There's more than one way
to skin anything

(or, how I met Tim)

Yesterday, after a nice paddle with one of the gals from the Milwaukee group, we headed into South Shore launch area for lunch. I wasn't sure at first, but I thought I saw a guy landing a Kleper (folding) kayak. I think it was the color that made me think that because, as I got closer it became evident that this was no ordinary kayak and most certainly not a contemporary design.

As he stepped out of his boat, we glided up, and I asked him what it was that he was paddling. He told me he had built what was, in essence, a skin on frame boat. At first it wouldn't stay upright, he explained, until he flattened the bottom. He had worked with no plans.

He'd used canvas but not oil paint. The stringers were on the thin side, and he had broken some when he first used the boat. That problems was solved with some foam blocks in the cockpit.

It immediately occured to me that he had an intringing vessels and that he was a very nice guy. I asked if I could paddle it. I could. I had a ball. It made those racing sit-on-top-thong-things seem stable. I made one half forward-half bracing stroke after another before finally tipping over. It was hard to empty since it held about 4 tons of water when full. I loved it. Pure fun. And I admired a young man who wanted to be on water enough to make such a contraption.

This man, I thought, should be a sea kayaker. He already had met Sheri, so he knew what kayaks were. We explained the first and second stability thing to him and, then, put him in Diane's boat. I wish you all could have seen the look of pleasure and discovery on his face as he paddled around just off the beach. And, he looked like a natural.

I hope he gets a regular boat. I hope he visits us on Sundays when we paddle. I hope he gets to meet Greg who, I am guessing, will turn out to be a Rube-Goldberg soul mate. I hope he paddles safely.

Paddle safe

DS

Club "Fighters"

I began my Judo career in Milwaukee when it was a huge center for the game. Yes, game. You see, Judo is a sport with rules and a scoring system. Some things are allowed, some not. The sport of Judo was derived from a collection of fighting techniques called Juijitsu which literaly meant, the gentle technique. Gentle?

Well, it does lose something in the translation. Gentle is used the way we use the word yielding. In any event, it consisted of choking, throwing, pinning and joint lock techniques. It was, pure and simple, meant for combat.

When the fuedal period came to an end in Japan and the law of the sword was passed, a period of low morale and depression followed. Jigarro Kano decided that the country needed a national sport to encourage physical fitness. He also forsaw the establishments of Dojos (gyms) which, by providing showers, would benefit the hygiene of the people (he knew nothing of neoprene and its smells). From Juijisu he extracted only the safe elements and limited joint techniques to the elbow, and then only under very controlled conditions. Finally, he developed a method of falling so participants were not hurt each time they were thrown down onto the katame mat.

The big day came when 18 students of Kano's Kodokan contested against 18 Tokyo police Juijitsu players. A victory was declared when a participant could no longer continue. The outcome: 1 tie, 17 wins for the Kodokan, 0 for the coppers. Oh, the police got in some throws alright, but without a method of falling the cops could not get back up when they were thrown.

Today, Judo (the gentle way) is practiced world wide and is an olympic sport. Always conducted in Japanesse, language is not a barrier for plalyers. Competitions are frequently held in every major city and held frequently. If you aren't in the sport, you will probably never hear about them.

Thing is (and this is true in my club), many Judoka (players) are not interested in competition. They work just as hard and become just as skilled as their colleagues who enter contests, they just don't care to enter themselves. There are three levels of play in Judo.

There is the practice in which we take turns throwing, pinning, choking (to the point of surrender or unconsciousness by compressing the carotids...but I digress) or carefully applying an elbow lock. We help each other with details and never resist durning this type of practice. This is equivalent to a pool session or going onto calm water to practice sweep and draw stroke.

Then we have randorii (RAN-DOOR-EEE), or free play. This is a mini-contest in which we lightly spar and try to "get" our partner, but we never go full out or try to force an imperfect technique. The atmosphere is playful. Again, this could be a pool session where we try new rolls or maybe try to out do one another. Some one spots us and offers a bow when we don't come up easily. There is here, too, a playful atmosphere.

Then there is Shiai, (SHE-I) or contest, and Katy bar the door. This is petal to the metal, pull out the tricks, study the opponent, scream and go for it. If an opponent tries to avoid being thrown by say klinging to your back, you throw yourself over so that you land on top of him. It is rough stuff, but significant injuries are rare. This is where you go out into that breaking surf or huge swell that causes your gut to tighten a bit and where a bow rescue may not be so easy to come by.

Those judoka who limit themselves to the first two practices are called club players. They love the sport, respect the traditions and often become highly skilled. Perhaps, they are the recreational paddlers.

Those who compete have a different fire in their belly. Sure, they want to win but, much more than that, they want to be in the game. Nothing, and I tell you this from experience, can produce the rich rewarding feeling of executing (bad word) a perfect UchiMata on the center mat at the Lawson YMCA in Chigao and win the semi finals before a crowd of over 100. It isn't (wasn't) about beating the other fellow, it was about pride in having reached a certain level of skill in a traditional art and feeling part of that great tradition. Call me a sea kayaker.

