My Favorite Jersey. Mango Season.

OK, it's old.  And getting pretty beat.

But this is my favorite bike jersey. 

Not just because it's sleeveless.  Or because it's made from technical, wicking fabric.

Or even because it's bright pink.  

But because it has pockets. 

Really big pockets.  Big enough to fit a phone-in-a-ziploc, and keys, a few dollars in Gatorade money, and...

...mangoes!

Put a dollar in the tin most anywhere along Tropical Trail, and help yourself.

3 block Zone lunch, coming right up.

 

Whew.  One mango yields one cup.  I don't know if I would have had the willpower to save any extra slices for later.

Lunch in the Zone.  Simple as it gets.  And no way could it be sweeter - or fresher. 

All you need is a bike and a dollar.  And the perfect jersey.

7 Hobbies for the Apocolypse

I believe in the zombie apocalypse.

Only the zombies won't be Zombies.

Because if the big EMP happens one day on a large enough scale, there will be mobs of hungry, wandering humans.  Conscious humans.  Desperately clever humans. 

Not at all like Zombies.

But not entirely unlike Zombies either. 

Movie Zombies are scary enough.  No matter how fast you run or how far you go, there are always more of them.  And more and more and more of them.  And they are always hungry.  And then, there's the scariest part of all - you are the food.

Hey, I hear ya.  Nobody wants to think about a zombie apocalypse.  Especially not me.  I cover my eyes during the Walking Dead.  I haven't been able to stomach a video game since my Frogger got squished.  I am the worst kind of ostrich.  So far, I have blithely postponed taking up a single hobby that might be of use when all things electronic cease to function.

Well.  No more. 

Think about it.  Not that we have enemies or anything, but should an electromagnetic pulse be released, everything that depends on electronics stops dead.

Forget taking videos of the chaos with your iPhone.  Or calling 911.  Don't bother checking the time.  Even your Timex will stop.  Along with my cute little Tidewater Blue 2009 Honda.  Mine, and everybody elses, unless they own an antique.

The refrigerated trucks that bring our perfectly plastic-wrapped chicken breasts down from Delaware will stop out on I-95 without ever reaching a Publix.  Tractors will grind to a halt in the field.  Machines that spin out things like plastic wrap and light bulbs and Prozac, all dead and done.

And my absolute favorite pastime of scrounging around in the refrigerator when I'm bored?  Absolutely zero fun anymore without electricity.

Everything will stop.  Everything electronic, anyway.  The things that feed us and makes us comfortable.  Every. Thing.  Except biological processes.  Those will keep going.  Hunger.  Desperation.  That won't stop, until, well...

And I gotta admit.  I'm kinda worried.  If it happens today, I am not at all equipped to survive. 

I'd be the first one on my block to get et, I just know it.

All because I just don't have enough hobbies. 

Swim-bike-run can only take you so far.

So I'm thinking a few new hobbies might help me feel more secure about the future. 

Here's the short list so far.  See what you think.  Hey, whether the Zombie Apocalypse happens or not, it's good to try new things.  You know - just in case you're bored with the same old yoga, tennis, or golf.  Or - just in case.

1- Archery.  First order of business, self  defense.

2-  Fishing.  There is a real lack of venison in this neighborhood.  Yes, people-meat should be plentiful, at first anyway, but the idea is to avoid going there - or being caught by anyone who has. 

3- Sailing.  Thank goodness for all those years of sailing.  And a room full of bikes. 

*Note to self:  Acquire sailboat.  And maybe just one more bike.  For survival purposes, of course.

So, transportation not too problematic, at least until spare parts run out. 

Same story with guns.  Not having the temperament for hoarding, my ammo would likely run out way before I could ever figure out how to make my own.

Yup, it's gonna come down to fishing and arrows. 

*Note to self:  Stock pile hooks, or at least save safety pins off old race numbers.  Get a fish cleaning knife.  And a whittling-sort-of-knife to make arrows.  Oh yeah - and a whet stone.  Learn to whittle.  Learn to sharpen knives.  Remember to compost.  If the fish won't bite, fried worms are supposed to be OK in a pinch.  Oh yeah, learn to make a fire to fry fish and/or worms.

4)  Upper body strengthening.  Have you ever tried archery?  Not for weaklings.  Or the wobbly. 

*Note to self:  Augment archery muscles. Start push up program, weight training, or better yet, CrossFit.

5)  Edible landscaping.  (Not a bad idea in any case, especially for the unemployed. Or even if you just hate to grocery shop.)

