Guess what?! More swimming!

There's not much exciting news to post from the past couple of weeks. I swam at Branched Oak Lake last weekend and again this weekend. In between, I did some workouts with my Y Masters group and, well, that's about it. I need to get in some strength training and a little jogging wouldn't kill me. 

The marathon swimming community has exploded with controversy over Diana Nyad's epic swim from Cuba to Florida. Seriously, I think a few people have busted a jugular over it. I'm just not that bothered by whether or not she followed "the rules" -- whatever those might be for this kind of pioneering swim. I agree that she should be completely forthcoming about all that happened on the swim. But really - the 64-year old woman swam a long damn distance. I don't care if she had vodka tonics for feeds and took a few smoke breaks. She got in the water in Cuba and swam to Key West. Kudos to you, Diana.

Inspired by her crazy ass swim, I decided to put together a swimmer-lovin triathlon I've been thinking about for awhile. It's not a real event - no sanctioning, registration or support of any kind. It's just a training day turned into an event with a little help from Photoshop. I drove the cycling route after my swim on Sunday, and even got tired on the drive. It's going to be epic. And painful.

Meanwhile, I had a lovely lake swim on Sunday with Paul in the kayak. I L.O.V.E. kayak support! It is like the difference between shuffling around a little jail cell and flying in a jet over a little country. This is what my swim looked like - only for 4 hours and 50 minutes more.

My left shoulder is a little tweaky today (not twerky) and I iced it down for a bit. I have practice in the morning so I'd better call it a blog. I'm getting ready for a Lake McConaughy swim next month. And psyching myself up for cold water. YEEEEEESH.

Like a Fish on a Bicycle

My long swim was in the form of a metric century bike ride on Saturday in Kansas City. It was the inaugural ride of the event organized by Paul's boss and my former Burke High classmate, Matthew Mellor. Matthew was diagnosed with a rare form of leukemia 3 years ago, and thanks to research that developed a new pharmaceutical, he is cancer free. So this ride was a fundraiser for cancer research and to show support for those who have been affected by cancer in one way or another -- basically, everyone.

I've been looking forward to a long ride this summer, but also dreading it because I haven't been on my bike much. I've either been swimming or recovering from swimming. All the way down there, Paul and I had a recurring conversation:
Me: I really haven't put in much bike time this summer.
Paul: Well, just do the 30 miler then. That's still a good workout
Me: Yeah, I should probably do that. 
Paul: Sure, that way we can sleep in a little too.
Me: Nah, I'll do the 62-miler.

Paul booked a nice room - on the "preferred guest" floor of the Sheraton, which used to be a Hyatt-Regency. The last time we were there was our honeymoon -- a scant 25 years ago. It's still beautiful and our room had a gorgeous view of the downtown skyline. I wished we'd had more time to enjoy it.

We brought the bike and our stuff to the room, then set off to the Plaza to see what we could find for dinner. We had planned on Figlio's, our favorite Italian restaurant on the corner by the big fountain and park. But, sadly, it's being remodeled. I hope it's not another chain. The world has plenty of PF Chang's. 

We took in the sights of the Plaza as we walked to the Classic Cup for dinner -- people enjoying a horse-drawn carriage ride, a talented singer belting out some R&B tunes, window shoppers and couples and families checking everything out. I love the Country Club Plaza and it'll always be a special place to me even though there are now trendy little shopping centers all around KC. I don't think I've ever actually purchased anything there, but it has a charming atmosphere that I enjoy.

After a delicious dinner of roast chicken and risotto with kale (I love kale. I really do.) and Paul's spicy shrimp dish, we headed back to our hotel room and had lights out by 10 p.m. 

The next morning, fortified with a Starbucks latte and a big slab of lemon poppyseed cake, I loaded up my gear and we drove to the start of the ride, just a couple of blocks away.

I'm not sure how many cyclists there were, but it was a good sized crowd. I love the sound of cycling shoes clipping into pedals (even though I am still a hopeless dork when it comes to the ironically named "clipless" pedals. It always takes me a few tries to get the stupid cleat in place... which will come to haunt me later).

The route took us through some cool areas of Kansas City before turning south toward the rural hinterlands. I was surprised to find that I was with a group in the middle of the pack. I'm usually the last straggler. 

