The Yankees won again on Wednesday. A wild high-scoring game. Awful starting pitching from both sides. Yankees were 5-0 down before they came to bat. But they got those runs back in the first inning and then went on to win even though their starting pitcher gave up 9 runs. A classic come-from-behind win just like the Yankees of the late 90s.
So now they've won five in a row after their worst start to the season in 80 years. What changed? It's still basically the same guys. They didn't get stronger. They didn't develop new skills. The only thing different is mental attitude. Somehow they started believing in themselves. A couple of well-pitched games and the batters relaxed and started scoring runs again. So much so that even when their pitcher let them down, they had the confidence to go out and score more runs than he gave up.
As Yogi Berra said "Baseball is 90% mental -- the other half is physical." I'm sure it's just as true of sailing. I start reading "The Mental Edge" by Kenneth Baum, determined to work seriously on my mental game this year.
Happy Birthday Yogi - 80 today. And thanks for the sailing tip.
Thursday, May 12, 2005
Wednesday, May 11, 2005
Getting Unstuck
I've been thinking about how to get "unstuck" from my current plateau of sailing performance. It seems to me that my biggest weakness is my starting technique. I am much too cautious at starts. I tend to approach the start line (from downwind) late. Sometimes I don't get into the front row. And even if I do line up in the front row I am too hesitant to accelerate well and beat the boats to windward and leeward of me. Essentially I'm too worried about being over the start line early that, most times, I don't get a good start. Then I'm sailing in bad air, and have to tack out and duck transoms to find a clear lane. Other boats are dictating my strategy and I'm just losing distance on the leaders all the time.
I know that when I get a good start, the race is a different experience. I am sailing in clear air and going fast. I can see up the course, see the wind on the water and can decide which side of the course looks best. And I have the freedom to go that way.
So how to break out of my bad habits? The seminar in Florida was a great help - lots of practice starts when the results didn't matter and we could experiment with different approaches. The trick is to establish a more aggressive starting style and not slip back into old habits in "real" races. I decide that one way to wire a better habit into my brain is to use our Wednesday night Sunfish series just to practice starts. I will be up on the line every time. I won't even worry about being over early (or in racing terminology OCS - On Course Side). In fact if I'm not called OCS at least once every week it will be a sign I'm not really trying.
After all, my real focus this year is Laser sailing. And my bumper sticker does say, "LASER - other boats are just practice".
The Yankees won again on Tuesday night - another close game - another save by Mariano. Life is good.
I know that when I get a good start, the race is a different experience. I am sailing in clear air and going fast. I can see up the course, see the wind on the water and can decide which side of the course looks best. And I have the freedom to go that way.
So how to break out of my bad habits? The seminar in Florida was a great help - lots of practice starts when the results didn't matter and we could experiment with different approaches. The trick is to establish a more aggressive starting style and not slip back into old habits in "real" races. I decide that one way to wire a better habit into my brain is to use our Wednesday night Sunfish series just to practice starts. I will be up on the line every time. I won't even worry about being over early (or in racing terminology OCS - On Course Side). In fact if I'm not called OCS at least once every week it will be a sign I'm not really trying.
After all, my real focus this year is Laser sailing. And my bumper sticker does say, "LASER - other boats are just practice".
The Yankees won again on Tuesday night - another close game - another save by Mariano. Life is good.
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
Stuckness
Yesterday I gave my lawnmower its annual maintenance. Or to be more precise I did the maintenance that should be done annually but which, in truth has been neglected for almost 10 years. Now the poor machine is caked up with oil and dust and grime and 10 years of accumulated grass clippings. It rattles and shakes and I am sure there are a few bolts missing.
I could have neglected it for another year but I was feeling good. Sailing went well on Sunday and the Yankees had won two games in a row. We're on a roll. A winning streak. I forgot that I am the biggest klutz in the world, ignoring the fact that whenever I attempt some mechanical task like this I usually break a tool, break the thing I am mending, or injure myself. Or all of the above.