Paddle safe...
DS

Burying Nuts for Winter

We have a community of orthodox furry-tailed rodents living around us. They are on the job evry day, scurrying about and gathering stuff in preparation for winter. One is a master at getting onto the bird feeder. I have told him to get off many a time, however I now have come to admire his dexterity and persistence so much that I generally just smile at him. He looks back with that you're-a-good-guy-Dick look. It's okay, I know he has to feed himself and stoe away goodies if he is to make it through the perils of a Wisconsin winter. We get along. We understand one another. I know he has a job to do. So do I (Whoa, what's this, is Dick actually going to get to the point?)

I noticed that as we've gotten into August and have had some cool nights that I've been paddling almost daily. Not just paddling, but paddling with more intensitiy, doing aerobic work outs, working on braces and sculls and rolling my skin on frame (and, yes, I can wet exit it, but I have to remember to first remove the closed cell masik I use...talk about digressing).

(yours truly forward bracking after coming up from a sweep roll)

I was out yesterday rolling a bunch and teaching someone else to roll. I will be doing the same today and, weather permitting, will probably be out Saturday and Sunday with the local bunch (not to be confused with Bucnh with a capital B which is my exclusive name for my eldest daughter...that's 2 digressiums in one blog...and it isn't even over ...that's 3).

Thing is, I feel it in my bones, just the way my furry neighbor does...winter is coming. More over, I am away (far away) for two weeks in December and will not be paddling during those precious fall days. I probably, because of this schedule, have taught my last lesson up in Madison...at least for this year. The cycle is coming around again and, as always, it seems to do so faster and faster. I hown a quite desperation to store up nuts to help me survive the coming winter months.

So I try ferverently to stow up skills, experiences and memories (Man plans, G-d laughs). I try to hold on to the simply joy of being in warm water and not having to wear that damn dry suit. I relish the sun that warms me when I emerge soaking wet from the lake. And, most of all, I cheerish these days while my aging body and mind still hold together enough to allow me to get out there and even remember that I was.

Wait, there still will be the traditional gathering in Fish Creek in October. Maybe I can store up a few nuts then. Maybe it will be a mild winter.

Paddle safe...
DS

Eye Candy
or
The Handsome Transom
First, Old Business: I left myself (and, possibly some of you) in a bummed out state of mind yesterday. So let's start today on a happy note. Here's the puppy picture that wouldn't upload yesterday:

Now for today's nonsense:

I am a life member of the South Shore Yacht Club in Milwaukee and have served as their Fleet Surgeon. I've spent 3+ decades sailing all size sail boats on Lake Michigan. One of the "things" we sailors do is to name our boats and display the nomenclature on the transom (actually, it is required, along with your port of registration if the boat is coast guard documented...but I digress).

The origin of these names can be derived from a member of the family (CarTam, my power boat was named for my daughters) or, as in this case, a play on the fact that this boat is a Tartan Ten and competes in races. Pretty heavy, don't you think?

Some times, a bit of art is thrown in and color coordination becomes involved in making a transom unique.

Sometimes the skipper will share his personal medical history with the world. Either that or he can't get this boat to move.

Finally, many go for the philosophical effect:

My question here is why something like this isn't done with kayaks. Now, don't cover your eyes and shut me out, not yet anyway. I paddle a Romany, a good old NDK boat, and they all have the Welsch dragon and British decals on them. I have added an American flag and a QAJAQ decal. I have seen kayaks with the names of their source on them, but I have not seen a named-kayak. More over, with all the Innuit art out there, why don't I see more decorative pieces on some boats?

I know that one of the glass manufacturers has a little scrolling thingy on the bow, but what about a real and significant drawing or outline? Right now, I am looking for a rendition of a turtle and will probably ask my oldest to put it on my SOF (the Turtle is my totem animal). It will be small and tasteful and, just maybe, start a new tradition.

Paddle safe...

DS

I feel Less than I do now
than I did before when
I felt more than I did then
than I had before

Mornings like this bum me out or, more accurately, I start mornings like this already bummed out. I just awake and immediately know that the spark isn't there. It might ignite in a minute, an hour or not at all this day. It is beautiful out. The sun is up and the air is still cool...and I have no plans.

I might end up paddling one of my boats on one of the bodies of waters around here just to do something and to avoid going raving mad. There was a time that I would always have a book that I was reading and would take these times to sit with it. Lately, however, I have started and abandoned a bunch of novels because they didn't capture and/or hold my interest (exception: Koontz"s Odd Thomas). Actually, they seemed frivilous and contrived. Maybe I've seen too much and find it hard to be impressed or amazed by some fictional character's contrived plot.

I finally slept well, and I know I am dreaming (that's healthy). I am not depressed, although I do have a thing or two weighing on my mind.

Another thing I would sometimes do on days such as this is photography...and I do have some things I want to shoot. Problem is that the sun is out, and bright sunlight is the worst light for the way I shoot.

A niced gloomy day is great for impersonal shots like a train axel that lives in a dirty place and does a thankless job, yet its very image speaks of power.

Or making the rapids down river a little abstract and moody and remembering the Zen book, You can't step into the same river twice.

Or the gnarly banya tree that lives in the shallow sandy land of Florida, looks strong but, like all life, gets blown over easily.

I remember, too, of writing here once about how I sometimes know things, like when someone is going to die. So it was the day I took this picture of my friend Ben. I had gone to his little home on the point to do some kayaking. I don't know why I had my camera along. I looked at him and knew. I asked to photograph him. In the next several months he was diagnosed with esophageal cancer and died not long afterwards. He was a good man.