At the first sag stop, I met one of Paul's co-worker's whose name escapes me. We ended up chatting longer than I intended and I missed my group's departure, so I just left on my own a little while later. About a mile from the sag stop, there was a round-about, but I couldn't see any markers indicating which way to go. It was like the yellow brick road .... lots of options, but I had no clue which direction to head. Eventually I saw a small group of cyclists take the western turn, so I followed and joined up with them. After a couple miles of riding and chatting about our jobs and stuff, I asked the guy next to me if he was riding in support of someone or if he knew Matthew Mellor. He said, "Um, no, this is the route we usually ride on Saturday." Shit. Turns out, I biked about 6 miles off the route, but these folks kindly road with me to the point where I could get back on track.

The scenery along the south part of the route was gorgeous - lots of hills, trees and farmland. Cycling is so much more scenic than swimming. I was soaking it up and having fun - especially riding downhill. I'm not a very good hill climber, but I must have some sort of low center of gravity or maybe it's my swimmer's padding that helps me sail downhill faster than a Jamaican bobsledder. 

Finally, after a couple more phone calls to Paul to see if he could help me navigate, I landed at the next rest stop. Let me tell you, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich is as heavenly as wedding cake when you've been riding 3 hours increasing heat.

I was watching for the small, dark red "62" marks at every intersection. Sometimes they were there, sometimes they weren't. I frequently zipped through an intersection and would see that little circle as I rolled over it, then have to curve back and make a turn. The day was getting hotter and so was I.

Cycling back into town wasn't as much fun as cycling out of it. There was a lot of traffic, stop signs and relentless sun and heat coming off the pavement. I got lost again and called Paul, sharing my exasperation and frustration with some colorful commentary on his voice mail. I told him I was getting a little dizzy, but would keep going unless I felt it was unsafe.

Finally, I got onto the right street again and headed into some neighborhoods with tree shade. The cool patches brought some much needed perspective. Getting all pissy about the heat and my inability to find and follow the way markers was a choice. Deciding that it was a beautiful day for a bike adventure was a better choice. So I cooled my heels, decided to be grateful for the opportunity and focused on the lovely homes I was riding by.

That worked for a good while, until the last 5 miles or so, when I had to descend a black diamond level hill full of traffic pulling out into the street. I was surprised smoke wasn't billowing from my brakes as I tried to slow my freefall down the mile-long hill. And when I finally made it to the turn onto Southwest Parkway, the road was being resurfaced. Really? I'm melting into my seat and I have to deal with cobblestones? Arrrrrgh.

But wait, it gets even better. After surviving a couple miles of riding over a cheese grater, I'm huffing and puffing, with sweat in places I didn't think possible, up a small hill to an intersection. When I get there, I see a lady in a car in the opposite direction. I get to the intersection first and look her in the eye as I start pedaling to make sure she sees me. She looks right back at me, then turns left right in front of me. I had to brake hard to stop and didn't have time to get my foot out of my pedal, so took a dive to my left, landing on my left knee and elbow. I was so, so, so pissed off. How could she have done such a stupid thing? She was looking right at me! And I was too exhausted to get my foot out of my pedal. I was trying to twist it out, but I couldn't get it. I was willing myself not to cry, somewhat successfully. Fortunately, Paul was right behind me and helped me get my feet unstuck, along with another good Samaritan who was kind enough to stop. 

So now I'm hot, covered in sticky salty sweat and street grit, I have a big bleeding knot on my knee and I'm all shaky from the fall. 

No way in hell I'm stopping now. 

I got back on the bike, clipped in after a dozen tries, and headed toward the finish.  I made it through the center of Kansas city traffic to the finish zone and felt fantastic. I do love the finish of a race - or event. And I wasn't even the last one! Total time was 5:45.

As soon as I slid off my bike, Matthew was there and I kindly let him know that I'd checked this off my list. And, as these things always go, after 15 minutes with an ice bag on my knee, I was thinking of what I'd do differently next year. That's the way these things tend to go and how I get myself sucked into bigger and crazier events. 

In and on the lake

I had a long swim at Branched Oak Lake on Saturday - 6.3 miles in a little over 3 and a half hours, which isn't all that fast, but I felt good about it. The day was absolutely gorgeous -- little fluffy clouds floating in the blue summer sky, sunshine and flat water. I couldn't have ordered a swim any better from a catalog.