Full of optimism I attempt the first task, removing the nut that holds the blade. Hmmm - seems pretty tight. I try everything in the klutz handbook to remove it. Adjustable wrench. Bigger adjustable wrench. Hammer the handle of the adjustable wrench. WD40. Socket set. Torque wrench. More WD40. Hold the blade with my foot and lever with all my weight. More WD40. Hmmm - it's really stuck. I guess that's to be expected after 10 years of use and rust.
So I give up for a while. I go to the computer and do some email. I seem to remember that in "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance", Pirsig has a whole chapter about "stuckness". How one little screw with a chewed-up head can make an expensive machine worthless. His solution, as I recall, is all about letting go of the subject-object duality or some such Zen-like concept. Now how do I do that again?
Then I think back to the days when I used to manage two groups of computer technicians. One group were arrogant, bearded, sandals-wearing nerds who had slightly higher technical knowledge than the other group of polite, mild-mannered, smartly dressed yuppies. The second group occasionally had to ask the arrogant, bearded, sandals-wearing nerds for advice. The usual response was "RTFM" - meaning Read The F...ing Manual. Oh - maybe I'd better try that. I dig out the lawnmower maintenance manual from the back of the filing cabinet. "To remove the nut, hold the blade with a padded glove....". I try it. It comes undone straight away. Duh.
The rest of the job goes like a dream. I strip the mower down. I clean it. I oil it. I clean the spark plug. I sharpen the blade. I replace the missing bolts. I reassemble it and even manage to get everything back in the right order. I look on the ground. There are no parts left over!! The engine starts first time!! Life is good.
On Monday evening the Yankees win again. It's a close game and Mariano Riveira doesn't blow the save. Life is good.
Now, if only I could solve my "stuckness" problems in sailing as easily.......
I could have neglected it for another year but I was feeling good. Sailing went well on Sunday and the Yankees had won two games in a row. We're on a roll. A winning streak. I forgot that I am the biggest klutz in the world, ignoring the fact that whenever I attempt some mechanical task like this I usually break a tool, break the thing I am mending, or injure myself. Or all of the above.
Full of optimism I attempt the first task, removing the nut that holds the blade. Hmmm - seems pretty tight. I try everything in the klutz handbook to remove it. Adjustable wrench. Bigger adjustable wrench. Hammer the handle of the adjustable wrench. WD40. Socket set. Torque wrench. More WD40. Hold the blade with my foot and lever with all my weight. More WD40. Hmmm - it's really stuck. I guess that's to be expected after 10 years of use and rust.
So I give up for a while. I go to the computer and do some email. I seem to remember that in "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance", Pirsig has a whole chapter about "stuckness". How one little screw with a chewed-up head can make an expensive machine worthless. His solution, as I recall, is all about letting go of the subject-object duality or some such Zen-like concept. Now how do I do that again?
Then I think back to the days when I used to manage two groups of computer technicians. One group were arrogant, bearded, sandals-wearing nerds who had slightly higher technical knowledge than the other group of polite, mild-mannered, smartly dressed yuppies. The second group occasionally had to ask the arrogant, bearded, sandals-wearing nerds for advice. The usual response was "RTFM" - meaning Read The F...ing Manual. Oh - maybe I'd better try that. I dig out the lawnmower maintenance manual from the back of the filing cabinet. "To remove the nut, hold the blade with a padded glove....". I try it. It comes undone straight away. Duh.
The rest of the job goes like a dream. I strip the mower down. I clean it. I oil it. I clean the spark plug. I sharpen the blade. I replace the missing bolts. I reassemble it and even manage to get everything back in the right order. I look on the ground. There are no parts left over!! The engine starts first time!! Life is good.
On Monday evening the Yankees win again. It's a close game and Mariano Riveira doesn't blow the save. Life is good.
Now, if only I could solve my "stuckness" problems in sailing as easily.......
Monday, May 09, 2005
Exercise Machine
I woke up this morning.....(this sounds like the start to one of those cheesy old blues song).
Anyway I woke up this morning....aching all over. I guess that sailing a Laser for 3 hours after not sailing one for 2 weeks will do that to a middle-aged unfit body. Seems like every major muscle group is aching. Calves, quads, lower back, shoulders, forearms. For some reasons my biceps hurt the most. Ouch.