Oddly enough, I feel better for having written this and having shared some of these images with you. Perhaps it is just getting the juices flowing. Maybe it is getting back in touch with something outside myself. Maybe it is playing the pity card only to be trumped by the you-know-you-love-life card. No matter, I feel okay now and am ready to get into whatever it is I am getting into today.

In case I've ended up bumming you out, I will leave you with the classical feel-good puppy picture (belongs to the girl next door).

(Sorry...and too freakin' bad. Old blogspot won't upload a Gif image. Now I feel bummed again).

Oh well,

Paddle safe

DS

Diary

of

The Future

(a pictureless blog brought to you by the ever malfunctioning blogspot.com)

According to the sages, getting there is half the fun. Assuming they are correct, I must be having a ball right now because I am always going somewhere or looking ahead. Those same old guys seemed to think it was the journey and not the destination that was so fulfilling. Again, I must be full of it (using the same reasoning).

I haven't journaled since my service years and then only to leave behind some info in case I wasn't around to tell the stories. I still read that journal once in a while. I wish I had continued it all these years, but my hand writing got worse as I became a better doctor. But, now, I really digress.

What I do keep is a calendar. It is on my computer, so penmanship isn't an issue. I usually only look a day ahead so as not to go into overload, and this gives me something to look forward to, a reason to go on. But once, just once--and that once is now--I am going to go crazy and be really out there and look way ahead. But I will start slowly.

Like today: I am headed to a church in my old neighborhood to meet some men about taking part in a mentor program. Cool, no?

I have paddling dates on Thursday and Friday. Tomorrow, Wednesday, I take my Perception Shadow down to Lake Geneva for the big yard sale...unless my phone rings in the next 24 hours and someone snaps it up (are you starting to feel the excitement?).

The 25th is a biggie. I join up with Alex for the car ferry ride across Lake Michigan and then up to QAJAQ camp for 48 hours of rolling and rolling and rolling in skin on frame boats. Now we're having fun.

Next week there is a board meeting for the Regie White Sleep Foundation (yawn...ironic that I, with insomnia, am president of this board). And then...then...in September it is off to Pasta-land. I refer, of course, not to a Michael Jackson theme park but to the boot-shaped country of Italy. It will be Lady Linda's and mine's (Tammy, when she first learned to talk and could not comprehend the possessive always said "mine's". And there you have another digression) 30th anniversary (I finally get the boot...see referrence at the beginning of this already too long sentence) and we wish to celebrate our consistancy of stagnation and not knowing when enough is enough :).

I do, in all seriousness, keep a paddling log (on the computer) and have documented every paddle I've gone on, every lesson I've taken and every class I've taught. I make brief entries and believe I have over 20 pages. This too makes for interesting and educational reading.

This all brings up my old saw about how we/I often "waste" life by living in the past and the future while missing the now. All I know is that now, right now, I finally got another blog out of the way.
Paddle safe... (see Derrick's dessent of Niagra Falls on how not to paddle safe...kayakwisconsin.net)
DS
(a future blog will be on the many questions you have all sent to me. If you have more, send them along)

Profiling

Just imagine what it would be like if it turned out that all terrorists were kayakers and (apologies to the ACLU) we had to profile folks at the airport. How, should that happen, would we identify our enemy? I submit to you that it might just be impossible.

Amongst the folks who paddle just around here, some of which are pictured here, are a variety of human beings. Getting a handle on any common denominators is problematic, although I will share one with you at the end.

Among us are Christians and Jews and I don't know what other belief systems since we rarely discuss them.

Judging by the cars (and some trailers with numerous boats on them), we are a financially diverse group as well. There are plastic boats and Kevlar boats in our flotilla. There is even a wooden boat with a gorgeous racing green paint job done by a BMW dealer.

Clearly, there are men and women...and of all ages.

We are of various skill levels and share knowledge with one another. As far as I know, only one of us smokes.

The temperaments vary like the colors of the rainbow. Some in the bunch laugh easily while others have never been accused of smiling. Some want to cruise slowly and take in the sights while others go off racing. Some use Euro paddles and others Greenland style sticks. We even have skin on frames and at least one beautiful strip wooden boat.

I don't know what most of us do for a living, but I do know that we have a retired lawyer, a practicing lawyer, an echocardiographer, a gal in retail (kayak store), a guy who works for a data service and is an EMT for an ambulance service and a certified kayak instructor (as are several others in the group). There is a retired doctor and a man who is a supervisor at Sprechers (they make beer and root beer and he never brings samples...but I digress). One of the ladies runs a day care center and one is a teacher and an artist. Another gal works at NML insurance (along with her husband) and she is an instructor. A couple work together in their own PR business.

We have paddlers with bad backs, shoulder injuries, diabetes, high blood pressure and many other ailments. some are in recovery programs (which I can only tell because they have offered the info).

Some of us are musicians and some play the accordian (no threatening letters, please). There is a black belt in Judo (teaches it), someone in akido and one in jujitsu. Many in the group camp and several are climbers. One fellow makes traditional paddles and is an excellent wild life photographer.