I have a route that I follow at Branched Oak. I swim from the beach at area one to the buoy line and then swim along the line to the point and back to the beach, which is roughly a mile. This is convenient to get a feed about every 35 minutes, which works well for me, but by the 3rd or 4th feed, I turn from a mere curiosity to something alien and perhaps a little monstrous from the looks I get. "How far are you going?", "Why are you swimming away from the beach?" "Are you afraid of the boats?" "What are you doing?" and then, inevitably, the stories about the friend of a friend who drowned at a lake, or got some flesh-eating bacteria, or was hit by a jet ski, or some other tragic tidbit that I suppose is a way of making conversation. I try to be a good ambassador for open water swimming and I always like chatting with people, but I'm relieved to slosh back into the lake and get on with my next lap.

Swimming gives me time to think, which is how I decided that we'd be better off buying a kayak than taking a trip to a beautiful coastal beach area this fall for some sight-seeing, great seafood, museums and - oh yeah - a 6-hour qualifying swim in 60 degree ocean waves. There will be plenty of nippy lake water around here and with Paul in a kayak, I'm less likely to get hit by one of those boats the beach humans are so worried about.

Paul bought this idea for some reason, so Sunday afternoon we went out and picked out our new kayak: the Pongo 120 by Wilderness in mango. Isn't she pretty? 

We took the kayak out to Wagon Train Lake, met up with my friend Tony and his kids, and took a practice ride/swim in the lake. I think we did pretty good. I told Paul I liked having us even and he did a good job of kayaking slowly enough for us to stay right next to each other for the most part. I'm looking forward to more supported swims in the next couple of months, which is about all we'll have left for lake swimming in Nebraska. I'm curious to see how quickly the temps plummet. Too fast, I'm sure.

Knowing me, I'll probably figure out a way to justify that trip in my next long swim. :-)

One Year From Now...

My English Channel window is July 19-29, 2014. One year from now. Shit just got real, as they say. Having read a kabillion blogs and everything in print on English Channel swimming, I devised a training plan that should ensure appropriate conditioning for my swim. And on top of swimming pretty much non-stop for the next year, there's still the enormous challenge of acclimating to cold water. I sure wish there was a cold pill that I could take that would make me impervious to the frigid temps. As if swimming that far, that long, in choppy waves, through jellyfish and seaweed and dashing between ocean tankers weren't enough -- it's in 60 degree water.

Well, one thing at a time. For now, I'm focused on kicking up my training - both in volume and in quality (ie - swimming sprints to the point of regurgitation). This week I put in 6 days of swimming. I don't think I've done that since high school. Let's not dwell on the decades that have swum along since then.

I had a nice swim at Branched Oak lake on Saturday with not one, but TWO fabulous kayakers, Ashley and Tammy, from the Sheclismo cycling group.  I felt like a celebrity swimmer with a kayak driving entourage. Very cool. The water was pretty choppy at first, but then settled down about an hour into my swim. I put in 4.8 miles in about 2 and a half hours. We enjoyed a fantastic lunch at the marina restaurant afterward. A burger tastes so much better after a long swim!

Today was a sprint workout at the Y. I'm pleasantly surprised at how well I did. It was HARD to swim as fast as possible for a whole mess of 50s and 100s. I was wheezing like a 6-pack a day smoker. But, I did them all and I beat the guy in the lane next to me -- the ironman triathlete :-)

My shoulders are whining a bit. I'll put on icepack shoulder pads this evening. Rest day tomorrow - ahhh.

END WET 27-mile swim on the Red River

The END WET swim seemed so far away when I registered for it in January. Then, I suddenly found myself in the car driving up I-29 for hours with Paul for a 27-mile swim in the river. It may sound daunting, but I am inspired my many others who have overcome much bigger obstacles to achieve their goals - sometimes that's climbing a mountain or biking 200 miles of gravel, sometimes it's relearning to walk or using a handcycle to cruise across a state. I am blessed to know some incredible people.

When we finally made it to Grand Forks on Thursday night, we checked into the Guest House Inn which had been a Holidome in its former life. I got a kick out of the putt-putt golf and pool in the center of the building with all the hotel rooms around it. This type of hotel was just like a trip to Disney World when I was a kid. Note: I've never been to Disney World.