But it's a good ache. Just like the overall ache you feel after a strenuous workout at the gym. Ha ha - how would I know that? I'm just guessing this is how I would feel if I had the moral strength to actually (a) join a gym and (b) go for a workout there on any day except New Year's Day.
There's no doubt, sailing a Laser for a few hours in over 20 knots does give you a great all body workout. Maybe somebody will invent an exercise machine that achieves the same effect. Of course to make it realistic and simulate the strategy and tactics of small course racing you would have to have a computer hooked up to it so you could be playing a game of video chess at the same time. And then to really give you a feel for sailing, one of the gym attendants would have to stand by the machine and throw a bucket of icy cold water over you every 10 seconds.
On second thoughts I think I'll stick to the real thing.
Sunday, May 08, 2005
Feeling Good
Today was one of those days that make you glad to be alive.
I arrived at the lake and helped a new member of the Laser fleet rig his boat. The wind was whistling in the rigging of the boats in the boat park - probably gusting in the mid-20s. I was raring to go. After 8 days of heavy air practice I was feeling confident.
One of the other sailors came by - a man whose ability I respect enormously, and he asked if I was going out. I was flabbergasted. Is there any question? Of course I am.
When we get out to the race area there are whitecaps all over the course and a few of the less experienced sailors have already returned to shore. The beat is a gut-wrenching, thigh-burning, back-aching grind but it's fun. Downwind the boat just skims over the wavetops. In these conditions, I think the boat goes faster on a lake with little waves than on the sea where it slows down as it tries to go over each wave. Halfway down the run in the second race, a humongous gust hits us. The boat starts to death roll but I throw my body over the side and keep steering. For what feels like 10 seconds I am suspended like that with only the gunwhale in the water as the boat skids downwind heeled at 45 degrees on the edge of control. Somehow it flattened and then it's a wild wild ride all the way to the leeward mark. I look behind and everywhere I see upturned hulls with centerboards pointing to the sky. Man this is fun.
When I get back to shore after racing, I am still pumped up. It seems that my early season practice in Florida and N. Carolina has paid off. Now I am loving the heavy stuff. I'm feeling good.
On the car radio on the way home I listened to the end of the Yankees game. For the second day in a row they have had superb starting pitching and have shut out the Oakland A's. Life is good.
I arrived at the lake and helped a new member of the Laser fleet rig his boat. The wind was whistling in the rigging of the boats in the boat park - probably gusting in the mid-20s. I was raring to go. After 8 days of heavy air practice I was feeling confident.
One of the other sailors came by - a man whose ability I respect enormously, and he asked if I was going out. I was flabbergasted. Is there any question? Of course I am.
When we get out to the race area there are whitecaps all over the course and a few of the less experienced sailors have already returned to shore. The beat is a gut-wrenching, thigh-burning, back-aching grind but it's fun. Downwind the boat just skims over the wavetops. In these conditions, I think the boat goes faster on a lake with little waves than on the sea where it slows down as it tries to go over each wave. Halfway down the run in the second race, a humongous gust hits us. The boat starts to death roll but I throw my body over the side and keep steering. For what feels like 10 seconds I am suspended like that with only the gunwhale in the water as the boat skids downwind heeled at 45 degrees on the edge of control. Somehow it flattened and then it's a wild wild ride all the way to the leeward mark. I look behind and everywhere I see upturned hulls with centerboards pointing to the sky. Man this is fun.
When I get back to shore after racing, I am still pumped up. It seems that my early season practice in Florida and N. Carolina has paid off. Now I am loving the heavy stuff. I'm feeling good.
On the car radio on the way home I listened to the end of the Yankees game. For the second day in a row they have had superb starting pitching and have shut out the Oakland A's. Life is good.
Saturday, May 07, 2005
Three Year Rule
Since I retired from "real" work about 5 years ago, I've taken on various voluntary jobs - and one paid summer job - in sailing. At various times I've been district regatta scheduler, newsletter editor, fleet captain, sailing instructor, club secretary, junior series organizer and publicity chairman. Most of these are rewarding in their own way but I've found that the satisfaction payback goes through a definite cycle. I'll use the newsletter editor job as an example.