So, how can you profile us? Well, and this only works if we arrive at the airport in our paddling cloths (which, in it self, would be a give away), you can smell us coming a mile away. I would think that it would be easy to train a dog (or someone with a stuffed nose) to pick up the aroma of damp base layers inundated with body sweat. Thus, the skies would be safe again, and we would continue to

Paddle safe...

DS

My doctor is a fool!

You've heard the old saying, A doctor who treats himself has a fool for a patient and a fool for a doctor). So be it.

For some time now, I have had a strange form of insomnia, possibly related to my absurd eating patterns. I eat a good percentage of my calories after 6 pm. Actually, I have read in the literature that this pattern is presently being studied as a syndrome to see why so many of us do that, and why. In any event, I do, and I don't know why (I have my thoughts on it).

One of the problems with sleep is loss of deep sleep. This occurs early in the sleep cycle when we first slide into the arms of Morpheus. This is a very important stage of sleep, however short, because it is during this deep sleep that the pituitary gland secretes Growth Hormone. GH, in adults, is what catalyzes healing throughout the body, including the muscular system (see previous blog on exercise and recovery). So, as I continue to paddle the majority of days and sleep poorly, my poor muscles get over worked and never get their deep sleep vacation. Therefore, I feel like crap lately.

You may want to know that the rest of the night is spent gradually waking and going back down into deeper sleep with an upward trend. During this time we have REM sleep during which we dream. I remember in torture school that we were told that if we were captured our enemy would watch our eye lids for Rapid Eye Movements and immediately wake us. After two or three nights (and days) of this, we were assured, we would be nearlly wacko and tell them anything. In my case, the info would have been less than helpful to them (I kept trying to find someone to teach me to say don't hurt me I am a doctor in vietnamese...but I digress).

So, we need the two phases of sleep for physical and mental health. I am not doing well, at least in the deep-sleep department. Considering some of things I have written here, I may not be doing too well in the REM area either.

If I think I will do something, I might. If I tell one other person I will do something, it is more likely I will. If I write it here and all 3 of my readers see it, it is even more likely I will do it. It is a matter of upping the buy in and the chance I will really do it.. So, I will say here, if changing my eating pattern over the next two days doesn't solve my sleep problem, I will consult a doctor other than myself.

There, I said it. I upped mine (as an old REMAX slogan used to say), now you up yours.

Paddle safe.
DS

Away...

Teaching today

Hoping to show others how to
Paddle safe.
DS

Eye, Aye

Starting with photography, I've noticed that a common element shared by everything I do is visual stimulation. My photographs (4x5 black and whites) were always strong on composition and dynamic lines.

The graceful and circular motions of Judo techniques and the lean and sail shapes of sail boats are two other areas where I have spent many years enjoying the looking along with the doing. Kayaking is not exception.

The hull shapes alone, viewed from different angles, are visions of grace with lines swept back to cut through the seas. What great eye candy. Add to that the circular and dynamic lines of water being shed from the head (hopefully held down) as a paddler surfaces from a roll.

Sometimes it is the low compact kayak itself sitting solidly on the water's surface. It can be, at once, a vision of balance and a counter force in a visual field of other objects. In this photo taken off South Shore in Milwaukee, I find pleasure in the composition and the opposing lines of the horizontial horizon, the vertical masts of the sail boats and the angled paddle. Because of the relationship of the boat in the fore ground to the distant building, there is also a sense of arriving, coming home...safely.

Then, too, there is the whole visual world around traditional boats and what comes with them.

The curve of the combing, the meeting of hull and deck (as with any kayak) and the texture of their surfaces are all sights that can bring pleasure. Then, too, are the endless combinations of woods, oils, stains and varnishes used to make the traditional sticks.

Finally, and often the only visual reason some have for paddling, there are the infinite number of things we just plain see from our boats.

Another time, when I master the technology, we can talk about the sounds of paddling. For now, however, you are free to get out there--where ever out there is for you--and have a look around. And always...

Paddle safe...

DS

Cheer up, said the voice

There is the old joke about a guy feeling just terrible. things are not going his way, and he just feels like hanging it all up. About that time, a voice from above advises, "Cheer up, things could be worse." So he does, he cheers up and, sure enough, things get worse.

Things are worse, or at least no better. The sleeping pill (trial day 2) keeps me awake, I cannot get rested and I ache (had to tow in children yesteday when a storm came up). And it goes on.

The Geek Squad was here to fix my wife's computer (3rd visit, still have the problem). He (he of the title Geek) commented that I do not have a power souce plugged into my USB hub and that I am running it off the mother board (interesting, I knew the word mother would end up in this blog...but I digress) and that this would lead to the mother (there it is again) board burning out. So I plugged in a power source (so I cheered up) and, sure enough, now the damn hub doesn't work at all. I now cannot down load pictures from my camera.

Another wise bit of advise came out of the Viet Nam war (why am I not surprised that I got involved in that one as well?). Declare victory and go home, folks would say. Perhaps that can work for me now.

So, at the risk of playing the pity card: I've written a blog for today...and I still feel more like I do now than I did before.

Paddle safe...and get plenty of restful sleep so you can down load stuff on your computer. Remember, you are a winner.