I left to pick up my friend Tim at the airport. Tim had kindly provided transportation and housing during the Pensacola swim so I was glad to return the favor. He wanted to stop by Mickey D's for a couple of double cheeseburgers before we got back to the hotel, near midnight. How anyone could sleep after chowing down on those burgers is a deep mystery wrapped in an enigma and shrouded in awe.

Tim and I at the Harvest Bakery

The next morning we had a Red River practice swim, so Paul and I took Tim and another guy, Bob, from Iowa City to the swim start. At the river, I saw Karen Zemlin and Patty Hermann, my LA channel swimming class buddies. Patty somehow snagged Martin Strel as her kayaker. Martin is the Yugoslavian Elvis of the long distance river swimming community (a tiny hamlet) -- he's swum the Danube, Yangtze, Mississippi and Amazon rivers.

Morning practice with about half the field.

All in all, there were about a dozen of us who were ready to dunk in the muddy water for a practice swim. Andy - the boy Jesus and race organizer - led us on his stand-up paddleboard (that's a SUP). The water was surprisingly dark, but it didn't taste bad and the current sent us literally sailing down the river. It was so cool to watch the riverbank full of cottonwood trees fly by between each breath. We covered 2 miles in about 30 minutes, which is twice as fast as I normally cover that distance.

When it came time to get out, I was gushing toward the rapids. The current was so fast, I really had to push it to get across and grab the hand of a volunteer to get out. Whew! We then walked along the trail where we would have to get out during the race to by-pass the rapids. The mud was so soft, I sunk down to my ankles, adding kind of an interesting element to the event.

Mud beard.

It was a huge help to have Paul there for morale support and lots of driving. After we did the practice swim, we cleaned up as best we could and collected another swimmer, Matthew, for the ride to Harvest Bakery, a wonderful local bakery and cafe that served as our river swimmin' gang hangout for the weekend. Matthew is from Paul's neck of the woods, Athens, Georgia, and had just graduated from UGA with a major in English. What do you do with an English major? You take a Greyhound bus to Grand Forks, ND, to swim 27 miles in a brown river that's called Red, then take more Greyhound buses to Maine to hike the Appalachian Trail. He said he hoped to make it home by Christmas.

We thought there was going to be an organized meeting, but it turned out we must have beaten the rush. We ordered some sandwiches, chatted with Tim, Bob and Matthew, then headed back to the hotel to clean-up before the REAL meet-n-greet that evening. And "back to the hotel" meant walking to a campsite for Matthew. Hard core, dude.

At the meet-n-greet later that evening, Andy explained the race day agenda, we signed our waiver (will not sue if I get impaled by a dead tree or pick up some mutant river parasite or get my ass kicked by every other swimmer yada, yada, yada...) and we met our support kayakers, in my case - Dave the Amazing. He drove all the way from California just so he could help out. He used to be Andy's roommate

before they sort of grew up and got married (not to each other) and he swam the inaugural event last year. We also picked up swim caps, which I was pleased to find were silicon. Latex caps tend to bug my ears after awhile. I wish I would have gotten a photo of Dan "Mr. Butterfly" Projansky. As if swimming 27 miles in a river isn't wacky enough, he swam the entire race butterfly. 

Andy, the race director and boy Jesus

The Harvest Bakery set out a sumptuous spread of sandwiches, fresh fruits and veggies and the world's most incredible dark chocolate chip and sea salt cookies. Oh.My.Glorious.Heaven - I'd swim 100 miles and battle muskrats for a dozen of those.

Martin Strel introducing his documentary

After the reception, we walked over to the Firehouse - now an Indy Theater to watch Big River Man, a documentary about Martin Strel's epic river swims. He introduced the movie, which was pretty cool. I had a chance to visit with him a little that morning and he's a very nice guy. I love his Yugo accent and I'm impressed with his determination. The documentary noted that Martin got into swimming at a young age -- escaping beatings from his father. He also suffered from mental stress and dementia during his Amazon swim. That he has survived all of this and is a national hero in Yugoslavia and among open water swimmers is impressive and admirable.

We made it back to the hotel about 9:30 and I whipped up my feed bottles for the next morning. Two scoops of Perpetuem in a 32-ounce bottle with water and a splash of V8 Splash will keep me going. I also thought it would be a good idea to include a gel each hour, which as it turned out, wasn't a good idea, but I'll get to that.