In the first year it was all new and interesting. Having no skills or experience in newsletter design or editing, I did a bit of research. Everyone seemed to say that consistency in design was important. My predecessor had produced a newsletter with a hodgepodge of visual styles and fonts. So after a bit of experimenting I settled on a simple clean design with a minimal number of fonts. I made sure I had interesting articles and I spent the time to make sure there were no mistakes. And, like Mussolini, I made the trains run on time.
I thought these were pretty basic things, but I got some satisfaction from learning new skills and getting the fundamentals right. And I received a lot of positive feedback and thanks from my readers.
After about a year I started to get a bit more ambitious. Introduced more humor into the newsletter with quirky clip-art, punning headlines and the occasional article by myself highlighting some lighter aspect of the sport. It was fun seeing how creative I could be; my professional life had not been one that rewarded a sense of fun. My efforts seemed to be appreciated as after two and a half years in the job I was awarded the prestigious club trophy for Outstanding Service. Wow.
But now that I've been doing the job for just over 3 years, the psychic payback is diminishing. I don't feel that I'm trying any new things. I think I'm still doing an OK job but the monthly cycle of producing the newsletter is starting to feel more like a chore.
And then I realized that some of the other jobs went through the same evolution. Year 1 - new, exciting, challenging, learning, getting on top of the fundamentals. Year 2 - creative, exploring, pushing the boundaries, seeing how good it can be. Year 3 - mastery, but less challenge, leading to disillusionment.
So I'm thinking of making myself a new rule. Whatever voluntary job I take on I will never do it for more than 3 years. After 3 years I will look for something new. That way I will keep challenging myself to learn new things and I will not become some boring old fart stuck in a rut.
In the first year it was all new and interesting. Having no skills or experience in newsletter design or editing, I did a bit of research. Everyone seemed to say that consistency in design was important. My predecessor had produced a newsletter with a hodgepodge of visual styles and fonts. So after a bit of experimenting I settled on a simple clean design with a minimal number of fonts. I made sure I had interesting articles and I spent the time to make sure there were no mistakes. And, like Mussolini, I made the trains run on time.
I thought these were pretty basic things, but I got some satisfaction from learning new skills and getting the fundamentals right. And I received a lot of positive feedback and thanks from my readers.
After about a year I started to get a bit more ambitious. Introduced more humor into the newsletter with quirky clip-art, punning headlines and the occasional article by myself highlighting some lighter aspect of the sport. It was fun seeing how creative I could be; my professional life had not been one that rewarded a sense of fun. My efforts seemed to be appreciated as after two and a half years in the job I was awarded the prestigious club trophy for Outstanding Service. Wow.
But now that I've been doing the job for just over 3 years, the psychic payback is diminishing. I don't feel that I'm trying any new things. I think I'm still doing an OK job but the monthly cycle of producing the newsletter is starting to feel more like a chore.
And then I realized that some of the other jobs went through the same evolution. Year 1 - new, exciting, challenging, learning, getting on top of the fundamentals. Year 2 - creative, exploring, pushing the boundaries, seeing how good it can be. Year 3 - mastery, but less challenge, leading to disillusionment.
So I'm thinking of making myself a new rule. Whatever voluntary job I take on I will never do it for more than 3 years. After 3 years I will look for something new. That way I will keep challenging myself to learn new things and I will not become some boring old fart stuck in a rut.
Friday, May 06, 2005
Who is that guy?
On the first Sunday of our sailing season last week I was on race committee. Before the races, I spotted a new face rigging a Sunfish and went over to introduce myself and to welcome him to the club. He had a brand new Sunfish and told me he hadn't sailed a Sunfish before.
Hmmmm - I was skeptical - something didn't quite add up. He was dressed in all the cool gear for a racing sailor - skin tight rash guard, low profile buoyancy aid, wrap-around sunglasses. Usually new sailors wear some geeky gear that looks like they bought it at a garage sale. This guy at least looked like he could sail.
Then I looked at his boat. The Sunfish is a strict one-design so there's not much you can do to the boat. But the top racers in the class know all the tricks and this boat had them all. Thin sail ties instead of the clunky clips. A painted rudder suggesting that some work had been done to improve it. Gooseneck and halyard in exactly the right positions. Either some expert had set this boat up for him or he had done some serious research.
