doth murder sleep”…

But now that he is feeling better, he wants to resume his rightful position relaxing on the couch or in Diane’s chair or my chair or on his king sized bed, which he magnanimously allows Diane and me to share. Alas, the protocols say ‘no jumping’. The cone alone won’t stop him, so we have had to use the barrier method of dog control.

Let me up! I claim asylum! I’m fleeing oppression!

We built a border wall on the sofa. So far it is working. He thinks it is too high for him to reach, and even if he could the landing area looks a little uncertain to him. The imposing barrier on my chair would stop even the most desperate comfort seeking dog. So poor Luke is left to look longingly at his former place of pride and wonder what he has done to deserve this.

He doesn’t know it, but we are trying to save his life and give him many happy years of couch sitting and orchard walking. The stitches are coming out next Tuesday, and we are really hoping he gets the all clear for a cone free future. But if they say it has to stay on a bit longer we will continue to control our border. His green card will just have to wait.