DS

You Won't Hear it Here

I woke in a foul mood. It happens. I have had trouble falling asleep lately, so I haven't been feeling totally rested for a while. Last night, at 10:45 pm, I took a sleeping pill prescribed by a colleague. I fell asleep around 2 am. Some pill (I could have gotten the same results with a slice of cold pizza...but I digress). I woke with a weak idea for a blog, but it depended on some pictures I took yesterday. (No matter. The freakin' BlogSpot pic uploader isn't working just now). Well, nothing I attach to my computers USB hub comes on line, so the pics cannot be down loaded. Lemons. I went in search of lemon aid.

Being the consummate professional (be it medicine, kayak instruction or dispensing of BS), I know when to refer the patient/client/customer:

Derrick has done some of his best stuff this week, and I highly recommend today's piece (kayakwisconsin.net). The theme is basically marching to your own drummer (or accordian player). Synchronicity...and appropo of nothing, This theme came up last night at a fund raiser for the Reggie White Sleep Disorders and Research Foundation (of which I presently serve as president of the board). Reggie, of Green Bay Packer fame (he died of sleep apnea at age 43) was a man of principal's and convictions. He was not afraid to say (read, preach) what he believed...and neither is his wife. She spoke (last night) eloquently about how football was not Reggie's real contribution to the world. Teaching his children to be better at life than he had been was far more important. She then spoke about service and humility, and I thought I was hearing myself think. In any event, Derrick has such moments.

JB has produced his first real and (promised) weekly piece (can the end of times be near?)(seakayakerjbspeaks.blogspot.com). It is about fitness and core strength and rotation and has some good info and good links.

So, sans good mood and functioning hub, I have managed to get something down that I hope is of service to you. I didn't even go into the most excellent sunset/moon rise paddle we did on Lake Michigan Monday evening or that my buddy has finally signed up for one of my all day intro to seakayking classes to be held this saturday. I didn't even stoop to fill space with gossip such as me going up to Madison to teach today. Not here, not on these sacred pages. I just wrote what I heard my drummer playing.

Paddle safe...no matter what your drummers says (I know drummers).
DS

Here Lies a ...

I have been very involved in men's work and in work itself for many years. That is, I do lectures, workshops and counsel individuals on job satisfaction issues. I have referred before in these pages to how unhappy most people are in their jobs (I will be participating in a conference for senior citizen around this issue and how it effects attitudes in retirement...but I digress).

Often, folks are mismatched with their work because they have no sense of mission or purpose as to what their life is about. That is, they haven't defined themselves, don't know themselves or haven't tuned in to their inner calling. One exercise I will have someone struggling with this issue do is to ask them to complete the above line for their tomb stone. In essence, I ask them to define themselves using only one or two words. I tell them that what they choose to write will be how the world remembers them.

When I did this for myself (a long time ago), I first found the task to be overwhelming. After all, I took pride in my work in medicine, photography, judo, SCUBA, ham radio, writing, marathon running and music (to name a few). How, I wondered, could I possibly choose one of them? I didn't want to let the others go. After all, I was all of those things...wan't I?

It took some hard work and a whole lot of pondering before I realized that I was, in fact, none of those things. They were just things I did. Having sorted that out, I asked myself what is the single soul-issue common to everything I do. Everything. What common thread most frequently runs through those times when I am in the so-called flow experience? What is common to most of my rewarding experiences? What about all of those things do I do that leaves me feeling satisfied and fulfilled? What is my passion? (and, what people do I hold in high esteem and value in my life...along with family and friends?)

At first I thought it was just the satisfaction of being able to do such a variety of things. And, Lord knows, I love doing them all. But, in the end, I concluded that that particular enjoyment was self serving and did not give back to the world. The answer to my question had to be bigger and, most importantly, be an expression of what I put into the Universe...not what I take out.

(Me with the men men I am mentoring through the Washington Alumni Scholarship Foundation)

So, should you be left with the responsibility of chisseling the final words onto my head stone, please write as follows:

Here lies a teacher.

Until then,
Paddle safe
DS

Exercise Physiology 101

Lots of us exercise. Some of us are weekend jocks, others are serious athletes. In the stage of life just prior to being a sea kayaker, I was a long distance runner. At the time, Ball State was doing fantastic research that tremendously increased our knowledge of exercise.

Exercise, in my mind, became known as training. Aerobics, the catch word of the times, was really about something called the training effect (aerobics, or with oxygen, is one of the 3 ways skeletal muscle can produce work...but I digress). To many folks, paddlers right there among them, training means doing more and more until a certain level of endurance is achieved. This happens to work for many of them since youth is the single best source of somatic forgiveness. Fact is, many know nothing about training their bodies.

Think of your body as a system capable of burning an energy source and turning out work at a certain rate. Your particular rate is, in essence, your level of conditioning. Now, let's say that you want to increase your level of out put. If you were a factory, you would install more furnaces and order more coal. In order to do this, you would have to add capacity to your plant. Up to a point, this is also true of the body.

Step I, Exercise: Since your "plant" is a living thing, you can't just hire a building contractor to add on a room. Instead, you go out and exercise. You do the skill (jogging, paddling, etc.) you wish to improve, but you do it at a slightly higher level than what your system can easily handle. In other words, exercise is the phase of training during which you challenge (very carefully overload) your system. This can mean going a little faster, a little longer or both.