"But you've done some sailing before?" I asked.
"Oh ....some.....mainly in scows" he replied.
Sure. As we motored out to the course in a brisk northwesterly I could see him surfing the little waves on our lake like an expert. He got a bit confused by our idiosyncratic starting system but once he started he was off like a bullet. Rock steady upwind, round the windward mark, catch a wave and planing all the way downwind. The wind got stronger and he got faster. He was blowing away excellent sailors from our club who were sailing supposedly faster classes. Hmmmm - he may be new to Sunfish but this guy has done some serious racing before and knows how to sail fast in the heavy stuff.
Our mystery man showed up for our friendly Wednesday evening Sunfish racing this week. The wind was much lighter but he was just as impressive. He gave no quarter on the start line using every legal tactic in the book to ace every start. Then he was away in clear air in every race. Given the fluky conditions he didn't win every race but he sure dominated all evening.
Over beer and pizza (which he couldn't join us for) everyone in the fleet was asking "Who IS that guy?". So the next day I googled him. Ahah. Someone of that name won a national championship in E-Scows a few years back. Our friend was being too modest.
But then I thought again, No - he is not being too modest. What are you supposed to do if you move to a new part of the country and join a new sailing club and start racing in a new class? You can hardly brag of your previous sailing achievements to everyone you meet. "Oh yeah - I was on the winning America's Cup boat with Dennis Conner in '92 and I beat Buddy Melges in the Nationals in '86 and I'm currently ranked 3rd on the Swedish Match Tour". (I made that bit up - that's not our guy's resume - but you get the idea). No - you just have to let the folk at your new club find out for themselves and let your performance speak for itself.
Meanwhile the wires are buzzing. Who is he? What's his name? Is he coming to this regatta? I think the local hotshots are sweating a little.
Hmmmm - I was skeptical - something didn't quite add up. He was dressed in all the cool gear for a racing sailor - skin tight rash guard, low profile buoyancy aid, wrap-around sunglasses. Usually new sailors wear some geeky gear that looks like they bought it at a garage sale. This guy at least looked like he could sail.
Then I looked at his boat. The Sunfish is a strict one-design so there's not much you can do to the boat. But the top racers in the class know all the tricks and this boat had them all. Thin sail ties instead of the clunky clips. A painted rudder suggesting that some work had been done to improve it. Gooseneck and halyard in exactly the right positions. Either some expert had set this boat up for him or he had done some serious research.
"But you've done some sailing before?" I asked.
"Oh ....some.....mainly in scows" he replied.
Sure. As we motored out to the course in a brisk northwesterly I could see him surfing the little waves on our lake like an expert. He got a bit confused by our idiosyncratic starting system but once he started he was off like a bullet. Rock steady upwind, round the windward mark, catch a wave and planing all the way downwind. The wind got stronger and he got faster. He was blowing away excellent sailors from our club who were sailing supposedly faster classes. Hmmmm - he may be new to Sunfish but this guy has done some serious racing before and knows how to sail fast in the heavy stuff.
Our mystery man showed up for our friendly Wednesday evening Sunfish racing this week. The wind was much lighter but he was just as impressive. He gave no quarter on the start line using every legal tactic in the book to ace every start. Then he was away in clear air in every race. Given the fluky conditions he didn't win every race but he sure dominated all evening.
Over beer and pizza (which he couldn't join us for) everyone in the fleet was asking "Who IS that guy?". So the next day I googled him. Ahah. Someone of that name won a national championship in E-Scows a few years back. Our friend was being too modest.
But then I thought again, No - he is not being too modest. What are you supposed to do if you move to a new part of the country and join a new sailing club and start racing in a new class? You can hardly brag of your previous sailing achievements to everyone you meet. "Oh yeah - I was on the winning America's Cup boat with Dennis Conner in '92 and I beat Buddy Melges in the Nationals in '86 and I'm currently ranked 3rd on the Swedish Match Tour". (I made that bit up - that's not our guy's resume - but you get the idea). No - you just have to let the folk at your new club find out for themselves and let your performance speak for itself.
Meanwhile the wires are buzzing. Who is he? What's his name? Is he coming to this regatta? I think the local hotshots are sweating a little.
