Punching the Clock

Well, it's been a quiet week in Spring, Texas, my home town, out on the edge of the Megalopolis.

Mother Nature cannot decide if she will show us some mercy and allow fall to begin, or whether she intends to strangle us like a woman scorned -- which I assume you have heard has furies of which hell hath never conceived.

The other day, I literally experienced July and October all in the same run. A mass of cooler air had entered the Megalopolis, and I thought I was in for a pleasant, pre-dawn run. But out on the bayou, pockets of stale, stagnant July still festered in the thickets and oozed up from the fetid water. One minute, you'd feel a fresh breath of football weather, and the next you ran into a movable sauna that tries to strangle you.

Whatever Mother Nature decides to do, I'm laying odds she switches course a dozen times, because changing the mind is a woman's prerogative.

But training waits for no man--or woman. The show must go on. Punch the clock and get it done.

This week was pretty solid. The speed and pace were nothing to write home about, but the time-in-saddle and overall volume is getting solid enough that I feel like there's an Ironman afoot.

This week involved 17 hours 15 minutes of total training. Involved in that was an 89 mile long bike with a 15 minute run off, an 11 mile long run, and 10 thousand meters of swimming.

Oh, and there was the small matter of a court appearance and about 50+ hours of "day job" to do.

Nothing to exceed what every age grouper out there does, but solid nonetheless.

Speaking of day job, tomorrow I have to report for jury duty--me with my suit and bow tie and "board certified appellate lawyer" persona. Yeah, I'm really popular with lawyers. I've been struck every time.

And that's the News from Spring, Texas, where all the schools are exemplary, all the food is fast, and all the commutes are below average.