Now, what many of you do not realize is that by doing this you actually injure the system, but you do so (hopefully) only to the extent that the body can easily heal itself. The big payoff is that, if you have done this phase correctly, the body will heal itself to a level of capacity higher than before the exercise took place. Neat, is it not? But it isn't quite that simple.

Step II, Recovery: In order for the body to recover and improve, it must have rest. Because we are all so different in our capacity to heal (and that ability is different at different ages), the amount and degree of rest needed will vary enormously amongst athletes.

For some (usually the youngest or fittest), all that is needed is to alternate hard and easy days. That could mean running hard for 10 miles and then "resting" the next day with an easy 5 mile run.

For some it will mean taking one and even two days totally off and really giving it a rest.

How can you tell if you are resting enough? There are a couple of ways: 1, if you constantly ache and your time or endurance is getting worse with more effort, you are headed for trouble. Big trouble. Another way is to check your waking pulse rate before getting out of bed. If it is suddenly higher, you are not recovered from what ever it is you were doing and need to either take it easy or take a rest day. You may want to know that most endurance athletes have their best performances after a minor injury has forced them to stay away from training for several days. Finally, you can get a little meter to check your lactate levels after exercise. This will let you know if you are pushing too hard during your sessions. this is something for the student of exercise to consider.

So, what's the worse that can happen? I will tell you. The over training syndrome.

To experience this condition is to feel like a patient with infectious mononucleosis. The only difference will be that your blood test for mono witll be negative. You will be tired, I mean really tired, and unable to do your sport efficiently. You may have swollen lymph nodes. Low level fever is present in severe cases. Your immune system will be weakened subjecting you to more colds.

The treatment for this unfortunate state is rest...up to a year.(Not a typo...a year).

So, if you are working harder than hell, going balls out every day, never taking a rest day, never slowing down and you feel great...don't worry. You will get over it.

Paddle safe...and sensibly
DS

I feel more like I do now

than I did before!

Thursday saw 90+ degree temperatures, and it was the day I spent working on my forward stroke. Gary Simon was good enough to come down to the river and coach me. I spent a total of an hour out there and a good part of that pushing hard in the heat. That night, I could tell I had over done it.

Gary

Friday, I spent 4 hours working with Nydia on rescues and sculling. A good part of that was spent with me in waist-deep water lifting her into position. There was, also, the pleasant paddle out and back to Lake Lulu from the DNR launch site. I was tired that night, and my muscles (upper body) told me I was over doing it again.

Yesteday, Saturday, I had the opportunity to assist JB in an open water class on Lake Michigan. I woke feeling a bit tired and sore from the previous week's doings I had been on the water every day for a week), but I wasn't about to miss the chance to learn more from my mentor.
John
The first part of the day was on shore going over all the aspects of navigation. John was in top form...considering he was a navy man. Then, around 11 am. we launched and headed south along the shore for a 3-4 mile paddle. We were headed to a beach where we would have lunch.
It wasn't long before one of the paddlers, a young gal, was lagging far behind. Being in the sweep position, I just glided along behind her to be sure she was okay. I gave her a few suggestions on her forward stroke, but it became evident that she wasn't all in the game. I asked, and she told me she had just gotten over the flu and was feeling weak.

Understandable, she had post-viral syndrome, a feeling of fatigue and weakness that can last weeks. I hooked on a short tow, took her to within a few hundred yards of the others and let her paddle into the beach. No one had noticed she had taken a tow.

After lunch, we headed for an off shore buoy, and she began falling behind. Shortly afterward, her husband paddled over to me and said they were going to go back to our launch site and that she couldn't do any more. I told JB I was escorting them back (we never let students go off alone. We are responsible for them until they leave the water. Besides, it is what any kayaker would do for another. I am now on the verge of digressing). So, we paddled away from the others before I hooked up again and began a 2-3 mile tow.

I was already tired and a bit sore and knew I had to hold good form (Do I not always?). Gary's words ran across my mind like a ticker tape over Times Square, and I went into the rhythmn. I paddled from my core with excellent rotation, pushing from the shoulder, lifting the paddle while continuing to rotate, burying the blade fully and, then, rotating and pulling the blade. We achieved amazing speed as we made it to shore.

She offered thanks and began to apologize for having to beg off early. I told her that she had demonstrated something for the (mostly men) paddlers by knowing her limits and, most of all, taking care of herself.
With the couple safely ashore, I headed back to the class not really feeling any the worse for the tow and delighted that, at my age, I was able to do what I was doing. The Big Guy then reminded me of my limitations by having me blow His hand over rescue. I did, however, get another great learning piece from Sue who did demonstrate it with skill.

It is sunday AM, and I was afraid I would go out paddling...against my better judgment. I would like to brag that I know how to take care of myself, and I do. However, a bolt of lightening just struck within a fraction of a mile of where I am sitting, making the decision for me.

Paddling safe...
DS

Back to the Front Lines

Yesterday, Nydia and I spent 4 hours in , on and under Lake Lulu practicing rolls, sculls and rescues. The highlight of my day was successfully executing my first cowboy reentry (Yeap, had never tried it before). Now I have one (and only one) up on JB.

Speaking of which: He is teaching an all day open water class and has kindly invited me to participate. I think he needs a victim to demonstrate bad stuff on.

I still ache from yesterday's work out, so I am going to take a few quiet moment with Advil before heading out in a few minutes.