Thursday, May 05, 2005
Excuses
At the club where I sail in the summer months we are trying to start up a Laser fleet. I offered to take on the role of Laser fleet captain for this year. Over the winter, through some minimal publicity on the web, I managed to identify a number of potential fleet members. They all indicated that they were interested in racing Lasers at our club this year and I have been keeping in touch with them by email during the last few months.
Now that the season is starting I have been harassing via email - no I mean gently encouraging - these sailors to come out and race with us. The weather is still a bit chilly for summer sailors so I don't expect a great response for a few weeks. But the excuses that these sailors come up with for not sailing are fascinating to me.
Some plead family or work commitments - mother's day, wife's birthday, doing a course this weekend. Fair enough - sailing is only a game - family and work come first - at least for some.
Others say they have injuries that prevent them sailing for now - broke my thumb, tore a ligament. Hmmm - maybe. On the other hand I always seem to have some kind of minor injury these days and I don't let them stop me from sailing.
But the one that wins the grand prize is "I had a heart transplant and I'm still in rehab". This brave soul then inquired politely if we had rescue boats on the water during racing at the club. I don't know whether to admire the guy's courage and determination in wanting to get back into Laser racing after a heart transplant or to worry about what we will do if he has a medical emergency of some kind while racing. On the other hand, he probably has a 20 year-old heart, whatever his chronological age is, so he could be fitter than any of us.
Now that the season is starting I have been harassing via email - no I mean gently encouraging - these sailors to come out and race with us. The weather is still a bit chilly for summer sailors so I don't expect a great response for a few weeks. But the excuses that these sailors come up with for not sailing are fascinating to me.
Some plead family or work commitments - mother's day, wife's birthday, doing a course this weekend. Fair enough - sailing is only a game - family and work come first - at least for some.
Others say they have injuries that prevent them sailing for now - broke my thumb, tore a ligament. Hmmm - maybe. On the other hand I always seem to have some kind of minor injury these days and I don't let them stop me from sailing.
But the one that wins the grand prize is "I had a heart transplant and I'm still in rehab". This brave soul then inquired politely if we had rescue boats on the water during racing at the club. I don't know whether to admire the guy's courage and determination in wanting to get back into Laser racing after a heart transplant or to worry about what we will do if he has a medical emergency of some kind while racing. On the other hand, he probably has a 20 year-old heart, whatever his chronological age is, so he could be fitter than any of us.
Wednesday, May 04, 2005
Heavy Air Fear
I'll tell you a secret.
Though I love to brag about how much I enjoy heavy air sailing in a Laser, "Man it was crazy out there....must have been blowing 30......whitecaps and spray everywhere......there were capsizes and broken masts all around me.... you could ride a wave for miles....it was the best ever" ..... really it scares me shitless.
But it's a good scary. Like the feeling you get when you get to the top of a black ski run and you have to lean forward to actually see down the slope. And then you wish you hadn't. Or the moment when you go over the top of a roller coaster and see the next downhill stretch. There's something about the human brain that actually takes a delight in being scared, living through the frightening experience and then coming out the other side laughing. But there are limits.
I could see for days ahead that the third day of the Laser US Nationals was going to be real windy. A cold front was forecast to cross the Carolina coast bringing cooler temperatures, heavier winds and thunderstorms. On the morning of Saturday the forecast was for 35mph winds, 7 foot swells and lightning. Not exactly ideal conditions for racing in a 14 foot dinghy.
I arrived at the club and it was howling. Did anybody really think we would actually race on a day like this? Nobody was rigging their boats. But the race committee was loading their supplies on to their motor boats. Still nobody was rigging a Laser. At about the last possible moment when you could still rig, launch and get out to the course in time for the first race, some brave soul hoisted a sail. A few other idiots including myself followed suit. By the time the first race committee boat blew a horn and left the dock, about half the Lasers were rigged. But nobody launched.
Then an amazing thing happened. The top two sailors in my age group approached me and said they didn't want to sail and would I agree not to sail too. I should explain that in the Laser class you are seen as old and over the hill when you turn 35. Laser sailors over 35 are known as "masters"; this does not imply mastery; it just means you are an old geezer. So, to recognize our decrepit, incompetent, weakling status the Nationals was offering a trophy for the first old geezer in each 10 year age range over 35. At this stage I was lying third in the regatta in the "incredibly old and we are amazed they actually are still alive" age group.