On race day morning, we met Tim and Bob in the hotel lobby and after a quick stop at Harvest Bakery so I could snag a pastry, we met at the kayak loading spot so we could give our support partners our feeds. Mine conveniently fit in a soft sided cooler full of ice.

Greased up and getting ready to roll.

We then drove over to the start of the race. Twenty-six people of all ages from all over and from 17 to 68 years old. Masters swimmers, and marathon swimmers in particular, don't have a typical physique. Some are pudgy, some are slim, some have well defined muscles and others, like me, look pretty soft.

Andy led us into the water for the start and off we went. Group starts are a battle of arms and legs. I bounced off a couple of other swimmers as we made our way under the first bridge. The first 2 miles went just as fast as our practice swim. I kept an eye on the river side and started swimming a lot closer to the bank so I wouldn't have to fight the current to get out at our walk-around spot.

Some swimmers ran from the portage, but since my goal was simply to get to the finish without injury, I walked it. Dave met me at the top of the hill and we walked together to the kayak spot. I jumped back in the lake and Dave caught up with me shortly afterward.

Dave paddling and me swimming - for 8 hours.

From this point on, it was just a matter of swimming in the current, one arm after the next, for 8 hours. Tim and I kept passing each other for about 3 miles from the kayak loading spot, but he eventually found his mojo and I didn't see him again until the finish line.

So, what's it like to swim in a river? It's awesome. Although I couldn't see anything in the murky water, it's wonderful to watch the trees go by at every breath and get a generous push from the current. I asked Dave to let me know if he spotted any bald eagles. There weren't any during the swim and I didn't see any fish, either.

I was feeling pretty good overall. I had kinesio tape on my shoulders which may have helped prevent some of the shoulder impingement I incurred at the Pensacola swim in May. At about mile 10, my left shoulder started complaining. This is the other shoulder - the one I didn't injure. It wasn't too bad, so I just kept swimming.

Every half hour, Dave would whistle or just toss me my bottle of carbo drink. The bottles stayed nice and cold in that cooler all day long. After a quick chug, and a little stretching in the water, I face planted back into the muddy river and kept swimming - already thinking of the next feed.

Dave did a great job as my support kayaker. There were only a couple of times when I couldn't see him and that was usually because he was texting Paul to report on our progress.

At the 14-mile spot, there was a viewing area where our families and friends could watch us and cheer us on. I saw Paul and gave him the thumbs up.

After Tim passed me by, I didn't see another swimmer until close to the finish. For the next 6 hours, it was just swimming, swimming, swimming with the 30-minute feed schedule. My right shoulder pain continued to get a little worse each hour, but nothing at all like I experienced in Pensacola. I could deal with it.

As we got closer to the finish, I spotted a swimmer ahead of me. I tried to catch her, but was only able to close the gap. I could see the Oslo water tower, so I knew we were close. There was a bridge ahead and assumed the finish spot was probably on the other side. I kicked it up a notch and turned those tired arms like propeller blades.

Getting to the finish was the best feeling in the world. I clocked in at 8:01. Dang - if I'd picked up my pace a little sooner, I could have made it under 8 hours. But that's OK. My mission to finish was accomplished. 

Finisher!

I checked out the scoreboard and was pleased to see I came in 13th out of 26 - right in the middle. Patty did great, too, with a 10th place finish. My friend Karen Zemlin won the race! I heard it was a very close finish between Karen and world class swimmer Jen Schumacher. Way to go, Karen! Sandra Berquist came in 3rd. Top 3 spots won by the ladies - woot woot!

Paul had my recovery drink ready. I drank it all, but then felt like puking it back up about 10 minutes later. The nausea was worse with this race than Pensacola. I've since done some research on feedings during a marathon distance event and I think I was taking in too many calories. I had a gel in addition to my feedings each hour. The body can only absorb about 200 calories an hour during exercise and I was getting in 300 or a little more. No more gels.

The Oslo fitness center (a small gym with ancient equipment and 2 showers) kindly let us get cleaned up in their facility. I had little creases of river dirt all over me and was very grateful for the shower.

Paul drove Tim and me back to the hotel and we relaxed a little before heading downtown for dinner. You'd think I'd be ready to chow down on a 30 oz porterhouse steak, but I was still battling nausea. We found a great little pizza place and enjoyed sitting at a table on the rooftop. 