6)  Paleo dieting.  Fish.  Nuts and berries.  Like a detox.  Takes getting used to.  Like fried worms.  Just sayin'.  Start now.

7)  Learn organic chemistry.  Brew beer.  Make wine.  Rediscover the lost art of bathtub gin.  (Just remember - go easy.  The Excedrin factory will be out of commission.)

Well, the list could go on of course, and probably would, but suddenly there is so much to do!  

I am itching to get this going.  But where to start? 

I know.  I promised to check on Scout's mango tree while they're on vacation. 

*Note to self:  Put rack on bike.  Take a sack.  Be watchful.  The neighbors could have sacks of their own.  Who knows, they might have tennis rackets.  Or, oh god,  golf clubs.

30 day Challenge. Return to The Zone.

October 1997.  Jerry Dodgen, a rock climbing guide from Atlanta, was a lean, fit, energetic 64 year old mountain goat the first year The Chick and I climbed with him.  

The next year he was even more impressive, nearly flying up and down the rock, setting toplines with incredible energy.  I'd never seen anything like it.  The difference, he said, was this new book someone had given him, The Zone.  He lost thirteen pounds.  Being plenty lean and fit all his life, it was thirteen pounds he never knew he needed to lose.  Plus he had gained energy he never knew was possible.  

I could see it in him, burning bright.  A remarkable fitness high.  We flew home the next day.  I bought the book in the airport.  I wanted that high. 

And the Zone delivered.  

June 2012.  It feels like home.  Just a couple of back to back spaces in a storage facility, opened up to the outdoors. Rows of weights.  Sturdy frames.  Big rubber bands.  Coaching timers on long cords hanging from nails in the wall.  Regular looking folks, just getting it done.  No frills, no nonsense, no fancy clothes.

Just for a second, a wave of nostalgia gives me a squeeze.  It's been a long, long time since I first paired the Zone with the diverse (and brutal) home workouts in Mr. Keo's garage.  What a high.  A Jerry Dodgen sort of high.  I thought I'd never see the like again.  But I see it here.  The very same high, in these regular folks, just getting it done.

Last Tuesday Northstar invited me to see the gym she attends, CrossFit 26.2 in Rockledge.  It's like being invited into a secret clubhouse.  Who wouldn’t jump at the chance?   There’s even a secret language.  It's total gobbelty gook to me, but Northstar reads the workout marked up on the whiteboard with ease.  I wouldn't be surprised to see a secret handshake.

I am not dressed for it, but I wish I were there to work out.  So much so, that I risk my sweat-switch being turned on, and flip flop along behind Northstar when she heads out to the street for 400 yard runs between bouts of overhead squats.  Neighborhood kids, old hands at this game, full of chatty advice, trot along with me.  I'm glad I arrived early.

When Northstar asked, "Do you want to do the Zone with me for thirty days?", it couldn’t have come at a better time.  I was tired of going it alone, and tired of my own cavalier half ass nutritional ways, especially since I know better.  But somehow I had missed the fact that it was an official CrossFit challenge. Choose Zone or Paleo, stick to it for thirty days, and see what happens to your fitness.

To my surprise, I am not only welcome to sit in on the nutrition discussion, but Allie, the trainer conducting the challenge, welcomes me into the group.  He checks to be sure that I have signed onto his pledge list along with the other gym members.

The Zone is an old friend.  But I am curious about Paleo.  I browse through the literature Allie hands out.  My first thought is, Uh-oh, what are these people into?

Paleo has the look of a detox.  Thirty days, and then what?  But I agree completely with the basic premise.  No manufactured, fake foods.   If you can’t catch it, or pick it, it’s probably not good for you to eat. 

The drawback is, Paleo is super strict.  Which, in my experience, reduces the chances of success for the average rule-allergic adult to about zero.

I am very glad I have read The Zone, and lived loosely in it ever since that 2nd climbing trip in 1998.
  
I don’t know about anyone else, but when it comes to dieting, it's the Pirate’s Code for me.  No rules, more what you'd call guidelines, really. 

So, thirty days in the much-more-versatile Zone, it is.

But this is a challenge.  An official challenge.  In what happens to be a month pretty much devoid of other preoccupations.  Maybe it should be done right. 

Probably wouldn't hurt to follow a few rules. 

Oh hell.  Find the food scale.  I can do anything for thirty days.


*Just in case you have thirteen pounds you didn't even know you needed to lose, here's the CrossFit link for getting started in The Zone:
    http://library.crossfit.com/free/pdf/cfjissue21_May04.pdf