I could see what was going on. If the leading two sailors didn't race and I did, then, depending on how many races were sailed today and tomorrow, there was an outside theoretical mathematical chance that I might actually win the decrepit, incompetent, aged weakling award. Hmmm. How to respond? I didn't really want to sail either. But it was too good an opportunity for mischief.
The leader in our age group - a sailor whom I regard as being in a totally different league to myself - was saying with a touch of nervousness in his voice, "After all, it is supposed to be a pleasure craft."
I looked thoughtful. "I don't know. I was really looking forward to getting some practice in the heavy stuff. Should be fun." The other two looked dismayed.
In the end I relented and shook hands on our agreement to strike. Are we an old geezers union now?
I headed off with the love of my life for some simple tourist pleasures - a beer and a burger for lunch in a pub by the river, and visits to an aquarium and a Civil War fort. In the end, all racing was canceled for the day as I suspected it would be.
It is good to know that other old geezers feel the same about heavy air as I do. Perhaps the youngsters do too - though they would never admit it.
Though I love to brag about how much I enjoy heavy air sailing in a Laser, "Man it was crazy out there....must have been blowing 30......whitecaps and spray everywhere......there were capsizes and broken masts all around me.... you could ride a wave for miles....it was the best ever" ..... really it scares me shitless.
But it's a good scary. Like the feeling you get when you get to the top of a black ski run and you have to lean forward to actually see down the slope. And then you wish you hadn't. Or the moment when you go over the top of a roller coaster and see the next downhill stretch. There's something about the human brain that actually takes a delight in being scared, living through the frightening experience and then coming out the other side laughing. But there are limits.
I could see for days ahead that the third day of the Laser US Nationals was going to be real windy. A cold front was forecast to cross the Carolina coast bringing cooler temperatures, heavier winds and thunderstorms. On the morning of Saturday the forecast was for 35mph winds, 7 foot swells and lightning. Not exactly ideal conditions for racing in a 14 foot dinghy.
I arrived at the club and it was howling. Did anybody really think we would actually race on a day like this? Nobody was rigging their boats. But the race committee was loading their supplies on to their motor boats. Still nobody was rigging a Laser. At about the last possible moment when you could still rig, launch and get out to the course in time for the first race, some brave soul hoisted a sail. A few other idiots including myself followed suit. By the time the first race committee boat blew a horn and left the dock, about half the Lasers were rigged. But nobody launched.
Then an amazing thing happened. The top two sailors in my age group approached me and said they didn't want to sail and would I agree not to sail too. I should explain that in the Laser class you are seen as old and over the hill when you turn 35. Laser sailors over 35 are known as "masters"; this does not imply mastery; it just means you are an old geezer. So, to recognize our decrepit, incompetent, weakling status the Nationals was offering a trophy for the first old geezer in each 10 year age range over 35. At this stage I was lying third in the regatta in the "incredibly old and we are amazed they actually are still alive" age group.
I could see what was going on. If the leading two sailors didn't race and I did, then, depending on how many races were sailed today and tomorrow, there was an outside theoretical mathematical chance that I might actually win the decrepit, incompetent, aged weakling award. Hmmm. How to respond? I didn't really want to sail either. But it was too good an opportunity for mischief.
The leader in our age group - a sailor whom I regard as being in a totally different league to myself - was saying with a touch of nervousness in his voice, "After all, it is supposed to be a pleasure craft."
I looked thoughtful. "I don't know. I was really looking forward to getting some practice in the heavy stuff. Should be fun." The other two looked dismayed.
In the end I relented and shook hands on our agreement to strike. Are we an old geezers union now?
I headed off with the love of my life for some simple tourist pleasures - a beer and a burger for lunch in a pub by the river, and visits to an aquarium and a Civil War fort. In the end, all racing was canceled for the day as I suspected it would be.
It is good to know that other old geezers feel the same about heavy air as I do. Perhaps the youngsters do too - though they would never admit it.