The next morning, I felt a lot better. I took Tim to the airport and then Paul and I went to the awards ceremony back at the theater. I'm so glad we stayed - we'd thought about heading out after I dropped off Tim. It was great to see the other swimmers in their street clothes - although sometimes it's hard to recognize someone when they're not in a suit, cap and goggles.

Andy had a few kind words for each swimmer as they came to the stage to get their medal. It's a little like being a kid at a local swim meet -- the thrill of getting a medal. I wore mine the rest of the day.

After the ceremony and chatting with the other swimmers, we headed home. It was a long drive, but so well worth it. I'd do this race again next year if I didn't have that English Channel swim on my agenda for next July. That's going to be a bit more strenuous (understatement of the year).

The week following the race, I did nothing. It took a lot out of me and I wanted to give my left shoulder time to heal. Now, it's time to get serious about training for the Channel. 

Twas the Tuesday before the Red River

And all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even the dogs or cat or horse or snake. Mainly because it's 8 million freakin' degrees outside. Hoo doggies, it's HOT. And despite the Sahara Desert temperatures, I have some sort of cold or allergies or something. Snot is dripping down the back of my throat and my throat is so sore, it hurts to swallow. I'll take some Benadryl and try to get a good night's sleep.

Training last week went well. My friend Matt offered to kayak for me at Branched Oak lake so I could get in one more long lake swim before the river. It was the Saturday of July 4th weekend, but we set out at 8:30 a.m. so I think most of the boaters were still sleeping. That, plus the wind was blowing hard, causing white caps. This is pretty fun when you are swimming with the wind, smoothly sailing across the lake. It turns into a boxing match on the way back. I didn't mind and was glad to have the challenge. I'm so grateful to have a kayaker. But, I really need to find a few more - HINT HINT - so I don't wear out my welcome with Matt. It's so much more fun being able to swim across the lake instead of swimming from buoy to buoy, stopping every 10 yards to see if a jet skier or speed boat is about to mow over me.

Swimming to nowhere
Another little training adventure this week was swimming with a tether in our backyard pool. It's a lot harder than swimming unencumbered -- more like pulling with paddles. It's not the sort of thing I could do for hours, but it'll be great to have that option when the temps start dropping. Excellent for cold water acclimation. Can't wait <eyeballs rolling>.

So, now I'm getting packed for the Red River 27-mile race on Saturday. It seemed so long ago back in January when I registered for it. Vacations and big events are always like that. The planning, the anticipation, the dreaming ... then all of a sudden, it's here. I suppose life is like that. I still can't believe I'm 47. How the hell did THAT happen? I wouldn't mind if the days would slow down a bit. I'd like to savor them a little longer.

20G at the pool

I heard it was a beautiful day today. It could have been raining flaming crickets and I wouldn't have noticed. From 10:00 a.m. to 4:30 p.m. I was staring at a black line at the bottom of the YMCA pool. Which is why long distance swimming is so hard for people to understand. Hell, it's hard for me to understand, too. There's not the dramatic hill climbing of cycle races or running into the pink-orange rising sun of a road race. It's just stroke after stroke in the water. If you're swimming outside in a lake, there's the clouds and changing landscape, which is why I enjoy it so much more, but then there's also boats and tree branches and creepy invisible things that give you an itchy rash for a week afterward.

But even though there's not much exciting to describe about a 6 and a half hour, 20,000 yard swim, I was so satisfied to have done it. I was a little worried my shoulders would crap out on me. It's been 6 weeks since the Pensacola swim and resulting shoulder impingement. That first week afterward I did NOTHING. I could hardly get my right arm lifted up high enough to brush my teeth or comb my hair. The first week of physical therapy was just non-weight bearing shoulder exercises. The third week, I got back in the pool, but didn't do much yardage. And now here I am putting in a full day of swimming. PT rocks.

The Red River swim is in two weeks, so I get to start TAPER. Tapering is a lot like Christmas. There's incredible anticipation, joyful short yardage workouts, but then it's over before you know it. And then... we'll drive 8 some hours to Grand Forks, North Dakota, where I'll swim in a muddy river with other nutjobs for 12 or so hours. 

But not tonight. Tonight I get to have my last beer before the race and get to bed at a decent hour.