Paddle safe...
DS

Visitation Rights

Over the years I have visited people in hospitals, rehab centers and even prisons. Over the years, I've seen thousands of people visiting patients in the hospitals I"ve staffed. All of this, of course, takes place during something called visiting hours; a special time set aside to see someone you supposedly care about but never took the time to visit before they were hospitalized or incarcerated. In any event, the behavior of visitors has alwalys interested me. I've not made a serious study of these events, but I do have some observations of the types of visitors I've noted.

1, There is the visitor who comes for themselves rather than for the patient. This type is often teary (which often upsets the patient) and constantly needs reassurance (usually from the patient) that everything will be okay. The visitor's fear of the loss of whatever the patient provides is actually greater than the patient's need for nurturing. As a result, the poor patient (who in most cases would just as soon be left alone) has to nurture the visitor, further stressing his or her's already compromised bodies.

2, Then there is the jokester, a close kin of the gabber. These two types talk constantly, the former telling irrelevant joke after irrelevant joke, the latter spewing irrelevant gossip. The patient could care less about what these two have to say (because the chest tube hurts like hell) and is, again, asked to use his already drained resources to be nice to his captures. What these two types of visitors have in common is a severe discomfort about being around sick folks. They cannot stand to see what could happen to them, yet they feel obligated to visit. Their constant patter is their form of denial of where they are, what is going on and that, yes, their friend just might die...and how the hell will they handle that (hint: with special behavior at the funeral)?

3, The dysfunctional family, on all levels, seems to be the most common. The scene is often a room jammed packed with spouses, children, uncles, cousins and--some where in there--a patient. These are often people who really need the security of the family unit. Possibly, it is the only group they have been accepted into and that by default. In any event, these people have never really ever talked with one another and haven't a clue what to talk about in this uncomfortable and unique setting. So, they all sit like zombies and watch the TV high up on the wall, however uncomfortable their necks get. Once in a while, when the discomfort of their silence exceeds that of their necks, someone will make an inane comment about the program they are all pretending to be engrossed in and there will be a furry of more inane comments which helps to decompress the discomfort in the room. Again, the poor patient is left to fiend interest in the tv and not call the nurse for morphine for the excruciating pain they are having (that would upset the family...and interupt the program).

4, The best visitors are the kids. Little ones are just glad to see mom or dad. Sure, they too need reassurance that all will be well, and they get past that in the first 5 minutes (unless they detect that their parent is in distress, in which case they shouldn't be visiting). Once assured they are not about to be orphaned, they do what kids do, and their laughter brings healing energy to all within ear shot.

It's hard for the kids to leave without taking mom or dad home with them. It is harder for all the others to depart. They don't know what closing remark is appropriate. They don't want the patient to see pity in their eyes. They just want to get to hell out of there and forget about the hospital, the smells, the cries of pain and the sight of their friend/relative/boss looking wane and fragile. They want to get away from that awful place that reminds them of what could happen to themselves.
It's tough being an actor in a play when you don't have a script, don't know the plot and can't begin to fathom the outcome.

Paddle safe...
DS

Fraternities, Gaggles and Groups

There is something in the human soul that moves it to seek out the company of its own kind, i.e., other humans. This birds-of-a-feather phenomena happens for many reasons.

Sometimes, especially during our youth and/or times of insecurity, we need to belong to a group simply to belong. Being part-of is validating and makes the world seem more friendly. If you were ever the kid not chosen in you know how strong this need can be. As it turns out, there is a bonus value to this kind of association: memories. And, some of these youthful associations last a lifetime. The fellow in the white shirt in the front row now lives in Florida and still manages my pension.

Sometimes we group together to form, well, to form a group. Bands and businesses are often necessary to order to achieve something whether it be artistic or financial. More over, these groups bring us together with others of like interests and, hopefully, together we become greater than the sums of the parts. As a musician, I am fascinated by the geometric increase of substance in the music of a simple duet over a soloist not to mentioin the monumental sound of a full orchestra. Being a single voice in such an effort can be a great source of joy.Family and clans (not to mention gangs) are another common grouping, the old blood being thicker than water thing. Here we staly in touch with our roots, find a place to be nurtured and have a refuge from the rest of the world. Here, too, generations exchange the wisdom of their times. Young men learn from the elders' experiences, and the elders get to serve the young warriors.

The bottom line in all these groups seems to be a basic sense of safety. Think, for a moment, how it would feel to be in one of these groups when the relationship goes badly.

I already mentioned the boy not chosen in. What about the young girl who has the misfortune to be the target of youthful taunting, an act done not in meaness but to make the taunters feel like they belong? What about a band or a business in which members have a falling out. At the very least there is a bad sound, at worst a financial disaster.

Now, take all this and aply it to kayaking:

...and you have it all in one microcosm. Here is a chance to belong to a group and, in my experience, a group almost always composed of fine folks. Here is a chance to belong, to be part of. Here is a place to find mentors...of all ages and to share in an ancient art. Last, and most certainly not least, here we find safety in what we are repeadedly told is an inherently dangerous undertaking.

Now, all we need is a name for a bunch of kayaks and kayakers. Groups is used by Yahoo, and gaggle brings to mind those birds that soil our launch sites. Fraternity doesn't work for me, even though it suggests tight bonding. It also suggests exclusivity. Family may be a bit much. Gang doesn't cut it. Hmmm, I just don't know. Now I have a problem. Perhaps I need to discuss this with others.