Monday, May 02, 2005
Experimenting
In his book 'Sail, Race and Win' Eric Twiname says that too many sailors rely on racing as virtually their only way of learning. Unfortunately more racing does not necessarily mean better results. The reason is that the way to improve a technique is to experiment. You have to try out different ways of doing things to find a better way. And in the short term that experimenting makes us worse. So most people are reluctant to experiment too much during a race. Twiname's suggestion is to use some races purely as opportunities to experiment with different sailing techniques and accept that you are going to do worse than usual at first.
It was in this spirit that I entered the Laser US Nationals at Wrightsville Beach, NC last month. I knew in any case that my results in a regatta at that level would be nothing to write home about. (Or blog about). And I knew that one of my weaknesses was sailing in heavy air and especially sailing in waves. So I decided to use the regatta to work on various techniques for sailing in those conditions and not even think about my scores.
After each start I tried to get a clear lane where I could practice working my boat through the waves without being distracted too much by other boats. I tried various ways of steering through waves. I experimented with using body movement to help the boat get cleanly over each wave. And I played around with various sheeting techniques. After a while I seemed to be going faster. But the one thing that improved - even though I wasn't really concentrating on it - was my tacking. In particular to ease just the right amount of sheet in each tack and come out of the other side of the tack with the boat consistently under control. I realized that I hadn't had a consistent way of easing out and sheeting in - even though I've been tacking Lasers for over 20 years.
Weird. Is there some rule of learning that says that when you concentrate on one thing you actually improve another?
Downwind on the first day of the regatta when it was blowing in the high teens I was really concentrating on staying upright. After a while I got used to the pattern of the waves and wasn't spooked that some wave from an unexpected direction wasn't go to roll me. Prayer seemed to help a lot too.
On the second day when the wind was a little less I really got to enjoy working the waves downwind. I played around with sailing at different angles trying to improve my feel for what was "hot". I began to believe that IF I could sail in these conditions every week (instead of on boring flat inland lakes); and IF I could do that for 20 years; and IF I had started sailing waves when I was 20 years younger...I might actually get the hang of this.
The last day of the regatta it was really honking by the end of the only race. High 20s probably. I just tried to use whatever had worked well earlier in the week. Although I had said that I would not think about my results, it turned out that that last race was my best one of the week. Which is always a good way to end a regatta.
So perhaps I did learn something after all. Thanks Eric.
It was in this spirit that I entered the Laser US Nationals at Wrightsville Beach, NC last month. I knew in any case that my results in a regatta at that level would be nothing to write home about. (Or blog about). And I knew that one of my weaknesses was sailing in heavy air and especially sailing in waves. So I decided to use the regatta to work on various techniques for sailing in those conditions and not even think about my scores.
After each start I tried to get a clear lane where I could practice working my boat through the waves without being distracted too much by other boats. I tried various ways of steering through waves. I experimented with using body movement to help the boat get cleanly over each wave. And I played around with various sheeting techniques. After a while I seemed to be going faster. But the one thing that improved - even though I wasn't really concentrating on it - was my tacking. In particular to ease just the right amount of sheet in each tack and come out of the other side of the tack with the boat consistently under control. I realized that I hadn't had a consistent way of easing out and sheeting in - even though I've been tacking Lasers for over 20 years.
Weird. Is there some rule of learning that says that when you concentrate on one thing you actually improve another?
Downwind on the first day of the regatta when it was blowing in the high teens I was really concentrating on staying upright. After a while I got used to the pattern of the waves and wasn't spooked that some wave from an unexpected direction wasn't go to roll me. Prayer seemed to help a lot too.
On the second day when the wind was a little less I really got to enjoy working the waves downwind. I played around with sailing at different angles trying to improve my feel for what was "hot". I began to believe that IF I could sail in these conditions every week (instead of on boring flat inland lakes); and IF I could do that for 20 years; and IF I had started sailing waves when I was 20 years younger...I might actually get the hang of this.
The last day of the regatta it was really honking by the end of the only race. High 20s probably. I just tried to use whatever had worked well earlier in the week. Although I had said that I would not think about my results, it turned out that that last race was my best one of the week. Which is always a good way to end a regatta.
So perhaps I did learn something after all. Thanks Eric.
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