Paddle safe...

DS

Ben Zudism

(a true story)

It was bound to happen. After all, there have been cults for ever and every where. Some hide in the dessert while others hang around airports. Where ever you find them, they all have things in common. They will often lhave symbolic items around their necks or waists or pinned to their uniforms.

They dress alike, for the most part. This is to stymie creativity and individualistic thinking. They do not let their members go off on their own for fear they will find another way and not come back.

Although they dress alike, each cult has its own unique take on how they dress and what they wear. Finally (for this presentation, there is obviously lots more I could enumerate here...but I digress), these cults have an object of worship. These objects are usually unique and, at least to us, often bizzare. Never the less, they are a source of strength and serve as a unifying device among its followers. The Ben Zudists are no different.

I "stumbled" across this sect one sunday morning out on lake Michigan. At first I thought they were just a bunch of nice folks out for some fun, but I was soon to learn differently. Like all the other sects, these people were passionate about their goings on and eager to tell me about themselves (probably hoping for a convert). And they dressed alike. Unique among them was a top that made them all look a bit hunched back. They were, of course, in little boats and wore skirts in a way that made it look as if the boat was part of them. I even wondered if they had normal bottom halves.


They told me that they often met sunday mornings to worship (they never said why they had picked the Christian sabbath...but I digress). I noticed that they all dressed alike, although there was some variation in color amongst the group. They called themselves paddlers and carried large sticks with goiter-like nodes on each end. They dipped these into what they referred to as the sacred waters to move themselves along (there was absolutely no talk about a mother ship).

They seemed a cheerful bunch, and I wondered if they were on something and headed out onto the lake to commit group suicide (they wouldn't have even needed Kool-aid). As it turned out, they were on a pilgrimage to pay homage to a great man. Well, actually, they referred to him as The Boy. That really caught my attention, for I had been on the lake for decades and knew of no Boy. Besides, we were already in 50-foot deep water, and this Boy would have had to be a Big Boy in order to be seen above the surface. I wondered if they might be pedophiles. I was hooked and, consequently, followed them at a discreet distance. I was to be rewarded for my persistance for, several minutes later, I was able to make this rare photo of the Ben Zudists (as I later learned they are called) in the very act--the very ritual act--of paying homage to The Boy.

Oh yes, I almost forgot (just in case you come across these folks one day), they smelled funny. I think it was something they were wearing.

Paddle safe...

DS

How I achieved Time Travel
at far less than the speed of light

a less than scientific theory

I am always hearing that I am as old as I feel. Accepting that as true, I have achieved time travel...in both directions. Just the other morning, after a quiet day and a good night's sleep, I awoke(feeling) age 40. Just 24 hours later, after loading and unloading a kayak, rolling in Lake Michigan and paddling for 2 additional hours, I awoke (feeling) age 85 (with, I must add, memories of just having been 20 the day before....but I digress). Since neither are my true chronicalogical ages, and since I am as old as I feel or felt, I achieved time travel of over 40 years and did it in less than 24 hours.

Silbs' theory of relativity

Remember when you were a kid? How old did your parents seem to be to you at that time? Probably older than they really were and probably younger than you are now. Are yous tarting to get this (work with me, I don't know calculus, and this is the only way I can get this down. But I digress).

Having been in the keep-the-paying-customers-alive business most of my life, I have always marveled at the way different patients aged. After years of study I was able to come to some conclusions, some mine, some from scientific papers. Here's what I've learned.

1, Choose your parents carefully. If they both died young of, say, heart disease, you will too unless you radically change your life style and body chemistry.

2, Get out of bed. Back aches are one of the most commong causes of lost work time. Interestingly, those who get up and work with the pain generally get better quicker and get back to a fuller way of life.

3, Serve. Those who have a purpose in their life, a cause greater than themselves, do better. Even if they don't, they feel like they have lived longer because they have experienced so much more joy than the slackers.

4, Don't stay in a job you hate. This will suck the marrow out of you and destroy your soul. I do workshops and lectures on this and know of what I speak. Most men live quiet lives of desperations.

5, Get over yourself. The Universe neither cares about nor intervenes in your feelings. No one makes you mad. Others do stuff, then you choose to be mad. Proof: they do the same stuff to me, and I choose not to give a damn.

6, Spend some time alone with yourself.

7, Don't spend your life alone. A mate, partner and even a pet will add to your longevity.

8, Move to a more primitive society where old people are venerated. Remember the yogurt commercials that suggested that their product yielded longer lives? Bull crap. Studies show that longevity is most common in societies in which physical exertion is part of daily life and old folks are kept in the household where multigenerational famalies learn from one another and everyone looks forward to being older. Here, we warehouse our elderlly and take away their money and independence and self respect and reasons to live.

9, Eat less. In many many lab experiences the lives of the experimental animals was always increased when their calories were cut to near staving levels. Eat to live.....you know the rest.

10, Prepare for and and enjoy eldership. It is our time as king or queen. If we have prepared well, it is a time to mentor and to serve. It is, at least for me, the best time of life.

The end, for which the beginning was made.

Come grow old with me,

The best is yet to come.

Paddle safe...or none of this will matter.

DS